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Track 01. OXYGEN

Music VIdeo: The Leveling Up from Hotel Concierge to Superstar Sensation

I'mma just like–

Take one of those luggage carts and prolly dance with it,

Like i used to.

That shit is not gonna work. You were like

It'll work.

You were like mad fat, back then.

SO.

So it; luggage carts shouldn't spin like that;

They don't just move like that.

It's just centrifugal force.

Watch.

Alright, if you say so.

Watch.

Lol Runaway luggage cart.

Fine. That's the video.

All ya'll bitches gossiping

I just can't do nothing right

I should put some vocals in

Channel surf from side to side

I just got another job

Concierge from 9-5

I just need some oxygen

Channel surf side to side

I get paid to go to work

This shit hurts from 9-5

This shit hurts from 9-5

I just got another job—

Concierge from 9-5

I get paid to go to work

This shit hurt from

Out of sight and out of mind;

You are nothing but a problem

I'm a prophet

I'm a God

Channel surf and then I prosper

You just talk and gossip Photoshop and scrolling on your socials

Mind my business, do my job, but

On those eggshells I am walkin

I get paid to go to work

Paperwork from 9-5

I just need some oxygen

-channel surf from 9-5

I been making profit

Turning hours into dollars

Went no drama

I'm on oxygen

While all you do is gossip

You just clocked in— but my shift is fucking over

Peace!

All y'all bitches gossiping

I m in another life

Making money count it up

Paperwork from 9-5

I just need some oxygen

I just can't do nothin right

I just need some oxygen

Channel surf from side to side

All ya'll bitches gossipin,

I am not about that life!

Now I'm doing vocals in the studio

From 9-5

Package came from Amazon

Guess I'm doing something right

Now I'm in the studio,

MTV from 9-5

Mind my business, do my job

My shift done, but,

You just clocked in

K no non N—-

Katt.

What up Snoop .

Ahh,

Look what the pimp limped in.

You think you're clever.

You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9

I'm STILL

WINNING

CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor

Oh shit. Relapses to which habit?

All of them!

10-4

CALL RUSSEL BRAND.

Csnt.

Why not.

He's blacked out.

What? Another relapse?!

No, he just— passed out

KABLAM.

“The Cockney Thug”

He's just like that now.

God

What is it.

Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches.

—you want ham in your spam sandwhich.

Yes.

Roasted cantaloupe with

Put your notebook

On my throat-Scrotum

I like your poems

So I wrote you this one

Oh. That's.

Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs.

“Backlogs”

Well, I have millions of fans,

It would take me years to look at all this.

[the festival project]

Woah.

Woah.

Ok.

Yo.

Have you seen this.

What is it.

I don't know.

Hm.

Look.

Woah:

Yeah, it's—

Wow

Ok.

It just goes on like this—

For how long—

For like

GOH GOH

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[Tales of a Superstar DJ]

Six hours should have been enough sleep, but now I was feeling strange, almost as if I had woken up into a world where I didn't belong—not that I had ever felt I belonged anywhere before so much, but this world seemed strange and twisted,

I woke up in a cold sweat, and although I had been struggling with a full bladder for sometime, at least semi- conscious enough to point my foot in the direction of the door, still dressed—or rather, almost dressed— well, dressed, by skinny girl standards, in shorts I wore as underwear, but smaller girls would wear for running, the only acceptable crop top I ever owned, a white top with black Chinese dragons, and athletic compression socks—best yet, I still had on my DJ hat, and things had been so outrageous lately that I always felt like I needed some kind of head covering, anyway—it was atrang how suddenly I noticed the difference with and without, but lately anyway had been sleeping strangely, usually dressed and atop the bed, rather than in it, or under the covers.

I had been working tirelessly towards my albums, and had just finished an EP—well( the instrumentals; anyway, and had gone to bed in the early evening frustrated that suddenly, my microphone seemed not to be working—and though I often struggled with the interface, it had simply just stopped picking up audio, though I had been successful in at least doing the preliminary tracks, (before breaking to workout) after a mandatory rest and some obligatory indulgence—I always ate more than usual when producing heavily, or producing at all, at least music which was more complex, than just a simple beat or some kind of improvised work; If it was intentional at all that I should focus on music, I was always overeating—but, I had become quite small, running at least a mile a day for some time, and didn't nessesarily find the extra weight too bothersome… though I loved being skinny— and it became oddly difficult to sing and dance well when I was smaller, almost like I was living in a different body at that weight— like I was detached from myself and my voice, and also strangely, the ability to dance as fantastically as I wish I could ever do while recording myself or being recorded came with a couple extra pounds and some limited indulgence—very limited…

—But, I did like being skinny.

I awoke in a cold sweat, the lights still on—the dream hadn't altogether been a disaster or a nightmare, but strange enough to wake me, and vivid enough that I had become lucid, that talking to and looking at Dillon had made me realize I should wake up, especially given what he was saying and doing—in short, he was being a douchebag, which I nearly always expected of him, anyway, but somehow, within the dream, still felt close enough to him that I wasn't upset.

Somehow, though, I had let him go entirely in the waking world, at all, actually—almost never even writing about him anymore, giving myself the time to grow and the space I needed to shake off whatever had been such a weird curse that had even lead me to think we could be an item; now, in the waking world, I was grounded in reality—I no longer fawned after celebrities really, although average men never piqued my interest or fancy at all—actually, no man in any way was quite piquing my interest indeed, and I had even stopped masturbating, after a particularly strong orgasm which had emerged from what seemed like a random vision of Sonny, not soon before that, maybe a week or so ago at best—and what had come thereafter had squashed any kind of sexuality I might have pondered or summoned up—the coughing people instantly returned after that orgasm, as if it were a direct attack on my soul to even think of him in such a way, which had however been by complete accident, in the final moments before release— and I realized it was probably some kind of magical protection, or hex from coughs, who might still, or in some girlish way be in love with him—Perhaps, even his own magical shield—and I could not anymore give my ex the power or ability to have maneuvered such a trick, that an orgasm would bring about such cruelties… as I realized that there were almost always present, as well as the coughing people, women who were petite and pretty—the kind actually suited for Sonny, would appear in my midsts, having anywhere to go, or anything to do—petite, blonde haired, blue eyed women—or just, white women in general, almost seemingly out of nowhere—And, to remain that I stay unchanged from my lack of violence towards the matter, I had left any man that wasn't mine entirely alone, even in my mind, but especially in my heart and soul.

I had let everything and everyone go—which included Dillon Francis, who's apparent relationship, though no sign of such in the actual media, I had decided to overall respect; I always respected the woman or wife of a man, especially those that I admired—especially those who I was extremely attracted to, and especially those of whom I became bonded in some way, through my writing or otherwise, completely by accident and never intentional—and to that, I had moved into entire celibacy… though, it began to be a painful knot in the bottom of my back and at my spine, in my hips and even in my kneecaps, especially the weak one—after an outing full of coughing bodies and petite looking girls, I had thought it best to never even think of Sonny again, and had locked my obsidian protection stone out of my presence entirely—I wished not to know or think of a man who knew no bounds, and relinquished his spirit, if not for my own safety.

It had been months since dreaming about Dillon Francis at all, and perhaps I was just sexually frustrated, however the dream in itself wasn't sexual in nature—just, informative.

He was wearing a white t-shirt with a pretty brunette on it—with blue eyes, of course, and clad in a bikini—which I told him was the most beautiful woman in the world—he agreed, and strangely was able to zoom in the picture on his shirt, as if it were some kind of screen, focusing on her bosom and saying something along the lines of “yep, she's all mine—and no portal [to the underworld]!”, and though he hadn't said the part about the underworld, I figured and sort of agreed that his suggestion was, that my vagina had some kind of curse on it—which was probably true, anyway, and the reason I never even masturbated anymore. I responded by telling him that I was happy he had someone, that I was happy he was in love and that that's what I had wanted, but suddenly became filled with sadness—it seemed I still did have feelings somewhere for him after all, though I was dreaming, and he began to torment me with the words that made me decide that I had to wake up to escape the horrid feelings that came along with them.

He said “you know when I first met you I really wanted you; I just wanted you.” And in the insinuating that there might have ever been some kind of chance between us, if I had only done something different, though— during my time being homeless everything had become out of control, it angered me that he suggested that I could have worked harder or tried harder and things might have been different—they weren't, and I decided that though it had been good to see him, and it would be hard to wake up, that I needed to wake up now, before I could cry inside my own dream, lighting an incense in the dream world, and making the wish to exit the dream; I immediately did, returning into my room, alit with blue, at around the time I had intended to wake up to presume making music, which now seemed futile—suddenly I didn't want to even try, realizing it had less to do with Dillon Francis than it did with the world in general.

in fact, upon waking, I thought to myself that no matter the situation, it had been a relief to see Dillon, who I thought of as a kind stranger, an imaginary friend now, who had guided me through rough waters with laughter and the pleasure of music—who in my waking life had fallen back into the category of just another famous person, with no delusion of a romance between one another, no matter how much I had wanted it once.

I had left it alone, out of respect to his own conscious, and out of respect to myself—who had fangirled enough that I had become damaged from it, deciding ultimately to just ‘leave the men alone', and wondered what kind of monster I might have been that I really only was ever interested anymore in someone if they were not only handsome, but talented, intelligent, and also somewhat famous.

The auras of even the most beautiful common man, even the classy, well dressed and assuming well-to-do men of Manhattan just didn't shine the way the others did—and I could never see myself shine in a way that would make me like them—famous—though I had been working hard on my music, dangerously hard, actually—so much that I feared my ex's Jealousy and intent to kill had plagued and cursed now my machinery—I just couldn't at all get my microphone or to work and had forced myself to sleep—it had been over 24 hours that I had been awake with the focus to work anyway, and I needed to rest, but was mere hours away from the completion of another project, and suddenly, the ability to record vocals has just stopped.

Now, upon waking, I clutched my chest, drenched in sweat realizing that I had fallen asleep with some stones tucked into my bra, which I never did anymore as the stones and crystals had been enchanted with intentions, and had become quite strong, each of them on their own, but particularly together in the way that some of them even clashed, and that I could not carry them all, or just didn't, out of caution—I assumed the one over my heart to be the Amethyst, which I very specifically never ever slept with or even clutched anymore—the stone was strange, and had began to vibrate in a way that I was unsure of, and so with that I alluded it to the probability that because its intention had always been set to be given as a gift to Dillon, no matter the stuatus of our actual relationship to one another, that it in some way had been bonded to his energy—and with respect to the presumption that he was taken, of course by some pretty, very skinny, perfectly capable white girl—perfectly capable of being functional in all the ways I was not, by circumstances of privelege and wealth, probably extremely well cared for and perfect in every way—I respected the dynamics of white world, in that it made more sense for him to always love someone like her, if not just her forever—if he truly had fallen in love and planned to make this woman his wife, which I had wanted alon learning that he was with someone—the notion which would have freed me from his grip, a still quite devastating attraction—

And it was devastating,

The loop which was so simple and certainly evident now, that it was an inevitable lust and infatuation that had drawn me to the conclusion that you just can't want a man like that.

You have no business falling in love with a man like Sonny Moore, Dillon Francis—or anyone alike them, in that it would all be the same, tragic, eye opening experience of uselessness, disappointment, and the constant reminder that because of who they are, and because of who you are, you would never, ever be good enough for them—and even in a professional setting, had a long way to go up the ladder before a collaboration with Skrillex, Dillon Francis, or deadmau5 would make any kind of literal sense, but especially monetary, I was simply not rich enough yet for the music industry—and I was certainly not woman enough for any of them.

It wasn't the amethyst at all, I realized upon returning from the restroom, that had been inside my brazier as I slept, but The Illuminati Stone, which had no incantation besides the explicit desire for wealth, knowledge, and skill within my given right to exist outside of the “underworld”, “the blackness” or the plague of poverty—the amethyst, with my other musical incantations had been left atop my drum machine, as they usually always were, next to my drum sticks and whatever mess I had abandoned in the studio before falling asleep, and though now I was quite awake, smudging with sage to break the feeling of helplessness and bitter sadness, slight sexual frustration which I had fallen asleep with, and of course now waken up with, quich had nothing to do with Dillon, thankfully—and at the very least I knew better than to think of him in anyway on purpose at all—or any man in anyway on purpose at all—as it was concluded I just simply could not be loved at all, and that if there were any curse at all placed on me, it was with that purpose—that I would never love or be loved again.

I never slept with all my stones, but now I wanted to; I should have been working on music, but wasn't even moderately moved to do so—it was like I had lost the desire, and reminded me that perhaps my ex had become Dillon Francis after all, just to torture me, just as he had seemed to turn into Sonny before. Perhaps he would just turn into anyone I loved just to try to kill me kn the way that j could never be without him, no matter how much I wanted to, and would always have to suffer being reminded of him, his habits, and the horrible things he used to do to me; and for some reason, the scar on the inside of my lip, where my teeth had punctured entirely through from one side to the other, began to swell and throb, which almost never happened, but sometimes did, especially when k was upset or had flashbacks of the initial beating which had left me wounded in many more ways than i could ever count or imagine, but especially damaged—he had ruined my face that day, and suddenly I remembered it, the gash that had left it impossible to eat for sometimes, as even applesauce would sting, and stuck to the wound inside my mouth—and it was hard to imagine how I ever recovered from that.::or maybe I hadn't.

Either way, there had been a strong, male voice lately which had been tormenting me with especially masculine, toxic and invasive thoughts, a voice which reminded me of a man who called himself Big O, who had once ruined my day by offering me a ride,'picking me up at a bus stop in front of the shelter—whom I assumed was doing so out of the kindness of his heart, of course, but was either some fed doing intel on the bizzare was surrounding my imminitely divine and extra terrestrial podcast series, or just some strange man attempting to illicit sexual favors in exchange for drugs, which I politely declined, however, he had spent my time, which was supposed to be a direct ride from queens into Manhattan, driving in circles, running errands, and asking questions about me, my past, and my own habits—all of which had been extinguished, and though I just wanted to go to the gym, he had kept driving in circles around queens, even stopping at what seemed like some kind of doctors office, his office, where he said he had some mushrooms “just lying around” and would give me for free—which I never believed anyway, but went along with it—as the bus almost never came when scheduled and on time and I had been at the stop nearly too long; and he had hovered in front of me long enough to realize that he was trying to get my attention.

I had nothing to lose in the shelter anyway, and had been making a point to spend as much time at equinox as possible—and was still somehow naive enough at this point to actually believe that someone would actually just do such a thing—give someone a ride out of the kindness of their heart. But I paid for that ride, in unwanted touches, coughing, and the reminder that there was some demonic force which only ever wanted to hurt me, drive around in circles, and waste my time, just as my ex had— that just wanted to blow smoke in my face and remind me that I wasn't a beautiful woman, but just a woman—and that there were so many other to choose from that I should be so lucky just to have been offered a ride.

It was this voice that had been torturing me lately, calling me a horrible mother, an ugly fat woman—unworthy of success. It was this voice that had been burgeoning me with reminders of what I had been before, almost enough to overlook what I had become—and though it was with some stroke of genius that I had done all that I had, it didn't seem to matter without the actual success or wealth, or any money at all to show for it—and so far, there wasn't any: I was literally down to my last dollar, once again— unmarked, albeit, with such a formidable respect to Jimmy Fallon and his family, besides the strangeness that had been surrounding the inspiration to suddenly begin to write from his essence characters I had never known or thought of, but had suddenly somehow been brought to life— I was too broke now even to get business cards, and though I had invested into a beautiful studio, the struggles with my interface altered me to the fact that all of my equipment was becoming rapidly obsolete, and that alone gave me a limited ability to create, let alone to make quality music which was good enough to compete with the likes of even the lower ranks at Insomniac , but especially far from a signature label, like Epic or Columbia, which I needed more than wanted—a record deal; my living room was still empty, and the only furniture was my studio equipment, which was at least a comfortable and beautifully well lit space, with a cheap full sized mattress on the floor—but it was everything in the world to be grateful for, to have an unshared space—which might have been perfect a couple floors higher up and without the distraction of either of my neighbors, both white women who seemed to act in demonic ways at random times, but especially in times were I wanted to relax, or be at peace—and though for at least a week or so they had been particularly calm, and I had been putting in overtime with heavy prayer work in order to protect myself and be rid of such a demonic energy, a force which seemed to intend to kill me and used other people as it's way to find me—there was still this voice, who had taken the voice of big o, who I hated for not only touching me, but wasting my time—I had missed equinox that day after a streak, arriving hours after he had picked me up in Manhattan, his attempts to lure me into some kind of party girl state failed; he dropped me off at 66th, Columbus circle, for my “gig”; I wasn't letting him know my true destination for any reason, and unstead bluffed that I had been hired as a musician to preform at this address, which happened to be, without my knowing, the Trump hotel,

It was his voice that called me a liar and a thief, a horrible mother, a fat, ugly useless woman. It was his voice that told me to get a “real” job, that was useless in music at all—that I could not compete with the little girls which the music industry had pumped out on pure sexual appeal, rather than talent—girls like Tyla, who I knew were planted and selected with financial backing to be “successful”, not on hard work or determination, but by the looks of it, some kind of sick game—the body game, which the whole world had become, and I had lost long before I had become aware of it. Though beautiful in its way, my body was broken, hard, and tired—

I drifted in and out of an altered consciousness, knowing my time had come to do or die, but unlikely to try my hand at anything that might become what the regular workforce always was—a hellscape of more reminders of my ex, of Sonny, the petite women suited for him— reminded of a Dillon , and his super white girlfriend—and the overriding factor that I was supposed to be focusing fully on music; and shouldn't be working some dead end job at all—

Fuck this. I thought, placing the amethyst on my inter thigh.

Fuck music.

There was no way to let music go, but the possibility of actual success was dwindling—anything I loved became evil, and in the shattering of doing everything alone, I just wanted it to be over.

Maybe if he didn't want to be a parent alone and be constantly reminded of me,

He shouldn't have cheated

But especially shouldn't have beat me

He certainly had no right to take the rest of my life away just because I had walked out of his—he had ruined my baby to look and sound just like him; to act like him, and though I couldn't ever hate my boy

I would never love his father again, or any man like him.

Or maybe, any man at all.

What is a man, but that, anyway?

Destroyers of worlds, wasters of times

Vengeful, pitiful, needy creatures—

And though I thought also that woman might be worse…

The worst of all things was that I had become neither at all,

And therefore devoid of the ability to love or be loved, in the world which had become nothing but money, bodies, and material consumption.

Suicide reared its head in a different way than usual—not with the burning sensation of absolute pain and destruction, but instead with a calm intent to not attach, to not conform, to not bond to anything, which might prove in itself be just another illusion:

It was nice seeing Dillon.

It was strange that in all of the horrible feelings that had come from waking back into the nightmare of my own existence—a nightmare which was at least now pretty, and sheltered properly, but still miserably alone—and I neither wanted nor needed friends, really. Who could you trust in such a material world, to have your best interests at hand!

Who could you trust in man's world, if not man itself.

His body was tall and strong, and felt safe—

But nothing was safe about Dillon Francis, or his world.

Nothing is safe in a man's world.

Aristide o

I am the god, if you want it

The devil if you need it

To be that

Another Dillon Francis dream

I had fallen asleep just to again dream of Dillon Francis—perhaps I knew I wouldn't be seeing him in waking life again, and took my chances, attacking him as he slept peacefully, or at least laid down.

I knew he had a girlfriend and didn't care; I had my way with him anyway, though not going al the way—his penis was very tiny, which made the blowjob all the more enjoyable—he ejaculated quickly, and I was satisfied—at least his penis was small enough that it wouldn't have brought me too much pleasure anyway. I was pretty happy about it, but he felt bad and kind of freaked out. I pretended nothing happened and we stayed friends—I think we worked together or something so we were still around each other a lot—he made it a point to suppose his girlfriend with a $67,000 engagement ring, which for whatever made me jealous. It didn't matter kept my own secret, but he still seemed kind of mad or disappointed in himself. Then I got a new man—he wasn't my ideal, but at least I had somebody. I laid with him on the beach and for some reason Dillon's girl was there—she was so pretty. This version of his girlfriend was blonde—but of course still had blue eyes. Duh. She seemed to know that I had made Dillon cheat on her as I looked into her eyes, but it didn't matter anyway. The past was the past, I guess. My new man didn't seem to matter. He was like a faceless body and insignificant, but something went down and we were to run away to a cabin in the woods somewhere to hide.

What a weird fucking dude.

I wondered why he had begun again to appear in my dreams—and it wasn't as if I'd forgotten about, at all, but just hadn't been thinking about him, almost not at all, actually:

I wondered what a $67,000 engagement ring would look like and figured that might be the actual case, so to just leave him or anything to do with him alone—especially doing something retarded like googling or looking him up, which would only hurt me.

I was nice to have a penis in my mouth though—I missed penis a lot…felt bad for kind of mouth taping him but whatever. I had fun.

I woke up in the morning with all the energy I had lost from staying up trying to push out my project by 4/20 or 4/23, hoping that constantly being reminded of my abuser would stop, but it seemed he wanted me dead and to suffer with the memory of him forever; I had missed my deadline, not out of laziness, but because of the unsurmounting amount of bullshit which seemed to come between me being able to actually do anything right in music, and I thought surely soon enough the EDM industry would find their own Tyla, hiring some black looking girl to make—or at least play dubstep, pretending to make it— realness didn't seem to matter to anyone at all anymore—

And my passion for music became jaded as my body and mind were, in the money that it would take to become noticed.

Sure, of course, I would still try but probably not as hard — the whites —or rather just—the heads of the entertainment industry as a whole, but especially music, seemed to have enough interest in me that maybe it did matter, but I would have to be groomed for their world, who they obviously didn't want penetrated by too much blackness—which was understandable; race aside, or at least the black culture was hard to stand in many aspects—though of course, rap, as any other genre, had become so horrible that I knew my music would excel—

It was insane that the music industry had ruined music enough that even new music from my favorite artists began to sound robotic—and it must have been that the audiences were so brainwashed themselves that it didn't matter to the festival world—everyone just wanted to party to escape the clutches of capitalism and corporate slavery, which made sense.

Of all the days to dream about Dillon stupid fucking Francis, it's the day of the eclipse, and I wondered whether I should even waste my time starting up at the sky like everyone else in the world would be, or if I was just better off hiding away, keeping safe from the disgusting, coughing, robotic demon people—- and just working on music, fighting this invisible monster who wanted nothing but my defeat—

However—the more it pushed me to excel in anything besides music-my writing, which came naturally but second, as even that world had been washed with nepotism and unoriginality that had been hard to palette—it would be even harder to make it as a writer, as white woman always dominated white works, and I could bear to stand the thought of bowing to her.

Racism is simply a game of control—to make the other party understand that they are in some or any way inferior to another, genetically, peofessionally, or otherwise.

Not only had I come now to entirely fear the white woman, the face of white dominance and supremacy by proxy—that the world had come to worship as the most capable, attractive, and worthy of love and success, especially in dance culture, but just in the media in totality, anyway, and certainly in any workplace I had ever known, which drew me back to the story which my now-late 3-track EP, a teaser for my upcoming album— a story which told of the days I spent my time working at the Eureka Casino Resort, as part time deal person, and part time concierge-which was actually a hubrif position betwrrnbellhop and housekeeper, the job at which I had discovered my all time guilty pleasure, Bad Girls club, on a network oxygen— a tv channel which played lol sorts of reality shows, but of course—happened to be usually playing Bad girls club during my shifts, which made the shitty job a little less shitty, and maybe even worth it a little, to finish my work as quickly as possible, and hide away in one of the resort's rooms, clever enough to choose a ro still marked as dirty-/but was clean enough to enjoy an episode or two of what some might have called trash TV, but presented itself as high quality entertainment, for a 21 year old would-be housewife—or, yet-to-be.

Or would have been, if the money had permitted, but of course, it never did— or, it never had—

At least—not yet.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN ZE RULEZ!

ZE ONLY RULEZ AH ZHAT ZERE ARE NO RULZ!

ZAT IS CORRECT! YOU ARE RIGHT.

ZHET IS BECAUSEI EM ALWAYS VRIGHT

GASPING FRENCHLY, BUT STILL GERMAN

YOUR ACCENT! IT HAS RETURNED.

MY ACCENT ALWAYS RETURNS AS I AM STRESSED AND UNDER ZE PREZZUR!

YES! ZE PRESSURE IS BUILDING! ZE TENSION IS RISING!

ZE TENSION IS ALWAYS RIZING! ZE PLOT THICKENS!

ALSO YES ZE PLOT THICKENS! KISS ME!

(Without her accent, regular)

Don't be gross, dude. We already know we're like, cousins or something.

CUT TO:

YOU ARE ZE BROZAR AND SISTER, ACTUALLY, YES.

…ew , gross, that's even worse.

Why does everyone from Hell have a German Accent?

[POST HOLOCAUST. ]

(Previously like, mostly british, or something)

It's getting kind of crowded in here.

Do SAY.

They're not british. They're like—

Where the fuck is like, the vampire dude from?

Which vampire

DRACULA

I'm Romainian.

Right.

Meanwhile…

Remember when TOTO blessed the rains down in africa…?

Uh, yeah?

TYLA

I GOT THE

Shut up.

Ok.

I'm a dog,

I'm a he, baby

A he, baby

I guarantee you,

My celibacy and attraction to light skinned misters

Is confusing everything

And making me miserable

motorcycles, circling like buzzards
I must be dead somewhere in the desert

I see vultures circling

(she's cute, but braids look awful on her)

Suddenly it's on trend

Cause some blonde rocks it

But before that it was

Dysfunctional

And that's the world i'm stuck in

SUNNI BLU

I ripped

I ripper off like a bandaid

Thats all u get

U on medicaid

Bitch that put paint in my koolaid

That was not like a cool aid

Fool

I'm cool herc (ooo!)

You finna get fired cause you late

Right place Right time

Wrong day

You in the wrong lane

All day

See the sign:

It say (GOD)

WRONG WAY

I'm Yonce

Fresh with the lemonade

Now make the bass talk

Yeah

That's the breakdown

Well

Oh well

Lol o

Well I

End up out in Brooklyn

Quite as often as you might just think

Subway car

I'm all alone

I might just dance

I might just sing

I'm in a trance

I can't stop thinking bout

Old what's his name

I lost my mind

I lost my head

I lost my money

Lost thing game

So fuck this game!!!

[a guy in a goth band who has to pretend to be a country-music star.]

lol find him.

k

CHEVY CHASE

DICK CAVETT

AND

JOHNNY CARSON

Walk into

[The Festival Project™]

MEANWHILE

[Fallon is announced as the successor to O'Brien's Late Night]

TINA FEY

WHY.

am·biv·a·lent

/amˈbiv(ə)lənt/

adjective

having mixed feelings or contradictory ideas about something or someone.

Yep.

CUT TO:

HEY. LET ME OUT.

NO, little man! you'll stay in there, until i'n finished deciding what it is exactly you are—

I knew I was in deep shit when I woke up guided by Judy Garland

“More Ghosts N Stuff”

JUDY GARLAND

Good Morning, dear.

BLŪ/CC

I thought I asked for Audrey–

JUDY GARLAND

It was me first, you know.

…

I know.

So, how's this?

Wonderful, Ms. Garland.

You're just–wonderful.

Perfect, she's perfect.

ah GOD.

WHAT

I LOVE HER.

I –you know what? I thought that.

What! The fuck! Is This!

AMMENDMANTS!

There are no amendments…

CUT TO:

]

PATRICK

Where are my notes?

ASSISTANT

I don't know, sir…

They were just on my desk this morning.

I don't know.

GET UP.

NO. I'm sleeping!

[PATRICK kicks VICTOR, his eyes now wide open, however, winded]

Sorry. Did that hurt.

[beat]

He thinks for a moment, and then lets out a heap of breath.

It should have, but, it didn't.

It's Good stuff.

[He removes the dart from his upper arm/shoulder, squinting]

What's in this?

I just told you. Come on.

Where–what?

Hurry up, I gotta get wasted.

[He sleepily rubs his eyes and stretches, looking about the office as if he is almost strikingly alert with clarity]

You–look–you are wasted.

More wasted.

(He shrugs, dismissively, seeming to be quite happily rested from his long slumber]

Ok. Isn't there a meeting?

(Oh shit, continuity? When did I get THIS ability??)

THis–this is disturbing.

Give me my eyes back.

No way.

Thanks, Jimmy!

AHAHAHA!

haha… (laughing sadly, turns into a huff of tears, with a sigh of frustration).

We missed the meeting.

That makes sense.

God, what a beautiful man

Don't–

I meant

JON ZENNET.

I'm telling you, son

Don't make me do this

Once i love you,

It lasts forever

This love is infinite

So whatever it is,

just

Sit down

Shut up

And take this love

Before I shove it down your

CUT TO:

JIMMY FALLON?!

You did this!

Earlier: Skrillex:

Delivery!

Boop.

(Ū)

Ooh. Presents.

Later:

I'm gonna kill you.

Ok.

[Jimmy Fallon wants to die]

Ū

Jimmy Fallon wins the first wiki flex award, hands down.

Kanye's a prophet

Kendrick's a God, though—

You think I'm kidding?

I just went swimming with Jimmy Fallon

And John Lennon

Whatever.

Wait, if he's you right now.

UGH.

Aren't you worried he's gonna kill himself?

No. I left his ego with him.

NOTsaFE.

Where is it?

Where is What?

The SAFE.

What—fucking—SAFE?

FUCK!

[He Frantically unhinges the floorboards]

Oh, you have floorboards…

Duh!

Oh man. That guy is a mess.

Right.

I should get out of here.

TVP

Where does she live now?

Some shithole in Brooklyn

Where in Brooklyn.

I don't know. Lets find out.

I got the address.

That's good, let me see.

—It's actually a pretty nice—

Find out who owns it;

I'm on it—

—make sure the insurance is up to code, and if it is,

Arrange a meeting with the owner to buy it from him double the asking price, pay him cash.

Alright.

This is unmarked, clean bills. Emphasis in discretion.

Got it.

This should be enough, but if it isn't, call Oliver; He'll know what to do.

Sure—and then what?

We'll see.

Helmut lang artform

Gold Yakh

Korouch yagamaih

He says,

I need you

But for what, I wonder

The world is war with us

The world is under water

It's a sacrifice, her martyrdom

Selling all her honor

All I need is one hundred thousand

Hundred thousand dollars

Now that's a canon,

Jimmy Fallon

Remember that?

I was robbed of my sanity, back then

You found the fountain

In your medicine cabinet

In your head, madness

In your heart, magic

Now that's a canon

Camera

That's a fallacy,

Fantasy

Fat

That's a habit

I had to break once

That's a tragic accident

A clansmen on a clasp

That's chaos magick

At the hands of the women at war of us

Paris

Little dragon

Montero, call me by your name

They were all just shadow figures ,

Shallow as my soul

Consumed by credit debt

Another day I went to hell for being blessed

As her

He has a hat box

I sort of like that

I sort of miss my mom

Especially

On days

When I'm just like her

Miserable

And selling it off

To the highest bidder

Promises

Primroses on other parts

Chain link fences,

Grey areas and

Dismissals

Disinterests,

Intervals of hypocrisy,

Criticism

Basket case

Green Day

Savage remix feat Beyonce

Ali Farka Toré

Amadou and Mariam

Crazy P

Orchestra Boubab

Omoau Sangare

Spinning away Brian eno

Stranger

Dijon

Bobby Sox Green Day

I can't even get off

On the possibility of maybe

Y heart is gone

My thoughts were yours

Now the bond is severed

Like k wanted

Gone,

And off in a rush

Where you caught me

Going off, and off

And on

And off

And on again

How do you love me?

Better not

Better not come home

This is all of us

I'll cut you off

And you had better run,

Before I swat you off

Don't you know how you started off

With a run this morning

For what?

For nothing

All I've done is love and love

And nothing comes of it

Not a person

Just a negative number

A crutch tk call on

A cross tk come off of

Some drugs, I snuck in

Over the border

In all of the poison

The world has become

The world of money

A

I wonder what/ to become of him

Cause it couldn't be love

In the presence of a lover

The mother of his sons

And it comes in increments

The what

The songs

The words

The worlds

The worke you've done

And all for nothing

All for nothing

But a fucked up,

Drawn on

Dollar

I never want to see you again

And I never want to hear myself sing

I will never learn to play guitar

I'm not a god,

I'm just another fucked up slut

And all I wanted was your

Nothing over money

If it's time over money

Time over us

This time under everything crumbles

What the FUCK is up with this system

I didn't interested you, did I?

Another apocalypse

Another bipolar,

But you wonder

What the mood was,

Without the war

The motorcyclists

Who just wanted her to suffer

And sell her body

And suddenly they're gone

And shut up

When she offered her soul

And her body

For dollars

Capital One

Don't trust them

I'm literally looking for nothing!

Jimmy Fallon

I'm drying my eyes out,

You're wasting my time with this

Writing

I'm gouging my eyes out—-

Time should be wasted

As wasted as I am

Jimmy Fallon

I'm looking for nothing

And no one

Cause that's where I found him!

And that's what he was, once

A nobody

Now he's washed up on shore

Just a syndicated show

On a poor boy

With nothing but buns and mustard

Good, look where that got you

A first chance award

At a glance of what a glacier does

When it melts on your honorary doctorate

Eli Scruggs

And I fell out of alignment with your

Little white lines in my eyes

You were dying inside

When my timeline went left

And I left her for that

I left her for that

I left her for what

A monster

Of all of them

Jim was

Sure,

He doesn't have a code name

In my notebook

Or my coursework,

Jimmy Fallon

They're just curse words,

But —the network will never allow it

They're just curse marks

They're just scars, Starr

How you got a remarkable come up

On the blood of your

Only begotten

How about what

Jimmy Fallon

You fucked up my numbers

And nothing would come after that

The awards ceremony was disasterous

Cause I haven't yet

Evened out the nominations

For the fat flex

I leveled you

At level up, this morning

And that's how I found her

Good, son

So now you know

How my love works—

And if I love you enough

She'll come for you

If I love you at all, actually

She'll show up

I'd bet a million dollars

A million and one

You don't open the door for no one

Even if he knocks

I told you before,

They're all robots

With one goal in mind

To abolish you

I forgot to show you

My other scars

The wounds

The marks from the cross

The rope on my arms

The wounds I uncrossed

What's did you want again!?

A 4 mile run

On a hundred calories, and a can of these?

Good luck with that

Wasted eyes amaarae

Clairo

Ethel Caine

Julia Jackson

Tennessee Alan ra

I wanna know

Nico and vinz

Rain on me Ariana grande

Frederick Patrick smith

Only you sentinel

Something destructive, possibly even the devil himself had tried to kill me, as just as I was almost asleep, a sound struck from outside— a loud engine which ripped through my heart, soul, body and mind like a crevice, which shattered me, and left me with a pain which would not sooth itself—and I knew that it was some kind of war, as men knew nothing but evil and destruction, and the pain had left me unable to move, in some kind of paralyzed shock.

‘That was assault with a deadly weapon…' said some kind of voice, but it mattered not; there had been no one to help at all, and so I hadn't bothered to cal the police for the continual sonic violence which had been plaguing thes street outside of my apartment; it was obvious someone wanted to kill me, or wanted me to kill myself—and I might have, were it not for God that took over my entirety, and willed me to sleep and only Sleep, until there was some divine reason not to—

I awoke with a song that would become some kind of tune, I was sure, it was almost unbearably good, and so good in fact, that I could not simply just keep it in my head—I arose quickly into my studio, as it had been longsince I had awoken with any music, other than words—however, it wasn't words that were important at all—it was purpose that I needed more than anything—more than money, and perhaps even more than love—which I thought to be my purpose in entirey, anyway, love.

Something had indeed happened, the night before, so drastic that finally someone else had taken notice to the obnoxiousness of the sonic toxicity that had been allowed, I was sure if only just to taunt and attempt to control me, but finally had also hurt someone else, or perhaps maybe even, as a show of good faith, some kind of solidarity had been formed between what I thought to be my safety, and the public service; as a line of service vehicles soon thereafter swarmed the intersection, the lights from their vehicles forming a long line from one block to another, at the intersection where these attacks had been taking place, and then slowly, one by one, turning their lights off—dispersed slowly, crawling up the surrounding blocks and forming some kind of barricade around the area; It was indeed not only in my head, but some kind of group had been the cause of the obscene sounds and disturbances that had kept me reeling for weeks, out of my mind with ache and pain—as if there were a force so destructive and evil, it meant to haunt me with every waking moment that I attempted to enjoy my newfound “home”, which was after all my home, or could have been, were it not for such disturbances.

The sound had left me with such a pain that my heart jumped with arrhythmic palpitations, and did not beat regularly for quite some time—it felt as if, between the top of my spine, somewhere between my neck and the back of my skull, something had been disconnected, as if I had some kind of whiplash or other type of disastrous injury, like my head had been wrung off of my neck, and something was deeply wrong; I even thought to cry from the pain but couldn't, my eyes wide with shock, and I was sure it had been some kind of blunt force trauma—as if I had been rocked from my slumber by the strike of some sort of weapon, and though I thought that perhaps it was such a curse, that had awakened me with such a brutal trauma before, I knew that there could be no such power allowed to a man who would beat his wife in front of their children—that he could no longer control the world around me, but in fact was instead the folly of my own greatness—this was some sort of politicized torture campaign; and whoever I was had become such a threat to some force that it had thought to rule me, or indeed had been acting under the power of Satan himself, who I wished not to believe in, but as I lie awake nearly bleeding, something severely wrong, and even thinking to call an ambulance, as my heart had not returned to its normal pace, nor had my breathing resumed to be normal, but only in hollow, shallow breaths, I instead made myself some sort of drink, which by the time waking in the afternoon, I could not remember what it had been—and by that alone I knew that whatever the sound had been, which had penetrated my body by force, not simply by sound, as my earplugs had been pressed firmly into my ears, and I had many times been made to feel ‘crazy' by reporting such noises that I understood my peace and safety hadn't mattered, that this sound had attacked my body with brute force, more abuse as only could be inflicted by man.

At least someone else had made a report this time, as it seemed my cries for help were otherwise useless.

It was true that some group or some cult somewhere had thought of me as the messiah, which by God's word I had been told explicitly to always deny, as the foretelling of Christ consciousness had always aroused such hatred and violence, that any messiah would ultimately die, under the unconcious egotism of man—and especially that I, being some kind of woman, could never be believed as such, the incarnation of the spirit who had so been ruined by man's inability to understand, in his attempts to control what had been doomed to perish under his wickedness, as also foretold.

In my own right, I was no messiah, but perhaps just another broken soul, as abused and traumatized by the rule of his evil over earth, which I inhabited and abided by; I would indeed end my life under his rule—the evil of man had become all that my mind's eye wished to be blinded of, but could not.

311-17948031

311-17949319

311-17951190

311-17951323

2:42 AM

3:27 AM

4:12 AM

He was so perfect and beautiful— a broken man, but in all the ways one would hope to mend, and though I couldn't, broken in my own sense, he stood as a reminder to what I might become, but had some how forgotten, a life once lived, to be lived again, until it was certain—that one day I would write of him, who had vanished into my own recollection, perhaps, just a shadow sense, a figure of fiction, which I had imagined if only to bring him back to life in the pages of some sort of fantasy.

The diaries I had written of his essence, so yellow that it had been golden once, had been long lost to time, but his memory still lived on. I could never know his name again in any other way, than that which would be love.

‘More cedarwood insense'

I thought. I had been sleeping with my stones once more, as some kind of force had been wreaking havoc on not just my head at all, but my heart, and I had been for days and even months in writing pain— this morning, though, I had awakened from a world which had once been ours, or at least, had once been a place where I was, in a sense, just a shadow, a shattered broken piece of myself no one could want, but perhaps had taken on as a job. Now he was a God, my dear Jon, and once more I could find something like love that had become of him, almost rising up into two little teardrops, had I not promised myself not to cry for him any longer—it was his birthday after all, that I had been shocked into becoming what I actually must have been now—a ghost, and however cruel it might have been, the men who had been outside of my window, barking such remarks as to inspire what I had already decided to have done, to let go of that awful life, and move onto the next one.

It had been long since I had seen my son, and only wished I could hold him once more in my arms, the thought of what he might become

I woke up in a hearse

For what

I woke up yelling curses

Reverses

For services

Hurt, but don't swerve this

Just learn this

You're not of this earth so observe this

The surface is

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

I am conflicted, constricted

Ostracized for my addictions…

‘A married muse— very nice.”

It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful day, but there was work to be done, and things approaching, things moving as they squally did around me, but today with more relax—I had taken a my first day off from the gym in weeks, and was feeling rejuvenated, but ready to hit the pavement

—my new workout equipment on its way, as not to say, there were other things I had been focused on working out, internal and otherwise—and I found it almost curious to continue to ponder on what one much sort of think as taboo, but for some reason, wasn't, I was safeguarded. For the first time in years, my muse, not chosen, however more bestowed upon me, was a married man—which meant, my falling in love with him was baseless, if unremarkably atoned, and temporary as it should have been, and yet, all the more plentiful. I still had added to my portfolio as I had with my other men in forms of songs, further words, and poems, though bemused as I was and finding it all the more appalling— it was all for the sake of the art, I needed none more than the facts I had been faced with—the fame— the soul that danced inside a handsome body, and of course— the thing it was that called to my own, a God in a sense of sorts, for in the years that had come I had learned from my love, I could draw infinite art—though what with it to do, I knew not.

Finally, it didn't matter— there was no chance in the world of the love to be born in the physical world, and for that I was safe and protected— to dream, and to fantasize at will, and unlike some others, I knew myself never to harm or wish to harm one other's well being— I would not dare to be such that marriage didn't matter; I was, in my heart and somewhere in my seeking soul, a good woman. Or at least—good enough to know better, and for now, no better was good, than to write, and to dream, sifting songs and sonnets in my oil soul as it was, a lover's fantasy; and a fantastical one at best.

To new adventures, with a younger man.

Much younger than I, however older than once thought, it was almost an honor had struck, another magician, and master of art.

Take it slow take it all in

On a long walk

Smell the roses,

Don't slip,

Don't choke

Don't talk about it

Hide your love

Piss them all off

Walk the dog

Slit your wrists

When the whole world

Is all him,

The man who hit you

And the justice system

Trusts him

And his light skin

The right color

In the trump era

Now that's a Cold War

son's coming up,

Time to run

411

The 555

Is done for

A parked car

With no gasoline at all

Just remember

I control the gangstalkers

The dumb blondes

The hot Caucasians

The dog walkers

And the ones wearing stars

For the counter curse

Here's a curve ball

Serve your punishment

For wanting it

What was it before?

Love

What is it now?

God

Mirrors at an angle

Can't see myself

So I'm finally invisible

Is it Psy or Sai

I'm depressed because I don't know how to publish anything and I can't stop writing;

I don't know what to do with anything I've written,

And I'm always,

Constantly stressed about money

The things I need,

And feel I should be working

As if I haven't written more than what some writers with notoriety and fame have or had written in their lifetimes

And now, to think, the fame and notoriety seem so small to me;

I really just want the money and to be able to go away

To some place quiet and peaceful,

And to hold my son again.

Shout out to the bass pod

That's probably why my minds gone

Shout out to the old God

Your lady is a robot

I am the programmer

Might need a controller

Take it all apart

Put it back together

I ain't in the ghetto

Certified, it's gentrified

Ah, dag.

What.

I missed the helipads

AH DAG?! We're about to die, and all you can say is “ AH DAG”

THERES MY INVISIBLE MOTORCYCLE.

SHHH.

Sorry.

Unh.OUCH.

Sorry.

Well, I'm fresh out of [explitive]

There's on

FUUUUUUU——

F-f-f-f

This is not cool!

I have magical powers!

HEY, watch it!

That's odd—it should be cool having magical powers.

It's not cool!

I don't know what to do!

What do I do with my hands!

AGGHHHHHH.

Well first of all, stop blowing shit up.

[Dillon Francis is somehow, just—not famous; he is at camp EDC, being a wooky wook]

READ:

[Dillon Francis is a wooky wook. ]

Correct.

Damn, that is—

Woah.

That is wook.

King James is getting into this narrative real deep

Let's see why,

I fictionalized this dick just to rationalize quickly

What a king is

I sing good,

Cook dinner

Me look awesome

“Kill the kid,” they called for

Another round,

And another run

So here I come

I'm coming up

On up-down rollercoasters

Cardboard for your cup

Cupboards, rocks and cutters

Underwater, wishing of surfboard

For sure mom, you kinda suck

The energy from those is daughters

But I wonder what it's worth

If stars fall from the sky,

To cross lovers

Whatever

Just a 30 rock crossword

I'm Sunnï Blū but,

Tracy just a replacement of me

Sure it was

I'm done God,

I fully fucked up. Good job

By putting all of my words into google documents

In forms of proses and poses

Instead of posing for pictures

Or asking for roses

It doesn't matter what happens

The dirt was mud,

But I rose up

Like no one thought I could

From sinking sand

And ash dust

In God, we don't trust the justice system

Fuckin me up

Keeping me married to pedophile

A while longer

So I fuckin die

In due time

What is right will find the judge

And God of all on earth

Will tell the story of Starr,

And how he tossed his son on the couch

Just to punch his mom

Yep. He yeeted my baby

I eated the nothing

The revenge plot twist comes

When Skrillex cosmic something

Something some

It was a downward spiral

I was a backwards a hole

And my scholarship

Cussed out my mother

Called her a cunt

In her own country

Cunty-cunty

What the fuck you want?

A doorknob that talks and locks

A cat or caterpillar to smoke with

And karma to choke Starr

Like he golf balled

And followed me all the way to Brooklyn

Just to piss me off

Just like a pussy

I started the second book

Where I left the first one off

At Whole Foods market

Where I left my snotted scarf at

If you support Starr,

You're more retarded than I thought

If you support War

You're better off

Swallowin a gun,

Like his mom

Cause Mike Roberts

Beat her up

If you support Starr

You're probably a predatory gangstalker

But what for?

You don't even know

You got a small award

For taking a walk

Supporting physiological terrorism

But never even

Bothered to read the

Terms of agreement:

They said

“Kill this nigger bitch”

Keep her from getting any money or education

So she can never be president

I'm just a DJ, man

But since then

I've had secret enemies trying to kill me

By psychology

So they can see me die

By my own hand

And nothing can ever lead back to them

That's how terrorism works, ya'll

You're worried about Gaza

When genocide happens right in the subway car

On your way to work

Where they make you late on purpose

Even if you leave early

Trying to workout, write a book, and leave your apartment looking perfect

Who would deserve this?

You think you're so perfect,

But youre cursed by words,

And worthless

I think this earth is covered in stuff that it shouldn't be

I think I'm 5'7 but the man of my dreams is 5'3 so I been meeting in the middle and stopped eating meat,

Hanging from trees praying for freedom

Cause something diseased has been following me coughing

Like I'm the one who started poverty

If that's the case,

I must really be God or something

But i'm not yo,

I dropped my wallet on the bus,

And somebody got a come up.

A human error

I need my hair done.

I'm aware you're up there somewhere cause I hear you in my left ear,

Jesus left us right here

Cause the end is near

When everybody's taking the side of a wifebeater

And my eyes are wide closed

Cause I still owe klarna money on my clothes

This nobody is throwing weights,

And nothing makes sense

Cause karma's gonna take him

Heavy, like the weights is

Throw your weights pussy

I was late coming

But ain't had a rest day in

8 crazy days straight

It's Christmas in LA

Hollywood that is,

Here's the blacklist:

I hate blacks when

They do that shit,

Act whack like fucking crackheads

Codeswitch like it isnt just niggers vs niggers

The only enemy is inner,

Fuck it,

I'm late for dinner

I been here nearly an hour,

And lost my power to some animal wired to an app

Fuck this matrix, I want my power back

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

WHERE ARE MY PANTS?

YONCÉ, WHERE'S THAT COFEE

I'M COMING, JESUS–

JESUS

Watch it.

Amen.

If you drop that watermelon, i'll kill you.

Oh NO!

Ok.

Ok.

[pause]

Now, run.

DON'T DROP THE SOAP

WHAT

*SOAP*

W000000AHHH.

THIS IS OUT OF CONTROL.

THIS IS OUT OF–

GOD

I got this.

GOD, YOU'RE DRUNK

You know, this one was almost right–

You got your dopplegangers?

UH huh.

Alright. Come on.

Hm. Wait.

Just make sure s/he–

Is it a “she”

Whatever, come on.

Just make sure she sees you.

Look. I just got. A lot on my mind right now,

I can't write this.

GOF

I got this.

Wtf is going on HERE.

VO.

Hmm let me guess

YOUNG JACK BLACK

[Insert here]

Close enough.

I got this.

Something, something–

lalala

OK, GET ME OUT OF THIS MOVIE

GET ME OUT OF THIS PARTY.

I WANT TO GO HOME.

GOD, GO HOME,

YOU'RE DRUNK.

THIS IS MY HOUSE.

That's right. It's your HOUSE:

GODDAMN RIGHT IT IS.

SO go HOME.

GOD

YOu know what. You're right. I don't need this.

FInally.

God, she's so wasted.

Where's my Keys?

OKay, now i'm understanding

DRIVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

Jesus, this thing just goes on and

Look at this point ,

ALICIA KEYS

I'm on it.

GOD is writing this, i'm just–

An actor, I guess.

TV-MA

Drama

When the

Nvm? I guess!?

RITA is the first AI designed specifically with asset protection in mind—

RITA, protect my assets.

LATER:

RITA (robotic voice, but gangster)

Yo, Peter.

This mother fucker right here actually tried to play me for a fool

Please elaborate, RITA

RITA

Divulging plot for political assasination and asset liquidation

In the heights

Complications

Man, it's just crazy how they assimilated you with reverence

What exactly does that even mean?

Let's find out

You know what?

You're right.

Reverend.

Major Tom.

Sire! You must come quickly.

Must I?

You must

*must DIE!*

For what?

No time for an explanation, the page is turning

SN-TRASHFREE-4XR4-ZV6W-4ZR4-VYA9

It ain't easy being supa me

So I switch it to sunni b

So sweet, I'm a honey be

Money don't mean a thing

If I ain't got no love in it

I been craving some Mickey d's

But I'm vegan, so luckily

My energy is tripling

Three threes,

I bet your listening

I'm livin in the

Kingdom of Heaven yes

I'm blessed, kids;

That was just a test, kids -ū

It's true, this:

I didn't want to do this:

I'm sick of this Sunnï Blū shit

If orange is the new black

And hello yellow

Like pikachu,

I choose too

Pull it like a loose tooth,

Loose change, two strange truths

To shoot thru

Pull up in AK I might shoot ū

LA one day,

Uptown A

Confused YouTube

Today to JFK

Poof, dude!

I'm the toothe fairy

You should bury me—like seeds

I grow trees and

I

Speak in tongues, (just like cree, RIP, though)

You can't scare me,

I don't care

And I'm too aware of you

Tie you to a chair

And I'm preparing you for

Cake, bitch

Happy Birthday,

I'm famous, baby just don't—

Baby don't leave

Baby don't leave

Baby don't leave

Baby don't leave!

Maybe I spoke too soon

I opened your notebook,

so consumer

Prove me wrong but

I could be much blonder

And I could have two sons

And one less drunk

Ex-husband

(That's funny, don't.)

Shh.

Don't bring it up again

Cause it's beginning to ruffle feathers

My expressions of these deep regressions

No regrets though,

I begets flow,

10 doors open every time

One closes,

So

Portal—

I got my foot in all of em

I'm walking awkward,

Cause my cock is swinging

To the theme of

Johnny Cochran

This is not

as seen on TV

but amen

Just promise, if you gon leave

We gone stay friends,

Like Jennifer Aniston

Baby don't leave

Baby don't leave

Baby don't leave

Baby don't leave!

Curiosity has just killed two cats

But the truth is,

I just wanted the algorithm to see me

Confused as to

Who switched with him

This isn't him,

I'll admit: the one that's meant for me

Or was, at least,

Again, adjust my misery and memories

With sympathies for something haunting me

In dreams an frequencies

Please, believe me

I needed you

And might still need

Somebody

Everybody's nothing

but just a body or a hobby

Not a husband, or a daughter,

Or a son:

All I lost was

Over

Okay,

stop it

What you've got to know is:

Every time this lady sings this song,

Something amazing happens–

What is so great about this–

I don't get it.

But like,

Behind her.

Every time.
Does not disappoint

What do you want from me?

Ooh, it's bad .

What don't I want from you?

[BILLIE ELLISH'S Grammies begin singing in a harmony, forming a great symphony. She doubles back, pushing for a moment—then shrugging it off, before a grand gesture

I'm on my hands and knees

Just seeing you in dreams

Whatare you saving it for

What are you saving it for

Grocery store horror show

Slow motion drum roll

What are you saving it for

What are you saving it for

I'd rather th er friend than a father figure

Video games and department show shopping

Discretion and internet interests,

Never more than the start in Athens

The triad, the triggers

You promised!

Though not as important

Of the promise you once made

No more arguments, man

It's like all of a sudden,

She loves me again

But it doesn't take back all the things she said

All the things she did

All the things I did

For the things she did

All the things she said

For the things she did

The things she said

The things she said

Plant a seed, let it grow

Let it breathe, don't you know

Take it easy, the day off

Don't say a word,

Don't move a muscle

Easy, easy on the eyes

Easy, easier on the years

Shivers on the mark of the beast

Cause it's been 6 years at least

Since he—

Don't do it:

Time moves different here,

In the 9th dimension

Light a candle, spread some ashes on some

Simple synchronicities

Remember me

When you forget yourself

To be remembered

remember the family

Fame, defiling, misfortune

The torture

The fortune

My name up in lights on the awning I'm under

In some google drive

A long drive out from Boston

Bassoon in my onyx

My name in the

Name in the

Cherubs on the tusks

Cheeriot on top

I polished off a box of cereal

On some rooftop

Just earlier,

Thanks for the reminder.

Imm burned as the beats on the countertop

Burned, like the end of the gun

Could have forgotten your number

Could have figured the father for

Dollars I've got in the

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

‘…is that a threat?'

‘Hm…'

If it was, it was at least a good one— I was scared, at first, upon seeing what I had thought to be perhaps a package robbery—but was actually just a slit through the package—a clean slice, more specifically, through the bubble wrapped [Redacted] package, however, its contents still inside; The package had been left underneath another—which didn't belong to me, and though I had been cornered by security more than once at the [Redacted] market, for putting my nutritional needs above that of my morality—or rather, thought my morlity to exclude guilt from the nessecities, especially as I often pondered upon the elite had kept the lower classes in a devolved state by controlling the price of wellness, so much so that it had become impractical for the common being. I had never even thought to swipe someone else's mail—a personal foul, and at least in turn in that matter to all respect with karma, had never had any packages stolen, either—not that I had lived indoors long enough to have warranted that I was safe from what sometimes seemed like the non-human animals, especially of New York City, who crawled about the lower realms littering and taking up precious time, space, and energy—the almost less-than-common man, but still, actually and unfortunately—common, especially in New York.

The Sage sticks and palo santo I had ordered were still intact, entirely— to my surprise, and I wondered what else my package might have included, without remembering such.

I had become enfuriated with [Redacted], after realizing that there had been hidden charges and unrecognizable fees, on my credit card, of all the places—the Capital One credit card, with sky high interest rates and robotic customer service drones—who I mostly would hate talking to— and it seemed as though the [Redacted] algorithm had become just as predatory as the rest of them—as uncivilized as the trash-dropping, coughing subhumans that plagued the post-pandemic world, if there was such a thing. The overcrowded mess and overall pollution of the city at whole at best made it still acceptable to wear masks in public, to which I took full advantage of doing, as needed—which was as often as possible, actually, if not to hide the curiosities, and of course, the objections to whatever it would be on the train that sparked distaste—worst yet, I might even smile, and reveal my gap-tooth, only acceptable on Hurley models and Madonna, of course—either of whom I wished I was.

It was 3:16 AM, and a long lost song found its way into my head as I fettered the words into the document, multitasking a “modest” breakfast as I mulled over the day, most of which I had spent attempting peace and solitude, neither of which actually even seemed attainable in my 3rd floor “office”, being so careful not to consider anything home or a comfort, for the fear that whatever Death curse someone had thought to m destroy me with once would extend into all the years and all the realms of my presence— it was true, as I explained to my aunt, that the people around me had within the last few years turned into demonic and vampiric advocates of what seemed to be the devil itself, were I even holy enough to be considered sacred in such a way that the devil may be chasing me—and I was, in some ways, but not in others—my ability to aggrandize my judgements and flex my morality where needed, but less when wanted as it stood true that I never actually enjoyed immorality—I hated living in a world where one would be made to steal, and made to lie, in order to survive. But that, for 30 years is where I had lived; in, for the most part, an evil world, ruled by man, as he denied and tortured all things that would be thought to be God—in his thirst for whatever it was that had waged a world of war.

It seemed as though someone were sending a message, and it had been years since I had felt safe or comfortable anywhere, anyway—so I thought it best not to care, knowing that all in all, that the intentional hurt and harm done to me by any man, or any entity otherwise, would prove to l invoke the karmic justice law unto itself; that whatever pain I experienced would be amplified by its giver, and reflected back—that anyone who intended to hurt or kill me—would only hurt or kill themselves in doing so.

At the very least, I was inspired to continue writing the script which I had drifted from entirely—its contents and its driver too mad to be palpable, however—as sometimes this kind of magic did occur in flashes at random, with vivid visions as if I were watching—or even living inside of the scene itself, spoke volumes that it should—or would, whether I wanted it or not, be written eventually.

‘Man, fuck Jimmy Fallon.'

I knew nothing of the man at all besides his name and occupation, and that something had plastered him permanently into my mind with some kind of irreparable cement I could not seem to break lose or free from—and it was going to stay that way. The entirety of the festival project and all I had been prompted to have written had become a massive headache.

I have a massive headache.

UGH.

Perhaps it was more multidimensionally attributed to the fact that I had been fawning over affordable razorblazes—I had been almost salivating at the thought of bleeding from my wrists—a constant pressure from the lack of things I wanted and needed piling up at my doorstep, my overdue bills, and the harrowing and what seemed like

*manacle. Hm.

A maniacle attack on my sanity, not actually practitioned by my abuser, but probably more likely the government, masquerading as such to plot and plan around various secret expirimentation, which would of course within the century become common knowledge, but as for such time we're simply conspiracies, perhaps to hide the shameful loss which was the war being fought with technology—which the dumbing down and brainwashing of millions had left us at an extreme risk, and those were were not at risk, with extreme bias against that which they had no ability or interest to understand.

Unremarkably so, I was still astonished that something did indeed seem to have happened—something that was not in my head at all, but rather, very much outside of it—and it was beginning to occur to me that perhaps others had gained an interest in what indeed seemed to be attacking me, for years, by then, with fear, humiliation, and detriment—to which I could only ever think to fight with white magic; there was a controlled chaos to what seemed like my being at a wits end, which I was, but also wasn't—for the most part, at least in public, I could take even the most outrageous offenses poignantly and tactfully, however sometimes realizing that—in Keisha having left her sunglasses behind, she had also left with them a little bit of Harlem—

“Move.”

The mindless drone controlled robots often stepped directly into my path, as if being driven by some force which was meant to annoy or some other way terrorize me—however, I had grown accustomed to new York's overall rudeness, and had become almost socially inept..speaking of

Just—socially unacceptable.

What is this?!

Gross.

What is this?!

Papaya juice.

Is this a fucking—?!

No it's a v8

My G-Wagon!

Nice.

Got it painted.

What color even is that?

It's like— mauve.

MOVE.

FUCKING-A.

Jesus Christ.

One time,

The white devil appeared as a fucked up

Edie Falco//

And I was so fed up-to-here

With The Bullshit,

That I didn't even care what happened if I —

MOVE OUT OF MY WAY:

OR WHAT?!

Damn, Mrs. Soprano, you look rough.

Are you sure that's not just

JACKIE.

WHAT.

That's the way

Uh huh

Uh huh

I like it

Uh huh

Uh huh

Schools out—

Party with my friends!

school's out!

I'm a genie in a bottle,

You gotta rub me the right way!

I been too strong, for too long

And I can't be without you baby!

Is that all of them?

Probably not:

So mix, then,

Probably not.

Well Why not?!

Because

My Serato's been acting horrible.

Tommy looked what I would learn to be like a be exact replica of 1988 Tom Cruise.

Which reminds me…

The 1987 Tom Cruise* is murdered by Supacree's jealous stalker, in a fit of rage, which spirals all known aliases and timelines into a terrible and chaotic nightmare, as

Wait, what.

I'm just being honest, I don't know how to write this.

Here, let me help.

YO.

wtf.

Should have had a V8!

SPLASH, BITCH.

WHERE's MY SHIIT, JIMMY?

It's gone, I broke it.

You what.

It's missing; I broke it.

What do you mean.

AHAHA.

Oh, I see what you mean, now.

Yeah, that guy is different.

[The amethyst shatters.]

NOH.

Woaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa_l

GOLD.

IT IS GOLDEN.

THE ORB.

What.

The orb. It has chosen you.

Uh. Oka.

Who the fuck are these creatures—?!

“Creetures”

I love them.

They are darling

They are cute.

Man, fuck with your bullshit—.

—Stay in fucking—

Where ever that's at!

This is “Queens”

Well, it's disgusting.

GET LOST.

Get lost HOW.

Everything's on a grid system!

FUCK. I lost it,

Damn.

Dang.

Well, wanna play again?

Nah, that's it.

What?! Come on.

No, seriously. I'm done.

Wait, what are you doing?

*pulls out rifle*

WOAH. WOAH.

You should go now.

What is that,

It's a gun, obviously.

What the fuck, man!

A rifle, actually, more specifically—

What—why—what are you gonna do with that thing?

I'm gonna shoot myself:

ano—

YES. In the head—

Don't do that;

And you, if you don't get out—

Wait!

Right now.

*aims*

Okay!

Ah shit, this is getting serious:

It s seriously like dick-deep in pussy in here right now.

Nay:

Maybe we should GO.

Hello. M—

Maybe we should stay:

What!

I like her.

Get off my property.

This is-/

This is MINE. I own this:

This one's Mine!

Oh, this is what they mean by “ecstatic dance”

Actually, my feet are just coldX…

Wait, hold on. Before you go off on a tangent about— mm—

What is that

I don't know what that is.

U don't know what it is

Look, I wanted that to be Dillon's baby so bad—

(So did he)

HAHAHAHA.

I will end u

Oh, baby, there's only one way you could ever do that.

Everyone

Thrrr she is.

She's back!

Aaaaaannnyyyeaaaayy—

Please explain to us what's happening in this movie.

Which movie

The Tom Cryise one,

Cause there can only be one Tom Cruise one

Because Tom cruise is Tom Cruise.

Wait. What.

TOM HANKS

YOU FORGOT MY NAME

BRIEfLY YES, but also—

That's WHY, this happened.

TOM CRUISE

I TOLD YOU

I TOLD YOU

I TOLD YOU-/

You STUPID BITC—

Look —

I gotta —

Oh wait, that still works.

What?! You fucked that guy too?!

NO.

I just.

This is a lot of space.

Well yeah, we're like—astronauts.

How did you get this all in your loft?

MAJOR TOM.

ALRIGHT. I GOT IT.

AHAHAHSJSJHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

NO MORE ECID.

YAYAYAY.

Whrrereeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Wherereere in my miiiiiiiiind.

Fuck I gotta buy that album….again

I know I bought it once.

dang. Youre cute,

I know, huh.

Buy me this

Ok.

[Beyoncé is not yet back with the coffee.]

Deja Vu, Beyoncé

Uh oh, uh oh—

Uh oh!

OHNONO

^

Matumbo

AIIIIIIIIGGGGGGGHHHHHHH.

Crazy in love— also Beyonce?

Destiny's ChildrenS

HAHAHA

OK.

FUCK YOU, DILLON FRANCIS.

DEADMAU5 IS A WAY BETTER CONTROLLER

*HEAPING GASP*

YOU—TAKE THAT BACK.

I WOULDNT.

I will END YOU.

YOU CANNOT.

Where the fuck is that lady from?

Oh, there she is!

Pity!

Oh dear!

She's NEGROID:

Shh, tisk-tisk.

[ANNE HATHAWAY dabbed tf out.]

Come on Annie! Get up!

[she is not getting up]

THINK OF THE KIDSz

*nope*

UGH.

WASTED.

That sucks! We gotta get her back in that princess movie before everything dies and we all collapse!

Which princess movie is it?!

Idk! Fuck this bitch!

She's like all the princesses!

KEKE Palmart*

Sure!

KEKE PALMER will be playing the PRINCESS from princess and the frog

Put the princess—IN—the frog!

NO.

PUT THE PRINCESS IN THE—

AGHHHH.

PUT DILLON FRANCIS, BACK IN THE OVEN.

NO

Ugh. He's so heavy!

He's not gonna fit.

He WILL fit:

NO:

SAY UNCLE.

ASHEJEBEB

SAY IT.

AAAAANNNNNNNNNNKKKKKKHHHH

[a giant Ankh falls from the sky]

Yo.

That cannot be a good sign.

I think it's not.

SUBTRONICS

*rips bong*

Hey! You made it!

Way, way late:

Nice!

Yes.

Why are you naked?

I don't know.

SOLEÏL.

Fuck, man.

Wizardrddd! What is this game?!

I dunno, but I just keep playing it.

This shit says.

This does say.

This shit says ballsacks.

I don't get kids these days

“Ballsacks”

Is that like, a good thing?

Depends who's saying

NEY-WHINNY-NEY-WHINNY-NEEEE

Horse:

ok, I win:

JOHNNY DEPP literally cannot speak.

Because he is not intoxicated.

At all.

lol someone help him, seriously.

Ok, keep going.

All the DISNEY CHANNEL KIDS are WILD ‘N OUT

Which is ironic because—

NICK CANNON

Yep,

Oh look, it's me again…

NICK CANNON

Look, the Nickelodeon Cult—

What;

I mean—

The Illuminati just called,

They want their stuff back.

What STUFF.

SAY IT.

NEVER THAT.

SAY MY NAMEs

PASSWORD

FALLON, YOU FUCKING HACK.

oh, I'm a ‘hack' now that's—

“Haha”

Who's laughing?! You should be crying right about now.

I'm an actor.

Very funny.

Tears of a clown.

Shut up:

I am crying, on the inside.

-_-

Sit down, dipshit:

Ooh, now I'm dip—

*cocks pistol*

Shit,

I thought you couldn't—

Oh no, this part of the series gets pretty—

You're in deep fucking shit;

[JIMMY FALLON sits calmly at his desk, he scoops some “sugar” into his coffee and stirs, seemingly emotionless.]

CUT TO

DANCE BREAK.

I wanna hold 'em like they do in Texas, please

CUT TO:

Texas border patrol holding cell.

DIPLO

(In a stupid ass cowboy hat) m

*jail door slams*

AH, COME ON.

Fold 'em, let 'em hit me, raise it, baby, stay with me (I love it)

I thought it was…

“A little gambling is fun when you're with me”

(I love it.)

Maybe it WAS.

What year was that anyway?

Idk. What year was any year before

[Lyrics Genius]

Flashback: The 2000's

Rewind it again.

What did she just say?

Idk.

What did he say?

Damn.

Fuck, I missed it.

Love game intuition, play the cards with spades to start

THE ACE OF SPAAAAAAADES.

Okay. Fine. He wants to be Satan?

He's Satan.

Yo, that's— SATAN.

[Skrillex is Satan]

Yeah, but he's so fucking cute.

Supacree, what are you doing?

BRB, I'm gonna go fuck this lil ass [censored]

Damn.

Ok.

S/he does not fuck around, that guy.

Yeah, that guy.

And after he's been hooked, I'll play the one that's on his heart

I guess we'll just have to…

wait till they play it on the radio again… /

Wait till the next rave.

fuck.

MIXTAPES. GETCHUR MIXTAPES.

La da da Dee da da duh duhhh

La da da Dee da daaaah da duuuuuum

La da da da de da

La da da da Dee da

Da da Dee da da da da dum

Okay, Google, let's see what you got.

I got—Reddit..

r/NameThatSong

5 yr. ago

Surprentis

Join

hey you guys remember that song from back in the day that went "la da dee da da da daaaa, la da dee da da da daaaaa, ah la da dee daaa da la daa dee daaa daa daa dee daa da daaa da daaaaa" i feel like it was on night at the roxbury maybe im wrong..

uh, ok—

wtf is “night at the Roxbury”

…Google?

GOOGLE

Here: you'll like this.

Oh shit, ‘98 …

FINALLY. JESUS CHRIST.

Holy shit, you were on SNL in 1998?!

Yes.

How the fuck old are you? Jesus Christ!

JESUS CHRIST

…not as old as me.

[but everyone's still mad as fuck at Jesus for eating all of the pizza]

wtf, man:

Just— inhaled it.

*gnarf*

Actually, you know what:

Just stay—celibate:

Oh check it out.

THIS lady only shows up if I—

*squints* if you what:

Nothing.

Nothing.

ANNNNNNNE. GET. UP.

She's not gonna go.

She's dead bro.

I'm not dead!

YES!

oh! She's up!

YES

*barfs*!

[instantly back asleep] —m—

That's it

We're fucked.

Disney's gonna kill us.

The Illuminati's gonna kill us!

Disney is the Illuminati.

Yeah, but like—for kids.

THIS IS NOT FOR KIDS.

THIS IS NOT FOR KIDS.

KIDS

AVERT YOUR EYES, CHILDREN!

All sixteen pairs of them!

wtf who has that many kids

Eight fucking kids, bro.

^_- ok, I like her.

Yeesss.

Ya. Imm drunk.

K.

gargle!

Nah!

GARGLE, RIGHT NOW OR I'll wash your mouth with soap!

[pulls gun]

THATS NOT SOAP.

MY GUN'S NAME IS “SOAP”

Shit, why are there so many guns in this shit?!

Because

Skrillex is like, Cartel, or whatever.

And like—the Bloods.

☠️

And the Crips, probably, also—

Like I said,

He is Satan.

GET OVER HERE AND-

SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOTTTT:

I got nothin.

What:

I got//

Zero scenes

You got no scene, broh?

No scenes.

None?

Zip.

None?

Zero.

Woah.

Hold up.

will— uh—

“powers”

Ferrel—like an animal that won't shut up, or something?

Will bite you—may be rabid—

Feral? You mean?

Sure; whatever.d

Just, stop talking,

How the fuck do you do the same movie— like— infinitely.

Recap: every will ferret*

Sure!

EVERY WILL FERRELL MOVIE IS ULTIMATELY...

They're all the same movie!

GET UP,

After waking up in a hungover/still intoxicated rage, Anne Hathaway causes a showdown worthy of historical proportions, which concludes with her legendary “yeet” of a mysterious object of extra planetary origin—this initiates round two of the party which never should have happened, and almost never ended.

In another parallel cross dimension:

Irl JIMMY FALLON and Ū are imaginary friends; rather, Ū is a figment of JIMMY FALLON's imagination and vice-versa—this scene pays homage to Wilfred; they share stories with one another as they pass the bong/blunt in a solid back-to-back rotation, making the tragic stories they are telling almost hilarious, but only because they are so generously stoned.

—_—

So wait, he like—

*passes blunt*

—Here, take this—

—Yeah—

*passes bong*

—Just switch me—

Yee.

So he like—“yeeted” your baby?

He Yeeted my baby.

*blowing out, coughing*

That's not supposed to happen.

No, it is not.

Here, switch me.

*switch*

*rips*

*shaking head in stoniness*

[beat]

So like—

*rips bong*

—you're like, Ū, so—

You're like…

I'm like, everybody.

Right?

Yeah.

Yeah!

I'm Ū, dawg.

That is a cool name.

Is—a cool name

*hits blunt*

Here, switch me—

*rips bong*

Is—not—a cool power to have.

I bet not, though.

You would imagine

I wouldn't, that's in—coughs—sane.

It is insane: cover your mouth:

Sorry.

No you're not,

So how are you not like—

Like what?

I'm Ū, there what//

So how are you not like—

Seth McFarle—uhh

Seth McFarlen lol *e

What

Uh, I am.

SETH MCFARLENE

No you're not, I'm right here.

*suddenly not stoned*

What the FUCK man:

Woah, Seth McFarlene.

HOW DID YOU GET INTO MY OFFICE.

I walked in.

That's boss status.

What the fuck!

I locked it!

You did not. I walked in—like right behind you guys

You probably forgot…

You—I forgot—

He forgot to lock The Rock

lol stop

Walk it out,

Now walk it out

//

Walk it like I talk it

Talk it like I

RUN BITCH

RUN FLORIST, RUN!!!

Lmfao. Ok.

CUT BACK TO:

You probably forgot, dude.

Alright, Seth McFarlene.

Just—*hits blunt* stop talking .

Load another bowl

Giggity!

*passes blunt*

You want this?

No, I'm straight.

Are you, though?

What?!

Yeah, I'm—

I mean, l'm good on the—

You know what?

Fuck it, gimmie that.

Yee.

Sauce.

[there is a knock at the door]

Welp,

I gotta go.

[Jimmy Fallon is suddenly alone in his office, with a blunt in one hand and a bong in the other. The lights automatically shut off; the coffee maker brings brewing automatically—-three more knocks at the door.]

*sighs*

[explitive]

CUT TO:

That fucking rager

Is it day?! Is it night?!

We don't know!

It's been months, probably

Weeks, at best—

But all we actually know about this time and place is that—

The HATTER is here.

For fucks SAKE.

GIVE ME ANOTHER BEER, SOMEBODY. ANYBODY.

lol Johnny Del*.

Sure

JOHNNY DEPP

is drinking

Duh

*beer?!

Uh huh

That's all we have, man.

*light beers

I'MMM BUZZZZZED LIGHTYEAR

BUUUUUUUZZXXXED LIGHTYEARR

no, Tim Allen, not yet.

Fuck, on that note

Now I know why

THERES A SNAKE IN MY BOOT

yeah there is!

Ok, ew

Ok, gross

Stop

ew

Stop

Ew.

Cut lil blonde

Hot as Finneas O' Connell

Possible homosexual, but god love him

Cause I'm hungry

Lookin for lunch

Somebody as scrunches

Pull up and crunches

Cause my monster is

Lookin to

Humpty Dumpty

Fuck, I forgot Rosie O'Donnal!

I cant get no Satiafaftion— The Rolling Stones

What's wrong, Saint Jimmy?

Luscius?

What is it.

Precious would like to see you.

Oh.

The prince Lucius hasn't left his chamber in days—however, as his brother Percius has just returned from war, he quickly emerges from his resting place, an alter of sorts.

Damn, I'm getting a headache.

I almost never have headaches.

It was true, and of course, as I started to write about this prince and his so said brother, Lucius and Perseus, I was reminded once more of Athens, where I had just been however briefly, in a short astral trip of sorts, wandering about in the dreamworld, looking for something or someone in place of my pillow to hold.

Did you want to walk to Trader Joe's?

I mean, kind of, but no.

My muscles were sore and I had just spent some two hours in the gym, not on purpose but quite by accident, though only having run just under two miles, though at least uphill, and spending the rest of the time lifting—I had been bound to mostly beans and rice, and so however was bloated and gassy, quite slow and not as strong, my regular protein just out of reach…

Dang. I have so much to fucking so today.

I hadn't realized that somehow it was Saturday, although just a couple days before had been a Wednesday that felt like Sunday, and now again time was all out of sorts; it was a “holiday” weekend, and I was without a doubt, drowning in my own having-to-do's, and as such, weekends and days off were entirely not a thing, besides in ways that those bustled around me—and I was sure that some days had been lost, as I was planning to visit the food bank on Friday, but had somehow skipped over the end of the week entirely—somehow, that is, and I was sure sometimes that in skipping days, meditating and fasting about, however intermittently, that time itself shuffled in all the ways I had, between cross dimensions and parallels such as I—I had been hovering somewhere between the 6th and. 10th dimensions, for the most part, and none with having to understand the undoubted shifts in my own perception of time that were bound to happen, as I sprawled across the astral plains looking and searching for a sign that the tragic poverty, restlessness, and lack of peace wound end.

Bound to your alter, my dear brother?

Aye.

So perhaps here there was another unfounded kingdom within the realm of Ascencia—Lucius, a prince, and Percius—seemingly slated the King, and yet I had unreached such a conclusion as to assimilate an entirely factionrd world, as of yet.

What did you write last night?

Uh…I don't know.

Well, let's see

Something had shaken me from my almost-sleep, laying sprawled across my bed, in the middle of the mattress, rather than to either side, which was rare; I typically preferred the left side of the mattress, anyway, but as I waited to launder my bedding, after a sweaty and sweltering almost summer day of lounging, smothered in shea butter and lasidasicly scrawling about what recordings had been buried in my phone, between the collection of books I had practically all found in the streets of New York and the rising temperatures of the tepid summer weather, my room was starting to smell funny—and without being able to burn sage anymore, for fear of being thrown back into the streets like a dog, I with every hope in the world figured that washing my thick bedding, comforter included, would restore the crisp and rigid, almost factory clean that I found satisfactory.

Songs buzzed in and out of my head as if I hadn't enough already much to do—and still, I added into my growing pile of notes and mounds of work, even more songs—this time, The Rolling Stones.

I can't get no

Satisfaction…

…but I try—

—and I try—

—and I try—

And I try!

I can't—get no—!

God, I wish I could write something like that.

The rock Gods had at the very least been accompanying me, and in a certain sense, so had the Gods at The Rock;

I had been forced up out of my dormant state by a voice which urged me away from my near sleep—I had been up since six AM and it was something past midnight, and still the voice said—

“Get up and write!”

And though I had words tinkering around in my head like little coins in some sort of metal box, none of them quite made so much since that I had to get up and write—however, still the voice, though not angry, but firm, insisted.

The voice, for once, sounded female— a welcome change, and though I had become quite fond of males in general, in the solemnly celibate sense, it was a difference and yet none at all— a voice of wisdom had projected itself at me, and as I dragged myself about, reaching for a notebook and flipping through the pages, finding that the notebook was practically full…

‘great, more shit to do'

I held the words that had tinkered around in my mind like little whispers until I found a page to make them full formed, and the words which fell into my hand as scriptured by the pen—my favorite writing utensil, nearly out of its cherishable gel ink, danced upon the page nearly on its own, channeling the words written as such:

Once prosperous to throw

The stone asunder

Glisten whispers of water

Tears of al tears |ter|

Of the altar,

For follow for fello,

A felon of Antigone

Grace, with shield

A tattered tail,

So flew with feathered Phoenix

? Feared,

Foreshadowed not,

Agreed upon however,

Was the velvet woven path of us,

So honored in her fortress .

Yeah, something about Rockefeller plaza.

Well there were all these hooded figures in like weird, brown velvet robes—

That's true, I saw that.

Yeah, I was there,

You WHAT,

Look what I got.

Fuck me, man.

You know, there's a lot more to this story.

I was hoping so, but however also, hoping not.

Man, Jimmy fallon's wife is super hot.

Gee!

Yeah man, she's so cute.

W0W.

I like her,

They're Gods.

I think they're Gods.

yuh.

What else did I write?

There was something else?

What the fuck is wrong with that guy?

Somethin.

Yeah.

The pages of the notebook were all full, something of a book of shadows and protection spells I had used in an attempt to ward off my ex husband—how of course, that they were done with, I should very well have been jotting them into with all the notes, into the documents—later to burn them, unable to afford the parchment book I wanted.

For what a withered wa t would call and honor m for fortunes duty,

Glorified wherein in am shadows,

Cast upon reflections in redacted incantations and enchantments, foreword come, theone who waits

Believing darkness be his fate

Whatever, man.

Fuck Jimmy Fallon.

If you really feel that way!

I feel a lot of ways.

Well, don't.

I'm so, so hungry…

So, so lonely…

So, so fuckin broke.

Man—I learned all this dumb ass magic just to protect myself from this guy, and all this still happens!

I think it's just Satan.

[Satan Appears]

Man— she is JACKED.

Try this one.

Flllow me, boy!

Uh— okay.

I'm staying single forever.

Don't look at me.

That's my girl.

Don't look at me.

What the fuck. Stop looking at her:

Don't look at me!

Men are hopeless.

Fuck dude, like, the worst thing imaginable is that this Jimmy Fallon dude actually hates me so much for this—

What? Uh oh.

And is so fucking powerful.

He is. A very, very powerful.

Well, what is it!

We don't— know.

*gasps*

He's a—

SHHHHHH.

[Redacted]

Well, that's not doing much, is it?

Seriously, just kill yourself again.

Might have to!

Fuck, why do all these robot demons SMELL like him?

Satan?

Yep.

Satan

?!

I'm—

Seriously, save him.

Seriously, God really loves Jimmy Fallon—

(He's one of my favorites.)

Favorite what's?!

Just—favorites.

Damn. This is getting to be like Greek Theatre.

Great. Now everybody's gonna fucking die.

It could be a comedy.

Holy shit, yeah—

This has mad good production value.

I love it!

Strange shit

I just did give my OWSLA tat a kiss

Smile for the camera,

Pageantry of mattresses,

A master of the MagicIan's chance at

Chancellors dance,

Look at Harrison trance

Can I run a mile for President?

A toy chest,

A boy, just Obama

I'm so much older

Been through such trauma

What the Willy wonka

I should apply for Harvard

New York over Boston

So Columbia or Juliard

I wish

Son of a bitch, this is tragic

I'm too old for scholarship

Diploma's in another name

I just got protective orders on

I should start over

But the world war is another

Trump drama

My Amazon cart is full of karma

What you want from God?

A trophy husband,

Let's call him

Oscar

-undefeated.

All this is weird

I think imm married to the music

Think of growing a beard

Opening a beer

And getting out of here

All of my fears is

Mommy dearest mommy dearest

All of my hell is

A body

Imm a seed in a forest

Been buried

Bipolar,

Supposedly,

So tell me,

Faery;

How could I love you

The way I I do

If my mood

We're atabilized

My blu life

Gave me blue eyes

Clean tub of water

I don't belong here

It's too late for me too

Swapping Vogue for the People

My people who hate me

But I been so played,

The hatred betrays me

I walk both ways

Down a one way street

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Written and Preformed by C'cxell Soleïl

'All In A Day's Work' (2024)

'Open The Bottle' [Working Title]
{Enter The Multiverse} - LEGENDS

Open the bottle up, wont you

Open the models up, you don't

But you're supposed to

Don't go with the

Hope,

You're just a dope fiend

Role model, supposed to cope

But you're supposed to know

You don't fit the mold, you know

Life is a joke you know

The show is a closer

To open up,

Posters,

You're roasted, though

You open the bottle up

I'll open my heart

A ship sunk in the bathtub

You know what?

You're drunk

Pushing the envelope

Post office closed,

You don't show

But you're Golden

Don't trust you

You know what?

You're drunk

Just put the candles on,

Go run the bathtub

Pull up Fallon

You're broke, you know

You're no fun

So

Open the bottle up, won't you?

Talk the the models and stars

Stitches, and pitches and cars

Open the bottle up, won't you

Open the bottle up, wont you

Open the models up, you don't

But you're supposed to

Don't go with the

Hope,

You're just a dope fiend

Role model, supposed to cope

But you're supposed to know

You don't fit the mold, you know

Life is a joke you know

You know what?

You're drunk

Don't you know?

Open the door,

A soft spoken

A broken heart,

Go fix your model car

It won't start

Soft spoken notes

Blow tokens of dandelions

Smile for the cameras,

Blow smoke

Like the roll models

Don't fit the code you know

Show me your cards

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

FARRO!

Good sire!

My liege!

Come quickly,

We've not much to tell you;

But even less time,,

to do so.

…why?

Because!

Here they come!

It's lost–

Now, it's gone

Now, you run.

Don't run off

On your mark

(marker)

Get set

I'm gonna need a clapboard for this.

What brought you up

It was under the table

What woke you up?

It was aprt of a song or something–

The line was

Notch in your bedpost

Line in a song

Notch in a bedpost

Line in a song

Red rover,

Come lover

come

Incubus/

succubus

Yup.

Run.

Incubus/

Succubus

“The Incubus, Succubus Song”

THIS IS ALL OF THE SONGS.

Suxks balls.

DAAAAAMN

What woke YOU up

Hot lava.

NOPE.

Interdisciplinary aleegience to the illuminati.

yup .

damn , you suck.

What was I gonna do?

Work at Walmart, like the rest of us.

NOPE.

KILL YOURSELF

KILL YOURSELF AGAIN

Uh uh

JUST JUMP.

…rope.

HANG—---------------------------------------------------------------GLIDER.

Slow down, would you.

NOPE.

Great, gotta go find that guy now…

TOM HANSON

WHAT FOR?!

CHANCE THE RAPPER

AH.

great . nw i dropped my hat.

GOD

That's another$15,000

DO the hat dance.

Which one

the – one with the sobreros

OOh.

Somber Hoes.

We like those.

MEANWHILE

Nope. its really stuck in there.

It's never gonna come out

Will this suffice.

yeah . i'm up.

yeah ,i guess this is what method looks like

When you're anchored to an island

that basically functions as a

giant

A GIANT

A giant fucking antenna.

W0AH.

JUST DO IT ALREADY.

LET GO.

NOOO.

Ok. i'm gonna throw up

Don't throw up, cause if i let go

*lets go*

OH LOOK. A RAINBOW.

NOOOOOOOO nOOOOOOOOO

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

This is getting difficult

NO it isn't.

I'm going to be candid for just a moment…

GOD

WHAT

I need you to answer my question–

which QUESTIOn.

The–i mean like

Pretty much all the questions.

I'm just now only to

S

Shh. don't say it.

It might come back.

COELACANTH!

COELACANTH!

spectacular .

It really was.

Hmmm.

….

MAXWELL

,....Cola cans.

Ok.

Now i'm trippin balls.

COELACANTH

…erm…

Come on, man–

This is ridiculous.

RIDICULUS!

Riddikulus

Wtf kind of cloud is THIS.

A cumulus

Gazuntite.

COELACANTH

…bananas.

WHAT?!

IT SPEAKS.

IT WANTS BANANAS!

GIVE IT BANANAS.

Oh shit! It's–

THE NANNY NAMED FRAN

Way back then.

EVEN THEN.

ILLUMINATI

OPEN MY EYE

CHILD

NO

ILLUMINATI

FINE.

I'LL DO IT.

AAAAA

–bless you.

Oh, it's you again.

Zoboomafoo

Hey boss.

Hey what.

Can you send me another one?

MORE FRY SAUCE.

Fuck, dillon.

Why are you so fucking fat right now?

WHY GOD.

I like ur boobs tho.

They are nice.

–What!

I gave you Keisha!

Yeah, i like her and all, it's just

EXT. ONE NIGHT. SOMEWHERE.

…when?

WHENEVER

Look, i'm gonna be like,

the highlight of your whole life, alright.

…alright!

but first things first

what.

Gotta get that–

Revisions.

HOW MANY REVISIONS OF COMPLICATIONS IS THIS

TEN

I WANT THAT PLUG.

denied .

GIVE ME THAT

fuck .

what .

I got a show tnight. I gotta get…

gone .

Did she go?

no .

Why not?

There it is?

What, Elle?

That–that color.

Why on earth would you ever want to be that blonde?

DO IT AGAIin.

Ok.

CUT TO:

[THE COSMIC AVENGER has turned Ū (for literally ALL intensive purposes) into a

PINECONE.

That's it?
That's the trup.

That's it.

That's the trip?

I guess.

AHAHA

I HAVE TURNED YOU NOW AND FOREVER

INTO A TROLL DOLL.

NO.

(amen)

YOU DONE DONE IT AGAIN.

MESSAGGGGGGGGGGEEEEEEEEEEE

Hi, I'm Seven.

Ok. This is

CUT BACK TO:

it was good.

It was “ok”

It was GREAT

It's just–

It's just what, dickface.

JUST DO IT.

JOSH PECK

I AM. JUST. DOING IT.

AND DOIN iT

AND DOIN IT

AND DOIN IT

RUN

INDIGENEUSES

AYAYAYAYA

EYEYEYEYEYEYEYEYEYE

[ILLUMINATI, UNLOCKED]

I gotta get out of this game, yo.

This is unreal.

*passes the torch*

Oh NO

Yur an OLyMpIAn

NO NO

RUN

Uh.

What shall I do with this?

(no = response whatsoever)

I know.

I shall give this to

Uh

THE POPE

THE POPE.

[looking down at garb]

What am I, THE POPE?

Hey look. A rope.

This had better not be for hanging yourself with.

Ok.

This isn't political.

HEY LOOK, A NOOSE.

that's … there.

HEY LOOK, ANOTHER NOOSE

Ok. i have to get out of the deep south now.

Wtf year is this.

like right NOW.

DAMN.

JUMP.

NO.

Let go.

NO.

Look at this

WTF IN THE FUCK

INT. WHENEVER. IN THE FUCK.

wait , bring this guy back real quick

ANDY SANDWHICH

sure , why not

Hold on, let me try

ANDY SANDBOUROUGH

Huh

ANDY

Look. ok. I lied.

Lied about what.

I NEVER LIE.

I see yur face at night,

I learn to dream.

What the fuck is this.

Hold on, i'm breaking into song.

THAT'S SO RAVEN

look . if my visions ever get THI vivid.

Oh. i get it.

I am the Illuminati.

just

TURN IT OFF.

TURN IT OFF.

TURN IT OFF.

ok . this is awful.

Get more stoned

*deep inhale*

Yur right. It rocks.

see .

CUT BACK, like WAY WAY BACK

Get in the way, way back

why

Cause you're like, small enough

SAUL.

WHat

I NEED–

wait . is that guy a lawyer

There was a spinoff.

How'd that show go again?

SHUT THE LIGHTS OFF.

WAT.

NOW TURN THEM BACK ON

I'm gonna get killed.

*sniffs*

nope . still not high enough.

CHRIST,

HOW MANY DRUGS IS THAT GUY ON.

ok , lets just be honest.

I can't write that.

Why.

DOCTOR

…is this the right dimension.

MICHAEL HACKSON

No. no it is not.

Put me back under, Doc.

DOCTOR

Are you sure?

Maybe you need like, a white doctor

MICHAEL

NO,

You're the right one.

Lets go.

Lets stop now, this is awful.

Hold on, my wings are comin in.

If you're not gonna let go,

Then i will

DON'T.

GOD

BALLS

See look. This is my show now.

okay , it's my turn.

ROCK

How ya doin, Jared

JARED

bad . i'm bad.

THE WHOLE ISLAND

w0w

So that's how much that costs.

ah , the rock sauce

DWANE JOHNSON

I'M A GOD

NO, NO,

NOOOOO

Turn this off.

I like.

Srsly cant.

PAPARAZI

THERE S/HE is!

[RU PAUL IS GOD]

RU

Ok. that wa savage

KU//KA

So wait, ALL these bitches like to copy me?

All of them.

I'M A GOD

Fuck that.

I wanna be a rockstar now!

What.

ROCKSTAR

ok , i gotta like

Get like, diagonal, or something

Holy shit, broh.

I've been flying this meaphrical kite out of my

[BACKEND]

For like

wait , how long's it been

STORY LORD

GET IN THE HOLE

NO.

RICK

I told you, there was a twist

JUSTIN

Put me back in

RICK

NO. YOU DIE NOW.

AHA. OUT OF THE GAME.

I QUIT.

I WIN.

IN REAL TIME:

Uh oh !

You're out of coffee.

Uh oh.

I DO NOT want to go to trader joes.

For some reason,

These two weirdos, at one point

Before we were famous, maybe

way , way before that

Why

because , i just MET her.

She's not my friend.

She's my

MY BESTFRIEND.

BEST FRIENd

who is this

Tell her is skrillex.

She'll get it.

WAKE UP, IT'S SKRILLEX

I AM NOT GOING TO

You have to go.

You showed us.

Now you have to go.

LIZ LEMon

LEM

Aww, come ON.

*kaBOOM*

You have to have watched this show to even get that.

Can't.

Why not.

Can't watch that show.

Can't watch this.

Can't listen to that.

What happened.

NOTHIN.

KITE ATTACK

LIZ LEMON

(drunkenly)

I–DO–NOT WANT–

TO GO TO THERE.

It shouldn't be that staggered.

It should not be that hard to kidnap

that chick.

It could be.

If she was THIS FAT

GET.

IN

NO

THEVAN

I donT WANNA GO TO FAT CAMP

Too bad.

Cause that's attractive

GODDAMN.

yeah dawg, she's like 4'10

really?!

YAS.

wtf.

EXT. BEDROCK. DAY.

…Pebbles?

………..BAMBAM?

DAMN!

DAM

We should definitely build this

yeah . put this here.

WHY ARE WE BEAVERSSSSSSS.

cause .

Fuck dude. I gotta get back to 2025

This whole place is gone now.

why .

Tell me why

oh god almighty

GOD ALMIGHTY

EVAN

Oh no. it's a story hole

STORY LORD

K bye

Fuck it,

we're

Gone now.

THE TIME MACHINE.

OH. IT”S BACK.

GIVE IT ALL YOU'VE GOT

I don't get it.

Whats up.

It's like….

It's like, raining bananas,but they

‘Re going

“UP”

neeeeeee000oooooww

BOOM<<<<<<<

*PLANE CRASH!*

AIRPLANE!

fuck , i hate that movie.

DO YOU NOW?

No. i love it.

Maybe it's just

IT's the

THIS IS THE ALBUM ART.

This is so uncomfortable.

DUH.

here .

What's this.

It's a jar of peanut butter.

Why do i need this.

Time's up.

MR. MACY

*sir

Right.

Are you aware that there's to be–

Are you serious

–A parade in your namesake?

ARE YOU CRAZY

PUT ME IN THE GAME.

PUT ME IN THE GAAAAAAAME.

NO NIGGA, NO.

STOP SAYING THAT

I SAY WHAT I WANT

I DO WHAT I WANT

I'M GAY NOW.

SUNNI.

WHAT.

your lips ar crusty.

Cause i'm NIggAz

COVER UP.

WHY.

Cause you have a contract with smuckers

COMMERCIAL

SUCK MY

[YUM!]

{SMUCCKERS]

mmm . gross.

what

That is gross.

that due

Lil bitzzzzzzzz

I watchin ol commercials from my childhood

That shit was nutz.

I watched this commercial for one of those TV dinners,

it was incredible

I could still taste the BOX.

The funnest thin about the commercial was,