As I flirt with suicide, I realize

I am famous and of much importance without being paid for it—

People enter my line of sight just to exist, I.

(lol)

I'm in an existential crisis

And this residential area

Is under surveillance

Psychological violence

And terrorism is technological

I'm a flight risk

But if I die,

The devil inside my child l l

I digress

Will probably profit l l

Cause very n*gg*r is a star

With two consonants at the end,

Okay,

We're gonna kill each other

Okay

The song's almost over

Okay,

I've got a lot to do to day,

Would you throw yourself

At the bus

Or from under my keychain

Okay

I got pain in my heart, you know

Okay,

I'm stuck in the road you know

Okay,

So I left the door I open

To go play darts at the bar

And the dog walked in

Okay

You don't want a bad problem

Okay

I got a trunk full of bodies

Okay,

I need guitar lessons

Okay—

So this table wine calling my name

Or what

OKAY

so we're gonna kill each other

Okay

Alright

Okay

So I left the door open

OKAY

I got a pest problem

OKAY

I don't want no more problems

I don't produce movies

I got 12 dollars.

Okay,

Stop talking

Sunlit spells under midnight moon

You turned your heart on mine

The ocean calls

What realm of hell is this, I walk?

The devils eyes have found

Your world

Made of fractions of illusion

And robbed

Of stardust

The light of the cosmos

Is here upon lost,

With the mark of the crying dollar

For it was I who died high on the cross and

Yet, did not die at all,

So was boarded under rocks,

A bolder and slumped over

{Enter The Multiverse}

Serrated imagery

No response server

Straight at the begging of the seven years,

Was the forager blind, who would become journeyman, Shepard and son of all

Who had witnessed since, the oncoming of her arrival.

Come, now Ishii.

You were a terror.

Aren't I now?

Let's not forget, there are commonplace errors here,

Among the redaction

And in all time,

It could take years,

To find the days

Coming toward tomorrow

I say you should let him out, if ye know what's good fer ye.

I say, you should say less than nessecary, as my patience is shrinking and you, my foul ogre are a lot more pleasant when you're not speaking.

Forget I said anything.

I wish that I could do that.

I used to grant wishes, too, you know. And I'm only part ogre.

Hush, will you.

Yes I will.

[beat]

What's the other part?

—French.

Bitch,

CLEAN YOUR ROOM BEFORE YOU TAKE A SELFIE.

On God—

wtf am I looking at sometimes.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

The Complex Collective. ©

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

An ascended extra terrestrial being with the ability to travel throughout infinite existence within the multidimensional world enters a simulation of their own creation in order to understand the dynamics of its interworkings, and to repair a mysterious series of problems plaguing the world'a inhabitants, in order to prevent the imminent eventual demise of the species and the world in which they live.

Sector 12, Dimension Q10

Just be on the lookout;

You know these primates aren't safe—

With some sort of thinking they're ‘evolved' more somehow.

—or less.

What's at stake here is the planet.

In totality,

I honestly couldn't give one single fuck about it;

whether it lives or dies, or who's on it.

—but you're on it.

I'm on it.

Somebody kill this raggedy motherfucker

Before I do

On good conscience.

Are you not worried that they're going to kill you?

They won't kill me.

They won't touch a hair on my head. You know why?

Cause it's fake?

Exactly.

You ought to be in prison.

Probably,

I'd suspect I'd be getting more ass that way.

Or something up yours.

Up mine—up yours—what really is the difference?

Did you really think you were protected.

Nothing is safe, nothing is sacred, my dear—but you see, what I've purchased here is time.

Time? Where did you get all this time?!

Where did you get all this money?

It wasn't made out of time!

So the old adage stands corrected.

So it does.

So what did your parents do for a living?

I beg your pardon?

To what do I owe the honor of your privelege?

Hard work.

Try again.

Back massages

And thick cut bacon

I just went to sleep

And woke back up again reviled

Revelations on motorcycles

Harpists on steroids

And movies on markers

God ought to have thoughts of

Something, honest and awkward

Other than to govern up a sermon

Of prophets

On Altoids,

Or morons—

No mountains,

So far I

Have leapt from the riverbed

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

The Complex Collective. ©

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.