| L E G E N D S: ICONS. |

Oh that's right.

Lorne Michaels doesn't sound like Austin Powers—

He sounds like Dr. Evil.

Dead wringer.

I don't know how I could mess that up.

The Mike Meyers part?

Was he both of them!

I don't know— was he??

Jesus ChristS

This is all your fault, Seth Meyers.

Are you— a cinephile?

Oh yeah. Of course. I love cinnamon.

Idiot.

So my insides get soft

When I see your shadow

Listen

Everything glistens when it's golden

Perhaps then

If it isn't yellow

She don't got a soul

But she sure do got a body

Dor dor nyc

TRACY MORGAN

OH YEA. I DID SOME WEIRD SHIT THIS MORNING.

Tracy! What weird shit!

I don't know! I just know it was weird!

Wait, Tracy— what happened this morning.

Well, the first thing was— I woke up.

Yeah, after that.

But not in my normal places that I wake up!

What do you mean.

Well, that was the first thing that was weird!

I woke up in BROOKLYN.

Why anything I like gets odd at Bedford

And why

Anything I like

Just thinks I'm scum

Imm succumbing to the numbness of the public

And I love it

But I love it cause I'm wholly made of love

I don't even live here

This place is filled with demons

My home is filled with dead things

The difference is the spirit

We also come light hearted m

We also formed from stardust

I wonder what's

SETH MEYERS finally gets out of the box,

The problem is now, that he's marooned on what appears to be a desolate island.

It's not entirely desolate, however— this is SUNNI BLU's island, on which there is a huge days long party

Props for having a white mom

I bed she adores you

I can tell by your clothes

And what you know

That you're not

Supposed to

My mom

Had no rules

But was beautiful

Suited me,

But I'm not beauty queen

Really I'd rather have a white mom

I'd probably be discovered on

Girls gone wild

{Enter The Multiverse}

If my Shazam can hear it bro it's too loud.

Fuck this place.

SETH MEYERS

You blacked out under the Christmas tree.

SUNNI

Oh. I'm sorry—

SETH MEYERS

—but first you put up a Christmas tree.

SUNNI

Wow!

#theblackout

SETH MEYERS

Yeah, i'm—seriously impressed, but..

SUNNI

—-but what?

Seth Meyers

SETH MEYERS

I—just don't understand how you got into my house.

SUNNI

Through the chimney, obviously.

SETH MEYERE

That's—I don't even have a chimney.

SUNNI

Yes you do!

(He doesn't)

Alternately:

Or—

(Didn't , previously, however—)

SUNNI BLU has a CHIMNEY installed for an elaborate pranking, however,

—DIE—

!

Ok.

—Due to the elaborateness of this prank, belligerent drunkenness then insued, which resulted in—

SUNNI

—well, were there presents?

SETH MEYERS

I mean; besides yourself?

SUNNI

Is what I'm asking!

SETH MEYERS

Yes! And they were really, very nice, but look—

GOTH SETH ROGEN is killin it.

Was this not about to be GOTH SETH MEYERS?

By some awful Freudian slip, yes, it was— but that can't happen ,

Why not?

Cause that guy's still locked inside a hot metal box.

Actually, I'm not,

Whaaaaa??

I'm like— on an island.

Oh.

Yeah. That's right.

Marooned. On an island.

That sucks.

Yeah.

So why can you hear us, like?

I just figured imm hallucinating.

Oh. Right, right.

He doesn't know he's on the TV?

I don't think so.

Oh, I know I'm on TV, it's just—

Shh. Let's get out of here before he—

Actually, let's just turn this off.

*off.*

Phew, dodged a bullet there.

Close one.

Yikes.

Thank goodness.

This is getting meta.

—aaand i'malone again.

Christ

CHRIST appears beside Seth Meyers on the island.

Oh, it's you again.

Hey, guy.

What did you want?

Out of the hot sticky metal box— but as you can see, I did that on my own.

Hey, look— I get all my messages at the same time, alright?

Do you not have a beeper or something?

What year is this?

Says the dude in the robe.

Watch it.

Fuck.

Crisis.

Speaking of Chrisis—is Jimmy Fallon Still suing me?

Probably.

I hope so,

MEANWHILE

Sorry but it had to be done

Somehow I'm all for it

I got holes in all my socks

Like I got golf at 9 o clock

I was bionic

Now I'm supersonic

Toxic for the hustle

Russell brand up in this bitch

Promote my brand up in this bitch

Throw some hands up in this bitch

Smoke some ham up on a sandwich

Sand up in this castle

Throw a flag up in this beach (bitch)

Land Hoooooooooooooooooo

Land hooooooooooooooo.

Land ho

Ho

Ho

Can applause

I'm Santa clause

I'm man;

I'm a

Possible

Option for

Drama

Atlanta

In a

Cadillac

In the

Back with the

Bosses and

Models

I got

Bottle service

Hold the phone

My servitor say

Already won an award

And it just got awkward

Cause I don't finish the song

Tomorrow

Flight to Auckland

(Oy oy)

I am her

Boy toy

We pick up some

Mai tais

Then she

Ride on

My thighs

She just right

A size nine

And I like her eyes,

Eyes,

She don't want no ICE,

Her life on the rocks

already deported her twice

From where I'm from

(Aye aye)

Some time this shit don't make no sense

So I brought Christmas presents over

Wearing cookie monster's—

SETH.

What.

I had Cookie Monster's— uhhh— cookie monster's uh—!

Cookie monster's what—

Creepy puppet thing

The actual puppet?

YES!

Why—?

On my hand!

What?

IT WAS PART OF THE JOKE!!

What!

Oh NO, SETH MEYERS.

What is happening right now .

I don't know. I'm still drunk! But we gotta find Cookie Monster.

What!

The Cookie Monster fucking—c'mon. Let's check the chimney!

I don't have a—

CUT TO:

…you built me a chimney.

Technically, I had a chimney built for you, Seth Meyers,

WHY.

IT WAS PART OF THE JOKE.

WHAT WAS THE JOKE! I FOUND YOU DRUNK UNDER MY CHRISTMAS TREE.

It was MY Christmas tree!

IN MY LIVING ROOM.

[beat]

This is just bad office politics.

I'm your boss.

I resent that.

I also resent that.

So—wait a second— as part of this “elaborate joke” you also stole a Cookie Monster puppet.

I didn't steal it. I own everything, basically, pretty much.

Okay— so wait, wait— what you're telling me is that when you came through the chimney—

Yes—

Which you built on my house— somehow within out my notice—

—you take long vacations and your security system sucks—

—that's—

Also I hacked your security system.

—for a joke?!

…did it land?

WHAT.

I'm trying new bits.

This scene is running long.

—I'm gonna make some calls.

Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Wait something got kerfaufulled…

No we're jumping parallel's it's this season's theme.

What's the theme?

THE REVERSE QUANTUM SIMULATION THEORY

[REQŪÏSĪTE: The Experienxe]

[postponed until further notice]

Lulz

Shake hands with your guest;

Monologue, monologue

smug smirk

Make good face–

Now put a name to the face

Put a time to the place

IOh, all the love in the world in three flames

All the doves in the flock,

And three flames

Put a name to the face

Monologue monologue

Doesnt take long but

When do i get to slap the desk?

Johnny!

What happened?

Whats the

10 vodkas,

Five spritzers

Full figure

Figure this

You were out for the count!

Do tell!

Or better yet, don't.

I remember tgis mologue,

But i dont know how

16 hours ago,

I was

Out for the count, you say?!

OUT, Johnny! Our market is livid!

lol who plays john carson

Your mother.

YO! I'M OLD!

I LIKE OLD DUDES NOW!

I'm like

When the fuck did this happen?!

That ain't no SILVER FOX!

That's a TOTALLY CUTE DUDE!

HE'S 55!!

OH NOOOOOOOO!

i'M OLD!!!!!!!

its wednesday eve in Boston Mass…

SETH MEYERS!

Ah, he's going for it.

Ah, man.

SHOW ME YOUR EYES.

Fuck.

SHOW ME YOUR EYES!

SUDAKIS shines a bright flash light into his former colleagues eyes.

…You're not Seth Meyers.

Seth Meyers does not respond, but relaxes slightly; it's obviously not safe to be Seth Meyers right now.

Where's Seth Meyers?

Seth shrugs but still doesn't say anything–

Where is he?

I have to stop here;

Cop out for body language

somebody's watching

Somebody knows who I am

I am

I remember now

You looked like that

It went like this:

I moved the world

The need was good

The love was gone

The vein was split open

And broken

No fair

Also, no omletts

60 minutes

60 years

and 60 second clips

60 second glimpses

60 men on television

but really, my attention just centers on

Around ten of them or so

And believe it or not, I care

approach.

Believe it or not, I care

Or don't!

–or don't!

Johnny! You don't get it! You missed a show! THE tonight show! We are fucked!

we are NOT!

youre still sauced.

I'll just take the car!

What car!?

Now that JOHNNY CARSON knows his Delorean can time travel, he's absolutely unstoppable.

Unfortunately, it appears his delorean has been switched with a regular one–

If I shoot you in your forehead?

I'd rather that, than this.

And I kiss you in your temple?

Dear templeton, my simpleton's i'll die

I desire.

A wicked want.

And then?

A callous shadow,

If i may,

To bear for nothing,

But a mirror

This is our concept

And wilted her e the flower does grow the flame

The faming true and ache of lust

and there

For our want

a jasper shore and emerald cascades

there you are,

And there you'll find

The wave beyond the peaking break

where great white sharks reside

But do not wade to shallow waters;

And there you find peace,

And there you find certainty

But now,

And here,

is war

And fortune not but seeks truth in the gaze

And for fear there does not live, but hides instead

the truth that seeks to guide the lite,

And yet does know our trust

And there does find the faith,

Forward and not

Upwards and back

Arrow and arrow

Truth and sparrow

Wreaking and wretched thoughts

And the rope does hang high and solemn

Looking, leap and gasp

For I fall but did not land

I pulled for you,

I weep, my shadow,

The two of diamonds,

the Ace of spades,

The Three of Hearts,

Without my shadow

I weep.

I know for you nothing but conscious and knowing and needing and fated departure.

I know for you nothing but chakras and eyesight and shadows and foresight.

I need fo you nothing but want and by conscious, departure

For nothing I want you,

I weep.

Sorrow.

On approach of danger,

The knowing,

On seeth did gather,

the sinking ritual

the carried tribes in ships tied,

weaving strings

The spider bites hard

And she stole my love twice

And she stole my love always

And she stole my love

Lighting my light wit blue eyes

The deception

If love could be stolen at all

But if not

Then not love

for seeking is finding

and gathered had hunted

And truth in forbearer

Forbearance and otherwords,

Shadows and shattered

and ferris wheels,

Now forward

Gathered here for are I trust

And be dismayed for you have faltered

You have failures and you have cast us

out of these things thinking

We have not made them for you

And still we seek to gather with you

And here does forshadow your making

Our promise to come as ones,

Not as Gods,

But as others,

you cast out.

Now, with your wicked ways and cruel be done,

for sure the tables have turn, one

And the gallows have not wandered far,

Barrels of guns and barbells

bottles and hearts of three

reading cards and wanting none but justice

Is he and she who are I now

Begin to run from your pitied structure

And there in the gasping cruelness of seeking from warcrimes this,

come what may,

Moving and seeking,

For seeking is finding,

And run, my legs have come far

But trust, my dove,

My wings have too, sprouted

An honor, an honor

one candle and three wicks

Three candles and three worlds over

One world and one building

and still far from under the Hollywoodland

Crickets sounding

The Hollywood Sign

Still standing and here I am not,

Blades of grass

And who are I now

Of that which you balk at

Look, ponder

Go, far asunder

And wish now had you not

What I am

is that,

Run

Temper temper.

Mind your business.

Is it gathered?

To burn, or burden?

Gathered.

Gathered here.

Then here ive wandered.

To stake?

Argue.

I will not.

And I will not.

Wiry bird,

From where you flown i do ponder–

re d with spirit and wilding eyes,

Narrow server and paring wires;

I do not wish to know you now or ever,

But only as bird that does golden remember.

The love has not gone,

And instead lives in my throat,

And twists in my lungs,

Ans sits in my tongue,

Not as speech, or whispers,

But tragedy.

Unknowing this, my tender being

It can never be, the nervous hill

And rolling down the hill as if

The weel of time itself,

Not unbroken,

but resilient;

In sll ways, meant to tear

And turn,

And wobble

Made for terrain for which our eyes have known

And our minds have built

And hands molded wiith clay,

The bodies whole of all our galaxies

terra

feighn

Terra

fine

Terra wept tears of a clown,

And iron

And veins

And shadows

And plays,

And secrets ,

And whispers

And truth

And far

And

Afters.

I taste a saline drip,

I swallow,

Suddenly cold and all the knowing that

What I was,

I surely already am again

And what I will be,

Has already come and past.

The monologue,

I do remember

Face to a name and none to forget

Well rehearsed forager!

Well done bayonet!

Well done, my shadow

For my time is coming to wander to night

And never today again

for it shall never Today again,

And

Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow.

[The Festival Project ™ ]

They said he would destroy me.

…Ya'll were right. that fucked me up.

{Enter The Multiverse}

So…forfeit?

Something tells me its not over

The heavy heart is shattered

But also tied to that

which appears to come upward

As if on air

To be heavy

And lighthearted at once–

A shadow above a balloon.

A rock is attached to a kite–

A diamond becomes a bassoon,

Then a vampire bat,

and then

Cut ties.

In the fourth act, we all die, and now–

A revival.

I was crucified,

But i was also suicidal so.

Lets just call it a tie.

L E G E N D S

V.O.

Crusher.

My show was being subliminally plugged on at least two of the five major networks.

Safe bet I could make it a third, but I didn't know where to check.

I did…but didn't want to.

There was much beyond the surface,

Darkness in the glimmering eyes of the men in ties and uniformed suits.

I was sure I was tied to something–

And since I didn't know why,

Or to what,

The best bet

I'm all in.

Fuck.

Was to stay broken,

Under the radar,

Hidden,

and most importantly–

Unspoken.

These days. I kept more to myself than I could with the world–

As it turned out…

No, not yet.

What do you mean?

It's not time yet.

They'll have to know.

But not yet.

At some point, they'll have to know.

But not–yet.

No time like the present.

You made that up.

Because you made up time.

And it's stupid.

This is ruthless.

And again–they'll have to learn somehow.

But not now.

The sun sets at noon on our side, and still

21 hours of dark time.

Did I have another tag to throw on it this?

No.

Are you sure? Doesn't the new series have a subtitle?

No.

Is it not “quantum force”

That's only one, though.

What's the difference.

ERMO, DON'T!

I'm gonna kill him!

BIG BOYD, DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!

DOn't tell me what to DO.

Wow. of course.

Well yeah, they're not going to let me do–

LAWYERS

No.

Any of this stuff with the actual muppets.

You're wasting precious time!

GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, RED.

ok, where does it–

{cut to black}

Learning to assimilate and readily avalible

What's next

A vape to calm the nerves?

What's next?

A hero fighting for relevance in corporate structure.

Sure, some would pay to dress an avatar

But I've run out of water before

I try to laugh and roll with the punches

This is work and not fun for me

This is not social, it's business

I am not person, I'm product.

Go on a walk, and look the part

I took the oath,

I shed the blood—

Cruxes.

This is a bad idea, Mark.

Fuck you. All my ideas are great.

MARK WAHLBERG enters the cooridor and opens the metal double doors, revealing two l jet skis on a trailer hitched to a 4X4 monster truck.

[The Festival Project ™]

I'm telling you. You got to get yourself one of these.

I don't know, Bob, how does it work?

BOB odenkirk opens a large, obscure black bag that's nearly half his own size by way of one way zipper.

I'll show you.

{Enter The Multiverse}

JOHNNY CARSON has been in the DRUNK TANK for the maximum allowance, 48 hours, yet his blood alcohol level still reads 3 times over the legal limit. He is transferred to DETOX as the mysterious circumstances surrounding his car accident, and then the apparent disappearance of his entire “car” a (then) brand-new DeLorean from the scene of the crime, MR. CARSON insists on his lawyer, who under no circumstances seems to exist at all being present. The exact year of his whereabouts are still unknown.

Still an hour to the test

And I hate myself again

Milk and cookies, hit the bed

Shut it down, yo

Shut it down.

DIPLO arrives via HELIPAD to an secret location; a sniper squad of the adversary team watches from an adjacent rooftop via binoculars.

…hey.

Whaddup.

You say diplo's on that list?

Yeah.

Yo…

…There he is.

In your sight?

Yep.

Shoot that motherfucker!

…I can't.

Why not?

He's like—

Just shoot, fool.

—he's like holding something.

So?

I don't know what; it just seems—

What the fuck, dawg.

It just seems important.

Let me see.

Look.

[ESSE looks down the sights and zooms to see DIPLO is holding an object firmly in his grasp. He appears to be twirling it purposefully as he conversates wi th associate.]

Yeah!

Get em!

Shoot that motherfucker!

Where the hell have you been?

In my fuckpad.

Where the hell is that?

You haven't seen my fuckpad?

What even is that.

It's ballin.

Whatever, dog. Did you get the—

Shh. Why else would I be here?

[beat]

You look— did you cut your hair or something.

You're so redundant.

Yo shoot that motherfucker.

What are you waiting for?!

He's right there?

Apparently, we've been building to this moment from another dimension in from another point in the series?

I thought—

{Enter The Multiverse}

HEHEHEHE.

HEY!

Relax.

NO. This party is OUT of control.

SOMEBODY GO GET QUESTLOVE OUT THAT TREE.

HAH!

Shutup.

NIGGA GET THE FUCK UP OUTTA DAT TREE.

_____

Some party.

I guess.

Why is Questlove in a tree.

I don't know. That party is pretty wild.

This is insane.

_

NIGGA GET THE FUCK OUT THE TREE.

_

YO. where are you AT.

I'm at the kiosk.

You're not at the kiosk! I'm at the kiosk!

It's probably another kiosk, then.

What!

[he walks a few feet. There is indeed another kiosk; upon further investigation, there is a kiosk every few feet.]

What!

I gotta go. My phone's about to–

Hello.

[Everywhere is kiosks. This is frustrating.]

Dammit.

WHAT.

{Enter The Multiverse]

A very large prized pig is captured and literally hogtied, however–this is a challenge. The pig, while beautiful, is also humongous–and appears to understand that he is being pignapped.

Why would I tel the whole story

When no one loves me

If I had a gun,

Well, I would be gone already?

Why trek to Alaska

For thousands of dollars

To come home to no one and nobody

But rotten corpses on motorcycles

Where it just starts over

But now you're poorer.

I want to die

But I want to see my son again.

He's not suffering, I am

But starting to resent what he doesn't understand.

To the world I'm a horrible mother

But no one quite knows the half of it but God

And the whole problem is what is not God in the world

Is all for the other's purpose.

Some probably respect I was punched

In front of my son

And then wonder's why

At some point

I could no longer

Hold on

Insomniac

So someone should go slam the door when I ponder my own thoughts

I'd probably walk off a walk on roll

I don't lock up no more I just go out

Knowing government drones probably watch

And turn over the apartment

As I'm out trying to own a home

But of course, nothing I do in the world is of value

And I'm no one

No one at all in New York and the options are

Where I don't want to be

Or in Saint Monica homeless.

I'd get a dog if I wanted to walk it

But since I don't I just sit with a plush in my lap

Who I call “Gus”

And it purposeless

But otherwise meaningful

Since from here and now

And otherwise

Nobody has ever loved me

As much as my mother

And that's saying something

If you knew the whole story

So no one has loved me romantically;

Almost all my life was a horror show

Until I started to grow up

With the knowing that probably

Nothing I do could be more than wrong

So doing nothing becomes the hard part

When all I watch are stars

And I'm just not one

Then again, you know

It was that word

That threw the first punch

And then over and over

And over and over

And nobody loves me

But everybody's got a whole story

And new York's disgusting because of it

How troublesome

I don't have time for your politics

It's a mind game but there's no reward,

Or honor in it

After all, when tied up in the court process

And pretending the noise was not a problem

And I should be so lucky

In a luxury apartment

Coming out of a homeless shelter

But it's almost been just as horrible

As other black girls trying to pull my hair out

Having screaming pigs and ugly men on motorcycles

Drive in circles

Wearing jackets that say

“I have to do this, cause Jack says”

And whoever Jack is writes them pychecks

Except

Since it politics

He might even be getting over considering

Passion fuels the utmost violence

And in this case

Imm supposed to be the only one

To go about it

All the paperwork and recordings

But really I don't want to

Even if it earns a millions dollars

In the name of God

It wasn't my problem

Unless I am one

And otherwise,

These men are sick

And making people sick

Is just their business

I need no medication

I need an new apartment

But how awful my country supports that I just don't deserve one

Under the circumstances

But the white man

Lives on borrowed time

In bloodshed

On stolen land

Regardless of color

The illusion of power

Is almost over

And what's more is

Your only army

Is considering going home

(Post mortem)

Considering going to God

Who must have lost control just enough

To cause all of the apocalypse

Put the whole world in a mental hospital

And lock them up for dollars and cents

Unless the good drugs make sense

For the blondes and the beautiful

The rest of them are problems

Who can go to rot,

I suppose.

The rest of us are unwanted colored problems

Can't stay here

But the kids at the music school are fake nice

And I'm done pulling my heart out

And scratching my eyes out

Just fucking trying

Just fucking trying

What is the point

Of being in a prison

For people who love oceans and trees

And decent people?

There's no one in New York to really love

But babies and dogs

And the whole world is horrible just knowing that

I don't want to do anything but die

Every time I ride the subway

I wish I was white

From the way that that white folks treat me

And I wish I was blonde

Because blondes seem to have it so fucking easy

It's hard to believe

I'm furious, furious

Aren't you curious, curious how I got here?

I'm serious, serious

You should let me in, let me in

I'm serious, serious

You should have let me in, let me in

Is he okay,

Is he okay?

Now I'm

David Grohl on the whole retrospective

Now I'm an old rockstar with some world left

Now I know I'm the one with the mother gone

Now I know,

Now I know

Now I know…

That I don't

Overall, I don't

Somebody new

Somebody grain and l steaming

Somebody hidden and secret and wishing well

Wishing well in Hell

Or midtown Manhattan

Or middle man

Or Middle East

Or Midwest

Or just middle

Somewhere else I,

Learned to live her

Learn to live here—

Feeling better

Feeling worn out,

Look at this disgusting place

Now where I live matches how I feel

Going here from there, and four to five

And no matter what I take the L,

But it's jail and the guards are on motorcycles

Controlling your thoughts for a zoning war

I have heard of her

And from earth to the core of our other outer planets,

Further species,

I know I've been here before,

But on some shore I'm surfing

So sure I did something wrong

I don't want to know her

But j don't know what other force of nature

Might have caused this

Caution

The cautionary tale is coming

Sure I never know what the other God wrote

But I'm not living God,

I'm a problem woman at the moment

We're all technically free people,

Not actually incarcerated

But when it comes to wealth and racism, hatred

You better bet we're all slaves

And they not even Jesus can save us

Even if he makes it in time,

And the thing is with this one,

Time precedes even his own existence

Sorry my brother

They want the war here

I've got a heart for honor and honesty and hard word

But no one seems to care or notice

Not at all

No one even knows my name

And no one even offers a spot on the bus

Or a quick dollar.

What it means

To be so tired

That by the time you're back

All you do is watch

And try not to reflect

On the ugly and awkward

Imagine all the time in the world

To be nothing but God and go Golfing.

And be perfect, a woman

Whatever you chose to do is the whole of it

And no one can own you,

Besides for on paper

You government name has betrayed you, they say

Your government name has betrayed you.

Do you know how good you look?

Not goof enough to get a good one

Do you know how much medication it makes

To make meditation the start of you day

I've run all out of energy

And the vampires seem to think

That's what's wrong with me

Altoigh

I'm the one feeding these creatures

Thats okay

Lately,

I have more than I need

They can trim the fat

And take all the hard stuff

Till I become one of them

And they start to wonder

What the fuck is wrong with all of us

I left my light at home, sufererer—

I should be surfing,

But I'm writing psalms and songbooks

Fawning over songbirds and beautiful,

Beautiful,

Beautiful genetic weapons

One day I'll become her

I'm not supposed to say the most l

Or really anything at all

And it all hurts

But we're all here

And I'll kill my self one day

Probably right here, near this station

If not in it

Who brought a trouser pantsuit to the apocalypse

Cryptic, these runes,

But I can decipher it

I want a dolphin, a dolphin, a dolphin

I want to love them all

But to all of them

I'm hopeless

I can't help falling for

I'm not the one to hold on, m

I l

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Let's see how we feel, after a message from our sponsors.

Jesus effing Christ, Jimmy Kimmel—goddamn! Why are you always this fucked UP.

(Super fuckedupedly)

I'm not, I'm just feel—(belches)— like it!

—look like it, okay!

Omah Gas.

I nuh!

Uh. Pedro Pascal?

You're right again.

Yehy!

Well, almost right.

What.

That character he played on that extremely viral SNL skit—

OKAH.

Woah.

—this is the dimension where he's—

—oh my god—

Yeah.

—UHMYGAH!

Cut back to:

—look— jus— don't look at me. When you're—lookin at me, like that— okay?!

Goddamn, he is fucked up.

Yeah.

This is critical.

What did you do to Jimmy Kimmel?

Nothing! Okay! He was just— like that already— you know

—you don't know!

Honestly he's kinda always, a little…

WOOOF!

Yowza.

WOOF WOOF!

JIMMY! DO NOT LICK ME!

*panting* WOOF WOOF!

AUGHHH.

Get him out of here before he pees on the rug.

I second that.

Comeon, boy—

WOOF!

DOWN!

[he obeys intently]

Good Jimmy Kimmel. Good—

—RUFINOL.

What?

[suddenly, JIMMY KIMMEL is human again and answers intently.

Yes.

It seems the word itself has broken his extreme delirium—

—yo, okay, what is going on?!

You've got to can this thing

What.

Cancel it.

No way.

I want to go.

This thing, cannot happen, okay! It can't!

Wtf Jimmy Fallon, stop inserting yourself into everything!

—

Unless it's me.

EW.

GROSS.

Shots fired.

No, I would call that a foul ball—Get it.

No,

Cause. You know. He's a bird, kind of.

Oh. You mean, like

“Fowl ball”

Yeah! You got it!

Yeah but not without like, thinking about it—

So it doesn't work?

It didn't work.

Yo, but that part does explain why:

CUT TO:

No, you're right, I do hate Jimmy Fallon.

—a lot.

A lot.

Okay?

—but to be fair, I also hate Brad Pitt in the same way.

BRAD PITT

…You do?

Yes, Brad Pitt i do—

Very much,

Hate you.

BRAD PITT

(Tearing up emotionally)

Like, a lot?

Uhm. Like, more than a lot,

I just.

BRAD PITT is actually extremely fragile and very emotionally sensitive.

Is this a prescription for— fucking roofies?!

I— have a, a…medical condition.

That requires roofies?!

Yes actually. It's very…serious.

Shapeshifting is very serious.

What kind of medical condition requires roofie-ing yourself.

I didn't—I don't—I can't roofie myself, actually.

What!

No way…

Someone else has to administer the dose, okay?!

So wait.

Uhogh, what the fuck man. This is—

[he bites his knuckles nervously, then pats his pocket area, before realizing he is no longer wearing pants. Everyone just shrugs, but he becomes increasingly upset.]

Where is my— phone?[more shrugs and blank stares]

He quickly shuffles through the room and then the open suitcase of empty prescription bottles, spiraling into a deep void of panic and doubt— then, in an act of desperation and apparent extreme thirst, he reaches for the decorative flower vase, ejects the flowers— never mind that they are thorned roses and he appears to be bleeding without giving this a second thought, and chugs the liquid from the translucent crystal vase in a hearty and impressive glug of chugs; gesturing towards the now empty vase with the subtle remark—

[beat]

It's just vodka— I always have them do that.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and takes a sigh as this seems to have calmed him, besides the trickle of blood running down the vase, which he still grips in one hand while rubbing his forehead with the other in complete distress…

He seems to be looking out into the universe searching for an answer— seeking a solution to this unknown conundrum— and questions the cause of his demise.

A single tear forms in his eye as he calmly asks:

…does anyone know how to get ahold of Seth Rogen?

The room is a confused and sticky, silent heap of bewildered unknowns.

TITLE CARD

{Enter The Multiverse}

… was that the “message from our sponsors”?

Shh!

L E G E N D S: ICONS

don't look at me.

[The Festival Project ™]

50 CENT bursts down the door.

WHERE'S MY SHIT, JIMMY?

Fiddy. Fiddy, look, man—

Don't “FIDDY” me!

Look, I can explain.

Well, then, explain— TV man. Go on ahead.

Look. This is— this was not my fault—

Then what was it?!

This was— oh, God…

Go ahead!

It was— this was like a game.

This ain't no goddamn game, Jimmy Kimmel, I'll tell you that much right now.

Yo. But it—was— a game, though, it just— [got out of hand]

{Enter The Multiverse}

Museum in a curio cabinet;

I know, I know, I know

That's the boy,

That's the boy,

That's the boy I saw

That's my boy, that's my boy, that's the boy I know

I know

Museum or curiosity

Too late to tell the tale I think

Just cover all with masking tape

It is a game,

To move the pieces

Leave it, let it be,

She said

Hideous and when the winter hits

And the withered women come again

Let it be sinking into the sea with the rest of the things

I don't need, i never needed

I never need it

Several synchronicities later,

Still something sees symphonies in him

Music and misers and mistereases, mistresses

Listen to tin written sentiments

And remember to forget the rest

It's been minted

Minted, minted

Don't talk

Just fucking listen

And you'll never fucking get it.

What's with the rest of it?

Never been, never did

Lemons and purple Sundays

And when the weather hits,

You'll get the tip of it

Oh,

There it is

That thing she likes

The thing she sees

(She sees the monster)

There it is,

That thing she sees

The thing she knows

(She knows the monster)

When you walk with the cork of the wine,

And the checkboards,

The water foxes, wishing reals

And written wells,

And fears for fourths,

One wet, one rotten

The rent and the wintergreen gum

And the rest is in

Zippered cashmere

Wonder what the wish is

But there is a birthday present for never

Then there's a

Cheshire Cat

And the rest of it was washed in the misery,

Misery, never the mystery and there,

You weather the almost storm

But the storm's not coming,

There's nothing but sun left

There's nothing but sun there

There's nothing but sun there

Now, here's this:

You remember, dear

We resubmit

We live in a computer

We live in a comouter

He‘S green

He's new

He's wet behind the ears

He's a hot one

A hot commodity

She's weathered

She's torn

She's a sweet potato on suicide

And though at least a hundred other folks

This here is the comfort

This here is the comfort

I'm a narcissist now, but once upon a time

I just just self centered

The love still there,

But instead of the spine or the heart

It's back in the middle

Why my mother knows what she always knows

And she always knows

I don't know ‍♂️ o

Patrick! Hey Patrick!

Yes, what is it?

You fiend!

Can I have my hat back?

Does this match?

Does this make ratchet sense to you?

Turn down that racket,

Tennis racket

Tennis clubs

And gold clubs

Boxes in the attick

Skeletons in the closet

The stock market going dropped

Way down

Like the alley with Whole Foods market

I miss the rock and the plaza

The hot dog corn breads

The half wit half breeds

And good old hybrids

The hallmark cards

And who doesn't give a fuck

When the earth gives a fuck on a roll

But it's walk the dog or go home

Seriously, cuz?

Or cousin?!

You want a hog roll

Good for a hog toss

Salt washed back rubs

And then keep calling your mom

If you wanted the balls in your court

And yet no one to toss them at

And the basket's back at the matchbook factory

Mattresses man, and the lands they land at

Matches made in TV land

Are bound to have a sick and intrinsic twist

That will keep your belly rolling

And stomach flat

Jesus Christ,

What the fuck is wrong with that guy—

Or rather—

What the fuck happened last year,

Furthermore;

What in the fuck did I write about it?

Townhouse in Manhattan

Broken finger

Broken promises

Bottles of hard alcohol

And models, hot girls

And one cat with curiosity.

Check the curio cabinet

There ought to be something

Or someone in it

Maybe even

A little man in a box

With a million bucks

And a tinfoil hat,

Ten million marked dollars

And zero fucks

Whatsoever

I have a headache, a headache—

A headache

I have a heartache, a heartache, a heart—

Stop.

I put it all on a bushel of bollocks,

Bollocks— flowers

I put it on, put it on

Put it on

On, and on

And all for nothing

All for none

With the intensity of one thousand suns,

He insists it exists,

And exits strategically

With the whispers of industry secrets

And interesting sequences,

She reaches the wings from the curtains

And curtsies for courtesy

I'm curious I'm curious just how it ends

In this suicidal and envious frenzy

There's nothing left in the frostbitten five

Rolling towards bowling green

Where in every pair of loafers,

Three piece suits

And deep brown eyes,

I seen him.

In anything over 6 feet,

It was good to mean it,

And defeat is sweeter than ice cream;

But the green is sicker than sea swings

So let's rock the boat

So to speak

Or let's flood a Rock

Should we start at the bottom,

With large bursts of water, or

Turn it all into a washroom

With a thunderstorm

Oh, lightning strikes!

And John Oliver's Murdered,

Colbert's been the president for decades,

A dictator

I got a taste of the rig and the cherry tree

I got a big secret,

But bitch,

You could never keep it!

I write a jeep to the Equinox,

Ha

Ha

Ha

Charade you are

I put a notch in my belt and my bedpost,

The watch to the shop

But it's all Omega

It's all Omega

It's all ”Oh My God!”

Stop and pause for the audience

Stop and pause for the audience

Stop and pause for the audience

Shock and awe,

Or just sloppy nonsense

Someone rope in the Johns,

And the frog,

And the frog

And the frog

As the fog rolls in

Now I'm a millionaire

How dare you

Did I scare you,

Become every hair on your head?

Imm the one you don't want

You can't want

You catch watch

You can't wait to

Gun her down

Gun to your head

And I measured it in relevance

The end is near

And that's the place my head is in

I don't need medicine

I need an erected monument in honor of

All that I wanted for the whole module

But now in New York,

I'm

The same stories over and over

So everyone knows

Aren't the ones I wrote

But I wasn't supposed to

Mouth closed

Townhouse in Manhattan

What the hell happened?

Perhaps we all died and then actually end up in heaven eventually.

—but maybe I wrote the whole show,

But not knowing it's over

I just keep rolling and rolling and rolling

And open door policy

(And that's when the pearly gates open)

It's possible you know these are all just my favorite players of anything anywhere possible

The folks wrapped in gold for the offerings

There was no love left for her but he left the door open

She runs around awkward and normal

But knows she knows nothing

He's lifting her up

But he's putting her down at the same time

And they both wear a crown,

But one draws a crowd

And the other's a nine

Out of nine

Out of nine

Out of nine now

It's 4 and 3 quarters

I make ten cents in a day

And he makes ten million a year

But it's not about money

In fact,

If it's not about God,

Then it's all about nothing.

Nothing at all.

Do you want to travel through my eyes

One more time

One more time

And see my life?

Did you want to do it all again

Just for a quick review,

Or not, kid?

Do you want to take my eyes

And take my heart

And pantomime

The nevermind

And never better moments

Of the last forever

I like a ride

On a nice hot walk

Or a park

In a nice hot car

But you aren't what I wanted

The doctor ordered

Hot chocolate and syrup

And nightmares are coming

But the dream had come and gone

And in the time since,

I haven't slept at all

It slipped in on Christmas and went till the miniature habits kicked back in

We went around the block a couple times

And you just kept rolling

Over

The car stopped on all fours

And Godbfalled you off of it

Cause trust,

Love,

It was horrendous to watch you blow up

Into blockbuster artform

Off of a bridge

And into superstardom

Via a billboard

Meanwhile,

Were shuffleboards

And billiards

Que the arts!

Ou,

I meant to owe you

All the lessons

In the knowledge

But the harder I want it the

Rocker on my chair polished

It grows fuller of course

Almost flat on the bottom

What you hole into for the audience

Is all inside the contracts

I put it up on the

What did you call it?

Put the coat on the chair and just kept going

Bro,

If I hold you over

Promise you'll hold the door open

He won't.

He's a show host—

A remarkable

“Don't even bother”

And I paid top dollar for these hair plugs,

You hear that?!

I heard you rabbit.

What it is about the thing that wells up in my Washington federal and tear-gassed orphans is

Lollipops and anicetepetomin

Or asperine

I'm desperate for a job

And yet,

I almost miss the person

Hiding from the shadows in the robots

In my every on thoughforms

Though I should be honored

Now I've brought back this astonishing

Remarkable curse

To not b

Have bought curtains

When I didn't want them in the first place

And I kept the window open

40,000 showed up

But I played to no one

And the blonde knows it's her birthday

So of course she's more important

But I'm no one,

And here's Fallon:

Jimmy Fallon

Jimmy Fallon

Jimmy Fallon

I'm deflated just to follow off for a nut

But I'm nothing since no one pondered

And wondered to ask a remarkable task

get the pawn shop, the butter knife

And Lorne all over pork chops on the phone

And I'm sure that's not kosher,

But sure, there's no cure for it

I'm words and I'm worse off

The suburbs, the herbs and the marshes

The books and the sineage

The plants and the corvettes

I might have been onto something once

But now I'm washed up

I might be onto something but no, no, no—

I fought it off

I might come down with a cold once a quarter century or so but just the snow alone

As cold as this whole story is,

Ripley's

Is hard warming

(Believe it or not,

We've all got thumbs up

We've all got magic wands

And wants

And whispers

And stock markets

And wishing for cashmere zippered sweaters

This year I'll be on time for once

But no one's coming

No one's coming up

The whole shows under water

And all I want to know is

How to go

To pull the gun and trigger

On my own live

Cause this whole world

Is just rotten

Bodies

Hairpins,

Hairspray

Corny!

That's grid iron,

Gridiron, ten fierce fires and one

Cold hearted beautiful liar

But which one's the finish?

Last that I check

Billie, Jimmy, and the Kidd are all

Just one body

And one mirror image

Of one another

So next time I call my mother

I ought to talk like the worst word,

Cause for sure, the oddest part of the whole show

Is that he somehow knows her.

Now come forwards

What words have left to

Burn?

What words have left to cope and honor

What form does lest I take

What here is now and crucial?

Evervescent fairy,

Ever blessing crane,

The ship that guides you yet with no light

And no sail

Has just drifted into unknown waters

Where caves dwell and therein lies the secret of our esarth, nor your earth,

But ours and again I lay,

As you sink into the see with tilting force and berring waves, the drive into the tide my ark the swan hath flown to warn her, there drifts

Into the shade again the sun my bird and wait to find my alter

My alter again and as I may,

The sink that ships and weigh, not the other,

My mind you that too is bottom

And sank is to have risen, also

Here I wonder

And never you cave, the drift of glowing green my force

And there to wait, there caverns of hers and ships that sank my tide,

Is crucial and so with forgiveness in time

With every line here I or they did write

The truth shatters as illusions, the mask has been re clamored and yet to have imagined

I find him here not but the hints

And the thing we know, buried deep in my loins and in my earth is he

The whispers what May calling and landender, mauve my tide, my ba

…wtf.

idk.

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Good people have good friends

So maybe I' no good

Maybe I'm no good

Though I'm luckier than most, I know

I just can't cope

So maybe I'm no good

When's the last time you been to Dimedale?

…Timmy?

I guess.

V.O.

I try not to double back on old habits.

TIMMY TURNER turns the corner on his motorcycle just a bit too fast— he is clipped by a turning semi truck, a bright blue freighter that unhinges as the headlights blare into his widened eyes under the semi translucent visor of his rainbow swirl pink helmet.

V.O.

TIMMY TURNER

“Try” not to, anyway…

{enter the multiverse}

I put a terabyte of stored documents and files back into the cloud and suddenly, after my morning run—

CUT TO

Welcome home, kid.

Yeah, I…

The jail cell door slams shut.

TIMMY TUNER (reprised by Drake Bell)

Late 30'e-early 40's is awaiting trial after the stint in the hospital followed by

V.O.

Detox…

…Rehab.

Jesus Christ.

After his bloodwork revealed lethal levels of multiple intoxicants in his system, and although he was not technically at fault for the accident, he has been charged with driving under the influence, as well as a number of other crimes—

However;

His black duffel back has mysteriously vanished,

And he has not been charged for any of the many possible other crimes considering the also mysterious contents of said bag, which was with him at the time of the accident, but not logged into evidence.

MEANWHILE…

WALTON GOGGINS?!

Yep, that's me.

*Mr. Walton GOGGINS.

No, get out.

What.

GET OUT.

[The Festival Project ™]

A shadowy ass figure appears behind Timmy in his cell.

Woah.

Hey.

COSMO (Jimmy Fallon, in this dimension)

Why Jimmy Fallon.

I got.

*blank stares*

I did— a thing.

A thing.

Fucking magic circles.

CRISIS.

THE COSMIC AVENGER IS IN DEEP CRISIS.

AVERT!

Anyway,

COSMO

Timmy.

TIMMY TURNER

yeah.

COSMO.

It's me.

TIMMY

“You” who?

COSMO

“Yoo-hoo” classic

.

TIMMY

Ha-ha—very funny—wait—

COSMO

Uh huh.

TIMMY

Cosmo?!

COSMO

Uh huh!

TIMMY

What! You're, like—

COSMO

You don't look too good yourself.

TIMMY

(Irritated)

Whatever. Where's Wanda?

COSMO

Not in high security prison.

TIMMY

What are you doing here?!

COSMO

…I'm your roommate.

TIMMY

What?!

COSMO

I know, this is an interesting turn of events.

TIMMY

No it isn't. This is television!

(Breaking fourth wall)

COSMO

(Beat)

—you're right.

[beat]

(Cosmo drifts off)

TIMMY

Cosmo!

Where are your wings?!

COSMO

(Half asleep)

I'm not sleeping!

TIMMY

Your wings?

COSMO

I lost them!

TIMMY

How?

COSMO

In a poker match

TIMMY

Permanently?!

COSMO

Hm? No. Nothing is permanent, but—

TIMMY

But what?! This is crazy?! What are you doing here?! Where's Wanda.

COSMO

Listen, about me and Wanda.

TIMMY

Don't tell me—

COSMO

Alright, I won't. But listen:

TIMMY

This is crazy.

COSMO

It is crazy, but I have a plan.

TIMMY

Well, what's your plan?!

COSMO

I still have some magic left.

TIMMY

Some?! Well what happened?

COSMO

(Shrugs, at a loss)

Look— Timmy.

TIMMY

This is wild!

COSMO

I need you to make a wish!

TIMMY

…what.

COSMO

A wish. A wish, Timmy!

TIMMY

Oh, no— not this again.

COSMO

It's the only way!

TIMMY

But you're not even my fairy anymore!

COSMO

Timmy Turner, I will always be your fairy.

*sniffs*

(Kind of awkward, heartwarming moment— they hug; the guard peeks through the window and squints at them, grimacing)

Wide shot of two dudes hugging in prison.

TIMMY

Okay…

COSMO

Yeah, let's.

TIMMY

Yeah.

COSMO

Anyway, Tim, I need you to make a wish.

TIMMY

“Tim” don't call me that!

COSMO

Well, it's weird calling you “Timmy, you're like 40.”

TIMMY

Yeah, but—

COSMO

Make a wish, Timmy.

[beat]

The guard peers in through the window, this time with popped corn

TIMMY and COSMO both squint awkwardly.

COSMO

Uh…

TIMMY

Yeah, okay—

COSMO

Hurry.

TIMMY

I wish…

*POOF*

Suddenly, Cosmo and Timmy are back in Timmy's old room— not much has changed, but it seems off and kind of odd;

TIMMY and COSMO are still— well— aged.

Just then, TIMMY'S FATHER enters through the door.

TIMMY'S DAD (Chris Parnell) enters, leaning into the door.

TIMMY'S DAD

Timmy?!

TIMMY

Uh… DAD!

TIMMY'S DAD

(He squints suspiciously at Cosmo)

…and who's this?

TIMMY

Uh, this—

TIMMY'S DAD

…it's Wednesday… isn't it?

TIMMY

This, uhm…

COSMO

I'm uh—

TIMMY

This is my—

COSMO

Ahem. Parole officer.

TIMMY

Yeah.

TIMMY'S DAD

You never cease to disappoint me, son.

TIMMY

Thanks.

TIMMY'S DAD.

I'll leave you to it.

Before he gets exits, he pauses for a moment and stares into Cosmo

// parallel (as) Chris Parnell / as Jimmy Fallon.

TIMMY'S DAD

(To Cosmo)

…do I know you?

COSMO

No, I don't think so.

TIMMY'S DAD

Are you sure?

COSMO

Positive…pretty much.

TIMMY'S DAD

You're probably right— you just

TIMMY

Uh, dad—

TIMMY'S DAD

You look so familiar.

COSMO

(Flatly)

…no, I don't.

TIMMY'S DAD

No, no— I got it! Wednesday evening poker club?!

COSMO

TIMMY

COSMO

That must be it.

TIMMY'S DAD

I knew it.

COSMO

…right.

TIMMY'S DAD

I thought that was you. Anyway, as you were— I'll let you, uh—

COSMO

Yes!

TIMMY'S DAD

See you tonight!

COSMO

You betcha!

TIMMY'S DAD

(Suddenly coldly, to TIMMY)

Timmy.

*he shuts the door*

TIMMY

COSMO

TIMMY

“Wednesday Evening Poker Club”

Where would you even come up with something like that.

COSMO

The thing is, I do play poker on wednesdays!

TIMMY

What!

COSMO

I didn't know that was your dad!

TIMMY

Yeah, about that; why can my dad see you?

COSMO

I told you, I lost my magic.

TIMMY

All of it?!

COSMO

Obviously not all of it— enough to get us out of that last mess!

TIMMY

Oh, this is awful. We have to find Wanda!

COSMO

no, wait!

As TIMMY attempts to leave, a loud ringing from his ankle begins to ring; TIMMY'S FATHER returns just to squint, scowling at his son before murmuring

TIMMY'S DAD

you know the rules.

TIMMY steps back inside the room, his father shuts it, at first normally, then slamming it at the last moment.

COSMO

Yeah, that.

TIMMY

What is this?!

COSMO

You're under house arrest! Obviously!

TIMMY

What!! What gives?!

COSMO

I granted your wish!

TIMMY

Like, half of it!

COSMO

Half is about all I've got—!

TIMMY

Are you kidding me?!

COSMO

I wish!

TIMMY

Geez, why can't you grant you grant your own wishes?

COSMO

It might totally defeat the purpose. And without Wandaaa

TIMMY

WHERE'S WANDA?!

COSMO

I don't know…

TIMMY

We gotta get out of here.

COSMO

Well, I can leave. You can't.

TIMMY

Okay…

COSMO

Yeah, that's.

TIMMY

What If I wished for Wanda to be here, then?

COSMO

… I don't know.

TIMMY

That's what I'll do.

COSMO

I don't know, Tim.

TIMMY

Stop calling me that.

COSMO

It's very weird calling you “Timmy”

TIMMY

That's my name.

COSMO

Whatever!

TIMMY

I wish Wanda was here!

COSMO

No!

TIMMY

What! Why not,

COSMO

She might get mad.

(She will definitely be mad)

TIMMY

Well, that's my wish.

COSMO

No!

TIMMY

That's my wish! Grant it!

COSMO

Ugh…

L E G E N D S

WANDA, who has been living her best life as a recent divorcee and retired fairy godmother, is whisked away from her tropical paradise vacation to DIMSDALE, CALIFORNIA, where her ex husband COSMO and former fairy god child, who is now a harshly aged party animal on PAROLE sit nervously as she arrives to greet her.

WANDA is furious.

{enter the multiverse}

Seth MCFARLENE is so Hollywood.

SETH ROGEN DONT know where his pants is.

SETH MEYERS is trapped in a box with almost no air holes at all

And SETH GREENE is the life of the party.

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

FECK.

DEADMAU5 powers down mid set.

Aw, fuck.

Oh, man.

Did you forget to plug in the Deadmau5.

I forgot to plug in the Deadmau5.

Quick, create a diversion.

Make it look like part of the show!

STAFFERSON opens the charging port on JOEL's neck and plugs him in.

He's not going to make it through the full set on charge mode, bro.

I know.

So what are we supposed to do.

We're just going to have to play with him…

MAU5 glitches uncontrollably at extremely reduced capacity throughout the remainder of the set.

The 32B commences.

LATER.

DEADMAU5 charges in SLEEP MODE in THE DUNGEON.

Do you think anyone noticed?

Probably not.

SAUFERSON! Did you forget to charge the Deadmau5 again?!

THE BOSS enters THE DUNGEON lividly.

No…

You DID!

Sorry.

It's not entirely

{Enter The Multiverse}

Young Joel Zimmerman is eight years old.

He will one day become one of the world's most renowned dance music producers.

This is somewhat evident in his personality even at such a young age.

JOEL grimaces uncomfortably. He seems somewhat different from his classmates— maybe even years beyond his age.

About…

250 years beyond his age, to be precise.

The adults watch in the distance with peaking curiosity.

Oh.

I need you to help me with something.

What.

This should do it.

Hmm.

Wait here.

Why.

Because.

L E G E N D S

Book One: Secrets

Chapter One

“The Wonder”

Cinematic visions had been sweeping through my mind in vivid and dynamic glitches, something like a rolling wave of intercepted streams and shattered scenes— sleeping through the vile and sharp pains was not an option, but the visions were fluid as they always were, and the spirit stayed remarkably warm and close.

I couldn't understand the constant knowing of it all, and so I weathered the storm, to which only somewhat delightfully, seemed to brew inside of Genie's eyes as he looked into mine. All I could know from beforehand was that he was praying, head bowed and very adamantly, his hands tied together as if the religiousness of the entire world rests in between his two clenching palms, the flat fingers of a whispered saint, but none at all— unholy man and righteous and indignant he, there was nothing so little as time that could put between us the doing and undoings.

The things I pretended not to know.

On this grueling occasion, there was this, the honorable and beloved Genie, sitting heavily on my consious. It hadn't been long enough since we'd last met that I ever thought to welcome his arrival, and yet for days, he had been encroaching his authority over me, something like a loon approaches moonlight. Somewhat dignified in a slight comparison to his last appearance, visionary or otherwise, he meant well. Gene DeLaney was a subtle old fool when he wanted to be— and a clever young one at most other and all times. A man of stature and status, however, he was poorly groomed in the nature of procuring revelations as such from an especially distant medium such as I— and even with his ties to the mark and surface of the full embodiment of the source, his alignments were of no use; I was sworn to secrecy.

Destitute, though I had heeded his warnings about dear Louis, our fellow brother, with the markings of such wounds to see it that I had been betrayed, he appealed with a simple aching plea with the protective fury and exhalation of an older brother, which— to that he was—but also with the weathered and fearful of the unknown which made me keep my ways in the old world and not with the new.

Despite what Gene could know, which could be everything or nothing, with the expectation that much like the little girl I nearly was in considerate comparison, I would appeal to this protectiveness, and truthworthiness, and it might as well have been a test of such myself; would I lie to him, even if he knew the truth? And furthermore, would I continue to conspire to protect Louis even if the whole of the truth was known in the wake of such a betrayal, and still— why? The why was really two parts of a greater whole, the first being that it was a matter of simple trust and loyalty on the one side in that were I Louis, I'd expect my keeping's to remain, and in the same stone's throw were I Genie, I'd expect his wants to be that I should do the same for him in all and any of his many hours of need. Still so, they were men, and they were brothers— and one to have the upper hand over another was a considerable part of the dynamic, however, and in many more ways than one, Genie outranked Louis in every matter of the sort, but besides this factor, the second part of the greater whole of my withholding, was this— Louis Greenworth was a very, very powerful man— beyond by some comprehension to most of us, if not and especially our kind, and I had already been hurt. Severely wounded, even, and with the knowing that this latest event might as well have been fatal— and probably was, with any recollection of the matter or the reorientation in the aftermath of such, I might have been approached as myself by Gene entirely new. As to say, to no avail such ties to death is the immortal, death being, most misunderstood by many, almost any kind of thing taking the concious mind or the spirit into any other world, or space, or time.

With this love and care considerably so, Genie might have had his own personal motivations for prying into the light; his kind eyes and his handsome face, however, were trained in the art of my undoing, and having already been undone, and done over, I remained entirely in the safety of withholding, also knowing that Genie more likely than not what Louis had carried out. In all my thousands of years, perhaps even in the billions of such before time and world, and words, and glory, though I should have nothing to fear—I feared and admired the both of them deeply, one moreso than the other in matters of fear.

I withheld feverously, coping with the loss of the satisfaction it might give Genie to have told. Instead, neither satisfied nor dissatisfied, he simply dissappeared, his kind eyes gone and turned away into the fog of the murky night haze. The relief was, however, that this was in understanding, and neither anger or the severity of severance.

I loved them all too deeply for the bond to ever have been truly broken, and in return I had been loved throughout all time with all the colors of the world.

Victoria Shriver-DuPont

Gene DeLaney

Louis Greenworth

Faye Reginald Harper

Chapter Two

“Slip”

Faye had warned me early on no matter what I did or what I knew of Louis and his keepings, to always let him win—at anything. To Louis, everything was a game, or rather, a competition, and it was important not to challenge his self riteousness and dutiful outlook.

“Alright.”

I almost always certainly trusted Faye, and certainly always at the very least understood her procurements. She was a worthy keeper and just as well unearthed truths, even well beyond just the earthly plane. I took it as such that we had become beyond surface matters, very distinctly and immidiately. The times were changing, but the ties no less the same— there were vows taken and oaths, mantras and fields of trust— the inner ties and the outer forests of what we could reproach as unknown— the truth was, it was almost as if there were doses of those kinds of tonics I could take, and others I could not. The lengths at which Faye Reginald Harper Downings went on behalf of her mark were a cunning sting on my inner knowings, still, I yielded to her bargains. She knew Louis better than I did, and either way, the more you knew about a man like Louis Greenpoint, the less you actually wanted.

In such a case, we were all astounded to have become each other's jobs— hence the title, Keeper. My mark had no true title, as I just, rather was. A true immortal, I had been prone to dying for quite some time, and with each passing mark the outer world became more haunting and bizzare. Was I the ghost, or not? In this time and now, it was the others.

Genie had warned me to run in the opposite direction of Louis, and by then it had already gone to far— and besides that, Ms. Downings had arrived sheer months ahead of time, seeming to have moved mountains to have come upon the dawn to report— the dawn, being, my awakening.

I had lived and lived again and to this alone I was a ghost, but had been tied to my dear keepers and brethren as an admirer— and also, perhaps, to be admired, which was just enough reflected in my dear heart's eyes as it was the cold truth of the seers and the keepers— and the darker the under becomes, the more glistening the surface, and truly, in the caverns of the harsh light of the dawning, I could only amask that it had been not days and night since my last parting, as sometimes, generations— another marker for what was all to come, the knowing that I would be sheathed in truth.

What Louis had taken Faye might have very well taken with it, but I was undauntingly and hideously unchanged from my oath. These things, even betrayal, were to remain, as I undone, as secrets. In truth, the Seeker's oath is not yet in the unkept truth, but in the disguise of the awakening it brings.

Genie was belonged to by a power couple—Louis in this sense was also belonged to, but in a wary way to that these ties had been severed, and crossed, and cut, and broken; In my arrival, entire times had been shattered and worlds set to move in a backwards fashion, the sun as shining as to rise in the west, and set east, or to raise to the north with no southward bound to travel.

There, in the time of my arrival, things had been ruined, and though coming as any does with the bearing of a name, Victoria Shriver-DuPont, to be called— I was nonesuch to any title at all. In this lies the betrayal, and in the dawn of my awakening there beconed the call of this man, dear brother Louis as not either his name or his title any, but of his calling. There, the truth had also been shattered and met with the time to call all of our brothers, as keepers and wishers, seers and seekers, knowers and keepers, to guide the light which calls.

Chapter Three:

“Gene Hope”

As Televamgelests go, Gene DeLaney was not your average showman, either religiously nor by any given standards. His chosen stage name, or rather, bestowed harrowed the scene's Prince of Megatropolis, a gesture that all things reachable could be heard and felt by his voice and might.

But more to know about Gene Hope—actually by law, Gene DeLaney were his highly publicized personal effects and efforts—appearances, connections, and politics. Well groomed in the art of culture and confirm, Gene had hoped to portray an otherwise arbitrary anyman, and yet was still in his way, a remarkable celebrity.

There were wordless forms of nonconformity and rebellious ambition in his sheer collusion and pace. His walk, the elegance of a loyal court man, and the actual reverence of a madman, made him the go-to guy for all things knowing. The cruelty of it, being, that not particularly tied to that of the believes and mantras of a religious man, and in that the duty of nature being the times that we cross paths. The knowing but not all that is known, and thus, the keeping.

I want to fold myself over in half

I'm so in music with you

I want to say words that make you laugh

I'm so in music with you

I don't know

I don't know

I don't know

I don't know

I don't know wholesome no more

I don't know

I don't know

I don't know

I don't know

If I should open the door

I'm lost to your world;

But I don't want to go.

I'm stuck in your notebook

So wrong for you code

But this is no

(Recommended) friendship

This is no means to an end

I want the beginning of never ending

But this?

I just want it to end

I'm as scared and as sorry

As bad as I was

I'm up in my bedroom, which hasn't a door

I'm up in my head, and I haven't a code

I wanted to get on the boat

But the ocean was gorgeous

And all the world kept me afloat

You know

I got no reason to act out

It's tragic how magic just happened to pan out

We're still drifting as Pangea,

I wanted you to leave

Just so that I could be there.

You wanted potion for control

You got it?

I'm stuck in your notebook,

So open the door

You're right,

She's adorable, all for you

So goes the snow one and so

As you throw the door, or the bone

I called it a home for the force that was locking it all away

I don't want nothing but wanting and wanting

And I don't ant love I just wanted a sub direction

This is just glimpses of perfect

And glimpses of persons

And glimpses of lessons

This is just getting in heads, and more headaches

And bed frames

And glitches

Santa Barbara, Ann Arbor—

All the days and all the days and all thof ways

Were still drifting away like Pangea

(Only to do whatever you say)

I was your heachache

This wasn't monotony

If it's all autonomy

wel then someday,

Maybe you'll make me

For now I'm just an artificial

Figment of this existence

Joel wants a girl

But Ive never been loved like a girl

(I don't know how to be)

And if whoever wants a woman

When a man gives me the whole of it

And only whatsoever then shall I amount to anything

And anything at all, if love

Is in the eyes and hands

In either daughter or a son

I've

‘M nothing at all

If not a mother

And I'm no mother at all, so

Everything becomes impossible as one

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Maybe I'm not afraid because it just feels temporary.

The noise in the apartment made it easy to let go, and better yet, because of the noise— the only way a pro bono lawyer might speak with me is if I was evicted— then, explaining away that from the day I moved into the apartment my mental health began to spiral and, that recovery from homelessness and having left an abusive relationship became impossible with motorcycles and modified cars circling like buzzards, gangsters slanging on the corner banging music I hated, and an all around environment of unwellness, in which I was unable to cope with the mechanisms of even the simplest tasks, after being bombarded by these hellish people. I was sure that speaking with one sort of lawyer and explaining my heavily documented case would eventually lead to meetings with another kind of lawyer who would see my case and agree that I had been attacked, and severely wounded— and eventually, probably, compensated.

It simply wasn't facet of my imagination but seemed there was sort of hate group targeted to stalk and harass me— even in Manhattan, after visiting the Apple Store, a random pair of motorcycles approached and revved their engines thunderously as I walked back to the studio, even startling another passerby, as she shook her head as if to say “that was horrible”, with this look of fear and disgruntlement. It had been two years of this for me, though, and so I was somewhat used to it. It still hurt, but not the way it used to. Inside, sort of like the way a boxer knows how to take a punch because he's trained for it.

But this was not my job, and I was not getting paid, unless I could actually put my mind together enough to assimilate some sort of strategy; a lawsuit against the property management and the city itself for allowing the harassment, and at the end of the day, it didn't much care who was responsible, and whether it was politics or street theatre— I just wanted it to stop. I could honestly say that any sort of legal action was indeed not about the money, but rather an escape. Would I live in New York if I did not have to? Not by any means, anyway, in the way I did.

Just the view alone set me off, and anytime one of the foam panels fell out of the window from sun or dust and the lot of cars and busy intersection peered through, a gut wrenching anxiety came over me like the way it did when I first saw it; even then, when I first viewed the apartment, I knew that something bad had happened here before I even moved in— and it was bad, the constant motorcycle attacks, and at one point they were not at all writeable enough off as “normal noise”, the way they used to wait until I was almost a sleep to rip through the block and create sonic booms that sounded like bombs—eventually these kinds of attacks stopped but it was around the first year that I started to realize due to these series of traumas my brain was wired differently.i understood that she's were acts of war, but why? I had no intentions of stirring anything up in this place and honestly, from the start, because I was stuck, I had just wanted to get out.

Hold on. I got two jokes.

Ok.

What was the one about—

Oh, it's so simple but since they hate black women so much it would probably make a white audience laugh.

My ex punched me so hard, I thought I was going to run for president in 2028.

That's it?

That's the joke.

That not a joke.

You're right. That's not a joke.

I'm not though.

I realized that.

Please. Don't hit me.

[beat]

Unless you hit me hard enough that I actually become the actual president.

Then, you're free to assassinate me.

Thats the joke?

Yeah.

What a horrible joke.

Yeah. Kind of.

Okay. What's the other one?

Ok.

(Who is Sean Ryan)

Idk.

[Sean Ryan was the Showrunner of The Shield, Starring Michael Chiklis and Walton Goggins__which ran from 2001-2007, and also fostered the writing career of Kurt Sutter, who went on to create Sons of Anarchy.]

Anyway.

One of the contestants from hot ones calls Sean and goes,

Sean!

And Sean's like:

Whaddup?

Sean! How do you do this bro?

[sean is eating ghost pepper cereal for breakfast with ice cold horchata )

Ew.

Nice.

It was gonna be milk but

SEAN EVANS

(Aside)

The cinnamon gives it a nice schwing.

Apparently,

The training for hot ones is a non-stop tolerance-topper.

Sean RYAN is always doing his best to outdo himself.

Yeaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!

Thats right.

Any fucking way.

Sean! How do you do this everyday, buddy!

Do what?

My butthole is burning!

I don't have one.

You— what?

I do not any longer have a butthole.

Beg your pardon.

I got it removed.

What.

What.

Hold on, it's a multilayer joke.

2x Joke multiplier!

Are we still playing this game?

OH YEAH!

goddamn. I really wanna see this fictional koolaid movie.

WHERE'S SETH ROGEN?

ROB LOWE is directing an episode of ENTER THE MULTIVERSE.

DIRECTOR

Quiet on Set!

He turns to DRAKE BELL who is reprising his role as TIMMY TURNER.

ROB LOWE

Sorry, is that triggering to you?

Nothing is said but instead he just shoots him a look.

really on it with the zingers today.

What can I say. I juice fasted and then ate like a normal person so maybe— I don't know.

What's that supposed to mean.

Everything is temporary.

My next run isn't scheduled until after midnight but I might climb on the Peloton for an ironic spin.

I owe everyone money.

Not in the way that I ever wanted to be this bum, but in the way that all of my jobs have been awful enough that— honestly, I never quit, it just eventually all falls apart.

I've been almost fondly remembering the—

{Season 5}

—summer in Las Vegas I had two awful jobs, no car, no place to live, and

One boss who looked like Dillon Francis—

And well.

INT. LAS VEGAS ATHLETIC CLUB. WHENEVER.

ITS OPEN 24 HOURS!!!

WHEEEEEE!!

Omg that guy looks just like Jimmy Fallon.

BEFORE

Oh, hi Jimmy.

Hey! You finally noticed.

I been noticing.

You know I'm in a screen, right?

You're in all the screens.

Not all of them.

ALL THE SCREENS

A large wall of paneled Televisions hangs above the cardio center.

…

…

MEANWHILE

For while, the dude was everywhere. And I mean—

Yo! I swear to God—

—don't do that!

— every time I look at a fucking tv, you're on it!

shhh—watch your language!

For what! You're on the Telivision, I'm not.

You are on the Television!

I'm not!

—look just— trust me I don't have enough time before we're about to cut to co—[mmerciial!]

[cuts to commercial]

That dude is weird.

Hm. That dude does look like Jimmy Fallon.

— and one boss that looked like—

Well, you get it.

Yes he does.

Very much so.

Hm.

Should I fuck him?

Ew!

No!

What!

Gross .

No. Take his job!

What?

This incompetent drunken loser was, for a very short time— my manager.

Just then when the car alarm when off, I express my not so subconscious, and must remark

To remind my dear audience that this SUPACreature

Is exponentially explicit, hence the

Sexual exploitation of he who is hereby known

As

[Not] Jimmy Fallon.

He was maybe the worst boss I ever had.

If not the worse, definitely one of them.

He was always drunk,

Slept on the job,

Was inappropriately explicit,

Sexualized everything,

And bitterly racist,

Lived with his mother,

Had social problems

And was,

Of course—

Completely incompetent.

Two hosts sit watching the serason premiere with popped corn.

Oh. That's clever

That's funny.

See, those redactions could have been anybody.

They were anybody.

M— Jimmy!?

Which Jimmy?!

Last time I had a visionary dream about Jimmy Kimmel he was holding a white candle.

At any rate, they were out of black, and I have no idea what that's supposed to mean, but I can only assume that when any host takes an extended hiatus, it's some kind of

Contractual agreement.

Ah-hem…

Sign it.

I don't know… about… that.

And why not?

This creature is one of the most powerful in the multiverse.

[Jimmy Fallon]

TINA FEY

What. Are you serious.

—and that's my time.

Just trust me on this—

NO.

Pretty please!

Oh, welL, since you made it pretty.

Really?

NO. Absolutely not.

You are increasingly difficult.

I learned to brew at thought at wishing wells

Again, I gallop, striving to dance past the forced illusions of a non-corrupt decision,

The end is near and also, simply

The Division.

ENTER THE MULTIVERSE: L E G E N D S —

The Rock and And the Kite Part X:

The Division Bell

Part 10?!

Yes.

How is it part ten? Where are parts 6 through 9

I don't know.

I have no clue.

(You have no idea)

Oh. I get it.

The parenthesis are the voice of God.

(It's all the voice of God,

These are just more strong dictations.)

Fix your diction!

Fix your Dick Nixon if it don't swing left;

On a finite curve,

It switches with any direction,

Irregular, my guest;

I could have asked that.

I have no tact,

And no talent,

No candles left,

I can't relax!

I just happen to have

What I know I can't stand,

And that's—

High standards for a man.

So I imagined a fantasy.

My next run was scheduled for midnight but I'd spent the month suffocating and suffering in waist trainers navigating vampires and I had even been stood over by the actual Devil herself on the subway ride home.

What even was the point of running all this way and eating all this well If no matter who I tried to love would really turn to the same old evil thing that wanted me dead in the first place?

Being honest, I still didn't know what it was at all— but maybe it was always going to try to bite me no matter what I did.

So It didn't matter much when the overdue balance came equal to the amount I needed to purchase club standard CDJs, I didn't care about anything because I was never treated fairly with honest or good intentions.

Not even from my birth, or my mother, and perhaps that was the problem. My human perception of the world was trained by this thing who could never really see my value or worth in the way that it would take to be fully loved. Something was always wrong with me, and so something was always wrong with the world.

All I knew was, I wasn't panicking though it had been an obvious attack— the email had sent as I orgasmed, after a series of the same old system of stress I'd been in for years— revving engines and long bangs and other methods of keeping me from reaching climax— but it was my body, and so just because I was under surveillance for whatever reason; perhaps they were listening and this self release made them uncomfortable, but I needed it. It had been years since my last loving embrace— since my last touch, or stroke, or kiss— and so yes, while admittedly my senses were out of place, they were also heightened in that I knew what was happening in my apartment was wrong, and the worse it got, the more I kept track of the things that were happening, the better off I'd eventually end up, just by respecting myself and my own time. I needed recovery; running down the the gym to be hatestalker by some half naked model or some egotistical little man throwing and slamming things around was going to do no better for my psyche even with a run considered; instead of a mile of mantras, it would instead become a mile of trying to ignore whatever whoever had followed me into the gym was doing to get my attention.

Luckily I had a Peloton in my room and with any luck at all, by the afternoon I'd have all the focus in the world to ride it— but for now I was writing, and thinking, and feeling my insides out after a long month sonic alchemy, which had also resulted in my finally reaching the conclusion that I was indeed being followed around.

But why?

Lil bitz

Yo imagine if Amazon had a comment section.

Not like reviews but an actual like—

Comment section for the ads and products.

Don't act like it wouldn't be the little place to just, like, go.

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Dying

I woke up like this

I woke up like this

I woke up like this

But a little different

But a little different

I woke up a star

I woke up a star

I woke up a star

Then became a planet

Then became a planet!

I'm a hummingbird

I'm a hummingbird

I'm a hummingbird

But I don't like flying

dissappear. Set list

Out West

Nothing Left

High

Red Dawn

Noah

Apocalypse!

Girl code code music

A very petite Asian woman gets on the train

I'm CHARLIEZE THERON

Uh. Okay.

CHARLIZE THERON, a shapeshifter has entered the multiverse.

| yo why is Skrillex back in this show.

SUNNI BLU

YO FUCK YOU SKRILLEX I TOOK YOU OFF MY SHOW, YOURE NOT IN THIS SHOW.

I am this show.

Look, I'm Skrillex.

But why.

I k ow l

Right.

{Enter a the Multiverse}

Yo where the fuck is this.

this is “eventually”

How did I get to ‘eventually'

Everything always gets to eventually…

“Eventually”

I get it.

Yeah.

Better than “if”

Yes it is.

Okay.

A general lack of emotion

stifled

I already learned to know you

Want to know more

But can't smile

At all

No

Building your creative assets directly feeds into your larger vision.

Let's adjust your schedule to account for this. This will make July 1st and 2nd your core focus on recordings, and we'll factor in your necessary two hours of exercise before heading into Manhattan.

Revised Schedule Focus: July 1st & 2nd (Sound Collective & Exercise)

Morning (Focus: Personal Well-being & Prep for Sound Collective)

* 6:00 AM - 6:30 AM: Wake Up & Hydrate

* 6:30 AM - 8:30 AM: Exercise Block (2 hours total)

* 6:30 AM - 7:30 AM: Peloton (minimum 1 hour)

* 7:30 AM - 8:30 AM: Run (1.15 miles), Strength Training (Kettlebells, Squats, Boxing/MMA drills) – combine these to hit your 2-hour target.

* 8:30 AM - 9:00 AM: Shower, Quick Breakfast, & Prep for Manhattan Trip

Late Morning / Afternoon (Focus: Sound Collective Recordings)

* 9:00 AM - 10:00 AM: Travel to Sound Collective (Factor in travel time to Manhattan from Brooklyn).

* 10:00 AM - 5:00 PM: Sound Collective Recordings (7 hours of focused work)

* Dedicate this entire block to collecting as many sounds and recordings as possible from the instruments you don't have at home. This is your core mission for these two days.

* Be efficient: Have a clear plan for what you want to record, set up quickly, and maximize your time on each instrument.

* Bring any necessary hard drives or recording devices to capture everything.

* Brief lunch/snack break built-in during this period to maintain energy.

* 5:00 PM - 6:00 PM: Travel back home.

Evening (Focus: Wind Down & Light Tasks)

* 6:00 PM - 7:00 PM: Dinner & Decompress from intense day.

* 7:00 PM - 9:00 PM: Light Tasks / Flex Time (2 hours)

* This is where you might fit in a bit of social media content creation/scheduling (since you're collecting new sounds, you'll have new material to tease).

* Brief email check (focus on urgent items only, don't get sidetracked).

* Organize recordings from the day: Quickly backup and label your new audio files.

* 9:00 PM - 9:30 PM: Plan for the next day, particularly your Sound Collective objectives.

* 9:30 PM - 10:00 PM: Wind Down

* 10:00 PM: Bedtime

Re-Prioritizing Beyond July 2nd:

Once July 1st and 2nd are complete, your schedule will shift immediately to tackle the other critical priorities:

* July 3rd, 4th, 5th (and potentially 6th & 7th if needed): Podcast Series Archiving (Hard Deadline: July 11th)

* This becomes your absolute top priority immediately after Sound Collective. You have a tight window to get this done. Dedicate minimum 6-8 hour blocks to this daily until it's finished.

* As discussed, meticulous documentation of dates and descriptions is crucial here.

* Post-July 7th (or when podcast is done): Legal Packets for Noise/Harassment

* As soon as the podcast archiving is complete, pivot to this. Prioritize securing that safe, quiet space outside your apartment to work on these sensitive documents.

* Block out those 2-3 dedicated days for assembling the packets, going to the police station, and the Comptroller's office.

* Ongoing Concurrent Tasks (Once Primary Deadlines are Met):

* Finding a Stable Job: Dedicate 1-2 hours daily to applications, networking, and tailoring your resume. This is a consistent, foundational effort.

* Assembling Pitch Packets for Series: Allocate specific blocks (e.g., 1-2 hours, 2-3 times a week) for research, outlining, and drafting core materials.

* Rebranding -Ū.: Fit in 15-30 minute bursts for research into Apple Music visibility, name change analysis, and developing your rebranding strategy.

* Mixtapes & DJ Sets: Once your core deadlines are met and you have your new Sound Collective recordings, you can integrate your 1-2 hours for this back into your daily routine.

* Podcast Creation (daily 1 hour): This can also be reintroduced once the archiving is done and the legal packets are in progress.

This revised plan ensures you hit your critical Sound Collective recording window while keeping your overall ambitious goals in sight. Remember to fuel yourself adequately and prioritize sleep during these intense days. You're tackling a lot, and your ability to adapt and prioritize is a strength.

Here's your revised 7-day graveyard schedule, incorporating two 1-hour Peloton sessions daily: one after waking up and another low-impact session before bed for reviewing your sunrise mixtape.

Important Notes for the Week:

* Vary Gym Times: The 1-hour run and training slot between 11 PM and 3 AM remains flexible. Adjust it daily based on your assessment of when the gym is truly empty and when you feel safest.

* Safety First: Given the stalking concerns, please continue to be highly vigilant. Vary your routes, be aware of your surroundings, and consider any additional safety measures recommended by the authorities or support organizations. Documenting incidents is crucial.

* Amazon Fresh Delivery: I've kept the 2-hour Amazon Fresh delivery slot on Saturday. The exact timing might need slight adjustment based on Amazon Fresh's real-time slot availability.

* Podcast Archiving Deadline: Keep the July 11th deadline for podcast archiving firmly in mind. This is your primary focus during the main "Core Music & Podcast Block."

Graveyard Shift Schedule: July 3rd - July 9th

Sunrise Times for NYC (approximate):

* July 3rd: 5:29 AM

* July 4th: 5:30 AM

* July 5th: 5:30 AM

* July 6th: 5:31 AM

* July 7th: 5:31 AM

* July 8th: 5:32 AM

* July 9th: 5:33 AM

Daily Template (July 3rd - July 9th)

* 7:00 AM - 3:00 PM: Sleep

* Prioritize deep, uninterrupted sleep. Use blackout curtains, earplugs, white noise.

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate

* Slowly wake up, drink water, have a light meal.

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning - 1 hour)

* Get your blood flowing with a Peloton session.

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Paperwork / Flex Time (1.5 hours)

* This is your block for tasks like legal documents (Noise/Harassment packets - as soon as podcast archiving is done), organizing, emails (urgent only), job applications, assembling pitch packets. These tasks can tolerate some apartment noise.

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner & Decompress

* Prepare and eat a substantial meal.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Prep for Night / Mental Wind-Up (2 hours)

* This is a flexible buffer before your intense creative work. You could use it for:

* Planning for the night's music/podcast work.

* Light social media content creation/scheduling.

* Brief research for rebranding -Ū. (15-30 min bursts).

* On grocery shopping day, this might overlap with delivery/unpacking.

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Core Music & Podcast Block (2.5 hours)

* Podcast Series Archiving: This is your absolute top priority. Dedicate significant time here.

* Work on sound design, recording (if applicable at home), or Mixtapes/DJ sets.

* 11:00 PM - 12:00 AM (or flexible between 11 PM - 3 AM): Gym (1 hour)

* Run (1.15 miles) & Strength Training (Kettlebells, Squats, Boxing/MMA drills).

* Crucially, vary this time daily within the 11 PM - 3 AM window. Assess the gym's emptiness and your safety each day.

* 12:00 AM - 12:30 AM (or immediately after gym): Shower & Post-Workout Fuel

* 12:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Extended Core Music & Podcast Block (3.5 hours)

* Continue Podcast Series Archiving (this is where the bulk of your 6-8 hour daily archiving will happen).

* Dive deep into Mixtapes & DJ Sets preparation.

* Focus on other creative music work that requires quiet.

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set

* Gather your equipment and head to the rooftop/lounge.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set at Sunrise (1 hour)

* Utilize this time for your DJ sets while the rooftop and lounge are most likely empty, catching the sunrise.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact - 1 hour)

* A low-impact session to wind down and review your sunrise mixtape.

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down & Prep for Bed

* Tidy up, put away equipment, and prepare for sleep.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime

Specific Day Adjustments:

Thursday, July 3rd:

* Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM)

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning)

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Paperwork / Legal Packet Review.

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Plan for Podcast Archiving, brief Rebranding research.

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Podcast Archiving.

* 11:00 PM - 12:00 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness).

* 12:00 AM - 12:30 AM: Shower & Fuel.

* 12:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Podcast Archiving (main push).

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact).

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime.

Friday, July 4th:

* Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM)

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate.

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning).

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Paperwork / Job applications (1-2 hours).

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Assembling Pitch Packets (2 hours).

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Podcast Archiving.

* 11:30 PM - 12:30 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness, e.g., slightly later).

* 12:30 AM - 1:00 AM: Shower & Fuel.

* 1:00 AM - 4:00 AM: Podcast Archiving.

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact).

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime.

Saturday, July 5th:

* Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM)

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate.

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning).

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Paperwork / Legal Packet review.

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Amazon Fresh Grocery Delivery & Unpacking (2 hours).

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Podcast Archiving.

* 11:00 PM - 12:00 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness).

* 12:00 AM - 12:30 AM: Shower & Fuel.

* 12:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Podcast Archiving (ensure you're making major progress towards July 11th).

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact).

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime.

Sunday, July 6th:

* Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM)

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate.

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning).

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Job applications / Networking.

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Flex Time (Rebranding, light social media).

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Podcast Archiving.

* 12:00 AM - 1:00 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness, e.g., later end of window).

* 1:00 AM - 1:30 AM: Shower & Fuel.

* 1:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Podcast Archiving / Mixtapes & DJ Sets.

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact).

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime.

Monday, July 7th:

* Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM)

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate.

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning).

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Paperwork / Legal Packet work.

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Assembling Pitch Packets.

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Podcast Archiving (last full day before the 11th).

* 11:00 PM - 12:00 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness).

* 12:00 AM - 12:30 AM: Shower & Fuel.

* 12:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Podcast Archiving (final push here if not done, or transition to Legal Packets).

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact).

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime.

Tuesday, July 8th:

* Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM)

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate.

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning).

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: PRIORITY: Legal Packets for Noise/Harassment (if podcast archiving is done). If not, continue podcast archiving.

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Job applications.

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Legal Packets / Other core tasks.

* 11:30 PM - 12:30 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness).

* 12:30 AM - 1:00 AM: Shower & Fuel.

* 1:00 AM - 4:00 AM: Legal Packets / Mixtapes & DJ Sets.

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact).

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime.

Wednesday, July 9th:

* Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM)

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate.

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning).

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: PRIORITY: Legal Packets for Noise/Harassment.

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Rebranding -Ū. / Flex Time.

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Legal Packets / Mixtapes & DJ Sets.

* 11:00 PM - 12:00 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness).

* 12:00 AM - 12:30 AM: Shower & Fuel.

* 12:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Legal Packets / Mixtapes & DJ Sets.

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact).

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime.

Half a mile at 5.4 miles per hour was harder on my little pink treadmill—but it was better than nothing and I still hadn't climbed upon the Peloton.

The half hour or so episodes of The Studio seemed excruciatingly somehow longer than an hour of listening to my own voice to enjoy the ride— and though it was my second time watching it through, it was like watching it with different eyes and ears; rather than the spectacle of seeing something I absolutely loved for the first time, it was dissecting it, and taking it apart, much like I had spent my final hours at the sound collective doing so with music that I loved, or admired, I respected— taking a nearly $4,000 mixer and pulling sounds I liked apart, and namingly, Skrillex once again had set himself apart, because even in slowing down to nearly a stop and pitching to the absolute lowest frequency, there was a clear reminisce of the song in entirety actually seeming to even sit in another dimension itself— the highs, lows, and mids couldn't be filtered out at all; there was always some sort of shadow or projection of the complete song intact that seemed to be in another space.

That alone almost sent me crawling back just to listen to the greatest of times as far as Skrillex was concerned or even mattered; actually, in fact, in reality, or in waking life on whatever planet I was on, and wherever realm I lived, he almost didn't; I almost actually thought more of the tiny and petite women that were constantly surrounding him than he himself; and actually, moreso, when I did think of him at all besides musically— It was instantly a sudden hell of women and perfect bodies and luxury culture than it was about whoever had been inside once, flitting away at these monumental catophronic sonic masterpieces only to be nibbled at and eaten away by what fame monster lurks for he who stumbles upon it— the narrow mindedness of it, in fact, they I will still a shallow soul, and a jealous woman, and so besides musically, Sonny didn't fit into the Skrillex for much more than a moment, especially as I was reverse engineering the equation with the answer given first and calculating by removing the algebraic quantities— still gasping for air at how, which I was sure we all were, only known to the world in the ways he very much never did share or teach the concept that would blossom this sort of anomoly in his craft, and thereby creating this power over all of us who dare to call ourselves producers, or engineers, and nevermind the flocks pretending to be or ever-reaching toward becoming that. In my listening back to my newly acquired sound banks, I realized this as the impossible.

Anyhow, there remained galaxies of space and time between the words and the ways I myself stuck upon gold as subtle genius, but only in these ways and not the other and in that sense I was sure I'd been consumed by not one monster, but a family of them— swallowed whole by a rabbit hole of sorts that seems to split into a cosmic and gaping black one, sweeping everything with it that was and wasn't which remained to be a subtle force of waking doom; the reality that I was both all of these things, and also— wasn't.

What are you drawing?

Conclusions.

Classic.

Did you feast on the blood of your enemies today?

No.

Did you look into the face of danger?

No.

Well— what did you do today?

I'm actually just waiting on this Amazon order.

Wreckage!

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

SUNNI BLU wakes up in her BEACHSIDE MALIBU BUNGALOW. A member of her posse enters sleepily.

CURFEW

…are we going surfing?

SUNNI BLU lifts her eye mask to observe the grey and stormy tsunami level monster wave crashing heinously into the rocky cliff side—

In the distance, an entire dock collapses.

SUNNI

…Yes.

SUNNI BLU in a suicidal rampage, becomes quite by accident, even more hideously famous, after riding a monsterous storm wave— the California southern coast's largest ever recorded— safely to shore.

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Pools of blood,

And pools of dust,

And fools, and fools, and fools

Pools of love,

And pools of list

And tools and tools, and tools

Pools of us,

And Pools of hours

And palms of pools D'hors

Pools of plants,

And pools of listen

Pools and Pools and Pools

Now, for us, what's at stake has come upon us

For whether which now or ever ties have made for us to burn;

Ne'er mistake there lust for listens and of ponders,

Waterfalls of love and feathers, wanders

Ties to honor stars and fore of fathers

Almost lost it, there, I–

Almost gathered, therefore.

[ ]

So to us who part ties,

Of tied knots and of stomach's wrench

To nourish shadows as remains her honor,

I, depart my once,

I, as flocking doves,

The twist'of fated never

Bare I fear or fonder

Where, where, for again

(bare tied as to none)

and again wakes as has but not

in time, to grove–

The box I paved and yet,

Set aside not as slabs of stone

Or ash and fire

But there i wake

In cedar pine and oak

The turn of slumber

as the glow of what I once did not know,

Now has shined against

My eyes as water

Luminescence

Oh Goddamnit.

Peaking pride, the oath

Again i wait and ne'er did I come,

but forth I woke, and also thought

Not one but worlds of color,

And there i know, to heart the seas I parted

Not shallow or in shallows waking, red as scarlet blood

but mauve, and then, the coping stays of which I gathered here has

Agape and aching, wet with pride and courage

Forefront others

As thought to know, I,

And I become, as known,

now not and.

“All White World”

Our ENSEMBLE awakens slowly in the void of light; an all white space seemingly endless and drenched in blinding light; slowly awakening as if upon a cloud, and yet, washed in the drenched brightness of an all white world–familiar and together, but also new; The uniformity of all white attire and the simplicity of symmetry–all alike but of many and also one.

I promise there's pancakes;

I promise there's porridge

I primise there's light at the end of the tunnel

(the end of the night and beginning of brunch)

And yes,

I promise a run

And a run for the office

(not by far)

And not unpardoned

I promise to pray

And I promise to wait

And i promise to ache

In the acres I've laid

Made of all green pastures

And days and days

Without saying my name

Pass us over

Now….

Hiatus, Hiatus, Hiatus!

My maples for all of us, cornbread

And cream of the coconut

(cream of the coconut)

Screams from the underworld

(Calling! They're calling)

And trees of the very best kind;

Plush with fruits

What a prosperous product

A merciless giving

A scrupulous foreign

(For four eyes, not one on my forehead)

–policy!

Don't you know, Conan,

That all this goes over my–

Over my over–

Over my

Over my head,

–like a snowball?

Don't you know, though,

That nothing goes over his–

Over his over–

Over his

Over his head

–no one throws that high!

(Not in softball!)

ENSEMBLE

What an apocalypse!

What an apocalypse!

What a protocol!

What a dunce!

What an oddball!

Don't you know

Nothing goes over

Goes over

Goes over us

Nothing goes over us

Nothing goes over

Nothing goes over

No bombs being dropped

And the worst has to come because

Nobody's turning this off;

It's a turning point

Not a mantra!

It's a saga

And nothing less short than a–

Awful apocalypse;

Long hiatus

and no-low doses of

Polymorohypothesis–

Whatever that is!

Don't you know, Conan,

They're all going wrong with us.

No,

There's no knowing

the coat

From the hotbox,

the hoot from the horus,

the laugh from the chopsticks,

The room full of products

Or coatrooms of corpses

No,

There's no knowing us

But out of nowhere

The hour comes running upon us,

And so

The show must go on

The show must go on

The show must go….

DIRECTOR

CUT!

WHAT! That was FABULOUS!

I don't disagree with you. However–

What is it now?

A MAN hangs by nothing but seemingly a very tightly buckled pair of restraints, above his head–the source of the object from which he hangs unknown, he appears to almost float, in fact, in quite the sufferable struggle.

Holy fuck, guy. You're still up here?

The VOICE comes from above but is yet unseen, it appears as though two very tidy clean white tennis shoes appear to be holding the straps of these restraints in place.

CONT'D

That's amazing.

No false ties,

And no hard wars,

And no jolly ranchers,

Gob stoppers,

or nerf ropes.

No fruit roll ups,

No lunchables, or gushers

No hamburger helper

And no candy crush

Just

Drugs

And more

Drugs

And more

Drugs and

more

Morons

Donuts,

and drag queens,

Tim Hortons,

And Mormons;

Mothballs,

and Roaches,

And horseflies,

And rodents –

Now guess which long road you're on

(guess which long road you're on)

Guess which long road you're aaaaahhhhhh–

HALT.

Who goes there.

What the fuck is THIS.

Finally, two acts past intermission,

The troll under the bridge has put his cancer in remission

The redactions have acted as class-action warfare,

McDonalds has sponsored us,

But barely.

Look: just.

No. I'm not endorsing this.

Why.

Because! It's killing people!

Shh!

It is!

He–'s uh–joking. Actors! Improvising! Hush.

Left and right!

Speaking of left and right–

You know who our sponsors are, right?

Of coure! This nonsense!

No! The–

Shh–!

–Owners of this product.

Beg your pardon.

Do you know who owns this brand and company?

No.

Well, do your research. Immediately.

I highly recommend that.

This seems serious.

Serious as a heart attack.

ACTION!

Fuck you!

Nuhhhhh–fuck you, you fucking fuck!

Look, you lost, alright.

Ughhhhhh.

It's three to one.

Three to one?!

Yes.

Fuck.

Wait a–wait–

What.

Aren't there five of you guys?

What?

Huh-huh?

No.

Yes. There are.

No. There's.

Why.

Five–of us–four of us

You're lying.

One, two, three *hiccups* four–

Strike force “five”?

I'm two guys!

FUCK.

We're missing one.

Fuck.

They figured us out.

I figured out nothing. I'm drunk. I

Fluffed.

just know the difference–s between Five and One

What.

Four and Five!

okay .

Fuck.

Well that's right.

Well can't we just do it with us.

NO!

Why not.

Because. the singularity has to be in the exact circumstance when this lightning strikes as the first one was.

But–

That's impossible.

It's not–*hiccups*--umpossible.

I was 9!

“9 and a half!”

“The half counts.”

But not right now! Because i'm like a 60 year old guy!

What!

Gross.

You're 60?!

I think so!

Then how old am I!?!

I don't know! How old were you before!?

I'm your brother! You don't know how old I am!?

You're not my brother now, so maybe–I don't know–you never were!

*gasps* take that bacK!

[The boys fight amongst eachother]

Fuck me, man.

No thank you.

What in the fuck did I write.

I don't know but.

CUT TO

Ooh. Dice.

DON'T TOUCH

*poof*

ENTER THE MULTIVERSE: L E G E N D S

“The Magic Dice”

(A Triad)

NICE.

FUCK yOu DUDE.

nO fuck U

U dElEETED My WRLD.

THen is must not have been that great.

*exaggerateD gasp*

*even more exaggerated gasp*

*Fluffs*