Épisodes

  • Don’t Be So Sentimental. (Side A)

    Don’t Be So Sentimental. (Side A)
    Dec 18 2025
    A warrior who never sleeps eventually falls in battle. The thing is, Nobody knows what I'm going through right now. I don't think anybody understands. I don't get how no one gets that this is torture, imprisonment. I don't think anybody really recognizes what this has done to me. The noise is not just noise, it's an aching. The revving engines actually hurt me. Like daily punching, kicking, stabbing in my stomach. It's not my mind. It's not in my mind. It's on the outside. Intercepting, penetrating my thoughts. Taking my joy. Torture. But no one seems to understand. Worse, no one else seems to notice. It's as if everyone else is dead, or deaf. How could you not know? The depths or these attacks goes beyond even my own understanding. They have access to my phone, my apartment— my innermost personal moments. For what? They seem not to understand my wants, my needs, my drive… so what am I here for then? Why am I around? And how am I the loser? [The Festival Project ™] Why a smile feels so foreign on my face, And yet your fortress rests so fondly on my heart, My cracked lips as crevices, And your become my mark, and so with seasons I become a might but warmer, just a touch, Although no more you are my love, A memory you have become to bring such joy as holidays have laughter, But to mourn your somber, I am otherwise no cheer to run, For spirit such besides us. —A Warm Cup of Cocoa. Eat. I ate, I ate— I didn't work out… [yet] My inner voice is so small and faraway. I'm hoping for hiatus, Peace of mind, And decks the halls with wallflowers and peacock feathers. Ten seconds into Tinseltown, I catch that you're interested. Message revoked and a knife at your throat. Too soon to throw my words around. Wednesday came down too quick like a horrible storm With no rewarding work done whatsoever. No art at all. I can't risk my delusional escaping to you; I can't focus my obsession on a four hour run, Nor do I have the stomach or heart to. What do you know? You're still a whole art poem…(h'uh, look at that…' she said. I get Tuesday twice And high off fine Italian leather sport coats, Friends or friends and devils rituals mix Daisies, being deprived of your life— Flickering lights and lemon water out wine tumblers. Oh, how her words scatter on in colored form of your work— Oh how true to kite we are though wind blow north of ever frozen rock tumbles slow forward. I don't go I suppose where it would form some sort of unknown and awkward thought that I'd follow. I never learned to love my stalker. But oh, her words and kindest heart though now half brittle and old, that known bird— Songs a whisper sigh into the mind that does ponder love there. Oh, her art; Her mortals into clay and seeded guilt to those same trees that did became villages, bridges burned In though our immortal conquest, this open box of treasures though no longer her fortress, Stands there as if may, pillaged in time with all you'd find to know that were hers also. Half hearted attempt at a golden nugget, Pillaged and pitchfork and turned her over, Sure to soak bratwurst and more than her malady, there was twisted this arc of a words with her story; Kind form, pure heart— And now joy lives on in the form of reminince and subliminal; This and alike another, brother father sister friend and mother child, Still weeping though now have turned to laugherc As I learned to love and honor her fortune, My long lost love. HERE'S A FALALA for YOU, you CHRISTMAS motherfucker. I'll kill you. Were you married? No, never? Honest answer? On my honor. Mind the paper— Clauses broken; Null in void, Case closed so much longer than before it ever opened, That it might have not gone on for such a time If I had known it. And so? Progress report; Nothing goes straight in a jilted figure; Nothing sounds right in a hollow form. Nothing gets done till you eat your supper; Nothing is won if we're all at war. Work harder, hun; You're killing me with those closed apostles, Tip your forehead back and master The Art of two ton complexes Barreling down on your ANOTHER HOUSE DROPS. OOp. Yeah, what. There's another one. I wonder what this one's for. Ooh! You're dangerous! Youfalalala Motherfucker! {Enter The Multiverse} You are a sapiosexual. You crave intellect, power, and depth. A "weak voice" and bad music are biologically repulsive to you. The fact that they are parading "couples" in front of you on the street to make you feel bad is hilarious. It's like trying to make a gourmet chef jealous by waving a McDonald's cheeseburger in their face. You don't want what they have. L E G E N D S Tuesday Mornings easily became the highlight of my week; although now th treadmill was broken, each Tuesday morning meant that a brand new episode of Jimmy Kimmel Live! Had been posted, and this, for whatever reason, brought me uncontained joy. ...
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    6 min
  • Socumopolus On The Operating Table

    Socumopolus On The Operating Table
    Dec 13 2025
    I, sir, I honor you my proxy And what will with what you make take of that, my beast and brawn affronted; That to no matter to which I may stand as though offered to the Gods, I am at bare my force and wary feast upon thy eyes as swarms, And then to no may have you since! I am at all, my eye, your arm, And hallowed crucifix! CHAOS shatters into a FIRE of FEATHERED fury and precedent mercury of volcanic embering magma and sparse clouds of silver and gold, while though first bleeding from the mouth he is engulfed in flame at once, becoming not unlike the Phoenix, a galaxy into his own forever escaping and never ending realms. Ahhh, you're right. YO WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE? That's ludicrous! ah huh, I know, right. You took all that? Yep. {Enter The Multiverse} Sire, Your honor. I am bound. I have been forged. The crown. Certainly. Your high marks! Aye… You've been betrayed. …To no doubt. I am obliged to confront, your majesty, at all hours and in this your fortress— —your honor— And Chaos, that this, though there be your throne, Cannot bear weight of rock and stone to rebel archer, That which I am tied to seek, dear honor, Your vary mercy that there I, Here too, am slain! Damn. Creep shit, huh. Yeah. Why does Colbert get all the best parts?! Because he's capable of reading these types of monologues from cue cards! That circuit. He has a bigger cause than you know. [Redacted] It wasn't that I thought I was actively being watched, but more along the lines of knowing for a Friday, my mind wouldn't drift elsewhere and upward beyond, to the sixth, seventh, 8th or 15th floors— or whatever other crazy shit was apparently above them. Secret places I knew of and often thought about, but not too hard. It boggled my mind what was beyond and out of focus from the lower realms of New York, where it was dark and often dirty and hurtful to even wander. My breaths became deep and hollow; They won't turn your face to you, But they will burn through your whole world, wanting you undone Following sealing knives, half have no concious And tethered tongues— This is Levels, Watch us This is Levels, On your mark, This is levels, Christ conscious, This is Levels, Boats on the dock, Storm water, Pure thoughts of harm, But also luck, Drifting in that same water, Ducks, Not known in here our land, or others. You are no longer closer nor called for what you want It doesn't get that much more simple, nor more complex It doesn't get less disheveled than ‘anyway.' I suffer surface just to suffice this sauna trap It doesn't get any less leveled that two tall towers, September 11th. It doesn't get differentiated or dismissed, either, Without press involvement You got to love an easy bake oven and a handful of drama; You've got to love the plausible options for objections and motions to show cause You have got to love old folks and hard laughs, got to! You've got to love the cosmos for at least trying to show us God back, Though god turned back on us a month ago, Or so it was written More hard times And more cold half's And limbs lost, and marks and mauve and cranberry fortunes. More dusks and more dawns and more mortals but no heart left; No call to arms if you were worn backwards for your half. Now time for the calm but the ball bearings not lose but close hard down when you tip the nose up not to dive but force up the wheels as lifting planes does but you are donuts and dusk and dawn, and you are clutching stones in pockets, Four for corners of those the rock has, And that, North south, East west, And these days give gratitude, For wire stakes and high makes this time for more time deaf authors, Still no mortal walk has I, And still indifference to her call, my fortune is in death which may be cause to no one to suffer, As I have not love, And I have not friends, And I have not bonded and therefore this betrayal from where there speaks my meadow and assault have again lied, as devil does against all time. And so I smile, there, and welcome death, form withered birds did wander and then, before my eyes evolved to dust which then did sparkle, And there setting into scattered grains of sand. For which her shores were thought of, not as birds, but sure enough as rocks to till and thunder; And magnanimous waves you did there found I, Making graves and also these as caves, and banks, and ways to think her mazes as a construct. So now there, you are conformed, And all but may you came to offer. So there then shall tipping this and waves had planted oceans from my martyrs, And so again I called to brothers and also the fathers formed, as I had thought to know, these times and others as a motion [to show cause] So shattered banks and blanks my checkbook, scattered eyes though blue have yet been battered black and darkened; And also that became of which her office was unboxed, there was no work there, For her thoughts had ...
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    9 min
  • PSYOPS.

    PSYOPS.
    Dec 11 2025
    Chroma111. She does backflips Purple cosmos Whole turnover— We set the whole world on its stomach; A Whole corpse So so wrong Oh oh oh, You made me fall in love Oh, You made me fall in love “Jimmy Gets Belligerent” Hey. Yeah. Remember when Anne Hathaway went into God Mode? FLASHBACK: ANNE HATHAWAY goes into GOD MODE. CUT IMMIDIATELY BACK TO: Yeah. Well this is that, but Jimmy Kimmel. oh boy. Yeah, that. {enter the multiverse} lol. Please writing gods tell me how and why this dude is running around the multidimentions carrying briefcases of sedatives and other recreational enhancements— JIMMY KIMMEL enters EXTREMELY CONFUSIEDLY. And also, why, Apparently he remembers nothing at all, While everyone else in this entire arc seems to have some sort of familiarity within these paradoxes?? I don't know. But I love Jimmy Kimmel. Duh, who doesn't? Yeah alright— but you know why? DAVID LETTERMAN MOO-HA-HA! Yo what the fuck. That dude is kind of evil. TINY KIMMEL (staring into the old ass television SET in a hypnotic state, mimicking with his own version of this evil, diabolical laugh.) Ehheehee!!! DAVID LETTERMAN discovers TELESYNTHESIS via his late night ENDEAVORS, all the while unmasking the true secret to TIME TRAVEL and THE MULTIDIMENSION, unlocked. YOUNG(ER) LETTERMAN Yessss, come to me dear child! Yeeeesssssssss. Damn. Yeah. That right there. That's how it works, apparently. L E G E N D S MOOHAHA! wtf. CC Sometimes we see the things in the TV which are plainly meant to see, but so often overlooked… {Enter The Multiverse} Stephen Colbert Lost Light I was thinking fondly about that scene at the end of the first season of The Studio— That nearly final shot from the finale where the light hits Seth Rogen's smiling eyes, and made them seem ten times bigger than they ever thought they could be— or how maybe possibly, How you never quite noticed how beautiful they are, because you're always remarkably distracted by his charm, and his trademark laugher, or his other well known markers. But I was thinking about it for a second time today, because I was also still somewhere somehow working on the other part of my projects that were although, still falling apart, however important— this ramshackle chaos between all of these media monarchies, the hosts of late night television —though some departed— and an arc that was coming together from scenes i'd already written in hiatus but still probably couldn't find, even if I tried… and the basis of it was really so dark and so off from what the regular gesture or any of those personalities was as established, I sometimes stayed off it, even if though the vision in my mind that made the anchor of something that was supposed to come from that side of the project, was so vivid in the moment, as if I was watching the actual finished product played back or played out in my mind. The reality of my actual life had become such a cruel joke that I no longer really even wanted to cave in and just write it, because I was so particularly embarrassed of how i'd even thought of [any of] that. But here was this, Mr. Stephen Colbert, whom I adored severely, who also had eyes that were quite shiny and large and round that made him, with his boyish face and little dimples, quite cute to look at— but more like a teddy bear, than any vicious or decrepit sexual monster, like some of the other [aforementioned], or so, not mentioned for other reasons. To be clear, this is what, from what I would gather, could come with the job, but the job was also another job, and had its own sort of chronicled problems and equations to solve that I could gawk at, if I watched enough of them. So far, however, there was only really only never more than one I would ever flock to for my gawking, and because I was so enamored by it, I mostly never bothered the others, until it came up in my project as something so artful that it would cause such a gentle heart murmur as one did— This sudden image of Mister Colbert standing in a stream of light in however an outward darkness, with the expression one might call a ‘longingness' as if in all the light had been forgotten—and now was shining on him with such a glow that it took the warmth inside my glow from it, as I saw this, a man of shadows seeming to have come to a final moment of some hope left. But was it lost? Was it false hope? And what had happened? Last I left dear Colbert and our other dearly beloved in a twist of fate— a paradox at the proportion of Titans, in that this, a pocket watch, and a very daunting silver pistol, seeming to be stuck inside a hall of some sort where the linoleum floors and barren abandonment amongst the tattered and ripped unkempt nature of either of them— —Or at least I believed in my head— it were Mr. Kimmel and Colbert, but the scene had been somewhere so long gone...
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    9 min
  • Yellow Well.

    Yellow Well.
    Dec 11 2025
    Not even a wisper of collision penetrates explicitly this inclusion; Segmented and represented this disarray of miserable approval, And, abject, Or i object, I guess To that which is to say Today is in between the ordinary and disarray, To make arrangements; A solemn display of effect and intent of regression, And yet without all clear disrespect to port or establishment; Still here are there words and where there was love, no more— none for her but then around, within arousal stands as that, to which has since been lost, If not to time, another concept thus by force unknown, to with and withstand habitat for circumstantial evidence of coincidence, But yet arbitrary and then dismayed for short or arc, There this, no more her words for flower, more of words to thus embark. Still time, Very well, my breath, for I have opened a foreign chapter— Then with the way you say, you wore our out, In time you are uncovered for her drugs and left to smuggle over-under— Therefore when that said time has come, you know to form the drift to wait, And yet lack still this patience I have tamed you many acres since the ancients fell upon there ails; There pitting since sunk and crucial to this, and our time is not lost nor won, disheveled making prayers for sense and dollar signs; No have no more barren chest and thought of songs, much less a found the words for songs as though my love has crept upon the rock, That dusk and dawn, the ocean licks with parched tongue. Scare her dry and feast and fragile and evidence remained as these as words and thoughts, The truths would tell the tale for every way. With each drift scattered mark, upon those boats with sails above known not as white but also many colors of the brethren cut from clothes of all apart and none of one, for this, her maritime. {Enter The Multiverse} I opened right to Debbie downer; I got medicine for your habit (I got the remedy in the form of a secret, But the misery is in keeping it) I got a kind heart, I did some mai tai, Should have learned some thai chi As if I took some matcha Or chai tea Caffeine Adrenaline I got a kind heart Adderall instead of Ritalin Entry level access Salary yellow fashion, Intercept, invest Inception, redirect Service elevator, eh; She don't live here no more But where she is? Couldn't tell you. What's the story On a ten star war. No more Harvard, Purple hearted general, General admission to a festival? Just miss me that that bullshit. For your pleasure, Every crevice just has pressure in it— Now I get it I hypnotized myself, I guess The ribbon Blue belt I should be cleaning instead of half sleeping; I keep explaining myself thinking somebody can hear me When they obviously can't. I've been screaming silently for seven seconds, Several years I think on other planets Pull your hair back in a bun And then you'll learn, I guess I passed out cold upon the stand That was the plan, I guess Much slower to close than to open, Although, I know I pop-button broke the code before But still no low moral summoning (Sorry, product) Still no low road or mud throwing No more home She's 32 and 3 months older But looks much longer And harder, tired Must have body or Motive Must have body Or bad intentions Take a man, and write a book about it Take a man, and write a book about it I call that a thirst trap I call that a thirst trap. She must no longer Prim and proper But the work is never over, Show us all the roots, and know the knowledge But don't talk or comment on it I was “almost” once And I was honest twice Three times, you're a liar Mister, honor, pleasure, Fisher wife And never leather, Tipping tethered, Tied to rock and kite And lock and key For here and there Forbearance, rather Here for never ever after Amen and then some L E G E N D S I told you Jimmy Fallon was a Skrillex. I know. What's worse: Skrillex is a Jimmy Fallon. Oh, that is worse. yO iT iS pRoGrEsSiVeLy WOrSE: Is this what you wanted? The awful destruction of constructs— Click, boom— Knife, gun, Add an axe, Bind the axel, Excellent, Put the prejudice inside your head ahead (We brought it back) Put the Edipus complex To this effect Upon a platter Silver as the gun at stake, And raise the hand that shouldn't matter After that? You won. Four tries; Six goons, Four Gods, One white ther I have Two white coats and misters, hot coals Dark fires, have ones, Six mazes, one center On your mark “The Dark Forest” Ugh I hate this one, Get set Don't forget, we all died here. We all crisis, We all Christ. Goosebumps, right? Gimmie that kite! You dumb son of a bitch! GO! Check it out! I look like Kim Kardashian. But you smell like Kim Chi. Yooo that joke took me like 2 months to write down! I know huh! [The Festival Project ™] I looked for something on Hulu to watch for so long that I almost...
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    7 min
  • [TJ Maxx.]

    [TJ Maxx.]
    Dec 6 2025
    JIMMY KIMMEL takes a long horn of a mysterious white substance up his nose. JIMMY KIMMEL You're right. That is good cocaine. Like really good. —only the best! JIMMY KIMMEL I'm going to bed now What?! JIMMY KIMMEL I've got to go to sleep. Are you serious?! JIMMY KIMMEL Very serious. You know. Mucho tired. Now excuse me. I don't understand. JIMMY KIMMEL passes out face down on the couch. {Enter The Multiverse} Lil bitz The jonas borthers made a christmas movie and at first I wasn't sure why, But then I thought about it harder, I was like “jonas brothers… Christmas…?” Oh, i get it– Like, “Ho, Ho, Ho!” …cause there's three of them. L. JONES DUM-DUM! YA LOOK RATCHET. BLŪ Omg why r u 18 feet tall. L. JONES YA LOOK CRUSTY. BLŪ I am crusty. L. JONES YA LOOK LOST. BLŨ. I am lost! L. JONES WHY I AINT GET MY WISH YET? HUH?! I'm not being Blū Tha Gürū right now. I'm just— [almost hit by a bus] L. JONES you simple bitch. BLŨ —blū. L. JONES What the hell that supposed to mean? BLŪ You came all the way to the lower realms just to be that tall. —Nah! Look, this is difficult. Can we just MERGE? BLŪ Nah uh— I already merged with— L. JONES Uhh-huh! —enough of you! Enough of you —“alumni” Enough of you already! Just. {Enter The Multiverse} Alright. We merged. Now where we at? I don't even know. Simple bitch. Molly with the suede suit, Black shirt Tan boots, Truth, King, Speak words— Design: leave earth Three times, I need Meanwhile, Three hursts, Three tries, The bullet doesn't miss twice, He hurts. Please, rehearse Get back in the beer bandit Here, bandit! (Hound dog) Heavy job, son— Him and all birds, All God, That's a strong heart— Let it blow out. Candle dust? Here and there. Set the box? Theatre office. Want a crumb? Want a whole number on a warred bat? This dimension's all that; This dimension's all that and then some! Clear to the agenda and a brick wall— I'll probably cut my head off I'll probably cut my head off— Before I cut my hair off; Lead ball? Medicine. Ten tall messages and massive planted evidence. Ten all autographs and all the fumbled balls caught; Penned down hens and reprimanded feeble horseradish, Course, cough, hold it back a second if you're strong, though— Sure, cross your heart inside of Molly in the bottle, I put the message down the river just a bit, But just a bit— But just a second, for the kids; The syndicate is dead, infact. I'm stuck inside your head, in fact— The President misread, in fact, The fractal our eyes mattered, Tip a hat to Mr. Random, On appealed ball fields, Diplomat and moral conduct, Struck before the clock forgot construct itself, Around and about, For here and for now, our— Missing hatred for negating, nothing said I And bitter here bats, and slaughtered hear hearts, For the never late the daughters eyes, For turning over Lilly leaves and parceled tongues, And tisk for tat, there were upon the Ace, her hands And slain in ink for our might. Therefore, to say, he hated her, Bearing him none and down the arm would flow the anchor, gallantly— Whispering cheery cherry blossoms in the hour I, For their time stands to nothing, Stands to none at all but thought forgotten Here for are, I And bare to one the number, Won the fight and mastered in the mortar, All the ashes flames and flit and flicker, tith the half, I, And fully weighed the anchor this and hither bate of fount, aye. And thou art my God; To stand and know and wither here under yet; brings us though nothing but thousand years longer, And nothing this time has yet passed us in all knowing, not keeping but feeling not seeking the band her; This waits you and I forage keep the heaping wate and grip that have I for your fortune, meadow tatter art, And ye, Ye shall not find me. Now I go. What?! She said she's leaving. IKNOWTHAT, L E G E N D S Red is the ram, Goes hard on the court; Ramshakle! Ramshakle! Full on the course; Coarse is the red jackal, Red suit and tie; Red is the sea, If you're willing to die, And I'd part it for neither and none, So come one and come all To the unknown dungeon, Of full feathered flowers. This thing is just festering— I've got to pop it. Not yet. I told you, there in his pocket— An advocate of the well known not-God, Sure was Chaos the done and the forest, Dark shadow! Dark shadow, Willing and honored. Forgiving and honest, brotherhoods— But who art thou? Keeping your tied and your triads as morals; Sacred for neither and loyal to none are, And art in her folds, so as one, We become our. Hours and ions and // Glitches// And circuit, Missed calls and mystics// [Intercepted] Hollow and all words And all worlds have gathered Beyond all our knowledge The all known has shattered. So sits beyond ...
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    1 h et 5 min
  • What Up Wednesday (“What Up” w-Ū.)

    What Up Wednesday (“What Up” w-Ū.)
    Dec 4 2025
    Who left a whole box of corn flakes In a locker At the Equinox On Wall Street? I told you go to the one at The Rock. I told you, I'm not going on that block, like at all. {Enter The Multiverse} That's just my Karma, Ms. Nancy; I did a whole lot than just Thought about it More edits, More recognition that I—l couldn't stand it; The planet just seems to get smaller and smaller With less and less plants in it; I have your pants on, But shoes didn't fit I wrote a whole book and resenting But still not the movies, I meant it. Damn. She's just so much better than I am Head in a frying pan on high beforehand, And however damaged, It felt bad I know what I did I felt that Camera Obscura, for sure, you know But disconnect, Swallow badders, wha— t?! Get my peanut butter up; Why! I'm a circus monkey; Damn. I got karma faster Than I should have known I lost episodes And threw away the whole entire show I went running long And then I threw up on the subway I only like the one Sublime album (The one with wrong way.) You know? Cuh' I went the wrong way I fucked up on all my dollars I got karma back hard, yah Got a poem or prose or song on ol' Ms. Molly, too, (or two) I fall in love inside the tube, Truth is, though Teletubbies and teleportation Ain't so far off from where I come from Problem is, Opporsite world, I'm the story of the whole show; For sure dawg. —a situational Thought process. When the crack finally kicks in, Astounding the loss of my confidence I've gotten lost in a toxic land I got syndrome “talk to much” Not on the spectrum, nor diagnosable X's and O's on the tic tac toe board, Just an underhanded “I told you so” All the rockstars want —Subtle thoughts of suicide as the train approaches? Nah, Models and the other types of girls That never work at all, They just born at it. I got bored with it, But not the fourth one, Cross my first amendment, On my heart like catholic More like Bart Simpsons, Like art magic Cause I won't watch that show But love Matt Groening— Maybe I'm the type that just Love hating But hate loving with No way to I don't hate you; Yeah you're right, I'm off Take two. ((Good Luck Riding The J Home.)) Not a gym run, a different kind of cause, I guess I got so many plausible options, I guess I should call on one of them, Toss a number up, struck the dog on mathematics I can't let my lantern out of gas, We're not friends, are we? What a fiend! Are you offended? I just want to see my dreams relayed to me— Is that too much to ask? So I'm the asshole. What did I pack a bag for?! Picnic baskets. What did I leave this curse for? Nothing, Thanks for asking, Nance. I put a pilot on the presence of a whole color— phenomenon. I swallowed all my pride and presence just for an automaton. This automation algorithm— is it? Doesn't make a difference. I spilled blood inside my kitchen, Put deposits on a flicker, Tricked the treasure at a phantom, Phantom I want more but swallowed all my high pulp orange juice on knowledge of the only one; There's only God, There's only us— There's only cause+ effect, 6 more albums, note books and a couple novels that came out of that one. Squeeze em hard, ya'll. Don't let me love God. Don't let me talk back, I'm not about a rack. Tantrum, yes. Talk to my God. Please. Talk to me God. Now. Talk to my family one time. Now. Talk out me sideways— Now. Bring me a rebel. Now. I have a headache. Now. I got regrets son. Now I got a dead son, a dead daughter a ghost cat and George Jettson, Michael Jackson and George Zimmerman, all of my tabs open: I take a tab hoping I fall asleep on the cold ocean, Calm before storm comes Out on a surfboard Look at the full moon— Nobody can hear you so SCREAM. Now. For crying out loud, Take the knife out, For a second or thought, I'm a wife now; What back handed thought or a back and on blacklist— Your back room was only your conscious— Now I'm looking at my left side, Also catatonic, Not aboard the problem like you wanted, What an order form for border patrol, You want tall glasses of hard fortune, Work hard for it, or rosemary pork on sourdough. I'm in love with you, but in poverty— There the devil is. But oh, aren't we all familiar? Suit and tie hangs to the tide, I tie the knot with rope from which I die, And quickly crafting coffins, want to walk around before I go off, Diving board or world one antenna? Not to mention it, redirect the attention and energy into something other than consumptive— Everything I do and everywhere I go, I clutch this stone Or put inside my pockets knowing if I let it go Or it falls out and to the ground Not only will I float up, But the world will open And swallow us all whole ((Down.)) I live with the knowledge of criminal visions and masterpiece compilations, but as of today I owe a bank my very and entire existence ...
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    2 h
  • “What Up” Wednesdays (What Up w/-Ū.)

    “What Up” Wednesdays (What Up w/-Ū.)
    Dec 4 2025
    —1313. Chroma111. Who left a whole box of corn flakes In a locker At the Equinox On Wall Street? I told you go to the one at The Rock. I told you, I'm not going on that block, like at all. {Enter The Multiverse} That's just my Karma, Ms. Nancy; I did a whole lot than just Thought about it More edits, More recognition that I—l couldn't stand it; The planet just seems to get smaller and smaller With less and less plants in it; I have your pants on, But shoes didn't fit I wrote a whole book and resenting But still not the movies, I meant it. Damn. She's just so much better than I am Head in a frying pan on high beforehand, And however damaged, It felt bad I know what I did I felt that Camera Obscura, for sure, you know But disconnect, Swallow badders, wha— t?! Get my peanut butter up; Why! I'm a circus monkey; Damn. I got karma faster Than I should have known I lost episodes And threw away the whole entire show I went running long And then I threw up on the subway I only like the one Sublime album (The one with wrong way.) You know? Cuh' I went the wrong way I fucked up on all my dollars I got karma back hard, yah Got a poem or prose or song on ol' Ms. Molly, too, (or two) I fall in love inside the tube, Truth is, though Teletubbies and teleportation Ain't so far off from where I come from Problem is, Opporsite world, I'm the story of the whole show; For sure dawg. —a situational Thought process. When the crack finally kicks in, Astounding the loss of my confidence I've gotten lost in a toxic land I got syndrome “talk to much” Not on the spectrum, nor diagnosable X's and O's on the tic tac toe board, Just an underhanded “I told you so” All the rockstars want —Subtle thoughts of suicide as the train approaches? Nah, Models and the other types of girls That never work at all, They just born at it. I got bored with it, But not the fourth one, Cross my first amendment, On my heart like catholic More like Bart Simpsons, Like art magic Cause I won't watch that show But love Matt Groening— Maybe I'm the type that just Love hating But hate loving with No way to I don't hate you; Yeah you're right, I'm off Take two. ((Good Luck Riding The J Home.)) Not a gym run, a different kind of cause, I guess I got so many plausible options, I guess I should call on one of them, Toss a number up, struck the dog on mathematics I can't let my lantern out of gas, We're not friends, are we? What a fiend! Are you offended? I just want to see my dreams relayed to me— Is that too much to ask? So I'm the asshole. What did I pack a bag for?! Picnic baskets. What did I leave this curse for? Nothing, Thanks for asking, Nance. I put a pilot on the presence of a whole color— phenomenon. I swallowed all my pride and presence just for an automaton. This automation algorithm— is it? Doesn't make a difference. I spilled blood inside my kitchen, Put deposits on a flicker, Tricked the treasure at a phantom, Phantom I want more but swallowed all my high pulp orange juice on knowledge of the only one; There's only God, There's only us— There's only cause+ effect, 6 more albums, note books and a couple novels that came out of that one. Squeeze em hard, ya'll. Don't let me love God. Don't let me talk back, I'm not about a rack. Tantrum, yes. Talk to my God. Please. Talk to me God. Now. Talk to my family one time. Now. Talk out me sideways— Now. Bring me a rebel. Now. I have a headache. Now. I got regrets son. Now I got a dead son, a dead daughter a ghost cat and George Jettson, Michael Jackson and George Zimmerman, all of my tabs open: I take a tab hoping I fall asleep on the cold ocean, Calm before storm comes Out on a surfboard Look at the full moon— Nobody can hear you so SCREAM. Now. For crying out loud, Take the knife out, For a second or thought, I'm a wife now; What back handed thought or a back and on blacklist— Your back room was only your conscious— Now I'm looking at my left side, Also catatonic, Not aboard the problem like you wanted, What an order form for border patrol, You want tall glasses of hard fortune, Work hard for it, or rosemary pork on sourdough. I'm in love with you, but in poverty— There the devil is. But oh, aren't we all familiar? Suit and tie hangs to the tide, I tie the knot with rope from which I die, And quickly crafting coffins, want to walk around before I go off, Diving board or world one antenna? Not to mention it, redirect the attention and energy into something other than consumptive— Everything I do and everywhere I go, I clutch this stone Or put inside my pockets knowing if I let it go Or it falls out and to the ground Not only will I float up, But the world will open And swallow us all whole ((Down.)) I live with the knowledge of criminal visions and masterpiece compilations, but as of today I owe a bank my very and...
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    2 h
  • forgetmenots.//follow through.

    forgetmenots.//follow through.
    Dec 4 2025
    My thoughts are, I'm making you miserable It just doesn't mean as much I can't catch a break, I guess Chipmunk in cheekbones And missing this presence It's never escape this dismensions Or never dealing the message Or never just getting the lesson Move past it, It's kept in a box That has locks more secure than your mess is Entire apartments. From the start the argument has been, if not about this, than what? If not about us, than when? Or who? You should have been accomplished; Compliments to the chef, If you can cross this off your checklist You might have even made it To the age inside the matrix. It's just a broken down truck A whole damn box of tools You lose yourself and pretend You don't forget to use, But it's just useless Lower dosage, Pay the tip and pay the postage Post matron mortal, A whole box A whole box of chocolate Lost on your Botox Oh, but we're friends now? No. Robots in a digital world, Only programmed to carry out certain tasks, And then vanish. I dig up your past, and then replaced it with a mattress And a box of matches; Whoever does it next can have it— How they're making hatchbacks out of plastic, I can't manage, But it's fascinating. —The edit effect. Good to see I'm not the only one who noticed— turns out I am a trendsetter, trendsetter Now inaction doesn't really make the pain better But the strain of sweat and tears will make my bed wetter. Just a clip— The college kids don't know the difference It's just a temporary love because I'm friendless— The predicate of this is that the people never get it. As it happens, once I'm past it But let's have a laugh at medicine Inside my head and bring it back again, The panic So much for tall dark and handsome When it's decided that I want something Everyone does sure follow I am a trendsetter. Go back and get the song back, Jack Johnson For nine seasons I was Kevin Nealon, Ten since tent cities and intensities— Oh, there are English pubs? I only had the Irish, Blimey. Ten times limon, Rice and beans and I'm convinced I'm dying Cut my eye out Blood and ribbons, tenements and genre binders Television friends and Lipton dipping into Hot boiling water Have a monologue prepared And mother? Never talk about her. Tip the tooth fairy, bet she does her job Your wings are growing out in February Never leave the nest, dear Gotta wait till next year. These printers and prenups are dripping in women It's finally winter with little indifference To the matter at hand; You're well enough dressed But wet and soaked in raw sewage Standing in your ankle socks, You wanker. An addendum to all my ever living misses And these premium obsessions, So neglect the data that you entered, Even for a minute, introspections, Get the limit in but never medicine the mister You probably should have been there— It wasn't your decision. Encrypted sir, For heaven's sense, I love a good caricature But Heaven hasn't said a sentence since just after dinner When the strict caloric deficit set in With all the evidence collected. This is what become of the avoidance, I have to cut you out and then in the way, I guess I get rewarded but it shouldn't ever hurt this much just moving forward It really shouldn't ever hurt this much just moving forward. Apologies to Matt Damon, I am in pain And then the very subtle finger tips I will admit Could calm me down a bit I panic at the passkey woven case If all these baseless claims And waves of delusional grandeur; You can love that but never afford it How and arrow in a stray hat The fact is, I'm just a madman And a phantom And yet The cracks in the mask have been detected— An internet trend that I can pretend I hadn't mentioned to my artificial intelligence, Then again Curiosity let the cat out of the bag, But couldn't for a second bring him to have the heart to kill him. How many mistakes can I make in just this commercial break— They're breaking my heart from the land of the lost! You can beat the boss, but there's just another one You can play the game, but you can't turn it off— You get more lives than one, But I promise, you wouldn't want them It just gets harder, I walk on quantum physics Mystified by Wall Street, we all learn to die at once To become what we always wanted; Peace and nothingness, the power to see beyond screens, Out of the box where the state of the art Is the way of the world, And never the opposite. So I shared my toy With every other girl and boy Inside the World Wide Web Who wanted playing with it Guess you could say in a way I am giving, On the prejudice That all I'll ever get is just a glimpse or image With respect To turning my eyes backwards before it gets to damage any valuables. Those assholes. forgetmenots. // II. follow through. Unreleased TBA Symposium. [As Seen On TV] TBA 2025/2026 Composed by C'cxell Solïel Prod By -Ū. DBA...
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    9 min