[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

Not so all of a sudden, he was gone—just as I had thought and hoped, publishing a small portion of The Files had sent the strange ghost somewhere far away—almost gladly so. It could never be a good thing to feel for something like that—not the man, the one who was called [Redacted] himself, but rather his essence. He was a good boy—almost too good, kept it clean, and always hit his mark—I, on the other hand, had work to do, and the only commonality we shared seemed to be some kind of darkness— a twisted monster of some depravity, always unspoken, and yet, somehow forever bound between our humanities as bodies— man, and woman.

Whatever it was, I missed it—it was nice having an imaginary friend—a muse, a blank canvas—and more importantly, a smile or a laugh here and there. But alas, the emotional ties had come on too strong, a s all safe bets were off— there was nothing that could be said or done at all, and so as a means of protection, I chose to bury it.

Still, something like tears sat in the space between my heart and my soul for him—to have never been dumb enough to love so wholly enough to trust that I had not in some way been provoked or altered to such a state like something like this might happen—a sign of the times. A beautiful man, talented and having danced with my mismanaged Sapio-self in such a way that it at the be try least had been— a learning experience. I was still only beginning to understand what the cosmos had intended here, and still—such a mess it was, now needing the body of a real man more than ever, and fiending for something more than a friend, something more than the fantasy which I had dreamt into, and scurried out of—now knowing at the very least, I was, too, a good woman.

“I miss him',

I silently sighed into a wandering whisper in my mind, filling the space where his voice—his essence once had been, now just a ghost in my mind, a quick light in all the darkness that had been Kayla Lauren, Dillon's awful blue eyed girlfriend, and whatever it had been about Joel that had left me wondering why I had been born into such a hell in the first place—a married muse was the safest bet, for the shortest time, with the strongest strings attached—and now that I had cut them myself—the strings, that is, I was left to drift alone.

Now I really did have something interesting to write--how I had fallen in and almost never out of love enough to have written an infinite wisdom of divinity and circumstance which might even last forever. Without finding a love that was reciprocated, I would surely die—already rotting in the hell of my own body as a tomb, and yet, here they were—all the words of all my loved, cast upon the pages of my thoughts, looming over me like clouds—heavy enough to rain, but without doing so; the bluest sky there ever was beyond them, and I just beneath, crying—looking for a sign that soon a true love would come. One I could touch and feel and hold and kiss—but only God could know—and God was quiet as of late, hiding from the evils of man just outside the window, keeping love and peace just out of reach at almost all times.

Trust me

I'd rather die than not

Either way,

I'll love you all the same

It's unfortunate

The wicked ones

Atop us, with the fortunes

With no one to love

But piles of bodies,

Power plays and flaccid phalic

Valid fantasies and tragic

Dissatisfaction

All those bottles

And all those bodies

And all those models

You still can't mount a horse.

All that power

And all that money

And you don't want me

But she doesn't do much

But want to love

Pity no one up there seems to know what is does

Love, is for us

The ugly under you

Trust me, I'd rather die tonight

Than wake up alone

Foaming in the mouth

With no one there to froth with

Trust me

I'd rather die than not

Either way,

I'll love you all the same

I guess I'm slag bro

Another attack

It's fine;

I'm just not attractive

Not even fit for his

Side piece of ass

How's that go?

What's that life

Just take a knife to my back

Cause I can't go back bro

I went black bro

Flatline

He caught my eye,

Then I went flat broke

If I could draw a line up my spine

And unwind the entire world

I would, though

If I could tie a knot to the knot in my back

And then just jump rope

Off a long rope

From a strong pole

Here's hoping

I told you the devil would be at the Whole Foods market

You're better as a headless body,

I promise

I'm better as a bodiless head

Better off dead than undressed;

You'll detest me;

A festering betrayal of love

A bodiless hell

The void from which you all come

But can't conform to

I'm ugly

Tales of a Superstar DJ

As Seen on TV

Death of a Superstar DJ (uh oh, idk what that one would even be about)

Maybe they're backwards.

Uh. Sure. Reorder them.

Okay.

Tales of a superstar DJ,

Death of a Superstar DJ

As Seen on TV - to be released with album

Hm.

I love new York

wtf my brain is on fire right now

Idk. Idk. Idk.

wtf is this energy.

I'm out of protein.

That might be it.

I have built the ultimate tolerance to coffee

This coffee is weak.

It's actually double strength. It's almost espresso.

Hm. I see.

Did you ever finish those Jimmy-isms?

What?! What?!

What?

Something something something.

FUCK.

What.

Portal World.

Cool, let's—

Let's go to there.

No, Lez Limon.

What.

The lesbian Hispanic alternate reality version of Liz lemon.

lol. Okay.

What about that pilot I wrote for maya rudolph!

Idk. Where is it.

I'm MELTING.

Humiliation is the most tyipical form of psychological terror and emotional abuse..

Really.

Mom, don't do that.

What, why not?

5)8/ 8

This is uncomfortable.

Is it? Hm.

I like it.

Shut up, Gerald.

Fuckin piñata.

She got the silver chains, now

Ain't no vampires,

Aint no more games,

She playing for fame,

Baby she made it

A punch to the face

Can make you creative.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

02. Annie was not that smart ||

Annie had half a heart

Annie, poor Annie

Was full of hot air,

Yes

Annie was just a fart

Annie was bad at cards,

But Annie could drive a car

Annie poor Annie

Just ran out of gas,

Poor Annie—

That's just the start!

Annie goes out to bar;

Annie's so good at darts

Annie poor Annie

She acts like a man,

But Annie is not from mars.

Annie was drunk that night

Me and Annie just got in a fight

Annie, poor Annie—

She just couldn't dance

No,

Annie just wasn't right

||

I'm so sick

I'm so tired

Of all

Of these services

Asking

For money

It's donuts, you know

And I don't eat sugar

I'm sick of my curves—

They're so perfect,

But her, she has none

And you love her

And you're what

I want

So

Fuck this

I'm a disaster

I'll be here after the show

For a while

But don't talk to me!

I'm just a broken

Soul

A guitarist

Who knows only

Words

At the surface

I'd rather be her

(I just want to go home with you;

If I take my clothes off,

You'll probably throw up, though)

I just want to go home

You know

Kingdom come

Or whatever you call it

When you're just

Done

I got blood under my fingernails

If I cut myself,

It starts pouring rain

I got blood under my eyes,

But if I

Now I know too well,

The well of tears on my guitar

She's got a body like one

Oh her curves

But I just wonder what it like to be loved

By stars

Socialites and superstars

They're Gods, you know

How high up they are

Above us

And he lives in an ascended dimension,

But he insists, he says

Her transcendence is upon us

He said

Your transcendence is upon us

He says these things,

And then just vanishes

So she gets up promptly

Warms up yesterday's coffee

Looks around in her coffin

And wonders

What for

I just

Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars

Without double r's, you know

I've got scars

But it's mostly just

Teardrops, and soft kisses

On my guitar

Cause, oh, Oli,

I ain't got nobody—

And nobody holds me

Like I hold Oli

(Could have been Ali,

But of course—

I had already lost that one

A whole well of tears,

I lost

At his departure

And a whole well more

When I actually lost him

I almost miss

Having someone to talk to

About anything and everything

But I've got Oli

And God now

I've got Oli

And Oli (oli)

Is all that I've got

Besides God

That's the only contact

In my

Phone book

No more double Ls

And double entendres;

No more double rs

At all

Just scars now

No more metaphors.

Honest is radical

I like them cynical

I should have clinical insanity by now

But I'm only just an artist

You can't help

But can only harm that

And if it hurts hard enough

I'll put art on my walls

Become permanent

Storybooks all over my arms now

My coat of arms now

I've run Ten point 5 miles

In the last 3 days;

But if I rest today

Will a motorcycle gang

Have a parade outside of my window,

To drive me crazy?

I hope it rains,

So they can't play these games with my head

And the seeds that I planted

So deep become daisies

I still don't remember

The way he rearranged me

But these days I make my name sound

So the way

He can never say it

Just imitates

The way

I hate myself

I should be dating

But expressions are

Atrocious

If I fall asleep—

Who knows

I may get

Stolen

That tends to happen

So I'm

All the way up

And I'm swollen in ways

That I hate to say

“I love you”

Love me back

Or say it harder

That's my martyrdom

Come off the cross, for a moment,

Would you for us?

And bend over

Or bow, if you will?

If I did,

Would you still call me wicked

Or just a Good witch

Since I'm a woman,

I just couldn't be

Jesus,

Who you asked for once

And always

Who you asked for some

To save you from your

Credit reports

And consorts

Or some sort of

Nonsense

[famous last words]

God don't speak much English,

She says

God don't speak much these days

We were

Always

Telepathic

That was way back then

When Oedipus Rex

Was on the Guest list

I was standing at the coat check, asking

Why I must take off my hat

When entering the service

To the bouncer, he says

“That's just politics”

I said,

That's just politics

We both said,

What's the difference

Then we all laughed

—then we all just laughed and laughed

Exchange is my favorite exchange

Where my favorite exchanges

Have happened for centuries

Of engagements

Endeared species,

And races pieces haven't tasted the same

Since I haven't had them

Animal products

And animal planet

I found this hat on

Discovery channel

Did you want it?

I can't stand it

So I had to have it back

I just had to use the bathroom

I just had to disconnect

From

[]

See—

I don't even have to put the words in

Cause a name is just words

When that's a man

You just can't have

And that's the worse

When that's a man

And you can't have him

What a habit.

Silky rabbit.

Now he's the

Ace.

All In A Day's Work

I've never died before.

Oh…

that is terrifying.

It sounds terrible.

It's really not that bad.

Why are you not writing this down?

I just need a moment…

It's really not that bad…

I die all the time.

Look, I told you, stay away from that guy.

Who, what—Dillon Francis?

I'm telling you, there's something wrong with him.

I'm pretty sure he's like—indifferent—

“Indifferent” haha. Sure. Okay.

I think he's getting engaged or something

DILLON FRANCIS RAGE KILLS EVERYTHING.

What the fuck are you doing.

He has a tendency to get jealous, sometimes, I guess

[DILLON FRANCIS IS A DESTRUCTIVE HUMAN BEING (with excessively jealous tendencies)]

#GHOSTEDDDD

This guy?! SERIOUSLY?!

I mean, he's kinda cute, isn't he?

Is he?!

Almost, cuter than you, I think, probably.

UAAAGGGGGGHHHHH.

[HEART destroys an entire TELEVISION]

what the FUCK, DILLON FRANCIS—

That's was a RELIC.

It was a vintage television set

RELIC IS LIKE A SYNONYM FOR THOSE KINDS OF THINGS.

SHUT UP, ACTUALLY.

Okay so like

HEART and GHOST are twin flames—

Who whose this dude, then?!

He's just my MUSE, rn, okay?!

OK?!

oh look, cool, he does music too.

ahahaha

Do something funny, I guess.

Hey Hazel. Do a backflip.

Okay, daddy!

Oh wow, that's—

WHATTHEFUK

—that's from my other series.

That's neat,

He's cool, I think.

I'm gonna keep writing this.

WHAT ABOUT ME.

What about you?!

How's your girlfriend, actually?

MY FAKE GIRLFRIEND, YOU MEAN.

What:

Oh.

What's she reading!

I can't see

Robert Greene

Laws of Seduction

Okay. So.

Here's what you do.

You have to get her to think

THIS IS MY GIRLFRIEND.

HER EYES ARE BLUE,

SHES REALLY PRETTY.

Ok. Ouch.

She's—she's perfect actually.

*sniffles*

Ok.

—oh, by the way, are you still like, into Sonny or anything

THE MEXICAN SKRILLEX

*satanizing*

No, actually, I think I was just getting over that whole thing.

Okay, well, great:

This is my girlfriend

*actually crying*

She is better than you. At everything.

*sobbing*

OkAY!

I would never date you.

Alright…

I'm not in “love” with you or anything

*inconsolable crying*

I wear CARHART EVERYTHING, now,

Cause she's like—

Caucasian, and everything, so

I LOVE EVERYTHING EXCEPT FOR COUNTRY.

Thanks, boogie T

No problems

CHANNEL TRES

I AM THE CONTROLLER

BOOGIE T

I'm subtly racist,

So this album artwork indicates

That if you're the fucking controller

I'm the one holding the controller,

Actually controlling everything

EDM industry

Okay,

Let the blacks in,

But let them know that there's like

A pecking order to these things…

Oh look, a pelican

[RAVE INDUSTRY BEING OVERTLY RACIST.]

Kaleena Zanders

See.

Who are you, again?

If you're the guy holding the controller,

I'm the programmer, writing the game

You stupid fucking—

All of you are fucking idiots,

I quit.

I'm gonna go kiss ass

With the TV people.

Well fuck you, okay.

NO, FUCK YOU, DILLON FRANCIS.

KELLY

(LIAM KYLE SULLIVAN)

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUUUUUUUUCK YOUUUUUU

KELLY ZIMMERMAN

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUU——-

I love the clout riding on this shit,

Really?

You kept his last name?

Well, yeah-/

I was just rich before I married that guy

“The first wives club”

Now I'm famous.

BEFORE:

DEADMAU5

INCUBUS

KELLY

SUCCUBUS

FIGHT

[the festival project, or whatever]

DILLON FRANCIS is DESTROYING EVERYTHING in a fit of JEALOUS RAGE.

Idk what that dude is about, honestly.

CUT TO:

Meditating peacefully, relaxed.

[a moment of calm and peaceful eloquence before]

[a silenced pistol goes off]

Headshot.

Nice.

Okay, get the body.

Ahahaha.

Fuckin.

—Suck my dick.

Sai

Psy.

See you in seven years, then.

You're so silly—

I'm not going to live seven more years.

We'll see about that.

You will see.

I'll be dead.

So I'll be dead.

So it is.

A summer hiatus,

Vacations in Prague, yes

Let's pray for the rest of us

A sign of the times and a coming of ages

Who made you famous again

As the rest of us

I don't like it

As much as I'd like to

Keep writing

Keep finding the reason to die

and you're blinded by kindnesses

And I ams

I woke up in the 9th dimension,

As an infinite friend

Familiar with my kitchen

JOHN SLATTERY

An interesting thing happened this morning.

What's that, John?

I woke up as John Slattery

Just remember what love holds

The death of a salesman, rechargeable batteries

This walk could take forever in designer jeans

Another day in slave hell

The controllers controlling

And Satan is Sataning

Seems like a time to go clubbing

It's a simple kind of depression

Resting on your head when

All you simply wished is the taste of flesh

The freedom of skin

And the lather of love—

Or blood spatter on the pavement

Aim for the head

If the door's fixed, then we'll break it again

Look what greed does

I hate lazy days in Manhattan

Cause I've never had one

What happened on the way to the forum

I was starstruck;

Five finger death punch

Right in the heart

I wish I was punctual

Right on time for lunch

Don't you want to talk to someone more pungent?

Don't you got models to robot?

Don't you know I never want to hurt you

But you know, I'm going to hurt you.

You know I'm going to hurt you

Now, the review:

Sooner or later, I fall over your world

Good dudes in drags

Good food for thought

I'm a dog

With the wrong parts

You should take Kanye to the mall

With a migrants lanyard

(The migrants are anarchists!

Good one, God)

This one goes to. | this one fist, from

Which one are you ?

I guess we are one in the same

It's a famous radio tower

Live up to your name

Go sell your flower for flour

As I stand at the jumping point

Eye on Manhattan,

The wind beneath my wings

Distracting myself from the mansion I haven't

The mason jars I ought to buy for bargain

The brain and brain cereal I left at the market

I used to love Brandy

Now I just wish I was something, awesome

Now I just wish I was something, awesome

Now I just wish I was something, awesome

“The Album I Wrote On My Way To The Rock To Return Amazon Purchases No Longer Wanted”

That's a really long album title.

I didn't imagine I'd write this much

Just trying not to imagine this man in his under pants,

Or what have you

(I'm just a fan)

I'm just a dad hunched over in the bathroom

Must have been the magic of my backhand, backfired

Must have come untied and undone, under the rainbow

Must me on my way to Manhattan

For some blacklist event.

Where I'm from

The A List

Is a face

No name needed

“Oh, I know who you are”

If I purchased a car today

I might get done paying it off

By my 81st birthday.

Shady.

If I had a penny for every mistake I made,

I would probably be Nameless.

If there was a namesake to lay me into my grave, it would make sense;

Yes, let's move the train for a moment

With the doors still open.

— I'd like to watch what happens.

So what happens when the sun comes up

On the only body you've ever known

And no one wants it

What happens with a dude named Starr

Punches you over and over again

And then no one loves you

(That's starstruck, your honor)

What happens when granted a pardon for passions

And everything happens after is magic

What happens when all you want is to go manic

To finish the album

And just feel good again

What happens when the algorithm has Al Gore in it?

What happens when the rhythm in blues is just the attraction of random black men and their concubine counterparts?

Huh, what happens!

What happens, Kanye?

What happens, the God?

What happens when all that you want is a disgusting assumption of.

No on can trust you

And nobody loves you

Since it was simply a tryst

Put this at a distance.

Where did my energy disappear to!

Where in the fear is my other earring?

Fuck.

Be somewhere, anywhere else but your office, for the moment.

Be anyone but a mother,

Anywhere but your apartment—

It hurts, the construction.

Someone doesn't something

Nobody knows nothing about me,

But what I put in this caskets

(This podcast)

Oh hey,

I got fuck muscles from fuckin myself now!

I feel like I'm gonna die if I don't have sex!

For real!

Heal, Oh great dragon,

HEAL, BITCH.

Word.

woof for the world

Will for the wolf;

Rain on the roof.

Cobain don't have a God

(Or a Gun, if you wanted that one)

“Pull me up, God,

I'm done under here”

He called in

I followed the fosters to farrow

And got better

I got better and bitter much quicker and

Never in bed had I been as flexible

As to kiss his chest

As I kicked my own neck

With my left foot.

What the fucjing fairyshit is that.

There, I fixed it.

Fixed what.

I don't know what. But I fixed it.

I know, huh!

So be 110 and flexible

Powerlift tectonic plates

Do Pilates

And make waffles!?

Alright, I can do that

But only as Jennifer Aniston

I'd like to take back that Fallon I bought at the black market

He's broken.

I like his band tho—

The one on the left hand,

Over the damaged one.

Are you on to that?

Says the sayer,

Son of Sam

So Sai the sage

Sets the stage

Is that the plan?

Never fall for a man,

Even over an alter

And tied by the hands.

All I see in my initials initially is B Minor

16 might be minors, guys

But she's creaming to find you

At the front lines

Life of a superstar DJ

At the cross roads

Or the turnstiles

How do you turn bile into

Beguiling

Without rifling a few feathers

Or looking into the eye of the rifle

And dying first

Don't you let that tear fall from you onto the M Train.

I'm just training for fame

And hating you ever day

Since we made it

Love

Get out of my way, Satan

I'm staying

I'm saying your name sake insanely

Please break me

Like a chicken leg

Or just shake me from this existence

Since I don't seem fit for it

Anymore than I fit that

Givchechy dress you gave that blonde, right?

Am I dying! Or just dying inside

Fuck coughs

If you want him enough to. Use black magic

To do that to me,

wait till it falls back on you,

You gross hag

If god hates fags as much as he hates blacks

We should fly flags over the haggis I made Alice

When she's back from her adventures in wonderland

No wonder you're a Monro

Crossed over from O'Fallons

It's an old warfare with two clans

From the old countries

With no borders

Or border collies

Laboradores

And labirites, likely

As Aphrodite is to smite me

So here comes DJ Francis

With his new black girlfriend

Just kidding

We all know in his world

It's cold and broken

With nothing but blue eyes

And big wild to look over you

Bro, standing up is not going to make this train go anywhere. I almost promise you.

Turns out there's no such thing as a quick trip to the rock.

Turns out you'll sit stuck in your own sick

God as my witness

For screenshotting those ass pictures

—that's somebody's kids, dick.

tick tok has no limits.

VO

Of course,

The day and time I should have to go to Rockerfeller Plaza quickly, quietly and unseen, the train is magically destined not to move.

I've been sitting here at least a half hour, with no end in sight—

The doors close and the train begins moving.

Hahaha

Fucking hilarious, God.

I've been avoiding The Rock like the plague—

Not that I think anything would happen at all upon arrival— who am I, anyway?

Nobody important.

There she goes.

Still, I've written enough about it, and the people inside and around it,

That the place makes me nervous.

More nervous than ever, that is, actually—

I always felt weird in the place.

[flashbacks]

When I first got to New York,

I would end up there on accident.

Completely by accident.

Lost.

Faulty navigation.

Hackers:

Whatever.

I always just—

By complete fucking accident

Ended up at Rockerfeller Plaza

The city slips over us, as the train sinks back underground —

I'm facing the city now,

As not to be reminded of my abuser's toxic words and toxic hands,

By dirty white Nikes and Jansport backpacks

Still, etched into the subway walls

Are two stars, which remind me to repeat the mantra:

Starr Michael Roberts is a pedophile wifebeater

Less of a manta than the truest words ever spoken,

But that's all the shape of a five point star means to me now or will ever mean to me

And to think,

The American flag has 50 of the

50 wife beating pedophile men

On a red white and blue flag

That waves just to remind me

I was born a fat ugly noack woman

To be a slave

And there's no one to save us

I want to senselessly beat the man in the dirty white Nikes and Jansport backpack

Just like I was beaten senselessly by the man called Starr,

The devil in disguise as my first love

Still trying to chase my soul from its dream

Back into his nightmarish under realms of unhygienic hatred, vomit stained rugs

And poss stained couches,

Phlegm on the walls and

Nothing on but Diablo

And old episodes of the sopranos.

—but I still love the sopranos;

And I still love my one and only

Good thing that ever happened

From an awful marriage

That buried me

wonder what's on this side of the train to write

Maybe nothing

Nothing I like, anyway

Some guy that just thinks imm some ugly black bitch

Of course

All the white rich dudes

Are horrible

I miss the poor surfers

Blowing blunts and wishing they was with blondes,

With me tucked under their arms

I need a tummy tuck to find love

Goddamn,

Imm miserable just sitting here

At least I get a glance at her

The tattooed God

With the pink hair

Where's Wanda

Sai the Saige

Don't say ahit

Unless its music

Sai the Saige says

Turn the page

For more sermons

Sai the Saige sings her words carefully

Write forwards for whole books in four words

Four worlds down,

Now four more.

That's a world tour.

Lil biiiiiiitzzz

Bro, I might never have sex again.

There's a new STD on the loose

And patient zero is a white man from New York in his 30's

FUCKING GROSS.

Where's wanda

Where's Waldo

Ah FUCK

I got your wallet

WHATS WRONG WITH YOU.

SOMETHING

which one are you?!

Nothing, nobody.

Sunni?!

I'm not Sonny, you're Sonny.

I'm not—

Don't say it

Whatever

Where is it?

Where's what?

The rock

You're on the rock!

I that's not —

Stop it

what I meant!

Which one are you—

Who are you

8mm

I'm the cosmic—

Whatever the fuck.

Gimmie the rock

Get off of me

I think too much

I think I have a disease

I think too much

But I don't think much of me

It's just as much as I want

A three musketeers bar,

That's far fetched

For a vegan

With 12 dollars in the budget

For the rest of the month

Goddamn.

One down

20 to go

Call someone

To take your husband

Home

I'm drunk m

I'm stuck in this thought

At the bottom of the rock

Damn. 8 always get lost here

Not today though, I hope

Follow the smell of coffe tbigg us h the open doors

This the stairs up a couple stores.

Muscle memory l

Wait.

Are there stairs to the top of the rock?

I would walk them

Shazam, what's this lame ass fucking song?

Ugh, at least I have muscle memory.

OUCH,

COME ON.

OUCH.

Come with me.

Ugh. I have so fuck to do.

Okay, now what do I do?

Just jump!

That seems like a bad idea.

It's the only idea you've got.

That's not even my idea!

—but it's the only idea you've got!

OKAY, I've got an idea!

What's it?

Wtf, I've never even seen this many people here.

What is this, a field trip.

GODDAMIT

JUST JMP.

i can't, I'm scared!

Okay. Then I'll push you. M

No don't

*push*

helicopter: fluh-fluh-fluh-

THERE HE IS—

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

AGHHHHHHHH.

GISNT BIRD OF PREHy-

SNATCH.

GODDAMN

Turn sim down

Okay, how much.

Just a little

How's that

That's better.

Okay.

Look, I am not interested in you.

I get that, Jimmy Fallon.

I am just doing my job, okay.

I get it, Jim.

Okay?! Do you understand.

I understand.

Okay?

Okay.

Okay.

So what is your job, exactly?

I keep my mouth shut,

Hands fisted misdirected,

But staying on track

Thank god they put this shit here

Hands in my pocket equals words h documented

I can't help but to admit

I almost want even writing before this

Now fast forward

Every time I'm under this, it feels like I'm already in my own show or something

Of course,

I used to love a good revolving door

Shit

I used to love at all

Man! I hate the rock!

Why.

Cause fuck Jimmy Fallon, that's why!

why?!

CAUSE.

Look, the you from the other dimension should be coming around that corner any minute.

Okay, for what.

To use the restroom.

Make sure she

They:

What.

Me is a “they”

Whatever.

I love the rush of death telling me to jump as the oncoming train approaches from behind me

I could be blinded by the light.

Look, 6'3

God knows what I need

And that makes history

Make sure when you when she goes into the bathroom, find Fallon and give him the—

I know what to do.

Alright,

YO.

NO. LEAVE ME ALONE.

I'm married with a family!

I don't find you attractive! At all!

I know that, asshole!

I only want you for your fame and money!

Wait, really?

No, you handsome basta'd!

Goddammit…

Goddammit! Sunni!?

I knew that was you!

It is me—but the other me is somewhere, so take this—quickly back to the 4th dimension—-

This is the fourth dimension!

Wait, it is?!

YES. What dimension did you think it was

The 8th!

The 8th?! THAT EXISTS?!

yeah!!! Where the fuck are you from?!

The third, I thought!

Thank god, here's this fucking train.

Well, fuck off, then! I gotta go find the 8th dimensional Jimmy Fallon!

What! For what?!

That's priveleged information

Ascended extraterrestrials only, broh!

Woah, woah, woah, don't “bro” me.

I said “broh”

What?! That's what I said—

No, you said—

Whatever. “Broh”,—

—now you said it—

—I'm coming with you—

Don't be homo.

—but, you're a woman, I thought.

That's what's you think.

That's what the tabloids said…

You wanna know what the tabloids said about you?

In which dimension?

Right?! Now shut up. Come on.

[they move quickly towards the—

Towards the where?

I don't know. I've only ever been at the bottom of the rock:

I don't get it. If the antenna is on the top,

Then why did my vibe go.

GLUH.

Sorry:

No , that's a lot; what is that:

—you really think imm handsome?

I think you're an asshole.

I hate writing at the rock

(Launching to onesel.)

You look ridiculous.

At least i can just write it off to

“Mental Health Problems”

MEANWHILE

Check it out. The devil is following me.

What.

Wanna see.

What the FUCK is that?

He wants my soul.

WOAH.

Yeah, cool, right.

No!

Yeah it is…

What the hell happened

I aucked him off once:

You what.

Calm down. I didn't know it was the devil.

Holy!

It's was un Unholy

See.

Damn Satan,!697 are fucking gross.

Yeah.

Nice tattoos though.

I thought you'd like this.

I do. Who's your body?

Some drunk.

The alcoholics are so easy.

What about my soul.

What about your soul, dude?

Why doesn't he want my soul?

He already has your soul.

What?! I never sold my soled my soul.

That's what you think.

Oh, I get it

comcast owns Jimmy Fallon.

Actually, Nancy Drew does, or whatever.

What's her name

Nancy!

HUH- what!!

DREW BARRYMORE.

GET IN HERE!!!!

woah. Okay. I gotta get back to the 90's.

Why!

I left my

DREW BARRYMORE

GODDAMIT.

Sorry,

JUST GET OUT.

She is cute, though.

She's so fucking cute.

Hey,

What.

Put me on your hit list,

For what.

Cause.

No way, dude.

So it's this Nancy Drew Character

Uh huh.

Then Comcast

Correct.

Then NBC/Universal.

uh-huh

Then Lorne Michaels—

Wait

Correct.

Fuck man. So you mean the portion of Jimmy Fallon I won in that game of 8 dimensional poker is pretty much nothin.

It's pretty much—

Worthless.

Not worthless.

What are you saying—

I'm saying—

I'm not a real woman

I just saw a real woman

With a long skirt

And a body worthy of love

Beautiful hair

And face like porcelain

Nothing upon the sleeves strewn in ink

Petite

I could never be a real woman

Actually, you know what.

I could have worn anything

But I'm not showing up for anything at Rockerfeller Plaza dressed like my inner cunslut

YOUR “INNER” CUMSLUT

THAT WSS AWESOME

I know, God.

*belches juicy semen, slurps*

You're—a fucking awful person, though, just awful.

I know.

Just—disgusting.

Yeah, but—

—that was the best blowjob I ever had

Yep. *burps—slurps* ufgh.

—and you swallowed all of it. I don't know how!

Both: That's was so much!

Haha yeah:

Jinx! You owe me a blowjob.

Okay!

You're fucking gross.

Yeah.

Oh wow.

That went deep.

I mean, not really “deep” it went aural.

*oral*

I swear to god if you publish this

POSTED

DAMN. that dude is good looking.

Why is he dating someone that looks like a mouseS

Maybe he's into mouce face

I guess.

I'm into mouse face.

[deadmau5]

Be nice.

Hey!

What: what do you want

That guys an asshole!

Duh!

Okay. I love white people

But they're weird sometimes

I was lookin at this dude on the train

Like real hard,

And I swear to God, I couldn't tell if that was his girl

Or his twin sister

I was like

What I the fuck am I lookin at

Idk but I like it

It's almost refreshing to see sliders that aren't made of plastic or whatever awful material

OH. CONAN O BRIEN

YEAH.

But mad young.

That's—

LUCIFER!

Hahahaha what

GET BACK HERE.

DAMN.

That's one good looking kid.

Dammit dammit dammit

A bunch of handsome white dudes I want nothing to do with

It's true

I do like the fame

The power

The respect

The money, I could give or take

Or make my own

Just so you'll date me

The power, I like

The respect and the fame

So your name came and went with the hour l

And the sunset

I might take walk in the rain

Because my body is ugly

And I just want to be loved

A husband

Two dogs

And pushing a stroller

Of course, there's the part that just wants to have fun

Get fucked up

Love someone I trust enough

To rub against

Without a rubber

Against the grain

Our heads together

He grabs the back of my neck

And I just can't handle it

Fuck. I love mad men— and I love men when they're mad

Especially Fallon

That's somebody's dad in the bathtub, yeah mate

Somebody back at the opera

Probably phantoms

There you go

You've got you a girl

So grab her hand

And hold onto her

Don't let her know

If yo love or fuck someone else

Just for the fun of it

Don't break her head and her heart at the same time

She might not come back from it

Like I never did

I never came back

I was punched in the face maybe 5

Or like 6 times

Before I got up, became Skrillex, went for a a run with the dogs

And then did it again

Never was god, though

I got a lot of problems

I love the waterfront

But no one loves me

I'm left in the lobby a lot

Like Mikey, in that one song

I guess I'm destiny

Or perhaps I'm your density

Once upon a time, I walked here

Once a upon a time, I worked here,

Shout out to number six.

This one is sung for you

This verse undoes the hex.

Remind me to get your mom hallmark cart, someone uttered

I fucking love her

Remember to stop at the shopping carts before you long walk home

Almost hoping you're soaked in the strange acid rai. So hard

You forget what your name is

I spent a whole plot of a film

Just trying to be famous

Luckily,

I think The Tonight Show stops taping in the summer,

So with any luck,

The real Jimmy Fallon is somewhere in Greece or some shit

Rich assholes and their summer vacations—

I'm guessing,

But still unwavering in the back of my mind somewhere

That no matter what,

Whenever I'm at 30 Rock, I'm being watched.

The entire cast of 30 rock is watching the legends saga in 3D, along with some of the keynote cast of Saturday night live—

Don't be selfish

I'm not. I don't know what else I used to watched that's owned by this media conglomerate

ahem.

SLASH/Universal.

Oh, so we are doing this back to the future revamp

depends, are you gonna keep being fat,

Or be spry, like Marty McFly

And just for the fuck of it,

You're the new Hanson in the new 21 Jumpstreet Movie

SUNNI BLU

Aight,

SUPA

Dammit.

TINA FEY

Do you smell donuts.

LIZ LEMON

no, it's cookies

Follow the smell of the cookies.

I get it.

I got it.

Try to remain unseen!

LOOK AT ME. I'M AT THE BASE OF A GIANT PE—

COCK.

LUTZ

When's the action?!

Notes:

Chocolate man makes everything chocolate

Okay. That's stupid.

Chocolate!

Chocolate!

Uhhh—-

What are you doing here?!?

I work here…what are you doing here?

I have tenure.

*purses lips*

[tina tries to hide the entire cast Reunion of late 90s/early 2000's SNL cast members behind her

(Nervously)

tah—uh;

I thought you were on vacation.

I redacted it.

What does that mean?

I know what it means.

Mm.

What does that mean.

I read the comics.

I have something to tell you.

Okay, what.

It can't be over the phone.

Okay.

Where the firefighters is?

I got some propolis cough syrup for the stalkers

[The Festival Project™]#

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Sai

Psy.

See you in seven years, then.

You're so silly—

I'm not going to live seven more years.

We'll see about that.

You will see.

I'll be dead.

So I'll be dead.

So it is.

A summer hiatus,

Vacations in Prague, yes

Let's pray for the rest of us

A sign of the times and a coming of ages

Who made you famous again

As the rest of us

I don't like it

As much as I'd like to

Keep writing

Keep finding the reason to die

and you're blinded by kindnesses

And I ams

I woke up in the 9th dimension,

As an infinite friend

Familiar with my kitchen

JOHN SLATTERY

An interesting thing happened this morning.

What's that, John?

I woke up as John Slattery

Just remember what love holds

The death of a salesman, rechargeable batteries

This walk could take forever in designer jeans

Another day in slave hell

The controllers controlling

And Satan is Sataning

Seems like a time to go clubbing

It's a simple kind of depression

Resting on your head when

All you simply wished is the taste of flesh

The freedom of skin

And the lather of love—

Or blood spatter on the pavement

Aim for the head

If the door's fixed, then we'll break it again

Look what greed does

I hate lazy days in Manhattan

Cause I've never had one

What happened on the way to the forum

I was starstruck;

Five finger death punch

Right in the heart

I wish I was punctual

Right on time for lunch

Don't you want to talk to someone more pungent?

Don't you got models to robot?

Don't you know I never want to hurt you

But you know, I'm going to hurt you.

You know I'm going to hurt you

Now, the review:

Sooner or later, I fall over your world

Good dudes in drags

Good food for thought

I'm a dog

With the wrong parts

You should take Kanye to the mall

With a migrants lanyard

(The migrants are anarchists!

Good one, God)

This one goes to. | this one fist, from

Which one are you ?

I guess we are one in the same

It's a famous radio tower

Live up to your name

Go sell your flower for flour

As I stand at the jumping point

Eye on Manhattan,

The wind beneath my wings

Distracting myself from the mansion I haven't

The mason jars I ought to buy for bargain

The brain and brain cereal I left at the market

I used to love Brandy

Now I just wish I was something, awesome

Now I just wish I was something, awesome

Now I just wish I was something, awesome

“The Album I Wrote On My Way To The Rock To Return Amazon Purchases No Longer Wanted”

That's a really long album title.

I didn't imagine I'd write this much

Just trying not to imagine this man in his under pants,

Or what have you

(I'm just a fan)

I'm just a dad hunched over in the bathroom

Must have been the magic of my backhand, backfired

Must have come untied and undone, under the rainbow

Must me on my way to Manhattan

For some blacklist event.

Where I'm from

The A List

Is a face

No name needed

“Oh, I know who you are”

If I purchased a car today

I might get done paying it off

By my 81st birthday.

Shady.

If I had a penny for every mistake I made,

I would probably be Nameless.

If there was a namesake to lay me into my grave, it would make sense;

Yes, let's move the train for a moment

With the doors still open.

— I'd like to watch what happens.

So what happens when the sun comes up

On the only body you've ever known

And no one wants it

What happens with a dude named Starr

Punches you over and over again

And then no one loves you

(That's starstruck, your honor)

What happens when granted a pardon for passions

And everything happens after is magic

What happens when all you want is to go manic

To finish the album

And just feel good again

What happens when the algorithm has Al Gore in it?

What happens when the rhythm in blues is just the attraction of random black men and their concubine counterparts?

Huh, what happens!

What happens, Kanye?

What happens, the God?

What happens when all that you want is a disgusting assumption of.

No on can trust you

And nobody loves you

Since it was simply a tryst

Put this at a distance.

Where did my energy disappear to!

Where in the fear is my other earring?

Fuck.

Be somewhere, anywhere else but your office, for the moment.

Be anyone but a mother,

Anywhere but your apartment—

It hurts, the construction.

Someone doesn't something

Nobody knows nothing about me,

But what I put in this caskets

(This podcast)

Oh hey,

I got fuck muscles from fuckin myself now!

I feel like I'm gonna die if I don't have sex!

For real!

Heal, Oh great dragon,

HEAL, BITCH.

Word.

woof for the world

Will for the wolf;

Rain on the roof.

Cobain don't have a God

(Or a Gun, if you wanted that one)

“Pull me up, God,

I'm done under here”

He called in

I followed the fosters to farrow

And got better

I got better and bitter much quicker and

Never in bed had I been as flexible

As to kiss his chest

As I kicked my own neck

With my left foot.

What the fucjing fairyshit is that.

There, I fixed it.

Fixed what.

I don't know what. But I fixed it.

I know, huh!

So be 110 and flexible

Powerlift tectonic plates

Do Pilates

And make waffles!?

Alright, I can do that

But only as Jennifer Aniston

I'd like to take back that Fallon I bought at the black market

He's broken.

I like his band tho—

The one on the left hand,

Over the damaged one.

Are you on to that?

Says the sayer,

Son of Sam

So Sai the sage

Sets the stage

Is that the plan?

Never fall for a man,

Even over an alter

And tied by the hands.

All I see in my initials initially is B Minor

16 might be minors, guys

But she's creaming to find you

At the front lines

Life of a superstar DJ

At the cross roads

Or the turnstiles

How do you turn bile into

Beguiling

Without rifling a few feathers

Or looking into the eye of the rifle

And dying first

Don't you let that tear fall from you onto the M Train.

I'm just training for fame

And hating you ever day

Since we made it

Love

Get out of my way, Satan

I'm staying

I'm saying your name sake insanely

Please break me

Like a chicken leg

Or just shake me from this existence

Since I don't seem fit for it

Anymore than I fit that

Givchechy dress you gave that blonde, right?

Am I dying! Or just dying inside

Fuck coughs

If you want him enough to. Use black magic

To do that to me,

wait till it falls back on you,

You gross hag

If god hates fags as much as he hates blacks

We should fly flags over the haggis I made Alice

When she's back from her adventures in wonderland

No wonder you're a Monro

Crossed over from O'Fallons

It's an old warfare with two clans

From the old countries

With no borders

Or border collies

Laboradores

And labirites, likely

As Aphrodite is to smite me

So here comes DJ Francis

With his new black girlfriend

Just kidding

We all know in his world

It's cold and broken

With nothing but blue eyes

And big wild to look over you

Bro, standing up is not going to make this train go anywhere. I almost promise you.

Turns out there's no such thing as a quick trip to the rock.

Turns out you'll sit stuck in your own sick

God as my witness

For screenshotting those ass pictures

—that's somebody's kids, dick.

tick tok has no limits.

VO

Of course,

The day and time I should have to go to Rockerfeller Plaza quickly, quietly and unseen, the train is magically destined not to move.

I've been sitting here at least a half hour, with no end in sight—

The doors close and the train begins moving.

Hahaha

Fucking hilarious, God.

I've been avoiding The Rock like the plague—

Not that I think anything would happen at all upon arrival— who am I, anyway?

Nobody important.

There she goes.

Still, I've written enough about it, and the people inside and around it,

That the place makes me nervous.

More nervous than ever, that is, actually—

I always felt weird in the place.

[flashbacks]

When I first got to New York,

I would end up there on accident.

Completely by accident.

Lost.

Faulty navigation.

Hackers:

Whatever.

I always just—

By complete fucking accident

Ended up at Rockerfeller Plaza

The city slips over us, as the train sinks back underground —

I'm facing the city now,

As not to be reminded of my abuser's toxic words and toxic hands,

By dirty white Nikes and Jansport backpacks

Still, etched into the subway walls

Are two stars, which remind me to repeat the mantra:

Starr Michael Roberts is a pedophile wifebeater

Less of a manta than the truest words ever spoken,

But that's all the shape of a five point star means to me now or will ever mean to me

And to think,

The American flag has 50 of the

50 wife beating pedophile men

On a red white and blue flag

That waves just to remind me

I was born a fat ugly noack woman

To be a slave

And there's no one to save us

I want to senselessly beat the man in the dirty white Nikes and Jansport backpack

Just like I was beaten senselessly by the man called Starr,

The devil in disguise as my first love

Still trying to chase my soul from its dream

Back into his nightmarish under realms of unhygienic hatred, vomit stained rugs

And poss stained couches,

Phlegm on the walls and

Nothing on but Diablo

And old episodes of the sopranos.

—but I still love the sopranos;

And I still love my one and only

Good thing that ever happened

From an awful marriage

That buried me

wonder what's on this side of the train to write

Maybe nothing

Nothing I like, anyway

Some guy that just thinks imm some ugly black bitch

Of course

All the white rich dudes

Are horrible

I miss the poor surfers

Blowing blunts and wishing they was with blondes,

With me tucked under their arms

I need a tummy tuck to find love

Goddamn,

Imm miserable just sitting here

At least I get a glance at her

The tattooed God

With the pink hair

Where's Wanda

Sai the Saige

Don't say ahit

Unless its music

Sai the Saige says

Turn the page

For more sermons

Sai the Saige sings her words carefully

Write forwards for whole books in four words

Four worlds down,

Now four more.

That's a world tour.

Lil biiiiiiitzzz

Bro, I might never have sex again.

There's a new STD on the loose

And patient zero is a white man from New York in his 30's

FUCKING GROSS.

Where's wanda

Where's Waldo

Ah FUCK

I got your wallet

WHATS WRONG WITH YOU.

SOMETHING

which one are you?!

Nothing, nobody.

Sunni?!

I'm not Sonny, you're Sonny.

I'm not—

Don't say it

Whatever

Where is it?

Where's what?

The rock

You're on the rock!

I that's not —

Stop it

what I meant!

Which one are you—

Who are you

8mm

I'm the cosmic—

Whatever the fuck.

Gimmie the rock

Get off of me

I think too much

I think I have a disease

I think too much

But I don't think much of me

It's just as much as I want

A three musketeers bar,

That's far fetched

For a vegan

With 12 dollars in the budget

For the rest of the month

Goddamn.

One down

20 to go

Call someone

To take your husband

Home

I'm drunk m

I'm stuck in this thought

At the bottom of the rock

Damn. 8 always get lost here

Not today though, I hope

Follow the smell of coffe tbigg us h the open doors

This the stairs up a couple stores.

Muscle memory l

Wait.

Are there stairs to the top of the rock?

I would walk them

Shazam, what's this lame ass fucking song?

Ugh, at least I have muscle memory.

OUCH,

COME ON.

OUCH.

Come with me.

Ugh. I have so fuck to do.

Okay, now what do I do?

Just jump!

That seems like a bad idea.

It's the only idea you've got.

That's not even my idea!

—but it's the only idea you've got!

OKAY, I've got an idea!

What's it?

Wtf, I've never even seen this many people here.

What is this, a field trip.

GODDAMIT

JUST JMP.

i can't, I'm scared!

Okay. Then I'll push you. M

No don't

*push*

helicopter: fluh-fluh-fluh-

THERE HE IS—

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

AGHHHHHHHH.

GISNT BIRD OF PREHy-

SNATCH.

GODDAMN

Turn sim down

Okay, how much.

Just a little

How's that

That's better.

Okay.

Look, I am not interested in you.

I get that, Jimmy Fallon.

I am just doing my job, okay.

I get it, Jim.

Okay?! Do you understand.

I understand.

Okay?

Okay.

Okay.

So what is your job, exactly?

I keep my mouth shut,

Hands fisted misdirected,

But staying on track

Thank god they put this shit here

Hands in my pocket equals words h documented

I can't help but to admit

I almost want even writing before this

Now fast forward

Every time I'm under this, it feels like I'm already in my own show or something

Of course,

I used to love a good revolving door

Shit

I used to love at all

Man! I hate the rock!

Why.

Cause fuck Jimmy Fallon, that's why!

why?!

CAUSE.

Look, the you from the other dimension should be coming around that corner any minute.

Okay, for what.

To use the restroom.

Make sure she

They:

What.

Me is a “they”

Whatever.

I love the rush of death telling me to jump as the oncoming train approaches from behind me

I could be blinded by the light.

Look, 6'3

God knows what I need

And that makes history

Make sure when you when she goes into the bathroom, find Fallon and give him the—

I know what to do.

Alright,

YO.

NO. LEAVE ME ALONE.

I'm married with a family!

I don't find you attractive! At all!

I know that, asshole!

I only want you for your fame and money!

Wait, really?

No, you handsome basta'd!

Goddammit…

Goddammit! Sunni!?

I knew that was you!

It is me—but the other me is somewhere, so take this—quickly back to the 4th dimension—-

This is the fourth dimension!

Wait, it is?!

YES. What dimension did you think it was

The 8th!

The 8th?! THAT EXISTS?!

yeah!!! Where the fuck are you from?!

The third, I thought!

Thank god, here's this fucking train.

Well, fuck off, then! I gotta go find the 8th dimensional Jimmy Fallon!

What! For what?!

That's priveleged information

Ascended extraterrestrials only, broh!

Woah, woah, woah, don't “bro” me.

I said “broh”

What?! That's what I said—

No, you said—

Whatever. “Broh”,—

—now you said it—

—I'm coming with you—

Don't be homo.

—but, you're a woman, I thought.

That's what's you think.

That's what the tabloids said…

You wanna know what the tabloids said about you?

In which dimension?

Right?! Now shut up. Come on.

[they move quickly towards the—

Towards the where?

I don't know. I've only ever been at the bottom of the rock:

I don't get it. If the antenna is on the top,

Then why did my vibe go.

GLUH.

Sorry:

No , that's a lot; what is that:

—you really think imm handsome?

I think you're an asshole.

I hate writing at the rock

(Launching to onesel.)

You look ridiculous.

At least i can just write it off to

“Mental Health Problems”

MEANWHILE

Check it out. The devil is following me.

What.

Wanna see.

What the FUCK is that?

He wants my soul.

WOAH.

Yeah, cool, right.

No!

Yeah it is…

What the hell happened

I aucked him off once:

You what.

Calm down. I didn't know it was the devil.

Holy!

It's was un Unholy

See.

Damn Satan,!697 are fucking gross.

Yeah.

Nice tattoos though.

I thought you'd like this.

I do. Who's your body?

Some drunk.

The alcoholics are so easy.

What about my soul.

What about your soul, dude?

Why doesn't he want my soul?

He already has your soul.

What?! I never sold my soled my soul.

That's what you think.

Oh, I get it

comcast owns Jimmy Fallon.

Actually, Nancy Drew does, or whatever.

What's her name

Nancy!

HUH- what!!

DREW BARRYMORE.

GET IN HERE!!!!

woah. Okay. I gotta get back to the 90's.

Why!

I left my

DREW BARRYMORE

GODDAMIT.

Sorry,

JUST GET OUT.

She is cute, though.

She's so fucking cute.

Hey,

What.

Put me on your hit list,

For what.

Cause.

No way, dude.

So it's this Nancy Drew Character

Uh huh.

Then Comcast

Correct.

Then NBC/Universal.

uh-huh

Then Lorne Michaels—

Wait

Correct.

Fuck man. So you mean the portion of Jimmy Fallon I won in that game of 8 dimensional poker is pretty much nothin.

It's pretty much—

Worthless.

Not worthless.

What are you saying—

I'm saying—

I'm not a real woman

I just saw a real woman

With a long skirt

And a body worthy of love

Beautiful hair

And face like porcelain

Nothing upon the sleeves strewn in ink

Petite

I could never be a real woman

Actually, you know what.

I could have worn anything

But I'm not showing up for anything at Rockerfeller Plaza dressed like my inner cunslut

YOUR “INNER” CUMSLUT

THAT WSS AWESOME

I know, God.

*belches juicy semen, slurps*

You're—a fucking awful person, though, just awful.

I know.

Just—disgusting.

Yeah, but—

—that was the best blowjob I ever had

Yep. *burps—slurps* ufgh.

—and you swallowed all of it. I don't know how!

Both: That's was so much!

Haha yeah:

Jinx! You owe me a blowjob.

Okay!

You're fucking gross.

Yeah.

Oh wow.

That went deep.

I mean, not really “deep” it went aural.

*oral*

I swear to god if you publish this

POSTED

DAMN. that dude is good looking.

Why is he dating someone that looks like a mouseS

Maybe he's into mouce face

I guess.

I'm into mouse face.

[deadmau5]

Be nice.

Hey!

What: what do you want

That guys an asshole!

Duh!

Okay. I love white people

But they're weird sometimes

I was lookin at this dude on the train

Like real hard,

And I swear to God, I couldn't tell if that was his girl

Or his twin sister

I was like

What I the fuck am I lookin at

Idk but I like it

It's almost refreshing to see sliders that aren't made of plastic or whatever awful material

OH. CONAN O BRIEN

YEAH.

But mad young.

That's—

LUCIFER!

Hahahaha what

GET BACK HERE.

DAMN.

That's one good looking kid.

Dammit dammit dammit

A bunch of handsome white dudes I want nothing to do with

It's true

I do like the fame

The power

The respect

The money, I could give or take

Or make my own

Just so you'll date me

The power, I like

The respect and the fame

So your name came and went with the hour l

And the sunset

I might take walk in the rain

Because my body is ugly

And I just want to be loved

A husband

Two dogs

And pushing a stroller

Of course, there's the part that just wants to have fun

Get fucked up

Love someone I trust enough

To rub against

Without a rubber

Against the grain

Our heads together

He grabs the back of my neck

And I just can't handle it

Fuck. I love mad men— and I love men when they're mad

Especially Fallon

That's somebody's dad in the bathtub, yeah mate

Somebody back at the opera

Probably phantoms

There you go

You've got you a girl

So grab her hand

And hold onto her

Don't let her know

If yo love or fuck someone else

Just for the fun of it

Don't break her head and her heart at the same time

She might not come back from it

Like I never did

I never came back

I was punched in the face maybe 5

Or like 6 times

Before I got up, became Skrillex, went for a a run with the dogs

And then did it again

Never was god, though

I got a lot of problems

I love the waterfront

But no one loves me

I'm left in the lobby a lot

Like Mikey, in that one song

I guess I'm destiny

Or perhaps I'm your density

Once upon a time, I walked here

Once a upon a time, I worked here,

Shout out to number six.

This one is sung for you

This verse undoes the hex.

Remind me to get your mom hallmark cart, someone uttered

I fucking love her

Remember to stop at the shopping carts before you long walk home

Almost hoping you're soaked in the strange acid rai. So hard

You forget what your name is

I spent a whole plot of a film

Just trying to be famous

Luckily,

I think The Tonight Show stops taping in the summer,

So with any luck,

The real Jimmy Fallon is somewhere in Greece or some shit

Rich assholes and their summer vacations—

I'm guessing,

But still unwavering in the back of my mind somewhere

That no matter what,

Whenever I'm at 30 Rock, I'm being watched.

The entire cast of 30 rock is watching the legends saga in 3D, along with some of the keynote cast of Saturday night live—

Don't be selfish

I'm not. I don't know what else I used to watched that's owned by this media conglomerate

ahem.

SLASH/Universal.

Oh, so we are doing this back to the future revamp

depends, are you gonna keep being fat,

Or be spry, like Marty McFly

And just for the fuck of it,

You're the new Hanson in the new 21 Jumpstreet Movie

SUNNI BLU

Aight,

SUPA

Dammit.

TINA FEY

Do you smell donuts.

LIZ LEMON

no, it's cookies

Follow the smell of the cookies.

I get it.

I got it.

Try to remain unseen!

LOOK AT ME. I'M AT THE BASE OF A GIANT PE—

COCK.

LUTZ

When's the action?!

Notes:

Chocolate man makes everything chocolate

Okay. That's stupid.

Chocolate!

Chocolate!

Uhhh—-

What are you doing here?!?

I work here…what are you doing here?

I have tenure.

*purses lips*

[tina tries to hide the entire cast Reunion of late 90s/early 2000's SNL cast members behind her

(Nervously)

tah—uh;

I thought you were on vacation.

I redacted it.

What does that mean?

I know what it means.

Mm.

What does that mean.

I read the comics.

I have something to tell you.

Okay, what.

It can't be over the phone.

Okay.

Where the firefighters is?

I got some propolis cough syrup for the stalkers

[The Festival Project™]#

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Synopsis for this mix:

the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks.

what else happened?

idk.

I CANT STOP DANCING.

none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth.

"missing"

YOU SHOT HIM.

I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1

Season 7- 15

Man, I can't remember the other two kids names,

I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit.

Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent—

Holy shit, give this kid a name-/

I thought I already named her, I just don't remember.

That's true. It seems like they all had names.

She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself.

“Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season.

Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick—

Where's his write up, anyway?

That shit could go on for days.

I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like—

At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason.

Hazel's 7 - Season Arc

Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child.

Holy shit, what is this kid's name

If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't.

The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't.

I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's—

I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene.

I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all…

The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically

What's the therapists name?

Doctor Robin

She has to have a last name

Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but

It seems like it starts with a T.

We'll see. I just saw her anyway.

I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer.

It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible…

lol the Al Gore Rhythm

Ahahahahahahaha

Was that the joke?

Maybe. Idk.

Maybe. Idk.

Hm.

Hmmmmm:

What:

Nothing.

That actually might have been it.

Really, was it?

I will never know.

That is kind of a good dad joke, though.

And a good band name.

Idk about that.

My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was—

The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar.

‘Why would I even want that, anyway?'

I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily.

But really—

I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one.

$5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else.

It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at

“Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about.

I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption.

e.

My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy.

Robin Bennett

Fine.

“My name's

—ahem—

“Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.”

—did the say “don't” write a book about me?

It's Not about him…

Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy.

Robin Bennett

Fine.

“My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.”

Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason.

I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that wenwere somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline.

Episode 01. Pilot

An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger.

Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth.

Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshipped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen—

Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all…

—specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role.

I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were everpresent anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead.

‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.'

Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizzare and asenine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-concious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the —

Was it Keystone?

It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true.

I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about.

It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to

What if someone steals this out of my documents?

That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form.

‘I don't know why, but I feel so incredibly high,

So incredibly high right now…'

They could have been words to a song, but I did feel high as a kite for whatever reason, without the actual kite metaphor quite literally dagling over my head, for once, or at least, it had been a few weeks, not a prominent as is was before. I sat soaking in the tub teetering on the possibility that I should actually even watch The Tonight Show, or whatever it was, to set my mind at ease, a betrayal of my own code—as one does not literally feed its obsessions into insanity on purpose. ‘Perhaps, though', I thought, ‘I could get rid of this.' — A cancerous abscess in the tradegy that had become my own sex fueled, rage driven, racing mind—and rather admittedly, it was almost too late, for anything of the sort, as I hadn't any other place to keep the growing world of The Television People any quieter, than within the monstrous algorithm which was Google documents cloud, where it seemed nothing was safe, and anything could be fabricated into reality after being stolen, by someone rich enough to make it happen, however, never being any better than my own disaster of a creation.

And it was, a disaster.

He was a comic genius, a professional, and spectacular performer— in actuality, I knew nothing if not anything at all about him, and the more I collected, the more interesting I found myself, actually, bemused that I seem to have found some sort of twin, another synchronizatic nightmare—if only that I made it to be so, unbelieving yet that I was in some kind of fairytale, though it had become some sort of fantastical and adventurous thing, this what I now refer to as ‘the allegories,'.

I must have been something parasitic to the industry, with the tendency to latch on and ride out whatever had become a faciniation, but it wasn't, in its sense of origin, like anything before— it was something new, in the ways that it was, and something old at the same time—though needing to fall drastically from The Tower without actually doing so, putting a stop to my unlimited creation became a pertinent priority, as even exercising, meditating, and chronic masturbation tended to exacerbate it, as if I was missing a step in transmutation of this foreign substance— an energy which seemed familiar, but also wasn't.

I was receiving downloads several hours at a time, and drifting off into spells and trances of inspiration so heavily that it seemed counterintuitive to call it off, fearing I might lose the intensity of the plot and its characters, and they were that: just characters.

It had taken days to erase Patrick's face into a blank state to restore him from that of his namesake, but now everything was a blur, the allure of scrapping it all to return to making music was upon some sort of dawning, but not yet arrived. I allowed whatever came to mind to flow freely from my fingertips, even if it felt bizzare—and even if it felt bizarre, it never felt wrong at all.

‘Unfortunate, that.' , I thought crossing one leg over another to complete my chapter before draining the tub.

I promised myself long ago to always pray for my own son, before worrying about another celebrity, whose fame and fortune protected them more than I ever seemed to protect myself or my own—nonsense, but a strong sense of remorse, as I had been painted as wicked, in a sense, just for being kept poor, separated from my son, and left in a world without love at all; My project, a keepsake of the hard work I had done; but had not yet been paid for—and the fear was in the understanding that that money might not ever come, that I would never be a mother, a muse, or anything or anyone else I actually wanted. I thought briefly again about just getting a dog—but I only had 45 dollars, aside from the unmarked Jimmy Fallons, I had placed atop an alter on my kitchen counter, wondering how to multiply them into something I wanted—and that had been the start of the game or the project at all— saving my last dollars and spending them at once, with the hopes and wishes that they would become somehow much larger quantities, returned as good karma for the love I had given, but that had not yet come back, in one form or another.

‘He seems miserable, the poor bloak.' , I thought—and with all that I had known to have come with fame and fortune along with the luck, he probably somewhere, somehow was—but my concern was my son, turning the mere dollars somehow from one's into bundles of hundreds, thousands, and maybe even one day a whole million or more.

That was the push behind the project at all—breaking the cycle of the poor black single mother, the story that had been told over and over-/ with stories that had not; the stories that had become

[The Festival Project™]#

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

The third day of fast had been light nutrients by way of liquids only, though it didn't seem to satiate whatever else it was I might have needed, besides some sort of adoration or companionship, my human need for love set aside by some ravenous monster, now I had a plethora of ingredients which might make up some hearty dishes, and though I wished to feast, as it was feast Friday, I also needed it to last, havi stocked up more well rounded than usual on things that I needed, having gathered ingredients I had nearly often almost missed without taking multiple trips to the store, which I was determined not to do—the world was gross and full of coughing robots again, and that meant it was time to retreat into my cave, whether or not I was meant, and my urge for money over freedom nearly winning at every corner at which I was told “turn back”. And I was, being told by some voice to “turn back”, although it seemed to have come from within rather than without, and still I couldn't much do to more than escape the disasterous horrible people who buzzed around outside like mindless bots, one of which I was becoming, the more time I spent on the ground, seeking menial work for menial pay, as not to be coupled up and left to commit an atrocious suicide by the horrid motorcyclists and car enthusiast without a care for anyone besides themselves, in that the noise they were making nearly all day and all night at times, was so painfully disturbing to some, that it had indeed begun to make me sick, not just in my head, but in my minds body, and soul. I could not trust such carelessness to be anything but that of the devil's work, to which some claimed pride in doing, and to which some others were thoughtlessly unaware, of everything, if not themselves. The grotesque demonic-looking people-creatures were at best subhuman, and as I had explained in my interview just the day before, that it was probably due to the mass consumption of products not fit for consumption at all, let alone nutrition purposes, neither of which the higher ups had seemed to care, burdening the poor upon themselves.

I was not seeking to be doomed to remaining forever poor, and thought it best I collect as much money and acquired wealth as possible, before the times were shifted and I were forced into worse circumstances than my own—my beautiful but not peaceful at all, luxury apartment, just three stories above Hell and it's subterranean shithoe of mass transit and transients, however though I did find heavenly spiritual bodies to sometimes dwell and encapsulate within the system—old, sunken, good spirits, lost souls, and others, of whom I considered myself as one with, however, in the opposite of

253schemehorn ace hotel lobby

Caaaarrieee, Carrie baby!

chapter ⅔ ? “DJ's don't Sleep”

I was nervous but holding it well, I had all that I needed and was hoping it was worth it; I hadn't worn heels in months and hadn't the money for new hair or nails, and so it was as bare bones as it would get, my one nice outfit besides a body on dress I decided would not be worth the trouble and might attract the wrong sort of attention anyway—#€{}{ was some kind of work in the morning, though I wasn't sure what, and although I didn't plan to stay long, I also hadn't wanted to arrive too early to really see what kind of party it was, just short of overdue and on the entire of fashionably late, but that the very least I did look fashionable, and however tired i was, something had to be done to at the very least make an appearance, and maintain posture and presence, maybe at some point gaining back the social abilities I had lost being homeless and isolated, not that I wanted much for real socialization that wasn't absolutely fulfilling.

Sad, on my way to a party

Thinking bout somebody that don't even want me

Tired as hell

But this better be good

Let me dance and get out of my shell a

Get out of my head a bit

And just chill

Say the alphabet,

Just trying not to blow it

Sad, on my way to a rager

I brought my pager

But I hope it don't ring

I don't need nothing

But someone to love me

I'm actually working

It stopped being fun to me

When suddenly

Everyone around me

Was me

What's up with that

Tom and Jerry

Peter Paul and Mary

Walk into a bar

And ask for the ball park

Where's it at?

They're ll lost

Where's my hat, u

Well never mind that

I think I dropped my fanny pack

Funny pick —

Bro I pocket wrote this and decided to keep it for that dimension where my misspellings and typos are opening portals to other dimensions and shit

Ok.

Nice.

Uh ugh du uh yuxuvu y u. I. U uru

Maybe at the yucu DD ine the s and found Truth uuto eu euvuuvvv

You can get it back up uguuuvuvvuuuuufuu just a t dumb idea who edoesn't

She said uuuuguuuuuue s essay

But that's a long re uuzzeezjj e A zzz

To come down To u uuuzeze

S

It was shameless self promotion, but the. Again, what for wasn't—I wasn't having any fun, and I almost remembered the night, and something in me wanted to dance, but it was almost as if I couldn't move, or suddenly even, Uuuuuxhis u szzzuuuuuxxdxucouldn't speakuudg. I didn't duS uuto belong on the dance floor— but how and when would I ever become the ugh I was uuDJ Uuu c u, if ever? I thehadw bruh there a grueling 8 uminutes and U u u uucready tog leave, but w?uhhh ughucuuhxu b by uuuuuue I haddock a pocket full of hu and a uggyuuhuuuu uxc UuudThoughu u u dueh huh h uh uh bubudy to be g W u use udguuuuyu. Uuuducguu u tc uhugetting your own house cgun u u

Ndiogou N LMH 1812

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Tidbits

Points:

Jennifer Lopez in the 90's enters immidiate superstardom and fame, as The Illuminati, which has been tracking her every move for quite some time, conspicuously gifts her with a handful of large, rare, and uncut diamonds—she becomes a Kingpin and near overnight success, keeping the secret of the diamonds to herself—however, as she is skyrocketed to success and fame, strange and mystical things begin happening all around—and even more strange and mysterious, mystical people—besides the usually strange and magical celebrities and otherwise unworldly weirdos within the Illuminati's ranks— begin to appear, acting as guiding forces between the multidimensional realms which within the various portals a hidden world — infinity and beyond— has been kept, only exposed through the stories, shows, and —

Wait a second

— a montage— montage—

I'm being intercepted.

What? What about a montage??

I love a good montage.

Everybody loves a good montage.

the infinite Jennifer Aniston and her Multidimensional counterparts

Jennifer Aniston is tasked as becoming a guardian angel, to help protect and watch over the mysterious extraterrestrial formerly known as supacree, currently masquerading as CC as she attempts to escape the spiral of magical attacks from unknown forces, after being trapped in New York City.

You know what? I love it. I'll take it.

Are you sure?

Yeah, I'm sure. I love her.

I love her.

it'll take it.

JENNIFER ANNISTON, a well-known A-list actress whose rise to fame in the 1990's created her as a Hollywood superstar (and Illuminati staple) has been looking for the perfect project to invest her time to— rumors within the Underground have been circulating about a “secret podcast”, to which it's curator, a homeless and downtrodden musician and amateur DJ publishing Illuminati doctrine, some of which is only known to the limited and coveted higher ranks within the organization, interwoven into the plot's narratives as “Easter eggs”; the unformed screenplays have been archived and passed around for a number of years within a small community of elites, and some even plagiarized by the mindless and money hungry lowest ranking industry professionals—however—as it is known by the leaders of the organization as a whole, the true origins of this doctrine remains “unknown”, and the identity of the author, is surmised to be the prophesied scribe, set to arrive as the dawning of a new era arises, to write within her words the hidden truths to be sought by all mankind and otherwise—and therefore, must be protected and hidden within the organizations cradle at all costs; though misunderstood greatly, The Illuminati has been tasked with spreading the divine light to the human species through artform and storytelling, and as the art of wordfare becomes a lost art, the doctrine must be colluded to be written, before the end of the scribe's time, said to be often—a most untimely death, as the forces of darkensss seek to end all that remains of the love and light of the divine kind.

Damn, really: Jennifer Aniston.

I really like her eyes:

Well yeah, they're mine, so.

Apparently or whatever, Jennifer Anniston is assigned to guide CC as she trains to stand up as the scribe —

Who revealed herself as so in Los Angeles, at Carl Cox's show.

I dropped three cards for form the center of my eye,

Here:

An equilateral triangle.

I Am.

Two—

These markings will be known to those as I,

The scribe.

Three—

A world unknown awaits all those who seek the truth of the divine light in the pursuit of higher knowledge.

INT. EQUINOX SPORTS CLUB NEW YORK. MANHATTAN. DAY

JENNIFER ANNISTON enters the elevator—to her left, towering over her, she spots JIMMY FALLON, trying to remain unseen.

…Jim?

Oh, yeah, hey,

What re you doing here?

Whatever I want.

You shouldn't be here.

You shouldn't be here.

This is by the way, when Satan switches from Jimmy fallon's body to Jennifer Anniston, hereby known as Jennifer Anisatan— just before the scene at Equinox

“I'm holding in a fart.”

So wait, who is Jimmy Fallon, then?

Who the fuck knows.

Who the fuck cares.

I'm over it.

————————————————No wait, don't.

Tie me to the cross

Bleed on my sickness m

Crossfaders, behind us

Blinder up, bonded

Surreal,

The sunsets are longer

Open your mind, your highness

Crossfire, behind us

(Someone else writing this)

Dawn comes on stronger

The sunsets are longer

Tie me to your honor

Come before me

Somebody said you were the apocalypse

I should have listened to my father

Somebody told me you won the world at a carnival

I should have never listened to my mother

I should have listened to my father

I should have listened to my father

I should have listened to my father

Come before me

Tie me to your honor

Born of blood,

The borderline genius

You were the apocalypse

Tie me to your cross

MAYA RUDOLPH

Is weird.

MAYA RUDOLPH prepares for a SAYONCE in her formerly secret apartment on the upper east side dedicated entirely to magical purposes

Ok.

Ok.

Okay?

Ok.

The worst part about it is,

I do understand you,

Because I am you

The very worst part of it is

I want a family

To hold you hand

And rub your back

But I just can't have you

—I'm just a fan, dude.

The truth is I've got two suitcases,

Some capsules of cyanide,

An axe and some anthrax

A cat in my lap

And a failing laptop

I've been living hand to mouth

I've got

A ripped backpack

A stress ball

A Hackey sack

A hockey bag

A volleyball

And a mouthful of gunpowder

How do you like me now?

It's gonna take forever to fund my project

But it's gonna take longer

To find my body

Cause nobody loves me

Nobody has my number

The phone is shut off

And so is the water

(By that I mean, my love;

It's all coming out blood now)

I must be backed up

And stuffed full of crystal cocks

I could give it up for a wand

Or a ringworm

Oh God

My wrists are itching to ditch this place

I fell asleep with a gun to my head

And woke up Cobain

Okay?

Ok

Okay?

Ok.

Sorry to wake you

I came to rape you

HEATH LEDGER

hello.

OH, GOD.

HEATH LEDGER

I heard you like ghosts.

I— I don't.

HEATH LEDGER

Oh, you don't?

No—!

HEATH LEDGER

oh!

wait—who are you?

HEATH LEDGER

(Makes joker face)

All my friends are dead, anyway

I'm loving more ghosts than people these days

The faces, the golden days

The golden retrievers

I need some relief, man

Release me

Sweet, freedom

Just lay on your back,

And I'll take it from there

JOKER?

Aha.

I'm in love with the idea of

Death

The idea of

Leaving this world behind

The idea of love

The ideal of love

The ideal of love

The seductive touch

I'm in love with the idea of

Not knowing pain

The idea of

Not needing money

The idea of love

The ideal of love

The ideal of love

The seductive barrel of a gun

So run away

Run far from me

Far as the eye can see—

And I'll aim for the head

But probably just get the neck

Or the center of the back

Twirl around, girl

Do your dance

Heads or tales for the daughters

The blondes,

The live that you wanted

The life that you wasted

The knife to your back

The life flight

The kite hack

Never spend your heart on band tickets

Don't you know

This is so much more

Disappointing in person

We all are

Never spend your bet on your bottom dollar

The kite and the rock band

The lost rock

The last dollar

Diamonds on your

JENNIFER LOPEZ

GET IN THE BACK OF THE VAN, BITCH.

NO WAY, J-LO.

YOU LOVE ME

EXACTLY.

GETAWAYFROMME.

DONT MAKE ME CALL GOLDBERG.

I'M LIKE WAY MORE SCARED OF JANET JACKSON.

JANRT JACKSON

GUESS WHAT?!

OH NO!!! NOOOO.

U PICKS UP TO SUPER SPEED

wtf.

How does she run that fast, that fat?

I really don't know.

Did you call my name?

Did you wake me from my relentless dreams

I needed you

Just like you needed me

I called your name

You called me

Follow me home

Follow me to the road we both know

Open the doors for the lonely

Follow me home

Follow me home

Sista sista

What it is, mista?

Turn the tables,

Drums, then get my sticks sucked

You dig it?

Turn on the television

I'm on in an minute

This could be infinite,

Nothing to defend here,

Just

No, not the google documents!

GET IN THE HOLE.

Hm.

What.

Blood Shower

All along the watch tower

Do you feel good?

Do you?

Do you feel bad about this.

I do. I feel bad about this.

I forgot to tell you–

I should probably let you know that I just want to

MAN, FUCK THIS DUDE.

MA.

WAHT.

IT'S ON.

WHAt.

THE SHOW IS ON.

THEWHAT.

THE–

*suddenly self aware*

…I gotta get out of Boston.

What, first this was about war, now it's about bird people?

It's about a war WITH the bird people.

I should sleep.

Hahaha. No.

This isn't funny anymore.

At least it's over.

MA–

Oh, it's far from over.

Yo, i'm going through some crazy shit right now.

Spur of the moment

I'd never thought of it;

This is gonna take forever.

I don't have the patience

To even write this

I just want french fries right now

But been up for two days with no gym and

I'm on a diet.

GUAC TIME.

No, no burritos.

GUAC TIME.

Oh shit, this is getting real as fuck .

NOw i see it three ways.

I love it.

I hate it.

HEY, LET ME OUT.

GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, SKRILLEX.

I'M DILLON FRANCIS.

IN THE HOLE.

Check it out.

Huh.

It's another DJ.

*agrees*

Should we pick him up.

WEll, the good news is: I found your friend.

Oh, that's good.

The bad news is: He's dead.

Oh, that–'s … nice.

Yeah. It is.

Uh. Kaskade.

Yeah.

We gotta find Ryan.

Why. What's up?

You're freaking me out.

Why. What's up.

Nothing

IS it my eyes?

I–

*wild ass eyes*

Yeah, it's probably that.

Fuck dude, what did you do to deadmau5.

NOTHIN.

He's not the same.

What the fuck is that.

Holy shit I jus timejumped

Where the fuck are you going.

How the fuck could this happen?!

It COULDN'T.

Well, that's it then.

*shrugs*

Well, I guess we're just gonna have to go dig up Dillon Francis.

I guess so.

Do you think he's still alive.

Like, probably not–

Maybe…

No, probably not

@prodbywar& @Halmadeit

This amazon order took me nine hours

Alexa, I think i should fire her

Like a arm

I don't leave at night without armor

Don't make me a martyr

Your mom will be proud of us all

If i make it outta here

And i'll look after her

Got the whole block coming up on my heels as I walk

Wtf is it…

Idk dude.

Is it speeding up?

I…i think so.

There's no way this is 140

IT's 140.

It's 140 .

There's no way.

Yes way.

Nah huh.

Let me see.

No.

Let me at the decks.

Let me at the decks.

NO.

YO LET ME AT THE DECKS.

You want deks.

Yes.

I got deks.

Really.

yeus .

I never listened to it like this

In ableton

I read serato, synesthesia and rekordbox

I talk a lot,

I'm like a human music box

I walk a lot

I run my mouth a mile a minute

(faster than i run around the track reciting rap words)

Like they're passwords.

Oh, I could do this forever..

I wish i had i microphone right now

And was all alone

With the lights off

Lying on the floor

I'd be lying if i said I could afford you

Just to fornicate

But may consider playing with a foreigner

If you're all for her

I'm unnerved, you know

Cause i've been up so long

My monster likes to play with boys and

Make the bass go down below where

Nobody does anymore

Once I get a hold of things

Or the hang of it

You've got another hot ones on your hands

I've another record under my belt

Or in my roster,

Whatever you'd call it

But now I've got no time to bark about

Wanting a dog and a daughter

But none of the responsibility or

Going through all the trouble to find her a father

I'm still holding a fart in.

Reaally–cause–it's been a really long time.

WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT A LONG TIME, JIMMY FALLON??

Um a lot! You literally just saw me make the journey all the way up from nothing.

I am nothing

EXACTLY.

I don't have time to fight with you Jiimmy Fallon.

I did NOT write these games by myself you know?!

Um, excuse me– “GAMES” ?!

YES, GAMES.

Uh, I've only got one game with you in it, my friend.

Is that so!

One game that I've written with the Great–formerly LATE Jimmy Fallon.

Is that like a play on words cause i'm on late night TV

YOu'RE ON ALL THE TIME TV, JIMMY. NBC SHIT IS PRACTICALLY AUTOMATICALLY SYNDICATED.

-_-

…are you alright.

–_-_-__-_

Hold on, I think i've got it

Nice, I found a growler.

yOu still haven't got all the monsters and sprites

Ive got all the big ones, but the little ones are harder to catch.

GrO0Wl3rrr.

Aww.

He's so ugly.

Yeah, but cute, though, right.

I don't think so.

Gro)WwlErrrrrrrrr.

Aww.

That's so fucking gross.

lol . so what does this thing look like.

Well, that't the thing about the monsters and sprites.

WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT.

It's alright, it's alright–he's nice.

WHAT. THAT'S A SPRITE.

No, it's a monster. He's just scary.

SUPACREE.

David Bowie. What up.

God, it took me ages to find you.

Tell me about it. I'm still trying.

We've been expecting you for a long time.

You were expecting I'd die?

Yes.

So when she says she's “married to the music…”

I'm married to the music.

Oh, so.

Yo, honestly if you een want to talk to this bitch, you'd better have like a musical instrument, or a mic in your hands,

Otherwise–

No, getawayfrom me.

It's not even worth it.

HI.

–No.

What's up?

Tempo.

SUNNI

Cotour

From the store

I was poor

Now i'm honorable

In velour,

Glamour (Snap)

Forsure,

Jesus Christs is

making appearances in my abletons

I'm not able to comprehend or understand exactly the message,

But the evidence sire is mounting

Get it

Reached the temple,

More of a sanctuary,

Is that sacrilegious

I guess it is,

I'm stressed as ever

Trying to get it to gether

I'm way too tired for a remix;

All i really want is some fries that are french

And some thighs that are thick

Like mine to sit on

like five or six dicks

Pick up up like chopped sticks

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Loving you—

Is easy cause you're beautiful

And everything that you do..:

Sorry I let you guys down.

I didn't mean to abandon you.

—lalalalala

—-lalalalala

——lalalalala—-

—-lalalalalala—

Oh man. Here it goes.

Dodododo-un

Do-do—

I love you.

OH MY GOD.

Happy Birthday, Kid.

You earned it.

DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

V.o.

I didn't “forget” to finish the Minnie Riopperton storyline;

I just didn't.

It got emotional.

Okay, okay, okay. This is weird.

It is weird,

Why are you wearing that?

Why are you wearing that?

I'm in costume.

As WHAT.

—as my mother.

Oh: awww that's cute:

Yeah:

What's your excuse?

I'm also in costume.

As what.

As my mother.

*squints*

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

I want them gone.

But sir.

Out. starting Monday; and I want you out of my office, starting now.

Now, get Troublemaker on the line so I can finish my breakfast in agony, like the red blooded American I'm supposed to be.

Sir.

Troublemaker is the top secret code name assigned to the President of the United States; the true President of the United States, the only surviving member of the cabinet after a series of successful infiltrations and assasinations by the enemy, after a covert mission revealed that the succession of the US presidents had been predetermined; not chosen by “The People”, but decendants of a Royal bloodline. Pinocchio the code name for the senator chosen as the stand in— the face to America's eyes and ears, listens intently to the President's every move, daily happenings, and assertions, as to best convey the ideas as his own; meanwhile, the Secret President is heavily guarded, controlled, and is acclimated using a series of secret codes and messages and decoded, including several secret languages and symbology hidden within her daily routines, which become more challenging and versatile, adapting her to her role as Commander In Chief of the United States armed forces, and consequently, the world around her, as the US forces seek to broaden their horizon as the a world superpower, to a Global entity, which powers and controls the heavily overpopulated planet which lies in imminent demise by like likes of war, plague, and diminishing resources.

The actual President of the United States must remain hidden as so, as to remain safe until the intercontinental breech has been sealed, and national security has been restored.

Viewer indescretion is advised

It's not ME.

Okay, okay:

I'm not the president!

I'm not running for president

I don't even know who the president is.

The president is dead.

GOOD .

Madame…

I mean—not good.

You—

No.

So like—-

It's automatically racist to just outright say that the migrants are for the most part not well behaved or orderly—-

They leave trash everywhere and don't even watch their kids!

Some of them.

I think they're just assuming this is okay?!

IS THIS OKAY?!

No! What the fuck!

That is racist.

Have you seen it from where I stand?

The strength is in numbers!

Look,

I don't hate human beings.

Are they—

Yes they're humans.

They're just.

Our imminent demise is in allowing this to continue to happen.

I hope you realize that from how high up you are.

I know you can't see it from up in your shiny townhouses or from the blacked out windows of your townecars, but...

They're good people.

SOME of them

I mean a lot of these 3rd world people are very primitive thinkers.

Don't count on them being brought up to speed in consciousness and morality when they're basically brought here as luxury slaves.

That's putting it nicely.

Well, if you're not going to pay Americans living wages, you're going to have to counter it somehow.

I can't have three jobs.

Oh, that's nice. The terrorists are attacking their own people.

For what purpose is any of this, actually?

Check it out. I found the leak.

Alert the mayor.

He's on the Mayor's books.

What in the actual fuck.

Gross.

Is there not a screening process for this?

Too late: anchor babies.

“The Secret President”

So you just dropped like 2 million pregnant 3rd world—

You realize that.

There must be some kind of compromise.

Yeah. Send them back.

Ew, fucking gross.

I don't understand—

What you don't understand!

[A SAGA]

What don't you understand?

My land is your land!?

Yeah, and now the economy's in the trashcan.

I figure that's an upgrade from a black hole!

You don't understand that we're like leaking—

—like bleeding—-

Money!

Half of this money's not even being recirculated into the United States!

Send for uncle juan, Camilla, and all of my pregnant nieces.

Dalè.

ARRIVA

STORM THE GATES.

Yo, lady.

What the fuckz

At least put shoes on the baby.

PUT THE DIAPER IN THE TRASHCAN.

Where's your mother?

I am my mother.

Goddamn!

What is the United States?!

Racists!

Trust me

I'd rather die than not

Either way,

I'll love you all the same

It's unfortunate

The wicked ones

Atop us, with the fortunes

With no one to love

But piles of bodies,

Power plays and flaccid phalic

Valid fantasies and tragic

Dissatisfaction