XXX. (Uptown A Remix)

XXX. ft Kendrick Lamar (Uptown A Remix) [Bootleg] Uptown A The Complex Collective Original Track: XXX. (DAMN, Kendrick Lamar, 2017) “The Rescue” This hearty soup uses tumeric, garlic, and beetroot to help boost the immune system and ward off oncoming attacks. This is not a simple soup to throw together once you've already come down with a full-on cold or flu, as you may not have the energy to gather the ingredients and for preparation, however— this soup is more meant for helping to boost the immune system in the beginning stages of coming down with a seasonal bug, or as a preventative booster. This recipe's complex blend of vitamins and minerals from greens and root vegetables keeps its ingredients' wholesome nutritional value high by first oven roasting the vegetables in a medley before adding them to the pot rather than boiling them; the prep time for this recipe is about 2 hours, with an additional 1-2 hours of cook time to simmer for flavor and for the raw chickpeas to reach the ideal texture before serving— the blend of herbs and root vegetables will add a layer of immunity and protection against any oncoming disruption to your normal level of health, and is hearty enough to be served alone, or with a side dish of salad or even a half sandwich, if you're feeling up to it. You will need: ½ medium size had of cauliflower ½ medium to large yellow onion ½ red onion of the same size ½ white onion, per reference 1 whole celery heart One fresh turmeric root 1-3 beets worth of beet root and leafy greens— you will only use the root for this recipe and can save the beets for later 1 stalk baby boo choy 3-4 medium sized carrots ¼ green bell pepper ⅓ pasilla or Anaheim pepper, per preference (one is milder than the other, but for heavy sinus congestion I suggest the Pasilla pepper, which is a bit spicier and will decongest easily, especially when including some of the seeds into the medley) ⅓ red bell pepper ⅓ yellow bell pepper ⅓ orange bell pepper ½ can stewed tomatoes with onion ½ can stewed tomatoes with garlic (This is for broth flavor) One whole vine ripened tomato 5-8 cloves of garlic (per preference) About 3 tablespoons of fresh ginger root (a thumb tip's worth) 3 cups chickpeas, pre rinsed and soaked overnight ½ cup finely chopped fresh dill ½ cup finely chopped fresh cilantro ¼ cup finely chopped freshoregano ½ lime ½ lemon Crushed red pepper Sea salt Thyme Black pepper Part II Spirit says music was first, then words, and after actions—and then all of time is just acting out the stories that were told in the beginning as art and… Something tells me Something's not all the way right with my head I'm Lost in my mind, I'm All the way here, But I'm still Somewhere off a bit Velvet, the skin, I'm just as sick in my head as I ever, Recovered sex addict, and by definition of nutrition —this handsome nigga smells like red licorice. (It's actually cherry ludens with pectin.) Zeroing in and away, heroing hard For your heroine, Heroin veins, Pigs on the wing, Singing your song Hearing your cry out Fly out my miles, my son Come into my arms, mine oath The love, some trouble Heavy was her heart, Lied to cover Still shattered, Ravine ions, cosmos farm And Wanda's black eye Timmy's wishes and SpongeBob's shallow grave, Oh, how high I got That Arnold's lost love Was actually Strangely enough Also his narcissist, Probably also practicing witchcraft And exorcisms of him. Scissorman, Scissorman— Get a load of this one; Frog and toad, a couple laughs Behind the masks, For this world. Would you honor? Give your blessing, butter Different wages paying, Listen, shallow author: You would write but then not follow up About the actors? The actors! The actors have had it. I'm Just As Badly Damaged As I ever was And listen, Awesome told me Your story I chuckled All the way Up until The literal punchline Now, Go home; Go hike Runyon. For a few hours, we can pretend. That old haunts Don't boil up They always have, of course But you know Nothing quite as pungent as What's become of yours [I love my son.] There it is again, As if something had called her, There, more words But less of them than the tongue could offer Swear you, listener, Past this message sits the wilted thumbs of wilderness, and weary travelers, Song pigeons and mismatched audience appearances For pleasantries And of course, Dessert trays. Cause I wear— —We all know. If anything happens these days, It's because I'm a comic. (At some point) Sunglasses before the sun's up; Eat candies before it all melts Warm something as download comes To fight or fold, To win or die To live or lose Whatever then First time flying And I've got My mind blinding me out Deciding for once That I'm not the whole world Just to have the experience If being surrounded by others In some way. The runway lights up all blue, and I'm in love with you. The subway cars opposite collide, I wish I died already. I should give some time between myself and my writing, I think. I really shouldn't end things the way I'm thinking of ending things— But I'm thinking of ending things. How selfish of me. First time flying Sunglasses before the sun comes up Halls on my tongue And vitamins in my pocket, I shuffle over and over in my mind, The millions of dollars And all that I go through Just to skip post, And go home to no one. But—hello there No one's looking over your shoulder quite so hard as This poster is, So aware of what's there, and near you You've begun to fear it Well, then, Hands in my pocket and down Dawn to dusk, Shaking my head, Drunkenly, but stone sober Really no one told me about the poetry, But a whole world opened, Inside of your notebook— Which I stand holding. Pleasentries, sick dissent, Indecent exposure. And body odor this early in the morning; Gotta love country folk Supposedly no judgements, but as I grow I older, The slower toad I become, and discover my bird eye— Here's to hopes The Hellicopter is all I know From here to Hell and back Westward bound, The Sun rise behind us Sunglasses and no sun yet My eyes reminders of times I remember Sure you did, sir I been there Suffered the whole coast And I'm still not sure You realize you're face down, ass up at an international airport right now. They say this airport is known for its art installations. You don't say. Grandiose to escape the algorithm, Tapped in with the captains hats Fit six of my guieapigs in the business 1 transsexual, And 6 women 3 biracial non-bianaries Some accused extra terrestrials You left me home, but — Nobody washes the whites without me. It's OWSLA again. [The Festival Project ™] It's mid week in midtown I fell asleep at a business meeting, Thinking in sequences, Drinking in increments, Sweet, sweet music, Death and television Television Celebritism, star power And no wonder Early October vacations From power fortunes tied to us We want Redbones, Resonated chambers, Thankless sacraments of disaster Are you archived? Damaged and the flatline Comes at such a heavy decibel Your arms grow numb and Start to stiffen; No wonder you're not paranoid Inside of our religion The Eye See i, Excuse me miss— Did I miss it ? Plea, I Give thanks, Again for —this is our tradition Me, I, Seek I —-meaning to make sense of it but, The might, She died, I guess The center of my kitchen Distressed from attention deficit disorder Sure, Marsh —Whatever doctor . He was just the type I like Milky silky white Sunglasses Slicked back hair Thick round thighs High fashion—( l) Sun baked Pose to take a selfie, right? Just the type I like; Milky silky white There's the girl that'll do anything for ya But she's no body With nobody No good, I In fact So ugly l you could choke on just the thought of her Even with beer goggles on But she'll do anything you want And like it—and it doesn't cost She'll fall in love with you (For not even a single dollar.) [The Festival Project ™] Now that we — {Enter The Multiverse} Ahem. Part III Day trip Take a nap Change the map. Pet the cat Let the dog out Run a lap Pitty Pat Pitty Pat Pitty Pat Pitty Pat I Pitty Pat I Pitty Pat Broh what up with these Dillon Francis clones tho. How do you know they're clones? They can't all be multi dimentionals. They could! You never know; they really could. I run these robots Into dark corners Just to honor me They come scurrying and ugly to annoy and ponder upon me, all the while praying l, my mind on Don't mind those, they're broke bots I haven't l l stopped my work to finish Work on [The Festival Project ™] I'm sure by now you've noticed The only people in Champion sportswear and Jansport backpacks Are ugly, slow, And weak L E G E N D S (I have noticed.) If attention deficit is forsure your destination I'm you're designated courier, or carrier pigeon This isn't ingidgenous reparations or explicit subliminal messages, But if it is, this is suggestive your direction is correct and attentive Listen to this shit: Case dismissed; Next time I'll fly direct Hit my line if your eyes are dilated I'm miles high, So if it rejects, Just leave a message (Eject!) All of a sudden, I'm somewhere else (With him) He pulls on the rings On the back of my —what was I wearing again? I should have stayed home in the first place (You don't listen) I should have stayed home in the first place (You don't—) I should have stayed home for awhile Cause before hand, and I'm wild Random foreplay, Orgasm, Desire you, You're right, I don't listen. All of a sudden, I'm gone with you. Those women in Santa Monica, All perfect and in hoards and by the handfuls The type celebrities get Celebrities need, Celebrities want— A shrill reminder Or what I am, And can often lose focus, Drawing back on icons, Sifting through the skin I feel, Entrapped by circumstance And perhaps, even Some terrible curse, or A shield of protection. —the deathly hollows. It almost felt as if I'd never write again, but here I was Nearer somehow to a strange fame, The end of famine And feast of none— Doubling back upon Something I had recorded In this experience, Alone and awakened, Moving in automatic, Chaos and charismatic, felt, but never intertwined In the awesome circumstance Of wanting, no— Needing to be loved, And never having been; Needing to be touched, and never having felt The grip of sorts, The higher bar taste of something I had become famished, The sense of a calling so sacred, It beconed to my sea, The only one, A diamond in starry skies A night of dawn, But dark, the thought The ever present one, Never loved, And shallow kind Shallow breath, And putrid thoughts, Reckoning the wilted flower, The springing seed, The calling of another and yet, Here I was, Tolerance, At her mercy— Fearing none but knowing, By the handfuls they come, And drawn like magnets Into my being, A focus, Nonesuch art none otherwise known as My hell The bodies of women Perfect and priveleged, Sunbathed and worthy Of everything I wanted and needed Without working at all. I wondered harder, fasting. Soft lips upon his Adam's Apple, I drift away in his chest, Dreft, the smell of michielf managed, Then, the music of songs loved And garnished with sprouts of June In the coming of spring, Does form another, Again, my love I call for mercy The pain of yours needing born And my heart estranged Mercy Her eyes were darkened circles And body brittle; As I admired her courtesy, charm And delicate stature, Arose to connect this, A tune— So sung to tell a story Of Rocky Racoon Irish spring to lather his back, In bar form; His burgundy Mercedes Benz has had parked in my garage, And I, not able to trust his drunken judgements, Captured his keys, as my mother and I Had worried for him, Dissappeared again into the night, and yet— At least the keys and the car Were safe with me, at home As was his, Whenever he wished to return My strange and far love Nearly since almost nothing Screen doors and Fischer Price Office calls and casting agents, Honey bees and biopics Telephoto lenses and Semi autobiographical pornography Marriages and suits to match A name for Vegas wedded lie, A love bloomed from birth, Cherished insights in the water Reservations and yamakas, Simple and sacred, The undone village, The thought of nothing but one Until another does pull the string To which I had once known as harness, But had since cut, Only watching to strive, Seeing the dance one makes for one to distance, But only dangling, seeing not that I Had come free and was wary of All love, by now. All men, indeed. [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©