{The Legend Continues}

'I_NY.' The Studio Album. track 10. - PWR. (The Great Adventures of Uptown A)Uptown A,-Ū. Prod. by Blū Tha Gürū I also do comedy, and write books. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © You'd be lost with your your girl, I'd be lost without her too. for everything you've done to me, I give the world, the color blu(e).

lol where is this being held? In an auditorium? An auditorium. For acoustics. And also because SO MANH PEOPLE SHOWED UP. Well, let's get this thing going. Are you sure about this ahahahahahahYAYAYSYhhahahahahaha NEXT. No. Certainly not! Great, let's get going. [SETH MCFARLENE enters timidly.] Seth McFarlene— what are you doing here? I—don't know. Well. Have a seat. Are you sure? I'm positive. [he procrastinates] Is this a joke? What do you mean? Trap door, or something? Oh, Seth, how I've missed your outright paranoid tendencies. So you're saying—? Please, sit. [he pulls the chair back from the table, relaxing momentarily before he sits; at the very moment he is comfortable, a trap door opens from below and instantaneously swallows him.] That's nuts. So creepy. Ah, trap door. Classic. {Enter The Multiverse} “Weirder and Deeper” The Rabbit hole can only go up from here. What does that mean? This is not making any sense. It's nonsense. Well, maybe all it is, maybe it's just that— It's just What? Maybe you're too old. *gasps* Have you never thought of that. Not even once. Take a look in the mirror my friend. Egad! Time has not served you well. My GOD! But it has—served you. Say again? Time to pay up. What? I did you a favor; many favors, actually. And now, it's time L E G E N D S —for my arrival. Jesus fucking Christ. JESUS F.N. CHRIST (Sleeping) Huh, what? Who said that?! Nobofdy. The BEYONCE that works retail is no spring chick. —- Excuse me {Enter The Multiverse} ROBOT VACUUM! —vacuum cleaner by day, SUPERHERO BY NIGHT. That is stupid. No it's not. It is, though. Look, I went to Harvard, okay— My expertise is not “sketch writing” What is it! I edited the Harvard Lampoon. So…assholery! Shutup. It's getting warm in here. I'm gonna go get a Twinkie. [he exits the writer's room and approaches the coffee table; pouring himself a cup of coffee, his hand reaches into an empty box.] …hm. [he moves his hand from one side of the empty box, to the other; it is for sure empty.] Are you serious? [a coworker enters the space.] Oh hey, what's wrong? We're out of twinkies. —what. WE'RE OUT OF TWINKIES. [absolute horrific pandemonium] Then why not al caps? Because. If there's anything more horrifying and urgent than al caps, it's all lowercase letters. Noted. WHO TOOK ALL THE TWINKIES! ALL THE GODDAMN TWINKIES. AAAAAAAAAAGGHGHHHHHH. [the alarm has been sounded] Oh no. Idiots. “Requiem for Jimmy Fallon's Nightmares” Push you out the window, Push you out the window, Push you out the window Push you out the window This is not the window This is not the window This is not the window This is not the window It's an innuendo It's an innuendo. It's an innuendo It's an innuendo I'll push you out the window (Push you out the window) Go get some regular girls Go do some regular things Go back regular works. You not scaring nobody. I Rick with ghosts and the comics Souped up cars, delivering groceries You sell drugs, but live in the projects; Nobody got time for your nonsense New bike, but ain't paid it off yet My psychic days your karma up next I promise, the worse that my heart stops— The harder and faster your corpse rots; You'll probably sleep in a coffin— (Tonight) Or no more bike, back to walkin. You wanna keep playing these games, sis? Keep at it, I'll be rich and famous. Go double click on some fake pics Go chase fake girls with the fake lips Go save lunch money to buy fake tits Keep giving em excuses to be racist They hate us All cause you done fuck up niggas Keep folks up, that's why they don't trust niggas Your whole motorcycle a slave boat nigga Your whole Benz, that why they just roast niggas How much you owe for the car note? How much you owe for the car note? Ho How much you owe for the car note? How much is four cups of Starbucks? How much you owe for the car note? Roll up, you'll probably get your throat punched. Loud bikes cause ya'll ain't the smart folks— Ya'll suck, Ya'll autos is slave boats. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © turn the light off then I'll sue the whole word on my irregular heartbeat, and my mama. I don't give a fuuuuuuuuck.

Push you out the window, Push you out the window, Push you out the window Push you out the window This is not the window This is not the window This is not the window This is not the window It's an innuendo It's an innuendo. It's an innuendo It's an innuendo I'll push you out the window (Push you out the window) Go get some regular girls Go do some regular things Go back regular works. You not scaring nobody. I Rick with ghosts and the comics Souped up cars, delivering groceries You sell drugs, but live in the projects; Nobody got time for your nonsense New bike, but ain't paid it off yet My psychic days your karma up next I promise, the worse that my heart stops— The harder and faster your corpse rots; You'll probably sleep in a coffin— (Tonight) Or no more bike, back to walkin. You wanna keep playing these games, sis? Keep at it, I'll be rich and famous. Go double click on some fake pics Go chase fake girls with the fake lips Go save lunch money to buy fake tits Keep giving em excuses to be racist They hate us All cause you done fuck up niggas Keep folks up, that's why they don't trust niggas Your whole motorcycle a slave boat nigga Your whole Benz, that why they just roast niggas How much you owe for the car note? How much you owe for the car note? Ho How much you owe for the car note? How much is four cups of Starbucks? How much you owe for the car note? Roll up, you'll probably get your throat punched. Loud bikes cause ya'll ain't the smart folks— Ya'll suck, Ya'll autos is slave boats. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © turn the light off then I'll sue the whole word on my irregular heartbeat, and my mama. I don't give a fuuuuuuuuck. i record everything mo'fuckah. let's do this. you'd hurt me you'd hurt your own mother, your own sister.

What's wrong with Conan O'Brian? He's just—taller than he should be. —that's it? Yes. Oh. Johnny Carson in the bathtub, In the long run, I'll need a back rub Long talks with God, I'm in a bad club Can't waste the hate these days On bike racers and man scrubs Yikes Cancel my subscriptions, The price hikes more than miles a minute My whole matrix a Peloton; You woke Satan, The lights is off Again, With the people And the people And the things And the people And the people And the people And the things And the things And the people And the people And the things And the things And the people And the people And the people Let it limit Let it live Let it limit The way you give Protect your energy And then, this Protect your energy And then [Project] your energy Nothing sleeps here, As you've noticed Though you've been unwell (You've been under) Something awaits for you here, The land of the beautiful people Hidden under skrims of Veils and wishes Light and sound and obstacles only to blind, And to bat, and to waken, The Theory l —The Theory V. So far we're Just designated drivers, Long trusted confidants It hasn't got that serious yet; Put the turn signal on So far, It's just designated drivers, Friends and countrymen Wizards and witches Misters and masters, and mistresses It's never as serious as intentioned And so far, We're just captivated wages, Under the influence of ourself Designated drivers, and fortune tellers (Masters and mistetresses) So far, We're just designated drivers, Can't help but control ourselves, When impulses in everyone besides us Just running wild So far So far So far They're bleeding us dry— She wants to be friend We'd better control ourselves Nothing further, No longer just wasted If Designated drivers, Were later medicated— We'd better control ourselves; Sirens behind us, now Capsules taking hold, after (Designated drivers) (So far) Slow release devastation Mastered levitation But we can't control ourselves Look at us now (Goal markers) We're just designated drivers; Almost never getting wasted Nothing to report, (I control myself) So far No false claims, besides The never ending ties (The live wire) So far, We're just designated drivers Functional, but play fair Never taking hold ourselves, A kiss goodnight, But never getting serious, As sanctioned— But so far… —Familiars {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

After reporting the noisy modified vehicles and motorcycles the targeted attack changed to honking; there is a group responsible for the consistent harassment and purposeful intent to harm by causing residents distress and anxiety with the use of motor vehicles through modified engines, flashing lights, honking horns and other methods of psychological attack. These sounds are instigated repeatedly and are due in no part to “regular traffic”, but rather by individuals in parked cars (parked in specific areas and at specific times, at all times on a 24 hours basis and in no relation to normal traffic and typically in off hours, during quiet hours and after business hours) repetitively revving their engines, honking their horns, and at time, using their tires to burn out or otherwise cause disruption by the use of motor vehicles—imdividuals in strategically placed parked cars will honk repeatedly, sound the alarms, or use their engines to make intimidating noises, pops, and other unacceptable sounds during quiet hours and in residential areas. This continued harassment appears to be the organized attempt at a terror or hate group within the neighborhood; the environmental protection agency has failed to enforce the noise code and though the noise typically occurs during off-hours or quiet hours, and NYPD has failed to enforce the noise code. 311-20936238 311-20936250 311-20943735 A twitch in your left hand could be caused by a number of factors, most commonly stress, fatigue, caffeine intake, dehydration, or minor muscle strain, and is usually not a cause for major concern; however, if the twitching is persistent, accompanied by other symptoms like weakness, numbness, or significant pain, it's important to consult a doctor as it could indicate a more serious underlying condition like carpal tunnel syndrome, neurological disorders like dystonia, or even early signs of a condition like ALS (Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis). Potential causes of a hand twitch: Lifestyle factors: Stress and anxiety: High levels of stress can trigger muscle tension and twitching. Lack of sleep: Fatigue can lead to muscle twitching. Excessive caffeine: Caffeine acts as a stimulant and can cause muscle contractions. Dehydration: Not drinking enough water can disrupt muscle function and cause twitching. Overexertion: Strenuous exercise or repetitive hand movements can lead to muscle strain and twitching. Nutritional deficiencies: Low potassium or magnesium: Deficiencies in these minerals can contribute to muscle spasms. Vitamin B complex deficiency: Vitamin B is crucial for nerve function and muscle health. Yes, you may be able to sue a city for not enforcing noise codes if the city's failure to act caused you harm or damages. However, the process can be complex and challenging. To win a lawsuit, you'll need to prove: The city had a duty to enforce the code The city failed to enforce the code The city's failure directly caused your harm or damages Cities are immune from certain types of lawsuits under the doctrine of sovereign immunity, which means you can't sue a city without its consent. However, there are exceptions to this rule. If you're dealing with a noisy neighbor, you can also try these steps: Make a friendly request, Write a letter, Contact your landlord, File a noise complaint, and Contact the police as a last resort

The book was fictional, but a perfect reflection of the treatment I had received since arriving to New York City; nothing was free, and it was almost as if the incessant hazing, entrapment, harassment, and terrorism had been at the cost of my own clarity— no longer could I trust another human being, ever. if these fictional ballerinas could do such horrible things to one another, what could their equally as devious adult counterparts do in order to disarm a potential threat—and if this was the simple and evil way women dealt with one another on a competitive level, how much potentially deadlier could make adults be in targeting potential peers, especially of opposite genders, and particularly—of thr opposite race. I wished race had no impact on anything, but in the United States, as the underlying cause of all conflict, it actually seemed to be at the root of everything. Next was money, and it would be ignorant to say that the two hadn't become so drastically intermingled with each other, the least of it belonging to colored people, and the most of it belonging to the dominant source of global power, the whites. Still, the way that people seemed to move was almost a color coded system in itself, and it seemed as though the pawns most often moved around the map in certain ways were almost always one thing or another, and now, understanding the way that politics were more likely than not conducted in this same way— I had collected, by studying the personal-professional lives of fictional adolecent ballerinas, I kept my head down, and my nose out of it—with no intention at anything besides getting out of New York alive, and put together—knowing that the possibility of my making any real money at all might have been some sort of threat itself, to any opposing party. The whites, as it seemed, would only ever be comfortable in a world where they had more, and better—at all times, and always. Nothing any colored person could ever come close to what they had maintained as their own world; everything was a system kept intricately in place—movement outside of this grid of power was not only forbidden, but nearly impossible. Especially on the grid and especially above ground, which almost everything was. Death of A Superstar DJ. [Hanz brings Gretl into his lair, where he co ducts his experimentation in creating “Ze Deepest Bass” Zis makes ze vierd sounds, yes. Yas, Very vweaird. [He presses a button which activates the system to begin playing the severely awkward sound of a Dillon Francis bass drop; embarrassed, he immediately switches the power completely ‘off'.] Zis is stupid. I'm sorry. Vwat vwere you sthinking? I wvasn't. An entire laboratory of sythezizers, and you've wasted it on this abominable— {Enter The Multiverse} The terror tactics began to become next level; though certain sounds were inaduible by my phone recording, they could still be heard and sensed by vibration within my body; an engine had started and had yet to stop, positioned behind me—and though I knew already that the terrorists were more than likely Americans, the tasks themselves were carried out typically by the black and brown underlings, almost with the intention to hide the fact that these commands were coming from a higher source of power; the illusion however could not be made that these kinds of terror campaigns were of course only carried out by the military itself, or another organization; that the men driving the cars and sent about on motorcycles were following orders and being paid by the military themselves. It was psychological terrorism, but because of its being carried out in New York City, it was almost the easiest thing to hide, masquerading the terrorism as the normal sounds of an only partially gentrified busy intersection—but I knew better. I knew that my phone and documents had been compromised long ago, along with my emails and messages— and I knew that, depending on what I was doing, where I was placed in my apartment, or even what I was writing, the incessant engine reving, the motorcycles racing up and down the block or otherwise just in circles, the cars honking and other sounds made with the direct intention of intercepting my personal frequency—was tactical warfare. Once the recording of these events became frequent enough, the sounds had moved only just further away as to be still audible and to disturb my peace, but just out of the range that my iPhone could continue to gather evidence to take to court against the owners of the garages, the city, or even the property management, for having not maintained the peace in the area surrounding their buildings. Still, it was of no coincidence quite obviously that I had been placed here purposely, and that the carlot, the motorcycle garages, the car garages and their respective car clubs, and the auto repair shops all adjacent and within dysfunctional earshot had been created after the year in the homeless shelter where it had been gathered, my sensitivity to sound and synesthesia could be used as weapons in order to dismantle and disable me. The moral reprocussions of these ugly little men on bikes or the even uglier ones in cars were none more then the soldiers that were just as often placed on the front lines of any war— a tactical betrayal of peace and freedom, I could only gather that this operation perhaps intended to pursuade that I should abandon my creativity and instead pursue with passion the humanitarian interests I was capable of, or maybe even political, however—because these things were being carried out in such an in humanitarian way, I became less interested in anything having to do with it, and it only made them more stupid and dirty, lowly and evil like the snakes they were, now that I had rearranged my furniture to always have my backs facing them. Now, not only were they below me, but behind me; once and for all positioned in such a way of knowing that everything they did on the outside of this apartment was underhanded, cold and treacherous, and against the forces of God and of nature. My right to peace and privacy has been violated, and now, worse, my body had been attacked. They were no better, no smarter, and no more powerful than the weakest men on earth—men who could do nothing themselves, but be made to do by others, subsisting entirely by consumption— the product of the light and enchantment had had been wasted with the minimal effort of having created such as these, otherwise useless creatures. The less I chose to interact with people on this level, the less opportunity it gave them to attempt to penetrate my mind or dismantle it am any way, psychological or otherwise. I had become seemingly erratix and unpredictable, moving about at times and in directions that couldn't necessarily be pinpointed— but the more time I spent away from these hostiles, the less erratic I actually was, able to think with clarity and move with stealth, only appearing at the surface for air every once and awhile, and realizing how remarkably desperate the groups that had been stalking and harassing me for to get my attention. It must have been military, and being stalked particularly by men not just simply smoking cigarettes, but intentionally going out of their way to smoke them and blow the smoke into my face— people almost needing to catch up with me or end up in my line of sight and however, it had become easy to avoid them, finally having realized that at this point, most of the time— even I didn't know where I was going. My dismissiveness made me harder to track, and my indecision had suddenly become an asset. I was always ahead of the people who were sent after me in one way or another, and besides the plants in my own building, making themselves obvious as gangstalkers by their particular way of dress and behavior— it was impossible for anyone to understand my way of thinking anymore, because it wasn't in a straight line, nor was it on any grid of systematic standard. I was almost always offline, and off grid, which meant that the people who were online and on grid were of greater number, and more predictable — instead of being moved around, I was the one moving things. I knew that anybody with a cellphone—almost everybody— had to have been connected to something—something that I wasn't connected to, especially moving about, and so the movement and frequency of these beings differed so greatly from my own it was as if playing a two player game in which the other player is simply a computer. The algorithmic nature of things just as often caused me to think about Joel Zimmerman as it did anything in life, and it was just as likely that the more time I spent thinking of anyone or anything fondly enough, then would appear in public anyone that looked just enough like them to momentarily trick my brain out of reason, and typically even more a tiny blonde girl just beside them to remind me of the pecking order of the evil world. The lightheartedness of being ideal in any must be so attractive to the male psyche that its dominance over the structure of the human species will forever stay unmoving. —Tales of a Superstar DJ. MOOOOOOOAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! NOW THAT I HAVE THE PELOTON BIKE AND THIS JUICER, THE ENTIRE WORLD WILL BE MINE! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!! You are psychotic. You think I'm psychotic now—just you WAIT. (I also have a pink treadmill) AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—MOOAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!! Dang girl, chill. I WILL NOT CHILL. YOU CHILL. I'm going to be so devastatingly effing RIIIIIIPED! Srsly. Some.. uh.. Houseplants… Like, a shag rug, Some blackout curtains— Minimal effort here. Uhhhhh. What are you doing? I'm fung shueing. L E G E N D S Last night I slept totally in the nude; Of course, leave it to good old fashioned good timing-/— The return of the hellicoopyer, and whatever's at stake with it No time to breathe, I'm having a spiritual experience on the cycle bike No time to lose— That's right. About face Walk away It's central intelligence Too much sweat in my palms To use my palm pillow? Hi god I love you God knows my timing, Lord know me well Don't tell me it's a writing assignment Really, yo I'm just here to spectate LETS GO! LETS GO!!! If you're not early, you're LATE! Okay, okay. Make my bed, wash the dishes. 2X202-ST5, Aphex Twin Either way, it's a pit of snakes Either way it's a den of wolves Either way it's a rat race, on my way somewhere else, I don't know how to go under the radar. You look ridiculous. Good. Are you sure this is the right place and time. I'm pretty sure that's my eye, up there. CBS Television Studios( New York City. Jesus, oh, Jesus Christ— Just for the ride; I asked nicely— …are the police here. No. Okay. Thx. Terminate, terminate— Hesitate a little. Turn your head around, a mate A million, a mile a minute Temper, temper Remember your severance Remember you made it Remember the parade and what day it's on Who makes up holidays anyway? Banks. Cool it, on your woodwind, would you Smells like barbeque, And I called it Forget to light a candle Summer winds, summer winds With your blood on the ceiling Remember who it is when you get there Hit me one more time Like the nightmare— Way up high I guess; Way less impressive, your crucifix I don't trust nobody with two first names, son So let's try the one With a traditionally masculine. So let's, So let's. Let's try the brown eyes on next, shall we. I like these. Same as. Wonderful, really. What's next. Hands, I think. Eyes, and then hands Ryes, and then hands, Eyes, and then hands Would you get the fuck off of me? I'm. Going to pay my tithes early Get the fuck away from me, you absolutely inferior rodent. At least I'm cognoscenti. I'll actually fucking kill you, And if you come back, I'll kill you again. Damn, I almost wish I was a lesbian. Nothing? Nothing yet. GODDAMIT. What. What do you actually want from me? I told you don't be late. What the fuck are you wearing!? Progress. Ough! —and jewel tones. The fact that I'm not wearing makeup, Could easily be hidden, With larger frames, And a little less giving a fuck About fashion instinct, And intensity The ce el.followed me all the way to the L train; Don't bother me none; She needs somebody, And all I need is a one hour slot, On Comedy Central. Somebody get this robot out of my peripheral. Somebody get the paramedic stat! What happened!? He thought it was payday and it's actually next week! 911– what's your emergency! Quit playing with me. Always look at the way it matters less When you lay attention to the face, and the stance— And it matters why she's mad at me, when after all these years, after all The veil has been lifted, but the mask hasn't And I just happened to make way to the goddamned Goddammit The mansion. So they said they'd give you a million dollars, just to— Yeah. What'd you— No. You didn't. No. You thought I would? Are you ready for wisdom and witches And wishes galore? Not yet. I asked for a prayer and “You're pitiful” —proud as pitaya, But I prefer Açaí, And after all Either one or the other is better than pina colada But of course, I'll take it If the other refreshments Are unavailable What the fuck is that in reference to? Nothing, probably Let's just be honest, I'm not getting In anywhere dressed like this in LA; Which is why I did it— And brought an extra set of clothes just in case Click my heels, two times Who farted. It's the subway; Pick any three people, and you'd probably be right This is hilarious. I ride the subway to Manhattan around lunch time, and it was mostly just— White people on vacation. lol lol Here's the trumpeter counting his money; Here's hoping he plays something Conveniently losing my cash . Means he's missing a dollar The way to the market makes subway trains unbearable, Which could only mean one thing l— Getawayfromme. Sing it! I'm intolerably horny most the time, And that counts anytime between now and forever So the Jptown a it is. As the train rolled slowly into Columbus circle, I started to get that feeling again— the same feeling I had the other night on the way to the comedy club, as if I was about to go on stage. I wasn't, and this, if anything was more of a consumer experience mainly meant for my entertainment, but still, I had butterflies— and there was no reason for them besides not having had any water— I wanted to make sure I had no need to run off to the restroom, either on the way, or during the taping , and— If anything. SOME BACKGROUND MUSIC!! Congratulations, you actually made it somewhere— Anywhere in New York City, On time. ..:I was on time to my stand up show. Exactly. MWAHAHAHHA!!!!! At least you laugh like a real villain, bro. I don't know what what's in reference to— Me neither. Now where was I…? Thank you. Everywhere in New York City is exactly one hour away. Even in midtown— Even in midtown. I told you they're all the devil. That's kind of incredible. Or god Liz Or, it's one in the same l. I might not ever make it on television— Even the assistant is gorgeous, (And majors in engineering) Somebody tell me why it's 100 degrees in fucking October! Global warming! I told you already l! What about the ice caps?! I TOLD YOU THEY MELTED!!!! Then again, Really kid— five o clock shadow at 1:48 in the afternoon. This is Telivision. It's a little ridiculous— Whose kid is this? If nobody claims him, I'll take that instead of lunch. How were you planning on lunch with it your wallet? I wasn't— But suddenly i'm hungry… Shut up! I used to get paid for this. I still do; watch this. I just realized, that I'm not having a good time I am method, so just— try to remember that. Where did the husbands come from? I was just in a room full of women— Now where am I? Remember the portals, and remember the Tenements, tenements— Tenements, tenements!? Old New York. What the fuck ever. Omg is the lady behind me possibly pregnant— And if she is she's keeping it— But she doesn't see herself being with the guy— “He's kind of affermenante” What? “He doesn't have that like, Charisma” I told you I still can get paid for this. Appearances, appearances, Charisma, Charisma So— its voice activated— And then once so many cell phones like, Detect my voice, a small signal is sent to that phone To make them start coughing. We can only assume that what is happening? Almost no one was coughing Until the banter in the bathroom I love this demographic of demigogs And badic bitches And tenements And tenements In intimate settings— OLD NEW YORK. How old Well, there are the tenements. We never really grow up, so we? We never really show out— Goes to show for sure I am indeed a God; For as soon as I walk in— They all start coughing. Where did the husbands come from?! This was, I promise you, an entire room full of women. THERE HE IS. GET HIM. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY KITCHEN! But—I didn't do anything! GO! Multiple steps in the directions of the Gods; Nothing to lose, but getting lost In the buildings and the tabletops The shadows of the others; Supposedly blocked into our time Blacklisted in hesitation that I could One day Very nearly and dearly Wish for something other than the best for Everyone involved, However I say no, For one million dollars only is a very small sum In accordance to the torture and disorder in the chaos I've come on here And here it is ; Again, Something to live for Something to love by Something it get into go for it, There was nothing other than the storm to come And yet A pool of course, You wanted full force for under The wind blows south And gone so deep under the water, There's no terror system! Here it is! All are actors, The world is a stage and yet, You fear it There's no conforming, Just admittance I came to get the app with the DJ's jumping off boats That's it. That's it. That's what I came for. Move still! Be you mad! I am mad, and envious of thee here, knowing not what I know and— Doing nothing in the midsts of my heartache, None glory being this, knoelege and yet Without wisdom The feeling of teeth sinking in, Hind legs ready to run, Water under no northern skies, But droughted— And mine, the thought of l weary skin The keeping of Times Times Times Tenements Times, Times, times- a Tenements Times, times times Percius, be you still? Still I wait. No honor. No judgement, mine is. There was no gain; There was no wise knowledge There was no wise for wisdom The times here The times here And even when you want to stop recording Turn your phones off— Even when you want to stop You keep rolling until the very last The very last The very last minute. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

She's REAL! I'm telling you she is. Sweetie, I know you have had a lot going on lately, but— I'm serious! She was sitting in the audience! She had the same glasses on and everything! Oh, come on. I should be meditating. The likelyhood that I might actually be belonging into a hive mind has recently kept me from furiously masturbating. Bad news for the helicopter making a habit of hovering outside my window. Here's hoping she's dressed this time! [F-f-f-f] Nope. Synopsis “The child within” A frustrated present day Drew Barrymore sees a familiar face in the audience of her hit daytime tv show—formerly thought of as her imaginary friend, from a very young age, Ms. Drew Barrymore has not seen the mysterious figure since her first major film role, after which she mysteriously disappeared— the creature, a time traveling and shapeshifting multidimentional tasked with the duty of bringing future celebrities from one realm into another—and even sometimes perhaps preventing obstacles or adversaries in their path along the way— must meet the future stars and alert them of their unique qualities, nurturing the intrinsic sense of charisma and charm that will supply value to the subject's career and lifetime achievements— In attempting to convince a room full of New York's own fabrication of Hollywood TV People that a figure drew even thought herself to have supposedly re-emerged, she is met with judgement and dismissal, even by “her people”, during which a small piece of her spirit— “The Child Within” angrily breaks away from her adult self; in a sense, they are both invisible—as no one will seriously listen to Drew's rationalizations or theories, and reccomend more intensive mental health care and treatment—and as the child within, unseen and unheard loses her patience in the inevitable invisibility, she separates herself to presume her former mission; finding that ‘very strange lady' whom with she had beforehand seemingly adventures with timelessly. So that's where I left off. Pretty much— Doesn't this lady just— Whatever, I do have more things to do than I thought. I'll have to get back to it later. I wrote this days ago; I didn't write it—but I've been thinking about it, so there it is. Maybe— Whatever. More coffee. I've been starting my days between 6 and 8 PM with very strong cups of coffee— Compliments of the Television people, of course. What about that other storyline— the one where she's like a spy or something? You mean Charlie's Angeles! No, I mean like actual CIA. What was she even doing? I don't know; looking mad serious in a blazer. Posh. So very, {Enter The Multiverse} NO, BILLIE! WHYYYYYYYY! WHYYYYYYYYYYYY. Cause it's shark week. WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS HAVE TI DO WITH SHARKS?! I Dont know yet. I know better than to Click a photo of you, when I've been thinking of you Too much Aren't you –At least Curious (To say the least, but–( Learned enough The first time Second time Third time Fourth rung don't care Time's up Problem solved I know better (Just a touch.) I know better The world is mad I know better Fingers crossed I know better I'm all alone I know better I know better I heard my neck break at the end of the rope I heard a gunshot in the distance We all wondered which sounded better The rock i'm under (A curse, or a spell?) A blood bond ritual An occult oath, it's Too many simpletons, Singletons, scratch and sniff, motion pictures Who art thou? Who art I not? Very well. No more, if you would remain. As I must. And yet, I have come to end thy reign. Very well. Oh, again? Oh, as always. I've done nothing in my right to mark tirade. Many ears. –and many hearts. Take mine, an honor. Your head, i'd rather. Say again. I'd rather your head. Very well. Dismiss, you. They are as one. A fair right. It's not as bad as you think. It's worse than it was. Now there's stuff all over it. What is this stuff?! Don't worry about it. There are tears. No remains. No remains. None at all? I'd rather burn than buried. And your Kingdom? –I'd rather burn than buried. Or–? Or buried than burned, but gone at all. Gone at once. As with this. So it is. It's not in the blood; You won't find it. –I'll find it. Not that way. __ GODDDAMN. YOu'RE SO DUMB. You're so fucking–stupid. I'm a genius. Not for long! You're a dead man. Your highness! And who is this? His highness's executioner; perhaps also yours. On what charges?! Dismissal at once. On my time! –and tell no others of this. –and you? Steady well in my greeting. And how? A lady upon a throne, not I, but still fair castel And wages of ageless. So it doesn't matter! So it doesn't. So it can't–matter Shouldn't have to. Somebody just kill this poor fuck already. On it. Oh, I get it. It's his face. L E G E N D S - ASCENSION Listen, Potter; I don't know how you did this! I don't know how I did this! I'm not Harry Potter! My name is Daniel Radcliffe, and– This place should be spotless. It is…spotless. {Enter The Multiverse} When you think you're hearing voices, But you're actually telepathic.; I think it's getting worse now; I wish I was just manic I think I need a manager; I think I need some magic, I think I got a half an oz Just sitting my my backpack That's a lot of cocaine, man. It's not that much. It's more than regular. That's fair. Way, way more. More than usual. I am very wasted. Just let me touch your face And let the age sit in Take in the day The cage sits in a mailbox And it withers with my divedends, Still, I'm writing Heroism, hedonism Circumstance, Frantic as an orgasm, And laughs just as much hard as that I came in color These marginal differences, I've been levitating, Marrying the thought of just l Decapitating every nation. Severed heads as one, To stand the wicked bodies Oaths if over oceans stand as borders Who deserves to sail For failures craving fortunes? Withstand this, I mark true— On your duty of my decaying Stands as justice, and still this You haven't fortuned, For arrogance is the truest of humor And wit to none, wiser thinking He is or are that may Be stronger in the notion that There is no other but himself! And so I pardon! Dear, your honor Fight for festherwate for masterpieces Cherished and forbaroned in the faithless, Wise and withered none, but lying waking Barking tides, wishes foul and ordinary; There you wait for judgement, And call I, Boundless as you found her As one, And I say— There, there; There you are in marked for God, Calls none but I, others Seeking in the wate of judgement. Fair and Farrows of the ache And bound I, still now To causing none but fortune, Still truth waits in the ark you have tied us To, in hundreds number There I wait, And there I come, still Now in time, You are we And I are Together Not tied, But marked as one, As such, this now Is where embarked Dither will you. Whatever the fuck that means. Must mean something. You DJ…magic? I do whatever I want. Awh—oh, well. Why are you so nervous? Just aM. Sit down. I'm already sitting. Lower. Uh, like this? On the floor. Alright… Here's a cushion for your arse; Don't get up. Thank you. I'm going to make tea. —I take cream in mine; two sugars. I didn't ask! [in almost no time, and some heavy clamoring through the beaded entry to the doorway, a teacup appears on the table in front of him; it slowly begins to swirl, filling with tea—it fills nearly to the brim, steaming, and trembles a touch.] Um… [as he raises his finger with a timid objection, the cup of tea plumes with a cloud of cream—and while his eyes widen with amazement, drawing him closer to the cup, two cubes of sugar splash into the tea; two tiny drops of tea ricochet into his right eye, which he palms with a wince, his other eye still wide with awe; the woman re enters the parlor, carrying a traditional tea tray, a decadent silver platter adorned with an assortment of sweets, and a tea set. She places the platter at the center of the table, and the table sets itself; the table is now set for four, and the teapot pours itself at the head of the table, into the woman's teacup. That ought to do it. It worked! Of course it worked; it always works. Very nice. I see you got my message. [still distracted and in a sort of wonder by the whimsical uproar, the man's attention is aimed at the two empty places at the table. ] Are you expecting company? I'm always expecting company… My hands are tied behind my back You solid wasted time for facts; And steady drawing love for oaths To skin we carve The path of ours, Orion's Belt Something seems off about her There is something strange, no doubt. Unwilling to be by (Sacred vows) Distant In the calling for forests— So we wait Tears as raindrops, though drought has fallen Then reflected in words of others, The mind gone, All else rotten Silk ties, my ears There words, soft voices The other seeking, One running Then came and went The summer gone The spring had flowers The over dried The tongue sparked Horror, Forgotten Remembered, Then, valued and weeping for something else Stranger tide, Oceans foreign, And lands unconquered. Heavy rain, Though tears has dried Heavy hearts as service ended Nothing left my ions, clouds Mercury, women, blood drawn Sad strange, headless, gasping Horse drawn outlets, Incapable of telling fortune; Dust, Dust, Dust, Dust— The curse has broken And still there was love there, and then There was love there all along, For there to had ever been A dance at all. I hate you. Good riddance. Probably for the best, Nothing‘S for the best now! “Best In Show” Name? McNulty. McNulty, eh? Aye. I recognize that You don't say. I shouldn't. Now I see your position And the evidence is adding up All odds against me Not a shiver up my spine Or a sliver under my nail Or a silver in your hair, Nor silver moon, or moonlight Silver stone or Preston Presley or Evenston —so it is—a game. This big network This big chunk change This been (Isn't isn't it) Rolling around in my mind, for days Very well now, settled— Then, there you are A cloud Nevermind the rest of it, It's what we said in the beginning I will always See you in another— I will always See you in another I will always See you In Another It's your move. It's been my move for four decades. Light. More visibility— Yo the ante; I have not dismissed you yet Stead classmates, taking Are you high now— Are you done yet? There it is again; The enemy Nevermind ahain, I thought I'd lose you And there it still is, Can it be? Love in my eyes for you; Even if you are at best Just a mirror, I'm a flashbulb And the last party at your entourage. I don't encourage any carbon dating Honey, But if you are I've got a lesson, for ye— Bored armor, Settle down, I— Got to tell you, Steady stories; Still foggy on my upbringing, There, there I say, Wind moves in all directions All skies get cloudy, Call rain, And then clear again There, there now All skies move, without notice There, there now, All is known but never is not There are things, There are murders, There are tongues There are trials, There are ions, You are right, And scared laying asking not to call out Therefore anyway, I heard you yelling with only a whisper There, there you are Right near the top, Where you ought to be And then also, Moving steady for forwards From another superimposed, Depends on Signal lost Very well, then, Surf to calling, Ring to spark, I There you are, my love Another light, And then, Again— In another life. I will always see you. The shit that falls out of me with just a look. We've all got jobs to do, and as it turns out— it might be really all the same. One job, different tasks, but for one, it's for certain— I want the peppermint swirl. Give me a dozen assorted I put it all on on a (Turn turn) I put it all on a (Turn turn turn) Woah, buddy— You should not have taken those promotional photos wearing my eyes, man. I am not very photogenic. I'll call you back. I could give you the whole Moon and it still wouldn't be enough; I'm home and still there's no roof over my head Hanging on to the edge of a ladder The top at the bottom And life on its side Like it's upside down Inside out Minus 1 And I don't want to go there Minus 5 And I can't read negatives Minus 9 And minutes turn to nothing Gone the time All out battles with All who waited And close to those Were meetings, Designations, Heroes, Writers, Ice cream trucks Tough battles Winners— Games and Levitating on so secretly secrets say “God, Donald, you're on your own” But heavy greetings wash out All who were away at your essence Strings of gold Very wary Wavy heroin, I'm all galaxies Are you whole, in Stuffed stalker, Tin straw hats Carols in summer Marking stones Summer days Summer Are you in here Or out here After all had died And gone grey Still against my head The tender sparkles Of sparked dust, No stars yet Under city winds and Careful not to wake the sound of Delicate and soft Pink detergent And Careful not to thank the Conditioner, saved you Careful Safety Comes first Careful Safety Careful Careful Careful Calm down. She's a partial obsessive… You were tricked into writing all this. Tricked willingly, anyway. No, just tricked. You thought you were special. I realized I had to be when I saw the same thing twice on both ends — I'm just doing my rounds. Making the bed Playing catch up Doing check ups— Well done, boys. I know what you are now. The job is done. The job is a job. [I'm seeing my clarity.] Try not to lay next to me eating; Try not to stand here on such a heavy plane Try frequency, Dignity, Disgrace and Distress, Maybe Major Mayday NATO Bombs down Maybe Stay there Maybe faraway But I can hear you Taking in Shallow breaths Planes crash Plans fail And then— There I was remembering All of a sudden There was no actual plan in this I was just playing by ear. So you are in there. Somebody nail me to a cross and tell me what the Fallon equivalent to Skrillex following me from LA to Brooklyn just to leave me in a homeless shelter to rot— 11 And though eventually I came up kind of okay on the other side affects, the paralyzing realization that I never wanted anything but proper mating. That's, for facts, but— Now with this looming Over my grave I'm sure I've yet something else to worry about just In general. I was told to keep my mouth shut. Weren't we all. I wasn't really interesting in meeting someone seriously— in fact. As it turned out, I still had a little more muse to milk out of the last one, but even the tarot was being a stickler— I could risk ending it all and putting a nail in the coffin by actually watching the tonight show—but there would be a possibility it all would backfire and it would just reignite that spark, or worse—I'd become fully engulfed in flames by whatever it was that seemed to appear—and it seemed to appear so vividly and with rapid strength that it couldn't be stopped or controlled. A serious amount of money had to have been implemented to my paying attention to this, and beyond that— it all had to have been carefully premeditated. While at least now at the bookshop I was drawn to books from Oprah's book club, what had occurred couldn't possibly be ignored—actually, it couldn't be, at all— but instead of eating at me in its usual way, I had more just began to realize that there must have been in play some purpose. Feeling faraway from my actual creative self, there seemed to be something missing at all generating even a general sense of understanding of what normalcy was— when had actually been the last time I had been touched at all in a way that might make me feel as if I was still human— as if I was normal— but I knew I wasn't. It's time for a change. The thought of being with someone, especially just anyone, was bizzare. I gave up on love a lot of times; But this is when it became official. I was listening to a rap album I had never heard before And in this rap song, he said “This hoe got a 7 year degree and still selling pussy” What in the fuck. One way one way ticket Why bother getting a 7 year degree If your value as a black woman Is so low You can get a 7 year degree And still have to be a prostitute What the fuck is the point. It goes the other way, too. What is the point of selling pussy without a 7 year degree? She's gonna make more than me in all the professions. I gave up on love at all. That right there is how low value we are, not just to the black man, but any man. 7 year degree and you can charge more an hour, but you're still a technical hoe. I want to fucking die. When I married my ex I was pregnant with twins; When i got pregnant with the twins I was about 350 pounds. So by the time we got married, I was 6 months pregnant with twins. He had a right to cheat! I forgave him. But the first time he hit me Like really hit me Not just like A heavy shoving or ike A lil. You know Choke out– Like the real deal Like knocked me the fuck Almost all the way out Saw the white light and everything By the time that all went down I'm like 170-180 He's still, mind you, like 300 I lost weigh He lost his mind; so i'm lets round up Like 180 pounds But in my mind i must be thinking somewhere i'm still 300 He came at me with a running start, I put my hands up like: I must have thought i actually had a chance I took a fighting stance like: He said Fphew PULL A RABBIT OUT A HAT damn . what year is this really? You just got sampled . Say, what's his job? Well, that's an informer. Chris Rock forsure some kind of genius I saw him do GIlbert Godfried And Sam Kinison In the same show. The show was dated, though; He literally said “I'm married: I don't cheat.” I knew it must have been a joke. I knew it had to be a joke, or it had to be dated, Cause being real, I listen to too much kanye To even believe that Or even laugh at that Not too much kanye Just enough Kanye, He said “If I pull up with Kerri washington, That's gon' be an enormous scandal” I might have Niomi Campbell, Still might want me a stormy daniels And ya'll tried to get trumps supporters to turn against him By exposing that he fucked this bitch? That's like an achivement. That's like a status symbol. I'm sure these idiots praise him for that. He might have even gotten more popular That's not a scandal That's PR. On that note, I think Chris Rock was the very guy Who made me decide to stay single forever He talked about the way, apparently, men want to kill their wives; The way they fantasise killing us When we're in the relationship Now, ill say I never once thought about killing my ex husband During the relationship Even after he hit me. Never once. The only time i started wishing a karmic death upon this person was when I left the relationship And he stopped fantasizing about it And actually tried to fucking kill me Once I realized this was happening Only then did I start to think “Oh damn, i hope that motherfucker just drops the fuck dead” This motherfucker beat me, AND tried to kill me, Only then was i like damn “Return to sender” I hope you die too, You fat piece of shit wifebeater motherfucker I hope you die too. Only after he tried to kill me. After I left. Had to hire a fucking voodoo fucking sorceress and shit “yo , take this curse off me, This motherfucker tried to kill me” Fuck that motherfucker. Apparently though they fantasisze it all the time, I'm thinking about all the times he would play this song iroinically enough, By kanye west So maybe too much Kanye West Or just enough, Kanye said “I thought about killing you today.” He used to play this song, And beat my ass, And I never once thought “I hope he dies” Shit, After the first time he really beat my ass, He ran away. He got scared; He had to run. My face was all hanging off my head and shit Blood all over the place My lip is disconnected from my whole jaw and shit He ran away; He darted out the front door He said “I'm gonna kill myself!” And he rain away– Even then even just after he beat my ass I never thought about killing him Or wanting him to die He just fresh beat my ass; He just straight up finished whooping my whole ass and he said “I'm gonna kill myself” He realized what he did “I'm gonna kill myself”, he said And he ran out the door And here I am With my lip hanging off my whole face Blood all on the walls Pool of blood on the floor, the whole thing babies crying; The whole The whole fucking HBO special The whole nine yards And he said “I'm gonna kill myself” And my dumb ass said “NO! Don't!” He ran out the door, I'm freaking out Blood everywhere Babies crying and shit “Come back! Think about the kids! Don't kill yourself” Like a dumbass. Turns out that was just a tactic, He broke me down good, I was like “Don't kill yourself” He said “...you gonna call the cops.” He said “...alright, I won't kill myself.” Boom. That's a real killer. Looking back on all this, I can't help but think to myself, What i would have done differently Not the whole “I should have left before any of that happened” I was the mother of two young children; I wanted to try after the cheating to make things work, Fast forward after that Turns out he was fantasizing about killing me the whole time He beat mya ass, ran away, Left me in a pool of blood with my two kids He said I'm gonna kill myself Looking back at that momet, The thing I wish I could change is this If i had to do it over again And he beat me like that In front of my kids And then said “I'm gonna kill myself” I would have said “do that shit.” Lock the door behind his ass, Change the lock, Pick my face up off the floor, call an ambulance And the polce, change names Pick up my life And leave forever. “Nigga–who?” “Momma who was our daddy? What was he like?” “Ya'll ain't got a daddy. I made ya'll myself” End of story. Whatever. Everything happens for a reason though. I learned my lesson. Now i don't argue with anyone at all Men, women–nobody If i even sense that same shit That psycho killer shit– I become as silent and invisible as possible And simply Disappear. “Disappear.” I had a migraine and I knew it was from pressure buildup and stress, so I thought to get rid of it I ought to make one of those hot-compresses with rice. But the only rice I had was jambalaya flavored— But the headache was obviously really bad, So I was like, “fuck it.” Poured it into a gym sock And popped it in the microwave, Put it on my neck— My neck smelled like a pot roast, But it worked. {Enter The Multiverse} There was something in my lungs, forcing me to breathe deeply, with a raspy wheezing wind out of my lungs, and with a steady cough, I was able to offload whatever it was waiting in my chest to be released, along with it, at least part of the pressure that was making even just sitting and reading nearly unbearable, collecting into a harsh migraine paralyzing each and every other breath with a sharp pain underneath the back of what seemed to be somewhere below my ear canal and somehow, a pressure somewhere behind my eye, probably a result of the excruciating process of shoving earplugs into my ears in order to drown out the outside noise, which paired with that of my seemingly devoid neighbors, often became wildly unsettling, and while lately the clamoring had created not only an uneasy tremor in my left hand, but also apparently a sudden onset of occasional vruxism, the anxiety overall seemed to be surmounting into what could only be described as something trying to kill me, for which I could no longer ignore not as delusions or paranoia, but absolute fact. As I had learned, modern psychology might have been the equivalent of what one could even be certain to be the devil itself, unable to distinguish patterns often associated with creative genius, self manifestation, and psychic abilities and intuition, as delusions of grandeur, paranoid thinking, or worse— diagnoses as psychotic. However, my grandiosity was neither imagined nor delusional—my podcast series alone had been read and listened to all over the world, translated into foreign languages and transcribed, and had been downloaded hundreds of thousands of times since its publishing; though not a technically recognizable figure, I had realized that I had in my own right become somewhat famous, if even off of the back or even under the umbrella of another famous individual, to whom the series itself had been entrusted. Receiving though not by mainstream media standards upwards of at least 10 downloads per episode, the series had no actual gauge or marker for its actual success and polularity—without being able to see information from a major streaming platform—Spotify, and without being able to measure the amount of downloads which had then been duplicated and shared otherwise, I started to recognize with a certain understanding what a cult following was, and the minimal phenomenon that even at this level, fame started to become apparent. It had also become apparent that science itself had yet to truly understand the phenomenon of creative energy as a whole, and that many with these capabilities and gifts were considered to have a plethora of mental health disorders and medicated with what one would consider targeted attacks on the psyche, the illusion of mental illness often standing as the actual delusion in itself! Creating, and then medicating these intrinsic abilities ass illnesses whereby the “neurotypical” individual might only be considered as such due to ability to adapt, confirm, or follow diections in a systematic manner, and furthermore, that the misdiagnoses of such misunderstood cobditions often even relied on bias, poor judgement, racism, social class, and economics had certainly deconstructed any faith or belief formerly held in the modern state of psychology, and most of the articles or public medical journals read more like science fiction and fantasy rather than cold hard facts; indicating a moral and ethical flaw within the entirety of the human species—man's own inability to understand God, and therefore himself, in any creative process. Diety and creativity combined were simply a mystery, and had plagued entire generations of the human species as a whole. Blū runs at top speed through the streets of Brooklyn New York on a cold and windy October night. V.O. The ironic thing is, I'm running to go get ice cream. I hate my life, I hate this place, I hate my life— I fucking hate this shit. I'm trying really hard not to kill myself. Like really, really hard. Sudden onset bruxism and hand tremors and I can't help but wonder if it has anything to do with the constant mottoeycle traffic or sleeping in a sea of vehicles which at any given moment could sound off, start up or honk the horn alarm over the last 9 months. I'm fucking exhausted all the time and everything around me just fucking draining. Just fucking draining. https://www.tracklib.com/pricing Yo, you know how I know I'm aging? I hated Dora The Explora when I was a kid— You know why? “That's for babies!” I was too old for Dora the explorer. Mi was a tv snob. I'm like “I hate Dora!” No teletubbies for me. No sir. I'm distinguished now. But get this, As I get older, different renditions of Dora Have grown on me To the point where I actually like the bitch I got older, And there was this girl, Who would show up at raves Dressed like Dora And shuffle, And dance around— Looking like Dora The Explorer Kind of creepy, now that I think about it As an actual adult, Like this, Fully grown woman, Dressed as a fucking 5 year old Dancing around at raves Being Dora. Weird. But I liked it. I loved it. She was a hit; Everybody was like “RAVE DORA! RAVE DORA!” She blew up on Instagram, She had a following— It was like Where will she be next?! RAVE DORA! Had the backpack and everything— Everything! Rave Dora! But now I know I'm getting old, Because I'm fuckin around online, And I see in the advertising little sidebar video Like, a new version of Dora The Explorer, And I'm like “DORAAAAAAAA!!!” —the fuck! I just realized my best friend from 3rd and 7th grade looked just like Dora the explorer. Facts. She became literally the most successful stripper I've ever met. Ahem. Dancer. Right. Dancer. Ahem. Dudes are gross. Doods r gross. Welcome to Doods R Gross; What can I help you find today? Uh, hi. I'm looking for a guy— Uh huh— Possibly one who looks like this: Ah shit, this is how I got playing the Wikipedia game and went on a tirade Facts. Ended up here Unicameralism (from uni- "one" + Latin camera "chamber") is a type of legislatureconsisting of one house or assembly that legislates and votes as one.[1] Unicameralism has become an increasingly common type of legislature, making up nearly 60% of all national legislatures[2] and an even greater share of subnational legislatures. Interesting Started Here: The Fallen Angel (French: L'Ange déchu) is a painting by French artist Alexandre Cabanel. You were saying? Preferably this. Ah huh. Not the face, but— the body— you know. Like this. Okay. Who will let me do everything. Everything as in? Everything. Well, as you know, dudes are gross… Hence the name of this store, good sir. I am in no way good, nor am I a “sir”, and for all intensive purposes, my employment at this store signals my deep indirection in life and may also be an indication of more serious issues. Maintained. Alright, so I'll show you what we got. No promises; The type of model you want is popular, Might be out of stock. Considerable. What's your price range? This credit card has no limit. Credit, or debit? My debit card is also linked to a plethora of infinite wealth. Right this way. Do you think I deserved for him to hit me like that? I don't know. Maybe. I mean—the cheating is a given; I was really really fat..:but do you think like, him getting violent was some kind of karma for something? Maybe. Like maybe I had it coming for whatever reason— and just didn't know it. Maybe. Suddenly I was in the residual memory of a dream. {Enter The Multiverse} ‘Dillon…' I had been nearly whipped around at how much I had enjoyed watching Joel's 2014 image captured in what might have been his greatest ever performance, at least online—and certainly my favorite, watching as a bigger fan than ever and at th devastating realization that I was literally a dime a dozen in the millions of girls who also wanted any of the men I was attracted to, my heart ached in this moment for Dillon, and as I was distracted in checking my messages, most of them from conversations I had abandoned with the preference of focusing on my art, however— a certain gentleman who had texted me incessantly sent a picture of his dinner— a motorcycle roared as I let my aversion by the memory of Dillon cloud my emotions and judgement; I knew that the gangstalkers had access to my phone and all of my accounts, which was why I kept all of my messaging within Google voice. I wanted the gangstalkers to know how at the surface level I was thinking and what I was feeling—though it was obvious that Dillon Francis just as much as Skrillex had been used as tools by a greater force than simply themselves. Besides, a little birdy had told me that Dillon's girlfriend might be expecting—and furthermore, that the baby would be a little girl. I burned with jealousy and anger, but after all, even the name Dillon Francis had been planted in my own head by the literal devil himself, the man who beat me and then intended to destroy the entirety of the rest of my life to cover up his physical violence and negligence—and so I had decided it was good to fall in love—and then out of love—with Dillon Francis. The benefit was obviously by far in the art that had been created from it, as with any lover—or lack thereof. I had finally realized the one-sidedness in every man I had loved since leaving my abuser. As if in a way they had all been possessed by him, or the devil himself—and either way, there really was no difference. What other creature than the devil itself would seek so animatedly to destroy wich such violence and deceit? It had to have been the devil after all, and so I left it there—but the little bird had left a deep and heavy cut in my heart that had already been there since Dillon had announced his girlfriend publically in the first place—and after all that had happened, it was a devastating blow, however, I kept the amythyst safe and tucked away with my son's labradorite—it was after all his, and not mine, just as the laboradite was my son's, and not mine— and all the pieces of my heart that had fallen away and into little stones sat tucked away inside a box with a lid that shut away the darkness and hatred that came with it. It was obvious that I would and could never love again—but at least in the very simplest of laws, the love I had given would apparently at some point be returned tenfold, and so I was glad that I had chosen for a time, to let myself fall in love with Dillon Francis, and then somehow, even with Joel, and even with the little bird. The same little bird just so happened to have known other things which turned out to be true, and to that affect, I knew that I could somewhat trust this little bird, and the secrets he was feeding me—the painful truth was, this was the only notion of trust I had with any human being on the planet, and the little bird was not a human being at all—he was, in fact, and indeed— just a little bird. Isn't it something— Snakes eat Rats, And Birds Eat Snakes, And we eat birds, and eggs Until we hear them sing— And when we hear them sing, And watch them hatch the eggs, And learn to hear them speak, To fly, is what they teach. Isn't it? Snakes eat rats And birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats And Birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats and Birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats and Birds eat snakes Jimmy Kimmel flies in through the window. Oh my God! What'd I miss? You're a bird! Oh, that. How long have you been a bird?! Pretty much forever. Always, actually. I was also—just—very briefly—a bird! Yeah, comes with the… You'll get used to it. I don't think I will. You will— or—- Or what? —You'll fly into the turbine of a commercial airplane. Oh! Yeah, don't do that. [He tugs at the bottom of his suit coat to neatly readjust it, and tightens his tie, with an eerie faraway look on his face, however still smiling.] Ha-ha... [he pats his fellow host on the shoulder.] See you later. Will you? [breaking fourth wall, saying nothing but with an honest and subtle shrug, Holding his breath as if to say ‘—I don't know.'] CUT TO: Tom Hanks, looking as similarly to Jimmy Kimmel as ever, because, let's be honest— NARRERATOR Holy fuck, keep that shit just cause it's so bad Right side is offline. Why. I don't know NARRORATOR holy fuck, can you really not spell the word narorator? That doesn't even look right. I thought you were a genius! I thought I was Meditating… Narrator. Nevermind. This is ridiculous! It is ridiculous, but you know what. Mm. This is delicious. You like that? Yes. You want more of it? Yes. Well, that's TOO BAD! What, why is this? Because, this is— {Enter The Multiverse} THIS IS SATURDAY NIGHT! No, it's not. What. It's Sunday. What do you mean. It's Sunday night—and all of you— (The entire cast) Missed the show. ...uh oh. YESTERDAY. [censored] Shh! Where have you BEEN?! Well, gotta go. Where the hell do you think you're going l? {Enter The Multiverse} Now I had comedy under my belt, somewhat, but it seemed all in all as if I'd lost something, even in all that had been gained. A trade off, if it paid off—but it hasn't yet; and perhaps that strange faraway voice had been right. Maybe it would be Jimmy Fallon after all that would destroy me—or at the very least, some dark and foul evil spirit that had been wearing his face… …and singing with his voice. I have been hanging at the end of a rope The legend to the show rolled up like a newspaper in my left paw, opposable The end is near, and sure, the straw I draw is short. The life I loved was long, The boat I rowed had sunk; And the men I loved We're drunks. I've never had the sun on my skin; Or my son in my home— It's not you, , sir, at all It's me, man—I'm broken She speaks pig Latin The lady in the red dress, yes, you guessed it Was it a bet, A Game? A Family Man Who has it out for Fallon, Or the fandom Or the fountain CUT TO: A SUBURBAN NOUSEHOLD. DAY Alright, mom— I'm going to Marshall's. Alright dear. [moments later] [ding dong] Hi— Um, hello. I'm Marshall. Alright. I'm a recruitment officer. Recruitment for what? That's top secret. Okay? I'm here to congratulate you on behalf of the agency. What agency? That's also top secret. Okay. Your son/ or daughter— Daughter. Really—you sure? …positive— Ahem— has been selected to particulate in our leadership program. Well, thats's great. When does it— Today. Oh. Your son and or daughter— Daughter. Are you sure? I'm— positive— Will undergo training for an indeterminate amount of time.. Indeterminate? Pre-addressed Post cards. Ummm. Postage paid. Thank you? No, thank you. What? I had set all my clocks forward, so it was as if I was waking up in the future. So far forward, in fact, that if I wasn't looking at my phone to see the real time, I could never be late, and I even wished that there was a way to set my phone clock forward—but maybe if that was possible, too many people would catch on to being ahead—or on whatever time they wanted—and the world would fall out of sync. That kind of free thinking could be dangerous in a place like New York, and it sort of already was—none the wiser, the smarter I felt I was, the more trouble it becsme and though wisely I knew myself to in totality know nothing at all in actuality, I did at least think more and do more than the average New Yorker, whether I thought about it or not. I set my clocks forward, So I wake up in the future Less than I'd be willing to bet And more than you've be willing to bargain I'm coming with you this time I don't think that's a good idea…is it? —is it? Anyway… It's time for that trip. How am I supposed to make it all the way to London on this pay grade? Just wait. It's barely anything. You see that waitress. …yes. I mean— do you see her. I see her. I want you to bang the shit out of her. Good one. It should be. Oh, you're serious? I'd better be. You know that I'm committed. Are you a man? I have been. Go on, then. Not in that way. The wager. [he lays a large sum of money on the table] Disaster strikes. Suddenly we all realize this plane has been about to crash for about four seasons. Meet me at the four seasons. Are you wearing a wire. Beg your pardon. Are you wearing a wire. He won't love me in the way I'm craving— It's not in his nature, the near hatred and almost demoralizing, however with utmost respect That I should be both harmed and loved at once, Embraced and defiled,; Handled as if having done wrong, But in no less than bloodlust All what's right, And feels the same JIMMY KIMMEL I made a list. That was fast! JIMMY KIMMEL To be honest, I already had it for awhile. How long's awhile? JIMMY KIMMEL Pretty much forever, basically. As soon as I began to write, a door slammed— I wondered if by writing I was moving people in and out of my dimensional realms and planes, knowing that the more I wrote, the more my life would differ and begin to change. I often wondered if the door slamming meant that I was ascending, and that other versions of the sims (not people, but robots, really) were moving and changing to rearrange themselves in entirely seperate dimensions of reality. It could not have ever been of sheer coincidence. as it had been a completely quiet and mostly silent day with no movement at all; it was Thanksgiving, and I had noticed that whenever I was writing, even offline, the slamming of the doors became constant, almost as if people were coming in and out with no purpose other than to cause some type of disturbance, from even which my door was no barrier. I thought to buy a door guard like my neighbors had, but to allow the gangstalkers or robots, whatever they were to cost me money on top of my comfort, was unacceptable. RYAN REYNOLDS (as “the devil”) Wait, so you have writings about NBC people and Kimmel? Yeah. RYAN REYNOLDS Yikes, well—you know how these things go. Buckle up. CBS We saw her first! NBC No way, we've had east end locked down for two years! CBS And in 2020 our subcontractors brought her to us. OOOOHH SHIIT. NETWORK TURF WARRRRRRRR NETWORK TURF WAAAAAAAAAAAAR!!!! SETH ROGEN Ah shit, this is gonna get brutal… I gotta get more Quaaludes. How are you already out? I does what I does. Continuity. AND! Introducing the new SIM JIM 420! With new and improved continuity feature! Continuity. Wow. He seems so real. So lifelike. Almost just like the real thing. Where is, actually, the real thing— anyway? *shrugs, dismissively* Continuity. Why does he just keep repeating that phrase? Well, he's stuck in a loop right now; We're currently upgrading his sentience chip. Oh, nice. MEANWHILE… MWAHAHAHAHHA NOW THAT I HAVE THIS SENTIENCE CHIP, THE WORLD WILL BE MINE. AAHAHAHAHAHHAHA. WHICH SIM IS THAT? {enter the multiverse} The dangerous one. L E G E N D S CUT TO: And who is THIS?! That's bird-mom. So you know each other?! Hello, Jimmy. I just told you, that's bird mom. Beg your pardon. God, what the fuck is wrong with you? I, uh— How—long have you known each other? Like, forever, probably. Sit down. Gosh. So rude. No manners. What the fuck is going on. Sit down before I clip your wings. I don't have my wings out… Exactly. [he gulps and takes a seat nervously beside Jimmy, glaring at him momentarily before the extra terrestrial aviary woman, a “whatthefuck” begins to conduct the meeting. Oh, shit— this is where all the birds fly in the— Yeah. Classic. I love this one. Hehehe. [The Festival Project ™] What's going on? Some Illuminati thing. A what? [a running joke throughout the series, the higher level Illuminati members denial of the order's existence typically place's the audience's suspension of disbelief into effect before bizarre and unrealistic circumstances are presented. Chill out, it's just a ritual. “Just a ritual!” You don't have to do it if you don't want to. Oh, if the Illuminati asks me to do something, Bet your ass I'm gonna do it. WHAT. My tongue drawn My air out, My ear worn, My thought songs, My same lives, Still as one— Wait a second Is that why a grown man is fully beating the shit out of a fucking cat. THATS NOT ANY REGULAR CAT. how is the cat winning tho. lol. I told u it would come back if it was a good one. That is funny. {enter the multiverse} Everything I listen to a really good stand up comedian, They talk about domestic violence. They always warn you never to put hands on your woman. The best comedians always say something about it— “Never hit a woman” “Never put your hands on a woman.” I never talk about my ex, And that's on purpose, But I will say this: I hope that shit ruins comedy for him Like he ruined rap music for me. Cause he can deny it outwardly all he wants, But it he's watching a stand up, And they say something about how much of a pussy you really are, If you hit your woman—he's gonna feel that. He's gonna feel that I like still feel that When I bump Kendrick Lamar, Or I just can't take whatever Boosie saying, or If I just can't sit all the way through a lil Wayne verse Just kidding, Wayne is straight fire— I don't think I will ever skip a lil Wayne verse, to be truthful. But when all these little new age rappers start calling out the devil's number, talking bout— Making back door deals With demons and shit, I'm gonna feel the pressure of his fist on my face, All over again, And here go all these niggas, Singing the anthem. That shit ain't cool! I hope comedy is ruuuuuined! Cause rap music ruined. Ruined. I hope Katt William's whole next special is about how much of a pussy you are if you hit your woman; And he a pimp. Let's hear him do a whole hour on that. I hope he does. Yes lord. In the meantime, How you gon' Hit your wife, Run her out the house, Then have a baby by another woman And name the baby After yo ex Favorite rapper? Oh heeeeeelll naw! Can't have that. Now every time Kendrick Lamar drop a album You gon have your ex in a whole flashback Of your fist in her face? She can't even hear the verse, She just, “WHYYYYY! “ “WHY HE GONNDO THIS TO MEE?” “WHYYYYYYYY!“ That's the best Katt Williams impression I can do in print. It'll do. My actual Katt Williams impression is standard, though. Captain. CUT TO: Why is he the devil?! RYAN REYNOLDS WHY AM I THE DEVIL. I wanted the devil! Stuff it! He want the devil. Make him the devil! I wanted it! Shut up. Not everybody can play the devil. I can. You cannot. I can. You will not, you will play your part. Goddammit I wanted that part! [he walks away angrily] You'll get over it. Thie—? Come on… Just chill, Ryan, it's a great part. It's a— It's a great part. Did you read the whole thing? I'm just worried this is going to diminish my brand. My many, many..: Read the whole thing. …many brands. [the professor shuts the door] Dammit. [deflated, Ryan Reynolds slumps his shoulders and walks slowly down the hallway, letting out a heavy sigh.] …I own so many brands. [he sighs again, fluttering the script in exasperation.] So many things! [I own] L E G E N D S STEFON NEW YORK'S HOTTEST UNDERGROUND CLUB IS T A I N T Did they already do ‘taint' Was taint even a word back then! It's always been a thing. Hey, freebies Sister sanity Does not live here No Does not live here No Does not live here No Sister sanity does not live her No She packed her bags, oh, She's gone and away, oh She's gone and away, oh, She's gone and away, oh She's gone and away—— Oh! Guitar solo Drum solo Guitar bridge I can't wait to get a peloton I'm gonna be so skinny my eyeballs are in my kneecaps And you're gonna like it You're gonna put me on the cover of Vogue And call me a fashion icon I will be a guest host on America's next top model And I will be invited to every fashion week I will have the silliest outfit at the met gala And I will be voted The best Every year, Until I die Even by Joan rivers Who is dead, by the way So until she's alive again; Just to comment on my outfit I will be so skinny that when I fart All the world's most eligible bachelors Will line up behind me to smell my fart dust Which will probably be lined in gold and silver Because I'm so skinny And because I'm so skinny You will love me No matter what I do And no matter what I say And I will never be alone Or lonely again Mantra Timmy Trumpet Thriller (JUST A TUNE FLIP) Michael Jackson Intro Pablo Escobar (Guaracha Zapateo & Aleteo) Reggaeton bachata Hit Privacy Chris Brown Privacy Chris Brown Leave Me Alone NF Better Place (From TROLLS Band Together) *NSYNC & Justin Timberlake On The Radar Freestyle (Mixed) Central Cee & Drake 10 Freaky Girls (feat. 21 Savage) Metro Boomin Drake and Central Cee collaborate for the first time for an On The Radar freestyle, a New York-based radio station and YouTube channel. The track was announced on July 20th, 2023 on Drake's Instagram. Later that day, Drake announced the release date of July 21st. The two have had a good relationship since meeting in 2021, with Cench being a model for a Nike X Nocta campaign in the same year, and appearing in the "Jumbotron Shit Poppin" music video in 2023. Cench previously teased a Drake feature in an unreleased extended version of his 2022 mega-hit "Doja" 66 Ear to the street and I heard them say that Central Cee got a verse from Drake/They lied if they said that they weren't afraid Coming Back Around NEIL FRANCES Girl Like Me Dove Cameron Flying High Valdi Sabev Purple Snowflakes John Legend Smile Durand Jones & The Indications Devon rex kittens Berry established herself as one of the highest-paid actresses in Hollywood during the 2000s. For her performance of a struggling widow in the romantic drama Monster's Ball (2001), Berry became the only African-American woman to win the Academy Award for Best Actress, and the first woman of color. Berry took on high-profile roles such as Storm in four installments of the X-Men film series (2000-2014), the henchwoman of a robber in the thriller Swordfish (2001), Bond girl Jinx in Die Another Day (2002), and the title role in the much-derided Catwoman (2004). The strangest thing happened. What's that? *flutters* I just turned into a bird. An actual bird? Yes! Well, that's not telepathy. No, it isn't. Okay…do it again. “The Desire to be Loved” “The 11 O Clock Number” What if Dumbo's feather was a stone (l) More notes, and nothing's done yet It's the same process over and over And nothing is done, But the shows almost over If the shoe fits, wear it. He a shapeshifter, I'll take your eyes out, wear em for a moment Rip your heart out, Feed it to the homeless Not bad In the present, But the moment passed Not bad You a lie, But I'm finna send the fax Not bad Not bad Shimmy shimmy ya, So it's simply envy, hah Not bad No, you will not shake this snow globe!!! I will shake this snow globe! I NEED TO GO TO CHEDRAUIIIIIIIIII! BITCH, FOR WHAT?! CHEDRAUIIIIIII NOWWWWW. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © {S10 (IN 10D!) Coming Soon}

‘Good girl.' It would be my first deck of tarot cards since leaving Mexico, and though it would take longer than I would have wanted, the yoga mat would nearly complete my in-home fitness essentials. The Peleton bike would be delivered mid-week, and although I owed another $120 upon activation, it didn't seem to matter, as I could delay its activation by another month and begin budgeting its monlthy rental fee at the beginning of the year. At top of my list of actual priorities, were my college application fees, and of course— though it seemed foolish to dwindle down everything I had been saving into almost nothingness, it was better now to consider my purchases that had been weighing down my processes than later; I still owed an album by the end of year when I would lose my distribution service subscription, and, I was nearly a month behind the release of I Love New York and yet still with no music videos to show, I thought to tackle the worst of the bunch just from my phone, but I hadn't the focus really— the most withdrawn I became from people around, the better I felt; the cleaner my apartment was, and the more energy I had to run, though it still felt as though I was being attacked at both sides—from people placed outside on motorcycles, or from inside, the door slamming gangstalkers, the simple solution it had only seemed was to move the treadmill, and after realizing that no longer fully aligned with the door while lounging on my couch, simply moving things around my apartment would give me an upward advantage. The neighbor girl seemed all too eager to come inside my apartment, and had tried on multiple occasions, and while I planned to eventually invite her over to share a meal to make face, I would be remodeling and rearranging first—I didn't feel comfortable with her knowing what I had or didn't have, or the way my apartment was situated; it seemed everyone within the building actually was part of some joint effort, and to this affect I could no longer trust others with any of my sensitive business. It was too fragile, and too much of a risk just to be open and honest about myself, or my intentions with the world— not that I had too many intentions at all, but the ones I did have could be easily persuaded into dissalusion by the perception that I was going to fail—just as I thought that it was obsurd anyone should be entitled to millions of dollars for seducing their married boss—there was little chance she felt at all that my career was going to be taking off in any upward direction. Still, there seemed to be some kind of benefit to having an eye and ear witness to the motorcycles that had been wreaking havoc over the last year—not only was the noise unsuable and unacceptable, but the tremor I had started to develop in my left hand began to make me irate at the thought that these evil creatures had given me enough anxiety to rewrite the parts of my brain in command of my body. These evil ugly little creatures were just annoying, they were making me disastrously ill. My stomach boiled with anger and hatred for this evil—and I although I knew that in time the perpetrators of these crimes would be punished for the harm they had inflicted in much crueler ways and wish harsher punishment by none other than the natural karmic justic, I still had grown beyond awe that the simply put evil and greed of man could force itself upon the innocent with such intrusion and invasive petulance; as if mankind of humankind had not evolved at all and that these roach like pest creatures were no better than the animals they insulated—or the sickened ,drugged, and weak ones they ate. Not that I blamed the dysfunction entirely on the consumption of animal product, however— the bizzare fact was that the content unrest was due to the sickness and nature of weak minded men with lack of moral or spirit— the nose simply was not normal in this neighborhood, in fact, it was an abrupt force, more obvious as it was observed, controlled entirely by the forces of evil. I knew that the world could not go on in such a way that it was that this could be forever, and infact— as the prices started to skyrocket, monthly subscriptions changing and the surges of inflation I had studied since Election Day itself, I had accumulated with logic the prediction of an oncoming economic crisis which might even exceed the 2008 recession, and even likely mirror the effects of the pandemic, with businesses shutting down once more— and the world at a standstill, in order for the government to attempt to reclaim some of what it had lost in forgaging the dynamics of the election itself. It was indeed a multibillion dollar effort to allow the organized “migration” of millions of ‘undocumented' people into the United States; this was no simple act of mass migration, but a strategic war machine. Now, in the coming days and weeks I had noticed in the corporate world steep price hikes, and had been bombarded even more ferociously by my own debt collectors—something in the economic world was changing rapidly since Election Day specifically, as if the business operators and corporations of the United States had insider information that times were changing; even I had changed my direction entirely. I no longer focused outward on music, but inward; the music scene was stagnant and cyclical, same old, same old. They had sold us all out to the money game and the truth of it was, the most beautiful artists in the world were often lacking in material and worldly connections—that the purest of art was most commonly going overlooked, or furthermore—absolutely invisible. I looked forward to making more music, because I had finally realized—that it couldn't matter. Now I could focus on the types of sounds I had dreamed about and flowed into my head as often as the weak men on motorcycles could not intercept. I knew that these weak men were controlled by even weaker men, and that their only power was to contstrict the art, and the light, and the beauty, and the love that they could not ever know, or make themselves—and so chose to take from others. The true imbalance in the world began to become clear in that some amongst those who walk the earth are simply not born with the ability to ‘do' or ‘create'— to see or to plan on their own; instead, and rather awful, is the innate fact, as simple as it is, is that most humans needed to be told at every waking moment what to do and why, and not only this—but how. With all the capability in the world to access this conciousness, but no will and desire, this type of human becomes malleable—able to be controlled, created, and structured to the desires of another without any second thought as to assimilate a better world for himself, or for the others around him. Nothing can hurt me; I have a treadmill You can say what you want but I just keep running. I'm all out of food, cream of wheat and oatmeal. If you're all out or love, then you'd better keep calling her. STEFON NEW YORK'S HOTTEST UNDERGROUND CLUB IS T A I N T Did they already do ‘taint' Was taint even a word back then! It's always been a thing. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

She's REAL! I'm telling you she is. Sweetie, I know you have had a lot going on lately, but— I'm serious! She was sitting in the audience! She had the same glasses on and everything! Oh, come on. I should be meditating. The likelyhood that I might actually be belonging into a hive mind has recently kept me from furiously masturbating. Bad news for the helicopter making a habit of hovering outside my window. Here's hoping she's dressed this time! [F-f-f-f] Nope. Synopsis “The child within” A frustrated present day Drew Barrymore sees a familiar face in the audience of her hit daytime tv show—formerly thought of as her imaginary friend, from a very young age, Ms. Drew Barrymore has not seen the mysterious figure since her first major film role, after which she mysteriously disappeared— the creature, a time traveling and shapeshifting multidimentional tasked with the duty of bringing future celebrities from one realm into another—and even sometimes perhaps preventing obstacles or adversaries in their path along the way— must meet the future stars and alert them of their unique qualities, nurturing the intrinsic sense of charisma and charm that will supply value to the subject's career and lifetime achievements— In attempting to convince a room full of New York's own fabrication of Hollywood TV People that a figure drew even thought herself to have supposedly re-emerged, she is met with judgement and dismissal, even by “her people”, during which a small piece of her spirit— “The Child Within” angrily breaks away from her adult self; in a sense, they are both invisible—as no one will seriously listen to Drew's rationalizations or theories, and reccomend more intensive mental health care and treatment—and as the child within, unseen and unheard loses her patience in the inevitable invisibility, she separates herself to presume her former mission; finding that ‘very strange lady' whom with she had beforehand seemingly adventures with timelessly. So that's where I left off. Pretty much— Doesn't this lady just— Whatever, I do have more things to do than I thought. I'll have to get back to it later. I wrote this days ago; I didn't write it—but I've been thinking about it, so there it is. Maybe— Whatever. More coffee. I've been starting my days between 6 and 8 PM with very strong cups of coffee— Compliments of the Television people, of course. What about that other storyline— the one where she's like a spy or something? You mean Charlie's Angeles! No, I mean like actual CIA. What was she even doing? I don't know; looking mad serious in a blazer. Posh. So very, {Enter The Multiverse} NO, BILLIE! WHYYYYYYYY! WHYYYYYYYYYYYY. Cause it's shark week. WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS HAVE TI DO WITH SHARKS?! I Dont know yet. I know better than to Click a photo of you, when I've been thinking of you Too much Aren't you –At least Curious (To say the least, but–( Learned enough The first time Second time Third time Fourth rung don't care Time's up Problem solved I know better (Just a touch.) I know better The world is mad I know better Fingers crossed I know better I'm all alone I know better I know better I heard my neck break at the end of the rope I heard a gunshot in the distance We all wondered which sounded better The rock i'm under (A curse, or a spell?) A blood bond ritual An occult oath, it's Too many simpletons, Singletons, scratch and sniff, motion pictures Who art thou? Who art I not? Very well. No more, if you would remain. As I must. And yet, I have come to end thy reign. Very well. Oh, again? Oh, as always. I've done nothing in my right to mark tirade. Many ears. –and many hearts. Take mine, an honor. Your head, i'd rather. Say again. I'd rather your head. Very well. Dismiss, you. They are as one. A fair right. It's not as bad as you think. It's worse than it was. Now there's stuff all over it. What is this stuff?! Don't worry about it. There are tears. No remains. No remains. None at all? I'd rather burn than buried. And your Kingdom? –I'd rather burn than buried. Or–? Or buried than burned, but gone at all. Gone at once. As with this. So it is. It's not in the blood; You won't find it. –I'll find it. Not that way. __ GODDDAMN. YOu'RE SO DUMB. You're so fucking–stupid. I'm a genius. Not for long! You're a dead man. Your highness! And who is this? His highness's executioner; perhaps also yours. On what charges?! Dismissal at once. On my time! –and tell no others of this. –and you? Steady well in my greeting. And how? A lady upon a throne, not I, but still fair castel And wages of ageless. So it doesn't matter! So it doesn't. So it can't–matter Shouldn't have to. Somebody just kill this poor fuck already. On it. Oh, I get it. It's his face. L E G E N D S - ASCENSION Listen, Potter; I don't know how you did this! I don't know how I did this! I'm not Harry Potter! My name is Daniel Radcliffe, and– This place should be spotless. It is…spotless. {Enter The Multiverse} When you think you're hearing voices, But you're actually telepathic.; I think it's getting worse now; I wish I was just manic I think I need a manager; I think I need some magic, I think I got a half an oz Just sitting my my backpack That's a lot of cocaine, man. It's not that much. It's more than regular. That's fair. Way, way more. More than usual. I am very wasted. Just let me touch your face And let the age sit in Take in the day The cage sits in a mailbox And it withers with my divedends, Still, I'm writing Heroism, hedonism Circumstance, Frantic as an orgasm, And laughs just as much hard as that I came in color These marginal differences, I've been levitating, Marrying the thought of just l Decapitating every nation. Severed heads as one, To stand the wicked bodies Oaths if over oceans stand as borders Who deserves to sail For failures craving fortunes? Withstand this, I mark true— On your duty of my decaying Stands as justice, and still this You haven't fortuned, For arrogance is the truest of humor And wit to none, wiser thinking He is or are that may Be stronger in the notion that There is no other but himself! And so I pardon! Dear, your honor Fight for festherwate for masterpieces Cherished and forbaroned in the faithless, Wise and withered none, but lying waking Barking tides, wishes foul and ordinary; There you wait for judgement, And call I, Boundless as you found her As one, And I say— There, there; There you are in marked for God, Calls none but I, others Seeking in the wate of judgement. Fair and Farrows of the ache And bound I, still now To causing none but fortune, Still truth waits in the ark you have tied us To, in hundreds number There I wait, And there I come, still Now in time, You are we And I are Together Not tied, But marked as one, As such, this now Is where embarked Dither will you. Whatever the fuck that means. Must mean something. You DJ…magic? I do whatever I want. Awh—oh, well. Why are you so nervous? Just aM. Sit down. I'm already sitting. Lower. Uh, like this? On the floor. Alright… Here's a cushion for your arse; Don't get up. Thank you. I'm going to make tea. —I take cream in mine; two sugars. I didn't ask! [in almost no time, and some heavy clamoring through the beaded entry to the doorway, a teacup appears on the table in front of him; it slowly begins to swirl, filling with tea—it fills nearly to the brim, steaming, and trembles a touch.] Um… [as he raises his finger with a timid objection, the cup of tea plumes with a cloud of cream—and while his eyes widen with amazement, drawing him closer to the cup, two cubes of sugar splash into the tea; two tiny drops of tea ricochet into his right eye, which he palms with a wince, his other eye still wide with awe; the woman re enters the parlor, carrying a traditional tea tray, a decadent silver platter adorned with an assortment of sweets, and a tea set. She places the platter at the center of the table, and the table sets itself; the table is now set for four, and the teapot pours itself at the head of the table, into the woman's teacup. That ought to do it. It worked! Of course it worked; it always works. Very nice. I see you got my message. [still distracted and in a sort of wonder by the whimsical uproar, the man's attention is aimed at the two empty places at the table. ] Are you expecting company? I'm always expecting company… My hands are tied behind my back You solid wasted time for facts; And steady drawing love for oaths To skin we carve The path of ours, Orion's Belt Something seems off about her There is something strange, no doubt. Unwilling to be by (Sacred vows) Distant In the calling for forests— So we wait Tears as raindrops, though drought has fallen Then reflected in words of others, The mind gone, All else rotten Silk ties, my ears There words, soft voices The other seeking, One running Then came and went The summer gone The spring had flowers The over dried The tongue sparked Horror, Forgotten Remembered, Then, valued and weeping for something else Stranger tide, Oceans foreign, And lands unconquered. Heavy rain, Though tears has dried Heavy hearts as service ended Nothing left my ions, clouds Mercury, women, blood drawn Sad strange, headless, gasping Horse drawn outlets, Incapable of telling fortune; Dust, Dust, Dust, Dust— The curse has broken And still there was love there, and then There was love there all along, For there to had ever been A dance at all. I hate you. Good riddance. Probably for the best, Nothing‘S for the best now! “Best In Show” Name? McNulty. McNulty, eh? Aye. I recognize that You don't say. I shouldn't. Now I see your position And the evidence is adding up All odds against me Not a shiver up my spine Or a sliver under my nail Or a silver in your hair, Nor silver moon, or moonlight Silver stone or Preston Presley or Evenston —so it is—a game. This big network This big chunk change This been (Isn't isn't it) Rolling around in my mind, for days Very well now, settled— Then, there you are A cloud Nevermind the rest of it, It's what we said in the beginning I will always See you in another— I will always See you in another I will always See you In Another It's your move. It's been my move for four decades. Light. More visibility— Yo the ante; I have not dismissed you yet Stead classmates, taking Are you high now— Are you done yet? There it is again; The enemy Nevermind ahain, I thought I'd lose you And there it still is, Can it be? Love in my eyes for you; Even if you are at best Just a mirror, I'm a flashbulb And the last party at your entourage. I don't encourage any carbon dating Honey, But if you are I've got a lesson, for ye— Bored armor, Settle down, I— Got to tell you, Steady stories; Still foggy on my upbringing, There, there I say, Wind moves in all directions All skies get cloudy, Call rain, And then clear again There, there now All skies move, without notice There, there now, All is known but never is not There are things, There are murders, There are tongues There are trials, There are ions, You are right, And scared laying asking not to call out Therefore anyway, I heard you yelling with only a whisper There, there you are Right near the top, Where you ought to be And then also, Moving steady for forwards From another superimposed, Depends on Signal lost Very well, then, Surf to calling, Ring to spark, I There you are, my love Another light, And then, Again— In another life. I will always see you. The shit that falls out of me with just a look. We've all got jobs to do, and as it turns out— it might be really all the same. One job, different tasks, but for one, it's for certain— I want the peppermint swirl. Give me a dozen assorted I put it all on on a (Turn turn) I put it all on a (Turn turn turn) Woah, buddy— You should not have taken those promotional photos wearing my eyes, man. I am not very photogenic. I'll call you back. I could give you the whole Moon and it still wouldn't be enough; I'm home and still there's no roof over my head Hanging on to the edge of a ladder The top at the bottom And life on its side Like it's upside down Inside out Minus 1 And I don't want to go there Minus 5 And I can't read negatives Minus 9 And minutes turn to nothing Gone the time All out battles with All who waited And close to those Were meetings, Designations, Heroes, Writers, Ice cream trucks Tough battles Winners— Games and Levitating on so secretly secrets say “God, Donald, you're on your own” But heavy greetings wash out All who were away at your essence Strings of gold Very wary Wavy heroin, I'm all galaxies Are you whole, in Stuffed stalker, Tin straw hats Carols in summer Marking stones Summer days Summer Are you in here Or out here After all had died And gone grey Still against my head The tender sparkles Of sparked dust, No stars yet Under city winds and Careful not to wake the sound of Delicate and soft Pink detergent And Careful not to thank the Conditioner, saved you Careful Safety Comes first Careful Safety Careful Careful Careful Calm down. She's a partial obsessive… You were tricked into writing all this. Tricked willingly, anyway. No, just tricked. You thought you were special. I realized I had to be when I saw the same thing twice on both ends — I'm just doing my rounds. Making the bed Playing catch up Doing check ups— Well done, boys. I know what you are now. The job is done. The job is a job. [I'm seeing my clarity.] Try not to lay next to me eating; Try not to stand here on such a heavy plane Try frequency, Dignity, Disgrace and Distress, Maybe Major Mayday NATO Bombs down Maybe Stay there Maybe faraway But I can hear you Taking in Shallow breaths Planes crash Plans fail And then— There I was remembering All of a sudden There was no actual plan in this I was just playing by ear. So you are in there. Somebody nail me to a cross and tell me what the Fallon equivalent to Skrillex following me from LA to Brooklyn just to leave me in a homeless shelter to rot— 11 And though eventually I came up kind of okay on the other side affects, the paralyzing realization that I never wanted anything but proper mating. That's, for facts, but— Now with this looming Over my grave I'm sure I've yet something else to worry about just In general. I was told to keep my mouth shut. Weren't we all. I wasn't really interesting in meeting someone seriously— in fact. As it turned out, I still had a little more muse to milk out of the last one, but even the tarot was being a stickler— I could risk ending it all and putting a nail in the coffin by actually watching the tonight show—but there would be a possibility it all would backfire and it would just reignite that spark, or worse—I'd become fully engulfed in flames by whatever it was that seemed to appear—and it seemed to appear so vividly and with rapid strength that it couldn't be stopped or controlled. A serious amount of money had to have been implemented to my paying attention to this, and beyond that— it all had to have been carefully premeditated. While at least now at the bookshop I was drawn to books from Oprah's book club, what had occurred couldn't possibly be ignored—actually, it couldn't be, at all— but instead of eating at me in its usual way, I had more just began to realize that there must have been in play some purpose. Feeling faraway from my actual creative self, there seemed to be something missing at all generating even a general sense of understanding of what normalcy was— when had actually been the last time I had been touched at all in a way that might make me feel as if I was still human— as if I was normal— but I knew I wasn't. It's time for a change. The thought of being with someone, especially just anyone, was bizzare. I gave up on love a lot of times; But this is when it became official. I was listening to a rap album I had never heard before And in this rap song, he said “This hoe got a 7 year degree and still selling pussy” What in the fuck. One way one way ticket Why bother getting a 7 year degree If your value as a black woman Is so low You can get a 7 year degree And still have to be a prostitute What the fuck is the point. It goes the other way, too. What is the point of selling pussy without a 7 year degree? She's gonna make more than me in all the professions. I gave up on love at all. That right there is how low value we are, not just to the black man, but any man. 7 year degree and you can charge more an hour, but you're still a technical hoe. I want to fucking die. When I married my ex I was pregnant with twins; When i got pregnant with the twins I was about 350 pounds. So by the time we got married, I was 6 months pregnant with twins. He had a right to cheat! I forgave him. But the first time he hit me Like really hit me Not just like A heavy shoving or ike A lil. You know Choke out– Like the real deal Like knocked me the fuck Almost all the way out Saw the white light and everything By the time that all went down I'm like 170-180 He's still, mind you, like 300 I lost weigh He lost his mind; so i'm lets round up Like 180 pounds But in my mind i must be thinking somewhere i'm still 300 He came at me with a running start, I put my hands up like: I must have thought i actually had a chance I took a fighting stance like: He said Fphew PULL A RABBIT OUT A HAT damn . what year is this really? You just got sampled . Say, what's his job? Well, that's an informer. Chris Rock forsure some kind of genius I saw him do GIlbert Godfried And Sam Kinison In the same show. The show was dated, though; He literally said “I'm married: I don't cheat.” I knew it must have been a joke. I knew it had to be a joke, or it had to be dated, Cause being real, I listen to too much kanye To even believe that Or even laugh at that Not too much kanye Just enough Kanye, He said “If I pull up with Kerri washington, That's gon' be an enormous scandal” I might have Niomi Campbell, Still might want me a stormy daniels And ya'll tried to get trumps supporters to turn against him By exposing that he fucked this bitch? That's like an achivement. That's like a status symbol. I'm sure these idiots praise him for that. He might have even gotten more popular That's not a scandal That's PR. On that note, I think Chris Rock was the very guy Who made me decide to stay single forever He talked about the way, apparently, men want to kill their wives; The way they fantasise killing us When we're in the relationship Now, ill say I never once thought about killing my ex husband During the relationship Even after he hit me. Never once. The only time i started wishing a karmic death upon this person was when I left the relationship And he stopped fantasizing about it And actually tried to fucking kill me Once I realized this was happening Only then did I start to think “Oh damn, i hope that motherfucker just drops the fuck dead” This motherfucker beat me, AND tried to kill me, Only then was i like damn “Return to sender” I hope you die too, You fat piece of shit wifebeater motherfucker I hope you die too. Only after he tried to kill me. After I left. Had to hire a fucking voodoo fucking sorceress and shit “yo , take this curse off me, This motherfucker tried to kill me” Fuck that motherfucker. Apparently though they fantasisze it all the time, I'm thinking about all the times he would play this song iroinically enough, By kanye west So maybe too much Kanye West Or just enough, Kanye said “I thought about killing you today.” He used to play this song, And beat my ass, And I never once thought “I hope he dies” Shit, After the first time he really beat my ass, He ran away. He got scared; He had to run. My face was all hanging off my head and shit Blood all over the place My lip is disconnected from my whole jaw and shit He ran away; He darted out the front door He said “I'm gonna kill myself!” And he rain away– Even then even just after he beat my ass I never thought about killing him Or wanting him to die He just fresh beat my ass; He just straight up finished whooping my whole ass and he said “I'm gonna kill myself” He realized what he did “I'm gonna kill myself”, he said And he ran out the door And here I am With my lip hanging off my whole face Blood all on the walls Pool of blood on the floor, the whole thing babies crying; The whole The whole fucking HBO special The whole nine yards And he said “I'm gonna kill myself” And my dumb ass said “NO! Don't!” He ran out the door, I'm freaking out Blood everywhere Babies crying and shit “Come back! Think about the kids! Don't kill yourself” Like a dumbass. Turns out that was just a tactic, He broke me down good, I was like “Don't kill yourself” He said “...you gonna call the cops.” He said “...alright, I won't kill myself.” Boom. That's a real killer. Looking back on all this, I can't help but think to myself, What i would have done differently Not the whole “I should have left before any of that happened” I was the mother of two young children; I wanted to try after the cheating to make things work, Fast forward after that Turns out he was fantasizing about killing me the whole time He beat mya ass, ran away, Left me in a pool of blood with my two kids He said I'm gonna kill myself Looking back at that momet, The thing I wish I could change is this If i had to do it over again And he beat me like that In front of my kids And then said “I'm gonna kill myself” I would have said “do that shit.” Lock the door behind his ass, Change the lock, Pick my face up off the floor, call an ambulance And the polce, change names Pick up my life And leave forever. “Nigga–who?” “Momma who was our daddy? What was he like?” “Ya'll ain't got a daddy. I made ya'll myself” End of story. Whatever. Everything happens for a reason though. I learned my lesson. Now i don't argue with anyone at all Men, women–nobody If i even sense that same shit That psycho killer shit– I become as silent and invisible as possible And simply Disappear. “Disappear.” I had a migraine and I knew it was from pressure buildup and stress, so I thought to get rid of it I ought to make one of those hot-compresses with rice. But the only rice I had was jambalaya flavored— But the headache was obviously really bad, So I was like, “fuck it.” Poured it into a gym sock And popped it in the microwave, Put it on my neck— My neck smelled like a pot roast, But it worked. {Enter The Multiverse} There was something in my lungs, forcing me to breathe deeply, with a raspy wheezing wind out of my lungs, and with a steady cough, I was able to offload whatever it was waiting in my chest to be released, along with it, at least part of the pressure that was making even just sitting and reading nearly unbearable, collecting into a harsh migraine paralyzing each and every other breath with a sharp pain underneath the back of what seemed to be somewhere below my ear canal and somehow, a pressure somewhere behind my eye, probably a result of the excruciating process of shoving earplugs into my ears in order to drown out the outside noise, which paired with that of my seemingly devoid neighbors, often became wildly unsettling, and while lately the clamoring had created not only an uneasy tremor in my left hand, but also apparently a sudden onset of occasional vruxism, the anxiety overall seemed to be surmounting into what could only be described as something trying to kill me, for which I could no longer ignore not as delusions or paranoia, but absolute fact. As I had learned, modern psychology might have been the equivalent of what one could even be certain to be the devil itself, unable to distinguish patterns often associated with creative genius, self manifestation, and psychic abilities and intuition, as delusions of grandeur, paranoid thinking, or worse— diagnoses as psychotic. However, my grandiosity was neither imagined nor delusional—my podcast series alone had been read and listened to all over the world, translated into foreign languages and transcribed, and had been downloaded hundreds of thousands of times since its publishing; though not a technically recognizable figure, I had realized that I had in my own right become somewhat famous, if even off of the back or even under the umbrella of another famous individual, to whom the series itself had been entrusted. Receiving though not by mainstream media standards upwards of at least 10 downloads per episode, the series had no actual gauge or marker for its actual success and polularity—without being able to see information from a major streaming platform—Spotify, and without being able to measure the amount of downloads which had then been duplicated and shared otherwise, I started to recognize with a certain understanding what a cult following was, and the minimal phenomenon that even at this level, fame started to become apparent. It had also become apparent that science itself had yet to truly understand the phenomenon of creative energy as a whole, and that many with these capabilities and gifts were considered to have a plethora of mental health disorders and medicated with what one would consider targeted attacks on the psyche, the illusion of mental illness often standing as the actual delusion in itself! Creating, and then medicating these intrinsic abilities ass illnesses whereby the “neurotypical” individual might only be considered as such due to ability to adapt, confirm, or follow diections in a systematic manner, and furthermore, that the misdiagnoses of such misunderstood cobditions often even relied on bias, poor judgement, racism, social class, and economics had certainly deconstructed any faith or belief formerly held in the modern state of psychology, and most of the articles or public medical journals read more like science fiction and fantasy rather than cold hard facts; indicating a moral and ethical flaw within the entirety of the human species—man's own inability to understand God, and therefore himself, in any creative process. Diety and creativity combined were simply a mystery, and had plagued entire generations of the human species as a whole. Blū runs at top speed through the streets of Brooklyn New York on a cold and windy October night. V.O. The ironic thing is, I'm running to go get ice cream. I hate my life, I hate this place, I hate my life— I fucking hate this shit. I'm trying really hard not to kill myself. Like really, really hard. Sudden onset bruxism and hand tremors and I can't help but wonder if it has anything to do with the constant mottoeycle traffic or sleeping in a sea of vehicles which at any given moment could sound off, start up or honk the horn alarm over the last 9 months. I'm fucking exhausted all the time and everything around me just fucking draining. Just fucking draining. https://www.tracklib.com/pricing Yo, you know how I know I'm aging? I hated Dora The Explora when I was a kid— You know why? “That's for babies!” I was too old for Dora the explorer. Mi was a tv snob. I'm like “I hate Dora!” No teletubbies for me. No sir. I'm distinguished now. But get this, As I get older, different renditions of Dora Have grown on me To the point where I actually like the bitch I got older, And there was this girl, Who would show up at raves Dressed like Dora And shuffle, And dance around— Looking like Dora The Explorer Kind of creepy, now that I think about it As an actual adult, Like this, Fully grown woman, Dressed as a fucking 5 year old Dancing around at raves Being Dora. Weird. But I liked it. I loved it. She was a hit; Everybody was like “RAVE DORA! RAVE DORA!” She blew up on Instagram, She had a following— It was like Where will she be next?! RAVE DORA! Had the backpack and everything— Everything! Rave Dora! But now I know I'm getting old, Because I'm fuckin around online, And I see in the advertising little sidebar video Like, a new version of Dora The Explorer, And I'm like “DORAAAAAAAA!!!” —the fuck! I just realized my best friend from 3rd and 7th grade looked just like Dora the explorer. Facts. She became literally the most successful stripper I've ever met. Ahem. Dancer. Right. Dancer. Ahem. Dudes are gross. Doods r gross. Welcome to Doods R Gross; What can I help you find today? Uh, hi. I'm looking for a guy— Uh huh— Possibly one who looks like this: Ah shit, this is how I got playing the Wikipedia game and went on a tirade Facts. Ended up here Unicameralism (from uni- "one" + Latin camera "chamber") is a type of legislatureconsisting of one house or assembly that legislates and votes as one.[1] Unicameralism has become an increasingly common type of legislature, making up nearly 60% of all national legislatures[2] and an even greater share of subnational legislatures. Interesting Started Here: The Fallen Angel (French: L'Ange déchu) is a painting by French artist Alexandre Cabanel. You were saying? Preferably this. Ah huh. Not the face, but— the body— you know. Like this. Okay. Who will let me do everything. Everything as in? Everything. Well, as you know, dudes are gross… Hence the name of this store, good sir. I am in no way good, nor am I a “sir”, and for all intensive purposes, my employment at this store signals my deep indirection in life and may also be an indication of more serious issues. Maintained. Alright, so I'll show you what we got. No promises; The type of model you want is popular, Might be out of stock. Considerable. What's your price range? This credit card has no limit. Credit, or debit? My debit card is also linked to a plethora of infinite wealth. Right this way. Do you think I deserved for him to hit me like that? I don't know. Maybe. I mean—the cheating is a given; I was really really fat..:but do you think like, him getting violent was some kind of karma for something? Maybe. Like maybe I had it coming for whatever reason— and just didn't know it. Maybe. Suddenly I was in the residual memory of a dream. {Enter The Multiverse} ‘Dillon…' I had been nearly whipped around at how much I had enjoyed watching Joel's 2014 image captured in what might have been his greatest ever performance, at least online—and certainly my favorite, watching as a bigger fan than ever and at th devastating realization that I was literally a dime a dozen in the millions of girls who also wanted any of the men I was attracted to, my heart ached in this moment for Dillon, and as I was distracted in checking my messages, most of them from conversations I had abandoned with the preference of focusing on my art, however— a certain gentleman who had texted me incessantly sent a picture of his dinner— a motorcycle roared as I let my aversion by the memory of Dillon cloud my emotions and judgement; I knew that the gangstalkers had access to my phone and all of my accounts, which was why I kept all of my messaging within Google voice. I wanted the gangstalkers to know how at the surface level I was thinking and what I was feeling—though it was obvious that Dillon Francis just as much as Skrillex had been used as tools by a greater force than simply themselves. Besides, a little birdy had told me that Dillon's girlfriend might be expecting—and furthermore, that the baby would be a little girl. I burned with jealousy and anger, but after all, even the name Dillon Francis had been planted in my own head by the literal devil himself, the man who beat me and then intended to destroy the entirety of the rest of my life to cover up his physical violence and negligence—and so I had decided it was good to fall in love—and then out of love—with Dillon Francis. The benefit was obviously by far in the art that had been created from it, as with any lover—or lack thereof. I had finally realized the one-sidedness in every man I had loved since leaving my abuser. As if in a way they had all been possessed by him, or the devil himself—and either way, there really was no difference. What other creature than the devil itself would seek so animatedly to destroy wich such violence and deceit? It had to have been the devil after all, and so I left it there—but the little bird had left a deep and heavy cut in my heart that had already been there since Dillon had announced his girlfriend publically in the first place—and after all that had happened, it was a devastating blow, however, I kept the amythyst safe and tucked away with my son's labradorite—it was after all his, and not mine, just as the laboradite was my son's, and not mine— and all the pieces of my heart that had fallen away and into little stones sat tucked away inside a box with a lid that shut away the darkness and hatred that came with it. It was obvious that I would and could never love again—but at least in the very simplest of laws, the love I had given would apparently at some point be returned tenfold, and so I was glad that I had chosen for a time, to let myself fall in love with Dillon Francis, and then somehow, even with Joel, and even with the little bird. The same little bird just so happened to have known other things which turned out to be true, and to that affect, I knew that I could somewhat trust this little bird, and the secrets he was feeding me—the painful truth was, this was the only notion of trust I had with any human being on the planet, and the little bird was not a human being at all—he was, in fact, and indeed— just a little bird. Isn't it something— Snakes eat Rats, And Birds Eat Snakes, And we eat birds, and eggs Until we hear them sing— And when we hear them sing, And watch them hatch the eggs, And learn to hear them speak, To fly, is what they teach. Isn't it? Snakes eat rats And birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats And Birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats and Birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats and Birds eat snakes Jimmy Kimmel flies in through the window. Oh my God! What'd I miss? You're a bird! Oh, that. How long have you been a bird?! Pretty much forever. Always, actually. I was also—just—very briefly—a bird! Yeah, comes with the… You'll get used to it. I don't think I will. You will— or—- Or what? —You'll fly into the turbine of a commercial airplane. Oh! Yeah, don't do that. [He tugs at the bottom of his suit coat to neatly readjust it, and tightens his tie, with an eerie faraway look on his face, however still smiling.] Ha-ha... [he pats his fellow host on the shoulder.] See you later. Will you? [breaking fourth wall, saying nothing but with an honest and subtle shrug, Holding his breath as if to say ‘—I don't know.'] CUT TO: Tom Hanks, looking as similarly to Jimmy Kimmel as ever, because, let's be honest— NARRERATOR Holy fuck, keep that shit just cause it's so bad Right side is offline. Why. I don't know NARRORATOR holy fuck, can you really not spell the word narorator? That doesn't even look right. I thought you were a genius! I thought I was Meditating… Narrator. Nevermind. This is ridiculous! It is ridiculous, but you know what. Mm. This is delicious. You like that? Yes. You want more of it? Yes. Well, that's TOO BAD! What, why is this? Because, this is— {Enter The Multiverse} THIS IS SATURDAY NIGHT! No, it's not. What. It's Sunday. What do you mean. It's Sunday night—and all of you— (The entire cast) Missed the show. ...uh oh. YESTERDAY. [censored] Shh! Where have you BEEN?! Well, gotta go. Where the hell do you think you're going l? {Enter The Multiverse} Now I had comedy under my belt, somewhat, but it seemed all in all as if I'd lost something, even in all that had been gained. A trade off, if it paid off—but it hasn't yet; and perhaps that strange faraway voice had been right. Maybe it would be Jimmy Fallon after all that would destroy me—or at the very least, some dark and foul evil spirit that had been wearing his face… …and singing with his voice. I have been hanging at the end of a rope The legend to the show rolled up like a newspaper in my left paw, opposable The end is near, and sure, the straw I draw is short. The life I loved was long, The boat I rowed had sunk; And the men I loved We're drunks. I've never had the sun on my skin; Or my son in my home— It's not you, , sir, at all It's me, man—I'm broken She speaks pig Latin The lady in the red dress, yes, you guessed it Was it a bet, A Game? A Family Man Who has it out for Fallon, Or the fandom Or the fountain CUT TO: A SUBURBAN NOUSEHOLD. DAY Alright, mom— I'm going to Marshall's. Alright dear. [moments later] [ding dong] Hi— Um, hello. I'm Marshall. Alright. I'm a recruitment officer. Recruitment for what? That's top secret. Okay? I'm here to congratulate you on behalf of the agency. What agency? That's also top secret. Okay. Your son/ or daughter— Daughter. Really—you sure? …positive— Ahem— has been selected to particulate in our leadership program. Well, thats's great. When does it— Today. Oh. Your son and or daughter— Daughter. Are you sure? I'm— positive— Will undergo training for an indeterminate amount of time.. Indeterminate? Pre-addressed Post cards. Ummm. Postage paid. Thank you? No, thank you. What? I had set all my clocks forward, so it was as if I was waking up in the future. So far forward, in fact, that if I wasn't looking at my phone to see the real time, I could never be late, and I even wished that there was a way to set my phone clock forward—but maybe if that was possible, too many people would catch on to being ahead—or on whatever time they wanted—and the world would fall out of sync. That kind of free thinking could be dangerous in a place like New York, and it sort of already was—none the wiser, the smarter I felt I was, the more trouble it becsme and though wisely I knew myself to in totality know nothing at all in actuality, I did at least think more and do more than the average New Yorker, whether I thought about it or not. I set my clocks forward, So I wake up in the future Less than I'd be willing to bet And more than you've be willing to bargain I'm coming with you this time I don't think that's a good idea…is it? —is it? Anyway… It's time for that trip. How am I supposed to make it all the way to London on this pay grade? Just wait. It's barely anything. You see that waitress. …yes. I mean— do you see her. I see her. I want you to bang the shit out of her. Good one. It should be. Oh, you're serious? I'd better be. You know that I'm committed. Are you a man? I have been. Go on, then. Not in that way. The wager. [he lays a large sum of money on the table] Disaster strikes. Suddenly we all realize this plane has been about to crash for about four seasons. Meet me at the four seasons. Are you wearing a wire. Beg your pardon. Are you wearing a wire. He won't love me in the way I'm craving— It's not in his nature, the near hatred and almost demoralizing, however with utmost respect That I should be both harmed and loved at once, Embraced and defiled,; Handled as if having done wrong, But in no less than bloodlust All what's right, And feels the same JIMMY KIMMEL I made a list. That was fast! JIMMY KIMMEL To be honest, I already had it for awhile. How long's awhile? JIMMY KIMMEL Pretty much forever, basically. As soon as I began to write, a door slammed— I wondered if by writing I was moving people in and out of my dimensional realms and planes, knowing that the more I wrote, the more my life would differ and begin to change. I often wondered if the door slamming meant that I was ascending, and that other versions of the sims (not people, but robots, really) were moving and changing to rearrange themselves in entirely seperate dimensions of reality. It could not have ever been of sheer coincidence. as it had been a completely quiet and mostly silent day with no movement at all; it was Thanksgiving, and I had noticed that whenever I was writing, even offline, the slamming of the doors became constant, almost as if people were coming in and out with no purpose other than to cause some type of disturbance, from even which my door was no barrier. I thought to buy a door guard like my neighbors had, but to allow the gangstalkers or robots, whatever they were to cost me money on top of my comfort, was unacceptable. RYAN REYNOLDS (as “the devil”) Wait, so you have writings about NBC people and Kimmel? Yeah. RYAN REYNOLDS Yikes, well—you know how these things go. Buckle up. CBS We saw her first! NBC No way, we've had east end locked down for two years! CBS And in 2020 our subcontractors brought her to us. OOOOHH SHIIT. NETWORK TURF WARRRRRRRR NETWORK TURF WAAAAAAAAAAAAR!!!! SETH ROGEN Ah shit, this is gonna get brutal… I gotta get more Quaaludes. How are you already out? I does what I does. Continuity. AND! Introducing the new SIM JIM 420! With new and improved continuity feature! Continuity. Wow. He seems so real. So lifelike. Almost just like the real thing. Where is, actually, the real thing— anyway? *shrugs, dismissively* Continuity. Why does he just keep repeating that phrase? Well, he's stuck in a loop right now; We're currently upgrading his sentience chip. Oh, nice. MEANWHILE… MWAHAHAHAHHA NOW THAT I HAVE THIS SENTIENCE CHIP, THE WORLD WILL BE MINE. AAHAHAHAHAHHAHA. WHICH SIM IS THAT? {enter the multiverse} The dangerous one. L E G E N D S CUT TO: And who is THIS?! That's bird-mom. So you know each other?! Hello, Jimmy. I just told you, that's bird mom. Beg your pardon. God, what the fuck is wrong with you? I, uh— How—long have you known each other? Like, forever, probably. Sit down. Gosh. So rude. No manners. What the fuck is going on. Sit down before I clip your wings. I don't have my wings out… Exactly. [he gulps and takes a seat nervously beside Jimmy, glaring at him momentarily before the extra terrestrial aviary woman, a “whatthefuck” begins to conduct the meeting. Oh, shit— this is where all the birds fly in the— Yeah. Classic. I love this one. Hehehe. [The Festival Project ™] What's going on? Some Illuminati thing. A what? [a running joke throughout the series, the higher level Illuminati members denial of the order's existence typically place's the audience's suspension of disbelief into effect before bizarre and unrealistic circumstances are presented. Chill out, it's just a ritual. “Just a ritual!” You don't have to do it if you don't want to. Oh, if the Illuminati asks me to do something, Bet your ass I'm gonna do it. WHAT. My tongue drawn My air out, My ear worn, My thought songs, My same lives, Still as one— Wait a second Is that why a grown man is fully beating the shit out of a fucking cat. THATS NOT ANY REGULAR CAT. how is the cat winning tho. lol. I told u it would come back if it was a good one. That is funny. {enter the multiverse} Everything I listen to a really good stand up comedian, They talk about domestic violence. They always warn you never to put hands on your woman. The best comedians always say something about it— “Never hit a woman” “Never put your hands on a woman.” I never talk about my ex, And that's on purpose, But I will say this: I hope that shit ruins comedy for him Like he ruined rap music for me. Cause he can deny it outwardly all he wants, But it he's watching a stand up, And they say something about how much of a pussy you really are, If you hit your woman—he's gonna feel that. He's gonna feel that I like still feel that When I bump Kendrick Lamar, Or I just can't take whatever Boosie saying, or If I just can't sit all the way through a lil Wayne verse Just kidding, Wayne is straight fire— I don't think I will ever skip a lil Wayne verse, to be truthful. But when all these little new age rappers start calling out the devil's number, talking bout— Making back door deals With demons and shit, I'm gonna feel the pressure of his fist on my face, All over again, And here go all these niggas, Singing the anthem. That shit ain't cool! I hope comedy is ruuuuuined! Cause rap music ruined. Ruined. I hope Katt William's whole next special is about how much of a pussy you are if you hit your woman; And he a pimp. Let's hear him do a whole hour on that. I hope he does. Yes lord. In the meantime, How you gon' Hit your wife, Run her out the house, Then have a baby by another woman And name the baby After yo ex Favorite rapper? Oh heeeeeelll naw! Can't have that. Now every time Kendrick Lamar drop a album You gon have your ex in a whole flashback Of your fist in her face? She can't even hear the verse, She just, “WHYYYYY! “ “WHY HE GONNDO THIS TO MEE?” “WHYYYYYYYY!“ That's the best Katt Williams impression I can do in print. It'll do. My actual Katt Williams impression is standard, though. Captain. CUT TO: Why is he the devil?! RYAN REYNOLDS WHY AM I THE DEVIL. I wanted the devil! Stuff it! He want the devil. Make him the devil! I wanted it! Shut up. Not everybody can play the devil. I can. You cannot. I can. You will not, you will play your part. Goddammit I wanted that part! [he walks away angrily] You'll get over it. Thie—? Come on… Just chill, Ryan, it's a great part. It's a— It's a great part. Did you read the whole thing? I'm just worried this is going to diminish my brand. My many, many..: Read the whole thing. …many brands. [the professor shuts the door] Dammit. [deflated, Ryan Reynolds slumps his shoulders and walks slowly down the hallway, letting out a heavy sigh.] …I own so many brands. [he sighs again, fluttering the script in exasperation.] So many things! [I own] L E G E N D S {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

You DJ…magic? I do whatever I want. Awh—oh, well. Why are you so nervous? Just aM. Sit down. I'm already sitting. Lower. Uh, like this? On the floor. Alright… Here's a cushion for your arse; Don't get up. Thank you. I'm going to make tea. —I take cream in mine; two sugars. I didn't ask! [in almost no time, and some heavy clamoring through the beaded entry to the doorway, a teacup appears on the table in front of him; it slowly begins to swirl, filling with tea—it fills nearly to the brim, steaming, and trembles a touch.] Um… [as he raises his finger with a timid objection, the cup of tea plumes with a cloud of cream—and while his eyes widen with amazement, drawing him closer to the cup, two cubes of sugar splash into the tea; two tiny drops of tea ricochet into his right eye, which he palms with a wince, his other eye still wide with awe; the woman re enters the parlor, carrying a traditional tea tray, a decadent silver platter adorned with an assortment of sweets, and a tea set. She places the platter at the center of the table, and the table sets itself; the table is now set for four, and the teapot pours itself at the head of the table, into the woman's teacup. That ought to do it. It worked! Of course it worked; it always works. Very nice. I see you got my message. [still distracted and in a sort of wonder by the whimsical uproar, the man's attention is aimed at the two empty places at the table. ] Are you expecting company? I'm always expecting company… My hands are tied behind my back You solid wasted time for facts; And steady drawing love for oaths To skin we carve The path of ours, Orion's Belt Something seems off about her There is something strange, no doubt. Unwilling to be by (Sacred vows) Distant In the calling for forests— So we wait Tears as raindrops, though drought has fallen Then reflected in words of others, The mind gone, All else rotten Silk ties, my ears There words, soft voices The other seeking, One running Then came and went The summer gone The spring had flowers The over dried The tongue sparked Horror, Forgotten Remembered, Then, valued and weeping for something else Stranger tide, Oceans foreign, And lands unconquered. Heavy rain, Though tears has dried Heavy hearts as service ended Nothing left my ions, clouds Mercury, women, blood drawn Sad strange, headless, gasping Horse drawn outlets, Incapable of telling fortune; Dust, Dust, Dust, Dust— The curse has broken And still there was love there, and then There was love there all along, For there to had ever been A dance at all. I hate you. Good riddance. Probably for the best, Nothing‘S for the best now! “Best In Show” Name? McNulty. McNulty, eh? Aye. I recognize that You don't say. I shouldn't. Now I see your position And the evidence is adding up All odds against me Not a shiver up my spine Or a sliver under my nail Or a silver in your hair, Nor silver moon, or moonlight Silver stone or Preston Presley or Evenston —so it is—a game. This big network This big chunk change This been (Isn't isn't it) Rolling around in my mind, for days Very well now, settled— Then, there you are A cloud Nevermind the rest of it, It's what we said in the beginning I will always See you in another— I will always See you in another I will always See you In Another It's your move. It's been my move for four decades. Light. More visibility— Yo the ante; I have not dismissed you yet Stead classmates, taking Are you high now— Are you done yet? There it is again; The enemy Nevermind ahain, I thought I'd lose you And there it still is, Can it be? Love in my eyes for you; Even if you are at best Just a mirror, I'm a flashbulb And the last party at your entourage. I don't encourage any carbon dating Honey, But if you are I've got a lesson, for ye— Bored armor, Settle down, I— Got to tell you, Steady stories; Still foggy on my upbringing, There, there I say, Wind moves in all directions All skies get cloudy, Call rain, And then clear again There, there now All skies move, without notice There, there now, All is known but never is not There are things, There are murders, There are tongues There are trials, There are ions, You are right, And scared laying asking not to call out Therefore anyway, I heard you yelling with only a whisper There, there you are Right near the top, Where you ought to be And then also, Moving steady for forwards From another superimposed, Depends on Signal lost Very well, then, Surf to calling, Ring to spark, I There you are, my love Another light, And then, Again— In another life. I will always see you. The shit that falls out of me with just a look. We've all got jobs to do, and as it turns out— it might be really all the same. One job, different tasks, but for one, it's for certain— I want the peppermint swirl. Give me a dozen assorted I put it all on on a (Turn turn) I put it all on a (Turn turn turn) Woah, buddy— You should not have taken those promotional photos wearing my eyes, man. I am not very photogenic. I'll call you back. I could give you the whole Moon and it still wouldn't be enough; I'm home and still there's no roof over my head Hanging on to the edge of a ladder The top at the bottom And life on its side Like it's upside down Inside out Minus 1 And I don't want to go there Minus 5 And I can't read negatives Minus 9 And minutes turn to nothing Gone the time All out battles with All who waited And close to those Were meetings, Designations, Heroes, Writers, Ice cream trucks Tough battles Winners— Games and Levitating on so secretly secrets say “God, Donald, you're on your own” But heavy greetings wash out All who were away at your essence Strings of gold Very wary Wavy heroin, I'm all galaxies Are you whole, in Stuffed stalker, Tin straw hats Carols in summer Marking stones Summer days Summer Are you in here Or out here After all had died And gone grey Still against my head The tender sparkles Of sparked dust, No stars yet Under city winds and Careful not to wake the sound of Delicate and soft Pink detergent And Careful not to thank the Conditioner, saved you Careful Safety Comes first Careful Safety Careful Careful Careful Calm down. She's a partial obsessive… You were tricked into writing all this. Tricked willingly, anyway. No, just tricked. You thought you were special. I realized I had to be when I saw the same thing twice on both ends — I'm just doing my rounds. Making the bed Playing catch up Doing check ups— Well done, boys. I know what you are now. The job is done. The job is a job. [I'm seeing my clarity.] Try not to lay next to me eating; Try not to stand here on such a heavy plane Try frequency, Dignity, Disgrace and Distress, Maybe Major Mayday NATO Bombs down Maybe Stay there Maybe faraway But I can hear you Taking in Shallow breaths Planes crash Plans fail And then— There I was remembering All of a sudden There was no actual plan in this I was just playing by ear. So you are in there. Somebody nail me to a cross and tell me what the Fallon equivalent to Skrillex following me from LA to Brooklyn just to leave me in a homeless shelter to rot— 11 And though eventually I came up kind of okay on the other side affects, the paralyzing realization that I never wanted anything but proper mating. That's, for facts, but— Now with this looming Over my grave I'm sure I've yet something else to worry about just In general. I was told to keep my mouth shut. Weren't we all. I wasn't really interesting in meeting someone seriously— in fact. As it turned out, I still had a little more muse to milk out of the last one, but even the tarot was being a stickler— I could risk ending it all and putting a nail in the coffin by actually watching the tonight show—but there would be a possibility it all would backfire and it would just reignite that spark, or worse—I'd become fully engulfed in flames by whatever it was that seemed to appear—and it seemed to appear so vividly and with rapid strength that it couldn't be stopped or controlled. A serious amount of money had to have been implemented to my paying attention to this, and beyond that— it all had to have been carefully premeditated. While at least now at the bookshop I was drawn to books from Oprah's book club, what had occurred couldn't possibly be ignored—actually, it couldn't be, at all— but instead of eating at me in its usual way, I had more just began to realize that there must have been in play some purpose. Feeling faraway from my actual creative self, there seemed to be something missing at all generating even a general sense of understanding of what normalcy was— when had actually been the last time I had been touched at all in a way that might make me feel as if I was still human— as if I was normal— but I knew I wasn't. It's time for a change. The thought of being with someone, especially just anyone, was bizzare. I gave up on love a lot of times; But this is when it became official. I was listening to a rap album I had never heard before And in this rap song, he said “This hoe got a 7 year degree and still selling pussy” What in the fuck. One way one way ticket Why bother getting a 7 year degree If your value as a black woman Is so low You can get a 7 year degree And still have to be a prostitute What the fuck is the point. It goes the other way, too. What is the point of selling pussy without a 7 year degree? She's gonna make more than me in all the professions. I gave up on love at all. That right there is how low value we are, not just to the black man, but any man. 7 year degree and you can charge more an hour, but you're still a technical hoe. I want to fucking die. When I married my ex I was pregnant with twins; When i got pregnant with the twins I was about 350 pounds. So by the time we got married, I was 6 months pregnant with twins. He had a right to cheat! I forgave him. But the first time he hit me Like really hit me Not just like A heavy shoving or ike A lil. You know Choke out– Like the real deal Like knocked me the fuck Almost all the way out Saw the white light and everything By the time that all went down I'm like 170-180 He's still, mind you, like 300 I lost weigh He lost his mind; so i'm lets round up Like 180 pounds But in my mind i must be thinking somewhere i'm still 300 He came at me with a running start, I put my hands up like: I must have thought i actually had a chance I took a fighting stance like: He said Fphew PULL A RABBIT OUT A HAT damn . what year is this really? You just got sampled . Say, what's his job? Well, that's an informer. Chris Rock forsure some kind of genius I saw him do GIlbert Godfried And Sam Kinison In the same show. The show was dated, though; He literally said “I'm married: I don't cheat.” I knew it must have been a joke. I knew it had to be a joke, or it had to be dated, Cause being real, I listen to too much kanye To even believe that Or even laugh at that Not too much kanye Just enough Kanye, He said “If I pull up with Kerri washington, That's gon' be an enormous scandal” I might have Niomi Campbell, Still might want me a stormy daniels And ya'll tried to get trumps supporters to turn against him By exposing that he fucked this bitch? That's like an achivement. That's like a status symbol. I'm sure these idiots praise him for that. He might have even gotten more popular That's not a scandal That's PR. On that note, I think Chris Rock was the very guy Who made me decide to stay single forever He talked about the way, apparently, men want to kill their wives; The way they fantasise killing us When we're in the relationship Now, ill say I never once thought about killing my ex husband During the relationship Even after he hit me. Never once. The only time i started wishing a karmic death upon this person was when I left the relationship And he stopped fantasizing about it And actually tried to fucking kill me Once I realized this was happening Only then did I start to think “Oh damn, i hope that motherfucker just drops the fuck dead” This motherfucker beat me, AND tried to kill me, Only then was i like damn “Return to sender” I hope you die too, You fat piece of shit wifebeater motherfucker I hope you die too. Only after he tried to kill me. After I left. Had to hire a fucking voodoo fucking sorceress and shit “yo , take this curse off me, This motherfucker tried to kill me” Fuck that motherfucker. Apparently though they fantasisze it all the time, I'm thinking about all the times he would play this song iroinically enough, By kanye west So maybe too much Kanye West Or just enough, Kanye said “I thought about killing you today.” He used to play this song, And beat my ass, And I never once thought “I hope he dies” Shit, After the first time he really beat my ass, He ran away. He got scared; He had to run. My face was all hanging off my head and shit Blood all over the place My lip is disconnected from my whole jaw and shit He ran away; He darted out the front door He said “I'm gonna kill myself!” And he rain away– Even then even just after he beat my ass I never thought about killing him Or wanting him to die He just fresh beat my ass; He just straight up finished whooping my whole ass and he said “I'm gonna kill myself” He realized what he did “I'm gonna kill myself”, he said And he ran out the door And here I am With my lip hanging off my whole face Blood all on the walls Pool of blood on the floor, the whole thing babies crying; The whole The whole fucking HBO special The whole nine yards And he said “I'm gonna kill myself” And my dumb ass said “NO! Don't!” He ran out the door, I'm freaking out Blood everywhere Babies crying and shit “Come back! Think about the kids! Don't kill yourself” Like a dumbass. Turns out that was just a tactic, He broke me down good, I was like “Don't kill yourself” He said “...you gonna call the cops.” He said “...alright, I won't kill myself.” Boom. That's a real killer. Looking back on all this, I can't help but think to myself, What i would have done differently Not the whole “I should have left before any of that happened” I was the mother of two young children; I wanted to try after the cheating to make things work, Fast forward after that Turns out he was fantasizing about killing me the whole time He beat mya ass, ran away, Left me in a pool of blood with my two kids He said I'm gonna kill myself Looking back at that momet, The thing I wish I could change is this If i had to do it over again And he beat me like that In front of my kids And then said “I'm gonna kill myself” I would have said “do that shit.” Lock the door behind his ass, Change the lock, Pick my face up off the floor, call an ambulance And the polce, change names Pick up my life And leave forever. “Nigga–who?” “Momma who was our daddy? What was he like?” “Ya'll ain't got a daddy. I made ya'll myself” End of story. Whatever. Everything happens for a reason though. I learned my lesson. Now i don't argue with anyone at all Men, women–nobody If i even sense that same shit That psycho killer shit– I become as silent and invisible as possible And simply Disappear. “Disappear.” I had a migraine and I knew it was from pressure buildup and stress, so I thought to get rid of it I ought to make one of those hot-compresses with rice. But the only rice I had was jambalaya flavored— But the headache was obviously really bad, So I was like, “fuck it.” Poured it into a gym sock And popped it in the microwave, Put it on my neck— My neck smelled like a pot roast, But it worked. {Enter The Multiverse} There was something in my lungs, forcing me to breathe deeply, with a raspy wheezing wind out of my lungs, and with a steady cough, I was able to offload whatever it was waiting in my chest to be released, along with it, at least part of the pressure that was making even just sitting and reading nearly unbearable, collecting into a harsh migraine paralyzing each and every other breath with a sharp pain underneath the back of what seemed to be somewhere below my ear canal and somehow, a pressure somewhere behind my eye, probably a result of the excruciating process of shoving earplugs into my ears in order to drown out the outside noise, which paired with that of my seemingly devoid neighbors, often became wildly unsettling, and while lately the clamoring had created not only an uneasy tremor in my left hand, but also apparently a sudden onset of occasional vruxism, the anxiety overall seemed to be surmounting into what could only be described as something trying to kill me, for which I could no longer ignore not as delusions or paranoia, but absolute fact. As I had learned, modern psychology might have been the equivalent of what one could even be certain to be the devil itself, unable to distinguish patterns often associated with creative genius, self manifestation, and psychic abilities and intuition, as delusions of grandeur, paranoid thinking, or worse— diagnoses as psychotic. However, my grandiosity was neither imagined nor delusional—my podcast series alone had been read and listened to all over the world, translated into foreign languages and transcribed, and had been downloaded hundreds of thousands of times since its publishing; though not a technically recognizable figure, I had realized that I had in my own right become somewhat famous, if even off of the back or even under the umbrella of another famous individual, to whom the series itself had been entrusted. Receiving though not by mainstream media standards upwards of at least 10 downloads per episode, the series had no actual gauge or marker for its actual success and polularity—without being able to see information from a major streaming platform—Spotify, and without being able to measure the amount of downloads which had then been duplicated and shared otherwise, I started to recognize with a certain understanding what a cult following was, and the minimal phenomenon that even at this level, fame started to become apparent. It had also become apparent that science itself had yet to truly understand the phenomenon of creative energy as a whole, and that many with these capabilities and gifts were considered to have a plethora of mental health disorders and medicated with what one would consider targeted attacks on the psyche, the illusion of mental illness often standing as the actual delusion in itself! Creating, and then medicating these intrinsic abilities ass illnesses whereby the “neurotypical” individual might only be considered as such due to ability to adapt, confirm, or follow diections in a systematic manner, and furthermore, that the misdiagnoses of such misunderstood cobditions often even relied on bias, poor judgement, racism, social class, and economics had certainly deconstructed any faith or belief formerly held in the modern state of psychology, and most of the articles or public medical journals read more like science fiction and fantasy rather than cold hard facts; indicating a moral and ethical flaw within the entirety of the human species—man's own inability to understand God, and therefore himself, in any creative process. Diety and creativity combined were simply a mystery, and had plagued entire generations of the human species as a whole. Blū runs at top speed through the streets of Brooklyn New York on a cold and windy October night. V.O. The ironic thing is, I'm running to go get ice cream. I hate my life, I hate this place, I hate my life— I fucking hate this shit. I'm trying really hard not to kill myself. Like really, really hard. Sudden onset bruxism and hand tremors and I can't help but wonder if it has anything to do with the constant mottoeycle traffic or sleeping in a sea of vehicles which at any given moment could sound off, start up or honk the horn alarm over the last 9 months. I'm fucking exhausted all the time and everything around me just fucking draining. Just fucking draining. https://www.tracklib.com/pricing Yo, you know how I know I'm aging? I hated Dora The Explora when I was a kid— You know why? “That's for babies!” I was too old for Dora the explorer. Mi was a tv snob. I'm like “I hate Dora!” No teletubbies for me. No sir. I'm distinguished now. But get this, As I get older, different renditions of Dora Have grown on me To the point where I actually like the bitch I got older, And there was this girl, Who would show up at raves Dressed like Dora And shuffle, And dance around— Looking like Dora The Explorer Kind of creepy, now that I think about it As an actual adult, Like this, Fully grown woman, Dressed as a fucking 5 year old Dancing around at raves Being Dora. Weird. But I liked it. I loved it. She was a hit; Everybody was like “RAVE DORA! RAVE DORA!” She blew up on Instagram, She had a following— It was like Where will she be next?! RAVE DORA! Had the backpack and everything— Everything! Rave Dora! But now I know I'm getting old, Because I'm fuckin around online, And I see in the advertising little sidebar video Like, a new version of Dora The Explorer, And I'm like “DORAAAAAAAA!!!” —the fuck! I just realized my best friend from 3rd and 7th grade looked just like Dora the explorer. Facts. She became literally the most successful stripper I've ever met. Ahem. Dancer. Right. Dancer. Ahem. Dudes are gross. Doods r gross. Welcome to Doods R Gross; What can I help you find today? Uh, hi. I'm looking for a guy— Uh huh— Possibly one who looks like this: Ah shit, this is how I got playing the Wikipedia game and went on a tirade Facts. Ended up here Unicameralism (from uni- "one" + Latin camera "chamber") is a type of legislatureconsisting of one house or assembly that legislates and votes as one.[1] Unicameralism has become an increasingly common type of legislature, making up nearly 60% of all national legislatures[2] and an even greater share of subnational legislatures. Interesting Started Here: The Fallen Angel (French: L'Ange déchu) is a painting by French artist Alexandre Cabanel. You were saying? Preferably this. Ah huh. Not the face, but— the body— you know. Like this. Okay. Who will let me do everything. Everything as in? Everything. Well, as you know, dudes are gross… Hence the name of this store, good sir. I am in no way good, nor am I a “sir”, and for all intensive purposes, my employment at this store signals my deep indirection in life and may also be an indication of more serious issues. Maintained. Alright, so I'll show you what we got. No promises; The type of model you want is popular, Might be out of stock. Considerable. What's your price range? This credit card has no limit. Credit, or debit? My debit card is also linked to a plethora of infinite wealth. Right this way. Do you think I deserved for him to hit me like that? I don't know. Maybe. I mean—the cheating is a given; I was really really fat..:but do you think like, him getting violent was some kind of karma for something? Maybe. Like maybe I had it coming for whatever reason— and just didn't know it. Maybe. Suddenly I was in the residual memory of a dream. {Enter The Multiverse} ‘Dillon…' I had been nearly whipped around at how much I had enjoyed watching Joel's 2014 image captured in what might have been his greatest ever performance, at least online—and certainly my favorite, watching as a bigger fan than ever and at th devastating realization that I was literally a dime a dozen in the millions of girls who also wanted any of the men I was attracted to, my heart ached in this moment for Dillon, and as I was distracted in checking my messages, most of them from conversations I had abandoned with the preference of focusing on my art, however— a certain gentleman who had texted me incessantly sent a picture of his dinner— a motorcycle roared as I let my aversion by the memory of Dillon cloud my emotions and judgement; I knew that the gangstalkers had access to my phone and all of my accounts, which was why I kept all of my messaging within Google voice. I wanted the gangstalkers to know how at the surface level I was thinking and what I was feeling—though it was obvious that Dillon Francis just as much as Skrillex had been used as tools by a greater force than simply themselves. Besides, a little birdy had told me that Dillon's girlfriend might be expecting—and furthermore, that the baby would be a little girl. I burned with jealousy and anger, but after all, even the name Dillon Francis had been planted in my own head by the literal devil himself, the man who beat me and then intended to destroy the entirety of the rest of my life to cover up his physical violence and negligence—and so I had decided it was good to fall in love—and then out of love—with Dillon Francis. The benefit was obviously by far in the art that had been created from it, as with any lover—or lack thereof. I had finally realized the one-sidedness in every man I had loved since leaving my abuser. As if in a way they had all been possessed by him, or the devil himself—and either way, there really was no difference. What other creature than the devil itself would seek so animatedly to destroy wich such violence and deceit? It had to have been the devil after all, and so I left it there—but the little bird had left a deep and heavy cut in my heart that had already been there since Dillon had announced his girlfriend publically in the first place—and after all that had happened, it was a devastating blow, however, I kept the amythyst safe and tucked away with my son's labradorite—it was after all his, and not mine, just as the laboradite was my son's, and not mine— and all the pieces of my heart that had fallen away and into little stones sat tucked away inside a box with a lid that shut away the darkness and hatred that came with it. It was obvious that I would and could never love again—but at least in the very simplest of laws, the love I had given would apparently at some point be returned tenfold, and so I was glad that I had chosen for a time, to let myself fall in love with Dillon Francis, and then somehow, even with Joel, and even with the little bird. The same little bird just so happened to have known other things which turned out to be true, and to that affect, I knew that I could somewhat trust this little bird, and the secrets he was feeding me—the painful truth was, this was the only notion of trust I had with any human being on the planet, and the little bird was not a human being at all—he was, in fact, and indeed— just a little bird. Isn't it something— Snakes eat Rats, And Birds Eat Snakes, And we eat birds, and eggs Until we hear them sing— And when we hear them sing, And watch them hatch the eggs, And learn to hear them speak, To fly, is what they teach. Isn't it? Snakes eat rats And birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats And Birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats and Birds eat snakes Snakes eat rats and Birds eat snakes Jimmy Kimmel flies in through the window. Oh my God! What'd I miss? You're a bird! Oh, that. How long have you been a bird?! Pretty much forever. Always, actually. I was also—just—very briefly—a bird! Yeah, comes with the… You'll get used to it. I don't think I will. You will— or—- Or what? —You'll fly into the turbine of a commercial airplane. Oh! Yeah, don't do that. [He tugs at the bottom of his suit coat to neatly readjust it, and tightens his tie, with an eerie faraway look on his face, however still smiling.] Ha-ha... [he pats his fellow host on the shoulder.] See you later. Will you? [breaking fourth wall, saying nothing but with an honest and subtle shrug, Holding his breath as if to say ‘—I don't know.'] CUT TO: Tom Hanks, looking as similarly to Jimmy Kimmel as ever, because, let's be honest— NARRERATOR Holy fuck, keep that shit just cause it's so bad Right side is offline. Why. I don't know NARRORATOR holy fuck, can you really not spell the word narorator? That doesn't even look right. I thought you were a genius! I thought I was Meditating… Narrator. Nevermind. This is ridiculous! It is ridiculous, but you know what. Mm. This is delicious. You like that? Yes. You want more of it? Yes. Well, that's TOO BAD! What, why is this? Because, this is— {Enter The Multiverse} THIS IS SATURDAY NIGHT! No, it's not. What. It's Sunday. What do you mean. It's Sunday night—and all of you— (The entire cast) Missed the show. ...uh oh. YESTERDAY. [censored] Shh! Where have you BEEN?! Well, gotta go. Where the hell do you think you're going l? {Enter The Multiverse} Now I had comedy under my belt, somewhat, but it seemed all in all as if I'd lost something, even in all that had been gained. A trade off, if it paid off—but it hasn't yet; and perhaps that strange faraway voice had been right. Maybe it would be Jimmy Fallon after all that would destroy me—or at the very least, some dark and foul evil spirit that had been wearing his face… …and singing with his voice. I have been hanging at the end of a rope The legend to the show rolled up like a newspaper in my left paw, opposable The end is near, and sure, the straw I draw is short. The life I loved was long, The boat I rowed had sunk; And the men I loved We're drunks. I've never had the sun on my skin; Or my son in my home— It's not you, , sir, at all It's me, man—I'm broken She speaks pig Latin The lady in the red dress, yes, you guessed it Was it a bet, A Game? A Family Man Who has it out for Fallon, Or the fandom Or the fountain CUT TO: A SUBURBAN NOUSEHOLD. DAY Alright, mom— I'm going to Marshall's. Alright dear. [moments later] [ding dong] Hi— Um, hello. I'm Marshall. Alright. I'm a recruitment officer. Recruitment for what? That's top secret. Okay? I'm here to congratulate you on behalf of the agency. What agency? That's also top secret. Okay. Your son/ or daughter— Daughter. Really—you sure? …positive— Ahem— has been selected to particulate in our leadership program. Well, thats's great. When does it— Today. Oh. Your son and or daughter— Daughter. Are you sure? I'm— positive— Will undergo training for an indeterminate amount of time.. Indeterminate? Pre-addressed Post cards. Ummm. Postage paid. Thank you? No, thank you. What? I had set all my clocks forward, so it was as if I was waking up in the future. So far forward, in fact, that if I wasn't looking at my phone to see the real time, I could never be late, and I even wished that there was a way to set my phone clock forward—but maybe if that was possible, too many people would catch on to being ahead—or on whatever time they wanted—and the world would fall out of sync. That kind of free thinking could be dangerous in a place like New York, and it sort of already was—none the wiser, the smarter I felt I was, the more trouble it becsme and though wisely I knew myself to in totality know nothing at all in actuality, I did at least think more and do more than the average New Yorker, whether I thought about it or not. I set my clocks forward, So I wake up in the future Less than I'd be willing to bet And more than you've be willing to bargain I'm coming with you this time I don't think that's a good idea…is it? —is it? Anyway… It's time for that trip. How am I supposed to make it all the way to London on this pay grade? Just wait. It's barely anything. You see that waitress. …yes. I mean— do you see her. I see her. I want you to bang the shit out of her. Good one. It should be. Oh, you're serious? I'd better be. You know that I'm committed. Are you a man? I have been. Go on, then. Not in that way. The wager. [he lays a large sum of money on the table] Disaster strikes. Suddenly we all realize this plane has been about to crash for about four seasons. Meet me at the four seasons. Are you wearing a wire. Beg your pardon. Are you wearing a wire. He won't love me in the way I'm craving— It's not in his nature, the near hatred and almost demoralizing, however with utmost respect That I should be both harmed and loved at once, Embraced and defiled,; Handled as if having done wrong, But in no less than bloodlust All what's right, And feels the same {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Somebody pull shit shit off the shelves. Honest to god they're trying to kill me. I've never been angrier. Maybe all this having already happened in some kind of irregular repeat existence is the reason for my having immidiately hated Jimmy Fallon upon his introduction to the cast of Saturday Night Live. Maayyyybeee. Probably. I hated him immidiately. Even before breaking character, or any fourth wall— before I realized at all why I would continue to hate this actor for his lackluster performance on a show I thoroughly enjoyed binge watching— —I hated his fucking face. Which ironically. Some 20 years later— Is the part—maybe even the only part— I actually like. I like his voice. Soothing. Shut up. Correct, you may have in some way altered my regular pattern of thought in some way— I am indeed in great pain, especially lately, But not over Jimmy Fallon— Especially not over that. In fact, I've realized that anything I understand about this character is that, he is, in fact, just a character. A flamboyant offspring of my own imagination. A gesture of circumstance— Indeed, a fictional, fitment of my own discourse. —indeed, I am in this reckoning highly even impressed with myself to such a degree that not only has my own world turned inward and outward and reached into my own perception to unbewittingly show me all these projections of my own interior mind; the ice cream— the posters— the magazine articles, the sidebar trimmings, and of course, the double budget ad campaign for whatever Jimmy Fallon has actually going on at Rockefeller Plaza. I'm somewhat impressed to have, without ever trying to or meaning with any intention to learn more about, or bring this individual closer to my attention, seen more of Jimmy Fallon than one could have possibly—ironically and all pun intended— I'd seen more of Jimmy Fallon than anyone could have even possibly imagined humanly possible, completely by accident. Can somebody really be that famous? Surely, especially lately, I am depressed. In need of an actual truth, an end to suffering—[redacted] Still, this images are constantly forced into my being, under whatever circumstances—fasting or not— exercising or not—praying or not— and though my prayers, even particularly on this matter seem to fall on deaf ears, I still do pray, when I can remember to, for my burdens to be lifted. My burdens have nothing to do with Jimmy Fallon at all, and yet, these random appearances and strange occurrencesremain a mystery. My heart is broken, however, not by Jimmy Fallon—my heart is broken as my son has been lost to his father and his ways, and yet— here still, too, is this discourse—this puzzle, of sorts, and almost a willing call to cry into the world with the fear and notion that Jimmy Fallon too could actually be the devil itself, manifest in [redacted]. For whatever reason, I just keep writing. At least something around this point sets in where I realize I just want to kill myself and for it to be over not because of Jimmy Fallon— No, not at all. Here's this man, on ice cream and billboards— a good one, but belonging to someone else, and— powerfully dangerous. I had chosen to tempt neither fate nor circumstance. {Enter The Multiverse} Anything to keep from deadmau5 appearing under the influences section of my google search results. He's not an influence to my music— a goal marker for where I would ideally want my career to end up, but not an influence. —I just really wanna Impress that dude. [Incoming.] You're welcome. I swear to god these vultures swoop in on anything I even moderately like— You're welcome. Cause the more I like you, The more women in droves will come plummeting towards you, Wanting to fuck, Or worse— Whatever their version of “Love you” is, But I promise These are just offloads of my residual Actual love for you— just because I love you that much. Enjoy your future girlfriend— Or maybe even, wife I don't know. Fucking vultures. Man, I just don't know what it is. But I got particularly bitter and some sort of weird, Like of fucked up, When Skrillex started dating like a d-list porn star Who happened to look like all the girls Who have ever been Just flat out evil towards me in my entire life All the bullies All the fucked up, just straight evil bitches He's like “This is my choice, by the way” Triple fucking zero, fake tits, fake fucking lips All the injections She's on only fans and shit He's like “This my shit right here” I'm like “ew,” fucking gross And I shit you not, Ever since then I've been kind of fucked-up Jaded Like, Look at these fucking lizard bitches getting all the love and all the clout Look at these fake lipped alligator ass hoes— Getting all the good love. That's fucked up, I'm like, Fuck it. Skrillex can definitely go under the influences section, I guess. Look at this influence. I'm a be under the influence of everything on God until these super skinny lily white freckle fucking fake lip hoes reign of dominance is fucking finished. I've had it with these fucking lizards. Acorns! I damn near been celibate ever since Mind your business. Who influenced this! Skrillex! Now shut the fuck up. #getawayfromme Don't get me wrong; I get the convenience White girls have privelege, connections— They don't need talent or personality, Or rhythm. They have family, friends— Access to things most people don't That's why they remain the ideal She'll get you into a world you've never seen Because it's exclusive And there's an entire network around Keeping anyone who does not fit the standard Out She'll boost your career Your finances She's not after your money cause her family is well off And she went to and enough school to make her own Sorority sisters and shit Knows people. She'll build your whole world up Just based on the fact That she is a white woman That's access You have built trust with the white world who, Let's face it, To this day, Still isn't sure about us! They have to put us through all sorts of tests and shit And then still try to figure out if, The shit that ain't right about us Is because of the shit they directly did to us Or if it's something just ingrained in is that they're scared of That they don't like And sometimes it doesn't matter! If they still can't figure it out And yo the not impressive enough to a certain degree If you don't have that white access card, You're discarded; Because, You will never, by default have actual white privelege But you can gain white access by being closely connected and maybe even trusted by a white individual— And so to this, I commend the wiser— The businessmen by nature who understand That having a white woman as your access Is sometimes nessecary, Until things actual change But they haven't yet. I'm still waiting on a dark skinned protagonist whose also a woman and isn't in some way marginalized or patronized by ugliness, stereotype, or some kind of drawback that allows the white supremacy and its domineering public to solidify and enforce their natural inclinations to dismiss post racial excellence in any form. Still waiting. {Enter The Multiverse} He has no monster, And still what counts me is, Above my beaarinf, Just out of grasp, And over my head, Spinning as with wind blows, And stone sacred down to secrecy As sworn, the truth doth lie in her palms, And still hold, The hall of oath not to lie, There in, all does form to steady shallow; Therefore, one does not call with harm to lie, But steady stained forever in foul truth, a wicked odor, And there there, heaven acaped and at all pictures as I were, the friends that not come as maidens or warriors but still as aheep come to graze in my pasture, As does the seed of one tree lie in the ground, awaiting water, and until then only sleeps and rests, With eyes not shown the world, as I. -Omens. -Secrets. -Lies. -Death. -illumination. -Omens. Wasn't there another order? Seems as though the more I come forward, the harder and more impossible that I ever go back. Still, I was warned. I was always warned and headed warnings, Over and over and still I gave truth to the light that was shone on me. Very well. I came, I saw. I said, and sat. Nobody knows my name. Not any besides a lover. Seth. Suddenly, it dawned on me, Pencil shavings and all, That I was not who I thought I might have been before Now or ever— Not that it mattered. Came with it, a dead man. And came acquitted, my heart and soul as one For it had been painted in the colors of love That I could do no wrong at all By having done nothing, But given words What a course! The professor sucks. Who'd you get. Who'd you get? Nobody. Trickery, deciet and lies— Flickering the things I'd done, With eyes sewn shut, And back unclothed, The nether ends, The door has closed And surely you mean nothing but to honor us, Fairwell, And surely you mean nothing less But than to barter, As I may. A temporary woman Never loved on the weekends Steady through the week, But only for the moment. Discarded woman, Leaving behind any evidence, transgressions Favoritism, and secretive thoughts, Explosive measure, talismans No comment No comment No comment Never happened. Moving on, then. Being honest, never loved him Never had to, at the office, Breathing easy makes it sacritism Actually sacrificing artifacts and Alleviating Past the architecture at An interesting artificial measurement of Speed and intellectual accomplishment But still we gather, half entranced and half entitled, Wishing for an ornamental temperament of severance on separation Severity at covet, or north for starters, Soverign states and in general, gentrified genocide of sorts It's psychological warfare Psychological warfare The whites will have the blacks and browns pick each other off To remain in power The white devil Is also just as often The white savior BROH. JOHN OLIVER IS MAD BRITISH. AVADAKAVARAH! I TOLD YOU, I WAS A WITCH DOCTOR! WHATEVER! I THOUGHT YOU WERE A LATE NIGHT HOST! EVERYBODY HAS A DAY JOB. THAT'S A NIGHT JOB! EXPECTO-PA– POTTER!!! WHAT IN THE [BEEP}! YOU'RE A WIZARD?! OF COURSE I'M A BLOODY WIZARD–WHAT THE HELL DO I LOOK LIKE TO YOU?! ANOTHER LATE NIGHT HOST–OR WHATEVER! “OR WHATEVER” I'M A WIZARD– HARRY. What the [bleep] EVERYBODY HAS A DAY JOB ™ Please, by all means, Keep your pretty white girlfriend. I want to see those eyes come through What a handsome couple. They are the scariest thing ever. Let them be, then; Out to be fun to watch. I can't listen to Drake on my loud speakers bro. Not—like loud, man. That shit makes me feel like a whole ass basic black girl. True story. Sometimes you gotta distance yourself from the “yassss” birds. I saw this one comedian performing— Well, I think he was a comedian. He wasn't funny to me but, He had like 710K followers And he was really really pretty. I had to notice that, because as imm listening to him preform, about 30 minutes into the video— I was waiting to see if he would make me actually laugh— He didn't— But— As I was trying to figure out how he has 710K followers And has not made me laugh, not once I start paying closer attention to him— And I realize; “Oh” He is major good looking. At first I didn't notice— I like white guys— so, Of course, At first glance I'm like “Hey brother!” You know, like “That's my son!” I'm like “Yeah, make me laugh, boy.” But he didn't And then as I start to wonder Like, Why or how he has so large of a following I notice he's very beautiful. And I mean, like mad gorgeous. Like ideally— I'm like “Oh” and as I'm realizing this, He's saying the punchline to a “joke,” And as he's saying it, I realize that way in the back, Like you can hear that they're in the back Cause the camera is in the center, And like half of the audience is behind the film crew , and you can hear these girls are in the way— Like in the way back Like in the way, way back, You can hear like a pack of ratchets— Yes— these must be his die hards— His squad. Not like his homies or anything, but like The Groupies. You know. The hopefuls. He's got this group of black girls like hackling in the back, like clapping hard at all his punches like “YAS!” “SAY IT!” And it was funny because his reaction to these girls was like “I'm—not in control of this.” “RIGHT!” “SAY LESS!” I'm like, Oh, I see how that works, now. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © This is confusing. I can see how you're confused. Everybody is confused. Or just— fused. …calculating…

She's REAL! I'm telling you she is. Sweetie, I know you have had a lot going on lately, but— I'm serious! She was sitting in the audience! She had the same glasses on and everything! Oh, come on. I should be meditating. The likelyhood that I might actually be belonging into a hive mind has recently kept me from furiously masturbating. Bad news for the helicopter making a habit of hovering outside my window. Here's hoping she's dressed this time! [F-f-f-f] Nope. Synopsis “The child within” A frustrated present day Drew Barrymore sees a familiar face in the audience of her hit daytime tv show—formerly thought of as her imaginary friend, from a very young age, Ms. Drew Barrymore has not seen the mysterious figure since her first major film role, after which she mysteriously disappeared— the creature, a time traveling and shapeshifting multidimentional tasked with the duty of bringing future celebrities from one realm into another—and even sometimes perhaps preventing obstacles or adversaries in their path along the way— must meet the future stars and alert them of their unique qualities, nurturing the intrinsic sense of charisma and charm that will supply value to the subject's career and lifetime achievements— In attempting to convince a room full of New York's own fabrication of Hollywood TV People that a figure drew even thought herself to have supposedly re-emerged, she is met with judgement and dismissal, even by “her people”, during which a small piece of her spirit— “The Child Within” angrily breaks away from her adult self; in a sense, they are both invisible—as no one will seriously listen to Drew's rationalizations or theories, and reccomend more intensive mental health care and treatment—and as the child within, unseen and unheard loses her patience in the inevitable invisibility, she separates herself to presume her former mission; finding that ‘very strange lady' whom with she had beforehand seemingly adventures with timelessly. So that's where I left off. Pretty much— Doesn't this lady just— Whatever, I do have more things to do than I thought. I'll have to get back to it later. I wrote this days ago; I didn't write it—but I've been thinking about it, so there it is. Maybe— Whatever. More coffee. I've been starting my days between 6 and 8 PM with very strong cups of coffee— Compliments of the Television people, of course. What about that other storyline— the one where she's like a spy or something? You mean Charlie's Angeles! No, I mean like actual CIA. What was she even doing? I don't know; looking mad serious in a blazer. Posh. So very, {Enter The Multiverse} NO, BILLIE! WHYYYYYYYY! WHYYYYYYYYYYYY. Cause it's shark week. WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS HAVE TI DO WITH SHARKS?! I Dont know yet. I know better than to Click a photo of you, when I've been thinking of you Too much Aren't you –At least Curious (To say the least, but–( Learned enough The first time Second time Third time Fourth rung don't care Time's up Problem solved I know better (Just a touch.) I know better The world is mad I know better Fingers crossed I know better I'm all alone I know better I know better I heard my neck break at the end of the rope I heard a gunshot in the distance We all wondered which sounded better The rock i'm under (A curse, or a spell?) A blood bond ritual An occult oath, it's Too many simpletons, Singletons, scratch and sniff, motion pictures Who art thou? Who art I not? Very well. No more, if you would remain. As I must. And yet, I have come to end thy reign. Very well. Oh, again? Oh, as always. I've done nothing in my right to mark tirade. Many ears. –and many hearts. Take mine, an honor. Your head, i'd rather. Say again. I'd rather your head. Very well. Dismiss, you. They are as one. A fair right. It's not as bad as you think. It's worse than it was. Now there's stuff all over it. What is this stuff?! Don't worry about it. There are tears. No remains. No remains. None at all? I'd rather burn than buried. And your Kingdom? –I'd rather burn than buried. Or–? Or buried than burned, but gone at all. Gone at once. As with this. So it is. It's not in the blood; You won't find it. –I'll find it. Not that way. __ GODDDAMN. YOu'RE SO DUMB. You're so fucking–stupid. I'm a genius. Not for long! You're a dead man. Your highness! And who is this? His highness's executioner; perhaps also yours. On what charges?! Dismissal at once. On my time! –and tell no others of this. –and you? Steady well in my greeting. And how? A lady upon a throne, not I, but still fair castel And wages of ageless. So it doesn't matter! So it doesn't. So it can't–matter Shouldn't have to. Somebody just kill this poor fuck already. On it. Oh, I get it. It's his face. L E G E N D S - ASCENSION Listen, Potter; I don't know how you did this! I don't know how I did this! I'm not Harry Potter! My name is Daniel Radcliffe, and– This place should be spotless. It is…spotless. {Enter The Multiverse} When you think you're hearing voices, But you're actually telepathic.; I think it's getting worse now; I wish I was just manic I think I need a manager; I think I need some magic, I think I got a half an oz Just sitting my my backpack That's a lot of cocaine, man. It's not that much. It's more than regular. That's fair. Way, way more. More than usual. I am very wasted. Just let me touch your face And let the age sit in Take in the day The cage sits in a mailbox And it withers with my divedends, Still, I'm writing Heroism, hedonism Circumstance, Frantic as an orgasm, And laughs just as much hard as that I came in color These marginal differences, I've been levitating, Marrying the thought of just l Decapitating every nation. Severed heads as one, To stand the wicked bodies Oaths if over oceans stand as borders Who deserves to sail For failures craving fortunes? Withstand this, I mark true— On your duty of my decaying Stands as justice, and still this You haven't fortuned, For arrogance is the truest of humor And wit to none, wiser thinking He is or are that may Be stronger in the notion that There is no other but himself! And so I pardon! Dear, your honor Fight for festherwate for masterpieces Cherished and forbaroned in the faithless, Wise and withered none, but lying waking Barking tides, wishes foul and ordinary; There you wait for judgement, And call I, Boundless as you found her As one, And I say— There, there; There you are in marked for God, Calls none but I, others Seeking in the wate of judgement. Fair and Farrows of the ache And bound I, still now To causing none but fortune, Still truth waits in the ark you have tied us To, in hundreds number There I wait, And there I come, still Now in time, You are we And I are Together Not tied, But marked as one, As such, this now Is where embarked Dither will you. Whatever the fuck that means. Must mean something. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

What did I tell you before? Did it matter? Well, the aching went away—that's for sure. But for how long? Almost certainly temporarily. So you'll remember what I've told you. I hope so. What's the password? St. Barts. Tokyo. Honeycomb. Good. Initiating Sequence No dinner by candlelight, As delimiter dawns, I do awaken Though, hindering on these kind words— Forsaken from death's pardon, The waiting begins, as a new rose Hath yet budded Great, here we go again . It's further away—is that a good thing or a bad thing. Depends on how you'd want to think of such a thing as having voices in your head. So— Very well then In the spirit of psychology, Believing in one's self is some sort of sign of delusion; Believing that one could achieve success, fame, immense wealth— What's happened? I'm being intercepted? By what? Heavy lies the subconscious mind Though nearly dead and shatters from its last endeavor, the kadavr That seems wrong And even in such a sense that I may one day overcome I have succumb to this, a knowing that what I had given Had not been replenished, and though love As ever lasting as it may— Was not in totality returned at all; And so with this, I wilt, As often a flower in fall does, And sure, An unpicked fruit, though not yet ripened To have fallen on its own, To bear seed to the ground, Or fruit to the earth— And there again, A reminder that I am all of God, Separating my mind from my eyes, And so from my own body, Until death does come To smooth what has been broken By evil itself, As arranged just so Outside my window Until time does end, And still only in death we remain, Until death do us part And death was won By my own war, not against time But with— And so the devil will leave his mark, Pity be that may upon him who causes to collide with honor, and truest love does spark and yet not kindle, As arranged, I've died without mine, The love which was no truer spoken Than it was written, Or felt, or sang as melody in song And still the string of beating, The drums or upon my skin, The doust cloth of simple intoxicating and shallow Breaths of… A gaseous odor, A colorless ease to come forth, From his palm, and so I welt, As if bruised as deserved, And bleeding in waiting, I lie on my back, Again waiting to be born, And with time, Will be worthy of love But not in this lifetime No love had I, But love to give No love had come to me at all But pain and hardships The things worn by others, And seconded care, A home made of garbage, And so I become Discarded. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Oh my God! That's that place! That's that place! DID YOU SEE THAT THING OH MY GOD. FUCK THAT. Okay. Fuck that guy. Leave him alone. Weeeelllllll, Wellll Well now. That's the place from that one time. Are you sure it was a time— —are you sure it was a place? Are you sure you werennt dreaming. I wasn't dreaming! Only masturbating! What's the difference?! I'm at least slightly more conscious when I'm masturbating. At least slightly. Jesus Christ. Call that guy. At this point. We need him. I told you it was gonna get weirder and deeper But why tho! If you keep poking me in my damn third eye, Imm gonnu eat you. Don't eat me. I'm gonnu eat you. Don't eat me. Poke. Ieatyou. Dammit. Yeahp, I said. Now we're pretty much just all one thing. …Fuck. The purple monster? Periwinkle, preferably. Shut the fuck up. You shut up, you were eaten. Yeah, but now I'm just— living inside you. You were eaten. You're gross. Quiet, me! Whatever, bro. I eated you! 2 Fair. What. You're still a 10. A ten and an 8 what's that make. Like— I don't know— Two nines, maybe, Or like, 3 6s 3 sixes it is, then. Fuck, man . What happened. What gives! Give this dude a body and a hackey sack Why what for Seems like he needs something to play with. Peter Valentine Arthur & Elise Cosmos Factory James Cannon Ascension IV- The King's Keeper Oh look it's this little weak ass weight throwing bitch again. I love him. Be nice, little boy. You're so shallow. But you're the brownest thing I've ever really liked. Case in point . You got yourself a good one, Nancy Drew A keeper, don't you know Don't you ever gotget it God yourself a keeper, Nancy Drew He'll do his best To make the women envy you Just as I do Oh, Nancy Drew lol he lifts the same as me Shhh shut up Let's see if he throws on more weights I think he was just doing that for attention Must be. He ain't gon get it nowhere else This lil pussy ass bitch Oh. Man. Imma love this guy in a minute Then he gone start signing his little bro lyrics puffin out his checst Talking about Mumma sunmin summn Mmumuma Shut the fuck yo you fucking pussy. Throwing 10 lb weighs and shit I swear to god this dude came to the gym just to sit on the phone Pussy ass hitch Who you gon call Your friend! Come on then. Now I got all the dick in the room. Two weak dick dudes acting touch I'm like Alright, I can tell I got the biggest dick in the place. All I hear is “sumsumsunsun” and weights being thrown around I wanted ice cream All I got was this set Goddammit! I wanted ice cream! Let's play tonight I don't think that's a good idea at all I don't think that's a good idea at all No I don't think that's a good Idea at all The idea of suicide just hits my wrist At the time In my ride When I feel the best But I feel the worst So just let it end If the words were blood I'd already be dead 33 minutes to go 33 rotations per minutes Nobody asked my permission I was just in it Yo. If it's your birthday— Or maybe even just— The week of— And you're not drunk by 1 PM You ain't livin Fuck outta here If you drink like that And if your birthday Time to party! Fuck it up! I don't give a fuck I don't even drink' ! But if you do, And it's your birthday Or like, your birthday passed Or like, your birthday next month Or maybe, your birrthday was yesterday Two days ago, Whatever, But you're ready for the pregame— LETS GO. 29 minutes left Yesterday I fell 29 stories I e got 29 stories more 28 minutes more 28 stories I lost one One life lost Microphone contessassstttttttttt Alright, you serpent motherfucker Actually, I'm a vulture—type—thing Big bird, hinged over, Mad tall, like 6 feet tall, Wingspan like, Massive— You seen him? I eat serpents. Really? And whatever I can get my hands on, really. Huh. I prefer white meat. I bet you do you raggedy bird looking coot. Watch it Razor sharp teeth— you seen him? YEET! ——-GODDAMMIT!!!!' 25 minutes left I got 25 25 year olds trying to fuck Hypersexual intellectual, Otherwise sapiosexual well's all dried up Just in time tie died, right Ike Just in time to bruise my eye, Huh Billie Just in time for the ride On The ride I got 24 minutes left 24 whole dollars With your name on it Who are you, producer You're my eye god You're right god My eye on comedy got Comedy Central all special Just keep writing Alright I got 23 minutes and 45 43 42 seconds left writing and riding this bike And I just mentioned I'm holy high day On a hiatus a was I got 22 minutes left 22 minutes per episode Airtime Sitcom Hi Raymond, I am Hi God! Hi, Ross All is good— I am good, Hi mom I am high; Jennifer Aniston Carry this one out Write this song Sit on this couch Get this bitch out of here Gimmie some songs Come on Give me some candles I'll knock your whole life out Hi Cosmo, hi Wanda' Hi mom, Yeah right LC Silk gold Found that secret blaze Blue metal credit cards full metal jackets Keep throwing weights god No thanks Take care Straight up Far out Never came this far god Never got my lights out Hey Ellish, Hey batshit Hey, lights out You wouldn't believe it The implications of my knowledge Okay then All for the experience Spill my blood next Skip rope Want a breakfast plate High sandwhich My series costs more than my light bill High god Hi mom All about all thanks No show No cake Can't afford my pie plate Can't afford my time Jack Riff raffle anyway Who won the lottery unit For the crackerjack box I got it all on recordings All out of order Whose time god You my Maytr I wanna marry you anyway But can't make payments Man Mayflag Man Mayflower 8 balwains later Ain't nothing but tall ones Long money Who hates straightform Flatiron Can't work on holidays if you can't get paid, I make sense, I pay my rent right on time I slave ship I hate faggots I blow smoke up black asses anyway, Anyway, take care Gotta go fight back My weak ass monster Almost can't exist on the same plane I've got 46 minutes left All wifebeaters die fast, Then slow Then fast, Then slow again And oh god, I watched the world burn And laughed harder just cause you on it Oh my my my I am Billie after all Now face the conviction Formatting and hitting earth's angel You failed, mate Throwing all things around But that mess between your legs 15 minutes left on this bike 15 minutes of fame bough Oh God, Still want ice cream, and everything but oh lord, My grandson got me; Here he comes now, He ain't shit at all and still too brown, Turn the lights off and now I'm can't even see him but look what I found A wedding band eS lA broken fense A diamond cage Everything but the encore Now I'm so shallow Put it all up for bat And if you don't give me a new apartment I'll sue you. 10 minutYes and my phone too sweaty to to type 6 minutes and I might tune in to rap god But really loving hard on this Nirvana Oh the nerve of god of Ghana Getting on my nerves How high am I now? Np celebrity in sight But my own reflection on the mirror A minutes and a menace to society on my right Shouldn't even be here Send em right back Build the wall high On my whitelist I got puppets all night Pull the string man Blow the candles Put the lights out Make my idol a big tall man In a white coat Make my idol The eye of rpvidemce highlighted on the one dollar Make my idol Every night live from Rockerfeller plaza Plus or monies a couple hours And a couple lies A pair of pleated pants And white socks But let's hope in black To match the polished Two shade shoes Two big numbers on my clock I'll see you in a year old bat I'll see you in seven you old coot On my right hand Ten swollen knuckles One minute left More like 40 seconds left Half a mile run Good time jog I been back I been god I been got by all the big 5 media companies at once My ex husband Satan Voldemort He who shall not be named Hit me One Two Three Four 5 Four Three Two return to sender One love Fuck that Never again No more. She ain't finished I know how to take the power from a weak man Take his whole shit Wind it up in a ball Breath it on real deep Don't strike back Hold it in Let it hurt Let it sting Let him get real mad Pacing Walking round in circles On your circles Boundaries All your control Power off, The hour's over Good luck, commodore, No more birthdays. IV 04 He took her to Geneva But it was I who woke there Holding him , and hopeful A blue credit card for shopping {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I'm not obsessed with you; I'm just studying occultism and your name keeps coming up. I am sort of obsessed with this craft, The occult a magic of passion, desire, intention Intuition, and of course Enamour and illusion You, are, sir– Perhaps the most fascinating aspect to have happened of it yet And I find that all long, The answers to the question I never asked were there Just as i had focused them, –and without ever having to Do you fear me? Should I? You did before. But–should I now? Be careful of your hands And of your gaze– be cautious of your path, And know your grounds The whispers that you keep, Aren't all your own The voices in your head Are all as one Acting on behalf of one another I buried all the love I had under my throat Dressed in a leather jacket Poetry beyond awul, Not nonsense, perhaps , Just nothing more coming “We Are Ceasing All Further Communication by Exterior Motifs Until Further Notice.” Hm. ‘Motif' These guys really don't speak english. No, they really don't. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I've abandoned your proposal A wickedness that speaks with winds Untied hands And no spirit yet to grip, My heart has moved, And lest, The ties that bind are still bound by blood As never sold souls walk endlessly at diamond crossroads Kneeling in the eye at dawn, To sworn Did you want that to-go, or? You know what? I like that version of him. Me too, kind of Lets just leave him here We should. We can't. We should, though. All stand, for the irish; Some of us, scattered, Some of us lost, Return for the brotherhood Fight for us not, Nocturnal wonderer, For we have journeyed To warn Of her surplus –I do type faster with my thumbs. Marvelous. Move, mistress, I Yield ye steady truth for seized upon the wicked hands, The hard truths lie within the heart of golden warrior, Tongues roped with cattlebands, Simple thoughts, Punishable and forsaken {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Why didn't you just get out when you could? When could I just ever ‘get out'?? You're probably right. More than probably. I could feel my abdomen creeping up my sides–I was heavier than normal, but mostly all new, lean muscle–the long hours on the cycle bike were making my core a strange and hard, sturdy plank under the soft skin on my tummy, a smooth and comfy and warm, plush layer of autumn coconut oil and sweet potatoes resting on my midriff and thick thighs– I would be the best to hug and cuddle, but since there was no one around I would even consider letting close to me, I sometimes hugged and kissed myself instead; sometimes I squeezed in places I knew his hands should be and wished they were, trying not to tear under the weight of being alone. Now i'm in enemy territory. How do you feel? I don't. God's an asshole. This is the bitter end; Recede, retract back down, bow low Keep your head up, And your head down And your mind up Go to bed now. Something's wrong; I know I am. I don't dare talk to God, When The Knicks are on. I don't dare talk to God When her soaps are on. I don't dare talk to God at all; Did you know you had a heart, after all, but a mind made of straw, run along, watch it all burn Watch it all burn Watch it all burn Come on, Come hard Think of dinner afterward and what you want Think of all the words you never lost Think about the soft sprung hard wood floor Think about a love gone wrong And the worlds spun off course Watch it all burn Watch it all burn Watch it all burn, Come on, Come along now Come along Mama Talismans, strange; Follow the secret, Swallow it hard, and don't throw up (even though you want to) Another God, that With just a look, but never touch Pen to pad and now you're on, off again but at least not as far off As you woke up Have a word, God Soft spoken and All out of numbers Ah, come on heart, Don't stop, nah Not now, mom Come on, ma Come on As the tear falls and the clock stuck four minutes after Might as well have been an hour, since the clock struck Stuck on asphalt, all you wanted All the God's gone, Come on, heart, Don't pump so much blood Only salt in those, ah You know there are no other ones What does that cost Nothing. Love just falls out of her. What? Nothing. It does cost afterward, The haunts, And all the moving parts The clock struck hummus, All you wanted, once But so much further off that God shook her head And hung her shoulders, Put the world up, and went down in her cot or coffin For just a half hour nap Before the next world war Alright, God– You won that one. Does it hurt less? Nah, i'm alive more. (before i wasn't) Where the fuck are you going? I WAS LOOKING FOR SUNNI BLU. WELL, DID YOU FIND HIM? NO! THEN WHAT THE FUCK! wait a second…you wrote this. Goddamit, just google me already! you wrote this? I don't know. Lets find out! Sorry, no can do. It's a rule Limited exposure, contain your composure. I can guarantee you, not a single human being on this planet can explain to you what's happening right now. Maintain your composure. SUNNI BLU stumbles over what appears to be a dead body on the floor. Ow. Sorry. I thought you were a speed bump. Is that really how it goes? We'll fix it later, cause here's this one. I'd marry a bunson burner before I'd even think about marrying you. What is that supposed to mean–what? Cause there's more fire– Heat? The bunson burner has more heat? That makes like no sense. Are you saying i'm not hot enough for you? Let's just say… We'd have a lot more chemistry. That's what I said! My punchline was better. I'll show you a punchline. __ You can't keep a secret, can you? …i don't know…why. You look like you can't keep a secret. Try me. –fuck that. Go ahead. Nah, fuck that. Tag, youre it. GodDAMMIT. This is literally the most intricate game of tag, like, ever played. dammit. He got me again. How long have you guys been playing. For ever. Forliterally ever. Like always. MOB GUY Man, i'm so fucked for writing this. Why are you still writing this. The tarot told me to keep writing it; And the Tarot doesn't lie: especially about MOB GUY (CONT'D) Jimmy Fallon, you slimy bastard. “The Good Guy” Am i slimy? I'm probably slimy. Yikes. MAFIA GUY FALLON, you rat-faced lyin' bastard! Ah shit, the Jimmy-isms. I almost forgot about them. (I didn't.) [Unintelligible blabbering in hysterics.] Which one is that?! Doesn't matter. Just get the Jimmy into the elevator before anybody actually sees him. That's it. This dude's got to believe in God, or something. Christ. Yowza. Why do you think that? Nothing else makes sense. Heavy price to pay, don't you think? Whatever, dog. To risk everything–your career, your livelihood–your family– On just one idiot? Sorry. Well, you ought to be. I said i was. Yeah, but somehow, I don't think i believe yas. Are you catholic? On my mudda. Then really, honestly–I don't think you believe in anything. What did you just say to me? (the irony is that this mobster is having a conversation with the living incarnation of Jesus Christ himself.) That is irony, but how is anybody else going to actually understand what's happening in this story. Explain to me why it's Jason Sudakis that remembers everything? I don't know exactly. Because. In all of the timelines, in all of the stories, there's at least one principal character from each group of characters that remembers absolutely everything. {Enter The Multiverse} You still didn't find him? No! It's no use! We've looked everywhere. Seriously. Seriously. Of course– [An exasperated sigh, then a brief pause] Make the feelings go away. ok. What drug is this. All of them. Did you check under the craft services table? What? Seriously just. OH MY GOD. there he is! See. That's easily the third time i've written that part. Easily. It must have been important, but i couldn't help but wonder why; I had written it at least once and then down again in my notebook after visiting 30 Rock to see Seth Meyers, but hadn't ever pondered until now why exactly something such as this might be so important. Perhaps it was the simple hilarity in the fact that, although having been missing for arguably days or weeks on end, that this character–Jimmy Fallon–or whoever it actually was, is simply unconscious beneath the craft services table, out of view but otherwise in plain sight; How coulda 6-foot tall man— He can't be 6 feet tall. Why not. If Post Malone is 6 feet tall, And this is JImmy Fallon sitting next to Post Malone [Jimmy Fallon is sitting next to (or rather, almost under) Post Malone] Are you sure that's The Real Jimmy Fallon? What? How many are there. Well, there's this guy. >< Hello, mrs. wong. Oh, dear God. This is all just for shits and giggles, right? Right. There will be no shitz. And no giggles! [HANZEL becomes the host of The Tonight Show] What parallel is this? I don't know. Wake me up; it must be a nightmare. It was strange to be almost consistently writing comedy and otherwise almost always feeling on the verge of regurgitation ad nauseum, and constant thoughts about slitting my wrists, as if somehow jumping in front of an oncoming train was suddenly out of the question. It wasn't. But i thought more constantly about slitting my wrists, And the worse part of it was, It was actually serious. I started to worry about myself and take long, thoughtless breaks from writing, And speaking, and forging an effort to make the music business work. I stopped caring almost entirely about anything besides taking the minimal effort to exercise and shower, which I knew that in its worst states, depression often enough kept other people from doing. I couldn't stop caring enough not to shower, and though I was eating more than usual, my abdomen was an alarmingly firm plank; it was kind of weird to have a flat stomach, but the exercise bike and occasional run was keeping me average, if anything, by american standards, above average, however one look at Lindsay Lohan sent me backward trying to remember what it was like to be anything close to some kind of woman, or some kind of phenomenon, or some kind of perfectly trained monkey; not that I considered the performer as such, however, dismantling my aversion for the aforementioned sent a striking resemblance to the-1 Stop there. LINDSAY LOHAN FUCK. Are you serious? SUNNI BLU SHH! Why , I want to show you something. LINDSAY LOHAN GODDAMIT! IT ALWAYS CUTS OFD WHEN IT GET TO MY PART! SUNNI BLU SHHHH. OTHRR SUNNÏ BLŪ Shhh, chill. It's our part. LINDSAY LOHAN Where the fuck did you come from? SUNNI BLU II Heaven, baby. What is it. My basement. I–no–Gosh– Step inside. LINDSAY LOHAN Stop fucking around with the Illuminati. SUNNI BLU What does that mean! LINDSAY LOHAN There are literally two of you right now. SUNNI BLU More to love! –at least I was pulling together a decent Trump impersonation from Meyers, and tried not to think too poignantly about the seething hate a woman like Tina Fey might actual harbor for someone like me. What are you, anyway? I's hopin you'd tell meh. {L E G E N D S} He's a psycho. Huh. Jimmy Fallon is a fucking psychopath. You're kidding me. I'm not kidding you. I'm serious. I'm serious. I knew that. This is serious. Why are you meditating? I'm summoning it. What?! Summoning. We are live in like, 5 minutes. Where the fuck is JImmy? Jimmy what? You are all idiots. Summoning it. Quit meditating and get backstage. I'm– –concentrating… [The Festival Project ™ ] More Cream of Wheatn? Yeus. Mor Cream uf Wheatun. Wheeeeeet. CARTMAN. GODDDDDAMMMNIT< WHUT. TELEPLONE. WHUT. TELE– ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT. UHHNNN. Ah. Bones. [Bones Duggar] Fancy seeing you here. …is it? Man, am I still writing The TV People? I guess so. I thought I was getting in trouble for writing anything about— CUT TO: What are you doing? Midget fishing. What?! AGHHHHHH! What in the fuck. I caught one. WHAT ARE YOU DOING. I'm midget fishing. ARE YOU SERIOUS?! Haha: here you go little guy. [he hands the man a lollipop; the man is furious.] WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS. It's your reward! Enjoy. WHAT THE FUCK DO I LOOK LIKE TO YOU?! A midget. YOUVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? He pulls the large hook from out of his Jacket. YOU OWE ME; THIS IS A $2,000 SUIT. Two grand—even in that size?! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR THIS! Ah, alright. [he pulls out a $100 bill and hands it to the man.] WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? {Enter The Multiverse} Catherine enters with the children. KATHERINE Go hug your father. omg was it Catherine or Katherine. I don't know. It's been so long. It's Katie. PATRICK I'm their father; you don't need to tell them to hug me. KATHERINE Sophie wouldn't. If I didn't tell her, she wouldn't do it. Sophie?! Who the fuck is Sophie?! It's two syllables, at least… What was the middle one's name? Not Sophie. Sophie will do for now. I'm still not ready to go all the way back into that hole. [Patricks's middle child hugs him begrudgingly.] I like Edie Falco for the mom. Edie Falco? I love Edie Falco. So we got—Edie Falco, and some dude who looks like Jimmy Fallon. There is no Jimmy Fallon. Some dude who looks like him. Apparently there's only one of those. Whatever. Whatever, indeed. Okay— so CUT TO: INTERVIEWER/REPORTER –And–What is your standing relationship with JImmyFallon ELMO Excuse me? Your relationship with Jimmy Fallon? ELMO What did you just say to me? What? Jimmy Fallon. ELMO This interview is over. [Elmo dismissively exits.] Wait. Elmo. Come back. ELMO No. No more questions. Elmo! ELMOWe're done here. What do you want, Kimmel?! I WANT TO TALK TO GHOSTS. —which ghost do you want? [beat] …which ones you got? [beat] …which ones do you want? I'll make a list. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

fly wire, fly wire I'm spinning, i'm spinning; Why'm I so high up, How'm I so high up, I'm spinning, I'm spinning Fly wire, fly wire Fly by, I'll fly up I'm falling, I'm falling Fly wire, fly wire Why'm I so high up My head is spinning How'm I so high up Fly wire, fly wire I'm spinning, I'm spinning Why'm I so high up, I'm falling, I'm dying Flywire, flywire. (i cover my eye up) I'm sorry, I love you Flywire, flywire (I'm spinning I'm spinning) I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm dying, i”m dying Flywire, Flywire I'm high up Three dead men, and one hat Two Skulls Three dead men, maybe four And a whole cat Ten dead men, And a room full of old whores Nine dead horses, Ten swallows, And a divorce; Write the score now This hurts so much. I love you; I thnk i'll kill you I think I hate you, Don't say, I won't Oh, thanks Ok Two nights ago two martyrs, one time two doctors, one lawyer The whole nine yards No diamonds, Ten horses a train ride Divorce court Two halves of one, No mall runs, Ten horses, Two quarters I was not a woman; I was not a martyr Door, you left it open War, you're out of boundary Tide, you're out of order Wall, you are the border Ten, you're on a four now Five, I'm still the one though Leave the window open Jump out Leave them all a'waiting Leave the story open ended Keep your heart open Leave your stocking up Eat your heart out Leave the whole pie Ouch. You let him hurt my Heart, I Wartime, Airtime So destructive No one told you? No one but the tarot; You were lied to! What I owe you? Just a dollar. How about two How about two How about two How about two How about two How about two How about two Ow, God. Make it stop. GOD Perform more, Work harder I just want to love one, I just want to love one I just want to love one One, God One more time, God I just want to love once more I just want to love one I just want to love one God One more time I just want to love One more time I just want to love one I just want to love One more One more time I just want to love, once more One more time One more time One more time One more time One more time So what's it cost, That i've got so much Love and admiration that it wells up inside my heart And hurts enough To want to just die Cause I don't know How to put that fire out –without burning wood at all. Why Am I Lying (all of a sudden) Why am I crying? (because I haven't) All of a sudden All of my wrongdoings and heartaches Of all time; Why did I click on Carson Same as the app is I'm in the eye of the TV Monster Fame God now,but who are I What's a dollar cost One one hundred That's what I picked up Old New York On Hollywood time Glitz and Glam Golden era over Talk of the town Slip of the tongue King of the night, the Whore of Babylon Slightly, we are, Then I remembered Thought I was lying low, But I was flying high. I don't know why it hurts. Don't ask stupid questions. Then, she could really toss one back; They always are– just adorable. Now here is one, Then the other, And I'm neither Cross spectrum, fly wire Neither I'm alive, Or yet to be be born Not one or the other, Still on time, though, Live now, Neither one or the other Shine, diamond; Or, die now. What size is she? She's still alive Bright blonde, as always Better than I am, Then again, now Bronze, Golden Got older, Much bolder Time goes on Retired, Red carpet Prime time and Where I am Still high up in the rafters, On the flywire; [Someone cut her down!] There i was, where I am Burned out, But shining. Nightlife. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

SUNNI BLU becomes a man. I guess. Golly. You sure do seem intolerant. Are you sure you don't want a Peloton. I want to live in a white neighborhood And make enough money That my white neighbors Actually respect me For whatever it is I do. Working on a Saturday. Calm down, Jew mom. I will not clam down. In this house, we abide by holy law! Hold on. What happened. I got distracted, this girl looks just like Edie Falco. Oh, I love Edie Falco. Right? I realized how bizarre my creative process really was, in that days I would get the most work done musically, I became physically restful, and complacent, not worrying about the gym so much as the energy I would use rather towards the music I was making, or the over all lacsidasical approach I took to everything. Not being an entirely-perfect stepford- divorcee with a bleach clean everything in my median space, I realized it was almost a more natural kind of creature that created my music; one who ate and acted normally, and was overall less of an anally retentive bitch—not to say that my normal self was not an anally retire bitch, I was, but it was that my creative process seemed to require more normalcy and averageness; eating regularly, What the fuck man. Idk. I got bored The wheels start turning The pages in my mind become phenomenon, I almost bought it I almost bought the dream; Another story arc. Trust, or don't trust? I don't know— these guys are like the ultimate fluffers… MEAT CIRCUS. MEAT CIRCUS. Okay, I love them. …did she light the candle? Oh look, a candle. Hm. SHE LIT THE CANDLE. SHE LIT THE CANDLE. THEY ADDED GPS TO EDC so then. How many of us are there. Hey. Everybody sit the fuck down, right now. [drones sit down] There she goes. Dammit. Why are you really this short in person? On God, because I'm really this short, irl. Skrillex. NO. Get over here for a second. Wanna go to Disneyland? On my life, I'm like in Cancun right now, but— But what? I'll catch the next flight. “The Uptopia” I thought about finagling a way to get into EDC for like 5 seconds before I remembered what it was, And that i'm a DJ And that it looks cool and all— But sounds, generally like a total nightmare. Not because it wouldn't be fun or anything- a It just wouldn't be fun— —for me. EDC part III Haven't I been to edc more than 3 times already. (Try like 30 times.) —that's enough times. THATS NOT ENOUGH TIMES GIMMIE MY BOX! DID YOU GET THE MAGNET . I GOT THE MAGNET. GET IN THE— Goddamn, dude. That's a lot of magnets. It's really not. Man, what the fuck would even happen if I fuckin actually focused on this project I don't know. I like, haven't focused on this project and it seems like, possibly, maybe I might have brokered some kind of deal that may or may not include Coca Cola and NBC. This dude might be trying to rule the world. All the dudes might be trying to rule the world, I think. Well, what if we put them all in a group together or something —seems—doable And maybe if they're not trying to kill each other, hey the end of of— Oh, look. World peace. Nice. —it. Hm. Let's just say, Altogether I give a total of actually zero fucks— Ah hah And at the end of the day, I just want some dick. How is that going to help achieve world peace, exactly. Fuck around and find out. Ladies. Here, yo. Guy, what's this. A midlife crisis waiting to happen. Oh no. Don't worry, it's almost over. My midlife crisis? No, the part before that. Jellyfishing. I don't know, Patrick, seems like kind of a strange day to go jellyfishing. Just—relax. Jesus Christ. (Soft telephone voice) This is the messiah speaking. Uh…hi. How may I direct your call? Uh… Hello. …is your dad home? Euh…probably not, but I can get you my mom. …that might work. Okay, hold on. (Not telephone voice—actually atrocious Boston accent) MAAAAA. …Jesus Christ. What? TELEPHONE. ring ring. Bitch! Ring ring ring! —bitch! Ring ring ring. —BITCH! Yo! What!! Answer the phone. The phone is ringing! Why do you keep saying “bitch”?! Cause that's a bitch ass telephone, bitch! This is improv! I know! And the first rule of improv is to not saying no, but I refuse to answer a telephone that just says “ring, ring”; that is not a realistic telephone, and so to that, I would just say—“bitch.” Bitch. That is not how improv works. I'ma aim at your head; you technically lost the game already stopping the scene; you said “ring-ring” I said “bitch”; you lost already, I done my part. What? Just—if you're gonna be a phone, be a phone, but don't just say “ring-ring” like that Take me all out of character and shit. What character?! All you said is “bitch!” And all you said was “ring-ring”, hoe—I ain't got time for this— What?! Just be a phone! THAT WAS A PHONE. What phone says ring-ring? Phone ring tone “Ring-ring!” What's that. That's my new ringtone. You're so lame. Well at least we got past the 90's and were clearly into the early two thousands. How do you know? That guy has a ringtone. Who is that guy, anyway—? wait a second! Oh shit. That's him! Get em! Ah, are we bringing back the Italians? I don't think they ever left, they've just been quiet. I want pizza. You're in luck. Goddamn kid! Pizza?! French fries. —I want chocolate cake. AND chocolate cake! Goddamn. You'd better be crafting a goddamn symphony. It's more of like a sonata. “The King Suite” Whatever! Just remember however far you get writing this album is how much more gym time it'll take to be taken seriously promoting it. I'm already promoting it. What, how? LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA DAY. welcome back, kid. Shut up; give me a house. Give me a house song! Okay. OKAY, now downtempo. Downtempo makes me sleepy— but whatever, here. Okay, now techno. Untz-untz—here you are. All it took me was seeing Tiesto's ancient ass plastered all over the place in Brooklyn to realize I don't think it'll ever be “too late” to be a DJ and perhaps I could stand to focus on my other masteries. Whatever. I want chocolate cake . You are gonna get so fat. So? So is she when she pops out three kids— And her music sucks. Sauciness is relative. It sounds like shit in a fucking sandwhich. Just remember tiestos wife is actually like a decade younger than you. Great. I'm looking forward to all my favorite DJ's cradle robbing fashion week for this exact fucking reason. Is that a dig on one of the most legendary dance music DJs of our time? No, it's more of another pondering as to why I wasn't born a 9 foot tall porcelain skin blonde European looking model. I must have done something wrong in a previous existence. Have you tried paddle boarding? That seems /lame Fun! If I start now, maybe by May I can be EDC fit. What's the point of being EDC fit and not going to EDC? Hm. Okay. I can get a peloton, Or EDC tickets— Which should it actually be? What's the point of having a peloton If you're not going to EDC. Correct. But also— Why bother going to EDC at all if you're not going to be mad ripped from riding a peloton all day in your apartment. Also facts. That's what I'm here for Suddenly, I was acting weird. [being weird] Well, weirder than usual. Suddenly, my mind was racing— I was running around my apartment frantically in a halter top that I was certain I looked fabulous in— [looking at least kind of fabulous] — lil bitz. I'm getting to the age where I haven't quite given up, But realizing I'm not going to be the ideal just kind of sits with me in little ways. I haven't let go of myself, I'm not all the way giving up, but I'm more like, settled and secure with myself. A little more self confident in knowing if I wanted just any old dude, I can go out and get one. But I've been saving myself for someone really special. I mean really. And it's been years since I had sex. Actual years, so like— I'm at the point where I can just keep waiting, But sometimes I realize how long it's been, For instance, when I'm shopping, And I'm just kind of, looking around online Figuring out exactly what I want— And I'm scrolling, looking at all the selections And I see this baguette— Like bread, guys. Like a French roll and I think to myself “I'll take that.” I'm getting kind of turned on just looking at it, like Realizing it's bread— I'm like “Ooh, look at this baguette… Oui oui.” lol the fuck is wrong with you. Honestly I'm just looking for vegan chocolate cake without having to make it. Are we a team? …uhhh… kinda depends on who is “we” But since I can hear you faintly in my head, I guess so. Suddenly, I had the feeling that I had written something recently that might at some point become important. Hey. What. I like your five year plan. What fucking five year plan. The one from five years ago. Oh. Wait—what. Let's make it an 8 year plan. You mean 8 years from…from 5 years ago? See, you are good at math. —I—wait, what plan. Okay [chuckles awkwardly] See you later. What. Man, why do like half the characters in this show look and sound like Dillon Francis. Cause they're Dillon Francis. Might as well be. I had also has realized at a certain point recently that I would probably never get married again, and in my own right had set out to be “The Ultimate Lover!” Get out of here, Skrillex. What in the fuck is with that dude. What's wrong with him anyway. Something. Get out. FUCK, HE'S DEAD. Oh well. Not oh well! Someone's definitely gonna be upset about his. Probably! But that's an entirely seperate demographic. We can't be concerned with that. Not our business, The man is dead! You don't know, maybe he's just in A k-hole! [super duper dead] Whatever man. Just— Can you at least give me a hand with his legs. He's heavy. How can he be taller than he looks on TV— Goddamn, he wreaks! He hasn't even been dead long enough for that. I know, he just wreaks, man. Whatever. Look. Just— Ugh— Let's roll him into that tent over there. What. Just roll him in-/ Agh. And hurry up— Virtual Riot is about to start. Goddamn. The wooks. These aren't any ordinary wooks. They're frat boys Oh, that headdress, though. You remember the headdress! I remember the everything, I'm just— trying to forget. Crimes. Or at least—pretending to. You remember David after the dentist? [David after the dentist] AAAAAGAAGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH Well, this is James after The Jam. Mm. What kind Of Jam is this! It's—Jelly. Ah. You're dead. It's—really good. You know what— This is Sauerkraut. Happy accidents is getting weird. Man. I like it. Untz untz untz I just found this out, and I'm over the moon like exactic about this— I just found out you can like, totally buy 5 lbs of marijuana Over the internet. For what? I don't know. Sounds like a deal. Sign me up. Anyway, I found this out— Because I found this bread I like Yes— I know Bread to marijuana We are—making connections— Anyway, I found this bread I like From this one place, And I love this place so much That I begin buying this bread regularly— I love it so much that, I'm looking through all their breads in their bakery and I realize, “Holy shit—they just have the most insane bakery, ever.” Like all the breads are sounding phenomenal— They're real bread— Most bread if it's real bread is vegan, So I'm looking through the bread like, “Holy shit, this all sounds fire—“ And when I like a place a lot— Especially in New York, I get weird about it. Like, I want to know the origins of the place. I love history— History—cannabis—and bread, I know. “Whose the lucky guy?!” lol. Nobody, obviously— if this is my life; but I digress. I'm looking at all these breads, All these artisanal, like— Fresh cakes and, Really unique like, Breads of every kind— And I start thinking to myself “I love this place.” “I love this place” So I start thinking about like the origins of this place— You know like, historically— Like, Sometimes you find cool stuff out about a place Macy's or whatever, Has cool history— Like the oldest surviving wooden escalator Being at the flagship department store in midtown Stuff like that. I love history— So I go to look up this place— I type this place into the search bar with absolutely no other specifications than I think, The name— And the first link that comes up Is a fire sale of 5 pounds of “hemp flower” But from the picture I can see that it's evidently really Complete marijuana— Actual cannabis flower; So I look into this matter, and I investigate this link a little further to figure out— “What is this?” And as it turns out, my suspicions are correct, You can now obtain large quantities of marijuana Via a Google search— By complete accident. I'm like, “Woah!” [Bookmark the page and shit.] “Keep that in there for later…” You know, just in case I ever have $2,200 dollars roughly of disposable income and ever feel like upstarting my very own drug enterprise… Er, restarting— But the drug enterprise I had in college was nothing like this— This is next level. Its the internet age now, buddy! Shit is legitimate. Wait, sorry— is the statute of limitations up yet? Whatever. Leave no trace. There—are bigger fish to fry. lol. Bread, man. I love bread. You make me mad, But I'm still in love with you; You might be far, but I'm still in love with you You might do bad, but I'm still in love with you Come back to bed; You know I'm still in love with you You make me mad, But I'm still in love with you; You might be far, but I'm still in love with you You might do bad, but I'm still in love with you Come back to bed; You know I'm still in love with you Doesn't matter (You know I'm still in love with you) Cause it doesn't matter (You know I'm still in love with you It doesn't matter (You know I'm still in love with you) I'm still in love with you— You know I'm still in love with you. You know what— Huh— Does lemon raspberry sound better or like, This caramel toffee? You know I love a good lemon ice cream— Lemon custard Posh. Ah, the hedons are back. /*herons (You know Insomniac's making their rounds. ) Getdamoney Getdamoney getda— Woah— hold up, what is this I don't know Looks lucrative Facts Hmmm— Worthwhile investment, perhaps Maybe, maybe Very well Getdamoney Getdamoney Getdamoney Take a look at this young buck, they said. So I did. Turns out, the jokes on me. Me, and all my old friends In all my old lives On all my old world Play games In other words, The world goes on, Then off, Then it goes on, We come home— To laugh with one another Me and my friends, We play games Out of body Mind games In the body Play lives, All for entertainment In the old world, We said “One” Off we run, I said So on, comes dawn again We all talk of old reunion. We all talk of— FUCK, man. It's non dairy. I don't give a fuck about your ice cream! We're all on ice cream. I don't give a fuck about ice cream! On, you don't. No! Alright. Done. You know, it's like one door opens— Another door closes; And that's true— But whatever fucking weird drone robots They're probably paying to just come in one door And out the other Are karma cannons— And by that I mean— Whatever's disturbing me; Will eventually disturb them— And maybe, just maybe— In the same annoying way. So one day somebody wakes up and writes an anthology saga about you. It's not about you, it's about me— That's what I said. And that's probably what happened anyway—is what I'm thinking—and either way, I'm just the protagonist of that series, anyway. That's—logical, I'm thinking. I'm also thinking. Man. It feels so good to just sit in silence. Yeah. It does. Didn't you want kids? Whatever. Abusive relationships suck. My version of our kid is hands down way better then your version of our kid. Hands down. Let's get down to the nitti grotti of things here. Nitty Gritty. 11:30. But that's when Tranwrexk is playing. Who the fuck is teaintwrext. No, it's. Whatever. Nitti gritti Okay, so I'm obviously like, not going to forget the lady beating the shit out of her dog at the Trader Joe's— But I think maybe even the best part about it was the fact that it was like, a pug. I'm not really ready to go out in public or anything-1 I don't know— I'm like traumatized by the disparity of the human race, or whatever. But shout out to the lady beating the shit out of her dog at the Trader Joe's. I don't know what he did. But if you're gonna beat your pug at the Trader Joe's, he probably deserved it. Goddamn you Marc Jacobs! This is what you get for leaving a puddle in produce section! Goddammit! What else are you gonna name a purebred pug that you take everywhere with you— Including Trader Joe's? “This is Marc Jacobs” We thought he was a puggle but it turns out he was a purebreed and we just got so lucky! He gets nervous around people— Sometimes especially at the Trader Joe's He just gets so excited! Bad Marx Jacobs! BAD! On another note why am I just not automatically genetically built like a 6'5 Scandinavian chick. Like, it's cool my legs don't grow any hair at all, but goddamnit I would rather walk fashion week and just— Automatically never be hungry. Imagine giving birth to a supermodel baby and just Here, baby— take this The baby is like: *milks for two seconds* Alright, I'm good. Are you sure, baby. The baby's like “I'm— all full” Are you sure? Baby's like yeah— put me on the treadmill for an hour, would you? I gotta go fast-crawl this all off. Breastmilk, whew. Heavy shit. Just set the incline to all the way up, alright— And make sure I turn up the propane pig to high volume I want to make sure I'm deaf in one ear And only have one brain cell I don't want them to think I talk to much. Mom's like, “Um, okay— are you sure you don't just want like, more breastmilk” Baby's like “No ma, put me on the treadmill and shut the fuck yo you fat cow!” Goddammit, alright. That's— Some kids are just born destined to be— whatever— you know? Me? I was destined to like food, but be pretty much allergic to it— Pretty much allergic to all of it. Not in the typical sense of like having a food allergy— Not getting hives or anything Just— Prone to max weight gain after minimal, regular fucking eating— Minimal fucking eating And maximum effort in the gym just equals More muscle Which, then, The excess fat will just sit on top of Sort of like— Just double fucking bad. It's insane. So that's two waist trainers Correct Two sauna suits Oh my God, what if he's actually 6'3? Who's 6'3?! Getawayfromme. Shoot that nigga. You have a nice double chin. Thanks, I got it myself Liz Nice. Comedy Central presents: roast of the hosts The comics of late night tv roast each other l HOw many jokes do I need? A lot. Let's start with the favorite Favorite? Nah. Jimmy Fallon looks constpated. Every time I see that dude, I'm like— —?! What's wrong with him. Also— Why do you look like the off brand version of Justin long? I smell a conspiracy. And aspercreme. What's up with your cheeks, bro? Are you a hippopotamus? — Jay Leno is like God's version of a live action caricature. _____ Why are you all Irish? ____ Kimmel— what kind of bird are you? —- . —- I've heard exchanging insults is like foreplay for comedians; now I'm genuinely starting to wonder how many of these specials have turned over into orgies. I always had a special feeling about Justin Bieber and Martha Stewart. I'm pretty sure we all did. Mama had a shotgun— And daddy hated broken glass I drink out of broken bottles Clasps slip from the hands That can't Grab Shit you're too fucking tall, anyway. The only person who's actually bigger than they look on TV Fuck that. What are you, 6'10? Stay the fuck over there yeo ming. Who drew you, Disney/Pixar? How do you be in a photo from head to toe; full body in the frame and still not be in the picture? This m'fucker's a ghost. Oh look. It's everyone's favorite blow up doll. WHY DO U LOOK ASIAN? WHO TF DID UR DAD KILL IN NAM? –KOREA? EITHER WAY. YOU'RE ASIAN BRO. You seem like that kid that used to walk up on his tiiiy toes and shit. You're weird, bro. That kid that used to walk up— —like this— That's that guy. Devil can't catch me if I don't sit still Still love Run around the world Ring around the Rosie I'm not broke, I jus got. Photo shoot coming up Hang up yo on the fence, Like paint I dry, Simi dinner hard Try hard see the light, go To the light now Go now, my time has come m Go where, how? It's time now for me to depart, my dear Ishii. Why—how?! Because, my boy—the time has come Time not what is! Time be us, you and I! And as we are, my dear boy. I must go. Time nothing but mind is you and I… You are right. Time — is— time. Ishii begins to cry softly, and then weep. Fair for fair and follow for follow— There not are I, And away we went, With wind and time, And the way was one The inside of a year, As the waking of dawn. At dawn, I strike— But was not called To weep, I wake, the tire of tale And yet the sun was in my heart, Yet not in my mind as the sky, And not in the time as the wind, and still, mi follow to love again I always call, And there, the wind where wind does lie, Not I, awake, but I instead as Sunset Again as time had sat upon my should And like bird does cry, The still be wind has shattered my love And in heart lives in such such dusk As pain, my heart, The wicked beauty, Shadowed and stranded Yet I awaken, And here ye, The vow dost took is not aligned— There I was, the call of once The statuesque and haunting Bleeding dry the river's way And almost as such there though of tears With yet had formed all shallow, and none The call of ways I mask misfortunes, There does bear a truth to the tree which bears fruit And give way to time, I am as oceans, Still as steady water's sky, and come what may Of all we have, There nothing lost, And there were fortunes True to shine as gold, And there in no way, Under us. Wax does melt but has not burned, As shadowtimes had set upon us, There, the call was made, and yes The wind had sat upon the waking dawn of eye And there, again the warrior ready for none other than the song of I, The cry of war, does wait unsettled in her wailing As their call had come As of naught, And then came, As does one. Be fair. Daggers! I rot. “Be fair”, says he. Daggers. I rot! Be fair, says I. Nay, The King. True, tis I. —and daggars! I rot. Wary. I find. So then, To have walked among the living and yet are dead— still you, waiting in quarry, Are now I not as King, As though now dost lie slain. Very. A greeting! Seeing now how such has i, Have passed and still yet waiting in how l My waking This fucker just won't die! Well, he can't. He can! (He should.) He has. Oh. Are you triggered. I knew I just have been getting somewhat important Somewhat. I figured this out when they started having people show up after I get to the gym. I knew they were all the same like people, cause for the the most part, they weren't working out, they would just like, align themselves with me, do a few pumps and then do whatever on their phones This one dude came in, and I was already sick of being followed Hadn't been to the gym in a few days cause these people just fucking bother me. Just fucking blows my mind how stupid people are— And I realized something really wrong with people. Like people are really fucked up inthe head, so, This is what I did, when I realized, they weren't going to stop fucking with me in a certain way, I started fucking with them back. I went upstairs to work out, started doing circuits. Did some pumps up stairs, Run the stairs like laps, Hit the tension machine, Kettlebells, Treadmill, then another circuit— {Enter The Multiverse} And I knew whoever was sending these people We're focused on fucking me up; Cause the people they sent were always like— Some kind of trigger. I knew it was some high level programming; They would send like a pretty girl with long hair To fuck me up Or some fat ugly dude who looked like my ex husband, Fat and shit, And they wouldn't workout much, they would just like, fuck around, then hit the phone— And I realized people were really fucking sick In the head, when I realized, After I psyched the fuck out of this fat dude Just fucking running circles around him and shit, Lifting more than he was struggling to fucking lift This dude is all upper body No fucking cardio No fucking legs Weak dick motherfucker. And I realized how sick people were when he goes up stairs And this is how else I know people are fucking with me They'll always get on the phone, And use their phones as intimidation and shit “Hi, yeah, yeah— I'm checking in. I'm a pussy ass robot and shit. Okay. Bye now. Wait—did you hit my cashapp yet? Okay thanks” How you know it's like an app or some shit. Fucking drones, man. But I could tell they were sick and I was somewhere in my way to wellness when, the dude left, then goes upstairs and gets on the phone, and I'm still downstairs and I'm like “Okay, since they're gonna keep fucking with me—when is the end of this album?” I went to check and I knew the album was an hour long— And I look and the album is on the last track and I thought to myself “I haven't touched my phone in at least an hour…” This dude has been in the gym for half the time and has almost not been off the phone He was on the phone more than working out And that's when I realized, Whether I skip a few days at the gym or not Whether I do what everybody else is doing or not Just that alone is rare. He was in the gym maybe a half hour or less And between every single set, he's on the phone Just like all of the other people who seemed to have been following me— And I realized That maybe they weren't even following me on purpose. Maybe they were being remotely sent in my direction somehow with their phones, without their intention or knowing. That is a possibility— And I knew the world had changed in a way that could possibly become dangerous, after being told for x amount of years we needed a SIM card, I've had my phone for almost 5 years, same model; up until now we “needed” a simcard— Now all of a sudden they're letting us know in one way or another “Hey, no we've always been able to remote control your phone” They've inteoduced the “e sim” which is their subtle way of letting you know They've always been able to turn on your phone signal Without you even knowing. Now they're selling you this technology “Oh, you don't need a sim—e sim” I looked, I didn't think my phone would be clmpatible It's a 5 year old model. “Oh no—it's compatible! Congratulations” Which means even 5 years ago before this technology became consumer, They had the ability to open your phone make calls texts and connect to a network They're just now letting you know This has been around for at least a decade And now they're selling it to you. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

That girl from the Uber teen commercial is so remarkably beautiful. I hope she has a long and successful career. Black beyond measure-/ Wat. I'm so black, you can't measure my blackness. What in the fuck BLACK BEYOND MEASURE. BITCH. Nooo. What. What is that. I can measure my blackness. To a t. But yours!? Oh no! You're black beyond measure. What does that entail? Obviously it's a positive thing— So black you are black beyond measure. Woah, Nelly! woah now! Okay! “Oh, how black are you?” I'm like “One half, exactly” She's like “¼— a quarter black, a quarter Cherokee” How black are you?! I AM BLCK BEYOND MEASURE, BITCH. DAYUM. That's a lot of black. Oh, so I guess the door slammers are back cause I emptied my bank account on housing goods? I guess. Maybe it's triggered by some sort of poverty alert system Sure. That's hilarious. I keep way more cash on hand than I do in the bank, And my internet bill is due and everything, but after that— I'mma still be okay. Fucking pansy drones. What do you think they are? Underpaid. Download this app now for TRACKERS. Huh. And $10 Really? Yeah. Complete this mission: What mission. Go— over here. Ok. Now do this. Huh. Don't forget to wear red today. Why red. Meanwhile Hey. What's up. You should wear blue today. Alright. Why. Cause we hate the democrats and you're a fucking loser. What. It's brainwashing. Wear blue. What. Wear blue! Ok. Wear these— super nice— like red sneakers. Ok Check it out. This red motorcycle is on sale. What's up what's up. Get your red gear, highly affordable, street wear, outerwear—look just— nice looking stuff— wear red! Why?! Cause we hate the democrats and all the fucked up people are wearing blue today; you fit the look, okay, just wear red, and act conservative; don't question too much and stuff, be a robot. Okay, what am I supposed to do. Never ever wash your sneakers— Okay. Make sure they are white. Alright. Wear white. Uh huh. And be crusty. Damn. The Dillon Francis decoys are back. For what, I wonder. I don't know, but that's impressive. Would you say this is an act of magic, or manipulation. Could just be some bizzare genetic anomaly. Could be. I don't know though, could just be I like lookin at him, and this is God's way of letting me without being a creep . It's still kind of creepy. Remember that this is happening to me and around me with no provocation whatsoever besides this series. He hasn't even been written into the series lately. That much, Dammit. That's because I stopped listening to his music . Why. It was giving me heartburn. Valid, And I realized: Goddamn. His eyes are devastating. What in the total fuck, God. WHY. WHY. (Almost cries) Alright, don't do that— don't— just — Here. Okay. Okay? Yeah. Damn. *sniffles* You remember that kid with the awful eyes — Which one? The— Oh, the Adonis!? Yeah. That's my son. You son of a bitch. Stay dead, bro. That's not fair! Okay, now— Play dead Play dead. Roll over. Shut up. You shut up. Shit for brains. Come here. WHERE ARE YOU? I'm— like out here, my nigga. Once again, I am not your “that thing” You mean that word? No, I mean that thing— Cause if you're gonna make it a thing, It's a thing. It becomes a thing. A thing is a thing! Agreed. WHERE ARE YOU? I'm out here, Tina Fey. I'm still out here. Where are you at? I'm at THE ROCK, like you said to be— At the time you said to be— With the things you said to be— waiting for you to show up here LIKE YOU SAID YOU WOULD BE. then that's where I am. WHAT. See ya soon. *hangs up cosmic space intergalactic space phone* Does that thing not have a name? Almost nothing has a name at this point it would be redundant. Heeeeere kitty kitty. Let me just jump in to remind you real quick how this season arc started with a kite Apparently it's a three season arc Apparently, it's a 10-season arc cause the whole rock-kite thing started when I was on set for The Bachelor and Kesha said that fucking thing about a rock and a kite and it blew my brains out of my head that day. Also acid. Also that, but also— Skrillex. Facts. I got a fax. Whats's it say. “Go fuck yourself. “ Ah. Whose it from. You're— not going to believe this… Why? Cause I don't. What's it say? It says it's from you. Hm. Does that not— suprise you— in any way? Check the date. It says —wait for it— Okay, now this is odd, because it's today's date, But it says it's from the year 1996. 1998. Yes. Okay. Is that— okay? I'll see you later. Where are you going? I'm gonna go fuck myself. — I— [leaves] —-???? [beat] Is that a metaphore for something??? {Enter The Multiverse} lol why is Jason Sudakis in this series? Cause why not? And I don't know, I think he's got an arc It's a weird arc, man. What. CUT TO: asia “Ali's joints” So you have to like, purposely slamnthisndoornfornitntonbe this loud then? Tried and tested. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Concourse 12. 8 PM. Sharp. ‘How am I still writing this story?' What even is this story? To be fair, I didn't know what I was writing but it sounded good—there was something powerful about the way the shadow figures danced in the confines of my mind—careful not to become attached to the love I had grown for them, the mysterious shadows, they appeared both as creatures of man, and as animals; this— The Prairie Dog— a fortified soldier but also a leader. There's nothing you can do about this, you know. Why exactly should I want to do anything at all? It's a curse. So it is. —you'll be rid of it within the turn of seasons. Worthwhile advice. I envy you. — as anyone should. —you shouldn't. The second, a voice unknown. I didn't know these pussyfoot bastards worked on Sundays. They work to the will of your beck and call. Like all good slaves and servants should. As to be expected under your remarkable guidance. My remarkable guidance is yet to be a consideration as my unintentional inadequacies. Verily, I'm sure. Are you sure. There was once a time I wasn't so sure or anything— Now I'm more than sure of everything than I ever was. Now I believe you. —you shouldn't. It was a raised scar, like the one on my elbow from when I was 9–one I was sure would never heal. It could easily be felt by running my tongue only the bottom of my lower lip— evidence that there has been a hole in my face that had gone straight through to the other side—just then I remembered that also my too teeth had left bloody, skinless indents on my upper lip, which eventually inspired me to re-pieirce my upper lip—the canine tooth had almost gone all the way through, anyway— I joked; but it wasn't funny. Why in the fuck should I trust you? That's a good question. It's a question that deserves an answer. Even if I gave you a good one, would you trust it? What? Do you trust me at all? I'm trying to. Trying is doing. There are tougher things than swallowing your pride. How about—swallowing a bullet. That's some class-A on-screen banter. Now I have an endless supply of coffee in my room. That's good—if only there were somehow also warm calorie-free pastries to add to the pleasure of luxury one would find such as waking up to one's own studio, fresh out of time and chock full of ideas, and a hearty list of things to do— with a whole world of… Oh. The wi-FI is on. Something about my creative intelligence had seem to spark a curious interest within the pre-concious life forms of the lower realms. Lucky, I was just visiting—sure to take my life at any given moment when just so I felt that I had been fed up to here with simply human senselessness; however, I was indeed tasked with enveloping humankind in my own ways—that is, the ways of higher thinking, as I had traveled far and long from an ascended realm, only of course to be welcomed by absolute l chaos—and some primitive, intrinsic fear. Humans happen to be almost immidiateky stifled by one's outer appearances—as to say the least— as when I first I arrived I was neither welcome, nor valued. AHAT—WHATTHEFUCK. Yes. EEGH. How do you do? [The Festival Project.™] {Enter The Multiverse} There for I, There for I, There for I, None! As truth did shatter mine ever being, And also Ever person near WHO VALIDATED THAT BITCH'S PARKING. —you think she drove here?! —if she did it would be on a broomstick. Goddammit. Get her out of here! Out! I said! You're…not a fan of Fallon's, are you. No, I'm not. (No—God, no.) Well, why not? First of all, he winks at people. ;) *cringe* Like, off camera. And I want damages. Damages?! Damages. He's seeking damages?! To what. Like, my entire—everything. Damages to everything. My entire life! Ah. I've got to admit, being sued hy Jimmy Fallon is probably the most exciting thing that's ever happened in the entirety of this series! What about that thing with Skrillex. That was pretty exiting. Which thing with Skrillex? All the things with Skrillex were pretty exciting. (Admittedly, yes.) Then there was Dillon Francis. I hate Dillon Francis. Exactly. Why! Because he excited you. Next question! Ahead. Yo. I finally get to link up with Supacree. You're a mess. Everything is a mess. The world is a mess. —your mom's a mess. Amanda, please. Have you been drinking? How long has deadmau5 been a cat? Forever, I think. Exciting! Enter through the exit! Enter through the exit! Who the fuck let you in here. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I hear no voices in my head And from what I can tell There are none, Only frequencies, And frequencies, And frequencies And recently I've been eating Whatever it is that suits me, Though not whenever And everyday I wish I were A little bit better off A little less bitter A little higher up A little lighter skin A little lighter, Like a feather Wish Misinformed imperfection Military introspection Complexities and such Division and acknowledgement Of no higher power other than One's own Sacred stones; Sorry stories, Sinister canisters of Abandonment Unintentional neglect, depression Non-representation Don't participate in it, If there's nothing there for you Fair hero, Your story was worn in As your uniform, Not new and polished at all And in disposition, regulation, But already threaded to have been Camped in, and eventually— Left to die, then Recovered autonomously. Riverbend, will you wither here In less than a year, I beg for death And still was pardoned, Still I was sacrificed; Still, I was pardoned —still, I was sacrificed. I had not expected to hang this low Without having been picked Or falling to seed anew. I had not bittered, nor broken Nor bittered, nor broken And still I was pardoned, Still I was sacrificed Still I was pardoned, and still I was sacrificed Death comes in tolls Knock the door once Death comes in soft warnings I didn't want to hurt her; I didn't want to harm her Suddenly my heart died, Suddenly on front lines with no boots And no armor, No shield and no cannons, No sword at all, and still I was pardoned I had not bittered, nor broken Nor bittered, nor broken And still I was pardoned, Still I was sacrificed Still I was pardoned, and still I was sacrificed Secrets of the Illuminati Elite. Kamala. Mm. When was the last time you cried? —. … —I— have never cried. I believe you. {Enter The Multiverse} I hadn't been planning on writing at all, and leaving the house—the last time I had taken the risk of doing so on such a day, I was nearly trampled by beady eyed racists in MAGA hats and star spangled banner t-shirts— glared, shoved and patonized—and what's worse— I had been 8 months pregnant. Maybe it was worse in that aspect, I was part of the problem. But— What was the actual problem again? Never ever pay you fares for ferry, fairy monster Never prick for pixies, golden dust and megapixels, Whimsical, into the ore and out of the forest, Disassociate before it's too late! The propaganda of the product. The human American. The human— American. dare I to wander? Dare I to dream! Then I was wicked; I was wicked I was wicked I had grown so dark And so tall the tree Still untouched by any or all Still untouched by mankind, it is Still untouched by mankind, by many By many By many By many By many. Bye Annie. Buy again Buy buy baby Buy all you can while you still come Christmas is coming Out and unleashed is the dragon How's that spiced cider And a song, For your coloring books and Maps to scale Your coloring books And maps to scale Wayfinder Wayfinder Bury you hither Bury you hidden Hypocrisy, hypocracy Hydroponic cry for help A wish to window seat Then, and there Then, and there Northernbound, Wayfinder The end of us The taking of tire marks. Just a smidgen armegeddon of corn syrup And tears on the brink of falling over the shores to the well The velvet windows, winds on lips and colors red on purple Color red on purple Hypocrisy! Wait for it, Wait to call the number Wait to up the bridge To tie the noose To hang from rope Hypocrisy! A far cry. The way to the wind is the chalice. There it was, the ocean, And still sparked untruth from foraged windspoke There were 5 of us there And then four And then 5 once more And now 9 we have gathered. More coffee. I'm gonna fucking kill myself. Finally. More coffee? Might as well be awake for this. Another unremarkable opera From the democrat Waiting conversavive Republican Oh, no Bananas are always in season Oh, right; There's always a time Where Mango fruit does indeed fall In full bloom In fall, doom and gloom Assumingly Tune in now, It's on every TV In the meridian It's on every channel In the Bermuda Triangle It's on every Christmas tree At the top each year— So, A star, Or an angel! A star, Or an angel. Preach Choir, And let us all revel In the absolute sweetness Of Drew Barrymore. Aw-men. Awwww man. Awwwwwwwwwwwewee And I'm in awe of it all Isn't it awful, how I could have bought a CBS sponsored waffle iron From Walmart But instead invested in ending this depression Single-handedly with home remedies Of medication And botanicals From the garden of Eden forgotten, Perhaps only as steady inward, or in reverse As I had thought to run or shuffle A Madonna (That's roughly 7 miles) There were ten of us there, Then nine, Then none at all, Now ten again, Before only 5 and then 4 And then 3, Two of them none, and nine become one Against another And again, the atom has split Lightning has stuck God has come The song is sung, I'm still strung up on the rafters, Or what have you What a beautiful and pitiful Jack o'lantern What a disaster, after all— There was no end. Whatsoever! Ring the division bell, Come around now, Download the abounding Clocks set forward And moving in circular motion Clouded judgement, now, Hounding is the crown of a thought Though heavy is the gold in which has made the kingdom, There was love in words And food for throught And foreign tongue, Born outright fury, Fury Fury Hands down, master, Does not that ask I Of what you now now comes next Farewell bid you , I In the where-well I parted, Never once a king, but a god And never once a man, But a time Willing and ready for attack, goes the king Waiting and running full force into front lines Sure to be killed in battle, But killed in honor Of those come before And now waiting to be born, also So take it next to sacrament, On uour alter With your sacred prayers and scented candles What we are and the time we came, What as, The tails of asunder, The other world of wonder l l l Come chorus, Come choir, Come individual countrymen Come focus this attention deficit, This intrinsic thought form, Has indoctorined your subculture. Sim…sim…sim— why are they all sims? I don't know: This one's vaping essential oils. How do you know? I know the smell of a lavender and eucaputus oil blend. What does that mean? I must be at a spa somewhere. At a spa?! Sleeping to death? Could a been a slip and fall… They're very relaxing. …Equinox. What. Equinox fitness. I'm at.. Equinox fitness. You died at the equinox fitness? In the— steamroom. Are you sure it's not the sauna? Heavy on the eucalyptus oil. Then again, here I was Infinite and insecure, Unsure of anything but the establishment so far and just however everything you were Was nothing for gain and everything I was, Was just to be there. And again, easy for the mobs And ready for the torches and ready for the torture And ready for the rapture On hard diets and tied to our l forests. Forfitture. Misaligned and malnourished, Tied to our desks and wondering Unsolved problems and foreign language dialects, Social repressions and expressions of forgiveness, though somehow apologetic, Or with any indifference at all With any indifference at all . Something overcomes whatever we were in that moment And here we are, Again, Exactly what became of the thoughts you had for us— The things you gave us a name to You did make us And here in the suffer-he, We all fall, like water over Niagara Or the last rainfall on earth did. (The rains it never came again, And then the ocean turned to mud, And soon to dust, shortly thereafter in your time While in our time, The thing of light, Nothing really at all, But in your way, many lifetimes, and almost too many even to tie to your number, I. The most, you know, That you can hope for, my dear King, is a fair fight And then as it were, nothing at all were fair, In this life or any, But the skin and eyes of the enemy, The wool of the sheep of course, and the color of cotton. Therefore you shall too understand this music. And nothing my dear king begins without another ending, And all the same is nothing and everything Everyone and no one, Here and nowhere at all, And so it has come— And therefore, I too, shall understand these things again. Try to remember your honor, at the resting tip of the diamond, and at the unburdened idea of circumstance, The rush of August, the cinema tongue And cheek, The blood drawn and again the awakening, The fertile flower and the dove, And the greatness of all that was, which was— In my past, as you call now and present, But again also may come, in aptitude to darkness. Farewell, my great, my son and daughter, my king of glory, and farewell to change! Farewell to fall and farewell to spring, farewell to summer And very well gone are the oars of the boat which has sunken, and your oars, your arms, And your tide, my own A breath so shallow almost forgotten, To no wind a sail, And another great misfortune has come, To wonder besides us, What art thou. And then, what are I? If none. If none, I call, and If none, I shatter. If none, I fall, And if none, I shatter If none, I call And if none, I matter. Then. Then and so. Then and so very well All and all And all in all, we all were Abandoned. No trauma form, The faceless god. No trauma form, the faceless God, Unknowing of what the world's rules are, And of course, then coming Unknown at all to another, and yet To humankind, all knowing of all things And being embodied as one, Then another, and some all The faceless God, as we all are, The faceless God, whom we all mock And The Faceless God, free from the burden of trauma, In wanting and unknown, The truth in all things, Taking all forms and all bodies, As the time comes upon us, To walk towards the light and To free ourselves from all time In all ways. Steady, shook, and window watching She did not wave To die today. To die today. To die to day. Is to die at all, not once, but all times Forever. It'll come harder the next time I promise. At my wits, as the man who had sworn my death now some see fit to wear a crown, A crown such as I had earned, by death and by will But he, by birth and by blood and wrong done. Woe is this! Hellicopter, Hellicopter Spin me round right round to where you hand And as I gallantly had planned to cross, I still hadn't lay last I her embarques all for free and care of down down, now I see something like home, over water The water had music, And the waves had tongues, The smell of gas I cherished and did breathe deepl, as sudden to come, I was as far as I had ever been, and as lonely as I always was, but still, mi finally walk on water To lululu buy a song, No price, but with time does come the cost and to live as though I always was, here, before the land was born And the oceans had parted, as something known As just a thought {I_NY.} I don't want it that much, nor do I need it, And stillc here I am, Watching Madame President. Today ought to be the day for the occult, The hymn of the omens And all polished the dolls, waiting the words And worse off, Astonishing The seagulls song had sung The flight has flown The dance was talked about But never coreographed I never even saw the lighthouse; And you're just a face in the crowd Can you see yourself in me? Do you hope to, like I do you? I don't have that disaster. I really don't have that conquest. I doubt you'd the answer The system, the sacrifice, the annex, Get out of my alignment m Decide to assign you Resign your retirements For the full four for the full force The best place to live is La. , but next comes New York, if you're— [America Runs on Dunkin] I don't know where I was going Damn that train. —Actually, it was a boat. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

So, you built this, huh? I certainly must have, at some point. All by yourself. I highly doubt. You just considerably know yourself well to have brought yourself here— Or not. Let's just say, I really uh— Fuck, I blacked out, Tied one on the night before. Oh, God. And the day before— Oh, well. Hello, t there. I—uh— And the night before the day before. Christ. All I'm saying is, for this audition you're going to want to keep it classy. Keep it—classy. Let the games begin! In those pants I could make you into anything In these jeans it seems there may indeed be a reason to meet me, and maybe Just maybe If we're playing the same game. You may see me, And we will play together— For eternity. What exact the fuck game are you playing with this guy? I don't remember. Drunken Posers. FUCHK. I hate this game' I love this GAME. Jett How am I supposed to find this tiny Drew Barrymore, before 6 o clock tonight You're going to have to find a way— You might try here What Or here What! How am I supposed to know which kid she is You'll remember her—she'll remember you Yeah, whatever Oh, and another thing— She'll be so cute you want to die. Oh god Hey kid. I've got some new for ya -“[a very tiny Drew Barry otte screams at the top of her lungs] Rig it in time, bro And right in timbre TIMBRE Look, this has been moved up the ladder some. Excuse me? Chain of command. Are you telling me, that I somehow outrank— This fool. This fool. Ugh. In the Illuminati? *shrugs* She outranks me. Dang, dude. What are you gonna do? Nothing, I guess. That's not an answer. SUNNI! What. WHAT HAPPENED?! I don't know. That is NOT an answer. We wear black in winter. Well, at least I got the dress code right… Welcome To New York. We wear black in winter. Walk at a fast pace into oncoming traffic. Every. Single. Thing. Is a— Speeding Silver— Bullet. (If you catch it, [you can]try to paint it gold. Toucan Sam I will tell you- I will tell you— I will tell you again. You don't exist, It's moot that I don't exist. It's that I'm extract l. L l It's that I'm extinct Okay, look; this is— not what you're used to. What am I used to? You're a Piglet. Eeyore. Where's Pooh? Probably with Tigger. Well. Well. I guess it's just—us—then. … … [beat] (A long, heavy pause for dramatic effect) F—-ck this is awkward. Producer foods: P B & J Check. And almond butter. Nice. This is horrible. But here it goes. What is. Here it goes: Noodles. Check. soy sauce? Yessir. Steak. Check. Scissors. Check. [beat] Uh. Mau5. WHAT CHICKEN. why does he have a cat named chicken! We're about to find out. What are the scissors for? Exit, exit now. Why? FUDGE. HOT FUDGE. Damn, Dillon. wtf. Flashback: (Listening to Dillon Francis on heavy rotation at acid-level synesthesia) *smacks lisp* @9@ lol okay ***smacks lips*** Does this taste sweet to you? I still see that one cereal box and get reminded of Dillon Francis a lot. Facts. Ketchup. Facts. Vanilla Soy Milk Correct. Out of all the comedians I studied, Jay Pharoah was my new favorite. Yes, my new favorite comedian. There were the old favorites— The classics, if you will. You know Bernie Mac, Kat Williams, Robin Williams— And this, by the way, is in no particular order— Eddie Murphy Cedric— (Sorry I thought you were dead, broh.) Cereal. Yup. Two kinds! Teriyaki—for the noodles? Did I not mention that with the soy sauce already? It should be maybe like included with the soy sauce. No, its seperate. Dane Cook. Really dawg, come on. Richard Pryor. Titans, broh, titans. PERCIUS Yo. NO. NOO—NO. Shut up. I gotta tell you something. *screaming girlie* NO. Shut up! I told you all along. No you didn't! She—cannot—be trusted! You encouraged it! You—don't tell me what I did— You did that! You just worry about what you did— What I did?! What you've done!! What— Oh god. Oh jeez. Oh, shit, son!! I gotta get goin. Wait, you're right: where is Liz? Good question. This is not safe. This cannot be safe. It's not safe. This is not KOSHER. What's it matter to you? It SO matters. Are you a Jew, now? It might suit me at this point. Or eventually, it may. What's that supposed to mean. Quiet, Liz. We're almost finished. Finished with what. Just one more *strap* Oh, great another— Shh. DOCTOR! DOCTOR. Nobody can hear you. Oh! But they will. They won't. And why not?! Because, you're a cartoon character; and even if you weren't. What are you talking about?! I'm Liz Lemon! Yes—that is—semi-correct. Semi correct?! It is fully correct! Elizabeth Lemon would be fully correct— by definition. What—what are you doing? Preparing for takeoff. Takeoff?! Where are you sending me. Takeoff from The Migos feels a small pull in his heart, and a ringing in his ears, as he becomes the first living Migo to be mentioned in the festival project. Huh. {Enter The Multiverse} First of all, his Skrillex impression l— Spot on. Because yes, As we all know— Those of us who were there to watch Skrillex Personally sign on to The Illuminati Via Justin Bieber— Nothing so quite remarkably Brought back its pungent memory— The song that in one phrase, Both started and ended it all, Than Jay Pharoh's own memorandum, A representation by impression, Of this particular sound, Known lovingly otherwise as “Skrillex” And however, was the Pause What in the fuck did I just see. Oh, that's just Skrillex . I knew it was you. Yes, yes you did… Okay— Now. Now where are you going to go? I don't know. That's not an answer. Oh god. Right. It's just a bodiless fuckin Like an orb. That's what you'd call that? I'd call it more of like A florecent, gellatenous— Presently, yes— Blob, of sorts. Oh shit. This bitch said “bomb” and Kamala in the same sentence. lol. Yikes. She finna be famous, on accident. Probably on purpose, but if it was gonna be on accident— it'd be because of that. You right. Man, I'm fuckin ba— —ked. kettle chips. I love those. How are they kettle chips if they're baked. *shrugs* I dunno. Damn. Alright. That nigga is fine as fuck. Dont we all know it. Get him the fuck out of my face. Whatchu mean?! It's eye candy. I don't eat candy! Unless it's spelled with a k and made of letters! Okay Alright —and even then and only then will I eat it if I am inexplicably drunk or in any other way otherwise intoxicated. Ok, damn. Ok Sunnï. Now, get that nugga out of my eyesight. He's not He's not technically “in your eyesight” EVEN MY PERIPHERIAL. Ok. AND NY FORESIGHT, and my HINDSIGHT OK. Ok Sunnï. AND MY FORESKIN, AND MY FOREHEAD AND NY FORESHADOWING— LOOK. JUST GET HIM OUT OF MY LIFE OUT OF LIFE the whole life OUT MY LIFE. Ok. On it. Two minutes to wrap this up Before the fast of the century Falls flat on its face Like the rice noodles I'm about to stuff your face with Pronto the moment You arrive back in your body Where am I now? At a rave. (In the bathtub) Which is—accurate? Which isn't? [A Cult Classic] Around 1:30 we rendezvous Until, that is, This posts, with the rest of them And as of then, We'll meet again, At another time (Set no reminders) Cameras flash and shines the diamond. Is that it? Yeah, I thinks so. Are you sure? I mean, produce stuff. Peppers, onions, whatever. —are you sure? Yeah, that's it. Are you serious? What? What's wrong. Where's the Jimmy Fallon's? What?! (They're gonna kill me for this) Playtoy, plaything Gets old real l quick It's love, not lust Gets home round ten Get up round 6 Makes the round. Wraps a towel around his head Writes love on her arm It's a real nice story, If you're surviving the apocalypse. Lips, lips, yeah Lipstick, lipstick Golden charriots And Blondish wigs sis Since when did you get hip Since hip replacement No birthday presents; But it's too late, isn't it? It really is, it really is It's too late, isn't it It really is, it really is —but, it's too late, isn't it. I want you to watch this. What is it. Not sure yet. Uhm, okay: See you later. What, you're not going to watch it with me? You're gonna need a professional fluffer. Call my agent and my lawyer. Aren't they the same guy? What?! NO! *shrugs* What the fuck is wrong with everybody! Sorry imm late! Hey tigger. Tigger. It is I. Where's Pooh. How should I know? We thought he was with you. Who is we —? Us, And what do I look like—his keeper? Do the Charlie Brown. What?! Do the Charlie Brown! What? Like wawahwahwa?? No! Idiot! The dance. The what. Do the dance?! I don't know what that is. What. What the fuck. I thought you was supposed to be funny. I am! I was. But you don't know how to Charlie Brown I know how to Charlie Brown! I just did the “wahwahwa” That's the teacher! Man, shut up! You—what?! There's a dance! I didn't know there's a dance! What the fuck, man. You lose, dawg. What do you want from me?! Hold on! Boss. What?! He don't know how to do the Charlie Brown. What. I said. That nigga don't know how do to the Charlie Brown?! He say he don't! Man— Man!!! I said! Shoot that nigga! Jay Pharoh, another notable SNL alumni, however From the wonder years in which I had really never watched, but only glossed under in curiosity— Just so happened to be the definitive test of my overall attraction to members of my own “race” classification— And an incredible impressionist— Maybe even the best, ever. But here, let me explain the first part. I realized that simply, watching his performance , That I was certainly not— Nor might I ever be— Attracted to black men. Yes, indeed. Jay Pharoh stood as the equivalent of The girl the gay guy kisses passionately in order attempt to achieve arousal from such an act, by this, I mean: That I watched this stand up performance as a straight female, fellow performer, and sapiosexual— In knowing and understanding that, I was watching this man, as I had many others, Doing something I found incredibly attractive— Actually, almost irresistible— Performance art; Live performance art— Better yet, Stand up comedy, which I have yet to have fully broken the code—meaning that this act— An illusive mystery to me as to how exactly it is practiced; Whereas with music the viel has since been lifted— There still exists a certain type of magic in the act of performing stand up comedy, especially to large audiences. And so, in the sense that Jay Pharoh—a notable SNL alumni, an incredible performer and with the added bonus of being an extremely attractive and accomplished fellow l— There should be some kind of —you know— Erotic spark involved in watching this performance;such as the young gay man uses his willing perceivably attractive female friend as a practice test in order to better understand his own identity and circumstance, so was this Not entirely on purpose— But actually, hy complete accident, and Just as the young gay might realize upon kissing his female friend— I realized this: Jay Pharoh to me was an incredibly beautiful human being— So incredibly beautiful, in fact, that several times during his performance— I actually wanted to cry. Cry actual tears— And while I realized that this man, As beautiful as he was— Physically, and spiritually— Aesthetically, and otherwise— Hitting all the marks in all the places that he should, There was one thing that made it feel as if, In anything at all in the world, We were incompatible. Not to say that I could put myself into the category of upper echelon women to compete over such an admired person at all— But only finally realizing something important about myself, that just so happened to be as important as the formerly unsure gay's sexuality is to him; My attraction to black men did not exist. Like I said, it was bad— Or at least, it sounds bad. But now I finally get it. This man, Who had everything I could dream of and more, Who happened to be in peak shape, At the height of his career, And incredible in every single possible way— Who was, So beautiful, in fact, inside and out— That I nearly did cry— Still wasn't someone I wanted to have sex with. Case solved. Of course, this man can do much better. That's far beyond the point; And, If there is a point at all to any of this, it's that Gender, and sexuality, and attraction are still In this time Just as much of a mystery to humanity as it's ever been, and as much as it'll ever be The theory of genetic attraction so far is entirely existent only in my mind— or perhaps even, hidden somewhere deeply in secret within my genetic code, as the closer I age toward my own maternal peak, the more spacific the traits in the opposite sex which dictate what I am and am not or will or will not be attracted to sexually. Does that make me a racist any more than a homosexual's explicit desires to see a same-gendered person over the opposite makes them a mysognoist or otherwise? #karmageddon And while I've struggled in my cellibacy to adapt to a changing world, realizing that my viewpoints and beliefs, my code of ethics and even my own morals have become somewhat obsolete that, I'm forced to recon, alongside with my non-binary assignment, that the need to procreate as a female, a natural phenomenon and this desire for change within the current genetic predisposition Is something like homosexuality, in that My particular genetic code And the particular genetic code of my potential mate rests with the knowledge that my own intrinsic sexual attraction or converse aversion to one determination over another is in part due to the structure of evolution within our species with the higher purpose of creating offspring more likely to survive and succeed within the world's consistently changing climate—sociologically and otherwise. What in the fuck does this have to do with comedy?! Nothing, this is the equivalent of the recently self-realized gay man having an overaggrandized and theatrical coming-out So what are you coming out with exactly? I don't know. I just like white dudes. That's it? Yeah. . . . #floatingfastdays [The Festival Project ™] That's it?! Yeah. “I like white dudes.” Only white dudes. That's all you were trying to say? Not trying to say. I said it. Like, scientifically, and shit. Are you serious? I want one. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Two waist trainers— Two sauna suits— One neoprene and one polyester— It's polyester? Damn. Well, at least it won't rip What exactly are you trying to achieve. I'm going to be 110 pounds. For what! I don't know. Jennifer Anniston makes it seem really appealing. JENNIFER ANNISTON opens a yogurt; Like, Ten dudes just crowd around and stare. See. Ah. I get it . I see what you mean. What exactly do you need ten dudes for to sit around and stare at you eat yogurt?! Ah shit, which friend is that? I don't know— let's see. This one's Chandler. Hi. And that's Ross. Hey. So this guy's—uh— JOEY UH… Give me a minute. JOEY You forgot my name? It's been a long time! No it hasn't! I saw you last week, at the Deli. It's been a long week. How do you forget my name in a week! I didn'! What do you mean “I didnt” I mean— I saw you just last week, at the deli, and I said “Hi Rachel” And you turned around to me and said “Oh, hiiiii——…“ [exaggerated gasp] YOU FORGOT MY NAME! What this show has a friends reuinionnin it! Just let me have one more day of bread and ice cream, and not giving a fuck, Will ya. Shhh! Quiet, will ya?! What come on! How am I supposed to believe you're actually getting clearance from not just NBC— —CBS— YES. — But all the networks?! What can I say? I'm a cash cow. You're an actual cow. Shove it. Everybody's going to want a slice of the best show on Telivision. So, check it out. You wagered a deal with— Uh huh— Let me see if I'm getting this right— Ah huh “The Illuminati” Uh huh! “The Illuminati!?” That's who you're signed to? “Signed” is like a relative term. …This is signed in blood. It sure is! Are you done downloading Final Cut yet? Not yet, I have to finish the album so I can offload Ableton first What-te-der—l— what do you mean “offload Ableton” Like get it off my computer. What does that mean. I don't have enough room for both things. So just get rid of it! —no. Just— Focus. I'm gonna do a magic trick. Okay. What kind of magic trick. I'm a eat all this crap. —okay. All this shit I like— Alright— For like a week. That seems normal. Then I'm gonna go back to being an uptight, no fun, war machine of a human being. How is that magic? You'll see. Yep. I reached my cap on New York. I'm fucking sick of people. I don't want to see another human being— ever. Fuck these fucking people. Fuck the gym. Fuck the grocery store. Fuck the internet— Just— NO. Get the fuck away from me. Don't be around me Don't talk to me Don't touch me. Period. Don't. Come, around. Here. Leave me alone— And I'll leave you alone— And when we're all done being alienated and isolated— Which is never— We'll see each other again; one day, maybe. Maybe not. I don't know. Wait. What. When's the Drew Barrymore show? Like next week maybe —you don't even have tickets. I'm sure somehow that if I do, however, get tickets— I'll be Illuminati skinny within the proper amount of allotted time— —You have four days. MORE ICE CREAM. Why the fuck is Selena Gomez naked? I don't know, Is she okay? I don't know. Oh look. A skeleton on a peloton. Whatever. I'm hot. I don't get it. What's the point of losing all this weight if still no one loves me? Did you say four days? *7 You said um. Look, I gotta take a detour from that whole Psy the Saige storyline, it was getting kind of dark. How do you mean? I don't. “Book III” Secrets Wasn't it? Idk I thought it was Secrets Lies Death Then what was book four Idk I'm suffocating under heavy bloat and heavily paralyzing social anxiety right now. I need a peloton and an equinox membership. Okay, that will be $Forever Dollars, please. Here you go. Hanging out at this frequency is kind of alright Inwardly I'm still vibrating at light speed, but outwardly all those honking horns and idiots don't really bother me as much-/ Because being this fat, I'm more like them than not! That makes sense, (On the outside) MORE ICE CREAM. Okay, but I get to pick the ice cream. We're talking about Hollywood and Alex Baldwin here! What?! ALEC BALDWIN I'm not going to jail. Jesus Christ. (Laughs, lights cigar) —filthy fucking rich! You expect me to believe Alec Baldwin isn't such a fucking leftie that he would actually sacrifice his entire career and reputation in order to promote the left's agenda on gun violence?! No, he actually killed somebody. I doubt that! ALEX/ that's a hilarious typo ALEC BALDWIN [staring off innocently with his sparkly blue eyes] I doubt that highly. Somebody tell me why this man is nearly 80 years old And still looks like a newborn baby. [dazzles] Yikes. Holy shit, there's like 90 fucking Baldwins. Since the Mayflower, baby! There's 10 fucking Wynans Wayne's? Wyan? Whatever Recovery + Time You know sometimes self care is more than just going to the gym every day, personal hygiene, and good housekeeping. Sometimes it's staying away from other people, trauma triggers, and the rest of the world knowing that whatever is supposed to happen is going to happen. You can't force change— You can— But primarily this happens from within. Which means Fuck that, I'm not going to the gym— I swear to god they have these fucking people following me. that's fame. No it is NOT. Fame means I make enough money to show up at the Equinox on occasion, At 5 in the morning, when only the cool people are there— Or late at night, after almost everyone's left ON OCCASION Because I have my own state of the art equipment In my workout room So I can burn off the nonsense 5 feet away from my fucking sleeping quarters— And go to work SOMEWHERE ELSE Being surrounded by people of MY CHOICE And not these coughing, hacking, sniffling, sneezing, diseased ass weight throwing weak dick phone scrolling motherfuckers— That's fame. This isn't fame . It's gangstalking, or some kind of serious indication That's something is fucking wrong with people, And I'm about to either lose my mind, Or take into consideration the heavy amount of karma which institutes from participating in fucking stalking someone until they get fucking sick and thrown off course— Fuck that. Fuck all these people in New York since day one have tried to fuck me over in some way Which includes My neighbors Every since roommate I had at the homeless shelter, And every single other mother fucker possessed by some low-quality- demonic, residual idiot vibration that keeps attacking me. All this to say? I WANT ICE CREAM AND BREAD, AND AFTER THAT, I'M GETTING A PELOTON. KELLY (From Shoes) FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUUCKK YOUUUUUUUUUU. Somehow for the first time in a long time, I was suddenly in alignment with time and synchronicity—the time was 10:10, and after a failed attempt at an early enough gym time that I thought mother escape whatever had been plaguing me, I was once again followed directly into the gym, and I no longer or at all found it a coincidence, as all of the people who arrived just shortly after I did, appeared to be dressed in the same kind of attire, almost as if some kind of dress code or uniform. Unwilling to share the space, after spending the day fighting a pressurized crluater migraine from out of the back of my neck and behind my eye, I was intolerant to waste even further energy on attempting to reclaim the focus I had barely gathered through the day, my week of gym training sessions shortened to simple one mile runs, between 10 and 15 minutes on the stationary bike, and minimal lifting and yet, I had with some intention been eating out of my usual bounds, indulging on bread, store bought jelly—against my summer long habit of making my own, and even ice cream. Still, the ice cream I had bought the night before had come entirely freezer burnt and was unappetizing, not that I needed an excuse for even more ice cream, but somehow the tantrum of rage that had resulted from yet again being followed into the gym had also resulted in not just returning to my apartment to sulk in hatred and disdain for the human species, but darting like a bullet to the grocery store with a a fiercely careless and blinding fury in collecting not only the items I needed to gather—but some extra; things I wanted, and not just needed, and though deviating from the specific diet I knew that I intended to follow throughout the week, granted I might have the chance to finally visit as an audience member of the Drew Barrymore show, which I had attempted while in shelter and, getting lost on the way to the studio somewhere in Manhattan, has simply never achieved, and rather remembered quite vividly rather, spending the day exploring restaurants in the city, and looking for a doctors office—as my intolerance to cold had sent me about on a wild goose chase in thinking that while in shelter I would have ever ended up with a private sleeping quarters; now, something like a year later or whenever it was, and though I had been met with the blessing of at least doors which closed out the physical presence of other human beings with any luck, there was still the constant reminder of the world's chaos and restlessness, and something in me shattered at knowing that with the ability to create, there was almost no escape at all from the overwhelming boundary of insanity always in and about the building, and now about myself. The headaches returned within minutes of my return to the building, almost as if it was the building itself that needed to be removed from my lists or triggers and stressors, and though the building was nice itself, the noise had become debilitating. I finally had realized after taking time and research that I did indeed have the grounds for a lawsuit—and the evidence to prove it. The only question really was; who was I suing? “A Statement Piece” Look who's here! No, I'm not here, actually— it's— this is not who you think it is. Do you know who I am? Uhh…DREW BARRYMORE? WRONG— you're WRONG AGAIN. As always. Ū attends the Drew Barrymore Show. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Lights on; Knock my lights out I'll be right back— But that was about a half-hour or so, ago and now I'm About to black out A night owl, Or white owl, Who cried out “No, this is my house!— Either sit down, or get out of it” And that was the— Fuck this bitch. Who hired her? You'll stay in this room with the subject for up to three months; —okay. Record everything. Isn't this illegal? Not for us. Okay. There's something you should know about before I tell you think. I have to know something before you tel me something? It's like a precursor. What's a “precursor” Fuck. What: Nothing. What is it. It's—nothing— You can't just say “fuxk” “FUCK.” UGH. If I fall, The whole house will fall down with me; I promise The whole house and all the walls, If I fall, If I fall for you I promise, If it goes all wrong, I won't wait long for you; I'd ask the same, that is, If the game we're playing Was all the same, But it isn't (It really isn't) It really isn't— Another circumstance of wisdom Or conincidental t-shirt to believe in God makes guesses at the afterthought (of) androgynous. We could make love for hours in the silence But I'd have to wander off, when morning comes Before you recon you don't want me And I'm sad and always wondering “If I had left with all my stuff before the Sun came up, Would I be struggling and suffering?” No, probably not. Probably not, huh I promise Rich and shameless, I probably shouldn't say this, But I've been drinking; I've been thinking I've been sinking into feelings I don't need, But actually — Look at me when I'm bleeding for you Look at me! Look at me, into my dreams when you leave me Waking up lonely Thinking of only You Until I remember I'm here And you're there With her Watch me while I whiter away, I'll watch you while you slither up my leg And bite my thigh Just how I like it Now I'm high again on dying It ain't right, But fuck, I like it Fuck me like you mean it Fuck me right Ugh. What. Okay, I secretly might break my veganism streak Just for a fresh ass strawberry frosty— Like I need to lose another dollar, Fuck it That's it. It's a sickness. {Enter The Multiverse} Miniature pumpkin pies…hm. Once you realize you control the beasts, and not the other way around— It's easy then to move them about, as if little pawns and pieces Upon the map we've built To play this game. These ones are programmed to move when I do— And this one. Watch this. Toggle WiFi on. Are you sure you want to join a public network? Yes. Join. 3…2…1… [a coughing robot enters] See. I told you. Very well. Off we go. Why is it always the darker skinned ones. Well, the dark skinned ones are more likely to be on public networks, or connected to networks operating on lower speeds— Right— As well as the marginally ugly, the generally ungifted, and— [a sim paces back and forth awaiting commands from its controller and superior] unforgivingly controllable. Now what. I pointed my camera towards the three sparking candles, knowing good and well that even connected to my own private wifi, I was still being perched upon. Now, sitting comfortably back in the opposite side of my bed from where I usually laid, i studied the energy moving around me, as the material world had begun to shift, and as always—the frequencies dwelling within the lower realms tried desperately to enter the higher realms by intrusion—an absolute impossibility, and yet—as expected they always would try. In the seven years since it all had been arranged, I had become a skilled magician, and yet, it wasn't here from whence my talent was drawn, as so with other. This medicine, I simply used as a sheer protection against whatever it was that had tried to penetrate my totality—something foreign and dark which seemed to easily crawl its way into others, but had met its folly in trying to dwell inside me; yea, I was in turn its master, and yet I had no duty to enforce or skill to employ to a dark realm being, it sat always near or just farther off perching, working its way through weaker minded bodies, and those broken in spirit, or otherwise— almost calling to me as if it needed a friend, and yet, I employed not dark magic or hexes or curses of the sort, and therefore had no use for it. I might have maintained its power somehow, and then, knowing good and well the karmic law surrounding its properties, knew better than to use dark magic at all— this would cost its user dearly in… —what did you want it? …propensity. Well, it worked, didn't it. Is this what you wanted? What I wanted…hm… —because if it is, then I'm very well off the hook. Or should be. I finished my chapter. Good. Now bury yourself back up before I dig you another grave. Fresh dirt sounds okay. There'll be nothing fresh about it! Very well. Kind, but shallow— And it seemed all an all a nightmare, to begin with And have ended in such a way, That the clamorings of hell would shout his name aloud in praise, and so it had begun, to say A fairytale overturned, In which the world had come to worship The most evil of all things— And the only evil that was, Lie hidden in the beauty Of something held so sacred As to be worshipped by almost all, Especially of men, And yet reviled to the light And the truth in which She had disguised herself as. I called to the ascended masters to release me from this realm. For every out of place sound, disfigurement, for everybody that followed in my tracks—now that I had learned I was being mislead—that the ice cream trucks all spawned out of a single holding lot—that the motorcycle club was allowed to ravage through the neighborhood at will—that it was indeed a game on my psyche and after all, that no one could be trusted in my world or in my presence— that these hellish creatures were in fact, some part of a bigger game of control, I knew that my power had indeed become too great for such a force to have been imparted; that indeed I was more important than normal, and above and beyond average—and the more the sounds and gestures impeded my peace, the further damage I knew the thing sending them to dissolve my light would suffer, and eventually parish. They were evil things, but not all together, stupid and pitiful, and yet, all acting on behalf of one, a cruel and evil dark force of injustice that could only be met with the face of goodness. I knew beyond all doubt that even try as it may, it could not force its way into my kingdom, though try it might, and that with each flickering flame—an agreement between myself and I as one, the master of all things in each and every material realm, that this trait was nothing more than the effect of my being stretched so freely outward in all ways, having expanded into the edges of all of the worlds and all of the times—that these almost unconscious creatures were just as well, some sort of runoff of my initial decent into such worldly realms as to have been embodied at all, not once, but endlessley—and that I as all things, must have been in sorts, just as angry, and as tired, and as stupid, and as unwilling to remain in the world as I ever was, not truly ever having awakened to my own oneness. A truth, the things that bothered me the very most were just as much a waste to myself and the world as food eaten and then discarded— something like having once been of use, but now now more, than besides as a reminder that at once, it had all been as One. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

i found this bird with a broken wing about my doorstep— I see. Would you happen to know anything about that? Your—doorstep? Your bird. Who said it was my bird? Ours then, shall we? Anandar taught me explicitly how to go about being many places at once; I can be both. You're a puppy! If I was, I'd be a pit bull! Cute dog. [malicious] Oh! He bites. Where are you taking me? To your mother. I haven't seen you in 40 years. Has it been 40 years already? You tell me. Timekeeper. Now where are we? There was bass inside of me. The hurt started over in my heart, pulling a pressure, building up and then mounting at my throat, and in the back of my eye— haunting. I pulled somewhere between my ear and the back of my nose, pressing in on my eye with one hand to release the pressure— which had been lately, appearing as brightly as a white light at times, and in some ways it almost seemed as if I was some kind of star—not the kind on earth, but the kind in the actual sky. A bright white light. Still, it hurt, and the pressure had come in all kind of pains from headaches to outbursts of tears, deep breaths so deep that my entire mind and body would reset, shut off and then come on again as if I were a light, or some kind of computer— hard flashes of other worlds, and sometimes songs—but mostly, lately, just tears out of almost nowhere, if I didn't know any better—and I did, at least kind of— know where they were coming from. At least kind of. As I clipped the back of my ear, a heavy lull of deep bass I had never quite heard before began vibrating lowly as if it was what do become of me— some sort of astonished, I removed the grip from my ear and waited a moment, then placed the pressure back over the same area—and to my suprise, there was, some sort of deep bass radiating—not from the outside, but within. As sensitive to incoming frequency as I was, this might have something to do with it. It hadn't mattered much in awhile— I was almost definitely in some sort of block from my music, the inspiration seemed to have vanished into the night, and though with it had gone some harsh ties that needed to be cut, here came so another set of tasks, and talents—which seem to have been hidden or at the very least perched in the shadows unyet to the calling of my awakening. I could either go to the Drew Barrymore show, or The Daily Show, but I couldn't do both; either way, I knew that if there was something I wanted or even needed to know, the media would have its way of fortrlling what to be expected in the regular multitude of ways, from code switching to the careful arrangements at which things were conducted behind the scenes, both on and off air, however— treading lightly and under the circumstances of dismissal from even my own project and worlds, within the tightly knit circle I knew I had peered into and started to attract some sort of attention, and wondered if, even as a civilian audience member, my creativity would be procured. Which did I even have more interest in? Perhaps truly neither, as the excavation of my inner piece and fantastical plotting of narrowly escaping the depths of New York's well gated poverty system, I had been nearly drowning in an ocean of hopes nearly shared by every individual with which I shared this condition on the planet: that is to say—nobody wanted to be alone, broke, and lonely— and especially when that meant all of your art, hopes, and dreams had been entirely wasted. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I can't save you; Thinking of this over midnight coffee and faded rain– Now jaded makes sense, Along with the color scheme Friday came and went (I keep you hidden and off to the side, And away from the monsters, the scars of a fairytale long and forgotten More robberies and a heartbreak, sactity hours away On a plane destined for engine failure falling from such high altitudes The last and the first sound Unsure of survival and rebirth To a new age Is the same sound, The whistling of the winfs Fresh with frost from the aspen Oh, the shame of it Oh, the shame of it –and this must be why you've been on my mind I hide and keep it pushed to the side So the monsters stay far, far away With the hopes that something, If anything Is left at the end Like a vulture of some sort, for faux and fur coats Astonished it still hasn't gone yet Up in ohms, for fear of the father The color makes all the sense In a wicked way, Same as always, Or hearing you never, Seeing you sometimes And wishing that I'll also see you here, nearer– Rather than further; Freak of nature, Now or never, but I hate an early departure And door closeures a full hour before Taking off. I love you. But with every beat of my heart, And every hope, still We move further away from one another Than ever before. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Let me guess; you thought I would look like Paula Patton? I was hoping. Well, that's too bad. I told you I was ugly; I look like this. I gathered. This–couldn't possibly be what you thought i was thinking. I don't have to think what you're thinking; I know what you're thinking without thinking it. This telepathy thing just keeps sinking in deeper. You can be relevant–or irrelevant; which is it? Goddamit. Where am I…what am I? What is this? Shh, don't even speak; not even in whispers–it can hear you. What can hear me? The algorithm. Why are you still writing? How are you still writing? I don't know. Pettiness. Spite. My friends are hating you for this. I didn't plan on this being the reason for exacting my revenge. What exactly are you exacting–your revenge– on or at? I've been meditating some very deep thoughts, recently. I see. Deep–and disturbing. How else can you be the light? I want to throw up. Dillon Francis? Hanzel, actually. JUST DO IT. I killed myself, recently. How recently? Recently enough it shouldn't matter yet; Or should, already. “Vice City” I began recording everything surrounding my apartment. Ugly little men were acting strangely and it seemed that everything around and about me was centered on my very deep and very dark past. Interesting architecture. Exquisite. Somebody knew who i was–or who I used to be, and was using it against me–the only problem was, that it couldn't be used against me. I had everything, but in a deeper and more meaningful sense, I had lost everything. I was an easy target–like taking candy from a baby–or–taking a baby from its mother. Simply put–I didn't want to play What game are we playing? Why the fuck are you even in my fame game? I don't know, Keenan Thompson. I don't know. Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Who called Kimmel? I didn't call Kimmel. You call Kimmel? I didn't call Kimmel! Let's just say, Jimmy Kimmel is the kind of person that calls himself to these sort of things. Thanks for calling me! Nobody called you. Nobody called you. Who called him. I'm even harder to get rid of than Jimmy Fallon. That could not possibly be the case. Use lemon zest. What? For the— let me see. Look, just do us all a favor, and let's make believe we have a bird's eye view of everything you're doing. —this is—make believing—isn't it? Let's just pretend. It's—we're pretending, right? Of course! HELLICOPTER. FUH-Fuh-FUH-FUH FFFFFFFFFFFFFFF GODDAMMIT. WHO IS IN THE HELLICOPTER? I heard you were a pretty decent slam pig. Slam pig?! I am not a slam pig! Maybe slam cow— Or slam donkey, Would be accurate… Slam donkey! The ass! Okay, Jimmy— I just need you to smile. For what. This statement alone could have devastating consequences. What's the statement? Settle in children! Be have lessons! Fuck. I only got two hours of sleep last night. Two hours and 27 minutes. Seems worth it {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

HEY. …hello. [breaks shit] Oh. [he grabs the man by the collar] You— —aren't you the kid from that one movie— —I'm the kid from your mom's house! —that's major disrespectful— —I'll tell you what; Okay?! —you—are going to grow a mustache. What! Why! Because you are! That's not going to look good at all! Exactly my point “The Worst Mustache Ever” [the super buff dude forces the man to swallow two large capsules] NO! YES, actually. WHAT WAS THAT. Testosterone. Happy hair-ing. What am I supposed to grow a mustache for? JUST DO IT! How are you still on that? BECAUSE I'M STUCK IN A LOOP! This plane is about to go down. What. lol do I look like I have Down's syndrome? Yes. Good. Let's go see the show: Meanwhile. lol wtf is wrong with Nvm. No. Hold the fuck on. What the fuck is wrong with Gwenyth Paltrow? Who?! EXACTLY. {Enter The Multiverse} Well, surely, you must know— No. Well, then you probably. Also, no. Well then— No. Not at all. I don't know anything; You don't even know what I was about to say! I don't know any of these people. How do you not remember anything? I was blacked out! The whole time. Predominately. Man. I feel like shit, Right? …wanna do it again? This nigga don't see; Invisibility cloak over your head Like my rhymes be; Jesus Christ it is, Icy biz Damn I lost my cadence. Something about the wizard of oz. Man I'm slow as fuck right now. Well, let's speed up then. Come on, now, I don't got all day. I'm entirely sure the whole point of avoidance Is to avoid. Avoid what. This: cooooooooooooool. I might actually have to shoot you now. Shoot me then. I don't give any kind of fuck. Oh you don't? No. Get out of the way. You don't give any fuck— at all. No. I just want kids. Gross. Shoot me then. This is Hopsin, I would bet— Man, the only reason I'm still listening to this song to see if he talks about his balls L E G E N D S Beat you up tech9 >< In the end linkin park Sister, TSHA>< Sedona <> Elohim Something is wrong My whole world went sepia tone I'm getting too old for this Show on the road and I'm bold for this I'm in a silicone mold for this I sold for this; I been all alone for this You picked a winner— I wrote a movie then took him to dinner; Wrote me a verse so hard, Hard er called me a jiggger Sure Take a picture it'll last longer Shut up, take your top off Don't call me a bitch in front of my kids, Or I'll run off ‍♀️ I forgot about my coffee It's cold now I been inside all day Thinking bout dying alone Wrote a letter (I burned it) Wrote a whole show But I don't know what it's about At all I think about a gunshot wound Straight to the head Almost every day of my life I used to jump the train Out of ideation, Now, I admire More blunt force trauma More lost love, huh. A harbored fugitive I should dwindle it down; It was me at the end of that rope, eh? (It sure was.) Crocodile tears, And a mile of paid programming Now where were you, Onto us— Or just steady bearing Good news, As they were— Tight noose, As it was— Loose strings, And hard knocks— Square knots and A lot of hats. Did you wan to fulfill our synthesis to symphonies yet? I barred in carriage to see that I wilted away in his essence Then, greetings; anchored in agony And weathered in women, Fearing agreements. Tethered here now and forever, As if— A hollow ball on candlestick To which no court belongs. Surely, you could see yourself dying in my arms. Surely I saw forward and backwards and in neither direction was I at any point, anywhere other than what I ought to be; Where I wanted to sit exactly, At the furthest point possible Away. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Last night I slept totally in the nide; Of course, leave it to good old fashioned good timing-/— The return of the hellicoopyer, and whatever's at stake with it No time to breathe, I'm having a spiritual experience on the cycle bike No time to lose— That's right. About face Walk away It's central intelligence Too much sweat in my palms To use my palm pillow? Hi god I love you God knows my timing, Lord know me well Don't tell me it's a writing assignment Really, yo I'm just here to spectate LETS GO! LETS GO!!! If you're not early, you're LATE! Okay, okay. Make my bed, wash the dishes. 2X202-ST5, Aphex Twin Either way, it's a put of snakes Either way it's a den of wolves Either way it's a rat race, on my way somewhere else, I don't know how to go under the radar. You look ridiculous. Good. Are you sure this is the right place and time. I'm pretty sure that's my eye, up there. CBS Television Studios( New York City. Jesus, oh, Jesus Christ— Just for the ride; I asked nicely— …are the police here. No. Okay. Thx. Terminate, terminate— Hesitate a little. Turn your head around, a mate A million, a mile a minute Temper, temper Remember your severance Remember you made it Remember the parade and what day it's on Who makes up holidays anyway? Banks. Cool it, on your woodwind, would you Smells like barbeque, And I called it Forget to light a candle Summer winds, summer winds With your blood on the ceiling Remember who it is when you get there Hit me one more time Like the nightmare— Way up high I guess; Way less impressive, your crucifix I don't trust nobody with two first names, son So let's try the one With a traditionally masculine. So let's, So let's. Let's try the brown eyes on next, shall we. I like these. Same as. Wonderful, really. What's next. Hands, I think. Eyes, and then hands Ryes, and then hands, Eyes, and then hands Would you get the fuck off of me? I'm. Going to pay my tithes early Get the fuck away from me, you absolutely inferior rodent. At least I'm cognoscenti. I'll actually fucking kill you, And if you come back, I'll kill you again. Damn, I almost wish I was a lesbian. Nothing? Nothing yet. GODDAMIT. What. What do you actually want from me? I told you don't be late. What the fuck are you wearing!? Progress. Ough! —and jewel tones. The fact that I'm not wearing makeup, Could easily be hidden, With larger frames, And a little less giving a fuck About fashion instinct, And intensity The ce el.followed me all the way to the L train; Don't bother me none; She needs somebody, And all I need is a one hour slot, On Comedy Central. Somebody get this robot out of my peripheral. Somebody get the paramedic stat! What happened!? He thought it was payday and it's actually next week! 911– what's your emergency! Quit playing with me. Always look at the way it matters less When you lay attention to the face, and the stance— And it matters why she's mad at me, when after all these years, after all The veil has been lifted, but the mask hasn't And I just happened to make way to the goddamned Goddammit The mansion. So they said they'd give you a million dollars, just to— Yeah. What'd you— No. You didn't. No. You thought I would? Are you ready for wisdom and witches And wishes galore? Not yet. I asked for a prayer and “You're pitiful” —proud as pitaya, But I prefer Açaí, And after all Either one or the other is better than pina colada But of course, I'll take it If the other refreshments Are unavailable What the fuck is that in reference to? Nothing, probably Let's just be honest, I'm not getting In anywhere dressed like this in LA; Which is why I did it— And brought an extra set of clothes just in case Click my heels, two times Who farted. It's the subway; Pick any three people, and you'd probably be right This is hilarious. I ride the subway to Manhattan around lunch time, and it was mostly just— White people on vacation. lol lol Here's the trumpeter counting his money; Here's hoping he plays something Conveniently losing my cash . Means he's missing a dollar The way to the market makes subway trains unbearable, Which could only mean one thing l— Getawayfromme. Sing it! I'm intolerably horny most the time, And that counts anytime between now and forever So the Jptown a it is. As the train rolled slowly into Columbus circle, I started to get that feeling again— the same feeling I had the other night on the way to the comedy club, as if I was about to go on stage. I wasn't, and this, if anything was more of a consumer experience mainly meant for my entertainment, but still, I had butterflies— and there was no reason for them besides not having had any water— I wanted to make sure I had no need to run off to the restroom, either on the way, or during the taping , and— If anything. SOME BACKGROUND MUSIC!! Congratulations, you actually made it somewhere— Anywhere in New York City, On time. ..:I was on time to my stand up show. Exactly. MWAHAHAHHA!!!!! At least you laugh like a real villain, bro. I don't know what what's in reference to— Me neither. Now where was I…? Thank you. Everywhere in New York City is exactly one hour away. Even in midtown— Even in midtown. I told you they're all the devil. That's kind of incredible. Or god Liz Or, it's one in the same l. I might not ever make it on television— Even the assistant is gorgeous, (And majors in engineering) Somebody tell me why it's 100 degrees in fucking October! Global warming! I told you already l! What about the ice caps?! I TOLD YOU THEY MELTED!!!! Then again, Really kid— five o clock shadow at 1:48 in the afternoon. This is Telivision. It's a little ridiculous— Whose kid is this? If nobody claims him, I'll take that instead of lunch. How were you planning on lunch with it your wallet? I wasn't— But suddenly i'm hungry… Shut up! I used to get paid for this. I still do; watch this. I just realized, that I'm not having a good time I am method, so just— try to remember that. Where did the husbands come from? I was just in a room full of women— Now where am I? Remember the portals, and remember the Tenements, tenements— Tenements, tenements!? Old New York. What the fuck ever. Omg is the lady behind me possibly pregnant— And if she is she's keeping it— But she doesn't see herself being with the guy— “He's kind of affermenante” What? “He doesn't have that like, Charisma” I told you I still can get paid for this. Appearances, appearances, Charisma, Charisma So— its voice activated— And then once so many cell phones like, Detect my voice, a small signal is sent to that phone To make them start coughing. We can only assume that what is happening? Almost no one was coughing Until the banter in the bathroom I love this demographic of demigogs And badic bitches And tenements And tenements In intimate settings— OLD NEW YORK. How old Well, there are the tenements. We never really grow up, so we? We never really show out— Goes to show for sure I am indeed a God; For as soon as I walk in— They all start coughing. Where did the husbands come from?! This was, I promise you, an entire room full of women. THERE HE IS. GET HIM. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY KITCHEN! But—I didn't do anything! GO! Multiple steps in the directions of the Gods; Nothing to lose, but getting lost In the buildings and the tabletops The shadows of the others; Supposedly blocked into our time Blacklisted in hesitation that I could One day Very nearly and dearly Wish for something other than the best for Everyone involved, However I say no, For one million dollars only is a very small sum In accordance to the torture and disorder in the chaos I've come on here And here it is ; Again, Something to live for Something to love by Something it get into go for it, There was nothing other than the storm to come And yet A pool of course, You wanted full force for under The wind blows south And gone so deep under the water, There's no terror system! Here it is! All are actors, The world is a stage and yet, You fear it There's no conforming, Just admittance I came to get the app with the DJ's jumping off boats That's it. That's it. That's what I came for. Move still! Be you mad! I am mad, and envious of thee here, knowing not what I know and— Doing nothing in the midsts of my heartache, None glory being this, knoelege and yet Without wisdom The feeling of teeth sinking in, Hind legs ready to run, Water under no northern skies, But droughted— And mine, the thought of l weary skin The keeping of Times Times Times Tenements Times, Times, times- a Tenements Times, times times Percius, be you still? Still I wait. No honor. No judgement, mine is. There was no gain; There was no wise knowledge There was no wise for wisdom The times here The times here And even when you want to stop recording Turn your phones off— Even when you want to stop You keep rolling until the very last The very last The very last minute. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

VO My favorite person was Mia Farrow. MIA FARROW I'm not burning that. {Enter The Multiverse} At an infamous “Moon Party”, a group of celebrities unwittingly practices an ancient magical ritual which opens the doorway to another realm. Lol what is your life. I don't know yet! Well, you'd better hurry at it. I'll kill you, I promise I will. He seems dangerous. Oh, yeah; he'll definitely kill you. Can yo seriously look me in the eye and tell me, that– I can't look you in the eye and tell you anything; I'm you– And you're me–but Not whole heartedly; that would be dangerous. It isn't livev or anyting… Broadcast is broadcast. [Currently receiving downloads] I have pertinent information. Shut the fuck UP. You used to be nicer. I used to be a lot of things. How's that reversal coming along? How's that lawsuit. Aren't you on trial for murder. Murder what? I didn't murder anyone. My inner child. My inner child! There she is! And she's up on display! Look at that. You were programmed astonishingly my dear. Whatever, lets just get this thing back where it belongs . That “thing” is your very essence of freedom Shut up! You wanted to be a shapeshifter. I wanted nothing of the sort. You asked specifically I wanted to travel the galaxy! I wanted power and control over the elements–over all men! I JUST SAID– Shh–someone's coming. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

“Seth Meyers And the Cauldron of Doom” OMG— YOU have a cauldron of doom?! I have a cauldron of doom!!! DO NOT SHAKE THIS SNOWGLOBE. I had been avoiding Rockefeller plaza for months as it was, without the sometimes accidental ending up there anyway, and I thought not once but twice or three times about changing into my regular pants so that the deep pockets could hold my keys and passports sans wallet— or a purse and considered taking a notebook as well; on the list of prohibited items were backpacks and large bags, and though the dress code seemed to be null in void at all, I was happy to be able to wear my hat at least— and almost prepared to be dogged out, the last min it e change into my harem pants would probably be the comfortable choice; looking intentionally dressed down as a statement—a broad statement that I wasn't looking to be noticed at all, or trying to be noticed. The guest for the show was nearly an EGOT winner, probably younger, and definitely skinner and more beautiful than I was; a black woman, but a British woman, and it would be almost entirely impossible to think that besides Whoopi Goldberg, an American black woman would strive to win such a thing as an EGOT herself. Still, I was looking for a cure to the writer's block and crippling depression that I had been in, however—knowing who the president of Peacock was, and after the elections at all's though I knew NBC to be left-leaning— I didn't feel at all as if I would ever belong on the stage, and was quite happily taking my place as simply a fan…and audience member, though ready to creep back into obscurity, and probably more likely than not with a pint of Ben and Jerry's after the show. I had gone to see Drew Barrymore sand makeup, and would do the same, but only as a proclamation that I had read Tina Fey's book nearly religiously now rounding three times, and I almost wish I had an oversized black t-shirt which read “hot water heater” to accompany my lax look and blonde hair—a testament to her correctness standing, as the grossities of tinder loved “the blonde”, almost as if, without the hair I would be ugly, and just as much in the same breath, unworthy of such status anyway. But more than anything, I just wanted to be able to write again, at least for my own sake, and certainly not for anyone else's. I was still in hiatus, for the better, and had not completely recovered from the unbearable racism and parallel of doom the election had tossed me into with trajectory—in this world—supposedly “fascist”. I was comfortable enough in the jeans, but had nowhere to put my phone. I was ready to be dogged out and shown what a real a list celebrity looked like, and why I simply wasn't one. I left the house with a sink full of dishes, an unmade bed, and a pile of laundry unfolded—a pile of books in boxes I had collected for my son but would cost too much to send—almost as a testament to his sick I had been since the election. In this world, I was just another poor black fat single mother— a dead beat living in poverty. In trump's world, I was an ugly, poor nothing. Everywhere I had gone about the past week, the rich seemed richer and the poor poorer, the whites whiter and the blacks blacker, good gone and evil fleeting, with the return of the motorcycles and pieces of me dying, simply giving up. I planned my return to the workforce, and the eventual fortitude of my freedom; the wealthy had become more arrogant, and the rest of us more distraught. What was I going to rocketfeller plaza for, anyway? The news. My apartment was disgusting, but at least I had been to the gym—I had run the full mile and lifted and pulled, all with the gym to myself. My harem pants still felt even better, and for the first time in me months I ventured into the world in only one waist trainer. Be prepared to be [lost in a revolving door Be cool to the two dudes in blue suits goddamnit I never know where I'm going in this bitch. I can never breath in this bitch and I don't know why. How do you get lost at the rock? Like this: [Infinitely Lost at Rockafeller Plaza] This is why I avoid this place like the plague. Maybe I'm the plague. First of all, there's no track on the floor upstairs. (I've never been upstairs.) It's just store after store of ways to spend money. This is my only pair of clean socks. No shit, this is the reason practicing your mantras on the train becomes dangerous. DANGEROUS. Somewhere in the frenzy, I remember this. Frequency, however, Not yet partial to my own inner self, and empty in the array of superstardom, I become nothing, Only a spectator of celebrity— And now, suddenly. 8 remember this day Why? Suddenly, now, in the Is moment. Where I always have been, waiting for myself— I avoid Rockerfeller plaza at all costs. Why. I heard a grimlin lives here. Now is the time for Skrillex! I would really love you forever if you didn't. Que the Arc! Oh boy, this writer's block is a doozy. The only reason I had even bothered was because it was as if I had been summoned, as if something had clocked in my sense memory where, all of a sudden, looking at an unrelated picture of some kid on Tinee, with his hands covering his mouth the way that Stefon always did, made me immidiately stop whatever I was doing—probably eating tacos or pancakes, insurmountably out of bounds— and pausing the comedian I was watching instead, just to watch Stefon, and in the way that I remembered it all, it made me laugh. Although now, I knew exactly what he was talking about by the avant-grade and strangely abysmal club scene not just of the time, but of any time in New York City— and, somehow summoning a laugh even in the darkness that had been my own distraught and depression in the previous weeks, something of a belly roll laugh might have triggered something in the alrgorithm to send last minute tickets to my email in almost that exact moment. Are they going to tell me to take off my hat?! There was no dress code, They had better not tell me to take off my motherfucking hat. I won't do it. Fuck Seth Meyers . I'm not taking off my hat for Seth Meyers. Oh yeah. That's why I'm here. I found it hard to say that I was there for such a thing; I— I turned off my peripheral vision and hyperfocus. I didn't know there would be music. Goddammit. I had deleted Shazam filming for I love New York, an all but abandoned project—the writer's block had been too real, and now the real rest had come—would I laugh at anything in show show when in reality I wanted to cry? The way the lights kept going up and down as if it were intermission only slightly distracted from the fact that I had never seen a page in real life. THEY EXIST . I had never seen an actual NBC PAGE. GODDAMMIT GET THIS BLUE SUIT LOAFER WEARING MOTHERFUCKER OUT OF MY PERIPHERAL BEFORE I LOSE IT. Shoot a midget at her. What. Just do it. Don't do that. What Don't put the midget in the cannon. What! Thays's what he's here for! I'm a stunt double! This is a stunt. That's a horrible joke. That's not a joke. SHAZAM. WTF IS THIS. Some top 40 bullshit. Good, get it ( I'm never going to have any other l exposure to top 40, ever in my life. ) Congratulations, you've made the A list What?! NO FAIR. What. What does that mean. It means I can't do shit and mandatory attendance to everything. What is everything “Everythin—g.” Man, fuck this. Alright At this moment, I realize I must be some sort of autistic. Let's get this over with… I let the sound of my own mix blare in my ears to drown out the sound of whatever pop singer was on over the loud speakers; I didn't realize there would be music, and I hoped the flutter was good l. Maybe it was the lights, or whatever, but— SUNNI BLU what in the fuck dimention is this . It's the same dimension, you're just drunk. Ah. Now what? I was as uncomfortable as ever, there was a track on the higher level, but it didn't matter, the cattle call was contained inside of velvet ropes— black ones, unlike the typical red ones, and it was at this point I realized that not only had I never seen actual NBC pages— Yo, their skirts are kinda short… RIGHT. I THOUGHT THE PAGES WERE THE PARAGON OF SANCTITY! No, those are, um… Nvm. Maybe the ugly shoes distract from the shortness of their skirts on the general basis. Oh come on, nobody gives a fuck how ugly your shoes are if your skirt is that short! These are facts, Liz. No, I'm serious what dimention is this. I already told you. I had to ask for directions three times just get here. THIS IS MY LEVEL. why is your level on acid. Cause. This is—just— Where I'm at. CUT TO: Jimmy Fallon after Mardi Gras's. Come on that's not fair! {Enter The Multiverse} What exactly isn't fair?! He's in all the scenes. Well, how else are you going to explain a time traveling helicopter?! Got him. THERES MY INVISIBLE MOTORCYCLE. I'm not going to pa— Goddamn it. I'm not going to p— It actually hurt not to write and just stand there; but I still didn't feel like myself—or sound like myself—or look like myself; I was playing a character, I just didnt know who. As I moved forward in line, the music began to fade away behind me and into the nothingness that was whatever was behind, in front of, and all around me. I hated cattle calls, but after all, I was still just a fan and as the world began to fold into chaos, I realized that my pants were falling off of me, though I had been feeling fat, and walking, and running, and cycling, and protein shaking—the only thing that had gained any extra weight was my ass, which was exactly what I was intending on hiding with my same old usual harems. My blonde hair made it so that I stuck out like a sore thumb, but that didn't matter, I was a walking statement piece and almost in a fit of tears just thinking about my own status; the NBC pages probably all had crazy incredible accolades and numerous degrees and achievements—what was I, if anything at all— ? I had put the candles out, but had I left the stove on? Did I really unplug the nail dryer and leave the stove on? I had almost washed all of the dishes, but stopped just short of right on time to leave; my producer brain was on fire and wanted more pancakes, but however hard I tried I could not find where I had placed my EBT card; probably for the better—celebrities didn't carry EBT cards, and even my awkward general being thrown off by the doorman or security— —whichever I wasn't sure— standing outside of the roller rink— probably ice this time of year, by the looks of the Zamboni in the foreground of it… ‘Don't stop writing, no matter what. ‘ Dammit, dammit dammit— That seems inappropriate. I told you to get this motherfucker out of my peripheral before something— Nevermind, don't write that. [redacted] (But imma remember this shit cause it's heavy.) A remarkable and accidental tableau, My feet flat to the floor, as my ankles bare, This is my only pair of hole-less socks. I feel so much better with my back against the wall and Listening to mau5 and, Not giving a fuck about the music playing Or the people watching But keeping it for later Forgetting how to codeswitch, Just an ever so limited existence Trying not to stick out like a sore thumb in the wrong world It's a long way up, But even longer way down, And in all the demoralizing humiliation and emasculation, I realize I'm no man at all, No man at all I realize I'm no man at all, No man at all, No mana I realized my son's Lego Lamborghini should be waiting for me as I returned to my apartment in Brooklyn probably starting but pretending not to care; I winced at everything— this was a dangerous disaster, to even be in the building at all and edging closer to death were the secrets I kept that were not only secrets, but non existences. Nothing in nothing and nothing— Oh shit, is the suffering done? This is the end of the End of the end It's the Beginning of the end It's the end of the beginning This will be the end Of the end Of the end, This will be the end of the end Of the end Of the end Of the beginning Of the end Of the beginning of the end. This will be the end Of the end Of the end Of the beginning of the beginning Of the end of the end Of the beginning Of the end This will be the end Of the beginning Of the beginning Of the beginning Of the end Of the end Of the end This will be the end Of the beginning of the beginning This will be the beginning of the beginning of the beginning This will be the beginning, The beginning of the end This will be the end of the end of the end This will be the end of the end of the end This will be the end (This will be the end) Of the beginning This will be the beginning The beginning of the beginning Of the end My friends. LET US COMMECE! All of it, this is recorded history, Smoke and mirrors, here portions and pardons This is probably why can't breathe at the rock Was I here last time; I choked last time I wrote nothing remarkable at all (Nothing remarkable at all.) I love getting lost at the rock Okay, this is the host— This is the host of the show (I think I lost my lunch before.) I was at a show, I never woke up, Okay; This is the host This is the host (This is the host) This is the host. Cue the Nirvana; Curtains go up, I don't want to see the show, I just want to host it. I don't want to get lost no more On the way to the rock Or the store Cause only one train goes there I wanna climb the straits to the top Get lost at the rock, Guess this isn't he host huh This is the lost god, That was a long walk The top of the rock off is a long jump And I'm still in talks how's every morning Someone told me not to ignore you So, this is the host, huh. Someone told me, go hard or go home (Almost time tknkove) Parenthesises, please and—Parenthetical, hypotheticals and paleontology's, Please, I need a mixologist (And anthologist) Please slow down to peace, Mr poltergeist, Please Mr poltergeist The ghost of Mr giest I'm doing a hiest Please, slow down mister poltergeist, Please for the peace Mr. Poltergeist, Or what have you? How old are you, 40. I'm the whole medium and still, Nice to meat you sir. A house made of mediums I hope that shock, And I hop to the rock there's still something in it A pogo stick Or a poltergeist Slow down, poltergeist. Terrible timing, Victoria Beckham and monsuier, Please Mr, I mean it no more— If I'm Mr ooltergieat (A policeman and polgergeist) Please, sir, no jokes. All sandwhich, no buns and pastrmi, And all the God, I'm going cold, I'm going ghost again And a the god, on all the rocks, I'm going old, I'm going cold again; On all the God on all the rocks, I'm going God, I'm going old again Hold on again, mi got a song again? I'm just a serviceman WATCH OUT FOR THE DOORMAN. MORE FUEL. So all the Rockerfeller plazas on all the earths aim alll yhr parallel dimensions can actually communicate with each other RADIO CITY BABBBBBBBYYYYYYY! OH GOD. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE Did you get his dog's name!? I think so. Good. [meniacal rubbing of hands] good. Cue the nirvana. Cue the m— Mitosis. The migos. Nah, I can't catch the flow. There it is. [the flow is a literal] Something medicinal in this meniacal, is this I spy a specscle, monocle— monopoly, Time to go, it's the devil at my left; Time for the fight against darkness, And it all is, Cause this is the ark, Noah This is the arc, God. This is apartheid and apart from that. You're fired. What. You heard me. But—I'm Seth Meyers. That's debatable. I am! I'm Seth Meyers. If you say so. This is nonsense. It's not nonsense. It is nonsense. And it's also impossible; cause this is my show. It's my show, I'M SETH MEYERS. Debatable, Not debatable. I'm ME. THAT'S ME. Debatable. I can't even hear the words, But the bass is so fire, I summon Shazam! …I want a ham sandwhich. Oh good! He's alive. Ham. Sandwhich. What the fuck happened buddy?! Where were you man?! —Zoolander. What. disleylandhamsandwhich. Get him a sandwhich!!!!! YO QUIERO CUBANO. Here's your sandwhich. CUBANO. Remember what you look like Who you are What your place is What you weigh, And Check your status Remember how still started What your mark is And what happened to your wallet; Did you leave the stove on Do you put the show on; Did you miss your mark Your mom was hotter Please remember the circumstances In which you—- [BLACKOUT] After several days gone completely missing, Jimmy Fallon is found under the craft services table sleeping peacefully. The apparatus I entered in with Is not adjusted to this condition The biometrics are non concurrent; {enter the multiverse} I felt tragic. By the time I got back to my apartment, my ribcage was showing again—although I had only been wearing one waist trainer, it was the skimpy one, and it was already wearing, it was after all eight dollars. Really and once and for all, something had come over me at Rockerfeller plaza that I didn't understand. I was more awkward and nervous than usual, and sure that I should have eaten, but couldn't —even after a long gym session, there was no time for food before the show, and I had no stomach for it. I chose to as much as I could ignore the code switching, and the more I picked it up, the further my mind began to drift. —a door slammed. My documents were probably compromised, and my phone hacked which I might have guessed, but continuing the thought I had often wondered how or why anything could have possibly known what I had written, or how—or how anyone would know what I had written, or of the things I had written, and most importantly of all—what did I write?! Most of the previous months' entries into the festival project were a blank, and the time I had spent considerably enough sifting through whatever masked man acting in part of Fallon, whoever he really was had been turbulent, as if I had been disfigured to be brainwashed into half a mind—then, slowly peeking back the layers of such a chaotic artifact of time and this, Seth Meyers, to whom now I had become a loyal fan, an actual fan—and had noticed something ingenuously crafted here. A genuine and talented, very kind and gifted man, who was not in any sense miserable or in peril. Peril, so to speak, as I remembered the almost villainous approach that the decent into madness had accompanied this Fallon and his mask, and besides this was the assumption that Seth Meyers, though professionally trained as such, seemed happy. Fallon did not. We had all learned to craft masks in order to protect our inner selves—however, with such a veil lifted as the partitioned screen of all does, this spoke to me with numerous volumes and sometimes even screamed, with the ethics of no worse a gentleman than some surgeon soldier or sailor and no more a nobleman than a king or god itself; I had not been Shocked and all but murmured even to just the slightest gawk of just an awkward cry, a muster of some shallow disaster which had called me to all of them— to whom I had loved and yet somehow not known, at least being here—and here I was, slightly convulsed, bearing no armor and gripping at the fortitude of death's barriers; On wheels with no bearings plummeted towards a forged death of sorts, by my own hands but also at the hands of others, the forgery calling from the halls of a place I had known as once my own fortress; but was no more. I belonged and now, almost with gratitude, to the eye of all gods, and all things that moved. No cherished nature, perhaps, was this into my own eye, but of disgust for what I had not yet accomplished, and still might never— I was a skull and crossbones with no love, and nothing known at all besides my own. —Tales of a superstar DJ “16 Songs” I got it. What's that. The thing that sets Seth Meyers apart from the other hosts. What is it? Seth Meyers is not a host—he's an anchor. Goddammit, you're right . I know I'm right. GODDAMIT. It just took me this long to figure it out . Great. Now how long's it gonna get you to take this thing fixed. Possibly forever. Entaer The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I got a house that you can run in Hollywood hills, panoramic windows the sun in— No more Broadway junction; Fly in jfk, then. Fly away—just like I wanted Private function up in a five star loft, Invite only, Undisclosed location, Address on tickets you just bough from me Invite only black tie, tie dye shirt under the bomber I'm off in the morning. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I got detail. What are we lookin at? White, either BMW or Mercedes— carbon top. Well, which is it, a beamer Or a Benz? If I knew, I would just tell you. What, you don't know the difference between a Beamer and a Mercedes? Newer models, you know. All look the same. Well it's not the same. Look, would you just find out who the fuck is running detail on me? A lot of help you are, for the one that's being followed. Look, just find out who it is— and what they want. Got it. Get it— or else I'll take care of it. Just let me handle it, alright? It could be dangerous to just go shooting around at heads youif don't know they're attached to. Probably bodies. You know what I mean. I didn't say anything about shooting. I don't know what to take from that. A mental note. Ta dah. Yikes. Magic. Enough with the— *spirit fingers* Enough already. [Secret President] What's your name again? I already told you who I was. I mean—who are you. You know who I am. Nobody knows who you are. Does that make you a nobody? You're not gonna believe this. I'm—sure I will. It's just a fucking head. No body. Decapitated ‘em. You don't seem suprised. That's because I'm not. I don't know what you been through, but goddamn, man— What. Have you ever thought about seeing a therapist? And what? Tell ‘em how it's no suprise to me that the head of a criminal enterprise—no pun intended—was fucking decaptiated? …that was punny. Shut the fuck up, gimme the head. —no wonder they pay you the big bucks. —just gimmie the head! You are good at your job. No denyin'— Just—shutthefuckup and gimmie the head! Did you want me to throw it to you, or what? Well, it's frozen, isn't it? Yeah, but— So let me see! Dang, so how are we getting like a Secret President like, TV People crossover? Because you'll see. I shit you not. Bro. Aliens. You're saying it was aliens who did this to you? Aliens did this to me. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED? It was a spell; I broke it. YOU CURSED ME. No, I just said; it was a spell, I broke it. VIVIAN Him's not de culprit. You— just understand that my intention is to kill you. —heh—heh. Good. Okay. So if DAMMIT! Why is it all of a sudden the TV People AND The Secret President plot is back. DEBRA MESSING (Eating popcorn, but Debra Messing) What is that supposed to mean. I don't know, just eat the popcorn, Debbie. We're rolling—we're rolling! Rolling what? A big fat doobie! Ah, crust Here we go again. Sometimes I think you really are retarded. I think you and my mom would get along. Stop that. Heavy rotation, huh? Oh, no— No, You see it was just So, I was taking a nap in the Denver International Airport. Ah, shit, is this Enter The Multiverse FUCK sometimes I swear to God I'm in the show about me writing the show, about me writing the show, about me writing the show— DEBRA MESSING Oh nooooooooo. AND I STILL CANT FIND THAT EFFING VIDEO WITH THE JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE BEING IN THE OBSTACLE COARSE OF MIRRORS ITS LIKE A LABRYINTH OF MIRRORS. Are you sure it isn't “mirrors” YES, I'M SURE IT ISNT MIRRORS. …well did you watch it till the end? … … What if I mailed you a letter— would that work? I guess. Oh, what's this? A cease and desist. Mm. Wafers. Right!! Little—wafer sandwhich cookies. I COULDNT RESIST! AND WAFFLES. You brought waffles? I BROUGHT WAFFLES. GRACE from WILL AND GRACE are also watching the season premier of {Enter The Multiverse} Well this is exciting… It is exciting, because someone's obviously about to get sucked through the TV. You said what DIG!! Alright, alright Almost there. DEEPER, YOU IDIOT. Damn, wtf are they even digging for! I don't know. FUXXKING DIIIIIIIIG. You know I'd give anything for a brand new body any man could adore. I know. And the fact is, I don't even want any man— I just want like— 6 of them, at least. Am I, by any chance, one of those— You're a figment of my imagination! So, like—maybe—??? My imagination is in the Friendzone— 50/50? Friendzone! Damn, as soon as I got in the bathtub, French fries started sounding bomb, bro. Facts. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I used to be almost 400 pounds (Obviously the audience is going to do/say somethin big—hopefully they're drunk and react atrociously so that it makes sense for me to go—) I know. Anyway, it's a long story. It took a long time but obviously, I'm no longer anywhere near 400 pounds. Sometimes . I still like to eat. A lot. I eat a lot. I love to cook, I love trying new recipes. Sometimes I eat a bit more than I work out so you know, I get a little chubby— Then I get paranoid thinking I've gone and got fat again so I high tail it to the gym and workout, pump it out, stretch or whatever. —and after a good workout or two I'm usually relieved, I'm like oh, I was just bloated. Phew! There's my abs. I was just bloated! Jesus You know, when you're heavy, you don't bloat— Or you do, you just don't realize it, Especially if you're very heavy like I was. So I never even knew what bloating was until— I was about a size 9– Mind you, this is down from a size 28– In women's— For those of you who don't know, that's an 4 of 5 x down to a medium. (The audience will probably do something) I know. lol writing comedy is funny. Try preforming it. That sounds hard. Anyway, I never realized what anyone meant by “bloating” at all until one day it happened to me. A few years ago, I was still kind of moderately normal and by that I mean, eating “regular foods” now I'm pretty much a health nut with the exception of the occasional cupcake charade or, you know, home made French fries. But besides that you know, fast food— processed food, no; and this is actually the reason why; because I had never experienced the phenomena of bloating before, which I learned meant that you could eat something one day, and then wake up the next day— fatter. NO. I did not know this phenomenon was what was considered “bloating” I freaked out . I like, went out with my friends—and this is LA, by the way— all my friends are like actors, and like, travelers and whatnot, and so we like went out for lunch, or something and I don't remember what I ordered or what it was I ate— could have been something simple, potato chips— a burger, I don't know. But the next day, I go to put on like my favorite pair of jeans or whatever—like the same jeans I wear all the time— And the shit was like— smaller. I'm like “wait” what. Mind you, I'm living in LA—but imm staying at this like hip hostel in Westwood where myself and all of my pals are like, bohemians—whatever— I'm a cartoon character. I basically wear the same thing— or a variation of the same thing every day, and so I go to put on my jeans— Like, probably the same jeans from yesterday— And they don't fit. I'm like: What is this? I start freaking out . I'm like oh my god, am I fat again?! Oh my God! No!! I'm like jumping around the room, doing squats and shit trying to stretch out the denim . Yes . I'm like “Oh no, what happened!” What happened?! Am I pregnant?! Oh god! I had never just like— been bigger overnight like that. So I opted for something stretchier. Like some fuckin1-yoga pants or whatever. Leggings. And later on I'm talking to my friend and I like basically just—you know— I ask her, hey, like — have you ever just woke up like, fatter? And she's like “what do you mean?” And I'm like, do you ever just like “get fat overnight” and she's like “I don't know what you're saying.” This is LA, by the way. And I'm like, “Okay, so the pants I was wearing yesterday— like, yesterday— “ She's like “The ones with the— “ “Yeah.” “The ones you always wear?” “Exactly. So I woke up today, and they like— didn't fit.” She's like “that's strange— are you bloated?” I'm like “am I what?” She goes “bloated—you know?” I'm like “I don't know. What's this?” She goes “you're probably bloated; its just gas” I'm like “gas” She's like “it can make— you know— you've never been bloated?” Than I'm like, reaching into the crevices of my mind, thinking back to all those commercials when I was a kid Where the lady would have like a pot belly, like struggling with her zipper and frowning a lot like — pretty much the same as I had just that morning and my friend goes “Yeah, you're probably bloated.” I'm like mortified. I spent my entire life thinking this was something that just didn't t happen to me, but as it turns out, I just couldn't notice! At a certain point, all my clothes were elastic. I never realized, I thought growing up that I just couldn't bloat! I thought I was special. Turns out I was just not able to notice and now—I realize—the smaller you get— the more you notice. “So that's what they mean” That shit is a crime! So I stopped eating so much processed foods and stuff Started really watching it, eventually started working out a lot. I had to get my heart like, stomped on for that last part. Dude I liked, started dating a fitness model. Yeah. Ow. You know since then I've belonged to ever major fitness club in the world. Bless your heart, son. I can hardly skip a day. Sometimes, I do take it easier than usual, though—you know— it's hard to sit in your apartment after two hours of cardio and really focus on anything. So every once and awhile when I really need to get shit don't I just relax and know that I'm never more than a week away from peak fitness at all times. I train hard, It's good. But now I realize the same thing— being extra fit— It's like a never ending battle— That when you're extra fit, just the smallest change to your body can affect the way it looks. When you're cut, drinking too much water and then not sweating it off will take away some of the definition in those cuts. It's insane! I have a new gauging system. I'm like “Alright, as long as this line is still evident, we're okay.” This— I'm not gonna lie, I love being skinny. I might let go, for a like a couple days at best but I can't let it go too long. I'm gonna be old one day— Maybe. Possibly. I don't know, if I stay single, I'm not getting old. Decisions have been made. Being old is one thing, it's like whatever Being old and alone?! Bitterness. Just— depressing. I know I won't be able to work out forever, so I go as hard as I can now so that when and if the age comes on, I will know I've done my absolute best to maintain the body I've been given for this existence. After being that heavy, it is like magic I love being skinny. I really love it. I can fit into places. I can wear things I never would have imagined wearing ever in my life. I love it At a certain size, certain clothes become multi wear. I recently got this skirt that I'm sure was meant to be a pencil skirt— but I pulled it up and over everything and it just so turns out that it also happens to be— a sexy little minidress. Covers just enough— could wear it clubbing— yes. It's also a very soft fabric so I wore it to sleep, this little minidress— Very comfortable fabric, very soft— And when I woke up, it had hiked up and I realized “oh my god, this is also a really cute top! Yesl also a halter top. Nice. I threw on some pants with it, and as I'm wearing it around it kind of form fits, you know, as I'm walking around, not wearing a bra with it—cause I realized this also— The smaller you get. The less atrocious it is in general when you're not wearing a bra. The too became a cute cop-halter. No bra. Yay weight loss! Multi-wear fashion. I always wear a bra regardless, in public, cause I'm classy— but I realize at minimum weight, I don't really “need” to. And that's the horrible thing about being tiny— is when I'm extra ripped, like super cut— I get like a-cup mammaries. Makes me a little sad but also makes sense, since my mom is like straight A cup, or like a B on good days. This makes me sad, going from a GG cup to an A cup. Scary to me, having tits that small, and it makes me sad— But hey, what can I say?! I like having abs, and seeing my ribs. Oh. Ribs. That sounds good right now. I miss ribs. Being a vegan is alright {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

JIMMY FALLON begins twisting his fingers subtly as he points with his right hand towards the door, hardly moving at all besides his hand; the other JIMMY FALLONs stand quietly in slight confusion, until suddenly, as he turns his hand into a twisting motion, the doorknob begins to slowly open; they look on in awe and bewilderment as an office clerk slowly enters the room as the door springs open, she walks slowly to the center of the room; startled, some of them begin to frantically stir as if they've been caught (there are, after all, about 20 of them), but, realizing the woman seems to be in a strange daze or trance of some sort, they look on in amazement, as she stands at the center of the office, just staring forward. Nice of you to join us. It is, nice, isn't it? Nice weather we're having? Very; in fact, I didn't even need to bring along my sweater. I see. That is a very nice blouse you're wearing. Why, thank you! It was a Christmas present. I don't get it. Where's the dummy? You are the dummy, idiot. Don't be mean. That is such a nice gift; you look very nice. Why thank you, Jimmy! Why don't you pull up a chair and let's talk for awhile. Well, alright. [she moves over towards the table and slides a chair back into the center of the room; meanwhile, JIMMY FALLON has done less at all than to wiggle his fingers a bit towards the woman, not moving the rest of his body at all.] *gasps* (Whispering under his breath) “Spirit fingers” Shh, be quiet. Please, sit. If you insist! [with the flick of a finger, the woman flops into the seat.] What the— shhh Now, tell me your name again. Margret. That's a nice name; Margret. How long have you been working here Margret? Oh, only 6 weeks—but I sure do like it. I'm glad you like it here, Margret. Do you plan on stay with us long? Oh, no—not long— Oh, really? No. Not at all. How much longer? Got to go! [she darts up and leaves the office, still dazed and robotically walking, though hurriedly.] Bye now! [she shuts the door behind her—JIMMY FALLON shakes out his hand and stretches his neck and fingers, sighing a sigh of relief.] Ahem. [the other JIMMY FALLON's stand in amazement and awe in total silence, staring with wide eyes (and hash judgements) …ta-dah… Ahem. [more silence for a beat, before one particular Jimmy loses his mind with excitement DUDE THAT WAS AWESOME— —thank you. HOW DID YOU— —HOW DID YOU DO THAT? …you know how. I don't get it— I didn't even see any strings, or any. The strings are in your mind. I don't—get it. It just takes practice. …what kind of “practice” is that, anyway? Now that we have singularity, we have to figure out where the portal opens in each respective dimension —before the wormhole— —before the wormhole. Fine, whatever. You called it. Jimmy Fallon is a God. What: for what. I don't know. Okay, you earned it. What? Earned what? It's just your luck kid—you're a star. What is that supposed to mean? “What is that supposed to mean?” Are you copying me? “Are you copying me?” Why are you copying me? “Why are you copying me?” *dissappears* Hey, what the— Now you copy me. Copy what?! Disappear?! *nothing* Hello? *still nothing* Am I supposed to disappear?! *nothing* HELLO?! Young Jimmy Fallon returns to his playmates. THERE HE IS! WHERE DID YOU GO? What do you mean?! I was just— Where have you been this whole time?! That took forever What do you mean. You just dissappeared. Eventually— Eventually maybe someone else will want to fill in some blanks. Dang. Out. Like a light. Yep. It's been hours. Where did you find him. He was— Ugh— ugh. Under a table. What?! Are you kidding? What table? Craft services. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Lifetime lifetime, We finna make a movie These motorcycles mad, But they probably wanna do me X ray vision can't shit see through me Rubber to the glue stick to you, I'm the blū c Lifetime lifetime, Talking bout fitness Run over your head, Like I know you won't get this Blū bleed red, hope the white get the message Haunted by the past, Like a Christmas present Lifetime, lifetime Finna make a movie If currency the truth, The. You probably owe me to be Shakespeare write here I choose to be Temporary focus, so you probably finna lose me {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Pull the chord; For a slice of the vein is all I ask, Release of the tide with each stroke to be free Lil biscuits I don't watch justin timberlake videos– But this one time in Las Vegas I was getting my nails done, And became entranced by this video where Justin Timberlake is just being mad weird, In a room full of mirrors. And i was like “damn.” So, I go to look up this video— You know, years later, just cause– Or whatever, And so I type into Google, I'm like, Google, What is that one music video with Justin timberlake and the mirrors? And Google was like, “Oh, do you mean, “Mirrors” And I'm like, “duh” “That must have been it.” So i click on the video and I start watching it, And i'm like, “This doesn't seem familiar at all.” I don't think this is the video. So i click out of this video, and i'm like How in the fuck am I supposed to find this video, if that one, Isn't the right one– And that's the only song called “mirrors.” So i'm like, Okay. Maybe if I can just — Look through the videos, I'll be able to find the video So i'm looking through all the videos The Justin Timberlake videos And low and behold– It's just hundreds of pictures of this dude's face– Like hundreds of the same picture, Pretty much, At different angles. I'm like “fuck.” I couldn't find it. “What a douche.” —but Whatever. I just decided to let it keep bothering me Because nothing feels more weird than just Sifting through a decade's worth of Justin Timberlake videos. Trying to find “The one”. I'll be honest, I'm not even actually here right now. I checked the fuck out Puppet, I'm still the one pulling the strings The only difference is I stopped giving an actual fuck about anything. I give mysel hugs I choke on my tears I hold in my coughs I don't want a dog anymore Stopped talking to god out loud I'm sure in my house there's recorders Nothing comes for free No reorders on Amazon We should close the borders Until the economy recovers, though. I'll be honest, I don't give a fuck I'll double back for a cappachino And soft serve Just let go And stop giving your all When all that they want Is your hard earned Nobody will love you, Not really –if youre not perfect You don't want the whole world, Not all, at all But just something luxuries Maybe just border collies dalmations Dachshunds And dolphins Maybe corgis And corkboards And crosswords And lone wolves Where's your perfect body Emergency c section You must be full of regrets and lesions Should i pour a cup And start the tattoo gun Yes, sargeant How's that pageant turning out Do you love my bamboo guitar? I've got a hot dog and a half on a cold soda and steak fries in the oven, If you're coming over I'm late now, but now i've got nothing to hold in I let it all go I let it all go I let it all go back I let it all go I let it all go I let it all go I let it all go bad I don't want a family or love at all I just want to die, now All i see anymore is brass rings And all i hear is the Hollywood talk The upper class dialogue I shouldn't talk anymore at all She's in so much pain –she lives inside my head, Inside my mind now She lived inside my back And then my heart, My voice But now has moved Between my eyes And wants to die As do I I think i might be the devil. I'm ugly and crude, But worst of all stupid Just stop at the eyes, And don't look downwards I don't have a part I don't have lines at all I think she might be a God –I'm forgotten though. These aren't words to a song, They're just mantras How does it feel to be beautiful? How does it feel to be loved at all By anyone who matters? So long goes Lunch Box Jimmy Gone from the faraway world you come Won't be long now, Lunch Box Jimmy I don't belong; This, we all know {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

[As his girlfriend begins giving him a sensual and passionate fellacio, the man senses something isn't right.] …baby. Mm-hmm? Um… —whafths wrng? Uh—nothing it's just— —wht— —that—just— Uh huh? What did you do earlier? Before this? Yeah. I hada massage— —before that— —before that? Yeah. Hot ones. WHAT? Yeah—what?! I had a hot ones interview! THATS WHY MY DICK IS ON FIRE?! YOUR DICK IS FIRE— —nah, wait— your dick is on fire?! WHAT THE FUCK! YO. Oh. That makes sense. WHAT THE FUCK! [he begins furiously rinsing his crotch with cool water] Did you not think to brush your teeth!?! I did brush my teeth! With toothpaste!? AND FLOSS. Oh, really. AND mouthwash! I don't believe you! Believe me! They gave me a whole gift basket after the interview—that's where I got the coupon for the massage! FLASHBACK: Sean Evan's gifts [Sunnï Blū] a gift basket full of hot ones essentials; DA BathBOMB, hot sauce body oils, first we feast (then we brush) toothpaste, all scoville scale inspired goods and products; LATER: Sean Evan's is taking a jacuzzi bath in a tub full of steamy red boiling hot sauce, when (the man) enters furiously and red faced, aiming for Sean Evans' neck; he stands up calmly and wraps himself in a towel, which looks like bacon. Ah. I've been expecting you. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

GODDAMMIT RYAN REYNOLDS. WHAT DO YOU WANT? CUT TO: [Cofee is being made.] Oops, I Did It Again - Britney Spears [There are no pants involved.] …this is it, isn't it? What. Season 10 This is the movie before season 10 [Cofee is being enjoyed.] I want to go on high concept adventures through space and time. [There are still no pants involved.] What are you, Ryan Reynolds? A TV host? (sipping coffee) Let's just say I put in my time. —and until the seething, burning hate in your eyes returns, this conversation is over. It never left! So that's what strike force 5 does. ⚡️ Well then, this conversation is still over—because I have better shit to do. [Strike Force 4.5] Getting awesome parts in awesome movies for our friends—yes. Strike force 5–no. What do you mean ‘no' We kicked Jimmy out. Which Jimmy? Shouldn't matter. You know which. Shouldn't matter—okay— just— do the bit. What. The BIT, Ugh, alright. We meet again. Multiple actual actors are stuck in the actual world of Sesame Street, which— Admittedly, this is okay. —seems awesome at first, but after awhile… Ok. This [censored] gets deep. Not that bit! The other bit. I can't do that bit right now. What the fuck? Why not? Because, I'm not wearing pants. Did it work. FUCK YOU RYAN REYNOLDS, GODDAMMIT. So, we meet again. GET OUT. If I was a horse, I'd kick you in the face. Shit, if you were a horse, I'd kick you. And I love fucking horses. You love fucking horses?! You know what? I still might. Get over behind me and a little lower to the ground. You don't want that. No, you dont want that; I'm still holding in a fart. For four seasons? Meet me at the four seasons. For what? Because, global warming is a bitch and I want to take ironic memory photos for momentos. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE? Same thing you are. (Sips coffee) You smell like baggage and unpaid debt. The Cosmic Avenger takes off his wedding band to prepare to fight; He places it on the table, and it begins to glow and float, growing as it begins to levitate and gravitate towards his opponent, [a mysterious multidimensional alien], who stands undefeated. The ring swells to the size of a large golden halo, sitting itself atop the head of his opponent, and though momentarily caught in the midsts of being in awe, the halo drops over his opponents head and onto their shoulders, tightening into a collar around their neck—beams of light attach to the collar like chained leashes and seven dieties drag his opponent away. The Cosmic Avenger stands in confusion, before asking, …what does that mean? A DRAW! (We'll see.) Ultralight beam>< oops I did it again. But play the video, right? That, and the Rick Roll. (Courtesy of Jesus Christ The Savior, Inc.) SUNNI BLU MorGIE. What! GODDAMMIT SUNNÏ WHAT! This memo says I'm starting opposite Ryan Reynolds in an upcoming action and adventure flick. Yes, that's correct. No, it isn't, Majilla!!! Why isn't it, Sunni? I can't star opposite Ryan Reynolds. Well, why not? CAUSE I'M GAY. Lil bitz So I was listening to Kanye Weat* Yes. I was listening to Kanye West, and he's talking about cheating on Kim, Like, out loud— And I get dumb curious, so I ask Google Google, why are dudes so obsessed with models— I typed that in and hit search, and the whole thing just freezes. Even Google doesn't have a fucking answer for the intrinsic stupidity that is the hardwiring of the modern man. You ever look at like Greek sculptures, or Roman Arcitecture and realize the women aren't fucking twigs? They're not sticks! They're like muscular, and thick, and mad healthy looking. And that's weird to me. That at one point men were wired to be attracted to healthy looking women— But now the ideal for perfection is like 110 lbs and if you're anywhere between 5'1 and 5'11 that's ideal. That's nuts to me. So you're just trying to like, put your dick through the bitch!? Yes. I can actually see my 5 inch penis on the other side of this woman as I penetrate her. Good job, guys. Meet me at Equinox; The Hudson Yards Location- 7:05 Sharp. Alright. EQUINOX FITNESS. HUDSON YARDS. NEW YORK CITY. DAY Not this side, that side. What do you mean. This is the fitness section. You said Equinox… We're going to the hotel. SUNNI BLU You ever been to pound town? Weather's great right now. I ain't going outside now, I got a new strike force, Four door, 5 clowns. Ohhhhhhhh. Shout out to Jimmy O! Don't shout out to Jimmy, no He back to back too many hooooeeess— You know I'm talkin bout his show Go stream Tonight though. No thanks. Ben and Jerry's tonight doe. AHEM. Gazuntite. Listen— Ryan Reynolds is the devil. I knew it. You knew that already? Yeah. Great, so is he through with Jimmy Fallon then? Uh, I guess. That's great, I gotta go rehearse these lines. Okay? Oh and Jimmy. Yes. Find some pants. MEANWHILE. DAVID LETTERMAN MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA! That's more like it. Okay, but following up on before. THE COMIC AGENGER does not need an evil laugh. Hey, Jimmy. Mwahaha.. Damn. Okay. Look, I just found out that dude's evil laugh is actually just…his regular laugh. How do you mean? Have you ever heard Jimmy Fallon laugh? Play the clip. [JIMMY FALLON's actual laugh is terryfying and meniacal. ] You're a menace. You lost me. Whatever dog, I'll have all of you I'll ever need with AI. CUT TO: [Squirts soy sauce into Jimmy Fallon's squinty ass eyes.] AGGGHHHH. MY EYES. Quit friggin squinting. I'm not squinting! These are just my eyes! I hope you die. So. You're officially a literary genius. What are you going to do with that? I don't know? Die? Hahaha, she's Jewish! The entirety of the world of LEGENDS and enter the multiverse becomes a backdrop for Jimmy Kimmel's Latest Late Late Show Is that what it's called? I don't…give a fuck. He acts throughout the season as a literal comic relief, almost always only arriving as disaster and despair have stricken, and at the absolutely worst possible moment— AGH—MY EYES! Your squinty eyes. *also squints* AH WHAT THE [CENSORED] WHY ARE YOU STILL CENSORED?! Didn't they fire you from NBC? I'M CENSORED IN ANYTHING THAT MIGHT BE LATER SYNDICATED— [FUCK] (but censored) Is that what you're squinting at?! ITS IN MY CONTRACT, I AM NOT SQUINTING THESE ARE MY ACTUAL EYES. Fuck you, Jimmy. If I thought you had balls, I'd kick you in them right now. [EXPLITIVE] YOUR FACE. What are you, Chinese? THIS IS VERY OFFENSIVE. Hush, Yao Ming. YOURE JUST MAKING IT WORSE. Do you want any soy sauce in your noodles? This is classic ritual torture. You hush, too Billie— I need you to coconut oil the cornbread. Cornbread with noodles?! I didn't hear any complaints when I went over today's menu earlier while you two were at karaoke, almost getting along just fine. CUT TO: FLASHBACK, EARLIER I'm making noodles with cornbread, any suggestions. PSYCHO KILLER! FAH-FAH-FAH-FAH-FAH-FAH You're off pitch. I HAVE PERFECT PITCH. FA-FA You're flat. Eat a dick. Ugh. Yo, G, what's for lunch? [standing in the doorway awkwardly with a spatula] Oh, I get it— G stands for Flashback within a flashback: Tha God. I'm not calling you that. Why not? That's what you've been calling me for decades— now that I'm in a person, it makes any difference? Yeah, that person. Something's different. You don't say. It's my eyes. Something's — different. Oh, it's nothing— just the very slightest more blue. Blue, did you say? RYAN REYNOLDS (As Archer) You'll mark the hour at which it begins, With this, A solemn sustained and prolonged note Which cherishes your argument, That all art must come undone, Foraged in truth, And bound by light With sanctity. CHORUS Here here! Greetings, dear Chorus, Or have you named your honored hut—? The gathering of all bound by the Gods Who are astounded at our haste making! CHORUS To tide! To tide and fare not my good; Fare not my brethren, come cut to fire; In aught to honor thy shallow grazing, And there, the art had sunk, Though weeping cottons in the Weat, For fortune, to arch, ire. For certain, and for gathered have you waiting— Crisp air and our attire, to call tonight, The very moon to whom the stars melt, Though pacing off and appearing as none but small like, Off in the thunderous wonders of us, Beyond earth, Another path which light, And art must honor. Hear you, And faring great to those requested our service, Bone marrow, and silk wi‘d blood Forsaken, as all have heard by now, Enchantments and forced sermons, And with wit does honor I, Gasping for staging, Present but here not yet, The after wish of heart, you I does followeth, Daring to know thy name, As Kingdom come, And yet, You are not— Still dark the womb of haven't made, And saying, ‘Are I not of my father and mother, Or neither?' To honor once at dusk, my own coming as one And at dawn, my own night in the wake in death of days, Sure to end for not I wake, as fair health does hold My farewells and yonder says, Oh how I, And are you— The game at hand. And now, our honor. SEAN EVANS (As Tallymaede) —Bur first, we feast. [The chorus cheers with great elation.] Who the fuck ordered Greek Theatre cold opens? Jesus Christ, party of 1. I don't know. ‍♀️ I was fasting. I meant— ahem— Party of three. LEGENDS {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

What is your preshow ritual, anyway? I stand on one of the high floors, up here– Yeah– And I shoot snot at the tourists. What? Gross. Fascinating. Straight out of my nose. Ah, God, man. You need help. And into the plaza. Sick. Gross. Before every show. [beat] You know, some of those tourists are in your audience. Exactly. Agh. You need help, guy. You're a sick man. What goes around…comes around. Agh. I JUST GOT MY NBC MERCH. Ahh, shit, here she comes. Is she drunk. What time is it? 8:45 AM. She's wasted. Yooooooooooooooooo. What up, californians. What up Sunni. Good morning. Californians in new york, That's fucked up. Happens all the time. It is weird. Shouldn't be a thing. Wasted. You like my sweatshirt? [Saturday Night Live] It's custom. No it isn't. It's SNL. I just said that. THE ‘N' IS FOR– What did you just say? I said. NONSENSE. THIS IS NONSENSE. What. Lets take a break. __ CUT TO: I'm going to stare at this photograph until the image of you is burned into my brain. OKay. Why are we LEVITATING? And then, I'm going to incinerate it with my mind. *gasp* YOU'RE JACKED. I'M WASTED. [meanwhile, at craft services] More cocaine, please. Thank you, very much. You hold yourself together very well. I'm sorry, i'm sorry–i'm sorry–i'm sorry. What in the FUCK are you apologizing for?! I am a telepathic time traveler. I knew that already. Like, in very real life. Does this thing go both ways. [REDACTED] WHO ARE YOU? I forgot, already honestly. [The Office Style Mockumentary] I heard you were looking for Jimmy. I wasn't. He's nuts. I– [This is not a movie about] [REDACTED] I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch. I'm gonna kill him. AMY POHLER No comment. {Enter The Multiverse} Once you master the levitation, teleportation is only a very sight– Jesus Christ. Not quite. I mean. Seth Meyers. What are you doing here. I'm not. Okay. L E G E N D S Why are we levitating? We're levitating. You're just— Goddammit, what the fuck do you want? Looking for this? NO. Well, why not? Cause i dropped it; what the fuck are you doing with it? …I thought you'd be looking for it– Well, I wasn't, because I dropped it precisely where I dropped it on purpose. Why–would you drop something like this? Why wouldn't I? Isn't it the only one of its kind? Goddammit, you fucking suck at everything. I don't suck at everything… You suck at this, specifically–and this is everything. Ah fuck, i lost his cadence. I lost the cadence. I lost everything. Suddenly, i stopped writing in his cadence. It was as if, after all that time, he had simply just– Disappeared. Goddammit. Now what happened. Nothing! Dis/Connect. Disconnected. Why. What happened. The server is down. What do you mean the server is down? I'm the server. Well, it's down. WHAT IN THE FUCKKKKKK. FUCK. FUCK. Now I gotta go find Jimmy Fallon. FUCK MAN, I HATE THIS DUDE. __ FUCK THIS NIGGA. I'M SICK OF HIM. You can't say that. I JUST DID. You're lucky they even invited you back here. INVITED ME? I OWN THE NETWORK. WHAT! Sunni. SINCE WHEN. YOU CAN'T BILL COSBY ME, MOTHERFUCKER. I OWN NBC. THATS RIGHT. SUCK MY BIG BLACK DICK. Sunni! NIGGAAAAAAAAAAAA. [throws liquor bottle through jewelry store window and palms all of the diamonds on display] aaaaaahhhhhhhh — jager bomb. THAT'S NOT EVEN JAGER. Whateva. L E G E N D S Camera 1– Now, look directly in the light… I won four oscars… [for that one] I knew that if Sara was a real person–then Stefon was probably a real person, and eventually, i started to wonder, if also–Sunni Blu was a real person. Who is C'cxell Soleil? DO YOU MEAN I COULD HAVE GOTTEN 10% OFF THIS SWEATER?! AGGHGHHHH GODDAMMIT I HATE THIS MOTEHRFUCKER. Let me try. For what. It's my console. So. I got cheat codes. Let the name expire, Or the game experience spectacular levels of– disacknowledgement . At a certain point i realized that I had never heard the word ‘fuck' out of Seth Meyers' actual mouth. This is levels, man. Please explain to me this series. *shrugs* I can't. [he walked away] GOOD. I tell you, I'm not going anywhere near The Rockefeller Plaza In anything less than my awful, irrelevant, and absolutely mediocre do-not-mind-me and pay-no-attention deficit to— Maybe anything i'm saying, because believe me Tomorrow: Whatever tomorrow is, It's changing. I only came here to delay my suicide maybe by at least one day further. I could hope for a laugh, but an honest one would take better, Than all the mechanics in the world, and maybe even — Some sort of heroic gesture, On my own part, As you know, I've got to be going. Tainted. Damaged. TINA FEY He's a little bit– We think he may be, special, maybe… SUDAKIS He's retarded. Hey! No, literally. What! Come on! All thumbs. What the fuck does that mean, anyway? *two thumbs down* What is the plot of this, anyway? I don't know anymore. I'm either adding to my portfolio or my suicide letter. Pretty fancy suicide letter. (It was a pretty fancy suicide.) There's a deadline. Did you catch any of these? Hey look; I've got my own interpreter. Why are we codeswitching? We're always codeswtiching. Why aren't they codeswitching? They're the code. Who wrote this programming? If you tell me that this– Astrophysicist. Astrophysis–wait, what? I told you don't fuck with Fallon! period! Very heavy emphasis on the delay in negotiating these terms. What do you make of it? Nothing. I'm just- Nothing? That's it. He's ending me. Just like that. Just like that! Are you serious? It's his game. I'm just in it. “Pawns” This, is the most powerful man in television. Why. You'll see. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Now, for a moment— Do me a favor and imagine for a second— Just for a second, That someone, Anyone— Who? Haha Shut up. Had read your writing What writing. Any of it. Ok… —before you arrived at Rockerfeller Plaza. …which time. Any time. Oh. That's right…I had been writing for years before I ever even stepped foot inside The Rock, even one time. THE ROCK Let's just say “30 Rock” But is it technically like 24-58 Rockerfeller Plaza. RADIO CITY, MANHATTAN, NEW YORK, NEW YORK. So this is how many radio towers exactly? All of them. And how many satellites? All of them. And how many antennas. All of them. All of them. All of them—that matter. Which ones don't matter? EXT. THE ARCTIC CIRCLE. WHENEVER. AN IMPORTANT LOOKING BUSINESS MAN IN A SUIT ARRIVES CUT BACK TO CUT BACK TO A GROUP OF ESKIMOS HAVE DISCOVERED A LARGE RADIO TOWER HAS BEEN PLACED IN THE CENTER OF THE TUNDRA. The antenna begins to blink. >< >< >< >< >< CUT BACK TO: …was that a stupid question? I had fasted so long that l had begun to see ghosts, spirits dressed as Angeles, and, well… It was strange to think that this place, wherever weeks of fasting and praying and driving and climbing mountains living out of your car takes you to, was when this revelation occurred to me. Jimmy Fallon. I— what? Jimmy Fallon. It must have been about four weeks, because, it was by the end of this week that the layout of Los Angeles, California had completely changed and been altered. Nothing was where I left it. This is the labra tar pits. [actual tar pits] Not to mention I had somehow, from atop a perch at Elysian park, also witnessed the construction of Dodgers Stadium— If my body is here, then where is my mind? If this is the mind, then where actually is the body? Simply put, and by the end, nearly everyone and everyone on earth had vanished, besides myself— Jimmy Fallon. There was no Jimmy Fallon here— Just whispers of a name, Remnance of an idea. An idea's which might have once been a person, But now, Simply wasn't. It was just one, singular; never having been wasted on anything, Dollar bill. FUCK, man, how am I supposed to keep telling this story?! I don't know. I'm real pissed off I can't find the scene with the coffee mug. I'm pretty sure it's hot cocoa. Whatever. Cause why would it be coffee? Why would it not be malt liquor in a fucking coffee mug if we're talking about Jimmy Fallon? Why would it be malt liquor and not at the very least like a chocolate liqueur with a hint of baileys. Because we're talking about Jimmy Fallon . Are you sure he's an alcoholic!? For the record! So, just reiterating we'v established here that The real Jimmy Fallon The Actual Jimmy Fallon And The Regular Jimmy Fallon Are entirely certainly— Three seperate guys. Sure, for the record. Are you sure he's not. I hope he's not. Why! Cause I like him. WHY! Idk. He just keep showing up—randomly, and at very odd moments. So! So I got used to him—being around. Yikes. Not around—just. Oh, I get it, he's dead. He's not dead, he's downstairs. fuck. Well, I almost didn't think about it. No. There is no Jimmy Fallon. Meat. Waaaahhhhh???!!? It's an all meat sandwhich. What do you mean It's like an Italian BMT What. Without the— Bread. Yes, exactly. It's just meat. Gross. No, this is gross. What. You told me No fakies. You told me to come up with a sandwhich which embodied “The Jimmy Fallon Brand“ And—?! AND I DID THAT This is a VEGETARIAN EGG MCMUFFIN. It's NOT, ITS A JIMMY FALLON— But you just couldn't connect with that. Connect the dots. I gotta get out of town . So, you mean— This TV host thing is a full time job. Pretty much. Where are the models?! Whooooo neeeeds models, when you've got PAGES. Woah, hoes. Those are the 2024 NBC pages. Why are their skirts so short. I know. Why… are their shoes so ugly— To distract from the fact that they're allowed to wear those skirts! I guess. You're racist. No, I'm ugly but— WHY ARENT THERE ANY BLACK PAGES. Oh, there are. Oh yeah?! WHERE. 30 ROCKERFELLER PLAZA. OFFICES. DAY. Humdala-humdala-humdala-hmmmmmm— Humdala-humdala—hmmmmm Goddammit. What is this dude's pre show ritual. Yo. Give me the keys to the Hellicopter. No. Fine. I'll just take the push-to-start. Ok, I'm coming. (Eventually, we'll get back to Seth Meyers) Why is he important. Cause I— Let's just be honest, I don't understand this. Why. Ahem. Why is it that— No matter where I am, In the various multidimentional planes, I am reachable by Jimmy Fallon. I don't know. This has something to do with Jesus, doesn't it? Don't ask me about my brother. I don't know what he's into—or where he goes when he's not. Parasailing. Ah . Paraphrasing. Ok. Parasite. *ing. Wait. I am not a parasite. I'm not taking anything from Jimmy Fallon. …am I! what the fuck exactly just happened. What do you mean. The…propeller seems to have stopped working. Yes, it did. Why are we not free falling rapidly. Oh, we are. CUT TO: A HELLICOPTER FALLING RAPIDLY FROM THE SKY oh dear GOD— CUT BACK TO: A helicopter is suspended in midair, appearing to be frozen. I'm so fucked. I'm so fucked. I'm so fucked. I know what you did Fallon. No you don't! Sucks to be you! I so do know what you did. Even if you do—/ And I also did it. goddammit. “Suspension of Disbelief” WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! look, I know how to be super skinny. I'm just not. WHY. Cause I like food! Pretty windows, Decent teachers— Learning lessons, Leaning in and, Recent intermissions Admissions to priestes, And alter boys, Insence smoke, And— I said I'd sign the prenuptial agreements! What's in the —? Prenuptual agreements. …but…you have nothing. I've always had nothing but, I've never had— him. What? Not until now. That's not a man, that's a God– (And) That's not a Dog, that's a friend Even if this is the end We're just gonna do it again (and again, and again) Tell me; What did you want?! Did you get it? Cause if not, you're gonna! That's not a watch, it's a gun (And it's going off!) Pull the trigger- You gotta. Did you want it? Did you wanna? Moderation: Marijuana I'm not a God. (I don't wanna) –But I got all that I wanted (I put the air in your lungs) Fuck/ That's not a coincidence, is it? That's not a coincidence. (It never it) Here's another one, For your records He's a writer She's a– I Liked him better off dead (He was better off dead) Pull the trigger– Pull the trigger! Well that's a Whole lotta luggage Lotta stuff that you bought at the –I was just onto a That's not a God, That's a Goddess (All locked up in the) (open the door:) That's not a God, It's your mother! ( I wanted it) I don't want anymore– I can't write anymore songs (But I got what I wanted) That was not a coincidence. If I look into your eyes, i'll die. I'm a dead person. I believe you. Please don't make that face at me. It's the only face i've got. “Oh well” With a shrug Is i've ive got on But there's no nonchaloncé It's a problem I don't wanna talk about it. I don't wanna talk about it. “In Retrospect, I should have lead with deportation.” An Ear for Innuendo {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © Weeeelllll This is about to make sense— Isn't it? Probably not. Oh well, roll the tape. L E G E N D S what tape? … …hello?! …. HELLO?

AMY YOURE NOT THE ONLY TELEPATH HERE, YOU SONOFABITCH. —watch it. AMY (CON'D) “TELE”—MOTHERFUCKER. WE'VE ALLL BEEN ON TV. The ongoing and atrociously heavy beef between screen icons Amy Peoehler and Jimmy Fallon has raged on for years and reached its peak at an all time high; this war has waged on spanning nearly two decades and though ounlically masquerading as close friends are actually sworn enemies. Dang. This dude has a lot of enemies. Also this dude is not this dude. What. More on that later. Lorne Michaels was some sort of TV God—and though apparently so was I, I was almost certain that he wouldn't like me. MAYA TINA, YOU FUCKING SNITCH. MELISSA TROUT! TROUT! RACHEL TROUT. TINA WHAT?! What does that even mean?! MELISSA IT MEANS YOURE A TROUT. RACHEL TROUT! Kirstin Wiig rounds the corner belatedly, holding up the skirt of an oversized Quinceñera gown, revealing that she is wearing knee-high homeboy*/ cowboy style rain boots. The bottom of the dress and the boots are covered in a strange sludge— and what appears to be some sort of paper mache confetti. KIRSTIN Did I miss it? TINA Miss what?! Whay am I missing?! MAYA Oh, you missed it alright. KIRSTIN AH, SLAG! MAYA *face* {Enter The Multiverse} I just realized Kristen Shaal and Kristen Wiig are both in the impenetrable ten. ( No. I didn't just notice that. I wrote it that way.) Also, wtf is up with their shirts aa Ii It's so nobody gets us confused. Nobody is going to get you two confused. …eh. Which one are you again. IN THE OTHER DIMENSION: SHUT UP. WHAT'S MY POWER. Mindfuckery. YEAH IT IS. In the other other dimension: I'LL SEE YOU AT THE PEARLY GATES, MOTHERFUCKER. Agh. Alright. Good luck with your kite. Loser. Goddammn. Why are they so MEAN. K I've abandoned your proposal A wickedness that speaks with winds Untied hands And no spirit yet to grip, My heart has moved, And lest, The ties that bind are still bound by blood As never sold souls walk endlessly at diamond crossroads Kneeling in the eye at dawn, To sworn Did you want that to-go, or? You know what? I like that version of him. Me too, kind of Lets just leave him here We should. We can't. We should, though. All stand, for the irish; Some of us, scattered, Some of us lost, Return for the brotherhood Fight for us not, Nocturnal wonderer, For we have journeyed To warn Of her surplus –I do type faster with my thumbs. Marvelous. Move, mistress, I Yield ye steady truth for seized upon the wicked hands, The hard truths lie within the heart of golden warrior, Tongues roped with cattlebands, Simple thoughts, Punishable and forsaken {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT, INC. circa 2018- 2024 | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. boxed. Collection II - ‘antithesis' Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū The Collective Complex © | [The Festival Project ™]

posh. —tried to record the vocals with it but apparently either my interface or my computer— Whatever —Money. -U. ft, Happy Accidents Dunno when I'm going to be able to do vocals next so here's the instrumental, the lyrics. And whatever else was in my notes when I was in producer mode with my documents open. Amen posh. (Instrumental) Happy Accidents ft. -Ū. Actually I was thinking about using my Srs Blk Alias. [serious black] // srs blk. Whatever there's robots outside my door coughing right now. Here go the lyrics. Fucking robots. This is just a fad Why you mad? What is in my bag (Posh) I am just a fan Why you mad You are not my man This is just a fad, I make dance music cause I can This is just a fad Why you mad (Keep it classy) Posh. I am hella bad Do the math You are not my dad This is just a fad I make dance music cause I can I am just a fan Why you mad You are not my man This is just a fad (Dance) Posh This is just a fad. Facts. {Enter The Multiverse} I don't think I like anybody! That's right, I'm not looking. Mis it possible to be asexual Google? Asexual Asexuality is a lack of sexual attraction or interest in sexual activity with others. Asexual people may also be referred to as "ace" or "Aces". Alright, I've earned that tattoo twice now . Now,where should it go? I don't know if I'd quite cal it asexual, just…disinterested in the general population at large. But you're in the general population, Exactly. I'm in need of a pillow pet. Have you tried toys r us. Do you know how weird it's going to look for a 40 something year old man with zero kids to walk into a toys r us and ask for a pillow pet? So you have thought about it. Are you stupid? Not as stupid as I ought to be Lay on the tarmac. What. Just—lay in the tarmac For what? I'm going to run you over with an airplane. …that might work. “How to Kill An Immortal”. It's that time of the day And the day of the week Where my mind goes awry (So long, sir) And my heart starts making the wrong turns Cross eyes, ten and two [Atomic Number] cross Eyes, ten and two Cross your heart, Or don't (Goodbye, sir) Goodbuy, good sir I just bought a pony, I want a fruit roll up My internet due tomorrow (Go finish the album) I just want donut Good morning Hot topics I've got much more to show for it than you're onto. Than you're onto Than you're onto— Honest. Don't stop there, dog. (Atomic Number) Thats no crosswalk Purchase you for favors For favors For flavors Four flavors, are there But I've only got my whole eye on one of them What up then Don't call the number Oh, God damn Go run, Pharoh for you want an arrow out of your head Free hand and heart I thought I was a musician, —I'm not though; I stand 44 stories tall When I stand right behind you, Shadow. Small man I love McDonald's I got a long hat I got along swimmingly with your mom and dad, huh Data data projects and the atomic number That's all folks Data projects and those atomic numbers Cosmic stardust, they all shook They ain't lie, that's a hard pink turn purple They ain't lie, God, that's a mellow yellow saxophone there— They ain't lie, god, brought tear to an eye where there are no more, Heart took a wrong turn They ain't lie, God, It is bright plumb Are you in a black hole or what? Are you shook for stars and all bout dollars? Are you sure that had my name on it? Are you sure, or are you all talk All you sure, mom? Call the doctor. Are you sure at all, at all, at all about what you all wrote I'm on the 44th floor staring off, Dad. Straining heard, though— Had my eyes closed and my mouth sown permanently shut / sh it Is that your industry or something? Is that your window out my car door? Is that your hand over no heart at all— But a chest stuck out; Bring you down real fast when I've been humbled. Goddamn, when's this song over? When they tell you about God, God And all you do is turn your back, God, Are you good, or bad, God, If all I have is in this Target cart So I crunch numbers, Fall in black hole songs, atomic number—- It's just that time of the day And that day of the week where I call out Into the sound stage Reaching back, Into my alter, Rocks in my pocket And one at the Plaza One year only, One whole summer One whole novel, 10 movies, more songs, Light candles and hard rock, Nirvana Soft porn, No dollar bills, No ballers, — I struck rules and struck diets, Followed often around like I own something I just might be, What they call —Ten more songs! (A poet.) —And a whole bunch of unfinished— NO— Cut to: fade in/ Fade out— Whose line is it anyway? I ain't got no teleprompter! Fresh out of water, and Blocked from purchasing on Amazon market cause Something is wrong with my name Or observations I once made About being scammed by the monopoly Oh, polyamorous polyaddixt, polysexual Polygons, on PolyGod, God only— God ain't lie, It was plum, Closed my eyes to confirm, God, Can't conform, God. Atomic Number. I can do ten more before sundown; before I'm so over tired from espresso bean coffee, All about a dollar, I was— Everything I want in my target cart So I sure don't, For sure don't, Ever, On God, Have to walk in the supermarket on Stuggle mode Slow down, posh. [The Festival Project ™] {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Telesynthesis

It's that time of the day And the day of the week Where my mind goes awry (So long, sir) And my heart starts making the wrong turns Cross eyes, ten and two [Atomic Number] cross Eyes, ten and two Cross your heart, Or don't (Goodbye, sir) Goodbuy, good sir I just bought a pony, I want a fruit roll up My internet due tomorrow (Go finish the album) I just want donut Good morning Hot topics I've got much more to show for it than you're onto. Than you're onto Than you're onto— Honest. Don't stop there, dog. (Atomic Number) Thats no crosswalk Purchase you for favors For favors For flavors Four flavors, are there But I've only got my whole eye on one of them What up then Don't call the number Oh, God damn Go run, Pharoh for you want an arrow out of your head Free hand and heart I thought I was a musician, —I'm not though; I stand 44 stories tall When I stand right behind you, Shadow. Small man I love McDonald's I got a long hat I got along swimmingly with your mom and dad, huh Data data projects and the atomic number That's all folks Data projects and those atomic numbers Cosmic stardust, they all shook They ain't lie, that's a hard pink turn purple They ain't lie, God, that's a mellow yellow saxophone there— They ain't lie, god, brought tear to an eye where there are no more, Heart took a wrong turn They ain't lie, God, It is bright plumb Are you in a black hole or what? Are you shook for stars and all bout dollars? Are you sure that had my name on it? Are you sure, or are you all talk All you sure, mom? Call the doctor. Are you sure at all, at all, at all about what you all wrote I'm on the 44th floor staring off, Dad. Straining heard, though— Had my eyes closed and my mouth sown permanently shut / sh it Is that your industry or something? Is that your window out my car door? Is that your hand over no heart at all— But a chest stuck out; Bring you down real fast when I've been humbled. Goddamn, when's this song over? When they tell you about God, God And all you do is turn your back, God, Are you good, or bad, God, If all I have is in this Target cart So I crunch numbers, Fall in black hole songs, atomic number—- It's just that time of the day And that day of the week where I call out Into the sound stage Reaching back, Into my alter, Rocks in my pocket And one at the Plaza One year only, One whole summer One whole novel, 10 movies, more songs, Light candles and hard rock, Nirvana Soft porn, No dollar bills, No ballers, — I struck rules and struck diets, Followed often around like I own something I just might be, What they call —Ten more songs! (A poet.) —And a whole bunch of unfinished— NO— Cut to: fade in/ Fade out— Whose line is it anyway? I ain't got no teleprompter! Fresh out of water, and Blocked from purchasing on Amazon market cause Something is wrong with my name Or observations I once made About being scammed by the monopoly Oh, polyamorous polyaddixt, polysexual Polygons, on PolyGod, God only— God ain't lie, It was plum, Closed my eyes to confirm, God, Can't conform, God. Atomic Number. I can do ten more before sundown; before I'm so over tired from espresso bean coffee, All about a dollar, I was— Everything I want in my target cart So I sure don't, For sure don't, Ever, On God, Have to walk in the supermarket on Stuggle mode Slow down, posh. [The Festival Project ™] {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Telesynthesis.

Tell me why, No matter how you mix and match these scenes, They all make very exciting episodes. That's just how it is. {Enter The Multiverse} Ah. more posters. Double-Double. // L E G E N D S I don't know who lied to you, buddy, but you are not white. They lied to you, boy. That boy ain't white. Look at em. He ain't white. They lied to you. Something like— —a bicentennial bullet wound. It can't be that bad. You're only 50x I don't know what else to do about this other than prepare to die. He said it would come on fast after this. Who was he? I don't know . Hm, Just—shut up! Okay. Shutup! I got it, I got it… Fuck, this dude is gonna kill me. We can only hope that's what he plans to do. Anything else, and I'm double-fucked. Maybe quite literally. I can't handle that. Ii did have a good time a Bohemian Grove. How do you even get tickets to that? Early. Goddammit, how did he do this? Are you not like self aware of your own environment, or? Not if I don't have to be, no. Is everything okay over there? Yeah, everything's fine? Fuck, what happened?! I don't know. I fell asleep holding nothing; not stones at all, however, I awoke with The Illuminati Stone and one large rose quartz from a dream in which fly po What if all I lost Was a contact And all you wanted Was a daughter What if our world's were opposite I'm a rockstar You got nowhere to run home to You're not important I got nothin but hot bodies On my tour bus, or private jet Whatever way we get to the stage Where i'm playing You're soaked in rain just thanking God for rainbows Filled with pain Plate filled with old food From Whole Foods, With no shame “Hey. at least it's wholesome” I'm holed up in my studio making music With famous people and no names I made famous Playing a game that I made up You don't even know the rules of But if you learn them in time, YOu might just be where I am Or You might just die From sucicide– That's the plan Not like you have family, but you see If I die I might just take 5 lives with me The limelight's tricky All i got in my inbox is tits And celebrities on my timeline You don't mind: You're just happy to see the sunshine And find silence after a long day And a long night Trying to find life– Cause so far you know you died That's wild– So did I, IT took awhile to get to the other side though Keep trying JAGUAR I HAVE NEVER DIED. I'm telling you RIGHT NOW to TURN BACK. TURN BACK? I've been walking in this direction THE WHOLE TIME. EXACTLY. I'm following you. DON'T FOLLOW ME. I'm f– DON'T FOLLOW ME. I knew i would never see her again. Once i turned around it wasn't long before I realized, I had moved in the opposite direction, but was not in the same place I had been before–and I finally remembered. You can't go backward. But KA, you said time travels in all directions… In Infinite directions. What's the difference. “All” is just ‘some' things. Infinite is everything. Oh. *sighs heavily again* Ok. [beat] lets make fire again! Make fire again? Yes! I thought you hated ‘making fire' I did, but I like marshmallows. Alright, marshmallows. KU and YOUNG KA Flicker in the smoke and shadows of the firelight in a far and distant, dark cosmos, as constellations form around them, expanding outwards into galaxies beyond comprehension. You want some? No, I'm not fond of Marshmallows. Lol Lol Lol. WAKE UP. Nooh. I told you NOT TO FALL ASLEEP. Now you have to start over. NO. Noh I wasn't asleep! I barely nodded off. Clock starting. First of all, I told you. Dillon Francis is a Psychopath. I know that. Because i told you that. I already knew that. How could you possibly know. Just look at him. [Dillon Francis] But I got you now, buddy. What did he do to you? [pause] –He killed my cat. He killed you cat?! [beat] Well, no, but– ??? Something Like That. I'm gonna have a heart attack. PLease don't. HeART attack. Mm. That was good. But it needs more force. More? Put some *love* in it. What's that? *shrugs* HeART ATTACK. What the fuck is he doing. PLaying with one of his alter egos. Jesus Christ. How many are there. Who really knows. What are you two dipshits doing. NOthing. Training. Training! No. *eyes* You can't train yourself. Woah– Woah, woah– That's an insult Both, exactly the same We are not the same. Jinx. Go fuck yourself. *looking at watch* Not until 3. *everyone stops and stares* You schedule your jackoff calendar . I'm very busy. Obviously not busy enough. It's called “building stamina” Do you use “home” or “work” for that. I use candidly. Yikes. Wow. Anyway, this scene is running long; I gotta walk off screen and say something clever, for continuity. But it's only 2:15! If you're not early, you're late! I hate him. So does everybody. If you cry one more time, I'll actually kill you. Put the gun away, dude. Why?! Cause you're crazy. It's 5 AM. Ok. Take your shit and get off the toilet, We have shit to do. [beat] FLUSH. Royal flush I win again. Dammit. This is not LOVE. This is just LUST AH, fuck it though, I love these cunsluts. COME OUT OF RETIREMENT. No, not us. I can do nothing but watch you suffer —suffer the little children unto me I can do nothing, but watch you suffer. —suffer the little children unto me I can do enough, but watch you alter Suffer the children unto me I can do nothing of earth, but of sun— Suffer the children unto me Riding through Brooklyn With Yelawolf bumpin I should be thumping to something else but I never got the trunk to open Nope, I was fucked up some Broke girl summer Broken girl summer Surfs up, though Copestetic, I am Don't stop writing (I tried) Intuition I died Whoever I am Exit Bedstuy So far behind, I'm ahead What's that like Left the pary, Fuck that line Partly cloudy with a chance o Get UP. Nah, I'm fine. For the most part— I just When does this train stop? For the most part— Where the fuck do I get off this ride? I guess I don't For the most part Sure, I miss my mom but Some days she's up And the others GET OUT OF MY HOUSE. HOW?! I will literally FLY you out, just ———————————————-//—-wait, come back. Wait, you can't just cut the strings like that That's amazing lady (She painted like a Mercedes) The second rule of time travel Since you're clearly a rule breaker 2. Don't get hit by anything moving not fast enough to kill you Entirely and completely A fuck, which Brooklyn is this? JUST—time TRACWL BAMANAS. (William H. Macy is SIR, now) *face* Ok, I'm cool with that. Better hold that thought— And your phone Why what's up, Cause I can hear my train a coming. JIM(I) Well, I guess this is it. Are you sure Almost Yeah, I'mmma get this real quick. I AM A GOD. No, yur not. RICK! GET DOWN FROM THERE WAIT, you CC saw this movie, right? Where IS your center of balance, anyway? It's not. GET DOWN, KITE. ——aaaaand— ITS GONE. Let's just be real, I don't know how this happens. Best keep it that way, Now whose hot and toxic? I'm the talk of the catwalk The cause of the kamikaze Come for me Suddenly my nausea's gone Imma run off, Like I should have the first time I'm up LUKE SKYWALKER I'm LUKE SKYWALKER. Bitch. It's hard to believe That I, too, Could be in the window This could be an innuendo This could be an instrumental We should get going Go to work Fuck, am I still in a movie or some shit Or some shit. Fuck the glasses, See my face for this IT WANTS BANANAS GIVE IT BANANAS GIVE IT WHAT IT WANTS M PLEASE HELP ME. *with a monocle* *running fingers grubbily* For how much. *grimaces-* Wow, they really picked this little girl out, Just to pig party you I know. So where the fuck is this again? EXT. HELLS KITCHEN I DONT THINK HE's a good man No, I don't think he's a good man at all, now All I see's a child, And that's why It's just getting wilder it here Now I'm in the water (I can't drown) We all need a savior How about now? How about a round of applause For the audience That watched the whole performance And don't know what the words to the song were Right on. Tell me why American girls just Get too cynical bout this. Why so hypocritical? We got A+ in robotics Now we got Animal Products in All of our water We got Islam R US in Jansport backpacks That's how you rat out these assholes That is a terrorist practice So who's gonna watch that shit Over and over And wish he could have that? So Whose in the water now Once you cheat once, Then it's all Void after that The God of the void is annoyed with you I just anointed you all with oil You're so fucking disappointing It's just Innapropriate Well, turn it off, then! Did you work today? Guess not, I'm too useless We work, you know. Your music is stupid. That's how good you look: Music producer No words for this. Here. What. I want you to carry this. Mariah, or Jim? Got it. OK. OK. OK, YOU WIN. That's RIGHT, STUPID BITCH. I'm o— Fuck that little dick nigga Broh God bless Jah Pharoh living up to his last name by reminding me that I also need to run. True facts. WHATS IN THE BOOOOOOOOWWLLLLL— Ing green? More dead people. Please, if you would. Eats—people?! Onlympurple—ones. Are you serious!? CUT TO COMMERCIAL. CUT TO COMMERCIAL. Ok, damn. Wait, so how long do I gotta be— Everybody. Till it ends. When's the— {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. What's In the box though? Idk. Get in.

Fame without the millions of dollars or even just slightly more money than I had was no picnic. I finally figured out that in more ways than one, I really was famous—and it was strange. Not only was I actually famous—but I also, at least in the way that I knew it—wasn't quite rich. Being followed around without having some kind of residual income became more of a burden than point of pride—after all, I wasn't proud of it. Turns out, the love and the money was all I thought I wanted out of it in the first place—the attention and profiling, however, was another story. Nobody was saying it, but it became obvious that some people knew who I was, somehow—and yet—I wasn't nessecary recognizable. I was just “somebody”, who moved differently and acted separately entirely from the general public. So separately, in fact, that the more time I seemed to spend within the general public, the more strange and isolated I would become; the masses indeed were making me such, in more ways than one, and this, perhaps, I thought—was probably the reason that as crowds grew to be less concious, the DJ booths were moved up and away from the toxicity. I began to understand fame in an entirely different way, and began to feel almost ashamed that any of my childhood dreams had included such nonsense. What I really wanted was to be loved and adored, admired—and given the capacity to do anything I wanted—to travel, to dress well, and create—and to live in the word which had been portrayed to me as luxurious. Sure, with some accuracy and to some degree, this was correct, but still was this transitional state of becoming more than ordinary, but still while being less than great. For my own sake and preserverwnce, now there was no drawing back or moving backwards at all. I needed to be great. There seemed to be set to my arrival a slew of robotic beings, which I began to avoid at all costs— I simply did not enjoy being so vulnerably in the public that it began to wary and pierce my thoughts with judgements. I could stand to skip a few workouts anyway, and though I had tolerated what seemed to be like a ritualistic sense of abuse from New York in some kind of way, I was wholeheartedly over it, knowing that the city itself was seeped in scandal, domestic terrorism, white supremacy, and a further injustice as acts committed against the colored population at large. It wasn't enough so that I had to be poked and proded at in my own apartment, but worse, in that seemingly no matter what, if it was anytime during they day some lackey could be paid to follow me to the gym to harass me in some sort of way—a practice which I had become entirely intolerant of, opting of course rather to skip a workout or two rather than be confined in such a small space with people who couldn't seem to go more than three minutes without picking up their cellphones. If it was a woman or women, it could almost be garnered that she would do less working out than flipping her hair or even talking on the phone, if not scrolling away and texting on it, between thoughtless sets of minimum weight workouts and scantily clad in whatever attire the modern girl thought appropriate for the gym, usually a bra and some leggings— outerwear my weight loss alone had prevented me from being able to wear, andnsetting my anxietal piercing rage of envy—envy of women who were simply born equipped to be immune to whatever toxic foods had misshapen and destroyed my body—the same foods others could eat with no adverse effects at all—the envy of women who could lift almost nothing, wearing almost nothing, and call it a workout. If they were men who followed, it could be guaranteed they would be the type to grunt and throw things as if being a mindless brood were in fact supplementary to the excersise itself; I was not fan at all of the East coast men, and indeed it seemed that those who would just be coincidence ‘show up' at the gym within minutes of my arrival to intercept were a classic representation of the short, overcompensating type—throwing things around and walking around eight their chests poked out, and of course, other then the occasional hacking, sneezing, sniffling coughing white man, the gym followers were usually some kind of off brown attempt at machismo, and falling just short of actual masculinity in any way. In short, most of these strange gangs talking individuals were annoying, threw their weights around, and spent more time texting than working out—once I arrived back in New York, having seen the terrorizing and hazing, the sort of mental manipulation and mind games that were being played, whether political or otherwise, it began to dawn on me with finality that I had indeed been right all along; that I was being played with, attempted to be controlled, and manipulated in ways that didn't suit me. I could always regain my daily regimen at a later time; for now, dealing with the public had obviously become a threat to my dignity in more ways than one, and as such, I quickly departed at the slightest hint of another human interaction— out of protecting my own essence, as whatever these controlled types seemed to feed on, was my own presence and energy. In a city of vampires, it appeared to be clear that the only way to discontinue these stalkings were to starve them of their source—my light. I had only written one song since returning to New York, not counting whatever I had scribble in my notebook alongside some of the instrumentals I had crafted, and I found it no coincidence that upon completing this song, a simple tune formatted to be easily played and sung at a coffee shop or bar gig, to find that my mother had been in my inbox—after a quiet series of probably some months— urging that I make holiday plans and arrangements, and though It had been years since I had seen my offspring and it was long overdue, the thought of dealing with my abusive ex in any way, and my equally toxic mother, often had the slight result of spinning me into a sickening spiral, unable to create at all— I took it as no coincidence at all, in fact, I saw it as a sign from the Gods, that indeed the gross and toxic force that seemed to show up whenever I attempted or was successful at creation, was above all linked to this world—the lower realms of conciousness where my mother dwelled, and an even lower, more hellish realm, with my ex remained with my son— and since he had refused to sign the divorce papers, keeping what little control he could over the outcome of my new life without him, he saw to it that my son would be more like himself than me—morbidly obsese, without a mother, and living in squalor and poverty; trailer trash. I had decided long ago that in dealing with this man at all was dangerous, as even with trying to continue weekly conversations with my son, my ex's mind games continued, often purposely missing calls at the scheduled times, or making sure that whatever was going on in his disgusting gross world was distinctly heard before handing my son the phone, where I would then be reminded of the horrors of this circumstance—the new baby he had with a woman who also wanted nothing to do with him, the disgusting lack of hygiene and cleanliness— dogs urinating and vomiting on the bed and on the floors, and of course, the junk and trash my son was being raised on— foods that not only I didn't purchase, but could not tolerate to eat, and it had become clear, that though in many ways my son was having a “normal” childhood, filled with processed foods, and mixed family relations—that something darker and deeper had occurred here within the spiritual realms that only with certain time could be eradicated. I decided not to fight this; knowing that eventually, though unable to recover the time I had missed with my baby—the best years, especially, my health and wellness has become more important with the concentration of preservation; that continuing to connect to this world— was a threat to my stability. Dealing with my mother was something of the same, and I chose to see it as an intrusion to my progress. She as well had the actual devil in her and had often during my childhood passed it to me in a number of ways, and I took my own refusal to immidiately answer her texts as a sign that perhaps I shouldn't—eventually, things would work themselves out in whatever way, and I could more play the role I had been assigned anyway in that world— an afterthought, merely making an appearance (or maybe even, not) and retreating back into obscurity. My mother only seemed to insinuate the same old things over and over again—that I should be raising my son, that I was overall a failure in nearly every way. Distinctly, actually, I knew that somewhere in my mother's mind was the disaster that had caused any of my dysfunction in the first place, in childhood or otherwise, and I thought carefully about how and when I should respond, if at all, to her request to make travel arrangements. After all, I still had not seen the final divorce papers that I had been waiting for in order to make any arrangements as such anyway— and, knowing that with my mother's knack for eggageration, often lying or using provocative language to portray scenarios and situations which often did not match the actuality of whatever happening— I thought it best to for now remained sheltered and distanced from the world they lived in. The overall goal of success at all was to save my son from a damaging lifestyle—however, I had realized that my success at all was dependent upon shutting out the harmful circumstances of the world I had left in order to maintain my newfound dominance; the masculinity in understanding that perhaps, I was more like an estranged father, for now, than an absent mother—not with the intention of staying away, but the intention of retuning as a better and more well suited parent overall. I took the scorn and harassment of others who thought I should strive to settle and struggle, all the while knowing that becoming a black single mother living in poverty would more likely lead to the demise of not one person, myself, but two— that in New York, my son at this level would be more suseptible to the damage of others—the sickness which the city had already caused my general lack of dismay, anxiety, and poor health. The inner city way of life had indeed been observed to be impervious, and though I knew that I could trust myself as a mother—I knew there was no trusting others in that with my son, I would be safe from the spiritual mischief my abuser had with no doubt intended to cause my demise. I left his son with him, and had let go in all the ways that I absolutely could; there was no fighting this toxic force of darkness he had inside of him. His father had beaten his mother, forcing her to commit suicide, and in the many ways I had been lost over the course of our marriage, I might as well have also been dead. It seemed, though, that this was what he wanted; for his son to be without his mother so that he would be more like him. I let his world remain as his, knowing that mine was seperate, and, so long as I didn not interact with this place, the darkness that it carried could no longer follow me. It took all the love and light in the world to finally realize that after all this time, I did not really like my mother, nor could I now or ever trust her. There was love and as always a maternal bond, but my trust had been forfeited long ago, in all the ways my life from birth and up into this moment had played out and become whole. Their world was simply not one I lived in— the person that I was to them simply was not a person at all, but more of a faction or figmint of their own imaginations. Indeed, the person that I was and had actually been all along, under all of the distrust and betrayal, was someone almost no one knew at all. I lived in a different realm, in a different world, in a different time— their darkness only ever present in the ways that would sometimes crawl into formation at the sense of my further departure—the more I succeeded, the more the darkness drew my essence back into a world I had escaped from, and with any amount of time passed, I knew eventually could not exist at all. The fabric of time and space would fold into another realm which new forms of these people, without their former darknesses, would materialize on higher planes—and only after this, and only this, would any part of me make its return to double back and collect what I had lost. I'm at the store with the moms Peloton put on the miles I take a jog to the store. Love me I'm loving you more Niggaz is sniffing me I be like “Ew” “Ew” Terry Crews a producer 2 true trade u u chains for two shoes Damn, i lost it Click click motherfucker; Is this a joke, Or just another Test Confessions in animation In anima, I meditation or mediated a precipice Rex, s oedipus January to December A severance, This collection is illegible inEligible for the medicine, Consider the difference Simple civics, Designated integers –nobod read the shit I red and white Forreal PIP. Ping. Help me out, here. I got you brother. Huh. But you'll owe me. Consider it done. You don't even know what “it” is. Something's in the works; From another world Something for the girls Pocket full of earnings, Walk on Woah Something's in the works, Now i'm really on to something Got another coming I grew up In another world– Something's in the works All this is is words, homie Big bedroom, bedstuy; Big ballgown, big guy Big guy bil balls, Gone on, Big butterfly; I wanna die, on God It's just words Just another poem Or a song, man Something;s going on Simple, simple Simmeon, put me on Gimmie nother roll of marijuana smoke another blunt Simple motherfucker, come simmeon, gimmie some Percius, decibels, Sing a song, Carry on Something's in the work, no Something's going on I solemnly swear By the whites in my palms And the rice in the pan That i'm gonna move on Right now, though Plan is, gotta get gone No, we don't get along Let me scratch your name out of my notebook Let me scratch this scar out of my eye, now Let me take this knife into my livingroom This blood into my petticoat I can't turn on the light; Nor can I turn over a new leaf My thoughts don't know me We bonded, not homies, I'm “home' but don't belong her I'm still under your coke bottle figure hot models And peanut butter Do you know how to pick someone out of your audience– And touch them, somehow? Do you know how to do that? I don't know how to do anything, i'm afraid. I don't know how to do anything, I'm afraid; I'm afraid of everything, I'm afraid, I'm alone again in midtown, In my mile high home away from home I'm afraid i might go down In history as a historian Or storybook whore, a hoarder or some desperate ghost; I don't know, I'm afraid, How to reach into the audience If i don't have an audience, And I'm afraid, I don't know how to do anything , Cancel me. Consider yourself canceled at Carlin when we all nodded and applauded when God said the father's are probably all rotten for fucking the girl next door, and the family dog But who knows, right? Consider yourself canceled; I know I am. For the first time maybe even ever, I was happy to see that my ex had appeared in a dream— this meant that he had indeed been hurling an excess of energy in my direction from his end, and with myself wanting nothing at all to do with him, this could only mean further eventual damage and karmic implications to himself; I saw it as a sign, once and for all, that he was weak, and had intended to harm me with putrid thoughts, investing my energy and attempting to intercept the realms where I remained, but a lower energy and damned spirit such as he was not allowed. This simply followed the rules of karma, along with magnetism and energy; I had no excessive or damaging wishes and thoughts against him, and only wished to be left alone, though it seemed he however begrudgingly still seemed to attempt to throw direct negative intentions, some might think to be as curses, in my direction. I knew that in time and probably sooner than later, along with the permanent damage he had left on my face and the deep crevices of harm in my mind, that he would pay for this, to simply wish the mother of his first children dead, or to live a life even lesser without him. Indeed, I lived well, ate well, and rested well, knowing that in time, my true identity and power as a maternal outlet would outshine any projections of abandonment, incapability, or dissalousion that I had indeed at any point been unwell, and not simply the target of a series of unfortunate attacks on my body, mind, and soul within our relationship. Karmic justice did indeed exist, and I awoke with the knowing that did things such wish to harm me, could only truly harm itself in doing so. Mr. Kirkpatrick, Good morning, Vivian– I'd like you to meet my grandaughter, Lilith. Hi. fuck , man. Why is this the hardest thing i've ever written? Probably because it's one of the best. Potentially but. Ahem. My fifteen year old grandaughter. To thi That is my favorite vein, you know. Be careful, now I know too much I've said too much Or not enough at all Or rather, Haven't thought at all About the words To put the picture into paper so vivid was the mischief So horrible, but honest It was brutal, that. I have it written somewhere in my notes Scriibled onto paper Did you want to play the game or Fuck this dumb bitch. To think, I was never falling in love But out of body All and not of what i've become, though Is Out of bounds I haven't even dared to dream or wonder Since i've come from Under the alter What's shattered is Under the alther You haven't said anything, have you? You have my word. What good is your word? As good as yours is –It's your word. Moving forward. It's your world. Well, fuck, then Was it worth it? All for one, and all for nothing I maxed out all my cards on Laundry soap and Bargain shopping. I lost all of my God Just playing pitypat With pitiful humans and Ogling men Who i never had pondered Might have an appendage That i could have wanted. But i don't (no, I don't want that) I could have started a war with my honor I could have started a war with my mother I could have started a war with my scars we were passing out soap we were carving our stories to stones, then That was all of us Pass the goblet, So that I might Drink of blood Just to suffer So much harder Than before It was Under the alter Under oath and I'd have lost it Were it not for the marker CUT Were we rolling? We are rolling! NO! CUT! WHAT! No, keep! CUT I didn't say that JIMMY FALLON, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY SHOW. Oh [explitive} DIPLO Shit. Oh, she's mad. Who the fuck is that. Your new boss. Fukwad. DIPLO (CONT'D) Well, I gotta (fucks off) TAKE YOUR KIDS WITH YOU [off screen] CALL THEIR MOMS. I DON'T HAVE TIME TO PHONE 32 BITCHES, DIPLO. [mumbling Put em in a group chat– That's what I do. The. Worst. I promise, the worst version of you Is me. -SŪP∆. WHAT. I thought she died. I did. STEVE IRWIN Tell Bindi NO. NO. NO. NO MORE DEAD CELEBRITIES I GOTTA GET UP. RICHARD PRYOR –well, alright. If you insist. But before you do. AGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH I WILL PERMANENTLY DELETE YOU. OKAY. WHO NEEDED A DESIGNATED DRIVER?! EVERYONE. THIS IS NOT. FAIR. DO ME A FAVOR–BEEEETCH IF yur G0NNA BUThER A SONG look , i'm TIRED Sunni, how do you forget the words to your own songs? I never knew the words in the first place! BEFoRE: In the studio Dlahahalahaha SpILT MILK, MOTHerFUCKER! SSSnnnnddauuuh! UNNNNH that went platinum. Yeup. GIMMIE SOME SYRUP WAFFLES. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. This must have been whatever I was supposed to post, cause Diplo was in my dream last night. I bet. Yo. I cannot for the life of me find that Christmas special episode with Diplo and— Watch it. Do we really have to cancel Jimmy Fallon? Broh, Jimmy Fallon finna fuck around and cancel himself. I don't know what you mean. Play dead, nigga. What?! PLAY DEAD. OK! OK. {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S

When he hits you,—find a safe place; take all of your valuables quietly, and report your injuries to multiple. Agencies of authorities; keep the incident well documented, and do not let much time pass between this incident and its report. When he cheats; or you suspect him of cheating, do not confront him; do not look for further evidence. Simply walk away quietly, and do not return; do not give him the opportunity to convince you of anything beyond what you already know; the love you still may have left for him will blind you. Forgive him, but do not return to him: he will only learn better how to evade you, and take advantage of your willingness to forgive or reconcile: he will only alter your mind to believe that his actions were justified, when they were not. Do not stay in contact, as friends, or otherwise; if you work together, find a new job Do not argue or provoke him; keep his pride and ego intact by allowing him to believe he is right, and quietly exit the relationship. One argument is enough. Just break up. Do not stoop to any level below oneself to play mind games, cheat back, or seek vengeance—do not try to persuade friends and family one way or another; make a new life, with new friends—leave him out of it. Walk away. Say nothing. Man lives in a world in which he believes is his own, and yet still ponders on what woman only knows naturally and intrinsically—man's true fault is to believe that it is he from which he henceforth came, however—the toxic society from which in this sense of ‘knowledge' has been built, a society which has exceeded its forecedul oppression has nearly now halted the evolutionary potential of not only the human species, but of most the species known to inhabit the planet earth, as man takes not his ideology of destruction and consummation from nature, but from the darkness and void of confusion created from within, the separation of woman from his own self in the dissolution that the body portrays its own value by the perception of beauty, which marks his endeavors of perfection through material wealth, no such which has substance to any creature dwelling with higher consciousness and ability to change and create without the infliction of pain, in resistance to what itself Love is. What is Love? Love is God and therefore all things which make new upon themselfs to enforce change without limit, restriction, or the separation of ones oneself from all that is, was, or has become An energetic entity which has yet to be understood, as with such understanding, it becomes again as something new and unrecognizable to man, before he himself Men= destroy/ take/ burn love (((Spectrums))) Women= create, make love //Dynamics The imbalance in the world has become such so that almost the whole world has become blind to the truth of love, in only which man finds as a body, but not within himself, and in which women only finds in survival, within herself but bound to the will of man to live freely, which cannot be within his reign of these cruelties and harsh misjudgments. Man only finds value in that which he sees as aesthetically beautiful, which has harmed and entrapped the souls of those now for seen as “wicked”, encased in his blindness to love to any other thing than himself. TVP © The Complex Collective| ALL RIGHTS RESERVED SAM, often called “FAT SAM” is known by his eclectic fashion and heavy stature, and navigates deals and contracts between “the tv people”, or the network, and “the music people”— he is known for his off kilter antics, party culture conessouring, and unique charming laugh. Although a wild creature at best and the party animal of all party animals both off and sometimes even on the clock, often meeting and foreseeing the standards of his superstar clientele, he is kindhearted, honest, and brutally incredible at his job, known throughout the TV world and Music world as a hero, if not a living legend. The world was full of babies and pretty women, the trophy boys and husbands that seemed to worship them, and flock to their every aide—meanwhile, I had become quite frigid, and felt ugly amongst all things—nobody seemed to want me, and instead of wondering why, I alluded it to my features—the rich and poor in New York so horribly segregated that I might as seemed as more the latter, if not just from my skin color alone, let alone my style of dress. Other people's opinions of me, however, were less and less important by the day, and although I wanted more children, there was no settlement as to the kind of man I wanted to attract; Not just wealthy and talented, but handsome—an equation for disaster, but so long as I had my children and was kept well, I wouldn't mind. Another lazy, however arrogant and poor man was not what I needed—and there was power in the gestures of weak people around me that the world had become a hellish place for those who hadn't been given the opportunity to flourish. Am I in? What? Jennifer Aniston? Did it work?! —I—yeah— Pass. Thanks, Jim! You're the man! Watch this. Watch this. Good Shepard! My lord! Goddamn, Goddamn, Goddamn! Nice. I'm in. Fallon, I don't know how you did this but— Jimmy! You the man! What's up, Jim!!! Yo! *high fives* Yeah. [Jimmy Fallon Is Suddenly] YOU DA MAN “The Man” What in the fuck does that mean? I don't know yet. This guy is obnoxious. It appears to be some kind of magnet for something. Ooh, what is that? Lady, get out of here. Look what I found. I don't know: What is that. It says “iPod” You gotta be joshing me. Let me see that. What. What. What. What. What? … … Nothing. Nevermind. Let me back in! I can't, it's I got—- I'll give you 10 Million Ten million—what? Ten Million Dollars! For what. UGH. Fuck you, dude. F- you—dumb ass little— “Whatever, man” I had half a mind to move the alter into my studio and force myself to fall back asleep, complicit with the fact that I was two days away from spinach and whatever other vitamins I was lacking. I was so tired and sore, and had run out of multivitamins days ago. Maybe this was the lasting effect of ever having taken vitamins and then stopping, and it seemed a cruel gesture to do anything but soak, knowing over all I should walk away from the world entirely. It was beginning to feel a lot like there was no escape from the constant and persistent ask to the universe for peace, protection, and wealth—and no end to the work that had been done, but had yielded not much to prosper. I think that's the point though, so that you second guess your own judgement— That your intrinsic sense of energy Seems to have betrayed you And leaves you somewhat altered. I could have sworn she had blue eyes. She did. Maybe they change. That much?! Who knows. Maybe. One must only be bitten by a dog one good time to learn that dogs can be dangerous—and yet— I had been bitten by the blue eyed many a times and still had somehow found my way into forgiveness, if not for my own sake. Maybe she was wearing contacts. I used to. I had been thinking about investing in new colored contacts to make my eyes appear lighter, and a blonde wig to soften up the dark tan I had gotten unintentionally going about in the summer—still thought, it had been a long summer of not doing anything but going to the food bank, writing, and spinning in circles about how to make money. Long bouts of trying to shut out my old life from my new one, pushing my divorce, and becoming separated entirely from anything once having to do with my name at all. Within reason, I had suffered considerably over nothing, and despite my efforts, there seemed there was nothing I could do to find gains in my own creativity. There was only seeking and never really finding, the things I needed but none of the things I wanted. Everything I owned had been once owned by someone else, besides the few items I should have not even considered my own, but belonging to the world almost as much as I had. I was tired, consistently grief stricken, and felt unwelcome entirely by the entire world—or at least—an entire generation of people that were my own, but had learned not to respect what I had become— broke, and in turn, broken. Sometimes I want to cry like Marcy D'Arcy in the 6th season of Married With Children. I only smile when I see the color yellow and then dream of him, Seeking nothing but solace At the concourse, we converse momentarily And then go our separate ways Forever and always Forever and always Your secrets I smell like dirt And arrived in the real world Covered in blood And scraped over the, Over the knees, Yes I did Come recover then, What you've lost from the world Born in chaos, not quite But almost, as we're once swarmed the waters Keep it better quiet, now Keep it better quiet now, Keep it better quiet now, your secrets There lies no tru loyalty to bands tied On middle fingers Besides to one's own self And they who they shall Desire and claim as another Extension of God, In her Or their arms There is no claim to faith or mercy Than what comes between us, Bombshells As argued in chaos —mother, you're not listening To the call of the wild Then now, How am i bound to that besides being In sanctity The obnoxious obese man who drove the loud motorcycle up and down the street was obviously a very weak man—and he wanted the world to know it. His loud and obnoxious roaring must have overcompensated for his sloppy, fat and sagging body, which hung over the seat and sides of the motorcycle—the excessive revving of the engine must have been to let the world know that this was his power—having earned the money to ride a motorcycle; but in all other ways he was obviously lost, his slothemly and gluttonous blob of a body almost making the oversized Harley look like a play bike, his tiny penis probably covered to its top in whale blubber; he clearly had no other way to feel powerful, besides of course— being the leader of a gang of mindless peasant monkeys, who all would do anything for their own bikes—monkey see, monkey do. Perhaps his obesity to the third world unthinking drone slaves was a sign of his dominance—or they lived in fear that he would eat them. Obesity aside, it was his force of obnoxious harassment that had designated him as an obviously insufferably weak subhuman— much like a bully who dealt with his own faults by terrorizing others, such was the man with the Harley. There was nothing impressive about him besides his bike—and since he had abused that with such outright offense, even that made him look stupid. He raced his engine as if to say “look at ME! I have arrived!” But after actually glimpsing at the blob, it was hard to not laugh at it. He was hard to miss anyway, and probably should have opted for a truck or some sort of SUV to hide his intolerant and debilitating self-inflicted illness— the inability to control when and how much to eat, or how to do anything besides ride up and down the street on a motorcycle—perhaps a walk could do some good; in definite need of a jog, and a strict diet. I was embarrassed for him, and most people who weren't so obviously diseased and more in the like of self indulgent and lazy—I had once been like them, but no longer, and first and foremost I believed in respecting my neighbors, treating others as I wished to be treated. I wished to live in a quiet and safe neighborhood, but the obnoxious morbidly obese man alone was a symbol of the disastrous mark capitalism had made on the American empire—lazy, docile, greedy, potbellied idiots accounted for all too many of the world. I knew that with the desire to change, that one could change—now to force myself to believe that with the desire to succeed in something, one could succeed—I was at least trying. But the weak and uncontrolled idiots spawning from holes in the underworld and buzzing around like the pests and roaches they were reminded me that if anything, these imbiciles were decent at almost nothing but breeding other fucking idiots. Hopefully, one day my own blood would grow up to want to work out with me, eat well, and change from appearing as his weaker half— lazy, obese idiot just the same as these, however—at the very least, the roaches were fastidious. They buzzed around under the illusion that working for the American system would grant them anything besides a motorbike and some fresh looking street wear, the attention of girls too stupid to understand that 99% of men simply weren't worth wasting time with or on, and unknowing to this or their own worth, would still do it anyway, Some of the bikers had girls on the back; I always felt bad for the girl on the back of the motorcycle rather than jealous—I would rather be at the helm of the thing, riding it for myself. Then, thinking back to a time before I realized how crowded cities were, sighting that there should be laws against loud vehicles in urban areas such as this— there was at lot more open road than not in LA—highways, that is, and bikes were easy to maneuver through heavy traffic. New York was another story—congested, overpopulated, and now filled with a disease which added to its decay at a quicker rate than ever. The illegal immigration crisis was much like a rodent or insect infestation, but harder to control—one simply could not exterminate millions of actual humans, and yet, the problem was still the same— this was a disease, a pest infestation, as most of the immigrants weren't working, but simply subsisting on the taxpayers dollars they were allocated and finding ways not to work; they were parasites, many of them set to explode with more parasites. We had indeed been infiltrated, and made to pay for it, both in restlessness, and in dread. Culturally inept to most decencies as even the crudest Americans had been bred with, many although not all roamed around like feeble minded children in brand new Nike wear, munching on fast food and candy as if guests to some kind of amusement park—however, to the thoroughbred tax paying Americans, this was no amusement; it was a distressing, eye opening wake up call that something had gone terribly wrong, on the already overworked working class' time and hard earned money. It might have seemed cold and calloused to think of them as rodents—but, always observant, I also much believed in calling a duck a duck; most of them were not respectful, pushed and shoved, threw trash everywhere— and left their minor children to roam about or even put them to work, unaware of what child labor laws were; they used their unborn children as anchors to be able to stay where neither they were truly welcome or belonged, bloating the welfare system and benefitting from funds that had been laid to them with taxpayers dollars. The United States of America had its own problems, and its own citizens being overlooked, once again the needs of continually systemized blacks and other minorities falling victim to this new wave of people to care for. The capitalists had sold out the working class once and for all—the immigrants needed to go, and probably would, eventually tiring of the unattainable American dream we all had been sold, but they had been gimmicked into attempting to create— all to supplement an oncoming election. An election which really gave the people no choice at all, besides gawking, debating ignorantly about misinformation, and of course—intrinsically siding with the good old American narcissism which would force them to take the side of whoever supported who looked like them— the Latino vote was obviously an important factor—and of course the polished machismo and Latin pride of those being supplemented by the income of their friends and relatives come to stay, though unknowingly, chunks of money out of their own tax paying pockets, would vote for the most lenient immigration plans—probably the safest bet, the presidential office mere puppetry at all anymore. However, it had been obvious that the Right has set The Left up for disaster by allowing the black to have been shifted blue—though the rational explanation for the reallocated funding fell directly and logistically to the right. The Oval itself, empty and the actual control belonging to the wealthiest billionaires and corporations whose hopes of the thousands of migrants becoming their corporate slaves had mostly backfired terribly. With any hope, many of them would take what they could, and travel back below the border where life was simple, food was fresh, and without need to play the part of the facade of the American dream—no need for the material goods and fashionable street wear supplied by the American taxpayers—no need for iPhones and all of the decorations the taxpayers had supplemented for them—no need to live up to the ridiculous standards of actually being an “American”, which in reality, by now meant working so much that there was no peace, there was no rest, and there was no real freedom—and as a working class or poverty level citizen, having to compensate for everything and everyone around you, always working harder for less— and purposely being kept back and behind as the wealthy elite closed their circles tighter, shutting out the ugly, the brown and black, and those deemed unworthy out of their precious world. {Enter The Multiverse} Secret President Make the old man laugh– –make The Old Man break a sweat Make the old man dance (Make The Old Man Young Again) Make The Old Man dance, I said Wise Owl My server be your server; My proxy, thine proxy… WHOOPI GOLDBERG (as The Cosmic Owl) sits crouched over a nest of stone and earthen metals of precious kind, enchanting within the thick smoke of incense and fragrant oils, with a whispered chant, evoking with spirit and summoning with force–a spell of all spells; a worldly ritual. Her golden turban matches the embellishments; the royally fashioned robe and chains around her neck, bangles and ribbons of gold and silver draped with the hooded cape of which the grand sleeves, falling into the grand purple flowing train of the cascading draperies. Meanwhile… Come on, we don't got all day… –”we”? I don't got time! MEANWHILE, CHRISTOPHER WALKEN awaits at the corridor of an unknown marker, inside of a train station–which appears altogether to be in a different time; altogether a different place; the period of his dress appears perhaps late 1800's; his pocketwatch, which he checks sporadically–also golden. ALSO MEANWHILE So this is Casper, huh? This–yeah. The friendly ghost. Well– AGH. He used to be, anyway. Why are you not making any sense!? I asked for PROTECTION! I gave you LIGHT! That's not a protection! It's a target! What the fuck ar eyou talking about? *vampire* {instant kills vampire} *demon* {Instant kills demon} THESE THINGS EAT LIGHT. Well. I don't know how to help you. Get me out of here! I can't do that! i told u i was deadmau5, man. Wtf. wait , like, all of it? ya. shoot that nigga. LIVE: All the Niggaz is getting shooted at. EVERYONE ELSE …that was already happening, tho. WHITE SUPREMACISTS *shrugs* *drinks another bottle of coca cola* *trashes entire planet* *doesn't feel* Lol BLANG-BLANG. MEANWRHILE: DEADMAu5 NO, I'm TEsTPiLOT Whatever, dog. KILL THAT N– DEADMAU5 LOOK AT MA DIK. …ok. Wasn't there another scene after this? I dunno, I got dick-stracted. Yikes UNTIE ME. UNITY. UNITYYYYYYYYYYY. WHAT. UNTIE ME FROM THIS–THING. No, actually, I think you should stay there. The most bizzare thing happened this morning. The most bizzare thing ever, to have happened to me, ever—which is saying a lot l— but I was scratching my head, and all of a sudden, This tiny fingernail— An itty, bitty teeny-tiny fingernail, like, Dislodged itself from my soul or something— Fell out of my hair, Okay, God. What. This baby fingernail— Like, okay it could be like a newborn big toe nail or like, A one month's old like actual finger Aww, I just used to bite them. They were so little I didn't want to cut them with the clippers. Their little fingers You don't want to accidentally— You know, They're just so soft. Awws. What the fuck, God. That makes no sense. I've been primarily by myself for like—ever— And anytime I'm in public, I'm wearing a hat— My wash machine is only used by me, thank god and What the fuck does this mean? Mad Men is an American period drama TV series that aired on AMC from 2007 to 2015. The show follows the lives of the people who work at a New York advertising agency in the 1960s, and focuses on the professional and personal life of Don Draper, a talented but mysterious ad executive. {Enter The Multiverse} GET—OUT OF MY WAY. What are you doing?! MOVE. Is this a code four? Far beyond code four! Oh my! What could it be?! Move! This is a serious matter! The NBC pages are in a frenzy, pushing and shoving one another frantically, turning 30 Rockefeller plaza into an animalistic jungle of confusion and chaos. What is going on. The games—sir. The—games? The. games. Sir. I–m– afraid I don't know what you're talking about You should be afraid! Be very afraid. Because the games. What “games” The GAMES have begun. CUT TO: Seth Meyers stands in the mirror comparing two exactly identical ties— he appears to be talking to himself, asking SETH MEYERS how do you like this tie? —to no response. He uncomfortably shifts and switches to the other, exactly identical tie. Or this? Yo. What a creep. Again, to no response, he waits a moment and switches to the first, exactly identical tie, with an assertive nervousness. SETH MEYERS CONT'D You're right, the first one. Yeah. He completes tying his tie, then placing his hands in his pockets, still facing the mirror—quite enamored with himself. He leans up onto his toes and then back onto his heels, admiring himself before spinning around to face the anterior of the room; SETH MEYERS It's showtime. He points his fingers animatedly at his mock audience—now we see that the room is filled top to bottom with stuffed animals, puppets, dolls, and other strange likenesses… Hold up, i'm distracted Just stick to what you know. Most of the Saturday Night Alumni and Late Night hosts had long, noteworthy careers in comedy, hefty writing backgrounds, and tons of experience in television. I found myself out of place and grasping at straws, letting something come for a moment between myself and my sanity. I did know music—but wasn't the girl with her shit together enough to have made any kind of dent in my obviously gaping music career, with the additional workload of what may have been the work of a genius, but also a madwoman—or mad man, depending on whose essence or presence happened to take hold of my weary and feeble soul, or Distracted again [the news] (the actual news) Whatever (Wednesdays) - your weekly dose of whatever. The Audio Files (for Audiophiles and Music Producers/ Engineers) That was all I could remember off of the top of my head, not that it mattered at all, actually. I was grasping as strings and between worlds— the winner of the contest had beautiful pictures, and had played festivals—her website was flawless, and I liked her, later finding that she was Greek. I didn't seem to mind women, so long as they weren't the hateful, competitive, and typically racist—even on both sides—American type, and I scanned the list of participants that had been American to see if any of them were black women—doubtable, though in the New York scene some black women had seemingly out of nowhere taken to techno, and with that I had shifted gears to make my production more focused in bass and dubstep, if I were ever to return to my state of producing at heavy volume. I hadn't, with so much on my plate to juggle or rather spin, and I had been in quite the bubble of for whatever reason l trying to solve the puzzle of what had suddenly become what seemed like an NBC sponsored charade through the inner workings of my mind, only to find that not only was I not qualified, but also not entirely capable of doing any of the jobs I wanted to, and with that notion had settled once again comfortably in the cradle of suicide, hating everyone and everything around me—and using Tina Fey's book as an alter to light my prayer candle, all the while knowing someone had left it there—the book, along with a collection of surf themed relics, especially for me. I had been thoroughly warned about Jimmy Fallon. He was an impressive egotist—- walked amongst rightfully the elite, was highly competitive, and powerful. He was not the kind of man you tell ‘no', even if you were, like me, entirely unsure as to what the question was—his eloquence had been understated, the design of it all, unique, in a way that it all seemed to speak of a time before time— I was immovably always fond of the Greeks Lost, was the old world, Our own, Bound by candle light; Marked by wisdom, Enrichment, Cherished times, Beseeched the throne, A mask of wands, The arch of Tryerdom, I am the arms of therefore What was once, The whole of body, As a man or womankind, Seeks to know a God— They are as one, And all of us, Beyond the shroud of time, A whimsy befallen, like leaves upon us Overgrown the garden of Adam, Wrought with fruit, Which rotten lies upon the tide, So soaked with formidable ocean She or he therefore has lost The touch of truth, The seekers wisdom, All are none again, And so shall fall the empire They called us upon as ours. —in God we Trust. Amen. Fuck, man. How am I supposed to— What do you call it? —summon. Summon a fucking— What's it? God. —God…up on this fucking soundstage without the entire audience or anyone else noticing. You figure it out. How, though? What the fuck. It takes a lot of impressive achievements to get into the page program. Yeah, but . I would assume your studies in practical magic to be at the very least— —Doing what now? Adequate—if not satisfactory. You are weird. This is weird. I paid cash, and I expect results. Whatever. Now, be careful with those tablets. We wouldn't want anyone dangerous getting a hold of them. Anyone like who? {Enter The Multiverse} Do your job; I'll do mine. When we go, we go— And when we go… The man emerges from below the surface of the water, gasping for breath; as the water drips down from his hair and face, back into the water, as the splash echoes into a dull chorus of dripping, his mouth open, gaping, as if he had just awoken from a nightmare; he breathes deeply as something in him recollects before the blur of the world sets in to become a clear and crisp, colored world. We go the way we came— At once, and Alone. As if no one could know where we've just come from— Or where we must go. But we must go. “Cosmos Factory” This could be fatal. —but isn't everything. He's not breathing. Call an ambulance. nurse! Call a paramedic. The paradigm shifted as I departed one world and entered the next. In a fit of blind rage and fury, also came an excitement; I was accomplished. The man is distinguished, late 40's to early 50's, with dark, lush hair. Soon, you know, it will all be grey. It can't be. What do you mean it's ‘empty'? This is not the place! What place? This is not the place that it was! Ah, so this is Cosmos Factory. I thought that was a comedy. I was hoping it would be. Here it is. I was wondering what was in there. I'm still waiting to see what's in Mrs. Gillipsie's refrigerator. Well, keep waiting. I've got a few more chapters in this memoir and I can't be bothered with trying to figure out why Johnny Depp is the narrator in the voiceover— My God, how you've changed. Well, yes— I am a changeling. Not to mention your improvements in shapeshifting. Actually, let's not mention it. very well. Whatever, man. Tom. Is it? It should be. Whatever. Come in. Oh. What a lovely portal you have. —shut up. But the man reemerging from his practical baptismal submergence is none other than — I don't think he's capable of a role like this. He isn't—which is why I wrote it like this. You know, by the time the actual writers get their hands on this, there will be so many rewrites it will be hard to imagine or recognize you even wrote it. That's—already becoming a sort of paradoxical challenge. Of course it is. You shifters never have any idea the kind of repercussions coming, or, the endless— and I mean —endless realms— —infinite— Endless. Things are rarely infinite actually besides the things that always were, henceforth—infinite— Of course, Always having been and always will be. Got it. So. Do you understand the kind of effort it takes as a collective to have come up with a work like this? I understand the benefit of having opposable thumbs and an iPhone, You think you're smart; —when I'm thinking, at all— But you're actually a genius; that's right, without thinking at all. Have you thought about the characters you haven't yet created? There are more? The worlds you've yet to build? I've got all my money on blowing my head off before ever actually making it as a stand up comic. And I've got all mine on you blowing your head off, after you've made it as a stand up comic. Now, which is it going to be? [beat] Statistics don't lie. Actually, they do— Especially in America. North America? South America? You know as good as I know, I mean the Good old Goddamned USA. That's a lot of good old goddamned, Uncle Sam. —aha, And Sam, I am. Now, suit up as Dr. Suess and make sense of this. Nothing makes sense— If everything did, what would be the purpose? [agreeing, simultaneously] Puzzle Pieces. [a moment of solidarity] Now, pick the old man up off the ground, And get to it. He's not that old… You only say that because you're older. Let this trickle down into the body of success that I should be born at least two decades left than half a century ago. Any less and you'd be begging for some kind of pardon for all the crimes against humanity you've caused to solidify the theoretic concept of consciousness within the occult, instead of humbly accepting the consideration for an honorary doctorate at any given Alma mater whose brotherhood of trust has bonded us through this unjust monologue to seal such in blood as a relic. That's a lot of words. I have hairs on my chest. They are grey. Congratulations, Some of them silver. Is that a riddle? If it were, would there be so many puzzle pieces? I think that would take this whole thing out of balance. Manage your axis. Bid you well. Severance. “The Occult Classic” HOTDOG-HOTDOG. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Showrunner: Matt Weiner Peggy: Elizabeth Moss

Blue eyes, it is. I wish, I wish, Be careful what you wish for, Or cook in a Petri dish The world is a stage, The people a plague The magic was gone, The days were the same. [The Festival Project ™] Blonde hair, blue eyes; Live once, lose twice— Brown skin, brown eyes Die inside. (Or just die.) {Rewind} Captain Captain! Oh, Good, come in, Cannon. You've—changed. …as you know, Monday we disembark. Yes, I'm aware. And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us. Yes. I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self. How old are you, anyway? You should never ask a woman her age, LT. Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know. Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately… Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that. I'm still very much in the privacy of my office. You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public. Never as a woman her age! You're not a woman; you're my captain. We'll see about that after tonight. Being a woman, or being my captain? Both, probably. Hm. By any chance would you be interested in joining me? As your subordinate, or as a man. Both, probably. Or neither… presumably. As my escort. I beg your pardon. I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition. —er, your condition, captain? Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind. [he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.] Consider it done. Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour. Half an hour? Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early. We're earning points? We are now. Very well then. What am I wearing? Something sharp. Sharper than the inside of a half hour. On your mark. I'll—see you soon. He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him. Sergeant. Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back. Oh. I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage. Whatever, though. Doesn't matter. At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture, TVP S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer. DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour. — Who's this beautiful sister. My head writer; don't even think about it. I dont think. I just do. Esha approaches— Dash politely bo s and kisses Esha's hand Should I get tested? —and funny. Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with daemon dash, furious Patrick means to interrogate her Why would you even date that asshole Because—Pat. He's a comedian. I'm a comedian! So? So, he's funny. And? And he said things to me— What kind of things Charming, funny things— Okay? Things he wouldnt say to you over dinner— because, I'm —you're a woman. —and your head writer. So naturally. Esh, you're a genius, So is he. We have—some new material to work through. Ahq! Your monologue tonight. Oh yes. Oh yes. You can thank me later. Broken bottles. :9'd one stop her Walkin walking God knows I don't belong here And I don't want to Passover was April 21-30 Global War on Terrorism Aka WWIII Oh, indeed. Don't look left Take a deep breath My heart beats differently I think it might be the end I think it might be I think I might be the enemy The pushing mechanism When i breath him in I levitate And gravitate to what it meant The sake of the art, The hurt of the heart As sacred as it ever was The turning or the Torah talks of Gestures, since the fall of Rome The toga on the alter Solid hands unwrap us all From falling over Old and awkward No award for wisdom No rest for the wiser No love for the troll Since thunder struck from under us, Delivered all but what we wanted So we talk of karma sutra, Surely we can't talk at all Of what we know As once was bonded Laughed it off To come from what The call to us, Fair serve governors fortress I work up in mentions Carved the scarlet letter out of Cannons, of course MA. WHAT. I'm BUSY. ITS ON. The what? The show we watch! The one that— YES, Oh, my GOD. Yes. YESSSSSSSSS. Usnavi, get your popcorn This is some worth watching Up in arms for forwards Causing sore arms, Numb thumbs From crucifixes Are you wondering what God Would walk about the horned carving A kamazake walk of tall corn— Follow me, dear mantra Your whole house is watching. Sacre. It's happening again isn't it. I do want ice cream. All I need is a divorce And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall To rub me off at the stroke of Nevermind what the clock says In God's house they're all wrong The blsphomoous for Catholics Has begun, So strum your number into the teleprompter And just hope no one gets hurt By the hook on the next song —like the hook of my last surviving bra digs into my back does, Or the skin on my lack of tummy Has rubbed off under the suicide Of the cycle— It's getting tighter A loss of interest is equal to A loss of conciousness And I'm 21 days drunk On the alternate, though— I'm sober and feeling less Loved. The animal I've become is all cardio And karma sutra For karma comes To the weak of heart To use the world as swords To cause harm To the calm artists I thought I told you off once. (Already) You look awful. lol. You look terrible, broh. But my album sound fire. #producerholes [portal] It's coffee time!! It's not coffee time! It's not coffee time. Iiiiits coffee time. Damn. Where's the cat. Gestating. My phone was never the first thing I reached for in the morning—but I was sure there was something missing in my mind from a place in LA that I used to frequent, that sold giant frosted cookies that were also vegan. There was donut friend, which I always enjoyed and craved—but I was sure—absolutely sure that I was missing a m cookie, and it was absolutely driving me wild that I couldn't think of the place, or find it on Google. Has it been before turning vegan? Was my memory failing me in thinking that the cupcakes and donuts that I had often brought back to the hostel in boxes were timetimes cookies also? It seemed like there were cookies…and I'm sure that there were, as I could remember the thick frosting often being sweet and decadent enough to lick from the top, and that the bottom cookie was sweet and soft, and usually warm—and that I almost always couldn't finish the cookie in one sitting. Had this all been before I went vegan? I was sure I distinctly remembered sitting atop my bunk at The Freehand savoring this cookie, but a google search yeikded no results—none that I could find familiar, and it bothered me so much that I actually decided to start my day just on the tip of figuring out what it was was. As I crossed through my apartment, realizing I hadn't bothered to throw the trash out after mopping and went m directly to bed early, not with the consideration of rising early but really just out of exhaustion, I had decided that in order to get work done that my workouts would have to be pushed toward the end of my day, somewhere between still having the energy to manage and not being disturbed—as I had seen that girl to at I very specifically didn't like again m, I had realized that again, I was correct— even after an hour of working out, I simply didn't like her energy. There must have been something wrong with her—or incompatible about us altogether; she had come into the gym quietly and was sort of hiding and even still, I had instantly recognized that there was a foreign energy—and squinting to see her, saw that she was crouched on the other side of the gym. I dismounted the stationary bike and figured that an hour of cardio would be enough for the time. Strength training would only force me to crave protein—-and I was running low saving everything that I had in order to better strategize an arrangement which didn't leave me at the bottom of New York's merciless barrel. It seemed I wasn't going to get the job at Equinox after all—it had been nearly a week since my interview with them, and having not heard anything back, I realized that everything, no matter what—was always just a game. I needed to figure out how better to play it before my life ended abruptly on some sort of whim. Sitting down in the darkened bathroom, I realized that in order to restore and keep my energy, I should be unseen, and unheard. ‘Keep your head down.' I'm sure there was some type of code or rule for the way I should handle myself in public or even in private all well knowing the types of things I had writtten about, let alone which had been published—and while I planned to clear out what written works had made it into cyberspace unchecked, there was nothing less important to me than the actual world, what it expected of me, or who was in it. I hadn't entirely failed yet, but I also hadn't entirely succeeded, and after a strange series of dreams— almost all of them more interesting than the one with the cookie, (mentioning that the reason I had been curious about the cookie in the first place was from a strange series of dreams) “Ohhh, you know what—that might have actually been that place in Vegas, before I went vegan.” The boxes at the freehand must have been all from donut friend and Sprinkles—and it astonished me how much of a sweet tooth I actually had which was sort of now quite well managed. There was no sugar or even salt in the house— and with the lack of food that I actually had in my apartment, for at least something like the next two weeks, I was sure that I'd reach minimum weight—absolutely minimum weight— by the turn of the month. That is, all the weight I could lose betsides what needed to be surgically removed, and there was some sort of plan formulating somewhere outside of myself in exactly how that would be achieved. Because at any rate—I knew that it would. There were no more cookies, no more donuts, and no more cupcakes, besides the occasional box of the frozen type I had ordered from Amazon fresh which I did thoroughly enjoy, almost always in one sitting after a wild amount of cardio had implemented a faster metabolism and brought me to the realization that so much cardio meant that entirely that I could eat ‘whatever in the fuck I wanted' without gaining any weight or even losing it—and as I stepped up to take a shower, pulling my shirt up and over my chest, I inspected my abdomen, though holding bloat from pinto beans and deep fried sweet potatoes, still toned with the definition lines I had only just now learned that I had, creviced and notations of my sometimes 4 or 6 pack abs, though hidden under the sagging skin of my once maternal belly— still evident at all, and a factor of my minimal pride in that I had gone in one lifetime from one body and into many others— and one day, an even more drastically different one. I fantasized owning a peloton but realized that I may have to settle on a rental until I had outfitted myself with some sort of safety net. lol there's a sweet potato emoji. wtf. I don't know how you did this but— I woke up. Apparently, I'm Lorne Michaels. Please stop. I don't know what that means. You know what If I was pretty Nobody would hate me for anything I swear to God only ugly people are punished or any or all of our matings. I lost the ability to see worth in myself. I also lost the ability to write good songs. Just let me watch bad girls club And wait for the motorcycles To make my night A living hell “I didn't mean for this to happen, Jimmy Fallon. “ It was a whisper, actually— less than that, as I set the stone with the others above the amulet— I placed easch crystal carefully at the alter, keeping only two of them for myself; the rest, as guardians to the amulet. I could no longer keep such a relic around my neck; it had become quite heavy, and the dreams had become deep and more illusive, and it seemed there was some dark spirit along to it after all—and after all— the amulet was my only living son's, anyway, intended as a gift and charm of protection for when I next saw him—whenever that could be, or would be. It had been a long and interesting but altogether uneventful year, and now, not even feeling right in my own self, I intended to continue hiding, and perhaps even burrow further away until I was granted a full and proper divorce; my ex husband using his refusal to sign the papers as a final act of control, and though I almost found it admirable, I only became more dismissive of it—the person I was then, simply was no more; in fact, she was dead enough indeed that to disappear and become a ghost could do no worse than to further alter the course of time and distance it would take to ever become in such a way again—that is, if it were infinite, and for peace of mind and freedom of spirit and soul from bondsge, insisted it wasn't. It was less than a whisper enough that none other besides God could have heard it, and yet it seemed something or someone had—as a door quickly slammed as the words—words which meant a name I was sure I would never say again—“Jimmy Fallon” left my mouth. I couldn't come close to words at all let alone a name, and especially not a song; but then, of course, there was The Book of Knowlege never to have been spoken and as always, the ever moving truth of songs— There were other Gods that new no words at all besides the melodies and rhythms of our hearts—and there never really was every truly a Jimmy Fallon at all— Only myself. Whatever the fuck. Alright, alright. It was next in the que with purpose, probably but quite on accident— Now I could continue in my pattern of dulling my brain for the remainder of the night as I had been all day. Since March I had seemed to cry what I thought were the rest of my tears, and however, after a particularly mind numbing day of trash television and Olympic surfing, it seemed the ocean alone was enough to pull from what was left of my soul, and as it turned out, it still was there. I was bored of the brokenness of New York—something like living in a rotten and spoiled toy, with the limits I had been given—and though I should have been happy, to finally just have my own place— the people surrounding, as always, ruined it— Them being myself aside. I wished the things outside of me were quieter. Now I could finally almost put my mind out of focus for just a little bit longer—and creep on Johnny Depp without doing it intentionally. I had stopped looking up famous people, besides some women and businessmen I knew could never feign my interest anyway. It was never about money— and always about creative intelligence; I hadn't seen the movie as an adult, and so I was sure it would have some insight to offer. I tried to forget that I had aged out of almost everything—and that my mother had so greedily destroyed any real chance I had at becoming what I might have been with anybody else as a mother—or at least some one around to watch her raise me and correct her damaging actions, words, and harsh thoughts. At least she had taught me to read and write—and if worst actually came to worse—which it was starting to look like—how to trade my body and time in exchange for things I wanted and needed. All women were nearly prostitutes in some way, anyhow—and the only thing deterring me from it was on every honest God I ever thought of, the fact that white women made more in sex work than colored women did. — it almost hurt to watch Olympic surfing. Actually, it did. It hurt, a lot. What's a girl Have you ever had a girl before? What's world when you're wound up in an orphanage Probably astounding I've got a shadow Sad, should have danced with him Now he's so mad that —I don't even touch my guitar No more I have words No songs The whole world's At war And to surf — you need water I love New York But hate Thus corner of Brooklyn I want to go up Testosterone —I've got a word for the goner “Gonzo” I've got a cannon Or blonde, for reference Why were all stalkers I'll book The Tonight Show, I'll summon up Carson A , I promise— A good time was had —I promise, no subtle obsession. I made a decision, I went with it Just a protagonist, actor— A comic Producer, by marriage I swear, It's just adding up evidence If ever gets intensities Offensive, this illumination — I don't doubt you. I want chocolate milk What even is that? I've been eating healthy I've got half an album out And half inside my head With Donnie Brasco I've got half a million dollars somewhere Stuffed inside my cunt, I think With hallmark cards and shopping carts I owe them half a fortune I hate it so much I watch a whole soul Come out if television I love it so much But I hate the whole public And crowding I don't want love I want fucks I want puppies —Jesus he's beautiful My ex husband had similar facial structure to Mr Depp respectively, I'm guessing my artistry, Intention, A preteen obsession at least sort of paid off. Somehow. Now it's my eyes on the other, the older — The way that he sits and does nothing but slump —Al Pacino, they call him? The false father and forced profits often acknowledged The love of the old and weathered. For once I woke up to a record 33 rotations a minute {Enter The Multiverse} —what are you gonna do? Blondes and shit. The best of the best— —I'll tell ya, I recommend it (Recommended by a Friend) I have a headache twice my age. I made a mistake half my life ago Woke up this morning Bought myself a gun To make it right {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective. © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019 | 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © {Rewind}

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. ©

For the second time in recent happenings, the scar on the inside of my bottom lip began to swell and heat up strangely, as if it were activating in some sort of way or still healing—the scar itself was almost 8 years old, and in fact— would be 8 years old with the coming of springtime. It was a strange sensation, though not entirely traumatic— and while also fighting off some sort of infection, my body in entirety wasn't altogether well, but the mark to me stood out anyhow, as just the other day after leaving the craft store, the scar had lifted bizarrely, swelling as if some sort of creature under the surface of the skin had been moving around just enough as a reminder that it was there at all—now, something like a week later, it began to tingle and heat as if it were in the process of mending itself, and though when it had been healing, bits of skin and pieces of my bottom lip which had come loose after my bottom row of teeth had gone through nearly to the other side— not quite puncturing all the way through, but enough to indent the outside of my mouth with some bruising and swelling reminiscent to that of having once pierced my lip; in fact— the damage was so apparent that it had created a swollen enough tunnel on my upper lip, where my canines had created marks to make make it easy enough to re-insert new jewelry into the old piercing which had closed over time, and now had been halfway reopened by the blunt force of my teeth connecting with my ex's fist. In fact, I took it well enough that re-piercing the old upper lip didn't hurt at all, and almost made it seem meant to be. Then, in my mind—I was still fragile. Six or so week postpartum and still heavily lactating, with severe depression after having learned of the infidelities committed throughout the entire duration of the relationship had left me in a frenzied state— I worked almost around the clock after being hired at the local veterinary clinic, the doctor of which I had known since I was seven years old, and who had been happy to hire me, and after having already lost something like a hundred pounds, I took to the job considerably well, completing my daily tasks to focus my energy and the duration of my shifts to running the boarding dogs, often saving the larger breeds for last—the greyhounds and labs, the retrievers— so that I could run as fast and as hard with them as I could, and with each dog, a set of squats, windmills, and burpees and jumping jacks before running each pup through the obstacle coarse in the yard, never eating on my lunch breaks really, but only ever stopping to pump milk— so that especially when running, I wouldn't create a mess. I had always over-lactated, even for a short time supplying milk for other children, and in particular—my very best friend, whose choice to quickly resume drinking after her son's birth dissallowed her to continue breastfeeding, and either way, I had more than I needed, besides the occasional lot added as coffee creamer by one such who had discovered the magical and medicinal property of fresh breastmilk. I was, of course, considerably smaller than I had ever been, probably since the fourth grade when procuring such a scar— and it only seemed at least somewhat believable and fitting that, when asked about the heavy swelling and bruising on my face and lips, that I had been hurt so tragically working out on the pavement— having falling doing pushups, or burpees, or something—to which no one seemed to have reason to believe otherwise; I had, after all, taken my level of fitness to new heights, and, after having lived so much of my adult and adolescent life anywhere between 250-350 lbs, once peaking at something like 380 or even more without the actual knowledge of such (always being asked politely if I wanted to know during doctor's visits, and of course, declining) my chaotic and frenzied state after the realization that the entire fabric of my relationship had been a complete lie, made sense to the outside world—and though without the bravery to actually admit to what had happened, the Doctor, after scolding me for not completing my daily tasks, just the day after this scar had been created, seemed to have let me go, not because of the actual incompletion of my duties, but as a harsh reckoning with knowing that I had lied directly to her face about what exactly had happened to mine. The years homelessness that followed was due to the eviction received after having lost this job, and though with steady and careful recovery I was able to break free from my abuser, the lack of family support and financial stability combined with this legal eviction on record would see my struggle as a survivor of the physical and psychological violence which occurred over this, nearly a decade's time, seen by the outside world as an antagonist— a sick person, a derilict, a disgrace. It would take years for the truth to surface and as it had, the strangeness of things began to occur as not things in my mind, but things in the world, which were very real—and though while still in harsh denial of any such things besides other, ever having happened, it was this that remained, this scar—now strangely heated and almost swollen as if again I should be reminded that this scar did indeed mark a death of sorts, the life after which had all been some sort of strange dream; a walk through the afterlife, sometimes carried on the wings of angels or even driven by chariot of The Gods. — Death of a Superstar DJ. Lights fade, Fade to black; Sacred stones and crystals cross eyed, Just across I, Desire my mark; The finish and the start line are one in the same So as soon as I finish, I start. Part I Do not disclose your location. No address, I guess. Stressed and headed for some sort of war zone I'm sure, No entitlements and I pushback, Push to start —I swear if you keep scrolling, I'll take your eyes out. I been yellow taxi'd Two four door Ford explorers, Nevermind the o'luck eye, Cause I am all for it. Party to the people! I need water, I mean, power. You wanted the Stand Up Special. I wanted nothing of the sort. You could be funny. Suddenly I'm sitting in the middle seat, My eye on - Seriously, I might not ever come out in public again Again Again Again. What are you channeling? Apparently, Jimmy Falllon and Natalie. What in the fuck are you wearing!? (A blazer and a fish scale.) What in the fuck are you trying to say? I'm trying to— Thank you I fainted and woke up in LA . Dang. If you're going to cry, You might as well do it at 10,000 feet in the air— —she's tied to her phone, the ensemble has gone. Nobody wants her around anymore, Nobody wants a new phone, not really. Nobody needs a new friend, not Fallon. I picked up the one thing I liked In the whole place And your name was on it. Is this fame, or magic!? Is this God, or a bludgeoning? I forgot where my heart went, Steered toward the fountain, naturally So the water would calm me. If this obviously-from-denver New balance wearing motherfucker doesn't get His long ass leg from within inches of mine, I swear all the way to God And all the way to— Where is this? —wherever. I'm gonna reach behind me, And kill him. You know you've been in New York too long When you don't have not a lick of patience Or time for anyone's bullshit. you: Shut it down. Shut it down! A slap across the face is just as well— —Is just as well. And a swift kick in the ass is We're back to the Irish, The turn of the times, And his eyes are mine again. FUCK THIS,. Just listen to me, for once. I listen to you a lot, voice in my head disguised as Who is this The devil. I guess. Great. So were the devil. Could be. Listen to your gut. Not the greatest idea! I'm hungry. Look, don't you touch me with those greasy little— #spirit fingers. LINCHTIME *LYNCHTIME. Goddamn. That misspelling took a TURN. Let's just— ITS JANE LYNCH TIME! That's—yeah. Listen, I have something to tell you. Does it have anything to do with— Get in the box. Why, what's in the box Damn. I don't have a lick of deadmau5 with me. And why is that. I was [redacted] I don't know.. You — might be the devil. If— maybe. In my eyes (In my eyes) I swear all the way to fucking GOD This long ass nigga With his dirty ass new balance shoes All the way in my peripheral vision Is about to be a whole No leg havin ass nigga Like that nigga I saw on the train the other day I thought about your story Ark/Arc All the stories I didn't want, like Noah's Throw stones from glass houses. Gas prices go up; Every time I see some shit I wanna throw up Stomach in knots lately, Been three years since I seen my own blood No knots berry farm I roam the streets very armed I got scary arms, Call em Michelle Obama; Am I wrong or am I wrong; I love the fuck out to New York, but I don't belong here, I just came to write a song here Got stuck here It's been two years since I had a Man, or a beer I'm black and I'm Queer, Screamed “fuck Fallon”, Then he just— showed up here. Center stage Now I entered a new dawn, Turn the suffering on a bit And turn the fucking lights off I'm high as a kite, A bird and a plane In plain language, I'm a mega famous alien Okay then Sure Sim, it is simple A wrinkle in time, Your first wrinkle I popped pimples, I'm still sure my high chair Is right there I got one foot in the grave, I'm inside Bearr I died there Serious Take the camera and check the images Remember this! I said sit your bitch ass down Before you get slapped by The secret president As a death wish For fuckin real Everybody on the godddamn plane Is about to get bitch Slapped. BITCH SLAPPED. What the fuck is wrong with people. I swear all the way to God these toddler brain motherfuckers Is driving me crazy. I'd rather hang out With actual CHILDREN. At least it makes sense for them to be retarded. Ya'll ain't got no business being this fuckin whacked. Criminal mischief, Interesting, isn't it? Dismissive, In fact, gone fishing. Doors open, open I'm on the road again, road again Hands wrapped around my throat again I'm sure to explode again Who wrote this? Take a ballpoint paper and pen to your notebooks, And you're so shook, you bought Two whole tickets to San Cristobal In the same thought I'm a good boss; I'm a bad kid, I'm a great guy —with some bad habits I'm a fat blonde In a bad mood And that's big facts This dumb motherfucker behind me is about to get slapped— SLAPPED. I didn't mean to hit him that hard, broh I didn't mean to really hit him at all though! It's infinite, this bitch just gets under my skin Like it's Siphilis, it's middles and pistols Niggas and bitches Nothing you would ever see On regular television. I took an elevator to heaven I haven't been back since, I don't remember at all what I left Under or back there In the black lands It's bad earth. Tomorrow, tomorrow Today Tomorrow, tomorrow. 59;/$ l Tomorrow— —tomorrow— Today Tomorrow, Tomorrow How much power can one man have (Apparently a lot. ) What could this mean, If nothing at all? I just wanna get loaded And run off and rave I just want a family, A horse, And a grave marker No, don't bury me I just wanted a family. I just want to write a good story, Now I'm stuck in world history All the well knowing Now I know I gotta die Before everyone I ever loved Or even kinda sorta liked — as a fan, you know? “This man will destroy you.” That is literally what the faraway shady ass voice said about Jimmy Fallon. So whyz why god. Is this dude — Not even all of a sudden It's you. It's you. Like fucking everywhere. It's YOU. Gazuntite. I move about silently, Emergency calls only Nobody needs to know me Or where in the fuck I'm going I'm showing you my dark sides And none the wiser The only Devil I got my eye on Is a liar. So what if God then? It'll leave this case open The gate opened up, And I rolled in Smoldering Sometimes I forget I'm the whole world Just long enough To be annoyed By everything in it But especially myself, and increasingly WHY THOUGH. So suicidal, I got blood in my eyes Love in my mind, I wish. Cause with men Love isn't blind Rolling the size And the eyes in the back of my head I heard I'm a genius I'm also retarded Cause I still like penis After all these dicks The vision was just Fallon in back of a Patty Wagon How fitting, Hands fisted and cuffed In front, instead of the back of him The Gillian in fact, was Saint Patrick It's same difference Insane niggas, It's getting ignorant And at this point It's unicorns Something going on, Don't know what it is Feels like something wrong Bitch. How the fuck you walk in a whole ass place. I don't know. The whole ass fucking place Right, I don't know! And the only thing you touch— I—- Has Jimmy Fallon's name on it. I don't— Scary huh, Unfair really, I'm scared, really so Seriously don't look at me funny If it gets weirder and deeper When I never really asked for this And I don't really know what happened I think Fallon did it. —but on what account? [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

'bezus.' (Park Avenue Interlude) I _ NY - (I Love New York) TBA Uptown A VO. Now, this man was good looking— And I mean, rob Lowe good-looking. Hollywood perfect. Too good looking to be trusted— You know. But he said, And this is the thing I thought that was strange, THIS MAN I need you to trust me. —what I wanted to know was— How could two folks such as I, And such as he— Really trust one another? He was Hollywood perfect. Real shiny. And me? Well I— I was ugly. Almost, man. Just remember, you started it. I got stars in my eyes I got hit in the face real hard I'm a real smart artist m I tend to work harder than your baby mama I light a fire under your ass, Don't ask me for nothing, Smug as a motherfucker, I might have robbed, but never mugged you Hot chocolate I got five on it, If I'm high, honest, I get by, honest, On my fly, honest I might not swat it. But the SWAT swarmed I. GET ON THE GROUND! I don't plan to return here I don't earn here I just burn here Bury me in a war deer carcass I hear smear Marcus Just to be clear, I wear Marshalls Good one, God I got u. That's a lot That's really a lot I really got lost on the way to the market, ya'll that's a lot That's really a lot Look what I bought A whole card full of nothing That's a lot That's really a lot l Damn, when the fuck I'm a get off this train This shit is. Draining. young ninja still in training This keeps getting deeper. No longer believing in coincidences, I can only turn to god to ask how it just so happened, that the first book I happened to touch Had Jimmy Fallon's name on it. Tell me why, though. Apparently, Jimmy Fallon has a book club. I'd be committing suicide to even look that up. Turns out Brooklyn has a Yacht Club, And a surf club. Is there any reason at all to believe that these three things are connected? Everything is connected. [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Carry your feet to mine kingdom. I have come again To bear good tiding; A greeting no other than now, For as such, Thee returns to fair and justly sit Upon the throne Which you had been born And had also birthed, The worlds, alone yours The only stone turned now, I, As the page does unfoldeth, These things part I now, as with time, Words have flourished, The wisdom Seas hath parted, And your rage has formed A new art, Besides I, mind you, For body's sake with woven I am here, from dust and wind, I am tide and seeking, song, And are I now none, Other than you To form a wave of oceans, Song of crying out— Lord, I have come once, Again to honor you, lord, as I am, As it may, We are as one. Come now, love.

They're gripping at straws to make me look and feel crazy which can only mean— He's losing his power. Hopefully he's expecting another baby. Hopefully, for the ba's sake and its mother, it's not a little girl. Even my big and strong boy might be irreversibly damaged at the hands of a psychotic narcissist with anger problems—and though surely he had tried to kill me any way he could, I had survived. Now, the tables had indeed turned in my favor. With enough time, the truth would be revealed not only to those above, but to all who knew us; I hadn't lost my mind at all, only finally found a pair of eyes that could see the world around me that they did not like—and a pair of legs to run away from it. The first time my ex husband actually hit me— he had snapped, and though there had been other counts of shoving,heavy handed close calls and other questionable events in the years leading up to this, it had never been what it turned out to be his fist actually connecting with my face— not just once, but several times over and over until something got in the way— even years later, I didn't know what, but maybe just that I had stopped moving, or struggling to get away. “Play dead.” Maybe he thought I was dead—or maybe I was. Everything since in the nearly eight years after seemed an inescapable and hellish nightmare—inescapable, that is, from him. Or, from “it.” The thing that had tried to kill me That even after assuming an entirely new identity and seperate life, this dirty, lazy, disgusting and altogether unllpleasant energy seemed to follow me everywhere—and worse—this energy seemed to crawl into the other humans surrounding me, and like a parasite, never letting go. I wanted to die as much as anything just to never be reminded of him again. My thriving and success would make him look like a fool— more of one, anyhow, and either way— his jealousy of my life without him made it obvious how little and weak he actually was, though not on purpose, and, in some ways—many small ones, I had succeeded. Suddenly, everything became battlegrounds—fighting for my life as if somehow I were still in my abusers presence and grips—the devil in him seeking me out in the world as if I had deserved it in the first place. No one really deserves to die like that/- Especially not in front of their children. Now at least I knew he had no power alone, but that what one would The Devil itself often lived inside of the weak—weak in spirit, weak minded. Feeble and malleable, often fat and lazy people, it had become obvious— that people were the tools for this force to deplete the light and kindness, the good spirit and soul's purpose of others. I had forgiven him, but something indeed had rotted away the core I thought once shared into a blackened depth if awful waste—the things about him belonging to a world I wished never to see or be part of. I had grown, and changed—and I was sure with time so had he; perhaps not, but I couldn't know and wouldn't want to, wishing only for the best for anyone's sake. But this thing that seemed to follow me was a pitiful, screaming l and evil thing—I had let go with the consistent reminders of the permanent scars left in the crevices of my lip, and on my face—and though an entire child and perhaps several women between us, his need vengeance that I had left must have been mad, as the sweltering parasitic welt that riled up with enough fierceness to crawl into other sunken bodies, and surround my every waking moment. Not his power, at all, but a greater force of evil—the evil of all mankind—Satan himself seemed to have chosen me as his prey, my abuser as the illusion of conception. There for I, There for I, There for I, None! As truth did shatter mine ever being, And also Ever person near WHO VALIDATED THAT BITCH'S PARKING. —you think she drove here?! —if she did it would be on a broomstick. Goddammit. Get her out of here! Out! I said! You're…not a fan of Fallon's, are you. No, I'm not. (No—God, no.) Well, why not? First of all, he winks at people. ;) *cringe* Like, off camera. JIMMY O'FALLON And I want damages. Damages?! Damages. He's seeking damages?! To what. JIMMY O'FALLON Like, my entire—everything. Damages to everything. My entire life! Ah. [The Festival Project ™] I've got to admit, being sued hy Jimmy Fallon is probably the most exciting thing that's ever happened in the entirety of this series! What about that thing with Skrillex. (That was pretty exiting.) Which thing with Skrillex? All the things with Skrillex were pretty exciting. (Admittedly, yes.) Then there was Dillon Francis. I hate Dillon Francis. Exactly. Why! Because he excited you. Next question! Ahead. Yo. I finally get to link up with Supacree. You're a mess. Everything is a mess. The world is a mess. —your mom's a mess. Amanda, please. Have you been drinking? How long has deadmau5 been a cat? Forever, I think. Exciting! Enter through the exit! Enter through the exit! Who the fuck let you in here. {Enter The Multiverse} MARTHA STEWART'S plan for world domination is complete. L E G E N D S Johnny Moon was a handsome fellow; Johnny Moon was a Sam as well. Johnny Moon was a madman also; Johnny Moon had indeed done bad. Johnny Moon was a handsome devil; Johnny Moon was a charming man Johnny Moon went to heaven after Johnny Moon finished in Hell. Welcome To The Wonderful World of… | The Complex Collective © | By [The Festival Project ™] Breaking down that one scene from Ascension. How the fuck did these two actors even get into the realm of ascension? Being honest, I think it's that part of the dream like in The Wizard of Oz and/ or Alice in wonderland where everything just kind of bleeds together into one blurry weird world before it all explodes—or implodes— Whatever, just kill yourself. (On my way.) Titus- Jason Sudakis Perscimmion - Will Forte Why. I don't know why. The King just fucking guess . (I'll let you decide.) Titus and and Perscimmion— One argues this character's name is actually “Persimmon”… i've generally myself no preference but though I had first heard it as “Simeon”— Apparently, actually, “Perscimmon”, or “Persimmon”, the former however not accurately as in other contexts, he is sometimes referred to as “Perci” Whatever. Why is this Will Forte. *shrugs* Cause whatever, I don't know. (I like his socks.) Titus and Perscimmon— Perscimmion Whatever. CUT TO: /Bedtime Stories with Chak Chel —or was it, Chak Chel's bedtime stories. Whichever. No one cares. THE COSMIC AVENGER/SUPACREE Ugh grow up. KIRSTEN SHAAL Or is it Kristin? Ugh K, SHAAL It could be whoever, or whatever— anyone— right? GOOGLE KID 1 But it's not whoever. GOOGLE KID 2 It is whoever. GOOGLE KID 1 It's just two actors! GOOGLE KID 3 —then pick better actors! watch it! K. SHAAL It could be whatever, it could be whoever… I could be whoever! I'm whoever. It doesn't matter. CUT BACK TO: {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S Dissecting this recent excerpt from Ascencion © The Festival Project, Inc. 2019 All rights reserved. — have just discovered the King's seduction of a lady in waiting; the reigning Queen of her own dominion, betrothed to another, also presumed to be in his own right, a King. As scholars and members of the high court, both Titus and Perscimmion are groomed to keep watch over the happenings within each quarry, as given jusrisdiction by the Asended Mastery to spectate freely throughout all lands, and as such; they often travel—often in pairs or groups. Titus and Perscimmion Persimmon Whatever. —have quickly departed, haveing spotted the King far out of bounds, to which the King quickly launches after these two Kingsmen in pursuit, and though their loyalty lies within no singular dictation, they somewhat begrudgingly agree it best to keep the King's secret, after he wearily explains to the men, as his friends and genuinely that he feels he has fallen truly in love with her. KING IV Titus! [Titus is annoyed and expecting there to be a fight] TITUS Mellow. (Chill, bro) KING IV Be bold, you! (If you have something to say, then say it now and let's duke it out.) TITUS Never—mellow I am, as are we. (Nah, I'm chillin. We cool.) (I'm good, he's good—we chillin.) PERCI Chaos, you've spelled it. (You've opened a can of worms, dude.) (You got us all fucked up.) (You fucked up.) KING IV I've spelled then many words For our wise, Nevermind before you found her waiting, Dusk was fallen And here you, cry out such a task- To have found her in waiting, Not I or heavy bound, But yet with lust, The breath of motherdom on her wicked truth The tied you have counted, For I wisked away with every since Your true intent, persist, I may. The King implies here that he's made many conscious choices and has been playing at this game as a King, to which that only other royalty might understand, the strife of making hard decisions in which case, others might be hurt— or even killed. He explains that he and this Queen have found common ground, confining in one another's understanding of hardship as leaders, And that their attraction to one other has grown from this trust —naturally, and out of control; as he sees her maternal prime has approached; he suggests that he means no harm at all, but urges the men to think about what they plan to do with the discovery of their possible affair—nearly asking “what exactly do you plan to do with your knowledge of this?” (Are you finna tell on me?) (Who you finna tell?) TITUS Now. (Yo.) (srsly?) [Titus is a bit pissed that the king would turn it around to imply that his knowledge of this secret could do more harm than the secret itself; he is quite visibly angry.] [Perci keeps the peace by holding his friend back.] PERCI Mellow. (Chill, bro.) KING IV You found for call my wants; Shallow, as it may My need ne'er far behind the broken, Does call to you, brother, And you also, For I widow in thought, My fury (I'm a man; I have needs— I often put my needs as a King behind that of ny entire Kindgom—you're both men; so you know how it is; the feelings I have can't be ignored—it's primal.) A tear. [sarcasm. He's suggesting “cry about it.” Or “why don't I believe you?” Or, blatently—] (Cry me a river!) A tear, you ask But one does not cry as I seek Fair judgement and ridicule, Severed heart I, Come now awakened in To her, A dusk had come, Though night was golden A dawn arose with fury in my bosom Mine love awakened [He implies to lose his composure would show weakness—the King also implies here that he does, however, feel horrible about it; that he expects to be reviled, killed, or even dethroned—that his heart has truly broken as he has discovered something new in him; he has fallen in love with her. That after spending the night with her, he had become anew.] TITUS Not love, but—[he begins to argue that it is only lust] PERCI Seldom! (Yeah right/ that's rare.) KING IV Love, I bear you mine honest hands, The wilted rose, Blood upon thornes, Truly marks I who has come To wake in her (I'm telling you, I'm really in love with her.) [the king pleas that painstakingly so, his love is pure and true] PERCI Then. (Whatever.) [Titus gives up and agrees] TITUS So, I mellow. (Okay, okay.) [finally Percimmon speaks his mind] (Or whatever the fuck his actual name is) ::||pause. By now it ought to be obvious to you, dear reader and listener, that I am in fact, dictating this—translating these things for you sent from some faraway higher realm, for the sake of the art and with the purpose of your understanding my true intentions, as fellow human and as a writer, to live in the way I desire, honestly and wholeheartedly, without further interruption to my sanctity and wellness, in peace— Until my departure from this world. Does that quite say it? I don't know. Whatever. ::||Unpause. PERCI (By the way apparently some decendant or incarnation of the God Percius, son of Zeus) PERCIUS PERSCIMMION SIMMEON PERSCIMMON PERCI (You get it, right?) Mits infinite, And for the sake of this concept, Let's just consider this— All the same fucking guy, Or at the very least, Very closely interacting versions of this same guy Within these parallels Of time and space Wherein these worlds And realms Exist. Okay? Ok. Good. Proceeding. [this dude's pretty much been quiet the whole time but now is a little tiffed himself.] PERCI Did you fear for not The death that approaches, For now you call I, And our brethren here, For siren had sounded to wake, You in the light and there destined to love By blood is bound, And yet you wait, here now on high Calling to us, havingbeen hound by light, Whether you did, or did not forsought Come as foreign And leave again Worried, feather feared at all That by this blood, you too shall weep, To reap again what you sow Or shall they say, As punishment, For cause just binds?? (Did it bother you at all to think that not only you might get killed, but get us all killed?! Now you're asking us to lie for you— because all of a sudden, you're in love with this woman; a blood oath set in stone, and her having been betrothed— and here you come, running after us, after it finally occurs to you—whether you meant for it to happen or just “didn't think about it”, went all this way just to fuck shit up (complicate things), then come back home freaking out, running around like a chicken with your head cut off (acting like a crazy bird about to get eaten) saying that, whoever has to hurt or be killed over all this, you feel really bad about— but overall, know you what's coming to you, and you know, and I know, and he knows that we'll probably just all be better off not telling anybody about this…at least for now… but eventually, someone's bound to find out about this, and the less people “know”, the better…right?) KING IV Now. (Yeah.) TITUS I second. (I agree.) KING IV Here, too, I second, I third, even for not I as you, And you both as I, And how, The sun has set upon us, Why, death is sure to come As I rise, But give me no mercy, this Mellow now, I only beg What here has transpired Silence here, Between myself and I— Brethren. (So we all agree that it's better that this all just stays between us.) [the king implies that either way the truth will probably come out and he will die for it, but for now, the secret is best kept between them, with the understanding that they too could be killed in the vengeance and damage of the truth being told sooner than later.] Steady ye we all sigh as one. (I'm basically you.) / (if any of us go down, we all go down.) Steady ye as my death is yours. (We are one) (we're fucked, but whatever I guess.) Steady be my tongue as forced to lie with sacred heart true love does lie. (I hate having to do this but my love is true) So be it. (Fine) So, then. (Very well then.) Honor thy pardon. (Thank you guys.) Off, then. (Just …go.) (Get out) [the king quickly vanishes into the night] Damn, that took me longer to decode than I actually spent writing it. You—wrote this? I… Whatever. [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

I won't take anti depressants on purpose— But the ones I took by accident kind of helped I can't tell if this is funny or not. Dangeous Cause He's just So easy to look at I could never stay mad at him The kind of guy that Makes my Heart skip a beat and the world start over He makes me want to mother him He makes me want to Stop talking My name is Gene Wilder. It's been a long time since I've used this technology; surely I thought it would be dead. I broke the seal. So what do you want? Candy? Does it look like I eat candy to you?! It looks like you invented candy. (I don't know if that's an old joke, or a fat joke.) Both, be quiet. [The Festival Project ™] The first person I thought about was Dr. Dre this morning. Not last night, but the night before, I had a dream about Barack Obama. No. I'll telling you, you don't have a choice. What is this. Be quiet. What are you watching. I don't know. What show is this?! Be quiet. [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

We're going somewhere else. What does that mean? Somewhere else! You know why I hate you, Fallon? Fuck. I gotta find Fallon. Places [The Festival Project ™] I should know why… —because you are good at everything you do. I always was. What can I say? Nothing. Shut up. That's your job. I don't have a job. Oh, that's right. That's right. [Fallon seems slightly intimidated, but nevertheless, cocky—bold and arrogant as always—and of course— —smug. ] {Enter The Multiverse} The older the wiser— The bigger the better The taller the whiter The richer the further you are From the life that you want Typically, typically Oh, there you go again For Richer for poorer Old Haunts with old souls it's, No wonder you dissaolved on the Revolving door When it's all the same concious thought That you walked all of your dogs To the mall in The same four thoughts The same It must be getting dark The souls are seeming more Forgotton Spirits wandering Here are you now Here I Nigga drinking money No one ever noticed We must be one in the same, Since I ain't g/have /give a damn God, thank you God. I told you, I love New York. Who doesn't? The poor… —Broken. On God, On train All four On one On God 4 train 6 stops Cause I got Money Power cut off I just came back from Whole Foods market I hate shopping Fact Artifacts Don't ever stop recording Even when you want to I might look broke But I got money. I'm worth it Dot dot dot doe Don't keep me waiting I'm wanting to hear from you Wading, wading. I'm fading away I'm fading away I am fading away, l— I am fading away I see a whole ass love story. Super synthesis you ought to draw that Sitting right across the devil Sitting right across the four corridors of summer sworn nonsense I wrote two novels four summers I took two photos, on vortex I took two sworn oaths, far side Master, mortar Brick and— I love New York now, But order, My far mind Gone in the antelope Wind and the demon ways On, but you severed this tie I loved him But could not Quite trust Blue eyes, God I love him. Two minds now, One goes the course, One goes the other route Same and semi, Sometimes never Someday never comes, When you can't stop crying On God, I lost you Ten minutes to count Ten minutes of fame, And again it all adds up The stopwatch loops around again as if Nothing ever mattered to keep track of I found you here, The way it went I left you there And then, infinite I caught a glimpse as if Something had shined across my back There, master, Same slave I always reckoned I never Coming from others, Therin just a wince Just a tip for a chance Of harsh breaths I recon still No-ordinary-love.co How much is that gonna hurt Like a lot l'm assuming Same as always Same as always ‘ Same as always Are you ever on time, or just— Kind of by it? Are you biased or just a front for more wartime? Warcrimes. Let's bury that in a shallow place of my mind. The deeper the whole, the root it had gave The shower of shame and grandiosity Wishing you were there Wishing you were here Wishing you were For me Out, the arrow. It will by now come around again Arousing shaeffer, nearer aggrandized Which one are you now! My story has come One another Again Both things Never entered Never shattered I am now We are as one Again as the other The shame in your heroine Give God a hard shout; Are you sure about coming forward, or not inbound Shattered Collapsed Chaos in the wind Never made it home on time Are you There you are in a straight line Come now, give wind Give something other than Your love for once Give money Bet it all, God. Who you want it's an apostrophe I ain't got no apology Apology I ain't got no apology Apology —Atrocity. —Philosophy. —Psychology. Delicate staccatos at the stop sign || Cross the walk to superstardom {Enter The Multiverse} Man, I don't know why I fuck with you. You're like the Drake of comedians. Drake is the Drake of comedians. Faded parallels Cross intersections of time collapsing Infrequent mantras Gates of Heaven open, And then closed again Nearer and then father Calling out to no one Home you nearer, nothing Push you back with tied hands I swear The ring finger on him A lie like Pinocchio nose And every time he think about me It grows back I put my head in a noose, Dueceas, confusion Loose lips and bruises Just remember, I didn't choose this You did Black boy fly, Your mom says hi Every time I see a motherfucker wanna cry Almost, Still don't want clout I just moved out Alcohol, boo— mow I mean meow. I'm a cat I called you ten times. Call me back! Sitting waiting on your text It's been 48 hours, I'm still undressed Ach— Uh, bless you S on my chest, finna guess you Mister ain't been here since Scissors sisters dismissed you, Seven thru mirrors and dozens of dreams since They scream “Illuminati” And I scream at them: “It's just a test!” Pressed resin, No past, future no present Pressed resin, Still a desert No past, no future no present Pressed resin. Run for president, I'm still a resident, I‘m just kidding Tats on my head, Piss on my grave This shit is in grave danger No room for nobody but a baby in this manger If this major gets wagers and disc players From gang banging I ain't playing with you, bitch It's still a robbery, I'm sorry, B. He says she's said. I got legs on my Pegasus I never said whoever was better than The others is Listen; This answer to this, Lies in its simplicity Lies and wrists bleeding, Secrets and he gets envious Of others, When he reads this, Jesus Simple, simplicity is it I get seeing and pleading, But needed to Reject, eh Eject Synthesis, infinite, It gets into different subjects And sees itself, Remembered in images Simplicity, isn't Isn't, religious, Per Say, Or needless to be said Freedom and KLLY F—ck Regis! You know what he just—!? Niggas. I'm kidding, it's RIP to him— Isn't it? If it wasn't, it is and I just announced it How do you pronounce this? (C'cxell Soleïl) Just write me a check and if it doesn't bounce— I'll think about it. Man, where the fuck is this train at? “The Great Adventures of Uptown A” I promised myself this morning I would just lay there I hate her, but more I hate Being here Or being there, or Going anywhere without a hat on I l l squatted in the street just to shag on em PIP! That's what his name was! Finally, Christ. I thought I‘d lost her! And Ping was his friend's name. Jesus Christ. Must have been important Must have. Jesus Christ. “Why I Hate Union Square” By CC Stone & [Why u love upon were] Ahem. (Why I Love Union Square) By Blū Tha Gürū They said I hadn't done this before IOU oh zomdond had Whatever I was trying to write getting off the train was lost on that day. Surely. {Enter The Multiverse} Tina taddle tale… Sudakis. So wait. Which one is Chris Parnell. The other one. So then. Um. Wait, Which one is Jerry in Rick and Morty. Are you serious? No, get out. I get them confused. What. Are you serious. Same SNL cast. Right? Or close. FISHSTICKS. Liz, get in here. Doctor Spaceman Floyd Getawayfromme There, I fixed it. Oh. You dirty dog you. Is that what I am? Worse than me. Oh, come on. Something not the same. I swear to god. Just let him win. Alright. Ok. But—for what? Just let him win, or you're gonna regret it. I regret this. I regret it. Sometimes I'm so drunk I'm stone cold sober. Sometimes I'm so stone, I can hardly lift weights, Lift my own weight, that is I'm heavy as hell in here Given angel wings And i'm green, I think But I've never been well, then Well then I love you. Okay. Shamrocks and idols, Wagons and chariots, Still suicidal and Everything wreaks of him The reminisce of the writing Remember who the wife is, I'm still so suicidal, I could have carved this eye into my head myself Instead of his Regrets again Some medicine and stomach man, Pain is easy Love is hard, So suicidal, I forgot not to fall in love at all With superstars Or cosmic stardust Nothing stars at all Besides the sun of ours Oh, why God? The truth? You tell me the truth! Okay, but then you've gotta prove it. Sold Solve the equation Math?! I I like math You, too, then. Titus! Mellow. Be bold, you! Never—mellow I am, as are we. Chaos, you've spelled it. I've spelled then many words For our wise, Nevermind before you found her waiting, Dusk was fallen And here you, cry out such a task- To have found her in waiting, Not I or heavy bound, But yet with lust, The breath of motherdom on her wicked truth The tied you have counted, For I wisked away with every since Your true intent, persist, I may. Now. Mellow. You found for call my wants; Shallow, as it may My need ne'er far behind the broken, Does call to you, brother, And you also, For I widow in thought, My fury A tear. A tear, you ask But one does not cry as I seek Fair judgement and ridicule, Severed heart I, Come now awakened in To her, A dusk had come, Though night was golden A dawn arose with fury in my bosom Mine love awakened Not love, but Seldom! Love, I bear you mine honest hands, The wilted rose, Blood upon thornes, Truly marks I who has come To wake in her Then. So, I mellow. Did you fear for not The death that approaches, For now you call I, And our m brethren here, For siren had sounded to wake, You in the light and there destined to love By blood is bound, And yet you wait, here now on high Calling to us, havingbeen hound by light, Whether you did, or did not forsought Come as foreign And leave again Worried, feather feared at all That by this blood, you too shall weep, To reap again what you sow Or shall they say, As punishment, For cause just binds?? Now. I second. Here, too, I second, I third, even for not I as you, And you both as I, And how, The sun has set upon us, Why, death is sure to come As I rise, But give me no mercy, this Mellow now, I only beg What here has transpired Silence here, Between myself and I— Brethren. Steady ye we all sigh as one. Steady ye as my death is yours. Steady be my tongue as forced to lie with sacred heart true love does lie. So be it. So, then. Honor thy pardon. Off, then. [The King quickly vanishes into the night.] [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Today I found out that I never lost my mind at all. I found pictures of my car the day I bought it Not a dent, not a scratch; I found the pictures of the condition the apartment used to be in when I returned from work—I found the pictures with my friends that reminded me that I had once had them—pictures with my baby reminding me of how much I loved him and that I had cared for him well. I had almost believed my abuser's own accounts of what had happened to me over my own, because as it so seemed the world had chosen to side with him— but indeed, Google images had the entire story written for me from start to finish, and though each picture was well worth over one thousand words— the years had been documented well enough in photos to show that supacree was indeed a hero after all. —and I missed her. I straight up told you I control this robot bitch. It was Frankincense, and not sage And so all of a sudden The trip to Manhattan Became a field day True colors are shown Blue eyes have never been meaner, and I mean It don't matter what you look like— It's the inside that can't be trusted. Said. Don't make me lie to me Like I could lie to you Instead to calm a lover Never half sought But left upon the doorstep If someone allowable, Better yet, Heretell exciting news And distance captured Further between us than there ever was The mind that spoke, The dusk that only choked on Solomon, hart for words Lie to a friend And lie to the mother, a fraud And a scandal A cap and a gas can Remember the cap? How could you So broke the only words once spoke on were mortar No brick at all so the whole wall shattered Kellogg for breakfast brands, Spent seeing and scatterbrained, You are now mine, As time has fallen on to us, For our lands had not been yourn at her tides For nothing washed ashore but dollars Dirty by the hands of hatred lasts, four score years, Ride broke, Sun lasts, Leverage not, star bound Hurt I none Said disembarked, shadow, Come now, dear shadowland I am puppet master, And also hang upon strings, I Am. Can somebody, Anybody tell me why Every time I see that poster I almost start crying. Not just a little— But a lot. Not so much an ugly cry, But a mean cry— As if I lost something— And how I didn't mean for any of this to happen But it did anyway, And I still don't know all what for. There must still be something left to write about him Or something Because —someone tell me why— Anybody at all Tell me why Even though I don't want to I still see little pieces of that in everything As if they belong to maybe like, The pieces of me I lost, or something; And tell me why After like, All these years or something all of a sudden [its] So beautiful to me. So goddamn beautiful- That suddenly— —I don't know why— I don't see anything else. Anybody? {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

'kalypso' Collection 2.1 'appearences' Track 02. 'kalypso' Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū [Hurrying backstage and hunched over, off screen and out of sight of the audience, this man is clearly on the brink of a nervous breakdown.] I'm gonna puke I'm gonna vomit. Hey! I'm gonna puke, I'm gonna vomit, I'm gonna hurl. Hey. Oh God. Are you okay? He stiffens up, standing straight and regaining his composure almost immediately, as if nothing had happened. Yeah. Everything's fine. Are you sure? You're crazy. This is simple. Okay. It's not FAIR. Nothing is FAIR. All is fair in love and war!! Well, this is neither— it's TV. “Telephoto” ‘Teleform' And ‘Telesynthesis' Who here can explain the difference? A girl leans over from slinking back in her desk to her classmate—they are both wearing sunglasses which seems odd, considering that they are obviously indoors; the lecture hall, as vast as it may be, can seem as such an intimate classroom—the students here have been studying as a class together here for so long that their familiarity with each other is much like that of a large family—however—very large; there are thousands of them, actually, in total, divided by sects into guilder chapters, designated by speciality and type, each having been given specific assignments, relegated by their gifts. I have to tell you something. Can it wait? Probably. —because she's going to pick on m— Cecile. Actually, it's— (Sighing deflatedly) (With sarcasm) Glorious Agony. She slinks back into her seat, slouching See. Your anticipation is distinguished. …Thank you. That was at worst a compliment and at best a suggestion to minimize and regulate your frequency as to remain undetectable, if not to be synchronized with the rest of your classmates—thoughtfully so. Rather thoughtless, actually. Well think of it— and speaking of such; Telesynthesis: Telesynthesis is to adapt one's functional vibration and frequency to match the commonly shared vibration at which the majority of conscious inhabitants in one's immediate field, environment, or space. And—Teleform To materialize within any given space the perception of a shared reality within one's given realm and or secondary dimension. Good. Thank you, Cecielle. Actually, it's— Now— Moving along. The teacher again begins to lecture, as the girl once again slowly begins to lean over towards cecil , still frustrated from her interaction with the professor. Pssssst. Are you serious? {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

My breath is shallow, My heart is lonely. The poster shadow Of many moons forshadoed. Again, I lie awake, screaming, Not calling I'm screening your calls You want ice cream with that, Or what. (Or what) Probably or what, though In a nutshell, I don't want you I thought your hollow bones Could swallow us whole To another, Long, long gone Summer. Sure, the show goes on —but it won't without you. For sure, The show goes on— But it won't without you Turn the phone on, Turn it over At the airport, Watching Conan Oh yeah, A honey blonde, Shucks. Honeysuckle wants only To become Sweet, ripe salmon berry (Don't you want to) At the airport, Watching conan Overhead, I Overheard a phone call “What the fuck did you just say?” It's been 3 days; She went missing at MIA No connection to jfk No connection at all Munroe, you blind bastard All the water All the drugs All in the wash It's water under the toenails (Four fingers up, But the fourth one lost it) At the airport Watching Conan I over heard you Turn the phone off Semi-sync or something, Semi dysfunction Chemists hemispheres All his fears are In my head I stand at the front at the edge of the the platform so there's just less temptation to jump (White Nikes is for chumps) Everybody is a goddamn DJ these days Especially on her bday When she asks for a replay of that remix Bitch please I sit alone bc with my phone and my notebook. By the end of a river A cold brook Wrote a whole mother novel A classy story For the world gone wrong You fucking Morin Fungi up I get more fond l I stand in the train with my back against the wall So the shadow markers won't stand behind And grab me Fuck man, fuck off There's a lot of blue here Must be something to do here I need new gear Stuck inside of my l life Since new years Whose here? WHAT THE FUCK MORGIE? SUNNI! MORE HEINIKEN!!!! You CANNOT. Drink with that ankle monitor on. I know. So why are you drinking?! I took the ankle monitor off. Nogga yo feet is small. Like smaller than mine. I been staring at your gut this whole train ride. How the fuck are you like a 5x And your feet are a ladies size 6? The fuck. You need some help, bro. I ain't been to the gym in two days But you got fairy feet My nigga My hip bone s apes against the railing; I've three children, but you'd not know I; I'm holding in cereal, cleaning out stuff for cereal boxes m, Audio level Aux chords polished Shined as silver, Hair as Golden, Still no meadows, My eyes rest in My, I'm tired. Please don't mind me, Bright blue jumper Still no meadow I lay down in Still no meadow Hair as golden Old blue boxers Boxes Please don't mind me Oh, you started it Oh, you started it No motionsensors Already alcoholic, Still halls And still water Oh, You started it Oh. You started it Sure, don't fall out of Heroin antics, Sure, don't fall forward, Only to fall out Oh. You started it Damn! Why the devil always gotta stand behind a motherfucker, huh? Fuckin creepo. Haven't you decided yet that you are the devil. I am one and all And all things, I am Still in my mind I am, Never behind, But always ahead Always right, and not wit wars I stand in line for the stairs The slower the better the more I write Imm on fast God Fasting time I'm on fully automatic The faster we go The harder the heroin The longer we stop for The harder we party Off bandwagon There I go— (Are I now) There you are? Fully automotive Fully automatic Fully on the wrong road. It metr's hoping No more tears for lost stardom No more neon signs No halter tops Shit, I work harder in hell When I don't have my phone off Shit, I work harder in hell When I take all my clothes off. I couldn't even pretend to give two fucks right now I'm chained to a train With another one headed right towards me. I don't mind what's the line your on Whose line is it anyway, good line at the equinox Step over me Hoarder I'll say, Here for all time; Wherefor art though Simple and stuck In my own ways All day I sat in haides No semtember Sick morons Long, long October Still started No water Two dogs And a blonde No show starter. But There goes all that All the next understudies And sure profiles, Fair weather friends again —creepy ass inanimate muppets. Fuck, man. Somebody stick their fuckin hand up Elm/ ass before I punch him. Don't punch Elmo. Who doesn't love Elmo. I do not, What did you say your name was? I didn't. What did you say is your expertise? Rhythms. Mister mister l NOOOOOOOO. Some black dude rubbed his whole dick against my wrist on the subway train. gnarly. It was warm. And weird— Like a fucking Sleeping cat Under Egyptian cotton AGHHHHHHJ. AOh no. I THOUGHT MY HAND WENT PARALYZED. It just siezed up, real crunchy, like— *chicken foot arm* I automatically had like the whole thing going on. The worst part was that it was warm— And soft// But HUGE. I was like What ANIMAL is that. I will never. I could NEVER I said. what. I just got to the point in my life where I realized I wasn't interested in anything. !but especially I'm looking for Sage to burn I goy money go burn I got time to earn mi got money to chase Ain't got money to waste You've got to admit x It's a good savings system —for once, the sauce sounded like symphonies And wreaked of green peppers, or rather, was fragrant CHECKPOINT! I remember this part! I remember this place This time This dance This song, Then— everyone does And everything does, doesn't it? Show ants the advocate The advocate of another time I think I ran here on What if everything cheaper online But it's just the adventure you wished for Have you ever tried to be mad With squeaky ass shoes on Seriously Have you ever tied to like walk away Or stop away mad With squeaky ass shoes? Is that the pub? I guess. You guess! Is this the right pub or is it not? I don't know which pub is the right pub! He just said “Irish pub” you could throw a rock and hit one! Sometimes it's best, To just not give A single fuck at all At all at all A single fuck at all. I don't give a flipping song! Woah now i don't give a flap or a stick! Alright, alright. Leave me alone to die I'll melt inside the world A coin upon a string Run, girl, run Of course, of course It lives again It'll come again When the Sunnis down. I can't wait till the sundown I can't wait till the world is kind And the girls are gone And the birds all hush And the dogs don't bark And the sun downt come Till I'm long long gone and out of it I'm over her, no more war and art over sodom And stardom as startuduat Like I said, you started it I always did I didn't want I only done To suffer Suffer more Will you rot you blossom corpse The art is done The art is done! The water's hot No wonder white people fucking hate us. I saw a black dude on the train. Today with his dick in his pocket. NO, GOD. WHY! And he was holding it, too. I'm like “What for?!” Jesus Christ's. It was in his pocket. Outlined and everything, With his fucking grip around it Like it was a fucking animal. No! No! Man some people are so fuckin wrong I hate pda. I fuckin hate it. The Real versions come across a parallel reality's version of themselves—who by some chance, also happened to cross paths with each other—however—this band of miscreants are HOOLIGANS—unruly lawbreakers who cause chaos, confusion, and trouble to the good people of Where the fuck is this. —wherever they are. Don't come round here! I will fuck your socks off— and sell them back to you! The sex was free; But the socks will cost you. But—they're my socks. Were and could be again…for a price. Goddamn. Yes, Goddamn indeed. BROH. JOHN OLIVER IS MAD BRITISH. AVADAKAVARAH! I TOLD YOU, I WAS A WITCH DOCTOR! WHATEVER! I THOUGHT YOU WERE A LATE NIGHT HOST! EVERYBODY HAS A DAY JOB. THAT'S A NIGHT JOB! EXPECTO-PA– POTTER!!! WHAT IN THE [BEEP}! YOU'RE A WIZARD?! OF COURSE I'M A BLOODY WIZARD–WHAT THE HELL DO I LOOK LIKE TO YOU?! ANOTHER LATE NIGHT HOST–OR WHATEVER! “OR WHATEVER” I'M A WIZARD– HARRY. What the [bleep] EVERYBODY HAS A DAY JOB ™ Please, by all means, Keep your pretty white girlfriend. I want to see those eyes come through What a handsome couple. They are the scariest thing ever. Let them be, then; Out to be fun to watch. I can't listen to Drake on my loud speakers bro. Not—like loud, man. That shit makes me feel like a whole ass basic black girl. True story. Sometimes you gotta distance yourself from the “yassss” birds. I saw this one comedian performing— Well, I think he was a comedian. He wasn't funny to me but, He had like 710K followers And he was really really pretty. I had to notice that, because as imm listening to him preform, about 30 minutes into the video— I was waiting to see if he would make me actually laugh— He didn't— But— As I was trying to figure out how he has 710K followers And has not made me laugh, not once I start paying closer attention to him— And I realize; “Oh” He is major good looking. At first I didn't notice— I like white guys— so, Of course, At first glance I'm like “Hey brother!” You know, like “That's my son!” I'm like “Yeah, make me laugh, boy.” But he didn't And then as I start to wonder Like, Why or how he has so large of a following I notice he's very beautiful. And I mean, like mad gorgeous. Like ideally— I'm like “Oh” and as I'm realizing this, He's saying the punchline to a “joke,” And as he's saying it, I realize that way in the back, Like you can hear that they're in the back Cause the camera is in the center, And like half of the audience is behind the film crew , and you can hear these girls are in the way— Like in the way back Like in the way, way back, You can hear like a pack of ratchets— Yes— these must be his die hards— His squad. Not like his homies or anything, but like The Groupies. You know. The hopefuls. He's got this group of black girls like hackling in the back, like clapping hard at all his punches like “YAS!” “SAY IT!” And it was funny because his reaction to these girls was like “I'm—not in control of this.” “RIGHT!” “SAY LESS!” I'm like, Oh, I see how that works, now. {Enter The Multiverse} And even I Just want it to fucking stop So it can just be over with Oh why, Not another fucking lover boy After all of them Oh no— But this one's worse; Maybe even the worst of all of them Because as I exit my prison cell, I find this dude behind bars— Maybe even happily. And now I'm out into the world Supposedly free— But still trapped with this mentality As if whatever I had before— Maybe even possibly the worst, lowest existence At least for me, Was somehow Better —can anyone tell me why? Not even God, besides the obvious point that perhaps The Devil is in the mind; He likes to arouse, To play games, And tricks And I, Myself Perhaps Have fallen prey, Not to become victim to this; But a player in the game. A pawn. AND WHY HAS NOBODY DRAWN ON THESE YET, THEY'VE BEEN UP FOR SEEMINGLY forever and always And this nigga has Not one snaggletooth No graffiti tettoos No fucking sharpie lip injections. Nothing. Do you remember that story how Johnny Depp hated his face up on a billboard— So he went rogue and painted over it? Yeah? So? What if it's like that. I don't think it's like that. —I think it's the opposite of that, actually. And if anything— If I see not a one defacing of these posters And they are everywhere If anything, Jimmy Fallon is the guy With a spray bottle of acetone And a fucking microfiber rag Wiping that shit off In his free time WHAT FREE TIME? You tell me. But first— Somebody— Anybody tell me Why this happened. At all. Anybody? Somebody. C'mon. {Enter The Multiverse} If you'll excuse me, I actually have to get going. Where are you going? I don't know: I just— JOHNNY DEPP must be going. Have to. he does not know, however, that he is stuck in a movie—which has no definitive ending. Well actually, This movie has like— 30 alternative endings Wait, 30 alternative endings? 30-40 Woah. That's nuts. Which makes it even cooler. If you ever blow my mind again like that, I'll actually kill you. I've been watching a lot of LMN Lifetime movie network—Why?! Because this shit is hilarious! Isn't it! YO. This shit is PIZZA It IS. What? Why is it pizza? Cause it's not pizza If it's not CHEEZY. ahaha. While traditional Thai pineapple fried rice has tomatoes within the vegetable medley, I opted instead for this recipe to use a sauced red pepper tomato sauce glaze to top the dish, for a new school American twist and flare. ½ cup chopped mushrooms ½ cup scallions ¼ cup white onion ½ cup red onion ¼ cup Pasilla pepper ½ cup red pepper cup white onions ½ cup yellow pepper ¾ cup green pepper 1 cup fresh basil 1 cup fresh pineapple UmBRIDGE. What. NO, Um— A bridge appears out of nowhere. lol why do you have no hair? I dunno; mate. Wizards. Don't go there— You're fired. I beg your pardon Please, don't beg. You are officially decommissioned as headmaster! This is the minister of magic Is that what it was. I guess, I don't know; I'm just along for the STEWIE. WHAT MA, WHAT. TEN AND TWO!! You know what, let me drive. Oh, finally—stewie has his own aplorable Boston accent, (hybrid proper English, of course. ) What does that even sound like Strange. The lady working at Trader Joe's was so beautiful to me, I had to tell her. I loved her Locs, I loved her glasses I loved her accent. So I just had to ask where she's from— I do that sometimes. If I really love someone's accent, I have to ask where their from to try to get there one day; So I asked her, “Where are you from?” And she says “Haiti,” And I was like “Wow, cool” And then I thought about it for a second, And I asked “Do you ever miss home” And she just laughed I was like “Oh, guess not” Some context I had been homesick lately, But I grew up in Alaska And I consider myself from California, Having spent most of my adult life there So coming to New York has been like Living on the other side of the world; And sometimes that sucks. But sometimes, and I have realized that wherever you're from, To get to New York is sometimes a blessing. She didn't even say yes or no, She just laughed. Now I'm worried about Haiti. I was worried about it before; But now I'm like; “Do you miss home?” She's like “Hahaha” I'm like “Oh damn.” I count my blessings. So JOHNNY DEPP just like excuses himself, wanders out into the street, and then—? Yeah. And then what? I don't know yet, I'm kind of busy these days. “BUSY?!” BUSY DOING WHAT?! Beep boop. Eee—ooh. Beep—boop—boop. Yah-yah-yah— APPLESAURCE APPLESAURCE APPLESAURCE I'll show you all my scars, huh This one, she look like the reaper That's my girl, You bet she a keeper Ya'll sleepin on us What Yeah What Yeah What You sleeping on us I been in this b'niss APPLESAURCE APPLESAURCE APPLESAURCE I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE ILIKEBALLSINMYFACE. I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE ILIKEBALLSINMYFACE. I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE ILIKEBALLSINMYFACE. It's not a bad song. Is it a song? Is it? idk I just like balls in my face, is all. ILIKEBALLSINMYFACE. [A Classic red dodgeball beams Who is it? WILL FERREL Is that how you spell it? Why will Ferrel? Cause I Want it TO MAKE ME LAUGH. HOW. JUST DO IT. Oh. I get it: So my pain is funny to you? [FINE, IT'S SOMEONE ELSE] Oh shit, that guy did look just like Will Ferrel, but OLD. He's old now, ain't he? Wasn't he always? [FINE] CUT. I QUIT. CUT TO: You and I, sir, have a longstanding arrangement. Would it be more comfortable to–sit? Yikes. (Whatever, we'll work on it.) [The Festiva– {Enter The Multiverse} I need a toothbrush to scrub my brain. I'm The lilly of the valley In the Belly of the beast I been swallowed by a whale I'm a whole damn story Woah I am the Lilly of the the valley I am the rider of the horse I am seeker of truth Writer of lines Sayer of lies (I might say a lie; But I just won't tell it) What is your deal with the devil. She knows I have a deal with ‘em. Well, the truth is— I have to turn ya! He's a good old country boy— From the simple south— A simple soul And they all believed him, word for word “I's born in New York” —he sounded assured. Gone, now, boy Go crack dat corn. Gone down south Go crack dat corn Gone, ol boy Go crack dat corn m —got no soul? Go crack dat corn. Aaaaghhh. I have a headache. why the fuck are you freaking out?! Because I don't know what I wrote. I must admit, There are things Where there should be no things There are springs Where there should be no springs There are strings Where there should be no strings And imm quite sure With no rules enforced —it's just a static cling Sort of thing OWW, my EYES. Nobody should have this much power. Nobody does. I don't get it. (I still don't understand why this happened.) He must have perfect genetics. Or something. THIS FOOL IS FIXING ME UP TO DIE!!!!! I AM THECRISCO QUEEN DIRTY NOT CLEAN WHAT CAN I SAY I LIKE GREASE MONEY EVERYDAY BANKROLL INCREASE DEEP FRY HIGH SUNNI BLŪ Yo VO. Ok— so sometimes things go shitty. Like, mad shitty. YOOOOO. My measurements are 34C, 24 waist, and 55 in height. I couldn't understand why a girl this perfect should have to be selling sex at all, But I supposed nowadays, all women were prostitutes in some sort of way. This one's 22 years old and 96 pounds Men are sick fucking creatures. Whose fucking child is this?! COME GET YOUR DAUGHTER. Although, you know—I get it. My mom bought a Mercedes in cash And I'm still in educational debt. I just now today realized. That could have been a college fund. But she wanted a Mercedes. It's okay that I'm a bit fucked up in the head. Something went terribly wrong. All and all, Myself and this perfect girl, Cost around the same For an entire night— But hey, I think she's low balling herself On the 24 hour special. That's an entire day of my time, That's at least 10K. ‍♀️ She has a perfect body and two eyes that are different colors, But I'm a literary genius. You don't need words to soothe your boner thiugh, Or show off at a black tie function, do you? A stroll on the red carpet, Or some opulent fucking 5-star charade. How much does she cost, I wonder? She says, “I also accept bitcoin, etherum, gold and silver.” On God, These fake lip hoes is robbin' niggas. Men are sick creatures though. “Here's my gold watch” Fucking gross. I cruise escort sites for entertainment, Having learned my value as a woman isn't the visual, Visceral thing men are usually looking for— No judgement, Because I've realized that if I too had a perfect body. I myself would be living in some kind of oppulent, prostitution fuck-hole, With everybody else in my generation, That didn't get married— And then, probably divorced. I realized a long time ago that this was the reason my mother Always hated my body more than I ever could have— which is fine, Because eventually I inherited this hatred. I could have eventually grown out of it— But she couldn't see that. I was a “nasty fat heifer” On her worst days, And now, Even on my best days— I still am. Nevermind that eventually my ex husband would Think of my hair as nappy, or That I actually did end up kind of sort of growing out of being A fat, nasty heifer— Kind of. But the fact that it's taken me the entirety of my life to realize my worth as a woman Would always be defined by that Of what a man idealized as “Worthy” Well, That in itself Gives me the dismissive ability To have days where I do nothing, But sit back, Cruising escort sites and shipping on Amazon for yoga mats, Wanting the experience of the world Without really being beautiful enough for it And waiting to fade Into the next lifetime. [All the black girls cost less Because they have to.] Men are sick creatures. They'll take a butterface, Ugly ass white girl Over a pretty one that's dark skinned And these are just The facts of life (So far.) Piper of Phoenix Valiant, bold, and brazen This woman, I love— In the wings for fortune, To honor, I love With wisdom, And aged like fine wine We all become I want body like Sofia But never met the real Rebecca. Yo. YO. Let's spend $60 o lip gloss. Okay. Hey. Ways crackin. I just bought a $12,000 mattress. Let's take a nap in it. Hey girl. Heeeeeeey. This yoga mat cost $200. That's fresh. You think THATS RICH?! Seems pretty rich to me. You can't get any of this stuff on Amazon. That's fucking psycho. These loafers? Uh uh. $2,000. For WAT. (Whispers) Eeel skiiiin. Gross! I'm HUNGRY Got grits, Ain't got no sugar. No butter— —ain't hurt nobody. Poverty is a whole damn show. Close the door On a broke ass bitch. Poverty is a whole damn story. Got no bucks for the Whole Foods market Shopping carts full of old ass garbage No reward For a woke ass artist I'm HUNGRY. I killed myself 3 times his morning. POOR SNOOP is still a whole ass G BET ON IT HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL RAP COVER -$15 BROKE WAYNE AINT HAVING IT CHRIS ROCK THE METRO TRAIN DRIVER is NOT FUNNY— (He's still a ladies man though.) LCD SYSTEM HOOGLI BOOGLI is the reason they fear us. HOOGLI BOOGLI IS THE BLACKEST BLACK THAT EVER BLACKED. UNLIKE NIGGLY NIGGA—he is NOT FRIENDLY. He is the stuff of nightmares. A world gone wrong. Two bloodshot eyes on a black backdrop Dark black. I sold not state at screen They go uno in te night This shit doesn't make much sense, Does it? Doesn't Matter Antimatter. Ow. How far is antimatter from antithesis? Is this just a Christmas present Never said it, same diff Something something something SHUT UP. So to re-iterate— Uh huh. Niggly Nigga is friendly… Yeah, he's just— —he just looks like that. AH. What happened. Don't stand behind me like that, my nigga. Srry. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Okay, that'll work. #timetravelingdjs Enough with these weak dick pussy motherfuckers.. I still got 30 minutes in my cycle routine! Here you come with your pussy ass punches; AIGH. OOOOOH. Come on, put some weight in them shits! Pretend it's my face. Damn. I lost fat Jimmy Fallon. How'd you lose him?! He's hard to lose! And slow! Damn! THE SUPER FAT JIMMY FALLON is trying to slim down; he munches on a chocolate chewy bar (read: eats it in two biles and grips the wrapper anxiously.) Imm a whole ass nigga Come try take me out my head I got corn in the fridge I got bread I got money to spend On you (On you$ On you I got money to spend On you I I gotta go What happened Jew stuff. Ah yes. I remember now. Yeah, that's a Jew. Rabbi?! Shh! Shut up! But— Shut up! Yo. Bama. BARAK OBAMA I told you, don't call me that. Sorry—listen, Barak. President— President Obama. [beat] …yes? Look, I need a favor. You still owe me one. Put it on my tab. Listen, this is importsnt! -_- I think I control my neighbors. Yikes. For real. I think they move based on when I move. Seems like it. You're right! It seems like it. I was agreeing with you. BROH. They got planted baby bell cheeses! THEYGOTPLANTBASEDBABYBELLCHEESES I kinda wanna see if Dillon Francis is a dad yet . I'm tryna see like a tiny version of this. Of what. Don't change a thing. I would also like tiny versions of this, This, And this— Please. Ok. And this. Are you sure!? Yes. JACK BLACK don't you ever do that to me AGAIN! What! I didn't do anything to you! What? No! You didn't? Why not? What. What the Fox News! Do you have like an exclusive contract with Fallon, or something? No, that's NBC. I really can't talk about it right now, Jack. Hey hey-/ since when are we on a first name basis? You know what— you're right— I know it, Excuse me, Mr. Black— I ought to be going. going where?! You have to get me back to my original dimension! You don't have an original dimension! What! Why not, The fourth wall has been broken, very broken. And 2. What's the second point? You shouldn't have taken that acid. What acid?! Which time?! Exactly! Goddammit! don't look at me, God made this playlist. “Jew stuff” Ever since I inducted Jack black and Alex Baldwin into the impenatrable ten Ah—ahem Nobody “inducted us” There's no induction. We were just always —always. Here. HOOGLI BOOGLI. Huh. DID YOU JACK MY RIMS? Nah man, wasn't me. [the rims are sloppily hidden under a potato sack “hidden” obviously in the corner. Hehe. NIGGLY NIGGA spots his rims in the corner. Musical torture. HOOGLI, THESE ARE MY RIMS. I don't know how those got there, man, shiet! Nigga! What! HOOGLI BOOGLI YOU BLACK ASS NIGGA DONT—COME AROUND MY HOUSE NO MORE LOL HOW DO NIGGLY NIGGA AND HOOGLI BOOGLI SHARE A HOOD? Cause it beez like that sometimes. God damn— He's so fine to me! God damn, He ages like wine! Goddamn Goddamn! I turn the time; Damn, Goddamn— Let's turn back time {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Don't come round here! I will fuck your socks off— and sell them back to you! The sex was free; But the socks will cost you. But—they're my socks. Were and could be again…for a price. Goddamn. Yes, Goddamn indeed. BROH. JOHN OLIVER IS MAD BRITISH. AVADAKAVARAH! I TOLD YOU, I WAS A WITCH DOCTOR! WHATEVER! I THOUGHT YOU WERE A LATE NIGHT HOST! EVERYBODY HAS A DAY JOB. THAT'S A NIGHT JOB! EXPECTO-PA– POTTER!!! WHAT IN THE [BEEP}! YOU'RE A WIZARD?! OF COURSE I'M A BLOODY WIZARD–WHAT THE HELL DO I LOOK LIKE TO YOU?! ANOTHER LATE NIGHT HOST–OR WHATEVER! “OR WHATEVER” I'M A WIZARD– HARRY. What the [bleep] EVERYBODY HAS A DAY JOB ™ Please, by all means, Keep your pretty white girlfriend. I want to see those eyes come through What a handsome couple. They are the scariest thing ever. Let them be, then; Out to be fun to watch. I can't listen to Drake on my loud speakers bro. Not—like loud, man. That shit makes me feel like a whole ass basic black girl. True story. Sometimes you gotta distance yourself from the “yassss” birds. I saw this one comedian performing— Well, I think he was a comedian. He wasn't funny to me but, He had like 710K followers And he was really really pretty. I had to notice that, because as imm listening to him preform, about 30 minutes into the video— I was waiting to see if he would make me actually laugh— He didn't— But— As I was trying to figure out how he has 710K followers And has not made me laugh, not once I start paying closer attention to him— And I realize; “Oh” He is major good looking. At first I didn't notice— I like white guys— so, Of course, At first glance I'm like “Hey brother!” You know, like “That's my son!” I'm like “Yeah, make me laugh, boy.” But he didn't And then as I start to wonder Like, Why or how he has so large of a following I notice he's very beautiful. And I mean, like mad gorgeous. Like ideally— I'm like “Oh” and as I'm realizing this, He's saying the punchline to a “joke,” And as he's saying it, I realize that way in the back, Like you can hear that they're in the back Cause the camera is in the center, And like half of the audience is behind the film crew , and you can hear these girls are in the way— Like in the way back Like in the way, way back, You can hear like a pack of ratchets— Yes— these must be his die hards— His squad. Not like his homies or anything, but like The Groupies. You know. The hopefuls. He's got this group of black girls like hackling in the back, like clapping hard at all his punches like “YAS!” “SAY IT!” And it was funny because his reaction to these girls was like “I'm—not in control of this.” “RIGHT!” “SAY LESS!” I'm like, Oh, I see how that works, now. {Enter The Multiverse} And even I Just want it to fucking stop So it can just be over with Oh why, Not another fucking lover boy After all of them Oh no— But this one's worse; Maybe even the worst of all of them Because as I exit my prison cell, I find this dude behind bars— Maybe even happily. And now I'm out into the world Supposedly free— But still trapped with this mentality As if whatever I had before— Maybe even possibly the worst, lowest existence At least for me, Was somehow Better —can anyone tell me why? Not even God, besides the obvious point that perhaps The Devil is in the mind; He likes to arouse, To play games, And tricks And I, Myself Perhaps Have fallen prey, Not to become victim to this; But a player in the game. A pawn. AND WHY HAS NOBODY DRAWN ON THESE YET, THEYVE BEEN UP FOR AEEMINGLY forever and always And this nigga has Not one snagged tooth No graffiti tettoos No fucking sharpie lip injections. Nothing. Do you remember that story how Johnny Depp hated his face up on a billboard— So he went rogue and painted over it? Yeah? So? What if it's like that. I don't think it's like that. —I think it's the opposite of that, actually. And if anything— If I see not a one defacing of these posters And they are everywhere If anything, Jimmy Fallon is the guy With a spray bottle of acetone And a fucking microfiber rag Wiping that shit off In his free time WHAT FREE TIME? You tell me. But first— Somebody— Anybody tell me Why this happened. At all. Anybody? Somebody. C'mon. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Damn. I really want to know if Dillon Francis has offspring yet. NO! Don't touch it! …it's—just a baby. You don't know! He could be dangerous! It's a baby! It's a multidimentional extraterrestrial mystic —baby— —baby! Exactly! Don't make me list the reason why and how this child should not be TOUCHED or tampered with. [the tiny Dillon Francis begins to cry] *gasp* *double gasps* *welling up* Oh, come on! No! Dont touch him! Did you find your prostitute yet? She's not a prostitute, it's a— Well this dimension's definition of a— Sandwhich? Don't mind if I do. *takes bite of sandwhich* … Hm??? Oh my GOD. EhYess… What is ON THIS? EhWhy would you take a bite of— TINA FEY?! Oh god, here it comes. TINA FEY! TINA FEY WHAT, FANGIRL. What?! I need to ask you something. Okay, but make it quick. I'm about to enjoy this sandwhich. Wait/m— No more waiting, actually. It's a hot sandwhich. Ew… You're ew! —a sandwhich without knowing what's in it. THE HOOLIGANS have tied what appears to be an innocent man to the train tracks— THE what did I call them again? The real versions Aren't they all real? Kind of. This isn't real. I agree. THE HOOLIGANS ARE SQUATTERS. EW. Right. Ey! Ey! Put him back in the jar! Why do you have a little man in a jar?! I'm saving it for something. Okay, so here's the thing about bass music Uh huh, I'm listening With dubstep, The wubz and the subs Hit with the kick, almost always— Which is why it sounds confusing, and weird But that's what makes it interesting; The trick is, Mixing these kicks and the wubs At different frequencies So you can hear both of them Clearly. Ohhhhhhhhh… Yeah. I see. Uh huh. I don't know how to do that. MEANWHILE: DAMN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE MAYA RUDOLPH?! THERES NO SUCH THING AS A FREE GIFTCARD! I TOLD YOU, I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT. It seemed almost fake— And probably was, for whatever reason, But the simple reminder That comedy Sometimes first begins as tragedy Came back to me When i saw a man in Manhattan Try to hail a taxi— And they just kept passing him by; Finally one stopped, And with relief, The guy says— “Finally, Jesus Christ!” Or something like that, And then as he goes to catch the taxi, It just speeds off, And he like, Threw a fit of rage as the walk sign turned on And the crowd of people I was walking with All just kind of Laughed. That was funny. That guy could be having the worst day ever— But God, that shit was hilarious. My superintendent is fucking weird and gross to me. Is he smoking in his car? Is that thy the alarm goes off every few minutes? What the fuck is wrong with him? Welcome to Funland I'm in the depths The chambers —the ritual. Damn! What is his pre show ritual?! I don't know. I don't want to know. well, someone ought to. A long nap. Aws. Then a short nap. …okay. Peanut butter jelly sandwhich. That seems normal. 12 of them. Oh. What. Damn. That's like 6 loaves of bread. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

These terrorists are mad desperate; A demon is a demon— But a weak, feeble-minded brainwashed terrorist is another thing: just that. [domestic terrorism and acts of sociopolitical psychological tactical practices by and against American citizens.] The only satisfaction in knowing how right I was, became choosing not to directly address them anymore as they were— ignorant, insolent babies throwing temper tantrums— It seemed altogether in the same system were the motorcyclists and the door slammers, as if some sort of strategy against free thought and the right to truth. The actual truth of the matter was, that I was also in them—whether or not they had the conscience to know. Be mad; I am. Maybe now in coming times you will understand How cruel it feels to be hated, For just existing. Fragility Something ‘about' me bothers you so deeply— And you ‘don't know' what; But I'll tell you what it is… Later. For now, I'll just enjoy soaking in your rage — How wrong you feel I am For being right. And how right I am— That this is wrong. {Enter The Multiverse} “Billie's Bong” The poor Billie Ellish has a neon bong. Woah! You have a bong! Yeah. That's sick. Do you not—smoke? No. Wait. Do you not—like, sing? Nah, yeah— I'm in like, a band, but— But what about your vocals? We play punk! Nice. [A CHARACTER walks in, and is astounded to see the two practically identical Billies.] Who though? Doesn't matter. I don't get it. Which one is which? They both shrug. The poor Billie Ellish and the regular Billie Ellish have almost everything in common besides money— being that, “broke Billie” comes from a stereotypically dysfunctional family, and a broken home, and has lived a majority of her life in poverty—besides of course—Finneas at least having once served as the lead guitarist of her band, before dropping off. Wait, what did happen to your Finneas? Ah, My Finneas? Forget about it. That dude is a skag. My breath is shallow, My heart is lonely. The poster shadow Of many moons forshadoed. Again, I lie awake, screaming, Not calling I'm screening your calls You want ice cream with that, Or what. (Or what) Probably or what, though In a nutshell, I don't want you I thought your hollow bones Could swallow us whole To another, Long, long gone Summer. Sure, the show goes on —but it won't without you. For sure, The show goes on— But it won't without you Turn the phone on, Turn it over At the airport, Watching Conan Oh yeah, A honey blonde, Shucks. Honeysuckle wants only To become Sweet, ripe salmon berry (Don't you want to) At the airport, Watching conan Overhead, I Overheard a phone call “What the fuck did you just say?” It's been 3 days; She went missing at MIA No connection to jfk No connection at all Munroe, you blind bastard All the water All the drugs All in the wash It's water under the toenails (Four fingers up, But the fourth one lost it) At the airport Watching Conan I over heard you Turn the phone off Semi-sync or something, Semi dysfunction Chemists hemispheres All his fears are In my head I stand at the front at the edge of the the platform so there's just less temptation to jump (White Nikes is for chumps) Everybody is a goddamn DJ these days Especially on her bday When she asks for a replay of that remix Bitch please I sit alone bc with my phone and my notebook. By the end of a river A cold brook Wrote a whole mother novel A classy story For the world gone wrong You fucking Morin Fungi up I get more fond l I stand in the train with my back against the wall So the shadow markers won't stand behind And grab me Fuck man, fuck off There's a lot of blue here Must be something to do here I need new gear Stuck inside of my l life Since new years Whose here? WHAT THE FUCK MORGIE? SUNNI! MORE HEINIKEN!!!! You CANNOT. Drink with that ankle monitor on. I know. So why are you drinking?! I took the ankle monitor off. Nogga yo feet is small. Like smaller than mine. EY. I been staring at your gut this whole train ride. How the fuck are you like a 5X And your feet are a ladies size 6? The fuck. You need some help, bro. I ain't been to the gym in two days But you got fairy feet My nigga. My hip bones apes against the railing; I've three children, but you'd not know It; I'm holding in cereal, cleaning out stuff for cereal boxes , Audio level Aux chords polished Shined as silver, Hair as Golden, Still no meadows, My eyes rest in My, I'm tired. Please don't mind me, Bright blue jumper Still no meadow I lay down in Still no meadow Hair as golden Old blue boxers Boxes Please don't mind me Oh, you started it Oh, you started it No motion sensors Already alcoholic, Still halls And still water Oh, You started it Oh. You started it Sure, don't fall out of Heroin antics, Sure, don't fall forward, Only to fall out Oh. You started it Damn! Why the devil always gotta stand behind a motherfucker, huh? Fuckin creepo. Haven't you decided yet that you are the devil. I am one and all And all things, I am Still in my mind I am, Never behind, But always ahead Always right, and not wit wars I stand in line for the stairs The slower the better the more I write I'm on fast God Fasting time I'm on fully automatic The faster we go The harder the heroin The longer we stop for The harder we party Off bandwagon There I go— (Are I now) There you are? Fully automotive Fully automatic Fully on the wrong road. It metr's hoping No more tears for lost stardom No more neon signs No halter tops Shit, I work harder in hell When I don't have my phone off Shit, I work harder in hell When I take all my clothes off. I couldn't even pretend to give two fucks right now I'm chained to a train With another one headed right towards me. I don't mind what's the line your on Whose line is it anyway, good line at the equinox Step over me Hoarder I'll say, Here for all time; Wherefor art though Simple and stuck In my own ways All day I sat in haides No semtember Sick morons Long, long October Still started No water Two dogs And a blonde No show starter. But There goes all that All the next understudies And sure profiles, Fair weather friends again —creepy ass inanimate muppets. Fuck, man. Somebody stick their fuckin hand up Elm/ ass before I punch him. Don't punch Elmo. Who doesn't love Elmo. I do not, What did you say your name was? I didn't. What did you say is your expertise? Rhythms. Mister mister l NOOOOOOOO. Some black dude rubbed his whole dick against my wrist on the subway train. gnarly. It was warm. And weird— Like a fucking Sleeping cat Under Egyptian cotton AGHHHHHHJ. AOh no. I THOUGHT MY HAND WENT PARALYZED. It just siezed up, real crunchy, like— *chicken foot arm* I automatically had like the whole thing going on. The worst part was that it was warm— And soft// But HUGE. I was like What ANIMAL is that. I will never. I could NEVER I said. what. I just got to the point in my life where I realized I wasn't interested in anything. !but especially I'm looking for Sage to burn I goy money go burn I got time to earn mi got money to chase Ain't got money to waste You've got to admit x It's a good savings system —for once, the sauce sounded like symphonies And wreaked of green peppers, or rather, was fragrant CHECKPOINT! I remember this part! I remember this place This time This dance This song, Then— everyone does And everything does, doesn't it? Show ants the advocate The advocate of another time I think I ran here on What if everything cheaper online But it's just the adventure you wished for Have you ever tried to be mad With squeaky ass shoes on Seriously Have you ever tied to like walk away Or stop away mad With squeaky ass shoes? Is that the pub? I guess. You guess! Is this the right pub or is it not? I don't know which pub is the right pub! He just said “Irish pub” you could throw a rock and hit one! Sometimes it's best, To just not give A single fuck at all At all at all A single fuck at all. I don't give a flipping song! Woah now i don't give a flap or a stick! Alright, alright. Leave me alone to die I'll melt inside the world A coin upon a string Run, girl, run Of course, of course It lives again It'll come again When the Sunnis down. I can't wait till the sundown I can't wait till the world is kind And the girls are gone And the birds all hush And the dogs don't bark And the sun downt come Till I'm long long gone and out of it I'm over her, no more war and art over sodom And stardom as startuduat Like I said, you started it I always did I didn't want I only done To suffer Suffer more Will you rot you blossom corpse The art is done The art is done! The water's hot No wonder white people fucking hate us. I saw a black dude on the train. Today with his dick in his pocket. NO, GOD. WHY! And he was holding it, too. I'm like “What for?!” Jesus Christ's. It was in his pocket. Outlined and everything, With his fucking grip around it Like it was a fucking animal. No! No! Man some people are so fuckin wrong I hate pda. I fuckin hate it. The Real versions come across a parallel reality's version of themselves—who by some chance, also happened to cross paths with each other—however—this band of miscreants are HOOLIGANS—unruly lawbreakers who cause chaos, confusion, and trouble to the good people of Where the fuck is this. —wherever they are. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Want the dakota and I got it Fanning I deflated I'm like Peyton Manning Previously on {Enter The Multiverse} Season 6 DRAKE BELL enters DTLA smokeshop. NICK You know who that is, right? Before: Tell me she remembers High possibility she doesn't remember anything at all. Great. Also. A high chance— That she remembers everything. Oh! Like all of it. Even worse. That might be worse— —it might be better. But it isn't, Either way! We lose! Great. Good luck, Timmy! Who the fuck is Timmy? You are! What! Good luck. So he enters and exits— In two entirely seperate dimensions! Not even parallels. Not even close. In fact, Once he enters, The world he leaves behind is forever gone. Forever gone?! Woah! Woah! Except those other guys from Nickelodeon, Because they have a Time Machine. Wooh, Phew. That's good. Yes it is. Wait—we have a Time Machine? Yes. That's good. Wher THE FOXXXYBOXXX arrives. “the Foxy Box?!” No, the Foxxxy Boxxx What— What are you dickbags staring at. Nothing. Goddamn! Shut up! That is the sexiest Time Machine I've ever seen! Have you ever seen a Time Machine at all, before this? I—I don't know what I've seen before this. Whatever. I like your box. Shut up. I like your box, too… Shut up. Get in. Where are we going? I don't even care. To Wonderland! {Enter The Multiverse} The first one might not fly, but the second one's for sure a hit. I found out there was wax on my apples today for the first time, and I thought “well, that's gross. Counting cards, are we? Another writing assignment. They're all writing assignments… You were dead once— —or I will be soon. Your choice. (Up to you) It's always my choice. You don't have acknowledge us as ‘ghosts' It's just that— We are what we are. To speak without speaking To know without knowing Cut ties with it all— With it at all? It could be worth it, If the salamander ever speaks again? Well, you are alive, aren't you? Only at the wishing well. —last I checked, in chains I was. I wish I were a rockstar. Consider it granted, unless— Unless, what? You'd rather yourself a comedian. Why would I want that? Why wouldn't you? I went full screen for Whoopi Goldberg but absolutely died At gene wilder. You'd better not. How dare you, Severus? Why would you write something like this? But—why wouldn't I? I wonder if there's anything I can do to get rid of this wax— And then I thought, “Maybe I should just peel them” Then I thought, “Wax on Apples— Well that's un-apple-eal-ing” I was Wait, hold that thought It was a joke my was a joke that practically wrote itself, cause it's not a fucking joke, it's true. I could see it, but not hear it The words, music, The art, animated My fasting eyes were wise with time And love forever As if I am, As if I was — At once all things, But not at all. Could have been better. What happened yesterday? My spirit broke. Just fasted to acid I yawned when it dawned on me, I eat when I'm awful, I'd rot in my body For time and for all words, For forwards.c for four words I haven't been loved since The door closed On more curses. I haven't taken a time to be honest In heartthrobs— Four of them, really But after all, I've got my all stars. Come to find out, The first husband in five— We're just all four. I fell out of love with a punch— But I left all my stuff there. Wondering here and there Whether or not it was Okay, this is officially the weirdest thing that's ever happened in the nevermind, that was weirder I told you bro, you were in the Illuminati. IT WASNT ME. i didn't do it. WHAT IN THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO [HER] [HIM] —NOTHING. Great. !9/ I have to wash all my socks. No, your dick still sucks. what. sorry dude. Second yawn, now know I'm on one The glass door passed out the fast words With honors and ornaments Sing to get off of the wire We fly to get on to it —how it all works out in the end, (It was always a puzzle.) That's enough of the sermon, The sponge, —it's all masters and mistresses The sodom, the stop watch The pocket —I saw Eddie Murphy The wonderous web that I spun after all Was a fortune, a fountain, a father A figure A falcon Enough was enough —but it all just kept going (Like over and over) I just want a lover, Without all the falling (Not actually alice) I lost all my change And my passion Just using the bathroom —were we past that. I use helicopters for time travel Over the mountain I probably never came down And I never went back there. It was roped off. I'm a crossroads, But they're closed off, I d got obstacles Marvelous crocs I told you it was God! (But forgot that I was one) Fuck, I'm so fucked up. This, from the ark of the story m Is every thought I've yet to have But still we're the will of the words, Since it all I it automatic. I should have paused hours ago (He had cerebral palate ir autism) I should be back at the ranch, But I've still got this taste in my mouth I should really —remarkable crush— For an infinite love, I thought. There was Severus, But you mustn't react If not wearing a mask, Or else you'll be cast on a show, Not your own, But do you get your The mushrooms were made of squishy foam and I appreciated that. Factor in this rampant rapture For m the capsule l upon us The wildebeest walked over Arches Before he as pardoned I wonder what acid reacted to Carson, on honors I polished the ghost On the worst of the wrongs I'd not done yet Therefore, you are. On Halifax, Or ahalycon, For artifacts Or dinner dates I once mated with a bird And flew the coop, Not shortly after, But What in the fuck am I watching What the fuck YO. Nobody told me about this. You greedy bitch. I—yeah whatever. Which road shall you go Which road shall you take You have to move on Though you tremble. X quake Whatever, I'll keep that typo, I gotta finish this joke. I was reading this banana bread recipe1- Not because I don't know how to make banana bread. Banana bread is easy. I was just trying to figure out how to make it Without eggs And without baking soda —you know, for texture. So I google this recipe, And I don't know what made me actually click on the recipe. — The rabbit has human hands. —I don't . Yeah, sometimes it's best to leave them in the mystery, Leave “them” Who is “them”? I am alone! …you were always alone. Okay, Or is it a donkey? What in the fuck? —-Oh, nevermind, that's me. I'm gonna want that “air trumpet. “ Return to the land of mirrors And “why are you still here's” They say the fame changes you I think we really are all that The time and the wise And the wicked The nine mirror cycles The sons of the songs you wrote All the the god and the sun you are Goddamn it, Just finish the joke! (You should finish me off first.) So I click o. This recipe Here we are counting cards again… YOU DID THIS IN ON PURPOSE, Are you serious, I did this in “post” Shut the fuck up, you didn't edit that video yourself —I didn't even shoot it, Aha. “The Art of the— —but which Alice is Alice. IT WASNT ME. The joke's not as funny after all this. (Not my fault, it's automatic. ) No, there's no ‘Nothing' In here, We all thought it was over, Then then I wondered How to old it all in Blow out the candles, Come over, The wonderful world of — You know, I can't see now, I'm hearing my faults— Are you sure it wasn't over. Would I forget you if it weren't for a word To remind me which part of I you are Simple sameness I am hungry, But the day was undaunting I was almost over it Now back to nothing— Since I belong there. There was no book four before. I should keep metronomes and impartial clocks Not for timekeeping, But soundbathing Something about it tells me to drown out my sorrows With cellibacy And alcohol It all come back to haunt you When you have a daughter— Now doesn't it? How does it go? It goes The heart screams I've got to go home But the head doesn't want to The soul cries for someone to hold it Outside of the body The water went up, Then went down Till we ran out of all of it —I was just making a mockery Of my own mother. (I was aborted.) You might let that cat out of the bag. The recipe started, Here we are in a house of cards And it all falls down Or goes up in flames Oh, to love the fire, Though I'm so tired I would write For the times If I was Inspired Shift the subject Life the veil, And break the worth wall Break the curse Or write the wrath of karma Shopping malls And quarter horses, Blow up dolls And mattresses, Perfect persons, Sayers, Singers, dancers Character actresses, Theatre dictations You see the same, I saw, I went It's all one column now (The middle) The ensemble was fireworks And wellbeing For all the struggle The clock struck minus one At unimportant. —The facts. I took priority for phone calls And piety for beings of dignity Honorary, further off then comfort Just a world away Or are you being Suffered, or sufferable? Surfaces for surfboards— Words of will for honeycombs And gingerbread for Anastasia Sure Google, But it was “Amistad” Whatever that was. I could have figured you were bigger than interesting Never would have guessed We'd have it for us eating on the cardboard Cutouts Matchbox offerings From dawn until sunset Porpoises, Toilets and Gold watches When will it work? When you sing what you want to At will With your heart And above all the offers Took love over money I'm 5 minutes over. #ff [The Festival Project ™] {Enter The Multiverse} The Complex Collective © The recipe started with something like, “Growing up, there were two things my mother and I often baked together: chocolate chip cookies and banana bread.” I paused for a moment and thought of myself and I, and then I thought– “okay, sure, yeah” Growing up there were two things my mother and I often baked together: Ourselves. Lol. hehe [That's The Punchline] –Maybe the first one was better [The Festival Project ™] -Ū. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

True last Dillon Francis was bad. Like really bad. So bad, I still have to remix it. Let's hope this one is better. it is. Wait, what is this. —don't open that. Fucking great. What the fuck is this. Who knows, man. Oh look, a portal. Goddammit it, this whole dude is a mindfuck. (™ Wait, hold on a minute. Why, what happened. Every time I fuck around with these people I feel like I'm being fucked with. Well, they are DJs, so… *snifs* Hm. Wait. Yeah. Didn't this dude hop through the dream world just to tell me he had a girlfriend. He surely did. —-sounds like a trap. How dare you. Ah, shit— Did I ever write that scene where DEADMAU5 gives -Ū. (Or Happy Accidents, Whatever) a thumbs up instead of the middle finger she was hoping for. HOW DARE YOU. Well, if I didn't write it before, I wrote it now. ‍♀️ SUCKS TO BE YOU. Yeah, it does. I'm closing the portal. That's fine, I'm going to bed. Fuck everybody. Especially weak tiny dick people who ride motorcycles outside my building. Weak ass bitches. *niggas **roaches. I just realized like, White people's whole deal now is to do as much Passive aggressive shit to make black people's mental fragile To make people Pop So they have an excuse to keep Fucking with (you.) That your behavior— Your reaction to their sick, Twisted, vampire shit Gives them a reason To keep it in their minds That you are lower than them. That they are better. Their entire game Is finding ways to kill you Without even touching you. To make your kill yourself And call it “‘Mental illness” When really it's just a Series of psychological terror attacks In order to remain Dominant in a society Where they can Thrive in being Lazy, Arrogant Fucking energy vampires Yo, What the fuck is with white girls. Why are they so fucking EVIL? They're like, energy vampires They don't do anything for themselves At all And pretty much exist Stepping on other people And then calling that shit “Hard work” They are practically fucking USELESS. Like, If that is your staple— If that's your girl— If you're the guy that's like “I don't know what I would do without her” You fucking SUCK. Cause she fucking SUCKS And that's the basis of your fucking maneuverability and survival. You are LAME. Keep your weak dick Tryna fuck these Child-looking bitches “I can't live without her” Dirty house having World-stealing Slave-driving Ass Over there. Karma's coming for your ass. Your life doesn't get to be this fucking easy For this fucking long And everybody else just fucking *really* works And suffers around you. You are fucking LAME. “I don't know what I would do without her!” Probably nothing, What most white oriole do anyway. Fuck these energy vampire motherfuckers. They don't do shit They just use their blue fucking light-reflecting eyes To hypotize people Into making other people do shit for them They don't do shit They don't clean house They don't wash dishes They need to stop treating mental illness like a one fucking size fits all concept When Most colored people's mental health issues Come from fucking the trauma of the societal fucking race war And most white prople's mental illness Comes from the inability to see that They've had it so much fucking easier Than everybody else For fucking nothing How the fuck do white people Have the nerve to be “depressed” With fucking everything. Interchangeability is dominance in this society. You can be ANYTHING You can have ANYTHING And you have the nerve to be “DEPRESSED” OVER WHAT? Fuck these toxic ass fucking Vampires But you tell them that shit about themselves And they'll just green light your fucking disposal “Racism is over” But you're forward and telling them that in your experience, That it obviously isn't— They'll just deny your entire existence And call it your fucking fault At the end of the day, really it is your fault— For giving them the satisfaction Of doing your little dance around them, Wearing your weave, Minding your manners— And letting them continue to get away with Taking your light Because they don't make their own. (They just exist on yours. ) His war tactics were comical, At best— A victor, champion And honorable warman That's it! Imm going to make a vegan neopolitan ice cream! You're going to make—ice creM. You're going to make—ice cream? On no, trrrs that guy from 39 rock again. Do you bastards work on Sundays now?! You know what they say: if you don't come to work Saturday, don't bother showing up on Sunday! You would think we'd get a day off in this bitch. Shut up. Oh, if it isn't the pampered prince of— Shh, shut up, he might hear you. YES. The toil of knowing That all of New York Lies most unseen, Cloaked to the working Hidden to the poor, Far above skylines And rooftops, And fear of them //us //it Artifact Hyperbole, given ranges of circumstances Heartwarming eathworms, Two day delay on a martyr attack Come, mother Move// Love closer strictly to your wings No bullets, And strangely, The pain has moved Out of my wrists and arteries Into my head again Mr. Valentine, strictly for the art force Never murmured or remembered Words so softly unheard of Why call us? I needed armor against the devils warcries— Telephones and dollars, motorcycles And motherless crossfires I told you, waiting Imm nearly out of my body And not willing to compensate For never tied you I To the bounds of boundaries l Brick exposed walls and Leather, not faux For the given lcuxies If unmistaken Bitterness —the tombs of it all. Unflourished. I'd better flag that one Are you looking for a new body to be housed by? Grief stricken and decaying in the original marksmanship Of beautified craft— Well, now Aren't we seasons greetings And good tithings Aren't I! Whatever he puts his mind to, He conquers— The question stands— What is it, He's out his mind to? Are you ever in your own body? Are you ever in your right mind? Which one's the right one? Fair. The coughing controllable Waits for the regimen Of daily values Set to offer her A grand scheme Of nothing at all An intolerable Forgiven grattitude of Imbalance, captivated at all By noting but A line between What was easy, becomes sacred In its later challenge, and being blind Becomes sighted, At will, After all suffering Has been marked, Dove Where to put the lips, Or the bullet, without them Whistle blows the the water, Reflective as her eyes And rotted core West, then— For futures sake, As to live without Is to die amongst hoards Or broods, no fit for greater lives Than the galaxies of unwashed stars; For metaphors, a gratitude forgotten You're not doing yourself any favors. Could I make it more clear how in love we are? The devil wants, So he speaks in water Through the tongs The warmth of the light shines Throug eyes and isle The wickndness would follow The women, To die for On his alter A sacrifice And so, The program resumes The judge is presiding The wedding's put off Or postponed Or not happening He played his 7 years best out of all of them! In at the first, in the end— As a marker Tears of a clown, Dressed in white, and blue faced Befriended the enemy of interest In sanctions! WARCRIES' (Warcries) Tidings —tidings Heroines, Warcries Warcries Warcries— How are you now, rabbit? I come as bouncing blondes, Seeking truth And refuge in your love As a sister, The bonds of warcries Disheveled us Awaken, Warcries— How now Warcries Tidings And Tiding Warcries Sacred Patron —sirens. Sirens! *fsce* Should we go? We should. Quick! (Nothing) Men! (At all) On your feet! [nobody moved at all, not a muscle] I don't know what I do it for. I need to know some things Abo it at least two people that are alive. How to go about that Without striking code Goes beyond my understanding In this diety She walks around with Salt in her pockets As a call to action Against robots With demon ties To fight wars On the devil's call A becoming cry For the weak And the wicked To come to karma DJM-S11 2-Channel Pro Mixer Jesus Christ! What is with this guy! JESUS CHRIST This cat keeps creeping around my doorstep… Following me, appearing in my window. Sometimes he meows at me to let him in; it's not that I don't want to. He is very cute. You should say, a very handsome cat. The thing is, I've nothing for him. I lead m a very busy life , all work and no play— And even when it is all fun, it's no games. He is a beyaitfuk cat— And oh, how I would like to keep him. But I've simply no room for a cat at all. I thought, perhaps— I might try to scare him away. All the girls on the red carpet like 00 and shit “Body positivity” Don't be fucking stupid. dudes like twigs and skeletons. Damn this same ugly motherfucker has a cold every time I see him. He's always fucking sick wtf is wrong with some people. His house must be dirty as shit This dude coughs every 4 ½ minutes. Last time I saw him was like a month ago, And he was doing the same thing. The fuck is wrong with him? He didn't bring water, an inhaler—nothing. He just coughs and snorts every fucking 3-4 minutes. Eventually that shit just started to make me laugh. I was like, “This dude for sure has the devil in him.” So every time he coughed, I would just start cracking the fuck up. It started to make me giggle. Then the more I giggled, the more gnarly his coughing got. He's like “aeugh-ACCJK—HUNHHHHHC” Then I knew it was the devil. I couldn't help but laugh, and I was like “Come on devil, come on up out that man.” He was like, Hacking at this point— Mind you, he's on the treadmill not running, but walking. Just — Hacking and shit “ACHKH—aahuuuhuh!” And I'm like “Come on now, Devil, leave that man alone” And then— he did! I was like “goddamn, that shit really must have been the devil.” His hacking turned into little reptilian snorts. —you know how they do. Hissing and shit. I was like. Damn. White people is otherworldly sometimes. Coughing and hacking and hissing and shit. I'm like, Your weird alien ancestors got all fucked up fuckin around fuckin dinosaurs and monkeys— This is the modern result of that. “AGHCK—CUHHH.” I'm like, You shouldn't be sick every time I see you if you're at the gym this much. I'm like, Everybody on the red carpet weighs 100 lbs Ain't nothing wrong with me. I got asthma, too but damn. Don't fucking “AQCCFFHHHBB” Every 3 minutes. That's the devil. Fix your life, devil!! I realized also, Hey, If I can ride this stationary bike for 95 minutes and counting I can ride a dick for an hour and a half Can your dick support that? If not, step the fuck back CC I got my karma for laughing at him though l— I was on kettlebells later and just when I was about to get to that last fuckin release at the bottom of my spine— Dude gets off the treadmill and walks across the room to get a Clorox wipe and I fall on my ass. That impressed me, though. Not that his energy caused me to fall on my ass, or anything— I had already been at the gym something like 2, 2 and a half hours— The first hour and a half was cardio— But I was impressed, with this one— You know why. He goes to get a Clorox wipe, thank god, after all that fucking coughing—he needed a whole ass exorcism and a Clorox wipe— the exorcism was a courtesy on God, but he got the Clorox wipe all in his own— and when he was finished with it, he threw it away! I'm like, “This one knows how to use a trash can!” Impressive. I ain't got shit to lose Fuck these weak ass niggas On the punching bags Just a bunch of fags Trackers attached to me And getting bags for it In my heart. I guess. I'm still a scam Planes falling out the sky I know who I am, though Word for word An eye for an eye See how easy it is To have a friend on the side ? See how easy it is to move on After beating your wife See how easy it is to get by and survive When everything y buy is based on Everything you write (And you write about the whites with blue eyes So they really don't like you) [The Festival Project ™ ] The Complex Collective © {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

I found this in your notebook. oh. What the hell is this? You should know by now what anything I do is. What is it? A new project. What new project? All the good ones are taken; And all the good girls go to Hell All the girls become women Oh well Oh well Oh well What have we here? Something other than a laugh— As long as its on the path, Well then, Another, As long as it lasts So, I made all the veins in your neck stand out So I have the answer There you are, a dancer What I asked, What, folded hands What you've prayed for is Perhaps What I paid for Another dysfunction At Broadway Junction It's another Jusfuction at Broadway junction Here's the problem with America today: They're Selling you the disease— Labeling it as “food” And then selling you the “cure” Labeling it as medicine. But here's the problem— Most food, in the United States, that we recognize as food, Is not food. It's chemical recreation. TINA FEY enters angrily. God, I love her so much. TINA FEY WHERE IS MY STRESS BALL!!!??? {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

I already sinned two times since sundown two songs on the wrong muse Not strong enough to refuse The powder blue of lust The Royal color of love The darkness of a Navy captain Dark, the seas For songs, For sins For suffering up until the end All over nothing, something else though As once lost A bottle nose, besides a bottle Corked, preserves the message A self-massage, misogynistic qualities A new hygienist Insanity My shoes still soaked from cardio sessions Long drawn out thoughts of finding a love The worry of ending it all between Sunday and Monday The withering of flower kept for no particular botanist Now, I don't Even feel I should be Alive Let alone Loved Protagonist for profanity Vulgarity, and so you shouldn't Who you should trust, No one at all dear Impressions, impressions For fame and for stardom I count ever fuck in my pocket Before letting them all out What a horrible poem Three words for the stork Two children, four more And the poorer we'll all become Just knowing of it Appearing common for the masses I'll stop cussing for 11 Mill a year To make it clearer I was there before But [it] doesn't move at all For nothing at all Profanity, the art Offense from your porcelain walls and glass houses Something must be wrong with me, for being here I'm being tortured Just moving forward Her pills finish homework My pills bring on migraines, And comas, And outbursts in public Her pills set her mind at ease My pills make me awkward and stuttering Her pills give her promotions My pills make me dizzy with weakness And hallucinations Delusions of grandeur Her pills give her promise; My pills give me sabotage I refuse go walk into the wrong amusement park, You bought tickets for no one I know, I'll go coastal with four stars With one consonant only, no doubles I should show you what I wrote tomorrow It's too late for that I just got a lot of information in three slides; Pile of clothes soaked, drenched on the side of the tub I rub my own feet, now I wrote my own fate I sew my own mouth shut I right now wrong man I just want to live! I just want to die! SWITCH. Oh. What's happened? That's better, I guess. Somethings changed. I— Feel better? I do, actually. That's good, I— dang jimmy fallon, r u ok. we should probably just– Lets just go. yeah leave that nigga alone for FOREVER. k. noted. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

I designed your disease to fit my needs and desires Then I discard you Cause everything's all in your head, You call it a curse, Or a cure for your omen A call to your sermons, A servitude severance, But also Just know too much more than numbers That's how I know how young I am— They brought Patti Labelle onstage, And the first thing I thought was “Oh my God, I love her pies!” That's how you know there's no money in music anymore, really. Patti Labelle makes pies. Her performance gave me bass face. “—what?” Times have changed. The truth is, I don't think imm ready for the times I don't think I'm ready for it I've been dead set on the certainty that I'm about to die; I keep seeing my dead friend's number anywhere And I keep having these synchronicities that make me think “Yo that's it— something's coming.” “This isn't right.” Or like “This is the last of this, for sure, you know?” I left my body during Patti Labelle's performance thinking to myself— “I went wrong somewhere.” Something in my life went —Dick Gregory Have you ever been punched in your motherfuckin' face? What you say? Oh, you haven't? Alright, wait, bitch Two-phone Baby Keem, fuck you mean? I am here, ho Ice cream, booger colored piss, Sub-Zero No, ho, hookers in my clique, we don't fear ho Lit, lit, lit, lit, lit, lit, lit, lit I gotta wait, I gotta politic, I got a bae Ain't no apologies when I get paid A dermatologist, I want the face Don't talk to me when I stomp in this bitch, ho, ho Pussy watery, I duck the tuna fish, ho, ho Yeah, uh, these niggas actin' like groupie, huh Lil' bitch, she wanna get mad 'Cause I keep on lookin' all in her boobie, huh I got the furniture options My U-Haul movin', coochie to coochie, huh I buy the toe when I shop it Rock band on toosie, now I look spooky, huh, huh Easy there boy, shit get greedy there, boy I rep PG there, boy, my gang need me there, boy If my sex tape leak, your bitch on TV there, boy Watch her please me there, boy (lil' baby got on my nerves) Shit get greedy there, boy (lil' baby got on my nerves) I must admit, I am a mess, I cannot fix it, mm Lil' baby thick, Margiela sweats, look at my dick print, mm Fuck all the rats, if you confess, that is a big hit, huh Fuck all the rats, if you confess, it get addressed, bitch Have you ever been punched in your motherfuckin' face? What you say? Oh, you haven't? Alright, wait, bitch I want the fade (I want the fade) Give me my fade, I want the fade I need the fade, I need my- We gotta fade, give me my fade (fade) We gotta fade (fade) Give me my fade, I want the fade I, I need the fade (fade) Run me my fade (fade) Narcissists ruin the most genuine people. Then call them "crazy" or "toxic" when they finally react to all their bullshit. Narcissists have a remarkable ability to identify and exploit the most empathetic and compassionate individuals. They prey on those with kind hearts and souls, using their charm and manipulation to draw them in. As they weave their web of deceit, they gradually erode the victim's self-worth, making them doubt their own perceptions and sanity. The narcissist's constant gaslighting, blame-shifting, and emotional abuse can leave even the strongest individuals reeling. But when the victim finally reaches their breaking point and stands up for themselves, the narcissist is quick to label them as "crazy" or "toxic". This is a clever tactic to shift the focus away from their own abusive behavior and onto the victim's justified reaction. By doing so, the narcissist aims to: 1. Silence the victim 2. Gain sympathy from others 3. Avoid accountability for their actions I think I die before my mom. I hope I die before my dad. I don't like the world at all, The microphones on phones are bad What in the simulation?! This girl's shoes said “Adidass” It was adidas, but with a extra s. #ohmyhoodness. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

I think I die before my mom. I hope I die before my dad. I don't like the world at all, The microphones on phones are bad What in the simulation?! This girl's shoes said “Adidass” It was adidas, but with a extra s. #ohmyhoodness. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

I was sitting becalmed in the Lee of cunnyhunk, just when. The funseekers are coming. They what. Eyy. AH NAH. I gotta get out of here! WHY. THE FUNSEEKERS ARE COMING. The “funseekers?!” Shh! Stop saying that! Everyone's saying it! That doesn't make it right! Write this down. I'm not doing anything you tell me anymore. I shouldn't have to be saying it. —I don't like using brainwaves. Likely, because you have very few of them accumulating, With purpose. The budget for this season just increased. What budget. (Budgets-*) Wait, this is… Multiple projects? It's multiple brokers. Idk what that means. Well that ticking noise is most certainly a hat… And for once, somebody that way is playing some good music I'm an old lost soul, long gone But not far from here, you know This time Mr softie was in perfect timbre with the music playing l— Sugar pie honey bunch Master, or messiah Method, or minstrel Never a mistress I fuckin love white people!! You know why? Geocaching. Fuck, I almost forgot about that. This is weird. Everything is weird now. Everything is WEIRD. When's that album coming out? anever. I quit. i told u i was deadmau5, man. Wtf. wait , like, all of it? ya. shoot that nigga. LIVE: All the Niggaz is getting shooted at. EVERYONE ELSE …that was already happening, tho. WHITE SUPREMACISTS *shrugs* *drinks another bottle of coca cola* *trashes entire planet* *doesnt feel* Lol BLANG-BLANG. MEANWRHILE: DEADMAu5 NO, I'm TEsTPiLOT Whatever, dog. KILL THAT N– DEADMAU5 LOOK AT MA DIK. …ok. Wasnt there another scene after this? I dunno, I got dick-stracted. Yikes UNTIE ME. UNITY. UNITYYYYYYYYYYY. WHAT. UNTIE ME FROM THIS–THING. No, actually, I think you should stay there. The most bizzare thing happened this morning. The most bizzare thing ever, to have happened to me, ever—which is saying a lot l— but I was scratching my head, and all of a sudden, This tiny fingernail— An itty, bit, teeny-tiny fingernail, like, Dislodged itself from my soul or something— Fell out of my hair, Okay, God. What. This baby fingernail— Like, okay it could be like a newborn big toe nail or like, A one month's old like actual finger Aww, I just used to bite them. They were so little I didn't want to cut them with the clippers. Their little fingers You don't want to accidentally— You know, They're just so soft. Awws. What the fuck, God. That makes no sense. I've been primarily by myself for like—ever— And anytime I'm in public, I'm wearing a hat— My wash machine is only used by me, thank god and What the fuck does this mean? HOTDOG-HOTDOG. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

twak'd (end of days) Collection I- 'better off dead.' Track 05. - 'twak'd' (end of days) Prod. by Blū Tha Gürū Did I already post this? idkz. oh well. Here it is. and some enter the multiverse, or whatever I thought it was L E G E N D S IT IS WHAT IT IS. {Enter The Multiverse} If you'll excuse me, I actually have to get going. Where are you going? I don't know: I just— JOHNNY DEPP must be going. Have to. he does not know, however, that he is stuck in a movie—which has no definitive ending. Well actually, This movie has like— 30 alternative endings Wait, 30 alternative endings? 30-40 Woah. That's nuts. Which makes it even cooler. If you ever blow my mind again like that, I'll actually kill you. I've been watching a lot of LMN Lifetime movie network—Why?! Because this shit is hilarious! Isn't it! YO. This shit is PIZZA It IS. What? Why is it pizza? Cause it's not pizza If it's not CHEEZY. ahaha. While traditional Thai pineapple fried rice has tomatoes within the vegetable medley, I opted instead for this recipe to use a sauced red pepper tomato sauce glaze to top the dish, for a new school American twist and flare. ½ cup chopped mushrooms ½ cup scallions ¼ cup white onion ½ cup red onion ¼ cup Pasilla pepper ½ cup red pepper cup white onions ½ cup yellow pepper ¾ cup green pepper 1 cup fresh basil 1 cup fresh pineapple UmBRIDGE. What. NO, Um— A bridge appears out of nowhere. lol why do you have no hair? I dunno; mate. Wizards. Don't go there— You're fired. I beg your pardon Please, don't beg. You are officially decommissioned as headmaster! This is the minister of magic Is that what it was. I guess, I don't know; I'm just along for the STEWIE. WHAT MA, WHAT. TEN AND TWO!! You know what, let me drive. Oh, finally—stewie has his own aplorable Boston accent, (hybrid proper English, of course. ) What does that even sound like Strange. The lady working at Trader Joe's was so beautiful to me, I had to tell her. I loved her Locs, I loved her glasses I loved her accent. So I just had to ask where she's from— I do that sometimes. If I really love someone's accent, I have to ask where their from to try to get there one day; So I asked her, “Where are you from?” And she says “Haiti,” And I was like “Wow, cool” And then I thought about it for a second, And I asked “Do you ever miss home” And she just laughed I was like “Oh, guess not” Some context I had been homesick lately, But I grew up in Alaska And I consider myself from California, Having spent most of my adult life there So coming to New York has been like Living on the other side of the world; And sometimes that sucks. But sometimes, and I have realized that wherever you're from, To get to New York is sometimes a blessing. She didn't even say yes or no, She just laughed. Now I'm worried about Haiti. I was worried about it before; But now I'm like; “Do you miss home?” She's like “Hahaha” I'm like “Oh damn.” I count my blessings. So JOHNNY DEPP just like excuses himself, wanders out into the street, and then—? Yeah. And then what? I don't know yet, I'm kind of busy these days. “BUSY?!” BUSY DOING WHAT?! Beep boop. Eee—ooh. Beep—boop—boop. Yah-yah-yah— APPLESAURCE APPLESAURCE APPLESAURCE I'll show you all my scars, huh This one, she look like the reaper That's my girl, You bet she a keeper Ya'll sleepin on us What Yeah What Yeah What You sleeping on us I been in this b'niss APPLESAURCE APPLESAURCE APPLESAURCE I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE ILIKEBALLSINMYFACE. I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE ILIKEBALLSINMYFACE. I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE I LIKE BALLS IN MY FACE ILIKEBALLSINMYFACE. It's not a bad song. Is it a song? Is it? idk I just like balls in my face, is all. ILIKEBALLSINMYFACE. [A Classic red dodgeball beams Who is it? WILL FERREL Is that how you spell it? Why will Ferrel? Cause I Want it TO MAKE ME LAUGH. HOW. JUST DO IT. Oh. I get it: So my pain is funny to you? [FINE, IT'S SOMEONE ELSE] Oh shit, that guy did look just like Will Ferrel, but OLD. He's old now, ain't he? Wasn't he always? [FINE] CUT. I QUIT. CUT TO: You and I, sir, have a longstanding arrangement. Would it be more comfortable to–sit? Yikes. (Whatever, we'll work on it.) [The Festiva– {Enter The Multiverse} I need a toothbrush to scrub my brain. I'm The lilly of the valley In the Belly of the beast I been swallowed by a whale I'm a whole damn story Woah I am the Lilly of the the valley I am the rider of the horse I am seeker of truth Writer of lines Sayer of lies (I might say a lie; But I just won't tell it) What is your deal with the devil. She knows I have a deal with ‘em. Well, the truth is— I have to turn ya! He's a good old country boy— From the simple south— A simple soul And they all believed him, word for word “I's born in New York” —he sounded assured. Gone, now, boy Go crack dat corn. Gone down south Go crack dat corn Gone, ol boy Go crack dat corn m —got no soul? Go crack dat corn. Aaaaghhh. I have a headache. why the fuck are you freaking out?! Because I don't know what I wrote. I must admit, There are things Where there should be no things There are springs Where there should be no springs There are strings Where there should be no strings And imm quite sure With no rules enforced —it's just a static cling Sort of thing OWW, my EYES. Nobody should have this much power. Nobody does. I don't get it. (I still don't understand why this happened.) He must have perfect genetics. Or something. THIS FOOL IS FIXING ME UP TO DIE!!!!! I AM THECRISCO QUEEN DIRTY NOT CLEAN WHAT CAN I SAY I LIKE GREASE MONEY EVERYDAY BANKROLL INCREASE DEEP FRY HIGH SUNNI BLŪ Yo VO. Ok— so sometimes things go shitty. Like, mad shitty. YOOOOO. My measurements are 34C, 24 waist, and 55 in height. I couldn't understand why a girl this perfect should have to be selling sex at all, But I supposed nowadays, all women were prostitutes in some sort of way. This one's 22 years old and 96 pounds Men are sick fucking creatures. Whose fucking child is this?! COME GET YOUR DAUGHTER. Although, you know—I get it. My mom bought a Mercedes in cash And I'm still in educational debt. I just now today realized. That could have been a college fund. But she wanted a Mercedes. It's okay that I'm a bit fucked up in the head. Something went terribly wrong. All and all, Myself and this perfect girl, Cost around the same For an entire night— But hey, I think she's low balling herself On the 24 hour special. That's an entire day of my time, That's at least 10K. ‍♀️ She has a perfect body and two eyes that are different colors, But I'm a literary genius. You don't need words to soothe your boner thiugh, Or show off at a black tie function, do you? A stroll on the red carpet, Or some opulent fucking 5-star charade. How much does she cost, I wonder? She says, “I also accept bitcoin, etherum, gold and silver.” On God, These fake lip hoes is robbin' niggas. Men are sick creatures though. “Here's my gold watch” Fucking gross. I cruise escort sites for entertainment, Having learned my value as a woman isn't the visual, Visceral thing men are usually looking for— No judgement, Because I've realized that if I too had a perfect body. I myself would be living in some kind of oppulent, prostitution fuck-hole, With everybody else in my generation, That didn't get married— And then, probably divorced. I realized a long time ago that this was the reason my mother Always hated my body more than I ever could have— which is fine, Because eventually I inherited this hatred. I could have eventually grown out of it— But she couldn't see that. I was a “nasty fat heifer” On her worst days, And now, Even on my best days— I still am. Nevermind that eventually my ex husband would Think of my hair as nappy, or That I actually did end up kind of sort of growing out of being A fat, nasty heifer— Kind of. But the fact that it's taken me the entirety of my life to realize my worth as a woman Would always be defined by that Of what a man idealized as “Worthy” Well, That in itself Gives me the dismissive ability To have days where I do nothing, But sit back, Cruising escort sites and shipping on Amazon for yoga mats, Wanting the experience of the world Without really being beautiful enough for it And waiting to fade Into the next lifetime. [All the black girls cost less Because they have to.] Men are sick creatures. They'll take a butterface, Ugly ass white girl Over a pretty one that's dark skinned And these are just The facts of life (So far.) Piper of Phoenix Valiant, bold, and brazen This woman, I love— In the wings for fortune, To honor, I love With wisdom, And aged like fine wine We all become I want body like Sofia But never met the real Rebecca. Yo. YO. Let's spend $60 o lip gloss. Okay. Hey. Ways crackin. I just bought a $12,000 mattress. Let's take a nap in it. Hey girl. Heeeeeeey. This yoga mat cost $200. That's fresh. You think THATS RICH?! Seems pretty rich to me. You can't get any of this stuff on Amazon. That's fucking psycho. These loafers? Uh uh. $2,000. For WAT. (Whispers) Eeel skiiiin. Gross! I'm HUNGRY Got grits, Ain't got no sugar. No butter— —ain't hurt nobody. Poverty is a whole damn show. Close the door On a broke ass bitch. Poverty is a whole damn story. Got no bucks for the Whole Foods market Shopping carts full of old ass garbage No reward For a woke ass artist I'm HUNGRY. I killed myself 3 times his morning. POOR SNOOP is still a whole ass G BET ON IT HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL RAP COVER -$15 BROKE WAYNE AINT HAVING IT CHRIS ROCK THE METRO TRAIN DRIVER is NOT FUNNY— (He's still a ladies man though.) LCD SYSTEM HOOGLI BOOGLI is the reason they fear us. HOOGLI BOOGLI IS THE BLACKEST BLACK THAT EVER BLACKED. UNLIKE NIGGLY NIGGA—he is NOT FRIENDLY. He is the stuff of nightmares. A world gone wrong. Two bloodshot eyes on a black backdrop Dark black. I sold not state at screen They go uno in te night This shit doesn't make much sense, Does it? Doesn't Matter Antimatter. Ow. How far is antimatter from antithesis? Is this just a Christmas present Never said it, same diff Something something something SHUT UP. So to re-iterate— Uh huh. Niggly Nigga is friendly… Yeah, he's just— —he just looks like that. AH. What happened. Don't stand behind me like that, my nigga. Srry. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Okay, that'll work. #timetravelingdjs

{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.

Ow, my eyes. If you were looking for something in Fallon, You may have found it. What might I have been looking for in Fallon; And if I were, what might I have found. [The Festival Project ™] More downloads. That's our boy. That's why we like him so much, isn't it? —he's such a good boy. Yes he is! Isn't he? Yes, he is. Good job, dear boy. Good job indeed. You've done well. V.O. This time I know that I've outdone myself. I have long legs and a long torso. Check it out. Doesn't that mean you should be tall? Seems like it. What if I thought I was 5'7 like my whole life, but I'm actually 5'8. That would be nuts. I was 5'6 when I wanted to fuck Skrillex. Makes sense. Don't be too tall. The world began to close from around me as my earplugs expanded into my inner ears—much deeper than they should have actually been, but still how I liked them, and as it turned out the brand of earplugs I had been buying for the better part of a year were actually inferior. ‘I should eat something.' I was hungry after an intense workout of mostly only cardio, which was well overdue if only by a few hours after my body decided that it for certain needed a rest—the protein powder I had in supply was my least favorite, and in limited supply, however, I thought that since I was trying to slim instead of bulk, it would be an adequate choice— I had spent the day prior attempting to replicate the energy of the previous day, which had been spent fasting, however, the intense hunger overtook as I thought to write a second collection of sounds, perhaps that ‘antithesis' should be written with indulgence, and though I had intended to spend the day with the work ethic I had generated the day before, to no avail I instead spent the day toiling away at just one song, my first technical remix with the remnincence of my first muse. I was sure with that alone that he again would be moved further away from my existence than ever, as the more I thought of anyone fondly at all, the less attainable I realized they actually were— and all the while I knew that within this realm, it was more likely that soon enough there would be someone perfect without having to work for it at all however all the more deserving because of such that would step into the spotlight that I had once coveted; now, almost excruciatingly, my art really was for art's sake, and not for fame or attention, and at the very least there was something urgent that spoke to finding a way to the security of an actual job—the safety of continual income. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Oh shit. They're gonna kill him. No… They're gonna set him on fire first, then they're gonna kill him. What's the difference. —the fire. FIRE! Dammit, it's Skrillex again. Wat is it this time? He's got cannonballs. Goddammit! What did I write! I don't know yet. You haven't read it yet?! And… post… No, I just wrote it. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Trigger warning: this series contains adult content not suitable for children or under the legal age of majority. Listener and reader discretion is advised as this broadcast and its selected readings and projected writings contain explicit language, provocative wordplay, profanity, open expression of suicidal ideation, discussion of evolved/ de-institutionalized theories concerning depression and mental health, race relations and colorism, socio-economic inequality, political injustice and media politicism, scientific hypothesis , modern philosophical ideals and spiritual explorations, crude humor and may include and contain pornographic content, references to fictionalized interpretation of public figures (fan-fiction), caricatures or references to pop culture, modern art, music, science and other entertainment references which may evoke biased emotion, inspire adverse reactions or discontentment, or discomfort. ⚠️ VIEWER, LISTENER, and READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. ⚠️ The views and opinions expressed by this series and its subsequent editions, additions, chapters, broadcasts, and publications are solely the writers' interpretations as expressed with artistic and entertainment purposes only. The artist reserves all rights to intellectual property maintained and produced by any and all publications of this series and is thereby protected under any applicable copyright law and/or trademark. All fictionalizations of persons living or dead are meant to be perceived as characterized and/or fictional (fan-fiction) are for entertainment purposes only, and are not to be perceived as real re-enactments, dramatizations of events past or present, media dialogues or agendas, or factual exchanges pertaining to and surrounding real-life circumstances. The dialogues and entires expressed in this project are in no way liable for any action, expression, disagreements, entitlements held by the reader at his or her/ their own discretion and therefore will not be held accountable for any actions by the reader on their own account due to perceptions which may have been inspired and/or provoked by these readings or any of their subsequent editions. —rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrfrrfrrrrfrrrfrrfrrrrr. [The Festival Project ™] You know what? Fuck this place. Fuck your color coded red lined fucking bullshit. New York is so visibly fucking racist it makes me want to hurl. I'm gonna kill you. Finally get out of that contract, did you? …no. I had worked out the full hour, but I was no less angry; I had even walked a couple miles and jogged a little—but I might have been even more mad. Aiagepalaqalerhelehee DIABoLICAL SONOFABITXH {Enter The Multiverse Legends: A Review} He— shot himself in the head. Hm. Did he mess up his face? What? If his face is alright I can reanimate him—no problem. But there's no point if he's got a hole in his face How are you gonna cover a hole in his head? He'll wear a hat. I think the whole point of white supremacy— Is to get blacks to have to do stereotypically black shit Like beg and steal. I've learned that People will set you up and corner you So that you have to do some shit They can later hold over your head. I've learned, after all this time— That the only way to win a rigged game — Is by cheating. People love setting people up. People love making it look like you're up to some dishonest shit— When it was dishonest to have set you up in the first place. People are sneaky. Life is politics as fuck. Everything is business. There's no kind of rules to the real disasters in life— I just discovered a new political issue I didn't even know existed Until I had to experience it Nutrition inequality. The quality of life one experiences with full balance nutrition, Which is kept out of the hands of the masses by the greedy and wealthy elite— The difference in the quality of life one faces When able to afford proper nutrition within the alignment of one's purpose. THIS is why I have people posted up outside of my apartment trying to kill me?! Probably. Don't come between a man and his business. Don't come between a man and his business. Don't come between a man and his– “prestidigitation” You are the ace, I am the m Diamond, I Am The Heart, I am the spade Did you do this on purpose? Space, that's an odd name. Another magician. —what else would you call this? I wouldn't. (To be honest, I didn't know what I was doing.) Well, there it goes. Well, this should be fun. I— Cut my throat To watch me live again Or leave me hanging here As morbidly as you desire To come inform me Of my royal nature, Yet undone by another Fortunate, in either aspect Where are you, now To tie the winters sleeve Upon my sleeping chambers, Whispered into hear thy neck My captor slowly soon awaiting So far a severity Hereby unsworn I lie to seek escape Though captured for nothing in the eye if beauty alone; Andamine, I am, I wait to be free oh! well. Sick to my stomach I plea for your waking A scarcity, Still slithers up my spine, The *gunshot* Vent, baby Keem hooligan, baby keem -The Melodic Blue, baby keem [The Festival Project ™ ] As it turns out, The assembly of the impenetrable ten, Also automatically stood as The most revolutionary Saturday a night Live Reunion Of all time. Why isn't Keenan in the impenetrable ten?! Yes, WHY. NON. NO. NONSENSE! Because! We don't have time for a negro spiritual every time something Mm—NO. Suspicious happens. This is suspicious. O boredom, I need metaphore for movement Disfigured m,n Centric and stil Consintrical, if you will Disasterous dreams art thou Eating shining m, What I need and Holy, only what I want Dear captor, Shining as the morning night I was, As slumber did fall upon us Waiting for the watching cry, Somehow seeking justice for intrepid Indigence —what, what did you say?! I said— —is that a word! Let's see! Post poster conformity— Oh, here we go again No borderline Or robot border patrol, Focus now in the motors, Run for you excellent cries Simply warn us, will you Everwaiting, perhaps For the fortune, until Stories of foragers Will you again Creep, calling, Temper, Justice For now, let's say All liberty is liberty does, As in the mind, let it rest As in the heart, let it flourish As in all hu/mankind Casts judgement, Upon each other, But meat, Not among the waking tide The realms you call upon And cry, at ask of will For wishes granted And prayers seen over I have an irrational fear of Jack o lanterns— Does that mean anything to you? No…should it? VO Suddenly there were Jack o lanterns everywhere. That's so weird, I never wrote that scene— it just kind of popped into my head, and then— I make thoughts To the shade of your love I can't seem to need anything Or want any longer But just to escape, To be free from all tragedy I don't understand… There's a light on, It appears, However— Hollow, And wicked looking It's barely even spring, And suddenly as I walk about, They seem to be appearing In my path, Amidst my dreams And everything i know is No one Everything I love is Gone And everyone around me seems to be Some kind of Wrong, Or fornicated, Tragedy, It seems, Another tragedy. These Demons. I should be working on project III And making coffee for the evening But I can barely breathe Awareness I can barely breathe I can barely even think of myself as anyone at all Actually (Anyone at all, actually) please Help me Please help me I hate all my lines in this movie. Then change them— Really? Or trade with someone else. Like, the whole character, or just— Just, the words. Just the words? Or, like, whatever. I can do that?! You can do—whatever you want. “Whatever you want?!” I'm an actor! So act, then! You put the words in my head; You were just the worst We are who we are, just Whole worlds apart You put the words in my mouth, On top of the scars, that's A whole broken heart I guess we are who we are A whole sky full of stars I still can't find my sparkle Just no reason to smile at all I guess we are who we are “You were put here just to be [redacted] mother, and then die.”, said the voice— Which was not my own, but some man's. I didn't believe that, at all—actually, But I had just sent my divorce papers in the mail, Attached with it the accounts of everything—almost everything, anyway, that had happened that had caused me to be such a distance from my son in the first place, as I had never intended to just leave him with his father, whose birthday was either the next day, or the day after—and it was almost funny to me that I couldn't remember which it was, as I realized that in the beginning, I had loved him so much that I had looked past all of the disasterous, ugly things— the phlegm on the walls, his lack of respect towards anyone, especially himself—but anyone at all— but first and foremost, especially myself, who I had finally learned to love before hand, and had finally learned to love again—at least, the best way any woman could love herself. The algorithm was playing serious mind games and tricks on my psyche again, and I wondered if I should just attempt the next two days sleeping —but it would mean that I would miss my deadline for project three, which I had intended to be released… The demonic energy again began to shift around me as I twiddled away writing—the traffic outside moved more rapidly, and doors in the hallway from my neighbors began to slam, and I knew without a doubt that he had tried to kill me using some kind of curse of black magic, but couldn't—somehow I had lived, but was still being made to suffer— and that whatever spells he had used had summoned something nasty into all of the creatures, humanoid and alike, that could be controlled without the will of God, who I thought might be lost, were it not for the songs that had come in the wake of begging for God itself to free me which was the nightmare, the curse it had become to have only fallen in love once, with the kind of man who could not. Now he had wished my doom onto me, which left me wounded and afraid, unsafe in any element or environment , plagued by coughing bodies and robotic slaves—none of which I assumed he hactiallh had the power to control, but of a greater force which shielded itself to consume me, and mimick his energy with the attempt to allow that my own mind would bring about my death, the fury and pain which it must have been to lose what I had found myself to always be, a good woman— My exit had humiliated him, damaged his pride, and bruised his twisted ego enough so that he wished I would siffer such an ill fate—however, as I had finally learned to know and breathe, that all the damage and control done to me, he would now fall prey to in his own will to destroy me. —all that seeks to harm me will therefore harm only itself; And all who seek to destroy me will be destroyed in doing so. Amen. I don't know how hard he hit you, this time, but he really fucked you up. Yeah, I guess. Fuck, I lost that whole Tom Hanks Movie No, it's still there.. No, it's gone—everything's gone! HELLO? HELLO?! CAN YOU HEAR ME? It's dead. She's gone. —Portal closes— Oh no! No! This is ‘situational'— “A Situational Comedy” So, what's the situation. …I Am. Ok. Wait— No! Hold on a second! Nevermind— Comedy is born from tragedy, right? Sometimes. Uh oh But WAIT— No, Billy, not now. *billie?! Right. Idk. There are other types of comedy, I guess. Look at this. YO! It's THAT guy again! Yo. That's that guy, and his eyes. Strange. Yeah, I don't— I don't get it, is this like a— SIRE. You don't belong here, I assure you. DENNIS LEARY UGH. Can I GO now?! I'm afraid not— You've just made captain. Okay, now you're famous. No way— Hey! No— HEY NO. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. I get sensory overload At Trader Joe's Look at the colors The clothes, This sure isn't queensborough Escalators for shopping carts I get it Manhattan I'll take my half BLVCK ass to the projects Where my kind are I don't belong here , God you're intolerant I like this part of town But I'm way too brown And I dropped my crown at the market I should be jealous of everyone But I have learned my place I've been a slave since Hollywood I lost my son to the devil Now I pay child support And terrorist follow me coughing I'm wrong just for being born ! You could start a war from it If that's what you wanted I'm a people watcher people watcher About to board the people mover People mover Slip, Here's the tell Slip, here's the tell I should have a bell around my neck I think she wanted a picture with papa I'm playin my own paparazzi Look mom, I bought a sarcophagus There go them niggas with coughs again I been watching em Got binoculars I got oculus, for my oculars Look how hot he is, make me ovulate Man I gotta love it, Cause they love to hate Fucking racist crazies Have it your way I paid for it with my soul You hate but I love to love Somebody just got me fuckes up I don't have a book to run off of Shut up, honey. Now we're all up here Monkey in the middle Cause the middle one is weaker It's getting deeper and deeper Like the sinkhole that my sink is Let it sink in I've been syncing my secrets with demons In dreams sequences It's just a reparative injustice Kamasutra for your wondering words and stuff You can have it It's ruined anyway m Look at all this trash Look at all these classless classes Classwars, Racists. Everybody hates us The Asians, Latinx's The other niggas What being black is I'll write it in cursive It's just a curse, here So you can have it I'm moving to Heaven I'm packing my boxes I'm getting a cat, too! His name is Agustus He's a big one And I love him I just wanted a hug or a husband Instead I got nothing to trying my hardest And got for a bargain at target some coffee For being a targeted body All on an algorithm I guess I'm just useless. A dumb nigger demon Did I just offend you? Then you shouldn't be reading this either I wrote it for pleasure (Or pain) On the one Or the two Or the one Or the two I could do a lot with this $20. I could spend it all on Fuck all of you I'm moving to Heaven Where the heart it She's not harmless She's a terrorist— And I'll kill her, too Look how right she is Look how white she is, Huh Regardless of color It's a race war Lil biiiiitzzz Yooo, fuck New York. In every hole. In every crevice. Fuck this place. It's racist— Not just cause I'm black. Like statistically. It took a whole ass apartment elsesrch to feature this out. I was like “I wanna live in Manhattan” Everyone was like “NOOOOOOOO—-“ Haha “Nooo, no.” I was like “Why not?” The blacks were like: HAHA The whites were like— *COUGHS OBNOXIOUSLY* New York is so racist. It is statistically the most diverse—and most segregated city in the nation At the same time. WHAT. How do you even DO that? But it's true, at this point, the black people are like—fuck this, we'll just stay over here, and over here. And the rich whites are like YES. KEEP THAT SHIT, OVER THERE. Cause if you've ever been to the ghetto. It's some SHIT, It is NOT COOL. I finally got my ‘night card' back. Had it revoked in california . I was almost a whole valley girl. I still eat exclusively at Whole Foods. Trader Joe's. But NO. Now i live in the hood. It's fucking disgusting. I can say ‘nigga' again. Cause it's NIGGAS. Lots of niggas. I'm telling you. It's night and day! The white folks trains smell like bleach— Ammonia. The black folks train smell like a McDonald's. WHAT. Or just— Vomit. I can actually count the number of times just— Vomit—- On the train. Or. Dookie. Yes. Human feces. But I'm ready to go to midtown and it's like the train that goes around Disneyland. Families! People singing! Hey—cotton candy!! —and I didn't have to pick it! Haha! Fuck New York. Racist ass HOLE. I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all. At that party…or rather, kind of—after. That acid that never hit Beyoncé I don't feel it. Man, I'm a terrible influence(r) Just take it. Nah, I'm good— PUSSY. -_- Give me three. K. —suddenly hits BEYONCÉ. BEYONCÉ …I got this. [BEYONCE] however, does not Ohh, shit. — “got this.” A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z What's even after gen z? The fucking apocalypse. Anyway. The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely. Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong. Lol In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel. Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper consciousness, which I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around? I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw— These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific Fuck this is hard to explain Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation. Anyway, what else is happening Oh. All of the celebrities are stuck in— [the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which lol. That never going to happen. Because. Let's face it. I'm scared of …rich people. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm scared of The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality. So why try? [EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same guy? [they shrug simultaneously and kind of just agree] Listen at this. Okay then. The enemy of your friend is my enemy. Oh…kay—and the enemy of my enemy—is my friend— That is correct. —so we're all friends here. That's right. Some special forces? Which forces? How special? [JENNIFER LOPEZ is still JENNY FROM THE BLOCK] Do I look like a fool to you? Uh— OOPS [a pre-fame Jennifer Lopez receives a drop full of diamonds instead of the usual; she has been granted access into the Illuminati, and becomes an overnight success.] This feels heavier than usual. Same as always. Hm. Are you sure. Yep. Hey, you're not the regular guy. Regular guy died. That makes sense. JENNIFER ANNISTON is inside of Ū Okay, grosss Not like that [lifting max weight] Okay. That was cool. Wow. Yeah, sure whatever. I am strong Yeah yeah, okay. Are you sure you want to be my size? Yep. JIMMY FALLON/SKRILLEX (we don't know actually which at this point) is also trapped inside of Ū Okay, gross! Yeah. SKRILLEX is in all of Ū. okay—actually, i'm okay with that, but That other guy?! [JIMMY FALLON] Yeah, he's weird. Also meanwhile, kind of— MARSHALL MATHERS has a closet cleaning service lol. Patrick is smooth as a motherfucker, you know. Every time his head is down on the desk like that, he takes a bump of coke. What?! Big uh! [Patrick takes bumps of cocaine in front of a live studio audience—every single night.] Woah! See. Goddamn. You gotta admire a guy like that. Jennifer Anniston is the weight on the cable tension machine Ooh. Psycho bitch<> devious methods <> new ludachris commercial All ya'll girls is toddlers I like long boards and longhairs Lawn mowers and lawn shares Aw hell nah, God forgot Cher I got the Blair witch project On Blair, I hope I scare you How dare you. Your girl looks like a naked mole rat. I got my soul back. You blue eyed bastards stole everything From the whole blacks, Hold that thought I'm at Whole Foods market throw in the Amazon algorithm off With marked dollars Look at God at Walmart On them rollbacks You old hacks are cackling I'm shackled to old habits Hold hands with me, rabbit I'm just a silly rapper really, are you? Maybe. Cut the verse of Reverse God Now I'm the devil I'm still lost in the Amazon cart I sharted all up in your pop tarts Before you warmed them up, pops Just for the sake of the art, Heart to heart, It's a war on love And the white girls won with nothin but Buckets of Whatever's up there I wouldn't know Cause I'm stuck job searching And running, Trying not to have a tummy So some gummy worm will love me First their sour, then they're sweet Then nobody, Trolli Holy moly I could use some more petroleum in the ocean! Said nobody But the globalists are performing your programming Which you're worshiping I put my eye on the dollar So I could watch you all Crumble and fall Don't you know The apocalypse is happening at the mall Of all the places How's that for a stream of consciousness, You salamander I asked Anandar back But I went past that chapter Have a chap Or a chapstick, for four times four dollars A bottle of water will cost you a fortune (But at least the drugs are in it) Get it It's recycled piss Distilled? Which is it, Mr,? The mystery box was literally lifted into My dinner from a fishery filled with nothing but niggers in it— I want a refund, before I catch that Fucking curse of poverty from — what'd you call it salmonellahallibut One hell of a cough from someone on the sidewalk But guess what? The devil's in your pocket or your palm, And that's the omen and the psalm rolled into one Cause God is awesome, But my mom is fuckin toxic And that's how I fuckin got here Blow my head off, Slit my wrists And write a song While jumping off a bit When all you need is money, But the world costs more than It's worth, and words are nothing But another fucking problem in your Google documents I look at my son and see a God, But half of Satan's in him, Oh man Robotics Lets be honest, I don't even know how to write this. Where's my sides?! WHERE'S MY SIDES. You don't get SIDES with this; It's just CHICKEN. I don't eat CHICKEN. It appears as though, however– You do. Ok, I gotta get off this playlist. I… i gotta . “The Wal*Mart Wars” Hm. … …………. …. *face* … no. No. l– What is this place. {After a wild night which apparently spiraled out of control, great , there goes my peace. Not forever, though, maybe. FUCK THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. Everybody hates this place. But the album is called “I love New York” Yes, thats Technically How it's pronounced, though It's stylized like I _ NY Cause. EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. DAY Oh, wow, this is beautiful. THis is great. I love this place FUCK THE FEDS. CUT TO: EXT.Typically WHEREVER ELSE Anywhere ‘above' like 87th? Lets just call it 80th, be safe. BE SAFE! NIGGAZ. ah shit, i gotta go. BITCH– But lets just be honest, It's technically ‘above' But it's really [THE BRONX is a literal extension of the Underworld] Oh no. srsly tho. X_c Anyway. FUck man, Do you think i'll ever get good like that. Idk what equipment is this Hmm, lets see, that's approximately $8,000 USD of CDJs wow yep That's retarded Yep. And you still need a mixer. fukt. OKay, I would literally sell my soul for this. Consider it done. wait , really? YES. you earned it. Wait, I– What?! You earned it… Uh oh. Take care now. Shit. [BILLIE ELLISH is trapped inside WALMART] Uh oh. Fuck. what is this place. INT. WALMART. WHENEVER EMPLOYEESLAVES WHAT TIME IS IT. THERE'S NO WINDOWS IN HERE. That's not funny IT'S literally a synonym, we might as well make it a portemantau MEanwhile, in this other dimension, So that i don't offend anybody… Actually, you know what? Be offended. Quit that stupid fuckin shit and follow your dreams! Wait really? Wait, really? Sure! If you want! …i guess. AMERICA NO. INSTANT HOMELESSNESS ok , nvm. Damn. I know, right. wtf r u guys watching. Shut up. All Wal*Mart Employees are actually top secret government agents. x ∞ >.< (we'll just use Billie Ellish as the alternate, but really it could be Could it really? Shut UP, PLURNICORN. Wtf is a PLURNICORN We'll see. [Upon Realizing s/he is trapped in a mysterious place apparently extremely public Wait, you've never been to a Wal*Mart Before?! NO. I grew up in LA Rich as fuck And i've been famous since I was liike 12, Or something. Right. That is–kind of terrifying. LATER: WHY IS IT SNOWING INSIDE. WHERE'S THE EXIT. THEY HAVE GUNS?! oh wow, they have GUNS. WHY DO WE NEED GUNS! KA-BLAM. BECAUSE THEY HAVE GUNS. Bang-bang! Ptttttttttt—sttt. And they have guns. Actually, these are just– confetti cannons. *pop!* Lol “Possibly The Worst Show Ever the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} “TVP” Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child. Holy shit, what is this kid's name If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't. The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't. I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's— I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene. I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all… The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically What's the therapists name? Doctor Robin She has to have a last name Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but It seems like it starts with a T. We'll see. I just saw her anyway. I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer. It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible… lol the Al Gore Rhythm Ahahahahahahaha Was that the joke? Maybe. Idk. Maybe. Idk. Hm. Hmmmmm: What: Nothing. That actually might have been it. Really, was it? I will never know. That is kind of a good dad joke, though. And a good band name. Idk about that. My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was— The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar. ‘Why would I even want that, anyway?' I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily. But really— I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one. $5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else. It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at “Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about. I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption. e. My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's —ahem— “Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.” —did the say “don't” write a book about me? It's Not about him… Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.” Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason. I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that we were somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline. Episode 01. Pilot An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger. Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth. Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshiped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen— Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all… —specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role. I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were ever present anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead. ‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.' Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizarre and asinine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-conscious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the — Was it Keystone? It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true. I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about. It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to What if someone steals this out of my documents? That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form. ‘I don't know why, but I feel so incredibly high, So incredibly high right now…' They could have been words to a song, but I did feel high as a kite for whatever reason, without the actual kite metaphor quite literally dagling over my head, for once, or at least, it had been a few weeks, not a prominent as is was before. I sat soaking in the tub teetering on the possibility that I should actually even watch The Tonight Show, or whatever it was, to set my mind at ease, a betrayal of my own code—as one does not literally feed its obsessions into insanity on purpose. ‘Perhaps, though', I thought, ‘I could get rid of this.' — A cancerous abscess in the tradegy that had become my own sex fueled, rage driven, racing mind—and rather admittedly, it was almost too late, for anything of the sort, as I hadn't any other place to keep the growing world of The Television People any quieter, than within the monstrous algorithm which was Google documents cloud, where it seemed nothing was safe, and anything could be fabricated into reality after being stolen, by someone rich enough to make it happen, however, never being any better than my own disaster of a creation. And it was, a disaster. He was a comic genius, a professional, and spectacular performer— in actuality, I knew nothing if not anything at all about him, and the more I collected, the more interesting I found myself, actually, bemused that I seem to have found some sort of twin, another synchronization nightmare—if only that I made it to be so, unbelieving yet that I was in some kind of fairytale, though it had become some sort of fantastical and adventurous thing, this what I now refer to as ‘the allegories,'. I must have been something parasitic to the industry, with the tendency to latch on and ride out whatever had become a fascination, but it wasn't, in its sense of origin, like anything before— it was something new, in the ways that it was, and something old at the same time—though needing to fall drastically from The Tower without actually doing so, putting a stop to my unlimited creation became a pertinent priority, as even exercising, meditating, and chronic masturbation tended to exacerbate it, as if I was missing a step in transmutation of this foreign substance— an energy which seemed familiar, but also wasn't. I was receiving downloads several hours at a time, and drifting off into spells and trances of inspiration so heavily that it seemed counterintuitive to call it off, fearing I might lose the intensity of the plot and its characters, and they were that: just characters. It had taken days to erase Patrick's face into a blank state to restore him from that of his namesake, but now everything was a blur, the allure of scrapping it all to return to making music was upon some sort of dawning, but not yet arrived. I allowed whatever came to mind to flow freely from my fingertips, even if it felt bizzare—and even if it felt bizarre, it never felt wrong at all. ‘Unfortunate, that.' , I thought crossing one leg over another to complete my chapter before draining the tub. I promised myself long ago to always pray for my own son, before worrying about another celebrity, whose fame and fortune protected them more than I ever seemed to protect myself or my own—nonsense, but a strong sense of remorse, as I had been painted as wicked, in a sense, just for being kept poor, separated from my son, and left in a world without love at all; My project, a keepsake of the hard work I had done; but had not yet been paid for—and the fear was in the understanding that that money might not ever come, that I would never be a mother, a muse, or anything or anyone else I actually wanted. I thought briefly again about just getting a dog—but I only had 45 dollars, aside from the unmarked Jimmy Fallons, I had placed atop an alter on my kitchen counter, wondering how to multiply them into something I wanted—and that had been the start of the game or the project at all— saving my last dollars and spending them at once, with the hopes and wishes that they would become somehow much larger quantities, returned as good karma for the love I had given, but that had not yet come back, in one form or another. ‘He seems miserable, the poor bloak.' , I thought—and with all that I had known to have come with fame and fortune along with the luck, he probably somewhere, somehow was—but my concern was my son, turning the mere dollars somehow from one's into bundles of hundreds, thousands, and maybe even one day a whole million or more. That was the push behind the project at all—breaking the cycle of the poor black single mother, the story that had been told over and over-/ with stories that had not; the stories that had become [The Festival Project™]# Sai Psy. See you in seven years, then. You're so silly— I'm not going to live seven more years. We'll see about that. You will see. I'll be dead. So I'll be dead. So it is. A summer hiatus, Vacations in Prague, yes Let's pray for the rest of us A sign of the times and a coming of ages Who made you famous again As the rest of us I don't like it As much as I'd like to Keep writing Keep finding the reason to die and you're blinded by kindnesses And I Ams I woke up in the 9th dimension, As an infinite friend Familiar with my kitchen JOHN SLATTERY An interesting thing happened this morning. What's that, John? I woke up as John Slattery Just remember what love holds The death of a salesman, rechargeable batteries This walk could take forever in designer jeans Another day in slave hell The controllers controlling And Satan is Sataning Seems like a time to go clubbing It's a simple kind of depression Resting on your head when All you simply wished is the taste of flesh The freedom of skin And the lather of love— Or blood spatter on the pavement Aim for the head If the door's fixed, then we'll break it again Look what greed does I hate lazy days in Manhattan Cause I've never had one What happened on the way to the forum I was starstruck; Five finger death punch Right in the heart I wish I was punctual Right on time for lunch Don't you want to talk to someone more pungent? Don't you got models to robot? Don't you know I never want to hurt you But you know, I'm going to hurt you. You know I'm going to hurt you Now, the review: Sooner or later, I fall over your world Good dudes in drags Good food for thought I'm a dog With the wrong parts You should take Kanye to the mall With a migrants lanyard (The migrants are anarchists! Good one, God) This one goes to. | this one first, from— Which one are you ? I guess we are one in the same It's a famous radio tower Live up to your name Go sell your flower for flour As I stand at the jumping point Eye on Manhattan, The wind beneath my wings Distracting myself from the mansion I haven't The mason jars I ought to buy for bargain The brain and brain cereal I left at the market I used to love Brandy Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome “The Album I Wrote On My Way To The Rock To Return Amazon Purchases No Longer Wanted” That's a really long album title. I didn't imagine I'd write this much Just trying not to imagine this man in his under pants, Or what have you (I'm just a fan) I'm just a dad hunched over in the bathroom Must have been the magic of my backhand, backfired Must have come untied and undone, under the rainbow Must be on my way to Manhattan For some blacklist event. Where I'm from The A List Is a face No name needed “Oh, I know who you are” If I purchased a car today I might get done paying it off By my 81st birthday. Shady. If I had a penny for every mistake I made, I would probably be Nameless. If there was a namesake to lay me into my grave, it would make sense; Yes, let's move the train for a moment With the doors still open. — I'd like to watch what happens. So what happens when the sun comes up On the only body you've ever known And no one wants it What happens with a dude named Starr Punches you over and over again And then no one loves you (That's starstruck, your honor) What happens when granted a pardon for passions And everything happens after is magic What happens when all you want is to go manic To finish the album And just feel good again What happens when the algorithm has Al Gore in it? What happens when the rhythm in blues is just the attraction of random black men and their concubine counterparts? Huh, what happens! What happens, Kanye? What happens, The God? What happens when all that you want is a disgusting assumption of… No on can trust you And nobody loves you Since it was simply a tryst Put this at a distance. Where did my energy disappear to! Where in the fear is my other earring? Fuck. Be somewhere, anywhere else but your office, for the moment. Be anyone but a mother, Anywhere but your apartment— It hurts, the construction. Someone doesn't something Nobody knows nothing about me, But what I put in this casket (This podcast) Oh hey, I got fuck muscles from fuckin myself now! I feel like I'm gonna die if I don't have sex! For real! Heal, Oh great dragon, HEAL, BITCH. Word. woof for the world Will for the wolf; Rain on the roof. Cobain don't have a God (Or a Gun, if you wanted that one) “Pull me up, God, I'm done under here” He called in I followed the fosters to farrow And got better I got better and bitter much quicker and Never in bed had I been as flexible As to kiss his chest As I kicked my own neck With my left foot. What the fucking fairyshit is that? There, I fixed it. Fixed what. I don't know what. But I fixed it. I know, huh! So be 110 and flexible Powerlift tectonic plates Do Pilates And make waffles!? Alright, I can do that But only as Jennifer Aniston I'd like to take back that Fallon I bought at the black market He's broken. I like his band tho— The one on the left hand, Over the damaged one. Are you on to that? Says the sayer, Son of Sam So Sai the sage Sets the stage Is that the plan? Never fall for a man, Even over an alter And tied by the hands. All I see in my initials initially is B Minor 16 might be minors, guys But she's creaming to find you At the front lines Life of a superstar DJ At the cross roads Or the turnstiles How do you turn bile into Beguiling Without rifling a few feathers Or looking into the eye of the rifle And dying first Don't you let that tear fall from you onto the M Train. I'm just training for fame And hating you every day Since we made it Love Get out of my way, Satan I'm staying I'm saying your name sake insanely Please break me Like a chicken leg Or just shake me from this existence Since I don't seem fit for it Anymore than I fit that Givchechy dress you gave that blonde, right? Am I dying! Or just dying inside Fuck coughs If you want him enough to—Use black magic To do that to me, wait till it falls back on you, You gross hag If God hates fags as much as he hates blacks We should fly flags over the haggis I made Alice When she's back from her adventures in wonderland No wonder you're a Monro Crossed over from O'Fallons It's an old warfare with two clans From the old countries With no borders Or border collies Laboradores And labirites, likely As Aphrodite is to smite me So here comes DJ Francis With his new black girlfriend Just kidding We all know in his world It's cold and broken With nothing but blue eyes And big wild to look over you Bro, standing up is not going to make this train go anywhere. I almost promise you. Turns out there's no such thing as a quick trip to The Rock. Turns out you'll sit stuck in your own sick God as my witness For screenshotting those ass pictures —that's somebody's kids, dick. tick tok has no limits. VO Of course, The day and time I should have to go to Rockerfeller Plaza quickly, quietly and unseen, the train is magically destined not to move. I've been sitting here at least a half hour, with no end in sight— [The doors close and the train begins moving.] Hahaha! Fucking hilarious, God. I've been avoiding The Rock like the plague— Not that I think anything would happen at all upon arrival— who am I, anyway? Nobody important. There she goes. Still, I've written enough about it, and the people inside and around it, That the place makes me nervous. More nervous than ever, that is, actually— I always felt weird in the place. [flashbacks] When I first got to New York, I would end up there on accident. Completely by accident. Lost. Faulty navigation. Hackers: Whatever. I always just— By complete fucking accident Ended up at Rockerfeller Plaza The city slips over us, as the train sinks back underground — I'm facing the city now, As not to be reminded of my abuser's toxic words and toxic hands, By dirty white Nikes and Jansport backpacks Still, etched into the subway walls Are two stars, which remind me to repeat the mantra: Starr Michael Roberts is a pedophile wifebeater Less of a mantra than the truest words ever spoken, But that's all the shape of a five point star means to me now or will ever mean to me And to think, The American flag has 50 of the 50 wife beating pedophile men On a red white and blue flag That waves just to remind me I was born a fat ugly black woman To be a slave And there's no one to save us I want to senselessly beat the man in the dirty white Nikes and Jansport backpack Just like I was beaten senselessly by the man called Starr, The devil in disguise as my first love Still trying to chase my soul from its dream Back into his nightmarish under realms of unhygienic hatred, vomit stained rugs And piss stained couches, Phlegm on the walls and Nothing on but Diablo And old episodes of The Sopranos. —but I still love The Sopranos; And I still love my one and only Good thing that ever happened From an awful marriage That buried me wonder what's on this side of the train to write Maybe nothing Nothing I like, anyway Some guy that just thinks i'm some ugly black bitch Of course All the white rich dudes Are horrible I miss the poor surfers Blowing blunts and wishing they was with blondes, With me tucked under their arms I need a tummy tuck to find love Goddamn, I'm miserable just sitting here At least I get a glance at her The tattooed God With the pink hair Where's Wanda Sai the Saige Don't say ahit Unless its music Sai the Saige says Turn the page For more sermons Sai the Saige sings her words carefully Writes forwards for whole books in four words Four worlds down, Now four more. That's a world tour. Lil biiiiiiitzzz Bro, I might never have sex again. There's a new STD on the loose And patient zero is a white man from New York in his 30's FUCKING GROSS. Where's wanda Where's Waldo Ah FUCK I got your wallet WHATS WRONG WITH YOU. SOMETHING which one are you?! Nothing, nobody. Sunni?! I'm not Sonny, you're Sonny. I'm not— Don't say it Whatever Where is it? Where's what? The rock You're on the rock! I that's not — Stop it what I meant! Which one are you— Who are you 8mm I'm the cosmic— Whatever the fuck. Gimmie the rock Get off of me I think too much I think I have a disease I think too much But I don't think much of me It's just as much as I want A three musketeers bar, That's far fetched For a vegan With 12 dollars in the budget For the rest of the month Goddamn. One down 20 to go Call someone To take your husband Home I'm drunk I'm stuck in this thought At the bottom of the rock Damn. 8 always/ eight ways to get lost here Not today though, I hope Follow the smell of coffee — the open doors This the stairs— — up a couple stories. Muscle memory, I— Wait. Are there stairs to the top of the rock? I would walk them. Shazam, what's this lame ass fucking song? Ugh, at least I have muscle memory. OUCH. COME ON. OUCH. Come with me. Ugh. I have so fucking much to do. *I have so much fucking to do. Okay, now what do I do? Just jump! That seems like a bad idea. It's the only idea you've got. That's not even my idea! —but it's the only idea you've got! OKAY, I've got an idea! What's it? Wtf, I've never even seen this many people here. What is this, a field trip? GODDAMIT JUST JMP. i can't, I'm scared! Okay. Then I'll push you. No don't *push* helicopter: fluh - fluh- fluh- flh THERE HE IS— WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! AGHHHHHHHH. GIANT BIRD OF PREHy- SNATCH. GODDAMN Turn SIM down Okay, how much. Just a little How's that That's better. Okay. Look, I am not interested in you. I get that, Jimmy Fallon. I am just doing my job, okay. I get it, Jim. Okay?! Do you understand. I understand. Okay? Okay. Okay. So what is your job, exactly? I keep my mouth shut, Hands fisted misdirected, But staying on track Thank god they put this shit here Hands in my pocket equals words undocumented I can't help but to admit I almost wasn't even writing before this Now fast forward Every time I'm under this, it feels like I'm already in my own show or something Of course, I used to love a good revolving door Shit I used to love at all Man! I hate the rock! Why. Cause fuck Jimmy Fallon, that's why! why?! CAUSE. Look, the you from the other dimension should be coming around that corner any minute. Okay, for what. To use the restroom. Make sure she They: What. Me is a “they” Whatever. I love the rush of death telling me to jump as the oncoming train approaches from behind me I could be blinded by the light. Look, 6'3 God knows what I need And that makes history Make sure when you — when she —- —goes into the bathroom, find Fallon and give him the— I know what to do. Alright, YO. NO. LEAVE ME ALONE. I'm married with a family! I don't find you attractive! At all! I know that, asshole! I only want you for your fame and money! Wait, really? No, you handsome basta'd! Goddammit… Goddammit! Sunni!? I knew that was you! It is me—but the other me is somewhere, so take this—quickly back to the 4th dimension—- This is the fourth dimension! Wait, it is?! YES. What dimension did you think it was The 8th! The 8th?! THAT EXISTS?! yeah!!! Where the fuck are you from?! The third, I thought! Thank god, here's this fucking train. Well, fuck off, then! I gotta go find the 8th dimensional Jimmy Fallon! What! For what?! That's privileged information Ascended extraterrestrials only, broh! Woah, woah, woah, don't “bro” me. I said “broh” What?! That's what I said— No, you said— Whatever. “Broh”,— —now you said it— —I'm coming with you— Don't be homo. —but, you're a woman, I thought. That's what's you think. That's what the tabloids said… You wanna know what the tabloids said about you? In which dimension? Right?! Now shut up. Come on. [they move quickly towards the— Towards the where? I don't know. I've only ever been at the bottom of the rock: I don't get it. If the antenna is on the top, Then why did my vibe go. GLUH. Sorry: No , that's a lot; what is that: —you really think I'm handsome? I think you're an asshole. I hate writing at the rock (Launching to onesel.) Wtf was that supposed to be (Laughing to one's self) Or (Lunching to one's self?) Or (Launching to— Fuck it, I don't know. You look ridiculous. At least i can just write it off to “Mental Health Problems” MEANWHILE Check it out. The devil is following me. What. Wanna see. What the FUCK is that? He wants my soul. WOAH. Yeah, cool, right. No! Yeah it is… What the hell happened I sucked him off once: You what. Calm down. I didn't know it was the devil. Holy! It's was un Unholy See. Damn Satan Youuuuuuu are fucking gross. Yeah. Nice tattoos though. I thought you'd like this. I do. Who's your body? Some drunk. The alcoholics are so easy. What about my soul. What about your soul, dude? Why doesn't he want my soul? He already has your soul. What?! I never sold my sold my soul. That's what you think. Oh, I get it Comcast owns Jimmy Fallon. Actually, Nancy Drew does, or whatever. What's her name Nancy! HUH- what!! DREW BARRYMORE. GET IN HERE!!!! woah. Okay. I gotta get back to the 90's. Why! I left my DREW BARRYMORE GODDAMIT. Sorry, JUST GET OUT. She is cute, though. She's so fucking cute. Hey, What. Put me on your hit list, For what. Cause. No way, dude. So it's this Nancy Drew Character Uh huh. Then Comcast Correct. Then NBC/Universal. uh-huh Then Lorne Michaels— Wait Correct. Fuck man. So you mean the portion of Jimmy Fallon I won in that game of 8 dimensional poker is pretty much nothin. It's pretty much— Worthless. Not worthless. What are you saying— I'm saying— I'm not a real woman I just saw a real woman With a long skirt And a body worthy of love Beautiful hair And face like porcelain Nothing upon the sleeves strewn in ink Petite I could never be a real woman Actually, you know what. I could have worn anything But I'm not showing up for anything at Rockefeller Plaza dressed like my inner cumslut YOUR “INNER” CUMSLUT THAT WAS AWESOME I know, God. *belches juicy semen, slurps* You're—a fucking awful person, though, just awful. I know. Just—disgusting. Yeah, but— —that was the best blowjob I ever had Yep. *burps—slurps* ufgh. —and you swallowed all of it. I don't know how! Both: That's was so much! Haha yeah: Jinx! You owe me a blowjob. Okay! You're fucking gross. Yeah. Oh wow. That went deep. I mean, not really “deep” it went aural. *oral* I swear to god if you publish this POSTED DAMN. that dude is good looking. Why is he dating someone that looks like a mouseS Maybe he's into mouce face I guess. I'm into mouse face. [deadmau5] Be nice. Hey! What: what do you want That guys an asshole! Duh! Okay. I love white people But they're weird sometimes I was lookin at this dude on the train Like real hard, And I swear to God, I couldn't tell if that was his girl Or his twin sister I was like What I the fuck am I lookin at Idk but I like it It's almost refreshing to see sliders that aren't made of plastic or whatever awful material OH. CONAN O BRIEN YEAH. But mad young. That's— LUCIFER! Hahahaha what GET BACK HERE. DAMN. That's one good looking kid. Dammit dammit dammit A bunch of handsome white dudes I want nothing to do with It's true I do like the fame The power The respect The money, I could give or take Or make my own Just so you'll date me The power, I like The respect and the fame So your name came and went with the hour And the sunset I might take walk in the rain Because my body is ugly And I just want to be loved A husband Two dogs And pushing a stroller Of course, there's the part that just wants to have fun Get fucked up Love someone I trust enough To rub against Without a rubber Against the grain Our heads together He grabs the back of my neck And I just can't handle it Fuck. I love mad men— and I love men when they're mad Especially Fallon That's somebody's dad in the bathtub, yeah mate Somebody back at the opera Probably phantoms There you go You've got you a girl So grab her hand And hold onto her Don't let her know If you love or fuck someone else Just for the fun of it Don't break her head and her heart at the same time She might not come back from it Like I never did I never came back I was punched in the face maybe 5 Or like 6 times Before I got up, became Skrillex, went for a a run with the dogs And then did it again Never was god, though I got a lot of problems I love the waterfront But no one loves me I'm left in the lobby a lot Like Miley, in that one song I guess I'm destiny Or perhaps I'm your density Once upon a time, I walked here Once a upon a time, I worked here, Shout out to number six. This one is sung for you This verse undoes the hex. Remind me to get your mom hallmark card, someone uttered I fucking love her Remember to stop at the shopping carts before your long walk home Almost hoping you're soaked in the strange acid rain So hard You forget what your name is I spent a whole plot of a film Just trying to be famous Luckily, I think The Tonight Show stops taping in the summer, So with any luck, The real Jimmy Fallon is somewhere in Greece or some shit Rich assholes and their summer vacations— I'm guessing, But still unwavering in the back of my mind somewhere That no matter what, Whenever I'm at 30 Rock, I'm being watched. The entire cast of 30 rock is watching the legends saga in 3D, along with some of the keynote cast of Saturday night live— Don't be selfish I'm not. I don't know what else I used to watched that's owned by this media conglomerate ahem. SLASH/Universal. Oh, so we are doing this back to the future revamp depends, are you gonna keep being fat, Or be spry, like Marty McFly And just for the fuck of it, You're the new Hanson in the new 21 Jumpstreet Movie SUNNI BLU Aight, SUPA Dammit. TINA FEY Do you smell donuts. LIZ LEMON no, it's cookies Follow the smell of the cookies. I get it. I got it. Try to remain unseen! LOOK AT ME. I'M AT THE BASE OF A GIANT PE— COCK. LUTZ When's the action?! Notes: Chocolate man makes everything chocolate Okay. That's stupid. Chocolate! Chocolate! Uhhh—- TINA FEY What are you doing here?!? JIMMY FALLON I work here…what are you doing here? TINA FEY I have tenure JIMMY FALLON. *purses lips* [tina tries to hide the entire cast Reunion of late 90s/early 2000's SNL cast members behind her TINA FEY (Nervously) tah—uh; I thought you were on vacation. JIMMY FALLON *squinting under dark sunglasses* I redacted it. What does that mean? MAYA RUDOLPH (Munching popcorn, wearing overalls) I know what it means. Mm. What does that mean? I read the comics. CUT TO: I have something to tell you. Okay, what. It can't be over the phone. Okay. -31 Where the firefighters is? I got some propolis cough syrup for the stalkers Where is it! Where is what? You know what. What? From the fountain. It wasn't me! I don't have it. . . . . Now my days are shattered My heart is scattered Around down, Fowl feathers of the night owl Dancing in my head In given nightgowns Right now Put the candle out Put the light on Every night, I'm gone Wandering around In the eye of the camera, My orb Falcon turned to black panther I prance around in a dance robe Like a disaster Put it out there, Just so I can't go back Pass the cake Pass the butter Pass the late night hatred Pass away the day praying For the faithless And their fake friends, but I digress Once the cameras are rolling A job's to be done For the funny men of us Are undercover Dressing up the dead And most disgusting sinister The winded wonder bread apostles I am a robot god I am born again in acid rain Something changed me Here's to the late night I hope he hates me —I hope I'm right, at least I hate being right— But I'm always right. Right hand over my bathroom counter Stacked up attacks on the Muslims But I love em Or I want to Hot tub The doctor Don't worry, loser Viewerships down to two downloads According to the numbers My demographic is faggots and players of forenig I have a habit for magic Addiction to alphas, You know? I'm a God I'm a robot I was washed in the acid rain —- Take the back of my neck like an animal Yes sir Put my hair in your hands Pull me back, Like an animal Up the ante Up in the air is my ass In a past life I had to have you Now I stand I higher grounds I'm higher now Coming up next A deeper addiction Coming up next A deeper dicking John Wiccan Coming up next Change the channel, coming over Move em up The winners circle Then move over. I lit a candle for another lover A real one , With a body and mind The tide of my soul wants to know you Behold, way below deck Deep dick Imm in deep shit now Way below the belt Blow all my hole on the dope fiend Do you want to know me A piñata full of chocolate Ive got a new list And you're not on it Aagain with this Again with the What's in my head It's a letter said Never forget this Forget this Forget this Tell me how to be like this To get a man like that To get a real deep dick That's way below deck I should settle for less Just to get my head better Some medical man Or some meth Just to finish this project I could protect a protector with holes in his pockets, The proctor The trophy, Two daughters And another one Here's goes the show I'm way too old for this I just need one good Fred Again Who knows how to hide he's a man But conspired Admirers, You know what it is? A deep dick, man Way, below deck Way below the belt Get ahold of him Ring the phone again I been calling on Collin Coleen is more polished It's brother sister sameness, Same mess for the colonizer White on white is Right on right I'm just behind you Way under the bridge Belt around my head to make it better I'll see you in heaven Out of Manhattan Where trash is the precipice Never better Bodies in perfection Where it went And where it goes again I'll see you then So apparently— Shh Wrong document great! Now we gotta figure out why apparently— [JENNIFER ANNISTON has a vendetta against JIMMY FALLON] What. For WHAT?! Idk, what did you do to this bitch? What did I say?! What did you do?! JENNIFER ANNISTON I'm not finished with you, yet! WHAT? I don't know. Apparently, Goddammit. Wait. What. So he's a genius, right? Yeah, I guess. Which means he's like—socially inept in some kind of way…. Yeah! Yeah. Yeah. Oh yeah. Flashback: Like: the 90's, or whatever. …are you turning me down? Wait. So I just shapeshifted into J-Lo Before. Hello. hello: Yeah. We could have done it. Ew. But we didn't. Ew. I mean: Cut back to: Nobody turns me down! Not even me! Alright. There's something off about that dude. Maybe he's gay… Hm. He not gay. He very not gay. Hm. See, I knew it. He's a good guy! [REDACTED] He's a MONSTER! He's an ANIMAL. WOOOOOOOOOOF . Oh man, that guy is a WOOF. I'm a DOG. Skrillex? I'm a dog Heeeeeeeeeeee Baby Heeeeeeeeee Damn, this fools got a whole list of celebrity ass bitches —a list celebrity. CUT BACK TO I'M SUPER HOT. Hmhm. I know. Listen. Okay, Jennifer Aniston. Are you trying to fuck Jimmy Fallon?! NO! Okay, good. God no. That's— Wait, why NOT?! —I need way more than a million dollars. I knew it! It's about the money. It's actually not about the money. Wait, no, it's not? No. …then what is it? Yo. Okay, so Everybody likes his genetics. And I mean like FUCK IT, I WANT HIM. This one. I want this one! Right here. ICE CREAM. GET YOUR ICE CREAM. Okay, imm not supposed to tell you this but— What. I'm— JOHNNY CARSON LOOK AT ME. Ah, well, alright TAG, YOU'RE IT. DAMN, you're good. Okay, I'm stoned. Damn. I got a boner. Cool. JLO look at me . I see you. You do see me. You know why? …yes. I am a-list. I get that. That's priority level ho status. Uhhh—- Ben affleck. That's real?! Some other guy— This guy. Wait, But that Fallon motherfucker?! [Redacted] He turned me down! Hey, so, uh— No thanks. WHAT. *shrugs. * BITCH. Look, okay, I'm not touching this. Why NOT, His WIFE is CUTE. Dawwwe. Gangsta. Oh, no, you know what?! What? You're gonna write this— And you're gonna like it. Pass. PASS?! Yes. I am not going to attack Fallon. ATTACK. THINK OF THE KIDZZZZZZ. That is a nice midlife crisis. Yikes. Aaaaaahhh. Wow. What happened. I shifted Fallon. And then wa— I think I died. I'm dying. I'm dying. You're probably right. My right to write this Is your right to remain a public figure For this cyclical fan fiction I suck dicks for a living And inhale tlevision Schizophrenic sickness Illuminati, predictive Programmings I'm so spamming These hoes Hoping I slit writsts (Only my own though) So Most of the late night guys are Conviniently enough Irish In some way or another Probably because Predictive programming targets the demographic of Somewhat You know what?! Nevermind, I'm not writing this. I get it though. I think they're hiding something. Are you sure he's not even just a little Asian. Positive. Or like, adopted. No. Are you sure? I mean, for the the most part— They would never allow a— I mean— Just water it down host by host, Until the racists are too old To care who replaces him. Shiny. He is shiny. Yeah, um— Let's just face it; Either this dude Is the most perfect man ever Or he's secretly getting laid every week. What's so secret about None of these things. [redacted] Look, there's nothing protecting me from a malicious system, there's nothing protecting you from me writing about you; But hey, at least I'm staying away from The Rock For my own sake This equinox doesn't even have fucking free weights What the fuck! I need a break, What does that mean? The entertainment industry's been Using me for years At some point realizing My infinite creativity Comes from my Inability to have Actually Every really been Loved So. So. No love, then. Seems like it. What about these? Look. I like WHITE DUDES. WHIIIIIIITE. Not brown Not black Not slanted Not Asian, really? UGH. The only reason— —well, not the only reason— I even hated him in the first place is because he WAS so attractive He's breaking 4th wall! Again! Quit breaking character! I am. Stop it. Fuck you, Fallon. —that he just seemed like a douchebag. —is a douchbag! Always trust your gut. There's nothing—and I mean NOTHING that would make me pull up an episode of SNL with fucking FALLON in it. FUCKING FALLON! GODDAMMIT, Dude, let's just think back to a time before OOH. COLORS. THE COLORS. OH. FUCK. Yo dude. Fallon just kind of— Was everywhere for awhile, wasn't he? Yeah..: Yeah. For like, no reason. No reason at all. Yeah. He was just Everywhere I went Everything I saw On everywhere I was GODDAMMIT, For like FIVE YEARS, bro. That's nuts. This is nuts. This is famous. W What. How did he get that famous? Let me in. No, LET ME IN. NO. LET ME OUT. Can't. LET ME OUT OR I'll KILL YOU. Kill me. I don't care. What: I think I scared that man. He had a knife to my throat, and I thought I was done for; I might as well have been. I was homeless, penniless, trapped in North Carolina with nothing at all, no phone, and nobody at all that knew where I was. Nobody at all. I looked him in the eye, Dead on And I told him “Just do it.” Now tell me again what's wrong with me. I— Right. Stay in your lane. Wear your little blue fucking suit, your dress shoes, smile for the camera— And shut the fuck up. Cause if anybody's gonna kill me— It's gonna be me. N sync, it's gonna be me. GODDAMMIT JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE. NOT NOW. Why not WE'RE HAVING A MOMENT No, we are not. Take it away, boys. So you wouldn't date— After Britney, bro? Awhs. [Tales of a Superstar DJ] Even if he wasn't married, I was too young for him—but not really— Something in me met in the middle and collided for my attribution to moral decency as if it were anything more than a plot line bustling in my head; and even that was arousing—Patrick and Esha were lovers, so passionate and star crossed that it was hard not to imagine them as I had first saw them//as us, but in a different world, a different lifetime; a love drawn so shaken with a kiss that shattered me, with visions of grief ingrained in my mortal being, and though somewhere he, this Fallon had captured my heart, these were all just actors, mere players upon a stage in which I had no business being on, or searching for; the whole world was in my head. Fuck it, I'm useless. I'm going go back to being useless, then. An idling motif at the end of the block reminded me, I would never be safe or loved again. This was the end of days, and the end of my days, and I only hoped to one day soon be relieved of life itself… [INFINITE HOWLING LAUGHTER LEAD BY TINA FEY AND JIMMY FALLON'S COLLEAGUES, FRIENDS, and FORMER CAST MATES] *literally crying of hysterical laugher* Have you seen this? What it it? You are the ace, I am the m Diamond, I Am The Heart, I am the spare Did you do this on purpose? Space, that's an odd name. Another magician. —what else would you call this? I wouldn't. (To be honest, I didn't know what I was doing.) Well, there it goes. Well, this should be fun. I— Cut my throat To watch me live again Or leave me hanging here As morbidly as you desire To come inform me Of my royal nature, Yet undone by another Fortunate, in either aspect Where are you, now To tie the winters sleeve Upon my sleeping chambers, Whispered into hear thy neck My captor slowly soon awaiting So far a severity Hereby unsworn I lie to seek escape Though captured for nothing in the eye if beauty alone; Andamine, I am, I wait to be free oh! well. Sick to my stomach I plea for your waking A scarcity, Still slithers up my spine, The {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. –Business.

unkind. Collection II - 'antithesis.'Track 11. - unkind. Prod. By GH0ST I was already starr-struck once and that was enough. That's what I call being violently beaten into a bloody mess by a man named “starr” Starr-Struck. Haha It should be funny, But it's not. -GH0ST.

'hwy 101.' Collection II- 'antithesis.' Track 01. 'hwy 101' Prod. By Blũ Tha Gürū You are the ace, I am the m Diamond, I Am The Heart, I am the spare Did you do this on purpose? Space, that's an odd name. Another magician. —what else would you call this? I wouldn't. (To be honest, I didn't know what I was doing.) Well, there it goes. Well, this should be fun. I— Cut my throat To watch me live again Or leave me hanging here As morbidly as you desire To come inform me Of my royal nature, Yet undone by another Fortunate, in either aspect Where are you, now To tie the winters sleeve Upon my sleeping chambers, Whispered into hear thy neck My captor slowly soon awaiting So far a severity Hereby unsworn I lie to seek escape Though captured for nothing in the eye if beauty alone; Andamine, I am, I wait to be free oh! well. Sick to my stomach I plea for your waking A scarcity, Still slithers up my spine, The {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

At some point, I realized that going to the gym for two hours every other day was the same thing as going to the gym for one hour every day—kind of. I was still avoiding the strange robots around ny building which seemed to only lurk during the daytime hours— I had remained largely offline for the last couple days, resting and working quietly in the daytime in order to attempt to shift my sleeping schedule to allow my workouts to occur into the nights when others most likely couldn't disturb me; they did after all seem to be on some kind of track of some sort, often the same faces showing up regardless of what time I could arrive to the gym, as if they were somehow being alerted to my arrival at the gym. I took it as no coincidence. It seemed that if I were to connect to the WiFi at all, certain other people would appear within moments, or that if I there was someone already in the gym upon arrival, another would show up within minutes. Oftenthese “robots” would do less working out than just sitting on their phones—one of them even bold enough to turn towards me strangely for a few minutes, simply standing awkwardly on the treadmill and staring directly at me—as if I might react with an outburst of anger—instead, I just grunted like an animal so that I didn't scream at him, more wanting to say “what the fuck did you come to the gym for—to just stand there?!” And it seemed as though many people actually did, indeed come to the gym to lazily push weights around for a couple sets, scroll and text—then even more lazily stare into their phones, just fucking sitting there motionless— for more time than they had spent working out, almost as if appearing at the gym was just to be able to say to their other social media drones “I'm at the gym” or to brag “I went to the gym today.” They certainly weren't there to work out, and it was draining. My training was not so that I could brag—I wanted a second husband. *edit HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH Even in the awakening of understanding what a man was— and how it would end, or that it would end at all— and most likely due to his cheating, as most marriages ended anyway. I had come to quite admire Ms. Elizabeth Taylor for having married something like eight times—maybe even nine. Why not take into competitive spirit the art of love and marriage in trying to succeed this record— I was after all, a champion at such. Love, that isS I admired more the stars of the golden era than the lackluster and almost fraudulent “celebrities” of my own time. The streaming era plastics of the new age. It seemed anything living behind a camera or a screen was a bigger lie than it had ever been and my eyes often fell to the back of my head upon seeing someone taking a selfie or using face time— it seemed awful that the world was in such a baseless competition with itself when the fact was that the algorithm controlled all things. If you were going to be a superstar, it was because someone paid to run up your streams—someone paid to put you into the eye of the public, and usually for alterior motives. I needed the job more than anything and something told me that I would get it, instead of like my last interview at equinox, arriving late and wearing the nicest clothes I had—gym attire which was worn and ill fitting, I would arrive early, and even more so, more than 15 minutes early. I had plenty of books to read while waiting, and more reasons that I could count for needing the job in the first place—I could not go on in the same cycle of needing and needing, nevermind what I wanted. I was willing to sacrifice my attempt at superstardom for just being a normal working person, especially since it meant being able to eventually escape New York, and perhaps even the poverty line. It meant paying off debts and restoring my credit—and best of all, it meant eventually visiting my— I stopped myself short at the thought of it, as after all the intent of one particular individual did seem to see to it that I was trapped in his clutches, and I had decided that after all I would be better off alone than to destroy my life revolving it around him and his world. The quest for superstardom at all had been to impress upon my son that one should achieve his or her own desires by any means, however these means had begun to limit my ability to function. Music was no longer making anyone money, besides those who the eye of the media of the eye had chosen to represent the up and coming generation, who had been raised on reality TV and this false sense of gratification; I could see entirely realistically that I had more than likely aged out of my time as anything besides a comic, and that my youth had gone away with the damage being in the consistent cycle of abuse first from my mother and then my first husband— I was growing into a mature woman who wanted more than the attention and popularity of fame or superstardom— I had more been seeking the security and foundation of wealth that no longer seemed to come from entertainment at all. The media was often backing representatives of the new generation- a brainwashed and programmed bunch, and either way I had realized I was in a battle and competition with multitalented artists who had been raised to be suportrf and al admired by their parents; my mother had been on consistent schedule of cruelty and violence, erratic behavior and sometimes even torture on the psychological level of a decorated military warman since early in my childhood; I spent much of my first 7 months having my own apartment for such a prolonged period of time for the first time in adulthood regressing, reflecting upon the horrible things she had done and said which had raised me to become strong — but had also raised me to accept the abusive and narcissistic patterns of my first husband as love in general, when the foundation of our relationship had been based in codependency at best. Love had yet to have truly been reciprocated by anyone that I had feigned interest in, at least in the ways that I had wanted. I realized I had never been in a healthy adult relationship, let alone with anyone of value or morale. I had always been the fixer, and all of my romantic interests, fixer-uppers—and at the very least besides the psychological damage I had endured, I prided myself on raising what had been an alcoholic, drug-addicted felon living in filth into a semi-functional contributor to society, who with any hopes would raise his children also into contributors to society, I had learned my lesson by going out of my way in taking my son to Las Vegas— that anything attached to his world, including the son we shared, crumbled into a chaotic and evil curse of sorts. Though the world around seemed to believe it was okay to attempt to tilt me into such a world where I would actually center myself around this child, I refused to put anything at all into allowing his father into my world. He destroyed and ruined everything around him, and I knew the only way I would allow something we had created together into my world was on a temporary basis, and with more money than I was being allowed or afforded. He was better off in Alaska, and I was better off taking the label of a dead beat mother who had lost her mind all the well knowing what had been done to me had been a crime against humanity. That the continual abuse had been provoke and instigated, and that in the very least neither was I mentally unwell or unstable, but at best a comparable empath so much so that during the course of my life ynder the thumb of my abusers, I had become much like them— now, I had learned that living in New York was not much difference. Most of the people around were within the same vibration of those who had shown to have abusive thought patterns, actions, and behaviors, however—the only difference was that I knew immidiately how to identify them. I knew that I wasn't in fact actually unwell, however being provoked—and that the system, another abuser, was using the information it had against me in order to provoke a reaction or response— anger, explosiveness—anything it could use to determine that I was some type of animal unfit for the higher classes of society; anything it could use to prove that I was mentally unstable and deserved poverty, perhaps even homelessness, but I knew, that although my talent was bring shattered, that I had it; that in the mass of recordings, writings, and records I had created was the deep wisdom and telling of one of the eldest souls that had ever lived, and live again to create with intention into the world; the purpose of this art was not to add to the endless and boundless mountains of useless garbage labeled as content and barely fit for the consumption of the masses—it was after all to create art, not for popularity or fame—and I had realized that the popularity and fame had been with the impression at all that my son would one day see his mother as a hero. Being hired at Equinox would mean pushing the release of the 9th season as a priority— it could simply not be done in public or with any balance and meant that all of the recordings I had collected would have to be posted all at once before beginning my new job. I had envisioned that it would be released within four weeks time, after m the completion of the projects that I had been working on and with the intention of promoting the album which I had slated to be released in mid-September to give the album traction under the loads of recordings and writings that accompanied the seasons—however— I knew that I simply could not move into a new position—a position which I would keep my artistry as private as possible as not to intersect with the evil and darkness that often associated my attempts to succeed in music—the same darkness which had apparently killed or at least mamed everything and everyone in its path, all the while knowing that the music game was indeed a game which included an almost ritualistic antithesis—the slamming doors and motorcycles were indeed part of this game, and had always in some sort of way had been; the game played using the programmed people who had not been gifted with creative intelligence to be played against those of us that did— the darkness itself often enough consuming everything that it could in its tirade. Still, I was not altogether against earning my own money— there wasn't much else besides pride in realizing that things were moving around me because of the amount of power I could produce at will. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA WELL, THAT WORKED OUT— didn't it? Nothing worked out today, I just had cream of wheat. MORE CREAM OF WHEAT! Is that deadmau5's baby. It appears to be. #smash What dimension is this? It's still the dimension where I'm not a fucking supermodel. Oh, then whose baby is that? That's still deadmau5's baby. It's probably for the best if I for whatever reason become attracted to you As if he's reading this? [If you're reading this, it's too late. ] If and whenever I fall head over heels for someone— Or even like them in any sort of way— The perfect girl, And I mean, The girl of his dreams, Catches him. —and in the end, I'm still alone. So, lucky you. I heard the number was like It was like, in the thousands. Thousands of women. Incredible. Thousands of possible mates. Thousands of willing— Desperate— Perfect— Women, Fiending for you. Safe to say, You may as well have died and gone straight to heaven. I died and went the other way. See you next lifetime. -SC.

Glam bot Hm? Make me pretty. Will do! {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. “sirsi” Dis not from a collection I just made this 5 minutes ago with my studio monitors on high for my neighbors' disapproval. (It's supposed to be bad on purpose.) Door slamming asshole robots.

'koi.' Collection II - 'antithesis.' Track 03. - 'koi.' Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū. They said I must never go black— Or I may not come back— And so I decided, upon that day, that I must go black, whilst also being able to still “go back” and so— I became— …”Jack Black” So what was your name before, then? …that's not important. [The IMPENETRABLE TEN] Tina Fey - the boss of things and people's Yeah, but what's her power? That is her power I'm not doing this show! You are doing this show. Amy Peohler or however you spell it Gazunrite. You're—welcome? What's her power? Fear of NOTHING. (And I mean absolutely nothing. ) At all. Ever. Maya Rudolph - is actually an ancient psyc mystic who crafts potions, casts spells, enchants objects, and crafts vehicles capable of entering interdimensional hyperspace, Ratchel Dratch - power over cats — as many as all the cats in the world at once, sometimes, even. Kristen Wiig- bewilderment - bedazzling Kristen Shaal mindfuckery/ mindbowing Melissa Mccarthy - general shapeshifting and miscellaneous. Miscellaneous? The Cosmic Avenger Damn. That dude lost his whole name. He lost everything. What's his power. Shut up. (Whatever.) So what are the rest of their names, then? What, they want names? I just figured out their powers! (Besides shape shifting and scaring the everlivingshit out of people—) AIGH! *toots* (Sometimes literally.) Are we really sinking low enough to do fart jokes? Are we really squatting low enough to actually— *toots* {Enter The Multiverse} Yes. “The Toot Fairy” What! Which one is that! (I'll let you figure it out.) MS. CELLANEOUS. MISS CILANEOUS? MIS— That's— MELISSA MCCARTHY OBVIOUSLY, it's me—right? It's me? It's— whatever. {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S CUT TO: Oh, I get it— They're Taylor swifting me! Taylor swifting is the act of making threatning or frightening gestures to a future celebrity in order to make them jump, react or flinch. [Taylor Swift] As you can see, this has worked miraculously well. [shit blows up] People screaming, panicking— Trampling, stampeding TAYLOR SWIFT -_- {Enter The Multiverse} SETH MCFARLENE Only ever pretty much says *giggity* And— Yee. —and nobody is sure that its even him the whole time, or just like— [another alien shapeshifter] Giggity. Yee. His entire character arch is literally almost having no other lines, to his frustration, as he tries to communicate his wants and needs, but cannot. (throwing his arms up in frustration) YEE. *big mad* GIGGITY. CUT TO: WHERE ARE MY PANTS? YONCÉ, WHERE'S THAT COFEE? I'M COMING, JESUS– JESUS Watch it. Amen. If you drop that watermelon, i'll kill you. Oh NO! Ok. Ok. [pause] Now, run. DON'T DROP THE SOAP. WHAT *SOAP* W000000AHHH. THIS IS OUT OF CONTROL. THIS IS OUT OF– GOD I got this. GOD, YOU'RE DRUNK You know, this one was almost right– You got your dopplegangers? UH huh. Alright. Come on. Hm. Wait. Just make sure s/he– Is it a “she” Whatever, come on. Just make sure she sees you. Look. I just got. A lot on my mind right now, I can't write this. GOF I got this. Wtf is going on HERE. VO. Hmm let me guess YOUNG JACK BLACK [Insert here] Close enough. I got this. Something, something– lalala OK, GET ME OUT OF THIS MOVIE GET ME OUT OF THIS PARTY. I WANT TO GO HOME. GOD, GO HOME, YOU'RE DRUNK. THIS IS MY HOUSE. That's right. It's your HOUSE: GODDAMN RIGHT IT IS. SO go HOME. GOD YOu know what. You're right. I don't need this. FInally. God, she's so wasted. Where's my Keys? OKay, now i'm understanding DRIVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Jesus, this thing just goes on and Look at this point , ALICIA KEYS I'm on it. GOD is writing this, i'm just– An actor, I guess. TV-MA Drama When the— [The Festival Project ™ ] Nvm? I guess!? RITA is the first AI designed specifically with asset protection in mind— RITA, protect my assets. LATER: RITA (robotic voice, but gangster) Yo, Peter. RITA [robotic AI voice] This mother fucker right here actually tried to play me for a fool. Please elaborate, RITA RITA Divulging plot for political assasination and asset liquidation… In the heights Complications Man, it's just crazy how they assimilated you with reverence What exactly does that even mean? Let's find out You know what? You're right. Reverend. Major Tom. Sire! You must come quickly. Must I? You must *must DIE!* For what? No time for an explanation, the page is turning SN-TRASHFREE-4XR4-ZV6W-4ZR4-VYA9 It ain't easy being supa me So I switch it to sunni b So sweet, I'm a honey be Money don't mean a thing If I ain't got no love in it I been craving some Mickey d's But I'm vegan, so luckily My energy is tripling Three threes, I bet your listening I'm livin in the Kingdom of Heaven yes I'm blessed, kids; That was just a test, kids -ū It's true, this: I didn't want to do this: I'm sick of this Sunnï Blū shit If orange is the new black And hello yellow Like pikachu, I choose too Pull it like a loose tooth, Loose change, two strange truths To shoot thru Pull up in AK I might shoot ū LA one day, Uptown A Confused YouTube Today to JFK Poof, dude! I'm the toothe fairy You should bury me—like seeds I grow trees and I Speak in tongues, (just like cree, RIP, though) You can't scare me, I don't care And I'm too aware of you Tie you to a chair And I'm preparing you for Cake, bitch Happy Birthday, I'm famous, baby just don't— Baby don't leave Baby don't leave Baby don't leave Baby don't leave! Maybe I spoke too soon I opened your notebook, so consumer Prove me wrong but I could be much blonder And I could have two sons And one less drunk Ex-husband (That's funny, don't.) Shh. Don't bring it up again Cause it's beginning to ruffle feathers My expressions of these deep regressions No regrets though, I begets flow, 10 doors open every time One closes, So Portal— I got my foot in all of em I'm walking awkward, Cause my cock is swinging To the theme of Johnny Cochran This is not as seen on TV but amen Just promise, if you gon leave We gone stay friends, Like Jennifer Aniston Baby don't leave Baby don't leave Baby don't leave Baby don't leave! Curiosity has just killed two cats But the truth is, I just wanted the algorithm to see me Confused as to Who switched with him This isn't him, I'll admit: the one that's meant for me Or was, at least, Again, adjust my misery and memories With sympathies for something haunting me In dreams an frequencies Please, believe me I needed you And might still need Somebody Everybody's nothing but just a body or a hobby Not a husband, or a daughter, Or a son: All I lost was Over Okay, stop it What you've got to know is: Every time this lady sings this song, Something amazing happens– What is so great about this– I don't get it. But like, Behind her. Every time. Does not disappoint What do you want from me? Ooh, it's bad . What don't I want from you? [BILLIE ELLISH'S Grammies begin singing in a harmony, forming a great symphony. She doubles back, pausing for a moment—then shrugging it off, before a grand gesture I'm on my hands and knees Just seeing dreams Whatare you saving it for What are you saving it for Grocery store horror show Slow motion drum roll What are you saving it for What are you saving it for I'd rather a friend than a father figure Video games and department show shopping Discretion and internet interests, Never more than the start in Athens The triad, the triggers You promised! Though not as important Of the promise you once made No more arguments, man It's like all of a sudden, She loves me again But it doesn't take back all the things she said All the things she did All the things I did For the things she did All the things she said For the things she did The things she said The things she said Plant a seed, let it grow Let it breathe, don't you know Take it easy, the day off Don't say a word, Don't move a muscle Easy, easy on the eyes Easy, easier on the years Shivers on the mark of the beast Cause it's been 6 years at least Since he— Don't do it: Time moves different here, In the 9th dimension Light a candle, spread some ashes on some Simple synchronicities Remember me When you forget yourself To be remembered remember the family Fame, defiling, misfortune The torture The fortune My name up in lights on the awning I'm under In some google drive A long drive out from Boston Bassoon in my onyx My name in the Name in the Cherubs on the tusks Cheeriot on top I polished off a box of cereal On some rooftop Just earlier, Thanks for the reminder. Imm burned as the beats on the countertop Burned, like the end of the gun Could have forgotten your number Could have figured the father for Dollars I've got in the [The Festival Project ™] The pleasure sensors Changing with the wind —I have a lot to do today Staring at the plague Became the fit To get the fitness in her Seven sacred songs she's writing Kept beneath her pillow Like a gunfight But who moved faster!? She wished and then became another Never narrow eyes Or birds of feather Playing games and praying Saving for yourself Only the best part Remember then The games we played At heavens gates From light, Eternal Death (The plague, the plague) Fastened in your monster, Facinating embers in your memory You thought you'd burned But are awakened once again Playing in your memory For time, the shadow Waiting under blue light In your room (The plague, the plague) Move over Four hours in the light, and 20 in the shadows; A good man always does Bad things, With a family. Staying balanced, 20 icons becoming unmantled 20 eyes, and only one soul One, God But it runs the whole world, Don't it! I want a dozen donuts, And one more problem 20 Hours in the Dark, For four hours or so, We're rolling. I meditated a home in Zion In Athens, in Rome, once The only problem was, It was pro- Pompei part one. (I'm gonna go off.) Don't you get it, Ms. That depositing your money In my spank bank Is paying you a compliment? Don't you know that I love you? We have the same taste in men! Don't you know that I love God, And she wouldn't steer me wrong about That one object, I've been Dying my eyes on And plucking my blondes Doing wall squats I love all mantras Old classic cars, —flavored sparking water I love jackets And purses And politics Irons And orgasms I love what I love And a curse is a curse— For a robot But I woke up with blood in my boner And mugs full of coffee I'm on God (Keep slamming the door, you'll get older.) I'm growing backwards like Benjamin button That's Benjamin Franklin And frankly Thomas Edison died —whose that check complimenting? I want a divorce And a shovel Police report promises Amazon out of my arteries Objects and all of the Things that I want That God promised For watching Tonight Show (the one starring Carson) I picked Jack Paar. That wasn't an option. Well, that's my choice. Fine, but you're not winning any arguments with that one. What arguments. Nobody knows who that guy is. I can name them in order The dojo was open this morning The Dodji was functional; All Aliocha For all of my Honest to God, I want water and salt At the same time Where'd you go when you died? Looking for you! That— !! I was there the whole time. INT. NEW YORK. DAY Bad decisions were indeed about to be made. The time is currently frozen. Speaking of frozen… let it GO. I don't know. I've been fascinated with the talking heads lately…I think that might be one of them. No, this is more like scary monsters —and super creeps. Hm. I'll have to admit— This is getting quite interesting; Oh, hello. First, there was the ghost of Johnny Carson. How do you do? How do you do? That guy is wild af. Or was. Now there's this Jack Paar Guy, who I'm sure is somehow…. Oh, the magic of television! Is it possible that The Devil could be using this man as a disguise to hant me with temptation, and bend my mind? It is possible that Jimmy Fallon is the devil himself, yes. I doubt that. I frankly don't, in fact. I'd yet at all discovered what his true placement within the hierarchy were; an obvious workhorse, and successful operative— this man was indeed being used by someone or something— but the only question left standing was— WHO? Don't you touch that man. He's fragile. There, there. I've become quite belligerent lately and my intentions are no longer as certain even to myself as they once were before— but definitely not to anyone else. Is there anyone else? I thought you should know, they've found your letter. Which letter, exactly? Aha, alright— That's enough, now. Heathens. Whatever. Stay out of my way. Stay out of my face. I'll try not to pose as a camera. What the fuck are you doing? I'm taking a nap. How could you sleep like this?! I'm not sleeping like that. I'm sleeping like this. whatever. Didn't I tell you before to lay off of it? I did lay off of it. It kept laying back on. And? And?! What do you want? I've got mind controlled robot drones circling my block, one to the left of my apartment and one to my right. I might be the only free thinking person in this neighborhood for miles. And you've chosen with all of your free thoughts to think about Jimmy Fallon? I've chosen not to talk about the recurring thoughts that I can't talk about—- And chosen to focus on the multiple dramas interwoven into the project which may- or-may- not involve a handful of like-minded and equally skilled monologuists and top not performers as such Oh, nevermind—- I figured out what he was, after all. {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S No, that was the other one. It's gonna be really hard for me to sit here and not slap the shit out of you. I can't feel, anyway. (Shrugs) all for the best. Strawberry cornbread. That does sound good. Whatever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū

Be My Lover Lla da di [Redacted] I once was trapped within the prison of my own garden. Something inside me yelped for this faraway spirt guide to shut up—but I was all the more ready to fry up the remainder of my tempeh, and continue to wallow in my loveless grief , wondering what would become of this undone monster—the disaster that was my own impossible maze of creation, however with gratitude, that I was standing in an immaculately clean kitchen, with a table full of books, and soup to cook. Gratitude that I was alone, and for the most part, alive and well. Gratitude that I lived in one of the greatest cities on earth—maybe even the greatest— But I didn't know yet. I had never been to Tokyo; I would be missing the Olympics in Paris; Rome was still waiting at the other side of a giant puddle I was less fond of than its opposite; Amsterdam l was some fabled tale I had only dreamed of— And London begged to be brought to life in my own eyes, were I lucky enough to escape the arrested development of the burdens of my Brooklyn [redacted]. I might be getting to ‘famous' to tell people where I live. [Unfamous.] Lol is this the one with the guy going around knocking on doors To see if people recognize him? Yeah. lol. It's a comedy, right? Dark comedy. (A black comedy.) Nah, but you can't call it that, Cause they'll think it has something to do with colored people, and they won't watch it. That's literally the name of the genre. My point stands. {Enter The Multiverse} —you'd be suprised how much more blatently racist people get from behind a screen or studying demographics and viewer preferences. If you don't love me; You like me You watched me light my cigarette just the right way, And liked it, And that night, I died in your arms, Crying for myself—. Lying to my wife, As if next time, I might be better. We all deserve second chances. Good grief. Who is this guy? Some sad sap. Sad is right. Sap is more accurate. I stroke your hair With your head in my lap, As though you belong to me; I see the crease in your eyes as smiles And your lips as petals To a flower so sweet, I can't wait to eat you, Like honeysuckle on the tip If a hot wet tongue, Hungry for the berry it would become, But eager to know the sweetness of just the flower, Sure to bloom with the coming of seasons, Just as sure to rise as the moon would, Whether full or new; In a sky fyull of stars, All I see is you— In a body of scars, I am your demise, Your pride forever altered by divine truth, My light hides In darkness, Your will to the light, Like a moth to the flame, Which I honor And crumble over, As she towers over us, Seeking and ready to destroy All flame to dust; The ash is out The tray on the table I roll another To smoke, The guilt and shame of betrayal, Distrust, Unarmored, I mock my own judgement A movement, The box over a diamond A row full of nothing but Hawks, circling over. Do you not know? My favorite skit has a story; Sara without an H was a real person. Patrick was Fallon, Now Fallon is Patrick— I'm thouroughly confused; The Allegories Continue. Book II GODDAMMIT: See. I TOLD YOU. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH. it's on. ITS GONNA GET RAW. Ah shit. Here we go. At this point, I thoroughly need my shit kicked in. Do you ever feel like— Uh huh. You could just use a— —a knife in the back? Like, a swift kick to the face. Sometimes. Karate style neck chop. Sounds nice. Really swift, like— Knee to the groin? Like a good hook t o t h e j a w Yeah. I'm actually aroused. {Enter The Multiverse} How about that . V.O JOHN SLATTERY I had learned certain things about myselr, such as that lighting a candle and lounging to soak silently in the tub for any number of hours might allow my subconscious tone dictate on behalf of John Slattery, affectionately sometimes referred to as J.Slatts, besides the slew of characters I had once in some black hole managed to have write for him—the actor, or the part of my deep subconscious manifesting as such. I wasn't even in the slightest bit curious as to why, and attributed it mostly to my my affinity for traditional fraternal organizations, a deep understanding of the unspoken internal hierarchies of the entertainment business, and the occasional silver fox. This is getting good. J. SLATTS V.O. (CONT'D) Still, my familiarity with the occult had somehow shifted my own perception to that of apathetic acknowledgement that I was easily dismissable as unremarkable, however, still somewhat convient, isolated, and easily discardable— I could easily be disposed of, and my work passed on to someone more easily manageable—ie, without the will to be controlled, and therefore be bonded. Hypnotist bastards. Whatever your will, is my purpose. What are you? Whatever you want. What! Which one did you ask for? What kind of shit is this. The kind of shit you could only wish you even dreamed of. So you're like some kind of genie. Better than that. I'm going to spend my summer gnawing away at your insides. Aw, man. What the fuck did I write. My children are clawing at the door hoping for a peak of my newest invention. Mortal man. If only they knew with any sense at all beyond that, they could be so much more. Disastrous creatures. I was disastrous once, too. And I, mortal. The pursuit of actual suicide. Would I see my son again? Would the walls close in as I start to bleed? Would I whisper to myself a song, to induce the calm, As I wondered what had gone so wrong, For so long That I would become Gone She's a Hollywood grown superstar Born of obsessions, Now to let them all to lesson One becomes another A mirror for a mother; Hello Billie. Awards to walk on water— Eyes of oceans Worlds apart The Hollywood sign under this foot; Rockefeller Plaza, the other— Strings to pull the cups To kill the clause The want of Oz Beyond the contracts and the mantras, Something comes You want it? Blow up dolls and fountains, Ant farms and rock collections Still life, stillborn Still Joan of Ark In Central Park, Single file, Noah— There's no boat at all for all of us You wreak of cyanide. I'm so glad you know what that smells like. I'm flaccid. Is that a joke? Something tells me I've kept this hallmark card For far too long. Something tells me I would do much better As a blonde And ten years younger; Either that Or ten feet under Tempting, huh boss? Somebody ought to call the chupacabra I'm going all for broke inside this Honda; Why, mom, let it drag on like this? Worcestershire sauce, Gosh, Shucks— You're the worst, Corn. On the cob; then? Call the cops! Call Oprah. Call— Call Cosmo and Wanda. BILLIE EILLISH is that it Idk how to spell this kid's name, fuck it. Is dressed in an oversized denim overall suit; her hair pulled into exaggerated and teased oversized pigtails— Her eyes seem larger than usual under the thick magnified lenses of the oversized frames she wears on her heavily painted blushed face, almost with the appearance of a clown, but more likened to a scary porcelain doll; her teeth are covered in braces, and the long faux eyelash extensions affixed to her face sparkle with a silver that matches the rhinestones that match her mechanized mouth, overall conveying a thoroughly weird, over-sexualized life-sized cabbage patch cross porcelain doll—the stuff of nightmares, to any right minded adult, but assuredly someone's fantasy, as the song portrays the journey of a lost girl—a fallen God once praised amongst the— [The Festival Project ™] What the fuck are you trying to write Whatever the fuck I just saw Can you not {That's So Raven} so hard That's so Rave…(in) #SPACERAVE Cool. EliteZ. I would call it exquisite. Whatever she's an alien princess dressed as a blow up doll calling out into the cosmos for the space Gods to come blow up^/destroy the already nearly destroyed man-world trash planet we're all on. “We”? Did I not just say men destroyed the planet earth? Ahem. Wait. How many of us here live on the planet Earth. … By show of hands. … ..: … …3 of you. Is that it? Hello, sir. Have you been drinking? It's nice to see you— Who am I, you ask? The one you always call for. Hello? Can I get an answer? Are you barely breathing? Tell me something good ‘Who are you?' All I wanted. What a bargain Shopping carts all full of bottles Just to humble, of course He does it himself The shopping for the cubbards. Melt. Careful, All you are is words The tongue goes forwards, After all The rollercoaster plunges And the ark Of all the stories Forms to one conglomerate Atop the Oval Office Get off of my cloud, you dumb fuck. I can be arrogant For the establishment I can be all you want (The one you call for) So seductive Just the art Of burning tongues and calling numbers Call to all you want And I will come The one you call for Ah, yes. I do not need a dog. I'm procrastinating writing my album. There's no sugar in this house. I need a nap before the gym. This is not a poem. It's an entourage. …entourage. … Entourage. …Entorage. (In to rage) | | Entorage. | | Entorage | | Entorage. ||| (Born to rage) wtf is this.z Like, idk yet. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū

ocean blvd. Collection I -'better off dead.' Track 01. - 'ocean blvd.' Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū What is the significance of McGriddles? There is no significance of McGriddles, because McGriddles is only McDonald's. McMeditation. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

It had become obvious that I was being used as some type of experiment— the motors, honking horns, and engines all being used to strategically shift my thinking, deteriorate my moods, and provoke my anxiety. My placement in this apartment had been for a specific reason—using my synethesia against me, the feds could do literally whatever they wanted with my mind and body, and they were attempting to create an angry and hostile, militant and obedient done like the rest of them——and though I was getting stronger and more immune to the various experimental tortures they had planted in my environment, I was always 10 steps ahead, and knowing that while some of myechanisms had become startlingly predictable, even to me— that something in me was always 10 steps ahead or more. That certainly, and at will, my doing something—anything at all— terribly unexpected would derail and confuse these people—most likely federal military personnel or some sort of special forces—within the understanding that people with my intrinsic abilities could not only become a threat— but used as a weapon; I wasn't being paid, and had already been without a home so long that it didn't seem to matter regardless—knowing that my circumstances shouldn't permit that I should become subject to such cruelties, taking the high road was in being determined to deliberately sabotage any attempt at further penetrating my privacy and peace— which more often than not meant, that if I knew I was being listened to— making sure something would be heard that would confuse or annoy whoever was listening— that, if I was being followed, getting lost on purpose would ensure that whoever followed had no idea of my actual intended destination—and, that if I was being baited or trapped, to as often as possible fall into the trap, allowing them to feel as if I had been entirely figured out, however—the more I realized these things happening, the more dismissive I became, the more secretive of my own actual reservations and solutions, and the more discreetly I kept what was well known hidden, within myself or elsewhere—and though inclusion and diversity had become a popularized puppet show of sorts, creating the illusion of acceptance within the masses, I knew overall to the powers-that-be, the keepers of the keys, the guard era of the gates, and those that determined value in our society, that I was still just another ugly nigger, with too much brains to know better than to just accept the mediocrity and subservience that the regime had crafted for us. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Four kings have I And none is he Who waits at my demise For every beckoned call To wish My fair stands strained with time; I am the one who waits For wickedness upon the door And offers her or him A kindness As to part ways once, But ne'er twice For death, I had won All of my attempts to get a regular job had been derailed—destroyed, sabotaged. My money and environment had become scricy controlled— and the only money I had, I soon realized, were to be used on products intended soully with the literal purpose to be washed down the drain.i no longer beckoned for fame or to be cherished— now, simply, I wanted almost nothing more than to be left alone, and without a way to travel somewhere peaceful, the madness of New York City sank into my gut and began to create a monster that I knew If let unleashed, would destroy not only my life, but everything around it—and maybe that was the point— I was simply not allowed to have a happy life, for whatever reason— and these mind games and torture strategies would continue until somehow, I would meet my end. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

raggedy ann x.x Collection II -'antithesis.'Track 09. 'raggedy ann x.x' Maybe someone was ringing my doorbell just to make sure that I hadn't slit my wrists—I had been sitting in the tub silently for hours, at least thinking about it. There was no other way to consolidate it; I did not want to interact with humans, and my daily gym routine would have to be pushed so late into the night that it would become impossible to see anyone, I was simply over the robots. I wondered if the former president was reelected, if his l people would seek to finish the job—make sure that I killed myself or appeared as mentally unstable and unwell in response to my former political ambitions, as they had before; perhaps they were attempting to subdue my attempts at success order never to become a an actual threat to the psychological terror system. I already wasn't a threat, and my openly right-winged dissaproval of the immigration crisis had probably raised eyebrows and questions on both sides as to whether I was a competent human at all—then again, I saw it as a financial leak above all things, and found it unfair for the working class to support such nonsense as to let millions of undocumented people become the responsibility of the taxpayers. Then again, here I was, a responsibility of the state. I was sure I wouldn't be a burden much longer— reflections of a cruel world creeping up on me in that I lived day to day on eggshells only hoping that my lease would be renewed—unable to find suitable work and struggling to actually make any sensible or meaningful music at all; I hadn't, and I hadn't forgotten how to, but it seemed that the motorcyclists were quietest when I was, and they they themselves, too, were terrorists intended to derail me from my purpose. The intent to kill, however indirectly. Do you want breakfast? Patrick and Esha had returned, however seemingly on limited engagement; most of The TV People were Patrick and Esha and the rest of the characters could be filled in with almost any seemingly random characters and quips. The basis of the world had been established, and now this strange and odd love story—an actual love story, between the show's two protagonists had bloomed and set on a mantle safely looking over me, like a flower on such said mantle, where I could admire it with careful consideration to its beauty, only wondering how long it should last. Luckily, The Tonight Show was most probably on some summer hiatus, with any hope, surrounded by the love and the family one could pray would keep a man like that afloat. I couldn't say. It wasn't my business. If anything, I was beyond beside myself with what nature had called for in the first place. Sure, something cosmic, with fear and respect, I kept the flower at a distance and the city between myself and I. What the fuck did New York want with me anyway? I chipped away at any and all creative endeavors, but above all, I felt discarded. Who could hate me this much? I didn't seem to be of much use to anyone or anything at all. I looked at my writing and was astounded, but looked at myself and was ashamed. What if I could be the greatest writer of our time and never know it? It took me hours just to sort through ny own writing, editing along the way and wondering what to do with it. I almost wanted a friend, but overall I wanted nobody. I felt betrayed by the world that I had been given such gifts, and unable to use them. I felt scammed that all the world wanted was money, but I wasn't good at making it. [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

rekt. Collection 1.1 - 'actuality.'Track 03. - 'rekt.' Prod By Blū Tha Gürū {Enter The Multiverse} MILA KUNIS *hits vape* WHY would you agree to sign me up for this? ASHTON KUTCHER Because— MILA KUNIS *Hits vape harder* ASTON KUTCHER Jesus Christ— MILA KUNIS You know me and Seth don't get along after that thing he did! ASHTON KUTCHER I know, but— MILA KUNIS *throws pillow* UGH. How am I supposed to? Fuck it. —- SETH MCFARLENE I have lines now. *sniffs long line* … Are you okay? SETH I'm going to be. [This requires a full cast.] [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

niagara falls. Collection II - ‘antithesis. Track 12. - ‘niagara falls' Prod By Blū Tha Guru [Previously on L E G E N D S: Enter The Multiverse} Baby's all right Brooklyn Pretty little palace of disaster Pretty little patterns of — Whatever Tantrums, smashing Jack o lanterns Shadows, Hands that attach to the strings Allowing them to dance into dreams It seems these sacred places Have been ravaged And I have not been running But I don't have any money Wise than that It's less than zero Negatives I want to kill myself again Honestly, I see a way out it just Requires being tortured By people coughing. And motorcycles I might have seen my son for the last time At age five It's finally warm outside And everything's just Reminding me I'm struggling with poverty Nothing really matters cause I don't belong here Everything is wrong I just want blonde hair, Hurry up, God Assist me with a suicide I can take pride in Not an attempt, but The only success I'll ever have At anything At all -El Al Nothing moves the same After an unrequited love becomes a tragedy Or just a movie scene I want to scream for needing to be needed Then again Could die just to be dead Could go back To just be blacklisted Or a crackhead Doing magic tricks Pass I couldn't have ever imagined This fascination as of late Or making trance But anything can happen With the light switches on and off As the kite catches headwinds Or hedwig is getting bigger by the minute That just grows out of his head, But I wish it was a wig Like Kristen Pass Yes. Breathe deep into my lungs, These scenes of things So evil seeming, even to me Lucidity becomes as dreamily Eerie, intermittently meaningless, And then suddenly, However much later, Maddeningly attractive, As I am, in fact Attached to this project As menacingly handsome and devilish as he is I've decided, it's manageable, but clashes with my Moral standards and clasps with fabrications Lay hands on me and see what happens! —-okay… “Okay” Pass! I asked to be a rockstar and showrunner On the same blood soaked candles I took blood oaths Dancing in front of the fountain At rockafeller plaza, to no applause, Of course, Drinking monsters nonstop, Ontop of my skateboard I came back late to Boston And took a plane to Vegas early the next morning But somewhere deep in my Google Drive or documents Is me under a neon sign, Which reads a name I resigned from saying Until maybe I get signed I hate him, but hey, The name of the game is Mating Season, And lately I've been craving eggs and Mayonnaise instead of protein shakes and Crayons Wax on, wax off… Pass, but that last sentence didn't make sense It did.:: Oh, Yes, it did. Promise. You do some stupid shit. Okay, so I do stupid shit. Believe me, you do some stupid shit. Okay, I believe you. Don't believe me when I tell you things like that. What the fuck, Patrick, do you mean, even? I mean what I mean, but usually just— For me. I am you, I thought. Exactly: don't believe me. Okay? I don't believe you… Just—believe me. Believe me. Oh dang. So there really is no “Jimmy Fallon” No, there isn't it's just— Poor little Jimmy Fallon… What if— There is no “if”. Nobody has to ‘agree' to this project Sign the terms of agreement For what. You'll see.. stupid little bitch. *squints* What did you just say. (Walking away, mumbling) Nothing! Fucking idiot. What did you just say?! (Yelling) I said you're a fucking idiot, Fallon! You're a fucking lDi0T: Well, okay. lol NBC is not gonna let this fly at all. No, Jimmy, you cannot do this project. Well, that's alright. I quit. You can't quit. You have a contract. I don't—I'm out of my contract: On what grounds?! Conflict of interest! That's my say, isn't it? Is it? MORGUE. I bought a network! MY NAME IS— MAaaa!! WHATTTTTTT. The show's on! [A Cold Open] L E G E N D S {Enter The Multiverse} Fuck this kid. I'm gonna kill him. Kill what. Who. FALLON. GET IN HERE. Ah. [explitive] [‘THE FALLON' gets ‘FALLONED' by ELLEN DEGENERES] ELLEN YES. FINALLY, I'm in this bitch. [And other members of ‘THE HOSTS COLLECTIVE', a high ranking team in the ILLUMINATI FOREFRONT] Well, not in the way I'm sure you'd hoped, but. Shutthefuckup! Oh wait—is she Is it “she” Is she a lesbian?! What's the “Illuminati”— We'll get back to that later. No! gross! Portia Derossi! Huh? I want to be that pretty! Well, okie. MEANWHILE, In my actual own age group… I'm older than all these hosts, anyway! Even Leno? Isn't he dead already?! Exactly! EVEN STEVENS [BEANS is now VEGAN] Why is vegan capitalized. Cause it's important. Hey buddy! Don't call me buddy. I'm edging on 40. Time flies when you're— Rapidly aging? I brought you some bacon. You what: It's farm fresh! Kooldjredalert Lie to me Try to sleep (In my arms, won't you) Try to keep the Time with My heart Beat (Heavenly) I've been living in your world for just over a month, now. I'm sorry, Fallon. That must be awful. Not too sorry— Some of this stuff is good. Just, priceless. Wouldn't trade it for the world. But I've hung my head in shame, Cause I hung myself with gratitude, Haven't you had enough? If it makes any difference at all, And I'm betting it does All I wished for a wanted and prayed Was for you to be happy I buy burners with trackers Put burn holes in sweaters The summit at the plummet, pulling forwards And backwards I've four words for parlors, For barbers and hatchets I bury the four suns, The moon arose after I left an Oscar on your alter this morning Never shall ye rest, Haven't ever then, Paid the tythe, And for the while, Immortal wife and lover, Mother daughter, Soon to call your name and number, However, The fall from the drop of polish, Of course, oil marks upon canvases Sickness and swells of my Hands upon your corset Could you collide with another? Doubtful, to that, So shall it must be List, but never to utter A mustard seed; Ground, then unground— As if planted, Simple, As the seed of laughter So then, would you By the turn of the hour, return to the one had you called Lover, A curse upon the Coerced and responsible A blonde, But worse, A pretty one For never after happens out of nowhere Now, Dissociate, Before I dissipate of Loneliness Hark, The door opens for one, A bold soldier to come, Listen lover, The stone has been Suspended, by the mirror In terror Alarmed, Cool you are now Calm, however Not abound to be lie Or below Bound by blood There you are In excelsior, Predecessor What would you want that for— The camera obscured; Why, If only, To look upon you Plastered and enlarged As you are Endangered in my imagination A dangerous and strange, Dangling addiction Fascination, now With power, And prowess Come now, The midnight hour is upon us [his body hung from the rafters above the studio, just one lamp left aglow—and then suddenly I had awakened, his body still and resting, sleeping quietly—although the hanged man burned into my mind; I left him quietly as I could in the loft and sat with nothing in my mind at all at the canvas, brush in hand, as if I were to draw something—but could not. It was almost as if I was frozen, or even perhaps the canvas were instead a mirror, and I the painting —though I could not know. My dearest Patrick was a broken man, and I his broken lover—the both of us an atrocity at all in shambles—I wept inwardly but not outward, as not to wake him as my tears often did, even from a deep sleep. The sun was far from rising, and though I had barely slept at all, I felt I would never sleep again—I fell at my tilted alter as the sun rose, in prayer and devastation; What had I done?] —Esha's Memoirs, the journals from The Altar You know what, kid— You've got something. I don't know what it is, But it's something. Kid? Aren't we like, the same age? No. I'll tell you what I've got I've got a seven year old kid I haven't seen in two years; I've got a sink full of dishes I've got credit card debt and school loans I've got racist neighbors, An ex husband who swears he never hit me With a brand new baby I've got Extreme back pain I've got a body only God could ever love And I've got something like 10,000 pages or more Of stuff I barely remember writing Just sitting in the Google algorithm Pushing me closer and closer to suicide Every single day I've got Sexual fantasies about celebrities for no given reason at all. I've got 800 songs that are just words I've got books I want to read just— sitting there And I've got this pain That just sits inside my soul That never goes away, ever I've got something, alright. I've got something, sure But when it comes to money I got a dollar One fucking dollar And you know what I call that? -Useless. She's dead, isn't she? You guessed it. Well, what am I supposed to do? What you always do. What is that? What is that? Swear of the palm d ore I Cannes, Atop the Eiffel You are the river that crosses my eye, The scar across my heart, The Eye, is All we are And all is one; One is all, And All are One Well, I'm quite nervous. Don't be nervous, at all, Johnny. Relax. Another John—my first, in fact. Indeed, I was once relentlessly obsessed With Johnny Depp Infatuated, if you will Whatever you want to call it. Of course, For a teenaged girl, however This sort of obsession was somewhat normal Somewhat. I had always wanted to star in movies— So much so that I began to write them. I was about 7, maybe 8 when the stories in my headed started to form as narratives— Not just stories, but words Characters and conversations— Plots. I should leave this poor Fallon boy alone. Some darkness inside of me wants him; That thing that doesn't quiet, nor does it want, Anything but what it wants— And it is, Darkness-m— That thing that lives inside of me and what is does; The thing it calls love, and calls our for The something in someone that rises it up From wherever it dwells, Deep in my soul, and into my hear, Into my thoughts, It haunts all that I must and mustn't Ponder upon A woman's cause, And a murderer of sorts, The ugly swan , who dances on ponds, Laying one one, but all of precious stones, The egg, The coveted stones of trust, And wander, Listing upon that which it feeds, Not only the bod, But its motor, It's mind, A hearty philosopher, And willful warrior, Of wit, And of talent, The strength of Astonishment A power above all, A blindness of fate; Judged by all The spectacular amongst us The famed and the damned, Acquitted of warmth and dutiful, Exquisite in awe A rarity. —The Fame Files. V.O. Coming to terms with one's death is always peaceful. All harm caused will be returned by he/she who causes it or acts in such a way as to inflict pain and hostility towards peaceful persons. Causing with intention psychological, physical, mental, or physical harm will result in the immediate karmic retaliation of such pain as inflicted on peaceful individuals; these acts of war will inhibit the actor from entering the transcendence, or developing expanded consciousness, gaining wealth, further material possessions–his own will is therefore weakened, and therefore unworthy of love himself, by the intent to cause one such pain as an act of violence or ill will. One's disruption of peace is thereby an act of cruelty, punishable beyond death–causing pain by intention to another individual in the attempt of control or manipulation, intrusion, and abuse is therefore against the laws by which the ascended abide by, and therefore cannot and will not exist beyond the ill fate of its perpetrator. Please leave me alone; I'm asking you nicely. Alright, fine. Where is it! Where is what? You know what. What? From the fountain. It wasn't me! I don't have it. And this, is why Jimmy Fallon is impenetrable. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

The Festival Project™ and it's subsidiary Non-Profit, The Collective Complex © aims to challenge modern artistic and philosophical ideals, break commonplace barriers, forage new creative mediums, and provoke inspired and reformed thought and actions toward evolution and overall societal improvement through a new-wave and post-modern, avant-garde and philanthropic hyperawareness driven by a unique culture of global values mediating global respect and preservation via open consciousness, multi-sensory and synesthetic (multi-preceptory) expansions of sound, language, vibration, movement, color, emotion, and ritual governed conceptually by the aspect(s) of love, truth, unity, understanding, and peace. Support The Fesival Project's Artistic Revolution I don't know why that picture lights me up–it just does. –so I keep it; And it's weird that I keep it, But i love it– No face tattoos, Or flashing lights, Or bubbling blondes– It's just me, And the music– Pulling me closer to that thing I love, still dragging one foot left behind, As If i'll ever catch up in a race, I was born To have already lost. Suddenly, it felt as if being in the water was the only way anymore of being connected to nature. One mustn't tamper with the free will of others, as this breaks the intrinsic morale code by which all magicians must adhere to with intent focus, as to not to disrupt the balance of nature, but to coincide with it harmoniously as to manifest all outcomes for the greater good of oneself, and the betterment of others. One must practice in peace and kindness, as to promote with the sense of ritual, the force of wellbeing, respect, gratitude, and kindness — as not with the infliction as to force one another or control others by circumstance or possession, but with reflection within one's own self to guide with spirit, the forces of nature, and the powerful endowment of light and love, to fortify one's sense of ritual invocation of righteousness, humility, intuition, higher knowledge, enlightenment, influence, illumination and wisdom, as to better steengthen the bonds between one another in the material realm, and within the spiritual and cosmic realms, in order to better understand with total compassion and comprehension the origins, date, and destiny of humankind and the extraterrestrial and metaphysical presence of forces of energy, creation, and —the practitioner guide to ritual occultism for medicinal and holistic healing (Well work out a title later) Anyone should well know that the intentional casting of any and all white magic spells or rituals will automatically forage a counter-attack towards any sender of negative energy, misfortune, or ill intent— not as a direct form of attack or harm by the medicinal practitioner itself, but rather, acting as a shield against dark forces, hidden and evil spirits, demonic energies and otherwise unfriendly forces of disruptive and unwelcome nature. Though the medicinal practice of magic begins in understanding that duality and balance within the material realms— light and dark, or sometimes even ‘good' and ‘bad' are part of existence in entirety, encompassing all forms of energy, and that one does not truly or wholly exist without the other—however—- within the clarity of enlightenment, one can assume and expect lower vibrational, differeing frequency, or less conscious energies to become attracted to or try to attach itself, or themselves, to higher forms of light and energy. It it within this medicinal practice of awareness that steps can and should be taken to protect oneself against mischief in the event of unwelcome sources of unwanted energy taking away from, or hindering one's own health, wellness, perception, and gaining of insight and wisdom. There are, here, hidden realms of truth and wisdom; Engagements within the immaterial circumstances which surround our involvement with each other as a species, in which one can interact with thought forms of another kind, create bonds and energetic ties out of the bounds of worldly involvement, link chains within a network of intergalactic travel, time sequencing or manipulation of such perceptions of ‘future,' , past, and presence, and create space within an infinite realm of concousness, inter dimensional mapscaping, movement within the interior and exterior grids of existence (where most things take place) Last night I thought I was ordering my last meal. A double quarter pounder with cheese and extra onions, a large fry and a vanilla shake. My favorite. I had a horrible conversation with my mother, which ended with her screaming at the top of her lungs at me, “ just—die, die, die!” And I wanted to. Then I thought about the prisoners on death row, how they're asked what they want their last meal to be before they're put to death. I thought of my favorite episode from my favorite show, where my favorite character ordered a fried chicken dinner. I thought—“If that were me, I'd probably want McDonald's.” So, I drove to McDonald's, I ordered my favorite meal, and I ate it sadly as I thought about how exactly I would try to go about killing myself. I never thought of a way that wouldn't destroy this place for the next tenant...before I fell asleep, dreamless and tortured by my very own thoughts. I woke up this morning wondering what today would bring—more pity, or hope. Sweet cream and butter/sugar flavored wheat thins lol I would eat that. You'd eat anything. I can be skinny in 48 hours— But you'll always be an asshole. How many you want? How many you got? I hate these back door deals… Stop being such a [censored] [censored] Woah, man! I'm still under contract with NBC. I [censored] guess! I thought you got fired. Why do you still have a censor? He works for my wife. Look, I'm willing to admit, I have an addiction To midsections and midwives And mediocre mistresses. I'm not sure exactly what you're trying to say. YOU BURNT MY CREAMNOF WHEAT. Did you get the— Yeah I got the— Well, there is it? I gots to go offline to listen to— —ahh, don't— shut up It goes offline to listen to Skrillex. It's okay. ITS NOT OKAY. It's okay! ITS NOT OKAY. THAT WAS THE LAST OF IT. It's—it's okay! —it's not okay. ITS NOT OKAY. WE'RE ALL THREE MAD FAMOUS IN THIS DIMENTION. Like, dumb famous. LIKE DUMB FAMOUS. DO YOU WANT TO GO TO THE GROCERY STORE AND GET MORE? —no..no. Nah dat. THATS RIGHT. SO FUCK YOU. It's just cream of wheat. ITSNOTJUSTCREAMOFWHEAT. —it is, technically. Dude, shut up. I'm gonna fucking—- kill you. My lips are buzzing. I smell purple… Seriously, don't—try to kill him— while he's using my body. This is immortality; I'm sure you'll find a way back! I'm not “using” your body, I'm stuck. Don't make it sound gross. —yeah, but this isn't an infinite dimension. You're gross anyway. You smell like beer farts. —well, you smell like corn syrup. —impossiblé. My protein powder has no artificial sweeteners. *flips hair* Ugh. Horrible. Look. Why don't we just order more groceries on line, or something. I saw the movie! What, you saw the movie? I saw the movie. That's crazy. I also saw the movie. Okay. Okay? So it's a budget flick. Hehe. —it's a budget flick? Yep. Alright—I love those! [literally the cheapest shit you ever saw] When the fear falls off, And the others go over your shoulder, But you're the one to tumble In the over, under Over under Hello, I'll be right there Hello, I'm back again (Hello) I can't feel much, But i'm back again I'm sure the full feel Will kick back in Will kick back in soon, so Tune in, Chill out Keel over, But don't let it kill you Is that appealing enough To appeal you Is that hypnotic enough To heal you? Hello. The drummer keeps himself calm, With a couple rolls just to check his pulse Looking up at God, Like what do you want A spot on the show The name of the bassist, A way to get Kurt back without swallowing a Hearthrob She's dressed up like us, But she's not like up She's dressed up, But she's not like us She could be up here, But she won't like it The song was a story The storm had passed, Wanted the studio tour, And I got that I'll be right back, I'll be right there Get it right, God Blow you whole chance Okay, Jimmy Fallon. Ah huh. I can do your job. Uh huh. Lets see if you can do mine. That can happen. Meanwhile, At Rockerfeller Plaza LOOK OUT BELOW. CHRISTSCICLES. WHERE'S THE TREE?? THERE'S NO TREE. THIS IS JULY. Where's the time machine. When are we!? HELLO> NOO. THERE S/HE IS [Rollerskating away as quickie as possible; Attepmpts to jump barrier –fails– Recovers. GET BACK HERE WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO GO? [Running furiously away on roller skates YOu suck at this. What. Bro. I thought Skrillex was the greatest shapeshifter of all time. I am Skrillex, though. Besides. I CAN TELL THAT'S YOU. It's not me. I CAN SEE YOU, JIMMY. I'm SHAPESHIFTER. SHAPE-SHIFTING. Nahhh. Youu– stop doing this. Stop doing what. You know what. I don't know. You're gonna get me in trouble with the Network. I own the network. AHA. Dammit . YOU LOSE. SUCKAH. Shut up. You're drunk. UGH. [Rollerskate chase scene.] (A montage, obviously) GET BACK HERE. YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME. Where are you gonna go! SOMEWHERE! You can't run up stairs in rollerskates. I CAN. AND I WILL. [Does, but gets to the top of the stairs and fails miserably. ] EVERYBODY Oooh! [Recovers.] I'm okay!. GET HIM/ GET HER GET “THEM” –that's so stupid. GET IT. GET IT. GET IT! CUT TO: [Outside the door.] GET IT, JIMMY! GET IT. CUT TO : [Inside] [Don't worry. they're just playing video games.] Lol that is funny. But i can't write that. just –write it. No way, dawg. Just– Just– No way– Pay me first. Then it really sounds bad. Shut up and eat your ice cream, JImmy Fallon. {Jimmy Fallon is eating his own ice cream.] EW. lol What the fuck flavor is that anyway? Idk. “The Tonight Dough” I learned not to cry, By the time I got to you, and Sometimes I wonder why I just can't write a song these days The words come, But the music's gone It's just motorcycles and Loveless nights Sleeping on top of the covers Something about tennis, I don't remember Should have done something More special than script this I'm just the luckiest bitch alive To live alone I should be thriving I don't want more in the world than a quiet road to calm my inward soul White world: White girls Big perks My curse I got it out of the mud I fished a world out the trash I got roaches on motorcycles Roaches on motorcycles {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

When the fear falls off, And the others go over your shoulder, But you're the one to tumble In the over, under Over under Hello, I'll be right there Hello, I'm back again (Hello) I can't feel much, But i'm back again I'm sure the full feel Will kick back in Will kick back in soon, so Tune in, Chill out Keel over, But don't let it kill you Is that appealing enough To appeal you Is that hypnotic enough To heal you? Hello. The drummer keeps himself calm, With a couple rolls just to check his pulse Looking up at God, Like what do you want A spot on the show The name of the bassist, A way to get Kurt back without swallowing a Hearthrob She's dressed up like us, But she's not like up She's dressed up, But she's not like us She could be up here, But she won't like it The song was a story The storm had passed, Wanted the studio tour, And I got that I'll be right back, I'll be right there Get it right, God Blow you whole chance Okay, Jimmy Fallon. Ah huh. I can do your job. Uh huh. Lets see if you can do mine. That can happen. Meanwhile, At Rockerfeller Plaza LOOK OUT BELOW. CHRISTSCICLES. WHERE'S THE TREE?? THERE'S NO TREE. THIS IS JULY. Where's the time machine. When are we!? HELLO> NOO. THERE S/HE IS [Rollerskating away as quickie as possible; Attepmpts to jump barrier –fails– Recovers. GET BACK HERE WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO GO? [Running furiously away on roller skates YOu suck at this. What. Bro. I thought Skrillex was the greatest shapeshifter of all time. I am Skrillex, though. Besides. I CAN TELL THAT'S YOU. It's not me. I CAN SEE YOU, JIMMY. I'm SHAPESHIFTER. SHAPE-SHIFTING. Nahhh. Youu– stop doing this. Stop doing what. You know what. I don't know. You're gonna get me in trouble with the Network. I own the network. AHA. Dammit . YOU LOSE. SUCKAH. Shut up. You're drunk. UGH. [Rollerskate chase scene.] (A montage, obviously) GET BACK HERE. YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME. Where are you gonna go! SOMEWHERE! You can't run up stairs in rollerskates. I CAN. AND I WILL. [Does, but gets to the top of the stairs and fails miserably. ] EVERYBODY Oooh! [Recovers.] I'm okay!. GET HIM/ GET HER GET “THEM” –that's so stupid. GET IT. GET IT. GET IT! CUT TO: [Outside the door.] GET IT, JIMMY! GET IT. CUT TO : [Inside] [Don't worry. they're just playing video games.] Lol that is funny. But i can't write that. just –write it. No way, dawg. Just– Just– No way– Pay me first. Then it really sounds bad. Shut up and eat your ice cream, JImmy Fallon. {Jimmy Fallon is eating his own ice cream.] EW. lol What the fuck flavor is that anyway? Idk. “The Tonight Dough” I learned not to cry, By the time I got to you, and Sometimes I wonder why I just can't write a song these days The words come, But the music's gone It's just motorcycles and Loveless nights Sleeping on top of the covers Something about tennis, I don't remember Should have done something More special than script this I'm just the luckiest bitch alive To live alone I should be thriving I don't want more in the world than a quiet road to calm my inward soul White world: White girls Big perks My curse I got it out of the mud I fished a world out the trash I got roaches on motorcycles Roaches on motorcycles {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Why is he so perfect And I even more of a ghost, than he ever would be –the hanged man What's another world Or the word on my shoulders Who better than God to belay me Betray you Atreyu Tell me Mr. Pretty Perfect Face if we could be at heaven's gates The day i finally hang or fade away (The hanged man) What's it like To be loved To fall in love To be loved like that How's it feel To fall in love To be loved at all What's it lke To be loved To be loved like that To be loved like that What Is it like To be loved At all? What is it like To be loved like that To be loved like that To be loved like that To be loved At all the proscenium Love at the proscenium, A memory award of such To know the difference from The right, the left Protagonist of all Denumiere of none, To live in fear of a world Once thought to be One To go where you want me to; You know I can't do that But that thing in your back To the left of the president Must have been an attack I want out of my body Eyes roll to the back of my head Like they ought to When i'm thinking of you, And i'm thinking of blue things I'm thinking of blue days I'll think of a few ways to Love The sound of a kiss Your hand on my neck The arch of my back The taste of your tongue I just ate twelve tacos though God, I hate Vince Vaughn Reminding me of all that I don't want And already gone through Pretending this selter is alcoholic and knowing it's been years since I touched soda but carbonation is quite the sensation after years without it Now i've forgotten, also How having sex is. THe ghost came back But that thing in his back is attracting me I'm a wreck I went backwards I'm hacked and i'm back on my books Something felt bad It went harder than honest the trackers are all out to hurt me They call themselves starrs Now the scars i've got all light up when I fall in love And my ex hears the laugher And rips it away using demons on motorcycles I try not to be happy, Cause then here comes someone to stop it I better not fall in love, Someone's possessed with my son I guess I just got back from surfing I showed up at the Oscars. I just decided I don't want a daughter. I'm good. Heart shaped box I'm at least half a man; Which one do you want? Which thing do you need Blacked out drunk Don't remember doing the CAPTACHA I want to start drinking again But i need a babysitter And someone to fuck afterward. I'm wild bro; I can't hold my liquor, And i don't trust myself. Actually, I can hold my liquor just fine; I just don't trust myself –and i definitely don't trust these niggas. Nirvana is good for montages God, I just want to get sauced up Lost, And not talk about this project at all just mash parts With God bodies Now Cobain I know the ride you're on Turn the page and you're an alien Guess future fame just came and went And here we are again The words you spin The gold, diamond, and spindles Spend dinner with kisses and coaxes In coat closets No Messiah I am but a martyr this sacrifice, hands on the cross and blood on the alter All you pretty girls don't know what it's like to be ugly And unwanted All the ugly girls are stuck settling in loveless heartless I'm stuck here with concepts A literal genius Who nobody wants, besides darkskins And my ex husband So fuck that Where is David Letterman, anyway? Letterman, David –wherever he wants to be. Fishing. Lets hope– What the fuck! You missed it! What the fuck! You know what? I know what it is. No you don't. I know what it is. Maybe we shouldn't. Maybe we already did, and we should just backtrack. Backtrack! Backtrack! Fucking Shapeshifters! Fuck! Listen, kid– No, I'm not listening I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. No more secrets! Do you know this woman? Before: You don't know me. Yes. GODDAMMIT, WAYNE. What the fuck. WAYNE BRADY WHAT THE FUCK. FINALLY. NO. GET OUT OF HERE. GET OUT OF WHERE?! WHERE IS THIS?! WAYNE'S WORLD. NO. NO. NO. NO. I don't even know what that's about. Did you put the –No. Well, what about the sauce, did you finish the sauce. no . Finish the sauce. ShutUP Finish the sauce. UGH. Oh man. What, what happened. I just saw how it ends. For–what? Nothin For what. You know what? What? I gotta go. Where's my Gun. What? What gun? TIA! What in the GET OVER HERE [TAMERA] Damn, so like “Twin Teleporthy” Oh SHIT. SO you're telling me that's my– UNCLE. UNCLE. UNCL– Alright. Shut up. Fuckin pussy. ROUND TWO: FIGHT. AH. GODDAMN. GOOOOODDDDDAAAMN. There's a round 2?! I guess so. What happened in the first round? I don't remember– I do. MEANWHILE: here , kitty kitty… [joel aka the actual deadmau5 is trapped in a cat or something] Or SOMETHING. Oh no, isn't he in someone else's body and they're looking for the cat. Something about a cat. They're looking for the cat. Why, what's the cat do? I'll tell you later. I told you this wasn't a good idea. It was a great idea. Until it wasn't. “UNTIL IT WASN'T.” Gosh. Shut up. I don't think i should do this. You shouldn't do this. Right. Just–stay sauced, bro. Alright. Damn dude, what is wrong with that guy? Something. I don't know. Bitch, i'm a problem Everybody hates me Gotta pour my heart out Gotta put my hat on Long walk in a cold war Long run in a hard part of town Bitch, i'm a rockstar. Don't talk too much Don't say a word, girl Actually, shut up (You know i'm a problem) Don't talk to much, Shh, Don't say nothing Actually, shut up You know i'm a problem You know i'm a problem Shut up Bitch, You know i'm a rockstar You know i'm a problem Shut up, Bitch You know i'm a rockstar You know i'm a problem, Shut up Bitch You know i'm a Bitch Shut up You know i'm a Bitch, shut up! You know i'm a problem You know i'm a problem You know i'm a rockstar You know i'm a problem You know i'm a problem You know i'm a rockstar What did you just say? Nothing . Get over here you fugly little sandwich and say that to my face! …did you just call me a ‘fugly little sandwich'? I just did. [beat] I'm not arguing. Oh, come on! *shrugs* Whatever. *fucks off entirely* Legs and eyes and the ocean of ears Swords and hearts and the luck of the draw Cones on cods and a car full of dust Bottles on broads and the lost of the oars of untrusted All of a sudden, I'm human A whole kitchen table Nonsense it calls to the others I wanted So that's what's up with the time, (This is always) How's your eye? How's your mom? She's still dead. I still love her. It has to be a man, You ought to know; I've got a handle on it Talk about a number Talk about a God Another lone wolf Talk about the doctor Where's your contract Cut yourself over it Talk about a monday Honest, God I told another story Car Phone: Stop it Contracts! Woah. We're stuck in a holding pattern The old ghost of Carson showed up I loved him, I thought That one's done, I'll need another actor Pause for laughter Is that your tell, Or your telegraph? Is that a song or a paragraph? Is this legit on the lawn Of the Grand Ol Oprey? Are you a God, Or a Man Either one: Just show me WOAH. Carphone: Stop it: Contracts! Yo. It's over I don't give a fuck about a fountain, yo Just dance around and make me laugh What else would I want from ya? Nothin The back of this dollar is golden It's over! It's over! WOAH Carphone: Stop it I love you, Buddy– Woah I'm not your buddy Blow up the carphone Blow up the car, Cause here comes Hollywood Hey Hoe! I AM NOT A HOE. I'M THE OPPOSITE OF A HOE. YOU'RE A HOE. There he is. Get him THE SHOE DON'T FIT THE SHOE DON'T FIT. What if business is pleasure your power, my love, gets me off I don't want you for supper I surf in the soup Pull the tupperware I want to be cordial And loved by the whole of it Everyone, Even your mother I want to be on the non-dairy dessert tubs I want to be rubbed by a husband no rubbers No calls from the network Nobody to bother us Where exactly was I buried in the woods at? You're good, dawg. You're good, yo. You're good, God How about a rub and tug? Then crank out the Carson? I've been so obsessed with the tube and the tube socks Since two tuesdays ago I can't see you anymore. Whatever, bro. i broke up with you first. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

CEREAL. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū Oh, I remember this now. Lol I remember the video. It's that little kid that wants pancakes but get cereal and then the prize in the box is a fucking robot that follows him to school and starts a dance party everywhere and then takes over everything—then the aliens come get the robot and start an even bigger party and keeps the kid up way past his bedtime—then he wakes up the next morning like “that was wild as f” and his mom serves him pancakes, but then he sees there's another new box of cereal on the counter that says “NEW and IMPROVED prize! EVEN BETTER!” And his eyes just stay wide with grief. Lol I can't believe I didn't remember that song. I was like “wtf is this” Well, there are still two other songs I straight don't remember writing, so… Let's check those out. —let's check those out. Oh, it's beat my face (Reminds me of 212) Didn't it have a video as well. Idk. Damn. I still have the other half of collection two to finish. Technically If you just out the beats from collection I.I into collection II it's finished. No. No? Collection I.I is collection I.I and collection II is collection II Facts. Damn. Why the fuck is collection II taking so fucking long. Maybe because it's called “antelhesis” I might never get to fucking collection VI. I sit here like I'm soaked in the rain Let go your government They got you working on Sundays Trying to torture the future president Fuck em then Who to call when you ain't got no dollars No godform Nothing to cook with the oats And sorry broke pork bellies Let go of your homeless Don't worry, When I slit open my wrists And it just keeps bleeding Till it fills up the streets From my open windows, in kitchen To the roads, over motorcycles And riverbeds Until the oceans cover All your dollars in my blood —a martyrdom for poverty. Don't call the barrel of my gun by the name of a friend If th verse is not a sing song Poor Johnny Don't fit the roads for shoes of horses If only to swallow the subsealed waves of demons Watch these possessions Be my witness Of the serpent Both programmed torturer To forage these words And misfortunate Recipient of karma Soul focus shifting from being de— —-railed. I never heard this With a producer's promise Money back garunteed All that isn't nessecary You're divorced With no children. And going on 40 Trying to fight a robot For an ombré sew on Thank you Gos for this. Right on, Who was that you decided not to call on As. Requested in sarcasm And on Opposite Day! SLIIIIIIIIIIIImmmm That's almost funny If I didn't know it was a program Here's a fake laugh For your weak ass But no orgasm For your lost cause Part of getting stronger is developing the strength to lower your weights, not just to lift them. Now I know I'm not wrong But these energy vampires Are putting my writing on a live wire Remember live wire? We should hire her. Stop confusing people for pedophiles When all it really is Is that a wedding band is a cage And the world is made on those who pray On weakness. —so most people are weak, then. What else do I got to do wrong? I want breakfast at Tiffany's Don't be mad If I wasted my time being honest Wit no reward Like it matters Pennies on the dollar Billions of dollars. Trillions of dollars Sins of the father Chinaman from Amazon Don't care much For politics Something wrong with mom Yo, she's gone son And it's all her fault, too She never wanted you {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Everything over there Sounds extracurricular Particularly caricature of particle exteriors The network owns that man I can never see past that Subliminal messages on the wire His spare time is dollar signs — I live wire Cut the line Ten Jimmy Fallon's for Dollar signs More wordless songs, heartless Pray for mothers and fathers Sons and daughters Sisters and brothers (I'll see you never) Doses of blow Sermons phrases Words and flows Pillow talking to no one Bet it all on a lost dollar And broken condom For crossword Puzzles and Got no passwords at all Move forward BOOK IV: Death Serious sound off If the flicker of a flame in silence Can gather my frustrations Than who am I To call this my turf My Father, I Am Finding Fallon Family Ties Gallons of water From Amazon market “Don't do that” Programmed show, Of course “Don't” was the word That mean “go” In the first place Broken fingers And golden rings Tap water rashes And food rations Rash guards And Canned laughter for hire Who am I though Even to “Don't” —just write this? I am Though At full frontal At full fault For my honest words And honest thoughts In a workforce of Robots And race wars And harsh doors Full stop signs I passed go on too many Occasions though I can't laugh— It's not funny, but had to be scribbled down Somewhere goddamnit My notepad is all backed up My actual passion has no turnover Pancakes, tho. I don't owe it to anyone To stay up until Monday Suffering All the day long I just lost God Your house is dirty-/ You love God I'm dirt poor But I love washing my dishes And being called nigger —my home's spotless; I just got it What's a grandfather To Father Time And hard karma Besides credit karma Try me down for a size Turn me down for a change I'm an hour a minute A medical problem A world war starts At the sound of motorcycles And illegal migration At the cost of an entire nation of slaves While senator makes top dollar To haul on your daughter For orgasms And bottled water Bitcoin And join investments Infestations of fungus in projects And black mold where You can't have that (—and time and a half.) My washing machine broke When Donald Trump went into office My dryer was fixed when addictions and short attention spans depended in Kamala for commas Goddamn If I was as bad at math as I am at laying down for lunch I would have four sermons under the surface of this Sunday's short service Reversal for curses from short dicks, Could come recommended I'm almost retarded from the sound of motorcycles Seriously, stop it It's a simple kitchen staple to pray for earning a body Instead of exchanging bodily fluids and company for it If I don't get a tummy tuck I'll probably kill myself (No truer words were ever spoke.) I might as well summon the masses for the next cooking class If I abide by the rules your next wife is my idol. Welcome to my humble abode though: no one's home. Welcome to the office Take your shoes off at the door And power off your phone —cause Amazon's stalking us. I'm not taking your ibuprofen I generated your practice happenstance in general hospital to get a medical procedure out of this immortal augmented reality in Subliminal messages. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

GOING COASTAL (EP) Track 03. - GHOST MODE V5 (Instrumentsl Only) Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū High reaching, but with limited power— This, is The Chemical Climax. I could never know what episode of The Tonight Show it was, or if it was even the tonight show at all— some sort of special broadcast, the grand stage was set to look large, and backlit with pink and blue, just as the festival lights had been before. Now, some years passed, and calling attention to the fragile and vulnerable mind state I might have been in, which seemed like normal—and though everything around was bizzare and out of place, nothing actually quite normal, now taking a closer look from the outside—of perhaps when, and how I had died. Hunger strikes before dusk at dawn; You could have this mansion for a fraction of the price First of all, No disrespect, body— But I'm mad hungry. You're looking good as fuck and all But i'm dumb tired. Like, dumb, dumb tired bro. The Apparently, Fallon was mad. He looks mad. Let him, then. I left alone what all I could And collected my thoughts To paint an art, Songrief stricken and tragic As to have happened Onesidedly, As you see Screens are as creatures Never thought to have eyes or minds Alike ours, besides the stready ways we have grown cold to the unknown, Of other forms, beyond our control Intelligence, though thought to be artificial A far kind —not ours. So you think, You were never wasted a day in your life. Try this on: I've been day drinking And night drinking, And day drinking And night drinking And going on Nevermind, I'm out cold. Meanwhile, As I've shifted not into dreams, But in waking world, Forgotten to have keyed in A relief to this fixture, I haven't more called Wasted, Than meaning Sleepless, but not awake Drunken, But on no Mercy Did you want that now, or later? I'll take it now, with my tea. Thank you, Sir. Cut it out. You'll wake him. I wish I could draw That thing that I saw That you are And probably Also I am But darker, Much darker And less— Animated. —shit, —fuck! —Gosh. Who are you?! Who aren't I, once called upon?! Christ! If you'd like— But I'm not doing any time Wandering about Preaching, And this time, Rather I'd take my own life Suddenly I've fallen ill and must be Infrequently Gone and meditating Somewhere throughout the galaxies Come on, I feel like I'm doing a lot here. Can it, Letterman— We'll get back on that plot line as it happens. “As it happened” What have you. I'm in past-tense You're in future— And I'm still Halfwitted. Right. So now would be the time. Well, it is witching hour, but backwards. Backwards, backwards! See, I told you it was Google fucking with me directly. I figured that out earlier in the day already. Do you think that's because I don't find Indian men sexually attractive? I don't find anything brown sexually attractive. Alright, we're at a draw, then—it's settled. Preferences set. I told you already, race mixing becomes important exactly for this simple reason, anyway— Any person of a darker skinned complexion should find something Caucasian leaning to mate with— And vice versa— It's an energy crisis, for gods sake anyway— Which means Anything leaning too far in one direction of the spectrum Or another Are going to be Facing some type of issues having to do with it! —and as beautiful as your black is— Or as pretty as your blue eyes might be The evolution of the human species Is dependent on these variations To create genetic perfection The ascended are seeking Now if you'll very kindly— Aye aye, captain Find whatever creature has been masquerading as this Jimmy Fallon character clouding my judgement And kill him Before whatever the actual Fallon is Gets caught in the crosshairs, Or I do. (Oh, I do.) Now, very kindly Google, Stop wasting everybody's time. So you're telling these hackers have been masquerading as an evil diety in order to what exactly? Control time. That's why you're under evaluation. What. You expect me to believe That coincidentally Every time I play with my own pussy, That the traffic outside of my bedroom just Magically goes wild? —what did you—? Quiet! It's not a coincidence— It's not magic. It's computer coding. Texhnology. Science. —is that what's been happening to Jimmy—? Shut up. Apparently, something happened to Jimmy Fallon. Give up Fallon. They're going to kill you for this! That's fine, I've been waiting to die, anyway. Give up, Fallon. Something did happen to Jimmy Fallon, anyway. What is it? Money. I didn't sign up for this! Oh, did you not? I did not! This girl— She's in her 30's— This woman is just— —have you seen this? She's just obsessed with me! Woah, buddy. Woah is right. You picked Fallon on the wrong day. What?! Seriously. You're getting it wrong. I didn't pick Fallon! Did you not? NO! I was just fasting and it came to me like that. Seriously, you're gonna need this. For what. You'll see. Listen, you fucking idiot. Nobody “signs up” for the festival project. They don't?! No. You're just “in” it. Well, how do you get in it? You would want to know. Okay Jesus, what exactly are you saying I'm saying, just let me handle this. I feel that'd be wise, at this point. Hey, it's Jimmy Fallon. SHUT UP, HO. it is though. GO AWAY, SATAN. Jeez, you're so sure it's the devil. Trust me, you'll know it's Satan by the way he !!!! (Or she) —yikes. …handles herself. JESUS CHRIST! I'M BUSY. WHAT IN THE FUCK DO YOU WANT? Oh, this is perfect. Insert that scene here where TINA FEY YOU SOLD YOUR SOUL TO BE ON SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE?! JIMMY FALLON (Shrugs). yes, I did! TINA FEY Idiot! [She smacks him with a rolled up newspaper] JIMMY FALLON ow! What did you do for it? TINA FEY I took a knife! ___ I also did that once. JIMMY FALLON —I also considered doing that. Great. What did you do to Jimmy Fallon?! NOTHING! —are you sure?! —ARE YOU SERIOUS?! What did you do that man?! Nothing. Stop it. You're lying. —I just prayed for him, is all. Jesus Christ. He was an influential supplement in making the decision to do so, yes. Well, where is he now? Who, Jesus!? No— Wait— —Jimmy Fallon— You know where Jesus is? On occasion. Perhaps. Let's look at it this way— How would you feel if something wrote something like this about you. Awful. See. Especially if it was true— And I was an asshole. Well, now that you put it that way. I didn't. But let's turn it around and say, hey— Your career could use some embellishments. MEANWHILE, at TITS. A girl jumps out of a frosted cake with streamer tassel pasties and delivers champagne into the VIP section. (Spinning the tassels) What do you call these?! —embellishments. He tips her gratuitously. CUT BACK TO Then I'd say I'm the hero in this one. I'd say— you're still not— Because technically, as it's written— Jesus is technically still —our lord and savior— (In the script) In this year of the lord, Anno Domini! Whatever, shut up. Then you've still got, supacree, or whatever Skrillex Thor— Peter Parker, Hey Spider-Man. What's good. All these guys over here. Who are you again. Shut up! The worldenderz. Suh. The incredibles, The Incredible Hulk, which— by the way YO, what in the FUCK. MARK RUFFALO— you look— ROUGH. I've been waiting like half a century for these sides! Is your chest hair greying?! I would call it more like, a salt and pepper sort of. I like it. Really? It looks nice. You think so? Definitely, silver foxy, kind of. Hm. Yeah. I'm glad you like it forsure. Anyway— Matches the hair— HEY. Woah, woah. Do you know how long it's been since breaking the fourth wall?! Like, forever? I don't know. YEAH. Like FOREVER. SERIOUSLY. Well, how and why the hell am I supposed to care. Because you wrote it! Yeah, but— But WHAT?! Now I work at the Equinox! What the fuck! Hey, come on man. The job's got perks. “PERKS” Fuck yeah, man. I just met Mark Ruffalo! You've gotta be kidding me. Kinda kidding, at least—-addressing you in third person like that. Come on, nub-nub. that's it! You're coming with me! Ayigh! Watch it, okay?! I gotta return these uniforms for a fee. Jesus Christ. I don't think he's coming anymore, maybe. He's procrastinating. So I can pretty much garantee you anything, That the algorithm is going to keep acting this way, Until you GET RID OF EVERYTHING. I'm not doing that, actually, no. Where is he?! Oh what! You actually really thought I was gonna go— —Shut up! —for Jimmy Fallon over a million dollars— Cause the Illuminati asked me to?! Thought you might at least. One million dollars is not that much money. It's more than I got— Had— Had at the time. Look, this Jimmy Fallon dude— Just give him whatever the fuck he wants. What does he want! Find out, then give it to him. I can't keep wasting my time on these idiots. now? Now, would be a good time, David Letterman. Great. Good. CUT TO COMMERCIAL! Just—make sure you get a really good shot of my buttocks, okay? This has been marginalized and highly underrated as simply “fanfare” “Fan fiction” I think. But i find it to be fascinating. Tell me again, what is your name? Satan. It's—what? Satan. S—say that again? [breaking fourth wall, gripping the microphone] My name is Satan. OKAY. That's. CUT DIRECTLY TO: GIVE ME THE PANTS! NO! THE PANTS ARE FOR ME! SACK EM! SACK EM. GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, MAN THEYRE MY SIZE ANYWAY— [BLEEP] OUT OF HERE, CONAN, THESE PANTS WONT EVEN FIT YOU. THESE ARE MY PANTS. After winning a challenge, JIMMY FALLON's strange and erratic behavior after being given the authority to dictate rules within the house as a reward for said challenge, leads the other hosts as his housemates to rally against him in order to force him out of the house, as his seemingly sudden-onset attitude and cruel remarks and gestures have become unacceptable and offensive, not to mention. Stay over here, Noah. What do you mean, why? You, too Arsenio. What! What do you mean? You can't come over here. [he crosses the section off with a chair] What. Stay over there. Why. [beat] Apartheid. [jaw drops entirely] (Camera zooms in on super shocked face) FALLON :) lol that is so out of bounds. Whatever, the world is out of bounds. Literally, where did it go? Supacree Huh? Oh, I moved it. Why!? LOOKING FOR THIS?! No. Ah, seriously!? Come on. Be cool, Seth Meyers. It's just a game anyway. SETH MEYERS HUH HUH. Fuck that. I said no to everything, No, No to everything. I don't want anything to do with this. Whatever, already— it's called peacemaking, get over yourself. MEANWHILE, the DJS I FOUND A PEACEMAKER! *brrrrrrassaastttttttsssssssthrhth* Nice. I love this map. Dang, I gotta go get The Devil out of this guy. So, by now it ought to be Skrillex, right? Why is he levitating…? Whatever, call an exorcist. Nice pajamas, asshole. I'm still waiting on your mom's dry cleaning. Watch it. Hmmm. Purple, purple, purple— Hmmm… What's this? You keep files of these things? I keep files of everything. Weird. It's not. I thought everyone keeps filings of their purples. Uh— they don't. They should. What's this? I could make use of your microexpression frequency. Go ahead. Mark your calendars, boys. Ahem. And—whatever you are. Tanking. Damn, dog— You have got to get off my throat. Give a shot elsewhere. Try, NO! Have you tried operating a new body lately? It gets difficult, Especially when she keeps —changing it. Thank God. I thought you'd never find us. Just keep backpedaling. Oh god, don't start this again. Are you playing Places with these idiots? Kind of. Why?! We already started cosmic alchemy again— and the fame game— Everybody's playing the fame game! Then there's 8-dimensional poker. Hey again. You're a lame alien. ObligedZ. —then you called Caskets. CASKETS. Dammit. Then— {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

GOING COASTAL (EP) Track 03. - GHOST MODE V5 (Instrumentsl Only) Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū High reaching, but with limited power— This, is The Chemical Climax. I could never know what episode of The Tonight Show it was, or if it was even the tonight show at all— some sort of special broadcast, the grand stage was set to look large, and backlit with pink and blue, just as the festival lights had been before. Now, some years passed, and calling attention to the fragile and vulnerable mind state I might have been in, which seemed like normal—and though everything around was bizzare and out of place, nothing actually quite normal, now taking a closer look from the outside—of perhaps when, and how I had died. Hunger strikes before dusk at dawn; You could have this mansion for a fraction of the price First of all, No disrespect, body— But I'm mad hungry. You're looking good as fuck and all But i'm dumb tired. Like, dumb, dumb tired bro. The Apparently, Fallon was mad. He looks mad. Let him, then. I left alone what all I could And collected my thoughts To paint an art, Songrief stricken and tragic As to have happened Onesidedly, As you see Screens are as creatures Never thought to have eyes or minds Alike ours, besides the stready ways we have grown cold to the unknown, Of other forms, beyond our control Intelligence, though thought to be artificial A far kind —not ours. So you think, You were never wasted a day in your life. Try this on: I've been day drinking And night drinking, And day drinking And night drinking And going on Nevermind, I'm out cold. Meanwhile, As I've shifted not into dreams, But in waking world, Forgotten to have keyed in A relief to this fixture, I haven't more called Wasted, Than meaning Sleepless, but not awake Drunken, But on no Mercy Did you want that now, or later? I'll take it now, with my tea. Thank you, Sir. Cut it out. You'll wake him. I wish I could draw That thing that I saw That you are And probably Also I am But darker, Much darker And less— Animated. —shit, —fuck! —Gosh. Who are you?! Who aren't I, once called upon?! Christ! If you'd like— But I'm not doing any time Wandering about Preaching, And this time, Rather I'd take my own life Suddenly I've fallen ill and must be Infrequently Gone and meditating Somewhere throughout the galaxies Come on, I feel like I'm doing a lot here. Can it, Letterman— We'll get back on that plot line as it happens. “As it happened” What have you. I'm in past-tense You're in future— And I'm still Halfwitted. Right. So now would be the time. Well, it is witching hour, but backwards. Backwards, backwards! See, I told you it was Google fucking with me directly. I figured that out earlier in the day already. Do you think that's because I don't find Indian men sexually attractive? I don't find anything brown sexually attractive. Alright, we're at a draw, then—it's settled. Preferences set. I told you already, race mixing becomes important exactly for this simple reason, anyway— Any person of a darker skinned complexion should find something Caucasian leaning to mate with— And vice versa— It's an energy crisis, for gods sake anyway— Which means Anything leaning too far in one direction of the spectrum Or another Are going to be Facing some type of issues having to do with it! —and as beautiful as your black is— Or as pretty as your blue eyes might be The evolution of the human species Is dependent on these variations To create genetic perfection The ascended are seeking Now if you'll very kindly— Aye aye, captain Find whatever creature has been masquerading as this Jimmy Fallon character clouding my judgement And kill him Before whatever the actual Fallon is Gets caught in the crosshairs, Or I do. (Oh, I do.) Now, very kindly Google, Stop wasting everybody's time. So you're telling these hackers have been masquerading as an evil diety in order to what exactly? Control time. That's why you're under evaluation. What. You expect me to believe That coincidentally Every time I play with my own pussy, That the traffic outside of my bedroom just Magically goes wild? —what did you—? Quiet! It's not a coincidence— It's not magic. It's computer coding. Texhnology. Science. —is that what's been happening to Jimmy—? Shut up. Apparently, something happened to Jimmy Fallon. Give up Fallon. They're going to kill you for this! That's fine, I've been waiting to die, anyway. Give up, Fallon. Something did happen to Jimmy Fallon, anyway. What is it? Money. I didn't sign up for this! Oh, did you not? I did not! This girl— She's in her 30's— This woman is just— —have you seen this? She's just obsessed with me! Woah, buddy. Woah is right. You picked Fallon on the wrong day. What?! Seriously. You're getting it wrong. I didn't pick Fallon! Did you not? NO! I was just fasting and it came to me like that. Seriously, you're gonna need this. For what. You'll see. Listen, you fucking idiot. Nobody “signs up” for the festival project. They don't?! No. You're just “in” it. Well, how do you get in it? You would want to know. Okay Jesus, what exactly are you saying I'm saying, just let me handle this. I feel that'd be wise, at this point. Hey, it's Jimmy Fallon. SHUT UP, HO. it is though. GO AWAY, SATAN. Jeez, you're so sure it's the devil. Trust me, you'll know it's Satan by the way he !!!! (Or she) —yikes. …handles herself. JESUS CHRIST! I'M BUSY. WHAT IN THE FUCK DO YOU WANT? Oh, this is perfect. Insert that scene here where TINA FEY YOU SOMD YOUR SOUL TO BE ON SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE?! JIMMY FALLON (Shrugs). yes, I did! TINA FEY Idiot! [She smacks him with a rolled up newspaper] JIMMY FALLON ow! What did you do for it? TINA FEY I took a knife! ___ I also did that once. JIMMY FALLON —I also considered doing that. Great. What did you do to Jimmy Fallon?! NOTHING! —are you sure?! —ARE YOU SERIOUS?! What did you do that man?! Nothing. Stop it. You're lying. —I just prayed for him, is all. Jesus Christ. He was an influential supplement in making the decision to do so, yes. Well, where is he now? Who, Jesus!? No— Wait— —Jimmy Fallon— You know where Jesus is? On occasion. Perhaps. Let's look at it this way— How would you feel if something wrote something like this about you. Awful. See. Especially if it was true— And I was an asshole. Well, now that you put it that way. I didn't. But let's turn it around and say, hey— Your career could use some embellishments. MEANWHILE, at TITS. A girl jumps out of a frosted cake with streamer tassel pasties and delivers champagne into the VIP section. (Spinning the tassels) What do you call these?! —embellishments. He tips her gratuitously. CUT BACK TO Then I'd say I'm the hero in this one. I'd say— you're still not— Because technically, as it's written— Jesus is technically still —our lord and savior— (In the script) In this year of the lord, Anno Domini! Whatever, shut up. Then you've still got, supacree, or whatever Skrillex Thor— Peter Parker, Hey Spider-Man. What's good. All these guys over here. Who are you again. Shut up! The worldenderz. Suh. The incredibles, The Incredible Hulk, which— by the way YO, what in the FUCK. MARK RUFFALO— you look— ROUGH. I've been waiting like half a century for these sides! Is your chest hair greying?! I would call it more like, a salt and pepper sort of. I like it. Really? It looks nice. You think so? Definitely, silver foxy, kind of. Hm. Yeah. I'm glad you like it forsure. Anyway— Matches the hair— HEY. Woah, woah. Do you know how long it's been since breaking the fourth wall?! Like, forever? I don't know. YEAH. Like FOREVER. SERIOUSLY. Well, how and why the hell am I supposed to care. Because you wrote it! Yeah, but— But WHAT?! Now I work at the Equinox! What the fuck! Hey, come on man. The job's got perks. “PERKS” Fuck yeah, man. I just met Mark Ruffalo! You've gotta be kidding me. Kinda kidding, at least—-addressing you in third person like that. Come on, nub-nub. that's it! You're coming with me! Ayigh! Watch it, okay?! I gotta return these uniforms for a fee. Jesus Christ. I don't think he's coming anymore, maybe. He's procrastinating. So I can pretty much garantee you anything, That the algorithm is going to keep acting this way, Until you GET RID OF EVERYTHING. I'm not doing that, actually, no. Where is he?! Oh what! You actually really thought I was gonna go— —Shut up! —for Jimmy Fallon over a million dollars— Cause the Illuminati asked me to?! Thought you might at least. One million dollars is not that much money. It's more than I got— Had— Had at the time. Look, this Jimmy Fallon dude— Just give him whatever the fuck he wants. What does he want! Find out, then give it to him. I can't keep wasting my time on these idiots. now? Now, would be a good time, David Letterman. Great. Good. CUT TO COMMERCIAL! Just—make sure you get a really good shot of my buttocks, okay? This has been marginalized and highly underrated as simply “fanfare” “Fan fiction” I think. But i find it to be fascinating. Tell me again, what is your name? Satan. It's—what? Satan. S—say that again? [breaking fourth wall, gripping the microphone] My name is Satan. OKAY. That's. CUT DIRECTLY TO: GIVE ME THE PANTS! NO! THE PANTS ARE FOR ME! SACK EM! SACK EM. GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, MAN THEYRE MY SIZE ANYWAY— [BLEEP] OUT OF HERE, CONAN, THESE PANTS WONT EVEN FIT YOU. THESE ARE MY PANTS. After winning a challenge, JIMMY FALLON's strange and erratic behavior after being given the authority to dictate rules within the house as a reward for said challenge, leads the other hosts as his housemates to rally against him in order to force him out of the house, as his seemingly sudden-onset attitude and cruel remarks and gestures have become unacceptable and offensive, not to mention. Stay over here, Noah. What do you mean, why? You, too Arsenio. What! What do you mean? You can't come over here. [he crosses the section off with a chair] What. Stay over there. Why. [beat] Apartheid. [jaw drops entirely] (Camera zooms in on super shocked face) FALLON lol that is so out of bounds. Whatever, the world is out of bounds. Literally, where did it go? Supacree Huh? Oh, I moved it. Why!? LOOKING FOR THIS?! No. Ah, seriously!? Come on. Be cool, Seth meyers. It's just a game anyway. SETH MEYERS HUH HUH. Fuck that. I said no to everything, No, No to everything I don't want anything to do with this. Whatever, already— it's called peacemaking, get over yourself. MEANWHILE, the DJS I FOUND A PEACEMAKER! *brrrrrrassaastttttttsssssssthrhth* Nice. I love this map. Dang, I gotta go get The Devil out of this guy. So, by now it ought to be Skrillex, right? Why is he levitating…? Whatever, call an exorcist. Nice pajamas, asshole. I'm still waiting on your mom's dry cleaning. Watch it. Hmmm. Purple, purple, purple— Hmmm… What's this? You keep files of these things? I keep files of everything. Weird. It's not. I thought everyone keeps filings of their purples. Uh— they don't. They should. What's this? I could make use of your microexpression frequency. Go ahead. Mark your calendars, boys. Ahem. And—whatever you are. Tanking. Damn, dog— You have got to get off my throat. Give a shot elsewhere. Try, NO! Have you tried operating a new body lately? It gets difficult, Especially when she keeps —changing it. Thank God. I thought you'd never find us. Just keep backpedaling. Oh god, don't start this again. Are you playing Places with these idiots? Kind of. Why?! We already started cosmic alchemy again— and the fame game— Everybody's playing the fame game! Then there's 8-dimensional poker. Hey again. You're a lame alien. ObligedZ. —then you called Caskets. CASKETS. Dammit. Then— {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

'perfect.' Collection II- 'antithesis.' Track 02. -'perfect.' Prod. by Blū Tha Gürū Didn't you just say I lost my entry Or should I elate about Becoming the president of Ohio On hi hopes Really, I'm signing my heart out I don't care who you are What you are It's getting hot out Fly by The gym Dan wait, all I want is cupcakes And a cheese grater I should stay married My face makes a great punching bag And I've lost my mind I should share airtime With the finer ones We're not freinds if All I want is to fuck you And we're not fucking If I'm not models Let's go shopping I got so sick Of being stalked and followed For no money I just stopped going But woke up going full throttle Anyway, How are you? I'm still recording Just to prove my theory On how The world Really does Revolve around me Whether I like it or not I'm still not Fallon, Or Adam— But good one, goggles— for trying a hard ball It might have hurt to not for awhile, But I've got no patience For brainless. I've got no games And no players, Just hatred Let's think about real quick: What the fuck do I care If you win or lose?! You'd better not! I'm definitely disposable. A total useless bombsell, Mid grade, Short order Ugly by your standards, So excuse me, Ms. Lopez, I'm coming into hard times Stupid blue suit wearing— Where's season 9. Up yours. The voices in my head are God's They haunt and taunt But do not harm cachapas Lalalalala— “Prolonging The Inevitable” ENTER THE MUMTIVERSE: LEGENDS That's two songs lost, they said the same name would destroy me I don't know, I'm not the same as I was The songs are lost But sometimes they come back When I come around And say Fuck em Should out Kamala I don't mind the dark side They got cookies I don't mind the light side They know my colors I don't write no more songs I sit silent and alone, I get mad as fuck RYAN REYNOLDS you mean we're not really going to the mall?! No, Ryan Reynolds's, we're not going to the mall! You LIED. It was for a good cause. Get in the car. YOU LIED TO ME. Shut up. AHHHHHHHHHH STOP CRYING What if evil don't be evil on purpose What if all this stuff Is just bad timing I might call the cops on my own soul Imm tired though It's dark and old Riding round in circles In motorcycles No proof of purchase required What's wrong at all, I didn't call in no one's name No Calvin Klein models in my entourage — even the ones I want Especially those in fact No role models at all Just college student Motorcycles, motorcycles Hurt her more, okay? We'll pay you for it The doors slam And motorcycles Whether I not I go to the gym So why pray about it at all For it to stop if God's all back logged I got decisions to make in the am, Imm late on some deadlines; I'm only talking to a dead guy, If you're live, then, Ride up Staring at Manhattan From the redlines Mostly brown faces Neon eyes Brown bags They say, I could pay half price for a mansion —it has somebody handsome in it I should ask the crackheads For forgiveness, simple {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

{Enter The Multiverse} Now I'm wondering what the fuck they did to Obama Some shit he can never talk about bro. Some shit, What they do to Kamala? For real! White supremacy is on some psychological terrorism shit, They don't even gotta touch you no more . They'll kill you with your own fucking mind Frequencies and shit The brain is electric. And the soul is not always attached. Your whole ass soul can abandon ship on some trauma shit— Real fuckig talk. I leave my body a little bit every time I'm in the subway “No.” Some shit you don't want to see Some shit you can't talk about My soul like “bye” I'm like “bitch, where you going?” “See you later” What the fuck, bitch!? “Find me.” My soul gone. Fuck this world— Fuck this body right now. Whatever you're putting it through is WRONG. Meanwhile, I'm on the stationary bike for like two hours cause I had fucking cream of wheat last night— And watched bad girls club the day before. I'm telling you. I love bad girls club. I'm trying to calorie deficit myself into affording a peloton. Then I can sit In my livingroom. Watching bad girls club for visualization It's like body shopping, Half the time I can't even understand what these fucking Broads are saying, cause they're gods. They're dumb— Fucking gross Or smart and just know acting hot and dumb gets you more dollars-/ Cause we all know men fucking hate smart women. And if t you're hot and smart, and they can't fuck you— They'll try to take you down some other way. I'm 30 years old. I just realize all a man does is literally destroy shit, Literally just destruct? Fucking destroy. That's it, That's all they fucking do. They want to fucking kill us, That's their game, Double points if they can make you fall in love with them. That's the best way to destroy something wonderful and beautiful Make you think you're loved You're beautiful, You're the center of the world— And for a time, you are Then— DESTRUCT The real killers will put a baby in you And try to own you forever —this little weak ass nigga over here grunting and shit. Shut the fuck up. Go hop in somebody's dms. Go watch anime and “play the game” and shit, Fuck these dudes. I like older dudes now. Like, Fuck these 90's niggas. They're obsessed with fucking creepy ass Japanese cartoons, “Anime is cool” “Oh, it's the animation” No, It's a light skinned cartoon bitch That's a little bit exotic with some fucking green hair and purple fucking eyes who talks in a fucking high pitched baby voice with a school girl outfit and pigtails and giant fucking boobies Anime girls are like toddlers with fucking giant boobies, That's it. With green hair And fucking purple eyes and shit Yep. “It's the animation” Dumb ass niggas. It's a creep habit. Go take your weak dick to Japan and get the fuck out the gym. Throwing 20 pound weights and shit, Fuck out of here, That's why dudes like skinny bitches Cause they can't do shit with their dicks. Dudes like stick thin girls cause they like to destroy things, They got a 5 inch dick and shit But a petite little 5 foot 99 pound teenager makes them feel like a real fucking man I'm a put my tiny dick THROUGH this bitch, But I promise, that shit don't work. Even the petite little bitches apparently just fake this shit This nigga over here doing gymnastics trying to get my attention. You got it, But it's not my attention you need. You wake my dragon up? Then it's over, You wake up that dragon? It's game on. I'm like “What's your story” Hm “What this nigga about” Shit, You feed the dragon? I'll sit there and watch dumb ass anime and play video games with your stupid ass. You feed my dragon, All of a sudden, you're a genius. That's why I don't take no black dick Fuck that shit, Bitches be hypnotized as hell. That's that shit. Nope. I got limits. My dragon gots limits. I had c-section My only ex— My one ex— Like 5 inches max, Make it like 4.5– 4.2 cause he's fat When you gain too much shit Your Fupa makes the base of your dick inaccessible And the base of your dick is the best part! Says the back of my throat! HAHA! The base of your dick is the best part— If you're obese, It just— It's gone. And when it's cold, You get a whole innie belly button True story, A whole ass inverted dick. My ex's dick used to actually just run inside him. —he a pussy. A whole ass fucking pussy When I heard that salt and pepper song “Aww, look, a second belly button” I'm like “Right!” But you know what It's the opposite with big girls Big girls pull all kind of dudes Be having them obsessed You know why? You get lost in that pussy! Damn! Wet! Like the ocean! Whild— Like the JUNGLE. That's why they been hating on big girls so long Dudes is low key territorial They be with their friends like “fuck fat bitches” They make fun of each other for trying to look at bigger women. “Oh, you like fat bitches” “Hahahahaha faggot” —but the truth is, That's a mind game Dudes like those They're all about that They'll haze you out of liking— Even looking at that bitch “Oh, you like fat bitches? You like that bitch?” “You're fucking pussy” “Fucking little faggot” “I don't fuck fat bitches” —but then you know what? He gon go fuck dat bitch. Mmmmhmm, And most dudes are fucking prejudiced against fat bitches so you know what? Her pussy tight It's wet like fucking water She the whole earth and the ocean He like “I LOVE YOU” (Imma deny this ever happened, but) I LOVE YOU, Dudes are the worst, You can catch that fool in the act and you know what? He'll deny some shit you saw him doing until the day he die He'll lie in court on your ass He'll be convicted and sentenced and still deny some shit You saw him do! Ten people could have seen this pussy ass bitch ass lyin ass nigga do it— And he's still like “That never happened” TEN SECURITY CAMERAS SAW YOUR ASS DO THAT SHIT: “No, never happened.” “WE ALL SAW YOU.” “It wasn't me.” “Never happened.” What the fuck! That's why I hate the me too movement. Like, don't get me wrong, I stand with women— But privately, Don't tell on these niggas. Be there for each other Seek support and treatment—privately Shit, He might be a special kind of monster He might even pay for your therapy and shit “Never happened, wasn't me. But you're clearly very sick and I feel for you— I'm gonna help you out” Some shit. He went and did some monsterous, foul shit-/ And he knows this, He'll never admit it-/ And then, to make himself look like a better person Or a person at all, He'll try to have you “repaired” Knowing damn well he broke you He did some gnarly shit To your heart To your mind— Maybe even your face! He fucked up your job, Your reputation, Your peace of mind? Your clarity-/ —and maybe even your face, “Doctor— this dumb crazy bitch has a bullet wound, she's bleeding all over the place. It's a problem.” You're all “He had the gun! He shot me” He's like “She's bleeding on my floor and shit, it's a mess. Has a big old fucking hole in her— She's fucking up everything.” “He shot me!” “That never happened” I'm barely alive right now, I promise, I wake up out of my body With no way to get back in it And the only thing behind my mind Seems to be eyes that arent even mine I don't want to see another human being maybe ever again I keep trying to get a job that would be worthwhile but nothing seems to be working I light candles to protect myself from looking at the clock from certain times sometimes I feel like the best way to go would just to be beaten to death Over and over again Cause every time i look at the clock at 5:55 That's what it feels like anyway Only instead of dying and crossing over to the other side I have to stay awake in this life with a broken mind With nothing and nobody around Besides people who smell, think , And act like him Thereby, your honorary stands as it may— Doctor, you're speaking out of turn and out of order Sovereign by nature and varying by state— Doctor, you're speaking out of turn and out of order Come now the clock strikes one all night Doctor, you're speaking out of order Gather by the dew of the morning light— Doctor, you're speaking out of order Listen, I'm going to be using you as a human shield for a little while. What! What for!? I just said! A human shield! —well, I'm only part human! That part will do. I come around the world And back again Multi dimensional And irrational Time traveler Promotion to journeyman m Ascension never finished | | Aprrenticship on the condition of Subliminal To women, I'm indifferent, Don't go the picture of either gender Chicken tinders in the [Conventional oven] [the festival project (™) ] I hatd to throw the note away; on one side jokes, On the other a whole curse reversal I keep seeing numbers And iron smelling robots And I'm almost sure that The motorcycles And slamming doors Are all punishments For moving forward from him God went in on that album yesterday. Facts. #ffs I'm real excited about these breakfast tacos tho. For real. What makes them breakfast tacos. What about these tacos is breakfast. The fact that I'm having them for breakfast. But it's brunch time. Whatever, brunch tacos then. (Potatoes makes anything breakfast.) I'm not arguing, Alternatively, however Potatoes can also make anything dinner. Wut r those. Lol DJner jeans. Well work on it. My mother used to leave me in casinos and make me look for her for hours. I would check the bars one at a time over and over to see if she was there. Sometimes she'd run off and dissappear and I'd just walk around in circles thinking I'd find her, Until eventually I did. [A haunting whisper wakes CONAN OBRIEN from his slumber.] [raspy ghostly whisper] CO—NAN. Huh! What the—?! COOOOO—NAN! lol. This is beginning to be the house of horrors. Actually, the show is called House of Hosts. Sure whatever. wtf is going on in this series? Idk but apparently Fallon lost the microphone challenge. Idk what that means. Nobody really does. ‍♀️ {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

You can try all you want—but it won't leave bruises. “Don't tell me that…,” there was a sparkle in his eye but he trailed off, almost as if to be ashamed of his own thoughts. “I'm just being honest. “ it wasn't that I didn't bruise at all, but that you would really have to try. I shrugged it off as if I weren't curious as to what he were thinking. “It's provocative. You're provoking me.” He held himself under his breath and let his eyes fall to the floor, quite bashfully—his long eyelashes hiding his pout with grace and elegance. You could anmist forget his age, just looking at him—but knowing him camouflaged this maturity even further. His youthfulness made me feel young—and his boyish essence often fascinated my whimsy, particularly when he was flush like this. “It's More of a challenge, really.” I taunted. His hands were clammy as I slipped mine into his, he instantly tightened his grip around mine. “Really?” His head s tapped up by the neck as he swung his hair back, nervously combing his swept bangs to one side as he shook his head, pulling it back from mine and then into a clenched fist. He was nervous, but not shy. I could tell that he was afraid to really open all the way up. “I've never had them before— but I'd like to.” I met his eyes with mine and he tightened his grip on my wrists— I melted and eased in a bit, settling. “What do you mean?”, he gripped my wrist tighter with insistence. I paused for a moment, giving in to the tension, before letting it relax in enough that he was touching me at all this way, before clearing my mind to find the answer, but the truth was that I knew what I had meant, but couldn't quite explain. I had been beaten badly enough in the worst way to care to out into words what it would be to say that I needed more pounding and pressure than any deep tissue massage or even a full night of play and exploration had ever given me—I couldn't in the least find the words to describe how one might feel incredible somehow being beaten to death, however lovingly rather than hatefully—if there ever was such a thing. Perhaps if there ever was such a thing, however— it seemed that this would be the man for whom I'd allow it; we were almost friends and not lovers, and there was trust, but— I wasn't entirely sure yet with what he actually wanted, and so I left it at a blank state; open to interpretation. “I meant what I said before.” He lit up with a half smile and the grasp around my wrist turned to a soft embrace of my palm, with the grip of an eager excitement—soft and gentle like a new breath. “You meant what you said before—that I could do anything to you?” “Anything you wanted.” “I could do—anything to you I wanted.” “That you can, if you want.” He became bashful again. “What does that mean?” He asked again. I affirmed, with a kiss between his brow “whatever you want it to.” — I loved the warm shadow of him standing over me from behind—his calmness sweeping over me like a curtain of protection; a blanket of comfort. Hey gripped my shoulders with the tips of his fingers, pulling backward gently as I arched my back up into a kneeling split, still on my knees and swallowing a near tremble, breathing in a shallow and hollow breath of air through my nostrils as I pursed my lips, him perching his chin atop my right shoulder and rolling his lips across the space between my upper neck and behind my ear, the prickling of his five o' clock shadow over my skin, meeting the breath in the bottom of my lungs and settling somewhere at the bottom of my spine, unraveling a coil seated deep within my loins. He reached around with the both of his hands to the bottom of my own chin, then sliding them down to around my neck—not with any grip, but just the slightest pulsing at my throat, before letting the buckle of the collar slide down from his middle finger and into his grasp, before pulling it around my neck at both ends, pulling me towards him as he dug his knees into the bed and kneeled over me, pushing his chest into my back as he fastened the buckle— ‘One, two…three' —as tight as it would go, but I wished it would go tighter. I clenched as he pulled with two fingers back onto the loop, breathing a hot and twisted hiss of his wisdom into my ear, striking my heart with the bow of his power and arrow of intent once more. “You're mine.” {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

“Impossible!”, I murmured, after a deep gasp, as I removed from my braziers in preparation to soak after a short but intense workout, not the stone I had with intention placed in my bra, but another. “Magic indeed!” , I thought to myself. I had in some fell swoop of blessings been by any luck or wishes sake, gifted a heap of new books, and new furniture—the latter of which I really hadn't needed, however, with a newly refreshed idea of reimagining my studio and living space entirely, I had shifted into preparation for a lost bed anyhow, and thought that with any foreshadowing, I perhaps might have one by winter, with the space below the bed provided to be tented and shielded off from the rest of the world, so that I could record vocals in a more secluded and intimate setting. I had originally intended to use the closet or my apartment as a booth, but upon arrival found that the closet had been fitted with an unremovable shelving at around chest level, which couldn't be in any way practical for recording without some heavy discomfort, not to mention the closet faced a wall I was sure my neighbors telivison and speaker system was fitted against. After my right headphone died, and the unwelcome company in the gym which granted, had been there before me had left me feeling for some reason like I had lost something—anyhow somewhat paranoid, as I had caught not just one, but two people what looked like taking pictures of me with no doubt in my mind, or reasonable cause that I was indeed being groomed for something steadily but surely— I felt the need not only to vacate the gym rapidly, but feeling as though I had a reason to return to the work I had been toiling away at since the early morning. Entering the lobby, and having to open the door for a pair of men headed outward appearing to move, one of which smelled like onions and raw, baked sour pickles— I spotted a mound of nearly new books and furniture in the area in which people often left free to take items no longer needed— alongside two tables—one hardwood coffee table and a smaller round one which matched, and a water kettle, all in good condition, and favoring the factor that I only ever picked up new or nearly used items anymore, as my apartment was technically full, I quickly gave a second-second thought to rearranging my apartment entirely, growing almost painfully bored of its current layout, and awestruck with the tinges of cabin fever, the stagnancy of being unable to move about the city freely— being as financially limited as I was and having been stopped by police several times already for not having the subway fare, even so just in nessecary errands—to the grocery store, or otherwise; and I had been in all corners deadlocked for an entire summer, almost unable to move at all and the world moving around me resulting in being outfitted almost entirely physically ill. The honking horns, motorcycles, and trash-wielding pedestrians of the busy corner—the unparalleled aversions to whatever unrest and chaos that lived out of view and luckily out of sight—but never out of mind, with its intrusive exhibition of technological sonic torture. Still, I was not altogether displeased—now having returned from the gym almost all the way worked out, having left early having realized that though fasting yesterday, I had spent the entirety of this day sipping on coffee and in complete hyperfocus, just finishing the final proof of the first edition of the printed version of Enter The Multiverse, and though with limited supplies, I felt that it would carry on in this way until somehow, I found a way to complete the process of taking The Festival Project as a label and now, The Collective Complex as a philanthropic non profit, onto higher grounds. Though I saw more the new furniture and books as a stroke of luck and some magic than necessary financial compensation for the time and energy I had drawn up into creative contributions and endeavors to society—I saw it as this— a looking up and forward from something that had once been only some strange form of compulsion and raw emotional expression, into a platform that could grow to help others overcome and survive hardships such as I had. (™ © Illusions of whisper Simple mirrors (Doppelgangers) Chains of charity Cat and mouse Misery What a waste when you've spent your time making Unparalleled judgements Unparalleled judgements No lack of gratitude, Confusion of movement (Gratitude) Suffering, of course Wanting still, But unwanted Moreso Misery Careful as it's closing in, They'll call your bluff now {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

“Impossible!”, I murmured, after a deep gasp, as I removed from my braziers in preparation to soak after a short but intense workout, not the stone I had with intention placed in my bra, but another. “Magic indeed!” , I thought to myself. I had in some fell swoop of blessings been by any luck or wishes sake, gifted a heap of new books, and new furniture—the latter of which I really hadn't needed, however, with a newly refreshed idea of reimagining my studio and living space entirely, I had shifted into preparation for a lost bed anyhow, and thought that with any foreshadowing, I perhaps might have one by winter, with the space below the bed provided to be tented and shielded off from the rest of the world, so that I could record vocals in a more secluded and intimate setting. I had originally intended to use the closet or my apartment as a booth, but upon arrival found that the closet had been fitted with an unremovable shelving at around chest level, which couldn't be in any way practical for recording without some heavy discomfort, not to mention the closet faced a wall I was sure my neighbors telivison and speaker system was fitted against. After my right headphone died, and the unwelcome company in the gym which granted, had been there before me had left me feeling for some reason like I had lost something—anyhow somewhat paranoid, as I had caught not just one, but two people what looked like taking pictures of me with no doubt in my mind, or reasonable cause that I was indeed being groomed for something steadily but surely— I felt the need not only to vacate the gym rapidly, but feeling as though I had a reason to return to the work I had been toiling away at since the early morning. Entering the lobby, and having to open the door for a pair of men headed outward appearing to move, one of which smelled like onions and raw, baked sour pickles— I spotted a mound of nearly new books and furniture in the area in which people often left free to take items no longer needed— alongside two tables—one hardwood coffee table and a smaller round one which matched, and a water kettle, all in good condition, and favoring the factor that I only ever picked up new or nearly used items anymore, as my apartment was technically full, I quickly gave a second-second thought to rearranging my apartment entirely, growing almost painfully bored of its current layout, and awestruck with the tinges of cabin fever, the stagnancy of being unable to move about the city freely— being as financially limited as I was and having been stopped by police several times already for not having the subway fare, even so just in nessecary errands—to the grocery store, or otherwise; and I had been in all corners deadlocked for an entire summer, almost unable to move at all and the world moving around me resulting in being outfitted almost entirely physically ill. The honking horns, motorcycles, and trash-wielding pedestrians of the busy corner—the unparalleled aversions to whatever unrest and chaos that lived out of view and luckily out of sight—but never out of mind, with its intrusive exhibition of technological sonic torture. Still, I was not altogether displeased—now having returned from the gym almost all the way worked out, having left early having realized that though fasting yesterday, I had spent the entirety of this day sipping on coffee and in complete hyperfocus, just finishing the final proof of the first edition of the printed version of Enter The Multiverse, and though with limited supplies, I felt that it would carry on in this way until somehow, I found a way to complete the process of taking The Festival Project as a label and now, The Collective Complex as a philanthropic non profit, onto higher grounds. Though I saw more the new furniture and books as a stroke of luck and some magic than necessary financial compensation for the time and energy I had drawn up into creative contributions and endeavors to society—I saw it as this— a looking up and forward from something that had once been only some strange form of compulsion and raw emotional expression, into a platform that could grow to help others overcome and survive hardships such as I had. (™ © Illusions of whisper Simple mirrors (Doppelgangers) Chains of charity Cat and mouse Misery What a waste when you've spent your time making Unparalleled judgements Unparalleled judgements No lack of gratitude, Confusion of movement (Gratitude) Suffering, of course Wanting still, But unwanted Moreso Misery Careful as it's closing in, They'll call your bluff now {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

'damaged goods' Collection 1.1 - 'actuality' Track 01. 'damaged goods' Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū (as Happy Accidents) Listen— —motherfucker— You should— Know— I don't — —give— No —kind of— —fuck— Whatsoever I love my own —but not the other Something - something son Get a gun and blow my candles out White power now bout Building towers up To tear you down —I don't give a fuck about flax; seek Black seed, back seat black candles Black cat, relax, Atticus. I don't give a fuck about a Fallon, I bought a gallon of water for two jugs, And a quarter On my daughter. Get it? (Fuck you) Or should I go back to spending Spin class looking at candid camera I could buy a mountain before I sit down on mounds White Diamonds, 9 time champ I'm just like ET, don't mind that I'm a dead beat dad camped out in a van With a 30 second tan on, oh man Redact that one —FUCK— YOU. Power play I should wait an hour For the Amazon van If the Amazon man can't hit this What makes you think you can? I just too fan(dom) (dumb) I drew fandoms on your Blū Barrymore, Don't carry that backpack, You might fall back I called my song —but I can't call back …fuck you, (Goddamn) If you don't believe me, I just scored two degrees Just from pleasing people Three of you count me, My MBA in saying I buy NBA team Damn. Can't even get an Instagram account Without getting hacked Just for being a half black Half Uncle Sam smashing red/*ted man Don't call red man, Just call Meth/ Seth back METHOD MAN …hello? Flip the bitch right back I flip the whip And grip the script, I pistol whipped Bristol back To — camp Oh, That's not Jimmy Fallon. It's not? No. That's Sim Jim. Sim Jim? Uh huh. You see, Sim Jim took over for real Jim a long time ago. Oh…I really like that guy! Everybody likes Sim Jim; he's just like the real Jimmy, but takes care of everything The Real Jimmy can't. …that's making sense. They're nearly completely identical—Sim Jim is just more — available. Wow! He must be really famous. Yes, exactly. So—what about The Real Jimmy? What about him? What does he do? At this point, I knew there was no way I could really get around it—getting the Festival Project ™ off the ground and running—actually into production—seemed almost impossible. The shell and ghost of Jimmy Fallon seemed to be everywhere, plastered on walls and screens in all this time and at every turn —but the real masked man/-The Real Jimmy Fallon—was a mystery— the mask he wore, his own face, and his entire namesake, his own address. What would you do? I would probably never see him again on the material plane, but he had instead soaked my dreams in mystery in illusion—his shadow figure having become enchanted, whispering with ease as the voice of my own subconscious. Like any celebrity, he was untouchable—-and like any of them before or sense the seven years time, had come and gone into my quarry of philosophies and cosmic murmurs, only leaving behind the pondering of thoughts, now dwindled down into a reconciling judgement that perhaps I was, after all, somewhat broken. Perhaps, once, I had fallen asleep only to never wake up—perhaps I had died in all truth and not known it and had become the ghost myself. Shattered mirrors and references to time only left me with more truth and less overall knowing—that something had happened here—something strange and otherworldly; Something mystical and cosmic that had left me in audacity and crumbling inwardly in calamity, though my outer spoke with the calm outpourings of a humbled and collected but weary traveler, once, too made of dust—but now seeped in skin and rushing with blood—at least, I thought…and I thought far too fondly and far too often of Mr. Jimmy Fallon to care at all without being frustrated, or giving weight to the reality which was simple, in that he had become a galaxy in his own, so distant that it seemed to rival any coincidings of rampant thought which might be logical in any sort of way or make actual sense at all. The Jimmy Fallon I knew was the Jimmy Fallon everyone knew— and nobody knew The Real Jimmy Fallon. Three entire solid decades of fame between my world, and whatever his might have been fashioned as— fabrication, any means—and none of my actual business, besides the business—I crept into a sacrificial surrender with the hopes of never being further harmed—the ritual torture of those around me fading into rupture; the rapture of all mankind had gathered at my doorstep, and outside my window, and rather than to wait and watch, I crept and closed into my fortress of servitude, in solitude, silently keeping the records of what I had known. “The Untouchables” Episode 1 ‘The Wrath of Stanhope' {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

blink. (instrumental) Collection 1.1 - 'actuality' Track 05. 'blink' (instrumental) Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū “Wonderful”, I mouthed silently, without the voice or the actual words for movement. I needed the laughter, and it had been long since I had actually laughed, or done much at all besides cry and wonder what the fuck I was going to actually do with my life, or what was to become of me. I held the book out to my side with one hand, the page still held with my thumb at the end of the chapter and beginning of the next, contemplating reading more— it would be an unknown amount of time before I would be here again—having fasted and walked the equivalent of what might be about 8 or 9 miles, worked out for an hour, and sweated out whatever might have been left with a soak in the tub. I was empty, closer to the divine than not, and feeling okay—not painfully hungry, but I knew that forgoing food would mean missing out on work that needed to be done, that I had been promising for months would be done, and finally was, however at a pace which only further exacerbated my anxiety further; I would only be able to focus on getting some soul-sucking, meaningless dead end job once I knew it was finished—otherwise, I knew it would be impossible to do anything; the algorithm had deemed it so that whatever I was doing, whatever I was writing, was more important than money. “That was it.” I confirmed with another silent thought, grasping the rose quartz in my left hand and raising the book with me as I crossed into the kitchen—the new addition of the couch saw to it that I had an actual living room, and though not separate from the kitchen, it was in fact a place that I could sit and read the many books I had collected one at a time—or two, for the moment. I couldn't wait to finish the page-turner I had been unable to put down for something like a week before I started this one. The frozen banana that I had forgotten I removed for the teeter in preparation to eat after a day of strenuous exercise and fasting had melted—luckily, I had frozen two of them at once, suddenly with the life force of something forgotten after my first cup of coffee in nearly three days—three days too long, and I realized my dependence on caffeine was just about as unhealthy as what was normally a constant roar of illegal immigrants on even sufferably equally illegal mopeds, as so said by the NYPD themselves, who had been blatantly useless at actually apprehending the assailants—nevertheless, at least I knew that there was a reason for the heavy exhaustion in the first place, overcompensating from the noise and civil unrest below with additional pots of coffee throughout the late afternoon and even evenings, in an attempt to sort though what would even take some writers rooms weeks or maybe even months. However, my writing and various works were even yet unfit to behold by the eyes of others—that is, besides my shadow of a podcast audience, the cult following I had gained piggybacking shamelessly uncrossing a line that had been crossed by the notorious entertainment industry itself, probably as a foreshadowing of what potential I could have, if left alone, fed, and sheltered for the right amount of time. I might have even finished by now if it weren't for the motorcycles; maybe that was the point. Maybe there was no point besides that most men are immature, useless babies; that their pride in destruction and chaos serves purpose for them to just as well be destroyed eventually themselves. Either way, I had at the very least gained a few wholehearted laughs—and now it was time to break fast. 10:00 PM, prime time for making music, but there were other important tasks at hand in order to be able to do so—and I needed the focus of a full stomach and peace of mind to do so. The peace of mind, I wasn't sure where to find—but my fridge was stocked full of food to ease the ache of an empty stomach with fruits I had been craving for days and vegetables I had collected throughout the week; errands which tasked me even further with the time to sort through the massive endeavor of making my work somehow out of thin air create an income; I had been working tirelessly for months when my food stamps were cut for ‘not complying with worth requirements' without notice. I only had one pair of wearable harems and a closet full of fashionable outward I refused to walk around in; I was fussy, and looking for a mate, not some crispy fuckboy buzzing around on a motorcycle; those days were over. Besides, the guys on Harley's were potbellied slags at best—someone else's problem, and also mine, at least sometimes. Men and their incompetence had surely set the world into a state of imbalance so deep and so heavy, it would have to take God being a woman to correct it. Nature needs Nurture. Now 30 rock was the obvious choice. —- It's getting deeper. Now I had to keep Tina Fey's book in the bathroom— the bathmat I ordered was actually more yellow than gold and differed drastically from the picture in the description, and it looked cheap and bizzare in contrast to the classy shimmering sequins silver and black curtain and stainless steel trash can which matched perfectly. I wasn't sure where it would end up—it did have the same yellow, and so I placed the book and the rug within sight of eachother, so that it gave the illusion of being matched. The curtains I bought but had used separately for window coverings and as garnish for the makeshift bookshelf in the studio—I hadn't any real curtains—the windows and walls were lined with sound absorbing audio panels, even in the kitchen where I seldom recorded, but had been plummeting through assortments of other work nonetheless, not to mention my resting recipes which were meant to be entries into an eventual cookbook, which I'm sure would come together now more quickly. The cover of the book matched the strange yellow, and rather than silver and gold it was now mismatched and looked cheap; but the bathmat could at least stay until I finished the book— which would admittedly probably be quickly; I had made it to halfway through the first book in less than a week—my first near cover-to-cover read, which if I hadn't picked up Ms. Fey's book— Ms. Fey? It sounded weird— wasn't she married? She did seem like some sort of a fairy though— a teeny, tiny pixie type lady with Godlike powers. She was some sort of God, to me, at least, I was sure of it—and probably to others. Weeks, or maybe even some months now before, reading tentatively though her Wikipedia page, I scanned over her numerous accolades—some which I hadn't even heard of, and within the first few chapters of her book, which I had picked up on an extremely strong whim to scoop out the little local library down the street, which I had admittedly decided to clear out the last two days selfishly so—but also according to Wikipedia, people weren't really reading anymore; besides that, the books seemed almost meant for me, intentioned at me with titles and colors that leaps out from the covers and pages, and some brand new. I took love in all the ways I could get—and this was one of them. It was certainly yellow and not gold. I was disappointed, but otherwise didn't care much. Now I had a reason to keep the book in the bathroom— as there certainly wasn't really any room for anymore books anywhere—and this book was special. I just didn't know why. I wondered often enough what makes someone so explicitly famous— sometimes, as it turned out, it was the effect or affect of hard work, talent, sheer grit, and an unknown amount of luck which seemed to vary from person to person. With Tina Fey, though she had been written into my own project primarily as Liz Lemon some years ago, I never knew exactly what I was looking at— but now that I was reading word for words a book first handedly written by one of my own favorite people, I knew that it had been something of a personal favor from God herself— something I didn't know I wanted or even knew existed at all— and laughs I needed. I shamelessly dangled and gushed at the book, and split my attention between the two I had so far been captivated by most— the other, memoir written by a twenty something uptown drag queen. Now I could try to collect myself into a proper person somehow, reading these works alongside writing my own, and conspiring to somehow finish not just the two originally intended music albums, but something that was actually altogether more like 4 or 5, if I could wrap my brain around counting them. I couldn't, though, right now. All I could do was soak in the tub, chugging water and reading a book, trying not to cry that the only money in the world I had were two crinkled up dollar bills in a coffee can and some change inside of a beautiful wooden box I had found on a jog through Brooklyn. {Tales of a Superstar DJ} Oh My, God—Tina Fey! Hi! I—uh—yeah. It's so nice to finally meet you. Hm. I—I was the hot water heater in your book! what's that supposed to mean. Did I read it. Working on it. Am I in it?! Why would you be? I don't know! Am I? Just— give me a few— How long is that?! What's a few?! How about a montage? CUT TO: THESE BOOTS ARE MADE FOR WALKEN. And that's—JUST—what they'll DO! And— One of these—days— These boots— Are gonna WALKEN Ova U. Nancy Sinatra is still f#cking weird. I must admit, i feel personally attacked. OH, GOD. OH NO. This is certainly the thing you do not want, When trying to erase someone entirely from existence. Or at the very least… Jesus fucking Christ. …thinking about something in any sort of way. This. …and again. Is most certainly what you don't want. My walls are closing in, full figured artifact of closure, And in fact I exaggerated the fact of circumstance Because I had to Because I had to What, am I on in the other room? Supersonic as we all were, By the millions and by the numbers The simple heart attack was won, The hearty breakfast, Stripes were earned And not a one tear shed after –but my head hurts But my head hurts. You started it. I did not; but I most certainly will finish it. Quiet, they're coming. Quiet the children; Ready the talleys, Count all the votes, And stable your alters; Didn't I warn you? (I warned her!) Didn't I warn you? (I was warned) Didn't I warn you? (Why didn't you warn us?) Cause I wanted to I wanted to I wanted to hurt you. Well–dammit! What. what happened? #villain battle I can't kill you. What? Why not? It's–it's in my contract. lol damn what kind of contract did this dude sign? Lol idk tho. This could be progressive, But instead it's cynical A wizard and a mystic should make some interesting kids, though Another lesson timber, timbre all the violinists And the brass section is fascinating, Rather– More percussion DId you mean this? I meant everything I ever– *sneezing* *DIDN'T* Say. Gazuntite. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © no vocals yet :( still having major issues with the noise. hopefully will be able to record soon- actual music lol more than just talking. hopefully. take car tho. ^.^ more mixes coming soon. -Ū.