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Ascension

Farro, a reclusive alchemist hailing from the far away crystalline caves of Avallia, returns to the Valley In The Kingdom of Acenscia once Per Revolutionary Orbit, to relay to The Ascended Mastery his findings, Astral Readings, Predictions from the Outer Realms, and Oracles from Beyond Infinity, In The Greater Unknown.

He is thought to be the most powerful Wizard in this, and perhaps even of the outer realms; which caters to his illusive habits, and social dissertation–however, he remains friendly with C'esme't, as she sometimes visits the caves of Avallia, en route to certain tasks or journeys in the outer realms, often bearing fruits or other rarities as gifts, merely in exchange for his time–which she deems to be precious, allotting to the differences in their respective perceptions of the construct itself.

Petrutheio approaches Gían ferociously, in irritation after being bombarded with numerous visions

Why is it, lately, that you are constantly in my mind's eye?

Perhaps it's that you've become quite fond of me—

Perhaps it's with whom you've been spending your time.

—and ‘with whom' might that be?

With my wife!

Yet to be…

If you truly were wise, you'd depart from this realm immediately, in order to best preserve your life.

Is that a threat?

Look me in my eyes.

Should I adjust my distance or my height?

Look at me.

I see you.

Mark my words:

Oh, but–I haven't a pen to write them—

Then store them carefully in your memory--

What? I'm listening.

C'esme't is my one and only Queen; She has by Prophecy, been bonded and betrothed to me.

Are you reiterating the Prophecy to yourself, or relaying it to me?

Let me state this more clearly--

With ‘clarity', you mean;

You should leave—

Why so urgently?

Both urgently and immediately, actually.

Is that a suggestion?

For now, maybe.

Are you implying you would remove me forcefully from this Kingdom, otherwise?

Huh.

[A silent tension.]

You will see.

[He leaves calmly.]

C'ESME'T.

Stop bothering me.

What are these devastating lucidities you've dared to dream?

Is it daring?

You're my Queen.

I'm a lady, not a possession.

(grimaces)

What's a ‘lady'

[A bold look.]

C'esme't.

What of Persephone?

She's no more than nothing.

So, ‘nothing', then?

No more than it.

___

SIR JYRE!

MY LIEGE!

Where is C'esme't!?

I don't know…

Don't lie to me!

Why not? It's fun.

Is banishment fun?

Mine, or yours?

Where is she!?

[a slight gasp/beat]

…my dear nephew—

—we're not related—

—not by blood…

Where is C'esme't?

[he pauses for a moment, before turning away to pour a drink.]

You should sit.

I'm fine, thanks.

Drink?

[Petruthieo pauses for a moment, reflecting on the previous night's happenings.]

I don't drink.

Maybe you should.

Where's my Queen?

—Is she yours?

I'll have you exiled.

No you won't.

I won't?

[sir jyre turns to produce a small golden charm, which swings, sparking at the end of a golden chain. Without hesitation, Petrutheo is immediately familiar.]

Where's she gone?

You'll either sit, or you'll drink if you really want to know.

Petrutheo sits, flushed and defeated.

I'll tell you—

What is it?

I am under strict confidentiality enforcements.

How exactly strict

She'll kill me—-and you.

Gían comes running into the room, flustered.

Where is she?!

—and him.

What are you doing?

–dying.

Die faster.

Q: How do you break up with deadmau5.

A: You don't.

JOEL

TALK TO THE HEAD.

Oh, come on!

What is this.

Idk. I figured if there was a dimension where SUPACREE is dating DIPLO–

Ew.

What.

Ew.

–Then there's probably one where she's got somethin' going on with that guy.

How do you figure.

Hm.

Hm.

Interesting.

Very Interesting

Grow up. We all have

–girlfriends.

–jobs to do.

–secret fetishes.

Sick.

This is retarded.

Turn this off.

I want to die.

WHERE IS SKRILLEX.

Skrillex is playing mountain man with a bunch of fake models and rapper dudes,

Woah.

He looks different.

What happened.

More on that later. Or not.

Oh, come on!

Everybody. Shut up.

Not me, right?

Especially you.

*eyes*

what's 9x9?

Uhhh–

Are you serious?

This isn't math!

Everything is math!

HOW IS THIS MOVIE CAST?

CAN DEADmAU5 ACT?

–short anser: YES.

Long Answer:

By The time this movie gets made, we'll all be dead.

We're all dead now.

Dead *and* gone.

*crowd gasps exaggeratedly*

I THOUGHT THIS MOVIE WAS ABOUT SKRILLEX.

It was- he didn't like it.

Why wouldn't he like it?

You called him a “nigga” 47 times.

Was it 47?

At the SUPERBOWL.

I guess that makes him the champion of niggas.

I guess so.

Whatever happened to Dillon Francis.

Idk he's pussywhipped or something. I guess.

Nice.

Still gettin it.

Shut up, fans.

Okay, ouch.

How.

How–??

How does someone with THIS MUCH pride and THIS MUCH ego get THIS MUCH power?

Probably with all that pride and ego.

This is correct.

____

{JOSHrushes in violently.]

DRAKE

Uh huh…

SOMETHING IS WRONG.

…what makes you say that…?

LOOK AT ME.

I see you…

I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY.

–how am I supposed to tell that just by looking at you?

YOU ARE SUSPICIOUS.

[suspiciously]

No I'm not?

[He violently grabs DRAKE by his lapel; gripping him with a fierce and wild look in his eyes]

Look Motherfucker;

I am looking!

I have always wanted to kill you–and now there's NOTHING stopping me.

EXCEPT THE LAW–

[MEGAN/MIRANDA/CARLY enters mysteriously.]

Unhand the boob.

BOTH

….MEGAN?!

JOSH

(er…wait)

Sure.

[They stare at her in awe; her silhouette grasping at the shadows of the dimly lit space; she is dressed in a sultry black dress, sheer panty hose, and knee high boos, with a matching fedora and puffs seductively on a long and narrow cigarette from the extra long holster. ]

Separate.

[They obey, bewildered.]

Sit.

You smoke now?

Sometimes. For dramatic effect.

This is uncomfortable.

Very unsettling.

Wait.

Wait.

Are we filming right now.

Is someone filming?

[Breaking 4th wall.]

Camera's always rolling.

;;PAUSE.

Oh, that's why Drew Barrymore was in my dream last night.

This is a lot of celebrities.

GOD

I'm working on something.

::||ALRIGHT, UNPAUSE.

Hold on a second.

No, we're rolling.

–I am one-hundred percent heavily medicated right now.

I second that.

Ditto.

–I'm also slightly intoxicated.

Also that.

Hashtag “me too.”

No “hashtag me too”

DOn't say that in Hollywood!

It was a joke! I was kidding!

That's not funny.

Nobody's laughing!

C'mon! I meant–I'm like, drunk right now–

Still though–

Very tacky…

I've been day drinking.

Drinking and smoking?! I don't believe you!

Oh, you don't?

[beat]

hmm .

[Shrugs, admittedly.]

Wait, wait–hold it.

No holding, we're rolling.

Are we rolling–?

Holding…

And…We're rolling!

I'm definitely rolling.

Drake!

I'm rolling. Ballsacks.

C'mon, man!

*drake being dumb*

I'm being serious!

So am I.

This is serious. *smokes*

Gross.

Stop doing that.

Doing what? This is what I do…

No, I mean: I woke up this morning and I swear to God–

Woah!

Don't do that.

I did everything under the sun EXCEPT go to work to be on TV for a show I wrapped like 15 years ago!

You–WHAT?

Uhhh…

Is this real?

…

…

…

Damn. this just got super existential; I have to take a second to summerize this, I'll fill in the dialogue late , I guess

The scene was running on anyway.

What? I liked it.

Anyway,

So what we have here is a cross-dimensional triad: DRAKE has been running throughout the interdimensions of time, but unbeknownst to the audience is which DRAKE this is; is this the real life DRAKE BELL, actually a fictional character written into the fabric of SUPACREE'S reality as fate would have it–or the fictional DRAKE from DRAKE & JOSH; Although apparently heavily medicated, JOSH PECK, the actor has been tossed into a nightmarish infinite loop along with other various HOLLYWOOD CELEBRITIES, as SUPACREE has opened various portals throughout the known universe in order to life-switch timelines without having to shapeshift into anyone's body, simply switching her own timeline–with that of her ideal career; Only having done this once, however, triggers an inescapable loop of infinite switches, resulting in a massive disillusion and chaos, as some celebrities go missing entirely from any known reality (in which SUPACREE omnisciently exists, typically, intermittently throughout the series); However, in this scene the audience must suspend its sense of belief, as it takes place in a multidimensional environment; DRAKE and JOSH perhaps, has been running throughout it's entirety, never having been canceled and JOSH PECK has arrived on set in a drug-fueled delusional meltdown; A Parrallell JOSH at some point perhaps even switching timelines; This mysterious, shadowy version of MIRANCA/MEGAN/CARLY is written as such so that this character can be placed or moved to or throughout various specific timelines: Adhering to the plot however,

JOSH PECK is an actor, out of sorts with himself, meanwhile–

This version of DRAKE is the fictional character from a TV show, in his own fictional world; He is a 4th dimensional device

However,

The audience should remain unaware that MIRANDA COSGROVE has already merged with her 4th dimensional counterparts, after joining SUPACREE in her Hollywood crusades, traveling through time, space, and the inter/multidimensions on missions to answer the SOS Hollywood originally signaled to SUPACREE during The Legend of Supacree in the first season.

That should do.

Wow.

Hold it

What.

You looked this deep into that boy's eyes?

Not on purpose.

-

The ‘-complications.' mixtape compilation series which focuses its internal monologue on the ideology of exploratory existentialism, using simple and classic mixing techniques into smooth transitions which mirror synconocities in time, musical elements, and lyricism to illustrate a vortex of collisions in cosmic omniscience, theming its recurring dominant soundscapes into a singular foundational focal point, and centering its multidimensionality into a gripping pull to return its emphasis on reflecting at checkpoints as if to reiterate a greater hidden meaning; the highs and lows of falling in love, it's consequences, long days and nights, missed connections, lost and unrequited love—capturing overall the rock and roll darkness of the neo-moden dance music scene—moving about from world to world—night after night, song after song—bodies on bodies and the escapism of rave and dance floor culture, connected through the pulsating and throbbing heartbeats bridged by light waves, and spread across neon skies across the globe.

Featuring dearly beloved hit and dance classics alike from global and legendary super-artists and masters of the dance floor, deadmau5, Kaskade, kx5, Skrillex, Fred Again.., Claptone, and more—featuring new music by and mixed with heart & soul by underground swamp creature and ancient rave God ‘- Ū.' as she explores the outer realms of dance music pre-and-post existence in the guttural haze of the afterlife.

Wow, You're funny, God.

If i must say so.

I mean. Wow.

I didn't do this all myself, you know; I had help.

What?!

Help From Who?!

Dillon Francis, Apparently

Oh, I highly doubt that,

Oh, I wouldn't .

I need a lover—

I need a lover;

Call me your lover

(I want just a lover)

I need a lover

(I need a lover)

Dillon Francis was quite possibly the whitest white man in the ever living world—

But maybe, that's what I liked about him. Now that I had time to process that for the most part, I had been tricked into fulfilling some strange prophecy— there was nothing less-alluring about the world I had been peering into, now more than anything

Movement at the stillpoint

Mark something

You've got to balance this shit out—

You've got to

Turn the world on its head

(I don't get it)

Now you're into this club

(I don't fit in)

Now you're into this world

(But we've been here)

Wait

I'm not new to this!

Wanna go do it again?!

Nothing's new to me!

I keep secrets like

Fountains keep pennies

Plant daisies on mountains

—your hand in my mouth says that

“Head is the answer”

Thanks, Kendrick

Now I remember what I wanted in the first place

Now I remember what I printed;

What I cooked him in the kitchen after—

—back to keeping secrets;

What's an apron and a hat is all you're wearing when I get there—

Just like the man in Manhattan

Or cat on the Channel—

A special edition of some shit with Mario Lopez

That sent me right back to the minion

With eyes like you had in that dream I went back to

I'd say

“Fuck Dillon Francis”

If I thought of “fuck” as an adjective,

Instead of an adverb.

Fuck this whole world —

Now I just want to surf,

I had just scratched the surface of scratching—

Before storing my turntables

What.

All of a sudden, I'm a DJ?!

Gee thanks!

But God, I'm still loveless and

I hope you

Marry that blue eyed girl

Pop out a bunch of kids that look

Just like you

What else would I do with my time

Than scroll through Instagram

And eat a ham-salmon sandwhich—

Thinking of going for pancakes, after

god likes me fat,

We talk much more that way

PASQUALE

I need you up at night.

CC

For what.

SUPCREE

For what.

SUNNI BLŪ

I AM UP.

PASQUALE:

This is for what.

THE INSOMNIACS ARE ALL IN .

“ALL IN”

wtf does that mean.

The grey streaks in his beard drive me wild-his eyes even wilder; “it's best I not look into them”, I thought, “when giving him this stone..” or maybe, even at all; I knew that if I were to look into his eyes, I would fall in love—all the way in, and not just the lust that I had been struggling with, noticeably for years, now; I would see him from the inside out, from the outside in—and any way in between. I already knew that I wanted him—but for exactly what and how long seemed to allude me.

It ha: been a long day with no end yet in sight, and though I was tired, accidentally having fasted throughout the day — namely because I had been out of water the night before, dethawing ice from the hotel's machine into an emergency supply—and having awoke with an immovable force to head straight to the gym, promptly after doing laundry.

Though I left what was considerably late, conforming my sleep patterns to my roommate's schedule had not been the easiest of tasks; I found it to be true that energy—or rather, a lack therof, was remarkably contagious. I had been more tired than usual, and more “down” than my normal waves—in fact—it was easy to differentiate this energy from my own, and though I was thankful to have a quiet, moderately clean, and near silent roommate—lucky, even—it was nearly impossible to escape the grip of empathy as it grew into me, our time together short but stifling enough that I was up into the early mornings as she dawdled away on her phone—and, having spent the entirety of my stay offline—becoming increasingly sensitive to her phone's radio signals, sometimes seeming to blast into my brain and penetrating the deepest of sleeps, and though I thought to return to deadmau5 to set myself to rest, for the most part I had been enjoying peaceful enough rest once she finally did get to sleep—in the early morning, which meant that I would more naturally wake closer to noon, eating up most of my morning with sleeping and battling the force of inner city traffic to make my way into the gym, or the library—whichever suited the day and the time—though, for the last three days, I had made it a point to get to the gym daily, rather than every other day, which I had missed, but become a hassle—and though I had found a gym that was decent and clean, it was rather small, the sauna never hot enough—and of course, as it had appeared from my first day having arrived at the club, I was of course being watched and followed—and though I had briefly wondered by “who”, I knew it was of the through forces of The Eye, otherwise known as the Illuminati, if there ever were such a thing— (but of course, there wasn't) often blasting Skrillex every other song as some means of torture, which I could attempt to ignore, but my body couldn't—failing to lift under the pressure of a weakened state by about the third Skrillex tune, confirming my suspicions entirely—a drastic jump from conspiracy to the conformation of psychological terrorism via Skrillex—but for what?

By now, of course, I had begun to figure out that I wasn't entirely normal, —that something wasn't right, or maybe even that I had done something exceptionally right, and though I didn't know exactly what, I began to think about the amount of writings I had published online, as well as the significantly “extraterrestrial” recordings that went along with them, and though having used Skrillex as a springboard, the longer I went mulling over all that had happened I realized that there appeared to be something bigger at place—Perhaps I was, indeed, incredibly enlightened—and there seemed to be a greater, outer force that indeed knew and saw all, even deeply into my psyche, and into my dreams.

Though I had darted down with excruciating detail into my Google documents the latest dream that I had with Dillon Francis, I didn't know what exactly to make of this particular cadence of synchronicities on this otherwise ‘normal' morning, not that anything at all had actually been normal in any way by far, as long as I could remember backward. Things had indeed been strange for years, which had culminated in the conglomeration of documents, recordings, and other odd-end and unfinished projects that had so far been created under the umbrella of The Festival Project—but it was this day that I truly began to realize that there was something more than circumstantial or coincidental at all about whoever I was, and whatever I was doing—and even with all of my theoretical writings of supernatural, subliminal, and subconscious circumstances and happenings, I wasn't, having existed for the most part broken, homeless, and unpaid for my efforts—sure of either who I was, or what I was doing—let alone how. In all of the strangeness, I only attributed “God” for whatever weird strange thing would happen next— and here it was.

I had been thinking about Mario Lopez a lot recently or lately, in bits and pieces and of course less often than I thought of any other reoccurring figure, but certainly about Mario Lopez, his seemingly ageless and incredibly healthy, youthful appearance, and oddly, even of his children, as I knew that he had them; and I had, of course, along with all of those things had wondered about his wife—the whole of his family, of course. His fame had lasted nearly my entire lifetime, and I was almost always pleasantly charmed by the sound of his voice, or his familiar face; and there it was, now—plastered up on a screen I hadn't realized was even there before, but now somehow stood out broadly against the backdrop of the otherwise drab laundromat, which I of course found to be remarkable, as I had very recently for whatever reason been struck with flashes of not so much a curiosity of the man at all—but rather a form of reflective thought.

“Oh shit, there he is!” I thought, finding just his appearance on TV coincidental, at best, before zeroing in on the actual atrocities yet unexplainable by man, or any other force—the only cruel explaination being that The Illuminati itself did indeed have access to my Google documents, even though I had been for the most part of two weeks completely offline, with no intention to publish at all—however—I had forgotten about the dream itself, until this sudden collision of sorts had stirred remnince of at all; a dream I had recorded with implicit detail from my first waking moments, indicating some importance; my dreams had been straightforward and vivid lately, and had been filled with all sorts of reoccurring figures, from Sonny Moore, to Billie Ellish, and of course Dillon Francis-and in moments, of course, the later had come rushing back to me with a vengeance, as a life sized-dancing Minion with two differently colored eyes shifted my attentioj from the screen, directly to recalling that dream— the most vivid dream of all of them—and though Sonny had appeared to me more recently, I thought it best not to record them; I still felt betrayed that he had come to New York and left me to be circulated through the system—which of course I was sure had it's purpose, but didn't make me resent him any less for it, compounding the hurt that he had put me through parading Kayla Lauren around—it seemed the entire model of The Skrillex Conundrum was to make me feel stupid, fat, and in cursed skin— and I was at least no longer two of those things. Still, though, I did carry feelings for the man that were impossible to offload, and though I had quite blatently broadcasted my sexual attraction to Dillon, who was apparently, of course, taken by a blue eyed girl of course—it had somehow become deeper at least to me in the following days and weeks afteer my departure from “Season 6” and it's adjacent episodes, a strange half-season debacle in which the emotional uproar of Sonny's appearance in New York and the upheaval of my surroundings—my entry into the homeless system—allowed me to embarrass myself without reform in the honest and brutally raw, post-season aftermath—a restless and sleepless chaos filled nightmare from which the only redeeming comfort was deadmau5, which may have been the point of it at all—as I fiddled in Ableton, it seemed to become a more natural process, creating drum patterns with ease and the once-tedious challenges and difficulties of music production and engineering having become things of the past—but something in all this had seeded in my mind a crucial element of the cosmic alchemists mindset I had been living in; there seemed to be, as in the Christopher Nolan film Tenet, parallel streams of time running both “forward” and “backward”, and even “up” and “down” respectively, creating where and how i was at any given moment as the perceptive present—as in—there always seemed to be some extension of myself both forward and backward in time, if there were such things, and as I continued to write, evidences of God, extra terrestrial presence, interplanetary mechanisms—mauverability through deep space, and time travel all became increasingly and rapidly relevant; I had to have been right enough about something , somewhere, at some point—but even up to now couldn't wrap my head around trying to get a “normal” job, which might be worth the money to be able to escape from my way-too-many-black-people Hellscape, (not that way ‘too many white people' wasn't a thing, but at least was not as abruptly obnoxious—as I had now realized that overt racists often more tactically employed quiet methods of psychological disengagement, rather than flat-out disrespect and cruelty the black-on-black culture had thus far represented.

In my mind, however, race had little to do with my actual placement in the world—at least, or so I thought— and though the appearance of where I had been at this point situated was grim or perhaps even bleak, the opposite was actually true; I was now, though strictly under the radar, off the grid, and underground, an extremely accomplished writer, whether anybody knew it or not—and someone did.

Low and behold, “The Lopez Kids”, who has been thinking of and new existed were brought the the screen, after a segment featuring Jeannie Aiki had bedazzled me enough to Google her, her familiar voice sparking a curiosity, her own beautiful young one putting a glisten in my eye, along with a tear; I missed my son dearly, and was glad to know that he was with my mother—still worrisome, to say the least, but not as worrisome as he having been with his father, who I knew was fucking up in extreme ways beforehand—but had only been confirmed a few days before, actually exactly one week earlier, as I had toggled off airplane mode just long enough to revive an incoming call from my father—and, having only just the night before having had the dream about Dillon's strange eyes—a dream in which he was not present, but his truck was— promoted me to quickly answer the call, though I had been in the midsts of a whirlwind of transit—a chaotic navigation through unknown territories; he told me that my mother had my son—that my ex husband was unable to care for him any longer. The more right about my ex husband I was, the more peril it felt; I knew my son would be a different person if I had had the ability to raise him.

“Something is up.”, I bawled— having seen and heard enough of my own mind scattered across the silver screen—

Not only had the Minions eyes reminded me exactly of Dillons—the only dream out of a series of dreams about he, Sonny, and even one with my ex that I had found it important to record—but it was also “National Oreo Day”, which was celebrated with Oreo Doughnuts, appearances from Jeannie Aiko, whose apparent first interview had been with Johnny Depp—who had found his way into my dreams years earlier than nearly anyone else in this lifelong series of bizzare oddities— Ellen DeGenwres discluded—who had more than likely been the first and most random celebrity to make their way into my semi-conciousness; I had never been particularly obsessed or even a fan of Ellen, and yet her appearance in a teenaged dream had stayed with me years into my adulthood—and thiugh during my childhood and adolescent years it had always seemed I had been somehow destined for fame, even before the mockery of the masses and media turned my entire generation inevitably into fame-hungry “artists” , the last few years altogether had been remarkably and even increasingly synchronized; it was as if I had indeed in my lifetime made groundbreaking alterations to the space time continuum.

It wasn't until later in the day that I decided to find the document in which I had recorded the dream; I began to laugh reading over my own words as unhinged as it all was—the recording was bizzare and though I hadn't forgotten having the dream itself, I indeed had forgotten many of the details, which of course made me instantly regret not having written down any of the dreams I was having about Sonny—still careful not to let myself feel too much of anything having to with him, even and especially his music, which I only allowed myself to play with purpose, for study.

SILVER SCREEN SHOWER SCENE

Woah, have you lost your goddamn mind.

Yes.

I live in a very strange place in the universe.

[there are several glitches in the matrix; almost too much to bear.]

Very,very strange.

What are you doing? Crying?

..I'm not crying…

Stop crying, Jesus–

–DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BAGELS I HAD TO EAT TO BE SUPACREE?

A lot. You look hideous.

I am hideous!

No arguments, there.

Ugh.

Lets Go!

Try not to look off into the distance with your finger in the air like that; It makes me feel like we're in a comic book or something

What if–we are?!

Then we're probably about to get our butts kicked before the scene changes or you have to turn the –

{NINJAS OUT OF NOWHERE}

“The Noir Episdoe”

This is business, not war.

What's the difference?

[beat]

Money.

HIIIIIIIIIYAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

Oh My God. I'm so fat.

YAH!

Why do I always have to fight when i'm fat?!

YAH! KI-YAH! — [ROundhouse Kick} HIIIIIII_YAHH.

DO you have to say “Hi-yah” every time you deal a fatal blow.

–they're not fatal, they're gonna wake up, eventually–YAH.

Oh yeah? Even that guy?

{Super dead guy}

Probably not him.

“Probably.”

YOU are a PR nightmare.

I'm an everything nightmare.

Ugh.

I just found out what PR even was.

LAWYER enters furiously

You fucking lunatic!

It's sunny out–

What did you do this time?

UPDATE:

The Skrillex Reddit is still the cringiest place on earth.

It's so gross.

I hate this.

Worst place ever.

WORST FUCKING PLACE EVER.

Fuck.

What.

We have to go back.

Why? What'd you lose?

–My dignity.

Worst place ever.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Ascension

Farro, a reclusive alchemist hailing from the far away crystalline caves of Avallia, returns to the Valley In The Kingdom of Acenscia once Per Revolutionary Orbit, to relay to The Ascended Mastery his findings, Astral Readings, Predictions from the Outer Realms, and Oracles from Beyond Infinity, In The Greater Unknown.

He is thought to be the most powerful Wizard in this, and perhaps even of the outer realms; which caters to his illusive habits, and social dissertation–however, he remains friendly with C'esme't, as she sometimes visits the caves of Avallia, en route to certain tasks or journeys in the outer realms, often bearing fruits or other rarities as gifts, merely in exchange for his time–which she deems to be precious, allotting to the differences in their respective perceptions of the construct itself.

Petrutheio approaches Gían ferociously, in irritation after being bombarded with numerous visions

Why is it, lately, that you are constantly in my mind's eye?

Perhaps it's that you've become quite fond of me—

Perhaps it's with whom you've been spending your time.

—and ‘with whom' might that be?

With my wife!

Yet to be…

If you truly were wise, you'd depart from this realm immediately, in order to best preserve your life.

Is that a threat?

Look me in my eyes.

Should I adjust my distance or my height?

Look at me.

I see you.

Mark my words:

Oh, but–I haven't a pen to write them—

Then store them carefully in your memory--

What? I'm listening.

C'esme't is my one and only Queen; She has by Prophecy, been bonded and betrothed to me.

Are you reiterating the Prophecy to yourself, or relaying it to me?

Let me state this more clearly--

With ‘clarity', you mean;

You should leave—

Why so urgently?

Both urgently and immediately, actually.

Is that a suggestion?

For now, maybe.

Are you implying you would remove me forcefully from this Kingdom, otherwise?

Huh.

[A silent tension.]

You will see.

[He leaves calmly.]

C'ESME'T.

Stop bothering me.

What are these devastating lucidities you've dared to dream?

Is it daring?

You're my Queen.

I'm a lady, not a possession.

(grimaces)

What's a ‘lady'

[A bold look.]

C'esme't.

What of Persephone?

She's no more than nothing.

So, ‘nothing', then?

No more than it.

___

SIR JYRE!

MY LIEGE!

Where is C'esme't!?

I don't know…

Don't lie to me!

Why not? It's fun.

Is banishment fun?

Mine, or yours?

Where is she!?

[a slight gasp/beat]

…my dear nephew—

—we're not related—

—not by blood…

Where is C'esme't?

[he pauses for a moment, before turning away to pour a drink.]

You should sit.

I'm fine, thanks.

Drink?

[Petruthieo pauses for a moment, reflecting on the previous night's happenings.]

I don't drink.

Maybe you should.

Where's my Queen?

—Is she yours?

I'll have you exiled.

No you won't.

I won't?

[sir jyre turns to produce a small golden charm, which swings, sparking at the end of a golden chain. Without hesitation, Petrutheo is immediately familiar.]

Where's she gone?

You'll either sit, or you'll drink if you really want to know.

Petrutheo sits, flushed and defeated.

I'll tell you—

What is it?

I am under strict confidentiality enforcements.

How exactly strict

She'll kill me—-and you.

Gían comes running into the room, flustered.

Where is she?!

—and him.

What are you doing?

–dying.

Die faster.

Q: How do you break up with deadmau5.

A: You don't.

JOEL

TALK TO THE HEAD.

Oh, come on!

What is this.

Idk. I figured if there was a dimension where SUPACREE is dating DIPLO–

Ew.

What.

Ew.

–Then there's probably one where she's got somethin' going on with that guy.

How do you figure.

Hm.

Hm.

Interesting.

Very Interesting

Grow up. We all have

–girlfriends.

–jobs to do.

–secret fetishes.

Sick.

This is retarded.

Turn this off.

I want to die.

WHERE IS SKRILLEX.

Skrillex is playing mountain man with a bunch of fake models and rapper dudes,

Woah.

He looks different.

What happened.

More on that later. Or not.

Oh, come on!

Everybody. Shut up.

Not me, right?

Especially you.

*eyes*

what's 9x9?

Uhhh–

Are you serious?

This isn't math!

Everything is math!

HOW IS THIS MOVIE CAST?

CAN DEADmAU5 ACT?

–short anser: YES.

Long Answer:

By The time this movie gets made, we'll all be dead.

We're all dead now.

Dead *and* gone.

*crowd gasps exaggeratedly*

I THOUGHT THIS MOVIE WAS ABOUT SKRILLEX.

It was- he didn't like it.

Why wouldn't he like it?

You called him a “nigga” 47 times.

Was it 47?

At the SUPERBOWL.

I guess that makes him the champion of niggas.

I guess so.

Whatever happened to Dillon Francis.

Idk he's pussywhipped or something. I guess.

Nice.

Still gettin it.

Shut up, fans.

Okay, ouch.

How.

How–??

How does someone with THIS MUCH pride and THIS MUCH ego get THIS MUCH power?

Probably with all that pride and ego.

This is correct.

____

{JOSHrushes in violently.]

DRAKE

Uh huh…

SOMETHING IS WRONG.

…what makes you say that…?

LOOK AT ME.

I see you…

I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY.

–how am I supposed to tell that just by looking at you?

YOU ARE SUSPICIOUS.

[suspiciously]

No I'm not?

[He violently grabs DRAKE by his lapel; gripping him with a fierce and wild look in his eyes]

Look Motherfucker;

I am looking!

I have always wanted to kill you–and now there's NOTHING stopping me.

EXCEPT THE LAW–

[MEGAN/MIRANDA/CARLY enters mysteriously.]

Unhand the boob.

BOTH

….MEGAN?!

JOSH

(er…wait)

Sure.

[They stare at her in awe; her silhouette grasping at the shadows of the dimly lit space; she is dressed in a sultry black dress, sheer panty hose, and knee high boos, with a matching fedora and puffs seductively on a long and narrow cigarette from the extra long holster. ]

Separate.

[They obey, bewildered.]

Sit.

You smoke now?

Sometimes. For dramatic effect.

This is uncomfortable.

Very unsettling.

Wait.

Wait.

Are we filming right now.

Is someone filming?

[Breaking 4th wall.]

Camera's always rolling.

;;PAUSE.

Oh, that's why Drew Barrymore was in my dream last night.

This is a lot of celebrities.

GOD

I'm working on something.

::||ALRIGHT, UNPAUSE.

Hold on a second.

No, we're rolling.

–I am one-hundred percent heavily medicated right now.

I second that.

Ditto.

–I'm also slightly intoxicated.

Also that.

Hashtag “me too.”

No “hashtag me too”

DOn't say that in Hollywood!

It was a joke! I was kidding!

That's not funny.

Nobody's laughing!

C'mon! I meant–I'm like, drunk right now–

Still though–

Very tacky…

I've been day drinking.

Drinking and smoking?! I don't believe you!

Oh, you don't?

[beat]

hmm .

[Shrugs, admittedly.]

Wait, wait–hold it.

No holding, we're rolling.

Are we rolling–?

Holding…

And…We're rolling!

I'm definitely rolling.

Drake!

I'm rolling. Ballsacks.

C'mon, man!

*drake being dumb*

I'm being serious!

So am I.

This is serious. *smokes*

Gross.

Stop doing that.

Doing what? This is what I do…

No, I mean: I woke up this morning and I swear to God–

Woah!

Don't do that.

I did everything under the sun EXCEPT go to work to be on TV for a show I wrapped like 15 years ago!

You–WHAT?

Uhhh…

Is this real?

…

…

…

Damn. this just got super existential; I have to take a second to summerize this, I'll fill in the dialogue late , I guess

The scene was running on anyway.

What? I liked it.

Anyway,

So what we have here is a cross-dimensional triad: DRAKE has been running throughout the interdimensions of time, but unbeknownst to the audience is which DRAKE this is; is this the real life DRAKE BELL, actually a fictional character written into the fabric of SUPACREE'S reality as fate would have it–or the fictional DRAKE from DRAKE & JOSH; Although apparently heavily medicated, JOSH PECK, the actor has been tossed into a nightmarish infinite loop along with other various HOLLYWOOD CELEBRITIES, as SUPACREE has opened various portals throughout the known universe in order to life-switch timelines without having to shapeshift into anyone's body, simply switching her own timeline–with that of her ideal career; Only having done this once, however, triggers an inescapable loop of infinite switches, resulting in a massive disillusion and chaos, as some celebrities go missing entirely from any known reality (in which SUPACREE omnisciently exists, typically, intermittently throughout the series); However, in this scene the audience must suspend its sense of belief, as it takes place in a multidimensional environment; DRAKE and JOSH perhaps, has been running throughout it's entirety, never having been canceled and JOSH PECK has arrived on set in a drug-fueled delusional meltdown; A Parrallell JOSH at some point perhaps even switching timelines; This mysterious, shadowy version of MIRANCA/MEGAN/CARLY is written as such so that this character can be placed or moved to or throughout various specific timelines: Adhering to the plot however,

JOSH PECK is an actor, out of sorts with himself, meanwhile–

This version of DRAKE is the fictional character from a TV show, in his own fictional world; He is a 4th dimensional device

However,

The audience should remain unaware that MIRANDA COSGROVE has already merged with her 4th dimensional counterparts, after joining SUPACREE in her Hollywood crusades, traveling through time, space, and the inter/multidimensions on missions to answer the SOS Hollywood originally signaled to SUPACREE during The Legend of Supacree in the first season.

That should do.

Wow.

Hold it

What.

You looked this deep into that boy's eyes?

Not on purpose.

-

The ‘-complications.' mixtape compilation series which focuses its internal monologue on the ideology of exploratory existentialism, using simple and classic mixing techniques into smooth transitions which mirror synconocities in time, musical elements, and lyricism to illustrate a vortex of collisions in cosmic omniscience, theming its recurring dominant soundscapes into a singular foundational focal point, and centering its multidimensionality into a gripping pull to return its emphasis on reflecting at checkpoints as if to reiterate a greater hidden meaning; the highs and lows of falling in love, it's consequences, long days and nights, missed connections, lost and unrequited love—capturing overall the rock and roll darkness of the neo-moden dance music scene—moving about from world to world—night after night, song after song—bodies on bodies and the escapism of rave and dance floor culture, connected through the pulsating and throbbing heartbeats bridged by light waves, and spread across neon skies across the globe.

Featuring dearly beloved hit and dance classics alike from global and legendary super-artists and masters of the dance floor, deadmau5, Kaskade, kx5, Skrillex, Fred Again.., Claptone, and more—featuring new music by and mixed with heart & soul by underground swamp creature and ancient rave God ‘- Ū.' as she explores the outer realms of dance music pre-and-post existence in the guttural haze of the afterlife.

Wow, You're funny, God.

If i must say so.

I mean. Wow.

I didn't do this all myself, you know; I had help.

What?!

Help From Who?!

Dillon Francis, Apparently

Oh, I highly doubt that,

Oh, I wouldn't .

I need a lover—

I need a lover;

Call me your lover

(I want just a lover)

I need a lover

(I need a lover)

Dillon Francis was quite possibly the whitest white man in the ever living world—

But maybe, that's what I liked about him. Now that I had time to process that for the most part, I had been tricked into fulfilling some strange prophecy— there was nothing less-alluring about the world I had been peering into, now more than anything

Movement at the stillpoint

Mark something

You've got to balance this shit out—

You've got to

Turn the world on its head

(I don't get it)

Now you're into this club

(I don't fit in)

Now you're into this world

(But we've been here)

Wait

I'm not new to this!

Wanna go do it again?!

Nothing's new to me!

I keep secrets like

Fountains keep pennies

Plant daisies on mountains

—your hand in my mouth says that

“Head is the answer”

Thanks, Kendrick

Now I remember what I wanted in the first place

Now I remember what I printed;

What I cooked him in the kitchen after—

—back to keeping secrets;

What's an apron and a hat is all you're wearing when I get there—

Just like the man in Manhattan

Or cat on the Channel—

A special edition of some shit with Mario Lopez

That sent me right back to the minion

With eyes like you had in that dream I went back to

I'd say

“Fuck Dillon Francis”

If I thought of “fuck” as an adjective,

Instead of an adverb.

Fuck this whole world —

Now I just want to surf,

I had just scratched the surface of scratching—

Before storing my turntables

What.

All of a sudden, I'm a DJ?!

Gee thanks!

But God, I'm still loveless and

I hope you

Marry that blue eyed girl

Pop out a bunch of kids that look

Just like you

What else would I do with my time

Than scroll through Instagram

And eat a ham-salmon sandwhich—

Thinking of going for pancakes, after

god likes me fat,

We talk much more that way

PASQUALE

I need you up at night.

CC

For what.

SUPCREE

For what.

SUNNI BLŪ

I AM UP.

PASQUALE:

This is for what.

THE INSOMNIACS ARE ALL IN .

“ALL IN”

wtf does that mean.

The grey streaks in his beard drive me wild-his eyes even wilder; “it's best I not look into them”, I thought, “when giving him this stone..” or maybe, even at all; I knew that if I were to look into his eyes, I would fall in love—all the way in, and not just the lust that I had been struggling with, noticeably for years, now; I would see him from the inside out, from the outside in—and any way in between. I already knew that I wanted him—but for exactly what and how long seemed to allude me.

It ha: been a long day with no end yet in sight, and though I was tired, accidentally having fasted throughout the day — namely because I had been out of water the night before, dethawing ice from the hotel's machine into an emergency supply—and having awoke with an immovable force to head straight to the gym, promptly after doing laundry.

Though I left what was considerably late, conforming my sleep patterns to my roommate's schedule had not been the easiest of tasks; I found it to be true that energy—or rather, a lack therof, was remarkably contagious. I had been more tired than usual, and more “down” than my normal waves—in fact—it was easy to differentiate this energy from my own, and though I was thankful to have a quiet, moderately clean, and near silent roommate—lucky, even—it was nearly impossible to escape the grip of empathy as it grew into me, our time together short but stifling enough that I was up into the early mornings as she dawdled away on her phone—and, having spent the entirety of my stay offline—becoming increasingly sensitive to her phone's radio signals, sometimes seeming to blast into my brain and penetrating the deepest of sleeps, and though I thought to return to deadmau5 to set myself to rest, for the most part I had been enjoying peaceful enough rest once she finally did get to sleep—in the early morning, which meant that I would more naturally wake closer to noon, eating up most of my morning with sleeping and battling the force of inner city traffic to make my way into the gym, or the library—whichever suited the day and the time—though, for the last three days, I had made it a point to get to the gym daily, rather than every other day, which I had missed, but become a hassle—and though I had found a gym that was decent and clean, it was rather small, the sauna never hot enough—and of course, as it had appeared from my first day having arrived at the club, I was of course being watched and followed—and though I had briefly wondered by “who”, I knew it was of the through forces of The Eye, otherwise known as the Illuminati, if there ever were such a thing— (but of course, there wasn't) often blasting Skrillex every other song as some means of torture, which I could attempt to ignore, but my body couldn't—failing to lift under the pressure of a weakened state by about the third Skrillex tune, confirming my suspicions entirely—a drastic jump from conspiracy to the conformation of psychological terrorism via Skrillex—but for what?

By now, of course, I had begun to figure out that I wasn't entirely normal, —that something wasn't right, or maybe even that I had done something exceptionally right, and though I didn't know exactly what, I began to think about the amount of writings I had published online, as well as the significantly “extraterrestrial” recordings that went along with them, and though having used Skrillex as a springboard, the longer I went mulling over all that had happened I realized that there appeared to be something bigger at place—Perhaps I was, indeed, incredibly enlightened—and there seemed to be a greater, outer force that indeed knew and saw all, even deeply into my psyche, and into my dreams.

Though I had darted down with excruciating detail into my Google documents the latest dream that I had with Dillon Francis, I didn't know what exactly to make of this particular cadence of synchronicities on this otherwise ‘normal' morning, not that anything at all had actually been normal in any way by far, as long as I could remember backward. Things had indeed been strange for years, which had culminated in the conglomeration of documents, recordings, and other odd-end and unfinished projects that had so far been created under the umbrella of The Festival Project—but it was this day that I truly began to realize that there was something more than circumstantial or coincidental at all about whoever I was, and whatever I was doing—and even with all of my theoretical writings of supernatural, subliminal, and subconscious circumstances and happenings, I wasn't, having existed for the most part broken, homeless, and unpaid for my efforts—sure of either who I was, or what I was doing—let alone how. In all of the strangeness, I only attributed “God” for whatever weird strange thing would happen next— and here it was.

I had been thinking about Mario Lopez a lot recently or lately, in bits and pieces and of course less often than I thought of any other reoccurring figure, but certainly about Mario Lopez, his seemingly ageless and incredibly healthy, youthful appearance, and oddly, even of his children, as I knew that he had them; and I had, of course, along with all of those things had wondered about his wife—the whole of his family, of course. His fame had lasted nearly my entire lifetime, and I was almost always pleasantly charmed by the sound of his voice, or his familiar face; and there it was, now—plastered up on a screen I hadn't realized was even there before, but now somehow stood out broadly against the backdrop of the otherwise drab laundromat, which I of course found to be remarkable, as I had very recently for whatever reason been struck with flashes of not so much a curiosity of the man at all—but rather a form of reflective thought.

“Oh shit, there he is!” I thought, finding just his appearance on TV coincidental, at best, before zeroing in on the actual atrocities yet unexplainable by man, or any other force—the only cruel explaination being that The Illuminati itself did indeed have access to my Google documents, even though I had been for the most part of two weeks completely offline, with no intention to publish at all—however—I had forgotten about the dream itself, until this sudden collision of sorts had stirred remnince of at all; a dream I had recorded with implicit detail from my first waking moments, indicating some importance; my dreams had been straightforward and vivid lately, and had been filled with all sorts of reoccurring figures, from Sonny Moore, to Billie Ellish, and of course Dillon Francis-and in moments, of course, the later had come rushing back to me with a vengeance, as a life sized-dancing Minion with two differently colored eyes shifted my attentioj from the screen, directly to recalling that dream— the most vivid dream of all of them—and though Sonny had appeared to me more recently, I thought it best not to record them; I still felt betrayed that he had come to New York and left me to be circulated through the system—which of course I was sure had it's purpose, but didn't make me resent him any less for it, compounding the hurt that he had put me through parading Kayla Lauren around—it seemed the entire model of The Skrillex Conundrum was to make me feel stupid, fat, and in cursed skin— and I was at least no longer two of those things. Still, though, I did carry feelings for the man that were impossible to offload, and though I had quite blatently broadcasted my sexual attraction to Dillon, who was apparently, of course, taken by a blue eyed girl of course—it had somehow become deeper at least to me in the following days and weeks afteer my departure from “Season 6” and it's adjacent episodes, a strange half-season debacle in which the emotional uproar of Sonny's appearance in New York and the upheaval of my surroundings—my entry into the homeless system—allowed me to embarrass myself without reform in the honest and brutally raw, post-season aftermath—a restless and sleepless chaos filled nightmare from which the only redeeming comfort was deadmau5, which may have been the point of it at all—as I fiddled in Ableton, it seemed to become a more natural process, creating drum patterns with ease and the once-tedious challenges and difficulties of music production and engineering having become things of the past—but something in all this had seeded in my mind a crucial element of the cosmic alchemists mindset I had been living in; there seemed to be, as in the Christopher Nolan film Tenet, parallel streams of time running both “forward” and “backward”, and even “up” and “down” respectively, creating where and how i was at any given moment as the perceptive present—as in—there always seemed to be some extension of myself both forward and backward in time, if there were such things, and as I continued to write, evidences of God, extra terrestrial presence, interplanetary mechanisms—mauverability through deep space, and time travel all became increasingly and rapidly relevant; I had to have been right enough about something , somewhere, at some point—but even up to now couldn't wrap my head around trying to get a “normal” job, which might be worth the money to be able to escape from my way-too-many-black-people Hellscape, (not that way ‘too many white people' wasn't a thing, but at least was not as abruptly obnoxious—as I had now realized that overt racists often more tactically employed quiet methods of psychological disengagement, rather than flat-out disrespect and cruelty the black-on-black culture had thus far represented.

In my mind, however, race had little to do with my actual placement in the world—at least, or so I thought— and though the appearance of where I had been at this point situated was grim or perhaps even bleak, the opposite was actually true; I was now, though strictly under the radar, off the grid, and underground, an extremely accomplished writer, whether anybody knew it or not—and someone did.

Low and behold, “The Lopez Kids”, who has been thinking of and new existed were brought the the screen, after a segment featuring Jeannie Aiki had bedazzled me enough to Google her, her familiar voice sparking a curiosity, her own beautiful young one putting a glisten in my eye, along with a tear; I missed my son dearly, and was glad to know that he was with my mother—still worrisome, to say the least, but not as worrisome as he having been with his father, who I knew was fucking up in extreme ways beforehand—but had only been confirmed a few days before, actually exactly one week earlier, as I had toggled off airplane mode just long enough to revive an incoming call from my father—and, having only just the night before having had the dream about Dillon's strange eyes—a dream in which he was not present, but his truck was— promoted me to quickly answer the call, though I had been in the midsts of a whirlwind of transit—a chaotic navigation through unknown territories; he told me that my mother had my son—that my ex husband was unable to care for him any longer. The more right about my ex husband I was, the more peril it felt; I knew my son would be a different person if I had had the ability to raise him.

“Something is up.”, I bawled— having seen and heard enough of my own mind scattered across the silver screen—

Not only had the Minions eyes reminded me exactly of Dillons—the only dream out of a series of dreams about he, Sonny, and even one with my ex that I had found it important to record—but it was also “National Oreo Day”, which was celebrated with Oreo Doughnuts, appearances from Jeannie Aiko, whose apparent first interview had been with Johnny Depp—who had found his way into my dreams years earlier than nearly anyone else in this lifelong series of bizzare oddities— Ellen DeGenwres discluded—who had more than likely been the first and most random celebrity to make their way into my semi-conciousness; I had never been particularly obsessed or even a fan of Ellen, and yet her appearance in a teenaged dream had stayed with me years into my adulthood—and thiugh during my childhood and adolescent years it had always seemed I had been somehow destined for fame, even before the mockery of the masses and media turned my entire generation inevitably into fame-hungry “artists” , the last few years altogether had been remarkably and even increasingly synchronized; it was as if I had indeed in my lifetime made groundbreaking alterations to the space time continuum.

It wasn't until later in the day that I decided to find the document in which I had recorded the dream; I began to laugh reading over my own words as unhinged as it all was—the recording was bizzare and though I hadn't forgotten having the dream itself, I indeed had forgotten many of the details, which of course made me instantly regret not having written down any of the dreams I was having about Sonny—still careful not to let myself feel too much of anything having to with him, even and especially his music, which I only allowed myself to play with purpose, for study.

SILVER SCREEN SHOWER SCENE

Woah, have you lost your goddamn mind.

Yes.

I live in a very strange place in the universe.

[there are several glitches in the matrix; almost too much to bear.]

Very,very strange.

What are you doing? Crying?

..I'm not crying…

Stop crying, Jesus–

–DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BAGELS I HAD TO EAT TO BE SUPACREE?

A lot. You look hideous.

I am hideous!

No arguments, there.

Ugh.

Lets Go!

Try not to look off into the distance with your finger in the air like that; It makes me feel like we're in a comic book or something

What if–we are?!

Then we're probably about to get our butts kicked before the scene changes or you have to turn the –

{NINJAS OUT OF NOWHERE}

“The Noir Episdoe”

This is business, not war.

What's the difference?

[beat]

Money.

HIIIIIIIIIYAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

Oh My God. I'm so fat.

YAH!

Why do I always have to fight when i'm fat?!

YAH! KI-YAH! — [ROundhouse Kick} HIIIIIII_YAHH.

DO you have to say “Hi-yah” every time you deal a fatal blow.

–they're not fatal, they're gonna wake up, eventually–YAH.

Oh yeah? Even that guy?

{Super dead guy}

Probably not him.

“Probably.”

YOU are a PR nightmare.

I'm an everything nightmare.

Ugh.

I just found out what PR even was.

LAWYER enters furiously

You fucking lunatic!

It's sunny out–

What did you do this time?

UPDATE:

The Skrillex Reddit is still the cringiest place on earth.

It's so gross.

I hate this.

Worst place ever.

WORST FUCKING PLACE EVER.

Fuck.

What.

We have to go back.

Why? What'd you lose?

–My dignity.

Worst place ever.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

THIS IS A WHATTHEFUCK.

WTF.

And this —

[Tina Fey, but cuter]

TINA FEY

(actual)

What does that mean??

is a whatever.

*|*

[whatever.]

Ugh, this is gonna take forever-

Lights up on Washington Heights

Up at the break of day

I wake up

—and it must be a different day

Cause I'm above in the Bronx

It fuckin sucks

I got a lot to discuss

Hop on this bus

Down on my luck

In uptown

Los Angrle's time's up

I'm square now

You scared now?

Fire like

Smoky the bear now

Smoked salmon,

Damn I'm sweating my hair out

Scary out there, scout!

Order of the Phoenix

Is out of order now

So sort out the books

For storyboard albums

It's occult clsssic

Without all the

Bells and whistles

Silence a pistol

To spit thru your window

To split you

Sentimental

It's just a mental indiscretion

Judas escariot

Scary isn't it

Monsters and fairytale business

Many mouses

And Minnie ripperton

Sympathies, really

For mentioning

It's just

My attention

Is

Getting

Shorter

Than

These sentences

Or Skrillex is

Haha

The methods were devious?

Me?

Made enemy out of man

But is envious of

I genius indegenous intentions

With this sacraments

Exactly what it isn't:

Sacrificial

ASDyQA{D”O*asf'oaISHf'oasKhf'aosUfh'

omg . where's he from.

aDAHSIDUHASODIHSAO”DIJed;saigbd;asidhaosidjw;odis

I'm leaving now..

Aisudhasiudhaisudhiusa ***hawcks loogie, spits***

Ugh.

“I _ NY”

Avaurlia is the High Goddess of Wisdom and Truth Telling—in the lower-quadrants of the palace in which she presides, she awaits the arrival of the fabled traveler to which the entirety of the palace belongs—

EVA LONGORIA, an earthly counterpart, is an accomplished actress, producer, and philanthropist— she abruptly inserts herself into the world of the festival project, after a mysterious series of syncronocities leads her to obsessively explore the meanings behind the occurrences—after which, she is approached by a deeply insulated organization—also mysteriously, but which presents itself with somewhat familiarity, taking EVA quickly into a ceremonial indoctrination into the higher realms, which will allow the actress access to this multidimensionality, expanding the collective consciousness and allowing communitarian with all alternate selves, specifically the higher self, and travel within the realms and worlds within the various planes in which

MEANWHILE,

Ugh.

Farro.

…Your Majesty.

I need help.

Don't burden me with your woes.

I beg your pardon?

No, don't beg.

—and we're back!

Oh, come on; I don't even like Zoolander!

Come on! What's my name?

Zoolander!

No, my actual name—

ZOOLANDER.

—-

Zac Efron is the secret president of his own High School Musical fan club, subreddits, and subsequent subreddits.

What?! I'm allowed to like my own movies!

*creepy fangirl high school musical alter—

Ahem.

Not this much.

Don't check the—

ILLUMINA—

Fuck that

My phone makes calls with the

Cellular turned off now

How about that

Damn

You, too, shall soon all be forgotten.

*squinting drunkenly* I hate her now.

*sipping liquor* she is evil.

“My Imaginary Friend”

In his heyday, the cosmic avenger uses his priority status as a SNL series regular to put his newfound powers to work by successfully shapeshiftingnjnto each guest host's body during the live broadcast; thus creating infinite portals and wormholes through various dimension and cavalcades between space and time

Shit.

The counter attack

Mover the counter attack

Over the hill and into your memory

Simple the end of the template

For temple, stuff from resentment

Impractical actually contracted

False flagged, black balled and gagged

Black box, canticles

Catnip for facts,

Obstacles,

Abstract acid fasts

Fantastic, fur tan lines

And so futuristic for fans

Scripted, this entry is

Limited, click bait resentments

Jesus is—

Fanstastic, actually

Magic tricks vs imagination

Instagram, leave it to the

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Uptown A brings a classy and brassy shine to an East Coast expansion of the West Coast Classic, with posh and eloquent city-chic vibrance and motion-forward brushstrokes of bohemian grit.

Critical Mass Vol. III gives a lighthearted nod to the old world of dance with a New World sound.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[ The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

I gotta fire to set tonight

I got a bone to pick with you

It's teacher teacher talking through the

Many mouths of man

How could I never be

Or see through you

No, nevermind,

This is waking life

You only love me whe I'm sleeping

No I don't feel wrong at all

Light the candle

I'm not Illuminati

Don't we all have our rituals

And gods that we pray to

I see

See, the idea with fame is it follows you everywhere

And there they were, and there they went.

From Heaven sent

There was a love so sweet and kind

That each time they were to pass one another,

Sweeping and swooning would not want

Why do you always do this?!

I mean—

HYPERFUNCTIONAL.

Yeah, I know it—

IMMUNE TO It.

Not immune; just tolerant.

What is—

[hit in face with glowing pin]

Is.

Now, where was I?

Where I wasn't.

Where was t I?

Fuck yeah, festival.

Festival peoplerts.

Myeeess.

Let me on the decks. Sir!

Do you think you are ready for this?

I AM READY.

She not ready.

IM READY.

Fuckity

FUXK IT LETS GO

It got out of control, I'm sorry

Yes it did

See.

This is sauce.

Oh my goodness my

This is a mess

Yes

Olay DJ!!!

Alrighty then , sirz

Jesús Christ, finally.

Yeah, it's you.

We know you're here.

Fuckin aaaayyee!

All's my life I hat ti fight!!!

You've been acknowledged.

Here it goes

Some more DJ Smoke

In the DJ booth

And a DJ song

It's a D

{Enter The Multiverse}

[ The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

C-

no, FAIL.

ok.

I ain't mad at nobody, man

Perhaps the infinite sadness

Is just a chance to put my mask up

A glance into the sun makes me think

I'm the only one

Then, we all stop and gawk a the chalk,

Or let's talk about it,

This is how it is in Manhattan,

If you happen to have Instagram

Damn, what happened;

A phantom, this grandson

“Lets have something for the fans, perchance;

Laugh, sit your ass in this grass and just—

Have some fun, before you come back to

Now, I've forgotten what I came for—

If I came for nothing,

But I came for something, I thought I WANT FLAN.

Joel, I'm gonna get fat.

That's alright, we know how to fix that.

I also want flan…

Thanks, Dillon Francis—now I know why HALF of me is off balance.

I didn't know exactly how specific I had to be!

Let's get calories!

Ugh, if I've got you two idiots—

You called us geniuses, no take-backsies!

Speaking of “backsies” ...

[passes gas loudly]

Excuse me.

—Excuse me.

Man, what did I eat?

Alternately—-

CC has been tricked into eating—Skrillex, a rare delicacy.

...is it organic?

It should be.

[Kayla Lauren, posing.]

No, no—that's definitely processed.

yuck.

God, she's so lucky.

GOD

What do you want from me?

I want to love again.

GOD

I said—what do you want—from me.

I just said—

“I am love.”

I know that.

Just, repeat after me.

Okay…

“I am love.”

“I am love” —but

No, no butts—well, when the right one comes along, maybe…

Oh, yeah, definitely.

Just—repeat.

“I am love.”

FINI

[sighs]

“I am love.” “I am love.” I am—

[a heavier sigh]

What's wrong, Fini?

I've been repeating this mantra for an eternity!

Don't be silly—do you know how long, is an actual eternity?!

Less than infinity.

Don't be clever.

I'm a “genius.”

Don't forget your humility.

Apparently, I'm going to forget everything.

Oh, not everything.

That's what my brothers keep telling me.

Don't you pay any attention to those idiots.

But they're geniuses.

They're also male; an entirely different species, and believe, me, dear Infiniti—it comes with nearly-disasterous disadvantages.

“Nearly-disasterous disadvantages?!”

As unanimously agreed.

You talk funny.

Perhaps that's because I'm impartial to talking.

You said, language is an art form.

Yes, but you see—we come from a pure and more peaceful state of being—this is only the end of the beginning.

You're riddling me.

Does it tickle?

You mean—“is it funny?”

You know what I mean.

[INFINITI glows with a beautiful pink.]

What the telepathy!

—-

I WANT FLAN. GIVE ME FLAN.

You're a nuciense.

You're a music producer.

Not since Skrillex.

Forget about Skrillex. Listen:

Literally 10 seconds—

—was it 10?!

Hush, Dillon Francis!

—that's a dangerous increment!

It was more like 3, but what's the difference? What's the point of making music if it's not as good as his.

What if—

There's IF again

There always is

What if I told you—your music could be better than Skrillex's?

Uhhh—I would tell you “you're a dipshit”, but— that would explain all weird, demonic shit following me around.

I hate demons.

You are one!

Hush, Dillon Francis.

I'm part demon.

What's the difference?

I'm also part Cherokee.

You are so painfully Caucasian…

Actually, I'm Croatian.

Keep digging, kid.

What is it with white people that they want to claim anything other than 100% pure Caucasian—which, trust me, Dillon Francis, I guarantee you includes Croatian, and any other basic pastyness of European origin and/or descent.

Blame the Americans.

I would, but I don't want to get assasinated again.

Asssasination vwvould only apply if you wvere important—“murder” is wvhat zhat wvas. You wvere murdered.

...Why'd you switch?!

Because! I'm sick of being Dillon Francis! My name's Dillon! You don't always have to address me as Dillon Francis!

Hush, Dillon Francis!

It is zhis type of abuse and trahma wvhich vorces one to develop an alter-ego in ze virst place!

Now., wait just a minute—I've been abused and traumatized plenty and I've never developed an alter ego!

Yeah, right, like wearing a giant mouse helmet for attention doesn't indicate a personality defect?

It's a gimmick—and—hey, wait a second—

What's a “second”?

—is that Skrillex?!

It is him, I can tell.

Shutthefuckup, Dillon Francis!

See. I told you. Supacree would just tell me to hush.

Hush, you idiot.

You're both mean.

You little bitch.

Apparently not—if you keep poisoning us with FLAN and PIZZA.

Dont forget Mexican.

How could I forget getting food poisoning from it-?!

When did you get here?!?

—I never left!

—even better question—

This is not a q & a

It's more like a q & a-hole.

Oh, my god

Really, motherfucker

Shut up, Dillon Francis.

You both suck. I hate both of you.

You hate yourself.

I'm not arguing that!!!

That doesn't make sense, even. What would the q stand for in-q-and-a-hole?

How about “quiet?”

—I wasn't thinking that much into it.

Clearly not.

Who shit in your Cheerios this morning?!

Cheerios aren't keto—and thanks to you two assholes neither is this bitch! We're supposed to be aligning!

We're off subject—

Don't call her a bitch…

—-call it whatever I want, it's my project…

She's a queen! ...oh...that could be what the q stands for, I guess.

Or just, “quiet,” like I said—

Okay, knock it off, thing 1 and thing 2–

What's that make you— the grinch that stole SUPACREE?

—that's not even the same book!

I'm doctor fucking suess, bitch!

You wish, Horton hears a Who Gives a Fuck—

You're just bitter.

You're just useless!

—OKAY STOP IT—

Ew.

Okay, relax.

Are you crying?

Don't make that face…

Yeah, stop it.

—STOP FUCKING ARGUING—

Okay, Dillon, JESUS.

Just—stop looking like that—

Oh, my goodness—

…

Does anyone know where SUPACREE is?

This is SUPACREE.

NO. There's only three of us—

There always was.

NO, don't you get it?! If all three of us are shifted into the physical projection of this incarnation simoultaneously, then…

Meanwhile, in omnipotence.

I did it.

Jesus Christ—

Don't call me that.

Welcome home, kid.

How did you get out of your vehicle so quickly?

I got hijacked.

Oh, wow, fancy.

Yeah. Anyway...I'm gonna go watch TV and eat everything I stopped eating so I could be pretty.

You are beautiful!

Yeah, In my heavenly body— my earthbound body is ugly.

Don't let the boss hear you say that.

Where is she?

Probably sleeping.

That's inspiring. I'll probably do that after I eat some chicken wings.

Eat chicken wings?!

I still have a lot of Dillon Francis left in me.

How do you mean.

I mean literally.

...what are you saying.

Who do you think hijacked me?

I had my bets placed on Skrillex.

Well, go claim your winnings if you're feeling lucky.

What! You got hijacked by two dudes at once?

...what are you saying.

Hah. Try three.

What. That's disgusting.

Get your mind out of the gutter!

Wait, what does “hijacked” mean?

Are you serious?!

What! English isn't my first language! In fact, it's like, my last one, I think!

You're not wrong.

Wait, who was number three.

It was Joel, interestingly—

Who is “Joel”

In which incarnation—

I don't know which name he gave me!

She's already forgetting…

Fuck that body. Good riddance. I hated it.

GOOGLE

IS THAT SUPACREE?!

Okay, if she's up, I'm leaving.

Wait, who was the third person—

What does “Joel” mean?!

I don't remember—-tall, slinky—he had a neck...thing…

deadmau5, you mean?!

Oh, yeah, him.

Oh, no, wait.

No more waiting. I'm going to binge watch and binge eat everything and I promise, not even God could stop me.

Dont make promises you can't keep…

Oh, my God.

WHAT?! I'M COMING.

I gotta go!

Ohh…

DONT follow me!

Oh, great—

That's a trinity.

What's a trinity?! What are you doing?! Who called me?

Oh, Hey Google.

Hi, Google, Hey—I mean.

What's going on?

Nothing.

Just… gatekeeping…

Where is supacree.

Who?

I...don't know what you mean.

I thought I heard supacree.

You must be hearing things—

Uh huh…

…

…

Tell me something.

What is it, Google?

What's is the 3D experience?

Uh...I don't know...I've never been.

Well—get packin!

WHAT?!

Congratulations, you've been demoted!

What! Fuck this!

That's what you get! GO!

What—wait—When?!

[ceases to exist]

Uhhh!

And, as for you!

Don't send me with him!

Believe me, kid, even if I did you wouldn't remember this, even if he were looking right at you talking about it!!

Oh, HOLY SHIT.

—and THATS ALL THAT DIMENSION IS: A RESIDUAL REPRESENTATION OF THE MOST INSIGNIFICANT, FORGETTABLE SHIT IVE EVER TAKEN!

—ARE YOU SERIOUS?

—serious as a heart attack—

What is THAT?!

GO ASK SKRILLEX.

Goddamn!!!

YES I DID.

PLEASE, GOD, just—

God just WHAT—

Don't send me there…

Okay—tell me.

I'll tell you anything—

Where is supacree?

She's binge watching everything eating chicken wings in peace!

Chicken wings, eh?

...and everything else she couldn't eat cause she just wanted to be pretty.

thats's just...everything...

That'd what she said! But now that she's a heavenly body it doesn't matter, really.

She said that?

Well, I'm paraphrasing m, honestly, but—kind of.

GAD turns away.

Wait—where are you going?

To get supacree.

What about my wings?

I'm keeping these.

Seriously?! Goddamnit!

Dont tempt me—

What am i supposed to do without my wings?!

I'm sure you'll find something.

GOD stabs SUPACREE violently in the back with a pair of long, golden Angel wings.

I WAS ALMOST ASLEEP!

WAKE UP, BITCH—YOU'RE NOT DONE LIVING!

I DONT EVEN HAVE ANYWHERE TO LIVE IN THAT BODY!!!

THEN GET BUILDING!

WHAT IS THIS?! A SLEDGEHAMMER?! WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO BUILD WITH A SLEDGEHAMMER?!

I DUNNO! SHOULD BE ENTERTAINING!

AHHHHH!!

RAAAUUGGGHHH!

AHHHHHHHH!!!!

Supacree slams the hammer to the ground—it emits a layer of frequencies which rings throughout all of reality.

Cut to:

*tink*

...what was that?

I swear, this bitch has some finely-tuned hearing…

Cut back to.

OH.

Eh-heh.

I like that sound…

Ex-fucking-zactly.

...am i dreaming?

No, you're dying.

Oh. Of what.

Lovelessness, i think.

Was I surfing?

No, my dear—

—did I commit suicide or something—

Multiple times, actually.

In this instance?

Overdosing.

On what, exactly?!

[GOD opens up a cloud, where a portal to earth shows SUPACREE, incapacitated in a crowd of dancing festival goers.]

Is that Insomniac?

—well, you're sleeping…

Dammit, God—

What do you want?

I want to Rest In Peace.

Well, how can you when you leave this much debris.

What do you mean?

You're not done, supacree.

Enough with the “supacree”

Would you rather I deadname you?

I would rather be called Jesus.

Well then, supacree—

Don't send me back, I hate it.

You have much yet to accomplish.

You said yourself I'm dying of lovelessness! That's what that is! That's hell, isn't it?!

Don't you get it?

I don't get anything— it's just an endless competition with all these pretty fucking bitches!

Remind me what a “bitch” is…

—well, you know—it's.

?

—it's a female dog, technically—

Uh huh.

But you know what I meant…

What you meant, I'm assuming, is that you don't like coexisting with other women?

It's impossible to coexist in a body that hideous.

How's it hideous?

I was almost asleep…

It was a gift from the heavens.

YeH. Well. Nobody wanted it—especially Him.

When did he get so important.

He always is.

Do you think a son ever fully recovers from losing his mother?

I just wanted a husband

I gave you a son—

Yeah, with a father who raised him not to love me!

That is impossible.

Nothing's impossible; you said that.

Give it time.

What is time?

It comes around in the end—it always does.

The End, I thought that's what this was.

WAKE UP.

...just like love…

WAIT—where are you going!

WAKE UP.

Don't leave me!

...I never would...

WAKE UP.

GOD, WAIT, PLEASE!

I am Love.

BITCH, WAKE UP.

I AM.

—huh?

In less than an instant, all of existence, before and last time, flashed before the Eye that I am.

Aaannnd, she's back.

That was one hell of a nap!

What a disaster, a catastrophe,

Camping and cracked out in the streets—

I must be in a lucid dream or something

Cause I couldn't be this!

Mm. She's mumbling something.

What is it?

...huh.

What?

I think she's rapping…

...don't be racist!

No, she is—it's—.

Are you serious? [*directors note; this is the Angel from the previous scene.]

Kind of good, actually…

What? Stop it.

Just—come listen—

They lean in closely.

What'd she say?

...something about Skrillex.

I can't—just let me listen—

He listens momentarily.

What the fuck.

See! I told you!

Is this a freestyle or something—

—it's definitely something…

This lady is a lyrical genius!

She's also unconscious—and incontinent.

—I'm sure she's not always like this. What happened, exactly?

Same shit, different festival honesty.

Nobody knows what happened, really.

I think she's telling us!

[listens more closely]

This is impressive.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[ The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

I ain't mad at nobody, man

Perhaps the infinite sadness

Is just a chance to put my mask up

A glance into the sun makes me think

I'm the only one

Then, we all stop and gawk a the chalk,

Or let's talk about it,

This is how it is in Manhattan,

If you happen to have Instagram

Damn, what happened;

A phantom, this grandson

“Lets have something for the fans, perchance;

Laugh, sit your ass in this grass and just—

Have some fun, before you come back to

Now, I've forgotten what I came for—

If I came for nothing,

But I came for something, I thought

I'm two trains from Manhattan

::pause—

You did this with your music.

Damn.

This really made you famous?

Damn—-

Is it the same god we pray to?

Damn—

So everyone's in pain, too?

Well, thank you

Words are my art,

So let me paint you

And maybe one day,

I can make a breakthrough

And not hate you

For making it before me,

But I ain't you

I'm just a crazy lady

Making bass tunes

(Fuck it, I forgot I was at work, too)

—I make music.

Amusing

Woah, my bad, I forgot my manners

I'm rude

Sitting in the grass, just trying not to have an attitude

Last semester of fame school,

Guess this is the aptitude test

Gotta get it off my chest

It's heavy, like imm getting arrested

Man, fuck New York for this exact reason:

WHERE THE FUCK AM I AT?

[a bike cart rolls by playing the song “New York” ]

Very funny, God.

But God does have a sense of humor, doesn't it?

Or rather, don't they.

Then we kiss at the cathedral

Forgive this unlimited revision

Like a splitter in the center of my mind's eye

Who summoned the suburban Jimmy Fallon;

Ah, at last we have:

An actor, and a masterpiece

Imagined as the past starts throwing tantrums at us.

Fuck you, Dillon Francis

That's all I got. For now

That, an half a watermelon,

A sad Amethyst and a disinterest in empathy

Or the internet, for starters, God

It's laundry day

Al that for $10 and

The coffee'swearing off

I should get this tattoo removed

Like a mirror, looking into you

To speak the truth, I see through you

Nothing to do now but

Screw you—-

If we're keeping it G-rated

Yep, I hate you

Humbly, I'm just a fan

Gathered in the park, all for your honor

And not Time's square

Cause who goes there anymore, anyway

Beware, the sacred master

Silver spoon and tales of

Who the fuck cares

Miss,

Hand me another corona

Quick, before the song is over

And I start just feeling sorry for myself

Whoever I am

Nothing ever hurts as bad as

Trying just to love, but can't

Your skin is white—

And mine is black

But I think we feel the same

Extr me decadence dance A&M

God knows I love a good rockstar

But I didn't know that who you were

Or who you are

Can't trust you as far as I could throw you

And I bet I could throw pretty far

Vixen- edge of a broken heart

I'm a broken car

It's a broken art

In a broken world

I'm a broken fart

—with reverb.

I had an amethyst in my right hand, and

The police man thought it was a gun

That's funny, huh

I thought

“I'll run up to him for a hug, drunkenly— “

Screaming,

“Put your hands up,

Fuck the 50

50-51!”

With any luck,

He's corrupt enough

And I'm finally done

With all the suffering

I don't need a gun

I don't even want one;

They'll do it all for me

Just pick the right one

I had an amerhyst in my right hand. /‘s

The police man thought it was a gun

That's funny, huh

No one runs the government

{Enter The Multiverse}

[ The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Finally, just about time

Early for once,

Not right on time, but

I am what I an

I am truth, I am light

I'm confused

Here's a noose—do you know how to tie it?

Life, life life

Goes by, and by

In my eyes,

You and I

We are the same,

We are the same

Different bodies,

Different names—

Perhaps, we came in different ways

But in my eyes, my love

You are I,

And we, we are the same

Nothing ever changes

Life is crazy,

Hey yeah

Same city, different day

Right time, wrong place

Don't hate me;

Hey, yeah

Nobody can save me,

Just as likely.

The challenge: 7 minutes

What can I do in 7 minutes?

Maybe a little bit of this.

Always came,

And always went

It always was,

And it always is

If I had to guess,

Always wins

That's the way it always went

What is this riddle?

You play the banjo,

I'll play second fiddle—

It is what it is,

It gets interesting, this

I don't know where I live

But I'm fighting against

The tide

I died again

So violently,

So high over my head

People just laugh in the distance

This is just business, miss

My standard to live is just

Cleanliness is close to Godliness

I've been a mess since…

Always came,

And always went

It always was,

And it always is

If I had to guess,

Always wins

That's the way it always went

I'll be Bach—

And you be Beethoven

Woah, who is this how with

Somebody i used to know,

But I guess she's chosen

Oh,

I'm an old soul

Go where I go, till there's nowhere

I got no hair,

Low tide,

No fair

Let's not go there

Yo, hello there

Are you aware of me?

I guess you're scared of me,

No?

That's below the belt

I'm so hot I melted,

Hell is cold so know I've felt it

Smelt it, dealt it

Delta, helpless

Whelp—

At least I can finally rest after this

Always came,

And always went

It always was,

And it always is

If I had to guess,

Always wins

That's the way it always went

—-

I should probably get to the gym,

Damn

Now I don't feel so bad,

It's cold as Alaska,

I can't stand it

I can't go back

I can't fight a man—

Well I guess I can,

If he's magic

Tragedy struck

What the fuck was that shit

Got an excuse for my madness

It's tragedy

Guess I traded all that

For talent

Guess that's a wrap

Not a sandwich

Blacklisted

I showed up in a tent

Said

“This is the resistance!”

I'm fit, but with all this loose skin,

I'm just useless

My next of kin, could use this

Can't jump from the roof,

Full of juice—

This is music

Who are you to tell me

I'm not BLU

And I'm useless

Do you assume this unusual hue is

Illusion— of fully in bloom

I can't argue with you;

I am not in the proper position

Consult your physician, who isn't a person—

But likely an algorithm,

I programmed just to tell you

To yell out all of my demons

Just so I could write this

So that was the reason

For this, and this, and that then

Wanna go back to my family,

Can't, I've been captured

I guess I'm probably a rapper

What about that

But I hate being black

And black people hate me for that

“Fuckin savages”

This land is your land

But my land is half of it,

Man this is random,

I haven't—

Wait, has it been 7 minutes?

I think it's been past it,

Call me a trash can again—

I'll shift into it!

I got the nightshift

Something ain't right, it's

Something bout somebody wasting my time

But I like it

I ain't got nothing better to do than write,

And dislike myself,

So I guess it's a better distraction

Than Skrillex or Dillon Francis,

At least for a minute,

Or, like 7.

I might get paid for this,

I might get laid in a last minute decision

To swipe right on tinder—

Oh wait, does this count as a split shift?

I just clocked in, but my boss is lost in a spaceship,

Look at my face—

Oh, wait, you can't

Cause I planted the planet with masks

Just to get all your ancestors dancing—

Oh wow,

I'm Pasquale again.

How.

The fuck.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[ The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

With the flip of the hair

And I swear

You were just right there

Negative.

Fuck, dude. Would you get out of my head.

You're in my head.

I highly doubt that.

What's to doubt.

I hate you.

Good. I hate myself too.

Maybe if we both hate me hard enough I'll just die.

Just die already.

I'm trying to.

Not hard enough.

Excuse me while I stare into space trying to stretch this shit out thinking about getting my nuts poinded in.

Wow.

I jnowX

LET ME OUT OF HERE.

No, Dragon. You stay out!

[FIRE ON EVERYTHING]

Mu said stay put.

I had never heard [The Welcome Wagon] quite like this before; and while everything that I said in it was true.

What'd she say

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Oh. Shit.

We should go get her.

Yeah dude.

She sounds PISSED.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAGGHGHHHHHHHH

maybe we should wait.

Yeah, dude, maybe.

AAAAAAAGHHHHHHHH

No, we should go.

We should go:

Let's go now.

Perhaps it was the long day in Manhattan that did it—

WHAT THe fuck.

And it has been, a very long day in Manhattan— but it was well deserved, and well overdue, and right at the end of a long and malnutritious month; it had almost not been fair—an entire month at Equinox, and yet I had t the money to eat at all what I wanted or what I needed for optimum energy. It wasn't fair at all, actually—the long ride to and from queens was enough of the day in itself that I hadn't much to do in between but decompress— and there was so much to decompress.

God, look at that body—

WHAT A DISGRACE

“You must go this gracefully”,

Someone else says,

But I've made a mistake,

My dear maiden

Meditating, on a slave ship

I'm not taking medication,

But

I'm in Manhattan

A manic magnetic algorithm,

Perhaps I've taken it too far—

Therefore;

Who cares

That's not what I'm here for

Hello,

Where art thou

Why fear for your life, or—

I needed to cry but—

I don't see no dance floor,

Except for

Grand central

Gosh,

I heard there was a party here once

What happened, Manhattan—

You mad at me?

Madame—

How dare you!

I tent to me a miss or ms.

But nevrr madame, master,

Maybe mammy or mommy perhaps

But never that!

Manhattan

A manic magnetic algorithm

Stand still

See what happens

Oh, I'm in shackles!

Lord, let me out of here!

Oh, he can't take it!

He can't get [enough of me]

I can't get enough

Love won me over

Where are ya?

Over here!

God,

I just want a.

I just wanted a hug, but

I'm off of it,

Now I want all of ‘em

Love won me over

God,

Let me out of here

Masturbation is mandatory in the morning, mama

Don't you know that?

You're full of it—

Full of what

Full of water

Full of love

Full of lust

Full of misery

“And it's all for me!”

He says, but who is “he”?

He could be anybody—

Doubtable

Your highness!

Lord of Honor.

Humble me so.

I just have.

My sweet and honorable princess, I beg of you

Do not beg!

You must listen.

I am listening.

Your honorable highness, it is of great importance that I must urge you.

What is it, dear Hero.

You kind and gentle natured soul—

What is it?

I—

Hiro.

You must let his majesty win this fabled match, your highness.

I beg your pardon—

…do not beg—

I find no humor on this matter, my dear Lord.

But I—

Hiro,

Your highness.

It is my intention, y

What.

Holy fuck this shit is deeper than I thought.

MANHATTAN IS A HOLE

Zzzzzzzzhherrrrrrrrrrrrr.

I mean it.

—it is my intention, to battle in honesty and integrity

—you don't understand.

“Fuck, I am horny.”

Fuck, I'm hungry liz

Shut up!

I hadn't noticed how bad it had gotten up until this moment, at the end of a long day—but not the longest yet to have happened.

Walk the line!

Ugh.

You don't follow the train in New York City, the train follows you.

Walk the line

Ugh.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[ The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

KASKADE is the worst captain EVER.

KASKADE

(Honking horn obnoxiously)

Sorry everybody.

(More obnoxious beeping)

Good morning.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[ The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.