[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

That girl from the Uber teen commercial is so remarkably beautiful.

I hope she has a long and successful career.

Black beyond measure-/

Wat.

I'm so black, you can't measure my blackness.

What in the fuck

BLACK BEYOND MEASURE. BITCH.

Nooo. What. What is that.

I can measure my blackness.

To a t.

But yours!?

Oh no!

You're black beyond measure.

What does that entail?

Obviously it's a positive thing—

So black you are black beyond measure.

Woah, Nelly!

woah now!

Okay!

“Oh, how black are you?”

I'm like

“One half, exactly”

She's like

“¼— a quarter black, a quarter Cherokee”

How black are you?!

I AM BLCK BEYOND MEASURE, BITCH.

DAYUM.

That's a lot of black.

Oh, so I guess the door slammers are back cause I emptied my bank account on housing goods?

I guess.

Maybe it's triggered by some sort of poverty alert system

Sure.

That's hilarious.

I keep way more cash on hand than I do in the bank,

And my internet bill is due and everything, but after that—

I'mma still be okay.

Fucking pansy drones.

What do you think they are?

Underpaid.

Download this app now for

TRACKERS.

Huh.

And $10

Really?

Yeah.

Complete this mission:

What mission.

Go— over here.

Ok.

Now do this.

Huh.

Don't forget to wear red today.

Why red.

Meanwhile

Hey.

What's up.

You should wear blue today.

Alright. Why.

Cause we hate the democrats and you're a fucking loser.

What.

It's brainwashing. Wear blue.

What.

Wear blue!

Ok.

Wear these— super nice— like red sneakers.

Ok

Check it out. This red motorcycle is on sale.

What's up what's up. Get your red gear, highly affordable, street wear, outerwear—look just— nice looking stuff— wear red!

Why?!

Cause we hate the democrats and all the fucked up people are wearing blue today; you fit the look, okay, just wear red, and act conservative; don't question too much and stuff, be a robot.

Okay, what am I supposed to do.

Never ever wash your sneakers—

Okay.

Make sure they are white.

Alright.

Wear white.

Uh huh.

And be crusty.

Damn. The Dillon Francis decoys are back.

For what, I wonder.

I don't know, but that's impressive.

Would you say this is an act of magic, or manipulation.

Could just be some bizzare genetic anomaly.

Could be.

I don't know though, could just be I like lookin at him, and this is God's way of letting me without being a creep .

It's still kind of creepy.

Remember that this is happening to me and around me with no provocation whatsoever besides this series.

He hasn't even been written into the series lately. That much,

Dammit.

That's because I stopped listening to his music .

Why.

It was giving me heartburn.

Valid,

And I realized:

Goddamn. His eyes are devastating.

What in the total fuck, God.

WHY.

WHY.

(Almost cries)

Alright, don't do that— don't— just —

Here.

Okay.

Okay?

Yeah. Damn.

*sniffles*

You remember that kid with the awful eyes —

Which one?

The—

Oh, the Adonis!?

Yeah.

That's my son.

You son of a bitch.

Stay dead, bro.

That's not fair!

Okay, now—

Play dead

Play dead.

Roll over.

Shut up.

You shut up. Shit for brains.

Come here.

WHERE ARE YOU?

I'm— like out here, my nigga.

Once again, I am not your “that thing”

You mean that word?

No, I mean that thing—

Cause if you're gonna make it a thing,

It's a thing.

It becomes a thing.

A thing is a thing!

Agreed.

WHERE ARE YOU?

I'm out here, Tina Fey. I'm still out here. Where are you at?

I'm at THE ROCK, like you said to be—

At the time you said to be—

With the things you said to be—

waiting for you to show up here

LIKE YOU SAID YOU WOULD BE.

then that's where I am.

WHAT.

See ya soon.

*hangs up cosmic space intergalactic space phone*

Does that thing not have a name?

Almost nothing has a name at this point it would be redundant.

Heeeeere kitty kitty.

Let me just jump in to remind you real quick how this season arc started with a kite

Apparently it's a three season arc

Apparently, it's a 10-season arc cause the whole rock-kite thing started when I was on set for The Bachelor and Kesha said that fucking thing about a rock and a kite and it blew my brains out of my head that day.

Also acid.

Also that, but also—

Skrillex.

Facts.

I got a fax.

Whats's it say.

“Go fuck yourself. “

Ah. Whose it from.

You're— not going to believe this…

Why?

Cause I don't.

What's it say?

It says it's from you.

Hm.

Does that not— suprise you— in any way?

Check the date.

It says

—wait for it—

Okay, now this is odd, because it's today's date,

But it says it's from the year 1996.

1998.

Yes.

Okay.

Is that— okay?

I'll see you later.

Where are you going?

I'm gonna go fuck myself.

— I—

[leaves]

—-????

[beat]

Is that a metaphore for something???

{Enter The Multiverse}

lol why is Jason Sudakis in this series?

Cause why not?

And I don't know, I think he's got an arc

It's a weird arc, man.

What.

CUT TO:

asia

“Ali's joints”

So you have to like, purposely slamnthisndoornfornitntonbe this loud then?

Tried and tested.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Concourse 12. 8 PM. Sharp.

‘How am I still writing this story?'

What even is this story?

To be fair, I didn't know what I was writing but it sounded good—there was something powerful about the way the shadow figures danced in the confines of my mind—careful not to become attached to the love I had grown for them, the mysterious shadows, they appeared both as creatures of man, and as animals; this— The Prairie Dog— a fortified soldier but also a leader.

There's nothing you can do about this, you know.

Why exactly should I want to do anything at all?

It's a curse.

So it is.

—you'll be rid of it within the turn of seasons.

Worthwhile advice.

I envy you.

— as anyone should.

—you shouldn't.

The second, a voice unknown.

I didn't know these pussyfoot bastards worked on Sundays.

They work to the will of your beck and call.

Like all good slaves and servants should.

As to be expected under your remarkable guidance.

My remarkable guidance is yet to be a consideration as my unintentional inadequacies.

Verily, I'm sure.

Are you sure.

There was once a time I wasn't so sure or anything—

Now I'm more than sure of everything than I ever was.

Now I believe you.

—you shouldn't.

It was a raised scar, like the one on my elbow from when I was 9–one I was sure would never heal. It could easily be felt by running my tongue only the bottom of my lower lip— evidence that there has been a hole in my face that had gone straight through to the other side—just then I remembered that also my too teeth had left bloody, skinless indents on my upper lip, which eventually inspired me to re-pieirce my upper lip—the canine tooth had almost gone all the way through, anyway— I joked; but it wasn't funny.

Why in the fuck should I trust you?

That's a good question.

It's a question that deserves an answer.

Even if I gave you a good one, would you trust it?

What?

Do you trust me at all?

I'm trying to.

Trying is doing.

There are tougher things than swallowing your pride.

How about—swallowing a bullet.

That's some class-A on-screen banter.

Now I have an endless supply of coffee in my room. That's good—if only there were somehow also warm calorie-free pastries to add to the pleasure of luxury one would find such as waking up to one's own studio, fresh out of time and chock full of ideas, and a hearty list of things to do— with a whole world of…

Oh. The wi-FI is on.

Something about my creative intelligence had seem to spark a curious interest within the pre-concious life forms of the lower realms. Lucky, I was just visiting—sure to take my life at any given moment when just so I felt that I had been fed up to here with simply human senselessness; however, I was indeed tasked with enveloping humankind in my own ways—that is, the ways of higher thinking, as I had traveled far and long from an ascended realm, only of course to be welcomed by absolute l chaos—and some primitive, intrinsic fear. Humans happen to be almost immidiateky stifled by one's outer appearances—as to say the least— as when I first I arrived I was neither welcome, nor valued.

AHAT—WHATTHEFUCK.

Yes.

EEGH.

How do you do?

[The Festival Project.™]

{Enter The Multiverse}

There for I,

There for I,

There for I,

None! As truth did shatter mine ever being,

And also Ever person near

WHO VALIDATED THAT BITCH'S PARKING.

—you think she drove here?!

—if she did it would be on a broomstick.

Goddammit.

Get her out of here!

Out! I said!

You're…not a fan of Fallon's, are you.

No, I'm not.

(No—God, no.)

Well, why not?

First of all, he winks at people.

;)

*cringe*

Like, off camera.

And I want damages.

Damages?!

Damages.

He's seeking damages?! To what.

Like, my entire—everything.

Damages to everything.

My entire life!

Ah.

I've got to admit, being sued hy Jimmy Fallon is probably the most exciting thing that's ever happened in the entirety of this series!

What about that thing with Skrillex.

That was pretty exiting.

Which thing with Skrillex?

All the things with Skrillex were pretty exciting.

(Admittedly, yes.)

Then there was Dillon Francis.

I hate Dillon Francis.

Exactly.

Why!

Because he excited you.

Next question!

Ahead.

Yo. I finally get to link up with Supacree.

You're a mess.

Everything is a mess.

The world is a mess.

—your mom's a mess.

Amanda, please.

Have you been drinking?

How long has deadmau5 been a cat?

Forever, I think.

Exciting!

Enter through the exit! Enter through the exit!

Who the fuck let you in here.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

I hear no voices in my head

And from what I can tell

There are none,

Only frequencies,

And frequencies,

And frequencies

And recently I've been eating

Whatever it is that suits me,

Though not whenever

And everyday I wish I were

A little bit better off

A little less bitter

A little higher up

A little lighter skin

A little lighter,

Like a feather

Wish

Misinformed imperfection

Military introspection

Complexities and such

Division and acknowledgement

Of no higher power other than

One's own

Sacred stones;

Sorry stories,

Sinister canisters of

Abandonment

Unintentional neglect, depression

Non-representation

Don't participate in it,

If there's nothing there for you

Fair hero,

Your story was worn in

As your uniform,

Not new and polished at all

And in disposition, regulation,

But already threaded to have been

Camped in, and eventually—

Left to die, then

Recovered autonomously.

Riverbend, will you wither here

In less than a year, I beg for death

And still was pardoned,

Still I was sacrificed;

Still, I was pardoned

—still, I was sacrificed.

I had not expected to hang this low

Without having been picked

Or falling to seed anew.

I had not bittered, nor broken

Nor bittered, nor broken

And still I was pardoned,

Still I was sacrificed

Still I was pardoned, and still

I was sacrificed

Death comes in tolls

Knock the door once

Death comes in soft warnings

I didn't want to hurt her;

I didn't want to harm her

Suddenly my heart died,

Suddenly on front lines with no boots

And no armor,

No shield and no cannons,

No sword at all, and still

I was pardoned

I had not bittered, nor broken

Nor bittered, nor broken

And still I was pardoned,

Still I was sacrificed

Still I was pardoned, and still

I was sacrificed

Secrets of the Illuminati Elite.

Kamala.

Mm.

When was the last time you cried?

—.

…

—I— have never cried.

I believe you.

{Enter The Multiverse}

I hadn't been planning on writing at all, and leaving the house—the last time I had taken the risk of doing so on such a day, I was nearly trampled by beady eyed racists in MAGA hats and star spangled banner t-shirts— glared, shoved and patonized—and what's worse—

I had been 8 months pregnant. Maybe it was worse in that aspect, I was part of the problem. But—

What was the actual problem again?

Never ever pay you fares for ferry, fairy monster

Never prick for pixies, golden dust and megapixels,

Whimsical, into the ore and out of the forest,

Disassociate before it's too late!

The propaganda of the product.

The human American.

The human—

American.

dare I to wander?

Dare I to dream!

Then I was wicked;

I was wicked

I was wicked

I had grown so dark

And so tall the tree

Still untouched by any or all

Still untouched by mankind, it is

Still untouched by mankind, by many

By many

By many

By many

By many.

Bye Annie.

Buy again

Buy buy baby

Buy all you can while you still come

Christmas is coming

Out and unleashed is the dragon

How's that spiced cider

And a song,

For your coloring books and

Maps to scale

Your coloring books

And maps to scale

Wayfinder

Wayfinder

Bury you hither

Bury you hidden

Hypocrisy, hypocracy

Hydroponic cry for help

A wish to window seat

Then, and there

Then, and there

Northernbound,

Wayfinder

The end of us

The taking of tire marks.

Just a smidgen armegeddon of corn syrup

And tears on the brink of falling over the shores to the well

The velvet windows, winds on lips and colors red on purple

Color red on purple

Hypocrisy!

Wait for it,

Wait to call the number

Wait to up the bridge

To tie the noose

To hang from rope

Hypocrisy!

A far cry.

The way to the wind is the chalice.

There it was, the ocean,

And still sparked untruth from foraged windspoke

There were 5 of us there

And then four

And then 5 once more

And now 9 we have gathered.

More coffee.

I'm gonna fucking kill myself.

Finally.

More coffee?

Might as well be awake for this.

Another unremarkable opera

From the democrat

Waiting conversavive Republican

Oh, no Bananas are always in season

Oh, right;

There's always a time

Where

Mango fruit does indeed fall

In full bloom

In fall, doom and gloom

Assumingly

Tune in now,

It's on every TV

In the meridian

It's on every channel

In the Bermuda Triangle

It's on every Christmas tree

At the top each year—

So,

A star,

Or an angel!

A star,

Or an angel.

Preach Choir,

And let us all revel

In the absolute sweetness

Of Drew Barrymore.

Aw-men.

Awwww man.

Awwwwwwwwwwwewee

And I'm in awe of it all

Isn't it awful, how

I could have bought a CBS sponsored waffle iron

From Walmart

But instead invested in ending this depression

Single-handedly with home remedies

Of medication

And botanicals

From the garden of Eden forgotten,

Perhaps only as steady inward, or in reverse

As I had thought to run or shuffle

A Madonna

(That's roughly 7 miles)

There were ten of us there,

Then nine,

Then none at all,

Now ten again,

Before only 5 and then 4

And then 3,

Two of them none, and nine become one

Against another

And again, the atom has split

Lightning has stuck

God has come

The song is sung,

I'm still strung up on the rafters,

Or what have you

What a beautiful and pitiful Jack o'lantern

What a disaster, after all—

There was no end.

Whatsoever!

Ring the division bell,

Come around now,

Download the abounding

Clocks set forward

And moving in circular motion

Clouded judgement, now,

Hounding is the crown of a thought

Though heavy is the gold in which has made the kingdom,

There was love in words

And food for throught

And foreign tongue,

Born outright fury,

Fury

Fury

Hands down, master,

Does not that ask I

Of what you now now comes next

Farewell bid you , I

In the where-well I parted,

Never once a king, but a god

And never once a man,

But a time

Willing and ready for attack, goes the king

Waiting and running full force into front lines

Sure to be killed in battle,

But killed in honor

Of those come before

And now waiting to be born, also

So take it next to sacrament,

On uour alter

With your sacred prayers and scented candles

What we are and the time we came,

What as,

The tails of asunder,

The other world of wonder l l l

Come chorus,

Come choir, Come individual countrymen

Come focus this attention deficit,

This intrinsic thought form,

Has indoctorined your subculture.

Sim…sim…sim— why are they all sims?

I don't know:

This one's vaping essential oils.

How do you know?

I know the smell of a lavender and eucaputus oil blend.

What does that mean?

I must be at a spa somewhere.

At a spa?! Sleeping to death?

Could a been a slip and fall…

They're very relaxing.

…Equinox.

What.

Equinox fitness.

I'm at.. Equinox fitness.

You died at the equinox fitness?

In the— steamroom.

Are you sure it's not the sauna?

Heavy on the eucalyptus oil.

Then again, here I was

Infinite and insecure,

Unsure of anything but the establishment so far and just however everything you were

Was nothing for gain and everything I was,

Was just to be there.

And again, easy for the mobs

And ready for the torches and ready for the torture

And ready for the rapture

On hard diets and tied to our l forests. Forfitture.

Misaligned and malnourished,

Tied to our desks and wondering

Unsolved problems and foreign language dialects,

Social repressions and expressions of forgiveness, though somehow apologetic,

Or with any indifference at all

With any indifference at all .

Something overcomes whatever we were in that moment

And here we are,

Again,

Exactly what became of the thoughts you had for us—

The things you gave us a name to

You did make us

And here in the suffer-he,

We all fall, like water over Niagara

Or the last rainfall on earth did.

(The rains it never came again,

And then the ocean turned to mud,

And soon to dust, shortly thereafter in your time

While in our time,

The thing of light,

Nothing really at all,

But in your way, many lifetimes, and almost too many even to tie to your number, I.

The most, you know,

That you can hope for, my dear King, is a fair fight

And then as it were, nothing at all were fair,

In this life or any,

But the skin and eyes of the enemy,

The wool of the sheep of course, and the color of cotton.

Therefore you shall too understand this music.

And nothing my dear king begins without another ending,

And all the same is nothing and everything

Everyone and no one,

Here and nowhere at all,

And so it has come—

And therefore,

I too, shall understand these things again.

Try to remember your honor, at the resting tip of the diamond, and at the unburdened idea of circumstance,

The rush of August, the cinema tongue

And cheek,

The blood drawn and again the awakening,

The fertile flower and the dove,

And the greatness of all that was, which was—

In my past, as you call now and present,

But again also may come, in aptitude to darkness.

Farewell, my great, my son and daughter, my king of glory, and farewell to change!

Farewell to fall and farewell to spring, farewell to summer

And very well gone are the oars of the boat which has sunken, and your oars, your arms,

And your tide, my own

A breath so shallow almost forgotten,

To no wind a sail,

And another great misfortune has come,

To wonder besides us,

What art thou.

And then, what are I?

If none.

If none, I call, and

If none,

I shatter.

If none, I fall,

And if none, I shatter

If none, I call

And if none,

I matter.

Then.

Then and so.

Then and so very well

All and all

And all in all, we all were

Abandoned.

No trauma form,

The faceless god.

No trauma form, the faceless God,

Unknowing of what the world's rules are,

And of course, then coming

Unknown at all to another, and yet

To humankind, all knowing of all things

And being embodied as one,

Then another, and some all

The faceless God, as we all are,

The faceless God, whom we all mock

And The Faceless God, free from the burden of trauma,

In wanting and unknown,

The truth in all things,

Taking all forms and all bodies,

As the time comes upon us,

To walk towards the light and

To free ourselves from all time

In all ways.

Steady, shook, and window watching

She did not wave

To die today. To die today. To die to day.

Is to die at all, not once, but all times

Forever.

It'll come harder the next time I promise.

At my wits, as the man who had sworn my death now some see fit to wear a crown,

A crown such as I had earned, by death and by will

But he, by birth and by blood and wrong done.

Woe is this!

Hellicopter, Hellicopter

Spin me round right round to where you hand

And as I gallantly had planned to cross, I still hadn't lay last I her embarques all for free and care of down down, now I see something like home, over water

The water had music,

And the waves had tongues,

The smell of gas I cherished and did breathe deepl, as sudden to come, I was as far as I had ever been, and as lonely as I always was, but still, mi finally walk on water

To lululu buy a song,

No price, but with time does come the cost and to live as though I always was, here, before the land was born

And the oceans had parted, as something known

As just a thought

{I_NY.}

I don't want it that much, nor do I need it,

And stillc here I am,

Watching

Madame President.

Today ought to be the day for the occult,

The hymn of the omens

And all polished the dolls, waiting the words

And worse off,

Astonishing

The seagulls song had sung

The flight has flown

The dance was talked about

But never coreographed

I never even saw the lighthouse;

And you're just a face in the crowd

Can you see yourself in me?

Do you hope to, like I do you?

I don't have that disaster.

I really don't have that conquest.

I doubt you'd the answer

The system, the sacrifice, the annex,

Get out of my alignment m

Decide to assign you

Resign your retirements

For the full four for the full force

The best place to live is La.

, but next comes New York, if you're—

[America Runs on Dunkin]

I don't know where I was going

Damn that train.

—Actually, it was a boat.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

So, you built this, huh?

I certainly must have, at some point.

All by yourself.

I highly doubt.

You just considerably know yourself well to have brought yourself here—

Or not.

Let's just say, I really uh—

Fuck, I blacked out,

Tied one on the night before.

Oh, God.

And the day before—

Oh, well.

Hello, t there.

I—uh—

And the night before the day before.

Christ.

All I'm saying is, for this audition you're going to want to keep it classy.

Keep it—classy.

Let the games begin!

In those pants I could make you into anything

In these jeans it seems there may indeed be a reason to meet me, and maybe

Just maybe

If we're playing the same game.

You may see me,

And we will play together—

For eternity.

What exact the fuck game are you playing with this guy?

I don't remember.

Drunken Posers.

FUCHK. I hate this game'

I love this GAME.

Jett

How am I supposed to find this tiny Drew Barrymore, before 6 o clock tonight

You're going to have to find a way—

You might try here

What

Or here

What! How am I supposed to know which kid she is

You'll remember her—she'll remember you

Yeah, whatever

Oh, and another thing—

She'll be so cute you want to die.

Oh god

Hey kid.

I've got some new for ya

-“[a very tiny Drew Barry otte screams at the top of her lungs]

Rig it in time, bro

And right in timbre

TIMBRE

Look, this has been moved up the ladder some.

Excuse me?

Chain of command.

Are you telling me, that I somehow outrank—

This fool.

This fool.

Ugh.

In the Illuminati?

*shrugs*

She outranks me.

Dang, dude.

What are you gonna do?

Nothing, I guess.

That's not an answer.

SUNNI!

What.

WHAT HAPPENED?!

I don't know.

That is NOT an answer.

We wear black in winter.

Well, at least I got the dress code right…

Welcome To New York.

We wear black in winter.

Walk at a fast pace into oncoming traffic.

Every.

Single.

Thing.

Is a—

Speeding

Silver—

Bullet.

(If you catch it, [you can]try to paint it gold.

Toucan Sam

I will tell you-

I will tell you—

I will tell you again.

You don't exist,

It's moot that I don't exist.

It's that I'm extract l. L l

It's that I'm extinct

Okay, look; this is— not what you're used to.

What am I used to?

You're a

Piglet.

Eeyore.

Where's Pooh?

Probably with Tigger.

Well.

Well.

I guess it's just—us—then.

…

…

[beat]

(A long, heavy pause for dramatic effect)

F—-ck this is awkward.

Producer foods:

P B & J

Check.

And almond butter.

Nice.

This is horrible. But here it goes.

What is.

Here it goes:

Noodles.

Check.

soy sauce?

Yessir.

Steak.

Check.

Scissors.

Check.

[beat]

Uh. Mau5.

WHAT CHICKEN.

why does he have a cat named chicken!

We're about to find out.

What are the scissors for?

Exit, exit now.

Why?

FUDGE.

HOT FUDGE.

Damn, Dillon. wtf.

Flashback:

(Listening to Dillon Francis on heavy rotation at acid-level synesthesia)

*smacks lisp*

@9@

lol okay

***smacks lips***

Does this taste sweet to you?

I still see that one cereal box and get reminded of Dillon Francis a lot.

Facts.

Ketchup.

Facts.

Vanilla Soy Milk

Correct.

Out of all the comedians I studied, Jay Pharoah was my new favorite.

Yes, my new favorite comedian.

There were the old favorites—

The classics, if you will.

You know

Bernie Mac,

Kat Williams,

Robin Williams—

And this, by the way, is in no particular order—

Eddie Murphy

Cedric—

(Sorry I thought you were dead, broh.)

Cereal.

Yup. Two kinds!

Teriyaki—for the noodles?

Did I not mention that with the soy sauce already?

It should be maybe like included with the soy sauce.

No, its seperate.

Dane Cook.

Really dawg, come on.

Richard Pryor.

Titans, broh, titans.

PERCIUS

Yo.

NO. NOO—NO.

Shut up. I gotta tell you something.

*screaming girlie*

NO. Shut up!

I told you all along.

No you didn't!

She—cannot—be trusted!

You encouraged it!

You—don't tell me what I did—

You did that!

You just worry about what you did—

What I did?!

What you've done!!

What—

Oh god. Oh jeez.

Oh, shit, son!!

I gotta get goin.

Wait, you're right: where is Liz?

Good question.

This is not safe.

This cannot be safe.

It's not safe.

This is not KOSHER.

What's it matter to you?

It SO matters.

Are you a Jew, now?

It might suit me at this point.

Or eventually, it may.

What's that supposed to mean.

Quiet, Liz. We're almost finished.

Finished with what.

Just one more *strap*

Oh, great another—

Shh.

DOCTOR! DOCTOR.

Nobody can hear you.

Oh! But they will.

They won't.

And why not?!

Because, you're a cartoon character; and even if you weren't.

What are you talking about?! I'm Liz Lemon!

Yes—that is—semi-correct.

Semi correct?! It is fully correct!

Elizabeth Lemon would be fully correct— by definition.

What—what are you doing?

Preparing for takeoff.

Takeoff?! Where are you sending me.

Takeoff from The Migos feels a small pull in his heart, and a ringing in his ears, as he becomes the first living Migo to be mentioned in the festival project.

Huh.

{Enter The Multiverse}

First of all, his Skrillex impression l—

Spot on.

Because yes,

As we all know—

Those of us who were there to watch Skrillex

Personally sign on to The Illuminati

Via Justin Bieber—

Nothing so quite remarkably

Brought back its pungent memory—

The song that in one phrase,

Both started and ended it all,

Than Jay Pharoh's own memorandum,

A representation by impression,

Of this particular sound,

Known lovingly otherwise as

“Skrillex”

And however, was the

Pause

What in the fuck did I just see.

Oh, that's just Skrillex .

I knew it was you.

Yes, yes you did…

Okay—

Now.

Now where are you going to go?

I don't know.

That's not an answer.

Oh god.

Right.

It's just a bodiless fuckin

Like an orb.

That's what you'd call that?

I'd call it more of like

A florecent, gellatenous—

Presently, yes—

Blob, of sorts.

Oh shit. This bitch said “bomb” and Kamala in the same sentence.

lol.

Yikes.

She finna be famous, on accident.

Probably on purpose, but if it was gonna be on accident— it'd be because of that.

You right.

Man, I'm fuckin ba—

—ked. kettle chips.

I love those.

How are they kettle chips if they're baked.

*shrugs* I dunno.

Damn.

Alright.

That nigga is fine as fuck.

Dont we all know it.

Get him the fuck out of my face.

Whatchu mean?!

It's eye candy.

I don't eat candy! Unless it's spelled with a k and made of letters!

Okay

Alright

—and even then and only then will I eat it if I am inexplicably drunk or in any other way otherwise intoxicated.

Ok, damn.

Ok Sunnï.

Now, get that nugga out of my eyesight.

He's not

He's not technically “in your eyesight”

EVEN MY PERIPHERIAL.

Ok.

AND NY FORESIGHT, and my HINDSIGHT

OK.

Ok Sunnï.

AND MY FORESKIN,

AND MY FOREHEAD

AND NY FORESHADOWING—

LOOK.

JUST GET HIM OUT OF MY LIFE

OUT OF LIFE

the whole life

OUT MY LIFE.

Ok.

On it.

Two minutes to wrap this up

Before the fast of the century

Falls flat on its face

Like the rice noodles

I'm about to stuff your face with

Pronto the moment

You arrive back in your body

Where am I now?

At a rave.

(In the bathtub)

Which is—accurate?

Which isn't?

[A Cult Classic]

Around 1:30 we rendezvous

Until, that is,

This posts, with the rest of them

And as of then,

We'll meet again,

At another time

(Set no reminders)

Cameras flash and shines the diamond.

Is that it?

Yeah, I thinks so.

Are you sure?

I mean, produce stuff.

Peppers, onions, whatever.

—are you sure?

Yeah, that's it.

Are you serious?

What? What's wrong.

Where's the Jimmy Fallon's?

What?!

(They're gonna kill me for this)

Playtoy, plaything

Gets old real l quick

It's love, not lust

Gets home round ten

Get up round 6

Makes the round.

Wraps a towel around his head

Writes love on her arm

It's a real nice story,

If you're surviving the apocalypse.

Lips, lips, yeah

Lipstick, lipstick

Golden charriots

And Blondish wigs sis

Since when did you get hip

Since hip replacement

No birthday presents;

But it's too late, isn't it?

It really is, it really is

It's too late, isn't it

It really is, it really is

—but, it's too late, isn't it.

I want you to watch this.

What is it.

Not sure yet.

Uhm, okay:

See you later.

What, you're not going to watch it with me?

You're gonna need a professional fluffer.

Call my agent and my lawyer.

Aren't they the same guy?

What?! NO!

*shrugs*

What the fuck is wrong with everybody!

Sorry imm late!

Hey tigger.

Tigger.

It is I.

Where's Pooh.

How should I know?

We thought he was with you.

Who is we —?

Us,

And what do I look like—his keeper?

Do the Charlie Brown.

What?!

Do the Charlie Brown!

What? Like wawahwahwa??

No!

Idiot!

The dance.

The what.

Do the dance?!

I don't know what that is.

What.

What the fuck.

I thought you was supposed to be funny.

I am! I was.

But you don't know how to Charlie Brown

I know how to Charlie Brown! I just did the “wahwahwa”

That's the teacher!

Man, shut up!

You—what?! There's a dance! I didn't know there's a dance!

What the fuck, man.

You lose, dawg.

What do you want from me?!

Hold on!

Boss.

What?!

He don't know how to do the Charlie Brown.

What.

I said.

That nigga don't know how do to the Charlie Brown?!

He say he don't!

Man—

Man!!!

I said!

Shoot that nigga!

Jay Pharoh, another notable SNL alumni, however

From the wonder years in which I had really never watched, but only glossed under in curiosity—

Just so happened to be the definitive test of my overall attraction to members of my own “race” classification—

And an incredible impressionist—

Maybe even the best, ever.

But here, let me explain the first part.

I realized that simply, watching his performance ,

That I was certainly not—

Nor might I ever be—

Attracted to black men.

Yes, indeed.

Jay Pharoh stood as the equivalent of

The girl the gay guy kisses passionately in order attempt to achieve arousal from such an act, by this, I mean:

That I watched this stand up performance as a straight female, fellow performer, and sapiosexual—

In knowing and understanding that,

I was watching this man, as I had many others,

Doing something I found incredibly attractive—

Actually, almost irresistible—

Performance art;

Live performance art—

Better yet,

Stand up comedy, which I have yet to have fully broken the code—meaning that this act—

An illusive mystery to me as to how exactly it is practiced;

Whereas with music the viel has since been lifted—

There still exists a certain type of magic in the act of performing stand up comedy, especially to large audiences.

And so, in the sense that

Jay Pharoh—a notable SNL alumni, an incredible performer and with the added bonus of being an extremely attractive and accomplished fellow l—

There should be some kind of

—you know—

Erotic spark involved in watching this performance;such as the young gay man uses his willing perceivably attractive female friend as a practice test in order to better understand his own identity and circumstance, so was this

Not entirely on purpose—

But actually, hy complete accident, and

Just as the young gay might realize upon kissing his female friend—

I realized this:

Jay Pharoh to me was an incredibly beautiful human being—

So incredibly beautiful, in fact, that several times during his performance—

I actually wanted to cry.

Cry actual tears—

And while I realized that this man,

As beautiful as he was—

Physically, and spiritually—

Aesthetically, and otherwise—

Hitting all the marks in all the places that he should,

There was one thing that made it feel as if,

In anything at all in the world,

We were incompatible.

Not to say that I could put myself into the category of upper echelon women to compete over such an admired person at all—

But only finally realizing something important about myself, that just so happened to be as important as the formerly unsure gay's sexuality is to him;

My attraction to black men did not exist.

Like I said, it was bad—

Or at least, it sounds bad.

But now I finally get it.

This man,

Who had everything I could dream of and more,

Who happened to be in peak shape,

At the height of his career,

And incredible in every single possible way—

Who was,

So beautiful, in fact, inside and out—

That I nearly did cry—

Still wasn't someone I wanted to have sex with.

Case solved.

Of course, this man can do much better.

That's far beyond the point;

And,

If there is a point at all to any of this, it's that

Gender, and sexuality, and attraction are still

In this time

Just as much of a mystery to humanity as it's ever been, and as much as it'll ever be

The theory of genetic attraction so far is entirely existent only in my mind— or perhaps even, hidden somewhere deeply in secret within my genetic code, as the closer I age toward my own maternal peak, the more spacific the traits in the opposite sex which dictate what I am and am not or will or will not be attracted to sexually.

Does that make me a racist any more than a homosexual's explicit desires to see a same-gendered person over the opposite makes them a mysognoist or otherwise?

#karmageddon

And while I've struggled in my cellibacy to adapt to a changing world, realizing that my viewpoints and beliefs, my code of ethics and even my own morals have become somewhat obsolete that, I'm forced to recon, alongside with my non-binary assignment, that the need to procreate as a female, a natural phenomenon and this desire for change within the current genetic predisposition

Is something like homosexuality, in that

My particular genetic code

And the particular genetic code of my potential mate

rests with the knowledge that my own intrinsic sexual attraction or converse aversion to one determination over another is in part due to the structure of evolution within our species with the higher purpose of creating offspring more likely to survive and succeed within the world's consistently changing climate—sociologically and otherwise.

What in the fuck does this have to do with comedy?!

Nothing, this is the equivalent of the recently self-realized gay man having an overaggrandized and theatrical coming-out

So what are you coming out with exactly?

I don't know. I just like white dudes.

That's it?

Yeah.

. . .

#floatingfastdays

[The Festival Project ™]

That's it?!

Yeah.

“I like white dudes.”

Only white dudes.

That's all you were trying to say?

Not trying to say. I said it.

Like, scientifically, and shit.

Are you serious?

I want one.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

C

Two waist trainers—

Two sauna suits—

One neoprene and one polyester—

It's polyester? Damn.

Well, at least it won't rip

What exactly are you trying to achieve.

I'm going to be 110 pounds.

For what!

I don't know. Jennifer Anniston makes it seem really appealing.

JENNIFER ANNISTON opens a yogurt;

Like,

Ten dudes just crowd around and stare.

See.

Ah.

I get it .

I see what you mean.

What exactly do you need ten dudes for to sit around and stare at you eat yogurt?!

Ah shit, which friend is that?

I don't know— let's see.

This one's Chandler.

Hi.

And that's Ross.

Hey.

So this guy's—uh—

JOEY

UH…

Give me a minute.

JOEY

You forgot my name?

It's been a long time!

No it hasn't! I saw you last week, at the Deli.

It's been a long week.

How do you forget my name in a week!

I didn'!

What do you mean “I didnt”

I mean—

I saw you just last week, at the deli, and I said

“Hi Rachel”

And you turned around to me and said

“Oh, hiiiii——…“

[exaggerated gasp]

YOU FORGOT MY NAME!

What this show has a friends reuinionnin it!

Just let me have one more day of bread and ice cream, and not giving a fuck, Will ya.

Shhh! Quiet, will ya?!

What come on! How am I supposed to believe you're actually getting clearance from not just NBC—

—CBS—

YES.

—

But all the networks?!

What can I say? I'm a cash cow.

You're an actual cow.

Shove it.

Everybody's going to want a slice of the best show on Telivision.

So, check it out.

You wagered a deal with—

Uh huh—

Let me see if I'm getting this right—

Ah huh

“The Illuminati”

Uh huh!

“The Illuminati!?”

That's who you're signed to?

“Signed” is like a relative term.

…This is signed in blood.

It sure is!

Are you done downloading Final Cut yet?

Not yet, I have to finish the album so I can offload Ableton first

What-te-der—l— what do you mean “offload Ableton”

Like get it off my computer.

What does that mean.

I don't have enough room for both things.

So just get rid of it!

—no.

Just—

Focus.

I'm gonna do a magic trick.

Okay. What kind of magic trick.

I'm a eat all this crap.

—okay.

All this shit I like—

Alright—

For like a week.

That seems normal.

Then I'm gonna go back to being an uptight, no fun, war machine of a human being.

How is that magic?

You'll see.

Yep. I reached my cap on New York.

I'm fucking sick of people.

I don't want to see another human being— ever.

Fuck these fucking people.

Fuck the gym.

Fuck the grocery store.

Fuck the internet—

Just—

NO.

Get the fuck away from me.

Don't be around me

Don't talk to me

Don't touch me.

Period.

Don't. Come, around. Here.

Leave me alone—

And I'll leave you alone—

And when we're all done being alienated and isolated—

Which is never—

We'll see each other again; one day, maybe.

Maybe not.

I don't know.

Wait.

What.

When's the Drew Barrymore show?

Like next week maybe

—you don't even have tickets.

I'm sure somehow that if I do, however, get tickets—

I'll be Illuminati skinny within the proper amount of allotted time—

—You have four days.

MORE ICE CREAM.

Why the fuck is Selena Gomez naked?

I don't know,

Is she okay?

I don't know.

Oh look. A skeleton on a peloton.

Whatever. I'm hot.

I don't get it. What's the point of losing all this weight if still no one loves me?

Did you say four days?

*7

You said um.

Look, I gotta take a detour from that whole Psy the Saige storyline, it was getting kind of dark.

How do you mean?

I don't.

“Book III”

Secrets

Wasn't it?

Idk I thought it was

Secrets

Lies

Death

Then what was book four

Idk I'm suffocating under heavy bloat and heavily paralyzing social anxiety right now.

I need a peloton and an equinox membership.

Okay, that will be $Forever Dollars, please.

Here you go.

Hanging out at this frequency is kind of alright

Inwardly I'm still vibrating at light speed, but outwardly all those honking horns and idiots don't really bother me as much-/

Because being this fat,

I'm more like them than not!

That makes sense,

(On the outside)

MORE ICE CREAM.

Okay, but I get to pick the ice cream.

We're talking about Hollywood and Alex Baldwin here!

What?!

ALEC BALDWIN

I'm not going to jail. Jesus Christ.

(Laughs, lights cigar)

—filthy fucking rich!

You expect me to believe Alec Baldwin isn't such a fucking leftie that he would actually sacrifice his entire career and reputation in order to promote the left's agenda on gun violence?!

No, he actually killed somebody.

I doubt that!

ALEX/ that's a hilarious typo

ALEC BALDWIN

[staring off innocently with his sparkly blue eyes]

I doubt that highly.

Somebody tell me why this man is nearly 80 years old

And still looks like a newborn baby.

[dazzles]

Yikes.

Holy shit, there's like 90 fucking Baldwins.

Since the Mayflower, baby!

There's 10 fucking Wynans

Wayne's?

Wyan?

Whatever

Recovery + Time

You know sometimes self care is more than just going to the gym every day, personal hygiene, and good housekeeping.

Sometimes it's staying away from other people, trauma triggers, and the rest of the world knowing that whatever is supposed to happen is going to happen.

You can't force change—

You can—

But primarily this happens from within.

Which means

Fuck that, I'm not going to the gym—

I swear to god they have these fucking people following me.

that's fame.

No it is NOT. Fame means I make enough money to show up at the Equinox on occasion,

At 5 in the morning, when only the cool people are there—

Or late at night, after almost everyone's left

ON OCCASION

Because I have my own state of the art equipment

In my workout room

So I can burn off the nonsense

5 feet away from my fucking sleeping quarters—

And go to work

SOMEWHERE ELSE

Being surrounded by people of MY CHOICE

And not these coughing, hacking, sniffling, sneezing, diseased ass weight throwing weak dick phone scrolling motherfuckers—

That's fame.

This isn't fame .

It's gangstalking, or some kind of serious indication

That's something is fucking wrong with people,

And I'm about to either lose my mind,

Or take into consideration the heavy amount of karma which institutes from participating in fucking stalking someone until they get fucking sick and thrown off course—

Fuck that.

Fuck all these people in New York since day one have tried to fuck me over in some way

Which includes

My neighbors

Every since roommate I had at the homeless shelter,

And every single other mother fucker possessed by some low-quality- demonic, residual idiot vibration that keeps attacking me.

All this to say?

I WANT ICE CREAM AND BREAD, AND AFTER THAT, I'M GETTING A PELOTON.

KELLY

(From Shoes)

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUUCKK YOUUUUUUUUUU.

Somehow for the first time in a long time, I was suddenly in alignment with time and synchronicity—the time was 10:10, and after a failed attempt at an early enough gym time that I thought mother escape whatever had been plaguing me, I was once again followed directly into the gym, and I no longer or at all found it a coincidence, as all of the people who arrived just shortly after I did, appeared to be dressed in the same kind of attire, almost as if some kind of dress code or uniform. Unwilling to share the space, after spending the day fighting a pressurized crluater migraine from out of the back of my neck and behind my eye, I was intolerant to waste even further energy on attempting to reclaim the focus I had barely gathered through the day, my week of gym training sessions shortened to simple one mile runs, between 10 and 15 minutes on the stationary bike, and minimal lifting and yet, I had with some intention been eating out of my usual bounds, indulging on bread, store bought jelly—against my summer long habit of making my own, and even ice cream. Still, the ice cream I had bought the night before had come entirely freezer burnt and was unappetizing, not that I needed an excuse for even more ice cream, but somehow the tantrum of rage that had resulted from yet again being followed into the gym had also resulted in not just returning to my apartment to sulk in hatred and disdain for the human species, but darting like a bullet to the grocery store with a a fiercely careless and blinding fury in collecting not only the items I needed to gather—but some extra; things I wanted, and not just needed, and though deviating from the specific diet I knew that I intended to follow throughout the week, granted I might have the chance to finally visit as an audience member of the Drew Barrymore show, which I had attempted while in shelter and, getting lost on the way to the studio somewhere in Manhattan, has simply never achieved, and rather remembered quite vividly rather, spending the day exploring restaurants in the city, and looking for a doctors office—as my intolerance to cold had sent me about on a wild goose chase in thinking that while in shelter I would have ever ended up with a private sleeping quarters; now, something like a year later or whenever it was, and though I had been met with the blessing of at least doors which closed out the physical presence of other human beings with any luck, there was still the constant reminder of the world's chaos and restlessness, and something in me shattered at knowing that with the ability to create, there was almost no escape at all from the overwhelming boundary of insanity always in and about the building, and now about myself.

The headaches returned within minutes of my return to the building, almost as if it was the building itself that needed to be removed from my lists or triggers and stressors, and though the building was nice itself, the noise had become debilitating. I finally had realized after taking time and research that I did indeed have the grounds for a lawsuit—and the evidence to prove it. The only question really was; who was I suing?

“A Statement Piece”

Look who's here!

No, I'm not here, actually— it's— this is not who you think it is.

Do you know who I am?

Uhh…DREW BARRYMORE?

WRONG— you're WRONG AGAIN. As always.

Ū attends the Drew Barrymore Show.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Lights on;

Knock my lights out

I'll be right back—

But that was about a half-hour or so, ago and now I'm

About to black out

A night owl,

Or white owl,

Who cried out

“No, this is my house!—

Either sit down, or get out of it”

And that was the—

Fuck this bitch.

Who hired her?

You'll stay in this room with the subject for up to three months;

—okay.

Record everything.

Isn't this illegal?

Not for us.

Okay.

There's something you should know about before I tell you think.

I have to know something before you tel me something?

It's like a precursor.

What's a “precursor”

Fuck.

What:

Nothing.

What is it.

It's—nothing—

You can't just say “fuxk”

“FUCK.”

UGH.

If I fall,

The whole house will fall down with me;

I promise

The whole house and all the walls,

If I fall,

If I fall for you

I promise,

If it goes all wrong,

I won't wait long for you;

I'd ask the same, that is,

If the game we're playing

Was all the same,

But it isn't

(It really isn't)

It really isn't—

Another circumstance of wisdom

Or conincidental t-shirt to believe in

God makes guesses at the afterthought (of) androgynous.

We could make love for hours in the silence

But I'd have to wander off, when morning comes

Before you recon you don't want me

And I'm sad and always wondering

“If I had left with all my stuff before the Sun came up,

Would I be struggling and suffering?”

No, probably not.

Probably not, huh

I promise

Rich and shameless,

I probably shouldn't say this,

But I've been drinking;

I've been thinking

I've been sinking into feelings

I don't need,

But actually

—

Look at me when I'm bleeding for you

Look at me!

Look at me, into my dreams when you leave me

Waking up lonely

Thinking of only

You

Until I remember

I'm here

And you're there

With her

Watch me while I whiter away,

I'll watch you while you slither up my leg

And bite my thigh

Just how I like it

Now I'm high again on dying

It ain't right,

But fuck,

I like it

Fuck me like you mean it

Fuck me right

Ugh. What.

Okay, I secretly might break my veganism streak

Just for a fresh ass strawberry frosty—

Like I need to lose another dollar,

Fuck it

That's it.

It's a sickness.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Miniature pumpkin pies…hm.

Once you realize you control the beasts, and not the other way around—

It's easy then to move them about, as if little pawns and pieces

Upon the map we've built

To play this game.

These ones are programmed to move when I do—

And this one.

Watch this.

Toggle WiFi on.

Are you sure you want to join a public network?

Yes.

Join.

3…2…1…

[a coughing robot enters]

See.

I told you.

Very well. Off we go.

Why is it always the darker skinned ones.

Well, the dark skinned ones are more likely to be on public networks, or connected to networks operating on lower speeds—

Right—

As well as the marginally ugly, the generally ungifted, and—

[a sim paces back and forth awaiting commands from its controller and superior]

unforgivingly controllable.

Now what.

I pointed my camera towards the three sparking candles, knowing good and well that even connected to my own private wifi, I was still being perched upon. Now, sitting comfortably back in the opposite side of my bed from where I usually laid, i studied the energy moving around me, as the material world had begun to shift, and as always—the frequencies dwelling within the lower realms tried desperately to enter the higher realms by intrusion—an absolute impossibility, and yet—as expected they always would try. In the seven years since it all had been arranged, I had become a skilled magician, and yet, it wasn't here from whence my talent was drawn, as so with other. This medicine, I simply used as a sheer protection against whatever it was that had tried to penetrate my totality—something foreign and dark which seemed to easily crawl its way into others, but had met its folly in trying to dwell inside me; yea, I was in turn its master, and yet I had no duty to enforce or skill to employ to a dark realm being, it sat always near or just farther off perching, working its way through weaker minded bodies, and those broken in spirit, or otherwise— almost calling to me as if it needed a friend, and yet, I employed not dark magic or hexes or curses of the sort, and therefore had no use for it. I might have maintained its power somehow, and then, knowing good and well the karmic law surrounding its properties, knew better than to use dark magic at all— this would cost its user dearly in…

—what did you want it?

…propensity.

Well, it worked, didn't it.

Is this what you wanted?

What I wanted…hm…

—because if it is, then I'm very well off the hook.

Or should be.

I finished my chapter.

Good. Now bury yourself back up before I dig you another grave.

Fresh dirt sounds okay.

There'll be nothing fresh about it!

Very well.

Kind, but shallow—

And it seemed all an all a nightmare, to begin with

And have ended in such a way,

That the clamorings of hell would shout his name aloud in praise, and so it had begun, to say

A fairytale overturned,

In which the world had come to worship

The most evil of all things—

And the only evil that was,

Lie hidden in the beauty

Of something held so sacred

As to be worshipped by almost all,

Especially of men,

And yet reviled to the light

And the truth in which

She had disguised herself as.

I called to the ascended masters to release me from this realm. For every out of place sound, disfigurement, for everybody that followed in my tracks—now that I had learned I was being mislead—that the ice cream trucks all spawned out of a single holding lot—that the motorcycle club was allowed to ravage through the neighborhood at will—that it was indeed a game on my psyche and after all, that no one could be trusted in my world or in my presence— that these hellish creatures were in fact, some part of a bigger game of control, I knew that my power had indeed become too great for such a force to have been imparted; that indeed I was more important than normal, and above and beyond average—and the more the sounds and gestures impeded my peace, the further damage I knew the thing sending them to dissolve my light would suffer, and eventually parish.

They were evil things, but not all together, stupid and pitiful, and yet, all acting on behalf of one, a cruel and evil dark force of injustice that could only be met with the face of goodness. I knew beyond all doubt that even try as it may, it could not force its way into my kingdom, though try it might, and that with each flickering flame—an agreement between myself and I as one, the master of all things in each and every material realm, that this trait was nothing more than the effect of my being stretched so freely outward in all ways, having expanded into the edges of all of the worlds and all of the times—that these almost unconscious creatures were just as well, some sort of runoff of my initial decent into such worldly realms as to have been embodied at all, not once, but endlessley—and that I as all things, must have been in sorts, just as angry, and as tired, and as stupid, and as unwilling to remain in the world as I ever was, not truly ever having awakened to my own oneness. A truth, the things that bothered me the very most were just as much a waste to myself and the world as food eaten and then discarded— something like having once been of use, but now now more, than besides as a reminder that at once, it had all been as One.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Lights on;

Knock my lights out

I'll be right back—

But that was about a half-hour or so, ago and now I'm

About to black out

A night owl,

Or white owl,

Who cried out

“No, this is my house!—

Either sit down, or get out of it”

And that was the—

Fuck this bitch.

Who hired her?

You'll stay in this room with the subject for up to three months;

—okay.

Record everything.

Isn't this illegal?

Not for us.

Okay.

There's something you should know about before I tell you think.

I have to know something before you tel me something?

It's like a precursor.

What's a “precursor”

Fuck.

What:

Nothing.

What is it.

It's—nothing—

You can't just say “fuxk”

“FUCK.”

UGH.

If I fall,

The whole house will fall down with me;

I promise

The whole house and all the walls,

If I fall,

If I fall for you

I promise,

If it goes all wrong,

I won't wait long for you;

I'd ask the same, that is,

If the game we're playing

Was all the same,

But it isn't

(It really isn't)

It really isn't—

Another circumstance of wisdom

Or conincidental t-shirt to believe in

God makes guesses at the afterthought (of) androgynous.

We could make love for hours in the silence

But I'd have to wander off, when morning comes

Before you recon you don't want me

And I'm sad and always wondering

“If I had left with all my stuff before the Sun came up,

Would I be struggling and suffering?”

No, probably not.

Probably not, huh

I promise

Rich and shameless,

I probably shouldn't say this,

But I've been drinking;

I've been thinking

I've been sinking into feelings

I don't need,

But actually

—

Look at me when I'm bleeding for you

Look at me!

Look at me, into my dreams when you leave me

Waking up lonely

Thinking of only

You

Until I remember

I'm here

And you're there

With her

Watch me while I whiter away,

I'll watch you while you slither up my leg

And bite my thigh

Just how I like it

Now I'm high again on dying

It ain't right,

But fuck,

I like it

Fuck me like you mean it

Fuck me right

Ugh. What.

Okay, I secretly might break my veganism streak

Just for a fresh ass strawberry frosty—

Like I need to lose another dollar,

Fuck it

That's it.

It's a sickness.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Miniature pumpkin pies…hm.

Once you realize you control the beasts, and not the other way around—

It's easy then to move them about, as if little pawns and pieces

Upon the map we've built

To play this game.

These ones are programmed to move when I do—

And this one.

Watch this.

Toggle WiFi on.

Are you sure you want to join a public network?

Yes.

Join.

3…2…1…

[a coughing robot enters]

See.

I told you.

Very well. Off we go.

Why is it always the darker skinned ones.

Well, the dark skinned ones are more likely to be on public networks, or connected to networks operating on lower speeds—

Right—

As well as the marginally ugly, the generally ungifted, and—

[a sim paces back and forth awaiting commands from its controller and superior]

unforgivingly controllable.

Now what.

I pointed my camera towards the three sparking candles, knowing good and well that even connected to my own private wifi, I was still being perched upon. Now, sitting comfortably back in the opposite side of my bed from where I usually laid, i studied the energy moving around me, as the material world had begun to shift, and as always—the frequencies dwelling within the lower realms tried desperately to enter the higher realms by intrusion—an absolute impossibility, and yet—as expected they always would try. In the seven years since it all had been arranged, I had become a skilled magician, and yet, it wasn't here from whence my talent was drawn, as so with other. This medicine, I simply used as a sheer protection against whatever it was that had tried to penetrate my totality—something foreign and dark which seemed to easily crawl its way into others, but had met its folly in trying to dwell inside me; yea, I was in turn its master, and yet I had no duty to enforce or skill to employ to a dark realm being, it sat always near or just farther off perching, working its way through weaker minded bodies, and those broken in spirit, or otherwise— almost calling to me as if it needed a friend, and yet, I employed not dark magic or hexes or curses of the sort, and therefore had no use for it. I might have maintained its power somehow, and then, knowing good and well the karmic law surrounding its properties, knew better than to use dark magic at all— this would cost its user dearly in…

—what did you want it?

…propensity.

Well, it worked, didn't it.

Is this what you wanted?

What I wanted…hm…

—because if it is, then I'm very well off the hook.

Or should be.

I finished my chapter.

Good. Now bury yourself back up before I dig you another grave.

Fresh dirt sounds okay.

There'll be nothing fresh about it!

Very well.

Kind, but shallow—

And it seemed all an all a nightmare, to begin with

And have ended in such a way,

That the clamorings of hell would shout his name aloud in praise, and so it had begun, to say

A fairytale overturned,

In which the world had come to worship

The most evil of all things—

And the only evil that was,

Lie hidden in the beauty

Of something held so sacred

As to be worshipped by almost all,

Especially of men,

And yet reviled to the light

And the truth in which

She had disguised herself as.

I called to the ascended masters to release me from this realm. For every out of place sound, disfigurement, for everybody that followed in my tracks—now that I had learned I was being mislead—that the ice cream trucks all spawned out of a single holding lot—that the motorcycle club was allowed to ravage through the neighborhood at will—that it was indeed a game on my psyche and after all, that no one could be trusted in my world or in my presence— that these hellish creatures were in fact, some part of a bigger game of control, I knew that my power had indeed become too great for such a force to have been imparted; that indeed I was more important than normal, and above and beyond average—and the more the sounds and gestures impeded my peace, the further damage I knew the thing sending them to dissolve my light would suffer, and eventually parish.

They were evil things, but not all together, stupid and pitiful, and yet, all acting on behalf of one, a cruel and evil dark force of injustice that could only be met with the face of goodness. I knew beyond all doubt that even try as it may, it could not force its way into my kingdom, though try it might, and that with each flickering flame—an agreement between myself and I as one, the master of all things in each and every material realm, that this trait was nothing more than the effect of my being stretched so freely outward in all ways, having expanded into the edges of all of the worlds and all of the times—that these almost unconscious creatures were just as well, some sort of runoff of my initial decent into such worldly realms as to have been embodied at all, not once, but endlessley—and that I as all things, must have been in sorts, just as angry, and as tired, and as stupid, and as unwilling to remain in the world as I ever was, not truly ever having awakened to my own oneness. A truth, the things that bothered me the very most were just as much a waste to myself and the world as food eaten and then discarded— something like having once been of use, but now now more, than besides as a reminder that at once, it had all been as One.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

i found this bird with a broken wing about my doorstep—

I see.

Would you happen to know anything about that?

Your—doorstep?

Your bird.

Who said it was my bird?

Ours then, shall we?

Anandar taught me explicitly how to go about being many places at once;

I can be both.

You're a puppy!

If I was, I'd be a pit bull!

Cute dog.

[malicious]

Oh!

He bites.

Where are you taking me?

To your mother.

I haven't seen you in 40 years.

Has it been 40 years already?

You tell me. Timekeeper.

Now where are we?

There was bass inside of me.

The hurt started over in my heart, pulling a pressure, building up and then mounting at my throat, and in the back of my eye— haunting. I pulled somewhere between my ear and the back of my nose, pressing in on my eye with one hand to release the pressure— which had been lately, appearing as brightly as a white light at times, and in some ways it almost seemed as if I was some kind of star—not the kind on earth, but the kind in the actual sky. A bright white light.

Still, it hurt, and the pressure had come in all kind of pains from headaches to outbursts of tears, deep breaths so deep that my entire mind and body would reset, shut off and then come on again as if I were a light, or some kind of computer— hard flashes of other worlds, and sometimes songs—but mostly, lately, just tears out of almost nowhere, if I didn't know any better—and I did, at least kind of— know where they were coming from.

At least kind of.

As I clipped the back of my ear, a heavy lull of deep bass I had never quite heard before began vibrating lowly as if it was what do become of me— some sort of astonished, I removed the grip from my ear and waited a moment, then placed the pressure back over the same area—and to my suprise, there was, some sort of deep bass radiating—not from the outside, but within.

As sensitive to incoming frequency as I was, this might have something to do with it. It hadn't mattered much in awhile— I was almost definitely in some sort of block from my music, the inspiration seemed to have vanished into the night, and though with it had gone some harsh ties that needed to be cut, here came so another set of tasks, and talents—which seem to have been hidden or at the very least perched in the shadows unyet to the calling of my awakening.

I could either go to the Drew Barrymore show, or The Daily Show, but I couldn't do both; either way, I knew that if there was something I wanted or even needed to know, the media would have its way of fortrlling what to be expected in the regular multitude of ways, from code switching to the careful arrangements at which things were conducted behind the scenes, both on and off air, however— treading lightly and under the circumstances of dismissal from even my own project and worlds, within the tightly knit circle I knew I had peered into and started to attract some sort of attention, and wondered if, even as a civilian audience member, my creativity would be procured. Which did I even have more interest in? Perhaps truly neither, as the excavation of my inner piece and fantastical plotting of narrowly escaping the depths of New York's well gated poverty system, I had been nearly drowning in an ocean of hopes nearly shared by every individual with which I shared this condition on the planet: that is to say—nobody wanted to be alone, broke, and lonely— and especially when that meant all of your art, hopes, and dreams had been entirely wasted.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I can't save you;

Thinking of this over midnight coffee

and faded rain–

Now jaded makes sense,

Along with the color scheme

Friday came and went

(I keep you hidden and off to the side,

And away from the monsters,

the scars of a fairytale long and forgotten

More robberies and a heartbreak,

sactity hours away

On a plane destined for engine failure

falling from such high altitudes

The last and the first sound

Unsure of survival and rebirth

To a new age

Is the same sound,

The whistling of the winfs

Fresh with frost from the aspen

Oh, the shame of it

Oh, the shame of it

–and this must be why you've been on my mind

I hide and keep it pushed to the side

So the monsters stay far, far away

With the hopes that something,

If anything

Is left at the end

Like a vulture of some sort,

for faux and fur coats

Astonished it still hasn't gone yet

Up in ohms,

for fear of the father

The color makes all the sense

In a wicked way,

Same as always,

Or hearing you never,

Seeing you sometimes

And wishing that

I'll also see you here, nearer–

Rather than further;

Freak of nature,

Now or never, but

I hate an early departure

And door closeures a full hour before

Taking off.

I love you.

But with every beat of my heart,

And every hope, still

We move further away from one another

Than ever before.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Let me guess; you thought I would look like Paula Patton?

I was hoping.

Well, that's too bad. I told you I was ugly; I look like this.

I gathered.

This–couldn't possibly be what you thought i was thinking.

I don't have to think what you're thinking; I know what you're thinking without thinking it.

This telepathy thing just keeps sinking in deeper.

You can be relevant–or irrelevant; which is it?

Goddamit. Where am I…what am I?

What is this?

Shh, don't even speak; not even in whispers–it can hear you.

What can hear me?

The algorithm.

Why are you still writing? How are you still writing?

I don't know. Pettiness. Spite.

My friends are hating you for this.

I didn't plan on this being the reason for exacting my revenge.

What exactly are you exacting–your revenge– on or at?

I've been meditating some very deep thoughts, recently.

I see.

Deep–and disturbing.

How else can you be the light?

I want to throw up.

Dillon Francis?

Hanzel, actually.

JUST DO IT.

I killed myself, recently.

How recently?

Recently enough it shouldn't matter yet;

Or should, already.

“Vice City”

I began recording everything surrounding my apartment. Ugly little men were acting strangely and it seemed that everything around and about me was centered on my very deep and very dark past.

Interesting architecture.

Exquisite.

Somebody knew who i was–or who I used to be, and was using it against me–the only problem was, that it couldn't be used against me. I had everything, but in a deeper and more meaningful sense, I had lost everything. I was an easy target–like taking candy from a baby–or–taking a baby from its mother. Simply put–I didn't want to play

What game are we playing?

Why the fuck are you even in my fame game?

I don't know, Keenan Thompson.

I don't know.

Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©