[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

Is it ironic

To eat your

Whole foods

Hot lunch

At starbucks–

While your phone charges,

Watch the homeless bums get kicked out;

But not you–

You're undercover

You're the one let,

Just a shelter dog at central par,

No lost;

Just not gone,

And not God, yet

Just not God, yet

Not God yet

(But God to someone, prob'ly–

I promise.)

So what?

In the longrun,

We're all God –

Then all GOdless

Suddenly, but

Not sudden

All you are

Is

All Gone Again

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

When I first watched the coffee run- deadmau5 was just deadmau5

Deadmau5 is still just deadmau5

Keep telling yourself that.

So what's the plan here.

There's a plan.

Haha. Very funny.

I thought so.

Where am I taking this thing?

Just keep driving.

“Just keep driving.”

Don't act like you're not enjoying it.

I really am—

“Mad as Rabbits”

Professor Pancakes!

Yes.

What have you done to this portal.

Hehehe. ><

Who are these sketchy ass comics.

Idk heroes I guess.

God, this show is cringe.

Yeah.

Have we gone through the title sequence yet?

Why on earth would you study this.

I'll study anything that holds my attention.

Here, hold this.

What is it.

It's my attention.

Make me a sandwhich.

Okay. What kind.

Any fucking sandwhich.

Just—any sandwhich?

Yeah.

Oh, dear.

What.

It's another infinite realm.

Oh, wow.

Which means.

It's all the same—

Same thing.

I want this to swallow this pill, and swallow it whole

What does it do??

—nobody quite knows.

Perfect.

We knew you'd be the one for the jo.

My whole world is full of “God, she's beautiful…l

And

“I don't want to be here anymore”

But at least I came, right?

At least I got you right here in my heart

—you're in my head again

I can't go to sleep

I take medicine

I don't take advice, or compliments

If it's wrong and such,

Hey,

At least I'm honest

(Or was)

It's got to all count for something

I've been embarrassed by it

Careless, I guess

It's just another chance to be brainwashed

Let me tell you what my whole brain does

Lights up when I think of you

Just keep doing,

What you been doing is,

Being blue,

You're just being

Blū

That is a flex.

Huh.

They used my name in a song.

Wow.

They even spelled it right.

Okay.

In the heights

Far Regina Spector

Far

Now I don't want to dive In;

I just want to close my eyes for awhile

Maybe I'm ‘it'. —

—but right now, I'm in it

Disentreswe in such

Unholy matrimony.

Wtf is this.

Holy shit, I got 2 stop listenin to dis music.

die.

This is horrible.

Yeah, this is a disaster.

This is perfect.

X_x

It's actually perfect.

[actually on fire]

Why. Why would u do dis.

u did this.

I did this.

I is U.

Oh,

Well fuck it.

No vowels then.

Wut.

Why.

Wut.

Do something cool.

[

Your interview at Equinox is today between 9:30 AM and 10:00 AM (US/Eastern).

At the time of your interview please join via this link: https://l.indeed.com/HluKX3Gp43/.

Reply STOP if you no longer want to receive event updates from Indeed.

Do you like how it feels?

Do you like how I am—

Well yeah then

So go ahead;

I'll tell you the answer,

But you don't like it, and

None of its random

—none of it matters, none of it can

I don't mean to vanish

But I'm a phantom

(And I'm just a fan)

“Oh well”, I thought broadly to myself;

I wasn't quite ready either way to be

— nevermind.

Back online:

Guess I'm an insomniac tonight

Surface level scrolling and what do I find

The whole world of mine

Putting a spark in my eye

Just a glimmer, I simmer in the limelight

I might die trying, I might just

Turn off the light, roll over

Paint myself white—

I'm just being polite,

How's the sacrifice going

Um, the what

The virgin sacrifice.

What?! We don't do that!

Who is ‘we'?

…nobody.

Aha! Illuminati!

That's not a thing!

I knew it.

You know nothing.

I know everything.

No you don't; cause then you'd be in the Illuminati!

Aha!

—which isn't real!

Damn, I want you so bad;

—damn, I want you so bad

Damn.

—I want you so bad.

Damn,

(God damn)

I want you so bad

Damn,

I want you so bad

Damn

(Damn!)

I want you so bad.

Damn, I want you so bad

Damn, I want you so bad

Right now

Well, that's too bad, cause you know what?!

Fuck it, I wanna get drunk.

That's not a good idea.

Do you have a better one?

I got it.

What's up.

I'll just throw the rock—at his face.

That's not a good idea.

It's a grand idea!

Spectacular.

I really want to look at Dillon Francis's Instagram.

For what.

I don't know.

You know what I want?

Huh.

A peanut butter and jelly sandwhich.

That sounds good.

Yeah.

Lol that's it?

That's the whole scene.

Are you sure?

Yeah.

Oh shit, I knew I'd eventually revisit this.

What is it.

“Three Assholes In A Car Getting Coffee”

BEFORE:

which one do you think is the most attractive.

You want me to rank them?

Yes. Rank them.

Um, okay.

That was a dark day.

All the days are dark here.

You know, God.

Sure—

I'm extremely bored.

Bored with what.

Here's a portal

Where's it go?

Absolutely nowhere.

MEANWHILE, IN ABSOLUTELY NOWHWEE

Oh God, it's getting hot in here.

Well, yeah, dude.

Oh fuck.

What.

We gotta turn around.

What'd we leave.

My best friend.

Your best—

Yeah!

I'm your best friend.

You're nobody's best friend, Dillon Francis.

Where the fuck's my fucking sandwhich my

Jesus's that's a lot of fucks.

Yeah, a lot of fucks and zero sandwhiches.

You have to put this in his hand.

No.

That's where it goes. In his hand.

That's the game?

That's this game.

How many games are we playing?

All of them, Liz.

I'm not—

LIZ LEMON

I HATE THIS GAME.

I LOVE THIS GAME

IS IT OVER YET?!

Oh check it out, he does look like Skrillex.

Oh shit, so this is season 7

It is?

Yeah, there's Drake Bell.

Where.

Timmy, I have to tell you something.

Not right now.

No, yes, right now—

Remember that scene on the—

FUCK DILLON FRANCIS

I WIN MOTHERFUCKER.

YES. GOD IS REAL.

I asked God for Dillon Francis to show me his girlfriend on Instagram and he did it.

YEA BITCH.

I WIN.

Well, that's one game.

What's the other one.

Fuxk,

What up dude.

Now, I just realized something.

FUCK.

WhatS.

We gotta burn all this Dillon Francis

How.

I don't know, I never printed it on paper.

Well, that's fine: I got something else for you to do.

What.

SUCK MY DICK.

Ok.

Okay.

Okay.

Why doesn't this hurt as bad as last time—.

LAST TIME:

You know what?

Fuck this.

Oh shit, now what do I do with this thing?

…

…

…

Wait dude, if I give him this stone—

Uh huh

And this stone has powers—

Yes it does.

Then won't DILLON FRANCIS GET ALL THE POWERS.

No.

No?

Not “all the powers”, just the ones in the stone.

This stone has a lot of powers.

Yes it does.

You should give it to Skrillex.

I was going to.

And then what.

BEFORE:

fuck, there's no fire escape.

There is, it's just on the other side.

IMm not gonna risk seeing Sonny to see Skrillex.

I don't care how much sense any of this makes, that makes the most sense.

Let's change the narrative on this.

What's the narrative.

What is your motive?

That's the narrative?

I—yea.

::||puseZ

Sunni, you're drunk.

I don't careZ .

LookC.

Remember this scene:

THIS AINT A SCENE, ITS A GODDAMN ARMS RACE.

No, it's a scene.

(It's two, actually

Something forced my eyes up and onto the LCD screen on the partition of the subway platform, in perfect ancroniciry i read the word “EASY” as it appeared on the screen, as the same word poured through my headphones from the sounds of Queen, the last song of a mix I actually liked, but had yet to do anything with—

I had yet to do anything with anything—though, perhaps that was the point. I had been in an elusive state of withdrawal and cyclical imbalance, and though this morning had been planned for ages, it had only just now happened.

Overwhelmed with sadness, I had realized reading the first lines out of a book by Madonna's brother that I hadn't the energy for superstardom—and with as little of the energy I did have left, had become otherwise deflated and unmotivated—Yet, for some reason, having spent the morning scrolling through Dillon Francis's instragram, I was on an A-train bound for Manhattan, or maybe even—Washing heights, as the words to my once-favorite musical had been of course clamoring around in my head with all the other things that were in there—even DillonbFrancis and now his girlfriend, their two dogs, and his mother, who had appeared to me just-so in a dream just weeks earlier; though I had thought to have made her up in my mind, there she was, supposedly—alongside Dillon and his horrible haircut—though nothing he could do ever seemed to change my mind or the way that I felt about him, even confirming his relationship publicly; I still rather liked him, and he still had a way of setting me in motion merely through emotion—perhaps, this was the lone standing function of Dillon Francis after all. Now, I was headed to the gym, perhaps after a touristy detour to visit what I imagined to be a now-gentrified Washington Heights

“You must take the A-Train!”

Usnavi sings in the Title Opener, and though I had taken in the entirety of the shows lyrics around a decade earlier, becoming a fanatic of akin Manuel a Miranda long before Hamilton or Moana, or the rest of the world knew who he was—I had never once imagined myaelf actually attempting to visit Washington Heights, my overall lifelong aversion to New York probably a residual trauma from the last lifetime I had spent in this incarnation—I knew for certain more than once I had lived in this existence—I remembered well Dillon Francis and the lifetimes I had spent with him—and now I wondered exactly which one this one was; I had gotten what I had wanted

“Show me your girlfriend.” I thought, upon waking up from a dream I had spent with him

“I want to see.” I thought loudly, smirking to myself and stepping into the shower, where I often— for some strange reason thought about Dillon Francis.

But this particular morning—I thought about Dillon Francis, his girlfriend, their two dogs, his mother, and my ex husband—the latter of which I cursed silently, mumbling something under my breath about “whatever, fuck it” and wondering if I should spend the evening after working “being Sunnï Blū”, which meant sitting down with a tall can of bud light and chasing it with a Truly or two, sipping on something even fruitier like a Mike's Hard Lemonade and sifting through beats entirely too drunk enough to create any of my own (but just drunk enough to rap something funny and fall asleep sad as fuck….) only to wake, undoubtedly even sadder, very sleepy, and dilapidated—but at least with a rap track worth spinning into my sets, or not—the more I became a DJ the less I actually wanted to be a DJ.

Now I just wanted a husband, a baby—or maybe just two dogs and a Dillon Francis, and I couldn't imagine why or how I had become so twisted up in my overt attraction to the man that it had actually become continually devastating to have to think about him with someone else—and though even from the beginning I knew it could have never been someone like me—I wondered why someone like me even existed, when the type of men I was attracted to always had Kayla Laurens.

Always.

I was learning from everything I was taking in—things I wanted and needed to know. I had only just earlier asked God for “closure with Dillon Francis”, and God had in fact been showing off with a fierceness at how quickly it could work to fulfill my every request, prayer, and wish—and how instantly God acknowledged any of my thoughts, wants, and needs.

“Okay.”

I had never really been up and about so early In New York, but could in no way wrap my mind around a wink of sleep, the strangeness of having been dead-on looming in my chest and wrapping into a sensation of arrogant ritghteouaness—the deep burning hardening into a pungent sting in the confines of my abdomen

“Fuck this”, I muttered, thinking to myself

“I don't want to be a superstar DJ. I want to be a housewife.”

I had used Dillon's Instagram as an EDM Newsfeed—it was the safer bet above anything else, as I knew wandering off into DJ land would produce even more hurtful images of skinny girls prancing around promoting their horrible music—or even worse—pretty boy DJs and their pretty white girlfriends on private jets or backstage at festivals, rubbing noses with the other wealthy socialites my own poor choices had excluded me from being allowed to become; at least I was finally willing to take accountability for just being shitty. It would be embarrassing for a man of such prominence to dip below his social class, especially to one that had already been used, abused, and broken—such as I.

“Get off at 181st”, and take the escalator—“

As it turns out, Lin Manuel was an excellent controller of sorts—or had at least given accurate enough directions, and though there was no actual escalator—at least that I found upon the exit, I felt as if walking up the accessible ramp through the arched tunnel, I was perhaps entering itself the 4th dimension—and though I had learned of the ascended realms and dimensions beyond the 4th, having finally accessed how to fluidly travel between them—or to differentiate one from another as they often crossed and intersected, gliding amongst them, I had been shaking myself loose from being tricked in any way into believing anything I had dreamt up or written would ever be more than what it was—a one-sided blind-eyed attempt at success from the back way in.

It seemed everyone was getting married or already was—even Porter Robinson, which seemed bizarre, as though he was older than me, maybe even by only a little—I still thought of him as so young; then again, most people my age were also married—and here I was, finally divorced and why in the world I wanted so badly to do it all over again—but better. It really was true what had always been said—the first heartbreak being the worst, and that once a woman gets over the father of her children, almost anything goes; I. Oils no longer be worried with whether or not I would be cheated on again, as I probably would l—and it didn't matter. It took 30 years to figure out that society was made by and for cheating males—our responsibility as women learning as best we could to swallow the truth whole; that men craved youthful, tiny women most their lives—and the rest of us, well…

“WHATEVER.”

WHATEVER.

What—

Ever.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

It's weird shopping for sex toys to Miley Cyrus in one ear and deadmau5 in the other.

I don't know how to feel

I definitely don't feel okay.

I'm not okay.

Where the fuck is sunni?

I don't know

Well, call him.

Phone rings

Uh—hello.

Where are you?!

I'm doing meth in your bathroom.

Oh, come on.

[toilet flushes] sunni appears from inside the bathroom

I'm just kidding.

What the fuck, man—

It's just coke.

—Of course.

You want some?

I—no.

Yes you do.

How did you get into my house?

*snifs* With the remote

You stole the remote control out of my car?!

No!

—?!

I duplicated it.

“LIL BITZZZZ”

I guess I'm a few of these dimensions, I'm a stand up comedian.

INT. COMESY CLUB. NIGHT

This probably isn't fair, it

Every time I see a belligerently drunk person,

I think of Skrillex—

Or Sonny.

Whatever.

It is what it is.

Probably not fair,

But every time I see a tiny, angry, drunken man

I'm like:

“Lol, here he comes”

Lol I think that's just his spirit.

“The Spirit of Skrillex”

Lol what kind of fucked up cruise ship is that.

TICKETS ON SALE NOW:

“CLICK.” Done. I'm in VIP. See you there.

Lol

You would think it's like HOLY SHIP or EDSea but it's high key Titanic II

Set sail!

THIS IS ONLY FUNNY TO EDM FANS.

It's probably not even funny to them. Skrillex fans are the equivilant of Taylor Swift fans, but more violent.

You can't say bad shit about Skrillex. He's too respected in the industry.

Why do you think that is.

Idk. Master hypnotist—mass mind control expert. Huge dingaling—you name it.

I'd rather not.

RYAN

SUPACREE!

No—Kaskade! No.

RYAN

ITS NOT KASKADE! It's just me! RYAN!

Hm.

Supacree—

Where's Kaskade?

I don't know!

And why isn't he with you—?

That guy's going to kill me!

I believe that.

I need your help!

Uh— no.

Please!

Hm.

…

…

Ok. Where's Joel?

We don't know.

We?!

DEADMAU5 Enters rapidly.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Oh, Heavenly Father!

I prefer “neither”.

Deadmau5!

Obviously.

Where's your controller?

…

Well. Where's Skrillex?

SUPACREE

FUCK.

RYAN

Darn it.

#ALTEREGOS

L E G E N D S

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

It's him again.

Oh, it's you again.

Yeah. And I wore long socks just so you could suck my dick in them!

Woah!

Below the belt.

Hold up! What!

If I ever sucked your dick I'd roll those ugly motherfuckera right off, you weird sonofabitch.

Mixes for my exes

-Complications.

The ‘-complications.' mixtape compilation series which focuses its internal monologue on the ideology of exploratory existentialism, using simple and classic mixing techniques into smooth transitions which mirror synconocities in time, musical elements, and lyricism to illustrate a vortex of collisions in cosmic omniscience, theming its recurring dominant soundscapes into a singular foundational focal point, and centering its multidimensionality into a gripping pull to return its emphasis on reflecting at checkpoints as if to reiterate a greater hidden meaning; the highs and lows of falling in love, it's consequences, long days and nights, missed connections, lost and unrequited love—capturing overall the rock and roll darkness of the neo-moden dance music scene—moving about from world to world—night after night, song after song—bodies on bodies and the escapism of rave and dance floor culture, connected through the pulsating and throbbing heartbeats bridged by light waves, and spread across neon skies across the globe.

Featuring dearly beloved hit and dance classics alike from global and legendary super-artists and masters of the dance floor, deadmau5, Kaskade, kx5, Skrillex, Fred Again.., Claptone, and more—featuring new music by and mixed with heart & soul by underground swamp creature and ancient rave God ‘- Ū.' as she explores the outer realms of dance music pre-and-post existence in the guttural haze of the afterlife.

ENTER THE MULTIVERSE

Ain't no complications, baby

Make a pact,

A family, then

Abandon that for

Half an hour;

That's just grand

You stranded Lonnie Anne

How can you

Call yourself a

Man?

You can't, now

Can you, Dad?

The other batch

Of crack was

Just a task;

The plan was hatched

They traveled back

into the past

To find the answers,

Asked the questions

Half the planet

Dreamed and danced to—

What was that?

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Bitch you mad?

Mad at what?

I'm still making money;

I don't give a fuck

Get my bag;

Count it up

I'm a dog—

And you know I like it rough

(Ruff ruff ruff)

Where you from?

Where you hood at?

Keep it clsssy

But I'm acting like a hood rat

I'm a playa

I got boss racks

Call me north

Cause I'm pointed where the moss at

(Money)

I am from Los Angeles

I got all these fans and stuff

I smoke on dat tangle

I be at PINK buying bras n stuff

I still shop at hollister

The Bronx ain't got no Rosses

Or hot topics

But I bought this floss

To drop it like a thot n stuff

Bitch you mad?

Mad at what?

I'm still making money;

I don't give a fuck

Get my bag;

Count it up

I'm a dog—

And you know I like it rough

(Ruff ruff ruff)

I show up

Play some ratchet music

I show up

Play some ratchet music.

In the booth I'm eating waffles.

Had to force quit my serato

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

You make me feel out of my body;

You make me feel out of my mind—

You make me feel out of this world

I feel like we've run out of time

It does get worse, you know.

What is WORSE.

The fame.

Whatever that means.

It means, at some point, the money doesn't matter.

It does matter. Cause at the end of the day you can lock yourself into a nice shiny box with nobody else to fuck you over.

But it's still a box.

Yeah, your box.

I stay offline

Fuck these motherfuckers

My time is my time

So look how filthy rich I am

Suddenly, I was constantly surrounded by toxic masculinity—starting with Luke and culminating into an all out horrible revelation—the cost of being a female, surrounded by bad weaves, fake eyelashes, and acrylic nails, the hundreds of thousands of dollars women—especially women of color, impacted by white supremacy to the extreme of buying straightened hair, hiding the locks and curls of nature, because it was presumed ugly by the man-ruled society

I popped into the stop and shop

Like put your arms up,

It's a robbery

But all I wanted was some gum

And a safe deposit box to put it in!

What?

We all make bad decisions

Bad choices

But I haven't thought bad about you just yet

Even if you're just like them

You're just like them

Music with no words,

So I can't be reminded of the hurt

And how worthless I am

And how I don't deserve you

Just tunes with no lyrics, for me, please

It's easier to listen to nothing

Than to listen to “she”

And she needs you

More than I do

Jump off the Eiffel Tower,

Just to remind you

That I fly higher next lifetime,

My idol

Don't practice idolatry

I just sit beside you and write

Look up why Lisa Vanser pump is famous

Look up nyc bartending license course/ see if there's a free program

Firefighter trainer

Lol vanderpump rules

Personal trainer cert

Ugh what else can I do for money

Lol

You can have all of em

The Annie's

The Natalie's

The can have anybody's body

But want you temporarily

For the stardom

Or the money,

Then they're off and done with ya

And I'm still wondering what's wrong with me

Cause I always wanted ya

Regardless

You smell like palo santo and shame

So you know where I've been

Deadmau5 audio engineering tricks

Put a gate on the riser

And/or

Pan the risers

I have a billion guilty pleasures

From TMZ to deadmau5

From A-Z

It's getting loud

So let me out—let me out of here

Here's a weird thing that happens.

How come some dudes wait until you fall asleep to have sex with you?

That's weird, right?

Some would call that —

Whatever it's called.

But I call it weird as fuck.

Like—

You're gonna wait until i'm all the way asleep to fuck me?

Why not ask?

—when I'm conscious!

Obviously if I'm falling asleep around you, we probably spent the entire day together or whatever- now I'm tired, I want to go to sleep.

We can't exactly call that the “r” word.

Well, it is retarded.

But the other r-word nobody likes.

We can't exactly call it that, can we? Cause it's like

Maybe I wanted to have sex-

Before I went to sleep.

But now I'm asleep!

Unless we're like actually in a relationship don't do that shit to me!

I'm asleep now! Wtf.

If you're my husband or my actual boyfriend or whatever, sure.

Then it's hot.

But if it's like the first date, or we're just hanging out or cuddling or whatever—

Don't wait until I'm literally asleep,

And then jump on top of me.

No. You fuckin creeper. That is weird.

Can't call it rape though—

Cause then rapists get mad.

And nobody likes when rapists get mad.

They won't rape you.

They'll just raise the cost of living and call it inflation.

Hm.

They'll just—

Pass a new law that makes your life harder and call it “freedom” and “justice”

Lol.

Shhh. Shut up.

I'm not worried about anyone trying to kill me

I'm a black woman.

Everyone hates us.

Even US.

Other black women are so fucked up to black women.

Nobody's going to kill me.

I'm already dead.

Residual Skrillex-

The Skrillex leftover in your head after listening to Skrillex

Man, what the fuck day is it?

Right.

Does it matter?

Nah. Nothing matter.s.

Like, at all?

Like. At all.

I had never had such horrible baby fever in my life—even trying for my son, but perhaps it was because at least then I knew I could always have one. Now, divorced and without much direction at all of how to pull myself up from the bootstraps, even though somehow micraculously I had been given the opportunity

I'd rather lemon than lavender;

I'd rather be in here than out of here

Life's Been Weird.

I've been off the map since I got here.

Where's here?

Between somewhere and nowhere's

Right between aomething and nothing.

But if nothing is the opposite of something—

What's the opposite of everything.

Couldn't be “anything”

Anything is all of it.

All of it is everything.

So, what's the opposite of Everything?

Calculating…

I've been off the map for days

Not totally off the grid;

There can't be such a thing these days.

Especially in New York City

The Big Apple

Here's the thing about an apple so big—

Some parts are rotten.

To the core?

Maybe not.

But here's something:

V.O. GOD:

Hold that thought.

BUS DRIVER

LAST STOP!

A spell starts working the moment you decide to do it—

Much in the same sense, a book can be considered read if you've already decided to read it.

It was was more than just a dream,

I fiend, I fall for you

I come to grieve,

Believe me,

Evil seeks no need—

No things, no bleeding;

Clean;

Decline to eat

And cease to be,

At least a week

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Captain.

Fuck! For what?

Well, duty calls.

Where have you been.

“Away.”

For how long?!

“Forever.”

Ugh.

Well.

[beat]

See you never.

CAPTAIN.

WHAT.

I have news.

Where's my coffee.

Here.

[Hands off coffee.]

This is cold.

Well, it's old.

How old exactly.

[shrugs]

About—100 years.

[sips coffee again]

This is awful.

—but not instant.

Here's to that.

[sips coffee again]

Ugh.

[beat]

…

…

Ugh.

Yeah.

—the morning report.

It's 3:40 in the afternoon—

—ahh—

Sir.

Mmhmm.

The captain of the bampheramphs, whether male or female, is always called “Sir.”

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Never felt so alone1-

But got God on my shoulder

She's got art on her;

Better send him packing.

I'm not asking you for a favor

I'm not asking for anything l l

Call it a theatre or maybe insanity

Cathedral or sanctuary, actually

Maybe I'll finally be happy l l l

Be between the lines

Can't imagine what I'd find in you.

Cover my eyes

Is it over yet

Calling me out

Or I'm over it

Under the Sun but another one,

Wonderful world is unconscious

The come up from nothin is morally deceptive

Almost loveless, unless God exists

Unless I'm God again

—wait, who is this

Houdini?

Another stream of conciousness.

Another scream,

Another seemingly endless dream

Or nightmare, of circumstances if

Circles dance in corner's

The coroner's report read: m m m

A chain reaction,

A form fitting fortress that falls apart, marginally

I can't imagine anything I haven't like let seen

I stand corrected;

God bless your blue eyed girlfriend;

As if God already hadn't

Having fun yet?

Never have an never did

And I couldn't never wish on falling stars,

Cause I don't believe in them,

A symptom of a syndrome,

Paliondrome, a solar plexus

Another social deficit—

‘At least he's not in special Ed'

An inspiration

On your mark,

And on my honor

I'm still partially retarded

But you started it, God

What an awful deposit

I wanted just to sit on the crosswalk

And not exist

Aww, don't cry Kelly— mmm—

I gawked at what I thought was a fararri.

But it's not, it's a Porsche

And I still want it —m m —

What if all I want was

All that you were born with

And all I ever worked for was

Something that just happened

What a trip

What inequality is

Tranquility, nah fuck it

Born and bred Brooklyn,

And stopping on Sutphin,

Taking to Satan

Crushing his cigarette

Yes, I remember

I'll always remember

The infinite immigrants

Multiple languages

And how I hate

Cause I just speak English and Spanish

And music

But I'm still homeless and lonely and gross

But I'm focused on fitness

WTT is this dude wearing

A Muscle shirt

Uh huh

With no muscles

Okay

Some— what are those—

Dry fit swimming trunks

Lol

And—

Oh shit! With matching crocs!

HAHA.

Even the socks match!

He is luxury.

For certain.

Take it easy;

I'm up in a tree—

But you can't see me

If it don't make money;

Then the can't make time

Fuck Brooklyn

Too many white girls

I should stay out in queens;

Where everybody is a nigger like me—

And iMm only getting bigger by the minute, man mi asked to be the King,

Chowing down on a pizza

Like fuck it

Nobody loves me,

I'll probably be mean for the rest of my life

If she looks at me one more time all spiteful

I'mma die tonight

—but at least I'll die an idol

Or icon

Come on, God—

Why you follow me

Looking like a blonde

And I'm just a hippopotamus

Never woulda thought of this

If I didn't have my heart

In the bottom of my pocket

Next to pocketbook,

I keep instead of wallet,

Full of business cards

Just another day at the office

Demoted from Equinox,

—but all the dollars go to the number one

Anyway

“Don't get hit by a bus”

That's all that God told me.

Before she ran off

It was the strangest and quietest subway ride of all time—even more strange and more quiet than usual; like a silent movie, the entire world seemed muted, and thought I had my headphones tightly over my ears, nothing played and nothing would, at least for the moment; it was

Put your hands around my neck —.

I'll sign all the proper paperwork;

This is my consent,

Consignment, or resentment—

Never would have guessed

For a pleasure better than this.

Cross it off my wishlist

Sealed it with a kiss,

I might remember to forget

If you forgive

Me

Hunger with a pitchfork

I love to love New York

I was a big fish in a little pond before

Get the picture;

Now I'm a dolphin getting bigger

Better yet a shark

It's better after dark

I love you harder in the car—

Be careful,

(((Fear)))

Why'd you have to be a star?

Why'd you write love on your arms?

Are you a martyr

Here it is again,

The infinite sadness

Rush hour— Manhattan

And I never had it

So trapped in my mind;

Rewind just to find

The cue point

It's you right?

Cupid, or Balcazar,

Whatever you are

Whatever I was

Whatever

Here it goes again

The automatic writing

The undercover cops

In New York

Are up to something

What is it

I'm having a really hard day;

I'm having a really hard time

I'm having a really hard time—

Yeah, I've lived a really long life

Sometimes the truth is just.lies,

Sometimes, I can't close my eyes

I'm having a really long day

I'm having a really long life

I wanted to sleep early and rise closer to dawn, to of course get the most out of my day and make up for the one I had lost, wandering around hungrier than usual, dehydrated, and spinning round, wound up and feeling more than anxious, not quite manic as I was wholeheartedly drained, but still off—and undoubtedly the reason why had to of course have been my surroundings—I wasn't entirely yet a product of my environment, but on my way to it; it had been 17 days of disgusting toilets, cold and shivering nights dressed in layers and covered in blankets, but still cold enough near the window that my nose was always cold, unless I suffocated myself covering my face; everything was dirty, everyone was sick and tired, and the misery of homelessness had settled in long enough now that I couldn't care any less about myself

‘Are you capable of keeping this nation's secrets?'

‘Probably—but I wouldn't want to.'

Deathwish>< Secret President

I beg your pardon?

You already know enough of them that you should be dead by now.

So what's your excuse for keeping me around?

You realize you're just a front-man for all this crazy shit we do around here?

I—don't care.

Are you drunk?

No, I'm unconscious

Living in this multidimensionality had allowed me to continue writing in such a way that everything I did and said held it's purpose, even if it was uncomfortable or terrible—not that I was exempt from suffering a guilty conscience, as I had still been raised with a sense of good and bad and right and wrong, and even upon understanding that these are just contrucfs, the bitter truth of the matter was that I, or any man, could only truly be trusted with the well-being of one's self and one's own interests, which might as well have been the best interests of this nation, my own stolen country —the American way had always been to escape oppression, only to run elsewhere and take what was needed to ensure one's own freedom; ‘so what of the spirits of the indegenous, then', whose blood continued to run through me no matter how cold or relentless.

It's a trap.

It's all a trap.

I had been crucified in a number of ways, triggered, kept awake, left out in the cold, toyed with and trapped, psychologically terrori

Now I'm confused

(I'm so confused)

Now I'm confused

I'm so-confused

Now I'm confused

(I'm so cofused)

Now I'm

“I'm so —

What the ruck am I looking at right now?

Uhhh…..

What are you doing?

I don't know

I'm so confused

I'm still confused

I'm confused

8'm still confused

IMm so confused—

I'm still confused

Well. If you wanna come back for your shot, I'll be here.

What are you doing.

Can you not

LOOK

I'm just so sick of myself

I'm just so tired of this world

I don't wanna wake up no more

No money, no problem

More money, more problems

Promise

Got a soul full of woes

Got no eyes on the prize

Got no home

And no hope for the world

Gotta go on

Still got my feet on the floor

Gotta go on

Still got no road to the coast

Gotta go on

I guess I'm still a ghost

Gotta go on

I got no love left no more

Gotta go on

Jesus Christ and all the sauce.

ALL THE SAUCE.

Not all the sauce.

I want ALL OF IT.

Lol he's like foaming at the mouth, right?

I—

Check it out.

I told you the government could time travelZ.

What. So they used Skrillex to —

To do what.

UNCLE SAM

I WANT YOU—

ALL OF IT.

UNCLE SAM

—

what. What does Uncle Sam want?

Idk. The charges dropped? Idk.

If he thinks you're lying—he's lying

If he thinks you're cheating—he's cheating

If he thinks that you're leaving—he's thinking of leaving

If he thinks that you need him; he probably needs you

If it feels like you're dreaming, you're probably dreaming—

If it feels like a fairytale, keep make believing

Too good to be true will always have a meaning

If you think you're his only;

Then there's at least three

There's no loyalty, here

Men don't have no monogamy

Men get fed up with the same thing,

Monotony

Being a man is just making monopolies

No propositions, proposals or probablies

God got you fucked up when you're ugly

God got you fucked up for the fun of it

God might make promises,

But it's no wonder,

There's love in her eyes

But there's nothing left under

No wonder.

No wonder

No wonder

No love left

No love left

No love left

No love left

No wonder

All out of water and oneness

All out of reasons to smile

All out out running the mile

And thinking you add up to something g

No wonder

No wonder

No wonder the world's out of water

No wonder

No trophies for breaking the cycle

Unless you become one

And still, you end up in the cycle

Unlikely you'll find the one

You might as well just go back

To the one that owns you

Who's dragging your son through the mud

Yeah

But he's crying for you

No wonder

No wonder

No wonder the worlds out of water

No uncle, no aunt, and no cousins to clothe you or house you

You might have a mountain, if you could just tell the whole world that you come from here

No hope for the humans

No wonder no water was left here

The ocean was rust and the tides had subsided

The water receded

And LA was left on her own

I don't owe an explanation for this insanity

I haven't had a man in a million galaxies

It's not that bad,

Now I dress all in black

Take it back for the countryman

Nobody loves me, man.

I'm just alone and befuddled,

I wanted to love,, but—

Somebody's coughing and keeping this contract of nothing and loveless and homeless;

And there's where I've been, man

How's Paris?

I should be embarrassed,

But really I'm just regressing again,

Depressed as I've ever been,

But taking a lesson in mischievous methods

And Devious determination to get back to LA

and say

“I finally made it”,

And get my makeup on,

And my hair fixed,

And pay off my high rise apartment

Where the AC ain't on, cause

I like it hotter than heaven

Cause Hell is a cold ass, lonely

Soapless, hopeless, homeless shelter

Where nobody loves you

And nobody calls you on your birthdays anyway

So you moved it to August

Cause you'll never see Skrillex or Jimmy Fallon in person,

But for some reason,

You think of them

Fondly.

—For Whatever Reason.

Fuck this.

Somebody's onto me;

Wrote a letter to God,

But God's not answering

Trust me,

You don't want this ugly thing

Under you

Don't offer me a house key

If you give a mouse a cookie;

You probably outta poison it

Oh!

In a world of smoke and mirrors

Everything gets clearer, clearer

He really is rare though,

Really— a limited edition

Genius, Edison

You don't deserve him

I don't want to be the president,

Don't want to be the President

Hey,

Oh!

It's still hell here;

I'll never be perfect

Can starve, but won't be there

Woah!

It's trauma every night

And

Drama every morning

This is not a warning

It's a lesson that you're learning

And a song that you're writing;

You can't write this wrong, no—

You don't belong in this world,

So get off it

Oh,

Woah,

I don't do this often

But I just don't want to go home,

That's just loveless

Ten broken marriages,

Coffins and caskets

And lions and scarecrows—

He won't take me back for this basket

I don't wear a bonnet

I'm done being honest!

It doesn't get you ahead in this

Better off dead and

I'm still just a nigger—

I've always been lost;

But I've already been here

I've already been here

Caught it on camera, eh

Undercover tape recording

Never in the locker room,

But never in my own roomX either

I'm just another one of those

Broken,

Homeless

I don't want to

I don't want to

Want to be the President

YOU CONTROL THE POLICE—

—I RUN THE AMBULANXE,

BITCH,

I RUN THE AMBULANCE

BITCH,

I RUN THE AMBULANCE

Fuxk a phantom

Fuck your Grammy's mammogram

Fuxk you ambivolance and nonchalance

You're just the ops,

I run the ambulance!

I just saw

Johnny wirh the two dogs,

At the shop and shop

Pop-pop,

This ain't no pop-up,

lol

My whole surfboard is taller

This is what you want

This is

This is what you want

This is what you want

This is

This is what you want

This is what you want

This is

This is what you want

This is what you want

This is

This is what you

Don't waste your time

Asking for adderall

They don't want help for you—

MedicicineMa meant to destroy you

All the black skin

In the streets

In the shelters

On the trains and

On the busses

The niggers on seroquel

They will not help you

They want to kill you

Don't take the medicine

If you have black skin

They will not help you

They want to kill you

Adderal, xanex;

It might be addictive—

But those with blue eyes

Are the only ones who get

—they don't even need it

They turn around and sell it

If you have black skin;

They'll give you seoquel

They want to kill you;

You'll think you're all better

But you're out in the streets, in the gutter

Talking to yourself

Pissing on yourself

Scratching off your black skin-

All because you're colored!

If you look like Elohim,

Go ahead, take the medicine;

Yes, you'll feel better;

You'll get to work with Skrillex

They'll give you an amphetamine,

So you feel less pathetic

Finish projects,

Transcendence

Don't take the medicine

If you have black skin

They will not help you

They want to kill you

But if you've got black skin

You're only a nigger/**trigger to them

Take the medicine

To kill you faster

Kill you faster

Finally an ever after

That makes sense to you bastards

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

[CC launches a ficus across the room, narrowly missing D,

J, shattering against the wall

The neighbors in the apartment next door can be heard muffled through the wall.

What the fuck was that?!

AGAIN?!

They're going to kill each other.

DJ

—I think you should go.

CC

I think you should go!

DJ

It's my apartment.

CC

Yeah, but I live here.

DJ

With me.

CC

Well, fuck you.

DJ

[staring at the shattered ficus vase and heap of miracle grow]

Ugh.

[CC hurls a small carry on suitcase in his direction]

CC

BYE-BYE DJ.

DJ

WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO GO?!

CC

—To your parents.

DJ

They're outta town!

CC

Go with them!

[CC locks herself into the master bedroom; DJ deflatedly shuts off the lights and attempts to curl up on the couch—which explodes]

DJ

YOU PUT A BOMB IN THE COUCH.

CC

It's remote controlled.

DJ leave the apartment and walks down the street, still smoldering and dripping fire extinguisher foam; he arrives at his parents house to find that they have removed the spare key from under the mat, having replaced it with a note that reads “stop coming over uninvited.” He then opts to climb through the most acceible window, two stories up—and after a couple extremely unsuccessful attempts, finally managed to get through the window—his father emerges from the closet dressed as Superman

DJ?! What are you doing here?!

Me and CC got into a fight.

What did you do this time?!

What did I do?!

It's always your fault.

Why do you always take her side?!

Because— you're an idiot!

Yeah, thanks dad.

Goddammit, Dillon. Why are you here?!

Why are YOU here!? You're supposed to be out of town!

THAT'S none of your business!

And why are you dressed like Superman.

Shhh! Lower your voice.

And where's Mom?!?

SUPERMAN! SUPERMAN!

[DJs mom wearing a terrible wig and strange lingerie costume comes running into the kitchen over dramatically—she sees DJ and stops short]

SUPER—DILLON!? What are you doing here?!

I'm staying over!

No you are not!

[A large masked black man with his arms out playfully runs into the room—stopping and standing up straight as he approaches the family, staring in an awkward silence]

Who is THIS?!

…

OH MY GOD! MOM!

—well, we weren't expecting you!

WHAT THE FUCK, DAD.

—we told you to stop coming over uninvited!

YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE “OUT OF TOWN”.

How did you even get in here?!

THROUGH THE WINDOW—HOW DID YOU NOT SEE ME?!

We did see you!

We just thought you were our friend!

What—your “friend?!” WHAT?!

[ A man enters through the window dressed as a robber]

Oh—hey—I, uh—thought it was just the three of us.

It was supposed to be—

This is our son, Dillon; he had a fight with his girlfriend.

So—will he be joining us, or—?

OH MY GOD! NO! GROSS.

DJ, you're 40 years old.

I'm 35!

So grow up!

—so is this—party over— or

Should we reachedule?

NO

No—we'll just.

[wagging her finger] Dillon, Go to your room and do not come out and I don't want to hear a peep from you — not a peep; do you understand.

…yes.

Good! Now go.

DJ trails up the stairs bewildered, still covered in ash and with tears in his eyes.

DJ sits in his old bedroom attempting to drown out the sounds of his parents' weird shenanigans, crying softly to himself.

Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

I'm having a really hard day;

I'm having a really hard time

I'm having a really hard time—

Yeah, I've lived a really long life

Sometimes the truth is just.lies,

Sometimes, I can't close my eyes

I'm having a really long day

I'm having a really long life

I wanted to sleep early and rise closer to dawn, to of course get the most out of my day and make up for the one I had lost, wandering around hungrier than usual, dehydrated, and spinning round, wound up and feeling more than anxious, not quite manic as I was wholeheartedly drained, but still off—and undoubtedly the reason why had to of course have been my surroundings—I wasn't entirely yet a product of my environment, but on my way to it; it had been 17 days of disgusting toilets, cold and shivering nights dressed in layers and covered in blankets, but still cold enough near the window that my nose was always cold, unless I suffocated myself covering my face; everything was dirty, everyone was sick and tired, and the misery of homelessness had settled in long enough now that I couldn't care any less about myself

‘Are you capable of keeping this nation's secrets?'

‘Probably—but I wouldn't want to.'

Deathwish>< Secret President

I beg your pardon?

You already know enough of them that you should be dead by now.

So what's your excuse for keeping me around?

You realize you're just a front-man for all this crazy shit we do around here?

I—don't care.

Are you drunk?

No, I'm unconscious

Living in this multidimensionality had allowed me to continue writing in such a way that everything I did and said held it's purpose, even if it was uncomfortable or terrible—not that I was exempt from suffering a guilty conscience, as I had still been raised with a sense of good and bad and right and wrong, and even upon understanding that these are just contrucfs, the bitter truth of the matter was that I, or any man, could only truly be trusted with the well-being of one's self and one's own interests, which might as well have been the best interests of this nation, my own stolen country —the American way had always been to escape oppression, only to run elsewhere and take what was needed to ensure one's own freedom; ‘so what of the spirits of the indegenous, then', whose blood continued to run through me no matter how cold or relentless.

It's a trap.

It's all a trap.

I had been crucified in a number of ways, triggered, kept awake, left out in the cold, toyed with and trapped, psychologically terrori

Now I'm confused

(I'm so confused)

Now I'm confused

I'm so-confused

Now I'm confused

(I'm so cofused)

Now I'm

“I'm so —

What the ruck am I looking at right now?

Uhhh…..

What are you doing?

I don't know

I'm so confused

I'm still confused

I'm confused

8'm still confused

IMm so confused—

I'm still confused

Well. If you wanna come back for your shot, I'll be here.

What are you doing.

Can you not

LOOK

I'm just so sick of myself

I'm just so tired of this world

I don't wanna wake up no more

No money, no problem

More money, more problems

Promise

Got a soul full of woes

Got no eyes on the prize

Got no home

And no hope for the world

Gotta go on

Still got my feet on the floor

Gotta go on

Still got no road to the coast

Gotta go on

I guess I'm still a ghost

Gotta go on

I got no love left no more

Gotta go on

Jesus Christ and all the sauce.

ALL THE SAUCE.

Not all the sauce.

I want ALL OF IT.

Lol he's like foaming at the mouth, right?

I—

Check it out.

I told you the government could time travelZ.

What. So they used Skrillex to —

To do what.

UNCLE SAM

I WANT YOU—

ALL OF IT.

UNCLE SAM

—

what. What does Uncle Sam want?

Idk. The charges dropped? Idk.

If he thinks you're lying—he's lying

If he thinks you're cheating—he's cheating

If he thinks that you're leaving—he's thinking of leaving

If he thinks that you need him; he probably needs you

If it feels like you're dreaming, you're probably dreaming—

If it feels like a fairytale, keep make believing

Too good to be true will always have a meaning

If you think you're his only;

Then there's at least three

There's no loyalty, here

Men don't have no monogamy

Men get fed up with the same thing,

Monotony

Being a man is just making monopolies

No propositions, proposals or probablies

God got you fucked up when you're ugly

God got you fucked up for the fun of it

God might make promises,

But it's no wonder,

There's love in her eyes

But there's nothing left under

No wonder.

No wonder

No wonder

No love left

No love left

No love left

No love left

No wonder

All out of water and oneness

All out of reasons to smile

All out out running the mile

And thinking you add up to something g

No wonder

No wonder

No wonder the world's out of water

No wonder

No trophies for breaking the cycle

Unless you become one

And still, you end up in the cycle

Unlikely you'll find the one

You might as well just go back

To the one that owns you

Who's dragging your son through the mud

Yeah

But he's crying for you

No wonder

No wonder

No wonder the worlds out of water

No uncle, no aunt, and no cousins to clothe you or house you

You might have a mountain, if you could just tell the whole world that you come from here

No hope for the humans

No wonder no water was left here

The ocean was rust and the tides had subsided

The water receded

And LA was left on her own

I don't owe an explanation for this insanity

I haven't had a man in a million galaxies

It's not that bad,

Now I dress all in black

Take it back for the countryman

Nobody loves me, man.

I'm just alone and befuddled,

I wanted to love,, but—

Somebody's coughing and keeping this contract of nothing and loveless and homeless;

And there's where I've been, man

How's Paris?

I should be embarrassed,

But really I'm just regressing again,

Depressed as I've ever been,

But taking a lesson in mischievous methods

And Devious determination to get back to LA

and say

“I finally made it”,

And get my makeup on,

And my hair fixed,

And pay off my high rise apartment

Where the AC ain't on, cause

I like it hotter than heaven

Cause Hell is a cold ass, lonely

Soapless, hopeless, homeless shelter

Where nobody loves you

And nobody calls you on your birthdays anyway

So you moved it to August

Cause you'll never see Skrillex or Jimmy Fallon in person,

But for some reason,

You think of them

Fondly.

—For Whatever Reason.

Fuck this.

Somebody's onto me;

Wrote a letter to God,

But God's not answering

Trust me,

You don't want this ugly thing

Under you

Don't offer me a house key

If you give a mouse a cookie;

You probably outta poison it

Oh!

In a world of smoke and mirrors

Everything gets clearer, clearer

He really is rare though,

Really— a limited edition

Genius, Edison

You don't deserve him

I don't want to be the president,

Don't want to be the President

Hey,

Oh!

It's still hell here;

I'll never be perfect

Can starve, but won't be there

Woah!

It's trauma every night

And

Drama every morning

This is not a warning

It's a lesson that you're learning

And a song that you're writing;

You can't write this wrong, no—

You don't belong in this world,

So get off it

Oh,

Woah,

I don't do this often

But I just don't want to go home,

That's just loveless

Ten broken marriages,

Coffins and caskets

And lions and scarecrows—

He won't take me back for this basket

I don't wear a bonnet

I'm done being honest!

It doesn't get you ahead in this

Better off dead and

I'm still just a nigger—

I've always been lost;

But I've already been here

I've already been here

Caught it on camera, eh

Undercover tape recording

Never in the locker room,

But never in my own roomX either

I'm just another one of those

Broken,

Homeless

I don't want to

I don't want to

Want to be the President

YOU CONTROL THE POLICE—

—I RUN THE AMBULANXE,

BITCH,

I RUN THE AMBULANCE

BITCH,

I RUN THE AMBULANCE

Fuxk a phantom

Fuck your Grammy's mammogram

Fuxk you ambivolance and nonchalance

You're just the ops,

I run the ambulance!

I just saw

Johnny wirh the two dogs,

At the shop and shop

Pop-pop,

This ain't no pop-up,

lol

My whole surfboard is taller

This is what you want

This is

This is what you want

This is what you want

This is

This is what you want

This is what you want

This is

This is what you want

This is what you want

This is

This is what you

Don't waste your time

Asking for adderall

They don't want help for you—

MedicicineMa meant to destroy you

All the black skin

In the streets

In the shelters

On the trains and

On the busses

The niggers on seroquel

They will not help you

They want to kill you

Don't take the medicine

If you have black skin

They will not help you

They want to kill you

Adderal, xanex;

It might be addictive—

But those with blue eyes

Are the only ones who get

—they don't even need it

They turn around and sell it

If you have black skin;

They'll give you seoquel

They want to kill you;

You'll think you're all better

But you're out in the streets, in the gutter

Talking to yourself

Pissing on yourself

Scratching off your black skin-

All because you're colored!

If you look like Elohim,

Go ahead, take the medicine;

Yes, you'll feel better;

You'll get to work with Skrillex

They'll give you an amphetamine,

So you feel less pathetic

Finish projects,

Transcendence

Don't take the medicine

If you have black skin

They will not help you

They want to kill you

But if you've got black skin

You're only a nigger/**trigger to them

Take the medicine

To kill you faster

Kill you faster

Finally an ever after

That makes sense to you bastards

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

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