[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

Who called Kimmel?

I didn't call Kimmel.

You call Kimmel?

I didn't call Kimmel!

Let's just say, Jimmy Kimmel is the kind of person that calls himself to these sort of things.

Thanks for calling me!

Nobody called you.

Nobody called you.

Who called him.

I'm even harder to get rid of than Jimmy Fallon.

That could not possibly be the case.

Use lemon zest.

What?

For the— let me see.

Look, just do us all a favor, and let's make believe we have a bird's eye view of everything you're doing.

—this is—make believing—isn't it?

Let's just pretend.

It's—we're pretending, right?

Of course!

HELLICOPTER.

FUH-Fuh-FUH-FUH

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

GODDAMMIT. WHO IS IN THE HELLICOPTER?

I heard you were a pretty decent slam pig.

Slam pig?! I am not a slam pig!

Maybe slam cow—

Or slam donkey,

Would be accurate…

Slam donkey!

The ass!

Okay, Jimmy—

I just need you to smile.

For what.

This statement alone could have devastating consequences.

What's the statement?

Settle in children! Be have lessons!

Fuck. I only got two hours of sleep last night.

Two hours and 27 minutes.

Seems worth it

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

HEY.

…hello.

[breaks shit]

Oh.

[he grabs the man by the collar]

You—

—aren't you the kid from that one movie—

—I'm the kid from your mom's house!

—that's major disrespectful—

—I'll tell you what;

Okay?!

—you—are going to grow a mustache.

What! Why!

Because you are!

That's not going to look good at all!

Exactly my point

“The Worst Mustache Ever”

[the super buff dude forces the man to swallow two large capsules]

NO!

YES, actually.

WHAT WAS THAT.

Testosterone. Happy hair-ing.

What am I supposed to grow a mustache for?

JUST DO IT!

How are you still on that?

BECAUSE I'M STUCK IN A LOOP!

This plane is about to go down.

What.

lol do I look like I have Down's syndrome?

Yes.

Good. Let's go see the show:

Meanwhile.

lol wtf is wrong with

Nvm.

No. Hold the fuck on.

What the fuck is wrong with Gwenyth Paltrow?

Who?!

EXACTLY.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Well, surely, you must know—

No.

Well, then you probably.

Also, no.

Well then—

No. Not at all. I don't know anything;

You don't even know what I was about to say!

I don't know any of these people.

How do you not remember anything?

I was blacked out!

The whole time.

Predominately.

Man. I feel like shit,

Right?

…wanna do it again?

This nigga don't see;

Invisibility cloak over your head

Like my rhymes be;

Jesus Christ it is,

Icy biz

Damn I lost my cadence.

Something about the wizard of oz.

Man I'm slow as fuck right now.

Well, let's speed up then.

Come on, now, I don't got all day.

I'm entirely sure the whole point of avoidance

Is to avoid.

Avoid what.

This:

I might actually have to shoot you now.

Shoot me then. I don't give any kind of fuck.

Oh you don't?

No.

Get out of the way.

You don't give any fuck— at all.

No. I just want kids.

Gross.

Shoot me then.

This is Hopsin,

I would bet—

Man, the only reason I'm still listening to this song to see if he talks about his balls

L E G E N D S

Beat you up tech9

><

In the end linkin park

Sister, TSHA>< Sedona <> Elohim

Something is wrong

My whole world went sepia tone

I'm getting too old for this

Show on the road and I'm bold for this

I'm in a silicone mold for this

I sold for this;

I been all alone for this

You picked a winner—

I wrote a movie then took him to dinner;

Wrote me a verse so hard,

Hard er called me a jiggger

Sure

Take a picture it'll last longer

Shut up, take your top off

Don't call me a bitch in front of my kids,

Or I'll run off ‍♀️

I forgot about my coffee

It's cold now

I been inside all day

Thinking bout dying alone

Wrote a letter

(I burned it)

Wrote a whole show

But I don't know what it's about

At all

I think about a gunshot wound

Straight to the head

Almost every day of my life

I used to jump the train

Out of ideation,

Now, I admire

More blunt force trauma

More lost love, huh.

A harbored fugitive

I should dwindle it down;

It was me at the end of that rope, eh?

(It sure was.)

Crocodile tears,

And a mile of paid programming

Now where were you,

Onto us—

Or just steady bearing

Good news,

As they were—

Tight noose,

As it was—

Loose strings,

And hard knocks—

Square knots and

A lot of hats.

Did you wan to fulfill our synthesis to symphonies yet?

I barred in carriage to see that

I wilted away in his essence

Then, greetings; anchored in agony

And weathered in women,

Fearing agreements.

Tethered here now and forever,

As if—

A hollow ball on candlestick

To which no court belongs.

Surely, you could see yourself dying in my arms.

Surely I saw forward and backwards and in neither direction was I at any point, anywhere other than what I ought to be;

Where I wanted to sit exactly,

At the furthest point possible

Away.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Last night I slept totally in the nide;

Of course, leave it to good old fashioned good timing-/—

The return of the hellicoopyer, and whatever's at stake with it

No time to breathe, I'm having a spiritual experience on the cycle bike

No time to lose—

That's right. About face

Walk away

It's central intelligence

Too much sweat in my palms

To use my palm pillow?

Hi god

I love you

God knows my timing,

Lord know me well

Don't tell me it's a writing assignment

Really, yo

I'm just here to spectate

LETS GO! LETS GO!!! If you're not early, you're LATE!

Okay, okay.

Make my bed, wash the dishes.

2X202-ST5, Aphex Twin

Either way, it's a put of snakes

Either way it's a den of wolves

Either way it's a rat race, on my way somewhere else,

I don't know how to go under the radar.

You look ridiculous.

Good.

Are you sure this is the right place and time.

I'm pretty sure that's my eye, up there.

CBS Television Studios( New York City.

Jesus, oh,

Jesus Christ—

Just for the ride;

I asked nicely—

…are the police here.

No.

Okay. Thx.

Terminate, terminate—

Hesitate a little.

Turn your head around, a mate

A million, a mile a minute

Temper, temper

Remember your severance

Remember you made it

Remember the parade and what day it's on

Who makes up holidays anyway?

Banks.

Cool it, on your woodwind, would you

Smells like barbeque,

And I called it

Forget to light a candle

Summer winds, summer winds

With your blood on the ceiling

Remember who it is when you get there

Hit me one more time

Like the nightmare—

Way up high I guess;

Way less impressive, your crucifix

I don't trust nobody with two first names, son

So let's try the one

With a traditionally masculine.

So let's,

So let's.

Let's try the brown eyes on next, shall we.

I like these.

Same as.

Wonderful, really.

What's next.

Hands, I think.

Eyes, and then hands

Ryes, and then hands,

Eyes, and then hands

Would you get the fuck off of me?

I'm. Going to pay my tithes early

Get the fuck away from me, you absolutely inferior rodent.

At least I'm cognoscenti.

I'll actually fucking kill you,

And if you come back,

I'll kill you again.

Damn, I almost wish I was a lesbian.

Nothing?

Nothing yet.

GODDAMIT.

What. What do you actually want from me?

I told you don't be late.

What the fuck are you wearing!?

Progress.

Ough!

—and jewel tones.

The fact that I'm not wearing makeup,

Could easily be hidden,

With larger frames,

And a little less giving a fuck

About fashion instinct,

And intensity

The ce el.followed me all the way to the L train;

Don't bother me none;

She needs somebody,

And all I need is a one hour slot,

On Comedy Central.

Somebody get this robot out of my peripheral.

Somebody get the paramedic stat!

What happened!?

He thought it was payday and it's actually next week!

911– what's your emergency!

Quit playing with me.

Always look at the way it matters less

When you lay attention to the face, and the stance—

And it matters why she's mad at me, when after all these years, after all

The veil has been lifted, but the mask hasn't

And I just happened to make way to the goddamned

Goddammit

The mansion.

So they said they'd give you a million dollars, just to—

Yeah.

What'd you—

No.

You didn't.

No.

You thought I would?

Are you ready for wisdom and witches

And wishes galore?

Not yet.

I asked for a prayer and

“You're pitiful”

—proud as pitaya,

But I prefer Açaí,

And after all

Either one or the other is better than pina colada

But of course, I'll take it

If the other refreshments

Are unavailable

What the fuck is that in reference to?

Nothing, probably

Let's just be honest,

I'm not getting In anywhere dressed like this in LA;

Which is why I did it—

And brought an extra set of clothes just in case

Click my heels, two times

Who farted.

It's the subway;

Pick any three people, and you'd probably be right

This is hilarious.

I ride the subway to Manhattan around lunch time, and it was mostly just—

White people on vacation.

lol

lol

Here's the trumpeter counting his money;

Here's hoping he plays something

Conveniently losing my cash .

Means he's missing a dollar

The way to the market makes subway trains unbearable,

Which could only mean one thing l—

Getawayfromme.

Sing it!

I'm intolerably horny most the time,

And that counts anytime between now and forever

So the Jptown a it is.

As the train rolled slowly into Columbus circle, I started to get that feeling again— the same feeling I had the other night on the way to the comedy club, as if I was about to go on stage. I wasn't, and this, if anything was more of a consumer experience mainly meant for my entertainment, but still, I had butterflies— and there was no reason for them besides not having had any water— I wanted to make sure I had no need to run off to the restroom, either on the way, or during the taping , and—

If anything.

SOME BACKGROUND MUSIC!!

Congratulations, you actually made it somewhere—

Anywhere in New York City,

On time.

..:I was on time to my stand up show.

Exactly.

MWAHAHAHHA!!!!!

At least you laugh like a real villain, bro.

I don't know what what's in reference to—

Me neither.

Now where was I…?

Thank you.

Everywhere in New York City is exactly one hour away.

Even in midtown—

Even in midtown.

I told you they're all the devil.

That's kind of incredible.

Or god Liz

Or, it's one in the same l.

I might not ever make it on television—

Even the assistant is gorgeous,

(And majors in engineering)

Somebody tell me why it's 100 degrees in fucking October!

Global warming! I told you already l!

What about the ice caps?!

I TOLD YOU THEY MELTED!!!!

Then again,

Really kid— five o clock shadow at 1:48 in the afternoon.

This is Telivision.

It's a little ridiculous—

Whose kid is this?

If nobody claims him, I'll take that instead of lunch.

How were you planning on lunch with it your wallet?

I wasn't—

But suddenly i'm hungry…

Shut up!

I used to get paid for this.

I still do; watch this.

I just realized, that

I'm not having a good time

I am method, so just— try to remember that.

Where did the husbands come from? I was just in a room full of women—

Now where am I?

Remember the portals, and remember the

Tenements, tenements—

Tenements, tenements!?

Old New York.

What the fuck ever.

Omg is the lady behind me possibly pregnant—

And if she is she's keeping it—

But she doesn't see herself being with the guy—

“He's kind of affermenante”

What?

“He doesn't have that like, Charisma”

I told you I still can get paid for this.

Appearances, appearances,

Charisma, Charisma

So— its voice activated—

And then once so many cell phones like,

Detect my voice, a small signal is sent to that phone

To make them start coughing.

We can only assume that what is happening?

Almost no one was coughing

Until the banter in the bathroom

I love this demographic of demigogs

And badic bitches

And tenements

And tenements

In intimate settings—

OLD NEW YORK.

How old

Well, there are the tenements.

We never really grow up, so we?

We never really show out—

Goes to show for sure I am indeed a God;

For as soon as I walk in—

They all start coughing.

Where did the husbands come from?!

This was, I promise you, an entire room full of women.

THERE HE IS. GET HIM.

GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY KITCHEN!

But—I didn't do anything!

GO!

Multiple steps in the directions of the Gods;

Nothing to lose, but getting lost

In the buildings and the tabletops

The shadows of the others;

Supposedly blocked into our time

Blacklisted in hesitation that I could

One day

Very nearly and dearly

Wish for something other than the best for

Everyone involved,

However I say no,

For one million dollars only is a very small sum

In accordance to the torture and disorder in the chaos I've come on here

And here it is

;

Again,

Something to live for

Something to love by

Something it get into go for it,

There was nothing other than the storm to come

And yet

A pool of course,

You wanted full force for under

The wind blows south

And gone so deep under the water,

There's no terror system!

Here it is!

All are actors,

The world is a stage and yet,

You fear it

There's no conforming,

Just admittance

I came to get the app with the DJ's jumping off boats

That's it.

That's it. That's what I came for.

Move still!

Be you mad!

I am mad, and envious of thee here, knowing not what I know and—

Doing nothing in the midsts of my heartache,

None glory being this, knoelege and yet

Without wisdom

The feeling of teeth sinking in,

Hind legs ready to run,

Water under no northern skies,

But droughted—

And mine, the thought of l weary skin

The keeping of

Times

Times

Times

Tenements

Times,

Times, times- a

Tenements

Times, times times

Percius, be you still?

Still I wait.

No honor.

No judgement, mine is.

There was no gain;

There was no wise knowledge

There was no wise for wisdom

The times here

The times here

And even when you want to stop recording

Turn your phones off—

Even when you want to stop

You keep rolling until the very last

The very last

The very last minute.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

“Seth Meyers And the Cauldron of Doom”

OMG— YOU have a cauldron of doom?!

I have a cauldron of doom!!!

DO NOT SHAKE THIS SNOWGLOBE.

I had been avoiding Rockefeller plaza for months as it was, without the sometimes accidental ending up there anyway, and I thought not once but twice or three times about changing into my regular pants so that the deep pockets could hold my keys and passports sans wallet— or a purse and considered taking a notebook as well; on the list of prohibited items were backpacks and large bags, and though the dress code seemed to be null in void at all, I was happy to be able to wear my hat at least— and almost prepared to be dogged out, the last min it e change into my harem pants would probably be the comfortable choice; looking intentionally dressed down as a statement—a broad statement that I wasn't looking to be noticed at all, or trying to be noticed.

The guest for the show was nearly an EGOT winner, probably younger, and definitely skinner and more beautiful than I was; a black woman, but a British woman, and it would be almost entirely impossible to think that besides Whoopi Goldberg, an American black woman would strive to win such a thing as an EGOT herself.

Still, I was looking for a cure to the writer's block and crippling depression that I had been in, however—knowing who the president of Peacock was, and after the elections at all's though I knew NBC to be left-leaning—

I didn't feel at all as if I would ever belong on the stage, and was quite happily taking my place as simply a fan…and audience member, though ready to creep back into obscurity, and probably more likely than not with a pint of Ben and Jerry's after the show.

I had gone to see Drew Barrymore sand makeup, and would do the same, but only as a proclamation that I had read Tina Fey's book nearly religiously now rounding three times, and I almost wish I had an oversized black t-shirt which read “hot water heater” to accompany my lax look and blonde hair—a testament to her correctness standing, as the grossities of tinder loved “the blonde”, almost as if, without the hair I would be ugly, and just as much in the same breath, unworthy of such status anyway.

But more than anything, I just wanted to be able to write again, at least for my own sake, and certainly not for anyone else's. I was still in hiatus, for the better, and had not completely recovered from the unbearable racism and parallel of doom the election had tossed me into with trajectory—in this world—supposedly “fascist”.

I was comfortable enough in the jeans, but had nowhere to put my phone.

I was ready to be dogged out and shown what a real a list celebrity looked like, and why I simply wasn't one.

I left the house with a sink full of dishes, an unmade bed, and a pile of laundry unfolded—a pile of books in boxes I had collected for my son but would cost too much to send—almost as a testament to his sick I had been since the election. In this world, I was just another poor black fat single mother— a dead beat living in poverty. In trump's world, I was an ugly, poor nothing.

Everywhere I had gone about the past week, the rich seemed richer and the poor poorer, the whites whiter and the blacks blacker, good gone and evil fleeting, with the return of the motorcycles and pieces of me dying, simply giving up. I planned my return to the workforce, and the eventual fortitude of my freedom; the wealthy had become more arrogant, and the rest of us more distraught. What was I going to rocketfeller plaza for, anyway?

The news.

My apartment was disgusting, but at least I had been to the gym—I had run the full mile and lifted and pulled, all with the gym to myself.

My harem pants still felt even better, and for the first time in me months I ventured into the world in only one waist trainer.

Be prepared to be

[lost in a revolving door

Be cool to the two dudes in blue suits

goddamnit I never know where I'm going in this bitch.

I can never breath in this bitch and I don't know why.

How do you get lost at the rock?

Like this:

[Infinitely Lost at Rockafeller Plaza]

This is why I avoid this place like the plague.

Maybe I'm the plague.

First of all, there's no track on the floor upstairs.

(I've never been upstairs.)

It's just store after store of ways to spend money.

This is my only pair of clean socks.

No shit, this is the reason practicing your mantras on the train becomes dangerous.

DANGEROUS.

Somewhere in the frenzy, I remember this. Frequency, however,

Not yet partial to my own inner self, and empty in the array of superstardom,

I become nothing,

Only a spectator of celebrity—

And now, suddenly. 8 remember this day

Why?

Suddenly, now, in the

Is moment.

Where I always have been, waiting for myself—

I avoid Rockerfeller plaza at all costs.

Why.

I heard a grimlin lives here.

Now is the time for Skrillex!

I would really love you forever if you didn't.

Que the Arc!

Oh boy, this writer's block is a doozy.

The only reason I had even bothered was because it was as if I had been summoned, as if something had clocked in my sense memory where, all of a sudden, looking at an unrelated picture of some kid on Tinee, with his hands covering his mouth the way that Stefon always did, made me immidiately stop whatever I was doing—probably eating tacos or pancakes, insurmountably out of bounds— and pausing the comedian I was watching instead, just to watch Stefon, and in the way that I remembered it all, it made me laugh.

Although now, I knew exactly what he was talking about by the avant-grade and strangely abysmal club scene not just of the time, but of any time in New York City— and, somehow summoning a laugh even in the darkness that had been my own distraught and depression in the previous weeks, something of a belly roll laugh might have triggered something in the alrgorithm to send last minute tickets to my email in almost that exact moment.

Are they going to tell me to take off my hat?!

There was no dress code,

They had better not tell me to take off my motherfucking hat.

I won't do it.

Fuck Seth Meyers .

I'm not taking off my hat for Seth Meyers.

Oh yeah. That's why I'm here.

I found it hard to say that I was there for such a thing; I—

I turned off my peripheral vision and hyperfocus.

I didn't know there would be music. Goddammit.

I had deleted Shazam filming for I love New York, an all but abandoned project—the writer's block had been too real, and now the real rest had come—would I laugh at anything in show show when in reality I wanted to cry?

The way the lights kept going up and down as if it were intermission only slightly distracted from the fact that I had never seen a page in real life.

THEY EXIST .

I had never seen an actual NBC PAGE.

GODDAMMIT GET THIS BLUE SUIT LOAFER WEARING MOTHERFUCKER OUT OF MY PERIPHERAL BEFORE I LOSE IT.

Shoot a midget at her.

What.

Just do it.

Don't do that.

What

Don't put the midget in the cannon.

What!

Thays's what he's here for!

I'm a stunt double!

This is a stunt.

That's a horrible joke.

That's not a joke.

SHAZAM. WTF IS THIS.

Some top 40 bullshit.

Good, get it

( I'm never going to have any other l exposure to top 40, ever in my life. )

Congratulations, you've made the A list

What?! NO FAIR.

What. What does that mean.

It means I can't do shit and mandatory attendance to everything.

What is everything

“Everythin—g.”

Man, fuck this.

Alright

At this moment, I realize I must be some sort of autistic.

Let's get this over with…

I let the sound of my own mix blare in my ears to drown out the sound of whatever pop singer was on over the loud speakers; I didn't realize there would be music, and I hoped the flutter was good l. Maybe it was the lights, or whatever, but—

SUNNI BLU

what in the fuck dimention is this .

It's the same dimension, you're just drunk.

Ah.

Now what?

I was as uncomfortable as ever, there was a track on the higher level, but it didn't matter, the cattle call was contained inside of velvet ropes— black ones, unlike the typical red ones, and it was at this point I realized that not only had I never seen actual NBC pages—

Yo, their skirts are kinda short…

RIGHT.

I THOUGHT THE PAGES WERE THE PARAGON OF SANCTITY!

No, those are, um…

Nvm.

Maybe the ugly shoes distract from the shortness of their skirts on the general basis.

Oh come on, nobody gives a fuck how ugly your shoes are if your skirt is that short!

These are facts, Liz.

No, I'm serious what dimention is this.

I already told you.

I had to ask for directions three times just get here.

THIS IS MY LEVEL.

why is your level on acid.

Cause. This is—just—

Where I'm at.

CUT TO:

Jimmy Fallon after Mardi Gras's.

Come on that's not fair!

{Enter The Multiverse}

What exactly isn't fair?!

He's in all the scenes.

Well, how else are you going to explain a time traveling helicopter?!

Got him.

THERES MY INVISIBLE MOTORCYCLE.

I'm not going to pa—

Goddamn it.

I'm not going to p—

It actually hurt not to write and just stand there; but I still didn't feel like myself—or sound like myself—or look like myself; I was playing a character, I just didnt know who.

As I moved forward in line, the music began to fade away behind me and into the nothingness that was whatever was behind, in front of, and all around me. I hated cattle calls, but after all, I was still just a fan and as the world began to fold into chaos, I realized that my pants were falling off of me, though I had been feeling fat, and walking, and running, and cycling, and protein shaking—the only thing that had gained any extra weight was my ass, which was exactly what I was intending on hiding with my same old usual harems.

My blonde hair made it so that I stuck out like a sore thumb, but that didn't matter, I was a walking statement piece and almost in a fit of tears just thinking about my own status; the NBC pages probably all had crazy incredible accolades and numerous degrees and achievements—what was I, if anything at all— ?

I had put the candles out, but had I left the stove on?

Did I really unplug the nail dryer and leave the stove on?

I had almost washed all of the dishes, but stopped just short of right on time to leave; my producer brain was on fire and wanted more pancakes, but however hard I tried I could not find where I had placed my EBT card; probably for the better—celebrities didn't carry EBT cards, and even my awkward general being thrown off by the doorman or security—

—whichever I wasn't sure— standing outside of the roller rink— probably ice this time of year, by the looks of the Zamboni in the foreground of it…

‘Don't stop writing, no matter what. ‘

Dammit, dammit dammit—

That seems inappropriate.

I told you to get this motherfucker out of my peripheral before something—

Nevermind, don't write that.

[redacted]

(But imma remember this shit cause it's heavy.)

A remarkable and accidental tableau,

My feet flat to the floor, as my ankles bare,

This is my only pair of hole-less socks.

I feel so much better with my back against the wall and

Listening to mau5 and,

Not giving a fuck about the music playing

Or the people watching

But keeping it for later

Forgetting how to codeswitch,

Just an ever so limited existence

Trying not to stick out like a sore thumb in the wrong world

It's a long way up,

But even longer way down,

And in all the demoralizing humiliation and emasculation,

I realize I'm no man at all,

No man at all

I realize I'm no man at all,

No man at all,

No mana

I realized my son's Lego Lamborghini should be waiting for me as I returned to my apartment in Brooklyn probably starting but pretending not to care; I winced at everything— this was a dangerous disaster, to even be in the building at all and edging closer to death were the secrets I kept that were not only secrets, but non existences.

Nothing in nothing and nothing—

Oh shit, is the suffering done?

This is the end of the

End of the end

It's the

Beginning of the end

It's the end of the beginning

This will be the end

Of the end

Of the end,

This will be the end of the end

Of the end

Of the end

Of the beginning

Of the end

Of the beginning of the end.

This will be the end

Of the end

Of the end

Of the beginning of the beginning

Of the end of the end

Of the beginning

Of the end

This will be the end

Of the beginning

Of the beginning

Of the beginning

Of the end

Of the end

Of the end

This will be the end

Of the beginning of the beginning

This will be the beginning of the beginning of the beginning

This will be the beginning,

The beginning of the end

This will be the end of the end of the end

This will be the end of the end of the end

This will be the end

(This will be the end)

Of the beginning

This will be the beginning

The beginning of the beginning

Of the end

My friends.

LET US COMMECE!

All of it, this is recorded history,

Smoke and mirrors, here portions and pardons

This is probably why can't breathe at the rock

Was I here last time;

I choked last time

I wrote nothing remarkable at all

(Nothing remarkable at all.)

I love getting lost at the rock

Okay, this is the host—

This is the host of the show

(I think I lost my lunch before.)

I was at a show, I never woke up,

Okay;

This is the host

This is the host

(This is the host)

This is the host.

Cue the Nirvana;

Curtains go up, I don't want to see the show,

I just want to host it.

I don't want to get lost no more

On the way to the rock

Or the store

Cause only one train goes there

I wanna climb the straits to the top

Get lost at the rock,

Guess this isn't he host huh

This is the lost god,

That was a long walk

The top of the rock off is a long jump

And I'm still in talks how's every morning

Someone told me not to ignore you

So, this is the host, huh.

Someone told me, go hard or go home

(Almost time tknkove)

Parenthesises, please and—Parenthetical, hypotheticals and paleontology's,

Please, I need a mixologist

(And anthologist)

Please slow down to peace, Mr poltergeist,

Please Mr poltergeist

The ghost of Mr giest

I'm doing a hiest

Please, slow down mister poltergeist,

Please for the peace Mr. Poltergeist,

Or what have you?

How old are you,

40.

I'm the whole medium and still,

Nice to meat you sir.

A house made of mediums

I hope that shock,

And I hop to the rock there's still something in it

A pogo stick

Or a poltergeist

Slow down, poltergeist.

Terrible timing,

Victoria Beckham and monsuier,

Please Mr,

I mean it no more—

If I'm Mr ooltergieat

(A policeman and polgergeist)

Please, sir, no jokes.

All sandwhich, no buns and pastrmi,

And all the God, I'm going cold, I'm going ghost again

And a the god, on all the rocks,

I'm going old, I'm going cold again;

On all the God on all the rocks,

I'm going God,

I'm going old again

Hold on again, mi got a song again?

I'm just a serviceman

WATCH OUT FOR THE DOORMAN.

MORE FUEL.

So all the Rockerfeller plazas on all the earths aim alll yhr parallel dimensions can actually communicate with each other

RADIO CITY BABBBBBBBYYYYYYY!

OH GOD. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

Did you get his dog's name!?

I think so.

Good. [meniacal rubbing of hands] good.

Cue the nirvana.

Cue the m—

Mitosis.

The migos.

Nah, I can't catch the flow.

There it is.

[the flow is a literal]

Something medicinal in this meniacal, is this

I spy a specscle, monocle— monopoly,

Time to go, it's the devil at my left;

Time for the fight against darkness,

And it all is,

Cause this is the ark, Noah

This is the arc, God.

This is apartheid and apart from that.

You're fired.

What.

You heard me.

But—I'm Seth Meyers.

That's debatable.

I am! I'm Seth Meyers.

If you say so.

This is nonsense.

It's not nonsense.

It is nonsense. And it's also impossible; cause this is my show.

It's my show,

I'M SETH MEYERS.

Debatable,

Not debatable. I'm ME. THAT'S ME.

Debatable.

I can't even hear the words,

But the bass is so fire, I summon Shazam!

…I want a ham sandwhich.

Oh good! He's alive.

Ham. Sandwhich.

What the fuck happened buddy?!

Where were you man?!

—Zoolander.

What.

disleylandhamsandwhich.

Get him a sandwhich!!!!!

YO QUIERO CUBANO.

Here's your sandwhich.

CUBANO.

Remember what you look like

Who you are

What your place is

What you weigh,

And

Check your status

Remember how still started

What your mark is

And what happened to your wallet;

Did you leave the stove on

Do you put the show on;

Did you miss your mark

Your mom was hotter

Please remember the circumstances

In which you—-

[BLACKOUT]

After several days gone completely missing, Jimmy Fallon is found under the craft services table sleeping peacefully.

The apparatus I entered in with

Is not adjusted to this condition

The biometrics are non concurrent;

{enter the multiverse}

I felt tragic.

By the time I got back to my apartment, my ribcage was showing again—although I had only been wearing one waist trainer, it was the skimpy one, and it was already wearing, it was after all eight dollars.

Really and once and for all, something had come over me at Rockerfeller plaza that I didn't understand. I was more awkward and nervous than usual, and sure that I should have eaten, but couldn't —even after a long gym session, there was no time for food before the show, and I had no stomach for it.

I chose to as much as I could ignore the code switching, and the more I picked it up, the further my mind began to drift.

—a door slammed.

My documents were probably compromised, and my phone hacked which I might have guessed, but continuing the thought I had often wondered how or why anything could have possibly known what I had written, or how—or how anyone would know what I had written, or of the things I had written, and most importantly of all—what did I write?!

Most of the previous months' entries into the festival project were a blank, and the time I had spent considerably enough sifting through whatever masked man acting in part of Fallon, whoever he really was had been turbulent, as if I had been disfigured to be brainwashed into half a mind—then, slowly peeking back the layers of such a chaotic artifact of time and this, Seth Meyers, to whom now I had become a loyal fan, an actual fan—and had noticed something ingenuously crafted here.

A genuine and talented, very kind and gifted man, who was not in any sense miserable or in peril. Peril, so to speak, as I remembered the almost villainous approach that the decent into madness had accompanied this Fallon and his mask, and besides this was the assumption that Seth Meyers, though professionally trained as such, seemed happy.

Fallon did not.

We had all learned to craft masks in order to protect our inner selves—however, with such a veil lifted as the partitioned screen of all does, this spoke to me with numerous volumes and sometimes even screamed, with the ethics of no worse a gentleman than some surgeon soldier or sailor and no more a nobleman than a king or god itself; I had not been Shocked and all but murmured even to just the slightest gawk of just an awkward cry, a muster of some shallow disaster which had called me to all of them— to whom I had loved and yet somehow not known, at least being here—and here I was, slightly convulsed, bearing no armor and gripping at the fortitude of death's barriers;

On wheels with no bearings plummeted towards a forged death of sorts, by my own hands but also at the hands of others,

the forgery calling from the halls of a place I had known as once my own fortress; but was no more. I belonged and now, almost with gratitude, to the eye of all gods, and all things that moved.

No cherished nature, perhaps, was this into my own eye, but of disgust for what I had not yet accomplished, and still might never—

I was a skull and crossbones with no love, and nothing known at all besides my own.

—Tales of a superstar DJ

“16 Songs”

I got it.

What's that.

The thing that sets Seth Meyers apart from the other hosts.

What is it?

Seth Meyers is not a host—he's an anchor.

Goddammit, you're right .

I know I'm right.

GODDAMIT.

It just took me this long to figure it out .

Great. Now how long's it gonna get you to take this thing fixed.

Possibly forever.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I got a house that you can run in

Hollywood hills, panoramic windows the sun in—

No more Broadway junction;

Fly in jfk, then. Fly away—just like I wanted

Private function up in a five star loft,

Invite only,

Undisclosed location,

Address on tickets you just bough from me

Invite only black tie, tie dye shirt under the bomber

I'm off in the morning.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I got detail.

What are we lookin at?

White, either BMW or Mercedes— carbon top.

Well, which is it, a beamer Or a Benz?

If I knew, I would just tell you.

What, you don't know the difference between a Beamer and a Mercedes?

Newer models, you know. All look the same.

Well it's not the same.

Look, would you just find out who the fuck is running detail on me?

A lot of help you are, for the one that's being followed.

Look, just find out who it is— and what they want.

Got it.

Get it— or else I'll take care of it.

Just let me handle it, alright? It could be dangerous to just go shooting around at heads youif don't know they're attached to.

Probably bodies.

You know what I mean.

I didn't say anything about shooting.

I don't know what to take from that.

A mental note.

Ta dah.

Yikes.

Magic.

Enough with the—

*spirit fingers*

Enough already.

[Secret President]

What's your name again?

I already told you who I was.

I mean—who are you.

You know who I am.

Nobody knows who you are.

Does that make you a nobody?

You're not gonna believe this.

I'm—sure I will.

It's just a fucking head. No body.

Decapitated ‘em.

You don't seem suprised.

That's because I'm not.

I don't know what you been through, but goddamn, man—

What.

Have you ever thought about seeing a therapist?

And what? Tell ‘em how it's no suprise to me that the head of a criminal enterprise—no pun intended—was fucking decaptiated?

…that was punny.

Shut the fuck up, gimme the head.

—no wonder they pay you the big bucks.

—just gimmie the head!

You are good at your job. No denyin'—

Just—shutthefuckup and gimmie the head!

Did you want me to throw it to you, or what?

Well, it's frozen, isn't it?

Yeah, but—

So let me see!

Dang, so how are we getting like a Secret President like, TV People crossover?

Because you'll see.

I shit you not.

Bro.

Aliens.

You're saying it was aliens who did this to you?

Aliens did this to me.

WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?

It was a spell; I broke it.

YOU CURSED ME.

No, I just said; it was a spell, I broke it.

VIVIAN

Him's not de culprit.

You— just understand that my intention is to kill you.

—heh—heh.

Good.

Okay. So if

DAMMIT! Why is it all of a sudden the TV People AND The Secret President plot is back.

DEBRA MESSING

(Eating popcorn, but Debra Messing)

What is that supposed to mean.

I don't know, just eat the popcorn, Debbie.

We're rolling—we're rolling!

Rolling what?

A big fat doobie!

Ah, crust

Here we go again.

Sometimes I think you really are retarded.

I think you and my mom would get along.

Stop that.

Heavy rotation, huh?

Oh, no—

No,

You see it was just

So, I was taking a nap in the Denver International Airport.

Ah, shit, is this Enter The Multiverse

FUCK sometimes I swear to God I'm in the show about me writing the show, about me writing the show, about me writing the show—

DEBRA MESSING

Oh nooooooooo.

AND I STILL CANT FIND THAT EFFING VIDEO WITH THE JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE BEING IN THE OBSTACLE COARSE OF MIRRORS

ITS LIKE A LABRYINTH OF MIRRORS.

Are you sure it isn't “mirrors”

YES, I'M SURE IT ISNT MIRRORS.

…well did you watch it till the end?

…

…

What if I mailed you a letter— would that work?

I guess.

Oh, what's this?

A cease and desist.

Mm. Wafers.

Right!!

Little—wafer sandwhich cookies.

I COULDNT RESIST!

AND WAFFLES.

You brought waffles?

I BROUGHT WAFFLES.

GRACE from WILL AND GRACE are also watching the season premier of {Enter The Multiverse}

Well this is exciting…

It is exciting, because someone's obviously about to get sucked through the TV.

You said what

DIG!!

Alright, alright

Almost there.

DEEPER, YOU IDIOT.

Damn, wtf are they even digging for!

I don't know.

FUXXKING DIIIIIIIIG.

You know I'd give anything for a brand new body any man could adore.

I know.

And the fact is, I don't even want any man— I just want like— 6 of them, at least.

Am I, by any chance, one of those—

You're a figment of my imagination!

So, like—maybe—???

My imagination is in the Friendzone—

50/50?

Friendzone!

Damn, as soon as I got in the bathtub,

French fries started sounding bomb, bro.

Facts.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

I used to be almost 400 pounds

(Obviously the audience is going to do/say somethin big—hopefully they're drunk and react atrociously so that it makes sense for me to go—)

I know.

Anyway, it's a long story. It took a long time but obviously, I'm no longer anywhere near 400 pounds.

Sometimes .

I still like to eat.

A lot.

I eat a lot. I love to cook,

I love trying new recipes.

Sometimes I eat a bit more than I work out so you know, I get a little chubby—

Then I get paranoid thinking I've gone and got fat again so I high tail it to the gym and workout, pump it out, stretch or whatever.

—and after a good workout or two I'm usually relieved, I'm like oh, I was just bloated.

Phew!

There's my abs.

I was just bloated!

Jesus

You know, when you're heavy, you don't bloat—

Or you do, you just don't realize it,

Especially if you're very heavy like I was.

So I never even knew what bloating was until— I was about a size 9–

Mind you, this is down from a size 28–

In women's—

For those of you who don't know, that's an 4 of 5 x down to a medium.

(The audience will probably do something)

I know.

lol writing comedy is funny.

Try preforming it.

That sounds hard.

Anyway, I never realized what anyone meant by “bloating” at all until one day it happened to me. A few years ago, I was still kind of moderately normal and by that I mean, eating “regular foods” now I'm pretty much a health nut with the exception of the occasional cupcake charade or, you know, home made French fries. But besides that you know, fast food— processed food, no; and this is actually the reason why; because I had never experienced the phenomena of bloating before, which I learned meant that you could eat something one day, and then wake up the next day— fatter.

NO.

I did not know this phenomenon was what was considered “bloating”

I freaked out .

I like, went out with my friends—and this is LA, by the way— all my friends are like actors, and like, travelers and whatnot, and so we like went out for lunch, or something and I don't remember what I ordered or what it was I ate— could have been something simple, potato chips— a burger, I don't know.

But the next day, I go to put on like my favorite pair of jeans or whatever—like the same jeans I wear all the time—

And the shit was like— smaller.

I'm like “wait” what.

Mind you, I'm living in LA—but imm staying at this like hip hostel in Westwood where myself and all of my pals are like, bohemians—whatever— I'm a cartoon character. I basically wear the same thing— or a variation of the same thing every day, and so I go to put on my jeans—

Like, probably the same jeans from yesterday—

And they don't fit.

I'm like:

What is this?

I start freaking out .

I'm like oh my god, am I fat again?!

Oh my God!

No!!

I'm like jumping around the room, doing squats and shit trying to stretch out the denim .

Yes .

I'm like

“Oh no, what happened!” What happened?!

Am I pregnant?! Oh god!

I had never just like— been bigger overnight like that.

So I opted for something stretchier. Like some fuckin1-yoga pants or whatever. Leggings.

And later on I'm talking to my friend and I like basically just—you know— I ask her, hey, like — have you ever just woke up like, fatter?

And she's like “what do you mean?”

And I'm like, do you ever just like “get fat overnight” and she's like

“I don't know what you're saying.”

This is LA, by the way.

And I'm like,

“Okay, so the pants I was wearing yesterday— like, yesterday— “

She's like

“The ones with the— “

“Yeah.”

“The ones you always wear?”

“Exactly. So I woke up today, and they like— didn't fit.”

She's like “that's strange— are you bloated?”

I'm like “am I what?”

She goes “bloated—you know?”

I'm like “I don't know. What's this?”

She goes “you're probably bloated; its just gas”

I'm like “gas”

She's like “it can make— you know— you've never been bloated?”

Than I'm like, reaching into the crevices of my mind, thinking back to all those commercials when I was a kid

Where the lady would have like a pot belly, like struggling with her zipper and frowning a lot like — pretty much the same as I had just that morning and my friend goes

“Yeah, you're probably bloated.”

I'm like mortified. I spent my entire life thinking this was something that just didn't t happen to me, but as it turns out, I just couldn't notice! At a certain point, all my clothes were elastic. I never realized, I thought growing up that I just couldn't bloat! I thought I was special. Turns out I was just not able to notice and now—I realize—the smaller you get— the more you notice.

“So that's what they mean”

That shit is a crime!

So I stopped eating so much processed foods and stuff

Started really watching it, eventually started working out a lot.

I had to get my heart like, stomped on for that last part.

Dude I liked, started dating a fitness model.

Yeah. Ow.

You know since then I've belonged to ever major fitness club in the world.

Bless your heart, son.

I can hardly skip a day.

Sometimes, I do take it easier than usual, though—you know— it's hard to sit in your apartment after two hours of cardio and really focus on anything.

So every once and awhile when I really need to get shit don't I just relax and know that I'm never more than a week away from peak fitness at all times.

I train hard,

It's good.

But now I realize the same thing— being extra fit—

It's like a never ending battle—

That when you're extra fit, just the smallest change to your body can affect the way it looks.

When you're cut, drinking too much water and then not sweating it off will take away some of the definition in those cuts.

It's insane!

I have a new gauging system. I'm like

“Alright, as long as this line is still evident, we're okay.” This—

I'm not gonna lie, I love being skinny.

I might let go, for a like a couple days at best but I can't let it go too long. I'm gonna be old one day—

Maybe. Possibly.

I don't know, if I stay single, I'm not getting old.

Decisions have been made.

Being old is one thing, it's like whatever

Being old and alone?! Bitterness.

Just— depressing.

I know I won't be able to work out forever, so I go as hard as I can now so that when and if the age comes on, I will know I've done my absolute best to maintain the body I've been given for this existence.

After being that heavy, it is like magic

I love being skinny.

I really love it.

I can fit into places.

I can wear things I never would have imagined wearing ever in my life.

I love it

At a certain size, certain clothes become multi wear.

I recently got this skirt that I'm sure was meant to be a pencil skirt— but I pulled it up and over everything and it just so turns out that it also happens to be— a sexy little minidress. Covers just enough— could wear it clubbing— yes. It's also a very soft fabric so I wore it to sleep, this little minidress—

Very comfortable fabric, very soft—

And when I woke up, it had hiked up and I realized “oh my god, this is also a really cute top! Yesl also a halter top. Nice.

I threw on some pants with it, and as I'm wearing it around it kind of form fits, you know, as I'm walking around, not wearing a bra with it—cause I realized this also—

The smaller you get. The less atrocious it is in general when you're not wearing a bra.

The too became a cute cop-halter. No bra. Yay weight loss! Multi-wear fashion.

I always wear a bra regardless, in public, cause I'm classy— but I realize at minimum weight, I don't really “need” to. And that's the horrible thing about being tiny— is when I'm extra ripped, like super cut— I get like a-cup mammaries.

Makes me a little sad but also makes sense, since my mom is like straight A cup, or like a B on good days.

This makes me sad, going from a GG cup to an A cup.

Scary to me, having tits that small, and it makes me sad—

But hey, what can I say?!

I like having abs, and seeing my ribs.

Oh. Ribs. That sounds good right now.

I miss ribs.

Being a vegan is alright

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

JIMMY FALLON begins twisting his fingers subtly as he points with his right hand towards the door, hardly moving at all besides his hand; the other JIMMY FALLONs stand quietly in slight confusion, until suddenly, as he turns his hand into a twisting motion, the doorknob begins to slowly open; they look on in awe and bewilderment as an office clerk slowly enters the room as the door springs open, she walks slowly to the center of the room; startled, some of them begin to frantically stir as if they've been caught (there are, after all, about 20 of them), but, realizing the woman seems to be in a strange daze or trance of some sort, they look on in amazement, as she stands at the center of the office, just staring forward.

Nice of you to join us.

It is, nice, isn't it?

Nice weather we're having?

Very; in fact, I didn't even need to bring along my sweater.

I see. That is a very nice blouse you're wearing.

Why, thank you! It was a Christmas present.

I don't get it. Where's the dummy?

You are the dummy, idiot.

Don't be mean.

That is such a nice gift; you look very nice.

Why thank you, Jimmy!

Why don't you pull up a chair and let's talk for awhile.

Well, alright.

[she moves over towards the table and slides a chair back into the center of the room; meanwhile, JIMMY FALLON has done less at all than to wiggle his fingers a bit towards the woman, not moving the rest of his body at all.]

*gasps*

(Whispering under his breath)

“Spirit fingers”

Shh, be quiet.

Please, sit.

If you insist!

[with the flick of a finger, the woman flops into the seat.]

What the— shhh

Now, tell me your name again.

Margret.

That's a nice name; Margret. How long have you been working here Margret?

Oh, only 6 weeks—but I sure do like it.

I'm glad you like it here, Margret. Do you plan on stay with us long?

Oh, no—not long—

Oh, really?

No. Not at all.

How much longer?

Got to go!

[she darts up and leaves the office, still dazed and robotically walking, though hurriedly.]

Bye now!

[she shuts the door behind her—JIMMY FALLON shakes out his hand and stretches his neck and fingers, sighing a sigh of relief.]

Ahem.

[the other JIMMY FALLON's stand in amazement and awe in total silence, staring with wide eyes (and hash judgements)

…ta-dah…

Ahem.

[more silence for a beat, before one particular Jimmy loses his mind with excitement

DUDE THAT WAS AWESOME—

—thank you.

HOW DID YOU—

—HOW DID YOU DO THAT?

…you know how.

I don't get it—

I didn't even see any strings, or any.

The strings are in your mind.

I don't—get it.

It just takes practice.

…what kind of “practice” is that, anyway?

Now that we have singularity, we have to figure out where the portal opens in each respective dimension

—before the wormhole—

—before the wormhole.

Fine, whatever.

You called it.

Jimmy Fallon is a God.

What: for what.

I don't know.

Okay, you earned it.

What? Earned what?

It's just your luck kid—you're a star.

What is that supposed to mean?

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Are you copying me?

“Are you copying me?”

Why are you copying me?

“Why are you copying me?”

*dissappears*

Hey, what the—

Now you copy me.

Copy what?! Disappear?!

*nothing*

Hello?

*still nothing*

Am I supposed to disappear?!

*nothing*

HELLO?!

Young Jimmy Fallon returns to his playmates.

THERE HE IS!

WHERE DID YOU GO?

What do you mean?! I was just—

Where have you been this whole time?!

That took forever

What do you mean.

You just dissappeared.

Eventually—

Eventually maybe someone else will want to fill in some blanks.

Dang. Out. Like a light.

Yep. It's been hours.

Where did you find him.

He was—

Ugh— ugh.

Under a table.

What?!

Are you kidding?

What table?

Craft services.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Lifetime lifetime,

We finna make a movie

These motorcycles mad,

But they probably wanna do me

X ray vision can't shit see through me

Rubber to the glue stick to you,

I'm the blū c

Lifetime lifetime,

Talking bout fitness

Run over your head,

Like I know you won't get this

Blū bleed red, hope the white get the message

Haunted by the past,

Like a Christmas present

Lifetime, lifetime

Finna make a movie

If currency the truth,

The. You probably owe me to be

Shakespeare write here I choose to be

Temporary focus, so you probably finna lose me

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Pull the chord;

For a slice of the vein is all I ask,

Release of the tide with each stroke to be free

Lil biscuits

I don't watch justin timberlake videos–

But this one time in Las Vegas I was getting my nails done,

And became entranced by this video where

Justin Timberlake is just being

mad weird,

In a room full of mirrors.

And i was like

“damn.”

So,

I go to look up this video—

You know, years later,

just cause–

Or whatever,

And so I type into Google,

I'm like,

Google,

What is that one music video with Justin timberlake and the mirrors?

And Google was like,

“Oh, do you mean, “Mirrors”

And I'm like,

“duh”

“That must have been it.”

So i click on the video and I start watching it,

And i'm like,

“This doesn't seem familiar at all.”

I don't think this is the video.

So i click out of this video, and i'm like

How in the fuck am I supposed to find this video, if that one,

Isn't the right one–

And that's the only song called “mirrors.”

So i'm like,

Okay.

Maybe if I can just —

Look through the videos,

I'll be able to find the video

So i'm looking through all the videos

The Justin Timberlake videos

And low and behold–

It's just hundreds of pictures of this dude's face–

Like hundreds of the same picture,

Pretty much,

At different angles.

I'm like

“fuck.”

I couldn't find it.

“What a douche.”

—but Whatever.

I just decided to let it keep bothering me

Because nothing feels more weird than just

Sifting through a decade's worth of Justin Timberlake videos.

Trying to find

“The one”.

I'll be honest,

I'm not even actually here right now.

I checked the fuck out

Puppet, I'm still the one pulling the strings

The only difference is

I stopped giving an actual fuck about anything.

I give mysel hugs

I choke on my tears

I hold in my coughs

I don't want a dog anymore

Stopped talking to god out loud

I'm sure in my house there's recorders

Nothing comes for free

No reorders on Amazon

We should close the borders

Until the economy recovers, though.

I'll be honest,

I don't give a fuck

I'll double back for a cappachino

And soft serve

Just let go

And stop giving your all

When all that they want

Is your hard earned

Nobody will love you,

Not really

–if youre not perfect

You don't want the whole world,

Not all, at all

But just something luxuries

Maybe just border collies

dalmations

Dachshunds

And dolphins

Maybe corgis

And corkboards

And crosswords

And lone wolves

Where's your perfect body

Emergency c section

You must be full of regrets and lesions

Should i pour a cup

And start the tattoo gun

Yes, sargeant

How's that pageant turning out

Do you love my bamboo guitar?

I've got a hot dog and a half on a cold soda and steak fries in the oven,

If you're coming over

I'm late now,

but now i've got nothing to hold in

I let it all go

I let it all go

I let it all go back

I let it all go

I let it all go

I let it all go

I let it all go bad

I don't want a family or love at all

I just want to die, now

All i see anymore is brass rings

And all i hear is the Hollywood talk

The upper class dialogue

I shouldn't talk anymore at all

She's in so much pain

–she lives inside my head,

Inside my mind now

She lived inside my back

And then my heart,

My voice

But now has moved

Between my eyes

And wants to die

As do I

I think i might be the devil.

I'm ugly and crude,

But worst of all

stupid

Just stop at the eyes,

And don't look downwards

I don't have a part

I don't have lines at all

I think she might be a God

–I'm forgotten though.

These aren't words to a song,

They're just mantras

How does it feel to be beautiful?

How does it feel to be loved at all

By anyone who matters?

So long goes

Lunch Box Jimmy

Gone from the faraway world you come

Won't be long now,

Lunch Box Jimmy

I don't belong;

This, we all know

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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