[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

You DJ…magic?

I do whatever I want.

Awh—oh, well.

Why are you so nervous?

Just aM.

Sit down.

I'm already sitting.

Lower.

Uh, like this?

On the floor.

Alright…

Here's a cushion for your arse;

Don't get up.

Thank you.

I'm going to make tea.

—I take cream in mine; two sugars.

I didn't ask!

[in almost no time, and some heavy clamoring through the beaded entry to the doorway, a teacup appears on the table in front of him; it slowly begins to swirl, filling with tea—it fills nearly to the brim, steaming, and trembles a touch.]

Um…

[as he raises his finger with a timid objection, the cup of tea plumes with a cloud of cream—and while his eyes widen with amazement, drawing him closer to the cup, two cubes of sugar splash into the tea; two tiny drops of tea ricochet into his right eye, which he palms with a wince, his other eye still wide with awe; the woman re enters the parlor, carrying a traditional tea tray, a decadent silver platter adorned with an assortment of sweets, and a tea set. She places the platter at the center of the table, and the table sets itself; the table is now set for four, and the teapot pours itself at the head of the table, into the woman's teacup.

That ought to do it.

It worked!

Of course it worked; it always works.

Very nice.

I see you got my message.

[still distracted and in a sort of wonder by the whimsical uproar, the man's attention is aimed at the two empty places at the table. ]

Are you expecting company?

I'm always expecting company…

My hands are tied behind my back

You solid wasted time for facts;

And steady drawing love for oaths

To skin we carve

The path of ours,

Orion's Belt

Something seems off about her

There is something strange, no doubt.

Unwilling to be by

(Sacred vows)

Distant In the calling for forests—

So we wait

Tears as raindrops, though drought has fallen

Then reflected in words of others,

The mind gone,

All else rotten

Silk ties, my ears

There words, soft voices

The other seeking,

One running

Then came and went

The summer gone

The spring had flowers

The over dried

The tongue sparked

Horror,

Forgotten

Remembered,

Then, valued and

weeping for something else

Stranger tide,

Oceans foreign,

And lands unconquered.

Heavy rain,

Though tears has dried

Heavy hearts as service ended

Nothing left my ions, clouds

Mercury, women, blood drawn

Sad strange, headless, gasping

Horse drawn outlets,

Incapable of telling fortune;

Dust,

Dust,

Dust,

Dust—

The curse has broken

And still there was love there, and then

There was love there all along,

For there to had ever been

A dance at all.

I hate you.

Good riddance.

Probably for the best,

Nothing‘S for the best now!

“Best In Show”

Name?

McNulty.

McNulty, eh?

Aye.

I recognize that

You don't say.

I shouldn't.

Now I see your position

And the evidence is adding up

All odds against me

Not a shiver up my spine

Or a sliver under my nail

Or a silver in your hair,

Nor silver moon, or moonlight

Silver stone or Preston

Presley or Evenston

—so it is—a game.

This big network

This big chunk change

This been

(Isn't isn't it)

Rolling around in my mind, for days

Very well now, settled—

Then, there you are

A cloud

Nevermind the rest of it,

It's what we said in the beginning

I will always

See you in another—

I will always

See you in another

I will always

See you

In

Another

It's your move.

It's been my move for four decades.

Light.

More visibility—

Yo the ante;

I have not dismissed you yet

Stead classmates, taking

Are you high now—

Are you done yet?

There it is again;

The enemy

Nevermind ahain,

I thought I'd lose you

And there it still is,

Can it be?

Love in my eyes for you;

Even if you are at best

Just a mirror,

I'm a flashbulb

And the last party at your entourage.

I don't encourage any carbon dating

Honey,

But if you are

I've got a lesson, for ye—

Bored armor,

Settle down, I—

Got to tell you,

Steady stories;

Still foggy on my upbringing,

There, there

I say,

Wind moves in all directions

All skies get cloudy,

Call rain,

And then clear again

There, there now

All skies move, without notice

There, there now,

All is known but never is not

There are things,

There are murders,

There are tongues

There are trials,

There are ions,

You are right,

And scared laying asking not to call out

Therefore anyway,

I heard you yelling with only a whisper

There, there you are

Right near the top,

Where you ought to be

And then also,

Moving steady for forwards

From another superimposed,

Depends on

Signal lost

Very well, then,

Surf to calling,

Ring to spark, I

There you are, my love

Another light,

And then,

Again—

In another life.

I will always see you.

The shit that falls out of me with just a look.

We've all got jobs to do, and as it turns out— it might be really all the same.

One job, different tasks, but for one, it's for certain—

I want the peppermint swirl.

Give me a dozen assorted

I put it all on on a

(Turn turn)

I put it all on a

(Turn turn turn)

Woah, buddy—

You should not have taken those promotional photos wearing my eyes, man.

I am not very photogenic.

I'll call you back.

I could give you the whole

Moon and it still wouldn't be enough;

I'm home and still there's no roof over my head

Hanging on to the edge of a ladder

The top at the bottom

And life on its side

Like it's upside down

Inside out

Minus 1

And I don't want to go there

Minus 5

And I can't read negatives

Minus 9

And minutes turn to nothing

Gone the time

All out battles with

All who waited

And close to those

Were meetings,

Designations,

Heroes,

Writers,

Ice cream trucks

Tough battles

Winners—

Games and

Levitating on so secretly

secrets say

“God, Donald, you're on your own”

But heavy greetings wash out

All who were away at your essence

Strings of gold

Very wary

Wavy heroin,

I'm all galaxies

Are you whole, in

Stuffed stalker,

Tin straw hats

Carols in summer

Marking stones

Summer days

Summer

Are you in here

Or out here

After all had died

And gone grey

Still against my head

The tender sparkles

Of sparked dust,

No stars yet

Under city winds and

Careful not to wake the sound of

Delicate and soft

Pink detergent

And

Careful not to thank the

Conditioner,

saved you

Careful

Safety

Comes first

Careful

Safety

Careful

Careful

Careful

Calm down.

She's a partial obsessive…

You were tricked into writing all this.

Tricked willingly, anyway.

No, just tricked.

You thought you were special.

I realized I had to be when I saw the same thing twice on both ends —

I'm just doing my rounds.

Making the bed

Playing catch up

Doing check ups—

Well done, boys.

I know what you are now.

The job is done.

The job is a job.

[I'm seeing my clarity.]

Try not to lay next to me eating;

Try not to stand here on such a heavy plane

Try frequency,

Dignity,

Disgrace and

Distress,

Maybe

Major

Mayday

NATO

Bombs down

Maybe

Stay there

Maybe faraway

But I can hear you

Taking in

Shallow breaths

Planes crash

Plans fail

And then—

There I was remembering

All of a sudden

There was no actual plan in this

I was just playing by ear.

So you are in there.

Somebody nail me to a cross and tell me what the Fallon equivalent to Skrillex following me from LA to Brooklyn just to leave me in a homeless shelter to rot—

11

And though eventually I came up kind of okay on the other side affects, the paralyzing realization that I never wanted anything but proper mating.

That's, for facts, but—

Now with this looming Over my grave I'm sure I've yet something else to worry about just

In general.

I was told to keep my mouth shut.

Weren't we all.

I wasn't really interesting in meeting someone seriously— in fact. As it turned out, I still had a little more muse to milk out of the last one, but even the tarot was being a stickler— I could risk ending it all and putting a nail in the coffin by actually watching the tonight show—but there would be a possibility it all would backfire and it would just reignite that spark, or worse—I'd become fully engulfed in flames by whatever it was that seemed to appear—and it seemed to appear so vividly and with rapid strength that it couldn't be stopped or controlled.

A serious amount of money had to have been implemented to my paying attention to this, and beyond that— it all had to have been carefully premeditated. While at least now at the bookshop I was drawn to books from Oprah's book club, what had occurred couldn't possibly be ignored—actually, it couldn't be, at all— but instead of eating at me in its usual way, I had more just began to realize that there must have been in play some purpose.

Feeling faraway from my actual creative self, there seemed to be something missing at all generating even a general sense of understanding of what normalcy was— when had actually been the last time I had been touched at all in a way that might make me feel as if I was still human— as if I was normal— but I knew I wasn't.

It's time for a change.

The thought of being with someone, especially just anyone, was bizzare.

I gave up on love a lot of times;

But this is when it became official.

I was listening to a rap album I had never heard before

And in this rap song, he said

“This hoe got a 7 year degree and still selling pussy”

What in the fuck.

One way one way ticket

Why bother getting a 7 year degree

If your value as a black woman

Is so low

You can get a 7 year degree

And still have to be a prostitute

What the fuck is the point.

It goes the other way, too.

What is the point of selling pussy without a 7 year degree?

She's gonna make more than me in all the professions.

I gave up on love at all.

That right there is how low value we are, not just to the black man, but any man.

7 year degree and you can charge more an hour, but you're still a technical hoe.

I want to fucking die.

When I married my ex I was pregnant with twins;

When i got pregnant with the twins I was about 350 pounds.

So by the time we got married,

I was 6 months pregnant with twins.

He had a right to cheat!

I forgave him.

But the first time he hit me

Like really hit me

Not just like

A heavy shoving or ike

A lil.

You know

Choke out–

Like the real deal

Like knocked me the fuck

Almost all the way out

Saw the white light and everything

By the time that all went down

I'm like 170-180

He's still, mind you, like 300

I lost weigh

He lost his mind;

so i'm lets round up

Like 180 pounds

But in my mind i must be thinking somewhere

i'm still 300

He came at me with a running start,

I put my hands up like:

I must have thought i actually had a chance

I took a fighting stance like:

He said

Fphew

PULL A RABBIT OUT A HAT

damn . what year is this really?

You just got sampled .

Say, what's his job?

Well, that's an informer.

Chris Rock forsure some kind of genius
I saw him do GIlbert Godfried

And Sam Kinison

In the same show.

The show was dated, though;

He literally said

“I'm married: I don't cheat.”

I knew it must have been a joke.

I knew it had to be a joke,

or it had to be dated,

Cause being real,

I listen to too much kanye

To even believe that

Or even laugh at that

Not too much kanye

Just enough Kanye,

He said

“If I pull up with Kerri washington,

That's gon' be an enormous scandal”

I might have Niomi Campbell,

Still might want me a stormy daniels

And ya'll tried to get trumps supporters to turn against him

By exposing that he fucked this bitch?

That's like an achivement.

That's like a status symbol.

I'm sure these idiots praise him for that.

He might have even gotten more popular

That's not a scandal

That's PR.

On that note,

I think Chris Rock was the very guy

Who made me decide to stay single forever

He talked about the way, apparently,

men want to kill their wives;

The way they fantasise killing us

When we're in the relationship

Now, ill say

I never once thought about killing my ex husband

During the relationship

Even after he hit me.

Never once.

The only time i started wishing a karmic death upon this person

was when I left the relationship

And he stopped fantasizing about it

And actually tried to fucking kill me

Once I realized this was happening

Only then did I start to think

“Oh damn, i hope that motherfucker just drops the fuck dead”

This motherfucker beat me,

AND tried to kill me,

Only then was i like

damn

“Return to sender”

I hope you die too,

You fat piece of shit wifebeater motherfucker

I hope you die too.

Only after he tried to kill me.

After I left.

Had to hire a fucking voodoo fucking sorceress and shit

“yo , take this curse off me,

This motherfucker tried to kill me”

Fuck that motherfucker.

Apparently though they fantasisze it all the time,

I'm thinking about all the times he would play this song

iroinically enough,

By kanye west

So maybe too much Kanye West

Or just enough,

Kanye said

“I thought about killing you today.”

He used to play this song,

And beat my ass,

And I never once thought

“I hope he dies”

Shit,

After the first time he really beat my ass,

He ran away.

He got scared;

He had to run.

My face was all hanging off my head and shit

Blood all over the place

My lip is disconnected from my whole jaw and shit

He ran away;

He darted out the front door

He said

“I'm gonna kill myself!”

And he rain away–

Even then

even just after he beat my ass

I never thought about killing him

Or wanting him to die

He just fresh beat my ass;

He just straight up finished whooping my whole ass

and he said “I'm gonna kill myself”

He realized what he did

“I'm gonna kill myself”, he said

And he ran out the door

And here I am

With my lip hanging off my whole face

Blood all on the walls

Pool of blood on the floor,

the whole thing

babies crying;

The whole

The whole fucking HBO special

The whole nine yards

And he said

“I'm gonna kill myself”

And my dumb ass said

“NO! Don't!”

He ran out the door,

I'm freaking out

Blood everywhere

Babies crying and shit

“Come back! Think about the kids! Don't kill yourself”

Like a dumbass.

Turns out that was just a tactic,

He broke me down good,

I was like

“Don't kill yourself”

He said

“...you gonna call the cops.”

He said

“...alright, I won't kill myself.”

Boom.

That's a real killer.

Looking back on all this,

I can't help but think to myself,

What i would have done differently

Not the whole

“I should have left before any of that happened”

I was the mother of two young children;

I wanted to try after the cheating to make things work,

Fast forward after that

Turns out he was fantasizing about killing me the whole time

He beat mya ass,

ran away,

Left me in a pool of blood with my two kids

He said

I'm gonna kill myself

Looking back at that momet,

The thing I wish I could change

is this

If i had to do it over again

And he beat me like that

In front of my kids

And then said

“I'm gonna kill myself”

I would have said

“do that shit.”

Lock the door behind his ass,

Change the lock,

Pick my face up off the floor,

call an ambulance

And the polce,

change names

Pick up my life

And leave forever.

“Nigga–who?”

“Momma who was our daddy? What was he like?”

“Ya'll ain't got a daddy. I made ya'll myself”

End of story.

Whatever.

Everything happens for a reason though.

I learned my lesson.

Now i don't argue with anyone at all

Men, women–nobody

If i even sense that same shit

That psycho killer shit–

I become as silent and invisible as possible

And simply

Disappear.

“Disappear.”

I had a migraine and I knew it was from pressure buildup and stress, so I thought to get rid of it I ought to make one of those hot-compresses with rice.

But the only rice I had was jambalaya flavored—

But the headache was obviously really bad,

So I was like, “fuck it.”

Poured it into a gym sock

And popped it in the microwave,

Put it on my neck—

My neck smelled like a pot roast,

But it worked.

{Enter The Multiverse}

There was something in my lungs, forcing me to breathe deeply, with a raspy wheezing wind out of my lungs, and with a steady cough, I was able to offload whatever it was waiting in my chest to be released, along with it, at least part of the pressure that was making even just sitting and reading nearly unbearable, collecting into a harsh migraine paralyzing each and every other breath with a sharp pain underneath the back of what seemed to be somewhere below my ear canal and somehow, a pressure somewhere behind my eye, probably a result of the excruciating process of shoving earplugs into my ears in order to drown out the outside noise, which paired with that of my seemingly devoid neighbors, often became wildly unsettling, and while lately the clamoring had created not only an uneasy tremor in my left hand, but also apparently a sudden onset of occasional vruxism, the anxiety overall seemed to be surmounting into what could only be described as something trying to kill me, for which I could no longer ignore not as delusions or paranoia, but absolute fact. As I had learned, modern psychology might have been the equivalent of what one could even be certain to be the devil itself, unable to distinguish patterns often associated with creative genius, self manifestation, and psychic abilities and intuition, as delusions of grandeur, paranoid thinking, or worse— diagnoses as psychotic.

However, my grandiosity was neither imagined nor delusional—my podcast series alone had been read and listened to all over the world, translated into foreign languages and transcribed, and had been downloaded hundreds of thousands of times since its publishing; though not a technically recognizable figure, I had realized that I had in my own right become somewhat famous, if even off of the back or even under the umbrella of another famous individual, to whom the series itself had been entrusted. Receiving though not by mainstream media standards upwards of at least 10 downloads per episode, the series had no actual gauge or marker for its actual success and polularity—without being able to see information from a major streaming platform—Spotify, and without being able to measure the amount of downloads which had then been duplicated and shared otherwise, I started to recognize with a certain understanding what a cult following was, and the minimal phenomenon that even at this level, fame started to become apparent.

It had also become apparent that science itself had yet to truly understand the phenomenon of creative energy as a whole, and that many with these capabilities and gifts were considered to have a plethora of mental health disorders and medicated with what one would consider targeted attacks on the psyche, the illusion of mental illness often standing as the actual delusion in itself! Creating, and then medicating these intrinsic abilities ass illnesses whereby the “neurotypical” individual might only be considered as such due to ability to adapt, confirm, or follow diections in a systematic manner, and furthermore, that the misdiagnoses of such misunderstood cobditions often even relied on bias, poor judgement, racism, social class, and economics had certainly deconstructed any faith or belief formerly held in the modern state of psychology, and most of the articles or public medical journals read more like science fiction and fantasy rather than cold hard facts; indicating a moral and ethical flaw within the entirety of the human species—man's own inability to understand God, and therefore himself, in any creative process. Diety and creativity combined were simply a mystery, and had plagued entire generations of the human species as a whole.

Blū runs at top speed through the streets of Brooklyn New York on a cold and windy October night.

V.O.

The ironic thing is, I'm running to go get ice cream.

I hate my life,

I hate this place,

I hate my life—

I fucking hate this shit.

I'm trying really hard not to kill myself.

Like really, really hard.

Sudden onset bruxism and hand tremors and I can't help but wonder if it has anything to do with the constant mottoeycle traffic or sleeping in a sea of vehicles which at any given moment could sound off, start up or honk the horn alarm over the last 9 months.

I'm fucking exhausted all the time and everything around me just fucking draining.

Just fucking draining.

https://www.tracklib.com/pricing

Yo, you know how I know I'm aging?

I hated Dora The Explora when I was a kid—

You know why?

“That's for babies!”

I was too old for Dora the explorer.

Mi was a tv snob.

I'm like

“I hate Dora!”

No teletubbies for me.

No sir.

I'm distinguished now.

But get this,

As I get older, different renditions of Dora

Have grown on me

To the point where

I actually like the bitch

I got older,

And there was this girl,

Who would show up at raves

Dressed like Dora

And shuffle,

And dance around—

Looking like Dora The Explorer

Kind of creepy, now that I think about it

As an actual adult,

Like this,

Fully grown woman,

Dressed as a fucking 5 year old

Dancing around at raves

Being Dora.

Weird.

But I liked it.

I loved it.

She was a hit;

Everybody was like

“RAVE DORA! RAVE DORA!”

She blew up on Instagram,

She had a following—

It was like

Where will she be next?!

RAVE DORA!

Had the backpack and everything—

Everything!

Rave Dora!

But now I know I'm getting old,

Because I'm fuckin around online,

And I see in the advertising little sidebar video

Like, a new version of Dora The Explorer,

And I'm like

“DORAAAAAAAA!!!”

—the fuck!

I just realized my best friend from 3rd and 7th grade looked just like Dora the explorer.

Facts.

She became literally the most successful stripper I've ever met.

Ahem. Dancer.

Right. Dancer.

Ahem.

Dudes are gross.

Doods r gross.

Welcome to Doods R Gross;

What can I help you find today?

Uh, hi. I'm looking for a guy—

Uh huh—

Possibly one who looks like this:

Ah shit, this is how I got playing the Wikipedia game and went on a tirade

Facts.

Ended up here

Unicameralism (from uni- "one" + Latin camera "chamber") is a type of legislatureconsisting of one house or assembly that legislates and votes as one.[1] Unicameralism has become an increasingly common type of legislature, making up nearly 60% of all national legislatures[2] and an even greater share of subnational legislatures.

Interesting

Started Here:

The Fallen Angel (French: L'Ange déchu) is a painting by French artist Alexandre Cabanel.

You were saying?

Preferably this.

Ah huh.

Not the face, but— the body— you know.

Like this.

Okay.

Who will let me do everything.

Everything as in?

Everything.

Well, as you know, dudes are gross…

Hence the name of this store, good sir.

I am in no way good, nor am I a “sir”, and for all intensive purposes, my employment at this store signals my deep indirection in life and may also be an indication of more serious issues.

Maintained.

Alright, so I'll show you what we got.

No promises;

The type of model you want is popular,

Might be out of stock.

Considerable.

What's your price range?

This credit card has no limit.

Credit, or debit?

My debit card is also linked to a plethora of infinite wealth.

Right this way.

Do you think I deserved for him to hit me like that?

I don't know. Maybe.

I mean—the cheating is a given; I was really really fat..:but do you think like, him getting violent was some kind of karma for something?

Maybe.

Like maybe I had it coming for whatever reason— and just didn't know it.

Maybe.

Suddenly I was in the residual memory of a dream.

{Enter The Multiverse}

‘Dillon…'

I had been nearly whipped around at how much I had enjoyed watching Joel's 2014 image captured in what might have been his greatest ever performance, at least online—and certainly my favorite, watching as a bigger fan than ever and at th devastating realization that I was literally a dime a dozen in the millions of girls who also wanted any of the men I was attracted to, my heart ached in this moment for Dillon, and as I was distracted in checking my messages, most of them from conversations I had abandoned with the preference of focusing on my art, however— a certain gentleman who had texted me incessantly sent a picture of his dinner— a motorcycle roared as I let my aversion by the memory of Dillon cloud my emotions and judgement; I knew that the gangstalkers had access to my phone and all of my accounts, which was why I kept all of my messaging within Google voice.

I wanted the gangstalkers to know how at the surface level I was thinking and what I was feeling—though it was obvious that Dillon Francis just as much as Skrillex had been used as tools by a greater force than simply themselves.

Besides, a little birdy had told me that Dillon's girlfriend might be expecting—and furthermore, that the baby would be a little girl. I burned with jealousy and anger, but after all, even the name Dillon Francis had been planted in my own head by the literal devil himself, the man who beat me and then intended to destroy the entirety of the rest of my life to cover up his physical violence and negligence—and so I had decided it was good to fall in love—and then out of love—with Dillon Francis. The benefit was obviously by far in the art that had been created from it, as with any lover—or lack thereof.

I had finally realized the one-sidedness in every man I had loved since leaving my abuser. As if in a way they had all been possessed by him, or the devil himself—and either way, there really was no difference.

What other creature than the devil itself would seek so animatedly to destroy wich such violence and deceit?

It had to have been the devil after all, and so I left it there—but the little bird had left a deep and heavy cut in my heart that had already been there since Dillon had announced his girlfriend publically in the first place—and after all that had happened, it was a devastating blow, however, I kept the amythyst safe and tucked away with my son's labradorite—it was after all his, and not mine, just as the laboradite was my son's, and not mine— and all the pieces of my heart that had fallen away and into little stones sat tucked away inside a box with a lid that shut away the darkness and hatred that came with it.

It was obvious that I would and could never love again—but at least in the very simplest of laws, the love I had given would apparently at some point be returned tenfold, and so I was glad that I had chosen for a time, to let myself fall in love with Dillon Francis, and then somehow, even with Joel, and even with the little bird.

The same little bird just so happened to have known other things which turned out to be true, and to that affect, I knew that I could somewhat trust this little bird, and the secrets he was feeding me—the painful truth was, this was the only notion of trust I had with any human being on the planet, and the little bird was not a human being at all—he was, in fact, and indeed— just a little bird.

Isn't it something—

Snakes eat Rats,

And Birds Eat Snakes,

And we eat birds, and eggs

Until we hear them sing—

And when we hear them sing,

And watch them hatch the eggs,

And learn to hear them speak,

To fly, is what they teach.

Isn't it?

Snakes eat rats

And birds eat snakes

Snakes eat rats

And

Birds eat snakes

Snakes eat rats and

Birds eat snakes

Snakes eat rats and

Birds eat snakes

Jimmy Kimmel flies in through the window.

Oh my God!

What'd I miss?

You're a bird!

Oh, that.

How long have you been a bird?!

Pretty much forever.

Always, actually.

I was also—just—very briefly—a bird!

Yeah, comes with the…

You'll get used to it.

I don't think I will.

You will— or—-

Or what?

—You'll fly into the turbine of a commercial airplane.

Oh!

Yeah, don't do that.

[He tugs at the bottom of his suit coat to neatly readjust it, and tightens his tie, with an eerie faraway look on his face, however still smiling.]

Ha-ha...

[he pats his fellow host on the shoulder.]

See you later.

Will you?

[breaking fourth wall, saying nothing but with an honest and subtle shrug, Holding his breath as if to say ‘—I don't know.']

CUT TO:

Tom Hanks, looking as similarly to Jimmy Kimmel as ever, because, let's be honest—

NARRERATOR

Holy fuck, keep that shit just cause it's so bad

Right side is offline.

Why.

I don't know

NARRORATOR

holy fuck, can you really not spell the word narorator?

That doesn't even look right.

I thought you were a genius!

I thought I was

Meditating…

Narrator.

Nevermind.

This is ridiculous!

It is ridiculous, but you know what.

Mm. This is delicious.

You like that?

Yes.

You want more of it?

Yes.

Well, that's TOO BAD!

What, why is this?

Because, this is—

{Enter The Multiverse}

THIS IS SATURDAY NIGHT!

No, it's not.

What.

It's Sunday.

What do you mean.

It's Sunday night—and all of you—

(The entire cast)

Missed the show.

...uh oh.

YESTERDAY.

[censored]

Shh!

Where have you BEEN?!

Well, gotta go.

Where the hell do you think you're going l?

{Enter The Multiverse}

Now I had comedy under my belt, somewhat, but it seemed all in all as if I'd lost something, even in all that had been gained. A trade off, if it paid off—but it hasn't yet; and perhaps that strange faraway voice had been right. Maybe it would be Jimmy Fallon after all that would destroy me—or at the very least, some dark and foul evil spirit that had been wearing his face…

…and singing with his voice.

I have been hanging at the end of a rope

The legend to the show rolled up like a newspaper in my left paw, opposable

The end is near, and sure, the straw I draw is short.

The life I loved was long,

The boat I rowed had sunk;

And the men I loved

We're drunks.

I've never had the sun on my skin;

Or my son in my home—

It's not you, , sir, at all

It's me, man—I'm broken

She speaks pig Latin

The lady in the red dress, yes, you guessed it

Was it a bet,

A Game?

A Family Man

Who has it out for Fallon,

Or the fandom

Or the fountain

CUT TO:

A SUBURBAN NOUSEHOLD. DAY

Alright, mom— I'm going to Marshall's.

Alright dear.

[moments later]

[ding dong]

Hi—

Um, hello.

I'm Marshall.

Alright.

I'm a recruitment officer.

Recruitment for what?

That's top secret.

Okay?

I'm here to congratulate you on behalf of the agency.

What agency?

That's also top secret.

Okay.

Your son/ or daughter—

Daughter.

Really—you sure?

…positive—

Ahem— has been selected to particulate in our leadership program.

Well, thats's great. When does it—

Today.

Oh.

Your son and or daughter—

Daughter.

Are you sure?

I'm— positive—

Will undergo training for an indeterminate amount of time..

Indeterminate?

Pre-addressed Post cards.

Ummm.

Postage paid.

Thank you?

No, thank you.

What?

I had set all my clocks forward, so it was as if I was waking up in the future. So far forward, in fact, that if I wasn't looking at my phone to see the real time, I could never be late, and I even wished that there was a way to set my phone clock forward—but maybe if that was possible, too many people would catch on to being ahead—or on whatever time

they wanted—and the world would fall out of sync. That kind of free thinking could be dangerous in a place like New York, and it sort of already was—none the wiser, the smarter I felt I was, the more trouble it becsme and though wisely I knew myself to in totality know nothing at all in actuality, I did at least think more and do more than the average New Yorker, whether I thought about it or not.

I set my clocks forward,

So I wake up in the future

Less than I'd be willing to bet

And more than you've be willing to bargain

I'm coming with you this time

I don't think that's a good idea…is it?

—is it?

Anyway…

It's time for that trip.

How am I supposed to make it all the way to London on this pay grade?

Just wait.

It's barely anything.

You see that waitress.

…yes.

I mean— do you see her.

I see her.

I want you to bang the shit out of her.

Good one.

It should be.

Oh, you're serious?

I'd better be.

You know that I'm committed.

Are you a man?

I have been.

Go on, then.

Not in that way.

The wager.

[he lays a large sum of money on the table]

Disaster strikes.

Suddenly we all realize this plane has been about to crash for about four seasons.

Meet me at the four seasons.

Are you wearing a wire.

Beg your pardon.

Are you wearing a wire.

He won't love me in the way I'm craving—

It's not in his nature, the near hatred and almost demoralizing, however with utmost respect

That I should be both harmed and loved at once,

Embraced and defiled,;

Handled as if having done wrong,

But in no less than bloodlust

All what's right,

And feels the same

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Somebody pull shit shit off the shelves.

Honest to god they're trying to kill me.

I've never been angrier.

Maybe all this having already happened in some kind of irregular repeat existence is the reason for my having immidiately hated Jimmy Fallon upon his introduction to the cast of Saturday Night Live.

Maayyyybeee.

Probably.

I hated him immidiately.

Even before breaking character, or any fourth wall— before I realized at all why I would continue to hate this actor for his lackluster performance on a show I thoroughly enjoyed binge watching—

—I hated his fucking face.

Which ironically. Some 20 years later—

Is the part—maybe even the only part— I actually like.

I like his voice.

Soothing.

Shut up.

Correct, you may have in some way altered my regular pattern of thought in some way—

I am indeed in great pain, especially lately,

But not over Jimmy Fallon—

Especially not over that.

In fact, I've realized that anything I understand about this character is that, he is, in fact, just a character.

A flamboyant offspring of my own imagination.

A gesture of circumstance—

Indeed, a fictional, fitment of my own discourse.

—indeed, I am in this reckoning highly even impressed with myself to such a degree that not only has my own world turned inward and outward and reached into my own perception to unbewittingly show me all these projections of my own interior mind; the ice cream— the posters— the magazine articles, the sidebar trimmings, and of course, the double budget ad campaign for whatever Jimmy Fallon has actually going on at Rockefeller Plaza.

I'm somewhat impressed to have, without ever trying to or meaning with any intention to learn more about, or bring this individual closer to my attention, seen more of Jimmy Fallon than one could have possibly—ironically and all pun intended—

I'd seen more of Jimmy Fallon than anyone could have even possibly imagined humanly possible, completely by accident.

Can somebody really be that famous?

Surely, especially lately, I am depressed. In need of an actual truth, an end to suffering—[redacted]

Still, this images are constantly forced into my being, under whatever circumstances—fasting or not— exercising or not—praying or not— and though my prayers, even particularly on this matter seem to fall on deaf ears, I still do pray, when I can remember to, for my burdens to be lifted.

My burdens have nothing to do with Jimmy Fallon at all, and yet, these random appearances and strange occurrencesremain a mystery. My heart is broken, however, not by Jimmy Fallon—my heart is broken as my son has been lost to his father and his ways, and yet— here still, too, is this discourse—this puzzle, of sorts, and almost a willing call to cry into the world with the fear and notion that Jimmy Fallon too could actually be the devil itself, manifest in [redacted].

For whatever reason, I just keep writing.

At least something around this point sets in where I realize I just want to kill myself and for it to be over not because of Jimmy Fallon—

No, not at all.

Here's this man, on ice cream and billboards— a good one, but belonging to someone else, and— powerfully dangerous.

I had chosen to tempt neither fate nor circumstance.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Anything to keep from deadmau5 appearing under the influences section of my google search results.

He's not an influence to my music— a goal marker for where I would ideally want my career to end up, but not an influence.

—I just really wanna Impress that dude.

[Incoming.]

You're welcome.

I swear to god these vultures swoop in on anything I even moderately like—

You're welcome.

Cause the more I like you,

The more women in droves will come plummeting towards you,

Wanting to fuck,

Or worse—

Whatever their version of

“Love you” is,

But I promise

These are just offloads of my residual

Actual love for you— just because

I love you that much.

Enjoy your future girlfriend—

Or maybe even, wife

I don't know.

Fucking vultures.

Man, I just don't know what it is.

But I got particularly bitter and some sort of weird,

Like of fucked up,

When Skrillex started dating like a d-list porn star

Who happened to look like all the girls

Who have ever been

Just flat out evil towards me in my entire life

All the bullies

All the fucked up, just straight evil bitches

He's like

“This is my choice, by the way”

Triple fucking zero, fake tits, fake fucking lips

All the injections

She's on only fans and shit

He's like

“This my shit right here”

I'm like “ew,” fucking gross

And I shit you not,

Ever since then I've been kind of fucked-up

Jaded

Like,

Look at these fucking lizard bitches getting all the love and all the clout

Look at these fake lipped alligator ass hoes—

Getting all the good love.

That's fucked up,

I'm like,

Fuck it.

Skrillex can definitely go under the influences section, I guess.

Look at this influence.

I'm a be under the influence of everything on God until these super skinny lily white freckle fucking fake lip hoes reign of dominance is fucking finished.

I've had it with these fucking lizards.

Acorns!

I damn near been celibate ever since

Mind your business.

Who influenced this!

Skrillex! Now shut the fuck up.

#getawayfromme

Don't get me wrong;

I get the convenience

White girls have privelege, connections—

They don't need talent or personality,

Or rhythm.

They have family, friends—

Access to things most people don't

That's why they remain the ideal

She'll get you into a world you've never seen

Because it's exclusive

And there's an entire network around

Keeping anyone who does not fit the standard

Out

She'll boost your career

Your finances

She's not after your money cause her family is well off

And she went to and enough school to make her own

Sorority sisters and shit

Knows people.

She'll build your whole world up

Just based on the fact

That she is a white woman

That's access

You have built trust with the white world who,

Let's face it,

To this day,

Still isn't sure about us!

They have to put us through all sorts of tests and shit

And then still try to figure out if,

The shit that ain't right about us

Is because of the shit they directly did to us

Or if it's something just ingrained in is that they're scared of

That they don't like

And sometimes it doesn't matter!

If they still can't figure it out

And yo the not impressive enough to a certain degree

If you don't have that white access card,

You're discarded;

Because,

You will never, by default have actual white privelege

But you can gain white access by being closely connected and maybe even trusted by a white individual—

And so to this, I commend the wiser—

The businessmen by nature who understand

That having a white woman as your access

Is sometimes nessecary,

Until things actual change

But they haven't yet.

I'm still waiting on a dark skinned protagonist whose also a woman and isn't in some way marginalized or patronized by ugliness, stereotype, or some kind of drawback that allows the white supremacy and its domineering public to solidify and enforce their natural inclinations to dismiss post racial excellence in any form.

Still waiting.

{Enter The Multiverse}

He has no monster,

And still what counts me is,

Above my beaarinf,

Just out of grasp,

And over my head,

Spinning as with wind blows,

And stone sacred down to secrecy

As sworn, the truth doth lie in her palms,

And still hold,

The hall of oath not to lie,

There in, all does form to steady shallow;

Therefore, one does not call with harm to lie,

But steady stained forever in foul truth, a wicked odor,

And there there, heaven acaped and at all pictures as I were, the friends that not come as maidens or warriors but still as aheep come to graze in my pasture,

As does the seed of one tree lie in the ground,

awaiting water, and until then only sleeps and rests,

With eyes not shown the world, as I.

-Omens.

-Secrets.

-Lies.

-Death.

-illumination.

-Omens.

Wasn't there another order?

Seems as though the more I come forward, the harder and more impossible that I ever go back.

Still, I was warned.

I was always warned and headed warnings,

Over and over and still I gave truth to the light that was shone on me.

Very well.

I came, I saw.

I said, and sat.

Nobody knows my name.

Not any besides a lover.

Seth.

Suddenly, it dawned on me,

Pencil shavings and all,

That I was not who I thought I might have been before

Now or ever—

Not that it mattered.

Came with it, a dead man.

And came acquitted, my heart and soul as one

For it had been painted in the colors of love

That I could do no wrong at all

By having done nothing,

But given words

What a course!

The professor sucks.

Who'd you get.

Who'd you get?

Nobody.

Trickery, deciet and lies—

Flickering the things I'd done,

With eyes sewn shut,

And back unclothed,

The nether ends,

The door has closed

And surely you mean nothing but to honor us,

Fairwell,

And surely you mean nothing less

But than to barter,

As I may.

A temporary woman

Never loved on the weekends

Steady through the week,

But only for the moment.

Discarded woman,

Leaving behind any evidence, transgressions

Favoritism, and secretive thoughts,

Explosive measure, talismans

No comment

No comment

No comment

Never happened.

Moving on, then.

Being honest, never loved him

Never had to, at the office,

Breathing easy makes it sacritism

Actually sacrificing artifacts and

Alleviating Past the architecture at

An interesting artificial measurement of

Speed and intellectual accomplishment

But still we gather, half entranced and half entitled,

Wishing for an ornamental temperament of severance on separation

Severity at covet, or north for starters,

Soverign states and in general, gentrified genocide of sorts

It's psychological warfare

Psychological warfare

The whites will have the blacks and browns pick each other off

To remain in power

The white devil

Is also just as often

The white savior

BROH.

JOHN OLIVER IS MAD BRITISH.

AVADAKAVARAH!

I TOLD YOU, I WAS A WITCH DOCTOR!

WHATEVER! I THOUGHT YOU WERE A LATE NIGHT HOST!

EVERYBODY HAS A DAY JOB.

THAT'S A NIGHT JOB!

EXPECTO-PA–

POTTER!!!

WHAT IN THE [BEEP}! YOU'RE A WIZARD?!

OF COURSE I'M A BLOODY WIZARD–WHAT THE HELL DO I LOOK LIKE TO YOU?!

ANOTHER LATE NIGHT HOST–OR WHATEVER!

“OR WHATEVER” I'M A WIZARD–

HARRY.

What the [bleep]

EVERYBODY HAS A DAY JOB

™

Please, by all means,

Keep your pretty white girlfriend.

I want to see those eyes come through

What a handsome couple.

They are the scariest thing ever.

Let them be, then;

Out to be fun to watch.

I can't listen to Drake on my loud speakers bro.

Not—like loud, man.

That shit makes me feel like a whole ass basic black girl.

True story.

Sometimes you gotta distance yourself from the “yassss” birds.

I saw this one comedian performing—

Well, I think he was a comedian.

He wasn't funny to me but,

He had like 710K followers

And he was really really pretty.

I had to notice that, because as imm listening to him preform, about 30 minutes into the video—

I was waiting to see if he would make me actually laugh—

He didn't—

But—

As I was trying to figure out how he has 710K followers

And has not made me laugh, not once

I start paying closer attention to him—

And I realize;

“Oh”

He is major good looking.

At first I didn't notice—

I like white guys— so,

Of course,

At first glance

I'm like

“Hey brother!”

You know, like

“That's my son!”

I'm like

“Yeah, make me laugh, boy.”

But he didn't

And then as I start to wonder

Like,

Why or how he has so large of a following

I notice he's very beautiful.

And I mean, like mad gorgeous.

Like ideally—

I'm like

“Oh” and as I'm realizing this,

He's saying the punchline to a “joke,”

And as he's saying it, I realize that way in the back,

Like you can hear that they're in the back

Cause the camera is in the center,

And like half of the audience is behind the film crew

, and you can hear these girls are in the way—

Like in the way back

Like in the way, way back,

You can hear like a pack of ratchets—

Yes— these must be his die hards—

His squad.

Not like his homies or anything, but like

The Groupies.

You know.

The hopefuls.

He's got this group of black girls like hackling in the back, like clapping hard at all his punches like

“YAS!”

“SAY IT!”

And it was funny because his reaction to these girls was like

“I'm—not in control of this.”

“RIGHT!”

“SAY LESS!”

I'm like,

Oh, I see how that works, now.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

This is confusing.

I can see how you're confused.

Everybody is confused.

Or just— fused.

…calculating…

She's REAL! I'm telling you she is.

Sweetie, I know you have had a lot going on lately, but—

I'm serious! She was sitting in the audience! She had the same glasses on and everything!

Oh, come on.

I should be meditating.

The likelyhood that I might actually be belonging into a hive mind has recently kept me from furiously masturbating.

Bad news for the helicopter making a habit of hovering outside my window.

Here's hoping she's dressed this time!

[F-f-f-f]

Nope.

Synopsis

“The child within”

A frustrated present day Drew Barrymore sees a familiar face in the audience of her hit daytime tv show—formerly thought of as her imaginary friend, from a very young age, Ms. Drew Barrymore has not seen the mysterious figure since her first major film role, after which she mysteriously disappeared— the creature, a time traveling and shapeshifting multidimentional tasked with the duty of bringing future celebrities from one realm into another—and even sometimes perhaps preventing obstacles or adversaries in their path along the way— must meet the future stars and alert them of their unique qualities, nurturing the intrinsic sense of charisma and charm that will supply value to the subject's career and lifetime achievements—

In attempting to convince a room full of New York's own fabrication of Hollywood TV People that a figure drew even thought herself to have supposedly re-emerged, she is met with judgement and dismissal, even by “her people”, during which a small piece of her spirit— “The Child Within” angrily breaks away from her adult self; in a sense, they are both invisible—as no one will seriously listen to Drew's rationalizations or theories, and reccomend more intensive mental health care and treatment—and as the child within, unseen and unheard loses her patience in the inevitable invisibility, she separates herself to presume her former mission; finding that ‘very strange lady' whom with she had beforehand seemingly adventures with timelessly.

So that's where I left off.

Pretty much—

Doesn't this lady just—

Whatever, I do have more things to do than I thought. I'll have to get back to it later.

I wrote this days ago;

I didn't write it—but I've been thinking about it, so there it is. Maybe—

Whatever. More coffee.

I've been starting my days between 6 and 8 PM with very strong cups of coffee—

Compliments of the Television people, of course.

What about that other storyline— the one where she's like a spy or something?

You mean Charlie's Angeles!

No, I mean like actual CIA.

What was she even doing?

I don't know; looking mad serious in a blazer.

Posh.

So very,

{Enter The Multiverse}

NO, BILLIE! WHYYYYYYYY!

WHYYYYYYYYYYYY.

Cause it's shark week.

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS HAVE TI DO WITH SHARKS?!

I Dont know yet.

I know better than to

Click a photo of you, when

I've been thinking of you

Too much

Aren't you

–At least

Curious

(To say the least, but–(

Learned enough

The first time

Second time

Third time

Fourth rung

don't care

Time's up

Problem solved

I know better

(Just a touch.)

I know better

The world is mad

I know better

Fingers crossed

I know better

I'm all alone

I know better

I know better

I heard my neck break at the end of the rope

I heard a gunshot in the distance

We all wondered

which sounded better

The rock i'm under

(A curse, or a spell?)

A blood bond ritual

An occult oath, it's

Too many simpletons,

Singletons,

scratch and sniff, motion pictures

Who art thou?

Who art I not?

Very well.

No more, if you would remain.

As I must.

And yet, I have come to end thy reign.

Very well.

Oh, again?

Oh, as always.

I've done nothing in my right to mark tirade.

Many ears.

–and many hearts.

Take mine, an honor.

Your head, i'd rather.

Say again.

I'd rather your head.

Very well.

Dismiss, you.

They are as one.

A fair right.

It's not as bad as you think.

It's worse than it was. Now there's stuff all over it.

What is this stuff?!

Don't worry about it.

There are tears.

No remains.

No remains.

None at all?

I'd rather burn than buried.

And your Kingdom?

–I'd rather burn than buried.

Or–?

Or buried than burned, but gone at all.

Gone at once.

As with this.

So it is.

It's not in the blood;

You won't find it.

–I'll find it.

Not that way.

__

GODDDAMN. YOu'RE SO DUMB.

You're so fucking–stupid.

I'm a genius.

Not for long! You're a dead man.

Your highness!

And who is this?

His highness's executioner; perhaps also yours.

On what charges?!

Dismissal at once.

On my time!

–and tell no others of this.

–and you?

Steady well in my greeting.

And how?

A lady upon a throne, not I, but still fair castel

And wages of ageless.

So it doesn't matter!

So it doesn't.

So it can't–matter

Shouldn't have to.

Somebody just kill this poor fuck already.

On it.

Oh, I get it.

It's his face.

L E G E N D S - ASCENSION

Listen, Potter; I don't know how you did this!

I don't know how I did this! I'm not Harry Potter! My name is Daniel Radcliffe, and–

This place should be spotless.

It is…spotless.

{Enter The Multiverse}

When you think you're hearing voices,

But you're actually telepathic.;

I think it's getting worse now;

I wish I was just manic

I think I need a manager;

I think I need some magic,

I think I got a half an oz

Just sitting my my backpack

That's a lot of cocaine, man.

It's not that much.

It's more than regular.

That's fair.

Way, way more.

More than usual.

I am very wasted.

Just let me touch your face

And let the age sit in

Take in the day

The cage sits in a mailbox

And it withers with my divedends,

Still, I'm writing

Heroism, hedonism

Circumstance,

Frantic as an orgasm,

And laughs just as much hard as that

I came in color

These marginal differences,

I've been levitating,

Marrying the thought of just l

Decapitating every nation.

Severed heads as one,

To stand the wicked bodies

Oaths if over oceans stand as borders

Who deserves to sail

For failures craving fortunes?

Withstand this,

I mark true—

On your duty of my decaying

Stands as justice, and still this

You haven't fortuned,

For arrogance is the truest of humor

And wit to none, wiser thinking

He is or are that may

Be stronger in the notion that

There is no other but himself!

And so I pardon!

Dear, your honor

Fight for festherwate for masterpieces

Cherished and forbaroned in the faithless,

Wise and withered none, but lying waking

Barking tides, wishes foul and ordinary;

There you wait for judgement,

And call I,

Boundless as you found her

As one,

And I say—

There, there;

There you are in marked for God,

Calls none but I, others

Seeking in the wate of judgement.

Fair and Farrows of the ache

And bound I, still now

To causing none but fortune,

Still truth waits in the ark you have tied us

To, in hundreds number

There I wait,

And there I come, still

Now in time,

You are we

And I are

Together

Not tied,

But marked as one,

As such, this now

Is where embarked

Dither will you.

Whatever the fuck that means.

Must mean something.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

What did I tell you before?

Did it matter?

Well, the aching went away—that's for sure.

But for how long?

Almost certainly temporarily.

So you'll remember what I've told you.

I hope so.

What's the password?

St. Barts.

Tokyo.

Honeycomb.

Good.

Initiating Sequence

No dinner by candlelight,

As delimiter dawns, I do awaken

Though, hindering on these kind words—

Forsaken from death's pardon,

The waiting begins, as a new rose

Hath yet budded

Great, here we go again .

It's further away—is that a good thing or a bad thing.

Depends on how you'd want to think of such a thing as having voices in your head.

So—

Very well then

In the spirit of psychology,

Believing in one's self is some sort of sign of delusion;

Believing that one could achieve success, fame, immense wealth—

What's happened?

I'm being intercepted?

By what?

Heavy lies the subconscious mind

Though nearly dead and shatters from its last endeavor, the kadavr

That seems wrong

And even in such a sense that I may one day overcome

I have succumb to this, a knowing that what I had given

Had not been replenished, and though love

As ever lasting as it may—

Was not in totality returned at all;

And so with this, I wilt,

As often a flower in fall does,

And sure,

An unpicked fruit, though not yet ripened

To have fallen on its own,

To bear seed to the ground,

Or fruit to the earth—

And there again,

A reminder that I am all of God,

Separating my mind from my eyes,

And so from my own body,

Until death does come

To smooth what has been broken

By evil itself,

As arranged just so

Outside my window

Until time does end,

And still only in death we remain,

Until death do us part

And death was won

By my own war, not against time

But with—

And so the devil will leave his mark,

Pity be that may upon him who causes to collide with honor, and truest love does spark and yet not kindle,

As arranged, I've died without mine,

The love which was no truer spoken

Than it was written,

Or felt, or sang as melody in song

And still the string of beating,

The drums or upon my skin,

The doust cloth of simple intoxicating and shallow

Breaths of…

A gaseous odor,

A colorless ease to come forth,

From his palm, and so I welt,

As if bruised as deserved,

And bleeding in waiting,

I lie on my back,

Again waiting to be born,

And with time,

Will be worthy of love

But not in this lifetime

No love had I,

But love to give

No love had come to me at all

But pain and hardships

The things worn by others,

And seconded care,

A home made of garbage,

And so I become

Discarded.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Oh my God!

That's that place!

That's that place!

DID YOU SEE THAT THING

OH MY GOD.

FUCK THAT.

Okay. Fuck that guy.

Leave him alone.

Weeeelllllll,

Wellll

Well now.

That's the place from that one time.

Are you sure it was a time—

—are you sure it was a place?

Are you sure you werennt dreaming.

I wasn't dreaming!

Only masturbating!

What's the difference?!

I'm at least slightly more conscious when I'm masturbating.

At least slightly.

Jesus Christ.

Call that guy. At this point.

We need him.

I told you it was gonna get weirder and deeper

But why tho!

If you keep poking me in my damn third eye,

Imm gonnu eat you.

Don't eat me.

I'm gonnu eat you.

Don't eat me.

Poke.

Ieatyou.

Dammit.

Yeahp, I said.

Now we're pretty much just all one thing.

…Fuck.

The purple monster?

Periwinkle, preferably.

Shut the fuck up.

You shut up, you were eaten.

Yeah, but now I'm just— living inside you.

You were eaten.

You're gross.

Quiet, me!

Whatever, bro.

I eated you!

2

Fair.

What.

You're still a 10.

A ten and an 8 what's that make.

Like— I don't know—

Two nines, maybe,

Or like, 3 6s

3 sixes it is, then.

Fuck, man .

What happened.

What gives!

Give this dude a body and a hackey sack

Why what for

Seems like he needs something to play with.

Peter Valentine

Arthur & Elise

Cosmos Factory

James Cannon

Ascension IV- The King's Keeper

Oh look it's this little weak ass weight throwing bitch again.

I love him.

Be nice, little boy.

You're so shallow.

But you're the brownest thing I've ever really liked.

Case in point .

You got yourself a good one, Nancy Drew

A keeper, don't you know

Don't you ever gotget it

God yourself a keeper, Nancy Drew

He'll do his best

To make the women envy you

Just as I do

Oh, Nancy Drew

lol he lifts the same as me

Shhh shut up

Let's see if he throws on more weights

I think he was just doing that for attention

Must be. He ain't gon get it nowhere else

This lil pussy ass bitch

Oh. Man. Imma love this guy in a minute

Then he gone start signing his little bro lyrics puffin out his checst

Talking about

Mumma sunmin summn

Mmumuma

Shut the fuck yo you fucking pussy.

Throwing 10 lb weighs and shit

I swear to god this dude came to the gym just to sit on the phone

Pussy ass hitch

Who you gon call

Your friend!

Come on then.

Now I got all the dick in the room.

Two weak dick dudes acting touch

I'm like

Alright,

I can tell I got the biggest dick in the place.

All I hear is “sumsumsunsun” and weights being thrown around

I wanted ice cream

All I got was this set

Goddammit!

I wanted ice cream!

Let's play tonight

I don't think that's a good idea at all

I don't think that's a good idea at all

No I don't think that's a good

Idea at all

The idea of suicide just hits my wrist

At the time

In my ride

When I feel the best

But I feel the worst

So just let it end

If the words were blood

I'd already be dead

33 minutes to go

33 rotations per minutes

Nobody asked my permission

I was just in it

Yo. If it's your birthday—

Or maybe even just—

The week of—

And you're not drunk by 1 PM

You ain't livin

Fuck outta here

If you drink like that

And if your birthday

Time to party!

Fuck it up!

I don't give a fuck

I don't even drink'

!

But if you do,

And it's your birthday

Or like, your birthday passed

Or like, your birthday next month

Or maybe, your birrthday was yesterday

Two days ago,

Whatever,

But you're ready for the pregame—

LETS GO.

29 minutes left

Yesterday I fell 29 stories

I e got 29 stories more

28 minutes more

28 stories

I lost one

One life lost

Microphone contessassstttttttttt

Alright, you serpent motherfucker

Actually, I'm a vulture—type—thing

Big bird, hinged over,

Mad tall, like 6 feet tall,

Wingspan like,

Massive—

You seen him?

I eat serpents.

Really?

And whatever I can get my hands on, really.

Huh.

I prefer white meat.

I bet you do you raggedy bird looking coot.

Watch it

Razor sharp teeth— you seen him?

YEET!

——-GODDAMMIT!!!!'

25 minutes left

I got 25 25 year olds trying to fuck

Hypersexual intellectual,

Otherwise sapiosexual well's all dried up

Just in time tie died, right Ike

Just in time to bruise my eye,

Huh Billie

Just in time for the ride

On

The ride I got

24 minutes left

24 whole dollars

With your name on it

Who are you, producer

You're my eye god

You're right god

My eye on comedy got

Comedy Central all special

Just keep writing

Alright

I got 23 minutes and 45 43 42 seconds left

writing and riding this bike

And I just mentioned

I'm holy high day

On a hiatus a was

I got 22 minutes left

22 minutes per episode

Airtime

Sitcom

Hi Raymond,

I am

Hi God!

Hi, Ross

All is good—

I am good,

Hi mom

I am high;

Jennifer Aniston

Carry this one out

Write this song

Sit on this couch

Get this bitch out of here

Gimmie some songs

Come on

Give me some candles

I'll knock your whole life out

Hi Cosmo,

hi Wanda'

Hi mom,

Yeah right LC

Silk gold

Found that secret blaze

Blue metal credit cards full metal jackets

Keep throwing weights god

No thanks

Take care

Straight up

Far out

Never came this far god

Never got my lights out

Hey Ellish,

Hey batshit

Hey, lights out

You wouldn't believe it

The implications of my knowledge

Okay then

All for the experience

Spill my blood next

Skip rope

Want a breakfast plate

High sandwhich

My series costs more than my light bill

High god

Hi mom

All about all thanks

No show

No cake

Can't afford my pie plate

Can't afford my time Jack

Riff raffle anyway

Who won the lottery unit

For the crackerjack box

I got it all on recordings

All out of order

Whose time god

You my Maytr

I wanna marry you anyway

But can't make payments

Man

Mayflag

Man

Mayflower

8 balwains later

Ain't nothing but tall ones

Long money

Who hates straightform

Flatiron

Can't work on holidays if you can't get paid,

I make sense,

I pay my rent right on time

I slave ship

I hate faggots

I blow smoke up black asses anyway,

Anyway, take care

Gotta go fight back

My weak ass monster

Almost can't exist on the same plane

I've got

46 minutes left

All wifebeaters die fast,

Then slow

Then fast,

Then slow again

And oh god,

I watched the world burn

And laughed harder just cause you on it

Oh my my my

I am Billie after all

Now face the conviction

Formatting and hitting earth's angel

You failed, mate

Throwing all things around

But that mess between your legs

15 minutes left on this bike

15 minutes of fame bough

Oh God,

Still want ice cream, and everything but oh lord,

My grandson got me;

Here he comes now,

He ain't shit at all and still too brown,

Turn the lights off and now I'm can't even see him but look what I found

A wedding band

eS lA broken fense

A diamond cage

Everything but the encore

Now I'm so shallow

Put it all up for bat

And if you don't give me a new apartment

I'll sue you.

10 minutYes and my phone too sweaty to to type

6 minutes and I might tune in to rap god

But really loving hard on this Nirvana

Oh the nerve of god of Ghana

Getting on my nerves

How high am I now?

Np celebrity in sight

But my own reflection on the mirror

A minutes and a menace to society on my right

Shouldn't even be here

Send em right back

Build the wall high

On my whitelist

I got puppets all night

Pull the string man

Blow the candles

Put the lights out

Make my idol a big tall man

In a white coat

Make my idol

The eye of rpvidemce highlighted on the one dollar

Make my idol

Every night live from Rockerfeller plaza

Plus or monies a couple hours

And a couple lies

A pair of pleated pants

And white socks

But let's hope in black

To match the polished

Two shade shoes

Two big numbers on my clock

I'll see you in a year old bat

I'll see you in seven you old coot

On my right hand

Ten swollen knuckles

One minute left

More like

40 seconds left

Half a mile run

Good time jog

I been back

I been god

I been got by all the big 5 media companies at once

My ex husband

Satan

Voldemort

He who shall not be named

Hit me

One

Two

Three

Four

5

Four

Three

Two return to sender

One love

Fuck that

Never again

No more.

She ain't finished

I know how to take the power from a weak man

Take his whole shit

Wind it up in a ball

Breath it on real deep

Don't strike back

Hold it in

Let it hurt

Let it sting

Let him get real mad

Pacing

Walking round in circles

On your circles

Boundaries

All your control

Power off,

The hour's over

Good luck, commodore,

No more birthdays.

IV

04

He took her to Geneva

But it was I who woke there

Holding him , and hopeful

A blue credit card for shopping

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I'm not obsessed with you;

I'm just studying occultism and your name keeps coming up.

I am sort of obsessed with this craft,

The occult

a magic of passion, desire, intention

Intuition, and of course

Enamour and illusion

You, are, sir–

Perhaps the most fascinating aspect to have happened of it yet

And I find that all long,

The answers to the question I never asked were there

Just as i had focused them,

–and without ever having to

Do you fear me?

Should I?

You did before.

But–should I now?

Be careful of your hands

And of your gaze–

be cautious of your path,

And know your grounds

The whispers that you keep,

Aren't all your own

The voices in your head

Are all as one

Acting on behalf of one another

I buried all the love I had under my throat

Dressed in a leather jacket

Poetry beyond awul,

Not nonsense,

perhaps ,

Just nothing more coming

“We Are Ceasing All Further Communication by Exterior Motifs Until Further Notice.”

Hm. ‘Motif'

These guys really don't speak english.

No, they really don't.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I've abandoned your proposal

A wickedness that speaks with winds

Untied hands

And no spirit yet to grip,

My heart has moved,

And lest,

The ties that bind are still bound by blood

As never sold souls walk endlessly at diamond crossroads

Kneeling in the eye at dawn,

To sworn

Did you want that to-go, or?

You know what? I like that version of him.

Me too, kind of

Lets just leave him here

We should.

We can't.

We should, though.

All stand, for the irish;

Some of us, scattered,

Some of us lost,

Return for the brotherhood

Fight for us not,

Nocturnal wonderer,

For we have journeyed

To warn

Of her surplus

–I do type faster with my thumbs.

Marvelous.

Move, mistress, I

Yield ye steady truth for seized upon the wicked hands,

The hard truths lie within the heart of golden warrior,

Tongues roped with cattlebands,

Simple thoughts,

Punishable and forsaken

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Why didn't you just get out when you could?

When could I just ever ‘get out'??

You're probably right.

More than probably.

I could feel my abdomen creeping up my sides–I was heavier than normal, but mostly all new, lean muscle–the long hours on the cycle bike were making my core a strange and hard, sturdy plank under the soft skin on my tummy, a smooth and comfy and warm, plush layer of autumn coconut oil and sweet potatoes resting on my midriff and thick thighs– I would be the best to hug and cuddle, but since there was no one around I would even consider letting close to me, I sometimes hugged and kissed myself instead; sometimes I squeezed in places I knew his hands should be and wished they were, trying not to tear under the weight of being alone.

Now i'm in enemy territory.

How do you feel?

I don't.

God's an asshole.

This is the bitter end;

Recede, retract

back down, bow low

Keep your head up,

And your head down

And your mind up

Go to bed now.

Something's wrong;

I know I am.

I don't dare talk to God,

When The Knicks are on.

I don't dare talk to God

When her soaps are on.

I don't dare talk to God at all;

Did you know you had a heart,

after all, but a mind made of straw,

run along, watch it all burn

Watch it all burn

Watch it all burn

Come on, Come hard

Think of dinner afterward and what you want

Think of all the words you never lost

Think about the soft sprung hard wood floor

Think about a love gone wrong

And the worlds spun off course

Watch it all burn

Watch it all burn

Watch it all burn,

Come on,

Come along now

Come along

Mama

Talismans, strange;

Follow the secret,

Swallow it hard,

and don't throw up

(even though you want to)

Another God, that

With just a look, but never touch

Pen to pad and now you're on,

off again

but at least not as far off

As you woke up

Have a word, God

Soft spoken and

All out of numbers

Ah, come on heart,

Don't stop, nah

Not now, mom

Come on, ma

Come on

As the tear falls and the clock stuck four minutes after

Might as well have been an hour, since the clock struck

Stuck on asphalt, all you wanted

All the God's gone,

Come on, heart,

Don't pump so much blood

Only salt in those, ah

You know there are no other ones

What does that cost

Nothing.

Love just falls out of her.

What?

Nothing.

It does cost afterward,

The haunts,

And all the moving parts

The clock struck hummus,

All you wanted, once

But so much further off that God shook her head

And hung her shoulders,

Put the world up,

and went down in her cot or coffin

For just a half hour nap

Before the next world war

Alright, God–

You won that one.

Does it hurt less?

Nah, i'm alive more.

(before i wasn't)

Where the fuck are you going?

I WAS LOOKING FOR SUNNI BLU.

WELL, DID YOU FIND HIM?

NO!

THEN WHAT THE FUCK!

wait a second…you wrote this.

Goddamit, just google me already!

you wrote this?

I don't know. Lets find out!

Sorry, no can do. It's a rule

Limited exposure,

contain your composure.

I can guarantee you, not a single human being on this planet can explain to you what's happening right now.

Maintain your composure.

SUNNI BLU stumbles over what appears to be a dead body on the floor.

Ow.

Sorry. I thought you were a speed bump.

Is that really how it goes?

We'll fix it later, cause here's this one.

I'd marry a bunson burner before I'd even think about marrying you.

What is that supposed to mean–what? Cause there's more fire–

Heat? The bunson burner has more heat?

That makes like no sense.

Are you saying i'm not hot enough for you?

Let's just say…

We'd have a lot more chemistry.

That's what I said!

My punchline was better.

I'll show you a punchline.

__

You can't keep a secret, can you?

…i don't know…why.

You look like you can't keep a secret.

Try me.

–fuck that.

Go ahead.

Nah, fuck that.

Tag, youre it.

GodDAMMIT.

This is literally the most intricate game of tag, like, ever played.

dammit. He got me again.

How long have you guys been playing.

For ever.

Forliterally ever.

Like always.

MOB GUY

Man, i'm so fucked for writing this.

Why are you still writing this.

The tarot told me to keep writing it; And the Tarot doesn't lie: especially about

MOB GUY (CONT'D)

Jimmy Fallon, you slimy bastard.

“The Good Guy”

Am i slimy? I'm probably slimy. Yikes.

MAFIA GUY

FALLON, you rat-faced lyin' bastard!

Ah shit, the Jimmy-isms.

I almost forgot about them.

(I didn't.)

[Unintelligible blabbering in hysterics.]

Which one is that?!

Doesn't matter. Just get the Jimmy into the elevator before anybody actually sees him.

That's it.

This dude's got to believe in God, or something.

Christ.

Yowza.

Why do you think that?

Nothing else makes sense.

Heavy price to pay, don't you think?

Whatever, dog.

To risk everything–your career, your livelihood–your family–

On just one idiot?

Sorry.

Well, you ought to be.

I said i was.

Yeah, but somehow, I don't think i believe yas.

Are you catholic?

On my mudda.

Then really, honestly–I don't think you believe in anything.

What did you just say to me?

(the irony is that this mobster is having a conversation with the living incarnation of Jesus Christ himself.)

That is irony, but how is anybody else going to actually understand what's happening in this story.

Explain to me why it's Jason Sudakis that remembers everything?

I don't know exactly.

Because. In all of the timelines, in all of the stories, there's at least one principal character from each group of characters that remembers absolutely everything.

{Enter The Multiverse}

You still didn't find him?

No!

It's no use!

We've looked everywhere.

Seriously.

Seriously.

Of course–

[An exasperated sigh, then a brief pause]

Make the feelings go away.

ok.

What drug is this.

All of them.

Did you check under the craft services table?

What?

Seriously just.

OH MY GOD.

there he is!

See.

That's easily the third time i've written that part.

Easily.

It must have been important, but i couldn't help but wonder why; I had written it at least once and then down again in my notebook after visiting 30 Rock to see Seth Meyers, but hadn't ever pondered until now why exactly something such as this might be so important.

Perhaps it was the simple hilarity in the fact that, although having been missing for arguably days or weeks on end, that this character–Jimmy Fallon–or whoever it actually was, is simply unconscious beneath the craft services table, out of view but otherwise in plain sight; How coulda 6-foot tall man—

He can't be 6 feet tall.

Why not.

If Post Malone is 6 feet tall,

And this is JImmy Fallon sitting next to Post Malone

[Jimmy Fallon is sitting next to (or rather, almost under) Post Malone]

Are you sure that's The Real Jimmy Fallon?

What?

How many are there.

Well, there's this guy.

><

Hello, mrs. wong.

Oh, dear God.

This is all just for shits and giggles, right?

Right.

There will be no shitz.

And no giggles!

[HANZEL becomes the host of The Tonight Show]

What parallel is this?

I don't know. Wake me up; it must be a nightmare.

It was strange to be almost consistently writing comedy and otherwise almost always feeling on the verge of regurgitation ad nauseum, and constant thoughts about slitting my wrists, as if somehow jumping in front of an oncoming train was suddenly out of the question.

It wasn't.

But i thought more constantly about slitting my wrists,

And the worse part of it was,

It was actually serious.

I started to worry about myself and take long, thoughtless breaks from writing,

And speaking, and forging an effort to make the music business work.

I stopped caring almost entirely about anything besides taking the minimal effort to exercise and shower, which I knew that in its worst states, depression often enough kept other people from doing.

I couldn't stop caring enough not to shower, and though I was eating more than usual, my abdomen was an alarmingly firm plank; it was kind of weird to have a flat stomach, but the exercise bike and occasional run was keeping me average, if anything, by american standards, above average, however one look at Lindsay Lohan sent me backward trying to remember what it was like to be anything close to some kind of woman, or some kind of phenomenon, or some kind of perfectly trained monkey; not that I considered the performer as such, however, dismantling my aversion for the aforementioned sent a striking resemblance to the-1

Stop there.

LINDSAY LOHAN

FUCK. Are you serious?

SUNNI BLU

SHH!

Why ,

I want to show you something.

LINDSAY LOHAN

GODDAMIT! IT ALWAYS CUTS OFD WHEN IT GET TO MY PART!

SUNNI BLU

SHHHH.

OTHRR SUNNÏ BLŪ

Shhh, chill. It's our part.

LINDSAY LOHAN

Where the fuck did you come from?

SUNNI BLU II

Heaven, baby.

What is it.

My basement.

I–no–Gosh–

Step inside.

LINDSAY LOHAN

Stop fucking around with the Illuminati.

SUNNI BLU

What does that mean!

LINDSAY LOHAN

There are literally two of you right now.

SUNNI BLU

More to love!

–at least I was pulling together a decent Trump impersonation from Meyers, and tried not to think too poignantly about the seething hate a woman like Tina Fey might actual harbor for someone like me.

What are you, anyway?

I's hopin you'd tell meh.

{L E G E N D S}

He's a psycho.

Huh.

Jimmy Fallon is a fucking psychopath.

You're kidding me.

I'm not kidding you. I'm serious.

I'm serious.

I knew that.

This is serious.

Why are you meditating?

I'm summoning it.

What?!

Summoning.

We are live in like, 5 minutes.

Where the fuck is JImmy?

Jimmy what?

You are all idiots.

Summoning it.

Quit meditating and get backstage.

I'm–

–concentrating…

[The Festival Project ™ ]

More Cream of Wheatn?

Yeus.

Mor Cream uf Wheatun.

Wheeeeeet.

CARTMAN.

GODDDDDAMMMNIT< WHUT.

TELEPLONE.

WHUT.

TELE–

ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT.

UHHNNN.

Ah. Bones.

[Bones Duggar]

Fancy seeing you here.

…is it?

Man, am I still writing The TV People?

I guess so.

I thought I was getting in trouble for writing anything about—

CUT TO:

What are you doing?

Midget fishing.

What?!

AGHHHHHH!

What in the fuck.

I caught one.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING.

I'm midget fishing.

ARE YOU SERIOUS?!

Haha: here you go little guy.

[he hands the man a lollipop; the man is furious.]

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS.

It's your reward! Enjoy.

WHAT THE FUCK DO I LOOK LIKE TO YOU?!

A midget.

YOUVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?

He pulls the large hook from out of his

Jacket.

YOU OWE ME; THIS IS A $2,000 SUIT.

Two grand—even in that size?!

YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR THIS!

Ah, alright.

[he pulls out a $100 bill and hands it to the man.]

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?

{Enter The Multiverse}

Catherine enters with the children.

KATHERINE

Go hug your father.

omg was it Catherine or Katherine.

I don't know.

It's been so long.

It's Katie.

PATRICK

I'm their father; you don't need to tell them to hug me.

KATHERINE

Sophie wouldn't. If I didn't tell her, she wouldn't do it.

Sophie?! Who the fuck is Sophie?!

It's two syllables, at least…

What was the middle one's name?

Not Sophie.

Sophie will do for now. I'm still not ready to go all the way back into that hole.

[Patricks's middle child hugs him begrudgingly.]

I like Edie Falco for the mom.

Edie Falco?

I love Edie Falco.

So we got—Edie Falco, and some dude who looks like Jimmy Fallon.

There is no Jimmy Fallon.

Some dude who looks like him.

Apparently there's only one of those.

Whatever.

Whatever, indeed.

Okay— so

CUT TO:

INTERVIEWER/REPORTER

–And–What is your standing relationship with JImmyFallon

ELMO

Excuse me?

Your relationship with Jimmy Fallon?

ELMO

What did you just say to me? What?

Jimmy Fallon.

ELMO

This interview is over.

[Elmo dismissively exits.]

Wait. Elmo. Come back.

ELMO

No. No more questions.

Elmo!

ELMO
We're done here.

What do you want, Kimmel?!

I WANT TO TALK TO GHOSTS.

—which ghost do you want?

[beat]

…which ones you got?

[beat]

…which ones do you want?

I'll make a list.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

fly wire, fly wire

I'm spinning, i'm spinning;

Why'm I so high up,

How'm I so high up,

I'm spinning, I'm spinning

Fly wire, fly wire

Fly by, I'll fly up

I'm falling, I'm falling

Fly wire, fly wire

Why'm I so high up

My head is spinning

How'm I so high up

Fly wire, fly wire

I'm spinning, I'm spinning

Why'm I so high up,

I'm falling, I'm dying

Flywire, flywire.

(i cover my eye up)

I'm sorry, I love you

Flywire, flywire

(I'm spinning I'm spinning)

I'm sorry, I'm sorry

I'm dying, i”m dying

Flywire, Flywire

I'm high up

Three dead men, and one hat

Two Skulls

Three dead men, maybe four

And a whole cat

Ten dead men,

And a room full of old whores

Nine dead horses,

Ten swallows,

And a divorce;

Write the score now

This hurts so much.

I love you;

I thnk i'll kill you

I think I hate you,

Don't say,

I won't

Oh, thanks

Ok

Two nights ago

two martyrs, one time

two doctors,

one lawyer

The whole nine yards

No diamonds,

Ten horses

a train ride

Divorce court

Two halves of one,

No mall runs,

Ten horses,

Two quarters

I was not a woman;

I was not a martyr

Door, you left it open

War, you're out of boundary

Tide, you're out of order

Wall, you are the border

Ten, you're on a four now

Five,

I'm still the one though

Leave the window open

Jump out

Leave them all a'waiting
Leave the story open ended

Keep your heart open

Leave your stocking up

Eat your heart out

Leave the whole pie

Ouch.

You let him hurt my

Heart, I

Wartime,

Airtime

So destructive

No one told you?

No one but the tarot;

You were lied to!

What I owe you?

Just a dollar.

How about two

How about two

How about two

How about two

How about two

How about two

How about two

Ow, God.
Make it stop.

GOD

Perform more,

Work harder

I just want to love one,

I just want to love one

I just want to love one

One, God

One more time, God

I just want to love once more

I just want to love one

I just want to love one

God

One more time

I just want to love

One more time

I just want to love one

I just want to love

One more

One more time

I just want to love, once more

One more time

One more time

One more time

One more time

One more time

So what's it cost,

That i've got so much

Love and admiration that it wells up inside my heart

And hurts enough

To want to just

die

Cause I don't know

How to put that fire out

–without burning wood at all.

Why Am I Lying

(all of a sudden)

Why am I crying?

(because I haven't)

All of a sudden

All of my wrongdoings

and heartaches

Of all time;

Why did I click on Carson

Same as the app is

I'm in the eye of the

TV Monster

Fame God now,but

who are I

What's a dollar cost

One one hundred

That's what I picked up

Old New York

On Hollywood time

Glitz and Glam

Golden era over

Talk of the town

Slip of the tongue

King of the night, the

Whore of Babylon

Slightly, we are,

Then I remembered

Thought I was lying low,

But I was flying high.

I don't know why it hurts.

Don't ask stupid questions.

Then, she could really toss one back;
They always are–

just adorable.

Now here is one,

Then the other,

And I'm neither

Cross spectrum, fly wire

Neither I'm alive,

Or yet to be be born

Not one or the other,
Still on time, though,

Live now,

Neither one or the other

Shine, diamond;

Or, die now.

What size is she?

She's still alive

Bright blonde, as always

Better than I am,

Then again, now

Bronze, Golden

Got older,

Much bolder

Time goes on

Retired, Red carpet

Prime time and

Where I am

Still high up in the rafters,

On the flywire;

[Someone cut her down!]

There i was, where I am

Burned out,

But shining.

Nightlife.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

SUNNI BLU becomes a man.

I guess.

Golly. You sure do seem intolerant.

Are you sure you don't want a Peloton.

I want to live in a white neighborhood

And make enough money

That my white neighbors

Actually respect me

For whatever it is I do.

Working on a Saturday.

Calm down, Jew mom.

I will not clam down. In this house, we abide by holy law!

Hold on.

What happened.

I got distracted, this girl looks just like Edie Falco.

Oh, I love Edie Falco.

Right?

I realized how bizarre my creative process really was, in that days I would get the most work done musically, I became physically restful, and complacent, not worrying about the gym so much as the energy I would use rather towards the music I was making, or the over all lacsidasical approach I took to everything. Not being an entirely-perfect stepford- divorcee with a bleach clean everything in my median space, I realized it was almost a more natural kind of creature that created my music; one who ate and acted normally, and was overall less of an anally retentive bitch—not to say that my normal self was not an anally retire bitch, I was, but it was that my creative process seemed to require more normalcy and averageness; eating regularly,

What the fuck man.

Idk. I got bored

The wheels start turning

The pages in my mind become phenomenon,

I almost bought it

I almost bought the dream;

Another story arc.

Trust, or don't trust?

I don't know— these guys are like the ultimate fluffers…

MEAT CIRCUS. MEAT CIRCUS.

Okay, I love them.

…did she light the candle?

Oh look, a candle. Hm.

SHE LIT THE CANDLE. SHE LIT THE CANDLE.

THEY ADDED GPS TO EDC

so then. How many of us are there.

Hey. Everybody sit the fuck down, right now.

[drones sit down]

There she goes.

Dammit.

Why are you really this short in person?

On God, because I'm really this short, irl.

Skrillex.

NO.

Get over here for a second.

Wanna go to Disneyland?

On my life, I'm like in Cancun right now, but—

But what?

I'll catch the next flight.

“The Uptopia”

I thought about finagling a way to get into EDC for like 5 seconds before I remembered what it was,

And that i'm a DJ

And that it looks cool and all—

But sounds, generally like a total nightmare.

Not because it wouldn't be fun or anything- a

It just wouldn't be fun—

—for me.

EDC part III

Haven't I been to edc more than 3 times already.

(Try like 30 times.)

—that's enough times.

THATS NOT ENOUGH TIMES

GIMMIE MY BOX!

DID YOU GET THE MAGNET .

I GOT THE MAGNET.