| L E G E N D S: ICONS. | cover art

| L E G E N D S: ICONS. |

| L E G E N D S: ICONS. |

By: Three Initiates
Listen for free

About this listen

{Enter The Multiverse}

Copyright 2025 by Three Initiates
Episodes
  • {Happy Accidents Set #666}

    {Happy Accidents Set #666}
    Jul 17 2025
    If this is a vault, I could get ambushed– If it were a parking lot, Then I could get robbed My plate was a lot, But i'm going back for seconds; Well, I walked right into that one It'll take awhile to work its way into words But for now, i'm still heart being hurt Does your stomach hurt? Did your eyes go wrong? No! I got hot all over, Wrote words to a song Worese is, I don't think Anything under the sun And all of esoterics Really string along the whole hypothesis I hope I off myself You can save for the car in the lot You can purchase the clothes on the rack But to know what you want, And just cant have? Like a lock on a door To a home you don't own Nor can you afford. Theres no comfort there. In fact, Much like mother-son abandonment; Unintentional on all behalfs. Perhaps i could cut the time in half Perhaps i cut cut my elbow off Perhaps i'm a dunce What an awful haircut Now I'm a loose end? I guess that's better than a tied knot This sad song is no loose synths But it costs two cents And it's full of resentments I meant it, This is hard work Sentiments The smell of mints and cinnamon ALERT: WARNING! REVERSE QUANTUM SIMULATION THEORY IN EFFECT I'm still in the knock offs and riff with residual memory. You meant it I have an office full of blank checks I slipped three fingers In his breast coat pocket, And don't you know what i discovered at the bottom An oval Don't open it Oh look, a portal to another world. Please, don't touch that. Touch what. Yo, we are fucked. We are so So as much as you say I have memories You might as well have just filled my head with these dilemmas and politics What a horrific incident The jump off What a trough full of horses and numbers! My belief is in the sweet amenities My grief is in the reasons for believing No kitchen to cook in My hair all pulled out Bloodshot eyes And you're right I might as well kill myself in this apartment While I still have it You're right I shit my eyelids over my hindsight Scary people In scary places Doing scary things For scary reasons So what's a delusion When all the world is grandiose? What's the point of a walk In the wrong body? What's the point of being a showrunner When there's already Quinta Brunson And everybody seems to love her Now I don't know what show i'm on Or what I'm on about I have a headache And a very hard time Wrapping my head around it I'm thinking of four songs And a number Can you guess even one of them? What's this one on? God, or Amazon? I don't know, But i'm sorry. I'm so sorry. [The Festival Project ™ ] 7 Spades Seven days later Seven fake deaths Seven stories high 7H Rockefeller Plaza 7 Names Same bitch Main frame Mother nature Same demeanor Technicalities take place Sunny spaces Nominations, Nicaragua, Water caves, and Stop chasing waterfalls And showhosts You know they hate you. Same old Different day Saint Monica And whatername And Joan of Ark and Sacred satan Listen, Linda 2-4-6-8 TEN. AH FUCK. THAT'S EVERYONE THEN? EYES. WE MADE IT. WE MADE IT. OH THANK THE– DEVIL WORSHIPPER! I–WhaT? YOu–YOU LIT THE CANDLE! I THOUGHT HE WAS A VIRGIN. YOU THOUGHT I WAS A VIRGIN? –looked like it! *gasps exaggeratedly, very offended* “The impenetrable ten” Now, the question is: can I get all ten of these people in a room together at the same time. And the answer is: if you ever do—you'll wish you hadn't. THAT IS OUT OF BOUNDS. How are you even fitting in here? I'm—I didn't. Time is slipping. Time is slipping! YOU SCREWED ME OUT OF A DOODLE! A WHAT! A DOODLE. L E G E N D S To a the end of the era, But wish it was the end of the night By the end of the year I just might be As high as I never am But god knows I am And I know I am High but Sober End of the night, but it might roll over I'll pick you up like a four leave clover I should have never called you I should have never ever lover to love you Love you I should never come out at night But if I come out at night, Then I'll make it real loud I gues I've just been wondering Like What is my Midnight perfect I've just been wondering Like What is my Midnight Perfect I'm not a midnight Person More like 3 in the morning But I don't love nothing Almost not yet At all, I think in the back of my mind I'm worth it But when I come out I come right back down To nothing I've been wondering, Like What is my Midnight purpose Imm not a midnight Person More like Three in the morning In the Back of my mind I think I'm worth it But when I come out I come right back down To the surface I'm not a midnight Person I'm not a midnight Person I've been wondering about my midnight Purpose If I'm not perfect m You won't love me Just by looking I've been smaller up front Our back I'm big and round And I' know. Around ...
    Show More Show Less
    1 hr and 4 mins
  • Before The Crash.

    Before The Crash.
    Jul 17 2025
    …We have a weird connection, don't we? The scene was from The Television People, but the image was the clear as day vision of Patrick in a sunlit warehouse somewhere in Manhattan with one of his many lovers—somewhere in my mind, amidst the distractions, I was still trying to formulate the leeways between things I'd already written, and for whatever reason assembling an actual plot for its pilot season. STEPHEN COLBERT enters and unbuttons his suit jacket— in trademark Colbert. This is obviously not something he's doing subconsciously— because just as some bystander on the train engaged the same action, I realized suddenly that I must retrieve some sort of information. STEPHEN COLBERT Drew Barrymore! DREW BARRYMORE seems annoyed, but obliges somewhat politely. DREW BARRYMORE …Colbert. STEPHEN COLBERT I— have an offer you're not gonna refuse. DREW BARRYMORE takes a sip of her fruity drink. DREW BARRYMORE Jesus Christ. The Unforeseen Overture: Navigating Adversity in the Pursuit of Art and Community The rhythm of the electronic music scene pulsed through my veins, a beat I deeply understood and longed to amplify. My vision for the July 11, 2025 event was more than just a party; it was an ambitious undertaking for The Festival Project, Inc.™, an immersive arts installation designed to embody peace, love, unity, and respect within the dance community. This wasn't merely a gig; it was a profound manifestation of my artistic ethos, a crucial step for my non-profit, The Collective Complex ©, and a testament to my dedication to community building through performance. Yet, the week leading up to that date became an unforeseen overture, a discordant prelude that challenged my core values and tested my resolve. The sudden, unprofessional cancellation of the event, shrouded in a symphony of miscommunication and control, forced a deeper understanding of both the industry and my own resilience. What initially felt like a devastating blow transformed into a profound learning experience, a disruption that, though painful, ultimately strengthened my commitment to my artistic path. The first jarring note in this unforeseen overture came with the concealed venue closure. I learned, not through direct communication, but by having to track down the event coordinator on social media, that the very foundation of our event—the venue itself—was in jeopardy. This wasn't just a logistical oversight; it was a profound failure of transparency, a direct contradiction to the collaborative spirit I champion. The shock of having to chase down such critical information was immediate, leaving me feeling disrespected and marginalized, a chilling echo of the systemic gatekeeping I've seen affect so many aspiring artists. What followed was an almost immediate escalation. Hours after the event was belatedly posted as "confirmed" on Resident Advisor, with an incorrect title, my team discovered the ticket link was already canceled. This wasn't a glitch; it felt like an act of deliberate professional sabotage. My team had dedicated countless hours, reaching out to networks and brand sponsors, only to find their efforts rendered moot by a link that was dead on arrival. The emotional toll was immense, a sharp, uncommunicated blow to the meticulous hard work we had poured into this project. It was as if the stage lights had been plunged into darkness without warning, leaving us, the performers, to navigate a sudden, unexpected void. The formal cancellation notification, when it finally arrived on Sunday, felt absurd. The event had already been effectively canceled on RA since Friday night, and I had already made the difficult decision to independently pull the plug due to the egregious lack of communication. Receiving the email, first to a personal address because my professional emails had been blocked—a detail that still baffles me—and then a minute later to my professional one, underscored the profound unresponsiveness and operational deficiencies of the other party. It was a clear demonstration that their actions were consistently behind the curve, creating mounting pressure and uncertainty for everyone involved. The feeling of constantly being one step behind, not due to our own failings but theirs, was demoralizing and deeply frustrating. Amidst this chaotic unraveling, the coordinator leveled a baffling accusation: that my "tone and communication have come across as consistently rude and disrespectful." This was a pivotal moment, a direct challenge to my professional integrity. To be accused of disrespect when I was simply trying to coordinate crucial event logistics with a non-responsive party felt like an insidious form of gaslighting. It wasn't just a disagreement; it was an attempt to undermine my perception of reality, to deflect from their own severe shortcomings by shifting blame onto my proactive efforts. This experience, however, served as a powerful lesson. It cemented my ...
    Show More Show Less
    4 mins
  • APOCALYPSE: NOW!

    APOCALYPSE: NOW!
    Jul 16 2025
    “Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll ...
    Show More Show Less
    1 hr and 24 mins

What listeners say about | L E G E N D S: ICONS. |

Average Customer Ratings

Reviews - Please select the tabs below to change the source of reviews.

Audible.com.au reviews

Amazon Reviews
No Reviews are Available
In the spirit of reconciliation, Audible acknowledges the Traditional Custodians of country throughout Australia and their connections to land, sea and community. We pay our respect to their elders past and present and extend that respect to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples today.