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.™]

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

This is confusing.

I can see how you're confused.

Everybody is confused.

Or just— fused.

…calculating…