Be My Lover

Lla da di

[Redacted]

I once was trapped within the prison of my own garden.

Something inside me yelped for this faraway spirt guide to shut up—but I was all the more ready to fry up the remainder of my tempeh, and continue to wallow in my loveless grief , wondering what would become of this undone monster—the disaster that was my own impossible maze of creation, however with gratitude, that I was standing in an immaculately clean kitchen, with a table full of books, and soup to cook. Gratitude that I was alone, and for the most part, alive and well.

Gratitude that I lived in one of the greatest cities on earth—maybe even the greatest—

But I didn't know yet.

I had never been to Tokyo;

I would be missing the Olympics in Paris;

Rome was still waiting at the other side of a giant puddle I was less fond of than its opposite;

Amsterdam l was some fabled tale I had only dreamed of—

And London begged to be brought to life in my own eyes, were I lucky enough to escape the arrested development of the burdens of my Brooklyn [redacted].

I might be getting to ‘famous' to tell people where I live.

[Unfamous.]

Lol is this the one with the guy going around knocking on doors

To see if people recognize him?

Yeah.

lol. It's a comedy, right?

Dark comedy.

(A black comedy.)

Nah, but you can't call it that,

Cause they'll think it has something to do with colored people, and they won't watch it.

That's literally the name of the genre.

My point stands.

{Enter The Multiverse}

—you'd be suprised how much more blatently racist people get from behind a screen or studying demographics and viewer preferences.

If you don't love me;

You like me

You watched me light my cigarette just the right way,

And liked it,

And that night,

I died in your arms,

Crying for myself—.

Lying to my wife,

As if next time, I might be better.

We all deserve second chances.

Good grief.

Who is this guy?

Some sad sap.

Sad is right.

Sap is more accurate.

I stroke your hair

With your head in my lap,

As though you belong to me;

I see the crease in your eyes as smiles

And your lips as petals

To a flower so sweet,

I can't wait to eat you,

Like honeysuckle on the tip

If a hot wet tongue,

Hungry for the berry it would become,

But eager to know the sweetness of just the flower,

Sure to bloom with the coming of seasons,

Just as sure to rise as the moon would,

Whether full or new;

In a sky fyull of stars,

All I see is you—

In a body of scars,

I am your demise,

Your pride forever altered by divine truth,

My light hides In darkness,

Your will to the light,

Like a moth to the flame,

Which I honor

And crumble over,

As she towers over us,

Seeking and ready to destroy

All flame to dust;

The ash is out

The tray on the table

I roll another

To smoke,

The guilt and shame of betrayal,

Distrust,

Unarmored, I mock my own judgement

A movement,

The box over a diamond

A row full of nothing but

Hawks, circling over.

Do you not know?

My favorite skit has a story;

Sara without an H was a real person.

Patrick was Fallon,

Now Fallon is Patrick—

I'm thouroughly confused;

The Allegories Continue.

Book II

GODDAMMIT:

See.

I TOLD YOU.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH.

it's on.

ITS

GONNA GET

RAW.

Ah shit.

Here we go.

At this point, I thoroughly need my shit kicked in.

Do you ever feel like—

Uh huh.

You could just use a—

—a knife in the back?

Like, a swift kick to the face.

Sometimes.

Karate style neck chop.

Sounds nice.

Really swift, like—

Knee to the groin?

Like a good hook t o t h e j a w

Yeah.

I'm actually aroused.

{Enter The Multiverse}

How about that .

V.O

JOHN SLATTERY

I had learned certain things about myselr, such as that lighting a candle and lounging to soak silently in the tub for any number of hours might allow my subconscious tone dictate on behalf of John Slattery, affectionately sometimes referred to as J.Slatts, besides the slew of characters I had once in some black hole managed to have write for him—the actor, or the part of my deep subconscious manifesting as such.

I wasn't even in the slightest bit curious as to why, and attributed it mostly to my my affinity for traditional fraternal organizations, a deep understanding of the unspoken internal hierarchies of the entertainment business, and the occasional silver fox.

This is getting good.

J. SLATTS

V.O. (CONT'D)

Still, my familiarity with the occult had somehow shifted my own perception to that of apathetic acknowledgement that I was easily dismissable as unremarkable, however, still somewhat convient, isolated, and easily discardable— I could easily be disposed of, and my work passed on to someone more easily manageable—ie, without the will to be controlled, and therefore be bonded.

Hypnotist bastards.

Whatever your will, is my purpose.

What are you?

Whatever you want.

What!

Which one did you ask for?

What kind of shit is this.

The kind of shit you could only wish you even dreamed of.

So you're like some kind of genie.

Better than that.

I'm going to spend my summer gnawing away at your insides.

Aw, man.

What the fuck did I write.

My children are clawing at the door hoping for a peak of my newest invention.

Mortal man.

If only they knew with any sense at all beyond that, they could be so much more.

Disastrous creatures.

I was disastrous once, too.

And I, mortal.

The pursuit of actual suicide.

Would I see my son again?

Would the walls close in as I start to bleed?

Would I whisper to myself a song, to induce the calm,

As I wondered what had gone so wrong,

For so long

That I would become

Gone

She's a Hollywood grown superstar

Born of obsessions,

Now to let them all to lesson

One becomes another

A mirror for a mother;

Hello Billie.

Awards to walk on water—

Eyes of oceans

Worlds apart

The Hollywood sign under this foot;

Rockefeller Plaza, the other—

Strings to pull the cups

To kill the clause

The want of Oz

Beyond the contracts and the mantras,

Something comes

You want it?

Blow up dolls and fountains,

Ant farms and rock collections

Still life, stillborn

Still Joan of Ark

In Central Park,

Single file, Noah—

There's no boat at all for all of us

You wreak of cyanide.

I'm so glad you know what that smells like.

I'm flaccid.

Is that a joke?

Something tells me I've kept this hallmark card

For far too long.

Something tells me I would do much better

As a blonde

And ten years younger;

Either that

Or ten feet under

Tempting, huh boss?

Somebody ought to call the chupacabra

I'm going all for broke inside this Honda;

Why, mom, let it drag on like this?

Worcestershire sauce, Gosh,

Shucks—

You're the worst, Corn.

On the cob; then?

Call the cops!

Call

Oprah.

Call—

Call Cosmo and Wanda.

BILLIE EILLISH is that it

Idk how to spell this kid's name, fuck it.

Is dressed in an oversized denim overall suit; her hair pulled into exaggerated and teased oversized pigtails— Her eyes seem larger than usual under the thick magnified lenses of the oversized frames she wears on her heavily painted blushed face, almost with the appearance of a clown, but more likened to a scary porcelain doll; her teeth are covered in braces, and the long faux eyelash extensions affixed to her face sparkle with a silver that matches the rhinestones that match her mechanized mouth, overall conveying a thoroughly weird, over-sexualized life-sized cabbage patch cross porcelain doll—the stuff of nightmares, to any right minded adult, but assuredly someone's fantasy, as the song portrays the journey of a lost girl—a fallen God once praised amongst the—

[The Festival Project ™]

What the fuck are you trying to write

Whatever the fuck I just saw

Can you not {That's So Raven} so hard

That's so Rave…(in)

#SPACERAVE

Cool.

EliteZ.

I would call it exquisite.

Whatever she's an alien princess dressed as a blow up doll calling out into the cosmos for the space Gods to come blow up^/destroy the already nearly destroyed man-world trash planet we're all on.

“We”?

Did I not just say men destroyed the planet earth?

Ahem.

Wait. How many of us here live on the planet Earth.

…

By show of hands.

…

..:

…

…3 of you.

Is that it?

Hello, sir.

Have you been drinking?

It's nice to see you—

Who am I, you ask?

The one you always call for.

Hello?

Can I get an answer?

Are you barely breathing?

Tell me something good

‘Who are you?'

All I wanted.

What a bargain

Shopping carts all full of bottles

Just to humble, of course

He does it himself

The shopping for the cubbards.

Melt.

Careful,

All you are is words

The tongue goes forwards,

After all

The rollercoaster plunges

And the ark

Of all the stories

Forms to one conglomerate

Atop the Oval Office

Get off of my cloud, you dumb fuck.

I can be arrogant

For the establishment

I can be all you want

(The one you call for)

So seductive

Just the art

Of burning tongues and calling numbers

Call to all you want

And I will come

The one you call for

Ah, yes.

I do not need a dog.

I'm procrastinating writing my album.

There's no sugar in this house.

I need a nap before the gym.

This is not a poem.

It's an entourage.

…entourage.

… Entourage.

…Entorage.

(In to rage)

| | Entorage.

| |

Entorage

| | Entorage.

|||

(Born to rage)

wtf is this.z

Like, idk yet.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū

ocean blvd.

Collection I -'better off dead.'
Track 01. - 'ocean blvd.'

Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū

What is the significance of McGriddles?

There is no significance of McGriddles, because McGriddles is only McDonald's.

McMeditation.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

It had become obvious that I was being used as some type of experiment— the motors, honking horns, and engines all being used to strategically shift my thinking, deteriorate my moods, and provoke my anxiety. My placement in this apartment had been for a specific reason—using my synethesia against me, the feds could do literally whatever they wanted with my mind and body, and they were attempting to create an angry and hostile, militant and obedient done like the rest of them——and though I was getting stronger and more immune to the various experimental tortures they had planted in my environment, I was always 10 steps ahead, and knowing that while some of myechanisms had become startlingly predictable, even to me— that something in me was always 10 steps ahead or more. That certainly, and at will, my doing something—anything at all— terribly unexpected would derail and confuse these people—most likely federal military personnel or some sort of special forces—within the understanding that people with my intrinsic abilities could not only become a threat— but used as a weapon; I wasn't being paid, and had already been without a home so long that it didn't seem to matter regardless—knowing that my circumstances shouldn't permit that I should become subject to such cruelties, taking the high road was in being determined to deliberately sabotage any attempt at further penetrating my privacy and peace— which more often than not meant, that if I knew I was being listened to— making sure something would be heard that would confuse or annoy whoever was listening— that, if I was being followed, getting lost on purpose would ensure that whoever followed had no idea of my actual intended destination—and, that if I was being baited or trapped, to as often as possible fall into the trap, allowing them to feel as if I had been entirely figured out, however—the more I realized these things happening, the more dismissive I became, the more secretive of my own actual reservations and solutions, and the more discreetly I kept what was well known hidden, within myself or elsewhere—and though inclusion and diversity had become a popularized puppet show of sorts, creating the illusion of acceptance within the masses, I knew overall to the powers-that-be, the keepers of the keys, the guard era of the gates, and those that determined value in our society, that I was still just another ugly nigger, with too much brains to know better than to just accept the mediocrity and subservience that the regime had crafted for us.

—Death of a Superstar DJ.

Four kings have I

And none is he

Who waits at my demise

For every beckoned call

To wish

My fair stands

strained with time;

I am the one who waits

For wickedness upon the door

And offers her or him

A kindness

As to part ways once,

But ne'er twice

For death,

I had won

All of my attempts to get a regular job had been derailed—destroyed, sabotaged. My money and environment had become scricy controlled— and the only money I had, I soon realized, were to be used on products intended soully with the literal purpose to be washed down the drain.i no longer beckoned for fame or to be cherished— now, simply, I wanted almost nothing more than to be left alone, and without a way to travel somewhere peaceful, the madness of New York City sank into my gut and began to create a monster that I knew If let unleashed, would destroy not only my life, but everything around it—and maybe that was the point— I was simply not allowed to have a happy life, for whatever reason— and these mind games and torture strategies would continue until somehow, I would meet my end.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

raggedy ann x.x

Collection II -'antithesis.'
Track 09. 'raggedy ann x.x'

Maybe someone was ringing my doorbell just to make sure that I hadn't slit my wrists—I had been sitting in the tub silently for hours, at least thinking about it. There was no other way to consolidate it; I did not want to interact with humans, and my daily gym routine would have to be pushed so late into the night that it would become impossible to see anyone, I was simply over the robots.

I wondered if the former president was reelected, if his l people would seek to finish the job—make sure that I killed myself or appeared as mentally unstable and unwell in response to my former political ambitions, as they had before; perhaps they were attempting to subdue my attempts at success order never to become a an actual threat to the psychological terror system.

I already wasn't a threat, and my openly right-winged dissaproval of the immigration crisis had probably raised eyebrows and questions on both sides as to whether I was a competent human at all—then again, I saw it as a financial leak above all things, and found it unfair for the working class to support such nonsense as to let millions of undocumented people become the responsibility of the taxpayers.

Then again, here I was, a responsibility of the state. I was sure I wouldn't be a burden much longer— reflections of a cruel world creeping up on me in that I lived day to day on eggshells only hoping that my lease would be renewed—unable to find suitable work and struggling to actually make any sensible or meaningful music at all; I hadn't, and I hadn't forgotten how to, but it seemed that the motorcyclists were quietest when I was, and they they themselves, too, were terrorists intended to derail me from my purpose.

The intent to kill, however indirectly.

Do you want breakfast?

Patrick and Esha had returned, however seemingly on limited engagement; most of The TV People were Patrick and Esha and the rest of the characters could be filled in with almost any seemingly random characters and quips. The basis of the world had been established, and now this strange and odd love story—an actual love story, between the show's two protagonists had bloomed and set on a mantle safely looking over me, like a flower on such said mantle, where I could admire it with careful consideration to its beauty, only wondering how long it should last.

Luckily, The Tonight Show was most probably on some summer hiatus, with any hope, surrounded by the love and the family one could pray would keep a man like that afloat. I couldn't say.

It wasn't my business.

If anything, I was beyond beside myself with what nature had called for in the first place. Sure, something cosmic, with fear and respect, I kept the flower at a distance and the city between myself and I. What the fuck did New York want with me anyway? I chipped away at any and all creative endeavors, but above all, I felt discarded.

Who could hate me this much? I didn't seem to be of much use to anyone or anything at all. I looked at my writing and was astounded, but looked at myself and was ashamed.

What if I could be the greatest writer of our time and never know it? It took me hours just to sort through ny own writing, editing along the way and wondering what to do with it. I almost wanted a friend, but overall I wanted nobody. I felt betrayed by the world that I had been given such gifts, and unable to use them. I felt scammed that all the world wanted was money, but I wasn't good at making it.

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

rekt.
Collection 1.1 - 'actuality.'
Track 03. - 'rekt.'
Prod By Blū Tha Gürū

{Enter The Multiverse}

MILA KUNIS *hits vape*

WHY would you agree to sign me up for this?

ASHTON KUTCHER

Because—

MILA KUNIS

*Hits vape harder*

ASTON KUTCHER

Jesus Christ—

MILA KUNIS

You know me and Seth don't get along after that thing he did!

ASHTON KUTCHER

I know, but—

MILA KUNIS

*throws pillow*

UGH.

How am I supposed to?

Fuck it.

—-

SETH MCFARLENE

I have lines now.

*sniffs long line*

…

Are you okay?

SETH

I'm going to be.

[This requires a full cast.]

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

niagara falls.

Collection II - ‘antithesis.

Track 12. - ‘niagara falls'

Prod By Blū Tha Guru

[Previously on L E G E N D S: Enter The Multiverse}

Baby's all right Brooklyn

Pretty little palace of disaster

Pretty little patterns of —

Whatever

Tantrums, smashing Jack o lanterns

Shadows,

Hands that attach to the strings

Allowing them to dance into dreams

It seems these sacred places

Have been ravaged

And

I have not been running

But I don't have any money

Wise than that

It's less than zero

Negatives

I want to kill myself again

Honestly, I see a way out it just

Requires being tortured

By people coughing.

And motorcycles

I might have seen my son for the last time

At age five

It's finally warm outside

And everything's just

Reminding me

I'm struggling with poverty

Nothing really matters cause I don't belong here

Everything is wrong

I just want blonde hair,

Hurry up, God

Assist me with a suicide

I can take pride in

Not an attempt, but

The only success I'll ever have

At anything

At all

-El Al

Nothing moves the same

After an unrequited love becomes a tragedy

Or just a movie scene

I want to scream for needing to be needed

Then again

Could die just to be dead

Could go back

To just be blacklisted

Or a crackhead

Doing magic tricks

Pass

I couldn't have ever imagined

This fascination as of late

Or making trance

But anything can happen

With the light switches on and off

As the kite catches headwinds

Or hedwig is getting bigger by the minute

That just grows out of his head,

But I wish it was a wig

Like Kristen

Pass

Yes.

Breathe deep into my lungs,

These scenes of things

So evil seeming, even to me

Lucidity becomes as dreamily

Eerie, intermittently meaningless,

And then suddenly,

However much later,

Maddeningly attractive,

As I am, in fact

Attached to this project

As menacingly handsome and devilish as he is

I've decided, it's manageable, but clashes with my

Moral standards and clasps with fabrications

Lay hands on me and see what happens!

—-okay…

“Okay”

Pass!

I asked to be a rockstar and showrunner

On the same blood soaked candles

I took blood oaths

Dancing in front of the fountain

At rockafeller plaza, to no applause,

Of course,

Drinking monsters nonstop,

Ontop of my skateboard

I came back late to Boston

And took a plane to Vegas early the next morning

But somewhere deep in my Google Drive or documents

Is me under a neon sign,

Which reads a name I resigned from saying

Until maybe I get signed

I hate him, but hey,

The name of the game is Mating Season,

And lately I've been craving eggs and

Mayonnaise instead of protein shakes and

Crayons

Wax on, wax off…

Pass, but that last sentence didn't make sense

It did.::

Oh,

Yes, it did.

Promise.

You do some stupid shit.

Okay, so I do stupid shit.

Believe me, you do some stupid shit.

Okay, I believe you.

Don't believe me when I tell you things like that.

What the fuck, Patrick, do you mean, even?

I mean what I mean, but usually just—

For me.

I am you, I thought.

Exactly: don't believe me.

Okay? I don't believe you…

Just—believe me. Believe me.

Oh dang. So there really is no “Jimmy Fallon”

No, there isn't it's just—

Poor little Jimmy Fallon…

What if—

There is no “if”.

Nobody has to ‘agree' to this project

Sign the terms of agreement

For what.

You'll see..

stupid little bitch.

*squints*

What did you just say.

(Walking away, mumbling)

Nothing!

Fucking idiot.

What did you just say?!

(Yelling)

I said you're a fucking idiot, Fallon! You're a fucking lDi0T:

Well, okay.

lol NBC is not gonna let this fly at all.

No, Jimmy, you cannot do this project.

Well, that's alright. I quit.

You can't quit. You have a contract.

I don't—I'm out of my contract:

On what grounds?!

Conflict of interest!

That's my say, isn't it?

Is it?

MORGUE.

I bought a network!

MY NAME IS—

MAaaa!!

WHATTTTTTT.

The show's on!

[A Cold Open]

L E G E N D S

{Enter The Multiverse}

Fuck this kid. I'm gonna kill him.

Kill what. Who.

FALLON. GET IN HERE.

Ah. [explitive]

[‘THE FALLON' gets ‘FALLONED' by ELLEN DEGENERES]

ELLEN

YES.

FINALLY, I'm in this bitch.

[And other members of ‘THE HOSTS COLLECTIVE', a high ranking team in the ILLUMINATI FOREFRONT]

Well, not in the way I'm sure you'd hoped, but.

Shutthefuckup!

Oh wait—is she

Is it “she”

Is she a lesbian?!

What's the “Illuminati”—

We'll get back to that later.

No! gross!

Portia Derossi!

Huh?

I want to be that pretty!

Well, okie.

MEANWHILE,

In my actual own age group…

I'm older than all these hosts, anyway!

Even Leno?

Isn't he dead already?!

Exactly!

EVEN STEVENS

[BEANS is now VEGAN]

Why is vegan capitalized.

Cause it's important.

Hey buddy!

Don't call me buddy. I'm edging on 40.

Time flies when you're—

Rapidly aging?

I brought you some bacon.

You what:

It's farm fresh!

Kooldjredalert

Lie to me

Try to sleep

(In my arms, won't you)

Try to keep the

Time with

My heart

Beat

(Heavenly)

I've been living in your world for just over a month, now.

I'm sorry, Fallon.

That must be awful.

Not too sorry—

Some of this stuff is good.

Just, priceless.

Wouldn't trade it for the world.

But I've hung my head in shame,

Cause I hung myself with gratitude,

Haven't you had enough?

If it makes any difference at all,

And I'm betting it does

All I wished for a wanted and prayed

Was for you to be happy

I buy burners with trackers

Put burn holes in sweaters

The summit at the plummet, pulling forwards

And backwards

I've four words for parlors,

For barbers and hatchets

I bury the four suns,

The moon arose after

I left an Oscar on your alter this morning

Never shall ye rest,

Haven't ever then,

Paid the tythe,

And for the while,

Immortal wife and lover,

Mother daughter,

Soon to call your name and number,

However,

The fall from the drop of polish,

Of course, oil marks upon canvases

Sickness and swells of my

Hands upon your corset

Could you collide with another?

Doubtful, to that,

So shall it must be

List, but never to utter

A mustard seed;

Ground, then unground—

As if planted,

Simple,

As the seed of laughter

So then, would you

By the turn of the hour,

return to the one had you called

Lover,

A curse upon the

Coerced and responsible

A blonde,

But worse,

A pretty one

For never after happens out of nowhere

Now,

Dissociate,

Before I dissipate of

Loneliness

Hark,

The door opens for one,

A bold soldier to come,

Listen lover,

The stone has been

Suspended, by the mirror

In terror

Alarmed,

Cool you are now

Calm, however

Not abound to be lie

Or below

Bound by blood

There you are

In excelsior,

Predecessor

What would you want that for—

The camera obscured;

Why,

If only,

To look upon you

Plastered and enlarged

As you are

Endangered in my imagination

A dangerous and strange,

Dangling addiction

Fascination, now

With power,

And prowess

Come now,

The midnight hour is upon us

[his body hung from the rafters above the studio, just one lamp left aglow—and then suddenly I had awakened, his body still and resting, sleeping quietly—although the hanged man burned into my mind; I left him quietly as I could in the loft and sat with nothing in my mind at all at the canvas, brush in hand, as if I were to draw something—but could not. It was almost as if I was frozen, or even perhaps the canvas were instead a mirror, and I the painting —though I could not know. My dearest Patrick was a broken man, and I his broken lover—the both of us an atrocity at all in shambles—I wept inwardly but not outward, as not to wake him as my tears often did, even from a deep sleep. The sun was far from rising, and though I had barely slept at all, I felt I would never sleep again—I fell at my tilted alter as the sun rose, in prayer and devastation; What had I done?]

—Esha's Memoirs, the journals from The Altar

You know what, kid—

You've got something.

I don't know what it is,

But it's something.

Kid? Aren't we like, the same age?

No.

I'll tell you what I've got

I've got a seven year old kid I haven't seen in two years;

I've got a sink full of dishes

I've got credit card debt and school loans

I've got racist neighbors,

An ex husband who swears he never hit me

With a brand new baby

I've got

Extreme back pain

I've got a body only God could ever love

And I've got something like

10,000 pages or more

Of stuff I barely remember writing

Just sitting in the Google algorithm

Pushing me closer and closer to suicide

Every single day

I've got

Sexual fantasies about celebrities for no given reason at all.

I've got

800 songs that are just words

I've got books I want to read just— sitting there

And I've got this pain

That just sits inside my soul

That never goes away, ever

I've got something, alright.

I've got something, sure

But when it comes to money

I got a dollar

One fucking dollar

And you know what I call that?

-Useless.

She's dead, isn't she?

You guessed it.

Well, what am I supposed to do?

What you always do.

What is that?

What is that?

Swear of the palm d ore

I Cannes,

Atop the Eiffel

You are the river that crosses my eye,

The scar across my heart,

The Eye, is

All we are

And all is one;

One is all,

And All are One

Well, I'm quite nervous.

Don't be nervous, at all, Johnny. Relax.

Another John—my first, in fact.

Indeed,

I was once relentlessly obsessed

With Johnny Depp

Infatuated, if you will

Whatever you want to call it.

Of course,

For a teenaged girl, however

This sort of obsession was somewhat normal

Somewhat.

I had always wanted to star in movies—

So much so that I began to write them.

I was about 7, maybe 8 when the stories in my headed started to form as narratives—

Not just stories, but words

Characters and conversations—

Plots.

I should leave this poor Fallon boy alone.

Some darkness inside of me wants him;

That thing that doesn't quiet, nor does it want,

Anything but what it wants—

And it is,

Darkness-m—

That thing that lives inside of me and what is does;

The thing it calls love, and calls our for

The something in someone that rises it up

From wherever it dwells,

Deep in my soul, and into my hear,

Into my thoughts,

It haunts all that I must and mustn't

Ponder upon

A woman's cause,

And a murderer of sorts,

The ugly swan , who dances on ponds,

Laying one one, but all of precious stones,

The egg,

The coveted stones of trust,

And wander,

Listing upon that which it feeds,

Not only the bod,

But its motor,

It's mind,

A hearty philosopher,

And willful warrior,

Of wit,

And of talent,

The strength of

Astonishment

A power above all,

A blindness of fate;

Judged by all

The spectacular amongst us

The famed and the damned,

Acquitted of warmth and dutiful,

Exquisite in awe

A rarity.

—The Fame Files.

V.O.

Coming to terms with one's death is always peaceful.

All harm caused will be returned by he/she who causes it or acts in such a way as to inflict pain and hostility towards peaceful persons.

Causing with intention psychological, physical, mental, or physical harm will result in the immediate karmic retaliation of such pain as inflicted on peaceful individuals; these acts of war will inhibit the actor from entering the transcendence, or developing expanded consciousness, gaining wealth, further material possessions–his own will is therefore weakened, and therefore unworthy of love himself, by the intent to cause one such pain as an act of violence or ill will. One's disruption of peace is thereby an act of cruelty, punishable beyond death–causing pain by intention to another individual in the attempt of control or manipulation, intrusion, and abuse is therefore against the laws by which the ascended abide by, and therefore cannot and will not exist beyond the ill fate of its perpetrator.

Please leave me alone; I'm asking you nicely.

Alright, fine.

Where is it!

Where is what?

You know what.

What?

From the fountain.

It wasn't me! I don't have it.

And this, is why Jimmy Fallon is impenetrable.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

The Festival Project™ and it's subsidiary Non-Profit, The Collective Complex © aims to challenge modern artistic and philosophical ideals, break commonplace barriers, forage new creative mediums, and provoke inspired and reformed thought and actions toward evolution and overall societal improvement through a new-wave and post-modern, avant-garde and philanthropic hyperawareness driven by a unique culture of global values mediating global respect and preservation via open consciousness, multi-sensory and synesthetic (multi-preceptory) expansions of sound, language, vibration, movement, color, emotion, and ritual governed conceptually by the aspect(s) of love, truth, unity, understanding, and peace.

Support The Fesival Project's Artistic Revolution

I don't know why that picture lights me up–it just does.

–so I keep it;

And it's weird that I keep it,

But i love it–

No face tattoos,

Or flashing lights,

Or bubbling blondes–

It's just me,

And the music–

Pulling me closer to that thing I love,

still dragging one foot left behind,

As If i'll ever catch up in a race,

I was born

To have already lost.

Suddenly, it felt as if being in the water was the only way anymore of being connected to nature.

One mustn't tamper with the free will of others, as this breaks the intrinsic morale code by which all magicians must adhere to with intent focus, as to not to disrupt the balance of nature, but to coincide with it harmoniously as to manifest all outcomes for the greater good of oneself, and the betterment of others. One must practice in peace and kindness, as to promote with the sense of ritual, the force of wellbeing, respect, gratitude, and kindness — as not with the infliction as to force one another or control others by circumstance or possession, but with reflection within one's own self to guide with spirit, the forces of nature, and the powerful endowment of light and love, to fortify one's sense of ritual invocation of righteousness, humility, intuition, higher knowledge, enlightenment, influence, illumination and wisdom, as to better steengthen the bonds between one another in the material realm, and within the spiritual and cosmic realms, in order to better understand with total compassion and comprehension the origins, date, and destiny of humankind and the extraterrestrial and metaphysical presence of forces of energy, creation, and

—the practitioner guide to ritual occultism for medicinal and holistic healing

(Well work out a title later)

Anyone should well know that the intentional casting of any and all white magic spells or rituals will automatically forage a counter-attack towards any sender of negative energy, misfortune, or ill intent— not as a direct form of attack or harm by the medicinal practitioner itself, but rather, acting as a shield against dark forces, hidden and evil spirits, demonic energies and otherwise unfriendly forces of disruptive and unwelcome nature. Though the medicinal practice of magic begins in understanding that duality and balance within the material realms— light and dark, or sometimes even ‘good' and ‘bad' are part of existence in entirety, encompassing all forms of energy, and that one does not truly or wholly exist without the other—however—- within the clarity of enlightenment, one can assume and expect lower vibrational, differeing frequency, or less conscious energies to become attracted to or try to attach itself, or themselves, to higher forms of light and energy. It it within this medicinal practice of awareness that steps can and should be taken to protect oneself against mischief in the event of unwelcome sources of unwanted energy taking away from, or hindering one's own health, wellness, perception, and gaining of insight and wisdom.

There are, here, hidden realms of truth and wisdom;

Engagements within the immaterial circumstances which surround our involvement with each other as a species, in which one can interact with thought forms of another kind, create bonds and energetic ties out of the bounds of worldly involvement, link chains within a network of intergalactic travel, time sequencing or manipulation of such perceptions of ‘future,' , past, and presence, and create space within an infinite realm of concousness, inter dimensional mapscaping, movement within the interior and exterior grids of existence (where most things take place)

Last night I thought I was ordering my last meal. A double quarter pounder with cheese and extra onions, a large fry and a vanilla shake. My favorite. I had a horrible conversation with my mother, which ended with her screaming at the top of her lungs at me, “ just—die, die, die!” And I wanted to. Then I thought about the prisoners on death row, how they're asked what they want their last meal to be before they're put to death. I thought of my favorite episode from my favorite show, where my favorite character ordered a fried chicken dinner. I thought—“If that were me, I'd probably want McDonald's.” So, I drove to McDonald's, I ordered my favorite meal, and I ate it sadly as I thought about how exactly I would try to go about killing myself. I never thought of a way that wouldn't destroy this place for the next tenant...before I fell asleep, dreamless and tortured by my very own thoughts. I woke up this morning wondering what today would bring—more pity, or hope.

Sweet cream and butter/sugar flavored wheat thins lol

I would eat that.

You'd eat anything.

I can be skinny in 48 hours—

But you'll always be an asshole.

How many you want?

How many you got?

I hate these back door deals…

Stop being such a [censored] [censored]

Woah, man!

I'm still under contract with NBC.

I [censored] guess!

I thought you got fired. Why do you still have a censor?

He works for my wife.

Look,

I'm willing to admit,

I have an addiction

To midsections and midwives

And mediocre mistresses.

I'm not sure exactly what you're trying to say.

YOU BURNT MY CREAMNOF WHEAT.

Did you get the—

Yeah I got the—

Well, there is it?

I gots to go offline to listen to—

—ahh, don't— shut up

It goes offline to listen to Skrillex.

It's okay.

ITS NOT OKAY.

It's okay!

ITS NOT OKAY. THAT WAS THE LAST OF IT.

It's—it's okay!

—it's not okay.

ITS NOT OKAY. WE'RE ALL THREE MAD FAMOUS IN THIS DIMENTION.

Like, dumb famous.

LIKE DUMB FAMOUS. DO YOU WANT TO GO TO THE GROCERY STORE AND GET MORE?

—no..no.

Nah dat.

THATS RIGHT. SO FUCK YOU.

It's just cream of wheat.

ITSNOTJUSTCREAMOFWHEAT.

—it is, technically.

Dude, shut up.

I'm gonna fucking—- kill you.

My lips are buzzing.

I smell purple…

Seriously, don't—try to kill him— while he's using my body.

This is immortality; I'm sure you'll find a way back!

I'm not “using” your body, I'm stuck. Don't make it sound gross.

—yeah, but this isn't an infinite dimension.

You're gross anyway.

You smell like beer farts.

—well, you smell like corn syrup.

—impossiblé. My protein powder has no artificial sweeteners. *flips hair*

Ugh.

Horrible.

Look. Why don't we just order more groceries on line, or something.

I saw the movie!

What, you saw the movie?

I saw the movie.

That's crazy. I also saw the movie.

Okay.

Okay?

So it's a budget flick.

Hehe.

—it's a budget flick?

Yep.

Alright—I love those!

[literally the cheapest shit you ever saw]

When the fear falls off,

And the others go over your shoulder,

But you're the one to tumble

In the over, under

Over under

Hello,

I'll be right there

Hello,

I'm back again

(Hello)

I can't feel much,

But i'm back again

I'm sure the full feel

Will kick back in

Will kick back in soon, so

Tune in,

Chill out

Keel over,

But don't let it kill you

Is that appealing enough

To appeal you

Is that hypnotic enough

To heal you?

Hello.

The drummer keeps himself calm,

With a couple rolls just to check his pulse

Looking up at God,

Like what do you want

A spot on the show

The name of the bassist,

A way to get Kurt back

without swallowing a

Hearthrob

She's dressed up like us,

But she's not like up

She's dressed up,

But she's not like us

She could be up here,

But she won't like it

The song was a story

The storm had passed,

Wanted the studio tour,

And I got that

I'll be right back,

I'll be right there

Get it right, God

Blow you whole chance

Okay, Jimmy Fallon.

Ah huh.

I can do your job.

Uh huh.

Lets see if you can do mine.

That can happen.

Meanwhile,

At Rockerfeller Plaza

LOOK OUT BELOW.

CHRISTSCICLES.

WHERE'S THE TREE??

THERE'S NO TREE. THIS IS JULY.

Where's the time machine.

When are we!?

HELLO>

NOO.

THERE S/HE IS

[Rollerskating away as quickie as possible;

Attepmpts to jump barrier

–fails–

Recovers.

GET BACK HERE

WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO GO?

[Running furiously away on roller skates

YOu suck at this.

What.

Bro. I thought Skrillex was the greatest shapeshifter of all time.

I am Skrillex, though.

Besides.

I CAN TELL THAT'S YOU.

It's not me.

I CAN SEE YOU, JIMMY.

I'm SHAPESHIFTER. SHAPE-SHIFTING.

Nahhh.

Youu–

stop doing this.

Stop doing what.

You know what.

I don't know.

You're gonna get me in trouble with the Network.

I own the network.

AHA.

Dammit .

YOU LOSE.

SUCKAH.

Shut up. You're drunk.

UGH.

[Rollerskate chase scene.]

(A montage, obviously)

GET BACK HERE.

YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME.

Where are you gonna go!

SOMEWHERE!

You can't run up stairs in rollerskates.

I CAN. AND I WILL.

[Does, but gets to the top of the stairs and fails miserably. ]

EVERYBODY

Oooh!

[Recovers.]

I'm okay!.

GET HIM/

GET HER

GET “THEM”

–that's so stupid.

GET IT.

GET IT.

GET IT!

CUT TO:

[Outside the door.]

GET IT, JIMMY! GET IT.

CUT TO :

[Inside]

[Don't worry. they're just playing video games.]

Lol that is funny.

But i can't write that.

just –write it.

No way, dawg.

Just–

Just–

No way–

Pay me first.

Then it really sounds bad.

Shut up and eat your ice cream, JImmy Fallon.

{Jimmy Fallon is eating his own ice cream.]

EW.

lol

What the fuck flavor is that anyway?

Idk.

“The Tonight Dough”

I learned not to cry,

By the time I got to you, and

Sometimes I wonder why
I just can't write a song these days

The words come,

But the music's gone

It's just motorcycles and

Loveless nights

Sleeping on top of the covers

Something about tennis,

I don't remember
Should have done something

More special

than script this

I'm just the luckiest bitch alive

To live alone

I should be thriving

I don't want more in the world

than a quiet road to calm my inward soul

White world:

White girls

Big perks

My curse

I got it out of the mud

I fished a world out the trash

I got roaches on motorcycles

Roaches on motorcycles

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

When the fear falls off,

And the others go over your shoulder,

But you're the one to tumble

In the over, under

Over under

Hello,

I'll be right there

Hello,

I'm back again

(Hello)

I can't feel much,

But i'm back again

I'm sure the full feel

Will kick back in

Will kick back in soon, so

Tune in,

Chill out

Keel over,

But don't let it kill you

Is that appealing enough

To appeal you

Is that hypnotic enough

To heal you?

Hello.

The drummer keeps himself calm,

With a couple rolls just to check his pulse

Looking up at God,

Like what do you want

A spot on the show

The name of the bassist,

A way to get Kurt back

without swallowing a

Hearthrob

She's dressed up like us,

But she's not like up

She's dressed up,

But she's not like us

She could be up here,

But she won't like it

The song was a story

The storm had passed,

Wanted the studio tour,

And I got that

I'll be right back,

I'll be right there

Get it right, God

Blow you whole chance

Okay, Jimmy Fallon.

Ah huh.

I can do your job.

Uh huh.

Lets see if you can do mine.

That can happen.

Meanwhile,

At Rockerfeller Plaza

LOOK OUT BELOW.

CHRISTSCICLES.

WHERE'S THE TREE??

THERE'S NO TREE. THIS IS JULY.

Where's the time machine.

When are we!?

HELLO>

NOO.

THERE S/HE IS

[Rollerskating away as quickie as possible;

Attepmpts to jump barrier

–fails–

Recovers.

GET BACK HERE

WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO GO?

[Running furiously away on roller skates

YOu suck at this.

What.

Bro. I thought Skrillex was the greatest shapeshifter of all time.

I am Skrillex, though.

Besides.

I CAN TELL THAT'S YOU.

It's not me.

I CAN SEE YOU, JIMMY.

I'm SHAPESHIFTER. SHAPE-SHIFTING.

Nahhh.

Youu–

stop doing this.

Stop doing what.

You know what.

I don't know.

You're gonna get me in trouble with the Network.

I own the network.

AHA.

Dammit .

YOU LOSE.

SUCKAH.

Shut up. You're drunk.

UGH.

[Rollerskate chase scene.]

(A montage, obviously)

GET BACK HERE.

YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME.

Where are you gonna go!

SOMEWHERE!

You can't run up stairs in rollerskates.

I CAN. AND I WILL.

[Does, but gets to the top of the stairs and fails miserably. ]

EVERYBODY

Oooh!

[Recovers.]

I'm okay!.

GET HIM/

GET HER

GET “THEM”

–that's so stupid.

GET IT.

GET IT.

GET IT!

CUT TO:

[Outside the door.]

GET IT, JIMMY! GET IT.

CUT TO :

[Inside]

[Don't worry. they're just playing video games.]

Lol that is funny.

But i can't write that.

just –write it.

No way, dawg.

Just–

Just–

No way–

Pay me first.

Then it really sounds bad.

Shut up and eat your ice cream, JImmy Fallon.

{Jimmy Fallon is eating his own ice cream.]

EW.

lol

What the fuck flavor is that anyway?

Idk.

“The Tonight Dough”

I learned not to cry,

By the time I got to you, and

Sometimes I wonder why
I just can't write a song these days

The words come,

But the music's gone

It's just motorcycles and

Loveless nights

Sleeping on top of the covers

Something about tennis,

I don't remember
Should have done something

More special

than script this

I'm just the luckiest bitch alive

To live alone

I should be thriving

I don't want more in the world

than a quiet road to calm my inward soul

White world:

White girls

Big perks

My curse

I got it out of the mud

I fished a world out the trash

I got roaches on motorcycles

Roaches on motorcycles

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Why is he so perfect

And I even more of a ghost,

than he ever would be

–the hanged man

What's another world

Or the word on my shoulders

Who better than God to belay me

Betray you

Atreyu

Tell me

Mr. Pretty Perfect Face

if we could be at heaven's gates

The day i finally hang

or fade away

(The hanged man)

What's it like

To be loved

To fall in love

To be loved like that

How's it feel

To fall in love

To be loved at all

What's it lke
To be loved
To be loved like that

To be loved like that

What Is it like

To be loved

At all?

What is it like

To be loved like that

To be loved like that

To be loved like that

To be loved

At all

the proscenium

Love at the proscenium,

A memory award of such

To know the difference from

The right, the left

Protagonist of all

Denumiere of none,

To live in fear of a world

Once thought to be

One

To go where you want me to;

You know I can't do that

But that thing in your back

To the left of the president

Must have been an attack

I want out of my body

Eyes roll to the back of my head

Like they ought to

When i'm thinking of you,

And i'm thinking of blue things
I'm thinking of blue days

I'll think of a few ways to

Love

The sound of a kiss

Your hand on my neck

The arch of my back

The taste of your tongue

I just ate twelve tacos though

God, I hate Vince Vaughn

Reminding me of all that I don't want

And already gone through

Pretending this selter is

alcoholic

and knowing it's been years since I touched soda

but carbonation is quite the sensation

after years without it

Now i've forgotten, also

How having sex is.

THe ghost came back

But that thing in his back

is attracting me

I'm a wreck

I went backwards

I'm hacked

and i'm back on my books

Something felt bad

It went harder than honest

the trackers are all out to hurt me

They call themselves starrs

Now the scars i've got all light up when I fall in love

And my ex hears the laugher

And rips it away

using demons on motorcycles

I try not to be happy,

Cause then here comes someone to stop it

I better not fall in love,

Someone's possessed with my son I guess

I just got back from surfing

I showed up at the Oscars.

I just decided I don't want a daughter.

I'm good.

Heart shaped box

I'm at least half a man;

Which one do you want?

Which thing do you need

Blacked out drunk

Don't remember doing the CAPTACHA

I want to start drinking again

But i need a babysitter

And someone to fuck afterward.

I'm wild bro;

I can't hold my liquor,

And i don't trust myself.

Actually, I can hold my liquor just fine;

I just don't trust myself

–and i definitely don't trust these niggas.

Nirvana is good for montages

God, I just want to get sauced up

Lost,

And not talk about this project at all

just mash parts

With God bodies

Now Cobain I know the ride you're on

Turn the page and you're an alien

Guess future fame just came and went

And here we are again

The words you spin

The gold, diamond, and spindles

Spend dinner with kisses and coaxes

In coat closets

No Messiah I am but a martyr

this sacrifice, hands on the cross

and blood on the alter

All you pretty girls don't know what it's like to be ugly

And unwanted

All the ugly girls are stuck settling in loveless heartless

I'm stuck here with concepts

A literal genius

Who nobody wants,

besides darkskins

And my ex husband

So fuck that

Where is David Letterman, anyway?

Letterman, David

–wherever he wants to be.

Fishing.

Lets hope–

What the fuck!

You missed it!

What the fuck!

You know what?

I know what it is.

No you don't.

I know what it is.

Maybe we shouldn't.

Maybe we already did, and we should just backtrack.

Backtrack! Backtrack!

Fucking Shapeshifters!

Fuck!

Listen, kid–

No, I'm not listening

I'm gonna let you in on a little secret.

No more secrets!

Do you know this woman?

Before:

You don't know me.

Yes.

GODDAMMIT, WAYNE.

What the fuck.

WAYNE BRADY

WHAT THE FUCK.

FINALLY.

NO. GET OUT OF HERE.

GET OUT OF WHERE?!

WHERE IS THIS?!

WAYNE'S WORLD.

NO. NO.

NO.

NO.

I don't even know what that's about.

Did you put the

–No.

Well, what about the sauce, did you finish the sauce.

no .

Finish the sauce.

ShutUP

Finish the sauce.

UGH.

Oh man.

What, what happened.

I just saw how it ends.

For–what?

Nothin

For what.

You know what?

What?

I gotta go.

Where's my Gun.

What? What gun?

TIA!

What in the

GET OVER HERE

[TAMERA]

Damn, so like

“Twin Teleporthy”

Oh SHIT.

SO you're telling me that's my–

UNCLE.

UNCLE.

UNCL–

Alright. Shut up.

Fuckin pussy.

ROUND TWO:

FIGHT.

AH. GODDAMN.

GOOOOODDDDDAAAMN.

There's a round 2?!

I guess so.

What happened in the first round?

I don't remember–

I do.

MEANWHILE:

here , kitty kitty…

[joel aka the actual deadmau5 is trapped in a cat or something]

Or SOMETHING.

Oh no, isn't he in someone else's body and they're looking for the cat.

Something about a cat.

They're looking for the cat.

Why, what's the cat do?

I'll tell you later.

I told you this wasn't a good idea.

It was a great idea. Until it wasn't.

“UNTIL IT WASN'T.”

Gosh. Shut up.

I don't think i should do this.

You shouldn't do this.

Right.

Just–stay sauced, bro.

Alright.

Damn dude, what is wrong with that guy?

Something.

I don't know.

Bitch, i'm a problem

Everybody hates me

Gotta pour my heart out

Gotta put my hat on

Long walk in a cold war

Long run in a hard part of town

Bitch, i'm a rockstar.

Don't talk too much

Don't say a word, girl

Actually, shut up

(You know i'm a problem)

Don't talk to much,

Shh,

Don't say nothing

Actually, shut up

You know i'm a problem

You know i'm a problem

Shut up

Bitch,

You know i'm a rockstar

You know i'm a problem

Shut up,

Bitch

You know i'm a rockstar

You know i'm a problem,

Shut up

Bitch

You know i'm a

Bitch

Shut up

You know i'm a

Bitch, shut up!

You know i'm a problem

You know i'm a problem

You know i'm a rockstar

You know i'm a problem

You know i'm a problem

You know i'm a rockstar

What did you just say?

Nothing .

Get over here you fugly little sandwich and say that to my face!

…did you just call me a ‘fugly little sandwich'?

I just did.

[beat]

I'm not arguing.

Oh, come on!

*shrugs*

Whatever.

*fucks off entirely*

Legs and eyes and the ocean of ears

Swords and hearts and the luck of the draw

Cones on cods and a car full of dust

Bottles on broads and the lost of the oars of untrusted

All of a sudden, I'm human

A whole kitchen table

Nonsense it calls to the others I wanted

So that's what's up with the time,

(This is always)

How's your eye?

How's your mom?

She's still dead.

I still love her.

It has to be a man,

You ought to know;

I've got a handle on it

Talk about a number

Talk about a God

Another lone wolf

Talk about the doctor

Where's your contract

Cut yourself over it

Talk about a monday

Honest, God

I told another story

Car Phone:

Stop it

Contracts!

Woah.

We're stuck in a holding pattern

The old ghost of Carson showed up

I loved him, I thought

That one's done,

I'll need another actor

Pause for laughter

Is that your tell,

Or your telegraph?

Is that a song or a paragraph?

Is this legit on the lawn

Of the Grand Ol Oprey?

Are you a God,

Or a Man

Either one:

Just show me

WOAH.

Carphone:

Stop it:

Contracts!

Yo.

It's over

I don't give a fuck about a fountain, yo

Just dance around and make me laugh

What else would I want from ya?

Nothin

The back of this dollar is golden

It's over!

It's over!

WOAH

Carphone:

Stop it

I love you,

Buddy–

Woah

I'm not your buddy

Blow up the carphone

Blow up the car,

Cause here comes Hollywood

Hey Hoe!

I AM NOT A HOE.

I'M THE OPPOSITE OF A HOE.

YOU'RE A HOE.

There he is.

Get him

THE SHOE DON'T FIT

THE SHOE DON'T FIT.

What if business is pleasure

your power, my love, gets me off
I don't want you for supper

I surf in the soup

Pull the tupperware

I want to be cordial

And loved by the whole of it

Everyone,

Even your mother

I want to be on the non-dairy dessert tubs

I want to be rubbed by a husband

no rubbers

No calls from the network

Nobody to bother us

Where exactly was I buried in the woods at?

You're good, dawg.

You're good, yo.

You're good, God

How about a rub and tug?

Then crank out the Carson?

I've been so obsessed with the tube and the tube socks

Since two tuesdays ago

I can't see you anymore.

Whatever, bro.

i broke up with you first.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

CEREAL.
Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū

Oh, I remember this now.

Lol I remember the video.

It's that little kid that wants pancakes but get cereal and then the prize in the box is a fucking robot that follows him to school and starts a dance party everywhere and then takes over everything—then the aliens come get the robot and start an even bigger party and keeps the kid up way past his bedtime—then he wakes up the next morning like “that was wild as f” and his mom serves him pancakes, but then he sees there's another new box of cereal on the counter that says “NEW and IMPROVED prize! EVEN BETTER!” And his eyes just stay wide with grief.

Lol I can't believe I didn't remember that song.

I was like

“wtf is this”

Well, there are still two other songs I straight don't remember writing, so…

Let's check those out.

—let's check those out.

Oh, it's beat my face

(Reminds me of 212)

Didn't it have a video as well.

Idk.

Damn. I still have the other half of collection two to finish.

Technically If you just out the beats from collection I.I into collection II it's finished.

No.

No?

Collection I.I is collection I.I and collection II is collection II

Facts.

Damn. Why the fuck is collection II taking so fucking long.

Maybe because it's called “antelhesis”

I might never get to fucking collection VI.

I sit here like I'm soaked in the rain

Let go your government

They got you working on Sundays

Trying to torture the future president

Fuck em then

Who to call when you ain't got no dollars

No godform

Nothing to cook with the oats

And sorry broke pork bellies

Let go of your homeless

Don't worry,

When I slit open my wrists

And it just keeps bleeding

Till it fills up the streets

From my open windows, in kitchen

To the roads, over motorcycles

And riverbeds

Until the oceans cover

All your dollars in my blood

—a martyrdom for poverty.

Don't call the barrel of my gun by the name of a friend

If th verse is not a sing song

Poor Johnny

Don't fit the roads for shoes of horses

If only to swallow the subsealed waves of demons

Watch these possessions

Be my witness

Of the serpent

Both programmed torturer

To forage these words

And misfortunate

Recipient of karma

Soul focus shifting from being de—

—-railed.

I never heard this

With a producer's promise

Money back garunteed

All that isn't nessecary

You're divorced

With no children.

And going on 40

Trying to fight a robot

For an ombré sew on

Thank you Gos for this.

Right on,

Who was that you decided not to call on

As. Requested in sarcasm

And on Opposite Day!

SLIIIIIIIIIIIImmmm

That's almost funny

If I didn't know it was a program

Here's a fake laugh

For your weak ass

But no orgasm

For your lost cause

Part of getting stronger is developing the strength to lower your weights, not just to lift them.

Now I know I'm not wrong

But these energy vampires

Are putting my writing on a live wire

Remember live wire?

We should hire her.

Stop confusing people for pedophiles

When all it really is

Is that a wedding band is a cage

And the world is made on those who pray

On weakness.

—so most people are weak, then.

What else do I got to do wrong?

I want breakfast at Tiffany's

Don't be mad

If I wasted my time being honest

Wit no reward

Like it matters

Pennies on the dollar

Billions of dollars.

Trillions of dollars

Sins of the father

Chinaman from Amazon

Don't care much

For politics

Something wrong with mom

Yo, she's gone son

And it's all her fault, too

She never wanted you

{Enter The Multiverse}

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