[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

Tales of a Superstar DJ

I lie to my audience

I have been miserable

I've been exhausted

I've been in circles

Fatigue from motorcycles

Terrorism, politics

I'm in tension

Hypertension

Residents inspections

Why are all these people so beautiful,

And I am not?

What i would give for eye lashes,

Eyes,

A smile,

A torso,

Tight skin

But if i run a mile in my mind,

I'm higher

But the photobomb company would never hire me.

I think i'm a lie.

I don't know how unloaded I am

I'd give my life for a smile,

Eyes

I'd give a mile for a heart world

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

Tales of a Superstar DJ

I lie to my audience

I have been miserable

I've been exhausted

I've been in circles

Fatigue from motorcycles

Terrorism, politics

I'm in tension

Hypertension

Residents inspections

Why are all these people so beautiful,

And I am not?

What i would give for eye lashes,

Eyes,

A smile,

A torso,

Tight skin

But if i run a mile in my mind,

I'm higher

But the photobomb company would never hire me.

I think i'm a lie.

I don't know how unloaded I am

I'd give my life for a smile,

Eyes

I'd give a mile for a heart world

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

God?

Prod. by Blū Tha Gürü. (

-Ũ.)

Composed/Lyrics by C'cxell Soleïl

I don't care at all.

I don't care at all.

What is your name?

Where are you now?

Why are you here?

What are you bout?

Is it for fame?

Is it for clout?

What is your name?

Are you a God?

Why are you here?

What are you bout?

Is it for fame?

Is it for clout?

(/Are you a clown?)

Why are you here for?

Where are you now?

What is your name?

Are you a God?

What do you fear?

Where are you now?

What is your name

(I'm on a Cloud)

Where are you now

(Are you a God?)

What are you here for?

(I'm not a God!)

Where are you now?

What is your name?

Are you a God?

Are you a God

(I am a God)

What is your name?

(I am a God)

What is your name?

(I am a God/

I'm not a God)

Are you a God?

(I'm on a cloud

Are you a God?

(I am a God)

What is your name?

(I don't want to talk about it)

What is your name?

(Tears of a Clown)

(I don't want to talk about it)

Are you a God?

(I don't want to talk about it.

I'm a God.

(I don't want to talk about it.)

RYAN REYNOLDS (as ‘BUTTERS')

…looloo…

STAN

God, shut up, butters!

BUTTERS

I can't! I sing when I'm nervous!

KYLE

Shutup.

BUTTERS

Looloo—

KYLE

Come on, butters! Quiet!

…

[beat]

BUTTERS

…looo—

*!#*^!!!!

[The Festival Project ™]

Get Lady Gaga off that horse!

I'm incognito

You're in my his[tory]

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

Nobody put baby in a corner

In the blue light, I deny you

Why ask if you're alright

When I'm still crumpled up behind you

All publicity

Stint

My growth is altered

I want love

You

i don't know how

To

I am a monster

I am a monster

Joel

I am a monster

Make me feel

Holy lighti

I divide my lifht

Between

Divine

And

Denial

So I deny it

Denial

I hide you

Why

Cause I like you

Let's blow things all out of proportion

Media media

Publicity stunt

And a drunken stupor

I got my God at Coachella night one

I got my blinders on

I got a knife in my pocket

A1 steak sauce anyone

Well done, Harper

Well done, Onyx

Now where goes the dolomite!

Lodestones

I lost one

Carry on

Four kings

My stream of conciousness rocks out

My people are earth and your people

You see that?

Reach out

I'm only a comic, comet

Reach out!

I'm in denial

No conciousness

Alright? Harper

Long road

High Road

Short ones.

You like

Tall blondes

I like

Waffles

You know?

Can't we all suffer morbidly?

(I'm in denial)

Write one

Right one

Higher up off the red carpet

I'm looking for something?

Nothing,

Internet shopping,

A long road

The more would have I

The more horrible

I am a monster

I am a monster

I am a monster

Devil next door, and I

I am a monster

I am a monster

And one

And one

And one

I sent an angel

Or five

I'm a monster

I'm in denial

I am a monster

Bloody conciousness

I'm in denial

So I deny

Monster

So I deny it all

Encore! Encore!

Run the score up

Could be anything you know

Bloody stream of conciousness

Bloody streams and

—leave it up, then

I do not believe it

Pandemic,

Actors and then

Publicity stunts for nothing

Robbers.

I'm not even good enough to be good enough for you.

Morbid.

I made Billie Ellish laugh so hard,

The whole world noticed;

Then everybody wanted to know me,

Numbers,

She goes,

“I love electronic music”

I said,

“I have a lot of it.”

But I thought

Not nearly enough of it,

I thought

Not nearly enough, I think.

Not nearly enough

What did you do with six cinder blocks

And

Stop it

What did you do with six bricks

And a fortune

What do you with with my

Headache?

Stop it?

I want nothing more than an encore,

I told them

An encore, I said

Not the Renaissance

Encore

I promise:

As awkward as it all got

It's coming up

For once my stream of conciousness

Is into something

Lover lover lover

Keep them coming

Roll the dice and

Tell me something, Schubert

Tell me something, Harvard

Tell me something

Tell me something

Science

Why I don't like you

I watch the tonight show.

I try to find you

But find her

And her and her

At night I dream of him

Joel

Her

And her and her

Wanted a lover

A show

Her and her and her

A son and a daughter

A mode

Her and her and her

Here and there and on again

I know her and her and her

I like

Her and her and her

I love

Her and her and her

I know her and her and her

I am her and her and her

I wonder what would become of us

All

And the body

Were we not so old

Scrap metal

Carry on while I call my son

And wonder what in God

Was left after us

Hostile motive

Wonder wonder

I've got nothing left to ponder

I want

Mark

God

Dawn

Nah

Nothing kept secret left

Ponder what, helmet

Tell you what, Talmud

I like the host of the what's it called

Danger show

Brothel

Brothel

Opera

Opera

May Day May Day

May is coming

So I August

I want nothing more

Than the great big mouse on magic mountain

How's that?

…

Sam?

Flatline?

Don't leave us.

Encore.

Where's he going?

Nothing.

Awful.

I've been drinking.

How about not?

And well, we're all against the tide when ocean's coming

Aren't I, Hollywood?

Great big swell and a sailboat

Ugh, why am I mad?!

That's the old goat!

Rock and Roller.

Hall of fame god.

Prostitots and brothels

Some chord and three thousand year old Google documents

What you want us!

All I was worth was

A special on

$200, just under

What did you want?

An umbrella?

I told you, the shit show was coming now

Cry me a river!

Cry me a river!

Cry me a river!

New York was a sold out show

In all non concious conformists

Look at God Go.

I was all at the surface

Sure you wanted a Harper

A harpist

Pianist and

I've got suffering!

Call my son back!

I've got window pains

And window panes

And widows makes the none of us

I might as well have died when I lost

I might as well have died when I lost her

— oh, but the husband had already had

Her and her and her

So no father was he to a daughter

And she went beyond that,

Calling for brother.

Now who are I?

Emotionally immature maggots.

I sank ships over hatred

I called mayday belatedly

I show off in Morse code in a mouse head

Now who's the helmet!!

Now who's the—

[BLACKOUT]

[The Festival Project ™]

Jimmy murmured somethin bout Joel

Pilot took a plunge

Now the old Rock is 1 for the 1 one

Minus President Trump

In the back of the car

But if I pop the trunk

Then we all have a gun in each hand,

Huh punk?

One for the road

Bottle full of sauce

I called the boss for the map

And we all got lost on the run

Interstate map as old as

The all of us totaled up

What does infinite cost?

Two humps and a Tesla?

Some hummas?

A couple of rocks, and some hot sauce?

All got a gun

And we all got a God

Can't we all get along

Backroads, no Feds

So it's all gonna cost

Got a cot for the tour

And a word for the world

And a heart full of gold

And a house full of fire

Can't we all get a long

Now we all got a God

Call Conan,

We all got a hook and a rod

Call God, brah

Nobody the friend to the world

And we all got a girl

And they all got problems

Now we got a car

On a train up a mountain

A coin in the fountain

A gun in each hand

And a phone card

Somebody call the opera

Or better yet, Harpo, long God

Long time

We all got a song

Somebody mumbled

The troll to a hall far

A hymn to a poem

And a bump on a log

Timber timber

We all got garages

Timber timber

We all got a gun

Timber timber

We all got windfalls

Windmills

Blond dykes

Klondikes

Assholes

Mayday

Long trucks

All got blondes

All got a God

All got a soul

All made of gold

And we all got goals here, miners

Mumble the words of the poem

Somebody left a voicemail

At one point, though

We all had a mom

At one point though,

We all had a blonde

At one point, though we all got a God

At one point though,

We all got a song

Now all we got is cars

Long roads

And guns

At one point, though,

We all got along

At one point though

We all fell in love

At one point though we all had a

Mom

Now I'm so polar

Bearr's on the run

But we all got a song

And we all got a thought

And we all got God

Now we all get along

In the cars

With the guns

On the road

With the blondes

Cause we all got a song

And we all got Moms

And they all got blonde hair

Moms got a gun,

Hey,

Mom's got a song,

Hey,

Mom's got a son,

Hey,

Mom's got a thought,

Hey,

Mom's got a God,

No, mom's just a God,

Huh,

That's what you want,

By the light of the sun

And the sound of a gun

And we all got a rap

And we all got problems

All got long days

All got wants

And we all got a God, so

God's got problems.

— I gotta solve em.

Psychic tears and solvents—

What do you want Joel?

I got problems,

I got a son!

I got ten songs out,

Ten albums so far,

Nobody loves them

Nobody loves me,

I got problems,

I got nothing

I got too much to really be loveless,

Yet,

Here I am,

Just watching

WHAT.

Call up my son,

Ask him for a joke

And the weather forecast

I got a whole skeletal system of broken bones

And a whole body cast

Castrate this diamond,

Call up the tin man—

Tin man?!

Cowardly lion

And the straw hat,

Call up the

— what are those?

Lollipops!

No, I don't want that

I just want a home with some tall grass.

I'm really about to whoop this girl's assless ass and she knows that.

She has to.

Chilling in the bath though

But

Can't afford a bathrobe

I collect

Windfall

I call the dolphins

Shatter that asshole

Staggered on stage, then

Slandered my hammer,

gathered up passwords

X1, aren't I?

Doctor?

I've probably got a straw hat

Don't have a heart, though

Probably just a robot

Somebody tried hard

Guess I need a doctor

Wombat?

What?

She looks like a wombat.

Damn, dog.

Bleed!

I came from the world with the no sleep

Bleed!

I came from the world with the bonfires!

Bleed!

I parked my car in the palisades.

Bonfires!

I parked my car in the palisades!

Bonfires!

I pitched my tent in the Malibu mountains!

Bleed!

My coworker babysat in Calabasas!

Bonfires!

Pig and Whistle could spin slick but still doesn't own an apartment!

Apartheid!

Noah died on all of the story arcs, besides ours.

Non partisan!

I went to work on a cold hard Monday.

Daughters!

I wrote the poor some porridge, and they didn't want that!

Pesticides!

Still a stream of conciousness?

I thought he was sober!

Bonfires!

I got no room for my heart,

SO I CUT IT OUT

BLEED.

Fires.

BLEED!

Fires.

BLEEEEED.

Alright, you won.

I need my medicine,

Medicine, medicine

I neee my medicine…

Who are I, God?

I need my medicine, medicine

Medicine—

I need my

Really, a face with the Bandit?

If Seth wants the role, he can have it.

Which Seth?

Exactly.

Bad Son.

Deadmau5

Hats off—

Actually, a helmet

Actually, a deadman.

Who cried lurking?

Who calls Art Lord?

Why, Sir Jyre!

My art deposit's on John, man.

Art world

Awkward

Harvard?

Aavark?

An assless advark.

Don't stalk me when I'm hark the halrold hallmark cards and half washed alters!

(The last day of Passover, Easter Sunday)

Don't pseudoscience

Your gross meds have no stream of conciousness at all

Your meds have no conciousness at all.

Why yes,

I terminal hate you,

Mr. famous

We broke up at an airport over coffee

I dream your head

But never just the body

That I yearn for

I'm trapped inside a suffix

That was earned from just a metaphor

I grasp at mediocre,

As Flo said

“I would have aspired to be a struggling actress”

I would aspire just to b an arifaft

A sanctioned little blonde

In front row

VIP

With the pasties on

Oh afterparty?

Models and bottles and bodies

And blondes

Brunettes and redheads

And a couple of ours with extensions

And a dye job

Long legs

Court covers

And awards,

Having proven subtle standards set by

All of yours

When all I want is

Hallmark cards.

Hold that thought.

Rinse out the conditioner

Do you get the picture or not?!

I don't live here!

Do you remember the fact that

I've been here

Just a minute in my time—

Into you!

It's infinite forever.

Forever, we'll.

Forever.

Ten minutes in and I don't remember any of it.

Ten mirrors ten men and ten hammers, the hammer.

Ten tonsils, ten fingers, ten toes and my hall award

Ten helmets, ten cars in garages

Ten mortals

Attention, attention

I've written a symphony!

Attention, attention!

I'm living in misery!

Attention, attention,

My toys in my toolbox:

Attention, attention,

My girls and my others

Attention?

Attention!

I'm ten minutes into this

Attention, attention.

I bet you'll remember this.

Mission accomplished?

Yes, major.

Detective.

Agent.

But I won't.

No, I'm not okay.

I'll never hold my baby again.

No, what's my shoe size?

Too grand?

So I hideaway

Then, I'm a Marxist,

Forgot my own mantras

I'm probably home,

But no address to mark it

Off the map

Off the grid

What's I miss

Nothing much here

Contact works

Contact breaks

Contact lenses

Like my hazels?

Like my blue eyes?

Are they gorgeous?

Still, I'm darker

Forge the caverns,

Then, there's this flaw:

Seven numbers

You're just like God,

Only darker

What harm have I brought you?

Called your wind

Nothing but heartache

Cried Agatha, a moan

And then I will go,

Becoming nameless in code and essence

Where willI—?

And then nothing at all?

As one ceases to be,

So the the other;

The tale before time

Of immortal lovers

I'm incognito

You're in my his[tory]

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

I realized I had the ability to get really skinny, really fast.

First, this just required me running out of rice.

And pancakes.

Shouldn't be hard.

I've met emotional turmoil and rigid complete unconscious with the ripening fruit of need and desire in unideal environmental circumstances.

Shouldn't be hard at all.

Tales of a Superstar DJ

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

The cacophony of New York City is legendary. Sirens, construction, the endless thrum of traffic – it's a soundscape that defines urban life. But for some residents, this constant barrage isn't just an annoyance; it's a source of profound suffering, potentially amounting to a form of sonic intrusion that has serious health consequences. The question arises: does the city, in its toleration of this extreme noise, owe its citizens a debt – a debt measured in lost health, diminished quality of life, and the very real psychological harm that noise pollution can inflict?

The Science of Sound and Suffering

The impact of noise on human health is well-documented. Peer-reviewed scientific journals have published numerous studies detailing the physiological and psychological effects of excessive sound.

Sonic and Musical "Torture": A Disturbing Precedent

The idea that sound can be used as a tool of psychological manipulation or "torture" is not new. History, and indeed contemporary practice, offers disturbing examples.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

Copyright The Festival Project ™ | All Rights Reserved | The Complex Collective ©

[FREESTYLE]

Lyrics/Transcription:

Lost my spot.

I should I'm off the clock, but I've been thinking a lot.

I've been thinking a lot;

and tweaking the plot.

I've been pink—

I'm still in the box.

I got snarf goggles;

Trying to get a box of wobbles going.

I feel awful;

I should probably walk it off

—or maybe dance,

did the truffle shuffle.

Did I stutter

or did I mumble, mumble?

Maybe I should skip this feeder or hit

shuffle, shuffle,

maybe I should just get a bag of ruffles—

Ruffles.

Now that sounds like the business.

Yeah, cheddar and sour cream, man why are they orange, though?

The cheddar and sour cream, man.

It's pre season; don't need reason to get a recent or revenge, because eventually everything changes.

I'm rearranging my strangeness. I've been up for days in this A-List, but hey, this:

I still missed Los Angeles. but I just went back there. It's just been, what, past few months? New York sets in fast.

Yeah. it does and then it gets…

and then it gets under your skin.

We're up against the wall like a pile—

(A pile of bricks is.)

Pile of brickses. *nervous laughter*

My elixir is this; laughter is the best medicine, so I've been getting in my head a bit because that's where the lettuce is.

The lettuce? Yeah, you know, like water and salad.

I don't have a Brooklyn accent right now.

I've been in my cornerZ

I'm American as a gets man. I'm Californian, bro.

So shut the fuck up and just smoke something.

I should probably tell a joke or something,

I should…

I should—

— I should

I should…

I should.

THE KIDD

Well, if I would I would Chuck wood.

I got buck to buck buck stuttering again, huh?

Well, I couldn't give a fuck.

— if it's not making any money, so uh pardon me, honey. —

I gotta get to the the to uh—

the…

Where is there to go?

To maybe like Wonderland or better yet, Ultra.

Better yet —maybe uh, well, what's in my notebook?

Not rap.

Not rap. but I guess I could get a pack of gum for that, huh?

[a one dollar bill]

Shit.

I'm like a battery for those assholes;

I should just go back to Alaska where that shit's still frozen.

It's still frozen for like another two, three, what? four, five, six months, bro.

, just rolling fucking winter. I know somebody from moved there, bro.

Where is that place called?

Kaktovik. It's a place.

It's just always snowing.

—and,

[population: 247.

Most of them are polar bears]

I don't know where to go next, but it's not gonna be this corner in New York, because I've been so sick up in this hole, but I've been doing my projects so last's cool.

Yeah, those assholes.

You might need an enema if I get into you, cause you're the enemy if you're like a splinter, bro.

Damn, when's the last time you had a splinter?

I don't know. I'm like 400!

Eventually, you just figure out how to not get fucking wood in your —

cervix.

Yeah.

Eventually, you figure that out.

And it feels good.

It feels good like I like I like I—I solved it.

But I promise you can't time travel with no equation.

There's no combination of things you can do.

So what's your destination?

[nineteen hundred and forty-eight, then]

1948 then.

It's really hard not to rap about race, man. It really is.

It's hard to not rap about rats,

Race, or class, or war.

What happened?

What happened?!

What happened!??

I quit rapping, cause I work hard and I fit the program,

I—

I don't wanna daughter. I don't I really don't. I know that you know why? ‘

cause I saw a deep throat.

Ahahaha— OH SHIT.

Oh, no.

What the fuck?

Yo, what the fuck is it going on right now?

Oh shit. oh shit.

DAAAAAAAAAMN!

Oh, it's breakfast time!

What the fuck is this fucking oh shit? You know what?

We're skipping this!

That's a cool commercial, but, you know what, fuck it.

That was crazy.

What the fuck?

What the fuck, man?

I don't know.

Whatever, dog.

What the fuck was that oh, you know what?

Oh, you know what?

I just opened up my notebook to Nofucks.

Sure.

I just opened up my whole world to horcruxes and uh horrors— and luxury apartments, but I just got stop it.

But I just can't help it because you just can't help me and I'm just fucking— man!

AAANNNNNNND— that's what happens when you like candles on Saturdays!

FICTIONAL PETE DAVIDSON O/P

(From an exterior dimension)

Light candles on Saturdays.

V.O.

Got it.

O/PCONT'D

V.O.

Then I opened up a can of spam and just forgot. and then I went back and it was still good.

FICTIONAL PETE DAVIDSON

So I thought, why not?

CC/FINI/BLU

(From a distant parallel, looking in the mirror)

Okay, but I'm gonna HAVE some questions.

{Enter The Multiverse}

But after breakfast…

did I write something vaguely familiar here?

Ah, yes! Something about the—

It doesn't matter.

because I'm not Earth, man,

I could use some, herb, man.

Yerbabmate.

No thanks.

I'm more of like a, you know, earth and dirt man.

More like a 'I don't flirt'man.

I just put my hand where I ought to not.

(That should do it. )

Okay. I brought the Jew with you.

Well, good riddance to neighbors who like screw with you!

(I think they get paid to!)

Manc

You get played in section eight, because that's right.

They hate you when you're Kool Aid.

They hate you in your cool shades.

They hate you when you're too late.

BP

time. Or maybe just CP time,

SUPER JEW ACCOUNTAINT

(To Sunnï Blū)

it's EP time?!

I'm pretty sure they're gonna fucking label it an album, anyway.

I always do that. I mean for it to be an EP, but they're like, no, it's you man. I am a you- man.

Fucjthat. I'm not one man.

I think I'm two men.

That's too bad.

I gotta get some new shoes, man. I gotta make some new rules, man.

Cause, I've been feeling stupid.

What about you, Cupid?

That's too cool, man.

That's fuel, ma'am.

If I'm a battery, I gotta like, you know, recharge!

I gotta think hard about these retards because they be snarfing.

alort.

(Snarfing alot.)

In my head, I'm just surfing alert.

surf alert?

Yeah. but I'm in New York, so it's a curb alert, for sure.

Phineas and ferb alert.

I Phineas nd Ferb.

Yeah. what rhymes with the Phineas and Ferb?!

a lot.

but I'm still fucking stuck in my

Hunh?!

What? Nothing.

I'm still in the neighborhood where the getting's good,

(but it hasn't been)

I'm still in the,

“what is that? hazmat suit or a husband?”

I'm still in the “Na, thanks”.

I'm a nanocchip.

I'm still in the ho rob is kind of a mammoth one.

It's where the mammoth wind.

(((I hear it in my sleep sometimes— just a beat.))))

Just a beat, that's true.

I used to eat meat

now I just repeat,

okay. I used to eat meat now I just New York, so I beat beef,

beep, beep, beep,

HONK-HONK.

And I still kind of want a dog, but I've been fixated on this prized hog from my dreams for the book.

[pause]

No, that is not a hepatitis C commercial.

That's too cool!

M mm. Y'all need to dump that down.

What the 4 I was like chic.

That was chic for hepatitis C!

which I'm sure is preventable if you're just not dirty, like NYC!!!!

EW.

Yes, NYC EE, I NYCU, cause I L Y NY U, hi U.

I heard you're getting a degree, so try try to get try to get B's instead of hepatitis be.

Try to get A's instead of bl- blimy.

I've been trying. no Cockney thug.

I've been trying,

I've been I haven't been tryinging so much as like laughing because

I just don't give a fuck.

I just don't give four leaf clovers.

That is a lot of good luck, a guy whole patch of them.

A whole patch of a

Damn it.

Great, that was like, no.

That fantastic. almost forgot that was

a fid of fidget spinner?

fictional fictional character.

Named

[Patrick Kirkpatrick]

Name Bro, I've been thinking about this, too, but like, okay, I've been thinking about you, but I'm like, yo, what if what if I'm like sunny blue?

SUNNI BLU

What if I'm a fictional character?

And I'm just like, all this weird shit happens and then I'm like, oh, this cause I'm like in a I'm like in a book or something.

It would be delusional thinking to think you're in a movie all the time.

It is delusional, but there is a studio right down the block, you know?

and there's a studio right down the block again. Just like anywhere I walk.

There's like —anywhere I walk and so talk at the same time.

I usually don't. I just try to shut the fuck up when I'm in Brooklyn because it reminds me of the Bronx sometimes, you know?

Sometimes, you know?

Sometimes, you know.

and sometimes you don't.

And sometimes the curiosity killed the cats, so just don't watch,

no pay attention to what you're not part of

but you're part of it all.

I got no attention for half hearted-squatters, squatters.

Oh, no.

Squatters, hepatitis se and Herpes.

Hpatitis C

because we're just freestyleing.

We're not, you know, really like being serious about this thing.

No, not really.

No, not really

. Yo. get your degree with no appetit C.

You're trying to make me envy you; but I kind of envy me,

because I'm the MVP true.

One time I tried to get on MTV.

And I think they're still following me.

like, maybe.

I shop at…

(

No, I don't.)

I shop by old Navy.

Sometimes, you know, like around the Fourth of July

BIGGIE, but -Ū.

when my mama made me!!

, that's true, I was conceived on the fourth of July.

I came to a firework.

And now I get fired when I try to work.

I want to not fight a lot.

I I really want to smoke some weed. I'm not

gonna lie. I really want to smoke some weed.

I'm not gonna lie.

I'm not gonna lie.

I'm I'm not gonna lie, but you ever try to tell the truth and the truth hurts?.

So I got two words:

That was an infinite space.

(Well, it could be any two words, really, after what I said before.)

Damn. I got somewhere to go.

No, no, I don't.

I really don't. I got somewhere to be. I I just know it.

I got nowhere to be.

PETE DAVIDSON/ OR WHOEVER

SHAPESHIFTER

I'm bored.

…I'm bored.

DAH

fuck! No,

I'm not bored!

I'm not bored, “oh lord”, I said to the lord, because, you know, I don't know how long you've been listening to the show but sometimes I'll talk about God, and how if you tell God you're bored, then God answers with things that

—- certainly aren't boring.

—Certainly I'm snoring.

I'm for sure.

Number four.

is hostage paper. I swamped. told me so.

This is weird. This is getting weird.. I'm, like, done. what the world.

I'm thinking.

What the world I'm thinking that I'm still writing.

Ey! 22 minutes, 22 minutes wrap it up.

That's it.

That's there's there's an ad here.

Do you wanna do,

like outro? do outro, and then we'll fade out, though.

Something's wrong with my eyes, man.

I caught I gotta call at Heist, man. Heisenberg.

Yeah. Heisin. I gotta close my eyes for the night, I think.

I'm at work.

Something's lurking.

I was what Perkins?

I don't know, Perkins. Perkins nah, not working. I gotade out.

Okay.

This Mixtape's not as good as the first one, but hey—

first one rhymes with…???

—per Perkins?

SUNNI BLU

Nah.

All right. see you on the next one or whatever.

L E G E N D S

{Enter The Multiverse}

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

“The Hacker”

Action, Drama

“I'm going to show you the inside of your very own world.”

A completely unknown hacker Codenamed ‘Fxceless' (Faceless) single-handedly hacks the entire US intelligence systems and secret service, staging a one-woman coup to forge a one-on-one meeting with the United States of America— though as it may seem this is an act of terrorism, the hacker, an unarmed and unassuming female of otherwise average makeup, has shifted and displaced the operations of high level security and surveillance systems on a global scale, in order to construct a detailed map of the inner workings of the government for the President to which even the President himself remains largely unknown.

FX

Mr. Colbert,

PRESIDENT

—President.

FX

Not my President— not yet, anyway.

The hacker has executed this in order to execute a complete undoing and total reform of the world's economy and social structure, using the president's power and influence to orchestrate world peace;

She explains to the President in their first moments together that this arrangement has been conducted solely with the intention to end poverty, hunger, homelessness and all military conflict— not simply for the United States, but on a global scale.

Explaining the complex codes, computer systems, and equations used to break into the servers which allowed her what seems a simple access to the president, she and the President must now work against the clock as the diversion for his actual whereabouts to the world must remain largely a mystery, and an out of focus President has shifted into a self actualization as he begins to realize that even his own election was not merely won, but that this hacker, with the details of the nation's secrets in mind, designed the perfect opportunity to place the ideal candidate into office for the operation to successfully take effect.

PRESIDENT

How did you do this?

FX

…computers.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Excerpt: The Hacker Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

C. STONE

Having my own place in New York was cool—very cool— on paper, but the logistics of it were something else entirely. I hated it, and I wanted nothing more than to escape. It was a dirty, noisy Hell with too many people— and too many places to go that I couldn't afford. I could no longer focus on anything but panicking, freaking out, trying to escape. Everything was crooked and jagged edges — it was as if the city itself was the epitome of mental illness as a whole; the illusions of wealth shattered by the overbearing reality of the working, moving, and hostile poor. I wanted nothing more than a break.

As I began to tear down what had been the last five years of creation, I also realize a stunning pattern— I had been tossed and thrown around like an animal, and now was no different. I was, in the greater sense of the mind of some overbearing power, just an animal. The only difference now was, I was in a cage. I could be observed and followed and even experimented on—all at the cost of my humanity. A bathroom I could use at will, a bed and a hot shower. Though the piercing strangeness of millions of others poured in at every angle in the empathic misery that was a convolute mass depression, the heavy weight of another 8 or so million trying to struggle, survive, insecure, and actively also panicking in one way or another, other individuals. The general sense was that if I didn't move, I would become ill— and I had already become sick from the movement and the noise, the chaos and the sense that I did not belong; tired of the dirt and the grime and the racist and ugly truths— tired of the games and the politics, but all alone in the world with no true method or serum for having a better alternative.

Here I was, just being in New York and feeling as if in the slightest sense that I was having to crawl out of my skin or scratch my eyes out because no matter what I did to try, New York just wasn't me in the ways I wanted.

I wasn't enough.

Worse, now I was tired. Unkempt lifestyles raging around me were running me ragged and I'd nothing to do but sit in the hellscape of the epiphany that all these little boys had turned into the world's problem in the absence of guidance— and that simply my being here was an addition to that matrix; the world's growing problem of unadulterated masculinity met with blistering aggravation in arrested development.

New York was filled with little children with big responsibilities; adults who had been raised by emotionally stunted intellectually deficit imbeciles, in one way or another— and not that I was much different, besides that I was tame.

As the weather grew warmer, the people became animals again, and though myself an animal as to be considered, I was well behaved, well mannered, well trained— without the slightest having-to-do for bullshit and without the patience for it to be such a forward trait in others that it seemed almost as if I was surrounded by ill behaved children almost at all times, and almost never alone when I wanted or needed to be.

I would have rather and might as well have been raising a child— and would rather have. But the conditions under the circumstances were horrible, and after nearly two years of this it seemed altogether like a horrible place— not because of the location itself, but because of the people in and surrounding it.

New York was giving me more and more of a haggard crassness about myself that I hated — and more of an anger than I knew what to do with.

The motorcycles had finally made me more sick than I could have imagined; I no longer trained, though of course, after being followed, and worse— I no longer ran.

My stomach ached with anxiety to the point that it had once more become hard just to move about and carry out average tasks. I felt as if my muscles were stiffening inside of my body and turning to rock.

I hated everybody and everything, and I most certainly did not want to make friends, go out, or make music. I found everyone nauseatingly fake, programmed, brainwashed-/ and even on my best days, after a bit of exercise and proper meals, all I could seem to see was the toxicity. All I could seem to hear were cars and motorcycles that were too loud, and all I wanted to do was kill the thing responsible for creating it. Suicide had set in once more, and I just as much wanted to rip a serrated knife though my veins as the motorcycles seemed to take pleasure in ripping serrated sounds through my stomach. I wanted to die; and for everyone who had contributed to my pain to die with me.

No, I wasn't some rogue mass shooter or a soon to be terrorist— but I had never in my own mind been so considerably violent with the hopes that these people would meet an end— there was no peace and in this sense it was war.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

Copyright The Festival Project ™ | All Rights Reserved | The Complex Collective ©

Hey, son.

…Bandit.

Bad Son was a long, lonesome fellow

Bad Son was a her in truth;

Bad Son was sad and mellow

Bad Son with the men was ruthless.

Long time.

Not so long.

Do you know why I called?

Parental obligations?

Something like that. However, you should know.

I obliterated the Hawkeye.

—he's not dead.

I know that.

Obliterated?

Defeated entirely with his life still intact.

But why.

But why not?

Why spare a life so unkind as to be made to end yours?

Mine won't end.

So you know.

I know everything.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

Copyright The Festival Project ™ | All Rights Reserved | The Complex Collective © 2021