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

YO, WHERE'S THE ICE?

SELENA GOMEZ

…In the fridge.

*sips straw smirking*

[FROM INSIDE THE FRIDGE: The ice has completely melted–the ice cream is now simply a creamy pink sludge.]

UGH.

ICE DOES NOT GO IN THE FRIDGE, SELENA.

[SELENA GOMEZ is exaggeratedly inebriated.]

SELENA GOMEZ

(Hiccups)

Sorry.

The coffee appeared to have been resealed–which I almost hoped meant it contained some some sort of magical additive that would allow me to overcome the sort of rut I had been so unsettled in; it really had seemed the last roommate had done somewhat of a number on me–the bite marks on my left hand now turned to a perfect crescent-shaped scar, forming a remarkable C-shaped half circle, and I knew now that no one could be trusted, as she truly had been possessed by The Devil, or some sort of Demon, or she had been paid or hired by some agency to attack me, as the way she had lowered the room temperature to freezing so that I had been sitting in the cold hours before our fight–and of course, had chosen such a night which I had intended a well-deserved feast, after weeks of malnourishment, unintentional fasting, and still with all of my might trying to the best of my abilities to train for at least an hour per day with overall success in the endeavor–it seemed something eerily odd about the encounter, and though I considere myself a paranoid conspiracy theorist at best, there was still something shattering about the experience, so much so that I felt I had been at once dragged into Hell, and also somehow elevated–having captured the experience inadvertently all on tape, having forgotten that I had even been recording for the first place, still collecting bits and pieces for the album I was trying to make, but taking my time on–it had to be worth all of the work I had so far put into it–which was a lot, and it still seemed that something was trailing behind me–I remained neutral entirely to the matter, not to deconstruct such bizarre circumstances as one thing or another, either good or bad–but I had become irritated by now at the very least, as my new roommate, though sweet, was too sweet, and I found it too good to be true that she appeared to be so clean, neat, and tidy that she wasn't as well up to something, or also hired by someone–seemingly to collect information, or to study me .

“Not too much…” I thought to myself, filling the filter only so slightly as to test its contents, and careful not to upset my nervous system; I was, actually still on edge, but today in particular; it seemed everyone that I collided with wanted to know something strange, as if if they already knew who I was–and still in the haze of all that had happened, i let go to expectation, embracing myself as I knew only I could, and finally allowed myself the understanding that I was, actually, entirely alone–with no friends, no family, and no allies–but certainly no trust to be had.

“What do you know about Shamans?”

My new roommate asked; This was entirely the wrong way to go about opening up a polite conversation with me, as I had had discovered that along with my estranged and abusive ex-husband, and also my former roommate, had excruciatingly noisy Bruxism–and though I had been working closely with the spirits to undo anything which might have been a curse, demonic spell, or hex–I had never not believed in coincidences at any other time in my life: I thought “She must be some kind of spy.” Perhaps a psychologist intended to collect information after the ridiculous amount of synchronicities and circumstances which had become otherwise outwardly apparent to the exterior world in whatever realm I happened to have found myself in– not that it mattered, as I considered all to be done to me was to eventually to be returned to sender, and the extreme amounts of poverty, homelessness abandonment, lovelessness, hunger, and overall dehumanizing Hell that I had otherwise been put through to simply be a test of wills, a sign of better days, or, merely, a subhuman existence in which my place in the universe had been deemed somewhat ‘useless'. In any event, I still hadn't wished for any of it to be cast upon even my worst enemies, if they existed–and because I didn't believe them to exist at all in any form besides my darkest and most unhinged, ludacris self–unraveling at the core and grasping at the throes of suicide simply for the supposed peace and rest of ‘non-existence'.

My new roomate often and out of nowhere brought up things that I had been psychologically tortured with–and at the very least I knew of course that I was indeed being watched and perhaps even studied–and I knew undoubtedly that whatever information I gave her would without any doubt be used against me–and so, once more, I toiled away at The Festival Project, the mockery of my own judgment a stone cast upon the glass house in which I lived, at least in my mind–not shielded from but subject to whatever cruelty my very own mind and consciousness saw fit to suffer through in this lifetime, without promise or evidence of relief in the next– it was, afterall–an infinite eternity; Loveless, penniless, and without a soul or song in the world to love again.

Are you ok?

I'm fucking fantastic.

That's awesome! Good to hear.

Yep.

Polar opposites,

My solar plexus is off or something,

Dropping stuff,

Walking like I'm drunk,

Talking strange, voice is strained

Look me in the eye and lie to me;

I walk the line from just behind

Or where I lead.

And lately, I've been dreaming of bleeding on the streets

Or not needing to be seen, l.

Oh. Olden rings, one million streams and

Putting things in places

Make no mistake,

I'm a wreck

I ain't been loved in a long time

Take a good look at the mark on my neck

You wanna step up, it's a long line

I'mma hit you up later

Gotta go grind

I'ma pull up in a

Wtf is this

That's a-/

I don't get it.

Okay.

It's a van full of trophies.

I fuckin guess!

What's that supposed to mean?

I don't know, I hate my life.

Yeah.

Fuck.

What.

I'm leaving.

When.

Tonight.

This isn't the right dimension.

Well.good luck

What happened now?!

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”

FUCK YOU SO HARD, IT HURTS TO STAND UP.

FUCK YOU, DILLON FRANCIS.

FUCK DILLON FRANCIS.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

What are you doing?

–dying.

Die faster.

Q: How do you break up with deadmau5.

A: You don't.

JOEL

TALK TO THE HEAD.

Oh, come on!

What is this.

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

Ew.

What.

Ew.

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

How do you figure.

Hm.

Hm.

Interesting.

Very Interesting

Grow up. We all have

–girlfriends.

–jobs to do.

–secret fetishes.

Sick.

This is retarded.

Turn this off.

I want to die.

WHERE IS SKRILLEX.

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

Woah.

He looks different.

What happened.

More on that later. Or not.

Oh, come on!

Everybody. Shut up.

Not me, right?

Especially you.

*eyes*

what's 9x9?

Uhhh–

Are you serious?

This isn't math!

Everything is math!

HOW IS THIS MOVIE CAST?

CAN DEADmAU5 ACT?

–short anser: YES.

Long Answer:

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

We're all dead now.

Dead *and* gone.

*crowd gasps exaggeratedly*

I THOUGHT THIS MOVIE WAS ABOUT SKRILLEX.

It was- he didn't like it.

Why wouldn't he like it?

You called him a “nigga” 47 times.

Was it 47?

At the SUPERBOWL.

I guess that makes him the champion of niggas.

I guess so.

Whatever happened to Dillon Francis.

Idk he's pussywhipped or something. I guess.

Nice.

Still gettin it.

Shut up, fans.

Okay, ouch.

How.

How–??

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

Probably with all that pride and ego.

This is correct.

____

{JOSHrushes in violently.]

DRAKE

Uh huh…

SOMETHING IS WRONG.

…what makes you say that…?

LOOK AT ME.

I see you…

I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY.

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

YOU ARE SUSPICIOUS.

[suspiciously]

No I'm not?

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

Look Motherfucker;

I am looking!

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

EXCEPT THE LAW–

[MEGAN/MIRANDA/CARLY enters mysteriously.]

Unhand the boob.

BOTH

….MEGAN?!

JOSH

(er…wait)

Sure.

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

Separate.

[They obey, bewildered.]

Sit.

You smoke now?

Sometimes. For dramatic effect.

This is uncomfortable.

Very unsettling.

Wait.

Wait.

Are we filming right now.

Is someone filming?

[Breaking 4th wall.]

Camera's always rolling.

;;PAUSE.

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

This is a lot of celebrities.

GOD

I'm working on something.

::||ALRIGHT, UNPAUSE.

Hold on a second.

No, we're rolling.

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

I second that.

Ditto.

–I'm also slightly intoxicated.

Also that.

Hashtag “me too.”

No “hashtag me too”

DOn't say that in Hollywood!

It was a joke! I was kidding!

That's not funny.

Nobody's laughing!

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

Still though–

Very tacky…

I've been day drinking.

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

Oh, you don't?

[beat]

hmm .

[Shrugs, admittedly.]

Wait, wait–hold it.

No holding, we're rolling.

Are we rolling–?

Holding…

And…We're rolling!

I'm definitely rolling.

Drake!

I'm rolling. Ballsacks.

C'mon, man!

*drake being dumb*

I'm being serious!

So am I.

This is serious. *smokes*

Gross.

Stop doing that.

Doing what? This is what I do…

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

Woah!

Don't do that.

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

You–WHAT?

Uhhh…

Is this real?

…

…

…

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

The scene was running on anyway.

What? I liked it.

Anyway,

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

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

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

However,

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

That should do.

Wow.

Hold it

What.

You looked this deep into that boy's eyes?

Not on purpose.

-

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

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

Wow, You're funny, God.

If i must say so.

I mean. Wow.

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

What?!

Help From Who?!

Dillon Francis, Apparently

Oh, I highly doubt that,

Oh, I wouldn't .

I need a lover—

I need a lover;

Call me your lover

(I want just a lover)

I need a lover

(I need a lover)

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

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

Movement at the stillpoint

Mark something

You've got to balance this shit out—

You've got to

Turn the world on its head

(I don't get it)

Now you're into this club

(I don't fit in)

Now you're into this world

(But we've been here)

Wait

I'm not new to this!

Wanna go do it again?!

Nothing's new to me!

I keep secrets like

Fountains keep pennies

Plant daisies on mountains

—your hand in my mouth says that

“Head is the answer”

Thanks, Kendrick

Now I remember what I wanted in the first place

Now I remember what I printed;

What I cooked him in the kitchen after—

—back to keeping secrets;

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

Just like the man in Manhattan

Or cat on the Channel—

A special edition of some shit with Mario Lopez

That sent me right back to the minion

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

I'd say

“Fuck Dillon Francis”

If I thought of “fuck” as an adjective,

Instead of an adverb.

Fuck this whole world —

Now I just want to surf,

I had just scratched the surface of scratching—

Before storing my turntables

What.

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

Gee thanks!

But God, I'm still loveless and

I hope you

Marry that blue eyed girl

Pop out a bunch of kids that look

Just like you

What else would I do with my time

Than scroll through Instagram

And eat a ham-salmon sandwhich—

Thinking of going for pancakes, after

god likes me fat,

We talk much more that way

PASQUALE

I need you up at night.

CC

For what.

SUPCREE

For what.

SUNNI BLŪ

I AM UP.

PASQUALE:

This is for what.

THE INSOMNIACS ARE ALL IN .

“ALL IN”

wtf does that mean.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SILVER SCREEN SHOWER SCENE

Woah, have you lost your goddamn mind.

Yes.

I live in a very strange place in the universe.

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

Very,very strange.

What are you doing? Crying?

..I'm not crying…

Stop crying, Jesus–

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

A lot. You look hideous.

I am hideous!

No arguments, there.

Ugh.

Lets Go!

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

What if–we are?!

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

{NINJAS OUT OF NOWHERE}

“The Noir Episdoe”

This is business, not war.

What's the difference?

[beat]

Money.

HIIIIIIIIIYAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

Oh My God. I'm so fat.

YAH!

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

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

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

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

Oh yeah? Even that guy?

{Super dead guy}

Probably not him.

“Probably.”

YOU are a PR nightmare.

I'm an everything nightmare.

Ugh.

I just found out what PR even was.

LAWYER enters furiously

You fucking lunatic!

It's sunny out–

What did you do this time?

UPDATE:

The Skrillex Reddit is still the cringiest place on earth.

It's so gross.

I hate this.

Worst place ever.

WORST FUCKING PLACE EVER.

Fuck.

What.

We have to go back.

Why? What'd you lose?

–My dignity.

Worst place ever.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Lookie here boys:

What is it?

–I'm leaving.

Oh, you're gonna wanna hear this.

What.

I found the first “whites only” water fountain since 1962.

Okay, what do you want?

A deal.

Oh, I'll give you a deal.

Cash up front.

[He presents a one dollar bill]

Is this enough.

[beat]

Where are you going with this?

Nowhere, fast.

YO.

What now, dude.

SHE'S ONTO US.

I doubt that.

Look at this.

I highly doubt–

*gaaassp* Shenanigans!

You know what I like about you, Ariana?

Everything.

Hah.

Hm.

You know how to keep a secret.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Exactly.

*rolls eyes, flips hair.*

Well, here's another one for you.

–Another what?

This is how my darkness becomes your darkness.

I already have enough on my own.

I know.

You don't know. Only God knows.

MOM!

Don't ask me again.

This is heavy, Doc.

What is it?

The soup! It's too heavy.

Too much cream?

Way too much! I have a meeting!

Meeting with who?

The Hollywood People.

When?

Soon–what time is it?

I don't know.

Dammit! Why don't you have any clocks in your house?

I only just recently remembered what a clock was.

Oh!

Here.

[God produces a small pocket watch and presents it to him; it's nearly noon on EARTH; But the two are sharing a meal of course in the famed kitchen of the Creator in the TImeless VOID.]

Ah, Jesus Christ!

He's not here…

I'm gonna be late.

Now, now; You know I wouldn't let that happen–

[a smug look|

Hugs and Kisses.

[As they embrace, he disappears into a mist of light and stardust, fading away from the void and into the exterior world; he realizes God has slipped him the watch; he flips it open to reveal the time: it is now 11:44]

Amazing.

V.O.

Now you won't wait so long to visit.

[He places the wach in his pocket and walks into the studio]

MICHAEL J. FOX has been asked to reprise his role as MARTY MCFLY many times before; But never for a project like this.

____

Meanwhile,

What am I going to do with you?

[The Festival Project.™]

YOU'RE DEAD TO ME!

–I'm dead to everyone!

Don't do this.

You wanted to come to the other side.

No, I didn't.

We'll you're here anyway;

Might as well stay awhile.

With eyes like burning fire

And saddles for the riders

The horse begins to gallop

(or the horses, rather)

On the mark to beating drums

To move them forward faster

What the fuck is this.

idk. Kx5.

*-*

!_!

Here u go

Wat is this.

it's a dragon.

Oh, thats nice.

Ya.

Whats it do.

Idk. dragon things.

ok.

Don't put it in ur bathroom.

Why.

idrk.

Hm.

†

Hey.

Ugh–No, Kaskade, go away.

It's me, Ryan!

No, Get out!

I'm No† Ka–k (gags) –skade!

Gross!

It's just Ryan! I promise!

NO. GET OUT.

Lmfao.

Right.

This show is fantastic.

Who was that.

Fucking–Kaskade again!

Are you sure.

Ugh.

Looks like Ryan.

Kaskade is Kaskade.

{shrugs] Dudes a creep.

“Kaskade Ruins Lives”

Is this the same episode as before?

Eventually, yes.

Wasn't I doing something

Are you goona let this go?

Um.

Well I'm fucked.

Why, what happened.

Obsidian.

That should do

Unsobsidian.

Okay, i'm fucked,

Well, what's this?

An Oreo Cookie.

I mean, sitting next to it.

Oh, its a portal gun.

Raves are not just raves–

A party is not simply a “party”

–These big festivals

–they're diversions.

–DIstractions.

Distractions from what.

If you were supposed to know,

–you'd know.

it wouldn't be so important that you go.

Why is it?

These ancient rituals…

It's occult magic.

They've got it down to a science.

The government funds this.

The government funds everything.

WoooooooW.

It's not really a secret, if you can google it.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

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

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

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

[LAST SEASON ON : L E G E N D S. }

DILLON HART FRANCIS is laying in a lush green meadow, centered in a field of daisies dressed in all white.

Though I’m not sure we’re meant to be,

I’m sure that we could be;

Or have been—

But that’s just me;

My memory expands further than the eyes see;

You’re like me,

But likely,

Another lesson I need

So here I am

Rolling in the deep

Keeping secrets,

Sleeping with my grip

Tightly wrapped around the key;

A lock that doesn’t open,

Another thing I don’t need;

And I don’t need you,

But I’m thinking that I probably shouldn’t think

I need a drink—

(Of love)

Another drink—

(Of blood)

It’s something wonderful, or was

A pigeon turned to dove,

And then a duck,

Right before my eyes

I’d be lying if I said I never cried so much

Over one

Lustful

Stunning

Something

What? You woke me up for nothing

I was someone in my dream,

And now I’m up,

And I’m no one

I’m no one, huh

But funny, sometimes

Why me?

I just keep on writing,

I just keep on writing

I just keep on writing

I’m deprived,

I’m not alive anymore—

No one ever loved me before.

He certainly must be dead; he thinks; his bright blue eyes glisten in the light, and as they begin to change, one single daisy stands out to him–unmoving, he stares at it, her petals rustling in the light breeze of the wind, however–they, too, begin to change. He takes a slow, deep breath in, still, however unmoving, as the daisy seemingly begins to dance and glisten; now he seems curious at best, but still unmoved. The daisy begins to flutter and twinkle, dazzling as the light seems to move around it, the meadow fading into a picturesque blur as the flower blooms, now changing color into a swirling array of flashing colors, now emitting a lulling hum– a peaceful and calming lullaby of frequencies and tones, cosmic and otherworldly and yet somehow natural and familiar; Dillon becomes flush with bewilderment and awe, as the daisy continues to flash strobing patterns of lights and colors, now opening and growing as its petals stretch out, reaching into a flush and glorious cascade of pure white light–as his eyes widen, he moves slightly towards it; it opens up and swallows him whole.

INT. LIVING ROOM. DAY

THOMAS WESLEY PENTZ is slightly stunned, still glued to his screen; his good friend DILLON FRANCIS, an actor, has invited him over to watch his newest movie.

What the fuck.

The daisy returns to its natural state, and a warm wind blows through the sunlit field.

FADE TO BLACK.

What the fuck did I just see.

I swear, you’re in the weirdest movies, dude –

He turns to his side to see an empty space on the couch where Dillon had once been sitting.

Dillon?

He looks about the room confusedly, then pauses the movie, getting up from the couch and starting to the kitchen.

Dillon. Your movie’s weird, bro.

However, the kitchen is empty. He approaches the counter, where GERALD is placed–he looks awkwardly at the pinata, staring into his eyes before turning it around.

Ugh.

He departs to search for Dillon in the bathroom.

Dillon! Where you at, bro? I paused the movie!

He checks the bathroom; also empty.

YO!

He turns down the hallway, hearing the sound of the shower running–

Are you in the shower?

No response.

I’m not about to come into your shower bro; it’s weird and random that you’re in the shower when you invited me over to watch your movie.

Still, no response.

Bro!

Again, silence–the shower continues running.

Alright…you better not be naked.

He steps into the master bedroom, the steam of the hot shower crawling out of the master bathroom and into the bedroom.

Are you okay?

He winces as he looks into the master bathroom, shower running at full power and the room filled with steam, to the point that even the roof is condensating; a drop of water drips from the ceiling and into his left eye–

–fuck–

–rubbing his eye, he observes the room to be empty–his friend is nowhere to be found; He is in the house alone.

"The Insomniac"

I could no longer withstand the fuckery; Skrillex was running around the world looking like a mountain man, surrounded by beautiful women and creating upper-echelon music i could only ever drea myself to make; Porter Robinson had just gotten married to a 90-pound porcelain doll-looking girl who I’m sure never had to work in her life (and never would) in the fairytale wedding of the century, attended by the world’s top-DJ’s (at least the ones who didn’t have cemented-in performance conflicts, probably), and Dillon Francis, who was so much of a copycat that I assumed or rather even feared he would soon engage and marry his very own cookie cutter white girl, leaving me in the dust and rubble of the unfinished festival project, thousands of pages of Skrillex and Dillon Francis both respectively and collectively– with nowhere to go but in my own way, my love for their music a gaping hole in my my heart and my soul wraking havoc from what I had seen, felt, and experienced in all he fuckery; my fangirl-like social media frenzy was no more: I could nor would I bear to continue torturing myself just trying to wash the feelings out; I would always feel for them , in some way–and the inescapable truth now was that I had indeed become a professional DJ; though seemingly far from superstardom or fame at all, remembering that I had only ever even attempted to climb the social ranks with such depth and ambivalence for the chance of having either of those two by my side–as friends, lovers, collaborators or otherwise–now, I couldn’t care for much more than to move on--(or at the very least, up.)

What a ridiculous life.

And while it seemed to have all been for nothing, I knew after all that it wasn’t; only time would be able to tell and unravel the truth behind the mysterious chaos and magic in which we all had once intertwined.

“At least I still have deadmau5.”

My dirty little secret.

{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.

[The Festival Project]

PRESENTS

{Enter The Multiverse}

The Legend Of

S Ū P ∆ ⓒ Я E E.™

The Limited Edition Infinite Skrillifiles: OWSLA CONFIDENTIAL (LTD)- Series III

lmfao

+ L E G E N D S

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Don't look

Too close

What you know

Isn't what you know;

A cold wind blows

My hopes away,

My home away from home.

I was on the wrong bus for awhile before I noticed it, or rather, the right bus, going in the wrong direction— or even, to be clearer, as the bus was marked 5554, or some other number at the end, of course overshadowed by the first sequenced numbers, always tending to me uncomfortable— even though I had attempted to wash its original meaning to my self out of my mind by replacing it with its most commonly accepted Angel number meaning—I was doing everything I could anyway to move toward forgiveness and alluding to the obvious notion that, whatever had happened between my ex and I had been for the better after all, after all was said and done ( and though it never really was), the love and our marriage were at least ended, and never to rerun to that or any relationship which would put my mind and body at risk, let alone my heart or my soul.

What's on a deadmau5?

Uh—pepperoni—

Are you sure?

Uh, yeah, probably.

Okay, what else?

Blue cheese?

What!

I mean—I don't know.

Pepperoni

Green Bell Peppers

Roasted garlic

Red pepper l l

WhiteMushroom

Link sausage

LINK SAUSAGE?

Yeah, I guess.

Why link sausage?

I'll tell you later.

Okay.

Strangely enough, of course, by the time I had realized it, though, I was back at the same intersection at which I always transferred, and though I had been in the city long enough, but not quite settled, it had been a while since I had been turned around or lost unintentionally—though I did sometimes make a habit or acurrying about in airplane mode and taking trains out of my way in order to dislodge whatever had been tracking me, whether it was supernatural or otherwise—it did seem to deter the sometimes uncomfortable and problematic psychological attacks—which, the more I studied and gave way to being some kind of targeted practice, using the empties bodies of those controlled by their phones—consistently connected to applications such as Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, and Tik Tok—“Tracking Apps” which I called them, and was not wholeheartedly against so much as without need for them, as my need for any sort of affection—especially the false instant gratification one might gain or lose, becoming victim to the racially programmed algorithms and calculated population division and psychological terrorization of an entire generation; no judgement passed, but I had been careful to remind myself that whatever was happening by way of social media was a cultural and non-televised revolution, from which I wanted no part of. Still, I had noticed that when a high number of coughing people did happen to find my way around my presence, I was connected to some sort of network, and that those particular people were typically visibly sick in some other way—scrolling mindlessly, or without the light or life in their eyes left, eating poisonous food, or acting in the way of some other unworldly seeming sickness; I began to cope of course with the comfort that, in the event of bad intentions having been set on me in any individualist mindset—a curse would be returned tenfold if not more.

I think link Larkin is lurking

I like it!

I'm cravin a link aausage in this obsirdisty

Dirty as the Mother Earth

Ohh lol link sausage.

That only took a year.

What if I have to listen to deadmau5 all night every night forever?

Like deadmau5 does?

Not every night. Just work nights.

Oh wowZ.

Damn fucking right.

Wherems th—

Nvm

Fuck Dillon Francis

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT.

Ugh.

How'd you get in?

An autographed picture.

Ah.

How'd you get in?

Poster on the wall.

Nice.

…how'd you get in?

The hard way.

What's the hard way?

I'll tell you later.

Ah, fuck. I'm living in my head again.

That's not so bad, is it?

No. It's a lot of — uh.

Deadmau5.

I mean, at the moment— but like I said, it's—

Whatever happened between you two is not my business.

What is your business.

Robotics.

With any luck…

Brooklyn Barclays Center

March 20

10-4

Ugh.

The scar over my right eye, which my ex husband had carved into the shape of an eye using my own house key began to warm and tingle, but not quite burn, as it had in the past—the scythe shaped scar on the inside of my lip began to well up as I clenched my teeth, running my tongue against the back of my teeth as not to give it any more power or attention—I had decided after all, that even my worst enemies were just myself, and though

Blissful abstinence,

Selective honesty, and

Strategic thinking—

Syncinf, cleaning sinks

And letting it all sink in

Secret keeping

You look lost.

Go figure,

Sunnï Blū in an all-red sprinter

I don't want to live here,

I just wanna go somewhere to go.

And say “I been there”

Been dere,

Bender

Been in a Benz, dear l l l

Spin clear— I'm Sinclair

Windex on a big mirror!

I guess I'll see you when I see you

I guess I'll see you when I see you

I guess I'll see you when I see you

I guess I'll see you when I see you

If you talk less,

The less you have to lie, I guess

Why be mad at God?

God's not mad at me;

Waiting for the world to end

Waiting for a song to sing

Or anything that

Makes me feel like I'm living

Like I'm living in anything

Other than the

Everything

Everything is everything.

Dang—

Was I really that hangry?

Am I really that angry?

I don't know why you hate me

But lately—

I really don't care no more!

Dang!

Nothings the same these days

Not even your name

Nothings the same

Not even the way it feels,

Cause lately—

I really don't care no more

Careful, Kay—

You know I ain't crazy

Ain't gonna pay to be played with;

(But I might get paid though)

No, I really don't care how you feel

I don't care how it ends

You don't care how I live

I don't care who wins

I'm not in this—

Illumianti shit

I don't care no more

I really don't care

I really don't care

I really don't care no more

Top

Oh,

I missed the last 5 songs

Writing you another one

Really don't care no more

Sometimes it's a half, or a whole thing—

Sometimes it's living your life and not worrying about where you're going

Maybe it's a no

Maybe there's just no maybes

Maybe I'm

ELOHIM is a NANNY and struggling musician

Why would she be struggling?? She's white and prett.

Is she Jewish?

That might be it.

#OWSLACONFIDENTIAL

it happens to all of us, you know.

Does it though?

He does it for the music!

What music might that be?

Look, you idiot!

I thought those could be m his kids with you honestly, before I decided you were the nanny.

How would these be his kids?

Cause they're beautiful!

The older one's already taller than him.

That happens, sometimes.

Look, you gotta know something.

How did you even find me hiding in this deadmau5 construct?

This is a game of strategy!

Be quiet,

Be cautious;

The Illuminati's watching

Here's a front man,

Don't do much, man

Give up your past

And lastly, your intentions

Hey.

Hey.

Do you wanna like—get married and have kids, or—

—I wanna party and get fucked up until we kill each other—

I like learning my lessons the hard way.

So, sex then?

No more sex.

So much sex.

This is hardly enough money, Dillon.

I know, it's—

I can't sell you anything for this.

Oh, come on!

Ugh, this nigga is corny.

I just thought it would be funny.

It isn't funny anymore.

You will stand the test of time.

You will stand the test of time.

You will stand the test of time.

You will stand the test of time.

How about a dollar

For every time I thought about the father of my child,

(Yet unborn)

It's wild, innit?

The shit we pull just to pull up to Skrillex

And be respected for anything

Instead of resented.

The best transmutation I could commit to was to change my triggers into positive intentions, turning 4:20 into DillonnFrwncis forever reason just in case it did need to be as easily discarded,

Still, something seems missing

It doesn't seem worth it

I want to move up,

But I gotta move under

And everything under the son is just wonderful;

He'll find another mother for his son and his daughter soon—

That's what I wanted

That's what I wanted

That's what I wanted;

A wonderful world for him

Don't talk too much about the truth,

If you don't want it

All I really ever wanted was a husband,

And a love life,

And a come up on an comet—

But I probably lost it all at once

Accomplishments and comments

On the Carters

Stop

The

Promises

Sonny's not coming.

I mean, this algorithm says otherwise

Does any one else really wanna be this guys wife?

Listen, look—check this out, guys.

I don't like this part.

I love this part.

I'm gonna go ahead and send all of these

[fully compatible matches]

Your way.

Lord have mercy

Oh, Jesus Christ.

You're welcome.

Okay, Satan, here it is.

You mean it?

I mean it—just—

Uhuh.

Before I sign this

Uh-huh

And give you my soul

You're selling it.

I—no, I'm—I'm just— giving it to you.

I beg your pardon.

Please, don't beg.

What do you mean?

I am going to give you my soul.

Yeah, for what?

Just—for Free.

For FREE? WHY?

Look this — thing—

[super shiny soul]

Feels a lot.

Yes

—like, too much—

Well, yeah, that's—

So I'm giving it to you.

But, for what?

For free, dude.

Yeah—but what do you want from me?

Nothing, you're gross.

I'm not gross.

You're fucking gross, man.

You know what? Forget the paperwork. Just take it.

Uhhhhh

It's a gift.

SATAN has never been given a gift.

Aww, that's sad.

It's not sad. He's very unpleasant.

UGH.

Every time I saw the perfect type of woman I wished I was— I thought of Sonny, and anothe tip in my soul—then, I turned the thought into a magnificent force of motion—to wish him nothing but the very best, and move on.

Dah daba da da da badabadah

DABADABADABADABADAH

—Vanilla.

Sunni, what are you doing?

That's the hook.

“Vanilla?”

Yeah.

ITS A HIT.

What?

It went Diamond.

MORGAN

Nooo….

shut up, Morgan—you fuckin hater?

I'm not a hater, I just hate this song.

I hate all your songs!

What songs?! I don't make music!

EXACTLY. SHUT UP.

Later:

Nominated for a GRAMMY

MORGAN

You're fucking kidding.

FUCK OFF, PUMKIN SPICE.

pipe it up// arugula

Sunni, I can't fight all these charges.

I'm fighting the charges! You're just my lawyer!

Just because you have all the money in the world, it doesn't mean you can do whatever you want.

Yes it does.

SUNNI, YOU KICKED A BABY?

Before:

Getcha bow legged ass baby out my way!

[swings leg, cut back to]

You can't DO that.

He was wearing a diaper!

SO!

Built in padding! .

SUNNI.

JIMMY FALLON IS IN TEARS, riding a fully packed bus through the Bronx after being separated from AMY PEOLER**sp AND TINA FEY

There he is!

Jimmy, you idiot!

You found me!

I think we can all agree, Homeless Jimmy Fallon is the most tragic Jimmy Fallon.

I thought long haired Jimmy Fallon was pretty tragic.

Tall Jimmy Fallon had me confused—

Yeah but blue eyed Jimmy Fallon.

BLUE-EYED JIMMY FALLON

…hey.

No, fuck this.

Am I doing it right?

No! I quit.

I M A G I N A R Y. F R I E N D S

Flashback, Season 4

Speaking of assholes…

Dillon Francis has just become Captain of The Assholes, a special branch of selected Motherfuckers.

What is happening?

Deadmau5 hacked into SUPACREE'S conciousness with computer programming.

(OOOHHH).

That sounds like a hassle.

Wait tho, didn't Dillon Francis do exactly the same thing, but with like magic or something?

YEAH! HE DID!

(Wow.)

But wait— but Skrillex did it first

((God is Good))

Shhhh! We're gonna miss something important—

—but like—with frequencies—

—like genetic synethisis, or something?

What's “genetic synesthesis” exactly?

What the fuck are you nerds watching?

SHHHHHH!

DEQTHWISJ

Just, Jump, Natalie.

Oh shit! Now what's happening.

Don't do this to me.

You did it, I'm just watching.

What the fuck is happening?!

Just jump!

Did you change the channel? Where is SUPACREE?!

What the fuck.

Go back!

You can't! It's a live premiere or something!

What!

It's like a livestream—! Kind of!

What channel is this?!

It's not a channel, it's an application!

So close the application and restart it or something!

You can't, it's it's the beta version and I got it illegally!

What!

I'd you exit the application, it just deletes itself—or something—!

What the fuck are you guys doing?'

NOTHING!

Go back to your hole and write math problems, or something.

Well, okay then.

The fourth roommate, dressed in all black adorned with a hoodie, slinks back into the hallway, disappearing into a darkly lit room—

Sitting behind the illuminated screen of a custom computer set up, the fourth roommate takes off her hood, revealing herself to be COUGHS, a popular celebrity photographer, best known for her work with real-world SONNY/SKRILLEX

The sound of her nails typing quickly against the keyboard of the still darkly-lit room becomes the prominent sound, over her roommates arguing in the background, as we fade into the background of a green and black coding screen.

T H E

L E G E N D

O F

S Ū P A C R E E

Let the stones fall where they may;

I might bend,

But I just won't break

Let the cards fall how they may—

There's no mistakes

I made the game up

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

WHAT ARE YOU INTO?!

I haven't slept in 30 years.

Oh no!

PASQUALE ROTELLA has been WIDE AWAKE SINCE 1993.

For fuck's sake.

I knew the moment I started making music in 140 BPM, my life had changed forever.

AGH. JESUS CHRIST.

What happened to dubstep

Literally the devil.

You really want to give him all this power.

Oh yeah go ahead. It just comes back on em in the long run.

SO.

So.

I'm out of magic.

Dillon, I already told you.

I need more.

I'm not giving you any more Magic.

Please.

Dillon.

DILLON FRANCIS has run completely out of magic.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Uh. Did me and Skrillex have a baby?

YES.

*Sonny.

Is she cute?

SHE?

Well, which baby?

Aww, he's so protective.

I erased that memory.

WhyS.

I had to.

I erased all these memories.

WhatS.

I erased you.

FUCK.

What.

I cheated on Skrillex with Dillon Francis.

AHAHAHAHA

NO!

You didn't.

You did not.

I didn't?

You didn't.

You cheated on Dillon Francis with Skrillex!

*Sonny

THATS believable.

Don't do this again.

Do whT.

Become a celebrity and fuck up everything.

[drunk]

Can't fuck up everhtbkng.

Oh.

Everything is everything.

Oh.

Wait.

HuhZ

This is our son.

DAMN.

What dimension is this.

The one where you just accept it.

I just assumed Dillon Francis wanted white kids.

That's a fair assumption.

Why would you even consider an affair with Dillon Francis?!

Honestly, Sonny and I are pretty bad for each other.

What is “bad”?

I would do anything for you.

I love you so much, nothing matters.

Anything.

At all.

We did everything together.

We were absolutely inseparable.

Until we weren't—

And even then…

Listen, Dillon. We can't be friends.

Yes we can.

No, we can't.

That's not true.

After what happened between us—?

What happened between us?!

—-I gotta go.

What soap opera is THIS.

It's still Legends.

It's just

L E V E L S

Wtf!

You did all this so you could fuck Skrillex?!

I mean—

NO!

Look, that's not gonna happen.

That's okay!

It's not okay.

To be fair, I wasn't loooking

Lol we get to write our own Illuminati scandals?!

C00L.

I had seen it all with Sonny and with Dillon beginning to end—all the routes we had taken, the choices we made—the outcomes and the aftermath of all the love to be had, and what was leftover/-reminiscent of all that had been in this infinite, disfigured and reimagined, magnificent whatever it was we were in once again.

At least if he marries that other girl, I get to drink again.

BUD LIGHT ON ME.

This is hard to watch.

FREE BUD LIGHT FOR EVERYBODY.

Wouldn't it be nice to have your cake, and eat it too?

Look, Satan, Sonny and I made sense—it ain't happening with Dillon Francis.

That's not even my guy.

Say again?

He's on “the other side”

Tell me what you mean.

Have another drink.

UGH.

Man, I gotta get to the other side.

What in the world makes you think anybody THIS HIGH UP—

First of all, what goes up, must come down.

HE'S —

—secondly, look at how far up I've already climed.

There's something you should know about Dillon Francis.

I already know too much.

Well, here's this:

[secrets]

…

—you feel better?

No! This sucks!

So,

Really early on in this,

When I first started having these visions of Sonny, right after we strangely met at this cross roads, there was a woman who told me,

“That's my son, and I'm worried for him;

I need your help to protect him and relay this message—

That I love him”

And I didn't understand at all;

I didn't know anything about what was going on,

Or about Sonny's mom,

Or if it was even his mom, because

I myself had a lot going on-

I had no idea she had passed.

But that being said;

I had always had a presence in the spiritual realm;

I had recently lost my son and my daughter

Who had both at one time or another revisited me in the present after their death:

Before my marriage [to my ex husband] and long before our children were born, I had this dream of my ex's mother, who had committed suicide when he was very young and in the dream, she told me “you will have a daughter, and she will be named Precious” and I woke up horrified and thought

“That's terrible” because I hated that movie so much — and did didn't make sense.

Then, after everything had happened it all started to make sense, that our daughter had passed away and that she was precious to the heavens,

It's all hard to take in;

Whatever has happened I no longer believe in mental illness in the traditional sense, I don't believe in coincidences,

So whatever has happened or is happening between me and Sonny is somehow historically and culturally significant and I'm just doing my best to cope with whatever else needs to happen for whatever message needs to be relayed to be translated into a sequence or format that can be easily understood or comprehended by whoever needs to see/hear/read this. I still don't understand the full concept or intention of the festival project besides typing together these worlds and realms to further the greater understanding of our inner and outer known and yet widely unknown worlds—that these strange and supernatural, psychic connections have a reason and a purpose and the mode of transportation this specific energy has chosen to move though this body is just through these words and these music.

It's been a long time since Avicii appeared to me on a mountaintop; but everything that has since manifested continues to be an unfolding of these parables, prophecies and passages fortelling this so-said ‘Omen', relaying these ancient encryptions through the language of music and concepts of magic and high consciousness.

I have seen infinite realms and dimensions over the expanse of space time and consciousness —-the only thing I aim to do now is live peacefully and harmoniously and let live with the most pure intentions of love and joy for everyone involved. I cannot certainly say what the future does hold, and the future is always changing — but I can say that I truly hope whatever wishes are wished be granted, that all the love to be had is loved, and that all the many blessings of the world are known and felt throughout this series and the rest of existence itself, for as long as it lasts, and as long as we live.

Thank you for listening and reading along in my ever expanding Infinite multidimensional Omniverse.

-Ū.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.