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.™]

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