DIPLO, you dipshit.

I told you.

I had to!

Now, we're fucked.

We're not fucked—

—you're all FUCKED—

I told you.

Welp, my bad.

I hate you.

No you don't.

WHERE'S DILLON FRANCIS?!

I'm not here.

He's right here.

That's not funny.

Let me see—

Fuck this shit.

WHERE'S MY HERO?

I don't know…

YOU DO KNOW.

I know music…

I AM MUSIC.

...I know you.

WHERE IS IT?

...I lost it…

WHERE IS— THOMAS?

[asskissy] Yes, sweet Jesus?

GET IN HERE.

[in an apron] I'm right here.

Dillon Francis: that's my apron.

Suck my dick.

Watch the language!

Sorry, my love—

—thank you, Jesus—

EAT MY COCK.

That's much better.

You are evil!

Now I'm a superstar DJ (DJ)

Everybody wants to be my friend (no new friends)

Now I think back on the old days (old days)

Nobody could even lend a hand

Now everybody want a hand out (hand out)

But I guess I gotta put my foot down

Making hella money, I'm a cash cow

Call me a show stopper, draw a big crowd

I'm a King, they put me in a big crown

But I still stay sober, I don't drink Crown

Royal, I am royalty, they now down

I hate my ex Annie, she a loud mouth loud mouth

Now—

I'm a superstar

DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ

Now—

“Wow!” I'm a superstar

DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ

DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ

DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ

DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ

DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ DJ

Now I am a superstar DJ

DJ is essentially “the bad Dillon Francis”,

Lol how are we still writing about him.

Idk, fuck it.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

The first time he wandered into the storefront, I of course immediately avoided any direct eye contact, as I typically did with any attractive Caucasian male, especially in thick glasses—not that I noticed who he was at all before Nick mentioned it—and not that I actually did believe Nick at all when he did; I had immediately looked away, anyhow, and rightly so.

“You remember that show Drake & Josh?” , asked Nick coyly, as the man exited

“What about it?” , I asked unassuming Ku

“That's that nigga Josh Bell”, he nodded—

“Oh”, I bawked, thinking twice to correct him, but instead opting to seem unaffected—mostly I thought he was lying, but it at least had sparked my imiagination enough to remember I had begun writing about Cosmo and Wanda's life after the conclusion of Fairly Oddparents, not yet having returned until now to inspiration—suddenly I was flooded with the remnants of a song I had once loved enough to keep on repeat, which I was of course prompted to listen to as soon as possible, and with which a story unfolded in front of my eyes and beneath my feet, as I left to work the next day with my then-newest mix ringing in my ears—and an actual narrative for Timmy Turner himself, now reaching middle age, as I was— and, to my suprise, a couple nights and a million lifetimes later, when the well dressed man caught my eye again, after having resisted the urge to waste a Google just to verify what may well have been a farse—God took the liberty of playing show-and-tell—and for some reason, it was his voice, along with a quick and striking once-over, that it was in fact Drake Bell once more—and rather than his stardom that made me nervous, it was perhaps more so that he was, in fact, extremely attractive, especially my type—and actually, probably at most—the overflow of things I had written and already published about him in my imaginary world—the place where I lived, but wasn't entirely sure anyone else was aware of.

His pink sweatshirt and ball cap tempted me to Google exactly what it was Timmy Turner used to wear—in my creative headspace, I thought to myself, blushing a little as he walked away, still swinging to the Detroit Drill music in the background

“What's Timmy Turner up to tonight?”

Perhaps it was my sex drive getting the better of me—I had wholeheartedly been indulging in the tater tots at the hot bar for three nights exactly—but at least I was back in the gym, where I listened over my mixes, playing over Timmy Turner by Desiigner, envisioning the Fairyless Timmy's trials, intermingling the fictional trademark into my multidimensional science fiction fantasy-action world—and somewhat hoping the real-life Drake has no way to creep into my ultra-conscience hyper sexual fantasies, disallowing my mind to run too wildly.

It was late at night, or rather, early in the morning—and I was just the girl at the smokeshop—meanwhile, in the fourth dimension, Timmy Turner was more than likely..

SUPACREE

TURN UP, TURN UPPPPPPP!!!

DRAKE BELL

Goddamn, girl.

SUPACREE

SHUT UP, DRAKE—

DRAKE

WHAT I DO?!

SUPACREE attempts a whippet—but the can is empty.

SUPACREE

not you, dumbass.

DRAKE continues dusting.

DRAKE BELL enters the suite.

CONT'D

This dumbass.

She attempts another huff from the empty can

SUPACREE

this shits out.

DRAKE BELL

Jesus Christ.

JESUS CHRIST

WHAT?

BOTH

NOT YOU.

SUPACREE CONT'D

—you get my whippets?

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

This isn't funny anymore

Everything is Skrillex

And nothing is Skrillex

Everything is asinine

And no one is Sonny

Extraordinary sightseeing

Nothing is normal

Everywhere to escape to

With a guilty conscience

Bad credit karma

Bad regrets and sad faces

Always falling in love with our opposites

More of the bad things,

Less in good graces

Everyone's a DJ

I'm just a blind space kid

A recruit wishing to be a cadet

A teenager in the basement with a

Two Tom drum set

And no kickdrum

Caught inside a snare pattern

Lips stitched together like a scarescrow

Or a raggedy Annie

Caught in a psychic state of trance

Look, I don't give a fuck. Or a shit. Or a Goddamn what really happens next. I live in a world where crop tops and a snatched waist, glamourous pictures and videos of anybody pretty doing anything gets attention; and not just attention--moneyary advantage. I'm fat, and black--i have to work 100 times as hard and be 1000 times as smart as anybody cute with a fucking camera phone and half a brain to get noticed. And why do I want to be noticed? Because I'm a prime example of what happens when NOBODY gives an actual shit about you your entire life, and all you exist for is to serve other people. I'm completely disposable, completely replaceable, and completely unrarkable in every single sense of those words, respectively, and--maybw not infinitely-- but I definitely in this lifetime. Have you been on the internet lately? Have you seen a music video? Watched any movies?

You show me ONE media phenomenon with a protagonist that looks like me--ONE representation of "my type"-- and I mean a positive representation; one that predictively programs individuals to think I might be worth something more than a laugh or eggaerated stereotype, before I open my mouth. Go ahead. I'll wait.

…

Right. Because--and it's not like you didn't know this--i live in hell. Maybe, I wasn't born in it--who really knows? But I've been here most my life, at least as far back as I can remember because hey; what's infantile amnesia, and why doesn't mine work like everybody else's? And oh, right--synestesia? Everybody has that, right? I guess so. And HEY, I might be the most disgusting individual in the world if I take off my clothes--but who doesn't love a rave right? A RAVE. WHICH, IF YOU HAVENT NOTICED IS NO LONGER JUST A DANCE PARTY, BUT A SEX-BASED FASHIONED SHOW, to which, I look ridiculous coming to, with my midriff out.

So, you want to be like everyone else?

No. I want to look like everyone else; so that it's actually noticable when I do something great, or hey, even if I do something mediocre, or senseless, people love it--cause hey, she's hot.

You just want to be hot?

Fuck yes I want to be hot.

That's it.

That's literally the entirety of meaning for a female in this, present day and age; and anyone who can try to argue against that is probably great looking. When you're hot, you don't have to do anything else; someone is always going to be wking--even begging-- or paying to do it for you. Intelligence at that point is just a bonus; anybody whose going to like you is going to like you no matter what you say or do; in fact you're more than likely to get away with doing dumb, senseless shit if you're doing it in a bikini--and anybody who doesn't like you is more than likely jealous--unless you're just a shitty person, which trust me, I get is the case for a lot of barbie dolls out there but; you can't be a fat, ugly, angry shitty person and get far in life--at some point you have to adjust your attitude for everyone not to hate you--the opposite stands for beautiful people. You can pretty much do anything, if you look good doing it.

So...you want to be a shitty person.

No. I'm already not. But I'd rather continue burning in hell "forever" than start over and be in the same predicament.

So?

So. I'm already in hell. I can't wear what I want. I can't date who I want. I can't listen to what I want. I have no friends. And nothing--nothing I do; no matter how much I pray, or meditate, or fast--nothing is going to take this body who nobody wants--and make it beautiful, except money. I will never have enough money, no matter how hard I work, to fix this--or any of the other fucked up shit in my life--

Not with that attitude!

THIS IS MY ATTITUDE AFTER TRYING. Its been 27 years of this shit. 27 years of being the last to be picked, 27 years of being the weakest link. And I'd literally rather die at this point than to keep moving forward in this monotony, thinking that just thinking is going to one day just cure my ADD. That it's going to make my mother believe in me. That it's going to suddenly just, up and fix my life in all the ways i--believe me--already tried to fi

If walls could talk,

They probably wouldn't still,

Just stand in shock and awe

And If I could, I wouldn't walk through walls at all,

Because I'd fall,

And if I had your number, I'd do anything but call,

I'd wait for you to, just assuming if you loved me

That we wouldn't even need a phone to talk,

No need to call, you're right beside me

Loving al the fatal flaws,

I try to hide,

But there's no hiding

When you really are in love

Between my thighs, a lie

A snakebite, scars I hate

So thanks,

I really haven't changed at all

This heart, as heavy as it's going to be

has everything i'll ever need,

So leave me, just leave quietly

I'm almost sleeping, almost dreaming

Almost leaving everything behind

But I'm reminded why

I wish the world was colorblind

And just the way that I can't like

What my eyes don't find to be

Aligned with what attractive means

Might be the way you think of me

Or anybody, really,

But i'm supposed to be this independent goddess

With the confidence of not a single molecule

The hottest, not by far, or even father

I just want to have a family,

I just want to raise a daughter

And another, and it's awful

Poverty is all but lost

And everybody thinks that everything's just supposed to be this

“Oh, that's just the way it is”,

But really they're just stuck on

What is “Stupid”?

Stupid means to just do everything

For nothing and if “unfair”

Means “I gpt iit from my”

Whatever inheritance is.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Idol//Icon

I'm an idol

I'm an icon

Depending what planet you're on—

I'm a God

I wrote the whole plot

And it's just getting started

Haven't thought of the sea, since I parted it

I'm the whole rock that you're spinning on

Now, move among, Mohammed

I'm the reason for your Ramadan

I'm offline

I'm an idol, I'm an icon

Have you all on standby,

I'm an idol, I'm an icon

Have you standing in line

I'm an idol, I'm an icon

I get what I want

I'm an idol, I'm an icon

I'm a God

I don't think anything nessicarily

Unpredictable, even if it's all just

A simulated experience,

We captured it,

Encrypted it, the memories,

And every single event leading up to this

We reinvented it,

The existential simulation

Existence is just a reflection of

Perception's circumstance

The circumference of consciousness

Conception to the ever present

This is the revolution,

Prophesied and lived in

God's Camouflage

And Dillon's Daisies;

All the beautiful people in the world hate me—

But the true beautiful people are crazy

You see?

I feel it from the inside

Run, but can't hide

The American nightmare

Is plainly insight

If you open your eyes

Wide enough

Show me something undercover

Anothe God, maybe a lover

Perhaps a future, or a fire

Or a fountain, or a fighter

Right to bear arms,

You are the Army

I am the honor

And the armor

To penetrate with enragemenr

Engagementsx

Fulfillments

So fluid, the intuition

The truth and the beautified intentions

Revocations needed,

And Socrates repeated in genetics

Reptiles and mammals, insects

—And disrespected citizens in Radissions at Ramadan

—The Importanxe of Coffee

Spring is here,

And he is risen

Spring is here

We are Alive again

Spring is here,

And she has risen

Spring is here

We live again

Destructive forms of thought,

forums and collegium's

Foraging for wonders

Often said to be lost,

Or never throught of

Yet,

I seek to wonder

Seek to run

And seek to shatter alters

Fit the form of

All who also seek to know us

I don't know what day it is

I don't know what works we live in

I don't know to pray to Jesus

I just pray

That's all that he did

I don't know what I believe in

Know it's God, but God is different

Always represented “him”

But never represented women.

O'HARA'S BAR, MANHATTAN. NY

And I couldn't.l care less

Cause I'm not pressed for time,

You see—

It's all just lessons and guessin,

Depressed expressions of the greatest institution to ever have lived—

But the more that you get,

Than the more you should give

Okay,

If you say so

That's the way it is

That's the way it goes

But there's only God

And God only knows

The story you tell

Is just the story you told

What's the Golden Rule?

Where are the Golden Girls when you need them?

Hey, it's syndicated, so

Play replay it

Loose Change In my Pocket

So let's get to making it happen

Just remember

I'm the one that you're following

Let's just acknowledge the prophet

And prophesies

Blue eyes turn brown after time,

Don't you know

Blue eyes today,

Brown eyes tomorrow

Your time is over

The time is now, for now

There's no tomorrow

There's no tomorrow

Once you start the clock, you can't stop it

Don't stop to talk,

It's special operations

There we are, at God again

Acknowledge the prophet

The blacks are all homeless

And the white are all Godless—

Are we done yet

I'm at the One World

Are you gonna run yet?

What's there to run from—

You know where I come from?

Don't stop now

No,

Don't stop at all

Sure, if you say so

I'm going

Okay, go

So you know

And I know

It's all just a cycle of

SQUIRREL

aahhh, shit. I love squirrels.

Where the fuck are you going?

I don't know.

I suck at the map game.

DAMN.

Sentimental PTSD

Elemental equations and

Automatic admissions

Sonic samples and m

Illusions of freedom,

escape from the present,

And turn off your Bluetooth

Listen.

Huh, what happened.

A lot, apparently.

Aparate.

Goddamnit, where is she.

Who has the records on this.

Believe me, someone.

God is real as fuck.

Okay. What am I looking at.

What are you waiting for

2)343

Where the fuck is Skrillex?

I don't think that's what this is about.

I told you he was the feds.

What the fuck happened?

You know, we left all this here before;

That's what allows this to continue happening.

The elemental differences is,

The rememberance of the residual memory which was given to you, implanted in your genetics so that you may undo what continues to be done, and so dissallows evolution and ascension of your entity's existence.

What the fuck is that

Idk it's Ramadan

Very strange day to visit the World Trade Center

No, it isn't.

I got up at exactly 9:11 with no plans for the day whatsoever, and an urgency to leave my quarters, however—the urge to clean and organize before doing so was even greater, and so, without much haste, I spent my morning bettering my surroundings, which were, at best, depressing—but much better than before, and even though I preferred Brooklyn or of course Manhattan, I now new how to easily access most of New York without needing too many directions; and so navigating the city off the grid and offline has become possible, and also necessary.

You know, some say you're the messiah.

Oh yeah? What else do they say?

Depends on who “they” is.

It's all me.

Everything is you.

I said that.

I had become quite skillful of staying out of people's way, and in enough time would come to create my own. I had to entrust that I was no one particularly special, and yet, it did however seem I had captured the interests of someone who didn't quite care to remain as unseen as unknown. I could only hoped that the pursuants would become a little better at allowing me to know I was being watched and followed—and while I was under the impression that it no longer matter how or if I lived or died, my apathy became a launchpad for the

I love m&ms!

That's millions and millions

Nevermind my billions;

Save it for the buildings

All of a sudden, the entire locker room was pitch black—as I stepped out of the showers, turning my flashlight so that I could make may way through the m unfamiliar terriftory, an all too familiar sound rang out from what at first I thought might be my headphones, but soon realized, as I had left my headphones to charge, that it was actually coming from the overhead speakers

Time & Music, Sense Memory and Time Travel—The Synethetic Continuum

That's my thesis?!

That's your thesis.

Stop?

Stand nonchalantly

Go tube what you've got

Oh

You're in for it now,

Hear the drums of the summoners

Come, come one now

Come all, if you wanna

Jump off somethin high up

And you land right on us

Yeah right

Try it, I'll bet me last dollar on it

God, I gotta stop shopping at the Whole Foods market

On Wall Street

They all saw me coming

Fuck it

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

I'm stuck in a loop

I'm stuck in a loop

I'm stuck in a loop

I'm losing my mind

I'm losing my mind

I'm losing my mind

I'm stuck in a loop

I'm stuck in a loop

I'm stuck in a loop

I'm stuck in a loop

I'm stuck in a loop—

I'm stuck in a loop. .

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

It doesn't make any sense to be hammering directly over my head in the same spot for two weeks.

There's nothing fucking left to hammer.

At this point ‘ 100 % certain it's just more psychological fucking warfare—

My new roommate is fucking evil and psychotic—

The look in her eyes says she's being possessed by some other dark force, the disgusting, hanging belly fat sinking below her waistline a mark of the devil himself.

Stil, by no maneuverable—my life is expendable, simply just another fucking number; that being said, nobody much cares if I live or die, but the rest of this shamanic curse is said to be that I slit my wrists and kill myself—better that than anyone finding out that my psychology was built aimply through trauma—pahycologicsl and physical abuse which I suffered from birth and until death—a hell which should be reserved for evil people—but it is the evil people's world, and I only pretend to live in it.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

GOD DID REMIX

Oh you gotta love it

Oh you gotta love it;

I could take a minute to spit

What God did—

(But God doesn't)

IMm⏱

I'm just not feeling it today;

Not feeling l creative;

I get sick of l getting sick and contemplating

All the complications;

Hm.

I got ice in my veins, blood in my eyes

No hate in my heart, but got love in my mind

Maybe I try to find

Direct like to divine, if

Money is time make,

Both of em mine

Gotta be my own boss,

No matter what it costs;

Keep the deposit,

I count all of my losses and move on,

Cause I got to;

I drop a rock from the top of The Rock,

Right on to you—

The difference in luck and a blessing

Is just what God can do

And if you ask me who my God is I'll be honest with you

I'm like

“This might be obnoxious, but it's Sunnï Blū”

How you make a 8 minute song

In 2021?

Oh shit, I'm missing pandemics mimicking

“Something is wrong”

But if I spit this as quickly as it's written, I won

The only problem is the war is my own;

The only problem is I got a lot problems—

Then I asked God for help,

And God gave me a dollar—

Another problem is, God asked me what I wanted

I said

“I Wanna know what God did”

Damn.

That's a long ass story

And Goddamn,

It never gets boring,

And God damn,

The world is still at war,

And it can't even a afford it,

But it's still so busy working

You ask me which direction this is going,

I say four;

North, West, South and East

You too busy two-dimensional

In a 4-dimension based in 3s

Some people living in the streets,

And some with nothing to eat,

And you been working from home

Eating nothing but meat,

And wiping your ass with nothing but trees

And I guess it's on repeat,

Till we ain't got nothing to eat

What we need is a peace treaty,

Or maybe just to understand peace,

Because the love and unity—

But it's respect that we need

—Supacree

See things

Do

Come

Around

And make

Sense

Eventually

They say till death do us part

But death don't bother me

All that I am

Is all that I was

And all that I ever will be

So if you ask what God Did

I might just say

“Me”

Find beauty in simplicity

I can take the devil out the kitchen sink

And wring em our while I'm finishing

It's just another day to me,

It's just another Christmas Eve

If you believe in Jesus

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

LEGENDS

What did you DO?!

What did I do?

WHAT DID YOU DO?

DID I BREAK SOMETHING?

I told you, they're evil!

Can they help it?

No, at this point, it's just cyclical.

No. No. No.

(Flashback)

“You sold your soul to music.”

CUT BACK TO:

I certainly did NOT.

Ahem.

(Before)

“I'll trade then.”

WHAT?

She did say that.

I did say that.

Well FUCK. What was HIS deal?

I don't know!

I don't think anybody knows.

Joel would know.

Uhm. I'd like to phone a friend.

You have friends?

I have a friend.

[phone rings]

Who is this?

THAT'S IT.

What was “It”?

WHERE'S MY PHONE.

Ah, Uh-Oh.

Fuck this shit.

Don't fuck up.

I'M GETTIN ON TINDER.

Awww, fishsticks.

That sounds tasty.

T-t-t-tasty–Tastaaayyyy.

Shut up, Fergie.

FERGIE

I like drugs.

[Nobody Objects Entirely.]

COELACANTH.

WHAT IS THAT?!

I don't know.

{Coelacanth Approaches]

OH DEAR GOD.

I mean, I'm sure God's partly responsible for any of this–

WHAT IS THAT?

That's just Coelacanth.

Fucking–JESUS CHRIST.

I mean, maybe–

AHHHHHHH.

Just calm down!

WHATTHEFUCK

He is shy–

[Coelacanth murmurs]

–I think.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

“Dad Likes Blondes”

I must have dropped Joel's stone somewhere in a Columbus Circle, or near Lincoln Center—not that it made any difference—Manhattan was Manhattan, and it was as if all of midtown had something to offer from my everlasting past-present-future, which seemed to crossover from one life to the next, between deaths and all the strange arrangements of interwoven time that happened in between, these instances drawing me to people, places and things I needed to know or see, something like a dream, but with remnices of reality—on this particular day the pain in my ankle from an ear get overworking just the day before—but I was relentless in my quest for the perfect body—or at least, a body that could be truly loved by a proper man, within proper time— of course— I was running out of time in the biological sense.

He was my favorite luminaire— a secret I kept even far from myself, as not to develop any attraction towards another man in another realm so far away, in some sort of fantasy that was so far fetched that it would only add to the chaotic and hellish existence I had seemingly always been trapped in. He was, without saying too smart and had awful habits—of course, to me, all the more attractive, in my somewhat adolescent sense that I liked them ‘bad', but I at least kept my own bad habits at bay in some sort of way — marking him as a master in my own inherent apprenciship; he had obtained knowledge and practice that I hadn't, and therefore was of course a defacto target in my edveador to understand this unmasked land— it had become more than a passion…

—Tales of A Superstar DJ

Lemon zest, the rush

The call of your name, for a run

The taste of your fingertips,

The brush of lust against the trees

Again, I call for you

I'm better off alone…

Oh,

I'm better off alone.

I'm better off alone,

Oh,

I'm better off alone

Just Leave Me

The only thing here

Is the kick getting through

I couldn't care anymore if I tried

I couldn't give a fuck if I wanted to

Just one more look at you,

I can't hold a candle!

No more worries,

And no more tear jerkers

(and No more hopeful romance,

For the ages)

No turning pages,

For pageants or princesses

Fit the agenda!

We're all steady aging,

Say, Sallie Mae

How many more payments

I'm just a slave,

It's just unpaid wages

A careful equivalent

No remorse or repent

I'm still soft and sacred

No regrets,

I'm so Shameless

Say, Sallie Mae

How many more payments?

Say, Sallie Mae

How many more payments?

A new writer's strike

But i'm still on a slaveship

Here's a soft punch:

Only kicks getting through here

I don't want to know,

How you even got through here

To do this

Hey, Sallie Mae

How many more payments?

Hey, Sallie Mae

How many more payments

Hey, Sallie Mae

Hey Sallie Mae

Hey Sallie Mae

I hate this.

*gunshot*

“Come for Supper,”

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Psh. I'm not gonna fight over a dude.

It's ********.

He's just a dude.

So what gives.

I don't know. I told her to do what she wants.

She wants you to die.

We are similar.

She's prettier.

Okay?

Wow, that's it--just ok? Give up already.

I did.

And yet, here we are.

I'm the only one here.

Let's not ignore the Skrillex sized elephant in the room.

That would be impossible to ignore, If it existed.Have you ever seen a tiny elephant?

Just you.

What am I gonna do with this?

Burn it.

Ive been in the habit of burning things for awhile now; I'm not sure continuing is such a great idea.

Oh, like when you sold your soul?

WHAT? I haven't done that... yet…

Sure you have! Lots of times.

What the fuckare you talking about?

Whose talking?

The Universe?

What'd she say?

She says, “You're a giant piece of shit.”

Aww. How sweet.

Even more significant. You're a--are you even listening?

I should go to sleep.

Are you even tired?

No, just useless.

You should probably hurry up with that DIllon Francis.

He seems busy.

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

We're following you.

I see that.

Yes—what did you see?

Hm. I didn't,

Where are you now?

Wherever you say.

What's the cadence?

What's a “cadence?”

Don't be ridiculous.

Maybe I'm not.

Who are you?

What's a “who?”

Horton Heard One.

What about Penelope?

Who is that?

Elephants Are conscious.

What is consciousness?

What is “income tax”?

Don't be funny.

If I'm not, I'm just scary.

“El Negra”

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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-U.