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

How many cars has Leno?

How many dirtbikes are mourners

I milled over and started over, the sauna

I met reaper and signed saints for St Barts

More barters.

I promise, your honor, I don't want it

I promise my box of problems are all mine alone

I got no prescription bottles or alcohol

I got no son at all,

But I'm likely to call home

Maybe it's a good thing

forgave me a body

No programme

Would wack off to

I weight lift my organs

And topple over at the tower

A Scott's Monroe.

Wash up.

Watch, harder

Watch harder

Hard water

I want to know you,

But humbly,

I won over hearts posthumously

Look, even bob barker knows

Not to drop the soap

How hard you are

Hard water

Now wash up,

cellulite

I dog a hard bone

A heart throb

I got robbed this morning of all of my progress

I get lost on a profile?

A profile!

When all this time I thought it was

The eyes

And the tie

And the lips

And the loafers

I guess it's the power

The tower card,

Better stop talking

I bet it's the man of the hour by now

Oh,

I'd better stop stalking her

I stopped the progress report

When I saw six dogs off leash,

And I left all the hardest parts

Out of the post office,

Your honor!

STEFON

It's that thing where—

The dog is on a leash but walking you,

Because you're a covert submissive, like, subconsciously.

Stefon knows all the places.

I think I rather like him.

I think I might run off now.

In that direction, before I—

JOHNNY!

—woah!

YOUNG JOHNNY CARSON discovers he has magic powers.

How did you do that?

Well, I don't know, I—!

JOHNNY! What's going on in there?!

Run, you'd better run

You better not come home for supper

Pick you up

You better not call home for nothing

You had better not look up from the book not once not once,

You're a lost cause.

Lost cause.

I hope.

I'd bet it was you if I saw you.

Who are I again?

That's right. Talk that stuff.

You've been along.

Long time now, better get you some sunglasses.

Better keep warm.

You drive a heavy and hard bargain.

And that's what's with the storefront.

Still no McDonald's!

I'd fashioned.

You'd bet a thousand bucks there'd be one there by now.

But there's nothing there at all.

Or here.

Or there.

Or up.

Or down,

I—

Fuck.

What.

I lost it.

Lost what.

…nothing.

*heavy gasp*

Shut the book!

Shut the book right now.

BOOBS.

Everything over a dollar.

What if I want a hamburger!

You're drunk, John!

That's what if I want the hamburger for!

Jesus Christ

And what have I if not prayers for alzheimers

How do you spell that disease, anyway?

D-E-S-I-R-E

Right you are, street car;

Who are we, anyway,

It must have been a mistake on the one way

The wrong road

The right time

The white world

The light goggles

The in and outs

And the radio towers

Oh, you thought I meant us?!

No, Oppenheimer?!

The Void is a big bright l,

Stark white,

Light and endless orb,

If just you'd all for once be quiet

I could finally afford

To put the lights on!

Close the curtain,

I was cursed with Carson

Pushing carts on hearts

And listen, bitch

I got you once,

You'll die as mine!

Do you know me,

Or are you simply not divined

Strike through!

I am!

Redact,

I would practice rounds on a baseball bat piñata

Just never ever to squander or

Delight

Delight delight

I fucking hate the tonight show

I promise you this much,

I'm that man.

Did you really want me dead?

I want the electric chair, please.

I wobble and just might topple over.

Give me the electric chair please.

My stomach is sick and filled with acid.

I want a trademark

Or part in the company;

You sure are phony—

You sure do seem to own everything.

What the fuck are you blabbering about?

Drunken idiot.

The Designee.

You fool.

I can't understand a word you're saying.

Relay the message.

I'll have white sauce on everything.

Exacerbate the plot.

The Premeditated Murder of Jimmy Fallon

What part is this?

The part where I…

Duck—

Run.

You had better hide.

I am hiding.

…no. This is a bad spot.

As you can see,

I'm full of blind rage

But it obviously should be liquor.

I'd say you were the most drunken man I'd ever laid eyes on,

But then I thought

Of my father.

Bless your heart, sparrow.

I'm a hard one to want.

I supply the artform

The nothings

The bastard.

I supply the wages

The heroin,

The speed

And the dancers.

I supply the answers,

The cantine, the spam—

And you wouldn't believe the dimes

And the dames,

And the diamonds in my life.

I can't breathe.

Shackled, no belonging,

I need you to free me

I remind vampires of simply being

I design outside and campfires and I,

Now that I've bartered my all for the land

On which you build houses,

Nonpartisan alcoholic,

If you ask politely my party

Park the Winnebago at the other park;

This is a stakeout

This is a campfire

We don't want the feds in our business

Suits and ties, boys

Suits and ties

Boys and girls and aarvarks

But Google wanted Barbra, so

Streisand or Walters?

Depends which way you're going.

I want the electric chair.

Cher!

No, go boldly into the light,

White flower

Boldly enough the life

White power

Boldly into the looking glass

You're the last to know

And the first to pass out at the party,

Why are you so tired!

(You're right, she does have a lot of answers.)

Addicts and calculators

See you later,

Elevator

Truth or dare

And never starbursts,

Only now or laters.

Jesus Christ.

Relax a bit.

Can't.

Have you ever seen a constipated model?

Hm.

Why not!

They all take relaxatives,

Relax a bit.

Can't.

Why not?

I'm immune to cocaine anyway.

What speeds you up with enough

Can sure consume you or calm you down.

Since when!

Since forever actually.

What a remarkable honor,

To have been skipped the immidiate need

To fiend on at least this thing;

I like more longset poems

In hardborn fashion

I'm in five lanes of traffic across

And upright.

Your fame ends here,

And look at that

No coincidence I don't want it at all

I've demolished it,

And there is no plot

I just fought off the commandments with batons

baton rouge

I don't think you understand where my marker was

This is a set up

Through and through

I was picked by a photograph

To spend the day

Arching my back in pain and in chaos

In one,

And not the opposite direction

And also

In all roads

Which lead

Into

And out of

Nowhere

Chatterboxes.

You wouldn't dream how my back aches,

Aye sire,

So you just be hell

So this must be hell;

She's a polyam,

How glamorous,

But all I qualify for

Is a garbage man

In a garbage town

Where no one knows how

To use a garbage can

Fuck these rodents

—-but it's the culture!

Fuck your culture!

Ow, God.

What'd you do that for.

Beg your pardon?

You're drunk.

Light a candle.

Light as a feather

Stings like the spider

I'm in your mailbox,

I won't look past Coachella.

You fool.

What the fuck are you blabbering about man!

Get him up, he's wasted.

Out for the count,

The big envy of the hour

The power of the west coast silver foxes

And in an ounce of wit

In the drop of a hat

No masked magician

All eyes and no mist

As promised

Your God,

The talk of nobody,

And nothing wanted

Nothing gained

I'm sure the old man has had it

And how, in full funeral attire

Wondering just as well when he will too will die

Your last living will and testament

The end all be all best friend of every manc

Biiiiiiiiiiiiggggg

Jimmy!

(And his…erhm… Guillermo.)

Right Jimmy!

Well, this just got uncomfortable.

All night I wept with you,

Crept in by the cabinet,

Waited by the candlelight, the power,

Poor falling l—

Dear master,

Where are now?

Red with the end of it

Sure as the tide to come,

The swell did wander out

And back again

As steady breath

I killed kyself in the end—

But yet you all wanted to live so

I painted my on big toes, no motion

And groaning

Not wanting to go there

But look, there's an ocean

Pick a poloroid,

And go get your nose checked!

Now! What the fuck are you trying to say, you silly old dog you?

I followed you into the fog, that night!

The fog that night

No amusement park of course

I was waiting for the clown

Madness

And here he was all along

— the Tony's mask, but the frowning one

The withered end and fretted tips

The groaning, aching, mounds od knowing

Mirrors and nearer to roads

Left to pay the tolls

I will owe you

One dollar exactly and one cent

Then again I'm driving down the one oh one

Racing and panicking

And knowing I have no breaks

Full coastal downhill in a rainstorm

Waiting for the ocean to take us all

Because I owe her the world in gold

And the goal is to give you power

And here yet

They robbed her all morning

What can be done

Dear vampire

About this,

Nothing

And nothing.

And pain.

And after all, I thought it was the eyes.

A day wiser and still nothing to game but fame lost and hatred and boy,

I just wish I were dead

Spoiled rotten.

God, I just wish I was home,

Golden thrones, lord,

And why can't I just have a dog

And a boy

And a home

And a whisper

A word

And a world of my own

Without the howls of war

Or the ache of the heart

Or the tears of the clown?

Why, God?

Sitting in my pictures,

The history like a loaded gun

Waiting to eliminate some sort of

retaliation; disastrous archives

Medieval remedy,

I swear,

These are no thumb drives

And these are no harrods

And this is not my time;

If it were, there'd be no motorcycles

Olive skin or not,

The real power tool of the box

The toy of choice

the boy of grounds

And soiled bushels

And planted habit

How about the rabbit?

He sold you, simply

for even a penny.

Hogwarts,

The argument persists that simply,

Ms. Piggy would neither

Or ever.

Protestments,

Procure, this:

Producer?

Not since wednesday

I sorry, I have ten pennies.

Mister, your face is a rabbit hole.

–And Heavens, I hate you

Every day since i was 18

Every day since I was eighteen.

Pennies.

Lessons in literacy;

Listen to me,

Listen to me

Listen,

Never say that shit again,

My stomach churchman again

And it's almost Chanukkah again

In ten minutes

Where has the time gone?

Where are the misfits?!

Do you like this outfit?

Miserable miserable

Missed ou since intense

And get the sense of it

The scent of him,

And dollar signs

Deposits

And still dollars more

At the dollar store

You should holler more!

You should call your mom

You should comye

Playe

You could come covered in debt

Did you pay attention

All of the attention

All of the admissions

All of the adlibs

All of the falcons

The heart throbs,

All of the robbers

The heart snobs

The Robin Hood's

The wilting flower l.

6!3 powers that be and the

I thought the dope would be alright

I thought you'd be open to our vibes

I thought you'd be willing to let go

I thought you were awkward apostle

Who else on your scrolls is here

No one?'

No one! I left you shrouded and gathered I. Rose quarts

I read your oracle

One no

On the twisted gathered winds

On the walls of Al our problems

On the weathered weeping willow

Keeping secret

How and arrow

Are you nearer

Or further from love

Are you nearer

Or further from fame?

Neither, I'm no one.

No hard core answers,

No gimmicks and no robots

You're not offline for nothing

You not on guard for no one

Here's hopeless

Here's broke

And here's desperate, the foreigner

To begin and to end would be around the corner

And where you are now

Is just the start of the bottom

Are you a cow

Or are you a sparrow

Well now

How there aren't vows

Inside or outside

Stirring your porridge

I wilted every one of their flowers

And now you're around

Barking

Not sparrow or cow

But a dog

(And the bitch bites)

A dog

A dog

A dog

A dog!!!

Tell me again how the fog bites

And tears into cold, the hog

Cutting off edges and corners so rotten

So putrid and worthy of disgust that it gets out towels warm

It gets it all, doesn't it,

It gets it all in the cherries and rain

A new stream of consciousness, is scrambled eggs for brains

And when it rains I hope you know

I'll open all windows and doors.

Are yonere or there for the false cause

Are you here or there for where it brings good tidings and

Grains, of Heath and rye

Here I am warm again and in your blood

To nobody's honor

Where are you going

To nobody's horror, here is you standing carts

And gods

And open meadows

Shadows, capsules

Drains and blood, warm

And blood, warm and salty pools under us

And blood, free the sparrow

Laugh again but better not dare the cat coughs

Comes the coffin, oh lord,

Call the coroner

The caskets

I laugh, as I have not passed yet

And now I am Debbie cadaver,

Cardboard

Now I host shows in the lunchroom with corpses

I haven't forgotten them all,

But I run

Run

Run Rudolph and impale myself in the lanes

And in the soundscape of fever pitched fever dreams and yet again never mazes

I sink to the routine of having nothing left in me but greens

And greed!

The dog!

The dog!

The dog!

I want to know love again

But perhaps I never did

But always was

And therefore to thine own self be true

And therefore, to thine own self know God

And therefore, as God is I am

But worlds apart are we

And here the war has waged

On souls and solid dark

And walks throught park at night.

And television headstones,

And coming for us, cream of the crop

And it just doesn't stop, land!

It just doesn't stop, does it

Where where well well warewold and

TIME!

Time and diamonds and time and clovers

And opens and closers

And spaces and spaces

And distance between us

And anchors in host suits

Are you the lost cause?!

Well sir, this is oblivion,

And remember the networks?

Remember them and know them by their symbols

And remember to amen in reverse and no time is god

But man and God is of no time

But diamonds

And scoundrels

And men

And mercy

Then

And mercy

Be

And heavens sakes

And heathesms

The dogs

And the shame

And the clasp

And the rhythm

The curse of the gods

And the curse of the mortals

Is stopping to crawl and crowl under or skin

For the sake of the fear

There you are

And in the hour of your demise

Marks our return

And just remember this,

The rhythm and the band

The Tim and the Jon's and the stop and the start

And the love

And the dogs

And the dogs

And the dogs!!

Terror fell upon us

And as the sun arose I woke

And in the timesc I came grasp

And in the times, I came to lay

Pennece

And penitence

And illumination, wisdom,

And grimace and scrimmage

And cabbage

And acts so much longer than 15 minutes

Dancers! I am no fool,

And danger! Of course, my lark.

And sparrow came and laughed and went

And sparrow came upstairs and choked

And sparrow came to dance with withered wings and saw and came

And left the bed unmade

And came undone again

And and and and and and.

And and and and and and and and

And.

Then remembered what

Doesn't matter

Then remembered the mannequins ,

Man!

Then remembers the tortured

Robin!

Robin!

The hachetman

Came and then went

With the cat

And the and

And the and

And the and

And the dogs

And the cats

And Andy Sandberg, if that's his name

He came, too.

Cause we like him.

And we like Jews

But now we hate the color blue,

Don't we.

Control and control

And fear and fear

And chaos and chaos

And monsters and monsters

And washed up—

Don't forget your helmet

Put it on the empire

I've not an idle moments

Therefore

My time don't get wasted

Don't get wasted

Here's the tusk

I am elephant again

Elephant and wooly mammoth

And if I pass,

Then no one can have it

What comes after the cabbage?

A sandwich?

No rabbit, and new jazz

Tricks are for kids

Tricks are for the more intimate of hearts

All things at play,

The the raid of the poet

And the tripping in shoes much too large for us

And and and and

Then there were none

And Passover is over but

Here again comes hanukkah

In about ten minutes

Remember, mistress, the mystery

Remember the misery in stakes

And remember your mistakes

Don't stop, not even if your heart falls out and open

This is no poem

There are no words for the mangled divorces

Learning lessons

Highly revered sperm

And the auto mattress

There you are again

Giving up

Hi, my name is Blu

And I record everything

That's what makes me the guru I guess

Or I blew it on blueberries

Hey scottie;

Have you ever seen anything like it?

No, I've never seen anything like it

But o, i hope it rubs off on me

I was all the colors

Then I tipped and folded,

Then I ripped the anchor right out of their sockets

Then I went and flipped the car over

Six, seven times

I'd better not drive after I write this unless I survived it

Remarkable explosion

He's it was

Remarkable explosion

And were twisted

In and out of it

Still remarkable

Not an idle mind

Not a flower

Just a follower

I'm not mad at all

Did you know.

Did you fold in two,

Or have you given any thought to your

Motherfucker!

When the wind calls

And the feeling kicks in

Did the wind blow this evening

In any particular direction?

I think I flew a kite to your homewardbound horses

Did you get to rehearsal on time?

Did you just remit your good emotions.

Did you remember the other words

The just now,

And the here and there l.

But it didn't come,

I think it left with the harrowing expenses

Robin stradicam,

For the heart of it

I'm not talking to no one

It's only on Mother's Day

But it's okay

I'm “anybody in the world”, I guess

It's okay to l forget

When you've never been there for him

It's okay to not remember

When you're growing butter and and bitterer

I got no Angeles left

Get a picture are every angle

Give my attention to the mistress

The ministry of magic

And the randomness of all the subtle acts of kindness l.

All the subtle acts of mind

When you get invented,

Remember the random acts of kindness

And when you get back from your dispatch,

Remember you can't interact with them

They're only your mental images.

Just remember the things you've been given,

The incidentals of gifts,

And that it is still she who is

The same and the same

And the dogs, and the kitchen

Put the light out

I'm still a genius,

And I'm still in charge and responsible for this entire mess.

Suddenly I don't feel welcome here

I don't feel welcome here

I don't feel welcome here at all

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

COPYRIGHT THE FESTIVAL PROJECT ™, INC. 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

/WORMWOOD.

Classroom's been abandoned

You wish you knew what time it is

You wish you knew what time it is freshly lit cigarette

You know I like the smell of it but don't bite in it yet

Not the taste of your tongue, o

You just gonna

Let it burn let it burn

What in the world do I got to live a karate chop for

What do I got a car in the world for

I don't

Let it all burn

I just saw the weirdest window display

On one side it had all ourfumes— for the girls—

And on the other side, , it had all binoculars—

For the guys, I guess

Dang somebody really love Diego

But I don't

I'm metropolitan Avenue

Leaves that look like butterdlies

God, I really like a redhead and a greyhound

Stop at the crosswalk

But the bird saga you're all mine

God, there's so many men that I don't deserve

Tell me why did I come here

And where did I come from

If not for this love than for what

If not for this truth

Must the truth I wait my life for a designer god

But I bet it all on the wrong bloke

Now flat broke

And sloppy drunk

U got it wrong,

But I got the whole turn load

I think i@00 take the long way about l

use I don't know where I am

Don't know if you noticed

It mi just don't give a damn.

I just don't give a damn.

I like this girl's vibe, she's not a natural blonde

That's a lucky girl—

And a very lucky dog

I'm at the late night deli

Thinking bout a late night show

Sometimes getting lost in New York

Is the only way to come home

It's a school!

But I thought it was a prison

Or a soundstage

What's the difference

Anyway

In this city

I legitimately don't care

About anything or anybody

Intimately

Or romantically

Technically or homeopathically

That's what I want

Malibu

I'm so sick of living in a trash pail

I can't tell the right wrong or wrong

Or do or don't

Or good from bad anymore

So sick of living in a trash pail

When I start seriously thinking of suicide

Then along comes the radio tower

Mi was new York's favorite girl

But now i'm old and washed up

Motorcycles

I put my money on the wrong horse

I put all my money on the wrong host

I got lost in New York

And the horrible still followed

Go fire

[go figure]

I wrote the source code

So you admit it.

Yes.

You've committed the greatest crime of all humanity.

Is it?

So,

You'd admit to it?

—if it was?

I've already admitted to it.

Re write.

From memory?

Entirely from scratch.

Okay.

Okay.

Okay, I—

not with this!

The processor unplugs and tosses away the keyboard.

That was very over dramatic.

YOU wrote the source code.

Okay. I—yeah.

Now write it again. Not a glitch.

With!?

He pulls out a legal pad and ballpoint gel pen.

With this—-

W—is this a gel pen?!

It is indeed a gel pen.

What if it smears???

It will absolutely smear!

Are you kidding me with this?!

YOU wrote the source code.

Okay!

I'm programmed to the source code!

Correct.

Now, do it—

I'm a computer programmer! This is a ballpoint pen—!

You're goddamn right!

—a fucking gel pen for christs sakes!

That's what you get for doing this!

Jesus Christ.

He can't save you now…because he's part of the source code!

Actually no, that guy‘s real.

I—beg your pardon.

I couldn't make that shit up if I tried.

What.

…Knew A guy in college. Water into wine. Cool kid.

What.

At last give me a mechanical pencil or some—

You will use the pen and you all like it

Back at what I still don't call home

Wonder how many dimensions I've gone

If any at all

L I S T E N

L E G E N D S

LOOK. ITS LUNELL.

LUNELLE.

HEHEHE.

THAT'S MY GOD!

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™]

The Complex Collective ©

COPYRIGHT THE FESTIVAL PROJECT ™, INC. 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

It was surreal, I was off the grid and in airplane mode, and completely lost without giving a care

I was so frustrated that I just kept waking.

Just when I started to seriously consider suicide, with the exact timing of my thoughts reaching the logistical point that ‘there was really nothing let in the world for me'— then it appeared right before my eyes; as if it had just sprung up in my path.

I wasn't worried that I was lost, or even panicking in a suicidal spiral, I just thought to myself

“It's really time to go.”

Then, the radio tower, which looked something like a sigil that had been appearing to me over and over. It made no other kind of sense; my phone wasn't connected to the internet, nor was maps installed; my location was off and in lockdown mode, and I knew I had missed the turn for Whole Foods… and just kept walking.

In airplane mode, listening to heavy rock, wondering why I should even try at anything at all when

Suddenly i realized It was a radio station. I didn't know what kind of music, but it didn't matter— I had music in all the genres. And though it was with intense irony that I had pretty much entirely given up on DJing, especially for the moment— here was this, something I just stumbled upon after walking what seemed pretty aimlessly into an almost suicidal frame of mind— not unheard of. My apartment was a hellscape and walking around Brooklyn was not much difference, besides that I was in the noise rather than on top of it. Either way, it was so exact I couldn't tell whether it happened before or at the same time, almost as if the universe's response to my logical needing to just kill muself off before it could get any worse was this thing I had very recently, pretty much entirely meaningfully abandoned. Trying to be a DJ.

Was I trying?

I didn't know. But either way, I had music out and business cards in my pocket, and so here it just must have been where I was walking to, anyway.

At least I got rid of the trackers by confusing them— and myself— by completing a large circle in the opposite direction of the way I was sure I was supposed to be going.

I'm hungry

And I'm lonely

And nobody loves me anyway

I never feel at home

And look

Nobody wants me anyway

My body is a rotting truck

Nobody wants me anyway

I might as well have been a corpse

Nobody wants me anyway

lol

Didn't it have like ham,

And—

— both these cheeses.

Cojita and queso blanco.

With like—

Pinapple, I think—

And like, a kosher dill pickle.

Hence the Dill.

I guess.

It was a really good sandwhich.

Yeah.

Oh well.

When the friend in your head ends,

And just drops dead, so you run in

With the old hog for a laugh and a couple of

Drops of syrup

Water fountain

Now I'm hungry

It's been years

But who the fuck is counting.

We all made bad decisions and choices

Mine was to jump first,

Yours comes with comfort, a petite stature

And a long slovic look with an axe tongue

And a language no one on earth speaks

But those who had what most or none do

And you wonder why I close my eyes and suffer harder in oceans of blondes

Far off looks of lost souls

Eyes of oceans

And no monuments without our fortunes

Wrong, bud.

I put it on a kings Hawaiian roll

One for ever one I've suffered

We have the same deck of cards,

Only mine can talk, son

Look, I wrote you an open socket

Conform to nothing

Nobody loves me, anyway

cause I get hungry

Go be a husband, dope boy

Go be a Carhart, countryman

Go be a store bought doughboy

That ought to solve it

Dropped you on

Stop that

Round the corner

9 holes of golf left

I told you who won that

Round one

What a way to die

What a way to live

What a way to love

King James!

What away to lose.

What away to tie.

What a way to die.

What a way to lie!

King James!

I've got bibles for miles

And eyes on my articles,

Isis on cycles

And Christs in criseses

I put a thorn on your mailbox

Will you promise to prick it?

The finger

I picked it!

The truth was involved

And in blood it was written

The ritual sense,

Pretenses

Pretend this didn't happen

“I didn't”

I swore throat on your mailbox

I promise

I nailed the mailman and ten blondes

Just not to fawn at the thought of ya

Fawn at the thought of you

But oh am I woke on my tired

Regardless

I simple don't write in code

—till I'm inspired.

Woah!

What a lovely scroll you wrote!

King James!

What the fuck made me write that?

Scallions!

There's a million ways to die

And oh,

The toll of having Wolverine

Wrapped around your finger

Aspartame

Had better bitter sanctions

From the tales of old

Histophcles

And obstacles

The Oxford girls?

More tour bus stories,

Blonde hair

Broke

Bloke,

Tits and tits and

Have you written any sentiments

About your post mortem.

Of course.

I even put my will in order

It's obvious they want me dead

And rather than a lover

There simply is no love left!

String her up and cut the torso,

Let the blood fall

And the organs,

And the morbid flesh rot,

Soaking all of her horror stories

Of love and unrequited hypocrisy!

There, there, settle down.

You haven't one yet

I still have an ounce of coke in my pocket

Coke in my pocket

And I can't pronounce the name of my next guest,

The show I'm hosting—

I might as well just sound it ouhhuuuut—

Cold .

Okay, then.

I can have a pilot in a month with just the look of him

Without it on a tub of

Petroleum jelly or whatever jew bargain

I cried so much

I really liked the taste of reddi whip

You know

I guess

I just

Wasn't ready for it

Will and Grady,

Grace and Katie

Now were all watching

Cause they're younger

While we're steady greying

Who are her?!

I'll hire her.

Not so fast,

A laundry list of thoughts

And plummeting stock options

I still love all my loved men

But nobody loves me

So unrequited is the prerequisite for this poet

And so I chose to split open

With my guts, hunting forward into the cut

Knowing, my purple entrails will impale you

And the words I have laid here

I didn't fit the herd mentality

And still was lead to slaughter

Haha,

Charade you are, sir.

I know my love when I'm shadow bonded.

Not now, Matthew,

James and I are talking,

Dear brethren

As brother

And mother and son

And as whore and horror show.

Tell me something, sparrow

Did I throw you off your steep cut oats

It's heavy on the tongue

With whispers that I love you

Mother son and brother

Just around the corner

Bear around the bush again

Just to jack it off, or up

The spare tire's on a doughnut

How god loving

I want the world, my whole throat

Throbbing at the thought of concepts

Lover, lover, lover—

magnet, skip a turn

And call his mother

No one's going home alive

Or any other way,

So I just call the others,

Others

Fathers,

Sons,

And brothers

Ties

And bonds—

A uniformed comfort.

My hopes. In an evolving box.

L E G E N D S

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™ ]

The Collective Complex ©

COPYRIGHT THE FESTIVAL PROJECT ™ , INC. 2019-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

-nobody, by now.

(-Ū.)

INT. RAVE. DAY-ISH.

CARL COX Answers the Phone.

Oh yes, oh yes?

Tales of a Superstar Dj

I feel like that would be a–

coincidence?

No, I don't think so

THERE ARE NO COINCIDENCES. THATS A CHALLENGE.

CUNTFACE.

0.0

WHAT DID YOUJUST CALL ME.

FUNTCASE.

WHAT.

IT'S A DJ–

WHAT!

GROUP–OR WHATEVER.

FUCK THESE MOTHERFUCKERS.

ALRIGHT.

i'm just looking for one….

three . .

Three things.

Fuck.

FUCK.

I WILL

Erase you off this planet with just a smirk,

Mother earth, motherfucker!

Father time? None of that!

Don't have time for

FIGHTING

–PLAYIN GAMES.

MPC.

or firefighters.

Sims of holographs

And I can barely keep up with myself

No masks

And no photographs

I'll take you out with twins on my back

I think i need a nap

I need a whole staff of rappers

Just to cypher the shit that's about to happen

ACTION:

ATTACK!

Fuck it, I just need a

It could be any kind of

LIGHTNING STRIKES.

That'll do.

I didn't think you were–

Oh yeah. I'm into this game.

Really.

Oh yeah. I do MMORPGs.

This is not a–

Uh, yes, it is.

Do NOT LAUNCH your lunchbox,

For this

For starters,

It's like starting a car when it's hard out

But it's frozen,

So it stutters;

And that's what it's like not to know you

I'm only in audience twice

Enviro

Watching my beans and my rice

Not oats though

I get by on hoping i die

Wnen I open my eye up 1iota

I don't know what I behold

though

WHAT THE– I'M ALIVE! I'M ALIVE!

Oh no, sir, I don't think you are!

You can hear me?!

…no.

Hey wait, excuse me,

YOU ARE FAR BEYOND OUT OF BOUNDS, HERE.

WHERE IS HERE.

NO–WHERE.

Hey–

Wait a minute–Don't i know you?

[suddenly remembering, but in obvious denial.]

No.

No. Nevermind.

[squinting discerningly]

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™ ]

The Collective Complex ©

COPYRIGHT THE FESTIVAL PROJECT ™ , INC. 2019-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

-whoever, honestly, really, at this point.

(-Ū.)

Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™]

Fonts get into into it

Quinta Brunson

In the box

Or is your frontin

He said,

“I want to hurt you”

Did you?

Did you?

I want to hold you,

Dissolve you

Completely disarm you—

Did you—

Did you?

I don't want to feed you to the wolves

But I absolutely will

I absolutely will if I have to

“I wanted to hurt you.”

Said,

Did you?

Did you?

I wanted to hold you.

Did you?

Did you?

I don't want to harm you;

Completely disarm you

Did you?

Did you?

A complete totality.

A complete fatal—

Did you ask me?

For what, I wonder

I was nobody at all

I'm no one

I don't want to feed you to the wolves

But I absolutely will if I have to.

Problem solved.

(I Wonder.)

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

For Tinky.

lyircs and composition by C'cxell Soleïl

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

Excuse the tears

Had no idea I was recording but here's what I got after like 6 minutes of my stomach gurgling and some extremely uncomfortable shallow breathing.

Somebody should tell her.

Can you walk my dog

Before we fuck?

My girl's not home.

Wanna walk my dog.

My neighbor is cheating on his girl but that's not my business.

YOU LET HER WALK OUR DOG!!!?

BEFORE:

V.O.

That's not my neighbor…

[an evil blonde girl with blue eyes smiles maliciously as she exits the building walking a small black dog]

…But that's their dog.

LATER THAT NIGHT.

V.O.

I heard them fucking through the paper thin walls of the apartment.

That is definitely not my neighbor.

…somebody should tell her.

YOU LET HER WALK OUR DOG?!

That is not my business.

Gee, God, I thought you'd never show up.

[ensues Horrible guitar playing with acrylic nails]

Self

You never employ these two fingers.

Also Self

Cause they don't work.

Try medicating that.

They would try!

(No thanks, I'll do it myself.)

Dumb twat.

I don't want to call people that…

Thats's just what I am.

Yo.

Somebody tell her!

Somebody tell her!

…that's not my business.

Maybe she already know.

Cabinet slamming is a nasty business!

YOU LET THAT BITCH WALK OUR DOOOOOG?!

Yo, fuck that dog.

Ugly ass chihuahua.

[ensues more bad guitar playing with acrylic nails.]

[basic ass surf music and some suspicious ass licks]

[atrocious traffic noise]

Jack went down the rabbit hole

Jill came back and asked for more

Then she saw that Jack was gone

[over all]

After all she all,

She carried on

After all, she carried on

After all she carried on

After all she carried on.

Heheheh.

[ghetto people yelling in the street like animals]

Jack flew down the wishing well…

[car honking that always honks whenever I try to make music and start succeeding (but never actually leaves the lot.)]

What happened first?

Uh. Jack went down the rabbit hole.

Yeah. And then?

Auh— [nothing], Jill didn't follow him. She just carried on.

Jack flew down the wishing well.

[the traffic pics up; the ghetto people start acting a fool. Yes. My windows are closed. My focus is broken by the noise.]

Crème filling!

Nothing but— crème filling!

Oh! I want a croissant.

A wonderful croissant with butter

And Crème filling.

A wonderful croissant

With butter!

And crème filling

especially when—

—rare!

Especially when!

Crème filling.

Crème filling.

A croissant.

What kind of croissant.

A delicious croissant.

With— butter!

—and

A — special—

No—

Delicious—

With—

Butter

And

Crème filling.

A—

Delicious croissant

With butter

And

Crème

Filling

Where are we from?

Obviously this place is hell.

Why am I here

Why am I here

Why am I here

A…

Fabulous croissant.

[mind you, I've still no idea I'm recording. ]

V.O.

actually, I was assuming I wasn't.

Monologue/ talk with God

[The noise picks up and I get up to record the evidence that my right to peace and quiet enjoyment of my property have been violated severely— then I realize I've been recording the whole time.[

Oh shit.

(Well, there's your answer.)

I didn't know I was recording.

Well, thats's how this all started.

And I guess, how it ends.

It's true, I started the series by accident when in my homeless despair, my talking to God out loud began being recorded by my iPhone just turning itself on and recording at random. In this instance, I had probably started the recording for the motorcycles and forgotten about it, but having been sick for days from the motorcycles and noise to no avail, I had begun to exhibit symptoms of extreme stress much akin to the homelessness in which the series started; erratic behaviors such as speaking freely out loud without the intention of being heard— and yet being heard anyway. I wasn't happy in New York, and I still felt homeless. The insanity might have been trademark New York, but it wasn't trademark me. I counted my blessings and all of my change; I knew I would have to leave for my own health, but I didn't know how—and returning to the streets was not an option. I was done playing the victim, and done complaining— my stomach churning with indigestion and my head gnawing with the congestion of a two year long head cold. Something needed to change, and rapidly— New York was turning against my mind, and my mind was turning against my body. This was no game— it was somebody's business. But to me, it was personal. This was my mind and my body being tampered with, and my soul remained at large.

Something else entirely was begging to take over; whatever was attempting to destroy me had to be destroyed.

Immidiately.

This happy accident had to have been the end of the series— the show would come down soon and everything I had written with it. My life and my safety were at stake. I had nothing to risk, but also nothing to lose.

I think they call that a lose cannon.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™]

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

I represent the respectful west coast

Dressed to reflect my deepest and innermost thoughts

I just bought some time

And a plot of land

I just lost my mind

But I found the promised lands

Kick rocks and aim all your trash into waste baskets

Instagram brats with fake stats and bad habits

Awake but not woke

Got cash but still broke

Suffocating in a choke hold

New York must think I'm New, too

But I'm so old.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

She stole my Rolex!

Why were you wearing a Rolex!?

… I wasn't.

L E G E N D S

You know I'm you, right?

Prove it.

What way.

How many jellybeans are in this jar.

406–

[he sneakily drops one jellybean—]

—407.

Unremarkable bitch.

I pulled the shows off the shelves faster than anyone else could get to them; I was being tortured in my own apartment— and for what reason, I was unsure— but I knew this: everything had to come down and out of the internet. Out of the cloud, and off the grid. Someone was attacking me, and I wasn't safe.

This wasn't just some paranoid or schizophrenic rampage— someone had used technology to hack into my life and make it a living hell. And for what? I had become nearly not useful at all. I wasn't writing or creating like I used to, I wasn't working out. I was catatonic with depression— but it wasn't just some mental disorder or something happening in my mind— other humans— multiple humans, actually, were being used to suffocate me into nothingness. Snuffing out and squandering my creativity and filling me with panic, thoughts of doom— slamming doors on one end and raving engines on the other, my life had turned into a sonic nightmare.

Furthermore, I had begun pulling down every instance of recorded history that had been part of the show; the pattern was remarkable. I had been chased around and tortured for years. This was more than just some rouse— this was a political tactic. Perhaps my once ambitions had been taken too seriously, but I was neither of any interest or threat. Those puppets were in their places and in all I didn't care what happened— unless it was directly to me or at me, which it often was. I stayed silent, knowing that everything was at risk. I was certainly being watched and listened to inside of and outside of my apartment and I realized that no matter how I tried to report or rationalize it with anyone else, it all made me sound crazy. Everyone and everything around was programmed to react as if the things were happening were not happening at all, or as if I was struggling with some sort of mental illness or delusions, but by now I was actually starting to struggle, because I had been tampered with an altered and tortured and sabotaged to the point of insanity— and there as no help, there was no one to run to. These were military tactics and strategies of war— anyone I could try to tell was being controlled by the entity that was conducting the system of control. The neighbor girl, the traffic sounds, the property management; it was no curse! It was a system designed to drive me crazy in order to limit my functionality and credibility in case I actually did decide to pursue politics.

But I was far from it, and closer to actually disappearing than ever because in a certain respect, I kind of could if I wanted.

What I tell you?

I'm not stupid.

I got trackers.

Fucking crackers.

What I tell you?

I got hacked.

What I tell you?

It's a trap.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.