{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

“Always be on time—especially in New York.”

The words rang around in my head like a lesson— a lesson I had learned in high school, coming from theatre.

“If you're not 15 minutes early, you're late.” I regurgitated--something I honestly had stood by in all my years with it— my high school theatre teacher, Andy, probably my favorite teacher ever, if not a close second to my middle school English teacher, Mrs. Davis, or even a tie for first, since they came from different eras in my school years. Of course, my next favorite, Mr. Tucker, my middle school music teacher—a multi- instrumentalist and expert—some of the only happy blue eyes I had ever known— who had seen something musically gifted in me, and would at random pull me aside and stuck a new instrument in my hands, instructing me to play. I had enamored him with drums, playing out a copycat pattern by ear after watching it once, and seemed to continue to amaze him as I quickly repeated tunes or improvised on the guitar, bass, and clarinet—and though I had wanted to play in the drum line—with the cool kids who often bullied me, hoping desperate somehow to mix—he insisted that I take band, first playing saxophone, and then switching to trumpet, for my adaptability and ear for harmonies—I wanted of course to play first trumpet, but was assigned to the contrasting harmonies of second trumpet— also eventually joining the drum line, where of course I was still bullied and competed for the best-fitting harness, which would keep my Quads at waist level instead of around my hips—my body, then, now looking back, that of a stout young woman—I was maybe 5'2, with double -G breasts and no bavksidevworth mentioning-I was more wide than round at the rear with thugs, but no hips to accentuate—and though my body was strange for that of a middle school girl, leaving me miserable and disproportionate, compared to the white, frail and thin Mormon girls—and the long haired, pretty faced latinas— the only blac at school besides a couple of Mormon kids—who has a white mother, who had been abandoned by their obviously very black father at or near birth, as they were a couple grades apart—and besides actually knowing it, you wouldn't have known they were white at all. The girl, who was in my grade, might have been about 6ft tall by middle school, and her hair always disheveled and unkempt— which didn't seem to bother her white, Mormon friends—the popular girls who made my life miserable enough, and though she herself was for the most part neutral, her high status in the pecking order had been long established. The town was split into two by both class, which equated to race and religion—a Mormon establishment, the deeply rooted white and wealthy, conservative Mormons had huge houses on one side of the freeway—the lower-class, casino working Mexican immigrants and their l first generation children on the other side of the freeway; this was the place I had learned to hate myself the most, a foundation first implemented at home, and then fortified at school— where my skin was too dark, my hair was strange, though always well done— and my ill-fitting clothes, mostly boys clothes, as my mother had become impatient with attempting to find “cute” or pretty clothes, and the American obesity epidemic had not yet grown to the norm; plus sized clothes were expensive and hard to find—and so without being said, middle school was harder than it had to be for several reasons—but it was also the first place I had been called or considered a “genius”, at least musically. I had always excelled in academics, at least until middle school, where my life became dark and I first realized that my body was strange and unwanted.

Fast forward to now, a 30-year-old loser sitting in the Manhattan glass office of a Sales professional and her counterpart, whose distaste in my apparel I could feel just sitting there— I quivered and became nervous, trying to hide my unmanicured nails between my crossed legs, however revealing instantaneously how vital they were to using body language, speaking with my hands and inwardly screaming “I'm poor, just look past this and hire me!”

But it wasn't just my apparat that had more than likely cost me the job—though somewhere inside I still desperately hoped that they would see past my downfalls— I was desperate to stay at Equinox, and only had 20 days left in my reinstatement before the dues would set in—and the “free” month that I had been granted and had allowed me to access the club once more had not at all be “free” The elites had flaunted their ability to control everything remotely, through the use of cellular phones and satellites— which had spun me into a suicidal spiral at best for the last week, at least pushing through to get as much of a daily workout as possible— I had spent every possible waking moment at the club, writing, unloading the angst I had gathered in the brutality of homelessness, poverty, and blackness, summoning some way to land a DJ gig looking as classless ans haggard as I did.

But they wouldn't look past my lateness— a whopping 37 minutes, and I blamed myself entirely, as I should have known that with both phones on and out of airplane mode in order to marinate, that I would be the center of a targeted attack.

“Stay in the hood, nigger!!!l”

The bus usually ran on time at the time of day when my meeting was, but of course didn't even show up at its scheduled time, and all though google had read that it had left on time, the family standing at the stop said that they had been there for at least 10 minutes, with no bus in sight. I had been up much earlier than usual, especially after a strange dream in which my ex husband taunted me; I hated seeing his face, hearing his voice, and being reminded of all the havoc he had caused on my psyche and sanity— I had spent the morning off, and in search of a case worker who could print me extra copies of my resume, which I had been asked to bring, but of course ignored by the time I actually arrived at the meeting— I ran downstairs to the locker rooms to use the bathroom, stashing my tattered backpack and decaying gym bag in a locker downstairs, along with my skateboard, before heading back upstairs and into the waiting area, which I was only in for a moment before a beautiful Asian woman greeted me, with immediate disappointment in her voice and a look of overall disapproval in her eyes.“Hi, CC…”, she said, almost pitifully. I stood up to greet her, shaking her hand “You're so late…”

“Hi, Allison, I mirrored with self-doubt and disappointment—“I am so sorry” and I could feel it already that I was doomed.

But I had always been doomed. Since leaving my now estranged ex, it had seemed that the curse he specificallytold me he had set onto my life was true

“You know I control all demons” he had once said— and though I had argued, “I control my own demons”, he had snarled some smart ass remark in his cruel and evil tone, which still followed me in dreams, often taunting that he had someone new with him—someone better than me, and in the most recent dream, an Asian girl—but in the previous dream that he had haunted, a blue eyed blonde haired girl— and while in waking life I didn't care at all where he was, what he was doing, or who he was with, as long as he wasn't with my son—and even with my son, so long as whoever he was with was clean and happy, and loving towards my son —I didn't actually care at all. But the curse had other astonishing effects—the more my life would improve, the more drastic things would happen—those around me often becoming consumed with some sort of devil or demon themselves and eventually seeking to dismantle my well being, usually psychologically, often bringing up things from my own past without me having mentioned them—dead babies and other specific details from my past life, as If having been divulged to them from some sort of script. Then, there were the coughing people, who would surround me anywhere I went—and especially public places, but sometimes even in private, coming to the outside of my door, and standing there just coughing. Almost remnicent of the men who had been outside my window in Alaska, who had been screaming “Kill yourself! Just kill yourself!”

And I wanted to—I thought about it all the time, dancing with the trains and praying for the bravery to leave behind the cursed, shattered world. But, with each passing day at Equinox, the suicidal thoughts had seemed to fade, although the gang stalking had not—there was a psychological game being played, and my dedication to Equinox made the perfect ploy to allow the attack to unfold.

“Always Be On Time, Especially In New York.”

I awoke the next morning with the words ringing in my head, alongside my own

“FUCK NEW YORK. I HATE THIS PLACE.”

And though I was in love with Manhattan, I had now been broken down into the disgusting and hood ridden ways of the people of Ozone Park, and the surrounding Jamaica Queens, materialistic and hypnotized, brainwashed, programmed slaves who had been bred to work, still poor but attempting to look rich, as if they ever could under their bad weaves and wigs, scrolling through social media on the way to and from their corporate slave owners, or to buy the goods of the even higher corporations—and it was all just “what you're supposed to do.”

But I would rather die than do so, and had only applied at Equinox because I spent all my time there anyhow, and knew it would be easiest to sell something I actually believed in. But of course, I had been passed over the job, and wanted to die—in fact, it seemed I already was dead, in a way; My own hair and clothes in ruins, my body unloved, my mind shattered. There was no love here, just money and pain.

The Equinox interview would be my last. I had failed the test of time and wouldn't even attempt another. I had fallen out of alignment: I was doomed to be trapped in the ghetto, with the hood rats and slaves, and in 20 days would gain be cast out of Equinox. But I wouldn't return to planet fitness, or LA fitness. Or any of the other, dirty packed gyms Queens had to offer. Even Blink, although owned by Equinox was riddled with high school children and always packed. Queens was only “diverse” in the blacks-and-browns, and the longer I stayedthere, the lower my vibration fell. Now I was off my path entirely, and though I had tried desperately to be on time, I just wasn't. It had cost me a job that started at 30K a year, plus commission I know I would have easily earned—now I had nothing, $5 to my name and with no one to blame but myself.

“I hate myself, I hate my life.”

It was too late to change. I was a 30 year old loser, and I migh as well have shown the Illuminati itself the very reasons why I was unfit to succeed at anything at all—Equinox especially, but also in music, or perhaps just life itself.

I prayed for God to take me out of this hell, but it seemed my life was just some airy of cruel punishment altogether—a rotten busy no one would ever love, the inability to be on time— I felt the doors of opportunity just shut in my face.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Thank god

It's like a storm is passed

I gotta keep it up

I would never touch another man

If I could front the cost

All on my own

No wonder ma and pa

Gotta open up shops

It's a long long long way up huh

Took a long long long long walk in the park

2 boroughs I crossed

Just to be remarkable

Ok! I got Dillon Francis.

That's a pigeon.

Well, yeah—he's a pigeon.

Wow! He's a pigeon!

Yeah!

Pigeons are fast! How'd you catch him?

Well, he's a New York pigeon, so he's fat.

Wow.

We gotta change him back!

Ah, we should keep him like that.

I half heartedly agree.

SHAWN EVANS has two strikes in a game where you don't need three.

wtf does that mean.

I don't know about this

Sorry, boss

Okay, you ready?

Yh.

Now you're supacree

Ugh WTF. What for!

A GIANT DISCO BALL

I'm way in over my head now, I think

If I fall all out of love

Then that might be a bad thing

For both of us, I think

But I think too much

And I should be drinking,

But I just washed up on shore

With the rest of us, huh

I'm way in over my head

Like waves over my head

Or gravy on bread and potatoes

—how I miss the others, but

If I fall all out of love now

That could be bad for the rest of us,

All of us, aren't I

Or was once

Was once

It's all by design

The decider resigned at the diner—

But maybe this time we can find her

Dying to write

She's still colorblind

A reminder of all of the limelight

She finds in the mind,

She decided defined her

Lil biiiitzzz.

Alrigtt huh, so fuck Queens.

I had to get out of Queens, you know?

I tried every gym in queens and you know what?

I hated it.

Every fucking gym.

It was gross.

Not as gross as the Bronx—

But it was Bronx-remnicent.

So I'm like, alright, fuck this. I'm gonna save up and go back to MY gym.

MY gym is in Manhattan.

Yeah bud. *rubs fingers together*

I love it.

It's fucking clean.

It smells good.

It has everything—

—Except the rotary torso machine.

But that's okay!

Fair trade.

It's all good.

That's MY gym.

In Manhattan. Yeah.

But I was stuck in Queens for so long, you know what—

I hadn't even been to Manhattan.

I forgot one thing about working out in Manhattan that I didn't have to worry about in Queens.

White dudes everywhere.

Yeah.

Never in Queens.

I totally forgot.

In queens I'm like Man of Steel;

I walk into a gym, all I see is family—

Eyes up here, Daquan.

What up, Matumbo.

Nice Locs, Troy

I go to the gym in Queens, I'm calm.

I go to the gym in Queens, I see non potential mates.

I am STONE.

I walk into a gym in Manhattan?

UGH.

My body's like

“What's that smell?”

My uterus is like

“LOOK OVER THERE.”

I'm like “huh?!l”

Nothing but hot white dudes every damn where—

“Ugh, fuck this”

So what I do, to combat this, is I just find the first hot girl I see—

It's not hard. It's Manhattan.

I'm an androgynous ape-like person— every actual female that exists is in some way somewhat more desirable than I am by far—

—out in public, anyway.

“The socially acceptable prototype”

Meanwhile,! behind closed doors I can take anyone of these motherfuckers home—

—their home—not to queens—

Which also isn't my home—

—or anyone's really—

—but let's just say I've stayed there—

—I've gone to the gym there—

—what up JerOde

—T-Jiggles.

—I've kept my stuff in Queens.

But the publicly—socially acceptable “girlfriend” archetype does not live in Queens.

Nobody “lives in queens”

No. So what I do is I direct all of my sexual anxiety, my lady blue balls—all my deep seated envy for not being that girl —at that girl, as a reminder that she exists and I'm not what they're looking for.

And being honest, I know deep down in my lady blue balls that none of them are really what I'm looking for, either.

No—and though almost all of them are perfect in every single way imaginable—

Especially for my vagina.

I know none of them are my man.

Yeah.

You know why?

My MAN has a home gym, morherfuckers.

Yeah.

Got that bowflex .

Got that peloton. All of it.

And you know what?

He's not even in it!

NO!

He's traveling the whole wide world right now—

Looking for ME.

—(I'm in Manhattan)

MAAAAANhattan.

Yeah.

Dudes on the east coast are hot as fuck.

Like next level attractive.

Chiseled.

Delicious.

California has ridiculously remarkable women.

California's the only actual place I've ever seen whole ass people look like a brand new actual Barbie doll out of the box.

WHAT?! GO AWAY.

I'm not getting NO DICK cause of YOU.

But the dudes here?

Yo!

*slurps*

TINA FEY

You are wasting time!

SUPACREE

I'm not wasting time.

[working out]

SUPACREE CONT'D

I'm getting Trim.

TINA FEY

How trim are you trying to get?

AMY POEHLER(*sp?)/fuck it

Ya! You look fine!

SUPACREE

Like Fran-Fine-Fine—

TINA

What's that mean

AMY

It's the 90's, I think.

SUPACREE

Or Jennifer Anniston.

TINA / AMY

Like Jennifer Anniston!?

SUPACREE

Yeah, on Friends.

AMY

Speak of the Devil….

JENNIFER ANNISTON ENTERS, being super hot.

TINA

How does she DO that?

JENNIFER ANISTON

I do everything.

SATAN has merged with JENNIFER ANNISTON, as SUPACREE continues to keep accidentally summoning THE DEVIL without first understanding how—

But the charges from THE SACRED STONES against the magical charge of her amulet has created a chronically gaping time home in which various entities (and the bampheramphs) are using to travel quickly in between timelines.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Humbled from entitlement

Ashamed of my own displacement

I'm on a tear

I'm on a tangeant

I was just here.

But where have I been

Most this year has passed

And I'm still here,

I still don't get it

A divine circumstance

Souls—

So long,

So gone,

Almost

The time has come to walk

The time has come again to rise,

Rise up

The time has come to walk, come on

The time that's come is ours,

From now on

Give me time to walk,

An. Hour or so

A trot, the fox

Time to run

An hour or nothing

The founder of the establishment

The Tower of Babel

Another arrangement

The flounder, the fox, the horse

Come one, come all,

COBE one, come now

The walk or a run

A gallop, or trot- the horse

A crown for a gallon of water

A gallon of water

A gallon of water

I know who you are my son;

Come one, come all

Come mother, come father

Come dog, and come brother

A sister, another

All for a walk in the park

I lost it

All for a gallon of water

A gallon of water

Persons//Archer

Action/comedy/ mocumentary

The precinct assigned to the high traffic high transit and high crime area of Jamaica center in Queens, New York City is equally as devious and criminally minded as it's high populous counterparts- parson//archer follows a hilarious variety of NYPD officers from recruits to veteran officers assigned to patrol every facet of law enforcement from transit, to traffic major crime investigations—murder and robbery, All taking place within the 6-block radius of the Parsons Archer neighborhood near JFK International airport

JOSH

You are giving me angina!!

DRAKE

angina?

JOSH

Yes!

DRAKE

With my MUSIC?!

JOSH

YES!

DRAKE

SHH.

JOSH

DONT “SHH.” ME. YOU “SHH”!!

DRAKE

SHHHHHHH! Here she comes.

Express my discontent

To discontinue the unamusement

More water, more water

Your system is suffering.

‘Kill all of them, all of them

Calls from the governement

It's all a spectrum, a construct

Divorce is unnsesscary

Once he hits you

All institutionalizations

Become null in void, in fact

Under attack from your ex—

It's an exit strategy

After he comes to your dreams, you just laugh at him

Pull all his hair out

Congratulate the girlfriend, cause

As it starts over for him

You find ground in a brand new dimension

Where he can't get to you

The land of bad parenting, man

Ma'am, there's a bathroom over yonder

If you were wondering

You've exposed your daughter in the park

Amongst all of us

I like to go for a walk or a run

But unfortunately have become. Quite predictable under the circumstances

Of hummus sandwhiches

And garlic mashed potatoes.

(But it was delicious,

I've got no regrets here)

The dragonfly asked me to write this

As I admired them

I give God all the love

Even coming from Hollywood

Where I haven't mattered.

I finally got a new skateboard

Thanks for the manifestation

Or maybe just payment for being

Tape recorded without my permission

Or kept in the neighborhoods where restrictions on nutrition are strictly enforced—

Of course, can't have the American workforce with too much energy

There's just no money in that;

No escape from slavery, but suicide

Or two nice, blue eyes and pale skin

No! You can be dark skinned—

That is, if you're skinny and pretty

With all the right connections

I just can't fight this

It's flight facilities all over again

-A call to adventure

Don't get too close to the monarch—

Because you might scare here

And she's the only one you've seen here,

Like that

So glad that part's over, I'm being honest—

All my prayers were answered,

As just yesterday morning

I woke up with a song in my head

In your voice

And your words on my heart,

But they're all gone now,

Just as you are

And—

Not that I ever wanted to know anything so awful

But I'm glad for your island—

Now onto the next one

No more crossovers, Illuminati.

Sounds like it was all what I was caught up in

Writing my story

But nobody's on my side,

Not really

It's something like

Humanity and sapiosexuality

All rolled into one

And the role I was playing

Is all done

So glad for your family

But mine has unraveled

I'd like to travel,

But so far,

Still stuck in the poverty;

A horrible mother—

And my husband's haunting me

Not that I've ever been married or anything so far,

It's just all a nightmare

I haven't woke up

To be born yet

Goodness

For Goodness sake

Hollywood, and all the fakes

I'm slightly superstitious,

But that's as attractive as it gets and,

I just can't have it

It's only a habit,

This sapiosexual game we've been playing

With fame

And the music you're making is

Shaming me for praying

For this exact answer

Now I'm just sick to my stomach

There's no Whole Foods market in Flushing

But I've still got half a chinstrap and

All of the sermon of words I've been swallowing

Translating the rules of the game into Spanish

And I might be celibate forever

But that's irrelevant

And probably the cause of

Whatever happened

In downtown Los Angeles

Downtown Los Angeles

EXT. DTLA SMOKE SHOP. NIGHT

I could be alone and poor forever l,

For just thinking I will be

According to the secret

I could be alone and broke forever

For just being constantly surrounded

By people so miserable

And jealous of talent, creativity, and musical ability

According to the secret

Pretty white boys and their secrets—

But for the most part, I believe him

Predominately, anyway

I'm non binary enough to know

Females are pretty vengeful

Especially once you ghost them

And Hollywood is evil l

So it only costs $10 for a favor

And $10,000 for someone to dissappear

$100,000 for a single with Skrillex

And about half that for 10 million followers

Cause everyone's a robot , for the most part

And sex starved

Ticketmaster

I could be broke and lonely forever

Just for being caught up in this Illuminati nonsense

Cut!

—luckily the trains are coming faster and

All the skyscrapers are very high up, plus

It's all synonymous,

According to the secret

I could be secreting words as easily

As preaching sermons,

Or reading scriptures

Sucks being right about everything

Sucks being right about everything

sucks being right about everything

Cause everything is everything

And honestly,

I was just hornet

Not retracting my statements, at all l

Pretty white boys and their secrets

And I could manifest one, according to the secret

But what good would that do

When white women hail over everything

Such as the firing of Mr. Justin Roiland

For scribbling penises or

Amber Heard, for lying on Johnny

I give up on everything,

Especially my certainty

For now I'm just a bigot

Reciprocating hellish experiences

Overall, though

No matter how non-bianary I am

I was always and still am a woman

And men don't just want one

They all cheat on all of us—

According to science,

It's just how they're wired.

and wives are just trophies

(Especially the white ones)

Just look at John Legend

Or John Mayer, never married

But look at the track record

Or track list

Nothing darker than a brown paper bag, then

Is there

So, what have we, Disney

A black frog princess

And a black half-fish rendition;

Cause black girls aren't human,

Not really

“Not MY Ariel!”

Although,

The whole world is now filled with color

I've been too fat and too dark to be pretty

For too long to be reprogrammed

Sorry, not sorry

God,

I'm so hungry

And I've still got half a ciabatta, but

I just want someone to love me

That isn't as traumatized

As I am

God,

All I want is a dog and a daughter

But I've still got nails in my arms, from the cross

And a scar on my heart, which is turning to stone as I turn over another

Chapter in

The festival project.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

c o l o r s TM All rights reserved

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

…..

….

……..

So, whats's in Pasqualle's Pop-Tarts?

…

….

……….

…Nobody?

(It's Plum, by the way—

With nutmeg and cinnamon)

Check the hat and glasses;

Yeap,

That's a bampheramph laughin at you

Not with you

Highly unusual and peculiar, sure

Dad hats: the lowest level of bampheramph—

These bamphers show you what not to do, how not to act, and just how not to be in general

After bampheramph camp, the graduates are ranked by performance —typically— “bad” “very bad” or “what the fuck”, and very rarely even “what the fuck, dude” or “I don't even know”, the average graduate being given the “Classicl bampheramph” status, and typically wear “dorky sun hats” regardless of location, placement, or time of year

Reserve bamphers may wear backwards snap backs after once having served as captain; other reserve bampheramphs may present SnapBack forwards or even sideways, before having served as captain or during service as captain, if any other hat is not needed or called for

The motherfuckers, a special branch of bampheramphs dedicated specifically to

DJs

The 7 aliases

7 alieses

5 Guys

Two Dudes

Codename.Blū.

c o l o r s.

Happy Accidents

Dillon Francis is atop the roof at the Wynn/Encore, preparing to meet his untimely death.

Dillon Hart Francis! You come down from there this instant!

He looks below to the Las Vegas strip, a bustling blur of lights and traffic.

DILLON!

Chak Chel

Let him jump.

Chak Chel!

What! Let ‘em.

Chak Chel, come on!

The Little Motherfuckers are—

Well—

A group of young children are causing a ruckus on their bicycles. None of them are wearing helmets—of course—eventually to become motherfuckers

Smells like fire to the west

Yes, I still have eyes for you

I guess there's still some time between us

Guess I still have ties to you

Do my eyes deceive me or

Is this make believe

Believe me

All I see is you, sometimes

Even— especially in my dreams

I keep your secrets,

I feel scared when your hands touch my hands

But feel good when my lips touch your lips

I feel sad when your heart touch my heart—

I feel love with your hands on my hips,

I'll be getting it all done and over with, for the most part

Give me a call,

When you're all done, at the mortuary

I'm so sorry

I'd bend over backwards, for you

Even eat meat, if you told me too

Or cheese, Jesus

You'd better believe it

Mission impossible

Even stevens

The rest of the things

As seen on TV

The rest of the evening.

My ex fucked me up so bad

I might never be right again

He used to say l”I'm a champion”

He was a loser—

He punched me in the face so hard, I actually apologized for it.

He decked me out.

Not once—

But like 5 times.

In a ROW.

Teeth went through my lip and everything

Came out on the other side,

I was like

“Oh, awesome I was thinking about getting a piercing—

Now I don't have to!

Saved me $30 and the cost of saline!

Phew.

Fucked me up.

To this day if I see you in champion sportswear, I am immediately convinced you're an idiot.

No take backs.

If I see you in champion sportswear,

I just automatically assume you're stupid

Not sorry.

Oh well.

If I see you wearing champion sportswear,

I just assume you're a lazy, retarded idiot.

*shrugs* not my fault.

I wear Nike.

—but it I see you in white Nikes that are supposed to be white, but they're all dirty and gross and caked in whatever—

I'm just gonna assume you're a fat dirty asshole that's gonna punch me in the face,

And walk away.

Clean your shoes!

Lol I'm so fucked up

lil biiiiiiiittzzzzz.

YOU GAVE DILLON FRANCIS YOUR NAME?!

no!

Well thank god

I gave Dillon Francis your name.

ARE YOU CRAZY

No. But he is!

Exactly!

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Drown (Phoenixx Skyy) [Unmixed Unmasted Acoustic]

Em

Settle down,

My love

I know you've had

Enough

And I'm all out—

Of Love

And I'm still drowning,

In your…

I'm still drown…(ed)

…in your…

And time stood still…

—-If only for a moment.

And time stood still—

If only for a moment…

—but I'm still drownin'…

In your…

I'm still drown(ed)

In your…

Settle down

My love

I am only

In your mind

And I—

Invented

Time—

Didn't I?

But I'm still drowning—

In your…

I'm still drown…(…)

…in your…

And time stood still…

—-If only for a moment.

And time stood still—

If only for a moment…

—but I'm still drownin'…

In your…

I'm still drown(ed)

In your…

Music and Lyrics by C'cxell Soleïl

Copyright [The Festival Project] 2023

All Rights Reserved

Cutest cop ever.

Thank god

It's like a storm is passed

I gotta keep it up

I would never touch another man

If I could front the cost

All on my own

No wonder ma and pa

Gotta open up shops

It's a long long long way up huh

Took a long long long long walk in the park

2 boroughs I crossed

Just to be remarkable

Ok! I got Dillon Francis.

That's a pigeon.

Well, yeah—he's a pigeon.

Wow! He's a pigeon!

Yeah!

Pigeons are fast! How'd you catch him?

Well, he's a New York pigeon, so he's fat.

Wow.

We gotta change him back!

Ah, we should keep him like that.

I half heartedly agree.

SHAWN EVANS has two strikes in a game where you don't need three.

wtf does that mean.

I don't know about this

Sorry, boss

Okay, you ready?

Yh.

Now you're supacree

Ugh WTF. What for!

A GIANT DISCO BALL

I'm way in over my head now, I think

If I fall all out of love

Then that might be a bad thing

For both of us, I think

But I think too much

And I should be drinking,

But I just washed up on shore

With the rest of us, huh

I'm way in over my head

Like waves over my head

Or gravy on bread and potatoes

—how I miss the others, but

If I fall all out of love now

That could be bad for the rest of us,

All of us, aren't I

Or was once

Was once

It's all by design

The decider resigned at the diner—

But maybe this time we can find her

Dying to write

She's still colorblind

A reminder of all of the limelight

She finds in the mind,

She decided defined her

Lil biiiitzzz.

Alrigtt huh, so fuck Queens.

I had to get out of Queens, you know?

I tried every gym in queens and you know what?

I hated it.

Every fucking gym.

It was gross.

Not as gross as the Bronx—

But it was Bronx-remnicent.

So I'm like, alright, fuck this. I'm gonna save up and go back to MY gym.

MY gym is in Manhattan.

Yeah bud. *rubs fingers together*

I love it.

It's fucking clean.

It smells good.

It has everything—

—Except the rotary torso machine.

But that's okay!

Fair trade.

It's all good.

That's MY gym.

In Manhattan. Yeah.

But I was stuck in Queens for so long, you know what—

I hadn't even been to Manhattan.

I forgot one thing about working out in Manhattan that I didn't have to worry about in Queens.

White dudes everywhere.

Yeah.

Never in Queens.

I totally forgot.

In queens I'm like Man of Steel;

I walk into a gym, all I see is family—

Eyes up here, Daquan.

What up, Matumbo.

Nice Locs, Troy

I go to the gym in Queens, I'm calm.

I go to the gym in Queens, I see non potential mates.

I am STONE.

I walk into a gym in Manhattan?

UGH.

My body's like

“What's that smell?”

My uterus is like

“LOOK OVER THERE.”

I'm like “huh?!l”

Nothing but hot white dudes every damn where—

“Ugh, fuck this”

So what I do, to combat this, is I just find the first hot girl I see—

It's not hard. It's Manhattan.

I'm an androgynous ape-like person— every actual female that exists is in some way somewhat more desirable than I am by far—

—out in public, anyway.

“The socially acceptable prototype”

Meanwhile,! behind closed doors I can take anyone of these motherfuckers home—

—their home—not to queens—

Which also isn't my home—

—or anyone's really—

—but let's just say I've stayed there—

—I've gone to the gym there—

—what up JerOde

—T-Jiggles.

—I've kept my stuff in Queens.

But the publicly—socially acceptable “girlfriend” archetype does not live in Queens.

Nobody “lives in queens”

No. So what I do is I direct all of my sexual anxiety, my lady blue balls—all my deep seated envy for not being that girl —at that girl, as a reminder that she exists and I'm not what they're looking for.

And being honest, I know deep down in my lady blue balls that none of them are really what I'm looking for, either.

No—and though almost all of them are perfect in every single way imaginable—

Especially for my vagina.

I know none of them are my man.

Yeah.

You know why?

My MAN has a home gym, morherfuckers.

Yeah.

Got that bowflex .

Got that peloton. All of it.

And you know what?

He's not even in it!

NO!

He's traveling the whole wide world right now—

Looking for ME.

—(I'm in Manhattan)

MAAAAANhattan.

Yeah.

Dudes on the east coast are hot as fuck.

Like next level attractive.

Chiseled.

Delicious.

California has ridiculously remarkable women.

California's the only actual place I've ever seen whole ass people look like a brand new actual Barbie doll out of the box.

WHAT?! GO AWAY.

I'm not getting NO DICK cause of YOU.

But the dudes here?

Yo!

*slurps*

You are wasting time!

I'm not wasting time.

I'm getting Trim.

How trim are you trying to get?

Ya! You look fine!

Like Fran-Fine-Fine—

What's that mean

It's the 90's, I think.

Or Jennifer Anniston.

Like Jennifer Anniston!

Yeah, on friends.

Speak of the Devil.

How does she DO that?

I do everything.

SATAN has merged with JENNIFER ANNISTON, as SUPACREE continues to keep accidentally summoning THE DEVIL without first understanding how—

But the charges from THE SACRED STONES against the magical charge of her amulet has created a chronically gaping time home in which various entities (and the bampheramphs) are using to travel quickly in between timelines.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.