{Previously…}

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.

Gang 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?

Let's face it—

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

Critical thinking,

And though it's an expensive maneuver,

And risky expenditure,

The fact of the matter is—

I haven't really been doing anything.

I've been not complacent,

But stagnant—

So perhaps maybe this little detour

Will be just the thing I need

To erase some of the damage that's been done

To my psyche—

Sitting in this terribly loud apartment

In Brooklyn

Trying to find peace

And make music;

When the answer all along is that

I need to increase my visibility

In order to find what's needed;

The fact is—

Knowing where to go

Or what to do

Or who to meet

Is not going to come in isolation—

No, not at all.

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

Like Harvard,

Or Columbia—

But first,

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…

As you see,

I've chosen the latter route—

The more challenging, perhaps,

However,

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.

I like myself,

I love myself—

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.

—but—

The masses expect a spectacle,

And so,

It becomes part of my job, as an entertainer,

Part of my repertoire—

—have mercy—

(I'm going to choose to ignore that, sort of)

To do at least what has become expected of me as a woman—

To be “pretty” —

And though the makeup and hair and nails

Might be fake,

–Cans cost a fortune—

Myself without those things, as observed and proven

Becomes overlooked, dismissible, and only attractive

To those, of course, to whom I have no business

Associating

For both personal,

And professional reasons.

—moreover…

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

Into which you stare,

And no mercy is given

By the eye that looks,

Or any other

The nearer to doors I am,

The harder they slam—

The, though I am fasting,

I'm suddenly hungry,

A far cry

Which forces me to realize

That all of mankind

Has been poisoned

Toxic,

And become

Unsafe

So,

What's wrong here

Is they've

Taken all the nutrients

From the foods we need

And put it on

A competitive scale

So that

The more you earn

The healthier you are

And of course

The healthier you are

The more productive you are

Which creates value

Maybe I didn't have to take the GED;

Maybe there was some way to go about getting

My actual name

On my old diploma—

Hopefully without cost.

But it didn't make sense to move into a new era

Or a new world

With old haunts.

I knew I needed to seal the name change records

So that my abuser could not have access

To my identity.

For whatever reason,

I wanted things like Harvard and Columbia—

I wanted to succeed and to win with a reputable and respectable foundation—

I wanted to raise my son

To play football

And split custody

In the sporting seasons

In which

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

To have a crystal dildo

Sitting in a glass jar

On your kitchen countertop?

…I'm soaking it.

…But why crystal tho?

Wouldn't you prefer

An iron tenderizer

For that steak

Rather than a

Silicone one?

…now that you put it that way.

Come closer, darling,

I want to connect with you closer

Than besides

In the eye of the camera—

Don't you know, anyway—

How dire the circumstances become

Once you've broken the fourth wall

And entered the quarry.

You lunatic!

Don't worry

The moon hasn't gone yet new,

And my honored eye

Still betraying the thought you are,

The battered ram and the shackled horses

The bloodied bull

And the heroic matador,

Fight

…

…

…

—by fury with design, for the holocaust.

The masses have loved us

From far beyond reason

For our class action theatrics

With no aversion at all,

To violence.

A treasury!

Kill him, then!

Kill that bitch.

No! Just— scare her!

Right you are,

(And right you were!)

Dear Johnathan,

I should have warned you

More than once,

What an. Honorable sacrifice

Your wicked life

Has offered us—

Foragers of freedom,

March upon the underspoken

Warcries,

Offer us none

But the end of our suffering

In solitude,

A service of none,

All together,

Hurt and bea—

Arthur.

I warned you once.

You see,

Men need women,

They move on fast.

One, none parted

Before finding another.

Let's not separate the eggs from the whites.

Isn't it all “the egg”?

You know what I meant!

What do you “meant”?

The yellow part!

God, you don't half to yell.

I'm not God, I'm just playing her part while she runs off for awhile.

How long is “awhile”?

Just finish those tarts.

Mm. Pop tarts.

NO.

NOT POP TARTS —

Just TARTS.

…wait, can she hear us?

I can hear everything!

I'm playing God's parts!

“Parts”?

(Let's just say it's a double role.)

Hey.

How's it goin?

Okay. Relax…

I am relaxed.

I don't want to scare you or anything.

—nothing's scary—

But—

[pause]

You have a knife in your back.

[beat]

Yeah.

[beat]

(Cont'd)

It's just [a little] something I'm working on.

What? We should call an ambulance!

Nope, I'm fine.

Just—

No! Don't touch it!

What?!

Just leave it.

It's time for pros and cons lists—

It's time for diamonds

Time for great minds that think alike.

I sterted a revolution on Google documents m

Ya'll started chemical warfare

On skin color

God

Made me born into a world

War

Where fair skin takes priority

Over others

Gave me a notebook,

No pen

A traumatized mother,

A drunk father

And said,

“Fix problems”

I think I didn't like The nell Schooll ll

Cause their

mascot

Is a pices

They said I got

15 minutes of fame

22 minutes of superstardom

An hour of celebrity

And

2 hours in a leading role

Of a feature film

Franchise

So I'd better get used to it

And I'd better make use of it

And I'd better make better lists of

The huffsk yll m You

W t you

Sorry,

Gym typo

Because

Of course

I'm a beast

Faux pas,

As I was,

Saying—

I should make better lists

Of the guff I wanna boff,

The doves I Central Park

The pigeons, turtle doves and

Waffles—

—I still want the

But not the buttermilk kind

MAMA!

I gotta get to Tom/ Diner!

FATHER!

(Try papa)

Papa was the ops!

Nah, I'm vice.

I'd better get

Anything done

Before midnight strikes

Along with the hunger

My gloves are straight soaked

I got puddles in my shoes

I wanna top Obama

Start all my dawns

With hours of cardio!!

Look,

I can channel anyone I love!

Do you love me?

NO!

—I just want your body a lot

Like a lot

LIKE A LOT,

Tho.

We're too famous—

We sense crazies and go out the back door.

How famous are you again?

Apparently, like mad famous, dog.

Were so famous,

We look danger in the eyes.

Oh yeah, this dude is fucking nuts.

Didn't I say to pay it forward?!

I don't need a reminder

Of what time it is.

Sometimes I forget

This is yesterdays workout

And I'm due back

In the AM

Where the crazies

Can't get to me

Exactly

Where I am

(Don't remind me how high I am.)

I might jump just to get on the Television

Martyrdom for attention

Still haven't mentioned—

I'm thousands of galaxies out of him,

And only two millennia older

Than

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

Fuck you.

SUNNI BLŪ gets a surprise party for their 27th birthday.

I've been advised to stay away from the doors and windows.

Why.

Ū crashes through the window.

GODDAMMIT.

They don't make them like they used to

—I heard a song through a hardwire

I don't know who lied so much

I tried so hard

To be gone

But I still wake up

Under a security blanket

with a palm full of rocks,

In a glass house

God knows I'm sorry

Woah friend, old friend

I've heard the whole story now

Old frog, old toad

Old tortoise, long road

Special forces

Art protector

Fortune teller

Hypnotist and potions professor

Overall,

The one you wanted

Wasn't a body at all,

But just the thought

And so I'm off for once

Out of my zone and

LET ME TRY.

No, Jenna—

Liz, let me try.

I don't think that's a good—

HELLO.

Like this game, frog

Once a week it's fun

To partition the saints and summoners

Covers with salt

The cast out the others

And add flavor to prayers

Asked in hypothesis

My what a wonder

(A free form stream of consciousness)

—a free form flow of consciousness.

Stop repeating yourself'

Stop tripping over words for goodwill forums

Don't preach to the masses,

And head out the back door at the sense of danger

The sense of danger!

It's Jane kzmarzarakr

righ?

What the FUCK.

I'll get back to that later

I gotta—

…Somethin, somethin, somethin.

What.

Somethin—somethin—

There's something between us.

—is it cancerous?

Probably comical.

Are you on one, or off of it.

Careful, Mr. cervix.

Why AM I Mr. Cervix?!

Because you fit the part!

I'm a woman.

My decision stands.

#focus shifting.

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 —

#focus shifting

No, sometimes it's just ADD.

lol

Yes,

Okay.

I already know all the words.

Sometimes I have to hyperfocus

To fully comprehend,

But really

I just want to figure who produced it m

In the cadences,

I'm like diamond for hire,

Pull out the subs for submarines;

I put out real fire

But, something like a half forgotten language

There's something unknown in the darkness,

I'm unsure what to put into perception,

Just shadow boxes

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

To offer my body, curse

The sacrificial lamb

Tied to hard earned disaster

A heroism and seeking

Solace in the night

—interceptions.

Whatever Google,

Take care now

All morale is lost

On sacred worship

Cruel to hurt,

But all has costs

To front

— the standard values

Only those amongst mankind

Who have value in vanity

And fortresses of design

Not in truth,

But of auspicious and

Inglorious

—

Goddamnit,

How far away are you?!

I can't make out almost anything that you're saying!

Far!

That's because, it's not saying it in your language!

He

Sorry. He is just using the closest possible language so that you can keep transiting it into English!

Well, you're doing it wrong!

I gathered!

There's no direct translation whatsoever.

They might as well just be speaking Martian.

They are.

(Well, some of them are.)

I think the best way to go about making anything

Into anything

With the species is to

CRUCIFY HIM!

…that's not gonna work!

You just blew my mind, did you know that?

Not on purpose.

—but did you know that?

I try not to know things, but you know,

The more I try.

Guess what.

No.

You've got something coming.

Let's make it positive.

As you were—

As you are, then.

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

Multiplicity, Faction

Are you an altruist at all, or just a

Song starter—

Help Me- Appleknockers Flophouse

Just remember aces of embraces

Sitting in the shape of the eye of protection

Of obsidian collars and bracelets

Still no percussion,

Instrumentation and perfection

Graces

And remembrance of getting a ring,

As strictly enforced

To do what I'm told

With nothing to hold onto

But hoping the means to an end

Shouldn't be the barrel of a gun m m

How soft spoke.

(No, no words at all)

The name was new,

But the form was old,

And he said—

“I curse the day you were born!”

And I laughed at him—

“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?”

And of course,

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—

Of course,

The mystics of I,

Are as one,

To have given you thought,

Words,

And artform—

To have written at all, your published works

And then none

A far cry!

To have cursed the day I was born—

Is to have cursed the world at all

It was all at once, anyway

Astonishing

A far cry!

#focus shifting.

Now what are we on, and over – m?

Now are we an art, or have we bought or purchased

Another swarm of haunts?

What have you offered?

A lesson? A song?

Cheshire?

A treasure chest of ideas, and new haunts

And four plus four hours marks

A full workday

Of harsh tidings

And no commas.

The dollar sign is all you are

All you are,

dear serpent

The shadow box

Of times and talks

The heartfelt words

And omens

Marks of

Long:

Crude

Color

Let's not reform to how hallmarked

The call was

To sign for

The wrong box

It was published

In her heart

To mark twilight at dawn,

Sorrowful, beyond words, was the sloth

And the stolen love of the harness

—that's right,

I was once the ritual disaster for your kind

And cause!

The false tongues to fall upon earth

A false prophet, marked at all,

By strife and swords to battle

The Ark of all,

In the eye of God,

So opened the chapter of

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,

the eye of all,

The origins of love

As we are

Born in color.

So spoke the caterpillar of the butterfly—

Not knowing he was only

What was to become of him

As some are

Also

Disgusted by us at all.

We are,

What is to become

Of those who die

Blue eyed and bewildered,

Though beautiful,

Unknowing of strife

And hard earned glory,

The solitude of

Kindness

So said the spider,

Drawing upon the corner,

Her thoughts of the ocean,

Once earned and once taught

To perform out of mercy—

Now cradling heartworms,

Challased, unspoken

Signals to all throughout cosmos

The end of a

Turpentine, serpent calls

Gods of old

Summer winds

Striking songs

Games of dust

Simple throne, cast away—

Are you Ark,

Or seeking proper

Word form?

Given you, a taste of fury—

Given ye, a taste of envy—

Given they a fire for exile

Are you now

Another forager

Waking in the wind

Or cross tied bounds

Seeking refuse in waste rebels

Eyes you are

Of one that wants

To bury in the far side

All the awakenings

Of cherished nature

Never to be shared

A guilt of refuge

Are you?

Are you now beyond bounds—

Behind bars—

Let her

Guide you to move words

Like rivers,

Unknowing

Unknowing

Unknowing

Basking in the shadows, are I

Made of stone and withered

Basking in the broken tongues

Of cherished thoughts

And severed forms

words over

Of false ties

And blood bonds

So for us

Mistaken!

Misgoverned.

Torturer—

Where are you now that I've my shield

And sword,

And warguns?!

Have you cried

For your mothers kisses,

As shadows have cast

I have killed you before and always!

Where are you now,

That I am not without my wings?!

Where are you now, torturer—

Given nothing at all

But a word form song,

Destroy

Art thou my kind, or another?

Art thou a man at all?

Art thou my kind, or any!

Seeker,

To destroy you

Be my glory,

Though I come not

From worlds of war.

I come not,

From worlds of rage.

I come not,

From worlds of pity

And refuge

And disaster

As your worlds are.

I come not of darkness.

I know not of pain to cause others.

I know not of force.

But act instead, on behalf of love,

Dear brother—

As to kill you,

Whether or not be my kind—

I kill my self also.

You'll remember this part in a moment – m.

What a strange time to be alive,

And yet-

Yhes— I do remember

The teacher warned us,

With no sign at all,

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,

Are I not, wanderer,

Your teacher and also those alike

To be called offspring?

I Am.

Tainted not the purple swarm

Essence of her greeting

Beyond fortress,

No house of mine,

But awakened yet with the gratitude of offerings

No kindness at all but a mark

Of Serpent seed,

And references

To that of past,

No need to bring

In present times.

No concept,

And full force with the shadows,

They're making a call to the wild,

After having raped and defiled her,

To ‘save us—‘

But savor this now,

The mark of I,

The eye of mark

So betrayed and strung,

Nearly all that lies beyond the screams of

This,

Your world,

Our fortune,

To grasp a new kind among us

To fault ye

Of your greedy.

Oh!

It has become what does awaken,

To awaken!

For once,

Thought to have been written,

Was thereby foretold,

On many journeys

The soul seeker, had won.

A cherished and unbeknownst charter.

You called it—

A paychonaught?

You called him:

“A pedophile”

Granted, the wish was that

The outside world

Would be shown

What I had seen

To no witness

But a toddler,

Mine born

To have guided

A new life

From two kind

Once blue

Eyes at all

I promise a sword.

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.

You'll remember this,

But last time near a river,

A bed full of green, soft (m) grass

And your time has come to feast,

And end of fast,

Twice given thoughts to form,

And knowing worlds would come foraged

From your knowledge.

Are you forgotten?

A mango, ripened to heart, of course.

Nourished the journey,

Yet untold

[The Festival Project.™]

The Complex Collective ©

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.