I quickly promised myself an entire slice of New York style cheese pizza on the day that it would be announced to the world that Dillon Francis was married—or getting married. I knew it would be made public, rather than done quietly—he was a man of high status and regard, and not one to elope.

Lessons in love, v3, Kaskade

Shazam?

Oh, I got it, it's

KASKADE

it is I

GODDAMNIT, KASKADE, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.

KASKADE

I WILL NOT.

Ugh

Ugh.

Ughhhhhhhh

UGH!

{infinite ‘ugh'}

As it might have just as well been public knowledge anything that Dillon Francis might have done, even if not just to pull each and every last disposable dollar from his inherently mostly upper-class and wealthy white audience—I might not have such luck with Skrillex, after whomever he would marry—if— he would marry—and he would do so very privately, or be outed, of course, by the relentless paparazzi

PIZARO,

Fine, you can be in Ascension.

YES.

But shut up.

Ok.

Like, a lot.

Sonny was more than likely to elope, as it seemed there was indeed some sort of diety of the darker realm attached to he and his fame— and for the most part, at this point, I wanted none of it at all besides the limelight myself, much more than worked for an well-deserved—and of course— the beautiful bodies in which they inhabited, my dragon now barely tamed and feirce, with a hunger which screamed and burned at only the most11

Ohhh, what the fuck.

Heartbreaker, Mariah Carey

That's a lot of—-

Bluiuuuuuuuujrrrrrrrrrr

Oh look, here's Jaz-Z again .

AGAIN.

JAY-Z

HEY, YO.

Don't kill me.

Don't be racist.

No, I mean—

Jay-A (in a cross dimension)

AYO.

Yo, wtf does this dude want.

Idk.

How long have you been offline.

A lot.

She's offline s.

Yep.

Okay, here I go.

She's offline again l?

Yeah.

Alright, I know where to find her.

FUCK THIS SHIT.

I truly and simply just wasn't attracted to the only type of men I seemed to draw— even the kings amongst us, who just as well I saw as brothers— not exactly unfit at all, but just ‘not for me', and as it may have seemed to be, it didn't seem that anybody was made for me at all, outside of my own mind.

I downloaded tinder, knowing that my rotten body would so quickly end up in the discard pile after a short tryst, perhaps a night or so—but I only needed a night or so. I was sick of waiting for a night in shining armour, and in the mean time, being continually exhumed and exploited by the music industry.

The way I saw it, the children of tomorrow were the perfection of the human form— brighter all-black-or-all-white but collisions and blends of any and all— the harmony in balance, neither one nor the other, and the segue to a truly colorless world.

The blacks, it seemed, had truly been cursed—if even by their own beliefs.

Perhaps, it was just that black men collected women like objects in his quest for power— and though all men were the likely to want and need the most perfectly fit and socially acceptable, usually white trophy wives, the masculine black energybhad made itself apparent and open about it—

I must have been of some sort of importance or posed a threat to someone indeed, as I continued to be followed by coughing people— probably just soulless, controlled bodies, and I suspected the most recent satire launches to be responsible for the increase of coughing bodies, and beached whales.

Everything is everything.

Whales, who use sonar to navigate, had been reported to have been acting strangely—and so were the human counterparts, scrolling drones who fed themselves on processed trash, and it may have been this jnowledge alone that left the white supremacist elite, who owned most of the corporations. The world responsible for contaminating the food and water supply, especially to the poor and brown skinned, wanting me dead—or better yet, just to kill myself. My suicide would be marked as a result of “lifelonst struggles with mental illness”, of course, leaving out that these situations had always been syncronisicslly provoked, after I had once aspired to run for President: it had government money written all over it—someone always knew where I was and how I would get there—but now it seemed that they wanted my attention, rather than to remain cloaked in secrecy.

Earlier:

“HOMELESS” MAN

I'M NOT FBI.

Oh, so it's the FBI.

I thought it had just been the NYPD and some special forces that had been planted in and around the city in various places I frequented— but today, it seemed, that an undercover hiding in plain sight was giving me the answer I wanted, but never bothered to ask I was certain I was being followed, and my only actual question was posed to god

Why am I still alive.

COUGHS

COUGHS

COUGHS

Just kill yourself.

Is it because of Skrillex.

COUGH.

His name is Sonny.

Well if that's all this is about, you can have him. Or whoever. It's whatever's

Whatever he wants

.

Just give it to him and leave me alone

Just kill your self.

Why is it so important for me to be poor, fat and just as well dead. What the fuck did I do?

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

(((Luna)))

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

“Always be on time—especially in New York.”

The words rang around in my head like a lesson— a lesson I had learned in high school, coming from theatre.

“If you're not 15 minutes early, you're late.” I regurgitated--something I honestly had stood by in all my years with it— my high school theatre teacher, Andy, probably my favorite teacher ever, if not a close second to my middle school English teacher, Mrs. Davis, or even a tie for first, since they came from different eras in my school years. Of course, my next favorite, Mr. Tucker, my middle school music teacher—a multi- instrumentalist and expert—some of the only happy blue eyes I had ever known— who had seen something musically gifted in me, and would at random pull me aside and stuck a new instrument in my hands, instructing me to play. I had enamored him with drums, playing out a copycat pattern by ear after watching it once, and seemed to continue to amaze him as I quickly repeated tunes or improvised on the guitar, bass, and clarinet—and though I had wanted to play in the drum line—with the cool kids who often bullied me, hoping desperate somehow to mix—he insisted that I take band, first playing saxophone, and then switching to trumpet, for my adaptability and ear for harmonies—I wanted of course to play first trumpet, but was assigned to the contrasting harmonies of second trumpet— also eventually joining the drum line, where of course I was still bullied and competed for the best-fitting harness, which would keep my Quads at waist level instead of around my hips—my body, then, now looking back, that of a stout young woman—I was maybe 5'2, with double -G breasts and no bavksidevworth mentioning-I was more wide than round at the rear with thugs, but no hips to accentuate—and though my body was strange for that of a middle school girl, leaving me miserable and disproportionate, compared to the white, frail and thin Mormon girls—and the long haired, pretty faced latinas— the only blac at school besides a couple of Mormon kids—who has a white mother, who had been abandoned by their obviously very black father at or near birth, as they were a couple grades apart—and besides actually knowing it, you wouldn't have known they were white at all. The girl, who was in my grade, might have been about 6ft tall by middle school, and her hair always disheveled and unkempt— which didn't seem to bother her white, Mormon friends—the popular girls who made my life miserable enough, and though she herself was for the most part neutral, her high status in the pecking order had been long established. The town was split into two by both class, which equated to race and religion—a Mormon establishment, the deeply rooted white and wealthy, conservative Mormons had huge houses on one side of the freeway—the lower-class, casino working Mexican immigrants and their l first generation children on the other side of the freeway; this was the place I had learned to hate myself the most, a foundation first implemented at home, and then fortified at school— where my skin was too dark, my hair was strange, though always well done— and my ill-fitting clothes, mostly boys clothes, as my mother had become impatient with attempting to find “cute” or pretty clothes, and the American obesity epidemic had not yet grown to the norm; plus sized clothes were expensive and hard to find—and so without being said, middle school was harder than it had to be for several reasons—but it was also the first place I had been called or considered a “genius”, at least musically. I had always excelled in academics, at least until middle school, where my life became dark and I first realized that my body was strange and unwanted.

Fast forward to now, a 30-year-old loser sitting in the Manhattan glass office of a Sales professional and her counterpart, whose distaste in my apparel I could feel just sitting there— I quivered and became nervous, trying to hide my unmanicured nails between my crossed legs, however revealing instantaneously how vital they were to using body language, speaking with my hands and inwardly screaming “I'm poor, just look past this and hire me!”

But it wasn't just my apparat that had more than likely cost me the job—though somewhere inside I still desperately hoped that they would see past my downfalls— I was desperate to stay at Equinox, and only had 20 days left in my reinstatement before the dues would set in—and the “free” month that I had been granted and had allowed me to access the club once more had not at all be “free” The elites had flaunted their ability to control everything remotely, through the use of cellular phones and satellites— which had spun me into a suicidal spiral at best for the last week, at least pushing through to get as much of a daily workout as possible— I had spent every possible waking moment at the club, writing, unloading the angst I had gathered in the brutality of homelessness, poverty, and blackness, summoning some way to land a DJ gig looking as classless ans haggard as I did.

But they wouldn't look past my lateness— a whopping 37 minutes, and I blamed myself entirely, as I should have known that with both phones on and out of airplane mode in order to marinate, that I would be the center of a targeted attack.

“Stay in the hood, nigger!!!l”

The bus usually ran on time at the time of day when my meeting was, but of course didn't even show up at its scheduled time, and all though google had read that it had left on time, the family standing at the stop said that they had been there for at least 10 minutes, with no bus in sight. I had been up much earlier than usual, especially after a strange dream in which my ex husband taunted me; I hated seeing his face, hearing his voice, and being reminded of all the havoc he had caused on my psyche and sanity— I had spent the morning off, and in search of a case worker who could print me extra copies of my resume, which I had been asked to bring, but of course ignored by the time I actually arrived at the meeting— I ran downstairs to the locker rooms to use the bathroom, stashing my tattered backpack and decaying gym bag in a locker downstairs, along with my skateboard, before heading back upstairs and into the waiting area, which I was only in for a moment before a beautiful Asian woman greeted me, with immediate disappointment in her voice and a look of overall disapproval in her eyes.“Hi, CC…”, she said, almost pitifully. I stood up to greet her, shaking her hand “You're so late…”

“Hi, Allison, I mirrored with self-doubt and disappointment—“I am so sorry” and I could feel it already that I was doomed.

But I had always been doomed. Since leaving my now estranged ex, it had seemed that the curse he specificallytold me he had set onto my life was true

“You know I control all demons” he had once said— and though I had argued, “I control my own demons”, he had snarled some smart ass remark in his cruel and evil tone, which still followed me in dreams, often taunting that he had someone new with him—someone better than me, and in the most recent dream, an Asian girl—but in the previous dream that he had haunted, a blue eyed blonde haired girl— and while in waking life I didn't care at all where he was, what he was doing, or who he was with, as long as he wasn't with my son—and even with my son, so long as whoever he was with was clean and happy, and loving towards my son —I didn't actually care at all. But the curse had other astonishing effects—the more my life would improve, the more drastic things would happen—those around me often becoming consumed with some sort of devil or demon themselves and eventually seeking to dismantle my well being, usually psychologically, often bringing up things from my own past without me having mentioned them—dead babies and other specific details from my past life, as If having been divulged to them from some sort of script. Then, there were the coughing people, who would surround me anywhere I went—and especially public places, but sometimes even in private, coming to the outside of my door, and standing there just coughing. Almost remnicent of the men who had been outside my window in Alaska, who had been screaming “Kill yourself! Just kill yourself!”

And I wanted to—I thought about it all the time, dancing with the trains and praying for the bravery to leave behind the cursed, shattered world. But, with each passing day at Equinox, the suicidal thoughts had seemed to fade, although the gang stalking had not—there was a psychological game being played, and my dedication to Equinox made the perfect ploy to allow the attack to unfold.

“Always Be On Time, Especially In New York.”

I awoke the next morning with the words ringing in my head, alongside my own

“FUCK NEW YORK. I HATE THIS PLACE.”

And though I was in love with Manhattan, I had now been broken down into the disgusting and hood ridden ways of the people of Ozone Park, and the surrounding Jamaica Queens, materialistic and hypnotized, brainwashed, programmed slaves who had been bred to work, still poor but attempting to look rich, as if they ever could under their bad weaves and wigs, scrolling through social media on the way to and from their corporate slave owners, or to buy the goods of the even higher corporations—and it was all just “what you're supposed to do.”

But I would rather die than do so, and had only applied at Equinox because I spent all my time there anyhow, and knew it would be easiest to sell something I actually believed in. But of course, I had been passed over the job, and wanted to die—in fact, it seemed I already was dead, in a way; My own hair and clothes in ruins, my body unloved, my mind shattered. There was no love here, just money and pain.

The Equinox interview would be my last. I had failed the test of time and wouldn't even attempt another. I had fallen out of alignment: I was doomed to be trapped in the ghetto, with the hood rats and slaves, and in 20 days would gain be cast out of Equinox. But I wouldn't return to planet fitness, or LA fitness. Or any of the other, dirty packed gyms Queens had to offer. Even Blink, although owned by Equinox was riddled with high school children and always packed. Queens was only “diverse” in the blacks-and-browns, and the longer I stayedthere, the lower my vibration fell. Now I was off my path entirely, and though I had tried desperately to be on time, I just wasn't. It had cost me a job that started at 30K a year, plus commission I know I would have easily earned—now I had nothing, $5 to my name and with no one to blame but myself.

“I hate myself, I hate my life.”

It was too late to change. I was a 30 year old loser, and I migh as well have shown the Illuminati itself the very reasons why I was unfit to succeed at anything at all—Equinox especially, but also in music, or perhaps just life itself.

I prayed for God to take me out of this hell, but it seemed my life was just some airy of cruel punishment altogether—a rotten busy no one would ever love, the inability to be on time— I felt the doors of opportunity just shut in my face.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Thank god

It's like a storm is passed

I gotta keep it up

I would never touch another man

If I could front the cost

All on my own

No wonder ma and pa

Gotta open up shops

It's a long long long way up huh

Took a long long long long walk in the park

2 boroughs I crossed

Just to be remarkable

Ok! I got Dillon Francis.

That's a pigeon.

Well, yeah—he's a pigeon.

Wow! He's a pigeon!

Yeah!

Pigeons are fast! How'd you catch him?

Well, he's a New York pigeon, so he's fat.

Wow.

We gotta change him back!

Ah, we should keep him like that.

I half heartedly agree.

SHAWN EVANS has two strikes in a game where you don't need three.

wtf does that mean.

I don't know about this

Sorry, boss

Okay, you ready?

Yh.

Now you're supacree

Ugh WTF. What for!

A GIANT DISCO BALL

I'm way in over my head now, I think

If I fall all out of love

Then that might be a bad thing

For both of us, I think

But I think too much

And I should be drinking,

But I just washed up on shore

With the rest of us, huh

I'm way in over my head

Like waves over my head

Or gravy on bread and potatoes

—how I miss the others, but

If I fall all out of love now

That could be bad for the rest of us,

All of us, aren't I

Or was once

Was once

It's all by design

The decider resigned at the diner—

But maybe this time we can find her

Dying to write

She's still colorblind

A reminder of all of the limelight

She finds in the mind,

She decided defined her

Lil biiiitzzz.

Alrigtt huh, so fuck Queens.

I had to get out of Queens, you know?

I tried every gym in queens and you know what?

I hated it.

Every fucking gym.

It was gross.

Not as gross as the Bronx—

But it was Bronx-remnicent.

So I'm like, alright, fuck this. I'm gonna save up and go back to MY gym.

MY gym is in Manhattan.

Yeah bud. *rubs fingers together*

I love it.

It's fucking clean.

It smells good.

It has everything—

—Except the rotary torso machine.

But that's okay!

Fair trade.

It's all good.

That's MY gym.

In Manhattan. Yeah.

But I was stuck in Queens for so long, you know what—

I hadn't even been to Manhattan.

I forgot one thing about working out in Manhattan that I didn't have to worry about in Queens.

White dudes everywhere.

Yeah.

Never in Queens.

I totally forgot.

In queens I'm like Man of Steel;

I walk into a gym, all I see is family—

Eyes up here, Daquan.

What up, Matumbo.

Nice Locs, Troy

I go to the gym in Queens, I'm calm.

I go to the gym in Queens, I see non potential mates.

I am STONE.

I walk into a gym in Manhattan?

UGH.

My body's like

“What's that smell?”

My uterus is like

“LOOK OVER THERE.”

I'm like “huh?!l”

Nothing but hot white dudes every damn where—

“Ugh, fuck this”

So what I do, to combat this, is I just find the first hot girl I see—

It's not hard. It's Manhattan.

I'm an androgynous ape-like person— every actual female that exists is in some way somewhat more desirable than I am by far—

—out in public, anyway.

“The socially acceptable prototype”

Meanwhile,! behind closed doors I can take anyone of these motherfuckers home—

—their home—not to queens—

Which also isn't my home—

—or anyone's really—

—but let's just say I've stayed there—

—I've gone to the gym there—

—what up JerOde

—T-Jiggles.

—I've kept my stuff in Queens.

But the publicly—socially acceptable “girlfriend” archetype does not live in Queens.

Nobody “lives in queens”

No. So what I do is I direct all of my sexual anxiety, my lady blue balls—all my deep seated envy for not being that girl —at that girl, as a reminder that she exists and I'm not what they're looking for.

And being honest, I know deep down in my lady blue balls that none of them are really what I'm looking for, either.

No—and though almost all of them are perfect in every single way imaginable—

Especially for my vagina.

I know none of them are my man.

Yeah.

You know why?

My MAN has a home gym, morherfuckers.

Yeah.

Got that bowflex .

Got that peloton. All of it.

And you know what?

He's not even in it!

NO!

He's traveling the whole wide world right now—

Looking for ME.

—(I'm in Manhattan)

MAAAAANhattan.

Yeah.

Dudes on the east coast are hot as fuck.

Like next level attractive.

Chiseled.

Delicious.

California has ridiculously remarkable women.

California's the only actual place I've ever seen whole ass people look like a brand new actual Barbie doll out of the box.

WHAT?! GO AWAY.

I'm not getting NO DICK cause of YOU.

But the dudes here?

Yo!

*slurps*

TINA FEY

You are wasting time!

SUPACREE

I'm not wasting time.

[working out]

SUPACREE CONT'D

I'm getting Trim.

TINA FEY

How trim are you trying to get?

AMY POEHLER(*sp?)/fuck it

Ya! You look fine!

SUPACREE

Like Fran-Fine-Fine—

TINA

What's that mean

AMY

It's the 90's, I think.

SUPACREE

Or Jennifer Anniston.

TINA / AMY

Like Jennifer Anniston!?

SUPACREE

Yeah, on Friends.

AMY

Speak of the Devil….

JENNIFER ANNISTON ENTERS, being super hot.

TINA

How does she DO that?

JENNIFER ANISTON

I do everything.

SATAN has merged with JENNIFER ANNISTON, as SUPACREE continues to keep accidentally summoning THE DEVIL without first understanding how—

But the charges from THE SACRED STONES against the magical charge of her amulet has created a chronically gaping time home in which various entities (and the bampheramphs) are using to travel quickly in between timelines.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

I wasn't ready for Equinox at the Hudson yards— which I should have known simply by my prior exclusions alone, but at the very least still had to try it

‘You know what? Fuck it. I'm gonna hop on tinder later and find myself a motherfucker who looks JUST LIKE Dillon Francis…shouldn't be hard'

His doppelgängers were well — everywhere, anyway, and I was. growing more and more tortured in my own body and soul each and every day, and especially now — my hair was tattered and my clothes in rags, a drastic contrast to the perfect almost machine-factory perfect bailies I was surrounded by at the Hudson Yards. I had almost left in tears, but after thoroughly crying it out in the sauna, decided I needed to be there more than wanted it; I looked inequality dead in the face; everyone around me had been born with Equinox in the palms of their hands— supermodels, influencers, the daughters of the elite—colonizations results: perfectly groomed, wealthy daughters, not a working class woman in sight, besides of course the staff at Equinox. The rich and exotic hotel guests in and about the spa area and sun deck sneered and slithered about; I sat in the corner, hoping to somehow become invisible, solemnly I my terrorbird sweatshirt, with the bleached out sleeve and fading graphics, to cover all my potruding belly and all the weight I had gained in the homeless system. I hadn't the privilege to eat what I needed or wanted for the energy, and again with no word of when I would have any money to eat— I was running on only the energy from my own mixtapes, as I hat in anhumph collecting more music via Shazam. That was playing loudly over the sun deck speakers, choking back the pain and a swallowing it, glimpsing and staring though my non-tinted glasses at all of the perfection that I wasn't, but wanted and needed desperately to be; a google search for free escort services and sugar baby websites turned up not much of a result—the things I did find seemed almost satirical, and full of even more competition than I might again fall below.

I had found the drummer I had been working with on tinder looking for another doppelgänger — albeit unmentionable, and I hadn't needed another copy of anyone else, especially after the Mexican fiasco that had landed me digging literally my own grave.

Still, I had one foot in the door, another in the ground— and it might have been that I was too hungry to process or function properly, let alone think, but I wanted to die.

Hudson Yards was not for me. My worn clothes and matted hair tore shreds in my heart and my soul, the demons of the perfectly, priveleged rich wealthy mostly white and powerful ate at me with wicked smiles and slanted eye lids—and the devil himself m stood up to say—

“See, you really are mine”

I hadn't sold my soul, but it was always here at the crossroads where again I was offered the bargain of freedom for my hollowed, buried soul— a body any man could adore and love, a home—endless wealth—

And though I had become one not to trust—

Satan was neither. I kept my soul in the unlovable broken and wilted body, at least for now.

The devil persisted

Coughing people began springing up everywhere.

“KILL YOURSELF”

I wanted to , I might, if I ever had the courage— but I was a coward, in that sense all of a sudden—not the fear of death, but whatever would come afterwards—

Because there was always and afterwards.

Always.

JENNIFER ANNISTON

don't cry in Here, kid, you're gonna ruin it from both of us.

A gym is just a gym

And a him and just a him

It's just a Dillon Francis

Kayla Lauren

Jamboree again

I hope I jam my knee again

—just kidding

Fall asleep again just wishing

I could end me, Billie—

But without the fam to

Fill me in

The void

BILLIE ELLISH has shapeshifted into a large, muscular black man— and is enjoying it.

BILLIE ELLISH

(As Lamar)

I like this.

Almost too much

BILLIE ELLISH

(As Lamar)

*shrugs*

-/My friend with the peloton

Fee the energy

Leave your body

As she eats it

She only said

Thank you

But she don't mean it—

There ain't no sincerity in her,

She's stiff

You just can't give a pretty girl a compliment

I'll never know why Sonny wanted to hurt me so badly

But he did it

And he's good at it

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Humbled from entitlement

Ashamed of my own displacement

I'm on a tear

I'm on a tangeant

I was just here.

But where have I been

Most this year has passed

And I'm still here,

I still don't get it

A divine circumstance

Souls—

So long,

So gone,

Almost

The time has come to walk

The time has come again to rise,

Rise up

The time has come to walk, come on

The time that's come is ours,

From now on

Give me time to walk,

An. Hour or so

A trot, the fox

Time to run

An hour or nothing

The founder of the establishment

The Tower of Babel

Another arrangement

The flounder, the fox, the horse

Come one, come all,

COBE one, come now

The walk or a run

A gallop, or trot- the horse

A crown for a gallon of water

A gallon of water

A gallon of water

I know who you are my son;

Come one, come all

Come mother, come father

Come dog, and come brother

A sister, another

All for a walk in the park

I lost it

All for a gallon of water

A gallon of water

Persons//Archer

Action/comedy/ mocumentary

The precinct assigned to the high traffic high transit and high crime area of Jamaica center in Queens, New York City is equally as devious and criminally minded as it's high populous counterparts- parson//archer follows a hilarious variety of NYPD officers from recruits to veteran officers assigned to patrol every facet of law enforcement from transit, to traffic major crime investigations—murder and robbery, All taking place within the 6-block radius of the Parsons Archer neighborhood near JFK International airport

JOSH

You are giving me angina!!

DRAKE

angina?

JOSH

Yes!

DRAKE

With my MUSIC?!

JOSH

YES!

DRAKE

SHH.

JOSH

DONT “SHH.” ME. YOU “SHH”!!

DRAKE

SHHHHHHH! Here she comes.

Express my discontent

To discontinue the unamusement

More water, more water

Your system is suffering.

‘Kill all of them, all of them

Calls from the governement

It's all a spectrum, a construct

Divorce is unnsesscary

Once he hits you

All institutionalizations

Become null in void, in fact

Under attack from your ex—

It's an exit strategy

After he comes to your dreams, you just laugh at him

Pull all his hair out

Congratulate the girlfriend, cause

As it starts over for him

You find ground in a brand new dimension

Where he can't get to you

The land of bad parenting, man

Ma'am, there's a bathroom over yonder

If you were wondering

You've exposed your daughter in the park

Amongst all of us

I like to go for a walk or a run

But unfortunately have become. Quite predictable under the circumstances

Of hummus sandwhiches

And garlic mashed potatoes.

(But it was delicious,

I've got no regrets here)

The dragonfly asked me to write this

As I admired them

I give God all the love

Even coming from Hollywood

Where I haven't mattered.

I finally got a new skateboard

Thanks for the manifestation

Or maybe just payment for being

Tape recorded without my permission

Or kept in the neighborhoods where restrictions on nutrition are strictly enforced—

Of course, can't have the American workforce with too much energy

There's just no money in that;

No escape from slavery, but suicide

Or two nice, blue eyes and pale skin

No! You can be dark skinned—

That is, if you're skinny and pretty

With all the right connections

I just can't fight this

It's flight facilities all over again

-A call to adventure

Don't get too close to the monarch—

Because you might scare here

And she's the only one you've seen here,

Like that

So glad that part's over, I'm being honest—

All my prayers were answered,

As just yesterday morning

I woke up with a song in my head

In your voice

And your words on my heart,

But they're all gone now,

Just as you are

And—

Not that I ever wanted to know anything so awful

But I'm glad for your island—

Now onto the next one

No more crossovers, Illuminati.

Sounds like it was all what I was caught up in

Writing my story

But nobody's on my side,

Not really

It's something like

Humanity and sapiosexuality

All rolled into one

And the role I was playing

Is all done

So glad for your family

But mine has unraveled

I'd like to travel,

But so far,

Still stuck in the poverty;

A horrible mother—

And my husband's haunting me

Not that I've ever been married or anything so far,

It's just all a nightmare

I haven't woke up

To be born yet

Goodness

For Goodness sake

Hollywood, and all the fakes

I'm slightly superstitious,

But that's as attractive as it gets and,

I just can't have it

It's only a habit,

This sapiosexual game we've been playing

With fame

And the music you're making is

Shaming me for praying

For this exact answer

Now I'm just sick to my stomach

There's no Whole Foods market in Flushing

But I've still got half a chinstrap and

All of the sermon of words I've been swallowing

Translating the rules of the game into Spanish

And I might be celibate forever

But that's irrelevant

And probably the cause of

Whatever happened

In downtown Los Angeles

Downtown Los Angeles

EXT. DTLA SMOKE SHOP. NIGHT

I could be alone and poor forever l,

For just thinking I will be

According to the secret

I could be alone and broke forever

For just being constantly surrounded

By people so miserable

And jealous of talent, creativity, and musical ability

According to the secret

Pretty white boys and their secrets—

But for the most part, I believe him

Predominately, anyway

I'm non binary enough to know

Females are pretty vengeful

Especially once you ghost them

And Hollywood is evil l

So it only costs $10 for a favor

And $10,000 for someone to dissappear

$100,000 for a single with Skrillex

And about half that for 10 million followers

Cause everyone's a robot , for the most part

And sex starved

Ticketmaster

I could be broke and lonely forever

Just for being caught up in this Illuminati nonsense

Cut!

—luckily the trains are coming faster and

All the skyscrapers are very high up, plus

It's all synonymous,

According to the secret

I could be secreting words as easily

As preaching sermons,

Or reading scriptures

Sucks being right about everything

Sucks being right about everything

sucks being right about everything

Cause everything is everything

And honestly,

I was just hornet

Not retracting my statements, at all l

Pretty white boys and their secrets

And I could manifest one, according to the secret

But what good would that do

When white women hail over everything

Such as the firing of Mr. Justin Roiland

For scribbling penises or

Amber Heard, for lying on Johnny

I give up on everything,

Especially my certainty

For now I'm just a bigot

Reciprocating hellish experiences

Overall, though

No matter how non-bianary I am

I was always and still am a woman

And men don't just want one

They all cheat on all of us—

According to science,

It's just how they're wired.

and wives are just trophies

(Especially the white ones)

Just look at John Legend

Or John Mayer, never married

But look at the track record

Or track list

Nothing darker than a brown paper bag, then

Is there

So, what have we, Disney

A black frog princess

And a black half-fish rendition;

Cause black girls aren't human,

Not really

“Not MY Ariel!”

Although,

The whole world is now filled with color

I've been too fat and too dark to be pretty

For too long to be reprogrammed

Sorry, not sorry

God,

I'm so hungry

And I've still got half a ciabatta, but

I just want someone to love me

That isn't as traumatized

As I am

God,

All I want is a dog and a daughter

But I've still got nails in my arms, from the cross

And a scar on my heart, which is turning to stone as I turn over another

Chapter in

The festival project.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Better to not dream in color;

The better to see you with my dear–

I still think about coming over

Suddenly, the water's clear

And the tide's getting higher

It's harder to hide here

The heart of the Martyr

Is still calling out for her;

The sound of her laugher

Alarms for the alters

And all coming after her

Neither or Neither

The worse of the wiser

Hither or higher,

The wish of the Water

As it rises

And they all lived

Ever after

Ever after

You're a very dead man, mister mouse.

I was a dead mouse first.

You can have anything in this store.

Anything?

Anything.

How about this? How much is this?

You like it?

Yeah .

Then keep it. It's yours.

Wait–you're serious.

Help yourself to anything you'd like.

The more tha I love you–

The more that you do to me

But i'll just keep loving you

Day in and day out, and…

I'll just keep loving you

Day in, and, day out and

I'll just keep loving you–

Day in and day out,

and…

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Check the hat and glasses;

Yeap,

That's a bampheramph laughin at you

Not with you

Highly unusual and peculiar, sure

Dad hats: the lowest level of bampheramph—

These bamphers show you what not to do, how not to act, and just how not to be in general

After bampheramph camp, the graduates are ranked by performance —typically— “bad” “very bad” or “what the fuck”, and very rarely even “what the fuck, dude” or “I don't even know”, the average graduate being given the “Classicl bampheramph” status, and typically wear “dorky sun hats” regardless of location, placement, or time of year

Reserve bamphers may wear backwards snap backs after once having served as captain; other reserve bampheramphs may present SnapBack forwards or even sideways, before having served as captain or during service as captain, if any other hat is not needed or called for

The motherfuckers, a special branch of bampheramphs dedicated specifically to

DJs

The 7 aliases

7 alieses

5 Guys

Two Dudes

Codename.Blū.

c o l o r s.

Happy Accidents

Dillon Francis is atop the roof at the Wynn/Encore, preparing to meet his untimely death.

Dillon Hart Francis! You come down from there this instant!

He looks below to the Las Vegas strip, a bustling blur of lights and traffic.

DILLON!

Chak Chel

Let him jump.

Chak Chel!

What! Let ‘em.

Chak Chel, come on!

The Little Motherfuckers are—

Well—

A group of young children are causing a ruckus on their bicycles. None of them are wearing helmets—of course—eventually to become motherfuckers

Smells like fire to the west

Yes, I still have eyes for you

I guess there's still some time between us

Guess I still have ties to you

Do my eyes deceive me or

Is this make believe

Believe me

All I see is you, sometimes

Even— especially in my dreams

I keep your secrets,

I feel scared when your hands touch my hands

But feel good when my lips touch your lips

I feel sad when your heart touch my heart—

I feel love with your hands on my hips,

I'll be getting it all done and over with, for the most part

Give me a call,

When you're all done, at the mortuary

I'm so sorry

I'd bend over backwards, for you

Even eat meat, if you told me too

Or cheese, Jesus

You'd better believe it

Mission impossible

Even stevens

The rest of the things

As seen on TV

The rest of the evening.

My ex fucked me up so bad

I might never be right again

He used to say l”I'm a champion”

He was a loser—

He punched me in the face so hard, I actually apologized for it.

He decked me out.

Not once—

But like 5 times.

In a ROW.

Teeth went through my lip and everything

Came out on the other side,

I was like

“Oh, awesome I was thinking about getting a piercing—

Now I don't have to!

Saved me $30 and the cost of saline!

Phew.

Fucked me up.

To this day if I see you in champion sportswear, I am immediately convinced you're an idiot.

No take backs.

If I see you in champion sportswear,

I just automatically assume you're stupid

Not sorry.

Oh well.

If I see you wearing champion sportswear,

I just assume you're a lazy, retarded idiot.

*shrugs* not my fault.

I wear Nike.

—but it I see you in white Nikes that are supposed to be white, but they're all dirty and gross and caked in whatever—

I'm just gonna assume you're a fat dirty asshole that's gonna punch me in the face,

And walk away.

Clean your shoes!

Lol I'm so fucked up

lil biiiiiiiittzzzzz.

YOU GAVE DILLON FRANCIS YOUR NAME?!

no!

Well thank god

I gave Dillon Francis your name.

ARE YOU CRAZY

No. But he is!

Exactly!

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

I can't fall for this again—

Another rich and handsome man—

A dream he wants to be my friend

A dream he wants to hold my hand

Oh look,

Another dance for anthem

Look,

I'm just another fan

No, I can't fall for this again

—but they would go against the plan

A simple programming error,

Lips the color of a pomagranite

Circle on the palm,

And then , of course,

We press the center

And look, here we are again

Another life,

Another love

A new wife—

Another husband

Honest?

I'm just good with fucking

—aha

I just want to fuck you

I got love, but what it good for

Look at me, or look at nothing!

Look,

I'm just good with fucking

Check the news for new engagements

Fucking sick and fucking tragic

Nothing more than actors,

DJs, drinks and addicts

Look,

I'm just a happy accident—

I still hate Dillon Francis

And I never wanted Skrillex:

That shit never even happened!

Have you had enough yet?!

Carrot cake does sound good

Ten karat long engagement ring—

Is that a lot?

I'm just a homeless

Look, I'm just another DJ

Some fake model stole it

Some would call it occult Magic

—honest?

I just want some dick, man

Fuck it

—aha

I just want to fuck you

I got love, but what it good for

Look at me, or look at nothing!

Look,

I'm just good with fucking

You know why you like me?!

Yes, I know why I like you—

Cause I'm rich!

—no, actually—it's because you're smart.

Where in the fuck are you going?

I don't know yet.

Well, know faster—we have company.

Fuck.

Destroy every bit of evidence.

Ok.

—and make sure nobody sees you.

Yeah, right!

YO.

Why the fuck are you here, Timmy?

I told you, I'm not Timmy.

I don't give a fuck who you are—where's my money?

It's— it's on the way, I promise.

I'm don't take well tk promises, Timmy.

What do you take well to?

Money.

FUCK.

What!

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!

What?!

We're too late, she's gone!

Goddammit.

—She was already here!

FUCK.

FUCK.

FUCK!

>>> FUCK!

How do you know?

—there's glitter, everywhere.

Is it gone?

It's gone?

ALL OF IT.

TIMMY TRUMPET plays a SKRILLEX.

Etto, Timmy?!

Oh shit, another Timmy.

That's weird. I was just thinking he about Skrillex.

Why.

Timmy, put a shirt on.

That's it.

What.

You can't be hot and play the trumpet.

Why.

One thing's gotta go.

THE DEVIL takes away Timmy Trumpet's ability to play the trumpet.

WHAT.

Can't have both.

Well, I don't really need both now, do I?

When I'm in a tough spot I have to listen to deadmau5

—something about the precision and frequencies out my brain somewhere between auropilot and dead space.

I don't know.

I've done just about everything you can think of listening to deadmau5.

Almost.

But, I noticed—

Working out to deadmau5 is strange.

It puts me in some kind of vibration where people notice me—

Not just notice me.

People are suddenly “impressed” with whatever it is I'm doing.

And it's usually something regular as fuck—

I'm just doing it to deadmau5.

And for some reason, people are like

“Wooooow!!”

Okay, whatever.

I used to work out to Skrillex.

Actually.

I used to work out to only Skrillex.

I don't know if its just because I was fat, or cause I liked Skrillex.

Now its like running a serrated knife up my spine.

I started to figure out I was kind of famou—

Kind of—

When I showed up at the gym and Skrillex songs kept coming on

I'm like

“This is what I get for doing nothing but free trials”

But hey,

You try finding a gym in the shitty areas of New York worth paying for.

It's very hard.

The crazy thing about this story is—

There's a lot of crazy things about this story, actually.

EXT. BASKETBALL COURT. DAY.

Alright— shirts and skins —Shirt—Skin Shirt,Skin—

Uhh! Nah. I wanna be “shirts”

Why dude?! Your girl's mad hot!

So?!

So I know you got it goin on! Look at you!

I'm mad rich!

Yeah—but girls always cheat on flabby rich dudes! With hotter dudes.

My girlfriend might be cheating on me!

Yeah—She's not, though.

How do you know?

Cause I tried!

Yeah. Take your shirt off.

No—uh! How do you know she's just not into you!

Because! He tried—

HE tried!

You sell out.

And Andre tried—

[ANDRE is tall (about 6'9 dark, and handsome]

—you too, bro?

[ANDRE shrugs nonchalantly]

That's an NBA player—

What the FUCK, YO.

—and she said NO.

ANDRE

Yup. Shot me down.

Oh really—from all the way up there?!

Face it, man! You're fuckin hot!

I don't like the way that sounds coming from you—

Take your shirt off!

Were you this aggressive with my girl?!

Don't be like that…

Nah— fuck you!

Yo! C'mon, man—

And you three!

You're holding up the game getting mad over nothing. It's Hollywood!

It's Beverly Hills!

—Exactly my point!

You're new here—you'll catch on.

You know what!

I'm shirts—you're skins—Game on.

[SUNNI BLU goes beast mode and plays the dirtiest, most whoopass game in history—out of spite and anger of the toxic masculinity; this of course earns SUNNI BLU even more respect as a “man's man”]

Later: as the owner of the clippers, sunni BLU trades “Andre” to the worst basketball team in history.

For,

As soon as the moon is full,

She also begins to wane—

And as sure as we are to shine,

We also fade away

I had one slice of red velvet cake, one slice of cheesecake—which of course only reminded me of Sonny Moore—the decadent, delicious red velvet—and Dillon Francis—the spiced and ecclectic trademark carrot cake—if only not to sooty the pain of joe much I wanted both of them, but probably didn't need them—how I craved them so, but they probably weren't good for me, nor would they last—

—but they would both be delicious, anyhow.

The seagull said.

“To the sea, we go!”

Overhead, he flies

As the day goes by me

Idly, I wait—

I could take a ride,

But i'd rather be

By myself,

By my…

INT. EMPIRE ENPANADAS. NIGHT

You gonna order?

What you got?

Empanadas.

Just empanadas?

—Yeah.

Okay, that's weird.

Lol the only thing funny about this scene is that their New York accents are so atrociously heavy.

Right.

—weird.

INT. SUBWAY STATION. DAY.

Sunni BLU is passed out in the subway station.

Ew…

Yeah, my god.

Wait—is that—

—sunni?!

SUNNI drunkenly groans.

Sunni! Get up!

Ughhhh.

What are you doing?!

I'm drunk.

I know that.

You're always drunk.

Yeah.

What are you doing here.

What.

In the subway.

I do this sometimes.

What. For what?!

You never know who you're gonna meet.

In the subway

On the floor?!

YeH! I met R- Kelly down here!

What!

When was this

Not at this station, though, but yeah.

To think,

It was all just an awful game, to make you write more songs—

And in the end, if you don't make the cut

They just make you kill yourself, anyway.

Love isn't real, but money is;

And all men want is money,

So they can buy the love—

And all women want is love—

But it has to come with money

Or it all just falls apart

It all just falls apart

It all just falls apart

“Illuminatus”,

Open, close

Illuminaudio, for starters

Cross a crucifix for sons, and wanted daughters

What's a brother to a sister—

Or a mother to a father?

What's a stop sign to a car,

If no one's driving?

In the end, they kill you off

In the end, they kill you off

With every cough, they kill you off—

But there's always another

Who wants to be a star—

Or just

The mother of his child,

Maybe both

Genetic lotto luck

—the cut off.

Agatha…

A far cry, out into the distance–a wind, almost a whisper; A lover, long gone and almost since forgotten, unseen since the very dawn of time and first ever glimpse of light–

…We Meet Again.

FUCK. WHAT IS THIS.

I know, man.

FUCK.

Fuck.

Well, are you gonna tell this story or not?

This isn't possible.

It is possible.

This isn't happening.

–

This dude has a radio tower in his front yard.

That's his front yard?!

I fucking guess.

What is that.

That's a satilite.

Nice.

Yep.

Alright, you son of a bitch.

Hey! My mom's nice!

Not that nice–bringing you here.

How do you know that's how I got here?

Exactly my point.

[cocks pistol slowly.]

You're dead, mouse.

OH.

I GET IT.

kill that motherfucker.

Wait. Hold up.

Hold the phone!

Holding.

How did we get to this point?

I mean– a few ways.

What are you watching.

SHH.

Wedon'tknow.

SHHH.

OK!

SHHHHHHH!

IT' getting good.

Ya. It's getting deeper.

So much deeper.

WAit.

…

Who are you?

I'm a fan.

No.

How did you get in my house?

It's my house.

It's–

–no.

No, it's not.

YEs. this is my house.

No.

What.

GEt out.

SHH.

What.

DUde–

No.

Ze show is on and it is getting one deeper. Be quiet.

IT's getting two deeper.

–like nine deeper.

SHHH.

Oh, I get it.

She really wants to fuck Dillon Francis.

#FuckDillonFrancis

Uh, no–

I already did that.

Gross.

Excuse me.

You are excused!

I mean, I beg your pardon.

Please, don't beg.

Er, uh–

Could you repeat that last part?

Woah, this gets multidimensional as fuck.

I have a time machine.

Are there any loopholes?

There are loopholes.

THere better be loopholes.

Sorry, we're out.

GodDAMMIT.

What.

I was really looking forward to those loopholes.

Well, they're gone.

FUCK.

HEre, have some

Oh-Noh's.

I don't want–

Just SHUT UP and EAT YOUR CEREAL.

Don't worry–I'm still Team Skrillex.

There are TEAMS?!

Oh, yeah, bro.

Oh, so–it is a love story.

I don't think that's what this is.

I'M GONNA MURDER YOU.

Ok.

WITH MY DICK.

A-1.

There's something I need to tell you.

What.

But i'm sworn to secrecy

Then how am I supposed to–

Just–shh– follow my lead.

“The Magic Effect.”

Did it work?

Don't know yet.

You nutted to this girl 36 times in the last 20 Calendar days.

Ok…

36 Times. One Girl. 20 Days.

…What's your point.

This is ferocious.

I have your entire internet history.

All of it?

Oh yes. All of it.

Welp.

Well.

THat's it for me.

I've had enough.

There's no Skrillex Deepfake.

Aw. that sux.

Why would you look at this?

…why not, though?

You're a disturbed man.

I'm pretty regular.

REGULR TO WHO?

*shrugs* Me, I guess.

TURN THIS OFF.

I can't take it anymore.

Whatever happened to the–

SHHH.

Fuck. I'm so wasted.

So what do you think is gonna happen?

Listen. I have a lot to get through. THis is all just nonsense.

I think we're avoiding some heavy subjects, here.

Well, there are a lot of discrepancies.

Kill yourself.

I just did.

Kill yourself–again.

I–GodDAMMIT.

Just do it.

NO.

Come on.

Congratulations, you got the job!

Yes! Thank you!

…What's the job?

I need you to get the fuck out of here in the next five seconds–before I blow my head off, and take you with me.

Don't do that.

Five…

Yo, i'm serious.

Four…

Jesus Christ, dude.

YOu don't think this hits a little close to home.

Home? what is home?

For the Record, Skrillex, Dillon Francis, and Deadmau5 respectively are all getting their dicks sucked on yachts right now in some foreign exotic country–

You're not wrong.

That is correct.

Standard music business.

And People are living in tents under bridges.

I'm just saying.

If you think this project is reckless and bizarre, check your own simulation.

So.

So.

Where were we?

Somewhere between blowing our heads off and getting our dicks sucked?

I'm sure there's a striking correlation somewhere.

‘My Candle Burns At Both Ends…'

Oh, More Occult Magic

God Bless The Illuminati

GOD

I Am The Illuminati

Glad that's settled.

Three.

Goddamit, don't do this.

Two– [cocks pistol]

Why just pistols.

Cause shotguns are messy–

–and for dramatic effect;

I love that sound.

[the other party quickly removes his handgun from his waistband, shooting the other man and then himself quickly; They now both lay dead.]

How do I write this

Just write it.

I need adderall.

You need Jesus.

By goD, youre right. [iPhone]

What are you doing?

Calling on Jesus.

Are you serious.

He's the plug.

Ugh.

I need adderall.

What did I do?!

YOu know what you did.

∆

Well, alright then.

∆

Must be something.

∆

I got it.

“The Legend of Supacree”

L E G E N D S

“Tales of A Superstar DJ”

To do: Cut Freaky Friday 001

Cut Throwback Thursday 001

Cut SOM III

Part I {God Is God]

Part II [Clockwork]

–Pull 212 Remix

It's far beyond my control

I get out of my head and into my soul

In one ear, never out the other

If the wind blew down your door,

How would I call for you?

—Through her, I suppose

And the silk of her hair,

Or the satin of her dress,

—

Oh, it's almost admissible,

Surely admirable,

Worth a smile or not,

That all the world is words,

In the end,

As I tear down my worlds,

and start over from One

And I've already stopped enough once for today,

I think

Surely, what you'd like is just

The time to get it all to nothing

(Never had I wanted it or needed it)

The phone was ringing,

But I'll never be off the hook again,

If you look for the proper way to move forward,

You'll never find it,

Especially looking behind you

(Always looking behind you—

Head in the past

Just like you

It's just like me,

Too,

To sit down and decide a whole song about you

While taking it all down.

I'm never distraught with the thoughts of a stranger,

Oh, on the contrary;

You should be mad about battle,

But I'm all for the veterans and

And never off if we were not at war with one another, but

Then again,

That's all we've ever done

It would be

Devastating

To even think of

Something more clever

“Clever and splendiferous confectionary efforts,

Just spectacular concessions my dear; I'll have another.”

Hadn't I deciphered once or twice the rhyme for riddles down to dollars and cents?

I did, I thought, once.

I never hindered Heaven from pondering over my shoulder once or twice upon a full lit moon, which under I predicted my own fortune.

Once— or twice, but—

Nevermind, or nothing;

Indifference, for instance, instantly inscessent ancestral insimination incriminating risidual visuals uhh—

—From the festival.

Right.

The festival project.

[—Parallels.—]

GOD: So you want to be The “Glass Animals”

*nods*

Glass Animals.

That's what I said. Glass Animals

There's no “The”

Context.

Ok.

So–”Glass Animals”

*nods*

Are you sure you don't want to be made of something else?

*nods*

*shrugs* Okayy. Glas Animals.

I'm lost,

But don't remind me

Running out of time

But time can't find me

Open up my eye 10 times in 9 days

I should probably fall away

Back to the bay,

No baby, don't cry

No baby, don't cry

No baby, don't cry

[Midnight Request Line.]

Sleek black corvette.

Not a dent, not a scratch

And I am feeling better,

Since you asked

What a warm and welcome

Pleasant, wet suprise

What do I owe you the—time

I guess it made me smile for awhile, now

I'm sad again—

Wow, that was quick…

Only took a second, but don't mind my arrogance

‘—I play this and it puts me in a trance.'

I want to dance with you

I hope someone holds my hand like that, one day

Where are you taking me?

“Away, my dear, away…”, he's saying…

I lie awake midday and taking shallow breaths,

I drift away

A weapon for my empathy,

[Midnight Request Line.]

I have no idea what happened.

‘Ambiguous Ambitions - The Crossing ‘

A shiver up my spine

I don't really mind,

I'm still trying to find the word for it—

But tongue in cheek it is

That's—if it fits

You but me once,

And I liked it

Come bite me twice

If you buy it;

Alright, Ryan—where is it?

Where is what?

You know what I'm talking about.

I don't know anything!

“Ryan Remembers Everything”

Goddamn it, wake up.

I need silence.

GET UP, GODDAMNIT.

Okay—

Okay—

—I just need you to tell me where it is—

Where what is?!

I don't think this is very funny.

This got serious.

Ouch.

I don't want to watch TV anymore ever again.

I really wish you'd tell me

Oh, you wish?

Watch this.

I'm sorry, Ryan.

Hello.

I—hello.

I'll have a tall order of whatever's in that box.

You want what's in that box?

Yessir.

What is happening?

I dunno.

I'm afraid that's going to be a problem.

*gasp* can we have ninjas?

*NINJAS*

NINJA FIGHT.

—oh sht rly.

*lmfao*

Sometimes i'm set in my ways,

Sometimes days go by—days,

In the blink of an eye,

Ever since I decided,

I might have had love with you.

I think we have some things to figure out, about it

—it being ourselves,

And washing my hands never felt so right

In my life

Somebody told me the stars in the sky were spirit guides,

And it stuck,

I'm up all night,

But i'm the only star I see

In New York City

Don't look up to see me—

Don't look up to me please, kid, really

I mean, why, my baby?

I mean,

Hi lady—

You so fly tonight, just my delight

I —

Like the way I look by you

I—

You know,

If I sit in the city every night like this,

And write,

It just might

Be the end of me

Be the end of me

Be the end of me

You know,

If I did get the limelight,

Right on time to soothe and

Satiate my need to be an idol LC

Even this late in life,

Like—

—fuck

‘8I just want him to like me'

I shouldn't even think about

Superstardom like that,

But I'll be right back,

I gotta get the rabbit out the

White hat,

What a habit to have, huh

What an idea that we might all get along

Or a lot done

Or be better off alone

Than just to fuck off

And write another song—

Because the audience will like it

But we're all over it;

It's all done, isn't it?

“The Running Game”

I don't know what you want to hear from me. \

How about, “I'm sorry.”

Ok, I'm sorry.

You don't do much, do you?

I guess I don't.

Sabotage//Salvation

Idk what this is supposed to mean.

This is my demise.

You're completely a ticking time bomb.

You're not wrong.

Salvation, from the doldrums.

A sound to soothe my soul,

I sink beneath you,

South and under smoky water

Open mouth, and barely thought of,

Although often,

Walk or waltz, would I

To fall, my love,

So becoming of a flower;

forth and outward over fountains;

Leaps and bounds,

Of course–

Well, this is dope af.

What are you doing.

What.

What happened.

THis is really good.

So.

So, i gotta turn this one off now–

And listen to that one insead.

All the time?

Yeah.

Oh.

For, like ever..?

Well, no.

I gotta put it in the vault.

Noooh.

Yes.

YEs.

Yes.

Forever.

FOrever, no, for now– yes.

That could be almost forever.

Yeah. Almost.

“Almost Invisible.”

Take out my eyes, for now

(If i could, would you want them)

To beg or to barter for,

I offer them up, as

Ritual sacrifice

(it's just a)

Ritual Sacrifice.

These two eyes.

__

He was the boy who owned the world;

Hailing from the land of a thousand suns,

He said,

“I'll give you a dozen roses, honey,

If all you ever do is,

Smile for me,

So, go ahead,

Smile for a dozen roses or more,”

And the irony is that she did it–

Not for the roses,

–but for the attention.

(Just for the attention.)

It was she who birthed the worlds;

Building the land of a thousands suns,

She said

I'll give you a dozen horses,

“If you could just–

Pick the winning one”

And the irony is,

that he did it–

Because he loved horses,

And now he had twelve of them!

(--And any one could be the winning one,

no matter what she does;

He's got a dozen of em,

Anyway.)

Fuck.

What.

Well, that went off the deep end.

Fuck.

Well, this just got dark.

This guy comes off your blacklist tonight.

No, this person

Guy.

PErson. Most certainly does not.

I promise if I love a=a=A=a

What is this

That's a making no complese sense equation.

Think about it in a multidimensional–

Oh, that makes total sense.

Just remember, when using this– this has been around for a really long time.

It's been A long time.

I died in your bed,

But woke up in your arms;

Oh when you love, love–

Love me harder,

Love me harder–

Oh, baby when you love,

love me harder

Love me harder

Love//Love Me Harder

Love//Love Me Harder

Love//Love//Love

Love Me Harder

Love//Love Me Harder

Love//Love//Love

Love Me Harder

I woke up in your bed,

And then died in your arms;

It was a work of art, I suppose

What we were, or are

(Or aspire to be.)

Please. Give me your iPhone.

No!

No?

(Takes I phone.)

Is there a reason you don't want me having this?

…no.

No?

—it's full of stuff.

“Stuff.”

Yes. It's—

“Stuff.”

Yes.

—

—and things.

I know.

Look.

We had a deal.

We had no “deal”

We had a deal.

This train just goes on forever, you know;

Whether you're on, or off it—

So get off, and back on at the wrong stop

Once, if not just for the discovery

Of another supermarket,

Where you shop for strawberries and

Groceries

Good flex, God;

I got a gang of em

I'm gonna explain it as straight as it gets

Sometimes,

You just got to know where to go

If you don't trust your gut,

You'll just never get,

Never get it right.

Alright, alright,

I started it

Alright, right—

I gotta get it right,

I gotta get ;

I'm the worst at introductions

Oh and,

So bad at

Goodbyes

Oh, why'd you have to leave me by my idol

Why,

Why'd you have to lead me by my eyes

By my eyes

God, I love the way

I love the way,

I love the way you

Love me

God, I love

The way you

The way you

Love me

You forgot about me, didn't you?

You forgot all about me

You forgot all about it—

All about it

Al about it

It's not the same, anymore

Since you gave it a name, is it?

There's nothing I can do

To help me, help you

This is all I can do,

To help me, love you

I have to remove you;

I have to remove you

In a room—

Full of beauty—

In a world,

Full of woes

I lose the last dose of you, on my tongue

Nobody ever wanted it, like I do—

Like I do

I lose the last dose of you on my tongue,

And I'm all full of love again;

I never saw anything like it,

I was a modem, still plugged into the wall

An anonymous post partum unremarkable

Post-party proclamations

and eternal damnation for ordering breakfast

Evading transportation authorities

Unworried the informant sleeping under me

Oh,

Now she wants to song—

Oh, look—

And now, she has a song to sing

A point to make,

A wrong to ring;

The man she brings along

Is bad for her

Oh, she's gotta work

(She loves to work,

She's got to work it)

What kills her makes her stronger

What doesn't kill her makes her stronger

All she does is

Carry on

And

Carry on

And

Carry on.

“Mrs Sheffield left flushing queens, for this.”

Mrs Sheffield left Flushing, Queens, for this?!

Mrs Sheffield left Flushing, Queens for this!

Mrs, Sheffield!

-1flushing queens, fah ‘dis.

Very well worth it,

I got all the way to brooklyn

And way beyond my means for this

It's well outta my means.

It's out of my hands, now.

That boy called you “grandpa”

How is it all over?

When I bet to God I was,

Just in your lap at this party,

And you were under me slippin on some sort of

Lager or

Something

Weren't you?

Yeah,

I was just there, too

I was just there, too—

I was just there, too—

Oh, now she has a song…

All of a sudden.—

But it's not all of a sudden at all

It's not all of a sudden

There's nothing, is there?

Oh,

There's something, surely

I went to bed late;

But I'm getting up early.

I see the way he looks at me—

—take it easy, baby

We could have the whole room waiting

Like a stoner at a stop sign

My bad,

My eyes lie to me

All the time

Driving me mad

Telling me

I want you inside me

My bad

My bad

Well, I want you in my bed

But I haven't had one yet

I'm thinking Purple Mattress;

Or is that mids, to you kids

Like Timmy ho's

Or my mustang civic

It's a custom, yeah

Nobody has it yet

It's a hybrid

Like I am

—I am a bit off subject, now

(My bad)

We never had sex in my bathroom

(That was your house)

I took a mouse to the mountain

(My bad)

My writing is getting more

Acid-centric,

Lysergic acid diethylamide;

I didn't buy any,

But I haven't the need anymore,

Really

I just wake up like this:

That is, when I wake up

(I have long nights, kids)

My bad

I want to see you very briefly

Without your briefs,

You know what I mean?

Me neither—

Sexual delinquency in meditated frequencies

Repeat this sequence

I keep my deepest secrets

Where I need it

Right up my slime,

Where my spleen is—

Dreamed it, and I haven't cleaned since

(Or dreamed since)

In this

Endless emission,

Ignition sequence begins

When The Lean splits

Under the blood moon;

An eclipse.

I drift off a lot—

Just thinking of your penis

My daydreams are not very safe for the public

I think they're X-rated or worse,

Even thinking of you as a person,

Or worse:

As my husband

once, as my lover—

Lovers have all the fun, anyway

Hm

All the things that I'd do to you

After you put me through—

What are you looking for, exactly?

A synchronicity.

Just any synchronicity?

There's no such thing as “just any” synchronicity.

Does “laying low” mean nothing to you?

I'm laying low!

On a city tour?!

It's a big city!

[From Afar]

IS THAT HER?

Aw, fuck.

Well, well, well–here we go–0

I don't have time for this.

Here it is.

I don't know what you're doing.

We're going on an adventure!

NO.

I. Cant. Enjoy. Anything.

WELCOME TO HOLLYWOOD.

I hate this.

My creativity had become merciless–inspiration pouring from the world as if all that it wanted wast o be collected and captured in any way I could see fit to create–

What do you want?

Out of life–or in this store?

Out of life.

Lets start with this store.

A Living Lion;

The eyes inside,

I smiled, declined to act on impulse

He'll admit,

She's less complex, cause she's basic

Everthemore complacent, blatantly lazy--

and crazy adorable.

Whatmore could any man want?

Whatmore could any man need?

Whatmore could any man have;

But the best friend who needed therapy,

Several Plastic surgeries,

A fading glass menagerie--

If she knew what that means.

(Basically, they're both nobodies.)

‘What on God's awful green earth

makes you think I would

ever want

anything

to do

with either of you two

Losers?

Beggars can't be choosers.

His plan B was Annie;

But she was never like me

Enough to be

Happy with

Sonny;

Let alone anybody.

What is happening?

Do you have an explanation of what's happening to me.

Every realm of reality and possibility. This is infinity.

What is this all supposed to mean to me?

You can see everything and nothing;

You can be anything.

So what would that mean?

What does it mean to you?

That Love is Love, then.

I've been half of a wide-open bleeding heart,

Since the Goddamn start of it.

He started it,

Or someone did

I didn't ever ask for it

I was only ever always on the dancefloor when it mattered.

I was always looking past him, but not ever looking at him.

It was always just at random, but i'd never thought to ask him

A question,

Or to greet him--

I just.

Adjust.

They're watching us, from above.

Adjust.

They just don't trust us

Adjust.

Look what we've done, look what we've done to the planet that gave us all the light that we come from.

Look, there.

It appears to be ‘shimmering'

What exactly is happening.

The entirety of its surface is Auquous.

Oceana.

If i learn all the planets,

In the everlasting galaxies--

And learn how to explore it…

I just might get to Skrillex.

I might fully need a Xanex bar if I ever see this kid in person.

He's olden than you.

By like, a minute.

Still.

I mean, really. I don't think this is ever going to work.

It might not work, I mean--

What?

If you had to actually--

Oh God, no; I'd be far too nervous.

So what are you going to do when it comes time for festival season

Run.

Hide.

Run + Hide.

Fight or Flight; A Natural Response to Skrillex

There is no natural response to Skrillex, because it's unnatural

Be civil.

I am I ‘m trying to figure out how to protect this species.

Oh now, you're acting as if he's not human

Of course he is. But i'm not.

Of course.

All it is, is science, a bit of misunderstanding.

Experimental sorcery, possible exploitation.

I'm not exploiting Skrillex.

No, he's exploiting YOU.

No.

Wake the fuck up.

No.

(Stop repeating yourself)

Wake up; you're being manipulated.

By Skrillex? Cool.

By whatever's manipulating Skrillex.

Alright.

Alright? You're part of a machine.

So?

“SO?” You're this comfortable having given your soul up to the devil.

I haven't done that.

Do you know what it takes to achieve that of which you so covet?

Money.

And?

Power.

Go on.

Fame.

So, calculate.

It adds up the same either way.

Skrillex isn't real.

Maybe not, but Sonny Moore is--

Is, what--

Is “who”...

“Who…”

I love.

What?

--But that's all I know.

That's it?

Yes.

Elaborate.

Can't.

What do you mean?

Well, it goes like this: This is insanity. I've been through every wormhole, every parallel, every revolutionary subconscious thought, every world, every realm, every lifetime...and at the end of the day--or the beginning, depending-- it's really all the same question, and the same answer--over and over again; From the Beginning to the End. It is infinite. Everything is Everything.

Quickly, tell me--

What, now?

What goes on a Skrillex Pizza?

Nothing, because it's not a thing!

It is not.

It isn't!

Stop arguing at get to work.

On what?

On building

Building What

[The] Skrillex.

How in the fuck am I supposed to do that?

How in the fuck did you get to be a vegetarian?

It just happened.

So.

So…

Are you really a vegetarian?

___

Why did you do this?

I didn't do this! You did this!

I didn't do this! Why would I do this?

How could you!

I didn't!

What the fuck is HE doing here?

What the fuck.

You need to stop this.

I can't stop.

What did you DO.

Exactly what I had to.

Shasta!

Who the fuck is that?

That's that bitch.

I told you it was Shasta.

Who the fuck is Shasta. What show is this?

Where is Skrillex?

FUCK SKR—

Wait, what show is this?

INT. THE VOID. DAY & NIGHT.

I remember the first time I ever realized, I could love anyone in the world, if they needed me to—or, if they just gave me the chance. Or if I got the chance. Or, if there was a chance.

And, if there was a chance, and it was supposed to happen, it always would—especially if I wanted it—

But definitely, if I needed it.

But, what is is “if”?

And, what is “supposed”?

What is it to “want”?

And what's a “need”?

Now I know— or at least pretend to.

Because, the more it is I think I know, the actual less I feel that I actually do;

None the wiser, I am what I always was—

And God is, as I am.

Sunni Blu becomes a popular androgynous rapper, as as s/he rises to fame is forced to take on a mre masculine persona to monetize thiher music.

After releasing a series of Skrillex diss-tracks, and music aimed at OWSLA's top dogs, a feud between Skrillex and Sunni Blu, or rather their ‘teams' breaks out into the media.

After Skrillex is hacked and left with his entire music collection missing, it is presumed the attack and disappearance of his hard drives was orchestrated by Sunni; After his unreleased music is leaked and the damage is deemed ‘irreparable' The Skrillex Project is forced to close, and the artist himself disappeared into obscurity-- after hearing one of his unreleased tracks used for one of Sunni Blu's hits, he( ‘*the fictional Skrillex*) secretly attends one of Sunni's concerts; Sunni Blu spots him in a large crowd and the two brawl; Skrillex with the upper hand after Sunni draws back from a bloody nose and retreats; It is revealed that the unreleased Skrillex track which was ‘gifted' to her came from the stolen collection, unbeknownst to Sunni Blu

Although Sunni Blu's true identity has yet to be revealed to more than Dillon Francis, beside the publicity and management who have been helping to keep her secret;

Dillon Francis and Sunni Blu are cornered by paparazzi, revealing to the public that she is, in fact, a female;

As allegations arise that Sunni Blu is a transgender, rumors put a strain on Sunni Blu and Dillon Francis's collaborations…

TBC.

All of a sudden—or maybe, even, not so suddenly—I was Clark Kent—or whatever Superman's name was. I had been without contacts or glasses for quite some time, and had quite explicitly in one of my many letters to God—or really any holy power in a realm which might have received my charred requests—all the things I needed, and some of the things I very badly wanted—tightly bundled and wax-sealed with intention for nothing besides that of the greater good, or course, for myself or anyone else—set ablaze in the unforgiving streets of New York City, in secrecy at odd hours of the night; it hadn't been my actual intent to have to practice any magic at all, especially under the circumstances, it it seemed that someone nearly unmentionable at all, had hexed a nasty attack on my psyche—a satanic, demonic possession of the weak and feeble bodies around me, and unable to isolate in completion, I became vulnerable to such a wicked curse that it had altered my psychic morality—as one does not practition a counter-curse or attack , in my medicinal expertise, without first being provoked—as one military typically mustn't bomb another, or even it's own enemy without being first considerably attacked—and it was, at this point, indeed a terrible holy war.

I pulled the stars into order

I put the water to fountains, in mountaintops

I don't know who I am either

But you call me God,

Agree, I'd not—

But at least I love you

I believe I was you once

I'm awful sorry that I broke you

I might have put the sun

Just to far up and out of reach

Believe me, see—I see you

Doesn't matter what we try to do

Unity is beautiful

I live on the 8th floor

I don't intend what I'm there for

It doesn't feel bad though

It doesn't feel bad though

I don't know what you're after

-Blū

Do I scare you?

Only a little.

Huh.

What?

Nothing..

I hate you.

ihateyou.

Eventually, The Ascended Masters will intervene.

They already have.

Oh, Christ Almighty.

He's not coming.

[Answering Phone] Jesus Christ Almighty

–WHERERU?

I TOLD YOU I'D GET THERE GODDAMNIT.

Fascinating.

Do my eyes deceive me,

Or

Is there a secret between us:

A secret illusion;

Should I bury it,

Or keep it neatly

And unseen,

Between my knees,

And where you need me?

Is there a thing that I should need,

But never speak–

I'll keep it in my sweet release

To dream beliefs of evil

Seen, aquamarine revines,

And pulsing veins,

–and stolen hearts,

Not passing judgment,

But just passing by

To hide, to pass the time

To find a high,

Align in color

Fly,

Write another rhyme,

Or wire fireflies a transfer of light,

Like the eyes reflect to mine.

WHY would you write this?

WHY.

I hate blue eyes.

That's racist.

No it isn't.

Congratulations on making it into my aerospace, unscathed

A coincidence, this is not.

I have something for you.

I don't need anything from you.

That's because I gave you everything you need.

Right. I have everything.

RIght.

So you should know whatever you need comes at a high price.

What makes you think I need something.

You said you have something for me?

Yes I do.

You don't seem the gift giving type.

I'm not.

So, what do you want from me?

WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

Oh. it' s another one.

What's he need?

Probably nothin, really

Oh, it's something.

This shouldn't be happening.

I agree.

why is this bothering me.

Google it's self had deleted half my entry, which was admittedly sloppily thrown together, at nearly a full episode's length; probably for the best, as I was becoming more intolerant of my societal responsibility by the moment, and increasingly self destructive asa result. It was still chaotic; fame kept coming closer towards me and then leaping away, but not out of reach or out of sight, but rather than chase it, I merely calmly strode forward in a never-changing pace, not rushing and always careful to remain calm, even when filled with fury. I had become unrecognizably fit, chaste, and a remarkably healthy eater; I was all together well, besides in the areas of romance and sexuality of course. I was ready to pounce, but timing would be key, and patience the virtue;

UH – “hehe”

…I beg your pardon.

“Hehe”

Um…

Fuck.

Or “haha” “haha”

…

Just admit it.

…

Admit it already!

–haha.

Admit WHAT.

This gets Levels.

Nobody thought Patrice O Neal was a woman!

I thought Patrice O Neal Was a Woman.

Ah, fuck, I'm nobody.

“Nobody”

Is that Bob Saget?

I swiped right on this dude, just cause he looked exactly like Bob Saget.

Omg. Bob Saget!

Fuck, that's right.

EXT. THE W HOTEL, BEVERLY HILLS, DAY/ EXT . PODSHARE WESTWOOD ROOFTOP, DAY

OH MY GOD, GUYS, LOOK: IT'S BOB SAGET.

No it's not!

Oh My God! Yeah IT IS!

Fuck, really?! Bob Saget?!

BOB SAGET!

YO GUYS, IT'S BOB SAGET.

It was, in fact, Bob Saget.

Bob Saget's dead, right?

Oh yeah, bud.

That's it guys! No more dead celebrities!

I'm coming with you!

NO MORE GHOSTS.

Look, I have something to tell you.

UGH. COME ON.

This is a weird superpower.

EXT. GRAVEYARD, QUEENS, NY. DAY

…

…

…

Having fun yet?

Alright! I have a question!

What?

When do I get to–

Get to what?

You know.

V.O.

Things I know about myself…

I have a dominant personality, but am sexually submissive—

I am monogamous.

I know what I like —

*Drill beat*

Die in your sleep

(Hope you die in your sleep)

Die in your sleep

(Betta die in your sleep)

I look like a vacation.

But k'm still on the clock (psyche)

Countin my rocks

And holdin my (unh) crotch

You better watch your back

—hold on your coughs

Don't run in no crocs! (No!)

I'm offset

Now I'm upset l

—I love you.

Shut up, foo— I don't even love myself.

…you told her?!

I—yeah…

What did she say?!

She said “shut up, fool

Been. Long time since I missed my exit

HEY!

[looks over slowly]

I LIKE YOUR BALLS.

[beat]

[thumbs up]

How do I not have “throwing elbows?!”

BECAUSE YOURE NOT DOING YOUR JOB!

Shut up, Jeff

COME TO THE DARK SIDE

WE HAVE COOKIES

Half of Hollywood shows up at Joel's super nerdy Star Wars party

The truth comes in glimpses;

A shattered reality

Scattered the ashes at malice, insanity—

Actress, an actress;

She laughs when she has to, l l l

And last to leave, actually,

After each practice

Practice conspicuous,

Conspiracy conspiracy

Perspiration lyrics,

affixed to the rhythms

She sleeps at the regency, l

Freedom for secrecy

Believe, please believe me, my love l

It was easy

The truth comes in glimpses;

A shattered reality

Scattered the ashes at malice, insanity—

Actress, an actress;

She laughs when she has to, l l l

And last to leave, actually,

After each practice

Practice conspicuous,

Conspiracy conspiracy

Perspiration lyrics,

affixed to the rhythms

She sleeps at the regency, l

Freedom for secrecy

Believe, please believe me, my love l

It was easy

Sunni BLU

Tweety bird

Mickey Mouse

Betty boop

I woke up like this

But a little different

I woke up a star

Then became a planet

I'm a hummingbird, but I don't like flying

I might look alright,

But I feel like dying

I hate waking up at 5 am

Just to be the first one at the gym

I don't wanna do that shit again—

Well,

I might as well just stay up!

I hate waking up at 5 am

Just to take my goddamn medicine, but

If I don't I'll feel like shit—

Well,

I might as well just stay up!

I might as well just stay up!

This is a recipe for disaster.

No, this is a recipe for Skrillex.

Oh.

This is the recipe for disaster.

Thanks, Dillon Francis.

FOR WHAT?

I remember the moment I became partially deaf.

Or at least, in the synesthetic sense.

Dillon Francis is delicious

Come on let me lick it on a stick

Give it to me like a big

Meat popsicle

Meat popsicle

Meat popsicle

Meat popsicle

Sample: Willy winks*

ITS WILLY WONKA

Lol are we still doing the bit where the misspellings are like a, another entirely different dimension?

Yeah.

Haha. Yeah.

—and the chocolate factory

“Lick an orange. It tastes like an orange. The strawberries taste like strawberries! The snozzberries taste like snozzberries!”

KATT WILLIAMS IS—

WILLY WONKA.

Oh hell naw!

Don't look at me;

I'm just a DJ, don't look at me—

Shaking my head, but it don't mean nothing

Don't know what you mean

You don't even see me;

I ain't even here!

Invisibility,

The MVP or VIP.

It don't mean nothing

Don't look at me!

Shaking my head, but it don't mean nothing,

Hey,

Don't look at me;

I'm just a DJ, man,

I'. The life of the party

I do know what you mean!

Shaking my head, but it don't mean nothing

I don't know what you mean—

Hey, I ain't see nothing, nope

Don't look at me

I could get some work in;

I got 12 minutes,

God as my witness

I work on my fitness

And listen to —

Simple Temptations and

limited Intervals,

Quick algorithmics,

And tentative frequencies

No more mentions for attention whores

Like Kayla Lauren!

I promise that's my last one,

That bitch is boring,

I'm not sorry but I'm soarin on my suorin

While you're snoring on my metamorphosis

Imm getting sworn in

Don't look at me;

I'm just a DJ, don't look at me—

Shaking my head, but it don't mean nothing

Don't know what you mean

You don't even see me;

I ain't even show up to work this week

OG VIP ASAP MVP

It don't mean nothing

I'm just a DJ

Don't look at me

—-

Hey Mr. wedding ring—

I'll buy you a drink,

You know,

Like an old cream soda.

Or a float,

You can drink in the bucket seat

Tell me, Mr. Wedding ring

Do you have everything you need?

I don't envy anything besides your energy and symphonies,

Please

Excuse this phony boner,

I don't know if you're alone

If this is Homer,

I'm a poet, though—

And not a poser

Hey,

Do you suppose you know the code

For doors that open up;

I walk a lonely road,

But Frog and Toad are old

And told me you'd be there to show me

(Whatever)

Woah

Where am I supposed to go from here

I'm nowhere, dear

I'm Alice lost in wonderland

And all her friends—

Even the one in red

Who wants her head

(Where'd that come from)

Yo!

It's a real bad acid trip,

I can't get a grip on reality

Can't get off the grid at random,

If you're being tracked

By the feds and fandom

Woah.

I may be one of the greatest writers in history

But will you remember me?

My ex gets

Under my skin with

Champion fashion;

It's in bad taste

But I haven't had my own bathroom

In half a millennium

Im under persenium arches

Sniffing cristanthimymums sampling Arsenio Hall

Are you ip yet?

I'm still enthralled with this story

But yo!

(Where's Unaavvi at)

I haven't been to a show

(Where's the party at)

I should be gripping a pole

(Where is Cardi at)

But it takes all day to get back to the Bronx in the snow!

Fuck New York when it's cold

And it's always cold in New York

When you don't know nobody

And your only hobby is hobbling around in the hotel lobby

Counting the robbers and gobblins

A

D Whitney's and Bobby's

The ghosts and the zombies

Everything hurts

But everything heals, with time//

Whatever that is;

And whatever that means,

It's means to an end, if you let it be

So let it be

But, it persists in lettering me;

He becomes me in my sleep, In dreams

I think I really need him, or something

Or anyone, or anybody

Anything, or something

Anybody, anybody

Excerpt From:

“DJ AND CC TAKE HOLLYWOOD”

Wait, CC—you're a sex addict?!

I'm an everything addict! You know this!

I didn't know!

—Except pills; I hate pills.

What? I've seen you take pills before.

Case in point!

Why didn't you just tell me?

It doesn't exactly come up organically in conversation, Dillon.

What?! We talk about sex all the time.

Like, in general—but not fórreal! What the fuck!

What the fuck?! Whats the difference?!

If you have to ask, I feel like you're really not gonna like the answer, dog.

—

“WorstConversationEver”

(Bong rips)

Remember your dad's friend Tom?

Oh my God. You fucked Tom?!

NO!

okay, cause—

I sucked his dick while I pretended to mow the lawn!

What the hell?!

—and he still paid me.

Whatthefuck.

Yeah, fucked up.

So who mowed the lawn?!

He mowed his own lawn!

This is the worst conversation ever.

The crazy thing about this story is—

There's a lot of crazy things about this story, actually.

EXT. BASKETBALL COURT. DAY.

Alright— shirts and skins —Shirt—Skin Shirt,Skin—

Uhh! Nah. I wanna be “shirts”

Why dude?! Your girl's mad hot!

So?!

So I know you got it goin on! Look at you!

I'm mad rich!

Yeah—but girls always cheat on flabby rich dudes! With hotter dudes.

My girlfriend might be cheating on me!

Yeah—She's not, though.

How do you know?

Cause I tried!

Yeah. Take your shirt off.

No—uh! How do you know she's just not into you!

Because! He tried—

HE tried!

You sell out.

And Andre tried—

[ANDRE is tall (about 6'9 dark, and handsome]

—you too, bro?

[ANDRE shrugs nonchalantly]

That's an NBA player—

What the FUCK, YO.

—and she said NO.

ANDRE

Yup. Shot me down.

Oh really—from all the way up there?!

Face it, man! You're fuckin hot!

I don't like the way that sounds coming from you—

Take your shirt off!

Were you this aggressive with my girl?!

Don't be like that…

Nah— fuck you!

Yo! C'mon, man—

And you three!

You're holding up the game getting mad over nothing. It's Hollywood!

It's Beverly Hills!

—Exactly my point!

You're new here—you'll catch on.

You know what!

I'm shirts—you're skins—Game on.

[SUNNI BLU goes beast mode and plays the dirtiest, most whoopass game in history—out of spite and anger of the toxic masculinity; this of course earns SUNNI BLU even more respect as a “man's man”]

Later: as the owner of the clippers, sunni BLU trades “Andre” to the worst basketball team in history.

SUPACREE buys DIPLO a glass house to replace the one he burned down in a crime of passion.]

There, now, you'll stop throwing stones—

Huh!

AND. Everyone can see when you ugly cry.

*humphs*

Now, stop it!

Is it supacree?

Uh?

Could be Sunni Blu.

Sunni Blu is a dude—

Sunni Blu is pretending to be a dude.

Oh yeah, huh.

Dang.

Huh.

Well, then.

We've gotta consult The Big Book of Dillon Francis.

Don't say that like it's some kind of guide book.

It is a guidebook.

To what??

To Dillon Francis!

That's preposterous.

Didn't you choose Sonny?

Didn't I waste my time writing the great big book of Dillon Francis!?

Touché.

Might as well do something with it.

I got it.

THIS IS ENVIRONMENTALLY IRRESPONSIBLE.

BURN IT ALL.

You're gonna hurt someone's feelings.

Yeah, my own.

STOP TOUCHING THAT.

Wait, where is—

Fuck.

What?

Now I'm “that girl who fell in love with Skrillex”

Lol, which one.

Hum. The one who wrote a novel about it.

Pick your poison.

Rum.

Not a rum and coke?

No, just straight up—you know what? How much is the bottle?

Uhhh. Just.

[SUPACREE pours the remains of the bottle into a red solo cup.]

Ugh. Come on.

What! At least you're not “The Black Yoko Ono”

How did you even find out about that one.

Infinite what the fucks.

Now the world's getting mad again,

I wrote something damaging;

Doors just start slamming at random,

And coughing—

Sounds of motorists passing,

Just scrambling my brain,

I'm insane, but at least I have plainly created

What may be historical, one day—

I've made a whole masterpiece, a symphony that easily outlives me, infinity—

My body's just a body

Rush a cop just got get off this awful planet;

I don't want what comes with poverty and fat,

I don't compete with Instagram models,

And everyone does that—

I'm not a catfish, facts are facts

I use my camera just to document the interesting phenomena I happen to walk past;

Saw Dillon Francis on a wall, and had to grant the wish he asked—

But don't know what it is exactly,

I'm just happening, actually—

I probably need nap but now Insomniac's been tracking me;

I happily allow it; I program myself with beats,

So when I finally sleep, I dream in music sequences, or something—

I don't know

I might delete it upon listening to rampant white supremacy or privelege on repeat,

But that's just me,

Forgetting I'm the one in trouble,

On the run, without a family

So perception is reality, and mine is badly damaged—

Damn Pasquale again, I had to re-decipher all the messages transmitted from imaginary friends,

Collecting images in infrared

*gasp*

Okay, just—breathe…

I can't! I have to wear a mask!

It's mandatory—so is being black,

I have to! But I'm not a rapper!

Maybe I should talk to Chance,

Or Marshall Mathers:

They might have to answer

To the questions that I can't afford to ask

This automatic writing might just be the most

Goddamned advanced evidence of intelligent inhabitants in other dimensions, or other planets

Or all of the above,

Or maybe just of Dillon Francis using magic,

Which he got from—

Oh, no, here it comes

SK—

Fuck this. Fuck this mother—FAWN.