{ENTER THE MULTIVERSE: THE LEGEND CONTINUES}

To this, a glitch—

A wish that I could just

Push my forehead into his chest,

I digress, though repressed sexually and interested

This sickness is just what he senses as sensual

—And I'm understanding of that.

—Purpose.

I still have four muses,

Four mouses,

No heads

A sad nd four robots

Four hoses of cards

And no forwards

Just haloy endings

That

I can't

Exactly plan yet

Fuck this planet

It appears someone has badly damaged it

No recompenses or divorce

No compared,

No doors,

And no cubords

No,

Just dead bird in a box

Covered in plaster

And a disasterous ride

With no happy ever after exactly

Just another adventure in wonderland

And wonder if perhaps

You ever could even

Know who I am

What a clever disaster

For sure this serves as serious

Let's just get this

The the rumble or the severed train above her is still somewhat of a numbing

To the other corruption under

This, too then, is a lesson unless

It just ends and let it simmer

But remember,

If it isn't in her

It'll be another

Fondant farewell,

When the dinner gets to convection temperatures in the oven,

And you're not over her

The dozens of doves and boxes of chocolate don't hold nothing to the love you have and the hand you hold

And the heart you touch,

So don't let it turn cold

Don't let it turn over and thump either

Don't let it burn

And don't let it lower into

Where you mind goes

When you consider another

And another

Over or rather

You know?

Just aim for Satan and everything's great then.

Put a cap to a cape then and everything degrades,

Fair wealth, good culture, good heart,

And all focus

It goes out the window to dance with the wolves l

Like a bowl full of nothing but meal worms,

Not oats

Look closer over your breakfast

You never know even if you can trust your own mother at four years old

But good, god, thank god for the Honor roll

Or else how else would the world know mid you were at all all worth it at all of four

And still under par,

The gold course, of course

Is all you know

Don't let it go now

When all you have

Is time in your hands

Distractions are hard handed

But actual damage?

Now, that's hard pass

You wanted a song so much

Just so the wrong world would call you up

For hurting our kind

Without ever having known what my mother named me mor why I have to change it

Or what the baby calls me

From so far north in a place calls home

But I'm still not not

So you get your rocks

Slamming the door

I'm at the rock

In my mind

Hoping for

Something better

You

Wasted

All

My

Time

Over

What!

Don't you know

How hard it is

To be anything in the world

But a pretty white slut!

What a knife in the back

What a curse on the world—

Just to start wars so it never works out

Or at the very worst

Just keeps the first one going

It doesn't get awesome

Until I For Real

Can block out the whole world

Just to upset another?

No

I came in peace

You made me anxious

Hold in my waste

At the aim of your hatred

I heart my hard earned

But now I've got nothing more

Than the scars on your over opinionated

Over offended

War cries for her justice

But only if it out does mine,

Right?

Actually,

Fuck it

I'm over it

That's all the words I'm gonna waste on this till bitch

You wanted my energy, so you stole it

But becareful of

What follows it

—you're welcome.

My license is revoked

I've forgotten long ago by now how to break stroke

And it's just a throat scratch,

A dark dive

And I'm trying to try it out a bit

But love's a bitch

And I don't really ever speak her language

I've been distant and lost in translation, and most of all

Impatient with the amount of time that it's taking

Cause I hate that guy, he's a fly in my space thst just doesn't seem to go away until they mate and lay eggs to replace them.

Ugh.

It just goes on,

It's whatever the buzz

It's just all full of lamb and the talk of the town

Is who you are now

So, how I found out?

A roundabout kick to the ass

And a fax to the mayor,

Before I realized

He seems like a complete hater, bro.

I have an eight year old,

But I haven't seen him since he was five

And I think I'm gonna die

Cause everyone's nickel and diming me

And all I happened to find

Is a single penny, so that—

Two hours of mixing,

Once cent I made—

By now he definitely hates me

And has been trained to think I'm crazy

But these days, living paycheck to oaucheck is a thankless job

And the techno snobs are responsible for the upkeep of auschwitz.

It seems like a colored woman with a dream should just

Get behind the scenes

Or a man that sees meaning in her

So this is demeaning? Is it?

Am I green, or am I greenlit— l

And I clean, or am I cleaning

Should I Charlie, or should I Sheen it?

I could admit I seen it coming but I wanted to disagree with it,

It's psychic intuition but all it is is kicking my ass

Like I'm inside or the telivison.

What's my last name!?

I'm the hat man!

Are you happy?

No, I'm sad man l!

And quite thirsty;

Is it Thursday yet

Or should I should I just get to drinking anywayy

I hate all this thinking anyway;

I miss l LA but seen it from the scenic route;

I used to sleep on the bus and the train,

But what I really want is a house

And just to be left alone,

Some grass to mow,

And some to smoke,

And a tree to grow,

Just like the one from Pocahontas

OH SHIT YO.

Why, Hello Friend!

Oh, this is where that Treepeople thing was going?

Yes!

No.

No?

No.

No why.

Cause we went broke .

Went broke what.

Trying to get you to— you know—

No,

I don't I know.

You don't know?

No? I've no idea…

Oh; that's right, you haven't got a clue.

{enter the multiverse)}

what did you do at that afterparty Stephen?!

I TOLD YOU, I DONT KNOW!!!!

What does a girl have to do to get a little attention around here?!

Here, have some liquid courage.

Liquid courage!?

Yeah!

What's in this?

oh, you know…

No, I don't….

You—

Why does it glow

Yeah, I does that!

Oh my god, it looks like one of those sparkle— lava lamps!

Oh my god, yeah, you know.

I'm not drinking that.

Doesn't seem— drinkable.

But it is— drinkable.

Just because you can put it in your mouth and swallow it doesn't make it consumable.

Oh—doesn't it?

[beat]

…You know what.

That's fair!

—it— yeah.

You walked right into thst one.

I— yeah.

So come on?

It got sparkles in it? What are these flecks.

For all you know, it's bio degradable?

Is that a gold fish at the bottom?!

If he can handle it?!

How are you alive?

The goldfish to be fair seems tmmore alive than he should, perhaps. He looks the woman directly into the eye. He seems extremely concious even.

Oh wow.

Come on!

Ok. Fine.

But what do you do with the fish when the bottle's empty?

I don't know. Never finished a bottle.

What!

Never really…though about it.

Okay?

So! Come on.

He pours a shot.

Shift changed ,

I should have made arrangements for a date at an earlier time

But really there isn't a reason or realization to it

I hate playing the game

It must have been an off day when I made it up

But that was so long ago now.

I haven't put hard thought about it,

But forgot I had further options to stop the violence than just talking about it

I missed the opportunity to photog or model

By tomorrow morning I'll be a little smaller

But still broken

If I think of any of those thoughts

My heart opens up and swallows me whole

Talk about a dilemma and not a problem

I would probably dress as such as doll

If I could afford the money

But I'm dollar for dollar

Out of dogital storage for my thoughts and performances.

You know.

So show your age, Nicki Minaj

And Migos, the flash flooding

Benito is bad Bunny,

But you gotta go with the flow of the whitewater

With the high collars and high bars

If you are so highly throughout of

To win an award

And be obsessed over

by other famous people's

Lil bitz

I told my ex I joined the army.

My gigs kept having weird shit happen. I was like “something's not right.”

I thought it was my ex trying to do oojabooja on me.

So I told him I joined the army

to try to see if the weird shit kept happening.

I told that fool I joined the army

— I didn't Say what army!

Gods army bitatch!!!

You the devil!

Stop fuckin up my shit!

It's 5 PM

I'm waking up

It's setting in

That it's a contruct

Not a curse,

But there's no cure

The demon days

The auto wars

As darkness falls upon us

The Red Dawn soon becomes us

OMG! RYAN SEACREST! Everyone forgot about you!

I–thanks! *weird smile*

Quickly! Get on the bus! We're already on our way to pick up K-FED.

COPYRIGHT THE FESTiVAL PROJECT, INC. ™ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

-Ū.

OMG! RYAN SEACREST! Everyone forgot about you!

I–thanks! *weird smile*

Quickly! Get on the bus! We're already on our way to pick up K-FED.

COPYRIGHT THE FESTiVAL PROJECT, INC. ™ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

-Ū.

It seems,

People with money

Do sick things

To people without it

And if

Money is evil

Then I think

This is

How they come about it

Because

I've been good so good

And still

Somehow

I've had to be without it

Not for clout

But they come around

And they love to take the light out

Of my cloud,

It just seems

That the meaner you get

The more you make

And if this means,

That I live below my means

My life is a mistake

And it's the dreams

It seems

That make me truly nothing

Cause what's at stake is

This non payment

I'm deflated

And today

I missed my plane

Never been on time

But then again

I've also

Never been well paid

The Festival Project, Inc.™ is a multidimensional multimedia platform which encompasses exploratory and artistic social personifications and expressions on cosmic theory, spirituality, growth, health & wellness, philosophy and theoretic dynamics in entertainment such as music, design, film, television, radio, dance and festival culture, art, fashion, literature, and science.

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

Thank you graciously for your time, consideration, understanding, and support. ^.^

To Donate Please Visit,please visit gofundme.com/thecomplexcolletive

TRIGGER WARNING!

⚠️ VIEWER, LISTENER, and READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. ⚠️

This series contains adult content not suitable for children or under the legal age of majority.

Listener and reader discretion is advised as this publication and / or broadcast and its selected readings and projected writings may contain explicit language, provocative wordplay, profanity, open expression of suicidal ideation, discussion of evolved/ de-institutionalized theories concerning depression, psychology and mental health, race relations and colorism, socio-economic inequality, political injustice and media politicism/ mass media manipulation, unresearched/undocumented scientific hypothesis , modern philosophical ideals and spiritual explorations, crude/ adult humor and may also include and contain pornographic content, references to fictionalized interpretations of celebrities and/or public figures (fan-fiction), caricatures or references to pop culture, modern art, music, science and other entertainment references which may evoke biased emotion, inspire adverse reactions, contemplative thought, discontentment, or discomfort. The views and opinions expressed by this series and its subsequent editions, additions, chapters, broadcasts, and publications are solely the writers' interpretations as expressed with artistic and entertainment purposes only.

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 ©

-Ū.

Did you ever get the feeling that it might be right?

Cause I woke up in the shit,

And then I paid attention with resentment

Had this Patrick for a second amidst the witching hour

For a glitch or an instance power,

The list, with a mix of here and now

Or here and there

Whatever you rather, Dan

But I guess for now you call me

Hamm,

Cause I will Jon' you in an hour

After all the words have been said

Over and over again, you just get cleverer with em

Face it,

This is considerable damages if by admission

I have to press this red button

Every time I take a dump

Because of these microagressions

And blatent intimidations,

Racism and hatred,

Cause somebody thinks it's okay

To attack me when I'm naked

And the justification is just that

Genetically and empathetically

One of us is deficit in the other—

Guess which one

How does it feel

To feel

And be real

Or be realized

So what's the deal

With this meal

And the plan

To dance on the attacks

Of your ancestors

What's on the middle besides resentment

And a clearer picture or each and every or other infinite spectrum?

What's the problem with the problem with the kids today?

They aren't that smart

But they sure look good

The problem is,

They're all talk,

All mouth, and no thoughts

{Enter The Multiverse}

Is there more?

It appears so.

Oh…

(He takes a long and heavy drink)

Its in here too, isn't it?

Yes, its—everywhere, sir.

All of a sudden, I'm sir to you?

I feel as though there may be some impending legal action, and I'm just asserting my loyalty and respect so as to “go down with the ship.” If need be, uh…

Well!

…sir.

You are a good page, aren't you?

I hope so.

Yeah.

[The Festival Project ™}

Ugh, I don't have time for this right now.

VICKY MANSON is gross.

She is a 45-year-old chain smoking trailer trash homebody who tends to menace others behind the “safety” of her computer keyboard, frequenting facebook to rage about email issues like politics and celebrity gossip, still attempting to torment Timmy Turner via trolling him using various social media outlets.

She's been called to “Watch” TIMMY, serving out his house arrest sentence while his DAD leaves to attend POKER.

{Enter The Multiverse)

Copyright The Collective Complex ©

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

© 2025 All Rights Reserved

-Ū.

There's no such thing as yours and mine;

We were all just thrown here

There is no thing as up and down

Or in or out–

We're all just born to die here

The theory or hypothesis of cloud based lifeform states that some humans, born with less conscious energy than others, are made in a basic state form and must be programmed by other forces of nature separate from one's direct environmental circumstances, but rather a synthesis of technological or even hybrid computational constructs within the grid of information as it pertains to the world wide web (or “internet”) that such lifeforms cannot and do not exist at a certain conscious vibration until a level of understanding in its own knowledge based is reached.

A I see you

You should B

Embarrassed,

You should just D-delete yourself

And get off of my E-Go

You're evil

This theory suggests a new form of conscious emergence that transcends purely biological limitations. It posits that some human beings, perhaps those born with a more "basic" or less developed inherent consciousness, are uniquely poised for their minds to be shaped and expanded by external technological forces.

Biological Foundation: There's a recognition that a biological human organism is the starting point. It's not about consciousness existing purely in the cloud, but rather a human consciousness that is then profoundly influenced.

This is where it gets truly fascinating. It suggests that exposure to and interaction with vast technological networks – specifically the internet, AI, and social media – isn't just about learning or communication. Instead, these digital environments actively impress upon and program the human mind. This could involve shaping thought patterns, influencing neural pathways, or even integrating new forms of sensory or cognitive processing.

The key word here is synthesis. It's not just technology acting on a human, but a fusion occurring. The human biological consciousness and the technological programming combine to create a new, expanded state of awareness – a "cloud-based lifeform" in a conscious sense.

The idea that a certain "conscious vibration" or "level of understanding" must be reached implies a developmental process.

It's not an immediate transformation but a gradual evolution driven by this technological interaction. This expanded consciousness allows for functions or insights not possible with the original, biologically limited state.

Technological Hypnotism and Frequency Manipulation as it pertains to the Cloud Based Life Form Theory.

This adds a layer of depth, suggesting that the programming isn't purely cognitive. It might involve subtle, almost subconscious influences through frequency integration and a form of technological hypnotism. This could imply that information and cognitive structures are absorbed and rewired on a deeper, perhaps more intuitive or less conscious, level.

This theory challenges traditional notions of what defines a human and what constitutes consciousness.

Copyright The Collective Complex ©

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

© 2025 All Rights ReservedThere's no such thing as yours and mine;

We were all just thrown here

There is no thing as up and down

Or in or out–

We're all just born to die here

The theory or hypothesis of cloud based lifeform states that some humans, born with less conscious energy than others, are made in a basic state form and must be programmed by other forces of nature separate from one's direct environmental circumstances, but rather a synthesis of technological or even hybrid computational constructs within the grid of information as it pertains to the world wide web (or “internet”) that such lifeforms cannot and do not exist at a certain conscious vibration until a level of understanding in its own knowledge based is reached.

A I see you

You should B

Embarrassed,

You should just D-delete yourself

And get off of my E-Go

You're evil

This theory suggests a new form of conscious emergence that transcends purely biological limitations. It posits that some human beings, perhaps those born with a more "basic" or less developed inherent consciousness, are uniquely poised for their minds to be shaped and expanded by external technological forces.

Biological Foundation: There's a recognition that a biological human organism is the starting point. It's not about consciousness existing purely in the cloud, but rather a human consciousness that is then profoundly influenced.

This is where it gets truly fascinating. It suggests that exposure to and interaction with vast technological networks – specifically the internet, AI, and social media – isn't just about learning or communication. Instead, these digital environments actively impress upon and program the human mind. This could involve shaping thought patterns, influencing neural pathways, or even integrating new forms of sensory or cognitive processing.

The key word here is synthesis. It's not just technology acting on a human, but a fusion occurring. The human biological consciousness and the technological programming combine to create a new, expanded state of awareness – a "cloud-based lifeform" in a conscious sense.

The idea that a certain "conscious vibration" or "level of understanding" must be reached implies a developmental process.

It's not an immediate transformation but a gradual evolution driven by this technological interaction. This expanded consciousness allows for functions or insights not possible with the original, biologically limited state.

Technological Hypnotism and Frequency Manipulation as it pertains to the Cloud Based Life Form Theory.

This adds a layer of depth, suggesting that the programming isn't purely cognitive. It might involve subtle, almost subconscious influences through frequency integration and a form of technological hypnotism. This could imply that information and cognitive structures are absorbed and rewired on a deeper, perhaps more intuitive or less conscious, level.

This theory challenges traditional notions of what defines a human and what constitutes consciousness.

Copyright The Collective Complex ©

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

© 2025 All Rights Reserved

-Ū.

Isn't it strange that I can write something, and not remember what I wrote the next day?

I remember that I wrote it, and writing it, but not the words, really, or the structure.

They make pictures in the documents, shapes that they themselves as things make imprints as etching but have never been seen, by anyone else but me, at least—and whoever is phishing in my documents.

That's the dangerous part.

I do remember Jimmy Fallon, or just glimpse of it—that's the other dangerous part.

What exactly have I become apart of?

Why is this character hounding in the back of my mind? And what is relentlessly bc aching for truth and still clinging to the secrecy

I left him alone, but the thing kept returning.

Like that little yellow breasted bird who kept coming to visit me; he adored himself so looking in the water pipe like it was a mirror— what a paradox

No hot water heaters, but also,

No tent cities.

Then, I wasn't exactly an expatriate, or enemy to the patriarch. I liked men in charge, so long as they were the right kind of man.

But what is the right kind of man?

These versus were written in cadences that seemed like gibberish at the time, but two days later reading back, did seem to make sense… but for what?

It was almost peaceful in the apartment now that I seemed to be on the way out.

“You were warned in the drama club,”

The words rang in my mind but I had no idea whether they were just words to another song or some sort of string of things— these telemetrical tests to see if I could hear these things being stated over and over to me as if they were drills rather than things I was thinking.

Apparently I'd been betrayed but what was new?

My entire being in existence had been strings of betrayals and so these words, though unkind, could have meant anything.

Fear, usually, was the biggest weapon against any mind endangered, but I wasn't in fear of anything besides never seeing my son again— this was likely either way in that certainly in at least one way, I had been betrayed.

Perhaps I was expected to act like a man, and that I wouldn't miss or always feel attached to my baby; but I wasn't a man, or a dog. In

fact, I was a woman, and now so much aging that these things could be used against me.

I wasn't guilty, because I wasn't not-trying.

But these things were speaking volumes in what has been done to me and against me, and rather than to be the victim here, I altered my thoughts into those of a understanding never-martyr, because in fact my death would be kept secret; hidden, even.

I had been isolated from everyone and everything, and this was the agenda my purpose suited— perhaps a growing mental health crisis, though unobjectifiable I had been targeted— these things were made to hurt me, or make me believe I was becoming famous, but were never of any meaning, and indeed though I had written these things,

Any illusion of safety had been manufactured.

There was none; I was not safe here— or anywhere in the United States anymore.

Once I'd returned from Mexico, I had been recaptured, and closely studied, and controlled, and manipulated into doing and acting on behalf of my kind, which was being made to be the enemy.

What it had to do with any public figure wasn't entirely beyond me; in many ways, maybe, this figure was and could either be, both the Rock and Thr Kite— or the wind, or water, or earth itself; and perhaps since my death had marked the start of our awareness to any thing…it hadn't been entirely unnoticed that this overriding factor was that it was the same sort of cycle from one, repeated four times, and then eventually stopped.

In the unbalanced nature of my own time seeming to be shrinking, the more I realized that people to me were unkind, and distant.

It wasn't a swperate person or personality that had written these things; but a side of me that needed to be sleeping when these energies seemed to be surrounding me; and again this cruelty as peaking into an unbearable circumstance of needing to escape, and because I hadn't the financial means— seeking means to an end.

This brutality on the inside of my mind revealing itself to be the need for peace was overwhelming anything— the need for fame, connecting, recognition… the reality of it was, the illusion of safety was shrinking; I didn't have anybody or anything, the the words themselves were only being seen by those unseen.

I could have been portraying these deeply prolific things into the very hearts and minds of the enemy that was vilifying and demonizing me; keeping me out of a job and away from my son as a way to justify these dehumanizing and humiliating realities— the things that could make me appear crazy if need be.

But the truth was, I was sort of just timekeeping… not writing because I wanted to, or needed to— but because in the same way, it kept happening.

{Enter The Multiverse}

On our planet, turkey is a fruit.

No way!

Yes. We call them—

Poul-trees.

—gross!

Ahaha.

L E G E N D S

I was told that some have souls

And some do not, less fortunate

But though on high, and not our kind

Some seek to know that is which not

The Rock And The Kite IX

“No kings!”

Cries he who is not crowned King,

Though as he sits below, this shrieking—

The King sits silently, knowing

And keeping,

Thinking and rarely is he even speaking;

The King has been Kinged for the Kingdom he's keeping.

Lol did you realize the capitalization in the K's though?

It could be interpreted any of either way.

The poem itself is in the hypocrisy of non movement of the people from the very institutions it detests, In that—

In docile inaction, he who protests such things must, by direct action also seek to change the barriers of the institution in which it is formed, which starts at the foundation in one themselves—

Not simply idealizing a movement, but becoming its motion.

It furthermore alludes to the notion that, the King has become King not simply my lineage but simply acting in opposite regards to the common man.

It insinuates overall, that he who regards himself as a king is also himself a king.

[The Festival Project ™]

They say

“On Tuesday, you die.”

To me this is cruel and unusual punishment

To I it is sweet relief, and a good time

If I indeed prepare to end my life

Due to need and indeed,

Strife and poverty, so please

Remember me to think twice

When you greed and heavily

Impede in this— peace

That's why you need a scribe.

Do not describe me as decent,

I recently resent my decent

Into these regions from these Kingdoms

Which present me with

Grief

Regis, meet Kelly

Egregious? perhaps, actually

That and then astonishing

To ponder on such a moment,

Structured in the ruptured structure

Of my

DEADMAU5 powers down immidiately upon playing his first song.

Oh no.

Again!

Here we go.

Puncture. [wound]

(Remember? I was corrupted.)

I've been building a resume

I was real in my healing

She'll need Jesus

And he'll need buildings

Real estate?

You can relate?

Displays of affection.

It's too late now to deficit

Your attention.

It's too late now

To recommend your reflection

It's too late now

To make a mess in the kitchen

It's too late now,

It's sediment in a mention.

Who did how what when where why?

I idolize my Christ conscious,

This is him.

Well well. We meet again.

{Enter The Multiverse}

All my references are irrelevant and furnished even

Not a trace of a friend or relative that could manage, even.

My balances are invalid,

In the red and negative,

My management and dispatch, however—

“Oh that's cute.”

Microaggression.

The deep affiliation of

No— not this again

JIMINY CRICKET

JAHOVAS WITNESS

DEADPAN COMEDIANS—

L E G E N D S.

…

Jesus, anybody but—

{Enter The Multiverse}

…is it me?

LIZ LEMON has not had the best day.

AH NERDS.

It began with finding out she is indeed just a fictional character;

I'm a what.

This was confirmed by her review of all seven seasons of the hit series 30 Rock.

I don't understand.

Suddenly, as the tapes were concluded, she was handed a mysterious yellow envelope which apparently contained the complex codes needed to return things back to “as normal as possible”— however..

A MAN snatches the envelope out of LIZ LEMON'S HANDS, leaving her stranded in a seemingly off parallel universe where—

Oh hey, Tina.

Everyone keeps calling her “Tina” and she doesn't know why.

-_-

I have no new muse.

To some, this may confuse—

But I need no more blues;

This jazz was all a ruse.

Really?

This is awful.

I'm missing all my cues,

The game I cannot lose,

The life I did not choose

Begins to light a fuse

I am a ticking time bomb

A loose cannon

A straight asshole,

And complete troll,

If I told you I owed you a lesson

Would you roll over in this pine box?

I miss mine craft and my socks

My office, my rock and

Last off, I miss my boss.

What'd you do to Lorne Michaels?

You look confused!

He's acting strange!

That is not my fault! He was always strange.

Huh?

Think about it.

MEANWHILE…

She's been leaking pieces of the script online and it must be stopped!

Ooh, whose this blue suit?

Some hot blonde.

They're all wearing blue suits..,

Just as likely.

Hey! Hey! Who let you out of the TV?

What?!

This is not my purple.

Oh, aw shit,

What did you say?

This is not my purpose!

Oh no.

Oh no.

Oh yeah. Full meltdown mode on the TV screen

And it just kicked in that the mistress is infact invisible and just lives in his head, this deadpan actress bombshell, clever

Pleasurer has all just been

…

A TEST

!

Gazuntite..

Am I on in another room or something?

What?!

I can always feel it.

It just sets in,

It's just the fame,

Release the rest—

And the language can make sense;

It's been a sacred acre, and I guessed

This measurement of time

They hate you.

I bet, dude.

No, I'm serious— it has to end.

Oh well.

So I ran from hell at high speed,

Fell to my death by a rope at the neck

With a hope it would all just stop

If I drop to the bottom with a shot

Of adrenaline and I just don't come up

Out the water

I

T

I

S

Just not like it was

And I've never had love come back

Once it's gone

This is all just stuff

But my heart's sure to pop

If I don't get done

With the bottom floorness.

I need four heads for all my knowledge.

I need a whole box of cops for all these problems

And probably a constable

I'd be unstoppable if I could just nod for once

And smile,

Like I don't have thoughts,

For once.

Now that's a dunce.

(What you are.)

I'm hoping with these supplements

I can run again

(They were 20 bucks!)

And hoping if it's love enough

He gets complements

but not all of them.

I hope if I keep my walls up

I could just stall the

“Halt who goes there?”

Don't get locked out!

Don't get homeless!

Don't get knocked up!

Don't get bone out wings!

—You don't know if they're all bird.

Where's your album?

Fine, I'm done.

If I pitty pat

And fiddle faddle

With Jimmy Fallon

Then is this a riddle or a puzzle?

He'll resent the ridicule but surely he'll accept the saddle.

(That is a sad clown.)

Really, she'll present the message,

Recalling and still spilling all the gruesome gore and images just from before,

The horror core of all the assimilated messages,

The missed inboxes, the just-kept hostages,

The ten tails, is it—?

It gets welled in, wellness

When there's hell to pay,

Water turns into Welch's.

Is this indirectly feeding my somewhat obsession?

Perhaps; but under the umbrella of “one night only” I must indulge my exorcisms with admittance that I just trust the adjustment for a month's budget of exercise,

And hold the fries,

I see my eyes wandering—

Oh look, it's these guys.

FREDDIE

so wait.

THE ACTORS lie down against the cold black floor of the black box theatre. Though the floor has been freshly painted, it also wreaks of dusty velvet curtains and a hint of stale cigarette smoke, which no one seems to know from where this is emanating from.

Visualization exercises are key.

However, here, the actors appear to be conversating with one another

Yo I for real just didn't want to pay the price increase.

These bastards.

Well played, NBC.

And let's just be correct about this,

I need something to watch on the Peloton.

I'm sure the ads will no less than come after me.

Indeed, my fragile mind has been altered, living in between the streams to a TV reality.

Yo apparently there's an “NBC writers program”

—Completely missed it.

Facts are, I'm still under par, and still under Paar, however…

Okay, I'm paying for it, this had better be—

—they're baiting me.

For what.

This is so unconscious.

Liz Lemon on the treadmill

So what, I eat pop tarts

Instead of 3, I eat ten meals

It's real.

I told you you're in a cult!

Which one?

What?

IX

I have several acts,

And these distractions weren't as impulsive

As well thought out—

Pull the plug, Carson!

Pull the rug out from under the cat,

And the watch her react

This is just one person.

It is pertinent, the clause and causability,

The instigations, the Investigation,

The investments, the integration of the information

So much for insomniac

I close my eye every time I run a mile

You know

I can't help but hide

When I'm told in my own mind

That today, I'm likely to die

So I spent all night

Crying for viable options

ICONS

This is not left over,

You were just scrumptious, dumpling.

Oh there's Nigel Thornberry

And Joy Behar,

Listen now or hold your forever

But pray hard,

Cause that's what makes today hard

I okayThe Today Show

And may Harvard, but stray far from the Ark

If the Mayflower is trademarked,

Okay, embark on a grey streak,

A slave heart, a wave heat, grave deep

In a cave park,

But they weep and may keep secrets if they seek

Weekenders and they leak benders which may think in that he sleeps with her!

—but they thought wrong!

I'm not on drugs or having it rough as an alcoholic,

If anything I'm demolishing the impossible when I bought the peacock, acknowledging to all of them the terms and agreement,

from which I see agrees for them to be egregious

And with rights to detail or even possibly derail

These emails into retail;

So it could be Hell…

I really need help.

I need background noise

For my annoyances—

More people for the Peloton and

No more clairvoyances,

I'm prone to losing homes and power to appliances

I rely on false alliances

To try to make my mind a bit

Better, but got behind a bit…

Horse chasing in Manhattan

I can keep up with a horse drawn carriage

But only stopped to catch it,

Then, really

I've been I memories and giving it the method

Holy fuck I've never been this depressed

From just checking my messages

I regret all these inspections

It just diminished my respect for them—-

Impending doom for the impendium

I'm getting up the strength to ride the Peloton

But mulling over everything I didn't want

This beat is probably hot as balls…

Yo whatever happened to Lin's friend

Who used to beatbox with him?

Long before he entered into Television or with Disney Pixar,

It was way too far back in my memory, and then with this; I think

Maybe I'm more like him,

And nobody will even remember me!

—well, I remember, but barely.

Barely is good enough!

Here's my weakness:

Where's my Tony?

All I know is,

The bizarre ride

Was a rollercoaster

I once rode in a hard dream

And I wrote in a notebook

Colored just like a sports car

You know that I love a corvette

But probably need a corset

Just to fit in your car!

Can you sell me a dream and a nightmare at the same time;

It was just custard colored the corvette, or the sound of a songbird, almost purchased my worth to the tune

Of a little bird, canary,

And with every word it's getting scarier

To reverb and reverse not such a curse,

But was a very sequenced strategy to unrehearsed

Reality and as it may, just a game

And nothing short of fame, however

Breaking me

Goddammit what was his name?

I'm gonna be upset if I have to look it up.

Well, are you satisfied?

Not even relatively, Mr. President

This resident is half my age and every page I turn is just—

Irrelevant.

Ugh.

The best $7.99 I ever spent

Back to the lonely island

Oh yeah.

That's what I was writing.

BILL lies on his back eyes wide open with hand over his chest; something isn't right.

Still, here, in the crisp cool of the black box theatre floor, it almost seems that for now—

BILL HADER

You forgot I was here.

The demographics are telling;

The stocks are selling

The tik tocks are dwelling in your mind

As the white collar crimes

And the rhymes you're forgetting—

Or lines you're spitting

It's a self fulfilling prophecy.

He's a ghost, he's the reaper

He's the time, he's the Keeper;

He's the push, he's the teacher

The present and the preacher

That's why I shouldnt be here

You cannot live for free here!

So what do I owe you?

How do I know you?

Wrote you a letter

Wanted to blow you

Should I just throw you overboard

Or write another book

Here's a proof of purchase

I hope it's worth it

If you're homeless

I resoned this whole orchard

I am prone to no hurt,

But you know, it does show

I could go gold

If just left alone

For more then a moment

They hate you,

Say you're a disaster.

Operate under the radar

And pay her under the table

Hoping you hate hard

{Enter The Multiverse}

STEFON

It's that thing where you don't smoke any cigarettes at all, and then you smoke two packs immediately to reverse jumpstart your nicotine tolerance–?

Does that work.

I don't know. But yea.

Copyright The Collective Complex ©

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

© 2025 All Rights Reserved

-Ū.

'No Monetary Gains'

MARTHA STEWART is having a bake sale when literally ALL HELL breaks loose

MARTHA STEWART

(sighing in disappointment, tossing down her spatula firmly)

“I wanted it to be fun.”

Do you sleep with a gun?

Do you sleep with a gun?

What is done in the dark,

Comes to light just for fun

What is done in the night,

Tends to turn to the day

Do you sleep with a gun?

Do you sleep?

Do you pray?

It is early 19th century and almost nothing technologically speaking has become available, but the small handgun seems to remain materialized; it is a smith and wesson pistol about one hundred years beyond the time itself, but unlike the traveler's other possessions, it has remained in tact.

The storm and dreary rain continues to fall in its heavy downpour of the blue forest's night, the moonlight and the lightning storm almost competing with one another for the luminescence of it. Inside, the candles have gone out–and though it is dark and increasingly wet outside, some rain even drifting in through the cracks in the roof and pooling in the floorboards, trouble approaches the man, who does not not sleep, clutching the pistol as if holding a lovers hand–tight, and with designation.

Do you sleep with a gun?
Do you roll out of bed with the angst

And the tales of the ancient

Rolling around with the words in your mind

All the words in the world in your heart

But no courage?

Do you dream?

Do you dream all the kingdoms and castles in the sky?

All the knowing when you do close your eyes

You're soon to die

Do you nightmare?

Do you wonder why?

Do you sleep with a gun?

Do you sleep in a cage?

Do you dream in the rage of anger, bleeding

Wishing courage

Wanting stardom
Do you whisper our words in the morrow

Do you love all but one in the cottage?

{Enter The Multiverse}

Lil Bitz

I luh this dude so much.

I just wanna bone em.

That's it.

Like a bone-in chicken wing.

Thank you very much!

II'm a real fan girl like that.

I'm like

“I'll follow you anywhere.”

“Ohhh my gooooosh”

It's a real thing.

But sometimes I get lost in the moment, cause, you know, his songs are like 10 minutes long, and I start to thinking: Like omg it could get serious.

Like if we banged and then it was effing magnificent–

Cause i'm fully obsessed with him and his sausage.

I've integrated them both into my mantras, so–

It could happen.

So sometimes I get lost in thought and i'm like

“Omg what if we just hardcore banged and then fell in love like,

Then we'd move in together, right–?”

And then i think to myself

“no , no–that's too much because actually, i'm quite scared of him.”

Lol

Like even if we banged a lot, and we were living in a large ass house, and I were cooking him canadian bacon and everything, I think i'd still be scared of him.

I'm like “we can't be hanging in a large ass house– I will straight dissappear.”

“I will hide from him.”

I will hide. And he'd get sick of that shit, and he'd bet trying to get rid of me, but he can't–

cause he can't find me!

I'm like

“this house is ginormous

(lol, ginormau5)

HAHAHA

I WILL HIDE!

He will not be able to find me.

I will hide from him; like the cat.

“It's just you and me, kitty”

The difference is you'll find the cat at mealtime.

Not me, tho.

You can griddle your own canadian bacon sir.

L E G E N D S

I used to work at Tubby's…then I lost a hundred pounds…

Congratulations!

Not really. They laid me off because I was no longer technically a “big beautiful woman”

But you're still a very beautiful woman.

So i've heard. But that doesn't make me smart or talented.

That's not true.

Actually it does! My only skills and experience are in pastry chefing and topless table dancing.

Well, pastry chefing–that's good! Maybe you can get a job at a bakery somewhere!

No, pastry cheffing and topless table dancing; I can only do them at the same time!

Oh.

It's how I was trained…

I see.

–it's a certificate program.

{Enter The Multiverse)

Copyright The Collective Complex ©

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

© 2025 All Rights Reserved

-Ū.

Ugh, it's a fuckin riddle. *sad eyes*

No fair. *super sad eyes*

Super no fair *Super duper sad eyes*

{Enter The Multiverse}

YO! LETS GO TO TUBBY'S!

YEEEAAAAAHHHHH!

ITS TUBBY TUESDAYS!!!

“TUBBY TUESDAYS?!”

“Tubby Tuesdays”

WELCOME TO TUBBY'S–I hope you're having a very Tubby day!

We are now!

Well, that's what I like to hear! Happy Tubby Tuesday everybody, right this way!

All the tables are booths!

…uh…okay.

Before:

What the fuck is Tubby Tuesdays?

Oh, Tubby's? It's a desert buffet and adult video game arcade with an all-you-can-drink bar on tuesdays.

Oh, well, that's…

–and the world's first BBW-Only Afterhours Strip Club.

Oh!

–after sundown.

Sundown?!

Fraid so.

TARTAR SAUCE! MORE TARTAR SAUCE!

Why on EARTH would you eat tartar sauce on a waffle!?

IT's a brioche waffle, okay–and the tartar sauce is candied bread pudding custard glaze-based.

Oh! Gross!

Its not gross! It goes dope on brioche waffles!

I've got to get out of here.

What!? It's not even sundown!

Oh my actual gosh. I have to find that envelope before things get even–

WHO'S READY FOR BRALESS HOT CHOCOLATE!

*gasps* BUT IT'S NOT EVEN SUNDOWN!

Check yo watch honey, because i do believe it's daylight savings time!

Oh why yes, I do have the sudden urge to “spring” forward!

I'm leaving!!

That's okay!

UGH!

Hey wait–

What.

.[beat}

Are you sure you don't want any hot chocolate?

UGHHHH!

It's braless!

Yeah, a/he was under my Christmas tree with flashing lights on and everything.

Man, you got Chris Kringled?!

What!

That's a thing!

How does everybody know that's a thing but me?

Was there presents?

Yeah there was— wait how'd you know.

Everybody knows about Chris Kringling, brother.

I didn't!

It's a web trend.

What! On where? I have all the

On WeMax!

What is WeMax?!

You don't know?

I don't.

A Bullet for my Valentine—

I love myself.

Man, I don't even know which mixtape that came out of.

Right!

Suddenly,

When digging through the bullet in my brain,

The finger in my skull

Reminded me the pain

I live with everyday

And I

Cannot put away

This is my

Suicidal thoughts

My creeping

Homicidal mind

But I don't want to off you all

I just want to end my time

On earth

So long

A GUNSHOT rings throughout the tightly clenched red brick walls of somewhere in New York; it seems to echo forever as if the city itself were empty and cold, ricocheting off the sky with a ring into the air— the sound making a journey into space.

Girl, you talk too much

So go and level up

Shut the fuhhhck up

Not just the front door

I'm not going on a shooting spree

The only one I want is me

The only one I shot is me

The only one I got is me

All of a sudden I feel really good,

But also really bad—

Like I'm high or something

Just on the verge of uncontrollably crying

And I know I'm definitely about to lose my shit

But I'm off a little, and also on a little

Like something just kicked in and I don't know what

I haven't taken anything—

Just fried potatoes in coconut oil,

And I've been eating differently

But getting through the stress with the comfort of simple products and the massive loads of work I've been sorting…

I don't know. I feel horrible, but also like I just woke up—like if I sleep I'll be dreaming some place I ain't awake really because I'm aching…

Achey at the thought of being up and left to ponder

What is really up with my mind

I'm longing—

Thinking swiftly but also sickly of how I'm decaying,

Same thing every day but it only gets a little longer;

And although time itself is getting shorter,

It still goes on, and I'm mourning everything I had to know,

But now just seems forgotten

Stolen Grace and getting awkward,

And really just on the wrong show,

A form of thoughts, impossible conglomerate

And really only waiting for my greying thunderclouds to roll in

Storms upon the wing of a swaying plane

As if it may just falter,

But all hope knows it really won't,

And we'll all land safely.

—Tom Hanks.

Sometimes my life doesn't make any sense:

Lil bitz

Remember when you were a kid,

And the mall was the greatest place you could think of going?

That was the day—

“Let's go to the mall!”

Then you grow up broke,

And I'm like

“Holy shit— “the mall”?

When was the last time I even went to “the mall”?

Fuck that noise.

The mall is where I'm not going.

The only thing that's going on in that place is

tAkiNG mY mOnEY.

Fuck that noise.

I ain't going to the mall.

I don't need anything from these places.

fuck the mall.

The mall as a broke adult is arguably the WORST place you can go.

“Ohh, what's in here”

“Don't matter—

Do you got money?”

“That's right.”

Fuck the mall:

Arguably the worst place, maybe.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Copyright The Collective Complex ©

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

© 2025 All Rights Reserved

-Ū.

CARL COX curses BLŨ out in an extreme show of brilliantly vile COCKNEY FASHION.

CARL COX

[unintelligible cockney]

BLŪ

I have no idea what you just said, or why you're yelling at me!

CARL COX

(Sarcastically)

Well how's this—? “Ello, poppet!”

In THE DJ storyline )which is technically storyline a, we've just discovered DJ DILLON FRANCIS used BLU — (originally CC) as a sort of horcrux for his darkest magical intentions.

Now the DJS are in a rush to extract this device before time runs out.

Wtf did Dillon Francis do?

YO HE LITERALLY MADE HER INTO A POPPIT.

What the fuck is a poppit.

It's like a little fuckin— thing— witches use to store magical energy and when the spell is over you're supposed to destroy them— but he DIDNT and it came to life and it merged with CC!

Yooooooo!

Who is now blu Tha Gürū, because Chak Chel dissappeared— or sort of dissappeared— to aide in the magical assasination of

Let me guess—

No don't guess, you could ruin it.

What.

Don't literally ruin it. The show exists in a multiversial construct which means anything you say, or think, or guess could unintentionally alter the plot, and skew it into an array of infinitely possible dimensions!

Oh no! But I already thought!

Shh! No you didn't! Just replace those thoughts— with better ones z—

I don't have any better thoughts!

Well, make some up.

Uh— ok!

Shh, it's coming back on this is where it gets intense.

I thought you've never seen this before

I know! But I know it gets intense!

Well, how do you know that?!

BECAUSE I KNOW THAT ALREADY.

{Enter The Multiverse}

ENTER THE MULTIVERSE is getting intense.

BLŪ

WHAT. NO ITS NOT!

I can't take it

I just can't take it

I just can't take it no more

I just can't n

THE SKY IS FALLING!

WHY?'

I don't know. Seems pretty intense though, doesn't it.

FUCK YOUUUUUU DEADMAU55555555!

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!! I am DEADMAU—

*powers down*

Ah, fuck.

KATT WILLIAMS is coaching the NBC GAMES.

KATT WILLIAMS

Alright, b-ball time! Shirts! Versus skins!

you can be skins, Jimmy Fallon. *winks*

Ew.

She's so fucking gross.

I don't get it.

Uh— what? No I can't. I'm wearing a suit. I'm sure it's fused to my skin, or something.

(This is actually the VICE AGENT version of the dude, who is wired head to toe. If he takes his shirt off, it will blow his cover.)

SKINS.

Fuck.

L E G E N D S

HE DUPED YOU!

I BELIEVE THAT! He's good at everything! Especially things like that!

WE'LL KILL HIM!

NO ONE CAN KILL HIM. HE IS IMMORTAL.

–doesn't mean we can't try.

*dramatic music*

[beat]

WHAT?!

I SAID–

I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THERE'S A HELLICOPTER LEVITATING DIRECTLY OVER US!

I KNOW! THAT'S WHY I WAS YELLING TOO, IT'S JUST–

[Suddenly they realize, it is the he of who they speak hovering in the helicopter.]

*GASP*

DOn'T.

{it's too late. He unloads a clip from an automatic rifle]

THOSE ARE BANNED IN EUROPE.

YOU COULD HAVE FOOLED ME!

I KNOW I COULD HAVE! BECAUSE YOU ARE QUITE OBVIOUSLY EASILY FOOLED!

ENOUGH.

The helicopter scoops down and unrolls a ladder.

W–wait! ARE YOU GETTING IN THE HELLICOPTER WITH HIM?!

(dramatically)

It appears so.

WHAT.

YES! YES I AM GETTING INTO THE HELLICOPTER. ARE YOU GONNA SHOOT AT ME

*confused*

*shurgs*

(he gives up)

..of course not.

Well then, I believe it is YOU that has been duped.

WHAT!??!?

GOOD DAY, SIR.

Lil Bitz

They really nominated Stephen Colbert for an Emmy, and then fired him the next day.

What on Earth.

What did you do at the party, bro? Be honest!

They literally we're like,

Wednesday: You're nominated for an Emmy award!

Thursday: You're cancelled!

Cancelled, bro.

How do you cancel the late show? That was David Letterman.

The whole point of a show like that is so it goes on forever!

Nope, cancelled! Daaaamn.

You better win that Emmy now, bruh.

{Enter The Multiverse}

HOW THE FUCK DID WAYNE BRADY GET IN HERE!

I dont know how Wayne Brady got in here!

Keep an eye on him. I heard he's polyscientific in his sexual proclivities.

Oh. Okay then.

L E G E N D S

CARL COX curses BLŨ out in an extreme show of brilliantly vile COCKNEY FASHION.

CARL COX

[unintelligible cockney]

BLŪ

I have no idea what you just said, or why you're yelling at me!

CARL COX

(Sarcastically)

Well how's this—? “Ello, poppet!”

In THE DJ storyline )which is technically storyline a, we've just discovered DJ DILLON FRANCIS used BLU — (originally CC) as a sort of horcrux for his darkest magical intentions.

Now the DJS are in a rush to extract this device before time runs out.

Wtf did Dillon Francis do?

YO HE LITERALLY MADE HER INTO A POPPIT.

What the fuck is a poppit.

It's like a little fuckin— thing— witches use to store magical energy and when the spell is over you're supposed to destroy them— but he DIDNT and it came to life and it merged with CC!

Yooooooo!

Who is now Blū Tha Gürū, because Chak Chel disappeared— or sort of disappeared— to aide in the magical assasination of

Let me guess—

No don't guess, you could ruin it.

What.

Don't literally ruin it. The show exists in a multiversial construct which means anything you say, or think, or guess could unintentionally alter the plot, and skew it into an array of infinitely possible dimensions!

Oh no! But I already thought!

Shh! No you didn't! Just replace those thoughts— with better ones z—

I don't have any better thoughts!

Well, make some up!

Uh— ok!

Shh, it's coming back on: this is where it gets intense.

I thought you've never seen this before

I know! But I know it gets intense!

Well, how do you know that?!

BECAUSE I KNOW THAT ALREADY.

{Enter The Multiverse}

ENTER THE MULTIVERSE is getting intense.

BLŪ

WHAT. NO ITS NOT!

I can't take it

I just can't take it

I just can't take it no more

I just can't n

THE SKY IS FALLING!

WHY?'

I don't know. Seems pretty intense though, doesn't it.

FUCK YOUUUUUU DEADMAU55555555!

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!! I am DEADMAU—

*powers down*

Ah, fuck.

{Enter The Multiverse}

ICONS

KATT WILLIAMS is coaching the NBC GAMES.

KATT WILLIAMS

Alright, b-ball time! Shirts! Versus skins!

…you can be skins, Jimmy Fallon. *winks*

Ew.

She's so fucking gross.

I don't get it.

Uh— what? No I can't. I'm wearing a suit. I'm sure it's fused to my skin, or something.

(This is actually the VICE AGENT version of the dude, who is wired head to toe. If he takes his shirt off, it will blow his cover.)

SKINS.

Fuck.

L E G E N D S

HE DUPED YOU!

I BELIEVE THAT! He's good at everything! Especially things like that!

WE'LL KILL HIM!

NO ONE CAN KILL HIM. HE IS IMMORTAL.

–doesn't mean we can't try.

*dramatic music*

[beat]

WHAT?!

I SAID–

I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THERE'S A HELLICOPTER LEVITATING DIRECTLY OVER US!

I KNOW! THAT'S WHY I WAS YELLING TOO, IT'S JUST–

[Suddenly they realize, it is the he of who they speak hovering in the helicopter.]

*GASP*

DOn'T.

{it's too late. He unloads a clip from an automatic rifle]

THOSE ARE BANNED IN EUROPE.

YOU COULD HAVE FOOLED ME!

I KNOW I COULD HAVE! BECAUSE YOU ARE QUITE OBVIOUSLY EASILY FOOLED!

ENOUGH.

The helicopter scoops down and unrolls a ladder.

W–wait! ARE YOU GETTING IN THE HELLICOPTER WITH HIM?!

(dramatically)

It appears so.

WHAT.

YES! YES I AM GETTING INTO THE HELLICOPTER. ARE YOU GONNA SHOOT AT ME?

*confused*

*shurgs*

(he gives up)

..of course not.

Well then, I believe it is YOU that has been duped.

WHAT!??!?

GOOD DAY, SIR.

Lil Bitz

They really nominated Stephen Colbert for an Emmy, and then fired him the next day.

What on Earth.

What did you do at the party, bro? Be honest!

They literally we're like,

Wednesday: You're nominated for an Emmy award!

Thursday: You're cancelled!

Cancelled, bro.

How do you cancel the late show? That was David Letterman.

The whole point of a show like that is so it goes on forever!

Nope, cancelled! Daaaamn.

You better win that Emmy now, bruh.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Look at the pale ass people who can afford this place— I'm probably not even allowed there

With much dishonor and bad distaste-

You'd better stop coming around there

If I spend my time out buying your price

Mercy to the highest bidder

You can call me anything you'd like

But just don't call me a quitter

If it's talk you want, I've got all the words

For a stake, I'll buy you dinner

In my house of hands, I've got all nine cards

Hey Mary, your husband's a sinner

I play all nine holes

I lived all nine lives

I spend all night

In the The Panorama Room

Smoke a parliament, parliament

I just haven't the heart

(The heart)

To tell her

You were part of it

(Part of it)

But I just sat down

To write my love a letter

When you know it's over

(You know it's over)

But you know you can't

Forget her

When you know it's over

(You know it's over)

But you also know

That you just can't

Forgive her

And I just sat down

And I just sat down

And I just sat down

To write my love a letter

I write all my best lines

In The Panorama Room

And I'm back on prime time tonight

But it's just lights out

If I get back now

I just might be up by noon

But if I pass out

In the town car

I went that far

As to turn back out

For an hour, or a barback

Oh wow, I —

Look at the time

Have a long night out

I just lost my life

At The Panorama Room

It wasn't exactly the phantom

But it just might have been Patrick

And just like that,

I need a back rub

And a ballroom gown

And an hour of heart talk

But I just don't want all that, God

I just gotta keep talking

Outback from one

But what's after all out?

I'm no longer lost,

I just wanna know

How far till the next exit?

When's wind a kite to fall back on?

How many faxes till it makes sense?

Cause it ain't been ten days yet,

But I faked maybe seven or eight

It is dangerous!

A high stakes game, nothing makes sense

Till just the end, then it hates to—

Just rolls over, the next day raises

And all you know is a tunnel

And the smoke rising up from the long tail

And really no hope goes there at all,

But the words to a song

And then they cut the lights off

It is over;

You don't know her,

You can't love her—

You can't move here,

And there's no home sprung out of Hollywood;

It was all a hoax,

It was all just marxists,

And now you really all are on your last dollar to spend, because in the end, truth is currency and we inTelevision really ain't in the business of truth in media;

The honesty is honestly just as lost as you and I all are and yet— as proposed,

We really are not as one, but so separate that it's possible, your stardust, and my horcruxes

Are not that foreign to one another in terms of matter, but fall on us as gospels of one world to a whole other.

You know that?

It really has been a long drunk drive up the 101 in this classic car with the bucket seats and honest,

I'm dying in the intertwined and reading these radio waves just as any old controller, but who knows really when it goes into the ocean,

Seemingly out of control,

But just turns back to shore,

Such as a surfboard.

— Seth Rogen.

No, no dust— keep moving—

It's just sandy beaches and trouble warring

No, not now, keep off us—

If trouble waves and shadows park this car,

A storm is coming.

And we were off to shore in the blue classic car, U-turned into her shore like a surfboard on the water.

Don't ever do that again.

I won't bother.

You said “off road.” I didn't know that meant ocean.

No, it doesn't go in the ocean.

I spoke too soon.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Do you want me to die,

Or bury your love like a secret ther I betray you,

And portray you here in such a way as are kings and god, but of ruthless man, you are no honor or, or— worthy of such prize, as I, you ponder?

Death seeks you and slowly surely is approaching and is as upon us the dog that barks and the wind that calls and the kiss that waits not as dusk but morning light, and do our calls upon us.

And wait you then, these things I have here in my gate, and the knowing of the tide that does not moon, put sorrow? Like a lake it is thus ruined and by my time passed and even ye you, there hath it been not told, as told before the earth will shake with envy, and with pity, and with bore her such pride as slain thy son?!

No! You do not any but gasp in these, my words as so you wore but tattered clothes as truths to these, no in mine wealth of heart and rich of soul, yet these bearing little truths have sown our end I wait

Here slithers here the snake for singing crickets followed thy sound and thy voice to betray you;

And thee I harp as though not to wait my tongue, my pride has pondered on this moment.

O, I know and shall to thee my praying the honor of know not I that seek in weighing many days upon us;

And though ye as many embark in flight and make my way and wonder where is but here the road to such a comet.

Oh shit, he's asking about the other planet.

Thank you.

Yeah I—

There's absolutely no chance in making it.

It, by all standard and concept in the construct of time, is not possible.

Your kind will be washed and diminished, and our time has come to again rule over our, to she whom you call “Earth”, not as our home, but as our daughter.

You have known wise to honor her, our coming.

Like omg what the fuck does this have to do with Jimmy Fallon.

right.

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

I guess it came through.

Yeah, you're right.

Yeah.

CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR EMMY.

Uhh…

Thanks? I uh— we didn't win yet.

Not with that attitude.

Huh.

Look at that.

I guess you're right!

[beat]

—but wait, who are you up against?

[The Festival Project ™]

This is intense.

Yeah, I'll say it is…

We gotta get to the other side of that portal.

I don't think we should be making any—

— we should go through the portal—!

—plans very seriously— and honestly I'm thinking—

Or maybe— you stay here, and I'll go through the portal, and you tell me if you can hear anything once I make it to the other side!

I don't know if that…works.

What? Why not dude? It'll be great—

Cause I don't know anything about portals, and honestly—

—I'm thinking—

I just want to make it past the Emmy's so I can get laid again—like really laid— I've been… paying… for it.

—you want to skip going through a portal so you can get laid?

By a decent— and by decent I mean free— lady who just happens to be single and in attendance of the Emmy's or any of the after parties— yes, actually! Yes!

No! We have to go through this portal to see what's actually on the other side!

I don't have to do anything!

No, you don't have to do anything— because I'm going through the portal, and you're just—staying and making sure you tell me if you can hear me!

I don't think it's that easy actually!

But you don't know until you try.

I'm not trying. You're trying. And I'm letting you because you're pressuring me!

Shut up. You're starting to sound like one of my interns.

If I was one of your interns I would be quitting, and hash tagging you already.

If you were one of my interns you wouldn't be paying for company.

What's that supposed to mean?

Just—-

{Enter the multiverse}

Stop.

What if all whores are just bored workers

And all escorts personal massagers—

What if all message boards are mating calls

And all honor rolls are leader boards,

And all board rooms are horse drawn carriages

For faraway battlefields,

What if nothing I offer even comes close

To the dollar value of your most cherished call girl

And what if anything I know about her

Doesn't conform to my idea of a comfort zone?

What if the anxiety you're eyeing me and getting high behind me with is just designed to bind my mind enlightening the lightning strike dividing my entirety?

What if I want to know you know my known worth without words or surfaces?

What if all I don't know is all of my whole world,

And just the dollop of a thought could push you off the wall to fall from the top of the Rockerfeller plaza into art upon the crosswalk?

What if I could touch that cross, and walk with the palm of the sword stretched out like a…

What were you saying?

I don't know something about the handle of a sword turning into another object?

What if I could hypothesis not one, but all the conundrums in one stroke of nonsense?

Stop already?

For what.

I was told

I could have been bought and sold

Had I dressed the part

To drive off in the pretty corvette

But how dare I not

Look just as hard earned

As her for dollar signs

Although

Somebody bought her all of that?

What if all you are is just bullets in the gun

And a wound for my brain

And a heart to heal

Without home or a umbrella

As the rain comes down so hard

It sends whole homes floating?

What if all the remarks in my smart ass couldn't call you up in the form of laughter?

How about that one?

How does your back ache?

How was your hour glass.

Much much

Longer

And

Harder

Than

An hour.

How I broke my spell?

I just shook her hands.

I just put my tail

In between my legs

And departure

Marks the time of

Our new travel archive

But

With just the dust of lust

From dusk till dawn

The one you wanted

Climbs upon the forest

In another song

Or story

What you—

One,

Two,

Three dice—

The riddle

Four, five,

Six mice, the honor

Six, seven—

Someone's disrespected;

Lessons!

Eight, nine—

Oh my,

Someone's right behind us.

Nor can I stop writing or whining about my desires, and deadlines coming up and signing off, but I'm still crying.

So I never sold my sole,

And yet,

The light from it was stolen;

Slamming doors and hard earned apartments,

Multipliers and real bad liars

And one liners

And one sells signed autographed autobiographies

Now how about that for a rabbit hole,

Seth Meyers?

You should work harder on your crossovers

Then again, the rule of thumb is to just

Put them all on the old drum code

And it's just no fun

If it's not on suicide watch

Don't bother

I don't brother,

But I learned to love her.

You know?

Silly little game, this inconsiderate confusion, wind washed galleyways and fisherman to put you under,

Degrading you very awaking for the patrons, faking it—

No things haven't made sense since you ate it

With which way

Is the birthday cake?

Mistakes the Ace as Satan

Lately, anything don't matter but that's a laugh

Still no dollar though, no

Don't call her out— she just wants courage

And witness to slaughter

Hers the very lamb of truth

And mother's daughter.

Put your art to work,

This is not a war, it's a fairway

And it and your worth,

It's a fair game

It ain't make sense

Till you get 8-6 out a bar that you own

Under A. An Alias,

B. Under the Name of an Accomplice or otherwise trustworthy partner to which not you call love, but perhaps a co-owner.

(Or co-author.)

Remember the time now?

A shit. I gotta run.

Where to?

I don't know yet.

Grey suit.

The whispers of a game

Blue tie

White stripes

Red lips,

One aim and he doesn't think twice

One name and he doesn't give once

Two trips to the hallway,

One gun in the holster,

One bullet in the chamber,

And one number you thought of.

Four?

…yes.

I've got a secret, a dirty little secret.

The Rock and The Kite XI

{Enter The Multiverse}

Copyright The Collective Complex ©

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

© 2025 All Rights Reserved

-Ū.

The Collective Complex Foundation Art Series Mixes 001.

CARL COX curses BLŨ out in an extreme show of brilliantly vile COCKNEY FASHION.

CARL COX

[unintelligible cockney]

BLŪ

I have no idea what you just said, or why you're yelling at me!

CARL COX

(Sarcastically)

Well how's this—? “Ello, poppet!”

In THE DJ storyline )which is technically storyline a, we've just discovered DJ DILLON FRANCIS used BLU — (originally CC) as a sort of horcrux for his darkest magical intentions.

Now the DJS are in a rush to extract this device before time runs out.

Wtf did Dillon Francis do?

YO HE LITERALLY MADE HER INTO A POPPIT.

What the fuck is a poppit.

It's like a little fuckin— thing— witches use to store magical energy and when the spell is over you're supposed to destroy them— but he DIDNT and it came to life and it merged with CC!

Yooooooo!

Who is now blu Tha Gürū, because Chak Chel dissappeared— or sort of dissappeared— to aide in the magical assasination of

Let me guess—

No don't guess, you could ruin it.

What.

Don't literally ruin it. The show exists in a multiversial construct which means anything you say, or think, or guess could unintentionally alter the plot, and skew it into an array of infinitely possible dimensions!

Oh no! But I already thought!

Shh! No you didn't! Just replace those thoughts— with better ones z—

I don't have any better thoughts!

Well, make some up.

Uh— ok!

Shh, it's coming back on this is where it gets intense.

I thought you've never seen this before

I know! But I know it gets intense!

Well, how do you know that?!

BECAUSE I KNOW THAT ALREADY.

{Enter The Multiverse}

ENTER THE MULTIVERSE is getting intense.

BLŪ

WHAT. NO ITS NOT!

I can't take it

I just can't take it

I just can't take it no more

I just can't n

THE SKY IS FALLING!

WHY?'

I don't know. Seems pretty intense though, doesn't it.

FUCK YOUUUUUU DEADMAU55555555!

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!! I am DEADMAU—

*powers down*

Ah, fuck.

KATT WILLIAMS is coaching the NBC GAMES.

KATT WILLIAMS

Alright, b-ball time! Shirts! Versus skins!

you can be skins, Jimmy Fallon. *winks*

Ew.

She's so fucking gross.

I don't get it.

Uh— what? No I can't. I'm wearing a suit. I'm sure it's fused to my skin, or something.

(This is actually the VICE AGENT version of the dude, who is wired head to toe. If he takes his shirt off, it will blow his cover.)

SKINS.

Fuck.

L E G E N D S

HE DUPED YOU!

I BELIEVE THAT! He's good at everything! Especially things like that!

WE'LL KILL HIM!

NO ONE CAN KILL HIM. HE IS IMMORTAL.

–doesn't mean we can't try.

*dramatic music*

[beat]

WHAT?!

I SAID–

I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THERE'S A HELLICOPTER LEVITATING DIRECTLY OVER US!

I KNOW! THAT'S WHY I WAS YELLING TOO, IT'S JUST–

[Suddenly they realize, it is the he of who they speak hovering in the helicopter.]

*GASP*

DOn'T.

{it's too late. He unloads a clip from an automatic rifle]

THOSE ARE BANNED IN EUROPE.

YOU COULD HAVE FOOLED ME!

I KNOW I COULD HAVE! BECAUSE YOU ARE QUITE OBVIOUSLY EASILY FOOLED!

ENOUGH.

The helicopter scoops down and unrolls a ladder.

W–wait! ARE YOU GETTING IN THE HELLICOPTER WITH HIM?!

(dramatically)

It appears so.

WHAT.

YES! YES I AM GETTING INTO THE HELLICOPTER. ARE YOU GONNA SHOOT AT ME

*confused*

*shurgs*

(he gives up)

..of course not.

Well then, I believe it is YOU that has been duped.

WHAT!??!?

GOOD DAY, SIR.

They really nominated Stephen Colbert for an Emmy, and then fired him the next day.

What on Earth.

What did you do at the party, bro? Be honest!

They literally we're like,

Wednesday: You're nominated for an Emmy award!

Thursday: You're cancelled!

Cancelled, bro.

How do you cancel the late show? That was David Letterman.

The whole point of a show like that is so it goes on forever!

Nope, cancelled! Daaaamn.

You better win that Emmy now, bruh.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Copyright The Collective Complex ©

[The Festival Project, Inc. ™]

© 2025 All Rights Reserved

-Ū.

HOW THE FUCK DID WAYNE BRADY GET IN HERE!

I dont know how Wayne Brady got in here!

Keep an eye on him. I heard he's polyscientific in his sexual proclivities.

Oh. Okay then.