[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

I fell into a dream with you last night

And when I woke I had to cry

And when I looked inside your eyes

I had to realize they were mine

Now I'm alive

And in alignment

Something like a diamond shines inside

It's just another night

Our love is just inside my mind

I had to hide it

Your highness

Right on time.

As expected.

Hey,

I just wanted you to know:

Your evil shamanic curse worked(

I've been homeless since I left you and demonic forces follow me everywhere

So I'm going to kill myself eventually

Just the way you hoped I would

So no one will have to know that you hit me so hard it made me lose my mind

You have an evil spirit and a heartless soul and nobody will ever love you except for our son—

So just tell him I love him

You fucking win

Your curse worked

Every single person you ever try to love will cheat and lie to you

Just like you did to me

And the only reason I don't wish homelessness and suicide onto you

Like you wished onto me

Is because you have our son

Thanks for ruining my life

I hope there's heaven on the other side

I fucking hate you

You're fucking evil

You fat stupid retarded motherfucker

—but I didn't text him that, of course

I wanted to;

But in my heart and soul, I knew it would be the end of me,

And that he'd know he really had won—

And though I didn't want to give him the power or the light of day, I knew I was cursed,

Followed by coughing demons, pretty, skinny women, mindfucked by Skrillex and Dillon Francis and set to die in the streets with nothing to eat, nowhere to go, and nothing to lose but myself, not that it mattered—

It would be a quiet suicide,

And my son might never know I died alone and homeless in New York City;

But i loved him the most

And the hole in my heart that made me a ghost was shaped just like him ;

And though I had nothing left but love to give,

Which meant nothing in a cruel and loveless world made of money,

The best that I could do was just to love him,

And hope that on the other side would be heaven,

Where I could know him again

I just passed the white rabbit;

I'd laugh at it, if I weren't rabid with absolute madness

I've had it!

I can't stand it

I mismanaged

My finances,

It's fine, actually;

I've got enough time

(Money)

To climb the Empire

The Devil's a Liar,

But so am I,

And God's a bird on a wire

How inspiring

I'm one off of everything,

I can't run, when I'm too busy thinking

“Where the fuxk am I gonna sleep”

Tomorrow, I can pawn my drum machine—

That buys me one more night in a nice dream

A nice clean apartment in Brooklyn,

Some rice and beans;

Another dream…

‘Is it supposed to be a secret?'

I really had fallen in love with Sonny, but it didn't seem to matter anymore about anything—I didn't have what I needed at all—and the irony and reality was setting in that the Sonny was dropping his album on the exact day that I would run out of everything—out of money for food, a place to sleep…everything. I had loved him so wholehearly that I had recorded ïambīc; only to be devastated in the following weeks with the discovery that he had been spending time with Kayla Laurenc who I didn't exactly despise, as much as I resented—as in all of my life, girls like her had always gotten ahead and gotten everything I wanted, without even trying—just because they looked the way they did—and, at least by all the people I had been around, even my mother—I was ugly, fat, and retarded. Perhaps he did operate on the Devil's power, with my ex husband; I was homeless, at least not yet hungry, but on my way to it—and finally, out of “nowhere”, Sonny being Skrillex was in New York, releasing the album we had all been waiting for.

I was either being cruicified or…

Connected to a greater purpose, but it hurt either way—and either way I wanted to end it.

Every time I dreamt of Dillon, it was of his entire family—in fact, I had almost forgotten that he had a brother at all; it didn't make sense to me, actually

I had stopped breathing. I was crying quietly from the moment I left Equinox—I had done my best not to, but couldn't help it entirely. It had been too long since I had any sense of security.

I tossed my head back to keep the tears from rolling down my cheeks, staring up with widened eyes, which suddenly focused on the digital LCD screen, flashing the streets at which the train would stop; I was of course sitting directly beneath the stop for 88th street—Sonny's birth year, and a number that had repeatedly jumped out to me since our “meeting”.

‘Why would he do this to me?'

Maybe this is all supposed to murder me.

My ex husband had been tied to White Supremacy;

“I belong to an organization that will kill you and bury you somewhere no one will ever find you.” He once said—one of the things which lead to my attempt—or completing, alternatively, suicide.

“You know why I have the power to control demons?” Another notion which had the tendency to repeat itself in my mind, whenever a demonic energy found its way to me, in the form of a skinny, attractive woman or a coughing homeless person, in the form of Kayla Lauren, Dillon Francis, or even Sonny—and though none of the latter two actually ever seemed like actual demons, at least to me—the demonic energy was in knowing that someone like me, in reality, could never deserve or afford someone like Sonny, or Dillon respectively—and although the attraction that I felt to either of them was extreme wrnough to me, and could even be called love, the truth was that the effect of fame meant that it wasn't just me, but hundreds of thousands of other human beings like me, better than me, more attractive than me—and with a better perception of reality that would make more ideal partners, mates, and lovers, and that my own perception of beauty and self love had been shattered by Society.

Maybe don't post this.

What does it matter? What am I supposed to believe? That Sonny's come to New York to rescue me and take me to freedom—that with someone like me he'd be actually happy? That everything in my head, in my heart, in my mind—the belief that we were meant to be is actually reality? He has every reason and every right to be wary of me.

I had read about the teenaged girl that had become obsessed with Drake Bell, following him to all his shows and eventually, even becoming close with him; texting back and forth, and from the looks of it—probably even meeting, hanging out together and who knows what else exactly, besides the man himself and God, on whose behalf it sometimes seeemed I was acting, however—

“New York

Or Nowhere”

Oh shit.

The orange and blue basketballs on the fabric clutch held under the arm of the man in front of me distracted my mind for a moment from my writing; the color orange had always reminded me of Dillon, because it was so prevalent in the music which had first captivated me, even before I knew who Dillon Francis was exactly, and had somehow managed to have implanted the notion —especially after the realization that he was, in fact, using magic— that perhaps such a gifted shapeshifter had learned to even transform himself into an object that was inanimate; a traffic cone, whatever that meant.

[DON'T HIT ME.]

Years had passed since the idea had been established, and though I couldn't seem to remember how I had first actually imagined it, besides listening to what probably may have been ‘too much' Dillon Francis, an entire storyline had been written, as Dillon Francis, having become at some point captain of The Bampheraphs, had instructed the other Insomniacs, Bampheramphs, Motherfuckers, and DJs to also transform into the very simple, very inanimate traffic cones— and though Skrillex, or Sonny—was also given an extreme amount of power and magic, especially even the ability to become inanimate himself, or, “The Inanimate Skrillex”, as it had once been written—as it remarkably turned out, Skrillex would find that he could be every color traffic cone besides Neon Orange—which, as the curator of such an idea, had, over time, become both comedic and tragic—as everywhere I seemed to go, tended to produce strangely colored tragic cones at random.

‘That did happen'

Maybe all this means

Is when I find the bravery

To finally fly, or something…

INT. AIRPLANE. DAY

BLŪ is seated in a window seat towards the back of a BOEING 747.

Oh man, this scene.

Sometimes my worst nightmares are airplane crashes, actually. Since I could remember, maybe from the age of about two or three—I would dream awful tragedies—‘nightmares, or night terrors, actually—tornadoes, horrible fires and burning buildings and sometimes, airplane crashes, which even to this day, haunt me when I sleep.

You know, nobody has a ticket to the soul train.

What.

You just jump.

Trains in New York do come suicide fast.

I was on the platform and still almost got hit!

Okay, this isn't really funny anymore, is it?

No.

Suddenly, a sound rang out into my ears and

Ugh, it's hard to write when you want to die this much

‘Why do you want to die this much?

I had extended my air bnb for one more night, but it meant giving up one of my drum machines go to the pawn shop—the one which I had just reclaimed from the pawn shop in Las Vegas, and seemed an entire waste, as it was the heaviest thing in all my luggage, and I had dragged it across the country in order to use it as a performance piece to give myself an edge over the other DJs who simply mixed—But, as it turned out, of course,

the world, “especially New York”, was over saturated with DJs— though I had done what I could, or most of what I could, to get a head start, I had so much work backed up that in the two weeks since I had left my job in LA, that it didn't matter now that I even had my drum machine with me—I was scrambling to gather money to keep a place to sleep, and so the drum machine would have to go in the morning, in exchange for one or two more nights of housing—and with any luck or by the grace or God I could somehow fish it back out of the pawn shop in some weeks or months time—not that I enjoyed the idea of going back into the workforce as anything but an artist—but so far, this artist that I was had been the lowest of all the low paying jobs I had ever had.

‘What is that?'

I had heard the album over and over—it had infinite replay value, of course, and I was using its tones and auras to dry my tears on the long train back to Brooklyn from Manhattan—but, in this moment, as I exited the subway station and made my way down my usual route back to the flat I had depleted my entire savings on staying in—the sound shook through my entirety, rumbling strangely into the arcs of my feet and even stopping me dead in my tracks for a moment, ringing strangely in my chest and into the palms of my hands, up my shoulders and into my hollow lungs, wrapping around my heart, and colliding with the very odd thought

“I gotta stay alive to ask Joel what that was.”

How bizarre.

It was past midnight—and now that I was above ground, I hadn't thought to check again if the new Skrillex album was being released on East Coast time, where Sonny supposedly still was, or if it might not be available until later; and I hadn't thought to look or try to check Instagram again—I had only been on Instagram anyway in hopes of finding a job—and had only checked the Skrillex Instagram hoping that I would see something that would make the way I felt about Sonny stop, by now, suddenly realizing that it never would until he married or procreated with someone else, (or I did) once and for all wiping out any dillusions I had dreamt up or summoned in the wake of our crossing paths. As quickly as he had come to New York, he could have left and probably may have—but I didn't know, and didn't care; it would be futile to believe he would come to rescue me, even if it was what I wanted and needed so much that I couldn't bear the thought of anything more than just departing the entire world.

Earlier, even though I had been pressed for time to make it to the gym, having spent the day of course collecting my things and trying to figure a way out ot the homeless box I had built my way into, still stressing the somehow ‘need' to publish the entirety or the 6th season so that I could go on hiatus—

It really hadn't occurred to me for more than a moment that Sonny might be listening to my podcast at all, besides listening to Renaissance which I had briefly vaulted, having worked out to it too much and beyond honestly hating myself for not being either Skrillex, or perhaps even more disappointingly, Beyoncè—and either one would have done—

I retracted my last couple steps, doubling back to the discotheque—All Night Skate—where I had already asked for a job one of my first nights in Brooklyn, collecting the number of the manager but having lost it, deleting it by accident—

INT. ALL NIGHT SKATE. 12:56 AM

I realized it was nearly closing time; I had stopped back by after Equinox to write, hoping to music mine whatever the DJ was playing, my body strangely acting and writing quite automatically, with reason to live, shaken suddenly alive by an unidentifiable bass sound seated safely on While 1>2, and still seeking purpose

Bryan eno complex heaven

Terrors in my head

The two songs mixed perfectly into my minds eye as I left, snapping photos for albums yet to be written, and wondering whether or not I would live long enough to write them, or to mix the two songs which had so perfectly mixed—one playing in my headphones and the other over the PA system—and wondering how less than an hour earlier I had experienced a sound I had heard at least a hundred times under the arches of my feet.

Oh, wow.

‘Errors In My Bread'

The numbers 404 had always triggered the thought: Error, perhaps suggesting even I myself was nothing more than just a simulation or computer of some sort, a robotic formulation of all that had been programmed and crated to exist in the way that I had, a short circuit or some kind of malfunction; I'd trickled into Equinox at precisely 9:52, which allowed me exactly 8 minutes to prepare to record the beginning of the closing announcements at 10:00 for the Equinox + EP, peel off my outer layer of clothes, and pour into the sauna for at least 15 minutes, squeezing in a light workout—warranted, considering I had spent the entirety of the day before at the club, auditioning the rest of the 6th season between the sauna and steamroom, Suffering the Skrillex that had descended onto the city I neither loved nor lived in—which might have totaled altogether about 4 hours in the sauna alone, and what seemed like 56 gallons of sweat—but I was grasping at straws, searching for random numbers to complete my thoughts. I had left Manhattan, as usual, at 11:00 PM as Sports Club closed—pulling my belongings from locker 403, with locker number 404 catching my attention from out of the corner or my eye—and as tears gushed from my face, blasted through the revolving doors—-there was indeed an Error in my Bread, and so to self soothe as usual only seemed fitting, as the words began to pour from my fingertips once more.

‘Not Your Mother's Drag Night' had ended, and the either irony or synchronicity subtly toyed with my inherent need for survival and awestruck emotions, as the last and final episode of the 6th season, which I had already named [Not Your Mother's Episode] before arriving to my Equinox venture at the party — the episode in which everything I had written, assembled with every entry for the 6th season, to be left in its description —was yet still unreleased; it had been a grueling train ride full of tears, and I had yet to neatly tie together the Jimmy Fallon timeline—the Timmy Turner Timeline, which of course connected the Amanda Bynes timelines and all of the Nickelodeon timelines respectively—and though the Skrillex and Dillon Francis timelines had driven nearly every series in their entireties in one way or another, Sonny's sudden arrival into New York City mere hours after Act III, Part IIhad been posted —indicating that either he himself or someone on his campaign had been listening and reading along with my series, jolting me into a frenzy, of course… (though I had already planned to release the end of the season concurrently—as I had with a majority of the previous seasons, taking a hiatus to regroup after each season conclusion or finale) my homeless-suicidal pattern had shown itself to be cyclical, by now—not that one thing hadn't anything to do with the other, and though someone or something may have found it interesting and entertaining, I myself was growing tired of making a mockery of my own self, remaining unloved, unhoused, and unfelt enough so much so that nothing had really changed—and although the 3rd season's hiatus had warranted the 4th season's Anandar, the 4th seasons return to the United States had of course warranted more racism, capitalistic greed, hereditary confinement, algorithmic condemnation, corporate slavery, and an interesting series of mixtapes—which of course had resulted in the 6th season's hope for a better future, my almost-return to Hollywood via the actual real-life Drake Bell and his man-habits, my mental degradation via lack of privacy, and of course, the empathic enforcement or feeling everything at once besides love, human connection or trust.

My ex had texted me some weeks earlier, finally having apologized for cheating and assuring me that his karma had been paid in full—without responding, I simply screenshotted the message for future use on an album cover, deleted Google voice, and reassured myself that if his long-overdue karma for cheating had just now been ‘paid-in-full', that it surely had not been paid in full at all and was only just beginning—as he had never apologized or admitted to anything else he'd done—of course, as our relationship had ended, my re-awakening of creativity had been flourishing; I was always recording, taking samples, and writing down ideas for music I wanted to make—and besides that—openly admitting that he had hit me would probably open a disastrous wormhole of self-realization and shame no true narcissist could take—that which he was, not that I at this point had resented it, besides of course the scarring on my lower lip that had come as a result, the estrangement from my son, or the mental anguish I had suffered—and, looking back, I still could never recount whether I had…

Just then, I realized that there was an error in my thinking; I had already been running off my weight at a tremendously rapid pace, working out to Recess in the living room between shifts at the veterinary clinic, where I took pride and joy in running with the greyhounds at then-top speed, racing to Diplo, Doctor P, and Rusko—of course, only stopping to express, my breasts still heavy from lactation, and realizing that it was painful to run with boobs full of anything—let alone, milk—which sometimes I pumped for Annie once her glands had gone dry, donated to the NICU, or winded up in my ex's coffee, because it gave him “superpowers.”

This is a weird story.

Well, if I tell some of it I have to tell all of it.

Why are you even telling some of it?

Because someone threw Skrillex in my tent and

I should have raped him.

You can't rape the willing.

This is a sick bitch we're dealing with.

How do you know he was willing?

(He was wiling.)

Idk,bro. He looked sick.

Or scared.

Or Ill.

“ill”

Get it.

I put the ill in Skrillex

Better fix my will forreal

This could be my last meal

Cause I feel like jumping off a building

Or a cliff,

Like dead horse point—

We're beating/being a dead horse,

Aren't we?

Or an F'n Pig:

Oink Oink!

Boisterous,

Aren't we boys?

Let me annoint you all with oil,

On upholstery

You want a half,

Or a whole thing?

I want you to hold—

I want you to know me

I want you to love me

I love you

Are you happy?

Oh, you fucked up.

Oh, you think?!

I barely sleep,

Then you start showing up in my dreams?

I don't believe you,

I don't believe in anything but me,

And I could be you, maybe

Maybe there's a sequel,

If we're equal—

Or if he isn't evil;

Maybe I'll just

Evil Kinivel

Fuck you people!

Maybe I'll go fuxkin sleep with Lil Peep

I'll call the reaper,

Jesus Weeps,

But probably not as much as

_________

He's a keeper.

Fun fact: when you cry, I cry.

Plz. Stop crying.

I can't.

INT. A FIREY PLANE CRASH

Wait.

THE BILDERBERG MEETING.

Jesus Christ, why is Shia Labouf so fuckin ripped.

Ew. Who feeds him.

CHICKEN.

gross.

BEFORE:

SHIA LABEOUF

ITS ME, I'M IN YOUR DREAMS.

Ū

Oh noooo…

SHIA LABEOUF

THE FESTIVAL PROJECT

Ū

…

What.

SHIA LABEOUF

THE FESTIVAL PROJECT

Ū

k.

SHIA LABEOUF

NOW WAKE UP,

Ū

What?

SHIA LABEOUF

WAKE—UP.

Narcissistic Cannibal- Korn, Skrillex.

UP.

[C.C. Wakes up, drenched in sweat. ]

…

…

…

C.C.

…Shia LaBeouf…?

(That was an actual dream I had once—give or take a few parts.)

Yeah, give or take.

Ahem.

I probably would have forgotten he existed, too, were it not for that dream—and shortly thereafter…

FLASHBACK:

C.C. Is binge watching Hot Ones.

I want—all the sauce.

What's that dudes name.

Sean.

He seems a little off.

Yeah, I bet he's off.

E Q U I N O X

huh.

…huh.

INT. THE BILDERBERG MEETING

SHIA LABEOUF

I DONT GIVE A SINGLE FUCK.

ILLUMINATI

perfect.

SECURITY

GET OUT.

SHIA LABEOUF

I WAS NEVER IN.

CHICKEN.

Ew.

ILLUMINATI

SEQUENCE C - GREENLIGNT.

Wtf is happening in this show.

Idk, but I like it.

Where's —

CHAL

(From season 4)

IT DOESNT MAAAAAAATER.

Right.

CUT BACK TO:

INT. A FIREY PLANECRASH. DAY.

QUEST FOR FIRE.

LOOK TO THE SKIES, YOUNG PADOWAN.

oh my god. It's a fire breathing dragon!

No, dude, that's a firey plane crash.

Fuck.

FIRE BREATHING DRAGON.

That's a fire breathing dragon.

W0W.

Which do you think is gonna be more interesting?

Neither, I'd rather watch The Legend of SupaCree

What time is it on?

SUPACREE

it's always on.

How is that even possible!

SUPACREE

you're on it,

Are you recording me?

SUPACREE

I record everything.

Srsly?!

SUPACREE

Except lovemaking.

…

SUPACREE

That is private.

…

SCARY TERRY

SEX IS SACRED, BITCH.

SUPACREE

don't cal me a bitch.

…

go watch TV.

CUT BACK TO:

INT. A FIREY PLANE CRASH. DAY

[Terror has stricken the passengers of flight 626, as the BOEING 747 plunges rapidly, falling from the sky at an alarming speed, as the airplane decentigrates, falling into pieces]

SHIA LABEOUF

Does this character not have a name?

No, it's literally Shia LaBeouf; he's playing himself.

CUT TO:

SHIA LABEOUF

I'M AN AIR MARSHALL WHEN I'M NOT ACTING

Why is he still yelling?

SHIA LABEOUF

‘CAUSE I'M IN YOUR DREAMS.

CUT BACK TO:

Just before:

SHIA LABEOUF looks over the rims of his glasses, staring forward at CC/SUPACREE, before lowering his head back down, momentarily pretending to read a magazine from under the brim of his tan cap, obscuring his identity. He places his hand over the gun in his holster, revealing by the golden badge beside it that he is a federal air Marshall (to the audience) before adjusting his brown leather jacket to cover it, squinting conspicuously under his bifocal lenses, peering once more at CC/SUPACREE, and swallowing subtly, licking his lips and flashing away a secondary glimpse of fear in his eyes, before presuming a fierce gaze as he braces for impact, calmly unbuckling his seatbelt. Suddenly, the plane is struck— as the passengers scream and panic in fear, he simply stands up, stabilizing his balance, and moves towards the terrified and hyperventilating SUPACREE. ]

Ok. That'll do.

What about Drake Bell?!

what about Drake Bell!?

And Drake And Josh?!

AND THE AMANDA SHOW

AND ARIANA GRANDE

AND ALL THE NICHELODEON KIDS?!

It can wait.

NO!

BUT WHAT ABOUT

COSMO + WANDA?!

AND SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS

AND HEY ARNOLD

I never got to Hey Arnold, but I've been thinking about it a lot since I got to New York; but—that's also Nickelodeon, so—

BUT WHAT ABOUT DILLON FRANCIS.

he's very attractive.

WHAt ab0Ut SKriLLeX?!

he's also very attractive,

And just dropped his album—

So we can just assume that the previously mentioned are perhaps both getting their dicks sucked often enough that I don't have to worry about it.

Why would you worry about it.

CAUSE I'M IN YOUR DREAMS.

This is not kid friendly.

AHHHHHHHHHH

WHAT ABOUT JIMMY FALLON.

Everything naughty he says in this series is censored caused he has a contract with NBC.

WHERE'S WHOOPI GOLDBERG?!

WHO!?

I don't like this. I don't like this at all.

Then keep scrolling.

What about deadmau5.

Probably also presumably getting his dick sucked.

W0W.

I re-entered the apartment at exactly 1:15.

BLŪ

Of course.

And though I had been filled with nothing but words and heartache, I could do no more than to peel off my layers and tumble into the shower, no longer in tears, but still devastated — and somehow dying to know if the Skrillex album just so happened to mark my Deathwish, or restore my faith in humanity…neither of which actually mattered; I had fallen prey once more to the cycle of poverty's destruction and relentlessness, if even by my own doing—the respective love I held for Sonny, Dillon Francis, or anyone else simply a faction of obsessive fandom, my writings a mere glimpse into the unobstructed world of the fourth dimension, which I undoubtedly still believed and was living in, only hoping that I was indeed not the hopeless protagonist to die, in the end—and perhaps, that even if I did, the worlds and works that I had published on The Legend of Supacree, OWSLA Confidential: The Infinite Skrillifiles, Gerald's World, and Enter The Multiverse would stand as the backbone for an unimaginable flurry of

Whatever. The End.

ENTER THE MULTIVERSE

WAR OF WORLDS

LEGENDS

HOLY WAR

EARTH

WORLD WAR WATER

(WWIII)

I fell into a dream with you last night

And when I woke I had to cry

And when I looked inside your eyes

I had to realize they were mine

Now I'm alive

And in alignment

Something like a diamond shines inside

It's just another night

Our love is just inside my mind

I had to hide it

Your highness

Right on time.

As expected.

Hey,

I just wanted you to know:

Your evil shamanic curse worked(

I've been homeless since I left you and demonic forces follow me everywhere

So I'm going to kill myself eventually

Just the way you hoped I would

So no one will have to know that you hit me so hard it made me lose my mind

You have an evil spirit and a heartless soul and nobody will ever love you except for our son—

So just tell him I love him

You fucking win

Your curse worked

Every single person you ever try to love will cheat and lie to you

Just like you did to me

And the only reason I don't wish homelessness and suicide onto you

Like you wished onto me

Is because you have our son

Thanks for ruining my life

I hope there's heaven on the other side

I fucking hate you

You're fucking evil

You fat stupid retarded motherfucker

—but I didn't text him that, of course

I wanted to;

But in my heart and soul, I knew it would be the end of me,

And that he'd know he really had won—

And though I didn't want to give him the power or the light of day, I knew I was cursed,

Followed by coughing demons, pretty, skinny women, mindfucked by Skrillex and Dillon Francis and set to die in the streets with nothing to eat, nowhere to go, and nothing to lose but myself, not that it mattered—

It would be a quiet suicide,

And my son might never know I died alone and homeless in New York City;

But i loved him the most

And the hole in my heart that made me a ghost was shaped just like him ;

And though I had nothing left but love to give,

Which meant nothing in a cruel and loveless world made of money,

The best that I could do was just to love him,

And hope that on the other side would be heaven,

Where I could know him again

I just passed the white rabbit;

I'd laugh at it, if I weren't rabid with absolute madness

I've had it!

I can't stand it

I mismanaged

My finances,

It's fine, actually;

I've got enough time

(Money)

To climb the Empire

The Devil's a Liar,

But so am I,

And God's a bird on a wire

How inspiring

I'm one off of everything,

I can't run, when I'm too busy thinking

“Where the fuxk am I gonna sleep”

Tomorrow, I can pawn my drum machine—

That buys me one more night in a nice dream

A nice clean apartment in Brooklyn,

Some rice and beans;

Another dream…

‘Is it supposed to be a secret?'

I really had fallen in love with Sonny, but it didn't seem to matter anymore about anything—I didn't have what I needed at all—and the irony and reality was setting in that the Sonny was dropping his album on the exact day that I would run out of everything—out of money for food, a place to sleep…everything. I had loved him so wholehearly that I had recorded ïambīc; only to be devastated in the following weeks with the discovery that he had been spending time with Kayla Laurenc who I didn't exactly despise, as much as I resented—as in all of my life, girls like her had always gotten ahead and gotten everything I wanted, without even trying—just because they looked the way they did—and, at least by all the people I had been around, even my mother—I was ugly, fat, and retarded. Perhaps he did operate on the Devil's power, with my ex husband; I was homeless, at least not yet hungry, but on my way to it—and finally, out of “nowhere”, Sonny being Skrillex was in New York, releasing the album we had all been waiting for.

I was either being cruicified or…

Connected to a greater purpose, but it hurt either way—and either way I wanted to end it.

Every time I dreamt of Dillon, it was of his entire family—in fact, I had almost forgotten that he had a brother at all; it didn't make sense to me, actually

I had stopped breathing. I was crying quietly from the moment I left Equinox—I had done my best not to, but couldn't help it entirely. It had been too long since I had any sense of security.

I tossed my head back to keep the tears from rolling down my cheeks, staring up with widened eyes, which suddenly focused on the digital LCD screen, flashing the streets at which the train would stop; I was of course sitting directly beneath the stop for 88th street—Sonny's birth year, and a number that had repeatedly jumped out to me since our “meeting”.

‘Why would he do this to me?'

Maybe this is all supposed to murder me.

My ex husband had been tied to White Supremacy;

“I belong to an organization that will kill you and bury you somewhere no one will ever find you.” He once said—one of the things which lead to my attempt—or completing, alternatively, suicide.

“You know why I have the power to control demons?” Another notion which had the tendency to repeat itself in my mind, whenever a demonic energy found its way to me, in the form of a skinny, attractive woman or a coughing homeless person, in the form of Kayla Lauren, Dillon Francis, or even Sonny—and though none of the latter two actually ever seemed like actual demons, at least to me—the demonic energy was in knowing that someone like me, in reality, could never deserve or afford someone like Sonny, or Dillon respectively—and although the attraction that I felt to either of them was extreme wrnough to me, and could even be called love, the truth was that the effect of fame meant that it wasn't just me, but hundreds of thousands of other human beings like me, better than me, more attractive than me—and with a better perception of reality that would make more ideal partners, mates, and lovers, and that my own perception of beauty and self love had been shattered by Society.

Maybe don't post this.

What does it matter? What am I supposed to believe? That Sonny's come to New York to rescue me and take me to freedom—that with someone like me he'd be actually happy? That everything in my head, in my heart, in my mind—the belief that we were meant to be is actually reality? He has every reason and every right to be wary of me.

I had read about the teenaged girl that had become obsessed with Drake Bell, following him to all his shows and eventually, even becoming close with him; texting back and forth, and from the looks of it—probably even meeting, hanging out together and who knows what else exactly, besides the man himself and God, on whose behalf it sometimes seeemed I was acting, however—

“New York

Or Nowhere”

Oh shit.

The orange and blue basketballs on the fabric clutch held under the arm of the man in front of me distracted my mind for a moment from my writing; the color orange had always reminded me of Dillon, because it was so prevalent in the music which had first captivated me, even before I knew who Dillon Francis was exactly, and had somehow managed to have implanted the notion —especially after the realization that he was, in fact, using magic— that perhaps such a gifted shapeshifter had learned to even transform himself into an object that was inanimate; a traffic cone, whatever that meant.

[DON'T HIT ME.]

Years had passed since the idea had been established, and though I couldn't seem to remember how I had first actually imagined it, besides listening to what probably may have been ‘too much' Dillon Francis, an entire storyline had been written, as Dillon Francis, having become at some point captain of The Bampheraphs, had instructed the other Insomniacs, Bampheramphs, Motherfuckers, and DJs to also transform into the very simple, very inanimate traffic cones— and though Skrillex, or Sonny—was also given an extreme amount of power and magic, especially even the ability to become inanimate himself, or, “The Inanimate Skrillex”, as it had once been written—as it remarkably turned out, Skrillex would find that he could be every color traffic cone besides Neon Orange—which, as the curator of such an idea, had, over time, become both comedic and tragic—as everywhere I seemed to go, tended to produce strangely colored tragic cones at random.

‘That did happen'

Maybe all this means

Is when I find the bravery

To finally fly, or something…

INT. AIRPLANE. DAY

BLŪ is seated in a window seat towards the back of a BOEING 747.

Oh man, this scene.

Sometimes my worst nightmares are airplane crashes, actually. Since I could remember, maybe from the age of about two or three—I would dream awful tragedies—‘nightmares, or night terrors, actually—tornadoes, horrible fires and burning buildings and sometimes, airplane crashes, which even to this day, haunt me when I sleep.

You know, nobody has a ticket to the soul train.

What.

You just jump.

Trains in New York do come suicide fast.

I was on the platform and still almost got hit!

Okay, this isn't really funny anymore, is it?

No.

Suddenly, a sound rang out into my ears and

Ugh, it's hard to write when you want to die this much

‘Why do you want to die this much?

I had extended my air bnb for one more night, but it meant giving up one of my drum machines go to the pawn shop—the one which I had just reclaimed from the pawn shop in Las Vegas, and seemed an entire waste, as it was the heaviest thing in all my luggage, and I had dragged it across the country in order to use it as a performance piece to give myself an edge over the other DJs who simply mixed—But, as it turned out, of course,

the world, “especially New York”, was over saturated with DJs— though I had done what I could, or most of what I could, to get a head start, I had so much work backed up that in the two weeks since I had left my job in LA, that it didn't matter now that I even had my drum machine with me—I was scrambling to gather money to keep a place to sleep, and so the drum machine would have to go in the morning, in exchange for one or two more nights of housing—and with any luck or by the grace or God I could somehow fish it back out of the pawn shop in some weeks or months time—not that I enjoyed the idea of going back into the workforce as anything but an artist—but so far, this artist that I was had been the lowest of all the low paying jobs I had ever had.

‘What is that?'

I had heard the album over and over—it had infinite replay value, of course, and I was using its tones and auras to dry my tears on the long train back to Brooklyn from Manhattan—but, in this moment, as I exited the subway station and made my way down my usual route back to the flat I had depleted my entire savings on staying in—the sound shook through my entirety, rumbling strangely into the arcs of my feet and even stopping me dead in my tracks for a moment, ringing strangely in my chest and into the palms of my hands, up my shoulders and into my hollow lungs, wrapping around my heart, and colliding with the very odd thought

“I gotta stay alive to ask Joel what that was.”

How bizarre.

It was past midnight—and now that I was above ground, I hadn't thought to check again if the new Skrillex album was being released on East Coast time, where Sonny supposedly still was, or if it might not be available until later; and I hadn't thought to look or try to check Instagram again—I had only been on Instagram anyway in hopes of finding a job—and had only checked the Skrillex Instagram hoping that I would see something that would make the way I felt about Sonny stop, by now, suddenly realizing that it never would until he married or procreated with someone else, (or I did) once and for all wiping out any dillusions I had dreamt up or summoned in the wake of our crossing paths. As quickly as he had come to New York, he could have left and probably may have—but I didn't know, and didn't care; it would be futile to believe he would come to rescue me, even if it was what I wanted and needed so much that I couldn't bear the thought of anything more than just departing the entire world.

Earlier, even though I had been pressed for time to make it to the gym, having spent the day of course collecting my things and trying to figure a way out ot the homeless box I had built my way into, still stressing the somehow ‘need' to publish the entirety or the 6th season so that I could go on hiatus—

It really hadn't occurred to me for more than a moment that Sonny might be listening to my podcast at all, besides listening to Renaissance which I had briefly vaulted, having worked out to it too much and beyond honestly hating myself for not being either Skrillex, or perhaps even more disappointingly, Beyoncè—and either one would have done—

I retracted my last couple steps, doubling back to the discotheque—All Night Skate—where I had already asked for a job one of my first nights in Brooklyn, collecting the number of the manager but having lost it, deleting it by accident—

INT. ALL NIGHT SKATE. 12:56 AM

I realized it was nearly closing time; I had stopped back by after Equinox to write, hoping to music mine whatever the DJ was playing, my body strangely acting and writing quite automatically, with reason to live, shaken suddenly alive by an unidentifiable bass sound seated safely on While 1>2, and still seeking purpose

Bryan eno complex heaven

Terrors in my head

The two songs mixed perfectly into my minds eye as I left, snapping photos for albums yet to be written, and wondering whether or not I would live long enough to write them, or to mix the two songs which had so perfectly mixed—one playing in my headphones and the other over the PA system—and wondering how less than an hour earlier I had experienced a sound I had heard at least a hundred times under the arches of my feet.

Oh, wow.

‘Errors In My Bread'

The numbers 404 had always triggered the thought: Error, perhaps suggesting even I myself was nothing more than just a simulation or computer of some sort, a robotic formulation of all that had been programmed and crated to exist in the way that I had, a short circuit or some kind of malfunction; I'd trickled into Equinox at precisely 9:52, which allowed me exactly 8 minutes to prepare to record the beginning of the closing announcements at 10:00 for the Equinox + EP, peel off my outer layer of clothes, and pour into the sauna for at least 15 minutes, squeezing in a light workout—warranted, considering I had spent the entirety of the day before at the club, auditioning the rest of the 6th season between the sauna and steamroom, Suffering the Skrillex that had descended onto the city I neither loved nor lived in—which might have totaled altogether about 4 hours in the sauna alone, and what seemed like 56 gallons of sweat—but I was grasping at straws, searching for random numbers to complete my thoughts. I had left Manhattan, as usual, at 11:00 PM as Sports Club closed—pulling my belongings from locker 403, with locker number 404 catching my attention from out of the corner or my eye—and as tears gushed from my face, blasted through the revolving doors—-there was indeed an Error in my Bread, and so to self soothe as usual only seemed fitting, as the words began to pour from my fingertips once more.

‘Not Your Mother's Drag Night' had ended, and the either irony or synchronicity subtly toyed with my inherent need for survival and awestruck emotions, as the last and final episode of the 6th season, which I had already named [Not Your Mother's Episode] before arriving to my Equinox venture at the party — the episode in which everything I had written, assembled with every entry for the 6th season, to be left in its description —was yet still unreleased; it had been a grueling train ride full of tears, and I had yet to neatly tie together the Jimmy Fallon timeline—the Timmy Turner Timeline, which of course connected the Amanda Bynes timelines and all of the Nickelodeon timelines respectively—and though the Skrillex and Dillon Francis timelines had driven nearly every series in their entireties in one way or another, Sonny's sudden arrival into New York City mere hours after Act III, Part IIhad been posted —indicating that either he himself or someone on his campaign had been listening and reading along with my series, jolting me into a frenzy, of course… (though I had already planned to release the end of the season concurrently—as I had with a majority of the previous seasons, taking a hiatus to regroup after each season conclusion or finale) my homeless-suicidal pattern had shown itself to be cyclical, by now—not that one thing hadn't anything to do with the other, and though someone or something may have found it interesting and entertaining, I myself was growing tired of making a mockery of my own self, remaining unloved, unhoused, and unfelt enough so much so that nothing had really changed—and although the 3rd season's hiatus had warranted the 4th season's Anandar, the 4th seasons return to the United States had of course warranted more racism, capitalistic greed, hereditary confinement, algorithmic condemnation, corporate slavery, and an interesting series of mixtapes—which of course had resulted in the 6th season's hope for a better future, my almost-return to Hollywood via the actual real-life Drake Bell and his man-habits, my mental degradation via lack of privacy, and of course, the empathic enforcement or feeling everything at once besides love, human connection or trust.

My ex had texted me some weeks earlier, finally having apologized for cheating and assuring me that his karma had been paid in full—without responding, I simply screenshotted the message for future use on an album cover, deleted Google voice, and reassured myself that if his long-overdue karma for cheating had just now been ‘paid-in-full', that it surely had not been paid in full at all and was only just beginning—as he had never apologized or admitted to anything else he'd done—of course, as our relationship had ended, my re-awakening of creativity had been flourishing; I was always recording, taking samples, and writing down ideas for music I wanted to make—and besides that—openly admitting that he had hit me would probably open a disastrous wormhole of self-realization and shame no true narcissist could take—that which he was, not that I at this point had resented it, besides of course the scarring on my lower lip that had come as a result, the estrangement from my son, or the mental anguish I had suffered—and, looking back, I still could never recount whether I had…

Just then, I realized that there was an error in my thinking; I had already been running off my weight at a tremendously rapid pace, working out to Recess in the living room between shifts at the veterinary clinic, where I took pride and joy in running with the greyhounds at then-top speed, racing to Diplo, Doctor P, and Rusko—of course, only stopping to express, my breasts still heavy from lactation, and realizing that it was painful to run with boobs full of anything—let alone, milk—which sometimes I pumped for Annie once her glands had gone dry, donated to the NICU, or winded up in my ex's coffee, because it gave him “superpowers.”

This is a weird story.

Well, if I tell some of it I have to tell all of it.

Why are you even telling some of it?

Because someone threw Skrillex in my tent and

I should have raped him.

You can't rape the willing.

This is a sick bitch we're dealing with.

How do you know he was willing?

(He was wiling.)

Idk,bro. He looked sick.

Or scared.

Or Ill.

“ill”

Get it.

I put the ill in Skrillex

Better fix my will forreal

This could be my last meal

Cause I feel like jumping off a building

Or a cliff,

Like dead horse point—

We're beating/being a dead horse,

Aren't we?

Or an F'n Pig:

Oink Oink!

Boisterous,

Aren't we boys?

Let me annoint you all with oil,

On upholstery

You want a half,

Or a whole thing?

I want you to hold—

I want you to know me

I want you to love me

I love you

Are you happy?

Oh, you fucked up.

Oh, you think?!

I barely sleep,

Then you start showing up in my dreams?

I don't believe you,

I don't believe in anything but me,

And I could be you, maybe

Maybe there's a sequel,

If we're equal—

Or if he isn't evil;

Maybe I'll just

Evil Kinivel

Fuck you people!

Maybe I'll go fuxkin sleep with Lil Peep

I'll call the reaper,

Jesus Weeps,

But probably not as much as

_________

He's a keeper.

Fun fact: when you cry, I cry.

Plz. Stop crying.

I can't.

INT. A FIREY PLANE CRASH

Wait.

THE BILDERBERG MEETING.

Jesus Christ, why is Shia Labouf so fuckin ripped.

Ew. Who feeds him.

CHICKEN.

gross.

BEFORE:

SHIA LABEOUF

ITS ME, I'M IN YOUR DREAMS.

Ū

Oh noooo…

SHIA LABEOUF

THE FESTIVAL PROJECT

Ū

…

What.

SHIA LABEOUF

THE FESTIVAL PROJECT

Ū

k.

SHIA LABEOUF

NOW WAKE UP,

Ū

What?

SHIA LABEOUF

WAKE—UP.

Narcissistic Cannibal- Korn, Skrillex.

UP.

[C.C. Wakes up, drenched in sweat. ]

…

…

…

C.C.

…Shia LaBeouf…?

(That was an actual dream I had once—give or take a few parts.)

Yeah, give or take.

Ahem.

I probably would have forgotten he existed, too, were it not for that dream—and shortly thereafter…

FLASHBACK:

C.C. Is binge watching Hot Ones.

I want—all the sauce.

What's that dudes name.

Sean.

He seems a little off.

Yeah, I bet he's off.

E Q U I N O X

huh.

…huh.

INT. THE BILDERBERG MEETING

SHIA LABEOUF

I DONT GIVE A SINGLE FUCK.

ILLUMINATI

perfect.

SECURITY

GET OUT.

SHIA LABEOUF

I WAS NEVER IN.

CHICKEN.

Ew.

ILLUMINATI

SEQUENCE C - GREENLIGNT.

Wtf is happening in this show.

Idk, but I like it.

Where's —

CHAL

(From season 4)

IT DOESNT MAAAAAAATER.

Right.

CUT BACK TO:

INT. A FIREY PLANECRASH. DAY.

QUEST FOR FIRE.

LOOK TO THE SKIES, YOUNG PADOWAN.

oh my god. It's a fire breathing dragon!

No, dude, that's a firey plane crash.

Fuck.

FIRE BREATHING DRAGON.

That's a fire breathing dragon.

W0W.

Which do you think is gonna be more interesting?

Neither, I'd rather watch The Legend of SupaCree

What time is it on?

SUPACREE

it's always on.

How is that even possible!

SUPACREE

you're on it,

Are you recording me?

SUPACREE

I record everything.

Srsly?!

SUPACREE

Except lovemaking.

…

SUPACREE

That is private.

…

SCARY TERRY

SEX IS SACRED, BITCH.

SUPACREE

don't cal me a bitch.

…

go watch TV.

CUT BACK TO:

INT. A FIREY PLANE CRASH. DAY

[Terror has stricken the passengers of flight 626, as the BOEING 747 plunges rapidly, falling from the sky at an alarming speed, as the airplane decentigrates, falling into pieces]

SHIA LABEOUF

Does this character not have a name?

No, it's literally Shia LaBeouf; he's playing himself.

CUT TO:

SHIA LABEOUF

I'M AN AIR MARSHALL WHEN I'M NOT ACTING

Why is he still yelling?

SHIA LABEOUF

‘CAUSE I'M IN YOUR DREAMS.

CUT BACK TO:

Just before:

SHIA LABEOUF looks over the rims of his glasses, staring forward at CC/SUPACREE, before lowering his head back down, momentarily pretending to read a magazine from under the brim of his tan cap, obscuring his identity. He places his hand over the gun in his holster, revealing by the golden badge beside it that he is a federal air Marshall (to the audience) before adjusting his brown leather jacket to cover it, squinting conspicuously under his bifocal lenses, peering once more at CC/SUPACREE, and swallowing subtly, licking his lips and flashing away a secondary glimpse of fear in his eyes, before presuming a fierce gaze as he braces for impact, calmly unbuckling his seatbelt. Suddenly, the plane is struck— as the passengers scream and panic in fear, he simply stands up, stabilizing his balance, and moves towards the terrified and hyperventilating SUPACREE. ]

Ok. That'll do.

What about Drake Bell?!

what about Drake Bell!?

And Drake And Josh?!

AND THE AMANDA SHOW

AND ARIANA GRANDE

AND ALL THE NICHELODEON KIDS?!

It can wait.

NO!

BUT WHAT ABOUT

COSMO + WANDA?!

AND SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS

AND HEY ARNOLD

I never got to Hey Arnold, but I've been thinking about it a lot since I got to New York; but—that's also Nickelodeon, so—

BUT WHAT ABOUT DILLON FRANCIS.

he's very attractive.

WHAt ab0Ut SKriLLeX?!

he's also very attractive,

And just dropped his album—

So we can just assume that the previously mentioned are perhaps both getting their dicks sucked often enough that I don't have to worry about it.

Why would you worry about it.

CAUSE I'M IN YOUR DREAMS.

This is not kid friendly.

AHHHHHHHHHH

WHAT ABOUT JIMMY FALLON.

Everything naughty he says in this series is censored caused he has a contract with NBC.

WHERE'S WHOOPI GOLDBERG?!

WHO!?

I don't like this. I don't like this at all.

Then keep scrolling.

What about deadmau5.

Probably also presumably getting his dick sucked.

W0W.

I re-entered the apartment at exactly 1:15.

BLŪ

Of course.

And though I had been filled with nothing but words and heartache, I could do no more than to peel off my layers and tumble into the shower, no longer in tears, but still devastated — and somehow dying to know if the Skrillex album just so happened to mark my Deathwish, or restore my faith in humanity…neither of which actually mattered; I had fallen prey once more to the cycle of poverty's destruction and relentlessness, if even by my own doing—the respective love I held for Sonny, Dillon Francis, or anyone else simply a faction of obsessive fandom, my writings a mere glimpse into the unobstructed world of the fourth dimension, which I undoubtedly still believed and was living in, only hoping that I was indeed not the hopeless protagonist to die, in the end—and perhaps, that even if I did, the worlds and works that I had published on The Legend of Supacree, OWSLA Confidential: The Infinite Skrillifiles, Gerald's World, and Enter The Multiverse would stand as the backbone for an unimaginable flurry of

Whatever. The End.

ENTER THE MULTIVERSE

WAR OF WORLDS

LEGENDS

HOLY WAR

EARTH

WORLD WAR WATER

(WWIII)

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

I love You.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

Ugh,

Die! Die! Die! - my mom

(My mom actually said that.)

SEASON 6

ACT III, PART VIII

“The Lovers' Quarrel”

The Lovers must practice an a traditional one-handed duel; They must fence whilst one arm is tied behind the back, a rope tightly held by each's own ascended master as they maneuver in the round. It is a practice of stealth, dynamic movement, and self control.

Petruchio and C'esmet passionately dance in the round--the training period stands as a trial-and-error, The Ascended masters tugging at the ropes to correct their mistakes.

C'esme't travels to a descended dimension to materialize her Ascended Mastery; Supacree Gains her powers not slowly, but all at once.

Avicii explains how long one walks the astral void before returning home into the Kingdom of Heaven after departing.

DILLON FRANCIS

YOU'RE GOING TO GET ME KILLED.

CHAK CHEL

I wasn't trying to get you killed! I was trying to get you laid!

||

D.J.

YOU'RE GOING TO GET ME KILLED.

C.C.

I WASNT TRYING TO GET YOU KILLED! I WAS TRYING TO GET YOU LAID.

D.J.

I can get laid by myself!

C.C.

D.J.

Shut UP.

The famed lovers take their place in the center of the arena; they humbly and gracefully take their battle stance, looking each other in the eye, one arm extended behind the back to face the sky, the other planted firmly, grounding them to earth.

In quiet desperation, a silence falls over the entirety of the space—until, a glowing light distracts all but the two of the lovers, focused in oneness, acknowledging two qual parts of one whole.

The crowd gasps and coos, as the glowing figure, masqueraded by shadows in a beam of light and colorful auras

A tall figure stands equidistant to the two lovers; the triad is formed, and as he begins the yet Ū fort old ancient ritual, the lovers are overwhelmed with shock and confusion.

blackout

—

END EPISODE

Lost your shine?

Lost my Skrillex!

You miss it?

Do I Miss—?

…

You know what?

What.

Fuck you, dude.

...no can do.

[later]

Are we relaxed?

What is this?

I need it.

You fucked up.

This isn't right.

No, it isn't.

—

BLACKOUT,

What happened here?

Are we rolling?

Cut to commercial.

—

Are you serious?

I'm so serious!!!

She's so serious.

Cut to: Grocery Store, Day

[over the store radio]

She's a maniac, maniac on the floor!!

What is she DOING?

What are you doing?

I'm doing me, bitch.

And she's dancing like she never has before.

—cut to rave—

***WUBZ***

Who is this?

I'm on my own tonight.

Is she drinking?!?

THATS NOT FAIR!

Oh, Sweet Jesus!

—regular Jesus: [to sweet Jesus] aha! It's you this time.

Sweet Jesus: fuck, no fair.

THIS ISN'T SKRILLEX.

Sweet Baby Jesus.

Sweet Jesus: (relieved) YES.

Regular Jesus: oh, you're saved.

Nice.

[ JESUS passes BABY JESUS to SWEET JESUS, then footballing the infant into the outer realms, dusting his hands off and flexing.]

Send the Messiah.

Wait, which one?

Yeah, whose Messiah?

Cut back to: the rave

...Who's baby is this?

Woah, cool baby.

I respect that.

[the third raver simply lifts his diffraction glasses, astonished by the bedazzling baby Jesus's vibe.]

Wait, Baby Jesus is bedazzled?

MAYBE:

Cut to: A flash of the alternate dimension, where indeed baby Jesus is Bedazzled.]

Cut back to:

No, his vibe.

Is he sparkling?

It's his aura.

Oh.

Pfft. Lol. Okay.

—-

First of all, I've never had this many black friends before. ..

Oh, my God…

I am alarmed.

She's so stupid…

Actually, just ugly—!

Eyyy.

Woahhh!

But now I'm—

You're a fan.

Hey—I ate a fan for breakfast—okay?! Literally.

OKAY.

Ew, gross.

Just kill me.

[without hesitation]

No—Ze Rulez.

[Lowers Rave Weapon]

__

I'm highly allergic—

—Don't need Skrillex.

Brought my own! —

[stabs self]

What is that?

Oh shit, it's the

EPI(c)PEN

OH SHIT.

Nice.

It also writes.

After the stab?

Usually after, yes.

You, have to.

Oh, yeah, huh?

No, you actually have to stab yourself first with it—or else it won't write.

—

Anyway—what were you trying to write?

...fuck, I forgot.

Good job, Sonny.

___

Take me back!

You wanted this.

I wanted NOTHING.

You got there!

Agh!!

Then when you did, you wanted to leave.

There's no music.

It's literally NOTHING.

Except Jimmy Fallon.

WHAT?!

Since when?! What?

Since literally ever.

What?! No way.

Let me see.

Let me see.

Oh my—WOAH.

Let me see.

Nothing is something!

Unh-uh bro!

What the—

IT IS JIMMY FALLON.

There's this cricket that lives

Somewhere near here,

When I hear him

I think of the song

He sings

and all I think is

“I wish someone would sing for me,

I wish someone would sing for me”

If he makes me cry one more time...

“One last time,

We gonna celebrate”

If there's an album,

there's going to be a tour;

If there's a tour,

I'm gonna wanna see him

And it's just infinite, isn't it--

Infinite, isn't it?

There's no point to it;

There's really nowhere safe,

that I could run from him

A class act

An a plus

A sad actor with black magic

A bad pastor with bad habits

A black cat, and a hat and in it

Is everything I ever imagined

If there's an album,

There's going to be a crowd

I'm gonna want to be in it

And it's just infinite isn't it

Can't live with Skrillex

Can't go on tour with him

Maybe I just,

Settle down in this awful town

While I try to figure out,

What this is about

And if this is about Skrillex

How did I get into it?

If this is Skrillex

How do

___

AHHHH DUDE.

AHHH THIS ISN'T HAPPENING.

Ahhhh man.

What the fuck.

This is--did you Put The Skrillex in The Skrillex, like I said?

...I…

...did you put the Skrillex in The Skrillex?

Skrillex-Skrillex

Put the-the Skrillex in the Skrillex

Skrillex-t-Skrillex-Skrillex

Skrillex is Skrillex-Skrillex

OH SHIT.

YOU DON'T REMEMBER WRITING ‘THE SKRILLEX SONG'?

I DIDN'T WRITE IT!

YOU WROTE IT.

She's denying it.

Oh, She stole all ya'll music.

She took all of my songs.

All of them?

I mean, not all of them--just the bangers.

I'm not going to Mexico for Dillon Francis.

“The Interrogation”

SUPACREE pays the incarcerated SKRILLEX under observation a series of visits, using her invisibility cloak.

[[*This would be along the same storyline (using a linear “time”) where SUPACREE has gained most of her abilities, and is also terrorizing Dillon Francis (*interns scene).

So.

What?

Just to get this straight; Nobody can see SUPACREE?

Right.

But she's--basically--beating the shit out of people.

Yeah, she's just... fucking shit up.

But nobody can see her.

No.

At all.

No. Nobody at all, just the DJ's.

Starting with--

D1-Skrillex

D2-DIllon Francis

D3-SUPACREE

(Wait, how the fuck?)

Scary Monsters and SUPACREE.

Well, which comes first?

What?

Which movie?

I--What?

In order.

Order?

Like...wait, what are you saying?

When you put them in order--

Order??

ORDER!!!

Bruh. I just got a dick pic from Dillon Francis.

What? By like, accident?

I don't think it was an accident…

It had to be...

It has a personalized greeting, with my name in it.

What? Let me see--!

(Look)

I mean--not “let me see”, I just meant--the greeting. Like, what did it say?

Dude--

Damn, that's…

Yeahhhh man!

Was there a show tonight?

Maaaayyybe, I don't know where it would be...

Yo dude, I'm calling--WOAH.

What dude?

I got a message from him too!

Oh shiiiit, what's it say?

Should I even open it?

Open it!

What if it's his dick, bro?

Open it!

[Opens it.]

OHHH.

It's his dick, bro.

Oh SHIT, what the fuck HAPPENED?

What did happen?

Does yours have a message?

What did happen…? I feel like--wait, is that--huh.

What does the message say?

It does have a message...wait--let me see yours again.

What the fuck for?

[staring at phone, cocking head slowly to one side]

((Ohh, I like this, the audio pans like--))

I feel like mine's at a different angle.

A different angle--wh--let me see.

[shows phone]

[cocks head to the side slowly, returning to his phone to compare the photos]

Oh shit, that is at a different angle. With different lighting!

Whatthefuuuck.

Dude.

_

Well, what did you do when you were Skrillex?

A lot.

_

Yo. That dude has like 16 passports. I had a lot of fun as Qua Long.

_

Shenanigans As Dillon Francis--

Oh shit, this is gonna be a long list.

It's actually not that much.

(It's a lot)

Dillon Francis sits at his desk in his Lair/Office. A pile of legal paperwork is stacked in front of him.

((Oh shit, where's the scene where he's got the glasses?))

Which...glasses…

Aw fuck.

Oh, right--cause he has a--

He has an entire series.

How the fuck did Dillon Francis get to be Captain of the Motherfucking Bampheramphs?!

FUCK that, he's not my captain.

He's your captain.

He is not my Captain.

That is not my President.

I'M THE CAPTAIN NOW!

**Insert: This Is: Dillon Francis Here

Damn dude. Dillon Francis needs an entire character analisis (Okay, keep that misspelling, that's hilarious. Anyway) *Analysis

I think I might have to write one.

Can we not?

I mean.

Yo dude, i”m like half capacity for Dillon Francis

Half, is….half.

Well, I mean it's corona virus so--

Fragments of Mr. Francis

Blasted analysis

Need a dialysis just to get this

Sk-

Shit out my system.

Now I speak

Sk-Sk-Sk

I shout out curses.

Now I speak clown

I'm an Owl out of water.

Now I speak

Sk-Sk-Sk

I create languages

I see the stares

On blank faces

I paint the canvas

With blood and with ashes

I leave on the pavement

First of all,

These park and raves are crazy

Electric Daisy is inside me

Everybody's at the party

All the stars aligning

And all the patrons waiting, waving

___

I call him “The Ghost”

You never know where he goes,

And the music follows

No forward

But I know, I know

He's The Ghost Producer

And I'm just a Loser

_

Ive never seen this one before!

Me neither.

That's great.

Something new.

Well-something old, something new--it's Skrillex.

Yeah, but I like Skrillex.

We all like Skrillex

Wow.

Oh, the fan..family.

Family?

Family, wait--

AGH, THIS MUSIC IS DISTRACTING ME.

It was so clear, and then it just--

Yeah, Vanished?

Yeah.

Yeah.

[A Silence.]

A circle of dancing people summon wishes out of the center of their Concentrical Circle.

AHHHHHHHHHHHH.

What.

I'm pretty sure this already happened. I remember that.

What?

That never happened

Uh. It did. It happened like, last season--

--LAST SEASON?

--maybe even the season before that.

What! I thought we were watching the Pilot!

I THOUGHT THIS WAS A MOVIE.

This is the third movie.

THE THIRD MOVIE?

Wait--when did you get here?

I...have always been here.

[beat.]

She's been going on like this for two days.

Oh My God.

Yes.

Have you tried to stop her?

No, it's too good; Plus, she can sense us coming it's--watch this. Queue the passerby.

A passerby moves towards the garden in the far east corner of the observatory;

Are you recording all of this?

Even better; We're broadcasting it.

To WHO?

(in space, in what (was thought to be, anyway) a Void in the unknown.

Uh, it WAS a void in the unknown, until a satellite crossed into it)

What the fuck, is that a Satelite?

A satellite!

A satellite? Which satellite? I've got dozens of satellites.

Dozens?

*Thousands

Elon Musk: ...Was it one of mine?

(It was)

((To literally nobody's surprise))

(((Literally)))

Literally, nobody--because literally nobody ever existed, ever. Until this happened.

WHAT IS THIS?

Have you seen this?

No.

Well, you're in it.

Okay? I'm in a lot of shit.

We all are. But not this.

(yes you are)

What was that?

What was what?

You need to burn this.

Burn it…

Nobody can ever see it.

Okay.

I just took 6 Xanex.

6!

YES. And ⅓.

And a third. Okay.

Yes. 6 and ⅓.

This,

This.

This is why.

Why what?

Why he looked at me like that.

Like what?

[A look.]

But how could he have even known; Where could he have ever been, that I was that would make it make sense.

Well, we know the Why.

This is why.

So now--How.

How, now Brown Cow?

Okay, honestly--it's almost funny now, because yeah--I'd probably also react that same way if I knew someone was going to write that about me.

Yeah, I panicked.

Panicked; I had a heart attack.

Have you seen that thing?

Yeah, it's massive.

It is massive it's--

--God, it's ridiculous.

--It's almost atrocious.

Yikes.

Yeah.

I've been inside of this story before.

Oh?

I've been inside all of them.

I see.

Most of them, I just choose to forget.

What makes it so that you choose?

_

I actually stopped breathing.

For how long?

Forever. It was nice.

_

You...made this…?

I...yeah.

You cooked me breakfast.

I enjoy cooking.

Well, thank you.

Welcome.

DEAD.

How did--

Alright.

So these two planets.

Yeah.

Two different galaxies?

I guess.

Okay.

_

First of all that party was lit as fuck and you missed it.

I didn't miss it, I just... attended at a limited distance.

Chak Chel's set.

Doooog.

It was.

(MM.)

Bruh, I just miss when SNAILS was Captain.

That was fun times.

Too bad we can't go back.

...we can go back...

No, dude don't--

Ted, Ted, and Ted meet Todd, Todd, and Todd at Lost In The Sauce Lands.

So basically--all 6 of them fuck up at the same time and end up In this--

It's basically a void that lasts infinitely at Lost Lands.

Oh shit.

_

You better quit it, before you get Stuck in The Skrillex.

[The Skrillex Tar Pits]

_

Have you ever seen a mosh pit at--

-- Skril--

NO. I'm not ready to talk about it.

--Dillon Francis--

It was really therapeutic.

-it was nice, they had protective equipment

-there was a line, and a queue

-it was literally the safest moshpit I've ever attended.

Meanwhile, at the Skrillex concert:

I'M NOT READY.

-

Well, that was nuts.

Please. No amount of marijuana is going to make you capable of understanding--

I'm not trying to understand, i'm trying to cope; okay?

This nigga has magical powers.

--And then what?--

Is she still on fire?

(an explosion)

Yes.

Is she still on fire?

(several explosions)

Maybe.

There were so many bombs.

(((But the worst?)))

“The Nigga Conniption”

Oh, shit, is that what we're calling it?

Where did he get it?

He didn't “get it”, he just had it.

How could he just “have it.”

I had to do something; They were going to kill him.

What happened to your “survival of the fittest”

This is different.

How is it different?

This is different because he isn't sick, or defective--he's just...created…

…?

...differently. So it's different.

Woah. That's a lot of shit.

It is a lot. What the fuck.

I swear to GOD i've been in this WOBBLE for over a MINUTE NOW.

Ahhhh, there you are--

Ah, The Wobbles. Here, we meet:

-mr. wobble

-the wobble monster

and some other wobble people

who live in the wobble.

Bruh. I am so tired. What does this dude eat for breakfast?

I guess we insert that scene with Dillon Francis here, right?

(((Yup.))

So, to this festival…

YESTIVAL.

Oh shit, is that what we called it?

YES.

oh shit, because--

EVERYTHING IS YES.

(Everything was yes.)

((It was.))

(((It still is.)))

The Venga Bus.

The Double Dutch Bus.

Whatever that is.

The Oscar Meyer Weiner Mobile.

That strange Double Decker from Harry Potter.

T h e S o u l T r a i n

Did it have a name?

I don't know. I don't have time for the internet right now.

Now they call me “the internet”

Okay, wait--

Yeah.

So. Next time I die, that's it--everything just stops.

Yes.

_

Eventually I'm gonna get sick of this shit

and just sit

But that's someday,

And todays not it;

It's lit

About to hit TiTs and

Hit the Highway,

And I'm on the way

Cause I was born to rage.

DaDa Life.

Ahhs, those were the days.

The golden age of rave…

FIRST OF ALL PASQUALE, THIS SHIT IS RIDICULOUS.

(Overhead of EDC)

YOU DID THIS.

[that's a neutral]

Is she yelling at him?

I think she's more proud and impressed, but pissed at the same time, because he's just so nonchalant and calm about it.

Oh please, that nigga is not calm.

Face.

Have you seen his eyes? They're wild. Wild, I tell you.

OKay what the fuck is happening; Pasqualle's eating Twinkies right now.

Dude, the world is ending.

I don't think the world is “ending”, it's just...something's probably wrong with it or something.

[[watching virtual rave]]

oh yes, something is wrong with it definitely.

What is actually happening right now.

This shit just lifted us into space--

--this isn't it, is it?--

What, at the rave?

You're still at that rave?

You have reception in space?...Hello…

Oh Hell No. My Phone cut off!

I still have reception.

Who do you have

T Mobile

(but later)

Bruh, I just lost service.

What? Oh no.

Oh, what-- I still have service.

What? When did you get here?

Who the fuck are you?

I've...always been here.

What, no you haven't, I--

Shh.

Here.

What? How do you have service? What carrier is this?

GOOGLE.

I don't know--have you asked Google about it?

No, fuck that, I don't want to talk to Google about it--she's just going to make me over analyse everything--

Maybe you should over-analyse it.

No.

Hey man, the word ‘analysis' is starting to look funny.

Of course it looks funny, it starts with ‘anal'

Who starts with ‘anal'?

Touchy.

Hooe shit, have you seen that bitch?

She's scary.

She's a bit scary.

Did she say that? I believe it.

I don't know if I believe it.

BELIEVE IT.

Wait, you're Naruto?

In the flesh!

WHY!

Why am I Naruto?

WHY ARE YOU IN THE FLESH?!

How did you DO this?

You did-did.

I did not DO this; I couldn't DO this!

You can do anything.

But I didn't!

But you can. You can do everything. You are everything.

But i'm not.

Alright. Then you're not.

WHAT?

If you honestly believe that--or whatever you honestly believe--then that's facts.

Damn, she put you in a “Fuck You” Chamber.

[*ding!* FUHCKYOU]

What did you DO.

Yo, what did you doooo.

What did you do to this girl, oh my god dude; I hate you.

I hate you!

I HATE YOU.

I HATE--

Oh now, dear; Hate is such a strong word.

Ohh. It's a Skrillex.

S K R I L L E X

It is.

Looks Fragile.

Should we grab it?

FIRST OF ALL,

--Goddammit, dude--

“IT”, is a HE.

Okay, DAMN.

DAMN? OKAY.

[she does.]

Damn.

Yeah.

So that's what “Damn” is.

Lol the first damnation.

Hey--

Hi--

Okay, what if--

What if:

THAT'S the name of your Supergroup?

I wanted to call us “Trifecta”

Here?

yeah , right here.

This is where you want your Kingdom?

...Yeah, right here.

...Okay...

Okay.

{A look}

K bye.

_

I've been at this rave for 57 days.

_

Okay. Ya'll.

Okay, ya'll!

No. Guys. We gotta get out of here.

What?

Noooo. We're just getting started.

No. Guys. I'm serious. Something is happening.

“I see dead people”

...Freddy Mercury? Really.

Uh huh.

At a rave.

Yes.

In space.

We did go to space, yes.

Okay. Simpson?

Yes.

I'm gonna need you to take the day off.

he's crazy

He's not crazy, he's just gay!

he's craaazy gay.

_

Okay. But how do you know him?

he's my ex.

No he isn't.

Who is it?

(sighs) it's...my ex.

WHAT?

Check. Mate. Bitch.

__

Mm. I know her.

Who--Billie Ellish--

[Nods]

What?

Take me to her.

Take you...to Billie Ellish.

If that's what you're calling...her... now...yes.

“now”?

Mmhmm.

Lady, how old are you--and what is this shit?

Hm. (squints) try it.

(sus) UH, no…?

Suit yourself. It's there if you ever want it.

(later)

Dillon Francis is searching frantically for extra magic when--

[He comes across the flask, and snatches it.]

WOW.

Yeah, I know; it's crazy, right?

You just found him like this?

I did.

Where was he?

I tripped over him at a bus stop.

Woah.

Bro, that's so mean.

Okay

What did Dillon Francis do to you?

He knows what he did.

He does?

No.

(He actually does.)

Oh, I knew it!

((You should know it, you wrote--))

THE END.

___

What is your favorite invention?

Of mine?

Yeah.

Hmm….

(((Ganja.)))

What's your favorite color?

Hmmm…

(((White)))

“When The Day Met The Night”

Has Brenden Urie been to the future?

Probably.

He seems...

He seems off.

(He is)

We all are.

(You are.)

Hey--who's saying that?

Let me be Frank.

Dooooooog.

it's that part! It's that part.

Shuttup!

Nigga this is it--this is the shit I told you!

So...how many channels is this on?

It's on millions of channels throughout the interdiemensions and counting.

“Millions of channels throughout the interdimensions,”

Not only are we Global; We are now Interplanetary, and our Communication Technology has connected us into the outer dimensions, and intersecting parallels.

Are you guys done blowing eachother up yet?

UH, WHAT?

You're idiots; This was supposed to be a redemption for your entire species, and you fuckwads ruined...pretty much everything. Now we have to mellow out your entire civilization--

--yeah, or annihilate it--

---just for you backwards savages to get lifted into the Ascension.

Idiots.

What was that?

What was what?

Did you hear something?

Hear what?

Ouch!

Ow? What's wrong? Are you Okay?!

*trigger, pulled*

-------------------------------------------------------BOOM---------------------------------------------------------------

S/HE CAME THROUGH MY SUBWOOFER.

She came in through the bathroom window.

___

No, no, no--let me be the DJ.

You're already the DJ.

Heh.

I wanna be the DJ.

What were you saying?

I don't know. Something Something Sonny Something.

So she took 6 Xanex, and

#Adderall

It was just a long day, that's all…

And then I hear Skrillex is on his way HERE?

Damn.

No. I'm not okay.

So, I...

Damn dog, she lost it.

She lost it.

I ovet is.

huh.

Oh man, he was on one.

I'm on one.

Fuck it, I'm On One.

Fuck.

What happened?

What happened?

What happened?

Well, that's tragic.

Wait--this is a tragedy?

No, it isn't--it's a comedy.

No, it isn't-it has Sad Dillon Francis.

Exactly. If it has sad Dillon Francis in it, it's tragic. It's supposed to be dramatic.

Dillon Francis was crying in it? That's fantastic. That's hilarious.

Sad Dillon Francis? I don't want to see sad Dillon Francis!

He's a bad actor.

Then i'll be sad.

We're all sad.

Oh, you're right--we're all sad.

Oh.

He is actually not a bad actor.

He was really good in it.

Oh, my God--it was really good.

Are you serious?

I'm not watching it.

It's nominated for an Oscar.

I'm not watching it.

C'mon man --do you know how long it took to get my hands on this?

They have them at Fantastik.

Do you know what I had to do?

It was not cool.

Bro, it was so cool!

So goood.

He is, he's good.

What has he done!

This is bad.

This is very bad.

KLIPTOWN EMPYREAN, OH I GET IT, IT'S--

Sop.

Okay?

You're never gonna get it.

‘Nah, you're never gonna get it.

Never ever gonna get it

DUDE.

WHAT?

WRITE THE FUCKIN MOVIE.

WHICH ONE?

I DON'T KNOW--THE ONE THAT GETS US OUT OF HERE.

How'd you learn how to do that?

Do what?

Does he know?

No, he doesn't. He doesn't know.

Oh.

Oh, he doesn't know what he did?

Nah, not yet.

Wow.

Have you seen this?

[Looks]

(Not Impressed)

Now I have.

What d you think--

I don't.

That it's like, magic, or...what is that.

I don't know what it is.

Well...what do you think it is?

I don't think, I just listen; and if anything sounds interesting, I just send it in.

Interesting like this?

[plays it]

CUT TO:

[stops it]

This is interesting.

They stare into The Box.

I'm glad you did this in person. No one else can know about this; Not even our affiliates.

Not even--

Nobody.

Woah, it actually came back

I told you, if it was a good idea, it would always come back.

It...I guess.

Besides, it's already happened.

It's just playing over.

“Do I Know you?”

“Do you?”

Damn. This shit gets deep.

I don't get how it's deep. And I don't get how it's DIllon Francis.

I can't even imagine how this happened.

Imagine Dragons.

That's--I'd rather--not.

Anyway, why is she cooking this nigga breakfast?

Because he's dead, he should have a nice breakfast.

Yeah, you're probably right.

BILLIE ELLISH

I---like that scythe.

SUPA CRYPT KEEPER

It's nice, right?

BILLIE ELLISH

Yeah. I like it.

SCK

You like it? Have it.

BILLIE ELLISH

It's mine?

SCK

Yah! If you like it so much, just take it--

CUT TO

DILLON FRANCIS

DUDE, SHE TOOk ONE OF MY MAGNETS.

CUT BACK TO

BILLIE ELLISH

Nice!

Besides, I have another one just like it--but tiny.

TINY SCYTHE.

Have you seen this Billie Ellish kid?

Oh wow.

Yeah, she's kind of terrifying.

BILLIE ELLISH is an Old Soul.

(it's true, she actually is)

A really, really old soul.

Who is this. I like it.

Are You Okay?

Not really, but-- (Shrugs)

That's it? That was the fast?

Yup.

But it was so short.

Sometimes it is.

But now what?

What else do you want?

I...don't know how to do this.

Sure you do,you just do it.

You don't know how you shine the sun, you just do it

Just do it!

JUST DO IT, NIKE.

Is this your knife?

I...yes.

[they fight]

Is this your knife?

I... maybe...

[they fight]

Is this...your

I-- [winces]

CUT TO:

Now, give me your hat.

What, why?!

GIVE ME YOUR HAT.

Damn dude, Skrillex is kicking ass and taking names all day in this.

What movie is this?

*This is the dimension where pretty much, everything is Skrillex.

Well, Everything is Skrillex.

Is this the one with the Bellagio Fountain?

I think it is.

Nigga. He remixed it.

He what?

The Conniption. He remixed it.

What?

“The Conniption”; that's what people are calling it.

Oh...

Yeah. Bruh. Look at--

OH MY GOD.

Bro..you leave the fandom, you leave the kingdom.

What Kingdom? Dog, this isn't a Kingdom, it's just random.

Bro, people LOVE IT. Now they want you to do a collab together.

A collab with Skrillex? I can't afford a collab with Skrillex..

You have to do a collab with Skrillex!

Uh, I don't have to do anything. Especially that.

___

You're getting residuals off my existence.

I am your existence.

SKRILLEX is a SUPERSTAR DJ.

-&-

SUPACREE is a SUPERSTAR DJ.

WARNING:

This combination is potentially hazardous.

WARNING.

! ! !

X___X

WARNING.

__

...is there something you need me to do?

It's... hard to talk about it...

Then don't, you don't have to speak, at all, you know.

Oh what, he's telepathic?

Homeotelepathy. What is that?

BRO, WHAT IS YOUR POWER.

Dude, I don't want to see Skrillex. That shit is terrifying.

You're terrified of Skrillex?

[Plays three clips]

...yeah, dude.

Okay, so basically.

Wow, he's a rocket scientist.

How did you get to this Planet?

What Planet.

Oh, Goddamn him.

Well, t--

Then we just LARPED.

Wow that's...

Oh, it got violent.

Are you Finished with the Skrillex?

Not yet.

DUDE, DID YOU KNOW?

NO!

DID HE KNOW?

NO!

(((YES.)))

AGH. I hate this place! Everything is YES.

You're a fucking idiot.

Oh yeah, you're a fucking Skrillex. How about that?

Call me Skrillex again, you little bitch--just look me in the eye and say it.

Skrillex.

__

Hey, I know this magic…

Magic, this is all magic.

Yeah, I know this guy; This is Jimmy Fallon's magic.

(Good job, bro.)

Jimmy Fallon's Galaxy.

What the fuck I thought it was a planet.

*Ahem. Jimmy Fallon's Magic Galaxy.

Oh, wow.

Alright, then.

WHAT. Jimmy Fallon isn't a Bampheramph.

Actually, he just made Captain.

You're kidding.

No, that was... that just happened.

Jimmy Fallon.

(Obviously)

Come with--actually, you can stay right there.

What?

Just stand right there.

...and that's his magic.

How does he have that? What did he ask for?

What did you give him?

What did he ask for?

What did you give him?!

Oh My God.

You can't just go around granting wishes!

I was just trying to manage these prayers, one-handedly.

You can't just answer all the prayers as “wishes granted” that's why we have this system.

Christ.

No, not me--not today, Satan; I can't TAKE IT.

JESUS CHRIST.

Nah, he quit.

What?!

BUT. You got me now, so.

Who the FUCK are you?

I'm..uh...

What are they calling me?

They don't know it's you, they're still calling you Jesus.

Well of course they still worship Jesus.

Which Jesus?

Well, any Jesus--All The Jesus.

It was all the Jesus.

All the Jesus.

Magic Israel?

A Ziptie machine?

A “Stud Finder”

IT WORKED.

Of course it works.

Well, no use crying over spilled Skrillex.

But what do we do with it?

Well, we're just going to have to get rid of it.

Get rid of it? Fuck that!

Didn't you say you wanted to *sissappear?

Yes.

Then get out of here.

It is--

No, this isn't.

This is his.

No it isn't--it isn't Skrillex.

What do you mean “It isn't Skrillex”? It's Skrillex.

It isn't Skrillex.

What are you talking about--it's--

I made this.

What?

No, it's.

It's me. I did this.

She's not mad at him,

or anything

In fact,

She's just a fragment

Or a figment

or a magnet, that managed to stick

In his imagination

I hang out in this memory

It's bad,

But I keep going back--

I thought maybe I could manage it

Keep it from happening

But it just keeps happening

And hasn't yet

I have to see him.

His eyes.

He's hiding it.

I know where the rest is.

Skrillex has it.

I'm dying, right? I have to be dying.

You're dead.

But I'm dying. I've been here before and I've felt it.

Tokyo?

High rise.

Sounds Nice.

Check the price on a flight.

Likewise,

I've tried to find this guy about a million times.

I know where he hides it.

So, how does it end?

It just ends.

yeah --but how does it end?

It just...ended.

You actually have to leave, to get out of here.

NO…

Don't do it.

Don't do what? I didn't do anything.

This is the way she wanted it.

JUMP.

Jump--now? Are you sure?

This morning my mind was made up;

I was going to Thailand for over a month.

Sweet, and Rich--

But Flaky

Like a pastry in the morning;

Seems like a great treat but really,

He's no good for me

So we'll have a Mexican Wedding

Damn. How did Dillon Francis get so high up???

Well, I found him hanging from a tree, so.

OH FUCK, I GET IT--

HE IS GERALD.

Damn.

I don't know how to explain this…

Oh shit, I get it; I'm Gerald.

-

—

NEXT EPISODE:

CESMET AND PETRUFHEIO are beyond overwhelm; GIAN stands before them, taking a respectful bow as he, too joins them in battlestance, which cannot be broken in physical stature, however the focused energy between the triad raises the entire colleaium into a total chaos and commotion.

GIAN?!

What is this?

Who are you?

GIAN, serious and stern, unusual to his demeanor, scoffs, as he focuses on C'esme't, acknowledging her presence in consciousness, and all respect.

Petrutheio, face reddened, implodes with anger, nearly breaking his stance.

Go ahead, Pet—

That's Your Highness—

—you can't win—

—I already have—

—He'll kill you.

—he's already dead—

Aren't we all?

C'esme't, the only of the triad having actually experienced all forms of death, aoftens her gaze, entering into cosmic ompinpotence

I'm having a hard time

Getting started

With this project

Probably because I just want off this planet

Cause it's lovelies;

I'm honest with my thoughts,

And now I'm lost in them

I'm lost without you

Lost another pair of socks,

In the common laundry room

I'm just an everyday, ordinary

Motherfucking wannabe, a DJ

But I wanna be a mother one day

I'm at the apex

I'm a warning call,

A warning call

A warning

If I kill myself again,

I'm waking up next to my lover

So good morning,

So good morning

Just a warning

Nothing's ever better

Then the taste of butter;

Dug you up to wonder what the fuck was up

With all the rubber ducks

Inside my cup, or tub

I'm just a cuck

I guess you really love her, huh

I really love the one,

I really love

I really love

My other husband—

Huh

I'm at the apex

I'm a warning call,

A warning call

A warning

[SHOT]

If I kill myself again,

I'm waking up next to my lover

So good morning,

So good morning

Just a warning

[SHOT]

Just a warning shot to shut you up,

You little fucking slut

Enough's enough

Another lover, motherfucker

Suck it up, you cunt

You're just another one

You're just another one of us

You're just another

Just another one of us

You're just another one

You're just another one of us

You're just another

Just another one of us

I dug you up to hug you,

But all you are is just

Some bones, dressed in new clothes

I took your skull home

And I put it on my mantle,

Make a wish,

—and then I blow the candle

Out.

Huh

C'esme't has secretly turned to self-harm, in the midst of her ongoing emotional crisis due to Petruchio's arrogance and deliberate carelessness; she begins to fear for her Selfl, as she discovers during a match in her reflective state that she is recently unable to cry, hardened by her stubbornly aggressive counterpart, C'esme't draws the blood of her palm, which she spills onto the sundial in the labyrinth; she is startled and surprised shamefully by Gian, who, though normally calm becomes diffuse, and sent into a powerful fury of sadness and rage-- She reveals to Gian, in his onset of tears that she herself has been unable to cry, to which he deflates as she comforts him, holding his as he weeps glistening streams of ‘conscious tears, crying quite physically for the two of them, blood mixing with his tears as he grasps s cesmet's wounded palm, gripping it to his cheek; His intrinsic healing powers are revealed as his tears begin to mend the deep wound; Meanwhile, Petrutheio becomes irritated, as he is forced to continue pausing a Jester's Match, stricken with excruciating pain in his own palm; Attempting to ignore it, he continues forward with his match, but is irreversibly injured when s when his palm becomes again singed with pain and he is stricken by his opponent; He falls to the ground, clutching his palm, immediately knocked unconscious. He fades into a dream.

PETRUTHEIO, YOU TELEPATHIC HACK!

Oh, so you finally acknowledge my telepathy…

In the highest realm, where The One is set to assume, interwoven intoThe Golden Goddess Of The Eye— Dark Heart Artist —the Eldest consciousness in any given existence; being that of everything of Love, and Light

The middle realm, where the majority of a——-

What the fuck.

Wait, what happened?

It just ENDS!!?

It just ENDED.

WHAT THE FUCK.

AHHHAHHHHAHAHHHH.

No, no, no–

WHAT THE FUCK

Wait! Go back!

AHHHHHHHHH.

[Holding eachother screaming]

Oh, look. A butterfly.

WHAT.

There is is.

Oh.

See.

huh.

[a calm silence]

Bro.

huh .

Wait. we're INSIDE.

{holding eachotherscreaming]

My heart is in another place,

And with these words we face

A face to face

A fight of fights

The faux of foes—

And so, a duel it is

For you, I fawned;

For you, I called—

The darkest night

was followed by

The lightest light

That Dawn could bring,

And I would sing this to you, too,

My love—

But have no melody

A melodrama,

Or a comedy?

Come my lover, come to me

My lover, come to me

Come to me, my lover,

Come ro me—

Come, my lover,

Come to me—

Come to me, my lover

Come to me

Come to me

What was once,

Is always—

Don't you see?

I see you,

See you, see me

What we were,

We always are

We always are

We always, always

Oh, what would you do to me?

Oh, what will you do to me?

Oh, what did you do to me?

What have you done to me?

Come to me, my lover,

Come ro me—

Come, my lover,

Come to me—

Come to me, my lover

Come to me

Come to me

I did fall;

We did fight—

It is love;

He had fawned for me once—

Oh—

Love is what it always was;

What we were once,

We all become

Come to me, my lover

Come to me, my lover

Come to me, my lover

My lover, come to me

Come to me, my lover,

Come ro me—

Come, my lover,

Come to me—

Come to me, my lover

Come to me

Come to me

HI, I'm Gerald.

Dude, I can't tell the story of Gerald. Only Dillon Francis can do that.

I concur.

That's right. Gerald is his friend--

--He's my friend--

I'm not go--

And that's it. It just ends.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Festival Project

A Saga

S Ū P A © R E E ™

One World.

| PEACE. LOVE. UNITY. RESPECT. |

Lifelong friends navigate the infinitely incredible world of rave culture, journeying together (and sometimes, apart) into the PLUniveRse© in fantastical, philosophical, and third-eye-opening adventures--the likes of which have never been seen (or foretold.)

Festival Project™ is a multi-genre, mystifying and magical cross-genre series, set against the backdrop of modern rave culture-- combined with historical and futuristic elements-- across expansions of space-and-time, unifying with The Universal Consciousness in a multidimensional and explorative ensemble of Films, Episodic Series, Music Videos, Extended Playlists, and Concept Albums.

A perpetual symphony of artistic storytelling though a cavalcade of wonderful and whimsical characters along high-intensity, off-the-map adventures--showcased through Music, Film & Interactive Art Explorations--set upon the dreamlike actual reality of an unravelling fabric of time-and-space.

Enter The Multiverse: Anything Is Possible.

This explosive and expansive wave of enigmatic, chaos-colliding, charismatic [ and often comedic] kinetic energy, reflects a shared experience throughout all time in human connection; Journey beyond the unknown, to Worlds Within--and Without.

Everything is Everything.

The Festival Project Saga is a multi-media Music, Film and Television saga that offers a new perspective on the ever-changing and recently popularized culture of dance music; it touches on the history of the culture as a whole, as well as a variety of other societal issues this generation faces—friendship, connectivity, communication—the dawn of social media, America's education system and justice system, immigration, and emerging mental health and drug crisis—while also taking a look at a history of counter culture as a derivative of the rapidly evolving technology of today's society. Through its characters and storylines, we dive deeply into a conglomerate of generational growth and exponentially educational topics, lightheartedly touching tales of friendship, family through blood and through bond, and exploring fields, of Astrology, Philosophy.

Festival Trip- Two lifelong friends take a two-week-long trip across the country, to attend two major music festivals—one on the west coast (Among Aliens, in California), and one on the east (Ultimate Music Festival)

Chava Hoffs

Sala Emillio

Gunther Ross- The more than interesting circus-act of a plug/one of Sala's romantic interests, who just happens to be in the same place at the same time, once Sala and Chava arrive in California.

Solomon Dominguez- Chava's “homie-lover-friend”, a DC native transplanted to LA who hustles and bustles the 3-job life to live the California dream—a surprisingly dedicated and loyal friend to Chava, who considers him the “king of fuckboys”—which, is not entirely untrue.

Johnny McEntire- An eclectic and friendly photographer who stumbles upon Sala during a vulnerable moment—a sweet, humble, and vibrant personality, Chava mostly dismisses him as just another victim of Sala's constantly-inconstant romantic gestures and affiliations.

Grace Williams (Chava's Super-Christian (but very sweet) Aunt)

Billy Williams- Chava's very dorky, southern Baptist uncle who can't help but throw in a (praise-jesus)

Krista DeVaunte- Bride-To-Be—Noah's Fiance

Noah Williams- Chava's Cousin, the groom to be

Naomi Williams- Chava's salty Cousin, and freinemy since birth—Noah's younger sister

Sonny Johnson— Chava's ex-fiance

Dustin Roberts—Sala's ex-boyfriend

Juan Manuel Jose Melendez Gutierrez-Rodriguez—Sala's current boyfriend, with whom she lives & works with.

Running Jokes:

-Ridiculous DJ names and Absurd Fictional Festivals

-Speaking Spanish with a Mandarin-inflenced dialect—speaking/yelling in awful Spanish-sounding-Mandarin—speaking “Mandarish” or “Spandarin”

-Every time Chava mentions Sonny (her ex), Sala interjects with “Fuck Sonny!”

-Cop Jokes (due to Chava's occupation)

“Go climb broke-bitch mountain!”

ACT I- The Wedding Bashers/It's Festival Season

“Save-The-Date”

Inciting Incident—Plans to attend a destination wedding that Chava and her lifelong. long- distance best friend Sala, have been planning for almost a year are abruptly halted when Chava learns via a very eventful FaceTime call (‘Meet The Williams') that her +1 invitation had apparently only applied to her now-ex-fiance [whom her stuck-up family adored because of his abhorrent Christianity], and that the bride-to-be would not allow Sala to take his place on the guest list—as her vivid memories of Sala from Chava's engagement party are severely grotesque.

Flashback: Chava + Sonny's engagement party.

Chava: Yeah dude, they got all, mad-butthurt that I was bringing you instead of Sonny.

Sala: Fuck Sonny!

[The Break-Up]

Sala: FUCK YOUR BIRTHDAY!

CHAVA: I'M SURE YOU WOULD IF YOU COULD, IF MY BIRTHDAY HAD A PENIS.

Sala: YOUR BIRTHDAY DOES HAVE A PENIS—IT'S YOU, DICK.

CHAVA: THEN SUCK ME, SALLY MAE.

SALA: YOU WISH, WANDA.

CHAVA: Can't make a wish with no fucking candles, Kandace.

SALA: Huh. I would have thought there were candles just judging by hard you fucking BLOW, Bonnie!

CHAVA: Then drive off cliff, Clyde.

A remote, unnamed city near the North Pole, in the Alaskan Arctic Circle.

It is severely cold, even visually so.

ACT II- Sunny California

ACT III- Sunny Florida

In the scene where random ravers find Sala's backpack in the parking lot, debut Rave Dora

[Backpack SupaCreeMixx]

“I'm a backpack loaded up with things and Knick-knacks too—anything that you might need, I got inside for you...”

Festival Trip One-Liners/ Slang/ Phrases

Keep up, Kassandra

Hold Up, Heather

Be back, Becky

Back up, Barbra

Shut up, Susan/ Shut Up Sandra/ Shut Up Sharon/

Sit Down, Sally

Shove It, Shelly

Stop It, Stella

Chill, Chelsea

Cheer Up, Charlie (a reference to Willy Wonka)

Get out my biz, Liz

Really Billy?

Excerpt, Act III

Chava: Dude, your energy is killing me.

Sala: So.

Chava: Soo, fix it.

Sala: What do I look like—Bob the Builder?

Chava: More like Wreck-It-Ralphed-All-Over-Yourself

Sala: Fuck you.

Chava: Off limits. I'm the last person on earth you haven't fucked.

Sala: Jealous?

Chava: Of the super-massive black-hole that is your vagina? No. I just wish my camera had a better low-light filter so I had actual photographic proof of an 8th world wonder.

Sala: …fuck you.

Chava: ‘No' Means ‘No'. [blows whistle] Get up.

Sala: Ahhhhh—Get fucked!

Chava: I was—and you ruined it being a hoe—but I'm willing to look past that, because its a beautiful fucking day in Miami and we're about to get lit. C'mon. S'day one.

Sala: Day 1 of rave 2, I'm over it.

Chava: Hoe, I'm over you.

Sala: Get over me, then, bitch—

Chava: I already said I am. Get with it.

Sala: Get with this dick.

Chava: What's a dick without some balls, bro? Pussy.

Sala: …

Chava: You mad?

Sala: I been mad.

Chava: Stay mad, then.

Sala: How about I just stay here.

Chava: Pay here, stay here, bitch—this trip ain't free.

Sala: This trip ain't me. Raves are your thing. I'm not a “festival chick.”

Chava: You are for the next three days.

Sala: …Three…?!

Chava: And counting. Get. Some. Motherfuckin' balls. Here, have some Jesus Juice.

[She extends her arm, holding the bottle in front of Sala]

Sala: Ughhh.

Chava: Come on, man. I'm tryna see Cow Turds.

Sala: You're engaged to one.

Chava: Shut the fuck up and drink. Here, I'll have one with you.

The Epic Trip – ‘Girl—Meet World'. After breaking up with both her ex-fiance and her best friend, a depressed and anxious Chava decides to take a last-minute trip to another one of her bucket list destinations: The Epic Music Festival in Las Vegas, Nevada.

F*ckFest: The Origins (Prequel) 21-year-old Chava Hoffs, a longtime raver and lover of all things dance culture, finally convinces her bar-scene best friend to accompany her to a regional event in her area, ‘F*ckfest', Sala's first ever festival/rave where—to both her and Chava's surprise, she connects with other longtime friends she had no idea were immersed into the culture. Sala, having been “rave-retired” since entering her first serious relationship, becomes overly-excited and branches off on her own, reconnecting with her true self after spending too long in her own shell—she discovers her love for an up-and-coming new artist (‘Shluggy') who magnetizes her with a newly-created sound (‘PukeRock'—a play on “VomitStep”)

Vibes [Mini Series, Prequel]- A sequel-in-installments to the shenanigans following F*ckfest, where Chava returns to visit Sala and return to ‘one of her favorite venues', which now hosts GoF*ckYourself (GFY), the biggest summertime festival in the region.

Festival Trip II [First Sequel ]-

It's been a magical year and the breakup is over;

A 20-something's imaginary friend returns, a decade after disappearing, just as she finds herself on the brink of ‘real adulthood', and has settled into the mundane and mediocre—as he leads her on a journey of self-discovery, she internally struggles with whether to tell her therapist—after deciding (or rather, being convinced) she shouldn't, she begins a desperate search for answers in what seems like a downward spiral into

(Use- I'm on my way to heaven, for trailer.)

A group of friends decide to form their own society after discovering an “uncharted” island—what they don't know [understand] is that the world government is observing at every angle—and as their population increases, they struggle as the popularity of their culture and lifestyle explode—

Craig's world- an ensemble about the good old days of craigslist

Ū [Amnesia/Working Title]

Miami (Ami) A fashion designer and music enthusiast who attends festivals in her spare time, seeking inspiration for her fashion and design blog; she shares an apartment with her lesbian best friend from college, who works as a freelance writer and photographer.

Crystal (Chrys) A short-haired-yet-feminine gender-non-conforming lovable with a dry sense of humor and an eye for art; Music lover and fan of festivals, Miami's “convert” into the rave world.

Serra- A high-matinence instagram model who supports herself through social media promotion and influencing, modeling Miami's fashion line and sugar-babying/arm-candying to make her way through life, usually attending festivals as someone's date or just to take pictures/show face.

Samuel/Donnie- Sensei Samurai: An award-winning world-renowned music artist and specialty DJ, the soul-headliner of ‘Magic's Mountain art and Music Festival'

Daz- Sam/Donnie's Manager- (Antagonist)

Lazers, pyrotechnics, strobes, and confetti light the night sky as Sensei Samurai, a medium-build white guy sporting two long braids and a samurai cut (his signature style), dances atop the table which supports a state-of-the-art DJ set-up; The stage is massive, the crowd is wild--but he is at home--or rather, at work, and at the top of his game. He jumps down from the table, drinking from a red solo cup, before he picks up the microphone to speak to his audience:

Samuel: LET ME SEE YOU FUCKING JUMP.

He dances around, flailing his arms to gesture to the crowd, drinking again from his red solo cup . He moves to the beat of the music as he focuses to adjust the mixer, structuring a build-up. His manager watches from backstage, carefully eying his every move.

Samuel: --ARE YOU GUYS READY?

[He lights a ciggarette, sips from his cup again as he continues to mix. He nods along to the beat, grooving as he plots his next move, looking into the crowd with hunger in his eye.]

Dez: (speaking into a earpiece) Sammy, take it easy...

[He glances stage left, to where Dez is situated and watching him like a hawk; He nonchalantly shrugs, blowing out a plume of smoke into the air, decisively irritated with the instruction.]

Dez: (Cont'd): I mean it, chill.

[Samuel sticks his finger into his ear, wiggling it profusely--and dislodges the hidden inner-earpiece, eyeing Dez as he pulls up his headphones, deep in the mix; He takes a long drag from his ciggarette, master-minding as he feverously twists the knobs and dials of the mixer.]

Samuel (over the mic) NO CHILL MOTHERFUCKERS. [The music speeds as he prepares for the drop.]

Dez: (forgetting momentarily that he will not be heard) Sam, don't--!

[Too late. Samuel Drops the bass so hard, it hurts, ripping off his headphones and running straight into the crowd, head first to crowd surf. The crowd goes massively, insanely wild.]

Through the lens of Crystal's camera, we see a series of still photos, capturing Sam's wild plunge into the crowd, just off-center in the front row. Miami looks to her right, giving her a nod of approval; Crystal shoots her a hand signal for “ok”. Miami looks to her left, lifting an eyebrow and smirking at Serra, who bounces off-beat against a tall wooky gentleman who has his arms around her through the sleeves of a spirit hood, tilting her head from side to side as she poses for selfies. Miami happily sways to the motion of the music, putting one hand over the rail and pulling up her mask with the other, as she watches Samuel be lifted back onto the stage and take his place behind the decks. The set continues, the crowd, the lazers, and the effects go wild: The backdrop reads ‘SENSEI SAMURAI' His backup dancers are acrobatic ninjas.

Samuel: Thank you Magical Mountain, I Love You Guys!!

The crowd goes wild as Samuel exits the stage, ignoring Dez as he breezes past him.

Dez: (following after him) I thought I said, “No more crowd surfing, no more stage diving.”

Samuel: I thought you said that, too.

Dez: Do you recall “OhMyLanta?”

Samuel: (sarcastically) Oh, you mean that festival in Atlanta?

Dez: Yes.

Samuel: How creative.

Dez: ‘Creative' would describe the legal team's very expensive, very strenuous tactical strategy which weaseled you out of a very serious lawsuit.

Samuel: What? When was this?

Dez: This was when you decided to stage dive wearing goth-pants and your chains got stuck in that kid's earholes

Samuel: They're called Tripp pants.

Dez: Oh yeah...what do you call them after mutilating a teenager with them?

Samuel: Tripp pants I can sell on eBay. I made that kid a star.

Dez: You made him a cripple.

Samuel: --we still talk.

[EXT. A FARAWAY FOREST]

Bass blasts through the christmas-lit forest, a festival set in the meadow against the lush and natural forest scenery; Attendees come-and-go to-and-from the lines of tents and out into the festival grounds, where DJs headline stages, dancers and performers interact with spectators, vendors practice their unique salesmanship, and the wild and true nature of ravers is unleashed.

Frozen breath leaks from the laughing mouths of three young individuals, running through the forest; Twigs crush and leaves crackle underfoot of their prancing and galloping feet, clad in combat boots, tennis shoes, and platforms, respectively. Ripped fishnets hug the thighs that sweep together rapidly, swooshing as the legs that bare them race forward; a pashmina trails behind one's back, acting as a cape of sorts.

A thud, in the darkness of the forest. Crystal and Serra continue forward, unaware their friend has fallen for a few short moments, leaving Miami behind.

Miami confusedly looks for the obstruction which caused her to trip, discovering under a pile of brush and leaves, a man (Samuel) lying face down on the ground; her eyes widen and she draws slightly back, frightened, before squinting and leaning in to get a closer look; She turns on a glow toy for added light, she pants heavily under her breath, shaking slightly as she brushes away debris and leaves, uncovering his head and shoulders, revealing he is wearing a mask. She examines him. His glasses are broken, lying on the ground under his face--His hair is wet; he appears dead.

Crystal: ...I told you not to wear those.

Miami: Yo…

Crystal: Yo--*gasps* (she grabs Serra by the shoulder, holding her back.)

Serra: (She notices the body, under her pashmina, spirit hood, and glasses) Ohwhatthefuck. (she takes a few steps back)

Crystal: Don't move.

Serra: Yeah, fuck that. Fuck this. (she wraps the pashmina tightly around her face) [muffled] Fuck this.

Crystal: ...Ami, we should get out of here.

Miami: We should help him.

Crystal: He may be beyond help, honey.

Serra: He's fucking dead. Whatthefuck. Fuck this!

Crystal: ...Is he dead?

Miami: (she looks at him closely, there are no signs of life. she checks for breathing with her hand.) ...I don't know. (she checks again, leaning in closer. she grabs his wrist to check a pulse)

Serra: Don't touch it!

Miami: Shut up, I'm trying to get a pulse (beat) ...he's super cold.

Serra: He's super dead!

Miam: No, no...I don't think so. Crystal, come here--help me turn him over.

Crystal: Are you sure? What if he--wakes up and tries to--??

Miami: (urgently) What if it was you?

Crystal fishes for a flashlight and switchblade in her fanny pack, places the flashlight in her mouth and positioning the knife under her kandi cuffs. She cautiously inches forward.

Crystal: Serra, try to get some cell service so we can call for help.

The girls carefully turn him onto his back, wide eyed and bewildered. He is completely lifeless, clamy and pale--covered with dirt, and forestry. Miami continues to check for a pulse, shaking her head as he continues to appear dead.

Crystal: Do you feel anything?

Miami: …(shaking her head) I can't...he's like…(as she pulls up the sleeve of his hoodie and notices a familiar tattoo. she pauses for a moment, thinks, and then looks towards his head) Do you still have my mirror in your fanny pack?)

Crystal returns to her fanny pack, digging for the mirror. Miami carefuly leans in towards the man, examining him once more; she notices a necklace, also familiar--she thinks, as she moves to remove first the excess hair, and then the mask from his face, very carefully. She peels off his mask, immidiately shocked as she reckognizes his face--It is Samuel, who she knows as Sensai Samurai. She yeeps (imploded gasp, making Crystal look up; she, too recognizes him; she gasps. They look at eachother, then at him--then back to eachother.)

Miami: ...Give me your mirror.

Crystal: Dude, is this…?

Miami: Your mirror.

(she holds the mirror under his nose--a subtle cloud of fog appears; he is, in fact, alive.)

Crystal: Oh, my God.

Miami: He's breathing. Serra!

Crystal: ...This is Sensai Samurai.

Miami: (trying to convince herself) It probably just looks like him….

Crystal: I just took one-hundred close-up photos, dude--like, less than an hour ago--

Miami: Shhhhh! (she frantically begins to check his pockets) He's gotta have a wallet.

Crystal: What, you were going to save him--now you wanna roll him?

Miami: An ID. He's got to have an ID. (she frantically searches him) Hey Serra!

(Crystal lifts the other sleeve of his sweater, revealing a brightly colored wristband, and one singular kandi bracelet, which reads “Sensai” Simoltaneously, Miami has found something in one of the pockets--she produces a small box from one of the pockets of his cargo pants)

Crystal: Holy fuck. Look.

(she gestures the wrist band and bracelet.)

Miami: ...Artist's wristband. Fuck. It is him.

Crystal:

[Samuel is slumped lifelessly over both Crystal and Miami's shoulders, head hanging downward and hair flailing and dangling in his face as the girls struggle to support him. His oversized light-up sunglasses begin slipping, almost revealing his eyes.]

Girl:(looking over, concerned) ...Is your friend okay?

[He is clearly not. Serra slides her finger up his nose to adjust his glasses, eyeing the girl suspiciously.]

Crystal: [flatly] Yes.

[Samuel's dead-weight pulls him towards the ground, as he slips; the girls struggle to readjust; he seems heavier by the minute. They all three stare back at the girl, awkwardly; Miami fakes an ‘everything's fine' smile, while Crystal stares blankly through her sunglasses and Serra shoots a look of dissatisfaction.

[INT. KITCHEN. DAY.]

The three girls gaze in awe of Donnie, multitasking busily in the kitchen, hair pinned neatly atop his head with chopsticks, wearing a neatly-pressed (as in, freshly ironed) apron, as he removes one baking mit with his mouth and works about, happily consumed and bouncily, humming.

-...He's so...domestic.

Crystal -You'd think he'd carry a better tune.

Miami- Cause you'd be belting melodies after waking up out of a drug-induced coma?

Crystal- No--I guess I'd open a bake shop in some random girls' kitchen.

Miami: Donnie?

Donnie: Hmm, yes?

Miami: We...we have some news for you.

Donnie: Oooh! Is it celebrity news?

Miami:...sort of.

Donnie: I hope it's juicy gossip.

Crystal: Believe me--it'll be the talk of the town.

Donnie: This town?

Crystal: Any town.

[ She refills her wine glass first, then prepares two more, never breaking eye contact with donnie; His lighthearted excitement turns to slight confusion, as he furrows his brows,]

Miami: (sighs, taking his hand) Here, lets sit down.

Donnie: But, the macaroons--

Serra-What? That's what you're making?

[Donnie nods.]

Serra-...(to the side) maybe we should let him finish the macaroons, first...what if this like, fucks him all up.

Miami: No, it's time. I feel like we've already waited too long.

Serra-...I feel like he makes really good macaroons.

Miami: Yeah? Like grammy-award-winning macaroons?

-If by ‘Grammy', you mean my Grandmother would approve…

Miami: Your grandmother died of complications from diabetes.

Serra-...and you think macaroons had absolutely nothing to do with that?

[Crystal has already finished her first glass of wine, and begins to reach for the second glass, when Miami, out of the corner of her eye, catches her, snatching the glass from her gracefully, as she floats it to Donnie, sitting beside him, crossing her legs.]

Donnie: Before noon?

Crystal- Oh, so you know that rule?

Donnie: I know some things.

A 20-something's imaginary friend returns, a decade after disappearing, just as she finds herself on the brink of ‘real adulthood', and has settled into the mundane and mediocre—as he leads her on a journey of self-discovery, she internally struggles with whether to tell her therapist—after deciding (or rather, being convinced) she shouldn't, she begins a desperate search for answers in what seems like a downward spiral into

A group of friends decide to form their own society after discovering an “uncharted” island—what they don't know [understand] is that the world government is observing at every angle—and as their population increases, they struggle as the popularity of their culture and lifestyle explode—

Craig's world- an ensemble about the good old days of craigslist

Blue Story