They weren't going to hire me for EDC anyway1- not based off of that mix! But it had been a long week, and a long day, and of all the excuses in the world o had to make, the greatest excuse was this: it just wasn't my best mix( I simply wasn't ready. In fact, my entry was more like a spoof— I hadn't any pictures on my laptop and instead included a photo of my logo; my entry included a bio that was short and direct, vague and said more about my invisible cat than I did me. I didn't include a soundcloud, because I didn't have one, and when it came down to it, I wasn't a fan of the mix; it didn't sound as well as I knew I could do, or even as good as some of my past entries. I was going off the top of my head, with no tracks analyzed to sync—which meant I was wasting valuable playtime selecting tracks, and pitchyhingbthen manually to be exact, which made my mix not sound like me at all. I sounded like an amatur/- and with this being my first on-camera appearance, I certainly was an amatuer. The top of the line technology was foreign to me— and I knew EDC was at a loss; I hadn't handed in my best work or even looked my best, not understanding how fat the camera would make me look. Still, I hadn't even given them the video, and with every bit of my might leading up to the very deadline, I still made a ridiculous effort to hand in something— because it was some thing. I was already on somebody's radar in the DJ world for a very long time— this was my way of showing I was still doing as much as I could to actually catch up to speed with the kids, the hot girl DJ's, and the prostitots who at least could figure out how to analyze and sync their pre-recorded sets and press play on time. My set was janky, and it made it look like I couldn't even do that.

But I could.

As I had learned by spending that amount of time at the decks, I had actually become quite the technical DJ— little use of effects by choice means that I had precision focused in speed and ability— how many tracks can I get up and down and to stay in line? It was harder than ever without the ability to use sync at all, but I was learning by hand a skill enough DJ's didn't have to make it a skill worth having. Then, there was more I needed not just to learn, but for it to become second nature. For it to be easy to do not just in a room myself, but potentially in front of hundreds and thousands of people. I didn't want to be the average disc jokey. I wanted to play EDC— and not on a little controller on a side stage at 3:30 PM; I was sure I would one day start there, but this year was a wash. I had been thrown off by trying and failing to record the mixed I needed to enter the contest on my birthday and then all that accumulated in the pressure of anxiety, disappointment, and movements I hadn't made in months under the circumstances— for about four days in a row it seemed unlikely that it would happen at all, and when it did, it was at the very last moment, at the literal deadline, with a mix I wasn't particularly proud of and a track which was technically unreleased without using “unlicensed content”— I had selected it in hopes that the judge of the contest, SLANDER might hear something from it. A bass music DJ— and this was bass music, however, with somewhat outdated samples and a rare and very unique technique, I would hope that someone would listen to the track before the mix— and hear something special in it. It was a special song, at least to me— but these people were hard to impress to say the least, still I wanted to at least be on the radar, and I had an Insomniac tattoo that pleaded with me at times to just do whatever it takes.

Besides, they had opened up another contest, which meant I had four tracks to present in total— three more tracks and three more mixes, and I was determined that with each passing day I would do better. For now, I was recovering from being out in New York on a rolling basis; my collected self confidence and poise from isolation had dwindled into the rotting core of depression of just being “just another poor black girl in Brooklyn” not an identity I wore on me at all times, but something like a badge that was placed on me by location, and the color of my skin. I hated my apartment, and I hated everything about my circumstances— because it separated me from the other DJs and producers. I wasn't safe, supported, popular, pretty, or well-to-do— and I didn't have the access to thentechnology on a whim, through a friend, or with privelege. Everything I did in the DJ world was a fight, a push, a breakthrough from a world that had no such luxuries— and for the most part, what wasn't going into my music, was going into my mouth. When I wasn't excersising, I was working, and when I wasn't working, I still was. I spent my time writing, and reading, and there was no such thing as a waste of time when I was learning about my predecessors— J.K. Rowling, George Lucas, and even Jim Henson, who I'd learned had made the very first muppet from scratch and by hand! Besides the play on words, I wasn't just a DJ; I was a writer, and a filmmaker, and I was trying to figure out how somehow also I was this strange puppeteer man, coming to the conclusion with the fact that I was also sort of always just obsessed with TV and wanted something to do with it.

But I was stamping my foot, and heavily— I didn't just want to be an actor! I didn't just want to be a comedian. And certainly, because it sometimes seemed as if anybody could do it and with the sync button and pre-recorded mixes in mind, any bikini clad hot girl or basic bitch Chad boy could and were very most often DJs—I certainly did not want to nor did I have the choice of being just a DJ, or JUST a producer— because it seemed nothing made sense without being any of the others. But the problem remained that I was still not making any money from anything really worthwhile, and I was sick of subsisting, with the limited choices I had for nutrition and vitamins because of my government subsidies; the foods I wanted were out of reach— the energy sustaining, clean and organically sourced best foods and vitamins were just simply unavailable to people with food stamps, and even on the days I should have felt happiest, I became depressed. How was I going to escape the system— and why was no strawberry flavored vegan protein available to people on EBT?!

I was almost a comedian, but lately too depressed to perform. All I wanted was my music world to be real— and it was real— I was doing just about as much as anyone else in the industry was, despite my limitations, and just not getting paid for it.

My neighbors banged on the walls when I played music and slammed doors even even I didn't— and when I sang or rapped it sounded like they were slamming things around like they were throwing tantrums and fits. It might have been easy to look past if I were inebriated in some sort of way like most rappers, singers, and performers— but I was stone cold sober. Even in ear plugs, I heard every slam, every bang, every boom— and not to mention the motorcycles and the rest of the idiots outside. It seemed like I was being trapped by an energy that just simply never wanted me to make the best music I knew I could make, and so the best music I knew I could make wasn't going to be in this place.

But how would I escape it?

IT STARTS NOW.

Agh.

I promised myself that on my next Instacart subscription I would brush up on my Saturday a Night Live and whatever

Which included but wasn't exactly limited to—

Seth Meyers,

30 Rock,

And almost dreadedly

The Tonight Show, starring .

Oh look.

There he is.

What was that dude's name again?

Fixed it,

You're welcome.

What was wrong with it.

Just needed some adjustments.

Uhh.

Wow, I never saw that before.

A very strange man has appears to have affixed a giant pair of television antennas to his oddly specific television-shaped house.

Hm.

Aha,

I see…

I told you before, Marty. I don't like you hanging out with that old man. He is—

— he's strange, Marty!

He's strange,

Well, maybe I'm strange.

I don't think so! Remember this?

LORRAINE points at a picture on the refrigerator; Her son, MARTY is clean cut, smiling and well dressed— almost the opposite of his newly adopted

Whatever, I just got bored.

But mom, he's a genius!

Genius my patatootie!

Let's not—

[The Festival Project ™]

Ugh, Mom!

—say, “patootie” alright? Especially when I'm watching TV!

I can say patootie all I want, especially if it's my patootie!

Eww, mom!!

Patatootie, patootie, patootie!

Alright. I only got two weeks to learn everything I can about Saturday night Live…

For whatever reason.

WHY!

I don't know.

WHY!

I don't know.

WHYYYYYYYYYY?!

I don't know, Kenan, shut the fuck up!

Woah woah woah.

Hold the phone.

KENAN cries out into the universe inconsolably about his newly entirely totaled Beamer.

KEL can't seem to console him, but doesn't really try.

He seems preoccupied with twisting up the perfect blunt, licking it from the sidewalk as KENAN, hunched over the crumpled hood and completely totaled vehicle cries out once more,

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!

There appears to have been a hit-and-run.

L E G E N D S

Earlier:

Well, for…

Wait who did I write Flowers for?

Bill Hader.

That's right. I never found Bill Hader.

I was trying to avoid—

Oh look, a penny.

Aurumph.

—oddly enough, I also promised myself a Rick and Morty marathon.

Oh, that's right; it was

Was I right?

I can bet.

CHRIS PARNELL seems to have awakened from a very deep sleep. As he lie on his back in the middle of the floor in an unknown room, the location becomes familiar ; he appears to be at Rockerfeller Center— however, not in a usual setting.

PARNELL

Oh, Jesus Christ…

I don't know how I had him and sudakis mixed up.

I don't even think they were on the same cast.

Also, explain to me why.

EXPLAIN TO ME WHY THIS DUDE:

[Apparently Rob Riggle]

SHOT ME.

Shot— yo, wait.

And you said—

I'm waiting.

He was wearing some kind of cloak .

A cloak of invisibility. Everything was hidden besides— whatever he was drinking.

He was drinking something .

Yes, that is correct, apparently!

“Apparently”

Apparently!

“Apparently”

Do you remember what he was drinking.

Ah, yes. I remember exactly…apparently.

Apparently?

Yes, exactly—apparently. It appeared to be a strawberry milkshake.

A—a strawberry milkshake .

A strawberry milkshake! Exactly!

Not apparently?

Exactly, apparently!

Alright… thanks. -_-

Now, where were we with the actual celebrities ! I thought this was a Star-studded cast!

We are star studded.

Where are they then.

The who?!

The stars !

The what!

The people! You said this movie had real star power!

It does!

Where!

Right here, see ?!

At some point I had seen all I thought that I could of one man's price —

The thing to pay in response to one great, cosmic ask;

And then, like nothing ; I dissappeared, and went away with it all, into my cavern, trapped like a madman;

To know so much and yet, nothing at all.

Shh.

K.

Take this.

*sighs, but almost silently*

Shh.

*sighs even more deeply, but even more silently*

The Legend of Ascencia

Yo.

Yo what.

Yo what the fuck.

What the fuck.

What the fuck. It's Skrillex.

No, I'm not.

Dont tell me—

Idiot .

You look confused.

Do it again.

I am— confused.

Mortals.

Where's deadmau5.

I'm not playing deadmau5;

These speakers are loud.

Play the deadmau5

No, not that.

There is it.

Aha. See, I found it.

—noo.

That's better. I'll take it from here.

From where.

I don't see anything.

I don't feel.

I don't know anything.

I don't say.

I lost focus.

I go home drunk.

I think I called the wrong number.

I think I caught a cold on the tour bus.

I think I brought the whole road back with me.

I think I got more starstruck not watching.

I think I ran out of luck—

On a four leaf clover.

I think I woke up to Conan at

Four in the morning

Like “top of the morning to ya”

And it was too much

It was too much.

It was too much.

Smile.

Camera one

Camera 3

Run a mile

Smile

Admire on in

1, 2–

Why are we counting up?

Somehow my whole world backwards

Backend, black tights,

Black dress

That's right

But I don't like rice and my fritters is fried

I am fried

I am

High I guess

High I guess

High I guess

High I guess

Hi, I guess.

I like his eyes, I guess.

Starting to cry I guess,

Will ferrel is wild, I guess

But why

Don't look at the thigh meat

I'm high as a kite I guess

I just smiled and sung my goodbyes

And just stopped trying to try I guess

I wasted all my good years

On a poor fat boy

I wasted all my goo ears on bad songs that

Still blow my mind

Subliminal messages

And as high as I am

I still see tides, I guess

Whole worlds of oceans and

Starting to fly, I guess

Yess I'm a bird

Fuck this bird

All I wanted was water

A kite I guess

Look, mom,

I still cry I guess

I digest life by the light and the smiles I get

Almost none of them,

Retreat to the forest

Where I don't see none of them

To go downstairs,

No hair

No make up

Ugly girl

Black girl

Broke girl

New York

Going downstairs

Undressed,

Not made up

Ugly girl

Black girl

Nappy girl

Fat girl

New York

Scowl like you mean it

Scowl like you mean it

Nobody loves be because I'm not famous

And no,

I don't want you

Because you're not famous

And no,

I don't want you

Because you got famous

And now

I don't want you

Because you're too famous

Yes

Do wah diddy

Down by the boardwalk

Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.™