[Journey To The Underground]

What are you doing?

Nothing you wouldn't.

Hm.

[a pause.]

—It smells of blood.

Hm. Keen sense of smell—and familiarity with uncommon scents.

A bird flew into my window this morning.

BIRD

hey!

*smashes against window*

…it wasn't open.

Damn! How does that happen?!

GOD

Did you see that, though?

Yeah, God—okay, you win.

I'm up, I'm up.

GOD

You okay, Jack?

I'm fine, I'm okay.

Try being a better bird.

I'm—the best bird I can be.

I meant— a bigger bird. Much smarter.

It's not my fault; I thought that the fourth wall was already broken.

It was; your mistake however lies in the simple fact that that wasn't the fourth wall, it was a window.

My mistake.

Try a Seagul.

Wouldn't it be amazing if peacocks could fly.

CUT TO:

[PEACOCKS can fly.]

OH DEAR GOD.

CUT BACK TO:

No, it would not.

Kesha — tik tok

Ohhhhh, that was Kesha.

Yes.

I get it now.

No, no you really don't.

Should I be afraid of whatever's about to happen?

I think you should be more concerned about the things that shouldn't, and are.

Oh…Kay…

Every kiss begins with

—kill the bitch.

Holy shit! Another one!

Don't worry about it.

The DJs

(It would be the DJs doing this)

It would have to be!

Have developed a bird-cannon.

(Actually, it's just a t-shirt cannon from the music festival.)

Which music festival?

Idk, you pick

MAGIC MIKES MUSIC MAYHEM

{Sponsored by Mike's Hard Lemonade}

Sure.

I like that one.

It—yeah.

Whatever. Isn't it just technically—

INT. THE INFINITE RAVE.

—wait, are you naked right now?

…

I'm always naked.

GROSS.

Barf.

If you want.

I'm not changing.

The three DJ's with the bird cannon have successfully tricked—

Who is it

Idk

—The DJ inside into rescuing the three birds catapulted at the window; this results in the DJs then shapeshifting into the three birds in order to infiltrate the DJ's kitchen, which has been reportedly used as a multidimensional portal.

We soon discover (or have already discovered, keeping on the series progression or multidimensional arc,) that the entire building itself can be transported throughout time and space, which the DJ, [who has been revealed as an immortal mystic space God] often moves through realms and throughout time and space in order to bend and manipulate reality—destined to find a hospitable destination, where likely the planet's inhabitants have reversed earth's untimely demise and preserved humanity, and ideally, where the world is living in peace and harmony with itself and one another.

Lol the building moves.

It doesn't exist!

It kind of exists! It has to!

Yeah— kind of.

Psh!

I'm so hot

That I put

Pancakes on my Mancakes.

Psssst.

(Sizzle)

I put pancakes on my mancakes

(Flip em)

I put pancakes on my pancakes.

(Sweet and hot like a McGriddle)

I put pancakes on my mancakes.

For rizzle.

SUNNI BLŪ has become so visibly veluptuous that people are beginning to talk about it— a lot.

I told you, stop squatting!

I can't! All the tour bus gots is barbells!

Can't you just go running like a NORMAL person?

Go run where?! My face is on everything!

CUT TO. FLASHBACK- before:

FANS

Omg is that him.

*girls screaming*

*cattle stampeding*

*pandemonium*

CUT BACK TO:

—and that was at my house!

Sunni—

—in Iowa!

s—you bought I house in Iowa?

Hence the cattle. Duh.

God.

I thought it would be quiet there!

SUNNI BLU counters this speculation with a new single which references having glutes so intensely hot that one is able to cook pancakes atop them, in which the music video showcases Sunni's bottom being used as a pancake griddle and features rap legend SNOOP DOGG—

MANCAKES ft. SNOOP DOGG

Models and dancers surround SUNNI rapping and take turns making pancakes on the veluptuous butt—ie—“mancakes.” Dressed in scantily clad chefs outfits/ sexy aprons and barbecue outfits// a barbecue pool party scene in which the booty is used as a pancake grill while the models and dancers drink mimosas at a backyard brunch.

The song wins numerous accolades including song of the year, and skyrockets sunni BLU even further into fame—luckily, this distracts the public from further speculation, however— a small group of other celebrities become suspicious after unanimously deciding that the “jiggle factor” of the butt is explicitly female, and launch a secret csmpaign to expose Sunnï Blū as a transgender—thinking that this will upset the rap and hip hop community, and resulting in Sunnï Blu's removal from the top of the pyramid crowned as the entertainment kingpin.

The Festival Project.™]

The Complex Collective ©

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

{Black- ish}

2014. Sitcom. 8 seasons

Dre Johnson (Anthony Anderson) has it all - a great job, beautiful wife Rainbow (Tracee Ellis Ross), four kids and a big home in a classy neighbourhood - but as a black man, he begins to question whether all his success has brought too much cultural assimilation for his family. With the help of his father (Laurence Fishburne), Dre begins to try to create a sense of ethnic identity for the members of his family that will allow them to honour their background while preparing them to embrace the future.

Mix story:

Two traditionally stereotypical black(ish) dudes decide on a whim to buy some electronic musical festival tickets, which come with a mystery suprise dosage of an unknown psychoactive hallucinogen which takes them on a in unguided journey through time and space through strange and unfamiliar, bizzare and unknown music—unguided, that is, besides for by the light provided by the hands of the DJ, who acts as a spiritual guide, immersing the partygoers into a new world of bass heavy drops, Kandi coated ravers, and freedoms yet unbeknownst.

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 it's subsidiary Non-Profit, The Collective Complex © aims to challenge modern artistic and philosophical ideals, break commonplace barriers, forage new creative mediums, and provoke inspired and reformed thought and actions toward evolution and overall societal improvement 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 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 ™]

Apparently, the Yeah Yeah Yeah's are a real band.

No fucking way.

Apparently.

I had no idea at all when I wrote that….

–Wrote what?

…nothing.

[The Festival Project™ ]

…

‘Mm. More protein.'

I knew protein wasn't exactly entirely going to help me lose weight, but I had lost a lot of muscle only cycling and being bombarded at the gym— and the inferior protein I had purchased earlier in the month was less than inferior, as it turned out— it simply wasn't working.

How the fuck is this a real rock group?!

I don't know! I thought I made it up.

I thought you made everything up.

I MADE EVERYTHING UPz.

Well, this is turning out to be a disaster.

Hm. No spouse listed.

You fucked a drummer?

You could say I hopped on the bandwagon.

Ew.

Gross.

What do you want from me?! Shut up!

{Enter The Multiverse}

___

I'm going to need you to feed my dragon.

Uhm. Okay.

Don't worry. She doesn't bite.

Uh.

Give her a kiss.

…no.

Do it, or she'll set you on fire.

*kisses dragon*

..Okay.

Good girl.

She's soft. For a dragon.

Yes, she's very friendly.

So. What does she eat?

People.

+.+ –Agh?!

—but only purple ones.

What?

She's not going to eat you, Fredrick.

Who the fuck is “Fredrick”?!

(We don't know.)

My name's not—

—you're not purple.

I'm not.

No. Don't worry.

I'm—worried.

I said don't.

Well; wait— what color am I, then?

That's not important.

*shiny*

Oh, good. A gatekeeper.

What in the actual circumstance is this.

Length?

8.5 inches.

Girth?

A hearty 3.5

Circumference.

What the fuck is “circumference”?

[VOID.]

Well, that's was fun.

What was?

…nothing.

OH GOF—

GOD

Go to sleep.

…I just want to know, though.

Just ask Google.

I'm not asking Google that!

Hey Google…

GOOGLE

/incognito

{Enter The Multiverse}

Body shopping on the internet

Not worth following

Got to find the father who bought me the body

I can self publish books, but can't do it all myself

My artform costs money. Performances put off till

I can afford to look adorable

By New York standards,

On California stereotypes

No work darlin'

An escort service

Will cost

Two dumb dollars more

In your karma jar

Than you've got goin.

Call Tony Hawk,

A star struck hallmark card

For the workman's comp

You were offered

—Subpoena the penis.

—oh that's right,

I need actual ink pens.

Oh God, he bought secrets on stop signs;

—someone's daughter

#stop for comedy

DO NOT PUT FOOD ON MY VAGINA.

DO NOT—

No.

My vagina IS food.

You don't put—

No.

No.

You want peanut butter all over your dick and balls?

Awesome.

You want whipped cream on the shit?

Fine.

Chocolate?

(Non dairy, if you will.)

But DO NOT.

I repeat:

DO NOT PUT FOOD ON MY VAGINA.

Toppings are for ice cream.

This here is sorbet.

#lilbitz

{Enter The Multiverse}

So I did the math the other day—

And I finally figured it out,

That the reason the world is such a fucked up place

Is that 80 percent of dudes have short dicks.

That's why the “ideal” woman has always been small waisted, short, petite, tiny.

— 80% of men have penis lengths smaller than 5 inches.

That's statistics.

I'm just saying—

There's a reason why super models are super skinny.

That's so dudes can hit it and really feel like they're fucking shit up.

With their little short dicks.

These tiny short girls make their little dicks feel LARGE, okay?

Doesn't even matter. I just figured out the whole world is fake.

I want to go somewhere the fuck else.

I want to go somewhere selfies don't exist.

{Enter The Multiverse}

MOO-HAHA

HA-HA

HahAHa-HAHA!

WHAT!

That's my evil laugh.

NO ITS NOT.

What do you mean, it's not?

“MOO-HAHA”

NOBODY LAUGHS LIKE THAT.

That's my evil laugh!

No, it's not.

Well, how am i supposed to laugh, then?

Justnfucking—

“Mwa-ha-ha”?

There you go. That's perfect.

What!? That's simple. That's just like everybody else.

Be simple then.

What!

You're also just like everybody else!

I am not!

What makes you different?

I'm—going to take over the world.

See.

See—what?!

You're just like everybody—all the other villains.

I am not!

You are, though, for real. Like—

Ugh.

Just—do your laugh.

MOO-HAH—

Not that one.

:(

The other one.

What—

Do the other one.

…mwa-haha…

That's better.

:(

Come on. This opener is running lo—

[TITLE SEQUENCE]

I earned two tattoos and a crown

From loving a man

Who can't love me back

I won the pawn, the aces, the sword

Chariot, gardens and graces

A house full of waivers

Could you uncover the arc of the architect?

Probably not,

As it changes upon discovery

Could you uncover the mask of the rabbit?

The tantra of habit?

The cruel suffering of the crucifix?

Neverwell you, Harper

Son of Sam

And Harlem's daughter

The forever golden one

—a forager.

Arches—

Hark, you call, cruel summer

Never forward

Wondering blossom,

Talking of longshores, sportsman's,

Wailers, down coats

Fools for orphans, are you all!

Proof of the word for the propaganda,

Mother Sandra

Bullocks and Bulletwounds

(But Bullock would have wanted one next,

Just to summon a role for her.)

Passion projects!

Here they are, now!

Bulletproof and,

Table readings—

Don't be greedy!

Your agents and managers

Also are facing inflations

On yachts and at parties

And meanwhile,

The projects of poverty are awestruck

With guttural proportions

Of treasures uncovered from rubble

Of sidewalks

And storm gutters

—how was your morning?

Celebrity, aren't you?

Well, aren't I then?

Relax rabbit,

I have a new task for you—

Go bring me back what you haven't yet,

And try staying on task without habits at all

Or adderall—

(Won't be that hard on an all organic diet,

Proper programming and parental encouragement,

Plus support, recommended.)

Here you are again, to bother anyone around you.

There I go again, not caring a fuck less.

Here we are both a genius and robot

Deciding to go walk the dog,

At the wrong time

Just a reminder

I'm less of myself,

In a room full of anyone else,

Nevermind

A few thousand

—the likely cause of my invisibility.

Battlegrounds as the brainless have managed to outnumber us.

Beyonce became the first black woman to headline Coachella in 2018.

Halle Berry, just shortly before that in 2001 became the first black woman to win an academy award for best actress.

I'm just realizing what era of time I've been born into—and I have to continue to keep wondering to myself—‘why do they hate us?'

For the first time in my life, advertisements for a Disney movie which will showcase an African American girl as its lead character—not as a frog, or a lion, or a mermaid—but as a human being—and one of the first animations in my lifetime to feature a female character with brown eyes—and not the usual blue, green, purple, or pink the media often uses to dehumanize or water down the blackness of dark skinned characters— saddens me, as although she is wearing braids, she is still made to look light skinned, with freckles—as beautiful some girls are, but still, this alerted me to the fact that white audiences still hate seeing black women in the spotlight, and solidified the truth that white audiences will not adapt to watching dark skinned women as the leading role in almost anything.

Is the intrinsic hatred and jealousy of the white supremacy the underlying cause in the continual disadvantage of darker skinned women and the portrayals as such as strong leading characters—why does the success and happiness of the black woman seem to be such an imposing threat to whites so much so that the entire media has been, even of late, a parade of forced diversification, further colorism, and the solidification of light skinned people being seen as more beautiful, acceptable, and prioritized, in the media and otherwise?

Has the obsession of white hatred towards black woman been the underlying cause in the justification of white supremacy in the media in order to create more steady sources of revenues for entertainment provisioners, programmers, and networks—appealing to largely white audiences with whitewashed and Eurocentric classification of diversity amongst the new generation's subset standards?

The dark skinned woman continues to be undermined and unappreciated — it seems out of deep seated fear— fear of dark skin, fear of dark eyes—fear of having to share a world which used to revolve around eurocentricity—with diversified beauty—fear of actual equality.

Why Do They Hate Us?

Wine glass—

Bloodstains

(My blood four hundred proof)

—I disappear for about

Three days

Come back golden

(But ya'll out of order)

Bitch, buy me a bottle!

Nobody else can hear the

Motorcycles

Cause I'm the

Only one sober

Writing in fours because

After all

This is

A drama

Not a

Comedy, no

(Nope, not at all)

I get wronged for it when I black out—

Funny thing about it is,

That ain't never happened

Colonizer poison all of the water

Code of conduct

I promise the karma

For carnival circus

I promise when I die

The rest of it goes out with me

(But not coming home with us)

The darker the berry,

The longer the story

—the older we are

Y'all out of order

Ain't it funny when

The whole world is

Sons and your daughters

Wine glass—

Bloodstains

(My blood four hundred proof)

—I disappear for about

Three days

Come back golden

(But yall out of order)

I tie the rope,

Then I slit my wrists

(Pull the trigger)

Amen,

I'm three times dead,

And ain't left my apartment

Bitch, buy me a bottle.

Yo.

I don't hate white peoples.

At all, bro.

But—

They're just scary.

Sometimes.

Like ey—

Stop trying to kill us.

They're like,

“We're not!

…Just…

…the ugly ones…”

But then that's like…

They're the ones that set the standards in the first place on who's “ugly.”

“Ok! Ok! Everyone's beautiful!”

[That's good.]

“…Just the stupid ones!”

lol.

But they run all the fuckin systems,

So the education system is like,

Unequal and shit.

They're like,

“It's okay! Everything's better now.”

But all the dark skinned people in movies are either like,

Men, or like,

Off to the side and shit.

Morbidly obese and shit—

Like,

“Here's your representation.”

What in the fuck though—

I swear to God I don't hate white people.

I don't.

But it's like…

Every time we get too far ahead—

Or no,

Try to catch up to them,

They're like,

“GET THE FUCK BACK!!”

AHEM.

I mean—

Ahem.

“Ahem.”

They got gatekeepers.

Like the only way they can handle dark skinned people,

Especially women,

Exceeding is if it's by being ghetto,

Or standing on some soapbox,

Or going above and beyond in some way.

We only get centered representation of color,

If it's in some ways, in total,

flawed.

Watching the Olympics,

I almost thought they had Simone Biles hair messed up on purpose.

Like,

“Here's your representation.”

That is our representation.

How Americans actually feel about black women in general.

Like, we couldn't have our best and be our best.

Nobody's gonna pull this girl to the side and comb down those flyaways?

An Olympic champion!

A fucking Gold medalist—

a perfect representation of the fact that America can't let black American women be “all the way the best”.

Something looks wrong!

I don't hate white people.

But now I'm like…

…

…

…Why do they hate us?

Ahem.

{Enter The Multiverse}

After an intense round of furious masturbation, I had the sudden onset feeling that I may have written something interesting over the last 3 months.

…

Mm…perhaps….maybe.

—but first, some heavy deep cleaning.

I don't like the way it smells in here.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Sleep on it

Sure.

Maybe we omit everything about race?

Probably.

Could just put that with—

—with the other race war stuff.

Probably should.

Maybe just release the uncensored copy on the Skrillex podcast where it might be more well received?

Probably that.

Yeah.

The Complex Collective © is committed to serving the independent artist community by providing a safe and welcoming environment, performance opportunities, rehearsal spaces, and outlets in which they can grow, enhance their skills and master their craft, and create bonds with one another, to form friendships, professional connections and networking opportunities outside of the restrictions and limitations of social media, mass surveillance, and algorithmic privilege/ preference tactics governed by corporate media enterprises without judgement or interference by outside influence, while creating an open-concept and free-form space as an artistic springboard and color-palate for all artists wishing to expand each's own mindset to involve out-of-the box thinking, outer consciousness, awareness, inner peace, and overall health and wellbeing, promoting a clean, modern and evolved, hyperrealistic lifestyle.

The Complex Collective © is open to writers, musicians, graphic and visual artists, filmmakers, fashion designers, spiritual enthusiasts, world travelers, and others seeking a safe space to bond, heal, and create through collaboration, exploration, and self improvement.

Up Next:

Re-examining mental health conditions which affect those facing poverty or at risk environmental circumstances.

Killing Me Softly is an organization established to help de-victimize and support survivors of un/reported violent crimes; an answer and antithesis to the #metoo movement, Killing Me Softly promotes the ideology of the safety in anonymity, as survivors of violent crimes often forego seeking traditional treatment or filing reports against such violence in fear or persecution or retaliation. Historically, reporters of violent crimes (particularly against women) are met with accusations of falsifying or fabrication, social exclusion, defamation of character, and even revenge and punishment enacted by the perpetrator of such crimes in defense– which in today's current justice system has proven to derail survivors livelihoods, wellbeing, and put their safety at risk. Killing Me Softly seeks to maintain a safe and anonymous space for survivors of violent crimes, welcoming all genders, races, orientations and those who identify across all spectrums who identify as survivors of un/reported violent crimes seek by to remain anonymous or maintain a change of identity due to violent crime, allowing the de-victimization and empowerment of survivors of all acts of abuse, physical and/or psychological, neglect, psychological terrorism, gangstalking and other forms of ridicule, terror, torture, or abuse overlooked and systemized and/or classified by standard systematic institutions as disabilities or disorders, incapabilities which include misdiagnoses due to medical inequality, colorism, racism, biased, or sociopolitical inequality such as, but not limited to; mislabeling as paranoia, hallucinations, conspiracy, fabrications or other under-recognized or deprioritized documentation of incidents and intent to cause harm to others by a singular abuser and/or groups, hate groups and organizations designed or designated to attack and subdue diversified others, minorities, and ‘lesser-persons', those represented in the media or otherwise as second-class citezens, and treatment by organizations or authorities aimed towards dismantling the peace of mind or livelihoods of others for personal, political, or socioeconomical reasons.

Created as a music warehouse project based in Brooklyn New York in 2023, The Complex Collective as a non-profit seeks to encompass a large industrial space which will serve as a multi-use facility which includes a kitchen and food pantry, dance floor/event space, black box theater, cafe/ small stage, fitness spaces (Yoga/Dance) Boxing Club, media room and recording spaces designed to open the minds of artists to a bustling mecca of creativity and opportunity. The space will be used to hold flea markets, host seminars, community meetings, and lectures, as well as provide an operational and practical multimedia space to screen films, stage plays, musicals, and other theatrical productions, as well as host musical events and artists, such as DJs and live bands, poetry readings, dance recitals and other community geared events.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

The Complex Collective ©

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

{We appreciate your time, charitable donations & support.}

[Thank You.]

gofundme.com/thecomplexcollective

givebutter.com/thefestivalproject

Sometimes no matter what you do

Black is ugly

It don't matter—

That's just the way things are

Dark skin, negro hair, brown eyes

You must grow to understand that to the oppotite race,

Those things are lesser than

We love blonde

With blue eyes preferably

And only a hint of olive in the lightest skin tone

We like a carefree, fun loving girl

Who doesn't worry about trauma

She doesn't worry about oppression

Or the right hair

Because the “right” hair grows out of her head

There's just something too harsh for us

About dark skin

And dark eyes

There's something so intense about

Frizzy hair

And black features

That we cost ourselves hundreds in

“Beautification” to look like them

So they respect us more

While inwardly, they become relieved

That they don't have to spend money on

Weaves and wigs

and when they wear braids

It's a costume

Or a statement piece

Not a way of life

Because it has to be

To Submit Your Artist Portfolio, Track or Demo for distribution on our record label, please contact:

Email Us At:

[email protected]

For Membership Information and Opportunities, please visit

http://thefestivalproject.bandzoogle.com

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 it's subsidiary Non-Profit, The Collective Complex © aims to challenge modern artistic and philosophical ideals, break commonplace barriers, forage new creative mediums, and provoke inspired and reformed thought and actions toward evolution and overall societal improvement 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 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 ™]

Apparently, the Yeah Yeah Yeah's are a real band.

No fucking way.

Apparently.

I had no idea at all when I wrote that….

–Wrote what?

…nothing.

[The Festival Project™ ]

…

‘Mm. More protein.'

I knew protein wasn't exactly entirely going to help me lose weight, but I had lost a lot of muscle only cycling and being bombarded at the gym— and the inferior protein I had purchased earlier in the month was less than inferior, as it turned out— it simply wasn't working.

How the fuck is this a real rock group?!

I don't know! I thought I made it up.

I thought you made everything up.

I MADE EVERYTHING UPz.

Well, this is turning out to be a disaster.

Hm. No spouse listed.

You fucked a drummer?

You could say I hopped on the bandwagon.

Ew.

Gross.

What do you want from me?! Shut up!

{Enter The Multiverse}

___

I'm going to need you to feed my dragon.

Uhm. Okay.

Don't worry. She doesn't bite.

Uh.

Give her a kiss.

…no.

Do it, or she'll set you on fire.

*kisses dragon*

..Okay.

Good girl.

She's soft. For a dragon.

Yes, she's very friendly.

So. What does she eat?

People.

+.+ –Agh?!

—but only purple ones.

What?

She's not going to eat you, Fredrick.

Who the fuck is “Fredrick”?!

(We don't know.)

My name's not—

—you're not purple.

I'm not.

No. Don't worry.

I'm—worried.

I said don't.

Well; wait— what color am I, then?

That's not important.

*shiny*

Oh, good. A gatekeeper.

What in the actual circumstance is this.

Length?

8.5 inches.

Girth?

A hearty 3.5

Circumference.

What the fuck is “circumference”?

[VOID.]

Well, that's was fun.

What was?

…nothing.

OH GOF—

GOD

Go to sleep.

…I just want to know, though.

Just ask Google.

I'm not asking Google that!

Hey Google…

GOOGLE

/incognito

{Enter The Multiverse}

Body shopping on the internet

Not worth following

Got to find the father who bought me the body

I can self publish books, but can't do it all myself

My artform costs money. Performances put off till

I can afford to look adorable

By New York standards,

On California stereotypes

No work darlin'

An escort service

Will cost

Two dumb dollars more

In your karma jar

Than you've got goin.

Call Tony Hawk,

A star struck hallmark card

For the workman's comp

You were offered

—Subpoena the penis.

—oh that's right,

I need actual ink pens.

Oh God, he bought secrets on stop signs;

—someone's daughter

#stop for comedy

DO NOT PUT FOOD ON MY VAGINA.

DO NOT—

No.

My vagina IS food.

You don't put—

No.

No.

You want peanut butter all over your dick and balls?

Awesome.

You want whipped cream on the shit?

Fine.

Chocolate?

(Non dairy, if you will.)

But DO NOT.

I repeat:

DO NOT PUT FOOD ON MY VAGINA.

Toppings are for ice cream.

This here is sorbet.

#lilbitz

{Enter The Multiverse}

So I did the math the other day—

And I finally figured it out,

That the reason the world is such a fucked up place

Is that 80 percent of dudes have short dicks.

That's why the “ideal” woman has always been small waisted, short, petite, tiny.

— 80% of men have penis lengths smaller than 5 inches.

That's statistics.

I'm just saying—

There's a reason why super models are super skinny.

That's so dudes can hit it and really feel like they're fucking shit up.

With their little short dicks.

These tiny short girls make their little dicks feel LARGE, okay?

Doesn't even matter. I just figured out the whole world is fake.

I want to go somewhere the fuck else.

I want to go somewhere selfies don't exist.

{Enter The Multiverse}

MOO-HAHA

HA-HA

HahAHa-HAHA!

WHAT!

That's my evil laugh.

NO ITS NOT.

What do you mean, it's not?

“MOO-HAHA”

NOBODY LAUGHS LIKE THAT.

That's my evil laugh!

No, it's not.

Well, how am i supposed to laugh, then?

Justnfucking—

“Mwa-ha-ha”?

There you go. That's perfect.

What!? That's simple. That's just like everybody else.

Be simple then.

What!

You're also just like everybody else!

I am not!

What makes you different?

I'm—going to take over the world.

See.

See—what?!

You're just like everybody—all the other villains.

I am not!

You are, though, for real. Like—

Ugh.

Just—do your laugh.

MOO-HAH—

Not that one.

:(

The other one.

What—

Do the other one.

…mwa-haha…

That's better.

:(

Come on. This opener is running lo—

[TITLE SEQUENCE]

I earned two tattoos and a crown

From loving a man

Who can't love me back

I won the pawn, the aces, the sword

Chariot, gardens and graces

A house full of waivers

Could you uncover the arc of the architect?

Probably not,

As it changes upon discovery

Could you uncover the mask of the rabbit?

The tantra of habit?

The cruel suffering of the crucifix?

Neverwell you, Harper

Son of Sam

And Harlem's daughter

The forever golden one

—a forager.

Arches—

Hark, you call, cruel summer

Never forward

Wondering blossom,

Talking of longshores, sportsman's,

Wailers, down coats

Fools for orphans, are you all!

Proof of the word for the propaganda,

Mother Sandra

Bullocks and Bulletwounds

(But Bullock would have wanted one next,

Just to summon a role for her.)

Passion projects!

Here they are, now!

Bulletproof and,

Table readings—

Don't be greedy!

Your agents and managers

Also are facing inflations

On yachts and at parties

And meanwhile,

The projects of poverty are awestruck

With guttural proportions

Of treasures uncovered from rubble

Of sidewalks

And storm gutters

—how was your morning?

Celebrity, aren't you?

Well, aren't I then?

Relax rabbit,

I have a new task for you—

Go bring me back what you haven't yet,

And try staying on task without habits at all

Or adderall—

(Won't be that hard on an all organic diet,

Proper programming and parental encouragement,

Plus support, recommended.)

Here you are again, to bother anyone around you.

There I go again, not caring a fuck less.

Here we are both a genius and robot

Deciding to go walk the dog,

At the wrong time

Just a reminder

I'm less of myself,

In a room full of anyone else,

Nevermind

A few thousand

—the likely cause of my invisibility.

Battlegrounds as the brainless have managed to outnumber us.

Beyonce became the first black woman to headline Coachella in 2018.

Halle Berry, just shortly before that in 2001 became the first black woman to win an academy award for best actress.

I'm just realizing what era of time I've been born into—and I have to continue to keep wondering to myself—‘why do they hate us?'

For the first time in my life, advertisements for a Disney movie which will showcase an African American girl as its lead character—not as a frog, or a lion, or a mermaid—but as a human being—and one of the first animations in my lifetime to feature a female character with brown eyes—and not the usual blue, green, purple, or pink the media often uses to dehumanize or water down the blackness of dark skinned characters— saddens me, as although she is wearing braids, she is still made to look light skinned, with freckles—as beautiful some girls are, but still, this alerted me to the fact that white audiences still hate seeing black women in the spotlight, and solidified the truth that white audiences will not adapt to watching dark skinned women as the leading role in almost anything.

Is the intrinsic hatred and jealousy of the white supremacy the underlying cause in the continual disadvantage of darker skinned women and the portrayals as such as strong leading characters—why does the success and happiness of the black woman seem to be such an imposing threat to whites so much so that the entire media has been, even of late, a parade of forced diversification, further colorism, and the solidification of light skinned people being seen as more beautiful, acceptable, and prioritized, in the media and otherwise?

Has the obsession of white hatred towards black woman been the underlying cause in the justification of white supremacy in the media in order to create more steady sources of revenues for entertainment provisioners, programmers, and networks—appealing to largely white audiences with whitewashed and Eurocentric classification of diversity amongst the new generation's subset standards?

The dark skinned woman continues to be undermined and unappreciated — it seems out of deep seated fear— fear of dark skin, fear of dark eyes—fear of having to share a world which used to revolve around eurocentricity—with diversified beauty—fear of actual equality.

Why Do They Hate Us?

Wine glass—

Bloodstains

(My blood four hundred proof)

—I disappear for about

Three days

Come back golden

(But ya'll out of order)

Bitch, buy me a bottle!

Nobody else can hear the

Motorcycles

Cause I'm the

Only one sober

Writing in fours because

After all

This is

A drama

Not a

Comedy, no

(Nope, not at all)

I get wronged for it when I black out—

Funny thing about it is,

That ain't never happened

Colonizer poison all of the water

Code of conduct

I promise the karma

For carnival circus

I promise when I die

The rest of it goes out with me

(But not coming home with us)

The darker the berry,

The longer the story

—the older we are

Y'all out of order

Ain't it funny when

The whole world is

Sons and your daughters

Wine glass—

Bloodstains

(My blood four hundred proof)

—I disappear for about

Three days

Come back golden

(But yall out of order)

I tie the rope,

Then I slit my wrists

(Pull the trigger)

Amen,

I'm three times dead,

And ain't left my apartment

Bitch, buy me a bottle.

Yo.

I don't hate white peoples.

At all, bro.

But—

They're just scary.

Sometimes.

Like ey—

Stop trying to kill us.

They're like,

“We're not!

…Just…

…the ugly ones…”

But then that's like…

They're the ones that set the standards in the first place on who's “ugly.”

“Ok! Ok! Everyone's beautiful!”

[That's good.]

“…Just the stupid ones!”

lol.

But they run all the fuckin systems,

So the education system is like,

Unequal and shit.

They're like,

“It's okay! Everything's better now.”

But all the dark skinned people in movies are either like,

Men, or like,

Off to the side and shit.

Morbidly obese and shit—

Like,

“Here's your representation.”

What in the fuck though—

I swear to God I don't hate white people.

I don't.

But it's like…

Every time we get too far ahead—

Or no,

Try to catch up to them,

They're like,

“GET THE FUCK BACK!!”

AHEM.

I mean—

Ahem.

“Ahem.”

They got gatekeepers.

Like the only way they can handle dark skinned people,

Especially women,

Exceeding is if it's by being ghetto,

Or standing on some soapbox,

Or going above and beyond in some way.

We only get centered representation of color,

If it's in some ways, in total,

flawed.

Watching the Olympics,

I almost thought they had Simone Biles hair messed up on purpose.

Like,

“Here's your representation.”

That is our representation.

How Americans actually feel about black women in general.

Like, we couldn't have our best and be our best.

Nobody's gonna pull this girl to the side and comb down those flyaways?

An Olympic champion!

A fucking Gold medalist—

a perfect representation of the fact that America can't let black American women be “all the way the best”.

Something looks wrong!

I don't hate white people.

But now I'm like…

…

…

…Why do they hate us?

Ahem.

{Enter The Multiverse}

After an intense round of furious masturbation, I had the sudden onset feeling that I may have written something interesting over the last 3 months.

…

Mm…perhaps….maybe.

—but first, some heavy deep cleaning.

I don't like the way it smells in here.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Sleep on it

Sure.

Maybe we omit everything about race?

Probably.

Could just put that with—

—with the other race war stuff.

Probably should.

Maybe just release the uncensored copy on the Skrillex podcast where it might be more well received?

Probably that.

Yeah.

The Complex Collective © is committed to serving the independent artist community by providing a safe and welcoming environment, performance opportunities, rehearsal spaces, and outlets in which they can grow, enhance their skills and master their craft, and create bonds with one another, to form friendships, professional connections and networking opportunities outside of the restrictions and limitations of social media, mass surveillance, and algorithmic privilege/ preference tactics governed by corporate media enterprises without judgement or interference by outside influence, while creating an open-concept and free-form space as an artistic springboard and color-palate for all artists wishing to expand each's own mindset to involve out-of-the box thinking, outer consciousness, awareness, inner peace, and overall health and wellbeing, promoting a clean, modern and evolved, hyperrealistic lifestyle.

The Complex Collective © is open to writers, musicians, graphic and visual artists, filmmakers, fashion designers, spiritual enthusiasts, world travelers, and others seeking a safe space to bond, heal, and create through collaboration, exploration, and self improvement.

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Re-examining mental health conditions which affect those facing poverty or at risk environmental circumstances.

Killing Me Softly is an organization established to help de-victimize and support survivors of un/reported violent crimes; an answer and antithesis to the #metoo movement, Killing Me Softly promotes the ideology of the safety in anonymity, as survivors of violent crimes often forego seeking traditional treatment or filing reports against such violence in fear or persecution or retaliation. Historically, reporters of violent crimes (particularly against women) are met with accusations of falsifying or fabrication, social exclusion, defamation of character, and even revenge and punishment enacted by the perpetrator of such crimes in defense– which in today's current justice system has proven to derail survivors livelihoods, wellbeing, and put their safety at risk. Killing Me Softly seeks to maintain a safe and anonymous space for survivors of violent crimes, welcoming all genders, races, orientations and those who identify across all spectrums who identify as survivors of un/reported violent crimes seek by to remain anonymous or maintain a change of identity due to violent crime, allowing the de-victimization and empowerment of survivors of all acts of abuse, physical and/or psychological, neglect, psychological terrorism, gangstalking and other forms of ridicule, terror, torture, or abuse overlooked and systemized and/or classified by standard systematic institutions as disabilities or disorders, incapabilities which include misdiagnoses due to medical inequality, colorism, racism, biased, or sociopolitical inequality such as, but not limited to; mislabeling as paranoia, hallucinations, conspiracy, fabrications or other under-recognized or deprioritized documentation of incidents and intent to cause harm to others by a singular abuser and/or groups, hate groups and organizations designed or designated to attack and subdue diversified others, minorities, and ‘lesser-persons', those represented in the media or otherwise as second-class citezens, and treatment by organizations or authorities aimed towards dismantling the peace of mind or livelihoods of others for personal, political, or socioeconomical reasons.

Created as a music warehouse project based in Brooklyn New York in 2023, The Complex Collective as a non-profit seeks to encompass a large industrial space which will serve as a multi-use facility which includes a kitchen and food pantry, dance floor/event space, black box theater, cafe/ small stage, fitness spaces (Yoga/Dance) Boxing Club, media room and recording spaces designed to open the minds of artists to a bustling mecca of creativity and opportunity. The space will be used to hold flea markets, host seminars, community meetings, and lectures, as well as provide an operational and practical multimedia space to screen films, stage plays, musicals, and other theatrical productions, as well as host musical events and artists, such as DJs and live bands, poetry readings, dance recitals and other community geared events.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

The Complex Collective ©

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

{We appreciate your time, charitable donations & support.}

[Thank You.]

gofundme.com/thecomplexcollective

givebutter.com/thefestivalproject

Sometimes no matter what you do

Black is ugly

It don't matter—

That's just the way things are

Dark skin, negro hair, brown eyes

You must grow to understand that to the oppotite race,

Those things are lesser than

We love blonde

With blue eyes preferably

And only a hint of olive in the lightest skin tone

We like a carefree, fun loving girl

Who doesn't worry about trauma

She doesn't worry about oppression

Or the right hair

Because the “right” hair grows out of her head

There's just something too harsh for us

About dark skin

And dark eyes

There's something so intense about

Frizzy hair

And black features

That we cost ourselves hundreds in

“Beautification” to look like them

So they respect us more

While inwardly, they become relieved

That they don't have to spend money on

Weaves and wigs

and when they wear braids

It's a costume

Or a statement piece

Not a way of life

Because it has to be

To Submit Your Artist Portfolio, Track or Demo for distribution on our record label, please contact:

Email Us At:

[email protected]

For Membership Information and Opportunities, please visit

http://thefestivalproject.bandzoogle.com

At an interesting and quick pace,

The man asked to be seen by the doctor,

A wish,

No distasteful strand of eloquence left unopened—

He asked for a mailbox, and she gave him a shovel

(And a shower for a show!)

O Conan!!!

That just became so readily amusing to me,

That I might have failed to have mentioned, dear reader

An atrocity unwinding for us we have found—

and we have found such indeed, in perpetual times,

To be one another, and all at all times! A quest!

Given a seat at the entry,

To have been given any attention,

And keep each of them with me

A mention—

For factor of disappearance— “¿whereforeartthou women? “

We'll ask—

(But no children please)

I get it;

I got tracked down for an autograph

And asked for one, if any

For a stone each

Goes to the other.

Listen,

Movement again

Catch me if you can, car//cat.

What a head trip

What a head trip

What a disasterous ask,

How I failed to have lost you at all,

And found one at the crossroads,

Dropped off at the crosswalk

Don't forget waffles!

Stramlining streamers

And bicycle tires

Times of the times

Of the times

(Of the times, I said)

I love iron

And ironing boards in the flatiron district

Don't do anything I wouldn't

(Fair, and very well said.)

Fair and very well done, your honor

Are we all on the same ark now,

Noah?!

No!

It couldn't be I had ever lived so dangerously

Look at me

I went all that way

And only lost $22 dollars!

A dollar a minute!

—times a wasting!

I went all this way

And still owe 30 minutes on the stationary bike

{After 30 More Minutes on The Stationary Bike}

In the crosshairs//crosfires of something once thought as love, we find reason to give in trust to such, as not has now parted from within these sequences

—of time, through time—

and by time, in and of itself, in nature

—with and throughout cause of now and where we have come, into truth;

Awakened by our judgement,

And in spirit, here gathered as farkind.

Sometimes, I honestly don't know what any of this stuff means— or what I'm writing until after I've done it.

I've got to go;

That's Christopher Lloyd.

John Wilkins, Sr. Sir. Reporting for duty.

Have you got your paperwork gathered?

As you asked.

As was commanded.

Yes, sir.

I see here you have— mounted—

—and unmounted—

—yes…this mission—several times within the last decade.

I've seen to it to show all paths taken within the simulation—sir—both in and out of each district within the series grid.

*face*

—uh, sir.

…I see. And your continuum?

Spotless: In fact— with your judgment, you might confirm I've become somewhat of a—

(Clearing throat)

Ahem.

—celebrity.

*coughs*

—sir.

[a break]

—it has been well documented.

All Things Considered…

…All Things Considered.

(Breaks fourth wall, as if to say “i beat you to the punch.)

(No pun intended.)

That's not funny!

No, it's not, but—

All Things Considered…

….

“All Things Considered”

{Enter The Multiverse}

Huh. A new show.

Oh My God.

What's wrong?

A new parallel.

—where?

…close.

And—how?!

Since when did we ever know how things happen—

[The Festival Project ™ ]

—In this realm, or anywhere else?

—-

How's “anywhere else” sound?

Marvelous— as long as it doesn't cost too much.

It won't.

Please tell me you're taking these things seriously.

Serous as it gets.

It's as serious as they come, I think.

They're going to kill him.

They're going to kill me!

I'm…gonna kill him.

Well— that's enough!

Off to work!

I've gotta go!

AND LIVE FROM NEW YORK, ITS

—I touched it.

Shut the ——

UP.

Um. What.

You can't say that.

We're live .

I just did [bleep] say that

Why is it—

—oh my god—

—where's the censor?!

Are we live!?

We're live!

Cut to commercial!

We can't!

Run the backup generators.

Ahahahahah.

We gotta get this thing off the ground.

We'll see.

Oh! She's—

I'm sure you'll understand lately.

Through the corridor.

Where's the corridor.

You'll see it.

*walks into wall*

Er—maybe not.

Portal!

Portal!

Portal!

Always.

Follow.

Your instinct.

Maybe later?

I—

Wait! Where are you going?!

Somewhere else! I don't know!

There's something you should know.

What should I know.

He—shot himself this morning.

Oh, that's terrible.

I might have my wires crossed,

Then again,

Come again,

Here again—

Second time

The controller of everything

Controller of God

—but if God has a controller

I guess that's who I am

(That's who I am)

I'm not tryna look cute today;

I just wanna go in on a loan

How long has it been

Seen I seen what you saw—

But if I saw your face,

It's a whole new world

I got lost once;

No more scholarships

No more storms,

No abortions.

No missed calls,

No more harsh words

(Harsh words lost!)

No more music,

More songs

Fire on,

Bass guitar—

I play everything on the wall

I'm a whole animal

I got tired of the wall,

I got a will to work

I just won't work

For a star!

Someone call my employer,

I got ties, and bosses

Leather cuffs and centrifugal force less

I'm so worthless

But you started it for her

No, I don't want to smile;

I should just start the fire under my soul

To get lost with it.

I'm still tied to the art,

Still tied to it all

I still can't decide

For my heart

Or my soul

If I should just move on with it.

I shouldn't move over so fast;

This whole car has bucket seats.

I should just leave it to God,

And I don't want to worry too much

About projects

I already took losses on

If it buffers again,

I know I'm in charge

Just thinking about where I've gone with it says

I should let it go,

All the way gone.

I don't need a divorce

I need to resurface

Just let go

And just get gone

I've been missing a piece of my heart

And I've had a lot of fun times

On rooftops

But I got two dogs barkin

With no bones

And no boners

As thrones

To sit upon

What was that about the crown?

If my plane goes down, all is lost.

I thought about voice activated doors—

Keeping the lights on at night

And starting wars over

Don't hold onto value

What doesn't serve you only

Sell the dream they sold you

To show you

The cold shoulders;

I need no more open doors

And no pawns

If it's not worth all of it

All of it.

I don't want

More open doors,

And more artifacts to show

I could only get cold hard numbers

No nurses more;

Wait till you get a divorce—

That'll show you the cold hard world.

I'm not worried about an offer.

I'm not worried about a job,

As long as I've got

long John Silvers

I'm not worried about the way it works so much

Except

Leaving a piece of myself

In the past,

With no way to get out.

(There's no way to get out)

Didn't I say before

That I loved the whole world over you.

You built the whole world over water

The wall around Rome in a day.

Remember the time you sold your piece

And your peace

Remember what you could give

To forgive

To forget

To spend your entire life

Spinning and spinning

In the wild

And

End-the-end

It's a win-win situation.

It's a push to start world, you know

This—we live in

A paranormal paradox

Of modern amenities

And

[Conviniences]

[The Festival Project™]

—-I just want to play with him.

I promise, I'll give it right back when I'm finished

I don't plan on keeping it

Or living long

Or doing well—

Or coming home till morning.

Everyone gets worried after supper

When the car backs out of the driveway, God knows

I could be gone for an hour at most,

Or a month,

Depending on

Where I'm going

Nobody knows

When I close my doors to visitors

Open to the public, on some days.

On some,

Corporate function.

Dress code with all the right

Suits and ties,

Dollar signs and

Brunches

Now, far beyond private

Firewall

And a lockdown mode.

I'm dizzy with the loss of time

But you'd chain me to a bedpost,

Managed by a stranger

Then again, at night

I've lost all hopes

All night,

Steady fishing in a man made pond

For nine hosts.

So if 9 out of 10 times

The answer is yes,

And one no—

Might as well vote;

Get on with it

I should fill out an app for McDonald's yet

I'm already full of c/gum

And water.

So why not?

[The Festival Project ™ ]

Laramie Hughes is a jack of all trades.

A representative of God on all behalfs

Tearing down the institutions of sanity

Forbearance of betrayal

Unkind, but bewildered

They come in all incarnations

Ignorant to one another

Which one's which?

However,

The light that brings awareness to all things,

The triad of knowledge,

Wisdom and

illumination

Your pain is words in music

Tears to translation,

The chaos, destruction

Of forming worlds once thought

As foraged, once of thought

But now become of us

What we are

The color of God

(He looks to meet his untimely demise atop a skyscapter in midtown Manhattan)

Oh God, here it goes

Below, the summoned protector waits, awakened as archangel and antithesis to what is known, to catch him — thus prolonging his existence, and though not truly preventing his untimely death, giving birth to his enlightenment...

Oh God, here it comes.

He jumps, giving way to all element

-a ragdoll,

She stands basking in his glory,

Nonchalont

And catches him.

A high tide breaks,

Catching into a storm

In the night,

Off the coast,

In Los Angeles

Embargo!

Embargo!

A sanctioned cry,

For here once more Friday comes,

Again we call to all Ark,

The martyr of aces—

Keeper of stones,

Craft of Wanda,

They call God,

But also non-form

Circumstance of other

Antithesis,

Before antiquity.

The light in your language

Has crafted pure steadyform

Emotion in my cadence,

Thought to be worlds of wonder

Dance, brave fortune has captured!

Light, scared not of darkness

But ending in all time

The underworlds unknown to awareness

At all—

A Kingdom;

See you now the heart unfold,

The tired messages of animals form

A love so misrepresented as to call it so

One,

Besides the box of fixatures,

Captor or wrechetness

The end of all evil,

The Sun of a new kind

Blood on the water,

Bask in I now,

Another misfortune

The keeper of keys has gone and fallen

Not into rest,

But another world—

Waking is he to the cries

And the sorrow thoughts of others,

The many amass,

To structure what had bonded

Him of his hands,

The ties,

No more a world he leaves behind!

No more is he!

Steady, mister

I have forgiven the end of all what is real

In exchange for your interest

Sanctioned

Embargo!

Embargo!

So, wounded mother—

In your care I bloom

If only to forget of you,

Upon waking my own,

A gifted enchanted and given sword,

No shield but I,

As my own title

Becomes coordinates;

A map and globe to scale

Crafted of thought

Trickle now your tears, chorus

Dear chorus—

Sing now of accomplishments and whistles gestured at the woven wicker basket

Have you a candle for us,

Doctor—

Or perhaps,

As architect,

You have fashioned, dear savior

A mercy-

Forgive us of our pondering

Unknown of your nature

Until light had vanished

From our eyes

And dark tortured skies

Screeched with winds captivated

As to know

Where you had gone.

Oh— why?!

Would this lapis appease you?

A ring of tin and aluminum;

I thought not

(Then again to think at all,

Becomes your own world.)

Again I am crying for your forgiveness

A kindness granted

Only to know once,

The word of your will

Again,

The fur of cat is groomed

With the essence of frankincense,

The wreath of rosemary

A run through the financial cordidor

Panhandling

There, I gathered wood for fire—

The journey a gift of eternal enchantments

A forceful trek to ponder

What I had tied

To my own,

A heart,

A soul,

A seed—

An ocean.

Keeper's Saint,

Will you again find tide with us?

In our minds, we are at feast and in fortunes

But our bodies gravely,

Not at rest,

But to give way to

What is wanted.

Embargo!

For this true, it's no comedy upon us;

These acts of kindness

And tea fortold

Have come again,

As once in Athens,

And again in Rome

And now in New Jerusalem,

As to be

Opposite Eden

—and suddenly,

All the blondes

I had become

Had come to surface

That I was her,

Buried in my own blindness and envy

Having thought of myself as the enemy

And she of circumstantial evidence of the devil at large

I pitied again,

The blankness of my own heart

The displacement of my own soul

Never having been loved at all

By a man besides my own father

She can clear a sample!

Why I got licenses,

Replacements and mailboxes?!

I got nothing but a refund

Shit

15 more minutes, no fame

Control

Let me get the fuck out of here

Before the whole world follows

Let me get the fuck out of here

Before the whole world follows

Six Kings since

Six aces

Since process

Covered incofortable

Since Prince given 6 senses

6 grievances

Seven suns

Seven daughters

Seven worlds

Seven waters

BENYONCÉ and her 6 parallel selves are seated at an upscale restaurant in New York City.

Oh my God—

That's Beyoncé.

No way!

It is—

Oh my Yod.

Seven waters please

Uh…

My cousins!

Cousins!

You didn't know—?

Family.

Cousins! Right

A super gay waiter enters wearing by some coincidence a relic he purchased that Beyoncé herself had once worn; he clocks in for his shift and sees the seven neyonces ay the table

|||

{THE GAYEST FANGIRL SCREAM THAT EVER}

Sss.

Demarcus, as we learn the super fan is called, after losing his job due to the incident, is sought out by Beyoncé and her 6 multidimentional selves and contracted as a bampheramph to enter the void and aide in time traveling the other dimensional multi space, returning each Beyonce to her respective existences and thus restoring the balance to the Beyonceverse as a whole; though he he learns he may never be able to return home to his primary dimension, he agrees anyway to the dangerous feat and is promised upon completion of the mission to be thoroughly rewarded, however Demarcus makes it known that the greatest reward of all is to have had the joy and experience of meeting his all time idol and lifelong hero— a tale of the love and power of fandom, and heroic journey of everyday heroes, brought together though the love and journey of music—and superstardom.

[Demarcus is eventually returned to a dimension in which his wildest dreams have become a reality.]

#fastfridays

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S

Embargo!

Nonetheless, here we are-/

All unmasked and known by our titles

As labels,

In the unknown the darkened light spoken

Had awoken to none more than chaos

A rampant pain and fury of unrequited love

On four accounts,

Mark the 5 and 6

For an eight series coincidal

There we are in the whole form

If only one God,

Which has been said

To walk upon us,

All the knowing of

Nothing at all

Besides the hope of a midnight dawn

By candlelight

Foraged in rain

And pastel paint

For domed cielings

Incense prayers

And glorious foretelling

Of those to come once

And again

And never more

Once world has sought

Only fair weather modems

And blinding call, so—

We are again

In entourage,

Our own truth—

Embargo!

The chorus and ensemble assembles

As protons and smoke,

Ashes and dust,

Cadences and melodies

Melodramas

[The Festival Project ™]

Hark!

How now?

Vikings!

—you said what?

And Frat Boys!

Jyre snatches the binoculars from Hyro..

Let me see that.

To die in one way,

In form another—

For who can deny any artform

So crafted with such delicate an I,

That any you, fair beings

Could understand

The circumstance of what love I gave

The shield of oath,

The blood of sacrifice,

An origin

None truth would swallow

Or define the son(g)bird,

Once scattered and set to depart

Dear storms would follow,

A songbird,

Canary,

Dove,

And the trumpets of swaddled,

Mother goose and laid bane in arms,

The wrath of therefore furious wages,

The seeing and benign snadow of tithings

Truths that borrow!

Scared from creatures

Actual or none at all

The gallows and gourdes

Of strings pulling,

Speaking our words from quilted fingertips—

The Gods,

Safely perched and at safe distance

From he who does not want her

But becomes of all the treasured stone

Awakened in her fortresses

Cast of shadows,

Bond and tied by boundless skies

The Cosmos,

A journey—

Entered in antithesis

And formed awakened in the galaxies

For where apartheid stands as happened

No other circumstance and safety whileyou,

Will I now or neither gathered

From all eyes have seen,

Heart has heard,

Sailors watch the sails have set

Into wind with breath of air,

Forming therefore more words,

wisdom of color

Coat of arms

Swarms of aces,

And currents dollars;

The foretelling of stories often told,

But neigh listened to,

But watched and taught

By neighbors with greetings,

Dressed as others in our forms,

How call,

A truth be told,

For once in the den of wolves

And the call of tiles,

Tires, never once to touch the ground,

Chosen by nature

To be fitted by those of ours

Who wait in the galley—

Unbynow, our ties

Who have chosen in sense of nature

To have forgiven us,

Our lies—

To have caused us

To have shattered there,

And on the wicked, resting wings

Of a creature

Who does not fly

She keeps holy water by her bedside

Of roses and willpower

The 6th Saint of Guesses

And Fantasy…

Wow! Reese Witherspoon. Hey.

Yeah!

I totally forgot you existed.

Well… thanks—

—and I totally get you mixed up with Drew Barrymore, sometimes—

Oh…

Brittney Murphy—

Okay, that's not—

—Dakota Fanning.

Okay, yeah, that's—

But she's like 12.

She's like, 30, I think.

What's the difference?

A lot. Like, a decade and a half.

Hollywood, ya know.

Uh…

Time flies. Anyway.

Yeah.

Reese Witherspoon. Geez.

Yeah.

Have fun.

Wait, where are you going?

I gotta go— whatever, some bullshit—

Hollywood— blah blah blah.

Then why am I here?

Consider yourself lucky.

For what?!

Everybody wants to be in The Festival Project!

What's “the festival Project?”

I don't know. ‍♀️

—?!

Welp, see ya.

—!!!

{embargo}

I was serious enough,

In my words and my ties

For the sake of my bonds,

Out of bounds and on

Brooklyn bound trains,

From Manhattan

Machine washed field of fantasy,

Outfitted for us all on the glory of a spring day

In autumn,

California heroine or lure,

Folktales

And superstardom

Made of truth and of love,

A new kind,

The end of ages laced with wickedness

A bounty on her words,

The way of others are kind in their shadows,

No one has called,

And now,

No one is watching

Waiting, whisperer

A different one, another kind

The brief awaiting,

Then there goes I

Under the hidden sun,

The Autumn come,

The fall of man,

The dawn of love,

The synchronicity of sounds as songs

The birds call home,

No wonder the window was open.

No books,

All alone—

To summon up my own galaxy

Would be to wish

I hadn't let tie me

To worldly pleasure

On fasting day—

But yet again,

Here calls my own nature,

Needing to be needing to be wanted,

Then withered, as it were, to something else.

Hiding in your eyes,

I am

My love of natures kind

Your hazel tides

And ocean blue—

The thought of jade,

Who yet again

Was meant for always,

As I am only

Darkness scorned beauty

All of your luck, as my witness

Forever to hear shadow

To the wickedness of man

Though we are not aligned,

Still the same as many kind,

I want not the slow churning

Of being that, and this at all

—as God is one

And acts in many parts,

All of us,

Or some,

Between set boundaries,

Games of war,

And for arguments sake, inquisitive

Gestures of word fare, gameplay,

Galleys and artfare—

Begin to think you, me,

And I, yourself, you—

Lest we part in denial

Of our dire cause

To form man

The Standard.

The Classic.

The Ordinary.

And—

You rat-toothed bastard!

What did I do?!

You know what you done!

I haven't! And that's bad grammar—

Don't you tell me how the hell to talk, before I kill ya!

Kill me! For what!

You know what!

I must admit, I've become quite partial to using

This Jimmy Fallon character

As a human shield.

WHY. WHY ME.

wtf.

lol

Why Jimmy Fallon.

Because.

—

AGH— NO

HES GOOD HOOMAN SHIELD.

___

HE'S A GOOD HUMAN SHIELD!

Enter the corridors,

The unclaimed nature

Of travelers, in our time,

Coming the wave of signs,

Foreigners,

Call watchers,

Then and here,

Come waiting, wanting to know glory,

The foundation

Of Love Light

The faceless god

Comes creeping in the night

Seeking body to form

Among the walking,

A fiercety of weapons kind

Explanations embellished with

Seemingly meaningless

Only wanting time to waste,

Skinny and shallow,

Part chef and waiting,

None to others, at all,

Therefore I now, part ways

From waves and tides

To become rain and ghosts,

Beauty and wind,

Lessons and learned sins,

Therefore now I,

Wait and wonder,

Pondering to feed the birds

Or quench the thirst

For game and superstardom,

Not only of hreatness,

But ground in the greys and silvers of my hair

Mustache and whiskers,

Brows and hind eyes—

Where are you now

That I was upon waking,

A mistress,

But gathered now,

Awakens under clouds of sun,

To be another,

Only formed as the ground crumbled under her

Again, I live

Again, I go where there is no light of sun

By the shield of sight,

And the whisp of this,

That needs attention as such,

To call I—

A lost soul,

But friendly enough ghost

To have written songs in your partial kitewind.

Then, said I—

A watch upon the wrist would only tell time,

But not the day or the place of arrival for I,

Dear pardoned traveler,

Have also come journeys

Bound by galaxies grasp,

To have whispered into ears,

The things of Jesus

You will wait for him

As the curtain closes,

To come again,

though does he know not

In which beast he will be

But you, shadows

Wait in his envy,

The things you seek to ask and believe

The greetings of long since foreshadowed bark

Amongst you, believe now,

A new tale of these things,

As we bring peace,

You are now

In our forest,

Whenever be you now

Or forever,

As all is eternal,

As I am

You are

Fuck! Whatever that means!

I know, right!

Is this gonna happen every Friday now?!

Every Friday you fast, yes!

Goddamn!

Or don't! I don't care, really. Up to you.

No preference or preference really—

Anandar!

You called me out of my—

—what was I saying!?

First Aliocha

Then Anandar,

A salamander and wildebeest this morning

The grounds had shook

With all of the games being played

In the honor of one

Then,

I thought

A ghost myself—

Impartial to suicide,

But having lost the fit of love

Now to be tied at the alter,

A sash

Okay.

Delicate rain falls from leather skies,

Calling beasts of ours to nest in the calm and warm

Mother of Grattitude,

May I ask,

Where are you now,

That I've become humbled,

And true to art,

As having been asked,

Now not scrolled upon stone walls

Or scryed by fire,

But in this age,

Begot by light,

Another monster of my mind,

Shifted into these as saints,

The words of songs and poems,

The pages of unknown worlds,

In the cyberspace,

Perhaps,

Also as cosmos,

Also as thoughts

Also as words

Also as light—

Also as species;

These things are true to which I know

With what knowledge you have gave me

To think this way,

Upon each breath—

No attempt to be prolific,

But to be at all

Some wages as exchanged

Material things not wanted, but needed

And monetary gains,

Also as thoughts now,

But perhaps also cosmos

True, or not?

Fact, or fiction?

Carson, or Fallon?

What?

Who wore the pants better.

I—

Quickly!

I'm a dead man.

(I'm sure they're both dead.)

Hurry up!

What the fuck!

We're talking about two literal ghosts here!

Which is why—we don't have all day.

Do you know how long it took me to get Wilder down here for this?

Isn't he dead too?!

Perhaps, I am.

Boy, the rabbit was mad…

Almost as mad as the hatter,

And as expected

GET THAT DAMN CAT OUT OF HERE!

Your annual obsession is in;

Turns out, you've come down with the madness

We all tried on, as a hat once in fables

But now,

Machine washable,

Returned to Amazon

With the packaging label attached,

And still!

None was as mad as the black hatter at all!

No tea, but only strong Colombian coffee led

Taken black,

And made so strong by Alice,

Who indeed had been shrunk

To be fit to be tied

By Kendrick Lamar,

No white rabbit at all,

But oh,

To call him a cat,

Or a hatter,

Or caterpillar

Would make no sense at all—

At all you say?!

At all,

As you see,

He was no red King,

No,

But made house of cards

And all had fallen on his kingdom

To become something other

Than Alice at all,

But also lost

For you see,

She had fallen, dear Alice,

Into some hole in Compton,

And dropped

Into the bottom of the ocean

Propmptly below The Island

Of Long

—as so is below

Had happened above

Once a porcelain fable,

Now having been painted,

With the laces

Or tie died folly

Of uncorked

Nothing happens for nothing at all

No justice for just calls,

No focus,

Full world

The fear bought

And new war

For walks

Erhmergersh

It's a purple flermergerder!

*gasps*

Erhmgersh!

Whurt er luridly purple plurbergerder!!

Lurvlry!

Oh!! Ernd Shutrd ur lurvley sherd erv pruplelerplre!

There's in sense in

An evening with fate if he misses it

Assumed to be dead, or with you—

But for the cause,

There was no absolute certainty of the remittance—

The scoured and folded body

Of the wonderful world of God,

Once betrayed and forgotten

For better or worse,

With Gratitude asking for an experience

Her waters had sculled canyons,

And her words fell as oceans

Of another place in time

Or custom caskets

Please bury me,

sheathed in earth,

So that I breathe her

Forgiveness

For a toxic and harmful incarnation

Of our greedy

Alignments and reconciliation

Recognizing that—

If it's going to go fast,

It's gonna be loud—

And if it's gonna be loud

It might as well be a gun

(Just kill me already)

Not hungry yet,

But moving my parts where they ought to be

Out in the world,

And not waiting at all

To come home,

If I'm called with the promise

Of never returning

—not to return here .

Maybe i'm the one they call

The devil himself

When all I wanted

Ever

Was just to be loved

—even by just my mother

Not every other day

But every day

By someone

I live and can't love

In crustpunks city, USA

Better known as Brooklyn New York

Where the mullet is making a comeback

God help em!

I just turned back time

By two whole minutes

Thinking of skylines painted

With music

Meanwhile,

I almost forgot I'm still a cat

My fucking goodness

But I've no use for a litter box

Not even a little bit

(Which things should be and which things though not)

The curious case of Benjamin Button

In full throttle.

I'm so serious—

That's the second mullet I've seen in a week.

Stop it!

God help em

God bless em

Gid love em

Haven't I been standing here

More than 12 minutes already?

Standing still in New York

As new worlds are formed

With new words

I must have done something wrong today.

The bus driver was okay lookin.

I don't look at bus drivers.

I'm like—

Woah, buddy.

You can handle all that you can handle all this.

Good job, Jimmy.

Can you please stop using me as a human shield.

No! Cause then I'd need another human shield!

Then get another human shield!

No!

Why not!

This one is indisposable!

Oh God.

Where'd she go!?

Who?!

God!

What! She never came here!

What do you mean!? She said—

I was here the whole time! I didn't see anybody!

Well who'd you see?

Nobody, just some crack head!

Goddammit, we missed her!

What?!

Didn't I tell you—all the crackheads are God?!

What! Nobody ever told me that.

How did nobody ever tell you that? I told you that!

You never told me that.

I told you that. I know I told you that.

You never told me that.

Well—

Goddammit.

What the FUCK.

Why the devil always wanna be BEHIND a motherfucker?

Do I have something on my back?

Oh look. A portal.

Skrillex?!

It looks like

The Devil attached to my back

I might have to take a knife in it

A counterpart

To take the hex off

(Something told me not to go out.)

Something also told me

Nothing happens at all

With no movement

But God was lost as crossroads, either how

And anyway,

And anyway, we all got lost

At one time or another

What if I told you,

Once formed to one another

You've become

Forever bonded

AVENGERS, ASSEMBLE!

You really want to bring the—

Now,

When you need it most, you become the hero you are

Ther you always were.

But least expected it,

Especially now that everyone

Well fit to be

Tied to the cross

This for sure is why I dont fly spirit.

The New York experience

At poverty level

Is eye opening

To the inequality

And injustice

Foraged by ignorance

I've never been to bowling green

But got errands to run

Honestly,

You put your practically newborn baby in a bus

Exposed to all these people?!

BITCH, are you OUT OF YOUR MIND?

#I_NY

Yo somebody' actual grandma just got on the bus

In a tube top

I'm not eggagerating

This woman was like 70 years old

And you know black don't crack!

But I'm like:

DAMN.

Who GRANDMAMA IS THIS?!

Then she gon sit down next to me,

And get on Instagram.

She's checkin her stories.

I'm like—

Damn,

She looks about the same age as my actual grandmother.

That's—

I'm like

Woah.

My grandmother don't do all that.

My grandma taught me how to make lemonade,

that's it.

How to make lemonade, and to stay in abusive marriages until the kids grow up.

That's it.

This I know.

Thanks grandma.

I almost like this lady better.

She tore up, but she hip!

Is not the entire world a chemical dependence?

Dancing through projects

And galaxies

Stunted in movement, alcoves

Shallow ponds and hollow rivers tides

Comes again who I am,

When not all else m

She got off the bus, I was like

“Bye grandma!”

Aww.

Imma miss her.

She smelled good, too.

You know racism is really bad

When a colored woman would rather wear an old, ratty old wig

Or a terrible weave

Than her own natural hair.

I'm guilty of it myself—

And this is because I know

The way you are treated in public—

By not only whites— but other blacks

Judgement and mistreatment of the public in general—

If you natural hair is the furthest away from what has been made to be the ideal standard.

I'm rolling through the hood

To return after 9 months

This internet router

Which never worked due to “outages”

And came with hidden fees

Now on my credit report

The deeper I get into the hood, and the more the bus clears out

The most clusters of housing projects

And dilapidated buildings I see—

A reminder that the world at all much has not been changed

But only further hidden away from the eyes of what is known

A car without a name a fixer upper but a keeper

A classic

[EKO restaurant]

{Enter The Multiverse}

Punk rock Jimmy

Had a lot to say

Skeleton, skin and bones

Skeleton Keys,

I am formicated

I thought none deserving of such

At all

All the icons

And idols

And suffered star worshipers

Watching for lost survivors

Galloping the galaxies

—unicorns.

Horses colored as unicorns

No fair appetite at all

For applications,

Mezmerized, believing you will fold at mercy

The ions, are to say at least

All to none

They had already worshiped her

Already murdered her

Already bloodied her gown!

Drown, now!

Die! Silence!

Cadences,

Return to sender, your creatures

Fury of the underlord

Garnished of the underwent

Weeping of galaxies tied

Tied,

Dirty faith.

Wicked wars,

Sorted earth, l —

Now, remember how you found her

YO, FUCK YOU JIMMY FALLON.

He shakes his head and smirks smugly.

Oh…

“OH” ?! OH! YOU RUINED MY LIFE.

You had a life?

I had SOMETHING.

What was it?

I—

*smash*

Wow.

—SHOULD KILL YOU.

Somebody get this guy out of here!

AGH?!

No, it's okay.

You were wrong about everything.

I was— you just shifted.

Excuse me?

You shifted! Who are you?!

BUBBLEEEEESSSSS!!!!

I'm— so sorry.

THEY KILLED MY DOG.

Your rot weiler's name was “bubbles?!”

BUBBBBBBBBLLLLEESSSSSSSSSSS!!!!

OH GOD, BUBBLES!!!!!!

WHYYYYYYYYYYYY

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

The Complex Collective. ©

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

At an interesting and quick pace,

The man asked to be seen by the doctor,

A wish,

No distasteful strand of eloquence left unopened—

He asked for a mailbox, and she gave him a shovel

(And a shower for a show!)

O Conan!!!

That just became so readily amusing to me,

That I might have failed to have mentioned, dear reader

An atrocity unwinding for us we have found—

and we have found such indeed, in perpetual times,

To be one another, and all at all times! A quest!

Given a seat at the entry,

To have been given any attention,

And keep each of them with me

A mention—

For factor of disappearance— “¿whereforeartthou women? “

We'll ask—

(But no children please)

I get it;

I got tracked down for an autograph

And asked for one, if any

For a stone each

Goes to the other.

Listen,

Movement again

Catch me if you can, car//cat.

What a head trip

What a head trip

What a disasterous ask,

How I failed to have lost you at all,

And found one at the crossroads,

Dropped off at the crosswalk

Don't forget waffles!

Stramlining streamers

And bicycle tires

Times of the times

Of the times

(Of the times, I said)

I love iron

And ironing boards in the flatiron district

Don't do anything I wouldn't

(Fair, and very well said.)

Fair and very well done, your honor

Are we all on the same ark now,

Noah?!

No!

It couldn't be I had ever lived so dangerously

Look at me

I went all that way

And only lost $22 dollars!

A dollar a minute!

—times a wasting!

I went all this way

And still owe 30 minutes on the stationary bike

{After 30 More Minutes on The Stationary Bike}

In the crosshairs//crosfires of something once thought as love, we find reason to give in trust to such, as not has now parted from within these sequences

—of time, through time—

and by time, in and of itself, in nature

—with and throughout cause of now and where we have come, into truth;

Awakened by our judgement,

And in spirit, here gathered as farkind.

Sometimes, I honestly don't know what any of this stuff means— or what I'm writing until after I've done it.

I've got to go;

That's Christopher Lloyd.

John Wilkins, Sr. Sir. Reporting for duty.

Have you got your paperwork gathered?

As you asked.

As was commanded.

Yes, sir.

I see here you have— mounted—

—and unmounted—

—yes…this mission—several times within the last decade.

I've seen to it to show all paths taken within the simulation—sir—both in and out of each district within the series grid.

*face*

—uh, sir.

…I see. And your continuum?

Spotless: In fact— with your judgment, you might confirm I've become somewhat of a—

(Clearing throat)

Ahem.

—celebrity.

*coughs*

—sir.

[a break]

—it has been well documented.

All Things Considered…

…All Things Considered.

(Breaks fourth wall, as if to say “i beat you to the punch.)

(No pun intended.)

That's not funny!

No, it's not, but—

All Things Considered…

….

“All Things Considered”

{Enter The Multiverse}

Huh. A new show.

Oh My God.

What's wrong?

A new parallel.

—where?

…close.

And—how?!

Since when did we ever know how things happen—

[The Festival Project ™ ]

—In this realm, or anywhere else?

—-

How's “anywhere else” sound?

Marvelous— as long as it doesn't cost too much.

It won't.

Please tell me you're taking these things seriously.

Serous as it gets.

It's as serious as they come, I think.

They're going to kill him.

They're going to kill me!

I'm…gonna kill him.

Well— that's enough!

Off to work!

I've gotta go!

AND LIVE FROM NEW YORK, ITS

—I touched it.

Shut the ——

UP.

Um. What.

You can't say that.

We're live .

I just did [bleep] say that

Why is it—

—oh my god—

—where's the censor?!

Are we live!?

We're live!

Cut to commercial!

We can't!

Run the backup generators.

Ahahahahah.

We gotta get this thing off the ground.

We'll see.

Oh! She's—

I'm sure you'll understand lately.

Through the corridor.

Where's the corridor.

You'll see it.

*walks into wall*

Er—maybe not.

Portal!

Portal!

Portal!

Always.

Follow.

Your instinct.

Maybe later?

I—

Wait! Where are you going?!

Somewhere else! I don't know!

There's something you should know.

What should I know.

He—shot himself this morning.

Oh, that's terrible.

I might have my wires crossed,

Then again,

Come again,

Here again—

Second time

The controller of everything

Controller of God

—but if God has a controller

I guess that's who I am

(That's who I am)

I'm not tryna look cute today;

I just wanna go in on a loan

How long has it been

Seen I seen what you saw—

But if I saw your face,

It's a whole new world

I got lost once;

No more scholarships

No more storms,

No abortions.

No missed calls,

No more harsh words

(Harsh words lost!)

No more music,

More songs

Fire on,

Bass guitar—

I play everything on the wall

I'm a whole animal

I got tired of the wall,

I got a will to work

I just won't work

For a star!

Someone call my employer,

I got ties, and bosses

Leather cuffs and centrifugal force less

I'm so worthless

But you started it for her

No, I don't want to smile;

I should just start the fire under my soul

To get lost with it.

I'm still tied to the art,

Still tied to it all

I still can't decide

For my heart

Or my soul

If I should just move on with it.

I shouldn't move over so fast;

This whole car has bucket seats.

I should just leave it to God,

And I don't want to worry too much

About projects

I already took losses on

If it buffers again,

I know I'm in charge

Just thinking about where I've gone with it says

I should let it go,

All the way gone.

I don't need a divorce

I need to resurface

Just let go

And just get gone

I've been missing a piece of my heart

And I've had a lot of fun times

On rooftops

But I got two dogs barkin

With no bones

And no boners

As thrones

To sit upon

What was that about the crown?

If my plane goes down, all is lost.

I thought about voice activated doors—

Keeping the lights on at night

And starting wars over

Don't hold onto value

What doesn't serve you only

Sell the dream they sold you

To show you

The cold shoulders;

I need no more open doors

And no pawns

If it's not worth all of it

All of it.

I don't want

More open doors,

And more artifacts to show

I could only get cold hard numbers

No nurses more;

Wait till you get a divorce—

That'll show you the cold hard world.

I'm not worried about an offer.

I'm not worried about a job,

As long as I've got

long John Silvers

I'm not worried about the way it works so much

Except

Leaving a piece of myself

In the past,

With no way to get out.

(There's no way to get out)

Didn't I say before

That I loved the whole world over you.

You built the whole world over water

The wall around Rome in a day.

Remember the time you sold your piece

And your peace

Remember what you could give

To forgive

To forget

To spend your entire life

Spinning and spinning

In the wild

And

End-the-end

It's a win-win situation.

It's a push to start world, you know

This—we live in

A paranormal paradox

Of modern amenities

And

[Conviniences]

[The Festival Project™]

—-I just want to play with him.

I promise, I'll give it right back when I'm finished

I don't plan on keeping it

Or living long

Or doing well—