Podcasts about tunnels

The new metro tunnel in Melbourne has opened and was celebrated on the very first day. More than 70,000 passengers used the new connection in the first 24 hours. The nine-kilometre tunnel runs under the CBD, connects the east and west of the city and doubles Melbourne's underground rail network. 15 billion dollars, almost nine years of construction — this is the biggest modernization of the rail network in 40 years. We jumped into the hustle and bustle on Sunday and were among the first passengers. - Der neue Metro-Tunnel in Melbourne ist eröffnet – und er wurde gleich am ersten Tag gefeiert: Mehr als 70.000 Fahrgäste nutzten die neue Verbindung in den ersten 24 Stunden. Der neun Kilometer lange Tunnel verläuft unter dem CBD, verbindet den Osten und Westen der Stadt und verdoppelt damit das unterirdische Bahnnetz Melbournes. 15 Milliarden Dollar, fast neun Jahre Bauzeit – das ist die größte Modernisierung des Schienennetzes seit 40 Jahren. Wir haben uns am Sonntag ins Getümmel gestürzt und waren bei den ersten Fahrgästen dabei.

Daisy and Lehmo are back and start the show with the All Sports Report as McLaren bungle an almost guaranteed win for Oscar Piastri in Qatar. We want you to pump yourself up with Monday Brag Artist, we announce the winner of our Australian Open Pro-Am competition, and Greg Rust is on the line to discuss what went wrong for McLaren at the Qatar GP, and the controversial finish to the Supercars Championship Grand Final in Adelaide. Off the back off the opening of Melbourne's Metro Tunnel, Lehmo delivers his top 5 tunnels of all time, then Daisy details how he got sucked in to the Black Friday sales. 2010 Australian Open Golf Champion Geoff Ogilvy calls in from Royal Melbourne ahead of this weekend's tournament, and he has some advice for Lehmo for Wednesday's pro-am. Finally, we ask Rush Hour Family member Sarah what she's having for dinner.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Klaar voor een trivia-bad? In Praattafel 318 duiken we in de geschiedenis van 1 december (van Joegoslavië tot de Kanaaltunnel), bespreken we de gevaarlijke illegale slaappillen en de TikTok-fraudeurs. We analyseren de ineenstorting van het Maga-imperium en de bizarre politieke beïnvloeding via X. Verder: de nieuwe medische app die longaanvallen detecteert via je stem, en een poëtisch eerbetoon aan de amoebe! Luister nu!

Ein kleiner Neustart, wie dieser, den dein Computer manchmal nötig hat. Eine Meditation, um sich der Welt außerhalb eines aktuellen dunklen Tunnels bewusst zu werden.

In this episode, Mike dives into the deep and fascinating history of one of Traverse City's most iconic landmarks: the Traverse City State Hospital, also known historically as the Northern Michigan Asylum and the Traverse City Regional Psychiatric Hospital. Recorded on November 28, 2025 (yes, Black Friday—no, he's not out shopping), Mike shares personal stories, local history, and some memories connected to the vast and beautiful grounds of what is now called the Village at Grand Traverse Commons. What Mike Covers in This Episode 🏥 A Brief History of the State Hospital Established in 1881 and opened in 1885. Founded by Dr. James Decker Munson, namesake of Munson Healthcare, alongside Traverse City's “father,” Perry Hanna. Built as a Kirkbride Plan psychiatric hospital—one of four in Michigan and the only one still standing and in active use today (though no longer as a hospital). 🏛️ Architecture & Design Beautiful Victorian-style buildings with spires, long wings, wide porches, and landscaped grounds. Built on the idea of beauty, light, and nature aiding psychiatric healing. Gorgeous gardens supported by on-site greenhouses that provided year-round flowers. 🌳 A Self-Sustaining Community The hospital operated as its own little world: Farms with cattle, pigs, chickens, crops, and orchards Their own power plant Workshops and barns (now part of Historic Barns Park) Many patients (or “clients,” as some staff called them) worked on the grounds as part of daily life. 👨‍⚕️ Mike's Personal Connections Both of Mike's paternal grandparents worked there—his grandmother as an RN and his grandfather as an orderly. He shares memories of neighbors and relatives who worked on the hospital farm and grounds. He also reminisces about staying as a kid in the Perry Hanna House (now a funeral home)—a mansion connected to the founders of the hospital. 🏚️ Abandonment and Renewal After closing in the late 20th century, some buildings fell into disrepair. Today, Building 50 has been reborn with: Condos and apartments Offices Shops, galleries, and restaurants in the lower level, known as The Grotto Other “cottages” are slowly being restored, while tours still visit the untouched and eerie sections. 🚶 Ghost Stories, Tunnels & Tours The site is rich with lore—including tunnels connecting buildings. Mike mentions wanting to have his friend Chris (a local historian and photographer) on the podcast to go deeper into the legends, stories, and details. ☕ Coffee Deliveries at Sunrise Mike also shares a personal memory of delivering bagels to Cup of Joe in Building 50's grotto back when his wife ran a bagel shop—always grabbing a cup of coffee around 5:30 a.m. 🌄 A Landmark on the Hill As you drive into Traverse City from the south (US-31 / M-37), the spires of Building 50 rise out of the trees—a recognizable introduction to town. 🎙️ Coming Up November 29: “Why Podcasting Is So Special” November 30: A special final NaPodPoMo episode to close out the month Thanks for listening, and catch Mike tomorrow for more!

In this episode, Mike dives into the deep and fascinating history of one of Traverse City's most iconic landmarks: the Traverse City State Hospital, also known historically as the Northern Michigan Asylum and the Traverse City Regional Psychiatric Hospital. Recorded on November 28, 2025 (yes, Black Friday—no, he's not out shopping), Mike shares personal stories, local history, and some memories connected to the vast and beautiful grounds of what is now called the Village at Grand Traverse Commons. What Mike Covers in This Episode 🏥 A Brief History of the State Hospital Established in 1881 and opened in 1885. Founded by Dr. James Decker Munson, namesake of Munson Healthcare, alongside Traverse City's “father,” Perry Hanna. Built as a Kirkbride Plan psychiatric hospital—one of four in Michigan and the only one still standing and in active use today (though no longer as a hospital). 🏛️ Architecture & Design Beautiful Victorian-style buildings with spires, long wings, wide porches, and landscaped grounds. Built on the idea of beauty, light, and nature aiding psychiatric healing. Gorgeous gardens supported by on-site greenhouses that provided year-round flowers. 🌳 A Self-Sustaining Community The hospital operated as its own little world: Farms with cattle, pigs, chickens, crops, and orchards Their own power plant Workshops and barns (now part of Historic Barns Park) Many patients (or “clients,” as some staff called them) worked on the grounds as part of daily life. 👨‍⚕️ Mike's Personal Connections Both of Mike's paternal grandparents worked there—his grandmother as an RN and his grandfather as an orderly. He shares memories of neighbors and relatives who worked on the hospital farm and grounds. He also reminisces about staying as a kid in the Perry Hanna House (now a funeral home)—a mansion connected to the founders of the hospital. 🏚️ Abandonment and Renewal After closing in the late 20th century, some buildings fell into disrepair. Today, Building 50 has been reborn with: Condos and apartments Offices Shops, galleries, and restaurants in the lower level, known as The Grotto Other “cottages” are slowly being restored, while tours still visit the untouched and eerie sections. 🚶 Ghost Stories, Tunnels & Tours The site is rich with lore—including tunnels connecting buildings. Mike mentions wanting to have his friend Chris (a local historian and photographer) on the podcast to go deeper into the legends, stories, and details. ☕ Coffee Deliveries at Sunrise Mike also shares a personal memory of delivering bagels to Cup of Joe in Building 50's grotto back when his wife ran a bagel shop—always grabbing a cup of coffee around 5:30 a.m. 🌄 A Landmark on the Hill As you drive into Traverse City from the south (US-31 / M-37), the spires of Building 50 rise out of the trees—a recognizable introduction to town. 🎙️ Coming Up November 29: “Why Podcasting Is So Special” November 30: A special final NaPodPoMo episode to close out the month Thanks for listening, and catch Mike tomorrow for more!

In this Thanksgiving-themed episode of the Buffalo Brews Podcast, Jason and Bri settle in for a laid-back conversation filled with holiday nostalgia, brewing excitement, and upcoming events in the Western New York craft beer scene.They kick off with Thanksgiving traditions—old, new, and evolving—as Bri talks about ditching the classic dinner for a full-on Thanksgiving breakfast featuring a waffle bar and tater-tot casserole. From there, the conversation flows into memories of family gatherings, football, and how holiday customs shift over time.The pair crack open “I Got Your Six,” the American IPA Jason helped brew at First Line Brewing. They dive into the beer's veteran-crafted hop blend, its light citrus profile, and the special can artwork featuring the names of the veteran brewers involved. They also recap the First Line Veterans BBQ with Buffalo Bills long snapper Reid Ferguson, plus some favorite finds from local vendors like Q42 BBQ and I Got Your Six Candle Company.Next, Jason and Bri reveal their next big brewing collaboration for the 2025 Buffalo CollaBEERation Festival, for a video-game-themed beer. As the beers keep flowing—including Big Ditch's new Turkey Trotter Blonde Ale—the hosts wander into running stories: the Buffalo Turkey Trot, Disney races, trail-running surprises, and their own race plans for 2025 (including Tunnels to Towers and the Buffalo Marathon 5K).They wrap up with early holiday spirit, Deck the Halls plans, Buffalo weather gripes, and plenty of laughter as the season ramps up.A cozy, beer-filled, holiday-ready episode perfect for Thanksgiving week.Visit our website at BuffaloBrewsPodcast.comEmail: buffalobrewsPR@gmail.comFollow us on social media.Instagram: @BuffaloBrewsPodcast Facebook: @BuffaloBrewsPodcastTikTok: @BuffaloBrewsYouTube: @BuffaloBrewsPodcastX/Twitter: @BuffaloBrewsPod

s u c k e r p u n c h. The kid will never go to sleep, You know The boy will never rest He'll never do his best, you know He'll never do his best She'll never be the best you know She's never out of bed She'll never see the sun you know ‘It's only in your head' The boy will never drown, you know You know the boy's so cold You might go out for now, you know But you'll go home alone He'll never hit the ground, you know The boy will never rest The boy will just go down, You know As history at best (The girl is staring out the window as the frost comes out their mouths) Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I still don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked for an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer – while the poorer suffer longer. No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded wager No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've been ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's some sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like, “Help me.” I'm like, Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provinces. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you up now pull you down a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance m because the whites in New York can be so violently racist m Their strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies their hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind Why existing in white neighborhoods in less than perfect black skin seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor What if covert racism doesn't hurt as much– (or never, ever-after) Mister Jimmy you're out of touch. Mr. Chaos you're out of God. Ms. Divine, you're not enough Ms. Monroe, you're out of love A dozen is a dozen Hallmark roses I still love my ‘ol Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy Mr. Trump, You're out of touch Mr. Moore, You're out of line Ms. Monroe, you're not enough Mr. God, you're out of love But I still love my ol' Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy I still love my Hollywood, Golden boys I still love my silver screen And golden eras, I still love my world before love I still like my alma mater But i'll never ever love her I put out for dear Miss Molly I get up for four-door wallets I belong to none or nothing I should die, I don't belong here I still call her over after Don't belong here under, over I still love my golden boys though I still love my golden trophy Mister Jimmy, you're out of touch. F I can very much count you out; E I can very much drift away G I can very well close my eyes. Am What do you want me to say? You want the whole thing? Well what a fun night. It was a hard roll; it was a good time It was a hard come down, though A hard fuck It was a hard laugh; I wrote a good book We took a long ride; Then smoked a long blunt Woah Hush now, good fan Come and take a hard roll A long stroll a hot dance I want to take a half more The comedown was hard, But i just got the honor roll Come down, good fan I want to hold your hand now I want to take a good pause I want to have a hard roll Calm down, good fan I'm headed for your heart now (i want to take a hard fall, I want to take a hard roll) Come on, good man I wanna get a hard on I wanna take a hard fan I want to have a hard fuck I'm going for your heart now I want to have a long roll I'm going for your heart now I want to take a good smoke Yeah, and it's something like that And i look both ways before I cross the Cut the road Yeah, i hate myself as well But i know you don' But you know, we're all getting older It just goes more post mortem To hold secrets inside Pass over regrets and don't touch em Like you don't want em But you don't want No one else And you don't wanna run So you either say hello to the dog Or bark, And then jump back I have you on speed dial But I misfire T total recall I don't call blocked numbers but still number one d-d-don't be a retard, Work harder Learn more than your other parts To control them supermanteras Entourage Tata- Ratata Don't be retarded Rat poison for supper Rat poison for supper And politics for something sweet afterward You heard of the knowledge? You heard of the good book Good one, Doctor I'll run harder next workhour Cause we're all undercooked And we're all overdone on the outside still half frozen in the gut though, You know You know? Enjoy your holiday supper Enjoy your apartment Enjoy your destruction I'm just getting started corrupting your disk drive Full system failure! Fill system failure! Full Jimmy Fallon! I mean– Redact that. Don't be retarded. Run out of water! We're all out of order! I might as well pull the plug Or just more fires. I got hard times under And hard times covered No hard times coming cause Look, I got smarter (don't be retarded) I got semi sweet chocolate And lessons And lovers And neighbors And demons and evil around I So who could have thought That the work of God was just [us, at it] At first, i thought nothing, and then all at once, All it was, as is. While I hope that one day for me, there's a me And a man in a meadow No time to decide however, how long I can act as irreverent, The single disciple, the limitless modem,, the signal to imminent the I took a misstep, I went the wrong way I thought I was done, but I should be on stage Just pretend It's imminent; My relapse, As a drug I take it in in increments Collapse; My photographic image memory Serves me perfectly A classical caricature And still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt (Still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt) I'm here in present tense An artifact and image Inside all the builds and relics Mr. Tim is here When Mr, Night Guy gets too perfect Ties it on a bit for treasure chests And pleasure's never where the head will reac, dear Here hearts Silk eyes Don't trust Tame scarves Legwaemwss Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Wedding bells And autocrats Grandfather clock and pendulum And scarities and garish art, And murderers upon the dusk The carriage sure to'ave spoken Crypt sinking, There faultlines, now quaking My hind legs are to shore And still my forelegs tip So why am I envious? It isn't athletics, I promise Its pages and pages Poems and proses Keep it together karassndra Why are you out all alone in a war zone without a gun? Why are you out with the bomb squad in a rainstorm Why are you known amongst all the lands? You won by a landslide but by a show of hands And a slight side of hands And a show to the world that you own what you're on, Let them come hold enough to hold you down with the motorcycles. No country for old nothing When the highlight of your whole life Is the subdural hematoma growing to the surface. And you were sure before you'd never have that part of your symmetry in tact again See how the devil surrounds us when we interact with God and pure genius Human will always kill God; He doesn't understand it The attacks and the tactical wall for sure come to a close; The whole empire is falling And Heaven is calling us home; This has been just a warning I'm still hiding j. The closet; I'm sure to fly your hawk back, homing, Nothing like a good pigeon, depending on the moment And deepening hour disinterest in anything? See how evil walks amongst us When you haven't come upon it in a moment Or have all your other targets lined up— Do remember dear ther it all comes back to haunt them When they're all younger And haven't been tortured yet The fun part first and the war part after; Sure to suffer if you're sure to hurt her Sure to muder for a quarter or a tucked shirt Sure to give a shit if just my mister in a basket Do you understand that? I won't Good good Goddamn I might have a heart attack I might have to kill myself I hate this place I'm tired now I dropped my hat . I'm an individual Stuck in a simulated and subject collective consciousness I'll tel you where the problem is I promise this It seemed more like a tactical marketing strategy than an actual accident, knowing the type of superstar Sonny had become. Yet, I couldn't help but give it a second thought, almost admiring it—whatever it was—as there is no such thing as bad press. As it all played out over social media—which I obstinately rejected, but however so embraced by those in what one used to call "the arts"—it felt undone; It was now strictly business within those very same markets. Here was this, an apparent plagiarism based on ‘outsourcing' a simple photo for a follow-up single to an album I knew I could not be moved to listen to, even after months. I had spent my own time, in a torturous chaos sense, researching these sorts of psychological tactics and strategies of such conglomerates. It seemed almost as if the negative and seemingly coincidental exposure was in congruency with the so very Skrillexian need to stay relevant to the newer age in changing times. He seemed to embrace some sort of artistic evolution, at least from what I could sense at a long and strong distance. However, my ability to understand the article I'd very much by accident stumbled upon—while overlooking my own dilapidated ticket stubs on Resident Advisor—cautioned at the kind of humbled and grown logic that had become what was left of my womanhood. I had in so many ways made a fool of myself, an embarrassment for what I thought of at the time in the name of love. Still, in all this time, I was so desolated and alone that it had become such an apparent and distraught sense of waking up to what formerly was. With this, I thought one of two things. I knew this Sonny, like most men of prestige, power, and great wealth, had devised his team of sharp-witted, intelligent, beautiful women. This apparent slip-up over the artwork for his latest endeavor—which I had, for every reason, protested in defense of my own dignity—was perhaps the result of a beautiful woman without creative ingenuity stealing the artwork in bad taste, as evidenced. Or—even more cunning—this was the wit of a trained and marginalized soldier in the art of programming. The apparent plagiarism was, in fact, another brutal and hollow Skrillefied market for attention. Over the last decade, he had no shortage of the ability to create and draw eyes to whatever art or concept was forced out of the mechanized monster. Still, there was a sharp growl. I knew I was meant to find this as a reminder of what I'd find if I looked any further or listened to his music anymore: a rise in sharp numbers, mass appeal tactics, and this-or-that shallow hogwash of distinctly skeletal bodies and avant-garde aesthetics. It pointed at the unachievable from my eyes and standpoint. It was the rockstar air and attire of everything I wasn't: strictly thin Hollywood or other ideals to which the construct was entitled, but I wasn't. I had to set out on my own way because what I had intended with music was jumbled into appearances, pornographic sexualities, and masculine dominance. It meant I had aged out of the desirability and affect these very same masses were being marketed from. Sure, I understood that the Skrillex project had established a sort of order for what the electronic festival industry wanted. But I also wanted something else accomplished in my time that wasn't just being some shallow, hot-girl, obscure go-after. The entire time, I had been under the impression of a duality of magnetism I often still had difficulty loosening myself from—that this illusion of an emotional tie or loveness, outside of what was a physical or illustrious concept, had no substance within the business at its core. It was, to say the least, a heartless world and a heartless business. Now that my own music was without purpose, I could forever distance myself from the other masses—the consumer-prosumer-commercialized "artists" that had sprung up out of access to the direct-to-streaming music market via technology and disposable funding. I had no way of embodying my mind to do away with the parts of me that needed to change to become one of them—in the sense that if my music looked and sounded alike, I would be embraced. But I was far from being the type of consciousness that had formed seemingly with the twist of a knob or an Ableton shortcut by one of electronic's founding fathers. In an unfortunate way, I had finally realized he was just that. — Death of A Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

04. s l y t h e r i n. Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

s u c k e r p u n c h. The kid will never go to sleep, You know The boy will never rest He'll never do his best, you know He'll never do his best She'll never be the best you know She's never out of bed She'll never see the sun you know ‘It's only in your head' The boy will never drown, you know You know the boy's so cold You might go out for now, you know But you'll go home alone He'll never hit the ground, you know The boy will never rest The boy will just go down, You know As history at best (The girl is staring out the window as the frost comes out their mouths) Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I still don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked for an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer – while the poorer suffer longer. No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded wager No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've been ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's some sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like, “Help me.” I'm like, Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provinces. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you up now pull you down a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance m because the whites in New York can be so violently racist m Their strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies their hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind Why existing in white neighborhoods in less than perfect black skin seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor What if covert racism doesn't hurt as much– (or never, ever-after) Mister Jimmy you're out of touch. Mr. Chaos you're out of God. Ms. Divine, you're not enough Ms. Monroe, you're out of love A dozen is a dozen Hallmark roses I still love my ‘ol Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy Mr. Trump, You're out of touch Mr. Moore, You're out of line Ms. Monroe, you're not enough Mr. God, you're out of love But I still love my ol' Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy I still love my Hollywood, Golden boys I still love my silver screen And golden eras, I still love my world before love I still like my alma mater But i'll never ever love her I put out for dear Miss Molly I get up for four-door wallets I belong to none or nothing I should die, I don't belong here I still call her over after Don't belong here under, over I still love my golden boys though I still love my golden trophy Mister Jimmy, you're out of touch. F I can very much count you out; E I can very much drift away G I can very well close my eyes. Am What do you want me to say? You want the whole thing? Well what a fun night. It was a hard roll; it was a good time It was a hard come down, though A hard fuck It was a hard laugh; I wrote a good book We took a long ride; Then smoked a long blunt Woah Hush now, good fan Come and take a hard roll A long stroll a hot dance I want to take a half more The comedown was hard, But i just got the honor roll Come down, good fan I want to hold your hand now I want to take a good pause I want to have a hard roll Calm down, good fan I'm headed for your heart now (i want to take a hard fall, I want to take a hard roll) Come on, good man I wanna get a hard on I wanna take a hard fan I want to have a hard fuck I'm going for your heart now I want to have a long roll I'm going for your heart now I want to take a good smoke Yeah, and it's something like that And i look both ways before I cross the Cut the road Yeah, i hate myself as well But i know you don' But you know, we're all getting older It just goes more post mortem To hold secrets inside Pass over regrets and don't touch em Like you don't want em But you don't want No one else And you don't wanna run So you either say hello to the dog Or bark, And then jump back I have you on speed dial But I misfire T total recall I don't call blocked numbers but still number one d-d-don't be a retard, Work harder Learn more than your other parts To control them supermanteras Entourage Tata- Ratata Don't be retarded Rat poison for supper Rat poison for supper And politics for something sweet afterward You heard of the knowledge? You heard of the good book Good one, Doctor I'll run harder next workhour Cause we're all undercooked And we're all overdone on the outside still half frozen in the gut though, You know You know? Enjoy your holiday supper Enjoy your apartment Enjoy your destruction I'm just getting started corrupting your disk drive Full system failure! Fill system failure! Full Jimmy Fallon! I mean– Redact that. Don't be retarded. Run out of water! We're all out of order! I might as well pull the plug Or just more fires. I got hard times under And hard times covered No hard times coming cause Look, I got smarter (don't be retarded) I got semi sweet chocolate And lessons And lovers And neighbors And demons and evil around I So who could have thought That the work of God was just [us, at it] At first, i thought nothing, and then all at once, All it was, as is. While I hope that one day for me, there's a me And a man in a meadow No time to decide however, how long I can act as irreverent, The single disciple, the limitless modem,, the signal to imminent the I took a misstep, I went the wrong way I thought I was done, but I should be on stage Just pretend It's imminent; My relapse, As a drug I take it in in increments Collapse; My photographic image memory Serves me perfectly A classical caricature And still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt (Still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt) I'm here in present tense An artifact and image Inside all the builds and relics Mr. Tim is here When Mr, Night Guy gets too perfect Ties it on a bit for treasure chests And pleasure's never where the head will reac, dear Here hearts Silk eyes Don't trust Tame scarves Legwaemwss Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Wedding bells And autocrats Grandfather clock and pendulum And scarities and garish art, And murderers upon the dusk The carriage sure to'ave spoken Crypt sinking, There faultlines, now quaking My hind legs are to shore And still my forelegs tip So why am I envious? It isn't athletics, I promise Its pages and pages Poems and proses Keep it together karassndra Why are you out all alone in a war zone without a gun? Why are you out with the bomb squad in a rainstorm Why are you known amongst all the lands? You won by a landslide but by a show of hands And a slight side of hands And a show to the world that you own what you're on, Let them come hold enough to hold you down with the motorcycles. No country for old nothing When the highlight of your whole life Is the subdural hematoma growing to the surface. And you were sure before you'd never have that part of your symmetry in tact again See how the devil surrounds us when we interact with God and pure genius Human will always kill God; He doesn't understand it The attacks and the tactical wall for sure come to a close; The whole empire is falling And Heaven is calling us home; This has been just a warning I'm still hiding j. The closet; I'm sure to fly your hawk back, homing, Nothing like a good pigeon, depending on the moment And deepening hour disinterest in anything? See how evil walks amongst us When you haven't come upon it in a moment Or have all your other targets lined up— Do remember dear ther it all comes back to haunt them When they're all younger And haven't been tortured yet The fun part first and the war part after; Sure to suffer if you're sure to hurt her Sure to muder for a quarter or a tucked shirt Sure to give a shit if just my mister in a basket Do you understand that? I won't Good good Goddamn I might have a heart attack I might have to kill myself I hate this place I'm tired now I dropped my hat . I'm an individual Stuck in a simulated and subject collective consciousness I'll tel you where the problem is I promise this It seemed more like a tactical marketing strategy than an actual accident, knowing the type of superstar Sonny had become. Yet, I couldn't help but give it a second thought, almost admiring it—whatever it was—as there is no such thing as bad press. As it all played out over social media—which I obstinately rejected, but however so embraced by those in what one used to call "the arts"—it felt undone; It was now strictly business within those very same markets. Here was this, an apparent plagiarism based on ‘outsourcing' a simple photo for a follow-up single to an album I knew I could not be moved to listen to, even after months. I had spent my own time, in a torturous chaos sense, researching these sorts of psychological tactics and strategies of such conglomerates. It seemed almost as if the negative and seemingly coincidental exposure was in congruency with the so very Skrillexian need to stay relevant to the newer age in changing times. He seemed to embrace some sort of artistic evolution, at least from what I could sense at a long and strong distance. However, my ability to understand the article I'd very much by accident stumbled upon—while overlooking my own dilapidated ticket stubs on Resident Advisor—cautioned at the kind of humbled and grown logic that had become what was left of my womanhood. I had in so many ways made a fool of myself, an embarrassment for what I thought of at the time in the name of love. Still, in all this time, I was so desolated and alone that it had become such an apparent and distraught sense of waking up to what formerly was. With this, I thought one of two things. I knew this Sonny, like most men of prestige, power, and great wealth, had devised his team of sharp-witted, intelligent, beautiful women. This apparent slip-up over the artwork for his latest endeavor—which I had, for every reason, protested in defense of my own dignity—was perhaps the result of a beautiful woman without creative ingenuity stealing the artwork in bad taste, as evidenced. Or—even more cunning—this was the wit of a trained and marginalized soldier in the art of programming. The apparent plagiarism was, in fact, another brutal and hollow Skrillefied market for attention. Over the last decade, he had no shortage of the ability to create and draw eyes to whatever art or concept was forced out of the mechanized monster. Still, there was a sharp growl. I knew I was meant to find this as a reminder of what I'd find if I looked any further or listened to his music anymore: a rise in sharp numbers, mass appeal tactics, and this-or-that shallow hogwash of distinctly skeletal bodies and avant-garde aesthetics. It pointed at the unachievable from my eyes and standpoint. It was the rockstar air and attire of everything I wasn't: strictly thin Hollywood or other ideals to which the construct was entitled, but I wasn't. I had to set out on my own way because what I had intended with music was jumbled into appearances, pornographic sexualities, and masculine dominance. It meant I had aged out of the desirability and affect these very same masses were being marketed from. Sure, I understood that the Skrillex project had established a sort of order for what the electronic festival industry wanted. But I also wanted something else accomplished in my time that wasn't just being some shallow, hot-girl, obscure go-after. The entire time, I had been under the impression of a duality of magnetism I often still had difficulty loosening myself from—that this illusion of an emotional tie or loveness, outside of what was a physical or illustrious concept, had no substance within the business at its core. It was, to say the least, a heartless world and a heartless business. Now that my own music was without purpose, I could forever distance myself from the other masses—the consumer-prosumer-commercialized "artists" that had sprung up out of access to the direct-to-streaming music market via technology and disposable funding. I had no way of embodying my mind to do away with the parts of me that needed to change to become one of them—in the sense that if my music looked and sounded alike, I would be embraced. But I was far from being the type of consciousness that had formed seemingly with the twist of a knob or an Ableton shortcut by one of electronic's founding fathers. In an unfortunate way, I had finally realized he was just that. — Death of A Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

04. s l y t h e r i n. Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

s u c k e r p u n c h. The kid will never go to sleep, You know The boy will never rest He'll never do his best, you know He'll never do his best She'll never be the best you know She's never out of bed She'll never see the sun you know ‘It's only in your head' The boy will never drown, you know You know the boy's so cold You might go out for now, you know But you'll go home alone He'll never hit the ground, you know The boy will never rest The boy will just go down, You know As history at best (The girl is staring out the window as the frost comes out their mouths) Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I still don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked for an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer – while the poorer suffer longer. No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded wager No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've been ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's some sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like, “Help me.” I'm like, Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provinces. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you up now pull you down a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance m because the whites in New York can be so violently racist m Their strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies their hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind Why existing in white neighborhoods in less than perfect black skin seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor What if covert racism doesn't hurt as much– (or never, ever-after) Mister Jimmy you're out of touch. Mr. Chaos you're out of God. Ms. Divine, you're not enough Ms. Monroe, you're out of love A dozen is a dozen Hallmark roses I still love my ‘ol Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy Mr. Trump, You're out of touch Mr. Moore, You're out of line Ms. Monroe, you're not enough Mr. God, you're out of love But I still love my ol' Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy I still love my Hollywood, Golden boys I still love my silver screen And golden eras, I still love my world before love I still like my alma mater But i'll never ever love her I put out for dear Miss Molly I get up for four-door wallets I belong to none or nothing I should die, I don't belong here I still call her over after Don't belong here under, over I still love my golden boys though I still love my golden trophy Mister Jimmy, you're out of touch. F I can very much count you out; E I can very much drift away G I can very well close my eyes. Am What do you want me to say? You want the whole thing? Well what a fun night. It was a hard roll; it was a good time It was a hard come down, though A hard fuck It was a hard laugh; I wrote a good book We took a long ride; Then smoked a long blunt Woah Hush now, good fan Come and take a hard roll A long stroll a hot dance I want to take a half more The comedown was hard, But i just got the honor roll Come down, good fan I want to hold your hand now I want to take a good pause I want to have a hard roll Calm down, good fan I'm headed for your heart now (i want to take a hard fall, I want to take a hard roll) Come on, good man I wanna get a hard on I wanna take a hard fan I want to have a hard fuck I'm going for your heart now I want to have a long roll I'm going for your heart now I want to take a good smoke Yeah, and it's something like that And i look both ways before I cross the Cut the road Yeah, i hate myself as well But i know you don' But you know, we're all getting older It just goes more post mortem To hold secrets inside Pass over regrets and don't touch em Like you don't want em But you don't want No one else And you don't wanna run So you either say hello to the dog Or bark, And then jump back I have you on speed dial But I misfire T total recall I don't call blocked numbers but still number one d-d-don't be a retard, Work harder Learn more than your other parts To control them supermanteras Entourage Tata- Ratata Don't be retarded Rat poison for supper Rat poison for supper And politics for something sweet afterward You heard of the knowledge? You heard of the good book Good one, Doctor I'll run harder next workhour Cause we're all undercooked And we're all overdone on the outside still half frozen in the gut though, You know You know? Enjoy your holiday supper Enjoy your apartment Enjoy your destruction I'm just getting started corrupting your disk drive Full system failure! Fill system failure! Full Jimmy Fallon! I mean– Redact that. Don't be retarded. Run out of water! We're all out of order! I might as well pull the plug Or just more fires. I got hard times under And hard times covered No hard times coming cause Look, I got smarter (don't be retarded) I got semi sweet chocolate And lessons And lovers And neighbors And demons and evil around I So who could have thought That the work of God was just [us, at it] At first, i thought nothing, and then all at once, All it was, as is. While I hope that one day for me, there's a me And a man in a meadow No time to decide however, how long I can act as irreverent, The single disciple, the limitless modem,, the signal to imminent the I took a misstep, I went the wrong way I thought I was done, but I should be on stage Just pretend It's imminent; My relapse, As a drug I take it in in increments Collapse; My photographic image memory Serves me perfectly A classical caricature And still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt (Still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt) I'm here in present tense An artifact and image Inside all the builds and relics Mr. Tim is here When Mr, Night Guy gets too perfect Ties it on a bit for treasure chests And pleasure's never where the head will reac, dear Here hearts Silk eyes Don't trust Tame scarves Legwaemwss Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Wedding bells And autocrats Grandfather clock and pendulum And scarities and garish art, And murderers upon the dusk The carriage sure to'ave spoken Crypt sinking, There faultlines, now quaking My hind legs are to shore And still my forelegs tip So why am I envious? It isn't athletics, I promise Its pages and pages Poems and proses Keep it together karassndra Why are you out all alone in a war zone without a gun? Why are you out with the bomb squad in a rainstorm Why are you known amongst all the lands? You won by a landslide but by a show of hands And a slight side of hands And a show to the world that you own what you're on, Let them come hold enough to hold you down with the motorcycles. No country for old nothing When the highlight of your whole life Is the subdural hematoma growing to the surface. And you were sure before you'd never have that part of your symmetry in tact again See how the devil surrounds us when we interact with God and pure genius Human will always kill God; He doesn't understand it The attacks and the tactical wall for sure come to a close; The whole empire is falling And Heaven is calling us home; This has been just a warning I'm still hiding j. The closet; I'm sure to fly your hawk back, homing, Nothing like a good pigeon, depending on the moment And deepening hour disinterest in anything? See how evil walks amongst us When you haven't come upon it in a moment Or have all your other targets lined up— Do remember dear ther it all comes back to haunt them When they're all younger And haven't been tortured yet The fun part first and the war part after; Sure to suffer if you're sure to hurt her Sure to muder for a quarter or a tucked shirt Sure to give a shit if just my mister in a basket Do you understand that? I won't Good good Goddamn I might have a heart attack I might have to kill myself I hate this place I'm tired now I dropped my hat . I'm an individual Stuck in a simulated and subject collective consciousness I'll tel you where the problem is I promise this It seemed more like a tactical marketing strategy than an actual accident, knowing the type of superstar Sonny had become. Yet, I couldn't help but give it a second thought, almost admiring it—whatever it was—as there is no such thing as bad press. As it all played out over social media—which I obstinately rejected, but however so embraced by those in what one used to call "the arts"—it felt undone; It was now strictly business within those very same markets. Here was this, an apparent plagiarism based on ‘outsourcing' a simple photo for a follow-up single to an album I knew I could not be moved to listen to, even after months. I had spent my own time, in a torturous chaos sense, researching these sorts of psychological tactics and strategies of such conglomerates. It seemed almost as if the negative and seemingly coincidental exposure was in congruency with the so very Skrillexian need to stay relevant to the newer age in changing times. He seemed to embrace some sort of artistic evolution, at least from what I could sense at a long and strong distance. However, my ability to understand the article I'd very much by accident stumbled upon—while overlooking my own dilapidated ticket stubs on Resident Advisor—cautioned at the kind of humbled and grown logic that had become what was left of my womanhood. I had in so many ways made a fool of myself, an embarrassment for what I thought of at the time in the name of love. Still, in all this time, I was so desolated and alone that it had become such an apparent and distraught sense of waking up to what formerly was. With this, I thought one of two things. I knew this Sonny, like most men of prestige, power, and great wealth, had devised his team of sharp-witted, intelligent, beautiful women. This apparent slip-up over the artwork for his latest endeavor—which I had, for every reason, protested in defense of my own dignity—was perhaps the result of a beautiful woman without creative ingenuity stealing the artwork in bad taste, as evidenced. Or—even more cunning—this was the wit of a trained and marginalized soldier in the art of programming. The apparent plagiarism was, in fact, another brutal and hollow Skrillefied market for attention. Over the last decade, he had no shortage of the ability to create and draw eyes to whatever art or concept was forced out of the mechanized monster. Still, there was a sharp growl. I knew I was meant to find this as a reminder of what I'd find if I looked any further or listened to his music anymore: a rise in sharp numbers, mass appeal tactics, and this-or-that shallow hogwash of distinctly skeletal bodies and avant-garde aesthetics. It pointed at the unachievable from my eyes and standpoint. It was the rockstar air and attire of everything I wasn't: strictly thin Hollywood or other ideals to which the construct was entitled, but I wasn't. I had to set out on my own way because what I had intended with music was jumbled into appearances, pornographic sexualities, and masculine dominance. It meant I had aged out of the desirability and affect these very same masses were being marketed from. Sure, I understood that the Skrillex project had established a sort of order for what the electronic festival industry wanted. But I also wanted something else accomplished in my time that wasn't just being some shallow, hot-girl, obscure go-after. The entire time, I had been under the impression of a duality of magnetism I often still had difficulty loosening myself from—that this illusion of an emotional tie or loveness, outside of what was a physical or illustrious concept, had no substance within the business at its core. It was, to say the least, a heartless world and a heartless business. Now that my own music was without purpose, I could forever distance myself from the other masses—the consumer-prosumer-commercialized "artists" that had sprung up out of access to the direct-to-streaming music market via technology and disposable funding. I had no way of embodying my mind to do away with the parts of me that needed to change to become one of them—in the sense that if my music looked and sounded alike, I would be embraced. But I was far from being the type of consciousness that had formed seemingly with the twist of a knob or an Ableton shortcut by one of electronic's founding fathers. In an unfortunate way, I had finally realized he was just that. — Death of A Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

04. s l y t h e r i n. Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

@marcusblacknell-andrews1783 asked me "What is Tunnels & Trolls?" Here's my answer! Not to oversell it, but Tunnels & Trolls (T&T) from Flying Buffalo is one of the most important games in history. I'll tell you why it's the reason the entire RPG industry exists today, paving the way for everything after D&D. I'll also break down the rules that make T&T a unique, rules-light favorite!Share your thoughts via:

RANGER ​​Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger (I'm doing the most) How dare you? Bitch I said that shit just to scare you Bitch you a demon! I ate the peas out the can And I hope that you see this What in the fuck do you mean I see and hear things I sea and here that, I failed the test now But passed the bar Wow You're funny Refinance the payment to fuck me Over You don't even know her So the glove don't fit? You still killed that bitch, OJ! Okay That a big ball player I'm a big black finger up your ass; What's cracking? Doing the work of the crackers I screenshot and capture Refinance the black list You act on behalf of the TRAP Refinance the TAP Refinance the cap and gown Cause I'm already drowning Refinance the black and brown Cause you know that I'm proud But I'm sitting her pouting (Wut) Refinance the land Refinance the Indian reservation where my dad at Refinance the car Refinance the boat Ok, Fuckit Refinance the Ranger Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger (I'm doing the most) Refinance the Ranger Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

RANGER ​​Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger (I'm doing the most) How dare you? Bitch I said that shit just to scare you Bitch you a demon! I ate the peas out the can And I hope that you see this What in the fuck do you mean I see and hear things I sea and here that, I failed the test now But passed the bar Wow You're funny Refinance the payment to fuck me Over You don't even know her So the glove don't fit? You still killed that bitch, OJ! Okay That a big ball player I'm a big black finger up your ass; What's cracking? Doing the work of the crackers I screenshot and capture Refinance the black list You act on behalf of the TRAP Refinance the TAP Refinance the cap and gown Cause I'm already drowning Refinance the black and brown Cause you know that I'm proud But I'm sitting her pouting (Wut) Refinance the land Refinance the Indian reservation where my dad at Refinance the car Refinance the boat Ok, Fuckit Refinance the Ranger Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger (I'm doing the most) Refinance the Ranger Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

RANGER ​​Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger (I'm doing the most) How dare you? Bitch I said that shit just to scare you Bitch you a demon! I ate the peas out the can And I hope that you see this What in the fuck do you mean I see and hear things I sea and here that, I failed the test now But passed the bar Wow You're funny Refinance the payment to fuck me Over You don't even know her So the glove don't fit? You still killed that bitch, OJ! Okay That a big ball player I'm a big black finger up your ass; What's cracking? Doing the work of the crackers I screenshot and capture Refinance the black list You act on behalf of the TRAP Refinance the TAP Refinance the cap and gown Cause I'm already drowning Refinance the black and brown Cause you know that I'm proud But I'm sitting her pouting (Wut) Refinance the land Refinance the Indian reservation where my dad at Refinance the car Refinance the boat Ok, Fuckit Refinance the Ranger Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger (I'm doing the most) Refinance the Ranger Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This week on Paranormal Activity with Yvette Fielding, it's time once again for our Listener Special, and this month's stories are some of the most chilling, heartfelt, and truly baffling yet.From a mysterious “fourth child” haunting a family home in America, to a spectral soldier marching through the tunnels beneath Dover Castle, and a guardian spirit who appears in moments of danger.This episode's stories come from Samantha, Sean, Bethany, Georgina, and Paula with each one offering a unique glimpse into life beyond the veil, where loved ones, protectors, and mischievous spirits still make their presence known.So grab your headphones, turn off the lights, and get ready to step into the unknown because these are your stories, your hauntings… and they might just prove that the line between the living and the dead is thinner than we think. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Co funcziuna in tunnel? In tunnel – in bischen en in culm cun duas rusnas, ina entrada ed ina sortida. Savens vas ti tras in tunnel da via senza pensar bler. Ma per che quai saja pussaivel e segir, dovri ina massa. Nus avain guardà, nua che las portas en las paraids dal tunnel da Flem mainan e tge che capita, sch'i dat in accident. Nus avain però era dà in sguard en la centrala da traffic a Tusaun, là nua che passa 60 tunnels en l'entir chantun Grischun vegnan survegliads. Wie funktioniert ein Tunnel? Ein Tunnel – eine Röhre in einem Berg mit zwei Öffnungen, einem Eingang und einem Ausgang. Meistens fährst du durch einen Strassentunnel, ohne viel darüber nachzudenken. Aber damit das möglich und sicher ist, braucht es eine Menge. Wir haben uns angeschaut, wohin die Türen in den Wänden des Flimser Tunnels führen und was bei einem Unfall passiert. Wir haben aber auch einen Blick in die Verkehrszentrale in Thusis geworfen, wo über 60 Tunnel im gesamten Kanton Graubünden überwacht werden.

Nous sommes au cœur des années 1960, les Golden Sixties, celles de l'automobile reine. De plus en plus de Belges en possèdent une car elle est synonyme de déplacement rapide et confortable. La voiture est, à l'époque, le symbole du progrès et de la liberté. Les responsables politiques, les administrations, les bureaux d'urbanisme redoublent donc d'imagination pour lui dérouler le tapis rouge : routes, autoroutes, parkings, tunnels, viaducs... Rien n'est trop beau pour l'auto. Problème à Bruxelles, la circulation, dans le centre-ville, est difficile car les rues sont étroites. Il faut donc fluidifier. Rendre plus rapides les entrées et sorties de la capitale. Comment faire ? Tunnels, viaducs, carrefours gigantesques, élargissement de rues, mises à sens unique : les propositions ne manquent pas. L'une des plus surprenantes consiste en un tunnel routier sous le Parc de Bruxelles, que l'on appelle le Parc royal. Il permettrait de quitter facilement le centre et de rejoindre la large rue Belliard, qui est une voie express vers l'autoroute de Liège. Pharaonique et curieux programme … qui n'a jamais vu le jour. En effet, ni les Travaux Publics, ni l'Urbanisme, ni la Ville de Bruxelles ne l'ont soutenu et pourtant, personne ne semble s'y être opposé. Le premier choc pétrolier de 1972 et les difficultés budgétaires de cette décennie ont vraisemblablement contribué à cet abandon, sans combat, ni même qu'une décision n'ait été prise. Il n'y a donc pas eu besoin de mobilisation citoyenne pour remettre en cause ce projet qui, aujourd'hui, nous paraît irresponsable. Mais la capitale européenne ne manque pas de réalisations ou … de destructions controversées, en témoigne la création du néologisme « Bruxellisation » qui y fait référence dans le monde entier. Si un certain nombre sont devenues réalité, d'autres, à l'instar du tunnel sous le Parc royal, sont passées dans les oubliettes de l'histoire de l'urbanisme. Et dans bien des cas, l'intervention de l'initiative citoyenne aura été déterminante. Une opposition ferme et organisée. A quoi avons-nous échappé ? Avec nous : Vincent Carton, ingénieur civil et urbaniste. Auteur de « Victoires Urbaines – Le jour se lèvera ici » ; CFC éd. + Arau (Atelier de recherche et d'Action Urbaines). Sujets traités : Bruxelles, urbanisme, massacre, Golden Sixties, autoroutes, parkings, tunnels, viaducs, routes, Bruxellisation, Parc royal, Merci pour votre écoute Un Jour dans l'Histoire, c'est également en direct tous les jours de la semaine de 13h15 à 14h30 sur www.rtbf.be/lapremiere Retrouvez tous les épisodes d'Un Jour dans l'Histoire sur notre plateforme Auvio.be :https://auvio.rtbf.be/emission/5936 Intéressés par l'histoire ? Vous pourriez également aimer nos autres podcasts : L'Histoire Continue: https://audmns.com/kSbpELwL'heure H : https://audmns.com/YagLLiKEt sa version à écouter en famille : La Mini Heure H https://audmns.com/YagLLiKAinsi que nos séries historiques :Chili, le Pays de mes Histoires : https://audmns.com/XHbnevhD-Day : https://audmns.com/JWRdPYIJoséphine Baker : https://audmns.com/wCfhoEwLa folle histoire de l'aviation : https://audmns.com/xAWjyWCLes Jeux Olympiques, l'étonnant miroir de notre Histoire : https://audmns.com/ZEIihzZMarguerite, la Voix d'une Résistante : https://audmns.com/zFDehnENapoléon, le crépuscule de l'Aigle : https://audmns.com/DcdnIUnUn Jour dans le Sport : https://audmns.com/xXlkHMHSous le sable des Pyramides : https://audmns.com/rXfVppvN'oubliez pas de vous y abonner pour ne rien manquer.Et si vous avez apprécié ce podcast, n'hésitez pas à nous donner des étoiles ou des commentaires, cela nous aide à le faire connaître plus largement. Hébergé par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

A Dunedin community group's pipedream to forge a flat trail through the hilly city to Mosgiel is closer to becoming a reality. The first stage from farmland, through an 1800s Victorian gothic railway tunnel and into native bush is nearing completion after years of mahi. Today, the trail welcomed a $2 million boost from the government to help extend the trail to the suburbs of Fairfield, Abbotsford, and Green Island. Tourism reporter Tess Brunton has more

State and federal agencies are ramping up efforts to find and seal off underground cartel tunnels. In early 2025, authorities uncovered a sophisticated tunnel system in El Paso used to smuggle people, drugs, and weapons. Now, the Texas General Land Office (GLO) says it's stepping up surveillance across the border to locate any additional tunnels. Texas Land Commissioner Dawn Buckingham says her office is expanding its role in border security.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

So the government shutdown is supposedly ending - but not soon enough apparently for our Producer and his travel travails. We catch up this week on the Mamdani win and the fallout as well as the latest ongoing controversies with our favorite anti-Semites. On the Israel front, Hamas are stuck in tunnels, brawls are happening in Bnai Brak and Bibi gets a post January 1st invite to NY.  Lastly, we visit some of the latest from Russia and their AI inititatives.    ________ **  Learn how to create wealth without sacrificing your values, families, or faith. Pre-order now and claim your bonus: instant access to Daydream to Dreamjob—the can't-miss webinar! **   Order The Million-Dollar Part-Time Job   Visit: https://kodeshpress.com/product/the-million-dollar-part-time-job/ ________ ** Town Appliance - For All Of Your Appliance Needs! ** No matter the budget, Town Appliance will get you the right appliance for your needs and give you the most value for your money. https://www.townappliance.com/ Call/Text/Whatsapp: 732-364-5195 ________ ** Join Now or Create Your Own Five Star Experience With Project Mesorah! ** Project Mesorah's trips are always memorable and even life changing, but if you want private tours with amazing chefs, tour guides, and speakers, Project Mesorah has you covered! Visit them at: https://www.projectmesorah.org/ Or call: 845-570-1943 ________ We have a call-in number where you can hear the cast! Tell your friends and family who may not have internet access! 605-417-0303 To Call In From Israel: +053-243-3287 Also! Subscribe for our bonus content by phone! Available at the same number. ________ Get official KC swag and show your support to the world! https://kiddushclubmerch.com ________ Subscribe now to keep us going and access bonus content! https://buymeacoffee.com/kiddushclub/membership   Follow us: Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kiddushclubpodcast/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/kiddushclubcast Join our WhatsApp chat: https://2ly.link/27DRp Send us you thoughts comments and suggestions via email: hock@kiddushclubpodcast.com  

Oekraïne vecht met man en macht om Pokrovsk te verdedigen. Toch blijven de Russische successen op het slagveld beperkt, en daarmee groeit de dreiging van Russische hybride aanvallen, waarschuwt de chef van de Duitse inlichtingendiensten. De VS en Israël hebben hun eerste overleg gehad over de tweede fase van Trumps vredesplan, terwijl bijna tweehonderd Hamas-strijders als ratten in de val zitten in de tunnels van Rafah, omsingeld door Israëlische militairen.En wat gebeurt er ondertussen in Venezuela? Dat en meer bespreekt Jos de Groot met generaals buiten dienst Peter van Uhm en Mart de Kruif.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

For review:1. US Envoys Visit Israel to Discuss Hamas Fighters Trapped in Rafah Tunnels.2. France hosted Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas in Paris for a meeting on Tuesday, during which French President Emmanuel Macron committed to helping the PA draft a constitution for a future state.3. Syrian President Ahmed al-Sharaa threw cold water on the prospect of his country joining the Abraham Accords, saying that conditions were premature for talks on a normalization deal with Israel.4. Houthis Indicate a Halt to Military Operations Against Israel and Red Sea Shipping.5. Inspectors of the UN's International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) visited Iranian nuclear sites last week, Iran's foreign ministry spokesperson said on Monday.6.  Dense Fog Enables Russian Forces Entry into Pokrovsk.7. Finland's former president Sauli Niinistö has called on the European Union to open direct channels of communication with Russian President Vladimir Putin to press for an end to the war in Ukraine.8. Ukraine President Volodymyr Zelenskyy is keen on ordering more than two dozen Raytheon-produced Patriot air defense systems.Figures from the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) thinktank claim that a Patriot battery costs $1.1 billion — split between $690 million for the weapon systems' missiles and $400 million for the system itself.9. The Navy has awarded General Dynamics a $1.7 billion contract to construct two more John Lewis-class fleet replenishment oilers.The fleet oilers are 742 feet in length with a displacement of nearly 50,000 tons when fully loaded and can carry 162,000 barrels of oil and dry cargo.

Oh, so Bastion is like GETTING his memories back. That's good…I hope. What if we find out Bastion's master was actually evil? Or Bastion is some kind of time bomb? I'm not sure I like this dungeon anymore. Max Hedman, can you please play me something to soothe my soul?Sound effects courtesy of Zapsplat.

Former IDF paratrooper and educator Uri Goldflam returns for a clear, no-spin primer on the Arab–Israeli conflict—and why today's fight is as much narrative and lawfare as it is military. We cover Gaza after October 7, Hamas's tunnel war, why repeated land-for-peace gambits failed, how the Abraham Accords reframed the region, the emerging Turkey–Qatar–Syria axis, and what Israel's election year could bring. Uri also dismantles the “genocide,” “apartheid,” and “colonialism” claims using first-principles definitions and history, and explains how the same framing is now aimed at the broader West.Listen for practical arguments your friends can actually use—and a sober look at whether we're nearing a new paradigm or drifting back to October 6.HighlightsArab–Israeli Conflict 101: the core “organizing principles” driving the conflictGaza withdrawal, tunnels, and the failure of “land for peace”Narrative warfare: lawfare, academia, media, and social platformsAbraham Accords, economic levers, and regional realignmentsIsrael's election year: coalitions, courts, and national service debatesRapid debunks in plain English: “genocide,” “apartheid,” and “colonialism”Guest: Uri Goldflam — educator, former IDF paratrooper and platoon sergeant • www.https://www.urigoldflam.comSupport the showThe Andrew Parker Show - Politics, Israel & The Law. Follow us on Facebook, LinkedIn, YouTube and X. Subscribe to our email list at www.theandrewparkershow.com Copyright © 2025 The Andrew Parker Show - All Rights Reserved.

What's it like living underground? How did he get out? Paul Vautrinot shares his story of living in the Las Vegas tunnels, or as he states it, beneath the neon. He shares what life in the Vegas underground city was like with the tunnel people, how he left, got sober & became a co-founder of Shine a Light Foundation. He shares the organization's unique approach to ending homelessness & how they are by-passing wait lists. This episode originally aired June 6, 2022 If you like this episode, you'll also like episode 248: SURVIVING THE TROUBLED TEEN INDUSTRY: SEPARATING IDENTITY FROM EXPERIENCE [REMASTERED] Guest:https://www.shinealightlv.com/https://www.facebook.com/shinealightLVhttps://www.instagram.com/shine_a_lightlv/https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/beneath-the-neon-podcast/id1532967337 Host:  https://www.meredithforreal.com/  https://www.instagram.com/meredithforreal/ meredith@meredithforreal.comhttps://www.youtube.com/meredithforreal  https://www.facebook.com/meredithforrealthecuriousintrovert  Sponsors: https://www.jordanharbinger.com/starterpacks/ https://www.historicpensacola.org/about-us/  00:00 — The hidden city beneath Vegas02:00 — A “happy” childhood behind chaos03:20 — Getting invited underground06:00 — First night in the tunnels07:00 — Nicknames and neighborhoods below ground08:00 — The drug dealer's driver and the underground map09:00 — Biking blind in total darkness10:00 — Hierarchies of the homeless tunnels12:00 — The girlfriend, the cricket, and the cops18:00 — Jail, withdrawal, and a strange stroke of luck20:00 — From drug court to sobriety21:00 — Meeting Matt O'Brien and the flood-drain exposé23:00 — The birth of Shine A Light25:00 — Building a no-waitlist system for help27:00 — Trust, recovery, and the Vegas community29:00 — What would actually end homelessness?30:00 — Creating stability in the smallest windows of hope31:00 — What's next for Shine A Light32:00 — 104 people out of the tunnels33:00 — How to help and get involved34:00 — A new kind of light under VegasRequest to join my private Facebook Group, MFR Curious Insiders https://www.facebook.com/share/g/1BAt3bpwJC/

Mes chers camarades, bien le bonjour !Pendant la Première Guerre mondiale, les soldats creusaient des longs tunnels souterrains pour prendre par surprise l'ennemi. C'est par exemple le cas à Arras, où un tunnel de 20km creusé par des néo-zélandais a été retrouvé.Bonne écoute !➤ Pour en savoir plus : https://france3-regions.francetvinfo.fr/hauts-de-france/pas-calais/arras/l-incroyable-histoire-oubliee-des-neo-zelandais-qui-ont-creuse-20-km-de-tunnels-a-la-main-sous-arras-en-1917-2915577.html

Welcome to The Times of Israel's Daily Briefing, your 20-minute audio update on what's happening in Israel, the Middle East and the Jewish world. Military correspondent Emanuel Fabian joins host Amanda Borschel-Dan for today's episode. Hamas announced that the body of IDF officer Lt. Hadar Goldin, held by the terror organization since 2014, will be returned to Israel at 2 p.m. We learn about Operation Protective Edge, the Hamas operation to ostensibly recover Goldin’s body that occurred yesterday, as well as what’s happening with the 150-odd Hamas gunmen who are trapped in a tunnel in the same part of the southern Gaza strip in an IDF-controlled area. Military representatives on Saturday morning notified the family of Lior Rudaeff that his body was returned to Israel by Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad on Friday night, after forensic experts completed their identification. Fabian describes what we know of Rudaeff's killing on October 7, 2023. Former military advocate general Maj. Gen. Yifat Tomer-Yerushalmi was hospitalized this morning. This comes a day after her elusive phone was discovered on a Tel Aviv beach by passersby. Fabian takes up the thread of the Hollywood-esque narrative about Tomer-Yerushalmi, who is accused of multiple crimes, including obstruction of justice. We also hear about Itai Ofer, who has been named as Tomer-Yerushalmi's replacement, and the obstacles he faces to secure the role. Defense Minister Israel Katz said Thursday he was “declaring war” on weapon smuggling via drones over the Egyptian border, instructing the military to declare a closed military zone in the area and the Shin Bet to define such attempts as terrorism. Fabian describes the uptick in smuggling and weighs in on the measures currently taken against it. Check out The Times of Israel's ongoing liveblog for more updates. For further reading: Hamas claims to recover body of Hadar Goldin, IDF soldier killed and abducted in 2014 war PM rules out granting safe passage to 200 Hamas gunmen stuck in IDF-held Rafah Body of Lior Rudaeff returned from Gaza; he died battling Islamic Jihad terrorists on Oct. 7 Ex-IDF legal chief sent to house arrest, as her missing phone is found in the sea Katz taps ex-Defense Ministry legal adviser as next military advocate general after scandal Katz orders IDF to declare Egyptian border closed military zone over drone smugglings Subscribe to The Times of Israel Daily Briefing on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts. This episode was produced by Pod-Waves. Check out yesterday’s episode here: https://youtu.be/fiPzmecX8RM?si=EhCcG0fiPRv16R9U ILLUSTRATIVE IMAGE: Troops investigate a Hamas attack tunnel in southern Gaza's Rafah, in a handout photo issued on August 23, 2024. (Israel Defense Forces)See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Drake's Island sits in Plymouth Sound, around 500 m from the mainland. The island is just 6.5 acres, and around 250 yards wide at its broadest point. You can reach the island by boat in 10 minutes. Its name refers to Sir Francis Drake, a problematic figure often lauded for his circumnavigation efforts. He also has very little to do with Drake's Island itself. When looking for its ghost stories or legends, we actually have to look to the island's role in English defences from the Tudor period onwards. We're talking secret tunnels, protective military spirits, and the inevitable White Lady. Let's explore some of these stories in this week's episode of Fabulous Folklore… Find the images and references on the blog post: https://www.icysedgwick.com/drakes-island-folklore/ Book tickets for The Haunted Landscape: Ghosts, Magic and Lore: https://www.conwayhall.org.uk/whats-on/event/the-haunted-landscape-ghosts-magic-and-lore/ Get your free guide to home protection the folklore way here: https://www.icysedgwick.com/fab-folklore/ Become a member of the Fabulous Folklore Family for bonus episodes and articles at https://patreon.com/bePatron?u=2380595 Buy Icy a coffee or sign up for bonus episodes at: https://ko-fi.com/icysedgwick Fabulous Folklore Bookshop: https://uk.bookshop.org/shop/fabulous_folklore Pre-recorded illustrated talks: https://ko-fi.com/icysedgwick/shop Request an episode: https://forms.gle/gqG7xQNLfbMg1mDv7 Get extra snippets of folklore on Instagram at https://instagram.com/icysedgwick Find Icy on BlueSky: https://bsky.app/profile/icysedgwick.bsky.social 'Like' Fabulous Folklore on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/fabulousfolklore/

Pendant une certaine période, Omer Chem Tov et Itaï Réguèv étaient détenus ensemble en captivité. Lorsque Itaï a été libéré, il a raconté à la mère de Omer à quel point son fils tenait à garder le Chabbath à Gaza, et ce qu'il faisait pour y arriver...

Ep. 297, Recorded 11/4/2025. Family photo books. Another Boring story. Holy Costume Party!* Stop helping me. One pump or two? Surely you can't be serious. Todd digs himself out of a hole. Dewayne gets tangled.  (*This is an actual quote from the 1960's TV series.)

Bruce Blakeman, Nassau County Executive, joins Sid on this day before Election Day to talk about his bid for reelection, highlighting his achievements in maintaining the county's safety and economic stability over his previous term. Blakeman talks about a new initiative in Island Park, where a former problematic hotel is being transformed into housing for disabled veterans in collaboration with the charity Tunnels to Towers. He also praises his team, including Police Commissioner Pat Ryder and District Attorney Anne Donnelly, for their dedication to public safety. Blakeman urges voters to reelect him and other Republican candidates to continue their policies of low taxes and community safety. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Now that there is a fragile cease-fire in place, it's time to ask what to do with Gaza's intricate system of tunnels. There is, of course, nothing new about the use of tunnels in war. From ancient Jerusalem to Vietnam to Islamic State in Mosul, militaries have dealt with underground warfare for millennia. But the scale, purpose, and strategic role of Hamas's tunnel network is fundamentally different from anything we've seen before. Gaza is approximately 140 square miles, and there are at least 600 miles of tunnels below its terrain. Before the war began, there were likely more tunnels in Gaza than there were roads. But it's not just the density of Gaza's tunnels that is unprecedented. For the first time in history, a military force built its entire strategy around its subterranean defenses, deliberately constructing tunnels beneath civilian infrastructure—schools, hospitals, homes—not to protect civilians, but to use them as human shields. This wasn't merely a tactical decision; it was the primary means by which Hamas intended to achieve its political goals. John Spencer, a leading expert on urban warfare and military history and executive director of the Urban Warfare Institute, joins the Tikvah Podcast to discuss this unprecedented military challenge. He has visited Gaza six times since October 7, studying these tunnels firsthand and speaking with the Israeli commanders who've had to fight in them. Today, he walks us through how Israeli forces had to remap the battlefield and reimagine warfare, learning to fight simultaneously above and below ground. We'll discuss the psychological demands of entering these tunnels, the innovative tactics that turned Hamas's greatest defensive asset into an Israeli offensive advantage, and the immense challenge that remains: what do you do with hundreds of miles of tunnels now that active hostilities have paused?

The Colorado State Capitol Building opened its doors in November 1894, a grand neo-classical monument in the West, built of local materials, but with some of the feel of the U.S. Capitol Building in Washington, D.C. Like many statehouses across the country, it's a trove of artwork, history and curiosities. The building is also often the site of protests, rallies, celebrations and a variety of other public events, a “People's House,” if you will. On Purplish, we spend a lot of time under the gold dome, digging into the consequential laws and debates in the state's seat of power. But for this episode, it's the building itself we're interested in. CPR's Bente Birkeland and Stephanie Wolf travel from top to bottom to explore what's on its walls and in its halls — and phone a friend to learn what's down below the basement. Their reporting reveals that the building itself, and the various objects it contains, open up bigger conversations, not just about history but about the state right now. Read more of our reporting: Portrait donated by White House will hang temporarily in capitol where painting Trump despised used to be Should Colorado Display A Rediscovered Portrait Of Its KKK Governor? How a wonky radiator helped uncover the Capitol's bygone glory Meet the ‘Bloody Espinosas' and other Colorado Capitol legends on these free ghost tours Purplish is produced by CPR News and the Capitol News Alliance, a collaboration between KUNC News, Colorado Public Radio, Rocky Mountain PBS, and The Colorado Sun, and shared with Rocky Mountain Community Radio and other news organizations across the state. Funding for the Alliance is provided in part by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.This episode was edited by Megan Verlee and sound designed and engineered by Shane Rumsey. Our theme music is by Brad Turner.

What's it like to finally embrace a loved one after more than 700 days in Hamas captivity? Pastor Jim Scudder sits down with Moshe Levi, brother-in-law of recently freed hostage Omri Miran, to hear this powerful story of faith, endurance, and answered prayer. Join InGrace for a moving conversation about hope in the face of unimaginable darkness.

This week, Rebecca and Shannon are joined by three guests bringing spooky season to life in downtown Great Falls: Jason Madill, owner of the Strain Building and Elevation 3330; Jesse Hinojosa, organizer of the upcoming El Desfile de los Muertos parade; and Cale Younce, Jesse's bandmate in Midnight FistFight. They talk about how this new Day of the Dead parade will fill Central Avenue with flickering candles, painted faces, and music that calls back the spirits of the past. You'll also hear about Haunted Tunnel Tours under the Strain Building and Elevation 3330, plus how Midnight FistFight will keep the energy going with live shows at Elevation 3330 on Halloween night and after the parade. From honoring tradition to throwing a great party, this episode celebrates the creative energy turning Great Falls into a city of spirits this fall.

We're going to patch up our wounds with a good old fashioned Super Edition! Now with 90% more digging!Book: Super Edition: Tallstar's RevengeSupport us on Ko-fi! WCWITCast Ko-fiFollow us on BlueSky! WCWITCastFollow us on Instagram! WCWITCastCat Fact Sources:Aspin Hill Memorial Park | Montgomery County Maryland Humane SocietyAspin Hill History | Pet Cemetery StoriesJulianne Mangin Website“Aspin Hill Pet Cemetery: 100 Years of Pets, People, and the Stories Behind the Stones,” by Julianne Mangin. The Montgomery County Story, Fall 2020, vol. 63 no. 2. pp. 1-21.Napoleon the Weather Prophet of Baltimore MD | Pet Cemetery StoriesFrosty - a pal | Pet Cemetery StoriesTimmie the Cat | Pet Cemetery StoriesAspin Hill Memorial Park - WikipediaAspin Hill Memorial Park in Silver Spring, Maryland - Find a Grave CemeteryAspin Hill Pet Cemetery - Atlas ObscuraMusic:The following music was used for this media project:Happy Boy Theme by Kevin MacLeod Link: https://incompetech.filmmusic.io/song/3855-happy-boy-themeLicense: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/This transformative podcast work constitutes a fair-use of any copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US copyright law. Warrior Cats: What is That? is not endorsed or supported by Harper Collins and/or Working Partners. All views are our own.

X: @ChrisCBNNews @ileaderssummit @americasrt1776 @NatashaSrdoc @JoelAnandUSA @supertalk Join America's Roundtable (https://americasrt.com/) radio co-hosts Natasha Srdoc and Joel Anand Samy with Chris Mitchell, CBN News Middle East Bureau Chief, based in Jerusalem, Israel. Chris Mitchell is bestselling author of titles including "Jerusalem Dateline," "Destination Jerusalem" and "ISIS, Iran and Israel: What You Need to Know about the Current Mideast Crisis and the Coming War." Chris Mitchell serves on the Executive Advisory Board of International Leaders Summit and Jerusalem Leaders Summit. Chris Mitchell first began reporting on the Middle East in the mid-1990s. He repeatedly traveled there to report on the religious and political issues facing Israel and the surrounding Arab states. As an eyewitness to major events in the region, Chris was in the center of hostile locations when reporting on October 7, 2023 and then actually in Gaza examining the tunnels with Israel's military. He has traveled extensively, including the more difficult places affected by conflicts and war. There are few Western journalists that have such a deep understanding of Israel within the Middle East, and the challenges and opportunities that the Jewish State faces in the 21st century. He has interviewed American and Israeli leaders including PM Benjamin Netanyahu on several occasions, and America's top leaders including cabinet members and ambassadors. In fact, Chris Mitchell visited Riyadh and met with Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman on the prospects of normalizing relations with Israel. The conversation with Chris Mitchell on America's Roundatble is focused on US-Israel relations, an update on the release of 20 remaining living hostages from Gaza, Trump's speech in Knesset, the signing of peace accords between Israel and hamas in Egypt and the future of the Middle East. On August 17, 2000, Chris Mitchell opened the CBN News Bureau in Israel. He came with his wife, Liz, and their three children without a notion of what would begin just five weeks later — a four-year-long campaign of Palestinian terror attacks and suicide bombings known as the Second Intifada rocked Israel. He also serves as the host and Executive Producer of Jerusalem Dateline, a weekly TV program from Israel seen worldwide on numerous networks. A native of the Boston area, Chris earned a B.A. in History at the University of New Hampshire in 1975. In 1987, he graduated with honors from Regent University, earning an M.A. in Communication. CBN's impact around the world engages an estimated viewing audience of 360 million people - a combined number of viewers through the numerous programs broadcasted in 156 countries and 76 languages. americasrt.com (https://americasrt.com/) https://ileaderssummit.org/ | https://jerusalemleaderssummit.com/ America's Roundtable on Apple Podcasts: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/americas-roundtable/id1518878472 X: @ChrisCBNNews @ileaderssummit @americasrt1776 @NatashaSrdoc @JoelAnandUSA @supertalk America's Roundtable is co-hosted by Natasha Srdoc and Joel Anand Samy, co-founders of International Leaders Summit and the Jerusalem Leaders Summit. America's Roundtable (https://americasrt.com/) radio program focuses on America's economy, healthcare reform, rule of law, security and trade, and its strategic partnership with rule of law nations around the world. The radio program features high-ranking US administration officials, cabinet members, members of Congress, state government officials, distinguished diplomats, business and media leaders and influential thinkers from around the world. Tune into America's Roundtable Radio program from Washington, DC via live streaming on Saturday mornings via 68 radio stations at 7:30 A.M. (ET) on Lanser Broadcasting Corporation covering the Michigan and the Midwest market, and at 7:30 A.M. (CT) on SuperTalk Mississippi — SuperTalk.FM reaching listeners in every county within the State of Mississippi, and neighboring states in the South including Alabama, Arkansas, Louisiana and Tennessee. Tune into WTON in Central Virginia on Sunday mornings at 6:00 A.M. (ET). Listen to America's Roundtable on digital platforms including Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon, Google and other key online platforms. Listen live, Saturdays at 7:30 A.M. (CT) on SuperTalk | https://www.supertalk.fm

Recorded by Sam Sax for Poem-a-Day, a series produced by the Academy of American Poets. Published on October 20, 2025. ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠www.poets.org⁠

In this episode of the Massive Passive Cashflow Podcast, I sit down with real estate investor and serial entrepreneur Tom Dunkel to unpack nearly 30 years of hard-won lessons in building wealth through strategic investing. From his early days in aerospace mergers and acquisitions to building a $63M distressed mortgage debt business, Tom shares how he transitioned from corporate finance to financial freedom—using real estate as the vehicle. As the Managing Director of Eagle Capital Investments, Tom has raised over $50 million across four asset classes and helped investors gain access to institutional-quality deals through his innovative fund-of-funds model. A battle-tested entrepreneur, Tom has built two 8-figure companies, failed on six others, and mentored countless entrepreneurs along the way. Outside the boardroom, he's an avid golfer, lead singer in a rock band, and a dedicated philanthropist supporting causes like Tunnels to Towers and a memorial scholarship at William & Mary. We discuss his fund-of-funds investment model, raising private capital, generating passive income through private lending, and the importance of finding your niche in a competitive real estate market. Tom also opens up about building (and rebuilding) businesses, giving back through charitable causes, and living a life designed around freedom, impact, and purpose. If you're a real estate investor, entrepreneur, or anyone looking to grow smarter and invest wiser, you won't want to miss this episode. What You Will Learn: How Tom transitioned from aerospace M&A to real estate after being fired in 2006 The strategy behind his $63M distressed debt business and what made it work What went wrong with his earlier business ventures—and what he learned from the failures Why finding your niche is critical to building a successful real estate company How to structure fund-of-funds deals that benefit both operators and investors The importance of education, agility, and building the right team How Tom is using his success to give back through music, mentorship, and charitable giving Links & Resources: Email:tom@eaglecapitalinvestments.com Phone Number: (610) 761-8940 Eagle Capital Investments Website: eaglecapitalinvestments.com Attention Investors and Agents: Are you looking to grow your business? Need to connect with aggressive, like-minded people like yourself? We have the tools, knowledge, and coaching to help you thrive and positively impact your bottom line.

In an exclusive from ProPublica reporter Anjeanette Damon and City Cast co-host Dayvid Figler, a new letter from the Nevada Division of Environmental Protection (NDEP) accuses the Boring Company of nearly 800 violations of a regulatory agreement in the last three years. The agreement was intended to hold the tunneling company, which has plans for 68 miles of Tesla Tunnels under Las Vegas, accountable for regular testing and oversight. But the fines proposed by NDEP for these violations amount to roughly $250,000 — just a fraction of the $3 million they could've levied. So what happens now? Co-host Sarah Lohman sits down with Anjeanette and Dayvid to learn more. Learn more about the sponsors of this October 10th episode: SNWA Opportunity Village Black Mountain Institute Black Rock Resort - Use promo CITYCAST for 20% off, a $50 resort credit, and 2pm late checkout. Want to get in touch? Follow us @CityCastVegas on Instagram, or email us at lasvegas@citycast.fm. You can also call or text us at 702-514-0719. For more Las Vegas news, make sure to sign up for our morning newsletter, Hey Las Vegas. Learn more about becoming a City Cast Las Vegas Neighbor at membership.citycast.fm. Looking to advertise on City Cast Las Vegas? Check out our options for podcast and newsletter ads at citycast.fm/advertise.

John is enamored with his car's technology and patiently awaits Nashville's new tunnel system. Meanwhile, Jonnie does a show for people in recovery and tells the tale of a woman who rode a bicycle an unreasonable distance. Plus, a conversation about affirmation, encouragement and how we never really stop becoming something. Today's episode is NOT sponsored by Hammocks: "Are you relaxed, or trapped?” FOLLOW Jonnie W: https://jonniew.com FOLLOW John Driver: https://johndriver.com LISTEN, SUBSCRIBE, SEND MESSAGE, OR SUPPORT at http://talkaboutthatpodcast.com WATCH/SUBSCRIBE on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCwjExy_jWIdNvGd28XgF2Dg Discover more Christian podcasts at lifeaudio.com and inquire about advertising opportunities at lifeaudio.com/contact-us.

Yaakov Katz co-author with Amir Bohbot, of While Israel Slept: How Hamas Surprised the Most Powerful Military in the Middle East, traces the failures that led to October 7 and how Israel's security establishment misread Hamas's strength and intent. He explains how world opinion, hostage leverage, and casualty ratios constrain Israel differently in Gaza than against Hezbollah, and how Netanyahu's post-ceasefire decisions prolonged the war. Katz argues Israel allowed hardliners to define the mission and assesses the current 20 point plan. Plus: the shutdown as a real-world experiment in Trump's expanded executive power. Produced by Corey Wara Production Coordinator Ashley Khan Email us at ⁠⁠⁠⁠thegist@mikepesca.com⁠⁠⁠⁠ To advertise on the show, contact ⁠⁠⁠⁠ad-sales@libsyn.com⁠⁠⁠⁠ or visit ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://advertising.libsyn.com/TheGist⁠⁠⁠⁠ Subscribe to The Gist: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://subscribe.mikepesca.com/⁠⁠⁠⁠ Subscribe to The Gist Youtube Page: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC4_bh0wHgk2YfpKf4rg40_g⁠⁠⁠⁠ Subscribe to The Gist Instagram Page: ⁠⁠⁠⁠GIST INSTAGRAM⁠⁠⁠⁠ Follow The Gist List at: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Pesca⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Profundities | Mike Pesca | Substack⁠⁠⁠⁠

Frank Grillo joins the show to talk about Peacemaker Season 2 and his secret to staying in shape at age 60, and the debut of a brand new Preston persona.(00:00:00) News & Sports(00:12:27) Entertainment News(00:46:57) Top Tenner(01:22:43) Bizarre File(01:31:33) Using Gift Cards, Misheard Lyrics(02:06:56) Holding Your Breath in Tunnels. Best U.S. National Parks(02:37:13) Bizarre File, Frank Grillo(03:08:26) Hollywood Trash & Music News(03:14:21) Wrap Up See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.