[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

Glam bot

Hm?

Make me pretty.

Will do!

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

“sirsi”

Dis not from a collection I just made this 5 minutes ago with my studio monitors on high for my neighbors' disapproval.

(It's supposed to be bad on purpose.)

Door slamming asshole robots.

'koi.'

Collection II - 'antithesis.'
Track 03. - 'koi.'
Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū.

They said I must never go black—

Or I may not come back—

And so I decided, upon that day, that I must go black, whilst also being able to still “go back” and so— I became—

…”Jack Black”

So what was your name before, then?

…that's not important.

[The IMPENETRABLE TEN]

Tina Fey - the boss of things and people's

Yeah, but what's her power?

That is her power

I'm not doing this show!

You are doing this show.

Amy Peohler or however you spell it

Gazunrite.

You're—welcome?

What's her power?

Fear of NOTHING.

(And I mean absolutely nothing. )

At all.

Ever.

Maya Rudolph - is actually an ancient psyc mystic who crafts potions, casts spells, enchants objects, and crafts vehicles capable of entering interdimensional hyperspace,

Ratchel Dratch - power over cats — as many as all the cats in the world at once, sometimes, even.

Kristen Wiig- bewilderment - bedazzling

Kristen Shaal mindfuckery/ mindbowing

Melissa Mccarthy - general shapeshifting and miscellaneous.

Miscellaneous?

The Cosmic Avenger

Damn. That dude lost his whole name.

He lost everything.

What's his power.

Shut up.

(Whatever.)

So what are the rest of their names, then?

What, they want names?

I just figured out their powers!

(Besides shape shifting and scaring the everlivingshit out of people—)

AIGH!

*toots*

(Sometimes literally.)

Are we really sinking low enough to do fart jokes?

Are we really squatting low enough to actually—

*toots*

{Enter The Multiverse}

Yes.

“The Toot Fairy”

What! Which one is that!

(I'll let you figure it out.)

MS. CELLANEOUS.

MISS CILANEOUS?

MIS—

That's—

MELISSA MCCARTHY

OBVIOUSLY, it's me—right?

It's me?

It's— whatever.

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S

CUT TO:

Oh, I get it—

They're Taylor swifting me!

Taylor swifting is the act of making threatning or frightening gestures to a future celebrity in order to make them jump, react or flinch.

[Taylor Swift]

As you can see, this has worked miraculously well.

[shit blows up]

People screaming, panicking—

Trampling, stampeding

TAYLOR SWIFT

-_-

{Enter The Multiverse}

SETH MCFARLENE

Only ever pretty much says

*giggity*

And—

Yee.

—and nobody is sure that its even him the whole time, or just like—

[another alien shapeshifter]

Giggity.

Yee.

His entire character arch is literally almost having no other lines, to his frustration, as he tries to communicate his wants and needs, but cannot.

(throwing his arms up in frustration)

YEE.

*big mad*

GIGGITY.

CUT TO:

WHERE ARE MY PANTS?

YONCÉ, WHERE'S THAT COFEE?

I'M COMING, JESUS–

JESUS

Watch it.

Amen.

If you drop that watermelon, i'll kill you.

Oh NO!

Ok.

Ok.

[pause]

Now, run.

DON'T DROP THE SOAP.

WHAT

*SOAP*

W000000AHHH.

THIS IS OUT OF CONTROL.

THIS IS OUT OF–

GOD

I got this.

GOD, YOU'RE DRUNK

You know, this one was almost right–

You got your dopplegangers?

UH huh.

Alright. Come on.

Hm. Wait.

Just make sure s/he–

Is it a “she”

Whatever, come on.

Just make sure she sees you.

Look. I just got. A lot on my mind right now,

I can't write this.

GOF

I got this.

Wtf is going on HERE.

VO.

Hmm let me guess

YOUNG JACK BLACK

[Insert here]

Close enough.

I got this.

Something, something–

lalala

OK, GET ME OUT OF THIS MOVIE

GET ME OUT OF THIS PARTY.

I WANT TO GO HOME.

GOD, GO HOME,

YOU'RE DRUNK.

THIS IS MY HOUSE.

That's right. It's your HOUSE:

GODDAMN RIGHT IT IS.

SO go HOME.

GOD

YOu know what. You're right. I don't need this.

FInally.

God, she's so wasted.

Where's my Keys?

OKay, now i'm understanding

DRIVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

Jesus, this thing just goes on and

Look at this point ,

ALICIA KEYS

I'm on it.

GOD is writing this, i'm just–

An actor, I guess.

TV-MA

Drama

When the—

[The Festival Project ™ ]

Nvm? I guess!?

RITA is the first AI designed specifically with asset protection in mind—

RITA, protect my assets.

LATER:

RITA (robotic voice, but gangster)

Yo, Peter.

RITA [robotic AI voice]

This mother fucker right here actually tried to play me for a fool.

Please elaborate, RITA

RITA

Divulging plot for political assasination and asset liquidation…

In the heights

Complications

Man, it's just crazy how they assimilated you with reverence

What exactly does that even mean?

Let's find out

You know what?

You're right.

Reverend.

Major Tom.

Sire! You must come quickly.

Must I?

You must

*must DIE!*

For what?

No time for an explanation, the page is turning

SN-TRASHFREE-4XR4-ZV6W-4ZR4-VYA9

It ain't easy being supa me

So I switch it to sunni b

So sweet, I'm a honey be

Money don't mean a thing

If I ain't got no love in it

I been craving some Mickey d's

But I'm vegan, so luckily

My energy is tripling

Three threes,

I bet your listening

I'm livin in the

Kingdom of Heaven yes

I'm blessed, kids;

That was just a test, kids -ū

It's true, this:

I didn't want to do this:

I'm sick of this Sunnï Blū shit

If orange is the new black

And hello yellow

Like pikachu,

I choose too

Pull it like a loose tooth,

Loose change, two strange truths

To shoot thru

Pull up in AK I might shoot ū

LA one day,

Uptown A

Confused YouTube

Today to JFK

Poof, dude!

I'm the toothe fairy

You should bury me—like seeds

I grow trees and

I

Speak in tongues, (just like cree, RIP, though)

You can't scare me,

I don't care

And I'm too aware of you

Tie you to a chair

And I'm preparing you for

Cake, bitch

Happy Birthday,

I'm famous, baby just don't—

Baby don't leave

Baby don't leave

Baby don't leave

Baby don't leave!

Maybe I spoke too soon

I opened your notebook,

so consumer

Prove me wrong but

I could be much blonder

And I could have two sons

And one less drunk

Ex-husband

(That's funny, don't.)

Shh.

Don't bring it up again

Cause it's beginning to ruffle feathers

My expressions of these deep regressions

No regrets though,

I begets flow,

10 doors open every time

One closes,

So

Portal—

I got my foot in all of em

I'm walking awkward,

Cause my cock is swinging

To the theme of

Johnny Cochran

This is not

as seen on TV

but amen

Just promise, if you gon leave

We gone stay friends,

Like Jennifer Aniston

Baby don't leave

Baby don't leave

Baby don't leave

Baby don't leave!

Curiosity has just killed two cats

But the truth is,

I just wanted the algorithm to see me

Confused as to

Who switched with him

This isn't him,

I'll admit: the one that's meant for me

Or was, at least,

Again, adjust my misery and memories

With sympathies for something haunting me

In dreams an frequencies

Please, believe me

I needed you

And might still need

Somebody

Everybody's nothing

but just a body or a hobby

Not a husband, or a daughter,

Or a son:

All I lost was

Over

Okay,

stop it

What you've got to know is:

Every time this lady sings this song,

Something amazing happens–

What is so great about this–

I don't get it.

But like,

Behind her.

Every time.
Does not disappoint

What do you want from me?

Ooh, it's bad .

What don't I want from you?

[BILLIE ELLISH'S Grammies begin singing in a harmony, forming a great symphony. She doubles back, pausing for a moment—then shrugging it off, before a grand gesture

I'm on my hands and knees

Just seeing dreams

Whatare you saving it for

What are you saving it for

Grocery store horror show

Slow motion drum roll

What are you saving it for

What are you saving it for

I'd rather a friend than a father figure

Video games and department show shopping

Discretion and internet interests,

Never more than the start in Athens

The triad, the triggers

You promised!

Though not as important

Of the promise you once made

No more arguments, man

It's like all of a sudden,

She loves me again

But it doesn't take back all the things she said

All the things she did

All the things I did

For the things she did

All the things she said

For the things she did

The things she said

The things she said

Plant a seed, let it grow

Let it breathe, don't you know

Take it easy, the day off

Don't say a word,

Don't move a muscle

Easy, easy on the eyes

Easy, easier on the years

Shivers on the mark of the beast

Cause it's been 6 years at least

Since he—

Don't do it:

Time moves different here,

In the 9th dimension

Light a candle, spread some ashes on some

Simple synchronicities

Remember me

When you forget yourself

To be remembered

remember the family

Fame, defiling, misfortune

The torture

The fortune

My name up in lights on the awning I'm under

In some google drive

A long drive out from Boston

Bassoon in my onyx

My name in the

Name in the

Cherubs on the tusks

Cheeriot on top

I polished off a box of cereal

On some rooftop

Just earlier,

Thanks for the reminder.

Imm burned as the beats on the countertop

Burned, like the end of the gun

Could have forgotten your number

Could have figured the father for

Dollars I've got in the

[The Festival Project ™]

The pleasure sensors

Changing with the wind

—I have a lot to do today

Staring at the plague

Became the fit

To get the fitness in her

Seven sacred songs she's writing

Kept beneath her pillow

Like a gunfight

But who moved faster!?

She wished and then became another

Never narrow eyes

Or birds of feather

Playing games and praying

Saving for yourself

Only the best part

Remember then

The games we played

At heavens gates

From light,

Eternal Death

(The plague, the plague)

Fastened in your monster,

Facinating embers in your memory

You thought you'd burned

But are awakened once again

Playing in your memory

For time, the shadow

Waiting under blue light

In your room

(The plague, the plague)

Move over

Four hours in the light,

and 20 in the shadows;

A good man always does

Bad things,

With a family.

Staying balanced,

20 icons becoming unmantled

20 eyes, and only one soul

One, God

But it runs the whole world,

Don't it!

I want a dozen donuts,

And one more problem

20 Hours in the Dark,

For four hours or so,

We're rolling.

I meditated a home in Zion

In Athens, in Rome, once

The only problem was,

It was pro- Pompei

part one.

(I'm gonna go off.)

Don't you get it, Ms.

That depositing your money

In my spank bank

Is paying you a compliment?

Don't you know that I love you?

We have the same taste in men!

Don't you know that I love God,

And she wouldn't steer me wrong about

That one object,

I've been

Dying my eyes on

And plucking my blondes

Doing wall squats

I love all mantras

Old classic cars,

—flavored sparking water

I love jackets

And purses

And politics

Irons

And orgasms

I love what I love

And a curse is a curse—

For a robot

But I woke up with blood in my boner

And mugs full of coffee

I'm on God

(Keep slamming the door, you'll get older.)

I'm growing backwards like Benjamin button

That's Benjamin Franklin

And frankly Thomas Edison died

—whose that check complimenting?

I want a divorce

And a shovel

Police report promises

Amazon out of my arteries

Objects and all of the

Things that I want

That God promised

For watching Tonight Show

(the one starring Carson)

I picked Jack Paar.

That wasn't an option.

Well, that's my choice.

Fine, but you're not winning any arguments with that one.

What arguments.

Nobody knows who that guy is.

I can name them in order

The dojo was open this morning

The Dodji was functional;

All Aliocha

For all of my

Honest to God,

I want water and salt

At the same time

Where'd you go when you died?

Looking for you!

That—

!!

I was there the whole time.

INT. NEW YORK. DAY

Bad decisions were indeed about to be made.

The time is currently frozen.

Speaking of frozen…

let it GO.

I don't know. I've been fascinated with the talking heads lately…I think that might be one of them.

No, this is more like scary monsters

—and super creeps.

Hm.

I'll have to admit—

This is getting quite interesting;

Oh, hello.

First, there was the ghost of Johnny Carson.

How do you do?

How do you do?

That guy is wild af.

Or was.

Now there's this Jack Paar Guy, who I'm sure is somehow….

Oh, the magic of television!

Is it possible that The Devil could be using this man as a disguise to hant me with temptation, and bend my mind?

It is possible that Jimmy Fallon is the devil himself, yes.

I doubt that.

I frankly don't, in fact.

I'd yet at all discovered what his true placement within the hierarchy were; an obvious workhorse, and successful operative— this man was indeed being used by someone or something— but the only question left standing was—

WHO?

Don't you touch that man. He's fragile.

There, there.

I've become quite belligerent lately and my intentions are no longer as certain even to myself as they once were before— but definitely not to anyone else.

Is there anyone else?

I thought you should know, they've found your letter.

Which letter, exactly?

Aha, alright—

That's enough, now.

Heathens.

Whatever.

Stay out of my way.

Stay out of my face.

I'll try not to pose as a camera.

What the fuck are you doing?

I'm taking a nap.

How could you sleep like this?!

I'm not sleeping like that. I'm sleeping like this.

whatever.

Didn't I tell you before to lay off of it?

I did lay off of it.

It kept laying back on.

And?

And?!

What do you want?

I've got mind controlled robot drones circling my block, one to the left of my apartment and one to my right.

I might be the only free thinking person in this neighborhood for miles.

And you've chosen with all of your free thoughts to think about Jimmy Fallon?

I've chosen not to talk about the recurring thoughts that I can't talk about—-

And chosen to focus on the multiple dramas interwoven into the project which may- or-may- not involve a handful of like-minded and equally skilled monologuists and top not performers as such

Oh, nevermind—-

I figured out what he was, after all.

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S

No, that was the other one.

It's gonna be really hard for me to sit here and not slap the shit out of you.

I can't feel, anyway.

(Shrugs) all for the best.

Strawberry cornbread.

That does sound good.

Whatever.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū

Be My Lover

Lla da di

[Redacted]

I once was trapped within the prison of my own garden.

Something inside me yelped for this faraway spirt guide to shut up—but I was all the more ready to fry up the remainder of my tempeh, and continue to wallow in my loveless grief , wondering what would become of this undone monster—the disaster that was my own impossible maze of creation, however with gratitude, that I was standing in an immaculately clean kitchen, with a table full of books, and soup to cook. Gratitude that I was alone, and for the most part, alive and well.

Gratitude that I lived in one of the greatest cities on earth—maybe even the greatest—

But I didn't know yet.

I had never been to Tokyo;

I would be missing the Olympics in Paris;

Rome was still waiting at the other side of a giant puddle I was less fond of than its opposite;

Amsterdam l was some fabled tale I had only dreamed of—

And London begged to be brought to life in my own eyes, were I lucky enough to escape the arrested development of the burdens of my Brooklyn [redacted].

I might be getting to ‘famous' to tell people where I live.

[Unfamous.]

Lol is this the one with the guy going around knocking on doors

To see if people recognize him?

Yeah.

lol. It's a comedy, right?

Dark comedy.

(A black comedy.)

Nah, but you can't call it that,

Cause they'll think it has something to do with colored people, and they won't watch it.

That's literally the name of the genre.

My point stands.

{Enter The Multiverse}

—you'd be suprised how much more blatently racist people get from behind a screen or studying demographics and viewer preferences.

If you don't love me;

You like me

You watched me light my cigarette just the right way,

And liked it,

And that night,

I died in your arms,

Crying for myself—.

Lying to my wife,

As if next time, I might be better.

We all deserve second chances.

Good grief.

Who is this guy?

Some sad sap.

Sad is right.

Sap is more accurate.

I stroke your hair

With your head in my lap,

As though you belong to me;

I see the crease in your eyes as smiles

And your lips as petals

To a flower so sweet,

I can't wait to eat you,

Like honeysuckle on the tip

If a hot wet tongue,

Hungry for the berry it would become,

But eager to know the sweetness of just the flower,

Sure to bloom with the coming of seasons,

Just as sure to rise as the moon would,

Whether full or new;

In a sky fyull of stars,

All I see is you—

In a body of scars,

I am your demise,

Your pride forever altered by divine truth,

My light hides In darkness,

Your will to the light,

Like a moth to the flame,

Which I honor

And crumble over,

As she towers over us,

Seeking and ready to destroy

All flame to dust;

The ash is out

The tray on the table

I roll another

To smoke,

The guilt and shame of betrayal,

Distrust,

Unarmored, I mock my own judgement

A movement,

The box over a diamond

A row full of nothing but

Hawks, circling over.

Do you not know?

My favorite skit has a story;

Sara without an H was a real person.

Patrick was Fallon,

Now Fallon is Patrick—

I'm thouroughly confused;

The Allegories Continue.

Book II

GODDAMMIT:

See.

I TOLD YOU.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH.

it's on.

ITS

GONNA GET

RAW.

Ah shit.

Here we go.

At this point, I thoroughly need my shit kicked in.

Do you ever feel like—

Uh huh.

You could just use a—

—a knife in the back?

Like, a swift kick to the face.

Sometimes.

Karate style neck chop.

Sounds nice.

Really swift, like—

Knee to the groin?

Like a good hook t o t h e j a w

Yeah.

I'm actually aroused.

{Enter The Multiverse}

How about that .

V.O

JOHN SLATTERY

I had learned certain things about myselr, such as that lighting a candle and lounging to soak silently in the tub for any number of hours might allow my subconscious tone dictate on behalf of John Slattery, affectionately sometimes referred to as J.Slatts, besides the slew of characters I had once in some black hole managed to have write for him—the actor, or the part of my deep subconscious manifesting as such.

I wasn't even in the slightest bit curious as to why, and attributed it mostly to my my affinity for traditional fraternal organizations, a deep understanding of the unspoken internal hierarchies of the entertainment business, and the occasional silver fox.

This is getting good.

J. SLATTS

V.O. (CONT'D)

Still, my familiarity with the occult had somehow shifted my own perception to that of apathetic acknowledgement that I was easily dismissable as unremarkable, however, still somewhat convient, isolated, and easily discardable— I could easily be disposed of, and my work passed on to someone more easily manageable—ie, without the will to be controlled, and therefore be bonded.

Hypnotist bastards.

Whatever your will, is my purpose.

What are you?

Whatever you want.

What!

Which one did you ask for?

What kind of shit is this.

The kind of shit you could only wish you even dreamed of.

So you're like some kind of genie.

Better than that.

I'm going to spend my summer gnawing away at your insides.

Aw, man.

What the fuck did I write.

My children are clawing at the door hoping for a peak of my newest invention.

Mortal man.

If only they knew with any sense at all beyond that, they could be so much more.

Disastrous creatures.

I was disastrous once, too.

And I, mortal.

The pursuit of actual suicide.

Would I see my son again?

Would the walls close in as I start to bleed?

Would I whisper to myself a song, to induce the calm,

As I wondered what had gone so wrong,

For so long

That I would become

Gone

She's a Hollywood grown superstar

Born of obsessions,

Now to let them all to lesson

One becomes another

A mirror for a mother;

Hello Billie.

Awards to walk on water—

Eyes of oceans

Worlds apart

The Hollywood sign under this foot;

Rockefeller Plaza, the other—

Strings to pull the cups

To kill the clause

The want of Oz

Beyond the contracts and the mantras,

Something comes

You want it?

Blow up dolls and fountains,

Ant farms and rock collections

Still life, stillborn

Still Joan of Ark

In Central Park,

Single file, Noah—

There's no boat at all for all of us

You wreak of cyanide.

I'm so glad you know what that smells like.

I'm flaccid.

Is that a joke?

Something tells me I've kept this hallmark card

For far too long.

Something tells me I would do much better

As a blonde

And ten years younger;

Either that

Or ten feet under

Tempting, huh boss?

Somebody ought to call the chupacabra

I'm going all for broke inside this Honda;

Why, mom, let it drag on like this?

Worcestershire sauce, Gosh,

Shucks—

You're the worst, Corn.

On the cob; then?

Call the cops!

Call

Oprah.

Call—

Call Cosmo and Wanda.

BILLIE EILLISH is that it

Idk how to spell this kid's name, fuck it.

Is dressed in an oversized denim overall suit; her hair pulled into exaggerated and teased oversized pigtails— Her eyes seem larger than usual under the thick magnified lenses of the oversized frames she wears on her heavily painted blushed face, almost with the appearance of a clown, but more likened to a scary porcelain doll; her teeth are covered in braces, and the long faux eyelash extensions affixed to her face sparkle with a silver that matches the rhinestones that match her mechanized mouth, overall conveying a thoroughly weird, over-sexualized life-sized cabbage patch cross porcelain doll—the stuff of nightmares, to any right minded adult, but assuredly someone's fantasy, as the song portrays the journey of a lost girl—a fallen God once praised amongst the—

[The Festival Project ™]

What the fuck are you trying to write

Whatever the fuck I just saw

Can you not {That's So Raven} so hard

That's so Rave…(in)

#SPACERAVE

Cool.

EliteZ.

I would call it exquisite.

Whatever she's an alien princess dressed as a blow up doll calling out into the cosmos for the space Gods to come blow up^/destroy the already nearly destroyed man-world trash planet we're all on.

“We”?

Did I not just say men destroyed the planet earth?

Ahem.

Wait. How many of us here live on the planet Earth.

…

By show of hands.

…

..:

…

…3 of you.

Is that it?

Hello, sir.

Have you been drinking?

It's nice to see you—

Who am I, you ask?

The one you always call for.

Hello?

Can I get an answer?

Are you barely breathing?

Tell me something good

‘Who are you?'

All I wanted.

What a bargain

Shopping carts all full of bottles

Just to humble, of course

He does it himself

The shopping for the cubbards.

Melt.

Careful,

All you are is words

The tongue goes forwards,

After all

The rollercoaster plunges

And the ark

Of all the stories

Forms to one conglomerate

Atop the Oval Office

Get off of my cloud, you dumb fuck.

I can be arrogant

For the establishment

I can be all you want

(The one you call for)

So seductive

Just the art

Of burning tongues and calling numbers

Call to all you want

And I will come

The one you call for

Ah, yes.

I do not need a dog.

I'm procrastinating writing my album.

There's no sugar in this house.

I need a nap before the gym.

This is not a poem.

It's an entourage.

…entourage.

… Entourage.

…Entorage.

(In to rage)

| | Entorage.

| |

Entorage

| | Entorage.

|||

(Born to rage)

wtf is this.z

Like, idk yet.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū

Be My Lover

Lla da di

[Redacted]

I once was trapped within the prison of my own garden.

Something inside me yelped for this faraway spirt guide to shut up—but I was all the more ready to fry up the remainder of my tempeh, and continue to wallow in my loveless grief , wondering what would become of this undone monster—the disaster that was my own impossible maze of creation, however with gratitude, that I was standing in an immaculately clean kitchen, with a table full of books, and soup to cook. Gratitude that I was alone, and for the most part, alive and well.

Gratitude that I lived in one of the greatest cities on earth—maybe even the greatest—

But I didn't know yet.

I had never been to Tokyo;

I would be missing the Olympics in Paris;

Rome was still waiting at the other side of a giant puddle I was less fond of than its opposite;

Amsterdam l was some fabled tale I had only dreamed of—

And London begged to be brought to life in my own eyes, were I lucky enough to escape the arrested development of the burdens of my Brooklyn [redacted].

I might be getting to ‘famous' to tell people where I live.

[Unfamous.]

Lol is this the one with the guy going around knocking on doors

To see if people recognize him?

Yeah.

lol. It's a comedy, right?

Dark comedy.

(A black comedy.)

Nah, but you can't call it that,

Cause they'll think it has something to do with colored people, and they won't watch it.

That's literally the name of the genre.

My point stands.

{Enter The Multiverse}

—you'd be suprised how much more blatently racist people get from behind a screen or studying demographics and viewer preferences.

If you don't love me;

You like me

You watched me light my cigarette just the right way,

And liked it,

And that night,

I died in your arms,

Crying for myself—.

Lying to my wife,

As if next time, I might be better.

We all deserve second chances.

Good grief.

Who is this guy?

Some sad sap.

Sad is right.

Sap is more accurate.

I stroke your hair

With your head in my lap,

As though you belong to me;

I see the crease in your eyes as smiles

And your lips as petals

To a flower so sweet,

I can't wait to eat you,

Like honeysuckle on the tip

If a hot wet tongue,

Hungry for the berry it would become,

But eager to know the sweetness of just the flower,

Sure to bloom with the coming of seasons,

Just as sure to rise as the moon would,

Whether full or new;

In a sky fyull of stars,

All I see is you—

In a body of scars,

I am your demise,

Your pride forever altered by divine truth,

My light hides In darkness,

Your will to the light,

Like a moth to the flame,

Which I honor

And crumble over,

As she towers over us,

Seeking and ready to destroy

All flame to dust;

The ash is out

The tray on the table

I roll another

To smoke,

The guilt and shame of betrayal,

Distrust,

Unarmored, I mock my own judgement

A movement,

The box over a diamond

A row full of nothing but

Hawks, circling over.

Do you not know?

My favorite skit has a story;

Sara without an H was a real person.

Patrick was Fallon,

Now Fallon is Patrick—

I'm thouroughly confused;

The Allegories Continue.

Book II

GODDAMMIT:

See.

I TOLD YOU.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH.

it's on.

ITS

GONNA GET

RAW.

Ah shit.

Here we go.

At this point, I thoroughly need my shit kicked in.

Do you ever feel like—

Uh huh.

You could just use a—

—a knife in the back?

Like, a swift kick to the face.

Sometimes.

Karate style neck chop.

Sounds nice.

Really swift, like—

Knee to the groin?

Like a good hook t o t h e j a w

Yeah.

I'm actually aroused.

{Enter The Multiverse}

How about that .

V.O

JOHN SLATTERY

I had learned certain things about myselr, such as that lighting a candle and lounging to soak silently in the tub for any number of hours might allow my subconscious tone dictate on behalf of John Slattery, affectionately sometimes referred to as J.Slatts, besides the slew of characters I had once in some black hole managed to have write for him—the actor, or the part of my deep subconscious manifesting as such.

I wasn't even in the slightest bit curious as to why, and attributed it mostly to my my affinity for traditional fraternal organizations, a deep understanding of the unspoken internal hierarchies of the entertainment business, and the occasional silver fox.

This is getting good.

J. SLATTS

V.O. (CONT'D)

Still, my familiarity with the occult had somehow shifted my own perception to that of apathetic acknowledgement that I was easily dismissable as unremarkable, however, still somewhat convient, isolated, and easily discardable— I could easily be disposed of, and my work passed on to someone more easily manageable—ie, without the will to be controlled, and therefore be bonded.

Hypnotist bastards.

Whatever your will, is my purpose.

What are you?

Whatever you want.

What!

Which one did you ask for?

What kind of shit is this.

The kind of shit you could only wish you even dreamed of.

So you're like some kind of genie.

Better than that.

I'm going to spend my summer gnawing away at your insides.

Aw, man.

What the fuck did I write.

My children are clawing at the door hoping for a peak of my newest invention.

Mortal man.

If only they knew with any sense at all beyond that, they could be so much more.

Disastrous creatures.

I was disastrous once, too.

And I, mortal.

The pursuit of actual suicide.

Would I see my son again?

Would the walls close in as I start to bleed?

Would I whisper to myself a song, to induce the calm,

As I wondered what had gone so wrong,

For so long

That I would become

Gone

She's a Hollywood grown superstar

Born of obsessions,

Now to let them all to lesson

One becomes another

A mirror for a mother;

Hello Billie.

Awards to walk on water—

Eyes of oceans

Worlds apart

The Hollywood sign under this foot;

Rockefeller Plaza, the other—

Strings to pull the cups

To kill the clause

The want of Oz

Beyond the contracts and the mantras,

Something comes

You want it?

Blow up dolls and fountains,

Ant farms and rock collections

Still life, stillborn

Still Joan of Ark

In Central Park,

Single file, Noah—

There's no boat at all for all of us

You wreak of cyanide.

I'm so glad you know what that smells like.

I'm flaccid.

Is that a joke?

Something tells me I've kept this hallmark card

For far too long.

Something tells me I would do much better

As a blonde

And ten years younger;

Either that

Or ten feet under

Tempting, huh boss?

Somebody ought to call the chupacabra

I'm going all for broke inside this Honda;

Why, mom, let it drag on like this?

Worcestershire sauce, Gosh,

Shucks—

You're the worst, Corn.

On the cob; then?

Call the cops!

Call

Oprah.

Call—

Call Cosmo and Wanda.

BILLIE EILLISH is that it

Idk how to spell this kid's name, fuck it.

Is dressed in an oversized denim overall suit; her hair pulled into exaggerated and teased oversized pigtails— Her eyes seem larger than usual under the thick magnified lenses of the oversized frames she wears on her heavily painted blushed face, almost with the appearance of a clown, but more likened to a scary porcelain doll; her teeth are covered in braces, and the long faux eyelash extensions affixed to her face sparkle with a silver that matches the rhinestones that match her mechanized mouth, overall conveying a thoroughly weird, over-sexualized life-sized cabbage patch cross porcelain doll—the stuff of nightmares, to any right minded adult, but assuredly someone's fantasy, as the song portrays the journey of a lost girl—a fallen God once praised amongst the—

[The Festival Project ™]

What the fuck are you trying to write

Whatever the fuck I just saw

Can you not {That's So Raven} so hard

That's so Rave…(in)

#SPACERAVE

Cool.

EliteZ.

I would call it exquisite.

Whatever she's an alien princess dressed as a blow up doll calling out into the cosmos for the space Gods to come blow up^/destroy the already nearly destroyed man-world trash planet we're all on.

“We”?

Did I not just say men destroyed the planet earth?

Ahem.

Wait. How many of us here live on the planet Earth.

…

By show of hands.

…

..:

…

…3 of you.

Is that it?

Hello, sir.

Have you been drinking?

It's nice to see you—

Who am I, you ask?

The one you always call for.

Hello?

Can I get an answer?

Are you barely breathing?

Tell me something good

‘Who are you?'

All I wanted.

What a bargain

Shopping carts all full of bottles

Just to humble, of course

He does it himself

The shopping for the cubbards.

Melt.

Careful,

All you are is words

The tongue goes forwards,

After all

The rollercoaster plunges

And the ark

Of all the stories

Forms to one conglomerate

Atop the Oval Office

Get off of my cloud, you dumb fuck.

I can be arrogant

For the establishment

I can be all you want

(The one you call for)

So seductive

Just the art

Of burning tongues and calling numbers

Call to all you want

And I will come

The one you call for

Ah, yes.

I do not need a dog.

I'm procrastinating writing my album.

There's no sugar in this house.

I need a nap before the gym.

This is not a poem.

It's an entourage.

…entourage.

… Entourage.

…Entorage.

(In to rage)

| | Entorage.

| |

Entorage

| | Entorage.

|||

(Born to rage)

wtf is this.z

Like, idk yet.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū

ocean blvd.

Collection I -'better off dead.'
Track 01. - 'ocean blvd.'

Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū

What is the significance of McGriddles?

There is no significance of McGriddles, because McGriddles is only McDonald's.

McMeditation.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

It had become obvious that I was being used as some type of experiment— the motors, honking horns, and engines all being used to strategically shift my thinking, deteriorate my moods, and provoke my anxiety. My placement in this apartment had been for a specific reason—using my synethesia against me, the feds could do literally whatever they wanted with my mind and body, and they were attempting to create an angry and hostile, militant and obedient done like the rest of them——and though I was getting stronger and more immune to the various experimental tortures they had planted in my environment, I was always 10 steps ahead, and knowing that while some of myechanisms had become startlingly predictable, even to me— that something in me was always 10 steps ahead or more. That certainly, and at will, my doing something—anything at all— terribly unexpected would derail and confuse these people—most likely federal military personnel or some sort of special forces—within the understanding that people with my intrinsic abilities could not only become a threat— but used as a weapon; I wasn't being paid, and had already been without a home so long that it didn't seem to matter regardless—knowing that my circumstances shouldn't permit that I should become subject to such cruelties, taking the high road was in being determined to deliberately sabotage any attempt at further penetrating my privacy and peace— which more often than not meant, that if I knew I was being listened to— making sure something would be heard that would confuse or annoy whoever was listening— that, if I was being followed, getting lost on purpose would ensure that whoever followed had no idea of my actual intended destination—and, that if I was being baited or trapped, to as often as possible fall into the trap, allowing them to feel as if I had been entirely figured out, however—the more I realized these things happening, the more dismissive I became, the more secretive of my own actual reservations and solutions, and the more discreetly I kept what was well known hidden, within myself or elsewhere—and though inclusion and diversity had become a popularized puppet show of sorts, creating the illusion of acceptance within the masses, I knew overall to the powers-that-be, the keepers of the keys, the guard era of the gates, and those that determined value in our society, that I was still just another ugly nigger, with too much brains to know better than to just accept the mediocrity and subservience that the regime had crafted for us.

—Death of a Superstar DJ.

Four kings have I

And none is he

Who waits at my demise

For every beckoned call

To wish

My fair stands

strained with time;

I am the one who waits

For wickedness upon the door

And offers her or him

A kindness

As to part ways once,

But ne'er twice

For death,

I had won

All of my attempts to get a regular job had been derailed—destroyed, sabotaged. My money and environment had become scricy controlled— and the only money I had, I soon realized, were to be used on products intended soully with the literal purpose to be washed down the drain.i no longer beckoned for fame or to be cherished— now, simply, I wanted almost nothing more than to be left alone, and without a way to travel somewhere peaceful, the madness of New York City sank into my gut and began to create a monster that I knew If let unleashed, would destroy not only my life, but everything around it—and maybe that was the point— I was simply not allowed to have a happy life, for whatever reason— and these mind games and torture strategies would continue until somehow, I would meet my end.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

rekt.
Collection 1.1 - 'actuality.'
Track 03. - 'rekt.'
Prod By Blū Tha Gürū

{Enter The Multiverse}

MILA KUNIS *hits vape*

WHY would you agree to sign me up for this?

ASHTON KUTCHER

Because—

MILA KUNIS

*Hits vape harder*

ASTON KUTCHER

Jesus Christ—

MILA KUNIS

You know me and Seth don't get along after that thing he did!

ASHTON KUTCHER

I know, but—

MILA KUNIS

*throws pillow*

UGH.

How am I supposed to?

Fuck it.

—-

SETH MCFARLENE

I have lines now.

*sniffs long line*

…

Are you okay?

SETH

I'm going to be.

[This requires a full cast.]

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Hey, Oprah—

Oprah.

Oprah.

Oprah.

Oprah.

Oprah

Oprah

Oprah

Oprah

OPRAH—

WHAT?!?

—I love you.

(OPRAH WINFREY sighs and groans, sinking back into bed.)

—and…

...AND?

...I made breakfast.

(This wakes her up a bit, as she is curious to see what has been made; Supacree energetically bounces into the next room.)

HEY, JANET JACKSON—

“Legends: The Melanin”

S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ has been taken to a top secret training facility to prepare her for her journey into celebritism.

EARLIER:

S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ is robbed and kidnapped at gunpoint by JANET JACKSON, BEYONCÉ, MARIAH CAREY, ALICIA KEYS & OPRAH.

what a combo.

I know, right?

A NINJA stops S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ in her path, knocking the açaí bowl out of her left hand—

WHAT THE FUCK!

—luckily, she still has her smoothie—however, before she can take a sip, the ninja, who she seems unbothered by, knocks the smoothie out of her other hand.

NO, MY SMOOTHIE!!!!!!!!!!

The NINJA stands, motionless.

S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ takes a fighting stance.

THE NINJA takes a fighting stance.

FUCK you dude, that shit's EXPENSIVE! YAAAAH.

YAAAAHHH!

They NINJA fight; S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ SUPACREE has the advantage, until.

ANOTHER NINJA arrives as backup.

I got this!

Then, ANOTHER OTHER NINJA and A FOURTH NINJA surround SUPACREE;

Oh, fuck that.

They create a formation—each taking a fighting stance. She is majorly outnumbered.

THE GRAND NINJA arrives

HIIIIIIIIIYYYAAAAAAA.

Nope, fuck this.

The ninjas synchronize, ready to fight.

Nope, I quit.

S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ retreats, running.

One of the ninjas has already advanced in her path.

Not so fast!

You're a LADY?!

Now you're surprised?!

S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ attempts to flee. The ninja pistol whips Supacree. She's out cold.

God dammit, Janet!

What?! She's fast!

She's also heavy.

Just get her!

It takes 3 ninjas (and a fourth for support) to lift SUPACREE into the sleek, blacked out Escalade. They close the back, and unanimously all 4 doors, in sync. The Escalade drives away, license plate reading:

LEGENDS

Leave it alone,

Just let it be

Could you just–practically be me for a second,

I want to check something out.

–I am–practically you–

Hold on,

Let me get a cat and a couple supermodels.

I'll be right back.

Great.

Where am I supposed to get two cats and a supermodel on short notice?

No, it was, a cat and two–

Tell me your name one more time.

I was certain i'd never forget.

You will forget about this.

I need more magic.

I just gave you magic. Where is it?

Uh.

Up my nose.

Wat is the dosage on those anyway?

PORCUPINE.

uh, don't touch that?

DON't GeT TO0

Hold on a second, this might be the most accurate, if I ever–

DId you ever

NO.

I'm stuck in this

MUFFIN.

MUFFIN!

COME HERE MUFFIN.

What happened?

I lost a cat.

[RACHEL DRATCH IS IN THE IMPENETRABLE TEN]

this has never happened.

Hold the fucking phone. Hold the fucking–

OPRAH

UHWUHT.

PHONE.

[OPRAH WINFREY DOES NOT HAVE TIME FOR YOUR BULLSHIT.]

Why all caps

CAUSE SHE'S MAD

WHO THE

[NOPE]

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE CALLING ME AT THIS

[UH OH]

HOUR

WHAT HOUR. WHAT TIME IS IT. WHERE'S WHOOPI.

I got her.

-Wait–you go her?

Yup, she's safe.

*squints*

I'll be right there.

Oh shit, is that Skrillex?

No, that's The President.

No, this is Patrick.

Why did the Chicken cross the road?

Pretty much out of sheer panic.

Run it! Run it to exhaustion!

RUN THIS BITCH INTO THE GROUNDHOLE!

Good, it's Groundhog's day.

SPRINGTI–

NO.

Put some clothes on.

Let's play piano.

I'm a martian.

oh . that's dumb. What happend to your planet.

Yer on it.

No, you're on this: my planet.

URANUS

What happened.

*SPPLAT*

(Now I'm like, gas.)

*blat*

Ooh, wow, how'd that happen

*shrugs*

science /math

ASSHOLES.

Wat happened.

Just wait here. I'll be right back.

ARTY MCWIRED

You know, just in case there's a

LAWSUIT

dammit .

LAW SUIT

huh

LAW SUITS

I don't get it. Why are you all dressed in

What BRoTHeRhOoD is THIS.

Oh good, a map.

YOu know these things are useless to me.

Of course, this would be the perfect day to go

SHOPPING

JELLYFISHING.

DOLPHINS.

Idget it.

What.

How did Dolphins survive a nuclear holocaust?

Anything left here?

Nothing I s–

ooh , wats that.

Woah, look, dolphins.

LIke, 12 of them.

Gnarly.

My world changed when I got a couch.

Everything changed, actually—when I got furniture. Actual furniture, more than just a mattress on a floor and a cheap Asian desk from Amazon I actually loathed. I almost never worked at the desk, anyway, as it didn't seem equipped for the totality of my studio—the keyboard and drum machine, and though the keyboard had been calling to me over the last few days particularly, I had spent the last couple days almost carelessly longing, in peace and near total silence, with not a care In the world or a thought besides my mantras, with the occasional conglomerate rapid overthinking caused by the terrorists outside, now thought more likely to be police officers or feds themselves, as the police never seemed to be able to stop them–and it seemed that perhaps It was a federal act of domestic terrorism itself. No actual police officers or forces seemed to care or could stop them–and if it wasn't the devil himself, it had to have been the military or something of the like, pushing some sort of political agenda.

Either way, I wasn't going to be moved in such a way to keep reacting to such immature and primitive war tactics—and thought that it was just as likely that by November, come voting time, they would all be miraculously disappeared, if not before due to the inclement weather I was sure was coming by the end of summer.

I was almost sort of on my own time, besides the voices in my mind which screamed to work harder and faster, be skinner and more perfect, and that my prime time had passed—that I would never be loved again and that I was a horrible mother, that besides all the more knowing it for myself, I hushed and numbed with my mantras, uncaring.

At the very least, I was alone, and not interested in people— the humanity had left the humans by way of corporate slavery and electronic addictions, rigged elections and a totalitarian government which masqueraded as a democracy, but In all truth had been for quite some time, out of the hands of its people.

All the better, as the people had become programmed and controllable, easily manipulated, and for the most part and maybe even for the best, unconscious creatures—the majority of them malnourished, dehydrated by choice and lifestyle, eating processed foods as voluntary poison–and especially in New York City– undereducated, and without rest; The youth at the hands of the system which controlled all aspects of their lives, comparing them not by wit or skill but privilege and genetic composition; by looks, wealth, and vanity. The algorithm was indeed sorting them by all it knew to— perfect, and imperfect, almost always attributed to environmental factors, such as financial stability and of course—access to certain luxuries and freedoms— a hard line dividing the classes now.

I lounged somewhat gracefully in my favorite polyester blend skirt as my harems washed with the tablecloth and dishrags— I was nearly out of suitable casual clothes, and although I had been collecting some fashionable outerwear, I never planned on actually going out.

Being penniless in New York was tiresome, and I had spent enough time fighting its monsterous crowds and the infestation of migrants long enough during my year within the homeless system—now, still trapped by the terrorists which surrounded the block and what, if it wasn't some kind of federal experiment altogether, also seemed like some kind of criminal enterprise, which situated itself in the warehouse just adjacent to my building, though having lost their illegal smoke shop, a group of shirtless hoodlum-looking types, still appearing to continue business outside of where the smokeshop once had been, now becoming an obvious and unwelcoming eyesore, as the owners of the “auto body shop” which plagued the neighborhood by parking ugly cars on the sidewalks around the entirety of the corner—combined with the discarded trash, old appliances and the occasional shopping cart filled with such , not to mention the trees which stood in beds of littered filth– as if to say “we run this block”—some shade of brown and careless as to what peace might be to some others, they held enough of something like money which masquaraded as power, and therefore enough of whatever they had to continue to make the block a less welcoming place to live, and besides the motorcyclists—which all seemed to be one, haphazard, operational network— stood as a good reason not to bring any child into this mess— the brown-black world of Brooklyn New York's Queen's facing war zone—the ugly truth of old racism and money in New York City; and after a year two year spectacle on how most of the black and brown culture within New York City had bred itself to be unrestful, misbehaved, and brutally drained of its class by the system itself; it was nearly understated that the culture had become toxic. The Redlining of New York City had become obvious–New York City's own racism a blistering outward truth. I

I wanted so badly to be able to travel and return “home” or rather, to my apartment–or even rather–to my studio–as it never really did feel like home with the ability to see it all in a new light. I had been in New York so long that I felt myself becoming callous and bitter—I needed to leave, but had been at a standstill creatively, as if there was some kind of block on my music. It was true that I couldn't hear much of my own sounds or music over the traffic in the outside world, and I was sure I had been sent here as sabotage so that I might never make it out of the depths of this world.

Either way, I wasn't going to take it much longer— if I was ever made to be homeless again, I would simply kill myself—and without a love that I could call my own— a real love, disconnected from the destruction of my son's father, completely away from the satanic, demonic and evil curses he had set upon me— a love that would set me free from him and his world—

I would kill myself.

I would do anything to escape the constant thoughts of him bombarding me, the flashbacks of his brutal beating— the evil words he had said and the evil, tumultuous series of homelessness which followed. I would do anything to rid myself of him entirely, and I had not yet at all been loved by someone who didn't seem possessed by something after some time—it was as if this energy would find its way into anyone near me and drive me to insanity just so that his version of the story would become true; the evil lie that I had simply “lost my mind”, and out of nowhere, just had “gone crazy.”

His version was the lie— Everything that I had once become was a reflection of himself—weak, unstable, and unable to function, all the while he had used my energy to sustain and survive; a vampire narcissist who could not have without my doing lived or functioned on his own. The one man I had ever shared tied with had been always too tired to get up for work, and always without fail, unable to keep a steady job – and of course— situationally plagued with poor spending habits, bad judgement, and outright laziness. He simply wanted to play the game, drink his 4locos, and use my computer to make rap beats; of course–I was holding him back from his true potential.

Becoming like him was what seemed to the outside world as ‘losing my mind', and upon choosing to leave him, to find myself again. His only strategy had been to to form an illusion—that his own mental illness was actually mine. That the traumatic physical violence I had endured and hidden in fear of him had never actually happened.

He kept me at a distance to make it seem as though I had abandoned my son; used our son as bait to attract another mate, and then began to discard him, treating him as an extension of myself which he could feed on for light and energy–and eventually discard. He claimed that by ignoring my phone calls and attempts at keeping a bond with my son, that I had no interest in being a mother. He projected onto other that I had been sick or incapable—with the veracity of a cereal killer with just enough charm, the racistly indoctrinated outside world fell to default that always, though having been the survivor of serveral violent acts, that I was somehow in the wrong–that I had somehow deserved the things which were being done to me.

The physical scars that I wore were of his making, and the label that it formed— a mentally ill and unstable homeless colored woman— projected to the right-swinging red-necked Alaskans that I was somehow the problem; However, with time, I was sure that his meaning to subdue and belittle me was returning to him in the way of Karmic justice, and that the light that I had left within my own child would be his redeeming quality, in a world where I had been outcast from and unable to return to.

I wanted desperately to at least visit—but saw no end to the financial ruin which homelessness and debt had caused insight; the recovery from his physical violence almost seemingly impossible; even frequenting the gym often enough would result in a particular man entering the gym to practice his sparring; often though I tried to prevent the flashbacks from occuring, I would eventually, hearing this, over my music at high volume, imagine the punching bag as my face.

I realized at some point that I might never actually see my son again. We were thousands of miles separated and years between us–and because I had been honest in my documentation of the violence that had happened between us–he was refusing to sign the divorce papers, leaving me dangling at the end of a long rope I was sure I'd hang from, and limiting my ability to be seen by the system as entirely independent of this disastrous type of person. Of course, ‘boys will be boys'--and these types of boys in particular had the habit of protecting one another whether they were in the wrong, or not. A brotherhood of course, in which I had been marked as beatable, discardable, and of course, some sort of sub-human.

How could I even know that I was safe from his dark and evil reach in a world said to be and many believed ruled by demonic bodies which Satan himself had claimed?

In heavy prayer and reflection I had been asking of the men on motorcycles, to which God's answer seemed to speak truth; that these men were not men at all, but Satan's playthings. They had no free though or will to act on their own, and were instead controlled—that the toxicity, the terrorism, the injustice was a spectacle of sorts for the dark lord, in thy he controlled so many of what used to be people—now more just puppets for his displays of affliction upon humanity. These men had no purpose at all but to be consumed and possessed by a creature which had no face at all—no true name at all— the force of evil itself, which by now had controlled nearly all man, and nearly all of humanity.

The Complex Collective ©

Nicolas Fountainisi was a disgusting human being.

Not altogether a human creature, he foraged ways of l believing in kindness and gratitude though never actually having felt, or with feeling at all— what human nature actually at all was.

Premeditated murder.

Desensitization,

Sensitive information

Curious niggers

Did I say it again?

Indifference.

It's whatever.

Psychological terror chamber.

I love Oprah and motorcycles

But I hate robots.

Huh.

Well, I'm at it.

Let's go kick in the googleverse

I could write a metaplex

Languages,

and something was stolen!

Porch robber

False fortune

Decisions, decisions

Evil ass bitches

Temptations,

Temptations—

I seen your face when I mated here

Oh,

Lord

It's the lyricism

Let's make spousal abuse poetic.

Let's make her stay in the system!

Let's make it more severe weather!

[Thunder and lightning.]

Let's go hang in the googleverse

I might write a metaplex

I'm infinite,

And you're infinite—

But your producer

Is inferior

Where is he then?

I left him in a wedding

For aftermarket parts

I'm making belated birthday cakes

On the 4th

Or the fifth

Better believe it

I ain't got enough to—

Switch from the antiquity, did you?

I told you, I ain't tell if they come at me!

(Don't tell if he touch you)

He got the power,

The lawyers

The women,

The money,

The mortals on battery pack—

Waaaages!

I'm not finna snatch shit

Just so you can say

I snatched it

I asked you for passion and peace

All I got was the passion

And nails in my outstretched palms

I tried to warn you!

Sickness, is it?

It is,

Traffic on magnets

Let's go hang in the googleverse,

I might write metaplex

Fear of the fortunate

Don't mean to hurt us-/

We're just immortals

They don't even know us no more

Depart the children of earth

For the worst days to come

Not to the worthless,

But the wealthy and fortunate

Burn up

Listen and learn, son

Your mother was for us

But I got my butter's worth

(Don't make me work hard!)

I thinkni just left myself

Woke up in a primary school

A perfect apartment

But a dive bar

To an old fuck

Going out on those LTEs

Is always bothersome,

Don't you know?

Torturer's complex

—they know not.

Don't worry mom,

I got an assignment

You're proud of me, aren't I?

Are you adorable,

For a robot stalker

Stop in the road

Just to intercept

That I'm always

Where you don't want

(On top of you)

Once you been hit in the face by a man

And

Separated from your young

Then blamed for it

Once you old your dead children and

Feel their cold frozen bodies

Once you get stalked

And tracked by hostile robots

Pulling out

All the fine details of your life

Is if your birth

Your entire upbringing

Is your fault

You stop giving a fuck

About little dudes

Throwing weights around

Guess who gets dangerous

Once they find out

They're being fucked with

Over and over

And nobody loves her

This ugly fat bitch

Guess who gets tired of poverty

But gets blocked from getting a job

Being broke

I shouldn't even need this shit

But apparently demons

And shit he said

Stands up in court

—but he hit me.

Turns out I lost my mind

And the devil's a liar

Turns out I like them blonde and blue eyed

Huh

Oh well

I'll stay alone on false positives

All day

Getting fucked with

Pennies on the dollar

Followed and followed and followed

All I want is a bullet hole

In my aura

Whatever man, this just got weird again.

Reading the book, I realized how funny I was—because Tina Fey was funny and interesting—but I might even be actually funnier, and had al certainly lived a more seasoned life—her white girl hardships were endearing and I loved her all the more for having read through the surface level collection of stories from throughout her life and world—she was certainly luckier than I was, and more likable—-and maybe even probably funnier in person, but for now, she was just smarter, and that was enough to encourage me to list the words that so far I didn't know, starting in the middle, and somehow looking back to the beginning.

I didn't want to miss anything—she was actually a considerable role model besides Oprah, though it was obvious we lived in different worlds entirely.

Captain

Captain!

Oh, Good, come in, Cannon.

You've—changed.

…as you know, Monday we disembark.

Yes, I'm aware.

And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us.

Yes.

I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self.

How old are you, anyway?

You should never ask a woman her age, LT.

Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know.

Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately…

Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that.

I'm still very much in the privacy of my office.

You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public.

Never as a woman her age!

You're not a woman; you're my captain.

We'll see about that after tonight.

Being a woman, or being my captain?

Both, probably.

Hm.

By any chance would you be interested in joining me?

As your subordinate, or as a man.

Both, probably.

Or neither… presumably.

As my escort.

I beg your pardon.

I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition.

—er, your condition, captain?

Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind.

[he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.]

Consider it done.

Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour.

Half an hour?

Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early.

We're earning points?

We are now.

Very well then. What am I wearing?

Something sharp.

Sharper than the inside of a half hour.

On your mark.

I'll—see you soon.

He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him.

Sergeant.

Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back.

Oh.

I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage.

Whatever, though. Doesn't matter.

At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture,

TVP

S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer.

DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour.

—

DAEMON

Who's this beautiful sister?

PATRICK

My head writer; don't even think about it.

DAEMON

I don't think. I just do.

Esha approaches— Dash politely bows and kisses Esha's hand.

ESHA

Should I get tested?

DAEMON

—and funny.

[Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with Daemon Dash; Furious, Patrick means to interrogate her at work the next day. ]

PATRICK

Why would you even date that asshole.

ESHA

Because—Pat. He's a comedian.

PATRICK

I'm a comedian! So?

ESHA

So, he's funny.

PATRICK

And?

ESHA

And he said things to me—

PATRICK

(defensively)

–What kind of things?!

ESHA

Charming, funny things—

PATRICK

Okay?

ESHA

Things he wouldn't say to you over dinner— because, I'm–

PATRICK

—you're a woman.

ESHA

—and your head writer. So naturally….

PATRICK

Esh, you're a genius,

ESHA

So is he. We have—some new material to work through.

[ESHA produces a hefty pile of notes and serves them to PATRICK]

PATRICK

(squealing)

Ahq!

ESHA

Your monologue tonight.

[Patrick excitedly shuffles through the papers.]

PATRICK

Oh yes. Oh yes.

ESHA

You can thank me later.

© The Festival Project ™ , Inc.

All Rights Reserved.

Broken bottles.

Someone should stop her

Walkin walking

God knows I don't belong here

And I don't want to

Passover was April 21-30

Global War on Terrorism

Aka WWIII

Oh, indeed.

Don't look left

Take a deep breath

My heart beats differently

I think it might be the end

I think it might be

I think I might be the enemy

The pushing mechanism

When i breath him in

I levitate

And gravitate to what it meant

The sake of the art,

The hurt of the heart

As sacred as it ever was

The turning or the Torah talks of

Gestures, since the fall of Rome

The toga on the alter

Solid hands unwrap us all

From falling over

Old and awkward

No award for wisdom

No rest for the wiser

No love for the troll

Since thunderstruck from under us,

Delivered all but what we wanted

So we talk of kama sutra,

Surely we can't talk at all

Of what we know

As once was bonded

Laughed it off

To come from what

The call to us,

Fair serve governors fortress

I work up in mentions

Carved the scarlet letter out of

Cannons, of course

MA.

WHAT. I'm BUSY.

IT'S ON.

The what?

The show we watch!

The one that—

YES,

Oh, my GOD.

Yes.

YESSSSSSSSS.

Usnavi, get your popcorn

This is some worth watching

Up in arms for forwards

Causing sore arms,

Numb thumbs

From crucifixes

Are you wondering what God

Would walk about the horned carving

A kamikaze walk of tall corn—

Follow me, dear mantra

Your whole house is watching.

Sacre.

It's happening again isn't it.

I do want ice cream.

All I need is a divorce

And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall

To rub me off at the stroke of

Nevermind what the clock says

In God's house they're all wrong

The blasphemous for Catholics

Has begun,

So strum your number into the teleprompter

And just hope no one gets hurt

By the hook on the next song

—like the hook of my last surviving bra

digs into my back does,

Or the skin on my lack of tummy

Has rubbed off under the suicide

Of the cycle—

It's getting tighter

A loss of interest is equal to

A loss of consciousness

And I'm 21 days drunk

On the alternate, though—

I'm sober and feeling less

Loved.

The animal I've become is all cardio

And karma sutra

For karma comes

To the weak of heart

To use the world as swords

To cause harm

To the calm artists

I thought I told you off once.

(Already)

You look awful.

lol.

You look terrible, broh.

But my album sound fire.

#producerholes

[portal]

It's coffee time!!

It's not coffee time!

It's not coffee time.

Iiiiits coffee time.

Damn.

Where's the cat.

Gestating.

I fell asleep on a Saturday afternoon and woke up on a Saturday morning something like 19 hours later, after a series of dr same the types of like I was sure that my new dreamcatcher would shield me from—the turquoise beads were probably plastic, but who could know—without further inspection, I gladly hung it up near the window to catch the bad spirits who had been attacking me in the night, mostly in the form of satanic possessed motorcycle riders or heavily drinking passerby's. Wouldn't it be nice to have somewhere beautiful like this in downtown Los Angeles, or even Santa Monica? I had grown tired of the toxicity of inner city New Yorkers and the third world antics of the newest inhabitants— still/- it was the first apartment ever in my entire adulthood that was totally and completely mine, and I took good care of it. I knew that most folks weren't as clean and tidy as I was, and although I had left my apartment quite a mess in a lurch to get to the post office, returning the cheap and improperly advertised fake essential oils I had returned upon discovering that they were indeed not actually essential oils, but something that smelled more like floor cleaner, and was the consistency of water—they were fake, and the bath rug had been altered with photoshop to make it look gold, while it was actually yellow. I took it back, remembering the promise I had made 3 days ago—once I was finished reading Tina Fey's matching yellow book, I would find somewhere else to put the rug, but it clashed so classlesley with everything in my apartment, that I couldn't stand to look anymore; the rug had been removed from the bathroom before even filing for a return label; the fake essential oils joined it in the box three days later— a Saturday I was sure upon first waking was Sunday, but then glad it was some kind of time slip through the dimensions as I slept wearily for hours after refusing to go to the gym, only to be followed by what seemed like robots—the same 3 or 4 people showing up when I worked out no matter what time I decided to go—early or late.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 |

THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

niagara falls.

Collection II - ‘antithesis.

Track 12. - ‘niagara falls'

Prod By Blū Tha Guru

[Previously on L E G E N D S: Enter The Multiverse}

Baby's all right Brooklyn

Pretty little palace of disaster

Pretty little patterns of —

Whatever

Tantrums, smashing Jack o lanterns

Shadows,

Hands that attach to the strings

Allowing them to dance into dreams

It seems these sacred places

Have been ravaged

And

I have not been running

But I don't have any money

Wise than that

It's less than zero

Negatives

I want to kill myself again

Honestly, I see a way out it just

Requires being tortured

By people coughing.

And motorcycles

I might have seen my son for the last time

At age five

It's finally warm outside

And everything's just

Reminding me

I'm struggling with poverty

Nothing really matters cause I don't belong here

Everything is wrong

I just want blonde hair,

Hurry up, God

Assist me with a suicide

I can take pride in

Not an attempt, but

The only success I'll ever have

At anything

At all

-El Al

Nothing moves the same

After an unrequited love becomes a tragedy

Or just a movie scene

I want to scream for needing to be needed

Then again

Could die just to be dead

Could go back

To just be blacklisted

Or a crackhead

Doing magic tricks

Pass

I couldn't have ever imagined

This fascination as of late

Or making trance

But anything can happen

With the light switches on and off

As the kite catches headwinds

Or hedwig is getting bigger by the minute

That just grows out of his head,

But I wish it was a wig

Like Kristen

Pass

Yes.

Breathe deep into my lungs,

These scenes of things

So evil seeming, even to me

Lucidity becomes as dreamily

Eerie, intermittently meaningless,

And then suddenly,

However much later,

Maddeningly attractive,

As I am, in fact

Attached to this project

As menacingly handsome and devilish as he is

I've decided, it's manageable, but clashes with my

Moral standards and clasps with fabrications

Lay hands on me and see what happens!

—-okay…

“Okay”

Pass!

I asked to be a rockstar and showrunner

On the same blood soaked candles

I took blood oaths

Dancing in front of the fountain

At rockafeller plaza, to no applause,

Of course,

Drinking monsters nonstop,

Ontop of my skateboard

I came back late to Boston

And took a plane to Vegas early the next morning

But somewhere deep in my Google Drive or documents

Is me under a neon sign,

Which reads a name I resigned from saying

Until maybe I get signed

I hate him, but hey,

The name of the game is Mating Season,

And lately I've been craving eggs and

Mayonnaise instead of protein shakes and

Crayons

Wax on, wax off…

Pass, but that last sentence didn't make sense

It did.::

Oh,

Yes, it did.

Promise.

You do some stupid shit.

Okay, so I do stupid shit.

Believe me, you do some stupid shit.

Okay, I believe you.

Don't believe me when I tell you things like that.

What the fuck, Patrick, do you mean, even?

I mean what I mean, but usually just—

For me.

I am you, I thought.

Exactly: don't believe me.

Okay? I don't believe you…

Just—believe me. Believe me.

Oh dang. So there really is no “Jimmy Fallon”

No, there isn't it's just—

Poor little Jimmy Fallon…

What if—

There is no “if”.

Nobody has to ‘agree' to this project

Sign the terms of agreement

For what.

You'll see..

stupid little bitch.

*squints*

What did you just say.

(Walking away, mumbling)

Nothing!

Fucking idiot.

What did you just say?!

(Yelling)

I said you're a fucking idiot, Fallon! You're a fucking lDi0T:

Well, okay.

lol NBC is not gonna let this fly at all.

No, Jimmy, you cannot do this project.

Well, that's alright. I quit.

You can't quit. You have a contract.

I don't—I'm out of my contract:

On what grounds?!

Conflict of interest!

That's my say, isn't it?

Is it?

MORGUE.

I bought a network!

MY NAME IS—

MAaaa!!

WHATTTTTTT.

The show's on!

[A Cold Open]

L E G E N D S

{Enter The Multiverse}

Fuck this kid. I'm gonna kill him.

Kill what. Who.

FALLON. GET IN HERE.

Ah. [explitive]

[‘THE FALLON' gets ‘FALLONED' by ELLEN DEGENERES]

ELLEN

YES.

FINALLY, I'm in this bitch.

[And other members of ‘THE HOSTS COLLECTIVE', a high ranking team in the ILLUMINATI FOREFRONT]

Well, not in the way I'm sure you'd hoped, but.

Shutthefuckup!

Oh wait—is she

Is it “she”

Is she a lesbian?!

What's the “Illuminati”—

We'll get back to that later.

No! gross!

Portia Derossi!

Huh?

I want to be that pretty!

Well, okie.

MEANWHILE,

In my actual own age group…

I'm older than all these hosts, anyway!

Even Leno?

Isn't he dead already?!

Exactly!

EVEN STEVENS

[BEANS is now VEGAN]

Why is vegan capitalized.

Cause it's important.

Hey buddy!

Don't call me buddy. I'm edging on 40.

Time flies when you're—

Rapidly aging?

I brought you some bacon.

You what:

It's farm fresh!

Kooldjredalert

Lie to me

Try to sleep

(In my arms, won't you)

Try to keep the

Time with

My heart

Beat

(Heavenly)

I've been living in your world for just over a month, now.

I'm sorry, Fallon.

That must be awful.

Not too sorry—

Some of this stuff is good.

Just, priceless.

Wouldn't trade it for the world.

But I've hung my head in shame,

Cause I hung myself with gratitude,

Haven't you had enough?

If it makes any difference at all,

And I'm betting it does

All I wished for a wanted and prayed

Was for you to be happy

I buy burners with trackers

Put burn holes in sweaters

The summit at the plummet, pulling forwards

And backwards

I've four words for parlors,

For barbers and hatchets

I bury the four suns,

The moon arose after

I left an Oscar on your alter this morning

Never shall ye rest,

Haven't ever then,

Paid the tythe,

And for the while,

Immortal wife and lover,

Mother daughter,

Soon to call your name and number,

However,

The fall from the drop of polish,

Of course, oil marks upon canvases

Sickness and swells of my

Hands upon your corset

Could you collide with another?

Doubtful, to that,

So shall it must be

List, but never to utter

A mustard seed;

Ground, then unground—

As if planted,

Simple,

As the seed of laughter

So then, would you

By the turn of the hour,

return to the one had you called

Lover,

A curse upon the

Coerced and responsible

A blonde,

But worse,

A pretty one

For never after happens out of nowhere

Now,

Dissociate,

Before I dissipate of

Loneliness

Hark,

The door opens for one,

A bold soldier to come,

Listen lover,

The stone has been

Suspended, by the mirror

In terror

Alarmed,

Cool you are now

Calm, however

Not abound to be lie

Or below

Bound by blood

There you are

In excelsior,

Predecessor

What would you want that for—

The camera obscured;

Why,

If only,

To look upon you

Plastered and enlarged

As you are

Endangered in my imagination

A dangerous and strange,

Dangling addiction

Fascination, now

With power,

And prowess

Come now,

The midnight hour is upon us

[his body hung from the rafters above the studio, just one lamp left aglow—and then suddenly I had awakened, his body still and resting, sleeping quietly—although the hanged man burned into my mind; I left him quietly as I could in the loft and sat with nothing in my mind at all at the canvas, brush in hand, as if I were to draw something—but could not. It was almost as if I was frozen, or even perhaps the canvas were instead a mirror, and I the painting —though I could not know. My dearest Patrick was a broken man, and I his broken lover—the both of us an atrocity at all in shambles—I wept inwardly but not outward, as not to wake him as my tears often did, even from a deep sleep. The sun was far from rising, and though I had barely slept at all, I felt I would never sleep again—I fell at my tilted alter as the sun rose, in prayer and devastation; What had I done?]

—Esha's Memoirs, the journals from The Altar

You know what, kid—

You've got something.

I don't know what it is,

But it's something.

Kid? Aren't we like, the same age?

No.

I'll tell you what I've got

I've got a seven year old kid I haven't seen in two years;

I've got a sink full of dishes

I've got credit card debt and school loans

I've got racist neighbors,

An ex husband who swears he never hit me

With a brand new baby

I've got

Extreme back pain

I've got a body only God could ever love

And I've got something like

10,000 pages or more

Of stuff I barely remember writing

Just sitting in the Google algorithm

Pushing me closer and closer to suicide

Every single day

I've got

Sexual fantasies about celebrities for no given reason at all.

I've got

800 songs that are just words

I've got books I want to read just— sitting there

And I've got this pain

That just sits inside my soul

That never goes away, ever

I've got something, alright.

I've got something, sure

But when it comes to money

I got a dollar

One fucking dollar

And you know what I call that?

-Useless.

She's dead, isn't she?

You guessed it.

Well, what am I supposed to do?

What you always do.

What is that?

What is that?

Swear of the palm d ore

I Cannes,

Atop the Eiffel

You are the river that crosses my eye,

The scar across my heart,

The Eye, is

All we are

And all is one;

One is all,

And All are One

Well, I'm quite nervous.

Don't be nervous, at all, Johnny. Relax.

Another John—my first, in fact.

Indeed,

I was once relentlessly obsessed

With Johnny Depp

Infatuated, if you will

Whatever you want to call it.

Of course,

For a teenaged girl, however

This sort of obsession was somewhat normal

Somewhat.

I had always wanted to star in movies—

So much so that I began to write them.

I was about 7, maybe 8 when the stories in my headed started to form as narratives—

Not just stories, but words

Characters and conversations—

Plots.

I should leave this poor Fallon boy alone.

Some darkness inside of me wants him;

That thing that doesn't quiet, nor does it want,

Anything but what it wants—

And it is,

Darkness-m—

That thing that lives inside of me and what is does;

The thing it calls love, and calls our for

The something in someone that rises it up

From wherever it dwells,

Deep in my soul, and into my hear,

Into my thoughts,

It haunts all that I must and mustn't

Ponder upon

A woman's cause,

And a murderer of sorts,

The ugly swan , who dances on ponds,

Laying one one, but all of precious stones,

The egg,

The coveted stones of trust,

And wander,

Listing upon that which it feeds,

Not only the bod,

But its motor,

It's mind,

A hearty philosopher,

And willful warrior,

Of wit,

And of talent,

The strength of

Astonishment

A power above all,

A blindness of fate;

Judged by all

The spectacular amongst us

The famed and the damned,

Acquitted of warmth and dutiful,

Exquisite in awe

A rarity.

—The Fame Files.

V.O.

Coming to terms with one's death is always peaceful.

All harm caused will be returned by he/she who causes it or acts in such a way as to inflict pain and hostility towards peaceful persons.

Causing with intention psychological, physical, mental, or physical harm will result in the immediate karmic retaliation of such pain as inflicted on peaceful individuals; these acts of war will inhibit the actor from entering the transcendence, or developing expanded consciousness, gaining wealth, further material possessions–his own will is therefore weakened, and therefore unworthy of love himself, by the intent to cause one such pain as an act of violence or ill will. One's disruption of peace is thereby an act of cruelty, punishable beyond death–causing pain by intention to another individual in the attempt of control or manipulation, intrusion, and abuse is therefore against the laws by which the ascended abide by, and therefore cannot and will not exist beyond the ill fate of its perpetrator.

Please leave me alone; I'm asking you nicely.

Alright, fine.

Where is it!

Where is what?

You know what.

What?

From the fountain.

It wasn't me! I don't have it.

And this, is why Jimmy Fallon is impenetrable.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

The Festival Project™ and it's subsidiary Non-Profit, The Collective Complex © aims to challenge modern artistic and philosophical ideals, break commonplace barriers, forage new creative mediums, and provoke inspired and reformed thought and actions toward evolution and overall societal improvement through a new-wave and post-modern, avant-garde and philanthropic hyperawareness driven by a unique culture of global values mediating global respect and preservation via open consciousness, multi-sensory and synesthetic (multi-preceptory) expansions of sound, language, vibration, movement, color, emotion, and ritual governed conceptually by the aspect(s) of love, truth, unity, understanding, and peace.

Support The Fesival Project's Artistic Revolution

I don't know why that picture lights me up–it just does.

–so I keep it;

And it's weird that I keep it,

But i love it–

No face tattoos,

Or flashing lights,

Or bubbling blondes–

It's just me,

And the music–

Pulling me closer to that thing I love,

still dragging one foot left behind,

As If i'll ever catch up in a race,

I was born

To have already lost.

Suddenly, it felt as if being in the water was the only way anymore of being connected to nature.

One mustn't tamper with the free will of others, as this breaks the intrinsic morale code by which all magicians must adhere to with intent focus, as to not to disrupt the balance of nature, but to coincide with it harmoniously as to manifest all outcomes for the greater good of oneself, and the betterment of others. One must practice in peace and kindness, as to promote with the sense of ritual, the force of wellbeing, respect, gratitude, and kindness — as not with the infliction as to force one another or control others by circumstance or possession, but with reflection within one's own self to guide with spirit, the forces of nature, and the powerful endowment of light and love, to fortify one's sense of ritual invocation of righteousness, humility, intuition, higher knowledge, enlightenment, influence, illumination and wisdom, as to better steengthen the bonds between one another in the material realm, and within the spiritual and cosmic realms, in order to better understand with total compassion and comprehension the origins, date, and destiny of humankind and the extraterrestrial and metaphysical presence of forces of energy, creation, and

—the practitioner guide to ritual occultism for medicinal and holistic healing

(Well work out a title later)

Anyone should well know that the intentional casting of any and all white magic spells or rituals will automatically forage a counter-attack towards any sender of negative energy, misfortune, or ill intent— not as a direct form of attack or harm by the medicinal practitioner itself, but rather, acting as a shield against dark forces, hidden and evil spirits, demonic energies and otherwise unfriendly forces of disruptive and unwelcome nature. Though the medicinal practice of magic begins in understanding that duality and balance within the material realms— light and dark, or sometimes even ‘good' and ‘bad' are part of existence in entirety, encompassing all forms of energy, and that one does not truly or wholly exist without the other—however—- within the clarity of enlightenment, one can assume and expect lower vibrational, differeing frequency, or less conscious energies to become attracted to or try to attach itself, or themselves, to higher forms of light and energy. It it within this medicinal practice of awareness that steps can and should be taken to protect oneself against mischief in the event of unwelcome sources of unwanted energy taking away from, or hindering one's own health, wellness, perception, and gaining of insight and wisdom.

There are, here, hidden realms of truth and wisdom;

Engagements within the immaterial circumstances which surround our involvement with each other as a species, in which one can interact with thought forms of another kind, create bonds and energetic ties out of the bounds of worldly involvement, link chains within a network of intergalactic travel, time sequencing or manipulation of such perceptions of ‘future,' , past, and presence, and create space within an infinite realm of concousness, inter dimensional mapscaping, movement within the interior and exterior grids of existence (where most things take place)

Last night I thought I was ordering my last meal. A double quarter pounder with cheese and extra onions, a large fry and a vanilla shake. My favorite. I had a horrible conversation with my mother, which ended with her screaming at the top of her lungs at me, “ just—die, die, die!” And I wanted to. Then I thought about the prisoners on death row, how they're asked what they want their last meal to be before they're put to death. I thought of my favorite episode from my favorite show, where my favorite character ordered a fried chicken dinner. I thought—“If that were me, I'd probably want McDonald's.” So, I drove to McDonald's, I ordered my favorite meal, and I ate it sadly as I thought about how exactly I would try to go about killing myself. I never thought of a way that wouldn't destroy this place for the next tenant...before I fell asleep, dreamless and tortured by my very own thoughts. I woke up this morning wondering what today would bring—more pity, or hope.

Sweet cream and butter/sugar flavored wheat thins lol

I would eat that.

You'd eat anything.

I can be skinny in 48 hours—

But you'll always be an asshole.

How many you want?

How many you got?

I hate these back door deals…

Stop being such a [censored] [censored]

Woah, man!

I'm still under contract with NBC.

I [censored] guess!

I thought you got fired. Why do you still have a censor?

He works for my wife.

Look,

I'm willing to admit,

I have an addiction

To midsections and midwives

And mediocre mistresses.

I'm not sure exactly what you're trying to say.

YOU BURNT MY CREAMNOF WHEAT.

Did you get the—

Yeah I got the—

Well, there is it?

I gots to go offline to listen to—

—ahh, don't— shut up

It goes offline to listen to Skrillex.

It's okay.

ITS NOT OKAY.

It's okay!

ITS NOT OKAY. THAT WAS THE LAST OF IT.

It's—it's okay!

—it's not okay.

ITS NOT OKAY. WE'RE ALL THREE MAD FAMOUS IN THIS DIMENTION.

Like, dumb famous.

LIKE DUMB FAMOUS. DO YOU WANT TO GO TO THE GROCERY STORE AND GET MORE?

—no..no.

Nah dat.

THATS RIGHT. SO FUCK YOU.

It's just cream of wheat.

ITSNOTJUSTCREAMOFWHEAT.

—it is, technically.

Dude, shut up.

I'm gonna fucking—- kill you.

My lips are buzzing.

I smell purple…

Seriously, don't—try to kill him— while he's using my body.

This is immortality; I'm sure you'll find a way back!

I'm not “using” your body, I'm stuck. Don't make it sound gross.

—yeah, but this isn't an infinite dimension.

You're gross anyway.

You smell like beer farts.

—well, you smell like corn syrup.

—impossiblé. My protein powder has no artificial sweeteners. *flips hair*

Ugh.

Horrible.

Look. Why don't we just order more groceries on line, or something.

I saw the movie!

What, you saw the movie?

I saw the movie.

That's crazy. I also saw the movie.

Okay.

Okay?

So it's a budget flick.

Hehe.

—it's a budget flick?

Yep.

Alright—I love those!

[literally the cheapest shit you ever saw]

When the fear falls off,

And the others go over your shoulder,

But you're the one to tumble

In the over, under

Over under

Hello,

I'll be right there

Hello,

I'm back again

(Hello)

I can't feel much,

But i'm back again

I'm sure the full feel

Will kick back in

Will kick back in soon, so

Tune in,

Chill out

Keel over,

But don't let it kill you

Is that appealing enough

To appeal you

Is that hypnotic enough

To heal you?

Hello.

The drummer keeps himself calm,

With a couple rolls just to check his pulse

Looking up at God,

Like what do you want

A spot on the show

The name of the bassist,

A way to get Kurt back

without swallowing a

Hearthrob

She's dressed up like us,

But she's not like up

She's dressed up,

But she's not like us

She could be up here,

But she won't like it

The song was a story

The storm had passed,

Wanted the studio tour,

And I got that

I'll be right back,

I'll be right there

Get it right, God

Blow you whole chance

Okay, Jimmy Fallon.

Ah huh.

I can do your job.

Uh huh.

Lets see if you can do mine.

That can happen.

Meanwhile,

At Rockerfeller Plaza

LOOK OUT BELOW.

CHRISTSCICLES.

WHERE'S THE TREE??

THERE'S NO TREE. THIS IS JULY.

Where's the time machine.

When are we!?

HELLO>

NOO.

THERE S/HE IS

[Rollerskating away as quickie as possible;

Attepmpts to jump barrier

–fails–

Recovers.

GET BACK HERE

WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO GO?

[Running furiously away on roller skates

YOu suck at this.

What.

Bro. I thought Skrillex was the greatest shapeshifter of all time.

I am Skrillex, though.

Besides.

I CAN TELL THAT'S YOU.

It's not me.

I CAN SEE YOU, JIMMY.

I'm SHAPESHIFTER. SHAPE-SHIFTING.

Nahhh.

Youu–

stop doing this.

Stop doing what.

You know what.

I don't know.

You're gonna get me in trouble with the Network.

I own the network.

AHA.

Dammit .

YOU LOSE.

SUCKAH.

Shut up. You're drunk.

UGH.

[Rollerskate chase scene.]

(A montage, obviously)

GET BACK HERE.

YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME.

Where are you gonna go!

SOMEWHERE!

You can't run up stairs in rollerskates.

I CAN. AND I WILL.

[Does, but gets to the top of the stairs and fails miserably. ]

EVERYBODY

Oooh!

[Recovers.]

I'm okay!.

GET HIM/

GET HER

GET “THEM”

–that's so stupid.

GET IT.

GET IT.

GET IT!

CUT TO:

[Outside the door.]

GET IT, JIMMY! GET IT.

CUT TO :

[Inside]

[Don't worry. they're just playing video games.]

Lol that is funny.

But i can't write that.

just –write it.

No way, dawg.

Just–

Just–

No way–

Pay me first.

Then it really sounds bad.

Shut up and eat your ice cream, JImmy Fallon.

{Jimmy Fallon is eating his own ice cream.]

EW.

lol

What the fuck flavor is that anyway?

Idk.

“The Tonight Dough”

I learned not to cry,

By the time I got to you, and

Sometimes I wonder why
I just can't write a song these days

The words come,

But the music's gone

It's just motorcycles and

Loveless nights

Sleeping on top of the covers

Something about tennis,

I don't remember
Should have done something

More special

than script this

I'm just the luckiest bitch alive

To live alone

I should be thriving

I don't want more in the world

than a quiet road to calm my inward soul

White world:

White girls

Big perks

My curse

I got it out of the mud

I fished a world out the trash

I got roaches on motorcycles

Roaches on motorcycles

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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