niagara falls.

Collection II - ‘antithesis.

Track 12. - ‘niagara falls'

Prod By Blū Tha Guru

[Previously on L E G E N D S: Enter The Multiverse}

Baby's all right Brooklyn

Pretty little palace of disaster

Pretty little patterns of —

Whatever

Tantrums, smashing Jack o lanterns

Shadows,

Hands that attach to the strings

Allowing them to dance into dreams

It seems these sacred places

Have been ravaged

And

I have not been running

But I don't have any money

Wise than that

It's less than zero

Negatives

I want to kill myself again

Honestly, I see a way out it just

Requires being tortured

By people coughing.

And motorcycles

I might have seen my son for the last time

At age five

It's finally warm outside

And everything's just

Reminding me

I'm struggling with poverty

Nothing really matters cause I don't belong here

Everything is wrong

I just want blonde hair,

Hurry up, God

Assist me with a suicide

I can take pride in

Not an attempt, but

The only success I'll ever have

At anything

At all

-El Al

Nothing moves the same

After an unrequited love becomes a tragedy

Or just a movie scene

I want to scream for needing to be needed

Then again

Could die just to be dead

Could go back

To just be blacklisted

Or a crackhead

Doing magic tricks

Pass

I couldn't have ever imagined

This fascination as of late

Or making trance

But anything can happen

With the light switches on and off

As the kite catches headwinds

Or hedwig is getting bigger by the minute

That just grows out of his head,

But I wish it was a wig

Like Kristen

Pass

Yes.

Breathe deep into my lungs,

These scenes of things

So evil seeming, even to me

Lucidity becomes as dreamily

Eerie, intermittently meaningless,

And then suddenly,

However much later,

Maddeningly attractive,

As I am, in fact

Attached to this project

As menacingly handsome and devilish as he is

I've decided, it's manageable, but clashes with my

Moral standards and clasps with fabrications

Lay hands on me and see what happens!

—-okay…

“Okay”

Pass!

I asked to be a rockstar and showrunner

On the same blood soaked candles

I took blood oaths

Dancing in front of the fountain

At rockafeller plaza, to no applause,

Of course,

Drinking monsters nonstop,

Ontop of my skateboard

I came back late to Boston

And took a plane to Vegas early the next morning

But somewhere deep in my Google Drive or documents

Is me under a neon sign,

Which reads a name I resigned from saying

Until maybe I get signed

I hate him, but hey,

The name of the game is Mating Season,

And lately I've been craving eggs and

Mayonnaise instead of protein shakes and

Crayons

Wax on, wax off…

Pass, but that last sentence didn't make sense

It did.::

Oh,

Yes, it did.

Promise.

You do some stupid shit.

Okay, so I do stupid shit.

Believe me, you do some stupid shit.

Okay, I believe you.

Don't believe me when I tell you things like that.

What the fuck, Patrick, do you mean, even?

I mean what I mean, but usually just—

For me.

I am you, I thought.

Exactly: don't believe me.

Okay? I don't believe you…

Just—believe me. Believe me.

Oh dang. So there really is no “Jimmy Fallon”

No, there isn't it's just—

Poor little Jimmy Fallon…

What if—

There is no “if”.

Nobody has to ‘agree' to this project

Sign the terms of agreement

For what.

You'll see..

stupid little bitch.

*squints*

What did you just say.

(Walking away, mumbling)

Nothing!

Fucking idiot.

What did you just say?!

(Yelling)

I said you're a fucking idiot, Fallon! You're a fucking lDi0T:

Well, okay.

lol NBC is not gonna let this fly at all.

No, Jimmy, you cannot do this project.

Well, that's alright. I quit.

You can't quit. You have a contract.

I don't—I'm out of my contract:

On what grounds?!

Conflict of interest!

That's my say, isn't it?

Is it?

MORGUE.

I bought a network!

MY NAME IS—

MAaaa!!

WHATTTTTTT.

The show's on!

[A Cold Open]

L E G E N D S

{Enter The Multiverse}

Fuck this kid. I'm gonna kill him.

Kill what. Who.

FALLON. GET IN HERE.

Ah. [explitive]

[‘THE FALLON' gets ‘FALLONED' by ELLEN DEGENERES]

ELLEN

YES.

FINALLY, I'm in this bitch.

[And other members of ‘THE HOSTS COLLECTIVE', a high ranking team in the ILLUMINATI FOREFRONT]

Well, not in the way I'm sure you'd hoped, but.

Shutthefuckup!

Oh wait—is she

Is it “she”

Is she a lesbian?!

What's the “Illuminati”—

We'll get back to that later.

No! gross!

Portia Derossi!

Huh?

I want to be that pretty!

Well, okie.

MEANWHILE,

In my actual own age group…

I'm older than all these hosts, anyway!

Even Leno?

Isn't he dead already?!

Exactly!

EVEN STEVENS

[BEANS is now VEGAN]

Why is vegan capitalized.

Cause it's important.

Hey buddy!

Don't call me buddy. I'm edging on 40.

Time flies when you're—

Rapidly aging?

I brought you some bacon.

You what:

It's farm fresh!

Kooldjredalert

Lie to me

Try to sleep

(In my arms, won't you)

Try to keep the

Time with

My heart

Beat

(Heavenly)

I've been living in your world for just over a month, now.

I'm sorry, Fallon.

That must be awful.

Not too sorry—

Some of this stuff is good.

Just, priceless.

Wouldn't trade it for the world.

But I've hung my head in shame,

Cause I hung myself with gratitude,

Haven't you had enough?

If it makes any difference at all,

And I'm betting it does

All I wished for a wanted and prayed

Was for you to be happy

I buy burners with trackers

Put burn holes in sweaters

The summit at the plummet, pulling forwards

And backwards

I've four words for parlors,

For barbers and hatchets

I bury the four suns,

The moon arose after

I left an Oscar on your alter this morning

Never shall ye rest,

Haven't ever then,

Paid the tythe,

And for the while,

Immortal wife and lover,

Mother daughter,

Soon to call your name and number,

However,

The fall from the drop of polish,

Of course, oil marks upon canvases

Sickness and swells of my

Hands upon your corset

Could you collide with another?

Doubtful, to that,

So shall it must be

List, but never to utter

A mustard seed;

Ground, then unground—

As if planted,

Simple,

As the seed of laughter

So then, would you

By the turn of the hour,

return to the one had you called

Lover,

A curse upon the

Coerced and responsible

A blonde,

But worse,

A pretty one

For never after happens out of nowhere

Now,

Dissociate,

Before I dissipate of

Loneliness

Hark,

The door opens for one,

A bold soldier to come,

Listen lover,

The stone has been

Suspended, by the mirror

In terror

Alarmed,

Cool you are now

Calm, however

Not abound to be lie

Or below

Bound by blood

There you are

In excelsior,

Predecessor

What would you want that for—

The camera obscured;

Why,

If only,

To look upon you

Plastered and enlarged

As you are

Endangered in my imagination

A dangerous and strange,

Dangling addiction

Fascination, now

With power,

And prowess

Come now,

The midnight hour is upon us

[his body hung from the rafters above the studio, just one lamp left aglow—and then suddenly I had awakened, his body still and resting, sleeping quietly—although the hanged man burned into my mind; I left him quietly as I could in the loft and sat with nothing in my mind at all at the canvas, brush in hand, as if I were to draw something—but could not. It was almost as if I was frozen, or even perhaps the canvas were instead a mirror, and I the painting —though I could not know. My dearest Patrick was a broken man, and I his broken lover—the both of us an atrocity at all in shambles—I wept inwardly but not outward, as not to wake him as my tears often did, even from a deep sleep. The sun was far from rising, and though I had barely slept at all, I felt I would never sleep again—I fell at my tilted alter as the sun rose, in prayer and devastation; What had I done?]

—Esha's Memoirs, the journals from The Altar

You know what, kid—

You've got something.

I don't know what it is,

But it's something.

Kid? Aren't we like, the same age?

No.

I'll tell you what I've got

I've got a seven year old kid I haven't seen in two years;

I've got a sink full of dishes

I've got credit card debt and school loans

I've got racist neighbors,

An ex husband who swears he never hit me

With a brand new baby

I've got

Extreme back pain

I've got a body only God could ever love

And I've got something like

10,000 pages or more

Of stuff I barely remember writing

Just sitting in the Google algorithm

Pushing me closer and closer to suicide

Every single day

I've got

Sexual fantasies about celebrities for no given reason at all.

I've got

800 songs that are just words

I've got books I want to read just— sitting there

And I've got this pain

That just sits inside my soul

That never goes away, ever

I've got something, alright.

I've got something, sure

But when it comes to money

I got a dollar

One fucking dollar

And you know what I call that?

-Useless.

She's dead, isn't she?

You guessed it.

Well, what am I supposed to do?

What you always do.

What is that?

What is that?

Swear of the palm d ore

I Cannes,

Atop the Eiffel

You are the river that crosses my eye,

The scar across my heart,

The Eye, is

All we are

And all is one;

One is all,

And All are One

Well, I'm quite nervous.

Don't be nervous, at all, Johnny. Relax.

Another John—my first, in fact.

Indeed,

I was once relentlessly obsessed

With Johnny Depp

Infatuated, if you will

Whatever you want to call it.

Of course,

For a teenaged girl, however

This sort of obsession was somewhat normal

Somewhat.

I had always wanted to star in movies—

So much so that I began to write them.

I was about 7, maybe 8 when the stories in my headed started to form as narratives—

Not just stories, but words

Characters and conversations—

Plots.

I should leave this poor Fallon boy alone.

Some darkness inside of me wants him;

That thing that doesn't quiet, nor does it want,

Anything but what it wants—

And it is,

Darkness-m—

That thing that lives inside of me and what is does;

The thing it calls love, and calls our for

The something in someone that rises it up

From wherever it dwells,

Deep in my soul, and into my hear,

Into my thoughts,

It haunts all that I must and mustn't

Ponder upon

A woman's cause,

And a murderer of sorts,

The ugly swan , who dances on ponds,

Laying one one, but all of precious stones,

The egg,

The coveted stones of trust,

And wander,

Listing upon that which it feeds,

Not only the bod,

But its motor,

It's mind,

A hearty philosopher,

And willful warrior,

Of wit,

And of talent,

The strength of

Astonishment

A power above all,

A blindness of fate;

Judged by all

The spectacular amongst us

The famed and the damned,

Acquitted of warmth and dutiful,

Exquisite in awe

A rarity.

—The Fame Files.

V.O.

Coming to terms with one's death is always peaceful.

All harm caused will be returned by he/she who causes it or acts in such a way as to inflict pain and hostility towards peaceful persons.

Causing with intention psychological, physical, mental, or physical harm will result in the immediate karmic retaliation of such pain as inflicted on peaceful individuals; these acts of war will inhibit the actor from entering the transcendence, or developing expanded consciousness, gaining wealth, further material possessions–his own will is therefore weakened, and therefore unworthy of love himself, by the intent to cause one such pain as an act of violence or ill will. One's disruption of peace is thereby an act of cruelty, punishable beyond death–causing pain by intention to another individual in the attempt of control or manipulation, intrusion, and abuse is therefore against the laws by which the ascended abide by, and therefore cannot and will not exist beyond the ill fate of its perpetrator.

Please leave me alone; I'm asking you nicely.

Alright, fine.

Where is it!

Where is what?

You know what.

What?

From the fountain.

It wasn't me! I don't have it.

And this, is why Jimmy Fallon is impenetrable.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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