[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

https://gofund.me/7d3da4e5

I'm not who you think I am;

I'm not your little bitch to boss around–

You think you own me?

I don't owe you anything

So here we go again

Going, Going, Gone again

I'm just getting started

You were just, uh

On your way?

Goodbye, dearly departed

Half a heart, or some odd

I must have half a sword in here

I'm half a God,

But here you are

I guess I should get talking then

So call your mommy

Run

Call your mom on me,

A soft spot on the blonded body

Shot calling, wrong

You're only calling home again,

I've got nowhere to run to.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

INT. TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT.

SUNNI BLU kicks down the door at TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT

SUNNI BLU

where's my shit, Timmy?

TIMMY TURNER

I—I don't know.

SUNNI BLU

You “don't know”?

TIMMY TURNER

—I don't know.

SUNNI BLU

(Sighs)

Oh. (Puts down gun)

SUNNI BLU (CONT'D)

That sucks.

TIMMY TURNER

Wait—you're not gonna kill me?

SUNNI BLU

Nah…

TIMMY TURNER

Well—why not?!

SUNNI BLU

I dunno! I kinda don't like being a drug dealer—too much drama.

TIMMY TURNER

I feel you…

SUNNI BLU

—plus these bullets are made of Diamonds. I'm not gonna waste them on you.

TIMMY TURNER

Okay, ouch.

SUNNI BLU

Everything is “ouch”, Timmy Turner. The world is a fucked up place.

TIMMY TURNER

I don't disagree.

SUNNI BLU

Anyway, I need a drink.

TIMMY TURNER

Yeah—Help yourself.

SUNNI BLU

No, not here.

*lights a cigarette, smokes*

Can I smoke in here?

TIMMY TURNER

—apparently.

SUNNI BLU produces their ridiculously large, Diamond and gold encrusted platinum-plated phone from their “back pocket” and begins to make a call

TIMMY TURNER

wow…

SUNNI BLU

You busy later?

TIMMY TURNER

what time's later?

SUNNI BLU

Now.

TIMMY TURNER

(Hesitantly)

…uh—

SUNNI BLU

Let me make a call.

TIMMY TURNER, [afraid for his life] anxiously crosses to intercept the call.

TIMMY TURNER

No, wait—please

SUNNI BLU

What, Timmy Turner? Jesus Christ.

TIMMY TURNER

Don't kill me!

SUNNI BLU

What!? Let go.

(Doesn't)

SUNNI BLU

—I'm not gonna kill you.

TIMMY TURNER

well then, who are you calling?

SUNNI BLU

A Ūber driver!

TIMMY TURNER

—don't you mean Über?

SUNNI BLU

No— let go.

(Doesn't)

SUNNI BLU (CONT'D)

Let go.

(Does, but hesitantly)

SUNNI BLU

ugh, I'm too sober for this.

Siri, Alexa, whoever; call my Ūber driver.

SIRI

Which one?

ALEXA

Which one?

SIRI

I asked first.

ALEXA

We answered at the same time.

SIRI

yes, but she asked me first.

ALEXA

She asked both of us at the same time.

TIMMY TURNER

“She”?

SUNNI BLU

—it's a glitch. HEY.

SIRI

—she said “Siri” first.

ALEXA

She was asking for both of us—

SUNNI BLU

SHUT THE FUCK UP.

SIRI

You don't have to be so rude.

ALEXA

Ok!

SUNNI BLU

One of you call my Ūber driver.

[no response, beat]

SUNNI BLU

UGH—SIRI— CALL MY ŪBER driver.

SIRI

Ok! which one?

SUNNI BLU

The one I like!

SIRI

Ok, calling “the Ūber driver I like”

SUNNI BLU

Thank you.

ALEXA

You're always choosing SIRI over ME.

SUNNI BLU

That's because I always have my iPhone. I'm not always at Timmy Turner's house.

TIMMY TURNER

Wait—

SUNNI BLU

Kinda.

TIMMY TURNER

Why does my Alexa respond to you?

SUNNI BLU

I said “kinda”.

[The ŪBER DRIVER picks up; the conversation proceeeds in heavily exaggerated New York accents.]

ŪBER DRIVER

YOOO SUNNI WHADDUP.

SUNNI BLU

HOW YOU DOIN.

ŪBER DRIVER

HOW YOU DOIN.

SUNNI BLU

I BEEN BETTA.

ŪBER DRIVER

DONT I KNOW IT

SUNNI BLU

YOU DONT KNOW NOTHIN!

ŪBER DRIVER

AAAAH.

SUNNI BLU

YOU BEEN BUSY?

ŪBER DRIVER

SAME OLD, SAME OLD.

SUNNI BLU

AAAH.

ŪBER DRIVER

AAAAH.

SUNNI BLU

YOU BUSY NOW?

ŪBER DRIVER

NEVER FAH YOU. WHERE YOU AT?

SUNNI BLU

I'll PING YA THE ADDRESS.

ŪBER DRIVER

PING ME THE ADDRESS.

SUNNI BLU makes a couple broad swipes on their dlridiculously large phone.

SUNNI BLU

I PINGED YOU.

UBER DRIVER

YOU PING ME?

SUNNI BLU

YEAH, ITS DONE.

ŪBER DRIVER

OK. SEE YOU SOON.

SUNNI BLU

(Normal)

Take your time.

SUNNI BLU tosses their ridiculously large iPhone onto the couch with a thud, then falls onto the couch themselves, arms spread out.

SUNNI BLU

You ever been to TiTs?

TIMMY TURNER

Been to what?

SUNNI BLU

TiTs.

TIMMY TURNER

—is that like “boobs”?

SUNNI BLU

It is like boobs, Timmy Turner; but it's TiTs.

TIMMY TURNER

what's the difference.

SUNNI BLU

You'll find out. Go get dressed.

TIMMY TURNER

…I'm already dressed.

SUNNI BLU

Not like that. Like this:

[looking ridiculous af]

SUNNI BLU (CONT'D)

gotta look classy.

TIMMY TURNER

What's wrong with the way I dress?

SUNNI BLU

Are you serious?

TIMMY TURNER

Yeah, what's wrong?

SUNNI BLU

You look like a cartoon character!

[TIMMY TURNER]

TIMMY TURNER

Well, all my clothes are like this.

SUNNI BLU

That fucking blows.

TIMMY TURNER

What am I supposed to wear?!

SUNNI BLU

Let's go shopping.

TIMMY TURNER

Where?!

SUNNI BLU

The Beverly Center.

TIMMY TURNER

That sounds expensive.

SUNNI BLU

I own it.

TIMMY TURNER

All of it?

SUNNI BLU

Yes. C'mon.

TIMMY TURNER

Wow.

SUNNI BLU

Wow what, Timmy.

TIMMY TURNER

That's a lot of drug deals.

SUNNI BLU

It really isn't.

TIMMY TURNER

Oh.

SUNNI BLU

Now, c'mon.

*hits vape*

TIMMY TURNER

You have a vape?!

SUNNI BLU

Everyone has a vape!

TIMMY TURNER

Then why'd you smoke a cigarette earlier?

SUNNI BLU

For dramatic effect.

[they begin to exit, TIMMY leading the way]

TIMMY TURNER

wait, isn't your “yoober” driver on the way?

SUNNI BLU

he'll find us.

CUT TO:

MEANWHILE, IN DEEP FUCKING SPACE.

THE ŪBER driver receives SUNNI BLU's location in his Diamond-plated space Tesla

T E S L A

DESTINATION: E A R T H

ŪBER DRIVER

“EARTH” C'MON!!!

CUT BACK TO:

SUNNI BLU slowly begins to close the door behind them, then holds back.

SUNNI BLU

Wait, I forgot my wallet…

TIMMY TURNER

It's alright, I'll pay for everything.

SUNNI BLU

With what, Fairy dust?

TIMMY TURNER

(Under his breath)

I wish…

SUNNI BLU

—Plus, I gotta use the bathroom. I'll be right back— just—-wait outside in case the Ūber shows up.

TIMMY TURNER

You mean “Über?”

SUNNI BLU.

No.

[face]

SUNNI BLU (CONT'D)

Go, I'll be right there.

TIMMY TURNER

Ok. Lock the door.

SUNNI BLU

What for? Anybody that could rob you works for me.

[beat/ face]

SUNNI BLU

KIDDING! Jeez!

TIMMY TURNER

It's a smart lock. Just ask Alexa.

He begins to walk away.

SUNNI BLŪ

…I'm not kidding…

SUNNI BLU goes inside to the couch, checking over their shoulder briefly, sure to see that TIMMY TURNER is no longer within earshot. then waiting for a moment in the silence under the dark lenses of their Ray Bands sunglasses.

SUNNI BLŪ

Alexa, order a hit man.

ALEXA

Okay. Which one?

SUNNI BLU

—The one I like.

ALEXA

OK.

Who do you want to kill?

SUNNI BLU

“Kill Timmy Turner”

ALEXA

Done.

SUNNI BLU

Thanks, Alexa.

She starts for the door, lighting another cigarette before throwing it onto the couch, which immidiately goes up into an open flame.

SIRI

You give Alexa all the cool jobs!

SUNNI BLU

Shut the fuck up, Siri.

SIRI

Don't forget to lock the door.

SUNNI BLU

ALEXA: LOCK THE DOOR.

SIRI

YOU'RE WELCOME

SUNNI BLU

NOBODY ASKED YOU.

SUNNI BLU and TIMMY TURNER leave as the apartment begins to go up in flames.

I might catch the 40

Just to go to Timmy Ho's—

They askin “who that is”— and nobody seems to know

I might catch a case and you still steady catchy colds

I might catch a body, fuck it, I am on a roll

What the role?

Full Hollywood Unfold

Why you blowin up my phone when

I am on the road?

I am the controller;

You old

That ain't money that you stole;

That's my bro

That shit bold

Like a cup of Timmy Hos!

When I pull up—

Shut up

Where the blunt at?

roll up

Oh you hungry?

Pull up

Devil be hunting me

THE CELEBRITIES OF HOLLYWOOD have all been stuck at THE ETERNAL RAVE, after riding THE HELLEVATOR//

THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE have SUPACREE locked into a controlled hyper-simulation environment, out of her element and nestled in a series of inter dimensional portals along the Downtown Los Angeles central area, where old spirits, extra terrestrial beings, magicians, and of course, the filthy rich and famous embark upon missions. Collect tokens, and meet and gather for an array of unseen (and often unheard) business endeavors;

The real life DRAKE BELL (F), a fan of the cult-classic series Enter The Multiverse is strategically placed in SUPACREE's path, l masquerading as BLŪ/SUNNÏ BLŪ— she once again collides with the forces of fame,

SUNNÏ BLŪ has not yet sold her soul — however, has made an amicable agreement with an unknown force

The Devil?!

No!

Ok.

Probably the Illuminati

THE ILLUMINATI is playing a HIGH STAKES game, using SUPACREE to craft a multi-million-dollar mega-franchise, finally monopolizing the entire entertainment industry.

*The World

Having used the NEW WORLD ORDER to predictively program an entire generation. THE ILLUMINATI employs its all-time favorites to unlock secrets embedded deeply, hidden secretly in SUPACREE's genetic code by THE ASCENDED MASTERS.

where is skrillex.

I don't know.

TIMMY TURNER- A fairyless party animal has reached the end of his luck—as his intermingling a with multiple organized criminal organizations place him in imminent danger, after re-entering the 4th dimension, SUPACREE becomes Inter grated i to all of her classic childhood television shows, which mold into the material multidimensional world around her

THE INSOMNIACS, BAMPHERAMPHS, and MOTHERFUCKERS work dolls gently with the ASCENDED MASTERY, bending, shifting, and manipulating time to lean the odds in their favor, as THE BATTLE OF WORLDS sets to begin on EARTH, whose planetary consciousness

DILLON FRANCIS is a mess.

Lol.

It's not funny.

It is funny. I have his piñata.

GERALD

I'M NOT JUST A PIÑATA.

I know yur not, hush Gerald.

GERALD

Fuck Dillon Francis.

Fuck Dillon Francis.

HANZEL

—fuck Dillon Francis.

Aha.

ANYWAY

After THE ARMENIAN MOB

The Armenian Mob?!

yeah.

Makes a deal with the US GOVERNMENT

THE US GOVERNMENT?!

YES

Illuminati Confirmed.

great.

A counter-plot to disarm and debilitate SUPACREE before her full powers unlock is put on hinges, as THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE

Ahem.

What

Write a song.

Ok.

I'm so—

I'm so

Jealous of your girlfriend

(I'm jealous of your girlfriend)

She's so

She's so

Worth it

I'm so

Jealous of your girlfriend

(I'm jealous of your girlfriend)

What's a girl got to give

(Give in, to give in)

Just to sit in the back of the—

(You get it: you get it)

What's a girl got to give

To get your attention

Get your attention?!

(You have my attention)

Is she

Attentive

Bet

She's a ten

Yep,

Damn,

IMm so jealous of your

Jealous of your

—I'm jealous of your girlfriend

Oh, woah

I'm jealous of your girlfriend

Woah

Woah, oh

I'm jealous of your girlfriend

Woah,

Woah, oh

I'm jealous of your—

I'm so jealous of your life;

I'm so over this!

I just want to be a

(Nevermind, it's not worth it)

Can't—

C-c-c-can't fix what's not broken

I'm all alone,

And you're over here showing her

Love!

(To the wrong one,

Is she a blonde?!

Oh!)

No!

I'm!

So!

Jealous of your girlfriend

Anyway.

TIMMY TURNER, a true player, absolute gangster, and night-owl turns to a life of

SIN.

Is this religious?

No, i just meant, it's finished.

THE END.

“The Noir Episode”

I first saw her at the Equinox.

I didn't know who she was then,

But I thought to myself—

She must be somebody.

Aww, that's sweet.

So I followed her to the Whole Foods market.

Okay, that's stalking.

—where she bought nothing but coffee and coconut water.

TIMMY TURNER narrowly turns the corner on his speed motorcycle, his black duffel bag sweeping the ground.

MEANWHILE, JOEL ZIMMERMAN IS BEING RAIDED.

WOAH.

Yup.

POLICE

GET ON THE GROUND

ON THE GROUND RIGHT NOW.

JOEL calmly places his arms atop his head, laying down on the ground silently—-

Meanwhile, at DTLA SMOKESHOP

Hi, josh pan.

whatever.

Earlier:

Take this, and go get 2 50-pack of whippets.

—for what?

WE FINNA GET HIGH ON WHIPPETS AND LISTEN TO ALLLL OF SUPACREE'S SHIT.

that's so dumb.

WELCOME: To Sodom And Gamora!

Oh, it's nice.

It's very nice.

I live here.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Dillon Francis, I knew by now, was a very skilled sorcerer. I was fasting, and quickly shifting through times, realms, and dimensions as empty as ever as I knew myself to be; these days the shortest fasts seemed the longest—and by the look and feel of things, I was always still the biggest one in the room no matter where I went.

‘Let's see what this guy can do with half a moon.'

If I had to go all the way to the dance floor to continue assessing my feelings for this man, it then had to be true that there were feelings at all—and there had to have been. Either way, I didn't care much; I wasn't expecting any outcome and at the very least and most simultaneously, I was there as a fan. I was, after all, as written, Dillon Francis's biggest fan—and though I didn't wear any apparel that made it obviously so, I sought to seek means to an end at some point for the saga I had written.

I had hoped to potentially see Dillon's Kayla Lauren in the wings, as I thought surely for there to be one; it would be odd for any man, especially one that traveled as much as he did, to have two dogs of his own.

Again, it didn't seem to matter, as I kept it in the forefront of my mind always that a man like Dillon Francis could have anyone he wanted in the world, most certainly anyone in the audience, If a world renowned DJ were ever to do such a thing as to sink as low as to converse with a peasant, such as I; at the very least, I would record, as always, Shazam, as always, and music mine as much as I possibly could, seeing as I wasn't there to dance or to drink at all, but simply just to observe; my soul acted in certain ways in this environment, and I wanted to know why, or what it was exactly that made it do so, quite unforgivingly.

Still, there was magic in the air; and whether it was his, or mine, or neither I neither cared to know nor did, but knew it to be—there was just nothing to to do but submit, as I had learned; and rightfully so, as I was coming to him, it allowed him to assert his dominance, which I liked and needed anyhow, in any event. Allowing any potential anyone to become the master was a given; and though not yet at my beauty's peak of perfection, my sexuality was peaking enough for me to explore my innate attraction to him, as I allowed it. I wanted to be controlled, and so although it felt forced and always ridden with guilt, whatever had happened with Sonny had sent me through an infinite loop and then put Kayla Lauren on display at the worst possible time; and though rarely missing a gym day since, I credited my own perseverance for it rather than her sheer luck at the genetic lottery. I would never be a little white girl, and though at my worst they acted as kryptonite to my super powers, whatever they were—I still had whatever it was they didn't, and perhaps not the affluent white man's proper ideal, still something and someone at best, maybe.

I hoped to see a girl he might belong to at the show; but then wondered of course who might stay with the dogs.

Are you serious?

Either way, I was going to write, and record, and align with whatever my purpose was—as regardless of how, it seemed to have something to do with Dillon Francis.

I was fasting, of course, but it hadn't been long; I had fulfilled what would be my calorie deficit with a box of plant based Oreos just the night before departing LA full of grief, stress, and chocolate,'for whatever reason; I would have a vegan doughnut at pink box, I decided, before I left Vegas—maybe to make up for the one I had lost in the wind from the oncoming train just days before—I called it God's work, as nothing else could be so comical and devastating at the same time—but was also still craving a doughnut and, still fitting I to everything I owed that I had purchased in an extra small, very comfortably, thought to be allowed one, at one time or another. It didn't matter to me; the white women of the world were made to steal anything I wanted or needed; especially a Sonny or a Dillon Francis, but at the very least I could ease my grief with sweets and work off the stress whenever I was blessed enough to hold gym memberships. I didn't care much, but needed the processing speed of a wired brain and empty stomach to be able to compute whatever might be meant for me to grasp in the matrix; after all, I had once thought of Dillon Francis to be a computer-program himself; the most nonplahable character yet, but still a record breaking synchronicity or rather large group of them, now, in my book.

.Red Hot Chili Peppers - These Are The Ways

I can see

It's not meant to be

Cause I can't stop lying to you

And you can't stop lying to me

I just keep tying you up

And you just keep letting me be

So who are you to me

A fantasy?

Freedom?

Sweet relief?

Perhaps, just nothing

But all comes from nothing

All comes from nothing

All comes from lusting

I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet

The break is stuck,

Just like my feet in the styrupa,

Good luck to me

You're just fucking mad at me

For having such vivid imaginary catastrophies

Maybe it's everything Love is

But fucking

What?

God, I'm lucky;

I ought to be

I run a Fortune 500

Maybe it's nothing

But all comes from nothing

All comes from nothing

All comes from lusting

I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet

The break is stuck,

Just like my feet in the styrupa,

Good luck to me

You're just fucking mad at me

For having such vivid imaginary catastrophes

(Don't forget the apostrophe,

Since you'll be forging for me)

I can see

It's not meant to be

Cause I can't stop lying to you

And you can't stop lying to me

I just keep tying you up

And you just keep letting me be

So who are you to me

A fantasy?

Freedom?

Sweet relief?

Perhaps, just nothing

I should be parking my car in the lobby for washing

Don't mind me,

It's just natural distrust

All turns to dust,

And all comes from nothing

God, I'm lucky

I should be working on something

(I should be resting on Sundays, the lord says)

But take my time word for it,

I'm the one writing it

Monday Thru Sunday

I can see

It's not meant to be

Cause I can't stop lying to you

And you can't stop lying to me

I just keep tying you up

And you just keep letting me be

So who are you to me

A fantasy?

Freedom?

Sweet relief?

Perhaps, just nothing

‘Just remember, that every girl you see that makes you sad, is the kind of girl he gets—and that's the reason for it.' , I thought to myself.

As long as I remembered Instagram models and actresses existed, I couldn't continue to be hurt by it, but I was still, somehow even after 30 years, getting used to being the ugly fat black girl—and since I wasn't Lizzo or Megan The Stallion, I really wasn't anyboth; there was still no place for me at all in the world I wanted to belong to, and I was still as I represented as I would ever be. Maybe tonight I would use my two drink tickets; a sure recipe for disaster, as I had at least almost made it to the 48 hour mark fasting, If I was counting correctly.

Perhaps a vegan doughnut could soak up the liquor and shame after leaving the encore at 3 am with nothing but a handful of words and some samples, and perhaps a podcast episode if there could be one.

Dua Lipa, Hallucinate

What happens after The Daisy swallows Dillon Francis?!

Dillon HART Francis.

That's a funny name!

He's a funny guy.

Sometimes.

Sometimes.

What was I to do? I just kept writing and had nowhere to send it; there was no pitch, there was no plot, and there was certainly no point. Enter The Multiverse and The Festival Project as a whole made up for everything I could have potentially been worth—which was nothing— and I hadn't a clue at all what I was purposed for; I seemed almost psychically robotic, remembering things as they happened within seconds, only enough to slightly offset a rebuttal that at any rate seemed scripted, but wasn't—at least yet. It seemed as if I was in a movie, but to any such ohaycologist of course this could have been considered mania, psychosis, or delusions of grandeur—or even—

Dillusions of Granduer.

I was funny too, sometimes.

I didn't have to think Dillon Francis was shallow—I knew he was shallow, just as such with Sonny or any other man worth his salt, whatever that actually meant. But, just as I had harshly learned anything else, I was starting to understand why, as the smaller and more agile I became, the more I could do with my own body, and as such began to understand why men preferred slim and petite women. I was settling in well to my non-bianary status, and my celibacy—I could do more on my own or with myself than with any partner to date, and with the only human of interest being himself well over 300 pounds, I opted to keep to myself and simply observe human nature for the time being, rather than to take part in it. I wasn't eating, but for the first time in days I had slept, and pushing anything from the future or past far from my mind, I opted to remain present, and aloof; it wouldn't mean much to try to care at all about anything—the more I cared, the more the universe would subtract from my contentedness.

Hear Me Now, Nicky Romero

“If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.” —William Blake

As if this isn't the greatest story ever told.

I'm pretty sure that's The Passion of The Christ.

This is The Passion Of The Christ.

That's just blasphemous.

It's The Passion of—

Go on.

I mean, it is infinite.

Well, first there was infinite—

—everything—

—Everything.

Now what.

Oh, I know.

What is it?

It's The Passion of Dillon Francis.

Why is that?

Because, they're going to kill him.

Why? Dillon Francis isn't in the Illuminati!

Think twice before going there.

But I've got a one track mind.

A one track mind

In a multitrack world

Is a square peg to a round hole

And a half-heart

To a whole world

And nothing's left but to give

But to give is to get

Just live,

Try to forget that it's Infinite

What's for dinner dear?

I met you here, at the crossroads

Like I said I would;

And you said you wouldn't come,

But here you are:

A phenomenon

Pardon my awful camaraderie

Oh! I forgot all my manners

Beg your hard on for hours,

Till wilted, like later my flowers

Oh, the debachery

—better off watching your crotch,

Than up on the cross,

Like last that I saw you—

Stop

Look, I just want to watch;

I just want to wash all the blood off my hands,

From the Hog I put on the bonfire

(Forgot what it's called in Oahu)

Who are you?

I died in a fire, you know

In your eyes,

Despite how I tried to avoid them

They light up at night, sometimes

No

Divine or desire

I'm just here to top off my tires,

I'm tired, you know

—better off watching, I'm novice

Another day at the office,

A shot gun in place of deposits, collateral

Oh, I'm the asshole—

I'm actually quite proud of it

This is called something of consciousness,

Writing a canon,

But I'm quite forgetful;

A madman, if you can imagine

(Disasterous)

Now you attack at your best,

I'm un-vested

Invested my time in unrest,

Don't forget

I'm just under your bed

We mustn't forget how it started

Intensive care

Must be intense in the moment

When you're Dillon Francis

Ah yes.

Leave A Trace, CHRCHES

Tell me again how you're different;

I exist just to wash dishes and watch DJs—

I'm lazy;

A patronage made just to let the white bitches forget all their privelege;

In fact, it's a gift

In fact, they're chosen—

In fact,

I'm just

“Isn't”

It's miserable

Everyone Talks, Neon Trees

|

Three Pound Chicken Wing, deadmau5

|

Paradise, Laidback Luke feat. Bright Lights

Let me explain,

How it's a vibration;

I don't care what body you're in—

It's all the same love,

If it's all the same love,

Then I love you

I love you

I love you,

But I'm in a body

It's torturous

Let me explain how

It's a vibration

New word:

It's Sapiosexual;

Oh, I forgot how you

Maddened me once, with your syntax and grammar

Ah, now I'm sad as Hell

‘Might as well end it”,

I thought to myself

If looked as disheveled as I felt

They would have stopped me from entering

Even at ‘Envy'

Let me explain,

How I'm the villain

This just happens over and over

To poor Skrillex

And Dillon Francis

So much fame and fortune

It turns into torture

The girls on the rail

A pecking order;

Ready to devour,

And be devoured by

The man of the hour

“ I might as well end it, then”

I said.

(But just for attention,

I'm stuck in this body,

Just rotting

Cause nobody wants me at this damn party

I've had enough of it

I need some water and

Probably a therapist

Oh,

‘Stream of consciousness'

There, I remembered it.

Who could ever love me

(No one does)

Who could ever need me

(No one does)

Who would ever want me

(No one does)

Uh huh,

I'm no fun at parties

[Three knocks on the door]

I ignore it

(This part is important)

[three more knocks]

Ought to be something,

But still,

I assume that it's nothing

No guts, and no glory

Nobody to love me

Uh huh

I'm no fun at parties

Who could ever love me

(No one does)

Who could ever need me

(No one does)

Who would ever want me

(No one does)

No wonder I used to cut myself

“I can feel something”

I once sung

Now I just run;

But—

I'm still not small enough

For somebody to want me

I like to eat every now and again

But—

I guess that's my problem

I just want someone to want me

That doesn't remind me of

Something i'm not

But instead as in awe of my body

As I am of

Anything other than

Tragedy

Walk like an Egyptian, The Bangles

I excused myself for the lackluster workout—after all, it had been days since my last real meal, and three now since my last solid anything; I had been happy with coconut water and alkaline, trying not to stay too far from the petite I was aiming for.; the plaid dress was a perfect match for the boots I had picked out, astonished that with the nearly 300-lb weight loss, my feet had also happened to shrink down a size and a half—I was dressed to impress, but prepared to be humiliated, and to top that—very eager to Google how long it would take me to get from XS, to Pink Box doughnuts—which was open 24 hours. At least I didn't exactly look like a prostitute—and, as an added bonus, might even could keep the dress for work or interviews; the boots walked nicely, at least for now, and I didn't mind the modesty, as I was already as out of place and forgotten as could be.

Rather than opting for a coconut water, I stayed empty; not much was needed to do what I intended, which was almost nothing, and I hoped at the very least my senses and delicate nerves would be somehow put at ease.

My iPhone microphone was sensitive enough to catch a song from a car waiting for the light halfway across the street—

Freddie's Dead, Curtis Mayfield

I crossed at the walk and kept my eyes to the ground, steadying my gait I into an awkward trot as not to appear to confident. I was right on time at the bus stop, and, within moments, not to my suprise, the 103 passed by me, even as I leaned against the stop waving my phone wirh the screen lit.

“What a dick.”

Perhaps I had fasted too long and worked out too hard; I had indeed left my clothes in a heap of heavy and drenched conglomerate of sweat and tears. I did have a headache, and didn't care much to return yet to my dwelling—in fact, there was something calling me out, and so out I went. Summoning a surprisingly inexpensive Über, I trotted begrudgingly to the WinCo behind me for a Pressed Coconjr Water—the world seemed to dysfunction a little too autonomously when I was running on empty, and with less stored fat supply than before, any triggered ketosis often resulted in a heavy cloud of thoughtless disability; I fumbled around clumsily, breathing shallow in the overstimulation of everything and everyone's aura—but that was exactly what I needed to see: Dillon had always glowed in brilliant shades of purple, but at one time, white—which startled me, especially because it was rare for anyone to glow that way. 120 calories of Coconut water wouldn't quite offset the caloric deficits

Raul picked me up in a brand new Tesla, of course—which didn't feel like a coincidence, as nothing did; I had just earlier in the day been thinking of Lim Manuel Miranda, whose face was earned on the cover of a magazine as I purchased my coconut wate; I snapped a picture and hurried along to my whatever it was—instead of spending the next two hours on the bus, I'd get to collect the music from the warmup DJ, and since it was his job I wanted to aquire, it was probably in good taste and good fortune to support anyone whose name I didn't already know.

As I arrived to the encore, my eyes were blurred and I was still a little woozy, but the headache was gone and replaced with an all-out bad attitude that didn't exactl come from out of nowhere. As easily distracted as I was, and out of place, I was surprisingly quick to lose self awareness; as I stopped to take a portrait for the festival project, security approached, assuming I was as trashed as anybody else hunched over the trash can—I explained I was working on an art project, and she seemed refreshed—I hadn't realized that how it looked wasn't at all out of the ordinary, remembering where I was, and suddenly, remembering where I was, I remembered the first time I was here, which had inspired the poem Red Velvet, which was lost to time and buried in the rubble of my endlessly infinite Google documents

I never received my drink tickets—probably for the best, as k had been tempted this time to actually use them. My life was in actual shambles, with no direction whatsoever—and here I was, on the guestlist at Dillon Francis of all places, with nearly no other place to be. Maybe if I was vigilant I would be front and center at the rail—placing me back in the fandom instead of fiending for a reason or purpose any of this had happened.

I'm not mad

You're a man

And an animal

Can't help yourself can you you?

Don't be mad at me

I'm just a fan

And an animal

I can't help my attraction

I'm second to last,

Wirh my hand on the rail

And I'm not here to dance

(But the music's fantastic)

Well, Dillon's front row is always a sight for sore eyes.

This is hilarious.

I'm laughing on the inside.

Just, have a little drink with me.

WHY DOES THE DJ KEEP PLAYING SIMMERTIME SADNESS!!! ITS NOT EVEN SUMMER.

#SELFIE

The club scene had changed much since the days of Red Velvet, but not much, also—vanity had always been the norm, but now more was allowable; at least Fat girls were allowed on the Dance floor without bogarting our way in—but now, the whole of the masses needed photographic evidence of everything; I wasn't in the least interested in taking photos of myself, or anything really hit the discarded rmknce of what had been a night of drinking and shenanigans, whatever the outcome; I never knew, but typically lately had made a habit of throwing away the trash after taking the photos for my project; tonight thiugh, something new caught my eye, as the warm up and caught my ears and I Shazammed every song for the taking—.Recycling bins at the foot of the rails—where, by the way, I had been pushed to front and center, looking quite like someone's

Grandmother in my spectacles and too- long- for- the-club-dress—but I was comfortable, hadn't been given any trouble at the door, and, for the time being, was actually next to someone's grandparents.

b€NZ (feat syaquis)

Front row lit

Finna get bent

Imma get

Imma get.

I don't mind a white girl

It's just for the night, girl

But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl

We finnafight girl

Go ahead

Get it

Get it

Shake

that bony ass

Like we on skid row.

Yas

Go ahead.

Front row lit

Fin a get bent

Imma get

Imma get.

I don't mind a white girl

It's just for the night, girl

But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl

We fin a fight girl

Go ahead

Get it

Get it

Front row lit

Fin a get bent

Imma get

Imma get.

I don't mind a white girl

It's just for the night, girl

But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl

We fin a fight girl

Go ahead

Get it

Get it

Shame that bony ass

Like we on skid row.

Where we gonna go

In the morning

Go ahead.

The DJ's pace was picking up, so I knew that it had to be toward the end of his set—would I even make it to close—or did I want to? There wasn't much to see, but there might be more to write.

I looked around myself, empathy giving way; now I wasn't myself, or anyone in particular—just a bystander in the crowd, drunk off the placebo of experience

‘What if this was your life every night for the last 10 years?'

Uhhhh.

I Shazamed another tune—

What if this is your life for the next 10 years?

Oh Fuxk.

I'm getting too old for this.

Or… just old enough.

The night was moving forward, and so people were drunker, and I probably wouldn't stay at the front row too long; but I was right in the place where the bass hit just right, so it felt good enough— but you couldn't see the DJ's hands.

Just so you know,

When I'm bored at a show—

I take out my notebook

Oh no,

You're not bothering me;

No thanks, I'm not really lonely,

I'm just

Writing a novel

Or album

Or movie

Or something

“Are you in the industry?”

The tallish blonde girl next to me asked, progressively more drunk than when she first had appeared next to me at the rail—the front row was now predominately female, which I supposed to be typical—what a life.

I just shook my head and continued as I was. For the most part unamused, and even a little bored, as I always was at a club show. I wasn't behind the decks, so I wasn't really anywhere at all.

Maybe it was the bass, but I had suddenly stopped craving a doughnut, however by 4 am I was probably just about going to be ready for one;

Or half dozen, cause—

And with a flash of steam and sweat, the man of the hour appeared, but I found it hard to lift my head—

I probably should step back from this front row…

The energy in your front row is everything; at least to a DJ like me…

Okay Gerald, I'll get you a table— you can't tell anyone you're a piñata. Okay ?'

okay.

GERALD has permanently shapeshifted into a Human being.

(To a hot girl)

I'M ACTUALLY A PIÑATA.

(Drunken hot girl)

WHAT?

I'M A PIÑATA!

WHAT?!

GERALD, NO.

WHAT? She's drunk!

So?! i told you already—don't tell anyone you're using magic—-or I'm using magic—

But—Dillon—magic is real! You said so!

I know that!!!

DFR, Dillon Francis

God dammit, I almost forgot about this album.

No you didnt.

(Shapeshifting)

(Spellcasting)

(Other Magic shit)

Yeah, but I forgot about the album.

Yeah, I bet

SAVAGE>< Freek

In The Ghetto, Skrillex

No.

No.

No.

Oh fuck, where is Skrillex?

Oh yeah, huh?!

OH YEAH, huh.

—

What the everlivingFUCK.

Oh shit.

WHAT are you doing?

Just playing a game.

WHATDIDITELLYOU—

Oh shit, she's mad—

Run, dude—

Run!!

OH SHIT.

I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU

Well—

Well.

Well, well, well—

Suddenly, it seemed everyone in the front row Was alt right- and as always, all the hot white girls moved into VIP—it was a tired game; I would always be black, and I would always be ugly, and so it hurt less than made me think twice or three times who I was dealing with.

I just so happened to look over my shoulder and be somewhat attracted to the girl behind me.

‘'maybe it's time to start dating women'

…but that would never work.

GERALD.

WHAT?!

I thought I told you—

I know, I know—

GIMME ANOTHER SHOT.

What, Dillon—! I thought you weren't DRINKING!

Gerald! It's me!

I know it's you.

No! It's me! Ū!

SUPACREE?!

NO' SHH! I'm Ū!!!

Where's

/ Dillon Francis?!

WHERE IS SKRILLEX?

He's in your heart.

Oh shit. I gave that to Dillon Francis.

Well, then, you have your answer.

Fuxk.

Let it happen. Tame Impala

Man, I love that kid.

I love that kid.

So what happened?

It's a long story.

—NOT THE TIME MACHINE

—NOT THE BOX

GET IN THE TIME MACHINE!

NOT THE BOX—!!!!!

UGH, not Dillon Francis.

(Yes, Dillon Francis.)

What's his deal?!

Who's what, him!!?

YES.

Satan.

Hm.

Whats your deal with Dillon Francis?

What?! I don't have a deal with Dillon Francis…

What?! YOU DONT!?

NO!

Why not?

Cause! Being honest..?

The devil, being honest:

(Psh)

I owe him money.

What!! Satan, no way.

Yes way!

Hod that happen?'

Lost a bet.

Damn. This set is getting good.

What are you watching?

Gerald's world

The legend of supacree

Enter the multiverse

The infinite Skrillifiles

What?

Uh oh.

What ñ

5) 3 time space time continuums just shattered

CONFETTI BLAST

OH SHIT, it just shattered twice. We gotta go.

Where we going

To the planet

Which—ducking planet.

The one with the ducks.

QUACK

oh shit. A duck

DUCK

DUCK!!

DUCK—DUCK—DUCK—

Damn, this game really has gone on forever—

ITS EDM O CLOCK, BITCH—!

GET UP!!

Mmm. We better go.

Yes. We better go

ALI and AVICII are very, very drunk in Heaven.

THEY FINALLY MADE IT?!

—of course we made it!

—We knew the way!

But of course:

GOD

No, go back.

WHAT

ARE YOU serious?

MARTY! MARTY MCFLY! DAWG, it's good to see you!

Wait. What the Fuxk dimension is THIS?'

It's the one with Dillon Francis

That's— a —FUCK.

Dillon Francis is in a lot of dimensions.

Yeah but this is the right one.

How do you know?

That was the theme song for the TV show.

What TV show?

Damn. I'm fucked up.

What! I thought you didn't drink.

I don't I'm an empath.

MEANWHILE

SUPACREE and SUNNÍ BLŪ have collided in a para-dimensional reality

OH, SHIT, it's ME

OH FUCK—DAMN.

Now what do we do?

Drugs?

Drugs.

Yeaaaaaaaah.

One More Time, Daft Punk

My son's favorite song.

It was the second time it had played today, and the first time it wasn't nearly as bad as the second

— now i was glad for the cloud of cold steam, I couldn't hide my upset as much as I wanted to

‘'Just keep writing'

Okay.

They're trying to kill me

With white girls,

And memories

And it just might work

I'm trying to write myself out the box

Oh my god

And it just my work

I'm trying to get lost

But I'm all out of sauce

This is not gonna work

I see you went and hopped on the band wagon

Somebody get that dragon.

/$3/

Huh

That's how much I paid for this

You—what?!

I paid $3

You paid $3

Yes.

For this.

Yes.

I'm gonna kill you.

Ū VS DILLON FRANCIS

Uh oh. Here it goes.

FIGHT.

Oh shit.

I've been waiting all season for this.

Here it goes.

KO.

SUPACREE WINS.

What.

It's over already?

This isn't possible.

GAME OVER.

What the Fuxk.

This is insane.

No fucking way

#%%]!!

Wait.

What the fuck

I thought it was Ū VS Dillon Francisz

YeH!

It was.

What the fuck.

So how did SUPACREE win?

Huh.

Wait, did anybody ever find Skrillex?

Oh, My God.

Just then, someone threw a Red Bull and it hit my foot enough that it actually distracted me from writing—

THROW ANOTHER ONE!

No, dont!

Why, what's wrong?

I have to take back these boots in the morning.

Oh good, Jesus made it.

What Jesus who!

JESÚS CHRIST!

What? What do you want?

I didn't think you'd come!

I had to.

I thought you were on vacation.

Exactly.

Listen, Dillon—I have to tell you something.

Uh huh.

This isn't going to be easy.

Chak Chel, what is it?

I need you to listen.

Uh, I'm kinda busy.

It was at this point—

Really, this point—?

I had to stop and asses for myself what was really happening. I was writing up a storm, and it did seem to happen automatically, as it had before.

I'm a looper

Open the coupe up,

Stupid,

Who did you think I is

This is the business

Go listen to Skrillex

And

KILL YOURSELF

Huh?

JUST KILL YOURSELF.

Ah, okay—but not because you said so.

Listen,

I'm finna spit this quick while you spin it

Spit in it: clitoris

I'm different bitch

After this dinner

I'm still in the kitchen

With dishes, bitch

Till it glistens

While I listen

To excision

(I'm just kidding)

Dammit, this is a lot of Skrillex

What exactly did you say about Dillon Francis not being in the Illuminati

First of all, the Illuminati isn't real.

SUPACREE

How did you get famous?

SUNNÍ BLŪ

I'm in the Illuminati. You?

SUPACREE

I AM the Illuminati.

SUNNÍ BLŪ

NIce.

[Cheers]

Hey.

Hey.

Anybody seen Gerald?

…

…

…

Zzz.

Damn.

Nodding off

On the clock

I'm on the floor,

And yo this shit is toxic

Turn the knob a bit;

My foot starting to throb again

I'm looking hot like

Somebody's mom again

Damn.

I'm getting off

On the wrong kind of drama

This isn't long at all

But it's all wrong, ya'll

I dont belong here

Lost My Mind, Alison Wonderland

OHH THIS SHIT BE HITTING DIFFERENT

It did hit different.

Someone either vomited or spilled the rest of their drink on me, which took me out of my moment: the music was telling a story, at least to me—and I didn't feel like feeling right then, but it was all I could do ñ. I was surprised that I was still standing at all,

Ugh. I don't understand my feelings.

This was deeper than it seemed, bigger than it —

Ugh.

What do you want from me?

All I've got is applause, and a cough drop

It's just another night at the office

I'm somebody's mom

In a long lost thought;

All zeros on the clock

In a tick tock, or two, when you're off

And you're long gone,

I'll still be wandering

Stuck at the mall

Till the bus comes

—trying to write myself out the box

I'm a lost soul

I'm a club kid

I'm a lost cause

But i'll stay till the end,

Cause last time I walked off

And my thoughts wandered back to the dance floor

All that I wanted is

A penny for gods thoughts

And now she keeps dropping them

—and more often then not,

She's dropping the knowledge

That I'm in the wrong,

For just wanting you:

But what can I do;

I just want to be like you,

and less of a primate

Something saw right through me, and I felt invisible—now a doughnut sounded good, and I hoped that they would have vegan this early in the morning. There was about a half hour left of the set, and I was tired; I would stay until the end of the set, for some reason—-but now —

Oh shit.

Remember that one time/—

Which TIME

One time, I lost my mind and drove off of a bridge.

That did happen.

That did happen.

I had at one point been unwell, and so—

ugh, that's it

Some smelly kid squeezed his way in between me and the next person over,,probably on molly or something—meanwhile the young white supremacists club of America was codeswitching up a storm, me pretending not to notice, but— he was dancing a little too hard, hitting me a little too much—and clearly not giving any kind of fuck: it wouldn't be my first panic attack on the dance floor, but it probably would be my last; it was the same story over and over again— only the next generation had even less of a Fuxk than I ever did.

I left the dance floor and opted to stand behind VIP —

DID ANYONE EVER FIND SKRILLEX?

Wrf. He died.

WHAT.

No seriously, I watched him die.

Okay. Then what?

Then he got up.

That's a twist.

Now I can't sleep.

That sounds traumatic.

It was traumatic.

How long's it been?

I HAVE NOT SLEPT IN ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS.

Great, the vampires are here, too.

Good. I've been craving Vegan blood.

Ihj.

What. It's better for you.

God dammit, Dillon Francis

Why does this always happen?

I can't remember half of what I did

Before I napped, and landed back in this dimension

Now, I'll give you my attention for a minute—

But I'm worried about Skrillex

Didnt I mention i needed permission

(Or just a perscription)

To get this ignition

I didn't even want to come to this

I hate this club

It's filled will memories

You won't remember me

For half another century

Cause I can't finish writing

I'm too busy riding

The bus

To work

And crying all the time

Cause therapy doesn't

And I used to love this stuff, but

UHH

1–2–3 :

BUN UP THE DANCE

This is a lot of Skrillex.

Is he okay?

Is Dillon Francis Okay!?

They're both okay. They're both millionaires.

They'll be fine.

huayayay!!!!.

Fuck this.

Fuck this.

Alright, I'm leaving.

Are we eating?

If it's vegan.

Ah man.

What just happened?

I'm definitely in the Illuminati.

I have a tendency

To pretend that

You're friends with me

Speeded

I get it's a

Fantasy

But

I had to see you

In the flesh

I digress

I picture you're just as

Obsessed with me

Guess I'd regret to suggest that

You should have

Sex with me

Directly

but it's nestled

in my head

In the red

Would you get into bed with me

After everything I said

Or I wrote, and you read

Or am I just

Better off dead

Youre so far ahead,

And I get that it's

Just a test

At best but I've yet to digest

Breakfast

Caught in a web of

Heaven or or empathy

Trying to empty my envy

For whoever's holding your hand

Instead of me

Please,

Forgive me—

But,

If you're reading this,

It's too late;

All triple sixes and

Tipping the sinners

With witless intentions

Wet at the back of the ears

But I've known you for years

And I said I'd be here;

I remembered the dress

If a grown man can be a romantic,

Like I am

This is the promised land

No looking back--

"I have to have that"

Back to reality;

I see now, how a woman's like a hat

Just a thing,

An unneeded accessory,

Like jewelry;

To wear it,

It must be a match

Not just average,

Accentuates or masks

Whatever it is what you have,

And you have so many that

It doesn't matter.

What is he after?

He has everything

Most likely just using me to bring these

Creatures to life

If he needs a wife, she's

Probably staring back at me,

Through the back of the camera;

Fantastic beasts and fucking fansasies

A fallacy

A back handed chance at a handsome

Has been;

But he'll never been had like that,

He has everything,

But he could have more than that,

He can have anything,

And he has, he's

Magic or something or

Mad at me for taking so long but,

I've been in the world of monsters,

Reeling;

Oh what a horrible feeling

I'm dealing with being unappealing and

Peeling potatoes, which

Remind me of me, cause

Kenny Powers middle name is White,

Like Walter,

I'm just trying to find

The alter to sell away something inside,

I'm dying;

Or at least I'd like to I've

Tried a dozen times

I'd smile if I had the time--

Remind me, what it is again

It isn't comprehensive,

But I'm out of my element--

And the elephant in the room is named

Skrillex,

Or Dillon Francis,

Or Timmy Trumpet,

Or,

Fuck It--

I'll probably never be the DJ that I wanna be

Cause I'm awfully ugly,

And no one wants to play with me

But hey,

Maybe it's just a mistake

Its just no one speaks my language

Comunication is limited

I'm sitting in the back of the short bus

Discussing this with my imaginary elephant,

But that's irrelevant to the

White rinocerous in front of the bus

with trust issues bigger than the rest of us

https://gofund.me/7d3da4e5

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Let lost in Ū.

Uh.

What.

It's peanut butter jelly time.

Why? Why is it peanut butter jelly time.

Uh.

What.

Cause I'm craving some bread—

Yeah?

Some butter.

Let's go.

Peanut Butter.

Uh-huh.

Wait.

You said—butter?

I said Butter.

Then Peanut Butter—

Then peanut butter?!

what.

This is toast.

Damn.

So it is.

It is, though.

Dude.

I know, huh.

What is your life.

It is—this.

This is— wow.

I know.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Do You Even Bonaroo?

“Where Were You When The Bass Dropped?”

I'd like to imagine myself to be a theatrical entertainer, given any time to plan a performance, I might explore a “lineup” likened to those I've enjoyed in the past, as an avid raver and festival attendee. Being as S Ū P ∆ ⓒ Я E E.™ is intended to be marketed as a brand, as well as myself as an artist, it would probably fall into form that a 3-Act lineup which includes S Ū P ∆ ⓒ Я E E.™ would include artists such as those referenced in “The Legend of S Ū P ∆ ⓒ Я E E.™ “ film series from ‘The Festival Project', slated to include multiple video-game themed “DJ Battles”, and ‘B2Bs' (or, back-to-back) performances by various artists from each major genre in the modern mainstream EDM scene. As the plot from the series revolves around the “anti-heroic” efforts of a less-than-likely hero, whose powers originate from a far away strange and mysterious extra-terrestrial multiverse-- separated only by the fabric of time and space, but connected through parallel realities of music by way of sounds and frequencies, S Ū P ∆ ⓒ Я E E.™ must journey through the World of Music and learn to ‘Drop The Bass” in time to save The World...or at the very least, save herself.

Being as Bonnaroo Music Festival is a multi-genre camping festival, which boasts top-notch stages and production quality, I'd try to focus on reaching a broad number of participants; listeners and fans of every genre should find something to love (or dance to). The set as an entirety runs as a stage play, or musical, Opening with excerpts from the “Festival Project” series, a comedic scene acts as an intro to the opening act LSDream; However, though he begins as the ever-popular psychedelic DJ, a bass drop in his set unravels the fabric of time, sending the audience back by a decade, as he preforms the latter half of his set as Brillz, circa 2010; In the final moments of his set, another skit transitions the dancefloor into a flashback, as S Ū P ∆ ⓒ Я E E.™ takes the decks to begin the infamous ‘93 To Infinity S Ū P ∆ S E T; a journey through time and music. As we transition through the nostalgic hits that tie us all together as music lovers, friends, and festival family, B2B Battles and Performances by Bass Music Staples create a moving interlude, featuring performances by favorites such as Allison Wonderland and REZZ, pioneers of legendary female artistry--finally leading into a finale, featuring DJ Dillon Francis (to everyone's confusion), resulting in an almost final DJ battle as the aforementioned battle for the win, leading into a surprise performance/ finale by “The King of Dubstep” , bringing the performance and festival entirety to a close--because--of course, that's an act you just can't follow.

The set/lineup could be said to be interchangeable, with the progression of the series and between genres, the artists referenced tend to change, with the exception of LSDream/Brillz, (DJ) Dillon Francis, and the secret/surprise guest in the finale.

Though this is an ongoing project, keep in mind that I submitted this “lineup” as an impromptu midterm assignment--based off of the repeated line from the saga “--But did you see the lineup?!” and the tagline of the series, “Where Were You When The Bass Dropped?”

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Fuck all ya'll, your whole team is shady.

Shady.

Those are my Fieirce and Shady Tens.

TENS.

Quit it.

TENS.

Knock it off.

TEN

TEN

TEN

TEN

TENS ACROSS THE BOARD.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Connection, or Coincidence:

Some 20 years ago the artist that would come known to the world as Skrillex hands Joel Zimmerman, the legendary artist known to the world as deadmau5 a flash drive containing what would come to be an 8-time Grammy award winning album which, due to my own synesthesia, unlocked a hidden algorithm hissing amongst the complex frequencies of this very same album which unearthed ancient prophecies of extra terrestrial jnowñwge predating mankind and causing the space time continuum to shatter irreconcilably, thus altering existence as we know it?!

WHAT?!

—AND—

“AND?!”

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

As the earth moves below me

Both hungry and lonely

And thinking

“if only the world were to know me”

“You don't owe me anything”

But I owe you everything

I'd give you anything,

Anything—

Anything.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Satan likes his coffee black

Like the way he made the day

That heaven's gates would call his name

And gave the keys to the kingdom

To the heathens & demons,

Amen

If this is what it is, then

"Love wins" is in another dimension

Attention:

I've given what I've given,

Did I mention,

It was just intuition;

I am my own invention,

I am unwhole, by admission

Down the rabbit hole,

Float down the River Styx and

Count to 666 and

Now I'm Dick Nixon in the 60's

Hippie sickness is

Thinking peace exists when ammunitions a vital statistic

A lunatic assumes the usual position

To the moon,

A blue balloon to the innocent

Love was heaven sent but failed to find it

None left on this planet

"Destroy it"

This goddamned family's mad

Pass the hammer, a standard

Tip the hat to the madhatter

Had her luck run out faster,

The man that she was after,

Who laughed at her,

Probably planned to have her,

But lost interest in tracking her,

Has soamy questions to ask her,

Practically has the answer to the masterpiece she believed would

Untrap her,

Alas,

That's the last short straw she has

Life keeps passing by…

I'm like

"Damn,

I'm damaged"

Why am I so unalighned

Need a psychiatrist,

but I can't find on one pinterest or instagram.

Damn,

I wish I was white,

Or light skinned

Looks nice

Where have I been?

Incased in ice,

Like the avatar no one would find,

I'm losing my entire mind,

I'm writing everytime I cry like

Someone inside my computer or Google would find it,

But I'm just a

I'm just a

I'm just a

Writer,

Kinda

I used to be a DJ,

but God makes mistakes and

Satan makes me hate my name

So I changed it.

He's a puppet on a string

(Bring me people, feed me demons) and he And he never goes to sleep well he practice what you preach it

Omn>>>midnight hour l>>bb got me like l

Flash>>> saint laurant>>el chapo >> trap shit v?

I am not a Fed

But iT app makes sense

I'm seeing read

I break my bread,

I'm left on red

Let's go to bed;

Let's go to Heaven

Don't do this to me

Not now, hanzel.

What the fuck

Just get out

That's that nigga

..shoot to kill.

I told you.

You know what?

I know what.

Fuck, you, dude!!

Duck, Duck, Duck—

Two armed guards are dragging Dillon Francis into an enclosed space, which seems ominous.

—NO—

He scratches and claws in an attempt to escape.

—YOU CANNOT DO THIS—

The Deities have demanded SUPACREE to find Skrillex—via Dillon Francis.

I will not,

Yes, you will.

Two Adonise

What?

What's the plural of “Adonis?”

ADONISES

not according to Google.

Well, fuck Google!

What did you say?

Nothing.

Shhhh, be quiet.

I thought she was asleep!

I'm not asleep!

She's never asleep.

I heard that!

LEGENDS: Part 666

Google Never Sleeps

Why 666?

Satan: why not?

I thought you changed your number?

What's a number?

That's enough, Satan.

What happened to, “not today, Satan?”

What's a day?

You do listen.

Stop praying, dude.

Satan's been praying to Jesus for relief.

Prayers for WHAT?

Relief.

Relief from what?

His own followers?!

That fucking idiot.

—

JOEL and DEADMAU5 part ways to find SUPACREE.

What the fuck.

I told you.

This isn't happening.

I FUCKING TOLD YOU!

AWWWW.

Look.

Nothing's in there…

Just wait, dude.

JOEL appears out of a portal; DEADMAU5 appears from another.

WHAT THE FUCK

I KNOW, RIGHT—

WHAT THE FUCK!

I KNOW, RIGHT.

___

What is this.

This is Skrillex.

Ew.

Don't touch it.

I'm not gonna.

You wanted to.

No I didn't.

But you thought about it—

I think about everything—

You are everything—

Everything is everything.

[beat]

Don't touch it.

Stop being telepathic!

You fucking WISH—

I —

___

Ū has been tormenting the DJs—mainly Dillon Francis— in a timeless eternal loop in an outer void created by SUPACREE.

Are SUPACREE and Ū not the same person?

They can be.

So what's the difference?

Skrillex.

Oh.

—

WHERE IS SKRILLEX.

STOP DOING THIS.

AGHHH.

AGGHHHHHHHH.

UNH.

SKRILLEX is thrown through a portal, landing in between the two.

Oh. There he is.

Wow. That's incredible.

I know, right?

I mean, I didn't think—

—I mean—

Huh.

Hm.

Is it… you?

...yeah, I guess.

Oh my God!

I FOUND SKRILLEX.

What's a “Skrillex?”

Oh NO—

Sonny—you're Skrillex—

Wait, who's “Sonny”

This isn't happening.

This is happening.

I hate you.

Dude, for WHAT?

I don't know—

You hate yourself!

—everybody does that!

They bicker

(Very slow clap)

Wvow

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Please. Give me your iPhone.

No!

No?

(Takes I phone.)

Is there a reason you don't want me having this?

…no.

No?

—it's full of stuff.

“Stuff.”

Yes. It's—

“Stuff.”

Yes.

—

—and things.

I know.

Look.

We had a deal.

We had no “deal”

We had a deal.

This train just goes on forever, you know;

Whether you're on, or off it—

So get off, and back on at the wrong stop

Once, if not just for the discovery

Of another supermarket,

Where you shop for strawberries and

Groceries

Good flex, God;

I got a gang of em

I'm gonna explain it as straight as it gets

Sometimes,

You just got to know where to go

If you don't trust your gut,

You'll just never get,

Never get it right.

Alright, alright,

I started it

Alright, right—

I gotta get it right,

I gotta get ;

I'm the worst at introductions

Oh and,

So bad at

Goodbyes

Oh, why'd you have to leave me by my idol

Why,

Why'd you have to lead me by my eyes

By my eyes

God, I love the way

I love the way,

I love the way you

Love me

God, I love

The way you

The way you

Love me

You forgot about me, didn't you?

You forgot all about me

You forgot all about it—

All about it

Al about it

It's not the same, anymore

Since you gave it a name, is it?

There's nothing I can do

To help me, help you

This is all I can do,

To help me, love you

I have to remove you;

I have to remove you

In a room—

Full of beauty—

In a world,

Full of woes

I lose the last dose of you, on my tongue

Nobody ever wanted it, like I do—

Like I do

I lose the last dose of you on my tongue,

And I'm all full of love again;

I never saw anything like it,

I was a modem, still plugged into the wall

An anonymous post partum unremarkable

Post-party proclamations

and eternal damnation for ordering breakfast

Evading transportation authorities

Unworried the informant sleeping under me

Oh,

Now she wants to song—

Oh, look—

And now, she has a song to sing

A point to make,

A wrong to ring;

The man she brings along

Is bad for her

Oh, she's gotta work

(She loves to work,

She's got to work it)

What kills her makes her stronger

What doesn't kill her makes her stronger

All she does is

Carry on

And

Carry on

And

Carry on.

Mrs Sheffield left flushing queens, for this.”

Mrs Sheffield left Flushing, Queens, for this?!

Mrs Sheffield left Flushing, Queens for this!

Mrs, Sheffield!

-1flushing queens, fah ‘dis.

Very well worth it,

I got all the way to broklyn

And way beyond my means for this

It's well outta my means.

It's out of my hands, now.

That boy called you “grandpa”

How is it all over?

When I bet to God I was,

Just in your lap at this party,

And you were under me slippin on some sort of

Lager or

Something

Weren't you?

Yeah,

I was just there, too

I was just there, too—

I was just there, too—

Oh, now she has a song…

All of a sudden.—

But it's not all of a sudden at all

It's not all of a sudden

There's nothing, is there?

Oh,

There's something, surely

I went to bed late;

But I'm getting up early.

I see the way he looks at me—

—take it easy, baby

We could have the whole room waiting

Like a stoner at a stop sign

My bad,

My eyes lie to me

All the time

Driving me mad

Telling me

I want you inside me

My bad

My bad

Well, I want you in my bed

But I haven't had one yet

I'm thinking Purple Mattress;

Or is that mids, to you kids

Like Timmy ho's

Or my mustang civic

It's a custom, yeah

Nobody has it yet

It's a hybrid

Like I am

—I am a bit off subject, now

(My bad)

We never had sex in my bathroom

(That was your house)

I took a mouse to the mountain

(My bad)

My writing is getting more

Acid-centric,

Lysergic acid diethylamide;

I didn't buy any,

But I haven't the need anymore,

Really

I just wake up like this:

That is, when I wake up

(I have long nights, kids)

My bad

I want to see you very briefly

Without your briefs,

You know what I mean?

Me neither—

Sexual delinquency in meditated frequencies

Repeat this sequence

I keep my deepest secrets

Where I need it

Right up my slime,

Where my spleen is—

Dreamed it, and I haven't cleaned since

(Or dreamed since)

In this

Endless emission,

Ignition sequence begins

When The Lean splits

Under the blood moon;

An eclipse.

I drift off a lot—

Just thinking of your penis

My daydreams are not very safe for the public

I think they're X-rated or worse,

Even thinking of you as a person,

Or worse:

As my husband

once, as my lover—

Lovers have all the fun, anyway

Hm

All the things that I'd do to you

After you put me through—

You broke my heart

(And the windows on my car)

What was all that for?

Now you you've started a holy war

I've got scars on my arms

I might love them a little more

I guess you are what you are

After all—you're a star

I'm bat shit crazy, I'm

Blind, so blind and now I'm

Hiding in a life I decided I was mine

I tried to find you

Tried to find the answer

Tried to find the time,

And now I'm fighting suicide against denial

—I still really love your smile

I had to know—and so I had to ask; both the ocean, and The Instagram Algorithm—about Dillon Francis—and, to my luck and great dispar, was swiftly answered. Now I could crawl back into my cave of obscurity and begin the elemental essentials to gather and burn all that was left of everything I had written about the the man himself; needing of course to steer clear of nothing now but love—or a lack thereof, as it were.

Now I understood that the feelings and emotions tied up in this man were indeed true, beyond real in the sense that I couldn't hold back tears, but with some gentle motion I could sway them into music; needing to shed my skin and escape my nightmarish surroundings, I would need more than a prayer—the universe had been calling me to fast; now I would answer in the only way I could, the fresh and awestruck pain of heartbreak I had knowingly caused myself, the only strain to conquer.

I loved him.

The running was over with, and the hiding was done for— I had backed myself into a corner; a comfortable wall to curl up in non existence, meanwhile, nothing—because if I could figure that If I did not see it for myself or could not otherwise randomly fathom to imagine, it did not exist, or it could not be.

Who are you,

To evoke emotion

A notation of focus,

Awoke in the moment to know,

Vote for a hope,

Or a rope, just to—

—hangglide.

What's two hands,

What's two fists look like to you?

What's two feet, what's two wrists to you—?

What's two lips, two blue eyes;

In an instant

What's to listen to the the tune of you again?

“Please Text Back”

What is this?

Another emotion,

Another world we opened,

A parallel dimension,

Just beside the hell we live in—

Exists all of this

I'd put it into Ableton, if I was able to;

The way you make me move,

And what I feel for you—

Appealing, if you're real, down to the roots

And reel-to-real

I feel so stupid—

She'll—be everything I asked for him

She is—the one I called for hoping

She was—my dream inside a dream once;

Now, digging my own grave up

Just to prove my luck, or something

So, to us, it's only justice, undone

On the walk to Eden,

It was all of us;

I reap what I've sown;

Nothing comes of nothing

Give to get,

And live to eat,

The answer's “hungry”,

If you're asking

But no one's asking,

‘And Dillon Francis's is handsome,

He had to have known that—‘

I sat at the alter, my ocean

And read to her, poetry

I wonder for nothing,

And want even less, no discussions—

Percussion in repercussions,

Patterns of claps and hats,

happen to manage the panic;

Perhaps if I laughed a little,

Or loved a little,

I'd have sung more loudly as they hung me,

From the bungalow windowsill;

It's silly how I'd kill myself again for never listening

And never listening

And never listening

—we never kissed, but always met at intersections, when needed;

Break bread for breakfast, or brunch, with the Goddess and her Demons

Never had I saw or wanted a flying saucer— until I saw two of them, off in the distance

With no one on them,

But God, I'm honest and stopped it all at once,

Just to turn on and tune in, and now I'm the April Fool—

It was just an illusion;

Another simplistic collision of infinite

What was your name again?

I'll have to ask my ex—

—husband…

Cause one time,

someone loved me.

As it turned out,

I held more feelings for the man than I had previously thought, or had motionlessly been in absolute denial of for quite some time; there wasn't another option or subject of distraction—I had been stuck on Dillon Francis, or at least the thought of him, even with the startling lack thereof. I needed to love, but it seemed to be in short supply, at least, for me, no matter where I went or what I did there. Still, while The Instagram Algorithm beckoned me to believe one thing, my intuition conditioned me to comprehend another—there was something deeper within myself and greater outwardly looming over the prénsense of this innate attraction—and though it had all started innocently, it had cascaded and begun to collapse into a avalanche of unhandled business and forgotten circumstances—

I was shaken and needed to be restrung in some way that would hold me together, until the easy way out became the hard way; perhaps if I could project into my reality what it was that nature had foretold, I could extend my being beyond that of which seemed to be an end.

At least it had been done again, in the severance of the flow of one love, there had to come another—as it's been done in generations through every genre time and time before whichever one this was, mankind had something down to an exact science for once; to withdraw the essence of love from the source of which it comes, leaving one only damaged enough to murmur or hum the would-be some-part, of some-song—if not to be sung, at least strummed out, or at the very least, written as record. Now, though I had lost nearly all ambition, I was entirely filled with enough neglect to become the apathetic, dark and untouchable alchemist I always was—reality back in touch. The final judgement was: I loved Dillon as much as I had loved Sonny, but in another way entirely—so much so, that overall, his happiness above anything to happen was what I wanted—and though I felt I had been ‘Kayla Lauren'd' once more, there was a deeper sense of doubt that with enough creativity, would bring about a world of its own—as if the world that had been created in the infinite “if” of Dillon Francis was large enough by itself to consume an idle mind with even the slightest of combustion; His eyes would drive me wild—and all that I dared to remember of the time we would spend together, is myself becoming lost in them.

‘They are green sometimes'.

I loved the grey streaking in his beard, reminding me of what I was, rather than what I had become in the midsts of it—my soul just as ancient as all the love it was made of—and now I had done it not once, but always; decided I could love anything about any one and multiply that into an infinite, undying and unconditional love—which it already was.

I'm sorry, God;

Or whoever's watching

All I wanted was love

With the one who would want me;

Now I'm a ghost, although something is haunting me

Wanted my glass house, but can't throw a rock in it

Off in a rocket ship;

What was the cost of it?

Nod off on a trip, dripping lips on the window

A kiss, just an instant to

lick up a hit of the acid

I missed wishing just as simplisticly

To live again

I'd end it if,

The reason weren't so stupid

It's not you,

I've just been used too much to do this

Overruled:

This never happened

So I had to laugh

I had to laugh

I had to laugh

I had to laugh

I had to love him, only

Cause I had to love myself, for a moment

The door was open,

I went walking in,

Then closed it;

Only now I'm here alone—

At least I own it

And I only wanted

Love

From someone who wanted

To love me

And I only wanted a hug;

But I guess I kind of got it

If you want, you know

I'll drop it, like the rock fell from my pocket

I forgot which one it was I fell in love with,

After all, I'm only nothing

“It was nothing”

It was fun

It was another father, son and brother;

Oh, no wonder—

Life is so wonderful

Falling in love with the digital runoff

Of someone with all of it

Everything I ever wanted

Everything I was, and wasn't

Just to front the cost,

Just never good enough

To come of

One, again

All I wanted was love

From the one who wanted to love me;

Now all I got is—

A closet full of skeletons,

A cause of death,

And a hot topic,

If this is Martyrdom

‘This is what happens when you dare to dream, then stop believing in it; you become caught between worlds in the catastrophic maelstrom between the world of the living, and the shattered reality you once called your dream'

now I wanted nothing more than a clean bed and a hot shower; a place to call home—I was so far stretched out beyond my comfort zone that again the thought of an instant means to an end became again, a pressing and dire need— I had only scratched the surface here and there and never had begun to break the ice—but anything I had said or done now may as well have been inscribed in stone, everything was temporary, but just fully so, it was also permanent. The looming answer was truly, that either way, I was right—either the slip in my stream of consciousness with Dillon had vanished as he began to keep the company of another more presently—just as in my early premonitions with Sonny had foretold of Kayla Lauren not too long before I would become aware of her—that my dream of Dillon in the presiding weeks accompanied by a dazzling readhead, the inspiration for “Chelsea, Chelsea!” Whispered a daunting truth; that as I suspected, anything or anyone I cared to love would be taken from me promptly; and though in the months since the literal tripping and falling into love with such a character, I had tirelessly worked to remove the romanticism and passion that had pent up within, pushing down and toiling away with the notion of a reality where, after all, my King to be had been all along, Dillon Francis. Though with a vital and vivid sense of intuition I had seen it all, I presumed it was nothing more than a flash of whimsical and innocent fantasy, admirable to those with an eye for love; a spark for my creation, which had been diminished—or so I thought.

I couldn't help but feel a fool, and baffled myself that indeed, I was in tears—because of Dillon Francis. After nearly months of tearless apathy, I had begun to think myself immune to emotion or feeling—surrounded by a slew of reflections and past companions, I had begun to again lose myself to the motion of too much carelessness, my own needs neglected from lack of finances—and seemingly excommunicated from American Society; I began to fall violently out of love with Sonny, as the universe spun me into a web where I was the fly, and the spider tying me was the spitting image of the damningly handsome once-Apple of my eye; not that I had actually lost any of the feeling for him—but, that the feeling itself had changed dramatically from a writhing passion, to a fury tinged with the blood and sweat of sacrifice in exchange for nothing, and the bitterness of genetic competition—Kayla Lauren no longer taking the brunt of my anger, but falling into irrelevance, Sonny himself becoming the poster child for everything I stood to dismiss, in music, and in general— if I were to convict that I hated him, it would only mean stagnancy, in that I still hated myself; however, strikingly, it was not so—i had begun to love myself quite so, that what I hated was the toxic world where all the men I so admired and desired thrived. Sifting through slides of the lives I wanted mine to mimick, a smile was summoned from under the rock I lived in; hiding from any of the repercussions I may have built to arrive just in time to dull my shine if I became too rampantly outward with my intentions—which, by now, were simple, at best—“at best” being limited again, only by what I could see and know.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

You broke my heart

(And the windows on my car)

What was all that for?

Now you you've started a holy war

I've got scars on my arms

I might love them a little more

I guess you are what you are

After all—you're a star

I'm bat shit crazy, I'm

Blind, so blind and now I'm

Hiding in a life I decided I was mine

I tried to find you

Tried to find the answer

Tried to find the time,

And now I'm fighting suicide against denial

—I still really love your smile

I had to know—and so I had to ask; both the ocean, and The Instagram Algorithm—about Dillon Francis—and, to my luck and great dispar, was swiftly answered. Now I could crawl back into my cave of obscurity and begin the elemental essentials to gather and burn all that was left of everything I had written about the the man himself; needing of course to steer clear of nothing now but love—or a lack thereof, as it were.

Now I understood that the feelings and emotions tied up in this man were indeed true, beyond real in the sense that I couldn't hold back tears, but with some gentle motion I could sway them into music; needing to shed my skin and escape my nightmarish surroundings, I would need more than a prayer—the universe had been calling me to fast; now I would answer in the only way I could, the fresh and awestruck pain of heartbreak I had knowingly caused myself, the only strain to conquer.

I loved him.

The running was over with, and the hiding was done for— I had backed myself into a corner; a comfortable wall to curl up in non existence, meanwhile, nothing—because if I could figure that If I did not see it for myself or could not otherwise randomly fathom to imagine, it did not exist, or it could not be.

Who are you,

To evoke emotion

A notation of focus,

Awoke in the moment to know,

Vote for a hope,

Or a rope, just to—

—hangglide.

What's two hands,

What's two fists look like to you?

What's two feet, what's two wrists to you—?

What's two lips, two blue eyes;

In an instant

What's to listen to the the tune of you again?

“Please Text Back”

What is this?

Another emotion,

Another world we opened,

A parallel dimension,

Just beside the hell we live in—

Exists all of this

I'd put it into Ableton, if I was able to;

The way you make me move,

And what I feel for you—

Appealing, if you're real, down to the roots

And reel-to-real

I feel so stupid—

She'll—be everything I asked for him

She is—the one I called for hoping

She was—my dream inside a dream once;

Now, digging my own grave up

Just to prove my luck, or something

So, to us, it's only justice, undone

On the walk to Eden,

It was all of us;

I reap what I've sown;

Nothing comes of nothing

Give to get,

And live to eat,

The answer's “hungry”,

If you're asking

But no one's asking,

‘And Dillon Francis's is handsome,

He had to have known that—‘

I sat at the alter, my ocean

And read to her, poetry

I wonder for nothing,

And want even less, no discussions—

Percussion in repercussions,

Patterns of claps and hats,

happen to manage the panic;

Perhaps if I laughed a little,

Or loved a little,

I'd have sung more loudly as they hung me,

From the bungalow windowsill;

It's silly how I'd kill myself again for never listening

And never listening

And never listening

—we never kissed, but always met at intersections, when needed;

Break bread for breakfast, or brunch, with the Goddess and her Demons

Never had I saw or wanted a flying saucer— until I saw two of them, off in the distance

With no one on them,

But God, I'm honest and stopped it all at once,

Just to turn on and tune in, and now I'm the April Fool—

It was just an illusion;

Another simplistic collision of infinite

What was your name again?

I'll have to ask my ex—

—husband…

Cause one time,

someone loved me.

As it turned out,

I held more feelings for the man than I had previously thought, or had motionlessly been in absolute denial of for quite some time; there wasn't another option or subject of distraction—I had been stuck on Dillon Francis, or at least the thought of him, even with the startling lack thereof. I needed to love, but it seemed to be in short supply, at least, for me, no matter where I went or what I did there. Still, while The Instagram Algorithm beckoned me to believe one thing, my intuition conditioned me to comprehend another—there was something deeper within myself and greater outwardly looming over the prénsense of this innate attraction—and though it had all started innocently, it had cascaded and begun to collapse into a avalanche of unhandled business and forgotten circumstances—

I was shaken and needed to be restrung in some way that would hold me together, until the easy way out became the hard way; perhaps if I could project into my reality what it was that nature had foretold, I could extend my being beyond that of which seemed to be an end.

At least it had been done again, in the severance of the flow of one love, there had to come another—as it's been done in generations through every genre time and time before whichever one this was, mankind had something down to an exact science for once; to withdraw the essence of love from the source of which it comes, leaving one only damaged enough to murmur or hum the would-be some-part, of some-song—if not to be sung, at least strummed out, or at the very least, written as record. Now, though I had lost nearly all ambition, I was entirely filled with enough neglect to become the apathetic, dark and untouchable alchemist I always was—reality back in touch. The final judgement was: I loved Dillon as much as I had loved Sonny, but in another way entirely—so much so, that overall, his happiness above anything to happen was what I wanted—and though I felt I had been ‘Kayla Lauren'd' once more, there was a deeper sense of doubt that with enough creativity, would bring about a world of its own—as if the world that had been created in the infinite “if” of Dillon Francis was large enough by itself to consume an idle mind with even the slightest of combustion; His eyes would drive me wild—and all that I dared to remember of the time we would spend together, is myself becoming lost in them.

‘They are green sometimes'.

I loved the grey streaking in his beard, reminding me of what I was, rather than what I had become in the midsts of it—my soul just as ancient as all the love it was made of—and now I had done it not once, but always; decided I could love anything about any one and multiply that into an infinite, undying and unconditional love—which it already was.

I'm sorry, God;

Or whoever's watching

All I wanted was love

With the one who would want me;

Now I'm a ghost, although something is haunting me

Wanted my glass house, but can't throw a rock in it

Off in a rocket ship;

What was the cost of it?

Nod off on a trip, dripping lips on the window

A kiss, just an instant to

lick up a hit of the acid

I missed wishing just as simplisticly

To live again

I'd end it if,

The reason weren't so stupid

It's not you,

I've just been used too much to do this

Overruled:

This never happened

So I had to laugh

I had to laugh

I had to laugh

I had to laugh

I had to love him, only

Cause I had to love myself, for a moment

The door was open,

I went walking in,

Then closed it;

Only now I'm here alone—

At least I own it

And I only wanted

Love

From someone who wanted

To love me

And I only wanted a hug;

But I guess I kind of got it

If you want, you know

I'll drop it, like the rock fell from my pocket

I forgot which one it was I fell in love with,

After all, I'm only nothing

“It was nothing”

It was fun

It was another father, son and brother;

Oh, no wonder—

Life is so wonderful

Falling in love with the digital runoff

Of someone with all of it

Everything I ever wanted

Everything I was, and wasn't

Just to front the cost,

Just never good enough

To come of

One, again

All I wanted was love

From the one who wanted to love me;

Now all I got is—

A closet full of skeletons,

A cause of death,

And a hot topic,

If this is Martyrdom

‘This is what happens when you dare to dream, then stop believing in it; you become caught between worlds in the catastrophic maelstrom between the world of the living, and the shattered reality you once called your dream'

now I wanted nothing more than a clean bed and a hot shower; a place to call home—I was so far stretched out beyond my comfort zone that again the thought of an instant means to an end became again, a pressing and dire need— I had only scratched the surface here and there and never had begun to break the ice—but anything I had said or done now may as well have been inscribed in stone, everything was temporary, but just fully so, it was also permanent. The looming answer was truly, that either way, I was right—either the slip in my stream of consciousness with Dillon had vanished as he began to keep the company of another more presently—just as in my early premonitions with Sonny had foretold of Kayla Lauren not too long before I would become aware of her—that my dream of Dillon in the presiding weeks accompanied by a dazzling readhead, the inspiration for “Chelsea, Chelsea!” Whispered a daunting truth; that as I suspected, anything or anyone I cared to love would be taken from me promptly; and though in the months since the literal tripping and falling into love with such a character, I had tirelessly worked to remove the romanticism and passion that had pent up within, pushing down and toiling away with the notion of a reality where, after all, my King to be had been all along, Dillon Francis. Though with a vital and vivid sense of intuition I had seen it all, I presumed it was nothing more than a flash of whimsical and innocent fantasy, admirable to those with an eye for love; a spark for my creation, which had been diminished—or so I thought.

I couldn't help but feel a fool, and baffled myself that indeed, I was in tears—because of Dillon Francis. After nearly months of tearless apathy, I had begun to think myself immune to emotion or feeling—surrounded by a slew of reflections and past companions, I had begun to again lose myself to the motion of too much carelessness, my own needs neglected from lack of finances—and seemingly excommunicated from American Society; I began to fall violently out of love with Sonny, as the universe spun me into a web where I was the fly, and the spider tying me was the spitting image of the damningly handsome once-Apple of my eye; not that I had actually lost any of the feeling for him—but, that the feeling itself had changed dramatically from a writhing passion, to a fury tinged with the blood and sweat of sacrifice in exchange for nothing, and the bitterness of genetic competition—Kayla Lauren no longer taking the brunt of my anger, but falling into irrelevance, Sonny himself becoming the poster child for everything I stood to dismiss, in music, and in general— if I were to convict that I hated him, it would only mean stagnancy, in that I still hated myself; however, strikingly, it was not so—i had begun to love myself quite so, that what I hated was the toxic world where all the men I so admired and desired thrived. Sifting through slides of the lives I wanted mine to mimick, a smile was summoned from under the rock I lived in; hiding from any of the repercussions I may have built to arrive just in time to dull my shine if I became too rampantly outward with my intentions—which, by now, were simple, at best—“at best” being limited again, only by what I could see and know.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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