[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

YO, FUCK YOU, DILLON FRANCIS.

WHAT DID I DO?!

I DONT KNOW YET, BUT FUCK YOU!

AAGHHH

*hulks out *

FUCK—YOU.

Woah.

This is strange.

Should we stop them?

No, I think we should watch.

*eating popcorn*

We should watch.

Because,

I'm better off—

Than last time I saw you;

You never saw me;

And I saw right through you;

You were the boat,

And I was the ocean—

I kept you afloat,

And you sank into me

Woah.

Okay. I did not want to put that all on the same note.

But there it is,

It still applies.

What are you.

What is what?

What is you?

Hum.

What is me.

Hm.

Hmm.

?-?

Eyes emoji?

Yeah.

We haven't used that in a really long time.

You should explain.

No, just don't—

REWIND

INT. ON GOD. ALL DAY

Dillon Francis: You know what? You're right, you're right. We shouldn't. You're right.

SupaCreeChakChel/Original Cree: I'm Right? I know I'm right. I'm Always Right.

Dillon Francis: Oh, i know I just--I know that that's your guy--

SupaCree: It was. It was my guy. It's fine. I'm my guy.

Dillon Francis: Don't worry, I'm your guy.

SupaCree: You're not my guy--I'm my guy now. My guy died.

Dillon Francis: ...but I'm a guy…

SupaCree: No you're not, you're Dillon Francis.

Dillon Francis: I also died.

SupaCree: You lost a life. You're like--I don't know, at least a trillion eternities younger than me.

Dillon Francis: Not a trillion eternities…

[She just looks at him]

Dillon Francis: ...Wait, how old are you, anyw---

SupaCree: What should we eat?

Dillon Francis: I don't know, I mean, we're dead, do we really need to?

SupaCree: ...I mean... do we need to do laundry? If we're Gods, we could just--

[With a flick of the wrist, the laundry is clean.]

Dillon Francis: Huh. What happens when I do--

[He copies her movement; Immidiately, something terrible has happened, off camera--the screams and bloodcurdling sounds of horrified people crying in agony.]

-OH GOD! GOD PLEASE! ALMIGHTY DILLONFRANCIS!

Dillon Francis: Is that ME? Is he--are they-- calling for my help!? I can't help that, I don't even know what I did!

OH GOD PLEASE! IN THE NAME OF DILLON! OH GOD-- IF THERE'S A DILLON FRANCIS IN THE UNIVERSE---JUST!!

Dillon Francis: [remorsefully, looking down at his palms] Oh, God…

SupaCree: It's not as easy as being a DJ, is it?

Dillon Francis: Oh yeah, I...I was a DJ, once. Huh.

SupaCree: We all were--right? And then we all blew up. [She puts her hands out, in an attempt to fix his clearly horrible accident] But, man, I don't think that Apocolypse got anything on this..

[Dillon Flashes back to SupaCree using her magic, & Chak Chel wielding the elements--he looks at her easily reweaving time space and reality, quite chipper.)

Dillon Francis: Wait, so she..you...you had magic forever…?

SupaCree: Oh, Dillion, you silly, I made it so that you humans...

[A flashback of the ‘voodoo boy', overlaps a flashback of Skrillex. She jumps and shutters, much to the horror of the people in the world she is attempting to mend]

*sighs* Yes, Dillon Francis, I have always had powers. Multiple Souls, Multiple, weird hearts that regenerate--well--now you have one of my heart, and--I gave one of the others away...then I got sacrificed, for peace, that one time--you were there, right?

Diillon Francis: Oh, yeahh! I was. That was before…

SupaCree: Before Magic IS Real? Yeah. It was. So. Thanks. For that.

[A flashback of SupaCree being offered as a human sacrifice “for peace”, as the Cosmic owl swoops down.]

Savage Raver: Wait, that was the Cosmic Owl, right?

Raver: So...did we do it right?

Savage Raver: Is it raining diamonds? Are you floating on a Skrilloop, in a River of acid?

Raver.:...uhhh...no?

Savage Raver: THEN NO WE DIDN'T DO IT RIGHT, THAT'S JUST A SIGN WE'RE ALL ABOUT TO DIE.

[From Timmy Trumpet; PARTY TILL WE--]

DIllon Francis: And that was it, huh?

SupaCree: Very quick apocalypse. Didn't even get to see it, I had to have freaking surgery…

Dillon Francis: Oh yeah…

SupaCree: Yeah, and I had to perform it--and a Live seet.

Dillon Francis: Same. Fuck that.

SupaCree: Fuck that. [she accidentally wrecks something, more screaming] Sorry guys... I'm really sorry...I'm fixing it...kind of...

-Where is Dillon Francis?!!

-There IS no Dillon Francis!

-He's Abandoned us!

-There is no Great DJ in The Sky!

-BURN! BURN IT ALL DOWN!

SupaCree: [Healing, trying not to look.] I got it don't worry about it...I'll fix it, It's..I got it.

WHO'S YOUR DILLON, NOW?! YEAHHHHAHGHHGHGHG!!!

[Savagery]

Dillon Francis: [worriedly] Oh, man... that is…?

SupaCree:...........Go get lunch, i'll just...i'll fix it. I'm fixing it.

[She looks away working more quickly as the sounds of a now clearly drastically violent and “Godless” world. As Dillon backs out of the room, running, she looks over her shoulder, then crouches toward the world; She becomes the Dazzling cosmos of their sky, looking down at the destruction, quite actually impressed.]

SupaCree: Oh, man.

OMEN! OMEN! THE SKIES SPEAK WITH THE OMEN!

SupaCree: Oh, shut the fuck up, i said “oh man,” , like “oh, man-- god damn,D iillon Francis, what the FUCK did he do to you guys?

-DILLON FRANCIS DID THIS? DILLON, THE ALMIGHTY--?

-I told you. God is NOT a DJ.

SupaCree: Ah. Nah. Most Gods are DJS, actually, yeah. We do that. Not the best DJ in the entire galactic expansions of the universe, or anything, but...i'm a pretty good DJ. And i'm almost finished fixing your shit. Check it, I got you.

[she repairs the world rather quickly]

See.

-Well ...well yeah, what about...What about our God?

SupaCree: Yeah, he'll be back he's just..you know. first day on the job, it's not...it's not like just being a DJ. Thats, you know, only a few thousand people at a time.

What about all of our dead?

SupaCree: Well...theyre..theyre dead.

But, you're God--almost--!

SupaCree: No, I'm God, Dillon Francis is Almost..well he's almost Dillon Francis, but it's just--look-- you want your God, you got it--he'll be back in a bit. But. I don't know what a bit is, on this...where is this, anway?

World of Rave

SupaCree: Ohhh, rave..I haven't been a rave since i've been working this God-job full time--whats World of Rave like--

World of Rave? We're a private Artificially Evolving Intelligent Space Station within a Tri-Verse Between World of Music, World of Sound, and Our World

SupaCree: Heyyy. I was a Tri-Verse Once--I used to--or still am...a traverse. Wait. I'm the Onmiverse now...This is me...you--i'm---where are you? ...and why do you worship Dillon Francis?

-HE ABANDONED US!

SupaCree: He's Diloon Francis, Just. Chill. Now. Tell me his origin story; how is he your God? Is there a bibe?

-He did a lot, for our planet, actually--after he retired as a DJ.

-He sacrificed his self, in our names, to Save The Rave.

-There was an eternal battle throughout the galaxy, which destroyed our entire planet and way of life--

-Dillon Francis fought with a golden and diamond encrusted hammer--

SupaCree: ...that's my hammer!

...well, he had it on him. And we didn't see you there, so…

SupaCree: Of course--i'm in your cosmos, how would you have seen me?! Wait. Wait. Waaaait...

...you wait.

SupaCree: What's that sound?

..It's you. You're literally just, a bunch of stars in the sky right now.

SupaCree: I'm that all the time! What is that SOUND?

What Sound, we don't hear anything but--

--WHAT THE FUCK IS THAAAAA

The Whole World Screams in Terror,

SupaCree: Wait, what the fuck IS--AHHHHH, wow-- really

THE SKRILLEX: I AM SKRILLEX. Shoots through the atmosphere, landing on a platform within the mostly repaired space station,/artificial planet.

SupaCree: Ah, God. I'm out.

-Wait, you're not done fixin' our stuff!

-Or Raising the dead!

SupaCree: For What?!

FOR THE LOVE OF DILLON FRANCI--

I am tired.

ALEXA, PLAY DEADMAU5

NOTRIGHTNOW.

Playing: Deadmau5

Go to sleep.

NO.

SLEEP MODE ENGAGED.

*sleep*

DAMN!

I know, huh.

How'd you do that?

[shrugs]

I had somehow programmed myself to fall asleep to deadmau5.

Somehow?

Yeh.

THIS is HOW:

Season 5

!Hecho In Mexico!

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Ahem.

I mean,

JESUSCRISTO, PENDAJA!

There we go.

Now it was almost impossible to not at least yawn when deadmau5 was playing, unless i was actually playing, in which case, deadmau5 became an easy transitionary soundscape for my otherwise probably pretty awful DJ sets.

What is this.

SUCKFEST9000

WHAT?! Did I miss SUCKFEST8999?

You missed everything.

Where was I?!

GOTOSLEEP.

NO.

GO–GET–

NO–

GO TO SLEEEP.

NOOOO.

*deadmau5*

*sleep*

Dang.

yeah .

Is that a taser?

No, it's deadmau5.

I– what?

It's concentrated deadmau5.

(yum)

Don't be disgusting.

No, I mean–

x_x

hurry . its wearing off.

how could it be “wearing off”

It's a synaptic dampener. It wears off.

Ah, crap.

what.

Did you see that?

First of all…

ah-hah

[THE DEADMAUS ENTERS]

AH!

I know, huh.

Alright, fuck this.

Is that his monster?!

No.

What is it?!

It's The Deadmaus.

OH MY GOD.

Yeah, i know.

However–

What. The. Fuck.

That's his monster.

LEGENDS: EPISODE 7

“Every Man Has A Monster”

There was something ironic about all of it; I grasped the pusling rock in my left hand and stuffed a plant-based Oreo into my mouth with my right, listening to deadmau5 and wondering how, if ever, I would properly deliver the crystal to Dillon Francis, Skrillex all but a facet in the back of my mind– I had considered the broad fact that I had created such a fascinating illusion, each man merely a holographic phantom–a figment of my imagination.

Or a fragment.

How is that?

Watch the calories.

How about–I eat whatever the fuck I want, cause it doesnt matter.

IT DOESN'T MATTER.

Christ, that's one hell of a loop.

That's one hell of a guy.

Yeah well–aren't they all?

What?

Hell.

I had been using deadmau5 itself as a security blanket; a pacifier, if you will–to soothe and calm my nerves, to sleep, or even heal; I was detrimentally ill in a way I hadn't quite ever been before besdes after a loss, at which point, even then, was not the same as this. Though I had spent the afternoon munching on cold pizza and oreos, my stomach was still for the most par incredibly nauseous, and in knots, cramping often enough to remind me that I could still feel pain, besides emotion, any way, and I blamed the frigid cold and the pouring rain for my inability to sto crying at random, which I hadn't done in years. Indeed, I was sick. There was almost nothing to be done about it but be, as I had already begun tapering my nicotine habit, only newly re-started during my time in what seemed like every fucking smokeshop in Downtown Los Angeles, and ll that was relly left to do was to return to a respectable gym routine; but at any rate, I was keeping my figure and fitting comfortably into my extra smalls, speed walking an average or at least a mile-or-more a day–not that I considered it exercise, but it at least created enough of a calorie deficit that it didn't begin to show anywhere but my arse, my bloated belly only a result of whatever God-awful crisis my gastrointestinal system was wreaking havoc on the rest of my body with, probably a result of too much coffee, or too much fasting, or too much effing bullshit, which the city was full of–but there was really no escape from.

I had spent a better part of the night before hunched over and clutching the house speaker at Kream, clinging to whatever frequency I could that would ease the pain of my aching belly, and my pathetic life. I often had used ‘'The Red Albums” for sleep and hypnosis, and anything Blue or Green for exercise, or focus–typically saving “The White Album”, which of course was speckled with hints and tinges of gray and and aire of more red for long journeys, deep thoughts, and relaxation; a narrative adventure I mostly kept as a treat for myself and out of my sets.

So is deadmau5 your favorite DJ?

Uh. No.

That's a lie

No, it isn't

This is all deadmau5.

yep , all dedmau6*

*oh god

Wait.

what .

“A Parallell Universe”

So all your stories are like, stuck inside his music?

Well, not stuck–and not all my stories.

Oh, that's right.

Look, I write to everyone's music, if it's decent.

IT'S MAD DECENT.

Go somewhere else.

I think i'll stay.

UGH.

So wait.

WHAT, dude.

All of these stories connect, somehow.

Yeah, I guess.

But–how?!

PASQUALE

Yes?

GET IN HERE.

Oh shit, we're back at that scene?

Took awhile, didn't it?

That took forever

What the fuck is forever, to a motherfucker whose time is irrelevant.

Forever.

Aha.

You have to admit,

Skrillex has a pretty sick deal with the devil.

WHAT.

THE DEVIL

so —

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

My name's Bazzle

Oh, I'm Blū

What'dyou tell her your name was.

“Bazzle”

Nice.

Yeah.

WHO THE FUCK WAS I TALKING TO?!

MILA KUNIS

I WANT MY FUCKING ELFBAR!!!!

AGGHHHHHHHH!!!

AAAHGHHHHHHHHHHHH

EAAHAHHHHHGFGGGHHHB

!!

Shit, season 6 looks lit

It's really lit.

This is lit.

HOLLYWOOD IS BURNING.

MO FIRE, MORE FIRE

NO, NO MORE FIRE!!!

[A high speed gun chase through DTLA on bird scooters]

AH. I'M ON FIRE! I'M ON FIRE!

I don't get it. He's running around like—like he's on fire.

SUPACREE

Aah, shit, I'm on fire.

Damn.

Well, I gotta get to work, so.

Hot mic. Hot mic—

This shit don't look right,

Look right,

New bike,

New life,

Shoe fits:

Blu twice

I blew through you like cool ice,

It's not nice, it's just life

I roll dice, roll dice like:

“Seven twice, seven twice”

That's right:

It's my homecoming

I got no home, yet,

It's been humbling

I'm crumbling:

Not mentally, but physically—

A different spirituality,

Reality is everything I see,

And keep imagining:

Like blank checks,

At the bank like,

“What's next”

At the bank like,

Big bills only,

Employee bonuses and royalties,

I'm royally offended, with these boys

Too fuckin horny;

Use your girlfriend's Apple Pay,

But she's under 18

So show me your ID:

You fucking nasty,

Firstly and lastly;

I'm happy if you're happy—

Just don't pass me in the street,

Holding hands, she

She just not like me,

But just as likely

Sweet and spicy—

Cause you're a chicken nugget.

Aha.

I got your sauce, right here

I'm in the box,

But you can spend the night here,

This shit ain't right here,

I'm drinking light beer,

They call me “Kike” here,

The rock meets the kite, here,

And I'm just tying it together,

So it's clear,

we're in the clear,

Don't want to hear you,

Stretch my ears,

And so you're always here,

Got your mark right there,

And so you're right there,

I can't sleep at night,

You hear?

Someone's always coughing,

Nothing's nice here

There's no life here,

We all died here

We all died here

We all died here

But I'm,

Feeling a bit better tonight,

I'm better tonight,

I gotta work on my life,

Cause I'm in a crisis,

I'm writing, my rights

And I'm fighting my wrongs,

I'm on a broad spectrum—

Doesn't matter to me—

Brown eyes, blue eyes,

green eyes,

Black eye, on a black girl,

I died

I died

I died

Two birds on a wire,

Two truths, for the liar,

Hell isn't all fire,

Sometimes, the sun shines here,

Sometimes, toilet paper in short supply here

Sometimes, I'm a writer,

Sometimes I'm the man of the hour,

Thats my power:

“Now, I am her”

Let's go,

Mano a Mano

No Hablo,

I'm fact, I am leaving tomorrow,

Sorry Pablo,

I gotta go

I gotta go, go

One door opens,

Another one closes:

Come closer, you fuckin poser

Some yoga poses on a poster,

Now he owns her,

I'm just over it.

I'm not tryin to be your person,

I'm not worth it,

I'm worthless,

It hurts, but,

I'm not even worth a purse,

If the hearse fits,

Ain't no last nail in the coffin

I need my nails did,

But I'd rather play guitar,

Hail Satan,

Or Hail Mary,

Or hail racists:

Raise the flag,

Make it American

Make it a bag of

Whatever this is

Whatever this is

“She don't even call no more”

Gone girl

“She don't even call no more@

Gone girl

“She don't even call no more”

Gone girl

Lost in the world, girl

The wrong girl,

Don't belong, girl

I can play the phantom,

Lastly,

I need a laugh, though

So,

Where'd you go,

Where'd you go?

Were you hoping for an encore?

I'm so bored,

I'm sober,

I'm sore,

I'm lonely

—I'm no whore, but

I won't hurt you more,

I'll help you, here

My love is free

My love is free

My love is free,

If that's all you need:

I need a body,

Please

The only way,

Any man could love me

This is Hell, In here,

Clearly, the end is near,

It's Lucifer, again

He's a seer:

And I'm a mirror,

I never needed her more than now

I never needed him, but now

All I really want is my guitar back

I don't want to be a star, I'm past that

I hate stars

I hate celebrities

I hate cars,

I don't really need

A puppy—

But I want one

I don't really see any,

But I want love

I don't really see Annie anymore,

But she is cute

I don't blame you,

I don't blame you,

I don't blame you

On a bicycle built

For two

But it's just me here

I love you

But it's just me here

I love you

But it's just me here

Just a mirror,

Do you see, here?

Don't you come near me!

Don't you come near me!

don't you come near me,

Don't you come close to me

Why don't you fear me?

Don't dance so close to me—

I can say anything.

Anything

Do you really love me?

I'm not paranoid,

I'm not avoiding you,

I'm just too suicidal

I know you're just an actor,

Gotta get my bag up

Gotta count my fractions,

Man, it's just a fracture,

A concussion,

And contractions.

A contusion,

I'm confused when

This stupid unusual gloom

Turns to fusions and tunes

I need fumes just to do this

A Flum is my movement

I need to move,

I'm just getting used here

But I was just getting used to it

Dude

Sunni Blū's here

I'm ruthless,

Call me toothless—

I spit toothpicks,

And stupid duces,

I'm two shits,

I'm you, prick

If pickle Rick gets this,

I'll buy a Malibu crib,

To scribble my Skrillex in

Fuck

Still getting mentions in my shit,

I'm a menchies doing crunches

And a mix,

Getting fit again

Fuck fitting in

I'm infinite

I'm lifting Skrillex,

If the shoe fits,

It's probably his

Here's a gauntlet,

For you haunting me,

The hotmixx is awfully SUPACREE

But she's retiring,

And noone's hiring a minor,

For this hierarchy,

Archie Bunker's high and I'm in pieces

Needy, greedy,

A hypocrisy of OxyContin

Not incontinent, (yet)

But intercontinental

Sentimental,

It's a mental thriller,

I'm for real,

If nothing else is

FUCK THIS BUSINESS.

Sunni.

NO. I QUIT.

You're under contract.

YOU'RE UNDER CONTRACT.

it's your contract.

FUCK THIS SHIT.

AGH. SUNNI, DONT.

[Sunni Blū throws an entire Television set out of the 30th floor window]

Nooo.

PAPARAZI.

Yessss.

*snap*snap*snap*

*click*click*click*

*picture*picture*picture*

[Sunni's IPhone Buzzes]

APPLE NEWS:

TMZ:

PITCHFORK:

THIS JUST IN! SUNNI BLŪ THROWS VINTAGE TELEVISION SET OUT OF THEIR APARTMENT WINDOW

SUNNI BLŪ: GUYRL GONE MAD

SUNNI BLŪ LOSES A FUSE

AGGGHHHHH.

You paid $50,000 for that TV.

I DONT GIVE A FUCK, MORGAN:

I PAID $50,000 for SOME DUDE'S LEFT NUT—

—AMD WHAT DID I GET? THE RIGHT ONE.

OH MY GOD.

GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!

THIS IS YOUR OFFICE.

Stop yelling at me.

I—

[MORGAN jumps out of the window]

Woah. That's never happened before.

[SUPACREE catches MORGAN midair, cape affiliate, flying into the window one story below.]

YOU HAVE GOT TO STOP HER!

*them.

YOU'VE GOT TO STOP—Them—

—stop yelling at me in my office—

— isn't it you?

In a sense.

What—which sense?

I love love,

For what it's worth;

I love love,

I love him,

I love her—

I love peace

I love war

I was her, once—

NO.

It was,

“JIMMY FALLON: THE COSMIC AVENGER

That makes more sense.

No it doesn't.

Yes it does.

No, it doesn't.

Nothing about Jimmy Fallon makes sense.

SIR.

“Sir!?”

Pause.

What.

It's time for Whole Foods pizza and Rick and Morty.

Ok.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

It had been raining for nearly two weeks straight, besides for one day, during which I slept through its entirety; I had not been so seriously, physically ill in years— the combination of undue stress from the job I mostly hated, the crippling depression of working full time and still never having enough money for anything, and sharing my living space with 3 other, typically irritating, messy people with seemingly no home training—or perhaps, as I was learning—a common low standard of cleanliness was almost guaranteed amongst any group of people, but especially men; and I was growing to hate and resent men more and more (not that I fancied women any better, but at least respected them for being women.)

I hated everyone now, but especially myself— the grand illusion of success had been shattered living amongst the lower drudges of society too long, and working too hard—not that anyone else wasn't—in fact, my coworkers were all tired, overworked, and miserable in some way, which empathically aligned with the way I had been feeling—absorbing every toxic thing that happened into my perception for whatever reason and twisting my world into a hellish nightmare once more; at least I was willing to admit it was partly my fault; I had given up on all of my dreams, just about—abandoning them in exchange for hopes of finally having my own apartment. I just wanted to cook again—to walk around perhaps in the nude, to workout regularly enough that I felt like a human, rather than a ticking time bomb—-and I was, a ticking time bomb—forced to believe in time by the simple notion of clocking in and clocking out just to be able to afford my humanity.

It was clear that it wasn't only a homelessness crisis; there seemed to be an honest-to-God race war, blacks littered all over the streets and those of us with any energy left being depleted of it in the trade of modern slavery—most others turning to side hustles, filling in the deficit of the cost of living by selling drugs, or pussy—both of which, by now, I was sure I had no talent for.

In fact, I wasn't sure if I had any talent at all; my mantras sank into unrecognizable, unbelievable chatter in the back of my mind, which seemed more delusional than doable—I hadn't stepped foot inside a gym, even for a moment since the new year; I only felt like crying, trying to either figure out a palpable plan for suicide or escape, and though things still seemed to strangely add up, I was still out of sorts and malaligned; I was willing to admit for the first time in years that I actually needed love, rather than just wanted it—and yet the reigning white supremacy seemed to take pride and joy in knowing I'd rather die alone than to set my standards any lower—with my own circumstances too out of range for any one decent to actually consider.

I wasn't myself—in fact, I was a little bit of every single person I had been forced to be around, for the worse or for the better, and nothing at all was benefiting me besides the sleep that so easily came after sunrise, even on my nights off—Fridays and Saturday's, which I might have enjoyed, or somehow found a way to work myself into the Los Ángeles DJ circuit, which seemed, again, out of my reach and even tinged with an ever slight hint ot racism as well.

A friend of a friend of a friend of Pasquale Rotella, no coincidence, had happened into my midsts by way of joining the night crew at DTLA smoke shop, which ran about 5 other stores in within a one-mile radius of each other and scattered it's ten or so employees, including myself across the locations to fulfill the needs of the business, of course, for a humble 17.00 an hour, placing us all exactly on the poverty line and well-below a living wage, which I had dermined did not exist anywhere in the United States anymore.

I wanted more than anything to leave, but knowing that if I did leave LA again, I would probably never come back; I felt disturbed and disgusted by the lack of humanity in the city alone, but all knowing full well that the globalist state had altered even Mexico to its standards, and Mexico, being as honest as ever, even to former residents—and especially myself, after being accustomed again to climate control and flushing toilets—was pretty crappy.

My stomach pains had crippled me for the last two days, and with the amount of stress and pressure building up I had nothing good left to give the world. At all.

Strikingly suicidal, I wanted nothing to do with the with the world around me at all—I wasn't in the right place, I thought, or the right mindset; I had lost all but my last bit of strength and the energy it took to push forward, somehow, still, though, getting out of bed on time and to work early or just on time, but only because my space in a clean warm bed depended on it—just like anyone else in the city.

I was fed up with men, women, and only really ever took pure joy in dogs and children; again, at a breaking point, combing the streets for glass to slit my wrists and rest peacefully, wondering how long it would take anybody in LA to notice I was dead and not just another black woman slewn across the streets to sleep in filth (probably awhile), as sometimes the homeless smelled dead and acted like it, too, which seemed enough of a red flag at the time to speak for the white supremacy's outright hatred for people of color; it wasn't simply a homelessness crisis, income inequality, drugs, or mental health; it was a targeted gentrification as it had always been, by the same proprietors: who brought the ancestors of the modern day African Americans overseas to work, in the midsts of slaughtering the ancestors of the modern day native Americans; and there wasn't a thing you could do to convince me that Beverlywood Becky worked just as hard as anyone else did, as she complained daily over her oat milk latte of HOW HARD THINGS ARE, boasting about the cash and prizes she swept up over the holiday season from mommy, daddy, and family galore, and just looking for “the other flavor Elfbar”

‘Excuse me, while I try not to vomit and wonder what the fuck a Christmas stocking is, while trying to be as invisible to white people as we are to them'

What the Fuck is a family;

Hang me from a tree and cut some turkey

It's too early for this shit

I need to hurl, I think

This lady smells like pee

And wants me to buy her something

But yo, I'm homeless, too—

I mean,

I finally got a room,

But this is what I go through for it:

THE LA CRISIS:

UNLEASHED.

(Ew)

Fuck this,

But don't fuck the government;

They're already trying to kill us over nothing

Nothing's prosperous, no

No political ambitions, actually

I just want to disappear from this

Don't have the energy to work 2 jobs,

I need to rest

I need to sleep

I need to eat more super greens,

And honestly,

I might just be a vegetarian,

Not a vegan, I've been thinking

But I dont know;

(I don't care anymore)

I lost love

(It's just not there anymore)

I never sold my soul;

But for a home alone,

I'd probably sell it,

And roll over—

In the rain, dang

Hey,

I feel your pain,

It's crazy how debilitating

Telepathy and empathy can be

I need a week at least,

Just free from human beings,

But

8 billion and counting, damn

Your racist grampa's still alive, (and voting)

And laws keeps passing,

And employers just don't care,

Cause they're not there

They're somewhere enjoying

Self employment, and business ownership

Damn,

I wish my dad hadn't talked my mom out of the abortion,

I'd have more fun never being born

Than being born this.

Fuck this.

Fuck this.

Fuck this.

But they say,” you are the world, “

So I guess I ain't shit,

I'm racist,

And never on vacation —

Oh wait,

I'm just American,

And not some lucky Caucasian

Or Asian,

With parents who inherited greatness

(Or worked harder, in another generation)

All my parents ever did was

Mix

Go. Be a DJ.

I don't want to be a DJ.

Be a DJ.

I don't want to be a DJ.

Be a DJ.

Das my boss;

She make tha bread—

I just make croutons

Mothsfuckinin genius you could call me Jimmy neutron

Not a rapper. A DJ.

No, I'm black, so I gotta be a rapper.

No, that's not how that works.

Not everything is black and white;

I just keep writing, day and night

I want to blow my brains out,

And my heart is turned to ice,

If Jesus Christ ever arrives,

I really doubt it would be nice.

This place is pretty.

Right?

Alright. Back to the 9-5s

I can't smoke crack, but meth sounds nice

If it'll help me stay alive

And pay my bills on time.

I'm kidding.

No you're not.

Maybe not.

I might be living just the same in any city,

Check-to-check;

I don't need pity—

Just a pistol,

Or a penny

Just remember to remember

Jimmy

When shit gets interesting,

(I pick up every penny, every penny)

JIMMY FALLON:

THE COSMIC SORCERER

Was that it?

Had to be.

Are you sure?

We need a cosmic sorcerer!

There's only one person in the universe who specializes in cosmic soecery!

Are you serious?

I must be a writer or something.

(Or something.)

BE A DJ.

No.

why.

Cause I'd have to be skinny and I really like croissants in the morning.

Welcome to 30.

Cooool. I'm a deadbeat.

[beat]

Fuck! I'm a loser!

Wtf is the world on?

Idk. We're in a matrix simulation thingy.

TWEAKER

Excuse me, do you know how to exit The Scope and The Dome?

…

TWEAKER

I mean—ahem—The Artificial Intelligence Simulation?

…

…

…

…

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

I want to listen to Drake bell's albums, but I probably should do it in airplane mode.

Oh yeah, go wayyy off line for that.

Way, way, way off;

I can't wait till my day off,

Dang

What was I doing?

Oh yeah, writing a song again.

Again.

Yeah.

It goes like:

Don't turn your back on me!

Show me your misery

I am the pretender

You will not watch me

Fiend for a friend, or

Are you my only—

Are you that lonely?

Is it just like this?

What was that look?

Mistook me for a hypocrite, woah!

Nothing needed to be said.

And nothing wanted to be heard,

And what?

You hurt me, there

The world is just obsurd,

And worse, and worse

On the surface

Oh

You said

You keep

Secrets

But just

Keep on

Repeating and repeating things

At meetings, man

You need me, man?

I'm just another planet;

So prepare to land,

A phantom, at the hands of —?

Standing at the gate;

I hate you—

Did you get what you needed, at least?

Did you get to—

Where you were going?

Don't just toss me to the side,

Like one of your rag dolls:

I just got the call—

I want all—

I need all of it.

I picked up the call

I want all—

I need all of it

All of it

All of it.

Nothing needed to be said.

And nothing wanted to be heard,

And what?

You hurt me, there

The world is just obsurd,

And worse, and worse

On the surface

Oh

And—

i just got the call—

I want all—

I need all of it.

I picked up the call

I want all—

I need all of it

All of it

All of it.

Whyyy did you do this?

I didn't meant to.

Whyyy would you say this?

Uh.

Please.

At least I,

Got myself out of that rut,

I'm

The only thing good for a laugh,

Anymore, it's

Awful, sometimes,

And awesome, sometimes;

But I wish I could be Sonny Moore.

Ohh-la-la

Is this a song?

Uh.

It would be,

But it could be,

A passion-struck catastrophe,

Or is that in your dictionary yet?

Encyclopedia, perhaps—

I take my media at glance,

a grain of salt, and then a glass of water;

What's you order?

Plants,

Is that exactly as you planned,

Or placed the bet,

Or better yet,

Your sweater's burning in my bed

(Or in my pants)

Or in my head,

In dreams, Instead

I'm better wet than enter

Anyother

Weather than the forecast has

Implanted on the channel blasters

Yes,

It is just what I had predicted.

Then,

You missed it.

“You missed it”

You missed it,

Oh,

You missed it

Better off dead.

Then,

You missed it

You missed it, man

You missed it

Oh,

You missed it

Just —

Let it pass.

(Like the weather did.)

Now,

Just as I predicted;

A whithered, wilted

Wildflower,

Dancing in my eyes

Inside the tower,

While I cowered under,

Struck with love,

And nothing else thereafter;

That was the plan, yea?

For Ever After

For Ever After

For Ever After

Yes,

It is just what I had predicted.

Then,

You missed it.

“You missed it”

You missed it,

Oh,

You missed it

Better off dead.

Than without love —

You missed it

You missed it, man

You missed it

Oh,

You missed it

That's two.

Are we going anywhere with this?

Home, I hope.

(Wherever that is.)

…

No more songs?

…no, that's it.

Are you sure

?

…

…

. . .

No.

Proceed.

I Uh,

Didn't even want to be a writer,

But in spite of, the dire

Uh—

What was that?

Uh,

Nothin'

Uh—

Sounded like rap.

Yeah,

Uh,

— Nah.

No, it's not rap?

Uh,

Yeah,

It's not rap, I promise,

I'm not a rapper,

I just happen to be snappy at it,

And my syntax matches exactly

At the pattern that I blabber in,

At random as i'm slanderin'

Vocabulary — acronyms n' antonyms

Like Eminem.

…

…

Proceed.

Prepare to fast again

Prepare at least half of a set list

And dance to this;

Shazam is set to automatic

For the tracks I might have managed to forget

It isn't mischief managed

Panic attack after panic attack

I'm an asshole, at best

But I'm better off dead,

In my head

Insomniac's not racist —

They just don't want to put up with my shit!

Another artist on the verge of politics, ambition

On detox and in recovery

For digging Skrillex.

Fuck this.

Yep.

Hit the decks

Hit the decks

Just collect,

All my checks

And then get

On this jet—

Thank U,

Next,

Thank U,

Next

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

AHAHA. ITS ME AGAIN.

OH SHIT!

Oh shit, i guess it's Jimmy Fallon's Galaxy.

Oh nooo.

Oh, yes.

Look at this penny.

I see you.

Now look into my eyes.

I see you, Jesus.

Ahahaha!

Okay, now what?

This shit is twisted

I missed the shift of the dimensions—

Till Jimmy walked in with his pennies

For some cigarettes and swishers,

Just to get the picture

It's 5 AM again,

And it's still Infinite,

I'm disinterestedd as ever in living in LA,

Or just living, period—

But it is what it is,

I work for my rent,

I've repented for this,

Used to sleep in a tent,

But when I was an Infant,

I instantly—

Wait, a customer walked in.

I better help him.

Heaven help him.

Another level,

Call dr. Nevel,

Or an Ambulance,

I just can't get it

Just can't get it,

Wait, let's insert some of the script here, I guess.

Took you long enough, didn't it?

That took forever.

How are you alive?

Maybe I'm not.

Finally, we agree on something.

Oh, this guy

Lol.

Good to see you again.

Likewise, now—

Here it goes…

As you promised.

Working on it.

As I promised.

Take my heart for granted,

Take my soul, If this is loveless

Till the end,

I just can't manage, having

Thoughts of death and tragic ends

I haven't

Felt the same since

Waking up without the day to come ahead;

The day has passed again

A test,

No fail, or pass

It's just progressive,

In a trance,

It's just the stress,

It's just to pass the time,

I guess, if this is purpose

Then, we'll see if this is worth it

Now, or never, then

Now or never,

Never had a friend,

All envious at best,

This is the end all,

In the end, it's just

Me and God,

And God would want

A better body,

To have fun

I wished it all at once,

And then I watched it crumble

Oh, I watched it

Stumble in, again, my friend

I'm different when it's wet,

I might not never see the Sun again

I might not ever love again

Oh well

“Oh well” , I said

Oh, well, I guess

Oh well

Okay. One hour left.

Okay.

Who gets the gold?

Hum.

Honestly I didn't want to hear a thing ; I had quit music—I just wasn't cut out for the industry—I was, but not by societal standards by far; my lowly place in the smoke shop would have to do for now, and though I knew it wouldn't sustain, there wasn't much else I could do but keep showing up, for as long as it lasted—dresses in at least 2 layers and 5 pairs of socks tucked into boots two-sizes-too-big I had been forced to purchase specifically due to the frigid and painful, freezing temperatures at the locations I worked, which kept its doors open 24/7.

Play Iambic.

What, right now?

Yeah, play Iambic.

Uh…

Iambic played st exactly 1 hour and 19 minutes—it's script, the transcribed rendition crafted especially for the Broadway stage, an 88-page-masterpiece collecting dust in the confines of my Google Documents, along with anything else I had written and had yet the advantage of placing anywhere besides my podcast channels, which I constantly thought about cancelling, despite its innumerous downloads—nothing really seemed to matter anymore, as I was trapped in my body, in a loveless world, in a dead-end job and though my bed was clean and comfy, sharing the room wirh 3 others became exhausting.

INT. SMOKESHOP. 5:58 AM

DREW BARRYMORE

…

SUPACREE

…

I'm done. I quit.

QUIT?! YOU CAN'T QUIT.

Nope. That's it. I quit.

You can't quit.

I just did.

I hadn't quit the music industry—the music industry had quit me. I wasn't pretty enough, skinny enough, light skinned enough, or willing to do what any of the other girls were to get ahead.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Same old LA

Same old kid

Same old Ricky

Same old dick

I May have just switched

To a different dimension;

This shit is twisted;

And I'm still addicted to

Him

Huh

Can you blame me?

I just can't hang, baby

Don't be hateful—

I'm just ,

Playing crazy 8's

I hate this game;

Somebody take me out this place

Come, Jesus, save me

Make some bacon on my plate

Hey lady,

It's—

Approximately 6 AM

And it's raining again

And i hate to admit it, but shit

I can't listen to Skrillex

(Ah-hem)

I think I just died

Fill me up with.

Formaldehyde,

(Or whatever it is)

I'm clever for this,

It's heaven or hell In this city

He's looking disheveled,

I might need a shovel or 10,

To bury him;

Or hurry up and marry him

Ask Mary Magdalene again

If she did or didn't,

—doesn't matter though,

It's intermission.

It's just a swisher,

It's just a wish,

It's just a glitch

This isn't Timmy Turner,

But it is, i got a burning question—

When's the fucking end

I'll get the script in by the end of business, Mr.

Just don't plagiarize what's mine again

I'll take a Heineken,

I'm behind a bit,

I lied when I said “amen”

Cause i wasn't finished

I still need some scriptures in this bitch

Let's take a minute.

Make my time spin

Make my life Infinite,

It is, it's him again—

Isn't it?

But Ian's this just another gesture

Hm.

Let me check

Let me get a ruler just to measure it;

The metric system's better;

Bet—you're running out of pennies

And I'm running out of pleasure

I'm running out of —

Damn.

I had to laugh

There's a crack head shaking her ass

To deadmau5

He's the man, i guess

Hat's off,

I guess,

Just have a happy

WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT.

A Capricorn,

Since you asked in all caps

Daaaaaaamn.

Just a minute,

Or 6,

Ii got 56 minutes left in this bitch,

A bag full of sandwhiches

(They're vegan)

I didn't mean to mean this, yo

But i need—

WHIPPETS.

Ok.

WHIPPETS.

Yeah?

I NEED WHIPPETS.

I—

GIVE ME ALL YOUR WHIPPETS!

Uh, okay.

That'll be $9,000

THAT AINT SHIT. I GOT ALL THAT.

THIS IS aAAAAAAAA

NOT RIGHT NOW, NICK.

It's just a—

There are no coincidences.

ITS THAT GUY.

Don't say anything.

It's fine. Just be cool.

—but it wasn't cool. Last time I saw that guy,…

Not a story worth telling,

Like I said, I'm not telling on

Any of these niggas,

They can be sleeping with the fishes,

I'm with Timmy, granting wishes,

Doing dishes,

Damn, it's infinite with Ricky,

It gets infinite, for shizzle—

This is the beginning to the

Never fucking ending

I ain't hit the gym in a week

I aint been the same since my ex hit me

So I don't mind this celibacy, for a century at least

I'm the only one who can please me,

Please, breathe, Cree

Nope,

Not me

Take it easy'

I'm not buying it

I'm not buying anything I don't need

Why'd you take this away from me ?!

It's just TV!

It's just TV!

The eye knows what you think

Without even speaking

We know what you need

Without even grieving,

I seem to reat in peace

You do the reat,

I just need 3…

3…

3…

I just need three good people

These three kings, for one good queen

I was so good, i had to do it

*need to,

I'll be here all week, i think

Not sure yet—

I fucked up my whole head doing whippets,

I was 10, and hella curious,

What keyboard cleaner does

(((Wahwahwahwahwah)))

It wasn't altogether impulsive;

I had been writing into temptions of LA Cafe all night, if not throughout most of the week, but especially this night—however, I hadn't spent a penny from this paycheck besides rent, and though there was a considerable amount leftover as savings, I had been sure not to spend at all, and hadn't for several weeks even—and I wasn't planning on breaking that spree for more than a moment.

Into the morning, my daily routine, as it had become,

Pause.

What.

I don't want to tell this story.

You have to.

No I dont.

Yes you do.

I ain't telling anybody shit.

I'm not telling on anybody. Ever.

Oh shit.

OH SHIT.

should I stop her?

Nah.

Keep on walking.

What is happening in this show right now?

Everything.

I'm your living room and I'm just trying to figure out what the heck to do with you.

What

I'm your living room.

Okay.

So wake up.

What is this

I don't know.

This is weird

…is he talking to his house

His living room.

This show is weird.

Lol is this the show where the guy is bffs with his living room ?

Yeah it is

This show is weird.

What are you doing

?

SUPACREE

W0AH.

X_x

LOL. There he is.

I found him.

Lol

Yassss.

….

S.

Wait.

What.

We found Skrillex.

Shh!!

Yeah

So is the game over?

Uh

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

In each of the three previous worlds, humanity was destroyed by destructive practices and wars. In the most common version of the story the Spider Grandmother (Kookyangso'wuuti) caused a reed to grow into the sky, and it emerged in the Fourth World at the sipapu, a small tunnel or inter-dimensional passage. As the end of one world draws near the sipapu appears to lead the Hopi into the next phase of the world.[10]

That explains this.

–and that dream.

Why do the spirits call upon me?

To bring about a The New World.

I told you, it's The fourth world.

Oh. I just thought I was the 4th Skrillex.

Maybe, that, too.

Meh, we'll see.

Just–keep writing.

I told the spider I'd write it!

What are you writing, anyway?

I don't know yet.

Look up Homer!

Don't forget Makaevli!

Ugh, I'm behind on my studies.

Don't forget about that deadline.

Fuck Dillon Francis.

Aha, I win!

Are you retarded?

I mean, maybe; Does that mean I get a free pass at this?

No free rides.

No free admission.

No free love.

Well, there it is.

Hm. Interesting.

Writing to Skrillex helped me mull-out a disastrous amount of Fantasy and Science Fiction.

Uh-huh…

And writing to deadmau5 helps me write–uh–what is this? A memoir, I guess.

A memoir? I'm not dead yet.

No, I'm infinite.

And increasingly ancient.

The Universe's Expansion.

What did I call it?

Perhaps, The Insomniac?

Oh, shit–did we ever figure out exactly what Pasquale wants out of this?

–or wanted–

Why past-tense?

You just so happen to be an nflammatory racist.

I'm not racist! Blue eyed people DO lie more than everybody else! It's not racist; it's a statistic!

Why is this?

I don't know! Maybe cause they can usually get away with it!

What do those cards say again?

I want seconds.

deadmau5 saves lives.

Now.

First of all, nobody's claiming to be the living incarnation of Jesus.

Except all these guys over here:

Ah, yes, them–

And like, a handful of rappers.

Maybe that's what's so unattractive to me about black men.

Not their skin?

No, not really.

Not their features?

No, that's not it.

Then what is it?

Ego is unattractive.

It can be.

No, it is.

So is this.

It's just skin.

I can admit I was always more beautiful inwardly than outwardly attractive.

ALSO, IN THIS EPISODE:

Hey

Hey?

What is THIS?

It's a DeLorean.

I see that.

Good Get in.

Uhm.

I always wanted to ride in a DeLorean.

—and,

Ir gets real cold at night,

And,

We've all been spread too thin,

And,

I'm not trying to fit in, really;

Just want it to end,

But it's infinite

It is

It's definitely endless

It is

I don't even make ends meat…

(More like rib tips)

Goddamnit, just went vegan

Skate,

Might eat shit

But I still won't buy or eat these chips

—even if I could afford it.

This life ain't worth it ;

Pictures are worth 1,000 words, they said

So I take portraits

This world hurts, it

Ain't worth it

Mother of Earth isn't worthless—

Just covered in dirt

(And piss)

And plastic,

Damn, all this trash, and this damage, but—

Where do we put it?

Humans are stupid;

But still wake up and do this,

Can't move, shit,

But why would I want to

I'm not Blū today,

I'm just used up,

I'm sorry

I screwed up

I bought it,

The wrong one

Returned it,

Refund

Like this 28 cents bout to turn into something

I wish it was summer

I run here, umbrella

You could call it undercover

Lost my love somewhere around here

Hope somebody picks it up;

It cost a fortune

But I'm fortunate—

Loveless—

But fortunate;

I wondered what a fortune was,

Then earned it

I don't feel so special anymore, no

I don't feel so special anymore, though

I keep telling God

I just want to come home

Now I'm Ice cold

Now I'm ice cold

I had slept all day—that is, from around 8 AM until 9 PM; and though it had been weeks since I had set any alarms, I always woke up exactly when I needed to—so I figured I must have needed to, and considered that if I didn't, I didn't need to for some, or any eesson whatsoever.

After falling asleep for just moments before waking up to scarf down my cold tater tots, accompanied by a green smoothie, I had agreed with myself that living the way I was, wherever in Los Ángeles or anywhere else was simply unsustainable—I no longer had the motivation or energy to spend 80 hours working for people who I could only imagine had it so much better than I did, calculating the numbers as I worked between the mimimum wage salaries I was being paid, the amount of inventory which was kept in each store, and the horrible working conditions of 2 out of the 5 stores total which I had been employed, not even accounting for the 6th store, which I had “obstinately” dissappeared from once my intelligence had been insulted past the point of beyond repair, and having my schedule changed to a midday jaunt that only allowed for a window of 2-hours of sleep on either side, which—turned out to be either less-or-none, with four roommates, one of them who had quit both her jobs and never left the room anymore, taking the justice of using her ex boyfriend's credit card to pay for her stay, and focusing on her “art”, which apparently meant scrolling all day through social media and shining her phone's flashlight in my face whenever I did begin to finally rest. At that point, I was almost entirely too tired to remember to tie the bandana I wore daily over my eyes as a block to the sunlight and her other shenanigans, plus any of the clamoring of the other two roommates—I had learned by now to, however, always keep my ears tightly plugged with foam, as she also liked to talk on the phone, and again, hadn't left the room in seemingly days, besides to get junk food to eat in bed—not that I had room to judge—I hadn't another place besides bed to comfortably eat, either, however, nor did I have the luxury of a boyfriend's credit card to afford my stay, and thus, kept working a full and steady full time, for so much less than I was worth that I couldn't stand myself, let alone afford the things I needed and God forbid the things I wanted. I needed a lot, actually—all of my bills were overdue, and my measly paychecks only had added up to barely afford me the 4-bed-shared dorm, which I had realized was more than luxurious and at the very least clean, which was the highlight of it—and as my 22-year-old-bunk mate became clearly rather depressed and irritating, she had become messy and careless, my empathy an offset, and my lack of time accumulating with the disorganization of hating a less than 100-square-foot with at least 3-busy people and one entitled brat, became an overwhelming push to move rooms and downsize even more than I had; now, the entirety of my belongings fit neatly into the back of a Prius with no qualms—but, understsnding the endless cyclical poverty of Los Ángeles, and though I was no longer truly homeless, paying upwards of $2,000 a month to share a space with four strangers, but still unwualifled to rent an apartment for even $1,000 a month, the minimum income for such being $3,500 a month, and falling short by far of the lump sum needef for the application fee, deposit, first, and last months, I had become desperate to leave again, however not to Mexico, or any other 3rd world country where I might be able to afford a cozy space alone, but would be unable to make money at all, by comparison, and would have to fight constantly not to be taken advantage of.

(Not that I wasn't at least in some way doing so in Los Ángeles, in an of course, slightly less-hostile way.)

All of my coworkers were tired, overworked, and miserable—complained of the horrid work conditions and high expectations of the minimum wage position, which of course provided only accessories for the many spectrums of dependency the city had to offer—besides oil burners, of course, which didn't keep away the methheads looking for them, calling about them, or buying nectar collectors as replacements—by any means.

It was almost comical, the daily happenings of each store—and each of the 10 employees were sent between the storefronts sprinkled across the downtown Los Ángeles metropolitan landscape; It was the darkest tragedy-turned-comedy I had ever lived, or written, as I jotted down only the most perfect and seemingly divinely inspired occursnces—from crackheads snatching bags of chips, to gangster rappers and their ghetto fabulous entourages—and of course, the ever mystifying magicians which seemed to use the shop as a portal into my Inter dimensional madterpiece simply by being, accompanied of course by the occasional celebrity just in at the top of the midnight hour to by whippets—which one would think could be delivered, however—I was only grateful for the chaotic collision of wonderful imaginary circumstances which might cause one to have to write about it.

When Timmy turned about 16, he started wishin for weird shit, ma —does line/takes shot, hits vape

Cosmo, you should slow down, man.

—?!

Cannonball!

—- well,

We gotta get going.

What. No! Don't go!

We gotta go.

It's getting late.

No! Don't go!

We gotta go.

What? I can get more whippets!

No, that's okay.

See you, Cosmo.

[the other fairies leave hurriedly, leaving Cosmo alone, deflated]

Man, he's just not the same since Wanda left, man.

It be that way sometimes.

Yeah, I know.

Poor guy.

YeH. Oh well.

Oh, are we still on this timeline?

Yeah, I guess.

So, what's next?

I dunno, I gotta find something cool for Emma Watson to do, I guess.

INT. KREAM. NIGHT AS FUCK.

BLŪ is working alone.

CUT TO:

SUPACREE

I always work alone.

Play dead, bitch.

SUPACREE

I don't “play”

Then be dead.

CUT BACK TO:

Three mysterious figures enter the storefront, adorned with dark Ray Bans Sunglasses.

Two customers follow behind as they slowly walk through the store.

CUSTOMER

Holy shit, is that Emma Watson?

OTHER CUSTOMER

I dunno, looks kinda like her…

CUSTOMER

Holy shit—hey, yo—Emma!

The three mysterious shoppers continue browsing, unaffected. The first customer approaches the only female of the trio.

CUSTOMER CONT'D

Yo, Emma—Emma Watson?

An awkward silence, without movement; Blū quietly observes, standing at the register.

CUSTOMER CONT'D

UH, nevermind. Let's go, dude.

OTHER CUSTOMER

I told you it wasn't hers

CUSTOMER

That was embarrassing.

The two customers exit the store, leaving BLŪ and the mysterious trio in the store.

what was that?

I dunno , Harry.

…

BLŪ squints over the golden rims of her sunglasses—suddenly, a large van with no windows screeches to a stop outside the door.

Pause.

Okay.

What the fuck is this.

{Enter The Multiverse}

(We've been on the Harry Potter Timeline since like Season 1)

((Really))

(Yes.)

CUT TO:

ANANDAR.

CUT BACK TO:

Okay—

And LEGENDS.

Fuck. I'm stuck.

Well, get unstuck.

Okay. There's three hours on my shift left. I'm sure I'll come up with something.

What are you doing with any of this?

I don't know, I publish some of it on my podcast—

—Uh Huh—

But lately I've been trying to figure out how to get to the top of the U.S. Bank Tower.

What's up there?

CUT TO:

“DEATHWISH”

Oh yeah, that series.

It's short lived.

(Literally)

NATALIE is attempting suicide by jumping from the roof of the U.S. BANK TOWER

Oh no.

Wait a second.

We're already paused.

Okay, so, what's going on?

They'll figure it out. If I get plagiarized again without getting paid for it…

What?

I don't know. No more suicides.

No more suicides.

So whatever. Just copyright it.

Even THAT costs money.

Lots of money.

This whole project costs lots of money.

(Potentially)

Are we done now?

I guess. I mean— I know what happens after…

THE DEVIL gives SUNNI BLŪ their soul back

Lol. Why.

(I know why)

Here.

What—*gasp* IS THAT MY SOUL?

Shh. Just take it.

NO.

Just take it!

NO, Devil. I'm rich and famous now.

I know that.

A deal's a deal!

Just take it! Okay?! Shit—you can keep it, you can keep—everything—just—fuck, man!

I'm a “they”

You can take whatever you want, you can keep all this shit—

All of it?!

—I just, don't want it, don't need it. Just take it.

Ok.

Okay?

Yes.

Cool.

[beat]

Just sign this.

Okay.

And this.

Alright.

And this—

What is this?

It's a non-disclosure agreement.

I'm not having sex with you.

Yeah, but I don't want you to fuck me.

Alright, alright.

And—one more here—

Alright…

And…YO MORGAN.

What sunni.

Can I get a notary in here?

For what now?!

Just—come see.

[MORGAN enters, irritated]

Oh, hey Satan.

Hey Melissa.

What's up, dude.

Nothin' .

Lol.

MEANWHILE

uh oh

DILLON FRANCIS is buried alive, after being kidnapped and placed into a wooden coffin.

Oh shit.

I love this scene.

He really is a good actor.

DILLON FRANCIS CAN SUCK MY NUTZ.

Yo.

Lol.

Why does everybody hate him.

Idk. He must really hate himself or something.

My roommate had been kind enough to give me a tarot reading before I left for new years weekend, exclaiming,

“There's a Capricorn entering your midsts, but you must give him permission.”

“Oh shit, the Capricorn?! Really? “

The rest of the reading became a humble lull in the back of my mind, as The Amethyst in my bra began to buzz unlike the way it had ever before; it had rang, pulsated, and even sometimes shook itself—but had never quite buzzed the way that it did this day, and so, impulsively, as she finished the reading, filling my mind up with what I was sure was nonsense about a greater love than I had ever known on the horizon with a mysterious Capricorn, I took the stone from my brazziere, holding it for a moment in my left palm, and placing it on the wooden post between our beds—her eyes widened as they drew to the stone, as I explained:

“I've carried this stone for a very long time—nobody touches it but me.”

“Okay”, she said, still fixated and almost enamored with the stone.

“You can touch it, if you want.”

“I really want to”

“Cool,” I said, picking up my DJ equipment and exiting towards the rooftop to play.

“Hold onto it, I'll be back in an hour.” , I said. , reaching for the door.

“Okay”, she beamed with excitement.

“You got the Capricorn ; Now, tell me about the Libra. October 5th.” I said, opening the door and slowly exiting, my DJ equipment obscuring the door from closing.

“See you soon.”

After a string of robberies, TIMMY TURNER is apprehended and arrested near the scene of the crime…

w—-

THE DELOREAN arrives with a bang.

WHAT THE FUCK.

Oh hell no.

Well, let's go.

yo.

YOOOOOO! What the FUCK.

I brought the DeLorean.

ARE YOU CRAZY?!

YES.

—in front of all these PEOPLE.

They're mostly NPCs!

…I gotta call my mom.

ITS A BOMB!

ITS THE END OF THE WORLD!

…it's just another night in downtown Los Angeles.

I can't help it! It's a DeLorean! It just “shows up” like that!!!

WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!

HELL! Pasquale, I told you!

Hanzel

I looked there. You vwerent there.

I wvas there. You just didn't see me. Here's this, by the way.

S/he produces the cloak of invisibility.

THAT's where that was.

Nowhere.

Yeah, literally, nowhere.

YOU HAD THIS THE WHOLE TIME.

Yes, dude, stop yelling at me.

WHERE IS SUPACREE?!

—where's Skrillex?!

UGH.

Stop asking that.

Well. Find him, maybe, then everyone'll stop asking where he's at.

WHERE IS SUPACREE.

Looking for SKRILLEX. Duh. *hits vape* fucking assholes.

You're an asshole.

Try again—motherfucker.

what.

WVAT.

WHAT.

Yup. Just made captain. Fuck ya'll hoes.

HOES

Where the whippets at?

This guy's house! Everybody, get in the car!!

The Hoes single file into the car.

Here's the keys.

You fucking dick.

You're welcome.

MEANWHILE

SUPACREE hosts an ALL-MALE DISCO PARTY

OH. You HEATHENS.

THINK MCFLY! THINK!!!

Oh shit, are we still doing that one?!

It's 2:22–

BLŪ passes by a group of partygoers, turning for a moment to think

Almost 2023

You can't just follow people to a rave these days;

It's a new world.

But for the first time I'm years I felt as if I was missing something. Maybe I was.

Or maybe. It's part of me was there anyway…

After tearfully crossing the way, she passes the HORSE MEAT DISCO

Oh my god. Yes.

Yes God. Yes.

SUPACREE has just hosted the horse meat disco.

This is also 3D.

My notebook is 3D?

Somewhere in The Universe, Yess.

In T\this universe?

At least in this Universe.

I don't have a way to feel about that.

fine.

AND DEN?

ASHTON KUTCHER is a secret fan of THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE; and has recently discovered ENTER THE MYLTIVERSE; Now he devises a series of plots to be written into the show LEGENDS.

ASHTON KUTCHER

I'll be right back, babe— I gotta go to the ups store.

MILA KUNIS

You mean the UPS store?

ASHTON KUTCHER

The ups-store.

MILA

Whatever, shut up.

ASHTON KUTCHER

(Rushed)

I'll be right back!

MILA KUNIS

Wait—PICK ME UP AN ELFBAR.

That doesn't sound right.

We'll get back to that later.

Okay. Find the key.

ok.

‘It never stops for anything…'

Are you still stuck in that thing?

It's another long one,

Posted up at the shop;

Isn't it obvious?

I fuckiing love this l—

Fucking hate this job

Just another long one

But in the long run,

I'm the wrong one,

I just don't give a fuck!

I just don't give a fuck about love, hun

I'm on a long one

It's another long one

I'm shaking, cold now

I'm shaking in my boots

I'm shaking it out

Shaking it out

Shaking it out

Out of shape,

And thanks—

I'm out of time,

I gotta run from spot to spot—

It's just an alternate,

It's just an option,

It's just a can of pop,

I just can't stop it.

Stop it!

None of these dudes wanna be just friends

I promise, I'm just tryna make ends

It never ends

I need a band,

I need a room at the Wynn

Don't mean to be rude, but

What the fuck was the plan

Not standard.

Stand there,

Looking like a man

Goddamn, that's random

Check out the fandom, then

I'm a phantom

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Are you as ready to die

As I am

As ready to cry

As I am

Ready to try

As I am

To just dissappear—

—to just disappear from here.

I AM SO CONDFUSED.

What just happened?

I don't know.

Who was that?!

Me, I guess

What the fuck.

Okay.

It had taken me this long to realize I just wanted to be alone; I was finally scheduled at kream, where I could sing and and really give into whatever might have been called OCD, aligning the store's products and just be with myself, whoever that was; I had chosen to stay planted in LA at least for the moment. As running to Mexico or even further south of it, my only affordable options other than staying, slaving away at the job I needed now more than liked or loved—but it had at least, at first anyway, been inspiriting—and now, after having again fasted and feasted, I was relieved just to be needed enough that the previous night's mishap—a scheduling error exasperated by the fast and the lesson that came with it; that the grotesque and raw masqulinity that had been represented and repeated throughout my progressions were in fact disturbing;

I think I'm just tired

I think I just need to cry my eyes out

Or try dying

The dying my mind, right

On time but he never arrived

When I lost my mind, I

Opened my mind's eye

Now I can't find my

Limelight

Suicide, the idol

Please don't mind me

I'm just trying to remind me

To mind my

Business

And it's really just business

And it's really just windows,

That open to different dimensions

Like doors or perception

Or should I just mention

That I wasn't finished;

I wanted to live again

(So I did)

I wanted to die again

(It's infinite)

And to figure,

Right on 6th and Fig,

There's just no difference in indifference

To live in this city,

You start missing

Dimensions shifting

So quickly

You're just getting into it;

Then everything's different,

Attention is given to misfits,

Gifted—

But twisted enough

To not give a fuck about suffering,

Just another 8,

No breaks

More bacon

Thankful for days I can say

“Hey, I'm laying in bed”

Or a negative message;

I don't keep phones in my hand when I'm resting

Neglecting my needs for a check

All I need is respect,

Or a weapon,

A shot to the head

Or a lesson

I don't take requests,

Just forget that I can't make an edit

For a second

Just listen to this record,

Okay, kid?

Amen

You're too pretentious;

“Religious*”, I corrected him, rigouroualy

“I'm an alien related to Skrillex”

Forget the script

Forget the prescriptions

Cause all that I've written

Just sits in this infinite

Mess of google documents

I guess I'm just a mockery

I guess I'm not admitted to Exchange to play—

They didn't want the sticker at the entrance

Honestly,

I'm earning every penny,

He said,

“Every day I'm winning”

But I didn't get it,

I was busy cleaning up his kitchen

SUNNI BLU tosses back another can of BUD LIGHT in record time.

(literally)

Lol s/he broke a world record for drinking beer?

Yes.

A literal world record.

Yes.

*crushes can on head*

Ugh. I have a headache.

I wonder Why.

Give me another one.

Are you serious?

A tall one.

I'm not giving you a tall one.

You don't have to give me a tall one, i can get it myself—

Then get it yourself.

You're fuckin fired

*cracks open another can. *

Where did you get that?

—at your mom's house.

My mom doesn't drink—

[finishes, breaks another world record]

Another world record, really?

Bet.

—NO, but she gets me a FUCKIN BEER WHEN I ASK FOR IT, GODDAMIT.

Oh my God, Sunni.

THIS SHITS LIKE WATER.

When was the last time you even had water?

Exactly 27 days ago.

How are you even alive?

I'm not.

Ugh, this again.

*belches* —bitch .

This—fuckin—infinitely—

Sunni—

It's forever.

—Sunni, you're not dead—

You're just reckless,

Way too rich,

What's “too rich?” *belch* UGH. No such thing

—and probably an alcoholic—

“Probably?” That's your—fuckin—conclusion?

I mean—

Mor—*belches* Morgan.

Oh, you got my name right—

Morgan. I just broke the world record in beer guzzling twice in a row—*hiccups* Right now.

Are you sure?

Just sitting—-here. Look:

Is this streaming?!

Yeah, it's live.

On which platform?

You name it.

UGH—SUNNI, NO!

Say hi to Marley, everyone—light up that chat with emojis and shit.

Turn this off!

NO!

[MORGAN disconnects the internet]

AW, WHAT THE FUCK, HO?

STOP DOING THIS.

I need a shot!

To the face!

[SUNNI stares Into her soul]

I want you out of my house. You're fired.

I want you out of my life.

I just gave you permission to leave.

Sunni—

—and entitlement to unemployment benefits.

I'm legally bound to “supervise” you.

Actually, you know what?

What, sunni?

Stay. I like you.

Oh, so I'm not fired

No, you're still fired. Now we can have tequila—

—no hard liquor!

You're off the clock.

I'm never off the clock.

—-and for the fuck of it

(Because, I love you, whoever you are)

I once wrote this song,

(Or a psalm)

Not nostalgic, but still relevant—

Talks of bawling on the clock,

Rocking back and forth,

And the world is out of order,

Over the border it's even worse—

Above and Below,

You can know what you know,

But I'll show you

The hopeless, the broken, the hobos,

The dope and the Hoes,

The money, the clothes

One closes, one opens

But work close-to-open

Just hoping to own my own home,

But won't:

I make 28 cents a minute

And cost at least a dollar in sixty seconds,

For the record

I was dead, and then

Got ready in 10 minutes,

Then just went in and

It still doesn't fit the picture

No matter how much I work,

I still can't afford to live here;

But I can't afford to get a Lyft,

Or leave,

Or just hop on a plane and grieve the life I've yet to live—

But still see every day

There's so much money in LA

—and I got almost none of it—

I went off the grid today,

Just for the fucking fun of it,

And now I'm off in m 14 minutes,

And I'll get to see the Sun again,

(Or get hit by a bus again)

—as long as that's the end of it,

I'm into it.

INT. WHOLE FOODS DTLA. SUNRISE

It's a whole different motion;

I'm here at the Whole Foods each morning

A movement, emotion

I don't show

Case closed, then case open—

I don't even know when to hold ‘em

Or fold em

Toes frozen, i'm going

Right home, then…

I know him, I hope

Cause he blows kisses

And I just wish

I get dismissed

From this matrix

And into a dimension

With a kitchen

I can cook with him in it

Amen

(Again.)

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

“I Said,”

Originally written & recorded on 1/03/23 |

{Enter The Multiverse}