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

I only see your shadow;

For you, I kindly waited—

My eyes are very open,

But my heart is very hated

LOOK AT IT.

I—

JUST-LOOK AT IT.

I want to die and

I don't know why

I want to die and

I don't know why

I want to die and

I don't know why.

Why lie about it I

Feel like dying

I look past everything—

Even what I should see

I feel like dying

I'm constantly out of alignment

With my design

Don't mind me,

I was just l

Light at the end of the

Nightmare, or just a dream

I keep on waking up

Crying myself to sleep

I want to die and

I don't know why

I want to die and

I don't know why

I want to die and

I don't know why.

Why lie about it I

Feel like dying

—

I love the way your body looks—

Please, hold me tight and don't let go

I love the way your body looks—

Please hold me tight and don't let go

Come take a glance

At my mammary glands

No arms, no hands

No legs, no chance

Something bout those camouflage pants

I

Yeah, I'm just a fan,

I promise

I'm Stan

It's that bad

It's that bad

I run 15 miles an hour down a mountain

What you think about that?

I forgot a pen and a pad,

But look, I found one on the ground—

Aren't you proud of me?

I turn a mound into a man—

I promise,

I'm a fan

It's that bad

It's that bad

I'm a fountain

Look, I found you

Proud family fountaine

Yeah, I'm just a black

Campaign magnet manager

Yeah

Everything the prophet Jon said was a code,

And yet

I was nowhere to be found at all

I was

Probably still drowning in blood, after all of it

Writing my name on the wall

Or deposit slips

Slitting my wrists at the catacombs,

Woah

Slow down

This is all so uncalled for

So much the overachiever

And leaver of lovers,

The teacher

“I loved him so

Much”

Stockholm,

Stockholder

Stop go,

Stop go

red rover,

Red rover

Send someone right over

Cause

911!

911!

Hit the ground running,

Or duck and find cover

(Or better yet, find a revolver)

You're calling a four leaf clover

Art for the front cover

Ah, a world wonder

“I should probably call her…”

Enough

Sir, you remind me of someone

You left the door open

I probably won't close it

A loft, like the apartment I once

Grew up in

Or whatever my mind was,

In the moment

Why would someone smell this way

I'm just a machine, I'm

Irony, irony—

Ey!

Flock to the crossing,

I've never felt so dumb before

Just after

Loving one star

As hard as I could

And it all fell apart at the alter

Now I'm at the crossroads

Sell my soul, sure

For certain

But I never owned it

You'd better talk to my husband

He owns it

I'm better off drowning in sorrow

Than blood now

I'd better count all my arrows

And bloodhounds

Before the sun goes down

And before the hunt's getting started

A carver, for carving

But I couldn't quite catch the words,

I was starving

I couldn't quite make a song out of stardust

I'd better go

Just before the war starts up

“What did you call this?”

“A word,”

I said to my father

The world that I started, in ruins

So I stared it over

And over and over

So much for luxury—

I thought I wanted towel service and saunas

But turns out I love Eucapuptus

Whatever that does

Or something

I thought of being discharged

Or discarded

Like all of the common in poverty

Washed up

Like mau5 was

Before and after the comeback

“Commander…”

I never liked being captain

I warned you;

I only practice three out of the Ten Commandments

Serve condiments like mustard

And never ever wear condoms

I warned them,

Warranted

Now, let me show you where your cock goes

(In the ocean)

Cous-cous, or Caucasus

Persuasion, a caution

Caucasians

Dark, was the sun when I woke up

In all purple armor

Better to marry a fighter, prepared for the war that was coming

We all won

We're all in,

But undone

Rough,

I like a ruffian, I might add

But things never add up

I would love a muffin

Here goes a whole stream of conscious

(Or cous cous, or caucus or)

I lost the word for it

Watching the omnibus roll past

Fuck, now was was it

Some carbohydrate

(Quinoa)

You never know what you got

Till it's gone

I just lost a penny—

I'll pick up another one

Haven't you suffered enough for the moment?

I suffered once,

But it's still not over—

One for the floor and then

One just to follow

One for the floor, and then

One just to follow

I hate losing money, you know.

If I cut you off [Now]

⌨️️ ️

, you might lose your tolerance…

Hello, again

My dear old friend

I've missed you

How could you leave me

After all we've been through

That's just what I do now,

You know

I should have been more thorough

With all of my old stuff

I couldn't love you enough

In her body or another

Or all of us

INT. PLANET FITNESS. NIGHT

survivalism, deadmau5

Wonder, wonder

Would you, would you

Will I will I

Die tonight

Wonder wonder

If if if I

Stay up to the

Morning light

If I if I.

Could find

Your eyes again

Your eyes again

Your eyes again

Your eyes your eyes

Are mine

Thank you, kind stranger

No challenge, a charger

I was awfully awestruck,

But stood there just after

Standing on sutphin,

No love and no laughter

I'll see you tomorrow

Cause I'll be here after all

No wonder, no wonder

A wonderful somethin

No standing on sutphin

No love, and no laughter

There's no code of arms,

There's mo alarm, either

So unfit for love, so unfit the mother

Thank you, kind stranger

I couldn't care anymore, if I tried

Who loves me or not

I was what I was

Now I'm gone

And I'm off of it

I couldn't care for the cause

Cause it's all done

I couldn't care for a father or mother

Who loved me so much all at once

I was born from the stardust

To stories of Noah and Arks

(Or just one boat,)

But I stood on sutphin and archer

For nothing and no one

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Sonny left you out in the cold

Sonny doesn't know what to do

Sonny gotta very old soul, so

Sonny's done away with the truth

Sonny didn't open any doors

Sonny's always sitting in the booth

Sonny isn't coming for you, poor

Sonny's so in love with Sunni Blu

So be Sunni Blu

So be Sunni Blu

You'll see Sonny soon

The universe is split into two, you know

Who are you?

(I told you)

What do you do?

(I just want to make music)

So you do

Don't go assuming you're consumed, dude

Just renew

You're a renewable

Don't be confused if confucius say

“Hey, just play to the tune “

Get a mop and a broom

And a mic and a boom

Rent a room somewhere for a month or two

Just don't be stupid

Cupid's run out of room

So

Sonny's just a man that I love

Sonny means less, but he does too much

Sonny's just human

Sonny's got proof that

Once you've got money,

It's all for amusement

Just be Sunni Blu, kid

I should have kissed him.

Flashback: Montage—Season 6

V.O.

I have a massive headache.

I can't stop thinking about Dillon Francis.

I'm hungry but haven't been to the gym and don't want to risk getting fat;

All my extra smalls fit, but my butt is getting bigger.

My new job's alright, but I feel like a loser.

LA broke is better than regular broke, but it would be nice not to be in debt.

I feel like I need a hug or a really good fuck or maybe both and then a cuddle.

I can't sleep and I hate all my roommates for just existing.

I think I might be getting sick just from being around other people too much.

I spent like $200 on protein and left almost all of it in Las Vegas.

LA Fitness sucks but it's better than nothing;

I really miss Equinox.

It doesn't seem like anybody really cares about me.

I'm Lonely all of a sudden.

I've really been craving pancakes. A lot.

Sometimes it seems like everything I've written is just a waste of time.

I can't stop thinking about sex.

Sometimes I think about sex with Dillon Francis.

Skrillex isn't real.

Nothing I seem to do adds up.

I'm a loser.

I keep checking my emails like something is going to change.

Sometimes I feel like I'm about to be famous—

I'm still hungry and thinking about a late night walk to LA Cafe; I really like their tater tots.

I miss being a mom.

Still thinking about LA CAFE but I already had Tocya Orgánica because the juice bar was closed when I got off work.

I just want someone to love me.

I thought I sold my soul but I still need love so I know it's still in there somewhere.

I literally spend every day working just to pay for a room to share with four people.

I almost had confidence before the Australian man came along.

It's weird to think about how everything I've written is just sitting in my Google documents doing nothing.

All the jobs I actually want to do are for people with beautiful bodies and mine is disgusting.

There's No Rick and Morty with no Justin Roiland.

There's No Pirates of The Caribbean with No Johnny Depp.

There's no room for reality in Hollywood.

{Drill Music Playing}

EXT. DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES. NIGHT

DRAKE BELL enters the SMOKE SHOP

Enter The Multiverse

L E G E N D S

The Legend of…

“Looking Back”

All of a sudden—or maybe, even, not so suddenly—I was Clark Kent—or whatever Superman's name was. I had been without contacts or glasses for quite some time, and had quite explicitly in one of my many letters to God—or really any holy power in a realm which might have received my charred requests—all the things I needed, and some of the things I very badly wanted—tightly bundled and wax-sealed with intention for nothing besides that of the greater good, or course, for myself or anyone else—set ablaze in the unforgiving streets of New York City, in secrecy at odd hours of the night; it hadn't been my actual intent to have to practice any magic at all, especially under the circumstances, and it seemed that someone nearly unmentionable at all, had hexed a nasty attack on my psyche—a satanic, demonic possession of the weak and feeble bodies around me, and unable to isolate in completion, I had become vulnerable to such a wicked curse that it had altered my psychic morality—as one does not practition a counter-curse or attack, in my own medicinal expertise, without first being provoked—as one military typically mustn't bomb another, or even it's own enemy without being first considerably attacked—and it was, at this point, indeed a terrible holy war.

I had at the very least been able to return to regular gym sessions, though still not training as thoroughly as before; I had allowed myself to gain quite a bit of weight over the period of just a couple weeks, eating for the most part what I wanted out of comfort, especially having nearly starved and defaulted into severe malnutrition after eating nothing but bananas for a period which lasted something like three weeks—and without adequate protein intake, I had l lost quite a bit of muscle, not that, for the most part, the muscles that I had been building weren't there—in fact, I found myself, at least as of late, looking like any retired or untrained athlete that had let themselves gain atop the muscle they had built—fat now sitting on top of my larger muscles and making the weight gain look and feel even more hideous, and after several days of at least regular lifting and sauna, I still didn't feel like running, which would alleviate most of the gain more rapidly. I was still somewhat sort of depressed—my new roommate having obviously been possessed, constantly bringing up things I didn't want to think about or remember—mostly things from my terribly abusive marriage, and of course grinding her teeth, moaning and mumbling all through the night, always specifically having some kind of problem when I seemed to be making any progress at all in music; My miserable, fat, and drunken ex had after all wanted to be a musician, and I considered him probably to be the soul proprietor of the cruel attacks, and though I had forgiven him, at least for the cheating and for the most part for beating my face in—at least as much as I could, it seemed that simply having become an actual working and professional musician myself angered him greatly, making him bitter enough to the point that he would sit and ruminate on my imminent failure enough that I could sense this—not that it mattered, as by now I had gone too far and worked too hard to do anything else—and though he was well aware of Sunnï Blū by now, I was certain he hadn't the slightest clue that Sunni was just a fictional character. I had started creating music under a number of different aliases, which I learned to be common amongst musicians—but I felt it rather to be nessececary, especially sense whatever satanic and demonic force continued to urge me to kill myself (not entirely out of the question, but still the furthest thing from my mind), as in his care our poor little boy had become morbidly obese, which also ate a hole in my heart and my soul; it wasn't fair that through our separation his body had become so grotesque

and unsightly—but now, it was out of my control.

This Clark Kent was not a mother—I never spoke of my failed marriage or about my son to anyone; I was simply a single woman, business minded and for the most part no-nonsense. I secretly sent care packages to my some 150- pound 6 year old in hopes that he would somehow understand my love for him; I often made mixtapes with him in mind—he loved Daft Punk. I wasn't interested in dating or even socializing beyond the neasesaey network connections, which were far and few between in the area I had been settled in, but not quite comfortable. Black men in the music scene never wanted to collaborate or or facilitate promotions without some gesture of romantic or sexual connection—in an area, music—which I considered now strictly business, and for the most part, had been talking myself down from the fantastical wet-dreamy world of fandom which might have anything to do with seeing myself with anyone in such a realm as to have crafted for themselves a career in the world of music at all—in fact, I had become unmovable from my cellibacy—though the sexual beast that dwelled on the base of my spine flamboyantly crept up into my loins and even sometimes up into my heart, I had learned to swallow it down; there was no man that I wanted or needed so much as the ones I had, and would now rather suffer alone than to struggle to try to find someone that I actually could see as a partner—Creative and emotional intelligence aside, by now I just preferred being alone, and it seemed that even those I had cared for had started to become like my ex husband—probably also overtaken by demons—and so I felt it safe and more valuable to be alone, thinking perhaps having given birth to three of his children, that my body, mind, and soul was ruined—but I'd rather go it alone myself than go back to him, or worse—end up with someone so much like him that I ended up dead, homeless, or a combination of the two—which I already had, not that I saw it as an immovable fate.

This new and most astonishing Clark Kent kept to herself, and was quiet; she was observant, and critical, but not too critical—kind, but also not too kind; In New York City of all places, a sucker is a sucker—kindness is considered as weakness, and no good deed does in fact go unpunished.

The prescription was perfect, and I could see sharply and clearly now; the world was color coded with shades of dark green and royal blue, with tinges of bright yellow l as if hinting that the wishes I made upon the candles I had burned would come true—and I hoped that they would, though I had done most of my spell work for protection and binding—not to collect such terrible karma for the injustice done, but to dissuade whatever had been following me—attaching its nasty energy into my world and in my realm and urging me to kill myself; everything was evil blue eyes and perfect bodied women, my music unheard and unliked and no notable achievements made.

I dreamt of a world where my evil and estranged husband would reproduce with someone else—that all the hatred and darkness and energy of our shared past that he was constantly sending towards me would become a distant memory, his attention set on his new wife and child; I wanted only really to become a non-factor, left alone and loveless, albeit never unhinged or undone by love or in the hands of a man again—at least in that matter. I ran my tongue over the inside of my bottom lip where my teeth had punctured through, all the way to the other side—amazed that even years later the scar was raised, which always made me wonder how bad it really was; I couldn't have known then, even with the remarkable and obvious damage that he had done to my face, how bad it really was—and here, still, six years later, I wondered how I had survived such a gruesome assault—not that about I would have admitted it, as it seemed Hollywood itself even had been overrun with the never ending infinite saga of the he-said-she-said Battle of The Sexes, even my own pitiful self having to side with the men.

“I must have deserved that.”

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Give me time to walk,

An Hour or so

A trot, the fox

Time to run

An hour or nothing

The founder of the establishment

The Tower of Babel

Another arrangement

The flounder, the fox, the horse

Come one, come all,

Come one, come now

The walk or a run

A gallop, or trot— the horse

A crown for a gallon of water

A gallon of water

A gallon of water

I know who you are my son;

Come one, come all

Come mother, come father

Come dog, and come brother

A sister, another

All for a walk in the park

I lost it

All for a gallon of water

A gallon of water

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Excerpt From:

“DJ AND CC TAKE HOLLYWOOD”

Wait, CC—you're a sex addict?!

I'm an everything addict! You know this!

I didn't know!

—Except pills; I hate pills.

What? I've seen you take pills before.

Case in point!

Why didn't you just tell me?

It doesn't exactly come up organically in conversation, Dillon.

What?! We talk about sex all the time.

Like, in general—but not fórreal! What the fuck!

What the fuck?! Whats the difference?!

If you have to ask, I feel like you're really not gonna like the answer, dog.

—

“WorstConversationEver”

(Bong rips)

Remember your dad's friend Tom?

Oh my God. You fucked Tom?!

NO!

okay, cause—

I sucked his dick while I pretended to mow the lawn!

What the hell?!

—and he still paid me.

Whatthefuck.

Yeah, fucked up.

So who mowed the lawn?!

He mowed his own lawn!

This is the worst conversation ever.

The crazy thing about this story is—

There's a lot of crazy things about this story, actually.

EXT. BASKETBALL COURT. DAY.

Alright— shirts and skins —Shirt—Skin Shirt,Skin—

Uhh! Nah. I wanna be “shirts”

Why dude?! Your girl's mad hot!

So?!

So I know you got it goin on! Look at you!

I'm mad rich!

Yeah—but girls always cheat on flabby rich dudes! With hotter dudes.

My girlfriend might be cheating on me!

Yeah—She's not, though.

How do you know?

Cause I tried!

Yeah. Take your shirt off.

No—uh! How do you know she's just not into you!

Because! He tried—

HE tried!

You sell out.

And Andre tried—

[ANDRE is tall (about 6'9 dark, and handsome]

—you too, bro?

[ANDRE shrugs nonchalantly]

That's an NBA player—

What the FUCK, YO.

—and she said NO.

ANDRE

Yup. Shot me down.

Oh really—from all the way up there?!

Face it, man! You're fuckin hot!

I don't like the way that sounds coming from you—

Take your shirt off!

Were you this aggressive with my girl?!

Don't be like that…

Nah— fuck you!

Yo! C'mon, man—

And you three!

You're holding up the game getting mad over nothing. It's Hollywood!

It's Beverly Hills!

—Exactly my point!

You're new here—you'll catch on.

You know what!

I'm shirts—you're skins—Game on.

[SUNNI BLU goes beast mode and plays the dirtiest, most whoopass game in history—out of spite and anger of the toxic masculinity; this of course earns SUNNI BLU even more respect as a “man's man”]

Later: as the owner of the clippers, sunni BLU trades “Andre” to the worst basketball team in history.

SUPACREE buys DIPLO a glass house to replace the one he burned down in a crime of passion.]

There, now, you'll stop throwing stones—

Huh!

AND. Everyone can see when you ugly cry.

*humphs*

Now, stop it!

Is it supacree?

Uh?

Could be Sunni Blu.

Sunni Blu is a dude—

Sunni Blu is pretending to be a dude.

Oh yeah, huh.

Dang.

Huh.

Well, then.

We've gotta consult The Big Book of Dillon Francis.

Don't say that like it's some kind of guide book.

It is a guidebook.

To what??

To Dillon Francis!

That's preposterous.

Didn't you choose Sonny?

Didn't I waste my time writing the great big book of Dillon Francis!?

Touché.

Might as well do something with it.

I got it.

THIS IS ENVIRONMENTALLY IRRESPONSIBLE.

BURN IT ALL.

You're gonna hurt someone's feelings.

Yeah, my own.

STOP TOUCHING THAT.

Wait, where is—

Fuck.

What?

Now I'm “that girl who fell in love with Skrillex”

Lol, which one.

Hum. The one who wrote a novel about it.

Pick your poison.

Rum.

Not a rum and coke?

No, just straight up—you know what? How much is the bottle?

Uhhh. Just.

[SUPACREE pours the remains of the bottle into a red solo cup.]

Ugh. Come on.

What! At least you're not “The Black Yoko Ono”

How did you even find out about that one.

Infinite what the fucks.

Now the world's getting mad again,

I wrote something damaging;

Doors just start slamming at random,

And coughing—

Sounds of motorists passing,

Just scrambling my brain,

I'm insane, but at least I have plainly created

What may be historical, one day—

I've made a whole masterpiece, a symphony that easily outlives me, infinity—

My body's just a body

Rush a cop just got get off this awful planet;

I don't want what comes with poverty and fat,

I don't compete with Instagram models,

And everyone does that—

I'm not a catfish, facts are facts

I use my camera just to document the interesting phenomena I happen to walk past;

Saw Dillon Francis on a wall, and had to grant the wish he asked—

But don't know what it is exactly,

I'm just happening, actually—

I probably need nap but now Insomniac's been tracking me;

I happily allow it; I program myself with beats,

So when I finally sleep, I dream in music sequences, or something—

I don't know

I might delete it upon listening to rampant white supremacy or privelege on repeat,

But that's just me,

Forgetting I'm the one in trouble,

On the run, without a family

So perception is reality, and mine is badly damaged—

Damn Pasquale again, I had to re-decipher all the messages transmitted from imaginary friends,

Collecting images in infrared

*gasp*

Okay, just—breathe…

I can't! I have to wear a mask!

It's mandatory—so is being black,

I have to! But I'm not a rapper!

Maybe I should talk to Chance,

Or Marshall Mathers:

They might have to answer

To the questions that I can't afford to ask

This automatic writing might just be the most

Goddamned advanced evidence of intelligent inhabitants in other dimensions, or other planets

Or all of the above,

Or maybe just of Dillon Francis using magic,

Which he got from—

Oh, no, here it comes

SK—

Fuck this. Fuck this mother—FAWN.

Are we out of F*cks, then?

I floppin' guess!

I thought you loved him.

It is what it is.

What is it?

INFI—

THE END.

INFINITI!

...yes, mom?

GET IN HERE,

Huh?

Don't say “huh”.

Okay, what?

Don't say “what”

…

…

…

...welll, what do you want?

What is this?

*shrugs*

INFINITY

[ooh, with a ‘Y'

that's how you know mom's angry this time]

*COUGHS*

Betcha his photographer's in love with him.

Which one has the VooDoo Doll?

There's a Skrillex VooDoo Doll?

It's technically ‘Sonny'

Aww.

You'd be surprised at the shit these girls will—

INFINITY.

WHAT.

What is THIS?!

It's just—Skrillex.

AFH.

Now you're FUCKED.

I thought we were out of FUCKS.

That was FAUX.

Awww: I see what you did there.

Am I done now?

What does Dillon Francis want?!

—don't answer that.

[whispering in ear.]

That's not possible

So. I shifted a consciousness into this rock.

Why would—why?

For good luck.

Oh, this is a problem,

But it turns out.

HUH.

Damn. I'm on one,

I have blue balls,

This is not fun. This is not fun. This is not fun.

Okay; now you're done.

So, that's it--? You really want to ride this Sinking Ship?

If that's what this is, then I guess that says it.

Says…?

Says “I just bought a ticket to Titanic at Bass Canyon.”

Is that where you bought it?

Is it?

Why would you give yourself in, for him?

(For Anyone?)

In.

(Psh)

I gave myself out.

Out? Look at you.

Look at me.

I'd rather not.

You know what it is

You know what it is—

You know what it is

That's the business

Comin in hot, like a chicken wing

This ain't Toy Story—got no friend in me,

You feelin me?

Cold as Minnesota, I'm the ice queen

Nice bling—

Hollywood should buy this bitch a wedding ring

Amohetemime

Trick, you're a half,

I'm the whole thing

Whole Foods market, gotta own me

No mink coat, I'm a vegan,

Hocus Pocus, I'm three witches

Okay, from the top

Hello?

This is Hollywood calling;

We want the festival project

We just wrote up the contract

Come get your deposit:

You're nominated for an Oscar

Your Star On The Walk looks Awesome

it's On Us

Yeah? That's what's up

I'll come up

I'll come up

I'll come up

Say what's up

That's my shite;

I'm rep in the festival project

Ya'll like “what's that?”

I'll tel you all about it,—that's

Coming up next

Oh yeah,

Oh yeah

Tune in

I'm On

Welcome to your Hollywood life

The good life

Good life

Welcome to the Hollywood life

That's right

That's right

Welcome to your Hollywood life

The good life

Good life

Welcome to the Hollywood life

That's right

That's right

They call me young Hollywood,

They robbed me good in Santa Monica

And I so I got no address yet;

But I'm coming up like one direction

I just checked my reflection like:

Mirror mirror on the wall

I gotta go

Hollywood's callin

And I don't do this often

Only when o bless the red carpet

Comin in hot, like a chicken wing

Call me Toy Story—

got a friend in me,

You feelin me?

On the big screen livin out my dreams,

I wrote my scenes, the Hollywood life: I neee

I ride by

On a tomeline

I write, I like

My nice things.

The life I lead,

Is ritghteous,

I defy my means

Applied IT,

I might be AI,

Fine my me;

Cause all I see

Is light I like,

And I'm liking my

Hollywood life, I think.

Nice bling—

Hollywood should buy this bitch a wedding ring

Amohetemime

Trick, you're a half,

I'm the whole thing

Whole Foods market, gotta own me

No mink coat, I'm a vegan,

Hocus Pocus, I'm three witches

It's just some Hollywood shit

Isn't it fabulous

This is some Hollywood shiy

Isn't it fabulous

Comin in hot, like a chicken wing

This ain't Toy Story—got no friend in me,

You feelin me?

Cold as Minnesota, I'm the ice queen

Nice bling—

Hollywood should buy this bitch a wedding ring

Amohetemime

Trick, you're a half,

I'm the whole thing

Whole Foods market, gotta own me

No mink coat, I'm a vegan,

Hocus Pocus, I'm three witches

You know what it is

You know what it is—

You know what it is

That's the business

One door close. Then another door opens

So sick flow, go home with a cold then

Woah, Hoe—cold like some snow boots

Pants so big, I can parachute

PARACHUTE!

Hoes look fake, like a blow up doll

Harlem shake, i'm bout to blow up ya'll

SAM ASH. HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA. DAY.

Do you have any Jog Wheels?

Beg your pardon?

Uh, Jog Wheels.

“Jog Wheels”

Yeah, you know, like (imitates DJ scratching)

Oh, you mean these? (Entire room of DJ controllers)

Yeah, but just–this (points to Jog Wheel)

Oh, “Jog Wheels…”

Yes. Jog Wheels.

…Just “Jog Wheels?”

…yes.

No.

[Leaving store with frustrated infuriation]

AGH.

BEFORE:

Oh my God! We've been robbed!

WHAT!

OH MY GOD!

WHAT!

WHAT'D THEY TAKE?!

–

Have you tried Guitar Center?

THEY TOOK MY JOG WHEELS.

Bitch you mad?

Mad at what?

I'm still making money;

I don't give a fuck

Get my bag;

Count it up

I'm a dog—

And you know I like it rough

(Ruff ruff ruff)

Where you from?

Where you hood at?

Keep it clsssy

But I'm acting like a hood rat

I'm a playa

I got boss racks

Call me north

Cause I'm pointed where the moss at

(Money)

I am from Los Angeles

I got all these fans and stuff

I smoke on dat tangle

I be at PINK buying bras n stuff

I still shop at hollister

The Bronx ain't got no Rosses

Or hot topics

But I bought this floss

To drop it like a thot n stuff

Bitch you mad?

Mad at what?

I'm still making money;

I don't give a fuck

Get my bag;

Count it up

I'm a dog—

And you know I like it rough

(Ruff ruff ruff)

I show up

Play some ratchet music

I show up

Play some ratchet music.

In the booth I'm eating waffles.

Had to force quit my serato

Key: F

It's such a wonderful feeling–

leaving, release,

sweet relief,

Slowly bleeding out

Dreaming, in peace

With no reason

to grieve–finallly–

Freedom

Mm-hmm

mm-hmm

Mmm-hmmm

__

I'm so LA for no reason.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Excerpt From:

“DJ AND CC TAKE HOLLYWOOD”

Wait, CC—you're a sex addict?!

I'm an everything addict! You know this!

I didn't know!

—Except pills; I hate pills.

What? I've seen you take pills before.

Case in point!

Why didn't you just tell me?

It doesn't exactly come up organically in conversation, Dillon.

What?! We talk about sex all the time.

Like, in general—but not fórreal! What the fuck!

What the fuck?! Whats the difference?!

If you have to ask, I feel like you're really not gonna like the answer, dog.

—

“WorstConversationEver”

(Bong rips)

Remember your dad's friend Tom?

Oh my God. You fucked Tom?!

NO!

okay, cause—

I sucked his dick while I pretended to mow the lawn!

What the hell?!

—and he still paid me.

Whatthefuck.

Yeah, fucked up.

So who mowed the lawn?!

He mowed his own lawn!

This is the worst conversation ever.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Dillon Francis is delicious

Come on let me lick it on a stick

Give it to me like a big

Meat popsicle

Meat popsicle

Meat popsicle

Meat popsicle

Sample: Willy winks*

ITS WILLY WONKA

Lol are we still doing the bit where the misspellings are like a, another entirely different dimension?

Yeah.

Haha. Yeah.

—and the chocolate factory

“Lick an orange. It tastes like an orange. The strawberries taste like strawberries! The snozzberries taste like snozzberries!”

KATT WILLIAMS IS—

WILLY WONKA.

Oh hell naw!

Don't look at me;

I'm just a DJ, don't look at me—

Shaking my head, but it don't mean nothing

Don't know what you mean

You don't even see me;

I ain't even here!

Invisibility,

The MVP or VIP.

It don't mean nothing

Don't look at me!

Shaking my head, but it don't mean nothing,

Hey,

Don't look at me;

I'm just a DJ, man,

I'. The life of the party

I do know what you mean!

Shaking my head, but it don't mean nothing

I don't know what you mean—

Hey, I ain't see nothing, nope

Don't look at me

I could get some work in;

I got 12 minutes,

God as my witness

I work on my fitness

And listen to —

Simple Temptations and

limited Intervals,

Quick algorithmics,

And tentative frequencies

No more mentions for attention whores

Like Kayla Lauren!

I promise that's my last one,

That bitch is boring,

I'm not sorry but I'm soarin on my suorin

While you're snoring on my metamorphosis

Imm getting sworn in

Don't look at me;

I'm just a DJ, don't look at me—

Shaking my head, but it don't mean nothing

Don't know what you mean

You don't even see me;

I ain't even show up to work this week

OG VIP ASAP MVP

It don't mean nothing

I'm just a DJ

Don't look at me

—-

Hey Mr. wedding ring—

I'll buy you a drink,

You know,

Like an old cream soda.

Or a float,

You can drink in the bucket seat

Tell me, Mr. Wedding ring

Do you have everything you need?

I don't envy anything besides your energy and symphonies,

Please

Excuse this phony boner,

I don't know if you're alone

If this is Homer,

I'm a poet, though—

And not a poser

Hey,

Do you suppose you know the code

For doors that open up;

I walk a lonely road,

But Frog and Toad are old

And told me you'd be there to show me

(Whatever)

Woah

Where am I supposed to go from here

I'm nowhere, dear

I'm Alice lost in wonderland

And all her friends—

Even the one in red

Who wants her head

(Where'd that come from)

Yo!

It's a real bad acid trip,

I can't get a grip on reality

Can't get off the grid at random,

If you're being tracked

By the feds and fandom

Woah.

I may be one of the greatest writers in history

But will you remember me?

My ex gets

Under my skin with

Champion fashion;

It's in bad taste

But I haven't had my own bathroom

In half a millennium

Im under persenium arches

Sniffing cristanthimymums sampling Arsenio Hall

Are you ip yet?

I'm still enthralled with this story

But yo!

(Where's Unaavvi at)

I haven't been to a show

(Where's the party at)

I should be gripping a pole

(Where is Cardi at)

But it takes all day to get back to the Bronx in the snow!

Fuck New York when it's cold

And it's always cold in New York

When you don't know nobody

And your only hobby is hobbling around in the hotel lobby

Counting the robbers and gobblins

A

D Whitney's and Bobby's

The ghosts and the zombies

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

This is a recipe for disaster.

No, this is a recipe for Skrillex.

Oh.

This is the recipe for disaster.

Thanks, Dillon Francis.

FOR WHAT?

I remember the moment I became partially deaf.

Or at least, in the synesthetic sense.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.