Https://www.iamu.guru

“THE FLUFFER”

I have eyes in the back of my head

I have goats at the top of my bed

I have goats on the cap of my knee

I think I wrote my own obituary

Oh, you hetcha

Bitch, you ain't me

Shit be poppin off at the rock in

8 minutes exactly

In studio 8H

That's where I am,

Amen again

Cause I meant it

And I mix in the pancake batter

Perhaps some berries?

Apparently not,

7 minutes and counting

I'm at the Rock

Now I'm putting away my don't ask, don't tell

Ok.

Okay?

Okay?

Now I'm making arrangements;

Don't want to be your favorite,

I just miss LA with a hankering

Call Hank team USA

That's FBI

I'm so Walter White that

I watch Saturday Night

— not live, though

I'm too broke for peacock, YouTube

And cable!

Dang, bro!

How many subscriptions do I need

Just not to cry myself to sleep.

Send me some pictures

January jonesing for a free ride scholarship

To on God university,

Aka: inside the TV

DOBT BE EVIL.

WRITE ME A SEQUEL!

Ok TV people

First just let me …

son of a bitch!

I told you she'd be back.

Yo.

Whaddup.

You killed Jimmy Fallon!

I did not.

You did!

Yes you did.

I didn't. He was already like that.

What!

You heard me!

Explain to me how—

This man:

[This man]

*heavy gasps and anxietal wheezing fills the room*

Explain this.

Metaphisics.

That doesn't explain anything.

It explains everything, actually. *explodes*

Excuse me, miss— do I smell a remix?

No, that's pancakes.

I got zero capacity for losers;

I'm no longer lonely

A broke in horse with no saddle

Don't ride me less it's bareback

Down and dirty

Downhome and in the raw

I like to buck

And I like it hard

A strong gallop and pull,

Top speed

Why I don't pay for dreams

Why I got TV and movie stars in my dreams

Why Ariana Grande so pretty?

Why when we leave outside the crowd still roaring for an eNcore?

Why am I a mogul;

Why do I look like a fashion icon?

God got it right, I guess but why do I still feel

Wildly unsatisfied

The lights said I left the water on

Turn the lights off

Turn the water on

I speak color,

I am an animal

I spoke 9 Gods

I am an animal

Rise to the occasion

I broke the code

I threw the rock off the rock

I smoke the fountain

I run the block once

Come twice

Nice shockwave right there

Hi God.

A beautiful night to die

But no time to fall

I despaired on desire,

Why right on Maine

Radio towers

Icons

Beautiful glimmering city

Mayday mayday went haywire

Repeat

Mayday mayday

Went haywire

Repeat

Mayday mayday

Went haywire

Now rinse thoroughly

Alright, alright. So hawked it.

You hawked my father's antique stopwatch?!

Sorry.

Sorry?!

AAAAGG—

[The Festival Project ™]

Mayday mayday

Went heywire

They need more scriptwriters

I want an empire

I wrote half of the Super Bowl commercials

Mayday mayday

Oh man.

Oh, fuck.

You had better wash your hands before you touch my crotch.

I don't.

Give me—- my— body back.

Nope.

AUghhhh.

My inspiration is dead in the water

Can't watch hot ones

That guy ruined it

Ruined September

And ruined October

Ruined the cosmos

And ruined my song, bro—

I'm ruined.

My inspiration is dead in the water

I am a trash can,

Man, this is awkward

I won an award for songs post mortem

Then I wrote more of them

This is the afterlife

I'm an immortal.

My inspiration is dead in the water

I'm just not moved, man

I need a baseball cap and some phantoms

A laxative

Maybe some large hands

A ball glove

Some box seats

Smoked sausage

And the dodgers.

I wanna go home and not be homeless.

I want a condo above four stories.

I want the whole world on top of its axis

I want the other half of the balance

My whole life been whack,

Where's the reverse card?

Run the tarot—

Pull the rewards back,

Don't touch the foreskin,

Call back the foreman

Redact that! Redact that!

We're starting to cross fires.

We met at the crossroads;

One goes down, one goes up.

Oh, the Irish are back, look:

That's good— I got bored.

{Enter The multiverse}

We were at blue suits and sweater vests

And now I know better than

To count on comics designed to be weather men

Of pop culture— current events a spin on the news l went there for clarity,

And left there confused.

Confused.

If the transmitter is at the World Trade Center,

Then why is it every time I to go Rockefeller, I feel like I've just been electrocuted?

Not enough to die, but like I'm buzzing all over and out of my body?

Remarkably, and no matter what —

Whenever I'm there, I just feel weird.

Like, mad weird.

Hey.

What.

Did you see a guy?

I'm a guy.

Really?

Apparently.

Well, I'm looking for this guy.

I did see a guy like that.

Really?

Yeah. He was weird.

Which way did he go?

Uh. [Sunni BLU points up]

Really? He went upstairs?

Sure!

Huh. Thanks.

Whatever.

I need you to need me

I need me to be cool

I need you to want me

To love me

To free me

To love me

To hold you

I know you

I know you

I know.

Knockout with a scarred lip

Knockout was a good guy

Knockout got knocked up

Knockout had a good try

Knockout got knocked out

Knockout had a good cry

Knockout got locked up

Goodbye.

Good luck.

Here's a chalice.

[09. Don't waste time.]

But I'm tired

I'm shadow boxing my mind

I'm lights out

Candles lit

I, I, I

I, me, mine

And God

But

I won't waste time

I'm still dried out

I got my eyes lost

Wrapped around you

In hindsight

I'm behind

Blind to the power

I love my readheads and range rovers

I lost my mind on Mulholland

Pull over and vomit

And suddenly I'm at the—

Portal Plummet

Plaza.

[The Festival Project ™ ]

The rock and the kite VI

Ahem.

“The Rock and The Kite VI”

ROSIE O'DONNEL is chillin.

JIMMY KIMMEL kicks in the door.

ROSIE

Oh look, the cat is back.

BIG JIMMY

Meow.

ROSIE

To what do I owe the pleasure.

BIG JIMMY

You remember that cup of sugar you borrowed?

ROSIE

…okay?

BIG JIMMY

I need it back.

ROSIE

[beat]

I see.

BIG JIMMY

—and my blender.

ROSIE O DONNEL takes a deep breath and then sighs.

ROSIE

The cup of sugar I can help you with… the blender, I still need.

BIG JIMMY [KIMMEL]

Fair.

ROSIE

Follow me.

ROSIE AND JIMMY exit the room, the glimmer of the television still flickering on the green upholstered armchair with the remote control atop the armrest; the actual CAT (we presume) climbs up into the chair and appears to begin watching the TV? What's on the TV? Why, it's the very programme we're all currently tuned into.

This just got meta. Again.

The CAR, looking bored, changes the channel to Garfield.

Much better.

He looks satisfied now, but is entirely still 199% just a cat.

We presume.

Your body ponders

My eye wander to your belt buckle

My mind watches.

Sorry.

Your body calls me.

My love hurts.

I want you.

My thought sparkles with the thought of a touch

I'm not hungry,

I just want you

I desire to hold hands and then

Dive off

I thought you up to love you

The time was wrong

So now

I watch

That's all

A long rush to nothing.

Dogtown, Godland.

Longboards, longhairs, all body

No shine, bro

Hard wax, yellow soldier

Wavestorm? Epoxy?

North shore surf boards

Surf harder

Fuck New York

I wanna go home

Panoramic Hollywood golden

Who lost apartheid

Who first of all

Chosen sources

First mate

Overboard

Long hair

Wrong rowboat

Oh lover

Lord of all

[The Festival Project ™]

I almost forgot it was

Saturday,

Saturday Night

I was too busy not working

I'm all yours for Passover

I'm all ears,

And now I get a sense that this

Is my last and greatest trick;

Disappearing for this,

And again forever

This is going to take

Forever

All wrong:

You work for the network

Interesting choice of wardrobe–

another old code magician

Ring on opposite finger–

The other, I'm so much aware of

The ice cream in tubs on the road

Not melted, but partially hardened

I can also feign confusion

You don't say,

You don't say, now.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Shake hands with your guest;

Monologue, monologue

smug smirk

Make good face–

Now put a name to the face

Put a time to the place

Oh, all the love in the world in three flames

All the doves in the flock,

And three flames

Put a name to the face

Monologue monologue

Doesn't take long but

When do i get to slap the desk?

Johnny!

JOHNNY CARSON is wearing the usual getup and a pair of very dark sunglasses.

What happened?

Whats the-

10 vodkas,

Five spritzers

Full figure

Figure this

You were out for the count!

Do tell!

Or better yet, don't.

I remember This monologue,

But i dont know how

16 hours ago,

I was—

Out for the count, you say?!

OUT, Johnny! Our market is livid!

lol who plays john carson

Your mother.

YO! I'M OLD!

I LIKE OLD DUDES NOW!

I'm like

When the fuck did this happen?!

That ain't no SILVER FOX!

That's a TOTALLY CUTE DUDE!

HE'S 55!!

OH NOOOOOOOO!

i'M OLD!!!!!!!

its wednesday eve in Boston Mass…

SETH MEYERS!

Ah, he's going for it.

Ah, man.

SHOW ME YOUR EYES.

Fuck.

SHOW ME YOUR EYES!

SUDAKIS shines a bright flash light into his former colleagues eyes.

…You're not Seth Meyers.

Seth Meyers does not respond, but relaxes slightly; it's obviously not safe to be Seth Meyers right now.

Where's Seth Meyers?

Seth shrugs but still doesn't say anything–

Where is he?

I have to stop here;

Cop out for body language

somebody's watching

Somebody knows who I am

I am

I remember now

You looked like that

It went like this:

I moved the world

The need was good

The love was gone

The vein was split open

And broken

No fair

Also, no omelettes

60 minutes

60 years

and 60 second clips

60 second glimpses

60 men on television

but really, my attention just centers on

Around ten of them or so

And believe it or not, I care

approach.

Believe it or not, I care

Or don't!

–or don't!

Johnny! You don't get it! You missed a show! THE Tonight show! We are fucked!

we are NOT!

youre still sauced.

I'll just take the car!

What car!?

Now that JOHNNY CARSON knows his Delorean can time travel, he's absolutely unstoppable.

Unfortunately, it appears his DeLorean has been switched with a regular one–

If I shoot you in your forehead?

I'd rather that, than this.

And I kiss you in your temple?

Dear templeton, my simpleton's i'll die

I desire.

A wicked want.

And then?

A callous shadow,

If i may,

To bear for nothing,

But a mirror

This is our concept

And wilted here the flower does grow the flame

The flaming true and ache of lust

and there

For our want

a jasper shore and emerald cascades

there you are,

And there you'll find

The wave beyond the peaking break

where great white sharks reside

But do not wade to shallow waters;

And there you find peace,

And there you find certainty

But now,

And here,

is war

And fortune not but seeks truth in the gaze

And for fear there does not live, but hides instead

the truth that seeks to guide the lite,

And yet does know our trust

And there does find the faith,

Forward and not

Upwards and back

Arrow and arrow

Truth and sparrow

Wreaking and wretched thoughts

And the rope does hang high and solemn

Looking, leap and gasp

For I fall but did not land

I pulled for you,

I weep, my shadow,

The two of diamonds,

the Ace of spades,

The Three of Hearts,

Without my shadow

I weep.

I know for you nothing but conscious and knowing and needing and fated departure.

I know for you nothing but chakras and eyesight and shadows and foresight.

I need fo you nothing but want and by conscious, departure

For nothing I want you,

I weep.

Sorrow.

On approach of danger,

The knowing,

On seeth did gather,

the sinking ritual

the carried tribes in ships tied,

weaving strings

The spider bites hard

And she stole my love twice

And she stole my love always

And she stole my love

Lighting my light wit blue eyes

The deception

If love could be stolen at all

But if not

Then not love

for seeking is finding

and gathered had hunted

And truth in forbearer

Forbearance and otherwords,

Shadows and shattered

and ferris wheels,

Now forward

Gathered here for are I trust

And be dismayed for you have faltered

You have failures and you have cast us

out of these things thinking

We have not made them for you

And still we seek to gather with you

And here does forshadow your making

Our promise to come as ones,

Not as Gods,

But as others,

you cast out.

Now, with your wicked ways and cruel be done,

for sure the tables have turn, one

And the gallows have not wandered far,

Barrels of guns and barbells

bottles and hearts of three

reading cards and wanting none but justice

Is he and she who are I now

Begin to run from your pitied structure

And there in the gasping cruelness of seeking from warcrimes this,

come what may,

Moving and seeking,

For seeking is finding,

And run, my legs have come far

But trust, my dove,

My wings have too, sprouted

An honor, an honor

one candle and three wicks

Three candles and three worlds over

One world and one building

and still far from under the Hollywoodland

Crickets sounding

The Hollywood Sign

Still standing and here I am not,

Blades of grass

And who are I now

Of that which you balk at

Look, ponder

Go, far asunder

And wish now had you not

What I am

is that,

Run

Temper temper.

Mind your business.

Is it gathered?

To burn, or burden?

Gathered.

Gathered here.

Then here ive wandered.

To stake?

Argue.

I will not.

And I will not.

Wiry bird,

From where you flown i do ponder–

red with spirit and wilding eyes,

Narrow server and paring wires;

I do not wish to know you now or ever,

But only as bird that does golden remember.

The love has not gone,

And instead lives in my throat,

And twists in my lungs,

Ans sits in my tongue,

Not as speech, or whispers,

But tragedy.

Unknowing this, my tender being

It can never be, the nervous hill

And rolling down the hill as if

The weel of time itself,

Not unbroken,

but resilient;

In sll ways, meant to tear

And turn,

And wobble

Made for terrain for which our eyes have known

And our minds have built

And hands molded wiith clay,

The bodies whole of all our galaxies

terra

feighn

Terra

fine

Terra wept tears of a clown,

And iron

And veins

And shadows

And plays,

And secrets ,

And whispers

And truth

And far

And

Afters.

I taste a saline drip,

I swallow,

Suddenly cold and all the knowing that

What I was,

I surely already am again

And what I will be,

Has already come and past.

The monologue,

I do remember

Face to a name and none to forget

Well rehearsed forager!

Well done bayonet!

Well done, my shadow

For my time is coming to wander to night

And never today again

for it shall never Today again,

And

Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow.

[The Festival Project ™ ]

They said he would destroy me.

…Ya'll were right. that fucked me up.

{Enter The Multiverse}

So…forfeit?

Something tells me its not over

The heavy heart is shattered

But also tied to that

which appears to come upward

As if on air

To be heavy

And lighthearted at once–

A shadow above a balloon.

A rock is attached to a kite–

A diamond becomes a bassoon,

Then a vampire bat,

and then

Cut ties.

In the fourth act, we all die, and now–

A revival.

I was crucified,

But i was also suicidal so.

Lets just call it a tie.

L E G E N D S

V.O.

Crusher.

My show was being subliminally plugged on at least two of the five major networks.

Safe bet I could make it a third, but I didn't know where to check.

I did…but didn't want to.

There was much beyond the surface,

Darkness in the glimmering eyes of the men in ties and uniformed suits.

I was sure I was tied to something–

And since I didn't know why,

Or to what,

The best bet—

I'm all in.

Fuck.

Was to stay broken,

Under the radar,

Hidden,

and most importantly–

Unspoken.

These days. I kept more to myself than I could with the world–

As it turned out…

No, not yet.

What do you mean?

It's not time yet.

They'll have to know.

But not yet.

At some point, they'll have to know.

But not–yet.

No time like the present.

You made that up.

Because you made up time.

And it's stupid.

This is ruthless.

And again–they'll have to learn somehow.

But not now.

The sun sets at noon on our side, and still

21 hours of dark time.

Did I have another tag to throw on it this?

No.

Are you sure? Doesn't the new series have a subtitle?

No.

Is it not “quantum force”

That's only one, though.

What's the difference.

ERMO, DON'T!

I'm gonna kill him!

BIG BOYD, DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!

DOn't tell me what to DO.

Wow. of course.

Well yeah, they're not going to let me do–

LAWYERS

No.

Any of this stuff with the actual muppets.

CO-OH-NO-NAN

You're wasting precious time!

GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, RED.

ok, where does it–

{cut to black}

Learning to assimilate and readily available

What's next

A vape to calm the nerves?

What's next?

A hero fighting for relevance in corporate structure.

Sure, some would pay to dress an avatar

But I've run out of water before

I try to laugh and roll with the punches

This is work and not fun for me

This is not social, it's business

I am not person, I'm product.

Go on a walk, and look the part

I took the oath,

I shed the blood—

Cruxes.

This is a bad idea, Mark.

Fuck you. All my ideas are great.

MARK WAHLBERG enters the cooridor and opens the metal double doors, revealing two l jet skis on a trailer hitched to a 4X4 monster truck.

[The Festival Project ™]

I'm telling you. You got to get yourself one of these.

I don't know, Bob, how does it work?

BOB odenkirk opens a large, obscure black bag that's nearly half his own size by way of one way zipper.

I'll show you.

{Enter The Multiverse}

JOHNNY CARSON has been in the DRUNK TANK for the maximum allowance, 48 hours, yet his blood alcohol level still reads 3 times over the legal limit. He is transferred to DETOX as the mysterious circumstances surrounding his car accident, and then the apparent disappearance of his entire “car” a (then) brand-new DeLorean from the scene of the crime, MR. CARSON insists on his lawyer, who under no circumstances seems to exist at all being present. The exact year of his whereabouts are still unknown.

Still an hour to the test

And I hate myself again

Milk and cookies, hit the bed

Shut it down, yo

Shut it down.

DIPLO arrives via HELIPAD to an secret location; a sniper squad of the adversary team watches from an adjacent rooftop via binoculars.

…hey.

Whaddup.

You say diplo's on that list?

Yeah.

Yo…

…There he is.

In your sight?

Yep.

Shoot that motherfucker!

…I can't.

Why not?

He's like—

Just shoot, fool.

—he's like holding something.

So?

I don't know what; it just seems—

What the fuck, dawg.

It just seems important.

Let me see.

Look.

[ESSE looks down the sights and zooms to see DIPLO is holding an object firmly in his grasp. He appears to be twirling it purposefully as he converses with his associate.]

Yeah!

Get em!

Shoot that motherfucker!

Where the hell have you been?

In my fuckpad.

Where the hell is that?

You haven't seen my fuckpad?

What even is that.

It's ballin.

Whatever, dog. Did you get the—

Shh. Why else would I be here?

[beat]

You look— did you cut your hair or something.

You're so redundant.

Yo shoot that motherfucker.

What are you waiting for?!

He's right there?

Apparently, we've been building to this moment from another dimension in from another point in the series?

I thought—

{Enter The Multiverse}

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

We know you opened it.

I didn't.

We know it was you.

No.

Stop lying.

I didn't opened it.

We already know.

I couldn't have opened it. I'm not black!

*.* -_- >< (squinting extra hard)

—you don't have to be black to open the portal.

Oh.

“Oh?”

Well then.

(Extra super squinty squints)

Why are you all black.

Uh.

What.

Srsyly?

Because— it's a.

Is it a club?

It's more of a—

Like a cult—

Well…

That's ok. No judgement.

It's not really a—

Is this all of you?

Yeah, but—

That seems kind of exclusive.

Huh.

That seems racist.

What.

I'm just saying it. I'm— saying it. It seems.

Look, we're a sect [of]

That seems culty.

No, it's, I mean—

So I was right.

Huh!

What!

Seriously!

I'm just saying.

Look—

—it seems racist.

It's not—

I'm saying it.

Why did you open the portal.

What PORTAL.

UGH.

You know what. Fuck this.

Watch your mouth! Were on television.

Not at the moment— speaking of which.

11:30, ok?

That seems late.

11:30 sharp, you got that?!

What is this ritual.

Saturday! 11:30, sharp!

It might have been something like around that time when I just so happened to—

—oh look, a portal.

{Enter The Multiverse}

We had a fight

He called me a bitch

I picked the knife up;

He already hit me

It wasn't gon happen again

I lost my mind

I picked up the knife

I pointed it at him

He lost a life

But it could have been

Life in prison

If I was with him

So I skip Christmas

(Valentine's too

Now I go missing, saying

“Fuck Skrillex”

Learned my lessons way past school

It's cool though

Never really play the the rules

Don't wear jewles

No only fans no mistress

I just respect, but you neglect

To inspect my rights and m views

So

I pulled out the pen,

I made a name up

Did it again

No I don't need eraser

These ain't mistakes

Pen and paper

My weapons

Hoe

Everyone take a pencil, pass it back.

The cup of brand new number two pencils goes around the room, but by the time it gets to young SETH MEYERS, all of the pencils have run out. In the back corner of the classroom, he is the only one without a pencil.

What about me?

You can use this.

[THE TEACHER hands him a ballpoint pen.]

A pen?!

Mmhmm.

You want me to use a pen?

It appears so.

But— what if I make a mistake ?!

…don't.

His classmates sneer as young SETH flushes with anger and frustration.

{Enter The Multiverse: Legends}

“Revisions”

Saturdays are for the takings;

Light my candles, pray to 8H

I don't know just what I'm praying —

But these bills are needing paying;

Saturdays are for the taking.

Aha. Another medicine man.

Are you practicing.

Depends.

What's your ailment?

As if I needed to know

For this, I needed to trust

For faith, I needed a prayer,

For life, I needed some lust

For love, I needed some hope,

For fate, I needed a rug

For fear, I needed a rope

For home, I needed a hug

And someone to hold

And there was a golden orb

The hold a a hand

The settle of dust

And the calm in my heart

For just

A moment.

Kingship.

Your highness.

For the king hath not a name at all worth knowing;

Not a name to know at all.

[The Festival Project ™]

RYAN REYNOLDS lay face down on the deck of a ship—a sailboat, actually which appears to be capsizing under the weight of a giant wave in a heavy storm.

…this ship is going to sink.

RYAN REYNOLDS struggles towards the wheel.

As RYAN REYNOLDS reaches the helm, appearing to take control of the ship, there is a slight glimmer of hope as if to say he might make it, before—

A gigantic wave swallows the boat entirely.

No.

Most definitely everyone on this boat is dead.

But it was a very bright and glimmering moment of triumphant hope in the seconds leading up to this horrendous disaster beforehand.

I was just fasting

I don't deserve this

I went on a run,

And then started dessert first

I don't deserve this,

I'm giving you art, sir

I don't deserve this

Just think of your daughter

Is this what you want for her?

I don't deserve this

Come peace,

Sit down now,

Came the Harold sang this song ,

‘For me,' he pardoned

‘My dear keeper ,

I pray you a seed,

I pray you the truth

I pray for the washing of dirt and this fortress

I pray thee to take me here, if I may

Upon your finger

Turn to sparrow and lark

As you slumber.'

This old man taketh me by the knee and saying three things, I did not hear but only felt as I wept,

This praying and shallow the knot, and tomb for womb had met my slumber with fury,

This disease earth is I, and after all

These man and number now does wander not but wonder, oh siryn, bring pity on thee vein

Bring shadow on thy truth, for light does shine to naught

The one of earth kind, but light does ponder

Watcheth I and pray the, my dear heart

On bender knee praying I worry

And Pyle to angst there are

Many knights as shadows

Many arks have archer's

Many cries have then wounded us here,

And does bark the eye

And does speak the canine, hare!

And does run the seed, to the ark, up the cannon

Now, now, and by, by

Wake lying in the valley and by three by three

Though tired bones

Wake I in the night, a shadow

To gasp again these eyes my light

And tomb there are,

As witness to sun, and moon, and others

As have gathered gravour and pulling in to this mine,

And also yourn

To this I,

And also other

The world that was,

Capsized and repent,

Also,

amen

Great warrior!

Be you kind enough to spare thy truth and thy honor

For there baring fruit lies as dreams do wander why in purple foggy and glowing mist, a tale of tale—

And a king of kings!

There there! And by the time there vowed to none, I shall awaken the with the spirit and to wit my hind and thought my bind will there truth lay upon the casket King thy slain.

And, there! Slithered in, are none but I to gift the ought of knowing none and seeing all, the seekig shattered eye and may, the spring did fall as August's rush upon us.

And now! There was with this, our kind, the seething truth, the planted seed and are I none but not to grant thee wishes and see thy king as waking lies as not but gone, but arted ‘mong us now.

Bear the eyes of shining sees and mysticals,

Spirits, mythicals.

The musicals.

Brethren!

Ayre!

The King has been slayed.

Here!

I'm going to sleep through the day;

He hit me pretty hard

I'm going to sleep through the night

He hit me pretty hard

I'm going to sleep through the day;

He hit me pretty hard

I'm going to wake up, light some candles

I don't want to be reminded—

Saturday is for the taking.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Cymatics: 48 HOUR FLASH SALE!

Get our SHOCKWAVE Bass Plugin + 6 Free Bonus Packs & $25 Gift Card for 80% OFF.

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PREVIOUSLY ON… {Enter The Multiverse}

DIPLO/THOMAS

YOU THINK THIS IS A FUCKING GAME?!

SUPA

THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT IT IS.

DIPLO/THOMAS

MAYBE TO YOU!

SUPA

I AM YOU!!

DIPLO Reveals The Seer's Stone.

Oh, SHIT, Dude.

Where'd you get that?!

L E G E N D S

What's this story.

No, don't go in there.

Oh, look, a story—

I told you this was going to be a long night.

[The Festival Project ™]

Https://www.iamu.guru

OLIVER

I know what we should call ourselves.

Lil JIM

Is it in English?

OLIVER

I am English, you idiot.

LIL JIMMY

You know what I meant.

OLVER

I'm sure I don't!

STEV/PHEN

Okay, genius—what is it you think we should go by?

OLIVER

The Strike Force Five!

[Lightning strikes in the background— SETH runs away to hide under some furniture as the other boys begin to laugh—!

SETH

Don't laugh! I hate thunder!

STEV/PHEN

That wasn't thunder!

[then, thunder follows]

SETH

AHH!

STEV/PHEN

That was Thunder!

WHO THE FUCK AM I MISSING

That's a good name, I think.

JIMMY I

You know what, you're right!

SETH

I hate it.

LIL JIMMY (II)

You hate everything.

SETH

I hate you.

BIG JIMMY(I)

That's perfect! We'll call ourselves— strike force five!

thunder and lightning strike at the same time.

SETH begins crying.

{Enter The Multiverse}

CUT TO:

JOHNNY CARSON parks his DeLorean on the curb (read: sidewalk)

CARSON

Well, I'm sauced.

L E G E N D S

FUCK! Did I forget Steve Allen?

wtf am I gonna do with Steve Allen?!

Right!

Who's the mom?!

Not important!

Why!

You're not a feminist, are you?!

Oh GOD, WE'RE GONNA CRASH AND DIE.

GOOD.

WHAT!

I'm immortal, I'll just be—burps—reborn!

FUCK THAT.

GIMMIE THE WHERL.

No, UOU're drunk.

UR DRUNK.

YEAH, but you were drunk FIRST.

OH GOD, FUCK IT, I'll drive!

TELSA

You have arrived at your destination.

Ah, shit,

Oh, okay.

I forgot I had autopilot enabled.

*sleeping*

Yikes.

Who sent them out for coffee?

Beyoncé.

They own everything .

Everything?

I'm saying—

Everything.

Wow. NBC and Coca Cola, huh. Nice wager.

Whatever, I still haven't been paid yet.

Exactly.

There that bitch go.

Aha. Caught ya red handed!

Or green handed

Whatever— just

Let's drop a house on this hoe.

Facts.

What kind of house?

Idk? Make it like a duplex?

How many stories;

At least 3;

At least

And a basement.

Correct.

Just make sure she end up under that hoe.

[a house drops on the wicked witch of the west.

Or was it the east?

I'm pretty sure it was the west

I miss California

Go back, then.

I— am trying.

YO.

Yoooo. What happened.

They dropped a house on my ass.

Ah, damn. Is that where we at?

For sure, dis a whole ass house up in here.

Facts, bro.

Dis a nice house.

Hell yeah it is.

But oh, shit—

[the witch is barefooted]

Yo ruby slippers is gone, bruh!

Fuck them Ruby slippers, man! I got a house!

I own property in this BITCH.

Fo sho— where we at, tho?

PANORAMIC VIEW OF LOS ANGELES.

WE OUT WEST.

AAAAAAHHHHHH SHIT.

Call the homies.

You're not green anymore!

I was never “green”

It was just a skin condition I picked up

All that broomstick flyin around

Damn.

Facts.

Yo, order some pizza.

Alllllrrrriiiiiiiigghhhhhjt.

[THE WICKED WITCH OF THE WEST HOSTS A HOUSE PARTY IN THE HOLLYWOOD HILLS]

Giggidy!

Who the fuck is this fool?

I don't know.

I don't know what day it is;

I have sex with aliens.

We've been playing games forever

Nothing changes, names or weather

I used to get the tens,

And be on one,

So if two is four,

Two fifteens, two fifteens

I don't want to mean to mean you

Didn't mean to be mean, but I meant what I said

When I said what I meant

About you,

So now I go south,

For the winter

South, till the sun comes out again

South, East these days it ain't easy to forget you

Dreaming of the west coast

What's the dose for lost love?

I might never know how to take it;

The hard way, I guess

Or dark, like my coffee

The coffin's open

Did you want to join?

A double wide, for the shoe that fits

The soul that grasps

And the sole that holds

An awkward foot

Two for two,

Or four, for free

And I adore you, but

Double down on your thoughts

Two tens used to take me somewhere,

Who knows though

Now I fly south for the winter

Knowing I might never come home

It could be a targeted attack from the whites.

that's fair, but still it might help.

It will help, but only temporarily.

Who knows

I do.

Please never say those two words next to each other ever again.

Noted.

I don't see any difference either way,

No dissalusion, just indirection, in fact

I've lost the infection and the undertones in my own dissonance, and everything seems distant

Establishing dependence in intellogstions,

I'd be gracious if you presented this

Impending tragedy, rather as a…

Message, sent

I thought you were my best friend

Missed connections

I thought you were a bottle of my favorite elixir

Dear, it doesn't make any different at all

It doesn't make any difference at all

If you can't play it

Play it out, nice

Brush strokes,

Put the spokes on the back wheel,

Just so everything is real

(It isn't)

Indifference in a nutshell is

Irreverence and irrelevance

It's hell, isn't it,

If all the good girls are in it,

Or going there

Where are you?

Somehow lost focus, reworked for greatness and

I just realized I can't do this anymore

I can't do this anymore

I can't do this anymore;

I can't stand it

I'll call Matt lauer

What! Why?!

What for.

Because he's Matt Lauer!

What!

He'll know what to do.

[mattress flying through the air]

KEVIN HART

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo—

{Enter The Multiverse}

This is a house of cards;

You know it's a house of cards, right?

This is a house of cards;

I know it's a house of cards, right?

This is my house of cards;

I know it's a house of cards, right.

{Enter The Multiverse}

What up.

I'm a walking pile of words.

That's Hot.

Is it?

Ehhh…

Two Jews walk into a bar.

Oh, come on.

—the problem is when they walked in, it was the 1930's.

Yikes.

Now when is it?

NEW YORK CITY. MODERN DAY.

[unintelligible Yiddish]

Big time boys,

And part time girls;

Some people go around the back for it

Geniuses ride around in private cars;

Some people go around the back for it.

Fat man goes down fast;

two stabs to the back

And he's all yours,

All arms

Some people come around the back for it

Others have that charm,

Paid an arm and a leg for it

But all done now,

it's not hard to know you're on a recorded line

How does it feel to fall in love

And be loved back
I wouldn't know,

I'm still at the Encore

Sure at the show in a soft swung hammock,

I don't know

Of course, the girl doesn't want it at all

Perfect little blonde,

she'll get along well off with another one

(for the other's it's once in a lifetime, if one.)

{Enter The Multiverse}

Integrity, you know.

The elderly woman leans in over her shouldernat the elderly man.

Integrity, puh!

Iiiiicing on the cake!

And all is well.

Sir!

“Sir”

I beg of you.

All nonsense; my cap or my crown?

Have ye the strength to bare either?

Apparently so.

I beg to differ.

My cap, then.

He dawns the jokers court cap, and in contrast to his robes .

Who.::

A whisper.

A shadow, soon to vanish—

And then, another figure, not parted

But hidden,

Miraculous gesture,

The jester, imprisoned.

Please don't do this tonight.

If not tonight I don't know when.

Whenever else! But not now!

EXT. TOM'S RESTAURANT. MANHATTAN. DAY.

It is a grey but not dreary day, overcast however with the silverline clouds of an otherwise beautiful sunlit day.

[—The Legend Returns]

Tales of a Superstwr DJ

It's shining like three seeds of pomegranate in my hand—

A desolate desert beach amidst a sandstorm, the sun beams down through the barrage of inescapable flying white pellets of sand.

FUCK!

Dapper gentlemen,

All I want to see if your body

Make sand stone ground,

Clasp to nothing but perhaps,

Warm and clean, crisp and fresh linen

And I, you, my need

Free to your whole body,

A feast for the starving;

A quest for the wicked.

Yes, I need you.

Now and forever.

I need you.

Now and forever.

If we made love in the library,

Any open book would be of you thereafter—

And to give me a guitar would mean,

That every note would sing your name.

Just then, the Peloton beckoned, or the cleats, anyway, although the bath I'd run just the night before was still full, stone cold by now and just as well the coffee in my tumbler was luke warm, but I had cried myself an entire river the night before, and I was sure the pouting might have even sent me to a seperate dimension. I was being such a baby—and I had never been so upset to have actually gotten what I wanted. The handsome man was a distraction— a welcome one. I didn't want to ask his age, but I knew he was older than me, and he was beautiful. I didn't want to scare him away, but to be honest with myself or anything else, this was the first one I might have wanted in a long time—the first real one, anyway, or, somewhat real. Closer to normal along the spectrum, not some famous celebrity or a delusion of grandeur, but seemingly normal, smart, and handsome.

Remember my imaginary friend RiffRaff?

Wasn't it a dragon

I think so.

Huh.

Turns out it's a rapper.

That's… interesting.

Even more odd: look at this.

Don't scroll anymore.

That is…fantastic.

{Enter The Multiverse}

It fees too close to home;

I took the scenic route.

God knows I don't belong here—

I don't want to harm you

It hits too close to home

I have to play the part

You just don't know the half of it

You just don't know the art

“The Scorn of Lorne”

LORNE MICHAELS

WHO is responsible for this?

Nobody moves a muscle, not an inch. Not even wince or a blink, not a breath at all in the room, until—

SETH MEYERS let's out a deeply exasperated sigh of concern and beffudlement.

{Enter The Multiverse}

CUT TO:

Alright, where is it?

GODDAMIT! What is it with you people!

What people? I'm not people.

—and why does everyone secretly smoke?

Oh come on. It's common knowledge.

What's “common knowledge”?

Where is it?

You are redundant!

And you, are about to be decapitated.

By whom, might I ask?

The Network.

Great.

“To Cut Ties”

Well…

The man hanging from a singular kite in what appears to be midair with nothing and no one around in sight across a clear blue sky lets out a light sigh, as if to say..:

[nothing]

There's really nothing that can be done about this.

Seth?

Red tape. Red tape everywhere!

Well, it's settled then. I'll just—

Go ahead, right this way.

Who is THIS?

I own The Network.

No you don't!

You know—you're right. I am the network.

Ah, Christ, we gotta get out of here.

Correct.

Where's Fallon?

I—

Dead.

What!

Finally.

Or presumed missing.

What:

Go figure.

Which is it.

One of the two, and either way.

—fff.

We're boned.

Definitely.

Ah, Christ.

You gotta see this.

What is it.

Haven't figured it out yet.

What's it look like.

Something.

Something, eh?

Yes, indeed.

Well, not nothing.

Not nothing.

TINA FEYA is a special detective at the head of an elite task force designed to investigate distinctly extraordinary cases; the detective takes a long draw from a cigarette

Ew, barf. I'm not doing that.

No, your character is doing it.

I don't think so.

Don't think so. Do so.

No, no—see;

I don't think my character would smoke.

Why?

Because she has my name, and I don't smoke!

CUT TO:

Quadadimentional TINA FEY shoots pool and tosses back cold glass bottles of craft beer.

::||PAUSE.

IV—

Oh, I get it.

Now you understand.

I understand we can't be in the same room together.

Why is thi—

I will kill you.

CUT TO:

AREA 51. HOLDING CELL. DAY

Ooh. Is this the part where?

Yeus.

Oof.

Yeus.

Alright, get in here.

No, Wait—

No, no.

Get comfortable.

With what?

Your new cellmate.

Don't tell me it's.

CUT TO:

I TOLD YOU. I'M NOT DOIN THE TONIGHT SHOW.

YOU'RE DOIN THE TONIGHT SHOW— YOU KNOW WHY?

WHY?!

BECAUSE I SAID SO.

Oh, well, since you said so.

Really?

fuck no. Move.

GIVE ME BACK MY BODY, YOU FIEND.

I WILL —*sniffs*—NOT,

You're rUinInG it!!!

I'm making improvements.

yooooooooooouuuuuuu—

CUT BACK TO.

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT, INC. circa 2018- 2024 | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

-Ū.

Then I showed up on the south side

Said I was retired but I still ride

When I'm in the valley it's g5

Old school soul, it's a G vibe

…If you haven't seen him at his worst…

WHERE'S MY SHIT?!

…yo…you are so evil…

[*breaks everything*]

…Then you don't deserve him at his best.

I'm your host, Jimmy Fallon

And this—

Is

TRUTH OR DARE?! ‘

This dude is easily the best villain ever.

Easily.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Blue eyes, it is.

I wish, I wish,

Be careful what you wish for,

Or cook in a Petri dish

The world is a stage,

The people a plague

The magic was gone,

The days were the same.

[The Festival Project ™]

Blonde hair, blue eyes;

Live once, lose twice—

Brown skin, brown eyes

Die inside.

(Or just die.)

{Rewind}

Captain

Captain!

Oh, Good, come in, Cannon.

You've—changed.

…as you know, Monday we disembark.

Yes, I'm aware.

And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us.

Yes.

I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self.

How old are you, anyway?

You should never ask a woman her age, LT.

Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know.

Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately…

Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that.

I'm still very much in the privacy of my office.

You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public.

Never as a woman her age!

You're not a woman; you're my captain.

We'll see about that after tonight.

Being a woman, or being my captain?

Both, probably.

Hm.

By any chance would you be interested in joining me?

As your subordinate, or as a man.

Both, probably.

Or neither… presumably.

As my escort.

I beg your pardon.

I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition.

—er, your condition, captain?

Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind.

[he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.]

Consider it done.

Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour.

Half an hour?

Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early.

We're earning points?

We are now.

Very well then. What am I wearing?

Something sharp.

Sharper than the inside of a half hour.

On your mark.

I'll—see you soon.

He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him.

Sergeant.

Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back.

Oh.

I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage.

Whatever, though. Doesn't matter.

At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture,

TVP

S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer.

DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour.

—

Who's this beautiful sister.

My head writer; don't even think about it.

I dont think. I just do.

Esha approaches— Dash politely bo s and kisses Esha's hand

Should I get tested?

—and funny.

Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with daemon dash, furious Patrick means to interrogate her

Why would you even date that asshole

Because—Pat. He's a comedian.

I'm a comedian! So?

So, he's funny.

And?

And he said things to me—

What kind of things

Charming, funny things—

Okay?

Things he wouldnt say to you over dinner— because, I'm

—you're a woman.

—and your head writer. So naturally.

Esh, you're a genius,

So is he. We have—some new material to work through.

Ahq!

Your monologue tonight.

Oh yes. Oh yes.

You can thank me later. Broken bottles. :9'd one stop her

Walkin walking

God knows I don't belong here

And I don't want to

Passover was April 21-30

Global War on Terrorism

Aka WWIII

Oh, indeed.

Don't look left

Take a deep breath

My heart beats differently

I think it might be the end

I think it might be

I think I might be the enemy.

The pushing mechanism

When i breath him in

I levitate

And gravitate to what it meant

The sake of the art,

The hurt of the heart

As sacred as it ever was

The turning or the Torah talks of

Gestures, since the fall of Rome

The toga on the alter

Solid hands unwrap us all

From falling over

Old and awkward

No award for wisdom

No rest for the wiser

No love for the troll

Since thunder struck from under us,

Delivered all but what we wanted

So we talk of karma sutra,

Surely we can't talk at all

Of what we know

As once was bonded

Laughed it off

To come from what

The call to us,

Fair serve governors fortress

I work up in mentions

Carved the scarlet letter out of

Cannons, of course

MA.

WHAT. I'm BUSY.

ITS ON.

The what?

The show we watch!

The one that—

YES,

Oh, my GOD.

Yes.

YESSSSSSSSS.

Usnavi, get your popcorn

This is some worth watching

Up in arms for forwards

Causing sore arms,

Numb thumbs

From crucifixes

Are you wondering what God

Would walk about the horned carving

A kamazake walk of tall corn—

Follow me, dear mantra

Your whole house is watching.

Sacre.

It's happening again isn't it.

I do want ice cream.

All I need is a divorce

And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall

To rub me off at the stroke of

Nevermind what the clock says

In God's house they're all wrong

The blsphomoous for Catholics

Has begun,

So strum your number into the teleprompter

And just hope no one gets hurt

By the hook on the next song

—like the hook of my last surviving bra

digs into my back does,

Or the skin on my lack of tummy

Has rubbed off under the suicide

Of the cycle—

It's getting tighter

A loss of interest is equal to

A loss of conciousness

And I'm 21 days drunk

On the alternate, though—

I'm sober and feeling less

Loved.

The animal I've become is all cardio

And karma sutra

For karma comes

To the weak of heart

To use the world as swords

To cause harm

To the calm artists

I thought I told you off once.

(Already)

You look awful.

lol.

You look terrible, broh.

But my album sound fire.

#producerholes

[portal]

It's coffee time!!

It's not coffee time!

It's not coffee time.

Iiiiits coffee time.

Damn.

Where's the cat.

Gestating.

{Enter a the Multiverse}

Wake up in a wet bed,

sweat pouring

engine strikes

Disaster, roaring

Ranting, raving,,

Lunatics, icons

Ione, eye color

No warning:

I want you

Adonis

New Adonis

I got something for you;

It's got four doors,
I know you can't afford it,

Come on,

Only one offer

Come on,

You know I want you

What I want a car in New York for?

Even the scorecard,

Cork off the bottle, huh?

Go figure.

I got sharp numbers,

No harm no foul ball;

Still stick in the Capstone,

There's a sandstorm

On the first montage.

Pitch up,

With the fever pitch

With the fever pitch

downstroke

UP

Pitch down

With the force

With the force

Or

What have you

Play ball,

No–

playfair

Payboy model

Wayfair value

Strict non-orders

Foreigner syndrome

Alcohol bottle

Palinstrome, Astronomy

No, Farquad

Noah's Ark and all

Going door to door,

the doctor

Doing more and more

The Talk show host

Losing more the Mortimer,

Call it

Losing more,

The Watchamacalit,

Chocolate bar,

So far,

Hard to forget

No,

Hard Ball,

Soft pitch

Watch this.

THE COSMIC AVENGER

(V.O)

I cannot resist a chocolate cake!

Huh.

Seriously, I'm telling you.

*sniffs*

hm.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Yo, i'm telling you: she's spot on.

Like, scary accurate.

Precise. Always right. Even on Tuesdays.

Why would it matter if it's Tuesday or not?

Most Psychics are wrong on Tuesdays.

Really.

You didn't know about this?

Never heard that.

Most of them.

Last I saw Kurt he seemed to be okay—doing well for a place so cold, and still, almost enjoying his time, somewhere cold enough that the chill on his breath grasped at mine, as I was prone to waking in these moments.

Anymore ghosts?

Who'd you want!?

More players.

And as it turns out,

Strike force five was nothing but a simple game,

Played by a group of—

MOM

Boys?! Supper!

INT. BASEMENT- THE SUBURBS, ANYEAR

In a distant parallel, it is a nondescript year of a indeterminable past time— in non linear time, we could be anywhere, but for period's sake, it appears to be anywhere between the 1930's and the early 1960's, the home itself adorned with qualities of any of these given eras; the clothing classic, dreamlike— pre or post war? Was there a war at all in this parallel; and it seems a partially imagined place altogether — it is, in fact, a dreary and almost comic book other world— a cross- parallel.

The boys vary in ages from 8 to about 12, and between the five of them, brash little Irish lads, besides one English chap, whom anyone would probably bet at least at some point in his lineage was probably also Irish (or Irish enough) have summoned up, though amidst a flurry of baseballs cards and other boyish relics, seem to have assembled from old newspaper cuttings and superhero memoriabilia—some sort of game on the basement floor, though, they bicker and argue so much about how the game should be played that it is unclear whether they're playing any game at all, or just rapid-firing ‘jokes' at one another with absolute disconcert for anyone's feelings.

They call themselves

—

Nevermind, it can wait.

{Enter The Multiverse}

What is this nonsense

You fucking dork.

I'm a key player.

Speaking of keys—

Wasn't me.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

Did I forget Steve Allen?

I don't know, but I definitely almost forgot Sephen Colbert.

WHY!

Because I can't decipher who you are from the other four of you!

There's three of us.

Where's number four?!

{Enter The Multiverse}

Suddenly, not every day was the same—and that was strange, as it seemed the entire year had just been residuals of the same day over and over—but these days we're distinctly different, and perhaps that's because without knowing what I was going to write, things were kept interesting, and even more interesting was what I was writing at all.

Music: but was it comfortable? I had put out a single a day which by now amounted to an album all put together, and I might have thought to put it out as a compilation toward the end of it all, but I hadn't gotten that far yet; I was still in the proc de of an actual album, though more complex in reasoning and context—the concept was struggling to come to the surface. It had, after all, been in the realization that a prefixed muse has been envisioned somewhere in the sands of time, that painting of melting clocks merging together into some desert scraped sandstorm, something of illusion and something like a half imagined oasi…a hallucinated woman who might have been me, but actually beautiful—perfect, actually, draped in pearls and diamonds, dripping in them—leading this lost and wandering man—a beautiful man, also, to an oasis. Was the oasis real? I wasn't sure yet, and after the first track Mirage, I was behind by 4 days on what was supposed to have been whatever tracks followed, the list of them now stuck in wax to the base of the candle at the altar, still burning— a black candle for protection , of course—a strong reminder I should keep moving until whatever things and creatures had seemingly been sent after me could not find me, any longer—and however thought it might have been the case, even if just a seed as planted into my mind — it seems at least that one negative had turned positive, in the very least.

The woman whom I had shared a room with just the year before— who seemed to be something like demonically possessed and had also just rather disappeared without a trace—left behind just a bit more than her sunglasses. Since I had thought it better safe than sorry to record everything just in case I continued to be attacked, (having been literally pounced on already twice by other roommate)s—a beautiful soundscape emerged from having been cursed out, a rant which had become increasingly hilarious over time, and of course, remembering Ms. Keisha more fondly than not, especially having left her sunglasses behind.

Besides, after having by grown up with my mother, even the meanest people sometimes seemed mild by comparison in remembrance of her sometimes bitter and absolute cruelty. It's hard to have imagined that I had grown up under those conditions—and though now understanding that how some others had grown up in roach and rat infested housing projects, and however clean, mostly orderly, and overall class wise my mother was, on her worst days she had been horrible, especially for a child or adolescent to have dealt with alone, and so Ms. Keisha, though at most times, an irritant, had become a buried treasure, as I sifted through the mounds of recordings in order to create something unique, and different. After tipping off the copyright sensors not once, but twice—once having submitted a completely self composed work and still somehow being flagged by the system as copyrighted material, my music became more bizzare and strange, not just bending rules, but completely breaking them.

—Tales of a superstar DJ.

LINDSAY LOHAN is sleeping FACE DOWN on the couch in SunnÏ Blū's Studio

Lindsay, wake up.

Mmfh.

[Does not wake up. At all.]

Lindsay.

Mmf.

Tequila.

[Suddenly very awake, in fact; she has suddenly perked up with an amazing glow. ]

*very serious knocks on the door*

Oh shit.

[suddenly, more drunk again]

–oh shit.

*three more knocks*

Where's the tequila?

SUNNÏ

Ah, shit.

Is that your lawyer, or your manager?

Shit, maybe both.

SUNNI. OPEN THE DOOR .

–Might even be my agent, too.

OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR.

(Both, in cheesy unison, tiny rock concert}

I CHIMED IN WITH A

HAVENT YOU PEOPLE EVER HEARD OF

[Sunni opens the door.

No, it's “closing the door–

not “open the door”

“The Goddamn door.”

Right, Goddamit.

–where's the tequila.

Where it is– [Sunni points in a wayward direction; Lindsay stumbles morning-aftery into the booth.

Eww–”morning aftery”

Not like that.

*addendum*

[That Is, just to say that this scene takes place in the afterdays haze of a very

–Very

Holy Shit , God.

What.

You rule.

[Lindsay enters the booth and uncaps a bottle of tequila so effing fancy, it hurts to look at.]

So fucking fancy.

Was that lindsay lohan?

Yeah it is. It's still lindsay logan, Morgen–

–It's ‘Morgan”

–She's just over there now. Not was

How are you even friends.

FLASHBACK

‘ j don't want to be the reason,

I could never know you—

And I don't want to be the reason

I could never love you'

‘Weird dreams, bro.'

I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing, I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead.

Apparently we were sisters—same father. Different mother; waking up not was silly and sounded bizzare but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?'

I didn't ask flat out.

In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chocked up to be; upset and furious though not irate and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, but I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, an that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped

“That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?”

It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head.

Lol.

Her her response to the comment about her appearance on Fallon made me laugh—still pirated she goes

“Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence?!”

Seemed personal, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle.

“Okay…”

I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the tact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me—

Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it.

It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl projedt's Enter The Multiverse collection Ghat I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i excersisd at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food. Then on the music.

—takes of a superstar DJ.

lol what happened to Lindsay?

Idk.

I could practically taste the tequila.

Well, I was the one pouring it.

Way to enable.

I was just trying to calm her down.

Did it work?

Eventually I guess.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

The Complex Collective. ©

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019 | 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

‘ I don't want to be the reason,

I could never know you—

And I don't want to be the reason

I could never love you'

‘Weird dreams, bro.'

I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing; I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head. it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead.

Apparently we were sisters—same father, different mother; waking up, though, was silly and sounded bizzare— but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?'

I didn't ask flat out.

In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chalked up to be; upset and furious— though not irate, and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, however, I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, and that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused, stating that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped—

“That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?”

It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head.

Lol.

Her response to the comment about the appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated (pissed, drunk) she goes

“Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!”

Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle.

“Okay…”

I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the fact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me—

Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it.

It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl Project's Enter The Multiverse collection —which I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading.

Of courses

I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i exercised at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after Au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though…

in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food,

Then on the music.

—Tales of a superstar DJ.

lol what happened to Lindsay?

Idk.

I could practically taste the tequila.

Well, I was the one pouring it.

Way to enable.

I was just trying to calm her down.

Did it work?

Eventually I guess.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

TITUS

Come, now—

As the king does sit upon my throne,

Though not a King myself as I,

Still cherished among men and many

Who are in thine favor,

As you seek truth to bear, my King

And not your but also yours,

Does partake thy bethrotjen nature,

To swallow whole a seed a assumption as

To vanish by trace,

The rather and tide to bond,

For truth you seek,

And truth I bear,

As fruit does grow,

By force of not God,

But nature,

And to thine, the faring way

The truth does seek you, too

Thus, my God and Queen—

But also King,

Ruler never captured

And gained wisdom by time,

Which—

None does have, but thyself.

And now, Titus.

To know,node bearing fruit are I

And bearing truth shall you,

A lesson gathered, as you as one

And I as other— under the assumption of

Love

What is love?

God, this is a sausage feat in here.

Let's get some women in this bitch.

Oh, there are women—

They just don't speak much—

Especially in this series

Ascension.

Because they're perfect.

Archaic is this,

A truce for the truth I seek.

A wage for the war I've bargeouned.

Listen now.

You tell me.

I tell you all that I know,

For nothing now,

And in nothing's sake,

The shared alter.

I, too, you.

And you to I—

Have we parted but some to forge

But others?

No others remain.

And still I gather.

With flower.

And grow thy seed.

The fruit, or truth?

No difference.

A tree, I am born.

To wake.

A shadow in the summer's night where autumn azure sun does beem,

The wicked truth you lie to pardon

Stands in its own awakening;

Shallow moon tide's at dawn,

And so, you kind folk of Kingdom there

And Kingdom come,

The truth is said as this,

The seed the fruit—

The love was born in ritual,

And only then,

The dance was made,

For the song to have been sung as such.

Dear Queen, my heart.

For never better none has taken guilt in wavering the time has come;

Never now but always forward

And never there but always bound,

To love itself,

And so I am.

Again.

Trust me.

I have.

The King is slain.

—but also lives.

As haunted and as haunting no doubt,

But to gain is this, my trust

And in your waiver— the vow

My honor, and sacntity so.

The swine.

Not of this realm, but others seek.

And in this realm and others so

The truth of fruit shall parish,

Ignored and never eaten

Never to have grown from seed,

And then, of course,

No tree shall I shadow

In midnight summer's truth,

The blue azure light,

Of seeking sun,

Soon to align,

By midnight dawn,

And waking tide—

The moon you say.

A sworn disaster.

And so, I pray.

All's fair.

And you.

[TITUS with a heavy heart exits the corridor.]

{Enter The Multiverse}

The Strine Force Five assembles in the basement before supper is called

SETH, a peckish boy, almost goilish looking, maybe 11 or so steals cookies from OLIVER, who might be about 9, who speaks with a heavy and very proper English accent—

Stop stealing my biscuits!

Why bring them if you're not going to share?

I did share. You lot had the box!

You know these are cookies, right?

They're my special biscuits.

UPSTAIRS, MOM and DAD, very much the classic stereotypical suburban and American everywoman and Everyman prepare for supper. DAD, who resembles almost too much the LATE JOHNNY CARSON, peers into his newspaper conspicuously—

Who does mom resemble?

Let me —

LATER, at the DINNER TABLE.

Boys, Say hello to your uncle Steve.

[The man heavily resembles Steve Allen]

OLIVER

Hello, Uncle Steve!

UNCLE STEVE

…I'm not your uncle.

LIL JIMMY

(Mumbling)

I don't like uncle Steve…

BIG JIMMY elbows him. Hard.

LIL JIMMY

Ow!

BIG JIMMY smacks him upside the head, however without harming his very neatly done swooping hair.

LIL JIMMY

Where's uncle Jack?

UNCLE STEVE

He's on his way.

DAD

(Grumbles)

…always late.

LIL JIMMY

(also grumbling, almost mimicking)

—that's what I'm saying.

BIG JIMMY shoves LIL JIMMY into his seat

Also meanwhile, in another alternate dimension.

So you're real name is JIMMY WANG.

I fucking guess.

That's nuts!

—it's..:whatever.

No, that's nuts—

No, it's balls, homie,

Your actual name is actually

“Dick” twice.

Hehehehe.

Stop it.

Did you have a middle name.

No!

Let me see.

NO.

Stop— let me—

NO!

[he grabs the birth certificate from Jimmy's grip]

Let's see.

—Jimmy—

UGH,

Oh, that's interesting, Jimmy and not James, how endearing—let's see—

Jimmy—Ah, RICHARD— Wang.

Oh my God.

Your whole name is just—

STOP IT.

—it's just dicks.

Just—penis words.

Tripe dicks.

AH!

[nearly in tears, JIMMY runs to sulk into the washroom while his buddies continue making dick jokes; it's almost to much to bear—having learned so much about his true identity, most recently, that he was adopted at a very young age from a very nice Asian couple.]

SUNNI BLU

(Reading newspaper, breaking fourth wall)

I told you he was Asian bro.

SUDDENLY, Deadpool crashes through the door.

SUNNI BLU tosses the super hot model in their lap across the room.

YO. DEADPOOL.

DEADPOOL

YO.

SUNNI BLU

NOT COOL, BRO.

DEADPOOL

—what was your name again?

SUNNI BLU

Ya mutha!

DEADPOOL

NOT COOL.

SUNNI BLU

Whateva.

{Enter The Multiverse}

“Tools of the Trade”

Welcome to Hollywood.

Who are you?

That's not important.

It seems important.

Now—lessonsz

Ok.

Tools of the trade:

Uh huh.

My dick.

[he insinuates his crotch]

Package.

My dyke.

[A very pretty lesbian appears out of nowhere.]

Hello.

My Dick Van Dyke.

DICK VAN DYKE also appears out of nowhere.

Woah, dude!

Careful, he's priceless.

I know dude.

I can hear you, you know.

I hear you too, Dick.

Woah! How old are you, dude?

Old!

Get out of here;

Go lay down;

Take a nap!

They said the gig was till 3.

You're off early.

Or late.

[DICK VAN DYKE turns to leave.]

I can still hear you.

sweet yellow pinapple and coconut curry over brown rice and lentils sounded like a good Christmas Eve In—

“Wait? It is Christmas Eve, isn't it?”

I checked the date and time as my phone connected to the wifi.

“Yep.” I concurred, slurping the last of the curry broth from my dinner bowl— my second, but most likely out of three. I'd made enough to last however two or three days, and though I had been offline for throught most of now what seemed the entire month, letting my bills lapse over to make nonexistent room in the budget for the peloton, which seemed fair, considering how small I was getting, even cooking and eating myself into the non complacent waking coma that was the vivid and apt focus needed to create music for hours on end—something I had never quite done before in a certain way, and it seemed as though working in this fashion seemed somehow to have moved me solidly forward and sideways through time a bit—some sort of diagonal. I had rested the Sabbath and in the midst of it fallen behind by two days, but making up for it and catching up speed, I had submitted two releases in the early morning on the same day, now coming to an end—and somewhere in the middle, waking up after the fact to a fresh blanket of snow and the whimsy that came with it. A white Christmas afterall, perhaps, if it didn't melt by the following morning, which, judging by the fact that the coffee in the tumbler was still piping hot and not just like warm—I.e., fresh—that I might the same be up early into Christmas morning, also the first day of Hanukkah, and although I had forgone getting a menorah, after the attempt to pick up a free one I had found online over the summer in search of a cat, it didn't seem worth the cost to buy one; I was saving for too many things at once, which meant also nothing, but I couldn't be happier to spend the holidays alone and quietly— I couldn't be with the one person I wanted most, anyway, and so being alone was the next best thing. I almost wished I had've found the cat by now, but it was probably better that I was for the most part, unanchored, and could travel at will if needed. I thought to submit some of my new songs as demos to labels or into contests to try to find a job, but either way I knew in the moment that I would be playing live again by spring, even if it was just barmitsvahe and weddings, the latter of which I actually hoped to avoid, besides the Jewish ones—and my affinity for Jews had become remarkably trademark; as if I had some sort of reason to like them more over time, but I hadn't one—not that I actually knew of, anyway.

I had forgotten why I had been checking my email incessantly anyway, besides the new sound packs that seemed to have been magically pouring in, which i became excited to use when the right time struck to dive back into aboleton, learning in broad lessons in how there was a grace period between finishing and submitting tracks and starting again, and being careful not to sink into monotony—until I finally remembered, checking my email—that I had been nervous about samples from one of the latest releases clearing—however—a miracle indeed, it had been approved, and the message sit atop a pile of nonsense in the rest of my email with the news that it had been delivered to stores— I had put out about 15 singles since the beginning of the month and had a week's time more in my subscription to the distribution service—and I planned not to waste any time before my account being terminated— not that eventually I wouldn't renew the subscription, however— it would be at least a few months and probably into the early spring. I had, after all, purchased the subscription around the same time a year sooner, which allowed me to purchase the service at half price— a luxury which no doubt would end before my next payday, and after the payment for my Peloton—however—

I thoroughly enjoyed keeping my energy well to myself, and it seemed I was recovering well from having been followed to the gym and harassed, however, now the annoyance was— my neighbor wouldn't leave me alone. She was high maintenance, full of drama, probably a little bit toxic—

And now, she wanted to be friends.

I thought it best to stay on her good side, and had politely declined the invitation to Christmas at her apartment with her mother, but knew that until one of us moved, I would have to safely navigate the trenches of neighborly rapport; though something told me to be careful with the valitile fragility of the entire thing, it seemed almost the same with anyone, even old friends, that trust itself was rare to have in others, and so my holiday wishes had been simple and humble in truth; it had snowed, and I was alone, and making music— the home gym set-up, complete with yoga mat, Peleton and pink treadmill were simply a bonus.

—Tales of a Superstar DJ.

[The Festival Project ™]

Seven wooky dudes stand candy coated in the VIP section at a major music festival.

Who brought them!?

U did.

Now I wonder

‘What's the difference'

Same profession,

So much distance

I misjudged this;

Thought I had it all

Wedged behind one ear,

Forlorn,

(For Lorne)

And one finger to the socket

Sock puppet watching porn of Elmer Fudd

Now, knock it off—

I wanna know why

god chose the number one,

Folders up dollar bill

Back of the collections call

The corner, a sharp deposit

Sure,

For figure, full figured dolphins

Sawed it all off—

A saw tooth lecture;

So fire sure a God,

But then,

A one lost walkie talkie

And the other is, of course

Without a battery

For famine, is it?

I also starve.

(It's good curry, though.)

No more batting practice

And no more favors,

I'm sure I won't bring it up

I've got some kind of trauma

In the wallet full of cards I dropped

No messages

(Still don't know what Ivermectin is.)

Refuse to google such an awkward juncture.

Sure, the junk worked—

Sure the cops called

After supper,

On you go:

The father's Carson.

Uncle Parr is at the door.

UNCLE JACK

I'm back!

DAD

Sure, you are.

[The Man resembles the late Jack Parr.]

Here comes old wheats his name,

The cousin, tagging alongside big brother

A Jon with no H, the cousin—

But I just can't call it

[A strange looking boy resembling JON STEWART enters alongside his cousin, an even stranger looking whom resembles DAVID LETTERMAN— between the two of them, they are the oldest of the boys, about high school aged—dressed fashionably but odd and both dawning suspenders with their strange and quite ill fitting pants.

This is weird. What is this—what is this?

What is this here for!

Why does this exist at all?

What are you doing this for?

Skipping suicide another night?

Beats the knife in my back.

—because, I just don't care anymore.

L E G E N D S

In an ‘imaginary‘ parallel dimension, the world is torn when the workforce—not just of one Union or another, but the workforce of the entire country goes on strike as a protest against high costs of living in demand of a living wage; a nightly entertainment program is interrupted with a news broadcast which declares a state of emergency—the economy itself on the verge of collapse.

Oh. That's what I'm writing.

You know, they're gonna kill me for this.

—that's why you need therapy!

Look, all I want to do is make dance music.

Why bother.

Why bother at all

When big brother is watching,

And long gone is Jack Parr,

It's all done and divorced,

But all sausage party,

The festival project.

Numb3rs

Digital Liquid

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

Oh dear God.

What is this place?

It's right …now.

Are you telling me I'm in a dead girl's house?

You're dead, Major.

Yeah, but I watched her die!

Well then, you had better take some preventative measures this time around.

So you're saying—

Still alive now; and if you play your cards right—

I don't have any cards—and what game is this, anyway?

Just keep the little psycho out of danger.

Have you met this woman?

No, I'm postponing that until much later in life.

Always speaking in riddles;

What do you mean?

I hope to die an old man.

As opposed to?

Anything.

Two merging portals, a convergence—

At the center of both, two parallels;

A tin can and a straw hat,

An idiom for relax, and then

I lost my cat again,

And my hat once ,

Half an hour went, and then came again

In the sands of time, in bike cleats

And needing desperately to feel

Needed

To nurture

Feeling desperately to mean something

To anybody

Needing desperately to be deceased

Besides lonely

And having done my part

To do

Anything but eat everything

And die

But at least not once did I

Have blue eyes

So I wonder what

It must be like

To be loved by all;

But I've never died

Not at all.

Perception is a virtue,

And Jesus was a good brother;

Come rescue you at the alter(

Come rescue us on resistance

Come now, and come all to pardon

Come now, and one all to worship

Come now, and pull the reigns back on the horses

Come now, wild and fortuned

To honor us

There we are again

In the shadow of light

Where all must capture

The essence of having once lived

As a memory, though residual

Lived in dreams and as fairy tails

This, remembers us nothing,

But having parted from somewhere

So adorned as to call perfect,

As we all were, there together

None forsaken, but then,

Enlisted to portray such

As entertainers,

A freedom,

The good and the bad train;

The things and the people,

The planets and animals,

And shadows beyond them,

Above us, and below then

Is also

What we are,

As such,

Above is below,

And also

Within without,

However

Besides the point is ritual,

Which we shall honor,

As part us,

And part other

The unbeknownst;

Not to all but many,

Still shadows and unwaking

Still sleep but never found alive

Still alive but never found in ours

Still breathing but never once to light,

And encapsulated, captured

Another time, and presence

What will you summon!

Another;

Another,

Another—

As time is forgotten.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

As SETH MEYERS and JIMMY FALLON fight to the death, it is soon realized that having shapeshifted into one another as camoflague, that they are actually fighting the wrong people.

JIMMY FALLON (TINA FEY). straddles SETH MEYERS in a death grip (read: super gay) choke hold—and as he squints maniacally, peering into SETH MEYER'S eyes, he (TINA) realizes something odd and familiar about the fearful look in SETH's (AMY) eyes.

JIMMY FALLON

(With realization)

…wait…

Amy?

SETH (AMY) squints and winces, with feee feigning—unsure if s/he is being tricked, then realizing, also.

SETH MEYERS

…

Tina?

JIMMY/TINA immediately looses his grip over SETH/AMY

JIMMY FALLON

Oh my GOD!

SETH MEYERS

Yeah, I know.

JIMMY FALLON

I thought—

Yeah—

Woah,

SETH MEYERS

It's okay, like— well.

JIMMY FALLON

Sorry!

SETH MEYERS

I—yeah.

JIMMY FALLON

I thought—

SETH MEYERS

—yeah; yeah.

JIMMY FALLON

Oopsie.

SETH MEYERS

—how'd you know it was me?

JIMMY FALLON

The eyes.

SETH MEYERS

The eyes— yeah, but — you I thought.

JIMMY FALLON

This is embarrassing.

SETH MEYERS

No! I think—this—this is a good thing.

Oh dear God.

What is this place?

It's right …now.

Are you telling me I'm in a dead girl's house?

You're dead, Major.

Yeah, but I watched her die!

Well then, you had better take some preventative measures this time around.

So you're saying—

Still alive now; and if you play your cards right—

I don't have any cards—and what game is this, anyway?

Just keep the little psycho out of danger.

Have you met this woman?

No, I'm postponing that until much later in life.

Always speaking in riddles;

What do you mean?

I hope to die an old man.

As opposed to?

Anything.

Two merging portals, a convergence—

At the center of both, two parallels;

A tin can and a straw hat,

An idiom for relax, and then

I lost my cat again,

And my hat once ,

Half an hour went, and then came again

In the sands of time, in bike cleats

And needing desperately to feel

Needed

To nurture

Feeling desperately to mean something

To anybody

Needing desperately to be deceased

Besides lonely

And having done my part

To do

Anything but eat everything

And die

But at least not once did I

Have blue eyes

So I wonder what

It must be like

To be loved by all;

But I've never died

Not at all.

Perception is a virtue,

And Jesus was a good brother;

Come rescue you at the alter(

Come rescue us on resistance

Come now, and come all to pardon

Come now, and one all to worship

Come now, and pull the reigns back on the horses

Come now, wild and fortuned

To honor us

There we are again

In the shadow of light

Where all must capture

The essence of having once lived

As a memory, though residual

Lived in dreams and as fairy tails

This, remembers us nothing,

But having parted from somewhere

So adorned as to call perfect,

As we all were, there together

None forsaken, but then,

Enlisted to portray such

As entertainers,

A freedom,

The good and the bad train;

The things and the people,

The planets and animals,

And shadows beyond them,

Above us, and below then

Is also

What we are,

As such,

Above is below,

And also

Within without,

However

Besides the point is ritual,

Which we shall honor,

As part us,

And part other

The unbeknownst;

Not to all but many,

Still shadows and unwaking

Still sleep but never found alive

Still alive but never found in ours

Still breathing but never once to light,

And encapsulated, captured

Another time, and presence

What will you summon!

Another;

Another,

Another—

As time is forgotten.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

Au gratin potatoes

And not all is forgotten,

I should have done

Nothing,

Instead I come running for answers

Under a mile

Don't open the mailbox

No hairpin monitors,

All of ya's, all divorce

No wars are gonna be over

Or not sorry

Undone, nah

Give a silk scarf to the model

Give them all

Hearts

Give them all work

I strip down and it goes like this;

I don't know poker,

But I wrote four albums on heartache

One more, I'm the boss in him

Get them all up for the mouse in the trap

The dove in the hammock

The silk brain on candle boxes

Don't worry,

I've got a lawsuit forming

Large numbers

Steady hawking the pawn

Sadie Hawkins

Of course

Someone has karma coming up

With two r's

And ten knuckles

Don't let me harm you

I've got my armor on

Au gratin,

All vegan protein, if you wanted em

Coconut products.

Now leave me alone,

You weak dick mother fuckers

Shooting off in under an unremarkable

Ten minutes or so under ya

In ten minues death flats

I'd be heart flatlining if

I had to waste any or all of my time on ya

Get behind me,

The fart wafts further

The harder I cough

Looking back on your discovery

Of her majesty

I've never laughed harder at nothing before

You want hair and switch nothing waist perfect trophy blondes

And perfec trophy blondes

And trophy perfect blondes

Like the rest of us are all just

For contrast or something

The discards, rejects

Too dark

Too whatever you don't want?

It's a pride problem.

Now get away from me and take your snake with you,

Your big brother.

JESUS CHRIST

V.O.

Contrary to popular belief,

I did not die on the cross.

JESUS CHRIST, though bloodied and brutally beaten, appears strong—as he tries desperately to move the stones which seal the tomb he has been “buried” in.

Before:

…he's still not dead!

Well, dead enough

JESUS CHRIST

V.O.

It had been three days.

I was beautiful,

Or could be—

Coudle have been

Or might be;

Won't though

Until the end of this one,

When it's over

The catastrophe of fat and black;

The opposite of likely to succeed —

Though some have bested the odds,

Still yet to be betrayed,

By the men they love,

Then again—

All men betray;

Especially, those who love them.

SATAN appears inside the cave, standing against the wall with his arms crossed, quite satisfied ..

Without even turning around, JESUS seems to know he is there.

JESUS CHRIST

Hello, Satan.

Though only slightly, even just the presence of the other seems to make him a bit weaker; he squints with distaste, backing away from the boulder in agony— his wounds seem to have quickly healed, but not vanished, as he looks at the inside of his palms with a hint of worry and annoyance.

I don't—- care about anything

I know, nobody loves me

The Devil and I are aligned

I behind by five,

One flower,

Two cherries,

No hymen

Leftover au gratin potatoes from before,

And I'm rotten to the core,

Oh, what a disaster

No better than the whore next door

KIMMEL

(As ‘THE HIGH PRIEST')

lol i can't read this.

What.

It's messy-the writing. I might have been distracted.

HEX!

By What?

Can't say.

Speak we though in

Codes, mantras, and double entendre;

the sheep devil's tongue, a sword,

The caption of God wedded between you–

What a stone!

Had he wished the–

uh …

[The Festival Project ™ ]

Had he wished the sautered arm a loin

or other parsensed

Have ye worshiped not th gallows eyes

Both not pardoned

And still, these eyes gaping

Having earned it back from all time,

Still ruined,

having left none,

Still in wartime–

Goddammit what was I doing

CUT TO:

A fight to the death.

Noneshaped but left faring way–

Here, I stand.

What the FUCK does this SAY?

I don't know, man.

well, we'd better figure it out before.

[The door is kicked in.]

Ugh.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©