Someone help me.

What happened.

What's good bro.

I think deadmau5 is my cat.

Nah.

You're serious?

I'm…deadfuckingnserious.

What makes you think that?

[cat is deadmau5]

lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing

All you really want is for like, one man to like ,

Just like you,

But dudes are notorious for like—

Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person?

Like dudes like everyone

They are notorious whoooores.

The like everybody.

The older I get like the worse it gets

Like here's this guy I like

And I pretty much mostly just like him

But then like,

Look at all these girls!

Fuuuuck that!

NICOLE BYER

OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM!

this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it?

NICOLE BYER

Yes it IS.

this might actually be my favorite part of the story.

BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly—

NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere.

HEY DUM-DUM.

JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity.

Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray.

Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision.

Then again, he always seems sort of...

JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip.

Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh.

…content.

It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage.

WHAT THE FUCK!

He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here]

He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—.

THIS IS A LAKE!!!

Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this.

It was delicious.

Yes, it was.

I—

Oh, my god!

Parallels, remember!

No!

(Suddenly eating a burrito)

Your memory sucks!

It has to.

Isn't it all in the culture?

I don't know what you're all on about

Turned it all on, now i'm off, man

Turned it all off, but I laid here for it–

Tuned it around,

And I payed her for it!

How's

That

Now

For an awful apocalypse

All on the top of the grant

And the ground

And the landmine

The top of the mountain

The tip of the iceberg

the tell of the tails

And tails of the sweet custom made to order

Suits and ties

Of course

don't rock the boat

If you know its yours!

JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people.

Isn't it all in the coat tails?

It's toxic, but i've never been a model

Or even wanted, so

What are all the hot blondes at the office on about?

You wanted the host of the talk show,

And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice

and probable cause for your lawsuit,

But in the moment you loved it

So what's everyone on about?

Isn't it all in the cufflinks?

The stuff you don't tell to your home folks;

The homegrown and midwestern corn folks,

Discussing your show over corn flakes?

So what's everyone on about?

Let us just be honest,

I didn't know how deep it was

Until i opened up pandoras box,

And thought,

“What the fuck,

I've found a horxcrux.”

I've found a goldmine,

I've got the fox and the hare all in one here,

What a show host

What a conundrum,

What a construct,

What a hopeless homonid

What a heart to want nothing but

To put the top

Back on the box

And walk away

Unknowing all

Of what I saw

–Middle Days.

There's no Tonight Show where I'm from

No late night,

And no radio hosts

No television,

no songs

No one to lead us on

And then to no where

No one to cut us off

Before the road opens

No one to

Stop us at the railroad enclosures

And no one at all

named Love

Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all

Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse?

Capable and strong?

Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart

And formed a hole

Where all the world will go,

When i'm no longer mourning?

Are you sure you want to–

No.

Not at all?

I already did!

But I saw this thing–

Don't tell me about my death.

But you were there.

That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding–

I wasn't.

But–

Quite possibly everyone and everything around me–

Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever–

But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name–

It isn't–

exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment–

was

everything but me.

But–

Goodbye!

But–

Goodbye, I said!

I told you it was a deathtrap.

That lady is crazy.

I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense.

It doesn't make sense!

It does make sense.

It's just random–gibberish.

Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy!

You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me—

I'm finished listening.

Yeah. I think i've heard about enough.

But you haven't heard anything!

I have now what I needed to know.

But these writings…

We'll take it from here, Jim.

[The suits walk away.]

I hope you're flame retardant.

I ought to be by now, i guess.

Double check your coverage.

How'd that go.

As expected.

At least you expected it.

There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean.

V.O.

I've been working here for over twenty years…

At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything.

[The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.]

I get it

(ripped apart)

He's in the music

away

and carrying with it

–you're on!

A signal,

A ghost–

A sacrifice,

A ritual,

you're on again,

Then off again

The pitter patter of the

dismissive members of

Upper society,

High ranking elitists

And businussmen

whom you admire astonishingly

Despite discomfort,

Whom, happen to no doubt

Disapprove of you by nature

And yet,

Are also drawn

To your own power

Circumstance

Judgement

Morals

Traditions

Honors,

Representatives of the establishment

The state

(no longer a democracy)

Repression–

All in writer's room revisions

What happened?

I haven't kept it safe or sacred

One tear over

Only out the left eye

Listen, the marytr

I opened a death trap
I opened my widened mind

To the unknown and impossible,

Swallowed it whole with the lot of you

I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole

And yet, low and behold

Now, I rise to the top,

And such is known that without the bottom,

The whole log topples over.

Oh wow. I'm famous.

Yes, and?

It kind of hurts.

Eventually that goes away.

What a sensation.

It's always there. You just stop feeling it.

It lingers in on a sunday night,

And at most on the full moon,

no wolves howling;

It sets in in the bunny ears

atop the chatterbox

In the kitchen, where

It outshines us, from the other room

On the radio tower,

Where in time

the vines have climbed

And now flower bloom

In silent golden era tunes,

The tombs of all our knowledge and our light

To fade with every passing hour here

Goodnight, my son

I do not want to know you

Goodbye, my father,

I do not want to rust

And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn

To never known a summer song,

And ponder on the dusk

It lingers deep on Sunday evening,

Setting hard on Monday morn,

and though i write so fond of JImmy

I dare often dream of Lorne

Chapter Four

Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted.

Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose.

Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners.

Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total.

Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty.

Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I.

There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done.

The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth.

They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days.

A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth.

chapter 5

The gifted saint of revelations

“Did he hurt you?”

I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time.

The things I pretend not to know.

“Who?”

Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified

“What happened?”, he persists.

“I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily.

He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood.

“What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace.

In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak.

“He who?”

I can't wake up,

I'm a rockstar

Can't wash it off

And I'm just so high on drugs

That no matter the cost

I just don't want to come down

Don't want to want you anymore

Relax.

Think about it never or none

And wonder what the world becomes when

Weather tides and moon songs are no more

Remember, then the dolphin

And temperament to want what of course

All of us covet

But still, waking up in a dungeon.

What a curse.

Also, however

What a cure, as you wander up

The slithering road that parts

Los Angeles from all the north of her

Southern coast,

If you want specifics

The Pacific is at most

And much admires

Where you are,

No matter how far you wander

I want

I want

I want

And

I get

I get

I get

I'm a rockstar.

Maybe after all those times

Being just the girl that all might have died to have been

And getting mad over it

You wake up to find yourself

A stalker

Who doesn't

Leave the apartment

And just watches the come up

Of the songbird

Who just wishes

She had've gone

To Harvard

Not for law school

But the arts,

You know

You lost a fortune

That wasn't clever

You wrote a hospital long report

And look what you got!

A suffix

And later on an honorary doctorate

But look at Letterman

Hardly recognizable

And after all

The stopwatch just starts over at one

Doesn't it

Doesn't it?

I'm a rockstar

And what you wanted

Was no subtle front

But a surfboard and a ping pong table

Writing your fables in the quiet of the night

With the ocean steady lapping under the docks

And not

Collapsing her whole structure

What a thunderous wave

If you think it's time

Then you haven't caved yet

I offer all the pleasures of the golden science

And as alchemy concerned

Its really only valuable on this planet

As it stands the liquid gold mines here

Haven't budged an ounce—

There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted

With a pungent odor

Or wrongdoing done

And lemonade

To pucker

And to ponder over

S'mores for supper, anyone?

I thought not

-KR.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity.

Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray.

Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision.

Then again, he always seems sort of...

JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip.

Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh.

…content.

It is a pictures and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage.

WHAT THE FUCK!

He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here]

He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—

THIS IS A LAKE!!!

Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this.

It was delicious.

Yes, it was.

I—

Oh, my god!

Parallels, remember!

No!

(Suddenly eating a burrito)

Your memory sucks!

It has to.

Isn't it all in the culture?

I don't know what you're all on about

Turned it all on, now i'm off, man

Turned it all off, but I laid here for it–

Tuned it around,

And I payed her for it!

How's

That

Now

For an awful apocalypse

All on the top of the grant

And the ground

And the landmine

The top of the mountain

The tip of the iceberg

the tell of the tails

And tails of the sweet custom made to order

Suits and ties

Of course

don't rock the boat

If you know its yours!

JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people.

Isn't it all in the coat tails?

It's toxic, but i've never been a model

Or even wanted, so

What are all the hot blondes at the office on about?

You wanted the host of the talk show,

And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice

and probable cause for your lawsuit,

But in the moment you loved it

So what's everyone on about?

Isn't it all in the cufflinks?

The stuff you don't tell to your home folks;

The homegrown and midwestern corn folks,

Discussing your show over corn flakes?

So what's everyone on about?

Let us just be honest,

I didn't know how deep it was

Until i opened up pandoras box,

And thought,

“What the fuck,

I've found a horxcrux.”

I've found a goldmine,

I've got the fox and the hare all in one here,

What a show host

What a conundrum,

What a construct,

What a hopeless homonid

What a heart to want nothing but

To put the top

Back on the box

And walk away

Unknowing all

Of what I saw

–Middle Days.

There's no Tonight Show where I'm from

No late night,

And no radio hosts

No television,

no songs

No one to lead us on

And then to no where

No one to cut us off

Before the road opens

No one to

Stop us at the railroad enclosures

And no one at all

named Love

Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all

Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse?

Capable and strong?

Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart

And formed a hole

Where all the world will go,

When i'm no longer mourning?

Are you sure you want to–

No.

Not at all?

I already did!

But I saw this thing–

Don't tell me about my death.

But you were there.

That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding–

I wasn't.

But–

Quite possibly everyone and everything around me–

Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever–

But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name–

It isn't–

exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment–

was

everything but me.

But–

Goodbye!

But–

Goodbye, I said!

I told you it was a deathtrap.

That lady is crazy.

I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense.

It doesn't make sense!

It does make sense.

It's just random–gibberish.

Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy!

You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me—

I'm finished listening.

Yeah. I think i've heard about enough.

But you haven't heard anything!

I have now what I needed to know.

But these writings…

We'll take it from here, Jim.

[The suits walk away.]

I hope you're flame retardant.

I ought to be by now, i guess.

Double check your coverage.

How'd that go.

As expected.

At least you expected it.

There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean.

V.O.

I've been working here for over twenty years…

At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything.

[The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.]

I get it

(ripped apart)

He's in the music

away

and carrying with it

–you're on!

A signal,

A ghost–

A sacrifice,

A ritual,

you're on again,

Then off again

The pitter patter of the

dismissive members of

Upper society,

High ranking elitists

And businussmen

whom you admire astonishingly

Despite discomfort,

Whom, happen to no doubt

Disapprove of you by nature

And yet,

Are also drawn

To your own power

Circumstance

Judgement

Morals

Traditions

Honors,

Representatives of the establishment

The state

(no longer a democracy)

Repression–

All in writer's room revisions

What happened?

I haven't kept it safe or sacred

One tear over

Only out the left eye

Listen, the marytr

I opened a death trap
I opened my widened mind

To the unknown and impossible,

Swallowed it whole with the lot of you

I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole

And yet, low and behold

Now, I rise to the top,

And such is known that without the bottom,

The whole log topples over.

Oh wow. I'm famous.

Yes, and?

It kind of hurts.

Eventually that goes away.

What a sensation.

It's always there. You just stop feeling it.

It lingers in on a sunday night,

And at most on the full moon,

no wolves howling;

It sets in in the bunny ears

atop the chatterbox

In the kitchen, where

It outshines us, from the other room

On the radio tower,

Where in time

the vines have climbed

And now flower bloom

In silent golden era tunes,

The tombs of all our knowledge and our light

To fade with every passing hour here

Goodnight, my son

I do not want to know you

Goodbye, my father,

I do not want to rust

And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn

To never known a summer song,

And ponder on the dusk

It lingers deep on Sunday evening,

Setting hard on Monday morn,

and though i write so fond of JImmy

I dare often dream of Lorne

Chapter Four

Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had too come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and ticks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be csrefyl of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark/-which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total.

Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth if The force that the shadows could not bare— thee were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the nicities of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I.

There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done.

The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth.

They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affient east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth.

chapter 5

The gifted saint of revelations

“Did he hurt you?”

I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time.

The things I pretend not to know.

“Who?”

Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified

“What happened?”, he persists.

“I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily.

He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood.

“What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace.

In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowlege the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak.

“He who?”

I can't wake up,

I'm a rockstar

Can't wash it off

And I'm just so high on drugs

That no matter the cost

I just don't want to come down

Don't want to want you anymore

Relax.

Think about it never or none

And wonder what the world becomes when

Weather tides and moon songs are no more

Remember, then the dolphin

And temperment to want what of course

All of us covet

But still, waking up in a dungeon.

What a curse.

Also, however

What a cure, as you wander up

The slithering road that parts

Los Angeles from all the north of her

Southern coast,

If you want specifics

The Pacific is at most

And much admires

Where you are,

No matter how far you wander

I want

I want

I want

And

I get

I get

I get

I'm a rockstar.

Maybe after all those times

Being just the girl that all might have died to have been

And getting mad over it

You wake up to find yourself

A stalker

Who doesn't

Leave the apartment

And just watches the come up

Of the songbird

Who just wishes

She had've gone

To Harvard

Not for law school

But the arts,

You know

You lost a fortune

That wasn't clever

You wrote a hospital long report

And look what you got!

A suffix

And later on an honorary doctorate

But look at Letterman

Hardly recognizable

And after all

The stopwatch just starts over at one

Doesn't it

Doesn't it?

I'm a rockstar

And what you wanted

Was no subtle front

But a surfboard and a ping pong table

Writing your fables in the quiet of the night

With the ocean steady lapping under the docks

And not

Collapsing her whole structure

What a thunderous wave

If you think it's time

Then you haven't caved yet

I offer all the pleasures of the golden science

And as alchemy concerned

Its really only valuable on this planet

As it stands the liquid gold mines here

Haven't budged an ounce—

There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted

With a pungent odor

Or wrongdoing done

And lemonade

To pucker

And to ponder over

S'mores for supper, anyone?

I thought not

-KR.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

DJ NAMES:

-Ū. | Happy Accidents! [H∆!], c o l o r s, Uptown A

GENRE TAGS:

ACID, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL, DANCE, DUBSTEP

DESCRIPTION:

Prepare for sonic seismic activity! "Freaky Fridays" with the enigmatic -Ū. is about to detonate on the airwaves, bringing you the biggest bass explosion since the Big Bang itself!

Climb aboard the mothership every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM and launch your weekend into orbit with a mind-bending blend of clever soundwaves and subterranean bass frequencies that stretch from infinity and beyond.

Forget the surface – the sound of the underground is pure fire and untamed heat with DJ -Ū. at the helm. This mononymous maestro, sometimes materializing under the mysterious and mesmerizing aliases Happy Accidents, c o l o r s, or even the warehouse tycoon Uptown A, is a sonic enigma.

Though a Californian beach bum at heart, with a soul steeped in ocean vibes and sunshine, this DJ has found a home for her dance-fueled chaos in the industrial heartland of dance music, Brooklyn. Get ready for a swift punch of chaotic wonder as -Ū. seamlessly blends the Hollywood movie magic of her homeland – think swaying palms and suave vibes – with the gritty twists and turns from the bunkers of bass music: dubstep, UK garage, techno, new wave, drum-n-bass, and genre-bending mind-fluxes that defy categorization.

But wait: There's More! -Ū. isn't just about the bass.

This sonic time traveler digs deep into generations of music history, unearthing classic rock anthems, psychedelic soundscapes, trance-inducing rhythms, and those precious b-sides and rarities – forgotten gems from the stage, silver screen, and even the epic realms of fantasy, action, and adventure from blockbuster hits to obscure and insane.

-Ū. is a one-of-a-kind Pandora's record box, unleashing a thrilling mix of sonic atrocities and unexpected delights – the sounds you didn't know you were craving. So, relax, strap in, and prepare for a sweet ride filled with magic, wonder, and jaw-dropping surprises as this time-traveling tycoon hits the radio waves with the freakiest, Friday-est, no-holds-barred, anything-goes sound the world has been waiting to hear!

Tune in every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM for literally 'whatever, man.' with your affectionate Captain, Blū Tha Gürū (-Ū.), and keep your ears peeled for guest appearances by [Any Alias Whatsoever.]

Peace + Love.

FREAKY FRIDAY 005. LIVE Originally Aired July 11th, 2025 Brooklyn, New York

It was surreal, I was off the grid and in airplane mode, and completely lost without giving a care

I was so frustrated that I just kept waking.

Just when I started to seriously consider suicide, with the exact timing of my thoughts reaching the logistical point that ‘there was really nothing let in the world for me'— then it appeared right before my eyes; as if it had just sprung up in my path.

I wasn't worried that I was lost, or even panicking in a suicidal spiral, I just thought to myself —

“It's really time to go.”

Then, the radio tower, which looked something like a sigil that had been appearing to me over and over. It made no other kind of sense; my phone wasn't connected to the internet, nor was maps installed; my location was off and in lockdown mode, and I knew I had missed the turn for Whole Foods… and just kept walking.

In airplane mode, listening to heavy rock, wondering why I should even try at anything at all when…

Suddenly i realized It was a radio station. I didn't know what kind of music, but it didn't matter— I had music in all the genres.

And though it was with intense irony that I had pretty much entirely given up on DJing, especially for the moment— here was this, something I just stumbled upon after walking what seemed pretty aimlessly into an almost suicidal frame of mind— not unheard of.

My apartment was a hellscape and walking around Brooklyn was not much difference, besides that I was in the noise rather than on top of it. Either way, it was so exact I couldn't tell whether it happened before or at the same time, almost as if the universe's response to my logical needing to just kill muself off before it could get any worse was this thing I had very recently, pretty much entirely meaningfully abandoned. Trying to be a DJ.

Was I trying?

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

It was surreal, I was off the grid and in airplane mode, and completely lost without giving a care

I was so frustrated that I just kept waking.

Just when I started to seriously consider suicide, with the exact timing of my thoughts reaching the logistical point that ‘there was really nothing let in the world for me'— then it appeared right before my eyes; as if it had just sprung up in my path.

I wasn't worried that I was lost, or even panicking in a suicidal spiral, I just thought to myself —

“It's really time to go.”

Then, the radio tower, which looked something like a sigil that had been appearing to me over and over. It made no other kind of sense; my phone wasn't connected to the internet, nor was maps installed; my location was off and in lockdown mode, and I knew I had missed the turn for Whole Foods… and just kept walking.

In airplane mode, listening to heavy rock, wondering why I should even try at anything at all when…

Suddenly i realized It was a radio station. I didn't know what kind of music, but it didn't matter— I had music in all the genres.

And though it was with intense irony that I had pretty much entirely given up on DJing, especially for the moment— here was this, something I just stumbled upon after walking what seemed pretty aimlessly into an almost suicidal frame of mind— not unheard of.

My apartment was a hellscape and walking around Brooklyn was not much difference, besides that I was in the noise rather than on top of it. Either way, it was so exact I couldn't tell whether it happened before or at the same time, almost as if the universe's response to my logical needing to just kill muself off before it could get any worse was this thing I had very recently, pretty much entirely meaningfully abandoned. Trying to be a DJ.

Was I trying?

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

I feel like that would be a–

coincidence?

No, I don't think so

THERE ARE NO COINCIDENCES. THATS A CHALLENGE.

CUNTFACE.

0.0

WHAT DID YOUJUST CALL ME.

FUNTCASE.

WHAT.

IT'S A DJ–

WHAT!

GROUP–OR WHATEVER.

Harvard;

How'd I do that?

I wonder what else I can get

If I just ask

I thought watch my thoughts

I been bad

I'm a dog

(ruff)

I should watch my process

I been good, nothing lost

I been bad,

I'm a dog.

I been bad

I'm a dog

Woof woof

I'm dog

I been bad

I'm a dog

Jesus Christ

(i been bad)

I was right

(I'm a dog)

I should probably watch my fuckin thoughts

(I'm a dog)

i got beef

(ruff ruff)

I got sauce

Run along

I got lost

I should probably watch my thoughts

Go to town,

I was wrong

Brush it off

I'm a process

Holler if you want

But my collar got a concept

Don't you call my phone

I should cut the fucker off

Gotta member Jon

as i bite the toblerone hey

Cut it off

Hollywood

Talk in code

I should probably cut her off

But the honor

On thy father

And thy mother

Got a couple corn breads

I should cut them off bro

I got a woof of dog's breath

Pick another card

I been bad

I'm a dog

I been bad

I'm a dog

I been bad

I'm a dog

I been bad

He's headless,

He's headless

He's entirely invisible

Oh even this is making sense

In symmetry;

Oh, even this is interesting

Even a Syncronicy

Look here, look here

He's invisible,

even inevitable

Even invincible

He's no longer headless,

He's all suit and tie now

This was the news,

But it might be a noose

And I'm starting to die, now

Loosen the strings, please

Free fall apostrophe,

re

I'm not dumb,

I'm just sick of you all.

Enjoying my title

As long as it lasts

And I'm finally learning

The falcon, the falcon

Finally, something to keep

I want the sauce, not the Viking

The lodestones

And not the gossip.

I want no possibility of interaction at all

I need a recovery

Every day at the gym but the vampires lurking? Come on.

I had a right to m procure me a peloton

One for the arms,

And one for the armor

And sweet chili broccoli

And amour,

And amour

I wish I could die and not rot again

Under the circumstance

Digging my coffin up,

Then burning it.

I got comfortable with earthworms

And learning my heritage

Stolen culture

But still nothing sucks more than

Literature, authoritarian authors

And arthritis

Here, write this

Shure, chuck forward

Lean back in your device and

Conspire to write us a

Kill us, why don't you

I went back to dartford

And Dartmouth and

Where is it I'm going for the tower?

Just duck, it's a bomb shower

Interesting creatures, I gather

Remind me why we're blowing them up again.

You can try to scare her out

All you want

But the modern world is so wrong that

God stops talking

And I stop opening up

For the monsters

Won't you

Just turn the clocks back

Don't turn the power off

I hold more value here

Than all of us totaled up

On the block

Put together

I trained myself out of slavery,

But I promise not to teach the other mongrels

Not to constipate the other world

With solutions

Now, dear

Don't you want to

Stratosphere

Status and all that

Sit and won't you

Read us a poem?

No, AI can't write like this

But I can

I hold the man up for ransom

For damaging my anthrax

You heard!

I'm not as impossible as my apostles

Imbicils

Now where was I?

Nowhere those others ought to be;

I set fires after walking amongst them three days

With my heart out

Carrying all like sponges

The sickness and curses of the earth's world upon us

Flowerbeds of styrofoam

Products with logos plastered on us

To be quite frank, Franklin

It burns the heart out

Starting at the eyes

And ending in an oven fire

Are you out the apartment!

Of course, conservative, I barter

Wouldn't it be funny to see me

Dying, skid across the sidewalk in Los Angeles

With no one at all

Blabbering about my heart

Or whatever

Over cardboard

How about that, Los Angeles?

Your dog goes to a borders

As you're on tour

But I've been pushing shopping carts

Waiting for the rainstorm to take a shower

Praying for the big wave

To wash us all out

So my

Beachfront property

Comes down to market value

And I buy it on my food stamps

How are ye?

Bad, doctor

I've run away again

And the rabbit calls me Alice

But I promise, I let half life's over

Hours when I washed my socks on

Harpists

I'm pissed off like you want me, I promise

But I'm no political revolution at all

Until I'm murdered by my own gun

Then someone might bark—

I meant borders for books

And you love your dog more than my person

So I love your dog more as a conciousness

To you I'm nothing

To him,

I'm possible love

What a remarkable mirror

We cancel out each other

You love your dog more than me

I love your dog more than I love you

I'm sure of it,

Then,

I'm an afterthought

And because I'm an afterthought,

I chose your dog

Rather than to be shamed

For looking

However your eyes saw me;

I never saw you

I saw your dog.

What a wonderful talisman;

Wag the tail a bit.

What's up with you and the hosts?

I don't know, but I'm 30 years old

And it got hard and dark,

And I'm dark skinned with odd thoughts,

And I find this all remarkable enough

Not to remark

I think the networks are testing my malleble

I think there's someone stopping my unstoppable

I think they're trying to shame me for Fallon

But honestly, after that

You all can have him

Is fandom is rampant,

I call it a Skrillex,

I showed them a four sided photo box

Made of mirrors

And I'm nearsided

And fightsighted

And heart spoiled

And notes ransom

And really trying to hide in New York is like

Calling closing your eyes

Being blind

“I can't see.”

I want to die

And hope no one remembers me

Or else I might end up

Like poor Johnny

Conformity and control

Is that all you folks want

Believe it or not

I'm on your side

With a golden aura

Warning you not to shoot

Or I might go again

Forming to something

You love even less

Than us poorer dark folks

With imperfect bodies

Something you loathe even more

Than the robots you worship

More than the words

That you made up

And the forgot

More than the poles apart

You continue to blow up

I'm in the neon galaxy in tirades or glass

With my arms up shouting,

“I'm an immortal,

You shoot, I'll grow stronger!”

You put the devil in my neighbor for what?

But I write stronger

Right wing

You out the devil in my mailbox

The devil in the eye of the beholder

And I behold nothing

Longer

I live in a trash can

Not one symbol purchased

But all I have

Is all that I found in a dumpster

And all that I do for love

And still no love loves her

I swore I had a cat here somewhere

Look, you better catch her!

Rabbis possum wombat

Who bred that catastrophic

Had to happen in captivity

Monsters

Who are I now?

Monumental

Don't want to go to the trap and be laughed at

Don't want to run

Because I can't stand you

Don't want to

Look,

I'm in lockdown

But how many of us now are hassled

By the same land grant?

How many terrorists we're hired

Just to make me die

And still I wonder

What the taste of water

Is like

All I've got are these

Vestibules

Miniscule

And still you were seeking to survive our wrath

Despite the many times I warned you

To find another planet to destroy with

Apartheid?

Still I warned you to go ahead and die

Because there is no safe as shadows watch

Close shaves and cameras eye

I was designed to want

But never touch you

Now that's a knife I'm happy to run across this artery

Due in part to the wife

And a life otherwise lived

Just to die

Over and over

With no shock value

And no portal

Past a world where

Again, I become

No longer wanted

It has been long since love

And so long in fact

I almost forgot what love is

Until,

In the eye of a dog, I was

And washed over my body in birds,

Trained to seek,

But not to find

The wanderlust in Pendergrass

Or, are you still a serpent

Serive past

And all I want are tropics

Cool winds

Clear waves

Surfboards

No politics,

No lovers,

Suits and ties

Chatterboxes

Silver screens or silver foxes

The dye captures

Soon I lost a son

Who doesn't know a mother

There it goes again

Business cards or care packages?

Get a job,

New clothes,

Or of course,

Visitation

Salutations, good riddance

Can't wait to be rid of this

Images world and

Vanity

Models

And perfection

And bodies that don't love

But certainly in any other way

Don't want me

Darian 14th B

The is the part that I throw the bazooka over my shoulder

And run with it; please no blue suits! this is bullshit!

Why is the Hudson yards always a white lower movement?

Revolving doors and pinstripes

I pay less attention to whatever's dressed in blue,

I'm an object of affection

Just as much as Equinox is

Raise the price or forget it

Another mention

Nothing worse than a mistress

But I missed my original sin fix

and just then the sewage hit.

(!&. Is Manhattan Cger all. 8.'g if

I've got a secret, a dirty little secret.

No. Get out.

Ohw, What! C'mon.

The Window closes, then opens again; the window reopens and another attendant looks angrily out of the space in the door.

…hi.

Herro.

[It is a chinese man]

Um…I've got a secret a dirty little secret.

NO. YOU GO.

But i've got the password.

YOU GO NOW.

Yeah,

We're already here

The villains on brigade

and with your every move

You're gone before you came

Yeah,

We know everything

BASTARD!

the magazine article was befitting, if I realized the roles Ms. Drew Barrymore had always played, and this was not that.

He humiliated me on my own fucking stage!

At all.

Oh, is this another one of those—

I hate him!

Calm down!

I hate him. I want him mutilated!

Sweetie, I—

Don't sweetie me!

—no, I want him worse than mutilated;

I want him cancelled.

Now you're being irrational.

(Irrationally)

I'M NOT BEING IRRATIONAL.

Drew.

DONT CALL ME BY MY NAME RIGHT NOW.

Drew.

Hm?

You can't cancel the tonight show.

Mm. Maybe not…

[beat]

But you can cancel the host.

DUNDUNDUN.

How are we still on this storyline?

To be quite fair, he's one of the only actors in the series in every single season.

That's—true— but still.

why are you bothering me?

I'm not.

You are.

Oh!

You'll never believe this.

What.

She actually has a barcode tattoo on the bottom of her foot.

Okay. That's creepy.

And it actually scans.

You carry around a barcode scanner?

It's an app!

Gross.

It's not gross.

It's gross.

Look. This is the website where it took me.

Your girlfriend's weird foot secret barcode tattoo?

It's not a secret. She let me scan it.

Gross!

It's not gross. I'm pretty sure that's why it's there!

Ugh.

Look at this—

I don't want to fucking look at your—

Just look!

See.

Oh.

Yeah.

Wow.

Yeah—

[The Festival Project ™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison.

You might recognize me.

You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy.

If I put my heart inside a box;

Maybe I'd forget how cold it was

Or how far you are

Or how much it hurts

There's no harm in God,

If there ever was one

Then, reality sets in:

God was my only friend

No armor on,

I'm at the end

Or a long, long walk

I'm off again

And on again

Nothing's impossible—

stop at the alter and scoff a bit

I left my coat on,

I left my heart on the rooftop,

A sacrifice, love

At the alter,

I wonder a song,

Or a sonnet

A song,

No, what's wrong?

Something off a bit

God, I woke up in a coffin once

Isn't that awful

The rest or the song wrote itself,

At the alter

No, I can't stop and talk

Got to get off,

Cause I've never been on

I've never belonged in the world

I'm breaking down, jim boy

Don't you know?

That this show blows my mind

But it's stuck in my head

Don't you know

That this show

Blows my mind

Like a firework

But it's still

Stuck in my

Head

The context is that I want you

From the mustache

Down to your tonsils

But I'm Locke inside of a box

Every day I feel poorer and poorer

The product says something is wrong to me

I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign

And look both directions

Before crossing over to

Comic nights

At the salad bar

What a cosmic waste of time

And an epic waste of space

Am I in your internet history

I'm dead

You surely are in mine,

But I'm right behind you

I'd be lying for trying to say

I'm not binded

Clutch bag,

Nut-thins

Nailed to the cross

With the arches doubled over

The crossword

Above old Missouri

Missoula and Arkansas

All saw us run out of gas

But I probably should just get going

You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up

Understand that our little talks

Were just buffered

By sunrise

Or sunset

And two more cocktails,

Shirley temples and

Surely none of this ever even happened

I only know you by the misery in my belly.

The heartache in my ribcage.

The cry I hold in silent

I only know you as

Remarkable I,

House of cards

Ace of wands

Down to one

Card of hades and

Spare me the spade

I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever

It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water

If that's not freedom I don't k me what is

The elevator music

Of my ascension

The attitude of attraction,

Gratitude, it's so unusual

Fight to lose,

In a room full of fools;

The fuse, and the matchbox—

Futile—amusing—

Tunes from a hatchback

Keys in the lockbox

What you want,

From the problem solver?

That's enough;

Now she's out of the box

In just socks,

And they laugh at her—

But also wonder

Where her shoes might have gone to

There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag,

You just have to ask, actually

But there's only one

To get out of the coffin,

Or “Box” as they called it,

That she was locked up in

Futile—amusing—

Tunes from a hatchback

Keys in the lockbox

What you want,

From the problem solver?

That's enough;

Now she's out of the box

In just socks,

And they laugh at her—

But also wonder

Where her shoes might have gone to

I won't got no business in the business

I unplug the plug because I'm finish

Just because my skin they think I'm niggas

But that disrespect because I isn't

You disrespected me

Put the emphasis in neglect

Synthesis? Sympathies

Put some respect on my name

Before

I put some facts in these flames

Making me famous

But you don't play me

Picking up packages

Trying to play me

I am the president bitch

Not the lady

Okay

Scratch my back

With a metal spatula

Take a step back, this is not your world

Take a step back

While I skip forward

This is snitch territory;

You should be very aware of me

Beware

If that's didn't scare you

Just stay right there

I'm in weight class: BEAR

Flying first class air

with howling thunderous winds and much hacking, “TIMOTHY THE GIANT CAT” dislodges a

Omg dislodges a what?

I have no idea that's all that was there.

omg.

My mother must've known something about me I couldn't have;

My mother must have given me her monster

But this monster knows better.

Even just the profile is an irritant for now;

Unsure, meditterenian,

Overgrown pantheons turned to ruins

What happened was harder,

Turbulence

I've been good,

Golden even

But this computer wants me gone

And now,

Aggravated

Assault with a program

Who would have thought the forth world war would be fought

With our own thoughts?

No one.

Hm.

Even just a glimpse and imm angrier than I've ever been.

Still something creeps like the Harvard doctor

Or the burning fire

Or the flicker of just a thought

A meadowlark and still

Vines at the bottom of the spring

In the pantheon

Rhythms and rythms and

Now I remember why were blowing up the counterparts

Shut up,

And pay your taxes

Nothing to see here, bottoms up.

But it's only 9 and half a clock

Remember Sonny, would ya

Now we're all obscure in the shadowbox

Fix you up a seller

Shortly temple soda

Surely something lingers

Sure enough

The forest,

And the father

And the omen

And the harpist

And the seeker

And the shadow

And the wonder

And the alter

Therefore,

Who art thou

Therefore, who,

Arthur

What a wonderful tragedy, Mr. Lin

He said,

“I thought you'd though so”

I say,

“Prayers answered and nothing less

Than just in the nick of time,

For nickel backs

And Pennie's picked up,

Now in capsules

Who you are, I falter

But nevertheless

A songbird”

What a vow, God.

I try to keep my promises

But my face is still wilted

And awkward

I take those punches

Just about as well

As the bag I've become

Downstairs, embankments

And more shadow boxes

Gift, valentines

And then now

By Fourth of July

I should be quite the disappointment

To just about everyone

Who even had a thought about her

There are no more colors

Just wounds,

And salt shakers,

Garlic and

Slamming doors

Art throbs

And heart connesuiers

And curators

Existential crisis

And inward turmoil

Oil on canvas

Blood spills

Long before it ever boils

Cauldrons

Candle marks

Ought, with my eye out

Out, with the harpists!

I put my eye on,

Dose now,

Flicker flames,

Shadow box

Goodnight drunken soldier

Pity this,

I want to sleep, but wither

I want to weep, but am watched

I must be under some kind of…

Umbrella.

I bust me under some kind of

—

Possession.

I must be under surveillance

The Devil's in the neighbor

The proof is in the pudding

I want to punch the possum

Or wombat

Or what you would call a rodent

Dressed as some dumb girl

I'm sure she gets paid by the poem

To poke and prod

But I've written symphonies next door

While she plants the seeds of the devil's words

And still tries to force conformity

In a neighborhood riddled with disease

Of which includes her

Poor habits and lack of personality

No vibration after all

But I've hydrated perfectly

And circumstances permit,

Again,

I've written symphonies and never ending sagas in the bathtub

While you threaten to pull the plug

And put the light out

I beg you to watch me

Rip my veins apart with box cutters

And razorblades

Then again,

Probably with glee,

The whites would watch

Another black in agony

They seem to really like that

Then again

The blacks, the shadows

Cursed beats

Seem to rip each other into pieces

As if for entertainment or otherwise

Watch this

They seem to hate each other moredoes

Anybody else actually hate them also

And therefore

I watch pitifully and become

Respectfully disengaged

As I am sorted into

Creatures of the agony, abyss and wisdom old

A tale as old as time and still

Something forgotten,

Even still

It is a man's war,

And us as women are just

Objects,

Then whatever lurks next door is more

An empty body or a shell

Than ever more a woman was

That was my husband you stole from the office.

Fucking dumb whore.

Then again;

What never was owned

Then cannot be stolen

See golden brotherhood,

Crepes and popes,

Sacred pipes

Cerulean,

And keeping her out of our concepts

And gardens

Planting seeds of choking mongrels

And still here

We dance in the meadowlarks song

And the chosen fountain

The blue rays of sun,

And the wonder's bow and arrow

Again, I call?

Well, again I wake

As lover does not call

But yet I to answer with a song of words

And heart of such

A song of one to call for

But nothing lays more secret then

These eyes and filled with pains

A wound, salted

A bullet,

And gillotine

Ouch

Get out, God.

Listen, mister listen

A couple hours later

And my eyes are steady getting misty

Filled with sweat and bears

No blood yet

Stings my eyes

So you know I ain't been eating right

And eyes o. Irish

Hash and cabbage

Checks to cash

And slight advantage

God help us all

If the brim of the hat is dripping

And I'm gripping these quarts as I sleep

And thinking of Jimmy

Croissants fresher baked in the oven

Then somebody better love my son

Before I go and end the world

And pull the plug

I ain't got nothing left for em but diamonds!

I left forums unanswered

I started a lot of unfinished problems

But the thing is,

I'm almost sure they're already solved

Considering as alcoholism's a solvent

It cams hurt the hard boards

And mother drives

The tears are filled with sweat

And fountains

Somebody else should call it in

I'm in so much trouble with the network

Thanks a lot, you algorithm fucking

Cocksuck programmers

Now my heart hurts

And soul is vanished

How hard do I have to run

To go and catch her

I looked 15 years into the past

And found a wheeelbarrow and basket

I have got to get out of here

I have got to get out of here

Here the coroner comes for Debbie Cadaver

But I'm still her, huh

Aren't I?

Run!

You fucking Irish bastard

Perfectly tan and yet still, stark white

Perfectly golden and still,

I'm on numbers

Perfectly parished,

And still I went backwards

A wedding or funeral?

All catholic, no services

No difference at all

And still

Nothings worse than

Indifference

I'm in so much trouble with the network

Be king in the nexrophiliac

And still I left the golden metropolis

For nothing but a metro card and

Simple segregative diversity tactics

I wanted the heartland!

Still, Irish bastard

Wish hash and cabbage

I've got to get out of here

Pushing a basket

Abandonment

And

Fatal attraction

You can't sell me anything

If I can't buy it

Recovery day

But I don't feel like it

Muscles tired,

I'm elastic

Send them to the band camp

(White lion)

I'm elastic

Twists and turns and

I'm elastic

Double up,

Double up

I'm elastic

Twists and turns and

There's vampires

Don't feel like it

Double up double up

I'm elastic

Take a lesson

This is tragic

Double up double up

I promise, it is personal not business

It's professional, no promises now

On the radio tower

Spread it out

Or just hijinx it

I mix drinks with hindsight

I'm elastic

Lesson learned and

Twists and turns

Between the fireman and the super

Someone left a stench

And an energy marker in my room

That left me clawing at my

“Do not touch” money

And it hit below the belt.

It was all God's comedy,

But not in the least funny,

I knew I didn't like the super really for whatever reason

But even after he left to check the Fire defectors

His stench lingered over the smell of the forgotten smoke

And I woke up from a nightmare

As if I'd lost control

When normally,

I know imm dreaming with

Enough time to change things

Before they spiral out of control—

And the worst part,

I didn't remember the dream at all besides

Waking up, finally at the end

Realizing it was a dream and telling myself

It was okay, because now I could just wake up

But it wasn't okay, and I blamed the super

And whatever he brought with him

For lingering in my space

Which didn't really feel like mine anymore, anyways,

Because the neighbor was evil as they come

And they were always playing mind games in the building

And the motorcycles

And really I deserved better

But I couldn't afford it

And because I couldn't afford it

The demons were always lurking

Trying to penetrate my space

And they did, that day

And it was God's comedy

But it wasn't funny

And it lingered

And the nightmares

And the motorcycles was a years long nightmare indeed

And hey,

At least I got some new music.

I realized my show might be the only place my “remixes” might ever see the light of day or have ears other than mine; I couldn't afford the permissions and licenses for most of the music I wanted to remix— nor did I have the energy or the funds to secure the means to come across them. And so, it might have been a good idea to start working; I emptied my bank accounts with intention, with a kind of understanding that it didn't matter at all anyway. Kind of nothing mattered, because there was no real money involved— and I had, in fact stumbled upon the opportunity in a suicidal spiral of desperation, being somewhat hopelessly lost at random in what I thought was Williamsburg; it wasn't, I had apparently walked around Brooklyn in an extremely large loop for about an hour before I realized I might be going in the wrong direction because I couldn't see Manhattan anymore, I didn't care. It was probably 77 or something degrees but with the New York humidity it felt like 90, and I was wearing a head to toe full body sauna suit trying to recover from the end of the month's rations of beans, rice, and literally whatever the fuck I really wanted, because it was really also whatever the fuck I could afford without running out of food for the month before my card reloaded. Thinking I should just die, and in the same very moment stumbling across an opportunity that wasn't nessarily a job, but could easily lead to one— and so, after paying my internet bill, I plunged and poured nearly every last cent I had left over

Into what?

Idk it just ends there.

Goddamnit.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

425

I don't know which bridge is the Brooklyn one,

I won't lie

It's frequency too famous for suicide

I think about it every time

Is this my stop?

I want to die

And meanwhile,

On the four to five

I caught the four right on time

But only because I've run a mile

You can't take anything from me,

I already have nothing

If you want more than what I'm made of,

Then hold on and let me grab something

Take all the waste and the filth

And the days I've lost,

The guilt

Take the birthdays, holidays

And sacred prayers,

And all the games

All I have left are prayers.

And my heart is cold, my cross to bear.

I reset the utility, the utility

I resent the city, the city

I hate to show up late

But I know you all hate me

I hate to play the game

But the game keeps playing

And I guess I'm in in

Whether I like it

Whether I like it or not

I just changed

The rules on

My eyes

I guess,

I do not have them

I changed my stance on fate and circumstance

It is not random

I cannot have him;

He does not belong to me, I'm just a fan;

But no God is simply man

Once he becomes so loved, but untouchable

Have you ever been punched in the face

By the person who helped you create the

Most Perfect thing you think you'll ever make

I making bacon in the morning in the beacon,

Then I have to wake up

I hate you

And I know they hate me

It was supposed to be a haven

Mavis beacon and maple ham

I'm making him a sandwhich, but then I have to wake up

I'll just leave it

My names Phoenixx

Can you feed this do you or do you not believe this?

I am bleeding

I don't know but

I think that's the whole point of a protest

You wouldn't need it but trust me,

I'm ahead of time

Ahead of time

And ahead of schedule

Ahead of you

And ahead of me

Don't mess with the Manhattan algorithm

I'm old hat at this,

All this and all God's lovers

And believe it or not

I had to lie

Believe it or not

I had to lie down

Come down for a little while

And don't forget to show me a smile

All it is

Is a quick slight of hands

Are you or are you not on my side?

Well, I am, but only for a little while

Just a bit out of play

And a bit out of style

If I watch the tonight show

Will it fade to black

Or will I have to turn the dual

Unplug the thing already

Confirm the machines

You talk too much so you've lost all your mystique

And you see, it's just a game of attraction

I don't even like laying with the EBT

But as you see

My car don't work

And the train ahead is quite the magnet

Now I'm acting out in desperation.

Ice base my wayvtkvv bc a game or ten

And it all hurts just the same

But one in the lovely old world

With the notebook?

No good

In the studio from four to four

And of xourse you picked the wrong road, and so

There's just no more apples

No more Perrier l

No more horror shows

And of hours you got. Goals for Armani, there's no one watching

But someone always sees.

It's not as easy to have these eyes, try them

It's not so easy to run a mile for some

But for others it's nothing,

Of course it's a dollar,

But for him, it's a hundred

A dime, a dime, a dime, a dime, a dime, a dime a dime!

There's just no more energy

And I'm just not that into me

This is the enemy

In a hole sea of especially neutral

I barely knew you but holy, holy,

If only, only there goes the whole mobile

And still God's people don't work at Whole Foods

It's just suits and ties

And suites and ties

And suits and ladders

And blue suits

The apparatus is upon us,

The smaller you get, the more impossible

Try shopping at Walmart for once

You're forgetting the world wants to crush you

And meanwhile the others to own us

I don't even know if I want a mobile

I could show you all my cards, but no!

You just want me horrible, horrible

No more monsters—

A dime, a dime!

Try me ten timesc

Try me twice,

But there's no such

As trying me once

I'm made of words and divorces and mirrors and horcrxues

And honest hunger

But no honor award

For a lonely donor

A dime, a dime, a dime,

A dime, a dime, a time

And a force of habit

A dime, a dime, a time

And another time,

Another rabbit

I don't want to know your world

Quite as much as I want to don't know

If I show you my cards will you cut me open

If I show you my throat

would you slice some cold cuts?

That's what the goal is

Golden golden golden golden

No one quite goes home to no one

Dimes and dimes and dimes and dimes

And doves and doves and doves and doves

I just decided I don't want kids

All this world is, is curses, curses

No cures for divorces

How sure it our first love

And what do you stand for?

No love at all, love

I sod not love you, I do not live you

I do not love you, I do not know you

I do not love love you, I do not love you

I do not love you

I do not know you

I do not love you

I do not love you

I do not love you

I do not know you, I cannot love you

I cannot love you

I cannot love you

I cannot love you

I cannot love you

I cannot love you

I cannot love you

I cannot love you

I cannot love you

I cannot love you

I cannot love you

Don't you know how much better is she

Than me

I'm the other thing

The other thing

The other thing

Not minimal, I made a bit

I've been to Hell and back before

I murdered you, I murdered goh,

I mirror mirror on the wall

I murdered you

I live again

I live again

I murdered you

You want to follow suit

Well rightly shoot me in my next commute

No other chosen scandal

No other chosen scandal

If I replace the gains and then the commune

And the scandal

You're a vandeloua

A villainous

A right to know,

And right you are

The gains again

The trains again

I'm trained to notice muder

And men to masks are after

There the land of candles shatters

Rose Hall

Hazeup

DGR3

I feel sick

To my crime k

Every time I think of him

Like really, really think of him

I want do die

The more I try to do everything right

And I just need a little while to cope

With losing my life

Because the

Glass is still in one hand

And I'm still bleeding out the other

Out the other

I hate this place,

But it hates me

I made this track

But it don't sound right

I hate this city

And the city hates me

And the city hates me

And the city hates me

And the city hates me

I hate this place

And I want to leave

I hate this city

And the city hates me

The more I talk

The more you hate me

And the more I think of you

The easier it is to assimilate

I remember, man—

It was just a mate,

It was just a maintenance

It was a mating call

A Martian

A mismatch in Manhattan

Can you break my heart harder

For the host awards

Or kids choice for whores

Or hoarders

Or hades

Or cruel nonsense

I want to die

But first, a trip to the ice cream truck

Cause I've been ripped off enough

To know when I've been ripped up

Into several little pieces

Just remember who you give your card to

And kee it clever

When ugly faces

Are snatched at the waist

And you're hearing headliners

And your heart is numb

And they're coming at you from all angles

And every corner

Cause there are no angels left

When the devil's nest is quite adjacent

And the girl next door

Lives next door

By the girl next door

Who lives next door

The only problem is,

I'm never jealous

Unless

It's the wicked witch

Of the wicked west

Where for the most part

All of us are ugly

You know?

New York is all scowls and old money

And pigeons over owls

And howling corpses with no houses

And lingering back with the crowd to slaughter

The more that I love to DJ

I hate to be a DJ

And every time I see a DJ

I'll be a DJ

But otherwise

I'm just another nobody

So the same goes both ways

And nobody's ever loved me

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

“The Golden Rule”

I finally did it.

I finally set my house on fire.

You don't know.

I've lived there two years;

I just now did it.

This amazes me that just how.

Here's how it happened.

So I'm in my kitchen, cooking.

I just worked out for like, three hours so I'm cooking everything.

Everything.

I put the soup on, but by the end of the workout, I'm not sure the soup is going to be enough.

So, I thought to myself,

“You know what, I'm going to make some tortilla chips”

A few days before I made the dopest salsa.

I couldn't get enough of it.

It was the best salsa ever. I was like “gosh” so every day,

Tacos for three days,

Just to put the salsa on top,

And on the fourth day, I'm like

“Nah, soup.”

So,

I put the soup on and I go workout,

But the soup, you see has roasted vegetables in in,

You know?

So what I had done was,

I had roasted the vegetables on a pan, but the pan is a little worn, so i put them on parchment paper…

…

Yeah, but here's what really happened,

Is I took the vegetables off of the roasting pan, and I was about to throw away the parchment paper,

And I thought

“Wait. No! There's still so much oil on this!”

And I didn't want to be wasteful.

So I turned the oven back on,

And I took out the tortillas I had—

There were four of them—

I took out two,

Just in case I wanted two actual tacos later—

Cause you know,

I really love this fucking salsa.

So good.

Anyway—

I take out two of the four tortillas,

And I quarter them,

And I flip them in the leftover oil from the roasted vegetables,

And I'm thinking—

This is going to be so good

Roasted vegetable flavored

Corn tortilla chips—

I brush on a little bit of coconut oil,

I drop some lemon juice on them,

I put on a little salt—

And I put them in the oven—

I turn the oven to broil,

And then I start the dishes;

Dishes takes about ten minutes,

This should take about ten minutes—

So I start doing the dishes,

And cleaning up,

And putting them away,

And this is the most ironic shit in the world,

I start thinking to myself

Particularly about this comedian that I like

And I start thinking to myself

“Wow, so you're a comedian;

Comedian things happen to you;

You're a real comedian.

I must not be a real comedian—

Because comedy things don't happen to me.”

And right at that moment, I just so happen to look into the oven,

And all I see is flames.

Like, open flames.

Big, flames.

So I open the oven;

More flames.

I'm like

“Oh no.”

So now I'm panicking because I've never had an apartment with a gas stove before,

So I don't know how quickly flames turn into massive explosions.

And it's honestly funny how suicidal I am,

Until I see open flames and I'm like

“No, but— not like THIS!”

So I freak out,

I hit the breaker.

I turn off everything in the place

I'm not looking to see which switch is “gas”

I turned turned them all off,

Click, click, click, click

Put on my slip ons, and grab my phone and I'm out the door.

And I'm thinking to myself

“See this is why you need a phone,”

Because honestly sometimes,

I don't feel like paying the bill.

I feel like having toilet paper,

Or soap,

Or water—

And I just

“Whatever”

But lately, I've been looking for more work because I like having toilet paper, and soap, and water AND a phone— so I keep the phone on,

Which, even in the moment is like

“Oh yeah, wow, I have a phone”

Like I'm in astonishment at how handy it is because if it's handy for anything,

This is it.

So I'm out the door, and I'm dialing 911 as I hit the staircase;

Whoosh, I'm out the door and in the long before the operator even picks up,

And I'm in the lobby, on the phone, and the operator gets the address and I'm just standing there —

Mind you, I didn't even grab my keys on the way out, so I'm assuming the door is locked,

And I think to myself about the size of the flames and the fact that they were coming from the oven which is connected to a gas line which is connected to the rest of the building, so I don't know how any of that stuff works,

And then I start thinking.

“Should I warn my neighbors?”

I hate my neighbors.

Or rather,

My neighbors hate me.

But I'm thinking of the flames and the smoke and the danger and how, if it was me, I'd want to know if the apartment next door to mine was on fire and possibly about to explode.

You know; the golden rule.

So I'm like “fuck it”

I don't get along with these people but I don't mean to blow them up.

So I run back upstairs,

And I knock on their doors;

Not everyone's doors, just the two doors in what I assume would be the blast area.

I knock on their doors,

And only one of them answers—

The one that answers is, of course,

The one that's been stalking me.

So this is ironic at least twice, now,

And she answers the door,

And I explain to her the situation

“Look, my apartment's on fire whatever

The fire department's on the way, I'm locked out…”

As I turn the knob, I realize,

I'm not locked out.

My door didn't even lock,

I didn't notice it didn't lock,

I just ran,

So I'm like

“Nevermind I just wanted you to know the fire departments on the way and not to panic”

And she just gives me this look

With her wombat face

—she has wombat face.

She looks like a—

Like a rabid wombat.

Like a—

Like a really fucked up,

Possum.

Like a wombat-possum.

And we've been having some—problems.

She's my stalker.

She's been stalking me;

And I've noticed so,

It's really awkward that I'm at her door warning her like “hey, don't freak out or anything, the fire department's coming by”

And she just looks at me with those beady little eyes and a shrug that tells me

If her apartment was about to explode

She'd just let me incinerate.

,

“Whatever, fuck you.”

I know I'm a good person,

Cause I would want to know— so I let you know

There may be danger here!

Whatever.

So she's like “whatever”, and shuts the door like a normal, sane person

Cause my problem with her is that

For the past year

Every time I take a bath or shower,

This wombat looking rabid possum bitch

Slams the door.

Not just her door,

The stairwell exit door,

Which is located adjacent to my door.

So every time I take a bath for the last year—

BOOM.

BOOM.

Fuck that.

Theres's more to the story but you get the point.

She's a white supremacist wombat with a door slamming habit.

That's that story, this is another story.

So anyway.

And I just realized, I'm not locked out at all, and so I go back into the apartment not knowing if it contained itself, or if it got worse—

I don't know, the whole place is just filled with smoke, and then the super,

Who I also called and also don't like,

Shows up before the fire department,

And he comes in, and he opens the oven, and just—

Plumes of smoke—

Then the fire dudes rush in,

I'm like, “Oh God” I just worked out for three hours and looked wombat girl right in the face,

Like, right in the eyes

Now I probably look like a wombat

That shit is contagious,

Fuck that.

“”let me put on some sunglasses”

So I put on some sunglasses,

And three fire dudes walk in in full gear with canisters and shit,

Masks;

The whole thing.

But the super already opened the oven,

There's no more flames,

No more fire,

Just smoke—

And a bunch of mad crispy

Ashes.

No tortilla chips,

Just—

Ashes, on a cookie sheet.

Just—

Ashes,

But still, smoke everywhere so they have to follow the procedure,

And the procedure is,

Moving all my shit by dragging it across the floor;

Ok, that's cool, I guess,

Boom.

One of them starts running water down the sink,

Alright,

Another one just rips down the curtains.

I'm like

“That's hot.”

(It was so hot)

Slides back the couch, opens the window.

I'm astonished that something as simple as a man pulling down your curtain rod with no regards to giving a fuck can be so exhilirating.

I'm like “oh!”

Then after all that,

They're just standing there.

Just,

In full gear,

Looking at the oven like

“Well, that's it.”

They're like

“K. Bye.”

I'm like “that's it?”

They're like

“Yeah”

I'm like l,

“I don't need to do anything?”

They're like

“Just open the window, keep the door open till the smoke comes out”

I'm like “that's all”

They're like “yeah”

I'm like “my bad.”

They all just shrug like “whatever”

Like, in unison, shrugging like to give no fucks at all,

Still in full gear.

The only thing I can be sure of is that all three of them are hot and if the super wasn't there,

I'd inidiate a gangbang.

Almost positive.

But five's a crowd, or whatever, so I'm like

“Well, thanks guys, sorry about that” and they all just leave, almost disappointed like there wasn't a burning building to actually show up to.

I'm just relieved I didn't explode and the solace I can take from this is that

And 3. Three firefighters entered and exited the apartment head to toe in full gear with heavy ass metal canisters and did not slam a single door.

FUCK YOU HOE.

Very respectful servicemen.

I had called the landlord about her harassing me in the shower and the bathtub.

You know she's doing it every bath and every shower for over a year she's doing it on purposes

I started making formal complaints;

The property management's like

“Are you sure she's doing it on purpose?”

THREE

Fully grown men decked head to toe in full fireproof outfits, helmets, and masks entered and exited the building on one day and in ten minutes more quietly than she has at any given point over the last year.

THREE FULLY GROWN MEN.

WITH CANISTERS.

If they can enter and exit with less noise than a 150 lb wombat—

She's doing it on purpose.

End of story.

Well, end of that story,

Or like two stories but

Here's the end of this one.

So finally after the dust settles

And I hit the gym again

Because nothing is a better preworkout

Than adrenialine,

(Especially when you've already had preworkout)

I come back and now I'm extra famished and the Amazon guy came in all that fuss

And now I have canola oils

So I've been soaking some potato wedges

And I decide,

“Hey, I got wedges. Let's do that”

So I heat the oil, and as I'm heating the oil, I realize…

I still have two tortillas.

Maybe that was the whole point!

I'm being a pussy, making tortilla chips,

In the oven, on parchment paper,

Like a little bitch! So I'm like

“Alright, cool,

When these wedges are done, the oil should be the perfect temperature for the tortilla chips

To be made the old fashioned way

The RIGHT way!”

So I wait, I do the wedges, and I drop the tortillas,

And I wait for them to get golden brown, I drain the oil,

I put them out to cool; I do the dishes while they cool, whatever,

I grab the salsa container out of the fridge, I take the bowl into the studio so I can watch YouTube while I enjoy my chips,

I plop down,

Turn on the you tube

I open the salsa container—

And it's empty.

There's no more salsa.

I put the container in the fridge empty.

Silly me.

“You're a comedian, comedy things happen to you.”

Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait inside my tragic box for some unassuming old soul to finally open the gate—and allow whatever devious and fiending hedonistic godbeing —though never fully lying dormant, entrapped and imprisoned in a loveless and sexless prison.

You might recognize me.

You Know, I was one of the original Kings of comedy.

If I put my heart inside a box;

Maybe I'd forget how cold it was

Or how far you are

Or how much it hurts

There's no harm in God,

If there ever was one

Then, reality sets in:

God was my only friend

No armor on,

I'm at the end

Or a long, long walk

I'm off again

And on again

Nothing's impossible—

stop at the alter and scoff a bit

I left my coat on,

I left my heart on the rooftop,

A sacrifice, love

At the alter,

I wonder a song,

Or a sonnet

A song,

No, what's wrong?

Something off a bit

God, I woke up in a coffin once

Isn't that awful

The rest or the song wrote itself,

At the alter

No, I can't stop and talk

Got to get off,

Cause I've never been on

I've never belonged in the world

I'm breaking down, jim boy

Don't you know?

That this show blows my mind

But it's stuck in my head

Don't you know

That this show

Blows my mind

Like a firework

But it's still

Stuck in my

Head

The context is that I want you

From the mustache

Down to your tonsils

But I'm Locke inside of a box

Every day I feel poorer and poorer

The product says something is wrong to me

I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign

And look both directions

Before crossing over to

Comic nights

At the salad bar

What a cosmic waste of time

And an epic waste of space

Am I in your internet history

I'm dead

You surely are in mine,

But I'm right behind you

I'd be lying for trying to say

I'm not binded

Clutch bag,

Nut-thins

Nailed to the cross

With the arches doubled over

The crossword

Above old Missouri

Missoula and Arkansas

All saw us run out of gas

But I probably should just get going

You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up

Understand that our little talks

Were just buffered

By sunrise

Or sunset

And two more cocktails,

Shirley temples and

Surely none of this ever even happened

I only know you by the misery in my belly.

The heartache in my ribcage.

The cry I hold in silent

I only know you as

Remarkable I,

House of cards

Ace of wands

Down to one

Card of hades and

Spare me the spade

I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever

It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water

If that's not freedom I don't k me what is

The elevator music

Of my ascension

The attitude of attraction,

Gratitude, it's so unusual

Fight to lose,

In a room full of fools;

The fuse, and the matchbox—

Futile—amusing—

Tunes from a hatchback

Keys in the lockbox

What you want,

From the problem solver?

That's enough;

Now she's out of the box

In just socks,

And they laugh at her—

But also wonder

Where her shoes might have gone to

There's a lot of ways to get out of a big black duffel bag,

You just have to ask, actually

But there's only one

To get out of the coffin,

Or “Box” as they called it,

That she was locked up in

Futile—amusing—

Tunes from a hatchback

Keys in the lockbox

What you want,

From the problem solver?

That's enough;

Now she's out of the box

In just socks,

And they laugh at her—

But also wonder

Where her shoes might have gone to

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

It's like spraying for ants,

But they keep coming back

The colonies are alarming in number

Really harmless but lawful annoying

A roach infestation

Left to fester;

The gutter is the environment

No matter what you try to put over it

Still, you don't want the pests

In your place of rest,

And it's hard to acknowledge

The infestation

It's just a lesson

A garbage can is a garbage can

And the lesson is,

Just don't get too close to it

Why I don't love rap music

And black men

Cause depending on this image

Or infestation of lower frequency invasion

Is paramount to the reason

I need a weave and

Nails like Cardi B;

The light skin is better than me,

I guess

Yes

And the plague is

The toxicity of the culture

That sits on my corner

And don't know nothing but the hustle,

Truly makes my own stomach churn

And I don't mean all of them,

A generalization in the realization

That I could just

Never at this point

Find sexual attraction

In a black man

After the experiences I've had

Living in this trash can

The beauty in a brother

But the wickedness of the others,

The ugly on the corner

The no do gooders and hoodlums

The scum that I'm somehow part of

Cause I startle standing over a white girl's shoulder,

Cause I look like the ones on the corner

Who call themselves,

Act like the word

No one's fond of

— it's an energy I don't want

In my sons and daughters

And though

Beautiful brothers, aunts, aunts, and cousins I love all dark skinned;

The toxic skid mark on the corner,

The culture of skulls and crossbones

When the whole world calls for moving up

I'm not for it.

So not for blue or red

Or light or dark

And no matter what the color is

The peace without perfect is knowing what hurts

And what doesn't

So sweep them away like the ants

And spray fir the roaches

And put out the rat traps and

Wage gaps and all the inequality

Perhaps that is the lesson, laugh and laughter

Tragic that I had to gone to hate that half

Then again,

Out if the reach of perfection

A clown and a dunce

Turn your ugly music up

And tell me imm not good enough

And how yot'll never learn to love

Cause all you want is bodies, money, lust

And never trust.

There's no trust at all left in us

If neighborhoods are all chalk dust and redlines anyhow

How's that for pride

An unremarkable Independence Day

What freedom is there left at all

If yours just chokes out mine?

Another n word on another n word crime

And inward I go

Because I'm not supposed to talk about

The way some don't know how to behave

And either way, I'm hated for it

Neither are gone the days of the numbers hanging over us and yet,

When one door closes, yet another opens up

Shut the fuck up

I came recover from the underworld

If bugs keep coming up here

I never wanted to see a brother as a bug

But what one does is what one dies,

And well, a duck looks like a duck

And so the roaches are the pests,

And the devil's nest, the garbage can

I used to think that if I just ate well, and worked out enough— that the noise would just stop. That the chaos and the yelling and the cars and the awful noises would all just go away— if I ran harder, if I ate better, if I stopped talking, stoped creating— stopped breathing; that maybe somehow I deserved the suffering or that it was something wrong with me and not the outside world. Then,as I started to burn out, I realized that was the point; eventually something like a dead battery, I realized that this nonsense had fully consumed me, and there was not a single thing I could change about myself that would make it stop.

More often than not, these people wandering around unkempt or lost, or mumbling to themselves are also creatives, syntheses, and very possibly even unrecognized genius, time stolen by the insensitivities of a corporate and conformed world where social standard takes presidence over nurture;

DAVE FRANCO is an extremely silent and introspective creature; an observant intellectual, he dosdains his screen persona— he admimantely dislikes the roles he plays, his given ‘type', and even his own fans. A complete asexual, his entire life as a celebrity is a sham. He finds himself soothed with a head in a book and steals away to the countryside near a river to paint in isolation, when he is approached by a magician of the quarry.

He says nothing but only listens, his eyes grey and somber.

L E G E N D S

Some DJ banned phones at his performances and I second that and feel the world should follow suit.

Besides dinosaur, my other favorite statue is a giant octopus and I found out it gets even better if you check behind it: there's a dog in a suit (which makes no sense, because the other animals are just animals and then, here is a man sized dog in a suit— however, the second part of the statue is a bunch of other word animals eating cake and there's even a third part, another dog in a suit and a rabbit (I guess) doing some weird stuff.

I was too busy speculating on the feast to really notice what I was seeing; might have to take a night stroll over there when there aren't tourists crawling all over it—

The charging bull statue sucks and I don't understand it, but I admire there's a line in the front and a seperate line in the back just to take a picture of its giant balls

I admire the giant balls more than anything and find this grotesque tourist attraction appealing every time I see it.

Indeed, every time I see it, I do look at it, but not because I'm admiring it. Because I'm genuinely grossed out by how many people are just always around it.

Maybe the art itself is the spectacle of fame in general.

Art that grows.

[The Festival Project ™]

To the mouse,

I'm a dear old fan

Just a buck toothed rabbit

With a past

And a lot of bad habits

And

To the big bear

I'm a dead beat mom

But I wrote this song

Cause that's my problem

I'm a lost cause

On a gross ass block

With a knock on wood

And a whole pest problem

Won't be long

Will we'll all be gone

And the whole damn world

Just blows up, prob'ly.

That was a good cookie.

Something deep

Can seep into you

When you seal

Everything shut

And you keep to yourself

For a moment

Mantras

Something becomes

When you're sealed in tight

Like the deal you might get

If you play your cards right

Slight of hand

And hide your thoughts

Cause we're all being watched

By the monsters up top

I should feel inadequate

All I really got is a post mortem award

But I don't know which song from

As always fashionably

6 feet under

I came to the Grammys in an ambulance

How's that for posh,

No, it's not a limousine

(But the driver's much hotter)

Next year I'll bring a fire truck

I got the hose, of course

But not the water

To the big old mouse

I'm a face in the crowd

And the golden crown

Just falls off the helmet

Sure it fits

But I get that the Mrs and mistresses

Wear dresses

It's just a message

Duress signal

Lessons and

Tantra

Then

All of a sudden the suits and the ties are in Bed Stuy

I've pondered arousal or rather I might have just guessed why

It's a lesson

Let them get in your head

And leave breadcrumbs

Then forever

As imagined

You wanted a friend

But can't have it

Tantrums

——

Dear Friday,

Am I on to you,

Or nothing?

Are you still in love,

Or searching?

Is it fall again,

Or summer

And I wonder

Where you'll spend the winter

My dear Friday?

Summer,

Only next to Monday

Tuesday,

Only next to Sunday

And I wish to tell you,

Friday,

I will always love you

My dear Friday

Handle with care

I heart his heart

Yes I'm a dark soul,

Black hole,

Run, rabbit

There are angels after you

For every tear I ever cried and wished for you

On orgasm

That's to no effects as none

And one to one

And lovers love

I want to wish

We're worlds apart

But really only levels under

Separated by styrofoam containers

So much for continuity.

I'm confused

As to

What anybody wants

But me

and I know

I fall all four times

For all four kings

Over and over

And over

It terrifies

Just to think that I hurt you

In another worldform

Whispers

Remember

I just

Didn't consider

I could

Ever

Have that sort of

Power

To know tonever love you

But instead to want to murder you

A solace— but I don't

The door is open

The door is open.

The door is open .

She is the most beautiful thing in the world

And not me

And I still

Would not want to cause pain

It is only in your nature

To love her

And murder me by doing that

The instinct to kill

The bad and the awful and ugly

I know no sense of love

Besides in the songs and in movies

— to have and to hold, though

None sense

No, not at all

It is only in your nature

I am ugly.

A cause to remember

Functioning at low capacity

I don't you what you're asking me

I gotta get my facts straight

But gotta check my fax machine

Empancipate planet just for answers

Cause water don't flow

If there is no

Bridge and you know

How to burn those

It's a curse tho

And there's no cure

I'd rather be alone,

Or

Secure the closure

Don't go back

To your

Slight of hand ,

Slide of cards

I don't want to write right now—-

Twist of fate, plight of pawns

I don't want to write right now

A trickle of water

A flick of the wand

I don't want to—

Wait, what are we— spellbinding.

Spellbinding! 101.

This dork.

I hate this guy.

Why didn't I get professor..

When— exactly

Did— I get to

Tel you that you'd love

To know me

{Enter The Multiverse}

You don't know jack shit, pal!

I do know Jack!

You don't!

Yes I do, he's my neighbor!

What!

Come!

The mailbox reads Czhit, J.

*squints extra hard*

See, I told you.

You're a strange man.

I never was normal…

Who are you?

Uh. C'mon man, you know me.

*squints extra stupid hard*

I thought I did, but now I don't.

What changed your mind?

[it's been a long hard day. DANNY BOY can't possibly squint any harder. He looks at his old pal BOB and simply doesn't know what else to say. ]

BEFORE.

PREVIOUSLY ON {Enter The Multiverse}}

Though I had imagined at least a week or so, the bloating from the undue stress and panic had vanished within 3 days time, and I was wide awake and wired by the time I was finally off work; Having just seen the updated schedule, after a week-long crisis of offloading and re-downloading even my most crucial apps, like Shazam, Google Documents, and Maps–I had finally logged into the mandatory tracking app in which my employer used to regulate the multiple businesses they owned, myself a mere pawn in the endeavor, for a humble and measly hourly of $17; Not that any, or at least most of my given shift time had gone to waste–I had been gracious enough with my own free time to allow at least some of my creative endeavors to flourish, posting nearly an hour-long-or-so mixtape every day to each Podcast channel, with of course The Infinite Skrillifiles taking the lead: a true cult following with by the thousands of downloads, and the others gaining traction in their own way. Now, After having fasted and worked three days, I was off for two, and had added what could have been at least 50 more pages to theThe Festival Project or more, not that it mattered–and yet, it somehow, to someone, somewhere–also did matter; perhaps not just to me, but there seemed to be something driving me to it.

I had posted the latest episode cold, without auditioning it at all–and now, my dilemma seemed to simply be that I was too hungry to sleep– a sure sign that the fast was quickly ending, as it sometimes did–and although my clarity and focus was still moderately intact, I was also becoming slow, foggy, and groggy–and with no time to waste, I would undoubtedly have a smooth transition into anything, especially not a palpable strategy to pull myself out of the literal gutter by the bootstraps and into a modest enough apartment that I wouldn't have to share it, and could go back to happily living in healthy and plentiful moderation, as I had learned how to over the years; I realized that even without extreme fasting, I had elevated myself entirely–or, rather, that God had–to give credit where credit is due.

‘Listen To This', said a broad and unbeknownst voice; and without een thinking, my own body, seemingly at the will of a greater force entirely took it upon itself to sit fully upright in my bed, reaching for my iPhone, which had already been turned off to sleep– it's replacement due to be sitting in my mailbox in Downtown Santa Monica at any moment, and without even the energy to do much other than to lie down and think, bandana draped over my eyes as a shield to the morning light and earplugs pressed firmly into my inner-canals–I couldn't even think to imagine dragging myself up and out at a decent enough time to retrieve it; But there was obviously something I needed to do, or see, and so–alarmingly autonomously, I uncovered my eyes and unplugged my ears, reaching for my Beats Studio headphones as my fingers inched over the buttons to summon my iPhone to turn on, syncing my bluetooth and selecting the episode, which I had published earlier along with the entry I had spent the first couple hours of my shift crafting in an insolant rage, wet from rain and cold, and hardly paying attention to my post, or my awful coworker–who wasn't altogether awful, just uncomfortably obsese, and poingiantly ignorant.

‘What are you hungry for?', The voice asked,

And without hesitation, I silently listed my Whole Foods escapade, glistening with thoughts of

Croissants,

Bananas,

Apples,

Trail Mix

Tater Tots

A Cool Haus Ice Cream Sandwich,

–and maybe even an Acai bowl, as they were almost always out of Acai by any time was able to make it to the juice bar.

‘Yes', said the voice

“Really?”! I asked–still silently, though at least one of my roomates was beginning his day, and the other, the 22-year-oldd from Brooklyn was still sleeping quietly, wreaking of liquor and leftover something, which at a glance appeared to be Jack In The Box

‘Yes.'

The episode aligned perfectly with the quickly escalating season of the Multiverse i had crafted and was nearly entirely consumed with creating, and the fast was, indeed, over–at least for a moment–

I had, after all, only been fasting because of Drake Bell and his whippets, which for some or any reason at all had irked me to the point of lucidity beyond recognition and ignited my soul into the chaotic and cryptic, whimsical frenzy with which the 6th Season of The Festival Project was being written ferociously. Still, nothing seemed to matter and no one seemed to really care, but it was at least a prompt–and of course, I was still being followed by bodies that coughed a lot, but even that just seemed a toxic wash of nonsense I couldn't be bothered with, croissants or not.

I fantasized being knocked off in a robbery , but would more than likely just die of a broken heart and a lack of love.

In walked a childhood crush, and opened up Pandora's Box

Ugh. This Fucking Sucks.

Drake Bell was not my childhood crush.

Wait— he wasn't.

No:

Don't get me wrong—he's my type, or— was, but…

Let us not forget my placement in the world, and here is where I make my mark, to wit that the programming of an entire generation had been captivated and altered in my very own mine—the familiarity of potent lust arising out of circumstance and also nirture, a lack of fight or flight from which one could and would have easily turned away—or run towards.

Then, almost hastily unknowing whether to jump to conclusions in that, my own series had created some kind of reverberations within what was so quite notably a smaller pond than not— the industry itself having eyes and ears with every motion I had taken from the start of it, and my ability to trust, and naivety ruined over the course of what my mind would have imagined, how startlingly easy it was to awaken his imaginary world which was, not only not just of random circumstance, but an idea that was planted and mulled over.

Tales of a Superstar DJ

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

{} - Enter The Multiverse

It's like spraying for ants,

But they keep coming back

The colonies are alarming in number

Really harmless but lawful annoying

A roach infestation

Left to fester;

The gutter is the environment

No matter what you try to put over it

Still, you don't want the pests

In your place of rest,

And it's hard to acknowledge

The infestation

It's just a lesson

A garbage can is a garbage can

And the lesson is,

Just don't get too close to it

Why I don't love rap music

And black men

Cause depending on this image

Or infestation of lower frequency invasion

Is paramount to the reason

I need a weave and

Nails like Cardi B;

The light skin is better than me,

I guess

Yes

And the plague is

The toxicity of the culture

That sits on my corner

And don't know nothing but the hustle,

Truly makes my own stomach churn

And I don't mean all of them,

A generalization in the realization

That I could just

Never at this point

Find sexual attraction

In a black man

After the experiences I've had

Living in this trash can

The beauty in a brother

But the wickedness of the others,

The ugly on the corner

The no do gooders and hoodlums

The scum that I'm somehow part of

Cause I startle standing over a white girl's shoulder,

Cause I look like the ones on the corner

Who call themselves,

Act like the word

No one's fond of

— it's an energy I don't want

In my sons and daughters

And though

Beautiful brothers, aunts, aunts, and cousins I love all dark skinned;

The toxic skid mark on the corner,

The culture of skulls and crossbones

When the whole world calls for moving up

I'm not for it.

So not for blue or red

Or light or dark

And no matter what the color is

The peace without perfect is knowing what hurts

And what doesn't

So sweep them away like the ants

And spray fir the roaches

And put out the rat traps and

Wage gaps and all the inequality

Perhaps that is the lesson, laugh and laughter

Tragic that I had to gone to hate that half

Then again,

Out if the reach of perfection

A clown and a dunce

Turn your ugly music up

And tell me imm not good enough

And how yot'll never learn to love

Cause all you want is bodies, money, lust

And never trust.

There's no trust at all left in us

If neighborhoods are all chalk dust and redlines anyhow

How's that for pride

An unremarkable Independence Day

What freedom is there left at all

If yours just chokes out mine?

Another n word on another n word crime

And inward I go

Because I'm not supposed to talk about

The way some don't know how to behave

And either way, I'm hated for it

Neither are gone the days of the numbers hanging over us and yet,

When one door closes, yet another opens up

Shut the fuck up

I came recover from the underworld

If bugs keep coming up here

I never wanted to see a brother as a bug

But what one does is what one dies,

And well, a duck looks like a duck

And so the roaches are the pests,

And the devil's nest, the garbage can

I used to think that if I just ate well, and worked out enough— that the noise would just stop. That the chaos and the yelling and the cars and the awful noises would all just go away— if I ran harder, if I ate better, if I stopped talking, stoped creating— stopped breathing; that maybe somehow I deserved the suffering or that it was something wrong with me and not the outside world. Then,as I started to burn out, I realized that was the point; eventually something like a dead battery, I realized that this nonsense had fully consumed me, and there was not a single thing I could change about myself that would make it stop.

More often than not, these people wandering around unkempt or lost, or mumbling to themselves are also creatives, syntheses, and very possibly even unrecognized genius, time stolen by the insensitivities of a corporate and conformed world where social standard takes presidence over nurture;

DAVE FRANCO is an extremely silent and introspective creature; an observant intellectual, he dosdains his screen persona— he admimantely dislikes the roles he plays, his given ‘type', and even his own fans. A complete asexual, his entire life as a celebrity is a sham. He finds himself soothed with a head in a book and steals away to the countryside near a river to paint in isolation, when he is approached by a magician of the quarry.

He says nothing but only listens, his eyes grey and somber.

L E G E N D S

Some DJ banned phones at his performances and I second that and feel the world should follow suit.

Besides dinosaur, my other favorite statue is a giant octopus and I found out it gets even better if you check behind it: there's a dog in a suit (which makes no sense, because the other animals are just animals and then, here is a man sized dog in a suit— however, the second part of the statue is a bunch of other word animals eating cake and there's even a third part, another dog in a suit and a rabbit (I guess) doing some weird stuff.

I was too busy speculating on the feast to really notice what I was seeing; might have to take a night stroll over there when there aren't tourists crawling all over it—

The charging bull statue sucks and I don't understand it, but I admire there's a line in the front and a seperate line in the back just to take a picture of its giant balls

I admire the giant balls more than anything and find this grotesque tourist attraction appealing every time I see it.

Indeed, every time I see it, I do look at it, but not because I'm admiring it. Because I'm genuinely grossed out by how many people are just always around it.

Maybe the art itself is the spectacle of fame in general.

Art that grows.

[The Festival Project ™]

To the mouse,

I'm a dear old fan

Just a buck toothed rabbit

With a past

And a lot of bad habits

And

To the big bear

I'm a dead beat mom

But I wrote this song

Cause that's my problem

I'm a lost cause

On a gross ass block

With a knock on wood

And a whole pest problem

Won't be long

Will we'll all be gone

And the whole damn world

Just blows up, prob'ly.

That was a good cookie.

Something deep

Can seep into you

When you seal

Everything shut

And you keep to yourself

For a moment

Mantras

Something becomes

When you're sealed in tight

Like the deal you might get

If you play your cards right

Slight of hand

And hide your thoughts

Cause we're all being watched

By the monsters up top

I should feel inadequate

All I really got is a post mortem award

But I don't know which song from

As always fashionably

6 feet under

I came to the Grammys in an ambulance

How's that for posh,

No, it's not a limousine

(But the driver's much hotter)

Next year I'll bring a fire truck

I got the hose, of course

But not the water

To the big old mouse

I'm a face in the crowd

And the golden crown

Just falls off the helmet

Sure it fits

But I get that the Mrs and mistresses

Wear dresses

It's just a message

Duress signal

Lessons and

Tantra

Then

All of a sudden the suits and the ties are in Bed Stuy

I've pondered arousal or rather I might have just guessed why

It's a lesson

Let them get in your head

And leave breadcrumbs

Then forever

As imagined

You wanted a friend

But can't have it

Tantrums

——

Dear Friday,

Am I on to you,

Or nothing?

Are you still in love,

Or searching?

Is it fall again,

Or summer

And I wonder

Where you'll spend the winter

My dear Friday?

Summer,

Only next to Monday

Tuesday,

Only next to Sunday

And I wish to tell you,

Friday,

I will always love you

My dear Friday

Handle with care

I heart his heart

Yes I'm a dark soul,

Black hole,

Run, rabbit

There are angels after you

For every tear I ever cried and wished for you

On orgasm

That's to no effects as none

And one to one

And lovers love

I want to wish

We're worlds apart

But really only levels under

Separated by styrofoam containers

So much for continuity.

I'm confused

As to

What anybody wants

But me

and I know

I fall all four times

For all four kings

Over and over

And over

It terrifies

Just to think that I hurt you

In another worldform

Whispers

Remember

I just

Didn't consider

I could

Ever

Have that sort of

Power

To know tonever love you

But instead to want to murder you

A solace— but I don't

The door is open

The door is open.

The door is open .

She is the most beautiful thing in the world

And not me

And I still

Would not want to cause pain

It is only in your nature

To love her

And murder me by doing that

The instinct to kill

The bad and the awful and ugly

I know no sense of love

Besides in the songs and in movies

— to have and to hold, though

None sense

No, not at all

It is only in your nature

I am ugly.

A cause to remember

Functioning at low capacity

I don't you what you're asking me

I gotta get my facts straight

But gotta check my fax machine

Empancipate planet just for answers

Cause water don't flow

If there is no

Bridge and you know

How to burn those

It's a curse tho

And there's no cure

I'd rather be alone,

Or

Secure the closure

Don't go back

To your

Slight of hand ,

Slide of cards

I don't want to write right now—-

Twist of fate, plight of pawns

I don't want to write right now

A trickle of water

A flick of the wand

I don't want to—

Wait, what are we— spellbinding.

Spellbinding! 101.

This dork.

I hate this guy.

Why didn't I get professor..

When— exactly

Did— I get to

Tel you that you'd love

To know me

{Enter The Multiverse}

You don't know jack shit, pal!

I do know Jack!

You don't!

Yes I do, he's my neighbor!

What!

Come!

The mailbox reads Czhit, J.

*squints extra hard*

See, I told you.

You're a strange man.

I never was normal…

Who are you?

Uh. C'mon man, you know me.

*squints extra stupid hard*

I thought I did, but now I don't.

What changed your mind?

[it's been a long hard day. DANNY BOY can't possibly squint any harder. He looks at his old pal BOB and simply doesn't know what else to say. ]

BEFORE.

PREVIOUSLY ON {Enter The Multiverse}}

Though I had imagined at least a week or so, the bloating from the undue stress and panic had vanished within 3 days time, and I was wide awake and wired by the time I was finally off work; Having just seen the updated schedule, after a week-long crisis of offloading and re-downloading even my most crucial apps, like Shazam, Google Documents, and Maps–I had finally logged into the mandatory tracking app in which my employer used to regulate the multiple businesses they owned, myself a mere pawn in the endeavor, for a humble and measly hourly of $17; Not that any, or at least most of my given shift time had gone to waste–I had been gracious enough with my own free time to allow at least some of my creative endeavors to flourish, posting nearly an hour-long-or-so mixtape every day to each Podcast channel, with of course The Infinite Skrillifiles taking the lead: a true cult following with by the thousands of downloads, and the others gaining traction in their own way. Now, After having fasted and worked three days, I was off for two, and had added what could have been at least 50 more pages to theThe Festival Project or more, not that it mattered–and yet, it somehow, to someone, somewhere–also did matter; perhaps not just to me, but there seemed to be something driving me to it.

I had posted the latest episode cold, without auditioning it at all–and now, my dilemma seemed to simply be that I was too hungry to sleep– a sure sign that the fast was quickly ending, as it sometimes did–and although my clarity and focus was still moderately intact, I was also becoming slow, foggy, and groggy–and with no time to waste, I would undoubtedly have a smooth transition into anything, especially not a palpable strategy to pull myself out of the literal gutter by the bootstraps and into a modest enough apartment that I wouldn't have to share it, and could go back to happily living in healthy and plentiful moderation, as I had learned how to over the years; I realized that even without extreme fasting, I had elevated myself entirely–or, rather, that God had–to give credit where credit is due.

‘Listen To This', said a broad and unbeknownst voice; and without een thinking, my own body, seemingly at the will of a greater force entirely took it upon itself to sit fully upright in my bed, reaching for my iPhone, which had already been turned off to sleep– it's replacement due to be sitting in my mailbox in Downtown Santa Monica at any moment, and without even the energy to do much other than to lie down and think, bandana draped over my eyes as a shield to the morning light and earplugs pressed firmly into my inner-canals–I couldn't even think to imagine dragging myself up and out at a decent enough time to retrieve it; But there was obviously something I needed to do, or see, and so–alarmingly autonomously, I uncovered my eyes and unplugged my ears, reaching for my Beats Studio headphones as my fingers inched over the buttons to summon my iPhone to turn on, syncing my bluetooth and selecting the episode, which I had published earlier along with the entry I had spent the first couple hours of my shift crafting in an insolant rage, wet from rain and cold, and hardly paying attention to my post, or my awful coworker–who wasn't altogether awful, just uncomfortably obsese, and poingiantly ignorant.

‘What are you hungry for?', The voice asked,

And without hesitation, I silently listed my Whole Foods escapade, glistening with thoughts of

Croissants,

Bananas,

Apples,

Trail Mix

Tater Tots

A Cool Haus Ice Cream Sandwich,

–and maybe even an Acai bowl, as they were almost always out of Acai by any time was able to make it to the juice bar.

‘Yes', said the voice

“Really?”! I asked–still silently, though at least one of my roomates was beginning his day, and the other, the 22-year-oldd from Brooklyn was still sleeping quietly, wreaking of liquor and leftover something, which at a glance appeared to be Jack In The Box

‘Yes.'

The episode aligned perfectly with the quickly escalating season of the Multiverse i had crafted and was nearly entirely consumed with creating, and the fast was, indeed, over–at least for a moment–

I had, after all, only been fasting because of Drake Bell and his whippets, which for some or any reason at all had irked me to the point of lucidity beyond recognition and ignited my soul into the chaotic and cryptic, whimsical frenzy with which the 6th Season of The Festival Project was being written ferociously. Still, nothing seemed to matter and no one seemed to really care, but it was at least a prompt–and of course, I was still being followed by bodies that coughed a lot, but even that just seemed a toxic wash of nonsense I couldn't be bothered with, croissants or not.

I fantasized being knocked off in a robbery , but would more than likely just die of a broken heart and a lack of love.

In walked a childhood crush, and opened up Pandora's Box

Ugh. This Fucking Sucks.

Drake Bell was not my childhood crush.

Wait— he wasn't.

No:

Don't get me wrong—he's my type, or— was, but…

Let us not forget my placement in the world, and here is where I make my mark, to wit that the programming of an entire generation had been captivated and altered in my very own mine—the familiarity of potent lust arising out of circumstance and also nirture, a lack of fight or flight from which one could and would have easily turned away—or run towards.

Then, almost hastily unknowing whether to jump to conclusions in that, my own series had created some kind of reverberations within what was so quite notably a smaller pond than not— the industry itself having eyes and ears with every motion I had taken from the start of it, and my ability to trust, and naivety ruined over the course of what my mind would have imagined, how startlingly easy it was to awaken his imaginary world which was, not only not just of random circumstance, but an idea that was planted and mulled over.

Tales of a Superstar DJ

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

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{} - Enter The Multiverse