Podcasts about Why Not Me

Get ready for a literary hungama unlike any other! PerryFlix is thrilled to announce the super launch of its groundbreaking "PerryFlix Short Stories" book series, pioneering didactic tales crafted in Hinglish! These stories are designed for both international learners struggling with initial Hindi, and native speakers seeking what sounds most practical in everyday conversation [Conversation History]. This venture, featuring acclaimed author Jimmy Mello's journey into India's linguistic landscape, marks the "birth of a language" [Conversation History], a natural yet forged evolution over years.So, what exactly is Hinglish? It's a dynamic and vibrant linguistic blend [Conversation History, 74]. In Britain, Hinglish refers to the use of specific South Asian words—especially Hindi, Urdu, or Punjabi—within a predominantly English sentence. Conversely, in India, it's often the reverse: English words woven into predominantly Hindi, Urdu, or Punjabi sentences. This unique fusion is already spoken by millions and encapsulates the heart and akal (common sense) of South Asian culture.Our new "PerryFlix Short Stories" series leverages this blend to offer an immersive and accessible experience. You'll find narratives that flow seamlessly between English and South Asian terms, giving you a genuine feel for contemporary communication. For example, in Anubhav Agarwal's Why Not Me? A feeling of millions (Hinglish Version), you see phrases like:"Zindagi! Ek sahi alfaaz hai apne bachpan ke dino ko bayaan karne ke liye" (Life! A correct word to describe the days of childhood)."Maine aadhi se zyada school life 'Boy's school' mein bita di thi, sirf 2 saal bache the" (I spent more than half my school life in a 'Boy's school,' only 2 years were left)."Mujhe pata tha milna na milna kismat hai, par ye ehsaas hona, ki wo aur main dono ek hi sheher mein hain, bilkul waisa ehsaas tha jaise wo aur main dono ek hi ghar mein hain" (I knew meeting or not meeting was fate, but feeling that she and I were in the same city was exactly like feeling that she and I were in the same house).This blending adds unique flavour and emotional depth to the narrative [Conversation History], allowing for a richer understanding of cultural nuances.Here are just a few examples of the rich vocabulary you'll encounter in "PerryFlix Short Stories," explained with their context, much like in "The Queen's Hinglish":Expressions of Emotion & Affection:Aish (pleasurable activity): "I just did aish at school."Izzat (honor, respect): "How can I insult her izzat when she had none in the first place?"Jaan (life/dear one): Often suffixed to Ammi or Abba (mother/father) to convey greater affection, e.g., "Abba-jaan, would you give me a lift?".Cultural & Social Concepts:Aadat (custom; habit): "I hope he doesn't make it his aadat."Badmash (hooligan/rascal): "That friend of yours is a good-for-nothing badmash."Bevakoof (fool): "Honestly, that boy is such a bevakoof."Chalaak (sly/crafty).Dosti (friendship): "Punjabi dosti could hold the key to better relations."Pukka (properly/perfectly done, genuine, or excellent): "That's a pukka road they've laid down."Everyday Life:Chai (tea): "All this chai is boiled with condensed milk."Chowk (marketplace).Colony (apartment complex).Mithai (South Asian sweet).Interjections & Responses:Arre! (calling attention).Bas! (enough).Haina? (isn't it?): Used to ascertain agreement.Haan (yes) / Nahi (no).Jaldi-jaldi! (go faster!).Namaste (salutation used for greeting and goodbye).Shabash! (well done!).Shukriya (thank you).Vaah vaah! (admiration).Yaar (friend).Join us on this exciting journey into the heart of language! PerryFlix Short Stories in Hinglish are your ticket to unlocking a deeper connection with South Asian culture and its unique way of expression. It's like discovering a secret language that millions already speak – ready to bring a new dhamaal (excitement) to your literary world!

Ready for some tough love, sis? If you've been walking around asking "Why me? Why do I have to struggle with this eating disorder? Why do I even bother trying to recover?" - this episode is your wake-up call. Lindsey delivers the reality check you need to stop playing victim in your own recovery story and start asking the question that changes everything: WHY NOT YOU? With 60-70% of women recovering from eating disorders, it's time to stop making yourself the exception and start making yourself the example. Key Takeaways You are the author of your own story - stop writing yourself as the victim 60-70% of women with eating disorders make a full recovery Your past thinking is driving your current reality - change your thoughts, change your story You're not too broken, too far gone, or too different to recover Recovery Warriors ask "Why NOT me?" instead of "Why me?" Main Topics Covered

TWS News 1: Minimum Age to Have a Phone – 00:26 Your “Why Not Me” Moment – 3:31 “Cuz I Had a Girl” – 9:55 TWS News 2: Pool Recall – 14:15 Either Neither Both – 17:36 Chopped – 24:49 TWS News 3: Southwest’s New Boarding Plan – 28:43 Cheap Hobbies – 31:52 Forrest Frank & Phil Wickham Mashup – 37:21 Rock Report: Best Animated Relationships – 41:21 Your Damascus Moment – 44:06 Good News Giddy Up – 51:11 You can join our Wally Show Poddies Facebook group at www.facebook.com/groups/WallyShowPoddies

“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll give you something to cry about” So I did. If there's anything worse than being black in a city that hates blacks— It's being broke in a city that hates broke people. So I haven't spent any money in awhile. Not even on little things, or things I need. I just stay inside, and work, and think And try and really try To figure out how to make money Without having any, or spending any. Cause you can have it, and spend it, but it's always a gamble. Maybe all I needed was a good cry. But now it's not for the right reasons I'm not crying cause something is so beautiful and look at what God did I'm crying because of what I'm sure is just the devil I'm crying for the wrong things Not because of something that's so very beautiful But because of something that's so very ugly With just a wave of the hand And the flick of each finger as it rolls into a crisp closed palm, A flick of birds fell to the ground, bursting with caws Below his stance, and in a flutter of feathers and wings, The evil master, unmoved and untouched, Untouchable in his weight and glory, simply only even mildly and barely smirks at all. He has defeated all and still somehow, not won. Some say it's sure to come, the thing that wants and gathers ties; Some say surely it is yet but withered and then sure again will come It has, five times, and barely waded, Waking in the midsts of my pure eye, The morning light and fog, aye? Ye, they remembers none but our Art, And I'm bound as sure by wing and force Is you to dozens of masses, And ships having sailed but one, Which I have flourished and kept And stocked with these, the masses And yea having spade, and having friends And having honor, there was none past kept and mine, sured; And wicked may as wicked be but evil none truer thou nones't had yet pured, and muted and gathered, I have, And woken and laid and barren and truths do'st tied, And there have been shooken and wait, And m faire'd and barred here, and hereforth My duty it is to forward, forward, my shallows For my shadow, For my golden hour has shined and now you, These caged shall fly, And these thoughts shall sing, And these hour conspired to miss my time daily, And these things, beytraying that— There have no times at all, These walls in holy temples kept, swaying and cadences, and wearing, and weary, And foreign and ayered, aye— and armored. And he, you, does not wish to know but also has known— and does not wish to see, but he, too has blinded, and does not wish to betray, and yet has been crowned, made with guilt and also Shattered, as it was, And shatters, as it came, the wave o'er all us and tide sinking under, and caves and rebels and heart laid bare to surf not suffer, Nor cap nor keeping, nor tied nor honor, No, honor her; No honor came and I have tied also, this tie to mine, and another, and another and another Now forward. Forward! Forward! Damn, Conan's monologues he going deep. Yeah, I guess. He's fine, right? Look, you don't need this. Just promise me. I am sorry. Mr Jimmy has it good, too good Little sister doesn't have a heart. But didn't know it Mister music made it in the industry, too hat Mister rager had a sip at dinner It was all dramatic Stars went falling Crashing down and All it is Ms. Martha Is mismanagement of energy All it is, Ms. Margret is a magnet And it hasn't happened badly since I had a handle on it But I still get sick of madness And I still get sick with city sickness Still, forget the dancer I was sitting on the show, In the audience With my mother, Oh the models, Dozens of them Blondes and ballet buns, the brunettes I was just a lost cause And I wanted it all, the tux and the bow tie I wanted you gone so I looked at it harder Until It became nothing but Clouds in the sky You were stardust I'm a comet Here comes crashing, Had to find the progress report Then I lost it Soggy in the sideways rain It was days and days Do you promise? That's a concept? Do you promise God will be alright, Cause I came running Sent them under cover Sent the men a message Send the man a hammer Sitting in a hammock No one homes the hostile If you don't have anything nice to say Then don't say anything at all And certainly don't come and go As often as you want to It's a game of control; you know The whites, when they still want to own you Somehow I'm all sub so honest, I just—wanted that But only for a man and never bow to another woman Even if on my honor I found us as equals And no one walks the earth as calmly As someone whose never had their lights out Or had their light put out Or their lights turned off Who are God now? Who's our God, man? Who's our God, Math. That's heavy weight, And if you want a biblical fate This is Fallon, And if you watch what you ate You cut calories And if you want the girl back Give it Californian And I'm not towrth much more Than the project housing, Or a handful of candy corn, Conan— But I phone in Oscars, Still no nuts for the rabbit, And if you wanted the bunker back— You can have it. I'm all hands down in a game of poker Heaven doesn't want it Gotta get drunk not once, but at all the goalposts, Gotta count one, not two, the show hosts Too few car parts Wicked, mazes, starfold, gazes Wishes, Martyred. (But pronounced mar-tired} V.O I think about jay Leno a lot. Lately, anyway. I don't know why. I like all the hosts. Somebody. Tell me why Dillon Francis looks like JD Vance. I think he's a clone. Tel me why I know who JD Vance is. They're clones. Tell me why. Back to the future here and now So. Where do you want to go? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here is kind of far, are you sure you're up for it? Good one, doc Though head of the alumni chapter of the cult-within a cult—to which each African American cast member of Saturday night live is automatically inducted into— EDDIE MURPHY refuses to participate in the group's latest and most complicated ritual. Delivery. Uh, I didn't order any— Breadsticks. What. Breadsticks. I didn't order any— Just— The delivery man hands over the breadsticks. —take them. Oh…Kay. See ya. The delivery man reaches in and shuts the door himself. Uh… Lol is this the one where the mysterious breadsticks are delivered without ever being ordered, and then they end up being the best breadsticks in the world, but they don't know where they came from? Yes. I think so. Lol I bought a planner because so much I loved Joan Rivers, and I planned to fill it with all the places I should go— because keeping anything digital online was not only not working as far as remembering places I wanted or needed to be be, but it was dangerous, also. I was already being tracked, and I couldn't afford a new phone just yet. Eventually, but for now I was stuck to the same signal— which meant the same traces and the same trackers they had been limiting my under-the-radar mystique. As it were, somebody always knew where I was, and it was in the most unpleasant way so far—the only thing I really wandered was what made me so important anyway to begin with. I wasn't actually political in anyway, and still someone seemed to be trying to derail my life… or at least control it, neither of which was beneficial for me in the way that made sense. I wasn't having any fun, nor did I consider living indoors as payment— especially since indoors, there were also paid plants and stalkers, and now that I had begun to more meticulously document the things that were happening, it was easy to separate from delusions. I was actually being followed— but why? Either way, having a detailed. Calendar of places I could go, the ways to get there and even alternate functions within the same grid allowed more control than just staying in my apartment a sitting duck; that's how they were hurting me. They knew where I was— all the time, and it no longer made sense to fight it and try to make music under this kind of insane irritation; the music I was making wasn't the kind I wanted anyway, and whatever war they were fighting with m stark white girls motorcycles was simply not my war. I didn't have a war, and so there wasn't a fight, and so at the very least if I were going to be fucked with, it would have to be in public; that way I had more control to steer whatever was happening in my favor and collect the energy as mine instead of lost. I wasn't an insane person— but what had been happening at my apartment was insane, and so I left it with the understanding that these people worked and operated on a level of violence and ignorance I would never be able to comprehend; they were simply tools for the devil, which in any case, was always the lesser than God. However— because I was starting to figure out who I was, and that I had some sort of power, I knew that I was going to be attacked— because it seemed my power had at the very least not been figured out as to some kind of way to make somebody else money. I had been studying Michael Jackson and this was a key indication that the way his talent priovided a power which would be used as a service, he was very successful. His talent and training alone wouldn't have reapresented with such great reverence the ability to capture a global audience as such— but it was this power, almost as if it had been bottled up and altered, rebranded and sold and labeled with something everyone could not only love and understand, but by the hand of the media and its conglomerates, be hypnotized to worship, and this power simply put would not have been exactly what it was were it not for the eye of the media remaining in complete control of its distribution to the eyes and ears of the public. This thing which might have been the first of its kind but certainly not the last was in a sense model for modern superstardom— the live concert business had not sense much changed but built upon this super powered control of the masses by assimilation, spectacle, and of course the magic and illusion. But, and it it just so happened to perfectly brush up against my studies in esoteric knowledge that I happened to rub up against this— although nothing was of course by mere circumstance anymore, because whether or not I remained incognito was a wash, and I was being looked at by someone no matter what on the internet I did, or where I decided to go and in that sense was being fed these things, and yet with some Grace of God was allowed with it to be aligned with my own higher purpose in a way, I could observe that Michael Jackson was not in fact of course certainly just a dancer or singer or remarkable performer— he was truly a magician, and I was able to clearly recognize this language with with the energy that had used his vehicle for such a projection was speaking— not only this, I was able to clearly count out the markings and sigils and signs and symbols Michael was making in his movement; ancient arts, and magical symbols, traced so rapidly that it almost created a heat signature in a sense of the symbols that were being dictated, unknowing to the untrained eye. For the most part, I could only really assume that this is why these people were losing their minds— in his movements, Michael Jackson was literally carving ancient callings, glyphs and sigils I had so recently read about in magical studies that it was impossible not to laugh. This was in every sense of the word, ‘magic' but not in the normal way one assumes to be something unexplainable. Michael Jackson was casting spells to thousands of people at a time, in front of cameras and at high volume vibration, often times even implementing the use of light, color, and fire. These were not simple gatherings in mass for entertainment purposes— these were rituals, and in the modern day, still were or are— but I had noticed in a quick glimpse, from Michael Jackson 30 some odd years ago to Lady Gaga just having passed something like a week ago to an audience of the same size— that something was kind of wrong, now. The people had changed, and the specable had been done over and over, and the brainwashing of the masses had in a sense been almost complete— and so It wasn't some sense of confusion or unknowing the things that were happening to me in my own life and my own world— I too, was capable of these things, at that capacity, and had simply not been trained in the same sense of the ideal superstar, however— the things that were happening in my own life and in my own world were not difficult to grasp or understand— when one comes upon a power as such, it finds means to seek to control it and harness it for his own use and purposes. Perhaps it was the simple fact that in this way, in the way I get the dream had gone and the spectacle had been played out of the masses and the illusion was no longer as such— that the actual knowledge of distinct ancient wisdom that had been Michael Jackson's natural ability was distinguishable from that of Lady Gaga's training in the same formula, and that one did not equal the other, but in terms of business could equal to that as such as the masses had been manipulated to seek solace in these same things— and it was not illusion or grandiosity that I, even in my agingness, was still capable of these things; I had no doubt in my mind that I could sing and dance for two hours to audiences of hundreds of thousands— but this was not the question for the business or the media— the question was, would hundreds of thousands pay to see me, or rather— who was willing to front the means to hypnotize hundreds of people to become aware of me so that they would do such a thing. My talent and capabilities were undeniable— but my markatability might have been in question, because it was no longer simply a matter or chance or luck: the people chosen to figure such spectacle were chosen, hand selected and well trained to become media conglomerate superstars, even regardless of talent; perhaps this itself was the key indication that the world of the superstar itself had come to an end—it was no longer so much of a spectacle was worth it. Or, perhaps, because money had come between these ancient arts and symbols and languages being spoken by the superstars of old, that the magic in the literal sense had gone all the way away. The symbolism in the art had died, and so the singing and the dancing remained, but the God had gone out of it. Maybe that was the difference. The superstars of today were just the shell of the model that had been built on God, but the Godsense of it was no longer there— and so the magic no longer remained in effect, as the powers of magic that be are in all ancient arts and texts and forms attributive to The Source. Either way, I wasn't going to continue to be a sitting duck in my apartment in Brooklyn— there were too many indications that it had all been a setup from the shelter to the day I moved in, with the motorcycles and cars and CBS studios one block away. So the real and only question was, what exactly had been played at and who exactly was pulling the strings? I might at this point become a loose cannon: my son was estranged and as far as the people were concerned, I mostly hated New York— because the refined, clean cut and classy people I liked and wanted to be around saw me as the dirt and the grime I was fighting my way through just to simply exist— in my mind, this was a world that could be no more. I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress Keep writing I never thought I ‘d see the day Where i's taking lessons on Fallon From Michael Jackson That's ran That's a fan This is fame I'm insane I'm insane That's a fan Light the flame That's a fan. That's a fan. I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I went up the rack, set the page on fire Nordstrom rack And I might take it back for the cash I like Sara in a dress Stay repressed Keep it dark If you kiss don't tell I will probably go to hell for just writing Try it In black ink, I got all spades, Ehy, Spare me the ridicule, the imbecile and I met Johnny in a cage I like Fallon in a dress, Obsessive, I'm dressed out Every day I leave where I do not live Where stalker crawl and haunt me Just to show the motorcycles Have desheveled my intelligence into Nothing And so with negligence, I leave the core of a rotting apple The foreign words of a doctor And You must call the king, says something far off But I wonder which one I wonder which one I so respect her honor That I no longer Follow my heart or my soul And I don't shallow But shatter to swallow So I let the sparrow Out of the cage I bought Sara A pair of pants And I haunt l Patrick Kirkpatrick in patches And haven't you read yet You're ready for forget the pageant? It hasn't happened yet! I love Sara in a dress I hate Fallon and his wife Keep the kids out if it Skull and crossbones Cross my heart and Really hope to the loveless Or else Someone might call my phone back It's on silent in my coffin Or wait— It's on vibrate. I'm obsessed with the way You're dressed And the name on your checks I guess I'm better for it I'll skip lunch if you think that's what's best And dinner, too If you deserve the best Then better have learned my lesson No sweat And to do, With you, Was then, Dinner through next supper All the love I had was Rubbed into something other than The glass I patted dry With microfiber With ever fiber of my being I want to be with you I should have just— Died, And then Did, and so next Life, Remind me not to Fall for it If i really wanted to know you,I would know you by now– If i wanted to have you? I would have had you already Nobody is a dancer after Michael Jackson. I just watched some shit that was like “What the fuck did I just see” The whole thing was just not right. It was-/ I was like First of all, it's Munich, 1997. I never really realized how terribly the world has changed; No cellphones, but the audience is lit, And the crazy thing is, you can tell that this is near the turn of the century because, when the camera is panning by the audience in the people, they're not looking directly into the camera or waving at the camera— not really. And clearly this is an all ages show, so there's children, so the interesting thing I'm finding out is that nobody's trained to look at the camera and wave and smile— except the babies on shoulders and shit. These kids— they're my age now, are the only ones that see the camera, and they look directly into the shit. Mi still can't do that, really— I'm theatrically trained. Haha If I see a camera, I try to act ‘natural' It's the weirdest thing to look at a camera and just start to work it. People at festivals now, the camera rolls by, Or the drone flies in, And they look deadass in the camera and start to work it. Not at this show. Munich 1997, I'm like “Damn, a lot of things is wrong with this” First of all, I love Michael Jackson, I look directly at this man, and I'm in my dirty peak so I have an instant— like a sex detector thing going on And I know people gave Michael a hard time when he was a live for being fruity and whatever But I'm looking at this dude, and I don't see fruit at all. I see 100% man. I see why people were mad at him. Cause I'm looking at this dude, 100% All I see is carnal, primal man. I'm like, “Yo, I see why they was mad at him” Because the camera kept panning to the audience And these people are losing their minds. They are coming out of themselves. They are UGLY CRYING, full out of body, Losing composure They don't know what to do. That's Michael Jackson. He's right there! And the place is huge so really besides these few hundreds of people in the front, Michael's just a speck, But he's working this audience like “Yo, you know who I am, I know who is me” And I'm realizing, that to these people That's their god. These girls are losing their minds m “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!l *crying inconsolably* Just UGLY crying Bitch, get it together . You all the way lost yourself Get. It together. She won't. This bitch. I can't get over this This one girl, They just keep going back to her Cause the whole show— And this is like 2 hours of pure non stop Michael Jackson, This girl, every time you see her, she's just ugly crying— And every time you see her Her cry is uglier and ugly I'm like “Damn bitch” “Daaaaaaang” So this is the first thing I see that is wrong. But there's a lot of things wrong here, Cause there's a lot of girls like this. There's just— hundreds of girls losing their minds, like, I've seen Beatles mania and thought that was crazy, Shit, I've even seen some people put out that kind of energy in the modern world for some dumb DJ's— That's their god— But THIS THIS Michael Jackson mania was mental illness That was hard to watch. That was people just Lost control. I'm thinking “Like goddamn. You— what?!” “AAagghhhhhhgahahahahahqhahahhahaha MICHAELl “These people are sick” But they are. And so is Michael Fame has gone too far, 1997; 12 short years before he died, by chance— So this is what I see, And then Michael starts dancing, And this— This is what I see; I see the only thing that can ever be what it was in that moment in time, as God being God: Michael Jackson. Shiny ass motherfucker, And so I'm watching this show, And all I see is a God being a man being a God being— Michael Jackson— And the whole thing is weird. But the worst part— Yes The worst part Was when, about mid show, Michael goes to do one of his slow, lovey doves songs, And like, this 6 foot 7 type body guard guy, Just pops up out of nowhere, Comes dead front and center to one of these little girls losing their minds, Runs up on her in an instant; You don't even have time to think— And just SNATCHES her— Snatches the bitch— “Ah!” then throws her up on stage with Michael— And he's still singing; this is his game, this is part of the show, he knows— But she doesn't know, And she's just lost her mind, She won't let go She's hugging and kissing on the dude, She's lost her mind, She's ugly crying She's on the floor, She's kissing his hand She's really lost her good goddamn mind— And they pan out to the audience, And all the girls that didn't get picked Are like WHY NOT MEEEEEEEREEEEE?!? THE UGLY CRIES ARE EVEN UGLIER NOW, They're like “Wh—what?” You don't know?! “WHY NOT ME” They're holding each other crying, Michael's just doing his thing, He's unphased, He's trying to play along; He's a professional like a motherfucker; He's just— keeps singing And this girl is just, Losing it, so at this point, it's weird, She's crazy batshit lost her mind all the way, Won't let go of Michael, kissing his face while he's singing, He's kind of unreceptive to it, now just looking out at the audience, almost not even looking at all Just cold as fuck actually, Like she's not there, kissing his face Cold as fuck— And then another bouncer dude— An even bigger one in a blue suit, comes and tears her off of Michael Cause clearly this has gone too far or whatever And I'm thinking “What in the fuck did I just see” Blue suit dude just snatches, Just— He has to tear her off of him! She's kicking and screaming and getting dragged off stage Michael's just: singing. YO. Then they dragged her back stage. Where did she go?! WHO DID SHE BECOME?! WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE?!? WHAT. 1997. You can't do that shit anymore! You cannot snatch bitches like that. I seen. Watch the video. Tell me what's wrong with it. It's disgusting. Not the snatching, Not the— Like, that was weird But the screaming and the crying and the— Like okay, the snatching was bad— But I'm like … ..:: …. Now I see why they was mad. Don't ever forget he was once— A dark skinned little boy, And in his genetics his whole life is still this thing That some hate. But people loved him; they loved him that hard— Screaming, ugly crying hard. I think in that moment you know someone was like “he must be stopped!” And it seems like yesterday was a year ago But I don't want let anybody know… Cause everybody wants something from me now— And I don't want to let them down. My life is over. New York City looks so small from the top of a skyscraper. What are you doing. Then again— my thoughts lately have been grandiose. Back market, eh? What's this for? You need a burner. I have three. Here, have another. For someone whose supposed to be entirely off grid, I'm admirably reachable. Clever vocabulary. Something has to be clever about me, doesn't it? Does it? It must be. Or else. [both men are speaking casually over the delicate process of loading rare guns; some of which appear to be antique, and some—almost even unearthly , as if from somewhere besides our own planet. But, you could say what planet this is at all, actually— this bunker, with no windows and no doors, is apparently hidden in a subterranean layer— the location, unknown. The men seem calm but also quite tired and weary, and seem to know each other well. We can assume they've probably been friends for years. Sickle cell anemia. Does that mean I'm going to die. Animus, I quite like whatever that is, Google. ;) don't mention it. Honestly, you might as well. What. I can't help you with this. What. I don't think there's anyone who can. Beg your pardon. Please, don't beg— but uh… [the doctor pats his patient on the shoulder] Do take care. Gee, doc! I'll try! You should do that. What. Try. The doctor leaves seemingly in some kind of hurry, trading his lab coat for a trench coat and closing the door behind him. The other man pauses for a second in the silence of the weird linoleum room, then ponders on the coat for a moment before walking up to the coat rack, putting on the coat, and then walking out the door himself; as he begins to shut the door, he quickly decides also to take the fedora that was sitting atop the coat rack, placing it on his head before he walks out the door himself, shutting it behind him quietly. You got anything to eat in here? Cereal…some rabbit food ina the drawers, there. Oh, you have salad. That sounds nice. No, rabbit food. [the man presents a large bag of weird brown dry food from the crisper drawer.] …pellets. For the rabbits. How do rabbits get in here? …I don't know. And— more importantly— where did you get rabbit food for them? If I told you Amazon, would you believe me? The man just winces and places the bag back into the crisper drawer. Now listen, I um— If you want cereal, the milk is powedred… I don't— and that's disgusting— but listen— [the man cocks a loaded gun and admires it intensively] (Dismissively) —I'm listening. I've been meaning to tell you something. Tell me what. It's important. Oh, You couldn't have used one of my four phones. Look, it's— You know I wasn't expecting company. Well— You should sit down. The man squints, beginning to listen more attentively. … …really. I'm holding a loaded gun; there are at least three more within arms reach if I do sit, you know. I know. But I should sit? One baby to another says, “I'm lucky to've met you.” Maybe you should. Not all my bad but all my might, And all my mind, The fire, The light. …business or personal. [beat] Both. {Enter The Multiverse} What are we watching?! Shhhhhh! Shut up. What is this? Some.. Sshhh. Shit, I don't know. Sit down. You don't know. SHH it just came on Shh. Ok. When? Uh… (Nobody really seems to know how long it's been. The show just happened to come on; no one remembers how, or why— or even when— But the show is intense as it gets; And it just keeps getting weirder and deeper.) {Enter The Multiverse} I'm transfixed on your soul And it seems I aspire To what has transpired here, Your unremarked and the umpire The spider veins and the way it washes. And watches and waves, and waters over you, And still I seem to think you've won another, Strum to thumb of you. And still I wake to gather here The odds and whats And the twists and turns and the Troublesome you've number some Or stuttered, stumbled conciousness. And withered branches Aces lie and house of cards And aging scoundrels— There you are, the..: Nevermind. Don't belittle my ways if, In the end my thinking may be correct As dumbfounded as I have shifted my lottery bonds tied to none, There ye are again who aren't I, And never were, And weathered now, as I, bound to Struggle under her might, Nothing I was, and nothing I am And nothing I came from but to barter Oh hard love, I only found my kings upon thrown As cast out of another by her likeness, Peace and pale and primed as it was, And wanted for love, As I was not— And then, the gates had opened And I, preaching withered, Gathered my arts and my minds And my eyes, and my thrones, Buried my ark and though not my bones The shallow waking peaks of pride And there you gathered, all as huddled sheep to mine, The cost of war, but certain therefore honored as I have, Happened went, came and untied, shattered Hating all I am and all my dark and all my eyes and all my brown Because you came and went, a baby born to as nothing was but beauty and yet having been gifted such life, Departed! Soon, I wake shattered and with none as it had began, in my time and in time there laid there none, But fortune seeks to favor, as ye are saying brave and yet I neither beg nor make to differ, Shall you come again in part, And in this time as shadows, as shadows As hating and wearing and waging, And shattered I, I pardon, Knowing not they seeking I, And I having none at all but one, As forgotten I shall came And went And followed this, The time y'i call now, And ours and ours, And yours and yours, And mine and mine, Though as one are also, Common not, And waking yet to find, These things making have gone into yer Another of ours, world, Another of our dozens, Shines, Another of our gathered, wit, and waking Though true to fortune, none us have gathered And have embarked to truth, The waking I have come, Another, and another, and another Departed. And yet, I bury my words having weakened to that which is this, Ye have no fear and lest no fortune in these words, For having I to come and gone, since they times In words to make this a language I or neither other Does not speak here, and almost never, And this yours time past, Has come and gone And come and gone And come and gone again, So long so I too have parted but not yet Unfolded as does my nature, As God does. Belittle this, you waking fools, As to this you pity though divine, Is unlike any other And steep remarked in gold and with chimes and words That ye here no often or either now, or in mine speak. Amen …can I go now? You are dismissed. C'cxell Soleïl, aka DJ Ū is an American DJ + Producer, Multi-Instrumentalist, Playwright, Poet, Comedian, Novelist & Filmmaker. She is best known for her unique vocal riffs, Clever Lyricism & Philanthropically Inspired Freestyles and her flagship venture [The Festival Project.™] [Ï A M B ī C], a freestyle studio mixtape recorded in Los Angeles, (Official Release: TBD) inspired the adaptation of a staged musical version for Broadway, and a concurrent multimedia (TV/Film) series and ongoing saga as part of The Festival Project ™ Brand. Inspired musically by an ‘Ultra American' experience of Racially, Binary Ambiguity, and Synesthetic Exploration, her reflective melodies signature sound provides a philosophical dissection of American culture through a careful and inquisitive mastery of the English language, and emergence of world sounds through music brings about ‘A New Era in Nature', and clarifies the establishment of the newest wave in human evolution: Unity Through Music. L E G E N D S What if I just want to be alone in the dark Alone in the dark Alone in the dark Bones Duggar was a long, handsome zombie Bones once was a very tall man Not great and tall, as he stands But average, Grand as it were, his status. Everything's black My heart My pants My home My mind Everything hurts But you don't understand that Like I can Calm the commercial holidays for a moment Who gets the card? Get our your hard earned My head hurts Slam the door man; You can't control thoughts With a wombat Murderer Now that's a hard concept to catch When you haven't a soul When you haven't a card Or a car Or a cat I think I'm vanilla. I always thought of myself as a super kink Like a freaky, freaky bitch. So I got on this app. This app is better then Tinder. Yes. But it is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. They have a test, I'm like “ooh, I like tests” So I take the test. The test was not at all… As I'd hoped. First of all, It was hard. It was not a quiz; It was a TEST And I failed. I realized “Oh my god, I don't like any of this stuff” I am not about that! No! Yuck! Gross. “I think I might be vanilla.” I might be vanilla. I want my hair pulled back like a leash And my arms tied up Like I'm being arrested Without being read my rights. — I want your hands on the back of my neck [breathe] Reach around to my Mortimer's apple Put the lights out, Adam. I want the lights cut off. I want the bills piled up so the phone don't work I want the habit back on Don't talk to nobody I told you, I'm coming No, God! That's dumb! Show me why I'm off all alone with a rattle so bad It's just segmented thoughts, colors and sounds I can't make with all the plugins in the kindgdom of chaos?! I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES— I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES —but the one who could love me is God, And I guess he's not coming. The denial turns to tears, Not songs no more My womb is empty And the sun has turned into Not what I wanted But not my fault We got caught in the land of Cutting costs And processed morsels At 400 pounds And that's where I found What I thought was love But it turns out That it just turns up In the whole form of a person And that's why I got the collar, caller But really I'm no one's lover So I Do what I want I don't hang up on God But he don't got a body And I need someone to love/ Fuck me Please God Don't turn the lights off I'll pull the clock back Just like foreskin, god i want your skin Draped over mine in a warm swath Probably run a hot back Cause the next stop is a closet The line doesn't really move for the Doesn'tMatterhorn. some people are starting to doubt if it's even a ride. Others just admire it for its eloquence as a metaphor. Johnny! You scared me! Aha. Where did you go?! Nowhere— fast! Alright well— Money when you know I have it But I haven't really Paid attention to the never ending Digits never coming in but Simply, there's a secret, Sonny Someday you'll get lessons, honey. Much to find and much to serve and Surf us up Piñata's bout the burst But here comes Vesuvius (POW) Everyone was gone in an instant (Vapor) Had a good laugh that night in the pantheon; Everything's past, and the mortals They kept on running But i didn't want go, God Putting on a show then I blow up Just like the mountain Found her Now I got a broke back husband (hope so) To tell, don't ask Don't show up if you just get lost But I'm probably in the back with a bottle back mountain Now you got a real horse pack. Trip Girl keep camping What was the map with the mask and the Fashion? Pass. I put sugar on the rim of the glass With my eyes half closed And my ass clenched fast shut I'm an alcoholic Don't involve the God I got lost in the mall with the —- UGHHHHHHHH! Hello. Uh, yes— hi. what up. Mirror mirror. Uh…nothing. You're lost? No. You look lost. Oh? Disgruntled. I am that. You're lost? I'm not lost. My friend is lost. His phone is dead. You lost each other. Sort of. Continuity conniption I nipped an eclipse And he picked his nose For a full ass minute Sitting at the stop sign That's a gobstopper's worth in our time Pull all the clocks back, Pull the fool over, You just got fined It was Friday for nothing I was in the hatchback, Scratch that Sour patch Should have called Pat back Now I'm just a Cool 48 in the ring with a date And the cashapp Continuity construction I want a husband! Fuck that. I want a clean cut plus one Since I can't have Helmet, Elmo, Or Hatchetman; Tears of a Clow…no, Wait I lost focus Half finished album Got 6 tracks But I knew it was 12 from the get go Prob‘ly should have knocked off the showrunner; Nah, I'm sure I had that coming Hashtag, undon Could have been you, too If the cash came through Now it's hard times Hardwired Sitting on a hi wire, Little white liar, liar Wait I made Katey Sagal (Fire) Cut off her hair (Fire) Went to the hall of fame with the framed sunglasses Asked for her autograf, But she walked off So I shot her with a bottle/ can, But she ducked, popped back up With the brass knuckles Surfboard Good for a chuckle and a fuck So I asked for her number All that on a Sunday at Gelson's market. Christ, almighty I miss Walmart, I hit hard times. So many places to run, But not many places to hide I think I want to die here I think i want to die. City of corruption… Lay it out and lay it over City of corruption… no, it's not a choice It's a black tie function Right in that very moment Seth Meyers kind of became my defacto personal hero. “Never meet your heroes” Or perhaps it was just his writing team, or the fact that maybe even without there even being anything set in stone or solid at all, [redacted] itself seemed to have a price over my head– It all seemed to make sense; in fact, all the crazy things i was experiencing made more sense than it didn't. But after what felt something like between defeat and maybe even one day really getting justice for all the things that had happened to me in new york– it was that, at best; That without actually meaning it, by all probability, the opening monologue described what in perfect sense the thing that had been happening to me: hundreds of motorcycles and cars riding around in circles for over a year, any time i tried to work or sleep–and then, when I finally tried to reach out to find an attorney that would help, I was made to feel crazy for it. In a way, it was the perfect indication that it had all been some sort of sick game, and that I was more right than wrong, and being set up to appear, sound, or look crazy–but I wasn't. I had been under attack for nearly two years, and when I tried to reach out, my heart raced and my voice cracked, and I sounded crazy and desperate–but what was happening was very real; and now I knew where I was. As it turns out, New York's corruption was more common knowledge to everyone else before it was to me: New York was a common place for fucked up, dirty, low-down mind games: and this was my lesson in that. Seth Meyers in reality had nothing to do with it–and really I only meant to watch Kimmel over my afternoon tacos. But still, though it hadn't entirely anything to do with me, the opening statements rang true to exactly what I had experienced; I was made to lose my mind, only to have everyone around me tell me it was something wrong with me–but it wasn't. Something was wrong with the city, and the building management, and the people around who were making it all to be some kind of mental disorder or problems with my mind–in reality, it was 2 years of being in the center of a speedway, and all the time i'd lost because of it adding to the stress, and the angst, and the depression that resulted. Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Does anyone else smell blood I hate wedding days suits and tuxedos No, I don't know you I'm just here to sound the hundred drums Of the once before us (The ones to come) Then, there we were and I didn't want to admit Again, I was caught into the ghost of the rapture Or the holy hour, No aux chord Show the holy one Just how old you are On these sacr d lands and a holy grounds Now I want here half an ounce to smoke And there were drowning orchestras in all of the hearts And all of the markets, The market the marker And all of the sins of the savior The maytyr Did you remember not to notice not to know him Were you sure with words you were for nickelodeaon! I was supposed to hold on to, Supposed to hold on to Suddenly, it's summer. And always our own are under the weather There was no other wise man the wind. Lee the one came The site came and went and then the songs went left The songs went left; Again, the songs went left Did you win at wintergreen Well, God, I didn't know gym was a game. I didn't know guns we're just portals to worlds unknownn I didn't know gossip was golden What all else didn't I know It wasn't for here! It was fourth flour And in the final hour of the battle I commenced to summon All the gods and all the lords and all the flowers All the worlds of oceans and the Remember, this The remembrance It may not matter to some, What matters to most But until summer comes, I'm still up under the rail And practically it's spring, for the next two weeks I'm all berries and cream and whatever you wanted. Tormaline, emerald and onyx, the fox said And fox says its west when instead it's quite under what of the reporter's offer? Comes down a little to none What of the offer Comes down from a billion to one A billion to one I'm on TV so it's really just a one way screen Either way, I don't think he likes me much I don't think he likes me much I'd rather die than to fall in love even one more time And to keep on just never being loved Never beingbloved {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll give you something to cry about” So I did. If there's anything worse than being black in a city that hates blacks— It's being broke in a city that hates broke people. So I haven't spent any money in awhile. Not even on little things, or things I need. I just stay inside, and work, and think And try and really try To figure out how to make money Without having any, or spending any. Cause you can have it, and spend it, but it's always a gamble. Maybe all I needed was a good cry. But now it's not for the right reasons I'm not crying cause something is so beautiful and look at what God did I'm crying because of what I'm sure is just the devil I'm crying for the wrong things Not because of something that's so very beautiful But because of something that's so very ugly With just a wave of the hand And the flick of each finger as it rolls into a crisp closed palm, A flick of birds fell to the ground, bursting with caws Below his stance, and in a flutter of feathers and wings, The evil master, unmoved and untouched, Untouchable in his weight and glory, simply only even mildly and barely smirks at all. He has defeated all and still somehow, not won. Some say it's sure to come, the thing that wants and gathers ties; Some say surely it is yet but withered and then sure again will come It has, five times, and barely waded, Waking in the midsts of my pure eye, The morning light and fog, aye? Ye, they remembers none but our Art, And I'm bound as sure by wing and force Is you to dozens of masses, And ships having sailed but one, Which I have flourished and kept And stocked with these, the masses And yea having spade, and having friends And having honor, there was none past kept and mine, sured; And wicked may as wicked be but evil none truer thou nones't had yet pured, and muted and gathered, I have, And woken and laid and barren and truths do'st tied, And there have been shooken and wait, And m faire'd and barred here, and hereforth My duty it is to forward, forward, my shallows For my shadow, For my golden hour has shined and now you, These caged shall fly, And these thoughts shall sing, And these hour conspired to miss my time daily, And these things, beytraying that— There have no times at all, These walls in holy temples kept, swaying and cadences, and wearing, and weary, And foreign and ayered, aye— and armored. And he, you, does not wish to know but also has known— and does not wish to see, but he, too has blinded, and does not wish to betray, and yet has been crowned, made with guilt and also Shattered, as it was, And shatters, as it came, the wave o'er all us and tide sinking under, and caves and rebels and heart laid bare to surf not suffer, Nor cap nor keeping, nor tied nor honor, No, honor her; No honor came and I have tied also, this tie to mine, and another, and another and another Now forward. Forward! Forward! Damn, Conan's monologues he going deep. Yeah, I guess. He's fine, right? Look, you don't need this. Just promise me. I am sorry. Mr Jimmy has it good, too good Little sister doesn't have a heart. But didn't know it Mister music made it in the industry, too hat Mister rager had a sip at dinner It was all dramatic Stars went falling Crashing down and All it is Ms. Martha Is mismanagement of energy All it is, Ms. Margret is a magnet And it hasn't happened badly since I had a handle on it But I still get sick of madness And I still get sick with city sickness Still, forget the dancer I was sitting on the show, In the audience With my mother, Oh the models, Dozens of them Blondes and ballet buns, the brunettes I was just a lost cause And I wanted it all, the tux and the bow tie I wanted you gone so I looked at it harder Until It became nothing but Clouds in the sky You were stardust I'm a comet Here comes crashing, Had to find the progress report Then I lost it Soggy in the sideways rain It was days and days Do you promise? That's a concept? Do you promise God will be alright, Cause I came running Sent them under cover Sent the men a message Send the man a hammer Sitting in a hammock No one homes the hostile If you don't have anything nice to say Then don't say anything at all And certainly don't come and go As often as you want to It's a game of control; you know The whites, when they still want to own you Somehow I'm all sub so honest, I just—wanted that But only for a man and never bow to another woman Even if on my honor I found us as equals And no one walks the earth as calmly As someone whose never had their lights out Or had their light put out Or their lights turned off Who are God now? Who's our God, man? Who's our God, Math. That's heavy weight, And if you want a biblical fate This is Fallon, And if you watch what you ate You cut calories And if you want the girl back Give it Californian And I'm not towrth much more Than the project housing, Or a handful of candy corn, Conan— But I phone in Oscars, Still no nuts for the rabbit, And if you wanted the bunker back— You can have it. I'm all hands down in a game of poker Heaven doesn't want it Gotta get drunk not once, but at all the goalposts, Gotta count one, not two, the show hosts Too few car parts Wicked, mazes, starfold, gazes Wishes, Martyred. (But pronounced mar-tired} V.O I think about jay Leno a lot. Lately, anyway. I don't know why. I like all the hosts. Somebody. Tell me why Dillon Francis looks like JD Vance. I think he's a clone. Tel me why I know who JD Vance is. They're clones. Tell me why. Back to the future here and now So. Where do you want to go? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here is kind of far, are you sure you're up for it? Good one, doc Though head of the alumni chapter of the cult-within a cult—to which each African American cast member of Saturday night live is automatically inducted into— EDDIE MURPHY refuses to participate in the group's latest and most complicated ritual. Delivery. Uh, I didn't order any— Breadsticks. What. Breadsticks. I didn't order any— Just— The delivery man hands over the breadsticks. —take them. Oh…Kay. See ya. The delivery man reaches in and shuts the door himself. Uh… Lol is this the one where the mysterious breadsticks are delivered without ever being ordered, and then they end up being the best breadsticks in the world, but they don't know where they came from? Yes. I think so. Lol I bought a planner because so much I loved Joan Rivers, and I planned to fill it with all the places I should go— because keeping anything digital online was not only not working as far as remembering places I wanted or needed to be be, but it was dangerous, also. I was already being tracked, and I couldn't afford a new phone just yet. Eventually, but for now I was stuck to the same signal— which meant the same traces and the same trackers they had been limiting my under-the-radar mystique. As it were, somebody always knew where I was, and it was in the most unpleasant way so far—the only thing I really wandered was what made me so important anyway to begin with. I wasn't actually political in anyway, and still someone seemed to be trying to derail my life… or at least control it, neither of which was beneficial for me in the way that made sense. I wasn't having any fun, nor did I consider living indoors as payment— especially since indoors, there were also paid plants and stalkers, and now that I had begun to more meticulously document the things that were happening, it was easy to separate from delusions. I was actually being followed— but why? Either way, having a detailed. Calendar of places I could go, the ways to get there and even alternate functions within the same grid allowed more control than just staying in my apartment a sitting duck; that's how they were hurting me. They knew where I was— all the time, and it no longer made sense to fight it and try to make music under this kind of insane irritation; the music I was making wasn't the kind I wanted anyway, and whatever war they were fighting with m stark white girls motorcycles was simply not my war. I didn't have a war, and so there wasn't a fight, and so at the very least if I were going to be fucked with, it would have to be in public; that way I had more control to steer whatever was happening in my favor and collect the energy as mine instead of lost. I wasn't an insane person— but what had been happening at my apartment was insane, and so I left it with the understanding that these people worked and operated on a level of violence and ignorance I would never be able to comprehend; they were simply tools for the devil, which in any case, was always the lesser than God. However— because I was starting to figure out who I was, and that I had some sort of power, I knew that I was going to be attacked— because it seemed my power had at the very least not been figured out as to some kind of way to make somebody else money. I had been studying Michael Jackson and this was a key indication that the way his talent priovided a power which would be used as a service, he was very successful. His talent and training alone wouldn't have reapresented with such great reverence the ability to capture a global audience as such— but it was this power, almost as if it had been bottled up and altered, rebranded and sold and labeled with something everyone could not only love and understand, but by the hand of the media and its conglomerates, be hypnotized to worship, and this power simply put would not have been exactly what it was were it not for the eye of the media remaining in complete control of its distribution to the eyes and ears of the public. This thing which might have been the first of its kind but certainly not the last was in a sense model for modern superstardom— the live concert business had not sense much changed but built upon this super powered control of the masses by assimilation, spectacle, and of course the magic and illusion. But, and it it just so happened to perfectly brush up against my studies in esoteric knowledge that I happened to rub up against this— although nothing was of course by mere circumstance anymore, because whether or not I remained incognito was a wash, and I was being looked at by someone no matter what on the internet I did, or where I decided to go and in that sense was being fed these things, and yet with some Grace of God was allowed with it to be aligned with my own higher purpose in a way, I could observe that Michael Jackson was not in fact of course certainly just a dancer or singer or remarkable performer— he was truly a magician, and I was able to clearly recognize this language with with the energy that had used his vehicle for such a projection was speaking— not only this, I was able to clearly count out the markings and sigils and signs and symbols Michael was making in his movement; ancient arts, and magical symbols, traced so rapidly that it almost created a heat signature in a sense of the symbols that were being dictated, unknowing to the untrained eye. For the most part, I could only really assume that this is why these people were losing their minds— in his movements, Michael Jackson was literally carving ancient callings, glyphs and sigils I had so recently read about in magical studies that it was impossible not to laugh. This was in every sense of the word, ‘magic' but not in the normal way one assumes to be something unexplainable. Michael Jackson was casting spells to thousands of people at a time, in front of cameras and at high volume vibration, often times even implementing the use of light, color, and fire. These were not simple gatherings in mass for entertainment purposes— these were rituals, and in the modern day, still were or are— but I had noticed in a quick glimpse, from Michael Jackson 30 some odd years ago to Lady Gaga just having passed something like a week ago to an audience of the same size— that something was kind of wrong, now. The people had changed, and the specable had been done over and over, and the brainwashing of the masses had in a sense been almost complete— and so It wasn't some sense of confusion or unknowing the things that were happening to me in my own life and my own world— I too, was capable of these things, at that capacity, and had simply not been trained in the same sense of the ideal superstar, however— the things that were happening in my own life and in my own world were not difficult to grasp or understand— when one comes upon a power as such, it finds means to seek to control it and harness it for his own use and purposes. Perhaps it was the simple fact that in this way, in the way I get the dream had gone and the spectacle had been played out of the masses and the illusion was no longer as such— that the actual knowledge of distinct ancient wisdom that had been Michael Jackson's natural ability was distinguishable from that of Lady Gaga's training in the same formula, and that one did not equal the other, but in terms of business could equal to that as such as the masses had been manipulated to seek solace in these same things— and it was not illusion or grandiosity that I, even in my agingness, was still capable of these things; I had no doubt in my mind that I could sing and dance for two hours to audiences of hundreds of thousands— but this was not the question for the business or the media— the question was, would hundreds of thousands pay to see me, or rather— who was willing to front the means to hypnotize hundreds of people to become aware of me so that they would do such a thing. My talent and capabilities were undeniable— but my markatability might have been in question, because it was no longer simply a matter or chance or luck: the people chosen to figure such spectacle were chosen, hand selected and well trained to become media conglomerate superstars, even regardless of talent; perhaps this itself was the key indication that the world of the superstar itself had come to an end—it was no longer so much of a spectacle was worth it. Or, perhaps, because money had come between these ancient arts and symbols and languages being spoken by the superstars of old, that the magic in the literal sense had gone all the way away. The symbolism in the art had died, and so the singing and the dancing remained, but the God had gone out of it. Maybe that was the difference. The superstars of today were just the shell of the model that had been built on God, but the Godsense of it was no longer there— and so the magic no longer remained in effect, as the powers of magic that be are in all ancient arts and texts and forms attributive to The Source. Either way, I wasn't going to continue to be a sitting duck in my apartment in Brooklyn— there were too many indications that it had all been a setup from the shelter to the day I moved in, with the motorcycles and cars and CBS studios one block away. So the real and only question was, what exactly had been played at and who exactly was pulling the strings? I might at this point become a loose cannon: my son was estranged and as far as the people were concerned, I mostly hated New York— because the refined, clean cut and classy people I liked and wanted to be around saw me as the dirt and the grime I was fighting my way through just to simply exist— in my mind, this was a world that could be no more. I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress Keep writing I never thought I ‘d see the day Where i's taking lessons on Fallon From Michael Jackson That's ran That's a fan This is fame I'm insane I'm insane That's a fan Light the flame That's a fan. That's a fan. I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I went up the rack, set the page on fire Nordstrom rack And I might take it back for the cash I like Sara in a dress Stay repressed Keep it dark If you kiss don't tell I will probably go to hell for just writing Try it In black ink, I got all spades, Ehy, Spare me the ridicule, the imbecile and I met Johnny in a cage I like Fallon in a dress, Obsessive, I'm dressed out Every day I leave where I do not live Where stalker crawl and haunt me Just to show the motorcycles Have desheveled my intelligence into Nothing And so with negligence, I leave the core of a rotting apple The foreign words of a doctor And You must call the king, says something far off But I wonder which one I wonder which one I so respect her honor That I no longer Follow my heart or my soul And I don't shallow But shatter to swallow So I let the sparrow Out of the cage I bought Sara A pair of pants And I haunt l Patrick Kirkpatrick in patches And haven't you read yet You're ready for forget the pageant? It hasn't happened yet! I love Sara in a dress I hate Fallon and his wife Keep the kids out if it Skull and crossbones Cross my heart and Really hope to the loveless Or else Someone might call my phone back It's on silent in my coffin Or wait— It's on vibrate. I'm obsessed with the way You're dressed And the name on your checks I guess I'm better for it I'll skip lunch if you think that's what's best And dinner, too If you deserve the best Then better have learned my lesson No sweat And to do, With you, Was then, Dinner through next supper All the love I had was Rubbed into something other than The glass I patted dry With microfiber With ever fiber of my being I want to be with you I should have just— Died, And then Did, and so next Life, Remind me not to Fall for it If i really wanted to know you,I would know you by now– If i wanted to have you? I would have had you already Nobody is a dancer after Michael Jackson. I just watched some shit that was like “What the fuck did I just see” The whole thing was just not right. It was-/ I was like First of all, it's Munich, 1997. I never really realized how terribly the world has changed; No cellphones, but the audience is lit, And the crazy thing is, you can tell that this is near the turn of the century because, when the camera is panning by the audience in the people, they're not looking directly into the camera or waving at the camera— not really. And clearly this is an all ages show, so there's children, so the interesting thing I'm finding out is that nobody's trained to look at the camera and wave and smile— except the babies on shoulders and shit. These kids— they're my age now, are the only ones that see the camera, and they look directly into the shit. Mi still can't do that, really— I'm theatrically trained. Haha If I see a camera, I try to act ‘natural' It's the weirdest thing to look at a camera and just start to work it. People at festivals now, the camera rolls by, Or the drone flies in, And they look deadass in the camera and start to work it. Not at this show. Munich 1997, I'm like “Damn, a lot of things is wrong with this” First of all, I love Michael Jackson, I look directly at this man, and I'm in my dirty peak so I have an instant— like a sex detector thing going on And I know people gave Michael a hard time when he was a live for being fruity and whatever But I'm looking at this dude, and I don't see fruit at all. I see 100% man. I see why people were mad at him. Cause I'm looking at this dude, 100% All I see is carnal, primal man. I'm like, “Yo, I see why they was mad at him” Because the camera kept panning to the audience And these people are losing their minds. They are coming out of themselves. They are UGLY CRYING, full out of body, Losing composure They don't know what to do. That's Michael Jackson. He's right there! And the place is huge so really besides these few hundreds of people in the front, Michael's just a speck, But he's working this audience like “Yo, you know who I am, I know who is me” And I'm realizing, that to these people That's their god. These girls are losing their minds m “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!l *crying inconsolably* Just UGLY crying Bitch, get it together . You all the way lost yourself Get. It together. She won't. This bitch. I can't get over this This one girl, They just keep going back to her Cause the whole show— And this is like 2 hours of pure non stop Michael Jackson, This girl, every time you see her, she's just ugly crying— And every time you see her Her cry is uglier and ugly I'm like “Damn bitch” “Daaaaaaang” So this is the first thing I see that is wrong. But there's a lot of things wrong here, Cause there's a lot of girls like this. There's just— hundreds of girls losing their minds, like, I've seen Beatles mania and thought that was crazy, Shit, I've even seen some people put out that kind of energy in the modern world for some dumb DJ's— That's their god— But THIS THIS Michael Jackson mania was mental illness That was hard to watch. That was people just Lost control. I'm thinking “Like goddamn. You— what?!” “AAagghhhhhhgahahahahahqhahahhahaha MICHAELl “These people are sick” But they are. And so is Michael Fame has gone too far, 1997; 12 short years before he died, by chance— So this is what I see, And then Michael starts dancing, And this— This is what I see; I see the only thing that can ever be what it was in that moment in time, as God being God: Michael Jackson. Shiny ass motherfucker, And so I'm watching this show, And all I see is a God being a man being a God being— Michael Jackson— And the whole thing is weird. But the worst part— Yes The worst part Was when, about mid show, Michael goes to do one of his slow, lovey doves songs, And like, this 6 foot 7 type body guard guy, Just pops up out of nowhere, Comes dead front and center to one of these little girls losing their minds, Runs up on her in an instant; You don't even have time to think— And just SNATCHES her— Snatches the bitch— “Ah!” then throws her up on stage with Michael— And he's still singing; this is his game, this is part of the show, he knows— But she doesn't know, And she's just lost her mind, She won't let go She's hugging and kissing on the dude, She's lost her mind, She's ugly crying She's on the floor, She's kissing his hand She's really lost her good goddamn mind— And they pan out to the audience, And all the girls that didn't get picked Are like WHY NOT MEEEEEEEREEEEE?!? THE UGLY CRIES ARE EVEN UGLIER NOW, They're like “Wh—what?” You don't know?! “WHY NOT ME” They're holding each other crying, Michael's just doing his thing, He's unphased, He's trying to play along; He's a professional like a motherfucker; He's just— keeps singing And this girl is just, Losing it, so at this point, it's weird, She's crazy batshit lost her mind all the way, Won't let go of Michael, kissing his face while he's singing, He's kind of unreceptive to it, now just looking out at the audience, almost not even looking at all Just cold as fuck actually, Like she's not there, kissing his face Cold as fuck— And then another bouncer dude— An even bigger one in a blue suit, comes and tears her off of Michael Cause clearly this has gone too far or whatever And I'm thinking “What in the fuck did I just see” Blue suit dude just snatches, Just— He has to tear her off of him! She's kicking and screaming and getting dragged off stage Michael's just: singing. YO. Then they dragged her back stage. Where did she go?! WHO DID SHE BECOME?! WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE?!? WHAT. 1997. You can't do that shit anymore! You cannot snatch bitches like that. I seen. Watch the video. Tell me what's wrong with it. It's disgusting. Not the snatching, Not the— Like, that was weird But the screaming and the crying and the— Like okay, the snatching was bad— But I'm like … ..:: …. Now I see why they was mad. Don't ever forget he was once— A dark skinned little boy, And in his genetics his whole life is still this thing That some hate. But people loved him; they loved him that hard— Screaming, ugly crying hard. I think in that moment you know someone was like “he must be stopped!” And it seems like yesterday was a year ago But I don't want let anybody know… Cause everybody wants something from me now— And I don't want to let them down. My life is over. New York City looks so small from the top of a skyscraper. What are you doing. Then again— my thoughts lately have been grandiose. Back market, eh? What's this for? You need a burner. I have three. Here, have another. For someone whose supposed to be entirely off grid, I'm admirably reachable. Clever vocabulary. Something has to be clever about me, doesn't it? Does it? It must be. Or else. [both men are speaking casually over the delicate process of loading rare guns; some of which appear to be antique, and some—almost even unearthly , as if from somewhere besides our own planet. But, you could say what planet this is at all, actually— this bunker, with no windows and no doors, is apparently hidden in a subterranean layer— the location, unknown. The men seem calm but also quite tired and weary, and seem to know each other well. We can assume they've probably been friends for years. Sickle cell anemia. Does that mean I'm going to die. Animus, I quite like whatever that is, Google. ;) don't mention it. Honestly, you might as well. What. I can't help you with this. What. I don't think there's anyone who can. Beg your pardon. Please, don't beg— but uh… [the doctor pats his patient on the shoulder] Do take care. Gee, doc! I'll try! You should do that. What. Try. The doctor leaves seemingly in some kind of hurry, trading his lab coat for a trench coat and closing the door behind him. The other man pauses for a second in the silence of the weird linoleum room, then ponders on the coat for a moment before walking up to the coat rack, putting on the coat, and then walking out the door himself; as he begins to shut the door, he quickly decides also to take the fedora that was sitting atop the coat rack, placing it on his head before he walks out the door himself, shutting it behind him quietly. You got anything to eat in here? Cereal…some rabbit food ina the drawers, there. Oh, you have salad. That sounds nice. No, rabbit food. [the man presents a large bag of weird brown dry food from the crisper drawer.] …pellets. For the rabbits. How do rabbits get in here? …I don't know. And— more importantly— where did you get rabbit food for them? If I told you Amazon, would you believe me? The man just winces and places the bag back into the crisper drawer. Now listen, I um— If you want cereal, the milk is powedred… I don't— and that's disgusting— but listen— [the man cocks a loaded gun and admires it intensively] (Dismissively) —I'm listening. I've been meaning to tell you something. Tell me what. It's important. Oh, You couldn't have used one of my four phones. Look, it's— You know I wasn't expecting company. Well— You should sit down. The man squints, beginning to listen more attentively. … …really. I'm holding a loaded gun; there are at least three more within arms reach if I do sit, you know. I know. But I should sit? One baby to another says, “I'm lucky to've met you.” Maybe you should. Not all my bad but all my might, And all my mind, The fire, The light. …business or personal. [beat] Both. {Enter The Multiverse} What are we watching?! Shhhhhh! Shut up. What is this? Some.. Sshhh. Shit, I don't know. Sit down. You don't know. SHH it just came on Shh. Ok. When? Uh… (Nobody really seems to know how long it's been. The show just happened to come on; no one remembers how, or why— or even when— But the show is intense as it gets; And it just keeps getting weirder and deeper.) {Enter The Multiverse} I'm transfixed on your soul And it seems I aspire To what has transpired here, Your unremarked and the umpire The spider veins and the way it washes. And watches and waves, and waters over you, And still I seem to think you've won another, Strum to thumb of you. And still I wake to gather here The odds and whats And the twists and turns and the Troublesome you've number some Or stuttered, stumbled conciousness. And withered branches Aces lie and house of cards And aging scoundrels— There you are, the..: Nevermind. Don't belittle my ways if, In the end my thinking may be correct As dumbfounded as I have shifted my lottery bonds tied to none, There ye are again who aren't I, And never were, And weathered now, as I, bound to Struggle under her might, Nothing I was, and nothing I am And nothing I came from but to barter Oh hard love, I only found my kings upon thrown As cast out of another by her likeness, Peace and pale and primed as it was, And wanted for love, As I was not— And then, the gates had opened And I, preaching withered, Gathered my arts and my minds And my eyes, and my thrones, Buried my ark and though not my bones The shallow waking peaks of pride And there you gathered, all as huddled sheep to mine, The cost of war, but certain therefore honored as I have, Happened went, came and untied, shattered Hating all I am and all my dark and all my eyes and all my brown Because you came and went, a baby born to as nothing was but beauty and yet having been gifted such life, Departed! Soon, I wake shattered and with none as it had began, in my time and in time there laid there none, But fortune seeks to favor, as ye are saying brave and yet I neither beg nor make to differ, Shall you come again in part, And in this time as shadows, as shadows As hating and wearing and waging, And shattered I, I pardon, Knowing not they seeking I, And I having none at all but one, As forgotten I shall came And went And followed this, The time y'i call now, And ours and ours, And yours and yours, And mine and mine, Though as one are also, Common not, And waking yet to find, These things making have gone into yer Another of ours, world, Another of our dozens, Shines, Another of our gathered, wit, and waking Though true to fortune, none us have gathered And have embarked to truth, The waking I have come, Another, and another, and another Departed. And yet, I bury my words having weakened to that which is this, Ye have no fear and lest no fortune in these words, For having I to come and gone, since they times In words to make this a language I or neither other Does not speak here, and almost never, And this yours time past, Has come and gone And come and gone And come and gone again, So long so I too have parted but not yet Unfolded as does my nature, As God does. Belittle this, you waking fools, As to this you pity though divine, Is unlike any other And steep remarked in gold and with chimes and words That ye here no often or either now, or in mine speak. Amen …can I go now? You are dismissed. C'cxell Soleïl, aka DJ Ū is an American DJ + Producer, Multi-Instrumentalist, Playwright, Poet, Comedian, Novelist & Filmmaker. She is best known for her unique vocal riffs, Clever Lyricism & Philanthropically Inspired Freestyles and her flagship venture [The Festival Project.™] [Ï A M B ī C], a freestyle studio mixtape recorded in Los Angeles, (Official Release: TBD) inspired the adaptation of a staged musical version for Broadway, and a concurrent multimedia (TV/Film) series and ongoing saga as part of The Festival Project ™ Brand. Inspired musically by an ‘Ultra American' experience of Racially, Binary Ambiguity, and Synesthetic Exploration, her reflective melodies signature sound provides a philosophical dissection of American culture through a careful and inquisitive mastery of the English language, and emergence of world sounds through music brings about ‘A New Era in Nature', and clarifies the establishment of the newest wave in human evolution: Unity Through Music. L E G E N D S What if I just want to be alone in the dark Alone in the dark Alone in the dark Bones Duggar was a long, handsome zombie Bones once was a very tall man Not great and tall, as he stands But average, Grand as it were, his status. Everything's black My heart My pants My home My mind Everything hurts But you don't understand that Like I can Calm the commercial holidays for a moment Who gets the card? Get our your hard earned My head hurts Slam the door man; You can't control thoughts With a wombat Murderer Now that's a hard concept to catch When you haven't a soul When you haven't a card Or a car Or a cat I think I'm vanilla. I always thought of myself as a super kink Like a freaky, freaky bitch. So I got on this app. This app is better then Tinder. Yes. But it is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. They have a test, I'm like “ooh, I like tests” So I take the test. The test was not at all… As I'd hoped. First of all, It was hard. It was not a quiz; It was a TEST And I failed. I realized “Oh my god, I don't like any of this stuff” I am not about that! No! Yuck! Gross. “I think I might be vanilla.” I might be vanilla. I want my hair pulled back like a leash And my arms tied up Like I'm being arrested Without being read my rights. — I want your hands on the back of my neck [breathe] Reach around to my Mortimer's apple Put the lights out, Adam. I want the lights cut off. I want the bills piled up so the phone don't work I want the habit back on Don't talk to nobody I told you, I'm coming No, God! That's dumb! Show me why I'm off all alone with a rattle so bad It's just segmented thoughts, colors and sounds I can't make with all the plugins in the kindgdom of chaos?! I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES— I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES —but the one who could love me is God, And I guess he's not coming. The denial turns to tears, Not songs no more My womb is empty And the sun has turned into Not what I wanted But not my fault We got caught in the land of Cutting costs And processed morsels At 400 pounds And that's where I found What I thought was love But it turns out That it just turns up In the whole form of a person And that's why I got the collar, caller But really I'm no one's lover So I Do what I want I don't hang up on God But he don't got a body And I need someone to love/ Fuck me Please God Don't turn the lights off I'll pull the clock back Just like foreskin, god i want your skin Draped over mine in a warm swath Probably run a hot back Cause the next stop is a closet The line doesn't really move for the Doesn'tMatterhorn. some people are starting to doubt if it's even a ride. Others just admire it for its eloquence as a metaphor. Johnny! You scared me! Aha. Where did you go?! Nowhere— fast! Alright well— Money when you know I have it But I haven't really Paid attention to the never ending Digits never coming in but Simply, there's a secret, Sonny Someday you'll get lessons, honey. Much to find and much to serve and Surf us up Piñata's bout the burst But here comes Vesuvius (POW) Everyone was gone in an instant (Vapor) Had a good laugh that night in the pantheon; Everything's past, and the mortals They kept on running But i didn't want go, God Putting on a show then I blow up Just like the mountain Found her Now I got a broke back husband (hope so) To tell, don't ask Don't show up if you just get lost But I'm probably in the back with a bottle back mountain Now you got a real horse pack. Trip Girl keep camping What was the map with the mask and the Fashion? Pass. I put sugar on the rim of the glass With my eyes half closed And my ass clenched fast shut I'm an alcoholic Don't involve the God I got lost in the mall with the —- UGHHHHHHHH! Hello. Uh, yes— hi. what up. Mirror mirror. Uh…nothing. You're lost? No. You look lost. Oh? Disgruntled. I am that. You're lost? I'm not lost. My friend is lost. His phone is dead. You lost each other. Sort of. Continuity conniption I nipped an eclipse And he picked his nose For a full ass minute Sitting at the stop sign That's a gobstopper's worth in our time Pull all the clocks back, Pull the fool over, You just got fined It was Friday for nothing I was in the hatchback, Scratch that Sour patch Should have called Pat back Now I'm just a Cool 48 in the ring with a date And the cashapp Continuity construction I want a husband! Fuck that. I want a clean cut plus one Since I can't have Helmet, Elmo, Or Hatchetman; Tears of a Clow…no, Wait I lost focus Half finished album Got 6 tracks But I knew it was 12 from the get go Prob‘ly should have knocked off the showrunner; Nah, I'm sure I had that coming Hashtag, undon Could have been you, too If the cash came through Now it's hard times Hardwired Sitting on a hi wire, Little white liar, liar Wait I made Katey Sagal (Fire) Cut off her hair (Fire) Went to the hall of fame with the framed sunglasses Asked for her autograf, But she walked off So I shot her with a bottle/ can, But she ducked, popped back up With the brass knuckles Surfboard Good for a chuckle and a fuck So I asked for her number All that on a Sunday at Gelson's market. Christ, almighty I miss Walmart, I hit hard times. So many places to run, But not many places to hide I think I want to die here I think i want to die. City of corruption… Lay it out and lay it over City of corruption… no, it's not a choice It's a black tie function Right in that very moment Seth Meyers kind of became my defacto personal hero. “Never meet your heroes” Or perhaps it was just his writing team, or the fact that maybe even without there even being anything set in stone or solid at all, [redacted] itself seemed to have a price over my head– It all seemed to make sense; in fact, all the crazy things i was experiencing made more sense than it didn't. But after what felt something like between defeat and maybe even one day really getting justice for all the things that had happened to me in new york– it was that, at best; That without actually meaning it, by all probability, the opening monologue described what in perfect sense the thing that had been happening to me: hundreds of motorcycles and cars riding around in circles for over a year, any time i tried to work or sleep–and then, when I finally tried to reach out to find an attorney that would help, I was made to feel crazy for it. In a way, it was the perfect indication that it had all been some sort of sick game, and that I was more right than wrong, and being set up to appear, sound, or look crazy–but I wasn't. I had been under attack for nearly two years, and when I tried to reach out, my heart raced and my voice cracked, and I sounded crazy and desperate–but what was happening was very real; and now I knew where I was. As it turns out, New York's corruption was more common knowledge to everyone else before it was to me: New York was a common place for fucked up, dirty, low-down mind games: and this was my lesson in that. Seth Meyers in reality had nothing to do with it–and really I only meant to watch Kimmel over my afternoon tacos. But still, though it hadn't entirely anything to do with me, the opening statements rang true to exactly what I had experienced; I was made to lose my mind, only to have everyone around me tell me it was something wrong with me–but it wasn't. Something was wrong with the city, and the building management, and the people around who were making it all to be some kind of mental disorder or problems with my mind–in reality, it was 2 years of being in the center of a speedway, and all the time i'd lost because of it adding to the stress, and the angst, and the depression that resulted. Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Does anyone else smell blood I hate wedding days suits and tuxedos No, I don't know you I'm just here to sound the hundred drums Of the once before us (The ones to come) Then, there we were and I didn't want to admit Again, I was caught into the ghost of the rapture Or the holy hour, No aux chord Show the holy one Just how old you are On these sacr d lands and a holy grounds Now I want here half an ounce to smoke And there were drowning orchestras in all of the hearts And all of the markets, The market the marker And all of the sins of the savior The maytyr Did you remember not to notice not to know him Were you sure with words you were for nickelodeaon! I was supposed to hold on to, Supposed to hold on to Suddenly, it's summer. And always our own are under the weather There was no other wise man the wind. Lee the one came The site came and went and then the songs went left The songs went left; Again, the songs went left Did you win at wintergreen Well, God, I didn't know gym was a game. I didn't know guns we're just portals to worlds unknownn I didn't know gossip was golden What all else didn't I know It wasn't for here! It was fourth flour And in the final hour of the battle I commenced to summon All the gods and all the lords and all the flowers All the worlds of oceans and the Remember, this The remembrance It may not matter to some, What matters to most But until summer comes, I'm still up under the rail And practically it's spring, for the next two weeks I'm all berries and cream and whatever you wanted. Tormaline, emerald and onyx, the fox said And fox says its west when instead it's quite under what of the reporter's offer? Comes down a little to none What of the offer Comes down from a billion to one A billion to one I'm on TV so it's really just a one way screen Either way, I don't think he likes me much I don't think he likes me much I'd rather die than to fall in love even one more time And to keep on just never being loved Never beingbloved {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll give you something to cry about” So I did. If there's anything worse than being black in a city that hates blacks— It's being broke in a city that hates broke people. So I haven't spent any money in awhile. Not even on little things, or things I need. I just stay inside, and work, and think And try and really try To figure out how to make money Without having any, or spending any. Cause you can have it, and spend it, but it's always a gamble. Maybe all I needed was a good cry. But now it's not for the right reasons I'm not crying cause something is so beautiful and look at what God did I'm crying because of what I'm sure is just the devil I'm crying for the wrong things Not because of something that's so very beautiful But because of something that's so very ugly With just a wave of the hand And the flick of each finger as it rolls into a crisp closed palm, A flick of birds fell to the ground, bursting with caws Below his stance, and in a flutter of feathers and wings, The evil master, unmoved and untouched, Untouchable in his weight and glory, simply only even mildly and barely smirks at all. He has defeated all and still somehow, not won. Some say it's sure to come, the thing that wants and gathers ties; Some say surely it is yet but withered and then sure again will come It has, five times, and barely waded, Waking in the midsts of my pure eye, The morning light and fog, aye? Ye, they remembers none but our Art, And I'm bound as sure by wing and force Is you to dozens of masses, And ships having sailed but one, Which I have flourished and kept And stocked with these, the masses And yea having spade, and having friends And having honor, there was none past kept and mine, sured; And wicked may as wicked be but evil none truer thou nones't had yet pured, and muted and gathered, I have, And woken and laid and barren and truths do'st tied, And there have been shooken and wait, And m faire'd and barred here, and hereforth My duty it is to forward, forward, my shallows For my shadow, For my golden hour has shined and now you, These caged shall fly, And these thoughts shall sing, And these hour conspired to miss my time daily, And these things, beytraying that— There have no times at all, These walls in holy temples kept, swaying and cadences, and wearing, and weary, And foreign and ayered, aye— and armored. And he, you, does not wish to know but also has known— and does not wish to see, but he, too has blinded, and does not wish to betray, and yet has been crowned, made with guilt and also Shattered, as it was, And shatters, as it came, the wave o'er all us and tide sinking under, and caves and rebels and heart laid bare to surf not suffer, Nor cap nor keeping, nor tied nor honor, No, honor her; No honor came and I have tied also, this tie to mine, and another, and another and another Now forward. Forward! Forward! Damn, Conan's monologues he going deep. Yeah, I guess. He's fine, right? Look, you don't need this. Just promise me. I am sorry. Mr Jimmy has it good, too good Little sister doesn't have a heart. But didn't know it Mister music made it in the industry, too hat Mister rager had a sip at dinner It was all dramatic Stars went falling Crashing down and All it is Ms. Martha Is mismanagement of energy All it is, Ms. Margret is a magnet And it hasn't happened badly since I had a handle on it But I still get sick of madness And I still get sick with city sickness Still, forget the dancer I was sitting on the show, In the audience With my mother, Oh the models, Dozens of them Blondes and ballet buns, the brunettes I was just a lost cause And I wanted it all, the tux and the bow tie I wanted you gone so I looked at it harder Until It became nothing but Clouds in the sky You were stardust I'm a comet Here comes crashing, Had to find the progress report Then I lost it Soggy in the sideways rain It was days and days Do you promise? That's a concept? Do you promise God will be alright, Cause I came running Sent them under cover Sent the men a message Send the man a hammer Sitting in a hammock No one homes the hostile If you don't have anything nice to say Then don't say anything at all And certainly don't come and go As often as you want to It's a game of control; you know The whites, when they still want to own you Somehow I'm all sub so honest, I just—wanted that But only for a man and never bow to another woman Even if on my honor I found us as equals And no one walks the earth as calmly As someone whose never had their lights out Or had their light put out Or their lights turned off Who are God now? Who's our God, man? Who's our God, Math. That's heavy weight, And if you want a biblical fate This is Fallon, And if you watch what you ate You cut calories And if you want the girl back Give it Californian And I'm not towrth much more Than the project housing, Or a handful of candy corn, Conan— But I phone in Oscars, Still no nuts for the rabbit, And if you wanted the bunker back— You can have it. I'm all hands down in a game of poker Heaven doesn't want it Gotta get drunk not once, but at all the goalposts, Gotta count one, not two, the show hosts Too few car parts Wicked, mazes, starfold, gazes Wishes, Martyred. (But pronounced mar-tired} V.O I think about jay Leno a lot. Lately, anyway. I don't know why. I like all the hosts. Somebody. Tell me why Dillon Francis looks like JD Vance. I think he's a clone. Tel me why I know who JD Vance is. They're clones. Tell me why. Back to the future here and now So. Where do you want to go? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here is kind of far, are you sure you're up for it? Good one, doc Though head of the alumni chapter of the cult-within a cult—to which each African American cast member of Saturday night live is automatically inducted into— EDDIE MURPHY refuses to participate in the group's latest and most complicated ritual. Delivery. Uh, I didn't order any— Breadsticks. What. Breadsticks. I didn't order any— Just— The delivery man hands over the breadsticks. —take them. Oh…Kay. See ya. The delivery man reaches in and shuts the door himself. Uh… Lol is this the one where the mysterious breadsticks are delivered without ever being ordered, and then they end up being the best breadsticks in the world, but they don't know where they came from? Yes. I think so. Lol I bought a planner because so much I loved Joan Rivers, and I planned to fill it with all the places I should go— because keeping anything digital online was not only not working as far as remembering places I wanted or needed to be be, but it was dangerous, also. I was already being tracked, and I couldn't afford a new phone just yet. Eventually, but for now I was stuck to the same signal— which meant the same traces and the same trackers they had been limiting my under-the-radar mystique. As it were, somebody always knew where I was, and it was in the most unpleasant way so far—the only thing I really wandered was what made me so important anyway to begin with. I wasn't actually political in anyway, and still someone seemed to be trying to derail my life… or at least control it, neither of which was beneficial for me in the way that made sense. I wasn't having any fun, nor did I consider living indoors as payment— especially since indoors, there were also paid plants and stalkers, and now that I had begun to more meticulously document the things that were happening, it was easy to separate from delusions. I was actually being followed— but why? Either way, having a detailed. Calendar of places I could go, the ways to get there and even alternate functions within the same grid allowed more control than just staying in my apartment a sitting duck; that's how they were hurting me. They knew where I was— all the time, and it no longer made sense to fight it and try to make music under this kind of insane irritation; the music I was making wasn't the kind I wanted anyway, and whatever war they were fighting with m stark white girls motorcycles was simply not my war. I didn't have a war, and so there wasn't a fight, and so at the very least if I were going to be fucked with, it would have to be in public; that way I had more control to steer whatever was happening in my favor and collect the energy as mine instead of lost. I wasn't an insane person— but what had been happening at my apartment was insane, and so I left it with the understanding that these people worked and operated on a level of violence and ignorance I would never be able to comprehend; they were simply tools for the devil, which in any case, was always the lesser than God. However— because I was starting to figure out who I was, and that I had some sort of power, I knew that I was going to be attacked— because it seemed my power had at the very least not been figured out as to some kind of way to make somebody else money. I had been studying Michael Jackson and this was a key indication that the way his talent priovided a power which would be used as a service, he was very successful. His talent and training alone wouldn't have reapresented with such great reverence the ability to capture a global audience as such— but it was this power, almost as if it had been bottled up and altered, rebranded and sold and labeled with something everyone could not only love and understand, but by the hand of the media and its conglomerates, be hypnotized to worship, and this power simply put would not have been exactly what it was were it not for the eye of the media remaining in complete control of its distribution to the eyes and ears of the public. This thing which might have been the first of its kind but certainly not the last was in a sense model for modern superstardom— the live concert business had not sense much changed but built upon this super powered control of the masses by assimilation, spectacle, and of course the magic and illusion. But, and it it just so happened to perfectly brush up against my studies in esoteric knowledge that I happened to rub up against this— although nothing was of course by mere circumstance anymore, because whether or not I remained incognito was a wash, and I was being looked at by someone no matter what on the internet I did, or where I decided to go and in that sense was being fed these things, and yet with some Grace of God was allowed with it to be aligned with my own higher purpose in a way, I could observe that Michael Jackson was not in fact of course certainly just a dancer or singer or remarkable performer— he was truly a magician, and I was able to clearly recognize this language with with the energy that had used his vehicle for such a projection was speaking— not only this, I was able to clearly count out the markings and sigils and signs and symbols Michael was making in his movement; ancient arts, and magical symbols, traced so rapidly that it almost created a heat signature in a sense of the symbols that were being dictated, unknowing to the untrained eye. For the most part, I could only really assume that this is why these people were losing their minds— in his movements, Michael Jackson was literally carving ancient callings, glyphs and sigils I had so recently read about in magical studies that it was impossible not to laugh. This was in every sense of the word, ‘magic' but not in the normal way one assumes to be something unexplainable. Michael Jackson was casting spells to thousands of people at a time, in front of cameras and at high volume vibration, often times even implementing the use of light, color, and fire. These were not simple gatherings in mass for entertainment purposes— these were rituals, and in the modern day, still were or are— but I had noticed in a quick glimpse, from Michael Jackson 30 some odd years ago to Lady Gaga just having passed something like a week ago to an audience of the same size— that something was kind of wrong, now. The people had changed, and the specable had been done over and over, and the brainwashing of the masses had in a sense been almost complete— and so It wasn't some sense of confusion or unknowing the things that were happening to me in my own life and my own world— I too, was capable of these things, at that capacity, and had simply not been trained in the same sense of the ideal superstar, however— the things that were happening in my own life and in my own world were not difficult to grasp or understand— when one comes upon a power as such, it finds means to seek to control it and harness it for his own use and purposes. Perhaps it was the simple fact that in this way, in the way I get the dream had gone and the spectacle had been played out of the masses and the illusion was no longer as such— that the actual knowledge of distinct ancient wisdom that had been Michael Jackson's natural ability was distinguishable from that of Lady Gaga's training in the same formula, and that one did not equal the other, but in terms of business could equal to that as such as the masses had been manipulated to seek solace in these same things— and it was not illusion or grandiosity that I, even in my agingness, was still capable of these things; I had no doubt in my mind that I could sing and dance for two hours to audiences of hundreds of thousands— but this was not the question for the business or the media— the question was, would hundreds of thousands pay to see me, or rather— who was willing to front the means to hypnotize hundreds of people to become aware of me so that they would do such a thing. My talent and capabilities were undeniable— but my markatability might have been in question, because it was no longer simply a matter or chance or luck: the people chosen to figure such spectacle were chosen, hand selected and well trained to become media conglomerate superstars, even regardless of talent; perhaps this itself was the key indication that the world of the superstar itself had come to an end—it was no longer so much of a spectacle was worth it. Or, perhaps, because money had come between these ancient arts and symbols and languages being spoken by the superstars of old, that the magic in the literal sense had gone all the way away. The symbolism in the art had died, and so the singing and the dancing remained, but the God had gone out of it. Maybe that was the difference. The superstars of today were just the shell of the model that had been built on God, but the Godsense of it was no longer there— and so the magic no longer remained in effect, as the powers of magic that be are in all ancient arts and texts and forms attributive to The Source. Either way, I wasn't going to continue to be a sitting duck in my apartment in Brooklyn— there were too many indications that it had all been a setup from the shelter to the day I moved in, with the motorcycles and cars and CBS studios one block away. So the real and only question was, what exactly had been played at and who exactly was pulling the strings? I might at this point become a loose cannon: my son was estranged and as far as the people were concerned, I mostly hated New York— because the refined, clean cut and classy people I liked and wanted to be around saw me as the dirt and the grime I was fighting my way through just to simply exist— in my mind, this was a world that could be no more. I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress Keep writing I never thought I ‘d see the day Where i's taking lessons on Fallon From Michael Jackson That's ran That's a fan This is fame I'm insane I'm insane That's a fan Light the flame That's a fan. That's a fan. I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I went up the rack, set the page on fire Nordstrom rack And I might take it back for the cash I like Sara in a dress Stay repressed Keep it dark If you kiss don't tell I will probably go to hell for just writing Try it In black ink, I got all spades, Ehy, Spare me the ridicule, the imbecile and I met Johnny in a cage I like Fallon in a dress, Obsessive, I'm dressed out Every day I leave where I do not live Where stalker crawl and haunt me Just to show the motorcycles Have desheveled my intelligence into Nothing And so with negligence, I leave the core of a rotting apple The foreign words of a doctor And You must call the king, says something far off But I wonder which one I wonder which one I so respect her honor That I no longer Follow my heart or my soul And I don't shallow But shatter to swallow So I let the sparrow Out of the cage I bought Sara A pair of pants And I haunt l Patrick Kirkpatrick in patches And haven't you read yet You're ready for forget the pageant? It hasn't happened yet! I love Sara in a dress I hate Fallon and his wife Keep the kids out if it Skull and crossbones Cross my heart and Really hope to the loveless Or else Someone might call my phone back It's on silent in my coffin Or wait— It's on vibrate. I'm obsessed with the way You're dressed And the name on your checks I guess I'm better for it I'll skip lunch if you think that's what's best And dinner, too If you deserve the best Then better have learned my lesson No sweat And to do, With you, Was then, Dinner through next supper All the love I had was Rubbed into something other than The glass I patted dry With microfiber With ever fiber of my being I want to be with you I should have just— Died, And then Did, and so next Life, Remind me not to Fall for it If i really wanted to know you,I would know you by now– If i wanted to have you? I would have had you already Nobody is a dancer after Michael Jackson. I just watched some shit that was like “What the fuck did I just see” The whole thing was just not right. It was-/ I was like First of all, it's Munich, 1997. I never really realized how terribly the world has changed; No cellphones, but the audience is lit, And the crazy thing is, you can tell that this is near the turn of the century because, when the camera is panning by the audience in the people, they're not looking directly into the camera or waving at the camera— not really. And clearly this is an all ages show, so there's children, so the interesting thing I'm finding out is that nobody's trained to look at the camera and wave and smile— except the babies on shoulders and shit. These kids— they're my age now, are the only ones that see the camera, and they look directly into the shit. Mi still can't do that, really— I'm theatrically trained. Haha If I see a camera, I try to act ‘natural' It's the weirdest thing to look at a camera and just start to work it. People at festivals now, the camera rolls by, Or the drone flies in, And they look deadass in the camera and start to work it. Not at this show. Munich 1997, I'm like “Damn, a lot of things is wrong with this” First of all, I love Michael Jackson, I look directly at this man, and I'm in my dirty peak so I have an instant— like a sex detector thing going on And I know people gave Michael a hard time when he was a live for being fruity and whatever But I'm looking at this dude, and I don't see fruit at all. I see 100% man. I see why people were mad at him. Cause I'm looking at this dude, 100% All I see is carnal, primal man. I'm like, “Yo, I see why they was mad at him” Because the camera kept panning to the audience And these people are losing their minds. They are coming out of themselves. They are UGLY CRYING, full out of body, Losing composure They don't know what to do. That's Michael Jackson. He's right there! And the place is huge so really besides these few hundreds of people in the front, Michael's just a speck, But he's working this audience like “Yo, you know who I am, I know who is me” And I'm realizing, that to these people That's their god. These girls are losing their minds m “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!l *crying inconsolably* Just UGLY crying Bitch, get it together . You all the way lost yourself Get. It together. She won't. This bitch. I can't get over this This one girl, They just keep going back to her Cause the whole show— And this is like 2 hours of pure non stop Michael Jackson, This girl, every time you see her, she's just ugly crying— And every time you see her Her cry is uglier and ugly I'm like “Damn bitch” “Daaaaaaang” So this is the first thing I see that is wrong. But there's a lot of things wrong here, Cause there's a lot of girls like this. There's just— hundreds of girls losing their minds, like, I've seen Beatles mania and thought that was crazy, Shit, I've even seen some people put out that kind of energy in the modern world for some dumb DJ's— That's their god— But THIS THIS Michael Jackson mania was mental illness That was hard to watch. That was people just Lost control. I'm thinking “Like goddamn. You— what?!” “AAagghhhhhhgahahahahahqhahahhahaha MICHAELl “These people are sick” But they are. And so is Michael Fame has gone too far, 1997; 12 short years before he died, by chance— So this is what I see, And then Michael starts dancing, And this— This is what I see; I see the only thing that can ever be what it was in that moment in time, as God being God: Michael Jackson. Shiny ass motherfucker, And so I'm watching this show, And all I see is a God being a man being a God being— Michael Jackson— And the whole thing is weird. But the worst part— Yes The worst part Was when, about mid show, Michael goes to do one of his slow, lovey doves songs, And like, this 6 foot 7 type body guard guy, Just pops up out of nowhere, Comes dead front and center to one of these little girls losing their minds, Runs up on her in an instant; You don't even have time to think— And just SNATCHES her— Snatches the bitch— “Ah!” then throws her up on stage with Michael— And he's still singing; this is his game, this is part of the show, he knows— But she doesn't know, And she's just lost her mind, She won't let go She's hugging and kissing on the dude, She's lost her mind, She's ugly crying She's on the floor, She's kissing his hand She's really lost her good goddamn mind— And they pan out to the audience, And all the girls that didn't get picked Are like WHY NOT MEEEEEEEREEEEE?!? THE UGLY CRIES ARE EVEN UGLIER NOW, They're like “Wh—what?” You don't know?! “WHY NOT ME” They're holding each other crying, Michael's just doing his thing, He's unphased, He's trying to play along; He's a professional like a motherfucker; He's just— keeps singing And this girl is just, Losing it, so at this point, it's weird, She's crazy batshit lost her mind all the way, Won't let go of Michael, kissing his face while he's singing, He's kind of unreceptive to it, now just looking out at the audience, almost not even looking at all Just cold as fuck actually, Like she's not there, kissing his face Cold as fuck— And then another bouncer dude— An even bigger one in a blue suit, comes and tears her off of Michael Cause clearly this has gone too far or whatever And I'm thinking “What in the fuck did I just see” Blue suit dude just snatches, Just— He has to tear her off of him! She's kicking and screaming and getting dragged off stage Michael's just: singing. YO. Then they dragged her back stage. Where did she go?! WHO DID SHE BECOME?! WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE?!? WHAT. 1997. You can't do that shit anymore! You cannot snatch bitches like that. I seen. Watch the video. Tell me what's wrong with it. It's disgusting. Not the snatching, Not the— Like, that was weird But the screaming and the crying and the— Like okay, the snatching was bad— But I'm like … ..:: …. Now I see why they was mad. Don't ever forget he was once— A dark skinned little boy, And in his genetics his whole life is still this thing That some hate. But people loved him; they loved him that hard— Screaming, ugly crying hard. I think in that moment you know someone was like “he must be stopped!” And it seems like yesterday was a year ago But I don't want let anybody know… Cause everybody wants something from me now— And I don't want to let them down. My life is over. New York City looks so small from the top of a skyscraper. What are you doing. Then again— my thoughts lately have been grandiose. Back market, eh? What's this for? You need a burner. I have three. Here, have another. For someone whose supposed to be entirely off grid, I'm admirably reachable. Clever vocabulary. Something has to be clever about me, doesn't it? Does it? It must be. Or else. [both men are speaking casually over the delicate process of loading rare guns; some of which appear to be antique, and some—almost even unearthly , as if from somewhere besides our own planet. But, you could say what planet this is at all, actually— this bunker, with no windows and no doors, is apparently hidden in a subterranean layer— the location, unknown. The men seem calm but also quite tired and weary, and seem to know each other well. We can assume they've probably been friends for years. Sickle cell anemia. Does that mean I'm going to die. Animus, I quite like whatever that is, Google. ;) don't mention it. Honestly, you might as well. What. I can't help you with this. What. I don't think there's anyone who can. Beg your pardon. Please, don't beg— but uh… [the doctor pats his patient on the shoulder] Do take care. Gee, doc! I'll try! You should do that. What. Try. The doctor leaves seemingly in some kind of hurry, trading his lab coat for a trench coat and closing the door behind him. The other man pauses for a second in the silence of the weird linoleum room, then ponders on the coat for a moment before walking up to the coat rack, putting on the coat, and then walking out the door himself; as he begins to shut the door, he quickly decides also to take the fedora that was sitting atop the coat rack, placing it on his head before he walks out the door himself, shutting it behind him quietly. You got anything to eat in here? Cereal…some rabbit food ina the drawers, there. Oh, you have salad. That sounds nice. No, rabbit food. [the man presents a large bag of weird brown dry food from the crisper drawer.] …pellets. For the rabbits. How do rabbits get in here? …I don't know. And— more importantly— where did you get rabbit food for them? If I told you Amazon, would you believe me? The man just winces and places the bag back into the crisper drawer. Now listen, I um— If you want cereal, the milk is powedred… I don't— and that's disgusting— but listen— [the man cocks a loaded gun and admires it intensively] (Dismissively) —I'm listening. I've been meaning to tell you something. Tell me what. It's important. Oh, You couldn't have used one of my four phones. Look, it's— You know I wasn't expecting company. Well— You should sit down. The man squints, beginning to listen more attentively. … …really. I'm holding a loaded gun; there are at least three more within arms reach if I do sit, you know. I know. But I should sit? One baby to another says, “I'm lucky to've met you.” Maybe you should. Not all my bad but all my might, And all my mind, The fire, The light. …business or personal. [beat] Both. {Enter The Multiverse} What are we watching?! Shhhhhh! Shut up. What is this? Some.. Sshhh. Shit, I don't know. Sit down. You don't know. SHH it just came on Shh. Ok. When? Uh… (Nobody really seems to know how long it's been. The show just happened to come on; no one remembers how, or why— or even when— But the show is intense as it gets; And it just keeps getting weirder and deeper.) {Enter The Multiverse} I'm transfixed on your soul And it seems I aspire To what has transpired here, Your unremarked and the umpire The spider veins and the way it washes. And watches and waves, and waters over you, And still I seem to think you've won another, Strum to thumb of you. And still I wake to gather here The odds and whats And the twists and turns and the Troublesome you've number some Or stuttered, stumbled conciousness. And withered branches Aces lie and house of cards And aging scoundrels— There you are, the..: Nevermind. Don't belittle my ways if, In the end my thinking may be correct As dumbfounded as I have shifted my lottery bonds tied to none, There ye are again who aren't I, And never were, And weathered now, as I, bound to Struggle under her might, Nothing I was, and nothing I am And nothing I came from but to barter Oh hard love, I only found my kings upon thrown As cast out of another by her likeness, Peace and pale and primed as it was, And wanted for love, As I was not— And then, the gates had opened And I, preaching withered, Gathered my arts and my minds And my eyes, and my thrones, Buried my ark and though not my bones The shallow waking peaks of pride And there you gathered, all as huddled sheep to mine, The cost of war, but certain therefore honored as I have, Happened went, came and untied, shattered Hating all I am and all my dark and all my eyes and all my brown Because you came and went, a baby born to as nothing was but beauty and yet having been gifted such life, Departed! Soon, I wake shattered and with none as it had began, in my time and in time there laid there none, But fortune seeks to favor, as ye are saying brave and yet I neither beg nor make to differ, Shall you come again in part, And in this time as shadows, as shadows As hating and wearing and waging, And shattered I, I pardon, Knowing not they seeking I, And I having none at all but one, As forgotten I shall came And went And followed this, The time y'i call now, And ours and ours, And yours and yours, And mine and mine, Though as one are also, Common not, And waking yet to find, These things making have gone into yer Another of ours, world, Another of our dozens, Shines, Another of our gathered, wit, and waking Though true to fortune, none us have gathered And have embarked to truth, The waking I have come, Another, and another, and another Departed. And yet, I bury my words having weakened to that which is this, Ye have no fear and lest no fortune in these words, For having I to come and gone, since they times In words to make this a language I or neither other Does not speak here, and almost never, And this yours time past, Has come and gone And come and gone And come and gone again, So long so I too have parted but not yet Unfolded as does my nature, As God does. Belittle this, you waking fools, As to this you pity though divine, Is unlike any other And steep remarked in gold and with chimes and words That ye here no often or either now, or in mine speak. Amen …can I go now? You are dismissed. C'cxell Soleïl, aka DJ Ū is an American DJ + Producer, Multi-Instrumentalist, Playwright, Poet, Comedian, Novelist & Filmmaker. She is best known for her unique vocal riffs, Clever Lyricism & Philanthropically Inspired Freestyles and her flagship venture [The Festival Project.™] [Ï A M B ī C], a freestyle studio mixtape recorded in Los Angeles, (Official Release: TBD) inspired the adaptation of a staged musical version for Broadway, and a concurrent multimedia (TV/Film) series and ongoing saga as part of The Festival Project ™ Brand. Inspired musically by an ‘Ultra American' experience of Racially, Binary Ambiguity, and Synesthetic Exploration, her reflective melodies signature sound provides a philosophical dissection of American culture through a careful and inquisitive mastery of the English language, and emergence of world sounds through music brings about ‘A New Era in Nature', and clarifies the establishment of the newest wave in human evolution: Unity Through Music. L E G E N D S What if I just want to be alone in the dark Alone in the dark Alone in the dark Bones Duggar was a long, handsome zombie Bones once was a very tall man Not great and tall, as he stands But average, Grand as it were, his status. Everything's black My heart My pants My home My mind Everything hurts But you don't understand that Like I can Calm the commercial holidays for a moment Who gets the card? Get our your hard earned My head hurts Slam the door man; You can't control thoughts With a wombat Murderer Now that's a hard concept to catch When you haven't a soul When you haven't a card Or a car Or a cat I think I'm vanilla. I always thought of myself as a super kink Like a freaky, freaky bitch. So I got on this app. This app is better then Tinder. Yes. But it is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. They have a test, I'm like “ooh, I like tests” So I take the test. The test was not at all… As I'd hoped. First of all, It was hard. It was not a quiz; It was a TEST And I failed. I realized “Oh my god, I don't like any of this stuff” I am not about that! No! Yuck! Gross. “I think I might be vanilla.” I might be vanilla. I want my hair pulled back like a leash And my arms tied up Like I'm being arrested Without being read my rights. — I want your hands on the back of my neck [breathe] Reach around to my Mortimer's apple Put the lights out, Adam. I want the lights cut off. I want the bills piled up so the phone don't work I want the habit back on Don't talk to nobody I told you, I'm coming No, God! That's dumb! Show me why I'm off all alone with a rattle so bad It's just segmented thoughts, colors and sounds I can't make with all the plugins in the kindgdom of chaos?! I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES— I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES —but the one who could love me is God, And I guess he's not coming. The denial turns to tears, Not songs no more My womb is empty And the sun has turned into Not what I wanted But not my fault We got caught in the land of Cutting costs And processed morsels At 400 pounds And that's where I found What I thought was love But it turns out That it just turns up In the whole form of a person And that's why I got the collar, caller But really I'm no one's lover So I Do what I want I don't hang up on God But he don't got a body And I need someone to love/ Fuck me Please God Don't turn the lights off I'll pull the clock back Just like foreskin, god i want your skin Draped over mine in a warm swath Probably run a hot back Cause the next stop is a closet The line doesn't really move for the Doesn'tMatterhorn. some people are starting to doubt if it's even a ride. Others just admire it for its eloquence as a metaphor. Johnny! You scared me! Aha. Where did you go?! Nowhere— fast! Alright well— Money when you know I have it But I haven't really Paid attention to the never ending Digits never coming in but Simply, there's a secret, Sonny Someday you'll get lessons, honey. Much to find and much to serve and Surf us up Piñata's bout the burst But here comes Vesuvius (POW) Everyone was gone in an instant (Vapor) Had a good laugh that night in the pantheon; Everything's past, and the mortals They kept on running But i didn't want go, God Putting on a show then I blow up Just like the mountain Found her Now I got a broke back husband (hope so) To tell, don't ask Don't show up if you just get lost But I'm probably in the back with a bottle back mountain Now you got a real horse pack. Trip Girl keep camping What was the map with the mask and the Fashion? Pass. I put sugar on the rim of the glass With my eyes half closed And my ass clenched fast shut I'm an alcoholic Don't involve the God I got lost in the mall with the —- UGHHHHHHHH! Hello. Uh, yes— hi. what up. Mirror mirror. Uh…nothing. You're lost? No. You look lost. Oh? Disgruntled. I am that. You're lost? I'm not lost. My friend is lost. His phone is dead. You lost each other. Sort of. Continuity conniption I nipped an eclipse And he picked his nose For a full ass minute Sitting at the stop sign That's a gobstopper's worth in our time Pull all the clocks back, Pull the fool over, You just got fined It was Friday for nothing I was in the hatchback, Scratch that Sour patch Should have called Pat back Now I'm just a Cool 48 in the ring with a date And the cashapp Continuity construction I want a husband! Fuck that. I want a clean cut plus one Since I can't have Helmet, Elmo, Or Hatchetman; Tears of a Clow…no, Wait I lost focus Half finished album Got 6 tracks But I knew it was 12 from the get go Prob‘ly should have knocked off the showrunner; Nah, I'm sure I had that coming Hashtag, undon Could have been you, too If the cash came through Now it's hard times Hardwired Sitting on a hi wire, Little white liar, liar Wait I made Katey Sagal (Fire) Cut off her hair (Fire) Went to the hall of fame with the framed sunglasses Asked for her autograf, But she walked off So I shot her with a bottle/ can, But she ducked, popped back up With the brass knuckles Surfboard Good for a chuckle and a fuck So I asked for her number All that on a Sunday at Gelson's market. Christ, almighty I miss Walmart, I hit hard times. So many places to run, But not many places to hide I think I want to die here I think i want to die. City of corruption… Lay it out and lay it over City of corruption… no, it's not a choice It's a black tie function Right in that very moment Seth Meyers kind of became my defacto personal hero. “Never meet your heroes” Or perhaps it was just his writing team, or the fact that maybe even without there even being anything set in stone or solid at all, [redacted] itself seemed to have a price over my head– It all seemed to make sense; in fact, all the crazy things i was experiencing made more sense than it didn't. But after what felt something like between defeat and maybe even one day really getting justice for all the things that had happened to me in new york– it was that, at best; That without actually meaning it, by all probability, the opening monologue described what in perfect sense the thing that had been happening to me: hundreds of motorcycles and cars riding around in circles for over a year, any time i tried to work or sleep–and then, when I finally tried to reach out to find an attorney that would help, I was made to feel crazy for it. In a way, it was the perfect indication that it had all been some sort of sick game, and that I was more right than wrong, and being set up to appear, sound, or look crazy–but I wasn't. I had been under attack for nearly two years, and when I tried to reach out, my heart raced and my voice cracked, and I sounded crazy and desperate–but what was happening was very real; and now I knew where I was. As it turns out, New York's corruption was more common knowledge to everyone else before it was to me: New York was a common place for fucked up, dirty, low-down mind games: and this was my lesson in that. Seth Meyers in reality had nothing to do with it–and really I only meant to watch Kimmel over my afternoon tacos. But still, though it hadn't entirely anything to do with me, the opening statements rang true to exactly what I had experienced; I was made to lose my mind, only to have everyone around me tell me it was something wrong with me–but it wasn't. Something was wrong with the city, and the building management, and the people around who were making it all to be some kind of mental disorder or problems with my mind–in reality, it was 2 years of being in the center of a speedway, and all the time i'd lost because of it adding to the stress, and the angst, and the depression that resulted. Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Does anyone else smell blood I hate wedding days suits and tuxedos No, I don't know you I'm just here to sound the hundred drums Of the once before us (The ones to come) Then, there we were and I didn't want to admit Again, I was caught into the ghost of the rapture Or the holy hour, No aux chord Show the holy one Just how old you are On these sacr d lands and a holy grounds Now I want here half an ounce to smoke And there were drowning orchestras in all of the hearts And all of the markets, The market the marker And all of the sins of the savior The maytyr Did you remember not to notice not to know him Were you sure with words you were for nickelodeaon! I was supposed to hold on to, Supposed to hold on to Suddenly, it's summer. And always our own are under the weather There was no other wise man the wind. Lee the one came The site came and went and then the songs went left The songs went left; Again, the songs went left Did you win at wintergreen Well, God, I didn't know gym was a game. I didn't know guns we're just portals to worlds unknownn I didn't know gossip was golden What all else didn't I know It wasn't for here! It was fourth flour And in the final hour of the battle I commenced to summon All the gods and all the lords and all the flowers All the worlds of oceans and the Remember, this The remembrance It may not matter to some, What matters to most But until summer comes, I'm still up under the rail And practically it's spring, for the next two weeks I'm all berries and cream and whatever you wanted. Tormaline, emerald and onyx, the fox said And fox says its west when instead it's quite under what of the reporter's offer? Comes down a little to none What of the offer Comes down from a billion to one A billion to one I'm on TV so it's really just a one way screen Either way, I don't think he likes me much I don't think he likes me much I'd rather die than to fall in love even one more time And to keep on just never being loved Never beingbloved {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

I'd like to start by giving a warm welcome back to my wiser, older sister (well, she's not my sister, but she feels like it), Marilyn Vetter. Marilyn and I met one another a few years ago, and our stories are so similar, it's eerie. In Marilyn's first chapter in Brave Women at Work: Lessons in Confidence, she talked about the question, “Why Not Me?” to a potential promotion in her career. That question stopped me in my tracks and had me wondering if I took a moment to ask, “Why not me?” to opportunities in my life.When Marilyn let me know what she was going to contribute another chapter to the book, Brave Women at Work: Lessons in Letting Go, I was so excited to hear a new beautiful story from her. When I read this most recent chapter, “Chasing Contentment,” I cried. She admits for all the world to see that she was a workaholic. Marilyn's words were a mirror to me that I too am a workaholic. It's weird to say out loud. I also admit it during our conversation. They say awareness is the first step to changing the negative pattern or habit. Well, if Marilyn can make the strides she has made in her life and work, I am confident that I can do the same.

Maria shares her journey advocating for mental healthcare, from working in a medical facility helping patients navigate services to struggling with the complex systems while trying to help her brother with severe mental illness. Her powerful story reveals critical gaps in our mental health and legal systems that prevent timely intervention for those most in need. • Experience as a healthcare advocate navigating insurance barriers and provider shortages • Personal history with anxiety and OCD providing firsthand understanding of mental health challenges • Brother's delusional disorder progression from normal complaints to severe paranoia • Attempts to get help through police and crisis responders repeatedly blocked by bureaucratic barriers • Brother's eventual criminal behavior, jail time, and homelessness due to untreated mental illness • Finding support through MOMI (Mothers of the Mentally Ill) while continuing to search for solutions • Importance of maintaining hope and humanizing those with severe mental illness • Awareness as the first step toward creating positive change in mental health systems If you know someone who has a story to share, tell them to contact us at whynotmeworld. Spread the word about Why Not Me, our conversations, our inspiring guests that show you are not alone in this world.

Melody Guy shares her extraordinary journey as an autistic singer-songwriter who has traveled over two million miles despite the challenges of sensory issues and PTSD. She reveals how music became both her shelter and her bridge to connecting with others when words failed. • Diagnosed with autism as an adult around the same time as her son • Survived childhood sexual abuse starting at age nine and a kidnapping at age 19 • Found her voice through music after escaping a controlling marriage that prevented her from singing for ten years • Created "red threads" of connection through music demonstrations at Guitar Centers across America • Developed coping strategies including a mental "switch" that helps her perform despite sensory challenges • Working on her 11th music project which includes songs about autism like "Invisible" and "Life in the Spectrum" • Discovered her "superpower" in co-writing songs with other trauma survivors through music therapy programs • Advocates for fellow autistic individuals to embrace their differences and clearly communicate their boundaries Tell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me? The World, the conversations we're having and the inspiration our guests give to everyone everywhere that you are not alone in this world. https://tonymantor.com https://Facebook.com/tonymantor https://instagram.com/tonymantor https://twitter.com/tonymantor https://youtube.com/tonymantormusic intro/outro music bed written by T. Wild Why Not Me music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

This week's guest is one of the most successful independent artists in modern music.He's a rapper, singer, songwriter, and producer who built his career from the ground up—writing, recording, producing, mixing, mastering, and releasing everything himself.But in this rare conversation, he opens up about the side of the journey we don't usually hear:The emotional weight of ownership, the mental toll of doing it all alone, and the belief system that kept him going when no one else did.We get into:Publishing, splits, and how he structured his businessWhy he doesn't co-write or chase featuresThe pressure of independence and learning to let go of controlBurnout, success, spirituality, fear of falling off, and moreThis is more than a career breakdown—it's a blueprint for any creative who wants to build something real without losing their peace.And The Writer Is... Russ!Chapters00:00:00 - Trailer: A Glimpse Inside 00:00:57 - Ad Break: NMPA and the Fight for Songwriter Pay 00:01:39 - Welcome to And The Writer Is… with Russ 00:02:14 - Meet Russ: The Unstoppable Indie Force 00:03:50 - From NJ to ATL: Russ's Early Grind 00:06:40 - Atlanta's Snap Era and Soulja Boy Influence 00:07:53 - Homegrown Sounds: 70s Rock and Dad's Secret Talent 00:10:11 - First Guitar: The Genesis of a Songwriter 00:11:08 - GarageBand Dreams: Crafting Early Beats 00:12:09 - Musical Influences: Lil Wayne and Pop-Punk 00:13:30 - Defining the Russ Sound 00:15:29 - Drum Programmers vs. Songwriters 00:18:23 - Publishing Game: Russ's 50/50 Split Strategy 00:25:56 - Masters vs. Publishing: Where the Money Is 00:27:06 - Losin Control: The $850K Sample Mistake 00:28:28 - Building an Independent Empire 00:30:38 - Own Your Business: Russ's Wake-Up Call 00:33:18 - Inspiration Is a Lie: Show Up and Work 00:34:28 - Weekly Releases: Discipline Over Inspiration 00:37:14 - Creative Sparks: Shower, Planes, and Life 00:47:26 - Cherry Hill: The Hunt for the Perfect Word 00:51:09 - Live First, Write Later 00:53:10 - The Power of Delusional Belief 01:03:11 - Russ's Blueprint: 2 Songs a Month 01:06:57 - Respect Your Audience's Ear 01:09:18 - The Pressure of Success and Family 01:13:55 - Therapy and Acceptance 01:14:37 - Breaking Into Acting and Hollywood 01:25:26 - Ad Break: Powered by peermusic 01:47:10 - Growth Through Vulnerability 01:48:46 - Why Russ Stays Independent 01:53:27 - Fair Pay for Songwriters 02:00:22 - The “Good Problems” of Success 02:07:38 - Chloe, Otto, and Life Lessons 02:08:57 - Outro: And The Writer Is... 02:11:42 - Why Not Me? Russ's Final Word Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Send us a text"Why Not Me?" podcast expands its mission to embrace both autism and mental health worldwide, creating a platform for raw, authentic storytelling that inspires and connects. Host Tony Mantor welcomes listeners to join a global movement fostering awareness, acceptance, and understanding through powerful personal narratives.• Broadcasting from Nashville, Tennessee with a mission to share powerful stories• Expanding focus to include both autism and mental health following 61 impactful episodes• Commitment to raw, authentic storytelling that educates and heals• Special events planned, including collaboration with Humanity Over Handcuffs• Building an inclusive community where no one feels aloneIf you have a story to share or know someone whose voice deserves to be heard, please connect with us at https://whynotme.worldSpread the word about Why Not Me, our conversations, our inspiring guests, the show - you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textCindy Murphy shares the heartbreaking story of her son Tristan, who struggled with schizophrenia and died by suicide while incarcerated after being handed a chainsaw during a prison work detail. Through her grief, Cindy has become a powerful advocate for mental health reform in the criminal justice system, working to pass the Tristan Murphy Act in Florida.• Tristan developed schizophrenia in his 30s, unusually late compared to typical onset in teens or early 20s• After his first psychotic episode, Tristan spent 8 months in jail before being declared incompetent to stand trial• When properly medicated, Tristan functioned well and maintained a relationship with his children• Florida ranks #1 in mental health needs but #49 in providing mental health services• The Tristan Murphy Act aims to identify mental health issues within 24 hours of arrest and divert people to treatment• Approximately 30% of prison inmates have mental health issues• New treatments like long-acting injectable medications can help people with schizophrenia maintain stability• The documentary "The Warehouse: The Life and Death of Tristan Murphy" is available on YouTubeIf you know anyone that would like to tell their story, send them to tonymantor.com/contact with their information so one day they may be a guest on our show. Please tell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me ? Embracing Autism and Mental Health Worldwide The World, the conversations we're having, and the inspiration our guests give to everyone that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textLaura Krachun shares her son's harrowing journey with serious mental illness and the systemic failures that criminalize mental health conditions instead of treating them. Her story highlights the urgent need for better policies to support individuals with psychosis and their families.• Laura's son was misdiagnosed with ADHD before eventually being diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder at age 20• Cannabis use potentially triggered or worsened his psychotic symptoms• Despite 16 attempts to get help through ERs and police, the family faced constant rejection from healthcare facilities• Anosognosia (lack of illness awareness) prevented her son from voluntarily seeking treatment• After a violent episode, her son entered the justice system rather than receiving appropriate psychiatric care• Their state's mental health department only offers services to those who volunteer, excluding those with anosognosia• The legal system spent resources on 72 court hearings rather than on treatment• Laura advocates for Assisted Outpatient Treatment laws to bridge the gap between legal and medical systems• Better education is needed for judges, lawyers, and medical professionals about serious mental illnessWe ask that you tell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me? The World, the conversations we're having, and the inspiration our guests give to everyone everywhere that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textLynn Nanos, a mobile psychiatric emergency social worker with 15+ years experience, shares insights on evaluating and helping people with serious mental illness in crisis situations. Her work bridges the gap between law enforcement and mental healthcare, providing crucial interventions for individuals experiencing psychosis and other mental health emergencies.• Conducts psychiatric evaluations in various settings including homes, police stations, nursing homes, and even public spaces• Assesses whether individuals need hospitalization or can be referred to outpatient treatment• Works with police to divert people from the criminal justice system when possible• Explains the "revolving door" problem with brief hospital stays leading to recurring crises• Advocates for Assisted Outpatient Treatment (AOT) to reduce homelessness, hospitalization, and incarceration• Discusses anosognosia (lack of awareness of illness) affecting up to 97% of untreated schizophrenia patients• Clarifies that most people with mental illness are not violent and are more likely to be victims• Highlights the difference between psychosis and borderline personality disorder interventions• Emphasizes that mental illnesses are brain disorders that shouldn't be stigmatizedContact us at TonyMantor.com if you would like to share your story on our show. Tell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me, the conversations we're having, and the inspiration our guests give to everyone that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textGeri Clark, Resource and Advocacy Manager at Treatment Advocacy Center, shares her devastating journey of losing her son to severe mental illness while navigating a broken treatment system that wouldn't help until it was too late. She reveals critical gaps in our mental health system and explains how legal barriers, misunderstood medical conditions, and insufficient family support create deadly consequences for those with severe psychiatric disorders.• Son experienced his first psychotic break at 19 while attending college on a debate scholarship• After a four-year struggle with severe mental illness, her son took his own life in 2019• Anosognosia is a neurobiological symptom where the brain cannot perceive its own illness• Current mental health system requires evidence of harm before providing involuntary treatment• Treatment standards based on legal criteria rather than medical need lead to preventable tragedies• Insurance companies create "ghost networks" of mental health providers who aren't actually available• Families are often excluded from treatment decision-making despite being primary caregivers• Prolonged exposure to untreated psychosis causes brain damage and reduces recovery chances• Some states now include psychiatric deterioration in their criteria for involuntary treatment• Treatment Advocacy Center works to develop grassroots advocates pursuing legislative change• Mental health crises receive far less urgent response than medical emergencies like strokesIf you know anyone who would like to tell their story, send them to tonymantor.com and contact us so they can be a guest on our show. Tell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me? The World, the conversations we're having, and the inspiration our guests give to show that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textJason McKenzie shares his heart-wrenching journey through grief after losing his wife to suicide and his daughter to trauma-induced mental health struggles. His story reveals how childhood trauma ripples through generations and how he found healing through sobriety, purposeful grief work, and helping others.• Lost his police officer wife to suicide after years battling mental health issues stemming from childhood trauma• Daughters were just six and five when their mother died, causing deep trauma despite their young age• Developed a four-year drinking problem while trying to appear like he "had it together"• Experienced breakthrough moment when his nine-year-old daughter said "I'm disappointed in you"• Lost his 19-year-old daughter to a car accident related to mental health struggles• Discovered that many mental health issues stem from unprocessed childhood trauma• Creates TikTok videos about grief that have reached 40 million views and helped prevent suicides• Uses somatic experiencing therapy to process grief through body awareness• Writing a book called "Man Down" about grief specifically targeted to men• Emphasizes the power of intentional language in shaping our experience of grief• Practices positive reframing: "I can be grateful for 19 years with her because it's better than zero"• Believes healing comes through facing what seems unfaceable and sitting with difficult emotionsContact Jason through TonyMantor.com if you'd like to share your story on Why Not Me? The World podcast.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textCrystal Fox shares her heartbreaking journey as the mother of a son with schizophrenia and co-founder of Arizona Mad Moms, an organization supporting families of loved ones with degenerative brain illnesses causing psychosis. Through her dual perspective as both a parent and a psychiatric nurse with 30 years of experience, Crystal illuminates the critical gaps in our mental healthcare system.• Anosognosia is a symptom of serious mental illness where individuals cannot recognize they are ill, truly believing their hallucinations and delusions are real• Despite clear signs of severe psychosis, Crystal's son Joshua was repeatedly denied proper psychiatric treatment because he wasn't actively suicidal• Current mental healthcare prioritizes treating suicidal ideation while allowing untreated psychosis, despite psychosis leading to higher rates of suicide and homicide• America has regressed in mental healthcare, removing people from hospitals and placing them in jails or communities without adequate support• Arizona Mad Moms successfully advocated for legislation requiring screening centers to document family information and created training programs on anosognosiaTell everyone, everyone everywhere, about Why Not Me, The World, the conversations we're having and the inspiration our guests give to everyone everywhere, that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textCohen Miles-Rath shares his powerful journey from psychosis and incarceration to becoming a mental health advocate and author. His story reveals how proper support systems and personal determination transformed a life-altering crisis into a mission of education and advocacy that's changing how we approach mental health treatment.• Surviving untreated schizoaffective disorder that led to a psychotic episode and incarceration• Using the four dimensions of recovery—purpose, home, health, and community—to rebuild life• Transitioning from jail to graduate school within a year through structured support• Working with Mental Health Association in New York State and the Suicide Prevention Center• Writing memoir "Mending Reality" to share experiences and reduce stigma around psychosis• Speaking publicly to create understanding and empathy for serious mental illness• Advocating for better interventions before people reach crisis points• Emphasizing the distinction between general mental health challenges and mental illness• Building communities where recovery becomes not just possible but probable• Using personal vulnerability to help others develop empathy for those experiencing mental illnessIf you know anyone who would like to tell their story, send them to TonyMantor.com and they may become a guest on Why Not Me? The World.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Dennis Welch is the author of 500 songs, many of which listeners hear on the radio. He recently released his latest album, “What Love Makes Us Do.” Nashville veteran producer, record company owner, and manager Tony Mantor recorded Dennis' song, “Why Not Me?” and named his 2020 album after the song. Mantor's “Why Not Me?” … The post Songwriter Dennis Welch: “What Love Makes Us Do” (Episode # 354F) first appeared on TRANSLEADERSHIP, INC®.

Send us a textPete Early shares his journey from Washington Post journalist to mental health advocate after his son developed bipolar disorder, revealing how a broken system forces families into crisis before providing help.• Diagnosis came during his son Kevin's college years with warning signs like "food doesn't taste good" and confusion about reality• Psychiatrist delivered a devastating prognosis: "incurable disease" with lifetime medication, weight gain, likely unemployment• Kevin stopped taking medication after a few weeks, leading to psychosis and breaking into a stranger's house• Early couldn't get help until his son became "dangerous" enough for intervention• His son joined 365,000 Americans with serious mental illness who end up in jails and prisons annually• Crisis intervention training for police makes crucial difference in mental health encounters• Recovery came through proper medication, independent living with supportive roommates, and finding purpose as a peer counselor• Early discovered the difference between being a parent versus a partner in someone's recovery• Mental health system requires criminal behavior before providing adequate treatment• Despite Early's connections and resources, getting proper help took years of struggleIf you know anyone who would like to share their story on Why Not Me? The World, visit TonyMantor.com/Contact. Tell everyone everywhere about our show and the inspiration our guests provide, reminding you that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textA mother and clinical social worker shares her heartbreaking journey navigating the legal system after her high-achieving son developed serious mental illness, revealing how our justice system criminalizes rather than treats mental health conditions. • Licensed independent clinical social worker with 40+ years experience working with vulnerable populations• Her academically successful son began experiencing internal racing thoughts and anxiety despite outward success• Despite parents' professional backgrounds (mother a social worker, father a psychologist), they faced enormous challenges getting appropriate care• Son discontinued medication at 29, leading to psychotic episodes and repeated negative police encounters• Law enforcement and legal system demonstrated lack of training and empathy in handling mental health crises• Massachusetts lacks assisted outpatient treatment programs that could have prevented criminalization• 70-80% of incarcerated individuals suffer from serious mental illness• Anosognosia: neurological condition where individuals lose ability to self-reflect on their behaviors• Advocate working with National Shattering Silence Coalition to change legislation and improve mental health services• Need for systemic change in how police, courts, and society respond to mental health conditionsTell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me, the world, the conversations we're having and the inspiration our guests give to everyone everywhere that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textJessica Ferguson shares the deeply personal story of her brother's struggle with serious mental illness and how systemic failures led to his incarceration after being accused of a triple homicide when he should have been in psychiatric care.• Her brother had been stable with his mental illness for a decade before showing concerning behavior changes in early 2023• Despite three psychiatric hospitalizations within months, he was repeatedly discharged after 72-hour holds with no substantial care plan• Family pleas for help were ignored as healthcare providers cited voluntary treatment requirements and HIPAA restrictions• Only after being accused of a crime did he receive consistent psychiatric care• The jail system provides minimal mental health support compared to psychiatric hospitals• Families need healthcare proxy arrangements and better knowledge of resources before crises occur• Massachusetts lacks Assisted Outpatient Treatment (AOT) options that could mandate treatment• Mental health systems must partner with families who know their loved ones bestIf you know someone with a story to tell, send them to TonyMantor.com. Tell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me, the World, the conversations we're having and the inspiration our guests give to everyone everywhere that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textDr. Jhilam Biswas, a board-certified adult and forensic psychiatrist, discusses how mental health issues intersect with the criminal justice system and the urgent need for reform. She shares insights from her research and clinical experience working with incarcerated individuals with mental illness, explaining why mental health care in America's prisons is a humanitarian crisis.• Director of Psychiatry Law and Society program at Brigham and Women's Hospital and co-director of Harvard Mass General Brigham Forensic Psychiatry Fellowship• Research shows delays in psychiatric treatment lead to increased violence and worse outcomes in forensic settings• Individuals with autism have higher comorbidity with serious mental illness and are more vulnerable in law enforcement interactions• Mental illness evaluation processes vary based on setting, with court-ordered evaluations having strict timelines• Three main pathways to incarceration: substance use disorders, traumatic brain injuries, and untreated mental illness• America's largest jails have become de facto psychiatric hospitals, which Dr. Biswas calls "a human rights violation"• Currently championing two legislative reforms in Massachusetts: the Timely Treatment Bill and Critical Community Services Bill• Mental illness is treatable but often cyclical, requiring consistent medication and support• When people suffer from psychotic disorders, they often lose insight into their condition, making treatment refusal a symptom rather than a choiceTell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me, The World, the conversations we're having and the inspiration our guests give to everyone everywhere that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textSylvia Mignon, licensed clinical social worker and professor of criminal justice, shares her heartbreaking journey navigating the mental health system while trying to secure proper care for her son with schizoaffective disorder. Despite her professional expertise, she's experienced nine years of struggling against bureaucracies that prioritize themselves over the needs of individuals with severe mental illness.• Mental health systems and criminal justice bureaucracies often work to serve those within the system rather than clients and their families• Many psychiatric professionals avoid treating severe mental illness, preferring conditions that respond better to medication• Hospitals criminalize mentally ill patients they find difficult rather than transferring them to appropriate facilities• Legal professionals need better education about mental illness to make informed decisions• Massachusetts is closing psychiatric beds when many more are needed• Most people with severe mental illness (75%) eventually stop taking their medication• Support groups through organizations like Schizophrenia and Psychosis Action Alliance provide crucial help for families• Online resources and books by family members of those with mental illness offer education and perspective• Advocacy efforts include potential class action lawsuits against state mental health departments that fail patientsVisit TonyMantor.com if you have a story to share on Why Not Me? The World podcast. Please tell others about our show and help spread the message that no one is alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textLeslie Carpenter, co-founder of Iowa Mental Health Advocacy and Legislative Advocacy Manager at the Treatment Advocacy Center, shares her journey from concerned mother to dedicated mental health advocate after her son was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder 19 years ago. She discusses the barriers families face when seeking help for loved ones with severe mental illness and her multi-level approach to creating systemic change.• Leslie advocates at both state and national levels, tracking legislation across all 50 states• Mental health reform requires community-based collaboration, state-level policy changes, and federal action• Creating empathy for those with severe mental illness requires sharing stories and humanizing affected individuals• Current laws often prevent intervention until someone becomes dangerous, causing unnecessary suffering• Progress is happening with Crisis Intervention Team training for police and mental health courts• First responders, including 911 operators, need specialized training to properly handle mental health crises• The 988 crisis line offers an alternative to 911 for mental health emergencies• Hope is crucial - people with severe mental illness can attend college, build careers, and lead fulfilling lives with proper treatmentIf you know anyone who would like to share their story on Why Not Me? The World, send them to TonyMantor.com/Contact. Please tell everyone everywhere about our show and the inspiration our guests provide.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textDenise Paley shares the harrowing story of her son's sudden onset schizophrenia at age 18 and his subsequent five-year imprisonment without sentencing, revealing critical failures in how our justice system handles mental illness.• Son Ellis was an honor roll student with a bright future before experiencing first-episode psychosis• Police dismissed parents' concerns when Ellis disappeared, missing critical intervention opportunity• Ellis has been incarcerated for nearly five years, remaining unsentenced with his case continued 48 times• He spent 3.5 years without proper treatment for psychosis while in prison• When finally transferred to a facility that properly treated his condition, his symptoms completely remitted• Denise successfully advocated for mandatory crisis intervention training for Connecticut police officers• People with serious mental illness are 10 times more likely to end up in prison than in hospital• Contrary to popular belief, 50% of people with schizophrenia recover within 10 years with proper treatment• First episode psychosis requires immediate treatment - early intervention dramatically improves outcomes• Breaking stigma and sharing family mental health history can help others recognize symptoms earlierJoin us in spreading awareness about mental health in the justice system by sharing this episode and telling everyone everywhere about Why Not Me? The World.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textPatrick Kennedy shares his journey from Congressman to mental health advocate, revealing how his family history and personal struggles with addiction shaped his mission to transform America's approach to mental health care.• Passed the Mental Health Parity and Addiction Equity Act by attaching it to the 2008 bank bailout bill• Advocates for unifying mental health, addiction, and intellectual disability communities around shared needs• Explains how our healthcare system focuses on "sick care" rather than prevention and community support• Identifies how isolation and siloed treatment approaches fail those with co-occurring conditions• Describes meeting colleagues in Congress who privately struggled with mental health but couldn't publicly acknowledge it• Working with faith communities to create support networks for families affected by mental health challenges• Emphasizes that housing stability and employment opportunities are essential components of recovery• Founded the Kennedy Forum to build political power for mental health advocacy• Promotes his book "Profiles in Mental Health Courage" featuring stories of individuals and familiesTell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me? The World, the conversations we're having and the inspiration our guests give to everyone everywhere that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textCarol Nistakis shares her family's painful journey through the justice system after her autistic son was manipulated into illegal activity by a neighbor. Her decade-long fight for justice led her to cofound D3, an organization helping families navigate the unique challenges autistic individuals face in legal proceedings.• Began advocating when son was diagnosed at age 2, ensuring proper education and support• Son functioned at age 10 level but was active in Special Olympics and held a part-time job• 2012 incident led to 19 felony charges that were eventually reduced to one misdemeanor• Court showed little interest in son's diagnosis despite extensive documentation• Plea deal resulted in 2 years probation and 10 years on registry• Son lost access to Special Olympics, recreation activities, and eventually his job• Family was separated as son could no longer live at home due to restrictions• Financial burden depleted savings meant for son's long-term care• After 10 years, Carol secured a pardon and expungement without legal help• Advocates for special courts with judges trained to understand autism• Stresses that behaviors are manifestations of disability, not criminal intent• Current autism rate is 1 in 31 children, making justice system reform urgentTell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me, the world, the conversations we're having and the inspiration our guests give to everyone everywhere that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textWe broadcast live from the Nashville Palace for a special remote podcast supporting "An Acoustic Evening for Autism," bringing together musicians who share their personal connections to autism awareness.• Jamie O'Neill describes how having a cousin with autism inspired her participation in the benefit concert• Jamie emphasizes the importance of slowing down in our fast-paced world to accommodate different needs• Minnie Murphy reveals her 5-year-old son is on the autism spectrum, sharing his special abilities like perfect pitch• Minnie performs original songs celebrating individuality and seeing the beauty others miss• Both guests praise Vanderbilt's Kennedy Center for their exceptional work in autism research and treatment• Our guests emphasize autism shouldn't be viewed as a permanent condition but as a different perspective• The conversation highlights how patience, active listening, and embracing differences creates understandingTell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me? The World, the conversations we're having and the inspiration our guests give to everyone everywhere that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textRita Williams turned personal tragedy into powerful advocacy when her spouse was unexpectedly sentenced to 10-20 years in prison, revealing deep flaws in the criminal justice system and sparking her mission to expose judicial misconduct and support others facing similar challenges.• Former federal employee who pursued a master's in criminal justice before her spouse faced white-collar charges• Discovered her spouse had high-functioning autism only after his incarceration, highlighting how the system fails neurodivergent individuals• Used blogging, websites, and social media to expose a prosecutor with 18 years of misconduct, eventually forcing him to relocate• Advocates for criminal justice reform, particularly ending solitary confinement and creating better supports for people with autism• Works with Michigan Citizens for Prison Reform and helps coordinate legislative days to connect lawmakers with those affected by the system• Creates resources to guide people through the legal system and protect them from predatory practices• Emphasizes the importance of being informed about the criminal justice system before you need itTell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me, the World, the conversations we're having and the inspiration our guests give to everyone everywhere that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textJudge David Fleischer, who presides over Harris County Criminal Court in Houston, Texas, shares his groundbreaking approaches to criminal justice reform with a focus on mental health and autism awareness.• Reforming the bail system to prevent wealth-based discrimination in courts• Dropping conviction rates from 60% to 25% through bail reform implementation• Creating court environments where defendants with mental health issues receive compassion and understanding• Livestreaming court proceedings to increase transparency and public education• Showing patience when working with defendants who have autism or mental health challenges• Treating every defendant as a whole person deserving of both accountability and support• Balancing public safety concerns with the need for rehabilitation and intervention• Understanding how untreated mental health issues often lead to criminal behavior• Providing resources to help defendants address underlying issues rather than just punishing them• Demonstrating how transparency in courtrooms creates positive ripple effects throughout communitiesTell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me? The World, the conversations we're having and the inspiration our guests give to everyone everywhere that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textJohn Puls, a psychotherapist specializing in forensic work, shares critical insights on navigating the intersection of autism, mental health, and the criminal justice system. He draws on his extensive experience working with individuals in crisis to offer practical guidance for families and caregivers.• Working as a psychotherapist with both autistic individuals and those with severe mental health issues• Providing forensic services including testifying for involuntary commitment cases and mitigation for reduced sentencing• Crisis Intervention Trained (CIT) officers and Service Population Advocates as promising but limited resources• Finding qualified legal representation that understands autism and mental health issues• Advocating with prosecutors and judges to focus on treatment rather than punishment• Writing personalized letters to judges explaining family support and treatment plans• Seeking local mobile crisis teams instead of calling law enforcement when possible• Connecting with support groups to learn from other families' experiences navigating the system• Properly communicating needs to first responders to avoid unnecessary arrestsIf you know anyone who would like to tell their story, send them to TonyMantor.com. Tell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me? The World, the conversations we're having, and the inspiration our guests give to show that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textTony Mantor hosts a special remote podcast from Nashville Palace supporting "An Acoustic Evening for Autism." Country music artists Daryl Worley and Dillon Massengale share their personal connections to autism awareness and how music has become a platform for making a difference.• Daryl Worley explains how friends with an autistic child inspired his commitment to the cause• Worley discusses establishing his foundation and the challenges of fundraising for charitable causes• Finding purpose through helping others becomes a central theme of Worley's career journey• Dillon Massengale shares his story of being diagnosed with high-functioning autism at age four• Despite doctors' predictions of limitations, Dillon became a professional musician• Dillon credits his success to proper treatment, family support, and his faith• Comes from a musical family with deep roots in Branson, Missouri• Has performed at the Grand Ole Opry and worked with notable country music artistsTell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me? The World, the conversations we're having and the inspiration our guests give to everyone everywhere that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textMark Mahoney reveals his groundbreaking work as possibly the only attorney in North America exclusively dedicated to defending individuals with autism spectrum disorder who face criminal charges. Through years of specialized practice, he shares crucial insights about how the criminal justice system fundamentally misunderstands autism.• Autism directly affects social understanding and learning of unwritten rules• People with autism often commit crimes without understanding they're doing anything wrong• Most prosecutors, judges, and attorneys lack basic knowledge about autism• Many clients have normal or high IQs but social skills equivalent to a 3-year-old• The criminal justice system treats autism cases as standard situations despite DOJ guidelines• Organizations meant to advocate for autism often avoid addressing criminalization issues• Prevention through explicit teaching of social and sexual boundaries is crucial• Careful selection of attorneys who understand autism is essential for families• Mahoney's cases show 40% success at keeping clients off sex offender registry• Zero percent recidivism among his nearly 200 clients demonstrates these are not typical offendersIf you know anyone who would like to share their story, send them to TonyMantor.com. Tell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me, The World, because you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textCountry music and autism awareness come together at Nashville Palace for "An Acoustic Evening for Autism," where artists use their platform to support families affected by autism through the newly formed Country Music Autism Awareness Foundation.• Doug Mathis explains how his song about an autistic boy named Jack led to creating an annual benefit concert• The event features performances from Daryl Worley, T Graham Brown, John Barry, and others to raise funds for Vanderbilt's Kennedy Center• Emcee Devin O'Day shares personal connections to autism and how understanding has evolved over time• Discussion of how many brilliant artists and songwriters likely fall somewhere on the autism spectrum• O'Day shares touching story about connecting a high-anxiety horse with an autistic child, finding unexpected harmony• Plans to expand the Country Music Autism Foundation events to more cities nationwide• Statistics highlight that one in seven people worldwide know someone with autism in their familyTell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me the World, the conversations we're having and the inspiration our guests give to everyone everywhere that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textDennis Debbaudt shares his 30-year journey addressing autism-related police interactions and developing training programs for law enforcement nationwide. His pioneering work bridges the gap between public safety professionals and the autistic community through educational materials, videos, and hands-on training that helps prevent tragic misunderstandings.• Former detective agency owner whose autistic son's diagnosis in the 1980s revealed a complete lack of resources on autism-police interactions• Created the first-ever training materials addressing autism for law enforcement in the early 1990s• Highlights the staggering increase in autism prevalence from 2-5 in 10,000 people to today's 1 in 36• Emphasizes that autistic behaviors can be misinterpreted as drug intoxication or non-compliance• Teaches officers to recognize "street signs" like autism awareness stickers and specialized terminology• Promotes techniques including increased personal space, extra processing time, and varied communication approaches• Focuses on voluntary disclosure strategies and technology tools that can alert first responders• Trains others to continue his work ensuring that these critical interactions become safer for everyoneIf you know anyone who would like to tell their story, send them to TonyMantor.com contact, and they can provide their information to potentially become a guest on our show. Please tell everyone about Why Not Me? The World, the conversations we're having, and the inspiration our guests give to show that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textJerry Turning shares his journey from veteran police officer to autism advocate after his son's diagnosis, creating Blue Bridge Autism Training to educate first responders about autism. His unique perspective bridges the gap between law enforcement and the autism community, helping prevent dangerous misunderstandings during crisis situations.• Turning spent 22 of his 25-year police career as a canine handler before his son's autism diagnosis changed everything• Police often misinterpret autism behaviors as intoxication, evasiveness, or defiance due to lack of training• Turning teaches officers to recognize autism indicators like stimming, echolalia, and sensory challenges• First responders need to understand they're entering high-stress environments where families may struggle to communicate clearly• Registration systems allow families to pre-record information about triggers and de-escalation techniques• Parents should proactively introduce their autistic children to local police during calm periods• Simple community connections often prove more effective than formal training alone• Both police and families benefit from approaching these situations with humility and opennessTell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me? The World, the conversations we're having and the inspiration our guests give to everyone everywhere that you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textJudge Sonny Bailey shares how she created the nation's only court dedicated to helping autistic youth stay out of the criminal justice system. What began in 2018 as a quieter courtroom for one overwhelmed teen has evolved into an innovative program with a 90% success rate, recently recognized through Nevada legislation as the country's first official neurodiversity specialty court.• Autism court began accidentally when officers brought in an overwhelmed teen who needed a quieter environment• Program uses applied behavioral analysis and positive reinforcement instead of punishment• Success looks different for each youth—from college preparation to simply learning not to punch walls• Late diagnosis (some at age 16+) means many youth missed years of early intervention• Court addresses entire family system through parent training and consistent approaches• 90% success rate with over 100 graduates since program began• Program started with minimal resources—"a box of fruit snacks and chips"• New legislation will expand services to include other forms of neurodiversity• Many autistic youth are in foster care due to family breakdowns and behavioral challenges• Parents should immediately alert legal authorities about a child's autism to ensure proper accommodationsIf you know anyone who would like to share their story, visit TonyMantor.com/Contact. Tell everyone everywhere about Why Not Me? The World, the conversations we're having, and the inspiration our guests give to show you are not alone in this world.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Shaun Lether's journey from near-death experiences to profound spiritual awakening is nothing short of miraculous. After multiple NDEs that left him navigating the thin veil between life and the other side, Shaun found himself forever changed. His healing journey began in the ICU, where he experienced life-altering encounters with angels, departed loved ones, and divine messages that reshaped his understanding of life, death, and the soul's purpose. What started as personal trauma blossomed into a mission of spiritual healing, intuitive development, and sharing his story to help others find hope, transformation, and deeper meaning.In this episode of Magic Is Real, hosted by Shannon Torrence, Shaun opens up about his incredible near-death experiences and how they sparked his path to spiritual growth. From connecting with his mother on the other side to navigating dark nights of the soul, Shaun's personal tale is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the magic of divine guidance. His story is an inspiring reminder that even in our darkest moments, we are surrounded by love, light, and support from beyond.Are you ready to explore life after death, past life regression, and the power of spiritual healing? Join us as we dive into Shaun's remarkable story of awakening and uncover the transformative power of listening to our higher selves and trusting the signs around us.✨ If you feel inspired, support Magic Is Real by liking, sharing, commenting, and subscribing! Let's grow this beautiful community together. Follow @MagicIsRealShannon on Instagram for daily inspiration, or email Shannon for mediumship readings. Together, let's embrace the magic of the universe. Thank you for being part of this journey! ✨#heavenawaits #consciousnessevolutionjourney #shadowwork #transpersonalpsychology #nde#heavenawaits #eckharttolle #shadowwork #profoundlessons #ndeCHAPTERS:00:00 - Intro01:14 - Shaun Lether's Near Death Experiences05:46 - Why Me? Why Not Me?13:17 - Experiences with the Dead18:10 - NDE Experience 123:52 - NDE Experience 225:45 - Breathing Independently30:19 - Learning to Walk Again32:45 - Rehabilitation Journey34:05 - Returning Home After 3 Months36:40 - Is Life a Simulation?42:45 - Protection from the Other Side46:10 - The Nature of Suffering49:10 - Growth Through Pain51:35 - Neutrality of All Things55:50 - Embracing Anonymity58:09 - Overcoming Fear of the Future01:00:10 - Life Review Process01:02:44 - Support from the Other Side01:05:50 - Discovering Sean's Purpose01:09:21 - Tower Moments and Spiritual Awakenings01:12:53 - Trusting Signs from the Universe01:21:10 - Recognizing Signs from Loved Ones01:22:08 - Celestial Cleansing01:27:50 - Connection with Elizabeth01:29:06 - Your Mom's Everlasting Presence01:31:20 - Ice Castles Story01:33:31 - The Nurse Experience01:39:28 - Message from Matt's Mom01:41:34 - Matt's Mom's Energy Today01:46:09 - Sha'Carri Richardson Discussion01:47:29 - Messages from Beyond01:52:50 - Sean's Mom's Energy at Appointments01:55:30 - Connection to Nuns01:57:24 - Past Life with Saint Teresa of Avila02:02:37 - Saint Teresa of Avila's Message02:05:50 - Outro02:07:35 - Connecting with SeanZOOM BACKGROUND DESIGN BY FREEPIK.COMMusic Credits: Track: Wandering — JayJen [Audio Library Release] Music provided by Audio Library Plus Watch: • Wandering — JayJen | Free Background ... Free Download / Stream: https://alplus.io/wandering FOLLOW Magic Is Real (Host Shannon Torrence) on Instagram: @realmagicshannon Email me at magicisrealshannon@gmail.com with viewer questions you'd like for me to answer in a YouTube short or to pitch your own story to me for an episode. TO BOOK A MEDIUMSHIP READING WITH ME, just email me! magicisrealshannon@gmail.comThank you so much for your love and support! Please like, share, comment, subscribe and spread the word!

March 23, 2025 Pastor Gene's sermon focuses on transformation and surrender to God. He begins by challenging the congregation with the question, “Why not me?”—emphasizing that anyone can be used by God if they commit to heart change. He highlights that true transformation starts with a change of heart, which then influences the mind and … Continue reading "Why Not Me? Part 6"

This week on In Black America, producer and host John L. Hanson, Jr. concludes his conversation with Mike Jackson, Emmy and Tony Award-winning film, theater and television producer, host of the new podcast Why Not Me? and co-founder and managing partner with John Legend of Get Lifted Film Co., developing projects for major networks including […] The post Mike Jackson, pt. 2 (Ep. 17, 2025) appeared first on KUT & KUTX Studios -- Podcasts.

Send us a textHi, I'm Tony Mantor. Imagine a world where the rules don't bend. Where justice feels like a maze with no exit. For autistic people navigating the legal system, this is not imagination. It's reality. Picture your autistic son or daughter tangled in the legal system or an officer at your door because a meltdown was misunderstood.Imagine a loved one walking through a park, having a meltdown, which is mistaken for something much worse, a drug overdose. This Autism Awareness Month, we're bringing you a bold, electrifying, special event. Why Not Me the World, Humanity Over Handcuffs, The Silent Crisis special event. We will sit down with judges, lawyers, CIT trainers, therapists, legislators, and more.They will share gripping stories that will hopefully ignite change. Understanding can rewrite justice. Join us. Help us. Whatever you do, don't miss it. https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

On this edition of In Black America, producer and host John L. Hanson begins a conversation with Mike Jackson, Emmy and Tony Award-winning film, theater and television producer, co-founder and managing partner with John Legend of Get Lifted Film Co., and host of the new podcast Why Not Me? The post Mike Jackson, pt. 1 (Ep. 16, 2025) appeared first on KUT & KUTX Studios -- Podcasts.

March 9, 2025 Pastor Gene's sermon, titled Dare to Dream Again, encourages believers to rekindle the God-given dreams they may have abandoned due to life's hardships. Using the biblical story of Joseph, he emphasizes that God's dreams cannot be stopped, even when faced with rejection, jealousy, betrayal, or hardship. Key points from the sermon: The … Continue reading "Why Not Me? Part 4"

March 2, 2025 https://www.facebook.com/mydestinychurch/videos/651676103985859 Pastor Gene's sermon focuses on the theme of authenticity and breaking free from the masks we wear. He emphasizes that just as people constantly label us, we often wear masks to hide our true selves due to fear, insecurity, or societal expectations. He warns that while the devil seeks to destroy … Continue reading "Why Not Me? Part 3"

Episode 143 features Hal Nathan, recent film school graduate and someone who's just newly out of the structure of formal education and wondering what comes next. We discuss that and how he got into film, writing, editing, what film school does and doesn't prepare you for, accepting not bad, and much much more. Mentioned and Helpful Links from This Episode halnathan.com AgentPalmer.com Mastadon @AgentPalmer Other Links The Satire of Franken's "Why Not Me" is Now Just Our Reality The Weekend (Days of the Week) Shuffle Playlist   You can also hear more Palmer occasionally on Our Liner Notes, a musical conversation podcast with host Chris Maier or as co-host of The Podcast Digest with Dan Lizette. Music created and provided by Henno Heitur of Monkey Tongue Productions. --End Show Notes Transmission--

Are you ready to turn your career into your own business and ask yourself, “Why not me?” In this episode of the Second Act Success Career Podcast Episode #180, host Shannon Russell sits down with media powerhouse and entrepreneur Cookie Zito. Cookie shares her inspiring journey from MTV and Yahoo to launching the Christy Maz Network, a digital hub for women that combines fashion, media, and community.Discover how Cookie transitioned from behind-the-scenes television producer to building her own brand, network, and clothing line—all while empowering women to follow their passions. From overcoming fears to navigating venture capital and creating a thriving sisterhood, Cookie's story is a testament to resilience and vision.Tune in to hear her advice on finding funding, balancing creativity with business strategy, and turning your career expertise into something that lights you up. Don't miss this inspiring conversation packed with actionable insights for women ready to make their big leap into their second act!Takeaways:Fear Is Part of the Journey—Do It Anyway.Leverage Your Career Experience.Bootstrap When You Can, Seek Funding When You Need It.Build a Business That Aligns With Your Values.Ask Yourself "Why Not Me?"SHOW NOTES:https://secondactsuccess.co/180Connect with Cookie Zito:https://christymaznetwork.com/https://www.instagram.com/christymaznetwork/https://www.linkedin.com/in/cookie-zito-2990176/-------- You are listening to the Top 2% globally ranked podcast Second Act Success!Book a FREE Call with host and career/business coach Shannon Russell - https://www.calendly.com/second-act-success/coaching-strategyFREE Resourceshttps://secondactsuccess.co/resourcesLISTEN to the How To Quit Your Job and Start A Business Podcast! https://secondactsuccess.co/listenLET'S CONNECT!Instagram - https://instagram.com/secondactsuccessFacebook - https://www.facebook.com/secondactsuccess.coTikTok - https://www.tiktok.com/@secondactsuccessAll the latest - https://secondactsuccess.co/linksFREE Resources - https://secondactsuccess.co/resources REVIEW & SUBSCRIBE THE PODCAST!

Send us a textHave you ever felt isolated in your mental health journey, yearning for a community that truly understands? Tune into "Why Not Me? The World Podcast" with your host, Tony Mantor, broadcasting from the vibrant heart of Nashville, Tennessee. This episode is not just a collection of stories; it's a heartfelt movement towards global acceptance and understanding of autism and other mental health challenges like bipolar disorder, ADHD, and PTSD. Our inspiring guests open up about their personal experiences, delivering narratives that will make you laugh, shed a tear, and most importantly, remind you that you're not alone. Our latest installment marks the beginning of an exciting series dedicated to mental health awareness across the globe, fueled by the overwhelming feedback from our dedicated listeners. Tony invites you to be part of this transformative journey, either by listening in or by sharing your own story. The conversations we host aim to connect people everywhere, fostering a supportive community that thrives on shared experiences. So, spread the word and join us as we uplift and inspire one another with powerful tales of resilience and hope.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)

Send us a textWhat happens when you refuse to let a diagnosis define your future? Join us for a powerful conversation with Caden McElwain as he shares his journey from being diagnosed with autism at two years old to thriving academically and pursuing a degree in public relations. Listen as Caden recounts the unwavering support from his parents, his transition from specialized to mainstream education, and the resilience he displayed despite facing bullying and academic stress. Hear about his ambitions to advocate for the autistic community and his goal to work at a nonprofit organization focused on autism.Explore the impact of a strong family support system in Caden's life, from therapy sessions to overcoming anxieties about learning to drive. We delve into the significance of understanding and patience in helping people with autism grow and succeed. Discover Caden's expanding reach through social media, where he shares his journey, written work, and sports column. Don't miss this episode of "Why Not Me," filled with personal growth, resilience, and the importance of sharing inspirational stories. Tune in and be inspired by Caden's extraordinary journey.https://tonymantor.comhttps://Facebook.com/tonymantorhttps://instagram.com/tonymantorhttps://twitter.com/tonymantorhttps://youtube.com/tonymantormusicintro/outro music bed written by T. WildWhy Not Me the World music published by Mantor Music (BMI)