[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

SUNNI BLU wakes up in her BEACHSIDE MALIBU BUNGALOW. A member of her posse enters sleepily.

CURFEW

…are we going surfing?

SUNNI BLU lifts her eye mask to observe the grey and stormy tsunami level monster wave crashing heinously into the rocky cliff side—

In the distance, an entire dock collapses.

SUNNI

…Yes.

SUNNI BLU in a suicidal rampage, becomes quite by accident, even more hideously famous, after riding a monsterous storm wave— the California southern coast's largest ever recorded— safely to shore.

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Pools of blood,

And pools of dust,

And fools, and fools, and fools

Pools of love,

And pools of list

And tools and tools, and tools

Pools of us,

And Pools of hours

And palms of pools D'hors

Pools of plants,

And pools of listen

Pools and Pools and Pools

Now, for us, what's at stake has come upon us

For whether which now or ever ties have made for us to burn;

Ne'er mistake there lust for listens and of ponders,

Waterfalls of love and feathers, wanders

Ties to honor stars and fore of fathers

Almost lost it, there, I–

Almost gathered, therefore.

[ ]

So to us who part ties,

Of tied knots and of stomach's wrench

To nourish shadows as remains her honor,

I, depart my once,

I, as flocking doves,

The twist'of fated never

Bare I fear or fonder

Where, where, for again

(bare tied as to none)

and again wakes as has but not

in time, to grove–

The box I paved and yet,

Set aside not as slabs of stone

Or ash and fire

But there i wake

In cedar pine and oak

The turn of slumber

as the glow of what I once did not know,

Now has shined against

My eyes as water

Luminescence

Oh Goddamnit.

Peaking pride, the oath

Again i wait and ne'er did I come,

but forth I woke, and also thought

Not one but worlds of color,

And there i know, to heart the seas I parted

Not shallow or in shallows waking, red as scarlet blood

but mauve, and then, the coping stays of which I gathered here has

Agape and aching, wet with pride and courage

Forefront others

As thought to know, I,

And I become, as known,

now not and.

“All White World”

Our ENSEMBLE awakens slowly in the void of light; an all white space seemingly endless and drenched in blinding light; slowly awakening as if upon a cloud, and yet, washed in the drenched brightness of an all white world–familiar and together, but also new; The uniformity of all white attire and the simplicity of symmetry–all alike but of many and also one.

I promise there's pancakes;

I promise there's porridge

I primise there's light at the end of the tunnel

(the end of the night and beginning of brunch)

And yes,

I promise a run

And a run for the office

(not by far)

And not unpardoned

I promise to pray

And I promise to wait

And i promise to ache

In the acres I've laid

Made of all green pastures

And days and days

Without saying my name

Pass us over

Now….

Hiatus, Hiatus, Hiatus!

My maples for all of us, cornbread

And cream of the coconut

(cream of the coconut)

Screams from the underworld

(Calling! They're calling)

And trees of the very best kind;

Plush with fruits

What a prosperous product

A merciless giving

A scrupulous foreign

(For four eyes, not one on my forehead)

–policy!

Don't you know, Conan,

That all this goes over my–

Over my over–

Over my

Over my head,

–like a snowball?

Don't you know, though,

That nothing goes over his–

Over his over–

Over his

Over his head

–no one throws that high!

(Not in softball!)

ENSEMBLE

What an apocalypse!

What an apocalypse!

What a protocol!

What a dunce!

What an oddball!

Don't you know

Nothing goes over

Goes over

Goes over us

Nothing goes over us

Nothing goes over

Nothing goes over

No bombs being dropped

And the worst has to come because

Nobody's turning this off;

It's a turning point

Not a mantra!

It's a saga

And nothing less short than a–

Awful apocalypse;

Long hiatus

and no-low doses of

Polymorohypothesis–

Whatever that is!

Don't you know, Conan,

They're all going wrong with us.

No,

There's no knowing

the coat

From the hotbox,

the hoot from the horus,

the laugh from the chopsticks,

The room full of products

Or coatrooms of corpses

No,

There's no knowing us

But out of nowhere

The hour comes running upon us,

And so

The show must go on

The show must go on

The show must go….

DIRECTOR

CUT!

WHAT! That was FABULOUS!

I don't disagree with you. However–

What is it now?

A MAN hangs by nothing but seemingly a very tightly buckled pair of restraints, above his head–the source of the object from which he hangs unknown, he appears to almost float, in fact, in quite the sufferable struggle.

Holy fuck, guy. You're still up here?

The VOICE comes from above but is yet unseen, it appears as though two very tidy clean white tennis shoes appear to be holding the straps of these restraints in place.

CONT'D

That's amazing.

No false ties,

And no hard wars,

And no jolly ranchers,

Gob stoppers,

or nerf ropes.

No fruit roll ups,

No lunchables, or gushers

No hamburger helper

And no candy crush

Just

Drugs

And more

Drugs

And more

Drugs and

more

Morons

Donuts,

and drag queens,

Tim Hortons,

And Mormons;

Mothballs,

and Roaches,

And horseflies,

And rodents –

Now guess which long road you're on

(guess which long road you're on)

Guess which long road you're aaaaahhhhhh–

HALT.

Who goes there.

What the fuck is THIS.

Finally, two acts past intermission,

The troll under the bridge has put his cancer in remission

The redactions have acted as class-action warfare,

McDonalds has sponsored us,

But barely.

Look: just.

No. I'm not endorsing this.

Why.

Because! It's killing people!

Shh!

It is!

He–'s uh–joking. Actors! Improvising! Hush.

Left and right!

Speaking of left and right–

You know who our sponsors are, right?

Of coure! This nonsense!

No! The–

Shh–!

–Owners of this product.

Beg your pardon.

Do you know who owns this brand and company?

No.

Well, do your research. Immediately.

I highly recommend that.

This seems serious.

Serious as a heart attack.

ACTION!

Fuck you!

Nuhhhhh–fuck you, you fucking fuck!

Look, you lost, alright.

Ughhhhhh.

It's three to one.

Three to one?!

Yes.

Fuck.

Wait a–wait–

What.

Aren't there five of you guys?

What?

Huh-huh?

No.

Yes. There are.

No. There's.

Why.

Five–of us–four of us

You're lying.

One, two, three *hiccups* four–

Strike force “five”?

I'm two guys!

FUCK.

We're missing one.

Fuck.

They figured us out.

I figured out nothing. I'm drunk. I

Fluffed.

just know the difference–s between Five and One

What.

Four and Five!

okay .

Fuck.

Well that's right.

Well can't we just do it with us.

NO!

Why not.

Because. the singularity has to be in the exact circumstance when this lightning strikes as the first one was.

But–

That's impossible.

It's not–*hiccups*--umpossible.

I was 9!

“9 and a half!”

“The half counts.”

But not right now! Because i'm like a 60 year old guy!

What!

Gross.

You're 60?!

I think so!

Then how old am I!?!

I don't know! How old were you before!?

I'm your brother! You don't know how old I am!?

You're not my brother now, so maybe–I don't know–you never were!

*gasps* take that bacK!

[The boys fight amongst eachother]

Fuck me, man.

No thank you.

What in the fuck did I write.

I don't know but.

CUT TO

Ooh. Dice.

DON'T TOUCH

*poof*

ENTER THE MULTIVERSE: L E G E N D S

“The Magic Dice”

(A Triad)

NICE.

FUCK yOu DUDE.

nO fuck U

U dElEETED My WRLD.

THen is must not have been that great.

*exaggerateD gasp*

*even more exaggerated gasp*

*Fluffs*

*fluffs harder*

*explodes*

[The Festival Project ™ ]

MEANWHILE

The Aliens Are On A Pirate Ship, There's Still No Sign of [Redacted] and that's what this beat is called. -U.

iS this a montage?

Idk it just seems like a ship sinking in very slow motion.

[A pirate ship full of aliens is sinking in very slow motion in a thunderous maelstrom.]

(in IMAX 3D)

Wow.

I like that.

This is fascinating.

JIMMY KIMMEL is pacing relentlessly; he is driving the other hosts up a wall.

KIMMEL

I'm hungry,

I want pants.

I'm hungry–

I want pants–

Jimmy...

KIMMEL

I'm hungry–

Jimmy!

KIMMEL

I want pants!

JIMMY!

KIMMEL

WHAT! I'M HUNGRY AND I WANT PANTS!

Oh, is that when—

CRAIG FURGUSON has had enough.

CRAIG

You want bloody pants!

KIMMEL

YES! I WANT PANTS!

CRAIG

You know what! Fine! I'll make you some fucking pants if you just–shut UP!

KIMMEL

AND I'M HUNGRY.

CRAIG

FIRST THINGS FIRST!

CRAIG FURGUSON assembles some very eclectic pants from the drapery inside the mansion; this of course reveals the windows to be boarded up in a highly distinct bunker-like maximum security prison-ish fashion, but THE HOSTS at the very least now have makeshift pants; which are startlingly fashionable: read: bohemian chic.

Why do mine have beads still attached?

He pulls the decorative ripchord and his fly opens promptly.

Oh.

CRAIG FURGUSON

For emergencies.

He continues pulling it in sequence with the matching lamp; he alternates turning the lights on and off and opening and shutting his pants flap in admiration.

CRAIG FURGUSON CONT'D

In case you really have to go.

(Facinated)

Ooh!

CRAIG FURGUSON is satisfied with his work.

CRAIG FURGUSON CONT'D

I guess you could say,

“The curtains match the drapes”

CONAN O'BRIEN

(beat)

…not mine.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Fearsome, fearsome friends–

Fearsome fearsome few

Fearsome fearsome tears

Listen whispers

Fearsome twin

Silly hollows

All the lies

All that waits is Hollywood
and chosen five at ends of times

All that waits are kings and wisdom

All that knows are far, and farther

All that needs is nothing, lessons

All that fears is our kind

Waiting.

Shallow.

Whispers,

Gaining,

Hornets nests and

looming ,

gifted

Shadow watchers

Our time

Farrows,

Listen,

Glistening as sparrows,

Gifted–

Kill God,
There remains a far price

There remains a far cry

A call to wolves

A false time

The fabric is losts on

Ghosts and

Carry trains,

Wishes and

Tilted,

Whisperers

Before our

Galaxy of

Hard times and

Wishes,

Wishes,

Wilting,

Flowers,

Waiting,

Waiting

And

Waiting

And

Waiting

And wanting

but watching

The water

Gallons

Fly up

The wanted

Waiting

The gallows

Have haunted us

Far cries,

Far cry

Fear twins, have shattered
To notice us
Chatterbox

Listens and

Life turns and

Waiting and

Galaxies

Gallantly

Waiting

The gallows

Have haunted us

Waiting

And Waiting

And Waiting

and Water.

We're watching you.

An ACHINGLY TALL red-headed fellow finds himself in a FIGHT TO THE DEATH, being cast over eons and decades, and cascaded in and our of portals throughout the ever-infinite dimensional portals of unknown realms as his grasp on life itself and reality begins to fade as he crosses in and out of parallels, one galaxy to the next and one lifetime to another, gripping death and darkness in one hand and light and living in the other. In this bloody brawl, scrawling across an expanse of unknown and unknowable times and realms, this mystic remains still yet as infinite and omniscient in himself as the Gods he looks to for mercy, as the journey has been known to become of these very same deities in its context and process. A folding timeline of blood and sacrifice melds itself into the rope of the materiel worlds; not one fabric of time but many twisted and woven fibers into one rope from which he climbs into the ranks of the upperworld–or heaven, then also slipping seemingly sometimes into the depths of the underworld, a Hell known to all man as this, existence not as one but many consumed in the shadow processes of wickedness and torture, war amongst one another, and the well known humanities of pride, faith, justice and wealth.

…this is supposed to be Conan?

Uhh…

“Achingly tall red-head?”

yeah

I guess.

–O'Brien?

[beat]

He seems capable.

Don't pity me,

For not I weep of our pride on doorsteps not allowed,

But for the grace and hope of fortune in another world i've known

But lest forgotten;

Do not feign me for my ignorance in desire,

For I am not of man, or woman, or grain, or stone

But of the world itself and all ire.

(Don't doubt me.)

To be cruel not those who pass judgement

That weighs in this way or that is utmost critical,

In this the end of times and now the end of my desires,

And yet the way that I have known,

And the offer I have rung

Is not here, but elsewhere.

And yea,
I walk alone.

Amen.

What the fuck does this have to do with show hosts.

Almost always Irish Catholic

Almost Always clothed in robes

Almost Always fathers, aren't I?

Almost always old, of Rome.

Almost always birds of feather

Almost always sticks and stones

Almost always on the airwaves

Almost always silver, gold

Slither, Slither,

Here i wait

And Slither slither,

Here I came

And whether she will slit her wrists

Is neither here

Nor either there

It's a comfort that I offer you to slaughter;

That you'd rather not to love but instead murder–

I'd be better off to love, then kill you after,

Course, tarantula, or just as well, a spider.

It's a comfort that I offer you to kill me;

Lay my head upon a sanded wooden platter–

That you'd rather me to say I'd kill than love you–

So I rather just to love, then murder after.

Woah.

Good to God,

God ought to know.

I close my palms together full of laughter,

So.

Good to God,

God ought to know,

I sacrified my life for ever after.

So far.

Good to God,

God ought to know,

That all he wants, I want

My heart is surely shattered.

Now what.

Good as God,

God ought to know,

That all I want becomes;

The looking glass,

The wishing well,

The cross to bare

The shepherd to the pasture.

Amen.

Omen.

All men.

Want none.

But one.

But–

So.

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

W E L C O M E

-Ū.

Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

B A C K

Tales of A Superstar DJ

I can't get what to make at all of anything of these

Interesting sequences

Even equestrians keep secrets

Mirror imagine investments

—are these things working.

Suffering longer and taking harder naps

Are you wanted

Or are you forgotten, wanderer.

Wonton soup

And I don't look at you

We belong to a group

Of individuals purposes

—and you'd thought I'd never write like this again

But here it comes

Equinox

Orgasm.

Apocalypse on the ground floor.

Are you there now?

You know I can't talk more about it

And I get nervous

Just as you

When I wear

Dark sunglasses and it's cold out

What have you done with the moonlight?

No glow.

Discrepancies and moving forward

Server keeper?

Oh, no, she's 24 with a double majors

And masters grants,

Moving forward,

She's alright

But I just can't last moving forward

I could lap up the doorstep if I wanted

I could also poison your water

You get discounts

I've been poor before

But bordering on insanity

You guessed it, hard times!

I guess I had a rule for that,

I guess I failed the clamshell

Half baked,

And Jesus I've never met someone expecting

Or resentfully respectful as this matron

But don't you get it, animatronics?

Don't you get it at all?

I'm not half her twice

I'm lost in dismeter

Shorter than others and

Not quite stout

But still not petite either

And I'm bound to it, I guess

But still don't respect the guesswork

I chose her for you,

And sink into the shadows,

She's so arduous a task

But her ain't worth it

And.

Freddie's barreling from cliffs

And this is why she changed her name

The rabbit calls and no Soleïl in sunlight at all

And all the rabbit has is

Plummeting towards the ocean

In a winnebego

Can I get you crab cakes?

There's nothing for us in these copper goldmines but

Ravaged!

The plummet;

I should have called someone about that

SUNNI BLU

now you crashed my winnebego INTO THE OCEAN.

You idiot.

FRED-ISH

I knew you had magic powers!

SUNNI BLU

Of course I have magic powers! Goddammit! But this is not that! I bought this on Amazon and it cost a fortune and you know what!

FRED

What.

SUNNI BLU

It's only meant for ONE person;

ONE—

BAND MEMBER

This is incredible!

OTHER BAND MEMBER

I'm alive! We're alive!

SUNNI BLU

Now I'm going to have to get this entirely recalibrated.

FRED

You bought this on Amazon!?

SUNNI BLU

I buy everything on Amazon!

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

COPYRIGHT THE FESTIVAL PROJECT ™, INC. 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

I can't get what to make at all of anything of these

Interesting sequences

Even equestrians keep secrets

Mirror imagine investments

—are these things working.

Suffering longer and taking harder naps

Are you wanted

Or are you forgotten, wanderer.

Wonton soup

And I don't look at you

We belong to a group

Of individuals purposes

—and you'd thought I'd never write like this again

But here it comes

Equinox

Orgasm.

Apocalypse on the ground floor.

Are you there now?

You know I can't talk more about it

And I get nervous

Just as you

When I wear

Dark sunglasses and it's cold out

What have you done with the moonlight?

No glow.

Discrepancies and moving forward

Server keeper?

Oh, no, she's 24 with a double majors

And masters grants,

Moving forward,

She's alright

But I just can't last moving forward

I could lap up the doorstep if I wanted

I could also poison your water

You get discounts

I've been poor before

But bordering on insanity

You guessed it, hard times!

I guess I had a rule for that,

I guess I failed the clamshell

Half baked,

And Jesus I've never met someone expecting

Or resentfully respectful as this matron

But don't you get it, animatronics?

Don't you get it at all?

I'm not half her twice

I'm lost in dismeter

Shorter than others and

Not quite stout

But still not petite either

And I'm bound to it, I guess

But still don't respect the guesswork

I chose her for you,

And sink into the shadows,

She's so arduous a task

But her ain't worth it

And.

Freddie's barreling from cliffs

And this is why she changed her name

The rabbit calls and no Soleïl in sunlight at all

And all the rabbit has is

Plummeting towards the ocean

In a winnebego

Can I get you crab cakes?

There's nothing for us in these copper goldmines but

Ravaged!

The plummet;

I should have called someone about that

SUNNI BLU

now you crashed my winnebego INTO THE OCEAN.

You idiot.

FRED-ISH

I knew you had magic powers!

SUNNI BLU

Of course I have magic powers! Goddammit! But this is not that! I bought this on Amazon and it cost a fortune and you know what!

FRED

What.

SUNNI BLU

It's only meant for ONE person;

ONE—

BAND MEMBER

This is incredible!

OTHER BAND MEMBER

I'm alive! We're alive!

SUNNI BLU

Now I'm going to have to get this entirely recalibrated.

FRED

You bought this on Amazon!?

SUNNI BLU

I buy everything on Amazon!

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

COPYRIGHT THE FESTIVAL PROJECT ™, INC. 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

/WORMWOOD.

Classroom's been abandoned

You wish you knew what time it is

You wish you knew what time it is freshly lit cigarette

You know I like the smell of it but don't bite in it yet

Not the taste of your tongue, o

You just gonna

Let it burn let it burn

What in the world do I got to live a karate chop for

What do I got a car in the world for

I don't

Let it all burn

I just saw the weirdest window display

On one side it had all ourfumes— for the girls—

And on the other side, , it had all binoculars—

For the guys, I guess

Dang somebody really love Diego

But I don't

I'm metropolitan Avenue

Leaves that look like butterdlies

God, I really like a redhead and a greyhound

Stop at the crosswalk

But the bird saga you're all mine

God, there's so many men that I don't deserve

Tell me why did I come here

And where did I come from

If not for this love than for what

If not for this truth

Must the truth I wait my life for a designer god

But I bet it all on the wrong bloke

Now flat broke

And sloppy drunk

U got it wrong,

But I got the whole turn load

I think i@00 take the long way about l

use I don't know where I am

Don't know if you noticed

It mi just don't give a damn.

I just don't give a damn.

I like this girl's vibe, she's not a natural blonde

That's a lucky girl—

And a very lucky dog

I'm at the late night deli

Thinking bout a late night show

Sometimes getting lost in New York

Is the only way to come home

It's a school!

But I thought it was a prison

Or a soundstage

What's the difference

Anyway

In this city

I legitimately don't care

About anything or anybody

Intimately

Or romantically

Technically or homeopathically

That's what I want

Malibu

I'm so sick of living in a trash pail

I can't tell the right wrong or wrong

Or do or don't

Or good from bad anymore

So sick of living in a trash pail

When I start seriously thinking of suicide

Then along comes the radio tower

Mi was new York's favorite girl

But now i'm old and washed up

Motorcycles

I put my money on the wrong horse

I put all my money on the wrong host

I got lost in New York

And the horrible still followed

Go fire

[go figure]

I wrote the source code

So you admit it.

Yes.

You've committed the greatest crime of all humanity.

Is it?

So,

You'd admit to it?

—if it was?

I've already admitted to it.

Re write.

From memory?

Entirely from scratch.

Okay.

Okay.

Okay, I—

not with this!

The processor unplugs and tosses away the keyboard.

That was very over dramatic.

YOU wrote the source code.

Okay. I—yeah.

Now write it again. Not a glitch.

With!?

He pulls out a legal pad and ballpoint gel pen.

With this—-

W—is this a gel pen?!

It is indeed a gel pen.

What if it smears???

It will absolutely smear!

Are you kidding me with this?!

YOU wrote the source code.

Okay!

I'm programmed to the source code!

Correct.

Now, do it—

I'm a computer programmer! This is a ballpoint pen—!

You're goddamn right!

—a fucking gel pen for christs sakes!

That's what you get for doing this!

Jesus Christ.

He can't save you now…because he's part of the source code!

Actually no, that guy‘s real.

I—beg your pardon.

I couldn't make that shit up if I tried.

What.

…Knew A guy in college. Water into wine. Cool kid.

What.

At last give me a mechanical pencil or some—

You will use the pen and you all like it

Back at what I still don't call home

Wonder how many dimensions I've gone

If any at all

L I S T E N

L E G E N D S

LOOK. ITS LUNELL.

LUNELLE.

HEHEHE.

THAT'S MY GOD!

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

COPYRIGHT THE FESTIVAL PROJECT ™, INC. 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

It was surreal, I was off the grid and in airplane mode, and completely lost without giving a care

I was so frustrated that I just kept waking.

Just when I started to seriously consider suicide, with the exact timing of my thoughts reaching the logistical point that ‘there was really nothing let in the world for me'— then it appeared right before my eyes; as if it had just sprung up in my path.

I wasn't worried that I was lost, or even panicking in a suicidal spiral, I just thought to myself

“It's really time to go.”

Then, the radio tower, which looked something like a sigil that had been appearing to me over and over. It made no other kind of sense; my phone wasn't connected to the internet, nor was maps installed; my location was off and in lockdown mode, and I knew I had missed the turn for Whole Foods… and just kept walking.

In airplane mode, listening to heavy rock, wondering why I should even try at anything at all when

Suddenly i realized It was a radio station. I didn't know what kind of music, but it didn't matter— I had music in all the genres. And though it was with intense irony that I had pretty much entirely given up on DJing, especially for the moment— here was this, something I just stumbled upon after walking what seemed pretty aimlessly into an almost suicidal frame of mind— not unheard of. My apartment was a hellscape and walking around Brooklyn was not much difference, besides that I was in the noise rather than on top of it. Either way, it was so exact I couldn't tell whether it happened before or at the same time, almost as if the universe's response to my logical needing to just kill muself off before it could get any worse was this thing I had very recently, pretty much entirely meaningfully abandoned. Trying to be a DJ.

Was I trying?

I didn't know. But either way, I had music out and business cards in my pocket, and so here it just must have been where I was walking to, anyway.

At least I got rid of the trackers by confusing them— and myself— by completing a large circle in the opposite direction of the way I was sure I was supposed to be going.

I'm hungry

And I'm lonely

And nobody loves me anyway

I never feel at home

And look

Nobody wants me anyway

My body is a rotting truck

Nobody wants me anyway

I might as well have been a corpse

Nobody wants me anyway

lol

Didn't it have like ham,

And—

— both these cheeses.

Cojita and queso blanco.

With like—

Pinapple, I think—

And like, a kosher dill pickle.

Hence the Dill.

I guess.

It was a really good sandwhich.

Yeah.

Oh well.

When the friend in your head ends,

And just drops dead, so you run in

With the old hog for a laugh and a couple of

Drops of syrup

Water fountain

Now I'm hungry

It's been years

But who the fuck is counting.

We all made bad decisions and choices

Mine was to jump first,

Yours comes with comfort, a petite stature

And a long slovic look with an axe tongue

And a language no one on earth speaks

But those who had what most or none do

And you wonder why I close my eyes and suffer harder in oceans of blondes

Far off looks of lost souls

Eyes of oceans

And no monuments without our fortunes

Wrong, bud.

I put it on a kings Hawaiian roll

One for ever one I've suffered

We have the same deck of cards,

Only mine can talk, son

Look, I wrote you an open socket

Conform to nothing

Nobody loves me, anyway

cause I get hungry

Go be a husband, dope boy

Go be a Carhart, countryman

Go be a store bought doughboy

That ought to solve it

Dropped you on

Stop that

Round the corner

9 holes of golf left

I told you who won that

Round one

What a way to die

What a way to live

What a way to love

King James!

What away to lose.

What away to tie.

What a way to die.

What a way to lie!

King James!

I've got bibles for miles

And eyes on my articles,

Isis on cycles

And Christs in criseses

I put a thorn on your mailbox

Will you promise to prick it?

The finger

I picked it!

The truth was involved

And in blood it was written

The ritual sense,

Pretenses

Pretend this didn't happen

“I didn't”

I swore throat on your mailbox

I promise

I nailed the mailman and ten blondes

Just not to fawn at the thought of ya

Fawn at the thought of you

But oh am I woke on my tired

Regardless

I simple don't write in code

—till I'm inspired.

Woah!

What a lovely scroll you wrote!

King James!

What the fuck made me write that?

Scallions!

There's a million ways to die

And oh,

The toll of having Wolverine

Wrapped around your finger

Aspartame

Had better bitter sanctions

From the tales of old

Histophcles

And obstacles

The Oxford girls?

More tour bus stories,

Blonde hair

Broke

Bloke,

Tits and tits and

Have you written any sentiments

About your post mortem.

Of course.

I even put my will in order

It's obvious they want me dead

And rather than a lover

There simply is no love left!

String her up and cut the torso,

Let the blood fall

And the organs,

And the morbid flesh rot,

Soaking all of her horror stories

Of love and unrequited hypocrisy!

There, there, settle down.

You haven't one yet

I still have an ounce of coke in my pocket

Coke in my pocket

And I can't pronounce the name of my next guest,

The show I'm hosting—

I might as well just sound it ouhhuuuut—

Cold .

Okay, then.

I can have a pilot in a month with just the look of him

Without it on a tub of

Petroleum jelly or whatever jew bargain

I cried so much

I really liked the taste of reddi whip

You know

I guess

I just

Wasn't ready for it

Will and Grady,

Grace and Katie

Now were all watching

Cause they're younger

While we're steady greying

Who are her?!

I'll hire her.

Not so fast,

A laundry list of thoughts

And plummeting stock options

I still love all my loved men

But nobody loves me

So unrequited is the prerequisite for this poet

And so I chose to split open

With my guts, hunting forward into the cut

Knowing, my purple entrails will impale you

And the words I have laid here

I didn't fit the herd mentality

And still was lead to slaughter

Haha,

Charade you are, sir.

I know my love when I'm shadow bonded.

Not now, Matthew,

James and I are talking,

Dear brethren

As brother

And mother and son

And as whore and horror show.

Tell me something, sparrow

Did I throw you off your steep cut oats

It's heavy on the tongue

With whispers that I love you

Mother son and brother

Just around the corner

Bear around the bush again

Just to jack it off, or up

The spare tire's on a doughnut

How god loving

I want the world, my whole throat

Throbbing at the thought of concepts

Lover, lover, lover—

magnet, skip a turn

And call his mother

No one's going home alive

Or any other way,

So I just call the others,

Others

Fathers,

Sons,

And brothers

Ties

And bonds—

A uniformed comfort.

My hopes. In an evolving box.

L E G E N D S

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™ ]

The Collective Complex ©

COPYRIGHT THE FESTIVAL PROJECT ™ , INC. 2019-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

-nobody, by now.

(-Ū.)

INT. RAVE. DAY-ISH.

CARL COX Answers the Phone.

Oh yes, oh yes?

Tales of a Superstar Dj

I feel like that would be a–

coincidence?

No, I don't think so

THERE ARE NO COINCIDENCES. THATS A CHALLENGE.

CUNTFACE.

0.0

WHAT DID YOUJUST CALL ME.

FUNTCASE.

WHAT.

IT'S A DJ–

WHAT!

GROUP–OR WHATEVER.

FUCK THESE MOTHERFUCKERS.

ALRIGHT.

i'm just looking for one….

three . .

Three things.

Fuck.

FUCK.

I WILL

Erase you off this planet with just a smirk,

Mother earth, motherfucker!

Father time? None of that!

Don't have time for

FIGHTING

–PLAYIN GAMES.

MPC.

or firefighters.

Sims of holographs

And I can barely keep up with myself

No masks

And no photographs

I'll take you out with twins on my back

I think i need a nap

I need a whole staff of rappers

Just to cypher the shit that's about to happen

ACTION:

ATTACK!

Fuck it, I just need a

It could be any kind of

LIGHTNING STRIKES.

That'll do.

I didn't think you were–

Oh yeah. I'm into this game.

Really.

Oh yeah. I do MMORPGs.

This is not a–

Uh, yes, it is.

Do NOT LAUNCH your lunchbox,

For this

For starters,

It's like starting a car when it's hard out

But it's frozen,

So it stutters;

And that's what it's like not to know you

I'm only in audience twice

Enviro

Watching my beans and my rice

Not oats though

I get by on hoping i die

Wnen I open my eye up 1iota

I don't know what I behold

though

WHAT THE– I'M ALIVE! I'M ALIVE!

Oh no, sir, I don't think you are!

You can hear me?!

…no.

Hey wait, excuse me,

YOU ARE FAR BEYOND OUT OF BOUNDS, HERE.

WHERE IS HERE.

NO–WHERE.

Hey–

Wait a minute–Don't i know you?

[suddenly remembering, but in obvious denial.]

No.

No. Nevermind.

[squinting discerningly]

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™ ]

The Collective Complex ©

COPYRIGHT THE FESTIVAL PROJECT ™ , INC. 2019-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

-whoever, honestly, really, at this point.

(-Ū.)

Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™]

Fonts get into into it

Quinta Brunson

In the box

Or is your frontin

He said,

“I want to hurt you”

Did you?

Did you?

I want to hold you,

Dissolve you

Completely disarm you—

Did you—

Did you?

I don't want to feed you to the wolves

But I absolutely will

I absolutely will if I have to

“I wanted to hurt you.”

Said,

Did you?

Did you?

I wanted to hold you.

Did you?

Did you?

I don't want to harm you;

Completely disarm you

Did you?

Did you?

A complete totality.

A complete fatal—

Did you ask me?

For what, I wonder

I was nobody at all

I'm no one

I don't want to feed you to the wolves

But I absolutely will if I have to.

Problem solved.

(I Wonder.)

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

Had no idea I was recording but here's what I got after like 6 minutes of my stomach gurgling and some extremely uncomfortable shallow breathing.

Somebody should tell her.

Can you walk my dog

Before we fuck?

My girl's not home.

Wanna walk my dog.

My neighbor is cheating on his girl but that's not my business.

YOU LET HER WALK OUR DOG!!!?

BEFORE:

V.O.

That's not my neighbor…

[an evil blonde girl with blue eyes smiles maliciously as she exits the building walking a small black dog]

…But that's their dog.

LATER THAT NIGHT.

V.O.

I heard them fucking through the paper thin walls of the apartment.

That is definitely not my neighbor.

…somebody should tell her.

YOU LET HER WALK OUR DOG?!

That is not my business.

Gee, God, I thought you'd never show up.

[ensues Horrible guitar playing with acrylic nails]

Self

You never employ these two fingers.

Also Self

Cause they don't work.

Try medicating that.

They would try!

(No thanks, I'll do it myself.)

Dumb twat.

I don't want to call people that…

Thats's just what I am.

Yo.

Somebody tell her!

Somebody tell her!

…that's not my business.

Maybe she already know.

Cabinet slamming is a nasty business!

YOU LET THAT BITCH WALK OUR DOOOOOG?!

Yo, fuck that dog.

Ugly ass chihuahua.

[ensues more bad guitar playing with acrylic nails.]

[basic ass surf music and some suspicious ass licks]

[atrocious traffic noise]

Jack went down the rabbit hole

Jill came back and asked for more

Then she saw that Jack was gone

[over all]

After all she all,

She carried on

After all, she carried on

After all she carried on

After all she carried on.

Heheheh.

[ghetto people yelling in the street like animals]

Jack flew down the wishing well…

[car honking that always honks whenever I try to make music and start succeeding (but never actually leaves the lot.)]

What happened first?

Uh. Jack went down the rabbit hole.

Yeah. And then?

Auh— [nothing], Jill didn't follow him. She just carried on.

Jack flew down the wishing well.

[the traffic pics up; the ghetto people start acting a fool. Yes. My windows are closed. My focus is broken by the noise.]

Crème filling!

Nothing but— crème filling!

Oh! I want a croissant.

A wonderful croissant with butter

And Crème filling.

A wonderful croissant

With butter!

And crème filling

especially when—

—rare!

Especially when!

Crème filling.

Crème filling.

A croissant.

What kind of croissant.

A delicious croissant.

With— butter!

—and

A — special—

No—

Delicious—

With—

Butter

And

Crème filling.

A—

Delicious croissant

With butter

And

Crème

Filling

Where are we from?

Obviously this place is hell.

Why am I here

Why am I here

Why am I here

A…

Fabulous croissant.

[mind you, I've still no idea I'm recording. ]

V.O.

actually, I was assuming I wasn't.

Monologue/ talk with God

[The noise picks up and I get up to record the evidence that my right to peace and quiet enjoyment of my property have been violated severely— then I realize I've been recording the whole time.[

Oh shit.

(Well, there's your answer.)

I didn't know I was recording.

Well, thats's how this all started.

And I guess, how it ends.

It's true, I started the series by accident when in my homeless despair, my talking to God out loud began being recorded by my iPhone just turning itself on and recording at random. In this instance, I had probably started the recording for the motorcycles and forgotten about it, but having been sick for days from the motorcycles and noise to no avail, I had begun to exhibit symptoms of extreme stress much akin to the homelessness in which the series started; erratic behaviors such as speaking freely out loud without the intention of being heard— and yet being heard anyway. I wasn't happy in New York, and I still felt homeless. The insanity might have been trademark New York, but it wasn't trademark me. I counted my blessings and all of my change; I knew I would have to leave for my own health, but I didn't know how—and returning to the streets was not an option. I was done playing the victim, and done complaining— my stomach churning with indigestion and my head gnawing with the congestion of a two year long head cold. Something needed to change, and rapidly— New York was turning against my mind, and my mind was turning against my body. This was no game— it was somebody's business. But to me, it was personal. This was my mind and my body being tampered with, and my soul remained at large.

Something else entirely was begging to take over; whatever was attempting to destroy me had to be destroyed.

Immidiately.

This happy accident had to have been the end of the series— the show would come down soon and everything I had written with it. My life and my safety were at stake. I had nothing to risk, but also nothing to lose.

I think they call that a lose cannon.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™]

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.