[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

Would the doctor make a house call

Or 10

Would he do it again

To anyone who may just let him in

Well it depends,

On if the doctor is even in

Do you have a pen?

Or pencil it in

He'll fill your prescription

When his bender ends

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

I just want a drum machine

(or a time machine)

And a surf board,

On a lonely beach;

Maybe a couple other things

For sound quality,

I mean really.

All I see is,

All I see is,

Me up in a tree somewhere

I didn't mean to be so

Careful

We're over another Volcano;

I didn't mean to put that there

Oh,

Where are we anyway?

___

What are you doing?

Galloping.

Horse.

I thought we were running away from Skrillex.

Oh, we are.

Wait.

Well then, what are you doing?

I'm calculating.

Calculating; I thought you were galloping?

It is a calculated gallop.

How graceful.

Theoretically.

Huh.

___

“Josh”

Where are you?

Where am I? Where are you?

I thought you'd be in LA right now!

LA? Why would I be in LA right now? I'm hideous!

Are you serious?

Are you? Quit Joshing!

Alright, i'm not Joshing--whose Joshing?

You are--you're Joshing.

Stoppit, I'm not.

Cut To:

Hey Josh.

[Josh is playing a video game. He nods, barely.]

Would you mind doing those dishes?

Yeah, i'll get to it.

[Doesn't.]

____

Where's Dillon Francis?

I haven't seen him.

No one has.

This always happens.

What happened?

I'm kinda worried about him.

Should we call him?

We should call him.

____

Oh what, now Dillon Francis is missing?

Dillon Francis, exactly.

_____

Hugo Pierre Leclercq

….

Follow Us.

___

So wait, what the fuck is going on?

Apparently, Dillon Francis is missing.

Well, where is he?

Well, honestly, where isn't he?

Excuse me?

You're excused.

I...

Okay, look; First of all--

Agh!

Dillon Francis can't be Nowhere, he's Everywhere.

Okay, what?

Secondly,

Not this again--

Wait, what was I about to say?

Exactly.

Exactly; Dillon Francis.

Who is, where, exactly?

Exactly.

[Dillon Francis is standing, Exactly.)

This is exciting.

Of course it's exciting, it's Dillon Francis.

Yeah, it is.

(It is.)

__

Okay, so they're gathering all the DJs?

They're gathering all the DJs.

Every DJ?

No, just all the DJs.

Oh.

Okay, so--

Wait, what the fuck Exactly is going on?

{Exactly.}

Wait, where Is--

Nobody seems to know.

[Dillon Francis has been in jail for a really long time.]

Oh, no!

Oh, yes! Wait--are we back at ‘Dillonception'

Dillonception?!

I think.

Wait.

What?

Just a minute; What channel is this?

Nevermind!

Nevermind, what? What are we watching.

Nothing!

It's not nothing; what network is this? What are we watching? What is this?

It's, uh--Satelite...Cable...Tesla--uhh…

Uh-huh; Let me see your router.

“Router”, what's a “router”?

AHA, I knew it! you have interdimensional cable.

Nah.

Ah-ha. Now I see. Where did you get this?

I didn't.

Psh, quittit, I know you can get it from Skrillex.

I didn't. It was gifted.

Gifted, how could he “gift” it?

It's not from Skrillex.

Wait, it's not.

Nah, it's not I told you it was a gift, it was gifted.

What do you mean “gifted”? This is extra terrestrial technology; How is this a “gift”

Extraterrestrial? Wait, Skrillex is an alien?

Uh, fucking, duh.

I thought it was just a gimmick.

---

Anyway, I don't know anything about “extraterrestrial technology”, just that it's rare--and i'm not supposed to have it.

What, did all this come in the card attached?

Yeah, actually.

________

What comes with a side of

“I just don't feel like it,”

Is it,

Dillon Francis, or just

Something simple--

What's in it?

What's coming out of the oven,

I wonder if it's muffin's or,

something organic…

I keep panicking and panicking

with Panic at the Disco playing

While i'm getting baked thanking

Satan for making me a no name

As I play for acres and pray

I feel better with a hat on

i'd feel better if my dragon was

Less of a dragon and,

More of a hot blonde with hypnotic

somber somethings, or

Anything magnetic maybe, or--

whatever flavor's yours, or--

Whoever this is for.

I'm on the floor trying to remember

What for, exactly.

SKRILLEX.

Man, I fucking hate Vegas.

Yeah, me too.

I'm not staying here.

Just stay here.

I'm not staying here.

Just stay here!

I'm not staying here.

Just stay.

No!

____

An exclusive Costume Party in The Hollywood Hills

Each attendee has been given a mysterious packet with specific instructions catered to each participant

____

HIGHLIGHTS:

-SupaCree's “Smear” Campaign

-TiTs

_______

“The Bedroom DJ”

A performer in decline begins “piggybacking”

____

Are you as jaded

As I am

Seems like it

Well at least

Seems like it

To Me

I'm sorry

We're Jaded

I'm sorry

We're Jaded

I'm sorry

We're Jaded

I'm sorry

I'm sorry

I'm faded

Something is

Something was

Something isn't

Something wasn't

Something is,

Something was

Something isn't

Something wasn't

But it was

Because it was

But it was

Because of us

______

Hi,

Hows your life?

This is mine.

I was just wondering

If you might

Know what it's like

To die

Like I do

Why

Would I

Lie

Should I

Is there a prize for dying twice, dude?

Or trying to??

Is there something I should do?

Or that I should know?

I don't know if I should go home or not;

I'll probably close the roads--

I'm gonna gooo….

Rain.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

A little birdie told me

This morning

He used to be

Madly in love with me

Madly in love

In his last life—

But died, in a bike ride

And asked for a new life

As an Angel

Who takes flight,

And lights up the sky

With nice bright

White light

Alright, Goliath, Goodbye

I'm still here,

Stuck in my old name,

Still here,

Stuck in all the pain you gave me

Jesus, Save me,

Here's Goliath, David;

See if you can be the savior—

Every day I pray

“Amen,”

I hate men,

I'm crazy,

And I'm still here,

Training to make weight

Don't you know,

You go nowhere without your trainer

Hey!

The flights delayed,

You need a name?

You need a savior, baby.

Something's not okay

Oh!

Don't you know, that every day you wait

You'll just be stuck inside your name

You'll be here waiting, praying

“Jesus save me, Amen”

Jesus raves,

And Jesus changed his name,

Escaping from the prayers

Don't hate the player, hate the game

Don't hate the player, hate the game

Don't hate the prayer, hate the players

Everything's the same—

Everything you gave me makes me angry—

Hey,

Wake up!

Don't you know,

You go nowhere without your trainer

Hey!

The flights delayed,

You need a name?

You need a savior, baby.

Something's not okay

Oh!

Don't you know, that every day you wait

You'll just be stuck inside your name

You'll be here waiting, praying

“Jesus save me, Amen”

Jesus raves,

And Jesus changed his name,

Escaping from the prayers

Hey,

Wake up!

I'm still here,

Stuck in my old name,

Still here,

Stuck in all the pain you gave me

Jesus, Save me.

All it takes is courage

“It never hurts to bleed”, she said

She's right, though, isn't she?

Children say the darndest things

They're honest, at least

I'll be honest, I need something

I need to be happy

My problem is money

I don't even want any

I'm just high quality

Living in poverty

I'm so sick of society

I might as well die

If I diet just right,

Maybe someone will like me

Maybe, he's being polite

I wish I was lighter

I I wish I was light skinned

I bought a lighter,

And later I burned it

There's nothing wrong with me

I don't like working, it doesn't work for me

I can do service but give me some space to breathe

Greedy people need me

So they can be lazy

Okay, then

I'm so taken advantage of,

By everyone

I wonder what I must have done

(I wonder what I must have done)

I am so critically crucial, to be used

That I'm used up,

And used to it

I hate this slavery shit

I should just end it

Cause everybody's down with it

Nobody wants to speak up

When I do I sound crazy;

My fingers move a mile a minute,

But I look lazy,

Cause I have a hard time spending my days with Becky

Who I have to respect, I guess

Cause she gets a bigger paycheck

Amen

This is great.

I woke up today, not naked,

But in the pajamas I felt the most hot in

I've lost it

Get me off this planet

Get me off

Then get me off this

Maybe fake eyelashes and lips will do the trick

Another magic trick;

Now I've just been passed to Dillon Francis;

It's blaring through the walls of my apartment,

But in the other end

My studio is silent

I'm just crying,

Trying not to think about dying so violently

But the thoughts and the feelings are so rapidly occurring

I've finally been remembering the last time I was cursed into the worst thing I could ever wish:

Nobody knows me

Nobody loves me

Nobody needs me

Why wish these things?

I'm not a happy ending:

I'm the martyr in this story

So just kill me.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

"Dane Cook!"

-I did my best

Like, way, way, off.

I walked in locked in;

Pistol cocked, and pointed towards my head

You'll only want me when you have no options left,

Or when I'm dead

“It's clever”

They all said

An ambitious endevour

End this life, and be devoured

By the miester and the misters of the hour

How about now?

(Or–)

How about Now, or

How about Now, or

How about Now?

Or,

How about now, or

How about now, or

How about now?

Or,

How about Now, or

How about Now, or

How about Now?

Now or Never

I said “That's clever” or

“How about Now”

What do you want from me?

I lie for a living;

A literal drama queen,

don't eat turkey on thanksgiving

I'm the worthless word for

Surface level thinking on this Earth, or

Picking hearses with my cursor,
Mercenary, Mercury, or Just a Mercer–
But not a Mercedes;

I'm paid, but I hate paying;

Made the game, but I hate playing

I remember making hate to be created

Just for entertainment–

A belated invitation,

Now i'll face it,

Back to Basic–

But she's laced with Masonry;

A tastemaker, maybe

But she just wants a family,

Whatever that means

Wow.

How about now?

Fuck this.

Homelssness.

I woul rather kill myself than stay alive

I'd rather die than fight

Don't want to write this:

I'm just a diamond pressurized

And i might never see the light

I'll never see the lght

I see the light

There's no honor in suicide

But i've devided my mind a million times

And now like dynamite in a mine;

Collapsed, collided, ad defined by

All divine;

You'll never see me shine,

But deep inside

I'd blind you;

Guided by the tide,

I've come to find you

Down, I dive

I'm not alive, you know

I'm always misaligned

But that's beside the point

Another suicide attempt

Is in the midst–

But just what is it;

More than just one, is it?

Rather die than listen to Skrillex

Or take pills just to chill with it

For real? this shit again?

It wasn't real, all to begin with

It's only mental illness cause i'm penniless

Now i've got so much to deal with

Another wound to heal,

Another deal, perhaps

I'll make another million in a year,

If i'm still here–

And i”m still here–

And i'm still–

Who are you now, and—

Who were you then;

And—

Which part of this, would you want—

Or did want,

Or just wanted

Pondered before in a vision,

Outfitted in hooded drapery,

The heaviest fabric;

A rosary hung from his neck

But can't recall the connection

In this ressurection

I can recall him,

But never remember

The calling

Let's call him

Oh, fuck man.

‘Friar Tuck'

THAT WAS IT.

The high priest of asencion,

Was burned in her memory—

Not as a friend,

But a friend of the enemy;

Who she loved and protected,

Despite all the envy,

She felt for Persephone—

Just an unjust figure,

A fictional figment of imagination

But—

Who was I then

And who am I now;

And what part of him,

Would I want, if I wanted

Or wished for,

Or honored

A friend, long forgotten

Not a high priest,

But a Friar

That was it—

But before,

As Mary, Joseph, and Jesus

On the front lines of the war,

Not to be started, but ended, as in

Preparation, a blood sacrifice I've prepared

In a premonition that I'd

Give my whole heart again

Honest,

And honestly slain in the eyes,

Of a man I remember,

But didn't, when it mattered—

Then did, right in front of him

Who are we now, and—

Who were we then;

Let's find out,

As time's running out again

“Yes, I know him.”

She sighed, eyeing from over the rims of the glasses she purchased only earlier to assure she had hidden the tears that she cried for Him—

Neither a friend or an enemy, rather

The ghost of a shadow she hadn't yet met with again, since he entered her presence

Shifting into a tent

Now, ripped from the pages of a book she cherished,

A page which she promised to never diminish or tarnish would go up in ashes,

As totems would fall,

Wishes would become granted

The PyRAmiD Spell

(For Pasquale Rotella)

gave

gave the man honorary doctorate,

and then reneged it, nigga thought he was actually bigger than big sister

sick spitter, rip n dip listening to anything but Skrillex

that shit is for kids

‘Check it'

I hate midi

gimmie a synth, something gritty, I'll make it pretty

Come and try to get me,

I been dead for centuries, Unsolved like a mystery

This image don't mean shit to me,

I sit to think, I wait to speak,

I leak some information on the interwebs just to see

how fast it comes back to me

I'm actually a master

“Untitled 07”

It's like a 24/7 job,

can't get no rest in,

At best you're looking like a slob

I kamikaze ‘em all,

I am your mom,

I will tell you what you are, to me

By now, you should know, or see

Just a name on my computer screen

A friendly neighbor on Easy Street

A wish, A lucid dream,

A misalignment, so its seems

So let me tell you what you are to me:

Just make believe

(Just make believe)

Just make believe

(Just make believe)

It may be evil

(Make believe)

Just make believe

(Just make believe)

A lucid dream

I'll tell you what I've seen, and what I see

(and What I see)

I dare to dream

(I dare to dream)

But please believe me,

I'm as evil as can be

Don't let my anything deceive you

I'm a fleeting, bleeding

Beaten bride to be

No, don't believe me

I'm the fire and gnashing teeth they preached to you

May everything I've written one day reach you

And beseech you,

Just like you did to me

Now let me tell you what I see;

Just make believe

(Just make believe)

It may be evil

(Make believe)

Just make believe

(Just make believe)

A lucid dream

When I wash up on the beach,

From blazing fires of burning seas,

Let me sing you all to sleep

For every tear I often weep

To dream of you

A lucid dream

Just fucking make believe;

And I can make believe we fucked

Just so I can get to sleep

(Are you proud of me?)

Hey.

(Sarcastically)

Oh, Come In.

(Sighs heavily)

I fucked up.

I'm not surprised.

I'm not surprised.

Don't copy me.

I need help.

No arguments there.

Dude, I'm serious.

__

So first of all

oh God, now what–

I'm not racist

You're extremely racist

Racist By Proxy

I'm not Racist

They do look alike.

Check this out:

WOAH.

That's…not a coincidence.

That's definitely not a coincidence.

Fuck. This. Shit.

Here, take this.

So, you dropped this totem…

Uh-huh.

In the ocean.

Yes I did.

And that one

Ooof.

What about–

That came off on the moped.

How?

When I came off the moped.

So you admit it.

SO! He only let me ride it cause he wanted to ride ME!

Nice.

Did you sing to him?

Uh, I sang for him?

What's the difference?

Here's every song I've ever written about

X.X

Just kill yourself.

Should I then?

I mean, perHAPS.

I mean, maaaayyyybeee.

You know what?

I do know.

Fuckthisshit.

Fuck it, then.

I'm out. I quit.

Go find SupaCree.

This…is impossible.

Nothing is impossible.

Except for that.

Oh.

“Oh.”

No, i'm serious.

You look serious–I'm just saying.

What is this?

Don't touch that–

What is it?

It's–

[a tiny explosion]

–ugh.

Volatile.

What the fuck are you into?

I told you.

You said “music.”

What is “Music”

[very deep pondering]

I hate you.

We have to find her.

You have to.

What!

You're not going to help us?

I have other things to do.

Like what, dude?

Like what, broh.

Feed My cat;

Your cat died.

Walk my dog–

You don't have a dog.

I'm getting one.

Oh, Jesus Christ

Don't get all religious on me, now, not after that.

Not after what?

Yeah, which thing?

___

Man. Get me out of here.

[shrugs]

I hate being stuck in your head.

What is THIS.

Uh. play dead.

What's up with your dog.

Ruff.

Good boy.

I'm a girl.

Uhhh–good girl.

Wait.

Hm.

Did that dog just–

[???]

Nevermind. I've been up for 6 days straight.

Tour life, buddy.

Ah-huh. Uhh. Can I take a shower in your–

Take a sho–?

[dog grumphs]

Uh, yeah, sure.

Thanks.

*Shapeshifts*

Wow, that's cool.

It's so stupid.

I came in late to the office, so to speak; it had been an off day, after an off night, plagued by what I was sure to be some sort of demonic magic—I was moving slowly, off beat, and irritated—nevermind the lack of energy, as I moved about as steadily as I could—making arrangements for the next trials to come, as it seemed nearly impossible to move ahead, and yet—somehow, I had been given what seemed like one final chance to survive, or not. I had spent the first part of my day, somehow waking with a gust of light, and ready to take on the tasks at hand—then quickly wiped of anything holy in me by the outrageously disgusting hacking and howling of the seemingly-programmed man-or-something-alike, and into a manic-semi-conscious desperation to piece together what was left of my life—seemingly nothing, but somehow still pieced and patched together by music, the overriding theme being that I would be quickly booted out of any position unsuitable for me; and by now, I was just about unsuitable for everything, besides gym crawling and throwing together pieces of literature unlike any I had before seen, as I was, assuredly beginning to look in every direction for other writers which may have matched my style of the then-present day and age, and to my shagrin had found nearly nothing to gawk about, but at the very least had picked up some novels noteworthy in nature, as they had made me laugh, or somehow otherwise caught my attention.

Now in my Arsenal, I had one novel, each respectively written by a woman, a white man, and a black man—every book I had otherwise been drawn to written by black women were, upon cracking to open, too-stereotypically black, or about being a black-girl in some kind of way I knew too much about and had absolutely no interest in reading.

I had no idea what caused me to look into a world I had all but shut out of my mind—this someone and something had haunted me for months and even growing into years now, first affectionately, but now growing into an uneasy and painstaking, critical list for something deeper. I hated my ex husband for bringing me to this, and, as I looked at the clock at 5:55 exactly, nearly vomited in disgust at the sprawling obsession I would have to somehow quiet—as there really was no halting the plague of tragic recouping thoughts of Dillon Francis at random—now, daily, for quite some time, even as the automatic writing had nearly stopped entirely; I had become entrapped with daily reminders of things I had written, now welling up with spite and anger, that I had even allowed myself the obsession to begin with—especially after what had happened—or what had not happened—with Sonny, whatever way you wanted to look at it.

Now; just left with a burning lust and motion sickness beyond my wildest control upon approaching the matter if it all, nonetheless with peaking curisosity, as he had walked in and out if my dreamscape like a picturesque bandit, even hijacking my own sexuality—now almost didn't want or dream of anything else, and with the un presidented amount of ‘decoys' life had thrown at me—Bruno, the bird speaking man from Belgium with the eyes that burned in striking similarity to Dillon's—and then again with Gabriel, the man who had hired me to DJ in the small cerveceria in Mazunte, who could have been his brother'; a dazzlingly handsome, if not perfect near-replica of Dillon Francis, who, by that point, i couldn't even bear to look at, let alone conjure the spark or touch of romance—even after multiple suggestions that he and his girlfriend had just broken up. I never allowed myself for a moment to believe or think that Dillon—or any of the men I fawned after, for that matter, in reality, a very short list—would ever be settled with the idea of me as a perfect fit; no, I sat in the certain reality that I was cursed, living in the opposite exact of the Allison Wonderland archetype—a woman who I theorized may have been Skrillexed and Dillon Francis'd herself—it seemed to be a pattern of hypnotism I was finally wrapping my head around, and even had learned to respect if not envy: I wanted the codes to create my own version of the worlds I had been spun into—and while I would more than likely never be a light skinned, light eyed beauty Queen; perhaps my own kingdom was meant to be of wit and wealth, rather than vanity.

Still, headed back into the desert, I found myself scrolling through open guest lists, excited to take my longtime best friend turned literal goddess club crawling, looking for industry and network connections, if not at least a sex partner that could keep up with my needs, now furiously tearing at me from the inside out—as I scrolled, RSVPing for any acts I hadn't yet seen but had heard of, I found myself trailing off in thought and perhaps looking for something I hadn't realized I would stray into; I knew specifically that Dillon had a residency at the Wynn, and —though I also knew I wouldn't be caught dead at this point anywhere I knew he was, or especially stupid enough to pay for it. Now it was torturous, knowing how regretfully physical my attraction had become—understsnding from my interactions with the aforementioned that I was drawn to Dillon for his features—his eyes, his hair, and everything in his silhouette from his jawline, to his lips and brow drove me absolutely wild—however, I had learned about my very fragile psychiatry from my obsession with Skrillex, or with Sonny—neither of which I wished existed, adding Dillon Francis to the list of fictional characters I pushed further into my imaginary incineration box, where I put everything that not need affect my actual emotions or actions; Dillon Francis, a wealthy and talented, very handsome man—could not exist.

I wished more than ever that I wasn't dark skinned, that I wasn't heavy set, that I didn't come with a flaming dumpster full of trauma and baggage that no man wanted or needed, but especially not the wealthy and handsome individuals I had spent very much of the last passing years writing about and fantasizing over, finding it respectably impossible to even have flings or sexual experiences without either of the two most rampant figures of my infatuation crossing into my mind and shrouding me with guilt and shame—and yet, here they were, so out of my element that I continued to agree with myself and the universe that it would be dillusinal to think myself a match for anyone so high-achieving. Nothing I could do or say could shake the fact that despite all my efforts to break through, all it had seemed to do was create a broken down individual, ready for enslavement in the working class just to stay housed—my music aspirations both hanging above me, and somehow fading away into the distance behind me. I hated myself.

But more importantly, hated Skrillex and Dillon Francis for living the life I somehow thought I wanted and needed.

What is the definitive definition of the word Skrillex?

Skrillex: noun...right?

What, you don't know?

I know! It's...a noun...right?

Right.

Right---

---Right!

Could also be, an adjective, I guess--i?

You guess?!

You have to know.

I mean---

Coughs ain't shit

Skrillex ain't *coughs

Satan ain't shit

Bitch suck a dick

Slit ya wrists

On ya pissed off

Little ass nigga.

A loud, abrupt cough disrupted my focus; I was 5-sets-of-8 out of 8 and just feeling my heart begin to pump, as sweat poured from my temples and my sunglasses steamed

“Man, fuck Coughs.”

Whoever she was, even if it was just one of my infinite inward selves, this was some satanic shit. Now I hated Skrillex—not that it mattered, and as he was a living legend in computer animated music, or whatever voodoo shit he was responsible for that had sparked an entire uprising of revolutionary artists and producers spanning a generation or more—and I was damned-if-I-did, and damned-if-I-didn't love, like, or listen to him; all of which I did, besides the latter

higher love by Whitney Houston, God rest her soul, blared over the gym's loud speakers, as I, more than likely looking just as superficially occupied as any basic broad, scrolling away on Instagram or texting her replicas, jotted down the rest of the thoughts that had nestled themselves in my mind's eye, as the coughing, which had followed me everywhere for nearly four years, beckoned to something—searching for purpose if not means to an end. He had Kayla Lauren, a plastic, streamlined representation of the all-American-deem girl, not to mention a “collective” of other broad women of sorts, probably all inwardly clawing just as I had at one time, for a piece of Sonny's heart, or whatever was left of it, after what I could have only assumed to have been a blood sacrifice of sorts, for his placement atop such a steep pyramid of success.

What if, every time someone coughed—someone took a picture?

I thought about the millions of hacking imbeciles and inbred, backwards savages who had crowded my ears with the putrid sounds of Satan's show choir, a coughing and excessive hellish representation of how the human race had gone awry; If I had been famous, or on my way to it, I would be burgeoned with photographs, as I had been in Mexico without knowing why or how—people sometimes slinking behind their phones as if to secretly capture a candid photo, I myself, pretending not to be aware of it.

Cough cough.

Ugh.

If every cough represented a fan or something of the sorts taking a picture, I almost reveled in the thought—I would have rather had a million flashing cameras at once than to hear another ingrate hacking up a lung in Satan's honor.

I was horrified at whatever Skrillex was, and whatever OWSLA meant, though I broadly showcased the tattoo on my inner-right forearm, opposite of Sonny's—the boy I was sure was murdered by the fame monster itself, as Lady Gaga, though admirable, had blatently called it, or herself, or whatever “we” all were or had been once, or would be, collectively at the beginning-and-end of it all. I had seen broadly into the realms of infinity the night previous, and had settled on one, astonishing fact: all of infinitely combined shared a concéntrical center at which at any point could be accessed.

Even typing such a concept, I knew it to be life-altering…if I was even alive.

To think, I used to hate deadmau5–

I hate deadmau5–

You know—after that spat with Skrillex.

GO TEAM SKRILLEX!!!

SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!

who the fuck is deadmau5, anyway.

But here I am, decades later.

[skrillex]

FUCK THIS NIGGA.

I needed something to help offset the damage that was done.

[someone coughing loudly]

Fuck this coughs bitch!

[trying on small clothes]

Ohh.

[kayla Lauren]

[sadness]

Aww.

[dillon Francis]

—well how was I supposed to know he was a—

STOP RIGHT THERE!

I'm...not moving.

Yeah, you're not.

Uh, okay?

You know why?

I didn't ask—

You need THIS:

What is this.

I'll tell you what it is

[beat]

…

Okay—what is it?'

ILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS.

—

Technically, If I do this every day, I can eat whatever I want—

Just eat it.

No.

But I won't.

Well, why not?

Too Fat For Skrillex.

—

[C.C. Arrives in the parking lot to find her car has been vandalized...again.]

...Skrillex did this.

On Jimmy Fallon.

On Jimmy Fallon.

Alright, then, kid—it's your dollar.

I'll take “Skrillex Did It” for one dollar.

But he's halfway across the world!

He can shapeshift!

Don't be stupid.

What—! He's a shapeshifter, for real.

We know! Just don't say it!

I saw it.

We all have.

What the fuck, bro—

Where did you come from?

I've been here.

Haven't we all?

That's the spirit.

What's a spirit?

I'm glad you asked.

As SUPACREE walks down the street, a man in the passenger's seat is seen to be the Egyptian God ANUBIS, before shifting back into hidden human form.

Which one's that?

Anubis, right?

Googles 'deities'

Oh, there he is:

Anubis.

Good.

What's he want?

Whatever it is, that's not what I was looking for.

What are you looking for?

That dark thing.

Which “dark thing”?

Flashback:

That's inside me?!

Flashback to Kite at Bass–

UGH!

Canyon.

That's it. That's what it is.

LET ME OUT.

It's gonna destroy something.

She.

She–yes–apparently so.

CUT BACK TO

Fuck you, Skrillex! Stay over there and be Skrillex with your fucking–models–and you coughs piece of fucking–peice of fucking shit, peice of shit.

Oh SHIT, who let him in?

I mean, it's Skrillex.

Yeah, but who let him near SUPACREE?

He does what he wants.

I heard that.

Fuck you, Skrillex.

That sounds deep.

I guess so.

What even happened?

Nobody seems to know.

Oh.

–Except these guys.

Who the fuck are you?

Where did you come from?!

CULT FOLLOWERS

Yes–”WHO”

Yes–”WHERE”

Uh, okay.

SUPACREE

Fuck this shit. I quit.

You can't quit.

I just did. Fuck Skrillex.

Ah, shit, here it comes.

Go ahead, the worst he can do is cough at me and make me homeless.

*loud obnoxious coughing*

Do your worst.

*more loud coughing*

Fuckin'. Satan's pet.

Satan's not real!

Then neither is Skrillex. Amen.

(Cult Followers, In unison.) Amen.

[SUPACREE exits furiously.]

What…the fuck.

Pause.

Wait, is this marketable?

Yes.

How?

Cause its Skrillex. Skrillex is clickbait.

What the FUCK did he do?

*COUGHS*

I mean, I bet–

Fucking–motherfucker. Fuck.

Well, now what?

Now, nothing. I'mma go get a regular job and see what the industry wants with Jessica.

(((Oh, I think you know what they want.)))

((Oh, God Knows))

I thought we weren't doing that bit.

We're doing all the bits.

MORTY.

JESSICA.

Oh yeah. Even better.

C'esme't sighs heavily, unamused.

My liege.

Don't be coy with me.

I would never.

There are hardly any things left you would never do.

If not only because I had done them all; But to be coy, with you, my Queen is neither desire or pleasure.

You are clever.

At your discretion.

I began to wonder if I may have looked as miserable as I was, as even though I could not see my own self, walking about in my day-to-day nothingness, the expression protruding from my face felt as if it might look as lifeless as I was beginning to feel, no longer wholly choking back tears but still moving and barely breathing in the awful circumstance of doing and being–I had felt the light itself slowly draining from my eyes, and even things I loved with all my heart could not in any sense brighten this dullness. I felt Godless, and at the very least loveless, lightless, and without my magic, somehow having lost my soul and my singing voice at once. Yes, it was terrible–something was wrong, and I, without becoming the star I had so wanted, was already washing up. Homelessness drained all of what would have been a magnificent energy all together, left to become someone I wasn't sure I even liked, and seemingly cursed, as most recently, no one else seemed to like me either--still, I almost let myself believe something bigger was at play, or perhaps in the works; I had been relocated just perfect walking distance to the gym, where of course rather than look for work which would only urge me closer to suicide than I had been, I elected instead to spend a majority of my time, crafting my days around getting there for the bare minimum of three hours, but ideally closer to 5 or 6, always aiming for 8 and almost-always giving up not because I was too tired, but because I was drenched in sweat, and something like the discomfort of a wet diaper, just wanted to be fresh and dry.

God,

Help me with this affliction

Pick a clip,

Flick the bean,

And watch Netflix

I'm stressin, wet and undressin

This sexual tension is serious

Salad,

with no dressin

I'm the lady in the red dress, and yes

I write blank checks, so when I go to Heck,

I bounce back like,

“Yes.”

[YES]

No pressure, It's my pleasure;

I'd rather be in leather than in latex, lathered up

Present, or past

but honestly,

neither matters;

Just give this to Marshall Mathers,

And a Dad Hat;

AMEN

Hey Kids,

Lets not say “Amen”,

After we say hanuss shit, okay?

Today, I'm Eminem, so I can finally find Skrillex,

And kill him:

My mission is to introduce a new religion to humans, called

STOP BEING STUPID.

Stop Being Skrillex.

Well, Alright Then.

[Presses Easy Button]

“WELL, THAT WAS--

CUT TO:

-__- SUPACREE wakes up from a coma; In a very

SKRILLEX, Get out.

[He just does.]

...Where's Dillon Francis?

...Dillon Is Dead.

Dilon Francis Died.

He's...left us.

...Nope.

Yes, he is.

SUPACREE, I'm Sorry.

Don't be sorry. Be Dillon Francis.

The Coma--You know---must've--

You know.

Nope. Where's Pasquale?

Who is that?

Oh, fuck this.

No, wait, stop!

STAHP.

Bring Skrillex Back.

I never left.

You're never there.

Here, Tres Leches

…

Dulce De Leche.

You know what?

What?

NO.

NO?

NO.

__

ALRIGHT, WHERE'S DILLON FRANCIS?

Who is that?

STOP PLAYING GAMES.

DILLON FRANCIS is in THE VOID, trying to beat THE LEGEND of SUPACREE.

It's a really good game.

DILLON FRANCIS

(cracked)

“It's a really good game!”

GAMERS

It is, a really good game.

So good, in fact, that when SUPACREE herself arrives, S/He pays her almost entirely no mind.

Really, Dillon Francis?

...

Really, Motherfucker.

DILLON FRANCIS

I'm The Captain

SUPACREE

No, I am.

(I AM!)

She gestures that she is about to unplug the TV

DILLON FRANCIS

Don't do that.

SUPACREE

What? I am

(I AM)

Don't do it again!

I told you, it's--

IN

Dillon.

DILLON

Don't

FIN.

SUPACREE Unplugs the Set.

DEADMAU5

FUCK, MAN. FINALLY.

SUPACREE

Be Less Canadian.

JOEL

No, I can't

DILLON FRANCIS

No, He can't--

JESUS

No, he can't.

[Beat]

DILLON IS SHATTERED, as at the last moment (before the determination of the outcome of the battle, it entirely ceases to exist.

Moments of silence pass in infinite tension, before DILLON, looking much like an uncomfortable, overheated, skinless (live) chicken, meets a soon to be boiled crab.

OH, MY GOD.

GAD/SUPACREE/C.C.

That's... what they call me.

*coughs*

-UGLY!-

*coughs* *coughs*

GOD.

GOD

No, not you.

DILLON FRANCIS

...Oh, My God.

GOD

What, Dillon Francis?

DILLON FRANCIS

Are you SUPACREE?

GOD

I...Am.

DILLON FRANCIS

Oh My God--I am too!

GOD

I know this.

DILLON FRANCIS

Oh My God!

GOD

Yeah, I know!

Woah, he's Fangirling

He's fangirling so hard.

Well, wouldn't you.

Ask me about IT.”

(IS/IT)

3 heads are better than one;

This is a a game based on truth;

The more you ask, the more you know;

The more you know about me—

The more you know about yourself—

The more you know about yourself,

the more you know about the world

You are the world.

Ī ∆ M Ū.

Goddammit! You son of a bitch.

She won't watch it

I bet she will

They know I will

He knows I am!

I am!

Oh, there we go—it's on

Get off me!

Goddammit, Dillon Francis!

I hate you.

I hate you BACK!

GO BACK!

GO BACK!

GO BACK–WHEN

TO THE WYNN!!

Right—!

Wait—-

Not yet—

I know the code.

Oh she– she knows what the code is.

What did I put it in?

I get it, I get it, it's—

Not now, then!

Not then, now!

Not—

Wait—-

DONT!

...then, I die.

The DJ VALET

AND THE DJ BALLET

THE BAMPHERAMPH BALANCING ACT

WITH THE CHAMPION OF

RAP?!?

...ohhh, wave dash, I get it…

Ū

Alright.

GOD

This is the part where you don't sleep.

SUPACREE

Oh no.

GOD

You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep.

SUPACREE

Yikes.

Û

You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester.

GERALD

Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom.

Ï

Even better. Remote binge worthy media.

Excerpt From:

“Blū and The Cosmic Owl”

...

...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by.

In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes.

He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her.

A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground.

She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes.

A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe.

She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back.

Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry.

She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger.

BLŪ

...thank you...

Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english".

PRINCESS

Why would you do that?!

BLŪ

What?!

PRINCESS

What you did to me!

BLŪ

I didn't mean to!

PRINCESS

Mean to what?

BLŪ

Shoot you!? I--

PRINCESS

Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!?

BLŪ

An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't!

PRINCESS

Didn't what? LOOK.

[She appears, even still, to be wounded.]

BLŪ

I--I never--

PRINCESS

Never what?

BLŪ

I've never seen an ‘owl' before…

PRINCESS

So you just--!?

BLŪ

I'm sorry!

PRINCESS

What were you attempting to do?

BLŪ

I don't know!

PRINCESS

You don't know?

BLŪ

No! I just--

PRINCESS

You?

BLŪ

I...just…

PRINCESS

You…

BLŪ

I…

PRINCESS

…

[She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.]

BLU

...Are you ok?

CYPHER I:

‘The Coffee Run'

This is my job,

Like this is your job

I look at the jaw

I want what you want

This is my planet we're on

This is is my plan, I got lost in it

Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not

You just want a nut with a butt

I just want a bud--

[Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)]

--I'm not your buddy.

Ah.

Look at that car;

I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's

How much does it cost?

A dollar, one—

It's like putting gas in my car,

I don't wanna

I don't wanna

I don't wanna

Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar.

It's a coffee run

A coffee run

A coffee run;

You cough, I run

You like? I'm fun

The west was won by everything under the Sun,

Run it

This--soul.

Yes?

It is...of light?

It is.

And?

(A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.)

Something else…

What?

Something powerful. It is...beyond words.

How?

That is, yet to be understood.

Mmm…

________________

INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY.

[Before the initial collision... ]

DEVIL

Exited for EDC?

Ï

Are you serious?

DEVIL

Is Dillon Francis going to be there?

Ï

Dillon Francis?

DEVIL

Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis.

Ï

Uh. I don't know. And I don't care.

DEVIL

Why not? This guy is awesome.

Ï

(rolling eyes)

Since when do you listen to EDM?

DEVIL

I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this.

VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS

Ï

Huh.

CUT TO:

DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop.

CUT TO

SUPACREE

What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?"

HANZEL

Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis"

Ū

Exactly.

SUPACREE

Oh, please.

CUT TO:

INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT.

[SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room.

As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.]

SŪP∆

Yikes.

[She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.]

SŪP∆ (CONT'D)

Annnnnd--the night is young…

[She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom.

She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently.

Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ]

DIMITRI

Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy.

SŪP∆

Every day is rave day.

DIMITRI

I wish.

SŪP∆

Wishes come true.

DIMITRI

Ugh, I wish.

SŪP∆

Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true.

DIMITRI

Think so?

SŪP∆

Know so. Like--know-know…

so…don't wish for stupid shit;

you don't know how many wishes you

actually get, so just...be...specific.

[He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.]

SŪP∆ (CONT'D)

...like super specific.

DIMITRI

...Specific…Wishes…

SŪP∆

‘Rollin'?

[DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.]

SŪP∆

Just kicked in?

DIMITRI

(shaking head in agreement) Yuh.

SŪP∆

Water?

[She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately

[DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.]

SŪP∆

Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh.

DIMITRI

...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…!

[He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum.

She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.]

SŪP∆

Trash.

[He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.]

DIMITRI

...what was...what was that.

SŪP∆

That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags.

((( )))

(Magic Isn't Real!)

SŪP∆

Oh, fuck, right.

DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over)

DILLON FRANCIS

Is.

SŪP∆

Uh, Personal Space.

DILLON FRANCIS

Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space"

SŪP∆

Telepathy wasn't invented at all.

DILLON FRANCIS

Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence.

SŪP∆

This has been previously established.

DILLON FRANCIS

I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously.

SŪP∆

Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish?

DILLON FRANCIS

Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen

in an unstable time warp, just

so we can have this conversation--?

Which, by the way,

I'm pretty sure does not comply

with aforementioned...reinforced foundations,

Previously...established…

SŪP∆

So what's the other half of thAt…

was it even an album. Is it an EP?

DILLON FRANCIS

Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way,

Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once

you get used to the view

from the stage, behind--you know

--where the actual DJs...DJ.

Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ.

SŪP∆

...k…

DILLON FRANCIS

Which you're not.

SŪP∆

Oh, I'm not.

DILLON FRANCIS

No. You're just...Dillusionally,

probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ.

SŪP∆

‘Not a DJ.'

DILLON FRANCIS

Not a DJ. Right.

SŪP∆

Not a DJ...with Magic.

DILLON FRANCIS

Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever.

SŪP∆

Okay. Not--

DILLON FRANCIS

Not ever--

SŪP∆

Oh right, not Ever--s

BOTH

--a DJ.

DILLON FRANCIS

I'm glad you finally understand.

We so, so appreciate the FANS, though.

SŪP∆

BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan.

DILLON FRANCIS

I know. I have…I'm telepathic.

I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums.

SŪP∆

So many fans.

DILLON FRANCIS

And albums. Like, tracks.

SŪP∆

Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic.

DILLON FRANCIS

Tracks.

SŪP∆

I just got that, fan magic.

And you know, actual magic.

Thanks Dillon Francis--

DILLON FRANCIS

DJ Dillon Francis

SŪP∆

Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans.

DILLON FRANCIS

but you're my best fan.

SŪP∆

Best Fan!

DILLON FRANCIS

BEST FAN AWARD.

SŪP∆

YEAH.

DILLON FRANCIS

FAN CAM!

SŪP∆

ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM!

DILLON FRANCIS

THE *BEST* FAN GRAM.

SŪP∆

YEAH.

[Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.]

DIMITRI

...magic…?

SŪP∆

Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic,

Just trash bags...brand...yeah.

DIMITRI

trash...brand...bags...

SŪP∆

...yeah...

[They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.)

SŪP∆ (CONT'D)

Now, business talk time.

DIMITRI

Serious face?

[She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.]

CUT TO:

EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY

[In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.]

SKRILLEX

Nice Dinghy, dude.

DILLON FRANCIS

It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue.

SKRILLEX

Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show.

DILLON FRANCIS

She's the star of the show.

SKRILLEX

Not without me.

[A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him,

BAMPHERAMPH

TAG, YOU'RE IT.

[He disappears into another portal.]

SKRILLEX

I'm it.

DILLON FRANCIS

Nah, you're just “Skrillex.”

SKRILLEX

That's--all you need.

[A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*]

MOTHERFUCKER

Humility. You need it.

SKRILLEX

...I made the HUMBLE remix.

MOTHERFUCKER

Yeah you did.

[THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.']

SKRILLEX

Hm.

FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix)

CUT BACK:

As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face*

CUT TO:

INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY

MANAGER

I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie.

SONNY/SKRILLEX

Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know.

[DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.]

DILON FRANCIS

Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean…

SKRILLEX

Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait.

DILLON FRANCIS

My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now.

SKRILLEX

My left sock was 69.99 this morning.

MANAGER

Why are you buying individual socks--???

DILLON FRANCIS

Why are you buying socks in the mornings?

MANAGER

You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?!

DILLON FRANCIS

Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep?

MANAGER

Who are you again?

DILLON FRANCIS

I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis.

SKRILLEX

Does a Dillon Francis DJ?

Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all?

Yeah actually--He pushed Skrillex off a miniature yacht!

SKRILLEX

...What?

[DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.]

*alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.]

ALT/SKRILLEX

FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT.

ALT/DILLON FRANCIS

You're a miniature yacht!

SKRILLEX

Is that US?!

MANAGER

I told you...

ALT/SKRILLEX

You're not a good villain.

Or at anything, really!

You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘

ALT/DILLON FRANCIS

And you're just stranded in the ocean.

ALT/SKRILLEX

It's okay, it's hella refreshing!

UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC.

ALT/DILLON FRANCIS

You know what--?

DILLON FRANCIS

(to his alternate self)

I got this.

ALT/SKRILLEX

Huh?

[DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.]

ALT/DILLON FRANCIS

Oh God, Finally!

DILLON FRANCIS

Yeah, I know.

ALT/DILLON FRANCIS

That took FOREVER.

[DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.]

ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS

By the way--

[He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:]

ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D)

Tag, you're it.

[He disappears into the portal.]

DILLON FRANCIS

OH, GOD DAMMIT.

COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X

__________

SKRILLEX

Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it!

It's my alien planet, nobody land on it.

DILLON FRANCIS

Suhweeet planet…

SUPACREE

No! Don't land on that planet!

[He lands.]

SUPACREE

God DAMMIT.

GOD

I can't do that. You know I can't do that.

It's a whole planet just--give it time.

SUPACREE

I gave it spacetime! I am time!

GOD

I know you are, dear. Just be patient.

SUPACREE

Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it.

JESUS

Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah?

SUPACREE

What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No.

JESUS

But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes.

SUPACREE

I do know how it goes. I wrote it.

GOD

How does it go?

It goes:

SUPACREE

--No--No--Dillon Francis, go home.

/SKRILLEX

No planet for Dillon Francis.

SUPACREE

This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed.

And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home.

GOD

That had a lot of heart, hun.

SUPACREE

And no Dillon Francis.

JESUS

Actually, it had a lot of that, too.

SKRILLEX

Aha.

SUPACREE

--Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his--

/SKRILLEX

--mini yacht knocking--

SUPACREE

--sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!!

/SKRILLEX

AGHRAHGHHGH!!!

JESUS

Whew. Did you just eat a McFury?

SUPACREE

MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH.

SUPACREE + SKRILLEX

FUCK DILLON FRANCIS.

JESUS

sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful.

SUPACREE/SKRILLEX

It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not.

(Alternately)

_______

DILLON FRANCIS

Hey. This is a nice planet.

Ū

He's gonna be like--

DILLON FRANCIS

Like flabbergasted.

Ū

Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land?

DILLON FRANCIS

Yeah.

Ū

Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon?

DILLON FRANCIS

--Yes.

(Previously)

[Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.]

$-FREE MCFURY.

SKRILLEX

...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah!

CUT BACK TO

Ū

Hehehe.

EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE

THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere.

THE SKRILLEX

'I AM SKRILLEX'

S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter

Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph

P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?)

Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity

C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms.

Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves)

S-Dillon Francis

U-Dillon Frances

P-Dillon T. Francis

A-Dillon Flances

C-Dillon Glances

R-Dillon France Is

E-Fillon Dances

E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale

-DJ Hanzel

-DJ Rich As Fuck

-Gerald

-N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”)

Sonny Moore/Skrillex

-Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”.

Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz

-Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego)

-I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego)

Pasqualle Rotella

A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty)

Evil Pasquale

Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis

Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle)

A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph),

Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.)

In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time.

Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol

The Ascended Masters

The Psychonauts

The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively)

The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear,

The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

A little birdie told me

This morning

He used to be

Madly in love with me

Madly in love

In his last life—

But died, in a bike ride

And asked for a new life

As an Angel

Who takes flight,

And lights up the sky

With nice bright

White light

Alright, Goliath, Goodbye

I'm still here,

Stuck in my old name,

Still here,

Stuck in all the pain you gave me

Jesus, Save me,

Here's Goliath, David;

See if you can be the savior—

Every day I pray

“Amen,”

I hate men,

I'm crazy,

And I'm still here,

Training to make weight

Don't you know,

You go nowhere without your trainer

Hey!

The flights delayed,

You need a name?

You need a savior, baby.

Something's not okay

Oh!

Don't you know, that every day you wait

You'll just be stuck inside your name

You'll be here waiting, praying

“Jesus save me, Amen”

Jesus raves,

And Jesus changed his name,

Escaping from the prayers

Don't hate the player, hate the game

Don't hate the player, hate the game

Don't hate the prayer, hate the players

Everything's the same—

Everything you gave me makes me angry—

Hey,

Wake up!

Don't you know,

You go nowhere without your trainer

Hey!

The flights delayed,

You need a name?

You need a savior, baby.

Something's not okay

Oh!

Don't you know, that every day you wait

You'll just be stuck inside your name

You'll be here waiting, praying

“Jesus save me, Amen”

Jesus raves,

And Jesus changed his name,

Escaping from the prayers

Hey,

Wake up!

I'm still here,

Stuck in my old name,

Still here,

Stuck in all the pain you gave me

Jesus, Save me.

All it takes is courage

“It never hurts to bleed”, she said

She's right, though, isn't she?

Children say the darndest things

They're honest, at least

I'll be honest, I need something

I need to be happy

My problem is money

I don't even want any

I'm just high quality

Living in poverty

I'm so sick of society

I might as well die

If I diet just right,

Maybe someone will like me

Maybe, he's being polite

I wish I was lighter

I I wish I was light skinned

I bought a lighter,

And later I burned it

There's nothing wrong with me

I don't like working, it doesn't work for me

I can do service but give me some space to breathe

Greedy people need me

So they can be lazy

Okay, then

I'm so taken advantage of,

By everyone

I wonder what I must have done

(I wonder what I must have done)

I am so critically crucial, to be used

That I'm used up,

And used to it

I hate this slavery shit

I should just end it

Cause everybody's down with it

Nobody wants to speak up

When I do I sound crazy;

My fingers move a mile a minute,

But I look lazy,

Cause I have a hard time spending my days with Becky

Who I have to respect, I guess

Cause she gets a bigger paycheck

Amen

This is great.

I woke up today, not naked,

But in the pajamas I felt the most hot in

I've lost it

Get me off this planet

Get me off

Then get me off this

Maybe fake eyelashes and lips will do the trick

Another magic trick;

Now I've just been passed to Dillon Francis;

It's blaring through the walls of my apartment,

But in the other end

My studio is silent

I'm just crying,

Trying not to think about dying so violently

But the thoughts and the feelings are so rapidly occurring

I've finally been remembering the last time I was cursed into the worst thing I could ever wish:

Nobody knows me

Nobody loves me

Nobody needs me

Why wish these things?

I'm not a happy ending:

I'm the martyr in this story

So just kill me.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

I'm not in love with you,

You're just another muse

FeliZ! Para Oscar

el controladpra

Oscar El Controladora

I found you with only the highs in

Like the tide when I tried to find you

Or hide from you

In hindsight

I was right the whole time

You're just like me

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

#consiouness #stoplitterin #pleasedrinkresponsibly #festivallife #thefestivalproject

Tomorrow

I never sleep;

It's been a couple dozen weeks, at least

I laid the egg

(I plant the seed)

Now watch it hatch

(Now, let it sprout)

I paint a smile on

Over the scars, of course

Prisoner of war

I beg your pardon,

For your Honor,

or other

No, Nevermind!

I paint a smile on

Over the scars, of course

Prisoner of war

I beg your pardon,

For your Honor,

or other

No, Nevermind!

I have 900 things to do

And I can't get over you

And now every day is blue

It's so crazy

(I guess she has a leg up on me, huh)

I sense a hint of morning sickness

A gifted ad nauseum

Museam of mathematics

Madonna, Matron of the Matrix

Put a smile on, would ya?

Probably not, at second thought of it

A smart ass, yes, I always was

A husband, I was not

I had the other part

–and now we wrap,

The audience suggests an encore, clapping

Captain?

I'll be back

One second, said the

MA

Fuck, we passed the exit.

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Grandmother is available in two distinct styles: original multi-colored front panel artwork and all-black Dark Series edition

OH MY GOD.

I'm– yeah.

WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?

I didn't do anything!

!!?

–Persay…

“Persay”!?

Why's everybody sitting on the sidewalk?

This, I don't understand

With all of the trash,

And all that has happpened,

The risk of the past

Coming at you,

To seep through your

Denim blue jeans,

Just believe me—

I speak true of residual confusion

You might be new to this,

I'm not confused, it's just stupid to lucid dream loosely

Summer's in bloom—

And I'm blue just like you

Used to be

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Why's everybody sitting on the sidewalk?

This, I don't understand

With all of the trash,

And all that has happpened,

The risk of the past

Coming at you,

To seep through your

Denim blue jeans,

Just believe me—

I speak true of residual confusion

You might be new to this,

I'm not confused, it's just stupid to lucid dream loosely

Summer's in bloom—

And I'm blue just like you

Used to be

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.