Evidently the motorcycles begin to now attack when I am at rest , on line, and not recording.
However, once I begin recording, they stop.
This has only been since I've been intentionally collecting recordings and data to add to my report to the NYPD and any applicable law enforcement agencies, as this continual threat seems to be politically motivated—and motorcycles, mopeds, and other motorized vehicles being used as a form of psychological terrorism as a direct threat to public health and safety. Terror stalking.
This may be a politicized attempt to promote or enforce gentrification or other political agendas.
Living//Loving life on a server,
Doesn't it seem wonderful?
It's Fast Friday and I'm not going to be
Bouncing off the walls, or anything—
But I might be prone to a lot of
And though it's an expensive maneuver,
The fact of the matter is—
I haven't really been doing anything.
I've been not complacent,
So perhaps maybe this little detour
Will be just the thing I need
To erase some of the damage that's been done
Sitting in this terribly loud apartment
When the answer all along is that
I need to increase my visibility
In order to find what's needed;
Is not going to come in isolation—
It would come from a neatly designed
—whatever, I just got bored.
Perhaps if I study hard enough,
One day, I could complete my studies somewhere
I'll need a new diploma in my actual name.
You see, nobody's giving any kind of real fuck about my music.
I can't keep throwing money at it thinking that the way to success is going to be making enough money, to spend enough money, to hopefully buy the attention of the robotic masses, and eventually maybe even a club owner or festival promoter
Who might be looking to put me on.
Don't get me wrong— my music is good.
But we live in a computer, and let's also realize:
That with the noise in this building,
And the overall head trip of counting up my pennies for every little thing I need,
I'm starting to get physically ill,
Just sitting here, understanding that
To look the part, one must prioritize
An expensive beauty regimen—
Which either would leave me at the mercy of some man,
Willing to do these things for me,
Or that I might earn this myself…
I've chosen the latter route—
The more challenging, perhaps,
Leaving my celibacy intact,
And granted, otherwise uninterested
In the males at my level of circumstance
For any purposes beyond entertainment—
—seek no other actual companionship at all.
And though feeling uglier and uglier
The more I stare into the face of my telephone screen—
I am wonderfully beautiful all on my own.
The masses expect a spectacle,
It becomes part of my job, as an entertainer,
(I'm going to choose to ignore that, sort of)
To do at least what has become expected of me as a woman—
And though the makeup and hair and nails
Myself without those things, as observed and proven
Becomes overlooked, dismissible, and only attractive
To those, of course, to whom I have no business
And professional reasons.
Conduct yourselves well, my dear—
As the furious skies have warned us,
That the roles you carry out to mark and torment others,
Will soon reflect upon your own mirror
The nearer to doors I am,
The, though I am fasting,
Which forces me to realize
The more productive you are
Maybe I didn't have to take the GED;
Maybe there was some way to go about getting
But it didn't make sense to move into a new era
I knew I needed to seal the name change records
So that my abuser could not have access
I wanted things like Harvard and Columbia—
I wanted to succeed and to win with a reputable and respectable foundation—
I felt he performed best.
I wanted to show him success
Without making compromises
That would hurt and weaken
The strength of the body and mind —
But most importantly, the soul.
I hope by now you've realized how odd it is
On your kitchen countertop?
…now that you put it that way.
I want to connect with you closer
In the eye of the camera—
How dire the circumstances become
Once you've broken the fourth wall
The moon hasn't gone yet new,
Still betraying the thought you are,
The battered ram and the shackled horses
—by fury with design, for the holocaust.
For our class action theatrics
What an. Honorable sacrifice
March upon the underspoken
But the end of our suffering
Let's not separate the eggs from the whites.
God, you don't half to yell.
I'm not God, I'm just playing her part while she runs off for awhile.
(Let's just say it's a double role.)
I don't want to scare you or anything.
You have a knife in your back.
It's just [a little] something I'm working on.
What? We should call an ambulance!
It's time for pros and cons lists—
Time for great minds that think alike.
I sterted a revolution on Google documents m
Ya'll started chemical warfare
Made me born into a world
Where fair skin takes priority
I think I didn't like The nell Schooll ll
22 minutes of superstardom
2 hours in a leading role
So I'd better get used to it
And I'd better make use of it
And I'd better make better lists of
I should make better lists
Of the guff I wanna boff,
The pigeons, turtle doves and
But not the buttermilk kind
I gotta get to Tom/ Diner!
My gloves are straight soaked
I got puddles in my shoes
I can channel anyone I love!
—I just want your body a lot
We sense crazies and go out the back door.
How famous are you again?
Apparently, like mad famous, dog.
We look danger in the eyes.
Oh yeah, this dude is fucking nuts.
Didn't I say to pay it forward?!
This is yesterdays workout
(Don't remind me how high I am.)
I might jump just to get on the Television
I'm thousands of galaxies out of him,
And only two millennia older
SUNNI BLŪ gets a surprise party for their 27th birthday.
I've been advised to stay away from the doors and windows.
Ū crashes through the window.
They don't make them like they used to
—I heard a song through a hardwire
I don't know who lied so much
with a palm full of rocks,
I've heard the whole story now
Hypnotist and potions professor
I don't think that's a good—
To partition the saints and summoners
And add flavor to prayers
(A free form stream of consciousness)
—a free form flow of consciousness.
Stop tripping over words for goodwill forums
Don't preach to the masses,
And head out the back door at the sense of danger
I'll get back to that later
…Somethin, somethin, somethin.
There's something between us.
Are you on one, or off of it.
Because you fit the part!
Re-examining mental health conditions which affect those facing poverty or at risk environmental circumstances.
I had been searching to no avail for the title sequence of one of my mother's old soap operas without having to ask her —
No, sometimes it's just ADD.
I already know all the words.
Sometimes I have to hyperfocus
I just want to figure who produced it m
I'm like diamond for hire,
Pull out the subs for submarines;
But, something like a half forgotten language
There's something unknown in the darkness,
I'm unsure what to put into perception,
Making friends with The Devil, are we?
You shackled me to your horrors,
Out of control were my monsters
A gratitude of nothing more or less
Tied to hard earned disaster
Only those amongst mankind
I can't make out almost anything that you're saying!
That's because, it's not saying it in your language!
Sorry. He is just using the closest possible language so that you can keep transiting it into English!
Well, you're doing it wrong!
There's no direct translation whatsoever.
They might as well just be speaking Martian.
(Well, some of them are.)
I think the best way to go about making anything
You just blew my mind, did you know that?
I try not to know things, but you know,
You've got something coming.
I realized that something had changed,
That not only had t seemed it had become unsafe to speak, but also,
That I didn't want to much.
But, in Order to do something, in order to grow at all,
I would have to force myself to understand
The things that I always could have, but did not
Are you an altruist at all, or just a
Help Me- Appleknockers Flophouse
Just remember aces of embraces
Sitting in the shape of the eye of protection
Of obsidian collars and bracelets
Instrumentation and perfection
And remembrance of getting a ring,
With nothing to hold onto
But hoping the means to an end
Shouldn't be the barrel of a gun m m
“I curse the day you were born!”
“But how could you curse the first day there ever was!
Before days at at all had come to mark
To pass the dawning of the ages?”
There are the ones who had come and gone
And left no trace at all.
You all should learn from us—
Come, then gone from earth
And left not a spot at all—
To have given you thought,
To have written at all, your published works
To have cursed the day I was born—
Is to have cursed the world at all
It was all at once, anyway
Now what are we on, and over – m?
Now are we an art, or have we bought or purchased
A treasure chest of ideas, and new haunts
And four plus four hours marks
The dollar sign is all you are
Let's not reform to how hallmarked
To mark twilight at dawn,
Sorrowful, beyond words, was the sloth
And the stolen love of the harness
I was once the ritual disaster for your kind
The false tongues to fall upon earth
A false prophet, marked at all,
By strife and swords to battle
illuminations, once for thought as wicked
But after all, the merchant of saints upon man
Stricken in time to the word of The Lost Ones,
So spoke the caterpillar of the butterfly—
What was to become of him
Blue eyed and bewildered,
Her thoughts of the ocean,
Once earned and once taught
Signals to all throughout cosmos
Turpentine, serpent calls
Simple throne, cast away—
Given you, a taste of fury—
Given ye, a taste of envy—
Given they a fire for exile
Seeking refuse in waste rebels
Are you now beyond bounds—
Basking in the shadows, are I
Made of stone and withered
Basking in the broken tongues
Where are you now that I've my shield
I have killed you before and always!
That I am not without my wings?!
Where are you now, torturer—
Art thou my kind, or another?
Art thou my kind, or any!
I know not of pain to cause others.
But act instead, on behalf of love,
Whether or not be my kind—
You'll remember this part in a moment – m.
What a strange time to be alive,
That the dust formed in all stillness kind would follow,
The awakening of shadows and sleek stardust,
Carried out acts of misery and misinformed
There now awakened in the callings,
Your teacher and also those alike
Tainted not the purple swarm
But awakened yet with the gratitude of offerings
No kindness at all but a mark
And full force with the shadows,
They're making a call to the wild,
After having raped and defiled her,
Nearly all that lies beyond the screams of
To grasp a new kind among us
It has become what does awaken,
Thought to have been written,
The soul seeker, had won.
A cherished and unbeknownst charter.
Granted, the wish was that
I had realized finally what it meant to go unprotected once proclaimed to be of Diety within a magical realm, with given talents of medicinal force, and with refuge—though only to give upon knowing, the sanctity of soul, and the purity of heart—the kindness of spirit, as I once had.
But last time near a river,
A bed full of green, soft (m) grass
And your time has come to feast,
Twice given thoughts to form,
And knowing worlds would come foraged
A mango, ripened to heart, of course.
COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019
...and then what? (Happy Accidents)
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