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

God still had a way of proving its movement, even in the smallest ways—and even though I thought myself to never be able to do it again, here I was in the midsts of another fast, whatever it meant and with no true other purpose than to form fit into whatever lmanaryndimwnaions or assignment I was l meant—the world not altogether loveless, still filled with the evils ans deficits of men which I neither needed nor wanted l—the reckless abandonment of everything I wanted to weighing and resting heavily on my shoulders.

“When I touched the bottom, I knew I should have learned to swim…”

‘Oh my God.'

The melody had been rolling around in my head for the past few days—a suprise even to me that anything besides the unlimited hours of deadmau5 that had been pouring through my headphones for now ten days from sunset to sunrise—or whenever I would summon up the energy to reawaken into my body and arise into the recently somehow slightly less Hellish surroundings—perhaps having adapted—not totally—but enough that I didn't always want to throw up just looking around or going about my minimal human upkeep, of course functioning at low capacity as it were, clocking in more hours in deadmau5 than in actual sleep, and now, maybe perhaps just to become dead enough just to reclaim a song I had left in my precious life—fasting once more.

“That was it.”

I couldn't remember the words, and so little of the melody had stayed with me after so much time and all that had happened in the l turbulent and tumultuous years since—it had indeed all started at Electric Daisy Carnival, my love for music becoming the only love I would keep in the coming time. Somehow, suddenly—after another night lulled by the calming frequencies of ‘The Red Albums', in the odd silence of the morning between charging my Skullcandy headphones and dislodging the foam earplugs from my inner ear, the words formed with the melody quite suddenly all at once

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

You broke my heart

(And the windows on my car)

What was all that for?

Now you you've started a holy war

I've got scars on my arms

I might love them a little more

I guess you are what you are

After all—you're a star

I'm bat shit crazy, I'm

Blind, so blind and now I'm

Hiding in a life I decided I was mine

I tried to find you

Tried to find the answer

Tried to find the time,

And now I'm fighting suicide against denial

—I still really love your smile

I had to know—and so I had to ask; both the ocean, and The Instagram Algorithm—about Dillon Francis—and, to my luck and great dispar, was swiftly answered. Now I could crawl back into my cave of obscurity and begin the elemental essentials to gather and burn all that was left of everything I had written about the the man himself; needing of course to steer clear of nothing now but love—or a lack thereof, as it were.

Now I understood that the feelings and emotions tied up in this man were indeed true, beyond real in the sense that I couldn't hold back tears, but with some gentle motion I could sway them into music; needing to shed my skin and escape my nightmarish surroundings, I would need more than a prayer—the universe had been calling me to fast; now I would answer in the only way I could, the fresh and awestruck pain of heartbreak I had knowingly caused myself, the only strain to conquer.

I loved him.

The running was over with, and the hiding was done for— I had backed myself into a corner; a comfortable wall to curl up in non existence, meanwhile, nothing—because if I could figure that If I did not see it for myself or could not otherwise randomly fathom to imagine, it did not exist, or it could not be.

Who are you,

To evoke emotion

A notation of focus,

Awoke in the moment to know,

Vote for a hope,

Or a rope, just to—

—hangglide.

What's two hands,

What's two fists look like to you?

What's two feet, what's two wrists to you—?

What's two lips, two blue eyes;

In an instant

What's to listen to the the tune of you again?

“Please Text Back”

What is this?

Another emotion,

Another world we opened,

A parallel dimension,

Just beside the hell we live in—

Exists all of this

I'd put it into Ableton, if I was able to;

The way you make me move,

And what I feel for you—

Appealing, if you're real, down to the roots

And reel-to-real

I feel so stupid—

She'll—be everything I asked for him

She is—the one I called for hoping

She was—my dream inside a dream once;

Now, digging my own grave up

Just to prove my luck, or something

So, to us, it's only justice, undone

On the walk to Eden,

It was all of us;

I reap what I've sown;

Nothing comes of nothing

Give to get,

And live to eat,

The answer's “hungry”,

If you're asking

But no one's asking,

‘And Dillon Francis's is handsome,

He had to have known that—‘

I sat at the alter, my ocean

And read to her, poetry

I wonder for nothing,

And want even less, no discussions—

Percussion in repercussions,

Patterns of claps and hats,

happen to manage the panic;

Perhaps if I laughed a little,

Or loved a little,

I'd have sung more loudly as they hung me,

From the bungalow windowsill;

It's silly how I'd kill myself again for never listening

And never listening

And never listening

—we never kissed, but always met at intersections, when needed;

Break bread for breakfast, or brunch, with the Goddess and her Demons

Never had I saw or wanted a flying saucer— until I saw two of them, off in the distance

With no one on them,

But God, I'm honest and stopped it all at once,

Just to turn on and tune in, and now I'm the April Fool—

It was just an illusion;

Another simplistic collision of infinite

What was your name again?

I'll have to ask my ex—

—husband…

Cause one time,

someone loved me.

As it turned out,

I held more feelings for the man than I had previously thought, or had motionlessly been in absolute denial of for quite some time; there wasn't another option or subject of distraction—I had been stuck on Dillon Francis, or at least the thought of him, even with the startling lack thereof. I needed to love, but it seemed to be in short supply, at least, for me, no matter where I went or what I did there. Still, while The Instagram Algorithm beckoned me to believe one thing, my intuition conditioned me to comprehend another—there was something deeper within myself and greater outwardly looming over the prénsense of this innate attraction—and though it had all started innocently, it had cascaded and begun to collapse into a avalanche of unhandled business and forgotten circumstances—

I was shaken and needed to be restrung in some way that would hold me together, until the easy way out became the hard way; perhaps if I could project into my reality what it was that nature had foretold, I could extend my being beyond that of which seemed to be an end.

At least it had been done again, in the severance of the flow of one love, there had to come another—as it's been done in generations through every genre time and time before whichever one this was, mankind had something down to an exact science for once; to withdraw the essence of love from the source of which it comes, leaving one only damaged enough to murmur or hum the would-be some-part, of some-song—if not to be sung, at least strummed out, or at the very least, written as record. Now, though I had lost nearly all ambition, I was entirely filled with enough neglect to become the apathetic, dark and untouchable alchemist I always was—reality back in touch. The final judgement was: I loved Dillon as much as I had loved Sonny, but in another way entirely—so much so, that overall, his happiness above anything to happen was what I wanted—and though I felt I had been ‘Kayla Lauren'd' once more, there was a deeper sense of doubt that with enough creativity, would bring about a world of its own—as if the world that had been created in the infinite “if” of Dillon Francis was large enough by itself to consume an idle mind with even the slightest of combustion; His eyes would drive me wild—and all that I dared to remember of the time we would spend together, is myself becoming lost in them.

‘They are green sometimes'.

I loved the grey streaking in his beard, reminding me of what I was, rather than what I had become in the midsts of it—my soul just as ancient as all the love it was made of—and now I had done it not once, but always; decided I could love anything about any one and multiply that into an infinite, undying and unconditional love—which it already was.

I'm sorry, God;

Or whoever's watching

All I wanted was love

With the one who would want me;

Now I'm a ghost, although something is haunting me

Wanted my glass house, but can't throw a rock in it

Off in a rocket ship;

What was the cost of it?

Nod off on a trip, dripping lips on the window

A kiss, just an instant to

lick up a hit of the acid

I missed wishing just as simplisticly

To live again

I'd end it if,

The reason weren't so stupid

It's not you,

I've just been used too much to do this

Overruled:

This never happened

So I had to laugh

I had to laugh

I had to laugh

I had to laugh

I had to love him, only

Cause I had to love myself, for a moment

The door was open,

I went walking in,

Then closed it;

Only now I'm here alone—

At least I own it

And I only wanted

Love

From someone who wanted

To love me

And I only wanted a hug;

But I guess I kind of got it

If you want, you know

I'll drop it, like the rock fell from my pocket

I forgot which one it was I fell in love with,

After all, I'm only nothing

“It was nothing”

It was fun

It was another father, son and brother;

Oh, no wonder—

Life is so wonderful

Falling in love with the digital runoff

Of someone with all of it

Everything I ever wanted

Everything I was, and wasn't

Just to front the cost,

Just never good enough

To come of

One, again

All I wanted was love

From the one who wanted to love me;

Now all I got is—

A closet full of skeletons,

A cause of death,

And a hot topic,

If this is Martyrdom

‘This is what happens when you dare to dream, then stop believing in it; you become caught between worlds in the catastrophic maelstrom between the world of the living, and the shattered reality you once called your dream'

now I wanted nothing more than a clean bed and a hot shower; a place to call home—I was so far stretched out beyond my comfort zone that again the thought of an instant means to an end became again, a pressing and dire need— I had only scratched the surface here and there and never had begun to break the ice—but anything I had said or done now may as well have been inscribed in stone, everything was temporary, but just fully so, it was also permanent. The looming answer was truly, that either way, I was right—either the slip in my stream of consciousness with Dillon had vanished as he began to keep the company of another more presently—just as in my early premonitions with Sonny had foretold of Kayla Lauren not too long before I would become aware of her—that my dream of Dillon in the presiding weeks accompanied by a dazzling readhead, the inspiration for “Chelsea, Chelsea!” Whispered a daunting truth; that as I suspected, anything or anyone I cared to love would be taken from me promptly; and though in the months since the literal tripping and falling into love with such a character, I had tirelessly worked to remove the romanticism and passion that had pent up within, pushing down and toiling away with the notion of a reality where, after all, my King to be had been all along, Dillon Francis. Though with a vital and vivid sense of intuition I had seen it all, I presumed it was nothing more than a flash of whimsical and innocent fantasy, admirable to those with an eye for love; a spark for my creation, which had been diminished—or so I thought.

I couldn't help but feel a fool, and baffled myself that indeed, I was in tears—because of Dillon Francis. After nearly months of tearless apathy, I had begun to think myself immune to emotion or feeling—surrounded by a slew of reflections and past companions, I had begun to again lose myself to the motion of too much carelessness, my own needs neglected from lack of finances—and seemingly excommunicated from American Society; I began to fall violently out of love with Sonny, as the universe spun me into a web where I was the fly, and the spider tying me was the spitting image of the damningly handsome once-Apple of my eye; not that I had actually lost any of the feeling for him—but, that the feeling itself had changed dramatically from a writhing passion, to a fury tinged with the blood and sweat of sacrifice in exchange for nothing, and the bitterness of genetic competition—Kayla Lauren no longer taking the brunt of my anger, but falling into irrelevance, Sonny himself becoming the poster child for everything I stood to dismiss, in music, and in general— if I were to convict that I hated him, it would only mean stagnancy, in that I still hated myself; however, strikingly, it was not so—i had begun to love myself quite so, that what I hated was the toxic world where all the men I so admired and desired thrived. Sifting through slides of the lives I wanted mine to mimick, a smile was summoned from under the rock I lived in; hiding from any of the repercussions I may have built to arrive just in time to dull my shine if I became too rampantly outward with my intentions—which, by now, were simple, at best—“at best” being limited again, only by what I could see and know.

Low power mode.

Me, too. iPhone. Me too.

I just want to reach out and touch you

Hold you

Love you

Thank you

Know you

Don't know how to reach out and

Hold you

Touch you

Told you

Love you

But can't miss you if you're right here

In my ear

Always near me

Loath & Fear me

Fear and growing in Las Vegas

Tell me you saw it all

In the rainfall

The teardrops

The blood on the walls

Did I call out for you

Did I fall

Did you follow

I saw what I wanted

I saw it all in the fall

Like a star on the run

Isn't it wonderful,

World after war,

Until death till we part,

But we always were

What a wonder

What an atrocity

What an ark to the story

What a plot

What a car

What? I love love

Tell me you saw it all

In the rainfall

The teardrops

The blood on the walls

Did I call out for you

Did I fall

Did you follow

I saw what I wanted

I saw it all in the fall

Like a star on the run

I just want to reach out and touch you

Hold you

Love you

Thank you

Know you

Don't know how to reach out and

Hold you

Touch you

Told you

Love you

But can't miss you if you're right here

In my ear

One year later.

—-

Put me to sleep so I can grieve a little longer

Leave me, don't keep me believing in fairytales

Now we're at war, all of us, God we are

Put me on the back of your Harley

I don't have a car, if not I'll just walk—

We should party

I got work tomorrow

I'm off in the morning, though

I just need a Nick of your time,

I'm a Diamond;

I spend mine writing and trying to die

I'm not violent, I'm nearly sublime

And it's all in my Eye, I am

I am Time

‘This is dead Skrillex'

I couldn't have been the only person to have realized the change in his music was drastic— now that I was no longer afraid to do my research, I was putting together a picture from conclusion I had already drawn long ago—his problems with alcohol, connections with women, and the other darknesses otherwise unseen to the general public that had come to me in dreams and visions consistently in the years since our ‘meeting'. It seemed as so that he may have been as miserable on his own birthday as I was, and though late and also somehow just in time, I had discovered a string of tweets that had confirmed that everything I knew in totality to be true; the darkness in his music, a result of grief and inner struggle—the cost of fame and fortune's weight having removed the broad spectrums of color and elegant, blissful, animated and moving motions in his music; it wasn't that it wasn't beautiful any longer, just darker—as if something was lost, and, as I had assumed, the cancelled shows and shadows of the staged Skrillex seen at the surface, a mere crying glimpse of the real Sonny that for whatever reason was psychically attached from my soul.

That's because he doesn't have Skrillex. I have Skrillex.

Yeah, I know.

You should probably give it back.

I would if I could!

Maybe that's why he followed me to New York.

You really think he wants this thing back?!

Wouldn't you?

I mean his new music is OKAY.

JUST OKAY?!

KIDZ: THIS IS AWESOME.

You brats are brainwashed.

Sonny and I must have died around the same time—otherwise, ‘how would it make sense for any of it to have happened the way that it had?', I thought.

And for not the first time, but perchance a rare second, I considered that perhaps whatever I had been experiencing with him, had happened also to him, but with me—

During THE LOVERS QUARREL, PETRUTHEIO deals a deadly and near fatal blow by dagger, pericibg through her armor— SIR JYRE, who has just exited a deep state of meditation in which he was gifted a VISIONARY FORESIGHT, which allows him to have seen the result of c'ESME'T AND PETRUTHEIO's premarital consummation; the conception of a child, and heir to the throne of the UNITED KINGDOMS OF ASCENCIA

The UNITED KINGDOMS OF ACENCIA?!

It's a working title. Idk what to call this place.

We'll see.

Well, the significance of that character sure has worked himself in overtime.

Well, of course,

I had the dream walker's eyes on my wall,

But hadn't fathomed the actual

WHOOPI GOLDBERG.

What are you doing?

FLASHBACK approx 2003:

APPLBEES is having an ART AUCTION.

Lol.

MOM

You can have anything you want from here.

YOUNG SUPACREE

Anything? Really?

MOM

Yes.

YOUNG SUPACREE

Hmm…

[selects an autographed photo of Whoopi Goldberg]

MOM

That's what you want?

YOUNG SUPACREE

Yeah.

WHOOPI GOLDBERG

You were a weird fucking kid, you know that?

SUPACREE

Yeah. I know.

CUT TO: ASCENCIA

SIR JYRE

Her life must be spared.

She is immortal and therefore would again be born.

But—her body.

CUT TO:

HEAVEN

SUPACREE

I'd like to marry these two songs, please.

GOD

Hmmm.

Yesterday>< Yesterday

GOD (CON'T)

Ask Johnny Lennon.

SUPACREE

ok.

CUT TO:

LIZ LEMON IS VERY DRUNK

Look, I don't know what they told you about me, but—

You should not do this.

This series is strange.

CUT TO:

JOHN LEGEND is on a mushroom trip.

WELL, WELL, WELL.

Wtf is this

Watch this.

Lol did I ever write that scene about being Chrissy Tiegen's Emotional Support Animal?

I might have. Idk.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Don't ask me about Dillon Francis

I can't imagine a family with him;

Nor could I fathom an anger management program or past abandonment banishment plan that would establish a dad-level of trust with the man,

I'm just disgusted, sad, savage and rusted;

krusty Krab frustrated, hushed and silenced by the hands of the establishment

You go where the fuck you go

You do what the fuck you do

You feel how the fuck you feel

You are who the fuck you are

You see what the fuck you see

You know who the fuck you know l

You live how the fuxk you live

You grow how the fuck you grow

New York is a strange place.

It's more diverse, so it's less racist…

Well white people are less racist.

But you see;

There's a large Hispanic population —

And the white peoples arealy taught the Hispanics to hate the blacks for them,

So they don't have to

Hispanic-black relations are horrible

They openly talk about each other loudly; they fight

It gets nasty!

They hate each other.

And it's not that passive, underhandedly quiet racism you get from white people, either;

It's like —

Glares and

“Listen here, Missy”

No. It's—

“”Fuck DEM”

Or

“ you know how THEY are.”

“Fuck that little latita”

Or like

“She was a BLACK girl right?! THEY not LIKE us”

What's tucked up is, america is so racist, and black people are so oppressed, they even hate themselves, and they hate each other!

Black people will sit there and shit on the entire culture!

Black peoples will run around and treat each other like slaves

To This day!

And I would say it doesn't make any sense…

But it makes total and complete fucking sense

That's how fucked up the effects of slavery and white supremacy still are in this country.

To this day.

Black people still hate themselves and each other

And I don't care what you want to say

There's no argument against it

Black peoples in this country and in this would have been so oppressed and so forgotten, so fucking shit on that at this point, they just shit on themselves. The entire culture is self-depricationto the point that it perpetuates racism further.

Say what you want,

You can pretend it's not the truth,

But even the proudest African Americans I've ever met, are also like

“FUCK this nigga shit!”

E X A C T L Y

AND YOU KNOW WHAT I'm talking about'

“FUCK THIS NIGGA SHIT”

Right!!

And you haven't seen “some nigga shit” until you've seen some nigga shit”

We won't even talk about specifics—

Because if you know, you know;

And if you don't, hopefully you won't.

Fuck that shit.

I met this guy, that told me he had like 9 siblings.

Yeah.

He said after 3 she just stopped calling them by their names.

He's like,

We was just

“Niggas”

Mm like

“That makes sense”

Cause if you have that many kids

Especially back-to-baxk

That's “niggas”

Kids is niggas.

I don't care what race you are,

You got a bunch of kids,

Them kids is niggas.

Even white kids.

I wanna say especially white kids!

You ever been around a whole bunch of white kids?

Like, a lot of em!

Thems is niggas!

I'm telling you.

They do not give a FUCK.

Being around a bunch of multi-ethnic kids is different.

For the most part, honestly, those kids are pretty mild mannered and well behaved; respectful.

Unless you're rolling around with a bunch of hood rats and latchkey kids:

Some real niggas.

Not about race—

Kids are niggas—remember?

But hood rat kids?

Them ghetto babies?

Gangstas.

The real ones.

Anyway, though—

If you've ever spent time around a bunch of white kids—

Especially rich white kids

THAT is—

Niggas.

Yo—

They don't give a FUCK.

Like at ALL.

They have Nannie's and shit,

You know white people are lax about discipline and rules

“We let Jayden Decide his own Bedtime”

HAHAH. Alright, Dave.

“Morgan tells US how she wants to dress at school”

ALRIGHT Karen. Ok.

But if you've ever spent time—

Maybe too much time

Around a bunch of rich white kids—

Yo.

It's nigga shit.

I don't care!

They even call EACHOTHER that.

And that's part of OUR mistake, cause we started calling ourselves that, after hundreds of years of neglect and oppression, and now TODD and GLINDA let little PORTER listen to DA BABY until his 3:30 AM bedrime and he comes to summer camp at the top of the morning like,

“WHAT UP MY NIGGAS!!!”

Imm like

“What did you say?!l

He's like

“Ahem—what up my NINJAS. *coughs*”

Uh huh.

Bad as fuck.

A lot of the time rich white kids have too many options and too much privelege, so they're just overstimulated all the time,

But they don't know that's what that is,

So it comes out in the form of

“Niggadom”

Yep.

And you cant put a color on that word anymore because it's been so vastly manipulated to fit whatever motive or agenda it's users were using it for at the time that now it has no true meaning

It's meaning is just “niggas” and that's the way it is.

But you can't bury the word,

You can't take it away,

Because, what I've realized, at least, is in the black community,

So many people have never had something of their own, whether it be material or otherwise, that the word “nigha”, this little word, has become a cultural possession—to the point where other oppressed cultures will use it to describe themselves, because there is no other word for the effects of white supremacy, than the word “nigha”

There is no other word for “white people are on top, and everyone else for whatever reason are on the bottom”

There is no other word for “they have all the money and the power, and we have nothing and are killing and fighting each other over it”

People from Africa use the word “nigha” to describe themselves! That's weird!

Black people in Europe use the word nigha.

That's weird, right! Because it was a word that was developed in the United States during slavery.

So it's weird that niggas all around the world nowadays are niggas!

And white people—or at least partially kind of evolved white people, Will sit there and tell you that race doesn't actually exist—and that may very well be true.

But at this point, the effects of perpetuating its existence has become so devastating that it actually—whether it's made up or not—HAS to exist.

Cause “niggas”!

That's why!

Everyone is niggas.

You know, it really says a lot that I would rather jump off the Brooklyn bridge than go back to my ex.

It says a lot .

“I would rather jump off the Empire State Building than be with you.”

It says a lot.

“I would rather kill myaelf 1000 times than be with you. Fuck you.”

It says a lot.

I'd fall back off the Brooklyn bridge

Just to never see you again

I'd rather fall off the Brooklyn bridge

Than to ever be with you again

INT. EQUINOX SPORTS CLUB, MANHATTAN

GAGA, under the illusion of deep disguise, strategically places a quarter in SUPACREE'S PATH, (who has been masquerading as SUNNI BLU under deep cover, which opens an instant portal into the realm of INSTANT MANIFESTSTION, from which JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER APPEARS.

You realize you just picked up like, 25 Pennies, right?

CUT TO:

EARLIER

ILLUMINATI:

Your sacrifice has been accepted!

Wait, what sacrifice?

*which sacrifice?

Right—which—

CUT TO:

THE WEEKEND

(Looking around suspiciously)

Hm.

CUT BACK TO:

JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER

MAKE A WISH, BIZNATCH.

Lol he can't cuss.

What the fuck, Jimmy Fallon

Watch your language.

I'm not contracted with NBC.

How do you know that?

Leave me alone

Make a wish

I'm holding in a fart.

That is not a wish.

I wish you'd go away so I could

—Hold that thought!!

I can't hold a though and a fart,

Ew.

Shut up, Jimmy Fallon!

Work it//boy oh boy//RATATA

RATATA/TATATA

Didn't I already do this?

Hmm. There's gotta be one more.

Maybe I don't know.

Who cares!

ALRIGHT, THATS IT.

Calm down, man.

NAH. GET THE FUCK OUT MY BASEMENT.

What the frick?!

GET OUT — NOW.

*meanwhile*

INTERMISSIOn

Oh shit, what the fuck happened at intermission?

Or, rather—

What the fuck didn't happen at intermission.

I'M GONNA KILL YOU, MOTHAFUCKA.

Damn, she's scary in a New York accent

AGGGHHJHHHJJJJJJJJJJ.

When's the fight.

Whenever it is.

NEXT UP:

DILLON FRANCIS HOT SAUCE BITCH SLAPS THE SHIT OUT OF DIPLO.

UGH.

Dude, this show is violent.

When's Beyoncè coming?

She's already here.

What?! Where at?!

With the whippets people.

What, are you serious?

What. No. Beyoncè doesn't do whippets!

I said she was *with* the whippets people… not at it with them.

What is here deal with the devil, anyway.

THE ILLUMINATI

just sign here.

BEYONCÈ

just a minute.

BEYONCÈ

Sign this for meZ

THE DEVIL

Why?

BEYONCÈ

just do it.

THE DEVIL

…mmkay.

z.X hehe.

I TOLD YOU BEYONCÈ WAS SKRILLEX.

?? Wait.

Yes.

If beyoncè is Skrillex, who is the devil?

. . .

CHAK CHEL

Dillon, I need to tell you something.

—what is it?

CHAK CHEL

I've been seeing somebody.

—k, that's gross.

CHAK CHEL

You're gross, Dillon; I'm actually making you less gross just standing in your proximate location.

DILLON FRANCIS

—k, that's weird. You're sounding—younger.

CHAK CHEL

I told you, I've been seeing somebody.

DILLON FRANCIS

Ew—just—stop

CHAK CHEL

can't stop, Dillon—I stop, the whole world stops; you remember the last time that happened?

DILLONNFRANCIS

…no…

FLASHBACK

THE ENTIRE WORLD STOPS SPINNING ENTIRELY

HUMANS/BUILDINGS FLY OFF

*INSTANT EXTINCTION*

ANIMALS: cool.

ORHER ANIMALS: so fucking cool.

MORE ANIMALS: so we can talk again

ANIMALS: yeah we can talk again

OTHER ANIMALS: the humans are gone now.

Wait, wouldn't the animals fly off, too, at that speed?

UNDERGROUND ANIMALS: no.

Birds: hahahaha—holy shit.

Insects and things: hm.

We have to be careful how we're going about this thing,

She's calling all our bluffs

And seeing all our signs,

And past them, even

Reading between the lines,

And even blurring them a bit,

And everything we leave, she finds

3 steps ahead, but still behind

And colorblind is just a word we use

To keep divided

But

She finds it every time

GAGA

…28…29…

you might be taking this assignment a bit too seriously.

She lowers the rim of her dark tinted glasses by the frame to stare deeplu into his eyes/ soul

No, I'm crushing it, actually

First rule of improv: never say no

NO.

This isn't improv—this is strategy.

NO.

I am any man with eyes;

I see the beauty in her lines

—and every lie I am defiles her,

Which defines me,

As I am

By design

I'm not violent

Kinda

But would you mind it

If I find ya

Handsome so I ride it

Aggressively

Oh yes indeed it's just a tease

You're stressing me

I need replied for sexual repression

(Your flesh on me)

I'm in a rush

In flushing queens

To see evil knives evil king

I forgot I queued you up;

All that love I sent

Somebody probably went and

Booed up

I'm too screwed up;

Too screws loose, abused and such

Just booze for brunch

No captain crunch

Just jack without the crack and such

Fuck.

Look.

I'm gonna buy you an entire closet full of weird shorts.

Ok.

Just so I can watch you walk around in them.

Ok.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Sauce on An Empanada sounds awesome;

waiting on a bus in the Bronx

And I'm frozen Solid

got a bottle water,

A jar of peanut butter in my pocket,

All I want is some love,

but I'll settle for the sauna

Fucking Shit Up.

HE'S NOT READY FOR LOVEEEEEEE.

I'm Not Ready For Love- Promise

that's okay. I'm not ready for Dillon Francis.

FUCK Dillon Francis.

whatever.

OH MY GOD. WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM?!

he'a a 6ft tall ideally attractive manchild with too much money!

I meant, why is he on the ground?!

OH! I don't know. I think he took something.

meanwhile, in a cross-parallel:

DILLON FRANCIS hijacks THE BLACK PARADE.

What the fuck is this?

I don't know.

Is he a pirate?

I doubt it.

No, those are pirates.

Oh, shit, pirates.

Yarg.

Uh, okay.

I didn't want to do this.

Nobody asked you!

Why are you like this?

Stop being a little bitch, Dillon Francis—

please, grow some balls.

I have balls.

Grow bigger balls, then.

You're so mean.

Shut—thefuck UP.

Why are you like this?

UGH—!

SUNNÏ BLŪ is drinking rum again, disregarding the house arrest anklet entirely.

YARG!

Sunnï, the police are coming!

The police are always coming!

UGH!!!

THEY TRYNA KEEP A BLACK MAN DOWN!

[kicks trash can over]

SUNNÏ.

YO-HO-HO—-*belches* BITCH

Oh, my God.

I AM GOD. GOD WORSHIPS ME. I'M A PIRATE.

You're about to go to jail. Again!

FUCK THESE N*GGAS.

[sirens blaring; the paparazzi arrives]

Warm up my forearms

Before a performance

Warning: I got warrants

Call florance, my lawyer

—bitch, yur below me,

I'm the only,

Blow me

You should owe me

—

OH, that's hilarious.

JACK BLACK

THIS IS FUNNY TO YOU?!

YES.

ITS MOT FUNNY.

You look ridiculous.

Do you know where I just came from?!

Uh. Wednesday afternoon church?

No! The 60's!

Was it racist?

YES.

You look racist.

This isn't funny! You need to fix this!

I need to eat impossible chicken tinders.

That sounds gross

You look gross!

You! Fix this!

Where are you going?!

Somewhere safe before the acid kicks in!

You took acid?!

IN THE 60's!

Okay, have fun

Have fun with your yuck-nuggets

PASQUALE

Wanna hear some tea?

…no.

CC! It's me!

CARMELLA?! Why are you Pasquale?

Who's “Pasquale? I met this guy at work!

What?!

Do you like it?!

No!

What. Did I not do it right?!

No—! I mean—yes- but, Carmella

Huh

I never taught you what to do with the other person when you shape shifting into their body

So?!

UGH-/! No!! Where's Pasquale?!

Who is that!?

UGH.

—-

Hey.

You came to winco at 3 AM for some Pringle's and franks res hot sauce

*sets milk down*

And white milk.

It's lactose free.

—Dillon Francis?!

The milk gave it away.

The everything gave it away

JACK BLACK is high on 1969's LSD

SKADOOSH

DANNY MCBRIDE

shut the fuck up! You are not a fucking panda , you fat motherfucker! Knock it off!!!

That's not nice!

LEGENDS:

ENTER THE MULTIVERSE

Fuck. What was it?

It was a p—

Well it was a *PR

Lol.

*PT cruiser

Yeah, but it was—

It was purple.

It was a purple PT. Cruiser

It was—but what else was it?

Ugh. I forgot.

Yeah, I bet.

GOOGLE SEARCH

shades of purple.

Ooooh.

PERIWINKLE.

You fucking dumb ass.

I mean, Jesus.

How long has it been?

At least a lifetime.

No, past that.

It was a perfect periwinkle PT cruiser.

So, start there.

‘Start there' what?

Everything since then, till now—

For what?

Enter The Multiverse.

That show is still on?!

YES.

What day is it?

Fuxk. What time is it?

What—the fuck.

What?!

CUPCAKES AND A MUFFIN?!

I don't care how fat I am.

You're not fat.

QUASIMOTO

Can I just say, your ass is like —woah.

CC/SUPACREE

Oh, thank you.

QUASIMOTO

I mean like—DAAAAAAMN.

CC/ SUPACREE

OK.

QUASIMOTO

i mean like—what the FAAACK.

CC/SUPACREE

Yeah. thanks, bro.

[an awkward silence]

QUASIMOTO

…Good job, though.

[light fist bump]

EARLIER:

MORE CUPCAKES.

NAH.

OHH, OREOS?!

Oreos are the G.O.A.T.

I WANTED CUPCAKES.

SHUT THE FUCK UP—

Before that, at the gym:

—do the butt machine again.

Again?!

Get the glutes.

But I'm tired—

GET THE GLUUUUUUUUTES.

Calorie Deficit Calculator:

-3423

Oh shit. Well how many calories did I eat?

BEFORE:

…chocolate chip cookies?

NO—

—CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIESzzxz—

[CC/SUPACREE robotically and autonomously ditches her bicycle outside of sprouts, not giving a Fuck.]

—s—noh! stop it! Stop controlling me!

THEY ARE VEGAN.

SO? STOP IT.

Ooh, what's this.

I don't know—

get it.

CC/SUPACREE stands awkwardly at the checkout with a varied selection of vegan baked goods.

*beep*

Yeaaaahh.

So wait. SUPACREE is controlled by aliens?

WE ARE GODS.

Knock it OFF!

[NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: SUPASTRENTH ]

Nice.

Yeah dude. Watch this.

The Legend of Supacree is the #1 MMORPG in the world; it is also happening in real-time, in multiple worlds within the multiversial construct of the actual Omniverse.

AGHHHHH

In fact, nobody even plays GTA or call of duty anymore.

YAH!

[Random objects falling from the sky. ]

SUPACREE

Oh, nice.

INSTANT MANIFESTATION.

JUST POST THE FUCKING EPISODE ALRIGHT?!

this bitch is fucking crazy. Watch this.

Watch what?

SHIA LABEOUF discovers The Legend Of Supacree franchise and becomes villainously obsessed with It, hatching a heinous and maniacal plan to hunt her down and capture her—tracking her every move and learning everything about her he can.

Wtf.

I don't know.

Is he a villain?

I don't know. I guess.

I'M A SUPERVILLAIN.

…He's a supervillain.

I guess. Why?!

I don't know.

This is creeps.

It is creeps.

[lifts one eyebrow.]

SUPACREEps.

Scary monsters and supacreeps.

Heh.

NO, NO MUSICIANS.

Heh.

SHIA LABEOUF is a straight up gangster.

HE'S CRAZY!

[SHIA LAUGHING MANIACALLY.]

Oh, wow–

That dude is a straight up psychopath.

You're a straight up psychopath.

I'm not arguing.

What is THIS part of the story?

Well, son, you made it through.

WOODY HARRELSON? WHAT.

Woody Harrelson?! WHY?

I don't know. He just fit the part.

WHAT PART?! WHAT/!

Nobody quite understands what's happening in ENTER THE MULTIVERSE, however, THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE has taken an incredible turning point, intersecting with the world of LEGENDS and THE SECRET LIFE OF SUNNI BLŪ/ THE SUITE LIFE OF SUNNI BLŪ.

IT HAS?

YES?

WHERE?

I WANNA DIE.

OH!

That's not SUPACREE!

[CC HULK SMASHES her bike onto the rack on the bus. THE HULK, sitting just in front stares at her wide-eyed as she boards the bus over the rim of his sunglasses.]

Oh, maybe, nevermind.

Wait! Is it THE HULK, or MARK RUFFALO?

I don't know! I don't give a shit!

Why are you even writing this?

Uhhhhhhhh.

[CC's brain is slowly melting as she rides the bus to work. THE HULK–

OR IS IT MARK FUCKING RUFFALO!?

I DON”T FUCKING CARE–

THERE'S A DIFFERENCE

WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE

IT – DOESN'T– MATTER!

‘It doesn't matter.'

Chal's words echoed in my head almost too loudly–as boldly blind and sometimes even dumb as he was, he was also wise, and as it turned out, right–it really didn't matter. Nothing mattered at all. I had gone through the motions of reaching out to him, to of course as expected learn that he and whatever her name was had gone their separate ways; I understood that would be the case nearly immediately back in Mazunte, but as he was insistent he would woo her–and persistent in doing so, that I thought maybe after all love– or what really turned out to be his obstinate lust would win the day–and yet, it hadn't; he was again single and on the prowl– and although at one point I had even lusted after him briefly, trailing behind him in nonchalant platonic carelessness as he obsessively followed another woman, had allowed me to become comfortable enough in the friendzone that i could just simply exist next to him; Now, again faced with homelessness and factoring in my inability to travel much further than south of the border, especially now knowing well how to travel throughout mexico and into Guatemala, I wondered truly if my own self-worth had really been lowered to the point of allowing myself to meet Chal in Guatemala–even full well knowing that he, too, preferred perfect and illy white to my dark skin and quite seemingly matronly features, and, knowing for myself that I wasn't his first choice– as he and I had of course met in Mazunte around the same time he had met whom he considered to be ‘his Goddess'-- albeit while on a topless beach and thus hynotized by her breasts. Men were hopeless.

Then, here I was, waking up every other sleep cycle in the cold sweat of a wet dream, the subject of which I typically at least tried to keep deeply hidden in my subconscious psyche as secrets, although by now it seemed there really were none, and all that I knew and that I thought were known and seen by some other than myself–though somehow still holding true to my belief that there really was none other than myself–in my own broken and twisted world, alone and punished in the depths of mediocrity and shame.

Woah.

Riding the bus.

There's nothing lower.

There's walking.

To the bus.

Yah.

And all the sick people. And all the crackheads. And all the–what are those?

Demons

[demon hacks.]

Ugh, fucking–ugh.

SHIA LABOUFF'S obsession with SUPACREE is helga petaki-meets Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah's couch.

Oh, wait, we're back on that storyline?

I mean– I don't know how to write this.

Just write it.

he's a villain, right?

I mean, that suit.

SHIA LA–

FUCK.

WHAT?!

Worst last name EVER.

Well, not ever–

Wait, is he black?!

–It sounds french.

GOOGLE SEARCH:

‘How Jewish is Shia LaBeouf? ‘

–no, he's Cajun –

That's french-black–wait—

–what?

Cajun AND Jewish?

–Yeah–

Jesus!

JESUS

What?

(raises one eyebrow)

SUPACREE strategizes a plan of attack.

Attack for what?

{ATTACK}

YOUUUU INCEPTED ME!!!

AGH!

{COUNTER ATTACK}

NOT ME! DISNEY!

{DODGING COUNTER ATTACK}

Yeah, Blame “Disney!”

I JUST DID.

Oh, yeah, right!!

RAVEN SYMONÉ

It was Disney.

THEY OK'D THIS?!

They bought Marvel!

THEY OK'D EVERYTHING.

—Even the SKRILLEX?

Especially the Skrillex

—Especially the Skrillex.

AGHHHHHHHH——

———-AAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!

SHIA LABEOUF VS SUPACREE:

FIGHT!!!!

Everything looks good—

—everything looks good.

Everything looks fine—

—Everything looks fine.

But wait—

What?

What about that guy?

Oh My—

—oh my…

Is he gonna be alright?

Is that guy

—gonna be alright?

Is that guy gonna be alright?

Is—that guy gonna be alright?

Is that guy gonna be alright

Is that guy—

Gonna be alright?

Is that guy gonna be alright??

Is that guy gonna be alright?!

Is that guy gonna be alright m?

Everything looks good—

—everything looks fine

Looks good—

But what about that guy?

…I don't know about that guy.

Is he alright?

Yo.

Yooo.

Stop writing songs about Skrillex.

((I literally can't.))

What?! It doesn't have to be about Skrillex! It could be about anybody!

Here, they call with disco balls

Stars in my eyes, but stars do fall

First true love dies hard after all,

No star shines bright as morning comes

—(for) Sonny

…I didn't write that.

CUT TO: CC writes automagically between sets of heavy lifting.

IMAGINARY FRIENDS, PART III

DEADMAU5!!!!

okay—one more—then cupcakes—

Cupcakes? No cupcakes!

I WANT CUPCAKES.

Uh—No way!

YES WAY.

Mmm—no

I'm sick of this diet!

I'm not on a diet! I eat!

You eat GRASS.

I'm a vegan.

This shit sucks.

I told you, grass tastes bad.

RICK?!

(I also want cupcakes. )

Mmkay—ohh.

You said that was the last one.

No, more more.

NO “one more”

But I like this one—and it has the right amount of weights on it already—see?

Jesús Christ

He's not here.

(Yes I am).

Why the Fuxk.

I also want cupcakes

Okay, one more

No “one more”

The power of Christ compels ye!

…

Is that how that works?

No.

Maybe.

(((Yes.)))

AGHHH.

The celebrities of Hollywood are gang stalking SUPACREE

Can we—

No.

But I didn't even get to ask the question.

The answer is no.

THE CELEBRITIES OF HOLLYWOOD, after assembling with the Bampheramphs and Morherfuckers, have formed a supergroup tasked with bringing SUPACREE to THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE—so far, they have cunningly out-bested and outwitted THE US GOVERNMENT, including but not limited to THE FEDS, THE CIA, THE FBI and THE SECRET SERVICE.

REALLY?

I GUESS.

HOW?!

—

DRAKE snoops on SUPACREE as she writes working half heartedly at THE NECK MACHINE with peaking curiosity, peaking over the time of his sunglasses.

Whats it called.

“Nautilus 4 way neck “

BPM: you're a jerk

Do the Drake

Do the Drake

Do the Drake

Work that neck

Work that—

Neck, Becky

Work that neck,

Work that neck

Do the—

“new note:

Purchase

‘Honestly, nevermind'

I had worked an entre month at LVAC before the circus went underway; Not a single drop of Skrillex had ever been played over the loudspeakers at any moment, for any of the time I had been employed there, nor had it burdened me any of the other time I had spent bettering myself within what I once cherished as sacred walls–now the illusion shattered, as nowhere I could seem to run – even the rural coastal jungle of Mexico-was far enough to escape the clammerings of something I quite honestly very much still loved, but wouldn't allow myself to enjoy—

Or maybe, now, couldn't.

BANGARANG.

‘Fuck this shit.'

I wanted to move, but didn't—I wanted to leave, and probably should have, but wouldn't. I just sat there through it as my coworker, standing at about 5'4 ½ in a pair of tight black skinny jeans sang along and bounced rhymically.

What the fuck.

Then, as it had just been earlier that I was thinking of Sonny himself, and how, be it that any of my premonitions were actually accurate and true as I had once thought them to be, there would perhaps come a day that I regretted not listening to his works, just as one regrets not spending time with a loved one before their passing not giving enough attention to the little things, the tiny details, the time they had missed, but never missed without missing their loved one until it was too late. Then again, for me, any time in the then- present was too late, as I had only been followed, taunted, and ridiculed, openly humiliated and embarrassed, and never really paid directly for anything I had done, whether it did have to do with Skrillex or otherwise –and so I had made it more than a point to distance myself from it, anything having to do with it, or him, or anything really, music related—of course besides relying heavily on deadmau5 just for my own existence–that is, willingness wake up, move about the world and its endless, pointless constructs, and even so, completing a worthwhile workout with enough satisfaction that I could allow myself to leave the building–and now, with my commute taking up a grand total of 4 hours of my entire day—I didn't have the time or the energy to stay late into the days and even afternoons as I had before, or to arrive early as I had in the days and weeks before; Now this job was amounting to nothing at all, and I was surely less than breaking even.

Whats the worry?

You've got 20 minutes to write a story!

Don't be sorry

Mind your orders.

You're a war chief

Marry me,

Oh pretty please—

I plead to you, just sing for me

Just think of me as a

Never ending fantasy,

At the very least

When you bury me

—and you buried me alive,

Just for the look of things

What makes us even

Slitting wrists

Or splitting things unevenly

(Either thing benefits me,

And my penis,

I think.)

Make me famous—

She said

Hate me or debate me,

I have everything I need

And I have everything you have,

But I can leave,

All with my dreams intact

I do believe

You think I'm evil

Either way, unnecessary

Why would I sit down and write a story—

When you just did it for me?

Why would I pledge allegiance to old glory

She's ignoring me;

Why would I change my name to satisfy your needs

When mine sit idly by waiting

Why would I dream of you,

When you dream of me

I have all I need,

You have all of me in the other room

While you watch cartoons with your lady

I hate anime and now I hate you too,

But I'm so stupid,

Nothing soothes my moods,

Except playing your tunes,

Or music

Whoop De Fucking do

Would you Marry Me?

He said

(He never did, he just let her—)

She said,

I do

And now they're doomed

I built a tomb for two

The bride and groom

In music

Two by two

And used by Tuesday

Music I presume

To the beautiful

Music I presume

For the usual

Music I presume

For those who —-

SHIA LABEOUF

JUST DO IT.

That is not how the end of the song goes.

No, but this is how the end of the episode goes.

Really!? How?

[CC stares lifelessly forward out of the front window of the double decker bus; a man dressed in all blue catches her attention—another telepathic shapeshifter.]

You brought…an umbrella?

I told you there was a shit storm coming.

Oh, nooh.

Where's yours?

I— don't care?

That's right you don't.

I don't.

That's good you don't.

I really don't.

You don't give a Fuck, or a shit.

I—don't give a fuck or a sh—wait—

DILLON FRANCIS?

I'm good at what I do.

What do you DO?

THIS.

“A Silent Partner”

Oh.

I like that.

That has all kinds of insinuations.

Doesn't it?

Hermph.

You're a creep.

A Supacreep.

PAUSE

ITS MISTER MAGOOoOOOOOOOooO0oO.

No, it's the IRS.

Fuck.

HOLY SHIT SUNNI.

WHAT.

HOW DO YOU OWE 100,000 IN BACK TAXES?!

Student loan debt.

WHAT. THAT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE.

Yes it does.

HOW.

Calm down Marci

—MY ÑAME IS—

[Sunnī Blū subdues her instantly with one if Supacree's mysterious rave weapons]

Sit down, please.

…what is that?

You like it?

Yeah.

[she gives her another dose of strange vapor, she relaxes even further.]

See.

Yeah.

Now that you're happy—

—am i “happy” ?

[she gives her another relaxing dose]

—are you Happy?

Yeah.

Ok. So. I never filed my taxes because I had so much student loan debt, I would never get a tax return because the stupid government would just take it away.

…They're so stupid.

It's a supercomputer.

Huh.

The government is a supercomputer—it's a giant—unfeeling—

Huh?

Nevermind;

But Sunni—

Yes, Manuel—

You finally got my name right!

Yeah. I did.

—but you're rich now—

I'm very rich. Yes.

So then (hiccups) it doesn't matter if the stupid government computer takes your tax return away, cause you're—rich.

Yeah! Rich people don't pay taxes dummy!

Shhhhhhhh…be happy.

[sunni sighs and takes a large huff themselves of the mysterious vapor, however still quite visibly unsettled.

MEANWHILE,

(IN A PARALLEL DIMENSION)

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCKING—FUCKSAUCE

Ooh—fuckity fucksauce?!

FUCK!

Haven't tried that one. Is it purple too!?

SHUTTHEFUCK—UP.

Ooh. It must be really hot. Let me try.

Hello, Dillon Francis.

Oh, no.

Ha.

Did you fuck my best friend?

…I didn't know you…had any friends.

I don't now.

[he hangs his head.]

ALSO MEANWHILE:

(IN ANOTHER PARALLEL)

DIPLO, in a villainous rage nearly murders DILLON FRANCIS, stealing his portal gun and a vast supply of his magic to track down SUPACREE and all of her living incarnations.

Is this along the same timeline as Shia La—

Fuck this dude's last name for real.

For real

_!%]_€

Is it on the same timeline?

I mean, that's insane—SUPACREE is being stalked—

—Hunted—

Hunted by not one—but TWO super-buff celebrities—

Hey, to be fair—I didn't know Shia La—

Whatever—

Whatever. I didn't know he was that buff.

Who expected this?!

Literally no one ever.

How did this happen?!

CUT TO:

What if I threw myself in front of a school bus!?

That would be the 16th time you've died, since you committed suicide

So is that 16, or 17?

Does it matter?

I thought it was 10 to get to Skrillex.

I thought we weren't trying to get to Skrillex

I thought we never left.

We never left.

Fuck.

You've got to run.

It's not a race.

He's very fast.

What if he's spent as much time in the gym as you have?

Huh.

What if he's spent as much time in the studio as you have in the gym?

That's it.

That is it.

This album is really.

Golden.

Golden? Really?

Probably.

Ive never seen gold before—

Oh—

Look.

Look.

What would they even tell the kids?

“Some of you will grow up to amount to nothing and, and out of those some of you, at least one of you might just have the guts to throw yourself in front of a speeding vehicle which represents the very institution which disregarded your existence entirely in the first place.”

Oh.

That's…a lot for a bus full of kids.

Not high schoolers.

Benny Benassi (and the biz) was the word of God today.

Tell me what your spirit says

Show me what you pray

Teach me every single part

I'll be your guide

You are a prisoner

Looking for to be.

Like heroin through a junkie's veins, the song poured through my Hesh 3's like the golden waters of a sacred fountain of wisdom; it made me reflect on the everythingness of all at once, and I was at bliss, even if only for a moment, briefly recalling how I had almost allowed it to be a bad day—but there were no more bad days, I had decided. Everything was in synchronicity, and exactly as it had to be; everything was going along just the way it was supposed to, and I had nothing to worry about. All was in time with the motion of the great flow of life—then, just suddenly—thinking of such synchronicities, as I pulled out my phone to write in the moment—

You can change your face

But can't change your mind

No matter what do you do

No matter what do you do

No matter what do you do

No matter what do you do

No matter what do you do

No matter what do you do

No matter what do you do

No matter what do you do

11:12.

‘FUCK.'

I cocked my head in complete awe to the side

‘Hard flex, Dillon Francis.'

It was still hard to compute that such a man had become my literal muse—and though I knew not the exact meaning of the word—I knew what it meant. It was fascinating to me, and astonishing that something so simple could in my state of once fragile and benign vulnerability, be used as a tool to help complete this hypnotism, whatever it was meant for. I wasn't exactly making music, or anything good really—and I felt like I was bleeding money and certainly not making my worth in dollars for all the effort and energy I was spending just getting to work at all, let alone to work out—but there was still this, though I could finally falter to being irreversibly in love with Sonny Moore, or at least who he might have once been ( or the idea of such, anyway—) I did very much think of Dillon quite fondly and quite repetitively through each and passsing day, and oftentimes in my dreamworld, quite uncontrollably and involuntarily, in whatever way I was, it was forever. It didn't seem to matter, and though I purged myself from actually becoming as obsessive as I had once been with Sonny, I simply left it alone;

‘It doesn't matter!'

Chal's voice sometimes overcoming my own, in the way that I did now wholeheartedly believe that pretty much nothing mattered, especially my emotions or feelings, which I wished would disappear like the title of the album I had actually written and completed but never had the chance to release, and had just the night before eaten in record time 4 entire vegan cupcakes to myself,

—even when I had at least thought to share with my coworkers—a feast which usually took between 24 hours and 3 to four days, if I was moderating correctly. But I hadn't been—I was over stressed from riding busses full of people who didn't care that as the natural empath I had always been, I became gross and dysfunctional as anyone else who rode the bus just off the Las Vegas strip between the hours of 8 PM and 8 AM. Gross.

I successfully pretended not to know who deadmau5 wash and upon being asked what I was listening to on the bus, I simply replied ‘progressive house'—and just later that night, as my coworkers, most of whom were about 10 years younger than I was, clammoired about fame and famous Individuals; dead-mau-five came up randomly in conversation; to which I coyfully resigned from correcting the falsity that it once had “actually” been the correct way to prounounce the artist's name, and that he had “actually” changed it—and still, later on, when for the first time over the loudspeakers, a song by deadmau5 (besides the new kx5 track) came on, nobody but me could seem to recognize that it was him playing—and though I had heard the song by now at least hundreds of times, I couldn't name it…which embarrassed me, and I failed to even look upon the screen to fact-check or correct myself—it was deadmau5, it was good, and at least it wasn't Skrillex…

—who had also, though just behind deadmau5, also “coincidentally” come up in the conversation—this time less sarcastically forging a “who the fuck is that?”—of course, only to be met with what had to be a good minute and a half of my gullible coworkers explaining to me who Skrillex was, as I shrugged and nodded unassuminglu as if I didn't want to shoot myself in the foot just to dance to the tune of my own funural music.

(Whatever that means.)

Back to Benny Benassi

Are you sleeping? Ooh. I'm sorry.

Back to the Diverging lateral pull down, st a weight that looked too heavy, but was actually almost too light.

Whose job is that?

Ehmm— Skrillex!

Is that what he does?

Is that what this is?

—BABY, ID LOVE FOR YOU TO TOUCH ME BAAAAABAY—

ALSO:

THE US GOVERNMENT has gotten a new fleet of JEEPS.

Who is this.

[American flag automatic antenna extends from the back of the vehicle.]

Ooh.

What is that?

WE GOT HER

GO ARMY, BITCH!

Why is the Army following me?!

You can time travel!

So!

They can not.

Oh. I can shapeshift, too—why didn't they follow me when I started doing that in public?

They sent navy seals!

They did?! When?!

Flashback: SUPACREE is swimming when caught in a rogue wave, quickly transforming into a whale, before washing up on shore and transforming back into her human self, right before the eyes of the navy seals team.

What the fuck.

ABORT.

WHAT?! She's right there!

I SAID ABORT.

MORPHEUS.

What. I'm retired.

I know, look—

Don't call me—

I need a pill!

How did you get this number?!

It's The Matrix.

Touché.

I know, huh.

Don't call me. [hangs up]

[she calls his other line, he picks up unwittingly ñ]

Hello?

I need a pill!

You—have them!! Don't you?!

No!

What is “no”?

I don't need the red pill, or the blue pill!

Then I can't help you!

You're the only one that can help!

Have you tried Jesus?

Jesús is busy! Listen to me!

—Jesús is always listening—

I need the purple pill.

The what—what?!

The purple pill!

…you know what?

…what?

Dont—call me anymore.

[hangs up]

What the fuck!

[redials]

Call from: MOM

Hey Mom—

Hey, Morpheus.

What the Fuck!

You what the fuck! Help me!

God Help You! WHERE's my MOTHER?!

I AM GOD.

WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY MOTHER

—I Am your mother, Morpheus. And I just made your favorite: pecan pie—…

…

—without pecans.

…

…

…

Meet me at Fatastik.

Uh…the swap meet?

Near the Rugs.

What?!

—bring the pie!

[hangs up]

Damn, what's gonna happen now?!

I don't know. Ask Dillon Francis.

What does Dillon Francis have to do with this?

I dunno. Apparently a lot.

[shrugs]

MEAHAHILE:

DILLON FRANCIS screams uncontrollably.

CUT TO:

BEYONCE is a big fan.

Oh wow, that's incredible.

No, LITERALLY

BEYONCÈ, mastering her shape shifting abilities has transformed herself into a giant fan.

WOW.

That is cool.

(Literally.)

Get it?

SHUTUP.

[CC in a high intensity workout-induced trance merges with the character DUFF as she locks her legs across the rotary torso machine. ]

DUFF is paralyzed from the waist down after crash landing feet-first from her pod; She has landed in present day earth, first spotted by millions as a UFO; upon rescuing her from the fiery crash, recovering the remains of her futuristic vehicle raises questions from the whole world about her true origins and mission's purpose—however, stricken wirh Amnesia, she only recalls that her name is DUFF, and has very few memories preceding her discovery—it is clear that she is a human, and a high-ranking military trained space explorer—but remembers nothing of her own origins. It is suspected that she may indeed be a time traveler from the distant future.

WOAH

I know, huh.

That's what's happening in that series?! Damn!

I know, huh!

Sometimes I surprise muself.

And I'm not even listening to deadmau5.

So what's Beyoncé got to do with this storyline?

Something, I'm sure.

Synesthesia.

Oh—yeah, that.

She's so pink!

Don't be gross.

I— whatever. duff.

DUFF!

DUFF!!!

[DUFF is caught in a lucid dream; the original SUPACREE is in a coma after her failed suicide attempt—their worlds collide.]

Beyoncé's voice looked to me as if butterflies had long streams of silk woven wings, fluttering eloquently in hues of fluorescent pink and painted shades of rose-tinted streaking blues, auroras of bubblegum entertaining with breezy mellow waves of yellow and flooding bursts of bright purple—a pure joy in my ear sight, which meant nothing to the world, but everything to me.

Creating literal auroras I had only ever before seen in the frigid arctic night skies of Alaska, sometimes I simply had to close my eyes and breathe in deeply the fluid and sometimes glowing and velvety cascades—more so pronounced than the ones I had observed in finally linking kaskade's unique electronic sound to his name—probably because rather than having come from a synthesizer, it was Beyoncé's naturally unnatural voice—and by unnatural, I only meant that it was such a singularity that divinity itself had to have put her hands into allowing such a phenomenon to exist.

I had indeed fallen In love with the talent and aura of this too-perfect southern belle—but one doesn't simply aspire to be Beyoncè at the ripe old age of 30; a lifetime of dedication to artistry could only result in such an immaculate perfection in performance—perfection I humbly honored, but tried my best not to crave.

[CC, on the brink of being BLŪ but not having yet arrived in the true belief of her own accomplishments or potential. emotionally stuffs her face unforgivingly with Oreo cookies; a silent, friendly ghost, the ghost of the late great COOKIE MONSTA seats himself softly beside her on the bed. Another guardian Angel.]

What up, Cookie Monster.

I Am Cookie Monster— ugh—

[Realizing she is once again confronted with a ghost DJ, after having been visited by Avicii and I_O now years earlier, but still an ever-present memory.]

COOKIE MONSTA?!

[He shrugs as she stuffs another cookie in her mouth, literally overflowing with cookie and reeling in the discomfort of double-stuffiness.

Ughhhhh—I cant feel my face.

I can't feel anything.

Consider yourself lucky.

I consider myself ‘dead'

Yeah, me too.

Well, you shouldn't.

Says the ghost.

Youre the gh0st.

Oh yeah, huh…

[he shrugs and nods]

Huh. Yeah right.

But it seemed like I would never make dubstep—working two jobs, riding the bus—and despite my sweet tooth, my shrinking waistline and quest for physical perfection in the peak of my absolute loneliness, distrust for the world, and disdain for the injustice of society. All it seemed like I did really have that was mine, was deadmau5 blasting through my ears at any given moment as my dirty little secret—Oreos, my synestetic facination with Beyoncé, and, of course, one of the best athletic clubs in the world at my disposl, given that I had the time or energy to use it.

Altogether self-serving, señf-soothing, and best of all self loathing—navigating life had become more outwittinglu experiencing infinite death thsn not—an endless ego death in the confines of my own limitations and judgements. I had put myself in a shelf entirely—and now, I didn't know what I was writing for, but I was still writing. Even without making music, music seemed to make itself out of the words that could connect with my broken and tired spirit in whatever synchronization it took to type out a song, or a novel, or a suicide letter, or a screenplay—whatever it was. I didn't know.

And…

‘It doesn't matter.

COOKIE MONSTA fades away into the reminiscent whisper of a ghost, as CC falls asleep, hugging a pillow and still clutching an Oreo in one hand and her crystals in the other. The room spins as she fades into the dreamworld, lost in her self and the world within.

Might be a saint,

But the back doors open and

The oven's on so,

I won't close it,

If it gets too warm, you know

I'll want you to hold me

I might be lonely

I might be lonely

I might be

(((A)))

S-s-s-superstar,

Where are ye?

Real nice car,

A mazzarati you bought me

High speed dodging the paparazzi

I got to be lucky

I got to be the lucky one

We sure are lucky, aren't we

Darling, you're sparking

Park this thing

Spark me up

Let's party

What are we?

S-s-s-superstars,

Yeah

Red carpet party

Set the alarm,

No harming a full carbon body

Yah

You want this blonde fawning for your autograph?

Or you want me?

What are we—

Let's party;

Just us three

Right here in the lobby

Oh my god,

That's just raunchy

Stop to talk

The audacity

Or night at the odyssey

Whichever one

Haunts me less awfully

C'mon! We don't follow the models!

They follow me!

What the Fuck

Kind of husband

Does this

1x1 = nothin

The marriage was loveless

But honest,

I'd honor it over another,

And that was the start of

Another concept album

FADE TO BLUE

TO BE CONTINUED.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

It must be the end of the world;

I'm not leaving

Must be the end of my time;

I'm not breathing

Somebody tell me who I Am ;

I'm bleeding;

Don't feed me,

The needy—

I'm fiending for freedom,

Believe me

Impeccably professional.

Are we playing the fame game again?

‘What's my name?'

–-we never stopped playing.

Well, here it goes then.

These guys are gonna rip me apart.

Oh, you wish.

I did wish.

Don't waste a wish on this,

Just get some whippets,

Disinterest admittedly

Skittish, with good intentions;

Poignant, and probably proper,

By now;

How did I manage to have found

My way up from the ground?

Was once a seed,

But never planted

JESUS CHRIST.

He died.

He very died.

Right.

Remember the time Liquid Stranger–

–was it liquid stranger–

Yes

…I'm not writing that.

don't worry, guys,

I won't click twice,

I'm just trying to find

The commonalities,

Between these celebrities and

Whatever's happening to me

“WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?”

I screamed from within, my palms unscathed and yet twisted with excruciating pain, as the tears rolled from down my eyes and i hushed the sound of my voice so that the man in the other room wouldn't hear me.

Okay. that shit hurt.

It did hurt.

It hurt a lot.

I'm not Jesus,

I don't wanna be Jesus.

JESUS.

Well, fuck that memory.

What about this one:

WELCOME TO THE ILLUMINATI.

Oh.

WE HAVE SKRILLEX.

oh no.

Or, had him.

what .

Where is he?

How would I know.

You should know.

I don't, tho.

Well, dammit.

They sure are friendly.

Yeah, too friendly.

HEY—HEY LADY!

Uhm, Excuse me.

HEEEEEY

Nope, not today.

What are you evading?

“The Fame Game.”

I'm not playing.

Aw, come on.

NO.

Come on!

NO. I Always get picked off, or die on drugs–or get hot flashes, it's awful.

Pleeeasee–

NO. Stop asking me.

Oh, so I die in a plane crash.

Yeah.

Ok. You die in a bathtub. Stay away from me.

[ceases to exist]

Couldn't fake it

Not even fora secod,

Not even for a condo;

On the 25th floor of the Circa Apartments

I'm being honest,

“Lost in Los angeles”

Like Donkey Kong and Mario Cart rolled into one

I'm the controller

On the contrary, darling

You're all of it,

The ending and the start of it

A Star amongst the Walk

(Against The Hall of It)

We're Always Watching.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Absolute nakedness in the deep and hidden jungle,

Darkened and wrapped in the twisted trunks of trees, roots reaching through depths beyond the mark of time or human eye; we are bonded and bound, bodied and blissful in primal, uninhibited, natural and divine consummation; the power of love become light…

From the tip of my tongue, to the head of my swollen and wet, throbbing clitoris, I need you—only you. To taste, to touch—to slide my fingertips so sensually against your torso, your chest; to kiss, to lick and caress your neck, your chin—to nibble and suck on each part of you which calls for it—saving my favorite thing to savor last, with the lips that beg to glide against the smooth and standing tip of your perfect penis; a spiraled tongue awaits the taste of you—a deep throat longing to be coaxed and relaxed, jaw stretched to allow all of you—swallowed whole in the pleasure that is for both you, and I; needing to taste your essence, Sucking and soothing with the wet and witted workings of a mouth made for pleasure—all of your sweet cum to my tongue, a delight; I leave not a drop but still keeping you with kisses, awakened and erect.

The pleasure I seek is not to be given, but to give—I would take honor to mend you, by love.

Holding you against all of me—letting you slip inside, I press you deeper, harder—our centers colliding, grinding and gliding where my motion meets your thrusts—toes clenched and hands grasping at the hinges of what holds you to me; I bite your lip as it quivers to moan, and I shudder as your voice creeps into the crevices of my ears to lather the pleasurful sound of your desire.

May I press my gentle lips against the skin of your neck—the flesh of your chest—the way of your waistline, and downward; until I find the eye of a wonderfully welcome worm, illuminated by lustful and devilish luck; a tongue to taste and tease awaits giving, what only it wants, and what only it needs to give.

For tongues to twist, talking as the birds we once were, a language of love shared to taste each other.

Your heart

It hurts

It beats

So much

To feel

You whole

Awake

I am

It needs not to last long, as it already has been an eternity since last and first we met; I've kept your presence with me in good graces, and followed with fury, the tracks left hidden by the mark of you—my third eye gleams with the magical wrath of the music from which I was made; the devil lurks from the balcony as I blindly tilt and sway to the motion which moves me, written in hollow tones sent below to heaven's origins—I would not find God anywhere, if not in myself; I would not find you anywhere, except for out of me. I cannot unlove you as I've asked to unlove—I cannot unmake you, as you wish to be unmade. Care keepeth faiths that holds a bond to love—as whether or not I will hold you, is still to come. I am love—and will always be love—you are mine, and will always be mine—no matter the life you keep. I am, as you are—everything and nothing in an instant—an instance which makes thought to form extistence of entire worlds, beyond ours—beyond this, and above you and I—infinity becomes itself, and I am I.

It needs not be known, the depths of truth with which have been made for me to come to know of you—all of my knowing now is that it is needed.

I remember best, the time we spent as birds, and the lifetime to follow; as birds we were two of a kind—the perfect pair—lovers as we were, lovers as we are.

Oh, my God.

I know.

I can't finish.

Aha—

Don't say anything.

I met you at The Ninth Gate…

I don't think this is a good idea.

It's a fine idea.

I really don't know.

Then shut up.

Obsession, Lust—

Thr delicate balance between

Genius, and Madman

What do I look like to you?

…a movie star.

What is that?

A movie star.

I didn't hear you!

A movie star!

I wanted to tell you this in person…

If you go any further, there's no going backs

There's no going back anyway.

CHAUNCEY STREET, BROOKLYN. NY.

A knock at the door.

ALEX lets our a deep sigh and places her phone down on the table; she opens the door. Her face is flush.

Hey.

Hey.

[A mysterious man] lets himself in.

Did you talk to her.

Yeah.

Is she still in New York.

Yeah. She's still in New York.

Brooklyn?

I don't know.

‘You don't know'

I don't know.

—but she's here.

In the city? Yeah!

Okay.

[the mysterious man] sets a stuffed white envelope on the table]

Here.

Wun Jimerlilly Fallerlallonms

Oo00h.

TW0 Jimmerlilly Fallerlallonms

*GASP*

WhT! TW0 JiMmeRLiLly FaLleRlaLloNms?!?

Jyus!

JYES.

—nerr.

My god.

Yea captain.

S/he speaks perfect Skrillex.

3/10

Room 208

2:30 pm

I just want to be okay again

I just want to live in LA again

I just want to play again

No Vacancy,

No Vacation,

No veneration or compensation for commissioner;

No doctors for the patients

A saint,

But seeking minimum wage

And simple certain stakes

I got on the wrong train

And still ended up in the right place

Long nights make for

Nice days

I carried a distinct memory of this day, and so there had to have been something important about it— least I thought, or perhaps even hoped, that there was maybe something good and special just around the corner, as it had been hard and bad for so long, that in the very least I knew that it couldn't get worse-that I had somehow hit rock bottom again so quickly that it was indeed possible that I would spring up just as quickly, which I realized was a brighter outlook than I had even expected at best, and a start at most. While inwardly I was devastated, I was at least able to suffice a calm facade, which Luke had commended me on, despite his various other psychological tricks and quips, as it seemed everything had been a test with him—but then, nearly everything was a puzzle or a challenge, not that I minded—but the latest installation of superfluous hazing, which was (at least by google'ssuggestion, somewhat even seemingly supernatural had been a first handed look into the srufff of nightmares, white america's predominately black non-solution to the housing crisis which they had caused, and furthermore, a test in my own mental strength and wits—a reminder of every reason and more why I had left my previous life behind—it's trials neither worth writing about, nor remembering, however, it's effects a tragic scar on my psyche, however unremarkable the result.

It only hurts to think about a lot,

And so I don't,

It's just a rock, really

Going on a walk through Central Park ia not an option.

Neither a mother, nor father,

Nor mirror;

Here I'm sitting at the harbor

Nonchalant as God would ever want to be

And conscious, yet unconscious—

Nodding off again,

I'll know it when it's time to talk again

(To talk again)

Pause

What.

Remember what AlwaZ said.

Uh.

ALWAZ

AKA -THE ILLUMINATI

You're a genius.

SUPACREE

Yeah, thank you.

ALWAZ

Listen, you're famous—!

SUPACREE

When is this?

New York City is probably absolutely the worst place in the world to be, if you don't want to be there. Hands down worst place ever.

And I mean—I was stranded in Mexico with no money for a couple months, and that shit sucked—but it wasn't like “kill yourself” bad.

New York gets craaaazy.

I was on the subway and this dude was just listening to that one The Weekend Song over and over on loop.

The funny thing is.

I don't remember which The Weekend song it was— but you play any one of his songs on loop and you tell me if that man is okay.

He's not okay.

I heard it's a chemical imbalance

Whatever that is

Is has to be

Obviously,

Cause they said it is,

Cause they said so,

So it is, isn't it?

Sunni bLums pDisxses

It's my favorite troll doll!

Ah! Real monsters!

I don't use Travelocity!/

Get back on my front lawn, motherfucker!

Hey, it's Daniel Dipshit!

Who the fuck is “Daniel?”

You're Daniel, Dipshit!

Why “Daniel?!” Dipshit—why not just

Cause you don't even know your own name, Dipshit!

[sprays with hose]

WTF ARE YOU DOING.

I don't like licking the sour stuff off, I just want the sweet stuff!

Oh, do you?

Don't be gay.

DJ Magic Kenny

Where's Dillon Francis.

He's not here.

Where is he?

I fired him.

You what?

I fired him.

When?!

This morning.

You can't fire him! He's half the show!

Just—one date.

No.

Sunni, come on.

No! I'm not dating Diplo.

What?! Why not?!

He's too pretty.

PUT A SHIRT ON.

GODDAMNIT, SHUT UP.

OWSLA places a TRUTH SPELL on SUNNI BLU/ which results in her being outed as SUPACREE.

Nooooo.

YES.

TABLOIDS

Mwahaha

PAPARAZZI

MWAHAHAHAJA

TMZ

MWAHAHAHAJA

ILUMINATI

-_-

Great. You pissed off the Illuminati.

I am the Illuminati.

Now we're fucked.

What don't you get about this: I am in control.

[a cannonball flies through the window]

I told you.

Holy shit, what is THIS.

It's a cannonball.

A fucking cannonball! W0W.

It says something.

What's it say

The cannonball reads:

“You're so fucked.”

“You're so fucked.

W0W.

Nice.

I told you.

No, I told you.

“I'm in control!”

I write in canon! It's a stretch, but it'll do! Keep up.

You wrote this?

I wrote everything!

The next level

Timmy's Turn up

When I talk

Hi, I'm Ū

Offenbach

4U

Heart over height,

Head over heels,

Mind over matter—

I don't want to fight you.

We have to.

No, we don't.

We're going to.

But we've already—

That doesn't matter.

It matters to me.

I am you.

Then it matters to you!

That's—not what I meant.

C'esme't.

I'm gonna go.

You're leaving?!

The quarrel's tomorrow.

No it isn't!

Yes it is.

Call it off!

No. Its tradition.

But—

?

[I love you]

Goodnight.

She heads for the door.

[I love you too.]

Unspoken words

In the hurt of the war of the worlds

You come first,

Then unearth I become in the force of the storm

Where were you, before this?

What I was, I assure you was unsure, at first

Now, it's just

Another record

So it works forward, and back

Of course

Back—and forth…

Yes.

This is marvelous.

Well, it's yoursz

I can't take this.

You're not taking it; I'm giving it to you.

What for?

For traveling, of course!

But I'm not going anywhere…

What is this.

It's a DJ.

Oh, wow, nice.

Yeah.

Where'd you get it?

I found it.

Oh, wow.

Yeah.

Where?

It was just—on the ground.

On the ground?

Yeah.

Oh.

MORPHEUS

You know what?

What is it?

MORPHEUS

…nevermind.

AMY POHLER

…I think this is a bad idea.

TINA FEY

It's a good idea.

AMY POHLER

I think it's bad.

TINA FEY

Have another shot.

[she does]

AMY POE—whatever

It's a really bad idea!

TINA FEY

OKAY, LETS GO.

Pan out to JIMMY FALLON standing awkwardly in silence in the shadows behind them.

JIMMY FALLON

I'm coming too.

OH MY GOD.

what the [BLEEP]

How long have you been standing there.

The whole time.

No you haven't

No you weren't.

You're so—WEIRD.

I'm coming with you.

No

NO.

Yes. I'm coming with you.

No—

—wait—

No!

Jimmy, do you think this is a good idea, or a bad idea.

[beat]

It's the worst idea ever.

HA!

NO—it's GOOD.

I TOLD YOU.

You're not coming.

He's coming. With. (hiccups) us.

Yes.

UGH

*takes shot*

UGH

[BLEEP]

It's the worst idea ever—

NO UT ISNT.

—it's a really bad idea.

You need me.

Ew.

We need him therr—uhh

Yes.

[beat]

Fine.

YES.

But don't say anything

C'ESME'T

Petrutheio…

PETRUTHEIO

You should go.

If you are what you eat

Then I'm nuts and bananas

but sometimes

I'm even a hero

But that's neither here nore there, no.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Jumpin Jumpin, Destiny's Child

DLAXKBACK: SEASON 5

June 4th, 2021

XS NIGHTCLUB, LAS VEGAS NEVADA

See, I told you.

There they go.

I guess.

Alright, where's Rick?

He's here— I can smell him.

That's—

There he is.

Mmm.

Stop lookin nervous—

I don't like this.

Alright, that's good ^.^

Okay. Let's find this portal.

Damn.

Huh.

Last time I was here, it was to see—

Don't say Skrillex—

—It was to see Skrillex.

Fuck you dude.

——-ahhhhh——!!!!!!

GET IN THE SHIP.

—I AIN'T SIGNING SHIT—

YOU SHALL NOT PASS!!!!!

[WAPPING]

alright, that's it!

GOD!!!

That's not my name.

(It is.)

—-what?

Where are you going?

...We're going camping.

All of us?

ALL OF US.

Oh, shit!

Get IN THE SHIP.

Woah.

NOW!

—-

Ugh.

Oooof.

Bad.

Get up.

Ummm...who are you?

Get up, you have to perform.

Perform for WHAT?

Come on, dude—

—okay, first of all—

Uh huh

[A SUPERSTAR DJ] experiences the dance floor..

...As a fan.

But (I got nervous) what I meant to say, was

DILLON FRANCIS is stuck in SUPACREE's body, and vice versa.

She must perform in his place.

Stop it, man.

I have an itch, I'm gonna scratch!

Not the ink.

What is it?

Don't touch it.

Don't touch it.

DON'T TOUCH THAT—

—OR, DO. ‍♀️

. . .

...I don't know.

What do I do?

Push the button.

Which button, Gerald?!

The PLAY button.

You're a DICK

It's ROUND—

—what, your di—?!

—NO, the BUTTON.

WHICH FUCKIN BUTTON.

Ooh, I got one.

[the Motherf*ckers are fuck hunting]

It appears as though they lost all their fucks—

DILLON FRANCIS has plenty, because

“Chandelier”

Lol.

Pop.

Bang.

Ooh.

Oh. My God.

What. Wake up. We're here.

Im addicted

It's lit lit

Getting lifted

Gifted shapeshifters sit in

While I disintegrate my disinterest

What is this?

You're in it

Did I mention I made you a sandwich,

It's still in my kitchen

Oh shit, the—

“That's The Tallest Skrillex I've Ever Seen”

Oh wow, tall.

Never thought about that

Thump thumps—

Where'd they come from?

This is nuts:

What is this.

This is earth.

No.

What is your life's, what is your life

Where is your wife

And why can't I get this shot right

Right on time? Right?

That's the guy, right?

Might be—

It might be time- Tame Impala

I don't know, but I'm down for the night

Going wild for the

I

I

I forgot my line, like:

Try to write an album on the dance floor

All these lines, VI—what's that for?

I'm free from, call me kudi I'm reborn

Call me Lynard Skinnard. I'm a freebird

Oh please—

You got me weak in the knees

Bitch please

What are teeth?

Take me out to chuckle cheese

Tell me what your disease is,

It's easy

I'm a pleasure,

I'll teach you

Now let me get a drink

Before I speak truth

OH MY GOD. I love His fandom so much.

Love the fandom, cause I am one

Call me Katy imma go dumb

Call me carnage, with a green thumb

Drop the Bass up In Your face,

I call it thump thumps

What's for lunch

Let's get drunk

Don't make me go pop the trunk!!!

Oh YOU!

YOU!

YOU!

What's wrong with him,

What'd they do to him.

What's—wait.

Look at that face.

That is not the face of a free man.

I'm a trash can.

Yeah, well...that.

Who's his master?

I am.

What!?

Goddamn!

I did that.

What is that? A sandwhich?

Just have half.

WHOOOP-WHOOP!

What! Whoop whoops?! It's MUCH too earty for Whoop Whoops!

Far too early.

Where's Chak Chel?

oh my God!!

Who's this LADY?!

I'm in VIP

Give me a sip

I'm gonna get lit, eat chips with Chak Chel and then dip

“What is this sauce?”

It's ranch, dipshit.

You're an ass

NAH, I'm A PIÑATA.

Bitch, I'm the boss,

I wanna get lost in my thoughts,

But I'm lost in the box

I'm a rockstar, rockstar games. Or maybe

Okay this:

He has a man purse. I like him.

What's going on?!!!!

He has a man purse, we like him

He has a man purse, we like him

He has a man purse, we like him

He has a man purse—

GET THAT S#iT

BAMPHER:

—You're in.

I'm in VIP

OH YOU FUCKIN WANNA BE

LOOK AT MEEEEEE

IM MR—

There's Rick.

Mx. Meesinks.

Hi—I'm—

Get this bitch

[picture of SUPACREE/SKRILLEX/a whatthefuck]

Yesssiiirrreeee

Don't call me sir.

SIR

And—

SERVANT

Wait, there's more?

SCRIBE/DARK LORD

There's always more—

SIR

Aaanddd—I would like to be called “sir”

SERVANT

Excuse me?

SIR

Call me sir.

Third eye itching,

Let me stop and take a picture

Switch it

Feeling wishy washy,

Kinda bitchy, kinda bossy—

Where the party at?

you lost me.

Where the fuxk I park my car—

It couldn't be that far—

I—

I—

I—

I—

— I woke up on a farm

God.

WW

U D

IM ABOUT TO DO WHAT JESUS WOULDNT DO

(Yes, I would.)

Whoop whoop!!

—Nope, still too early.

OMG look.

Birds!

Becky, Becky, Sarah—

Oh, there's Sarah!

Wow, Nancy's recovering well, yeah?

[NANCY, freshly out of her neck brace; attends her first show since “the incident”—after breaking her neck to EXCISION, her friends agree that DILLON FRANCIS will be a safe bet.]

Damn, people don't give any type of fuxk whatsoever.

Nope.

[drinks]

So what do we do?

Have a drink.

I'm a robot, now

No home, no soul

I'm a robot now,

No friends, no phone

I'm a robot now

And I'm always all alone

I should be proud

but I'm a robot now

{mixes with A.A., iambic}

What is reality?

That's not dancing.

Let's just—no.

No, l—no

What the fuxk.

What the FUXK!!!

How did he get here?!

Look at him.

No, don't look.

(Don't look at me.)

Don't look at him.

Aww.

GET UP DILLON, it's time to go!

What is time??

WHAT THE FOOOOOO1–

posaqwwwwwwwwww——

GADDAAAAAAQAAAMN!!!!

STAAAAAAHHHHP.

Goddammit, what are you doing here?!

Everybody's here.

Nah.

Nah.

[everybody is there.]

Nah.

Got this catatonic obsession,

Shoulda learned my lesson,

There's a learning curve to everything;

You finally taught me something

Floor is so sticky, I can't even sit and meditate

Can't even find the space to write this

My mistake, not my guy, I guess?

My idol, maybe friend?

I know those eyes inside of mine each time I see them

So what is freedom?

So that's it,

There's no love left

It's just money and sex

No new friends

So that means

No new beginning—

And at the very least no new enemies—

Please

Gerald!

Damn, you're hot.

Okay, knock it off

I got it.

I got it.

I told you this would happen.

Doesn't it always?

“Follow the eye”

Or just DONT

Time to go.

I love that song.

I almost wore that shirt;

I love that song!

I am that song.

What.

I think I need a day, or forever, maybe

To get away

Time flies when you fast;

I just danced my last dance,

Thanks, Dillon Francis.

Now when I meditate and pray I can ask

GODDAMN, what the fuck was that about

Now where in the fuck is my hat,yeah

Grab that piñata,

Let's look at the map,

Maybe tonight, imma get in a fight

These white girls are like

DANE COOK

“MINE”

Pelicans

MINEMINEMINE

Hot Vollyball Girls:

MINE.

Alright, that's enough.

No, stay here.

What the fuck.

NO, STAY HERE.

Okay, I—guess.

NO, STAY HERE.

Fuxk, the watchers.

I thought they didn't want me here.

He doesn't care?!

Clearly—

Clearly nothing—! Gather more evidence!

What in the world do you want from me?

What in the world do you want from me?

What in the world do you want from me?

S Ū P ∆ ⓒ Я E E.™

He's a very handsome man, the full package

She's actually a retired dancer, turned rapper;

The trash can and last kandi handler,

Handed a band to a fan, that's reality shattering yeah

What happens after?

Back to camp, I guess.

SWIPER

Aww, maaaan.

I just wanna hold hands with a piñata, but I can't;

I just want the answers to the questions I asked, answered, but nah.

Have you seen my left arm?

It's self harm, and it's just harmless, a charm—

All I did was send magic to that man,

Laughed under my mask, but haven't had a chance to love again since the last man banned me from having ‘happy';

So I can't handle this thirst trap,

I reverse that Mantra from can't to

Yea I can,

Now,

Where is Pan at?

Ask Hanzel After, actually,

Scratch that,

I said I'd never turn my back on him, but

Here's my butt and my backpack.

I'll see you at Bass Camp,

Or a Mansion,

Or @ a mention,

And thanks for the graduation,

I hate my name, and I'm famous, maybe

But hey,

I just want someone to know me,

I'm really lonely,

I owe money to every agency,

The governments enslaving me by my name and a paycheck.

I've written albums, but haven't gotten paid yet;

I wrote a novel, about a man I'm willing to say I've never met,

Cause I respected him—

And the Sadness Never Ends,

I made a fandom out of friends,

How it ends is with a pen and paper, I guess

My hands on the decks, I'm just an ambidextrous sexually ambiguous DJ bitch;

And Dillon Francis is my favorite producer, cause

I'm just a loser who refuses to lose it,

Enough to end the pollution and politicians who use us for getting richer

I snap a picture, no movement.

So even though I wanted to, I didn't—

No pictures, no press releases and no random bitches;

I just saw him in a vision, and at least ten astral projections,

Got a circle of protection, a lesson,

Cause now I'm branded and stressing

OWSLA kicked me out,

CAuse I'm a Cow,

But I can also be an owl

I'm growling now, I'm on the prowl for anyone to let me out, I'm trapped

And down, cause he's out of my league,

And I like him now.

I needed it to be a leap year, but it wasn't , and although I was expecting a small amount of money on the 3rd, I had to depart lik/ on the first, and though I had roughly 4 days remaining in my stay, it had started to feel like the beginning of the end, from about the night before and into the morning, waking up sick and sore and most of all tired and hungry

A Free Vegan is a term used to describe a person who practices veganism, but still may moderately consume some animal products sparingly, such as collagen, honey, or other products medicinally or as supplementary nutrition; this Vegan might wear leather, use products or materials derived from animals for convenience, functionality, or economic reasons

Girl with the tattoo Miguel

“A Walkthough Central Park”

I'm on a regimen of vitavitavitamin,

I need some anescrptoc and some aneceptomen

Medicine man and an antiseptic

A bed to rest my head I, some bread

Some peanut butter for my jelly

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.