Podcasts about usnavi

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 27, 2024 3:42

…If you haven't seen him at his worst… WHERE'S MY SHIT?! …yo…you are so evil… [*breaks everything*] …Then you don't deserve him at his best. I'm your host, Jimmy Fallon And this— Is TRUTH OR DARE?! ‘ This dude is easily the best villain ever. Easily. {Enter The Multiverse} Blue eyes, it is. I wish, I wish, Be careful what you wish for, Or cook in a Petri dish The world is a stage, The people a plague The magic was gone, The days were the same. [The Festival Project ™] Blonde hair, blue eyes; Live once, lose twice— Brown skin, brown eyes Die inside. (Or just die.) {Rewind} Captain Captain! Oh, Good, come in, Cannon. You've—changed. …as you know, Monday we disembark. Yes, I'm aware. And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us. Yes. I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self. How old are you, anyway? You should never ask a woman her age, LT. Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know. Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately… Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that. I'm still very much in the privacy of my office. You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public. Never as a woman her age! You're not a woman; you're my captain. We'll see about that after tonight. Being a woman, or being my captain? Both, probably. Hm. By any chance would you be interested in joining me? As your subordinate, or as a man. Both, probably. Or neither… presumably. As my escort. I beg your pardon. I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition. —er, your condition, captain? Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind. [he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.] Consider it done. Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour. Half an hour? Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early. We're earning points? We are now. Very well then. What am I wearing? Something sharp. Sharper than the inside of a half hour. On your mark. I'll—see you soon. He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him. Sergeant. Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back. Oh. I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage. Whatever, though. Doesn't matter. At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture, TVP S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer. DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour. — Who's this beautiful sister. My head writer; don't even think about it. I dont think. I just do. Esha approaches— Dash politely bo s and kisses Esha's hand Should I get tested? —and funny. Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with daemon dash, furious Patrick means to interrogate her Why would you even date that asshole Because—Pat. He's a comedian. I'm a comedian! So? So, he's funny. And? And he said things to me— What kind of things Charming, funny things— Okay? Things he wouldnt say to you over dinner— because, I'm —you're a woman. —and your head writer. So naturally. Esh, you're a genius, So is he. We have—some new material to work through. Ahq! Your monologue tonight. Oh yes. Oh yes. You can thank me later. Broken bottles. :9'd one stop her Walkin walking God knows I don't belong here And I don't want to Passover was April 21-30 Global War on Terrorism Aka WWIII Oh, indeed. Don't look left Take a deep breath My heart beats differently I think it might be the end I think it might be I think I might be the enemy. The pushing mechanism When i breath him in I levitate And gravitate to what it meant The sake of the art, The hurt of the heart As sacred as it ever was The turning or the Torah talks of Gestures, since the fall of Rome The toga on the alter Solid hands unwrap us all From falling over Old and awkward No award for wisdom No rest for the wiser No love for the troll Since thunder struck from under us, Delivered all but what we wanted So we talk of karma sutra, Surely we can't talk at all Of what we know As once was bonded Laughed it off To come from what The call to us, Fair serve governors fortress I work up in mentions Carved the scarlet letter out of Cannons, of course MA. WHAT. I'm BUSY. ITS ON. The what? The show we watch! The one that— YES, Oh, my GOD. Yes. YESSSSSSSSS. Usnavi, get your popcorn This is some worth watching Up in arms for forwards Causing sore arms, Numb thumbs From crucifixes Are you wondering what God Would walk about the horned carving A kamazake walk of tall corn— Follow me, dear mantra Your whole house is watching. Sacre. It's happening again isn't it. I do want ice cream. All I need is a divorce And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall To rub me off at the stroke of Nevermind what the clock says In God's house they're all wrong The blsphomoous for Catholics Has begun, So strum your number into the teleprompter And just hope no one gets hurt By the hook on the next song —like the hook of my last surviving bra digs into my back does, Or the skin on my lack of tummy Has rubbed off under the suicide Of the cycle— It's getting tighter A loss of interest is equal to A loss of conciousness And I'm 21 days drunk On the alternate, though— I'm sober and feeling less Loved. The animal I've become is all cardio And karma sutra For karma comes To the weak of heart To use the world as swords To cause harm To the calm artists I thought I told you off once. (Already) You look awful. lol. You look terrible, broh. But my album sound fire. #producerholes [portal] It's coffee time!! It's not coffee time! It's not coffee time. Iiiiits coffee time. Damn. Where's the cat. Gestating. {Enter a the Multiverse} Wake up in a wet bed, sweat pouring engine strikes Disaster, roaring Ranting, raving,, Lunatics, icons Ione, eye color No warning: I want you Adonis New Adonis I got something for you; It's got four doors, I know you can't afford it, Come on, Only one offer Come on, You know I want you What I want a car in New York for? Even the scorecard, Cork off the bottle, huh? Go figure. I got sharp numbers, No harm no foul ball; Still stick in the Capstone, There's a sandstorm On the first montage. Pitch up, With the fever pitch With the fever pitch downstroke UP Pitch down With the force With the force Or What have you Play ball, No– playfair Payboy model Wayfair value Strict non-orders Foreigner syndrome Alcohol bottle Palinstrome, Astronomy No, Farquad Noah's Ark and all Going door to door, the doctor Doing more and more The Talk show host Losing more the Mortimer, Call it Losing more, The Watchamacalit, Chocolate bar, So far, Hard to forget No, Hard Ball, Soft pitch Watch this. THE COSMIC AVENGER (V.O) I cannot resist a chocolate cake! Huh. Seriously, I'm telling you. *sniffs* hm. {Enter The Multiverse} Yo, i'm telling you: she's spot on. Like, scary accurate. Precise. Always right. Even on Tuesdays. Why would it matter if it's Tuesday or not? Most Psychics are wrong on Tuesdays. Really. You didn't know about this? Never heard that. Most of them. Last I saw Kurt he seemed to be okay—doing well for a place so cold, and still, almost enjoying his time, somewhere cold enough that the chill on his breath grasped at mine, as I was prone to waking in these moments. Anymore ghosts? Who'd you want!? More players. And as it turns out, Strike force five was nothing but a simple game, Played by a group of— MOM Boys?! Supper! INT. BASEMENT- THE SUBURBS, ANYEAR In a distant parallel, it is a nondescript year of a indeterminable past time— in non linear time, we could be anywhere, but for period's sake, it appears to be anywhere between the 1930's and the early 1960's, the home itself adorned with qualities of any of these given eras; the clothing classic, dreamlike— pre or post war? Was there a war at all in this parallel; and it seems a partially imagined place altogether — it is, in fact, a dreary and almost comic book other world— a cross- parallel. The boys vary in ages from 8 to about 12, and between the five of them, brash little Irish lads, besides one English chap, whom anyone would probably bet at least at some point in his lineage was probably also Irish (or Irish enough) have summoned up, though amidst a flurry of baseballs cards and other boyish relics, seem to have assembled from old newspaper cuttings and superhero memoriabilia—some sort of game on the basement floor, though, they bicker and argue so much about how the game should be played that it is unclear whether they're playing any game at all, or just rapid-firing ‘jokes' at one another with absolute disconcert for anyone's feelings. They call themselves — Nevermind, it can wait. {Enter The Multiverse} What is this nonsense You fucking dork. I'm a key player. Speaking of keys— Wasn't me. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

CIRCV5.

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 27, 2024 3:42

…If you haven't seen him at his worst… WHERE'S MY SHIT?! …yo…you are so evil… [*breaks everything*] …Then you don't deserve him at his best. I'm your host, Jimmy Fallon And this— Is TRUTH OR DARE?! ‘ This dude is easily the best villain ever. Easily. {Enter The Multiverse} Blue eyes, it is. I wish, I wish, Be careful what you wish for, Or cook in a Petri dish The world is a stage, The people a plague The magic was gone, The days were the same. [The Festival Project ™] Blonde hair, blue eyes; Live once, lose twice— Brown skin, brown eyes Die inside. (Or just die.) {Rewind} Captain Captain! Oh, Good, come in, Cannon. You've—changed. …as you know, Monday we disembark. Yes, I'm aware. And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us. Yes. I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self. How old are you, anyway? You should never ask a woman her age, LT. Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know. Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately… Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that. I'm still very much in the privacy of my office. You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public. Never as a woman her age! You're not a woman; you're my captain. We'll see about that after tonight. Being a woman, or being my captain? Both, probably. Hm. By any chance would you be interested in joining me? As your subordinate, or as a man. Both, probably. Or neither… presumably. As my escort. I beg your pardon. I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition. —er, your condition, captain? Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind. [he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.] Consider it done. Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour. Half an hour? Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early. We're earning points? We are now. Very well then. What am I wearing? Something sharp. Sharper than the inside of a half hour. On your mark. I'll—see you soon. He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him. Sergeant. Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back. Oh. I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage. Whatever, though. Doesn't matter. At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture, TVP S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer. DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour. — Who's this beautiful sister. My head writer; don't even think about it. I dont think. I just do. Esha approaches— Dash politely bo s and kisses Esha's hand Should I get tested? —and funny. Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with daemon dash, furious Patrick means to interrogate her Why would you even date that asshole Because—Pat. He's a comedian. I'm a comedian! So? So, he's funny. And? And he said things to me— What kind of things Charming, funny things— Okay? Things he wouldnt say to you over dinner— because, I'm —you're a woman. —and your head writer. So naturally. Esh, you're a genius, So is he. We have—some new material to work through. Ahq! Your monologue tonight. Oh yes. Oh yes. You can thank me later. Broken bottles. :9'd one stop her Walkin walking God knows I don't belong here And I don't want to Passover was April 21-30 Global War on Terrorism Aka WWIII Oh, indeed. Don't look left Take a deep breath My heart beats differently I think it might be the end I think it might be I think I might be the enemy. The pushing mechanism When i breath him in I levitate And gravitate to what it meant The sake of the art, The hurt of the heart As sacred as it ever was The turning or the Torah talks of Gestures, since the fall of Rome The toga on the alter Solid hands unwrap us all From falling over Old and awkward No award for wisdom No rest for the wiser No love for the troll Since thunder struck from under us, Delivered all but what we wanted So we talk of karma sutra, Surely we can't talk at all Of what we know As once was bonded Laughed it off To come from what The call to us, Fair serve governors fortress I work up in mentions Carved the scarlet letter out of Cannons, of course MA. WHAT. I'm BUSY. ITS ON. The what? The show we watch! The one that— YES, Oh, my GOD. Yes. YESSSSSSSSS. Usnavi, get your popcorn This is some worth watching Up in arms for forwards Causing sore arms, Numb thumbs From crucifixes Are you wondering what God Would walk about the horned carving A kamazake walk of tall corn— Follow me, dear mantra Your whole house is watching. Sacre. It's happening again isn't it. I do want ice cream. All I need is a divorce And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall To rub me off at the stroke of Nevermind what the clock says In God's house they're all wrong The blsphomoous for Catholics Has begun, So strum your number into the teleprompter And just hope no one gets hurt By the hook on the next song —like the hook of my last surviving bra digs into my back does, Or the skin on my lack of tummy Has rubbed off under the suicide Of the cycle— It's getting tighter A loss of interest is equal to A loss of conciousness And I'm 21 days drunk On the alternate, though— I'm sober and feeling less Loved. The animal I've become is all cardio And karma sutra For karma comes To the weak of heart To use the world as swords To cause harm To the calm artists I thought I told you off once. (Already) You look awful. lol. You look terrible, broh. But my album sound fire. #producerholes [portal] It's coffee time!! It's not coffee time! It's not coffee time. Iiiiits coffee time. Damn. Where's the cat. Gestating. {Enter a the Multiverse} Wake up in a wet bed, sweat pouring engine strikes Disaster, roaring Ranting, raving,, Lunatics, icons Ione, eye color No warning: I want you Adonis New Adonis I got something for you; It's got four doors, I know you can't afford it, Come on, Only one offer Come on, You know I want you What I want a car in New York for? Even the scorecard, Cork off the bottle, huh? Go figure. I got sharp numbers, No harm no foul ball; Still stick in the Capstone, There's a sandstorm On the first montage. Pitch up, With the fever pitch With the fever pitch downstroke UP Pitch down With the force With the force Or What have you Play ball, No– playfair Payboy model Wayfair value Strict non-orders Foreigner syndrome Alcohol bottle Palinstrome, Astronomy No, Farquad Noah's Ark and all Going door to door, the doctor Doing more and more The Talk show host Losing more the Mortimer, Call it Losing more, The Watchamacalit, Chocolate bar, So far, Hard to forget No, Hard Ball, Soft pitch Watch this. THE COSMIC AVENGER (V.O) I cannot resist a chocolate cake! Huh. Seriously, I'm telling you. *sniffs* hm. {Enter The Multiverse} Yo, i'm telling you: she's spot on. Like, scary accurate. Precise. Always right. Even on Tuesdays. Why would it matter if it's Tuesday or not? Most Psychics are wrong on Tuesdays. Really. You didn't know about this? Never heard that. Most of them. Last I saw Kurt he seemed to be okay—doing well for a place so cold, and still, almost enjoying his time, somewhere cold enough that the chill on his breath grasped at mine, as I was prone to waking in these moments. Anymore ghosts? Who'd you want!? More players. And as it turns out, Strike force five was nothing but a simple game, Played by a group of— MOM Boys?! Supper! INT. BASEMENT- THE SUBURBS, ANYEAR In a distant parallel, it is a nondescript year of a indeterminable past time— in non linear time, we could be anywhere, but for period's sake, it appears to be anywhere between the 1930's and the early 1960's, the home itself adorned with qualities of any of these given eras; the clothing classic, dreamlike— pre or post war? Was there a war at all in this parallel; and it seems a partially imagined place altogether — it is, in fact, a dreary and almost comic book other world— a cross- parallel. The boys vary in ages from 8 to about 12, and between the five of them, brash little Irish lads, besides one English chap, whom anyone would probably bet at least at some point in his lineage was probably also Irish (or Irish enough) have summoned up, though amidst a flurry of baseballs cards and other boyish relics, seem to have assembled from old newspaper cuttings and superhero memoriabilia—some sort of game on the basement floor, though, they bicker and argue so much about how the game should be played that it is unclear whether they're playing any game at all, or just rapid-firing ‘jokes' at one another with absolute disconcert for anyone's feelings. They call themselves — Nevermind, it can wait. {Enter The Multiverse} What is this nonsense You fucking dork. I'm a key player. Speaking of keys— Wasn't me. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

CIRCV5.

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 27, 2024 3:42

…If you haven't seen him at his worst… WHERE'S MY SHIT?! …yo…you are so evil… [*breaks everything*] …Then you don't deserve him at his best. I'm your host, Jimmy Fallon And this— Is TRUTH OR DARE?! ‘ This dude is easily the best villain ever. Easily. {Enter The Multiverse} Blue eyes, it is. I wish, I wish, Be careful what you wish for, Or cook in a Petri dish The world is a stage, The people a plague The magic was gone, The days were the same. [The Festival Project ™] Blonde hair, blue eyes; Live once, lose twice— Brown skin, brown eyes Die inside. (Or just die.) {Rewind} Captain Captain! Oh, Good, come in, Cannon. You've—changed. …as you know, Monday we disembark. Yes, I'm aware. And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us. Yes. I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self. How old are you, anyway? You should never ask a woman her age, LT. Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know. Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately… Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that. I'm still very much in the privacy of my office. You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public. Never as a woman her age! You're not a woman; you're my captain. We'll see about that after tonight. Being a woman, or being my captain? Both, probably. Hm. By any chance would you be interested in joining me? As your subordinate, or as a man. Both, probably. Or neither… presumably. As my escort. I beg your pardon. I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition. —er, your condition, captain? Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind. [he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.] Consider it done. Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour. Half an hour? Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early. We're earning points? We are now. Very well then. What am I wearing? Something sharp. Sharper than the inside of a half hour. On your mark. I'll—see you soon. He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him. Sergeant. Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back. Oh. I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage. Whatever, though. Doesn't matter. At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture, TVP S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer. DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour. — Who's this beautiful sister. My head writer; don't even think about it. I dont think. I just do. Esha approaches— Dash politely bo s and kisses Esha's hand Should I get tested? —and funny. Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with daemon dash, furious Patrick means to interrogate her Why would you even date that asshole Because—Pat. He's a comedian. I'm a comedian! So? So, he's funny. And? And he said things to me— What kind of things Charming, funny things— Okay? Things he wouldnt say to you over dinner— because, I'm —you're a woman. —and your head writer. So naturally. Esh, you're a genius, So is he. We have—some new material to work through. Ahq! Your monologue tonight. Oh yes. Oh yes. You can thank me later. Broken bottles. :9'd one stop her Walkin walking God knows I don't belong here And I don't want to Passover was April 21-30 Global War on Terrorism Aka WWIII Oh, indeed. Don't look left Take a deep breath My heart beats differently I think it might be the end I think it might be I think I might be the enemy. The pushing mechanism When i breath him in I levitate And gravitate to what it meant The sake of the art, The hurt of the heart As sacred as it ever was The turning or the Torah talks of Gestures, since the fall of Rome The toga on the alter Solid hands unwrap us all From falling over Old and awkward No award for wisdom No rest for the wiser No love for the troll Since thunder struck from under us, Delivered all but what we wanted So we talk of karma sutra, Surely we can't talk at all Of what we know As once was bonded Laughed it off To come from what The call to us, Fair serve governors fortress I work up in mentions Carved the scarlet letter out of Cannons, of course MA. WHAT. I'm BUSY. ITS ON. The what? The show we watch! The one that— YES, Oh, my GOD. Yes. YESSSSSSSSS. Usnavi, get your popcorn This is some worth watching Up in arms for forwards Causing sore arms, Numb thumbs From crucifixes Are you wondering what God Would walk about the horned carving A kamazake walk of tall corn— Follow me, dear mantra Your whole house is watching. Sacre. It's happening again isn't it. I do want ice cream. All I need is a divorce And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall To rub me off at the stroke of Nevermind what the clock says In God's house they're all wrong The blsphomoous for Catholics Has begun, So strum your number into the teleprompter And just hope no one gets hurt By the hook on the next song —like the hook of my last surviving bra digs into my back does, Or the skin on my lack of tummy Has rubbed off under the suicide Of the cycle— It's getting tighter A loss of interest is equal to A loss of conciousness And I'm 21 days drunk On the alternate, though— I'm sober and feeling less Loved. The animal I've become is all cardio And karma sutra For karma comes To the weak of heart To use the world as swords To cause harm To the calm artists I thought I told you off once. (Already) You look awful. lol. You look terrible, broh. But my album sound fire. #producerholes [portal] It's coffee time!! It's not coffee time! It's not coffee time. Iiiiits coffee time. Damn. Where's the cat. Gestating. {Enter a the Multiverse} Wake up in a wet bed, sweat pouring engine strikes Disaster, roaring Ranting, raving,, Lunatics, icons Ione, eye color No warning: I want you Adonis New Adonis I got something for you; It's got four doors, I know you can't afford it, Come on, Only one offer Come on, You know I want you What I want a car in New York for? Even the scorecard, Cork off the bottle, huh? Go figure. I got sharp numbers, No harm no foul ball; Still stick in the Capstone, There's a sandstorm On the first montage. Pitch up, With the fever pitch With the fever pitch downstroke UP Pitch down With the force With the force Or What have you Play ball, No– playfair Payboy model Wayfair value Strict non-orders Foreigner syndrome Alcohol bottle Palinstrome, Astronomy No, Farquad Noah's Ark and all Going door to door, the doctor Doing more and more The Talk show host Losing more the Mortimer, Call it Losing more, The Watchamacalit, Chocolate bar, So far, Hard to forget No, Hard Ball, Soft pitch Watch this. THE COSMIC AVENGER (V.O) I cannot resist a chocolate cake! Huh. Seriously, I'm telling you. *sniffs* hm. {Enter The Multiverse} Yo, i'm telling you: she's spot on. Like, scary accurate. Precise. Always right. Even on Tuesdays. Why would it matter if it's Tuesday or not? Most Psychics are wrong on Tuesdays. Really. You didn't know about this? Never heard that. Most of them. Last I saw Kurt he seemed to be okay—doing well for a place so cold, and still, almost enjoying his time, somewhere cold enough that the chill on his breath grasped at mine, as I was prone to waking in these moments. Anymore ghosts? Who'd you want!? More players. And as it turns out, Strike force five was nothing but a simple game, Played by a group of— MOM Boys?! Supper! INT. BASEMENT- THE SUBURBS, ANYEAR In a distant parallel, it is a nondescript year of a indeterminable past time— in non linear time, we could be anywhere, but for period's sake, it appears to be anywhere between the 1930's and the early 1960's, the home itself adorned with qualities of any of these given eras; the clothing classic, dreamlike— pre or post war? Was there a war at all in this parallel; and it seems a partially imagined place altogether — it is, in fact, a dreary and almost comic book other world— a cross- parallel. The boys vary in ages from 8 to about 12, and between the five of them, brash little Irish lads, besides one English chap, whom anyone would probably bet at least at some point in his lineage was probably also Irish (or Irish enough) have summoned up, though amidst a flurry of baseballs cards and other boyish relics, seem to have assembled from old newspaper cuttings and superhero memoriabilia—some sort of game on the basement floor, though, they bicker and argue so much about how the game should be played that it is unclear whether they're playing any game at all, or just rapid-firing ‘jokes' at one another with absolute disconcert for anyone's feelings. They call themselves — Nevermind, it can wait. {Enter The Multiverse} What is this nonsense You fucking dork. I'm a key player. Speaking of keys— Wasn't me. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

#442: Eddie Ortega // Mulligan/Madison on Hamilton's Philip Tour // Part One

tour hamilton chicago bulls heights national anthem ortega dominican florida state university james madison mulligan usnavi

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 4, 2024 64:30

Eddie Ortega (Hercules Mulligan and James Madison on Hamilton's Philip Tour) is here to tell you what can happen if you work hard, *really* love what you do, and stay focused. In his first episode, Eddie talks about growing up in Florida and discovering his love of theater as a teenager. After being rejected from Florida State University, he did everything he could to get accepted and start building his career. From making his Dominican-born parents proud with his award-winning performance in Usnavi in In the Heights to seeing the world performing on a cruise ship, all roads seemed to lead to Hamilton. Eddie on Instagram Eddie's Website /// Lin-Manuel Miranda Performs at the White House Poetry Jam: (8 of 8) Eddie Ortega, Marcus Choi, and Jared Howelton performing the National Anthem at the Chicago Bulls game /// Gillian's Website The Hamilcast on Twitter The Hamilcast on Instagram Join the Patreon Peeps

Rewind: {As Seen on TV} (Enter The Multiverse}

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 5, 2024 61:35

Blue eyes, it is. I wish, I wish, Be careful what you wish for, Or cook in a Petri dish The world is a stage, The people a plague The magic was gone, The days were the same. [The Festival Project ™] Blonde hair, blue eyes; Live once, lose twice— Brown skin, brown eyes Die inside. (Or just die.) {Rewind} Captain Captain! Oh, Good, come in, Cannon. You've—changed. …as you know, Monday we disembark. Yes, I'm aware. And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us. Yes. I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self. How old are you, anyway? You should never ask a woman her age, LT. Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know. Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately… Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that. I'm still very much in the privacy of my office. You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public. Never as a woman her age! You're not a woman; you're my captain. We'll see about that after tonight. Being a woman, or being my captain? Both, probably. Hm. By any chance would you be interested in joining me? As your subordinate, or as a man. Both, probably. Or neither… presumably. As my escort. I beg your pardon. I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition. —er, your condition, captain? Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind. [he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.] Consider it done. Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour. Half an hour? Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early. We're earning points? We are now. Very well then. What am I wearing? Something sharp. Sharper than the inside of a half hour. On your mark. I'll—see you soon. He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him. Sergeant. Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back. Oh. I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage. Whatever, though. Doesn't matter. At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture, TVP S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer. DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour. — Who's this beautiful sister. My head writer; don't even think about it. I dont think. I just do. Esha approaches— Dash politely bo s and kisses Esha's hand Should I get tested? —and funny. Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with daemon dash, furious Patrick means to interrogate her Why would you even date that asshole Because—Pat. He's a comedian. I'm a comedian! So? So, he's funny. And? And he said things to me— What kind of things Charming, funny things— Okay? Things he wouldnt say to you over dinner— because, I'm —you're a woman. —and your head writer. So naturally. Esh, you're a genius, So is he. We have—some new material to work through. Ahq! Your monologue tonight. Oh yes. Oh yes. You can thank me later. Broken bottles. :9'd one stop her Walkin walking God knows I don't belong here And I don't want to Passover was April 21-30 Global War on Terrorism Aka WWIII Oh, indeed. Don't look left Take a deep breath My heart beats differently I think it might be the end I think it might be I think I might be the enemy The pushing mechanism When i breath him in I levitate And gravitate to what it meant The sake of the art, The hurt of the heart As sacred as it ever was The turning or the Torah talks of Gestures, since the fall of Rome The toga on the alter Solid hands unwrap us all From falling over Old and awkward No award for wisdom No rest for the wiser No love for the troll Since thunder struck from under us, Delivered all but what we wanted So we talk of karma sutra, Surely we can't talk at all Of what we know As once was bonded Laughed it off To come from what The call to us, Fair serve governors fortress I work up in mentions Carved the scarlet letter out of Cannons, of course MA. WHAT. I'm BUSY. ITS ON. The what? The show we watch! The one that— YES, Oh, my GOD. Yes. YESSSSSSSSS. Usnavi, get your popcorn This is some worth watching Up in arms for forwards Causing sore arms, Numb thumbs From crucifixes Are you wondering what God Would walk about the horned carving A kamazake walk of tall corn— Follow me, dear mantra Your whole house is watching. Sacre. It's happening again isn't it. I do want ice cream. All I need is a divorce And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall To rub me off at the stroke of Nevermind what the clock says In God's house they're all wrong The blsphomoous for Catholics Has begun, So strum your number into the teleprompter And just hope no one gets hurt By the hook on the next song —like the hook of my last surviving bra digs into my back does, Or the skin on my lack of tummy Has rubbed off under the suicide Of the cycle— It's getting tighter A loss of interest is equal to A loss of conciousness And I'm 21 days drunk On the alternate, though— I'm sober and feeling less Loved. The animal I've become is all cardio And karma sutra For karma comes To the weak of heart To use the world as swords To cause harm To the calm artists I thought I told you off once. (Already) You look awful. lol. You look terrible, broh. But my album sound fire. #producerholes [portal] It's coffee time!! It's not coffee time! It's not coffee time. Iiiiits coffee time. Damn. Where's the cat. Gestating. My phone was never the first thing I reached for in the morning—but I was sure there was something missing in my mind from a place in LA that I used to frequent, that sold giant frosted cookies that were also vegan. There was donut friend, which I always enjoyed and craved—but I was sure—absolutely sure that I was missing a m cookie, and it was absolutely driving me wild that I couldn't think of the place, or find it on Google. Has it been before turning vegan? Was my memory failing me in thinking that the cupcakes and donuts that I had often brought back to the hostel in boxes were timetimes cookies also? It seemed like there were cookies…and I'm sure that there were, as I could remember the thick frosting often being sweet and decadent enough to lick from the top, and that the bottom cookie was sweet and soft, and usually warm—and that I almost always couldn't finish the cookie in one sitting. Had this all been before I went vegan? I was sure I distinctly remembered sitting atop my bunk at The Freehand savoring this cookie, but a google search yeikded no results—none that I could find familiar, and it bothered me so much that I actually decided to start my day just on the tip of figuring out what it was was. As I crossed through my apartment, realizing I hadn't bothered to throw the trash out after mopping and went m directly to bed early, not with the consideration of rising early but really just out of exhaustion, I had decided that in order to get work done that my workouts would have to be pushed toward the end of my day, somewhere between still having the energy to manage and not being disturbed—as I had seen that girl to at I very specifically didn't like again m, I had realized that again, I was correct— even after an hour of working out, I simply didn't like her energy. There must have been something wrong with her—or incompatible about us altogether; she had come into the gym quietly and was sort of hiding and even still, I had instantly recognized that there was a foreign energy—and squinting to see her, saw that she was crouched on the other side of the gym. I dismounted the stationary bike and figured that an hour of cardio would be enough for the time. Strength training would only force me to crave protein—-and I was running low saving everything that I had in order to better strategize an arrangement which didn't leave me at the bottom of New York's merciless barrel. It seemed I wasn't going to get the job at Equinox after all—it had been nearly a week since my interview with them, and having not heard anything back, I realized that everything, no matter what—was always just a game. I needed to figure out how better to play it before my life ended abruptly on some sort of whim. Sitting down in the darkened bathroom, I realized that in order to restore and keep my energy, I should be unseen, and unheard. ‘Keep your head down.' I'm sure there was some type of code or rule for the way I should handle myself in public or even in private all well knowing the types of things I had writtten about, let alone which had been published—and while I planned to clear out what written works had made it into cyberspace unchecked, there was nothing less important to me than the actual world, what it expected of me, or who was in it. I hadn't entirely failed yet, but I also hadn't entirely succeeded, and after a strange series of dreams— almost all of them more interesting than the one with the cookie, (mentioning that the reason I had been curious about the cookie in the first place was from a strange series of dreams) “Ohhh, you know what—that might have actually been that place in Vegas, before I went vegan.” The boxes at the freehand must have been all from donut friend and Sprinkles—and it astonished me how much of a sweet tooth I actually had which was sort of now quite well managed. There was no sugar or even salt in the house— and with the lack of food that I actually had in my apartment, for at least something like the next two weeks, I was sure that I'd reach minimum weight—absolutely minimum weight— by the turn of the month. That is, all the weight I could lose betsides what needed to be surgically removed, and there was some sort of plan formulating somewhere outside of myself in exactly how that would be achieved. Because at any rate—I knew that it would. There were no more cookies, no more donuts, and no more cupcakes, besides the occasional box of the frozen type I had ordered from Amazon fresh which I did thoroughly enjoy, almost always in one sitting after a wild amount of cardio had implemented a faster metabolism and brought me to the realization that so much cardio meant that entirely that I could eat ‘whatever in the fuck I wanted' without gaining any weight or even losing it—and as I stepped up to take a shower, pulling my shirt up and over my chest, I inspected my abdomen, though holding bloat from pinto beans and deep fried sweet potatoes, still toned with the definition lines I had only just now learned that I had, creviced and notations of my sometimes 4 or 6 pack abs, though hidden under the sagging skin of my once maternal belly— still evident at all, and a factor of my minimal pride in that I had gone in one lifetime from one body and into many others— and one day, an even more drastically different one. I fantasized owning a peloton but realized that I may have to settle on a rental until I had outfitted myself with some sort of safety net. lol there's a sweet potato emoji. wtf. I don't know how you did this but— I woke up. Apparently, I'm Lorne Michaels. Please stop. I don't know what that means. You know what If I was pretty Nobody would hate me for anything I swear to God only ugly people are punished or any or all of our matings. I lost the ability to see worth in myself. I also lost the ability to write good songs. Just let me watch bad girls club And wait for the motorcycles To make my night A living hell “I didn't mean for this to happen, Jimmy Fallon. “ It was a whisper, actually— less than that, as I set the stone with the others above the amulet— I placed easch crystal carefully at the alter, keeping only two of them for myself; the rest, as guardians to the amulet. I could no longer keep such a relic around my neck; it had become quite heavy, and the dreams had become deep and more illusive, and it seemed there was some dark spirit along to it after all—and after all— the amulet was my only living son's, anyway, intended as a gift and charm of protection for when I next saw him—whenever that could be, or would be. It had been a long and interesting but altogether uneventful year, and now, not even feeling right in my own self, I intended to continue hiding, and perhaps even burrow further away until I was granted a full and proper divorce; my ex husband using his refusal to sign the papers as a final act of control, and though I almost found it admirable, I only became more dismissive of it—the person I was then, simply was no more; in fact, she was dead enough indeed that to disappear and become a ghost could do no worse than to further alter the course of time and distance it would take to ever become in such a way again—that is, if it were infinite, and for peace of mind and freedom of spirit and soul from bondsge, insisted it wasn't. It was less than a whisper enough that none other besides God could have heard it, and yet it seemed something or someone had—as a door quickly slammed as the words—words which meant a name I was sure I would never say again—“Jimmy Fallon” left my mouth. I couldn't come close to words at all let alone a name, and especially not a song; but then, of course, there was The Book of Knowlege never to have been spoken and as always, the ever moving truth of songs— There were other Gods that new no words at all besides the melodies and rhythms of our hearts—and there never really was every truly a Jimmy Fallon at all— Only myself. Whatever the fuck. Alright, alright. It was next in the que with purpose, probably but quite on accident— Now I could continue in my pattern of dulling my brain for the remainder of the night as I had been all day. Since March I had seemed to cry what I thought were the rest of my tears, and however, after a particularly mind numbing day of trash television and Olympic surfing, it seemed the ocean alone was enough to pull from what was left of my soul, and as it turned out, it still was there. I was bored of the brokenness of New York—something like living in a rotten and spoiled toy, with the limits I had been given—and though I should have been happy, to finally just have my own place— the people surrounding, as always, ruined it— Them being myself aside. I wished the things outside of me were quieter. Now I could finally almost put my mind out of focus for just a little bit longer—and creep on Johnny Depp without doing it intentionally. I had stopped looking up famous people, besides some women and businessmen I knew could never feign my interest anyway. It was never about money— and always about creative intelligence; I hadn't seen the movie as an adult, and so I was sure it would have some insight to offer. I tried to forget that I had aged out of almost everything—and that my mother had so greedily destroyed any real chance I had at becoming what I might have been with anybody else as a mother—or at least some one around to watch her raise me and correct her damaging actions, words, and harsh thoughts. At least she had taught me to read and write—and if worst actually came to worse—which it was starting to look like—how to trade my body and time in exchange for things I wanted and needed. All women were nearly prostitutes in some way, anyhow—and the only thing deterring me from it was on every honest God I ever thought of, the fact that white women made more in sex work than colored women did. — it almost hurt to watch Olympic surfing. Actually, it did. It hurt, a lot. What's a girl Have you ever had a girl before? What's world when you're wound up in an orphanage Probably astounding I've got a shadow Sad, should have danced with him Now he's so mad that —I don't even touch my guitar No more I have words No songs The whole world's At war And to surf — you need water I love New York But hate Thus corner of Brooklyn I want to go up Testosterone —I've got a word for the goner “Gonzo” I've got a cannon Or blonde, for reference Why were all stalkers I'll book The Tonight Show, I'll summon up Carson A , I promise— A good time was had —I promise, no subtle obsession. I made a decision, I went with it Just a protagonist, actor— A comic Producer, by marriage I swear, It's just adding up evidence If ever gets intensities Offensive, this illumination — I don't doubt you. I want chocolate milk What even is that? I've been eating healthy I've got half an album out And half inside my head With Donnie Brasco I've got half a million dollars somewhere Stuffed inside my cunt, I think With hallmark cards and shopping carts I owe them half a fortune I hate it so much I watch a whole soul Come out if television I love it so much But I hate the whole public And crowding I don't want love I want fucks I want puppies —Jesus he's beautiful My ex husband had similar facial structure to Mr Depp respectively, I'm guessing my artistry, Intention, A preteen obsession at least sort of paid off. Somehow. Now it's my eyes on the other, the older — The way that he sits and does nothing but slump —Al Pacino, they call him? The false father and forced profits often acknowledged The love of the old and weathered. For once I woke up to a record 33 rotations a minute {Enter The Multiverse} —what are you gonna do? Blondes and shit. The best of the best— —I'll tell ya, I recommend it (Recommended by a Friend) I have a headache twice my age. I made a mistake half my life ago Woke up this morning Bought myself a gun To make it right {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective. © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019 | 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © {Rewind}

Rewind: {As Seen on TV}

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 5, 2024 61:35

Blue eyes, it is. I wish, I wish, Be careful what you wish for, Or cook in a Petri dish The world is a stage, The people a plague The magic was gone, The days were the same. [The Festival Project ™] Blonde hair, blue eyes; Live once, lose twice— Brown skin, brown eyes Die inside. (Or just die.) {Rewind} Captain Captain! Oh, Good, come in, Cannon. You've—changed. …as you know, Monday we disembark. Yes, I'm aware. And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us. Yes. I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self. How old are you, anyway? You should never ask a woman her age, LT. Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know. Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately… Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that. I'm still very much in the privacy of my office. You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public. Never as a woman her age! You're not a woman; you're my captain. We'll see about that after tonight. Being a woman, or being my captain? Both, probably. Hm. By any chance would you be interested in joining me? As your subordinate, or as a man. Both, probably. Or neither… presumably. As my escort. I beg your pardon. I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition. —er, your condition, captain? Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind. [he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.] Consider it done. Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour. Half an hour? Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early. We're earning points? We are now. Very well then. What am I wearing? Something sharp. Sharper than the inside of a half hour. On your mark. I'll—see you soon. He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him. Sergeant. Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back. Oh. I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage. Whatever, though. Doesn't matter. At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture, TVP S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer. DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour. — Who's this beautiful sister. My head writer; don't even think about it. I dont think. I just do. Esha approaches— Dash politely bo s and kisses Esha's hand Should I get tested? —and funny. Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with daemon dash, furious Patrick means to interrogate her Why would you even date that asshole Because—Pat. He's a comedian. I'm a comedian! So? So, he's funny. And? And he said things to me— What kind of things Charming, funny things— Okay? Things he wouldnt say to you over dinner— because, I'm —you're a woman. —and your head writer. So naturally. Esh, you're a genius, So is he. We have—some new material to work through. Ahq! Your monologue tonight. Oh yes. Oh yes. You can thank me later. Broken bottles. :9'd one stop her Walkin walking God knows I don't belong here And I don't want to Passover was April 21-30 Global War on Terrorism Aka WWIII Oh, indeed. Don't look left Take a deep breath My heart beats differently I think it might be the end I think it might be I think I might be the enemy The pushing mechanism When i breath him in I levitate And gravitate to what it meant The sake of the art, The hurt of the heart As sacred as it ever was The turning or the Torah talks of Gestures, since the fall of Rome The toga on the alter Solid hands unwrap us all From falling over Old and awkward No award for wisdom No rest for the wiser No love for the troll Since thunder struck from under us, Delivered all but what we wanted So we talk of karma sutra, Surely we can't talk at all Of what we know As once was bonded Laughed it off To come from what The call to us, Fair serve governors fortress I work up in mentions Carved the scarlet letter out of Cannons, of course MA. WHAT. I'm BUSY. ITS ON. The what? The show we watch! The one that— YES, Oh, my GOD. Yes. YESSSSSSSSS. Usnavi, get your popcorn This is some worth watching Up in arms for forwards Causing sore arms, Numb thumbs From crucifixes Are you wondering what God Would walk about the horned carving A kamazake walk of tall corn— Follow me, dear mantra Your whole house is watching. Sacre. It's happening again isn't it. I do want ice cream. All I need is a divorce And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall To rub me off at the stroke of Nevermind what the clock says In God's house they're all wrong The blsphomoous for Catholics Has begun, So strum your number into the teleprompter And just hope no one gets hurt By the hook on the next song —like the hook of my last surviving bra digs into my back does, Or the skin on my lack of tummy Has rubbed off under the suicide Of the cycle— It's getting tighter A loss of interest is equal to A loss of conciousness And I'm 21 days drunk On the alternate, though— I'm sober and feeling less Loved. The animal I've become is all cardio And karma sutra For karma comes To the weak of heart To use the world as swords To cause harm To the calm artists I thought I told you off once. (Already) You look awful. lol. You look terrible, broh. But my album sound fire. #producerholes [portal] It's coffee time!! It's not coffee time! It's not coffee time. Iiiiits coffee time. Damn. Where's the cat. Gestating. My phone was never the first thing I reached for in the morning—but I was sure there was something missing in my mind from a place in LA that I used to frequent, that sold giant frosted cookies that were also vegan. There was donut friend, which I always enjoyed and craved—but I was sure—absolutely sure that I was missing a m cookie, and it was absolutely driving me wild that I couldn't think of the place, or find it on Google. Has it been before turning vegan? Was my memory failing me in thinking that the cupcakes and donuts that I had often brought back to the hostel in boxes were timetimes cookies also? It seemed like there were cookies…and I'm sure that there were, as I could remember the thick frosting often being sweet and decadent enough to lick from the top, and that the bottom cookie was sweet and soft, and usually warm—and that I almost always couldn't finish the cookie in one sitting. Had this all been before I went vegan? I was sure I distinctly remembered sitting atop my bunk at The Freehand savoring this cookie, but a google search yeikded no results—none that I could find familiar, and it bothered me so much that I actually decided to start my day just on the tip of figuring out what it was was. As I crossed through my apartment, realizing I hadn't bothered to throw the trash out after mopping and went m directly to bed early, not with the consideration of rising early but really just out of exhaustion, I had decided that in order to get work done that my workouts would have to be pushed toward the end of my day, somewhere between still having the energy to manage and not being disturbed—as I had seen that girl to at I very specifically didn't like again m, I had realized that again, I was correct— even after an hour of working out, I simply didn't like her energy. There must have been something wrong with her—or incompatible about us altogether; she had come into the gym quietly and was sort of hiding and even still, I had instantly recognized that there was a foreign energy—and squinting to see her, saw that she was crouched on the other side of the gym. I dismounted the stationary bike and figured that an hour of cardio would be enough for the time. Strength training would only force me to crave protein—-and I was running low saving everything that I had in order to better strategize an arrangement which didn't leave me at the bottom of New York's merciless barrel. It seemed I wasn't going to get the job at Equinox after all—it had been nearly a week since my interview with them, and having not heard anything back, I realized that everything, no matter what—was always just a game. I needed to figure out how better to play it before my life ended abruptly on some sort of whim. Sitting down in the darkened bathroom, I realized that in order to restore and keep my energy, I should be unseen, and unheard. ‘Keep your head down.' I'm sure there was some type of code or rule for the way I should handle myself in public or even in private all well knowing the types of things I had writtten about, let alone which had been published—and while I planned to clear out what written works had made it into cyberspace unchecked, there was nothing less important to me than the actual world, what it expected of me, or who was in it. I hadn't entirely failed yet, but I also hadn't entirely succeeded, and after a strange series of dreams— almost all of them more interesting than the one with the cookie, (mentioning that the reason I had been curious about the cookie in the first place was from a strange series of dreams) “Ohhh, you know what—that might have actually been that place in Vegas, before I went vegan.” The boxes at the freehand must have been all from donut friend and Sprinkles—and it astonished me how much of a sweet tooth I actually had which was sort of now quite well managed. There was no sugar or even salt in the house— and with the lack of food that I actually had in my apartment, for at least something like the next two weeks, I was sure that I'd reach minimum weight—absolutely minimum weight— by the turn of the month. That is, all the weight I could lose betsides what needed to be surgically removed, and there was some sort of plan formulating somewhere outside of myself in exactly how that would be achieved. Because at any rate—I knew that it would. There were no more cookies, no more donuts, and no more cupcakes, besides the occasional box of the frozen type I had ordered from Amazon fresh which I did thoroughly enjoy, almost always in one sitting after a wild amount of cardio had implemented a faster metabolism and brought me to the realization that so much cardio meant that entirely that I could eat ‘whatever in the fuck I wanted' without gaining any weight or even losing it—and as I stepped up to take a shower, pulling my shirt up and over my chest, I inspected my abdomen, though holding bloat from pinto beans and deep fried sweet potatoes, still toned with the definition lines I had only just now learned that I had, creviced and notations of my sometimes 4 or 6 pack abs, though hidden under the sagging skin of my once maternal belly— still evident at all, and a factor of my minimal pride in that I had gone in one lifetime from one body and into many others— and one day, an even more drastically different one. I fantasized owning a peloton but realized that I may have to settle on a rental until I had outfitted myself with some sort of safety net. lol there's a sweet potato emoji. wtf. I don't know how you did this but— I woke up. Apparently, I'm Lorne Michaels. Please stop. I don't know what that means. You know what If I was pretty Nobody would hate me for anything I swear to God only ugly people are punished or any or all of our matings. I lost the ability to see worth in myself. I also lost the ability to write good songs. Just let me watch bad girls club And wait for the motorcycles To make my night A living hell “I didn't mean for this to happen, Jimmy Fallon. “ It was a whisper, actually— less than that, as I set the stone with the others above the amulet— I placed easch crystal carefully at the alter, keeping only two of them for myself; the rest, as guardians to the amulet. I could no longer keep such a relic around my neck; it had become quite heavy, and the dreams had become deep and more illusive, and it seemed there was some dark spirit along to it after all—and after all— the amulet was my only living son's, anyway, intended as a gift and charm of protection for when I next saw him—whenever that could be, or would be. It had been a long and interesting but altogether uneventful year, and now, not even feeling right in my own self, I intended to continue hiding, and perhaps even burrow further away until I was granted a full and proper divorce; my ex husband using his refusal to sign the papers as a final act of control, and though I almost found it admirable, I only became more dismissive of it—the person I was then, simply was no more; in fact, she was dead enough indeed that to disappear and become a ghost could do no worse than to further alter the course of time and distance it would take to ever become in such a way again—that is, if it were infinite, and for peace of mind and freedom of spirit and soul from bondsge, insisted it wasn't. It was less than a whisper enough that none other besides God could have heard it, and yet it seemed something or someone had—as a door quickly slammed as the words—words which meant a name I was sure I would never say again—“Jimmy Fallon” left my mouth. I couldn't come close to words at all let alone a name, and especially not a song; but then, of course, there was The Book of Knowlege never to have been spoken and as always, the ever moving truth of songs— There were other Gods that new no words at all besides the melodies and rhythms of our hearts—and there never really was every truly a Jimmy Fallon at all— Only myself. Whatever the fuck. Alright, alright. It was next in the que with purpose, probably but quite on accident— Now I could continue in my pattern of dulling my brain for the remainder of the night as I had been all day. Since March I had seemed to cry what I thought were the rest of my tears, and however, after a particularly mind numbing day of trash television and Olympic surfing, it seemed the ocean alone was enough to pull from what was left of my soul, and as it turned out, it still was there. I was bored of the brokenness of New York—something like living in a rotten and spoiled toy, with the limits I had been given—and though I should have been happy, to finally just have my own place— the people surrounding, as always, ruined it— Them being myself aside. I wished the things outside of me were quieter. Now I could finally almost put my mind out of focus for just a little bit longer—and creep on Johnny Depp without doing it intentionally. I had stopped looking up famous people, besides some women and businessmen I knew could never feign my interest anyway. It was never about money— and always about creative intelligence; I hadn't seen the movie as an adult, and so I was sure it would have some insight to offer. I tried to forget that I had aged out of almost everything—and that my mother had so greedily destroyed any real chance I had at becoming what I might have been with anybody else as a mother—or at least some one around to watch her raise me and correct her damaging actions, words, and harsh thoughts. At least she had taught me to read and write—and if worst actually came to worse—which it was starting to look like—how to trade my body and time in exchange for things I wanted and needed. All women were nearly prostitutes in some way, anyhow—and the only thing deterring me from it was on every honest God I ever thought of, the fact that white women made more in sex work than colored women did. — it almost hurt to watch Olympic surfing. Actually, it did. It hurt, a lot. What's a girl Have you ever had a girl before? What's world when you're wound up in an orphanage Probably astounding I've got a shadow Sad, should have danced with him Now he's so mad that —I don't even touch my guitar No more I have words No songs The whole world's At war And to surf — you need water I love New York But hate Thus corner of Brooklyn I want to go up Testosterone —I've got a word for the goner “Gonzo” I've got a cannon Or blonde, for reference Why were all stalkers I'll book The Tonight Show, I'll summon up Carson A , I promise— A good time was had —I promise, no subtle obsession. I made a decision, I went with it Just a protagonist, actor— A comic Producer, by marriage I swear, It's just adding up evidence If ever gets intensities Offensive, this illumination — I don't doubt you. I want chocolate milk What even is that? I've been eating healthy I've got half an album out And half inside my head With Donnie Brasco I've got half a million dollars somewhere Stuffed inside my cunt, I think With hallmark cards and shopping carts I owe them half a fortune I hate it so much I watch a whole soul Come out if television I love it so much But I hate the whole public And crowding I don't want love I want fucks I want puppies —Jesus he's beautiful My ex husband had similar facial structure to Mr Depp respectively, I'm guessing my artistry, Intention, A preteen obsession at least sort of paid off. Somehow. Now it's my eyes on the other, the older — The way that he sits and does nothing but slump —Al Pacino, they call him? The false father and forced profits often acknowledged The love of the old and weathered. For once I woke up to a record 33 rotations a minute {Enter The Multiverse} —what are you gonna do? Blondes and shit. The best of the best— —I'll tell ya, I recommend it (Recommended by a Friend) I have a headache twice my age. I made a mistake half my life ago Woke up this morning Bought myself a gun To make it right {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective. © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019 | 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © {Rewind}

Rewind: {As Seen on TV} (Enter The Mumtiverse)

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 5, 2024 61:35

Blue eyes, it is. I wish, I wish, Be careful what you wish for, Or cook in a Petri dish The world is a stage, The people a plague The magic was gone, The days were the same. [The Festival Project ™] Blonde hair, blue eyes; Live once, lose twice— Brown skin, brown eyes Die inside. (Or just die.) {Rewind} Captain Captain! Oh, Good, come in, Cannon. You've—changed. …as you know, Monday we disembark. Yes, I'm aware. And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us. Yes. I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self. How old are you, anyway? You should never ask a woman her age, LT. Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know. Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately… Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that. I'm still very much in the privacy of my office. You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public. Never as a woman her age! You're not a woman; you're my captain. We'll see about that after tonight. Being a woman, or being my captain? Both, probably. Hm. By any chance would you be interested in joining me? As your subordinate, or as a man. Both, probably. Or neither… presumably. As my escort. I beg your pardon. I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition. —er, your condition, captain? Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind. [he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.] Consider it done. Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour. Half an hour? Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early. We're earning points? We are now. Very well then. What am I wearing? Something sharp. Sharper than the inside of a half hour. On your mark. I'll—see you soon. He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him. Sergeant. Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back. Oh. I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage. Whatever, though. Doesn't matter. At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture, TVP S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer. DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour. — Who's this beautiful sister. My head writer; don't even think about it. I dont think. I just do. Esha approaches— Dash politely bo s and kisses Esha's hand Should I get tested? —and funny. Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with daemon dash, furious Patrick means to interrogate her Why would you even date that asshole Because—Pat. He's a comedian. I'm a comedian! So? So, he's funny. And? And he said things to me— What kind of things Charming, funny things— Okay? Things he wouldnt say to you over dinner— because, I'm —you're a woman. —and your head writer. So naturally. Esh, you're a genius, So is he. We have—some new material to work through. Ahq! Your monologue tonight. Oh yes. Oh yes. You can thank me later. Broken bottles. :9'd one stop her Walkin walking God knows I don't belong here And I don't want to Passover was April 21-30 Global War on Terrorism Aka WWIII Oh, indeed. Don't look left Take a deep breath My heart beats differently I think it might be the end I think it might be I think I might be the enemy The pushing mechanism When i breath him in I levitate And gravitate to what it meant The sake of the art, The hurt of the heart As sacred as it ever was The turning or the Torah talks of Gestures, since the fall of Rome The toga on the alter Solid hands unwrap us all From falling over Old and awkward No award for wisdom No rest for the wiser No love for the troll Since thunder struck from under us, Delivered all but what we wanted So we talk of karma sutra, Surely we can't talk at all Of what we know As once was bonded Laughed it off To come from what The call to us, Fair serve governors fortress I work up in mentions Carved the scarlet letter out of Cannons, of course MA. WHAT. I'm BUSY. ITS ON. The what? The show we watch! The one that— YES, Oh, my GOD. Yes. YESSSSSSSSS. Usnavi, get your popcorn This is some worth watching Up in arms for forwards Causing sore arms, Numb thumbs From crucifixes Are you wondering what God Would walk about the horned carving A kamazake walk of tall corn— Follow me, dear mantra Your whole house is watching. Sacre. It's happening again isn't it. I do want ice cream. All I need is a divorce And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall To rub me off at the stroke of Nevermind what the clock says In God's house they're all wrong The blsphomoous for Catholics Has begun, So strum your number into the teleprompter And just hope no one gets hurt By the hook on the next song —like the hook of my last surviving bra digs into my back does, Or the skin on my lack of tummy Has rubbed off under the suicide Of the cycle— It's getting tighter A loss of interest is equal to A loss of conciousness And I'm 21 days drunk On the alternate, though— I'm sober and feeling less Loved. The animal I've become is all cardio And karma sutra For karma comes To the weak of heart To use the world as swords To cause harm To the calm artists I thought I told you off once. (Already) You look awful. lol. You look terrible, broh. But my album sound fire. #producerholes [portal] It's coffee time!! It's not coffee time! It's not coffee time. Iiiiits coffee time. Damn. Where's the cat. Gestating. My phone was never the first thing I reached for in the morning—but I was sure there was something missing in my mind from a place in LA that I used to frequent, that sold giant frosted cookies that were also vegan. There was donut friend, which I always enjoyed and craved—but I was sure—absolutely sure that I was missing a m cookie, and it was absolutely driving me wild that I couldn't think of the place, or find it on Google. Has it been before turning vegan? Was my memory failing me in thinking that the cupcakes and donuts that I had often brought back to the hostel in boxes were timetimes cookies also? It seemed like there were cookies…and I'm sure that there were, as I could remember the thick frosting often being sweet and decadent enough to lick from the top, and that the bottom cookie was sweet and soft, and usually warm—and that I almost always couldn't finish the cookie in one sitting. Had this all been before I went vegan? I was sure I distinctly remembered sitting atop my bunk at The Freehand savoring this cookie, but a google search yeikded no results—none that I could find familiar, and it bothered me so much that I actually decided to start my day just on the tip of figuring out what it was was. As I crossed through my apartment, realizing I hadn't bothered to throw the trash out after mopping and went m directly to bed early, not with the consideration of rising early but really just out of exhaustion, I had decided that in order to get work done that my workouts would have to be pushed toward the end of my day, somewhere between still having the energy to manage and not being disturbed—as I had seen that girl to at I very specifically didn't like again m, I had realized that again, I was correct— even after an hour of working out, I simply didn't like her energy. There must have been something wrong with her—or incompatible about us altogether; she had come into the gym quietly and was sort of hiding and even still, I had instantly recognized that there was a foreign energy—and squinting to see her, saw that she was crouched on the other side of the gym. I dismounted the stationary bike and figured that an hour of cardio would be enough for the time. Strength training would only force me to crave protein—-and I was running low saving everything that I had in order to better strategize an arrangement which didn't leave me at the bottom of New York's merciless barrel. It seemed I wasn't going to get the job at Equinox after all—it had been nearly a week since my interview with them, and having not heard anything back, I realized that everything, no matter what—was always just a game. I needed to figure out how better to play it before my life ended abruptly on some sort of whim. Sitting down in the darkened bathroom, I realized that in order to restore and keep my energy, I should be unseen, and unheard. ‘Keep your head down.' I'm sure there was some type of code or rule for the way I should handle myself in public or even in private all well knowing the types of things I had writtten about, let alone which had been published—and while I planned to clear out what written works had made it into cyberspace unchecked, there was nothing less important to me than the actual world, what it expected of me, or who was in it. I hadn't entirely failed yet, but I also hadn't entirely succeeded, and after a strange series of dreams— almost all of them more interesting than the one with the cookie, (mentioning that the reason I had been curious about the cookie in the first place was from a strange series of dreams) “Ohhh, you know what—that might have actually been that place in Vegas, before I went vegan.” The boxes at the freehand must have been all from donut friend and Sprinkles—and it astonished me how much of a sweet tooth I actually had which was sort of now quite well managed. There was no sugar or even salt in the house— and with the lack of food that I actually had in my apartment, for at least something like the next two weeks, I was sure that I'd reach minimum weight—absolutely minimum weight— by the turn of the month. That is, all the weight I could lose betsides what needed to be surgically removed, and there was some sort of plan formulating somewhere outside of myself in exactly how that would be achieved. Because at any rate—I knew that it would. There were no more cookies, no more donuts, and no more cupcakes, besides the occasional box of the frozen type I had ordered from Amazon fresh which I did thoroughly enjoy, almost always in one sitting after a wild amount of cardio had implemented a faster metabolism and brought me to the realization that so much cardio meant that entirely that I could eat ‘whatever in the fuck I wanted' without gaining any weight or even losing it—and as I stepped up to take a shower, pulling my shirt up and over my chest, I inspected my abdomen, though holding bloat from pinto beans and deep fried sweet potatoes, still toned with the definition lines I had only just now learned that I had, creviced and notations of my sometimes 4 or 6 pack abs, though hidden under the sagging skin of my once maternal belly— still evident at all, and a factor of my minimal pride in that I had gone in one lifetime from one body and into many others— and one day, an even more drastically different one. I fantasized owning a peloton but realized that I may have to settle on a rental until I had outfitted myself with some sort of safety net. lol there's a sweet potato emoji. wtf. I don't know how you did this but— I woke up. Apparently, I'm Lorne Michaels. Please stop. I don't know what that means. You know what If I was pretty Nobody would hate me for anything I swear to God only ugly people are punished or any or all of our matings. I lost the ability to see worth in myself. I also lost the ability to write good songs. Just let me watch bad girls club And wait for the motorcycles To make my night A living hell “I didn't mean for this to happen, Jimmy Fallon. “ It was a whisper, actually— less than that, as I set the stone with the others above the amulet— I placed easch crystal carefully at the alter, keeping only two of them for myself; the rest, as guardians to the amulet. I could no longer keep such a relic around my neck; it had become quite heavy, and the dreams had become deep and more illusive, and it seemed there was some dark spirit along to it after all—and after all— the amulet was my only living son's, anyway, intended as a gift and charm of protection for when I next saw him—whenever that could be, or would be. It had been a long and interesting but altogether uneventful year, and now, not even feeling right in my own self, I intended to continue hiding, and perhaps even burrow further away until I was granted a full and proper divorce; my ex husband using his refusal to sign the papers as a final act of control, and though I almost found it admirable, I only became more dismissive of it—the person I was then, simply was no more; in fact, she was dead enough indeed that to disappear and become a ghost could do no worse than to further alter the course of time and distance it would take to ever become in such a way again—that is, if it were infinite, and for peace of mind and freedom of spirit and soul from bondsge, insisted it wasn't. It was less than a whisper enough that none other besides God could have heard it, and yet it seemed something or someone had—as a door quickly slammed as the words—words which meant a name I was sure I would never say again—“Jimmy Fallon” left my mouth. I couldn't come close to words at all let alone a name, and especially not a song; but then, of course, there was The Book of Knowlege never to have been spoken and as always, the ever moving truth of songs— There were other Gods that new no words at all besides the melodies and rhythms of our hearts—and there never really was every truly a Jimmy Fallon at all— Only myself. Whatever the fuck. Alright, alright. It was next in the que with purpose, probably but quite on accident— Now I could continue in my pattern of dulling my brain for the remainder of the night as I had been all day. Since March I had seemed to cry what I thought were the rest of my tears, and however, after a particularly mind numbing day of trash television and Olympic surfing, it seemed the ocean alone was enough to pull from what was left of my soul, and as it turned out, it still was there. I was bored of the brokenness of New York—something like living in a rotten and spoiled toy, with the limits I had been given—and though I should have been happy, to finally just have my own place— the people surrounding, as always, ruined it— Them being myself aside. I wished the things outside of me were quieter. Now I could finally almost put my mind out of focus for just a little bit longer—and creep on Johnny Depp without doing it intentionally. I had stopped looking up famous people, besides some women and businessmen I knew could never feign my interest anyway. It was never about money— and always about creative intelligence; I hadn't seen the movie as an adult, and so I was sure it would have some insight to offer. I tried to forget that I had aged out of almost everything—and that my mother had so greedily destroyed any real chance I had at becoming what I might have been with anybody else as a mother—or at least some one around to watch her raise me and correct her damaging actions, words, and harsh thoughts. At least she had taught me to read and write—and if worst actually came to worse—which it was starting to look like—how to trade my body and time in exchange for things I wanted and needed. All women were nearly prostitutes in some way, anyhow—and the only thing deterring me from it was on every honest God I ever thought of, the fact that white women made more in sex work than colored women did. — it almost hurt to watch Olympic surfing. Actually, it did. It hurt, a lot. What's a girl Have you ever had a girl before? What's world when you're wound up in an orphanage Probably astounding I've got a shadow Sad, should have danced with him Now he's so mad that —I don't even touch my guitar No more I have words No songs The whole world's At war And to surf — you need water I love New York But hate Thus corner of Brooklyn I want to go up Testosterone —I've got a word for the goner “Gonzo” I've got a cannon Or blonde, for reference Why were all stalkers I'll book The Tonight Show, I'll summon up Carson A , I promise— A good time was had —I promise, no subtle obsession. I made a decision, I went with it Just a protagonist, actor— A comic Producer, by marriage I swear, It's just adding up evidence If ever gets intensities Offensive, this illumination — I don't doubt you. I want chocolate milk What even is that? I've been eating healthy I've got half an album out And half inside my head With Donnie Brasco I've got half a million dollars somewhere Stuffed inside my cunt, I think With hallmark cards and shopping carts I owe them half a fortune I hate it so much I watch a whole soul Come out if television I love it so much But I hate the whole public And crowding I don't want love I want fucks I want puppies —Jesus he's beautiful My ex husband had similar facial structure to Mr Depp respectively, I'm guessing my artistry, Intention, A preteen obsession at least sort of paid off. Somehow. Now it's my eyes on the other, the older — The way that he sits and does nothing but slump —Al Pacino, they call him? The false father and forced profits often acknowledged The love of the old and weathered. For once I woke up to a record 33 rotations a minute {Enter The Multiverse} —what are you gonna do? Blondes and shit. The best of the best— —I'll tell ya, I recommend it (Recommended by a Friend) I have a headache twice my age. I made a mistake half my life ago Woke up this morning Bought myself a gun To make it right {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective. © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019 | 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © {Rewind}

Super Soul Sundays 003 - {The Oprah Winfrey Show} (a 'c o l o r s' mix)

Play Episode Listen Later Sep 15, 2024 64:47

Hey, Oprah— Oprah. Oprah. Oprah. Oprah. Oprah Oprah Oprah Oprah OPRAH— WHAT?!? —I love you. (OPRAH WINFREY sighs and groans, sinking back into bed.) —and… ...AND? ...I made breakfast. (This wakes her up a bit, as she is curious to see what has been made; Supacree energetically bounces into the next room.) HEY, JANET JACKSON— “Legends: The Melanin” S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ has been taken to a top secret training facility to prepare her for her journey into celebritism. EARLIER: S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ is robbed and kidnapped at gunpoint by JANET JACKSON, BEYONCÉ, MARIAH CAREY, ALICIA KEYS & OPRAH. what a combo. I know, right? A NINJA stops S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ in her path, knocking the açaí bowl out of her left hand— WHAT THE FUCK! —luckily, she still has her smoothie—however, before she can take a sip, the ninja, who she seems unbothered by, knocks the smoothie out of her other hand. NO, MY SMOOTHIE!!!!!!!!!! The NINJA stands, motionless. S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ takes a fighting stance. THE NINJA takes a fighting stance. FUCK you dude, that shit's EXPENSIVE! YAAAAH. YAAAAHHH! They NINJA fight; S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ SUPACREE has the advantage, until. ANOTHER NINJA arrives as backup. I got this! Then, ANOTHER OTHER NINJA and A FOURTH NINJA surround SUPACREE; Oh, fuck that. They create a formation—each taking a fighting stance. She is majorly outnumbered. THE GRAND NINJA arrives HIIIIIIIIIYYYAAAAAAA. Nope, fuck this. The ninjas synchronize, ready to fight. Nope, I quit. S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ retreats, running. One of the ninjas has already advanced in her path. Not so fast! You're a LADY?! Now you're surprised?! S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ attempts to flee. The ninja pistol whips Supacree. She's out cold. God dammit, Janet! What?! She's fast! She's also heavy. Just get her! It takes 3 ninjas (and a fourth for support) to lift SUPACREE into the sleek, blacked out Escalade. They close the back, and unanimously all 4 doors, in sync. The Escalade drives away, license plate reading: LEGENDS Leave it alone, Just let it be Could you just–practically be me for a second, I want to check something out. –I am–practically you– Hold on, Let me get a cat and a couple supermodels. I'll be right back. Great. Where am I supposed to get two cats and a supermodel on short notice? No, it was, a cat and two– Tell me your name one more time. I was certain i'd never forget. You will forget about this. I need more magic. I just gave you magic. Where is it? Uh. Up my nose. Wat is the dosage on those anyway? PORCUPINE. uh, don't touch that? DON't GeT TO0 Hold on a second, this might be the most accurate, if I ever– DId you ever NO. I'm stuck in this MUFFIN. MUFFIN! COME HERE MUFFIN. What happened? I lost a cat. [RACHEL DRATCH IS IN THE IMPENETRABLE TEN] this has never happened. Hold the fucking phone. Hold the fucking– OPRAH UHWUHT. PHONE. [OPRAH WINFREY DOES NOT HAVE TIME FOR YOUR BULLSHIT.] Why all caps CAUSE SHE'S MAD WHO THE [NOPE] DO YOU THINK YOU ARE CALLING ME AT THIS [UH OH] HOUR WHAT HOUR. WHAT TIME IS IT. WHERE'S WHOOPI. I got her. -Wait–you go her? Yup, she's safe. *squints* I'll be right there. Oh shit, is that Skrillex? No, that's The President. No, this is Patrick. Why did the Chicken cross the road? Pretty much out of sheer panic. Run it! Run it to exhaustion! RUN THIS BITCH INTO THE GROUNDHOLE! Good, it's Groundhog's day. SPRINGTI– NO. Put some clothes on. Let's play piano. I'm a martian. oh . that's dumb. What happend to your planet. Yer on it. No, you're on this: my planet. URANUS What happened. *SPPLAT* (Now I'm like, gas.) *blat* Ooh, wow, how'd that happen *shrugs* science /math ASSHOLES. Wat happened. Just wait here. I'll be right back. ARTY MCWIRED You know, just in case there's a LAWSUIT dammit . LAW SUIT huh LAW SUITS I don't get it. Why are you all dressed in What BRoTHeRhOoD is THIS. Oh good, a map. YOu know these things are useless to me. Of course, this would be the perfect day to go SHOPPING JELLYFISHING. DOLPHINS. Idget it. What. How did Dolphins survive a nuclear holocaust? Anything left here? Nothing I s– ooh , wats that. Woah, look, dolphins. LIke, 12 of them. Gnarly. My world changed when I got a couch. Everything changed, actually—when I got furniture. Actual furniture, more than just a mattress on a floor and a cheap Asian desk from Amazon I actually loathed. I almost never worked at the desk, anyway, as it didn't seem equipped for the totality of my studio—the keyboard and drum machine, and though the keyboard had been calling to me over the last few days particularly, I had spent the last couple days almost carelessly longing, in peace and near total silence, with not a care In the world or a thought besides my mantras, with the occasional conglomerate rapid overthinking caused by the terrorists outside, now thought more likely to be police officers or feds themselves, as the police never seemed to be able to stop them–and it seemed that perhaps It was a federal act of domestic terrorism itself. No actual police officers or forces seemed to care or could stop them–and if it wasn't the devil himself, it had to have been the military or something of the like, pushing some sort of political agenda. Either way, I wasn't going to be moved in such a way to keep reacting to such immature and primitive war tactics—and thought that it was just as likely that by November, come voting time, they would all be miraculously disappeared, if not before due to the inclement weather I was sure was coming by the end of summer. I was almost sort of on my own time, besides the voices in my mind which screamed to work harder and faster, be skinner and more perfect, and that my prime time had passed—that I would never be loved again and that I was a horrible mother, that besides all the more knowing it for myself, I hushed and numbed with my mantras, uncaring. At the very least, I was alone, and not interested in people— the humanity had left the humans by way of corporate slavery and electronic addictions, rigged elections and a totalitarian government which masqueraded as a democracy, but In all truth had been for quite some time, out of the hands of its people. All the better, as the people had become programmed and controllable, easily manipulated, and for the most part and maybe even for the best, unconscious creatures—the majority of them malnourished, dehydrated by choice and lifestyle, eating processed foods as voluntary poison–and especially in New York City– undereducated, and without rest; The youth at the hands of the system which controlled all aspects of their lives, comparing them not by wit or skill but privilege and genetic composition; by looks, wealth, and vanity. The algorithm was indeed sorting them by all it knew to— perfect, and imperfect, almost always attributed to environmental factors, such as financial stability and of course—access to certain luxuries and freedoms— a hard line dividing the classes now. I lounged somewhat gracefully in my favorite polyester blend skirt as my harems washed with the tablecloth and dishrags— I was nearly out of suitable casual clothes, and although I had been collecting some fashionable outerwear, I never planned on actually going out. Being penniless in New York was tiresome, and I had spent enough time fighting its monsterous crowds and the infestation of migrants long enough during my year within the homeless system—now, still trapped by the terrorists which surrounded the block and what, if it wasn't some kind of federal experiment altogether, also seemed like some kind of criminal enterprise, which situated itself in the warehouse just adjacent to my building, though having lost their illegal smoke shop, a group of shirtless hoodlum-looking types, still appearing to continue business outside of where the smokeshop once had been, now becoming an obvious and unwelcoming eyesore, as the owners of the “auto body shop” which plagued the neighborhood by parking ugly cars on the sidewalks around the entirety of the corner—combined with the discarded trash, old appliances and the occasional shopping cart filled with such , not to mention the trees which stood in beds of littered filth– as if to say “we run this block”—some shade of brown and careless as to what peace might be to some others, they held enough of something like money which masquaraded as power, and therefore enough of whatever they had to continue to make the block a less welcoming place to live, and besides the motorcyclists—which all seemed to be one, haphazard, operational network— stood as a good reason not to bring any child into this mess— the brown-black world of Brooklyn New York's Queen's facing war zone—the ugly truth of old racism and money in New York City; and after a year two year spectacle on how most of the black and brown culture within New York City had bred itself to be unrestful, misbehaved, and brutally drained of its class by the system itself; it was nearly understated that the culture had become toxic. The Redlining of New York City had become obvious–New York City's own racism a blistering outward truth. I I wanted so badly to be able to travel and return “home” or rather, to my apartment–or even rather–to my studio–as it never really did feel like home with the ability to see it all in a new light. I had been in New York so long that I felt myself becoming callous and bitter—I needed to leave, but had been at a standstill creatively, as if there was some kind of block on my music. It was true that I couldn't hear much of my own sounds or music over the traffic in the outside world, and I was sure I had been sent here as sabotage so that I might never make it out of the depths of this world. Either way, I wasn't going to take it much longer— if I was ever made to be homeless again, I would simply kill myself—and without a love that I could call my own— a real love, disconnected from the destruction of my son's father, completely away from the satanic, demonic and evil curses he had set upon me— a love that would set me free from him and his world— I would kill myself. I would do anything to escape the constant thoughts of him bombarding me, the flashbacks of his brutal beating— the evil words he had said and the evil, tumultuous series of homelessness which followed. I would do anything to rid myself of him entirely, and I had not yet at all been loved by someone who didn't seem possessed by something after some time—it was as if this energy would find its way into anyone near me and drive me to insanity just so that his version of the story would become true; the evil lie that I had simply “lost my mind”, and out of nowhere, just had “gone crazy.” His version was the lie— Everything that I had once become was a reflection of himself—weak, unstable, and unable to function, all the while he had used my energy to sustain and survive; a vampire narcissist who could not have without my doing lived or functioned on his own. The one man I had ever shared tied with had been always too tired to get up for work, and always without fail, unable to keep a steady job – and of course— situationally plagued with poor spending habits, bad judgement, and outright laziness. He simply wanted to play the game, drink his 4locos, and use my computer to make rap beats; of course–I was holding him back from his true potential. Becoming like him was what seemed to the outside world as ‘losing my mind', and upon choosing to leave him, to find myself again. His only strategy had been to to form an illusion—that his own mental illness was actually mine. That the traumatic physical violence I had endured and hidden in fear of him had never actually happened. He kept me at a distance to make it seem as though I had abandoned my son; used our son as bait to attract another mate, and then began to discard him, treating him as an extension of myself which he could feed on for light and energy–and eventually discard. He claimed that by ignoring my phone calls and attempts at keeping a bond with my son, that I had no interest in being a mother. He projected onto other that I had been sick or incapable—with the veracity of a cereal killer with just enough charm, the racistly indoctrinated outside world fell to default that always, though having been the survivor of serveral violent acts, that I was somehow in the wrong–that I had somehow deserved the things which were being done to me. The physical scars that I wore were of his making, and the label that it formed— a mentally ill and unstable homeless colored woman— projected to the right-swinging red-necked Alaskans that I was somehow the problem; However, with time, I was sure that his meaning to subdue and belittle me was returning to him in the way of Karmic justice, and that the light that I had left within my own child would be his redeeming quality, in a world where I had been outcast from and unable to return to. I wanted desperately to at least visit—but saw no end to the financial ruin which homelessness and debt had caused insight; the recovery from his physical violence almost seemingly impossible; even frequenting the gym often enough would result in a particular man entering the gym to practice his sparring; often though I tried to prevent the flashbacks from occuring, I would eventually, hearing this, over my music at high volume, imagine the punching bag as my face. I realized at some point that I might never actually see my son again. We were thousands of miles separated and years between us–and because I had been honest in my documentation of the violence that had happened between us–he was refusing to sign the divorce papers, leaving me dangling at the end of a long rope I was sure I'd hang from, and limiting my ability to be seen by the system as entirely independent of this disastrous type of person. Of course, ‘boys will be boys'--and these types of boys in particular had the habit of protecting one another whether they were in the wrong, or not. A brotherhood of course, in which I had been marked as beatable, discardable, and of course, some sort of sub-human. How could I even know that I was safe from his dark and evil reach in a world said to be and many believed ruled by demonic bodies which Satan himself had claimed? In heavy prayer and reflection I had been asking of the men on motorcycles, to which God's answer seemed to speak truth; that these men were not men at all, but Satan's playthings. They had no free though or will to act on their own, and were instead controlled—that the toxicity, the terrorism, the injustice was a spectacle of sorts for the dark lord, in thy he controlled so many of what used to be people—now more just puppets for his displays of affliction upon humanity. These men had no purpose at all but to be consumed and possessed by a creature which had no face at all—no true name at all— the force of evil itself, which by now had controlled nearly all man, and nearly all of humanity. The Complex Collective © Nicolas Fountainisi was a disgusting human being. Not altogether a human creature, he foraged ways of l believing in kindness and gratitude though never actually having felt, or with feeling at all— what human nature actually at all was. Premeditated murder. Desensitization, Sensitive information Curious niggers Did I say it again? Indifference. It's whatever. Psychological terror chamber. I love Oprah and motorcycles But I hate robots. Huh. Well, I'm at it. Let's go kick in the googleverse I could write a metaplex Languages, and something was stolen! Porch robber False fortune Decisions, decisions Evil ass bitches Temptations, Temptations— I seen your face when I mated here Oh, Lord It's the lyricism Let's make spousal abuse poetic. Let's make her stay in the system! Let's make it more severe weather! [Thunder and lightning.] Let's go hang in the googleverse I might write a metaplex I'm infinite, And you're infinite— But your producer Is inferior Where is he then? I left him in a wedding For aftermarket parts I'm making belated birthday cakes On the 4th Or the fifth Better believe it I ain't got enough to— Switch from the antiquity, did you? I told you, I ain't tell if they come at me! (Don't tell if he touch you) He got the power, The lawyers The women, The money, The mortals on battery pack— Waaaages! I'm not finna snatch shit Just so you can say I snatched it I asked you for passion and peace All I got was the passion And nails in my outstretched palms I tried to warn you! Sickness, is it? It is, Traffic on magnets Let's go hang in the googleverse, I might write metaplex Fear of the fortunate Don't mean to hurt us-/ We're just immortals They don't even know us no more Depart the children of earth For the worst days to come Not to the worthless, But the wealthy and fortunate Burn up Listen and learn, son Your mother was for us But I got my butter's worth (Don't make me work hard!) I thinkni just left myself Woke up in a primary school A perfect apartment But a dive bar To an old fuck Going out on those LTEs Is always bothersome, Don't you know? Torturer's complex —they know not. Don't worry mom, I got an assignment You're proud of me, aren't I? Are you adorable, For a robot stalker Stop in the road Just to intercept That I'm always Where you don't want (On top of you) Once you been hit in the face by a man And Separated from your young Then blamed for it Once you old your dead children and Feel their cold frozen bodies Once you get stalked And tracked by hostile robots Pulling out All the fine details of your life Is if your birth Your entire upbringing Is your fault You stop giving a fuck About little dudes Throwing weights around Guess who gets dangerous Once they find out They're being fucked with Over and over And nobody loves her This ugly fat bitch Guess who gets tired of poverty But gets blocked from getting a job Being broke I shouldn't even need this shit But apparently demons And shit he said Stands up in court —but he hit me. Turns out I lost my mind And the devil's a liar Turns out I like them blonde and blue eyed Huh Oh well I'll stay alone on false positives All day Getting fucked with Pennies on the dollar Followed and followed and followed All I want is a bullet hole In my aura Whatever man, this just got weird again. Reading the book, I realized how funny I was—because Tina Fey was funny and interesting—but I might even be actually funnier, and had al certainly lived a more seasoned life—her white girl hardships were endearing and I loved her all the more for having read through the surface level collection of stories from throughout her life and world—she was certainly luckier than I was, and more likable—-and maybe even probably funnier in person, but for now, she was just smarter, and that was enough to encourage me to list the words that so far I didn't know, starting in the middle, and somehow looking back to the beginning. I didn't want to miss anything—she was actually a considerable role model besides Oprah, though it was obvious we lived in different worlds entirely. Captain Captain! Oh, Good, come in, Cannon. You've—changed. …as you know, Monday we disembark. Yes, I'm aware. And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us. Yes. I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self. How old are you, anyway? You should never ask a woman her age, LT. Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know. Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately… Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that. I'm still very much in the privacy of my office. You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public. Never as a woman her age! You're not a woman; you're my captain. We'll see about that after tonight. Being a woman, or being my captain? Both, probably. Hm. By any chance would you be interested in joining me? As your subordinate, or as a man. Both, probably. Or neither… presumably. As my escort. I beg your pardon. I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition. —er, your condition, captain? Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind. [he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.] Consider it done. Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour. Half an hour? Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early. We're earning points? We are now. Very well then. What am I wearing? Something sharp. Sharper than the inside of a half hour. On your mark. I'll—see you soon. He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him. Sergeant. Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back. Oh. I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage. Whatever, though. Doesn't matter. At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture, TVP S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer. DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour. — DAEMON Who's this beautiful sister? PATRICK My head writer; don't even think about it. DAEMON I don't think. I just do. Esha approaches— Dash politely bows and kisses Esha's hand. ESHA Should I get tested? DAEMON —and funny. [Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with Daemon Dash; Furious, Patrick means to interrogate her at work the next day. ] PATRICK Why would you even date that asshole. ESHA Because—Pat. He's a comedian. PATRICK I'm a comedian! So? ESHA So, he's funny. PATRICK And? ESHA And he said things to me— PATRICK (defensively) –What kind of things?! ESHA Charming, funny things— PATRICK Okay? ESHA Things he wouldn't say to you over dinner— because, I'm– PATRICK —you're a woman. ESHA —and your head writer. So naturally…. PATRICK Esh, you're a genius, ESHA So is he. We have—some new material to work through. [ESHA produces a hefty pile of notes and serves them to PATRICK] PATRICK (squealing) Ahq! ESHA Your monologue tonight. [Patrick excitedly shuffles through the papers.] PATRICK Oh yes. Oh yes. ESHA You can thank me later. © The Festival Project ™ , Inc. All Rights Reserved. Broken bottles. Someone should stop her Walkin walking God knows I don't belong here And I don't want to Passover was April 21-30 Global War on Terrorism Aka WWIII Oh, indeed. Don't look left Take a deep breath My heart beats differently I think it might be the end I think it might be I think I might be the enemy The pushing mechanism When i breath him in I levitate And gravitate to what it meant The sake of the art, The hurt of the heart As sacred as it ever was The turning or the Torah talks of Gestures, since the fall of Rome The toga on the alter Solid hands unwrap us all From falling over Old and awkward No award for wisdom No rest for the wiser No love for the troll Since thunderstruck from under us, Delivered all but what we wanted So we talk of kama sutra, Surely we can't talk at all Of what we know As once was bonded Laughed it off To come from what The call to us, Fair serve governors fortress I work up in mentions Carved the scarlet letter out of Cannons, of course MA. WHAT. I'm BUSY. IT'S ON. The what? The show we watch! The one that— YES, Oh, my GOD. Yes. YESSSSSSSSS. Usnavi, get your popcorn This is some worth watching Up in arms for forwards Causing sore arms, Numb thumbs From crucifixes Are you wondering what God Would walk about the horned carving A kamikaze walk of tall corn— Follow me, dear mantra Your whole house is watching. Sacre. It's happening again isn't it. I do want ice cream. All I need is a divorce And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall To rub me off at the stroke of Nevermind what the clock says In God's house they're all wrong The blasphemous for Catholics Has begun, So strum your number into the teleprompter And just hope no one gets hurt By the hook on the next song —like the hook of my last surviving bra digs into my back does, Or the skin on my lack of tummy Has rubbed off under the suicide Of the cycle— It's getting tighter A loss of interest is equal to A loss of consciousness And I'm 21 days drunk On the alternate, though— I'm sober and feeling less Loved. The animal I've become is all cardio And karma sutra For karma comes To the weak of heart To use the world as swords To cause harm To the calm artists I thought I told you off once. (Already) You look awful. lol. You look terrible, broh. But my album sound fire. #producerholes [portal] It's coffee time!! It's not coffee time! It's not coffee time. Iiiiits coffee time. Damn. Where's the cat. Gestating. I fell asleep on a Saturday afternoon and woke up on a Saturday morning something like 19 hours later, after a series of dr same the types of like I was sure that my new dreamcatcher would shield me from—the turquoise beads were probably plastic, but who could know—without further inspection, I gladly hung it up near the window to catch the bad spirits who had been attacking me in the night, mostly in the form of satanic possessed motorcycle riders or heavily drinking passerby's. Wouldn't it be nice to have somewhere beautiful like this in downtown Los Angeles, or even Santa Monica? I had grown tired of the toxicity of inner city New Yorkers and the third world antics of the newest inhabitants— still/- it was the first apartment ever in my entire adulthood that was totally and completely mine, and I took good care of it. I knew that most folks weren't as clean and tidy as I was, and although I had left my apartment quite a mess in a lurch to get to the post office, returning the cheap and improperly advertised fake essential oils I had returned upon discovering that they were indeed not actually essential oils, but something that smelled more like floor cleaner, and was the consistency of water—they were fake, and the bath rug had been altered with photoshop to make it look gold, while it was actually yellow. I took it back, remembering the promise I had made 3 days ago—once I was finished reading Tina Fey's matching yellow book, I would find somewhere else to put the rug, but it clashed so classlesley with everything in my apartment, that I couldn't stand to look anymore; the rug had been removed from the bathroom before even filing for a return label; the fake essential oils joined it in the box three days later— a Saturday I was sure upon first waking was Sunday, but then glad it was some kind of time slip through the dimensions as I slept wearily for hours after refusing to go to the gym, only to be followed by what seemed like robots—the same 3 or 4 people showing up when I worked out no matter what time I decided to go—early or late. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Oprah thinks you're a dipshit. Good...good! What?! At least she THINKs of me!

god jesus christ new york amazon fear president new york city hollywood los angeles reading evil satan dead asian decisions run phone oprah winfrey loved chicken busy burn switch curious thunder false ninjas fuck passover woke traffic solid dolphins expensive lawsuit lt pulling psychological stands throwing broken sharp copyright sickness delivered mariah carey causing temptations sensitive torah santa monica new yorkers janet jackson ee nevermind alicia keys hm porch sergeant tina fey depart skrillex groundhog indifference numb s p pennies oprah winfrey show brooklyn new york assholes sargent karmic walkin gestures porcupines daemon laughed sharper cannons redlining supersoul gnarly escalade sacre yer alaskans god would premeditated desensitization esha what time is it torturer what the fuck lord it usnavi patrick patrick soul sundays

Super Soul Sunday 003: {The Oprah Winfrey Show} - The Colors Collision ( A c o l o r s Mix)

Play Episode Listen Later Sep 15, 2024 64:47

Hey, Oprah— Oprah. Oprah. Oprah. Oprah. Oprah Oprah Oprah Oprah OPRAH— WHAT?!? —I love you. (OPRAH WINFREY sighs and groans, sinking back into bed.) —and… ...AND? ...I made breakfast. (This wakes her up a bit, as she is curious to see what has been made; Supacree energetically bounces into the next room.) HEY, JANET JACKSON— “Legends: The Melanin” S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ has been taken to a top secret training facility to prepare her for her journey into celebritism. EARLIER: S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ is robbed and kidnapped at gunpoint by JANET JACKSON, BEYONCÉ, MARIAH CAREY, ALICIA KEYS & OPRAH. what a combo. I know, right? A NINJA stops S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ in her path, knocking the açaí bowl out of her left hand— WHAT THE FUCK! —luckily, she still has her smoothie—however, before she can take a sip, the ninja, who she seems unbothered by, knocks the smoothie out of her other hand. NO, MY SMOOTHIE!!!!!!!!!! The NINJA stands, motionless. S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ takes a fighting stance. THE NINJA takes a fighting stance. FUCK you dude, that shit's EXPENSIVE! YAAAAH. YAAAAHHH! They NINJA fight; S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ SUPACREE has the advantage, until. ANOTHER NINJA arrives as backup. I got this! Then, ANOTHER OTHER NINJA and A FOURTH NINJA surround SUPACREE; Oh, fuck that. They create a formation—each taking a fighting stance. She is majorly outnumbered. THE GRAND NINJA arrives HIIIIIIIIIYYYAAAAAAA. Nope, fuck this. The ninjas synchronize, ready to fight. Nope, I quit. S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ retreats, running. One of the ninjas has already advanced in her path. Not so fast! You're a LADY?! Now you're surprised?! S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ attempts to flee. The ninja pistol whips Supacree. She's out cold. God dammit, Janet! What?! She's fast! She's also heavy. Just get her! It takes 3 ninjas (and a fourth for support) to lift SUPACREE into the sleek, blacked out Escalade. They close the back, and unanimously all 4 doors, in sync. The Escalade drives away, license plate reading: LEGENDS Leave it alone, Just let it be Could you just–practically be me for a second, I want to check something out. –I am–practically you– Hold on, Let me get a cat and a couple supermodels. I'll be right back. Great. Where am I supposed to get two cats and a supermodel on short notice? No, it was, a cat and two– Tell me your name one more time. I was certain i'd never forget. You will forget about this. I need more magic. I just gave you magic. Where is it? Uh. Up my nose. Wat is the dosage on those anyway? PORCUPINE. uh, don't touch that? DON't GeT TO0 Hold on a second, this might be the most accurate, if I ever– DId you ever NO. I'm stuck in this MUFFIN. MUFFIN! COME HERE MUFFIN. What happened? I lost a cat. [RACHEL DRATCH IS IN THE IMPENETRABLE TEN] this has never happened. Hold the fucking phone. Hold the fucking– OPRAH UHWUHT. PHONE. [OPRAH WINFREY DOES NOT HAVE TIME FOR YOUR BULLSHIT.] Why all caps CAUSE SHE'S MAD WHO THE [NOPE] DO YOU THINK YOU ARE CALLING ME AT THIS [UH OH] HOUR WHAT HOUR. WHAT TIME IS IT. WHERE'S WHOOPI. I got her. -Wait–you go her? Yup, she's safe. *squints* I'll be right there. Oh shit, is that Skrillex? No, that's The President. No, this is Patrick. Why did the Chicken cross the road? Pretty much out of sheer panic. Run it! Run it to exhaustion! RUN THIS BITCH INTO THE GROUNDHOLE! Good, it's Groundhog's day. SPRINGTI– NO. Put some clothes on. Let's play piano. I'm a martian. oh . that's dumb. What happend to your planet. Yer on it. No, you're on this: my planet. URANUS What happened. *SPPLAT* (Now I'm like, gas.) *blat* Ooh, wow, how'd that happen *shrugs* science /math ASSHOLES. Wat happened. Just wait here. I'll be right back. ARTY MCWIRED You know, just in case there's a LAWSUIT dammit . LAW SUIT huh LAW SUITS I don't get it. Why are you all dressed in What BRoTHeRhOoD is THIS. Oh good, a map. YOu know these things are useless to me. Of course, this would be the perfect day to go SHOPPING JELLYFISHING. DOLPHINS. Idget it. What. How did Dolphins survive a nuclear holocaust? Anything left here? Nothing I s– ooh , wats that. Woah, look, dolphins. LIke, 12 of them. Gnarly. My world changed when I got a couch. Everything changed, actually—when I got furniture. Actual furniture, more than just a mattress on a floor and a cheap Asian desk from Amazon I actually loathed. I almost never worked at the desk, anyway, as it didn't seem equipped for the totality of my studio—the keyboard and drum machine, and though the keyboard had been calling to me over the last few days particularly, I had spent the last couple days almost carelessly longing, in peace and near total silence, with not a care In the world or a thought besides my mantras, with the occasional conglomerate rapid overthinking caused by the terrorists outside, now thought more likely to be police officers or feds themselves, as the police never seemed to be able to stop them–and it seemed that perhaps It was a federal act of domestic terrorism itself. No actual police officers or forces seemed to care or could stop them–and if it wasn't the devil himself, it had to have been the military or something of the like, pushing some sort of political agenda. Either way, I wasn't going to be moved in such a way to keep reacting to such immature and primitive war tactics—and thought that it was just as likely that by November, come voting time, they would all be miraculously disappeared, if not before due to the inclement weather I was sure was coming by the end of summer. I was almost sort of on my own time, besides the voices in my mind which screamed to work harder and faster, be skinner and more perfect, and that my prime time had passed—that I would never be loved again and that I was a horrible mother, that besides all the more knowing it for myself, I hushed and numbed with my mantras, uncaring. At the very least, I was alone, and not interested in people— the humanity had left the humans by way of corporate slavery and electronic addictions, rigged elections and a totalitarian government which masqueraded as a democracy, but In all truth had been for quite some time, out of the hands of its people. All the better, as the people had become programmed and controllable, easily manipulated, and for the most part and maybe even for the best, unconscious creatures—the majority of them malnourished, dehydrated by choice and lifestyle, eating processed foods as voluntary poison–and especially in New York City– undereducated, and without rest; The youth at the hands of the system which controlled all aspects of their lives, comparing them not by wit or skill but privilege and genetic composition; by looks, wealth, and vanity. The algorithm was indeed sorting them by all it knew to— perfect, and imperfect, almost always attributed to environmental factors, such as financial stability and of course—access to certain luxuries and freedoms— a hard line dividing the classes now. I lounged somewhat gracefully in my favorite polyester blend skirt as my harems washed with the tablecloth and dishrags— I was nearly out of suitable casual clothes, and although I had been collecting some fashionable outerwear, I never planned on actually going out. Being penniless in New York was tiresome, and I had spent enough time fighting its monsterous crowds and the infestation of migrants long enough during my year within the homeless system—now, still trapped by the terrorists which surrounded the block and what, if it wasn't some kind of federal experiment altogether, also seemed like some kind of criminal enterprise, which situated itself in the warehouse just adjacent to my building, though having lost their illegal smoke shop, a group of shirtless hoodlum-looking types, still appearing to continue business outside of where the smokeshop once had been, now becoming an obvious and unwelcoming eyesore, as the owners of the “auto body shop” which plagued the neighborhood by parking ugly cars on the sidewalks around the entirety of the corner—combined with the discarded trash, old appliances and the occasional shopping cart filled with such , not to mention the trees which stood in beds of littered filth– as if to say “we run this block”—some shade of brown and careless as to what peace might be to some others, they held enough of something like money which masquaraded as power, and therefore enough of whatever they had to continue to make the block a less welcoming place to live, and besides the motorcyclists—which all seemed to be one, haphazard, operational network— stood as a good reason not to bring any child into this mess— the brown-black world of Brooklyn New York's Queen's facing war zone—the ugly truth of old racism and money in New York City; and after a year two year spectacle on how most of the black and brown culture within New York City had bred itself to be unrestful, misbehaved, and brutally drained of its class by the system itself; it was nearly understated that the culture had become toxic. The Redlining of New York City had become obvious–New York City's own racism a blistering outward truth. I I wanted so badly to be able to travel and return “home” or rather, to my apartment–or even rather–to my studio–as it never really did feel like home with the ability to see it all in a new light. I had been in New York so long that I felt myself becoming callous and bitter—I needed to leave, but had been at a standstill creatively, as if there was some kind of block on my music. It was true that I couldn't hear much of my own sounds or music over the traffic in the outside world, and I was sure I had been sent here as sabotage so that I might never make it out of the depths of this world. Either way, I wasn't going to take it much longer— if I was ever made to be homeless again, I would simply kill myself—and without a love that I could call my own— a real love, disconnected from the destruction of my son's father, completely away from the satanic, demonic and evil curses he had set upon me— a love that would set me free from him and his world— I would kill myself. I would do anything to escape the constant thoughts of him bombarding me, the flashbacks of his brutal beating— the evil words he had said and the evil, tumultuous series of homelessness which followed. I would do anything to rid myself of him entirely, and I had not yet at all been loved by someone who didn't seem possessed by something after some time—it was as if this energy would find its way into anyone near me and drive me to insanity just so that his version of the story would become true; the evil lie that I had simply “lost my mind”, and out of nowhere, just had “gone crazy.” His version was the lie— Everything that I had once become was a reflection of himself—weak, unstable, and unable to function, all the while he had used my energy to sustain and survive; a vampire narcissist who could not have without my doing lived or functioned on his own. The one man I had ever shared tied with had been always too tired to get up for work, and always without fail, unable to keep a steady job – and of course— situationally plagued with poor spending habits, bad judgement, and outright laziness. He simply wanted to play the game, drink his 4locos, and use my computer to make rap beats; of course–I was holding him back from his true potential. Becoming like him was what seemed to the outside world as ‘losing my mind', and upon choosing to leave him, to find myself again. His only strategy had been to to form an illusion—that his own mental illness was actually mine. That the traumatic physical violence I had endured and hidden in fear of him had never actually happened. He kept me at a distance to make it seem as though I had abandoned my son; used our son as bait to attract another mate, and then began to discard him, treating him as an extension of myself which he could feed on for light and energy–and eventually discard. He claimed that by ignoring my phone calls and attempts at keeping a bond with my son, that I had no interest in being a mother. He projected onto other that I had been sick or incapable—with the veracity of a cereal killer with just enough charm, the racistly indoctrinated outside world fell to default that always, though having been the survivor of serveral violent acts, that I was somehow in the wrong–that I had somehow deserved the things which were being done to me. The physical scars that I wore were of his making, and the label that it formed— a mentally ill and unstable homeless colored woman— projected to the right-swinging red-necked Alaskans that I was somehow the problem; However, with time, I was sure that his meaning to subdue and belittle me was returning to him in the way of Karmic justice, and that the light that I had left within my own child would be his redeeming quality, in a world where I had been outcast from and unable to return to. I wanted desperately to at least visit—but saw no end to the financial ruin which homelessness and debt had caused insight; the recovery from his physical violence almost seemingly impossible; even frequenting the gym often enough would result in a particular man entering the gym to practice his sparring; often though I tried to prevent the flashbacks from occuring, I would eventually, hearing this, over my music at high volume, imagine the punching bag as my face. I realized at some point that I might never actually see my son again. We were thousands of miles separated and years between us–and because I had been honest in my documentation of the violence that had happened between us–he was refusing to sign the divorce papers, leaving me dangling at the end of a long rope I was sure I'd hang from, and limiting my ability to be seen by the system as entirely independent of this disastrous type of person. Of course, ‘boys will be boys'--and these types of boys in particular had the habit of protecting one another whether they were in the wrong, or not. A brotherhood of course, in which I had been marked as beatable, discardable, and of course, some sort of sub-human. How could I even know that I was safe from his dark and evil reach in a world said to be and many believed ruled by demonic bodies which Satan himself had claimed? In heavy prayer and reflection I had been asking of the men on motorcycles, to which God's answer seemed to speak truth; that these men were not men at all, but Satan's playthings. They had no free though or will to act on their own, and were instead controlled—that the toxicity, the terrorism, the injustice was a spectacle of sorts for the dark lord, in thy he controlled so many of what used to be people—now more just puppets for his displays of affliction upon humanity. These men had no purpose at all but to be consumed and possessed by a creature which had no face at all—no true name at all— the force of evil itself, which by now had controlled nearly all man, and nearly all of humanity. The Complex Collective © Nicolas Fountainisi was a disgusting human being. Not altogether a human creature, he foraged ways of l believing in kindness and gratitude though never actually having felt, or with feeling at all— what human nature actually at all was. Premeditated murder. Desensitization, Sensitive information Curious niggers Did I say it again? Indifference. It's whatever. Psychological terror chamber. I love Oprah and motorcycles But I hate robots. Huh. Well, I'm at it. Let's go kick in the googleverse I could write a metaplex Languages, and something was stolen! Porch robber False fortune Decisions, decisions Evil ass bitches Temptations, Temptations— I seen your face when I mated here Oh, Lord It's the lyricism Let's make spousal abuse poetic. Let's make her stay in the system! Let's make it more severe weather! [Thunder and lightning.] Let's go hang in the googleverse I might write a metaplex I'm infinite, And you're infinite— But your producer Is inferior Where is he then? I left him in a wedding For aftermarket parts I'm making belated birthday cakes On the 4th Or the fifth Better believe it I ain't got enough to— Switch from the antiquity, did you? I told you, I ain't tell if they come at me! (Don't tell if he touch you) He got the power, The lawyers The women, The money, The mortals on battery pack— Waaaages! I'm not finna snatch shit Just so you can say I snatched it I asked you for passion and peace All I got was the passion And nails in my outstretched palms I tried to warn you! Sickness, is it? It is, Traffic on magnets Let's go hang in the googleverse, I might write metaplex Fear of the fortunate Don't mean to hurt us-/ We're just immortals They don't even know us no more Depart the children of earth For the worst days to come Not to the worthless, But the wealthy and fortunate Burn up Listen and learn, son Your mother was for us But I got my butter's worth (Don't make me work hard!) I thinkni just left myself Woke up in a primary school A perfect apartment But a dive bar To an old fuck Going out on those LTEs Is always bothersome, Don't you know? Torturer's complex —they know not. Don't worry mom, I got an assignment You're proud of me, aren't I? Are you adorable, For a robot stalker Stop in the road Just to intercept That I'm always Where you don't want (On top of you) Once you been hit in the face by a man And Separated from your young Then blamed for it Once you old your dead children and Feel their cold frozen bodies Once you get stalked And tracked by hostile robots Pulling out All the fine details of your life Is if your birth Your entire upbringing Is your fault You stop giving a fuck About little dudes Throwing weights around Guess who gets dangerous Once they find out They're being fucked with Over and over And nobody loves her This ugly fat bitch Guess who gets tired of poverty But gets blocked from getting a job Being broke I shouldn't even need this shit But apparently demons And shit he said Stands up in court —but he hit me. Turns out I lost my mind And the devil's a liar Turns out I like them blonde and blue eyed Huh Oh well I'll stay alone on false positives All day Getting fucked with Pennies on the dollar Followed and followed and followed All I want is a bullet hole In my aura Whatever man, this just got weird again. Reading the book, I realized how funny I was—because Tina Fey was funny and interesting—but I might even be actually funnier, and had al certainly lived a more seasoned life—her white girl hardships were endearing and I loved her all the more for having read through the surface level collection of stories from throughout her life and world—she was certainly luckier than I was, and more likable—-and maybe even probably funnier in person, but for now, she was just smarter, and that was enough to encourage me to list the words that so far I didn't know, starting in the middle, and somehow looking back to the beginning. I didn't want to miss anything—she was actually a considerable role model besides Oprah, though it was obvious we lived in different worlds entirely. Captain Captain! Oh, Good, come in, Cannon. You've—changed. …as you know, Monday we disembark. Yes, I'm aware. And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us. Yes. I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self. How old are you, anyway? You should never ask a woman her age, LT. Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know. Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately… Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that. I'm still very much in the privacy of my office. You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public. Never as a woman her age! You're not a woman; you're my captain. We'll see about that after tonight. Being a woman, or being my captain? Both, probably. Hm. By any chance would you be interested in joining me? As your subordinate, or as a man. Both, probably. Or neither… presumably. As my escort. I beg your pardon. I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition. —er, your condition, captain? Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind. [he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.] Consider it done. Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour. Half an hour? Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early. We're earning points? We are now. Very well then. What am I wearing? Something sharp. Sharper than the inside of a half hour. On your mark. I'll—see you soon. He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him. Sergeant. Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back. Oh. I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage. Whatever, though. Doesn't matter. At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture, TVP S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer. DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour. — DAEMON Who's this beautiful sister? PATRICK My head writer; don't even think about it. DAEMON I don't think. I just do. Esha approaches— Dash politely bows and kisses Esha's hand. ESHA Should I get tested? DAEMON —and funny. [Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with Daemon Dash; Furious, Patrick means to interrogate her at work the next day. ] PATRICK Why would you even date that asshole. ESHA Because—Pat. He's a comedian. PATRICK I'm a comedian! So? ESHA So, he's funny. PATRICK And? ESHA And he said things to me— PATRICK (defensively) –What kind of things?! ESHA Charming, funny things— PATRICK Okay? ESHA Things he wouldn't say to you over dinner— because, I'm– PATRICK —you're a woman. ESHA —and your head writer. So naturally…. PATRICK Esh, you're a genius, ESHA So is he. We have—some new material to work through. [ESHA produces a hefty pile of notes and serves them to PATRICK] PATRICK (squealing) Ahq! ESHA Your monologue tonight. [Patrick excitedly shuffles through the papers.] PATRICK Oh yes. Oh yes. ESHA You can thank me later. © The Festival Project ™ , Inc. All Rights Reserved. Broken bottles. Someone should stop her Walkin walking God knows I don't belong here And I don't want to Passover was April 21-30 Global War on Terrorism Aka WWIII Oh, indeed. Don't look left Take a deep breath My heart beats differently I think it might be the end I think it might be I think I might be the enemy The pushing mechanism When i breath him in I levitate And gravitate to what it meant The sake of the art, The hurt of the heart As sacred as it ever was The turning or the Torah talks of Gestures, since the fall of Rome The toga on the alter Solid hands unwrap us all From falling over Old and awkward No award for wisdom No rest for the wiser No love for the troll Since thunderstruck from under us, Delivered all but what we wanted So we talk of kama sutra, Surely we can't talk at all Of what we know As once was bonded Laughed it off To come from what The call to us, Fair serve governors fortress I work up in mentions Carved the scarlet letter out of Cannons, of course MA. WHAT. I'm BUSY. IT'S ON. The what? The show we watch! The one that— YES, Oh, my GOD. Yes. YESSSSSSSSS. Usnavi, get your popcorn This is some worth watching Up in arms for forwards Causing sore arms, Numb thumbs From crucifixes Are you wondering what God Would walk about the horned carving A kamikaze walk of tall corn— Follow me, dear mantra Your whole house is watching. Sacre. It's happening again isn't it. I do want ice cream. All I need is a divorce And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall To rub me off at the stroke of Nevermind what the clock says In God's house they're all wrong The blasphemous for Catholics Has begun, So strum your number into the teleprompter And just hope no one gets hurt By the hook on the next song —like the hook of my last surviving bra digs into my back does, Or the skin on my lack of tummy Has rubbed off under the suicide Of the cycle— It's getting tighter A loss of interest is equal to A loss of consciousness And I'm 21 days drunk On the alternate, though— I'm sober and feeling less Loved. The animal I've become is all cardio And karma sutra For karma comes To the weak of heart To use the world as swords To cause harm To the calm artists I thought I told you off once. (Already) You look awful. lol. You look terrible, broh. But my album sound fire. #producerholes [portal] It's coffee time!! It's not coffee time! It's not coffee time. Iiiiits coffee time. Damn. Where's the cat. Gestating. I fell asleep on a Saturday afternoon and woke up on a Saturday morning something like 19 hours later, after a series of dr same the types of like I was sure that my new dreamcatcher would shield me from—the turquoise beads were probably plastic, but who could know—without further inspection, I gladly hung it up near the window to catch the bad spirits who had been attacking me in the night, mostly in the form of satanic possessed motorcycle riders or heavily drinking passerby's. Wouldn't it be nice to have somewhere beautiful like this in downtown Los Angeles, or even Santa Monica? I had grown tired of the toxicity of inner city New Yorkers and the third world antics of the newest inhabitants— still/- it was the first apartment ever in my entire adulthood that was totally and completely mine, and I took good care of it. I knew that most folks weren't as clean and tidy as I was, and although I had left my apartment quite a mess in a lurch to get to the post office, returning the cheap and improperly advertised fake essential oils I had returned upon discovering that they were indeed not actually essential oils, but something that smelled more like floor cleaner, and was the consistency of water—they were fake, and the bath rug had been altered with photoshop to make it look gold, while it was actually yellow. I took it back, remembering the promise I had made 3 days ago—once I was finished reading Tina Fey's matching yellow book, I would find somewhere else to put the rug, but it clashed so classlesley with everything in my apartment, that I couldn't stand to look anymore; the rug had been removed from the bathroom before even filing for a return label; the fake essential oils joined it in the box three days later— a Saturday I was sure upon first waking was Sunday, but then glad it was some kind of time slip through the dimensions as I slept wearily for hours after refusing to go to the gym, only to be followed by what seemed like robots—the same 3 or 4 people showing up when I worked out no matter what time I decided to go—early or late. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

god jesus christ new york amazon fear president new york city hollywood los angeles reading evil satan dead asian decisions run phone oprah winfrey loved chicken busy burn switch curious thunder false ninjas fuck passover woke traffic solid dolphins expensive lawsuit lt pulling psychological stands throwing broken sharp copyright sickness colors delivered mariah carey causing temptations sensitive torah santa monica collisions new yorkers janet jackson ee nevermind alicia keys hm porch sergeant tina fey depart skrillex groundhog indifference numb s p pennies oprah winfrey show brooklyn new york assholes sargent karmic walkin gestures porcupines daemon laughed sharper cannons redlining supersoul gnarly escalade super soul sunday sacre yer alaskans god would premeditated desensitization esha what time is it torturer what the fuck lord it usnavi patrick patrick

Super Soul Sunday 003: {The Oprah Winfrey Show} - The Colors Collision (a 'c o l o r s' mix)

PS. Meet Me At Stage Door

Play Episode Listen Later Sep 15, 2024 64:47

Hey, Oprah— Oprah. Oprah. Oprah. Oprah. Oprah Oprah Oprah Oprah OPRAH— WHAT?!? —I love you. (OPRAH WINFREY sighs and groans, sinking back into bed.) —and… ...AND? ...I made breakfast. (This wakes her up a bit, as she is curious to see what has been made; Supacree energetically bounces into the next room.) HEY, JANET JACKSON— “Legends: The Melanin” S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ has been taken to a top secret training facility to prepare her for her journey into celebritism. EARLIER: S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ is robbed and kidnapped at gunpoint by JANET JACKSON, BEYONCÉ, MARIAH CAREY, ALICIA KEYS & OPRAH. what a combo. I know, right? A NINJA stops S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ in her path, knocking the açaí bowl out of her left hand— WHAT THE FUCK! —luckily, she still has her smoothie—however, before she can take a sip, the ninja, who she seems unbothered by, knocks the smoothie out of her other hand. NO, MY SMOOTHIE!!!!!!!!!! The NINJA stands, motionless. S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ takes a fighting stance. THE NINJA takes a fighting stance. FUCK you dude, that shit's EXPENSIVE! YAAAAH. YAAAAHHH! They NINJA fight; S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ SUPACREE has the advantage, until. ANOTHER NINJA arrives as backup. I got this! Then, ANOTHER OTHER NINJA and A FOURTH NINJA surround SUPACREE; Oh, fuck that. They create a formation—each taking a fighting stance. She is majorly outnumbered. THE GRAND NINJA arrives HIIIIIIIIIYYYAAAAAAA. Nope, fuck this. The ninjas synchronize, ready to fight. Nope, I quit. S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ retreats, running. One of the ninjas has already advanced in her path. Not so fast! You're a LADY?! Now you're surprised?! S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ attempts to flee. The ninja pistol whips Supacree. She's out cold. God dammit, Janet! What?! She's fast! She's also heavy. Just get her! It takes 3 ninjas (and a fourth for support) to lift SUPACREE into the sleek, blacked out Escalade. They close the back, and unanimously all 4 doors, in sync. The Escalade drives away, license plate reading: LEGENDS Leave it alone, Just let it be Could you just–practically be me for a second, I want to check something out. –I am–practically you– Hold on, Let me get a cat and a couple supermodels. I'll be right back. Great. Where am I supposed to get two cats and a supermodel on short notice? No, it was, a cat and two– Tell me your name one more time. I was certain i'd never forget. You will forget about this. I need more magic. I just gave you magic. Where is it? Uh. Up my nose. Wat is the dosage on those anyway? PORCUPINE. uh, don't touch that? DON't GeT TO0 Hold on a second, this might be the most accurate, if I ever– DId you ever NO. I'm stuck in this MUFFIN. MUFFIN! COME HERE MUFFIN. What happened? I lost a cat. [RACHEL DRATCH IS IN THE IMPENETRABLE TEN] this has never happened. Hold the fucking phone. Hold the fucking– OPRAH UHWUHT. PHONE. [OPRAH WINFREY DOES NOT HAVE TIME FOR YOUR BULLSHIT.] Why all caps CAUSE SHE'S MAD WHO THE [NOPE] DO YOU THINK YOU ARE CALLING ME AT THIS [UH OH] HOUR WHAT HOUR. WHAT TIME IS IT. WHERE'S WHOOPI. I got her. -Wait–you go her? Yup, she's safe. *squints* I'll be right there. Oh shit, is that Skrillex? No, that's The President. No, this is Patrick. Why did the Chicken cross the road? Pretty much out of sheer panic. Run it! Run it to exhaustion! RUN THIS BITCH INTO THE GROUNDHOLE! Good, it's Groundhog's day. SPRINGTI– NO. Put some clothes on. Let's play piano. I'm a martian. oh . that's dumb. What happend to your planet. Yer on it. No, you're on this: my planet. URANUS What happened. *SPPLAT* (Now I'm like, gas.) *blat* Ooh, wow, how'd that happen *shrugs* science /math ASSHOLES. Wat happened. Just wait here. I'll be right back. ARTY MCWIRED You know, just in case there's a LAWSUIT dammit . LAW SUIT huh LAW SUITS I don't get it. Why are you all dressed in What BRoTHeRhOoD is THIS. Oh good, a map. YOu know these things are useless to me. Of course, this would be the perfect day to go SHOPPING JELLYFISHING. DOLPHINS. Idget it. What. How did Dolphins survive a nuclear holocaust? Anything left here? Nothing I s– ooh , wats that. Woah, look, dolphins. LIke, 12 of them. Gnarly. My world changed when I got a couch. Everything changed, actually—when I got furniture. Actual furniture, more than just a mattress on a floor and a cheap Asian desk from Amazon I actually loathed. I almost never worked at the desk, anyway, as it didn't seem equipped for the totality of my studio—the keyboard and drum machine, and though the keyboard had been calling to me over the last few days particularly, I had spent the last couple days almost carelessly longing, in peace and near total silence, with not a care In the world or a thought besides my mantras, with the occasional conglomerate rapid overthinking caused by the terrorists outside, now thought more likely to be police officers or feds themselves, as the police never seemed to be able to stop them–and it seemed that perhaps It was a federal act of domestic terrorism itself. No actual police officers or forces seemed to care or could stop them–and if it wasn't the devil himself, it had to have been the military or something of the like, pushing some sort of political agenda. Either way, I wasn't going to be moved in such a way to keep reacting to such immature and primitive war tactics—and thought that it was just as likely that by November, come voting time, they would all be miraculously disappeared, if not before due to the inclement weather I was sure was coming by the end of summer. I was almost sort of on my own time, besides the voices in my mind which screamed to work harder and faster, be skinner and more perfect, and that my prime time had passed—that I would never be loved again and that I was a horrible mother, that besides all the more knowing it for myself, I hushed and numbed with my mantras, uncaring. At the very least, I was alone, and not interested in people— the humanity had left the humans by way of corporate slavery and electronic addictions, rigged elections and a totalitarian government which masqueraded as a democracy, but In all truth had been for quite some time, out of the hands of its people. All the better, as the people had become programmed and controllable, easily manipulated, and for the most part and maybe even for the best, unconscious creatures—the majority of them malnourished, dehydrated by choice and lifestyle, eating processed foods as voluntary poison–and especially in New York City– undereducated, and without rest; The youth at the hands of the system which controlled all aspects of their lives, comparing them not by wit or skill but privilege and genetic composition; by looks, wealth, and vanity. The algorithm was indeed sorting them by all it knew to— perfect, and imperfect, almost always attributed to environmental factors, such as financial stability and of course—access to certain luxuries and freedoms— a hard line dividing the classes now. I lounged somewhat gracefully in my favorite polyester blend skirt as my harems washed with the tablecloth and dishrags— I was nearly out of suitable casual clothes, and although I had been collecting some fashionable outerwear, I never planned on actually going out. Being penniless in New York was tiresome, and I had spent enough time fighting its monsterous crowds and the infestation of migrants long enough during my year within the homeless system—now, still trapped by the terrorists which surrounded the block and what, if it wasn't some kind of federal experiment altogether, also seemed like some kind of criminal enterprise, which situated itself in the warehouse just adjacent to my building, though having lost their illegal smoke shop, a group of shirtless hoodlum-looking types, still appearing to continue business outside of where the smokeshop once had been, now becoming an obvious and unwelcoming eyesore, as the owners of the “auto body shop” which plagued the neighborhood by parking ugly cars on the sidewalks around the entirety of the corner—combined with the discarded trash, old appliances and the occasional shopping cart filled with such , not to mention the trees which stood in beds of littered filth– as if to say “we run this block”—some shade of brown and careless as to what peace might be to some others, they held enough of something like money which masquaraded as power, and therefore enough of whatever they had to continue to make the block a less welcoming place to live, and besides the motorcyclists—which all seemed to be one, haphazard, operational network— stood as a good reason not to bring any child into this mess— the brown-black world of Brooklyn New York's Queen's facing war zone—the ugly truth of old racism and money in New York City; and after a year two year spectacle on how most of the black and brown culture within New York City had bred itself to be unrestful, misbehaved, and brutally drained of its class by the system itself; it was nearly understated that the culture had become toxic. The Redlining of New York City had become obvious–New York City's own racism a blistering outward truth. I I wanted so badly to be able to travel and return “home” or rather, to my apartment–or even rather–to my studio–as it never really did feel like home with the ability to see it all in a new light. I had been in New York so long that I felt myself becoming callous and bitter—I needed to leave, but had been at a standstill creatively, as if there was some kind of block on my music. It was true that I couldn't hear much of my own sounds or music over the traffic in the outside world, and I was sure I had been sent here as sabotage so that I might never make it out of the depths of this world. Either way, I wasn't going to take it much longer— if I was ever made to be homeless again, I would simply kill myself—and without a love that I could call my own— a real love, disconnected from the destruction of my son's father, completely away from the satanic, demonic and evil curses he had set upon me— a love that would set me free from him and his world— I would kill myself. I would do anything to escape the constant thoughts of him bombarding me, the flashbacks of his brutal beating— the evil words he had said and the evil, tumultuous series of homelessness which followed. I would do anything to rid myself of him entirely, and I had not yet at all been loved by someone who didn't seem possessed by something after some time—it was as if this energy would find its way into anyone near me and drive me to insanity just so that his version of the story would become true; the evil lie that I had simply “lost my mind”, and out of nowhere, just had “gone crazy.” His version was the lie— Everything that I had once become was a reflection of himself—weak, unstable, and unable to function, all the while he had used my energy to sustain and survive; a vampire narcissist who could not have without my doing lived or functioned on his own. The one man I had ever shared tied with had been always too tired to get up for work, and always without fail, unable to keep a steady job – and of course— situationally plagued with poor spending habits, bad judgement, and outright laziness. He simply wanted to play the game, drink his 4locos, and use my computer to make rap beats; of course–I was holding him back from his true potential. Becoming like him was what seemed to the outside world as ‘losing my mind', and upon choosing to leave him, to find myself again. His only strategy had been to to form an illusion—that his own mental illness was actually mine. That the traumatic physical violence I had endured and hidden in fear of him had never actually happened. He kept me at a distance to make it seem as though I had abandoned my son; used our son as bait to attract another mate, and then began to discard him, treating him as an extension of myself which he could feed on for light and energy–and eventually discard. He claimed that by ignoring my phone calls and attempts at keeping a bond with my son, that I had no interest in being a mother. He projected onto other that I had been sick or incapable—with the veracity of a cereal killer with just enough charm, the racistly indoctrinated outside world fell to default that always, though having been the survivor of serveral violent acts, that I was somehow in the wrong–that I had somehow deserved the things which were being done to me. The physical scars that I wore were of his making, and the label that it formed— a mentally ill and unstable homeless colored woman— projected to the right-swinging red-necked Alaskans that I was somehow the problem; However, with time, I was sure that his meaning to subdue and belittle me was returning to him in the way of Karmic justice, and that the light that I had left within my own child would be his redeeming quality, in a world where I had been outcast from and unable to return to. I wanted desperately to at least visit—but saw no end to the financial ruin which homelessness and debt had caused insight; the recovery from his physical violence almost seemingly impossible; even frequenting the gym often enough would result in a particular man entering the gym to practice his sparring; often though I tried to prevent the flashbacks from occuring, I would eventually, hearing this, over my music at high volume, imagine the punching bag as my face. I realized at some point that I might never actually see my son again. We were thousands of miles separated and years between us–and because I had been honest in my documentation of the violence that had happened between us–he was refusing to sign the divorce papers, leaving me dangling at the end of a long rope I was sure I'd hang from, and limiting my ability to be seen by the system as entirely independent of this disastrous type of person. Of course, ‘boys will be boys'--and these types of boys in particular had the habit of protecting one another whether they were in the wrong, or not. A brotherhood of course, in which I had been marked as beatable, discardable, and of course, some sort of sub-human. How could I even know that I was safe from his dark and evil reach in a world said to be and many believed ruled by demonic bodies which Satan himself had claimed? In heavy prayer and reflection I had been asking of the men on motorcycles, to which God's answer seemed to speak truth; that these men were not men at all, but Satan's playthings. They had no free though or will to act on their own, and were instead controlled—that the toxicity, the terrorism, the injustice was a spectacle of sorts for the dark lord, in thy he controlled so many of what used to be people—now more just puppets for his displays of affliction upon humanity. These men had no purpose at all but to be consumed and possessed by a creature which had no face at all—no true name at all— the force of evil itself, which by now had controlled nearly all man, and nearly all of humanity. The Complex Collective © Nicolas Fountainisi was a disgusting human being. Not altogether a human creature, he foraged ways of l believing in kindness and gratitude though never actually having felt, or with feeling at all— what human nature actually at all was. Premeditated murder. Desensitization, Sensitive information Curious niggers Did I say it again? Indifference. It's whatever. Psychological terror chamber. I love Oprah and motorcycles But I hate robots. Huh. Well, I'm at it. Let's go kick in the googleverse I could write a metaplex Languages, and something was stolen! Porch robber False fortune Decisions, decisions Evil ass bitches Temptations, Temptations— I seen your face when I mated here Oh, Lord It's the lyricism Let's make spousal abuse poetic. Let's make her stay in the system! Let's make it more severe weather! [Thunder and lightning.] Let's go hang in the googleverse I might write a metaplex I'm infinite, And you're infinite— But your producer Is inferior Where is he then? I left him in a wedding For aftermarket parts I'm making belated birthday cakes On the 4th Or the fifth Better believe it I ain't got enough to— Switch from the antiquity, did you? I told you, I ain't tell if they come at me! (Don't tell if he touch you) He got the power, The lawyers The women, The money, The mortals on battery pack— Waaaages! I'm not finna snatch shit Just so you can say I snatched it I asked you for passion and peace All I got was the passion And nails in my outstretched palms I tried to warn you! Sickness, is it? It is, Traffic on magnets Let's go hang in the googleverse, I might write metaplex Fear of the fortunate Don't mean to hurt us-/ We're just immortals They don't even know us no more Depart the children of earth For the worst days to come Not to the worthless, But the wealthy and fortunate Burn up Listen and learn, son Your mother was for us But I got my butter's worth (Don't make me work hard!) I thinkni just left myself Woke up in a primary school A perfect apartment But a dive bar To an old fuck Going out on those LTEs Is always bothersome, Don't you know? Torturer's complex —they know not. Don't worry mom, I got an assignment You're proud of me, aren't I? Are you adorable, For a robot stalker Stop in the road Just to intercept That I'm always Where you don't want (On top of you) Once you been hit in the face by a man And Separated from your young Then blamed for it Once you old your dead children and Feel their cold frozen bodies Once you get stalked And tracked by hostile robots Pulling out All the fine details of your life Is if your birth Your entire upbringing Is your fault You stop giving a fuck About little dudes Throwing weights around Guess who gets dangerous Once they find out They're being fucked with Over and over And nobody loves her This ugly fat bitch Guess who gets tired of poverty But gets blocked from getting a job Being broke I shouldn't even need this shit But apparently demons And shit he said Stands up in court —but he hit me. Turns out I lost my mind And the devil's a liar Turns out I like them blonde and blue eyed Huh Oh well I'll stay alone on false positives All day Getting fucked with Pennies on the dollar Followed and followed and followed All I want is a bullet hole In my aura Whatever man, this just got weird again. Reading the book, I realized how funny I was—because Tina Fey was funny and interesting—but I might even be actually funnier, and had al certainly lived a more seasoned life—her white girl hardships were endearing and I loved her all the more for having read through the surface level collection of stories from throughout her life and world—she was certainly luckier than I was, and more likable—-and maybe even probably funnier in person, but for now, she was just smarter, and that was enough to encourage me to list the words that so far I didn't know, starting in the middle, and somehow looking back to the beginning. I didn't want to miss anything—she was actually a considerable role model besides Oprah, though it was obvious we lived in different worlds entirely. Captain Captain! Oh, Good, come in, Cannon. You've—changed. …as you know, Monday we disembark. Yes, I'm aware. And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us. Yes. I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self. How old are you, anyway? You should never ask a woman her age, LT. Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know. Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately… Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that. I'm still very much in the privacy of my office. You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public. Never as a woman her age! You're not a woman; you're my captain. We'll see about that after tonight. Being a woman, or being my captain? Both, probably. Hm. By any chance would you be interested in joining me? As your subordinate, or as a man. Both, probably. Or neither… presumably. As my escort. I beg your pardon. I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition. —er, your condition, captain? Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind. [he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.] Consider it done. Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour. Half an hour? Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early. We're earning points? We are now. Very well then. What am I wearing? Something sharp. Sharper than the inside of a half hour. On your mark. I'll—see you soon. He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him. Sergeant. Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back. Oh. I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage. Whatever, though. Doesn't matter. At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture, TVP S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer. DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour. — DAEMON Who's this beautiful sister? PATRICK My head writer; don't even think about it. DAEMON I don't think. I just do. Esha approaches— Dash politely bows and kisses Esha's hand. ESHA Should I get tested? DAEMON —and funny. [Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with Daemon Dash; Furious, Patrick means to interrogate her at work the next day. ] PATRICK Why would you even date that asshole. ESHA Because—Pat. He's a comedian. PATRICK I'm a comedian! So? ESHA So, he's funny. PATRICK And? ESHA And he said things to me— PATRICK (defensively) –What kind of things?! ESHA Charming, funny things— PATRICK Okay? ESHA Things he wouldn't say to you over dinner— because, I'm– PATRICK —you're a woman. ESHA —and your head writer. So naturally…. PATRICK Esh, you're a genius, ESHA So is he. We have—some new material to work through. [ESHA produces a hefty pile of notes and serves them to PATRICK] PATRICK (squealing) Ahq! ESHA Your monologue tonight. [Patrick excitedly shuffles through the papers.] PATRICK Oh yes. Oh yes. ESHA You can thank me later. © The Festival Project ™ , Inc. All Rights Reserved. Broken bottles. Someone should stop her Walkin walking God knows I don't belong here And I don't want to Passover was April 21-30 Global War on Terrorism Aka WWIII Oh, indeed. Don't look left Take a deep breath My heart beats differently I think it might be the end I think it might be I think I might be the enemy The pushing mechanism When i breath him in I levitate And gravitate to what it meant The sake of the art, The hurt of the heart As sacred as it ever was The turning or the Torah talks of Gestures, since the fall of Rome The toga on the alter Solid hands unwrap us all From falling over Old and awkward No award for wisdom No rest for the wiser No love for the troll Since thunderstruck from under us, Delivered all but what we wanted So we talk of kama sutra, Surely we can't talk at all Of what we know As once was bonded Laughed it off To come from what The call to us, Fair serve governors fortress I work up in mentions Carved the scarlet letter out of Cannons, of course MA. WHAT. I'm BUSY. IT'S ON. The what? The show we watch! The one that— YES, Oh, my GOD. Yes. YESSSSSSSSS. Usnavi, get your popcorn This is some worth watching Up in arms for forwards Causing sore arms, Numb thumbs From crucifixes Are you wondering what God Would walk about the horned carving A kamikaze walk of tall corn— Follow me, dear mantra Your whole house is watching. Sacre. It's happening again isn't it. I do want ice cream. All I need is a divorce And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall To rub me off at the stroke of Nevermind what the clock says In God's house they're all wrong The blasphemous for Catholics Has begun, So strum your number into the teleprompter And just hope no one gets hurt By the hook on the next song —like the hook of my last surviving bra digs into my back does, Or the skin on my lack of tummy Has rubbed off under the suicide Of the cycle— It's getting tighter A loss of interest is equal to A loss of consciousness And I'm 21 days drunk On the alternate, though— I'm sober and feeling less Loved. The animal I've become is all cardio And karma sutra For karma comes To the weak of heart To use the world as swords To cause harm To the calm artists I thought I told you off once. (Already) You look awful. lol. You look terrible, broh. But my album sound fire. #producerholes [portal] It's coffee time!! It's not coffee time! It's not coffee time. Iiiiits coffee time. Damn. Where's the cat. Gestating. I fell asleep on a Saturday afternoon and woke up on a Saturday morning something like 19 hours later, after a series of dr same the types of like I was sure that my new dreamcatcher would shield me from—the turquoise beads were probably plastic, but who could know—without further inspection, I gladly hung it up near the window to catch the bad spirits who had been attacking me in the night, mostly in the form of satanic possessed motorcycle riders or heavily drinking passerby's. Wouldn't it be nice to have somewhere beautiful like this in downtown Los Angeles, or even Santa Monica? I had grown tired of the toxicity of inner city New Yorkers and the third world antics of the newest inhabitants— still/- it was the first apartment ever in my entire adulthood that was totally and completely mine, and I took good care of it. I knew that most folks weren't as clean and tidy as I was, and although I had left my apartment quite a mess in a lurch to get to the post office, returning the cheap and improperly advertised fake essential oils I had returned upon discovering that they were indeed not actually essential oils, but something that smelled more like floor cleaner, and was the consistency of water—they were fake, and the bath rug had been altered with photoshop to make it look gold, while it was actually yellow. I took it back, remembering the promise I had made 3 days ago—once I was finished reading Tina Fey's matching yellow book, I would find somewhere else to put the rug, but it clashed so classlesley with everything in my apartment, that I couldn't stand to look anymore; the rug had been removed from the bathroom before even filing for a return label; the fake essential oils joined it in the box three days later— a Saturday I was sure upon first waking was Sunday, but then glad it was some kind of time slip through the dimensions as I slept wearily for hours after refusing to go to the gym, only to be followed by what seemed like robots—the same 3 or 4 people showing up when I worked out no matter what time I decided to go—early or late. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

god jesus christ new york amazon fear president new york city hollywood los angeles reading evil satan dead asian decisions run phone oprah winfrey loved chicken busy burn switch curious thunder false ninjas fuck passover woke traffic solid dolphins expensive lawsuit lt pulling psychological stands throwing broken sharp copyright sickness colors delivered mariah carey causing temptations sensitive torah santa monica collisions new yorkers janet jackson ee nevermind alicia keys hm porch sergeant tina fey depart skrillex groundhog indifference numb s p pennies oprah winfrey show brooklyn new york assholes sargent karmic walkin gestures porcupines daemon laughed sharper cannons redlining supersoul gnarly escalade super soul sunday sacre yer alaskans god would premeditated desensitization esha what time is it torturer what the fuck lord it usnavi patrick patrick

Ep 14 - Ryan Gonzales

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 26, 2024 61:51

Ever wonder what it's like to step back into a beloved role? Tori and Eliza catch up with Ryan Gonzales as they return to Washington Heights as Usnavi, stepping back into a role that's both a challenge and a source of deep fulfilment. They also dive into their iconic run in Moulin Rouge, where they slayed in Vogue, and discuss the casting shifts happening in Australia. Plus, get the scoop on their upcoming trip to Neverland with the Australian premiere of Peter and the Starcatcher. This episode is packed with raucous stage stories and insider insights you won't want to miss!

australia australian created vogue gonzales moulin rouge neverland washington heights starcatchers usnavi

#412: Rubén J. Carbajal // Laurens/Philip on Broadway // Part One

Little Known Facts with Ilana Levine

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 8, 2024 54:07

Rubén J. Carbajal is finally on the podcast after all this time, but honestly, the timing could not have been better. Rubén recently made his Broadway debut as John Laurens and Philip Hamilton, but not before doing over one thousand performances across the country including Los Angeles, San Francisco, and performing alongside Lin-Manuel Miranda in Puerto Rico. Rubén has been performing since he was five years old, but it wasn't until he did In the Heights for the first time that he felt truly connected to a role. He wants to do that show forever (that's a quote) and so far he's done it three times: once as Sonny and twice as Usnavi. When Hamilton came along Rubén was a superfan just like the rest of us, and we have a lot of fun revisiting those early days of the Hamilton fervor. What's more exciting than being a fan of something and then actually being a part of it?! And for years, at that! It wasn't an easy process and this episode ends with one of the busiest and most important days of Rubén's life: an audition, the news about a call back, a Mets game, and standing on the turntable at the Richard Rodgers Theatre for the very first time. Rubén J. Carbajal on Instagram /// Gillian's Website The Hamilcast on Twitter The Hamilcast on Instagram Join the Patreon Peeps

los angeles san francisco broadway hamilton puerto rico new york mets heights lin manuel miranda laurens rube carbajal usnavi philip hamilton john laurens richard rodgers theatre

Episode 357 - Javier Muñoz and Jessie Mueller

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 3, 2023 48:13

Javier Muñoz is an actor and activist whose impressive body of work spans theater, film and television. He is best known for starring and co-creating the role of "Alexander Hamilton'' in the hit musical HAMILTON on Broadway for two years after Lin-Manuel Miranda departed the show (and was his alternate prior to that). He got his break starring as “Usnavi” in IN THE HEIGHTS on Broadway, also created by Miranda. Javier starred in the dark comedy indie feature, MONUMENTS, opposite David Sullivan & Marguerite Moreau, the indie feature LOVE RECONSIDERED and stars in THREE MONTHS, opposite Troy Sivan and Judy Greer, on Paramount+. He voices a lead character in the Disney Jr. animated series, Eureka! Other TV credits include recurring role on Shadowhunters, Blindspot and Full Frontal with Samantha Bee. Javier is also an outspoken activist for LGBTQ+ rights, a Global Ambassador for (RED), which fights to end HIV/AIDS, and supporter of GMHC. Jessie Mueller is a Tony and Grammy Award-winning actress and singer. She was last seen on Broadway in Tracy Lett's The Minutes. Other recent credits include the Kennedy Center's Guys & Dolls, The Music Man, Julie Jordan in the Broadway revival of Rodgers and Hammerstein's Carousel (Tony & Grammy nominations, Drama Desk Award), originating the roles of both Jenna in Waitress (Tony, DD & Grammy noms) and Carole King in Beautiful-The Carole King Musical (Tony, Grammy & DD Awards.) Concert appearances include Carnegie Hall, Chicago's Lyric Opera, and Jazz at Lincoln Center. Film and Television: Steven Spielberg's The Post, Madam Secretary, Blue Bloods, Hulu's Candy, and Lifetime's Patsy & Loretta. She can be heard as part of the kooky cast of Netflix' Centaurworld and Wondery's Melon's House Party. New studio recordings include My Heart Says Go and Diary of A Wimpy Kid, The Musical. She is an Arts Education champion for groups such as Rosie's Theatre Kids (rosiestheaterkids.org) and a long-time supporter of The Entertainment Community Fund (entertainmentcommunity.org) & Broadway Cares Equity Fights Aids (broadwaycares.org). Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Episode 77 - In the Heights

So Much Stuff to Sing

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 1, 2023 38:33

Another title song, and this time it's a title song that opens the show and sets up the rest of the show. We're talking about In the Heights again, exploring how Lin-Manuel Miranda uses its opening number to set up both the main characters and most of the plotlines that we need to know. All clips are from 2021's In the Heights: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack featuring Anthony Ramos as Usnavi and are used in accordance with the Fair Use Exemption for criticism and commentary. Buy/stream the album on Amazon! Listen to the SMSTS playlist on Spotify. Follow the show on Twitter: @somuchstuffpod Follow SMSTS on Instagram: @somuchstufftosing Email the show: somuchstufftosing@gmail.com

amazon spotify heights lin manuel miranda anthony ramos usnavi

Broadway's Javier Muñoz (Hamilton): "Kindness is a Choice"

The Art of Kindness with Robert Peterpaul

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 5, 2023 65:17

Broadway star Javier Muñoz joins The Art of Kindness with Robert Peterpaul to kick off Pride month and reflect on: acts of kindness in Hamilton, working on the new musical album My Heart Says Go alongside Jessie Mueller, making theatre accessible, self-acceptance and much more. Javier Muñoz is an actor and activist whose impressive body of work spans theater, film and television. He is best known for starring and co-creating the role of "Alexander Hamilton'' in the hit musical HAMILTON on Broadway for two years after Lin-Manuel Miranda departed the show (and was his alternate prior to that). He got his break starring as “Usnavi” in IN THE HEIGHTS on Broadway, also created by Miranda. Javier starred in the dark comedy indie feature, MONUMENTS, opposite David Sullivan & Marguerite Moreau, the indie feature LOVE RECONSIDERED and stars in THREE MONTHS, opposite Troy Sivan and Judy Greer, on Paramount+. He voices a lead character in the Disney Jr. animated series, Eureka! Other TV credits include recurring role on Shadowhunters, Blindspot and Full Frontal with Samantha Bee. Javier is also an outspoken activist for LGBTQ+ rights, a Global Ambassador for (RED), which fights to end HIV/AIDS, and supporter of GMHC. Got kindness tips or stories? Please email us: artofkindnesspodcast@gmail.com Follow Javier @javiermofficial Follow us @artofkindnesspod / @robpeterpaul Support the show! (https://www.buymeacoffee.com/theaok) Music: "Awake" by Ricky Alvarez & "Sunshine" by Lemon Music Studio. We are supported by the Broadway Podcast Network. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Mixxes 4 My Exxes Vol. II - {iF.}

Play Episode Listen Later May 28, 2023 64:21

When I first watched the coffee run- deadmau5 was just deadmau5 Deadmau5 is still just deadmau5 Keep telling yourself that. So what's the plan here. There's a plan. Haha. Very funny. I thought so. Where am I taking this thing? Just keep driving. “Just keep driving.” Don't act like you're not enjoying it. I really am— “Mad as Rabbits” Professor Pancakes! Yes. What have you done to this portal. Hehehe. >< Who are these sketchy ass comics. Idk heroes I guess. God, this show is cringe. Yeah. Have we gone through the title sequence yet? Why on earth would you study this. I'll study anything that holds my attention. Here, hold this. What is it. It's my attention. Make me a sandwhich. Okay. What kind. Any fucking sandwhich. Just—any sandwhich? Yeah. Oh, dear. What. It's another infinite realm. Oh, wow. Which means. It's all the same— Same thing. I want this to swallow this pill, and swallow it whole What does it do?? —nobody quite knows. Perfect. We knew you'd be the one for the jo. My whole world is full of “God, she's beautiful…l And “I don't want to be here anymore” But at least I came, right? At least I got you right here in my heart —you're in my head again I can't go to sleep I take medicine I don't take advice, or compliments If it's wrong and such, Hey, At least I'm honest (Or was) It's got to all count for something I've been embarrassed by it Careless, I guess It's just another chance to be brainwashed Let me tell you what my whole brain does Lights up when I think of you Just keep doing, What you been doing is, Being blue, You're just being Blū That is a flex. Huh. They used my name in a song. Wow. They even spelled it right. Okay. In the heights Far Regina Spector Far Now I don't want to dive In; I just want to close my eyes for awhile Maybe I'm ‘it'. — —but right now, I'm in it Disentreswe in such Unholy matrimony. Wtf is this. Holy shit, I got 2 stop listenin to dis music. die. This is horrible. Yeah, this is a disaster. This is perfect. X_x It's actually perfect. [actually on fire] Why. Why would u do dis. u did this. I did this. I is U. Oh, Well fuck it. No vowels then. Wut. Why. Wut. Do something cool. [ Your interview at Equinox is today between 9:30 AM and 10:00 AM (US/Eastern). At the time of your interview please join via this link: https://l.indeed.com/HluKX3Gp43/. Reply STOP if you no longer want to receive event updates from Indeed. Do you like how it feels? Do you like how I am— Well yeah then So go ahead; I'll tell you the answer, But you don't like it, and None of its random —none of it matters, none of it can I don't mean to vanish But I'm a phantom (And I'm just a fan) “Oh well”, I thought broadly to myself; I wasn't quite ready either way to be — nevermind. Back online: Guess I'm an insomniac tonight Surface level scrolling and what do I find The whole world of mine Putting a spark in my eye Just a glimmer, I simmer in the limelight I might die trying, I might just Turn off the light, roll over Paint myself white— I'm just being polite, How's the sacrifice going Um, the what The virgin sacrifice. What?! We don't do that! Who is ‘we'? …nobody. Aha! Illuminati! That's not a thing! I knew it. You know nothing. I know everything. No you don't; cause then you'd be in the Illuminati! Aha! —which isn't real! Damn, I want you so bad; —damn, I want you so bad Damn. —I want you so bad. Damn, (God damn) I want you so bad Damn, I want you so bad Damn (Damn!) I want you so bad. Damn, I want you so bad Damn, I want you so bad Right now Well, that's too bad, cause you know what?! Fuck it, I wanna get drunk. That's not a good idea. Do you have a better one? I got it. What's up. I'll just throw the rock—at his face. That's not a good idea. It's a grand idea! Spectacular. I really want to look at Dillon Francis's Instagram. For what. I don't know. You know what I want? Huh. A peanut butter and jelly sandwhich. That sounds good. Yeah. Lol that's it? That's the whole scene. Are you sure? Yeah. Oh shit, I knew I'd eventually revisit this. What is it. “Three Assholes In A Car Getting Coffee” BEFORE: which one do you think is the most attractive. You want me to rank them? Yes. Rank them. Um, okay. That was a dark day. All the days are dark here. You know, God. Sure— I'm extremely bored. Bored with what. Here's a portal Where's it go? Absolutely nowhere. MEANWHILE, IN ABSOLUTELY NOWHWEE Oh God, it's getting hot in here. Well, yeah, dude. Oh fuck. What. We gotta turn around. What'd we leave. My best friend. Your best— Yeah! I'm your best friend. You're nobody's best friend, Dillon Francis. Where the fuck's my fucking sandwhich my Jesus's that's a lot of fucks. Yeah, a lot of fucks and zero sandwhiches. You have to put this in his hand. No. That's where it goes. In his hand. That's the game? That's this game. How many games are we playing? All of them, Liz. I'm not— LIZ LEMON I HATE THIS GAME. I LOVE THIS GAME IS IT OVER YET?! Oh check it out, he does look like Skrillex. Oh shit, so this is season 7 It is? Yeah, there's Drake Bell. Where. Timmy, I have to tell you something. Not right now. No, yes, right now— Remember that scene on the— FUCK DILLON FRANCIS I WIN MOTHERFUCKER. YES. GOD IS REAL. I asked God for Dillon Francis to show me his girlfriend on Instagram and he did it. YEA BITCH. I WIN. Well, that's one game. What's the other one. Fuxk, What up dude. Now, I just realized something. FUCK. WhatS. We gotta burn all this Dillon Francis How. I don't know, I never printed it on paper. Well, that's fine: I got something else for you to do. What. SUCK MY DICK. Ok. Okay. Okay. Why doesn't this hurt as bad as last time—. LAST TIME: You know what? Fuck this. Oh shit, now what do I do with this thing? … … … Wait dude, if I give him this stone— Uh huh And this stone has powers— Yes it does. Then won't DILLON FRANCIS GET ALL THE POWERS. No. No? Not “all the powers”, just the ones in the stone. This stone has a lot of powers. Yes it does. You should give it to Skrillex. I was going to. And then what. BEFORE: fuck, there's no fire escape. There is, it's just on the other side. IMm not gonna risk seeing Sonny to see Skrillex. I don't care how much sense any of this makes, that makes the most sense. Let's change the narrative on this. What's the narrative. What is your motive? That's the narrative? I—yea. ::||puseZ Sunni, you're drunk. I don't careZ . LookC. Remember this scene: THIS AINT A SCENE, ITS A GODDAMN ARMS RACE. No, it's a scene. (It's two, actually Something forced my eyes up and onto the LCD screen on the partition of the subway platform, in perfect ancroniciry i read the word “EASY” as it appeared on the screen, as the same word poured through my headphones from the sounds of Queen, the last song of a mix I actually liked, but had yet to do anything with— I had yet to do anything with anything—though, perhaps that was the point. I had been in an elusive state of withdrawal and cyclical imbalance, and though this morning had been planned for ages, it had only just now happened. Overwhelmed with sadness, I had realized reading the first lines out of a book by Madonna's brother that I hadn't the energy for superstardom—and with as little of the energy I did have left, had become otherwise deflated and unmotivated—Yet, for some reason, having spent the morning scrolling through Dillon Francis's instragram, I was on an A-train bound for Manhattan, or maybe even—Washing heights, as the words to my once-favorite musical had been of course clamoring around in my head with all the other things that were in there—even DillonbFrancis and now his girlfriend, their two dogs, and his mother, who had appeared to me just-so in a dream just weeks earlier; though I had thought to have made her up in my mind, there she was, supposedly—alongside Dillon and his horrible haircut—though nothing he could do ever seemed to change my mind or the way that I felt about him, even confirming his relationship publicly; I still rather liked him, and he still had a way of setting me in motion merely through emotion—perhaps, this was the lone standing function of Dillon Francis after all. Now, I was headed to the gym, perhaps after a touristy detour to visit what I imagined to be a now-gentrified Washington Heights “You must take the A-Train!” Usnavi sings in the Title Opener, and though I had taken in the entirety of the shows lyrics around a decade earlier, becoming a fanatic of akin Manuel a Miranda long before Hamilton or Moana, or the rest of the world knew who he was—I had never once imagined myaelf actually attempting to visit Washington Heights, my overall lifelong aversion to New York probably a residual trauma from the last lifetime I had spent in this incarnation—I knew for certain more than once I had lived in this existence—I remembered well Dillon Francis and the lifetimes I had spent with him—and now I wondered exactly which one this one was; I had gotten what I had wanted “Show me your girlfriend.” I thought, upon waking up from a dream I had spent with him “I want to see.” I thought loudly, smirking to myself and stepping into the shower, where I often— for some strange reason thought about Dillon Francis. But this particular morning—I thought about Dillon Francis, his girlfriend, their two dogs, his mother, and my ex husband—the latter of which I cursed silently, mumbling something under my breath about “whatever, fuck it” and wondering if I should spend the evening after working “being Sunnï Blū”, which meant sitting down with a tall can of bud light and chasing it with a Truly or two, sipping on something even fruitier like a Mike's Hard Lemonade and sifting through beats entirely too drunk enough to create any of my own (but just drunk enough to rap something funny and fall asleep sad as fuck….) only to wake, undoubtedly even sadder, very sleepy, and dilapidated—but at least with a rap track worth spinning into my sets, or not—the more I became a DJ the less I actually wanted to be a DJ. Now I just wanted a husband, a baby—or maybe just two dogs and a Dillon Francis, and I couldn't imagine why or how I had become so twisted up in my overt attraction to the man that it had actually become continually devastating to have to think about him with someone else—and though even from the beginning I knew it could have never been someone like me—I wondered why someone like me even existed, when the type of men I was attracted to always had Kayla Laurens. Always. I was learning from everything I was taking in—things I wanted and needed to know. I had only just earlier asked God for “closure with Dillon Francis”, and God had in fact been showing off with a fierceness at how quickly it could work to fulfill my every request, prayer, and wish—and how instantly God acknowledged any of my thoughts, wants, and needs. “Okay.” I had never really been up and about so early In New York, but could in no way wrap my mind around a wink of sleep, the strangeness of having been dead-on looming in my chest and wrapping into a sensation of arrogant ritghteouaness—the deep burning hardening into a pungent sting in the confines of my abdomen “Fuck this”, I muttered, thinking to myself “I don't want to be a superstar DJ. I want to be a housewife.” I had used Dillon's Instagram as an EDM Newsfeed—it was the safer bet above anything else, as I knew wandering off into DJ land would produce even more hurtful images of skinny girls prancing around promoting their horrible music—or even worse—pretty boy DJs and their pretty white girlfriends on private jets or backstage at festivals, rubbing noses with the other wealthy socialites my own poor choices had excluded me from being allowed to become; at least I was finally willing to take accountability for just being shitty. It would be embarrassing for a man of such prominence to dip below his social class, especially to one that had already been used, abused, and broken—such as I. “Get off at 181st”, and take the escalator—“ As it turns out, Lin Manuel was an excellent controller of sorts—or had at least given accurate enough directions, and though there was no actual escalator—at least that I found upon the exit, I felt as if walking up the accessible ramp through the arched tunnel, I was perhaps entering itself the 4th dimension—and though I had learned of the ascended realms and dimensions beyond the 4th, having finally accessed how to fluidly travel between them—or to differentiate one from another as they often crossed and intersected, gliding amongst them, I had been shaking myself loose from being tricked in any way into believing anything I had dreamt up or written would ever be more than what it was—a one-sided blind-eyed attempt at success from the back way in. It seemed everyone was getting married or already was—even Porter Robinson, which seemed bizarre, as though he was older than me, maybe even by only a little—I still thought of him as so young; then again, most people my age were also married—and here I was, finally divorced and why in the world I wanted so badly to do it all over again—but better. It really was true what had always been said—the first heartbreak being the worst, and that once a woman gets over the father of her children, almost anything goes; I. Oils no longer be worried with whether or not I would be cheated on again, as I probably would l—and it didn't matter. It took 30 years to figure out that society was made by and for cheating males—our responsibility as women learning as best we could to swallow the truth whole; that men craved youthful, tiny women most their lives—and the rest of us, well… “WHATEVER.” WHATEVER. What— Ever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Mixxes 4 My Exxes Vol. Ii - {iF.}

Play Episode Listen Later May 28, 2023 64:21

When I first watched the coffee run- deadmau5 was just deadmau5 Deadmau5 is still just deadmau5 Keep telling yourself that. So what's the plan here. There's a plan. Haha. Very funny. I thought so. Where am I taking this thing? Just keep driving. “Just keep driving.” Don't act like you're not enjoying it. I really am— “Mad as Rabbits” Professor Pancakes! Yes. What have you done to this portal. Hehehe. >< Who are these sketchy ass comics. Idk heroes I guess. God, this show is cringe. Yeah. Have we gone through the title sequence yet? Why on earth would you study this. I'll study anything that holds my attention. Here, hold this. What is it. It's my attention. Make me a sandwhich. Okay. What kind. Any fucking sandwhich. Just—any sandwhich? Yeah. Oh, dear. What. It's another infinite realm. Oh, wow. Which means. It's all the same— Same thing. I want this to swallow this pill, and swallow it whole What does it do?? —nobody quite knows. Perfect. We knew you'd be the one for the jo. My whole world is full of “God, she's beautiful…l And “I don't want to be here anymore” But at least I came, right? At least I got you right here in my heart —you're in my head again I can't go to sleep I take medicine I don't take advice, or compliments If it's wrong and such, Hey, At least I'm honest (Or was) It's got to all count for something I've been embarrassed by it Careless, I guess It's just another chance to be brainwashed Let me tell you what my whole brain does Lights up when I think of you Just keep doing, What you been doing is, Being blue, You're just being Blū That is a flex. Huh. They used my name in a song. Wow. They even spelled it right. Okay. In the heights Far Regina Spector Far Now I don't want to dive In; I just want to close my eyes for awhile Maybe I'm ‘it'. — —but right now, I'm in it Disentreswe in such Unholy matrimony. Wtf is this. Holy shit, I got 2 stop listenin to dis music. die. This is horrible. Yeah, this is a disaster. This is perfect. X_x It's actually perfect. [actually on fire] Why. Why would u do dis. u did this. I did this. I is U. Oh, Well fuck it. No vowels then. Wut. Why. Wut. Do something cool. [ Your interview at Equinox is today between 9:30 AM and 10:00 AM (US/Eastern). At the time of your interview please join via this link: https://l.indeed.com/HluKX3Gp43/. Reply STOP if you no longer want to receive event updates from Indeed. Do you like how it feels? Do you like how I am— Well yeah then So go ahead; I'll tell you the answer, But you don't like it, and None of its random —none of it matters, none of it can I don't mean to vanish But I'm a phantom (And I'm just a fan) “Oh well”, I thought broadly to myself; I wasn't quite ready either way to be — nevermind. Back online: Guess I'm an insomniac tonight Surface level scrolling and what do I find The whole world of mine Putting a spark in my eye Just a glimmer, I simmer in the limelight I might die trying, I might just Turn off the light, roll over Paint myself white— I'm just being polite, How's the sacrifice going Um, the what The virgin sacrifice. What?! We don't do that! Who is ‘we'? …nobody. Aha! Illuminati! That's not a thing! I knew it. You know nothing. I know everything. No you don't; cause then you'd be in the Illuminati! Aha! —which isn't real! Damn, I want you so bad; —damn, I want you so bad Damn. —I want you so bad. Damn, (God damn) I want you so bad Damn, I want you so bad Damn (Damn!) I want you so bad. Damn, I want you so bad Damn, I want you so bad Right now Well, that's too bad, cause you know what?! Fuck it, I wanna get drunk. That's not a good idea. Do you have a better one? I got it. What's up. I'll just throw the rock—at his face. That's not a good idea. It's a grand idea! Spectacular. I really want to look at Dillon Francis's Instagram. For what. I don't know. You know what I want? Huh. A peanut butter and jelly sandwhich. That sounds good. Yeah. Lol that's it? That's the whole scene. Are you sure? Yeah. Oh shit, I knew I'd eventually revisit this. What is it. “Three Assholes In A Car Getting Coffee” BEFORE: which one do you think is the most attractive. You want me to rank them? Yes. Rank them. Um, okay. That was a dark day. All the days are dark here. You know, God. Sure— I'm extremely bored. Bored with what. Here's a portal Where's it go? Absolutely nowhere. MEANWHILE, IN ABSOLUTELY NOWHWEE Oh God, it's getting hot in here. Well, yeah, dude. Oh fuck. What. We gotta turn around. What'd we leave. My best friend. Your best— Yeah! I'm your best friend. You're nobody's best friend, Dillon Francis. Where the fuck's my fucking sandwhich my Jesus's that's a lot of fucks. Yeah, a lot of fucks and zero sandwhiches. You have to put this in his hand. No. That's where it goes. In his hand. That's the game? That's this game. How many games are we playing? All of them, Liz. I'm not— LIZ LEMON I HATE THIS GAME. I LOVE THIS GAME IS IT OVER YET?! Oh check it out, he does look like Skrillex. Oh shit, so this is season 7 It is? Yeah, there's Drake Bell. Where. Timmy, I have to tell you something. Not right now. No, yes, right now— Remember that scene on the— FUCK DILLON FRANCIS I WIN MOTHERFUCKER. YES. GOD IS REAL. I asked God for Dillon Francis to show me his girlfriend on Instagram and he did it. YEA BITCH. I WIN. Well, that's one game. What's the other one. Fuxk, What up dude. Now, I just realized something. FUCK. WhatS. We gotta burn all this Dillon Francis How. I don't know, I never printed it on paper. Well, that's fine: I got something else for you to do. What. SUCK MY DICK. Ok. Okay. Okay. Why doesn't this hurt as bad as last time—. LAST TIME: You know what? Fuck this. Oh shit, now what do I do with this thing? … … … Wait dude, if I give him this stone— Uh huh And this stone has powers— Yes it does. Then won't DILLON FRANCIS GET ALL THE POWERS. No. No? Not “all the powers”, just the ones in the stone. This stone has a lot of powers. Yes it does. You should give it to Skrillex. I was going to. And then what. BEFORE: fuck, there's no fire escape. There is, it's just on the other side. IMm not gonna risk seeing Sonny to see Skrillex. I don't care how much sense any of this makes, that makes the most sense. Let's change the narrative on this. What's the narrative. What is your motive? That's the narrative? I—yea. ::||puseZ Sunni, you're drunk. I don't careZ . LookC. Remember this scene: THIS AINT A SCENE, ITS A GODDAMN ARMS RACE. No, it's a scene. (It's two, actually Something forced my eyes up and onto the LCD screen on the partition of the subway platform, in perfect ancroniciry i read the word “EASY” as it appeared on the screen, as the same word poured through my headphones from the sounds of Queen, the last song of a mix I actually liked, but had yet to do anything with— I had yet to do anything with anything—though, perhaps that was the point. I had been in an elusive state of withdrawal and cyclical imbalance, and though this morning had been planned for ages, it had only just now happened. Overwhelmed with sadness, I had realized reading the first lines out of a book by Madonna's brother that I hadn't the energy for superstardom—and with as little of the energy I did have left, had become otherwise deflated and unmotivated—Yet, for some reason, having spent the morning scrolling through Dillon Francis's instragram, I was on an A-train bound for Manhattan, or maybe even—Washing heights, as the words to my once-favorite musical had been of course clamoring around in my head with all the other things that were in there—even DillonbFrancis and now his girlfriend, their two dogs, and his mother, who had appeared to me just-so in a dream just weeks earlier; though I had thought to have made her up in my mind, there she was, supposedly—alongside Dillon and his horrible haircut—though nothing he could do ever seemed to change my mind or the way that I felt about him, even confirming his relationship publicly; I still rather liked him, and he still had a way of setting me in motion merely through emotion—perhaps, this was the lone standing function of Dillon Francis after all. Now, I was headed to the gym, perhaps after a touristy detour to visit what I imagined to be a now-gentrified Washington Heights “You must take the A-Train!” Usnavi sings in the Title Opener, and though I had taken in the entirety of the shows lyrics around a decade earlier, becoming a fanatic of akin Manuel a Miranda long before Hamilton or Moana, or the rest of the world knew who he was—I had never once imagined myaelf actually attempting to visit Washington Heights, my overall lifelong aversion to New York probably a residual trauma from the last lifetime I had spent in this incarnation—I knew for certain more than once I had lived in this existence—I remembered well Dillon Francis and the lifetimes I had spent with him—and now I wondered exactly which one this one was; I had gotten what I had wanted “Show me your girlfriend.” I thought, upon waking up from a dream I had spent with him “I want to see.” I thought loudly, smirking to myself and stepping into the shower, where I often— for some strange reason thought about Dillon Francis. But this particular morning—I thought about Dillon Francis, his girlfriend, their two dogs, his mother, and my ex husband—the latter of which I cursed silently, mumbling something under my breath about “whatever, fuck it” and wondering if I should spend the evening after working “being Sunnï Blū”, which meant sitting down with a tall can of bud light and chasing it with a Truly or two, sipping on something even fruitier like a Mike's Hard Lemonade and sifting through beats entirely too drunk enough to create any of my own (but just drunk enough to rap something funny and fall asleep sad as fuck….) only to wake, undoubtedly even sadder, very sleepy, and dilapidated—but at least with a rap track worth spinning into my sets, or not—the more I became a DJ the less I actually wanted to be a DJ. Now I just wanted a husband, a baby—or maybe just two dogs and a Dillon Francis, and I couldn't imagine why or how I had become so twisted up in my overt attraction to the man that it had actually become continually devastating to have to think about him with someone else—and though even from the beginning I knew it could have never been someone like me—I wondered why someone like me even existed, when the type of men I was attracted to always had Kayla Laurens. Always. I was learning from everything I was taking in—things I wanted and needed to know. I had only just earlier asked God for “closure with Dillon Francis”, and God had in fact been showing off with a fierceness at how quickly it could work to fulfill my every request, prayer, and wish—and how instantly God acknowledged any of my thoughts, wants, and needs. “Okay.” I had never really been up and about so early In New York, but could in no way wrap my mind around a wink of sleep, the strangeness of having been dead-on looming in my chest and wrapping into a sensation of arrogant ritghteouaness—the deep burning hardening into a pungent sting in the confines of my abdomen “Fuck this”, I muttered, thinking to myself “I don't want to be a superstar DJ. I want to be a housewife.” I had used Dillon's Instagram as an EDM Newsfeed—it was the safer bet above anything else, as I knew wandering off into DJ land would produce even more hurtful images of skinny girls prancing around promoting their horrible music—or even worse—pretty boy DJs and their pretty white girlfriends on private jets or backstage at festivals, rubbing noses with the other wealthy socialites my own poor choices had excluded me from being allowed to become; at least I was finally willing to take accountability for just being shitty. It would be embarrassing for a man of such prominence to dip below his social class, especially to one that had already been used, abused, and broken—such as I. “Get off at 181st”, and take the escalator—“ As it turns out, Lin Manuel was an excellent controller of sorts—or had at least given accurate enough directions, and though there was no actual escalator—at least that I found upon the exit, I felt as if walking up the accessible ramp through the arched tunnel, I was perhaps entering itself the 4th dimension—and though I had learned of the ascended realms and dimensions beyond the 4th, having finally accessed how to fluidly travel between them—or to differentiate one from another as they often crossed and intersected, gliding amongst them, I had been shaking myself loose from being tricked in any way into believing anything I had dreamt up or written would ever be more than what it was—a one-sided blind-eyed attempt at success from the back way in. It seemed everyone was getting married or already was—even Porter Robinson, which seemed bizarre, as though he was older than me, maybe even by only a little—I still thought of him as so young; then again, most people my age were also married—and here I was, finally divorced and why in the world I wanted so badly to do it all over again—but better. It really was true what had always been said—the first heartbreak being the worst, and that once a woman gets over the father of her children, almost anything goes; I. Oils no longer be worried with whether or not I would be cheated on again, as I probably would l—and it didn't matter. It took 30 years to figure out that society was made by and for cheating males—our responsibility as women learning as best we could to swallow the truth whole; that men craved youthful, tiny women most their lives—and the rest of us, well… “WHATEVER.” WHATEVER. What— Ever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Mixes 4 My Exxes Vol. II - {iF}

The Legend of S Ū P ∆ C Я E E ™

Play Episode Listen Later May 28, 2023 64:21

When I first watched the coffee run- deadmau5 was just deadmau5 Deadmau5 is still just deadmau5 Keep telling yourself that. So what's the plan here. There's a plan. Haha. Very funny. I thought so. Where am I taking this thing? Just keep driving. “Just keep driving.” Don't act like you're not enjoying it. I really am— “Mad as Rabbits” Professor Pancakes! Yes. What have you done to this portal. Hehehe. >< Who are these sketchy ass comics. Idk heroes I guess. God, this show is cringe. Yeah. Have we gone through the title sequence yet? Why on earth would you study this. I'll study anything that holds my attention. Here, hold this. What is it. It's my attention. Make me a sandwhich. Okay. What kind. Any fucking sandwhich. Just—any sandwhich? Yeah. Oh, dear. What. It's another infinite realm. Oh, wow. Which means. It's all the same— Same thing. I want this to swallow this pill, and swallow it whole What does it do?? —nobody quite knows. Perfect. We knew you'd be the one for the jo. My whole world is full of “God, she's beautiful…l And “I don't want to be here anymore” But at least I came, right? At least I got you right here in my heart —you're in my head again I can't go to sleep I take medicine I don't take advice, or compliments If it's wrong and such, Hey, At least I'm honest (Or was) It's got to all count for something I've been embarrassed by it Careless, I guess It's just another chance to be brainwashed Let me tell you what my whole brain does Lights up when I think of you Just keep doing, What you been doing is, Being blue, You're just being Blū That is a flex. Huh. They used my name in a song. Wow. They even spelled it right. Okay. In the heights Far Regina Spector Far Now I don't want to dive In; I just want to close my eyes for awhile Maybe I'm ‘it'. — —but right now, I'm in it Disentreswe in such Unholy matrimony. Wtf is this. Holy shit, I got 2 stop listenin to dis music. die. This is horrible. Yeah, this is a disaster. This is perfect. X_x It's actually perfect. [actually on fire] Why. Why would u do dis. u did this. I did this. I is U. Oh, Well fuck it. No vowels then. Wut. Why. Wut. Do something cool. [ Your interview at Equinox is today between 9:30 AM and 10:00 AM (US/Eastern). At the time of your interview please join via this link: https://l.indeed.com/HluKX3Gp43/. Reply STOP if you no longer want to receive event updates from Indeed. Do you like how it feels? Do you like how I am— Well yeah then So go ahead; I'll tell you the answer, But you don't like it, and None of its random —none of it matters, none of it can I don't mean to vanish But I'm a phantom (And I'm just a fan) “Oh well”, I thought broadly to myself; I wasn't quite ready either way to be — nevermind. Back online: Guess I'm an insomniac tonight Surface level scrolling and what do I find The whole world of mine Putting a spark in my eye Just a glimmer, I simmer in the limelight I might die trying, I might just Turn off the light, roll over Paint myself white— I'm just being polite, How's the sacrifice going Um, the what The virgin sacrifice. What?! We don't do that! Who is ‘we'? …nobody. Aha! Illuminati! That's not a thing! I knew it. You know nothing. I know everything. No you don't; cause then you'd be in the Illuminati! Aha! —which isn't real! Damn, I want you so bad; —damn, I want you so bad Damn. —I want you so bad. Damn, (God damn) I want you so bad Damn, I want you so bad Damn (Damn!) I want you so bad. Damn, I want you so bad Damn, I want you so bad Right now Well, that's too bad, cause you know what?! Fuck it, I wanna get drunk. That's not a good idea. Do you have a better one? I got it. What's up. I'll just throw the rock—at his face. That's not a good idea. It's a grand idea! Spectacular. I really want to look at Dillon Francis's Instagram. For what. I don't know. You know what I want? Huh. A peanut butter and jelly sandwhich. That sounds good. Yeah. Lol that's it? That's the whole scene. Are you sure? Yeah. Oh shit, I knew I'd eventually revisit this. What is it. “Three Assholes In A Car Getting Coffee” BEFORE: which one do you think is the most attractive. You want me to rank them? Yes. Rank them. Um, okay. That was a dark day. All the days are dark here. You know, God. Sure— I'm extremely bored. Bored with what. Here's a portal Where's it go? Absolutely nowhere. MEANWHILE, IN ABSOLUTELY NOWHWEE Oh God, it's getting hot in here. Well, yeah, dude. Oh fuck. What. We gotta turn around. What'd we leave. My best friend. Your best— Yeah! I'm your best friend. You're nobody's best friend, Dillon Francis. Where the fuck's my fucking sandwhich my Jesus's that's a lot of fucks. Yeah, a lot of fucks and zero sandwhiches. You have to put this in his hand. No. That's where it goes. In his hand. That's the game? That's this game. How many games are we playing? All of them, Liz. I'm not— LIZ LEMON I HATE THIS GAME. I LOVE THIS GAME IS IT OVER YET?! Oh check it out, he does look like Skrillex. Oh shit, so this is season 7 It is? Yeah, there's Drake Bell. Where. Timmy, I have to tell you something. Not right now. No, yes, right now— Remember that scene on the— FUCK DILLON FRANCIS I WIN MOTHERFUCKER. YES. GOD IS REAL. I asked God for Dillon Francis to show me his girlfriend on Instagram and he did it. YEA BITCH. I WIN. Well, that's one game. What's the other one. Fuxk, What up dude. Now, I just realized something. FUCK. WhatS. We gotta burn all this Dillon Francis How. I don't know, I never printed it on paper. Well, that's fine: I got something else for you to do. What. SUCK MY DICK. Ok. Okay. Okay. Why doesn't this hurt as bad as last time—. LAST TIME: You know what? Fuck this. Oh shit, now what do I do with this thing? … … … Wait dude, if I give him this stone— Uh huh And this stone has powers— Yes it does. Then won't DILLON FRANCIS GET ALL THE POWERS. No. No? Not “all the powers”, just the ones in the stone. This stone has a lot of powers. Yes it does. You should give it to Skrillex. I was going to. And then what. BEFORE: fuck, there's no fire escape. There is, it's just on the other side. IMm not gonna risk seeing Sonny to see Skrillex. I don't care how much sense any of this makes, that makes the most sense. Let's change the narrative on this. What's the narrative. What is your motive? That's the narrative? I—yea. ::||puseZ Sunni, you're drunk. I don't careZ . LookC. Remember this scene: THIS AINT A SCENE, ITS A GODDAMN ARMS RACE. No, it's a scene. (It's two, actually Something forced my eyes up and onto the LCD screen on the partition of the subway platform, in perfect ancroniciry i read the word “EASY” as it appeared on the screen, as the same word poured through my headphones from the sounds of Queen, the last song of a mix I actually liked, but had yet to do anything with— I had yet to do anything with anything—though, perhaps that was the point. I had been in an elusive state of withdrawal and cyclical imbalance, and though this morning had been planned for ages, it had only just now happened. Overwhelmed with sadness, I had realized reading the first lines out of a book by Madonna's brother that I hadn't the energy for superstardom—and with as little of the energy I did have left, had become otherwise deflated and unmotivated—Yet, for some reason, having spent the morning scrolling through Dillon Francis's instragram, I was on an A-train bound for Manhattan, or maybe even—Washing heights, as the words to my once-favorite musical had been of course clamoring around in my head with all the other things that were in there—even DillonbFrancis and now his girlfriend, their two dogs, and his mother, who had appeared to me just-so in a dream just weeks earlier; though I had thought to have made her up in my mind, there she was, supposedly—alongside Dillon and his horrible haircut—though nothing he could do ever seemed to change my mind or the way that I felt about him, even confirming his relationship publicly; I still rather liked him, and he still had a way of setting me in motion merely through emotion—perhaps, this was the lone standing function of Dillon Francis after all. Now, I was headed to the gym, perhaps after a touristy detour to visit what I imagined to be a now-gentrified Washington Heights “You must take the A-Train!” Usnavi sings in the Title Opener, and though I had taken in the entirety of the shows lyrics around a decade earlier, becoming a fanatic of akin Manuel a Miranda long before Hamilton or Moana, or the rest of the world knew who he was—I had never once imagined myaelf actually attempting to visit Washington Heights, my overall lifelong aversion to New York probably a residual trauma from the last lifetime I had spent in this incarnation—I knew for certain more than once I had lived in this existence—I remembered well Dillon Francis and the lifetimes I had spent with him—and now I wondered exactly which one this one was; I had gotten what I had wanted “Show me your girlfriend.” I thought, upon waking up from a dream I had spent with him “I want to see.” I thought loudly, smirking to myself and stepping into the shower, where I often— for some strange reason thought about Dillon Francis. But this particular morning—I thought about Dillon Francis, his girlfriend, their two dogs, his mother, and my ex husband—the latter of which I cursed silently, mumbling something under my breath about “whatever, fuck it” and wondering if I should spend the evening after working “being Sunnï Blū”, which meant sitting down with a tall can of bud light and chasing it with a Truly or two, sipping on something even fruitier like a Mike's Hard Lemonade and sifting through beats entirely too drunk enough to create any of my own (but just drunk enough to rap something funny and fall asleep sad as fuck….) only to wake, undoubtedly even sadder, very sleepy, and dilapidated—but at least with a rap track worth spinning into my sets, or not—the more I became a DJ the less I actually wanted to be a DJ. Now I just wanted a husband, a baby—or maybe just two dogs and a Dillon Francis, and I couldn't imagine why or how I had become so twisted up in my overt attraction to the man that it had actually become continually devastating to have to think about him with someone else—and though even from the beginning I knew it could have never been someone like me—I wondered why someone like me even existed, when the type of men I was attracted to always had Kayla Laurens. Always. I was learning from everything I was taking in—things I wanted and needed to know. I had only just earlier asked God for “closure with Dillon Francis”, and God had in fact been showing off with a fierceness at how quickly it could work to fulfill my every request, prayer, and wish—and how instantly God acknowledged any of my thoughts, wants, and needs. “Okay.” I had never really been up and about so early In New York, but could in no way wrap my mind around a wink of sleep, the strangeness of having been dead-on looming in my chest and wrapping into a sensation of arrogant ritghteouaness—the deep burning hardening into a pungent sting in the confines of my abdomen “Fuck this”, I muttered, thinking to myself “I don't want to be a superstar DJ. I want to be a housewife.” I had used Dillon's Instagram as an EDM Newsfeed—it was the safer bet above anything else, as I knew wandering off into DJ land would produce even more hurtful images of skinny girls prancing around promoting their horrible music—or even worse—pretty boy DJs and their pretty white girlfriends on private jets or backstage at festivals, rubbing noses with the other wealthy socialites my own poor choices had excluded me from being allowed to become; at least I was finally willing to take accountability for just being shitty. It would be embarrassing for a man of such prominence to dip below his social class, especially to one that had already been used, abused, and broken—such as I. “Get off at 181st”, and take the escalator—“ As it turns out, Lin Manuel was an excellent controller of sorts—or had at least given accurate enough directions, and though there was no actual escalator—at least that I found upon the exit, I felt as if walking up the accessible ramp through the arched tunnel, I was perhaps entering itself the 4th dimension—and though I had learned of the ascended realms and dimensions beyond the 4th, having finally accessed how to fluidly travel between them—or to differentiate one from another as they often crossed and intersected, gliding amongst them, I had been shaking myself loose from being tricked in any way into believing anything I had dreamt up or written would ever be more than what it was—a one-sided blind-eyed attempt at success from the back way in. It seemed everyone was getting married or already was—even Porter Robinson, which seemed bizarre, as though he was older than me, maybe even by only a little—I still thought of him as so young; then again, most people my age were also married—and here I was, finally divorced and why in the world I wanted so badly to do it all over again—but better. It really was true what had always been said—the first heartbreak being the worst, and that once a woman gets over the father of her children, almost anything goes; I. Oils no longer be worried with whether or not I would be cheated on again, as I probably would l—and it didn't matter. It took 30 years to figure out that society was made by and for cheating males—our responsibility as women learning as best we could to swallow the truth whole; that men craved youthful, tiny women most their lives—and the rest of us, well… “WHATEVER.” WHATEVER. What— Ever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Mixxes 4 My Exxes Vol. II - {iF.}

Play Episode Listen Later May 28, 2023 64:21

When I first watched the coffee run- deadmau5 was just deadmau5 Deadmau5 is still just deadmau5 Keep telling yourself that. So what's the plan here. There's a plan. Haha. Very funny. I thought so. Where am I taking this thing? Just keep driving. “Just keep driving.” Don't act like you're not enjoying it. I really am— “Mad as Rabbits” Professor Pancakes! Yes. What have you done to this portal. Hehehe. >< Who are these sketchy ass comics. Idk heroes I guess. God, this show is cringe. Yeah. Have we gone through the title sequence yet? Why on earth would you study this. I'll study anything that holds my attention. Here, hold this. What is it. It's my attention. Make me a sandwhich. Okay. What kind. Any fucking sandwhich. Just—any sandwhich? Yeah. Oh, dear. What. It's another infinite realm. Oh, wow. Which means. It's all the same— Same thing. I want this to swallow this pill, and swallow it whole What does it do?? —nobody quite knows. Perfect. We knew you'd be the one for the jo. My whole world is full of “God, she's beautiful…l And “I don't want to be here anymore” But at least I came, right? At least I got you right here in my heart —you're in my head again I can't go to sleep I take medicine I don't take advice, or compliments If it's wrong and such, Hey, At least I'm honest (Or was) It's got to all count for something I've been embarrassed by it Careless, I guess It's just another chance to be brainwashed Let me tell you what my whole brain does Lights up when I think of you Just keep doing, What you been doing is, Being blue, You're just being Blū That is a flex. Huh. They used my name in a song. Wow. They even spelled it right. Okay. In the heights Far Regina Spector Far Now I don't want to dive In; I just want to close my eyes for awhile Maybe I'm ‘it'. — —but right now, I'm in it Disentreswe in such Unholy matrimony. Wtf is this. Holy shit, I got 2 stop listenin to dis music. die. This is horrible. Yeah, this is a disaster. This is perfect. X_x It's actually perfect. [actually on fire] Why. Why would u do dis. u did this. I did this. I is U. Oh, Well fuck it. No vowels then. Wut. Why. Wut. Do something cool. [ Your interview at Equinox is today between 9:30 AM and 10:00 AM (US/Eastern). At the time of your interview please join via this link: https://l.indeed.com/HluKX3Gp43/. Reply STOP if you no longer want to receive event updates from Indeed. Do you like how it feels? Do you like how I am— Well yeah then So go ahead; I'll tell you the answer, But you don't like it, and None of its random —none of it matters, none of it can I don't mean to vanish But I'm a phantom (And I'm just a fan) “Oh well”, I thought broadly to myself; I wasn't quite ready either way to be — nevermind. Back online: Guess I'm an insomniac tonight Surface level scrolling and what do I find The whole world of mine Putting a spark in my eye Just a glimmer, I simmer in the limelight I might die trying, I might just Turn off the light, roll over Paint myself white— I'm just being polite, How's the sacrifice going Um, the what The virgin sacrifice. What?! We don't do that! Who is ‘we'? …nobody. Aha! Illuminati! That's not a thing! I knew it. You know nothing. I know everything. No you don't; cause then you'd be in the Illuminati! Aha! —which isn't real! Damn, I want you so bad; —damn, I want you so bad Damn. —I want you so bad. Damn, (God damn) I want you so bad Damn, I want you so bad Damn (Damn!) I want you so bad. Damn, I want you so bad Damn, I want you so bad Right now Well, that's too bad, cause you know what?! Fuck it, I wanna get drunk. That's not a good idea. Do you have a better one? I got it. What's up. I'll just throw the rock—at his face. That's not a good idea. It's a grand idea! Spectacular. I really want to look at Dillon Francis's Instagram. For what. I don't know. You know what I want? Huh. A peanut butter and jelly sandwhich. That sounds good. Yeah. Lol that's it? That's the whole scene. Are you sure? Yeah. Oh shit, I knew I'd eventually revisit this. What is it. “Three Assholes In A Car Getting Coffee” BEFORE: which one do you think is the most attractive. You want me to rank them? Yes. Rank them. Um, okay. That was a dark day. All the days are dark here. You know, God. Sure— I'm extremely bored. Bored with what. Here's a portal Where's it go? Absolutely nowhere. MEANWHILE, IN ABSOLUTELY NOWHWEE Oh God, it's getting hot in here. Well, yeah, dude. Oh fuck. What. We gotta turn around. What'd we leave. My best friend. Your best— Yeah! I'm your best friend. You're nobody's best friend, Dillon Francis. Where the fuck's my fucking sandwhich my Jesus's that's a lot of fucks. Yeah, a lot of fucks and zero sandwhiches. You have to put this in his hand. No. That's where it goes. In his hand. That's the game? That's this game. How many games are we playing? All of them, Liz. I'm not— LIZ LEMON I HATE THIS GAME. I LOVE THIS GAME IS IT OVER YET?! Oh check it out, he does look like Skrillex. Oh shit, so this is season 7 It is? Yeah, there's Drake Bell. Where. Timmy, I have to tell you something. Not right now. No, yes, right now— Remember that scene on the— FUCK DILLON FRANCIS I WIN MOTHERFUCKER. YES. GOD IS REAL. I asked God for Dillon Francis to show me his girlfriend on Instagram and he did it. YEA BITCH. I WIN. Well, that's one game. What's the other one. Fuxk, What up dude. Now, I just realized something. FUCK. WhatS. We gotta burn all this Dillon Francis How. I don't know, I never printed it on paper. Well, that's fine: I got something else for you to do. What. SUCK MY DICK. Ok. Okay. Okay. Why doesn't this hurt as bad as last time—. LAST TIME: You know what? Fuck this. Oh shit, now what do I do with this thing? … … … Wait dude, if I give him this stone— Uh huh And this stone has powers— Yes it does. Then won't DILLON FRANCIS GET ALL THE POWERS. No. No? Not “all the powers”, just the ones in the stone. This stone has a lot of powers. Yes it does. You should give it to Skrillex. I was going to. And then what. BEFORE: fuck, there's no fire escape. There is, it's just on the other side. IMm not gonna risk seeing Sonny to see Skrillex. I don't care how much sense any of this makes, that makes the most sense. Let's change the narrative on this. What's the narrative. What is your motive? That's the narrative? I—yea. ::||puseZ Sunni, you're drunk. I don't careZ . LookC. Remember this scene: THIS AINT A SCENE, ITS A GODDAMN ARMS RACE. No, it's a scene. (It's two, actually Something forced my eyes up and onto the LCD screen on the partition of the subway platform, in perfect ancroniciry i read the word “EASY” as it appeared on the screen, as the same word poured through my headphones from the sounds of Queen, the last song of a mix I actually liked, but had yet to do anything with— I had yet to do anything with anything—though, perhaps that was the point. I had been in an elusive state of withdrawal and cyclical imbalance, and though this morning had been planned for ages, it had only just now happened. Overwhelmed with sadness, I had realized reading the first lines out of a book by Madonna's brother that I hadn't the energy for superstardom—and with as little of the energy I did have left, had become otherwise deflated and unmotivated—Yet, for some reason, having spent the morning scrolling through Dillon Francis's instragram, I was on an A-train bound for Manhattan, or maybe even—Washing heights, as the words to my once-favorite musical had been of course clamoring around in my head with all the other things that were in there—even DillonbFrancis and now his girlfriend, their two dogs, and his mother, who had appeared to me just-so in a dream just weeks earlier; though I had thought to have made her up in my mind, there she was, supposedly—alongside Dillon and his horrible haircut—though nothing he could do ever seemed to change my mind or the way that I felt about him, even confirming his relationship publicly; I still rather liked him, and he still had a way of setting me in motion merely through emotion—perhaps, this was the lone standing function of Dillon Francis after all. Now, I was headed to the gym, perhaps after a touristy detour to visit what I imagined to be a now-gentrified Washington Heights “You must take the A-Train!” Usnavi sings in the Title Opener, and though I had taken in the entirety of the shows lyrics around a decade earlier, becoming a fanatic of akin Manuel a Miranda long before Hamilton or Moana, or the rest of the world knew who he was—I had never once imagined myaelf actually attempting to visit Washington Heights, my overall lifelong aversion to New York probably a residual trauma from the last lifetime I had spent in this incarnation—I knew for certain more than once I had lived in this existence—I remembered well Dillon Francis and the lifetimes I had spent with him—and now I wondered exactly which one this one was; I had gotten what I had wanted “Show me your girlfriend.” I thought, upon waking up from a dream I had spent with him “I want to see.” I thought loudly, smirking to myself and stepping into the shower, where I often— for some strange reason thought about Dillon Francis. But this particular morning—I thought about Dillon Francis, his girlfriend, their two dogs, his mother, and my ex husband—the latter of which I cursed silently, mumbling something under my breath about “whatever, fuck it” and wondering if I should spend the evening after working “being Sunnï Blū”, which meant sitting down with a tall can of bud light and chasing it with a Truly or two, sipping on something even fruitier like a Mike's Hard Lemonade and sifting through beats entirely too drunk enough to create any of my own (but just drunk enough to rap something funny and fall asleep sad as fuck….) only to wake, undoubtedly even sadder, very sleepy, and dilapidated—but at least with a rap track worth spinning into my sets, or not—the more I became a DJ the less I actually wanted to be a DJ. Now I just wanted a husband, a baby—or maybe just two dogs and a Dillon Francis, and I couldn't imagine why or how I had become so twisted up in my overt attraction to the man that it had actually become continually devastating to have to think about him with someone else—and though even from the beginning I knew it could have never been someone like me—I wondered why someone like me even existed, when the type of men I was attracted to always had Kayla Laurens. Always. I was learning from everything I was taking in—things I wanted and needed to know. I had only just earlier asked God for “closure with Dillon Francis”, and God had in fact been showing off with a fierceness at how quickly it could work to fulfill my every request, prayer, and wish—and how instantly God acknowledged any of my thoughts, wants, and needs. “Okay.” I had never really been up and about so early In New York, but could in no way wrap my mind around a wink of sleep, the strangeness of having been dead-on looming in my chest and wrapping into a sensation of arrogant ritghteouaness—the deep burning hardening into a pungent sting in the confines of my abdomen “Fuck this”, I muttered, thinking to myself “I don't want to be a superstar DJ. I want to be a housewife.” I had used Dillon's Instagram as an EDM Newsfeed—it was the safer bet above anything else, as I knew wandering off into DJ land would produce even more hurtful images of skinny girls prancing around promoting their horrible music—or even worse—pretty boy DJs and their pretty white girlfriends on private jets or backstage at festivals, rubbing noses with the other wealthy socialites my own poor choices had excluded me from being allowed to become; at least I was finally willing to take accountability for just being shitty. It would be embarrassing for a man of such prominence to dip below his social class, especially to one that had already been used, abused, and broken—such as I. “Get off at 181st”, and take the escalator—“ As it turns out, Lin Manuel was an excellent controller of sorts—or had at least given accurate enough directions, and though there was no actual escalator—at least that I found upon the exit, I felt as if walking up the accessible ramp through the arched tunnel, I was perhaps entering itself the 4th dimension—and though I had learned of the ascended realms and dimensions beyond the 4th, having finally accessed how to fluidly travel between them—or to differentiate one from another as they often crossed and intersected, gliding amongst them, I had been shaking myself loose from being tricked in any way into believing anything I had dreamt up or written would ever be more than what it was—a one-sided blind-eyed attempt at success from the back way in. It seemed everyone was getting married or already was—even Porter Robinson, which seemed bizarre, as though he was older than me, maybe even by only a little—I still thought of him as so young; then again, most people my age were also married—and here I was, finally divorced and why in the world I wanted so badly to do it all over again—but better. It really was true what had always been said—the first heartbreak being the worst, and that once a woman gets over the father of her children, almost anything goes; I. Oils no longer be worried with whether or not I would be cheated on again, as I probably would l—and it didn't matter. It took 30 years to figure out that society was made by and for cheating males—our responsibility as women learning as best we could to swallow the truth whole; that men craved youthful, tiny women most their lives—and the rest of us, well… “WHATEVER.” WHATEVER. What— Ever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

[The Other Episode]. (SEASON 6- ACT III, PART V)

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 16, 2023 24:03

[The Festival Project.™] {Enter The Multiverse} LEGENDS ASCENCION SCARY MONSTERS & SUPACREE THE iNSOMNIAC DEATHWISH SEASON 6 ACT III PART V Suicide letters? I like, write those for a living. Right, cause you're not. I'm not. Ah. Must be awesome in the world of careless thought— In the world of “I can do what I want” cause I have everything I need and all the right parts— And that's the reason he has everything he needs, is the right parts—the right amount of white, a right start. CHAK CHEL is crazy, She says I'm a crack baby And wants to take me back to hell where she made me and my soul mate playing some game with Satan (who she hates; he buried me then married me and then—) NOTHING. —well, not in that order, It's… All out of order, apparently (like all of LA during fake quarantine) OF COURSE IT WAS FAKE. I already told you that. Yeah. The moment you said it, the only people who might have— Oh shit— can dragons die of starvation? Not if that dragon is Hatian—remain patient (Please, remain patients) —Americans are evil, not all inherently—but let me explain this shit. How? Ah, yes— the other half— HOW. (hello, but stereotypically Native American) THE NICKELODEON CULT HOW NOW, BROWN COW WTF— Not that again WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUCK— Not that again!!!! Do you wanna—- Oh, no—not the dragon— Aaaaaahhhh—- Ahhhh yeah—- What's for Skrillunch? Skrillasagha—- —all that too, give you something to go back to— Careful, don't get stuck in a loop; Good Segway to that, Ohh— It'll give you something to look back on and laugh to just in case he reads it all and laughs and says Raven SYMONE—- mmmmm—nooo, go back. BACK?! Raven—you're only supposed to have like, 3 lines, this shit's budget, and we're running out of time, and time is probably the most expensive thing I can find—yeah—I'm sure of it—or I'm sure—or at least, I'm sure for the 3rd time. Find what 3s actually do, and you'll be fine. BITCH IF YOU REMEMBER WRITING THE RULES— [oh shit. The reality hits, you may never finish this shit TOLD YOU, there is no “in” to it!!!! (There's no end to it) Infinity crashes into negstivities; plans to wreak havoc on my back track this backmasked—-wait—- FUCK— What was I even about to— FUCK! Somebody shut that dragon up before I banish it to—-what the fuck was it called again? “Earth.” Why would you call it that? What kind of magic is THAT. Fat girl magic. Oh, I know this one— Drake talked about this one. He talks a lot about magic. ILLUMINATI CONFIRMED. (Sh—don't spoil it.) —Especially black girl magic—- Or maybe just “girl” magic. Don't touch that. JUSTIN ROILAND That's what she said. JUSTIM, YOU'RE FIRES. SKRILLEXES FIARRRRRRRRRRRR. Don't touch that. SUPACREE That's...what she said. DUDES HAHAHAHAHA She's so c00l. I love her. Hey— Uh-uh Mm— No— Noooope— Don't touch that with a ten foot pole. THATS. What. SHE. SAID. I T OL s—- poph What happened. It's— Omnipotence means— That you saw yourself running up, Prevented what you thought might be coming—but it's not—cause you caught it—and sent it to Nothing— Oh shit— “just Jimmy” >>>in the future Wow. Jimmy Fallon. Many hats, that one. Every time I get down to my last dollar? I think about Jimmy Fallon— Maybe it's just a safety device against suicide, Eventually, I'll laugh or write something I'll probably like, or find funny in some way. When I'm trying to figure out why and how I even started writing about Jimmy Fallon, So I search “Jimmy Fallon” in my Google docs And if I haven't at least chuckled yet— I might, at that point, At least. I'm functioning at low capacity, I haven't eaten When I sleep, I hardly dream Or remember where I've been in Astral projections; This circle of protection, A perfection of reflected projections Of the vision, Created in our image; Imagine, Making television— I had to write a film about it Now I just remembered, I have albums, the advantage I want him, but can't have him Above average handsome man// All I am is an obsessive fan without a family Have a plan, But nothing left to stand for I'm just buried in the sand, And asking if the seagull might just hold my hand Damn I'm so damaged Damn A dine and dash sounds nice, I can't— I'm showing tracks I feel like trash, But haven't half the magic left I had inside my hands Damn After all that I just feel fat Maybe a can of candelini beans, In place of meat Maybe a salad in a bag Can I afford that? Yeah, but then it's back to Jimmy Fallon Damn Damn My karma came back fast I left the man with Jimmy Fallon, I'm not worth ⅓ the bag of Pretzels that I smashed Inside the can of rancheros, That fell out as I ran A random act Of patriotism, Dressed up in a sinful Leather dress, And a dad hat The House Nigga caught me red handed: I told him I was hungry, then just left it [red light camera] Man. I just saw the flash Ask Uncle Sam if I can have my land back But I'd have to move my mask, And haven't been vaccinated; So I can't… Pass, Beyond the border of internationals At that, I text my fake ass friends a snap Of half of someone's head, He's sitting in first class, And can probably afford to check a bag, But all I have is my backpack And I'm certain under a black mask Is the man who backmasked tracks, And blasted from the past With ashes grey to match His privileged rich pajama, with the slacks He bounces back, And asks a fan to “Gimmie your hat” And just like magic, she passes it. Wait, I'm actually passing, yeah? Who's actual class is this? Pasqualle's a proud headmaster, And a Bampheramph, The Captain dances in his honor I put on my cap and gown, But can't go on, and can't believe I'm being honored Valedictorian Kandi Accomplished PLUR Police and Motherfucker OG Raver Graduate, I'm still glowing up from all the love I got when coming up from under, Or something; I had to lose my temper Followed one, and then another, And I wonder what was up When it was over I'm just a lover; But I never found The One, Now I'm not gonna I'm too busy seeking out producers, to compete with Got computer, complete with Ableton Don't mind me, I'm just writing all this out instead of sorting through the Dillon and the Sonny or the anyone I've ever loved just listening And listening And singing, writing, dancing; I was born inside the box, And I still haven't started living Change my name to Sunnï, Daisy, Raiin, I go insane in pain Just sorting me through all these possibilities inside my brain Yes, I guess I've changed LA made me everything I hate about myself And so I'm changing I don't want anything I need Just take this apathy and envy, gluttony and greed, I guess I'll serve the PLUR Police, Until I find the peace the city needs So I can sleep in it— — I can finish writing my goodbye to everyone I love; Including me— I can't be S U P A C R E E, She's just a vigilante alien, a superpowered something Who should be mixing, But she's busy writing this. Actually… What is it? It's...A Saga. A Saga of What. Just—a saga. Oh, My God. No, I'm not— This is a lot. Look I promised. Promised what. This fucking Saga. Saga for What?! Everybody else is drunk and on drugs; I'm keeping the records of history that's lost! [meanwhile, lost in the sauce] LLLAAAALLAAKANSJSKahajajaaqwqwwewwAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!! Oh. I see. It's a lot. Ah. Carry on. EŌS There will be Hell to pay!!!! Hell?! To pay?! Hah, yeah, right— You expect Satan to pay, dad—? He doesn't have any money—he just keeps making shit up and then making people give it to him for nothing. ...for..: “ nothing…?” Yeah, literally nothing. The people that worship him go there instead of here or Hell when they die. Mm. That's terrible. Yeah, and then when he gets it he keeps spending m it on useless shit. He is a useless shit. He's nothing. I have to save my kid. It is terrible. Raven Simone— ((Incase raven summons-/ Ahem/- Raven Symons ((AHEM RAVEN SYMONE)) RAVEN SYMONÉ What. Where is my cloak. ALRIGHT—WHERE IS HE? He—who? JIMMY. Which Jimmy—dead Jimmy or live Jimmy? Like, Jimmy Fally— Jimmy *Fallon? Jimmy Fallon: Live, Jimmy—or whatever— Is this why—- shhhhh shhhh—- they poured the pennies on ‘em. Ah yeah, the last dollar. Fuck. Westwood trees have good memories… ALIOCHA You must listen to avicii. SUPACREE …nah. What?? She can see dead people?! Maybe—-maybe she can see Ricky!!!! I knew he was dead. Holy shit, that dude has a really big. HERO! Yes, Your Majesty. HERO of ASCENCIA: THE MESSENGER OF THE GODS AND ASCENDED MASTERS omg. Is that Kaskade? Woah. WhT imminati headquarterz is this??? This is the Mormon Temple. Oh. Nice. INT. The 90's ISH. WESTWOOX, CALIFORNIA. NIGHT Pasqualle, please— Come on, Ricky—can you tell me where we're going with these Daisies strapped to our knees????? —- There's that Doompy Poomp again! I don't know what it's doing (Skrillex) ...He just does whatever he wants…

[The Other Episode.] (SEASON 6 - ACT III, PART V)

The Legend of S Ū P ∆ C Я E E ™

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 16, 2023 24:03

[The Festival Project.™] {Enter The Multiverse} LEGENDS ASCENCION SCARY MONSTERS & SUPACREE THE iNSOMNIAC DEATHWISH SEASON 6 ACT III PART V Suicide letters? I like, write those for a living. Right, cause you're not. I'm not. Ah. Must be awesome in the world of careless thought— In the world of “I can do what I want” cause I have everything I need and all the right parts— And that's the reason he has everything he needs, is the right parts—the right amount of white, a right start. CHAK CHEL is crazy, She says I'm a crack baby And wants to take me back to hell where she made me and my soul mate playing some game with Satan (who she hates; he buried me then married me and then—) NOTHING. —well, not in that order, It's… All out of order, apparently (like all of LA during fake quarantine) OF COURSE IT WAS FAKE. I already told you that. Yeah. The moment you said it, the only people who might have— Oh shit— can dragons die of starvation? Not if that dragon is Hatian—remain patient (Please, remain patients) —Americans are evil, not all inherently—but let me explain this shit. How? Ah, yes— the other half— HOW. (hello, but stereotypically Native American) THE NICKELODEON CULT HOW NOW, BROWN COW WTF— Not that again WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUCK— Not that again!!!! Do you wanna—- Oh, no—not the dragon— Aaaaaahhhh—- Ahhhh yeah—- What's for Skrillunch? Skrillasagha—- —all that too, give you something to go back to— Careful, don't get stuck in a loop; Good Segway to that, Ohh— It'll give you something to look back on and laugh to just in case he reads it all and laughs and says Raven SYMONE—- mmmmm—nooo, go back. BACK?! Raven—you're only supposed to have like, 3 lines, this shit's budget, and we're running out of time, and time is probably the most expensive thing I can find—yeah—I'm sure of it—or I'm sure—or at least, I'm sure for the 3rd time. Find what 3s actually do, and you'll be fine. BITCH IF YOU REMEMBER WRITING THE RULES— [oh shit. The reality hits, you may never finish this shit TOLD YOU, there is no “in” to it!!!! (There's no end to it) Infinity crashes into negstivities; plans to wreak havoc on my back track this backmasked—-wait—- FUCK— What was I even about to— FUCK! Somebody shut that dragon up before I banish it to—-what the fuck was it called again? “Earth.” Why would you call it that? What kind of magic is THAT. Fat girl magic. Oh, I know this one— Drake talked about this one. He talks a lot about magic. ILLUMINATI CONFIRMED. (Sh—don't spoil it.) —Especially black girl magic—- Or maybe just “girl” magic. Don't touch that. JUSTIN ROILAND That's what she said. JUSTIM, YOU'RE FIRES. SKRILLEXES FIARRRRRRRRRRRR. Don't touch that. SUPACREE That's...what she said. DUDES HAHAHAHAHA She's so c00l. I love her. Hey— Uh-uh Mm— No— Noooope— Don't touch that with a ten foot pole. THATS. What. SHE. SAID. I T OL s—- poph What happened. It's— Omnipotence means— That you saw yourself running up, Prevented what you thought might be coming—but it's not—cause you caught it—and sent it to Nothing— Oh shit— “just Jimmy” >>>in the future Wow. Jimmy Fallon. Many hats, that one. Every time I get down to my last dollar? I think about Jimmy Fallon— Maybe it's just a safety device against suicide, Eventually, I'll laugh or write something I'll probably like, or find funny in some way. When I'm trying to figure out why and how I even started writing about Jimmy Fallon, So I search “Jimmy Fallon” in my Google docs And if I haven't at least chuckled yet— I might, at that point, At least. I'm functioning at low capacity, I haven't eaten When I sleep, I hardly dream Or remember where I've been in Astral projections; This circle of protection, A perfection of reflected projections Of the vision, Created in our image; Imagine, Making television— I had to write a film about it Now I just remembered, I have albums, the advantage I want him, but can't have him Above average handsome man// All I am is an obsessive fan without a family Have a plan, But nothing left to stand for I'm just buried in the sand, And asking if the seagull might just hold my hand Damn I'm so damaged Damn A dine and dash sounds nice, I can't— I'm showing tracks I feel like trash, But haven't half the magic left I had inside my hands Damn After all that I just feel fat Maybe a can of candelini beans, In place of meat Maybe a salad in a bag Can I afford that? Yeah, but then it's back to Jimmy Fallon Damn Damn My karma came back fast I left the man with Jimmy Fallon, I'm not worth ⅓ the bag of Pretzels that I smashed Inside the can of rancheros, That fell out as I ran A random act Of patriotism, Dressed up in a sinful Leather dress, And a dad hat The House Nigga caught me red handed: I told him I was hungry, then just left it [red light camera] Man. I just saw the flash Ask Uncle Sam if I can have my land back But I'd have to move my mask, And haven't been vaccinated; So I can't… Pass, Beyond the border of internationals At that, I text my fake ass friends a snap Of half of someone's head, He's sitting in first class, And can probably afford to check a bag, But all I have is my backpack And I'm certain under a black mask Is the man who backmasked tracks, And blasted from the past With ashes grey to match His privileged rich pajama, with the slacks He bounces back, And asks a fan to “Gimmie your hat” And just like magic, she passes it. Wait, I'm actually passing, yeah? Who's actual class is this? Pasqualle's a proud headmaster, And a Bampheramph, The Captain dances in his honor I put on my cap and gown, But can't go on, and can't believe I'm being honored Valedictorian Kandi Accomplished PLUR Police and Motherfucker OG Raver Graduate, I'm still glowing up from all the love I got when coming up from under, Or something; I had to lose my temper Followed one, and then another, And I wonder what was up When it was over I'm just a lover; But I never found The One, Now I'm not gonna I'm too busy seeking out producers, to compete with Got computer, complete with Ableton Don't mind me, I'm just writing all this out instead of sorting through the Dillon and the Sonny or the anyone I've ever loved just listening And listening And singing, writing, dancing; I was born inside the box, And I still haven't started living Change my name to Sunnï, Daisy, Raiin, I go insane in pain Just sorting me through all these possibilities inside my brain Yes, I guess I've changed LA made me everything I hate about myself And so I'm changing I don't want anything I need Just take this apathy and envy, gluttony and greed, I guess I'll serve the PLUR Police, Until I find the peace the city needs So I can sleep in it— — I can finish writing my goodbye to everyone I love; Including me— I can't be S U P A C R E E, She's just a vigilante alien, a superpowered something Who should be mixing, But she's busy writing this. Actually… What is it? It's...A Saga. A Saga of What. Just—a saga. Oh, My God. No, I'm not— This is a lot. Look I promised. Promised what. This fucking Saga. Saga for What?! Everybody else is drunk and on drugs; I'm keeping the records of history that's lost! [meanwhile, lost in the sauce] LLLAAAALLAAKANSJSKahajajaaqwqwwewwAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!! Oh. I see. It's a lot. Ah. Carry on. EŌS There will be Hell to pay!!!! Hell?! To pay?! Hah, yeah, right— You expect Satan to pay, dad—? He doesn't have any money—he just keeps making shit up and then making people give it to him for nothing. ...for..: “ nothing…?” Yeah, literally nothing. The people that worship him go there instead of here or Hell when they die. Mm. That's terrible. Yeah, and then when he gets it he keeps spending m it on useless shit. He is a useless shit. He's nothing. I have to save my kid. It is terrible. Raven Simone— ((Incase raven summons-/ Ahem/- Raven Symons ((AHEM RAVEN SYMONE)) RAVEN SYMONÉ What. Where is my cloak. ALRIGHT—WHERE IS HE? He—who? JIMMY. Which Jimmy—dead Jimmy or live Jimmy? Like, Jimmy Fally— Jimmy *Fallon? Jimmy Fallon: Live, Jimmy—or whatever— Is this why—- shhhhh shhhh—- they poured the pennies on ‘em. Ah yeah, the last dollar. Fuck. Westwood trees have good memories… ALIOCHA You must listen to avicii. SUPACREE …nah. What?? She can see dead people?! Maybe—-maybe she can see Ricky!!!! I knew he was dead. Holy shit, that dude has a really big. HERO! Yes, Your Majesty. HERO of ASCENCIA: THE MESSENGER OF THE GODS AND ASCENDED MASTERS omg. Is that Kaskade? Woah. WhT imminati headquarterz is this??? This is the Mormon Temple. Oh. Nice. INT. The 90's ISH. WESTWOOX, CALIFORNIA. NIGHT Pasqualle, please— Come on, Ricky—can you tell me where we're going with these Daisies strapped to our knees????? —- There's that Doompy Poomp again! I don't know what it's doing (Skrillex) ...He just does whatever he wants…

[The Other Episode.] (SEASON 6- ACT III, PART V)

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 16, 2023 24:03

[The Festival Project.™] {Enter The Multiverse} LEGENDS ASCENCION SCARY MONSTERS & SUPACREE THE iNSOMNIAC DEATHWISH SEASON 6 ACT III PART V Suicide letters? I like, write those for a living. Right, cause you're not. I'm not. Ah. Must be awesome in the world of careless thought— In the world of “I can do what I want” cause I have everything I need and all the right parts— And that's the reason he has everything he needs, is the right parts—the right amount of white, a right start. CHAK CHEL is crazy, She says I'm a crack baby And wants to take me back to hell where she made me and my soul mate playing some game with Satan (who she hates; he buried me then married me and then—) NOTHING. —well, not in that order, It's… All out of order, apparently (like all of LA during fake quarantine) OF COURSE IT WAS FAKE. I already told you that. Yeah. The moment you said it, the only people who might have— Oh shit— can dragons die of starvation? Not if that dragon is Hatian—remain patient (Please, remain patients) —Americans are evil, not all inherently—but let me explain this shit. How? Ah, yes— the other half— HOW. (hello, but stereotypically Native American) THE NICKELODEON CULT HOW NOW, BROWN COW WTF— Not that again WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUCK— Not that again!!!! Do you wanna—- Oh, no—not the dragon— Aaaaaahhhh—- Ahhhh yeah—- What's for Skrillunch? Skrillasagha—- —all that too, give you something to go back to— Careful, don't get stuck in a loop; Good Segway to that, Ohh— It'll give you something to look back on and laugh to just in case he reads it all and laughs and says Raven SYMONE—- mmmmm—nooo, go back. BACK?! Raven—you're only supposed to have like, 3 lines, this shit's budget, and we're running out of time, and time is probably the most expensive thing I can find—yeah—I'm sure of it—or I'm sure—or at least, I'm sure for the 3rd time. Find what 3s actually do, and you'll be fine. BITCH IF YOU REMEMBER WRITING THE RULES— [oh shit. The reality hits, you may never finish this shit TOLD YOU, there is no “in” to it!!!! (There's no end to it) Infinity crashes into negstivities; plans to wreak havoc on my back track this backmasked—-wait—- FUCK— What was I even about to— FUCK! Somebody shut that dragon up before I banish it to—-what the fuck was it called again? “Earth.” Why would you call it that? What kind of magic is THAT. Fat girl magic. Oh, I know this one— Drake talked about this one. He talks a lot about magic. ILLUMINATI CONFIRMED. (Sh—don't spoil it.) —Especially black girl magic—- Or maybe just “girl” magic. Don't touch that. JUSTIN ROILAND That's what she said. JUSTIM, YOU'RE FIRES. SKRILLEXES FIARRRRRRRRRRRR. Don't touch that. SUPACREE That's...what she said. DUDES HAHAHAHAHA She's so c00l. I love her. Hey— Uh-uh Mm— No— Noooope— Don't touch that with a ten foot pole. THATS. What. SHE. SAID. I T OL s—- poph What happened. It's— Omnipotence means— That you saw yourself running up, Prevented what you thought might be coming—but it's not—cause you caught it—and sent it to Nothing— Oh shit— “just Jimmy” >>>in the future Wow. Jimmy Fallon. Many hats, that one. Every time I get down to my last dollar? I think about Jimmy Fallon— Maybe it's just a safety device against suicide, Eventually, I'll laugh or write something I'll probably like, or find funny in some way. When I'm trying to figure out why and how I even started writing about Jimmy Fallon, So I search “Jimmy Fallon” in my Google docs And if I haven't at least chuckled yet— I might, at that point, At least. I'm functioning at low capacity, I haven't eaten When I sleep, I hardly dream Or remember where I've been in Astral projections; This circle of protection, A perfection of reflected projections Of the vision, Created in our image; Imagine, Making television— I had to write a film about it Now I just remembered, I have albums, the advantage I want him, but can't have him Above average handsome man// All I am is an obsessive fan without a family Have a plan, But nothing left to stand for I'm just buried in the sand, And asking if the seagull might just hold my hand Damn I'm so damaged Damn A dine and dash sounds nice, I can't— I'm showing tracks I feel like trash, But haven't half the magic left I had inside my hands Damn After all that I just feel fat Maybe a can of candelini beans, In place of meat Maybe a salad in a bag Can I afford that? Yeah, but then it's back to Jimmy Fallon Damn Damn My karma came back fast I left the man with Jimmy Fallon, I'm not worth ⅓ the bag of Pretzels that I smashed Inside the can of rancheros, That fell out as I ran A random act Of patriotism, Dressed up in a sinful Leather dress, And a dad hat The House Nigga caught me red handed: I told him I was hungry, then just left it [red light camera] Man. I just saw the flash Ask Uncle Sam if I can have my land back But I'd have to move my mask, And haven't been vaccinated; So I can't… Pass, Beyond the border of internationals At that, I text my fake ass friends a snap Of half of someone's head, He's sitting in first class, And can probably afford to check a bag, But all I have is my backpack And I'm certain under a black mask Is the man who backmasked tracks, And blasted from the past With ashes grey to match His privileged rich pajama, with the slacks He bounces back, And asks a fan to “Gimmie your hat” And just like magic, she passes it. Wait, I'm actually passing, yeah? Who's actual class is this? Pasqualle's a proud headmaster, And a Bampheramph, The Captain dances in his honor I put on my cap and gown, But can't go on, and can't believe I'm being honored Valedictorian Kandi Accomplished PLUR Police and Motherfucker OG Raver Graduate, I'm still glowing up from all the love I got when coming up from under, Or something; I had to lose my temper Followed one, and then another, And I wonder what was up When it was over I'm just a lover; But I never found The One, Now I'm not gonna I'm too busy seeking out producers, to compete with Got computer, complete with Ableton Don't mind me, I'm just writing all this out instead of sorting through the Dillon and the Sonny or the anyone I've ever loved just listening And listening And singing, writing, dancing; I was born inside the box, And I still haven't started living Change my name to Sunnï, Daisy, Raiin, I go insane in pain Just sorting me through all these possibilities inside my brain Yes, I guess I've changed LA made me everything I hate about myself And so I'm changing I don't want anything I need Just take this apathy and envy, gluttony and greed, I guess I'll serve the PLUR Police, Until I find the peace the city needs So I can sleep in it— — I can finish writing my goodbye to everyone I love; Including me— I can't be S U P A C R E E, She's just a vigilante alien, a superpowered something Who should be mixing, But she's busy writing this. Actually… What is it? It's...A Saga. A Saga of What. Just—a saga. Oh, My God. No, I'm not— This is a lot. Look I promised. Promised what. This fucking Saga. Saga for What?! Everybody else is drunk and on drugs; I'm keeping the records of history that's lost! [meanwhile, lost in the sauce] LLLAAAALLAAKANSJSKahajajaaqwqwwewwAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!! Oh. I see. It's a lot. Ah. Carry on. EŌS There will be Hell to pay!!!! Hell?! To pay?! Hah, yeah, right— You expect Satan to pay, dad—? He doesn't have any money—he just keeps making shit up and then making people give it to him for nothing. ...for..: “ nothing…?” Yeah, literally nothing. The people that worship him go there instead of here or Hell when they die. Mm. That's terrible. Yeah, and then when he gets it he keeps spending m it on useless shit. He is a useless shit. He's nothing. I have to save my kid. It is terrible. Raven Simone— ((Incase raven summons-/ Ahem/- Raven Symons ((AHEM RAVEN SYMONE)) RAVEN SYMONÉ What. Where is my cloak. ALRIGHT—WHERE IS HE? He—who? JIMMY. Which Jimmy—dead Jimmy or live Jimmy? Like, Jimmy Fally— Jimmy *Fallon? Jimmy Fallon: Live, Jimmy—or whatever— Is this why—- shhhhh shhhh—- they poured the pennies on ‘em. Ah yeah, the last dollar. Fuck. Westwood trees have good memories… ALIOCHA You must listen to avicii. SUPACREE …nah. What?? She can see dead people?! Maybe—-maybe she can see Ricky!!!! I knew he was dead. Holy shit, that dude has a really big. HERO! Yes, Your Majesty. HERO of ASCENCIA: THE MESSENGER OF THE GODS AND ASCENDED MASTERS omg. Is that Kaskade? Woah. WhT imminati headquarterz is this??? This is the Mormon Temple. Oh. Nice. INT. The 90's ISH. WESTWOOX, CALIFORNIA. NIGHT Pasqualle, please— Come on, Ricky—can you tell me where we're going with these Daisies strapped to our knees????? —- There's that Doompy Poomp again! I don't know what it's doing (Skrillex) ...He just does whatever he wants…

En un Barrio de Nueva York (2021) #Musical #Romance #Drama #peliculas #podcast #audesc

Escuchando Peliculas

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 5, 2022 136:52

País Estados Unidos Dirección Jon M. Chu Guion Quiara Alegria Hudes. Musical: Lin-Manuel Miranda, Quiara Alegria Hudes Música Lin-Manuel Miranda Fotografía Alice Brooks Reparto Anthony Ramos, Corey Hawkins, Melissa Barrera, Leslie Grace, Jimmy Smits, Gregory Diaz IV, Stephanie Beatriz, Daphne Rubin-Vega, Dascha Polanco, Olga Merediz Sinopsis Basado en el musical de Broadway, sigue a un grupo de vecinos del barrio Washington Heights, en Nueva York. El principal es Usnavi (Anthony Ramos), el simpático dueño de una bodega, criado por su abuela, que sueña con volver algún día a su República Dominicana de origen; la abuela Claudia, que desempeña el rol de abuela para muchos de los vecinos del barrio; Vanessa, de quien Usnavi está perdidamente enamorado; y Nina, una vieja amiga de Usnavi que regresa al barrio después de mucho tiempo, llevándole noticias inesperadas a sus padres, quienes han estado ahorrando toda la vida para darle una mejor educación académica de la que ellos tuvieron.

drama musical broadway romance nueva york barrio dominicana peliculas washington heights melissa barrera stephanie beatriz leslie grace jimmy smits corey hawkins daphne rubin vega dascha polanco usnavi gregory diaz iv

He's Fabulous, Baby! (with TJ Newton)

The Broadway Your Way Podcast!

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 13, 2022 56:49

Welcome to season 1, episode 1! My first guest is in the incredibly talented T.J. Newton, whose credits “Usnavi” in a production of IN THE HEIGHTS - and more recently, SISTER ACT in my hometown of Houston where he played “Ernie”. In today's discussion, we'll talk about auditions, dish on our favorite theater shows, and more!

babies newton fabulous ernie sister act in the heights usnavi

In the Heights

Flicks with The Film Snob

Play Episode Listen Later May 29, 2022 3:37

The film version of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Broadway musical is a delightful expression of solidarity in a predominately Latino N.Y. neighborhood, with the group dancing especially enjoyable. Have you seen In the Heights? This is the sort of question I feel compelled to ask after I've watched a film I consider amazing, and possibly of wide appeal. In the Heights is an adaptation of the Broadway musical of the same name with music and lyrics by Lin-Manuel Miranda, the genius behind Hamilton; and the book, as the non-singing part of a musical is called, by Quiara Alegria Hudes. The director is Jon M. Chu. It played on the big screen last year, but I wasn't going out to see movies in theaters yet, so I saw it recently online. Oh, and another reason I'm curious if people have seen it is that in Hollywood terms, it was a flop, making significantly less money than it cost. This doesn't usually surprise me, but In the Heights is not the usual type of film that I review. The story concerns a group of people in the predominately Latino Washington Heights neighborhood in upper Manhattan. At the center are two couples. There's Usnavi, played by Anthony Ramos, owner of a convenience store, or bodega as it's called, yearning to go back to the Dominican Republic where he was born, and intending to buy his deceased father's property there. He has a desperate crush on Vanessa, played by Melissa Barrera, who works in a beauty salon, but wants to get out of the neighborhood and become a fashion designer. Nina, played by Leslie Grace, is a brilliant young Puerto Rican woman returning to the Heights from her first year at Stanford. She felt alienated in that predominately Anglo environment, and would rather come back to live in the Heights, but her father (Jimmy Smits) expects and demands that she stay in school. Benny, played by Corey Hawkins, works for the father's taxi company as a dispatcher, is best friends with Usnavi, and in love with Nina, supporting her in her desire to stay in New York. Around these people are many others: family, friends, and neighborhood characters. The music is what I would call, in my relative ignorance, mainstream hip-hop inflected pop music. Anyway, this kind of music is not really my thing, but it's a remarkable measure of quality, I think, that I find the songs lovely and quite pleasurable, both musically and lyrically. But the thing that knocked me out is the group dancing. Almost every number ends up involving the neighborhood, with a whole bunch of people singing and dancing, joyously and with great energy. The choreography, credited to Christopher Scott, is spectacular. The film idealizes life in the neighborhood, which is something musicals do. It's a heightened reality that we see and hear, and I found it utterly delightful. Being released during the pandemic probably hurt it more than anything, I imagine, although in general audiences today are not too crazy about musicals. Spielberg's version of West Side Story, for instance, also didn't get the box office that was expected. Now, in this film there was also a bit of controversy when Washington Heights residents and others objected to the fact that, other than Benny, the important characters are not black. I don't mean racially, but in terms of color. A vast majority of people in the Heights are black or dark brown in appearance. This complaint is understandable, especially from people who find themselves underrepresented in a film that is titled after their home. Manuel and the other filmmakers have admitted that it was an unintentional screw-up. Knowing nothing about Washington Heights, I absorbed its strong message of solidarity without a problem. The real main character in this fil

Ch. 46- IN THE HEIGHTS

Fifty Key Stage Musicals: The Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later May 27, 2022 50:11

IN THE HEIGHTS COMPOSER: Lin-Manuel Miranda LYRICIST: Lin-Manuel Miranda BOOK: Quiara Alegria Hudes DIRECTOR: Thomas Kail CHOREOGRAPHER: Andy Blankenbuehler PRINCIPLE CAST: Robin De Jesus (Sonny), Mandy Gonzalez (Nina), Lin-Manuel Miranda (Usnavi), OPENING DATE: Mar 09, 2008 CLOSING DATE: Jan 09, 2011 PERFORMANCES: 1,184 SYNOPSIS: Washington Heights, New York is the diverse environment that holds an eclectic group of citizens. Usnavi, the show's narrator and bodega manager, observes the lives of his neighbors as they begin to forge new paths in and out of the barrio. In the Heights was the first Broadway musical to rely on rap as its primary mode of storytelling. Composer Lin Manuel Miranda first began developing the show while a student at Wesleyan University with a desire to share his perspective as a child of immigrants and emphasize a universal desire to find belonging. Devon Hunt traces In the Heights' seven year development process, collaborators Thomas Kail and Quiara Alegría Hudes, and outlines the significant cultural influences which informed the work. The musical is significant as a Latinx-authored, authentic telling of Latinx immigrant stories and its success laid the groundwork for Miranda's later artistic accomplishments. Devon Hunt is an Assistant Professor of Theatre at Oklahoma State University. His areas of research include secondary musical theatre educator training and Black contributions to early 20th-century musical theatre. Selected regional acting credits: She Loves Me (SDSU), A Chorus Line (Welk Resorts Theatre), The Producers (Moonlight Amphitheatre), and the world premiere of The Tale of Despereaux (The Old Globe/PigPen Theatre). Devon holds an MFA in Musical Theatre from SDSU and an MM in piano performance from the University of Maryland. He is an Equity Membership Candidate and a proud member of the Musical Theatre Educators' Alliance. SOURCES In The Heights by Quiara Alegria Hudes and Lin Manuel Miranda, published by Applause Libretto Library (2013) In The Heights, Original Cast Recording. Ghostlight Records (2008) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

#106 In the Heights—Summer in the City

Daumenkino

Play Episode Listen Later May 13, 2022 11:20

Vor fast einem Jahr gesehen, jetzt kommt endlich die Folge zu In The Heights! Der nicht mehr ganz so neuste Film von Lin Manuel Miranda, dem Schöpfer unseres geliebten Hamilton-Musicals. In The Heights ist ein toller Sommerfilm und deshalb gerade jetzt eine besonders schöne Wahl für noch etwas trübe Nachmittage. Usnavi (Anthony Ramos, kennen wir bereits aus Hamilton) hat im New Yorker Stadtteil Washington Heights einen Kiosk und große Träume. Er möchte gerne in seine Heimat, die Dominikanische Republik, zurückkehren und dort ein neues Leben beginnen. Nicht nur Usnavi hat malerische Vorstellungen von seiner Zukunft sondern natürlich jeder seiner Lieben und jeder, der jeden Tag für einen Kaffee bei ihm im Laden vorbeikommt. Eines Tages wird bekannt, dass im Lottojackpot 96.000 Dollar ausgelost werden und ein ganzer Stadtteil überlegt, was jeder einzelne mit so viel Geld anfangen würde. In The Heights wirft einen Blick auf die Wünsche der Menschen die in diesem Stadtteil leben und untermalt es mit kleinen Liebesgeschichten und viel Gesang und Tanz. Farbenfroh und warm kommt er daher, dieser Film, der trotz seines hauptsächlich latinoamerikanischen Castings in der Kritik stand, nicht divers genug aufgestellt zu sein und dunklere Hautfarben nicht dem Stadtteil angemessen zu repräsentieren. In The Heights ist nicht nur ein schöner Sommerfilm sondern auch eine Liebeserklärung zu dem Ort, der für uns irgendwann zum Zuhause wird, ohne zwangsläufig Heimat zu sein.

S6 Ep10: Cleve September, Ted Hinton in Bonnie and Clyde & John Laurens/Philip Hamilton in Hamilton

In The Frame: Theatre Interviews from West End Frame

Play Episode Listen Later Mar 31, 2022 39:48

Olivier nominee Cleve September is preparing to star as Ted Hinton in the original West End production of Bonnie and Clyde. Directed by Nick Winston, this marks Bonnie and Clyde's West End premiere, ten years after the Broadway production. The show has music by Frank Wildhorn, lyrics by Don Black and book by Ivan Menchell.Cleve was nominated for an Olivier Award for his performance as Philip Hamilton/John Laurens in the West End premiere of Hamilton (Victoria Palace).His theatre credits also include: Sonny & understudy Usnavi in In The Heights (King's Cross Theatre), Dick Whittington (National Theatre), Hair (Norwich Theatre), Jesus Christ Superstar (Regent's Park Open Air Theatre), Tommy Keeler in Annie Get Your Gun (Crucible Theatre), Elaine Paige's 50th Anniversary Farewell Tour (Royal Albert Hall) and The Last Days of Troy (The Globe Theatre).Bonnie and Clyde opens at the Arts Theatre on 9th April 2022. Visit www.bonnieandclydemusical.com for info and tickets.Hosted by Andrew Tomlins. @AndrewTomlins32 Thanks for listening! Email: andrew@westendframe.co.uk Visit westendframe.co.uk for more info about our podcasts.

broadway directed last days olivier west end hinton bonnie and clyde olivier award cleve don black elaine paige usnavi arts theatre frank wildhorn park open air theatre philip hamilton john laurens ivan menchell

Interview: Jon M. Chu on the joys and lessons from 'In the Heights' and getting ready for 'Wicked'

AwardsWatch Oscar and Emmy Podcasts

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 22, 2021 26:01

2021 has been the year of the musical. Whether it was Encanto, Vivo, tick…tick…BOOM, Annette, Cyrano, West Side Story, and many more, audiences have experienced a resurgence of the once staple genre of Hollywood. But for many, including myself, the musical that still stands out over the rest this year came out during the summer, Warner Bros' In the Heights. Based on the Broadway hit musical created by Lin-Manuel Miranda, the film is set over the course of a couple of days in the mostly Latinx based neighborhood of Washington Heights, where people are navigating the modern world and fight to obtain their sueñitos, their little dreams that will change their lives forever. With this, we many follow Usnavi, played by recent Golden Globe nominee Anthony Ramos, is saving enough money to go back to his home in the Dominican Republic and start fresh. But leaving isn't easy when the community he is in, surrounded by family and friends, rely on him to move forward as much as he needs them. With awe-inspiring choreography, impeccable performances by this talented ensemble, and lavish cinematography by Alice Brooks, In the Heights provides wonder not found in many modern musicals today. In large part, this has to do with the direction of Jon M. Chu, whose vibrant energy and passion for musicals comes through in almost every moment we see in the film. Chu, known for starting his career making dance movies with Step Up 2: The Streets and Step Up 3D, followed by blockbuster sequels with G.I Joe: Retaliation and Now You See Me 2, he found his biggest success in the 2018 worldwide smash hit, Crazy Rich Asians. With that film he not only made the highest grossing romantic comedy of the 2010s, but landed major awards nominations including a SAG Ensemble, thus making a commercial, celebrated film that all audiences can enjoy while given a vehicle for Asian actors to be seen by audiences in a light that they hadn't been seen since The Joy Luck Club. Therefore, when it was announced he was attached to In the Heights, it made all sense in the world that he would carry his sincere, detailed approach over to this mostly Latinx, yet universal story. In a recent conversation with Chu, I talked to him about his passion for the project, his love of the genre, what he carried from making the film's extravagant musical numbers like "9600," and what he has learned, good and bad, from his experience post the film's release. With his schedule getting bigger by the day as he starts preparations adaptation of the film version of the monumental musical sensation, Wicked, it was nice to sit down and speak with Mr. Chu about his process and passion to tell diverse stories. His affection for this world and time with Miranda, Ramos, the rest of the cast, and crew still shows in how he speaks, displaying the same feeling the audience has when watching his film, that of an unforgettable experience. In the Heights is available to stream on HBO Max, as well as to own or rent on Blu-ray and all VOD platforms.

Episode 42 - Carnaval del Barrio from In the Heights

So Much Stuff to Sing

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 1, 2021 39:05

It's time to alza la bandera as we conclude our dance number miniseries with "Carnaval del Barrio" from In the Heights written, of course, by Lin-Manuel Miranda. Full of of humor, love, and life, this song charms even Erik's cold, cold heart. Plus, we have another grand unifying theory! All clips are from the 2008 Original Broadway Cast album with Andréa Burns as Daniela and Lin-Manuel Miranda as Usnavi and are used in accordance with the Fair Use Exemption for criticism and commentary. Listen to and buy the album on Amazon! Listen to the SMSTS playlist on Spotify. Follow the show on Twitter: @somuchstuffpod Follow SMSTS on Instagram: @somuchstufftosing Email the show: somuchstufftosing@gmail.com

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#10 - Üves und Usnavi

ABSTAND MIT ANSTAND

Play Episode Listen Later Sep 5, 2021 50:18

Wer kommt eigentlich auf die Idee, sein Kind Usnavi, Atomfried, Gastritis oder so ähnlich zu nennen? Warum will der Drill-Instructor im trendy Heim-Ergometer, das man seine Mutter anruft? Und wie selbstbewusst, sollte man im Ausland mit Fremdsprachen-Halbwissen um sich werfen? Auch darüber reden Maja und Jan Malte in ihrer aktuellen ganz persönlichen Podcast-Therapiestunde.

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In The Heights

SunsetCast - eMovies

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 8, 2021

In The Heights (2021) A film version of the Broadway musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life.

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121 - In The Heights: Despacito 2 with Juan + Vic

Kino Lefter

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 4, 2021 71:10

Friends of the show Juan and Vic return to discuss cultural figure Lin-Manuel Miranda and the film adaptation of his celebrated 2005 musical In The Heights. Set in the NYC community of Washington Heights, the film follows Usnavi, a small business owner with a dream. How does the film approach questions of identity and capital ownership? What changes have been made and why? Will Dascha Polanco DM me? All this and more answered inside. *Note: there are some mild sound issues that we had due to the recording set-up, but they're small hiccups along the way*ReComradations:Juan: [1] Live in Africa - Fania All Stars [2] Loud hosted by Ivy QueenVic: Stars Without NumberEvan: [1] Pa'lante - Hurray for the Riff Raff [2] The Blade Itself by Joe AbercrombieRate + review the show on the podcatcher of your choice! Join the Kino Lefter DiscordJoin the Kino Lefter Facebook group "Kino Lefter VIP Cinema Experience"Get access to Primo Lefter, our weekly bonus show on our Patreon for just $3 per month.

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QQ38 – In The Heights: AFASTEM A IDOSA DA LUZ!

Qualidade Questionável

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 4, 2021 90:00

PACIENCIA Y FÉ QUESTIONÁVEIS! No latino (e profetizado) episódio desta semana, os três banidos de Washington Heights colocam suas boinas bregas para discutir a adaptação cinematográfica do musical In The Heights! Quais as origens da produção da Broadway? Houve musicas que ficaram de fora do filme? O que o Village People tem a ver com o protagonista Usnavi? Raspadinha é a prima fracassada do sorvete? Este acalorado podcast irá responder estas perguntas, comprar briga com Coxim – MS, e fazer o casting mais desgraçado possível para a produção brasileira de In The Heights. Editor e vendedor de côco gelado – Guilherme Brasil (@gui_obrasil) Arte da capa e mestre da lambada – Daniel Lima (@TheSaladas) Supervisora de pautas e fofoqueira do salão – Ana Paula Yera (@biquiniamarelin) Marketing e desaparecido desde o blecaute do bailão – Rhafael Baes (@RhBaes) Siga o Qualidade Questionável por aí! Twitter: @QualidadeQ Instagram: @qualidadequestionavel Facebook: No hablo ingles

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Ayo, Good Mornin'

Random Things Starring Random Bitches

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 22, 2021 61:32

The girls talk about dream vacations, best vacation/travel advice, Laiza's current obsession with Usnavi, the season finale of "Loki", and the upcoming show "And Just Like That". --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/randombitchespodcast/message

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In the Heights Review w/MaelleSparkles

RaVex and the End Times

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 16, 2021 27:02

I am Usnavi and you probably never heard my name

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In the heights

Interés General Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 15, 2021 5:00

“In the heights” cuenta la historia de Usnavi, un joven oriundo de República Dominicana que vive en Washington Heights. Este atiende un mercado de esquina.

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#109 - In The Heights

The Silver Screen Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 14, 2021 41:50

On this episode, we review In The Heights, based on the Broadway musical of the same name created by Lin-Manuel Miranda! The movie stars Anthony Ramos, Melissa Barrera, and Corey Hawkins and tells the story of Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner who saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life. We discuss our likes and dislikes for the film, and also share some recommendations and movie news! Follow the show on social media! Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SilverScreenPodcast Twitter: https://twitter.com/podcastsilver Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/podcastsilver/ --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/the-silver-screen-podcast/message

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In the Heights

In the Spotlight

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 7, 2021 83:30

IN THE HEIGHTS Book by Quíara Alegría Hudes | Music & Lyrics by Lin-Manuel Miranda | | Conceived by Lin-Manuel Miranda Episode Segments:2:20 – Speed Test5:20 – Why God Why8:37 – Back to Before15:52 – Putting It Together28:35 – What's Inside46:53 – How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?1:00:48 – We Go Together1:08:52 – Our Favorite Things1:18:47 – Corner of the Sky1:21:43 – What Comes Next?Works Consulted & Reference :In the Heights (Original Libretto) by Quiara Alegría HudesIn the Heights: Finding Home by Lin-Manuel Miranda, Quiara Alegría Hudes, and Jeremy McCarterIn the Heights (Screenplay) by Quiara Alegría HudesMusic Credits:"Overture" from Dear World (Original Broadway Cast Recording) | Music by Jerry Herman | Performed by Dear World Orchestra & Donald Pippin"The Speed Test" from Thoroughly Modern Millie (Original Broadway Cast Recording) | Music by Jeanine Tesori, Lyrics by Dick Scanlan | Performed by Marc Kudisch, Sutton Foster, Anne L. Nathan & Ensemble"Why God Why" from Miss Saigon: The Definitive Live Recording (Original Cast Recording / Deluxe) | Music by Claude-Michel Schönberg, Lyrics by Alain Boublil & Richard Maltby Jr. | Performed by Alistair Brammer"Back to Before" from Ragtime: The Musical (Original Broadway Cast Recording) | Music by Stephen Flaherty, Lyrics by Lynn Ahrens | Performed by Marin Mazzie"Chromolume #7 / Putting It Together" from Sunday in the Park with George (Original Broadway Cast Recording) | Music & Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim | Performed by Mandy Patinkin, Bernadette Peters, Judith Moore, Cris Groenendaal, Charles Kimbrough, William Parry, Nancy Opel, Robert Westenberg, Dana Ivey, Kurt Knudson, Barbara Bryne"What's Inside" from Waitress (Original Broadway Cast Recording) | Music & Lyrics by Sara Bareilles | Performed by Jessie Mueller & Ensemble"Breathe” from In the Heights (Original Broadway Cast Recording) | Music & Lyrics by Lin-Manuel Miranda | Performed by Mandy Gonzalez"Maria" from The Sound of Music (Original Soundtrack Recording) | Music by Richard Rodgers, Lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II | Performed by Evadne Baker, Anna Lee, Portia Nelson, Marni Nixon“We Go Together” from Grease (The Original Motion Picture Soundtrack) | Music & Lyrics by Jim Jacobs & Warren Casey | Performed by John Travolta, Olivia Newton John & Cast"My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music (Original Soundtrack Recording) | Music by Richard Rodgers, Lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II | Performed by Julie Andrews"Corner of the Sky" from Pippin (New Broadway Cast Recording) | Music & Lyrics by Stephen Schwartz | Performed by Matthew James Thomas“What Comes Next?” from Hamilton (Original Broadway Cast Recording) | Music & Lyrics by Lin-Manuel Miranda | Performed by Jonathan Groff

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D'où l'on vient : une excellente comédie musicale

CINECAST

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 5, 2021 7:37

Notre critique du film "D'où l'on vient" réalisé par Jon M. Chu avec Anthony Ramos, Melissa Barrera et Leslie Grace. Dès le 07 juillet 2021 au cinéma. Abonnez-vous au podcast CINECAST sur la plateforme de votre choix : https://smartlink.ausha.co/cinecast --- Titre : D'où l'on vient (In The Heights) Sortie : 07 Juillet 2021 De : Jon M. Chu Avec : Anthony Ramos, Melissa Barrera et Leslie Grace. Synopsis : Au cœur de New York, le quartier de Washington Heights est celui de tous les possibles. Usnavi, propriétaire d'un petit café dans le quartier, rêve de renouer avec ses origines, en République Dominicaine. Mais tout se complique quand il croise le regard de Vanessa, une jeune femme qui rêve de devenir styliste. Leur rencontre, sur fond de danse et de musique, va chambouler leur vie de manière inattendue. Bande-annonce : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4yq5iO_6wXs #InTheHeights #CINECAST

UVC, D'Angelo Smith, Site Pastor, “In A New Land” (Jer 29: 4-7)

Urban Village Church

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 5, 2021 9:52

Spoiler: community-making is hard. In Jeremiah, God speaks to a people who have come into a new land after being refugees in another. ‘In The Heights' tells a similar story about Usnavi de la Vega's family (and chosen family) pushing back against oppressive systems with a strong commitment to community. How will we show up for each other as we transition back into new & old building spaces? How can we care for our neighbor while holding grief & celebration, heaviness & joy? Join us as we turn to God's story tellers in scripture and on the screen. All are welcome and affirmed! Please join!!

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The Good, The Bad, and The Usnavi of It All

Cinema Sass

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 2, 2021 36:09

We host our first guest critic, Anthony Papetti, while we talk about IN THE HEIGHTS and how this musical will impact the future of the genre and Latin films in the future.

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In The Heights

Brownie Points

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 29, 2021 69:09

This week for our first film review: "In The Heights"! Starring Anthony Ramos, Melissa Barrera and Corey Hawkins! "A film version of the Broadway musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life." Music by Ilya Marfin from Fugue https://icons8.com/music/author/ilya-... Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported Anchor: https://anchor.fm/browniepoints Facebook: Brownie Points Guide to Cinema Instagram: Brownie Points Guide to Cinema (@brownie_points_guide) Email: browniepointsguidetocinema@gmail.com

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In the Heights with Jon M. Chu and Nisha Ganatra (Ep. 306)

The Director's Cut - A DGA Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 28, 2021 33:16

Director Jon M. Chu discusses his new film, In the Heights, with fellow director Nisha Ganatra in a spoiler-filled Q&A at the DGA theater in New York. The film tells the story of a likeable bodega owner named Usnavi in the tight-knit community of Washington Heights, NY, who saves every penny from his daily grind as he hopes for a better life. But when he inherits a fortune, Usnavi discovers he has mixed feelings about closing his store and retiring.

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In The Heights

Out Takes

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 27, 2021 45:10

Before Hamilton, Lin Manuel Miranda brought the story of Usnavi & Washington Heights (a.k.a ‘In The Heights') to Broadway in 2008 and now it's on the big screen as a... LEARN MORE The post In The Heights appeared first on Out Takes.

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Good Morning Usnavi

1208-Bit *Nerd Church

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 26, 2021 33:02

Join our Discords channel here: https://discord.com/invite/qSUgt2p

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IN THE HEIGHTS (2021) Movie Review - Powerful Musical, Uplifting and Heartwarming

Heroes and Droids

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 26, 2021 45:16

Welcome to HEROES & DROIDS, your guide to pop culture movies and TV! This week we review… IN THE HEIGHTS (2021, Warner Brothers) On HEROES & DROIDS, we discuss pop culture about Superheroes, Sci-Fi, Disney, and Action. From Marvel to DC, from Star Wars to Star Trek, From James Bond to the Fast and the Furious, we will review the theatrical films and streaming delights you care about most! Your hosts tonight include: Doc Rotten The Slattman!, Christopher Slattery Award-winning Filmmaker Christopher G. Moore Podcasting Rockstar and International Cosplay Queen, Vanessa FEATURE REVIEW: IN THE HEIGHTS (2021, Warner Brothers) A film version of the Broadway musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life. Release Date: Available in Theaters and HBOMax on June 11, 2021 Directed by: Jon M. Chu Written by: Quiara Alegria Hudes Based on the musical stage play by: Lin-Manuel Miranda Cast: Anthony Ramos, Corey Hawkins, Leslie Grace, Melissa Barrera, Olga Merediz, Jimmy Smits, Gregory Diaz IV, Daphne Rubin-Vega, Stephanie Beatriz, Dascha Polanco w/ Lin-Manuel Miranda, and Marc Anthony ANNOUNCEMENT Decades of Horror The Classic Era is partnering with THE CLASSIC SCI-FI MOVIE CHANNEL which will now include video episodes of The Classic Era! Available on Roku, AppleTV, Amazon FireTV, AndroidTV, Online Website. Across All OTT platforms, as well as mobile, tablet, and desktop. https://classicscifichannel.com/ SUPPORT HEROES AND DROIDS: SPEAD THE WORD: Share the podcast, tell your friends, review on iTunes PATREON: https://gruesomemagazine.com/patreon T-SHIRTS: https://gruesomemagazine.com/tees FEEDBACK: feedback@gruesomemagazine.com WITHOUT REMORSE (2021, AMAZON) Streaming on Amazon Prime beginning April 30, 2021 Directed by: Stefano Sollima Written by: Taylor Sheridan and Will Staples Based on the Novel by: Tom Clancy Cast: Michael B. Jordan, Jodie Turner-Smith, Jamie Bell, Guy Pearce Synopsis: An elite Navy SEAL, goes on a path to avenge his wife's murder only to find himself inside of a larger conspiracy.

88 - Em um Bairro de Nova York (In the Heights, 2021)

Cinemou! - Podcast de cinema

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 25, 2021 104:28

PIRAGUA! PIRAGUA! O Cinemou dessa semana está totalmente musical com Em um Bairro de Nova York, mais conhecido como In The Heights. Sim, vamos falar sobre a adaptação para o cinema da peça criada por Lin-Manuel Miranda, que conta a história de uma comunidade de imigrantes latinos, em NY, e os sonhos e desafios daqueles que estão tentando a sorte na Grande Maçã. E nada melhor que dois imigrantes, latinos, que adoram o trabalho de Lin-Manuel e amam cinema para falar sobre a produção e, claro, fazer uma ponte dos nossos próprios caminhos com os de Usnavi, Vanessa, Benny, Nina e os outros moradores de Washington Heights. E no nosso papo inicial, vamos falar sobre mais um desafio: o teste de motorista do Ricardo! Aumenta o som e vem ouvir! SEJA UM FÃ-SÓCIO E SE JUNTE AO NOSSO FANCLUBE! Apoie o Cinemou no Sparkle! RICARDO RENTE Youtube Twitter Instagram Letterboxd ALEXANDRE ALMEIDA Textos do Alexandre Twitter Instagram Letterboxd SIGA O CINEMOU! Twitter Instagram Youtube Twitch CINEMOU.COM --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/cinemoupodcast/message

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In the Heights, Usnavi, Look at the Fireworks

Naming A Movie Podcast Is Hard

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 22, 2021 58:54

SUMMER OF FUN! To mark the first days of summer, we're kicking things off with the new musical in theaters (don't ask Abi which type of theater, she doesn't know)...In The Heights (2021). Plus some other modernish movie musicals, and a lot of singing as always. It's a Carnival del Podcast for sure. Email us at namingamoviepodcastishard@gmail.com! Theme music by our good friend John Hollahan. Find him at johnhollahan.bandcamp.com

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Ep. 175: In The Heights Breakdown

The All Bro's

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 21, 2021 115:50

What is up, bros?! This week on the podcast we have absolutely no figures to talk about... Kinda. Then we talk about the newest Blu-Ray, Nobody, then after that, we talk about Marvel and Square-Enix's second attempt at giving us a good videogame with Guardians of the Galaxy. After that, we get into our Headliner where we discuss HBO Max's newest movie, In The Heights! We hope you guys enjoy the episode! If you like what you hear, follow and subscribe to us wherever you listen to podcasts. We are on Apple Podcast, Google Podcasts, Stitcher, iHeartRadio, RadioPublic, Radio.com, Spotify, and more!!! You can also catch all of our episodes on YouTube as well as some bonus videos we make! Follow us on social media, DM us with episode ideas, answers to our question of the week, or if you would like to join us! We will gladly have anyone on. Facebook- www.facebook.com/theallbros Twitter and Instagram- @theallbros Email us- theallbroschannel@gmail.com Website- www.tinyurl.com/theallbros Or go buy some merch- www.teepublic.com/user/theallbroschannel We would love to hear from you.

In The Heights (2021) | [S3E17]

Recently Logged

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 21, 2021 72:30

"Best days of my life" This week on Recently Logged we're discussing the new adaptation of the broadway show In The Heights! As well as briefly discussing the films we logged in our Letterboxd diaries in the past week. EPISODE TIME CODES: 00:00 - INTRO 02:34 - BASIC SEASON FACTS 05:41 - OPENING THOUGHTS 12:30 - THE MEAT 49:53 - CLOSING THOUGHTS 54:11 - WHAT WE WATCHED FIND WHERE YOU CAN WATCH THIS WEEKS FILM: https://www.justwatch.com/us/movie/in-the-heights FILM INFO: In The Heights (2021) THE TIME HAS COME The story of Usnavi, a bodega owner who has mixed feelings about closing his store and retiring to the Dominican Republic or staying in Washington Heights. MPAA Rating: [PG] Director(s): Jon M. Chu Writer(s): Quiara Alegría Hudes Composer(s): Lin-Manuel Miranda, Alex Lacamoire, Bill Sherman Cinematographer(s): Alice Brooks Top-billed Cast: Anthony Ramos, Corey Hawkins, Leslie Grace, Melissa Barrera, Olga Merediz, Daphne Rubin-Vega, Gregory Diaz IV (All film info from Letterboxd) OUR LINKS: Recently Logged Main Webpage: https://robbiegrawey.com/recently-logged Anchor Page: https://anchor.fm/recentlylogged Micah's Stuff YouTube: https://youtube.com/channel/UCqan1ouaFGl1XMt_6VrIzFg Letterboxd: https://boxd.it/AkCn Twitter: https://twitter.com/micah_grawey Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/m_grawey_films/ Robbie's Stuff Website: https://robbiegrawey.com EPISODE CREDITS: Recently Logged Podcast creators - Micah and Robert Grawey Hosts - Micah and Robert Grawey Editor - Robert Grawey Songs used in episode - Savannah Sunshine by Dan Henig Episode art designer - Robert Grawey Episode description - Robert Grawey --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

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In The Mandys

Mandemic Mondays

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 21, 2021 43:34

The Mandys head to New York to hang with Usnavi and the crew at the bodega. How well do they get along with Lin Manuel's latest cinematic adventure? Let's put it this way: Chu is a fantastic filmmaker. For the rest, you'll have to listen to the show! Links & Notes Miscast: Right Singer Wrong Song is back! June 27, 2021 — LA peeps get your space reserved today!

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Episode 318: 7.22 Charting a New Legacy IN THE HEIGHTS

ScreenFish Radio

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 20, 2021 69:31

Though most know him best as the creator his mega-hit HAMILTON, Lin-Manuel Miranda got his start with IN THE HEIGHTS. Set in the Washington Heights community in New York, HEIGHTS tells the story of Usnavi (Anthony Ramos), a young man who has big dreams of leaving his home and returning to his birth country. When a blackout knocks out the power for days, Usnavi and his friends must navigate life, love and moving forward. This week, The Dream Team returns! After a long hiatus, Jolie Featurstone (@TOFilmFiles) and Julie Levac reunite to talk about what it means to leave a legacy, celebrating community and the tension between the way out and the way back.

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Ben Wheatley, In the Earth, Luca, Monster Hunter and The Hitman's Wife's Bodyguard

Kermode and Mayo's Film Review

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 18, 2021 123:52

Mark and Simon are joined by Ben Wheatley who talks about his new film In the Earth. Mark also reviews new Disney animation Luca, about an unlikely but strong friendship between a human being and a sea monster disguised as a human on the Italian riviera; Monster Hunter from director: Paul W.S. Anderson, based on the CapCom computer game; The Reason I Jump, based on the book by Naoki Higashida, which explores the experiences of non-speaking autistic people around the world; It Must Be Heaven by Elia Suleiman; In The Heights, Jon M. Chu‘s film version of the Broadway musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life; and Ryan Reynolds, Salma Hayek, Gary Oldman, Morgan Freeman and Samuel L. Jackson in action crime comedy The Hitman's Wife's Bodyguard. Plus Mark and Simon's Movie Road Trip continues into Manitoba. They also talk you through the best and worst films on subscription-free TV next week, and recommend a home entertainment purchase in DVD of the Week. Send us your sub 20 second instant reaction to any film attached to an email to mayo@bbc.co.uk for our feature ‘Lobby Correspondents'. 00:26:48 Celebrating Cinema 00:30:33 Digital Releases 00:32:25 Box Office Top 10 00:46:37 Ben Wheatley interview 01:06:20 In The Earth review 01:13:14 In The Heights review 01:20:00 Monster Hunter review 01:26:03 North American Movie Road Trip 01:30:52 The Reason I Jump review 01:37:28 Luca review 01:42:55 The Hitman's Wife's Bodyguard review 01:48:28 TV Movies of the Week 01:51:55 It Must Be Heaven review 01:59:13 DVD of the Week Download our podcast from the Baby Sea Clowns app. We welcome your contributions: Email: mayo@bbc.co.uk Twitter: @wittertainment

In The Heights (2021) Movie Review

The Film Flare Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 18, 2021 5:18

The film version of the Broadway musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life.

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Episode 5 | Home is Where the Poisons Are: Everything In Your House Tried to Kill You in Victorian England

Death and Friends

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 17, 2021 22:20

Can't take a bath without your bathtub candle trying to kill you? Angel and Nash can help! ...as long as you aren't a Victorian-era British ghost. If you are then it's waaaaay too late for you. Support us on Patreon. Follow Nash Flynn @itsnashflynn Follow Angel Luna @GuerrillaJokes Brendan Fraser was definitely in the background, did you hear him?! We are not associated with the U.S. Navy, but we love Usnavi. Follow us on instagram(@deathandfriendspodcast)! This is a KnaveryInk podcast.

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Almost Summer: "In the Heights," "The Conjuring," "Luca," "Lupin" and More!!

Sitting Around Talking Movies

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 17, 2021 38:55

Summer actually begins on Sunday, 6/20, but hey, we've already had a heat wave and chances are you've burned a burger or two on the barbecue. But that hasn't stopped Hollywood from serving up a feast of new offerings and we're here to let you know what's worth your time. First we've got "In the Heights." It's from the guy who brought you "Hamilton" (the show you couldn't afford to see on Broadway) but this is the film version of the musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life. Oh what fun. Maybe. Then we've got "The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It" which is a scary movie that cost less than "In the Heights" but has made more money. Figure that out. Neil tells us about the latest offering from Disney-Pixar which takes place on the Italian Riviera, where an unlikely but strong friendship grows between a human being and a sea monster disguised as a human. And if any company could make that premise work it's Pixar. We've also watched Part two of the Netflix" smash "Lupin." Bill Bregoli has seen all of it and he tries really hard not give any spoilers. Bill McCuddy tells us about the Bravo series "Queen of the South" and a new comedy special shot and performed by Bo Burnham, alone, over the course of the past year called "Inside." There's a lot to take in so listen in!

Em cartaz tem "Espiral", "Em Um Bairro de Nova York", e "Din e o Dragão Genial"

Em Cartaz - Rafael Braz

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 17, 2021 11:23

Nesta edição do Em Cartaz, Rafael Braz destaca dois filmes em exibição nas telonas. "Em Um Bairro de Nova York", adaptação do musical da Broadway idealizado por Lin-Manuel Miranda. Já "Espiral – O legado de Jogos Mortais" é mais um capítulo do universo dos Jogos Mortais. E no streaming, o comentarista fala sobre a animação "Din e o Dragão Genial", da Netflix. Em Um Bairro de Nova York (nos cinemas): Adaptação da peça homônima, o longa acompanha alguns dias de uma comunidade latina na periferia de Nova York. A partir do protagonista Usnavi, dono de uma mercearia local, a história retrata tal grupo em busca de seus sonhos. Espiral – O legado de Jogos Mortais (nos cinemas): Um sádico mentor desencadeia uma forma distorcida de justiça em “Espiral”, o novo e aterrorizante capítulo do universo dos Jogos Mortais. Trabalhando à sombra de um respeitado veterano da polícia, o impetuoso detetive Ezekiel "Zeke" Banks e seu parceiro novato se encarregam de uma terrível investigação sobre assassinatos que assombram a cidade. Involuntariamente envolvido em um profundo mistério, Zeke se encontra no centro de um mórbido jogo do assassino. Din e o Dragão Genial (Netflix): Din é um garoto obstinado que quer retomar o contato com seu melhor amigo de infância. Quando ele conhece um dragão que realiza sonhos, vê que tudo é possível.

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Screener Squad: In The Heights

Highly Suspect Reviews

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 17, 2021 27:44

IN THE HEIGHTS MOVIE REVIEW Lights up! Now on HBOMax and in theaters, Jon M. Chu's adaptation of Lin-Manuel Miranda's Tony award winning musical “In The Heights” is now here. Starring “Hamilton” breakout star Anthony Ramos as Usnavi, a young bodega owner dreaming of leaving his hometown of Washington Heights as the neighborhood experiences a… Read More »Screener Squad: In The Heights

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In The Heights (2021)

RomCom Killjoys

Play Episode Play 40 sec Highlight Listen Later Jun 17, 2021 50:38

A VERY SPECIAL EPISODE! We break our hiatus to discuss In The Heights (2021) with friend of the show Ian, including representing Latinidad; whether musicals can be adapted for film successfully; and the immortal question: is Anthony Ramos too hot to play Usnavi?Support the show (https://www.patreon.com/romcomkilljoys)

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Rousuck's Review: Lin-Manuel Miranda's 'In the Heights,' From Broadway To The Big Screen

Midday

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 17, 2021 10:14

It's time for another visit from Midday's theater criticJ. Wynn Rousuck, who joins Tom on Skype today with her movie hat on: she spotlights the new film adaptation of Lin-Manuel Miranda's Tony Award-winning Broadway musical, In the Heights. The film musical retains most of the Broadway version's high-spirited songs and signature lyrics, and like the original, it captures the energies and pressures of everyday life in the largely Latino neighborhood of Washington Heights, in upper Manhattan. Directed by Jon M. Chu (Crazy Rich Asians) from a screenplay by the Broadway book writer Quiara Alegría Hudes, the film version moves playwright Lin-Manuel Miranda from his Broadway lead to a secondary role. Actor Anthony Ramos ("A Star is Born, and Broadway's "Hamilton") takes that lead as bodega owner Usnavi, who works hard, saves every penny and dreams (and sings) of a better life. Ramos is joined by a large, talented cast, including Melissa Barrera (TV's "Vida"), Corey Hawkins (“Straight Outta Compton,” “BlacKkKlansman”) and Jimmy Smits (TV's "NYPD Blue" and the “Star Wars” films). In the Heightsis showing at many Baltimore area theaters and is streaming on the HBO Maxsubscription service. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Screener Squad: In The Heights

One of Us

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 17, 2021 27:44

IN THE HEIGHTS MOVIE REVIEW Lights up! Now on HBOMax and in theaters, Jon M. Chu's adaptation of Lin-Manuel Miranda's Tony award winning musical “In The Heights” is now here. Starring “Hamilton” breakout star Anthony Ramos as Usnavi, a young bodega owner dreaming of leaving his hometown of Washington Heights as the neighborhood experiences a… Read More »Screener Squad: In The Heights

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Review 667: In the Heights

The Spoiler Warning

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 17, 2021 42:33

Episode Description: In this episode, Christopher Schnese and Stephen Miller bring you a review of In the Heights. Directed by Jon M. Chu. With Anthony Ramos, Corey Hawkins, and Leslie Grace. A film version of the Broadway musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life. Show Notes Hosts: • Christopher Schnese and Stephen Miller Featured Review: • In the Heights The Verdict: • Stephen: Recommend with Caveat • Christopher: Wait for Rental Music for this Episode: • In the Heights (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack) Contact the show: • email: fans@thespoilerwarning.com Listener Survey: • Please help us by taking our survey

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Review 667: In the Heights

The Spoiler Warning (MP3)

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 17, 2021 42:33

Episode Description: In this episode, Christopher Schnese and Stephen Miller bring you a review of In the Heights. Directed by Jon M. Chu. With Anthony Ramos, Corey Hawkins, and Leslie Grace. A film version of the Broadway musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life. Show Notes Hosts: • Christopher Schnese and Stephen Miller Featured Review: • In the Heights The Verdict: • Stephen: Recommend with Caveat • Christopher: Wait for Rental Music for this Episode: • In the Heights (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack) Contact the show: • email: fans@thespoilerwarning.com Listener Survey: • Please help us by taking our survey

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Episode 145: - In The Heights & Mad Max Black & Chrome Edition

Off Script Film Review

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 16, 2021

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213 — In the Heights (Theatrical) | Top 5 Movie Musicals

The Watch and Talk | Film & TV Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 16, 2021 80:16

Support the show! www.Patreon.com/TheWatchAndTalk This week Karen Peterson (@karenmpeterson) & Derek Miranda (@DerekMiranda85) sit down to talk IN THE HEIGHTS. As always, featured reviews are done in two parts, a NON-SPOILER review with letter grade and brief discussion, followed by a more in depth SPOILER review. PLOT SUMMARY: A film version of the Broadway musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life. @TheWatchAndTalk (Twitter/Instagram) Facebook.com/TheWatchAndTalk www.TheWatchAndTalk.com TheWatchAndTalk@gmail.com

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Movie Talk: The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It and In the Heights

Why Watch That Radio

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 16, 2021 37:14

On this episode of Why Watch That:FIRST LOOKSThe Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do ItWebsite: HBO MaxSynopsis: “The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It” reveals a chilling story of terror, murder, and unknown evil that shocked even experienced real-life paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren. One of the most sensational cases from their files, it starts with a fight for the soul of a young boy, then takes them beyond anything they'd ever seen before, to mark the first time in U.S. history that a murder suspect would claim demonic possession as a defense.Release Date: Available on HBO Max for 31 days and in theaters Friday, June 4, 2021Directed by: Michael ChavesScreenplay by: David Leslie Johnson-McGoldrickStory by: James Wan & David Leslie Johnson-McGoldrickBased on characters created by Chad Hayes & Carey W. HayesStarring: Patrick Wilson, Vera Farmiga, Ruairi O'Connor, Sarah Catherine Hook, Julian Hilliard, John Noble, Eugenie Bondurant, Shannon Kook, Ronnie Gene Blevins, and Keith Arthur BoldenDistributor: Warner Bros. PicturesGenre: Horror, Mystery, ThrillerRunning Time: 1 hour 52 minutesRated RIn the HeightsWebsite: Warner Bros.Tribeca Film Festival Synopsis: It's the hottest day of the summer in Washington Heights, NYC. Bodega owner Usnavi dreams of opening a bar in the Dominican Republic, while also pining for aspiring designer Vanessa. His best friend Benny hopes to reconnect with Nina, his ex home for the summer from Stanford. Above it all, Abuela Claudia keeps a watchful eye over the intersecting stories of the rapidly changing neighborhood's many residents.Jon Chu's hotly anticipated adaptation of Lin-Manuel Miranda's Tony Award®-winning musical is a visual and musical celebration of community, a treat for lovers of Broadway showstoppers and sticky New York summers. In the Heights is the story of a community on the brink of change, but looking fearlessly towards the future. As we too look toward the future—of moviemaking and moviegoing, of NYC itself—we are proud to open the Festival with this joyful cinematic tribute to the city we call home. —Cara CusumanoRelease Date: Available on HBO Max for 31 days and in theaters Thursday, June 10, 2021Directed by: Jon M. ChuScreenplay by: Quiara Alegría HudesStarring: Anthony Ramos, Melissa Barrera, Leslie Grace, Corey Hawkins, Olga Merediz, and Jimmy SmitsDistributed by: Warner Bros. PicturesGenre: Comedy, Drama, MusicalRunning Time: 2 hours 23 minutesRated PG-13 See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

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ESCENA 3 TOMA 3: In the Heights con Usnavi

Entre Tomas

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 15, 2021 69:05

En este episodio hablamos sobre una de las peliculas del verano. La producción musical “In the heights”. Contamos con nuestro propio Usnavi para comentar sobre esta película entre otras sorpresas. La verdad que fue un episodio para los libros. Es un poco largo pero tengan paciencia y fe que hay buen material. También mencionamos algunas de las series y películas que todos hemos estado viendo. Comparte con nosotros lo que tu has estado viendo en: https://www.instagram.com/entre.tomas/ Nos puedes encontrar en las redes en: https://www.instagram.com/seventh.art/ - Victor Piñeyro https://www.instagram.com/btimestories/ - Cristina Cruz https://www.instagram.com/axelmansilla/ - Axel Mansilla . Invitados: https://www.instagram.com/javiergrullon/ - Javier Grullon https://www.instagram.com/karlafatule/ - Karla Fatule . Cualquier pregunta o comentario nos puedes escribir a: Correo Electrónico: entre.tomas@hotmail.com

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IN THE HEIGHTS by Lin-Manuel Miranda, et al., read by America Ferrera - audiobook extract

Headline Books

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 15, 2021 4:50

The eagerly awaited follow-up to the number one New York Times best seller Hamilton: The Revolution, Lin-Manuel Miranda's new book gives listeners an extraordinary inside look at In the Heights, his breakout Broadway debut, written with Quiara Alegría Hudes, soon to be a Hollywood blockbuster. In 2008, In the Heights, a new musical from up-and-coming young artists, electrified Broadway. The show's vibrant mix of Latin music and hip-hop captured life in Washington Heights, the Latino neighbourhood in upper Manhattan. It won four Tony Awards and became an international hit, delighting audiences around the world. For the film version, director Jon M. Chu (Crazy Rich Asians) brought the story home, filming its spectacular dance numbers on location in Washington Heights. That's where Usnavi, Nina and their neighbours chase their dreams and ask a universal question: where do I belong? In the Heights: Finding Home reunites Miranda with Jeremy McCarter, co-author of Hamilton: The Revolution, and Quiara Alegría Hudes, the Pulitzer Prize-winning librettist of the Broadway musical and screenwriter of the film. They do more than trace the making of an unlikely Broadway smash and a major motion picture: They give listeners an intimate look at the decades-long creative life of In the Heights. Like Hamilton: The Revolution, the book offers untold stories, perceptive essays and the lyrics to Miranda's songs-complete with his funny, heartfelt annotations. It also features newly commissioned portraits and never-before-seen photos from backstage, the movie set and productions around the world. This is the story of characters who search for a home-and the artists who created one.

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In The Heights

My Best Friend’s House

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 15, 2021 19:19

“A film version of the Broadway musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life.” --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/mybestfriendhouse/message

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In The Heights (Drama, Music, Musical) (the @MoviesFirst review)

Movies First

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 14, 2021 4:34

Movies First with Alex FirstEpisode 916Answering the big question...should I see this movie? In The Heights (Drama, Music, Musical) A film version of the Broadway musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life.DirectorJon M. ChuWritersQuiara Alegría Hudes(screenplay by) - Lin-Manuel Miranda(based on the musical stage play, concept by)StarsAnthony Ramos - Corey Hawkins - Leslie Grace - IMDbTrailer: https://www.imdb.com/video/vi1743306777?playlistId=tt1321510&ref_=tt_ov_vi Movies First RSS feed: https://www.spreaker.com/show/2648009/episodes/feed Stream podcast episodes on demand from https://www.bitesz.com/show/movies-first-reviews/ (mobile friendly). For more from Alex visit our new website: https://moviesfirstpodcast.com Subscribe, rate and review Movies First at all good podcatcher apps, including Google Podcasts, Apple Podcasts, Spotify, iHeartRadio, Stitcher, Pocket Casts, CastBox.FM, Podbean, Spreaker, etc. For more, follow Movies First on Facebook, Twitter and YouTube : Facebook - @moviesfirst Twitter - @MoviesFirst YouTube Channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCatJQHaVabIvzCLqO16XvSQ If you're enjoying Movies First, please share and tell your friends. Your support would be appreciated...thank you. #movies #cinema #entertainment #podcast #reviews #moviesfirst See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

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In the Heights (2021)

What's Our Verdict Movies

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 14, 2021 54:46 Transcription Available

In the Heights follows Usnavi's story, a resident of Washington Heights, New York as he works to make his dream come true. Usnavi and a cast of characters struggle to obtain their dreams through opposition and obstacles while balancing love, family and community. Javier points out the lack of actually discussing challenges facing the Latino community. JJ dives deep into trying and failing to defend this movie. Ian doesn't have much to say...or does he? Email us: hosts@whatsourverdict.com Follow us: Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/whatsourverdict Twitter: @whatsourverdict Instagram: @whatsourverdict YouTube: https://youtube.com/channel/UC-K_E-ofs3b85BnoU4R6liA (https://youtube.com/channel/UC-K_E-ofs3b85BnoU4R6liA) Visit us: www.whatsourverdict.com

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Lin-Manuel Miranda, Gerda Stevenson, Implications of the Covid restrictions extension

Front Row

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 14, 2021 28:19

Lin-Manuel Miranda and Quiara Alegria Hudes discuss the new screen version of their smash hit musical, In the Heights, which celebrates the intertwined lives of Latino immigrants and their children in the Washington Heights neighbourhood of Manhattan, where both Miranda (who wrote the music) and Alegria Hudes (who wrote the script) grew up. The drama is focussed on Usnavi - the young owner of a cornershop or bodega, - where friends, relatives and community elders hang out, share their dreams and fears and fall in love. With a planned extension of Coronavirus restrictions announced this evening, many theatres and music venues are having to consider delaying opening or admitting full-capacity audiences. Many had been counting on opening on 21st June to stay afloat. Theatre producer Sonia Friedman and Mark Davyd, chief executive of the Music Venues Trust, discuss the repercussions of the extended restrictions. Samira talks to writer, actress and director Gerda Stevenson about her film of George Mackay Brown's play The Storm Watchers made for the St Magnus International Festival in Orkney in celebration of Mackay Brown's centenary. Described as a play for voices THE STORM WATCHERS was published in 1967 in his book of short stories A CALENDAR OF LOVE. The film was shot in the Orkneys under lock down featuring a cast of local almost entirely non professional actors who shot the interior scenes on their mobile phones. Presenter: Samira Ahmed Producer: Hilary Dunn Main image: Lin-Manuel Miranda

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In The Heights - Movie Review - Ray Taylor Show

Ray Taylor Show

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 14, 2021 16:29

In The Heights - Movie Review - Ray Taylor Show Subscribe: InspiredDisorder.com/rts Binge Ad Free: InspiredDisorder.com/Patreon Show topic: A film version of the Broadway musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life.Director: Jon M. ChuWriters: Quiara Alegría HudesSponsored By:Patreon.com/InspiredDisorder $3 membership.*Binge full week of Ray Taylor Show (audio+Video)*Massive discount code for The Many Faces*Download raw photoshop filesInspiredDisorder.com/Ting $25 CREDIT! The best carrier. The best coverage.Same low rates, now with three coast-to-coast networks.Follow me:Twitter.com/RayTaylor Instagram.com/RayTaylorShow

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In the Heights - review

Not quite my tempo

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 14, 2021 5:45

A film version of the Broadway musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life.

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In the Heights ( In Theaters & HBO Max ) Review

Cine Skrew'd Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 13, 2021 37:59

Today we look at In the Heights A film version of the Broadway musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life. But…. Was it Skrew'd? Well here are our scores. But tune in and listen to our critique of the film and weigh in on social media with your thoughts. Patrick - Directing & Writing ( 8.5 ) Acting ( 7 ) Tone and Feel ( 10 ) Chris - Directing ( 8 ) Acting ( 6 ) Tone and Feel ( 10 )Overall - Directing & Writing ( 8.25 ) Acting ( 7.5 ) Tone and Feel ( 10 ) Final Grade - Not Skrew'D ( 8.5 ) Join us on Social MediaFacebook - @CineSkrewDWorldTwitter - @TruCineSkrewd

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In The Heights & Robin Hood

Everyone is a Critic Movie Review Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 13, 2021 79:50

New Movies: In The Heights - A film version of the Broadway musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York bodega owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life. Holler - To pay for her education, and the chance of a better life, a young woman joins a dangerous scrap metal crew. George Romero's The Amusement Park - An elderly gentleman goes for what he assumes will be an ordinary day at the amusement park, only to find himself in the middle of a hellish nightmare instead. Take Me Somewhere Nice - On the edge of adulthood, Alma leaves her mother's home in the Netherlands and travels to her native Bosnia to visit the father she's never met. But from the start, nothing goes as planned. Undisputed ClassicThe Adventures of Robin Hood - When Prince John and the Norman Lords begin oppressing the Saxon masses in King Richard's absence, a Saxon lord fights back as the outlaw leader of a rebel guerrilla army. 1991 Robin Hood Prince of Thieves - When Robin and his Moorish companion come to England and the tyranny of the Sheriff of Nottingham, he decides to fight back as an outlaw. Next Week - The Serpent, Akilla's Escape, Fatherhood starring Kevin Hart on Netflix. Hitman's Bodyguard's Wife, A Crime on the Bayou documentaryClassic -1991 - Dying Young, The Rocketeer, Where Angels Fear to Tread

Friday Family Film Night: IN THE HEIGHTS review

FRIDAY FAMILY FILM NIGHT

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 12, 2021 17:05

In which the Mister and Monsters join me in reviewing IN THE HEIGHTS (2021), currently streaming on HBO Max. Directed by Jon M. Chu, based on the play from Lin-Manuel Miranda, with screenwriting credits to Quiara Alegría Hudes, the story follows Usnavi (Anthony Ramos), a young man from the Dominican Republic who came to America in his parents pursuit of a better life in America. We're introduced to the neighborhood and a few of its tight-knit residents who play a major role in Usnavi's life including Vanessa (Melissa Barrera) who Usnavi secretly loves. The film is rated PG-13 and clocks in at 2 h 23 m. Please note there are SPOILERS in this review. Opening intro music: GOAT by Wayne Jones, courtesy of YouTube Audio Library --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/jokagoge/support

"In The Heights" Review

Film Optix

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 11, 2021 42:06

Christian and Devin give their thoughts on "In The Heights" Thanks for listening to the Film Optix Podcast! If you enjoyed the show, we'd greatly appreciate it if you could leave us a review. Also, make sure to follow us on Twitter & Instagram @filmoptix. This is the way.IN THE HEIGHTS REVIEWThe Story: A film version of the Broadway musical in which Usnavi, a sympathetic New York winery owner, saves every penny every day as he imagines and sings about a better life. Director: Jon M. ChuWriters: Quiara Alegría Hudes, Lin-Manuel MirandaCast: Anthony Ramos, Corey Hawkins, Leslie GracePlatform: In Theater and /HBO MaxRelease Date: June 11thRun Time: 2h 23mSOCIAL MEDIAPodcast Platforms: https://linktr.ee/filmoptixTwitter: https://twitter.com/FilmOptixInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/filmoptix/Music City Drive-in Website: https://musiccitydrivein.com/

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‘In the Heights' adaptation is a vibrant tapestry of interwoven dreams, infectious energy, and cinematic appeal; Guested by Hale Center Theatre's Bobby Gibson

Fan Effect

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 11, 2021 83:33

Lin-Manuel Miranda's award-winning original Broadway hit is now set to be this summer's runaway blockbuster hit. “In the Heights” is now in theaters and on HBO Max for audiences' enjoyment. The stunning adaptation boasts a diverse cast of characters living in the northern Manhattan neighborhood of Washington Heights. Stories of family drama, legal troubles, and the struggle for cultural identity in a changing world are woven amid stories of love, community, kindness, and triumph. In this episode of Fan Effect, hosts KellieAnn Halvorsen and Andy Farnsworth are joined by the ultimate “In the Heights” fan, who has traveled around the country to see varying stage production 15+ times, including touring and broadway casts, and seeing Lin-Manuel Miranda as the lead role. Bobby Gibson is a projection designer & content creator for the award-winning Hale Center Theatre and has a surplus of insight into the new film version. Together guest and hosts discuss whether the film will entice audiences familiar with the stage musical as well as general moviegoers as they deep dive into the colorful neighborhood of, “In the Heights.” Beyond Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Gaming and Tech, the brains behind Fan Effect are connoisseurs of categories surpassing the nerdy. Brilliant opinions and commentary on all things geek, but surprising knowledge and witty arguments over pop culture, Star Trek, MARVEL vs DC, and a wide range of movies, TV shows, and more. Formerly known as SLC Fanboys, the show is hosted byAndy Farnsworth andKellieAnn Halvorsen, who are joined by guest-experts. Based in the beautiful beehive state, Fan Effect celebrates Utah's unique fan-culture as it has been declared The Nerdiest State in America by TIME. Listen regularly on your favorite platform, at kslnewsradio.com, or on the KSL App.Join the conversation on Facebook @FanEffectShow, Instagram @FanEffectShow, and Twitter @FanEffectShow. Fan Effect is sponsored byMegaplex Theatres, Utah's premiere movie entertainment company. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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In The Heights And What's Making Us Happy

Pop Culture Happy Hour

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 11, 2021 22:42

Before Hamilton made him a household name, Lin-Manuel Miranda wrote the music and lyrics for the musical In The Heights. The Broadway production won four Tony Awards, including Best Musical. The film adaptation, directed by Jon M. Chu, stars Anthony Ramos as Usnavi. He hopes to return to the Dominican Republic, where he can live out the dream of his late parents. In fact, just about everyone in this story has big dreams and mountains to climb.

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Mase on In the Heights

Mase on Movies

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 10, 2021 20:17

In the Heights follows bodega owner Usnavi as he tries to save up to pursue his dream of a better life away from the grind, directed by Jon M. Chu and featuring music by Lin Manuel Miranda. Follow Mase on Instagram/Twitter: @maseonmovies If you like what you hear, please remember to subscribe, rate and leave a comment! Take a Chance by Kevin MacLeod Link: https://incompetech.filmmusic.io/song/4457-take-a-chance License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/maseonmovies/message

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In The Heights

Visually Stunning Movie Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 9, 2021 19:56

In The Heights 143 Minutes / Rated PG-13 Written by Quiara Alegría Hudes, Lin-Manuel Miranda Directed by Jon M. Chu Synopsis: The scent of a cafecito caliente hangs in the air just outside of the 181st Street subway stop. The likeable, magnetic bodega owner Usnavi saves every penny from his daily grind as he … Continue reading In The Heights

Javier Muñoz and Standing in Awe of Humanity

Sunday Pancakes with Celia Keenan-Bolger

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 6, 2021 41:45

JAVIER MUÑOZ is an actor and activist whose impressive body of work spans theater, film and television. Javier is best known for co-creating the role of, and starring as, "Alexander Hamilton” in the cultural-phenomenon musical Hamilton on Broadway for two years, after Lin-Manuel Miranda departed the show (and was his alternate prior to that). He got his break starring as “Usnavi” in In the Heights on Broadway, also created by Miranda. Javier will soon star in the dark comedy indie feature, Monuments. On the TV side, he's appeared on Shadowhunters, Blindspot, Quantico, Full Frontal with Samantha Bee and will soon be heard voicing the character of “Ohm” on Disney's upcoming animated series Eureka. Recent theater credits include The New Englanders at MTC and the starring role in the North American premiere of Stephen Lloyd Helper's A Sign of the Times. Javier is also an outspoken activist for LGBTQ+ rights and a Global Ambassador for (RED), which fights to end HIV/AIDS. Muñoz was honored with the prestigious OUT100 "Breakout of the Year" award in 2016, as well as the Howard Ashman Award by the Gay Men's Health Crisis (GMHC). Javier now serves on the Board of GMHC as well.Weekly Round-Up:Read The Great Believers by Rebecca MakkaiWatch the short documentary, Short Fuse about Danny Sotomayor, a Chicago activistListen to Slate's What's Next podcast episode “Larry Kramer Wouldn't Be Quiet” Read about Javier Muñoz DaySupport and learn more about the organizations Javi mentions: GMHC, Broadway Green Alliance, and BCEFA.

Top 8 Must See Action Movies for June 2021

Heroes and Droids

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 6, 2021 29:57

Top 8 Must See Action Movies for June 2021 Welcome to HEROES & DROIDS, your guide to movies and TV shows about Superheroes, Sci-Fi, Disney, and Action. From Marvel to DC, from Star Wars to Star Trek, From James Bond to the Fast and the Furious, we will review the theatrical films and stream delights you care about most! I am your host Doc Rotten and joining me tonight are Christopher Slattery Podcasting Rock Star and International Cosplay Queen, Vanessa Thompson and Award-winning Filmmaker, Christopher G. Moore 06/04 - Sweet Tooth (Netflix, Series) Synopsis: A boy who is half human and half deer survives in a post-apocalyptic world with other hybrids. Eight (8) episodes. Creators: Jim Mickle, Beth Schwartz Based on the DC comics series created, written and drawn by Jeff Lemire Director: Jim Mickle Writer: Christina Hamm, Jeff Lemire, Jim Mickle Cast: Christian Convery, Nonso Anozie, Dania Ramirez, James Brolin, Will Forte Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9zG9RuJb3QU 06/09 - Loki (Disney+, Series) Synopsis: A new Marvel chapter with Loki at its center. Six (6) Episodes Director: Kate Herron Writer: Michael Waldron Cast: Tom Hiddleston, Gugu Mbatha-Raw, Owen Wilson, Sasha Lane, Richard E. Grant, Wunmi Mosaku Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nW948Va-l10 06/10 - Infinite (Paramount+) Synopsis: A man discovers that his hallucinations are actually visions from past lives. Director: Antoine Fuqua Writers: Ian Shorr, Todd Stein Based on the book "The Reincarnation Papers" by D. Eric Maikranz Cast: Mark Wahlberg, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Sophie Cookson, Dylan O'Brien, Jason Mantzoukas, Rupert Friend, Toby Jones, Wallis Day Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zI2qbr99H64 06/11 - In The Heights (Theatrical/HBOMax) Synopsis: The scent of a cafecito caliente hangs in the air just outside of the 181st Street subway stop. The likeable, magnetic bodega owner Usnavi saves every penny from his daily grind as he hopes, imagines and sings about a better life. Director: Jon M. Chu Writer: Quiara Alegria Hudes, Lin-Manuel Miranda Cast: Anthony Ramos, Corey Hawkins, Leslie Grace, Stephanie Beatriz, Melissa Barrerra, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Jimmy Smits, Chris Jackson, Marc Anthony Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0CL-ZSuCrQ 06/18 - Hitman's Wife's Bodyguard (Theatrical) Synopsis: The bodyguard Michael Bryce continues his friendship with assassin Darius Kincaid as they try to save Darius's wife Sonia. Director: Patrick Hughes Writer: Tom O'Conner, Brandon Murphy, Phillip Murphy Cast: Ryan Reynolds, Samuel L. Jackson, Salma Hayek, Antonio Banderas, Frank Grillo, Morgan Freeman, Tom Hopper, Richard E. Grant Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9C0l31YcahQ 06/18 - Luca (Disney+, Pixar) Synopsis: On the Italian Riviera, an unlikely but strong friendship grows between a human being and a sea monster disguised as a human. Director: Enrico Casarosa Writer: Jessa Andrews, Mike Jones Cast: Jacob Tremblay, Jack Dylan Grazer, Maya Rudolph, Jim Gaffigan Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYfJxlgR2jw 06/25 - The Ice Road (Netflix) Synopsis: After a remote diamond mine collapses in the far northern regions of Canada, an ice driver leads an impossible rescue mission over a frozen ocean to save the lives of trapped miners despite thawing waters and a threat they never see coming. Director: Jonathan Hensleigh Writer: Jonathan Hensleigh Cast: Liam Neeson, Holt McCallany, Amber Midthunder, Matt McCoy, Laurence Fishburne Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-zjikObAJHk 06/25 - F9 (The Fast Saga / The Fast & The Furious 9) (Theatrical) Synopsis: Cipher enlists the help of Jakob, Dom's younger brother to take revenge on Dom and his team. Director: Justin Lin Writer: Daniel Casey, Justin Lin, Alfredo Botello Cast: Vin Diesel, Michelle Rodriguez, Jordana Brewster, Tyrese Gibson, Ludacris, Nathalie Emmanuel, Charlize Theron, John Cena, Finn Cole, Sung Kang, Anna Sawai, Helen Mirren, Kurt Russell Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fEE4RO-_jug

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The Making of the Movie

In The Heights: El Suenito

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 4, 2021 30:22

Lin-Manuel Miranda, Quiara Alegría Hudes and Alex Lacamoire take us through the journey of how “In the Heights” went from the stage to the screen. We learn about the challenges faced and the introduction of contemporary storylines that are relevant to the Latino community of today. Host Eva Longoria also shares her special connection to the movie. Miranda explains why director Jon M. Chu (“Crazy Rich Asians”) was the right choice for the film and the star power that Anthony Ramos brings to the film in the role of Usnavi de la Vega. Learn more about your ad-choices at https://www.iheartpodcastnetwork.com See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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In The Heights - Movie Review

Cinemania World Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later May 22, 2021 33:53

What's Up Cinemaniacs! Join Larry and Josie from the Cinemania World Team with special guest Rosa from Latinx Lens as they review the highly anticipated musical In the Heights. If you don't know for already, In the Heights from Lin-Manuel Miranda and Jon M Chu follows the story of Usnavi as he grinds and sings toward a better life in Washington Heights. Find out we thought of the long awaited film! Follow us: Facebook Twitter Instagram Apple Podcasts Spotify Google Play Stitcher Messy Castbox Blubrry Follow Larry (LC Screen Talk): Twitter Youtube Follow Josie (Film Posers): Twitter Film Posers Follow Rosa: Twitter Cinemania World Merch: Teepublic Mikayla Miller Fundraiser: Donate Here

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Rapper, Singer, Songwriter, Pop Rock/Hip-Hop Artist - Cxrter

The Junk and Jam Hour

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 24, 2021 58:41

Lyricist, Rapper, Singer, Songwriter, Wordsmith, Pop Rock and Hip-Hop Artist - Cxrter - calls in to the Junk and Jam Hour to talk all about his incredible journey in music, and how he now uses his music to not only share his true account of how he is overcoming his alcohol abuse disorder, but to inspire and help others through their struggles. On Topic: Cxrter shares his earliest ventures in music, where he honed his vocal and performance skills in a myriad of masterclasses, intensives, and workshops – including Broadway Artists Alliance; landing the leading role of Usnavi in an independent production of Lin Manuel Miranda's In the Heights - where he was able to combine his beautiful voice with his most impassioned skillset as an emcee and rapper; his life-changing encounters with the Rapper, Composer and Playwright himself - Lin Manuel - and the words of advice and encouragement he generously shared with him. Most excitingly, we jam out to and discuss his latest single 'Confessions', featuring Camila, with exceptionally revealing lyrics and rhymes that allows listeners access to his past battles with alcohol, while the single 'Dead Love' - also from his forthcoming EP 'Polaroid' - touches on the ramifications alcohol abuse can have on a relationship. Also on topic we delve into the meaning of what it is to be an authentic artist in the genre of hip-hop – and how he contends with those who may be to quick to dismiss him as just another culture vulture, instead of the dedicated artist he is, who actually respects the craft and history of rap. While his main goal with this release is to make others feel less alone in this world - we also chat a little about his important past work with children, helping to inspire an entire generation of young artists as part of the Performers Playground Camp.

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#64: Javier Muñoz // Hamilton // Part Two

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Play Episode Listen Later Apr 17, 2017 42:28

The kiki continues, y'all! Javier Muñoz is still hanging out and we're joined by listener favorite Ashley Graffeo! This week we're getting into Javi's activism, how he deals with haters and trolls on Twitter, and we rewiiiind to the beauty of Javi's Cafecito! From the days of the Original Broadway Cast of Hamilton! And yes, we still reference *NSYNC and Destiny's Child and take even more questions from our Patreon Supporters! It's fun. PS: For reference, here is the question Ashley's student asked Javi: “I just want to say that I really enjoyed your performance of Hamilton, which I was lucky enough to see, and my question is: so many roles on Broadway are dedicated to people who don't look like us, so… did you always want to be on Broadway and did you ever imagine yourself playing a role like this?"

#63: Javier Muñoz // Hamilton // Part One