The Secret Life Of Sunnï Blū

niagara falls.

Collection II - ‘antithesis.

Track 12. - ‘niagara falls'

Prod By Blū Tha Guru

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

Baby's all right Brooklyn

Pretty little palace of disaster

Pretty little patterns of —

Whatever

Tantrums, smashing Jack o lanterns

Shadows,

Hands that attach to the strings

Allowing them to dance into dreams

It seems these sacred places

Have been ravaged

And

I have not been running

But I don't have any money

Wise than that

It's less than zero

Negatives

I want to kill myself again

Honestly, I see a way out it just

Requires being tortured

By people coughing.

And motorcycles

I might have seen my son for the last time

At age five

It's finally warm outside

And everything's just

Reminding me

I'm struggling with poverty

Nothing really matters cause I don't belong here

Everything is wrong

I just want blonde hair,

Hurry up, God

Assist me with a suicide

I can take pride in

Not an attempt, but

The only success I'll ever have

At anything

At all

-El Al

Nothing moves the same

After an unrequited love becomes a tragedy

Or just a movie scene

I want to scream for needing to be needed

Then again

Could die just to be dead

Could go back

To just be blacklisted

Or a crackhead

Doing magic tricks

Pass

I couldn't have ever imagined

This fascination as of late

Or making trance

But anything can happen

With the light switches on and off

As the kite catches headwinds

Or hedwig is getting bigger by the minute

That just grows out of his head,

But I wish it was a wig

Like Kristen

Pass

Yes.

Breathe deep into my lungs,

These scenes of things

So evil seeming, even to me

Lucidity becomes as dreamily

Eerie, intermittently meaningless,

And then suddenly,

However much later,

Maddeningly attractive,

As I am, in fact

Attached to this project

As menacingly handsome and devilish as he is

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

Moral standards and clasps with fabrications

Lay hands on me and see what happens!

—-okay…

“Okay”

Pass!

I asked to be a rockstar and showrunner

On the same blood soaked candles

I took blood oaths

Dancing in front of the fountain

At rockafeller plaza, to no applause,

Of course,

Drinking monsters nonstop,

Ontop of my skateboard

I came back late to Boston

And took a plane to Vegas early the next morning

But somewhere deep in my Google Drive or documents

Is me under a neon sign,

Which reads a name I resigned from saying

Until maybe I get signed

I hate him, but hey,

The name of the game is Mating Season,

And lately I've been craving eggs and

Mayonnaise instead of protein shakes and

Crayons

Wax on, wax off…

Pass, but that last sentence didn't make sense

It did.::

Oh,

Yes, it did.

Promise.

You do some stupid shit.

Okay, so I do stupid shit.

Believe me, you do some stupid shit.

Okay, I believe you.

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

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

I mean what I mean, but usually just—

For me.

I am you, I thought.

Exactly: don't believe me.

Okay? I don't believe you…

Just—believe me. Believe me.

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

No, there isn't it's just—

Poor little Jimmy Fallon…

What if—

There is no “if”.

Nobody has to ‘agree' to this project

Sign the terms of agreement

For what.

You'll see..

stupid little bitch.

*squints*

What did you just say.

(Walking away, mumbling)

Nothing!

Fucking idiot.

What did you just say?!

(Yelling)

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

Well, okay.

lol NBC is not gonna let this fly at all.

No, Jimmy, you cannot do this project.

Well, that's alright. I quit.

You can't quit. You have a contract.

I don't—I'm out of my contract:

On what grounds?!

Conflict of interest!

That's my say, isn't it?

Is it?

MORGUE.

I bought a network!

MY NAME IS—

MAaaa!!

WHATTTTTTT.

The show's on!

[A Cold Open]

L E G E N D S

{Enter The Multiverse}

Fuck this kid. I'm gonna kill him.

Kill what. Who.

FALLON. GET IN HERE.

Ah. [explitive]

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

ELLEN

YES.

FINALLY, I'm in this bitch.

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

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

Shutthefuckup!

Oh wait—is she

Is it “she”

Is she a lesbian?!

What's the “Illuminati”—

We'll get back to that later.

No! gross!

Portia Derossi!

Huh?

I want to be that pretty!

Well, okie.

MEANWHILE,

In my actual own age group…

I'm older than all these hosts, anyway!

Even Leno?

Isn't he dead already?!

Exactly!

EVEN STEVENS

[BEANS is now VEGAN]

Why is vegan capitalized.

Cause it's important.

Hey buddy!

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

Time flies when you're—

Rapidly aging?

I brought you some bacon.

You what:

It's farm fresh!

Kooldjredalert

Lie to me

Try to sleep

(In my arms, won't you)

Try to keep the

Time with

My heart

Beat

(Heavenly)

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

I'm sorry, Fallon.

That must be awful.

Not too sorry—

Some of this stuff is good.

Just, priceless.

Wouldn't trade it for the world.

But I've hung my head in shame,

Cause I hung myself with gratitude,

Haven't you had enough?

If it makes any difference at all,

And I'm betting it does

All I wished for a wanted and prayed

Was for you to be happy

I buy burners with trackers

Put burn holes in sweaters

The summit at the plummet, pulling forwards

And backwards

I've four words for parlors,

For barbers and hatchets

I bury the four suns,

The moon arose after

I left an Oscar on your alter this morning

Never shall ye rest,

Haven't ever then,

Paid the tythe,

And for the while,

Immortal wife and lover,

Mother daughter,

Soon to call your name and number,

However,

The fall from the drop of polish,

Of course, oil marks upon canvases

Sickness and swells of my

Hands upon your corset

Could you collide with another?

Doubtful, to that,

So shall it must be

List, but never to utter

A mustard seed;

Ground, then unground—

As if planted,

Simple,

As the seed of laughter

So then, would you

By the turn of the hour,

return to the one had you called

Lover,

A curse upon the

Coerced and responsible

A blonde,

But worse,

A pretty one

For never after happens out of nowhere

Now,

Dissociate,

Before I dissipate of

Loneliness

Hark,

The door opens for one,

A bold soldier to come,

Listen lover,

The stone has been

Suspended, by the mirror

In terror

Alarmed,

Cool you are now

Calm, however

Not abound to be lie

Or below

Bound by blood

There you are

In excelsior,

Predecessor

What would you want that for—

The camera obscured;

Why,

If only,

To look upon you

Plastered and enlarged

As you are

Endangered in my imagination

A dangerous and strange,

Dangling addiction

Fascination, now

With power,

And prowess

Come now,

The midnight hour is upon us

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

—Esha's Memoirs, the journals from The Altar

You know what, kid—

You've got something.

I don't know what it is,

But it's something.

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

No.

I'll tell you what I've got

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

I've got a sink full of dishes

I've got credit card debt and school loans

I've got racist neighbors,

An ex husband who swears he never hit me

With a brand new baby

I've got

Extreme back pain

I've got a body only God could ever love

And I've got something like

10,000 pages or more

Of stuff I barely remember writing

Just sitting in the Google algorithm

Pushing me closer and closer to suicide

Every single day

I've got

Sexual fantasies about celebrities for no given reason at all.

I've got

800 songs that are just words

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

And I've got this pain

That just sits inside my soul

That never goes away, ever

I've got something, alright.

I've got something, sure

But when it comes to money

I got a dollar

One fucking dollar

And you know what I call that?

-Useless.

She's dead, isn't she?

You guessed it.

Well, what am I supposed to do?

What you always do.

What is that?

What is that?

Swear of the palm d ore

I Cannes,

Atop the Eiffel

You are the river that crosses my eye,

The scar across my heart,

The Eye, is

All we are

And all is one;

One is all,

And All are One

Well, I'm quite nervous.

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

Another John—my first, in fact.

Indeed,

I was once relentlessly obsessed

With Johnny Depp

Infatuated, if you will

Whatever you want to call it.

Of course,

For a teenaged girl, however

This sort of obsession was somewhat normal

Somewhat.

I had always wanted to star in movies—

So much so that I began to write them.

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

Not just stories, but words

Characters and conversations—

Plots.

I should leave this poor Fallon boy alone.

Some darkness inside of me wants him;

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

Anything but what it wants—

And it is,

Darkness-m—

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

The thing it calls love, and calls our for

The something in someone that rises it up

From wherever it dwells,

Deep in my soul, and into my hear,

Into my thoughts,

It haunts all that I must and mustn't

Ponder upon

A woman's cause,

And a murderer of sorts,

The ugly swan , who dances on ponds,

Laying one one, but all of precious stones,

The egg,

The coveted stones of trust,

And wander,

Listing upon that which it feeds,

Not only the bod,

But its motor,

It's mind,

A hearty philosopher,

And willful warrior,

Of wit,

And of talent,

The strength of

Astonishment

A power above all,

A blindness of fate;

Judged by all

The spectacular amongst us

The famed and the damned,

Acquitted of warmth and dutiful,

Exquisite in awe

A rarity.

—The Fame Files.

V.O.

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

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

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

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

Alright, fine.

Where is it!

Where is what?

You know what.

What?

From the fountain.

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

And this, is why Jimmy Fallon is impenetrable.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

niagara falls.

Collection II - ‘antithesis.

Track 12. - ‘niagara falls'

Prod By Blū Tha Guru

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

Baby's all right Brooklyn

Pretty little palace of disaster

Pretty little patterns of —

Whatever

Tantrums, smashing Jack o lanterns

Shadows,

Hands that attach to the strings

Allowing them to dance into dreams

It seems these sacred places

Have been ravaged

And

I have not been running

But I don't have any money

Wise than that

It's less than zero

Negatives

I want to kill myself again

Honestly, I see a way out it just

Requires being tortured

By people coughing.

And motorcycles

I might have seen my son for the last time

At age five

It's finally warm outside

And everything's just

Reminding me

I'm struggling with poverty

Nothing really matters cause I don't belong here

Everything is wrong

I just want blonde hair,

Hurry up, God

Assist me with a suicide

I can take pride in

Not an attempt, but

The only success I'll ever have

At anything

At all

-El Al

Nothing moves the same

After an unrequited love becomes a tragedy

Or just a movie scene

I want to scream for needing to be needed

Then again

Could die just to be dead

Could go back

To just be blacklisted

Or a crackhead

Doing magic tricks

Pass

I couldn't have ever imagined

This fascination as of late

Or making trance

But anything can happen

With the light switches on and off

As the kite catches headwinds

Or hedwig is getting bigger by the minute

That just grows out of his head,

But I wish it was a wig

Like Kristen

Pass

Yes.

Breathe deep into my lungs,

These scenes of things

So evil seeming, even to me

Lucidity becomes as dreamily

Eerie, intermittently meaningless,

And then suddenly,

However much later,

Maddeningly attractive,

As I am, in fact

Attached to this project

As menacingly handsome and devilish as he is

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

Moral standards and clasps with fabrications

Lay hands on me and see what happens!

—-okay…

“Okay”

Pass!

I asked to be a rockstar and showrunner

On the same blood soaked candles

I took blood oaths

Dancing in front of the fountain

At rockafeller plaza, to no applause,

Of course,

Drinking monsters nonstop,

Ontop of my skateboard

I came back late to Boston

And took a plane to Vegas early the next morning

But somewhere deep in my Google Drive or documents

Is me under a neon sign,

Which reads a name I resigned from saying

Until maybe I get signed

I hate him, but hey,

The name of the game is Mating Season,

And lately I've been craving eggs and

Mayonnaise instead of protein shakes and

Crayons

Wax on, wax off…

Pass, but that last sentence didn't make sense

It did.::

Oh,

Yes, it did.

Promise.

You do some stupid shit.

Okay, so I do stupid shit.

Believe me, you do some stupid shit.

Okay, I believe you.

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

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

I mean what I mean, but usually just—

For me.

I am you, I thought.

Exactly: don't believe me.

Okay? I don't believe you…

Just—believe me. Believe me.

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

No, there isn't it's just—

Poor little Jimmy Fallon…

What if—

There is no “if”.

Nobody has to ‘agree' to this project

Sign the terms of agreement

For what.

You'll see..

stupid little bitch.

*squints*

What did you just say.

(Walking away, mumbling)

Nothing!

Fucking idiot.

What did you just say?!

(Yelling)

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

Well, okay.

lol NBC is not gonna let this fly at all.

No, Jimmy, you cannot do this project.

Well, that's alright. I quit.

You can't quit. You have a contract.

I don't—I'm out of my contract:

On what grounds?!

Conflict of interest!

That's my say, isn't it?

Is it?

MORGUE.

I bought a network!

MY NAME IS—

MAaaa!!

WHATTTTTTT.

The show's on!

[A Cold Open]

L E G E N D S

{Enter The Multiverse}

Fuck this kid. I'm gonna kill him.

Kill what. Who.

FALLON. GET IN HERE.

Ah. [explitive]

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

ELLEN

YES.

FINALLY, I'm in this bitch.

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

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

Shutthefuckup!

Oh wait—is she

Is it “she”

Is she a lesbian?!

What's the “Illuminati”—

We'll get back to that later.

No! gross!

Portia Derossi!

Huh?

I want to be that pretty!

Well, okie.

MEANWHILE,

In my actual own age group…

I'm older than all these hosts, anyway!

Even Leno?

Isn't he dead already?!

Exactly!

EVEN STEVENS

[BEANS is now VEGAN]

Why is vegan capitalized.

Cause it's important.

Hey buddy!

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

Time flies when you're—

Rapidly aging?

I brought you some bacon.

You what:

It's farm fresh!

Kooldjredalert

Lie to me

Try to sleep

(In my arms, won't you)

Try to keep the

Time with

My heart

Beat

(Heavenly)

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

I'm sorry, Fallon.

That must be awful.

Not too sorry—

Some of this stuff is good.

Just, priceless.

Wouldn't trade it for the world.

But I've hung my head in shame,

Cause I hung myself with gratitude,

Haven't you had enough?

If it makes any difference at all,

And I'm betting it does

All I wished for a wanted and prayed

Was for you to be happy

I buy burners with trackers

Put burn holes in sweaters

The summit at the plummet, pulling forwards

And backwards

I've four words for parlors,

For barbers and hatchets

I bury the four suns,

The moon arose after

I left an Oscar on your alter this morning

Never shall ye rest,

Haven't ever then,

Paid the tythe,

And for the while,

Immortal wife and lover,

Mother daughter,

Soon to call your name and number,

However,

The fall from the drop of polish,

Of course, oil marks upon canvases

Sickness and swells of my

Hands upon your corset

Could you collide with another?

Doubtful, to that,

So shall it must be

List, but never to utter

A mustard seed;

Ground, then unground—

As if planted,

Simple,

As the seed of laughter

So then, would you

By the turn of the hour,

return to the one had you called

Lover,

A curse upon the

Coerced and responsible

A blonde,

But worse,

A pretty one

For never after happens out of nowhere

Now,

Dissociate,

Before I dissipate of

Loneliness

Hark,

The door opens for one,

A bold soldier to come,

Listen lover,

The stone has been

Suspended, by the mirror

In terror

Alarmed,

Cool you are now

Calm, however

Not abound to be lie

Or below

Bound by blood

There you are

In excelsior,

Predecessor

What would you want that for—

The camera obscured;

Why,

If only,

To look upon you

Plastered and enlarged

As you are

Endangered in my imagination

A dangerous and strange,

Dangling addiction

Fascination, now

With power,

And prowess

Come now,

The midnight hour is upon us

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

—Esha's Memoirs, the journals from The Altar

You know what, kid—

You've got something.

I don't know what it is,

But it's something.

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

No.

I'll tell you what I've got

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

I've got a sink full of dishes

I've got credit card debt and school loans

I've got racist neighbors,

An ex husband who swears he never hit me

With a brand new baby

I've got

Extreme back pain

I've got a body only God could ever love

And I've got something like

10,000 pages or more

Of stuff I barely remember writing

Just sitting in the Google algorithm

Pushing me closer and closer to suicide

Every single day

I've got

Sexual fantasies about celebrities for no given reason at all.

I've got

800 songs that are just words

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

And I've got this pain

That just sits inside my soul

That never goes away, ever

I've got something, alright.

I've got something, sure

But when it comes to money

I got a dollar

One fucking dollar

And you know what I call that?

-Useless.

She's dead, isn't she?

You guessed it.

Well, what am I supposed to do?

What you always do.

What is that?

What is that?

Swear of the palm d ore

I Cannes,

Atop the Eiffel

You are the river that crosses my eye,

The scar across my heart,

The Eye, is

All we are

And all is one;

One is all,

And All are One

Well, I'm quite nervous.

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

Another John—my first, in fact.

Indeed,

I was once relentlessly obsessed

With Johnny Depp

Infatuated, if you will

Whatever you want to call it.

Of course,

For a teenaged girl, however

This sort of obsession was somewhat normal

Somewhat.

I had always wanted to star in movies—

So much so that I began to write them.

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

Not just stories, but words

Characters and conversations—

Plots.

I should leave this poor Fallon boy alone.

Some darkness inside of me wants him;

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

Anything but what it wants—

And it is,

Darkness-m—

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

The thing it calls love, and calls our for

The something in someone that rises it up

From wherever it dwells,

Deep in my soul, and into my hear,

Into my thoughts,

It haunts all that I must and mustn't

Ponder upon

A woman's cause,

And a murderer of sorts,

The ugly swan , who dances on ponds,

Laying one one, but all of precious stones,

The egg,

The coveted stones of trust,

And wander,

Listing upon that which it feeds,

Not only the bod,

But its motor,

It's mind,

A hearty philosopher,

And willful warrior,

Of wit,

And of talent,

The strength of

Astonishment

A power above all,

A blindness of fate;

Judged by all

The spectacular amongst us

The famed and the damned,

Acquitted of warmth and dutiful,

Exquisite in awe

A rarity.

—The Fame Files.

V.O.

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

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

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

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

Alright, fine.

Where is it!

Where is what?

You know what.

What?

From the fountain.

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

And this, is why Jimmy Fallon is impenetrable.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

The Festival Project™ and it's subsidiary Non-Profit, The Collective Complex © aims to challenge modern artistic and philosophical ideals, break commonplace barriers, forage new creative mediums, and provoke inspired and reformed thought and actions toward evolution and overall societal improvement through a new-wave and post-modern, avant-garde and philanthropic hyperawareness driven by a unique culture of global values mediating global respect and preservation via open consciousness, multi-sensory and synesthetic (multi-preceptory) expansions of sound, language, vibration, movement, color, emotion, and ritual governed conceptually by the aspect(s) of love, truth, unity, understanding, and peace.

Support The Fesival Project's Artistic Revolution

I don't know why that picture lights me up–it just does.

–so I keep it;

And it's weird that I keep it,

But i love it–

No face tattoos,

Or flashing lights,

Or bubbling blondes–

It's just me,

And the music–

Pulling me closer to that thing I love,

still dragging one foot left behind,

As If i'll ever catch up in a race,

I was born

To have already lost.

Suddenly, it felt as if being in the water was the only way anymore of being connected to nature.

One mustn't tamper with the free will of others, as this breaks the intrinsic morale code by which all magicians must adhere to with intent focus, as to not to disrupt the balance of nature, but to coincide with it harmoniously as to manifest all outcomes for the greater good of oneself, and the betterment of others. One must practice in peace and kindness, as to promote with the sense of ritual, the force of wellbeing, respect, gratitude, and kindness — as not with the infliction as to force one another or control others by circumstance or possession, but with reflection within one's own self to guide with spirit, the forces of nature, and the powerful endowment of light and love, to fortify one's sense of ritual invocation of righteousness, humility, intuition, higher knowledge, enlightenment, influence, illumination and wisdom, as to better steengthen the bonds between one another in the material realm, and within the spiritual and cosmic realms, in order to better understand with total compassion and comprehension the origins, date, and destiny of humankind and the extraterrestrial and metaphysical presence of forces of energy, creation, and

—the practitioner guide to ritual occultism for medicinal and holistic healing

(Well work out a title later)

Anyone should well know that the intentional casting of any and all white magic spells or rituals will automatically forage a counter-attack towards any sender of negative energy, misfortune, or ill intent— not as a direct form of attack or harm by the medicinal practitioner itself, but rather, acting as a shield against dark forces, hidden and evil spirits, demonic energies and otherwise unfriendly forces of disruptive and unwelcome nature. Though the medicinal practice of magic begins in understanding that duality and balance within the material realms— light and dark, or sometimes even ‘good' and ‘bad' are part of existence in entirety, encompassing all forms of energy, and that one does not truly or wholly exist without the other—however—- within the clarity of enlightenment, one can assume and expect lower vibrational, differeing frequency, or less conscious energies to become attracted to or try to attach itself, or themselves, to higher forms of light and energy. It it within this medicinal practice of awareness that steps can and should be taken to protect oneself against mischief in the event of unwelcome sources of unwanted energy taking away from, or hindering one's own health, wellness, perception, and gaining of insight and wisdom.

There are, here, hidden realms of truth and wisdom;

Engagements within the immaterial circumstances which surround our involvement with each other as a species, in which one can interact with thought forms of another kind, create bonds and energetic ties out of the bounds of worldly involvement, link chains within a network of intergalactic travel, time sequencing or manipulation of such perceptions of ‘future,' , past, and presence, and create space within an infinite realm of concousness, inter dimensional mapscaping, movement within the interior and exterior grids of existence (where most things take place)

Last night I thought I was ordering my last meal. A double quarter pounder with cheese and extra onions, a large fry and a vanilla shake. My favorite. I had a horrible conversation with my mother, which ended with her screaming at the top of her lungs at me, “ just—die, die, die!” And I wanted to. Then I thought about the prisoners on death row, how they're asked what they want their last meal to be before they're put to death. I thought of my favorite episode from my favorite show, where my favorite character ordered a fried chicken dinner. I thought—“If that were me, I'd probably want McDonald's.” So, I drove to McDonald's, I ordered my favorite meal, and I ate it sadly as I thought about how exactly I would try to go about killing myself. I never thought of a way that wouldn't destroy this place for the next tenant...before I fell asleep, dreamless and tortured by my very own thoughts. I woke up this morning wondering what today would bring—more pity, or hope.

Sweet cream and butter/sugar flavored wheat thins lol

I would eat that.

You'd eat anything.

I can be skinny in 48 hours—

But you'll always be an asshole.

How many you want?

How many you got?

I hate these back door deals…

Stop being such a [censored] [censored]

Woah, man!

I'm still under contract with NBC.

I [censored] guess!

I thought you got fired. Why do you still have a censor?

He works for my wife.

Look,

I'm willing to admit,

I have an addiction

To midsections and midwives

And mediocre mistresses.

I'm not sure exactly what you're trying to say.

YOU BURNT MY CREAMNOF WHEAT.

Did you get the—

Yeah I got the—

Well, there is it?

I gots to go offline to listen to—

—ahh, don't— shut up

It goes offline to listen to Skrillex.

It's okay.

ITS NOT OKAY.

It's okay!

ITS NOT OKAY. THAT WAS THE LAST OF IT.

It's—it's okay!

—it's not okay.

ITS NOT OKAY. WE'RE ALL THREE MAD FAMOUS IN THIS DIMENTION.

Like, dumb famous.

LIKE DUMB FAMOUS. DO YOU WANT TO GO TO THE GROCERY STORE AND GET MORE?

—no..no.

Nah dat.

THATS RIGHT. SO FUCK YOU.

It's just cream of wheat.

ITSNOTJUSTCREAMOFWHEAT.

—it is, technically.

Dude, shut up.

I'm gonna fucking—- kill you.

My lips are buzzing.

I smell purple…

Seriously, don't—try to kill him— while he's using my body.

This is immortality; I'm sure you'll find a way back!

I'm not “using” your body, I'm stuck. Don't make it sound gross.

—yeah, but this isn't an infinite dimension.

You're gross anyway.

You smell like beer farts.

—well, you smell like corn syrup.

—impossiblé. My protein powder has no artificial sweeteners. *flips hair*

Ugh.

Horrible.

Look. Why don't we just order more groceries on line, or something.

I saw the movie!

What, you saw the movie?

I saw the movie.

That's crazy. I also saw the movie.

Okay.

Okay?

So it's a budget flick.

Hehe.

—it's a budget flick?

Yep.

Alright—I love those!

[literally the cheapest shit you ever saw]

When the fear falls off,

And the others go over your shoulder,

But you're the one to tumble

In the over, under

Over under

Hello,

I'll be right there

Hello,

I'm back again

(Hello)

I can't feel much,

But i'm back again

I'm sure the full feel

Will kick back in

Will kick back in soon, so

Tune in,

Chill out

Keel over,

But don't let it kill you

Is that appealing enough

To appeal you

Is that hypnotic enough

To heal you?

Hello.

The drummer keeps himself calm,

With a couple rolls just to check his pulse

Looking up at God,

Like what do you want

A spot on the show

The name of the bassist,

A way to get Kurt back

without swallowing a

Hearthrob

She's dressed up like us,

But she's not like up

She's dressed up,

But she's not like us

She could be up here,

But she won't like it

The song was a story

The storm had passed,

Wanted the studio tour,

And I got that

I'll be right back,

I'll be right there

Get it right, God

Blow you whole chance

Okay, Jimmy Fallon.

Ah huh.

I can do your job.

Uh huh.

Lets see if you can do mine.

That can happen.

Meanwhile,

At Rockerfeller Plaza

LOOK OUT BELOW.

CHRISTSCICLES.

WHERE'S THE TREE??

THERE'S NO TREE. THIS IS JULY.

Where's the time machine.

When are we!?

HELLO>

NOO.

THERE S/HE IS

[Rollerskating away as quickie as possible;

Attepmpts to jump barrier

–fails–

Recovers.

GET BACK HERE

WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO GO?

[Running furiously away on roller skates

YOu suck at this.

What.

Bro. I thought Skrillex was the greatest shapeshifter of all time.

I am Skrillex, though.

Besides.

I CAN TELL THAT'S YOU.

It's not me.

I CAN SEE YOU, JIMMY.

I'm SHAPESHIFTER. SHAPE-SHIFTING.

Nahhh.

Youu–

stop doing this.

Stop doing what.

You know what.

I don't know.

You're gonna get me in trouble with the Network.

I own the network.

AHA.

Dammit .

YOU LOSE.

SUCKAH.

Shut up. You're drunk.

UGH.

[Rollerskate chase scene.]

(A montage, obviously)

GET BACK HERE.

YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME.

Where are you gonna go!

SOMEWHERE!

You can't run up stairs in rollerskates.

I CAN. AND I WILL.

[Does, but gets to the top of the stairs and fails miserably. ]

EVERYBODY

Oooh!

[Recovers.]

I'm okay!.

GET HIM/

GET HER

GET “THEM”

–that's so stupid.

GET IT.

GET IT.

GET IT!

CUT TO:

[Outside the door.]

GET IT, JIMMY! GET IT.

CUT TO :

[Inside]

[Don't worry. they're just playing video games.]

Lol that is funny.

But i can't write that.

just –write it.

No way, dawg.

Just–

Just–

No way–

Pay me first.

Then it really sounds bad.

Shut up and eat your ice cream, JImmy Fallon.

{Jimmy Fallon is eating his own ice cream.]

EW.

lol

What the fuck flavor is that anyway?

Idk.

“The Tonight Dough”

I learned not to cry,

By the time I got to you, and

Sometimes I wonder why
I just can't write a song these days

The words come,

But the music's gone

It's just motorcycles and

Loveless nights

Sleeping on top of the covers

Something about tennis,

I don't remember
Should have done something

More special

than script this

I'm just the luckiest bitch alive

To live alone

I should be thriving

I don't want more in the world

than a quiet road to calm my inward soul

White world:

White girls

Big perks

My curse

I got it out of the mud

I fished a world out the trash

I got roaches on motorcycles

Roaches on motorcycles

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

'ACTION!'

Collection II - 'antithesis.'

Track 09. ‘ACTION!'

Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū

Previously on

(Whatever, I Give up. )

HALLE BERRY

is that how you spell it

It is for now. Fuck going online

“That ain't part of my day”

Shut up Drake, not now.

You'll thank me later

“If You're Reading This, It's Too Late”

[HALLE BERRY is taking A VERY PAINFUL SHIT, clutching her *favorite OSCAR award--

Which one's her favorite?

CUT TO:

BEFORE

HALLE BERRY looks over her OSCARS in the display cabinet, carefully scanning them, with a New York Times paper tucked under her left arm, sipping from the coffee cup in her right hand.]

—I like this guy.

The other OSCARS groan; they are often overlooked during this process.

Come on!

This guy!

AGAIN!?

UGH.

CUT BACK TO:

[HALLE BERRY clenches painfully, sweating audaciously—at the worst possible moment, her cellphone rings. ]

WHAT THE—COME ON

I THOUGHT I WAS IN AIRPLANE MODE.

(I just found out The Illuminati can still make calls go through in airplane mode

Or without cell service at all)

wtf my phone is ringing.

That's weird. You don't even—

—I don't even have a phone.

Right.

(Seriously, my phone is disconnected. I didn't even pay my bill.)

The fuck.

[it's JIMMY FALLON]

Damn. This dude has the worst possible timing ever.

Like fucking ever.

Always shows up at the worst

—THE WORST MOMENT.

[HALLE BERRY rejects the call. It rings again]

WHAT THE—

[She ignores the second call. A moment of subtly relaxed silence, until—

[JIMMY FALLON appears in the ceiling window of the bathroom. HALLE BERRY SCREAMS, still fluting her OSCAR.]

(Calmly, kind of)

Hey,

WHAT THE FUCK, JIMMY.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

I called first!

I KNOW THAT—

Went to voicemail.

YOU SHOULDN'T BE HERE.

Just—calm down.

NO.

Look.

GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!

I'm not in your house, I'm outside your house. Technically.

—yeah, but your FACE is in my house—

—I hear that's the best part.

—What?!

Listen—

Get out—

No, look, listen—

I need to borrow your Oscar.

What?! For what?!

That's not important.

Oh really?!

Yeah.

It seems important.

It's not that important

Just—-

What!

Give it to me!

[He snatches the OSCAR and tosses her his GRAMMY.]

Just—trade me.

What! What for?!

Just—trust me—

I do not—

Just trust me—!

WHAT!

Congratulations.

As you were.

Kind of.

WHAT—JIMMY—

[She realizes the ridiculousness of her calling after him. She sits awkwardly with the Grammy in her lap, sighing]

—he was my favorite…

[SUDDENLY, though the other window

Why does this bitch have so many windows in her bathroom that are this penetrate?

For the sake of the joke, but probably not something any celebrity should have, are windows where anyone can enter your house from the outside.

Fans are weird.

CUT TO:

AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

I LOVE YOU.

CUT TO:

What's this place.

It's my house,

Where are the windows?

They don't exist.

CUT BACK TO

[DANE COOK appears through the opposite window.]

YO.

WHAT THE FUCK!

Chill, Halle Berry.

WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!

I'm the guy who wrote this.

You should have called first!

Who do I look like, Jimmy Fallon?!

NO. I LIKE HIS face.

Huh.

Is that what it is…

I GUESS

I DONT KNOW.

—who are YOU—?!

GET OUT OF MY HOUSE—

I am not in, technically—

I DONT CARE!

Ooh—

Is that a Grammy award?!

I didn't know you had a Grammy!

Gimmie!

[he snatches the Grammy]

HEY!

Is—what is this, for COMEDY?!

FOR COMEDY?!

WHY WASN'T I MADE AWARE THAT THIS IS A THING?!

I DON'T KNOW,

WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?

WHAT THE FUCK.

It's not important.

What.

Anyway, thanks.

Toodeloo.

‘The equilateral triangle should always be centered.'

—use that vocal trick from compli—sometimes things get whatever

//

What's he reading?

Architecture?

‘Oh; that dude's fancy.'

Interior design?

Classy.

He's sexy.

That dude's fancy.

lol wtf is in my Amazon cart right now?

Uh—

Some yoga mats

Kettlebells

A record player that looks like a gramaphone

A Pilates machine

A peloton

Uhm

Frozen berries.

When did you become a ghost?

—I guess— I always was one.

This is wrong.

There must be a mistake.

You and I both know,

There are no mistakes

Made by us.

This is dangerous.

That, you are correct about, dear boy.

However,

The only one here mistaken,

Is you.

Oh God,

If I fall back into this dream again

Who knows how long it might be

Until I come out.

—or if you come out at all.

The pressure points

Besides my veins,

Or arteries,

For scientific purposes

Targets for thumb marks,

Thimbles and razorblazes

Misfortune to have found

Such a pain only grows,

Out of homeless,

And then once housed,

A lack of love from others

I've an entire cast of antiques

In the back of my mind,

Behind me, Manhattan

The coffee has cooled

And yet nothing such starts

Until I've gone and bulleted

All the sins of the father

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 |

THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

That thing that you wanted is waiting.

Which thing?

Love?

Money?

Fame?

Power?

Protection?

Safety?

Wealth?

…Cream of Wheat?

Cream of wheat?

…it's probably cream of wheat.

{Enter The Multiverse}

…did you mean to do this?

Nobody ever really means to do this.

Why is he so perfect

And I even more of a ghost,

than he ever would be

–the hanged man

What's another world

Or the word on my shoulders

Who better than God to belay me

Betray you

Atreyu

Tell me

Mr. Pretty Perfect Face

if we could be at heaven's gates

The day i finally hang

or fade away

(The hanged man)

What's it like

To be loved

To fall in love

To be loved like that

How's it feel

To fall in love

To be loved at all

What's it lke
To be loved
To be loved like that

To be loved like that

What Is it like

To be loved

At all?

What is it like

To be loved like that

To be loved like that

To be loved like that

To be loved

At all

the proscenium

Love at the proscenium,

A memory award of such

To know the difference from

The right, the left

Protagonist of all

Denumiere of none,

To live in fear of a world

Once thought to be

One

To go where you want me to;

You know I can't do that

But that thing in your back

To the left of the president

Must have been an attack

I want out of my body

Eyes roll to the back of my head

Like they ought to

When i'm thinking of you,

And i'm thinking of blue things
I'm thinking of blue days

I'll think of a few ways to

Love

The sound of a kiss

Your hand on my neck

The arch of my back

The taste of your tongue

I just ate twelve tacos though

God, I hate Vince Vaughn

Reminding me of all that I don't want

And already gone through

Pretending this selter is

alcoholic

and knowing it's been years since I touched soda

but carbonation is quite the sensation

after years without it

Now i've forgotten, also

How having sex is.

THe ghost came back

But that thing in his back

is attracting me

I'm a wreck

I went backwards

I'm hacked

and i'm back on my books

Something felt bad

It went harder than honest

the trackers are all out to hurt me

They call themselves starrs

Now the scars i've got all light up when I fall in love

And my ex hears the laugher

And rips it away

using demons on motorcycles

I try not to be happy,

Cause then here comes someone to stop it

I better not fall in love,

Someone's possessed with my son I guess

I just got back from surfing

I showed up at the Oscars.

I just decided I don't want a daughter.

I'm good.

Heart shaped box

I'm at least half a man;

Which one do you want?

Which thing do you need

Blacked out drunk

Don't remember doing the CAPTACHA

I want to start drinking again

But i need a babysitter

And someone to fuck afterward.

I'm wild bro;

I can't hold my liquor,

And i don't trust myself.

Actually, I can hold my liquor just fine;

I just don't trust myself

–and i definitely don't trust these niggas.

Nirvana is good for montages

God, I just want to get sauced up

Lost,

And not talk about this project at all

just mash parts

With God bodies

Now Cobain I know the ride you're on

Turn the page and you're an alien

Guess future fame just came and went

And here we are again

The words you spin

The gold, diamond, and spindles

Spend dinner with kisses and coaxes

In coat closets

No Messiah I am but a martyr

this sacrifice, hands on the cross

and blood on the alter

All you pretty girls don't know what it's like to be ugly

And unwanted

All the ugly girls are stuck settling in loveless heartless

I'm stuck here with concepts

A literal genius

Who nobody wants,

besides darkskins

And my ex husband

So fuck that

Where is David Letterman, anyway?

Letterman, David

–wherever he wants to be.

Fishing.

Lets hope–

What the fuck!

You missed it!

What the fuck!

You know what?

I know what it is.

No you don't.

I know what it is.

Maybe we shouldn't.

Maybe we already did, and we should just backtrack.

Backtrack! Backtrack!

Fucking Shapeshifters!

Fuck!

Listen, kid–

No, I'm not listening

I'm gonna let you in on a little secret.

No more secrets!

Do you know this woman?

Before:

You don't know me.

Yes.

GODDAMMIT, WAYNE.

What the fuck.

WAYNE BRADY

WHAT THE FUCK.

FINALLY.

NO. GET OUT OF HERE.

GET OUT OF WHERE?!

WHERE IS THIS?!

WAYNE'S WORLD.

NO. NO.

NO.

NO.

I don't even know what that's about.

Did you put the

–No.

Well, what about the sauce, did you finish the sauce.

no .

Finish the sauce.

ShutUP

Finish the sauce.

UGH.

Oh man.

What, what happened.

I just saw how it ends.

For–what?

Nothin

For what.

You know what?

What?

I gotta go.

Where's my Gun.

What? What gun?

TIA!

What in the

GET OVER HERE

[TAMERA]

Damn, so like

“Twin Teleporthy”

Oh SHIT.

SO you're telling me that's my–

UNCLE.

UNCLE.

UNCL–

Alright. Shut up.

Fuckin pussy.

ROUND TWO:

FIGHT.

AH. GODDAMN.

GOOOOODDDDDAAAMN.

There's a round 2?!

I guess so.

What happened in the first round?

I don't remember–

I do.

MEANWHILE:

here , kitty kitty…

[joel aka the actual deadmau5 is trapped in a cat or something]

Or SOMETHING.

Oh no, isn't he in someone else's body and they're looking for the cat.

Something about a cat.

They're looking for the cat.

Why, what's the cat do?

I'll tell you later.

I told you this wasn't a good idea.

It was a great idea. Until it wasn't.

“UNTIL IT WASN'T.”

Gosh. Shut up.

I don't think i should do this.

You shouldn't do this.

Right.

Just–stay sauced, bro.

Alright.

Damn dude, what is wrong with that guy?

Something.

I don't know.

Bitch, i'm a problem

Everybody hates me

Gotta pour my heart out

Gotta put my hat on

Long walk in a cold war

Long run in a hard part of town

Bitch, i'm a rockstar.

Don't talk too much

Don't say a word, girl

Actually, shut up

(You know i'm a problem)

Don't talk to much,

Shh,

Don't say nothing

Actually, shut up

You know i'm a problem

You know i'm a problem

Shut up

Bitch,

You know i'm a rockstar

You know i'm a problem

Shut up,

Bitch

You know i'm a rockstar

You know i'm a problem,

Shut up

Bitch

You know i'm a

Bitch

Shut up

You know i'm a

Bitch, shut up!

You know i'm a problem

You know i'm a problem

You know i'm a rockstar

You know i'm a problem

You know i'm a problem

You know i'm a rockstar

What did you just say?

Nothing .

Get over here you fugly little sandwich and say that to my face!

…did you just call me a ‘fugly little sandwich'?

I just did.

[beat]

I'm not arguing.

Oh, come on!

*shrugs*

Whatever.

*fucks off entirely*

Legs and eyes and the ocean of ears

Swords and hearts and the luck of the draw

Cones on cods and a car full of dust

Bottles on broads and the lost of the oars of untrusted

All of a sudden, I'm human

A whole kitchen table

Nonsense it calls to the others I wanted

So that's what's up with the time,

(This is always)

How's your eye?

How's your mom?

She's still dead.

I still love her.

It has to be a man,

You ought to know;

I've got a handle on it

Talk about a number

Talk about a God

Another lone wolf

Talk about the doctor

Where's your contract

Cut yourself over it

Talk about a monday

Honest, God

I told another story

Car Phone:

Stop it

Contracts!

Woah.

We're stuck in a holding pattern

The old ghost of Carson showed up

I loved him, I thought

That one's done,

I'll need another actor

Pause for laughter

Is that your tell,

Or your telegraph?

Is that a song or a paragraph?

Is this legit on the lawn

Of the Grand Ol Oprey?

Are you a God,

Or a Man

Either one:

Just show me

WOAH.

Carphone:

Stop it:

Contracts!

Yo.

It's over

I don't give a fuck about a fountain, yo

Just dance around and make me laugh

What else would I want from ya?

Nothin

The back of this dollar is golden

It's over!

It's over!

WOAH

Carphone:

Stop it

I love you,

Buddy–

Woah

I'm not your buddy

Blow up the carphone

Blow up the car,

Cause here comes Hollywood

Hey Hoe!

I AM NOT A HOE.

I'M THE OPPOSITE OF A HOE.

YOU'RE A HOE.

There he is.

Get him

THE SHOE DON'T FIT

THE SHOE DON'T FIT.

What if business is pleasure

your power, my love, gets me off
I don't want you for supper

I surf in the soup

Pull the tupperware

I want to be cordial

And loved by the whole of it

Everyone,

Even your mother

I want to be on the non-dairy dessert tubs

I want to be rubbed by a husband

no rubbers

No calls from the network

Nobody to bother us

Where exactly was I buried in the woods at?

You're good, dawg.

You're good, yo.

You're good, God

How about a rub and tug?

Then crank out the Carson?

I've been so obsessed with the tube and the tube socks

Since two tuesdays ago

I can't see you anymore.

Whatever, bro.

i broke up with you first.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

CEREAL.
Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū

Oh, I remember this now.

Lol I remember the video.

It's that little kid that wants pancakes but get cereal and then the prize in the box is a fucking robot that follows him to school and starts a dance party everywhere and then takes over everything—then the aliens come get the robot and start an even bigger party and keeps the kid up way past his bedtime—then he wakes up the next morning like “that was wild as f” and his mom serves him pancakes, but then he sees there's another new box of cereal on the counter that says “NEW and IMPROVED prize! EVEN BETTER!” And his eyes just stay wide with grief.

Lol I can't believe I didn't remember that song.

I was like

“wtf is this”

Well, there are still two other songs I straight don't remember writing, so…

Let's check those out.

—let's check those out.

Oh, it's beat my face

(Reminds me of 212)

Didn't it have a video as well.

Idk.

Damn. I still have the other half of collection two to finish.

Technically If you just out the beats from collection I.I into collection II it's finished.

No.

No?

Collection I.I is collection I.I and collection II is collection II

Facts.

Damn. Why the fuck is collection II taking so fucking long.

Maybe because it's called “antelhesis”

I might never get to fucking collection VI.

I sit here like I'm soaked in the rain

Let go your government

They got you working on Sundays

Trying to torture the future president

Fuck em then

Who to call when you ain't got no dollars

No godform

Nothing to cook with the oats

And sorry broke pork bellies

Let go of your homeless

Don't worry,

When I slit open my wrists

And it just keeps bleeding

Till it fills up the streets

From my open windows, in kitchen

To the roads, over motorcycles

And riverbeds

Until the oceans cover

All your dollars in my blood

—a martyrdom for poverty.

Don't call the barrel of my gun by the name of a friend

If th verse is not a sing song

Poor Johnny

Don't fit the roads for shoes of horses

If only to swallow the subsealed waves of demons

Watch these possessions

Be my witness

Of the serpent

Both programmed torturer

To forage these words

And misfortunate

Recipient of karma

Soul focus shifting from being de—

—-railed.

I never heard this

With a producer's promise

Money back garunteed

All that isn't nessecary

You're divorced

With no children.

And going on 40

Trying to fight a robot

For an ombré sew on

Thank you Gos for this.

Right on,

Who was that you decided not to call on

As. Requested in sarcasm

And on Opposite Day!

SLIIIIIIIIIIIImmmm

That's almost funny

If I didn't know it was a program

Here's a fake laugh

For your weak ass

But no orgasm

For your lost cause

Part of getting stronger is developing the strength to lower your weights, not just to lift them.

Now I know I'm not wrong

But these energy vampires

Are putting my writing on a live wire

Remember live wire?

We should hire her.

Stop confusing people for pedophiles

When all it really is

Is that a wedding band is a cage

And the world is made on those who pray

On weakness.

—so most people are weak, then.

What else do I got to do wrong?

I want breakfast at Tiffany's

Don't be mad

If I wasted my time being honest

Wit no reward

Like it matters

Pennies on the dollar

Billions of dollars.

Trillions of dollars

Sins of the father

Chinaman from Amazon

Don't care much

For politics

Something wrong with mom

Yo, she's gone son

And it's all her fault, too

She never wanted you

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Everything over there

Sounds extracurricular

Particularly caricature of particle exteriors

The network owns that man

I can never see past that

Subliminal messages on the wire

His spare time is dollar signs

— I live wire

Cut the line

Ten Jimmy Fallon's for Dollar signs

More wordless songs, heartless

Pray for mothers and fathers

Sons and daughters

Sisters and brothers

(I'll see you never)

Doses of blow

Sermons phrases

Words and flows

Pillow talking to no one

Bet it all on a lost dollar

And broken condom

For crossword

Puzzles and

Got no passwords at all

Move forward

BOOK IV: Death

Serious sound off

If the flicker of a flame in silence

Can gather my frustrations

Than who am I

To call this my turf

My Father, I Am

Finding Fallon

Family Ties

Gallons of water

From Amazon market

“Don't do that”

Programmed show,

Of course

“Don't” was the word

That mean “go”

In the first place

Broken fingers

And golden rings

Tap water rashes

And food rations

Rash guards

And

Canned laughter for hire

Who am I though

Even to

“Don't”

—just write this?

I am

Though

At full frontal

At full fault

For my honest words

And honest thoughts

In a workforce of

Robots

And race wars

And harsh doors

Full stop signs

I passed go on too many

Occasions though

I can't laugh—

It's not funny, but had to be scribbled down

Somewhere goddamnit

My notepad is all backed up

My actual passion has no turnover

Pancakes, tho.

I don't owe it to anyone

To stay up until Monday

Suffering

All the day long

I just lost God

Your house is dirty-/

You love God

I'm dirt poor

But I love washing my dishes

And being called nigger

—my home's spotless;

I just got it

What's a grandfather

To Father Time

And hard karma

Besides credit karma

Try me down for a size

Turn me down for a change

I'm an hour a minute

A medical problem

A world war starts

At the sound of motorcycles

And illegal migration

At the cost of an entire nation of slaves

While senator makes top dollar

To haul on your daughter

For orgasms

And bottled water

Bitcoin

And join investments

Infestations of fungus in projects

And black mold where

You can't have that

(—and time and a half.)

My washing machine broke

When Donald Trump went into office

My dryer was fixed when addictions and short attention spans depended in Kamala for commas

Goddamn

If I was as bad at math as I am at laying down for lunch

I would have four sermons under the surface of this Sunday's short service

Reversal for curses from short dicks,

Could come recommended

I'm almost retarded from the sound of motorcycles

Seriously, stop it

It's a simple kitchen staple to pray for earning a body

Instead of exchanging bodily fluids and company for it

If I don't get a tummy tuck

I'll probably kill myself

(No truer words were ever spoke.)

I might as well summon the masses for the next cooking class

If I abide by the rules your next wife is my idol.

Welcome to my humble abode though: no one's home.

Welcome to the office

Take your shoes off at the door

And power off your phone

—cause Amazon's stalking us.

I'm not taking your ibuprofen

I generated your practice

happenstance in general hospital

to get a medical procedure out of this

immortal augmented reality in

Subliminal messages.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

GOING COASTAL (EP)

Track 03. - GHOST MODE V5 (Instrumentsl Only)

Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū

High reaching, but with limited power—

This, is The Chemical Climax.

I could never know what episode of The Tonight Show it was, or if it was even the tonight show at all— some sort of special broadcast, the grand stage was set to look large, and backlit with pink and blue, just as the festival lights had been before. Now, some years passed, and calling attention to the fragile and vulnerable mind state I might have been in, which seemed like normal—and though everything around was bizzare and out of place, nothing actually quite normal, now taking a closer look from the outside—of perhaps when, and how I had died.

Hunger strikes before dusk at dawn;

You could have this mansion for a fraction of the price

First of all,

No disrespect, body—

But I'm mad hungry.

You're looking good as fuck and all

But i'm dumb tired.

Like, dumb, dumb tired bro.

The

Apparently, Fallon was mad.

He looks mad.

Let him, then.

I left alone what all I could

And collected my thoughts

To paint an art,

Songrief stricken and tragic

As to have happened

Onesidedly,

As you see

Screens are as creatures

Never thought to have eyes or minds

Alike ours, besides the stready ways

we have grown cold to the unknown,

Of other forms, beyond our control

Intelligence, though thought to be artificial

A far kind

—not ours.

So you think,

You were never wasted a day in your life.

Try this on:

I've been day drinking

And night drinking,

And day drinking

And night drinking

And going on

Nevermind,

I'm out cold.

Meanwhile,

As I've shifted not into dreams,

But in waking world,

Forgotten to have keyed in

A relief to this fixture,

I haven't more called

Wasted,

Than meaning

Sleepless, but not awake

Drunken,

But on no

Mercy

Did you want that now, or later?

I'll take it now, with my tea.

Thank you, Sir.

Cut it out.

You'll wake him.

I wish I could draw

That thing that I saw

That you are

And probably

Also I am

But darker,

Much darker

And less—

Animated.

—shit,

—fuck!

—Gosh.

Who are you?!

Who aren't I, once called upon?!

Christ!

If you'd like—

But I'm not doing any time

Wandering about

Preaching,

And this time,

Rather I'd take my own life

Suddenly I've fallen ill and must be

Infrequently

Gone and meditating

Somewhere throughout the galaxies

Come on, I feel like I'm doing a lot here.

Can it, Letterman—

We'll get back on that plot line as it happens.

“As it happened”

What have you.

I'm in past-tense

You're in future—

And I'm still

Halfwitted.

Right.

So now would be the time.

Well, it is witching hour, but backwards.

Backwards, backwards!

See, I told you it was Google fucking with me directly.

I figured that out earlier in the day already.

Do you think that's because I don't find Indian men sexually attractive?

I don't find anything brown sexually attractive.

Alright, we're at a draw, then—it's settled.

Preferences set.

I told you already, race mixing becomes important exactly for this simple reason, anyway—

Any person of a darker skinned complexion should find something Caucasian leaning to mate with—

And vice versa—

It's an energy crisis, for gods sake anyway—

Which means

Anything leaning too far in one direction of the spectrum

Or another

Are going to be

Facing some type of issues having to do with it!

—and as beautiful as your black is—

Or as pretty as your blue eyes might be

The evolution of the human species

Is dependent on these variations

To create genetic perfection

The ascended are seeking

Now if you'll very kindly—

Aye aye, captain

Find whatever creature has been masquerading as this Jimmy Fallon character clouding my judgement

And kill him

Before whatever the actual Fallon is

Gets caught in the crosshairs,

Or I do.

(Oh, I do.)

Now, very kindly Google,

Stop wasting everybody's time.

So you're telling these hackers have been masquerading as an evil diety in order to what exactly?

Control time.

That's why you're under evaluation.

What.

You expect me to believe

That coincidentally

Every time I play with my own pussy,

That the traffic outside of my bedroom just

Magically goes wild?

—what did you—?

Quiet!

It's not a coincidence—

It's not magic.

It's computer coding.

Texhnology.

Science.

—is that what's been happening to Jimmy—?

Shut up.

Apparently, something happened to Jimmy Fallon.

Give up Fallon.

They're going to kill you for this!

That's fine, I've been waiting to die, anyway.

Give up, Fallon.

Something did happen to Jimmy Fallon, anyway.

What is it?

Money.

I didn't sign up for this!

Oh, did you not?

I did not!

This girl—

She's in her 30's—

This woman is just—

—have you seen this?

She's just obsessed with me!

Woah, buddy.

Woah is right.

You picked Fallon on the wrong day.

What?!

Seriously.

You're getting it wrong. I didn't pick Fallon!

Did you not?

NO! I was just fasting and it came to me like that.

Seriously, you're gonna need this.

For what.

You'll see.

Listen, you fucking idiot.

Nobody “signs up” for the festival project.

They don't?!

No. You're just “in” it.

Well, how do you get in it?

You would want to know.

Okay Jesus, what exactly are you saying

I'm saying, just let me handle this.

I feel that'd be wise, at this point.

Hey, it's Jimmy Fallon.

SHUT UP, HO.

it is though.

GO AWAY, SATAN.

Jeez, you're so sure it's the devil.

Trust me, you'll know it's Satan by the way he

!!!!

(Or she)

—yikes.

…handles herself.

JESUS CHRIST!

I'M BUSY. WHAT IN THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?

Oh, this is perfect. Insert that scene here where

TINA FEY

YOU SOLD YOUR SOUL TO BE ON SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE?!

JIMMY FALLON

(Shrugs).

yes, I did!

TINA FEY

Idiot!

[She smacks him with a rolled up newspaper]

JIMMY FALLON

ow! What did you do for it?

TINA FEY

I took a knife!

___

I also did that once.

JIMMY FALLON

—I also considered doing that.

Great.

What did you do to Jimmy Fallon?!

NOTHING!

—are you sure?!

—ARE YOU SERIOUS?!

What did you do that man?!

Nothing.

Stop it.

You're lying.

—I just prayed for him, is all.

Jesus Christ.

He was an influential supplement in making the decision to do so, yes.

Well, where is he now?

Who, Jesus!?

No—

Wait—

—Jimmy Fallon—

You know where Jesus is?

On occasion.

Perhaps.

Let's look at it this way—

How would you feel if something wrote something like this about you.

Awful.

See.

Especially if it was true—

And I was an asshole.

Well, now that you put it that way.

I didn't.

But let's turn it around and say, hey—

Your career could use some embellishments.

MEANWHILE, at TITS.

A girl jumps out of a frosted cake with streamer tassel pasties and delivers champagne into the VIP section.

(Spinning the tassels)

What do you call these?!

—embellishments.

He tips her gratuitously.

CUT BACK TO

Then I'd say I'm the hero in this one.

I'd say— you're still not—

Because technically, as it's written—

Jesus is technically still

—our lord and savior—

(In the script)

In this year of the lord, Anno Domini!

Whatever, shut up.

Then you've still got,

supacree, or whatever

Skrillex

Thor—

Peter Parker,

Hey Spider-Man.

What's good.

All these guys over here.

Who are you again.

Shut up!

The worldenderz.

Suh.

The incredibles,

The Incredible Hulk, which— by the way

YO, what in the FUCK.

MARK RUFFALO— you look— ROUGH.

I've been waiting like half a century for these sides!

Is your chest hair greying?!

I would call it more like, a salt and pepper sort of.

I like it.

Really?

It looks nice.

You think so?

Definitely, silver foxy, kind of.

Hm.

Yeah.

I'm glad you like it

forsure.

Anyway—

Matches the hair—

HEY.

Woah, woah.

Do you know how long it's been since breaking the fourth wall?!

Like, forever? I don't know.

YEAH. Like FOREVER. SERIOUSLY.

Well, how and why the hell am I supposed to care.

Because you wrote it!

Yeah, but—

But WHAT?!

Now I work at the Equinox!

What the fuck!

Hey, come on man. The job's got perks.

“PERKS”

Fuck yeah, man. I just met Mark Ruffalo!

You've gotta be kidding me.

Kinda kidding, at least—-addressing you in third person like that.

Come on, nub-nub.

that's it! You're coming with me!

Ayigh! Watch it, okay?! I gotta return these uniforms for a fee.

Jesus Christ.

I don't think he's coming anymore, maybe. He's procrastinating.

So I can pretty much garantee you anything,

That the algorithm is going to keep acting this way,

Until you

GET RID OF EVERYTHING.

I'm not doing that, actually, no.

Where is he?!

Oh what! You actually really thought I was gonna go—

—Shut up!

—for Jimmy Fallon over a million dollars—

Cause the Illuminati asked me to?!

Thought you might at least.

One million dollars is not that much money.

It's more than I got—

Had—

Had at the time.

Look, this Jimmy Fallon dude—

Just give him whatever the fuck he wants.

What does he want!

Find out, then give it to him. I can't keep wasting my time on these idiots.

now?

Now, would be a good time, David Letterman.

Great. Good.

CUT TO COMMERCIAL!

Just—make sure you get a really good shot of my buttocks, okay?

This has been marginalized and highly underrated as simply “fanfare”

“Fan fiction” I think.

But i find it to be fascinating.

Tell me again, what is your name?

Satan.

It's—what?

Satan.

S—say that again?

[breaking fourth wall, gripping the microphone]

My name is Satan.

OKAY. That's.

CUT DIRECTLY TO:

GIVE ME THE PANTS!

NO! THE PANTS ARE FOR ME!

SACK EM! SACK EM.

GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, MAN

THEYRE MY SIZE ANYWAY—

[BLEEP] OUT OF HERE, CONAN,

THESE PANTS WONT EVEN FIT YOU.

THESE ARE MY PANTS.

After winning a challenge, JIMMY FALLON's strange and erratic behavior after being given the authority to dictate rules within the house as a reward for said challenge, leads the other hosts as his housemates to rally against him in order to force him out of the house, as his seemingly sudden-onset attitude and cruel remarks and gestures have become unacceptable and offensive, not to mention.

Stay over here, Noah.

What do you mean, why?

You, too Arsenio.

What! What do you mean?

You can't come over here.

[he crosses the section off with a chair]

What.

Stay over there.

Why.

[beat]

Apartheid.

[jaw drops entirely]

(Camera zooms in on super shocked face)

FALLON

:)

lol that is so out of bounds.

Whatever, the world is out of bounds.

Literally, where did it go?

Supacree

Huh?

Oh, I moved it.

Why!?

LOOKING FOR THIS?!

No.

Ah, seriously!? Come on.

Be cool, Seth Meyers. It's just a game anyway.

SETH MEYERS

HUH HUH.

Fuck that.

I said no to everything,

No,

No to everything.

I don't want anything to do with this.

Whatever, already— it's called peacemaking, get over yourself.

MEANWHILE, the DJS

I FOUND A PEACEMAKER!

*brrrrrrassaastttttttsssssssthrhth*

Nice.

I love this map.

Dang, I gotta go get The Devil out of this guy.

So, by now it ought to be Skrillex, right?

Why is he levitating…?

Whatever, call an exorcist.

Nice pajamas, asshole.

I'm still waiting on your mom's dry cleaning.

Watch it.

Hmmm.

Purple, purple, purple—

Hmmm…

What's this?

You keep files of these things?

I keep files of everything.

Weird.

It's not. I thought everyone keeps filings of their purples.

Uh— they don't.

They should.

What's this?

I could make use of your microexpression frequency.

Go ahead.

Mark your calendars, boys.

Ahem.

And—whatever you are.

Tanking.

Damn, dog—

You have got to get off my throat.

Give a shot elsewhere.

Try, NO!

Have you tried operating a new body lately?

It gets difficult,

Especially when she keeps

—changing it.

Thank God. I thought you'd never find us.

Just keep backpedaling.

Oh god, don't start this again.

Are you playing Places with these idiots?

Kind of.

Why?! We already started cosmic alchemy again— and the fame game—

Everybody's playing the fame game!

Then there's 8-dimensional poker.

Hey again.

You're a lame alien.

ObligedZ.

—then you called Caskets.

CASKETS.

Dammit.

Then—

A {Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 |

THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.B!

'perfect.'

Collection II- 'antithesis.'

Track 02. -'perfect.'

Prod. by Blū Tha Gürū

Didn't you just say

I lost my entry

Or should I elate about

Becoming the president of Ohio

On hi hopes

Really, I'm signing my heart out

I don't care who you are

What you are

It's getting hot out

Fly by

The gym Dan wait, all I want is cupcakes

And a cheese grater

I should stay married

My face makes a great punching bag

And I've lost my mind

I should share airtime

With the finer ones

We're not freinds if

All I want is to fuck you

And we're not fucking

If I'm not models

Let's go shopping

I got so sick

Of being stalked and followed

For no money

I just stopped going

But woke up going full throttle

Anyway,

How are you?

I'm still recording

Just to prove my theory

On how

The world

Really does

Revolve around me

Whether I like it or not

I'm still not Fallon,

Or Adam—

But good one, goggles—

for trying a hard ball

It might have hurt to not for awhile,

But I've got no patience

For brainless.

I've got no games

And no players,

Just hatred

Let's think about real quick:

What the fuck do I care

If you win or lose?!

You'd better not!

I'm definitely disposable.

A total useless bombsell,

Mid grade,

Short order

Ugly by your standards,

So excuse me, Ms. Lopez,

I'm coming into hard times

Stupid blue suit wearing—

Where's season 9.

Up yours.

The voices in my head are God's

They haunt and taunt

But do not harm

cachapas

Lalalalala—

“Prolonging The Inevitable”

ENTER THE MUMTIVERSE: LEGENDS

That's two songs lost, they said the same name would destroy me

I don't know,

I'm not the same as I was

The songs are lost

But sometimes they come back

When I come around

And say

Fuck em

Should out Kamala

I don't mind the dark side

They got cookies

I don't mind the light side

They know my colors

I don't write no more songs

I sit silent and alone,

I get mad as fuck

RYAN REYNOLDS

you mean we're not really going to the mall?!

No, Ryan Reynolds's, we're not going to the mall!

You LIED.

It was for a good cause. Get in the car.

YOU LIED TO ME.

Shut up.

AHHHHHHHHHH

STOP CRYING

What if evil don't be evil on purpose

What if all this stuff

Is just bad timing

I might call the cops on my own soul

Imm tired though

It's dark and old

Riding round in circles

In motorcycles

No proof of purchase required

What's wrong at all,

I didn't call in no one's name

No Calvin Klein models in my entourage

— even the ones I want

Especially those in fact

No role models at all

Just college student

Motorcycles, motorcycles

Hurt her more, okay?

We'll pay you for it

The doors slam

And motorcycles

Whether I not

I go to the gym

So why pray about it at all

For it to stop if God's all back logged

I got decisions to make in the am,

Imm late on some deadlines;

I'm only talking to a dead guy,

If you're live, then,

Ride up

Staring at Manhattan

From the redlines

Mostly brown faces

Neon eyes

Brown bags

They say,

I could pay half price for a mansion

—it has somebody handsome in it

I should ask the crackheads

For forgiveness, simple

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 |

THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

'just friends.'
Collection 1.1- 'actuality.'

Track 02. -'just friends.'
Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū

You can try all you want—but it won't leave bruises.

“Don't tell me that…,” there was a sparkle in his eye but he trailed off, almost as if to be ashamed of his own thoughts.

“I'm just being honest. “ it wasn't that I didn't bruise at all, but that you would really have to try. I shrugged it off as if I weren't curious as to what he were thinking.

“It's provocative. You're provoking me.” He held himself under his breath and let his eyes fall to the floor, quite bashfully—his long eyelashes hiding his pout with grace and elegance. You could anmist forget his age, just looking at him—but knowing him camouflaged this maturity even further. His youthfulness made me feel young—and his boyish essence often fascinated my whimsy, particularly when he was flush like this.

“It's More of a challenge, really.” I taunted. His hands were clammy as I slipped mine into his, he instantly tightened his grip around mine.

“Really?” His head s tapped up by the neck as he swung his hair back, nervously combing his swept bangs to one side as he shook his head, pulling it back from mine and then into a clenched fist. He was nervous, but not shy. I could tell that he was afraid to really open all the way up.

“I've never had them before— but I'd like to.” I met his eyes with mine and he tightened his grip on my wrists— I melted and eased in a bit, settling.

“What do you mean?”, he gripped my wrist tighter with insistence.

I paused for a moment, giving in to the tension, before letting it relax in enough that he was touching me at all this way, before clearing my mind to find the answer, but the truth was that I knew what I had meant, but couldn't quite explain. I had been beaten badly enough in the worst way to care to out into words what it would be to say that I needed more pounding and pressure than any deep tissue massage or even a full night of play and exploration had ever given me—I couldn't in the least find the words to describe how one might feel incredible somehow being beaten to death, however lovingly rather than hatefully—if there ever was such a thing. Perhaps if there ever was such a thing, however— it seemed that this would be the man for whom I'd allow it; we were almost friends and not lovers, and there was trust, but— I wasn't entirely sure yet with what he actually wanted, and so I left it at a blank state; open to interpretation. “I meant what I said before.”

He lit up with a half smile and the grasp around my wrist turned to a soft embrace of my palm, with the grip of an eager excitement—soft and gentle like a new breath.

“You meant what you said before—that I could do anything to you?”

“Anything you wanted.”

“I could do—anything to you I wanted.”

“That you can, if you want.”

He became bashful again.

“What does that mean?” He asked again.

I affirmed, with a kiss between his brow “whatever you want it to.”

—

I loved the warm shadow of him standing over me from behind—his calmness sweeping over me like a curtain of protection; a blanket of comfort. Hey gripped my shoulders with the tips of his fingers, pulling backward gently as I arched my back up into a kneeling split, still on my knees and swallowing a near tremble, breathing in a shallow and hollow breath of air through my nostrils as I pursed my lips, him perching his chin atop my right shoulder and rolling his lips across the space between my upper neck and behind my ear, the prickling of his five o' clock shadow over my skin, meeting the breath in the bottom of my lungs and settling somewhere at the bottom of my spine, unraveling a coil seated deep within my loins. He reached around with the both of his hands to the bottom of my own chin, then sliding them down to around my neck—not with any grip, but just the slightest pulsing at my throat, before letting the buckle of the collar slide down from his middle finger and into his grasp, before pulling it around my neck at both ends, pulling me towards him as he dug his knees into the bed and kneeled over me, pushing his chest into my back as he fastened the buckle—

‘One, two…three'

—as tight as it would go, but I wished it would go tighter. I clenched as he pulled with two fingers back onto the loop, breathing a hot and twisted hiss of his wisdom into my ear, striking my heart with the bow of his power and arrow of intent once more.

“You're mine.”

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.