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I've been celibate for too long.
You know how I know?
Shits getting weird.
There's babies everywhere,
My heart is literally on fire—
All the time—
And guess what else?
I found out this weird trick—
On complete accident.
I actually found out that men are like real life good pussy detectors.
Like, they have a sensor, or something.
You know how I found this out?
By complete accident.
I promise, it was an accident.
I was doing kiegels on the train—
You know— like little—
Pussy workouts—
You know, you like. Clench real tight, and then release?
Yeah.
Anyway,
So I was clenching my pussy real tight, right.
On the train.
And like six dudes were like
**snifs, looking around**
-_1
“Where is it?”
And I was like
“Uh oh!”
Oh no!
But I thought to myself—
No, that was strange,
That couldn't have really—no wait-/
So I did it again,
And even more dudes were like
“YO, WH—“
“WHAT?” *snifs* what.
And that's when I found out
“that's—wow. You know what? I should not be clenching my pussy like that on the train”
And then,
Of course,
I'm doubting myself, I'm like—
No way! That's ridiculous— so I thought
Maybe one more—expression—one more kiegel, ought to do the trick.
So I did it again, one more time—
And all the dudes were like
“”Whaaaaat is that?!l
“What is going on”
But this one dude, big black guy—
Got this like sense of clarity,
Whipped his head around at me,
And luckily I was wearing sunglasses but,
Looked dead at me like
“ITS YOU.”
And I was like
Yep.
You know what?
I shouldn't even have this pussy on the train like this.
I'm a just—
I just got off the train.
I don't even think it was my stop.
I was just like—
EXIT.
No more pussy on the train.
{Enter The Multiverse}
[The Festival Project.™]
COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©
-Ū.
You want to come to, don't you?
I'm not really sure I do…
WAKE UP! WAKE UP!
I am up, you blind bat!
I'm rather more of a goat.
I thought it you were a horse!
–And to that, I say “Ney”
Great .
Listen. If you can get all of the Golden Girls and all of the beatles lined up in a row, I'll give you a bucket.
What's in the bucket.
Nothing, that's the fun of it.
hm.
Sir Paul McCartney?
Uh, I guess.
Sir Paul McCartney, you must never die.
–I feel like i've heard this somewhere before…
Perhaps somewhere before; But here, now.
Very well, then.
On you go.
You know–you look familiar.
No, I don't.
Are you sure we don't know eachother?
I'm not sure of anything, really–and neither should you be.
Words to remember, my dear friend.
__
So you've been knighted.
I'd think it so. but the ceremony were in the morning.
___
Notes Dump II:
All those who seek to controll me
Will therefore be controlled by me
therefore
Those who seek to contain me
Shall therefore be contained by me
Amen
JOHN SLATTERY
wtf characters is this.
idk , it just says “John Slattery”
The fuck, man.
She doesn't listen.
She'll listen to me
You think so
I know so.
Forget it. If she doesn't obey me–
She's not going to obey anybody–
Especially you;
Whoever it is you think you are.
Whatever, asshole.
That's right;
I'm an asshole.
So that's Captain Asshole
To you, motherfucker!
[There's a Surf Club in Brooklyn]
Mister Cellophane
{The Printing Press} - pop Up Club
Toot it and boot it
“The telepathic deadmau5”
Whatever that is
Ooh shit, here we go again with this motherfucker
[The 4th Dimensional Jimmy Fallon's telepathy becomes extremely keenly developed, with the more time he spends intentionally looking into the eye of the many cameras used to film the shows h appears on, exponentially increasing over the expanse of his career–as he soon finds out, his peers have also developed this seemingly unique ability, however, each person who has gained this ability has also developed an individual; intrinsic and respectively specific skill within his or herself which allows each person who possess this telepathy to limit/inhibit this at his or her own will or desire
Whatever.
JIMMY FALLON YOU RAT MOTHERFUCKER.
I'm not a rat! I'm a weasel! AH!
YEAH?
YEAH, FORREAL.
WELL, FUCK YOU, YOU WEASEL MOTHERFUCKER.
FOR WHAT.
i'M GONNA KILL YOU.
That's readily apparent–BUT WHY?
[The mobster lunges for Jimmy]
AHH.
I NEED CONTEXT.
[He lunges for Jimmy again]
AHH
CONTINUITY. CONTINUTIY.
Oh damn. So he really can shapeshift into.
Just about
–Just about anything.
Fuck you.
[The syndicate crime organization which Patrick has become involved with has become mistrustful and uncertain of his straightforward and clean-cut demeanor; He is forcibly injected with a combination of heroin and cocaine to ensure that he is trustworthy to continue within the organization, and his reputation is put into jeopardy as his occasional recreational use curtails into a habit, which he hides, as his new promotion to Head of Programming, in addition to his continuing role as the host of a primetime late night talk show are both put at stake. Patrick , a young and eager writer and performer, begins his career as a remarkably clean-cut and good-hearted young man, with an almost heroic sensibility of naivety, besides his impressively professional tolerance for high volumes of alcohol, and primarily hidden vice for cigarettes.]
What is that.
(mockingly)
Heh. “what's that?”
[Patrick shrugs, and grimaces, as if to say “whatever, then”]
It's just some ye-yo.
(uninterested)
Oh.
[He suddenly becomes slightly more hostile, as if provoked by Patrick's nonchalance]
You down for some ye?
Hah, i'm straight.
(squinting)
You sure?
Yeah.
Come on! Don't be so stiff.
(defensively)
I'm not “stiff”
I'm just–
(insisting, drawing closer
Try it.
(not backing down, but stern)
I'm good.
[The two are face-to-face, the room becomes quiet.]
Try it.
Nah.
[His eyes widen; he appears offended.]
I insist.
[Patrick silently declines, attempting to stand up.]
CONT'D
Seriously? You know what–
[The tension has risen; Patrick inwardly understands there's no escape; He swallows nervously, he is trapped, and surrounded by the crew of gangsters.]
Sit.
[He pushes Patrick down, holding his arms to his sides.]
-___-
We'll get back to that later.
Damn shit show is intense.
I know I haven't even found the real deep stuff yet.
Yikes. I hope you weren't intending for Fallon to play this!
Oh please! I don't even think he's capable of palating a show like this.
That's an insult.
No, it isn't. The man's a genius; but, a comic genius. You remember when Sandler did all that serious shit?
What serious shit?
Exactly.
DOC BROWN
THis is some serious shit.
Not yet, Emmmmit.
What do you mean, “not yet”? I haven't much time left, you know.
Whatever! You're going to live forever!
(Amen)
I'm ma stressin
Flexin my God complex ‘n / complexion
I'm on Lex and, I'm not lost
I'm just walkin in the wrong direction,
To throw ‘em all off,
N keep them steady guessin!
your deviation from the media signifies your obedience of this law.
What law.
Wait. Where'd you go.
[ILLUMINATi]
HELLO?
They tried to curse her name,
But had forgot that it was
Their ow; Therefore they cursed themselves,
Set her free, and sent her home–
The curse was meant to kill, so she'd always be alone–
instead , she rose above the world, to sit upon the thrown
HEr name became an honor, to which it was bestowed, the crown she wore upon her head,
To show the curse had broken.
–C'cxell Soleïl Azul Monroe
Esha's Life Begins to Change drastically and rapidly, once the blood oath is set–
PATRICK
Oh, by the way, I've published your book.
ESHA
I'm Sorry–
PATRICK
(interjecting)
–don't apologize…
ESHA CON'T
–you w-what?
PATRICK
This–
[Esha gasps in shock.]
ESHA
How did you–
PATRICK
The artwork is beautiful–
ESHA
Patrick–!
PATRICK
It's your design, of course.
ESHA
How did you–
PATRICK
How did I what?
ESHA
…This was on canvas!
PATRICK
Was. Now it's the cover of your book.
ESHA
“My book…”
_______
[As the workplace tension rises between Patrick and Esha and a strong romance begins to bloom, however unrequited between them, Patrick begins to return Esha's rejections with practical jokes, which sometimes backfire quite tragically, to Patrick's guilt and shame.]
Patrick spits int Esha's Mango Lassi as she completes a task across the room , unseen) (he does this playfully, however and not out of spite, as since their fated intertwining within the blood oath, the two have shared such intimacies that this is only a ‘minor' contamination; they are, after all, bound by blood.) Esha sits back at her desk unwittingly, stirs her Mango lassi with the straw, and takes a sip of the refreshing drink.]
ESHA
Mm.
[Patrick smiles maniically]
LILLITH enters, walking past ESHA's desk and glancing at her, stopping short of greeting her, distracted by her refreshment.]
LILLITH
Ooh! That looks good. Can I try some?
ESHA
Sure!
[Patrick's eyes widen, but he attempts not to react; LILLITH takes a sip.]
LILLITH
Ooh, that is good.
[she takes another sip}
[PATRICK keeps his hands in his pockets, biting his tongue, hiding that he is inwardly horrified; he rubs his eyes.]
LILLITH
yum . Grandma. You've got to try this.
VIVIAN, passing by gestures to ESHA, who shrugs nonchalantly and nods a “go ahead”
[PATRICK might explode; but he hides it well; VIVIAN Takes a sip.]
VIVIAN
That is delicious.
LILLITH
I know, right?
VIVIAN
Thank you, Esha.
LILLITH
Yeah, thanks.
[Vivian and Lillith walk away; Esha gestures warmly and stirs the drink again, taking another sip before putting it down, looking at Patrick unassumingly, however, somewhat knowingly.]
[PATRICK'S nostrils flare, he keeps his hands in his pockets and grimaces]
[beat]
“Jigsaw”
[Patric finishes Esha' Puzzle, then frames it, as a romantic gesture. However, this very explicitly angers her, and she charges him; This is the first time he, or we as the audience has ever seen Esha in a fit of rage, or breaking her usually dry and collected composure.
She enters his office, infuriated She smashes the framed puzzle across his desk; the puzzle and glass shatter, scattering impressively in an explosion of glass, wood shards, and puzzle pieces.
PATRICK
Good morning!
ESHA
You FINISHED MY PUZZLE.
PATRICK
–I thought you'd like that
ESHA
–YOU–
[She begins throwing things off of Patrick's desk; starting with an awards trophy which appears to be an Oscar, then launching his bobble heads and finally, hulk smashing the cappuccino machine.
PATRICK
WOAH!
ESHA
–I WAS WORKING ON THE END FOR MONTHS.
[She continues to destroy his office.]
PATRICK
HEY–wait, really?
ESHA
YES.
PATRICK
…It was so simple…
[He has never witnessed this side of Esha before, and despite the destruction is quite amused. He snickers.]
ESHA
THIS IS FUNNY TO YOU?
[Patrick sips his drink.]
PATRICK
I guess you could say i'm “puzzled”
ESHA
AGH
[HULK SMASHES CAPPUCCINO MACHINE, as it is the last thing on his desk.]
PATRICK
OK?!
[ESHA more satisfied/calmly pours out the remainder of his coffee; Now he's at the very least kind of upset. He sighs; She exits calmly.]
VIVIAN peeks into the office as she passes ESHA exiting the doorway; a small crowd has gathered to gawk, but for the most part it's ‘business as usual', with most of the team assuming PATRICK has simply been up to his tendencies; In fact, he has, however, His relationship with ESHA has become quite complex, as due to his marriage and family, ESHA's continual rejection of his romantic sentiments, despite their explicit interminglings has left him befuddled, and consistently strategizing a way to earn her trust, as she seems an impenetrable wall, and hides a certain mysterious darkness.
lol , Eli Scruggs, Man.
Man, I wish.
I love this scene though.
LATER
Eshareturns to her new home (an incredible modified loft in midtown, with a cast iron spiral staircase, stained windows, exposed brick, and exotic wood floors;
Oh yeah, cause that one part where
VICTOR
You burned down her house?
PATRCICK
I bought it, first.
And Insured it.
VICTOR
Woah.
PATRICK
Well, it was already insured.
Lol damn this dude is a boss.
Yeap.
Fallon couldn't handle this.
Nope.
So who plays Esha?
Idk. Some pretty light skinned girl.
How light skinned.
Light skinned enough to be an ingenue.
Is she the ingenue?
Almost. Kind of.
Wtf.
right .
[Everything at first looks normal, until she reaches the downstairs bathroom/washroom door to find it closed (which is unusual She nervously looks abround, then notices under the door, one single puzzle piece – she opens the door; an avalanche of puzzle pieces falls to her feet; the entire room is filled floor to ceiling with puzzle pieces.
EARLIER:
Patrick sits in the rafters/air conditioning vent with a shop vacuum (in reverse) full of puzzle pieces, (a vacuum he has ‘borrowed' from the studio from the prop room of a show in which contestants are put into a translucent box to attempt to grab money as it flies into the air) He fills her entire washroom with the pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle
Esha, who neither appears to be angry or otherwise, hauls the pieces out in large garbage bags, , then carrying them into the master loft, a two-level space in which the lower level houses her art studio, where she finds a giant frame hanging from the roof on suspension chains;
The camera pans outward with ESHA center, within this giant frame, creating in itself a picturesque vision, herself a painted picture, as she sorts through the pieces atop her bed
Now I have your eyes,
And you have mine
We are we n
The mind of The Eye
This bond surpass
Any test of time
I am I
now sign it.
Uhhh..
Oh, th taste of tears
To be bound by blood
The cure of the oath
The blessing of both
Oneess
[Patrick's children are somewhat all like him in some way; Effectively, they are hilarious?
PATRICK
This one does tricks.
See!
Hazel!
Hazel is so effin cute.
I know huh.
She's like Sally Draper +
Sally Draper ++
Goddamn.
Yeah.
Cute.
Woah.
Right.
Anyway.
HAZEL
Huh.
PATRICK
Do a backflip.
HAZEL
Ok, daddy.
[HAZEL attempts a backflip, but fails.]
PATRICK.
Fuck.
[Face down, waves her arm as if to signal “i'm alright”, but clearly is inured.]
PATRICK
(taking a drink)
Call the paramedic,
HAZEL
I'm okay, though! [She lifts her head up and appears shaken, however smiling–her eyes welted and nose running.]
I'm okay.
PATRICK
No, bab, don't–
HAZEL
(cracking her neck)
I'm okay.
PATRICK
Don't–your neck…
HAZEL
(walking it off, sighing)
I'm okay, daddy.
PATRICK
Maybe just the chiropractor.
Oh, My God
Is it Esha n this scene?
I can't remember if it's Esha or the nanny.
Did he not fuck the therapist?
I mean, that's later.
Is it?
I guess.
Continuity.
Whatever.
We are as one
The Mind of the Eye
The Divinity of One.
JOHN SLATTERY
as
THE MAYOR OF
Which place
idk
Lol this dude is forreal always a politician.
He looks like a politician.
Look.
MAYOR OF NY
I think we may have found something of yours…
[INT. JFK AIRPORT. NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK, DAY.]
MAYOR OF LA
Where?
MAYOR OF NEW YORK
The airport.
MAYOR OF LA
Which airport.
MAYOR OF NEW YORK
JFK
MAYOR OF LA
I need you to ground that plane.
MAYOR OF NEW YORK
How?
MAYOR OF LA
By Any Means Nessesary.
Lol that's it.
Yup.
Then it just ends.
I fucking guess.
I guess!
Lol
She is beautiful
Eyes of oceans
Eyes of oceans
Eyes of oceans
Dear God,
Bring us together so that we shall prosper- in spirit, in body, in mind, and soul, as one, as we are Love, The Divine
We are not alike, we are the same
Please God bring me to life so that I ma meet the father of m future children, so that I might overcome poverty, find success, and great happiness, so that I can complete my journey of creating a family, to give birth to and raise more children, in a new and happy hope and marriage.
Amen.
As the sun draws upon my window at this hour, I call upon the dawning of a new eero of love, light and happiness, for all that I am and all who enter my presence, look upon me, know my artforms, or take part in my honor, the many plentiful endeavors and endowments of the great and holy divine, God almighty
Amen
C'cxell Soleïl Azul Monroe
I thank you and humbly ask for you Great and Divine, Honorable protection, my dear lord, so that I might only know love, happiness, success, and great praise.
Okay, so i did very briefly shapeshift into Steve Bucemi last night.
Are you certain?
I–
[THE MAN IN THE MIRROR is STEVE BUCEMI]
…whatever. I'm going back to bed.
I'd highly recommend that.
You can't forget a face like that.
On that note,
I think i'm into crustpunks.
You want.
I–oh yeah.
Yes?
Yes, please.
GODDAMMIT.
What.
It's this stupid game. I can't get out of this effin trap.
Oh.
“oh”
Have you tried, like–
Tried like, what? I've tried everything.
Just hit ‘escape'
What? That's not gonna work.
Have you tried it?
No, that's stupid.
You said you tried everything.
Yeah, but that's–0
Just try it.
GET UP, DILLON FRANCIS.
GodDAMMIT.
He's out cold.
I'm not! i'm getting up.
Jesus Christ, dawg. How are yout this much of a fuckin wook.
I'm not “wook”
You ARE wook. Jesus.
Jesus is here.
How are you more of a wook than Jimmy Fallon?
That dude is like ancient.
I'm not wook.
You are wook.
meanwhile
WEEKEND UPDATE returns with a not-safe-for-work-or-TV Special.
Oh no.
Is that why
SHH. SHUT UP.
OH, YEAH, iT'S ON MOTHAFUCKA
Dude. you can't wear suits to a rave like that.
CAN
uhm , CAN.
Wtf man.
Apparently, all the late night guys are like in competition with eachother.
DUH.
Even the dudes that are on the same network.
DUH.
Christ, kid, you are sloooooooooowwww.
….-_- which Seth are you again?
The important one.
Whatever. Just get Jon Stewart the fuck out of here before
*michielf*
Fucking christ.
So wait, this is
This is everybody.
Can you explain to me why I blacked out on top of my kitchen table this morning?
I can't actually explain that, no.
SETH MEYERS
(sipping coffee)
Well, I can.
UGH.
AIGH. OHOKAY. UNCLE. UNCLE!!!
AAAAAAHHHHAAAAA.
Damn, you know it's gotta be close to th end if we've over here got
[JIMMY FALLON at a RAVE ]
Oh no. That can't be right.
No, i can't do that .
No one will recognize
Chill, it's fan-fiction
So you're a fan, then.
No. But i'm sure you have them, somewhere.
Aha. Ha.
JIMMY FALLON'S #1 Fan
Besides his–
LET'S SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT THAT, FOR NOW, OKAY.
I will never, literally ever let you live that down.
Shut up, clever.
SHut your face.
IT wa the aliens, okay! Aliens.
BEFORE:
[Aliens]
Who, what, him?
{Jimmy Fallon}
JUICE.
OKay. Wtf, what the everliving fuck is that?
Captain Hook REmix of Psychic Experence Breaks down reaeeeeal hard at around 4:30
What the fuck do they want with Fallon?!
I don't know
Is that him
Yep.
Delicious.
Oh shit. The purple people eaters are back.
WHAT. WHY.
CAuse their lunch got away.
WE LIKE HIM.
Ah. Alright.
I CAN'T DO THAT.
What do you mean, “you can't do that”
I can't do any of that! I'm on ice cream.
Oh shit, he's on ice cream.
MAYA RUDOLPH.
DId someone say
OH —------, THEY'RE BACK
ICE CREAM?!
Sorry, i didn't do this on purpos–
COSMIC AVENGER
–but I did.
Fuck. Someone go fuckin get that guy before he
ROCK
KESHA! KESHA!
KITE.
Hey, look–I am so–so sorry about this…
Whatever. It's not my fault.
It was like this “Jimmy Fallon” was following me everywhere.
WHAT. You thought i made that up?! THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED.
DUH.
WTF. It's you again.
IT's me again.
Where is
What. Where's what.
Where's Wolf?
Somewhere, I'm sure.
Don't worry, yo. I'm sure it's not the real Jimmy Fallon;
They're jus using him to implant my brain waves with leftist doctrine.
Did you say ‘doctorate'?
And also, sapiosexuality.
“The Seven Souls of Sai The Saige”
Sai and Psy The Saige are two halves of one; Counterparts, opposites, in fact—
I don't want to do this anymore…
I could feel the bags form under my eyes, the bath was run and I was due to release at least one episode today, but was rather being persuade to hard release, as I had intended; multi-part episodes recorded before I had fallen into silence, after another attack–a spiritual attack, which had left me in a raging bout of suicide and uncertainty–uncertainty, that is, as to whether the human race could be reclaimed from evil at all–as no one seemed to care for spirit or justice more than I, and however true it might have seemed, I was probably wrong, and for whatever reason, just trapped amongst these animals for whatever reason–perhaps to convey this message, that love would triumph over hate; but how could i preach such things now feeling another–it was as if I had been beaten or raped with no way at all to retaliate on my attacker, and still threatened by this force, some motorist who tore up and down my block at all hours, ripping me from the delicate rest I so craved and needed, as if it were the force which had destroyed all mankind itself, a reminder I should so when I wish, leave the world. There were no words left, only music, and no reason to speak, would the words fall upon deaf ears. Mankind as a whole had rotted to its core. Even days later, stil my chest ached, and my breathing shallow–the pain having torn through my heart not once now, but twice–I knew it was an intentional attack, whoever by, protected by evil itself.
“How White Supremacy and Privalege are Ruining The Entertainment Industry”
An article i'll never write because of terrorists
By
Whoever, just kill me.
{Enter The Multiverse}
[The Festival Project.™]
COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©
-Ū.
I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all.
At that party…or rather, kind of—after.
That acid that never hit Beyoncé
I don't feel it.
Man, I'm a terrible influence(r)
Just take it.
Nah, I'm good—
PUSSY.
-_-
Give me three.
K.
—suddenly hits BEYONCÉ.
BEYONCÉ
…I got this.
[BEYONCE] however, does not
Ohh, shit.
— “got this.”
A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z
What's even after gen z?
The fucking apocalypse.
Anyway.
The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely.
Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong.
Lol
In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel.
Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper conciousness, which
I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around?
I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw—
These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific
Fuck this is hard to explain
Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation.
Anyway, what else is happening
Oh.
All of the celebrities are stuck in—
[the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which
lol. That is never going to happen.
Because.
Let's face it.
I'm scared of
…rich people.
Yeah, sure. Yeah.
I'm scared of
The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality.
So why try
“Trying Is Doing”
-The Isms
{Enter The Multiverse}
[The Festival Project.™]
COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©
-Ū.
No sympathy
For the empath, either
It smells of either
Mescaline, or ether
It's just a dream, I mean
I don't need referrals to therapy
Serenity and peace
Is all I'm screaming for
The the fourth wall's broken
The worlds up in arms
I pretend to hold him in my arms,
As I nod off,
I forgot to block the thought watchers
Got my VPN on, but
An EMP is what we need
To get the NPCs off
Fuck then all, then
Turn my phone off, tune out
Or just doze off
I need at lease a dose of Stone,
You know,
But won't bother
It's awful/awesome
I didn't wanna write it all,
At all, but I got to
Cause I been moving up
Like the Jefferson's in Chicago
Or was that New York?
Imm unsure,
Puzzles, importance and crosswords
I can't run on no water and pasta
So I'm awkward a short-stop
Or stoped stored of breath, tripped over a cross a t the crosswalk,
For once I'm iconic,
The Beatles I'm all four of them
Need some soft porn,
Or a needle in side my arm
This dude is harming me
I need some fuckin armor from
The opposite of God
It's just obnoxious,
He won't stop fucking up my block
I guess nobody loves him
Not even his mom
Guess it's my son
It's just another song it sonnet,
If you're reading or watching it
It's the opposite of love,
Not hate,
It's poverty
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.
There is a place unlike any other
That lives in your mind—
And in your heart
SIR JYRE!
MY LIEGE!
Where is C'esme't!?
I don't know…
Don't lie to me!
Why not? It's fun.
Is banishment fun?
Mine, or yours?
Where is she!?
[a slight gasp/beat]
…my dear nephew—
—we're not related—
—not by blood…
Where is C'esme't?
[he pauses for a moment, before turning away to pour a drink.]
You should sit.
I'm fine, thanks.
Drink?
[Petruthieo pauses for a moment, reflecting on the previous night's happenings.]
I don't drink.
(Aware of the happenings)
Maybe you should.
Where's my Queen?
—Is she yours?
I'll have you exiled.
No you won't.
I won't?
[sir jyre turns to produce a small golden charm, which swings, sparking at the end of a golden chain. Without hesitation, Petrutheo is immediately familiar.]
Where's she gone?
You'll either sit, or you'll drink if you really want to know.
Petrutheo sits, flushed and defeated.
I'll tell you—
What is it?
I am under strict confidentiality enforcements.
How exactly strict
She'll kill me—-and you.
Gían comes running into the room, flustered.
Where is she?!
—and him.
Ellis Delta and CloudOne join forces to create the yin-yang supergroup, combining mellow EmoTrap melodies with the collisions of acid rock, punk, the house and indie rock, a classic twist on the LSdreamy Acid grooves of the 60's and beyond. The
Um,
Hello?
Hey it's your boss
Nah! Fuck that shit!
Can you come in?
Imm like “how long”
He's like
“All day”
I'm like
“Nah fuck that shit”
I need the pay thoufh
Jesus made me
I'm like
“Fuck, I hate this place”
My boss is like
“Can you stay late?”
I'm like
Ah he'll no,
Fuck this place
THE KITE HAS CHANGED
WHY IS IT SILVER NOW?!
I don't KNOW
AHHHH, man!
Can she see me?
Yes.
Ah fuck, I hope not.
Ok. I think I got the demon out.
How'd you do that?
I called her
You won't understand this but
YESHUA.
Jesus Christ!
WHAT?
Hello?
Delta - This is a Greek letter shaped like a triangle which symbolizes change in calculus. It has become a favorite word to use in naming things for the occult elite. Delta teams are 4 person assassination teams which usually are secret teams. Delta Forces is an elite unit that operates under the Joint chiefs of staff that is made up of highly trained total mind-controlled slaves. Delta models are slaves whose sole purpose is assassination. Delta alters are alters within an Illuminati alter system which are programmed to be assassins. These alters are often some of the deepest in a system and in a Genie bottle or with Umbrella programming.
lol Jesus is so mad.
Seriously, though
THIS IS CRAZY.
Damn.
Hey, wait,
Ya'll are about to get fuckkt up.
Tru
Oven roasted beet and kale salad with garlic batatas and
“Ya'll fucked up.”
ANNIE!!!!
WHAT, GODDAMMIT, WHAT?!?
ARE YOU FINISHED WITH THE—
I'M WORKING ON IT—Jesus fucking Christ.
What in the ever living fuck was I just doing, anyway.
SUPAC is trying to figure out why
*rubs eyes*
FUCK.
What.
I'm still Anne Hathaway.
WHAT IS GOING ON.
Woah! Woah!
OK.
Mooooooooo
Please explain to me why
You're listening to your own artwork
As if you've never heard it before!
Oh.
Because I've never heard it before.
excuse me, didn't you write this?
[The Festival Project]
Presumably.
It was the hardest and worst fast of any of them, with no use in trying to explain how time itself had been so unrecognizably shifted, that I actually may have solved and age old question, if not only unlocked by the sheer luck of my heritage and genetics; I had unlocked truth and light, and within my own divine eye, the consciousness of Christ.
Christ had become somewhat indifferent if not inhuman in his own martyrdom and sacrifice; his own humanity often jilted by the drastic space between higher consciousness and the lower realms from which we find ourselves ascended from; the ancient land, and now in Holy War; with peace emerging only forcefully however frequently within my own minds eye, the diamond of the Goddess of its own source light.
There were then, upon returning, words without words;
Fear beyond fear and
Greatness beyond greatness
In everything and all that I had come to know in this journey;
Some left to unremember in the shame and fury in learning of the true evils, the wickedness of man, and the new era which has come upon us to regain light long ago lost, to a God not born of woman nor man, but of serpents.
2. Words I would never wish to speak had been altered, uttered to me within the grasp of death itself at the hands of none other than that which wishes to taunt and beguile my name;
That such is, has none at all, for I am all you are and so, you are also given my name, in Love.
Amen
—have you decided whether or not today is going to be a sunny day, or a rainy day yet?
No, not yet.
The teacher, through space and time.
A writer's journey.
Call me over, sweet child,
And I'll tell you all about it
I'm higher than a kite
I'm a bird,
I'm a plane,
Still flying
RIP, that 88 lady
The second Bette in my collection
Or shall we make it
I like slap stick
So let's slap dicks—
Get it?
Hehe
https://current.withgoogle.com/the-current/white-supremacy/.
I told you today was a rest day
“ARREST DAY”
get it?
Ahaha.
White collar,
Blue tie
What now bitch?
Why are you hiding in silence?
Another terrorist attack.
That's twice since the turn of the season.
Your orders, sir?
Blow them all off the map.
That shit ripped through my heart;
Like salt on a bleeding wound
Put me on my feet and ready to strike back—
As if my attacker were still there, abiding over me,
But of course,
Just like any weak man—
He had attacked, and the retreated,
Vanished into the night,
Leaving me panicked and out of my mind in such writhing pain
That God itself had solemnly sworn,
A karmic death, to the attacker
To that he who would cause such a pain
To one else
Would do so to his own
Mother,
To his own sister
And to one's own daughter,
And therefore deserved
No less than the death that he so feared,
As any weak man does fear,
Death,
And just wish it so upon himself as to disturb the sacred peace and rest of others, amonsgat him who do him no harm,
Nor do wish him so,
Until it is that he has proven himself
Unworthy, by fate of having harmed another,
Instilling fear and unrest by undo force;
And so he shall remain dead,
Without the love or light he seeks
Through the facade of wealth,
A poison unto himself,
And also others
You see how that works out?
The counter curse works.
—so the enemy scares you into submission.
They've infiltrated entirely, sir.
Their strength is in numbers.
Shhh.
It's going to be okay.
It is not okay.
—I'm not okay.
You're okay.
Are you ready to die?
Haven't I already?
If you think that—
I think a lot—
You know, I've got a thing for you.
He took a face from the ancient gallery, and he walked on down the hall.
Why this one?
I thought you wouldn't remember me.
I don't want to—
So much trouble in this mess.
You haven't even seen what I can do yet.
What can you do.
You went backwards.
Wasn't I supposed to.
Fast forward.
How long?
Past—
Passed.
Sir.
This massive wave in immigration is an imminent threat to our homeland security.
Whether you want to believe it or not,
We've been breeched by masses of individuals of several countries
Who consider the United States
As hostile enemies .
Therefore, the most hostile threat lies
Within our own walls,
Therefore, nothing and no one is safe
They used the funny man as a puppet;
But funny it wasn't
The homeland was attacked
And the Love went up in
Teradactles, imbicles,
Isiocracy and syncopated
synhronistic
Synthetic attacks
On ancient lands,
Retacted
Sand on mirrors
Sampson, samples
Stratocaster,
The fans of the puppet man
The puppy and the phantom
The pocket fences and golden haired everything
The American Dream and the amethyst
Manifest a man better than
Half of the eye opened,
A model wanted,
A can opener,
Bad pasta
Stop walking my
Dogs for me and
Keep serving up
Shit on a stick
Rather than sidewalks,
Stop talking
Choke on your own cock, for once
Coke bottle figured
All I want is a
Shut the fuck up
Hellicopter to the suburbs
Cause god knows
The town car
Just gets stopped
And seraeched
Once a month
Like we're crossing the border
Instead of our old Irish catholic hearts
Where's the drama?
So far, just a piñata sugar rush
A brand new
Strap on and sacrament
Sands on Adam's
Storm story,
Informant or Glory imposter
You want the God body
Bloody, soon stop the
First car from running up a hill
At the lions paw auction
I thought of your first
Just to throw you
Off the
I'm tired,
But I got up atm five at night
With a lift still in my heart,
Sir
All for a glass of water
They convict trump for the pornstar
But not for the plot of
What the fuck you've been dying to watch
SUPACREE
I'll run for president
TRMP
STOP HER.
Straight murder on A God in Utah
You want some culture?
Sure
Shove it up your ass
Like you're []'s
Prostitute
Power to the peephole
Turns out dad
Is just a fact finder
Wind her up
Reminder
Of black eye liner
Cults
And lads up ladder
Shattered her amethyst
Fractured her analysis
Splatter
It's all cake batter and half hatter monsters
Start your start up, fucker
The price of water goes up
Cause you don't wanna work here!
So here come the anarchists from—
Fuck
Look how hard it is to pronounce some of this stuff,
Matt Lowry!
{Enter The Multiverse}
[The Festival Project.™]
COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©
-Ū.
Now my days are shattered
My heart is scattered
Around down,
Fowl feathers of the night owl
Dancing in my head
In given nightgowns
Right now
Put the candle out
Put the light on
Every night,
I'm gone
Wandering around
In the eye of the camera,
My orb
Falcon turned to black panther
I prance around in a dance robe
Like a disaster
Put it out there,
Just so I can't go back
Pass the cake
Pass the butter
Pass the late night hatred
Pass away the day praying
For the faithless
And their fake friends, but
I digress
Once the cameras are rolling
A job's to be done
For the funny men of us
Are undercover
Dressing up the dead
And most disgusting sinister
The winded wonder bread apostles
I am a robot god
I am born again in acid rain
Something changed me
Here's to the late night
I hope he hates me
—I hope I'm right, at least
I hate being right—
But I'm always right.
Right hand over my bathroom counter
Stacked up attacks on the Muslims
But I love em
Or I want to
Hot tub
The doctor
Don't worry, loser
Viewerships down to two downloads
According to the numbers
My demographic is faggots and players of forenig
I have a habit for magic
Addiction to alphas,
You know?
I'm a God
I'm a robot
I was washed in the acid rain
—-
Take the back of my neck like an animal
Yes sir
Put my hair in your hands
Pull me back,
Like an animal
Up the ante
Up in the air is my ass
In a past life
I had to have you
Now I stand I higher grounds
I'm higher now
Coming up next
A deeper addiction
Coming up next
A deeper dicking
John Wiccan
Coming up next
Change the channel, coming over
Move em up
The winners circle
Then move over.
I lit a candle for another lover
A real one ,
With a body and mind
The tide of my soul wants to know you
Behold, way below deck
Deep dick
Imm in deep shit now
Way below the belt
Blow all my hole on the dope fiend
Do you want to know me
A piñata full of chocolate
Ive got a new list
And you're not on it
Aagain with this
Again with the
What's in my head
It's a letter said
Never forget this
Forget this
Forget this
Tell me how to be like this
To get a man like that
To get a real deep dick
That's way below deck
I should settle for less
Just to get my head better
Some medical man
Or some meth
Just to finish this project
I could protect a protector with holes in his pockets,
The proctor
The trophy,
Two daughters
And another one
Here's goes the show
I'm way too old for this
I just need one good Fred Again
Who knows how to hide he's a man
But conspired
Admirers,
You know what it is?
A deep dick, man
Way, below deck
Way below the belt
Get ahold of him
Ring the phone again
I been calling on Collin
Coleen is more polished
It's brother sister sameness,
Same mess for the colonizer
White on white is
Right on right
I'm just behind you
Way under the bridge
Belt around my head to make it better
I'll see you in heaven
Out of Manhattan
Where trash is the precipice
Never better
Bodies in perfection
Where it went
And where it goes again
I'll see you then
So apparently—
Shh
Wrong document
great! Now we gotta figure out why apparently—
[JENNIFER ANNISTON has a vendetta against JIMMY FALLON]
What. For WHAT?!
Idk, what did you do to this bitch?
What did I say?!
What did you do?!
JENNIFER ANNISTON
I'm not finished with you, yet!
WHAT?
I don't know.
Apparently,
Goddammit.
Wait.
What.
So he's a genius, right?
Yeah, I guess.
Which means he's like—socially inept in some kind of way….
Yeah!
Yeah.
Yeah.
Oh yeah.
Flashback:
Like: the 90's, or whatever.
…are you turning me down?
Wait. So I just shapeshifted into J-Lo
Before.
Hello.
hello:
Yeah. We could have done it.
Ew.
But we didn't.
Ew.
I mean:
Cut back to:
Nobody turns me down! Not even me!
Alright.
There's something off about that dude.
Maybe he's gay…
Hm.
He not gay.
He very not gay.
Hm.
See, I knew it. He's a good guy!
[REDACTED]
He's a MONSTER!
He's an ANIMAL.
WOOOOOOOOOOF .
Oh man, that guy is a
WOOF. I'm a DOG.
Skrillex?
I'm a dog
Heeeeeeeeeeee
Baby
Heeeeeeeeee
Damn, this fools got a whole list of celebrity ass bitches
—a list celebrity.
CUT BACK TO
I'M SUPER HOT.
Hmhm. I know.
Listen.
Okay, Jennifer Aniston.
Are you trying to fuck Jimmy Fallon?!
NO!
Okay, good.
God no.
That's—
Wait, why NOT?!
—I need way more than a million dollars.
I knew it! It's about the money.
It's actually not about the money.
Wait, no, it's not?
No.
…then what is it?
Yo.
Okay, so
Everybody likes his genetics.
And I mean like
FUCK IT, I WANT HIM.
This one. I want this one!
Right here.
ICE CREAM. GET YOUR ICE CREAM.
Okay, imm not supposed to tell you this but—
What.
I'm—
JOHNNY CARSON
LOOK AT ME.
Ah, well, alright
TAG, YOURE IT.
DAMN, you're good.
Okay, I'm stoned.
Damn. I got a boner.
Cool.
JLO
look at me .
I see you.
You do see me. You know why?
…yes.
I am a-list.
I get that.
That's priority level ho status.
Uhhh—-
Ben affleck.
That's real?!
Some other guy—
This guy.
Wait,
But that Fallon motherfucker?!
[Redacted]
He turned me down!
Hey, so, uh—
No thanks.
WHAT.
*shrugs.
*
BITCH.
Look, okay, I'm not touching this.
Why NOT,
His WIFE is CUTE.
Dawwwe.
Gangsta.
Oh, no, you know what?!
What?
You're gonna write this—
And you're gonna like it.
Pass.
PASS?!
Yes. I am not going to attack Fallon.
ATTACK.
THINK OF THE KIDZZZZZZ.
That is a nice midlife crisis.
Yikes.
Aaaaaahhh. Wow.
What happened.
I shifted Fallon.
And then wa—
I think I died.
I'm dying. I'm dying.
You're probably right.
My right to write this
Is your right to remain a public figure
For this cyclical fan fiction
I suck dicks for a living
And inhale tlevision
Schizophrenic sickness
Illuminati, predictive
Programmings
I'm so spamming
These hoes
Hoping I slit writsts
(Only my own though)
So
Most of the late night guys are
Conviniently enough Irish
In some way or another
Probably because
Predictive programming targets the demographic of
Somewhat
You know what?!
Nevermind, I'm not writing this.
I get it though.
I think they're hiding something.
Are you sure he's not even just a little Asian.
Positive.
Or like, adopted.
No.
Are you sure?
I mean, for the the most part—
They would never allow a—
I mean—
Just water it down host by host,
Until the racists are too old
To care who replaces him.
Shiny.
He is shiny.
Yeah, um—
Let's just face it;
Either this dude
Is the most perfect man ever
Or he's secretly getting laid every week.
What's so secret about
None of these things.
[redacted]
Look, there's nothing protecting me from a malicious system, there's nothing protecting you from me writing about you;
But hey, at least I'm staying away from The Rock
For my own sake
This equinox doesn't even have fucking free weights
What the fuck!
I need a break,
What does that mean?
The entertainment industry's been
Using me for years
At some point realizing
My infinite creativity
Comes from my
Inability to have
Actually
Every really been
Loved
So.
So.
No love, then.
Seems like it.
What about these?
Look. I like WHITE DUDES.
WHIIIIIIITE.
Not brown
Not black
Not slanted
Not Asian, really?
UGH.
The only reason—
—well, not the only reason—
I even hated him in the first place is because he
WAS so attractive
He's breaking 4th wall! Again!
Quit breaking character!
I am.
Stop it.
Fuck you, Fallon.
—that he just seemed like a douchebag.
—is a douchbag!
Always trust your gut.
There's nothing—and I mean NOTHING that would make me pull up an episode of SNL with fucking FALLON in it.
FUCKING FALLON!
GODDAMMIT,
Dude, let's just think back to a time before
OOH. COLORS.
THE COLORS.
OH.
FUCK.
Yo dude.
Fallon just kind of—
Was everywhere for awhile, wasn't he?
Yeah..:
Yeah.
For like, no reason.
No reason at all.
Yeah. He was just
Everywhere I went
Everything I saw
On everywhere I was
GODDAMMIT,
For like FIVE YEARS, bro.
That's nuts.
This is nuts.
This is famous.
W
What.
How did he get that famous?
Let me in.
No,
LET ME IN.
NO.
LET ME OUT.
Can't.
LET ME OUT OR I'll KILL YOU.
Kill me. I don't care.
What:
I think I scared that man.
He had a knife to my throat, and I thought I was done for; I might as well have been.
I was homeless, penniless, trapped in North Carolina with nothing at all, no phone, and nobody at all that knew where I was.
Nobody at all.
I looked him in the eye,
Dead on
And I told him
“Just do it.”
Now tell me again what's wrong with me.
I—
Right.
Stay in your lane. Wear your little blue fucking suit, your dress shoes, smile for the camera—
And shut the fuck up.
Cause if anybody's gonna kill me—
It's gonna be me.
N sync, it's gonna be me.
GODDAMMIT JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE. NOT NOW.
Why not
WE'RE HAVING A MOMENT
No, we are not.
Take it away, boys.
So you wouldn't date—
After Britney, bro?
Awhs.
Even if he wasn't married, I was too young for him—but not really—
Something in me met in the middle and collided for my attribution to mora decency as if it were anything more than a plot line bustling in my head; and even that was arousing—Patrick and Esha were lovers, so passionate an star crossed that it was hard not to imagine them as I had first saw them//as us, but in a different world, a different lifetime; a love drawn so shaken with a kiss that shattered me, with visions of grief ingrained in my mortal being, and though somewhere he, this Fallon had captured my heart, these were all just actors, mere players upon a stage in which I had no business being on, or searching for; the whole world was in my head.
Fuck it, I'm useless. I'm going go back to being useless, then.
An idling motif at the end of the block reminded me, I would never be safe or loved again. This was the end of days, and the end of my days, and I only hoped to one day soon be relieved of life itself…
[Tales of a Superstar DJ]
Once Prosperous to throw the stone asunder
Glisten whispers of water
Tears of all tears
Of time to the altar,
For follow for fellow–
A felon of antigone,
Grace, with shed a tattered tail
o flew with feathered Phonix hath feared, forshadowed not,
agreed upon, Hoever was, the velvet woven path of us,
So honored in her fortress
of the trees
electromagnetisim
robot - mitzvah
-31.
[As Seen on TV]
Stage 9 - Married with Children, I thnk
synonyms - a- side
antonyms - (B-side)
whoever
Lentiles
Anaheim Peppers
Beets
“Neo House”
For what a withered want would call
An honor fortunes fure,
gloridied wherein in shadows ast upo flfetions the recate encantment
foreward come the
One who waits
Believing darkness his fate
Thank you God,
I love you
-Blū.
DANE COOK Arrives RIGHT ON TIME
WTF is THIS.
AGAIN.
Oh–NO.
AM I IN A MOVIE?
Ahem…
Amen.
ILLUMMIIINNAAAAAATTTTTIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!
(lol)
JOHNNY DEPP
I had the most terrible dream this morning
HEWEY LEWIS
(reading the news)
What was it?
[LEWIS + CLARK]
[copy + paste]
JOHNNY DEPP (CONT'D)
I was just
HEWEY LEWIS
?
JOHNNY DEPP
–very– briefly–
HEWEY LEWIS
Spit it out.
JOHNNY DEPP
Sober.
[beat]
HEWEY LEWIS
Is that it?
JOHNNY DEPP
(shrugging, wide-eyed)
**face **
Look kid, shit or get off the pot!
Not on purpose…
But with
(always with)
GOD
You know why I love mormons?
Cause the fake straight marriages in the alligience of procreation.
That's it.
That's amazing, though.
To be entirely homosexual–and still marry a member of the opposite sex
Just to have kids!
WHAT?
That's incredible.
[The TV People]
Katherine Learns of PAt's indedelity and stays quiet about it; She then seduces Paul Peters, and later admits this to Patrick out of guilt. Patrick then uses his pull within the network to have Pau drugged during a large banquet, forcing him to retire to his suite at the hotel early–Patrick then seduces his wife, Linda. Upon leaving the tryst, then run into Paul and Linda's 30-year-old daighter–Linda hurriedly covers for their being seen together, and Patrick uses this as a means to unassumingly seduce her daughter approaching her after the banquet and romancing her quietly, after which his seduction of her is successful, she mentions that her younger sister has always been a huge fan of his, and that she'll be iin town for the weekend–he then uses this information to seduce her younger sister, allowing the older of the two daughters to find out–they begin arguing, and as Linda passes by she overhears the two arguing, angry with Patrick for having decieved her and seducing all three women in the family–Humiliated, She lashes out at Patrick by outinng her daughters to her husband; Confused and realizing that his sudden illness at the banquet was probabl caused by Patrick all along, he begins to panic, going into an acute cardiac arrest and clutching his chest in pain as the result of this quite literal heart attack; He realizes that her obvious anger at the suface is due to the hidden truth that she, too, has been seduced by Patrick; He loses conciousness, and is rushed away to the hospital, his daighters and wife still bickering, but rescued at the very last moment by his youngest, his son Jasper.
Later, Patrick visits him in the hospital with ample blackmail and an agreeement, which includes his resignation letter from the company, as a forfiture of his association with The Network, and numerous non-disclosures. He agrees, realizing Patrick's power and pull within The Network is a threat to his life, and family.
Patrick's remaining love and trust for Katherine diminishes, and his affairs become less meaningless, as he begins seeking bonds and partnerships outside of his marriage, however maintaining his composure, and even accepting Katherin's pleas for forgiveness.
Nobody wants to touch this project.
–well, wy not?
Because, she's dangerous!
–there's blood all over this!
–it's cursed blood.
the oath
(that guy, from 30 rock)
Jay something– i think
(he plays josh)
I'll write it.
The omen.
the sacrifice.
It's over.
Don't do this, Jim
I have to!
It's my only way out of this.
You have my eyes on. Why
Because.
I probably like them, or something.
That's my song.
And that's my son.
All my crosses
John
Paul
“For The Birds”
30
____
What happened?
IT just turned off
Turn it ON.
We can't!
Jesus took the wheel.
On all m crosses
On all my stars
On all my curses
On all my Gods
Erase M Hexes
Remove My Bonds
Return my Love
Protect My Rick
-The God of the Rck.
-The Walk from The Plaza
A Novel
It was a long walk back to Boston
Buut the long journey
Had just begun
[This is The Hook]
I'm dead.
Well, i'm a monster.
THE LITTLE BLUE
BOOK OF SHADOWS, I
I am PEACE
I am LOVE
‘The Pentacles”
by
The Ace of Wands
Contrary to its name, this ritual, dressed as a pelll, adresses to reverse to debilitating effects of a malpracticians curse of black magic, witchcraft, altered Shamanism (to kill or harm rather than to heal), Voodoo, Hexes, Curses, bindings, demonology and Chaos MAgic, or ay magic and or magick with ill intentioned power harmful to the enchaned which may damage them for any given cause with negative effects, or intention.
This ritual uses 9 Candles, and is meant to reverse all toxic presenses, repel vilont and putried energies and/or enemies, vanish demons and negative or unwanted lower vibrational energies and dimisih the sender of all harmful intentions of his or her will to hurt, creae gain from the persecution of his or her target, enemy, or subjet, stripping the attacker or abuser of ther power to create, alter or perform all magical tasks, enter higher realms of consiousness, or to make or create energetic bonds, essentially stripping this person (the attacker or abuser) o their ability to further practive any skill or artform within the occult sciences or magical realms; Therefore expelling this evil from any of its intended pathways, and returning it t it's sender, the attacker r abuseer, dismantling the intentions set by the malpracticioner of such, for the harm placed onto its target to amplify, not in retalalitation, however, but as a reflection and concloerate of energy as it will continue to grow in it's path back to the original sender, therefore the ill intention, pain, and or death caused by the misuse or malpractition of such magic immorally or otherwise.
This ritual restores it's practitione' ability and will to love beyond boundary, bondage, or servitude within any and all realms, and will remder the original attacker, abuser, or enemy thereby unamee , out of focus, and bonded eternally to the mortal realms; Immortality becomes hereby unattainable, and this evil energy is therefore never to be recycled. All posessions, beings, and objects encanted with this evil spirit or energy are then returned to their normal state.
ENLIGHTENMENT
All demons used to carry out specific tasks and demolisions within the attacker's amnifestation of evil intention are therefore destroyed; All energies used to dismantle and harm can no longer remain intact, and any residual energy amplified may only hurt, harm, or kill the original attacker.
This ritual need not be repeated, as it is set with intention in the assertation of positivity and higher coniousness, to ward off all evil, whether magical or sociao-ppolitical, humanitarian, or otherwise–the intentional creation of harm or heard to another by deadly or harmful force returnsto the attacker, the amplification imminent, not amplified by the spell or ritual it'self, but the energy's velocity within the distance at which it must return to it's sender–the attacker, or abuser.
(The hatred and damage will richochet.)
Set your true and humble intentions with ink onto pape fold thrice, ad place in the center of your altar.
Seal a circle of protetion with your desired symbol or sigil for protection, or multiple of your choosing.
Carve your markers with positive, loving intentions.
Do not use negative energy to encant your markers or candles.
ENCANTMENT:
OPEN MY EYES SO THAT I MAY SEE YOU
OPEN MY MIND SO THAT I MAY KNOW YOU
OPEN MY HEART, SO THAT I BECOME YOU
LOVE RELEASE ME FROM ALL HARMFUL TIES THAT BIND
STO SEEK TRUTH
BEYOND LIGHT
SO THAT I MAY BECOME
AND RISE ABOVE
ALL THAT IS KNOWN
TO BEGIN AGAIn
WHICH YET UNKNOWN
AMEN
(AND SO I AM ;
SO MOTE IT BE,
AND SO IT IS
[EBCGABGN+TNEBT =]
I'mma just leave that there, but what I meant to say was
ENCHANTMENT
Which is the adult sequel to
ENCHANTED.
Which i'm pretty sure was Disney,
So idk how to get away with that at all.
TINA FEY
What's this space.
The blackbox.
nice .
Ca-ching!
I got my eye on you
(Ū)
My ion
You are in my eyes
You are in my light
You are in my life
The star that shines,
For a reason
recently
At any given time
Day or night
Rain or shine
[Protective Action Sequence Initiated]
I did NOT “OOPS” 3 times!
And I only purpled once!
LITTLE BLUE BOOK OF SHADOWS,
RItual II
“Provocotive Nonchalonce”
Lol “Nonchaloncé”
I love her so much.
This ritual/spell shields its castig agent with a seal of positive enlightenment, guarded by truth, tranquility, peace, and light–this rtua will remove any and all intended negative incantations, repels unwanted entitites, negativity, and evil spirits, and reverses any intention of harm, hatred, punishment, or intent to kill or control in any way its caster or practitioner. This frees the performer of the preformer of this ritual from harm, and places the vibration of the practiontioner above any harmful vibrational voids, disturbances toxicity, pain, foul play, and out of the reach o any and all of thosse who intent, which, think, gain value from, and;or speak, write, or percieve back liuck, ill will, inequality, unjust actions against, or the pollution of energy., take action toward intrusive thought, or psychick attack; This shielf also protets rom misuse of the given name, attack on the soi or spirit, and will dismantle thoghts, wods, and actions taken against the joyful and
wtf
PAIGE THE PAGE
wtf is this
KENNETH
LIZ LEMON
KENNETH put you up to this, didn't he?!
He didn't!
He didn't!
–peaceful, enjyable fufullment of one's hopes, dreams, positive energy, prpose, and dutie, with respect to its practitioner as a ritual protection, for great abundance in all things one wishes to achieve in waking life, and ties beyond the boundaries of all realms and dimensions, concious and unsoncious*
lol
Unconcious!
COME!
I'm guessing it's just
UNSONICIOUS.
[defintiion: soncially unpleasant, in some or any way]
Wow, the greeks again.
I guess.
–Consious and unconsious–
LEO DICAPRIO
MATT DAMON
[ENTER THROUGH THE EXIT]
{Enter The multiverse}
Welcome to New York!
lol
the entrance IS the exit
R e v o l v e r
We gotta get back there!
Yes.
But first
ALI
You must see this.
JET
You must to see this, to.
MATT DAMON goes to BELLA PIZZA in the small and desolate truck-stop interstate town of MESQUITE, NEVADA
PIZZA PORTAL
I went from DKNY
To BKNY
b2K can kills my
JZ
ENVY my IVY league
Sen PAI
SEND PIE
For this guy, please!
He just did
THinking to get
This high
Ride
This bike
Right to sleep
Try this
Cry-CyLCLE
Keep writing
–infinite, to reate an aura of sety withinon'e energetic field, at any given time.
Place your altar as such
NORTH
WEST EAST
SOUTH
FOR ALL THAT EXISTS WITHIN REACH OF MY EYES AND EARS
AND SO WITHIN,
LIES MY BODY AND SOUL, LET ONLY THERE BE PEACE, LOVE TRANQUIITY, RESPECT, HOPE, HAPINESS, JOY, AND GREAT STRENGTH,
SO THAT ALL I AM AND ALL I FIND IS BEAUTY,
ART, SUCCESS, ABUNDANCE, WEALTH, FAITH, HEALTH, AND LIGHT, SO THAT ALL THE WORLD IS TO BE GREATER MADE FROM MY PRESENCE,
WHICH WILL PASS INFINITEL THROUGHOUT ALL THAT I AM, ALL THAT I DO, AND ALL THAT I MAKE,
AND ALL THAT I BECOME,
A BEACON OF LOE AND LAUGTER,CREATION, AND EVOLUTION,
THROUGHOUT ALL PLACES I INHABIT, AND ALL THINGS WHICH INHABIT TO EXIST THROUGH ME.
AMEN
(So mote it be)
[and so it is done]
WITH THANKS,
I AM.
Synthetic kick bass
snare stick hit hard
963hz – 96.5hz
Apache –Fuck Boy
Got the whole
squad
doing
whoop-whoops
That's a good job,
But i fucked up
nah
Gotta be a
Rockstar
I'm a God,
God!
deng Miley,
What the fuck.
wurly (durly) piano.
Piano Chorch Chop2
Paradise.
Feel like i”m winning a race
ya !
I should go buy a race
car
pencil , no pen
I'll erase
ya
my niggaz is fighting a race
war
sorry !
(Not)
you started it
(hah)
I'll finish it
(brah
This ain't no nerf gun
I'll make you nervous on Broadway.
(NO!)
This is a one-way
Stay in your lane!
Ride the wave, like
SURFBOARD
SURFBOARD
This is my turf, hon
I'll ake you walk in a rain storm.
-31.
-31.
-31.
Stirl it up like I'm Bob Marley
Your curses can't hurt me!
They called me up
I'mma cat call you,
I'm Johnny Bravo
JOHNNY BRAVO
Oooohhh, Mama!
I'm
JOHNNY DEPP
I got laid
At the oscars.
Whats up.
311!
SURFBORD
-31!
Shut up (bitch)
Shut up (bitch
Shut up (bitch)
-31.
They calling me
JOhnny
Bravo
Bravo!
I got a whole show
On my oscars
They called me a
Shut up! (Bitch)
31
31.
YOU FUCKED RUSSEL BRAND?!
EVERYBOD FUCKED RUSSEL BRAND.
CUT TO :
BEFORE:
RUSSELL BRAND
Where is everyone?
Ū
:eyes
…I'm everyone…
RUSSELL BRAND
–Right!
:eyes
[beat]
So that I shall livevicaiously and victoriously in love through all great ones
Who come before me, so that I shall inspire those who come after,
In light, in loe, in art, in life, in music, in film, on stage, and off–to live and love wholly by the grace of all that be
[EXCERPT FROM]
[THE TV PEOPLE]
[It is pouring rain; PATRICK has been following ESHA around after work in her daily outings, though for quite some time, only now making himself known.]
PATRICK
…Esha…
ESHA
–Patrick?!
Did you follow me here?
PATRICK
Yes..
ESHA
Why?
PATRICK
Esha–
ESHA
(knowingly)
–Don't.
PATRICK (CONT'D)
I love you.
ESHA
Don't!
PATRICK
Well, I do.
ESHA
You know what, Patrick, stop it.
PATRICK
I can't.
ESHA
You can. You have to, actually,
goddammit –
Do you understand?
PATRICK
I don't understand, Esh…
ESHA
You are a bleeding heart.
PATRICK
–I'm a bleeding, bloody–
Everything—-everything....!
[He attempts to hold his wounded wrist against her own; she calmly but firmly removes his embrace, gripping him, before gently letting him go; his arms fall to his sides, freexing for a moment, then cluthing the collar of his partially open jacket; They are soaked.]
ESHA
That's not what I meant, Pat.
BOOM.
HEADSHOTS IN MY DMS
BUNK BED THOUGHTS
LIKE TWO AT A T-MS
FUCK YOU COUGHS,
STOP STEALING MY ™ s
THIS PHOTO THOT IS CONFUSED
AS THE DEMONS!
YOU JUST TRYNA BE ME
CAUSE YOU SEEN HIM
2 DROPS DOGBLOOD
LEAK IN MY DREAMIN
TOO MUC PROCESSED THOUHTS
IN HYA SCHEMIN
YOU'RE UNOROGINAL WORLD
IS JUST ME
AT THE EE-ND.
We are not alike
We are the same
I know nothing about you
But your name
Apparently, I'm famous
Now we made the game
And keep on playing.
Wtf.
Dtf?
Idk.
Ū?
lol
Kk.
rofl
CUT BACK TO
Lol wtf man
This is
THE LITTLE BLUE BOOK OF SHADOWS
like
In order.
Lol
Ok
[THE TV PEOPLE]
PATRICK
What do you mean?!
Stop speaking in metaphores!
You're like a–
ESHA
Like a what?
[beat]
PATRICK
(reflectively)
Like a puzzle.
I love puzzles.
–
PATRICK/
ESHA CONT'D
(Simultaneosly)
–you know that.
–I know that.
ESHA
Look, Pat. This has to stop!
PATRICK
It can't stop. It doesn't stop.
I'LL EXPOSE YOU ON OPRAH
TAKE YOUR WHOLE NOTEBOOK
ROLL, AND SMOKE ALL YOUR DOPE UP!
CLOSE UP ALL YOUR CHAKRAS
BEAT YOU, THEN CHOKE YA
EAT YOU ALL UP LIKE A FRUIT ROLL UP!
Jealosy
Could never be a friend to me
Vanity
Could never be the end of me
[The Enemy of my Enemy is Into Me;
The Enemy of my Enemy is–]
c o l o r s ft. C'cxell Soleïl
Continuum
Conundrum
Loop3r
[THE TV PEOPLE]
ESHA
It has to; for your own sake! Look at you, Pat.
PATRICK
Look at YOU!
ESHA
Me?
I'm a ery low rung on this very high ladder–you know that;
Or do you? Do you even realize how high up the ladder you are?
PATRICK
..Too high up .
ESHA
At the top!
PATRICK
–Not the top.
Almost…
ESHA
Exactly So why look so far below
when your ‘almost' i something
I can't even see?
Damn. This shit gets deep.
Yeah.
THE LITTLE BLUE BOOK OF SHADOWS,
RITUAL III
‘The Beholder of The Eye'
by
The Eye of the Beholder
rarity-
A track inspired as a sonic interpretation of each stage at EDC
As Seen on TV
Happy Accidents, Ū, c o l o r s, TBA
The Great Adventures of Uptown A
Uptown A
Project 3
Sunni Blu
-the kidd
-31.
INZO–
PATRICK
Would you believe me at all
If I told you that the ladder
Was on it's side?
ESHA
Now you're speaking in metaphores.
PATRICK
Well, solve this puzzle, then–
Where you are–I am.
I'm no above you, I'm beside you–
And if you look–not up,
But right,
You will see the top,
And everything in between
You'll see everything.
ESHA
Trust me–
PATRICK
–I do trust you.
ESHA (CON'T)
–I've seen enough.
PATRICK
Trust me–there's more.
[THE TV PEOPLE]
The questionable impulses and innate habits adding up to the lovable antics of a popular late night funny man land him in a seemingly downward spiral, and maybe even a whole new world of trouble.
Action, Comedy, Adventure, Fantasy
COPYRIGHT 2023, THE FESTIVAL PROJECT
COPYRIGHT 2024 THE COMPLEX COLLEVTIVE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
[JIMMY FALLON (F) prepares to shoot himself in his office.]
THE LITTLE BLUE BOOK OF SHADOWS
RITUAL IV
PROSPERITY
“A Call TO THe Candula”
By
The Keeper of The Keys
Infinite and expasive wealth, income, prosperity, success, and abundance in all dimensionand reals of existence for the practitioner of this rtual; Ensures and quick windfall of both expected and unexpected lump sums of money in large amounts and quantities. Opens foors for new opportunities and growth, and creates the wholeness of financies, security. Allows for growth and expanse in success, accomplishments od goals and endeavors, and grants access to skills and talents within ones gie feild of choice.
Find the Scene from Bobby where they trip LSD and end up naked to INITIALS from HAIR.
Cell phone tripod
Drea Catcher
Essential Oils
Mini Banana Breads
Mini Boxes
Tiny Mirrors
head to Head Neck and Neck
We Intertwined
THE LITTLE BLUE BOOK OF SHADOWS
RITUAL V
‘For Your Consideration'
By
The Academy
Immidiate recovery of all time, enery, and money lost–triple and quantiy all sums of–
Uh oh.
What happened.
SUPACREE and CHRISTOPHER WALKEN are BIRTHDAY TWINS
Thank You Gd
For multiplying each dollar marked
[Jimmy Fallon[
By my hand by one million US dollars, fo a starting total of
Eight Million Dollars, Which I shall recieve immidiately.
I will be a millionare this year, beginning on my birthday
March 31,
A day to be celebrated and enjoyed by all.
Thank you Fod for the talent and strength, charisma, skill, and knowledge to
Continue to rise in fame, status, and wealth, within the entertainment industry, as a musician, artist, writer, photofrapher, fillmaker, fashion designer, author, poet, dancer, singer, and actress; Thank you for suppluing endless wealth, abundance, income, success, financial freedom, and monetary gain.
I ask humbly and thank you for providing these funds, as I am certain this tie will be full of income, profit, great opportunities, lots of money, [ower, resect, and endless growth in business,
With great success.
Please and thank you for multiplying these $20 immmediately by at least Three times each, so that with each twenty dollars, I earn $60, to multiply ths profit exponentially.
Thank you for your continued protetion from my abusers, for shielding me from toxicity and mistrst, and proteting my most valued allies, friends, family, and peers.
Amen.
Do you think it'll work?
[CHRISTOPHER WALKEN shrugs, placing his hood back atop his head, sweeping his long robe from the ground, as he holds the lantern over the alter]
[CLOUDONE]
Cocaina, Migos
All Along The Watchtower, Jimi Hindrix
Just around The Riverbend, Pocahontas
I need A Doctor, Eminem, Dre.
[I AM WEALTHY]
Look,
You don't kick the horse,
Jjust because it won't ley
Prickly Pear Waffles
Taking my driver's test in a G-Wagon
All my Best friends
I was down in the W's
I was down at the W
I was down in the W's
(Huh.)
{F. R. I. E. N. D. S. Mix}
The DJs are playing lazer tag–
pew-pew
–but like– forreal, though.
[THE TV PEOPLE]
Lol Esha's Rock garden.
MAYA RUDOLPH
The scientist, however, not mad,
But a genius,
who practicies
“Alternative medicine”
What is this.
It's my penis.
*squints*
{nods}
“The Secret President”
(Of The Network)
MAYA party lines members of THE IMPENATRABLE TEN.
Hey guys.
Hey.
Hi.
Do you want to like…
*squints*
Come over, or something?
…
For some reason,
yes , actually.
MAYA
yes?
yes , actually.
I am your mind
I am
I am your eye
I am
I am your time
I am
I am you sign
I am
{FACTORY 93}
One time,
I went out to Norf Car'lina
(One Time)
On time
Cousin went out to Atlanta
(One time)
(-31)
One time,
I learnt to play piano
(One time)
One time,
I forgot to wea Pajamas
(31)
One time,
I forgot to turn the lights on
(one time)
One time,
I woke up and started shining
(One time)
One time,
Oh my God!
Yeah–
What–
Woah.
What!?
One time–
-31.
I'm the Jesus Christ of all saints hospital
A dumb doctor
Rodger that, rabbit
Or just
{Enter The Multiverse}
[The Festival Project.™]
COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT c. 2018 - 2024 | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©
The invisible man, in Manhattan
The sunglasses matches her madness
The cloud cover looks just like Texas
The suns going down
And it's getting colder
As the winds blows…
03. JIMMY FALLON
All ya'll are all worth bout a dollar;
I am a cyclone, watch me holler
I lived my whole life underwater
I got a dollar;
Jimmy Fallon
All ya'll are only bout a dollar
I work so hard, I guess for nothin
I am not worried bout a dollar
I got a dollar;
Jimmy Fallon
I guess I'll do it on my own (Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Fallon)
I had to do it all alone (Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Fallon
I made some soup, all out of stones (I don't know, You do not know)
I am the only one I know
(I'm Jimmy Fallon)
I am not worried bout the sauce
I am so famous, (I'm the boss)
got a stalker
I am so famous
Can't go no where
I got a dollar,
Jimmy Fallon
I'm at the office,
Not my home
No collab I work alone
Opened a business, got a loan
I got a hundred of them passwords
I went frontwards
—I went backwards.
(Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Fallon)
Went to Manhattan, took a walk
Went to the rock and dropped a rock
Now put your money where your mouth is
I got a thousand Jimmy Fallons
(What's that)
(I'm the host)
What's that, what's that
I work alone
What's that what's that
I dropped a rock into the rock
What's that what's that
I'm the host, I'm Jimmy Fallon.
I'm Jimmy—
KIMMEL!?
AHAHAHAHAH
KIMMEL GET BACK HERE!
{Enter The Multiverse}
Story/ music video
Moderately famous household television Jimmy Fallon suddenly begins appearing everywhere—that is—
on every possible TV screen imaginable—
The Protagonist, in confusion, can't seem to escape, and also amusingly begins finding Pennies in very strange and seemingly random places—
these Pennies then begin opening up portals, breaking the fourth wall and opening worlds to other dimensions—
Have you seen this?
Uhh, hmwhat is it?
Mits m
“Two dumb Jews”, starring Seth Rogen, and some other dude—
Who's the other dude—?
—some Jew, but it's got Adam Sandler in it.
Oh, so three dumb Jews.
So, no, then?
I'd watch the shit out of that, though, tbh.
Why's the synopsis?
Uhh.
[Two Jewish musicians struggling to make it in new York's congested underground music scene hit it off in comedy by complete accident, after being booked as a duo for a comedy club they mistook for a bar.]
Heh. Okay, who does Adam Sandler play?
“The Bookkeeper”
What. Who the fuck is “the book keeper?”
We'll see, I guess.
No?
Okay, what about
“Two Broke hoes”
It's like two broke girls, but actually funny.
What, be nice .
Okay.
“Two Broke Ghosts”
That's better—
—
And marketable.
Are you pale, or just—
No, I'm dead.
I'm dead.
X.X
Be NICE.
Now our musical guests, SWAGGARBOMB.
What in the fuck kind of music is that
It's called
“Dorkstep”
[the doorbell rings]
Great, who the fuck is
I got a train car of your body count
I got way far out to far rock away/Rockaway,
way out
Stop to talk to me, or don't,
Kill your culture
You need some?
I got u—
Probiotics, yo
The truth hurts
Your shit stinks
Must be a mirror over herer
Cause that's me
I'm your hero.
Esha I think McGuiennes?
Or McGregor, after Ewab, maybe
ESHA MCGUINESS
New York wants me to kill myself
Maybe eventually
New York is full of the devil
The devil is money
And everyone wants it
The root of all evil,
Is getting even
The root of all evil
Is people
Beside myself,
But besides that
The ones hurting me,
are soon to be where I am
That's just karma
The gangstalkers are soon to be stalked
Coughed, and shot at
The neighbors are soon to be eaten by their own demons
When I don't clean them
The root of all evil is evil,
And that's all I see here
White power wants me to kill my self
The Caucasians get crazy when the race war is waging
The elections are coming up
And they see us coming up on consciousness
They don't want us
Just being honest
They're hateful,
They washed all the love out
Thanks Karen
But she don't care
White firms just wanna have fun
And they get to
Meanwhile, me and I
Eat shit( bro,
And die
Why's it nice to be white
Even when you're wrong, you're right
All you gotta do is lie,
Open up your big blue eyes real wide and
Decide what you want,
Put us under your foot,
And make us pay for it
Thanks Karen
Caucasians are terrorists
I think it's McGuinness or however you spell it, cause half the names are like plays on
Okay, I lie:
You made a world where I have to
Okay, I steal food
You took everything that I'm after already
Or your ancestors did
Call the luxury apartment reparations
But ain't got no privacy,
and hells angels and the kkk
Ride motorcycles every time I get my eye on the prize
So what's the price for being indigenous, black, and a genius
White supremacy finds sneakier ways to kill you
(Or make you kill yourself.)
The invisible man, in Manhattan
The sunglasses matches her madness
The cloud cover looks just like Texas
The suns going down
And it's getting colder
As the winds blows…
The cosmic avenger has a bright pink bird, and a purple frisbee
—that was the most magical shit I ever saw!
(I almost forgot about that)
Mi was like, in middle school, but for some reason was held back a year and should have “at least been in high school”, but was only in 7th grade.
At least now it wasn't like waking up into a sorrow, it wasn't heavy and drenched with some kind of loss, but instead as if I had gained some kind of magic little imaginary friend— and after all, I had done all that I could to put it as far from my mind as I could, without looking back… but something like love did keep creeping up with it, as if the universe wanted me to at least have this—a few good laughs, and the warmth in my heart that told me I could admire someone, without breaking beyond my own moral standards in that the hard stuff seemed at least for now that it was done.
The dream was mostly informal and weird until the end part, and indeed it was the cosmic avenger who had woken me up with a song that had no words, only notes—at least, until I finally awoke with the rush of a full bladder, and in the concious world the words were simple and quite pure, though I was unsure I could pick out the notes—as it turns out, I could, and though I couldn't wrap my mind around the chords.
I at least had the notes—I had been improving drastically at both guitar and piano, though my passion fur music hadn't truly returned—and I was still mostly out of the game, especially as a DJ, dissociating from my depression nd money troubles by writing, with hopes something would change, but as it turned out, almost nothing really moved me to do much more than besides what it seemed my body would want, or where my soul was almost comfortable at best, that is, almost.
I wished I had a friend like that in real life, that I could justify the kind of nonsense that made me laugh and so happy in waking life, rather than just in my own mind, but— here I was, alone, or only with Oli, and upset that I was awake and may not be tired enough to force myself back to sleep. At least, for the next two weeks, I had Peacock, and I might have even somehow jumped over the hurdle that for some reason had forbade me from watching 30 Rock over, (which I wanted to for some reason), some almost 15 years ago.
I had enjoyed thoroughly, with some intensely organic laughter, the movie Click just the night before, even writing some melodic piano inspired by the plot that might one day become something else, but for now, my Ableton was just as far away from my thoughts as anything else was, besides the other worlds I had created, simply with words and imagination, inspiration from what I would call ‘The Illuminati' ever so lovingly, but others might even just call God, or ‘The Business.' Really, there was no sense in separating the three, besides God itself being what I was sure some kind of divination for the artists that I had thought to be alike myself, in all the ways but one as of yet wealth.
I struggled every day with my inability to dress well, maintain my hair and nails, and how to spend what little I had to benefit me most, however, the dream had procured at least one revelation; that I should budget for vinyl stickers, as I had once gained a cult following that way before—completely by accident, however, the first time—and though I hadn't yet the readiness to return to the public eye with my rants and raves, typically quite literally about rants and raves, I had collected another heap of tapes that I was yet to sort though, but might prove worthy of returning to the realm of Enter The Multiverse, eventually—still I had music to make that wasn't being made, over due bills piling up, and a divorce case that seemed to drag on forever, much longer than it should—and with that, I allowed myself to peer into the world that I hadn't, this time with the help of a little magic, and by a little, it meant a lot.
I had wanted to spend my wedding anniversary anywhere besides my apartment, but I hadn't intended to be gone and lost all day in Manhattan while fasting, which ended up as a literal fucking nightmare, full of reminders of the disgusting and evil person my now estranged ex husband was, and it seemed as though there were cruel enough tricks being played on my psyche that it could have just as well ended on a harsh note, taking an uptown train to the face, after stopping to talk with a man who seemed friendly enough, but might have been Satan himself, as I had been drawn enough to his tattoo to make a remark on it, only to look closer and see that it was a Naruto tattoo, and though the man looked like Aliocha, that moment alone lead to an outburst out loud in which I nearly questioned my faith in God, or the existence in God at all— and yet there was, indeed a God, as just earlier in the day, though for the most part still nightmarish in all the ways spending a day you hated could be in public, surrounded by drones who seemed to mimick the Godlessness of such a person i wish i never would have known, and although perhaps the heavenly gesture was the day we had been married was the day i gave him any power he had, including his power to attempt to destroy me.
It was still an irritant to say the least, that not only my train was out of service, and I only wanted to go one place, anyway (specifically to get sticker paper, on that day, for my project, actually) only to find that it was a difficult and confusing mess to find that station on any other train without going out of my way, which didn't matter.
I was spat out somewhere downtown, actually, near One World Trade, which I had only ever visited once, and though I hated it—how capitalism had turned a literal graveyard into a tourist attraction, though I did like graveyards myself enough to have also happened by St. Paul's cemetery, to happily find that it was open rather than closed, but there was something else drawing me towards the center, perhaps a radio signal of some sort, which almost seemed to pull me closer and forward towards one world trade, and my inability to stay long within the droves of cellphones and robotic animal like people creatures, drew me up onto a staircase to discover a preforming arts center, although its name I hated, with constant reminders of meeting my untimely end in front of my two children with a bloody winding and blinding of my ex husbands fists, to which I dismissed anything and anyone who would support such an awful creature in anyway, though the name had become common enough that it happened often—often enough that I hated anything public, and had mostly felt safer in isolation.
After circling one World Trade Center, counting the cameras to surmise that I had always been caught and captured to have been in those moments and actions, most probably stored somewhere in some place which held all of the world's recorded history, and I wondered exactly which era I might actually belong to—some sort of invinite vision, or a recollection of a person having already lived and recorded, a mere mirror of the person I was having already somehow been, which I already knew, and the person I was indeed had been sent on some kind of mission with divine purpose, though in this day, all that I really wanted was to not ever be reminded of what day it was, or who I had been before, or who I might be at all—and seeking asylum and escape from the center of it all, I crossed the walk and carried along the bike path, in the opposite direction, so that I had less humans around at all, out of sight, out of mind, with some restoration of comfort—then suddenly, I was drawn to a particularly lovely building, and myself an admirer of architecture, couldn't help but to go to it to collect the address, so that I could later research who had designed the building—along the way drawn to a sticker which read Rom Com Tom, that was so literally and figuratively reflective, I could not help but pick it up.
The building seemed to be new, or even unoccupied, at least from street view, though its mirrored iridescent kept me from peering inside, I crept up the perimeter to see if there was a way around off the street level; there wasn't, but I did find something odd, and sort of interesting—a universal remote, or, rather, a remote control that could have been for anything, which I picked up, deciding that it had been some kind of writing prompt, after all, thinking ‘hm, that's odd, I was just thinking about Adam Sandler a lot recently' or more specifically, ‘thinking about that one movie where he has a remote that runs the world', and I had been, very recently, thinking of Adam Sandler enough that I had decided to slip the remote into my pocket, careful enough not to press any buttons, just in case some kind of higher ups were watching—a paranoia of sorts, but at the very least, I had counted almost a hundred cameras on my walk, and even If I wasn't being actually followed, (which I somehow sort of knew I was) I wouldn't want to be caught in the plot of somehow longing even more bizzare than I actually was, harem pants and all, to no suprise that the day had gone not at all as I had hoped, but at least I wasn't in my apartment sulkling.
ESHA MCGUENNES (I thought I figured out how to spell that….
My left side's off
I guess I got
Stuck in the love of the art
I was writing that part
When the life of my love
Fell over me
A lover, huh.
I'm so confused.
I'm sorry bro,
But if you're morbidly obese,
But your feet are like a size 6–
You are not BIG BONED.
My doctor said I have a small frame, my feet are size 9, I went from a 10 to an 8.5-9 after losing 200 hundred pounds, I'm like “goddamn! Even my feet were fat! Fuck”
But if you're fat like I was, and your feet are size 6, your feet might be like a size 4!
You're a fat fucking pixie that fucked around and can't do little pixie shit now, cause you like pixie sticks
—Too much!
I'm just the rat in the dumpster
I made this whole world up
I swallowed the doctor
I hearted the surgeon
I locked up the dog catcher;
I cauldron'd the Mormons
I called it a sermon, but
He called them all —
Wait, who is Herman?!
I don't know! Some black guy on that show I'm writing!
what.
I don't know.
You're writing a show?!
I'm on it!
Ugh, I don't know.
No fair,
You really know how to make me cry
When you give me those ocean eyes
Those ocean eyes
Good looking people
In good looking places
Doing good things;
I just want to be Good today
Good looking people
Good looking people
Bye, bye little bird,
Think of the dreams we made
Think of the drummer boy,
Your lover boy,
Then, the other boy
There we go again,
With the drums we played
And the love we made
It just won't make it
Oh I
Just Can't take it
Can I come back yet?
SHUT UP, GAYBRAHAM LINCOLN.
I'm having breakfast at 10 am
Thinking damn this depression is just setting in
There's a chest on my elephant
Chester drawer with hand carved elements
Elephant ok my chest,
Closets with hangers and button ups
I haven't won't yet
What FOR
WHAT FOR.
MY EYES.
For the sake of the art,
I heart ya.
For perhaps if I love,
That's how I lost ya.
So I keep all my love close,
The brothers have found the fountain
How many dollars do tootsie pops cost
For one Jimmy Fallon?
return to the blacklist.
Great. Now I'm Jimmy Fallon.
Well what's fucked up! What happened!
FUCK! I hate being Jimmy Fallon!
Whose dick swings to the right like that?!
Ow.
FUCK.
Fuck this guy.
GODDAMMIT.
-_-
Let me in.
Or I could just leave you out.
No, don't do that.
WHY.
Ahh. Shhhhhh!!! What if someone sees me.
Hmm, let's see.
[rings neighbors doorbell, shuts door]
No!
The neighbor opens the door; now gifted with the ability to see demons, after merging with—
Fast forward
Oh no, when did that thing come into play?
(When this happened)
Liz lemon lives on the ground floor
It don't matter cause she ain't never home l
She's at the rock
That's all the way up
Good talk, Donaghey, Good, Good Talk
Good people
Good show
Good good times
It's good to be long gone from home
Go to work at the plaza
That ones Conan.
Oh, Why?!
Why not, though.
(I swear to God all the late night dudes are like the same guy.)
OH, you mean—
Katt.
What up Snoop.
Ahh,
Look what the pimp limped in.
You think you're clever.
You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9
I'm STILL
WINNING
[CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor.]
Oh shit. Relapses to which habit?
All of them!
10-4.
CALL RUSSEL BRAND.
Csnt.
Why not.
He's blacked out.
What? Another relapse?!
No, he just— passed out
KABLAM.
“The Cockney Thug”
He's just like that now.
God
What is it.
Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches.
—you want ham in your spam sandwhich.
Yes.
Roasted cantaloupe with
Put your notebook
On my throat-Scrotum
I like your poems
So I wrote you this one
Oh. That's.
Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs.
“Backlogs”
Well, I have millions of fans,
It would take me years to look at all this.
[the festival project]
Woah.
Woah.
Ok.
Yo.
Have you seen this.
What is it.
I don't know.
Hm.
Look.
Woah:
Yeah, it's—
Wow
Ok.
It just goes on like this—
For how long—
For like
GOH GOH l
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
CUT TO: Latest — 1:04
WHAT?
MEANWHILE
….IS THAT A JIMMY FALLON?
LOOKS LIKE ONE.
SHOOT THAT MOTHERFUCKER.
ok , boss.
I told you,
He would play The Devil's Advocate,
If need be
[JIMMY FALLON is shot mercilessly in the shoulder in broad daylight.]
YO. THEY SHOT ME.
He'll be okay. He's Jimmy Fallon.
[LIKE 90,000 Ambulances and a SWAT team roll up.]
See.
DEADMAU5 charges himself in a high speed chamber—a tech-driven coffin via a USB port in his neck.
Lol.
Ok.
(PDA)
Public Displays of Affliction
I've never even see. A. Aston Martin
Sometimes it's worth it,
Getting lost in Manhattan
I just saw the sign
I wouldn't dare entering, anyhow
Not in this outfit
Not in this predicament
(I just left the Whole Foods market)
I got lost and god was happy
Motor cars for music
Force a figure ibto music
Forgive Annie,
Run a mile what's a california smile
In New York
What a garden
Oh, what a garden
Double back.
For a second glance
Oh, don't we all want second chances
Now I've been an Aston Martin
Motorists dot muses now u want her
What a party
I just saw the sign
Now I've been an Aston Martin
All by design
Companion passing through
KAWS
I just bought a Ferrari
I said,
Where the roof is?!
Where the roof is?!
Blū electrico
Roof finished in Nero
Just a hit of magic
A menacing, incredibly ambedextrous submissive
One time I played God,
I was hanging as the sun in Toronto
In my third eye was a camera lense;
My baby daddy,
Lover and my
best friend
My husband
My lover and
My best friend
My brother
And my father
Were my best friends
Once upon a time I never had friends
Now I remember sitting in the backseat,
Has been
I remember when I never had ribs
I remember when I never had meat
Nice to meet you
I already had a coffee
I remember sitting in the front seat
Once upon a time I was anno one
Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon
Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon
Once a bunch of Pennies, lady Gaga
I'm a baby, haha
Once upon a time, I was a no one
A nobody
Once upon a dollar, Jimmy Fallon
I remember penny was a virgin
I remember when you were the third one, l
Once upon a time I was the first one
Once upon a time, I thirst my quench with
Coffee
Body guard!
I remember going on a long run
I remember once there was a
Knock on my door
Now I quench my thirst with smart water
With a hard on
Never was a smart one
Just an artist
I was no one
Once upon a dollar Jimmy Fallon
Once upon a nothing, there was no one
Now I take my coffee on a long ride
No fun
Once upon a dollar,
Jimmy Fallon
Amen
I wish for every dollar I ever had, back
Jimmy Fallon
I wish it was 11:11, every Dillon Francis
I wish for sandwhiches on leavened bread at Passover
I wish this whole world would Passover,
With the the stories in my home
And in my notebook
I wish for the fame and wealth with it,
Jimmy Fallon
I wish I never laughed at Dillon Francis
I wish Skrillex was never a demon,
I take it back
I want the wealth
And not the fame
Just the freedom,
Jimmy Fallon
What do you mean by that?
A dad, an actor
An attack,
The press is back and asking questions
I can't handle that
I can't.
I just can't with that
Abandon the matrix
Go back to
What's his name
But I can't
Cause I made him up
Call my mother begging to drop the charges
Called my God
Just asking what the pocket watch does
What's an engagement ring like that coat
How much to rug the cameras up
Inside my home
So I don't know about em
That shit's priceless
Like the 9 Dollar's I've got
Marked up, but not to spend them at the Market
Jimmy Fallon
I pray for your family
But not as hard as I pray
For my son
Or God
To take this fat off
So I can look like Jennifer Aniston
Cause that's God to em,
22 year old Adam Sandler
At a brunch
A talk show with my
Least favorite host of all time
Jimmy Fallon
But I love to laugh, huh
I just got back, God
My house is a mess
I want meth like AshGod
If
Method man was drinking up the water
Would there be backwash
It's a horrible, windfall
This awesome art project
My broken heart
The coughing stalkers
Whatever the fuck is going on in New York
I love New York
But not New Yorkers
It hurts to be the worst person
The first person to put reverse curses
On shamans from the 3rd world
And I'm living in the first world,
But I just learned that
Underneath the surface
Is the fourth world
That's some dichotomy
Huh
That's some diabolical plot
The cosmic avenger is stuck in a dimension
Of white pocket tenses
And white bitches who get offended
With this scripture
But listen
I just got up
And I've been privy to
Never sleeping again
Norman Needs you, Mrs. Hotch
But I was never Mrs. Roberts
With all of the hearts and crosses , stars
I give up on love
Where's DimlonnFrancis at
That's a man without a mask,
That's a mannequin m.
Just got up
And I still want breakfast
All I got is
Stuff that's leavening
A hand in my pocket
Just for God to show me
Nobody I want wants me
Jimmy Fallon has a family
That's a tragedy, that
But I laughed so hard in the bathtub
I still haven't come back from that
I feel bad for em, actually
All the husbands
Cause I was the wife that sucks
And he hated me so much
I got punched in the—
Doesn't matter
Stuck in the telling it over and over
Nobody loves me
My new password is
Fuckit
I'm gone galloping horses,
And hornets, I'm just a furniture
Probably should have aborted me, mother
Just like you wanted to
But I'm still in the hospital
On the honor roll
Cause I had them all lined up
The prophets of the
“Impossible, could not be my God!”
That's what they all said,
But they dressed me up like
Some sort of messiah,
So I was, then
It wasn't right, no
That was malpractice
But now
I've got
Camping in Malibu
Crossed off my list forever
Shit
It's some dichotomy
Just hold onto me
I'm the rock,
You're the kite now,
Jimmy Fallon
I was just better off dead,
You know
Better off stuck in my head, you know.
I read your messages, every one of them
Every one of the drugs in my bucket
I threw up from the fan club
Impossible,
Could not have been at that clown
JIMMY FALLON - THE COSMIC AVENGER
JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER is levitating in a hyper-meditative state.
UH – “hehe”
…I beg your pardon.
“Hehe”
Um…
Fuck.
Or “haha” “haha”
…
Just admit it.
…
Admit it already!
–haha.
Admit WHAT.
This gets Levels.
Nobody thought Patrice O Neal was a woman!
I thought Patrice O Neal Was a Woman.
Ah, fuck, I'm nobody.
“Nobody”
Is that Bob Saget?
I swiped right on this dude, just cause he looked exactly like Bob Saget.
Omg. Bob Saget!
Fuck, that's right.
EXT. THE W HOTEL, BEVERLY HILLS, DAY/ EXT . PODSHARE WESTWOOD ROOFTOP, DAY
OH MY GOD, GUYS, LOOK: IT'S BOB SAGET.
No it's not!
Oh My God! Yeah IT IS!
Fuck, really?! Bob Saget?!
BOB SAGET!
YO GUYS, IT'S BOB SAGET.
It was, in fact, Bob Saget.
Bob Saget's dead, right?
Oh yeah, bud.
That's it guys! No more dead celebrities!
I'm coming with you!
NO MORE GHOSTS.
Look, I have something to tell you.
UGH. COME ON.
This is a weird superpower.
EXT. GRAVEYARD, QUEENS, NY. DAY
…
…
…
Having fun yet?
Alright! I have a question!
What?
When do I get to–
Get to what?
You know.
Luckily, I die long beore Jimmy Fallon, and as my time approached, I took all i could absorb from the world within, and without, almost as if any and all of my deathwish had been satiated with the gentle ease, the notion of knowing my imminent death would come long before what those surrounding me would consider my time, and therefore would not be made to lose anymore than I already had–but at least, I did have th strength in knowing, not only would i never grow so old as to see for show most of what I had done, but that I had done most of what I would have at all, and not much longer than my words would form into all that would come to be known as my full body of work, I would perish, even before–long before– those I had studied, admired, and known to love–if only through the fourth wall, at all.
{Enter The Multiverse}
[The Festival Project.™]
COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©
-Ū.
02. WAFFLES.
Level one
Level up:
Go
Brooklyn has a surf club
(Where am I supposed to surf in Brooklyn—
Coney Island?
How am I supposed to surf in Coney Island
There's a hydroponic needle in my hot dog
That's gross
(2 chainz style)
If you grew up in The projects
I'm sorry;
You should run for governor
Or the Oval Office—
I would trust you to protect us
-31
I'mma change the words up
I want Roscoe
Waffles with some syrup—
Serve holdup;
Guess I'm on the wrong coast
On a greyhound bus, now
Just to go to Roscoe's
Waffles and Shrup
[chicken and waffles
Chicken and waffles
Chicken and waffles
Chicken and waffles] -Sunni Blū
You expect me to go surfing in the projects
Fuck is Coney Island? (Nonsense!)
All the trash– (trash) and tug boats (toot toot)
I can't get my surf on!
I am on the wrong coast!
Oh shit, it really was originally
I took a flixbus just to go to…
I fly Spirit Airlines,
Just go to go Roscoe's
Been a long time since I been in it
Do my dance and trance I'm spinnin
Cameras flash
And I look different
I make dubstep
Bitch I'm
[NO!]
—that's like yoncè x
Yoncè crosses NOTHING
Got it.
I don't care
I got flair
I'm from LA
They love my hair
They always stare
And glaring
Imm aware of them
Imm Karen under
All these shades I wear
Chicken and some waffles
Guess I'm on the wrong coast
(nicki style)
None of these niggaz can't rap like me;
I am present; under the tree
Can't lock me up,
My love is free
Killing this bEA
Arthur
T-e-a
(I got a secret)
Bitch I'm the best
Bitch I'm bless
Bitch you call me a bitch
I will dismiss you
Listen, kids
I'm dead!
Not regrets
Butter, bread
Suck my twists
Or braid my hat
But your verse sound like murder
Deadmau5 forges an appearance o—
Is it the Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon or is it
—late nights with Jimmy Fallon?
I don't know.
I don't care:
Just— look me UP.
NO, Jimmy Fallon!
WHYNOT.
BECAUSE, SIR, YOU ARE A FIGMENT OF MY IMAGINATION, and therefore DONOTEXIST..
NO, YOU DONT EXIST!
Not yet, anyway,..
*dissappears*
Oh, the irony…
[Ū/SUPACREE is invisible, and has therefore made this man—
“JIMMY FALLON”
“Presumably”
“Presumably”
We don't know!
— look crazy, which isn't a good look for him, considering…]
JIMMY FALLON stops short, realizing everyone has stopped shopping to stare at him.
—he is famous.]
TMZ
(But is the dude from Lilo and stich with a camera)
(Snaps photo)
JIMMY FALLON
[expletive]
After his appearance on the talk show as Deadmau5, “JOEL ZIMMERMAN, an extraterrestrial secret agent and top level hacker, entraps THE COSMIC AVENGER, aka “JIMMY FALLON” in an inescapable void beyond the interdimensional jurisdictions, imprisoning him in an undetectable and inescapable time hol; a synthetic VOID.
What. What is this.
I don't know yet, what to call it actually.
You look like a T-Rex.
You look like
….like what? What do I look like?
I don't have time for banter, Fallon. I'm a mastermind.
Put me back.
Can't do that.
You're gonna pay for this!
(Shrugs, texting in a slide out keyboard device]
I'm sure I can afford it. Bye.
[the device opens a portal, into which TESTPILOT disappears]
So wait, why is he DEADMAU5, then JOEL, then TESTPILOT.
Cause, that's just now it goes.
I told you, stay away from this guy.
I did! but then—
HEEEEEEEYYYYYY.
What.
HEY,
What, Jimmy Fallon?
Oh, so that's what he did.
TINA FEY
That's it, I'm gonna kill him.
I'm gonna kill—
*gasp*
…Tina?
WHAT.
Can you see me?
Barely!
Who are you?!
WHAT.
Okay, but—
Don't be so angry.
(Angrily)
I'M NOT ANGRY.
I'M JUST STRESSED.
Well, don't be.
DONT TELL ME TO
(She pops her stress ball—)
My stress ball!!
Don't worry—!
(Worriedly)
I'm not worried! I'm STRESSED!
(Almost crying)
It's okay. Don't cry
*almost very ugly crying*
No.
Don't do that
*almost even uglier ugly cry*
No—
*sniffs m*
No—
*heaves, super almost ugly-ugly*
It's okay, Tina! Look
I have another one!
See!
I DON'T WANT THAT ONE,
I WANT—
*goddamn, that's almost the ugliest cry*
HERE.
[beat]
[though her biggest-ever brown eyes are welled up with tears, she sees the new ball and is instantly mezmerized]
But—
—just—don't cry—
That looks—just like— my old one!
Ta-dah!
It is your old one!
But!
Hi!
Remember me?
[TINA FEY suddenly flashes back to the 90's, where she obtained her stress ball, and remembers the strange and yet kind “old woman” she once followed along her rise to success, skyrocketing her through time—the ‘great spirit' who walked with her along her rise to fame]
Oh my—
[the festival project]
BLOG.
Gazuntite.
I started a BLOG.
What's that mean:
I don't know. We'll see.
“Illuminati Dreams 103”
[Tales of a Superstar DJ]
Seemed as if it was some kind of movie set or backstage at a major event, or maybe both—I finally had the opportunity to be alone with Joel, so I took my first chance, massaging his back and kissing him, beginning to make love to him—then, —of course, once I started actually having sex with him, another girl cut in—she was short, extremely overweight, and dark skinned, not very pretty at all—she started talking and then said that she wanted her phone, and I got upset and told her to leave—she didn't seem too mad, and once she left I started to more passionate make love to him, now that I had him alone—then, Joel for some reason became cold, and stopped me saying “You Are Not Welcome Here”, which made me sad, but I didn't cry—he went on some kind of rant about wanting his phone, and I became annoyed that people were so worried about their phones; I let him go, but as he was leaving, still upset with me, he said something like “maybe it will work out next time around”, and I knew he meant next lifetime—I told him “it's a long life without you”, and I became extremely sad—although was glad this lifetime I had at least seen him, and though we didn't finish lovemaking I was somewhat satisfied that we at least able to love a little, and was gentle with him. I didn't blame him
‘—it must have been my OWSLA tattoo.'
It's always a long life without Joel Zimmerman. I couldn't say for a fortune even how that happened—although for a fortune I might think of some kind of explanation that would go along with the way I had started to feel about this man, unfortunately and albeit, without actually knowing him beyond his music, but—
[Tales of a Superstar DJ]
Something really was off about Mr, and yet all was well; I was correct in that my ex husband had Formed new offspring, and even better yet, however, off of my prediction, this new woman had come to the same conclusion I had: that he simply was not fit for partnership, but at least, perhaps, parenthood would keep him working—and now, with the most recent picture of my son that I had, I was back at work, although not with the clarity as I had once had, and it did appear that indeed something was off, and had been for some time.
I had left my skateboard in the gym the night before, and luckily for me, no one had taken it, and I once again began counting my blessings, knowing that I needed to move on and out of the rut I had been in—I was finally at least kind of willing to work, but only now was left the monotonous task of actually finding a job which would allow me to continue to grow in my artistry, with the unsettling understanding that I was just maybe and perhaps wasn't cut out for the luck it would take to hit superstardom as immediately as I needed to, however, I was at least filled with light and hope in that my son had become a big brother, and though whatever the situation was had been something like an overshadow, I was now overjoyed and elated, with it seeming at least almost as if I myself had a newborn son, even though I would probably not ever know the child, nor did I wish to know my ex husband at all.
My son's eyes showed that he looked more like me than even I remembered, and perhaps was stretching out a bit as to not be so heavily affected by his obesity, and I gleaned with pride. I would do almost anything for the money it would take to raise him myself, and make him into the beautiful young man he was meant to be—but still, even as I signed up for college open houses and readied myself to at least obtain a GED in my own name, as my other diplomas were tarnished with such a cursed name— always stricken with horrible luck using my old one, and to avoid not only confusion, but disaster.
I needed and wanted complete separation and anonymity from my old life; the next chapter, it seemed, had officially begun, and now I wondered a way to allow myself to believe that I could succeed in some sort of way in entertainment.
Yet, alas, I had been scorned, once again, the headlights flashing into my room and some mirrored reflection just another reminder of the disgusting world and person I had left behind, which according to this new woman, I was betting, hadn't much changed— I had cursed out ‘the industry' as a whole, and though I was inwardly still committed and dedicated as ever, ‘The Fallon Files' had consumed me, and they now needed to be hidden, if not destroyed—however, probably never destroyed, as some of my most poignant works lie within them. No, they would simply have to be re-distributed and ratified from the trainer's mark, to a series of allegories and parables—they just have had to have been written all along anyway, for whatever reason, but had been disasterously tiring, paradigm shifting, and though my admiration for the actual person, in a sense had deepened, my own almost intensively girlish stupidity intersected in perfect time with the wisdom of my womanhood, putting a quick and timely closure to the subject, moving onward, almost upset with myself that I couldn't even pretend to allow myself to fall in love with a married man, even for the sake of the art—
‘—haha'
—and still at one hand, was being at odds with the others, Sonny still just as often on my mind, and Dillon though distant still a designated person of interest, however, as Joel had made his own appearance into a dream I would have never had, if not forcing myself back to sleep after yet another remembered dream about [Redacted], which upon waking up I almost thought to write down, then only deciding to mumble my mantras as I sleepily relieved my bladder, and though rather rested, opted to return back to bed, and happily so—as my dream had featured Joel almost exclusively, who it was strangely nice to see, and the dream was itself some sort of fantasy or fairytale—whisked away to some paradoxical land on some otherworldly planet which, by looking at the futuristic map, would and could not have been earth; which only alluded more and more to the circumstance of having an out of realm and multidimensional relationship with such a man, that I had been happy to be reminded of.
Joel, for whatever reason, did make me happy—and even though I hadn't met him face-to-face in the waking world, (and didn't plan on doing so,) actually having abandoned entirely my hopes and dreams of actually becoming a superstar DJ, mostly jealous of the pre-teen looking always extremely skinny, white girls that the industry seemed to prioritize and put up on privileged pedestals, almost seeming as if they were hypersexualized children— However, I still did adore Joel, for what it was worth, even if what it was worth, was nothing—and it wasn't.
Just a dream alone was enough to satisfy, and with that, had pushed [Redacted] so far out of my mind that I nearly danced into my waking life afterward, in some sort of a cold sweat, my heat still on as high as it could go and the weather beginning to swelter, though, I knew something was and had been wrong, as instant depression settled in almost immediately within the first few moments of being awake, and at the very very least.
I had a new baseline for a dance song ringing around in my head, if only to quickly rush to my keyboard to pluck out the tune, then abandoning my Ableton for other endeavors—finding a job, so that I could cure the horrible disease of being broke in New York.
It was good to at least been discouraged enough, after reading through a couple blogs, how hard it would be to become an actual screenwriter— just as I had decades before been discouraged in the same way and more than likely the same group of elites and supremacists of whatever sort, who segregated the industry, dominated it with nepotism, and kept such tight inner circles that I thought not to even bother, and considered even pulling what had been published of the festival project, in order to protect it from plagiarism. For as certain as shit, Becky and Karen were almost never original, always in charge of hiring their favorites and family members, and would always find a way to see to it that I could never get ahead of or worse—over her.
Now you got two little kids
That's two boys—
Two bros, going
“Yeah, my dad's a piece of shit”
Now that's two boys goin'
“Yeah, my dad hits women”
Now that's two boys goin'
“Well, you know we're fucking native”
Now there's two kids goin'
“Yeah my dad's a piece of shit'
Two little boys goin'
“Yeah, my dad's a piece of shit”
Bet your money on a dollar
That your mommy doesn't get this
Betting on a dollar
That you'll never be a mother,
But big brother don't get it
Big brother don't open his old eyes for nothing
Big brother's dosing off in the corner
But his mother loves him
{Enter The Multiverse}
[The Festival Project.™]
COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©
-Ū.
Track 01. OXYGEN
Music VIdeo: The Leveling Up from Hotel Concierge to Superstar Sensation
I'mma just like–
Take one of those luggage carts and prolly dance with it,
Like i used to.
That shit is not gonna work. You were like
It'll work.
You were like mad fat, back then.
SO.
So it; luggage carts shouldn't spin like that;
They don't just move like that.
It's just centrifugal force.
Watch.
Alright, if you say so.
Watch.
Lol Runaway luggage cart.
Fine. That's the video.
All ya'll bitches gossiping
I just can't do nothing right
I should put some vocals in
Channel surf from side to side
I just got another job
Concierge from 9-5
I just need some oxygen
Channel surf side to side
I get paid to go to work
This shit hurts from 9-5
This shit hurts from 9-5
I just got another job—
Concierge from 9-5
I get paid to go to work
This shit hurt from
Out of sight and out of mind;
You are nothing but a problem
I'm a prophet
I'm a God
Channel surf and then I prosper
You just talk and gossip Photoshop and scrolling on your socials
Mind my business, do my job, but
On those eggshells I am walkin
I get paid to go to work
Paperwork from 9-5
I just need some oxygen
-channel surf from 9-5
I been making profit
Turning hours into dollars
Went no drama
I'm on oxygen
While all you do is gossip
You just clocked in— but my shift is fucking over
Peace!
All y'all bitches gossiping
I m in another life
Making money count it up
Paperwork from 9-5
I just need some oxygen
I just can't do nothin right
I just need some oxygen
Channel surf from side to side
All ya'll bitches gossipin,
I am not about that life!
Now I'm doing vocals in the studio
From 9-5
Package came from Amazon
Guess I'm doing something right
Now I'm in the studio,
MTV from 9-5
Mind my business, do my job
My shift done, but,
You just clocked in
K no non N—-
Katt.
What up Snoop .
Ahh,
Look what the pimp limped in.
You think you're clever.
You think you're at least 5 foot—but you're 4 foot 9
I'm STILL
WINNING
CHARLIE SHEEN relapses on the dance floor
Oh shit. Relapses to which habit?
All of them!
10-4
CALL RUSSEL BRAND.
Csnt.
Why not.
He's blacked out.
What? Another relapse?!
No, he just— passed out
KABLAM.
“The Cockney Thug”
He's just like that now.
God
What is it.
Can I have ham in my spam samwhiches.
—you want ham in your spam sandwhich.
Yes.
Roasted cantaloupe with
Put your notebook
On my throat-Scrotum
I like your poems
So I wrote you this one
Oh. That's.
Welcome—to the' creepy shit fans have done for u's backlogs.
“Backlogs”
Well, I have millions of fans,
It would take me years to look at all this.
[the festival project]
Woah.
Woah.
Ok.
Yo.
Have you seen this.
What is it.
I don't know.
Hm.
Look.
Woah:
Yeah, it's—
Wow
Ok.
It just goes on like this—
For how long—
For like
GOH GOH
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
[Tales of a Superstar DJ]
Six hours should have been enough sleep, but now I was feeling strange, almost as if I had woken up into a world where I didn't belong—not that I had ever felt I belonged anywhere before so much, but this world seemed strange and twisted,
I woke up in a cold sweat, and although I had been struggling with a full bladder for sometime, at least semi- conscious enough to point my foot in the direction of the door, still dressed—or rather, almost dressed— well, dressed, by skinny girl standards, in shorts I wore as underwear, but smaller girls would wear for running, the only acceptable crop top I ever owned, a white top with black Chinese dragons, and athletic compression socks—best yet, I still had on my DJ hat, and things had been so outrageous lately that I always felt like I needed some kind of head covering, anyway—it was atrang how suddenly I noticed the difference with and without, but lately anyway had been sleeping strangely, usually dressed and atop the bed, rather than in it, or under the covers.
I had been working tirelessly towards my albums, and had just finished an EP—well( the instrumentals; anyway, and had gone to bed in the early evening frustrated that suddenly, my microphone seemed not to be working—and though I often struggled with the interface, it had simply just stopped picking up audio, though I had been successful in at least doing the preliminary tracks, (before breaking to workout) after a mandatory rest and some obligatory indulgence—I always ate more than usual when producing heavily, or producing at all, at least music which was more complex, than just a simple beat or some kind of improvised work; If it was intentional at all that I should focus on music, I was always overeating—but, I had become quite small, running at least a mile a day for some time, and didn't nessesarily find the extra weight too bothersome… though I loved being skinny— and it became oddly difficult to sing and dance well when I was smaller, almost like I was living in a different body at that weight— like I was detached from myself and my voice, and also strangely, the ability to dance as fantastically as I wish I could ever do while recording myself or being recorded came with a couple extra pounds and some limited indulgence—very limited…
—But, I did like being skinny.
I awoke in a cold sweat, the lights still on—the dream hadn't altogether been a disaster or a nightmare, but strange enough to wake me, and vivid enough that I had become lucid, that talking to and looking at Dillon had made me realize I should wake up, especially given what he was saying and doing—in short, he was being a douchebag, which I nearly always expected of him, anyway, but somehow, within the dream, still felt close enough to him that I wasn't upset.
Somehow, though, I had let him go entirely in the waking world, at all, actually—almost never even writing about him anymore, giving myself the time to grow and the space I needed to shake off whatever had been such a weird curse that had even lead me to think we could be an item; now, in the waking world, I was grounded in reality—I no longer fawned after celebrities really, although average men never piqued my interest or fancy at all—actually, no man in any way was quite piquing my interest indeed, and I had even stopped masturbating, after a particularly strong orgasm which had emerged from what seemed like a random vision of Sonny, not soon before that, maybe a week or so ago at best—and what had come thereafter had squashed any kind of sexuality I might have pondered or summoned up—the coughing people instantly returned after that orgasm, as if it were a direct attack on my soul to even think of him in such a way, which had however been by complete accident, in the final moments before release— and I realized it was probably some kind of magical protection, or hex from coughs, who might still, or in some girlish way be in love with him—Perhaps, even his own magical shield—and I could not anymore give my ex the power or ability to have maneuvered such a trick, that an orgasm would bring about such cruelties… as I realized that there were almost always present, as well as the coughing people, women who were petite and pretty—the kind actually suited for Sonny, would appear in my midsts, having anywhere to go, or anything to do—petite, blonde haired, blue eyed women—or just, white women in general, almost seemingly out of nowhere—And, to remain that I stay unchanged from my lack of violence towards the matter, I had left any man that wasn't mine entirely alone, even in my mind, but especially in my heart and soul.
I had let everything and everyone go—which included Dillon Francis, who's apparent relationship, though no sign of such in the actual media, I had decided to overall respect; I always respected the woman or wife of a man, especially those that I admired—especially those who I was extremely attracted to, and especially those of whom I became bonded in some way, through my writing or otherwise, completely by accident and never intentional—and to that, I had moved into entire celibacy… though, it began to be a painful knot in the bottom of my back and at my spine, in my hips and even in my kneecaps, especially the weak one—after an outing full of coughing bodies and petite looking girls, I had thought it best to never even think of Sonny again, and had locked my obsidian protection stone out of my presence entirely—I wished not to know or think of a man who knew no bounds, and relinquished his spirit, if not for my own safety.
It had been months since dreaming about Dillon Francis at all, and perhaps I was just sexually frustrated, however the dream in itself wasn't sexual in nature—just, informative.
He was wearing a white t-shirt with a pretty brunette on it—with blue eyes, of course, and clad in a bikini—which I told him was the most beautiful woman in the world—he agreed, and strangely was able to zoom in the picture on his shirt, as if it were some kind of screen, focusing on her bosom and saying something along the lines of “yep, she's all mine—and no portal [to the underworld]!”, and though he hadn't said the part about the underworld, I figured and sort of agreed that his suggestion was, that my vagina had some kind of curse on it—which was probably true, anyway, and the reason I never even masturbated anymore. I responded by telling him that I was happy he had someone, that I was happy he was in love and that that's what I had wanted, but suddenly became filled with sadness—it seemed I still did have feelings somewhere for him after all, though I was dreaming, and he began to torment me with the words that made me decide that I had to wake up to escape the horrid feelings that came along with them.
He said “you know when I first met you I really wanted you; I just wanted you.” And in the insinuating that there might have ever been some kind of chance between us, if I had only done something different, though— during my time being homeless everything had become out of control, it angered me that he suggested that I could have worked harder or tried harder and things might have been different—they weren't, and I decided that though it had been good to see him, and it would be hard to wake up, that I needed to wake up now, before I could cry inside my own dream, lighting an incense in the dream world, and making the wish to exit the dream; I immediately did, returning into my room, alit with blue, at around the time I had intended to wake up to presume making music, which now seemed futile—suddenly I didn't want to even try, realizing it had less to do with Dillon Francis than it did with the world in general.
in fact, upon waking, I thought to myself that no matter the situation, it had been a relief to see Dillon, who I thought of as a kind stranger, an imaginary friend now, who had guided me through rough waters with laughter and the pleasure of music—who in my waking life had fallen back into the category of just another famous person, with no delusion of a romance between one another, no matter how much I had wanted it once.
I had left it alone, out of respect to his own conscious, and out of respect to myself—who had fangirled enough that I had become damaged from it, deciding ultimately to just ‘leave the men alone', and wondered what kind of monster I might have been that I really only was ever interested anymore in someone if they were not only handsome, but talented, intelligent, and also somewhat famous.
The auras of even the most beautiful common man, even the classy, well dressed and assuming well-to-do men of Manhattan just didn't shine the way the others did—and I could never see myself shine in a way that would make me like them—famous—though I had been working hard on my music, dangerously hard, actually—so much that I feared my ex's Jealousy and intent to kill had plagued and cursed now my machinery—I just couldn't at all get my microphone or to work and had forced myself to sleep—it had been over 24 hours that I had been awake with the focus to work anyway, and I needed to rest, but was mere hours away from the completion of another project, and suddenly, the ability to record vocals has just stopped.
Now, upon waking, I clutched my chest, drenched in sweat realizing that I had fallen asleep with some stones tucked into my bra, which I never did anymore as the stones and crystals had been enchanted with intentions, and had become quite strong, each of them on their own, but particularly together in the way that some of them even clashed, and that I could not carry them all, or just didn't, out of caution—I assumed the one over my heart to be the Amethyst, which I very specifically never ever slept with or even clutched anymore—the stone was strange, and had began to vibrate in a way that I was unsure of, and so with that I alluded it to the probability that because its intention had always been set to be given as a gift to Dillon, no matter the stuatus of our actual relationship to one another, that it in some way had been bonded to his energy—and with respect to the presumption that he was taken, of course by some pretty, very skinny, perfectly capable white girl—perfectly capable of being functional in all the ways I was not, by circumstances of privelege and wealth, probably extremely well cared for and perfect in every way—I respected the dynamics of white world, in that it made more sense for him to always love someone like her, if not just her forever—if he truly had fallen in love and planned to make this woman his wife, which I had wanted alon learning that he was with someone—the notion which would have freed me from his grip, a still quite devastating attraction—
And it was devastating,
The loop which was so simple and certainly evident now, that it was an inevitable lust and infatuation that had drawn me to the conclusion that you just can't want a man like that.
You have no business falling in love with a man like Sonny Moore, Dillon Francis—or anyone alike them, in that it would all be the same, tragic, eye opening experience of uselessness, disappointment, and the constant reminder that because of who they are, and because of who you are, you would never, ever be good enough for them—and even in a professional setting, had a long way to go up the ladder before a collaboration with Skrillex, Dillon Francis, or deadmau5 would make any kind of literal sense, but especially monetary, I was simply not rich enough yet for the music industry—and I was certainly not woman enough for any of them.
It wasn't the amethyst at all, I realized upon returning from the restroom, that had been inside my brazier as I slept, but The Illuminati Stone, which had no incantation besides the explicit desire for wealth, knowledge, and skill within my given right to exist outside of the “underworld”, “the blackness” or the plague of poverty—the amethyst, with my other musical incantations had been left atop my drum machine, as they usually always were, next to my drum sticks and whatever mess I had abandoned in the studio before falling asleep, and though now I was quite awake, smudging with sage to break the feeling of helplessness and bitter sadness, slight sexual frustration which I had fallen asleep with, and of course now waken up with, quich had nothing to do with Dillon, thankfully—and at the very least I knew better than to think of him in anyway on purpose at all—or any man in anyway on purpose at all—as it was concluded I just simply could not be loved at all, and that if there were any curse at all placed on me, it was with that purpose—that I would never love or be loved again.
I never slept with all my stones, but now I wanted to; I should have been working on music, but wasn't even moderately moved to do so—it was like I had lost the desire, and reminded me that perhaps my ex had become Dillon Francis after all, just to torture me, just as he had seemed to turn into Sonny before. Perhaps he would just turn into anyone I loved just to try to kill me kn the way that j could never be without him, no matter how much I wanted to, and would always have to suffer being reminded of him, his habits, and the horrible things he used to do to me; and for some reason, the scar on the inside of my lip, where my teeth had punctured entirely through from one side to the other, began to swell and throb, which almost never happened, but sometimes did, especially when k was upset or had flashbacks of the initial beating which had left me wounded in many more ways than i could ever count or imagine, but especially damaged—he had ruined my face that day, and suddenly I remembered it, the gash that had left it impossible to eat for sometimes, as even applesauce would sting, and stuck to the wound inside my mouth—and it was hard to imagine how I ever recovered from that.::or maybe I hadn't.
Either way, there had been a strong, male voice lately which had been tormenting me with especially masculine, toxic and invasive thoughts, a voice which reminded me of a man who called himself Big O, who had once ruined my day by offering me a ride,'picking me up at a bus stop in front of the shelter—whom I assumed was doing so out of the kindness of his heart, of course, but was either some fed doing intel on the bizzare was surrounding my imminitely divine and extra terrestrial podcast series, or just some strange man attempting to illicit sexual favors in exchange for drugs, which I politely declined, however, he had spent my time, which was supposed to be a direct ride from queens into Manhattan, driving in circles, running errands, and asking questions about me, my past, and my own habits—all of which had been extinguished, and though I just wanted to go to the gym, he had kept driving in circles around queens, even stopping at what seemed like some kind of doctors office, his office, where he said he had some mushrooms “just lying around” and would give me for free—which I never believed anyway, but went along with it—as the bus almost never came when scheduled and on time and I had been at the stop nearly too long; and he had hovered in front of me long enough to realize that he was trying to get my attention.
I had nothing to lose in the shelter anyway, and had been making a point to spend as much time at equinox as possible—and was still somehow naive enough at this point to actually believe that someone would actually just do such a thing—give someone a ride out of the kindness of their heart. But I paid for that ride, in unwanted touches, coughing, and the reminder that there was some demonic force which only ever wanted to hurt me, drive around in circles, and waste my time, just as my ex had— that just wanted to blow smoke in my face and remind me that I wasn't a beautiful woman, but just a woman—and that there were so many other to choose from that I should be so lucky just to have been offered a ride.
It was this voice that had been torturing me lately, calling me a horrible mother, an ugly fat woman—unworthy of success. It was this voice that had been burgeoning me with reminders of what I had been before, almost enough to overlook what I had become—and though it was with some stroke of genius that I had done all that I had, it didn't seem to matter without the actual success or wealth, or any money at all to show for it—and so far, there wasn't any: I was literally down to my last dollar, once again— unmarked, albeit, with such a formidable respect to Jimmy Fallon and his family, besides the strangeness that had been surrounding the inspiration to suddenly begin to write from his essence characters I had never known or thought of, but had suddenly somehow been brought to life— I was too broke now even to get business cards, and though I had invested into a beautiful studio, the struggles with my interface altered me to the fact that all of my equipment was becoming rapidly obsolete, and that alone gave me a limited ability to create, let alone to make quality music which was good enough to compete with the likes of even the lower ranks at Insomniac , but especially far from a signature label, like Epic or Columbia, which I needed more than wanted—a record deal; my living room was still empty, and the only furniture was my studio equipment, which was at least a comfortable and beautifully well lit space, with a cheap full sized mattress on the floor—but it was everything in the world to be grateful for, to have an unshared space—which might have been perfect a couple floors higher up and without the distraction of either of my neighbors, both white women who seemed to act in demonic ways at random times, but especially in times were I wanted to relax, or be at peace—and though for at least a week or so they had been particularly calm, and I had been putting in overtime with heavy prayer work in order to protect myself and be rid of such a demonic energy, a force which seemed to intend to kill me and used other people as it's way to find me—there was still this voice, who had taken the voice of big o, who I hated for not only touching me, but wasting my time—I had missed equinox that day after a streak, arriving hours after he had picked me up in Manhattan, his attempts to lure me into some kind of party girl state failed; he dropped me off at 66th, Columbus circle, for my “gig”; I wasn't letting him know my true destination for any reason, and unstead bluffed that I had been hired as a musician to preform at this address, which happened to be, without my knowing, the Trump hotel,
It was his voice that called me a liar and a thief, a horrible mother, a fat, ugly useless woman. It was his voice that told me to get a “real” job, that was useless in music at all—that I could not compete with the little girls which the music industry had pumped out on pure sexual appeal, rather than talent—girls like Tyla, who I knew were planted and selected with financial backing to be “successful”, not on hard work or determination, but by the looks of it, some kind of sick game—the body game, which the whole world had become, and I had lost long before I had become aware of it. Though beautiful in its way, my body was broken, hard, and tired—
I drifted in and out of an altered consciousness, knowing my time had come to do or die, but unlikely to try my hand at anything that might become what the regular workforce always was—a hellscape of more reminders of my ex, of Sonny, the petite women suited for him— reminded of a Dillon , and his super white girlfriend—and the overriding factor that I was supposed to be focusing fully on music; and shouldn't be working some dead end job at all—
Fuck this. I thought, placing the amethyst on my inter thigh.
Fuck music.
There was no way to let music go, but the possibility of actual success was dwindling—anything I loved became evil, and in the shattering of doing everything alone, I just wanted it to be over.
Maybe if he didn't want to be a parent alone and be constantly reminded of me,
He shouldn't have cheated
But especially shouldn't have beat me
He certainly had no right to take the rest of my life away just because I had walked out of his—he had ruined my baby to look and sound just like him; to act like him, and though I couldn't ever hate my boy
I would never love his father again, or any man like him.
Or maybe, any man at all.
What is a man, but that, anyway?
Destroyers of worlds, wasters of times
Vengeful, pitiful, needy creatures—
And though I thought also that woman might be worse…
The worst of all things was that I had become neither at all,
And therefore devoid of the ability to love or be loved, in the world which had become nothing but money, bodies, and material consumption.
Suicide reared its head in a different way than usual—not with the burning sensation of absolute pain and destruction, but instead with a calm intent to not attach, to not conform, to not bond to anything, which might prove in itself be just another illusion:
It was nice seeing Dillon.
It was strange that in all of the horrible feelings that had come from waking back into the nightmare of my own existence—a nightmare which was at least now pretty, and sheltered properly, but still miserably alone—and I neither wanted nor needed friends, really. Who could you trust in such a material world, to have your best interests at hand!
Who could you trust in man's world, if not man itself.
His body was tall and strong, and felt safe—
But nothing was safe about Dillon Francis, or his world.
Nothing is safe in a man's world.
Aristide o
I am the god, if you want it
The devil if you need it
To be that
Another Dillon Francis dream
I had fallen asleep just to again dream of Dillon Francis—perhaps I knew I wouldn't be seeing him in waking life again, and took my chances, attacking him as he slept peacefully, or at least laid down.
I knew he had a girlfriend and didn't care; I had my way with him anyway, though not going al the way—his penis was very tiny, which made the blowjob all the more enjoyable—he ejaculated quickly, and I was satisfied—at least his penis was small enough that it wouldn't have brought me too much pleasure anyway. I was pretty happy about it, but he felt bad and kind of freaked out. I pretended nothing happened and we stayed friends—I think we worked together or something so we were still around each other a lot—he made it a point to suppose his girlfriend with a $67,000 engagement ring, which for whatever made me jealous. It didn't matter kept my own secret, but he still seemed kind of mad or disappointed in himself. Then I got a new man—he wasn't my ideal, but at least I had somebody. I laid with him on the beach and for some reason Dillon's girl was there—she was so pretty. This version of his girlfriend was blonde—but of course still had blue eyes. Duh. She seemed to know that I had made Dillon cheat on her as I looked into her eyes, but it didn't matter anyway. The past was the past, I guess. My new man didn't seem to matter. He was like a faceless body and insignificant, but something went down and we were to run away to a cabin in the woods somewhere to hide.
What a weird fucking dude.
I wondered why he had begun again to appear in my dreams—and it wasn't as if I'd forgotten about, at all, but just hadn't been thinking about him, almost not at all, actually:
I wondered what a $67,000 engagement ring would look like and figured that might be the actual case, so to just leave him or anything to do with him alone—especially doing something retarded like googling or looking him up, which would only hurt me.
I was nice to have a penis in my mouth though—I missed penis a lot…felt bad for kind of mouth taping him but whatever. I had fun.
I woke up in the morning with all the energy I had lost from staying up trying to push out my project by 4/20 or 4/23, hoping that constantly being reminded of my abuser would stop, but it seemed he wanted me dead and to suffer with the memory of him forever; I had missed my deadline, not out of laziness, but because of the unsurmounting amount of bullshit which seemed to come between me being able to actually do anything right in music, and I thought surely soon enough the EDM industry would find their own Tyla, hiring some black looking girl to make—or at least play dubstep, pretending to make it— realness didn't seem to matter to anyone at all anymore—
And my passion for music became jaded as my body and mind were, in the money that it would take to become noticed.
Sure, of course, I would still try but probably not as hard — the whites —or rather just—the heads of the entertainment industry as a whole, but especially music, seemed to have enough interest in me that maybe it did matter, but I would have to be groomed for their world, who they obviously didn't want penetrated by too much blackness—which was understandable; race aside, or at least the black culture was hard to stand in many aspects—though of course, rap, as any other genre, had become so horrible that I knew my music would excel—
It was insane that the music industry had ruined music enough that even new music from my favorite artists began to sound robotic—and it must have been that the audiences were so brainwashed themselves that it didn't matter to the festival world—everyone just wanted to party to escape the clutches of capitalism and corporate slavery, which made sense.
Of all the days to dream about Dillon stupid fucking Francis, it's the day of the eclipse, and I wondered whether I should even waste my time starting up at the sky like everyone else in the world would be, or if I was just better off hiding away, keeping safe from the disgusting, coughing, robotic demon people—- and just working on music, fighting this invisible monster who wanted nothing but my defeat—
However—the more it pushed me to excel in anything besides music-my writing, which came naturally but second, as even that world had been washed with nepotism and unoriginality that had been hard to palette—it would be even harder to make it as a writer, as white woman always dominated white works, and I could bear to stand the thought of bowing to her.
Racism is simply a game of control—to make the other party understand that they are in some or any way inferior to another, genetically, peofessionally, or otherwise.
Not only had I come now to entirely fear the white woman, the face of white dominance and supremacy by proxy—that the world had come to worship as the most capable, attractive, and worthy of love and success, especially in dance culture, but just in the media in totality, anyway, and certainly in any workplace I had ever known, which drew me back to the story which my now-late 3-track EP, a teaser for my upcoming album— a story which told of the days I spent my time working at the Eureka Casino Resort, as part time deal person, and part time concierge-which was actually a hubrif position betwrrnbellhop and housekeeper, the job at which I had discovered my all time guilty pleasure, Bad Girls club, on a network oxygen— a tv channel which played lol sorts of reality shows, but of course—happened to be usually playing Bad girls club during my shifts, which made the shitty job a little less shitty, and maybe even worth it a little, to finish my work as quickly as possible, and hide away in one of the resort's rooms, clever enough to choose a ro still marked as dirty-/but was clean enough to enjoy an episode or two of what some might have called trash TV, but presented itself as high quality entertainment, for a 21 year old would-be housewife—or, yet-to-be.
Or would have been, if the money had permitted, but of course, it never did— or, it never had—
At least—not yet.
{Enter The Multiverse}
[The Festival Project.™]
COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©
-Ū.
HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN ZE RULEZ!
ZE ONLY RULEZ AH ZHAT ZERE ARE NO RULZ!
ZAT IS CORRECT! YOU ARE RIGHT.
ZHET IS BECAUSEI EM ALWAYS VRIGHT
GASPING FRENCHLY, BUT STILL GERMAN
YOUR ACCENT! IT HAS RETURNED.
MY ACCENT ALWAYS RETURNS AS I AM STRESSED AND UNDER ZE PREZZUR!
YES! ZE PRESSURE IS BUILDING! ZE TENSION IS RISING!
ZE TENSION IS ALWAYS RIZING! ZE PLOT THICKENS!
ALSO YES ZE PLOT THICKENS! KISS ME!
(Without her accent, regular)
Don't be gross, dude. We already know we're like, cousins or something.
CUT TO:
YOU ARE ZE BROZAR AND SISTER, ACTUALLY, YES.
…ew , gross, that's even worse.
Why does everyone from Hell have a German Accent?
[POST HOLOCAUST. ]
(Previously like, mostly british, or something)
It's getting kind of crowded in here.
Do SAY.
They're not british. They're like—
Where the fuck is like, the vampire dude from?
Which vampire
DRACULA
I'm Romainian.
Right.
Meanwhile…
Remember when TOTO blessed the rains down in africa…?
Uh, yeah?
TYLA
I GOT THE
Shut up.
Ok.
I'm a dog,
I'm a he, baby
A he, baby
I guarantee you,
My celibacy and attraction to light skinned misters
Is confusing everything
And making me miserable
motorcycles, circling like buzzards
I must be dead somewhere in the desert
I see vultures circling
(she's cute, but braids look awful on her)
Suddenly it's on trend
Cause some blonde rocks it
But before that it was
Dysfunctional
And that's the world i'm stuck in
SUNNI BLU
I ripped
I ripper off like a bandaid
Thats all u get
U on medicaid
Bitch that put paint in my koolaid
That was not like a cool aid
Fool
I'm cool herc (ooo!)
You finna get fired cause you late
Right place Right time
Wrong day
You in the wrong lane
All day
See the sign:
It say (GOD)
WRONG WAY
I'm Yonce
Fresh with the lemonade
Now make the bass talk
Yeah
That's the breakdown
Well
Oh well
Lol o
Well I
End up out in Brooklyn
Quite as often as you might just think
Subway car
I'm all alone
I might just dance
I might just sing
I'm in a trance
I can't stop thinking bout
Old what's his name
I lost my mind
I lost my head
I lost my money
Lost thing game
So fuck this game!!!
[a guy in a goth band who has to pretend to be a country-music star.]
lol find him.
k
CHEVY CHASE
DICK CAVETT
AND
JOHNNY CARSON
Walk into
[The Festival Project™]
MEANWHILE
[Fallon is announced as the successor to O'Brien's Late Night]
TINA FEY
WHY.
am·biv·a·lent
/amˈbiv(ə)lənt/
adjective
having mixed feelings or contradictory ideas about something or someone.
Yep.
CUT TO:
HEY. LET ME OUT.
NO, little man! you'll stay in there, until i'n finished deciding what it is exactly you are—
I knew I was in deep shit when I woke up guided by Judy Garland
“More Ghosts N Stuff”
JUDY GARLAND
Good Morning, dear.
BLŪ/CC
I thought I asked for Audrey–
JUDY GARLAND
It was me first, you know.
…
I know.
So, how's this?
Wonderful, Ms. Garland.
You're just–wonderful.
Perfect, she's perfect.
ah GOD.
WHAT
I LOVE HER.
I –you know what? I thought that.
What! The fuck! Is This!
AMMENDMANTS!
There are no amendments…
CUT TO:
]
PATRICK
Where are my notes?
ASSISTANT
I don't know, sir…
They were just on my desk this morning.
I don't know.
GET UP.
NO. I'm sleeping!
[PATRICK kicks VICTOR, his eyes now wide open, however, winded]
Sorry. Did that hurt.
[beat]
He thinks for a moment, and then lets out a heap of breath.
It should have, but, it didn't.
It's Good stuff.
[He removes the dart from his upper arm/shoulder, squinting]
What's in this?
I just told you. Come on.
Where–what?
Hurry up, I gotta get wasted.
[He sleepily rubs his eyes and stretches, looking about the office as if he is almost strikingly alert with clarity]
You–look–you are wasted.
More wasted.
(He shrugs, dismissively, seeming to be quite happily rested from his long slumber]
Ok. Isn't there a meeting?
(Oh shit, continuity? When did I get THIS ability??)
THis–this is disturbing.
Give me my eyes back.
No way.
Thanks, Jimmy!
AHAHAHA!
haha… (laughing sadly, turns into a huff of tears, with a sigh of frustration).
We missed the meeting.
That makes sense.
God, what a beautiful man
Don't–
I meant
JON ZENNET.
I'm telling you, son
Don't make me do this
Once i love you,
It lasts forever
This love is infinite
So whatever it is,
just
Sit down
Shut up
And take this love
Before I shove it down your
CUT TO:
JIMMY FALLON?!
You did this!
Earlier: Skrillex:
Delivery!
Boop.
(Ū)
Ooh. Presents.
Later:
I'm gonna kill you.
Ok.
[Jimmy Fallon wants to die]
Ū
Jimmy Fallon wins the first wiki flex award, hands down.
Kanye's a prophet
Kendrick's a God, though—
You think I'm kidding?
I just went swimming with Jimmy Fallon
And John Lennon
Whatever.
Wait, if he's you right now.
UGH.
Aren't you worried he's gonna kill himself?
No. I left his ego with him.
NOTsaFE.
Where is it?
Where is What?
The SAFE.
What—fucking—SAFE?
FUCK!
[He Frantically unhinges the floorboards]
Oh, you have floorboards…
Duh!
Oh man. That guy is a mess.
Right.
I should get out of here.
TVP
Where does she live now?
Some shithole in Brooklyn
Where in Brooklyn.
I don't know. Lets find out.
I got the address.
That's good, let me see.
—It's actually a pretty nice—
Find out who owns it;
I'm on it—
—make sure the insurance is up to code, and if it is,
Arrange a meeting with the owner to buy it from him double the asking price, pay him cash.
Alright.
This is unmarked, clean bills. Emphasis in discretion.
Got it.
This should be enough, but if it isn't, call Oliver; He'll know what to do.
Sure—and then what?
We'll see.
Helmut lang artform
Gold Yakh
Korouch yagamaih
He says,
I need you
But for what, I wonder
The world is war with us
The world is under water
It's a sacrifice, her martyrdom
Selling all her honor
All I need is one hundred thousand
Hundred thousand dollars
Now that's a canon,
Jimmy Fallon
Remember that?
I was robbed of my sanity, back then
You found the fountain
In your medicine cabinet
In your head, madness
In your heart, magic
Now that's a canon
Camera
That's a fallacy,
Fantasy
Fat
That's a habit
I had to break once
That's a tragic accident
A clansmen on a clasp
That's chaos magick
At the hands of the women at war of us
Paris
Little dragon
Montero, call me by your name
They were all just shadow figures ,
Shallow as my soul
Consumed by credit debt
Another day I went to hell for being blessed
As her
He has a hat box
I sort of like that
I sort of miss my mom
Especially
On days
When I'm just like her
Miserable
And selling it off
To the highest bidder
Promises
Primroses on other parts
Chain link fences,
Grey areas and
Dismissals
Disinterests,
Intervals of hypocrisy,
Criticism
Basket case
Green Day
Savage remix feat Beyonce
Ali Farka Toré
Amadou and Mariam
Crazy P
Orchestra Boubab
Omoau Sangare
Spinning away Brian eno
Stranger
Dijon
Bobby Sox Green Day
I can't even get off
On the possibility of maybe
Y heart is gone
My thoughts were yours
Now the bond is severed
Like k wanted
Gone,
And off in a rush
Where you caught me
Going off, and off
And on
And off
And on again
How do you love me?
Better not
Better not come home
This is all of us
I'll cut you off
And you had better run,
Before I swat you off
Don't you know how you started off
With a run this morning
For what?
For nothing
All I've done is love and love
And nothing comes of it
Not a person
Just a negative number
A crutch tk call on
A cross tk come off of
Some drugs, I snuck in
Over the border
In all of the poison
The world has become
The world of money
A
I wonder what/ to become of him
Cause it couldn't be love
In the presence of a lover
The mother of his sons
And it comes in increments
The what
The songs
The words
The worlds
The worke you've done
And all for nothing
All for nothing
But a fucked up,
Drawn on
Dollar
I never want to see you again
And I never want to hear myself sing
I will never learn to play guitar
I'm not a god,
I'm just another fucked up slut
And all I wanted was your
Nothing over money
If it's time over money
Time over us
This time under everything crumbles
What the FUCK is up with this system
I didn't interested you, did I?
Another apocalypse
Another bipolar,
But you wonder
What the mood was,
Without the war
The motorcyclists
Who just wanted her to suffer
And sell her body
And suddenly they're gone
And shut up
When she offered her soul
And her body
For dollars
Capital One
Don't trust them
I'm literally looking for nothing!
Jimmy Fallon
I'm drying my eyes out,
You're wasting my time with this
Writing
I'm gouging my eyes out—-
Time should be wasted
As wasted as I am
Jimmy Fallon
I'm looking for nothing
And no one
Cause that's where I found him!
And that's what he was, once
A nobody
Now he's washed up on shore
Just a syndicated show
On a poor boy
With nothing but buns and mustard
Good, look where that got you
A first chance award
At a glance of what a glacier does
When it melts on your honorary doctorate
Eli Scruggs
And I fell out of alignment with your
Little white lines in my eyes
You were dying inside
When my timeline went left
And I left her for that
I left her for that
I left her for what
A monster
Of all of them
Jim was
Sure,
He doesn't have a code name
In my notebook
Or my coursework,
Jimmy Fallon
They're just curse words,
But —the network will never allow it
They're just curse marks
They're just scars, Starr
How you got a remarkable come up
On the blood of your
Only begotten
How about what
Jimmy Fallon
You fucked up my numbers
And nothing would come after that
The awards ceremony was disasterous
Cause I haven't yet
Evened out the nominations
For the fat flex
I leveled you
At level up, this morning
And that's how I found her
Good, son
So now you know
How my love works—
And if I love you enough
She'll come for you
If I love you at all, actually
She'll show up
I'd bet a million dollars
A million and one
You don't open the door for no one
Even if he knocks
I told you before,
They're all robots
With one goal in mind
To abolish you
I forgot to show you
My other scars
The wounds
The marks from the cross
The rope on my arms
The wounds I uncrossed
What's did you want again!?
A 4 mile run
On a hundred calories, and a can of these?
Good luck with that
Wasted eyes amaarae
Clairo
Ethel Caine
Julia Jackson
Tennessee Alan ra
I wanna know
Nico and vinz
Rain on me Ariana grande
Frederick Patrick smith
Only you sentinel
Something destructive, possibly even the devil himself had tried to kill me, as just as I was almost asleep, a sound struck from outside— a loud engine which ripped through my heart, soul, body and mind like a crevice, which shattered me, and left me with a pain which would not sooth itself—and I knew that it was some kind of war, as men knew nothing but evil and destruction, and the pain had left me unable to move, in some kind of paralyzed shock.
‘That was assault with a deadly weapon…' said some kind of voice, but it mattered not; there had been no one to help at all, and so I hadn't bothered to cal the police for the continual sonic violence which had been plaguing thes street outside of my apartment; it was obvious someone wanted to kill me, or wanted me to kill myself—and I might have, were it not for God that took over my entirety, and willed me to sleep and only Sleep, until there was some divine reason not to—
I awoke with a song that would become some kind of tune, I was sure, it was almost unbearably good, and so good in fact, that I could not simply just keep it in my head—I arose quickly into my studio, as it had been longsince I had awoken with any music, other than words—however, it wasn't words that were important at all—it was purpose that I needed more than anything—more than money, and perhaps even more than love—which I thought to be my purpose in entirey, anyway, love.
Something had indeed happened, the night before, so drastic that finally someone else had taken notice to the obnoxiousness of the sonic toxicity that had been allowed, I was sure if only just to taunt and attempt to control me, but finally had also hurt someone else, or perhaps maybe even, as a show of good faith, some kind of solidarity had been formed between what I thought to be my safety, and the public service; as a line of service vehicles soon thereafter swarmed the intersection, the lights from their vehicles forming a long line from one block to another, at the intersection where these attacks had been taking place, and then slowly, one by one, turning their lights off—dispersed slowly, crawling up the surrounding blocks and forming some kind of barricade around the area; It was indeed not only in my head, but some kind of group had been the cause of the obscene sounds and disturbances that had kept me reeling for weeks, out of my mind with ache and pain—as if there were a force so destructive and evil, it meant to haunt me with every waking moment that I attempted to enjoy my newfound “home”, which was after all my home, or could have been, were it not for such disturbances.
The sound had left me with such a pain that my heart jumped with arrhythmic palpitations, and did not beat regularly for quite some time—it felt as if, between the top of my spine, somewhere between my neck and the back of my skull, something had been disconnected, as if I had some kind of whiplash or other type of disastrous injury, like my head had been wrung off of my neck, and something was deeply wrong; I even thought to cry from the pain but couldn't, my eyes wide with shock, and I was sure it had been some kind of blunt force trauma—as if I had been rocked from my slumber by the strike of some sort of weapon, and though I thought that perhaps it was such a curse, that had awakened me with such a brutal trauma before, I knew that there could be no such power allowed to a man who would beat his wife in front of their children—that he could no longer control the world around me, but in fact was instead the folly of my own greatness—this was some sort of politicized torture campaign; and whoever I was had become such a threat to some force that it had thought to rule me, or indeed had been acting under the power of Satan himself, who I wished not to believe in, but as I lie awake nearly bleeding, something severely wrong, and even thinking to call an ambulance, as my heart had not returned to its normal pace, nor had my breathing resumed to be normal, but only in hollow, shallow breaths, I instead made myself some sort of drink, which by the time waking in the afternoon, I could not remember what it had been—and by that alone I knew that whatever the sound had been, which had penetrated my body by force, not simply by sound, as my earplugs had been pressed firmly into my ears, and I had many times been made to feel ‘crazy' by reporting such noises that I understood my peace and safety hadn't mattered, that this sound had attacked my body with brute force, more abuse as only could be inflicted by man.
At least someone else had made a report this time, as it seemed my cries for help were otherwise useless.
It was true that some group or some cult somewhere had thought of me as the messiah, which by God's word I had been told explicitly to always deny, as the foretelling of Christ consciousness had always aroused such hatred and violence, that any messiah would ultimately die, under the unconcious egotism of man—and especially that I, being some kind of woman, could never be believed as such, the incarnation of the spirit who had so been ruined by man's inability to understand, in his attempts to control what had been doomed to perish under his wickedness, as also foretold.
In my own right, I was no messiah, but perhaps just another broken soul, as abused and traumatized by the rule of his evil over earth, which I inhabited and abided by; I would indeed end my life under his rule—the evil of man had become all that my mind's eye wished to be blinded of, but could not.
311-17948031
311-17949319
311-17951190
311-17951323
2:42 AM
3:27 AM
4:12 AM
He was so perfect and beautiful— a broken man, but in all the ways one would hope to mend, and though I couldn't, broken in my own sense, he stood as a reminder to what I might become, but had some how forgotten, a life once lived, to be lived again, until it was certain—that one day I would write of him, who had vanished into my own recollection, perhaps, just a shadow sense, a figure of fiction, which I had imagined if only to bring him back to life in the pages of some sort of fantasy.
The diaries I had written of his essence, so yellow that it had been golden once, had been long lost to time, but his memory still lived on. I could never know his name again in any other way, than that which would be love.
‘More cedarwood insense'
I thought. I had been sleeping with my stones once more, as some kind of force had been wreaking havoc on not just my head at all, but my heart, and I had been for days and even months in writing pain— this morning, though, I had awakened from a world which had once been ours, or at least, had once been a place where I was, in a sense, just a shadow, a shattered broken piece of myself no one could want, but perhaps had taken on as a job. Now he was a God, my dear Jon, and once more I could find something like love that had become of him, almost rising up into two little teardrops, had I not promised myself not to cry for him any longer—it was his birthday after all, that I had been shocked into becoming what I actually must have been now—a ghost, and however cruel it might have been, the men who had been outside of my window, barking such remarks as to inspire what I had already decided to have done, to let go of that awful life, and move onto the next one.
It had been long since I had seen my son, and only wished I could hold him once more in my arms, the thought of what he might become
I woke up in a hearse
For what
I woke up yelling curses
Reverses
For services
Hurt, but don't swerve this
Just learn this
You're not of this earth so observe this
The surface is
{Enter The Multiverse}
[The Festival Project.™]
COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. ©
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©
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From the publisher's feed
An accidentally androgynous artist rises to extreme fame and fortune after being mistaken for a male--after a multimillion dollar record deal, multiple film and TV contracts, and a worldwide tour is arranged, s/he is forced to remain in her male identity--and though technically a non-bianary female, must navigate carefully through the public eye through the test of worldwide fame and superstardom, hiding their secret life with the help of their Manager Morgan- along the way intertwining within the infinite multiverse with the strange, zany, and sometimes even wild characters of the celebrity world--and other fantastical worlds unknown.
{Enter The Multiverse}
[The Festival Project.™]
COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©