{ENTER THE MULTIVERSE: THE LEGEND CONTINUES}

I usually have a pretty strict rule about sharing unfinished tracks (don't do it) but under the circumstances I'm not sure I'll ever finish these.

Here's a super early unmixed/unmastered v1 of a double track from my upcoming project Symposium. If projects called Symposium start popping up backdated just know who it really came from. I love Greek theatre and this concept has been a basis for the reality of an album I was trying to put out by the end of this year, but I dunno. The projects are a lot more detailed and technical than some of my more cut-and-dry forms.

Anyway,

I've had a bunch of people trying to copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ and {Enter a the Multiverse} and backdating to get an economic advantage in something they didn't think of or invent (people that have a lot of money copyrighting things I wrote or stealing my intellectual property.) People have been poaching my intellectual property and this is a form of targeted hate. I guess that's what happens in pay-to-play when non-creatives have financial advantage over those who have to work eighteen times as hard for their income. Just know my music is driven by passion and not so much with the mindset of needing it to have mass appeal to crowds or sell things. It's just art.

I have this sort of hate coming from all directions right now and it's making me sick to the point that it might actually end my life, so here's this and will probably put out some other demos and unfinished music so someone gets to hear it, as times are uncertain and the stuff I've been going through is a bit evil, or like, beyond that.

Thanks for listening and supporting my artwork and I hope you like it;

Here's some proses and comedy or enter the multiverse or whatever.

P&L.

-Ū.

Somebody tell me why this money lobster is snatching up the people wtf is going on.

I swear to got we went five stops and did not move not one time.

I saw the New York stock exchange building for the first time and I was so in awe of it, that it was a full five minutes I spent just looking at it before I realized there was a statue of a little girl standing right next to me in the same exact pose.

I was like,

“Oh I guess that's the vibe.”

—Fearless Girl.

When I bleed out for you—

Something you wanted

Standing in God at the bottom

A lobster, a child in awe

All bronze as the charging bull

Cause you thought you were home,

But you wasn't,

Border on awkward

You're always stopped at the border

And poppin a tire just over it

All for a song,

But to tell you the tow was so worth it

You're picking up dollars just outside the guitar shop

It's only twenty more minutes

I bought you a donut

But broke all those promises

I want to pour out my heart

On poor Wall Street,

Can't afford Walmart no more

It's not walking distance from Brooklyn

I broke all my horses in

Telling them stories of Harvard

Now how's that work for you?

I want my deposit back

I spilled my blood on the floor for four whole hogwarts;

I told you it was a novel

I want love no more,

No

I want nothing but upholstered coffins

Whole organic coffee beans,

And no more hard parties

No more half naked bodies at equinox

Under my rubber glove fortress

No more jumping rope

Or onto/ in front of the subways

I want to die

I want to go to heaven

I don't mean the Equinox,

That's probably where my head is

I mean the place where all my family and my bed is

And when i say my “bed” don't mean a salad lettuce

So I can fit those dresses,

I'm stressed beyond depressed,

Sick of messes so [exit]

I took a left

Nexus,

Something in my past about a Lexus

Where the leg press is?

Put one more set in.

I won't lie,

I just can't wait to watch

CHAOS

Hope falls

And then I die

To eat,

On Livingston street—

As history repeats itself,

Thanksgiving lasts six weeks,

I wish I was Netflix,

Gangstalkers dressed in red,

I cannot stress this much,

I barely needed medicines,

Then again,

I met Miss Christine in this pristine design

— Jimmy Kimmel, Live.

—Cause that holiday was eight years long, maybe even

Nine.

Who is that?

Oh? That's ol' one-arm sally.

Why would you call her that?

She clearly has two arms!

Yeah, but you'd be suprised what she can do with just one.

It's Hollywood's best kept secret—

But maybe that's because it's being kept in New York.

Happiness is a blue suit

Happiness is a long tie

A black tie function

A quick exchange

A long night

And a shift change.

Bury this with the gun,

I'm no more trouble,

The war was over, but learner,

Mortimer,

Oh girls young daughter

You've got another thing coming

I have a very good story to tell

And it's only funny

If it was not me;

Welcome to my comedy hour.

Zoe Kravitz

Is

Not

Zoe Saldana

Kinda.

Almost.

Maybe.

He's a bird

—that's a plane

They said. “Let's crash together.”

Then he blew up in the turbine

Under my arm

Woke up in the morning

A long way from the runway;

That's a strange, awkward situation

I hope to almost almost

Go dopamine on

Microexpressions

Sometimes I wish I unseen eyes—

Lifetimes pass and I still

I just counted three lies

—damn. That shit happens all day, don't it.

Sorry, Doctor;

I just got to watch and love ya.

Sorry, Mortimer,

I sought out another coach and reporter,

Sure, this low dosage got my heart broken

But those blue adderall are much better than nothing.

I promise,

I saw the big one, broad shoulders—

Boy, but I wanted the other.

Don't you give that man an arrow!

Don't you know that bronze bulls throw stones?!

Also,

—and she's tall—

Whose your alter, Harper?

THROW THE BALL.

I think that's a bad I—

JUST THROW IT!

*does*

You're right. That wasn't good at all.

But, wait, don't—

See me in sim city,

Christmas trees and American flags,

And I'm smitten;

Six figures I go missing;

Recees just said that,

But Clorox degreases.

Television—

Rules The Nation.

She is—

103 feet tall,

I dive

110 feet deep

I eat

How many

—ah fuck, here comes Skrillex again.

Yeah, fuck.

Go the other way.

Ten tantrums,

All in fault lines

Guess which language you're going to crypt Gypsies in?

Nobody gets me,

But Zimmerman

…okay I'll be entirely honest I like that typo

—I wish.

What the fuck was I typing anyway?

How many times does it take to write a name like though before your documents just autocorrects it—

Or is it Gemini is having programmed thoughts of him and I?

Who is it, dear?

It's Seth Meyers.

Twice.

Yo what's up with these late night hosts, yo? They all got weird parents, and weird lives or something…

Like they came out of a box, or something.

So you will admit Seth Meyers is a host now?

Disqualified for lack of suit and jacket— however, I find that his lineage—

YOWHO IS THIS GUY.

It's Seth Meyers…

And his shrunken head.

Yo,

That is creepy.

You wouldn't even know, really…

Ohhh that's how it's duplicating?

Ah huh.

Gross!

I know gross!

That's gnar-gnar.

Whateves. We gotta get that head.

You have to get it. I'm not touching that thing.

Whatevs.

Part I. Talk To Me About It// Pt II.Guardians of the

(Unfinished, Unmixed/Mastered V1)

Symposium 2025/2026 TBA

Prod By -Ū.

DBA

Blü Tha Gürū

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025

The Festival Project, Inc. ™

All rights reserved.

Chroma111.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025.

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

All rights reserved.

UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR

DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

This is a really, really bad mix.

apologies in advance.

I had to hsve still believed in magic to some degree, because in all of the applicable ways it made sense, I applied it— much with reverence and spirituality such is religion, all of my ritual occultation was indeed still based in the science of source, as to say that God itself was all the major diety I needed to call upon, in prayer and in this thought process. I was more in alignment with this definition of divinity than with any given science or religion, or rather an antithesis of either, because as it seemed the walls would draw in on one or another, I found myself and my God at the center of all things, both dark and light— encompassing both the greatness of what was as known, and also not— the words and words seeming to pour from me like another space in time was held inside myself and beyond what even I could have understood.

I couldn't force my artwork, and even knowing that I was slipping between the cracks as far as deadlines were concerned I was wreaking havoc in another realm of artistic torture— knowing what I already had, but could not possibly forage or put out— my unplublished works a daunting reminder of what was about me, but was not known. Then again, as an artist, I wondered had I any purpose at all in being known, or was it just some kind of harsh injustice to my own talent that I would hide in the shadows while I presumed some other alias or moniker would take the spotlight, and especially so for some of my more controversial tones and pieces.

Overall, I was devastated that these two years just as any other period in my life seemed just to be a fight against whatever the opposite of God was and my own absence from this light I with desperation called upon over and over— with the knowing well that in time and never my own that it did work, and that this magic and occult was a real substance, but never in the way that I might think or understand, and most certainly not under the guise of any rules of expectation.

I was a flying saucer in the vast expanse of outer known time, and my own body was something like a waking memory of sliver for all that was and all I had done and could do in conciousness. In that aspect, I was not awake, and only dreaming in a way that was personified by my self in the physical realm where I seemed to be having some kind of shattered montage of a life awakened from a death sleep and into the afterlife of an only somewhat waking world— the twisted bodies surrounding none less than the half capacity I'd ever had to congulate an imaged world in my own fortune, and I was sure otherwise I was half braindead or some partial version of a somewhat paralyzed and seemingly unconscious drone of one world or another, my inner essence escaping for freedom and in the silent darkness screaming up to the gathered surface to please pull the plug— to let me pass on, and to go into the world of fortune; under the circumstances it appeared as if the darkness was always grasping at its chance to imprison even this of what was left, along the lines of gratitude I felt shattered but also honored; whatever I was had also kept itself tied to these words and these colorful arts as a hidden sign that there was a truth in this previous life that had went unsaid.

And so magic it was as it pertained to God because I believed in both or as one as another or one in the same.

I am, dog on a leash

I am heart full of love

I am all out of time

I am all out of home

I couldn't make any sense of what seemed to be some kind of telepathic connection with the host of the tonight show, which I kept at a safe enough and respectable distance, but perhaps maybe it was telemetry. Perhaps somehow my strange frequency was intercepting with a broadcast signal, or a radio tower, or perhaps it was the show itself— as I called it, the ghost of Johnny Carson.

Overall I hadn't meant for it to happen, but it did seem to always kind of rather by accident happen— my strange dreams of all the people coming together for the 50th anniversary of Saturday night live, and though for some or whatever reason thinking it would stop, but it hadn't, and in fact rumbling thoughts of mark wahlberg and some of the other recent guests could not have been a coincidence, nor could have been what seemed at the time Robert Dinero or any of the others who had been blooming in my mind in the weeks leading up to the event and I couldn't have considered it any more after being unable to focus on anything besides what seemed to have been a protruding vein from the poor man's forehead, which for myself had made me promise not to look at all too closely—

Then, here it was nearly a year later and I couldn't do anything but momentarily curse aloud and pause in the thought of not letting myself go north of where I was in my media calling; even in the modern world of horrid things one human being does to another, under no circumstances whatsoever could I continue l to belittle and downplay my own self respect, especially in the grips of something that felt like a more rising sense of urgency than ever— I hadn't had sex in year with anyone, and there were very few things I actually wanted. I was increasingly picky to my own demise, and increasingly delusional, and vulnarable in such a sense that anything I knew I wanted, I also knew to respect myself enough to stay far away from. Not so much the double edged sword was this than simply knowing better— the other hosts and almost all the world were safe— this was not.

I kept it out of the news

And out of my head

For awhile now;

I kept it out of the noose

As far as my head is concerned

But after awhile, when I started to smile

It was thinking of you;

Now more than ever I've got more than nothing to lose.

I'm a straight jacket away from an Oscar

And eight days from my triumph

I called also the Ace of the Spades,

The Club and the Diamond

I'm tipping my hat to your making

But playing for tips

And paying for service

I've got more than four words

But the forward was barely a dollar.

I'm rarely a savage,

But also, your honor

I give not a gasp but a grasping at petals

And strings of a flower

The rock to a kite

And a wind in the forager,

So much beyond what I know is unmasked

In my country not home

But a foreigner

CHAOS

It took me two times to find you out..

It's not my fault, I'm not the one.

CHAOS

And still, you saw what God I was.

The god of Chaos, not my love.

You are not my king!

“Not my king” he says I—

And yet am king;

A king of kind;

The king of thieves!

And you, my grace?

Caring verily fir your thanks

And what if my remarks?

The careless woman!

And of swords.

Adeiu.

But still untied I gallop!

(Turning)

And yet I stay.

To careless words.

A triumph.

Not to mark my time to dust

As there to wait in forests wonder,

Catching, maybe, as you were

But still my tied to bark an order

To what!

Your making.

My kind!

And gathered.

The wake to drift the call to forward,

And coming in the mark I gathered

Your ties be mind,

And yet the waiting shadows foraged

(And also in the art I bathe)

Several other ballads pondered

To mine ties, your art my word

Your thought my song,

And wind my fortune

And so you are, then my kite!

I am both what kite and wind you may;

But what of stone and rock?

[suddenly, in modern tongue]

I'm glad you asked.

CUT TO:

CONAN O BRIEN wakes up suddenly in his pleated blue pajamas from what seems like a very deep sleep.

CONAN

Surfing? I think I will go surfing.

He gets out of bed and stares out of the window at the sunrise; it is a picturesque Californian day.

{Enter the multiverse}

I guess any time I try to terminate my state of being,

I am annihilated

You're really right; this is a death curse

You're really right, this is a death curse

Any time I try to find my way out, I am exiled

You're right, this is a time bomb

You're right, I've got my eyes closed

Are there any intimate conclusions?

Are there any derelictions, or delusions?

And redactions or delirium, any infinity?

Any fear at all?

I hear you now

I all bleed blue

I'm born to suffer

Stuff the earplugs in a little deeper little longer,

Then we all get caught in martyrdom

Or someone else's story

Ooh, you started it

Not now, God!

He was born and gone in such an instant

That I bark to love him

First as dog and then as servant

Other Master is absolved and yet absorbent

I get caught in my own foul ball

I have missed for trains

Just decided to cast you all out

The demons wandered

Just like they wanted

The snake still slithered,

The owl still called

I was also cosmic once

Just I just forgot I was never pardoned

Oh who are I

I smell howling. Hogties withered out ones,

Wondered weathered swallows

When I see

Whether or not

You tip your hat to my making—

The ball rolls,

The owl cries,

The harp sings,

The hare runs,

The mark, my cause.

I am your forager.

Then, gripping in the wakes

The calls that bantered

Not here or owl, I

Not dog or rabbit,

No wake and no fortune

You are to run

Or lest be tortured

You are our call

No, for what

They says have ceased and the harp has stung sound,

Not one but two sour notes aching,

And there I bartered with all but nothing that I had

To love, the power

Then angst in me mine soul and my ties,

My ways were na'er seek but shattered also

I lake in lessons and drift in oceans and drown in all our skies, azure and lavender,

Creeping in the cape that is both overshadowed our, I

Gripping in the ways seeks foreign to none and also listened in your foyer

Waking not as ghosts but yet as haunted

Here tith thee my tide and I bade farewell

And fate he they to keep our half tide

I am hiding in your wakes and in my foreign

I am forgotten and also withered, gathered!

I am decrcrepit and unloved kept secret

I am as shamed and as unwell as all our sick and tired

Poor and outside

I am as outside as the grass and trees have slaughtered I am as ancient as before the oceans tide did bring, my kind did watch your light come for us out of darkness

And into my shores of only oceans you not know,

My thoughts be born into your shadows

And my own making is your honor

Whatever that means

This Is creepy.

You're right!

Fly bird! Fly!

Uh. Did you bring a bird with you into the office.

Kind of

Kind of? Yes or no?

I think of him fondly

I killed myself on his birthday

he didn't even want me

But luckily it's also Obama's

Birthday, that is

I was not hot enough

To this day I want another body

Aftermarket Parts

With

happy accidents

{enter the multiverse}

Kind of!

What does that even mean!

Bird, go away!

It means “kind of!”

He follows me everywhere.

What!

Thais ridiculous.

It is. Ridiculous!

See, I've got to figure this out, because it seems like, indirectly, sometimes the weird and random things going on in my head, are at least very partially

Actually [nevermind]

This makes whatever I'm supposed to do increasingly difficult, on the basis that [Ahem] SNL alumni that [uncontrollable fit of hysterical coughing] ago.

I can't understand what I might have done to deserve this kind of torture—

My own accidental muses have all been [birds, at some point or another],

Untouchable, entirely separate other monsters, and I've often thought that perhaps this is my kind of purgatory;

Because I fell so insensibly and head over heels in love before and was still rampantly tortured and undermined,

I was unwilling to see myself in any sort of attainable situation,

And so everything had become some sort of fantastical delusion—

Or perhaps even a hope that I could at the very least

Become something greater; in that understanding the factors that were determining the outcomes of these other peoples lives I for whatever reason seemed to be magnetized to, I could emulate myself into a situation where none of it any longer mattered.

Still, it was some sort of strange fascination that anytime someone seemingly out of place appeared somewhere in my dreams or in my rampant and running thoughts, they just so happened to be hovering somewhere near this [concept], and while it seemed some sort of intriguing, it was also deeply troubling, and dangerous, and wore on my consciousness in ways I could not consider well at all, or forward thinking

Discussing this sort of feelings would simply mean a diagnosis of some sort of delusions, but without the risk of doing that far, I could simply only attribute it to some sort of spiritual purpose, which at the very least in the safest way, was most probably one sided.

I was just a troubled girl in a lot of pain, and somehow my brain was wrapping itself around a way to manage this constant sort of torture.

Oh this is so much funnier with the [redactions]

Agreed.

It was different, maybe, not because it sounded different. It sounded the same, exactly. But the difference was, I was listening as a producer, and not as some girl that was in love with him. Or— thought she was.

Now I didn't think anything much besides how well it would mash with any of my other favorite songs, by my other favorite artists— or how it was mixed just right and how some sounds hit in the head, and some in the top and how I knew how to do that, but I was kind of lazy. I thought about the glue that held everything together, which is what pissed me off about his music— sounds that didn't come apart and made entirely new sounds together from whatever they once were, because they were so meticulously plastered that way. This kind of engineering gave way to perfectly round spheres elsewhere, or perhaps even the kind of colors in other music but wasn't so much any one thing or another here. Perhaps the point was, that at the time, it was sort of abstract in a way that set a new norm. Now everyone sounded like him— besides him: who could say who he really was presently anyway, besides him, if even that— or the people around him; a constantly changing array of whatever's…things and persons I'd stopped being mad about ages ago. At least, sort of.

I was still kind of mad, but more that I still just paled in comparison, and almost that I'd lost total interest, besides learning this: what I could apply to it now, knowing what I knew, but still might never possibly achieve, not at this point anymore because I couldn't..:but perhaps because I didn't want to.

And it really was great— eight or ten or twelve Grammies great, but I was just kind of— not that. Not the way I used to be. Still, I gave myself the benefit of the doubt.

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

-Ū.

Death of A Superstar DJ

Copyright athe Complex Collective © 2025

All Rights Reserved.

exit 77 (Instrumental)

-ũ. (Unreleased)

DBA Blū Tha Gürū

A kite in the wind

And a knot that was tied at the rock,

And a solemn last thought,

For a drop of your pronouns;

Wild and twisted the time

Or the will of the tale to be told

As if tongue handn't strung that same one–

Still yonder the surface

But never that gathered

To wake and to wild her thirst

At the alter

The christened and severed,

But glistened as cherubs

had waited her heralded platters

See, i told you it was the feast.

I couldn't figure out what “heralded” would have to do with

“platters”

Then again nothing much made sense at the time anymore as it was, or for that matter as much as it did therefore after–sometimes much after–timetimes weeks, and sometimes years, and sometimes what was heard to bear, the weight of eons passed between one thing and another. Entire worlds and lifetimes i'd had my eye and the back of my eye on, though departed, however as such categorized as things which could not have ever possibly have been discussed with one person or another–because, of course, however cosmic–they could not be explained, nor verified.

It was the greatest secret I ever had, and it was in every single essence of the word a very secret. It wasn't so deep or dark or anything which would convey that it should not be shared–but in the nature that it had come to me, in itself it was a very rare thing which could not be taught, or talked about. Some kind of work of art, or act of God, or reward for having such a hard love–but it might have been the cruelest one, especially because it wasn't dark, or amoral, or beyond ordinary at all outside of how it had been thought–or born in thought in the very moment of that inconsiderate system of escape in that which is the essence of presence, if even for a moment, of someone whom you very much love–even though present it is not. It is this, transference of energetic movement one might refer to as shapeshifting, and in some unwritten form of parallel I had been given this sort of encrypted phantom of knowledge i'd had my mind set on being wrapped around.But for that matter, whatever cloud I sat on no matter how high up, i had to live in such a way that I could convince myself to understand that every now and again, this one and I would cross paths.

For now, it was the best and worst secret I could ever have–the best because it was one I could have, and the worst because it was the most interesting thought–a puzzle solved and yet without any satisfaction because though the pieces had been put together, perhaps in a way you couldn't ever know what it was. This finished picture with fitting edges and four sharp corners with no discernable art that made it up.

‘What is that supposed to be.'

Then, this is pertaining to the assumption that you've for whatever reason the skill or need to put together this puzzle without ever having or having seen a picture of the box–just fitting the marked edges that ran along each other all together until one by one they all had a place to go–rectangular in shape and perfectly fitting and still in all that time and effort having done what you thought needed to be done in order to know what that might have been a picture of…

You have no idea.

And worse, it emulates no known abstract art–it seems less even than just a conglomerate mix of things, or a half-thought, or a pre-emptive idea–it just was jumbled, and now it's not.

[]

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

{Enter The Multiverse}

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025

All Rights Reserved.

My Name Is James

A Novel

The artist reserves all rights to intellectual property maintained and produced by any and all publications of this series and is thereby protected under any applicable copyright law and/or trademark. All fictionalizations of persons living or dead are meant to be perceived as characterized and/or fictional (fan-fiction) are for entertainment purposes only, and are not to be perceived as real re-enactments, dramatizations of events past or present, media dialogues or agendas, or factual exchanges pertaining to and surrounding real-life circumstances.

The dialogues and entires expressed in this project are in no way liable for any action, expression, disagreements, entitlements held by the reader at his or her/ their own discretion.

I guess any time I try to terminate my state of being,

I am annihilated

You're really right; this is a death curse

You're really right, this is a death curse

Any time I try to find my way out, I am exiled

You're right, this is a time bomb

You're right, I've got my eyes closed

Are there any intimate conclusions?

Are there any derelictions, or delusions?

And redactions or delirium, any infinity?

Any fear at all?

I hear you now

I all bleed blue

I'm born to suffer

Stuff the earplugs in a little deeper little longer,

Then we all get caught in martyrdom

Or someone else's story

Ooh, you started it

Not now, God!

He was born and gone in such an instant

That I bark to love him

First as dog and then as servant

Other Master is absolved and yet absorbent

I get caught in my own foul ball

I have missed for trains

Just decided to cast you all out

The demons wandered

Just like they wanted

The snake still slithered,

The owl still called

I was also cosmic once

Just I just forgot I was never pardoned

Oh who are I

I smell howling. Hogties withered out ones,

Wondered weathered swallows

When I see

Whether or not

You tip your hat to my making—

The ball rolls,

The owl cries,

The harp sings,

The hare runs,

The mark, my cause.

I am your forager.

Then, gripping in the wakes

The calls that bantered

Not here or owl, I

Not dog or rabbit,

No wake and no fortune

You are to run

Or lest be tortured

You are our call

No, for what

They says have ceased and the harp has stung sound,

Not one but two sour notes aching,

And there I bartered with all but nothing that I had

To love, the power

Then angst in me mine soul and my ties,

My ways were na'er seek but shattered also

I lake in lessons and drift in oceans and drown in all our skies, azure and lavender,

Creeping in the cape that is both overshadowed our, I

Gripping in the ways seeks foreign to none and also listened in your foyer

Waking not as ghosts but yet as haunted

Here tith thee my tide and I bade farewell

And fate he they to keep our half tide

I am hiding in your wakes and in my foreign

I am forgotten and also withered, gathered!

I am decrcrepit and unloved kept secret

I am as shamed and as unwell as all our sick and tired

Poor and outside

I am as outside as the grass and trees have slaughtered I am as ancient as before the oceans tide did bring, my kind did watch your light come for us out of darkness

And into my shores of only oceans you not know,

My thoughts be born into your shadows

And my own making is your honor

Whatever that means

This Is creepy.

You're right!

Fly bird! Fly!

Uh. Did you bring a bird with you into the office.

Kind of

Kind of? Yes or no?

I think of him fondly

I killed myself on his birthday

he didn't even want me

But luckily it's also Obama's

Birthday, that is

I was not hot enough

To this day I want another body

Aftermarket Parts

With

happy accidents

{enter the multiverse}

Kind of!

What does that even mean!

Bird, go away!

It means “kind of!”

He follows me everywhere.

What!

Thais ridiculous.

It is. Ridiculous!

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

{Enter The Multiverse}

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025

All Rights Reserved

bitterbutter.//SW of Your Scars

00:00-4:00 - “bitterbutter”

4:00-End- SouthWest of Your Scars

(Unmixed V1)

(unreleased, upcoming)

Symposium. TBA 2025

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025

The Festival Project, Inc. ™

All rights reserved.

Chroma111.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025.

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

All rights reserved.

UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR

DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Wh—

Good morning sunshine.

—why did you wake me up?

You're on in five.

I'm—what?! Aren't you aware that “nap time” is “nap time”?! ITS IN MY CONTRACT.

It's also in your contract that you host the show.

Oh my—

—in like, five minutes. Four and a half, really. Or three.

AUGH! Where's Deborah?

Who the fuck is “Debra”?

No, Deborah— you've gotta be kidding me. DEBBIE!

What?!

Come on, give me Debbie. You know Debbie, don't you? Come on!

I thought it was Debrah?

No it's—

{Enter The Multiverse}

GUILLERMO English not that good..

A blurred and cloudy vision awakes us as the former dreamer to GUILLERMO, who appears to be perched with his foot upon a rock in a domineering yet hunched and drunken stance to be profusely yelling at someone in SPANISH.

(Hecho En Mexico)

As we look closer, he appears to be yelling quite belligerently at a MULE.

[Extremely inebriated and profanity laden and heavily dialected Mexican Spanish]

¡—ay pindejo!

¿…Guillermo?

GUILLERMO turns back and uncrossed his hunch, throwing a roped machete over his shoulder to his back. He he neither confirms nor denies himself, and rather just passes in a hobble of inebriated self certainty with a crooked smile.

Heh.

Where the hell are we?

We're down on that farmland out in Mexico Guillermo bought with all that Kimmel money…

Kimmel! I should have known he had something to do with this.

He does. Cause he always does— but well—

GUILLERMO in the nearby distance brutally opens a COCONUT with his MACHETE and chases his TEQUILLA with it.

—Guillermo is King here.

GUILLERMO catches wind of this conversation and interjects.

EN ESPAÑOL

GUILLERMO

¡Órale, pues! ¿¡Qué chingados están esperando!? ¡Pónganse vergas, pinches güeyes mugrosos!

Oh shit.

We'd better—

Yeah.

GUILLERMO.

{ENTER THE MULTIVERSE}

Órale! ¡Levántense ya, pinches nacos de mierda hijos de su puta madre... pendejos!

L E G E N D S

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025

The Festival Project, Inc. ™

All rights reserved.

Chroma111.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025.

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

All rights reserved.

UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR

DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Gotta love [hatred];

Single mother raised a surfer

Caught the california coast

And all the love of mother–

Dontcha know it takes a whole village

Don't you know

You killed my whole village?

I, mother, grew up there a sawdust Choctaw,

I walked across mountains and

Draw sandcastles on all antarctica?

Dontcha know America the beautiful

from day one wanted all us Sumwuns

Homeless?

I yearn for the coast,

But all i got was motorcycles

I'd die for the surf

But all i got was homeless shelters,

Project housing

No, don't talk back, but on your conscious

Are all the drugs you swallow

Just to hold the thoughts back

Of the sons and daughters slaughtered

For your coastal homes on water

From that old money in boston

To the college that it funded

But you're under the impression that you earned it.

Never was a live lived any easier than these and he's and hers

With blue eyes;

Live on autopilot unless otherwise decided

Undeserving of your turkey

Put machines to work for war, with every word you wrote

An order form to be ignored

From old man tom

On turkey day;

You never would forget that he was red

Till he regrets to get the President a gift

Of sacrificial and indigenous proportions

So much for portion and/or guun control

The model girls are throwing up their supper

Passing over butter on the cornbread

Never apple cider, only water

Meanwhile in africa,

It not has rained a drop

No more the currency prints pennies for your thoughts

no store bought penne for these staten island italians either

Lets just react to image over Islam;

Can the taliban afford it?

A four door?

Guess not.

Each day at 7 o clock

They use a corvette as a gun

And kets just hope this judge sits highly on her honor code

Beyond nazi enforcement

endorsements for internment camps

And turn it down;

You tried your very hardest

But they want you in a dungeon

Or the projects,

Where its much worse

Marcy houses

But no more the rappers platinum come from

Broken home;

The trappers are all planted

Have a plate or more of shit you can't afford

Unless you're working late

Adore commercial holidays for profit

ignore the purpose of the slaughter

Punish all the poor, but right after you rob them

Take a snore and pour your water over corn atop the cob,

And in another world just hope your boy comes home from war,

Or door-to-door insurance sales

You might as well just heads or tails

To whether you will live or die

to tell the tale

Of black or white

Over your pecan/pumpkin pie.

I don't think i'm really supposed to celebrate “thanksgiving” this year.

It seems even my ancestors were forcefully evicted and tortured simply just for existing.

Why should i expect in this day and age it should be any different?

I'm being targeted simply just for attempting to exist in the United State of America as an African American Indigenous.

Perhaps, just as in the days of the great genocide–were I perfect and young with light skin I would be left alive, to marry and make good children.

But instead I am seen as a thing, and left out easily in the street–

Perhaps because they haven't use for me.

It is easy to torture ugly things–from which some even draw enjoyment.

And so it seems my time in the world is coming to an end,

And if today i am thankful for anything at all, it is this.

The end of a torturous and pitiful, wretched life.

THE MISTRESS coils an emerald stone and tumbles it into her expanded palm— it momentarily transforms into an equally as emerald SNAKE before becoming once again a stone inside her palm.

Enamoured, she looks it over with amusement, but still sighs with the dismissal of boredom.

—oh look at that, I do have a snake.

What do you know!

She grumbles.

Not much of snakes but they do, at the least, bring dreams to nightmares…

Don't they!

How posh.

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S

flower.

Unreleased — TBA 2026

Prod. By -Ū.

DBA Blū Tha Gürū

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025

The Festival Project, Inc. ™

All rights reserved.

Chroma111.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025.

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

All rights reserved.

UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR

DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Rules of time travel:

1. Don't.

2. There are no rules.

3. Know Yourself

One should know how to spot or recognize any parallel, paradoxical, or pro-dimensional version of oneself in the various multidimentional and infinite realities displayed both on and off of the grid in alignment

{Enter The Multiverse}

THE TITANS and OTHER DIETIES ARE FIGHTING an EPIC BATTLE in the DREAMWORLD

—however, the battle is ABRUPTLY PAUSED when their HUMAN COUNTERPARTS in our own PARALLELS are awakened.

Oh, so that's why he wants all that rufintinol…

EXACTLY!

MEANWHILE

ERYKAH BADU enters the CHAMBERS.

BADU

I need candlelight to do what I'm about to do…

For I counted—

Thrice.

And I laid six hands upon her grave;

Six times the serpent never faught

And so remained my heart as sacred.

These people are fucking obsessed with me.

Sim: Similar to human force, but not.

Subjectively comparative to that of a familiar, A Similar seeks in its nature to exist for the soul purpose of a magician's makeshift (or temporary) parallels), in order to form a bond to which the reality it seeks is material, rather than theoretical. In that sense, a Similar eventually ceases to exist entirely once this task is established and formed a concrete foundation in which this multiconditional energy has an exact route one way or another— such is the familiar or other medicinal artofaxts such as a ‘totem' or poppet, however increasingly more complex. Similar energies are made to look and intuitively co-exist among humans but lack certain conscious or emotional elements, and fundamentally, spiritual energy. A similar mustn't be programmed, however like inanimate material objects, and are instead formed with a sort of energy which is encrypted by the magician itself, by creating a limited energy of oneself which is then for lack of a better term, ‘injected' into the electromagnetic field or aura of such a creature that remains and dwells in the realm of lower conciousness— it is for this purpose that the Sim remains in such that is a shield against energy of foreign nature which might corrupt the making of this primitive or primordial material construct.

This energy does not travel and is thus conformed to its stake in the grid of multidimentional plans it is made in.

I don't understand.

[The Festival Project ™]

Come here, cat.

Oh, no!

L E G E N D S

BLŪ looks into the fridge. It is EMPTY.

CHAOS

I have lots of food…at my house.

FINI

Ugh, what is his job, anyway?

Yeah, what does he even do??

CC

If I told you, you wouldn't believe me.

{Enter The Multiverse}

I hate him!

Just golf, would you?

I do! I hate everything right now.

Just hit the ball!

—these are not even your games—

Just golf! Goddamn you!

—I don't know why you keep playing them!

He hits the ball VERY hard.

GOD! Finally!

—and dragging me into it!

Your anger may be making your game better.

—and it's Top Golf.

I don't see anyone playing these types of bets.

He hits the ball.

You were right. $10 Dollars.

[The Festival Project ™]

He is troubled

—and she is weeping.

BADU

With three knives I found my blood;

And with three knives I found my art

And with three more I severed hearts—

And tears remained upon the blade.

And on,

Their paper was our mirrors for eyes

And I became not One,

But all or more,

And trust upon the world,

Her core.

The battle has won.

I talk to you in my sleep,

Therefore I am your fortune

My love,

I weep to wake from dreams

To which we are tied in sacred honor

As Divine.

At once, my time is come,

And though I shake with fear and favor,

My making of your fortress shall be mine,

In heart, forever.

Amen.

In all the ways I love you,

And yet, cannot.

Shatter my heart,

For things are blind,

And now I covet such as times

That trees brought up from seeds grow wise.

Hey, somebody—

Make me laugh.

Mr. Colbert?

…your honor.

Not it!

V.O,

The truth is, I don't know what I did at that party.

[The Festival Project ™]

FRENCH HENCHMAN

Be in Los Angeles by sundown.

MAU5

…but I live in Toronto.

FRENCH HENCHMAN

Precisely.

MAU5

…why are you asking me to travel on my time?

FRENCH HENCHMAN

—because I know you're capable of this!

MAU5

Ugh. Fine.

FRENCH HENCHMAN

See u soon.

MAU5

Honey! Where's my mouse head?

APPARENTLY ALSO KELLY

It's in the shop.

MAU5

What?

APPARENTLY ALSO KELLY

That's what the assistant told me.

MAU5

What assistant?

APPARENTLY ALSO KELLY

*Shrugs.* ‍♀️

MAU5

…ur so pretty.

{Enter The Multiverse}

I heard and hurt that it's a numbers game;

I'm laying in my grave,

A shallow pool of doom and hatred

But I have my name

And it is mine and mine alone

And it is mind and mind as one

And it is time and time again I wish to die

But then become another.

PARIS TIPTON walks into THE HILTON HOTEL and launches into a RAGE.

Not this again.

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S

INT. SHOWER. WHENEVER

NICOLE BYER

Heeeey dum-dum!

…I don't know why you keep doing this.

I just don't wanna stop

I'm down, I won't come back up

I just does spectacular

Your a spaturlar with no pam

So your ham gets stuck;

Like traffic.

Fuck

That's tragic;

Mu is magic

Pack mad vanacular

‘cross Atlantic

Records: put wax on the tracks I'm stacking

Watch is platinum and not plastic

I recycle bought my own bag and shit

That's an Apple Watch

So your mad and shit

Cause now your whole life has been hacked and shit

I'm a has been that's been back and shit

I put the whole black inside of the blacklist

Writin my rhymes inside Whole Foods bags and shit

So it vanishes

When I light matches

I can't redact that,

Man that shit tragic!

It just two minutes of spittin

Imm a class act

Hat is your highnesses

Do I do what I wants?

Was it a car or a cat I saw?

I can'thack it y'all

Since I been on this block

My axis whack as wobbles

Lost all my marbles

At the rock

I swear to

[Got'Eeem]

I do what I want

I do what I want?

I do what I want.

I do what I want

Do I do what I want

[Ummm. Hello?!]

Anita Palindrome.

(Instrumental)

Unreleased TBA 2025

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025

The Festival Project, Inc. ™

All rights reserved.

Chroma111.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025.

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

All rights reserved.

UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR

DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Lil Bitz

LOST CAUSE

I saw this dude and i thought to myself

Ooh, he got a big forehead

–FIVE head!

But then i kept seeing him and every time i seen him the number increased.

Six head!

Seven head!

Eight head!

NINE HEAD

Eventua;ly all i could see was his head.

The rest didnt even exist no more

The room became his head,

I'm like,

“Wuhhooahhhh”

{Enter The Multiverse}

SUNNI BLU

ooh , she think she bad

But she know she aint bad

She wantto be bad

But we know she aint bad, son

She be getting ready in the bathroom,

Bad stuff

She be take that pink inside the powderm, at the club

Boo boo boo!

she pretty but she roode

She just about a tool;

I'm finna acta fool

Gaddang

Aint no way she think she famous

She cant even bang!

Bitch get out my way

Go take ur medication!

Jeezuz,

I ben vegan long time but want

Cheeze itz

And i need a girlfriend

—I think she's it

Got me cheesin'

Order some Chinese-es

On eazy puff

Cuh she know i like it ruff

On wifey

i cant get enough

My life i put my life on God

Oh christ I cross my heart

I be like ten feet tall

L E G E N D S

What do you do when death is on your doorstep?

You let him in, give him a kiss

Warm on the forehead and then sit him down for dinner.

That is, before you look inward.

Cause it feels so good to die, don't it?

Or don't you remember?

SUNNI BLU

YO THAT JUST GAVE ME SEVERE ANXIETY, SON.

YOOO

Lil Bitzs

ISO Sunni Blu

Lost Cause

I JUST WATCHED A WHOLE DE LA SOUL SET that had a DJ BOOTH IN IT

THAT DID NOT GET TOUCHED

THE WHOLE SET.

Half the first verse went by, i'm like,

“Alright, come on. Touch the decks.”

He did not.

The whole first verse went by,

HE DID NOT TOUCH THE DECKS.

He just sittin there in the background like,

“1, 2, 3!”

I'm like,

“yeah , alright, 1,2,3– TOUCH THE DECKS.”

Then the second verse started,

He's still sitting there like,

“1,2,3!”

I'm starting to have a heart attack like,

‘…TOUCH THE DECKS.'

He did not touch the decks!

Now he dancin,

Hands up in the air.

I'm like, “COME ON BRUH.”

Talkin bout “Long Island”

“1,2,3!”

TOUCH THE DECKS.

He did not touch the decks.

Second Verse:

I'm like,

“omg he not touchin the decks”

Then they bring out a whole band…

And i'm like,

“Oh, he finna play with the band.”

He did NOT.

The band came out,

Third verse–

He steps away from the decks.

I'm like—

“What the fuck is going on here.”

Then he just dancin around, BOTH hands in the air i'm like,

“ok ….where the DJ AT.”

COME ON DJ—

TOUCH THE DECKS.

The whole song went by.

He did not touch the decks.

He exit stage right.

Everybody exit,

Peace out.

Left the decks right there.

By themselves.

UNTOUCHED.

Center stage.

I thought i died.

They brought the whole DJ booth;

They brought all the decks….

They set the decks up,

They did the whole song.

The decks did not get touched.

Not one time.

Not once did the decks get touched.

I died.

Then I came back, and i thought.

“I might be the only non-male person alive

To be this mad—-

That a deck did not get touched.”

How's that.

5 out of 10.

It was almost a dick joke.

That's why I gave it a five. Almost a dick–is not a dick.

By God, you're right.

5 inches is not a dick.

Not even of really good penis.

I'm sorry,

It's just not.

{Enter The Multiverse}

It's not a DJ set if your hands are above your head more than 10% of the time.

Period.

#facts

You gotta touch the decks.

[The Festival Project ™ ]

It's like 5 in the morning on thanksgiving, i just watched Jimmy Kimmel and i'm about to eat some tacos.

Cause my life been like that.

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S

The Winery. (Instrumental)

Unreleased — TBA 2026

Prod. By -Ū.

DBA Blū Tha Gürū

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025

The Festival Project, Inc. ™

All rights reserved.

Chroma111.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025.

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

All rights reserved.

UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR

DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S

INT. SHOWER. WHENEVER

NICOLE BYER

Heeeey dum-dum!

…I don't know why you keep doing this.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025

The Festival Project, Inc. ™

All rights reserved.

Chroma111.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025.

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

All rights reserved.

UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR

DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.