[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

‘…is that a threat?'

‘Hm…'

If it was, it was at least a good one— I was scared, at first, upon seeing what I had thought to be perhaps a package robbery—but was actually just a slit through the package—a clean slice, more specifically, through the bubble wrapped [Redacted] package, however, its contents still inside; The package had been left underneath another—which didn't belong to me, and though I had been cornered by security more than once at the [Redacted] market, for putting my nutritional needs above that of my morality—or rather, thought my morlity to exclude guilt from the nessecities, especially as I often pondered upon the elite had kept the lower classes in a devolved state by controlling the price of wellness, so much so that it had become impractical for the common being. I had never even thought to swipe someone else's mail—a personal foul, and at least in turn in that matter to all respect with karma, had never had any packages stolen, either—not that I had lived indoors long enough to have warranted that I was safe from what sometimes seemed like the non-human animals, especially of New York City, who crawled about the lower realms littering and taking up precious time, space, and energy—the almost less-than-common man, but still, actually and unfortunately—common, especially in New York.

The Sage sticks and palo santo I had ordered were still intact, entirely— to my surprise, and I wondered what else my package might have included, without remembering such.

I had become enfuriated with [Redacted], after realizing that there had been hidden charges and unrecognizable fees, on my credit card, of all the places—the Capital One credit card, with sky high interest rates and robotic customer service drones—who I mostly would hate talking to— and it seemed as though the [Redacted] algorithm had become just as predatory as the rest of them—as uncivilized as the trash-dropping, coughing subhumans that plagued the post-pandemic world, if there was such a thing. The overcrowded mess and overall pollution of the city at whole at best made it still acceptable to wear masks in public, to which I took full advantage of doing, as needed—which was as often as possible, actually, if not to hide the curiosities, and of course, the objections to whatever it would be on the train that sparked distaste—worst yet, I might even smile, and reveal my gap-tooth, only acceptable on Hurley models and Madonna, of course—either of whom I wished I was.

It was 3:16 AM, and a long lost song found its way into my head as I fettered the words into the document, multitasking a “modest” breakfast as I mulled over the day, most of which I had spent attempting peace and solitude, neither of which actually even seemed attainable in my 3rd floor “office”, being so careful not to consider anything home or a comfort, for the fear that whatever Death curse someone had thought to m destroy me with once would extend into all the years and all the realms of my presence— it was true, as I explained to my aunt, that the people around me had within the last few years turned into demonic and vampiric advocates of what seemed to be the devil itself, were I even holy enough to be considered sacred in such a way that the devil may be chasing me—and I was, in some ways, but not in others—my ability to aggrandize my judgements and flex my morality where needed, but less when wanted as it stood true that I never actually enjoyed immorality—I hated living in a world where one would be made to steal, and made to lie, in order to survive. But that, for 30 years is where I had lived; in, for the most part, an evil world, ruled by man, as he denied and tortured all things that would be thought to be God—in his thirst for whatever it was that had waged a world of war.

It seemed as though someone were sending a message, and it had been years since I had felt safe or comfortable anywhere, anyway—so I thought it best not to care, knowing that all in all, that the intentional hurt and harm done to me by any man, or any entity otherwise, would prove to l invoke the karmic justice law unto itself; that whatever pain I experienced would be amplified by its giver, and reflected back—that anyone who intended to hurt or kill me—would only hurt or kill themselves in doing so.

At the very least, I was inspired to continue writing the script which I had drifted from entirely—its contents and its driver too mad to be palpable, however—as sometimes this kind of magic did occur in flashes at random, with vivid visions as if I were watching—or even living inside of the scene itself, spoke volumes that it should—or would, whether I wanted it or not, be written eventually.

‘Man, fuck Jimmy Fallon.'

I knew nothing of the man at all besides his name and occupation, and that something had plastered him permanently into my mind with some kind of irreparable cement I could not seem to break lose or free from—and it was going to stay that way. The entirety of the festival project and all I had been prompted to have written had become a massive headache.

I have a massive headache.

UGH.

Perhaps it was more multidimensionally attributed to the fact that I had been fawning over affordable razorblazes—I had been almost salivating at the thought of bleeding from my wrists—a constant pressure from the lack of things I wanted and needed piling up at my doorstep, my overdue bills, and the harrowing and what seemed like

*manacle. Hm.

A maniacle attack on my sanity, not actually practitioned by my abuser, but probably more likely the government, masquerading as such to plot and plan around various secret expirimentation, which would of course within the century become common knowledge, but as for such time we're simply conspiracies, perhaps to hide the shameful loss which was the war being fought with technology—which the dumbing down and brainwashing of millions had left us at an extreme risk, and those were were not at risk, with extreme bias against that which they had no ability or interest to understand.

Unremarkably so, I was still astonished that something did indeed seem to have happened—something that was not in my head at all, but rather, very much outside of it—and it was beginning to occur to me that perhaps others had gained an interest in what indeed seemed to be attacking me, for years, by then, with fear, humiliation, and detriment—to which I could only ever think to fight with white magic; there was a controlled chaos to what seemed like my being at a wits end, which I was, but also wasn't—for the most part, at least in public, I could take even the most outrageous offenses poignantly and tactfully, however sometimes realizing that—in Keisha having left her sunglasses behind, she had also left with them a little bit of Harlem—

“Move.”

The mindless drone controlled robots often stepped directly into my path, as if being driven by some force which was meant to annoy or some other way terrorize me—however, I had grown accustomed to new York's overall rudeness, and had become almost socially inept..speaking of

Just—socially unacceptable.

What is this?!

Gross.

What is this?!

Papaya juice.

Is this a fucking—?!

No it's a v8

My G-Wagon!

Nice.

Got it painted.

What color even is that?

It's like— mauve.

MOVE.

FUCKING-A.

Jesus Christ.

One time,

The white devil appeared as a fucked up

Edie Falco//

And I was so fed up-to-here

With The Bullshit,

That I didn't even care what happened if I —

MOVE OUT OF MY WAY:

OR WHAT?!

Damn, Mrs. Soprano, you look rough.

Are you sure that's not just

JACKIE.

WHAT.

That's the way

Uh huh

Uh huh

I like it

Uh huh

Uh huh

Schools out—

Party with my friends!

school's out!

I'm a genie in a bottle,

You gotta rub me the right way!

I been too strong, for too long

And I can't be without you baby!

Is that all of them?

Probably not:

So mix, then,

Probably not.

Well Why not?!

Because

My Serato's been acting horrible.

Tommy looked what I would learn to be like a be exact replica of 1988 Tom Cruise.

Which reminds me…

The 1987 Tom Cruise* is murdered by Supacree's jealous stalker, in a fit of rage, which spirals all known aliases and timelines into a terrible and chaotic nightmare, as

Wait, what.

I'm just being honest, I don't know how to write this.

Here, let me help.

YO.

wtf.

Should have had a V8!

SPLASH, BITCH.

WHERE's MY SHIIT, JIMMY?

It's gone, I broke it.

You what.

It's missing; I broke it.

What do you mean.

AHAHA.

Oh, I see what you mean, now.

Yeah, that guy is different.

[The amethyst shatters.]

NOH.

Woaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa_l

GOLD.

IT IS GOLDEN.

THE ORB.

What.

The orb. It has chosen you.

Uh. Oka.

Who the fuck are these creatures—?!

“Creetures”

I love them.

They are darling

They are cute.

Man, fuck with your bullshit—.

—Stay in fucking—

Where ever that's at!

This is “Queens”

Well, it's disgusting.

GET LOST.

Get lost HOW.

Everything's on a grid system!

FUCK. I lost it,

Damn.

Dang.

Well, wanna play again?

Nah, that's it.

What?! Come on.

No, seriously. I'm done.

Wait, what are you doing?

*pulls out rifle*

WOAH. WOAH.

You should go now.

What is that,

It's a gun, obviously.

What the fuck, man!

A rifle, actually, more specifically—

What—why—what are you gonna do with that thing?

I'm gonna shoot myself:

ano—

YES. In the head—

Don't do that;

And you, if you don't get out—

Wait!

Right now.

*aims*

Okay!

Ah shit, this is getting serious:

It s seriously like dick-deep in pussy in here right now.

Nay:

Maybe we should GO.

Hello. M—

Maybe we should stay:

What!

I like her.

Get off my property.

This is-/

This is MINE. I own this:

This one's Mine!

Oh, this is what they mean by “ecstatic dance”

Actually, my feet are just coldX…

Wait, hold on. Before you go off on a tangent about— mm—

What is that

I don't know what that is.

U don't know what it is

Look, I wanted that to be Dillon's baby so bad—

(So did he)

HAHAHAHA.

I will end u

Oh, baby, there's only one way you could ever do that.

Everyone

Thrrr she is.

She's back!

Aaaaaannnyyyeaaaayy—

Please explain to us what's happening in this movie.

Which movie

The Tom Cryise one,

Cause there can only be one Tom Cruise one

Because Tom cruise is Tom Cruise.

Wait. What.

TOM HANKS

YOU FORGOT MY NAME

BRIEfLY YES, but also—

That's WHY, this happened.

TOM CRUISE

I TOLD YOU

I TOLD YOU

I TOLD YOU-/

You STUPID BITC—

Look —

I gotta —

Oh wait, that still works.

What?! You fucked that guy too?!

NO.

I just.

This is a lot of space.

Well yeah, we're like—astronauts.

How did you get this all in your loft?

MAJOR TOM.

ALRIGHT. I GOT IT.

AHAHAHSJSJHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

NO MORE ECID.

YAYAYAY.

Whrrereeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Wherereere in my miiiiiiiiind.

Fuck I gotta buy that album….again

I know I bought it once.

dang. Youre cute,

I know, huh.

Buy me this

Ok.

[Beyoncé is not yet back with the coffee.]

Deja Vu, Beyoncé

Uh oh, uh oh—

Uh oh!

OHNONO

^

Matumbo

AIIIIIIIIGGGGGGGHHHHHHH.

Crazy in love— also Beyonce?

Destiny's ChildrenS

HAHAHA

OK.

FUCK YOU, DILLON FRANCIS.

DEADMAU5 IS A WAY BETTER CONTROLLER

*HEAPING GASP*

YOU—TAKE THAT BACK.

I WOULDNT.

I will END YOU.

YOU CANNOT.

Where the fuck is that lady from?

Oh, there she is!

Pity!

Oh dear!

She's NEGROID:

Shh, tisk-tisk.

[ANNE HATHAWAY dabbed tf out.]

Come on Annie! Get up!

[she is not getting up]

THINK OF THE KIDSz

*nope*

UGH.

WASTED.

That sucks! We gotta get her back in that princess movie before everything dies and we all collapse!

Which princess movie is it?!

Idk! Fuck this bitch!

She's like all the princesses!

KEKE Palmart*

Sure!

KEKE PALMER will be playing the PRINCESS from princess and the frog

Put the princess—IN—the frog!

NO.

PUT THE PRINCESS IN THE—

AGHHHH.

PUT DILLON FRANCIS, BACK IN THE OVEN.

NO

Ugh. He's so heavy!

He's not gonna fit.

He WILL fit:

NO:

SAY UNCLE.

ASHEJEBEB

SAY IT.

AAAAANNNNNNNNNNKKKKKKHHHH

[a giant Ankh falls from the sky]

Yo.

That cannot be a good sign.

I think it's not.

SUBTRONICS

*rips bong*

Hey! You made it!

Way, way late:

Nice!

Yes.

Why are you naked?

I don't know.

SOLEÏL.

Fuck, man.

Wizardrddd! What is this game?!

I dunno, but I just keep playing it.

This shit says.

This does say.

This shit says ballsacks.

I don't get kids these days

“Ballsacks”

Is that like, a good thing?

Depends who's saying

NEY-WHINNY-NEY-WHINNY-NEEEE

Horse:

ok, I win:

JOHNNY DEPP literally cannot speak.

Because he is not intoxicated.

At all.

lol someone help him, seriously.

Ok, keep going.

All the DISNEY CHANNEL KIDS are WILD ‘N OUT

Which is ironic because—

NICK CANNON

Yep,

Oh look, it's me again…

NICK CANNON

Look, the Nickelodeon Cult—

What;

I mean—

The Illuminati just called,

They want their stuff back.

What STUFF.

SAY IT.

NEVER THAT.

SAY MY NAMEs

PASSWORD

FALLON, YOU FUCKING HACK.

oh, I'm a ‘hack' now that's—

“Haha”

Who's laughing?! You should be crying right about now.

I'm an actor.

Very funny.

Tears of a clown.

Shut up:

I am crying, on the inside.

-_-

Sit down, dipshit:

Ooh, now I'm dip—

*cocks pistol*

Shit,

I thought you couldn't—

Oh no, this part of the series gets pretty—

You're in deep fucking shit;

[JIMMY FALLON sits calmly at his desk, he scoops some “sugar” into his coffee and stirs, seemingly emotionless.]

CUT TO

DANCE BREAK.

I wanna hold 'em like they do in Texas, please

CUT TO:

Texas border patrol holding cell.

DIPLO

(In a stupid ass cowboy hat) m

*jail door slams*

AH, COME ON.

Fold 'em, let 'em hit me, raise it, baby, stay with me (I love it)

I thought it was…

“A little gambling is fun when you're with me”

(I love it.)

Maybe it WAS.

What year was that anyway?

Idk. What year was any year before

[Lyrics Genius]

Flashback: The 2000's

Rewind it again.

What did she just say?

Idk.

What did he say?

Damn.

Fuck, I missed it.

Love game intuition, play the cards with spades to start

THE ACE OF SPAAAAAAADES.

Okay. Fine. He wants to be Satan?

He's Satan.

Yo, that's— SATAN.

[Skrillex is Satan]

Yeah, but he's so fucking cute.

Supacree, what are you doing?

BRB, I'm gonna go fuck this lil ass [censored]

Damn.

Ok.

S/he does not fuck around, that guy.

Yeah, that guy.

And after he's been hooked, I'll play the one that's on his heart

I guess we'll just have to…

wait till they play it on the radio again… /

Wait till the next rave.

fuck.

MIXTAPES. GETCHUR MIXTAPES.

La da da Dee da da duh duhhh

La da da Dee da daaaah da duuuuuum

La da da da de da

La da da da Dee da

Da da Dee da da da da dum

Okay, Google, let's see what you got.

I got—Reddit..

r/NameThatSong

5 yr. ago

Surprentis

Join

hey you guys remember that song from back in the day that went "la da dee da da da daaaa, la da dee da da da daaaaa, ah la da dee daaa da la daa dee daaa daa daa dee daa da daaa da daaaaa" i feel like it was on night at the roxbury maybe im wrong..

uh, ok—

wtf is “night at the Roxbury”

…Google?

GOOGLE

Here: you'll like this.

Oh shit, ‘98 …

FINALLY. JESUS CHRIST.

Holy shit, you were on SNL in 1998?!

Yes.

How the fuck old are you? Jesus Christ!

JESUS CHRIST

…not as old as me.

[but everyone's still mad as fuck at Jesus for eating all of the pizza]

wtf, man:

Just— inhaled it.

*gnarf*

Actually, you know what:

Just stay—celibate:

Oh check it out.

THIS lady only shows up if I—

*squints* if you what:

Nothing.

Nothing.

ANNNNNNNE. GET. UP.

She's not gonna go.

She's dead bro.

I'm not dead!

YES!

oh! She's up!

YES

*barfs*!

[instantly back asleep] —m—

That's it

We're fucked.

Disney's gonna kill us.

The Illuminati's gonna kill us!

Disney is the Illuminati.

Yeah, but like—for kids.

THIS IS NOT FOR KIDS.

THIS IS NOT FOR KIDS.

KIDS

AVERT YOUR EYES, CHILDREN!

All sixteen pairs of them!

wtf who has that many kids

Eight fucking kids, bro.

^_- ok, I like her.

Yeesss.

Ya. Imm drunk.

K.

gargle!

Nah!

GARGLE, RIGHT NOW OR I'll wash your mouth with soap!

[pulls gun]

THATS NOT SOAP.

MY GUN'S NAME IS “SOAP”

Shit, why are there so many guns in this shit?!

Because

Skrillex is like, Cartel, or whatever.

And like—the Bloods.

☠️

And the Crips, probably, also—

Like I said,

He is Satan.

GET OVER HERE AND-

SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOTTTT:

I got nothin.

What:

I got//

Zero scenes

You got no scene, broh?

No scenes.

None?

Zip.

None?

Zero.

Woah.

Hold up.

will— uh—

“powers”

Ferrel—like an animal that won't shut up, or something?

Will bite you—may be rabid—

Feral? You mean?

Sure; whatever.d

Just, stop talking,

How the fuck do you do the same movie— like— infinitely.

Recap: every will ferret*

Sure!

EVERY WILL FERRELL MOVIE IS ULTIMATELY...

They're all the same movie!

GET UP,

After waking up in a hungover/still intoxicated rage, Anne Hathaway causes a showdown worthy of historical proportions, which concludes with her legendary “yeet” of a mysterious object of extra planetary origin—this initiates round two of the party which never should have happened, and almost never ended.

In another parallel cross dimension:

Irl JIMMY FALLON and Ū are imaginary friends; rather, Ū is a figment of JIMMY FALLON's imagination and vice-versa—this scene pays homage to Wilfred; they share stories with one another as they pass the bong/blunt in a solid back-to-back rotation, making the tragic stories they are telling almost hilarious, but only because they are so generously stoned.

—_—

So wait, he like—

*passes blunt*

—Here, take this—

—Yeah—

*passes bong*

—Just switch me—

Yee.

So he like—“yeeted” your baby?

He Yeeted my baby.

*blowing out, coughing*

That's not supposed to happen.

No, it is not.

Here, switch me.

*switch*

*rips*

*shaking head in stoniness*

[beat]

So like—

*rips bong*

—you're like, Ū, so—

You're like…

I'm like, everybody.

Right?

Yeah.

Yeah!

I'm Ū, dawg.

That is a cool name.

Is—a cool name

*hits blunt*

Here, switch me—

*rips bong*

Is—not—a cool power to have.

I bet not, though.

You would imagine

I wouldn't, that's in—coughs—sane.

It is insane: cover your mouth:

Sorry.

No you're not,

So how are you not like—

Like what?

I'm Ū, there what//

So how are you not like—

Seth McFarle—uhh

Seth McFarlen lol *e

What

Uh, I am.

SETH MCFARLENE

No you're not, I'm right here.

*suddenly not stoned*

What the FUCK man:

Woah, Seth McFarlene.

HOW DID YOU GET INTO MY OFFICE.

I walked in.

That's boss status.

What the fuck!

I locked it!

You did not. I walked in—like right behind you guys

You probably forgot…

You—I forgot—

He forgot to lock The Rock

lol stop

Walk it out,

Now walk it out

//

Walk it like I talk it

Talk it like I

RUN BITCH

RUN FLORIST, RUN!!!

Lmfao. Ok.

CUT BACK TO:

You probably forgot, dude.

Alright, Seth McFarlene.

Just—*hits blunt* stop talking .

Load another bowl

Giggity!

*passes blunt*

You want this?

No, I'm straight.

Are you, though?

What?!

Yeah, I'm—

I mean, l'm good on the—

You know what?

Fuck it, gimmie that.

Yee.

Sauce.

[there is a knock at the door]

Welp,

I gotta go.

[Jimmy Fallon is suddenly alone in his office, with a blunt in one hand and a bong in the other. The lights automatically shut off; the coffee maker brings brewing automatically—-three more knocks at the door.]

*sighs*

[explitive]

CUT TO:

That fucking rager

Is it day?! Is it night?!

We don't know!

It's been months, probably

Weeks, at best—

But all we actually know about this time and place is that—

The HATTER is here.

For fucks SAKE.

GIVE ME ANOTHER BEER, SOMEBODY. ANYBODY.

lol Johnny Del*.

Sure

JOHNNY DEPP

is drinking

Duh

*beer?!

Uh huh

That's all we have, man.

*light beers

I'MMM BUZZZZZED LIGHTYEAR

BUUUUUUUZZXXXED LIGHTYEARR

no, Tim Allen, not yet.

Fuck, on that note

Now I know why

THERES A SNAKE IN MY BOOT

yeah there is!

Ok, ew

Ok, gross

Stop

ew

Stop

Ew.

Cut lil blonde

Hot as Finneas O' Connell

Possible homosexual, but god love him

Cause I'm hungry

Lookin for lunch

Somebody as scrunches

Pull up and crunches

Cause my monster is

Lookin to

Humpty Dumpty

Fuck, I forgot Rosie O'Donnal!

I cant get no Satiafaftion— The Rolling Stones

What's wrong, Saint Jimmy?

Luscius?

What is it.

Precious would like to see you.

Oh.

The prince Lucius hasn't left his chamber in days—however, as his brother Percius has just returned from war, he quickly emerges from his resting place, an alter of sorts.

Damn, I'm getting a headache.

I almost never have headaches.

It was true, and of course, as I started to write about this prince and his so said brother, Lucius and Perseus, I was reminded once more of Athens, where I had just been however briefly, in a short astral trip of sorts, wandering about in the dreamworld, looking for something or someone in place of my pillow to hold.

Did you want to walk to Trader Joe's?

I mean, kind of, but no.

My muscles were sore and I had just spent some two hours in the gym, not on purpose but quite by accident, though only having run just under two miles, though at least uphill, and spending the rest of the time lifting—I had been bound to mostly beans and rice, and so however was bloated and gassy, quite slow and not as strong, my regular protein just out of reach…

Dang. I have so much to fucking so today.

I hadn't realized that somehow it was Saturday, although just a couple days before had been a Wednesday that felt like Sunday, and now again time was all out of sorts; it was a “holiday” weekend, and I was without a doubt, drowning in my own having-to-do's, and as such, weekends and days off were entirely not a thing, besides in ways that those bustled around me—and I was sure that some days had been lost, as I was planning to visit the food bank on Friday, but had somehow skipped over the end of the week entirely—somehow, that is, and I was sure sometimes that in skipping days, meditating and fasting about, however intermittently, that time itself shuffled in all the ways I had, between cross dimensions and parallels such as I—I had been hovering somewhere between the 6th and. 10th dimensions, for the most part, and none with having to understand the undoubted shifts in my own perception of time that were bound to happen, as I sprawled across the astral plains looking and searching for a sign that the tragic poverty, restlessness, and lack of peace wound end.

Bound to your alter, my dear brother?

Aye.

So perhaps here there was another unfounded kingdom within the realm of Ascencia—Lucius, a prince, and Percius—seemingly slated the King, and yet I had unreached such a conclusion as to assimilate an entirely factionrd world, as of yet.

What did you write last night?

Uh…I don't know.

Well, let's see

Something had shaken me from my almost-sleep, laying sprawled across my bed, in the middle of the mattress, rather than to either side, which was rare; I typically preferred the left side of the mattress, anyway, but as I waited to launder my bedding, after a sweaty and sweltering almost summer day of lounging, smothered in shea butter and lasidasicly scrawling about what recordings had been buried in my phone, between the collection of books I had practically all found in the streets of New York and the rising temperatures of the tepid summer weather, my room was starting to smell funny—and without being able to burn sage anymore, for fear of being thrown back into the streets like a dog, I with every hope in the world figured that washing my thick bedding, comforter included, would restore the crisp and rigid, almost factory clean that I found satisfactory.

Songs buzzed in and out of my head as if I hadn't enough already much to do—and still, I added into my growing pile of notes and mounds of work, even more songs—this time, The Rolling Stones.

I can't get no

Satisfaction…

…but I try—

—and I try—

—and I try—

And I try!

I can't—get no—!

God, I wish I could write something like that.

The rock Gods had at the very least been accompanying me, and in a certain sense, so had the Gods at The Rock;

I had been forced up out of my dormant state by a voice which urged me away from my near sleep—I had been up since six AM and it was something past midnight, and still the voice said—

“Get up and write!”

And though I had words tinkering around in my head like little coins in some sort of metal box, none of them quite made so much since that I had to get up and write—however, still the voice, though not angry, but firm, insisted.

The voice, for once, sounded female— a welcome change, and though I had become quite fond of males in general, in the solemnly celibate sense, it was a difference and yet none at all— a voice of wisdom had projected itself at me, and as I dragged myself about, reaching for a notebook and flipping through the pages, finding that the notebook was practically full…

‘great, more shit to do'

I held the words that had tinkered around in my mind like little whispers until I found a page to make them full formed, and the words which fell into my hand as scriptured by the pen—my favorite writing utensil, nearly out of its cherishable gel ink, danced upon the page nearly on its own, channeling the words written as such:

Once prosperous to throw

The stone asunder

Glisten whispers of water

Tears of al tears |ter|

Of the altar,

For follow for fello,

A felon of Antigone

Grace, with shield

A tattered tail,

So flew with feathered Phoenix

? Feared,

Foreshadowed not,

Agreed upon however,

Was the velvet woven path of us,

So honored in her fortress .

Yeah, something about Rockefeller plaza.

Well there were all these hooded figures in like weird, brown velvet robes—

That's true, I saw that.

Yeah, I was there,

You WHAT,

Look what I got.

Fuck me, man.

You know, there's a lot more to this story.

I was hoping so, but however also, hoping not.

Man, Jimmy fallon's wife is super hot.

Gee!

Yeah man, she's so cute.

W0W.

I like her,

They're Gods.

I think they're Gods.

yuh.

What else did I write?

There was something else?

What the fuck is wrong with that guy?

Somethin.

Yeah.

The pages of the notebook were all full, something of a book of shadows and protection spells I had used in an attempt to ward off my ex husband—how of course, that they were done with, I should very well have been jotting them into with all the notes, into the documents—later to burn them, unable to afford the parchment book I wanted.

For what a withered wa t would call and honor m for fortunes duty,

Glorified wherein in am shadows,

Cast upon reflections in redacted incantations and enchantments, foreword come, theone who waits

Believing darkness be his fate

Whatever, man.

Fuck Jimmy Fallon.

If you really feel that way!

I feel a lot of ways.

Well, don't.

I'm so, so hungry…

So, so lonely…

So, so fuckin broke.

Man—I learned all this dumb ass magic just to protect myself from this guy, and all this still happens!

I think it's just Satan.

[Satan Appears]

Man— she is JACKED.

Try this one.

Flllow me, boy!

Uh— okay.

I'm staying single forever.

Don't look at me.

That's my girl.

Don't look at me.

What the fuck. Stop looking at her:

Don't look at me!

Men are hopeless.

Fuck dude, like, the worst thing imaginable is that this Jimmy Fallon dude actually hates me so much for this—

What? Uh oh.

And is so fucking powerful.

He is. A very, very powerful.

Well, what is it!

We don't— know.

*gasps*

He's a—

SHHHHHH.

[Redacted]

Well, that's not doing much, is it?

Seriously, just kill yourself again.

Might have to!

Fuck, why do all these robot demons SMELL like him?

Satan?

Yep.

Satan

?!

I'm—

Seriously, save him.

Seriously, God really loves Jimmy Fallon—

(He's one of my favorites.)

Favorite what's?!

Just—favorites.

Damn. This is getting to be like Greek Theatre.

Great. Now everybody's gonna fucking die.

It could be a comedy.

Holy shit, yeah—

This has mad good production value.

I love it!

Strange shit

I just did give my OWSLA tat a kiss

Smile for the camera,

Pageantry of mattresses,

A master of the MagicIan's chance at

Chancellors dance,

Look at Harrison trance

Can I run a mile for President?

A toy chest,

A boy, just Obama

I'm so much older

Been through such trauma

What the Willy wonka

I should apply for Harvard

New York over Boston

So Columbia or Juliard

I wish

Son of a bitch, this is tragic

I'm too old for scholarship

Diploma's in another name

I just got protective orders on

I should start over

But the world war is another

Trump drama

My Amazon cart is full of karma

What you want from God?

A trophy husband,

Let's call him

Oscar

-undefeated.

All this is weird

I think imm married to the music

Think of growing a beard

Opening a beer

And getting out of here

All of my fears is

Mommy dearest mommy dearest

All of my hell is

A body

Imm a seed in a forest

Been buried

Bipolar,

Supposedly,

So tell me,

Faery;

How could I love you

The way I I do

If my mood

We're atabilized

My blu life

Gave me blue eyes

Clean tub of water

I don't belong here

It's too late for me too

Swapping Vogue for the People

My people who hate me

But I been so played,

The hatred betrays me

I walk both ways

Down a one way street

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Written and Preformed by C'cxell Soleïl

'All In A Day's Work' (2024)

'Open The Bottle' [Working Title]
{Enter The Multiverse} - LEGENDS

Open the bottle up, wont you

Open the models up, you don't

But you're supposed to

Don't go with the

Hope,

You're just a dope fiend

Role model, supposed to cope

But you're supposed to know

You don't fit the mold, you know

Life is a joke you know

The show is a closer

To open up,

Posters,

You're roasted, though

You open the bottle up

I'll open my heart

A ship sunk in the bathtub

You know what?

You're drunk

Pushing the envelope

Post office closed,

You don't show

But you're Golden

Don't trust you

You know what?

You're drunk

Just put the candles on,

Go run the bathtub

Pull up Fallon

You're broke, you know

You're no fun

So

Open the bottle up, won't you?

Talk the the models and stars

Stitches, and pitches and cars

Open the bottle up, won't you

Open the bottle up, wont you

Open the models up, you don't

But you're supposed to

Don't go with the

Hope,

You're just a dope fiend

Role model, supposed to cope

But you're supposed to know

You don't fit the mold, you know

Life is a joke you know

You know what?

You're drunk

Don't you know?

Open the door,

A soft spoken

A broken heart,

Go fix your model car

It won't start

Soft spoken notes

Blow tokens of dandelions

Smile for the cameras,

Blow smoke

Like the roll models

Don't fit the code you know

Show me your cards

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

FARRO!

Good sire!

My liege!

Come quickly,

We've not much to tell you;

But even less time,,

to do so.

…why?

Because!

Here they come!

It's lost–

Now, it's gone

Now, you run.

Don't run off

On your mark

(marker)

Get set

I'm gonna need a clapboard for this.

What brought you up

It was under the table

What woke you up?

It was aprt of a song or something–

The line was

Notch in your bedpost

Line in a song

Notch in a bedpost

Line in a song

Red rover,

Come lover

come

Incubus/

succubus

Yup.

Run.

Incubus/

Succubus

“The Incubus, Succubus Song”

THIS IS ALL OF THE SONGS.

Suxks balls.

DAAAAAMN

What woke YOU up

Hot lava.

NOPE.

Interdisciplinary aleegience to the illuminati.

yup .

damn , you suck.

What was I gonna do?

Work at Walmart, like the rest of us.

NOPE.

KILL YOURSELF

KILL YOURSELF AGAIN

Uh uh

JUST JUMP.

…rope.

HANG—---------------------------------------------------------------GLIDER.

Slow down, would you.

NOPE.

Great, gotta go find that guy now…

TOM HANSON

WHAT FOR?!

CHANCE THE RAPPER

AH.

great . nw i dropped my hat.

GOD

That's another$15,000

DO the hat dance.

Which one

the – one with the sobreros

OOh.

Somber Hoes.

We like those.

MEANWHILE

Nope. its really stuck in there.

It's never gonna come out

Will this suffice.

yeah . i'm up.

yeah ,i guess this is what method looks like

When you're anchored to an island

that basically functions as a

giant

A GIANT

A giant fucking antenna.

W0AH.

JUST DO IT ALREADY.

LET GO.

NOOO.

Ok. i'm gonna throw up

Don't throw up, cause if i let go

*lets go*

OH LOOK. A RAINBOW.

NOOOOOOOO nOOOOOOOOO

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

This is getting difficult

NO it isn't.

I'm going to be candid for just a moment…

GOD

WHAT

I need you to answer my question–

which QUESTIOn.

The–i mean like

Pretty much all the questions.

I'm just now only to

S

Shh. don't say it.

It might come back.

COELACANTH!

COELACANTH!

spectacular .

It really was.

Hmmm.

….

MAXWELL

,....Cola cans.

Ok.

Now i'm trippin balls.

COELACANTH

…erm…

Come on, man–

This is ridiculous.

RIDICULUS!

Riddikulus

Wtf kind of cloud is THIS.

A cumulus

Gazuntite.

COELACANTH

…bananas.

WHAT?!

IT SPEAKS.

IT WANTS BANANAS!

GIVE IT BANANAS.

Oh shit! It's–

THE NANNY NAMED FRAN

Way back then.

EVEN THEN.

ILLUMINATI

OPEN MY EYE

CHILD

NO

ILLUMINATI

FINE.

I'LL DO IT.

AAAAA

–bless you.

Oh, it's you again.

Zoboomafoo

Hey boss.

Hey what.

Can you send me another one?

MORE FRY SAUCE.

Fuck, dillon.

Why are you so fucking fat right now?

WHY GOD.

I like ur boobs tho.

They are nice.

–What!

I gave you Keisha!

Yeah, i like her and all, it's just

EXT. ONE NIGHT. SOMEWHERE.

…when?

WHENEVER

Look, i'm gonna be like,

the highlight of your whole life, alright.

…alright!

but first things first

what.

Gotta get that–

Revisions.

HOW MANY REVISIONS OF COMPLICATIONS IS THIS

TEN

I WANT THAT PLUG.

denied .

GIVE ME THAT

fuck .

what .

I got a show tnight. I gotta get…

gone .

Did she go?

no .

Why not?

There it is?

What, Elle?

That–that color.

Why on earth would you ever want to be that blonde?

DO IT AGAIin.

Ok.

CUT TO:

[THE COSMIC AVENGER has turned Ū (for literally ALL intensive purposes) into a

PINECONE.

That's it?
That's the trup.

That's it.

That's the trip?

I guess.

AHAHA

I HAVE TURNED YOU NOW AND FOREVER

INTO A TROLL DOLL.

NO.

(amen)

YOU DONE DONE IT AGAIN.

MESSAGGGGGGGGGGEEEEEEEEEEE

Hi, I'm Seven.

Ok. This is

CUT BACK TO:

it was good.

It was “ok”

It was GREAT

It's just–

It's just what, dickface.

JUST DO IT.

JOSH PECK

I AM. JUST. DOING IT.

AND DOIN iT

AND DOIN IT

AND DOIN IT

RUN

INDIGENEUSES

AYAYAYAYA

EYEYEYEYEYEYEYEYEYE

[ILLUMINATI, UNLOCKED]

I gotta get out of this game, yo.

This is unreal.

*passes the torch*

Oh NO

Yur an OLyMpIAn

NO NO

RUN

Uh.

What shall I do with this?

(no = response whatsoever)

I know.

I shall give this to

Uh

THE POPE

THE POPE.

[looking down at garb]

What am I, THE POPE?

Hey look. A rope.

This had better not be for hanging yourself with.

Ok.

This isn't political.

HEY LOOK, A NOOSE.

that's … there.

HEY LOOK, ANOTHER NOOSE

Ok. i have to get out of the deep south now.

Wtf year is this.

like right NOW.

DAMN.

JUMP.

NO.

Let go.

NO.

Look at this

WTF IN THE FUCK

INT. WHENEVER. IN THE FUCK.

wait , bring this guy back real quick

ANDY SANDWHICH

sure , why not

Hold on, let me try

ANDY SANDBOUROUGH

Huh

ANDY

Look. ok. I lied.

Lied about what.

I NEVER LIE.

I see yur face at night,

I learn to dream.

What the fuck is this.

Hold on, i'm breaking into song.

THAT'S SO RAVEN

look . if my visions ever get THI vivid.

Oh. i get it.

I am the Illuminati.

just

TURN IT OFF.

TURN IT OFF.

TURN IT OFF.

ok . this is awful.

Get more stoned

*deep inhale*

Yur right. It rocks.

see .

CUT BACK, like WAY WAY BACK

Get in the way, way back

why

Cause you're like, small enough

SAUL.

WHat

I NEED–

wait . is that guy a lawyer

There was a spinoff.

How'd that show go again?

SHUT THE LIGHTS OFF.

WAT.

NOW TURN THEM BACK ON

I'm gonna get killed.

*sniffs*

nope . still not high enough.

CHRIST,

HOW MANY DRUGS IS THAT GUY ON.

ok , lets just be honest.

I can't write that.

Why.

DOCTOR

…is this the right dimension.

MICHAEL HACKSON

No. no it is not.

Put me back under, Doc.

DOCTOR

Are you sure?

Maybe you need like, a white doctor

MICHAEL

NO,

You're the right one.

Lets go.

Lets stop now, this is awful.

Hold on, my wings are comin in.

If you're not gonna let go,

Then i will

DON'T.

GOD

BALLS

See look. This is my show now.

okay , it's my turn.

ROCK

How ya doin, Jared

JARED

bad . i'm bad.

THE WHOLE ISLAND

w0w

So that's how much that costs.

ah , the rock sauce

DWANE JOHNSON

I'M A GOD

NO, NO,

NOOOOO

Turn this off.

I like.

Srsly cant.

PAPARAZI

THERE S/HE is!

[RU PAUL IS GOD]

RU

Ok. that wa savage

KU//KA

So wait, ALL these bitches like to copy me?

All of them.

I'M A GOD

Fuck that.

I wanna be a rockstar now!

What.

ROCKSTAR

ok , i gotta like

Get like, diagonal, or something

Holy shit, broh.

I've been flying this meaphrical kite out of my

[BACKEND]

For like

wait , how long's it been

STORY LORD

GET IN THE HOLE

NO.

RICK

I told you, there was a twist

JUSTIN

Put me back in

RICK

NO. YOU DIE NOW.

AHA. OUT OF THE GAME.

I QUIT.

I WIN.

IN REAL TIME:

Uh oh !

You're out of coffee.

Uh oh.

I DO NOT want to go to trader joes.

For some reason,

These two weirdos, at one point

Before we were famous, maybe

way , way before that

Why

because , i just MET her.

She's not my friend.

She's my

MY BESTFRIEND.

BEST FRIENd

who is this

Tell her is skrillex.

She'll get it.

WAKE UP, IT'S SKRILLEX

I AM NOT GOING TO

You have to go.

You showed us.

Now you have to go.

LIZ LEMon

LEM

Aww, come ON.

*kaBOOM*

You have to have watched this show to even get that.

Can't.

Why not.

Can't watch that show.

Can't watch this.

Can't listen to that.

What happened.

NOTHIN.

KITE ATTACK

LIZ LEMON

(drunkenly)

I–DO–NOT WANT–

TO GO TO THERE.

It shouldn't be that staggered.

It should not be that hard to kidnap

that chick.

It could be.

If she was THIS FAT

GET.

IN

NO

THEVAN

I donT WANNA GO TO FAT CAMP

Too bad.

Cause that's attractive

GODDAMN.

yeah dawg, she's like 4'10

really?!

YAS.

wtf.

EXT. BEDROCK. DAY.

…Pebbles?

………..BAMBAM?

DAMN!

DAM

We should definitely build this

yeah . put this here.

WHY ARE WE BEAVERSSSSSSS.

cause .

Fuck dude. I gotta get back to 2025

This whole place is gone now.

why .

Tell me why

oh god almighty

GOD ALMIGHTY

EVAN

Oh no. it's a story hole

STORY LORD

K bye

Fuck it,

we're

Gone now.

THE TIME MACHINE.

OH. IT”S BACK.

GIVE IT ALL YOU'VE GOT

I don't get it.

Whats up.

It's like….

It's like, raining bananas,but they

‘Re going

“UP”

neeeeeee000oooooww

BOOM<<<<<<<

*PLANE CRASH!*

AIRPLANE!

fuck , i hate that movie.

DO YOU NOW?

No. i love it.

Maybe it's just

IT's the

THIS IS THE ALBUM ART.

This is so uncomfortable.

DUH.

here .

What's this.

It's a jar of peanut butter.

Why do i need this.

Time's up.

MR. MACY

*sir

Right.

Are you aware that there's to be–

Are you serious

–A parade in your namesake?

ARE YOU CRAZY

PUT ME IN THE GAME.

PUT ME IN THE GAAAAAAAME.

NO NIGGA, NO.

STOP SAYING THAT

I SAY WHAT I WANT

I DO WHAT I WANT

I'M GAY NOW.

SUNNI.

WHAT.

your lips ar crusty.

Cause i'm NIggAz

COVER UP.

WHY.

Cause you have a contract with smuckers

COMMERCIAL

SUCK MY

[YUM!]

{SMUCCKERS]

mmm . gross.

what

That is gross.

that due

Lil bitzzzzzzzz

I watchin ol commercials from my childhood

That shit was nutz.

I watched this commercial for one of those TV dinners,

it was incredible

I could still taste the BOX.

The funnest thin about the commercial was,

It was set up like one of those basketball halftime shows

You know with the lights,

Like an all-star game type thing

and I couldn't help thinking to myself

Help.

Oh look. There he is.

Yo, if you grew up actually EATING those things,

And then grew up to be a professional athlete

You are blessed with INCREDIBLE GENETICS.

It's been like 20 years and I can still TASTE THE BOX

Yes, the whole thing

wait . pause.

The whole THING is the BOX.

The whole thing is the box.

DAMN.

fuck dude, i'm in like 8 movies right now.

This is not RIGHT.

Fuck it,

where's 1988 Tom Hanks at

FUCK THAT MOVIE

NAH, FUCK THAT DAY.

FUCK THAT DAY.

That's the day I got lost in there!

THAT

is a very good ending to

BOTH of those movis, if I could ever

Just wrote this dumb fucking monologue and get it lver with already

why.

DO'T FORGET

YOU'RE ON THE CLOCK

thanks , doc.

AND REMEMBER

this again

shit

NO MATTER HOW FAR YOU ARE FROM YOUR MARK

What's the line

nothing

THUNDERCLAP!

oh shit. i forgot about that alaas.

ILLUMINATI

HEY. HET BACK HERE

NETWORK

No, i gotta

Lil biiiiiiiiiiitzzz

[continued]

No, like,

i'm serious:

If you grew up eating this shit

like

On the regular

THIS IS OUT OF CONTROL

i i hate thi i ss s

YOU'RE TELLING ME

WTF ARE YOU GONNA DO WITH ALL THAT CAKE

ima eat it

WHAT in the FUCK, WAlTER, are you gonna DO with all these BANANAS

WALTER WHITE

I'm gonna make the best goddamned banana bread there EVER WAS

CARA'S DEAD NOW.

What.

YOU KILLED CARA, OF EVERLAND

I MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT

QUEEN OF DIAMONDS

Vs.

QUEEN OF HEARTS

OH GOD

OH GOD

OHHHHHHHH

You're wrong for this, you really are

“O Nigga, Where Art Thou”

A Point.

TO Gryffendor

(s)

YES.

I SAID A POINT.

NOT A PINT.

SITCHUR LITTLE ASS DOWN.

What's this for

Don't worry. it rubs off.

GOD.

PLZ HELP ME

SOMEBODY CALL THE POLICE.

GOD

No, keep dancing.

YO. SOMETHING AIN'T RIGHT

WHY

C mon. keep writing this joke

WHERE'S THE PUNCHLINE.

WHERE'S THE PUNCHLINE

ONE PUNCH MAN

*PUNCH*

OH.

YIKES.

he YEETED the baby.

This is not the guy you want to be taking english classes from.

DUH.

wait .

Wtf, man.

what .

How do you write something like that.

I pretty much just

SIKE.

SHE'S A PSYCHOPATH, THAT LADY.

yeah , that's why i like her.

SHE JUST PUTS–

ADOBO ON EVERYTHING.

SARGEANT ADOBO

what , captain.

you're drun.

k

I know, officer

THat's CAPTAIN to YOU

…lol

Fukt.

…where is BLOWFISH.

SAL BANDUCHI

honestly , cap, i've been dead for years:

Why! What happend.

that guy literally had too many kids

IT's TRUE.

I DID THIS.

And just ended

FINISH THE JOKE

Lil BIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTZZZZZZZZZZ

(but less whispered, cause it's getting

stuppid

no , it's still funny, just

SERIOUS.

lil bitz

THIS IS NOT A JOKE

If you grew up eating ANY OF THOSE THINGS,

And then grew up to play ball,

you have the BLESSED genetics of the CHOSEN PEOPLE

Cause this

[bullsh*t]

is weaponized nigga food.

what .

ASSASAINATE THEM.

Are you sure.

YES. ELIMINATE TO EXTINCTION.

…are…are you like certain about this.

lol . i nuked the foodz.

Goonez.

goonex

HEY LOOK, IT'S UHHH.

UH WHAT

THE–

THE GOONIES

I don't know anything about this.

WHy.

OH yes you do.

TO THE TRUFFLE SHUFFLE.

NO, GODDAMMIT, I'M TRYING TO MAKE A

SHHHH

A SOFFLEE

W

A what

A su**

NOpe, still can't do it.

Get us in the bus

Waht.

GEt up.

You know this scene goes in with

“The Hard Stuff”

right ?

This IS the hard stuff.

she gets starstruck.

no , but like

ONE PUNCH MAN

oh shu

BUT FIVE TIMES

At least five

GOD

6-7-8…9

damn . when are you gonna realize you already killed your wife?

NEVER.

dead .

anyway ..

oh , this is bad. Get up.

SPATULA!

SPATULA!

Goddamn it, bitch

pLEASE SHUT UP.

rap .

what .

They want you to rap.

that six

Wait a second

INT./EXT. IN THE Six. WITH MY WOES.

lol

Had to get that out the way rea quick

why

if you're reading this

666

It's too late

you're wrong for this.

OH.

I'm WRONG.

WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY ROCK.

BY NOW, i”M SUPRISED IT'S NOT UP YOUR NOSE.

oh ver funny.

YA. I WRITE JOKES.

OH GOOD.

I got it.

I got one

What the FUCK.

OK, we'RE DONE.

WHO SET THIS UP.

*snifs*

I prepared tofu over the sautéed spinach and Brussels sprout kale medley I had made just the night before; I hadn't yet been to the gym, however, I would not go, until my Amazon package, containing the nutritional supplements and workout equipment I had ordered —falling just under a dollar short from being able to afford a new lifting pad—not evening having put together that the awful pain in my neck and shoulders might have come from my thinking that squat lifting two 45s with no protection, as I had seen some others do would do no harm—and although it had been days since I had had a ‘rest' day, it wasn't enough. According to Kylie Jenner, models often worked out 4-8 hours a day, like other athletes, and required to be 90 to 110 lbs—though I was far above age to even imagine a career as a model—I still at least wanted to become as small as possible.

First Saint James,

And now St Patrick's

It's a shame,

To play to the candid camera

I was framed, like Roger rabbit

I was blamed by bad, bad habits

It's a sister act, I tip my hat to the fans

And have none

My numbers dropped

As I scrambled at best to blame

For half of what I had yet

An internet presence

Past or present tense

The algorithm corrects

My Arcadian rhythm hasn't yet

I forget as I listen

To what always plays in the back of my head, anyway

A repetitive silence

He's got a good taste in girls,

Fascination with words,

and immortal preference for dismemberment

Embellishments

…

Interest in cryptocurrency

Where were you when I was a punk?

Either cuddled up to my mother;

Or curled up in a ball,

Trying to learn how to walk,

Just to run from her—

Or under something

Forgotten,

Had I not the lungs to call for someone to watch me

Or even a party,

A theology of sorts,

As I lost all the world's appeal

By the age of four,

When school started,

Probably

Maybe, even

The start of a fart,

Or the swirl of a thought,

Sail away,

I'm an unwelcome failure

I left [Redacted] alone,

On moral obligations, by admissions

A standard set for respect, besides my own transgressions

Expressions of love of man and animal,

Influx of output and perfectly capable of nonchalance, but not

Were the works and words of artform,

Demolished by cause of a hazard,

Wreaking havoc on lost God's

Prepare for the apocaplse,

Either by train, a fall, or by gun

Under all of the money

In The Galley

The housekeeper dremt of playing piano

But could not overcome the rotten body

The tree stump of a mother

Left to become nothing of Pocahontas

Or Pocatello

Either one, assumed of such

A potato

The moral of the story,

A new understudy

And Marlon Brando

Curiosity killed Johnny Depp

And what have you got to know

Other than to Zoom

Or assume that the hat is atop

Something or someone you want

But these star studded ones

Covered in lovers from dawn until dusk

Nothing wanted at all, besides love

Which could not be done by a man

To such a body

Summer Allfruit Jam

(Trfruit)

Come on, Jack, we don't have time for this!

I can't! I don't have any blocking for this scene!

UGH.

Fine, whatever—

[Jack Black Follows]

WHO! WHO DOES HE FOLLOW?

I don't know. Hold on.

Dammit.

You can tell by this dude's music he just knows how to fuck.

Fuck it. I'm in a weird mood anyway, should I I watch mau5's super cringey CNN interview?

Probably.

It's either that, or Fallon.

I'm not watching Fallon,

Like fucking ever.

Alright, cringey CNN it is.

I'm totally okay with feeding this obsession.

Tom Hanson

What does

Because it feeds me back.

What if the left and the right got along?

What if I showed up at my show,

In nothing but a thong?

What if I went bright

I once thought my aspirations

Were delusions of grandeur—

Once thought psychic visions as vivid hallucinations

Once thought auditory transformations as mutations,

Instead of and rather than

Musical endeavors

Once thought my proclivities

As sexual deviance

—the defiance of order,

as defined by The Order.

Worth an incognito

Who I've got to know, even

The televangelist's anthem has it—

What, like a nurse and a psychologist daughter

Thought this guy was hot

Theory of Genetic Attraction

By

Doctor CS Monroe

Quick, where did I study for my doctorate

At Harvard Law

I got a doctorate at Harvard Law School?!

Doctorate of Law

This exists, somehow, I believe

Synethetics and Multidimentional Reality:

The Algoithm Simulation Theory,

Evolved

Why!

Please don't let my dreams come true.

Really, even the dreams about Deadmau5

Well, except those—

Except that last one.

What was the last one?

He was scary.

Irish, German, and norweigien, really?

Really.

Are you sure—not even like hint of

Fuck it, it's not your face

You're so old

It's your soul.

Which, notably, might be even older, except.

GET OVER HERE, you DUMB MOTHERFUCKER.

MOOOOOOORRRRTTTRYYYYYYYYYYY.

There he is!

Like, Pacific Islander?

Nope.

Mm. Really. Not indigenous, at all?

Not that I know of.

BEFORE:

COLONIZERS:

die.

INDIGINOUS:

Ok.

COLONIZERS:

Except you.

[insert beautiful Native American woman here].

CONT

…you can stay.

ok.

*dies in childbirth*

History successfully erased.

WAIT.

…Hello.

Oh FUCK,

What did you do?!

I hit “erase”

Do me next!

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

The no nonsense was Esha, but in actuality, it was something like a standoff at the tipping point, and I had decided that rather than to continue looking for jobs I didn't want, I had to make myself into a job—or better yet a product, and however long it would take to sort out the documents, I would stoop start, dividing my time between building my porfolio and repertoire, and organizing the documents, the latest of which were what I had so dauntingly called The Allegories, publishing as such an abridiged and redaction of everything I had written under the covenants of the oath, and as always, neither to kiss and to tell, I would redact any acknowledgement of an otherwise fatal attraction; there was nonesuch a body attached, however, as I had learned, just a soul.

Wait, I don't get it. Why are they birds?

Dunno, I—

Kimmel—

Aviary.

Carson—

Aviary.

Now look here.

There's a steady doctrine hidden within these words, and beneath these halls

The words of worms, scrawled across

The alter of which you shall not talk,

But write, rather in word form,

Spawned from One

Come, now—

But mustn't you follow.

Battered, badly

As not to trust

The wisdom which is indeed your own

Bestowed onto you by us

Best not to stroke my frame,

By the softest touch,

For after all,

I might wish to know you

More often than already thought

Bedamned, the damsel in distress.

Know thee, now, your honor.

Come forward, mistress,

My master,

The honor is yours,

My matron,

My honor,

Come,

Now upon us

Atop the alter

At your throne

This dirty is thrust

A heralded crown,

Upon the head,

So hung in taunted

…

What am I looking at?

Something you'll look for will soon come running.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Candid talks on loss, grief, and toxicicity.

Confliction,

Betrayal—

& Romance

Is all I've had since our last dance

Confliction,

Betrayal

And Romance

Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Rachel dratch and her counterpart, the cat woman from 30 rock, along with Elizabeth Taylor are all looking for orangey, the immortal superstar movie cat, in order to restore the time continuum, and return to their proper respective dimensions.

I got pro hoes from soho

Bohemian low blow

Colombian blowouts, and

Smoke to stroke rolled gold

Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

I GOT YOU NOW, MOTHERFUCKER.

Oh my God! It's Pat Kirkpatrick!

Oh great, so he's some sort of Diety, I guess.

Lesson 1: Continuity.

Lesson 2: Continuity,

Lesson 3: Continuity

—isn't that all just—

Continuity.

yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss—-

I'm a DJ, BITCH.

YO, LESSON ONE:

You're not the professor.

I'm the GURU. This the dojo!

Uh. No. You're not.

I AM.

Where's Jimmy Fallon?

Yo, FUCK JIMMY FALLON, alright.

He's possessed—

What?!

Oh NO.

Who possessed him?!

My ex husband.

I'M THE SENSEI NOW.

SENRAO

fuck. Where the fuck is this kid?

Dead.

DEAD?

Mm. Presumably.

Mmhmm.

wtf, who are you?

Woke up with Dillon Francis in my head—

“I'm my only friend”

I don't even like that song, it just gets stuck in my head.

Apparently Emma Watson wants to know what to do in the festival project. I still don't know.

My ex went to Golden Corral to cheat on me, then got sick from pizza; I got some kind of job at a weird party place for kids; the dude was weird and only hired non bianary people and dudes; I left to help my friends who were getting married with car trouble.

Lol Emma Watson though, was like—

“Okay, what do I do?”

I was like, I don't know. Then I woke up.

EMMA WATSON

Okay, what do I do?

I was starting to develop scabs in my ears from alternating between headphones and earplugs, which couldn't have been good—I needed to work, and was disasterously fat, however, toned, and I assumed that the extra weight had come from muscle. My legs were smooth, and all of the clothes I had picked up along my walk fit—all extra smalls and smalls, which included even a tiny bralette I was certain would fit when picking it up, and it did—I only wondered what the world might be like after a panniculectomy—though my thighs seemed massive and I was certainly bloated, opting for less running and more lifting until my energy recovered, I was still anywhere between a size 4 and 5, sometimes a 6–which did kind of rather shamed me in all of the ways that it could—6 was much greater than 2–and those praised as the ‘world's most beautiful women' were anywhere between 00 and 2; I wasn't sure where I was going to move my thighs or my arse to, but I was determined to be celebrity skinny—even without the added bonus of actually being a celebrity, and however oddly enough with the star studded dreams I had been having, there seemed somehow still some kind of hope, though even if in the next life, that I would become into a world of my dreams. It was the anniversary of my son's death—he would have now been 9, and I often was drawn to remember him walking about New York—seeing beautiful children about with long hair, and beautiful brown skin, with eyes like mine, moon shaped and dark…I began to softly weep as I remembered how beautiful he was, and that I had no pictures of him at all. It was better that way, really—the hurt that had come from holding on was too great—and yet, subtle reminders, in the way that sometimes, however music would just come to me, there was my boy; he loved my guitar, and the sound of my voice as I would sing, and had even once, just before his death, tried to sing along, as I clamored about the house, singing Seven + Mary—which he seemed to like enough that he found the need to make his way over to the table to get my attention, and sing with me.

Back in my current reality, the overall bored of the shower running and my demon neighbors slamming things around angrily as if something was wrong, shaking the building brought me back to the monotonous world, morning coffee over the toilet quite remincent of Lyndon B. Johnson, the morning sifting through my Google documents for Emma Watson and John Slattery part of my morning report— and though I was due in the gym, there was nothing I wanted less than to go anybody or see anything at all—everything was just a reminder of my apparent “living hand to mouth”, and the more I kept on dreaming and writing of these people, the more grandiose and and delusional I felt—I had just been blindsided in court by my ex's attempt to discredit my ask for a protective order against him by using my mental health in the wake of his physical violence and our sons death, against me in such a way that the victory, the judge's granting of my protection against him, was still pyrrhic in such a way that I didn't feel so much protected, as he had lodged his way into my dreams once more just to cheat on me—though however had been twarted in doing so, by some particularly sour Golden Corral pizza, and the young girl accompanying him quite receptive to the speech I had given her on karmic justice. Strangely enough, the dream almost appeared as in my favor, that things were changing, and yet—I still didn't like to see him or think of him at all, and luckily enough, it was Emma Watson who had intercepted this sort of nightmare with the conjecture that I should keep writing, however with an American accent, which only forced me to wonder, if perhaps, too she had become some sort of Cosmic Avenger—or even so, as written, was JK Rowling in disguise as the actress playing her own character, some kind of magician's practitioner —who had herself been for some time one of my living spirit guides since childhood—finding as I grew older for us to be more alike than not, especially as a writer.

I stepped into the shower, still writing, and without the amount of coffee I really needed to move more quickly, but still in some sort of stupor—

‘I should probably get out of here.'

Another day trapped indoors would simply be unhealthy, however I hadn't the slightest idea where I might go.

Wherever it was, I would take my guitar—and at the very least—I knew which direction Manhattan was, anyway.

‘Fuck, I gotta find that episode with the earthquake…'

BEFORE:

ugh , where to begin?

Let's just start with–

LADY GAGA aka GAGA has been tasked with strategically marking the grid with

Various entrance and exit points; a job which she has tak quite seriously, and honorably.

Okay, moving forward .

You're not going to expand on that?

No, next thing.

HARRY POTTER, HERMIONE GRANGER

Wait–

What.

Wouldn't it be

HERMIONE WEASELEY

Did they not get a divorce?

I heard that.

That just sounds dumb, I'm not writing that.

That is dumb..

Anyway.

HARRY POTTER, HERMI–

Fuck it.

HARRY, HERMIONE, AND RON have accidentally shifted dimensions and into the bodies of their real-life counterpart, DANIEL RADCLIFFE, EMMA WATSON, AND RUPERT GRINT

Oh damn. I finally found something cool for Emma Watson to do.

That is cool.

SUPACREE

I need you to read all these, and watch all this.

SUPACREE leaves the three magicless, frietenghned, and shocked–

–flabbergasted–

what .

They're English, they should be flabbergasted.

[They are Flabbergassted]

Wait, go back?

I can't. I Have a hard time writing action scenes

why ?

Cause i'm not getting any.

Lol :

(Holy shit, that is probably why tho.)

Erase.

WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?

It wasn't good.

HOW DO YOU KNOW?!

*shrugs*

!?!-

::||pause.

ok .

So that dude from Drake and Josh is in all these episodes, but we only get one Harry Potter Episode?

…He seems less busy.

–Don't forget Jimmy Fallon.

Yeah, I still don't get that.

Neither do I?

Why is he even in this?

[Watching Saturday Night Live}

JIMMY FALLON!

Why Is he even in This?

?

?

AAAAANNNDRD—WE'RE BACK.

Fuck it, next thing.

gaga

Yeus.

What are you doing?

Hm. Mm…working on something.

If I stand quietly at the door, and await you;

Will you come to me,

And and open it, to let me in

To see the gate you keep

Let's read between the lines;

You weep for me and deep into my dreams

Then see me in the streets, and think

“It cannot be the she for me;

Maybe, if she were pretty.”

Don't look into my eyes

(I despise you!

I delicately delight you

Despite the never having time to

Now I'm desperate just to find you

In a life I left behind

And drew a line though

RATATA & TATTATA

I wrote this story years ago.

Are you going to listen to the album?

I already did that.

YOU GOTTA LISTEN TO THE

NO. And I don't expect Skrillex to listen to this, either.

It's over.

It's over

It's over

It's over.

I LOOOOOOVE HER

TIMMY TURNERS NEW BALANCE TENNIS SHOES TAP SWIFTLY ACROSS THE PAVEMENT AS HE RUNS FOR HIS LIFE

Well, that is a good place to start—thanks Emma Watson.

Captain.

Oh shit, what's SHE like?

I don't know, isn't she like, irl an American diplomat?

Uhhh—aren't you?

No.

Now hurry, we gotta do this before Jimmy Fallon shows up and

[JIMMY FALLON SHOWS UP]

Ugh.

Why is he even in this?

What is this?

I don't know. It's

“Poetry”

An album.

A couple of movies.

Some TV shows.

Will this suffice?

I don't know…

Enter that one scene here with John Slattery?

Which scene with John Slattery?

You're right. I have been writing for John Slattery a lot.

Bipolar disprder and other multidimensional preceptory functions could more likely be reclassified from a disease to a hypersensitivity to energy which one does not identify as belonging to oneself, which therefore counteracts within the mind's ability to alter or project and/or maintain balance in one's mood, as certain energies may be ‘absorbed' empathically or observed as a negative or draining energy; An elevated sense or shift due to the overstimulation of energy which the subject may receive as ‘“positive”, or shifting the mood undesirably by the overstimulation of negative sources, sounds, or persons within the subject's realm foreign, undesirable, or unwanted within one's field of energy—a heightened sense of awareness or vibrational field which inhibits or limits the ability to contain or transmute such energies.

It is, within its own sense, a sort of elevated mechanism for survival, ie a superpower, given the subjects placement within the proper environment, within the functional vibration of the subjects natural mood or state, whereas, lows may be the subjects own sensitivity to numerous outer sources of negative or prone to certain toxicities to his or her natural state, and highs whereas certain higher vibrational energies result in the conglomerate evolution of such energies as a newer form

So, bipolar, you think?

I think I don't know what I am, and nobody does—so nothing you give me will ever really fix me, because I was never really broken, or

Or?

Or I was broken rightfully so in that I should have been treated as a trauma victim, and not the subject of some cruel experimentation as an attempt to assasinate whatever force of nature is actually keeping me alive in the only survival mechanism it's been naturally given to battle the psychopathic standards and expectations of today's society.

Fine, very well then.

Why is this J. slatts again

Cause, I've got a beautiful vocality for narration.

Fine, I'll work on that character next, I guess.

What?!

John Slattery is in this!

YES.

I guess I have to watch it, then.

Collect the actors, again!

AGENTS.

Ufffghh.

MANAGERS

Fucking Christ.

JOHN SLATTERY (as himself)

“I'll do it, “, I said, “but there better be money attached to this project”

[Jimmy Fallon enters]

JOHN SLATTERY

There he is!

The man of the hour.

JIMMY FALLON

This is—probably going to take longer than an hour, I'm betting.

JOHN SLATTERY

Come, sit.

[He sits at the had of a long table]

JOHN SLATTERY (CONT'D)

I don't know what you did, you fucking idiot, but you did it.

JIMMY FALLON

Tell me what I did again.

CUT TO:

[unseen, on the opposite side of the room]

Oh shit, that's him;

Are you sure?

No, that's Patrick.

WhT's the difference?!

[Like, an entire generational gap of innuendos and pop culture reference.]

JOHN SLATTERY

Your presence is appreciated.

This meeting is now officially in session.

{Enter The Multiverse: LEGENDS}

[the festival project]

What is this? Is this Scotch?

No! It's apple cider vinegar!

Does the trick.

I heard you were a Method-ist.

No, apparently I'm “the medicine man”

It's nearly ten

But feels like night

Nearly forgot what this was like

Too many sunny days, no friends

Wasted yesterday latent,

Impatient creative

Heavy workload

But you know the rules

Overcast clouds say stay,

It's a workday

Every day is a work day

But it ll seems worthless

Almost, Amazon, Ten dollars

Cold, corrupt and almost

Out of water

I should be smarter than to call the code

I should be smarter then to call him over

Going nowhere but up

Calling a number, four

Number four

The hypnotists wish lists

What happens at number ten

Calling a number up

Four days of water left

I should have left him as

The protagonists, of supporting roles

Now number one is number four

And number four is often gone

The storyline and plot is

Two, three— too heavy.

Three-two-three

Walk away

310, cam the number

Hollywood is calling,

New York has hospitality, though

One, two—

Walk away

Three, four

catch the code

Hollywood, turn around

New York's got hospitality, though

How's Tokyo sound when November rolls around

How's Paris now, that were Marlboros on parliament

How it all come down

Then it all comes down

To the three two one

Four's nowhere, now

I had woken up with an overall feeling that something was wrong—I had overshot my 3 AM target time by 6 hours, realizing of course that I was a day ahead, and that the construction—more drilling and hammering, was out on hold thanks to an apparent oncoming rain, which hadn't come yet— my wavering mental state was apparent in the mess I had left in my room, clothes strewn across the floor and atop the bed, but at least otherwise clean—I had slept dressed, or at least half dressed, a protection stone lodged in my bra, as the necklace I had worn for my son had become somewhat damaged in some way—it was no longer protective, but had somehow defected; probably in the way that his father bearing over him, allowed the stone some sort of portal to be able to invade my dreams with nightmarish hauntings, and I instead opted to keep the necklace aafelu tucked away, until I would be able to give it to him as I had planned. But still, it seemed that the intention of his father was to ruin my life, and see to it so that I may never do well enough to visit my son, and it seemed no matter how hard I tried

I would not miss the band.

(A magician's hands)

I've been watching TV

i doubled back, low battery

In battery park,

I could watch the sun rising

I'm so full of worry

Of money

I wonder

What for, is my worth

Kelly Clarkson was the cutest thing ever—and sung so freely like a bird like I wished that I could—I remember breaking down in my car after just missing the cut off for entering her show, back in LA—more than likely over the fact that I would be missing a paycheck, rather than missing the show anyway— and I had almost thought to cancel my tickets for the View, had I not been lured by the blue hues of both their outfits—and though I hadn't meant particularly to be associated with the color blue at all, most people associated my name with the color anyway, as I hadn't intended.

Nothing was really intended, it had just happened. Whoopie Goldberg's fabulous denim cape forced me to wonder what I might wear the next day, had I decided to actually go—the colors of my closet mostly black and quite drab, and the denim dress I had acquired as a cleaning person the year before becoming a tired go-to when I needed to look nice. I almost wanted to wear my new Michael Kors stilettos, but was saving them for an actual party, an interview somewhere classy, or worse—my first date—as the anniversary of my cellibacy drew closer by the minute, and my need to continue my reproduction however with someone more fitting began to be the most harrowing thing on my mind, beside possibly returning to a homeless shelter, which I would not allow to happen. My exit strategy was simple, actually—in that if given an eviction notice for whatever reason—my neighbors seemed particularly afflicted as my former boss and lovers, roommates, and others I had become close to in this strange and seemingly cursed world with that thing I could only call a demon, since I didn't know what it was, and I was afraid they'd continue to report smoke coming from my apartment, although now I had been forced to switch to a diffuser with essential oils, taking a chunk out of what I considered my severance pay from The House of Illumination, which had indeed lived up to its namesake—the lesson had been quick, in that working for such a man, whoever he was or at least pretending to be, had taken me off my path, and had begun to dishevel my personal energy so much so that I had actually dropped my wallet—it had been so long since making such a mistake that I knew indeed that something was wrong, however, but needed the money so badly that it didn't matter—and besides, nothing could be so horrible as was my mother sometimes, growing up—and I had given Natural all that he needed to hurt me in telling the story of my own weight loss journey.

Telling, and in return, Natrual was showing that I had given the world the perfect excuse to continue trying to kill me—that perhaps, my time had passed anyway.

Kelly Clarkson looked incredible—the last I had seen, she was pleasantly plump, but never bad looking—now, she was. Incredibly veluptumous, and as she stated that she stood at merely 5'3, I was suprised once again that all of the TV people looked either taller or shorter on camera, and wondered what I might look like— I was almost stuck thin about 4 days into a water fast, but appeared and felt large otherwise, and most recently had been more tired and fatigued that ever, outraged that I had been dismissed from my only income in months over nothing, and that the income from anything else I was doing would simply not come at all if I could never wrap my mind around even trying to have it be seen by the right minds, with the right eyes, at the right time—and yet there was another force of evil, seeming always to stop me from the essence of true creation—this thing which had taken away my musical expression almost entirely by now, my sensibility wavering and all of my slayed projects, stagnant.

I was craving oats, and had even pre-prepared some, blending them in my magic bullet so that they would be easier to digest—and since Natural had made the suggestion that my BMI was to blame for my lack of focus and attention to detail, it had more been the combination of losing my wallet, having to deal with the public transit, constantly being reminded that Tula, a light skinned African was the music industry's new it-girl, and of course, that my son, now 7, was morbidly obese, probably somewhere discarded like junk under a cloud of cigarette smoke, head deep in a video game and surrounded by idiots—and that no matter how hard I tried to make the money to see him, something awful would happen so that I couldn't, and it became clear that his father's story—whereas I had simply and for no reason “lost my mind” and had abandoned my child, was the story he had told to all those around him, who believed him—that I was the villain in his story, and my son the tool he used to create a sympathetic picture of a loving and struggling father, though now he might have actually been trying, the damage was done; he had sent my son away unable to care for him to my mother, and in the time he was given alone, of course, created another child—all of which of course I wanted, in hopes that the one he had chosen for his new family would have some sort of love an appreciation for my own son, enough to have created a step mother, but alas, was some underwhelming someone with nothing to offer but her own struggle—and I wanted nothing to do but to be gone from this drama, however my own blood had been caught up in it enough so that I could feel it, knowing that at just 7, my son was as sick as I once was, depressed and miserable as the child of a narcicist becomes once the damage is done.

I was only eating blended foods, and had become obsessed with being stick thin—celebrity fit, which is how I had found the video at all, my love of Whoopi Goldberg and Kelly Clarkson creating a quick draw, a star studded combination I could not resist, though I wasn't resisting much—I had drifted back into the realms of television and film, my first loves—or rather, my first conscious endeavor, as I had been attracted to the piano from a toddler and learned to play around three, therein my is being my first love, however with a mother like mine and a life like ours, there truly never was one thing I could ever just ‘do', as anything I loved would soon be subjected to be taken away for some reason or another, whether it was a messy room, or just a mood swing—whether or not I wanted to watch lifetime and be best friends, even after a day of being yelled at and scolded for one reason or another—as my mother often seemed to forget ever being cruel after being so, often saying “I would never…” to whatever she had done, a narcissist's mark, in denying actions and words that had only ever been witnessed between the other party and God.

I had blended the ancient seed oat bend into a porridge with agave and sautéed apples and pears with cinnamon, and though I felt awful eating more than once, was struggling enough with this bout of depression which working at Temple of Illumination so briefly had caused that it didn't matter at all—coffee was simply not enough, and my Amazon package which would deliver my vitamin supplements and whatever else I had ordered—things I had gotten into the habit of pocketing at the Whole Foods market during my homelessness, but in trying to recover from the spiritually twisted and evil place the homeless system had put me through, I had, with all my might, been insistent on purchasing everything I had needed—and even though it was indeed wrong of the white supremacists movement to have been true health and nutrition almost unattainable to the common workforce, my food stamps never enough to actually supplement a full month of food—whole food veganism which would allow me to train for at least an hour a day to sustain clean energy, and of course, water in order to stay hydrated in doing so — I was getting better at keeping what I needed in stock, but almost always needed to run to a food bank at least once a week, hoping that I would collect there things I actually could eat, rather than processed junk my body no longer saw as food at all.

I peeled a mandarin into the watered down oats mixture and was worried that the dried cranberries I would pour over the top would be too much sugar, but I almost didn't care; I was on the verge of tears, and some evil, penetrating force had been altering my sleep patterns, my heartbeat, and my dreams—there was some group of motorcyclists who for months had been circling at any given time, and though some might have been able to ignore the roaring and awful vibrations of such, I could not—these motorists seemed to rip through my heart and up my spine like a serrated knife, a gesture that indeed noted that it was some evil or devilish, demonic force, as when in relax and meditation I often pondered with his, these striking forces would come, often creating a wave of fear, anxiety, and worry—terrorism, by definition, and disturbance of the peace, it was—but nobody seemed to care that it was pain for me, in fact, the more I began to wonder what or why it was, the more it became clear that this was intention to hurt or kill me, whether by an organization of some sort, or simply the force of evil itself against the divine I had become, not with intention at all, but in seeking my own freedom from such a world as cruel and unjust as I had come.

My neighbors had lodged an impressive amount of complaints against me for smudging—and it was 36 complaints before I had even been made aware that my neighbors were trying to get rid of me; not once had a note been left on my door, or had I been approached by them In the hallway to ask that I not use smudge—then again, sometimes as whites were, they were more concerned about themselves and their dogs than whatever might have been the cause of such heavy saging occurring—the motorcycles at all hours tearing through my heart, the slamming doors, the sound of their televisions or voices penetrating through my walls— the unwelcoming energy which at all times I was surrounded by, and though I loved New York, 3 stories above the ground floor and on the border of queens was simply not far enough away from the Godlessness of the cursed and usually dark others, whom could not understand the conciousness I had drawn from the long fasts, prayers, and summonings I had done in order to free myself from the force that had done away with me to begin with—my deep love for the man with whom I had fathered my sons, and a daughter, the two of the three were gone, though I had seen so that if I had not lost my daughter and my son, I would probably still be with their father, in attempting to give them a family—another poor, single, black woman and mother, I was now willing to be to my son, but was not; I had forgiven his father, however, it seemed some sort of curse he had done in my departure was still in effect, the demons he had called onto me not called off—and even in the reflection of my own self and flaws upon entetering such a relationship—the other things had been inherited from him; the homelessness, the toxicity and mismanagement of energy—however, my lack of control over time, I realized early on, had been inherited from my mother, who was more like my ex husband and her own abusive father than I ever was.

I wanted bread, but could not dare;

J[r was 6 ft tall, and for some reason, that bothered me more than anything else I had learned about him, for some bizzarre reason almost suddenly obsessed with the public figure, though at first the dollar project had been more of a game than the actual idea, and the festival project itself was at all but a halt, as I wanted and needed desperately to comb through my documents at once, but could never seem to— the metaphors of Natural's Basement drawing upon me as I realized that perhaps, I was too emotional about its contents to properly sort through them—atop this concern, was the concern that my body, though fitting quite nicely into an extra extra small pair of racer lined jockey style workout leggings, was still too large to be though of as ideal—ideal, which for a man 6 feet apparently was, according to Ali and the others, and though I had pretty much always hated Fallon from early on, always breaking fourth wall and blowing my mind coming from such a strong theatre background that someone like that could have ever been awarded a coveted spot on such a legendary show, it had been gathered somewhere that his audition was flawless, however—his second audition, according to Tina Fey, who I loved, maybe even more after learning that she had been given such a unique name, and had won almost every award I could possibly think to covet, although however much a writer I was, an actor and comic I was not, in that I had given up my own craft years before being fat or being black was ever in style—and now that it was, I had no reason to believe that at 31, while Tyla was 22, as was Billie Ellish, I had any business in even trying to make it in entertainment— I began preparing to die almost as readily as ever, deciding upon eviction, rather than fighting it and returning to the intake shelter in the Bronx to start the process again, I would simply jump either off my own building, hoping 12 stories would be enough to actually cause death, rather than just parilization, or find my way to the end of the platform at which the train moved most quickly in preparation to stop at the station, which I had nicknamed “the Jumping Point”—also the name of a pop up dance music club I had summoned up once, actually thinking that something, something at all would bring me close enough to success to actually become the dance music tycoon and entrepreneur that I wanted, however—as my hair again grew into a shoveled mess atop my skull, only hidden by a hit which the view wouldn't allow as an audience member, the only thing which might have kept me from going at all, besides my lack of knowing what to wear or just the daunting crises of having no money at all almost a shameful mark across my face— my nails for nearly a year undone, and of course— everything I knew that needed to be done, almost stuck and unable to move forward, my divorce papers included, another mark of the devil, as I had already done the paperwork 3 times, spending atrocious amounts of money in the process, of course, for all of them to be sent back, for some reason or another, and the case to still be opened without being shut—and at least it was opened…

As tears began to well up into my eyeballs, in thinking perhaps I truly was cursed, that the law was for whatever reason on all of my abuser's sides, and that I was doomed to become lost in this endless cycle of loss and pain for some reason or another, that became the task at hand—to, for what was either the third or fourth actual time, file for divorce, and to be rid of my abuser for good, the fate of my son at the crossroads of my wealth, or even better yet, at the very least securing a job, where I was no longer haunted by the massive work I had done on the festival project, or by, as I had once been, followed by some Jimmy Fallon doppleganger— an experience I had nearly forgotten.

However, as I reflected upon all of the jobs I had in the years I was homeless, they all had one thing in common—horrible bosses, doppelgängers of people I loved or had written about—and toxic working conditions, in addition to extremely low wages and unconscious coworkers, with the exception of few, whom I kept in my heart and still loved—did I love Jimmy Fallon? As a fan, or an admirer of his portfolio, his presence to me simply only existing in clips and montages from the confines of my memory of all that I could draw from him—an impossible suitor, I found myself to be more in admiration and awe of his work as a comic, a host, his apparent professionalism and stage presence, all of which none surrounding him could doubted and which had given birth to my own re-entry into screenwriting anything besides enter the multiverse/and yet I wondered//what for, besides as to stand as a perfect example of what would and could draw the masses and stand as an acceptable and inexplicable mark for perfection—a television personality, all of which stood to be hidden in such, a person, none whom could ever know behind the likes of such, a camera, an audience, and the propagation of the ideas and words of the media would want to portray in such programming as to remain in control in one way or another, of the audience's minds, and therefore, the viewers hearts, and souls—commanding a presence within the collective consciousness, dependent of course on said viewer's own ability to draw from those things, what was actually being said and done.

That, in itself, was The Illuminati in its process.

Alright, so—a Jimmy Fallon is an extremely powerful magician, right?

Obviously.

So he must have talismans, somewhere, then—right?

Yeah, I guess, but—

I certainly wasn't willing to look.

Look, I already know what he likes.

Geez, how long have you had his eyes?

Long time.

I'm gonna get in so much trouble.

You are trouble.

What is the point of this redaction ?

It's just acting! It's just acting!

Look, whatever I just did with Fallon, just put him in The Winner's Circle, okay? I'll never see that dude again.

Thank God it's over.

Synesthesia Attack!

AHHHHHHHHH.

Well, sorry Jimmy—

Thank your parents;

They're geniuses.

Stay away from me, your crazy bitch!

Okay. ‍♀️

FUCK! There it is again!

What?!

Too deep, too deep!

This is deep, boss—

I don't know what I just read.

Medicine man

Would you give me a hand with this

I need some medicine quick

(Cause I can't with this)

Medicine man

Need a can of some laugher

I heard that's the medicine

Medicine man

Medicine man

could you give me a

Hand with this man

It's just damages

I need some aspirin

But imm

I'm better off dead

Than over the counter

It's just damages

Something like that

Rip Minnie ripperton

I knew you were gone

But not that gone

Not gone like that

I just had to know,

Now I'm 9 years old

But I can't do the math

Not at all,

Not at all

I'm so over it, actually

My goals are abandoned

I can't trust the man in the television

I haven't remembered an image this

Disasterous since

It was my family picture

Without me in it!

Damn!

Fuck,

Now I gotta finish this whole maya rudolph timeline this shit just keeps getting deeper and deeper.

Hey. You.

What the fuck, man.

Come here.

No!

Yes, Maya! Yes!

Mm. Vanilla ice cream is sounding

Like

The best.

Just plain, regular—

Just “vanilla”

Just vanilla bean—ice cream.

Uh.

Uh.

Woah

Where the fuck are we

Where the hell are we

Where are we GOING

Woah,

What does the man with the van do

Domino sugar

Kellogg

When you get off the

All the good days are gone

And I've sent you on right back

But I will still love you

I was just thinking of that thing

You never said

But I will still love you

When you get off the ground level

Just for a minute and

Find yourself a revolving door

Only to find

That the world revolves around you

And if all the world's a stage,

Then all the world is full of actors

And all the trains are out of order

And all the walk is out of water

You're just another

Meant to suffer

So you did again

And you did this again

And you did it

On camera

Cause if you asked,

Then they would have said no anyway

And if it was a hall pass

I wouldn't have been as flattered

To have

Never

Even left the apartment

I asked for something new

And what do you know

How does God do,

On the day of the dead

Cause

That's where I went

Every chair costs and thing,

You know

Every couch costs a fortune

And you would have been

On the couch, still

Cause you can't get a job

With the punches he dealt you

Who designed 111 Murray?

I see what you're on about

All out of automotive

Misery and mystical mistresses

Misdirection, misrepresentations and.

—mister you're into some sinister shit,

But I pictured it different

Consider it rhythm your interest is simmering in

Glistening instances dancing as angels in my headaches

Dressed as construction workers

Any difference it makes it's latent,

Simple

Listen into signals intercepting into intermission

Admissions of omissions and redactions

Oh to be your forever

The Masterful mystic is at it again

Fly Peter Pan, Fly!

Go Jimmy-O, Go!

Get Carson, Get!

Alright, this dude has the coolest job in the world.

Nice.

He must have died.

(With a lisp)

He's on ice cream.

What.

Yep.

Yesth.

Watch out

It's the bad touch

With the good guy

And a late night

On a long couch

Try the dad jokes

And the slap stick

That's a good job

And a big dick

Oops

What a career,

For a carrier pigeon

[You can't be serious with this, esh]

This cant be infinite, is it?

But it is

Forget to explain it all

Over the ante, that

Oh God,

For the sake of the art

Dear God, Nancy—

You're the luckiest lady alive

The guy

The dimples

The eyes

The life

The style

The slide

Can I die, yet?

Can I just lay down and cry yet?

I might,

It's way after midnight

I like the sound of a bullet touch

A stolen cheek

The subtle rush of a

Sudden fling

The market price

Of a custom ring,

The song I wrote

Or the poems you sing

So please don't leave the TV

On

You're sleeping with a blonde

I've got my mind on dying mine bright as

The title

1985 to idol eyes

On American idol

Calm the cold down

Stalk the mirror

Here and here

Both clear and near

Is here and Bearr,

But everywhere else is just—

Suicidal.

(I don't want your dick, I just want your job.)

Now,

Call Carson up

Says

The curse in reverse

Is

Osmosis Joneing

To watch this show

Not to know you

Go home

Or go figure

Go gold

If the goal was just Taylor

Then I'll see you later

Amen

Don't forget to pray away the day

You've just created

Hand to mouth

Here's a heavenly house

And the mouse just shaking

Take down the stairs

It's starting to scare me

The dare

On the heron, heroin

Heroine mare for the Mayor

Okay, here's the player

The game is

This disfigured imbicile,

Ignorant Indians

Indifferent indegenous

Genius, without a friend

Or penis,

Without a name of

Species to befriend

In pieces

Once again,

I said

I loved him

So it makes sense if it is

A glimpse at the pictures

A get together with friends

A spectacular special,

And get this

Creative intelligence

Intellect, individual inception

Attention deficit and

Genetic attraction

Damn,

That's a handsome man

Now, how can I have that?

The Title—

The title of show

As if

That demographic

Would laugh

At a black man

I must be

Cause trust me

My pants don't come in

Half sizes

It must be a sign from the heavens

I've just had my time done with and over

It's done

Suddenly, I was angry…

Don't eat in bed.

Don't tell me what to do.

(I really don't like eating in bed…)

Fuck it, it's too late.

Not at myself, not at Jimmy Fallon— but angry.

The astonishing part about it was,

I didn't even know why.

Well, first of all, I just sat through an hour and a half special, and I have realized that I am not a fan of this guy.

No?

No.

I like his face.

Huh.

He's the right body type.

Wait.

Good hair.

Uh huh.

Long, weird nostrils.

What.

That is a nice nose.

Yeah. It's aviary.

I get that.

And—

Wait.

What is it?

Was I just—

I was a very sad, very fat very broken 18-year-old girl.

Oh great, this again.

Always this.

A married man. How could you?

I couldn't! Didn't I made that clear!

What. He seems happy.

Yeah, on TV.

He looks fine

That's his job.

—and goddammit, he's good at it?

—and goddammit, he's good at it!

14 Faces, Lewis Del Mar

Okay, it's pretty safe to say that is not just one guy.

-Su.

Come on, Jim.

Why?! What?! I can't! My parents!

These are not your parents!

What?! What do you mean?!

I'll explain later—

—what?! Look!

That's my mom—

And that's my dad!

That is not correct.

Oh, I get it—

What. What happened.

So he's like—

An old soul, right?

Kind of.

Yes.

Not that old.

Old, though.

Suddenly, the anger turned to sadness, and tears welled up in my eyes—

No, don't you dare shed a tear over that man.

What are you?

Once, an obedient lap dog,

Now poised and poached over me,

A gargoyle, though picturesque and statuesque

As if drawn from an angel,

The guardian of the night,

Who watches over my heart,

Calms the raging rivers of my wishes,

Set boats to my dreams,

Blows wind to my sail,

A bassinet of hope

Really dog, Jimmy Fallon?

I don't know. I don't know.

It was too late, I was already in love—

But at a safe enough distance that it had become, in its own way, a guardianship of sorts—and it had run deep enough cut, but not scar, and even perhaps bumped up enough against my heart to bruise, but not be broken; I would have to let it run its course, and as it would, I would for show go everywhere I could within that realm; I simply could not be trusted, in my own mind, not to bond with such that had found me in the dreamworld. In the spiritual realms of such remained only as hidden as they each had been, out of sight, but ne'er out of touch, or out of mind. A strange but hearty love, a burden, as were the others—and so I knew it was good, but mine alone, left to wilt, withered and weathered as the time drew on.

A quilted touch, a wandering whisper

To glassy eyes and hunted hearts

A crossbow, arrows sigh and wonder

The target marked, a sign of stone

Bewildered, the beast of burden

Fury, upon the alter

Aware, agape, agahst

Above you,

Wallowing in holy grave and matrimony

Sermon psalm, clary sage

Simple words,

Semper, the sound

I suffer not to know you;

A kindness

Dog's paw atop a stolen mantle

Pray you, I

Hear now, this;

To love is but a service

I shall keep to own a desire,

So shed upon the willow, to weep

Forgiveness, over ye

Cherished gentleman

DAMN. Who the FUCK are you.

Wordless warrior,

Come now,

The hour of desire strikes with night

And hallow tide,