The Secret Life Of Sunnï Blū

This is as cool as my fucking socks.

…you wear socks.

Bright.

HE WEARS SOCKS.

___

nNNNNAaaaaaaaaHHHHHHH GetaWAY, You're from HEEEEEEEEEELLLL

What are you for?

If i just wish on a star,

Would they all fall out the sky?

I ponder

Drop in the bucket;

Or whatever that was

Before i lost it

How long can you handle?

Awhile,

Now that I'm up, i'm up

And now that i've died,

I'll prosper.

Phospherous and suns

Won't you want us all

Just to fall over

A sphere obit rolls the ball

But then,

Something comes along to stop it

I finally learned my lesson in kinetics after all

Mathematic and magnets,

But it just tastes like magic

Sprite or Orange Crush Soda?

Flat, and not sparkling water at all

Holy shit, i never thought i'd have to say this;

Never thought there was a need,

But I just got Daft Punk'd.

SUCKA.

Well, the Helmets don't help.

How…is this a thing?

Impersonators.

LIL BITZ

I got clickbaited this video on youtube

And I thought Daft Punk had gotten back together

But as it turns out

It's just two dudes in helmets

Playing Daft Punk live

And the band is still broken up

My heart is broken a little

I tried to get tickets

And saw that their tour was all european and I was like

That's not fair! Daft Punk is back together! This should be global!

I'm in New York, how do you not have a show in New York

And then i look closer

At their website,

And their website says–

“DAFT PUNK TRIBUTE BAND”

And i was so fucking tired

And so fucking cranky

It almost shook me.

I was livid.

I was pissed.

I was like “how in the fuck is it possible that you could even make a living doing something like this?”

Those two dudes are still out there–they're still alive.

It's not like an Elvis impersonator,

Or Michael Jackson:

Daft Punk broke up like YESTERDAY

And you guys are making money putting on helmets

And impersonating THEM?!

Fuck that!

Give me a break!

And then, that's when i thought about it for the first time maybe ever in my life.

That's it!

I'll just be deadmau5.

[Enter The Multiverse}

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

He is a genius who makes decisive action.

There is no way on just some fluke that this man can fly off the handle with no purpose. Human, sure— and famous, yes— but in what world does this just happen.

It seemed a cry for help.

I was upset, but I didn't know why.

I am upset.

I stayed throughout the day deep cleaning and heavy thinking. I thought Joel was sober— but before long, this shock sent me into a panic of deep chaos. Was my son okay? Was his father drinking again. I wasn't thinning clearly or on any level really, besides just upset.

I scrubbed everything from the walls to the baseboards, every reach of every corner, every windowsill… still upset.

I sent out texts checking on my boy. It had been months since I had spoken with him— and because I had chosen to dissapear, things were somewhat calm. For once, the world hadn't always felt like something was trying to kill me; maybe his father already thought I was dead. The longer I laid low, the better things got; I couldn't let myself cry over Joel— but I could cry over that, right?

I needed to cry about that, apparently. I missed my son. Something needed to be done. I needed a job. But reentering the workforce at entry level? No amount of things I could do in New York City ever seemed enough, and as far as actual deadmau5 was concerned, my music was just not adding up. I was not on par.

But what the fuck was going on!!

Perhaps I had just been Google alerted to my doom in just the way I was supposed to have gone in the weeks before in the wake of things. But instead this hurt in a way that was not supposed to feel the way it did. Deadmau5 was my friend, and so Joel was something attached to it. Perhaps it had just been dragged out of proportion. Perhaps it had just been publicity. Was there another album. I separated the deadmau5 from the Joel momentarily— typically he was precise and in control. Drunk and stumbling around at Coachella wasn't his forte.

Joel Zimmerman was a top-notch, class act. Period. There wasn't much to do or say about deadmau5 besides that it was my next to near favorite thing— as a DJ— which made Joel one of my next to near favorite people. Without looking too closely, I began to wonder whether just having a good time could have been made to look like something else, however— last I understood, Joel was comfortable in his sobriety. 'Jesus Christ,' then. ‘What happened!‘

Tales of a Superstar DJ.

Let me mask that pain

Let me watch and feed you

Let me die again

Let me let you live a little

Let me lie let me lie

Let me— lie inside you

Let me be your flame

Let me— walk behind you

Let me die, die, die

Let me— rot in chorus

Watch me lie lie lie

Watch me harpsichord (this)

I'm in so much pain

Pick me up,

And throw me overboard

I shooted you a solution for your

Writer's block on the plaza

Watch me talk talk talk

Now let me lie a little

Watch me cry cry cry

Now let me die a little

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

Future People

Starring: Tina Fey and Jimmy Fallon

Scene: A slightly overgrown hiking trail in upstate New York. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows.

Characters:

(SCENE START)

TINA and JIMMY are breathing heavily, standing over a suspiciously lumpy pile of leaves and poorly concealed branches.

JIMMY: (Wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand) Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. Nobody saw us. Right?

TINA: (Staring intently at the leafy mound) Unless that squirrel with the judgmental eyes is a witness, I think we're in the clear.

JIMMY: That squirrel did look pretty judgy.

TINA: Jimmy. Focus. He… he just slipped. Right? One minute he was behind us, talking about his artisanal mayonnaise collection, the next – thwack. Head meets rock. Lights out.

JIMMY: Totally dead. You checked, right? Like, really, really checked?

TINA: I felt for a pulse, Jimmy! And frankly, the way his eyes rolled back, I'm pretty sure his soul has already booked a one-way ticket to the great beyond.

JIMMY: This is bad. This is so, so bad. Lorne's gonna kill us.

TINA: He's not going to kill us. Because he's not going to find out. This was an accident. A stupid, horrible, unbelievably ill-timed accident that happened during a team-building “nature walk” I organized to foster inter-office harmony.

JIMMY: Which you only organized because I said Seth was giving me the stink-eye during the monologue rehearsal!

TINA: Well, he was looking at you funny! Like you stole his last gluten-free bagel.

JIMMY: He probably did! Anyway, what are we gonna tell Lorne? About Seth?

TINA: That he… got a sudden case of… Lyme disease? Very sudden, very aggressive Lyme disease that required immediate and silent evacuation by a top-secret medical team?

JIMMY: (Gesturing wildly at the leafy pile) No! About this! About… you know.

TINA: Oh. Right. That he… slipped.

JIMMY: And?

TINA: And… tumbled into a… very conveniently located… unmarked ravine?

JIMMY: There are no ravines here, Tina! We're practically on a putting green!

TINA: Okay, fine! He slipped… and then he… kept slipping. Down a… surprisingly steep and leaf-covered… gentle incline.

JIMMY: So we just left him at the bottom of a gentle incline? Lorne's gonna ask questions!

TINA: Okay, okay! He slipped… and then he… kept slipping… and then… he somehow… burrowed underground? Like a startled mole person?

JIMMY: Tina!

TINA: What?! We panicked! It was a stressful situation! He's the new Weekend Update guy! If he's suddenly gone, people will ask questions! Especially after you kept muttering about how he was “encroaching on your desk space.”

JIMMY: He was! His ergonomic keyboard was practically in my personal bubble!

TINA: Look, Lorne is a rational guy…

JIMMY: Yeah, I'm sure he'll understand that our new colleague spontaneously decided to take an unscheduled dirt nap after a minor tumble.

TINA: He'll understand that accidents happen! We were just trying to… bond!

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

TIMELINES V: Summary

[Seasons 1-4 {Enter The Multiverse, Pre-Legends}

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

“FRED BITES”

INT. WINNEBAGO - DAY

The inside of a beat-up WINNEBAGO hurtles down HIGHWAY 101. FRED ARMISEN (40s, looking deceptively sweet, a glint of manic energy in his eyes) is behind the wheel, foot pressed firmly on the gas. The speedometer needle is way past the limit.

In the passenger seat, a frazzled-looking BAND MEMBER #1 (30s, anxious) grips the dashboard. In the back, BAND MEMBER #2 (30s, spacey) stares blankly at the ceiling.

BAND MEMBER #1 Slow down, Fred. Seriously.

FRED (Grinning widely) Nah.

Fred reaches down and cracks open a tall can of FOUR LOKO. The sickly sweet smell fills the cramped space.

BAND MEMBER #1 Is that a Four Loko? It's barely noon!

FRED (Taking a long swig) Shut your face. Road sodie.

The Winnebago swerves violently.

BAND MEMBER #1 YO! BE CAREFUL, DAWG!

FRED (Chuckling) I'm… careful. In my own way.

He lets out a wild laugh. Band Member #1 and #2 exchange terrified glances.

BAND MEMBER #2 (Looking around) Hey, uh… why are there no windows in here?

BAND MEMBER #1 Yeah man, what the—

The Winnebago swerves again, even more dangerously this time.

BAND MEMBER #1 AGHHHHH!

CUT TO: INT. GENERIC OFFICE - DAY

CONAN O'BRIEN (60s, unmistakable red hair) sits at a desk, a half-eaten slice of pizza the size of his head clutched in his hand. He shoves a massive bite into his mouth, cheeks bulging.

OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) Meanwhile, in that other thing…

OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) (CONT'D) Where rational thoughts go to die, apparently.

OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) (CONT'D) Or just get really hungry.

Two WRITERS (30s, sarcastic) watch Conan with a mixture of amusement and disgust.

WRITER #1 I hope you croak.

WRITER #2 You should choke on that, honestly.

Conan finishes chewing, licks his greasy fingers with exaggerated relish.

CONAN (Mouth full) I didn't.

CUT BACK TO: EXT. PRIVATE BEACH - DAY

The Winnebago screeches to a halt just off a pristine beach. SUNNI BLŪ (30s, cool and unimpressed) stands near the water, looking annoyed.

FRED (Grinning, stepping out of the van) …hi Sunnï.

SUNNI BLŪ What up… C-list show people… Plus two skags?

Band Member #1 and #2 wave awkwardly from the open van door.

FRED We got you a Winnebago! Surprise!

SUNNI BLŪ …for what? Is this some kind of bit? Because it's not funny.

FRED (Eyes gleaming) Don't you want to take… a closer look—?

Sunni takes a step towards the van, a flicker of curiosity on their face. Suddenly, Fred's demeanor shifts. His sweet smile vanishes, replaced by a primal intensity.

FRED (Snarling, voice low and menacing) —ah shit— Seth Meyers?

He lunges at Sunni with surprising speed, grabbing a drumstick from behind his back and jamming it against their head. Sunni cries out, collapsing.

FRED (Animalistic growl) JUST GET IN THE VAN!

Fred and the band members quickly grab Sunni, who is now limp, and hoist them up. They carry Sunni, tied up with what looks suspiciously like floral garland, like a luau pig towards the Winnebago. They toss Sunni unceremoniously into the back.

Fred hops back into the driver's seat, cracks open another tallboy, and chugs the rest of it, littering the empty can out the open door before starting the engine.

SUNNI BLŪ (suddenly alert, from inside the van) YO! DID YOU JUST LITTER ON MY BEACH?!

BAND MEMBER #1 (Looking horrified) Not cool, bro.

BAND MEMBER #2 That was wrong, man. Seriously uncool.

Fred slams on the brakes. He gets out of the Winnebago, a look of pure fury on his face. He stomps over to the discarded can, picks it up, and then gets back in the van, restarting the engine and speeding off down the road, even angrier than before.

FADE OUT INTO ORANGE CALIFORNIAN SUNSET.

L E G E N D S

[The Festival Project ™]

{Enter The Multiverse}

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

You've got some issues

And that's totally hot

I'm totally spoiled rotten

I am

Totally thought

I want to be free

That's what I want

I want to be free

Two, one

I want

I want I want

Dime a dozen

Shoes for dollops

Cost and markets

Hot sauce

Call the cops on em

What you wanted

Dratch

Knee highs

Strawberry milkshake

“Delicious looking drink”

Check out big Jimmy!

No, he's kind of mean.

The networks work for the advertisers;

The advertisers work for the corporations

The corporations work for the politicians.

Who do you sponsor?

Who do you sponsor?

I don't know; I just like this brand of soap.

Gets the job done.

SETH MaYERS sits backstage clutching his golden spiraled notebook nervously and schoolgirlish, looking into the audience.

Oh my gosh. It can't be!

MeanWhile,

ADAM SANDLER finds the real life version of the remote control from Click. And it works.

…okay…

He clocks “mute” everything does.

ADAM

This is fucked up.

MAYA RUDOLPH does not like space travel.

MAYA

I want— to go—home now.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

I missed valentines,

Easter

Consumer holidays

I had stamps for the aunt

Then I woke up,

They went away

Then again

Consumerism,

Then again

It's just a spending trick

Do you need this?

Gürū delivered

Put out music as Blū Tha Gürū?

Might be easier to find.

I always thought of Blu Tha Gürū as just my producer name— not the name that I would be known by— but -Ū. Was nearly, even the way it was stylized—

ED

WOAH.

—impossible to find. Unless for whatever reason I really was being shadow banned. All of my work seemed almost invisible. I knew there were hackers dedicated to this sort of thing— but then, logically and logistically speaking: why was I being targeted? To whom did I appear important or a threat? And— why allocate precious resources to belittling my efforts? I had tried everything else and was no longer trying to get noticed; I was just making what I was making without a having-to-do with who to impress or for what, but I was still minding my manners…and my business.

I gotta see if anyone made my golden shower joke.

What.

Bro, if you do the whole house in gold does this not include the shower.

There ought to be a golden shower.

Please god almighty if someone didn't make this joke and I have to make it myself…

It is a wonderful time to become a comedian. Probably even the best.

This guy is hilarious. Anybody else think so?

NO.

Oh. Let me shut up, then.

Shh, be quiet.

Kks.

Things move fast in the industry.

New news and new happenings.

Are you or are you not of out caliber?

Non.

Are you, or are you not a reporter

Or

Journalist

Anchorman

Showhost?

..

apparently, the boat is real .

Apparently,

Give me those.

What.

You lost— give me those.

No. Those are my coins.

Not your coins. I'm the winner. Give me.

What!

Yo! That unreasonably tall leprechaun just jacked my coins.

What!

That's what I said.

These are not my cards;

The third king has fallen!

I've missed christmases, birthdays,

And cursed days

Inside of a helmet

Check the Talmud;

The author are I

Hathor, in living color

No more, word from

Spiderdust fallen

And no one was chosen

The golden number.

The golden number.

But look, I don't love her.

High priestess in the opposite

Repent your oppression.

The withered weather calls for nothing

Are I?

Not one!

Doctor.

Heart of swords

Typical prototype

Insolent intergers

Recently?

Listen, pentagram

I have had you

In another form

But ugly in the one I lost

With luck your daughter cometh forward

With work and towards the dumb apocalypse

Listen, shattered soldiers

Be you weakened my my fury

Doctor

Chaos

Springfield

Listen here, your art

Has come apart at us

The radio tower

Radio tower

Radio cities

And radio tower

Radio tower

Radio tower

Radio frequencies

Radio tower

Ephiphany!

Promises!

Sir Jyre!

Primroses.

I give you my artform.

Or none.

Or artword.

Will you?

Starfire.

And then some.

Has he wakened?

Chatterboxes, chatterboxes.

You are a psycho.

Where did you get that word from.

…the lower realms.

I like it, what means you?

Nothing hither left to succumb.

Then.

I are— psycho.

Well. Close enough.

Why I love white peopl:

White people words.

Scadattle.

Banboozled.

Finagled.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

Tales of a Superstar DJ

I lie to my audience

I have been miserable

I've been exhausted

I've been in circles

Fatigue from motorcycles

Terrorism, politics

I'm in tension

Hypertension

Residents inspections

Why are all these people so beautiful,

And I am not?

What i would give for eye lashes,

Eyes,

A smile,

A torso,

Tight skin

But if i run a mile in my mind,

I'm higher

But the photobomb company would never hire me.

I think i'm a lie.

I don't know how unloaded I am

I'd give my life for a smile,

Eyes

I'd give a mile for a heart world

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

God?

Prod. by Blū Tha Gürü. (

-Ũ.)

Composed/Lyrics by C'cxell Soleïl

I don't care at all.

I don't care at all.

What is your name?

Where are you now?

Why are you here?

What are you bout?

Is it for fame?

Is it for clout?

What is your name?

Are you a God?

Why are you here?

What are you bout?

Is it for fame?

Is it for clout?

(/Are you a clown?)

Why are you here for?

Where are you now?

What is your name?

Are you a God?

What do you fear?

Where are you now?

What is your name

(I'm on a Cloud)

Where are you now

(Are you a God?)

What are you here for?

(I'm not a God!)

Where are you now?

What is your name?

Are you a God?

Are you a God

(I am a God)

What is your name?

(I am a God)

What is your name?

(I am a God/

I'm not a God)

Are you a God?

(I'm on a cloud

Are you a God?

(I am a God)

What is your name?

(I don't want to talk about it)

What is your name?

(Tears of a Clown)

(I don't want to talk about it)

Are you a God?

(I don't want to talk about it.

I'm a God.

(I don't want to talk about it.)

RYAN REYNOLDS (as ‘BUTTERS')

…looloo…

STAN

God, shut up, butters!

BUTTERS

I can't! I sing when I'm nervous!

KYLE

Shutup.

BUTTERS

Looloo—

KYLE

Come on, butters! Quiet!

…

[beat]

BUTTERS

…looo—

*!#*^!!!!

[The Festival Project ™]

Get Lady Gaga off that horse!

I'm incognito

You're in my his[tory]

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl

Nobody put baby in a corner

In the blue light, I deny you

Why ask if you're alright

When I'm still crumpled up behind you

All publicity

Stint

My growth is altered

I want love

You

i don't know how

To

I am a monster

I am a monster

Joel

I am a monster

Make me feel

Holy lighti

I divide my lifht

Between

Divine

And

Denial

So I deny it

Denial

I hide you

Why

Cause I like you

Let's blow things all out of proportion

Media media

Publicity stunt

And a drunken stupor

I got my God at Coachella night one

I got my blinders on

I got a knife in my pocket

A1 steak sauce anyone

Well done, Harper

Well done, Onyx

Now where goes the dolomite!

Lodestones

I lost one

Carry on

Four kings

My stream of conciousness rocks out

My people are earth and your people

You see that?

Reach out

I'm only a comic, comet

Reach out!

I'm in denial

No conciousness

Alright? Harper

Long road

High Road

Short ones.

You like

Tall blondes

I like

Waffles

You know?

Can't we all suffer morbidly?

(I'm in denial)

Write one

Right one

Higher up off the red carpet

I'm looking for something?

Nothing,

Internet shopping,

A long road

The more would have I

The more horrible

I am a monster

I am a monster

I am a monster

Devil next door, and I

I am a monster

I am a monster

And one

And one

And one

I sent an angel

Or five

I'm a monster

I'm in denial

I am a monster

Bloody conciousness

I'm in denial

So I deny

Monster

So I deny it all

Encore! Encore!

Run the score up

Could be anything you know

Bloody stream of conciousness

Bloody streams and

—leave it up, then

I do not believe it

Pandemic,

Actors and then

Publicity stunts for nothing

Robbers.

I'm not even good enough to be good enough for you.

Morbid.

I made Billie Ellish laugh so hard,

The whole world noticed;

Then everybody wanted to know me,

Numbers,

She goes,

“I love electronic music”

I said,

“I have a lot of it.”

But I thought

Not nearly enough of it,

I thought

Not nearly enough, I think.

Not nearly enough

What did you do with six cinder blocks

And

Stop it

What did you do with six bricks

And a fortune

What do you with with my

Headache?

Stop it?

I want nothing more than an encore,

I told them

An encore, I said

Not the Renaissance

Encore

I promise:

As awkward as it all got

It's coming up

For once my stream of conciousness

Is into something

Lover lover lover

Keep them coming

Roll the dice and

Tell me something, Schubert

Tell me something, Harvard

Tell me something

Tell me something

Science

Why I don't like you

I watch the tonight show.

I try to find you

But find her

And her and her

At night I dream of him

Joel

Her

And her and her

Wanted a lover

A show

Her and her and her

A son and a daughter

A mode

Her and her and her

Here and there and on again

I know her and her and her

I like

Her and her and her

I love

Her and her and her

I know her and her and her

I am her and her and her

I wonder what would become of us

All

And the body

Were we not so old

Scrap metal

Carry on while I call my son

And wonder what in God

Was left after us

Hostile motive

Wonder wonder

I've got nothing left to ponder

I want

Mark

God

Dawn

Nah

Nothing kept secret left

Ponder what, helmet

Tell you what, Talmud

I like the host of the what's it called

Danger show

Brothel

Brothel

Opera

Opera

May Day May Day

May is coming

So I August

I want nothing more

Than the great big mouse on magic mountain

How's that?

…

Sam?

Flatline?

Don't leave us.

Encore.

Where's he going?

Nothing.

Awful.

I've been drinking.

How about not?

And well, we're all against the tide when ocean's coming

Aren't I, Hollywood?

Great big swell and a sailboat

Ugh, why am I mad?!

That's the old goat!

Rock and Roller.

Hall of fame god.

Prostitots and brothels

Some chord and three thousand year old Google documents

What you want us!

All I was worth was

A special on

$200, just under

What did you want?

An umbrella?

I told you, the shit show was coming now

Cry me a river!

Cry me a river!

Cry me a river!

New York was a sold out show

In all non concious conformists

Look at God Go.

I was all at the surface

Sure you wanted a Harper

A harpist

Pianist and

I've got suffering!

Call my son back!

I've got window pains

And window panes

And widows makes the none of us

I might as well have died when I lost

I might as well have died when I lost her

— oh, but the husband had already had

Her and her and her

So no father was he to a daughter

And she went beyond that,

Calling for brother.

Now who are I?

Emotionally immature maggots.

I sank ships over hatred

I called mayday belatedly

I show off in Morse code in a mouse head

Now who's the helmet!!

Now who's the—

[BLACKOUT]

[The Festival Project ™]

Jimmy murmured somethin bout Joel

Pilot took a plunge

Now the old Rock is 1 for the 1 one

Minus President Trump

In the back of the car

But if I pop the trunk

Then we all have a gun in each hand,

Huh punk?

One for the road

Bottle full of sauce

I called the boss for the map

And we all got lost on the run

Interstate map as old as

The all of us totaled up

What does infinite cost?

Two humps and a Tesla?

Some hummas?

A couple of rocks, and some hot sauce?

All got a gun

And we all got a God

Can't we all get along

Backroads, no Feds

So it's all gonna cost

Got a cot for the tour

And a word for the world

And a heart full of gold

And a house full of fire

Can't we all get a long

Now we all got a God

Call Conan,

We all got a hook and a rod

Call God, brah

Nobody the friend to the world

And we all got a girl

And they all got problems

Now we got a car

On a train up a mountain

A coin in the fountain

A gun in each hand

And a phone card

Somebody call the opera

Or better yet, Harpo, long God

Long time

We all got a song

Somebody mumbled

The troll to a hall far

A hymn to a poem

And a bump on a log

Timber timber

We all got garages

Timber timber

We all got a gun

Timber timber

We all got windfalls

Windmills

Blond dykes

Klondikes

Assholes

Mayday

Long trucks

All got blondes

All got a God

All got a soul

All made of gold

And we all got goals here, miners

Mumble the words of the poem

Somebody left a voicemail

At one point, though

We all had a mom

At one point though,

We all had a blonde

At one point, though we all got a God

At one point though,

We all got a song

Now all we got is cars

Long roads

And guns

At one point, though,

We all got along

At one point though

We all fell in love

At one point though we all had a

Mom

Now I'm so polar

Bearr's on the run

But we all got a song

And we all got a thought

And we all got God

Now we all get along

In the cars

With the guns

On the road

With the blondes

Cause we all got a song

And we all got Moms

And they all got blonde hair

Moms got a gun,

Hey,

Mom's got a song,

Hey,

Mom's got a son,

Hey,

Mom's got a thought,

Hey,

Mom's got a God,

No, mom's just a God,

Huh,

That's what you want,

By the light of the sun

And the sound of a gun

And we all got a rap

And we all got problems

All got long days

All got wants

And we all got a God, so

God's got problems.

— I gotta solve em.

Psychic tears and solvents—

What do you want Joel?

I got problems,

I got a son!

I got ten songs out,

Ten albums so far,

Nobody loves them

Nobody loves me,

I got problems,

I got nothing

I got too much to really be loveless,

Yet,

Here I am,

Just watching

WHAT.

Call up my son,

Ask him for a joke

And the weather forecast

I got a whole skeletal system of broken bones

And a whole body cast

Castrate this diamond,

Call up the tin man—

Tin man?!

Cowardly lion

And the straw hat,

Call up the

— what are those?

Lollipops!

No, I don't want that

I just want a home with some tall grass.

I'm really about to whoop this girl's assless ass and she knows that.

She has to.

Chilling in the bath though

But

Can't afford a bathrobe

I collect

Windfall

I call the dolphins

Shatter that asshole

Staggered on stage, then

Slandered my hammer,

gathered up passwords

X1, aren't I?

Doctor?

I've probably got a straw hat

Don't have a heart, though

Probably just a robot

Somebody tried hard

Guess I need a doctor

Wombat?

What?

She looks like a wombat.

Damn, dog.

Bleed!

I came from the world with the no sleep

Bleed!

I came from the world with the bonfires!

Bleed!

I parked my car in the palisades.

Bonfires!

I parked my car in the palisades!

Bonfires!

I pitched my tent in the Malibu mountains!

Bleed!

My coworker babysat in Calabasas!

Bonfires!

Pig and Whistle could spin slick but still doesn't own an apartment!

Apartheid!

Noah died on all of the story arcs, besides ours.

Non partisan!

I went to work on a cold hard Monday.

Daughters!

I wrote the poor some porridge, and they didn't want that!

Pesticides!

Still a stream of conciousness?

I thought he was sober!

Bonfires!

I got no room for my heart,

SO I CUT IT OUT

BLEED.

Fires.

BLEED!

Fires.

BLEEEEED.

Alright, you won.

I need my medicine,

Medicine, medicine

I neee my medicine…

Who are I, God?

I need my medicine, medicine

Medicine—

I need my

Really, a face with the Bandit?

If Seth wants the role, he can have it.

Which Seth?

Exactly.

Bad Son.

Deadmau5

Hats off—

Actually, a helmet

Actually, a deadman.

Who cried lurking?

Who calls Art Lord?

Why, Sir Jyre!

My art deposit's on John, man.

Art world

Awkward

Harvard?

Aavark?

An assless advark.

Don't stalk me when I'm hark the halrold hallmark cards and half washed alters!

(The last day of Passover, Easter Sunday)

Don't pseudoscience

Your gross meds have no stream of conciousness at all

Your meds have no conciousness at all.

Why yes,

I terminal hate you,

Mr. famous

We broke up at an airport over coffee

I dream your head

But never just the body

That I yearn for

I'm trapped inside a suffix

That was earned from just a metaphor

I grasp at mediocre,

As Flo said

“I would have aspired to be a struggling actress”

I would aspire just to b an arifaft

A sanctioned little blonde

In front row

VIP

With the pasties on

Oh afterparty?

Models and bottles and bodies

And blondes

Brunettes and redheads

And a couple of ours with extensions

And a dye job

Long legs

Court covers

And awards,

Having proven subtle standards set by

All of yours

When all I want is

Hallmark cards.

Hold that thought.

Rinse out the conditioner

Do you get the picture or not?!

I don't live here!

Do you remember the fact that

I've been here

Just a minute in my time—

Into you!

It's infinite forever.

Forever, we'll.

Forever.

Ten minutes in and I don't remember any of it.

Ten mirrors ten men and ten hammers, the hammer.

Ten tonsils, ten fingers, ten toes and my hall award

Ten helmets, ten cars in garages

Ten mortals

Attention, attention

I've written a symphony!

Attention, attention!

I'm living in misery!

Attention, attention,

My toys in my toolbox:

Attention, attention,

My girls and my others

Attention?

Attention!

I'm ten minutes into this

Attention, attention.

I bet you'll remember this.

Mission accomplished?

Yes, major.

Detective.

Agent.

But I won't.

No, I'm not okay.

I'll never hold my baby again.

No, what's my shoe size?

Too grand?

So I hideaway

Then, I'm a Marxist,

Forgot my own mantras

I'm probably home,

But no address to mark it

Off the map

Off the grid

What's I miss

Nothing much here

Contact works

Contact breaks

Contact lenses

Like my hazels?

Like my blue eyes?

Are they gorgeous?

Still, I'm darker

Forge the caverns,

Then, there's this flaw:

Seven numbers

You're just like God,

Only darker

What harm have I brought you?

Called your wind

Nothing but heartache

Cried Agatha, a moan

And then I will go,

Becoming nameless in code and essence

Where willI—?

And then nothing at all?

As one ceases to be,

So the the other;

The tale before time

Of immortal lovers

I'm incognito

You're in my his[tory]

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved.

C'cxell Soleïl