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

Vs.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

I didn't know what to think, or how to feel, exactly—but in the moment I had more on my mind than what was comfortable, not that anything was exactly comfortable—nor was I aware of what was fully happening. In complete auto-pilot, I stood at the center of the upper platform of the bus, awaiting my stop—and though I had taken the long route back to The Raddison just to read, I found it for whatever reason hard to focus, and although Robert Greene's books almost lasts kept me captivated and intrigued, it nearly boggled my mind into pieces attempting to read even one complete sentence— and as the bus over-filled well-beyond it's capacity, I had abandoned my seat voluntarily, as a man had quite literally sat on top of me, as I'd I were invisible, and besides being accompanied by a mouth-open-coughing man, whatever foreign language I couldn't bear to wrap my mind around placing was bothersome; and I though briefly about my budding republicanism, although I still dredged upon the blackest and poorest realms of society—still finding it wholeheartedly worrisome that so many foreigners thrived In my own country while natural born Americans continued to suffer. Arms above me to hold my place as if handing from a cross, my mind wandered as the bustling underworld around became a blur, as the bus crossed under the bridge I had myself deemed “one of the worst places in New York City,” only falling second to The Bronx, which I found to be as God's running joke “nobody likes the Bronx”, said just about everyone, when the subject was approached—and as my bus approached its stop, someone shouted out,

“SUPACREE!” quite loudly and clearly enough that it startled me—a lot, actually, and as the bus came to a stop, I darted underneath the man who had been eating a Slim Jim, dipping it gratuitously into a full-sized jar of Nutella—the thing that might have boggled me even more than hearing my own ficticious alter-ego shouted out amongst the crowd of an over-stuffed New York City bus— and out of the back doors, pouncing with extremespeed and darting away— towards the corner, nearly amused but more confused than anything; I had discontinued my podcast series nearly a month ago, or rather, had allowed it go to into “suspension”, all four series pulled from the digital marketplaces at which they once lived, and though on this day specifically, after “briefly becoming Skrillex”, I had now been funded with the ability to reclaim my podcasts, I struggled with the thought of such an expenditure—having abandoned less than $10 worth of groceries at several supermarkets over the last couple of days, almost unable completely to let any money that came in back out, and even though I was certainly dehydrated, struggling with…

Struggling with what.

Idk. I stopped writing.

Why.

Well, obviously I got off the bus.

“SUPACREE!”

‘Wtf. Who would even know about SUPACREE?! And HOW?!'

Meanwhile.

Catch me at the Raddison,

Or maybe at the Madison

Square Garden,

Hair blonde and hot as Jennifer Anniston

Class is in Session;

Listen up, freshman

You just got to Fame school,

But this my last semester;

Diamond, under Pressure like Queen

Say “yessir”,

Guess here,

But let's be clear

There's only one answer

(I AM)

I got two twin flames

I'm so famous,

My name changes,

Every day

Just like the weather,

I'm the rain—

The sun on a Sunni(y) day

If you're watching Anime,

I'm pain, Sauake,

I'm 9 tails, 8,

7-6-5, tres—

No quatro biente

Yo vijar tomorrow

El fumes es caliente

They say God is a dancer,

But I'm actually a rapper

They say God is a dancer,

Bur I'm actually a rapper

They say Gos is a dancer,

But I'm actually a rapper

Rolling in the deep

In the red, no bed

I'm dead: Whitney Houston

You will never do what you said;

All bullshit—

I'm the whole church,

I'm the pastor, I'm the pulpit

I'm the nun, I'm the priest,

I'm the muthafuxkin alter:

Mother's Alter Ego:

Hail Mary, I'm the Father!

I do not need a Doctor,

In fact, I'll wear a law suit,

Ya'll so toxic, made me so sick- chicken soup

Now I got you lookin stupid,

Here's an arrow for you, Cupid

Tell ‘em you can bite me if you like em like a toothpick

I might catch the 40

Just to go to Timmy Ho's—

They askin “who that is”— and nobody seems to know

I might catch a case and you still steady catchy colds

I might catch a body, fuck it, I am on a roll

What the role?

Full Hollywood Unfold

Why you blowin up my phone when

I am on the road?

I am the controller;

You old

That ain't money that you stole;

That's my bro

That shit bold

Like a cup of Timmy Hos!

When I pull up—

Shut up

Where the blunt at?

roll up

Oh you hungry?

Pull up

Devil be hunting me

ONGOING—

THE CELEBRITIES OF HOLLYWOOD have all been stuck at THE ETERNAL RAVE, after riding THE HELLEVATOR//

THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE have SUPACREE locked into a controlled hyper-simulation environment, out of her element and nestled in a series of inter dimensional portals along the Downtown Los Angeles central area, where old spirits, extra terrestrial beings, magicians, and of course, the filthy rich and famous embark upon missions. Collect tokens, and meet and gather for an array of unseen (and often unheard) business endeavors;

The real life DRAKE BELL (F), a fan of the cult-classic series Enter The Multiverse is strategically placed in SUPACREE's path, l masquerading as BLŪ/SUNNÏ BLŪ— she once again collides with the forces of fame,

SUNNÏ BLŪ has not yet sold her soul — however, has made an amicable agreement with an unknown force

The Devil?!

No!

Ok.

Probably the Illuminati

THE ILLUMINATI is playing a HIGH STAKES game, using SUPACREE to craft a multi-million-dollar mega-franchise, finally monopolizing the entire entertainment industry.

*The World

Having used the NEW WORLD ORDER to predictively program an entire generation. THE ILLUMINATI employs its all-time favorites to unlock secrets embedded deeply, hidden secretly in SUPACREE's genetic code by THE ASCENDED MASTERS.

where is skrillex.

I don't know.

TIMMY TURNER- A fairyless party animal has reached the end of his luck—as his intermingling a with multiple organized criminal organizations place him in imminent danger, after re-entering the 4th dimension, SUPACREE becomes Inter grated i to all of her classic childhood television shows, which mold into the material multidimensional world around her

THE INSOMNIACS, BAMPHERAMPHS, and MOTHERFUCKERS work dolls gently with the ASCENDED MASTERY, bending, shifting, and manipulating time to lean the odds in their favor, as THE BATTLE OF WORLDS sets to begin on EARTH, whose planetary consciousness

DILLON FRANCIS is a mess.

Lol.

It's not funny.

It is funny. I have his piñata.

GERALD

I'M NOT JUST A PIÑATA.

I know yur not, hush Gerald.

GERALD

Fuck Dillon Francis.

Fuck Dillon Francis.

HANZEL

—fuck Dillon Francis.

Aha.

ANYWAY

After THE ARMENIAN MOB

The Armenian Mob?!

yeah.

Makes a deal with the US GOVERNMENT

THE US GOVERNMENT?!

YES

Illuminati Confirmed.

great.

A counter-plot to disarm and debilitate SUPACREE before her full powers unlock is put on hinges, as THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE

Ahem.

What

Write a song.

Ok.

I'm so—

I'm so

Jealous of your girlfriend

(I'm jealous of your girlfriend)

She's so

She's so

Worth it

I'm so

Jealous of your girlfriend

(I'm jealous of your girlfriend)

What's a girl got to give

(Give in, to give in)

Just to sit in the back of the—

(You get it: you get it)

What's a girl got to give

To get your attention

Get your attention?!

(You have my attention)

Is she

Attentive

Bet

She's a ten

Yep,

Damn,

IMm so jealous of your

Jealous of your

—I'm jealous of your girlfriend

Oh, woah

I'm jealous of your girlfriend

Woah

Woah, oh

I'm jealous of your girlfriend

Woah,

Woah, oh

I'm jealous of your—

I'm so jealous of your life;

I'm so over this!

I just want to be a

(Nevermind, it's not worth it)

Can't—

C-c-c-can't fix what's not broken

I'm all alone,

And you're over here showing her

Love!

(To the wrong one,

Is she a blonde?!

Oh!)

No!

I'm!

So!

Jealous of your girlfriend

Anyway.

TIMMY TURNER, a true player, absolute gangster, and night-owl turns to a life of

SIN.

Is this religious?

No, i just meant, it's finished.

THE END.

“The Noir Episode”

I first saw her at the Equinox.

I didn't know who she was then,

But I thought to myself—

She must be somebody.

Aww, that's sweet.

So I followed her to the Whole Foods market.

Okay, that's stalking.

—where she bought nothing but coffee and coconut water.

TIMMY TURNER narrowly turns the corner on his speed motorcycle, his black duffel bag sweeping the ground.

MEANWHILE, JOEL ZIMMERMAN IS BEING RAIDED.

WOAH.

Yup.

POLICE

GET ON THE GROUND

ON THE GROUND RIGHT NOW.

JOEL calmly places his arms atop his head, laying down on the ground silently—-

Meanwhile, at DTLA SMOKESHOP

Hi, josh pan.

whatever.

Earlier:

Take this, and go get 2 50-pack of whippets.

—for what?

WE FINNA GET HIGH ON WHIPPETS AND LISTEN TO ALLLL OF SUPACREE'S SHIT.

that's so dumb.

WELCOME: To Sodom And Gamora!

Oh, it's nice.

It's very nice.

I live here.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

SEASON 4 REWIND:

In an extremely magical, remote village in coastal Mexico, also known as “the international multidimensional airportal”, MACKSWELL aka 'NAMELESS' , A 40-year-old rapper from NEW YORK, CITY challenges BLŪ, rapping as her alias (THE KIDD) to a freestyle duel over a variety of random beats and mixes by DJ Ū, as DANIA, a self-stated “advocate of SATAN” witnesses and observes in a state of bliss at BLŪ'S going away party as she plans to return to the United States after spending a majority of the year working the ranks as a rookie DJ — returning “home” to work after being robbed of her savings by THE MEXICAN SKRILLEX (LEVIATHAN)

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

After the ancient alien mystic chak Chel merges with supacree, she leads her on a wild adventure though space and time as the worlds newest superhero, helping supacree to master her powers and abilities, and helping her to escape the clutches of the evil and largely unknown evils of the multiverse—

Meeting worlds and Banding together witb characters from infinite multidimensional worlds and realms…

THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE

LEGENDS

GERALD'S WORLD

OWSLA CONFIDENTIAL: THE INFINITE SKRILLIFILES

ENTER THE MULTIVERSE

DEATHWISH

ASCENSION

THE SECRET LIFE OF SUNNÏ BLŪ

SCARY MONSTERS & SUPACREE

THE INSOMNIAC

&MORE FROM

[The Festival Project.™]

SEASON 6

ACT III

Part I

MONTAGE:

Clique, Cruel Summer Kanye West, JAY-Z & Big Sean

EXT. DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT

SUPACREE has unlocked 100% Of her ABILITIES

GOD MODE UNLOCKED

SUPACREE EXITS EQUINOX FITNESS CLUB AT LIGHTSPEED, Hitting the pavement with swift force, splitting into three dimensional selves; SUNNI BLŪ to her left and A MYSTERIOUS, unknown ALTER EGO to her right, she shifts quickly to the beat of the music, morphing into and out of parallels of the outer world, opening and closing portals, and encapsulating anything and everything within her force field—which happens to be the whole of GREATER LOS ANGELES.

Damn.

If I put my heart inside a box;

Maybe I'd forget how cold it was

Or how far you are

Or how much it hurts

There's no harm in God,

If there ever was one

Then, reality sets in:

God was my only friend

No armor on,

I'm at the end

Of a long, long walk

I'm off again

And on again

Nothing's impossible—

stop at the alter and scoff a bit

I left my coat on,

I left my heart on the rooftop,

A sacrifice, love

At the alter,

I wonder a song,

Or a sonnet

A song,

No, what's wrong?

Something's off a bit

God, I woke up in a coffin once

Isn't that awful?

The rest or the song wrote itself,

At the alter

No, I can't stop and talk

Got to get off,

Cause I've never been on

I've never belonged in the world

What have we done?

This is bad, brother.

That's a construct.

Everything's a construct!

Get ahold of yourself.

Get ahold of—you know what?

I do know.

You think you're fuckin' clever.

I am clever.

You're a sick man.

That's my business.

Yeah, well—you made it my business.

I am you.

What a concept.

*construct.

God, help you!

[sideways evil smirk]

Hehe.

SPAM! ON TACOS!

BUTTERS

Oh—Jesus!

WHO PUTS SPAM ON TACOS?!

A smart man.

C'mon, Butters. We gotta get lost in the sauce before we try this out.

I'MMA TRY IT OUT.

OK.

GOD, OH, GOD, PLEASE—

MERCIFUL GOD IN HEAVEN—

(WhT.)

JUST— DON'T LET IT BE SKRILL

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Fuxk.

What.

She took the train.

Which fucking train.

I don't know. The train.

THE A TRAIN, or the B TRAIN?!

HEY.

WHAT, you motherfucking idiot?

I THINK I LOVE YOU.

Well, stop thinking.

Ok.

JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER has been kidnapped—

He's like 50 years old.

He's been dad-napped.

—by the MOB.

The MOB?!

He's into some dark shit.

Wait, he is?!

In this series.

He has been tied to a chair, which sits under a single spotlight in a shabby, dark room in NEW JERSEY.

Ew, New Jersey.

JIMMY THE MOBSTER

Hi, Jimmy—

JIMMY FALLON

—uh—hello.

JIMMY THE MOBSTER

I'm Jimmy.

JIMMY FALLON

Oh, that's ironic.

[beat]

JIMMY THE MOBSTER

I'm gonna kill you, Jimmy.

GOD

If I give you a serious role, how are you gonna handle it?

JIMMY FALLON

like a pro.

GOD

don't lie to me, Jimmy.

JIMMY FALLON

What?! I'm not!

My body, heart, mind, and soul was being attacked—

I had 15 minutes to vacate the property and couldn't even focus—I had to use the bathroom so badly it hurt my soul. I was pacing back and forth, choking back ugly tears—the rude man in the room across the way still occupying the bathroom which I needed, both to clean and relieve myself—but it had been hell, after all, and needs like these had been proven to be in short supply.

Fuck.

This is a gun to your head.

Just do it.

[he moves the pistol into her mouth]

Now it's in your mouth.

[she unhinges her jaw to open it wider, never breaking eye contact and relaxes; he studies his hand on the grip of the tripper, ready to lill]

You'll die today.

[A comfort; as she relaxes, he as well changes—this seems to take the fun of killing away from him, he exacts the gun from her mouth]

CONT'D

You like that?

I love it—

You're dead, bitch!

Yes, I am!

A penniless whore.

Whores get paid—

Then, even less—

What's less than this?

A dead bitch.

Think again.

I don't think, I just shoot;

Sounds like a man.

Oh, I am.

Then kill me with your hands.

Jesus Christ, man.

He can't help.

No one can help you.

So just shoot.

[he can't]

SUNNI.

)&2&;@2@2$

YOU ARE OUT OF CONTROL.

SUCK MY DICK.

AGHHJJJ.

Well. TMZ is here.

This is a disaster.

NEXT, WE LEARN:

THE

Oh my God.

WhT.

This is probably the worst thing I've ever written.

Not the worst.

Nope: it is the worst.

Maybe it's just bad on paper.

It's bad no matter how you —

CONTROL, JANET PRIVACY.

Here.

Wtf is this.

LEGENDS:

FAME SCHOOL

Christopher Walken was one of my professors in fame school

For acting?

For music.

For music? That doesn't make any sense.

Please, don't make me explain this.

A FACE BATTLE

CHRISTOPHER WALKEN

vs.

SUPACREE

-_-

—__^

*_-

^__\

\__/

*_*

><

…

—-__—-

Ok.

Alright.

Show me what you got.

SUPACREE plays a beat.

You know where this is going.

We all know where this is going.

CHRISTOPHER WALKEN

that was OK.

“OK”?!

Yeah. *shrugs* OK.

You know what—

You know what it needs?

…what's it need?

—-more cowbell.

I beg your pardon.

Please, don't beg.

It was perfect.

It was OK.

You're not OK.

—maybe I'm not.

You're definitely not.

—know what helps?

Don't tell me:

More fucking cowbell.

Lol.

⅔ ain't bad.

Wait, two out or three?!

Which one didn't I—

—FUCK.

What, what happened?

They're onto me.

THE BAMPHERAMPS, MOTHERFUCKING BAMPHERAMPHS, and THE ASCENDED MASTERY has assembled in NEW YORK CITY to stage a coup.

It's a coup d'état.

There sure is a lot of French shit over here.

Well yeah, it's Paris.

Wait.

What, what now?

If SUPACREE is in Paris.

NIGGAZ.

Right—then—

Who the fuck are they chasing in New York.

[just waking up]

Why am I in New York?

WHOOPI GOLDBERG

you got anyplace else to be?

…no.

MEANWHILE, IN ROME.

Fanculo!

Really, dude.

Apparently.

A tear in my head;

A rip in my soul,

And the fabric of—

Coming undone at the whole;

I make sense of it all at the alter,

The fall;

To have fought in the war,

And then lost, or to suffer at all

Love was lost,

I was never a martyr—

Blood on the cross,

And the crossroads,

The frost and the stardust,

“There's no God”

For the honorable,

Stuck in New York,

But defrosting my toes,

At the forefront

I haven't once wondered or thought

Of the love that I was,

Since I stopped throwing rocks at the church

Or got off on the wrong stop;

What a puzzle,

To jump off,

Or rot in the heart of

The hub—

World of wonders,

A mother of suns,

Never wanted a daughter so much

Unpunishment,

Loved was the Duchess;

To carry a crutch or a cross—

So unbothered, untouched,

So heartless and dark,

For the marksman—a spark

Or the dog does not bark

At the horses

You're in the clear, hero.

Heartless, she was!

Now, now—settle down.

This is an absolute outrage.

Is it, now?

I say so!

Maybe you shouldn't.

Faro, a word,

I've got three.

I'll go first.

[a smug look]

What's happened here?

A ressurection, sir.

Care to explain?

I said ‘three.'

Where's the King?

My palms grew numb as my throbbing heartache welled up into the back of my throat and sat perched up against my growling stomach, stuffed with beans and rice, perhaps to fill the sadness or satiate my need for protein, either one.

ASCENSION

If you're going to vomit, step away from me.

—I'm not sick.

Actually, step out of my house.

This is your house?

—I live here.

—no one lives here.

What did you think it was?

an elaborate cave.

It is—an elaborwte cave—

—excuse my ignorance.

You're excused entirely.

—I appreciate that.

I meant, from here. You should go.

Faro, wait.

No more waiting; you were uninvited.

Trust me—this visitation is more necessary than voluntary.

That's—a lot of words.

I don't speak caveman.

Just—get out.

Listen:

No more listening—

It's about C'esme't.

It always is.

This is important.

It always is.

It concerns you.

It always does.

—?

Wait.

[a heavy sigh]

[a long silence]

Come with me.

FARO leads GÍAN towards the back of his quarters.

Close the door.

I— what?

Nevermind. You're useless.

Ehrm—excuse me.

Excused, your majesty.

FARO opens a SECRET PASSAGEWAY into a FUTURISTIC CORIDOR, leading GÍAN into a vast FORTRESS.

balls.

Uh.

My stomach in knots

And my life is in ruins

Constellations all gone,

And my heart, on the border of hurt—

And mistrust

So unlovable, loveless—

Promises, scars and the art was devoured

Ah— she was awful;

Ah—she must have lost her mind

God, she was homeless,

And loveless,

And wild eyed

All that I wanted,

Was to get lost in the lobby,

Before the whole ball dropped

—and watch the false phropet

Collide wirh the comet

Stop:

I lost God at the crosswalk,

The punishment was

Homeless

Now watch this:

This is what I wanted:

Doesn't really matter now,

Does it?

Oh, doesn't it.

God, this is Lucifer.

Son, it's an honor.

No God for a mother, who walks on her own.

Now it's over or under.

It's over.

It never got started.

I locked up my heart with the piñata.

How irrelevant.

How awkward.

How curse words turn to mantras.

How I have half a heart

Or, like ⅓

We're being honest, now.

I thought Illuminati wanted hotties and Caucasians.

Well, I guess that'll explain,

Why you've been stuck inside a cage, then.

NICK CAGE is an extremely skilled time traveler.

Ok.

WHOOPI GOLDBERG has freed herself from the cage in which SUPACREE had skillfully trapped the OWL OF THE GOLDEN EYE.

WhT a prophecy.

MEANWHILE, AT HOGWARTS.

HOGWARTS, 2023.

ANANDAR is HEADMASTER.

Ah, fuck.

I'm gonna puke.

All I wanted was to shamelessly watch the man's balls swing like a pendulum...

Well, here's this instead.

Oh no, it's Skrillex.

Now you have to—

—now I have to watch this.

Why.

Cause I've already seen that.

I hate you.

I hate you.

SOLD, to the lady in red.

Damn.

Slavery is cool.

Yeah, I guess.

FUCK.

What.

Idk.

BITCH.

GET OUT THE BASEMENT;

I'm in the attick

What you think this is?

Lights, camera, action:

Now that attractions been well established

I should get back to it,

I'm in the attic

Lighting up matches,

Fixin my holes up with patches

Callin it classic

Call me an asshole,

I can't be mad man,

I am a mad man,

I bring the mask back

To Handle a trash can

Get out the basement.

I told you he could dance.

A GIANT DRAGON

Oh shit, here it comes.

FIRE.

DILLON FRANCIS I

Well. We're gonna die.

DILLON FRANCIS II

If she throws up, I get a pickle.

DILLON FRANCIS III

That's a deal.

DILLON FRANCIS II

And if she cries, I get a French poodle named Angelina Jolie.

DILLON FRANCIS III

Righteous.

DILLON FRANCIS II

Yur damn right.

A GIANT DRAGON FLIES OVERHEAD, SWEEPING THE SKIES WITH FIRE AND LIGHTNING.

DILLON FRANCIS I (CONT'D)

Yeah, we're definitely fucked.

Why are you dressed like Froto.

FROTO (in background, dressed exactly alike)

That is offensive!

SHUTTHEFUCKUP.

It's the end of the world!

(At least as we know it)

IS THAT SKRILLEX?

FIRE BREATHING DRAGON.

Well, it was.

What the fuck HAPPENED?!

Is that its final form?

Yes it is.

I'll give you one million dollars.

That's not enough. This card is priceless.

What is this. Like a Pokémon game?!

This whoops Pokémon's ass.

This is LEGENDS.

LIL' BIIIITZ

Yo! New York is CRAZY

First of all, how is it all of a sudden CLEANER THAN LA?!

New York's like: here —we sent all the nasty people to LA. All better.

Polarity shift!

LA is gross now!

New York cleaned up!

The trains are nice —shit—

All the trash is in BAGS.

I was like

“Whaaaaaaat” this is nice.

What the fuck. This shit different!

Unh.

they exported all the nasty, crazy motherfuxkers to LA. On GOD.

Cause every other psychologically twisted individual I talk to in LA is like:

“I'M FROM NEW YORK”

*hawks loogie, spits*

Uhhhhh…

I was going on a little European adventure;

New York's like:

“You know, you never stay long…”

I'm like

“There's a reason for that…welp, gotta go.”

The whole universe fucked around and was like—

“You know what? We like you here. Stay. “

What.

“STAY.”

Fuck.

New York is different.

Won't say I love it —

But goddamn, I like it!

People are rude.

People are rude as fuck.

I'm used to LA where people are fake nice

For fuckin tips and shit, you know?

Everybody's trying to get famous for something,

Or something. Idk. Fake as fuck.

Fake nice. Fake happy. Fake titties. Fake lips.

Just fucking fake. fake everything. Everything is plastic.

—and it's not tied up in garbage bags, either. It's just plastic, and trash, and piss everywhere. It's so gross.

You see Venice Beach on the movies:

It's all clean and beautiful, and picturesque.

You get there, it's like Skid Row +

Skid Row Coastal.

LA has millions of homeless people everywhere.

In cars, in tents. Under bridges. Everywhere.

And I love LA! I really do. But it's fake. Everything is fake.

New York is real as fuck.

Yeaaah.

Almost too real.

But I like it.

You don't have to fuckin fake shit.

People don't say “excuse me—“

No.

You're never forced to say “good morning “ before you had your coffee! Yuh!

New York is doing it right.

People sleep on the train—

But nobody lives on that motherfucker!

I was in New York like a week before the shock wore off that there were not hundreds of individuals on every train wreaking of piss and smoking crack openly—YES—illicit drug use on trains in LA is extremely casual.

Everything in LA is casual. People wear pajamas to work. Yeah—that.

Everyone in New York looks like they're going to eat at a five-star restaurant. Like all the time.

No socks-with-slides. EW.

I swore to God socks with slides was a sign of the apocalypse; I get to New York, none of that—but the cringy thing in New York is Crocs With Socs.

Now mmmm we're bi-coastal.

Socks-with-slides;

Crocs-with-socks.

Knock that shit off. TACKY.

other than that, though…

NY is cool. It's chic. It's fun.

You gotta be careful though.

You gotta watch out.

I thought LA drivers were crazy.

New York drivers are fucking psychotic.

Pedestrians don't have the right of way.

At all.

If you're in a crosswalk in LA even if the light is red, people will stop and let you go.

In New York you better wait for the fuckin walk sign.

They will kill you.

It's okay.

6 millions ways to die: choose one!

Just kidding. That's some west coast shit.

But I did see a whole ass mural of Snoop Dogg in Brooklyn and get slightly confused—

Till I realized everything on it was the color blue, and I was deadass in the middle of Brooklyn going

“What? Ohhhhh! Wait! The Crips!”

“Those guys are everywhere!”

Lol.

Its a nation wide disorganization.

Lol. Whatever.

I like New York.

Doing my best not to love it,

So the universe doesn't balance me out by showing me what to hate about it

So far, so good

New York drivers don't play.

I never seen a school bus drift before!

DAMN.

Almost got hit by a short bus.

Oh, the irony.

I saw a dude do a whole ass wheelie on an electric scooter.

Not a moped, by the way.

An electric scooter.

Yup. New Yoooooork.

BEDFORD AVENUE, BROOKLYN, NY.

THE BAMPHERAMPHS have initiated SEQUENCE C

I like New York. I gotta say.

It IS like LA In the way that I know I can't live in New York if I'm not just filthy fucking rich.

Cause, you know—there's still homelessness;

But unlike in LA, where you just wander around, smelling like piss, begging for change—

You freeze to death.

A quick solution!

Haha!

(It's not funny.) but whatever. America.

I thought I was leaving; I got trapped in the matrix.

I was like

“Fuck this place.”

They're like: “stay! We need slaves!”

I'm like FUCK.

So I got stuck in New York.

Ugh.

At least it's a “free state”

I made it north, ma!

Not exactly the safest place to get stuck with no money, either, is it?

Really nowhere is safe with no money.

I mean, I know of some places south of the border you can live, basically free and just, you know—sleep in a hammock, sing for change and shit. Roam the beach. I know people that do that— it's just-

I like showers.

I don't love showers.

Cause then, I'm sure God would find a way to take that away, too.

I don't love anything anymore.

Once you love something—it either goes away, or it burns you.

Or both.

Can't love things.

Can't love people.

No more love.

Just—appreciate—things.

Just—like—things, you know?

Don't love anything.

Speaking of suicidal tendencies.

Hahah.

You know what else is cool about New York?

The trains actually come into the station fast enough to kill you.

Like—you've had enough? Okay: here it is.

Just to save you a trip to the Empire State Building.

This train is coming in at 304 miles an hour and is somehow gonna stop in 3 seconds.

—maybe 2 seconds, if you do jump—

Better think fast!

They almost come too fast, for suicide.

Ready, set—

Dammit.

Missed it again.

They're so fast.

The trains in LA stopped going suicide-fast like, a couple years ago—maybe, just before the pandemic—I think.

They're like

“You know what! This is happening too often. I am ALWAYS late to my other two jobs ‘cause someone killed themselves on my train! Fuck!”

LA's like:

“Well fuck this, all the slaves are killing themselves on the trains.”

“Damn, that sucks”

LA's like

“Yeah, okay so: here's what we do; we'll put up signs for a suicide hotline at the popular jumping points”

“LA's like: okay”

“And—we'll tell the train operators they gotta slow down coming into the station—“

“That'll do it!”

“—that way, If they still do decide to jump, they'll just get paralyzed, and contribute to the opioid crisis: more funding for big pharma!”

“Yes, it's genius!”

“—unless they're black, or on Medicaid, then: we'll send em home with some ibuprofen and make sure they collect disability, so that they can become addicted to crack, or something like that —you know.”

“Yes. That's perfect.”

Good Job LA.

I get lost in New York.

I'll be on New York like

“YO, WHERE THE FUCK AM I AT?”

“In New York”

GODDAMMIT.

You know what else is weird about New York?

Personal space is not a thing.

I mean, “space” is not a thing at all, anyway.

But

“Personal space”?

No.

People will not only sit by you;

The'll siT ON you.

Yo.

I had just got to New York—

I had all my luggage with me—

And this lady gets on the train;

She's got a broom.

Idk what for, but okay;

She gets onto the train,

She looks around, and I guess she decides she wants the seat next to me.

So like I said, I have all my stuff l so I'm a little spread out, but there's room—

But you know what she does?

She looks me straight in the eye

And then just hits me with her broom.

I was like —-?!?

I'm thinking,

“Okay is she racist or is that just a New York thing?”

Like, “you can just hit people with shit!? damn!”

What's funny is, I kinda respected her for that. She was old. Didn't say a word, just “bam”

Like—- ‘move!' I'm like “okay!”

New York is so classy.

Girls wear panty hose, and stockings.

I'm like “wow, that's actually nice. That's so wholesome! Tights?! Yeah!”

It's so classy.

I don't think girls in LA even wear regular panties.

Let alone panty hose.

Get it—panty—Hoes.

I see correlation.

You know what else is cool about New York.

It's less racist.

I mean-

There's so much diversity, there's almost no room to be racist.

It's crazy.

So many people. So many colors. So much culture. So many languages!

I hear languages I can't even place.

I thought I was good. I'm in LA, I'm like,

“Okay, that's Chinese—“

“That's Japanese”

“That's Korean”

“Farsi”

I get to New York—

I'm in the Delicstessen.

Thats another thing.

Nothing like a real, New York delicatessen.

That's what “deli” is short for, by the way, everyone not from New York.

It's “delicatessen”

Lol.

Anyway.

I'm standing in the Deli and I hear some shit that—I'm not gonna lie— was actually quite alarming, as a native English speaker.

I'm standing there, and this guy behind me literally over my shoulder says,

“Blooppnsmabhoan ammaoakb amansbaiL aannaoka snkaoakmnlblblblnlnl!!!!”

I'm like

what the FUCK.

This isn't REAL.

“Blblblana. Akakma alak

Akakamaamna!”

I'm shoooook.

What IS that!!?

I like New York.

The girls aren't all evil soulless heart eating demons.

They're just “regular”

I have to run back to LA and tell all my guy friends, they're like

“Women are evil”

I'm like—

“Nooo, that's just out here.”

Maybe.

I don't know.

I like New York.

I bet it's wonderful when it's warm.

I don't know!

Maybe that's when shit hits the fan!

Maybe it's like Chicago.

EVERYBODY DIES IN THE SUMMER—

Who said that.

Chance the Rapper, I think.

I don't know.

LEGENDS:

FAMESCHOOL

This move is called:

The “Slap-Dicksuck.”

[carefully taking notes]

“slap-dick-suck”…okay… hmm..

Now, class.

[raises hand curiously]

Yes?

Um. SUPACREE—

—PROFESSOR SUPACREE.

Um. Professor SUPACREE—

Yes!

Why is it called the “Slap-Dicksuck”

I was about to explain that.

//SLAP-DICKSUCK//

NEXT: we learn

THE “SLAP-DICKSUCK-SLAP”

Let me guess.

No, no guessing.

This class is gross.

I like it.

Yeah, you're gross.

The world is gross. Get over it.

GET OVER IT, DILLON FRANCIS.

*sniffes*

Please, stop crying.

She— *sniffles*

It's okay, Dillon.

She took my piñata!

Your piñata set your house on fire.

He sets—everything on fire—

Have you ever stopped to think—

—no— thinking is bad.

Go get dressed.

No, not today.

You look like a bloated chicken nugget.

—I used to like chicken nuggets.

hey, Tofu daddy.

This is sick. This is a sick bitch we're dealing with.

I'm not dealing with anything, I quit.

Quit, you can't quit.

I just did.

DEADMAU5

Okay, no more bodies.

Ū

Okay. No more bodies.

DEADMAU5

Really?

Ū

—No.

DEADMAU5

Goddammit, this is not a GAME.

Ū

It is a game, though—and I'm a damn good marksman.

DEADMAU5

Dammit, you're right.

Ū

I'm always right.

Come, take my hand—

(I took off my ring)

Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing

Come, take my hand

Let's sit on this swing

Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing?

I powered on my phone to find the digital clock exactly at 1:15, which had seemed to be creeping up again as a recurring theme, along with some other unsettling figurines—if it was a race against time, I was losing—and If, perhaps, a Holy War, I must have been some sort of Holy, as it had seemed the world's good graces had turned her back on me, and that faith dwindled more quickly in the cold than any other condition.

Lay your head on my shoulder,

Your cheek on my cheek,

Wrap your arm round my waist,

You can think what I think

You can skate on thin ice

You can sing what I sing

And when the ice breaks;

You can sink when I sink

Come, take my hand—

(I took off my ring)

Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing

Come, take my hand

Let's sit on this swing

Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing?

It had been strange waves of everything—more than I was ready for and much more than intentionally took on, all things considered. I burned my tongue on piping hot oatmeal, trying to eat rather than write, as it seemed the time had come that I could no longer skip meals and properly function. Nearing thirty like a bullet—and at least metaphorically bleeding as if I had actually been shot, my heart and soul throbbing and gushing into a paralyzing twist or fears and woes, trapped in a foreign city with almost nothing to my name, lugging around my music equipment and very few belongings, which—when put away neatly even in the smallest room— seemed like almost nothing, but was certainly too much to carry around, especially alone. And I was, so very alone.

Drake Bell and the Hollywood Spell

My newest and strangest muse yet had again insisted on appearing into my dream world, for the third time, anyway—which seemed a cruel and almost disturbing subconscious attempt to conjur up what might have been the entirety of my energy to complete the 6th Season of Enter The Multiverse, at this point which had even interested me, reinvigorating my senses and at least partially restoring my faith in something, even if it was just Hollywood being Hollywood. But now, even miles away from Hollywoodland, and stranded far, far away with no conceivable way to find my way back, even if I did have a home there waiting for me—and there wasn't—there didn't seem to be a home anywhere for me at all, and with my money running well towards dry I had spent most the week dry heaving into panic attacks about where I would go, or what I would do/—especially dragging around all of my luggage and equipment, and while it was true my equipment could have easily found it's way into a pawn shop, to at least offset the impending homelessness by maybe a couple days, and a couple hundred dollars—it didn't seem quite worth it to sell my dream again, especially for the miserable existence of sharing a hostel room with whoever decided to snore or cough their way into my hellish realm of corporate slavery, lovelessness, and lack of privacy.

Yes, my conciousness had summoned up this man into my dreamworld now three times, and for whatever reason, if there was one — I could consider it a charm. Had I not been working at the smokeshop what now seemed like ages ago, I might have forgotten entirely that such a person had ever existed—which I had, since the experience, for the record, at least tried to—but for some reason, disasterously couldnt; it had all awakened something serious and spiritual within my outer world, piquing my ultra conscious into a rare and bewildering curiosity that had done well to slay and murder the cat in all of its nine lives, and then some. It wasn't entirely on purpose, or without guilt that my mind seemed to inquisitively structure an entire hidden world and to form a strange and illicit bond with this fragile man creature, not that my social status or overwhelmingly average, unattractive, stranded and abandoned wastebasket of a demon, or diety whatever I was in whatever kind of light, would have much at all to do but suffer the result of having missed the bar by far, stumbling into the lower realms of the world by mere circumstance, on occasion, without notice.

I was certainly thinking about it too much, and hating myself for it, a certain spark or inspiration for the Timmy Turner timelines met with the sudden flash of what may have even been a lost memory of not for all this Hollywood trauma, or dogma, whichever made sense—because none of it did, at all, besides to reverse what time had done by allowing me to forget my turbulent childhood, which couldn't matter anymore in this moment as it ever had; and though I was producing a fruitful workout at Equinox, squatting deeply into the Smith Machine and breathing deeply into my lower back, where the tension from the weight of my leftover skin met the pain in the whole of my torso, an apparent rush sent a splash of slobber out of the side of my mouth, my third eye a gaping and burning hole streaking heat across the middle of my forehead—all of a sudden the high of Nitrous Oxide filled my mind, if only for a moment—flung back into a memory nearly two decades old.

“That's it.” I remembered thinking.

“No more of this.”

I sat down the can of keyboard cleaner on the bathroom floor. I had scared myself straight, long before I even knew what I was doing—and I didn't know at all, having been nine, or maybe 10–long before I would ever *want* to get high, not understanding that or why I needed to, anyway—or that getting “high” was what I was doing at all.

No, at the time, it simply ‘felt really good', until it didn't—the particular memory which struck me in the dead center of the Equinox floor—and snapping back into my body, shaking myself out of it and leaning into the bar to stretch, taking in a deep breath and choking back an ocean of tears.

“Idiot.”

I'm still lost in your eyes

I'll be in love with you forever

Dreams Wil Be Dreams.

Since departing LA, all my dreams had been strange, and I found myself growing more distant from myself, or from anything real at all, my dreams skewing into a horrid soundscape of rampant memories and false hopes of love. Finally able to seek refuge in meditation, I had been bombarded with images of Dillon Francis balancing some pretty little white girl in his lap—and though I couldn't quite unhinge the Amethyst from my possession, I had been giving it the distance I needed for something like peace of mind, without the actual peace itself at play. There had been quite the spell to break, and though it hadn't even been moderately broken—I at least knew now what magic I was dealing with. Dillon Hart Francis was a powerful magician—perhaps too powerful, and with that I took my strides into gatekeeping at the very least, since no peace could be made. I could love with a wholesome heart, but a tarnished mind and a gated soul would simply not outlast the infinite journey. Though I had been illicitly carfeful not to look him in the eye last we did meet, there was a remarkable force in place far beyond control—or at least my control— which kept such power from being apprehended; I had done my best to let go, knowing it was indeed a spell at play, and rather than a curse no need to worry or fear it's users intentions. Magic was a give-and-take, and so much had been at this point taken from me that the bruises of jealousy for whatever it was being waved about my psyche as ‘better than' could do no more than to rip the rest of my heart from its crevice as I pondered on what I might have done right, or might have done wrong—if there were such things.

‘White girls get all the love.'

It was only true in my heart and my mind, and so it must have sat in my soul a certain way. I had never intended really to fall into what I had fallen into with Dillon Francis—not that it couldn't or wouldn't be undone, eventually, as I was inraveling myself into an unremarkable, unastonishing whisp — a fracture in time to do much less than even be though of, or forgotten.

I'm still lost in your eyes

I'll be in love with you forever

A piece of my rock had shattered on the floor of the shower at Equinox—the only stone I kept for myself, and often forgotten about, as I did myself, not that i mattered much. It shattered unevenly into three pieces, one of which I left in the sauna, quickly before departing—and the other which I had dropped in Times Square, begrudgingly under the LCD American flag by which I felt betrayed: How could our nation not only allow, but create homelessness as a scare tactic to keep the working poor working as slaves, to saciate the wealthy's wants and needs?

“Whatever.”

I'm not going to hurt you,

You can't hurt me anymore than I can hurt myself.

I'm glad you know that.

I don't know anything.

Suicide fucking sucks.

I know that.

It might be time for me to go

But I just want to let you know

I still got love for you;

And there's still hope;

I left the door open

I gotta go, you know,

It's hopeless for some

At the end of my rope

—and it's a long way home,

But it's home at the end

It's home at the end of a long, lond road

I took the wrong one,

But at least now I know you

I'll go on

It seems that I still have a soul, somewhere

I walked in on thin air,

And now I'm here;

I don't know where

I'm still lost in your eyes

I'll be in love with you forever

LEGENDS

EDDIE MURPHY opens the heavy Victorian style door, after three solid knocks from under the GLOVED HAND which lifts the golden-brass door knocker.

To what do I owe the pleasure?

WHOOPI GOLDBERG

Business, not pleasure.

-_-

Well, which business.

All of ‘em.

[She gestures to pass through the doorway.]

Please, come in.

Coffee, or Tea?

Coffee this late?

[beat]

Coffee.

This is serious.

You look serious.

I've been—confined.

Drake Bell, you son of a bitch.

Oh, so you do know my name.

I know all your names.

So it is.

So I am.

—

How'd you get in this?

I've always been in this.

What is “always”?

How did you get in this?

I am this.

What a philosophy.

Call it what you want.

What if I don't.

Then don't.

See you on the other side.

Someone once told me, the grass is much greener— on the other side.

—and when I paid a visit,

(It's possible I missed it)

Seemed different, yet exactly the same.

DILLON FRANCIS

I didn't want it to end this way.

I didn't want it to end.

Well, it did.

You let it.

I had to.

Just let go.

No, I can't.

Hah!

What's so funny?

You're fucking impossible.

Nothing is “impossible” you said that.

But you “can't”

Let this go?

Ah-hah.

No.

This here will keep slowly unwinding until there's no more.

—and then what?

There's no more.

Damn. This is foul.

Hm.

Take a time out, Timmy.

I'm a take a t-t-taxi

I pay my t-t-taxes

The actor and the actress.

Oh,

He's Big Hollywood;

Doesn't Have a Job,

But the work's real good –

His lines are smooth and his days are long,

Gotta make it right,

For a whole lot of wrongs

He's Big-Big Hollywood

Doesn't have a job;

But the work's real good

Coming in hot,

Like he's fresh out the box

That's a real big nugget,

With a whole lot of sauce.

Stop.

What.

What is this.

It's a song.

This is awful.

FUCK IT. I DON'T CARE.

Damn, Oreos AND Ben & Jerry's?!

IT'S DAIRY-FREE.

Tf kind o f Oreos is that.

They're GLuten FrEe.

FUCK IT.

Sunni, get a hold of yourself.

YOU GET A HOLD OF YOUR SELF.

Stop yelling from across the room.

I'LL YELL WHERE I WANT.

Fuck this job.

FUCK YOU MARIANNE.

AGGHH.

AGGHHHHHHHHH.

Fuck

What. What's up.

I need a smoke break.

I'M GONNA RIP YOUR HEART OUT.

YOU DOn'T HAVE A HEART.

SHUT UP, DILLON FRANCIS.

GOd.

WHO INVITED HIM, ANYWAY.

I didn't.

NOBODY INVITED HIM.

The inspiration to music hit at just the right and the wrong time—I had finally found my way to the butt machine, only after visiting every other floor and guessing incorrectly—only to make it to the machine in just enough time to realize that I was for some reason exhausted—perhaps having just blown my last fuse, realizing I was literally down to my last, few pennies— and, unknowing of how to escape the hole I had dug myself into, falling into a carful and unsecured ‘lust' with New York, surely never to fall in love with another city as I had LA, learning my lessons well, and knowing all too well that nowhere and no one like me was safe from homelessness in the US—now having proven itself to be a hostile entity, in a full police state. It didn't seem to matter, though, as I had narrowly missed my escape nearly on purpose, but not— it seemed something entirely outward was keeping me at bay and in the US, not that I had wanted to leave out of fear for my life as much as I wanted adventure and exploration—but either way was going nowhere at all fast, and running out or money even faster.

“Fuck, I hate my life”

I had probably over caffeinated, at least half the reason I couldn't budge to top speed, even blasting bangarang into my eardrums at nearly top volume—this day, it only emotionally weakened me, having demoted myself entirely from any sort of elite status, back into the realm of obsessive fandom, and perhaps even schizophrenia, per Dane Cook's shenanigans.

Yeah, I'm tired and I need to take like ten shits.

Just finish then.

If I leave early I have to come back early.

Well, go, then.

Muscle fatigue, check

Dehydration, check

Psyche completely shattered

Check.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Pollen on my lips,

I love to kiss you;

Missing the elliptical at Equinox

A full eclipse

And I've never known anything to smell to sweet as this,

Just naturally

I'd loved to be loved

But I'm just getting famous

I guess that's the trade, then

A sacrifice, as if I'd not already lost my life,

—Or slit my wrists

Intermittent 5th dimension

Tim, or what they used to call him…

But he can't remember.

This is major Tom,

Another psalm

Or poem,

From Ms. Gypsy

Spinning into mixes,

Drifting into spiderwebs as a reminder

She would write for The Times,

Like the power, or a webinar

She borrowed the guitar.

Which then, became a gift

So she dismissed him—the minister.

Or who administers the medicine

Of the administration

Menustration , under stress of course

Or as she keeps on fasting

For Last Earth

Seeing things?

Certainly!

I've been fasting, and under the influence of Dillon Francis

God Dammit Hanzel

Did you have to

Hold her hand

And have the other one

Covered in Kandi

On that album cover?!

I can't stand it

Whatever the master plan is

Give me the schematics, quick

So I can land a man to match with

That holds a candle

To that piñata

Maybe I should shapeshift into Taylor Swift

So I can get some dick in

The right complexion…

Is that too explicit?

Or maybe I should just stick to Skrillex

The first on my wishlist—

Until Kayla Lauren

(Or the other ones—

And there's a lot of em;

The rabbit's always on the run)

Hey Allison

Or Alex—

Yeah, that's it

I'm still an insomniac

Just trying to forget that I'm black

And only mildly attractive

With a New New York accent

And sudden onset passive aggression

From the stress and pressure of synethesia

And mastering my tracks

Without another expensive subscription

And another one

Here comes another one

The sun just spins in circles and whistles

This is the worst I've ever written with indifference

‘Fear nothing'

On, the fire burns

And nothing more she ever feared

It only gets better from here

It only get better from here

It only gets better from here

Still, my love burns

Like a smouldering flame

Here, a star was born from the ashes,

Destined for fame

‘Avarita,'

She called, from the caverns of lust—

The curse has been broken

Come dawn, from the dusk

So much for purpose—

Gone was the suffering;

Sending smoke signals to dieties

Laying beneath all the names,

The labels so sacred

Such secrets and fables,

The table of

L E G E N D S

All worlds collide in collisions of conciousness, space, and time as we travel the ever-infinite multidimensions of existence as we know it…

(Or—Don't.)

Rules of Time Travel:

Don't

‘That one was hard', i thought loudly to myself, finishing one banana and reaching to quickly peel another–I had been famished, and by force of nature had broken the predominant rule of fast–not to interact with the public, and therefore had been quick to hurry the fast to a finish; now that it had been s long in the understanding of the spiritual connotations of fasting, i knew never to attempt a show–especially a long DJ set, without having eaten, especially well; I needed to maintain focus, and as my career began to shift heavily, I became quite religious to certain superstition and routine of course, never allowing myself to fall prey to anything too ridiculous; I had been thoroughly taken advantage of–and knew certainly by now there was no room for error or mistakes, misjudgement of character– and I myself, perhaps just a canvas–rather than an unfriendly mirror most would be unwilling to face.

The last and first thing I had consumed had been coffee– a lightly brewed vanilla bean which had exceeded most of the coffee I had consumed during my time in new york by far –a daily staple and absolute necessity, learning harshly from having spent tolerance breaks and unwilling days without coffee begging God for a glimpse of light; Alas, it had come to the point in my adulthood that certain things were just part of me–and coffee was one of them, a welcome and at least usually warm antidote for what seemed to be more often than not a cold, heartless world.

But today, the sun shone and spread light and joy into my heart and mind a I trekked the nearly one mile walk to a nearby asian fusion restaurant that I had avoided before, but now was unwilling to suffer the consequences of a 4-hour set during a fast in which I spent a devoted amount of time and energy in the early morning amidst the miserable and robotic drones of the early morning commute–I was at least happy to have poured through a decent chapter or two of the books that I had finally climbed from the plateau of reading–a book about the rich history of the underground–a well-written journey into the past of a world I loved, but had become so distant from, in my heart and mind, but never in my soul– my own collection of unique and eclectic mixtapes growing daily, my own skill surpassing even my expectations–but it wasn'tmy expectation that I needed to surpass: i had yet to attract the attention of the greats–or even the lower-level promoters and managers which would spark my entry into the dance-club scene, elevating my professional DJ career from playing in parties, bars, and strip clubs and into the actual raves, clubs, and festivals that my soul came from –and called back out to, between the lines and hidden subliminal messages coded deep in the basslines, drops, and 4-to-the-floor anthems I curated with such forceful thought and empathy into my sets and mixes–mixes made of course with love on the mind and deep in my soul but seemingly nowhere to be found, lost in translation and unrequited, reverberated in the emotional undertones of the music I played day in, and day out, sometimes with tears in my eyes, but always with God on my shoulders, most often whispering the next selection into my mind's eye – my music a leap in blind faith.

‘Fuck, I do feel better.'

The Pad Thai hadn't been great at all, but it had been enough to soothe the intense waves of dissociative dissolution and disconnect that came with each and every passing fast–and with each one an honorable lesson in gratitude, for all that had come with my sacred journey: Now, I was a true DJ.

I don't know why imm looking for

Platinum delusions

“I have a question”,

Well, there goes your l answer l;

There goes your skeleton, creeping out the back door—

There goes your relevance,

An acelance,

A metaphor

Is that what you asked for?

You looked in the wrong mirror today

Is this what you wanted or not?

Delusions of grandeur

Emotions and saw what you bought from the storefront

Gobbler it up, and wanted more

More important words, for the chauffeur

Are you sure, dear

On a short order

Or a show with a shirt run

You saw the short

So you order it

Abort mission at once—

They'll call you up when all the smoke is up

In the rooftop of the cathedral

Is that what you wanted

Is that what your question was?

More discoveries, coming right up

At water Michael makers in a room full of synthesizers you could only wish you were in

It's fittinf, the description for the symptoms of schizophrenia

If everything relates, it should be an easy diagnosis—

But it isn't

It's real as hell,

But isn't

I just want a feel for who you are

So I can stop myself from loving your accomplishments

And settle for less

Like the rest of the talentless miscreants

With financial constraints

And too many problems

To overcome

Into abundance

Your works is my music and I just dance to it;

Meanwhile imm miserable and you're courting princesses

Soon to be queens, co conspirators, aqua rain es

And I'm still crying in the door idiots you opened and then left me in

To sift though this

Infinite

Disaster of indifference

I found you in the kitchen sink

So was bound to drown you in it

A katy for your baby again—

A calamity of mastery,

An actor for your Gem—another character I'd written out of affinity for abandonment

Flattened my abdomen for him

But still couldn't change my skin color

If I wanted

Dillon Francis seems more obnoxious than usual

[DILLON FRANCIS BEING EXTRA]

Mm–I don't think so.

This is out of control.

It's not out of control I'm in control

This is out of control.

we're going to play a game.

What kind of game.

A minigame.

What does this game entail.

haha.

**sidenote:

Laidback Luke is not laidback at all.

He seems calm.

That's just his demeanor.

Haha.

Okie. Whats wrong with al these guys

Nobody sleeps here.

What about him. He looks asleep.

No.

[waves hand gently]

See he's–

You're on in 5.

[Suddenly, Very awake.]

Oh wow.

See. Superstar DJ.

Well, fuck, man.

What is this

Just stand here

What. For what

Just– wait here.

Wait?! For what?!

Just – [Leaves]

LAIDBACK LUKE

(eyes)

I don't like this.

(eyes)

I don't like this at all.

MA, MORE COFFEE.

WAAAT?

MORE COFFEE, MA!!!

Lol these guys again.

I love these guys.

How did we get here?

Technically, we're still in a deadmau5 construct.

I dont think he's okay.

I Don't think anybody's okay.

Are you okay?

No.

(eyes)

…

Oh.

“Oh”

What are you doing here.

Whatever I'm doing.

You're a madman.

I fucking wish.

Be careful now—-

—careful for what—

Don't you know—wishes come true.

If that were the case I'd be the richest man in the world.

—maybe you are.

[A mysterious stone is presented.]

What is this?

[a myateriius half—smirk]

Your fortune, sir.

THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS.

What—?

You know what.

The Lakers Won?

Don't be smart!

—but—I'm a genius!

[he launches towards him with fury—a coffee table comes between the two men

—now, you're a rational man—

—AGHH—

—I wouldn't expect you to succumb to such violence.

If I don't kill you with my own hands, someone else will.

—kill me? With your own hands? Someone else?!

AGH!!

[he crushes the coffee table]

That was redwood!

—it's still redwood.

[he picks up a pointy table leg]

Where is it?

Where is what?

I'm ugly

Nobody loves me

Somebody hug me

Move over,

You need a mother;

I'm just your lover—

You're lucky

And woah

I think I want some Timmy hos

I catch the 40

Gross

Everybody's broke

What is this place?

—is that still happening?

The ashes, falling

Almost forgot about the raindrops

Something's calling me

The bus is coming

What day is it?

Last summer,

I suffered longer

Last summer still isn't over

Last summer

I came back to make money

And have none now

Last summer,

You laughed at me

Last summer,

I got my hat back

Last summer

I worked harder

Last summer I sold my hatch back

I have a whole bachelor's degree waiting for me

At my bachelorette party

(I never had one)

I came to this country last summer

With nothing but a gym bag

And this hat on

Though it might have been another one

—I always have a hat on

I like the way his legs are crossed

And it's just so awful

How lost in my thoughts I am

I'm simply anonymous,

Unworthy of womanhood

Stopped in androgynous

God,

This is all of us calling

We're lost again

Someone took all of my coffee

And poured it on top of my coffin

—I'm sad,

I've been here a long time

Without good money

—I'm sad,

I've been here a long time

I just keep writing

—I'm sad

I've been all alone,

But I'm still made of stardust

—I'm sad

I've been here a long time

I keep falling in lust with my projects

I build matrixes—

I just— thought you should know that

I never had my own show before

Why would I go back to

Being the most affordable whore in sun valley

Or something

I've got stars in my eyes—

But I guess I deserved that

I shot myself in the head

I guess this is the blow back

A throwback

You owe me money

But I don't want money—

I just want love

But nobody loves the impartially ugly

Satan said nobody loves me

All dressed up as a Japanese lady

Who couldn't contain me

And tried to control me—

But I have a hole in my head, you know

It makes everyone quite uncomfortable.

When I sat down on the bus,

I just lost myself

I just keep fighting off lust

And biting my fingernail polish, and honestly—god?

Just take my life

Before I do

I'm not suicidal

I just can't buy things

Right when I like to

I just can't find the right guy

To go home to

So you know

(So you know)

(So you know)

(So you know)

I love you

Victory, Victory ,Victory!!!

Do you want to come with me?

Victory, Victory Victory!

I'm mobile now,

Do you want me to pull up?

Victory, Victory, Victory!

If I pull up,

Do you want to come with me?

Victory, Victory, Victory!

I just want you with me

As I fight feelings of shame and disgust

I'm in the window now

Robbed of my lust

And my last few dollars

If only for the moment

I'm in the window now

Like a puppy

I have to wonder

If anybody wants me

—apparently nobody loves me

I'm in the window now

Thinking about how

Nothing I've ever done matters

Not even this

What a lovely display it is

It is ironic, you know.

I would kill myself tonight

Just never to be reminded

Of —-

I would kill muself tonight

If I could know that on the other side

It was warm and bright

And this life

Never even happened

I might kill myself tonight

Or just ride it out

And try to write about

How I arrived here

Something's apparently important

Imports and exports

Inbreds and ex husbands, wives

And Ex doctors

Sometimes I'm Michael

There's a lot of love in this parking lot

I never thought about how right or wrong I was

Until I stopped and watched it al on camera

Vandalism in a stolen prison

The whole world revolves around a blue eyed white man

The whole world revolves around his blue eyed children taking all my husbands

The whole world revolves around a lousy dollar —

All I've got is this flower;

What can I buy with that ?

The whole world's rotten

Just like this Apple

It's in my pocket

And I'm gonna light it on fire

On purpose

(Or with purpose)

Hello?

Which phone did you call from?

I don't have this number

Excuse my stream of conciousness

I was trying to fight off suicidal thoughts

not so creatively

This is my job,

Like this is your job

I look at the jaw

I want what you want

This is my planet we're on

This is is my plan, I got lost in it

Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not

You just want a nut with a butt

I just want a bud

[Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)]

I'm not your buddy.

Ah.

Look at that car;

I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's

How much does it cost?

A dollar, one—

It's like putting gas in my car,

I don't wanna

I don't wanna

I don't wanna

Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar.

It's a coffe run

A coffee run

A coffee run;

You cough, I run

You like? I'm fun

The west was won by everything under the Sun,

Run it

Equinox+ (EP)

Love brings me out of my shell;

—I could love you, I

I could love you, I

Could love you, I

Could love you,

I love you

I love you, I

This isn't good for my health;

If you don't love me,oh well —

(I could love you, I)

This is just passing the time,

Count my dimes and,

I'm wealthy, you build me up

Shining, I wake you up

Diamond of mine,

I love you, I

Love you I

Do what I want most the time,

Cause nothing else matters but

Making you mine

I, so what I want most the time

I can't get out

Out of my mind,

Cause I love you

I love you I,

Wasting my time,

I could love you but

Nevermind

Drunk,

And I'm stumbling up to my apartment for

The 30th time this month,

My rent's due tomorrow, but

I got it,

Woah,

I've got just enough

Just to keep fuxkin up

Getting fucked up

And filling my cup

Like it's something,

But it's nothing,

Not really

Nothing,

Not really

Be good

Work it out

Come on

Work it odd

Be good

Shake it off

Work it out

Come on

Be good,

Work it off,

Work it out—

Come on

Be good

Work it out

Shake it off

Come on

—

We all know

There's a monster in there

And it wants let out;

All man, beware—

Yeah

We all know

There's a monster in her—

And,

Someone will let it go

Oh,

Someone let it go

Oh, no (oh yeah)

Oh, no

That's no good

That's no good

Oh no

(Oh yeah)

Oh no

(Oh yeah!)

No, no

You just had to let it go

You just had to let it go

Oh, no!

—

I need time

To rationalize my genius

I can't write light this

Alt right all white nationalists

I can fantazize, right?

I could die like this

It's a damn good life

What fucking time is it, anyway?

Right?

I can't rationalize, this

Fascist rats at The Fashion district

Bam, I had it—

I had to get right, man

I had to get God on my Mantras

I fucked up tomorrow,

I'm off in Toronto with problems

And dogma—

Who's dog is this

Tied up at the Whole Foods market

I tried it, I died in the in

I can't idolize idols, man

Cry, though,

Dip my bicoff in Chiapas coffee

All pissed off,

Woah

It's the wrong morning to wallow in

Caught me off guard at the offering

Sha, there's no mother here,

No other one,

You're wrong God,

I stopped to cross at all of them,

I suffered when I swallowed,

Rah,

What's wrong?

I'm feeling solemn on my sodomist

Wishes of

This centrifugal

—‘swimming with the fishes,

Get it?

Woah,

It's a whole open world of

Wizards and witches

I wish I could ditch this

—the center or attention is this city—

That's Alex Tribec, for the record

Fuck the TriBeCa fest

Rest in Los Angeles

Rest in peace Barbra

Hah—

I've got all of em

This is an awful lot of mantras,

Stars and Stripes. God;

I lost it at the Oscar's,

Turn me on, or off

I'm all of it

Or not

What was the cost of this?

An awful lot of mantras, stars,

And crosswalks,

To stop dead in the center of

“I'm miserable

That's Hollywood for you, God,

That's Hollywood,

That's where we dropped you off

—

Have you had enough, yet?

How was is?

Enough!

I'm not even fully up yet!

Fuck,

It was loveless,

All up in ashes,

I told ya,

That “fun is a friend of the devil “

Burn in sense,

Just rub out the sense

Have my lips on your hips,

Just rotate,

As the earth did,

In difference, she has

Impatience is his imperfection

“Eventually,”

She says,

“I'll see him”

He tends to agree,

Within reason—

Winter breezes and freedom,

This season

Envy leaves,

But she's gonna get even

Come in threes,

And maybe,

We'll see then.

Come to the surface,

Come up—

Don't give up yet

Give what you've got;

Half a lung,

And the other is under—

Come on,

Come up,

Come all—

Come, you're walking on water!

No wonder they call for you

On earth

—

(We've got a Hot One, for you)

Have you ever wondered

What's wrong with us all?

Fuck—

Hollywood's calling,

I don't have my phone on me

Hollywood called,

But your voice Mail is full,

What?

I finally picked up;

The message at the tone,

Was in Morse code

Billy fit the Playbill,

I signed it “usnavi”

Yo,

You look just like me

A sacrifice?

A sacrifice,

I said,

I'm red,

I'm jealous like I've never been

That's right, blue eyes then

Next lifetime

Fu—

They robbed me of all my art

As a hobby

Worshipped for All I've got

Not a god yet, but

Gotta be working on something

That's all of it,

Gotta be knocking it off,

Full of gossip and

God, I want love

But it's not in the cards, huh

New Joan Of Ark,

Where's the war

That you wanted

Not enough talk,

But I've done enough walking

Gosh,

Two thumbs up,

All applause from the audience

That what you wanted?

Yeah!

“God I want love but it's not in the cards yet”

That's what you wanted?

Yeah!

That's what you wanted

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Pretty predictable penny pincher

Enters Jamaica center

Parked and pacrched on Archer/Parsons

Sons, mothers and fathers,

Sinners. Sisters and brothers—

Masters and mistresses,

preachers and pardons

Probably already late for work tomorrow

When it all starts over.

Or so the clock says

Or so the clock says

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Pretty predictable penny pincher

Enters Jamaica center

Parked and pacrched on Archer/Parsons

Sons, mothers and fathers,

Sinners. Sisters and brothers—

Masters and mistresses,

preachers and pardons

Probably already late for work tomorrow

When it all starts over.

Or so the clock says

Or so the clock says

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

SEASON 6

ACT III - Part II

Oh no.

I told you, this was a bad idea

DONT CHECK THE—

It's too late.

“A Writing Assignment”

Fuxk.

This is bad.

I'M GONNA DIE LIKE THIS.

Well, it's Brooklyn—there's gonna be a fire escape and a rooftop.

This is creeper level 9000

Whatever.

Where'd the bass go?

I've lost my sense of direction

I'm mad I can't have you,

It's candid

I shouldn't be out here like this l

I should have gone to Manhattan

Are you mad, man—

At the mad hatter!

At the course of action in this rendition

fuxk, it is Skrillex.

I just went to look for Kayla Lauren.

Got hit with the other one instead.

“I insist, do it this way”

Better get a good picture,

Better get a good fix on your riches

Maybe this is why my scar was lighting up all morning

Maybe that's the reason I was off. Without my phone all day.

Maybe that's the reason I was fasting.

Good Goddamnit man,

You're awful good at acting

Awful good at grabbing ass,

And awful good at dancing

Awful good at making friends

And awful good at

First things first,

And first things last, and after—

Amsterdam

I never guessed where York was at

I never asked

I never asked

I never asked

FUCK.

What, man.

I think Skrillex listens to my podcast.

Well, that's, uh.

Fuck that.

Fuxk that.

Fuck that.

Well, that's one hell of a flex.

It's a pop up.

I just had a dream about surfing.

Better stop, God.

There might be a show for every day of the week.

I'm still weak in the knees.

I don't know what I need.

I'm still a mothafuckin Skrillex fiend.

Have a nice dream.

Have some ice cream.

There's the ice queen.

That's been three times since my eye started bleeding.

I thought I was just an MC,

Or a DJ,

I might take the soul train

But don't have a ticket

Thanks.

Now whose the dick.

Well , I'm just taking pictures.

How's Dillon Francis.

Now that's a priority.

I can't ShaZam from out here, you know.

I called my dad.

I thought you had no family.

Same thing as having no home, or,

No where to go,

I'm no homer,

I'm sitting here, hopeless, outside or your show—

Not hoping to see you, or anything

I'll be you, inside my dreams,

Sequels for everything

Sequences, sequins and diamon rings,

Sequoias and

I still have feelings for

I still have feelings for

Feelings for everything

This is the weakest I've been since I needed you

2019 was the year that the hero

Was broke

Well.

That's it.

What.

That's the whole thing.

Can't be the whole thing

Do you want to take a half, or a whole thing

Do you want to wear the pants, or the whole ring

Should I take a flight to France, or to Oakland

Stuck in a chokehold,

God, I'm too old for this

God, I just want to go home;

Here's a long rope to hang your self with—

Now I'm locked up in homeroom

I lost it all once, got it all at the pawnshop

For $96 dollars—

The original price tag, of course, read

$115 though.

I honestly thought I never wanted to see Skrillex again, but as it turned out— as I was, of course, trying to connect with closure, snooping into Instagram just to find evidence or romance, which I did—not that I needed anything more than a glance to ensure my own insanity—and it was that, insanity.

Don't do it.

—but it's Valentine's Day.

Don't do it.

Goddamnit, I hate this.

I hadn't been up this early without not having gone to bed since I arrived on the east coast; I woke up promptly around 8 with lyrics in my brain and music in my head; it had been a long and strange night, with no dreams at all—at least none that I could remember, and it had been long since I had woken up with anything in my mind besides fear and panic.

I refused to turn on my phone, quickly reaching for my notebook and a pen before the song would leave my mind—I had a lot of work to do, and for whatever reason I actually felt like doing it; I at least had the train ride to Manhattan to think about what I should be thinking about, or to unravel from whatever I was wrapped up in, even if it was just myself.

This is not a coincidence

This is not a drill;

Of course, now—

I feel like the villain;

To swallow Dillon like a pill

But In the end, though,

Nothing's real,

And nothing changes,

Nothing will

I should be working on my will

I think of jumping—

What a thrill

I'm busy thumping, humphing

Rumbling, mumbling about something

And someday never comes,

But Sunday does,

And Sonny shows up Monday—

I feel dumb, and awkward, suddenly—

I'm just an awkward cunt;

That's what the prophet wrote

Upon the wall

In Brooklyn,

Out on Broadway,

Where I was,

Before the fall off;

I gave my dad a call,

And then my son—

That's all that love was

I showed up with my whole heart in my pocket

What a long walk;

What an alter,

Whatever the sun does

When he doesn't watch

I'm Sasquatch,

But it's water, starch,

And crunches

‘This is not a coincidence.'

I had spent the day before, valentines day, combing through my belongings meticulously—I was due to check out the following morning, and without much thought I had thought of another extension, which would of course diminish the last of my money, but at least warrant another couple nights safe and warm.

I hadn't made any sense to look for a normal job-not only would the process or getting hired take up all the rest of my time, but it would be two to three weeks before I would receive any kind of paycheck at all—and with such little time left living indoors, It didn't make sense to try.

I had been stranded in New York since a arrived on the 4th, and though it had nearly been two weeks, I hadn't any luck in landing any gigs or performances. Jetro of course was still waiting with Blame Society records in Rome for my arrival, I hadn't even thought to notify him of the lack of such, as I partially blamed even alerting him that I was on my way via instragrwm for the flight delay that had caused me to miss my train, which of course caused me to miss my plane, landing me stuck in a hostile, cruel, and homeless USA.

I carry, or

Hold no stones for you;

Haven't I a heart left

It's the darkest of all the hours,

And here you are, again—

Not near, or far,

But a bet is a bet,

An eye for an eye

And a head for a head

And you're so far ahead,

I've yet to catch up yet

I have a gift for your daughter,

Often, I've thought of her

Lost in New York,

No glass houses,

It's just brick and mortar

She calls me retarded, my mother

So I haven't called her

I just keep running north

I just keep running my mouth on this podcast

I just keep thinking that someone's my long lost love, at last

You dirty bastard

I'm an asshole:

Handsome, Hanzel is

In case it mattered

Everyone's a fucking actor

Look at that girl

And look at that

And look at that

And look at that girl

And look at that

And look at that

You took my whole world

Turned it upside down

And bottled up my love l

You never told me where the bottle was

But showed me what a model was

And after that I fell in love with

Something about doing drugs and

Coming up with love to give to others

Turning pigeons into doves

And wishing I could just be nothin'

—cause my life was fuckin loveless

—and I thought you were my husband

(Fuck Kayla Lauren;

But I guess I gotta love her,

Cause she's human)

I took my time getting ready, no time, actually, in comparison to how slowly I had been moving throughout the week, and although I had been to the gym daily, I was worn, and tired—and coming up empty on all fronts. It was 10:14 or so by the time I finally made my way to the subway, ‘I'm still off', I thought— but not only couldn't I depressively sulk and lay in bed the way I thought I would or even maybe wanted to, I had been lifted out of my sleep and on my way to Equinox with a startling force—though I shouldn't have at all been suprised; this, whether consciously or not, I realized, had always happened when it came to the matter of the mysterious Sonny Moore.

‘Fuck'

It was late evening Monday before the anxiety started to set in, and for some reason had been the reason I had decided to turn on my phone, to extend my reservation another couple days, buying time in comfort and warmth, on the freedom of privacy, which I had done nothing with but rest and try to be whole again, whatever that was—and whatever it meant. I had been cooking for the first time in months, stretching, and meditating the ways that only seemed to come natural when having my own time and space —and though it wasn't wholly my own, it was clean, peaceful, and quiet—included it's very own space heater, and was decorated in my favorite color blue. My host was an actual working professional who had succeeded in the entertainment industry—which of course made me jealous, but I at the very least had done my best to network and perhaps nitpick an easygoing cash job out of it “I have some connections”, she had piped—and so, with that in mind, I had sent her my links; and of course, with my extension being the reason for even having turned on my phone, was quick to check my text messages to see if there had been any movement with the booking agent she had supposedly sent my information to. “I gave him your Instagram, and so he'll probably reach out to you through there if he's interested.”

I hated Instagram and it seemed to hate me, even before the devastating discovery of what a Kayla Lauren was, it had always seemingly been algorithmically programmed to make me hate myself, always spamming my feed with skinny white girls with blue eyes, which I only hated, admittedly out of bitter loneliness—the guys I seemed to like and fall for had always seemed to go for that type—white, skinny, blue eyes or some variation of the “ideal” standard of beauty, especially by Californian standards—and so I had always taken long breaks from it, shielding myself from self hatred: my absolute theory becoming that Instagram was an algorithm built for population control, preying on the weak and insecure, and probably attributing to more suicides than anyone had noticed or cared for.

Lil biiiiiitz

You know what else is weird about New York.

People eat on the subway.

They eat in the train station.

They just—

It's kind of gross; at least to me.

Of course, the trains in New York are a lot cleaner.

Sometimes the station even smells like bleach.

That's so cool.

Still don't want to eat in there.

That's weird.

INT. CHAUNCEY STREET. SUNDOWN |

VALENTINES DAY

BLŪ waits patiently for Instagram to download, sighing heavily as she waits; As it has finished, she rolls her eyes and opens the app, squinting and pursing her lips as she quickly checks for messages: only adds, nothing important.

BLŪ

Of course, no messages.

Psh.

She exits the app, thinking for a moment before re-opening it.

Don't do it.

SEARCH: Sk—

INSTAGRAM

skrillex

You never learn.

BLŪ watches the story, for the most part, unenthused—until

TONIGHT:

BROOKLYN NEW YORK.

BLŪ

AGH!

The phone flies from her hand and onto the bed as she seizes, flying back and hitting the wall with a thud—then dramatically backing up into the closet, closing both doors and exclaiming in the darkness

BLŪ (CONT'D)

I'm gonna die like this.

OH NO.

HE'S IN BROOKLYN?!

RIGHT NOW?!

SKRILLEX

I'M IN BROOKLYN. RIGHT NOW.

WHY WOULD HE BE IN BROOKLYN. I'M IN BROOKLYN.

(heavy New York accent)

I'M IN BROOKLYN.

(even heavier New York accent)

I'M IN BROOKLYN.

(*hawks loogie, spits*)

[very ugly cry]

I was expecting to see some cheesy picture like I had just a couple years before—or however long it had been. So much time had passed and I had no doubt there was still more and that I wouldn't be seeing Sonny tonight, or even anytime soon—still, I was headed towards the rooftop to collect my stones, and though the tickets were sold out and there were said to be none at the door, I was headed for the train before I even knew why, or what was happening.

Well, he's out of the basement.

BITCH

GET OUT THE ATTICK

I'm in the closet now,

I had a heart attack,

I'm in a panic

You need a manual? This is a stick shift

This is some sick shit

Click click, bitch

I got witches in automatic

Automatic

It was 11:11 AM; I had never been to Manhattan so early before, at least not from Brooklyn; I knew my way to Equinox Sports club easily by now, without getting lost, or much hassle; it was an easy one hour train ride—and this morning, even easier; the writing came automatically, rather than forced, as it had been, and the ride went by almost too quickly, despite a full train and a flurry of emotions I worked heartfully to keep in check.

‘This changes nothing.' , I thought, more awestruck than anything and trying to convince myself nothing had changed, though something certainly had. Manhattan looked even better in the daylight—clear and sunny, and even a bit warm; babies in strollers and dogs on leashes and for a moment or two, I might have even forgotten I was homeless, dropping 2.5 Jimmy Fallons on a piping hot coffee at the shop I had always passed, but was never open.

I would be at Sports Club until close, as I had planned to be all week but had always fallen short of, struck with jet lag and crippling depression at the same time—but today, and even if it was for the best that I couldn't seem to get exactly what I wanted, If even just out of sheer disbelief, I had at least been shaken out of my tomb, if only for a moment, and into work mode, still grieving the self I had lost in the collision of stardust and superstardom, fame, and misfortune—tears still on the brink of rolling down my cheek, and the cost of sicccess a grueling question burning somewhere between my still bleeding heart, and somewhere in the back of my mind.

‘Its like a fucked up cheaper by the dozen'

And I still haven't frgotten about Dillon Francis,

But Sonny seems to fuck me up a bit,

—and then some

It's just an addendum:

I flipped the script and went dumb

Here's my number, Christopher Columbus;

And a bumper sticker

Still a nigger

Still a nothing trying to make it bigger

Still a little off my rocker,

Like I bought, at Cracker Barrel

I'm still scared of marriage,

Mind my manners, like Harriet Tubman

Somebody's up to somethin'

Better suck it up and get some crunches in

Before I go to lunch

And jump from too high up

Or hang off of some bridge

Just to get to the dimension

Where it's Skrillex in the picture

With Dillon standing next to him,

And I'm just in the middle,

Front and center

With an Emmy Win

An Oscar nomination,

And a Tony, where my Grammy is:

A curio cabinet I had custom fashioned for my bathroom;

Next to the magazine rack, actually—

Where I'm on every cover wearing fabrics I myself imagined,

shining like a dragon eating laffy taffy;

Fuck,

I Suck at mathematics,

—But I finally got my masters degree.

Nice.

Jeez,

It would be tragic to have it all go up in ashes

Lighting matches just to get the smell of gas to shatter—

Or to dissipate,

I estimate I'm 40 minutes late,

But if I make it,

I'll get naked on the plane,

For heaven's sake.

What the fuck is this.

Some Sunnï Blū shit, I guess.

“I guess.”

I'm still mad at the world,

I'm still mad at your girl, for being better than me

So mad I could hurl,

But I'm still fasting, actually;

It's intermittent,

In a minute,

I might turn to Skrillex,

Talk to Fred Again

Then take some medicine

And finally finish, like-

“I did it”

Oh look, it's Fred.

Yep.

Oh.

Hi.

It's Fred Again.

That's me.

Oh.

Hey there.

It's Fred..Again.

Fucking a.

JIMMY THE MOBSTER

Alright, Jimmy—you sick sonofabitch.

JIMMY FALLON

—just kill me already.

JIMMY THE MOBSTER

WHERE IS IT.

JIMMY FALLON

Where is what.

JIMMY THE MOBSTER

YOU KNOW WHAT.

JIMMY FALLON

I don't know what.

JIMMY THE MOBSTER

—my medallion.

JIMMY FALLON

You were wearing a medallion?

JIMMY THE MOBSTER

I'M ALWAYS WEARING MY MEDALLION

JIMMY FALLON

How am I supposed to know that

JIMMY THE MOBSTER

there's only me and you here—

JIMMY FALLON

you know what they say—threes a crowd—

JIMMY THE MOBSTER

Listen, Jimmy Fallon, you illiterate motherfucker!

JIMMY FALON

I'm not illiterate; I'm very well read.

JIMMY THE MOBSTER

oh yeah! What was the last book you read?

JIMMY FALLON

…

JIMMY THE MOBSTER

…that's what I thought.

[beat]

JIMMY THE MOBSTER grabs JIMMY FALLON by the shoulders abrasively

JIMMY THE MOBSTER (CONT'D)

WHERE'S MY MEDALLION, JIMMY!?!

JIMMY FALLON

I DON'T—KNOW!

JIMMY THE MOBSTER

YOU DO KNOW!

JIMMY FALLON

NO, I DONT—you blindfolded and kidnapped me!

JIMMY THE MOBSTER

I kidnapped you?! C'mon' you're like 50-

JIMMY FALLON

I'm 42.

JIMMY THE MOBSTER

—I snatched you.

“Snached” hm.

I like that.

MEANWHILE, in HOLLYWOOD

This is a serious job…

It's a job.

A serious job.

I'll take it.

Wtf is this dude into.

Whippets and women—

Like every-other Hollywood nigga

Stop using the n'word.

It makes white people uncomfortable.

Imagine what it's like being called the n word like it's your name.

FLASHBACK

BEVERLY HILLS, CALIFORNIA

PRODUCER

YOURE JUST A NIGGER SLAVE.

(That actually happened.)

Anyway.

As you can see, or might have guessed,

I'm desperate for attention,

Sonny followed me to Brooklyn,

But never even mentioned it:

I should have figured he was listening,

When I heard Renaissance,

And lost the mixtape that I did

That Skrillex took it off of

Glad It didn't win the Grammy

I'd be mad if it had. Cause I was on it!

Not Exactly.

Swear to God,

I might have lost it,

Heard applause and started walking

Nodded off,

And woke up in a coffin

Coughs,

What a photographer.

DILLON FRANCIS has been buried alive, inside of a coffin.

I love this scene.

He really is a good actor.

(In my mind.)

Dude, you are creep level 1 Billion.

Whatever, he followed me to Brooklyn.

I am you.

You know what,

That is something I would do if I was stupid rich and…

And what.

I had fallen in love with Sonny Moore, not at first sight—but at first glance; it seemed he had been quite literally tossed into my broken and shattered world, and—

What, I'm an animal!

Did you fuck?

Should I have?

I would have.

I know you would have.

I'm not Annie;

She is pretty, and fun;

An addict, an alcoholic

And formerly, my other half

When I was one,

But now I'm half of half of half

And then some;

I've been numb,

I've never felt like this,

Since I've been struck.

I guess if I drink,

I'll be a big drunk;

And If I die before I ever wake

I'll be in big luck

Honestly,

After Kayla Lauren,

I didn't give a fuck

Been thinking of jumping,

Then something hit me like a big truck

I love eating.

There was some sort of event on the basketball court at Sports Club; I had been there already two entire hours, and spent most of it in the sauna, still followed by coughing people, I knew I still wasn't out or the heap of madness or broken from any spell or curse it might have been — and it wasn't fair, I wasn't fair skinned, and it didn't make a difference at all what had happened; I still wanted to end it.

I'm losing my mind again

Losing a light again

Losing my light,

But if I run to find it

I just might

I just might

—I'll fly like a kite.

He's trying to kill me.

He's not doing a bad job.

Don't know what i'm working towards;

Don't know what i'm running for—

Don't know about Sonny Moore

(He's not for me;)

Or so I thought before, therefore—

I take metformin

I'm still homeless,

Searching for a metaphor,

An aquafir,

And somewhere to plug my phone in

(Better than being ignored and drinking tap water,

On the fourth floor)

Housing is a human right

I hate this place

It's just not right

I'm sick of fighting

I'm not racist;

Just not fucking white enough

To run for red and right;

I guess

I'm blū then.

I could be crying in the sauna.

But I guess I'm writing you a message

It's just a bullet in my head

It's just another lesson

It's just another test, at best

It's just an algorithm;

Go back to my nest

And rest for just a minute

This is season 6 of Legends,

Now I'm turning to a villain

I keep coming up with Skrillex,

But I gave my heart to Dillon

Here's a tiny violin;

It's getting violent since intermission

Ultraviolet light,

And impolite fixations,

Revelations,

Realizations,

Revolutions,

Reservations

Let's set a date then—

Is it fucking coughs,

Or is it Satan?

I hate this.

You would want to jump in front of a train, too

If for years. No matter what you did or where you went

People came around you and just started coughing

That's such an evil fucking thing to experience

For someone who never wanted anything

But to be loved

But was always too fat

Too black

And just altogether too anything to ever experience love, joy, and happiness the way

other people do

And so, it must be hell

Cause all I do is love, and love, and love

And just get shit on

And coughed at

And called retarded

And falling short of success

I'm not heartless

I just carry rocks around

And get followed by coughing bodies

My life fuckin sucks, man

I just want to turn the simulation off,

And on again

I just want to take a long nap,

And wake up in the arms of a man

I just want a booking manager,

And an orgasm.

And a ham sandwhich,

And my land back,

And to be happy

Or maybe like half a xanex

Wanna throw myself down on the train tracks

I want a can of spam and pancakes

Like breakfast made by my dad

I want to hold hands,

And a whole home, with a landing pad

Or maybe just an address, and a gas lamp

Or a campfire

Timestamp that.

This is the third and final act.

I can't fall for this again—

Another rich and handsome man—

A dream he wants to be my friend

A dream he wants to hold my hand

Oh look,

Another dance for anthem

Look,

I'm just another fan

No, I can't fall for this again

—but they would go against the plan

A simple programming error,

Lips the color of a pomagranite

Circle on the palm,

And then , of course,

We press the center

And look, here we are again

Another life,

Another love

A new wife—

Another husband

Honest?

I'm just good with fucking

—aha

I just want to fuck you

I got love, but what it good for

Look at me, or look at nothing!

Look,

I'm just good with fucking

Check the news for new engagements

Fucking sick and fucking tragic

Nothing more than actors,

DJs, drinks and addicts

Look,

I'm just a happy accident—

I still hate Dillon Francis

And I never wanted Skrillex:

That shit never even happened!

Have you had enough yet?!

Carrot cake does sound good

Ten karat long engagement ring—

Is that a lot?

I'm just a homeless

Look, I'm just another DJ

Some fake model stole it

Some would call it occult Magic

—honest?

I just want some dick, man

Fuck it

—aha

I just want to fuck you

I got love, but what it good for

Look at me, or look at nothing!

Look,

I'm just good with fucking

You know why you like me?!

Yes, I know why I like you—

Cause I'm rich!

—no, actually—it's because you're smart.

Where in the fuck are you going?

I don't know yet.

Well, know faster—we have company.

Fuck.

Destroy every bit of evidence.

Ok.

—and make sure nobody sees you.

Yeah, right!

YO.

Why the fuck are you here, Timmy?

I told you, I'm not Timmy.

I don't give a fuck who you are—where's my money?

It's— it's on the way, I promise.

I'm don't take well tk promises, Timmy.

What do you take well to?

Money.

FUCK.

What!

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!

What?!