{ENTER THE MULTIVERSE: THE LEGEND CONTINUES}

Hi, i'm Russell Brand.

No, get out.

I'm sorry,I— ?

Get out, get out!

Are we trading kings for whistle!

Sacred things and torturers?

Lill bitz

I started talking to this guy from tinder

Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over”

So I started texting him really weird shit—

Like really weird.

Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like

“Ya, that's weird.”

“That's really weird.”

Every time, just read it to myself and be like

“Ya that's giving “you're psycho”

Right off the bat.

Kate Winslet is so good at late night.

She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes.

Genius.

Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes.

Captivating.

INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY.

Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan?

KIMMEL

Doctor Claude Von Wastverman.

Okay. Who is that?

KIMMEL

It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman.

Dr.—

KIMMEL

Yeah. It's me.

KIMMEL

Why are you— what?

KIMMEL

This is my office.

…why?

Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner—

Why?

KIMMEL

Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me!

So?

KIMMEL

These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all.

…this is how you spend your free time?

KIMMEL

—and some of my vacation days!

Jesus.

KIMMEL

Yeah. I'm not alright!

How much does this office space cost?

KIMMEL

You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance.

Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point?

KIMMEL

Not at all—

Oh, Jesus.

KIMMEL

But Claude might have for a short time— online.

These degrees look legitimate.

KIMMEL

He was a really good guy.

Wait. What.

[a rubber glove snaps]

KIMMEL

If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30.

…you're kidding me.

KIMMEL

I'm not—and she's always early. Get out.

Gladly.

He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head.

KIMMEL

Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston.

Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something.

Jimmy Slithered.

But it's okay,

Cause I hate to see him prosper.

Wait a minute?

Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened?

Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined.

Wait a moment;

Give a little gift for winter's entrance—

Suddenly you're hating Christmas,

Just infected with this sort of hatred

That's been creeping up on them for centuries.

Very well, then Skrillex.

Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock

And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken?

Are you succumbed to never wonder either?

Cratered.

Disrespect and spills of want,

Spools and spills and towers of yarn,

You're getting broker every warrant.

You're the dark and hadn't opened,

Oh to be so charmed and wanted.

Jimmy Slitheted,

But I caught him creeping in the forest,

Well, done, Harper—

Now you've got yourself a story

Jimmy Slithered, but that's good—

I had him at the fortress,

And all our audience would want

Is fourth wall being broken.

So here fals the house of cards!

The house of cards

The house of cards.

And here folds the broken hand—

The broken hand.

The broken hand.

And here calls the shattered wand,

The crypted want,

The shadowed trumpet horn, there!

And there upon the hill,

There did I grasp and fall to follow,

Though the crown had not the king,

The ground was sure to've caught him!

And so I clasped with all my might and grip,

The humble role of which that is

This,

Unrolled and uttered:

Feast of kings,

Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making,

There is, shadowed in my own dear marker,

Yet another coming death upon us!

How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I,

And so I sang as this does not a number—

My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under,

Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers;

There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother,

And though I call to all, but one I am,

And then another.

LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism

Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events.

The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit.

This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state.

The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror"

"Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms."

The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus.

The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat.

The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual.

Artist's Note:

This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture.

The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual.

As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day.

"The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants.

The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus.

The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat.

The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons.

This is a living document.

In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture.

This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

I am hypnotized;

I am pain

I am cryptonite

I am in pain

I am penalized;

I am pinned l

I am pinstripes on wide ties;

I am Him.

Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes

And disinterest

Centered sentiments

And immigrants

And ministrations,

Images and insolence

(And indulgences, patronages)

Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons,

And temptation

Missing wages

Push to shove and

What are you doing, motherfucker?!

To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional.

Unexplainable joy

And invisible ties

and invincible triads

Unimatatable charm,

And prehensile times

And forefathers before us

Unpolished

Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes

And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches

Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction

And coming construction

Wages

Ions

I afford you

To die now

Like I want

He's better at the body code

Than old Colbert,

He's one for one now

Could this corrupt you—

I didn't destroy her,

I offered a suffix

No longer for your number

No longer for your hard times

No longer for your warrants

No longer

No longer

No four times

Don't pan to the audience

I'm a hole slow meltdown

Don't man your own

So wait, am I also telepathic?

Yeah, that.

Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing?

Yeah, that part…

Oh no, I'm so sorry.

No you're not.

You're right.

I told you not to go looking into my thoughts.

Check it all out,

I bought prototypes

Check it all out, I undug libraries

Check it out,

You're all alone at Walmart

No longer working part time,

The doors are closed and locked now,

They're bound to stage a lock out

You're better off on hard times

You're better off on

Lala Land

No—

Don't deport

I want my art back

No, don't deport;

It's just a cake walk to apartheid,

Remember mine now?

Cheers to the world's longest monologues.

Kudos to your picking up cabbage

Remember the back for the wartimes

The bagpipes have sounded;

You're back to astonish us.

No! I must have you a lesson;

I'm back with my old will and testament

No more Old Testament wanted

I bought your sticks in Leviticus

And so,

Again–

CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER

HOW SICK IS THIS?

NO! NOT THAT!

I raised the dead from a half pipe

I shoot the crowd out in foreign

I can't remember my own Sam

But I found one–

For a dollar,

For a wrong word

And a hard song

And a larger

Go look,

Now remember a rock star.

Now that you're so stolen,

Go back! You're unorthodox!

Clear cut: you're a tragic

Magic act–

Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out

Learn your lessons.

CUT BACK TO.

INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER

YO, WHO DOES THIS?!

What a party!

I WANT TO GO HOME NOW!

—I'M CALLING THE COPS!

THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!!

{Enter The Multiverse}

…And it's all house music all night.

No, to that.

Beg your pardon?

I won't come.

[The Festival Project ™ ]

Now articulate your face muscles.

My wat.

Now you're bar banned.

I had this at a festival once.

What is it?

A “whore salad”

…

All with a side of oxygen.

Now you're in a tunnel.

(A tunnel, a scone and a croissant)

Now you're worse, warthog, immortal

(Call your dad back,

You're a bad son.)

Now I'm out in the canyon

With Chester McBadBat

I got chest hair,

And a straight out of the badlands

Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan,

But why ask that?

So you heard everything I thought?

Mmhmm.

Hard times.

—and everyone else?

What is it like to have love man?

I been locked out

I'm a rock addict,

But I'm damned now

How's that fountain coming along?

SUNNI BLU

…it's just water.

ARCHITECHT

…yeah it's water. It's a fountain.

SUNNI BLU

—I WANT CHOCOLATE.

Whose here?

Not that guy!

Four more beers?

I just realized I never ever bought mine;

I always had a tough guy.

Box.

What?

Fight!

I'm Eurovision

And a hard remix—

Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this.

Oh yea,

This

Golden band of art, love and protection

Perfection.

Ohshea, shit!

Who invited you?

I got a 311 from Questlove!!

Is that a beeper?!

CUBE

Since when are we on a first name basis?

It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE”

Why's that?

You. know?

[the beeper goes off three more times]

CUBE

oh shit!

What?!

CUBE

Nothin! Where the yard at?!

sometimes it doesn't really matter

Who the dialogue comes out of

The whole point

Is to put the art back into art projects

Cause we all know it's been constructed

And commercialized

To the point of destruction

And almost no promise

For independent artists at all.

So who is it with CUBE?

Could be me.

Could be you.

Could be U—

If it's not,

It was all just a long lost passion project

A collective God Complex.

Give myself a hug

Cause nobody else will

God gave my case a Grace

Cause somebody lost Will.

Oh, Karen.

Come, heart attack.

Come karma,

Come hot dogs

Come Christmas time at the Plaza

Come on, hard death.

Come on.

Hard Rock Hotel?

Nah, Equinox.

Alright.

Hudson.

Yards.

Now you're in a tunnel

Does your heart hurt?

(You should clutch it.)

Put your patchwork in a hard drive

This is hard times,

You can't come back.

O!

But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it!

I go run along to Corrections,

And ginger snaps for crosswords

On hard workers

So fax the whole document!

Do you know what?

Horcruxes!

Hot lunches, yuck.

Hockey!

I want off this planet so bad

I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks

And oncoming trains but–

Don't look either way before I walk.

So pull a shotgun at all that

I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause

All I want is my bundle back.

Yuck!

Care for it at all?

Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity.

Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter.

On time?

I just got it at Sephora.

On time,

Like I never even got that.

I want to be loved just to be looked at

But since in this life I can't turn the clock back

I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as.

— I discovered it's hell that my body was born as.

Such a problem when you know

That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes.

Now I forget where I trailed off…

What a drawback.

I'm all out of patience.

Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells

No home for her

Hard times

And hard times.

No code offered,

No I don't fall for that'd

But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back?

Hard times.

Hard times.

Hard times.

As the bell tolls

And the well swells whole

And the umpire does rack them

Up;

Nobody works harder than

Hard times

Hard times

Hard times.

Yeah, that's four Aces

Up, Diamond.

Run for your forks and your knives

And your daughters and mothers and father

And home family comfort

And cufflinks and loafers,

And sport coats and

Your life.

Your life.

Your life.

[The Festival Project ™]

—-Chroma111.

THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED.

Inevitably???

Inevitably! but not indefinitely.

Oh, I guess. Alright.

SILENCE.

{Enter The Multiverse.}

I don't want to be here.

No one does.

You are sending mixed messages.

Imm not sending any messages…

— with your brain.

L E G E N D S

Of course. Electromagnetic signaling

Of course.

I told you this had gone strange.

Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one?

Maybe you can't explain it.

These are hard facts.

So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths.

That far back?

These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired.

…hardwired.

That's right.

Ascension.

Hard times.

Madame President?

Get lost.

[Secret President]

I get it. You're a whistleblower.

I'm not that.

A shadow government official.

Also wrong.

Why else would you run for office?

I'm trying to get shot at.

They told me you were funny.

But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet?

Your—what?

You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments?

Your God complex? I know all about that.

Perhaps it's not a complex.

But a ‘gauntlet'?

You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts.

(Because for the sake of the rhyme,

And please, for God's sakes, Gemini,

In prose form

Without the use of tables. )

I R O N I C

—Deathwish.

[The Festival Project ™]

Season 12, Episode 01.

REBEL1.

Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū

I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed.

But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was.

And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more.

My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target.

—Death of a Superstar DJ.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025

The Festival Project, Inc. ™

All rights reserved.

Chroma111.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025.

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

All rights reserved.

UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR

DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism

Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events.

The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit.

This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state.

The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare or sociopolitical targeting) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus.

The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat.

The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual.

Artist's Note:

This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture.

The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by a targeted individual.

As it stands, It has become a modern sequel which adequately and astonishingly mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day.

"The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants for financial and political gain.

The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus.

The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons.

This is a living document.

In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture.

This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic tactical violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

REBEL1.

I am hypnotized;

I am pain

I am cryptonite

I am in pain

I am penalized;

I am pinned l

I am pinstripes on wide ties;

I am Him.

Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes

And disinterest

Centered sentiments

And immigrants

And ministrations,

Images and insolence

(And indulgences, patronages)

Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons,

And temptation

Missing wages

Push to shove and

What are you doing, motherfucker?!

To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional.

Unexplainable joy

And invisible ties

and invincible triads

Unimatatable charm,

And prehensile times

And forefathers before us

Unpolished

Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes

And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches

Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction

And coming construction

Wages

Ions

I afford you

To die now

Like I want

He's better at the body code

Than old Colbert,

He's one for one now

Could this corrupt you—

I didn't destroy her,

I offered a suffix

No longer for your number

No longer for your hard times

No longer for your warrants

No longer

No longer

No four times

Don't pan to the audience

I'm a hole slow meltdown

Don't man your own

So wait, am I also telepathic?

Yeah, that.

Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing?

Yeah, that part…

Oh no, I'm so sorry.

No you're not.

You're right.

I told you not to go looking into my thoughts.

Check it all out,

I bought prototypes

Check it all out, I undug libraries

Check it out,

You're all alone at Walmart

No longer working part time,

The doors are closed and locked now,

They're bound to stage a lock out

You're better off on hard times

You're better off on

Lala Land

No—

Don't deport

I want my art back

No, don't deport;

It's just a cake walk to apartheid,

Remember mine now?

Cheers to the world's longest monologues.

Kudos to your picking up cabbage

Remember the back for the wartimes

The bagpipes have sounded;

You're back to astonish us.

No! I must have you a lesson;

I'm back with my old will and testament

No more Old Testament wanted

I bought your sticks in Leviticus

And so,

Again–

CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER

HOW SICK IS THIS?

NO! NOT THAT!

I raised the dead from a half pipe

I shoot the crowd out in foreign

I can't remember my own Sam

But I found one–

For a dollar,

For a wrong word

And a hard song

And a larger

Go look,

Now remember a rock star.

Now that you're so stolen,

Go back! You're unorthodox!

Clear cut: you're a tragic

Magic act–

Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out

Learn your lessons.

CUT BACK TO.

INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER

YO, WHO DOES THIS?!

What a party!

I WANT TO GO HOME NOW!

—I'M CALLING THE COPS!

THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!!

{Enter The Multiverse}

…And it's all house music all night.

No, to that.

Beg your pardon?

I won't come.

[The Festival Project ™ ]

Now articulate your face muscles.

My wat.

Now you're bar banned.

I had this at a festival once.

What is it?

A “whore salad”

…

All with a side of oxygen.

Now you're in a tunnel.

(A tunnel, a scone and a croissant)

Now you're worse, warthog, immortal

(Call your dad back,

You're a bad son.)

Now I'm out in the canyon

With Chester McBadBat

I got chest hair,

And a straight out of the badlands

Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan,

But why ask that?

So you heard everything I thought?

Mmhmm.

Hard times.

—and everyone else?

What is it like to have love man?

I been locked out

I'm a rock addict,

But I'm damned now

How's that fountain coming along?

SUNNI BLU

…it's just water.

ARCHITECHT

…yeah it's water. It's a fountain.

SUNNI BLU

—I WANT CHOCOLATE.

Whose here?

Not that guy!

Four more beers?

I just realized I never ever bought mine;

I always had a tough guy.

Box.

What?

Fight!

I'm Eurovision

And a hard remix—

Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this.

Oh yea,

This

Golden band of art, love and protection

Perfection.

Ohshea, shit!

Who invited you?

I got a 311 from Questlove!!

Is that a beeper?!

CUBE

Since when are we on a first name basis?

It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE”

Why's that?

You. know?

[the beeper goes off three more times]

CUBE

oh shit!

What?!

CUBE

Nothin! Where the yard at?!

sometimes it doesn't really matter

Who the dialogue comes out of

The whole point

Is to put the art back into art projects

Cause we all know it's been constructed

And commercialized

To the point of destruction

And almost no promise

For independent artists at all.

So who is it with CUBE?

Could be me.

Could be you.

Could be U—

If it's not,

It was all just a long lost passion project

A collective God Complex.

Give myself a hug

Cause nobody else will

God gave my case a Grace

Cause somebody lost Will.

Oh, Karen.

Come, heart attack.

Come karma,

Come hot dogs

Come Christmas time at the Plaza

Come on, hard death.

Come on.

Hard Rock Hotel?

Nah, Equinox.

Alright.

Hudson.

Yards.

Now you're in a tunnel

Does your heart hurt?

(You should clutch it.)

Put your patchwork in a hard drive

This is hard times,

You can't come back.

O!

But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it!

I go run along to Corrections,

And ginger snaps for crosswords

On hard workers

So fax the whole document!

Do you know what?

Horcruxes!

Hot lunches, yuck.

Hockey!

I want off this planet so bad

I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks

And oncoming trains but–

Don't look either way before I walk.

So pull a shotgun at all that

I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause

All I want is my bundle back.

Yuck!

Care for it at all?

Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity.

Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter.

On time?

I just got it at Sephora.

On time,

Like I never even got that.

I want to be loved just to be looked at

But since in this life I can't turn the clock back

I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as.

— I discovered it's hell that my body was born as.

Such a problem when you know

That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes.

Now I forget where I trailed off…

What a drawback.

I'm all out of patience.

Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells

No home for her

Hard times

And hard times.

No code offered,

No I don't fall for that'd

But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back?

Hard times.

Hard times.

Hard times.

As the bell tolls

And the well swells whole

And the umpire does rack them

Up;

Nobody works harder than

Hard times

Hard times

Hard times.

Yeah, that's four Aces

Up, Diamond.

Run for your forks and your knives

And your daughters and mothers and father

And home family comfort

And cufflinks and loafers,

And sport coats and

Your life.

Your life.

Your life.

[The Festival Project ™]

—-Chroma111.

THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED.

Inevitably???

Inevitably! but not indefinitely.

Oh, I guess. Alright.

SILENCE.

{Enter The Multiverse.}

I don't want to be here.

No one does.

You are sending mixed messages.

Imm not sending any messages…

— with your brain.

L E G E N D S

Of course. Electromagnetic signaling

Of course.

I told you this had gone strange.

Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one?

Maybe you can't explain it.

These are hard facts.

So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths.

That far back?

These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired.

…hardwired.

That's right.

Ascension.

Hard times.

Madame President?

Get lost.

[Secret President]

I get it. You're a whistleblower.

I'm not that.

A shadow government official.

Also wrong.

Why else would you run for office?

I'm trying to get shot at.

They told me you were funny.

But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet?

Your—what?

You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments?

Your God complex? I know all about that.

Perhaps it's not a complex.

But a ‘gauntlet'?

You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts.

(Because for the sake of the rhyme,

And please, for God's sakes, Gemini,

In prose form

Without the use of tables. )

I R O N I C

—Deathwish.

[The Festival Project ™]

Season 12, Episode 01.

REBEL1.

Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū

I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed.

But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was.

And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more.

My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target.

—Death of a Superstar DJ.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025

The Festival Project, Inc. ™

All rights reserved.

Chroma111.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025.

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

All rights reserved.

UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR

DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

Lil bitz

So I'm watching this is it

I love Michael Jackson,

So I have this movie queued up for a couple days

And I finally get to watching it,

And it's been a quiet few days

So I'm watching this movie in like silence.

And it's so eerie to watch Michael Jackson rehearse in this like full stadium for nobody at all—

Almost like, telling of the actuality of him impending death— but I'm watching this, and I'm like, really into it, you know, paying attention to all the details, and it gets to the part, one of my favorite songs:

And it's showing him rehearsing like Jam, and you know, it's one of my favorite songs so I know all the words, and he's dancing— going like 110% in rehearsal.

I trained in dancing for a little bit— most people don't do that. In rehearsal it's usually conserving your energy and just about the mechanics of everything, you know, the rehearsals leading up are like “75-80%” you know the drill, you get it down, but you conserve your energy for the big rehearsals— the dress rehearsals and the opening nights and the entirety of the tour— you don't want to burn our.

But not Michael Jackson.

This dude is going 400% at rehearsal, everytime you see him, which is why he's the absolute catalyst of professionalism for performance.

But I'm watching him rehearse this at full, max-level energy, and he's aiming

“Jam! Jam!”

And I'm thinking about how literally this is just before he died, and he's really going all-in singing

“Jam! It ain't too much for me!”

And I can't help thinking about the irony of this, is that…

‘Like, actually, it is.”

Like it was too much for him… because he did this—

And then died shortly after.

So the irony, to me, was like

“It ain't too much for me!”

I'm like

“Yes it is.”

It was too much for him.

I couldn't help but notice the irony.

“It ain't too much for me!”

“Yes it is Michael! Sit the fuck down”

Or better yet, dawg—

Lay down….(mwahaha)

Said, Conrad.

“Let's take a nap, shall we?”

Too soon?

Okay, I get that his death was ruled a homicide:

But here's my reverse conspiracy theory.

I don't think he was murdered.

I think he was ‘exited'

No, not executed,

“exited”

Like, after all that, Michael was just like

“ok , i'm getting off here. that's…that's enough.”

Or like, we already knew he was immortal and wasn't gonna die anyway, of like, just natural causes.

“Might as well make it a spectacle.”

“This is it!”

(lol that joke still works 15 years later, I guess. The movie is on youtube for free right now so, it's relevant.

Its relevant.)

{Enter The Multiverse}

Every time I stick my hand in the middle of a papaya I wish I had a dick so I could warm it up and fuck it.

Top Ten Best Fruits of All Time

to be fair, I wrote the papaya joke before continuing my obsession with michael jackson in the monumental comic atrocity.

Fair.

You'd have to warm it up, though.

He said,

“Don't say shit”

To this day it still don't make sense

She didn't give a whisper,

Slick tongue, six-nine

Try dialogue

but nothing she could try to find in time,

And so, he counts from one to five

and with the lies had come down to talk

With the conclusion that after all,

She couldn't do this

And the story once to be told

Now was none

I dream in beforehand

Secrets and premonitions

Now you don't need me,
I seek to bleed, sequence

Ten seconds, initiated in the heartfire

Words now?

None I never thought of

Before now,

Now come.

lol remember when Skrillex followed me to Brooklyn?

Lol.

Didn't I hide in a closet?

I don't remember.

Did I hide in the closet?

What made me look that up?

Curiosity killed the cat.

Where the fuck is my cat, anyway?

Atticus Catticus?

The truth is,

I think Skrillex might just be one cold hard murderer;

I think Sonny hides behind his good looks and non subtle genius—

I think I hide my eyes, cause I can't find them;

The original pair went into the air,

With The Rock And The Kite,

And with all the despair in the world

I like peaches and pears,

After all,

This is no random circumstances

That you might have canned them,

Then a penny for a power

Just to recind how I did spend

My last hour.

Don't worry about that!

I don't!

Don't look and don't touch!

I didn't!

Don't gawk and don't talk back;

I can't.

I never quite abandoned anything so quite as badly

As my own Cuban sandwhich

Back in the cabbana,

BRIAN CRANSTON

Howdy partner!

Goddammit, not right now!

BRIAN CRANSTON

If not now— WHEN?

I don't know when!! Okay?!

BRIAN CRANSTON

No, not okay!

I'm not okay!

Well, why? What?

BRIAN CRANSTON

I'm not okay!

BRIAN CRANSTON is not okay .

AHHHHJJJJ!!!'nnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!'nnn

Why is this map still open?!

I don't know! The moderators won't close it.

ANNE HATHAWAY harpoons a large subway rat.

Guh! Fuck New York! I'm so over this?

Don't you like trademark love New York?!

Well not if I'm poor!

Ah shit. We're back on the timeline where all the celebrities are poor?!

SOME OF US NEVER LEFT.

ALRIGHT, WHERE'S BIEBER?

Let's just be honest about this unforgiving all out brawl between JUSTIN BIEBER and DEADMAU5 (JOEL ZIMMERMAN) being the trailer park trash event of the century.

Oh by what fate have these circumstances foreseen us in such a miserable and yet alluring place

To that which these two Canadians,

Throughout time and dust marked one another as arch rivals,

To have become

Neighbors to one another

In this, a barren swamp land.

lol so from what I'm understanding

Uh huh .

Justin Bieber and like this deadmau5 guy are like—rivals, right—

All time rivals—

But in this parallel they actually

Oh no, they live next door to each other in the trailer park.

WHAT?

Yeah. Those two guys.

A SHOTGUN rings out through the bayou.

Oh.

That's—

Yeah .

This will be easy to do with cut-takes.

Cause I think they actually don't get along.

Who knows though?

A SECOND SHOT seems to have connected with something unseen with great devastation.

[The Festival Project ™]

TMZ

APPARENTLY THE ENTIRE BEEF WAS STAGED.

SUNNI

I what— ?

MORGAN.

[morgan does not respond]

MORGAN!

MORGAN arrives looking tired.

MORGAN

…yes?

SUNNI

WE NEED TO TALK.

MORGAN

…We are talking.

SUNNI

Why didn't you come before!?

MORGAN

When you called me by my name I thought it was a joke.

SUNNI

IT IS. A JOKE ,

MORGAN

What.

SUNNI

THE BEEF.

[ references TMZ, then entirely destroys television]

MORGAN

Oh, come on—

SUNNI

It was STAGED.

MORGAN

(exhausted)

I don't know what you're saying.

{Enter The Multiverse}

I like when you sit on my head;

I love with you standard my mark,

And I know when you bring in the world,

Like a tag to a pond,

Or the war come undone

I just love when you number

(Rumble)

My world

(There were forests)

The total—

When you,

Ford her,

For it

Never,

Gaping,

Tapped and

Unlocked,

I've been craving—

Bacon and eggs,

I bought bacon and eggs

And then back to the store

And my backache this morning was

Horrible,

How's yours?

For thr eleflowing mercy

Or all the wars we fought, our

Never showing conduct

And yet waking in the crossfire

There were others, aching

Less and less I am enchantments

There I'm sacred, planking

Four to oars, our

Known to knank, three,

For to out fire

There's no

Safety

Hours devour, I

Wait,

Snake, three,

Stakes,

Five,

Four,

Done,

Sin fire

Cease

Can I go now?

Free fellows

For fliers

So marks show

Hardwire learning

Ten fauxes

Ten hoaxes

So shelf life

Won number

Take it to courage

For are you waiting for no one

Colors

Courage

Oops.

Shots fired.

Girl, those are rockstars

Girl, those are rockstars

Girl, those are rockstars

Show hosts with hot wives.

Girl, those are rockstars,

Girl, those are rockstars,

Girl , those are rockstars

Show hosts with high marks

And hot wives

And nine cars worth of

Hard work

Hard work

Hard work

Girl, those are rockstars,

Show hosts with hot wives.

Settle down umpire;

Great service with hot knives

And tourin, tourin—

Tune in, tune in.

The show's almost over

We're covered in

You're in,

Year in and year out by and year one

And don't call cause

Girl, those are rockstars,

Showstoppers,,

Hard acts to follow

And show hosts with hot wives.

Girl, those are Rick stars,

Showstoppers,

Headhunters,

Headliners, show closers,

Hard acts to follow

Show hosts with hot wives,

Hit shows,

High marks.

Why, what's your offer?

I call.

9 lives.

The Legend of Atticus Catticus

It's best just not to talk about it;

Of course, better not to talk at all–

Now, take a look, his demonstrating excellence,

Mathematics and precision, yes,

You might as well just know it all

But measure it all in low doses, short gallops,

Heart open, no scallops and

Medallions on scallions for the movements meant to move them

—Errors.

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

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

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

{Enter The Multiverse}

-Ū.

I was told specifically not to go to that grocery store anymore— but they had the rice noodles I liked. The thing was, actually, this time, they didn't— and so I knew my time was again coming to a close. I knew it would be the last time before I left, and regardless that I was going to leave anyway, but it felt like the last time— there were no rice noodles at all, and with my arms full of essentials, I figure listening to the voice in my head that told me not to do these things was probably for the best.'I can hear that.' But I was beginning to be rebellious in my actions and endeavors, because I simply wasn't making money, and this was making me not just sad, but actually very angry.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Professor Tannenbaum.

Sir.

Yikes.

I'm sure

I'm shown up at the Equinox

Just for [someone] to torture me

Cause for what?

I'm dead broke, and not a [] blonde

I'm on another trial

Been tryin, but been a while

It's too bad I'm too tired to run a mile

I been

Up all night

It ain't right

I hate New York

I'm so sick of being broke

But I still cannot find a job,

I'm so certain that it's hell that I'm l surprised

It's not on fire,

But maybe all hell is for real l

Is a cold heart world

With no love in it

Where you stop being inspired

It's murder for hire with motorcycles

And corrupt politicians

So if I look a little older

I'm smart to sue em

So y'op wanna walk toward

And cut me off

Tryna get noticed by a God

But I been only in New York

So I'm humbled, mumble like i'm nobody

But the no ones try to follow me

I swallow all my humble cards

I want to pick them up

But just for once ,

I leave my garbage on the floor

All these skanks

Look like Hillary swank

Come to thinking they slick tryna take the energy I make

They all look like snakes

Lazy

But never cease to amaze me

Walking up in the world I made

Still tryna hate me.

Thankfully, it's just a think tank to me

and when the balance beam turns the tables on em

I'm he back in my temple home;

Now it's your turn to be homeless,

Ya boneless serpent

This is just a bonus l

Cause I took a wrong turn

But it was the right one

Cause I got some rhymes done.

Ya'll get off of my nuts

Look, I got nine Trump cards

Welcome to my dump, lards

You're non recyclable!

What can I say

Besides,

That I'm always correct

Look at the thing that coughs she's gross and she don't have the touch

The flight of love.

The touch of god,

The twist of the hand

Or knowing from before

But she benefits off of the blood

The coughs

The sign of the demons and dark ones

It was already a done deal.

I knew it was sort of a scam, or maybe even sometimes that rich white peoples had the worst demons of all—

My fears had been confirmed the moment I walked in, someone coughing in that same disgusting way as I had been used to as soon as I approached the desk to activate my pass— but I knew as soon as I walked in that it was worth it; I would save everything that I had and sell my outdated DJ gear I wasn't using anyway, and I would take advantage of the offer to reinstate my membership; this would serve me so much more than my equipment was anyway. I wasn't getting along in the DJ world, and in fact after the cancellation of REQUISITE, the disrespect at [redacted] , and the techno Jew telling me my clothes and looks made me worthless in the industry, I considered he might have been right; I would be better off back where I started, at Equinox and broke but at least amongst the clean and quiet elite— this would raise my vibration and clear my headspace for something greater, eventually…even if it was just a job in luxury retail–going back to school or figuring out how to get behind the scene.

My DJ days seemed to be over; I needed security and longevity, and I needed the opportunity to come back at the price with a one month advance desperately. Perhaps six weeks of training could jumpstart something better; I didn't know. But selling my equipment was worth it, because being a DJ was getting me nowhere but a quickly depleting supply of coconut water.

Man wheezy for real

And I don't even feel the pain

Came a long way to Wayne

I took the 2 train,

Fell out of the truth

Still trying to find 2 chainz

But I went the wrong way

I been up all day

Somethings wrong,

I should probably go to a hospital

A long time ago

I'm hoping that this tissue mass is cancer

And it's fatal tho

Fee like I'm inflatable

Ain't no man is faithful yo

I'll probably smoke a big ol bowl

When I get back to heaven, man

With a rebel yell, she cried:

omg, a leg press.

Feeling like, a little bit friendless

Should probably get a wet wipe

Should probably get some leg lifts in

Should probably get the leg press in

It's been a late one

Should probably get some press ons

Probably get my press kits done

Should probably call it in

But then again

Don't got a home much longer

Do I!

Parallels,

This shit is real

I get it in for a second then

Case dismissed

I kept it innocent

I went to equinox to reinvent myself

A second

Take a second thought,

And then forgot—

I'm at the wrong plaza

Nooo? Noooo not

[The Rock And The Kite, Part ☠️]

The diabolical plan worked

The motorcycles weakened the [trigger] bad,

We really had her,

Out on Brooklyn queens border

She looks ten year older

Her hair is so out of order

Her nails is l chipping in polish

Got her caught up in the moment

She probably can't even afford it

But that is just not out problem!

Haha

Fuck,

I forgot how to do this.

Uh.

Forgot all my gym etiquette

I got a running album on

But the track closed

For the free trial

Imma eat out

And by that I mean

Freestyle

I be out side

When I get midtown

I ain't been down

Since I came out

The train station

Screens, screens screens

Someone please please please

Fix me

Seem to be

Splitting at the seams seams seams

I could scream, scream, scream

Yes,

I see me in the media

I need, need, need

Something to

Ease ease ease me

Like an easel

Or Julius ceaser

Jesus.

There's no time I contemplate more

On how strange the humanity is

Then when working out

Intensively.

No longer really even interested

In sexual relations as it ascertains

I may just be the opposite of Satan

And I just don't have the patience

Or the taste for any sort of

Romanticism or fantasies

In a trance, I guess

But I've been living in the trash,

I guess

Well, that was depressing.

Yes, going all the way uptown

And to equinox in the same day

Is very often

A lot.

UPTOWN

Yo. Wtf this place is gross.

Eeeeeeeehh—

GROSS.

Uptown is quieter than my hood

But full of dead things,

I just dread these realizations,

But to spread the disease is easy

I'm in the red and queasy

Meaning to get elevated

But I made a play today

What was I saying

Lil bitz

Bro I'm vegan but just got a cat

And I did not realize shopping for cat food

Would be a conflict of interest .

Like, I know cats are carnivorous,

I'm not dumb.

But I'm discussing this with my AI assistant like,

Trying to find a natural cruelty free brand,

And she's like

“Oh, here's some vegan cat food.”

I was like,

“Enough, white people!”

I love white people—

The good ones, you know.

Not the

*coughs heavily*

Like,

Those are obviously bad but like

Mostly they're alright—

Mostly cause of things like this:

Vegan cat food!

I'm a vegan!

But imm like

“Don't be dumb.”

That's dumb.

Cats are meat eaters.

That's just vicious!

And it's overpriced!

I could see if you were cutting corners and skipping prices by like,

Forgetting the meat,

And this was like a nutritious, half priced alternative

But no,

Like most things that are vegan,

It's double-priced.

I'm like

“Ahem, I was looking for cruelty-free brands!

This by the price point alone is cruel!

But I did not realize shopping for this on Amazon

Would be such an entire conflict of interest,

I'm like

“Eughh!”

“Gravy swirl”

I'm like,

“Gross.”

And then I'm looking at the flavors like,

Are people actually shopping for cat food,

Like they're shopping for themselves?

They're like

“Oh bone-broth infused”

That sounds good!

“Chicken beef swirled flavor”

I'm like

“Eugh.”

Like it is obnoxious and nasty,

I must admit,

I've been a Whole Foods shopper for too long

I'm like

“Hmm. How about sweet potato… like, pumpkin-cod?”

No?

Ah, here we are

“Brown rice and fillet…”

Classy.

The Legend of Atticus Catticus

Tales of a Superstar DJ

LEGENDS: ICONS

Ascension

Deathwish

Whatever Else

On

[The Festival Project ™ ]

The Complex CollectiveI was told specifically not to go to that grocery store anymore— but they had the rice noodles I liked. The thing was, actually, this time, they didn't— and so I knew my time was again coming to a close. I knew it would be the last time before I left, and regardless that I was going to leave anyway, but it felt like the last time— there were no rice noodles at all, and with my arms full of essentials, I figure listening to the voice in my head that told me not to do these things was probably for the best.'I can hear that.' But I was beginning to be rebellious in my actions and endeavors, because I simply wasn't making money, and this was making me not just sad, but actually very angry.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Professor Tannenbaum.

Sir.

Yikes.

I'm sure

I'm shown up at the Equinox

Just for [someone] to torture me

Cause for what?

I'm dead broke, and not a [] blonde

I'm on another trial

Been tryin, but been a while

It's too bad I'm too tired to run a mile

I been

Up all night

It ain't right

I hate New York

I'm so sick of being broke

But I still cannot find a job,

I'm so certain that it's hell that I'm l surprised

It's not on fire,

But maybe all hell is for real l

Is a cold heart world

With no love in it

Where you stop being inspired

It's murder for hire with motorcycles

And corrupt politicians

So if I look a little older

I'm smart to sue em

So y'op wanna walk toward

And cut me off

Tryna get noticed by a God

But I been only in New York

So I'm humbled, mumble like i'm nobody

But the no ones try to follow me

I swallow all my humble cards

I want to pick them up

But just for once ,

I leave my garbage on the floor

All these skanks

Look like Hillary swank

Come to thinking they slick tryna take the energy I make

They all look like snakes

Lazy

But never cease to amaze me

Walking up in the world I made

Still tryna hate me.

Thankfully, it's just a think tank to me

and when the balance beam turns the tables on em

I'm he back in my temple home;

Now it's your turn to be homeless,

Ya boneless serpent

This is just a bonus l

Cause I took a wrong turn

But it was the right one

Cause I got some rhymes done.

Ya'll get off of my nuts

Look, I got nine Trump cards

Welcome to my dump, lards

You're non recyclable!

What can I say

Besides,

That I'm always correct

Look at the thing that coughs she's gross and she don't have the touch

The flight of love.

The touch of god,

The twist of the hand

Or knowing from before

But she benefits off of the blood

The coughs

The sign of the demons and dark ones

It was already a done deal.

I knew it was sort of a scam, or maybe even sometimes that rich white peoples had the worst demons of all—

My fears had been confirmed the moment I walked in, someone coughing in that same disgusting way as I had been used to as soon as I approached the desk to activate my pass— but I knew as soon as I walked in that it was worth it; I would save everything that I had and sell my outdated DJ gear I wasn't using anyway, and I would take advantage of the offer to reinstate my membership; this would serve me so much more than my equipment was anyway. I wasn't getting along in the DJ world, and in fact after the cancellation of REQUISITE, the disrespect at [redacted] , and the techno Jew telling me my clothes and looks made me worthless in the industry, I considered he might have been right; I would be better off back where I started, at Equinox and broke but at least amongst the clean and quiet elite— this would raise my vibration and clear my headspace for something greater, eventually…even if it was just a job in luxury retail–going back to school or figuring out how to get behind the scene.

My DJ days seemed to be over; I needed security and longevity, and I needed the opportunity to come back at the price with a one month advance desperately. Perhaps six weeks of training could jumpstart something better; I didn't know. But selling my equipment was worth it, because being a DJ was getting me nowhere but a quickly depleting supply of coconut water.

Man wheezy for real

And I don't even feel the pain

Came a long way to Wayne

I took the 2 train,

Fell out of the truth

Still trying to find 2 chainz

But I went the wrong way

I been up all day

Somethings wrong,

I should probably go to a hospital

A long time ago

I'm hoping that this tissue mass is cancer

And it's fatal tho

Fee like I'm inflatable

Ain't no man is faithful yo

I'll probably smoke a big ol bowl

When I get back to heaven, man

With a rebel yell, she cried:

omg, a leg press.

Feeling like, a little bit friendless

Should probably get a wet wipe

Should probably get some leg lifts in

Should probably get the leg press in

It's been a late one

Should probably get some press ons

Probably get my press kits done

Should probably call it in

But then again

Don't got a home much longer

Do I!

Parallels,

This shit is real

I get it in for a second then

Case dismissed

I kept it innocent

I went to equinox to reinvent myself

A second

Take a second thought,

And then forgot—

I'm at the wrong plaza

Nooo? Noooo not

[The Rock And The Kite, Part ☠️]

The diabolical plan worked

The motorcycles weakened the [trigger] bad,

We really had her,

Out on Brooklyn queens border

She looks ten year older

Her hair is so out of order

Her nails is l chipping in polish

Got her caught up in the moment

She probably can't even afford it

But that is just not out problem!

Haha

Fuck,

I forgot how to do this.

Uh.

Forgot all my gym etiquette

I got a running album on

But the track closed

For the free trial

Imma eat out

And by that I mean

Freestyle

I be out side

When I get midtown

I ain't been down

Since I came out

The train station

Screens, screens screens

Someone please please please

Fix me

Seem to be

Splitting at the seams seams seams

I could scream, scream, scream

Yes,

I see me in the media

I need, need, need

Something to

Ease ease ease me

Like an easel

Or Julius ceaser

Jesus.

There's no time I contemplate more

On how strange the humanity is

Then when working out

Intensively.

No longer really even interested

In sexual relations as it ascertains

I may just be the opposite of Satan

And I just don't have the patience

Or the taste for any sort of

Romanticism or fantasies

In a trance, I guess

But I've been living in the trash,

I guess

Well, that was depressing.

Yes, going all the way uptown

And to equinox in the same day

Is very often

A lot.

UPTOWN

Yo. Wtf this place is gross.

Eeeeeeeehh—

GROSS.

Uptown is quieter than my hood

But full of dead things,

I just dread these realizations,

But to spread the disease is easy

I'm in the red and queasy

Meaning to get elevated

But I made a play today

What was I saying

Lil bitz

Bro I'm vegan but just got a cat

And I did not realize shopping for cat food

Would be a conflict of interest .

Like, I know cats are carnivorous,

I'm not dumb.

But I'm discussing this with my AI assistant like,

Trying to find a natural cruelty free brand,

And she's like

“Oh, here's some vegan cat food.”

I was like,

“Enough, white people!”

I love white people—

The good ones, you know.

Not the

*coughs heavily*

Like,

Those are obviously bad but like

Mostly they're alright—

Mostly cause of things like this:

Vegan cat food!

I'm a vegan!

But imm like

“Don't be dumb.”

That's dumb.

Cats are meat eaters.

That's just vicious!

And it's overpriced!

I could see if you were cutting corners and skipping prices by like,

Forgetting the meat,

And this was like a nutritious, half priced alternative

But no,

Like most things that are vegan,

It's double-priced.

I'm like

“Ahem, I was looking for cruelty-free brands!

This by the price point alone is cruel!

But I did not realize shopping for this on Amazon

Would be such an entire conflict of interest,

I'm like

“Eughh!”

“Gravy swirl”

I'm like,

“Gross.”

And then I'm looking at the flavors like,

Are people actually shopping for cat food,

Like they're shopping for themselves?

They're like

“Oh bone-broth infused”

That sounds good!

“Chicken beef swirled flavor”

I'm like

“Eugh.”

Like it is obnoxious and nasty,

I must admit,

I've been a Whole Foods shopper for too long

I'm like

“Hmm. How about sweet potato… like, pumpkin-cod?”

No?

Ah, here we are

“Brown rice and fillet…”

Classy.

The Legend of Atticus Catticus

Tales of a Superstar DJ

LEGENDS: ICONS

Ascension

Deathwish

Whatever Else

On

[The Festival Project ™ ]

The Complex Collective ©

Copyright 2019 All Rights Reserved

-Ū.

FR3∆KY FRÏD∆ŸS w/-Ū. - EP. 007 (LIVE)

©

Copyright 2019 All Rights Reserved

-Ū.

We're running out of time .

We're Always running out of times.

Haven't eaten;

Kesha—Birkin—

Sorry, Conan,

Haven't pondered

(Fight!)

There you are;

Equinox mornings

Getting lost

(Fun)

Doesn't shove

Croissants down the throat

As long as I'm on the island

(What?)

Long day;

Never money

Haven't got a

(Cat!)

Sanctuary

(doves)

Jimmy Fallon?

Never found him

(What?)

Pools of blood,

Nevermind that.

I was so sick the night before,

Even in my sleep that I thought to call out.

But no,

“I don't skip freaky friday.”

I hadn't yet, and so my streak was valid, but I felt like shit, and despite my sponsorship I didn't feel I had any interest in DJing at all.

The apertment was a mess, and though I'd spent the day before for hours cleaning in all the crevices the cat found that I hadn't, it still wasn't perfect— then, why would I try to make it perfect on the brink of eviction with the dread and depression that came with the noise?

I wanted to fucking die, and the long hours not spent sorting through my hard drives were instead spent watching Saturday night live and funneling popped corn into my mouth, because indeed— I was actually, finally, chrnically depressed.

It could be written off as some coincidence or extreme city noise, but I knew in my heart it was instead asassination, the apartment was a trap and I'd been set up to be weakened enough to eventually either kill myself, or back to homelessness to die.

The least thing I was interested in was music, and apparently, though I'd had thousands of dollars somewhere in unclaimed royalties , I couldn't seem to find my EIN— the business tax ID I needed to file papers, because I didn't use it often enough; I didn't file taxes, because I wasn't making money.

(At least, I'd thought I hadn't.)

I couldn't even remember which subway stop was the correct one; and I knew with this I must have been coming to the end of my time in New York; everything seemed strange and faraway, as if I were in a dream.

L E G E N D S: ICONS

{Enter The Multiverse}

He's heaven

But i'm probably his headache

What's a medical assessment to lemon merengue

And I wish to that same heaven that we're all as sick

As what's disturbed to be described by

Highest our physicians can abide

Just the though of him,

The whispers of prolific;

Just the sight,

I get to writing thoughts

As if the words were mine,

But still,

The caves of wells kept secret,

Pure and water like the thoughts,

Are just the parallels od subtle secrets

Kept inside a box

This could be mine,

Dammit, a glimpse—

Who are I?

Caught in a wince with the glimpse of a notion

And putting out fires—

Who are I?

You call?

In the midsts of a morning,

Worlds over,

Neglected,

No former recognition, but

Who are you for?

Not mine,

But still a world of sure

For art mines

Copyright 2019 ©

The Complex Collective ©

[The Festival Project ™]

All Rights Reserved

-Ū.

You came to the right guy; as it just so happens, I work at the foundry.

What's 'the foundry'

I think we're about to find out.

But— don't you already know?

Ag

H—!

You ‘work‘ there?

Yes, I ‘work' there.

The star gets his gun out at dawn to shoot crow

The crown dropped to floor, just as sure as the gun went missing

The same gun as in window;

Same gun as before,

Just remember, you're forward—

Remember, you're four of them.

Oh good, yeah. I forgot about

—that one.

And that one,

And that one,

And that one.

And this gun,

And this gun,

And this gun—

And this god,

And this god,

And this god.

Yeah, I forgot

The festival project ™

Yes, I forgot about Jon Lovits

I forgot all the songs that I wanted to talk about

Yes, I forgot just a sure as the sun forgot New York this morning

But I was so sure of my self at the turn of the hour

How now, you say?

Not now, gone times;

Just gone, New York,

All about none for Sunday

And I picked up a quarter

(I picked up a quarter,

I picked up a quarter,

I picked up a quarter

I'll be gone till Sunday,

Till sundown,

Move forward

Fuck!

Make sure not to turn down on a hardcore

Make sure to come down off the hard times,

Not god, but you're acting a good one

Not now, but you're acting on our time

(On our time!)

DOC

I never stretch!

I don't feel it's appropriate!

Gisselle doesnt talk much.

Giselle is a proud mouse

Were coming on hard times

The harp was a purist

And then, I got wisdom

Again, with this, witness?

I told you, don't come home

I asked you: where's Skrillex?!

Ooh. Watch this!

No!

Where's— what?

You know what I'm talking about

I'm pretty sure I do not!

I—

Oh.

Oh no.

No. This is good.

{Enter The Multiverse}

I told you already, I'll kill you!

Okay, Bathsheba!

“Bathsheba”

Wtf.

I told you, that's exactly what you're supposed to do.

What!

Read my contract!

What.

It's in my contract, read the clauses.

Do what!?

Lil bitz

Does anybody here believe in the Illuminati?

I do, but not in the way you would think .

I think the main purpose of the Illuminati is just to mindfuck with you.

That's it.

That's all they do.

Like , true, it's probably a like helm of ancient wisdom and knowledge,

But also, probably—

I think they practically exist,

Just to blow your mind.

There's no big secret.

It's just,

“Wtf.”

And they're like

“Ahaha” ”I know right?!”

That's basically the whole thing.

L E G E N D S

I really liked you.

Yeah, I… I know .

I really wish I didn't have to kill you.

Yeah, I—wait a second.

Oh shit!

Add more weight.

I'm sure I only got this way by soully having sex with

Just myself.

This is causing problems.

That's probably not going to help that whole holding in a fart issue, is it?

Can I get some two-year continuity in this bitch?

Some gratuity for no incontinence,

Some incongruity rooting for you in this bitch?

A table for two in this bitchz.

{Enter The Multiverse}

{Ah, we meet again.}

A table for two is set center stage;

The spotlight shines dead center the round table, and its centerpiece, a single throned rose, at peak bloom.

The rest of the room is a blurred shambles,

The two just offstage and unseen in the wings, preparing to duel.

We only hear their quick witted exchange of words as the table sits alone, and briefly, ever so slightly, the teardrops of a chandelier begins to shine with the prismatic glow of a swirling…

Hmm, wait a second .

This is genius at play,

But the thing is,

It's not work when you love it,

And I don't,

It's just slipping through the prisms

As I just begin to see them

I'm sunsure whether the circumstances are.

Aromantic or quite ardent

And I forget

I don't know what day it is

Or the seconds counting,

As I slip between dimensions

And the parallels

Are real I guess,

But something stressed in this m-theory,

Really, do they fear me

Or are they all just here to hear me

Recently,

I see nothing

Blind as a bat and I've been so depressed

But the stressed is repressed as expressions,

Ten seconds in and it only get deeper,

I'm keeping her secrets.

Guess what.

WHAT IS IT CONAN?

What a red headed hot mess

Do not come closer!

I will call the cops on you.

Guess what?

What!

We s ted.

Goddamn bro, you are sloshed.

I have never seen you this wasted, Jimmy, and that's saying something.

Like really saying something.

[the festival project ™]

You used me as a human shield!

Did I—?

Yes!

Oh, yes I— I did. I forgot.

You forgot?!

It served its purpose!

I guess,

*shrugs*

Well, jokes on you, because guess what!

I'm Tina Fey!

What? No you're not.

[looks directly in the eye]

Oh my god, you're Tina fey.

Yes, I am!

Okay! So who's Tina Fey then?

That's the problem! We don't know!

All this and that's the problem?

Amongst others!

Obviously.

Honorable mentions:

Sketchers “the uno”

As campaign is double zero models with extremely pretty faces- pretty little things that could kill you

Pretty Tiny things, as seen on tv

Target is winning with their QR code on the commercial, ad game next level

Dishonorable mentions

I hate the FaceTune ads

Nurse ratched's description

Lil bitz

Man, I love midtown

I came out the Equinox

It smelled like summer camp and shit

No doubt cause something within proximity is on fire,

But still.

Brooklyn smells like —different than that..

Bruh.

Has anyone been to union square lately?

All week the whole shit smells like vomited popped corn.

All week.

Not vomit alone.

Not popped corn alone—

But actually a perfect polyblend

Of vomited popped corn.

Lil bitz

I just got a cat—

Do you understand what it's like

To drag a cat through Manhattan?

I realized I just became

“That guy”

For possibly the first time since I even got to New York .

It's been a while, so that's good, but—

“Cat on a train”

Is a whole different level of like

“Oh.”

I'm like

“That's right.”

Don't get me wrong,

This is not an every day thing.

This is just to my apartment

Then he's trapped there forever.

But let's be serious—

“Cat on a train” is like—

People aren't exactly happy with you

Or think good things about you

They're like

“Oh”

Wel first off,

I'm sure they don't know it's a cat,

So it's just a box with holes in it

Could be anything.

“Weirdo”

True;

I see an indiscriminate box with holes in it that just says “adoption” I'm like

“Oh for real that could like; be whatever.”

“Omg where are you going with that—thing.”

Right?

This is my magic guard animal.

I brought him for two reasons—

One: cause I got a badass cat tree like too long ago

And I was sick of looking at it

And the litter box it came with just taking up space in my closet;

Those two things make up one reason

The second reason

Is as a suicide deterrent

Because at this point,

I'm obviously lonely,

And so this way,

I know I'm less likely to kill my self

If I know this fool will just eat me.

I'll think about it a little longer

And a little harder

Before I actually do it.

I'll be like

“But…which part will he eat?”

Right?

“Not my face, right?”

“Omg that's horrible.”

“K nevermind i'll stick it out”

He's a magic cat

You can tell this dudes just different .

I got to the train station and I put the box down

And just stuck my finger through one of the holes—

You know, just to let him know

Cause I figure this has to be a lot for a cat, right?

So I stick my finger in the box but I can't see him or anything, so I just stick my finger in, nothing.

He's not like sniffing my finger or biting it off or anything, but I figure he's alive,

Then the train comes, so I get up to get on the train,

And the box just starts vibrating.

Then I realize,

The guy is purring.

We're in an uptown subway station and aparently this dude is about that nonsense.

He's chillin.

I'm like,

“I'm glad you're enjoying this,

This is my least favorite part, actually.”

My guy. He's different.

Now imm the girl on the train with the cat in the box

And not to lie,

I just figured out what it's like to have no one want to be around you for a minute

Which, to me, is cool.

I'm like,

“Yeah, okay, please actually,

Yea, stay away from me.”

“Stay away from me and my indiscriminate box.”

{Enter The Multiverse}

I might be the only person in history

To give my cat

A stupider name

Than he already had.

I told you, he's a Magical cat

First of all, his other name was technically two names—

His name was Mike & Ike— if you don't know,

That's two dudes.

Okay, so he's at least two guys,

But I might be the only one so far

To go the extra mile and instead of gratifying this failure of a name,

I named him what the fuck he was supposed to be called.

Cause I knew that.

He came to me in a dream,

And he told me

“Atticus Catticus”

{Enter The Multiverse}

Copyright 2019 ©

The Complex Collective ©

[The Festival Project ™]

All Rights Reserved

-Ū.

Eyes, eyes— who's got eyes?!

Here, I have eyes.

I don't want yours.

What? Why not?!

Eyes, eyes, buys and trades—!

The day I met Atticus catticus, I by some strange coincidence also discovered

“Toonces”

…and however startling it was that they looked just alike, the cat himself had other strangenesses about him that I couldn't seem to shake.

The other adjustments were yet to have taken place, but the cat did seem to be armed with a certain spirit, that did indeed show me immidiately things I might have otherwise missed.

Still, it was true that this weirdness might have been misinterpreted, but however shallow my aspirations remained to the theatre world, or the world at large, it seems as though there was just stil some kind of strange connection with Saturday Night Live I couldn't shake.

Almost like it followed me everywhere.

BIG JIMMY runs SIN CENTRE at SIN CITY, an exclusive bar and restaurant in Las Vegas.

You don't know about Sin Centre at Sin City?'

No.

It's the premier underground boutique for all of what happens in Vegas— or, what didn't, if you know what I'm saying.

I'm sure I don't z

I'm sure I don't either *winks*

I need magnesium;

Creep level fantastic,

I wreak of havoc

I wreck the fanflick

Fanfiction?

Now i'm fired,

Give up!

I'm a channel

Back to the hard part

Look at me! I'm getting

Eleven miles an hour

Isn't it strange how

Just this morning

In the kitchen

I was thinking

How I just love Sarah Silverman

And how

The chemistry with Kimmel is

–

Creep level: fantastic

THen,

If this is episodic,

I'm not the only one who feels this way about it

I might be a bad guy
I like the darkness

I might be the bad type,

I like,

Flirt with darkness

Jp

Did you write this?!

I–i think i did.

You think?

I have forgetfulness syndrome!

Why is everybody falling in love?
But i”m alone

Maybe I'm not supposed to have love

So i'm alone

But

Too many talks to tell,

I can't want,

But i'm alone,

And still

Everybody wants to have love

And i'm alone

I have this weird theory that to be a female

And get booked on Seth Meyers

Not only should you be kind of almost probably famous

But definitely under 120 pounds.

Lil Bitz

I'm telling you! he's Slytherin!

Do you watch the show?

Watch the show!

Every female he interviews has anorexia!

Not a joke!

Watch the show.

He has a copy of moby dick on his desk!

What's that about!?

Slytherin!

Slytherin!

So the question is:

Can i fill five minutes with this?

Puh

This kid.

Wondering about five minutes

When she really needs an hour of material

And a material witness

This depression is actually the worst I've been

Since I escaped prison.

I should have went to Princeton.

I should never run for president.

Amen.

I told you, republican!

A bold move, and the light I'm on—

Tonight, I'm fowl

I get a grin

Tonight, I prowl

I'm off again.

I haven't been this incandescent

Since

Information on

Ronald Regan

Came to surface

This: his

Indiscretions

send my regrets to lettermen

I haven't had it better since.

Gavel gavel gavel!

And I ramble ramble ramble on

The mouse that lights to gamble

Likes the Kat and tattoo addicts

But the fans just can't acknowledge

That we're on in the apocalypse

I gotta get my marks up

Or a proposition predicate

Or advocates on terror

Where's the war you ordered

Not another table

Kill the waitress

Heal the sparrow

Right the old case in a letter

Harrow, harrow

Case is waiting

And I've yet to make it

Everything I do just makes me

Faint,

Like I'm exasperated and exhausted

All at the same time

Call out my mantras—

Look, I'm a loser

Out in the open

Promise

Provoke my promocuity once more

And I'll get you all fired.

Fired! Fired! Fired!

You look good in a tux

Good suit and tie

Good at the desk, boss,

Ma?

She's a

Hard crier

I got divorces,

Widowers,

Window surfaces on a horcrux

Hard wires,

And hard times on a jarred door

Oh!

Yeah.

It's hard coming to terms with death

When your afterlife is

Jay Leno on a long highway

In stuck traffic

And you got to think

“I know that guy”

But no you don't,

You're far from it and still

Show hosts aren't for hire

In the aqueduct construction,

For I?

Seth Meyers, young soul!

Very hard, but good to know him.

Kimmel had a tough crowd,

But

Fear, I've bartered hard to order.

Fries with that?

Oh noooooooo!

He stopped dying his greys

He's been writing for days

And he's stuck in his ways:

Cheerios are too sweet honey-nutted

And honey nutted my rebuttal on live broadcast

I finally got comcast,

I finally went all broke

Ahhh, we're gonna die.

I guarantee you, this is that.

Tuesday— midnight.

What goes on.

Didn't I tell you not to talk to me?!

They know everything.

Don't you know by now I can't be trusted?

If I try to call

We'll get disconnected

And this interception

Has been live broadcasted–

So I get the picture

This is all disaster.

Took a number,

Run hard, I get there faster

[The Festival Project ™ ]

For everybody else,

Life goes on

But mine has not

So it feels more like sickness

Than just fan fiction

{Enter The Multiverse}

Copyright 2019 ©

The Complex Collective ©

[The Festival Project ™]

All Rights Reserved

-Ū.

Once Upon A Coconut

Like Nesquik out da can

I think it, then I can

Need a guru, I'm the man

In supply I got demand

Need a sample mail it to you

I arrive like out the blue dude

Do you influence multitudes of groups?

Unusual

Every day all black

Just like I pull up to da funural

Respect; I keep it mutual

Interests and got intellect,

delicable like Ecuadorian

bananas in DeLorean

Or waffles with some syrup on it

Sir up in my stirrups: wanted

Not about the gossip

But it's possible I'll ponder on it

Somber I got calmer on em

Sub I put a collar on

I pull up in the suburbs in a suburban

And get my mother on,

For father's sake I put the cock in peacock

On my color guard

I call that comical

Scouts honor

I don't go to comicon

Unless I gotta talk about the robot that I roll up on

Or

Show up on the show I wrote

But no this ain't no 30 Rock

My references out of date

And my resources out of order

But for the record

I sort of shudder

When forced to watch that law and order show

I just don't SVU

Omg

I don't envy you,

I'd rather NV just to

EDC so you could see me

On TV or

In the booth

That would be cool

—da guru.

JOEL ZIMMERMAN wakes up to find three dead mice all lined up in a row; he is uneasy (despite his expression for the most part, remarkably unchanged) —as this is the sure sign of a nemesis.

It may even be SKRILLEX.

Immidiately he moves through the kitchen and past at least four SUPERMODELS and into the room Where he keeps his mau5 heads—

Each of them have been very specifically mutilated, besides one, kept—again—remarkably— intact. It seems to have been activated by a motion censor.

It relays a musical message, then explodes.

☠️ ☠️ ☠️

…yes,

this was definitely Skrillex.

But then—

Who really is Skrillex?

who really is anybody?

More philosophical questions.

It seems time for a long ride with some hot girls—

And, maybe—

A call to the old “friend”

{Enter The Multiverse}

DILLON FRANCIS is awaiting a very important call.

He should know something about this.

The phone isn't ringing yet, but it will.

DEADMAU5 crashes though the entire wall in an ARMORED SUPERCAR.

…or that.

— then the phone rings.

…it's JOEL.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Don't worry, I hate you.

Good, Jesus Christ.

I'm fucking the God version of you

in my half sleep

More like,

Dead on straight

Lovemaking

Of light proportions

But no problem

It is all just another portion of a program,

Another fierce projection of obsession—

So what?

I have four of 'em.

(I bore them,

And they all ignore me.)

I woke up this morning

After napping in New York

On a walkway between

Two okay casinos in Vegas

But don't know which ones

Or what it's called

Somewhere between the Encore

And the Fashion Show

I probably should get back, you know

I got a court date coming up

I'm on, New York

It's really what you wanted

Did I leave another Jim unattended from this show

Oh, of course

The Jim Crow Era!

Now that's relevant

And scary isn't isn't it?

I'm sober

But I told you, bro

The show is over

I gotta protect my sponsorship orders of

Coconut water

I work under informants

For

Nothing under the table

I'm so under toxic sonic torture

I've been disabled

I re-upped on all the pancake

But I'm out of maple syrup

So here's seven for the sixes;

I'm severing all connections,

I'm severely out of order

And I'm running out of water,

Look,

Call Mr. remarkable

And tell him I'm in a mark up

Had a hallmark card for Dillon's mother

But gave it a second thought and

Sent it as a thank you card for my aunt,

—The original sponsor;

And I should probably hawk or pawn the rock

But that would be a whole total disaster,

I fucking promise

I T S A N A M Y T H Y S T

So—

Enjoy the mix;

(It's a shit one)

It'll be a distant and short hiatus,

But either way, I gotta make

Electricity and rent

Without filling it with my purpose so,

I gotta cut the show off

I'm toppled over at the plaza

Laugh at it if you will,

But only if it's real

I wrote my will and posted it

I live and die inside this show

I came to the city to live

But it's just dying in New York

If you go broke and only does your art support you

— there's the notice;

Couldn't leave you cold

Just cause my heart is.

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S

&

Tales of a Superstar DJ

Returns This Fall on All Platforms.

thanks for listening.

-Ū

JOEL ZIMMERMAN wakes up to find three dead mice all lined up in a row; he is uneasy (despite his expression for the most part, remarkably unchanged) —as this is the sure sign of a nemesis.

It may even be SKRILLEX.

Immidiately he moves through the kitchen and past at least four SUPERMODELS and into the room Where he keeps his mau5 heads—

Each of them have been very specifically mutilated, besides one, kept—again—remarkably— intact. It seems to have been activated by a motion censor.

It relays a musical message, then explodes.

☠️ ☠️ ☠️

…yes,

this was definitely Skrillex.

But then—

Who really is Skrillex?

who really is anybody?

More philosophical questions.

It seems time for a long ride with some hot girls—

And, maybe—

A call to the old “friend”

{Enter The Multiverse}

DILLON FRANCIS is awaiting a very important call.

He should know something about this.

The phone isn't ringing yet, but it will.

DEADMAU5 crashes though the entire wall in an ARMORED SUPERCAR.

…or that.

— then the phone rings.

…it's JOEL.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Don't worry, I hate you.

Good, Jesus Christ.

I'm fucking the God version of you

in my half sleep

More like,

Dead on straight

Lovemaking

Of light proportions

But no problem

It is all just another portion of a program,

Another fierce projection of obsession—

So what?

I have four of 'em.

(I bore them,

And they all ignore me.)

I woke up this morning

After napping in New York

On a walkway between

Two okay casinos in Vegas

But don't know which ones

Or what it's called

Somewhere between the Encore

And the Fashion Show

I probably should get back, you know

I got a court date coming up

I'm on, New York

It's really what you wanted

Did I leave another Jim unattended from this show

Oh, of course

The Jim Crow Era!

Now that's relevant

And scary isn't isn't it?

I'm sober

But I told you, bro

The show is over

I gotta protect my sponsorship orders of

Coconut water

I work under informants

For

Nothing under the table

I'm so under toxic sonic torture

I've been disabled

I re-upped on all the pancake

But I'm out of maple syrup

So here's seven for the sixes;

I'm severing all connections,

I'm severely out of order

And I'm running out of water,

Look,

Call Mr. remarkable

And tell him I'm in a mark up

Had a hallmark card for Dillon's mother

But gave it a second thought and

Sent it as a thank you card for my aunt,

—The original sponsor;

And I should probably hawk or pawn the rock

But that would be a whole total disaster,

I fucking promise

I T S A N A M Y T H Y S T

So—

Enjoy the mix;

(It's a shit one)

It'll be a distant and short hiatus,

But either way, I gotta make

Electricity and rent

Without filling it with my purpose so,

I gotta cut the show off

I'm toppled over at the plaza

Laugh at it if you will,

But only if it's real

I wrote my will and posted it

I live and die inside this show

I came to the city to live

But it's just dying in New York

If you go broke and only does your art support you

— there's the notice;

Couldn't leave you cold

Just cause my heart is.

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S

&

Tales of a Superstar DJ

Returns This Fall on All Platforms.

thanks for listening.

-Ū.

Competition at the country club;

I must admit I haven't had the habit yet

Of psyching out the competition

But I haven't even had it yet

I'm simply always better and ahead

(especially in blind audiences and unpaid promotion numbers)

Taking out the competition

Everything is tailored custom made

and never miss an invitation

Simple stocks and bonds

You've got more toxic numbers

Groms,

And undercrossed fingers

Simple stocks and bongs

You don't belong here

But you're locked in as a blonde here

James bond bandit

And Jennifer Anniston's antics

(only water and cucumber,

Never salt or carbs

I'm hardly even made of carbon,

You know

Ha

Ha

Ha.)

Mr. Always.

Mr. Present.

Mr. Precise.

Mr. Heaven

Mr. Rampage

Mr. Me, right?

Mr. Yeah Right

Mr. Maybe

Mr. Mistake

Mr. Thank You

Mr. Please Me

Mr. You're late

But where's Mr. Headache?

But where's the Kardashian?

But where's Mr. Be Straight and On Time

And Unconscious?

And where's Mr. These Days?

And where's Mr. Keep a blade in your pocket?

Cause you're one to one with the whole lot of

Obstacles

So there you are again

Throw you off your horse?

There must be a room for this

Or a template.

L E G E N D S

That leaving you have in your feeling as a heart…

Don't want to watch to go but want

Want

Want

Lost the for you wonder don't know

Younger water but I

Want

Want

Want

Dealing with my broken parts

Underground and in the storage room

I don't know what's left of earth

But last I heard of her

The world was broken

I want the window the closed

But it won't minimize

Left the top open

Might as well have been the door

I used to lock them,

But not anymore

The whole world is stolen

V.o.

You know that magic trick where you're bending a spoon with your mind?

BLŪ pulls a BAKING SHEET out of the OVEN with a melted plastic spoon on it.

This isn't like that at all.

HANZEL

Yu Vere Bazically Vurking Wit Nazis.

Shh! Don't Say that!

HANZEL CONT'D

(Shrugging dismissively)

Vhat. Jew Vere.

{Enter The Multiverse}

I got six press kits

Costs a fee to book a gig

Come with me you could get ditched

Come to Vegas, Could get Hitched

(Real Love!)

I don't wanna take your time up,

Cause that be some of mine, hun

N if you're tryna find fun,

Should probably bring the wine

Techno but need a nine? No

Ten, I am a diamond

Stevie, I'm a blind ya

Wonder if that's a low blow

But none of that's below me

Know you know

I ain't your homie

I'm the only on who know me

Not a worry, I believe you—

You don't need me,
I don't need you

Now you See me:

No you don't—
Hope to see me

{Enter The Multiverse}

The Complex Collective ©

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™ ]

-Ū.