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

For,

As soon as the moon is full,

She also begins to wane—

And as sure as we are to shine,

We also fade away.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

M4MXS III: ‘complications.' IV - [P Ï Z Z Δ. ]

I am in love with you–

Oh no!

Not again!

What will we do about this?

I'm afraid–

Don't be afraid…

There's nothing left to do, sire.

This is disastrous…

We must let the romance run its course.

“Self Fulfilling Prophecies”

C'esme't! –You've brough a friend...

Your Majesty–

Who's this?

My sage.

Ah, I see.

An honor, your highness

–Not my choice–

To finally meet you.

Ah. You as well.

I offer protection, your majesty, as Her Highness is unfamiliar to your realm.

I'm familiar enough.

C'esme't–be kind.

For what?

Pleasure to meet you, as well–uhm–

Sage.

Ehm–Sage–the Sage?

Yessir.

One who neednt be called neednt a name…

Ah, well, it is with great honor that I welcome you both to my Kingdom.

How very chivalrous.

It's my nature.

Ugh, I'm going to be sick.

The indian fare from one of my new favorite restaurants, not that I had tried many, was hitting the spot– but my stomach began to unsettle, as I thought about the massive attack of sensory overload I was getting, which seemed to be coming from all angles–

“God, he's so handsome…” of course, i had been trying not to think about it, but something deep inside of me didn't miss a beat when it came to hunting down new music that I needed–and even older records that I needed to catch up in collecting, which indeed had led me to a

WHAT! THIS DIMENSION HAS A SPY KIDS 4?!

Are you serious?

Come on, pick your heart up off the floor, now.'

As the sun rises over Manhattan,

My mind races to the past,

A complex misunderstanding–

A phenomenon, at best–

The most profound and circumstantial

Quiet, lost conundrum;

To th eye, an Idol

This,

A childhood obsession.

“I guess that's a start”

His folder would be one of the smallest, of course, especially once compared to that of Skrillex, Dillon Francis, or even, remarkably so, Jimmy Fallon's –if I could ever wrap my mind around attempting to organize The Festival Project from what it was into anything palpable–and it very much wasn't. It didn't entirely make sense at all to anyone but myself, or at the very least I thought it didn't, though however some seemed to be at least listening to the series, strangely enough, it still had no real foundation or true platform.

‘The way his energy moves inside of his body…'

It was a repetitive thought, my obasesions becoming conglomerate, probably even moreso exacerbated by the awful long bout of celibacy, as I also to have reached my sexual peak–it wasn't fair, but it was at the very least a learning experience–however unwelcome–and my wants and needs seemed to be rather specific, which I hated.

Ooh, Boss Fight.

Nice.

Please Help Me.

No.

I don't know where i”m going.

Okay.

OKAY?! i'M NOT OKAY.

I don't care.

AGH.

Oh great, which God is this?

Idk.

Hey, what's your name again?

Axis.

GOsh, what an InSpIRAtIoN

I'm addicted to Crack Cocaine.

Ok. What else do you want to do?

If you go through this portal, something on the other side is going to kill you.

Fine! I'm ready to die!

Hi.

Hi.

I JUST WANT TO GET HIGH AND MAKE LOVE TO YOU WITH MY SOCKS ON.

I wish i never saw this.

HUh. What happened.

WIll you eat thiss?

NO!

Will you eat this–for one million dollars?

YES.

I can't believe your mom sold you into slavery.

IT'S OK. I LIKE IT.

Uhhh .

Now, i'm going to ask you something.

Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

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?!

We're too late, she's gone!

Goddammit.

—She was already here!

FUCK.

FUCK.

FUCK!

>>> FUCK!

How do you know?

—there's glitter, everywhere.

Is it gone?

It's gone?

ALL OF IT.

TIMMY TRUMPET plays a SKRILLEX.

Etto, Timmy?!

Oh shit, another Timmy.

That's weird. I was just thinking he about Skrillex.

Why.

Timmy, put a shirt on.

That's it.

What.

You can't be hot and play the trumpet.

Why.

One thing's gotta go.

THE DEVIL takes away Timmy Trumpet's ability to play the trumpet.

WHAT.

Can't have both.

Well, I don't really need both now, do I?

When I'm in a tough spot I have to listen to deadmau5

—something about the precision and frequencies out my brain somewhere between auropilot and dead space.

I don't know.

I've done just about everything you can think of listening to deadmau5.

Almost.

But, I noticed—

Working out to deadmau5 is strange.

It puts me in some kind of vibration where people notice me—

Not just notice me.

People are suddenly “impressed” with whatever it is I'm doing.

And it's usually something regular as fuck—

I'm just doing it to deadmau5.

And for some reason, people are like

“Wooooow!!”

Okay, whatever.

I used to work out to Skrillex.

Actually.

I used to work out to only Skrillex.

I don't know if its just because I was fat, or cause I liked Skrillex.

Now its like running a serrated knife up my spine.

I started to figure out I was kind of famou—

Kind of—

When I showed up at the gym and Skrillex songs kept coming on

I'm like

“This is what I get for doing nothing but free trials”

But hey,

You try finding a gym in the shitty areas of New York worth paying for.

It's very hard.

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.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

I just want to have sex with you.

At this point, I don't want anything else— but know this, even the most simple, natural, animalistic thing is unattainable—

I'm not even successful enough to know you—

Or beautiful enough—

Or rich enough—

Or whatever it is that gets to sit in that seat next to you—

I'm not enough.

So whatever it is—

Whatever energy won't leave my body—

The racing and obsessive thoughts about you—

The surges of lust and passion through my body—

Wanting you and only you

Needing you and only you

That feeling that no one else will ever measure up — because no one else will ever measure up

I hate it—

And I'm upset as fuck.

Shabbat after sunset II

A spell starts working the very moment you decide to do it.

It works well when you know and understand its direct and exact intention

SHIA LABEOUF and SUNNI BLŪ are easily Hollywood's most obnoxious and cringeworthy couple.

Nothings more cringeworthy than this, though.

SUPACREE and DIPLO go PUBLIC,

Ewwww.

They are gross.

They're so gross.

Ugh.

Okay. We gotta find Skrillex and get back to the dimension where that whole first storyline-

What guest storyline

SCARY MONSTERS AND—

You're not real!

I am real.

No! Go away.

I'm gonna have to ask you to leave.

Get out!

Ok.

You're just a character in my book mothafucka!

Peru firebox fml

AH! THANK MADONNA!

Lol

Tongue in cheek we are—

Around the way we go,

To a place we only know

In my body, in my soul

I should have let out before I left but

Ain't nobody got time for that

I

Just recently learned what a New York minute is—

I don't like minute men,

But I like miniatures

It was the strangest thing—

Just the day,

And the thought of the man,

Had me swoon and nearly fall in love again

Wonder what had become of him,

And remembered for a moment

What love is

I had the rest of Renaissance to finish my quick set—which was only a few songs away— and at least I had made it t had made it to the gym, I thought — but suddenly, or maybe even not so, I was haunted by residual sex dreams of Dillon Frances, tememberqnces of Jon Sennet, and all the things I had said and done up to that point, which had led me to a point of absolute and udder confusion, withdrawal and detest hem t from everything I had learned about reality- at an accelerated pace—

The irony of it was, I was hopping to beyoncè Shazaming what sounded like a familiar friend in death, Kurt Cobain, or at least I thought, and taking everything I could for aampling purposes? If not just for sheer enjoyment—

“You could write a book about me”

Jon had one piped

“Don't” , he followed.

And for years, I listened, unknowing that the collections of poetry, early additions to my song catalogue, and entries in my very intimate auto-biographical timeline would culminate someday to be alone books themselves, let alone entries into the festival project, which now coveted the expanse of what was surely several books, thousands of songs, and an endless collection of poetry that had yet to pay off, but perhaps one day would, even after my death—which I was sure was presently, as nothing seemed at all as it had been before—

Skip to the

Whatever.

Pressed for time

My expressions repressed

Overused phrases

And yet,

I still mean them

How many cases of Fiji water did beyoncè sell in one like?

Did we ever connect those timelines?

Lol no.

Well, I'm not racist.

Are you sure.

No!

GROWLS.

—but my dragon is.

Oh shit.

I don't need hair but a knee brace

Don't make that face at me

Cause you want it that way

Yeah

You wanted it that way

SONNY MOORE ends up in BEYONCE's body after an attempt to finally recapture the original SUPACREE is thwarted.

Lol she's a good actress, I know she can play this.

Sense memory

To the end of the world and back witb you,

To

Right back where we started,

Just a little bit further out

And a little bit better off

Still not where we belong,

Still too far gone from what we thought we all deserved

And still,

And yet,

And here we are

Another Random Album

Oh my God

Don't let the tears fall, now

You're just a sore spot in my body

That I need to work out

And I don't know how it got so bad

That I haven't a care in the world to be had

Or a friend,

But I sure do miss my class

My passenger

Nah, it can't be,

That dreams mean anything

Listen,

I talked to the cat,

Quite candidly,

She was fantastic,

Had a knack for making me laugh

Oh wsnna okay good and robbers huh

Nah hon

I wanna play rockstars and movie stars

Stick cats

Stocks and bond

Shop o.Lb wakstreet insyead of Walmart

If that's what money does

Calm down,

It's just a jamizame

Thought I was gone,

But I just nodded off some

I thought you wanted all of nothing

Want the dodgers,

But the Boston. Socks won,

I want all the love you've got

And God forgot

Let season 7 commence,

Timmy turners in over his head

His orherchakf

In another dimension

A dead beat dad

But only because of this

STAY DOWN, TIMMY.

SUNNI BLU is a drug lord and well known king pen

Oh, the eloquence of ignorance,

Exerting his power over me

(From behind)

And he knows I like it

He knows I like it

And he knows I don't have time for this

No need for distractions

It's just an itch I need to scratch

And it's just an attraction

A fatal attraction

YO, FUCK DILKON FRAMCIZ

Sunni, you're drunk—again.

I DONT GIVR A FUCK.

I hopped the wrong bus

To far Rockaway

With my heart in my pocket

And a cop on my conscious

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

AN EXPERIMENT WITH LIVES

Date: June 21, 1981, Sunday, Late City Final Edition Section 7; Page 9, Column 1; Book Review Desk

Byline: By H. JACK GEIGER; H. Jack Geiger, M.D., is Logan Professor of Community Medicine, School of Biomedical Education, City College, City University of New York.

Lead:

BAD BLOOD The Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment. By James H. Jones. Illustrated. 272 pp. New York: The Free Press. $14.95.

''BAD BLOOD'' is the anatomy of a long nightmare - a particularly American episode in the treatment of black people. Some of the sentiments that inspired this horror, which ended a mere nine years ago, have an awful familiarity, and ''Bad Blood'' is as contemporary in its implications as yesterday's Medicaid rollbacks, today's food stamp cuts or tomorrow's definitions of the truly needy. ''Bad Blood'' is more than mere history: As an authentic, exquisitely detailed case study of the consequences of race in American life, it should be read by everyone who worries about the racial

V.O.

Sure,

Sometimes my body's at a party—

Being deadmau5.

DEADMAU5 is playing at a popular venue.

But I'd honestly rather be doing something much more instetesting— by far.

-SPECIAL ABILITY UNLOCKED-

NICE.

[ACROBATICS]

+10 AGILITY

+10 STEALTH

+10 HP

[BIRDIE returns to the nest after a long day to discover her husband has accidentally cracked their one and only egg.

aww, I love this one.

Apparently it's Disney/Pixar.

You don't say.

No, I don't.

I just had to rush home! I had a feeling something was just terribly wrong

Birdie.

But now that I'm here I see that everything is ok!

Birdie—

Everything is good. The next is clean — the dinner'a on-/ the egg is cracked—

—the egg is cracked…

THE EGG IS CRACKED?!

—yes.

WHY?! WHAT HAPPENED?!

Nothing “happened”, it was an accident…

What do you mean nothing happened?! Something had to happen! The egg is cracked!

Birdie, it's okay—

It's not okay! The egg is cracked! What if it doesn't hatch!

It will hatch!

But what if it doesn't?!

It will! I promise!

Just stick a fork in me,

Cause I'm done

No more pork soda love

Learning curves,

Words that turn to verses, curses, or courses

This mental collision is

Keeping me driven

Isn't it ironic,

That they're saying I'm an icon,

But I'm living at the radiation

You're living on a comet

I couldn't write a comic,

Or a saga, all to star in it

When all I really wanted was a family to watch it with

From end to beginning

From end to beginning

From end to beginning

I don't want to die yet

I haven't even figured out why Johnny DEPP

And Ellen Degeneres are interested in incepting my adolescent visions

I don't want to diet

My mission was getting Skinny for Skrillex,

But it's winter here and this dinners clearly as hot as I'm gonna get,

What did you see in there?

see in where?

*squints* You know where.

I don't know .

TELL US WHAT YOU SAW.

*ragdoll*

What the fuck.

*turns into snake; slithers away quickly.*

*deflates heavily*

That's It! I'm gonna die like this!

Welp, I've had enough for today.

Nope,

Ooh, what's in here.

Nothing.

Oooohhh.

I SAID THAT'S ENOUGH.

It's never enough–

(Never enough)

IT's Never enough

(Never enough)

Never

ENOUGH.

That's it. I can't do this anymore. I quit.

You can't quit.

I quit. I quit.

That's –

I FUCKING QUIT.

No, dude, you're fucking fired.

I QUIT FIRST

“The Longest Hour”

What did fame cost? What would it take? What was I missing? And of course—

‘How do I get there?'

I needed to know.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Super quiet audio - sorry about that.

Thank You for your support,

whoever you are.

love,

-Ū.

I hate country music

You know why?

You all sound like slave owners.

Yup.

Country music just sounds racist,

Well, it is racist.

Even that shit was stolen—

Country music is derived from the songs slaveowners used to steal from their slaves x

Yes.

I'm a sovereign submissive,

A subtle subordinate

Look at wrist

Warm winds, SZA

First stop,

AH, fuck—

Well, check this out

No such thing as free.

No such thing as freedom, either

“Just take what you need”

Just tear me to pieces,

Jesus

All we need is

A little relief I'm this bitch

All we need is

A new release, maybe an EP or three

Make sure that s/hesees this

Do you need me?

Do you need this?

Please check your subscriptions

Or your email

Please, pick up this new prescription

Fuck dude! I can't just listen to deadmau5 in peace?

I gotta do at least three things at once,

But right now, I need to focus on crunches

Let's not get wasted tonight, eh.

Let's go and be racist—-

I forget what the name of the game is

It's

“USA!

USA!

USA!”

The fucked up thing was , the preworkout and the Skrillex hit at just about the same time.

Oh, just about?

The exact same time.

Okay, first of all, this is pre-war Skrillex.

It's also Diplo!

It's also Diplo—yeah.

Don't be too proud of yourself

NO CRYING IN THE SAUNA.

But this is where I cryy!

DO NOT CRY.

Oh.

*sniffles*

Now…

You know what happens if you don't cum?

Uhhh…nothing?

Exactly. You know what happens if I don't cum?

What.

My balls explode.

Just make sure they're in my mouth when that happens.

Wow.

I don't belong here!

Well, where do you belong?

I don't know.

@99@c

Look, I have a favor.

What is it.

ANo.

Oh, come on!

NO.

NO.

Please!

I need you to be my girlfriend.

Lol. For what?

I don't know.

How much is he paying you?

Like a kajillion dollars.

That seems fair.

His isn't fair. They're using Skrillex to provoke me.

Come earlier tomorrow!

Or just, don't come.

Don't go!

DONT—GO.

I am leaving!

NO!

Yes!

No!

—and I am never coming back.

Do you know who your audience is?

Uh.

The CIA

THE FBI

Everyone in The Oval Office.

BIDEN

nice.

The UN.

THe DEA

The Secret Service.

The office of Public Affairs

Uhhh…

Keith Richards

Allison Cooper

Sirs Elton John and Paul McCartney, Respectively

What—for what?!

The President of NBC

CBS

ACC

fox 5, 10, and 13

That's really random.

Al Jazeera,

al Sharpton

And Al Bundy

Wait—what

Oh, did you just mean, like in this dimension?

Uhhh..

This is enter the multiverse

YeH

WHWRE IS SKRILLEX

He died. He's dead. Go away.

That's like 3 Skrillex songs already

You guys are gonna wake up the devil.

What.

Stop doing that.

Stop doing what.

You know what you're doing.

You're summoning the devil

What are you guys doing?

Summoning the devil.

In my basement?

Yes.

Okay. Have fun.

Dang, she's so cool.

I like her.

I love her.

What are they up to down there?

Summoning the devil.

Oh.

Cui bono—

For whose good or benefit

LIL BIIIIIIIITZZZ.

I think we can all agree the cringiest trend ever is the crocs trend.

The insignia of fucking laziness.

I don't care who you are— if I see you wearing fucking crocs I'm going to assume you're stupid; one, cause you follow what everyone else around you is doing--and two because you think it looks acceptable. It looks dumb.

It looks stupid

“But they're comfortable.

You know what?

There are other comfortable shoes that are more functional—

I wear nikes. They're slip ons, no laces— they're cozy as shit

And you know what?

I can outrun a dog if it's chasing me, trying to bite my ass.

This trend is horrible.

And you know what?

It's gotten so bad to the point where, if I see someone wearing crocs, and they've actually got the sling on—I respect them for it!

Not all the way, but a little more.

Like hey—you tried. You tried today.

But the fucking crocs the sling over the top—

You're fucking lazy.

I don't give a fuck what kind of job you work—

There's no excuse for fucking lazy.

Clean up after yourself!

Do your dishes!

Wash your ass!

Put shoes on!

—Real fucking shoes!

Unless you're an actual like, nurse or 87 years old, crocs are not acceptable!

I don't care!

People are lazy now.

“Tales of a Superstar DJ”

“Strange Dream5”

I had been been having very strange dreams and a lot of them happened to have been starring Kurt Sutter which I found strange— but I had been writing a lot lately, which didn't explain anything about Charlie Hunnam also having appeared, or Reese Witherspoon—or Dakota Fanning…and though I was no longer having to listen to deadmau5 just to sleep his counterpart had started appearing on very vivid dreams—which I did not necessarily have to write down to remember, at all, however—this one was surprisingly strange, rather hilarious, and not at all explicit. I awoke craving barbecue ribs and scraping my head, wondering what I might need to do today to move forward and progress…but I was at a loss, for words, at least—but certainly not for music.

There was a gathering at Kurt (and Katey's) house celebrating some show or something—there was a big party with dinner and deadmau5 was playing; when deadmau5 came out and hopped on the mic nobody could hear him—the mic wasn't connected—his helmet was also much different, it looked like some sort of ancient incan mouse head carved from stone (but obviously not stone-/ which was rectangular and had green lights for the eyes and mouth—I questioned whether or not it was really Joel and looked at his arms to confirm that it was using his tattoos—I was excited to hear deadmau5–it was an intimate gathering so we were all situated around the decks—Katey (Segal) went up to the decks and adjusted a chord which looked like a jumper cable and the mic turned on, and I thought “aww, thanks, mom” —then someone—either Kurt or Katey went to the other side and plugged the mic all the way in so we could hear Joel over the mic. He played an anthem sounding song and I thought “nice, new deadmau5 “, but the song sounded old, like pre-2010 deadmau5; either way, I was just happy to listen to new deadmau5. I got on the floor in front of the decks and put my arms behind mu head to rest, then crossed my legs in the shape of a figure-eight and thought “ah, the way I always listen to deadmau5, anyway” (—which is not true…but perhaps I just meant laying on my back? Idk.) I rocked to the music like a pendulum and faded away in my mind—I didn't seem to think it was strange and neither did anyone else; it felt normal. after the show while everybody was eating (I think it was barbecue/soul food) Joel went to smoke a cigarette and indicated I should follow him—which I was weary of, but I did; he went quickly down the 3rd out of 4 stair cases; and I mistakenly went down the second—I realized my mistake and peered at him through the bars; the staircases (which were apparently the entry/exit to Kurt Sutter's house was like the lower level of a pyramid which seemed Mayan or Incan in style; I went down the 3rd staircase and did not see Joel, so went all the way to the bottom and climbed up another set of stairs, frustrated. “Kurt sutter has the worst house ever!” I said or thought, as I approached Joel at the top of another staircase, which was half the length of the others; it appeared I had somehow ended up on the other side—he sat in an opening that was colorful, though the paint was wearing, and moved himself from a colorful patch and said “ew, orange!” I sat on the wall next to him trying not to look at him and he made me so nervous (not because he was famous, but because I found him to be cute; we actually both seemed to be famous throughout the whole dream—as there were other famous people at Kurt and Katey's gathering, which included Charlie hunnam and many cast members from sons of anarchy, who were all shirtless.) anywho. I sat next to Joel and looked up at him; he seemed so tall and as if his head was in a plastic fish bowl, with masking tape at the bottom; I looked down and there were a pair of white baby crocs wrapped individually in plastic— I said “aww”, because they were baby sized—but then “yugh!” And kicked them away, Joel was like “why???” And I said “because they're crocs,” then we had a really weird conversation about the the rubber seal on a bottle of baby soap (that doesn't exist) and the dollar store that didn't make any sense at all—something about using the rubber seal to escape and swim to the other side—but then having to swim back anyway because you forgot something at the dollar store. It did not make sense—at all—but we both agreed that we loved the dollar store for whatever reason. “Joel,” I asked “can I ask you a question?” “Sure”, he said “what's it like to have done what you've done with your music—I mean really.” That's not what I wanted to ask; it was a cover question and he seemed to know it “no.” He said. “Why?” I asked, and he responded “because I'm going to ask you something.” I said “okay…l and I wanted to know what— but I was quiet. “I always go first” he said, slipping off his blue cotton boxers without taking off his shorts—which was impressive. “Okay.” Then, a strange dark skinned boy— approached us, first stopping at Joel, and kissing his hand—then coming to me—the boy had an Afro and was dressed in some tribal getup, and had heavy metal snake earrings, which I didn't like—when he went to kiss my hand, he opened his mouth to bite me instead—I pulled my arm away, which I realized had been covered in some kind of lavish warrior's attire, a colorful arm band that went all the way up my arm; “I'm not gonna fight you!” I said, and as I tried to kick him away the boy reached for my foot to bite it, and I thought “now I'll have a bite mark to match the one on my hand…” but didn't want to be bitten again, so as I kicked him, I suddenly realized I was in a dream, and that Joel was still beside me, but fading away—I was waking up. Joel…Joel…Joel…!!!”, before “FUCK.” I wanted to know what Joel was going to ask, but was suddenly awake, my foot still pointed and stretched as if I were going to kick; I could still feel the imprint of his mouth on my right foot and as I awoke. “Goddammit!” I thought, reaching for my phone to begin to write, and becoming overtaken by the baseline of a song I couldn't quite recall, looping at first in the back, and then, in the front of my mind—-

“Hm.” , I thought. Now I was very awake—I rested my foot to a normal position.

“WHAT THE FUCK.” I thought. I very rarely dreamt about Joel (and never about deadmau5) but it was a very strange dream. There was nothing sexual about it—and I indeed seemed more impressed that he had taken off his boxers than anything under them, without taking off his basketball shorts—and, as I reflected—it was weird that he was wearing basketball shorts.

“What a weird fucking dream.” I was certainly more calm inside the dream, but now, upon waking, was confused, alightly nervous, and very angry at the dark skinned Afro boy for trying to fight and bite me—which of course, reminded me of the fight with my roommate weeks earlier, from which I still did have the half-moon shaped bite marks, even after all that time—and it was, strangely enough a half-Moon outside. The baseline rolled on and became louder in my mind, reaching full form—

“This is the Hook.”

‘Oh, yeah…' I thought.

‘It's catchy. You like it.'

“Yeah.” I thought. “Okay.”

“I guess we'll start there.”

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

I hate country music

You know why?

You all sound like slave owners.

Yup.

Country music just sounds racist,

Well, it is racist.

Even that shit was stolen—

Country music is derived from the songs slaveowners used to steal from their slaves x

Yes.

I'm a sovereign submissive,

A subtle subordinate

Look at wrist

Warm winds, SZA

First stop,

AH, fuck—

Well, check this out

No such thing as free.

No such thing as freedom, either

“Just take what you need”

Just tear me to pieces,

Jesus

All we need is

A little relief I'm this bitch

All we need is

A new release, maybe an EP or three

Make sure that s/hesees this

Do you need me?

Do you need this?

Please check your subscriptions

Or your email

Please, pick up this new prescription

Fuck dude! I can't just listen to deadmau5 in peace?

I gotta do at least three things at once,

But right now, I need to focus on crunches

Let's not get wasted tonight, eh.

Let's go and be racist—-

I forget what the name of the game is

It's

“USA!

USA!

USA!”

The fucked up thing was , the preworkout and the Skrillex hit at just about the same time.

Oh, just about?

The exact same time.

Okay, first of all, this is pre-war Skrillex.

It's also Diplo!

It's also Diplo—yeah.

Don't be too proud of yourself

NO CRYING IN THE SAUNA.

But this is where I cryy!

DO NOT CRY.

Oh.

*sniffles*

Now…

You know what happens if you don't cum?

Uhhh…nothing?

Exactly. You know what happens if I don't cum?

What.

My balls explode.

Just make sure they're in my mouth when that happens.

Wow.

I don't belong here!

Well, where do you belong?

I don't know.

@99@c

Look, I have a favor.

What is it.

ANo.

Oh, come on!

NO.

NO.

Please!

I need you to be my girlfriend.

Lol. For what?

I don't know.

How much is he paying you?

Like a kajillion dollars.

That seems fair.

His isn't fair. They're using Skrillex to provoke me.

Come earlier tomorrow!

Or just, don't come.

Don't go!

DONT—GO.

I am leaving!

NO!

Yes!

No!

—and I am never coming back.

Do you know who your audience is?

Uh.

The CIA

THE FBI

Everyone in The Oval Office.

BIDEN

nice.

The UN.

THe DEA

The Secret Service.

The office of Public Affairs

Uhhh…

Keith Richards

Allison Cooper

Sirs Elton John and Paul McCartney, Respectively

What—for what?!

The President of NBC

CBS

ACC

fox 5, 10, and 13

That's really random.

Al Jazeera,

al Sharpton

And Al Bundy

Wait—what

Oh, did you just mean, like in this dimension?

Uhhh..

This is enter the multiverse

YeH

WHWRE IS SKRILLEX

He died. He's dead. Go away.

That's like 3 Skrillex songs already

You guys are gonna wake up the devil.

What.

Stop doing that.

Stop doing what.

You know what you're doing.

You're summoning the devil

What are you guys doing?

Summoning the devil.

In my basement?

Yes.

Okay. Have fun.

Dang, she's so cool.

I like her.

I love her.

What are they up to down there?

Summoning the devil.

Oh.

Cui bono—

For whose good or benefit

LIL BIIIIIIIITZZZ.

I think we can all agree the cringiest trend ever is the crocs trend.

The insignia of fucking laziness.

I don't care who you are— if I see you wearing fucking crocs I'm going to assume you're stupid; one, cause you follow what everyone else around you is doing--and two because you think it looks acceptable. It looks dumb.

It looks stupid

“But they're comfortable.

You know what?

There are other comfortable shoes that are more functional—

I wear nikes. They're slip ons, no laces— they're cozy as shit

And you know what?

I can outrun a dog if it's chasing me, trying to bite my ass.

This trend is horrible.

And you know what?

It's gotten so bad to the point where, if I see someone wearing crocs, and they've actually got the sling on—I respect them for it!

Not all the way, but a little more.

Like hey—you tried. You tried today.

But the fucking crocs the sling over the top—

You're fucking lazy.

I don't give a fuck what kind of job you work—

There's no excuse for fucking lazy.

Clean up after yourself!

Do your dishes!

Wash your ass!

Put shoes on!

—Real fucking shoes!

Unless you're an actual like, nurse or 87 years old, crocs are not acceptable!

I don't care!

People are lazy now.

“Tales of a Superstar DJ”

“Strange Dream5”

I had been been having very strange dreams and a lot of them happened to have been starring Kurt Sutter which I found strange— but I had been writing a lot lately, which didn't explain anything about Charlie Hunnam also having appeared, or Reese Witherspoon—or Dakota Fanning…and though I was no longer having to listen to deadmau5 just to sleep his counterpart had started appearing on very vivid dreams—which I did not necessarily have to write down to remember, at all, however—this one was surprisingly strange, rather hilarious, and not at all explicit. I awoke craving barbecue ribs and scraping my head, wondering what I might need to do today to move forward and progress…but I was at a loss, for words, at least—but certainly not for music.

There was a gathering at Kurt (and Katey's) house celebrating some show or something—there was a big party with dinner and deadmau5 was playing; when deadmau5 came out and hopped on the mic nobody could hear him—the mic wasn't connected—his helmet was also much different, it looked like some sort of ancient incan mouse head carved from stone (but obviously not stone-/ which was rectangular and had green lights for the eyes and mouth—I questioned whether or not it was really Joel and looked at his arms to confirm that it was using his tattoos—I was excited to hear deadmau5–it was an intimate gathering so we were all situated around the decks—Katey (Segal) went up to the decks and adjusted a chord which looked like a jumper cable and the mic turned on, and I thought “aww, thanks, mom” —then someone—either Kurt or Katey went to the other side and plugged the mic all the way in so we could hear Joel over the mic. He played an anthem sounding song and I thought “nice, new deadmau5 “, but the song sounded old, like pre-2010 deadmau5; either way, I was just happy to listen to new deadmau5. I got on the floor in front of the decks and put my arms behind mu head to rest, then crossed my legs in the shape of a figure-eight and thought “ah, the way I always listen to deadmau5, anyway” (—which is not true…but perhaps I just meant laying on my back? Idk.) I rocked to the music like a pendulum and faded away in my mind—I didn't seem to think it was strange and neither did anyone else; it felt normal. after the show while everybody was eating (I think it was barbecue/soul food) Joel went to smoke a cigarette and indicated I should follow him—which I was weary of, but I did; he went quickly down the 3rd out of 4 stair cases; and I mistakenly went down the second—I realized my mistake and peered at him through the bars; the staircases (which were apparently the entry/exit to Kurt Sutter's house was like the lower level of a pyramid which seemed Mayan or Incan in style; I went down the 3rd staircase and did not see Joel, so went all the way to the bottom and climbed up another set of stairs, frustrated. “Kurt sutter has the worst house ever!” I said or thought, as I approached Joel at the top of another staircase, which was half the length of the others; it appeared I had somehow ended up on the other side—he sat in an opening that was colorful, though the paint was wearing, and moved himself from a colorful patch and said “ew, orange!” I sat on the wall next to him trying not to look at him and he made me so nervous (not because he was famous, but because I found him to be cute; we actually both seemed to be famous throughout the whole dream—as there were other famous people at Kurt and Katey's gathering, which included Charlie hunnam and many cast members from sons of anarchy, who were all shirtless.) anywho. I sat next to Joel and looked up at him; he seemed so tall and as if his head was in a plastic fish bowl, with masking tape at the bottom; I looked down and there were a pair of white baby crocs wrapped individually in plastic— I said “aww”, because they were baby sized—but then “yugh!” And kicked them away, Joel was like “why???” And I said “because they're crocs,” then we had a really weird conversation about the the rubber seal on a bottle of baby soap (that doesn't exist) and the dollar store that didn't make any sense at all—something about using the rubber seal to escape and swim to the other side—but then having to swim back anyway because you forgot something at the dollar store. It did not make sense—at all—but we both agreed that we loved the dollar store for whatever reason. “Joel,” I asked “can I ask you a question?” “Sure”, he said “what's it like to have done what you've done with your music—I mean really.” That's not what I wanted to ask; it was a cover question and he seemed to know it “no.” He said. “Why?” I asked, and he responded “because I'm going to ask you something.” I said “okay…l and I wanted to know what— but I was quiet. “I always go first” he said, slipping off his blue cotton boxers without taking off his shorts—which was impressive. “Okay.” Then, a strange dark skinned boy— approached us, first stopping at Joel, and kissing his hand—then coming to me—the boy had an Afro and was dressed in some tribal getup, and had heavy metal snake earrings, which I didn't like—when he went to kiss my hand, he opened his mouth to bite me instead—I pulled my arm away, which I realized had been covered in some kind of lavish warrior's attire, a colorful arm band that went all the way up my arm; “I'm not gonna fight you!” I said, and as I tried to kick him away the boy reached for my foot to bite it, and I thought “now I'll have a bite mark to match the one on my hand…” but didn't want to be bitten again, so as I kicked him, I suddenly realized I was in a dream, and that Joel was still beside me, but fading away—I was waking up. Joel…Joel…Joel…!!!”, before “FUCK.” I wanted to know what Joel was going to ask, but was suddenly awake, my foot still pointed and stretched as if I were going to kick; I could still feel the imprint of his mouth on my right foot and as I awoke. “Goddammit!” I thought, reaching for my phone to begin to write, and becoming overtaken by the baseline of a song I couldn't quite recall, looping at first in the back, and then, in the front of my mind—-

“Hm.” , I thought. Now I was very awake—I rested my foot to a normal position.

“WHAT THE FUCK.” I thought. I very rarely dreamt about Joel (and never about deadmau5) but it was a very strange dream. There was nothing sexual about it—and I indeed seemed more impressed that he had taken off his boxers than anything under them, without taking off his basketball shorts—and, as I reflected—it was weird that he was wearing basketball shorts.

“What a weird fucking dream.” I was certainly more calm inside the dream, but now, upon waking, was confused, alightly nervous, and very angry at the dark skinned Afro boy for trying to fight and bite me—which of course, reminded me of the fight with my roommate weeks earlier, from which I still did have the half-moon shaped bite marks, even after all that time—and it was, strangely enough a half-Moon outside. The baseline rolled on and became louder in my mind, reaching full form—

“This is the Hook.”

‘Oh, yeah…' I thought.

‘It's catchy. You like it.'

“Yeah.” I thought. “Okay.”

“I guess we'll start there.”

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Is it ironic

To eat your

Whole foods

Hot lunch

At starbucks–

While your phone charges,

Watch the homeless bums get kicked out;

But not you–

You're undercover

You're the one let,

Just a shelter dog at central par,

No lost;

Just not gone,

And not God, yet

Just not God, yet

Not God yet

(But God to someone, prob'ly–

I promise.)

So what?

In the longrun,

We're all God –

Then all GOdless

Suddenly, but

Not sudden

All you are

Is

All Gone Again

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

When I first watched the coffee run- deadmau5 was just deadmau5

Deadmau5 is still just deadmau5

Keep telling yourself that.

So what's the plan here.

There's a plan.

Haha. Very funny.

I thought so.

Where am I taking this thing?

Just keep driving.

“Just keep driving.”

Don't act like you're not enjoying it.

I really am—

“Mad as Rabbits”

Professor Pancakes!

Yes.

What have you done to this portal.

Hehehe. ><

Who are these sketchy ass comics.

Idk heroes I guess.

God, this show is cringe.

Yeah.

Have we gone through the title sequence yet?

Why on earth would you study this.

I'll study anything that holds my attention.

Here, hold this.

What is it.

It's my attention.

Make me a sandwhich.

Okay. What kind.

Any fucking sandwhich.

Just—any sandwhich?

Yeah.

Oh, dear.

What.

It's another infinite realm.

Oh, wow.

Which means.

It's all the same—

Same thing.

I want this to swallow this pill, and swallow it whole

What does it do??

—nobody quite knows.

Perfect.

We knew you'd be the one for the jo.

My whole world is full of “God, she's beautiful…l

And

“I don't want to be here anymore”

But at least I came, right?

At least I got you right here in my heart

—you're in my head again

I can't go to sleep

I take medicine

I don't take advice, or compliments

If it's wrong and such,

Hey,

At least I'm honest

(Or was)

It's got to all count for something

I've been embarrassed by it

Careless, I guess

It's just another chance to be brainwashed

Let me tell you what my whole brain does

Lights up when I think of you

Just keep doing,

What you been doing is,

Being blue,

You're just being

Blū

That is a flex.

Huh.

They used my name in a song.

Wow.

They even spelled it right.

Okay.

In the heights

Far Regina Spector

Far

Now I don't want to dive In;

I just want to close my eyes for awhile

Maybe I'm ‘it'. —

—but right now, I'm in it

Disentreswe in such

Unholy matrimony.

Wtf is this.

Holy shit, I got 2 stop listenin to dis music.

die.

This is horrible.

Yeah, this is a disaster.

This is perfect.

X_x

It's actually perfect.

[actually on fire]

Why. Why would u do dis.

u did this.

I did this.

I is U.

Oh,

Well fuck it.

No vowels then.

Wut.

Why.

Wut.

Do something cool.

[

Your interview at Equinox is today between 9:30 AM and 10:00 AM (US/Eastern).

At the time of your interview please join via this link: https://l.indeed.com/HluKX3Gp43/.

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Do you like how it feels?

Do you like how I am—

Well yeah then

So go ahead;

I'll tell you the answer,

But you don't like it, and

None of its random

—none of it matters, none of it can

I don't mean to vanish

But I'm a phantom

(And I'm just a fan)

“Oh well”, I thought broadly to myself;

I wasn't quite ready either way to be

— nevermind.

Back online:

Guess I'm an insomniac tonight

Surface level scrolling and what do I find

The whole world of mine

Putting a spark in my eye

Just a glimmer, I simmer in the limelight

I might die trying, I might just

Turn off the light, roll over

Paint myself white—

I'm just being polite,

How's the sacrifice going

Um, the what

The virgin sacrifice.

What?! We don't do that!

Who is ‘we'?

…nobody.

Aha! Illuminati!

That's not a thing!

I knew it.

You know nothing.

I know everything.

No you don't; cause then you'd be in the Illuminati!

Aha!

—which isn't real!

Damn, I want you so bad;

—damn, I want you so bad

Damn.

—I want you so bad.

Damn,

(God damn)

I want you so bad

Damn,

I want you so bad

Damn

(Damn!)

I want you so bad.

Damn, I want you so bad

Damn, I want you so bad

Right now

Well, that's too bad, cause you know what?!

Fuck it, I wanna get drunk.

That's not a good idea.

Do you have a better one?

I got it.

What's up.

I'll just throw the rock—at his face.

That's not a good idea.

It's a grand idea!

Spectacular.

I really want to look at Dillon Francis's Instagram.

For what.

I don't know.

You know what I want?

Huh.

A peanut butter and jelly sandwhich.

That sounds good.

Yeah.

Lol that's it?

That's the whole scene.

Are you sure?

Yeah.

Oh shit, I knew I'd eventually revisit this.

What is it.

“Three Assholes In A Car Getting Coffee”

BEFORE:

which one do you think is the most attractive.

You want me to rank them?

Yes. Rank them.

Um, okay.

That was a dark day.

All the days are dark here.

You know, God.

Sure—

I'm extremely bored.

Bored with what.

Here's a portal

Where's it go?

Absolutely nowhere.

MEANWHILE, IN ABSOLUTELY NOWHWEE

Oh God, it's getting hot in here.

Well, yeah, dude.

Oh fuck.

What.

We gotta turn around.

What'd we leave.

My best friend.

Your best—

Yeah!

I'm your best friend.

You're nobody's best friend, Dillon Francis.

Where the fuck's my fucking sandwhich my

Jesus's that's a lot of fucks.

Yeah, a lot of fucks and zero sandwhiches.

You have to put this in his hand.

No.

That's where it goes. In his hand.

That's the game?

That's this game.

How many games are we playing?

All of them, Liz.

I'm not—

LIZ LEMON

I HATE THIS GAME.

I LOVE THIS GAME

IS IT OVER YET?!

Oh check it out, he does look like Skrillex.

Oh shit, so this is season 7

It is?

Yeah, there's Drake Bell.

Where.

Timmy, I have to tell you something.

Not right now.

No, yes, right now—

Remember that scene on the—

FUCK DILLON FRANCIS

I WIN MOTHERFUCKER.

YES. GOD IS REAL.

I asked God for Dillon Francis to show me his girlfriend on Instagram and he did it.

YEA BITCH.

I WIN.

Well, that's one game.

What's the other one.

Fuxk,

What up dude.

Now, I just realized something.

FUCK.

WhatS.

We gotta burn all this Dillon Francis

How.

I don't know, I never printed it on paper.

Well, that's fine: I got something else for you to do.

What.

SUCK MY DICK.

Ok.

Okay.

Okay.

Why doesn't this hurt as bad as last time—.

LAST TIME:

You know what?

Fuck this.

Oh shit, now what do I do with this thing?

…

…

…

Wait dude, if I give him this stone—

Uh huh

And this stone has powers—

Yes it does.

Then won't DILLON FRANCIS GET ALL THE POWERS.

No.

No?

Not “all the powers”, just the ones in the stone.

This stone has a lot of powers.

Yes it does.

You should give it to Skrillex.

I was going to.

And then what.

BEFORE:

fuck, there's no fire escape.

There is, it's just on the other side.

IMm not gonna risk seeing Sonny to see Skrillex.

I don't care how much sense any of this makes, that makes the most sense.

Let's change the narrative on this.

What's the narrative.

What is your motive?

That's the narrative?

I—yea.

::||puseZ

Sunni, you're drunk.

I don't careZ .

LookC.

Remember this scene:

THIS AINT A SCENE, ITS A GODDAMN ARMS RACE.

No, it's a scene.

(It's two, actually

Something forced my eyes up and onto the LCD screen on the partition of the subway platform, in perfect ancroniciry i read the word “EASY” as it appeared on the screen, as the same word poured through my headphones from the sounds of Queen, the last song of a mix I actually liked, but had yet to do anything with—

I had yet to do anything with anything—though, perhaps that was the point. I had been in an elusive state of withdrawal and cyclical imbalance, and though this morning had been planned for ages, it had only just now happened.

Overwhelmed with sadness, I had realized reading the first lines out of a book by Madonna's brother that I hadn't the energy for superstardom—and with as little of the energy I did have left, had become otherwise deflated and unmotivated—Yet, for some reason, having spent the morning scrolling through Dillon Francis's instragram, I was on an A-train bound for Manhattan, or maybe even—Washing heights, as the words to my once-favorite musical had been of course clamoring around in my head with all the other things that were in there—even DillonbFrancis and now his girlfriend, their two dogs, and his mother, who had appeared to me just-so in a dream just weeks earlier; though I had thought to have made her up in my mind, there she was, supposedly—alongside Dillon and his horrible haircut—though nothing he could do ever seemed to change my mind or the way that I felt about him, even confirming his relationship publicly; I still rather liked him, and he still had a way of setting me in motion merely through emotion—perhaps, this was the lone standing function of Dillon Francis after all. Now, I was headed to the gym, perhaps after a touristy detour to visit what I imagined to be a now-gentrified Washington Heights

“You must take the A-Train!”

Usnavi sings in the Title Opener, and though I had taken in the entirety of the shows lyrics around a decade earlier, becoming a fanatic of akin Manuel a Miranda long before Hamilton or Moana, or the rest of the world knew who he was—I had never once imagined myaelf actually attempting to visit Washington Heights, my overall lifelong aversion to New York probably a residual trauma from the last lifetime I had spent in this incarnation—I knew for certain more than once I had lived in this existence—I remembered well Dillon Francis and the lifetimes I had spent with him—and now I wondered exactly which one this one was; I had gotten what I had wanted

“Show me your girlfriend.” I thought, upon waking up from a dream I had spent with him

“I want to see.” I thought loudly, smirking to myself and stepping into the shower, where I often— for some strange reason thought about Dillon Francis.

But this particular morning—I thought about Dillon Francis, his girlfriend, their two dogs, his mother, and my ex husband—the latter of which I cursed silently, mumbling something under my breath about “whatever, fuck it” and wondering if I should spend the evening after working “being Sunnï Blū”, which meant sitting down with a tall can of bud light and chasing it with a Truly or two, sipping on something even fruitier like a Mike's Hard Lemonade and sifting through beats entirely too drunk enough to create any of my own (but just drunk enough to rap something funny and fall asleep sad as fuck….) only to wake, undoubtedly even sadder, very sleepy, and dilapidated—but at least with a rap track worth spinning into my sets, or not—the more I became a DJ the less I actually wanted to be a DJ.

Now I just wanted a husband, a baby—or maybe just two dogs and a Dillon Francis, and I couldn't imagine why or how I had become so twisted up in my overt attraction to the man that it had actually become continually devastating to have to think about him with someone else—and though even from the beginning I knew it could have never been someone like me—I wondered why someone like me even existed, when the type of men I was attracted to always had Kayla Laurens.

Always.

I was learning from everything I was taking in—things I wanted and needed to know. I had only just earlier asked God for “closure with Dillon Francis”, and God had in fact been showing off with a fierceness at how quickly it could work to fulfill my every request, prayer, and wish—and how instantly God acknowledged any of my thoughts, wants, and needs.

“Okay.”

I had never really been up and about so early In New York, but could in no way wrap my mind around a wink of sleep, the strangeness of having been dead-on looming in my chest and wrapping into a sensation of arrogant ritghteouaness—the deep burning hardening into a pungent sting in the confines of my abdomen

“Fuck this”, I muttered, thinking to myself

“I don't want to be a superstar DJ. I want to be a housewife.”

I had used Dillon's Instagram as an EDM Newsfeed—it was the safer bet above anything else, as I knew wandering off into DJ land would produce even more hurtful images of skinny girls prancing around promoting their horrible music—or even worse—pretty boy DJs and their pretty white girlfriends on private jets or backstage at festivals, rubbing noses with the other wealthy socialites my own poor choices had excluded me from being allowed to become; at least I was finally willing to take accountability for just being shitty. It would be embarrassing for a man of such prominence to dip below his social class, especially to one that had already been used, abused, and broken—such as I.

“Get off at 181st”, and take the escalator—“

As it turns out, Lin Manuel was an excellent controller of sorts—or had at least given accurate enough directions, and though there was no actual escalator—at least that I found upon the exit, I felt as if walking up the accessible ramp through the arched tunnel, I was perhaps entering itself the 4th dimension—and though I had learned of the ascended realms and dimensions beyond the 4th, having finally accessed how to fluidly travel between them—or to differentiate one from another as they often crossed and intersected, gliding amongst them, I had been shaking myself loose from being tricked in any way into believing anything I had dreamt up or written would ever be more than what it was—a one-sided blind-eyed attempt at success from the back way in.

It seemed everyone was getting married or already was—even Porter Robinson, which seemed bizarre, as though he was older than me, maybe even by only a little—I still thought of him as so young; then again, most people my age were also married—and here I was, finally divorced and why in the world I wanted so badly to do it all over again—but better. It really was true what had always been said—the first heartbreak being the worst, and that once a woman gets over the father of her children, almost anything goes; I. Oils no longer be worried with whether or not I would be cheated on again, as I probably would l—and it didn't matter. It took 30 years to figure out that society was made by and for cheating males—our responsibility as women learning as best we could to swallow the truth whole; that men craved youthful, tiny women most their lives—and the rest of us, well…

“WHATEVER.”

WHATEVER.

What—

Ever.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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