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Did I forget Steve Allen?

I don't know, but I definitely almost forgot Sephen Colbert.

WHY!

Because I can't decipher who you are from the other four of you!

There's three of us.

Where's number four?!

{Enter The Multiverse}

Suddenly, not every day was the same—and that was strange, as it seemed the entire year had just been residuals of the same day over and over—but these days we're distinctly different, and perhaps that's because without knowing what I was going to write, things were kept interesting, and even more interesting was what I was writing at all.

Music: but was it comfortable? I had put out a single a day which by now amounted to an album all put together, and I might have thought to put it out as a compilation toward the end of it all, but I hadn't gotten that far yet; I was still in the proc de of an actual album, though more complex in reasoning and context—the concept was struggling to come to the surface. It had, after all, been in the realization that a prefixed muse has been envisioned somewhere in the sands of time, that painting of melting clocks merging together into some desert scraped sandstorm, something of illusion and something like a half imagined oasi…a hallucinated woman who might have been me, but actually beautiful—perfect, actually, draped in pearls and diamonds, dripping in them—leading this lost and wandering man—a beautiful man, also, to an oasis. Was the oasis real? I wasn't sure yet, and after the first track Mirage, I was behind by 4 days on what was supposed to have been whatever tracks followed, the list of them now stuck in wax to the base of the candle at the altar, still burning— a black candle for protection , of course—a strong reminder I should keep moving until whatever things and creatures had seemingly been sent after me could not find me, any longer—and however thought it might have been the case, even if just a seed as planted into my mind — it seems at least that one negative had turned positive, in the very least.

The woman whom I had shared a room with just the year before— who seemed to be something like demonically possessed and had also just rather disappeared without a trace—left behind just a bit more than her sunglasses. Since I had thought it better safe than sorry to record everything just in case I continued to be attacked, (having been literally pounced on already twice by other roommate)s—a beautiful soundscape emerged from having been cursed out, a rant which had become increasingly hilarious over time, and of course, remembering Ms. Keisha more fondly than not, especially having left her sunglasses behind.

Besides, after having by grown up with my mother, even the meanest people sometimes seemed mild by comparison in remembrance of her sometimes bitter and absolute cruelty. It's hard to have imagined that I had grown up under those conditions—and though now understanding that how some others had grown up in roach and rat infested housing projects, and however clean, mostly orderly, and overall class wise my mother was, on her worst days she had been horrible, especially for a child or adolescent to have dealt with alone, and so Ms. Keisha, though at most times, an irritant, had become a buried treasure, as I sifted through the mounds of recordings in order to create something unique, and different. After tipping off the copyright sensors not once, but twice—once having submitted a completely self composed work and still somehow being flagged by the system as copyrighted material, my music became more bizzare and strange, not just bending rules, but completely breaking them.

—Tales of a superstar DJ.

LINDSAY LOHAN is sleeping FACE DOWN on the couch in SunnÏ Blū's Studio

Lindsay, wake up.

Mmfh.

[Does not wake up. At all.]

Lindsay.

Mmf.

Tequila.

[Suddenly very awake, in fact; she has suddenly perked up with an amazing glow. ]

*very serious knocks on the door*

Oh shit.

[suddenly, more drunk again]

–oh shit.

*three more knocks*

Where's the tequila?

SUNNÏ

Ah, shit.

Is that your lawyer, or your manager?

Shit, maybe both.

SUNNI. OPEN THE DOOR .

–Might even be my agent, too.

OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR.

(Both, in cheesy unison, tiny rock concert}

I CHIMED IN WITH A

HAVENT YOU PEOPLE EVER HEARD OF

[Sunni opens the door.

No, it's “closing the door–

not “open the door”

“The Goddamn door.”

Right, Goddamit.

–where's the tequila.

Where it is– [Sunni points in a wayward direction; Lindsay stumbles morning-aftery into the booth.

Eww–”morning aftery”

Not like that.

*addendum*

[That Is, just to say that this scene takes place in the afterdays haze of a very

–Very

Holy Shit , God.

What.

You rule.

[Lindsay enters the booth and uncaps a bottle of tequila so effing fancy, it hurts to look at.]

So fucking fancy.

Was that lindsay lohan?

Yeah it is. It's still lindsay logan, Morgen–

–It's ‘Morgan”

–She's just over there now. Not was

How are you even friends.

FLASHBACK

‘ j don't want to be the reason,

I could never know you—

And I don't want to be the reason

I could never love you'

‘Weird dreams, bro.'

I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing, I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead.

Apparently we were sisters—same father. Different mother; waking up not was silly and sounded bizzare but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?'

I didn't ask flat out.

In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chocked up to be; upset and furious though not irate and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, but I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, an that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped

“That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?”

It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head.

Lol.

Her her response to the comment about her appearance on Fallon made me laugh—still pirated she goes

“Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence?!”

Seemed personal, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle.

“Okay…”

I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the tact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me—

Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it.

It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl projedt's Enter The Multiverse collection Ghat I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i excersisd at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food. Then on the music.

—takes of a superstar DJ.

lol what happened to Lindsay?

Idk.

I could practically taste the tequila.

Well, I was the one pouring it.

Way to enable.

I was just trying to calm her down.

Did it work?

Eventually I guess.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

The Complex Collective. ©

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019 | 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

‘ I don't want to be the reason,

I could never know you—

And I don't want to be the reason

I could never love you'

‘Weird dreams, bro.'

I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing; I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head. it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead.

Apparently we were sisters—same father, different mother; waking up, though, was silly and sounded bizzare— but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?'

I didn't ask flat out.

In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chalked up to be; upset and furious— though not irate, and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, however, I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, and that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused, stating that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped—

“That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?”

It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head.

Lol.

Her response to the comment about the appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated (pissed, drunk) she goes

“Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!”

Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle.

“Okay…”

I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the fact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me—

Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it.

It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl Project's Enter The Multiverse collection —which I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading.

Of courses

I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i exercised at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after Au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though…

in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food,

Then on the music.

—Tales of a superstar DJ.

lol what happened to Lindsay?

Idk.

I could practically taste the tequila.

Well, I was the one pouring it.

Way to enable.

I was just trying to calm her down.

Did it work?

Eventually I guess.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

‘ I don't want to be the reason,

I could never know you—

And I don't want to be the reason

I could never love you'

‘Weird dreams, bro.'

I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing, I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead.

Apparently we were sisters—same father. Different mother; waking up not was silly and sounded bizzare but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?'

I didn't ask flat out.

In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chocked up to be; upset and furious though not irate and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, but I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, an that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped

“That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?”

It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head.

Lol.

Her her response to the comment about her appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated she goes

“Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!”

Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle.

“Okay…”

I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the tact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me—

Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it.

It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl projedt's Enter The Multiverse collection Ghat I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i excersisd at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food. Then on the music.

—takes of a superstar DJ.

lol what happened to Lindsay?

Idk.

I could practically taste the tequila.

Well, I was the one pouring it.

Way to enable.

I was just trying to calm her down.

Did it work?

Eventually I guess.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

‘ I don't want to be the reason,

I could never know you—

And I don't want to be the reason

I could never love you'

‘Weird dreams, bro.'

I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing, I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead.

Apparently we were sisters—same father. Different mother; waking up not was silly and sounded bizzare but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?'

I didn't ask flat out.

In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chocked up to be; upset and furious though not irate and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, but I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, an that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped

“That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?”

It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head.

Lol.

Her her response to the comment about her appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated she goes

“Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!”

Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle.

“Okay…”

I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the tact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me—

Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it.

It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl projedt's Enter The Multiverse collection Ghat I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i excersisd at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food. Then on the music.

—takes of a superstar DJ.

lol what happened to Lindsay?

Idk.

I could practically taste the tequila.

Well, I was the one pouring it.

Way to enable.

I was just trying to calm her down.

Did it work?

Eventually I guess.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

TITUS

Come, now—

As the king does sit upon my throne,

Though not a King myself as I,

Still cherished among men and many

Who are in thine favor,

As you seek truth to bear, my King

And not your but also yours,

Does partake thy bethrotjen nature,

To swallow whole a seed a assumption as

To vanish by trace,

The rather and tide to bond,

For truth you seek,

And truth I bear,

As fruit does grow,

By force of not God,

But nature,

And to thine, the faring way

The truth does seek you, too

Thus, my God and Queen—

But also King,

Ruler never captured

And gained wisdom by time,

Which—

None does have, but thyself.

And now, Titus.

To know,node bearing fruit are I

And bearing truth shall you,

A lesson gathered, as you as one

And I as other— under the assumption of

Love

What is love?

God, this is a sausage feat in here.

Let's get some women in this bitch.

Oh, there are women—

They just don't speak much—

Especially in this series

Ascension.

Because they're perfect.

Archaic is this,

A truce for the truth I seek.

A wage for the war I've bargeouned.

Listen now.

You tell me.

I tell you all that I know,

For nothing now,

And in nothing's sake,

The shared alter.

I, too, you.

And you to I—

Have we parted but some to forge

But others?

No others remain.

And still I gather.

With flower.

And grow thy seed.

The fruit, or truth?

No difference.

A tree, I am born.

To wake.

A shadow in the summer's night where autumn azure sun does beem,

The wicked truth you lie to pardon

Stands in its own awakening;

Shallow moon tide's at dawn,

And so, you kind folk of Kingdom there

And Kingdom come,

The truth is said as this,

The seed the fruit—

The love was born in ritual,

And only then,

The dance was made,

For the song to have been sung as such.

Dear Queen, my heart.

For never better none has taken guilt in wavering the time has come;

Never now but always forward

And never there but always bound,

To love itself,

And so I am.

Again.

Trust me.

I have.

The King is slain.

—but also lives.

As haunted and as haunting no doubt,

But to gain is this, my trust

And in your waiver— the vow

My honor, and sacntity so.

The swine.

Not of this realm, but others seek.

And in this realm and others so

The truth of fruit shall parish,

Ignored and never eaten

Never to have grown from seed,

And then, of course,

No tree shall I shadow

In midnight summer's truth,

The blue azure light,

Of seeking sun,

Soon to align,

By midnight dawn,

And waking tide—

The moon you say.

A sworn disaster.

And so, I pray.

All's fair.

And you.

[TITUS with a heavy heart exits the corridor.]

{Enter The Multiverse}

The Strine Force Five assembles in the basement before supper is called

SETH, a peckish boy, almost goilish looking, maybe 11 or so steals cookies from OLIVER, who might be about 9, who speaks with a heavy and very proper English accent—

Stop stealing my biscuits!

Why bring them if you're not going to share?

I did share. You lot had the box!

You know these are cookies, right?

They're my special biscuits.

UPSTAIRS, MOM and DAD, very much the classic stereotypical suburban and American everywoman and Everyman prepare for supper. DAD, who resembles almost too much the LATE JOHNNY CARSON, peers into his newspaper conspicuously—

Who does mom resemble?

Let me —

LATER, at the DINNER TABLE.

Boys, Say hello to your uncle Steve.

[The man heavily resembles Steve Allen]

OLIVER

Hello, Uncle Steve!

UNCLE STEVE

…I'm not your uncle.

LIL JIMMY

(Mumbling)

I don't like uncle Steve…

BIG JIMMY elbows him. Hard.

LIL JIMMY

Ow!

BIG JIMMY smacks him upside the head, however without harming his very neatly done swooping hair.

LIL JIMMY

Where's uncle Jack?

UNCLE STEVE

He's on his way.

DAD

(Grumbles)

…always late.

LIL JIMMY

(also grumbling, almost mimicking)

—that's what I'm saying.

BIG JIMMY shoves LIL JIMMY into his seat

Also meanwhile, in another alternate dimension.

So you're real name is JIMMY WANG.

I fucking guess.

That's nuts!

—it's..:whatever.

No, that's nuts—

No, it's balls, homie,

Your actual name is actually

“Dick” twice.

Hehehehe.

Stop it.

Did you have a middle name.

No!

Let me see.

NO.

Stop— let me—

NO!

[he grabs the birth certificate from Jimmy's grip]

Let's see.

—Jimmy—

UGH,

Oh, that's interesting, Jimmy and not James, how endearing—let's see—

Jimmy—Ah, RICHARD— Wang.

Oh my God.

Your whole name is just—

STOP IT.

—it's just dicks.

Just—penis words.

Tripe dicks.

AH!

[nearly in tears, JIMMY runs to sulk into the washroom while his buddies continue making dick jokes; it's almost to much to bear—having learned so much about his true identity, most recently, that he was adopted at a very young age from a very nice Asian couple.]

SUNNI BLU

(Reading newspaper, breaking fourth wall)

I told you he was Asian bro.

SUDDENLY, Deadpool crashes through the door.

SUNNI BLU tosses the super hot model in their lap across the room.

YO. DEADPOOL.

DEADPOOL

YO.

SUNNI BLU

NOT COOL, BRO.

DEADPOOL

—what was your name again?

SUNNI BLU

Ya mutha!

DEADPOOL

NOT COOL.

SUNNI BLU

Whateva.

{Enter The Multiverse}

“Tools of the Trade”

Welcome to Hollywood.

Who are you?

That's not important.

It seems important.

Now—lessonsz

Ok.

Tools of the trade:

Uh huh.

My dick.

[he insinuates his crotch]

Package.

My dyke.

[A very pretty lesbian appears out of nowhere.]

Hello.

My Dick Van Dyke.

DICK VAN DYKE also appears out of nowhere.

Woah, dude!

Careful, he's priceless.

I know dude.

I can hear you, you know.

I hear you too, Dick.

Woah! How old are you, dude?

Old!

Get out of here;

Go lay down;

Take a nap!

They said the gig was till 3.

You're off early.

Or late.

[DICK VAN DYKE turns to leave.]

I can still hear you.

sweet yellow pinapple and coconut curry over brown rice and lentils sounded like a good Christmas Eve In—

“Wait? It is Christmas Eve, isn't it?”

I checked the date and time as my phone connected to the wifi.

“Yep.” I concurred, slurping the last of the curry broth from my dinner bowl— my second, but most likely out of three. I'd made enough to last however two or three days, and though I had been offline for throught most of now what seemed the entire month, letting my bills lapse over to make nonexistent room in the budget for the peloton, which seemed fair, considering how small I was getting, even cooking and eating myself into the non complacent waking coma that was the vivid and apt focus needed to create music for hours on end—something I had never quite done before in a certain way, and it seemed as though working in this fashion seemed somehow to have moved me solidly forward and sideways through time a bit—some sort of diagonal. I had rested the Sabbath and in the midst of it fallen behind by two days, but making up for it and catching up speed, I had submitted two releases in the early morning on the same day, now coming to an end—and somewhere in the middle, waking up after the fact to a fresh blanket of snow and the whimsy that came with it. A white Christmas afterall, perhaps, if it didn't melt by the following morning, which, judging by the fact that the coffee in the tumbler was still piping hot and not just like warm—I.e., fresh—that I might the same be up early into Christmas morning, also the first day of Hanukkah, and although I had forgone getting a menorah, after the attempt to pick up a free one I had found online over the summer in search of a cat, it didn't seem worth the cost to buy one; I was saving for too many things at once, which meant also nothing, but I couldn't be happier to spend the holidays alone and quietly— I couldn't be with the one person I wanted most, anyway, and so being alone was the next best thing. I almost wished I had've found the cat by now, but it was probably better that I was for the most part, unanchored, and could travel at will if needed. I thought to submit some of my new songs as demos to labels or into contests to try to find a job, but either way I knew in the moment that I would be playing live again by spring, even if it was just barmitsvahe and weddings, the latter of which I actually hoped to avoid, besides the Jewish ones—and my affinity for Jews had become remarkably trademark; as if I had some sort of reason to like them more over time, but I hadn't one—not that I actually knew of, anyway.

I had forgotten why I had been checking my email incessantly anyway, besides the new sound packs that seemed to have been magically pouring in, which i became excited to use when the right time struck to dive back into aboleton, learning in broad lessons in how there was a grace period between finishing and submitting tracks and starting again, and being careful not to sink into monotony—until I finally remembered, checking my email—that I had been nervous about samples from one of the latest releases clearing—however—a miracle indeed, it had been approved, and the message sit atop a pile of nonsense in the rest of my email with the news that it had been delivered to stores— I had put out about 15 singles since the beginning of the month and had a week's time more in my subscription to the distribution service—and I planned not to waste any time before my account being terminated— not that eventually I wouldn't renew the subscription, however— it would be at least a few months and probably into the early spring. I had, after all, purchased the subscription around the same time a year sooner, which allowed me to purchase the service at half price— a luxury which no doubt would end before my next payday, and after the payment for my Peloton—however—

I thoroughly enjoyed keeping my energy well to myself, and it seemed I was recovering well from having been followed to the gym and harassed, however, now the annoyance was— my neighbor wouldn't leave me alone. She was high maintenance, full of drama, probably a little bit toxic—

And now, she wanted to be friends.

I thought it best to stay on her good side, and had politely declined the invitation to Christmas at her apartment with her mother, but knew that until one of us moved, I would have to safely navigate the trenches of neighborly rapport; though something told me to be careful with the valitile fragility of the entire thing, it seemed almost the same with anyone, even old friends, that trust itself was rare to have in others, and so my holiday wishes had been simple and humble in truth; it had snowed, and I was alone, and making music— the home gym set-up, complete with yoga mat, Peleton and pink treadmill were simply a bonus.

—Tales of a Superstar DJ.

[The Festival Project ™]

Seven wooky dudes stand candy coated in the VIP section at a major music festival.

Who brought them!?

U did.

Now I wonder

‘What's the difference'

Same profession,

So much distance

I misjudged this;

Thought I had it all

Wedged behind one ear,

Forlorn,

(For Lorne)

And one finger to the socket

Sock puppet watching porn of Elmer Fudd

Now, knock it off—

I wanna know why

god chose the number one,

Folders up dollar bill

Back of the collections call

The corner, a sharp deposit

Sure,

For figure, full figured dolphins

Sawed it all off—

A saw tooth lecture;

So fire sure a God,

But then,

A one lost walkie talkie

And the other is, of course

Without a battery

For famine, is it?

I also starve.

(It's good curry, though.)

No more batting practice

And no more favors,

I'm sure I won't bring it up

I've got some kind of trauma

In the wallet full of cards I dropped

No messages

(Still don't know what Ivermectin is.)

Refuse to google such an awkward juncture.

Sure, the junk worked—

Sure the cops called

After supper,

On you go:

The father's Carson.

Uncle Parr is at the door.

UNCLE JACK

I'm back!

DAD

Sure, you are.

[The Man resembles the late Jack Parr.]

Here comes old wheats his name,

The cousin, tagging alongside big brother

A Jon with no H, the cousin—

But I just can't call it

[A strange looking boy resembling JON STEWART enters alongside his cousin, an even stranger looking whom resembles DAVID LETTERMAN— between the two of them, they are the oldest of the boys, about high school aged—dressed fashionably but odd and both dawning suspenders with their strange and quite ill fitting pants.

This is weird. What is this—what is this?

What is this here for!

Why does this exist at all?

What are you doing this for?

Skipping suicide another night?

Beats the knife in my back.

—because, I just don't care anymore.

L E G E N D S

In an ‘imaginary‘ parallel dimension, the world is torn when the workforce—not just of one Union or another, but the workforce of the entire country goes on strike as a protest against high costs of living in demand of a living wage; a nightly entertainment program is interrupted with a news broadcast which declares a state of emergency—the economy itself on the verge of collapse.

Oh. That's what I'm writing.

You know, they're gonna kill me for this.

—that's why you need therapy!

Look, all I want to do is make dance music.

Why bother.

Why bother at all

When big brother is watching,

And long gone is Jack Parr,

It's all done and divorced,

But all sausage party,

The festival project.

Numb3rs

Digital Liquid

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

Oh dear God.

What is this place?

It's right …now.

Are you telling me I'm in a dead girl's house?

You're dead, Major.

Yeah, but I watched her die!

Well then, you had better take some preventative measures this time around.

So you're saying—

Still alive now; and if you play your cards right—

I don't have any cards—and what game is this, anyway?

Just keep the little psycho out of danger.

Have you met this woman?

No, I'm postponing that until much later in life.

Always speaking in riddles;

What do you mean?

I hope to die an old man.

As opposed to?

Anything.

Two merging portals, a convergence—

At the center of both, two parallels;

A tin can and a straw hat,

An idiom for relax, and then

I lost my cat again,

And my hat once ,

Half an hour went, and then came again

In the sands of time, in bike cleats

And needing desperately to feel

Needed

To nurture

Feeling desperately to mean something

To anybody

Needing desperately to be deceased

Besides lonely

And having done my part

To do

Anything but eat everything

And die

But at least not once did I

Have blue eyes

So I wonder what

It must be like

To be loved by all;

But I've never died

Not at all.

Perception is a virtue,

And Jesus was a good brother;

Come rescue you at the alter(

Come rescue us on resistance

Come now, and come all to pardon

Come now, and one all to worship

Come now, and pull the reigns back on the horses

Come now, wild and fortuned

To honor us

There we are again

In the shadow of light

Where all must capture

The essence of having once lived

As a memory, though residual

Lived in dreams and as fairy tails

This, remembers us nothing,

But having parted from somewhere

So adorned as to call perfect,

As we all were, there together

None forsaken, but then,

Enlisted to portray such

As entertainers,

A freedom,

The good and the bad train;

The things and the people,

The planets and animals,

And shadows beyond them,

Above us, and below then

Is also

What we are,

As such,

Above is below,

And also

Within without,

However

Besides the point is ritual,

Which we shall honor,

As part us,

And part other

The unbeknownst;

Not to all but many,

Still shadows and unwaking

Still sleep but never found alive

Still alive but never found in ours

Still breathing but never once to light,

And encapsulated, captured

Another time, and presence

What will you summon!

Another;

Another,

Another—

As time is forgotten.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

As SETH MEYERS and JIMMY FALLON fight to the death, it is soon realized that having shapeshifted into one another as camoflague, that they are actually fighting the wrong people.

JIMMY FALLON (TINA FEY). straddles SETH MEYERS in a death grip (read: super gay) choke hold—and as he squints maniacally, peering into SETH MEYER'S eyes, he (TINA) realizes something odd and familiar about the fearful look in SETH's (AMY) eyes.

JIMMY FALLON

(With realization)

…wait…

Amy?

SETH (AMY) squints and winces, with feee feigning—unsure if s/he is being tricked, then realizing, also.

SETH MEYERS

…

Tina?

JIMMY/TINA immediately looses his grip over SETH/AMY

JIMMY FALLON

Oh my GOD!

SETH MEYERS

Yeah, I know.

JIMMY FALLON

I thought—

Yeah—

Woah,

SETH MEYERS

It's okay, like— well.

JIMMY FALLON

Sorry!

SETH MEYERS

I—yeah.

JIMMY FALLON

I thought—

SETH MEYERS

—yeah; yeah.

JIMMY FALLON

Oopsie.

SETH MEYERS

—how'd you know it was me?

JIMMY FALLON

The eyes.

SETH MEYERS

The eyes— yeah, but — you I thought.

JIMMY FALLON

This is embarrassing.

SETH MEYERS

No! I think—this—this is a good thing.

Oh dear God.

What is this place?

It's right …now.

Are you telling me I'm in a dead girl's house?

You're dead, Major.

Yeah, but I watched her die!

Well then, you had better take some preventative measures this time around.

So you're saying—

Still alive now; and if you play your cards right—

I don't have any cards—and what game is this, anyway?

Just keep the little psycho out of danger.

Have you met this woman?

No, I'm postponing that until much later in life.

Always speaking in riddles;

What do you mean?

I hope to die an old man.

As opposed to?

Anything.

Two merging portals, a convergence—

At the center of both, two parallels;

A tin can and a straw hat,

An idiom for relax, and then

I lost my cat again,

And my hat once ,

Half an hour went, and then came again

In the sands of time, in bike cleats

And needing desperately to feel

Needed

To nurture

Feeling desperately to mean something

To anybody

Needing desperately to be deceased

Besides lonely

And having done my part

To do

Anything but eat everything

And die

But at least not once did I

Have blue eyes

So I wonder what

It must be like

To be loved by all;

But I've never died

Not at all.

Perception is a virtue,

And Jesus was a good brother;

Come rescue you at the alter(

Come rescue us on resistance

Come now, and come all to pardon

Come now, and one all to worship

Come now, and pull the reigns back on the horses

Come now, wild and fortuned

To honor us

There we are again

In the shadow of light

Where all must capture

The essence of having once lived

As a memory, though residual

Lived in dreams and as fairy tails

This, remembers us nothing,

But having parted from somewhere

So adorned as to call perfect,

As we all were, there together

None forsaken, but then,

Enlisted to portray such

As entertainers,

A freedom,

The good and the bad train;

The things and the people,

The planets and animals,

And shadows beyond them,

Above us, and below then

Is also

What we are,

As such,

Above is below,

And also

Within without,

However

Besides the point is ritual,

Which we shall honor,

As part us,

And part other

The unbeknownst;

Not to all but many,

Still shadows and unwaking

Still sleep but never found alive

Still alive but never found in ours

Still breathing but never once to light,

And encapsulated, captured

Another time, and presence

What will you summon!

Another;

Another,

Another—

As time is forgotten.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

Jesus and all the Christ,

Nobody knows what hit you–

You don't know how it goes, do you?

You don't know how it goes, you know

Jesus and all the Christ;

The beauty of the boy, the vice

Nobody knows what hit ya,

You don't know how it goes;

How could ya?

Jesus and all the Christ;

The glamour and the lights,

How could you?

How could you roll the dice?

(I'm a rich man)

How could you

Let's see what those two blue sparkling pools will do for you.

Unknown.

Banking on nostalgia

And new media

I was old in ‘02,

I get all the best lines, the best monologues

I have the best eyes,

The best times

Did I tell you you were stupid?

If you didn't, you should have.

I told you you were golden.

That shouldn't have happened.

I'll see you on the backlot

(I'm still on the backlot)

Only

If you

really

Want it

broken links

And broken heart club

Broken art

And harmful arm cuts

broken arms

And broken clauses

Stop it now,

Before I hurt you

Stop it now,

Before it's over

Stop the tape,

Then overdub it

Stop it,

Don't come any closer

Couth, gridiron club

Got it all done, like you wanted.

You know that's a magician.

I figured.

Well, have at it.

Have at what?

That's the spirit.

It always was.

Access Point.

Ah, fuck.

Password.

[Redacted]

Access granted.

FUCK.

Bracelet, four

For ten toes

Awkward

Leaving it over,

And smoothing it undone,

Awkward,

Ten more honor pageants

‘Who are you‘ awards?

Tell them i'm coming on,

Coming on

Coming on faster

Faster

Faster

Health heart, made of

Horse follicle,

Tender, that one

Are you - now South

Greetings, arms wide

Have you or harder

Harder

Harder

Thank you

That was a good orgasm.

I thought so.

Have another.

Half an aspirin in all our water.

Half a dose of the worst coming over

The war's finally over

But here comes another

The worst of it

The microwave silence

The hearing heart gallows

The,

The,

The

Unpolished,

Who unwavering calls halfheartedly

Into the night,

And gallops forward,

drinking syrup from a

handpicked tampon

Now

Who wanted that one?

Classless heifer.

(An ugly)

Who drove out here to Harlem

To no parking at all?

Why bother?

Why call?

No voicemail storage, you know

Remote control access,

And still covered up softly

Go whip your toupe back on

For seconds

Four seconds more,

I'll have your head with it,

The plant based ready whip

You want acid?

Ass and tits;

I've got leftovers and no husband,

But don't want yours, honey,

Mustard

Hot honey mustard.

Hot honey mustard.

Hot honey mustard.

Must have money to ride, huh?

come harder up Dawson's,

I'll bet you a crunch sandwich for lunch

Whispers of it after
had a manhattan

Left up

Left bastard.

Limp.

Time to finish that Tom Hanks movie.

Don't go, Tonto!

[Enter The Multiverse]

[The Festival Project ™ ]

The Complex Collective ©

The Fed's with the suds,

And meanwhile,

I'm all stocks and bonds

Stocks and bonds

What is the world

Where you do just whatever you want

Whatever you want.

(Whatever you want.)

I'll kill you before monday, you know;

All of you.

I got a jar of I'm sorry, and

–wait, are all models also prostitutes?

It was better when you wanted it all,

You wanted it all

For the television thrown out the window

Top of the Tarmac

God, you want soap,

You want water

Did you want cold water?

Do you want a warm oven?

Don't cover it all;

Just ignore her,

Then tell the whole story

Why is Billie Ellish my kid sister?

Miserable, Miserable

Miserable,

Miserable,

Misery,

Misery,

Miser,

Misery!

I got a whole jar of “shut the fuck up before i call the cops on you.”

I got a whole jar of “just stop with that awful ass music”

I got a whole modem for internet service,

A whole home how,

All homewreckers:

You don't know how it really goes, do you?

Did you?

Do you want it?

Do you want tik tok,

Tik tok,

An arm clock,

Or a wristwatch?

Just watch.

That's a good adjustment.

Whoever wrote this was judge honorable.

Whoever wrote this was misdjudged and just ugly

The color of fudge,

Holding grudges,

And much darker stepping off the subway after a long run;

—and does dubstep

(but hates programming drums)

If i can see your spine through your back,

you're beautiful.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Here's what's gonna happen…

Okay—

I'll be writing you a prescription for Ivermectin.

WHAT IN THR FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?

Exactly.

Hehehe…you'll see.

Oh no.

What happens.

Here it comes.

Doctor Meyers!

I'm—busy.

You'll want to know about this.

I guarantee you it's something I probably already know—

No— that's impossible.

Nothing is impossible. I'm a doctor.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

You're going to need something to hold onto,

Wanderer,

You old man, you old dog

[Knowing]

Gnawing on a ham sandwich

Half gone,

And half past disaster,

Mark 9—

All new time zone,

Get lost, before I bother you.

Looking backwards in time at the weakness I've had

Or the week

Or the month,

Or the year—

Fuck the mothballs in the closer

Over motorcycles, or you wanted to know

Where the hole in my heart was,

When I'm sure you're the one who bit it off.

Goddammit dude!

“The Worst Shapeshifter in History”

What the fuck, man!

What.

You sold your soul to be on Saturday Night Live?!

What else was I gonna do with it?

Ah, Gee—nothin' I guess!

I could be luckier I guess

To have gotten what I wanted

Waking up in a warm music studio

I could never call home

Without someone to love in it,

Or roll over onto,

What's a revolving door for a prophet :

Word to my Nothing and NoOne

Get away from me

All the demons you throw out

Come back to you

Redefining beauty in the age of faux vanity

Atrocities everlasting,

And atrocity exhibition,

—a aphantom on the train tracks.

An epiphany.

—Atrophy.

c o l o r s ft. Uptown A

& Happy Accidents

-Ū.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©