Podcasts about Tunes

Welcome to Get Up in the Cool: Old Time Music with Cameron DeWhitt and Friends. This week's friend is Ruby John! I recorded her in June at Earful of Fiddle in Rodney, MI. Tunes in this episode: * Fox Family Reel (Andy de Jarlis original) (0:38) * Sourgrass and Granite (Brian Pickell original) (32:09) * The Green Eyed G**** (Budd Greenman original) (53:58) * Golden Ticket (Eric Merrill original) (1:21:13) * Growling Old Man and Old Woman (1:26:20) * BONUS TRACK: Saddle Old Paint (from Chief Red Bird) Follow Ruby John on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100065475729662) Follow The Johns on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/thejohnsband) Follow Treaty Fish Co. on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/p/Ed-Cindi-John-Treaty-Fish-Co-100063452418054/) Buy tickets to see Tall Poppy String Band play in Oregon (https://www.tallpoppystringband.com/shows) Support Get Up in the Cool on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/getupinthecool) Send Tax Deductible Donations to Get Up in the Cool through Fracture Atlas (https://fundraising.fracturedatlas.org/get-up-in-the-cool) Sign up at Pitchfork Banjo for my clawhammer instructional series! (https://www.pitchforkbanjo.com/) Schedule a banjo lesson with Cameron (https://www.camerondewhitt.com/banjolessons) Visit Tall Poppy String Band's website (https://www.tallpoppystringband.com/) and follow us on Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/tallpoppystringband/)

Joining me from Copenhagen, Denmark, Sabine H. grew up in a culture in which alcohol is both ubiquitous and deeply ingrained in social life. She never considered drinking as the cause of her problems until well into her forties. By then, the ruinous effects of her drinking had supplanted Sabine's diminishing ability to mask her growing alcohol abuse and other mental health issues. The fame, money, and lofty positions she had attained as a highly functional alcoholic conflicted with the self-loathing and disdain she felt deep inside. As the disease progressed and her Sabine's life began to unravel. Despite her need for help, she nonetheless became an expert at hiding her problems. Naturally, she found little help or support from those with whom she worked. By the time she took a month's sick-leave to both drink and work out her problems, she came up miserably empty. With utter despair eroding her desire to live, Sabine finally found the hand of AA reaching out to her. She entered the Program a little more than two years ago, clawing her way past preconceived notions and self-doubts toward the middle of the herd. Since then, Sabine has embraced AA wholeheartedly, doing the work she was instructed to do. She even demonstrated the progress she had achieved by recently leaving her stress-ridden, booze-soaked corporate career to work as a counselor at a rehab facility. I feel you will be inspired and encouraged by what Sabine has to share, especially if you're relatively young in sobriety. Hers is a story that bears out the international appeal of Alcoholics Anonymous to those who reach out for help. So no matter where you are around the world, please enjoy the next hour or so with my friend and AA sister, Sabine H. If you've enjoyed my AA Recovery Interviews series, have a listen to “Alcoholics Anonymous: The Story of How More Than One Hundred Men Have Recovered From Alcoholism”. This is the word-for-word, cover-to-cover reading of the First Edition of the Big Book, published in 1939. It's a comfortable, meaningful, and engaging way to listen to the Big Book anytime, anyplace. Have a free listen at Audible, i-Tunes, or Amazon.  I also invite you to check out my latest audio book, Lost Stories of the Big Book, 30 Original Stories Missing from the 3rd and 4th Editions of Alcoholics Anonymous. It's an engaging audiobook I narrated to bring these stories to life for AA members who've never seen them. These timeless testimonials were originally cut to make room for newer stories in the 3rd and 4th Editions. But their vitally important messages of hope are as meaningful today as when they were first published. Many listeners will hear these stories for the first time. Lost Stories of the Big Book is available on Audible, Amazon, and iTunes. It's also available as a Kindle book and in Paperback from Amazon if you'd like to read along with the audio. [Disclaimer: AA Recovery Interviews podcast strictly adheres to AA's 12 Traditions and all General Service Office guidelines for safe-guarding anonymity on-line. I pay all podcast production costs. AA Recovery Interviews and my guests do not speak for or represent AA at-large. This podcast is simply my way of giving back to AA that which has been so freely given to me. – Howard L.]

Rush Hour Rhythms    "Good morning, world! It's time to get your morning groove on with 'Rush Hour Rhythms'! Tune in, turn up the volume, and let the beats move you. But before we dive into the music that'll make you want to dance your heart out, let's kick-start your day with a dose of inspiration. Get ready to fuel your energy and spirit with a daily quote that'll keep you motivated and inspired throughout the day. So, grab your coffee, stretch those limbs, and let's dive into the rhythm of positivity and empowerment!"   Check us out!! Tigress315radio.com Follow & Subscribe to our Youtube channel https://www.youtube.com/@tigress315radio  Join our Live show! https://www.podbean.com/lsw/tigress315radio  Via Pc

We kick off with sizzling bacon s'mores, then vibe with Jana as she unravels music's mind-bending effects on the brain. Mark dishes out delightfully weird "random crap," and in the Paranormal Corner, we dive into the enigma of colors—do they hold cosmic purpose or just look pretty? Tune in for a quirky, thought-provoking ride!

Welcome to the official Audio Guide to Tactile Tunes by Jane Cassidy and Arts Alive at the Aula Maxima, University of Galway as part of Galway International Arts Festival 2025. Tactile Tunes is led by Jane Cassidy, a multimedia artist and educator from Galway. Arts Alive Galway is a community-based arts programme for adults with intellectual disabilities under The Brothers of Charity Services Galway. Arts Alive Galway aims to make the joy of music accessible to everyone, transforming how we engage with sound through inclusive creativity. Tactile Tunes is an interactive musical installation designed to encourage music-making among people of all abilities. Using sensory-friendly materials and surfaces, it blends sound, touch, visuals, and movement to create an immersive environment. The project celebrates the belief that everyone has the right — and the ability — to make music in their own way. Developed with the support of Galway Culture Company and Galway International Arts Festival's ELEVATE Bursary, and the Create Artist in the Community Scheme.  

Meet Snehesh Nag—a rising sitar talent whose music bridges generations, genres, and geographies. Trained by his father, renowned sitarist Pandit Sugato Nag, Snehesh grew up immersed in classical traditions and global sounds alike. Before turning 30, he's collaborated with Grammy-winning artists, studied music technology in the US, and just wrapped his debut tour of Australia. In this episode, he shares the making of his debut album Nag Mahal, audience stories and advice for young musicians in the diaspora.

Nicole Kobie joins to discuss The Long History of the Future, so the third hour of this week's AM takes a bit of a retro-futurist detour. Outside of that you have a tribute to the late Lalo Schifrin, and your usual AM mix of jangle-pop, ambient, jazz, post-rock, and experimental sounds, somehow cohering into a hopefully pleasant soundtrack to your Monday morning.Playlist: Shrunken Elvis - An Old OutletBlue Lake - Cut Paperoono yuuki band - Michi No YureiJoseph Shabason, Nicholas Krgovich, Tenniscoats - Our DetourJeremiah Chiu, Marta Sofia Honer - Speaking in ParallelMari Kvien Brunvoll, Stein Urheim, Moskus - AgadedaMog - CanonTim Hecker - IcesynthRival Consoles - Drum SongVarious Artists, featuring Verticalpark - ArrivalGhost Cartridge, Mantrakid - Narshe Cliffsgreat area - Here's Something For Your Morning CommuteThe Reds Pinks and Purples - Slow Torture of an Hourly WageBibi Club - Le feu IIPopulation II - Le thé est prêtModern Nature - SourceLalo Schifrin - The Blues for Johann SebastianLalo Schifrin - Old LacesTrio Cajueiro - Lua RosaEmpanadas Ilegales - Bailecito de MORDMarco Benevento - These DaysOrange Crate Art - The Umbrella ManPocket Pavilions - Expo Transit SystemMonroeville Music Center - Preparatifs dans la Salle de RedactionThe Organizing Committee - We Have Never Been ModernMandrake Handshake - Time Goes UpHong Kong in the 60s - DiarylandBiche - Le CodeTOPS - Falling On My Swordwasmarkhere - Stay Right HereTortoise - Oganesson - Broken Social Scene RemixMansur Brown - Faded

Live Recorded Set from VirtualDJ Radio ClubZone

“The Golden Rule” I finally did it. I finally set my house on fire. You don't know. I've lived there two years; I just now did it. This amazes me that just how. Here's how it happened. So I'm in my kitchen, cooking. I just worked out for like, three hours so I'm cooking everything. Everything. I put the soup on, but by the end of the workout, I'm not sure the soup is going to be enough. So, I thought to myself, “You know what, I'm going to make some tortilla chips” A few days before I made the dopest salsa. I couldn't get enough of it. It was the best salsa ever. I was like “gosh” so every day, Tacos for three days, Just to put the salsa on top, And on the fourth day, I'm like “Nah, soup.” So, I put the soup on and I go workout, But the soup, you see has roasted vegetables in in, You know? So what I had done was, I had roasted the vegetables on a pan, but the pan is a little worn, so i put them on parchment paper… … Yeah, but here's what really happened, Is I took the vegetables off of the roasting pan, and I was about to throw away the parchment paper, And I thought “Wait. No! There's still so much oil on this!” And I didn't want to be wasteful. So I turned the oven back on, And I took out the tortillas I had— There were four of them— I took out two, Just in case I wanted two actual tacos later— Cause you know, I really love this fucking salsa. So good. Anyway— I take out two of the four tortillas, And I quarter them, And I flip them in the leftover oil from the roasted vegetables, And I'm thinking— This is going to be so good Roasted vegetable flavored Corn tortilla chips— I brush on a little bit of coconut oil, I drop some lemon juice on them, I put on a little salt— And I put them in the oven— I turn the oven to broil, And then I start the dishes; Dishes takes about ten minutes, This should take about ten minutes— So I start doing the dishes, And cleaning up, And putting them away, And this is the most ironic shit in the world, I start thinking to myself Particularly about this comedian that I like And I start thinking to myself “Wow, so you're a comedian; Comedian things happen to you; You're a real comedian. I must not be a real comedian— Because comedy things don't happen to me.” And right at that moment, I just so happen to look into the oven, And all I see is flames. Like, open flames. Big, flames. So I open the oven; More flames. I'm like “Oh no.” So now I'm panicking because I've never had an apartment with a gas stove before, So I don't know how quickly flames turn into massive explosions. And it's honestly funny how suicidal I am, Until I see open flames and I'm like “No, but— not like THIS!” So I freak out, I hit the breaker. I turn off everything in the place I'm not looking to see which switch is “gas” I turned turned them all off, Click, click, click, click Put on my slip ons, and grab my phone and I'm out the door. And I'm thinking to myself “See this is why you need a phone,” Because honestly sometimes, I don't feel like paying the bill. I feel like having toilet paper, Or soap, Or water— And I just “Whatever” But lately, I've been looking for more work because I like having toilet paper, and soap, and water AND a phone— so I keep the phone on, Which, even in the moment is like “Oh yeah, wow, I have a phone” Like I'm in astonishment at how handy it is because if it's handy for anything, This is it. So I'm out the door, and I'm dialing 911 as I hit the staircase; Whoosh, I'm out the door and in the long before the operator even picks up, And I'm in the lobby, on the phone, and the operator gets the address and I'm just standing there — Mind you, I didn't even grab my keys on the way out, so I'm assuming the door is locked, And I think to myself about the size of the flames and the fact that they were coming from the oven which is connected to a gas line which is connected to the rest of the building, so I don't know how any of that stuff works, And then I start thinking. “Should I warn my neighbors?” I hate my neighbors. Or rather, My neighbors hate me. But I'm thinking of the flames and the smoke and the danger and how, if it was me, I'd want to know if the apartment next door to mine was on fire and possibly about to explode. You know; the golden rule. So I'm like “fuck it” I don't get along with these people but I don't mean to blow them up. So I run back upstairs, And I knock on their doors; Not everyone's doors, just the two doors in what I assume would be the blast area. I knock on their doors, And only one of them answers— The one that answers is, of course, The one that's been stalking me. So this is ironic at least twice, now, And she answers the door, And I explain to her the situation “Look, my apartment's on fire whatever The fire department's on the way, I'm locked out…” As I turn the knob, I realize, I'm not locked out. My door didn't even lock, I didn't notice it didn't lock, I just ran, So I'm like “Nevermind I just wanted you to know the fire departments on the way and not to panic” And she just gives me this look With her wombat face —she has wombat face. She looks like a— Like a rabid wombat. Like a— Like a really fucked up, Possum. Like a wombat-possum. And we've been having some—problems. She's my stalker. She's been stalking me; And I've noticed so, It's really awkward that I'm at her door warning her like “hey, don't freak out or anything, the fire department's coming by” And she just looks at me with those beady little eyes and a shrug that tells me If her apartment was about to explode She'd just let me incinerate. , “Whatever, fuck you.” I know I'm a good person, Cause I would want to know— so I let you know There may be danger here! Whatever. So she's like “whatever”, and shuts the door like a normal, sane person Cause my problem with her is that For the past year Every time I take a bath or shower, This wombat looking rabid possum bitch Slams the door. Not just her door, The stairwell exit door, Which is located adjacent to my door. So every time I take a bath for the last year— BOOM. BOOM. Fuck that. Theres's more to the story but you get the point. She's a white supremacist wombat with a door slamming habit. That's that story, this is another story. So anyway. And I just realized, I'm not locked out at all, and so I go back into the apartment not knowing if it contained itself, or if it got worse— I don't know, the whole place is just filled with smoke, and then the super, Who I also called and also don't like, Shows up before the fire department, And he comes in, and he opens the oven, and just— Plumes of smoke— Then the fire dudes rush in, I'm like, “Oh God” I just worked out for three hours and looked wombat girl right in the face, Like, right in the eyes Now I probably look like a wombat That shit is contagious, Fuck that. “”let me put on some sunglasses” So I put on some sunglasses, And three fire dudes walk in in full gear with canisters and shit, Masks; The whole thing. But the super already opened the oven, There's no more flames, No more fire, Just smoke— And a bunch of mad crispy Ashes. No tortilla chips, Just— Ashes, on a cookie sheet. Just— Ashes, But still, smoke everywhere so they have to follow the procedure, And the procedure is, Moving all my shit by dragging it across the floor; Ok, that's cool, I guess, Boom. One of them starts running water down the sink, Alright, Another one just rips down the curtains. I'm like “That's hot.” (It was so hot) Slides back the couch, opens the window. I'm astonished that something as simple as a man pulling down your curtain rod with no regards to giving a fuck can be so exhilirating. I'm like “oh!” Then after all that, They're just standing there. Just, In full gear, Looking at the oven like “Well, that's it.” They're like “K. Bye.” I'm like “that's it?” They're like “Yeah” I'm like l, “I don't need to do anything?” They're like “Just open the window, keep the door open till the smoke comes out” I'm like “that's all” They're like “yeah” I'm like “my bad.” They all just shrug like “whatever” Like, in unison, shrugging like to give no fucks at all, Still in full gear. The only thing I can be sure of is that all three of them are hot and if the super wasn't there, I'd inidiate a gangbang. Almost positive. But five's a crowd, or whatever, so I'm like “Well, thanks guys, sorry about that” and they all just leave, almost disappointed like there wasn't a burning building to actually show up to. I'm just relieved I didn't explode and the solace I can take from this is that I'm a good person. my neighbor is stalking me cause she has NOTHING ELSE to do. That bitch was AT the door, never leaves. She's miserable. She looks like a wombat And 3. Three firefighters entered and exited the apartment head to toe in full gear with heavy ass metal canisters and did not slam a single door. FUCK YOU HOE. Very respectful servicemen. I had called the landlord about her harassing me in the shower and the bathtub. You know she's doing it every bath and every shower for over a year she's doing it on purposes I started making formal complaints; The property management's like “Are you sure she's doing it on purpose?” THREE Fully grown men decked head to toe in full fireproof outfits, helmets, and masks entered and exited the building on one day and in ten minutes more quietly than she has at any given point over the last year. THREE FULLY GROWN MEN. WITH CANISTERS. If they can enter and exit with less noise than a 150 lb wombat— She's doing it on purpose. End of story. Well, end of that story, Or like two stories but Here's the end of this one. So finally after the dust settles And I hit the gym again Because nothing is a better preworkout Than adrenialine, (Especially when you've already had preworkout) I come back and now I'm extra famished and the Amazon guy came in all that fuss And now I have canola oils So I've been soaking some potato wedges And I decide, “Hey, I got wedges. Let's do that” So I heat the oil, and as I'm heating the oil, I realize… I still have two tortillas. Maybe that was the whole point! I'm being a pussy, making tortilla chips, In the oven, on parchment paper, Like a little bitch! So I'm like “Alright, cool, When these wedges are done, the oil should be the perfect temperature for the tortilla chips To be made the old fashioned way The RIGHT way!” So I wait, I do the wedges, and I drop the tortillas, And I wait for them to get golden brown, I drain the oil, I put them out to cool; I do the dishes while they cool, whatever, I grab the salsa container out of the fridge, I take the bowl into the studio so I can watch YouTube while I enjoy my chips, I plop down, Turn on the you tube I open the salsa container— And it's empty. There's no more salsa. I put the container in the fridge empty. Silly me. “You're a comedian, comedy things happen to you.” Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison. You might recognize me. You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Or a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world I'm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is The elevator music Of my ascension The attitude of attraction, Gratitude, it's so unusual Fight to lose, In a room full of fools; The fuse, and the matchbox— Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag, You just have to ask, actually But there's only one To get out of the coffin, Or “Box” as they called it, That she was locked up in Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison. You might recognize me. You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Or a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world I'm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is The elevator music Of my ascension The attitude of attraction, Gratitude, it's so unusual Fight to lose, In a room full of fools; The fuse, and the matchbox— Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag, You just have to ask, actually But there's only one To get out of the coffin, Or “Box” as they called it, That she was locked up in Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to I won't got no business in the business I unplug the plug because I'm finish Just because my skin they think I'm niggas But that disrespect because I isn't You disrespected me Put the emphasis in neglect Synthesis? Sympathies Put some respect on my name Before I put some facts in these flames Making me famous But you don't play me Picking up packages Trying to play me I am the president bitch Not the lady Okay Scratch my back With a metal spatula Take a step back, this is not your world Take a step back While I skip forward This is snitch territory; You should be very aware of me Beware If that's didn't scare you Just stay right there I'm in weight class: BEAR Flying first class air with howling thunderous winds and much hacking, “TIMOTHY THE GIANT CAT” dislodges a Omg dislodges a what? I have no idea that's all that was there. omg. My mother must've known something about me I couldn't have; My mother must have given me her monster But this monster knows better. Even just the profile is an irritant for now; Unsure, meditterenian, Overgrown pantheons turned to ruins What happened was harder, Turbulence I've been good, Golden even But this computer wants me gone And now, Aggravated Assault with a program Who would have thought the forth world war would be fought With our own thoughts? No one. Hm. Even just a glimpse and imm angrier than I've ever been. Still something creeps like the Harvard doctor Or the burning fire Or the flicker of just a thought A meadowlark and still Vines at the bottom of the spring In the pantheon Rhythms and rythms and Now I remember why were blowing up the counterparts Shut up, And pay your taxes Nothing to see here, bottoms up. But it's only 9 and half a clock Remember Sonny, would ya Now we're all obscure in the shadowbox Fix you up a seller Shortly temple soda Surely something lingers Sure enough The forest, And the father And the omen And the harpist And the seeker And the shadow And the wonder And the alter Therefore, Who art thou Therefore, who, Arthur What a wonderful tragedy, Mr. Lin He said, “I thought you'd though so” I say, “Prayers answered and nothing less Than just in the nick of time, For nickel backs And Pennie's picked up, Now in capsules Who you are, I falter But nevertheless A songbird” What a vow, God. I try to keep my promises But my face is still wilted And awkward I take those punches Just about as well As the bag I've become Downstairs, embankments And more shadow boxes Gift, valentines And then now By Fourth of July I should be quite the disappointment To just about everyone Who even had a thought about her There are no more colors Just wounds, And salt shakers, Garlic and Slamming doors Art throbs And heart connesuiers And curators Existential crisis And inward turmoil Oil on canvas Blood spills Long before it ever boils Cauldrons Candle marks Ought, with my eye out Out, with the harpists! I put my eye on, Dose now, Flicker flames, Shadow box Goodnight drunken soldier Pity this, I want to sleep, but wither I want to weep, but am watched I must be under some kind of… Umbrella. I bust me under some kind of — Possession. I must be under surveillance The Devil's in the neighbor The proof is in the pudding I want to punch the possum Or wombat Or what you would call a rodent Dressed as some dumb girl I'm sure she gets paid by the poem To poke and prod But I've written symphonies next door While she plants the seeds of the devil's words And still tries to force conformity In a neighborhood riddled with disease Of which includes her Poor habits and lack of personality No vibration after all But I've hydrated perfectly And circumstances permit, Again, I've written symphonies and never ending sagas in the bathtub While you threaten to pull the plug And put the light out I beg you to watch me Rip my veins apart with box cutters And razorblades Then again, Probably with glee, The whites would watch Another black in agony They seem to really like that Then again The blacks, the shadows Cursed beats Seem to rip each other into pieces As if for entertainment or otherwise Watch this They seem to hate each other moredoes Anybody else actually hate them also And therefore I watch pitifully and become Respectfully disengaged As I am sorted into Creatures of the agony, abyss and wisdom old A tale as old as time and still Something forgotten, Even still It is a man's war, And us as women are just Objects, Then whatever lurks next door is more An empty body or a shell Than ever more a woman was That was my husband you stole from the office. Fucking dumb whore. Then again; What never was owned Then cannot be stolen See golden brotherhood, Crepes and popes, Sacred pipes Cerulean, And keeping her out of our concepts And gardens Planting seeds of choking mongrels And still here We dance in the meadowlarks song And the chosen fountain The blue rays of sun, And the wonder's bow and arrow Again, I call? Well, again I wake As lover does not call But yet I to answer with a song of words And heart of such A song of one to call for But nothing lays more secret then These eyes and filled with pains A wound, salted A bullet, And gillotine Ouch Get out, God. Listen, mister listen A couple hours later And my eyes are steady getting misty Filled with sweat and bears No blood yet Stings my eyes So you know I ain't been eating right And eyes o. Irish Hash and cabbage Checks to cash And slight advantage God help us all If the brim of the hat is dripping And I'm gripping these quarts as I sleep And thinking of Jimmy Croissants fresher baked in the oven Then somebody better love my son Before I go and end the world And pull the plug I ain't got nothing left for em but diamonds! I left forums unanswered I started a lot of unfinished problems But the thing is, I'm almost sure they're already solved Considering as alcoholism's a solvent It cams hurt the hard boards And mother drives The tears are filled with sweat And fountains Somebody else should call it in I'm in so much trouble with the network Thanks a lot, you algorithm fucking Cocksuck programmers Now my heart hurts And soul is vanished How hard do I have to run To go and catch her I looked 15 years into the past And found a wheeelbarrow and basket I have got to get out of here I have got to get out of here Here the coroner comes for Debbie Cadaver But I'm still her, huh Aren't I? Run! You fucking Irish bastard Perfectly tan and yet still, stark white Perfectly golden and still, I'm on numbers Perfectly parished, And still I went backwards A wedding or funeral? All catholic, no services No difference at all And still Nothings worse than Indifference I'm in so much trouble with the network Be king in the nexrophiliac And still I left the golden metropolis For nothing but a metro card and Simple segregative diversity tactics I wanted the heartland! Still, Irish bastard Wish hash and cabbage I've got to get out of here Pushing a basket Abandonment And Fatal attraction You can't sell me anything If I can't buy it Recovery day But I don't feel like it Muscles tired, I'm elastic Send them to the band camp (White lion) I'm elastic Twists and turns and I'm elastic Double up, Double up I'm elastic Twists and turns and There's vampires Don't feel like it Double up double up I'm elastic Take a lesson This is tragic Double up double up I promise, it is personal not business It's professional, no promises now On the radio tower Spread it out Or just hijinx it I mix drinks with hindsight I'm elastic Lesson learned and Twists and turns Between the fireman and the super Someone left a stench And an energy marker in my room That left me clawing at my “Do not touch” money And it hit below the belt. It was all God's comedy, But not in the least funny, I knew I didn't like the super really for whatever reason But even after he left to check the Fire defectors His stench lingered over the smell of the forgotten smoke And I woke up from a nightmare As if I'd lost control When normally, I know imm dreaming with Enough time to change things Before they spiral out of control— And the worst part, I didn't remember the dream at all besides Waking up, finally at the end Realizing it was a dream and telling myself It was okay, because now I could just wake up But it wasn't okay, and I blamed the super And whatever he brought with him For lingering in my space Which didn't really feel like mine anymore, anyways, Because the neighbor was evil as they come And they were always playing mind games in the building And the motorcycles And really I deserved better But I couldn't afford it And because I couldn't afford it The demons were always lurking Trying to penetrate my space And they did, that day And it was God's comedy But it wasn't funny And it lingered And the nightmares And the motorcycles was a years long nightmare indeed And hey, At least I got some new music. I realized my show might be the only place my “remixes” might ever see the light of day or have ears other than mine; I couldn't afford the permissions and licenses for most of the music I wanted to remix— nor did I have the energy or the funds to secure the means to come across them. And so, it might have been a good idea to start working; I emptied my bank accounts with intention, with a kind of understanding that it didn't matter at all anyway. Kind of nothing mattered, because there was no real money involved— and I had, in fact stumbled upon the opportunity in a suicidal spiral of desperation, being somewhat hopelessly lost at random in what I thought was Williamsburg; it wasn't, I had apparently walked around Brooklyn in an extremely large loop for about an hour before I realized I might be going in the wrong direction because I couldn't see Manhattan anymore, I didn't care. It was probably 77 or something degrees but with the New York humidity it felt like 90, and I was wearing a head to toe full body sauna suit trying to recover from the end of the month's rations of beans, rice, and literally whatever the fuck I really wanted, because it was really also whatever the fuck I could afford without running out of food for the month before my card reloaded. Thinking I should just die, and in the same very moment stumbling across an opportunity that wasn't nessarily a job, but could easily lead to one— and so, after paying my internet bill, I plunged and poured nearly every last cent I had left over Into what? Idk it just ends there. Goddamnit. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

“The Golden Rule” I finally did it. I finally set my house on fire. You don't know. I've lived there two years; I just now did it. This amazes me that just how. Here's how it happened. So I'm in my kitchen, cooking. I just worked out for like, three hours so I'm cooking everything. Everything. I put the soup on, but by the end of the workout, I'm not sure the soup is going to be enough. So, I thought to myself, “You know what, I'm going to make some tortilla chips” A few days before I made the dopest salsa. I couldn't get enough of it. It was the best salsa ever. I was like “gosh” so every day, Tacos for three days, Just to put the salsa on top, And on the fourth day, I'm like “Nah, soup.” So, I put the soup on and I go workout, But the soup, you see has roasted vegetables in in, You know? So what I had done was, I had roasted the vegetables on a pan, but the pan is a little worn, so i put them on parchment paper… … Yeah, but here's what really happened, Is I took the vegetables off of the roasting pan, and I was about to throw away the parchment paper, And I thought “Wait. No! There's still so much oil on this!” And I didn't want to be wasteful. So I turned the oven back on, And I took out the tortillas I had— There were four of them— I took out two, Just in case I wanted two actual tacos later— Cause you know, I really love this fucking salsa. So good. Anyway— I take out two of the four tortillas, And I quarter them, And I flip them in the leftover oil from the roasted vegetables, And I'm thinking— This is going to be so good Roasted vegetable flavored Corn tortilla chips— I brush on a little bit of coconut oil, I drop some lemon juice on them, I put on a little salt— And I put them in the oven— I turn the oven to broil, And then I start the dishes; Dishes takes about ten minutes, This should take about ten minutes— So I start doing the dishes, And cleaning up, And putting them away, And this is the most ironic shit in the world, I start thinking to myself Particularly about this comedian that I like And I start thinking to myself “Wow, so you're a comedian; Comedian things happen to you; You're a real comedian. I must not be a real comedian— Because comedy things don't happen to me.” And right at that moment, I just so happen to look into the oven, And all I see is flames. Like, open flames. Big, flames. So I open the oven; More flames. I'm like “Oh no.” So now I'm panicking because I've never had an apartment with a gas stove before, So I don't know how quickly flames turn into massive explosions. And it's honestly funny how suicidal I am, Until I see open flames and I'm like “No, but— not like THIS!” So I freak out, I hit the breaker. I turn off everything in the place I'm not looking to see which switch is “gas” I turned turned them all off, Click, click, click, click Put on my slip ons, and grab my phone and I'm out the door. And I'm thinking to myself “See this is why you need a phone,” Because honestly sometimes, I don't feel like paying the bill. I feel like having toilet paper, Or soap, Or water— And I just “Whatever” But lately, I've been looking for more work because I like having toilet paper, and soap, and water AND a phone— so I keep the phone on, Which, even in the moment is like “Oh yeah, wow, I have a phone” Like I'm in astonishment at how handy it is because if it's handy for anything, This is it. So I'm out the door, and I'm dialing 911 as I hit the staircase; Whoosh, I'm out the door and in the long before the operator even picks up, And I'm in the lobby, on the phone, and the operator gets the address and I'm just standing there — Mind you, I didn't even grab my keys on the way out, so I'm assuming the door is locked, And I think to myself about the size of the flames and the fact that they were coming from the oven which is connected to a gas line which is connected to the rest of the building, so I don't know how any of that stuff works, And then I start thinking. “Should I warn my neighbors?” I hate my neighbors. Or rather, My neighbors hate me. But I'm thinking of the flames and the smoke and the danger and how, if it was me, I'd want to know if the apartment next door to mine was on fire and possibly about to explode. You know; the golden rule. So I'm like “fuck it” I don't get along with these people but I don't mean to blow them up. So I run back upstairs, And I knock on their doors; Not everyone's doors, just the two doors in what I assume would be the blast area. I knock on their doors, And only one of them answers— The one that answers is, of course, The one that's been stalking me. So this is ironic at least twice, now, And she answers the door, And I explain to her the situation “Look, my apartment's on fire whatever The fire department's on the way, I'm locked out…” As I turn the knob, I realize, I'm not locked out. My door didn't even lock, I didn't notice it didn't lock, I just ran, So I'm like “Nevermind I just wanted you to know the fire departments on the way and not to panic” And she just gives me this look With her wombat face —she has wombat face. She looks like a— Like a rabid wombat. Like a— Like a really fucked up, Possum. Like a wombat-possum. And we've been having some—problems. She's my stalker. She's been stalking me; And I've noticed so, It's really awkward that I'm at her door warning her like “hey, don't freak out or anything, the fire department's coming by” And she just looks at me with those beady little eyes and a shrug that tells me If her apartment was about to explode She'd just let me incinerate. , “Whatever, fuck you.” I know I'm a good person, Cause I would want to know— so I let you know There may be danger here! Whatever. So she's like “whatever”, and shuts the door like a normal, sane person Cause my problem with her is that For the past year Every time I take a bath or shower, This wombat looking rabid possum bitch Slams the door. Not just her door, The stairwell exit door, Which is located adjacent to my door. So every time I take a bath for the last year— BOOM. BOOM. Fuck that. Theres's more to the story but you get the point. She's a white supremacist wombat with a door slamming habit. That's that story, this is another story. So anyway. And I just realized, I'm not locked out at all, and so I go back into the apartment not knowing if it contained itself, or if it got worse— I don't know, the whole place is just filled with smoke, and then the super, Who I also called and also don't like, Shows up before the fire department, And he comes in, and he opens the oven, and just— Plumes of smoke— Then the fire dudes rush in, I'm like, “Oh God” I just worked out for three hours and looked wombat girl right in the face, Like, right in the eyes Now I probably look like a wombat That shit is contagious, Fuck that. “”let me put on some sunglasses” So I put on some sunglasses, And three fire dudes walk in in full gear with canisters and shit, Masks; The whole thing. But the super already opened the oven, There's no more flames, No more fire, Just smoke— And a bunch of mad crispy Ashes. No tortilla chips, Just— Ashes, on a cookie sheet. Just— Ashes, But still, smoke everywhere so they have to follow the procedure, And the procedure is, Moving all my shit by dragging it across the floor; Ok, that's cool, I guess, Boom. One of them starts running water down the sink, Alright, Another one just rips down the curtains. I'm like “That's hot.” (It was so hot) Slides back the couch, opens the window. I'm astonished that something as simple as a man pulling down your curtain rod with no regards to giving a fuck can be so exhilirating. I'm like “oh!” Then after all that, They're just standing there. Just, In full gear, Looking at the oven like “Well, that's it.” They're like “K. Bye.” I'm like “that's it?” They're like “Yeah” I'm like l, “I don't need to do anything?” They're like “Just open the window, keep the door open till the smoke comes out” I'm like “that's all” They're like “yeah” I'm like “my bad.” They all just shrug like “whatever” Like, in unison, shrugging like to give no fucks at all, Still in full gear. The only thing I can be sure of is that all three of them are hot and if the super wasn't there, I'd inidiate a gangbang. Almost positive. But five's a crowd, or whatever, so I'm like “Well, thanks guys, sorry about that” and they all just leave, almost disappointed like there wasn't a burning building to actually show up to. I'm just relieved I didn't explode and the solace I can take from this is that I'm a good person. my neighbor is stalking me cause she has NOTHING ELSE to do. That bitch was AT the door, never leaves. She's miserable. She looks like a wombat And 3. Three firefighters entered and exited the apartment head to toe in full gear with heavy ass metal canisters and did not slam a single door. FUCK YOU HOE. Very respectful servicemen. I had called the landlord about her harassing me in the shower and the bathtub. You know she's doing it every bath and every shower for over a year she's doing it on purposes I started making formal complaints; The property management's like “Are you sure she's doing it on purpose?” THREE Fully grown men decked head to toe in full fireproof outfits, helmets, and masks entered and exited the building on one day and in ten minutes more quietly than she has at any given point over the last year. THREE FULLY GROWN MEN. WITH CANISTERS. If they can enter and exit with less noise than a 150 lb wombat— She's doing it on purpose. End of story. Well, end of that story, Or like two stories but Here's the end of this one. So finally after the dust settles And I hit the gym again Because nothing is a better preworkout Than adrenialine, (Especially when you've already had preworkout) I come back and now I'm extra famished and the Amazon guy came in all that fuss And now I have canola oils So I've been soaking some potato wedges And I decide, “Hey, I got wedges. Let's do that” So I heat the oil, and as I'm heating the oil, I realize… I still have two tortillas. Maybe that was the whole point! I'm being a pussy, making tortilla chips, In the oven, on parchment paper, Like a little bitch! So I'm like “Alright, cool, When these wedges are done, the oil should be the perfect temperature for the tortilla chips To be made the old fashioned way The RIGHT way!” So I wait, I do the wedges, and I drop the tortillas, And I wait for them to get golden brown, I drain the oil, I put them out to cool; I do the dishes while they cool, whatever, I grab the salsa container out of the fridge, I take the bowl into the studio so I can watch YouTube while I enjoy my chips, I plop down, Turn on the you tube I open the salsa container— And it's empty. There's no more salsa. I put the container in the fridge empty. Silly me. “You're a comedian, comedy things happen to you.” Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison. You might recognize me. You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Or a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world I'm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is The elevator music Of my ascension The attitude of attraction, Gratitude, it's so unusual Fight to lose, In a room full of fools; The fuse, and the matchbox— Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag, You just have to ask, actually But there's only one To get out of the coffin, Or “Box” as they called it, That she was locked up in Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison. You might recognize me. You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Or a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world I'm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is The elevator music Of my ascension The attitude of attraction, Gratitude, it's so unusual Fight to lose, In a room full of fools; The fuse, and the matchbox— Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag, You just have to ask, actually But there's only one To get out of the coffin, Or “Box” as they called it, That she was locked up in Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to I won't got no business in the business I unplug the plug because I'm finish Just because my skin they think I'm niggas But that disrespect because I isn't You disrespected me Put the emphasis in neglect Synthesis? Sympathies Put some respect on my name Before I put some facts in these flames Making me famous But you don't play me Picking up packages Trying to play me I am the president bitch Not the lady Okay Scratch my back With a metal spatula Take a step back, this is not your world Take a step back While I skip forward This is snitch territory; You should be very aware of me Beware If that's didn't scare you Just stay right there I'm in weight class: BEAR Flying first class air with howling thunderous winds and much hacking, “TIMOTHY THE GIANT CAT” dislodges a Omg dislodges a what? I have no idea that's all that was there. omg. My mother must've known something about me I couldn't have; My mother must have given me her monster But this monster knows better. Even just the profile is an irritant for now; Unsure, meditterenian, Overgrown pantheons turned to ruins What happened was harder, Turbulence I've been good, Golden even But this computer wants me gone And now, Aggravated Assault with a program Who would have thought the forth world war would be fought With our own thoughts? No one. Hm. Even just a glimpse and imm angrier than I've ever been. Still something creeps like the Harvard doctor Or the burning fire Or the flicker of just a thought A meadowlark and still Vines at the bottom of the spring In the pantheon Rhythms and rythms and Now I remember why were blowing up the counterparts Shut up, And pay your taxes Nothing to see here, bottoms up. But it's only 9 and half a clock Remember Sonny, would ya Now we're all obscure in the shadowbox Fix you up a seller Shortly temple soda Surely something lingers Sure enough The forest, And the father And the omen And the harpist And the seeker And the shadow And the wonder And the alter Therefore, Who art thou Therefore, who, Arthur What a wonderful tragedy, Mr. Lin He said, “I thought you'd though so” I say, “Prayers answered and nothing less Than just in the nick of time, For nickel backs And Pennie's picked up, Now in capsules Who you are, I falter But nevertheless A songbird” What a vow, God. I try to keep my promises But my face is still wilted And awkward I take those punches Just about as well As the bag I've become Downstairs, embankments And more shadow boxes Gift, valentines And then now By Fourth of July I should be quite the disappointment To just about everyone Who even had a thought about her There are no more colors Just wounds, And salt shakers, Garlic and Slamming doors Art throbs And heart connesuiers And curators Existential crisis And inward turmoil Oil on canvas Blood spills Long before it ever boils Cauldrons Candle marks Ought, with my eye out Out, with the harpists! I put my eye on, Dose now, Flicker flames, Shadow box Goodnight drunken soldier Pity this, I want to sleep, but wither I want to weep, but am watched I must be under some kind of… Umbrella. I bust me under some kind of — Possession. I must be under surveillance The Devil's in the neighbor The proof is in the pudding I want to punch the possum Or wombat Or what you would call a rodent Dressed as some dumb girl I'm sure she gets paid by the poem To poke and prod But I've written symphonies next door While she plants the seeds of the devil's words And still tries to force conformity In a neighborhood riddled with disease Of which includes her Poor habits and lack of personality No vibration after all But I've hydrated perfectly And circumstances permit, Again, I've written symphonies and never ending sagas in the bathtub While you threaten to pull the plug And put the light out I beg you to watch me Rip my veins apart with box cutters And razorblades Then again, Probably with glee, The whites would watch Another black in agony They seem to really like that Then again The blacks, the shadows Cursed beats Seem to rip each other into pieces As if for entertainment or otherwise Watch this They seem to hate each other moredoes Anybody else actually hate them also And therefore I watch pitifully and become Respectfully disengaged As I am sorted into Creatures of the agony, abyss and wisdom old A tale as old as time and still Something forgotten, Even still It is a man's war, And us as women are just Objects, Then whatever lurks next door is more An empty body or a shell Than ever more a woman was That was my husband you stole from the office. Fucking dumb whore. Then again; What never was owned Then cannot be stolen See golden brotherhood, Crepes and popes, Sacred pipes Cerulean, And keeping her out of our concepts And gardens Planting seeds of choking mongrels And still here We dance in the meadowlarks song And the chosen fountain The blue rays of sun, And the wonder's bow and arrow Again, I call? Well, again I wake As lover does not call But yet I to answer with a song of words And heart of such A song of one to call for But nothing lays more secret then These eyes and filled with pains A wound, salted A bullet, And gillotine Ouch Get out, God. Listen, mister listen A couple hours later And my eyes are steady getting misty Filled with sweat and bears No blood yet Stings my eyes So you know I ain't been eating right And eyes o. Irish Hash and cabbage Checks to cash And slight advantage God help us all If the brim of the hat is dripping And I'm gripping these quarts as I sleep And thinking of Jimmy Croissants fresher baked in the oven Then somebody better love my son Before I go and end the world And pull the plug I ain't got nothing left for em but diamonds! I left forums unanswered I started a lot of unfinished problems But the thing is, I'm almost sure they're already solved Considering as alcoholism's a solvent It cams hurt the hard boards And mother drives The tears are filled with sweat And fountains Somebody else should call it in I'm in so much trouble with the network Thanks a lot, you algorithm fucking Cocksuck programmers Now my heart hurts And soul is vanished How hard do I have to run To go and catch her I looked 15 years into the past And found a wheeelbarrow and basket I have got to get out of here I have got to get out of here Here the coroner comes for Debbie Cadaver But I'm still her, huh Aren't I? Run! You fucking Irish bastard Perfectly tan and yet still, stark white Perfectly golden and still, I'm on numbers Perfectly parished, And still I went backwards A wedding or funeral? All catholic, no services No difference at all And still Nothings worse than Indifference I'm in so much trouble with the network Be king in the nexrophiliac And still I left the golden metropolis For nothing but a metro card and Simple segregative diversity tactics I wanted the heartland! Still, Irish bastard Wish hash and cabbage I've got to get out of here Pushing a basket Abandonment And Fatal attraction You can't sell me anything If I can't buy it Recovery day But I don't feel like it Muscles tired, I'm elastic Send them to the band camp (White lion) I'm elastic Twists and turns and I'm elastic Double up, Double up I'm elastic Twists and turns and There's vampires Don't feel like it Double up double up I'm elastic Take a lesson This is tragic Double up double up I promise, it is personal not business It's professional, no promises now On the radio tower Spread it out Or just hijinx it I mix drinks with hindsight I'm elastic Lesson learned and Twists and turns Between the fireman and the super Someone left a stench And an energy marker in my room That left me clawing at my “Do not touch” money And it hit below the belt. It was all God's comedy, But not in the least funny, I knew I didn't like the super really for whatever reason But even after he left to check the Fire defectors His stench lingered over the smell of the forgotten smoke And I woke up from a nightmare As if I'd lost control When normally, I know imm dreaming with Enough time to change things Before they spiral out of control— And the worst part, I didn't remember the dream at all besides Waking up, finally at the end Realizing it was a dream and telling myself It was okay, because now I could just wake up But it wasn't okay, and I blamed the super And whatever he brought with him For lingering in my space Which didn't really feel like mine anymore, anyways, Because the neighbor was evil as they come And they were always playing mind games in the building And the motorcycles And really I deserved better But I couldn't afford it And because I couldn't afford it The demons were always lurking Trying to penetrate my space And they did, that day And it was God's comedy But it wasn't funny And it lingered And the nightmares And the motorcycles was a years long nightmare indeed And hey, At least I got some new music. I realized my show might be the only place my “remixes” might ever see the light of day or have ears other than mine; I couldn't afford the permissions and licenses for most of the music I wanted to remix— nor did I have the energy or the funds to secure the means to come across them. And so, it might have been a good idea to start working; I emptied my bank accounts with intention, with a kind of understanding that it didn't matter at all anyway. Kind of nothing mattered, because there was no real money involved— and I had, in fact stumbled upon the opportunity in a suicidal spiral of desperation, being somewhat hopelessly lost at random in what I thought was Williamsburg; it wasn't, I had apparently walked around Brooklyn in an extremely large loop for about an hour before I realized I might be going in the wrong direction because I couldn't see Manhattan anymore, I didn't care. It was probably 77 or something degrees but with the New York humidity it felt like 90, and I was wearing a head to toe full body sauna suit trying to recover from the end of the month's rations of beans, rice, and literally whatever the fuck I really wanted, because it was really also whatever the fuck I could afford without running out of food for the month before my card reloaded. Thinking I should just die, and in the same very moment stumbling across an opportunity that wasn't nessarily a job, but could easily lead to one— and so, after paying my internet bill, I plunged and poured nearly every last cent I had left over Into what? Idk it just ends there. Goddamnit. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

“The Golden Rule” I finally did it. I finally set my house on fire. You don't know. I've lived there two years; I just now did it. This amazes me that just how. Here's how it happened. So I'm in my kitchen, cooking. I just worked out for like, three hours so I'm cooking everything. Everything. I put the soup on, but by the end of the workout, I'm not sure the soup is going to be enough. So, I thought to myself, “You know what, I'm going to make some tortilla chips” A few days before I made the dopest salsa. I couldn't get enough of it. It was the best salsa ever. I was like “gosh” so every day, Tacos for three days, Just to put the salsa on top, And on the fourth day, I'm like “Nah, soup.” So, I put the soup on and I go workout, But the soup, you see has roasted vegetables in in, You know? So what I had done was, I had roasted the vegetables on a pan, but the pan is a little worn, so i put them on parchment paper… … Yeah, but here's what really happened, Is I took the vegetables off of the roasting pan, and I was about to throw away the parchment paper, And I thought “Wait. No! There's still so much oil on this!” And I didn't want to be wasteful. So I turned the oven back on, And I took out the tortillas I had— There were four of them— I took out two, Just in case I wanted two actual tacos later— Cause you know, I really love this fucking salsa. So good. Anyway— I take out two of the four tortillas, And I quarter them, And I flip them in the leftover oil from the roasted vegetables, And I'm thinking— This is going to be so good Roasted vegetable flavored Corn tortilla chips— I brush on a little bit of coconut oil, I drop some lemon juice on them, I put on a little salt— And I put them in the oven— I turn the oven to broil, And then I start the dishes; Dishes takes about ten minutes, This should take about ten minutes— So I start doing the dishes, And cleaning up, And putting them away, And this is the most ironic shit in the world, I start thinking to myself Particularly about this comedian that I like And I start thinking to myself “Wow, so you're a comedian; Comedian things happen to you; You're a real comedian. I must not be a real comedian— Because comedy things don't happen to me.” And right at that moment, I just so happen to look into the oven, And all I see is flames. Like, open flames. Big, flames. So I open the oven; More flames. I'm like “Oh no.” So now I'm panicking because I've never had an apartment with a gas stove before, So I don't know how quickly flames turn into massive explosions. And it's honestly funny how suicidal I am, Until I see open flames and I'm like “No, but— not like THIS!” So I freak out, I hit the breaker. I turn off everything in the place I'm not looking to see which switch is “gas” I turned turned them all off, Click, click, click, click Put on my slip ons, and grab my phone and I'm out the door. And I'm thinking to myself “See this is why you need a phone,” Because honestly sometimes, I don't feel like paying the bill. I feel like having toilet paper, Or soap, Or water— And I just “Whatever” But lately, I've been looking for more work because I like having toilet paper, and soap, and water AND a phone— so I keep the phone on, Which, even in the moment is like “Oh yeah, wow, I have a phone” Like I'm in astonishment at how handy it is because if it's handy for anything, This is it. So I'm out the door, and I'm dialing 911 as I hit the staircase; Whoosh, I'm out the door and in the long before the operator even picks up, And I'm in the lobby, on the phone, and the operator gets the address and I'm just standing there — Mind you, I didn't even grab my keys on the way out, so I'm assuming the door is locked, And I think to myself about the size of the flames and the fact that they were coming from the oven which is connected to a gas line which is connected to the rest of the building, so I don't know how any of that stuff works, And then I start thinking. “Should I warn my neighbors?” I hate my neighbors. Or rather, My neighbors hate me. But I'm thinking of the flames and the smoke and the danger and how, if it was me, I'd want to know if the apartment next door to mine was on fire and possibly about to explode. You know; the golden rule. So I'm like “fuck it” I don't get along with these people but I don't mean to blow them up. So I run back upstairs, And I knock on their doors; Not everyone's doors, just the two doors in what I assume would be the blast area. I knock on their doors, And only one of them answers— The one that answers is, of course, The one that's been stalking me. So this is ironic at least twice, now, And she answers the door, And I explain to her the situation “Look, my apartment's on fire whatever The fire department's on the way, I'm locked out…” As I turn the knob, I realize, I'm not locked out. My door didn't even lock, I didn't notice it didn't lock, I just ran, So I'm like “Nevermind I just wanted you to know the fire departments on the way and not to panic” And she just gives me this look With her wombat face —she has wombat face. She looks like a— Like a rabid wombat. Like a— Like a really fucked up, Possum. Like a wombat-possum. And we've been having some—problems. She's my stalker. She's been stalking me; And I've noticed so, It's really awkward that I'm at her door warning her like “hey, don't freak out or anything, the fire department's coming by” And she just looks at me with those beady little eyes and a shrug that tells me If her apartment was about to explode She'd just let me incinerate. , “Whatever, fuck you.” I know I'm a good person, Cause I would want to know— so I let you know There may be danger here! Whatever. So she's like “whatever”, and shuts the door like a normal, sane person Cause my problem with her is that For the past year Every time I take a bath or shower, This wombat looking rabid possum bitch Slams the door. Not just her door, The stairwell exit door, Which is located adjacent to my door. So every time I take a bath for the last year— BOOM. BOOM. Fuck that. Theres's more to the story but you get the point. She's a white supremacist wombat with a door slamming habit. That's that story, this is another story. So anyway. And I just realized, I'm not locked out at all, and so I go back into the apartment not knowing if it contained itself, or if it got worse— I don't know, the whole place is just filled with smoke, and then the super, Who I also called and also don't like, Shows up before the fire department, And he comes in, and he opens the oven, and just— Plumes of smoke— Then the fire dudes rush in, I'm like, “Oh God” I just worked out for three hours and looked wombat girl right in the face, Like, right in the eyes Now I probably look like a wombat That shit is contagious, Fuck that. “”let me put on some sunglasses” So I put on some sunglasses, And three fire dudes walk in in full gear with canisters and shit, Masks; The whole thing. But the super already opened the oven, There's no more flames, No more fire, Just smoke— And a bunch of mad crispy Ashes. No tortilla chips, Just— Ashes, on a cookie sheet. Just— Ashes, But still, smoke everywhere so they have to follow the procedure, And the procedure is, Moving all my shit by dragging it across the floor; Ok, that's cool, I guess, Boom. One of them starts running water down the sink, Alright, Another one just rips down the curtains. I'm like “That's hot.” (It was so hot) Slides back the couch, opens the window. I'm astonished that something as simple as a man pulling down your curtain rod with no regards to giving a fuck can be so exhilirating. I'm like “oh!” Then after all that, They're just standing there. Just, In full gear, Looking at the oven like “Well, that's it.” They're like “K. Bye.” I'm like “that's it?” They're like “Yeah” I'm like l, “I don't need to do anything?” They're like “Just open the window, keep the door open till the smoke comes out” I'm like “that's all” They're like “yeah” I'm like “my bad.” They all just shrug like “whatever” Like, in unison, shrugging like to give no fucks at all, Still in full gear. The only thing I can be sure of is that all three of them are hot and if the super wasn't there, I'd inidiate a gangbang. Almost positive. But five's a crowd, or whatever, so I'm like “Well, thanks guys, sorry about that” and they all just leave, almost disappointed like there wasn't a burning building to actually show up to. I'm just relieved I didn't explode and the solace I can take from this is that I'm a good person. my neighbor is stalking me cause she has NOTHING ELSE to do. That bitch was AT the door, never leaves. She's miserable. She looks like a wombat And 3. Three firefighters entered and exited the apartment head to toe in full gear with heavy ass metal canisters and did not slam a single door. FUCK YOU HOE. Very respectful servicemen. I had called the landlord about her harassing me in the shower and the bathtub. You know she's doing it every bath and every shower for over a year she's doing it on purposes I started making formal complaints; The property management's like “Are you sure she's doing it on purpose?” THREE Fully grown men decked head to toe in full fireproof outfits, helmets, and masks entered and exited the building on one day and in ten minutes more quietly than she has at any given point over the last year. THREE FULLY GROWN MEN. WITH CANISTERS. If they can enter and exit with less noise than a 150 lb wombat— She's doing it on purpose. End of story. Well, end of that story, Or like two stories but Here's the end of this one. So finally after the dust settles And I hit the gym again Because nothing is a better preworkout Than adrenialine, (Especially when you've already had preworkout) I come back and now I'm extra famished and the Amazon guy came in all that fuss And now I have canola oils So I've been soaking some potato wedges And I decide, “Hey, I got wedges. Let's do that” So I heat the oil, and as I'm heating the oil, I realize… I still have two tortillas. Maybe that was the whole point! I'm being a pussy, making tortilla chips, In the oven, on parchment paper, Like a little bitch! So I'm like “Alright, cool, When these wedges are done, the oil should be the perfect temperature for the tortilla chips To be made the old fashioned way The RIGHT way!” So I wait, I do the wedges, and I drop the tortillas, And I wait for them to get golden brown, I drain the oil, I put them out to cool; I do the dishes while they cool, whatever, I grab the salsa container out of the fridge, I take the bowl into the studio so I can watch YouTube while I enjoy my chips, I plop down, Turn on the you tube I open the salsa container— And it's empty. There's no more salsa. I put the container in the fridge empty. Silly me. “You're a comedian, comedy things happen to you.” Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison. You might recognize me. You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Or a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world I'm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is The elevator music Of my ascension The attitude of attraction, Gratitude, it's so unusual Fight to lose, In a room full of fools; The fuse, and the matchbox— Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag, You just have to ask, actually But there's only one To get out of the coffin, Or “Box” as they called it, That she was locked up in Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison. You might recognize me. You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy. If I put my heart inside a box; Maybe I'd forget how cold it was Or how far you are Or how much it hurts There's no harm in God, If there ever was one Then, reality sets in: God was my only friend No armor on, I'm at the end Or a long, long walk I'm off again And on again Nothing's impossible— stop at the alter and scoff a bit I left my coat on, I left my heart on the rooftop, A sacrifice, love At the alter, I wonder a song, Or a sonnet A song, No, what's wrong? Something off a bit God, I woke up in a coffin once Isn't that awful The rest or the song wrote itself, At the alter No, I can't stop and talk Got to get off, Cause I've never been on I've never belonged in the world I'm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is The elevator music Of my ascension The attitude of attraction, Gratitude, it's so unusual Fight to lose, In a room full of fools; The fuse, and the matchbox— Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag, You just have to ask, actually But there's only one To get out of the coffin, Or “Box” as they called it, That she was locked up in Futile—amusing— Tunes from a hatchback Keys in the lockbox What you want, From the problem solver? That's enough; Now she's out of the box In just socks, And they laugh at her— But also wonder Where her shoes might have gone to I won't got no business in the business I unplug the plug because I'm finish Just because my skin they think I'm niggas But that disrespect because I isn't You disrespected me Put the emphasis in neglect Synthesis? Sympathies Put some respect on my name Before I put some facts in these flames Making me famous But you don't play me Picking up packages Trying to play me I am the president bitch Not the lady Okay Scratch my back With a metal spatula Take a step back, this is not your world Take a step back While I skip forward This is snitch territory; You should be very aware of me Beware If that's didn't scare you Just stay right there I'm in weight class: BEAR Flying first class air with howling thunderous winds and much hacking, “TIMOTHY THE GIANT CAT” dislodges a Omg dislodges a what? I have no idea that's all that was there. omg. My mother must've known something about me I couldn't have; My mother must have given me her monster But this monster knows better. Even just the profile is an irritant for now; Unsure, meditterenian, Overgrown pantheons turned to ruins What happened was harder, Turbulence I've been good, Golden even But this computer wants me gone And now, Aggravated Assault with a program Who would have thought the forth world war would be fought With our own thoughts? No one. Hm. Even just a glimpse and imm angrier than I've ever been. Still something creeps like the Harvard doctor Or the burning fire Or the flicker of just a thought A meadowlark and still Vines at the bottom of the spring In the pantheon Rhythms and rythms and Now I remember why were blowing up the counterparts Shut up, And pay your taxes Nothing to see here, bottoms up. But it's only 9 and half a clock Remember Sonny, would ya Now we're all obscure in the shadowbox Fix you up a seller Shortly temple soda Surely something lingers Sure enough The forest, And the father And the omen And the harpist And the seeker And the shadow And the wonder And the alter Therefore, Who art thou Therefore, who, Arthur What a wonderful tragedy, Mr. Lin He said, “I thought you'd though so” I say, “Prayers answered and nothing less Than just in the nick of time, For nickel backs And Pennie's picked up, Now in capsules Who you are, I falter But nevertheless A songbird” What a vow, God. I try to keep my promises But my face is still wilted And awkward I take those punches Just about as well As the bag I've become Downstairs, embankments And more shadow boxes Gift, valentines And then now By Fourth of July I should be quite the disappointment To just about everyone Who even had a thought about her There are no more colors Just wounds, And salt shakers, Garlic and Slamming doors Art throbs And heart connesuiers And curators Existential crisis And inward turmoil Oil on canvas Blood spills Long before it ever boils Cauldrons Candle marks Ought, with my eye out Out, with the harpists! I put my eye on, Dose now, Flicker flames, Shadow box Goodnight drunken soldier Pity this, I want to sleep, but wither I want to weep, but am watched I must be under some kind of… Umbrella. I bust me under some kind of — Possession. I must be under surveillance The Devil's in the neighbor The proof is in the pudding I want to punch the possum Or wombat Or what you would call a rodent Dressed as some dumb girl I'm sure she gets paid by the poem To poke and prod But I've written symphonies next door While she plants the seeds of the devil's words And still tries to force conformity In a neighborhood riddled with disease Of which includes her Poor habits and lack of personality No vibration after all But I've hydrated perfectly And circumstances permit, Again, I've written symphonies and never ending sagas in the bathtub While you threaten to pull the plug And put the light out I beg you to watch me Rip my veins apart with box cutters And razorblades Then again, Probably with glee, The whites would watch Another black in agony They seem to really like that Then again The blacks, the shadows Cursed beats Seem to rip each other into pieces As if for entertainment or otherwise Watch this They seem to hate each other moredoes Anybody else actually hate them also And therefore I watch pitifully and become Respectfully disengaged As I am sorted into Creatures of the agony, abyss and wisdom old A tale as old as time and still Something forgotten, Even still It is a man's war, And us as women are just Objects, Then whatever lurks next door is more An empty body or a shell Than ever more a woman was That was my husband you stole from the office. Fucking dumb whore. Then again; What never was owned Then cannot be stolen See golden brotherhood, Crepes and popes, Sacred pipes Cerulean, And keeping her out of our concepts And gardens Planting seeds of choking mongrels And still here We dance in the meadowlarks song And the chosen fountain The blue rays of sun, And the wonder's bow and arrow Again, I call? Well, again I wake As lover does not call But yet I to answer with a song of words And heart of such A song of one to call for But nothing lays more secret then These eyes and filled with pains A wound, salted A bullet, And gillotine Ouch Get out, God. Listen, mister listen A couple hours later And my eyes are steady getting misty Filled with sweat and bears No blood yet Stings my eyes So you know I ain't been eating right And eyes o. Irish Hash and cabbage Checks to cash And slight advantage God help us all If the brim of the hat is dripping And I'm gripping these quarts as I sleep And thinking of Jimmy Croissants fresher baked in the oven Then somebody better love my son Before I go and end the world And pull the plug I ain't got nothing left for em but diamonds! I left forums unanswered I started a lot of unfinished problems But the thing is, I'm almost sure they're already solved Considering as alcoholism's a solvent It cams hurt the hard boards And mother drives The tears are filled with sweat And fountains Somebody else should call it in I'm in so much trouble with the network Thanks a lot, you algorithm fucking Cocksuck programmers Now my heart hurts And soul is vanished How hard do I have to run To go and catch her I looked 15 years into the past And found a wheeelbarrow and basket I have got to get out of here I have got to get out of here Here the coroner comes for Debbie Cadaver But I'm still her, huh Aren't I? Run! You fucking Irish bastard Perfectly tan and yet still, stark white Perfectly golden and still, I'm on numbers Perfectly parished, And still I went backwards A wedding or funeral? All catholic, no services No difference at all And still Nothings worse than Indifference I'm in so much trouble with the network Be king in the nexrophiliac And still I left the golden metropolis For nothing but a metro card and Simple segregative diversity tactics I wanted the heartland! Still, Irish bastard Wish hash and cabbage I've got to get out of here Pushing a basket Abandonment And Fatal attraction You can't sell me anything If I can't buy it Recovery day But I don't feel like it Muscles tired, I'm elastic Send them to the band camp (White lion) I'm elastic Twists and turns and I'm elastic Double up, Double up I'm elastic Twists and turns and There's vampires Don't feel like it Double up double up I'm elastic Take a lesson This is tragic Double up double up I promise, it is personal not business It's professional, no promises now On the radio tower Spread it out Or just hijinx it I mix drinks with hindsight I'm elastic Lesson learned and Twists and turns Between the fireman and the super Someone left a stench And an energy marker in my room That left me clawing at my “Do not touch” money And it hit below the belt. It was all God's comedy, But not in the least funny, I knew I didn't like the super really for whatever reason But even after he left to check the Fire defectors His stench lingered over the smell of the forgotten smoke And I woke up from a nightmare As if I'd lost control When normally, I know imm dreaming with Enough time to change things Before they spiral out of control— And the worst part, I didn't remember the dream at all besides Waking up, finally at the end Realizing it was a dream and telling myself It was okay, because now I could just wake up But it wasn't okay, and I blamed the super And whatever he brought with him For lingering in my space Which didn't really feel like mine anymore, anyways, Because the neighbor was evil as they come And they were always playing mind games in the building And the motorcycles And really I deserved better But I couldn't afford it And because I couldn't afford it The demons were always lurking Trying to penetrate my space And they did, that day And it was God's comedy But it wasn't funny And it lingered And the nightmares And the motorcycles was a years long nightmare indeed And hey, At least I got some new music. I realized my show might be the only place my “remixes” might ever see the light of day or have ears other than mine; I couldn't afford the permissions and licenses for most of the music I wanted to remix— nor did I have the energy or the funds to secure the means to come across them. And so, it might have been a good idea to start working; I emptied my bank accounts with intention, with a kind of understanding that it didn't matter at all anyway. Kind of nothing mattered, because there was no real money involved— and I had, in fact stumbled upon the opportunity in a suicidal spiral of desperation, being somewhat hopelessly lost at random in what I thought was Williamsburg; it wasn't, I had apparently walked around Brooklyn in an extremely large loop for about an hour before I realized I might be going in the wrong direction because I couldn't see Manhattan anymore, I didn't care. It was probably 77 or something degrees but with the New York humidity it felt like 90, and I was wearing a head to toe full body sauna suit trying to recover from the end of the month's rations of beans, rice, and literally whatever the fuck I really wanted, because it was really also whatever the fuck I could afford without running out of food for the month before my card reloaded. Thinking I should just die, and in the same very moment stumbling across an opportunity that wasn't nessarily a job, but could easily lead to one— and so, after paying my internet bill, I plunged and poured nearly every last cent I had left over Into what? Idk it just ends there. Goddamnit. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Daniel Moore – May, 16, 1975 Rio Grande - So Good To Be Free John Renbourn - Seven Sleepers Hazel Dickens & Alice Girrard - Mama's Gonna Stay Matthews Southern Comfort - Mare, Take Me Home Herb Pedersen - Fair and Tender Ladies Ro Ro - Meet At The Water

Send us a text00:00 - Intro00:55 - SpaceX Soars to $400B Valuation01:46 - Revolut Banks on $65B Valuation Boost02:37 - Groq Chips In at $6B Valuation03:42 - Mistral AI Storms to $1B+ Raise04:41 - Harmonic AI Tunes Up to $875M Valuation05:36 - xAI Unleashes Grok 4 at PhD-Level Smarts07:32 - X's Yaccarino Exits After X Merger08:19 - Perplexity AI Launces Browser09:37 - OpenAI Browser?, Competes With Chrome10:48 - Shein Threads $50B IPO Hurdles11:51 - Epic Games Levels Up Antitrust Victory12:58 - Hugging Face Robots Out $5.3B Valuation

Realistically, there could only be one topic this week. Arguably, the most important event in all of Metaldom just went down in the form of the Back To The Beginning fest. The line up was a Who's Who in the genre. Most importantly, the world witnessed the final sets from Ozzy Osbourne and Black Sabbath. It was an all day PPV extravaganza that had us glued to the screen. So we do a deep dive into the whole event; set by set, highlight by highlight. What was your highlight? In our "News, Views and Tunes", we celebrate "Return of the Living Dead" Day and the National Day of Rock n Roll. Musically, we crank some Trouble, Lucifer's Friend, Nefarious, Pig Pen, serpent Rider and we introduce Australia's Thraxas in our "Indie Spotlight". Horns Up!!!  

St Georges School - George Top5 Fleetwood Mac with NO Full Tunes

Country, Indie, Dubstep, Electro Dance, Rock, Hip Hop, Rap and Soul, from musicians of the Metis, Lakota, Pueblo, Ojibway, Cheroke, Nuu-Chah-Nulth, Mi'kmaq, Cree, Diné, Shoshone and Lil'wat Nations. Brought to you by⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Tunes From Turtle Island⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ and⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Pantheon Podcasts⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. If you like the music you hear, go out and buy/stream some of it. :) All these artists need your support. Tracks on this week's show are: Jacquie Daniels - Spirit Of The West Mato Wayuhi - The Sunroof Song Savage Instinct - Big RupturE Ailani - No Fool Tchutchu - Lightning Blood Evan Redsky - Cosmic Carousel Brothers Wilde - All Night Tsimka & Michael Red - Jungle Sea Raymond Sewell - Sweet Maggie Nucky Jmc & Ashley Rae - Red River Dancing Biz Nico - Dancing On The Ceiling Ryan LittleEagle - Ride Bear Grease & Lightingcloud - Hopeless Roundie Yosuf & Darksiderz & CGK - Hollow Def-i & Maka 9 & A-F-R-O & Eligh & Swamburger & Seuss Mace - Gathering Of MCs Choppers Dora The Explorer & Nick Jr & Taboo - Melodia Russell Wallace and Snukwa7 - Cedar Hat All songs on this podcast are owned by the artist(s) and are used for educational purposes only. All songs can be found for purchase or streaming wherever you get your great music. Please pick up these amazing tracks and support these artists. More info on the show ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠here

Send us a textOn this episode we discuss the Ozzy tribute, hear new music from Foo Fighters and Stryper, play MixTape and climb the Wall of Tunes for one of O'Brien's favorite bands from the 80s. Oh, and we imagine playing Mario with Whitney Houston. #ozzy #stryper #journeyhttps://www.facebook.com/obrienanddoug/ https://instagram.com/obrien_and_doug

Dr Kirsten Zemke phones into the studio to have a yarn with Annabel and Callum about jazz scat vocals and is evolution this morning on Travelling Tunes!  Playlist: Dizzy Gillespie - Oop-Pop-A-Da (1947-1994 Remastered) Tania María - Yatra – Ta (1981) Mark Murphy - Bebop Lives (Boplicity) (2015)  

Dr Kirsten Zemke phones into the studio to have a yarn with Annabel and Callum about jazz scat vocals and is evolution this morning on Travelling Tunes!  Playlist: Dizzy Gillespie - Oop-Pop-A-Da (1947-1994 Remastered) Tania María - Yatra – Ta (1981) Mark Murphy - Bebop Lives (Boplicity) (2015)  

Today I'll be sharing a bit about Tess's favorite thing to watch.

Hearts broken over the tragedy in Texas. Char and Kurt tell you all about "Tunes For Texas"--Jonny Nomad's charity event to help.   

It's Day 2 of WeWow Summer Week! Dennis and Reggie find Guy Raz working in his vegetable garden, plus an encore episode, “Googly Eyed Guy!” Originally aired 6/18/24.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

It's Day 2 of WeWow Summer Week! Dennis and Reggie find Guy Raz working in his vegetable garden, plus an encore episode, “Googly Eyed Guy!” Originally aired 6/18/24.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

This episode covers2/3's Adventure (Live) by Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra with Wynton MarsalisThree Little Pigs by Green JellÿThree Piece Band (Live) by DboyWebsite: https://redcircle.com/shows/two-tunes-podcastInstagram: https://instagram.com/twotunespodcast?igshid=13gpurxc3bf2qDiscord: https://discord.gg/eYMwBuJ6GeRSS Feed: https://feeds.redcircle.com/baeeceec-9527-475d-85b5-d9da2eea19d3E-mail: twotunespodcast@gmail.comSupport this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/two-tunes-podcast/exclusive-content

Dive into the underground metal scene as we unearth hidden gems from the depths of social media algorithms. From the thrash-infused sounds of Tyrannicide to the gothic metal stylings of Fae Fatale, our musical journey takes an exciting turn when we discover I-Scream, a Japanese metal band whose synchronized two-stepping and blend of hardcore with J-pop influences left us thoroughly impressed.Between headbanging sessions, we share personal stories, including Jason's weekend adventures DJing at a wedding where the groom requested Slayer as the closing song (proving metal fans truly are everywhere). We also tackle the ongoing controversy surrounding autograph hunters who stalk celebrities at airports – a practice we find deeply disrespectful to performers who deserve basic courtesy, especially when they're exhausted from travel.The conversation shifts to gaming as we discuss the upcoming Nintendo Switch 2, raising concerns about Nintendo's strict policies that could potentially "brick" modded systems and the industry's movement away from true ownership toward cloud-based services. What happens when you pay hundreds of dollars for games but don't truly own them?Throughout it all, our unfiltered style creates an authentic listening experience that feels like hanging out with friends who aren't afraid to share their genuine opinions. Whether you're a metalhead seeking new bands, a gamer worried about the future of the industry, or simply someone who appreciates honest conversation, this episode delivers with our signature blend of humor, insight, and occasional profanity.Send us a text message and let us know how awesome we are! (Click the link)!Support the show'Beavis and Butt-head' Cover art created by Joe Crawford

A look back at some favourite songs from the first half of 2025, from neo-classical and jazz to psych-rock and dream-pop. Visit https://theam.ca for the full 130+ playlist, or enjoy this condensed version to start your week right.Playlist: Black Taffy - DansesViviane Audet - BarlicocoJelena Ćirić, Snorri Hallgrímsson, Cécile Lacharme, Oliver Patrice Weder - Green GrassVioleta Vicci, Ben Morales Frost - Forest BathingHollie Kenniff, featuring Anna Phoebe - The Way of the Wind - ReworkT. Gowdy - CouranteThe World Next Door - Velocity FieldGustaf Ljunggren, Emil de Waal - BoldeMemory Pearl, featuring Sam Prekop - Music Travel IIIPolypores - Lungs and LimbsThe Baker Fields - Did He Ever See the BluebellsBuildings and Food - Park ProvinceHermitess - In That CountryFelbm - Spring vAaron Fisher, Rob Stephenson - Abyss of the BirdsImmersion, SUSS - State of MotionBrown Fang - Light No FiresKogane, Thomas White - porcelain frogsIan Boddy, Harald Grosskopf - DiodengesangJairus Sharif - MawuPhi-Psonics - New PyramidRay Barbee - Unconscious PatternsMess Esque - Light ShowroomAnika - OxygenOra Cogan - The NorthBrown Spirits - Magenta HazeHeal Mura - More Pillows Than HeadsBlack Market Karma - LooperFull Moon Bummer - Travelling PlantJonathan Personne - Nuage noirLoaded Honey - LessonsPersica 3 - Hold OnBASIC - Dream City

Tunes: Jason Rouse: Napoleon's Grand March Stables: Napoleon's Grand March Angus MacKay: Up and Waur them A' Willie, The Haughs of Cromdale, Robert Miller: The Highland Brigade at Waterloo, Lochiel's March (Pibroch of Donald Dhu) John Gow: The Highland Brigade at Waterloo Donald MacLeod: The Highland Brigade at Waterloo John McLachlan: The Highland Brigade at Waterloo David Glen: The Highland Brigade at Waterloo, The Highland Brigade at Waterloo (2nd setting), Pibroch of Donald Dhu, Donald MacDonald: Piobaireachd Dhomnuill Duibh (Black Donald Balloch of the Isles), John Grant: The Gathering of the Clans, Readings: Henry John Thoroton Hildyard: Historical record of the 71st regiment Highland light infantry, from its formation in 1777, under the title of the 73rd, or McLeod's highlanders, up to the year 1876 C.A. Malcolm: The Piper in Peace and War Allan MacDonald Thesis: The Relationship Between Pibroch and Gaelic Song: Its Implications on the Performance Style of the Pibroch Urlar +X+ Checkout Jason's Album Heavy Metal on Bandcamp: https://pipingrouse.bandcamp.com/album/miotal-trom-heavy-metal Be sure to come check out the Zoom Tune Session Thursday at 6:30 PM US Central time: https://und.zoom.us/j/95809246209 Here is the Facebook Even for the Session: https://www.facebook.com/share/1EHr9pYUKD/ Sources: +X+X+X+ Late 19thc: Napoleon's March From Henry Stables Cumbria Manuscript by way of Chris Partington and Traditional Tune Archive: https://tunearch.org/wiki/Napoleon%27s_March +X+X+ 1854: Up and Waur Them A' Willie from Angus MacKay's The Pipers' Assistant https://digital.nls.uk/special-collections-of-printed-music/archive/105007223 +X+X+ The Highland Brigade at Waterloo 1858: The Highland Brigade at Waterloo From Miller Manuscript +X+ 1817: The Highland Brigade at Waterloo from Gow's 4th Repository https://imslp.org/wiki/Gow%27sRepositoryoftheDanceMusicofScotland(Gow%2C_Niel) +X+ 1854: The Highland Brigade at Waterloo from John McLachlan's The Piper's Assistant https://digital.nls.uk/special-collections-of-printed-music/archive/105010534 +X+ 1870s: The Highland Brigade at Waterloo from the Glen Edinburgh Collection (Book 2) https://ceolsean.net/content/EdinColl/EdinColl_TOC.html +X+ 1890s: The Highland Brigade at Waterloo from David Glen's Collection of Highland Pipe Music (Book 9) https://ceolsean.net/content/Dglen/Dglen_TOC.html +X+X+X+ Pibroch of Donald Dbhu 1821: Pibroch of Donald Dbhu from Donald MacDonald https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=hdpWAAAAcAAJ&pg=RA1-PA106#v=onepage&q&f=false Check out Alasdair Boyd's Singing on Tobar an Dualchais: https://www.tobarandualchais.co.uk/track/44689?l=en +X+ 1858: Lochiel's March From Robert Miller's Manuscript +X+ 1880s: Pibroch of Donald Dhu from book five of David Glen's Collection of Highland Bagpipe Music https://ceolsean.net/content/Dglen/Dglen_TOC.html +X+ 1840: Donald Dhu, or Lochiel's March from Davie's Caledonian Repository I didn't play this on the episode https://digital.nls.uk/special-collections-of-printed-music/archive/104999413 +X+ 1816: Pibroch of Donald Dubh from Alexander Campbell's Albyn's Anthology (Lyrics by Walter Scott) I didn't play this on the episode https://archive.org/details/albynsanthologyo00camp_0/page/82/mode/2up?view=theater +X+X+X+X+ 1828: The Haughs of Cromdale From Donald MacDonald I didn't play this on the episode https://ceolsean.net/content/McDlight/Book02/Book02%2020.pdf +X+ 1844: The Haughs of Cromdale From Angus MacKay's The Pipers' Assistant https://ceolsean.net/content/PipeAsst/Book02/Book02%209a.pdf +X+X+ 1920: The Gathering of the Clans by PM John Grant from “The Pipes of War” a Collection of Original Pipe Tunes Compose during the Great War 1914-1918 https://ceolsean.net/content/Pwar/Book01/Book01%2014a.pdf +X+X+X+X+X+ Readings: George Clarke: 1876: Excerpt from Historical record of the 71st regiment Highland light infantry, from its formation in 1777, under the title of the 73rd, or McLeod's highlanders, up to the year 1876 by Henry John Thornton Hildyard https://archive.org/details/historicalrecord00hildiala 'Anecdote of the bravery of the Scotch piper of the 71st Highland Regiment, at the Battle of Vimiero', 1808 https://collection.nam.ac.uk/detail.php?acc=1971-02-33-533-12 Music Division, The New York Public Library. "The Highland Piper, George Clarke" New York Public Library Digital Collections. Accessed July 5, 2025. https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47dc-9cac-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99 +X+ Pipe Major Cameron: 1927: Excerpt from The Piper In Peace And War By C. A. Malcolm, M.A., Ph.D. https://electricscotland.com/history/scotreg/peaseandwar15.htm +X+ 1995: Thesis: The Relationship Between Pibroch and Gaelic Song: Its Implications on the Performance Style of the Pibroch Urlar by Allan MacDonald's https://www.cl.cam.ac.uk/archive/rja14/musicfiles/manuscripts/allanmacdonald/ +X+X+ FIN Here are some ways you can support the show: You can support the Podcast by joining the Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/wetootwaag You can also take a minute to leave a review of the podcast if you listen on Itunes! Tell your piping and history friends about the podcast! Checkout my Merch Store on Bagpipeswag: https://www.bagpipeswag.com/wetootwaag You can also support me by Buying my Albums on Bandcamp: https://jeremykingsbury.bandcamp.com/ You can now buy physical CDs of my albums using this Kunaki link: https://kunaki.com/msales.asp?PublisherId=166528&pp=1 You can just send me an email at wetootwaag@gmail.com letting me know what you thought of the episode! Listener mail keeps me going! Finally I have some other support options here: https://www.wetootwaag.com/support Thanks! Listen on Itunes/Apple Podcasts: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/wetootwaags-bagpipe-and-history-podcast/id129776677 Listen on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/5QxzqrSm0pu6v8y8pLsv5j?si=QLiG0L1pT1eu7B5_FDmgGA

Do you want to play a game? For years, teens have been playing the classic "2 Lies and a Truth" party game. We here at the RAM offices have vast amounts of experiences in Metaldom. Be they as fans at live shows, working as a roadie/stagehand or just everything that goes into creating this very show for the last 17 years. So we though we would put each other to the test and play a few rounds. Hey, we're too old to grow up now. In our "News, Views and Tunes", Aaron shares stories from his recent road trip. Musically, we crank no less than 5 (!) for RAM alum including Crystal Viper, Kickaxe, Death Sentence, Cauldron, Nocturnal Departure, Speed Queen, November Grief and we introduce Greek metallers Drunkard in our "Indie Spotlight". Horns up!!

Tonight we are out of the Penthouse and hanging out a a Tiki Dive bar, it's a bit rough so hopefully my Aloha shirt doesn't get ripped! www.cocktailnation.net   Ixtahuele- Black Sand James  Spencer- The Mysterious Jade Temple of Dahkla Eden Ahbez- Island Girl Gene Rains-Lotus Land Warren Barker- Deep Night The OutI lslandersReturn to Paradise The Hawiians-Tea for Two Waitiki 7- Flower Humming Rex Kona-Wild Orchids Phil Moore-Trade Winds Stolen idols- Invitation Martini Kings- Return To Moorea Ixtahuele-Scene 1-3 Martin Denny- The Enchanted Sea Robert Drasnin-Moorean Moonbeams

Send us a textOn this episode we discuss our recent Syndicate gig, O'Brien's anniversary and upcoming Def Leppard concert, the remastering of Van Halen's Balance album, and the "25 Album Titles That Were Just Begging for Bad Reviews", courtesy of Ultimate Classic Rock. We also play MixTape and climb the Wall of Tunes for a teen idol from the 60s who now plays the blues. #syndicate #vanhalen #dionhttps://www.facebook.com/obrienanddoug/ https://instagram.com/obrien_and_doug

Milly and Tuva'a chatted to Kirsten about Global Village Coffee House music

Welcome to Get Up in the Cool: Old Time Music with Cameron DeWhitt and Friends. This week's friends are Kelly Madewell and Iris Cooke, also known as Lazy Susan! I recorded them last week at Earful of Fiddle in Rodney, MI. Tunes in this episode: * Farewell Trion (0:34) * Cranberry Rock (10:24) * Five Miles from Town (27:46) * I've Endured (Ola Belle Reed original) (36:56) * Trouble in Mind (41:11) * BONUS TRACK: Rock Andy Follow Lazy Susan on Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/lazy.susan.band/) Buy tickets to see Tall Poppy String Band and Never Come Down at Mississippi Studios (https://www.etix.com/ticket/p/67800436/never-come-down-tall-poppy-string-band-portland-mississippi-studios) Support Get Up in the Cool on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/getupinthecool) Send Tax Deductible Donations to Get Up in the Cool through Fracture Atlas (https://fundraising.fracturedatlas.org/get-up-in-the-cool) Sign up at Pitchfork Banjo for my clawhammer instructional series! (https://www.pitchforkbanjo.com/) Schedule a banjo lesson with Cameron (https://www.camerondewhitt.com/banjolessons) Visit Tall Poppy String Band's website (https://www.tallpoppystringband.com/) and follow us on Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/tallpoppystringband/)

IllustrationsLead SheetsPlay AlongsJazz Piano Skills CommunityKeywordsjazz piano, essential skills, improvisation, harmony, melody, rhythm, Lady Be Good, George Gershwin, music education, jazz standardsSummaryIn this episode of Jazz Piano Skills, Dr. Bob Lawrence introduces the essential skills needed for jazz piano, emphasizing the importance of harmony, melody, improvisation, and rhythm. He discusses the seven facts of music that frame these skills and addresses a listener's question about improvisation challenges, particularly with the blues. The episode culminates in a detailed harmonic analysis of George Gershwin's 'Lady Be Good', providing insights into chord changes, voicings, and practice techniques.TakeawaysThe start of a new month means a new tune.Essential jazz skills include harmony, melody, improvisation, and rhythm.Understanding the seven facts of music is crucial for practice.Improvisation is often misunderstood and requires a proper mindset.Notes without rhythm lack musicality.Isolate sound before tackling complex progressions.Keep improvisation simple to build confidence.Listening to various renditions of a tune is essential for learning.Common harmonic progressions are vital for ear training.Utilizing different voicings enhances musical expression.TitlesMastering Jazz Piano SkillsThe Importance of Essential Jazz SkillsSound bites"Tunes illuminate our weaknesses very quickly.""Keep it simple.""Enjoy the sounds of the voicings."Support the show

This week on Country Rap Tunes Podcast, Cory Mo & Kimberly Jones Interview The Cannabis Mogul Himself! Gas House C.E.O. Felix Murry. From The Bottom to Atlanta Club Owner, to Worldwide Mogul in the Cannabis Industry. With brands like "Pluto" & "Scorpious" Felix has taken over the game. This Episode will inspire you to be an innovator & to NEVER STOP GOING. Ep. 17 Season 2 Executive Producer / Host / Engineer: Cory Mo Co-Host: Kimberly Latrice Jones AKA Kimbo Slice Director: Alvin Agarrat (R.I.P.) Producer: Kevin Bryant Production Assistant: Kiannah McClure Camera Operator: Jax FOR MUSIC, MERCH & CULTURE GOTO - www.CountryRapTunes.com #CoryMo #CountryRapTunes #KimboSlice #CountryRapTunesPodcast #KimJones #Interview Buy Merch: https://countryraptunes.com/collections/all Book Studio Time With Cory Mo: https://corymo.com SUBSCRIBE to get the latest Country Rap Tunes content: https://www.youtube.com/@CountryRapTunesPodcast/featured Listen to the Country Rap Tunes Podcast on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/5pDHtyzFptxhSeIy2U0REf Listen to the Country Rap Tunes Podcast on Apple Podcast: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/country-rap-tunes-podcast/id1736380503   Like Country Rap Tunes on Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/CountryRapTunes/   Follow Country Rap Tunes Podcast on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/countryraptunespodcast/?hl=en Follow Country Rap Tunes on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/countryraptunes/?hl=en Follow Cory Mo on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/corymomusic Follow Cory Mo On Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/corymomusic Follow Country Rap Tunes on Tik Tok: https://www.tiktok.com/@countryraptunes Follow Country Rap Tunes on Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/countryraptunes Follow Cory Mo on Twitter:https://www.twitter.com/corymomusic Follow Kimberly on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kimberlylatricejones   About Country Rap Tunes: Country Rap Tunes is a bi-weekly podcast hosted By: Cory Mo – Grammy Award Winning Music Producer, Songwriter & Mix Engineer & Co-Hosted By: Kimberly Latrice Jones AKA Kimbo Slice - NY Times Best Selling Author, NAACP Nominee, & Founder Of Kimistry Wellness. Every other week Cory & Kim will sit down with Artist, Producers, celebrities and influencers to break down, analyze and discuss the latest the music industry up's & downs, pop culture and everything in-between. Get on the VIP list at Country Rap Tunes NOW and never miss an episode!   SUBSCRIBE NOW! https://www.youtube.com/@CountryRapTunesPodcast/featured

GUEST Dorothy Little Greco ... writer & photographer who lives outside Boston ... The author of "Making Marriage Beautiful," and most recently, “Marriage in the Middle: Embracing Midlife Surprises, Challenges & Joys” … Dorothy & her husband lead marriage workshops/retreats, speak at conferences nationwide. GUEST Dr Charles Camosy … Prof of Medical Humanities at the Creighton Univ School of Medicine … Charlie spent 14 yrs in Fordham Univ’s theology department, & is author of 7 books, inluding “Beyond the Abortion Wars,” and “Resisting Throwaway Culture” … his most recent book is “Bioethics for Nurses: a Christian Moral Vision”. Thinking - and the mastery of your thought’s through prayer … GUEST Frederica Mathewes-Green .. she's the author of "The Jesus Prayer: The Ancient Desert Prayer that Tunes the Heart to God," and "Welcome to the Orthodox Church: an Introduction to Eastern Christianity".See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Another (loose!) theme episode, celebrating the Japanese Rainy Season! Tunes from around the world about the rain, that mention the rain, or that I just loved listening to while walking in the twinkling, atmospheric, beautiful rainy streets of Tokyo & Yokohama. 梅雨特集エピソード！

We have a button in the studio that moves the playlist on our automation system by one song. This morning it is broken. Today we are playing Pride Tunes all day! Jake Paul got heated during an interview and called Piers Morgan a fat ass. Michelle Obama said the reason you don't see her and Barack Together all the time is because they're 60.

Five episodes ago we discussed artists that Metaldom discovered first before mainstream success. Arguably, we left Faith No More off the list. FNM dropped their debut record "We Care A Lot" in '85, well before their "epic" break thru. So that makes this album a great candidate for our on going "40th Anniversary Album Spotlight Series". We get into each track, discuss the impending influence this record would have and dive into the FNM camp. In our "News, Views and Tunes", we celebrate the 50th (!) anniversary of "Jaws" and discuss The Care Bears (!!). Musically, we crank some new Gruesome, God's Hate, First Jason, Slaughter Messiah, Harlot's Webb and introduce Poland's Witch Hound in our "Indie Spotlight". Horns Up!!   

Another quirky mix of songs where the common thread is that they're all used to try to sell you stuff.

Send us a textOn this episode we our participation in an upcoming bar game, our first big gig of the season, the passing of Bad Company guitarist/songwriter Mick Ralphs and we look at new music releases for July. We also hear new music from Motley Crue with Dolly Parton, yup, you read that correctly; and Dean Deleo of STP. O'Brien introduces us to a new band and we play MixTape and climb the Wall of Tunes for a band that will be the first big rock concert for his 17 year old son. #defleppard #badcompanyhttps://www.facebook.com/obrienanddoug/ https://instagram.com/obrien_and_doug

This week Dr Kirsten Zemke chats about international shoegaze!

Welcome to Get Up in the Cool: Old Time Music with Cameron DeWhitt and Friends. This week's friends are Richie Stearns & Rosie Newton, also known as Richie & Rosie! I recorded them back in April at the Baltimore Old Time Music Festival. Tunes in this episode: * Five Miles to Town (0:33) * Hang Me (6:35) * Glory in the Meetinghouse (18:08) * I Am With You Always (Richie & Rosie) (27:02) * BONUS TRACK: Roscoe (Cameron solo, because we ran out of time) Visit Richie & Rosie's website (https://richieandrosie.com/the-latest) Follow them on Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/richieandrosie/?hl=en) Visit Rosie Newton's website (https://www.rosienewtonmusic.com/) Follow Rosie on Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/rosie_newt/?hl=en) Follow Richie Stearns on Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/richie.stearns/?hl=en) Buy tickets to see Tall Poppy String Band and Never Come Down at Mississippi Studios (https://www.etix.com/ticket/p/67800436/never-come-down-tall-poppy-string-band-portland-mississippi-studios) Support Get Up in the Cool on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/getupinthecool) Send Tax Deductible Donations to Get Up in the Cool through Fracture Atlas (https://fundraising.fracturedatlas.org/get-up-in-the-cool) Sign up at Pitchfork Banjo for my clawhammer instructional series! (https://www.pitchforkbanjo.com/) Schedule a banjo lesson with Cameron (https://www.camerondewhitt.com/banjolessons) Visit Tall Poppy String Band's website (https://www.tallpoppystringband.com/) and follow us on Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/tallpoppystringband/)

With his life in tatters, Sam's entrée into Alcoholics Anonymous literally came down to a coin flip. Heads, he'd go AA. Tails, he'd put a bullet through his head. Such an abject choice was the culmination of a life largely ruined by alcoholism. Sam was penniless, homeless, and suffering from untreated clinical depression. His options were running out quicker than the many quarts of booze he consumed each week. Whatever knowledge Sam gained by examining his highly dysfunctional upbringing were not to be discovered until many years into his sobriety, but he admits such knowledge would have availed him nothing at the time. What Sam did discover during his early AA meetings was that his earnest desire to stay sober were hinged entirely on the time and effort he invested in his Program. So with the help of good sponsorship and an unwavering belief in AA's literature, 12 Steps and 12 Traditions, and tireless service work, Sam built a rock-solid foundation on which he has based an AA-centric life over the past 38 years. Sam's brand of sobriety and his no-nonsense approach to sponsoring other men has made him highly sought-after source of guidance and wisdom. I feel that his story will resonate strongly with AA members at all stages of sobriety. He is a serious believer in AA's three legacies of Recovery, Unity, and Service. I've enjoyed knowing Sam for the past 35+ years and hope you will enjoy and benefit from the next hour here on AA Recovery Interviews with my very good friend and AA brother, Sam H. If you've enjoyed my AA Recovery Interviews series, have a listen to “Alcoholics Anonymous: The Story of How More Than One Hundred Men Have Recovered From Alcoholism”. This is the word-for-word, cover-to-cover reading of the First Edition of the Big Book, published in 1939. It's a comfortable, meaningful, and engaging way to listen to the Big Book anytime, anyplace. Have a free listen at Audible, i-Tunes, or Amazon.  I also invite you to check out my latest audio book, Lost Stories of the Big Book, 30 Original Stories Missing from the 3rd and 4th Editions of Alcoholics Anonymous. It's an engaging audiobook I narrated to bring these stories to life for AA members who've never seen them. These timeless testimonials were originally cut to make room for newer stories in the 3rd and 4th Editions. But their vitally important messages of hope are as meaningful today as when they were first published. Many listeners will hear these stories for the first time. Lost Stories of the Big Book is available on Audible, Amazon, and iTunes. It's also available as a Kindle book and in Paperback from Amazon if you'd like to read along with the audio. [Disclaimer: AA Recovery Interviews podcast strictly adheres to AA's 12 Traditions and all General Service Office guidelines for safe-guarding anonymity on-line. I pay all podcast production costs. AA Recovery Interviews and my guests do not speak for or represent AA at-large. This podcast is simply my way of giving back to AA that which has been so freely given to me. – Howard L.]

Need Gyal Tunes?

Unser langjähriger Aussenposten in London, Hanspeter «Düsi» Künzler, meidet die Hitze wie ein Hund. Umso schöner, dass die Spürnase trotzdem auftaucht und neue Tunes aus dem Königreich mit uns teilt. Neben der Londoner Szene gibt es diesmal einen Abstecher nach Wales. +++ PLAYLIST +++ +++ 20-22h: «Düsi»'s neuste Entdeckungen +++ · 20:03 – OWEN AND THE EYEBALLS «MOONHEAD» · 20:09 – SMERZ «BIG CITY LIFE» · 20:11 – GWENNO «Y GATH» · 20:20 – GRUFF RHYS «CHWYN CHWYLDROADOL!» · 20:22 – THE GENTLE GOOD FEAT. ASIN KHAN LANGA «DESERT OF WALES» · 20:31 – GWENIFER RAYMOND «JACK PARSONS BLUES» · 20:35 – BLIND YEO «WHERE HAVE ALL THE PEOPLE GONE?» · 20:41 – FORMAL SPPEEDWEAR «WAIT» · 20:45 – DOG RACE«IT'S THE SQUEEZE» · 20:52 – JADU HEART «YOU'RE DEAD» · 20:56 – THE NEW EVES «HIGHWAY MAN» · 21:04 – PICTURE PARLOUR «WHO'S THERE TO LOVE WITHOUT YOU?» · 21:07 – TROPICAL FUCK STORM «IRUKANDJI SYNDROME» · 21:14 – PSYCHEDELIC PORN CRUMPETS «WEIRD WORLD AWOKE» · 21:17 – KUUNATIC «SYZYGY AND A COUNTER TRUTH» · 21:25 – SHONEN KNIFE «SWEET CANDY POWER» · 21:28 – SAUNA YOUTH «TRANSMITTERS» · 21:33 – LIGHT-SPACE MODULATOR «THE LAST TIME» · 21:38 – STEREOLAB «VERMONA F TRANSISTOR» · 21:46 – TH' FAITH HEALERS «REPTILE SMILE» · 21:51 – STEVE QUERALT FEAT. EMMA ANDERSON «SWISS AIR» · 21:57 – FELL «M.O.S.S.» · 22:09 – AMYL & THE SNIFFERS «SECURITY» · 22:13 – AMYL & THE SNIFFERS «U SHOULD NOT BE DOING THAT» · 22:17 – SPRINTS «ADORE ADORE ADORE» · 22:20 – SPRINTS «DESCARTES» · 22:24 – THE YOUNG GODS «BLACKWATER» · 22:30 – WET LEG «DAVINA MCCALL» · 22:34 – HAIM «ALL OVER ME» · 22:38 – HAIM «TRY TO FEEL MY PAIN» · 22:41 – SAY SHE SHE «CUT & REWIND» · 22:44 – LCD SOUNDSYSTEM «HOME» (TOM SHARKETT EDIT) · 22:51 – L'ECLAIR «MEMPHIS» · 22:54 – YAYA BEY «DREAM GIRL» · 22:56 – JUSTICE & TAME IMPALA «ONE NIGHT/ALL NIGHT»

Welcome to Get Up in the Cool: Old Time Music with Cameron DeWhitt and Friends. This week's friend is Bruce Ling, with special guest guitarist Austin Benzing! I recorded them in May at the Wheatland Traditional Arts Weekend in Remus, Michigan. Tunes in this episode: * Fiddle's Waltz (Bruce Ling original) (0:35) * Crawdad Shuffle (Bruce Ling original) (18:10) * High River Blues (Bruce Ling original) (35:24) * Deep Ellum Blues (49:09) * June Apple (55:37) * BONUS TRACK: Dubuque Visit Hawks and Owls' website (https://www.hawksandowls.com/) Email Bruce: bruce@hawksandowls.com Sign up for Great Lakes Music Camp (https://greatlakesmusic.org/) Follow Austin Benzing on Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/austinbenzingmusic/) Buy tickets to see Tall Poppy String Band and Never Come Down at Mississippi Studios (https://www.etix.com/ticket/p/67800436/never-come-down-tall-poppy-string-band-portland-mississippi-studios) Support Get Up in the Cool on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/getupinthecool) Send Tax Deductible Donations to Get Up in the Cool through Fracture Atlas (https://fundraising.fracturedatlas.org/get-up-in-the-cool) Sign up at Pitchfork Banjo for my clawhammer instructional series! (https://www.pitchforkbanjo.com/) Schedule a banjo lesson with Cameron (https://www.camerondewhitt.com/banjolessons) Visit Tall Poppy String Band's website (https://www.tallpoppystringband.com/) and follow us on Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/tallpoppystringband/)