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E28: Teacher Certification Podcast | FTCE | Reading | Identifying the Author's Purpose of a Passage In today's episode, I'll be talking about the FTCE General Knowledge Reading Subtest. This is part 7 of a multi-series review of what YOU need to know to pass the Reading section of the GK. Today we are going to talk about the author's purpose in the text that you are evaluating. If you tuned in to the last episode, we talked about tone which had to do with the author's attitude toward a topic.  And, and remember how we used word-choice to solve each example. We were such cool word-sleuths and tone-detectives. Yeaaaah.  But, this time is the same BUT different. It's the same because we are going to use our word-detective skills but it's different because instead of TONE we will be solving for “the author's purpose”. Check out this ⁠⁠⁠⁠free resource⁠⁠⁠⁠ for an English Language Skills study guide or visit the FTCE Seminar ⁠⁠⁠⁠website ⁠⁠⁠⁠ for more information and resources. Support FTCE Seminar! Contributions are appreciated and help support the maintenance of this resource. Donations can be made with the ⁠⁠⁠⁠Listener Supporter Link ⁠⁠⁠⁠on Spotify. --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/ftceseminar/support

You should enjoy today. Why? Wait...you haven't heard yet? Yeaaaah. You should listen to today's PinPod...we've got some things to tell you.

Yeaaaah, you've been known to chang a little ge when no one is around. So, stop the bashful act... have a few beers if that helps... and get your KTV on. Select a forgotten 80s tune (Purple Rain is a rousing melody), turn on the reverb. Wrestle the microphone from your partner in song, and see a side of the Chinese you never knew existed. Listen to this podcast and learn how to join in, in Mandarin. Episode link: https://www.chinesepod.com/0892

Yeaaaah, you've been known to chang a little ge when no one is around. So, stop the bashful act... have a few beers if that helps... and get your KTV on. Select a forgotten 80s tune (Purple Rain is a rousing melody), turn on the reverb. Wrestle the microphone from your partner in song, and see a side of the Chinese you never knew existed. Listen to this podcast and learn how to join in, in Mandarin. Episode link: https://www.chinesepod.com/0892

E hoje falamos do super sentai de 2022 E se você gostou do nosso podcast cogite em fazer uma doação no pix: Dentrodecaixas@gmail.com sigam no twitter @DDcaixaspodcast no tiktok: Dentrodecaixas e o youtube dentro de caixas --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/dentro-de-caixas/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/dentro-de-caixas/support

This week*, LIVE** from Lantanaland on the day when all outstanding podcast business was settled: interrupting cocks, neighbourhood bitumening, badly-outdated Boomers reckons, the place of Olympic football, the literal place of the next Womens World Cup, sadly not-at-all-outdated Rubiales reckons, new Peter Principle x Dunning Kruger collab just dropped, England lost, Watch the Dub, FIFA maths, the problem with Canada, the Next Thriller In Manila, legally-obligated Wahs-Upping, the summer of womens' sport, I'M GAMBLIN' AGAIN and the bucolic joys of Logan Heights. Find us on: Spotify Podcasts | Apple Podcasts | Omny StudioRSS feeds: Just sports | Just music | EverythingContact: Twitter | Facebook | Email *last week**obviously prerecordedSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

I wanna make dubstep. Dubstep. Yes. Why. Because. Why. I don't know. I just want to make Dubstep with my black girl magic. Half black. ...half-black girl magic. You can't. There's no such thing. Yes there is. No there isn't. Yes there is--if there's black girl magic, and i'm half black, then there's half black half black girl magic. Yess...but you can't use that to make dubstep. I can't. No. You can't. Okay...what....do I need to make dubstep? Talent. Okay-- Ahaaaa, just kidding. ? You need Satan. WHAT? Yeaaaah. I know. I'm not a fan either, but. FAN? Aren't you afraid of him? Nah. Satan can't do shit. Then how do I need him to make dubstep. He's very powerful. I don't need Satan to make dubstep music. Oh you don't. No. I need money. God. Huh. I need money. Okay. How much. Like $20,000,000 Like twenty-million dollars. Yes. Ok. Really?! Sure! Like US dollars TWENTY MILLION US DOLLARS?! ARE YOU CRAZY?! You know know I am! FINE— but you know what?! Fine?! Wait—really?! What?! Ask Satan first—see what he says. WHAT! Why would I ask Satan about anything?! He knows lots of things. NO! Just ask him. NO! I hate that guy! Why?! Cause he's Satan! Fair. It's not fair. People worship him. Just ask him. Why?! Because. That way you get FORTY Million Dollars. What! 20 from me—and $20 from him— What the fuck! God! —But! He's going to want a favor. I ain't doing Satan any favors! —just ask him; he'll do it—I'll handle the favor. What the fuck… Whatever he asks you to do, just come and tell me; I'll take care of it— Take care of what? We'll see. Then I'll give you twenty million dollars. US Dollars?! Are you sure you don't want KWD? What is that?! Too late! USD! —AGH! {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I wanna make dubstep. Dubstep. Yes. Why. Because. Why. I don't know. I just want to make Dubstep with my black girl magic. Half black. ...half-black girl magic. You can't. There's no such thing. Yes there is. No there isn't. Yes there is--if there's black girl magic, and i'm half black, then there's half black half black girl magic. Yess...but you can't use that to make dubstep. I can't. No. You can't. Okay...what....do I need to make dubstep? Talent. Okay-- Ahaaaa, just kidding. ? You need Satan. WHAT? Yeaaaah. I know. I'm not a fan either, but. FAN? Aren't you afraid of him? Nah. Satan can't do shit. Then how do I need him to make dubstep. He's very powerful. I don't need Satan to make dubstep music. Oh you don't. No. I need money. God. Huh. I need money. Okay. How much. Like $20,000,000 Like twenty-million dollars. Yes. Ok. Really?! Sure! Like US dollars TWENTY MILLION US DOLLARS?! ARE YOU CRAZY?! You know know I am! FINE— but you know what?! Fine?! Wait—really?! What?! Ask Satan first—see what he says. WHAT! Why would I ask Satan about anything?! He knows lots of things. NO! Just ask him. NO! I hate that guy! Why?! Cause he's Satan! Fair. It's not fair. People worship him. Just ask him. Why?! Because. That way you get FORTY Million Dollars. What! 20 from me—and $20 from him— What the fuck! God! —But! He's going to want a favor. I ain't doing Satan any favors! —just ask him; he'll do it—I'll handle the favor. What the fuck… Whatever he asks you to do, just come and tell me; I'll take care of it— Take care of what? We'll see. Then I'll give you twenty million dollars. US Dollars?! Are you sure you don't want KWD? What is that?! Too late! USD! —AGH! {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I wanna make dubstep. Dubstep. Yes. Why. Because. Why. I don't know. I just want to make Dubstep with my black girl magic. Half black. ...half-black girl magic. You can't. There's no such thing. Yes there is. No there isn't. Yes there is--if there's black girl magic, and i'm half black, then there's half black half black girl magic. Yess...but you can't use that to make dubstep. I can't. No. You can't. Okay...what....do I need to make dubstep? Talent. Okay-- Ahaaaa, just kidding. ? You need Satan. WHAT? Yeaaaah. I know. I'm not a fan either, but. FAN? Aren't you afraid of him? Nah. Satan can't do shit. Then how do I need him to make dubstep. He's very powerful. I don't need Satan to make dubstep music. Oh you don't. No. I need money. God. Huh. I need money. Okay. How much. Like $20,000,000 Like twenty-million dollars. Yes. Ok. Really?! Sure! Like US dollars TWENTY MILLION US DOLLARS?! ARE YOU CRAZY?! You know know I am! FINE— but you know what?! Fine?! Wait—really?! What?! Ask Satan first—see what he says. WHAT! Why would I ask Satan about anything?! He knows lots of things. NO! Just ask him. NO! I hate that guy! Why?! Cause he's Satan! Fair. It's not fair. People worship him. Just ask him. Why?! Because. That way you get FORTY Million Dollars. What! 20 from me—and $20 from him— What the fuck! God! —But! He's going to want a favor. I ain't doing Satan any favors! —just ask him; he'll do it—I'll handle the favor. What the fuck… Whatever he asks you to do, just come and tell me; I'll take care of it— Take care of what? We'll see. Then I'll give you twenty million dollars. US Dollars?! Are you sure you don't want KWD? What is that?! Too late! USD! —AGH! {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I wanna make dubstep. Dubstep. Yes. Why. Because. Why. I don't know. I just want to make Dubstep with my black girl magic. Half black. ...half-black girl magic. You can't. There's no such thing. Yes there is. No there isn't. Yes there is--if there's black girl magic, and i'm half black, then there's half black half black girl magic. Yess...but you can't use that to make dubstep. I can't. No. You can't. Okay...what....do I need to make dubstep? Talent. Okay-- Ahaaaa, just kidding. ? You need Satan. WHAT? Yeaaaah. I know. I'm not a fan either, but. FAN? Aren't you afraid of him? Nah. Satan can't do shit. Then how do I need him to make dubstep. He's very powerful. I don't need Satan to make dubstep music. Oh you don't. No. I need money. God. Huh. I need money. Okay. How much. Like $20,000,000 Like twenty-million dollars. Yes. Ok. Really?! Sure! Like US dollars TWENTY MILLION US DOLLARS?! ARE YOU CRAZY?! You know know I am! FINE— but you know what?! Fine?! Wait—really?! What?! Ask Satan first—see what he says. WHAT! Why would I ask Satan about anything?! He knows lots of things. NO! Just ask him. NO! I hate that guy! Why?! Cause he's Satan! Fair. It's not fair. People worship him. Just ask him. Why?! Because. That way you get FORTY Million Dollars. What! 20 from me—and $20 from him— What the fuck! God! —But! He's going to want a favor. I ain't doing Satan any favors! —just ask him; he'll do it—I'll handle the favor. What the fuck… Whatever he asks you to do, just come and tell me; I'll take care of it— Take care of what? We'll see. Then I'll give you twenty million dollars. US Dollars?! Are you sure you don't want KWD? What is that?! Too late! USD! —AGH! {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

It's been a rough summer for quality cinema... will a couple of non-tentpoles be the answer the gang has been looking for? "No Hard Feelings" [00:02:21] is a Jennifer Lawrence vehicle about a ride share driver losing... well, her vehicle. In spite of the myriad of avenues to initially explore in a town where apparently most everything is in walking/rollerblading distance, Lawrence's character immediately enters into an agreement with Matthew Broderick's character wherein she will pretend to be his son's girlfriend and have sex with him until he heads to Princeton in order to "build his confidence." Yeaaaah, hear how that one landed on this episode. Up next, is "Asteroid City" [00:29:32], the latest from Wes Anderson. With cast featuring Jason Schwartzman, Scarlett Johansson, Margot Robbie, Tom Hanks, Willem Dafoe, Hong Chau, A COOL ALIEN, and tons more, what could go wrong? Well, a lot. Like... a lot a lot. Hear how this one crapped the bed (symmetrically, of course). For the final segment this week, the gang goes through all 45 theatrical releases of quarter 2 2023 and assigns tier grades [00:54:04]. Two films achieved unanimous, perfect S-Tier status: find out which! As always: moviemasters760@gmail.com for all questions, concerns, comments, and movie recommendations. --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/rmmu/support

Yeaaaah!!! Brad Adam has to top the chat we had with Aaron Goldsmith on Tuesday! Brad shares what was the Mariners big goal going into the 2023 season, things not going their way in close games, is that a concern, how would Brad handle the situation over in left field,, and much more.

I wanna make dubstep. Dubstep. Yes. Why. Because. Why. I don't know. I just want to make Dubstep with my black girl magic. Half black. ...half-black girl magic. You can't. There's no such thing. Yes there is. No there isn't. Yes there is--if there's black girl magic, and i'm half black, then there's half black half black girl magic. Yess...but you can't use that to make dubstep. I can't. No. You can't. Okay...what....do I need to make dubstep? Talent. Okay-- Ahaaaa, just kidding. ? You need Satan. WHAT? Yeaaaah. I know. I'm not a fan either, but. FAN? Aren't you afraid of him? Nah. Satan can't do shit. Then how do I need him to make dubstep. He's very powerful. I don't need Satan to make dubstep music. Oh you don't. No. I need money. God. Huh. I need money. Okay. How much. Like $20,000,000 Like twenty-million dollars. Yes. Ok. Really?! Sure! Like US dollars TWENTY MILLION US DOLLARS?! ARE YOU CRAZY?! You know know I am! FINE— but you know what?! Fine?! Wait—really?! What?! Ask Satan first—see what he says. WHAT! Why would I ask Satan about anything?! He knows lots of things. NO! Just ask him. NO! I hate that guy! Why?! Cause he's Satan! Fair. It's not fair. People worship him. Just ask him. Why?! Because. That way you get FORTY Million Dollars. What! 20 from me—and $20 from him— What the fuck! God! —But! He's going to want a favor. I ain't doing Satan any favors! —just ask him; he'll do it—I'll handle the favor. What the fuck… Whatever he asks you to do, just come and tell me; I'll take care of it— Take care of what? We'll see. Then I'll give you twenty million dollars. US Dollars?! Are you sure you don't want KWD? What is that?! Too late! USD! —AGH! {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I wanna make dubstep. Dubstep. Yes. Why. Because. Why. I don't know. I just want to make Dubstep with my black girl magic. Half black. ...half-black girl magic. You can't. There's no such thing. Yes there is. No there isn't. Yes there is--if there's black girl magic, and i'm half black, then there's half black half black girl magic. Yess...but you can't use that to make dubstep. I can't. No. You can't. Okay...what....do I need to make dubstep? Talent. Okay-- Ahaaaa, just kidding. ? You need Satan. WHAT? Yeaaaah. I know. I'm not a fan either, but. FAN? Aren't you afraid of him? Nah. Satan can't do shit. Then how do I need him to make dubstep. He's very powerful. I don't need Satan to make dubstep music. Oh you don't. No. I need money. God. Huh. I need money. Okay. How much. Like $20,000,000 Like twenty-million dollars. Yes. Ok. Really?! Sure! Like US dollars TWENTY MILLION US DOLLARS?! ARE YOU CRAZY?! You know know I am! FINE— but you know what?! Fine?! Wait—really?! What?! Ask Satan first—see what he says. WHAT! Why would I ask Satan about anything?! He knows lots of things. NO! Just ask him. NO! I hate that guy! Why?! Cause he's Satan! Fair. It's not fair. People worship him. Just ask him. Why?! Because. That way you get FORTY Million Dollars. What! 20 from me—and $20 from him— What the fuck! God! —But! He's going to want a favor. I ain't doing Satan any favors! —just ask him; he'll do it—I'll handle the favor. What the fuck… Whatever he asks you to do, just come and tell me; I'll take care of it— Take care of what? We'll see. Then I'll give you twenty million dollars. US Dollars?! Are you sure you don't want KWD? What is that?! Too late! USD! —AGH! {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I wanna make dubstep. Dubstep. Yes. Why. Because. Why. I don't know. I just want to make Dubstep with my black girl magic. Half black. ...half-black girl magic. You can't. There's no such thing. Yes there is. No there isn't. Yes there is--if there's black girl magic, and i'm half black, then there's half black half black girl magic. Yess...but you can't use that to make dubstep. I can't. No. You can't. Okay...what....do I need to make dubstep? Talent. Okay-- Ahaaaa, just kidding. ? You need Satan. WHAT? Yeaaaah. I know. I'm not a fan either, but. FAN? Aren't you afraid of him? Nah. Satan can't do shit. Then how do I need him to make dubstep. He's very powerful. I don't need Satan to make dubstep music. Oh you don't. No. I need money. God. Huh. I need money. Okay. How much. Like $20,000,000 Like twenty-million dollars. Yes. Ok. Really?! Sure! Like US dollars TWENTY MILLION US DOLLARS?! ARE YOU CRAZY?! You know know I am! FINE— but you know what?! Fine?! Wait—really?! What?! Ask Satan first—see what he says. WHAT! Why would I ask Satan about anything?! He knows lots of things. NO! Just ask him. NO! I hate that guy! Why?! Cause he's Satan! Fair. It's not fair. People worship him. Just ask him. Why?! Because. That way you get FORTY Million Dollars. What! 20 from me—and $20 from him— What the fuck! God! —But! He's going to want a favor. I ain't doing Satan any favors! —just ask him; he'll do it—I'll handle the favor. What the fuck… Whatever he asks you to do, just come and tell me; I'll take care of it— Take care of what? We'll see. Then I'll give you twenty million dollars. US Dollars?! Are you sure you don't want KWD? What is that?! Too late! USD! —AGH! {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I wanna make dubstep. Dubstep. Yes. Why. Because. Why. I don't know. I just want to make Dubstep with my black girl magic. Half black. ...half-black girl magic. You can't. There's no such thing. Yes there is. No there isn't. Yes there is--if there's black girl magic, and i'm half black, then there's half black half black girl magic. Yess...but you can't use that to make dubstep. I can't. No. You can't. Okay...what....do I need to make dubstep? Talent. Okay-- Ahaaaa, just kidding. ? You need Satan. WHAT? Yeaaaah. I know. I'm not a fan either, but. FAN? Aren't you afraid of him? Nah. Satan can't do shit. Then how do I need him to make dubstep. He's very powerful. I don't need Satan to make dubstep music. Oh you don't. No. I need money. God. Huh. I need money. Okay. How much. Like $20,000,000 Like twenty-million dollars. Yes. Ok. Really?! Sure! Like US dollars TWENTY MILLION US DOLLARS?! ARE YOU CRAZY?! You know know I am! FINE— but you know what?! Fine?! Wait—really?! What?! Ask Satan first—see what he says. WHAT! Why would I ask Satan about anything?! He knows lots of things. NO! Just ask him. NO! I hate that guy! Why?! Cause he's Satan! Fair. It's not fair. People worship him. Just ask him. Why?! Because. That way you get FORTY Million Dollars. What! 20 from me—and $20 from him— What the fuck! God! —But! He's going to want a favor. I ain't doing Satan any favors! —just ask him; he'll do it—I'll handle the favor. What the fuck… Whatever he asks you to do, just come and tell me; I'll take care of it— Take care of what? We'll see. Then I'll give you twenty million dollars. US Dollars?! Are you sure you don't want KWD? What is that?! Too late! USD! —AGH! {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Die Freude ist riesig - nach Monaten des Wartens und der Unsicherheit ist seit heute klar, dass die DTM weiter auf ProSieben laufen wird. Warum das lange nicht klar war und warum die Freude und Erleichterung im ran - Team so gross ist? Und wie stellt sich die neue DTM unter dem neuen Veranstalter ADAC auf? Eddie Mielke und Matthias Killing klären auf. Viel Spass!!

Ever feel like the total DUMMY Of The Day? Yeaaaah, these dummies can relate.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Yeaaaah buddy! Giannis went O F F last night for a new career high, Mel is joined by Sorrina B and Telly Hughes today to talk about the game & more!

Yeaaaah!!!!!Harbaugh. Huntley. JK. Madubuike. Oweh. Stephens. Chuck. Hamilton. Jones. Washington. Ricard. Lamar. Stanley. More goated Baltimore Ravens postgame talk.Follow @youheardmedawg on IG! Join the Gold Club patreon.com/YHMP!Thanks for listening! Send it to the rest of The Flock!

I'm sick to my stomach Absolutely useless in this universe It's twisted Haven't slit my wrists in Half a minute, But it seems a swift solution IMm confused at my existence I have no contribution to society I should just kill myself. Because what's the God honest purpose Of persons with no worth Or accomplishments, even? What's the reason to keep on being When all you see is grief and green? Envy or greed; Either way— Nothing means anything I should just kill myself One less problem in the world, Call it commerce; Somebody oughta make Less than their worth in dollars To scrape me off the sidewalk Where I collide with the 9 bus Or get shot like Tupac, But by a cop I had promised myself that by the time the vegan raw cakes I had my eye on were back in stock, I would end this most recent fast—which had extended past its expected length and had shattered even my own predictions by a long shot—I still didn't feel like eating, and even tempted by the Mango and Lime rendition of the same pasterie I had spotted just before thanksgiving, I had challenged myself to wait to see not just when, but even if the pasterie itself would be restocked—not to mention the pumpkin pie, which I had seen just the day before thanksgiving, almost having allowed myself then to break fast—but I remembered my own challenge; even in the midst of that; thinking ‘that's not the flavor I said I'd break Fast for” and though it was certainly a temptation, I had noted that the cake I had wanted to try was a blueberry raspberry flavor; and, taunted myself with the possibility that after Thanksgiving day, the pumpkin pie may not even make a return; but alas, here I was—still not hungry even for the protein shake I stood in line for—and low and behold, there were a fresh assortment of pies from the bakery, pumpkin, and vegan, alongside the very blueberry raw cake I thought might not be restocked at all ever—and therefore, remembering my promise to myself—honestly astonished that I had pushed through yet another weeks-long liquid-only diet at all, I begrudgingly bought the three items I had intended to purchase before, but had abandoned in-basket on thanksgiving's eve, opting of course not even really to celebrate the holiday at all, resulting in a true fast; alas, while nearly the entirety of the country feasted heavily kn Thanksgiving day, I opted for water and studio time. Now, and for some reason with great quickness, as having fasted so long already was moving like a bullet train at lightning speed—maybe even, I thought, too fast— without rush but still hurriedly carried the three items, seemingly floating on air, to the self checkout, where I purchased all three items which I had no full intention of eating, at least anytime soon; it had been weeks since my last hot meal or anything solid at all, and maybe, perhaps because I felt so blissful in the moment, felt secure and preseved in purchasing the food to keep for when I actually was ready to eat again, after I had secured a proper income and was out of danger of actually sleeping in the streets of Los Angeles rather than above them. I was proud of how fluid my movement had become, how high my vibration rung out around me and —though I had no exact plans on eating anytime soon at all, it felt good to know, almost, that I would eventually have a reward of sorts for all my hard work. LIL BITZ Yo I love my gym. I really do. I fucking love Equinox. Yeah, I'm boujie. I'll go broke on a swanky add gym membership so I can live my life smelling like eucalyptus and business class upgrades. It's so fancy. Do you know they have separate mens and women's playlists? Yes. Like, there's the music that's playing on the floor, But then when you go into the locker rooms, the music changes, it's a different playlist. Yes. I feel it might be a little bit sexist. Maybe. Just kidding. But I do get curious like—‘what's playing on the men's side?!' I think about using my non-bianary status to go see. Like: what's playing over here? What if it's like, some crunk shit?! Cause the ladies side is like, Always some smooth, cool jazzy shit All harmonic, melodic and shit I'm like, What if I go to the men's side and it's like, Lil Jon's new single? I go over to the men's side and it's like: “YEAAAAH. WHAT?! UNH.” I'mma be mad! Cause you know why? The woman's locker room is always some girly shit! Some white girl singing about being left for some other white girl. YeH. I know. It's like, boy bands and love ballads, and breakup songs—which are all almost the same shit, really, honestly. I'm like: What if I go to the men's side and it's like— D12. Remember D12? No you dont. Lol. What if I go over there and it's like, backstreet freestyle on loop. GAY. Guys are so lucky. They don't do anything but fuck, eat, and ruin people's lives. True story. I'm going to the guy's locker room. Fuck it. I'm a guy. I'll ruin my own life, thanks. “YEYUH.” He had sweet brown eyes and beautiful long hair; and at 30 was just the right age, if not too young, but gorgeous nonetheless—I had to pretend at all that I wasn't entirely going mad; I couldn't stop the tears from welling up out of the bottom of my soul and into my eyes — I pretended more than not to be great and good beyond okay, but it was all I could do now just to breathe, and not think about chocolate Rubicon cupcakes—it had now been another 15 days since I had eaten and my weight loss had hit a plateau, as I may have frightened a calorie deficit into my body which read as starvation—still, I must have been looking alright; the handsome Australian man—whose name was Dylan, but still, it irked me, smiled more than I expected him to at me, with his perfect teeth and all. I wondered if he would meet a real perfect Californian girl at the hockey game that night, reminding myself of my undressed body, cursed perchance, and that just as any handsome man seemed to—he probably liked girls, rather than women. He was a bit too handsome for me, either way—and I winced at the possibility of a post-workout cupcake, or maybe even sweet potatoes—maybe quinoa, or the cilantro hummus I had spotted in the prepared foods section at Whole Foods earlier. I swear on all my sons; You're the saddest song I've ever sung— ‘Here's comes another one' I'm just around the bloc If you want to talk about it —but i dont want to talk at all, About it… Maybe after Equinox and Coffee I had missed my chance with the beautiful Australian man, Dylan, after all; and even after feeling like I could have taken my shot, I backed down, retreating into my bed for my first meal in 17 days. He left sometime after midnight never to return—- and while my primal instinct had tempted me to pounce at the opportunity, I reminded myself I was the fat girl in the story; he was perfect after all, and, though I had become quite magnificently slim, the sagging skin around my midline still kept me from true freedom, and although I had thoroughly decided that breaking my celibacy was absolutely the wrong idea under any circumstance, the certain sadness that it gave me watching the beautiful man walk out the door resonated with me to the morning; I thought about the type of Kayla Lauren a perfectly beautiful foreign attractive man could find on Tinder; a cosmopolitan girl with her own car and apartment—and considering he was so attractive, and even well hung—the kind of actual girl that deserved such a treasure. As for myself, I knew that I may never love again as it were, spending a lot of time in reflection of what it would take to allow myself to feel anything for anyone, after Jon, and after Sonny, and after Dillon, who had all for the most part left my heart in pieces, and my soul shattered throughout the Inter dimensions of time and space searching for something, anything other than my putrid self. The Aussie himself, though was so pretty that I had almost instantaneously become somewhat attached, and hadn't known why; perhaps it was after all that I was his first or at least easier choice, and I had decided myself not to complicate anything with sex. What I needed, anyway, wholeheartedly was not a tryst or short term fling; I needed to be held, and heartfelt, and kissed in places I had forgotten were still apart of me. It made no sense to cry about it, at all, but my mind and heart had no intention of letting it go—I was alone in the world and seemingly forbidden from all human things; love, food, and pleasure always just out of my reach and of course—comfort, home, and companionship the absolutely unattainable. Of course, to my pleasant surprise, after burning some sage and working my way through my pile of half-damp laundry, the clicking of the automatic door lock perked up in my ears, in through the swinging door came the Australian man, quite looking like he had just rolled out of bed—as it turns out, he had—apparently leaving late into the night not for a midnight tryst, but for a good night's sleep—almost funny, because I had thought to offer him some ear plugs just before he left—then thought not to bother him; he actually was so perfect looking that he did make me nervous, even after a couple days of chatting; it seemed all together that there was a vibe, but I didn't know how to follow it—and I wondered if I would ever be normal or ever able to talk to the opoosite sex again. It was almost unbearable now; I couldn't think to bring myself to a proper orgasm in a room with four people— and sometimes all I could think about was sex. Actually, it was my most forward and prominent thought—i began to think much like an animal, just keeping intact my inhibitions as not to let my primal nature give way to each and every impulse I had begun the day renewed with a sense of high energy, having eaten perhaps just the right foods so that k actually became nourished, and not over full, despite the cupcakes added to the ensemble of otherwise incredibly healthy pickings; sometimes I did amuse myself with how healthy I had become; and though it was delightful to think about eating certain things—especially chicken wings as of late— I knew I wouldn't, or couldn't, and felt almost good about being “bad” with an assortment of health foods I seemed myself indigent, but to any common other, especially an American, would be considered atrociously healthy. Who the fuck cares about anything? Especially mediocre me Must have been the weather Or something in the water Whether we want to admit it BEYONCÈ, for the win!! It was my fastest run im awhile; and Esther than. Assuming it might have been the plant power from the sweet potatoes and quinoa I had allowed myself to feast on, I attributed it to beyoncè, or rather Renaissance, as I had almost forgotten what the album looked like. Beyoncé's vocals were like ribbons of butter, allowing time to psss and my body to love off what I had put on, and realizing I had now been kn Los Ángeles 9 days, that my Fast had been closer to 21 days than the 17 I had counted—but I hadn't counted at all, and maybe that was the important part about it; it had been a wonderful feeling, and though I had eaten, I hadn't quite felt I had left the beauty of clarity of it, and probably wouldn't — my body was slim, even becoming petite; and though I had slowed to a trot in my 9-minute mile—it had only been for a moment, self-motivating by reflecting on all the dick I was missing out on not having a perfect body. At 7.3 miles per hour exactly for 9 minutes and 19 seconds, I thought about the Australian man's perfect teeth— about Sonny's slender physique—about Dillon's superior intellect— and of course—all the perfect women they all attracted, who I was only trying to be. ‘Run. Just—run.' Actually, I couldn't stop thinking about sex at all—at all, that day—the world seemed to have filled with beautiful men, and though perhaps even though it was LA, and I was used to the perfection, my body was in a peak state of fatigue from sexual neglect, and there was nothing I could really do about it. It was safest to stay celibate for the time being, and I knew it—but there was something in me that wanted to love, and I could actually taste the tears I was bound to cry, sexually frustrated and thoroughly unfit for love—physically at least—though I was at least turning out in every other way to be a pretty interesting and overall cool, likable “girl”, I knew by the billboards and bodies I was constantly surrounded by that mine wouldn't quite make the cut. So I stayed clothed, and with my legs closed, at least for the moment. MOVE>< big boss Sometimes the work of the devil is comical at most; in this rendition, The promise that I'd take my first drink with Dillon, If I were really feeling him And here it is, Yet unwritten, Perhaps, a syntax error— No matter how you spell it. If we had sat next to each other. I would have been watching him and not the game—but it wasn't the players that captivated me; as I was still on hold with the bar across the way, where I had strategically left my skateboard, after landing of course there was nowhere safe within the actual arena that I could keep it; I called someone to retrieve it and put it in the lost and found at Tom's Watch Bar, already inside the crypto.com arena—Dylan had floor seats, or something like that, but had purchased for me, one of the seats from a season ticket holder; we went our separate ways, which I didn't mind at all; as it turns out, I was seated in the perfect spot, near the band—with an entire row to myself. I just wanted to see the game—and of course, still in my now very oversized harems and Nike runners, a laidback black sweater—someone as gorgeous as him would probably not rather actually be seen with someone like me; Of course, there were beautiful people everywhere, but assimilating to LA, I just blurred them out of my mind enough so that it didn't hurt that I wasn't one. There's another song here, I know it; Just give me a minute; That's what it is, isn't it? She wants to finish the album— That's what she needs from him, That's all it is, or All it was, Or what it is, Or what it was, Collect another song, or something Get the drugs, and then fuck off It's just last call It's just a bunch of drunks It's just a wonder you're alive It's just another what the Fuck of lovers It's just lust I'm//he's just lost. It's just another; Better not eat for a little bit longer Cause the little one's got him Wrapped around her little finger It was something like being cheated on right in front of my own eyes—not that k had laid any claims to the to-perfect Australian Man, but of course the girl to his left was skinny with hair so long it sat in her lap, and her thick valley girl accent would fool even the most.trained ear into the belief that she was from the actual valley, rather than Santa Barbra—as he leaned more towards her and further away from me I felt my stomach sink— I had refused his offer for a drink, and that had been that, but now I had long enough to become sour in my own self hatred; I was fawning more heavily now over the menu at LA Cafe than I was the Australian man, who I had already admitted was too handsome and too beautiful for someone—anyone like mysel. I realized the same unsettling disgust I had yet to feel again since departing Mexico, after the whole Luis, and I realized this would always happen—there were always prettier girls, or just other girls at all, no matter how pretty they were—and I couldn't bring myself to have a drink, even with it sitting right in front of me. The light skinned girl crossed her skinny leg and laid her petite fist on Dylan's back—and that's when I knew the family feeling of my old self; my role as the ugly girl—and even as I had consumed myself with writing and collecting whatever other experience I could, for some reason I had to choke back tears as I pushed myself away from the bar, luckily leaving behind a far too handsome man that was too busy talking with another girl to notice me quite you exuding myself to the restroom, besides the actual act of exuding myself. Over and over again my entire life it seemed that this had been the pattern; nothing about me, it seemed, was ever really good enough. To actually let myself cry about it would have been asenine—I didn't understand even myself how I had become so attached or attracted in the first place— and though the tears were there, and the feelings to go with them, it would have been silly to let any of it out—the lesson was simple: men were impossible, I was unlovable, unfuckable, and unmoved, for whatever reason. At least the actual Dillon—that is, Dillon Francis, had been far enough out of my mind that nothing at all seemed to matter in hindsight—and now I was hurt. It was worth the experience at least. The funny thing is, I had thought to avoid feeling like this in entirety— I had meant to avoid feeling feelings at all, and especially this one: loneliness, and of course, rejection. Left not entirely right back where I started, but somewhere else—even a new place, as fragile as ever, proud of my solemn celibacy and embarrassed paired with a side of shame about whatever it was that seemed to turn men over and away in less than an instant. You're never gonna love me; The way I need The way I need to be loved You're never gonna love me; The way I want The way I want to be loved You're never gonna love me The way I The way I The way I need to be The way I want to be The way I You're never gonna love me; The way I— The way I— Falling on the the floor; Heart failure— Falling on the floor: I need you, nowhere near I need you; You're nowhere near me No, you You're never gonna love me; The way I need The way I need to be loved You're never gonna love me; The way I want The way I want to be loved You're never gonna love me The way I The way I The way I need to be The way I want to be The way I You're never gonna love me; The way I— The way I— You don't want— No, You don't want to know What I've been through I been here for you, but— I need you here, Youre nowhere near, You're never there You're never gonna love me; The way I need The way I need to be loved You're never gonna love me; The way I want The way I want to be loved You're never gonna love me The way I The way I The way I need to be The way I want to be The way I You're never gonna love me; The way I— The way I— As I started my first shift, setting my backpack down in the corner of the break room, a tiny rainbow piñata with long eyelashes and no smile at all seemed to call to me from its place high up in the corner of the office of the high profile smoke shop back room—it was Gerald. My yes filled with tears and my head with a plume of thick smoke—perhaps I was exactly where I ought to be after all, at least for the moment. I began to ponder lucidly after all who I was really dealing with—‘Who the Fuck really is this “Dillon Francis”?' And, in the turbulent way of motion, without too many moments between each fleeting thought and the next—was Sonny Moore even a real person anymore? ‘What is Skrillex?' And though I thought the same of either men—out of my Legur and dangerously attractive. I myself count even hold the attention of the Australian man, who had even admitted that he only liked dark-skinned girls—not that I believed him, and it bothered me that still, two entire days later, it still hurt quite deeply that he had betrayed and then abandoned me. The lesson learned being: no man could be trusted—not that any woman could either. GET YOUR BASS OUT MY FACE Lol IT WAS NEVER DILLON FRANCIS! IT WAS AÑWAYS DILLON FRANCIS, AND YOU KNOW IT. —ALWAYS DILLON FRAN— —fuckas Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. —nno— Yes. ¿Donde esta horita? Nada: ahorita? Pizza sin carnitas So— KANYE. WHAT. Kanye. WHAT. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT Like out of life? Like, from ME. Yeah, out of “life” What?! KANYE. !?! — Dillon. What. It's time. …time for what? —ah, so you believe In time, do you?! NO. Aa ——!!!!! …and he's gone. — …you sick son of a bitch. …you know what? …what? We'll talk about this later. —no we won't— When you get HOME. I don't have a— [door slams loudly] {EnterThe Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I'm sick to my stomach Absolutely useless in this universe It's twisted Haven't slit my wrists in Half a minute, But it seems a swift solution IMm confused at my existence I have no contribution to society I should just kill myself. Because what's the God honest purpose Of persons with no worth Or accomplishments, even? What's the reason to keep on being When all you see is grief and green? Envy or greed; Either way— Nothing means anything I should just kill myself One less problem in the world, Call it commerce; Somebody oughta make Less than their worth in dollars To scrape me off the sidewalk Where I collide with the 9 bus Or get shot like Tupac, But by a cop I had promised myself that by the time the vegan raw cakes I had my eye on were back in stock, I would end this most recent fast—which had extended past its expected length and had shattered even my own predictions by a long shot—I still didn't feel like eating, and even tempted by the Mango and Lime rendition of the same pasterie I had spotted just before thanksgiving, I had challenged myself to wait to see not just when, but even if the pasterie itself would be restocked—not to mention the pumpkin pie, which I had seen just the day before thanksgiving, almost having allowed myself then to break fast—but I remembered my own challenge; even in the midst of that; thinking ‘that's not the flavor I said I'd break Fast for” and though it was certainly a temptation, I had noted that the cake I had wanted to try was a blueberry raspberry flavor; and, taunted myself with the possibility that after Thanksgiving day, the pumpkin pie may not even make a return; but alas, here I was—still not hungry even for the protein shake I stood in line for—and low and behold, there were a fresh assortment of pies from the bakery, pumpkin, and vegan, alongside the very blueberry raw cake I thought might not be restocked at all ever—and therefore, remembering my promise to myself—honestly astonished that I had pushed through yet another weeks-long liquid-only diet at all, I begrudgingly bought the three items I had intended to purchase before, but had abandoned in-basket on thanksgiving's eve, opting of course not even really to celebrate the holiday at all, resulting in a true fast; alas, while nearly the entirety of the country feasted heavily kn Thanksgiving day, I opted for water and studio time. Now, and for some reason with great quickness, as having fasted so long already was moving like a bullet train at lightning speed—maybe even, I thought, too fast— without rush but still hurriedly carried the three items, seemingly floating on air, to the self checkout, where I purchased all three items which I had no full intention of eating, at least anytime soon; it had been weeks since my last hot meal or anything solid at all, and maybe, perhaps because I felt so blissful in the moment, felt secure and preseved in purchasing the food to keep for when I actually was ready to eat again, after I had secured a proper income and was out of danger of actually sleeping in the streets of Los Angeles rather than above them. I was proud of how fluid my movement had become, how high my vibration rung out around me and —though I had no exact plans on eating anytime soon at all, it felt good to know, almost, that I would eventually have a reward of sorts for all my hard work. LIL BITZ Yo I love my gym. I really do. I fucking love Equinox. Yeah, I'm boujie. I'll go broke on a swanky add gym membership so I can live my life smelling like eucalyptus and business class upgrades. It's so fancy. Do you know they have separate mens and women's playlists? Yes. Like, there's the music that's playing on the floor, But then when you go into the locker rooms, the music changes, it's a different playlist. Yes. I feel it might be a little bit sexist. Maybe. Just kidding. But I do get curious like—‘what's playing on the men's side?!' I think about using my non-bianary status to go see. Like: what's playing over here? What if it's like, some crunk shit?! Cause the ladies side is like, Always some smooth, cool jazzy shit All harmonic, melodic and shit I'm like, What if I go to the men's side and it's like, Lil Jon's new single? I go over to the men's side and it's like: “YEAAAAH. WHAT?! UNH.” I'mma be mad! Cause you know why? The woman's locker room is always some girly shit! Some white girl singing about being left for some other white girl. YeH. I know. It's like, boy bands and love ballads, and breakup songs—which are all almost the same shit, really, honestly. I'm like: What if I go to the men's side and it's like— D12. Remember D12? No you dont. Lol. What if I go over there and it's like, backstreet freestyle on loop. GAY. Guys are so lucky. They don't do anything but fuck, eat, and ruin people's lives. True story. I'm going to the guy's locker room. Fuck it. I'm a guy. I'll ruin my own life, thanks. “YEYUH.” He had sweet brown eyes and beautiful long hair; and at 30 was just the right age, if not too young, but gorgeous nonetheless—I had to pretend at all that I wasn't entirely going mad; I couldn't stop the tears from welling up out of the bottom of my soul and into my eyes — I pretended more than not to be great and good beyond okay, but it was all I could do now just to breathe, and not think about chocolate Rubicon cupcakes—it had now been another 15 days since I had eaten and my weight loss had hit a plateau, as I may have frightened a calorie deficit into my body which read as starvation—still, I must have been looking alright; the handsome Australian man—whose name was Dylan, but still, it irked me, smiled more than I expected him to at me, with his perfect teeth and all. I wondered if he would meet a real perfect Californian girl at the hockey game that night, reminding myself of my undressed body, cursed perchance, and that just as any handsome man seemed to—he probably liked girls, rather than women. He was a bit too handsome for me, either way—and I winced at the possibility of a post-workout cupcake, or maybe even sweet potatoes—maybe quinoa, or the cilantro hummus I had spotted in the prepared foods section at Whole Foods earlier. I swear on all my sons; You're the saddest song I've ever sung— ‘Here's comes another one' I'm just around the bloc If you want to talk about it —but i dont want to talk at all, About it… Maybe after Equinox and Coffee I had missed my chance with the beautiful Australian man, Dylan, after all; and even after feeling like I could have taken my shot, I backed down, retreating into my bed for my first meal in 17 days. He left sometime after midnight never to return—- and while my primal instinct had tempted me to pounce at the opportunity, I reminded myself I was the fat girl in the story; he was perfect after all, and, though I had become quite magnificently slim, the sagging skin around my midline still kept me from true freedom, and although I had thoroughly decided that breaking my celibacy was absolutely the wrong idea under any circumstance, the certain sadness that it gave me watching the beautiful man walk out the door resonated with me to the morning; I thought about the type of Kayla Lauren a perfectly beautiful foreign attractive man could find on Tinder; a cosmopolitan girl with her own car and apartment—and considering he was so attractive, and even well hung—the kind of actual girl that deserved such a treasure. As for myself, I knew that I may never love again as it were, spending a lot of time in reflection of what it would take to allow myself to feel anything for anyone, after Jon, and after Sonny, and after Dillon, who had all for the most part left my heart in pieces, and my soul shattered throughout the Inter dimensions of time and space searching for something, anything other than my putrid self. The Aussie himself, though was so pretty that I had almost instantaneously become somewhat attached, and hadn't known why; perhaps it was after all that I was his first or at least easier choice, and I had decided myself not to complicate anything with sex. What I needed, anyway, wholeheartedly was not a tryst or short term fling; I needed to be held, and heartfelt, and kissed in places I had forgotten were still apart of me. It made no sense to cry about it, at all, but my mind and heart had no intention of letting it go—I was alone in the world and seemingly forbidden from all human things; love, food, and pleasure always just out of my reach and of course—comfort, home, and companionship the absolutely unattainable. Of course, to my pleasant surprise, after burning some sage and working my way through my pile of half-damp laundry, the clicking of the automatic door lock perked up in my ears, in through the swinging door came the Australian man, quite looking like he had just rolled out of bed—as it turns out, he had—apparently leaving late into the night not for a midnight tryst, but for a good night's sleep—almost funny, because I had thought to offer him some ear plugs just before he left—then thought not to bother him; he actually was so perfect looking that he did make me nervous, even after a couple days of chatting; it seemed all together that there was a vibe, but I didn't know how to follow it—and I wondered if I would ever be normal or ever able to talk to the opoosite sex again. It was almost unbearable now; I couldn't think to bring myself to a proper orgasm in a room with four people— and sometimes all I could think about was sex. Actually, it was my most forward and prominent thought—i began to think much like an animal, just keeping intact my inhibitions as not to let my primal nature give way to each and every impulse I had begun the day renewed with a sense of high energy, having eaten perhaps just the right foods so that k actually became nourished, and not over full, despite the cupcakes added to the ensemble of otherwise incredibly healthy pickings; sometimes I did amuse myself with how healthy I had become; and though it was delightful to think about eating certain things—especially chicken wings as of late— I knew I wouldn't, or couldn't, and felt almost good about being “bad” with an assortment of health foods I seemed myself indigent, but to any common other, especially an American, would be considered atrociously healthy. Who the fuck cares about anything? Especially mediocre me Must have been the weather Or something in the water Whether we want to admit it BEYONCÈ, for the win!! It was my fastest run im awhile; and Esther than. Assuming it might have been the plant power from the sweet potatoes and quinoa I had allowed myself to feast on, I attributed it to beyoncè, or rather Renaissance, as I had almost forgotten what the album looked like. Beyoncé's vocals were like ribbons of butter, allowing time to psss and my body to love off what I had put on, and realizing I had now been kn Los Ángeles 9 days, that my Fast had been closer to 21 days than the 17 I had counted—but I hadn't counted at all, and maybe that was the important part about it; it had been a wonderful feeling, and though I had eaten, I hadn't quite felt I had left the beauty of clarity of it, and probably wouldn't — my body was slim, even becoming petite; and though I had slowed to a trot in my 9-minute mile—it had only been for a moment, self-motivating by reflecting on all the dick I was missing out on not having a perfect body. At 7.3 miles per hour exactly for 9 minutes and 19 seconds, I thought about the Australian man's perfect teeth— about Sonny's slender physique—about Dillon's superior intellect— and of course—all the perfect women they all attracted, who I was only trying to be. ‘Run. Just—run.' Actually, I couldn't stop thinking about sex at all—at all, that day—the world seemed to have filled with beautiful men, and though perhaps even though it was LA, and I was used to the perfection, my body was in a peak state of fatigue from sexual neglect, and there was nothing I could really do about it. It was safest to stay celibate for the time being, and I knew it—but there was something in me that wanted to love, and I could actually taste the tears I was bound to cry, sexually frustrated and thoroughly unfit for love—physically at least—though I was at least turning out in every other way to be a pretty interesting and overall cool, likable “girl”, I knew by the billboards and bodies I was constantly surrounded by that mine wouldn't quite make the cut. So I stayed clothed, and with my legs closed, at least for the moment. MOVE>< big boss Sometimes the work of the devil is comical at most; in this rendition, The promise that I'd take my first drink with Dillon, If I were really feeling him And here it is, Yet unwritten, Perhaps, a syntax error— No matter how you spell it. If we had sat next to each other. I would have been watching him and not the game—but it wasn't the players that captivated me; as I was still on hold with the bar across the way, where I had strategically left my skateboard, after landing of course there was nowhere safe within the actual arena that I could keep it; I called someone to retrieve it and put it in the lost and found at Tom's Watch Bar, already inside the crypto.com arena—Dylan had floor seats, or something like that, but had purchased for me, one of the seats from a season ticket holder; we went our separate ways, which I didn't mind at all; as it turns out, I was seated in the perfect spot, near the band—with an entire row to myself. I just wanted to see the game—and of course, still in my now very oversized harems and Nike runners, a laidback black sweater—someone as gorgeous as him would probably not rather actually be seen with someone like me; Of course, there were beautiful people everywhere, but assimilating to LA, I just blurred them out of my mind enough so that it didn't hurt that I wasn't one. There's another song here, I know it; Just give me a minute; That's what it is, isn't it? She wants to finish the album— That's what she needs from him, That's all it is, or All it was, Or what it is, Or what it was, Collect another song, or something Get the drugs, and then fuck off It's just last call It's just a bunch of drunks It's just a wonder you're alive It's just another what the Fuck of lovers It's just lust I'm//he's just lost. It's just another; Better not eat for a little bit longer Cause the little one's got him Wrapped around her little finger It was something like being cheated on right in front of my own eyes—not that k had laid any claims to the to-perfect Australian Man, but of course the girl to his left was skinny with hair so long it sat in her lap, and her thick valley girl accent would fool even the most.trained ear into the belief that she was from the actual valley, rather than Santa Barbra—as he leaned more towards her and further away from me I felt my stomach sink— I had refused his offer for a drink, and that had been that, but now I had long enough to become sour in my own self hatred; I was fawning more heavily now over the menu at LA Cafe than I was the Australian man, who I had already admitted was too handsome and too beautiful for someone—anyone like mysel. I realized the same unsettling disgust I had yet to feel again since departing Mexico, after the whole Luis, and I realized this would always happen—there were always prettier girls, or just other girls at all, no matter how pretty they were—and I couldn't bring myself to have a drink, even with it sitting right in front of me. The light skinned girl crossed her skinny leg and laid her petite fist on Dylan's back—and that's when I knew the family feeling of my old self; my role as the ugly girl—and even as I had consumed myself with writing and collecting whatever other experience I could, for some reason I had to choke back tears as I pushed myself away from the bar, luckily leaving behind a far too handsome man that was too busy talking with another girl to notice me quite you exuding myself to the restroom, besides the actual act of exuding myself. Over and over again my entire life it seemed that this had been the pattern; nothing about me, it seemed, was ever really good enough. To actually let myself cry about it would have been asenine—I didn't understand even myself how I had become so attached or attracted in the first place— and though the tears were there, and the feelings to go with them, it would have been silly to let any of it out—the lesson was simple: men were impossible, I was unlovable, unfuckable, and unmoved, for whatever reason. At least the actual Dillon—that is, Dillon Francis, had been far enough out of my mind that nothing at all seemed to matter in hindsight—and now I was hurt. It was worth the experience at least. The funny thing is, I had thought to avoid feeling like this in entirety— I had meant to avoid feeling feelings at all, and especially this one: loneliness, and of course, rejection. Left not entirely right back where I started, but somewhere else—even a new place, as fragile as ever, proud of my solemn celibacy and embarrassed paired with a side of shame about whatever it was that seemed to turn men over and away in less than an instant. You're never gonna love me; The way I need The way I need to be loved You're never gonna love me; The way I want The way I want to be loved You're never gonna love me The way I The way I The way I need to be The way I want to be The way I You're never gonna love me; The way I— The way I— Falling on the the floor; Heart failure— Falling on the floor: I need you, nowhere near I need you; You're nowhere near me No, you You're never gonna love me; The way I need The way I need to be loved You're never gonna love me; The way I want The way I want to be loved You're never gonna love me The way I The way I The way I need to be The way I want to be The way I You're never gonna love me; The way I— The way I— You don't want— No, You don't want to know What I've been through I been here for you, but— I need you here, Youre nowhere near, You're never there You're never gonna love me; The way I need The way I need to be loved You're never gonna love me; The way I want The way I want to be loved You're never gonna love me The way I The way I The way I need to be The way I want to be The way I You're never gonna love me; The way I— The way I— As I started my first shift, setting my backpack down in the corner of the break room, a tiny rainbow piñata with long eyelashes and no smile at all seemed to call to me from its place high up in the corner of the office of the high profile smoke shop back room—it was Gerald. My yes filled with tears and my head with a plume of thick smoke—perhaps I was exactly where I ought to be after all, at least for the moment. I began to ponder lucidly after all who I was really dealing with—‘Who the Fuck really is this “Dillon Francis”?' And, in the turbulent way of motion, without too many moments between each fleeting thought and the next—was Sonny Moore even a real person anymore? ‘What is Skrillex?' And though I thought the same of either men—out of my Legur and dangerously attractive. I myself count even hold the attention of the Australian man, who had even admitted that he only liked dark-skinned girls—not that I believed him, and it bothered me that still, two entire days later, it still hurt quite deeply that he had betrayed and then abandoned me. The lesson learned being: no man could be trusted—not that any woman could either. GET YOUR BASS OUT MY FACE Lol IT WAS NEVER DILLON FRANCIS! IT WAS AÑWAYS DILLON FRANCIS, AND YOU KNOW IT. —ALWAYS DILLON FRAN— —fuckas Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. —nno— Yes. ¿Donde esta horita? Nada: ahorita? Pizza sin carnitas So— KANYE. WHAT. Kanye. WHAT. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT Like out of life? Like, from ME. Yeah, out of “life” What?! KANYE. !?! — Dillon. What. It's time. …time for what? —ah, so you believe In time, do you?! NO. Aa ——!!!!! …and he's gone. — …you sick son of a bitch. …you know what? …what? We'll talk about this later. —no we won't— When you get HOME. I don't have a— [door slams loudly] {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I'm sick to my stomach Absolutely useless in this universe It's twisted Haven't slit my wrists in Half a minute, But it seems a swift solution IMm confused at my existence I have no contribution to society I should just kill myself. Because what's the God honest purpose Of persons with no worth Or accomplishments, even? What's the reason to keep on being When all you see is grief and green? Envy or greed; Either way— Nothing means anything I should just kill myself One less problem in the world, Call it commerce; Somebody oughta make Less than their worth in dollars To scrape me off the sidewalk Where I collide with the 9 bus Or get shot like Tupac, But by a cop I had promised myself that by the time the vegan raw cakes I had my eye on were back in stock, I would end this most recent fast—which had extended past its expected length and had shattered even my own predictions by a long shot—I still didn't feel like eating, and even tempted by the Mango and Lime rendition of the same pasterie I had spotted just before thanksgiving, I had challenged myself to wait to see not just when, but even if the pasterie itself would be restocked—not to mention the pumpkin pie, which I had seen just the day before thanksgiving, almost having allowed myself then to break fast—but I remembered my own challenge; even in the midst of that; thinking ‘that's not the flavor I said I'd break Fast for” and though it was certainly a temptation, I had noted that the cake I had wanted to try was a blueberry raspberry flavor; and, taunted myself with the possibility that after Thanksgiving day, the pumpkin pie may not even make a return; but alas, here I was—still not hungry even for the protein shake I stood in line for—and low and behold, there were a fresh assortment of pies from the bakery, pumpkin, and vegan, alongside the very blueberry raw cake I thought might not be restocked at all ever—and therefore, remembering my promise to myself—honestly astonished that I had pushed through yet another weeks-long liquid-only diet at all, I begrudgingly bought the three items I had intended to purchase before, but had abandoned in-basket on thanksgiving's eve, opting of course not even really to celebrate the holiday at all, resulting in a true fast; alas, while nearly the entirety of the country feasted heavily kn Thanksgiving day, I opted for water and studio time. Now, and for some reason with great quickness, as having fasted so long already was moving like a bullet train at lightning speed—maybe even, I thought, too fast— without rush but still hurriedly carried the three items, seemingly floating on air, to the self checkout, where I purchased all three items which I had no full intention of eating, at least anytime soon; it had been weeks since my last hot meal or anything solid at all, and maybe, perhaps because I felt so blissful in the moment, felt secure and preseved in purchasing the food to keep for when I actually was ready to eat again, after I had secured a proper income and was out of danger of actually sleeping in the streets of Los Angeles rather than above them. I was proud of how fluid my movement had become, how high my vibration rung out around me and —though I had no exact plans on eating anytime soon at all, it felt good to know, almost, that I would eventually have a reward of sorts for all my hard work. LIL BITZ Yo I love my gym. I really do. I fucking love Equinox. Yeah, I'm boujie. I'll go broke on a swanky add gym membership so I can live my life smelling like eucalyptus and business class upgrades. It's so fancy. Do you know they have separate mens and women's playlists? Yes. Like, there's the music that's playing on the floor, But then when you go into the locker rooms, the music changes, it's a different playlist. Yes. I feel it might be a little bit sexist. Maybe. Just kidding. But I do get curious like—‘what's playing on the men's side?!' I think about using my non-bianary status to go see. Like: what's playing over here? What if it's like, some crunk shit?! Cause the ladies side is like, Always some smooth, cool jazzy shit All harmonic, melodic and shit I'm like, What if I go to the men's side and it's like, Lil Jon's new single? I go over to the men's side and it's like: “YEAAAAH. WHAT?! UNH.” I'mma be mad! Cause you know why? The woman's locker room is always some girly shit! Some white girl singing about being left for some other white girl. YeH. I know. It's like, boy bands and love ballads, and breakup songs—which are all almost the same shit, really, honestly. I'm like: What if I go to the men's side and it's like— D12. Remember D12? No you dont. Lol. What if I go over there and it's like, backstreet freestyle on loop. GAY. Guys are so lucky. They don't do anything but fuck, eat, and ruin people's lives. True story. I'm going to the guy's locker room. Fuck it. I'm a guy. I'll ruin my own life, thanks. “YEYUH.” He had sweet brown eyes and beautiful long hair; and at 30 was just the right age, if not too young, but gorgeous nonetheless—I had to pretend at all that I wasn't entirely going mad; I couldn't stop the tears from welling up out of the bottom of my soul and into my eyes — I pretended more than not to be great and good beyond okay, but it was all I could do now just to breathe, and not think about chocolate Rubicon cupcakes—it had now been another 15 days since I had eaten and my weight loss had hit a plateau, as I may have frightened a calorie deficit into my body which read as starvation—still, I must have been looking alright; the handsome Australian man—whose name was Dylan, but still, it irked me, smiled more than I expected him to at me, with his perfect teeth and all. I wondered if he would meet a real perfect Californian girl at the hockey game that night, reminding myself of my undressed body, cursed perchance, and that just as any handsome man seemed to—he probably liked girls, rather than women. He was a bit too handsome for me, either way—and I winced at the possibility of a post-workout cupcake, or maybe even sweet potatoes—maybe quinoa, or the cilantro hummus I had spotted in the prepared foods section at Whole Foods earlier. I swear on all my sons; You're the saddest song I've ever sung— ‘Here's comes another one' I'm just around the bloc If you want to talk about it —but i dont want to talk at all, About it… Maybe after Equinox and Coffee I had missed my chance with the beautiful Australian man, Dylan, after all; and even after feeling like I could have taken my shot, I backed down, retreating into my bed for my first meal in 17 days. He left sometime after midnight never to return—- and while my primal instinct had tempted me to pounce at the opportunity, I reminded myself I was the fat girl in the story; he was perfect after all, and, though I had become quite magnificently slim, the sagging skin around my midline still kept me from true freedom, and although I had thoroughly decided that breaking my celibacy was absolutely the wrong idea under any circumstance, the certain sadness that it gave me watching the beautiful man walk out the door resonated with me to the morning; I thought about the type of Kayla Lauren a perfectly beautiful foreign attractive man could find on Tinder; a cosmopolitan girl with her own car and apartment—and considering he was so attractive, and even well hung—the kind of actual girl that deserved such a treasure. As for myself, I knew that I may never love again as it were, spending a lot of time in reflection of what it would take to allow myself to feel anything for anyone, after Jon, and after Sonny, and after Dillon, who had all for the most part left my heart in pieces, and my soul shattered throughout the Inter dimensions of time and space searching for something, anything other than my putrid self. The Aussie himself, though was so pretty that I had almost instantaneously become somewhat attached, and hadn't known why; perhaps it was after all that I was his first or at least easier choice, and I had decided myself not to complicate anything with sex. What I needed, anyway, wholeheartedly was not a tryst or short term fling; I needed to be held, and heartfelt, and kissed in places I had forgotten were still apart of me. It made no sense to cry about it, at all, but my mind and heart had no intention of letting it go—I was alone in the world and seemingly forbidden from all human things; love, food, and pleasure always just out of my reach and of course—comfort, home, and companionship the absolutely unattainable. Of course, to my pleasant surprise, after burning some sage and working my way through my pile of half-damp laundry, the clicking of the automatic door lock perked up in my ears, in through the swinging door came the Australian man, quite looking like he had just rolled out of bed—as it turns out, he had—apparently leaving late into the night not for a midnight tryst, but for a good night's sleep—almost funny, because I had thought to offer him some ear plugs just before he left—then thought not to bother him; he actually was so perfect looking that he did make me nervous, even after a couple days of chatting; it seemed all together that there was a vibe, but I didn't know how to follow it—and I wondered if I would ever be normal or ever able to talk to the opoosite sex again. It was almost unbearable now; I couldn't think to bring myself to a proper orgasm in a room with four people— and sometimes all I could think about was sex. Actually, it was my most forward and prominent thought—i began to think much like an animal, just keeping intact my inhibitions as not to let my primal nature give way to each and every impulse I had begun the day renewed with a sense of high energy, having eaten perhaps just the right foods so that k actually became nourished, and not over full, despite the cupcakes added to the ensemble of otherwise incredibly healthy pickings; sometimes I did amuse myself with how healthy I had become; and though it was delightful to think about eating certain things—especially chicken wings as of late— I knew I wouldn't, or couldn't, and felt almost good about being “bad” with an assortment of health foods I seemed myself indigent, but to any common other, especially an American, would be considered atrociously healthy. Who the fuck cares about anything? Especially mediocre me Must have been the weather Or something in the water Whether we want to admit it BEYONCÈ, for the win!! It was my fastest run im awhile; and Esther than. Assuming it might have been the plant power from the sweet potatoes and quinoa I had allowed myself to feast on, I attributed it to beyoncè, or rather Renaissance, as I had almost forgotten what the album looked like. Beyoncé's vocals were like ribbons of butter, allowing time to psss and my body to love off what I had put on, and realizing I had now been kn Los Ángeles 9 days, that my Fast had been closer to 21 days than the 17 I had counted—but I hadn't counted at all, and maybe that was the important part about it; it had been a wonderful feeling, and though I had eaten, I hadn't quite felt I had left the beauty of clarity of it, and probably wouldn't — my body was slim, even becoming petite; and though I had slowed to a trot in my 9-minute mile—it had only been for a moment, self-motivating by reflecting on all the dick I was missing out on not having a perfect body. At 7.3 miles per hour exactly for 9 minutes and 19 seconds, I thought about the Australian man's perfect teeth— about Sonny's slender physique—about Dillon's superior intellect— and of course—all the perfect women they all attracted, who I was only trying to be. ‘Run. Just—run.' Actually, I couldn't stop thinking about sex at all—at all, that day—the world seemed to have filled with beautiful men, and though perhaps even though it was LA, and I was used to the perfection, my body was in a peak state of fatigue from sexual neglect, and there was nothing I could really do about it. It was safest to stay celibate for the time being, and I knew it—but there was something in me that wanted to love, and I could actually taste the tears I was bound to cry, sexually frustrated and thoroughly unfit for love—physically at least—though I was at least turning out in every other way to be a pretty interesting and overall cool, likable “girl”, I knew by the billboards and bodies I was constantly surrounded by that mine wouldn't quite make the cut. So I stayed clothed, and with my legs closed, at least for the moment. MOVE>< big boss Sometimes the work of the devil is comical at most; in this rendition, The promise that I'd take my first drink with Dillon, If I were really feeling him And here it is, Yet unwritten, Perhaps, a syntax error— No matter how you spell it. If we had sat next to each other. I would have been watching him and not the game—but it wasn't the players that captivated me; as I was still on hold with the bar across the way, where I had strategically left my skateboard, after landing of course there was nowhere safe within the actual arena that I could keep it; I called someone to retrieve it and put it in the lost and found at Tom's Watch Bar, already inside the crypto.com arena—Dylan had floor seats, or something like that, but had purchased for me, one of the seats from a season ticket holder; we went our separate ways, which I didn't mind at all; as it turns out, I was seated in the perfect spot, near the band—with an entire row to myself. I just wanted to see the game—and of course, still in my now very oversized harems and Nike runners, a laidback black sweater—someone as gorgeous as him would probably not rather actually be seen with someone like me; Of course, there were beautiful people everywhere, but assimilating to LA, I just blurred them out of my mind enough so that it didn't hurt that I wasn't one. There's another song here, I know it; Just give me a minute; That's what it is, isn't it? She wants to finish the album— That's what she needs from him, That's all it is, or All it was, Or what it is, Or what it was, Collect another song, or something Get the drugs, and then fuck off It's just last call It's just a bunch of drunks It's just a wonder you're alive It's just another what the Fuck of lovers It's just lust I'm//he's just lost. It's just another; Better not eat for a little bit longer Cause the little one's got him Wrapped around her little finger It was something like being cheated on right in front of my own eyes—not that k had laid any claims to the to-perfect Australian Man, but of course the girl to his left was skinny with hair so long it sat in her lap, and her thick valley girl accent would fool even the most.trained ear into the belief that she was from the actual valley, rather than Santa Barbra—as he leaned more towards her and further away from me I felt my stomach sink— I had refused his offer for a drink, and that had been that, but now I had long enough to become sour in my own self hatred; I was fawning more heavily now over the menu at LA Cafe than I was the Australian man, who I had already admitted was too handsome and too beautiful for someone—anyone like mysel. I realized the same unsettling disgust I had yet to feel again since departing Mexico, after the whole Luis, and I realized this would always happen—there were always prettier girls, or just other girls at all, no matter how pretty they were—and I couldn't bring myself to have a drink, even with it sitting right in front of me. The light skinned girl crossed her skinny leg and laid her petite fist on Dylan's back—and that's when I knew the family feeling of my old self; my role as the ugly girl—and even as I had consumed myself with writing and collecting whatever other experience I could, for some reason I had to choke back tears as I pushed myself away from the bar, luckily leaving behind a far too handsome man that was too busy talking with another girl to notice me quite you exuding myself to the restroom, besides the actual act of exuding myself. Over and over again my entire life it seemed that this had been the pattern; nothing about me, it seemed, was ever really good enough. To actually let myself cry about it would have been asenine—I didn't understand even myself how I had become so attached or attracted in the first place— and though the tears were there, and the feelings to go with them, it would have been silly to let any of it out—the lesson was simple: men were impossible, I was unlovable, unfuckable, and unmoved, for whatever reason. At least the actual Dillon—that is, Dillon Francis, had been far enough out of my mind that nothing at all seemed to matter in hindsight—and now I was hurt. It was worth the experience at least. The funny thing is, I had thought to avoid feeling like this in entirety— I had meant to avoid feeling feelings at all, and especially this one: loneliness, and of course, rejection. Left not entirely right back where I started, but somewhere else—even a new place, as fragile as ever, proud of my solemn celibacy and embarrassed paired with a side of shame about whatever it was that seemed to turn men over and away in less than an instant. You're never gonna love me; The way I need The way I need to be loved You're never gonna love me; The way I want The way I want to be loved You're never gonna love me The way I The way I The way I need to be The way I want to be The way I You're never gonna love me; The way I— The way I— Falling on the the floor; Heart failure— Falling on the floor: I need you, nowhere near I need you; You're nowhere near me No, you You're never gonna love me; The way I need The way I need to be loved You're never gonna love me; The way I want The way I want to be loved You're never gonna love me The way I The way I The way I need to be The way I want to be The way I You're never gonna love me; The way I— The way I— You don't want— No, You don't want to know What I've been through I been here for you, but— I need you here, Youre nowhere near, You're never there You're never gonna love me; The way I need The way I need to be loved You're never gonna love me; The way I want The way I want to be loved You're never gonna love me The way I The way I The way I need to be The way I want to be The way I You're never gonna love me; The way I— The way I— As I started my first shift, setting my backpack down in the corner of the break room, a tiny rainbow piñata with long eyelashes and no smile at all seemed to call to me from its place high up in the corner of the office of the high profile smoke shop back room—it was Gerald. My yes filled with tears and my head with a plume of thick smoke—perhaps I was exactly where I ought to be after all, at least for the moment. I began to ponder lucidly after all who I was really dealing with—‘Who the Fuck really is this “Dillon Francis”?' And, in the turbulent way of motion, without too many moments between each fleeting thought and the next—was Sonny Moore even a real person anymore? ‘What is Skrillex?' And though I thought the same of either men—out of my Legur and dangerously attractive. I myself count even hold the attention of the Australian man, who had even admitted that he only liked dark-skinned girls—not that I believed him, and it bothered me that still, two entire days later, it still hurt quite deeply that he had betrayed and then abandoned me. The lesson learned being: no man could be trusted—not that any woman could either. GET YOUR BASS OUT MY FACE Lol IT WAS NEVER DILLON FRANCIS! IT WAS AÑWAYS DILLON FRANCIS, AND YOU KNOW IT. —ALWAYS DILLON FRAN— —fuckas Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. —nno— Yes. ¿Donde esta horita? Nada: ahorita? Pizza sin carnitas So— KANYE. WHAT. Kanye. WHAT. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT Like out of life? Like, from ME. Yeah, out of “life” What?! KANYE. !?! — Dillon. What. It's time. …time for what? —ah, so you believe In time, do you?! NO. Aa ——!!!!! …and he's gone. — …you sick son of a bitch. …you know what? …what? We'll talk about this later. —no we won't— When you get HOME. I don't have a— [door slams loudly] {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I'm sick to my stomach Absolutely useless in this universe It's twisted Haven't slit my wrists in Half a minute, But it seems a swift solution IMm confused at my existence I have no contribution to society I should just kill myself. Because what's the God honest purpose Of persons with no worth Or accomplishments, even? What's the reason to keep on being When all you see is grief and green? Envy or greed; Either way— Nothing means anything I should just kill myself One less problem in the world, Call it commerce; Somebody oughta make Less than their worth in dollars To scrape me off the sidewalk Where I collide with the 9 bus Or get shot like Tupac, But by a cop I had promised myself that by the time the vegan raw cakes I had my eye on were back in stock, I would end this most recent fast—which had extended past its expected length and had shattered even my own predictions by a long shot—I still didn't feel like eating, and even tempted by the Mango and Lime rendition of the same pasterie I had spotted just before thanksgiving, I had challenged myself to wait to see not just when, but even if the pasterie itself would be restocked—not to mention the pumpkin pie, which I had seen just the day before thanksgiving, almost having allowed myself then to break fast—but I remembered my own challenge; even in the midst of that; thinking ‘that's not the flavor I said I'd break Fast for” and though it was certainly a temptation, I had noted that the cake I had wanted to try was a blueberry raspberry flavor; and, taunted myself with the possibility that after Thanksgiving day, the pumpkin pie may not even make a return; but alas, here I was—still not hungry even for the protein shake I stood in line for—and low and behold, there were a fresh assortment of pies from the bakery, pumpkin, and vegan, alongside the very blueberry raw cake I thought might not be restocked at all ever—and therefore, remembering my promise to myself—honestly astonished that I had pushed through yet another weeks-long liquid-only diet at all, I begrudgingly bought the three items I had intended to purchase before, but had abandoned in-basket on thanksgiving's eve, opting of course not even really to celebrate the holiday at all, resulting in a true fast; alas, while nearly the entirety of the country feasted heavily kn Thanksgiving day, I opted for water and studio time. Now, and for some reason with great quickness, as having fasted so long already was moving like a bullet train at lightning speed—maybe even, I thought, too fast— without rush but still hurriedly carried the three items, seemingly floating on air, to the self checkout, where I purchased all three items which I had no full intention of eating, at least anytime soon; it had been weeks since my last hot meal or anything solid at all, and maybe, perhaps because I felt so blissful in the moment, felt secure and preseved in purchasing the food to keep for when I actually was ready to eat again, after I had secured a proper income and was out of danger of actually sleeping in the streets of Los Angeles rather than above them. I was proud of how fluid my movement had become, how high my vibration rung out around me and —though I had no exact plans on eating anytime soon at all, it felt good to know, almost, that I would eventually have a reward of sorts for all my hard work. LIL BITZ Yo I love my gym. I really do. I fucking love Equinox. Yeah, I'm boujie. I'll go broke on a swanky add gym membership so I can live my life smelling like eucalyptus and business class upgrades. It's so fancy. Do you know they have separate mens and women's playlists? Yes. Like, there's the music that's playing on the floor, But then when you go into the locker rooms, the music changes, it's a different playlist. Yes. I feel it might be a little bit sexist. Maybe. Just kidding. But I do get curious like—‘what's playing on the men's side?!' I think about using my non-bianary status to go see. Like: what's playing over here? What if it's like, some crunk shit?! Cause the ladies side is like, Always some smooth, cool jazzy shit All harmonic, melodic and shit I'm like, What if I go to the men's side and it's like, Lil Jon's new single? I go over to the men's side and it's like: “YEAAAAH. WHAT?! UNH.” I'mma be mad! Cause you know why? The woman's locker room is always some girly shit! Some white girl singing about being left for some other white girl. YeH. I know. It's like, boy bands and love ballads, and breakup songs—which are all almost the same shit, really, honestly. I'm like: What if I go to the men's side and it's like— D12. Remember D12? No you dont. Lol. What if I go over there and it's like, backstreet freestyle on loop. GAY. Guys are so lucky. They don't do anything but fuck, eat, and ruin people's lives. True story. I'm going to the guy's locker room. Fuck it. I'm a guy. I'll ruin my own life, thanks. “YEYUH.” He had sweet brown eyes and beautiful long hair; and at 30 was just the right age, if not too young, but gorgeous nonetheless—I had to pretend at all that I wasn't entirely going mad; I couldn't stop the tears from welling up out of the bottom of my soul and into my eyes — I pretended more than not to be great and good beyond okay, but it was all I could do now just to breathe, and not think about chocolate Rubicon cupcakes—it had now been another 15 days since I had eaten and my weight loss had hit a plateau, as I may have frightened a calorie deficit into my body which read as starvation—still, I must have been looking alright; the handsome Australian man—whose name was Dylan, but still, it irked me, smiled more than I expected him to at me, with his perfect teeth and all. I wondered if he would meet a real perfect Californian girl at the hockey game that night, reminding myself of my undressed body, cursed perchance, and that just as any handsome man seemed to—he probably liked girls, rather than women. He was a bit too handsome for me, either way—and I winced at the possibility of a post-workout cupcake, or maybe even sweet potatoes—maybe quinoa, or the cilantro hummus I had spotted in the prepared foods section at Whole Foods earlier. I swear on all my sons; You're the saddest song I've ever sung— ‘Here's comes another one' I'm just around the bloc If you want to talk about it —but i dont want to talk at all, About it… Maybe after Equinox and Coffee I had missed my chance with the beautiful Australian man, Dylan, after all; and even after feeling like I could have taken my shot, I backed down, retreating into my bed for my first meal in 17 days. He left sometime after midnight never to return—- and while my primal instinct had tempted me to pounce at the opportunity, I reminded myself I was the fat girl in the story; he was perfect after all, and, though I had become quite magnificently slim, the sagging skin around my midline still kept me from true freedom, and although I had thoroughly decided that breaking my celibacy was absolutely the wrong idea under any circumstance, the certain sadness that it gave me watching the beautiful man walk out the door resonated with me to the morning; I thought about the type of Kayla Lauren a perfectly beautiful foreign attractive man could find on Tinder; a cosmopolitan girl with her own car and apartment—and considering he was so attractive, and even well hung—the kind of actual girl that deserved such a treasure. As for myself, I knew that I may never love again as it were, spending a lot of time in reflection of what it would take to allow myself to feel anything for anyone, after Jon, and after Sonny, and after Dillon, who had all for the most part left my heart in pieces, and my soul shattered throughout the Inter dimensions of time and space searching for something, anything other than my putrid self. The Aussie himself, though was so pretty that I had almost instantaneously become somewhat attached, and hadn't known why; perhaps it was after all that I was his first or at least easier choice, and I had decided myself not to complicate anything with sex. What I needed, anyway, wholeheartedly was not a tryst or short term fling; I needed to be held, and heartfelt, and kissed in places I had forgotten were still apart of me. It made no sense to cry about it, at all, but my mind and heart had no intention of letting it go—I was alone in the world and seemingly forbidden from all human things; love, food, and pleasure always just out of my reach and of course—comfort, home, and companionship the absolutely unattainable. Of course, to my pleasant surprise, after burning some sage and working my way through my pile of half-damp laundry, the clicking of the automatic door lock perked up in my ears, in through the swinging door came the Australian man, quite looking like he had just rolled out of bed—as it turns out, he had—apparently leaving late into the night not for a midnight tryst, but for a good night's sleep—almost funny, because I had thought to offer him some ear plugs just before he left—then thought not to bother him; he actually was so perfect looking that he did make me nervous, even after a couple days of chatting; it seemed all together that there was a vibe, but I didn't know how to follow it—and I wondered if I would ever be normal or ever able to talk to the opoosite sex again. It was almost unbearable now; I couldn't think to bring myself to a proper orgasm in a room with four people— and sometimes all I could think about was sex. Actually, it was my most forward and prominent thought—i began to think much like an animal, just keeping intact my inhibitions as not to let my primal nature give way to each and every impulse I had begun the day renewed with a sense of high energy, having eaten perhaps just the right foods so that k actually became nourished, and not over full, despite the cupcakes added to the ensemble of otherwise incredibly healthy pickings; sometimes I did amuse myself with how healthy I had become; and though it was delightful to think about eating certain things—especially chicken wings as of late— I knew I wouldn't, or couldn't, and felt almost good about being “bad” with an assortment of health foods I seemed myself indigent, but to any common other, especially an American, would be considered atrociously healthy. Who the fuck cares about anything? Especially mediocre me Must have been the weather Or something in the water Whether we want to admit it BEYONCÈ, for the win!! It was my fastest run im awhile; and Esther than. Assuming it might have been the plant power from the sweet potatoes and quinoa I had allowed myself to feast on, I attributed it to beyoncè, or rather Renaissance, as I had almost forgotten what the album looked like. Beyoncé's vocals were like ribbons of butter, allowing time to psss and my body to love off what I had put on, and realizing I had now been kn Los Ángeles 9 days, that my Fast had been closer to 21 days than the 17 I had counted—but I hadn't counted at all, and maybe that was the important part about it; it had been a wonderful feeling, and though I had eaten, I hadn't quite felt I had left the beauty of clarity of it, and probably wouldn't — my body was slim, even becoming petite; and though I had slowed to a trot in my 9-minute mile—it had only been for a moment, self-motivating by reflecting on all the dick I was missing out on not having a perfect body. At 7.3 miles per hour exactly for 9 minutes and 19 seconds, I thought about the Australian man's perfect teeth— about Sonny's slender physique—about Dillon's superior intellect— and of course—all the perfect women they all attracted, who I was only trying to be. ‘Run. Just—run.' Actually, I couldn't stop thinking about sex at all—at all, that day—the world seemed to have filled with beautiful men, and though perhaps even though it was LA, and I was used to the perfection, my body was in a peak state of fatigue from sexual neglect, and there was nothing I could really do about it. It was safest to stay celibate for the time being, and I knew it—but there was something in me that wanted to love, and I could actually taste the tears I was bound to cry, sexually frustrated and thoroughly unfit for love—physically at least—though I was at least turning out in every other way to be a pretty interesting and overall cool, likable “girl”, I knew by the billboards and bodies I was constantly surrounded by that mine wouldn't quite make the cut. So I stayed clothed, and with my legs closed, at least for the moment. MOVE>< big boss Sometimes the work of the devil is comical at most; in this rendition, The promise that I'd take my first drink with Dillon, If I were really feeling him And here it is, Yet unwritten, Perhaps, a syntax error— No matter how you spell it. If we had sat next to each other. I would have been watching him and not the game—but it wasn't the players that captivated me; as I was still on hold with the bar across the way, where I had strategically left my skateboard, after landing of course there was nowhere safe within the actual arena that I could keep it; I called someone to retrieve it and put it in the lost and found at Tom's Watch Bar, already inside the crypto.com arena—Dylan had floor seats, or something like that, but had purchased for me, one of the seats from a season ticket holder; we went our separate ways, which I didn't mind at all; as it turns out, I was seated in the perfect spot, near the band—with an entire row to myself. I just wanted to see the game—and of course, still in my now very oversized harems and Nike runners, a laidback black sweater—someone as gorgeous as him would probably not rather actually be seen with someone like me; Of course, there were beautiful people everywhere, but assimilating to LA, I just blurred them out of my mind enough so that it didn't hurt that I wasn't one. There's another song here, I know it; Just give me a minute; That's what it is, isn't it? She wants to finish the album— That's what she needs from him, That's all it is, or All it was, Or what it is, Or what it was, Collect another song, or something Get the drugs, and then fuck off It's just last call It's just a bunch of drunks It's just a wonder you're alive It's just another what the Fuck of lovers It's just lust I'm//he's just lost. It's just another; Better not eat for a little bit longer Cause the little one's got him Wrapped around her little finger It was something like being cheated on right in front of my own eyes—not that k had laid any claims to the to-perfect Australian Man, but of course the girl to his left was skinny with hair so long it sat in her lap, and her thick valley girl accent would fool even the most.trained ear into the belief that she was from the actual valley, rather than Santa Barbra—as he leaned more towards her and further away from me I felt my stomach sink— I had refused his offer for a drink, and that had been that, but now I had long enough to become sour in my own self hatred; I was fawning more heavily now over the menu at LA Cafe than I was the Australian man, who I had already admitted was too handsome and too beautiful for someone—anyone like mysel. I realized the same unsettling disgust I had yet to feel again since departing Mexico, after the whole Luis, and I realized this would always happen—there were always prettier girls, or just other girls at all, no matter how pretty they were—and I couldn't bring myself to have a drink, even with it sitting right in front of me. The light skinned girl crossed her skinny leg and laid her petite fist on Dylan's back—and that's when I knew the family feeling of my old self; my role as the ugly girl—and even as I had consumed myself with writing and collecting whatever other experience I could, for some reason I had to choke back tears as I pushed myself away from the bar, luckily leaving behind a far too handsome man that was too busy talking with another girl to notice me quite you exuding myself to the restroom, besides the actual act of exuding myself. Over and over again my entire life it seemed that this had been the pattern; nothing about me, it seemed, was ever really good enough. To actually let myself cry about it would have been asenine—I didn't understand even myself how I had become so attached or attracted in the first place— and though the tears were there, and the feelings to go with them, it would have been silly to let any of it out—the lesson was simple: men were impossible, I was unlovable, unfuckable, and unmoved, for whatever reason. At least the actual Dillon—that is, Dillon Francis, had been far enough out of my mind that nothing at all seemed to matter in hindsight—and now I was hurt. It was worth the experience at least. The funny thing is, I had thought to avoid feeling like this in entirety— I had meant to avoid feeling feelings at all, and especially this one: loneliness, and of course, rejection. Left not entirely right back where I started, but somewhere else—even a new place, as fragile as ever, proud of my solemn celibacy and embarrassed paired with a side of shame about whatever it was that seemed to turn men over and away in less than an instant. You're never gonna love me; The way I need The way I need to be loved You're never gonna love me; The way I want The way I want to be loved You're never gonna love me The way I The way I The way I need to be The way I want to be The way I You're never gonna love me; The way I— The way I— Falling on the the floor; Heart failure— Falling on the floor: I need you, nowhere near I need you; You're nowhere near me No, you You're never gonna love me; The way I need The way I need to be loved You're never gonna love me; The way I want The way I want to be loved You're never gonna love me The way I The way I The way I need to be The way I want to be The way I You're never gonna love me; The way I— The way I— You don't want— No, You don't want to know What I've been through I been here for you, but— I need you here, Youre nowhere near, You're never there You're never gonna love me; The way I need The way I need to be loved You're never gonna love me; The way I want The way I want to be loved You're never gonna love me The way I The way I The way I need to be The way I want to be The way I You're never gonna love me; The way I— The way I— As I started my first shift, setting my backpack down in the corner of the break room, a tiny rainbow piñata with long eyelashes and no smile at all seemed to call to me from its place high up in the corner of the office of the high profile smoke shop back room—it was Gerald. My yes filled with tears and my head with a plume of thick smoke—perhaps I was exactly where I ought to be after all, at least for the moment. I began to ponder lucidly after all who I was really dealing with—‘Who the Fuck really is this “Dillon Francis”?' And, in the turbulent way of motion, without too many moments between each fleeting thought and the next—was Sonny Moore even a real person anymore? ‘What is Skrillex?' And though I thought the same of either men—out of my Legur and dangerously attractive. I myself count even hold the attention of the Australian man, who had even admitted that he only liked dark-skinned girls—not that I believed him, and it bothered me that still, two entire days later, it still hurt quite deeply that he had betrayed and then abandoned me. The lesson learned being: no man could be trusted—not that any woman could either. GET YOUR BASS OUT MY FACE Lol IT WAS NEVER DILLON FRANCIS! IT WAS AÑWAYS DILLON FRANCIS, AND YOU KNOW IT. —ALWAYS DILLON FRAN— —fuckas Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. —nno— Yes. ¿Donde esta horita? Nada: ahorita? Pizza sin carnitas So— KANYE. WHAT. Kanye. WHAT. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT Like out of life? Like, from ME. Yeah, out of “life” What?! KANYE. !?! — Dillon. What. It's time. …time for what? —ah, so you believe In time, do you?! NO. Aa ——!!!!! …and he's gone. — …you sick son of a bitch. …you know what? …what? We'll talk about this later. —no we won't— When you get HOME. I don't have a— [door slams loudly] {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I'm sick to my stomach Absolutely useless in this universe It's twisted Haven't slit my wrists in Half a minute, But it seems a swift solution IMm confused at my existence I have no contribution to society I should just kill myself. Because what's the God honest purpose Of persons with no worth Or accomplishments, even? What's the reason to keep on being When all you see is grief and green? Envy or greed; Either way— Nothing means anything I should just kill myself One less problem in the world, Call it commerce; Somebody oughta make Less than their worth in dollars To scrape me off the sidewalk Where I collide with the 9 bus Or get shot like Tupac, But by a cop I had promised myself that by the time the vegan raw cakes I had my eye on were back in stock, I would end this most recent fast—which had extended past its expected length and had shattered even my own predictions by a long shot—I still didn't feel like eating, and even tempted by the Mango and Lime rendition of the same pasterie I had spotted just before thanksgiving, I had challenged myself to wait to see not just when, but even if the pasterie itself would be restocked—not to mention the pumpkin pie, which I had seen just the day before thanksgiving, almost having allowed myself then to break fast—but I remembered my own challenge; even in the midst of that; thinking ‘that's not the flavor I said I'd break Fast for” and though it was certainly a temptation, I had noted that the cake I had wanted to try was a blueberry raspberry flavor; and, taunted myself with the possibility that after Thanksgiving day, the pumpkin pie may not even make a return; but alas, here I was—still not hungry even for the protein shake I stood in line for—and low and behold, there were a fresh assortment of pies from the bakery, pumpkin, and vegan, alongside the very blueberry raw cake I thought might not be restocked at all ever—and therefore, remembering my promise to myself—honestly astonished that I had pushed through yet another weeks-long liquid-only diet at all, I begrudgingly bought the three items I had intended to purchase before, but had abandoned in-basket on thanksgiving's eve, opting of course not even really to celebrate the holiday at all, resulting in a true fast; alas, while nearly the entirety of the country feasted heavily kn Thanksgiving day, I opted for water and studio time. Now, and for some reason with great quickness, as having fasted so long already was moving like a bullet train at lightning speed—maybe even, I thought, too fast— without rush but still hurriedly carried the three items, seemingly floating on air, to the self checkout, where I purchased all three items which I had no full intention of eating, at least anytime soon; it had been weeks since my last hot meal or anything solid at all, and maybe, perhaps because I felt so blissful in the moment, felt secure and preseved in purchasing the food to keep for when I actually was ready to eat again, after I had secured a proper income and was out of danger of actually sleeping in the streets of Los Angeles rather than above them. I was proud of how fluid my movement had become, how high my vibration rung out around me and —though I had no exact plans on eating anytime soon at all, it felt good to know, almost, that I would eventually have a reward of sorts for all my hard work. LIL BITZ Yo I love my gym. I really do. I fucking love Equinox. Yeah, I'm boujie. I'll go broke on a swanky add gym membership so I can live my life smelling like eucalyptus and business class upgrades. It's so fancy. Do you know they have separate mens and women's playlists? Yes. Like, there's the music that's playing on the floor, But then when you go into the locker rooms, the music changes, it's a different playlist. Yes. I feel it might be a little bit sexist. Maybe. Just kidding. But I do get curious like—‘what's playing on the men's side?!' I think about using my non-bianary status to go see. Like: what's playing over here? What if it's like, some crunk shit?! Cause the ladies side is like, Always some smooth, cool jazzy shit All harmonic, melodic and shit I'm like, What if I go to the men's side and it's like, Lil Jon's new single? I go over to the men's side and it's like: “YEAAAAH. WHAT?! UNH.” I'mma be mad! Cause you know why? The woman's locker room is always some girly shit! Some white girl singing about being left for some other white girl. YeH. I know. It's like, boy bands and love ballads, and breakup songs—which are all almost the same shit, really, honestly. I'm like: What if I go to the men's side and it's like— D12. Remember D12? No you dont. Lol. What if I go over there and it's like, backstreet freestyle on loop. GAY. Guys are so lucky. They don't do anything but fuck, eat, and ruin people's lives. True story. I'm going to the guy's locker room. Fuck it. I'm a guy. I'll ruin my own life, thanks. “YEYUH.” He had sweet brown eyes and beautiful long hair; and at 30 was just the right age, if not too young, but gorgeous nonetheless—I had to pretend at all that I wasn't entirely going mad; I couldn't stop the tears from welling up out of the bottom of my soul and into my eyes — I pretended more than not to be great and good beyond okay, but it was all I could do now just to breathe, and not think about chocolate Rubicon cupcakes—it had now been another 15 days since I had eaten and my weight loss had hit a plateau, as I may have frightened a calorie deficit into my body which read as starvation—still, I must have been looking alright; the handsome Australian man—whose name was Dylan, but still, it irked me, smiled more than I expected him to at me, with his perfect teeth and all. I wondered if he would meet a real perfect Californian girl at the hockey game that night, reminding myself of my undressed body, cursed perchance, and that just as any handsome man seemed to—he probably liked girls, rather than women. He was a bit too handsome for me, either way—and I winced at the possibility of a post-workout cupcake, or maybe even sweet potatoes—maybe quinoa, or the cilantro hummus I had spotted in the prepared foods section at Whole Foods earlier. I swear on all my sons; You're the saddest song I've ever sung— ‘Here's comes another one' I'm just around the bloc If you want to talk about it —but i dont want to talk at all, About it… Maybe after Equinox and Coffee I had missed my chance with the beautiful Australian man, Dylan, after all; and even after feeling like I could have taken my shot, I backed down, retreating into my bed for my first meal in 17 days. He left sometime after midnight never to return—- and while my primal instinct had tempted me to pounce at the opportunity, I reminded myself I was the fat girl in the story; he was perfect after all, and, though I had become quite magnificently slim, the sagging skin around my midline still kept me from true freedom, and although I had thoroughly decided that breaking my celibacy was absolutely the wrong idea under any circumstance, the certain sadness that it gave me watching the beautiful man walk out the door resonated with me to the morning; I thought about the type of Kayla Lauren a perfectly beautiful foreign attractive man could find on Tinder; a cosmopolitan girl with her own car and apartment—and considering he was so attractive, and even well hung—the kind of actual girl that deserved such a treasure. As for myself, I knew that I may never love again as it were, spending a lot of time in reflection of what it would take to allow myself to feel anything for anyone, after Jon, and after Sonny, and after Dillon, who had all for the most part left my heart in pieces, and my soul shattered throughout the Inter dimensions of time and space searching for something, anything other than my putrid self. The Aussie himself, though was so pretty that I had almost instantaneously become somewhat attached, and hadn't known why; perhaps it was after all that I was his first or at least easier choice, and I had decided myself not to complicate anything with sex. What I needed, anyway, wholeheartedly was not a tryst or short term fling; I needed to be held, and heartfelt, and kissed in places I had forgotten were still apart of me. It made no sense to cry about it, at all, but my mind and heart had no intention of letting it go—I was alone in the world and seemingly forbidden from all human things; love, food, and pleasure always just out of my reach and of course—comfort, home, and companionship the absolutely unattainable. Of course, to my pleasant surprise, after burning some sage and working my way through my pile of half-damp laundry, the clicking of the automatic door lock perked up in my ears, in through the swinging door came the Australian man, quite looking like he had just rolled out of bed—as it turns out, he had—apparently leaving late into the night not for a midnight tryst, but for a good night's sleep—almost funny, because I had thought to offer him some ear plugs just before he left—then thought not to bother him; he actually was so perfect looking that he did make me nervous, even after a couple days of chatting; it seemed all together that there was a vibe, but I didn't know how to follow it—and I wondered if I would ever be normal or ever able to talk to the opoosite sex again. It was almost unbearable now; I couldn't think to bring myself to a proper orgasm in a room with four people— and sometimes all I could think about was sex. Actually, it was my most forward and prominent thought—i began to think much like an animal, just keeping intact my inhibitions as not to let my primal nature give way to each and every impulse I had begun the day renewed with a sense of high energy, having eaten perhaps just the right foods so that k actually became nourished, and not over full, despite the cupcakes added to the ensemble of otherwise incredibly healthy pickings; sometimes I did amuse myself with how healthy I had become; and though it was delightful to think about eating certain things—especially chicken wings as of late— I knew I wouldn't, or couldn't, and felt almost good about being “bad” with an assortment of health foods I seemed myself indigent, but to any common other, especially an American, would be considered atrociously healthy. Who the fuck cares about anything? Especially mediocre me Must have been the weather Or something in the water Whether we want to admit it BEYONCÈ, for the win!! It was my fastest run im awhile; and Esther than. Assuming it might have been the plant power from the sweet potatoes and quinoa I had allowed myself to feast on, I attributed it to beyoncè, or rather Renaissance, as I had almost forgotten what the album looked like. Beyoncé's vocals were like ribbons of butter, allowing time to psss and my body to love off what I had put on, and realizing I had now been kn Los Ángeles 9 days, that my Fast had been closer to 21 days than the 17 I had counted—but I hadn't counted at all, and maybe that was the important part about it; it had been a wonderful feeling, and though I had eaten, I hadn't quite felt I had left the beauty of clarity of it, and probably wouldn't — my body was slim, even becoming petite; and though I had slowed to a trot in my 9-minute mile—it had only been for a moment, self-motivating by reflecting on all the dick I was missing out on not having a perfect body. At 7.3 miles per hour exactly for 9 minutes and 19 seconds, I thought about the Australian man's perfect teeth— about Sonny's slender physique—about Dillon's superior intellect— and of course—all the perfect women they all attracted, who I was only trying to be. ‘Run. Just—run.' Actually, I couldn't stop thinking about sex at all—at all, that day—the world seemed to have filled with beautiful men, and though perhaps even though it was LA, and I was used to the perfection, my body was in a peak state of fatigue from sexual neglect, and there was nothing I could really do about it. It was safest to stay celibate for the time being, and I knew it—but there was something in me that wanted to love, and I could actually taste the tears I was bound to cry, sexually frustrated and thoroughly unfit for love—physically at least—though I was at least turning out in every other way to be a pretty interesting and overall cool, likable “girl”, I knew by the billboards and bodies I was constantly surrounded by that mine wouldn't quite make the cut. So I stayed clothed, and with my legs closed, at least for the moment. MOVE>< big boss Sometimes the work of the devil is comical at most; in this rendition, The promise that I'd take my first drink with Dillon, If I were really feeling him And here it is, Yet unwritten, Perhaps, a syntax error— No matter how you spell it. If we had sat next to each other. I would have been watching him and not the game—but it wasn't the players that captivated me; as I was still on hold with the bar across the way, where I had strategically left my skateboard, after landing of course there was nowhere safe within the actual arena that I could keep it; I called someone to retrieve it and put it in the lost and found at Tom's Watch Bar, already inside the crypto.com arena—Dylan had floor seats, or something like that, but had purchased for me, one of the seats from a season ticket holder; we went our separate ways, which I didn't mind at all; as it turns out, I was seated in the perfect spot, near the band—with an entire row to myself. I just wanted to see the game—and of course, still in my now very oversized harems and Nike runners, a laidback black sweater—someone as gorgeous as him would probably not rather actually be seen with someone like me; Of course, there were beautiful people everywhere, but assimilating to LA, I just blurred them out of my mind enough so that it didn't hurt that I wasn't one. There's another song here, I know it; Just give me a minute; That's what it is, isn't it? She wants to finish the album— That's what she needs from him, That's all it is, or All it was, Or what it is, Or what it was, Collect another song, or something Get the drugs, and then fuck off It's just last call It's just a bunch of drunks It's just a wonder you're alive It's just another what the Fuck of lovers It's just lust I'm//he's just lost. It's just another; Better not eat for a little bit longer Cause the little one's got him Wrapped around her little finger It was something like being cheated on right in front of my own eyes—not that k had laid any claims to the to-perfect Australian Man, but of course the girl to his left was skinny with hair so long it sat in her lap, and her thick valley girl accent would fool even the most.trained ear into the belief that she was from the actual valley, rather than Santa Barbra—as he leaned more towards her and further away from me I felt my stomach sink— I had refused his offer for a drink, and that had been that, but now I had long enough to become sour in my own self hatred; I was fawning more heavily now over the menu at LA Cafe than I was the Australian man, who I had already admitted was too handsome and too beautiful for someone—anyone like mysel. I realized the same unsettling disgust I had yet to feel again since departing Mexico, after the whole Luis, and I realized this would always happen—there were always prettier girls, or just other girls at all, no matter how pretty they were—and I couldn't bring myself to have a drink, even with it sitting right in front of me. The light skinned girl crossed her skinny leg and laid her petite fist on Dylan's back—and that's when I knew the family feeling of my old self; my role as the ugly girl—and even as I had consumed myself with writing and collecting whatever other experience I could, for some reason I had to choke back tears as I pushed myself away from the bar, luckily leaving behind a far too handsome man that was too busy talking with another girl to notice me quite you exuding myself to the restroom, besides the actual act of exuding myself. Over and over again my entire life it seemed that this had been the pattern; nothing about me, it seemed, was ever really good enough. To actually let myself cry about it would have been asenine—I didn't understand even myself how I had become so attached or attracted in the first place— and though the tears were there, and the feelings to go with them, it would have been silly to let any of it out—the lesson was simple: men were impossible, I was unlovable, unfuckable, and unmoved, for whatever reason. At least the actual Dillon—that is, Dillon Francis, had been far enough out of my mind that nothing at all seemed to matter in hindsight—and now I was hurt. It was worth the experience at least. The funny thing is, I had thought to avoid feeling like this in entirety— I had meant to avoid feeling feelings at all, and especially this one: loneliness, and of course, rejection. Left not entirely right back where I started, but somewhere else—even a new place, as fragile as ever, proud of my solemn celibacy and embarrassed paired with a side of shame about whatever it was that seemed to turn men over and away in less than an instant. You're never gonna love me; The way I need The way I need to be loved You're never gonna love me; The way I want The way I want to be loved You're never gonna love me The way I The way I The way I need to be The way I want to be The way I You're never gonna love me; The way I— The way I— Falling on the the floor; Heart failure— Falling on the floor: I need you, nowhere near I need you; You're nowhere near me No, you You're never gonna love me; The way I need The way I need to be loved You're never gonna love me; The way I want The way I want to be loved You're never gonna love me The way I The way I The way I need to be The way I want to be The way I You're never gonna love me; The way I— The way I— You don't want— No, You don't want to know What I've been through I been here for you, but— I need you here, Youre nowhere near, You're never there You're never gonna love me; The way I need The way I need to be loved You're never gonna love me; The way I want The way I want to be loved You're never gonna love me The way I The way I The way I need to be The way I want to be The way I You're never gonna love me; The way I— The way I— As I started my first shift, setting my backpack down in the corner of the break room, a tiny rainbow piñata with long eyelashes and no smile at all seemed to call to me from its place high up in the corner of the office of the high profile smoke shop back room—it was Gerald. My yes filled with tears and my head with a plume of thick smoke—perhaps I was exactly where I ought to be after all, at least for the moment. I began to ponder lucidly after all who I was really dealing with—‘Who the Fuck really is this “Dillon Francis”?' And, in the turbulent way of motion, without too many moments between each fleeting thought and the next—was Sonny Moore even a real person anymore? ‘What is Skrillex?' And though I thought the same of either men—out of my Legur and dangerously attractive. I myself count even hold the attention of the Australian man, who had even admitted that he only liked dark-skinned girls—not that I believed him, and it bothered me that still, two entire days later, it still hurt quite deeply that he had betrayed and then abandoned me. The lesson learned being: no man could be trusted—not that any woman could either. GET YOUR BASS OUT MY FACE Lol IT WAS NEVER DILLON FRANCIS! IT WAS AÑWAYS DILLON FRANCIS, AND YOU KNOW IT. —ALWAYS DILLON FRAN— —fuckas Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. —nno— Yes. ¿Donde esta horita? Nada: ahorita? Pizza sin carnitas So— KANYE. WHAT. Kanye. WHAT. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT Like out of life? Like, from ME. Yeah, out of “life” What?! KANYE. !?! — Dillon. What. It's time. …time for what? —ah, so you believe In time, do you?! NO. Aa ——!!!!! …and he's gone. — …you sick son of a bitch. …you know what? …what? We'll talk about this later. —no we won't— When you get HOME. I don't have a— [door slams loudly] {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

C'est l'heure ! Ouiiiii c'est l'heure de déboucher les oreilles comme il faut, les amis et L'Antre est là pour ca ! Aprés cette spéciale JustNfest 2022 de la semaine dernière, difficile de surpasser l'ambiance, mais on y va quand même ! Et à fond !Repos pour toute l'équipe cette semaine, entre les malades, les aphones, je vous retrouve, les gens, et suis là entièrement pour VOUS ! News, infos, clips et du très bon son cette semaine avec AVATAR, CALLEJON, FIT FOR A KING, ARCHITECTS, DISTANT, RUSSIAN CIRCLES, DR. ACULA, WITCHMASTER, HORIZON IGNITED, THERION, DARKTHRONE, PROTOGONOS, WE CAME AS ROMANS, DUSK OF DELUSION, GUNS N' ROSES, OMEGA DIATRIBE, LORNA SHORE, CHRONOFORM et KRANKHEIT !Bref, on se régale encore une fois en votre compagnie, histoire d'égayer votre fin de semaine et plus !La playlist complète ? Ici https://mega.nz/file/TAAHyDZY#T0IoRVxz_IoZOQsKEyEsqtEIulgUMNA3UlPjkdodvxERetrouvez l'AntreView sur notre a chaine YouTube et abonnez-vous pour ne rien rater : https://www.youtube.com/@antremetalEt pis nos partenaires :@Fatlab Studio @Skull strings @IGNIS PROD @Asso We Rock - Just'N'Fest @FURIOSFEST @Actu-METAL Toulouse @Radio Transparence @Metal Invasion Radio/Podcast------------------------------------------------------It's time ! Yeaaaah it's time to open your ears properly, friends and L'Antre is here for tha t! After this JustNfest 2022 spécial last week, it's hard to beat the atmosphere, but we're going anyway ! And thoroughly ! Rest for the whole team this week, between the sick, the voiceless, I find you, people, and am here entirely for YOU ! News, info, clips and very good sound this week with  AVATAR, CALLEJON, FIT FOR A KING, ARCHITECTS, DISTANT, RUSSIAN CIRCLES, DR. ACULA, WITCHMASTER, HORIZON IGNITED, THERION, DARKTHRONE, PROTOGONOS, WE CAME AS ROMANS, DUSK OF DELUSION, GUNS N' ROSES, OMEGA DIATRIBE, LORNA SHORE, CHRONOFORM and KRANKHEIT.In short, we enjoy once again in your company, just to brighten up your weekend and more!The full playlist ? Here : https://mega.nz/file/TAAHyDZY#T0IoRVxz_IoZOQsKEyEsqtEIulgUMNA3UlPjkdodvxEFind the AntreView on our YouTube channel and subscribe so you don't miss anything: https://www.youtube.com/@antremetal

Tony ist heute wieder zu Gast! Tony war bei unserer Produktion der 'A Broken Frame' hauptverantwortlich für sämtliche Keyboard Sounds und spricht mit Slick über Dinge, die selbst einen kleinen Punk zum Staunen bringen. Aber hört selbst!

THE TRUTH COMES OUT! What lies hidden in the past?!The week of searching sponsorship is slowly coming to an end, but rather than relief, our heroes can feel the tension ramping up. Unspoken truths, unseen foes and unspeakable mysteries have enveloped the Radiant Winds, and it's coming to a boiling point. How long will they be able to last under this intense pressure? Who knows? Who cares? We've got a LESHY ASS TO KICK. THAT'S RIGHT. SATSUMEIMO THE GENEROUS, WE'RE COMING FOR YOU. WE'RE GONNA MAKE YOUR YAM LOOKING FACE FROOOOWN! YEAAAAH, THAT'S WHAT THIS EPISODE IS ABOUT! REVENGE AGAINST SATSUMEIMO! Come on, what else would it be about? Surely nothing... *bad* is going to happen, right..?READY?FIGHT!MEET with an old friend who bears an illustrious invitation! INTERVENE in the boiling squabble between two foes, with you caught in the crossfire! FACE your fears as your history comes to pull you back under!All this and more in this episode of Dice Will Roll, the Queerest Pathfinder Podcast on the Planet, where we ask the Hard Questions like... how much gold does it cost to buy, like, a shittonne of ribbons?CONTENT WARNINGS: In-party deceit, implied emotional trauma, second-hand embarrassment and cringeworthy encounters, spousal arguments, minor themes of virtue signalling by corporations, hurting Satusmeimo's feelings---Sound by Syrinscape: Because Your Games Deserve Epic SoundMusic by YouFulcaAdditional Music by McRo MusicEven More Additional Music by EmdascheEven More-er Additional Music by MojimbaTheme Song by Sim @TheSimulacraeArt by RanaOhara Get extra loot on our Patreon! Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Not much we can do there sorry palSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

TGIF! Hopefully your Friday routine includes us. A new episode is upon us to carry you into the weekend with laughter and a smile on your face. Today's ep we have 2 guests, Mercedez and Dj UpgrayeDD, to help us with the heavy lifting. In addition to Mercedez having a message for Shook (conspicuously he was absent), we discuss 2 lovers who found out they are sisters, the best fast food burger, and a message from Miles. Oh! And a woman thinks she's Annie from Michael Jackson's Smooth Criminal. Yeaaaah. Let's go!

Released September 9, 2001. Thousands of paratroopers cross the English Channel to France on D-Day. Lt Winters leads an attack on a fortified German artillery position. Parker answers his phone and talks about his EV. YEAaaah!

In this episode I start off with a long held in rant about haters and how they can suck my D. A life update about a date night with blondie and what the rollercoaster of my feelings is at now.I then go on to share some of YOUR crazy date/sex stories and comment on them in true Sahar style. Using a cucumber? Sleeping with a Pablo Escobar type gangster? Yeaaaah you guys are WILD!As usual questions of the week are also answered:- My break up story.- Forced sex fantasies - are they weird?- How to keep things spicy when you're in a relationship.- Circumsized or Un-circumsized?- Sugar Daddies?- Tips on anal.

Wir feiern den internationalen Frauentag, indem wir all unseren Podcast-Kolleginnen heute einen Urlaubstag geben. MÄNNERRUNDE!! YEAAAAH!! Das nutzen wir doch direkt, um das Gespräch über Hodenkrebs von letzter Woche fortzuführen …Und interessiert vor allem, wie…

This week on the Nerdy Venoms... we talk Oscars!..and how little we care about any of the films nominated. Yeaaaah. This is going to be a long one. Also its The Private's birthday so what better topic to discuss than full frontal nudity!* All that and news on this week's Nerdy Venoms!   *lol this is a podcast. Get your minds out of the sewer.

. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/carlos-arroyo07/support

Yeaaaah

On this episode of The Punk Roquette Show, you'll listen to the last part of the conversation I had with Mike Cambra, drummer for Death by stereo, The Adolescents and Common war. We talked about the loss of Steve Soto, about touring, I also asked him some of your questions and we talked about beers and poutine! Yeaaaah! I give you 2 rePUNKmmendations for All Fall down (UK) and Down Memory Lane (Québec), I talk to you about some vinyl I bought, about an amazing virtual show I watched last week from The Creepshow and as, always, I give you some punk rock news!  Enjoy, subscribe and share! -------- Émilie: IG https://www.instagram.com/punk_roquette Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/punkroquette   Email :      punkroquette@gmail.com https://punkroquetteshow.podbean.com   Sponsor: Epic Merch Store                  Website :  www.epicmerchstore.com                   IG : https://www.instagram.com/epicmerchstore                   FB : https://www.facebook.com/epicmerchstore ----- EPISODE: 010 Mike Cambra DBS :https://www.facebook.com/deathbystereo https://deathbystereo.bandcamp.com/ The Adolescents :https://www.facebook.com/officialtheadolescents New album : https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_naa11sTEE00WXRJSzLtLuoChOwzhw36Zw Common War : https://www.facebook.com/commonwar/about https://commonwar.bandcamp.com/ Learn to forget (clothes brand): http://www.learntoforgetbrand.com/ IG: https://www.instagram.com/learntoforget_/?hl=fr   RePUNKmmendations : Down Memory Lane (Québec) FB : https://www.facebook.com/dmlband IG: https://www.instagram.com/dmlband/ https://downmemorylane.bandcamp.com   All Fall down (UK) IG: https://www.instagram.com/allfalldownuk/ FB https://www.facebook.com/allfalldownuk https://allfalldownuk.bandcamp.com ---- TEAM : Scott Hallquist (co-production, edit, jingles) : https://www.scotthallquist.com                                                               https://www.instagram.com/scott_harder   Jean-Philippe Alain (intro/outro music) https://www.instagram.com/nosedivepunk   Karoline Morin ( logo artwork) https://www.instagram.com/ledouzexii                                                         https://www.facebook.com/karolinavonlimor  

On this episode of The Punk Roquette Show, you'll listen to the first part of the conversation I had with Mike Cambra, drummer for Death by stereo, The Adolescents and Common war. We talked about how we adapt to the pandemic, about how Mike got to play with those amazing bands, the new albums and I asked him some of YOUR questions! Yeaaaah! I also give you a rePUNKmmendation for the all stars new band called "Fire sale" , play a new song from Jughead's revenge and talk about the virtual show I played with my band, a few days ago! Enjoy, subscribe and share!   Émilie: IG https://www.instagram.com/punk_roquette Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/punkroquette   Email :      punkroquette@gmail.com https://punkroquetteshow.podbean.com   Sponsor: Epic Merch Store                  Website :  www.epicmerchstore.com                   IG : https://www.instagram.com/epicmerchstore                   FB : https://www.facebook.com/epicmerchstore   EPISODE: 009   Mike Cambra DBS :https://www.facebook.com/deathbystereo https://deathbystereo.bandcamp.com/     The Adolescents :https://www.facebook.com/officialtheadolescents New album : https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_naa11sTEE00WXRJSzLtLuoChOwzhw36Zw   Common War : https://www.facebook.com/commonwar/about https://commonwar.bandcamp.com/   Learn to forget (clothes brand): http://www.learntoforgetbrand.com/ IG: https://www.instagram.com/learntoforget_/?hl=fr   Jughead's revenge FB: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100063518625078 IG: https://www.instagram.com/jugheadsrevengeofficial/?hl=fr   Fire sale FB : https://www.facebook.com/firesaleisaband IG:https://www.instagram.com/firesaleisaband/?hl=fr Music video : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IsfH8VxKh-c       TEAM :   Scott Hallquist (co-production, edit, jingles) : https://www.scotthallquist.com                                                               https://www.instagram.com/scott_harder   Jean-Philippe Alain (intro/outro music) https://www.instagram.com/nosedivepunk   Karoline Morin ( logo artwork) https://www.instagram.com/ledouzexii                                                         https://www.facebook.com/karolinavonlimor

Heeeey Tapers, Whaaaat's happening.  Great, I'm gonna need you to go ahead and listen to this episode a few dozen times and share it with your friends.  If you could get that done, oh and also... did you get the memo about TPS reports?  Yeaaaah we'd love you to start using those. So if you could go ahead and come in on Saturday so we could wrap that up, that would be greeaaaat.  Thaaaanks Tapers! Love, Tape-Bobs

Play the uplifting montage music, for we have conquered our off-season rundown of the top players at each position in this crazy thing called fantasy baseball. It's the 2021 season, likely to be three times longer than last season. Don't worry the guy that won your league last year will go back to losing focus in July. Yeah marathon! Speaking of marathon. We did 100 pitchers!!!! Yeaaaah!!! Wooooo!!! Grey and I talk about all the guys to draft and the dudes you should let the other guys take. It's fun, we don't wear pants, and we breakout in song.

Ben oui, bien sur qu'on est là, comme d'habitude en grande forme pour cette émission de la semaine ! Quoi ? Vous avez envie d'écouter de la nouveauté ? Et ben ça tombe bien, on en à a revendre ! Ouiiiiii une tonne de nouveaux albums, singles et autres a découvrir cette semaine encore, avec pleins de petites news à suivre aussi sur notre page Facebook (facebook.com/antremetal) et notre Mélie Red à pris aussi sa besace pour en extirper 3 groupes à vous faire découvrir ou re-découvrir !Le programme vous plait ? Et attendez de voir les groupes qui sont avec nous ce soir : ANGELUS APATRIDA, HUMANITY'S LAST BREATH, OZZY OSBOURNE, CHAOS DOCTRINE, SCARLXRD, SIGNS OF THE SWARM, VERTEX, EMMA RUTH RUNDLE & THOU, REST IN FURIA, BLOD, IANWILL, HOUNDS, DEBAUCHERY, DAME TU ALMA, THE KING'S HEAD, MALEVOLENCE, SIRENIA et un final avec un groupe qu'on avait pas passé depuis trop longtemps les HERTZ & SILENCE !Voilà de quoi mettre en forme pour ce week-end non ?La playlist complète est là : https://mega.nz/file/jF4wyQbI#luPz_xFWn9e9I9_emhp8OVpwI3Zpm_S1TfGtWwL6DDMFatlab Studio - Skull strings - WeRock - Actu-METAL Toulouse - Radio Transparence - Metal Invasion Radio/Podcast#antremetal #fatlabstudio #skullstrings #radiotransparence #metalinvasionradio #actumetaltoulouse #frenchmetalradioshow #werock-----------------------------------------------------------Well yes, of course we're here, as usual in great shape for this show of the week ! What ? Do you want to listen to something new ? Well that's good, we have a lot to sell ! Yeaaaah a ton of new albums, singles and others to discover this week again, with lots of little news to follow also on our Facebook page (facebook.com/antremetal) and our Mélie Red also took his wallet to root out 3 groups to make you discover or rediscover !Do you like the program ? And wait until you see the bands that are with us tonight: ANGELUS APATRIDA, HUMANITY'S LAST BREATH, OZZY OSBOURNE, CHAOS DOCTRINE, SCARLXRD, SIGNS OF THE SWARM, VERTEX, EMMA RUTH RUNDLE & THOU, REST IN FURIA, BLOD, IANWILL, HOUNDS , DEBAUCHERY, DAME TU ALMA, THE KING'S HEAD, MALEVOLENCE, SIRENIA and a final with a band that we had not passed for too long the HERTZ & SILENCE!That's enough to get in shape for this weekend, isn't it ?The full playlist is here : https://mega.nz/file/jF4wyQbI#luPz_xFWn9e9I9_emhp8OVpwI3Zpm_S1TfGtWwL6DDM

Going Deeper1. Do you have a “Call Hierarchy” with your friends and family? Any fun tips or stories? Blocked Caller Unidentified Caller Convenient Caller Double Call Single Call 2. Using your same “Call Hierarchy”, where does God fit? 3. Can you identify with “The Jonah Journey” in your own life? Please describe. 4. What's a time that you said “Okay” to God and experienced the “warmth and weight of heaven?” 5. Who is God calling you to right now--either to invite them to join you for the One Campaign's “40-Days of Listening—or to something else entirely? 6. Have you heard the joy-filled “Yeeeaahhh!” from your Father in heaven over you? Teaching NotesAnd the Lord commanded the fish, and it vomited Jonah onto dry land. Then the word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time: “Go to the great city of Nineveh and proclaim to it the message I give you.” (Jonah 2:10-3:2) Where does God fit for you? Blocked Caller? Unidentified Caller? Convenient Caller? Double Call? Single Call? “The Jonah Journey” (Chapters 1-3) NORMALCY INTERRUPTION ESCAPE CRISIS DARKNESS AWAKENING RELEASE Three Key Questions: “Will I receive God's call as an interruption or opportunity?” “In darkness, will I let my heart harden or awaken?” Through it all, do I believe that God loves me no matter what? Jonah obeyed the word of the Lord and went to Nineveh. (Jonah 3:3) Obeying is simply saying to God: “OKAY.” Okay is the sound of surrender. In release, you will experience the warmth and weight of heaven Warmth The affection of the Father The release of all your striving Lightness, freedom Weight Gravitas Conviction A new determination A new authority Now Nineveh was a very large city; it took three days to go through it. Jonah began by going a day's journey into the city, proclaiming, “Forty more days and Nineveh will be overthrown.” The Ninevites believed God. A fast was proclaimed, and all of them, from the greatest to the least, put on sackcloth. When Jonah's warning reached the king of Nineveh, he rose from his throne, took off his royal robes, covered himself with sackcloth and sat down in the dust. This is the proclamation he issued in Nineveh: “By the decree of the king and his nobles: Do not let people or animals, herds or flocks, taste anything; do not let them eat or drink. But let people and animals be covered with sackcloth. Let everyone call urgently on God. Let them give up their evil ways and their violence. Who knows? God may yet relent and with compassion turn from his fierce anger so that we will not perish.” When God saw what they did and how they turned from their evil ways, he relented and did not bring on them the destruction he had threatened. Jonah 3:3-10 Prevenience: “the priority of grace.” “We are always coming in on something that is already going on.” -Eugene Peterson, Under The Unpredictable Plant When God calls you to someone, trust that He's calling them too. Who is He calling you to? One Campaign: 40 Days Bible Listening When we say to God “Okay” God says… “YEAAAAH!”“If you declare with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,' and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved. As Scripture says, ‘Anyone who believes in him will never be put to shame.'” Romans 10:9-11 Sunday Set List WFC Online/WFC LenexaThere's Nothing That Our God Can't Do- Passion feat./Kristian StanfillWay Maker- Bethel Music feat./Leeland MooringIt Is Well- Bethel Music feat./Kristine DiMarcoGraves Into Gardens- Elevation Worship feat./Brandon LakeWFC SpeedwayRaise A Hallelujah- Bethel MusicIt Is So- Elevation WorshipOceans- Hillsong UnitedGraves Into Gardens- Elevation Worship feat./Brandon LakeBe sure to follow our Spotify Worship Playlist, updated weekly with the upcoming Sunday's set!

Going Deeper1. Do you have a “Call Hierarchy” with your friends and family? Any fun tips or stories? Blocked Caller Unidentified Caller Convenient Caller Double Call Single Call 2. Using your same “Call Hierarchy”, where does God fit? 3. Can you identify with “The Jonah Journey” in your own life? Please describe. 4. What’s a time that you said “Okay” to God and experienced the “warmth and weight of heaven?” 5. Who is God calling you to right now--either to invite them to join you for the One Campaign’s “40-Days of Listening—or to something else entirely? 6. Have you heard the joy-filled “Yeeeaahhh!” from your Father in heaven over you? Teaching NotesAnd the Lord commanded the fish, and it vomited Jonah onto dry land. Then the word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time: “Go to the great city of Nineveh and proclaim to it the message I give you.” (Jonah 2:10-3:2) Where does God fit for you? Blocked Caller? Unidentified Caller? Convenient Caller? Double Call? Single Call? “The Jonah Journey” (Chapters 1-3) NORMALCY INTERRUPTION ESCAPE CRISIS DARKNESS AWAKENING RELEASE Three Key Questions: “Will I receive God’s call as an interruption or opportunity?” “In darkness, will I let my heart harden or awaken?” Through it all, do I believe that God loves me no matter what? Jonah obeyed the word of the Lord and went to Nineveh. (Jonah 3:3) Obeying is simply saying to God: “OKAY.” Okay is the sound of surrender. In release, you will experience the warmth and weight of heaven Warmth The affection of the Father The release of all your striving Lightness, freedom Weight Gravitas Conviction A new determination A new authority Now Nineveh was a very large city; it took three days to go through it. Jonah began by going a day’s journey into the city, proclaiming, “Forty more days and Nineveh will be overthrown.” The Ninevites believed God. A fast was proclaimed, and all of them, from the greatest to the least, put on sackcloth. When Jonah’s warning reached the king of Nineveh, he rose from his throne, took off his royal robes, covered himself with sackcloth and sat down in the dust. This is the proclamation he issued in Nineveh: “By the decree of the king and his nobles: Do not let people or animals, herds or flocks, taste anything; do not let them eat or drink. But let people and animals be covered with sackcloth. Let everyone call urgently on God. Let them give up their evil ways and their violence. Who knows? God may yet relent and with compassion turn from his fierce anger so that we will not perish.” When God saw what they did and how they turned from their evil ways, he relented and did not bring on them the destruction he had threatened. Jonah 3:3-10 Prevenience: “the priority of grace.” “We are always coming in on something that is already going on.” -Eugene Peterson, Under The Unpredictable Plant When God calls you to someone, trust that He’s calling them too. Who is He calling you to? One Campaign: 40 Days Bible Listening When we say to God “Okay” God says… “YEAAAAH!”“If you declare with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved. As Scripture says, ‘Anyone who believes in him will never be put to shame.’” Romans 10:9-11Sunday Set List WFC Online/WFC LenexaThere's Nothing That Our God Can't Do- Passion feat./Kristian StanfillWay Maker- Bethel Music feat./Leeland MooringIt Is Well- Bethel Music feat./Kristine DiMarcoGraves Into Gardens- Elevation Worship feat./Brandon LakeWFC SpeedwayRaise A Hallelujah- Bethel MusicIt Is So- Elevation WorshipOceans- Hillsong UnitedGraves Into Gardens- Elevation Worship feat./Brandon LakeBe sure to follow our Spotify Worship Playlist, updated weekly with the upcoming Sunday’s set!

Yeaaaah

You got hired....YEAAAAH! Now what?! Learn what to expect and what you will need to do. Who to look out for and who to stay clear of! --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Yeaaaah! I enjoyed making this episode, as I grooved to some Dancehall music from Jamaica. Lisa Hanna went viral with a campaign song made by Dancehall Queen 'Spice'. The admirable life of Lisa is highly commendable and so with this episode, I'm hoping we have more women like Lisa here in Nigeria. Listen, Share, and Enjoy! --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/bestofbothworldspodcast/message

Y’all ever listen to a song from your childhood and realize you shouldn’t have been singing it? Yeaaaah us too! This week we touch on some of the shit we had no business listening to or doing as kids! Tune in dammit! --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Greetings! How are you? Yeaaaah not bad thanks. Episode 13 is with our dear boy Terry. Hope you like hearing about beer! Feel free to get in touch via lovelystuffpod@gmail.com - would love to hear from you. The jingle was Blippy Trance by Kevin MacLeod Link: https://incompetech.filmmusic.io/song/5759-blippy-trance License: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

In episode 2, Dustin Rubin and Zak Shaffer discuss the 1986 cult movie American Anthem and its pulse pounding theme, “Two Hearts” by John Parr!Gymnastics, leather jackets, rocking 80s tunes and more are covered by our hosts as they high-bar down memory lane.Why would a movie which has been dubbed “Rebel without a pummel horse” and a song with lyrics like, “Two hearts beat as one together. It may not be forever, but its for now - yeah!” have such an impact on Dustin and Zak? Find out for yourselves and give it a listen!“Two dudes watching 80s movies, loving 80s music, who could ask for more?! Yeaaaah!”NEW EPISODES EVERY TWO WEEKS!Please rate and review us 5 stars on Apple Podcasts (aka iTunes)Instagram: @twodollarlatefeepodcastZak on Instagram: @zakshafferDustin on Instagram: @dustinrubinvoFacebook: facebook.com/Two-Dollar-Late-Fee-Podcast

Japanese Folk Stories - The Flute & The Kettle and audiobook episode! Old Japanese Tales to read: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/35853/35853-h/35853-h.htm New Earl Grey Supporter: Lee Bower! Yeaaaah mate! Honourable mention: Christina Seabolt Want to support the show? https://www.patreon.com/SFGT Leave an itunes Review if you have some spare time: https://apple.co/2Hq0XO2 Topics: #Japan #Podcast #Fairytale #Storytelling #Folktale A man loses his wife and goes wild with grief but does manage to keep his daughters love, but when he overcomes that grief…he may have lost sight, and grip of what he loves the most, and a Tea Kettle is found by a enterprising Priest, leading to a most enjoyable tale. Welcome you awesome listeners, crank up the sound and get ready to relax with two Japanese Folk Tales. ***** Visit my website for those without Podcast apps: https://www.storiesfablesghost.wixsite.com/storiesfables Send me your own stories and recommendations because you're awesome: StoriesFablesGhostlyTales@gmail.com All my Social Media Links: ***** Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/StoriesFablesGhostlyTales Twitter: https://twitter.com/StoriesFablesGT Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCjtTN-6a_PS38eO90wzcNew ***** "March of the Spoons" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ "The Sky of our Ancestors" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

Yeaaaah, we're talking about season 2 of the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina! And we have Epi on to chat with us about it! We also took a quick stop to chat about our thoughts on our girl, Dany, and Jon Snow. Oh, and we tell you what we think about the new Lion King trailer. --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/baby-lambs-podcast/support

Remember that one time expectations of life and the holidays didn’t match reality? Yeaaaah about that... --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/julie-story/support

It may look like we only did one Frotcast this week, but actually we did two. The other one is a review pod, with me (Vince) and Joe Sinclitico discussing Steve McQueen and Gillian Flynn’s Widows. That’s available here for our Patreon subscribers. Don’t you want to support the Frot? Yeaaaah, you do, you know … Continue reading Bonus Frotcast: ‘Widows,’ With Joe Sinclitico →

You know those little moments through our life that seem small but when they are happening it’s hugely annoying? Yeaaaah, I’m giving you my top 10 of those. Did I miss any? --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/julie-story/support

YEAAAAH ! Un des principaux mots issus du vocabulaire modeste mais néanmoins énergique des Crunkheads, dont la vague a envahi Atlanta au début des années 2000. Présentation du phénomène Crunk, qui trouve son origine dans la Bass Music de Miami puis d'Atlanta, avant d'être incarné notamment par Lil Jon aka Petit Jean. On revient longuement sur la carrière de ce dernier, puis sur l'héritage que lui et les autres protagonistes du Crunk ont laissé jusqu'à aujourd'hui.

YEAAAAH ! Un des principaux mots issus du vocabulaire modeste mais néanmoins énergique des Crunkheads, dont la vague a envahi Atlanta au début des années 2000. Présentation du phénomène Crunk, qui trouve son origine dans la Bass Music de Miami puis d’Atlanta, avant d’être incarné notamment par Lil Jon aka [...] Cet article DR#4 : Atlanta Goes Crunk est apparu en premier sur Deeply Rooted.

The Late To The Table crew makes it through another 365 days having learned nothing. They managed to ignore all personal growth and professional problems to bring you their top and bottom 5 movies of the year. If we DID learn anything from 2017 its this: don’t give anyone a bottom five. That’s a butt slap. You know what the sexiest thing in the world is? Consent. Yeaaaah baby show me some of that sweet, sweet consent!

# - Title - Artist  1 - All You Want, All You Need (Original Mix) - ReSketch 2 - Love (Original Mix) - Krizz Luco 3 - I'll Let You Go - Isaac Tichauer 4 - Red Emotion (Original Mix) - Darlyn Vlys 5 - Future Lights feat. Jinadu (Christian Prommer Version) - Bugsy, Christian Prommer 6 - Happy People (Original Mix) - Markomas 7 - Frigid (Franco Cinelli Remix) - James Barnsley 8 - Wanna Say - Crossninetroll 9 - Sweet Cookie - Chris Carrier 10 - Mesmerised Feat. Ria Moran (Darius Syrossian Remix) - Coat Of Arms, Ria Moran 11 - Hey (Original Mix) - Anja Schneider   December...Christmas...Vacation...Deep House...Beats...Yeaaaah!   Happy Holidays!   Matti   audioboxlive.com www.facebook.com/audioboxlive https://twitter.com/audioboxlive   Subscribe on iTunes  

Sa fait un peut plus d'un moi que je n'ai pas publier de podcast (en ce moment je suis a fond dans la production, je fait que bosser) Je vous envoies ce Monstre, Mutant APOCALYPTIQUE Podcast avec les dernière exclut Electro, Hip-Hop, Dirty Dutch !!! Yeaaaah !!!!!! ;) Je vous oublies pas et vous aimes toujours autant

What do podcasters do when a single game takes up every single minute of gaming-related spare time? They do an entire show about that game. In a season where the biggest of the triple-A games are hitting market, one has become a massive time and energy sink: Skyrim. Edie Sellers, Holy Goalie, and Nick Dinicola devote this entire episode on Skyrim — the ups, the downs, the pluses, the minuses. The various wildlife floating across the tundra. Yeaaaah, a lot of that. And they read a ton of listener mail about favorite moments, usually bug related. And usually hilarious. Don't worry, there's also a smattering of Assassin's Creed and Battlefield 3 in there as well. But this is a big fat Skyrim episode. Don't lose sight of that. Enjoy.