The Secret Life Of Sunnï Blū

I am conflicted, constricted

Ostracized for my addictions…

‘A married muse— very nice.”

It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful day, but there was work to be done, and things approaching, things moving as they squally did around me, but today with more relax—I had taken a my first day off from the gym in weeks, and was feeling rejuvenated, but ready to hit the pavement

—my new workout equipment on its way, as not to say, there were other things I had been focused on working out, internal and otherwise—and I found it almost curious to continue to ponder on what one much sort of think as taboo, but for some reason, wasn't, I was safeguarded. For the first time in years, my muse, not chosen, however more bestowed upon me, was a married man—which meant, my falling in love with him was baseless, if unremarkably atoned, and temporary as it should have been, and yet, all the more plentiful. I still had added to my portfolio as I had with my other men in forms of songs, further words, and poems, though bemused as I was and finding it all the more appalling— it was all for the sake of the art, I needed none more than the facts I had been faced with—the fame— the soul that danced inside a handsome body, and of course— the thing it was that called to my own, a God in a sense of sorts, for in the years that had come I had learned from my love, I could draw infinite art—though what with it to do, I knew not.

Finally, it didn't matter— there was no chance in the world of the love to be born in the physical world, and for that I was safe and protected— to dream, and to fantasize at will, and unlike some others, I knew myself never to harm or wish to harm one other's well being— I would not dare to be such that marriage didn't matter; I was, in my heart and somewhere in my seeking soul, a good woman. Or at least—good enough to know better, and for now, no better was good, than to write, and to dream, sifting songs and sonnets in my oil soul as it was, a lover's fantasy; and a fantastical one at best.

To new adventures, with a younger man.

Much younger than I, however older than once thought, it was almost an honor had struck, another magician, and master of art.

Take it slow take it all in

On a long walk

Smell the roses,

Don't slip,

Don't choke

Don't talk about it

Hide your love

Piss them all off

Walk the dog

Slit your wrists

When the whole world

Is all him,

The man who hit you

And the justice system

Trusts him

And his light skin

The right color

In the trump era

Now that's a Cold War

son's coming up,

Time to run

411

The 555

Is done for

A parked car

With no gasoline at all

Just remember

I control the gangstalkers

The dumb blondes

The hot Caucasians

The dog walkers

And the ones wearing stars

For the counter curse

Here's a curve ball

Serve your punishment

For wanting it

What was it before?

Love

What is it now?

God

Mirrors at an angle

Can't see myself

So I'm finally invisible

Is it Psy or Sai

I'm depressed because I don't know how to publish anything and I can't stop writing;

I don't know what to do with anything I've written,

And I'm always,

Constantly stressed about money

The things I need,

And feel I should be working

As if I haven't written more than what some writers with notoriety and fame have or had written in their lifetimes

And now, to think, the fame and notoriety seem so small to me;

I really just want the money and to be able to go away

To some place quiet and peaceful,

And to hold my son again.

Shout out to the bass pod

That's probably why my minds gone

Shout out to the old God

Your lady is a robot

I am the programmer

Might need a controller

Take it all apart

Put it back together

I ain't in the ghetto

Certified, it's gentrified

Ah, dag.

What.

I missed the helipads

AH DAG?! We're about to die, and all you can say is “ AH DAG”

THERES MY INVISIBLE MOTORCYCLE.

SHHH.

Sorry.

Unh.OUCH.

Sorry.

Well, I'm fresh out of [explitive]

There's on

FUUUUUUU——

F-f-f-f

This is not cool!

I have magical powers!

HEY, watch it!

That's odd—it should be cool having magical powers.

It's not cool!

I don't know what to do!

What do I do with my hands!

AGGHHHHHH.

Well first of all, stop blowing shit up.

[Dillon Francis is somehow, just—not famous; he is at camp EDC, being a wooky wook]

READ:

[Dillon Francis is a wooky wook. ]

Correct.

Damn, that is—

Woah.

That is wook.

King James is getting into this narrative real deep

Let's see why,

I fictionalized this dick just to rationalize quickly

What a king is

I sing good,

Cook dinner

Me look awesome

“Kill the kid,” they called for

Another round,

And another run

So here I come

I'm coming up

On up-down rollercoasters

Cardboard for your cup

Cupboards, rocks and cutters

Underwater, wishing of surfboard

For sure mom, you kinda suck

The energy from those is daughters

But I wonder what it's worth

If stars fall from the sky,

To cross lovers

Whatever

Just a 30 rock crossword

I'm Sunnï Blū but,

Tracy just a replacement of me

Sure it was

I'm done God,

I fully fucked up. Good job

By putting all of my words into google documents

In forms of proses and poses

Instead of posing for pictures

Or asking for roses

It doesn't matter what happens

The dirt was mud,

But I rose up

Like no one thought I could

From sinking sand

And ash dust

In God, we don't trust the justice system

Fuckin me up

Keeping me married to pedophile

A while longer

So I fuckin die

In due time

What is right will find the judge

And God of all on earth

Will tell the story of Starr,

And how he tossed his son on the couch

Just to punch his mom

Yep. He yeeted my baby

I eated the nothing

The revenge plot twist comes

When Skrillex cosmic something

Something some

It was a downward spiral

I was a backwards a hole

And my scholarship

Cussed out my mother

Called her a cunt

In her own country

Cunty-cunty

What the fuck you want?

A doorknob that talks and locks

A cat or caterpillar to smoke with

And karma to choke Starr

Like he golf balled

And followed me all the way to Brooklyn

Just to piss me off

Just like a pussy

I started the second book

Where I left the first one off

At Whole Foods market

Where I left my snotted scarf at

If you support Starr,

You're more retarded than I thought

If you support War

You're better off

Swallowin a gun,

Like his mom

Cause Mike Roberts

Beat her up

If you support Starr

You're probably a predatory gangstalker

But what for?

You don't even know

You got a small award

For taking a walk

Supporting physiological terrorism

But never even

Bothered to read the

Terms of agreement:

They said

“Kill this nigger bitch”

Keep her from getting any money or education

So she can never be president

I'm just a DJ, man

But since then

I've had secret enemies trying to kill me

By psychology

So they can see me die

By my own hand

And nothing can ever lead back to them

That's how terrorism works, ya'll

You're worried about Gaza

When genocide happens right in the subway car

On your way to work

Where they make you late on purpose

Even if you leave early

Trying to workout, write a book, and leave your apartment looking perfect

Who would deserve this?

You think you're so perfect,

But youre cursed by words,

And worthless

I think this earth is covered in stuff that it shouldn't be

I think I'm 5'7 but the man of my dreams is 5'3 so I been meeting in the middle and stopped eating meat,

Hanging from trees praying for freedom

Cause something diseased has been following me coughing

Like I'm the one who started poverty

If that's the case,

I must really be God or something

But i'm not yo,

I dropped my wallet on the bus,

And somebody got a come up.

A human error

I need my hair done.

I'm aware you're up there somewhere cause I hear you in my left ear,

Jesus left us right here

Cause the end is near

When everybody's taking the side of a wifebeater

And my eyes are wide closed

Cause I still owe klarna money on my clothes

This nobody is throwing weights,

And nothing makes sense

Cause karma's gonna take him

Heavy, like the weights is

Throw your weights pussy

I was late coming

But ain't had a rest day in

8 crazy days straight

It's Christmas in LA

Hollywood that is,

Here's the blacklist:

I hate blacks when

They do that shit,

Act whack like fucking crackheads

Codeswitch like it isnt just niggers vs niggers

The only enemy is inner,

Fuck it,

I'm late for dinner

I been here nearly an hour,

And lost my power to some animal wired to an app

Fuck this matrix, I want my power back

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

‘…is that a threat?'

‘Hm…'

If it was, it was at least a good one— I was scared, at first, upon seeing what I had thought to be perhaps a package robbery—but was actually just a slit through the package—a clean slice, more specifically, through the bubble wrapped [Redacted] package, however, its contents still inside; The package had been left underneath another—which didn't belong to me, and though I had been cornered by security more than once at the [Redacted] market, for putting my nutritional needs above that of my morality—or rather, thought my morlity to exclude guilt from the nessecities, especially as I often pondered upon the elite had kept the lower classes in a devolved state by controlling the price of wellness, so much so that it had become impractical for the common being. I had never even thought to swipe someone else's mail—a personal foul, and at least in turn in that matter to all respect with karma, had never had any packages stolen, either—not that I had lived indoors long enough to have warranted that I was safe from what sometimes seemed like the non-human animals, especially of New York City, who crawled about the lower realms littering and taking up precious time, space, and energy—the almost less-than-common man, but still, actually and unfortunately—common, especially in New York.

The Sage sticks and palo santo I had ordered were still intact, entirely— to my surprise, and I wondered what else my package might have included, without remembering such.

I had become enfuriated with [Redacted], after realizing that there had been hidden charges and unrecognizable fees, on my credit card, of all the places—the Capital One credit card, with sky high interest rates and robotic customer service drones—who I mostly would hate talking to— and it seemed as though the [Redacted] algorithm had become just as predatory as the rest of them—as uncivilized as the trash-dropping, coughing subhumans that plagued the post-pandemic world, if there was such a thing. The overcrowded mess and overall pollution of the city at whole at best made it still acceptable to wear masks in public, to which I took full advantage of doing, as needed—which was as often as possible, actually, if not to hide the curiosities, and of course, the objections to whatever it would be on the train that sparked distaste—worst yet, I might even smile, and reveal my gap-tooth, only acceptable on Hurley models and Madonna, of course—either of whom I wished I was.

It was 3:16 AM, and a long lost song found its way into my head as I fettered the words into the document, multitasking a “modest” breakfast as I mulled over the day, most of which I had spent attempting peace and solitude, neither of which actually even seemed attainable in my 3rd floor “office”, being so careful not to consider anything home or a comfort, for the fear that whatever Death curse someone had thought to m destroy me with once would extend into all the years and all the realms of my presence— it was true, as I explained to my aunt, that the people around me had within the last few years turned into demonic and vampiric advocates of what seemed to be the devil itself, were I even holy enough to be considered sacred in such a way that the devil may be chasing me—and I was, in some ways, but not in others—my ability to aggrandize my judgements and flex my morality where needed, but less when wanted as it stood true that I never actually enjoyed immorality—I hated living in a world where one would be made to steal, and made to lie, in order to survive. But that, for 30 years is where I had lived; in, for the most part, an evil world, ruled by man, as he denied and tortured all things that would be thought to be God—in his thirst for whatever it was that had waged a world of war.

It seemed as though someone were sending a message, and it had been years since I had felt safe or comfortable anywhere, anyway—so I thought it best not to care, knowing that all in all, that the intentional hurt and harm done to me by any man, or any entity otherwise, would prove to l invoke the karmic justice law unto itself; that whatever pain I experienced would be amplified by its giver, and reflected back—that anyone who intended to hurt or kill me—would only hurt or kill themselves in doing so.

At the very least, I was inspired to continue writing the script which I had drifted from entirely—its contents and its driver too mad to be palpable, however—as sometimes this kind of magic did occur in flashes at random, with vivid visions as if I were watching—or even living inside of the scene itself, spoke volumes that it should—or would, whether I wanted it or not, be written eventually.

‘Man, fuck Jimmy Fallon.'

I knew nothing of the man at all besides his name and occupation, and that something had plastered him permanently into my mind with some kind of irreparable cement I could not seem to break lose or free from—and it was going to stay that way. The entirety of the festival project and all I had been prompted to have written had become a massive headache.

I have a massive headache.

UGH.

Perhaps it was more multidimensionally attributed to the fact that I had been fawning over affordable razorblazes—I had been almost salivating at the thought of bleeding from my wrists—a constant pressure from the lack of things I wanted and needed piling up at my doorstep, my overdue bills, and the harrowing and what seemed like

*manacle. Hm.

A maniacle attack on my sanity, not actually practitioned by my abuser, but probably more likely the government, masquerading as such to plot and plan around various secret expirimentation, which would of course within the century become common knowledge, but as for such time we're simply conspiracies, perhaps to hide the shameful loss which was the war being fought with technology—which the dumbing down and brainwashing of millions had left us at an extreme risk, and those were were not at risk, with extreme bias against that which they had no ability or interest to understand.

Unremarkably so, I was still astonished that something did indeed seem to have happened—something that was not in my head at all, but rather, very much outside of it—and it was beginning to occur to me that perhaps others had gained an interest in what indeed seemed to be attacking me, for years, by then, with fear, humiliation, and detriment—to which I could only ever think to fight with white magic; there was a controlled chaos to what seemed like my being at a wits end, which I was, but also wasn't—for the most part, at least in public, I could take even the most outrageous offenses poignantly and tactfully, however sometimes realizing that—in Keisha having left her sunglasses behind, she had also left with them a little bit of Harlem—

“Move.”

The mindless drone controlled robots often stepped directly into my path, as if being driven by some force which was meant to annoy or some other way terrorize me—however, I had grown accustomed to new York's overall rudeness, and had become almost socially inept..speaking of

Just—socially unacceptable.

What is this?!

Gross.

What is this?!

Papaya juice.

Is this a fucking—?!

No it's a v8

My G-Wagon!

Nice.

Got it painted.

What color even is that?

It's like— mauve.

MOVE.

FUCKING-A.

Jesus Christ.

One time,

The white devil appeared as a fucked up

Edie Falco//

And I was so fed up-to-here

With The Bullshit,

That I didn't even care what happened if I —

MOVE OUT OF MY WAY:

OR WHAT?!

Damn, Mrs. Soprano, you look rough.

Are you sure that's not just

JACKIE.

WHAT.

That's the way

Uh huh

Uh huh

I like it

Uh huh

Uh huh

Schools out—

Party with my friends!

school's out!

I'm a genie in a bottle,

You gotta rub me the right way!

I been too strong, for too long

And I can't be without you baby!

Is that all of them?

Probably not:

So mix, then,

Probably not.

Well Why not?!

Because

My Serato's been acting horrible.

Tommy looked what I would learn to be like a be exact replica of 1988 Tom Cruise.

Which reminds me…

The 1987 Tom Cruise* is murdered by Supacree's jealous stalker, in a fit of rage, which spirals all known aliases and timelines into a terrible and chaotic nightmare, as

Wait, what.

I'm just being honest, I don't know how to write this.

Here, let me help.

YO.

wtf.

Should have had a V8!

SPLASH, BITCH.

WHERE's MY SHIIT, JIMMY?

It's gone, I broke it.

You what.

It's missing; I broke it.

What do you mean.

AHAHA.

Oh, I see what you mean, now.

Yeah, that guy is different.

[The amethyst shatters.]

NOH.

Woaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa_l

GOLD.

IT IS GOLDEN.

THE ORB.

What.

The orb. It has chosen you.

Uh. Oka.

Who the fuck are these creatures—?!

“Creetures”

I love them.

They are darling

They are cute.

Man, fuck with your bullshit—.

—Stay in fucking—

Where ever that's at!

This is “Queens”

Well, it's disgusting.

GET LOST.

Get lost HOW.

Everything's on a grid system!

FUCK. I lost it,

Damn.

Dang.

Well, wanna play again?

Nah, that's it.

What?! Come on.

No, seriously. I'm done.

Wait, what are you doing?

*pulls out rifle*

WOAH. WOAH.

You should go now.

What is that,

It's a gun, obviously.

What the fuck, man!

A rifle, actually, more specifically—

What—why—what are you gonna do with that thing?

I'm gonna shoot myself:

ano—

YES. In the head—

Don't do that;

And you, if you don't get out—

Wait!

Right now.

*aims*

Okay!

Ah shit, this is getting serious:

It s seriously like dick-deep in pussy in here right now.

Nay:

Maybe we should GO.

Hello. M—

Maybe we should stay:

What!

I like her.

Get off my property.

This is-/

This is MINE. I own this:

This one's Mine!

Oh, this is what they mean by “ecstatic dance”

Actually, my feet are just coldX…

Wait, hold on. Before you go off on a tangent about— mm—

What is that

I don't know what that is.

U don't know what it is

Look, I wanted that to be Dillon's baby so bad—

(So did he)

HAHAHAHA.

I will end u

Oh, baby, there's only one way you could ever do that.

Everyone

Thrrr she is.

She's back!

Aaaaaannnyyyeaaaayy—

Please explain to us what's happening in this movie.

Which movie

The Tom Cryise one,

Cause there can only be one Tom Cruise one

Because Tom cruise is Tom Cruise.

Wait. What.

TOM HANKS

YOU FORGOT MY NAME

BRIEfLY YES, but also—

That's WHY, this happened.

TOM CRUISE

I TOLD YOU

I TOLD YOU

I TOLD YOU-/

You STUPID BITC—

Look —

I gotta —

Oh wait, that still works.

What?! You fucked that guy too?!

NO.

I just.

This is a lot of space.

Well yeah, we're like—astronauts.

How did you get this all in your loft?

MAJOR TOM.

ALRIGHT. I GOT IT.

AHAHAHSJSJHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

NO MORE ECID.

YAYAYAY.

Whrrereeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Wherereere in my miiiiiiiiind.

Fuck I gotta buy that album….again

I know I bought it once.

dang. Youre cute,

I know, huh.

Buy me this

Ok.

[Beyoncé is not yet back with the coffee.]

Deja Vu, Beyoncé

Uh oh, uh oh—

Uh oh!

OHNONO

^

Matumbo

AIIIIIIIIGGGGGGGHHHHHHH.

Crazy in love— also Beyonce?

Destiny's ChildrenS

HAHAHA

OK.

FUCK YOU, DILLON FRANCIS.

DEADMAU5 IS A WAY BETTER CONTROLLER

*HEAPING GASP*

YOU—TAKE THAT BACK.

I WOULDNT.

I will END YOU.

YOU CANNOT.

Where the fuck is that lady from?

Oh, there she is!

Pity!

Oh dear!

She's NEGROID:

Shh, tisk-tisk.

[ANNE HATHAWAY dabbed tf out.]

Come on Annie! Get up!

[she is not getting up]

THINK OF THE KIDSz

*nope*

UGH.

WASTED.

That sucks! We gotta get her back in that princess movie before everything dies and we all collapse!

Which princess movie is it?!

Idk! Fuck this bitch!

She's like all the princesses!

KEKE Palmart*

Sure!

KEKE PALMER will be playing the PRINCESS from princess and the frog

Put the princess—IN—the frog!

NO.

PUT THE PRINCESS IN THE—

AGHHHH.

PUT DILLON FRANCIS, BACK IN THE OVEN.

NO

Ugh. He's so heavy!

He's not gonna fit.

He WILL fit:

NO:

SAY UNCLE.

ASHEJEBEB

SAY IT.

AAAAANNNNNNNNNNKKKKKKHHHH

[a giant Ankh falls from the sky]

Yo.

That cannot be a good sign.

I think it's not.

SUBTRONICS

*rips bong*

Hey! You made it!

Way, way late:

Nice!

Yes.

Why are you naked?

I don't know.

SOLEÏL.

Fuck, man.

Wizardrddd! What is this game?!

I dunno, but I just keep playing it.

This shit says.

This does say.

This shit says ballsacks.

I don't get kids these days

“Ballsacks”

Is that like, a good thing?

Depends who's saying

NEY-WHINNY-NEY-WHINNY-NEEEE

Horse:

ok, I win:

JOHNNY DEPP literally cannot speak.

Because he is not intoxicated.

At all.

lol someone help him, seriously.

Ok, keep going.

All the DISNEY CHANNEL KIDS are WILD ‘N OUT

Which is ironic because—

NICK CANNON

Yep,

Oh look, it's me again…

NICK CANNON

Look, the Nickelodeon Cult—

What;

I mean—

The Illuminati just called,

They want their stuff back.

What STUFF.

SAY IT.

NEVER THAT.

SAY MY NAMEs

PASSWORD

FALLON, YOU FUCKING HACK.

oh, I'm a ‘hack' now that's—

“Haha”

Who's laughing?! You should be crying right about now.

I'm an actor.

Very funny.

Tears of a clown.

Shut up:

I am crying, on the inside.

-_-

Sit down, dipshit:

Ooh, now I'm dip—

*cocks pistol*

Shit,

I thought you couldn't—

Oh no, this part of the series gets pretty—

You're in deep fucking shit;

[JIMMY FALLON sits calmly at his desk, he scoops some “sugar” into his coffee and stirs, seemingly emotionless.]

CUT TO

DANCE BREAK.

I wanna hold 'em like they do in Texas, please

CUT TO:

Texas border patrol holding cell.

DIPLO

(In a stupid ass cowboy hat) m

*jail door slams*

AH, COME ON.

Fold 'em, let 'em hit me, raise it, baby, stay with me (I love it)

I thought it was…

“A little gambling is fun when you're with me”

(I love it.)

Maybe it WAS.

What year was that anyway?

Idk. What year was any year before

[Lyrics Genius]

Flashback: The 2000's

Rewind it again.

What did she just say?

Idk.

What did he say?

Damn.

Fuck, I missed it.

Love game intuition, play the cards with spades to start

THE ACE OF SPAAAAAAADES.

Okay. Fine. He wants to be Satan?

He's Satan.

Yo, that's— SATAN.

[Skrillex is Satan]

Yeah, but he's so fucking cute.

Supacree, what are you doing?

BRB, I'm gonna go fuck this lil ass [censored]

Damn.

Ok.

S/he does not fuck around, that guy.

Yeah, that guy.

And after he's been hooked, I'll play the one that's on his heart

I guess we'll just have to…

wait till they play it on the radio again… /

Wait till the next rave.

fuck.

MIXTAPES. GETCHUR MIXTAPES.

La da da Dee da da duh duhhh

La da da Dee da daaaah da duuuuuum

La da da da de da

La da da da Dee da

Da da Dee da da da da dum

Okay, Google, let's see what you got.

I got—Reddit..

r/NameThatSong

5 yr. ago

Surprentis

Join

hey you guys remember that song from back in the day that went "la da dee da da da daaaa, la da dee da da da daaaaa, ah la da dee daaa da la daa dee daaa daa daa dee daa da daaa da daaaaa" i feel like it was on night at the roxbury maybe im wrong..

uh, ok—

wtf is “night at the Roxbury”

…Google?

GOOGLE

Here: you'll like this.

Oh shit, ‘98 …

FINALLY. JESUS CHRIST.

Holy shit, you were on SNL in 1998?!

Yes.

How the fuck old are you? Jesus Christ!

JESUS CHRIST

…not as old as me.

[but everyone's still mad as fuck at Jesus for eating all of the pizza]

wtf, man:

Just— inhaled it.

*gnarf*

Actually, you know what:

Just stay—celibate:

Oh check it out.

THIS lady only shows up if I—

*squints* if you what:

Nothing.

Nothing.

ANNNNNNNE. GET. UP.

She's not gonna go.

She's dead bro.

I'm not dead!

YES!

oh! She's up!

YES

*barfs*!

[instantly back asleep] —m—

That's it

We're fucked.

Disney's gonna kill us.

The Illuminati's gonna kill us!

Disney is the Illuminati.

Yeah, but like—for kids.

THIS IS NOT FOR KIDS.

THIS IS NOT FOR KIDS.

KIDS

AVERT YOUR EYES, CHILDREN!

All sixteen pairs of them!

wtf who has that many kids

Eight fucking kids, bro.

^_- ok, I like her.

Yeesss.

Ya. Imm drunk.

K.

gargle!

Nah!

GARGLE, RIGHT NOW OR I'll wash your mouth with soap!

[pulls gun]

THATS NOT SOAP.

MY GUN'S NAME IS “SOAP”

Shit, why are there so many guns in this shit?!

Because

Skrillex is like, Cartel, or whatever.

And like—the Bloods.

☠️

And the Crips, probably, also—

Like I said,

He is Satan.

GET OVER HERE AND-

SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOTTTT:

I got nothin.

What:

I got//

Zero scenes

You got no scene, broh?

No scenes.

None?

Zip.

None?

Zero.

Woah.

Hold up.

will— uh—

“powers”

Ferrel—like an animal that won't shut up, or something?

Will bite you—may be rabid—

Feral? You mean?

Sure; whatever.d

Just, stop talking,

How the fuck do you do the same movie— like— infinitely.

Recap: every will ferret*

Sure!

EVERY WILL FERRELL MOVIE IS ULTIMATELY...

They're all the same movie!

GET UP,

After waking up in a hungover/still intoxicated rage, Anne Hathaway causes a showdown worthy of historical proportions, which concludes with her legendary “yeet” of a mysterious object of extra planetary origin—this initiates round two of the party which never should have happened, and almost never ended.

In another parallel cross dimension:

Irl JIMMY FALLON and Ū are imaginary friends; rather, Ū is a figment of JIMMY FALLON's imagination and vice-versa—this scene pays homage to Wilfred; they share stories with one another as they pass the bong/blunt in a solid back-to-back rotation, making the tragic stories they are telling almost hilarious, but only because they are so generously stoned.

—_—

So wait, he like—

*passes blunt*

—Here, take this—

—Yeah—

*passes bong*

—Just switch me—

Yee.

So he like—“yeeted” your baby?

He Yeeted my baby.

*blowing out, coughing*

That's not supposed to happen.

No, it is not.

Here, switch me.

*switch*

*rips*

*shaking head in stoniness*

[beat]

So like—

*rips bong*

—you're like, Ū, so—

You're like…

I'm like, everybody.

Right?

Yeah.

Yeah!

I'm Ū, dawg.

That is a cool name.

Is—a cool name

*hits blunt*

Here, switch me—

*rips bong*

Is—not—a cool power to have.

I bet not, though.

You would imagine

I wouldn't, that's in—coughs—sane.

It is insane: cover your mouth:

Sorry.

No you're not,

So how are you not like—

Like what?

I'm Ū, there what//

So how are you not like—

Seth McFarle—uhh

Seth McFarlen lol *e

What

Uh, I am.

SETH MCFARLENE

No you're not, I'm right here.

*suddenly not stoned*

What the FUCK man:

Woah, Seth McFarlene.

HOW DID YOU GET INTO MY OFFICE.

I walked in.

That's boss status.

What the fuck!

I locked it!

You did not. I walked in—like right behind you guys

You probably forgot…

You—I forgot—

He forgot to lock The Rock

lol stop

Walk it out,

Now walk it out

//

Walk it like I talk it

Talk it like I

RUN BITCH

RUN FLORIST, RUN!!!

Lmfao. Ok.

CUT BACK TO:

You probably forgot, dude.

Alright, Seth McFarlene.

Just—*hits blunt* stop talking .

Load another bowl

Giggity!

*passes blunt*

You want this?

No, I'm straight.

Are you, though?

What?!

Yeah, I'm—

I mean, l'm good on the—

You know what?

Fuck it, gimmie that.

Yee.

Sauce.

[there is a knock at the door]

Welp,

I gotta go.

[Jimmy Fallon is suddenly alone in his office, with a blunt in one hand and a bong in the other. The lights automatically shut off; the coffee maker brings brewing automatically—-three more knocks at the door.]

*sighs*

[explitive]

CUT TO:

That fucking rager

Is it day?! Is it night?!

We don't know!

It's been months, probably

Weeks, at best—

But all we actually know about this time and place is that—

The HATTER is here.

For fucks SAKE.

GIVE ME ANOTHER BEER, SOMEBODY. ANYBODY.

lol Johnny Del*.

Sure

JOHNNY DEPP

is drinking

Duh

*beer?!

Uh huh

That's all we have, man.

*light beers

I'MMM BUZZZZZED LIGHTYEAR

BUUUUUUUZZXXXED LIGHTYEARR

no, Tim Allen, not yet.

Fuck, on that note

Now I know why

THERES A SNAKE IN MY BOOT

yeah there is!

Ok, ew

Ok, gross

Stop

ew

Stop

Ew.

Cut lil blonde

Hot as Finneas O' Connell

Possible homosexual, but god love him

Cause I'm hungry

Lookin for lunch

Somebody as scrunches

Pull up and crunches

Cause my monster is

Lookin to

Humpty Dumpty

Fuck, I forgot Rosie O'Donnal!

I cant get no Satiafaftion— The Rolling Stones

What's wrong, Saint Jimmy?

Luscius?

What is it.

Precious would like to see you.

Oh.

The prince Lucius hasn't left his chamber in days—however, as his brother Percius has just returned from war, he quickly emerges from his resting place, an alter of sorts.

Damn, I'm getting a headache.

I almost never have headaches.

It was true, and of course, as I started to write about this prince and his so said brother, Lucius and Perseus, I was reminded once more of Athens, where I had just been however briefly, in a short astral trip of sorts, wandering about in the dreamworld, looking for something or someone in place of my pillow to hold.

Did you want to walk to Trader Joe's?

I mean, kind of, but no.

My muscles were sore and I had just spent some two hours in the gym, not on purpose but quite by accident, though only having run just under two miles, though at least uphill, and spending the rest of the time lifting—I had been bound to mostly beans and rice, and so however was bloated and gassy, quite slow and not as strong, my regular protein just out of reach…

Dang. I have so much to fucking so today.

I hadn't realized that somehow it was Saturday, although just a couple days before had been a Wednesday that felt like Sunday, and now again time was all out of sorts; it was a “holiday” weekend, and I was without a doubt, drowning in my own having-to-do's, and as such, weekends and days off were entirely not a thing, besides in ways that those bustled around me—and I was sure that some days had been lost, as I was planning to visit the food bank on Friday, but had somehow skipped over the end of the week entirely—somehow, that is, and I was sure sometimes that in skipping days, meditating and fasting about, however intermittently, that time itself shuffled in all the ways I had, between cross dimensions and parallels such as I—I had been hovering somewhere between the 6th and. 10th dimensions, for the most part, and none with having to understand the undoubted shifts in my own perception of time that were bound to happen, as I sprawled across the astral plains looking and searching for a sign that the tragic poverty, restlessness, and lack of peace wound end.

Bound to your alter, my dear brother?

Aye.

So perhaps here there was another unfounded kingdom within the realm of Ascencia—Lucius, a prince, and Percius—seemingly slated the King, and yet I had unreached such a conclusion as to assimilate an entirely factionrd world, as of yet.

What did you write last night?

Uh…I don't know.

Well, let's see

Something had shaken me from my almost-sleep, laying sprawled across my bed, in the middle of the mattress, rather than to either side, which was rare; I typically preferred the left side of the mattress, anyway, but as I waited to launder my bedding, after a sweaty and sweltering almost summer day of lounging, smothered in shea butter and lasidasicly scrawling about what recordings had been buried in my phone, between the collection of books I had practically all found in the streets of New York and the rising temperatures of the tepid summer weather, my room was starting to smell funny—and without being able to burn sage anymore, for fear of being thrown back into the streets like a dog, I with every hope in the world figured that washing my thick bedding, comforter included, would restore the crisp and rigid, almost factory clean that I found satisfactory.

Songs buzzed in and out of my head as if I hadn't enough already much to do—and still, I added into my growing pile of notes and mounds of work, even more songs—this time, The Rolling Stones.

I can't get no

Satisfaction…

…but I try—

—and I try—

—and I try—

And I try!

I can't—get no—!

God, I wish I could write something like that.

The rock Gods had at the very least been accompanying me, and in a certain sense, so had the Gods at The Rock;

I had been forced up out of my dormant state by a voice which urged me away from my near sleep—I had been up since six AM and it was something past midnight, and still the voice said—

“Get up and write!”

And though I had words tinkering around in my head like little coins in some sort of metal box, none of them quite made so much since that I had to get up and write—however, still the voice, though not angry, but firm, insisted.

The voice, for once, sounded female— a welcome change, and though I had become quite fond of males in general, in the solemnly celibate sense, it was a difference and yet none at all— a voice of wisdom had projected itself at me, and as I dragged myself about, reaching for a notebook and flipping through the pages, finding that the notebook was practically full…

‘great, more shit to do'

I held the words that had tinkered around in my mind like little whispers until I found a page to make them full formed, and the words which fell into my hand as scriptured by the pen—my favorite writing utensil, nearly out of its cherishable gel ink, danced upon the page nearly on its own, channeling the words written as such:

Once prosperous to throw

The stone asunder

Glisten whispers of water

Tears of al tears |ter|

Of the altar,

For follow for fello,

A felon of Antigone

Grace, with shield

A tattered tail,

So flew with feathered Phoenix

? Feared,

Foreshadowed not,

Agreed upon however,

Was the velvet woven path of us,

So honored in her fortress .

Yeah, something about Rockefeller plaza.

Well there were all these hooded figures in like weird, brown velvet robes—

That's true, I saw that.

Yeah, I was there,

You WHAT,

Look what I got.

Fuck me, man.

You know, there's a lot more to this story.

I was hoping so, but however also, hoping not.

Man, Jimmy fallon's wife is super hot.

Gee!

Yeah man, she's so cute.

W0W.

I like her,

They're Gods.

I think they're Gods.

yuh.

What else did I write?

There was something else?

What the fuck is wrong with that guy?

Somethin.

Yeah.

The pages of the notebook were all full, something of a book of shadows and protection spells I had used in an attempt to ward off my ex husband—how of course, that they were done with, I should very well have been jotting them into with all the notes, into the documents—later to burn them, unable to afford the parchment book I wanted.

For what a withered wa t would call and honor m for fortunes duty,

Glorified wherein in am shadows,

Cast upon reflections in redacted incantations and enchantments, foreword come, theone who waits

Believing darkness be his fate

Whatever, man.

Fuck Jimmy Fallon.

If you really feel that way!

I feel a lot of ways.

Well, don't.

I'm so, so hungry…

So, so lonely…

So, so fuckin broke.

Man—I learned all this dumb ass magic just to protect myself from this guy, and all this still happens!

I think it's just Satan.

[Satan Appears]

Man— she is JACKED.

Try this one.

Flllow me, boy!

Uh— okay.

I'm staying single forever.

Don't look at me.

That's my girl.

Don't look at me.

What the fuck. Stop looking at her:

Don't look at me!

Men are hopeless.

Fuck dude, like, the worst thing imaginable is that this Jimmy Fallon dude actually hates me so much for this—

What? Uh oh.

And is so fucking powerful.

He is. A very, very powerful.

Well, what is it!

We don't— know.

*gasps*

He's a—

SHHHHHH.

[Redacted]

Well, that's not doing much, is it?

Seriously, just kill yourself again.

Might have to!

Fuck, why do all these robot demons SMELL like him?

Satan?

Yep.

Satan

?!

I'm—

Seriously, save him.

Seriously, God really loves Jimmy Fallon—

(He's one of my favorites.)

Favorite what's?!

Just—favorites.

Damn. This is getting to be like Greek Theatre.

Great. Now everybody's gonna fucking die.

It could be a comedy.

Holy shit, yeah—

This has mad good production value.

I love it!

Strange shit

I just did give my OWSLA tat a kiss

Smile for the camera,

Pageantry of mattresses,

A master of the MagicIan's chance at

Chancellors dance,

Look at Harrison trance

Can I run a mile for President?

A toy chest,

A boy, just Obama

I'm so much older

Been through such trauma

What the Willy wonka

I should apply for Harvard

New York over Boston

So Columbia or Juliard

I wish

Son of a bitch, this is tragic

I'm too old for scholarship

Diploma's in another name

I just got protective orders on

I should start over

But the world war is another

Trump drama

My Amazon cart is full of karma

What you want from God?

A trophy husband,

Let's call him

Oscar

-undefeated.

All this is weird

I think imm married to the music

Think of growing a beard

Opening a beer

And getting out of here

All of my fears is

Mommy dearest mommy dearest

All of my hell is

A body

Imm a seed in a forest

Been buried

Bipolar,

Supposedly,

So tell me,

Faery;

How could I love you

The way I I do

If my mood

We're atabilized

My blu life

Gave me blue eyes

Clean tub of water

I don't belong here

It's too late for me too

Swapping Vogue for the People

My people who hate me

But I been so played,

The hatred betrays me

I walk both ways

Down a one way street

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Written and Preformed by C'cxell Soleïl

'All In A Day's Work' (2024)

'Open The Bottle' [Working Title]
{Enter The Multiverse} - LEGENDS

Open the bottle up, wont you

Open the models up, you don't

But you're supposed to

Don't go with the

Hope,

You're just a dope fiend

Role model, supposed to cope

But you're supposed to know

You don't fit the mold, you know

Life is a joke you know

The show is a closer

To open up,

Posters,

You're roasted, though

You open the bottle up

I'll open my heart

A ship sunk in the bathtub

You know what?

You're drunk

Pushing the envelope

Post office closed,

You don't show

But you're Golden

Don't trust you

You know what?

You're drunk

Just put the candles on,

Go run the bathtub

Pull up Fallon

You're broke, you know

You're no fun

So

Open the bottle up, won't you?

Talk the the models and stars

Stitches, and pitches and cars

Open the bottle up, won't you

Open the bottle up, wont you

Open the models up, you don't

But you're supposed to

Don't go with the

Hope,

You're just a dope fiend

Role model, supposed to cope

But you're supposed to know

You don't fit the mold, you know

Life is a joke you know

You know what?

You're drunk

Don't you know?

Open the door,

A soft spoken

A broken heart,

Go fix your model car

It won't start

Soft spoken notes

Blow tokens of dandelions

Smile for the cameras,

Blow smoke

Like the roll models

Don't fit the code you know

Show me your cards

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Confliction,

Betrayal—

& Romance

Is all I've had since our last dance

Confliction,

Betrayal

And Romance

I see what you're on about

All out of automotive

Misery and mystical mistresses

Misdirection, misrepresentations and.

—mister you're into some sinister shit,

But I pictured it different

Consider it rhythm your interest is simmering in

Glistening instances dancing as angels in my headaches

Dressed as construction workers

Any difference it makes it's latent,

Simple

Listen into signals intercepting into intermission

Admissions of omissions and redactions

Oh to be your forever

The Masterful mystic is at it again

Fly Peter Pan, Fly!

Go Jimmy-O, Go!

Get Carson, Get!

Alright, this dude has the coolest job in the world.

Nice.

He must have died.

(With a lisp)

He's on ice cream.

What.

Yep.

Yesth.

Watch out

It's the bad touch

With the good guy

And a late night

On a long couch

Try the dad jokes

And the slap stick

That's a good job

And a big dick

Oops

What a career,

For a carrier pigeon

[You can't be serious with this, esh]

This cant be infinite, is it?

But it is

Forget to explain it all

Over the ante, that

Oh God,

For the sake of the art

Dear God, Nancy—

You're the luckiest lady alive

The guy

The dimples

The eyes

The life

The style

The slide

Can I die, yet?

Can I just lay down and cry yet?

I might,

It's way after midnight

I like the sound of a bullet touch

A stolen cheek

The subtle rush of a

Sudden fling

The market price

Of a custom ring,

The song I wrote

Or the poems you sing

So please don't leave the TV

On

You're sleeping with a blonde

I've got my mind on dying mine bright as

The title

1985 to idol eyes

On American idol

Calm the cold down

Stalk the mirror

Here and here

Both clear and near

Is here and Bearr,

But everywhere else is just—

Suicidal.

(I don't want your dick, I just want your job.)

Now,

Call Carson up

Says

The curse in reverse

Is

Osmosis Joneing

To watch this show

Not to know you

Go home

Or go figure

Go gold

If the goal was just Taylor

Then I'll see you later

Amen

Don't forget to pray away the day

You've just created

Hand to mouth

Here's a heavenly house

And the mouse just shaking

Take down the stairs

It's starting to scare me

The dare

On the heron, heroin

Heroine mare for the Mayor

Okay, here's the player

The game is

This disfigured imbicile,

Ignorant Indians

Indifferent indegenous

Genius, without a friend

Or penis,

Without a name of

Species to befriend

In pieces

Once again,

I said

I loved him

So it makes sense if it is

A glimpse at the pictures

A get together with friends

A spectacular special,

And get this

Creative intelligence

Intellect, individual inception

Attention deficit and

Genetic attraction

Damn,

That's a handsome man

Now, how can I have that?

The Title—

The title of show

As if

That demographic

Would laugh

At a black man

I must be

Cause trust me

My pants don't come in

Half sizes

It must be a sign from the heavens

I've just had my time done with and over

It's done

Suddenly, I was angry…

Don't eat in bed.

Don't tell me what to do.

(I really don't like eating in bed…)

Fuck it, it's too late.

Not at myself, not at Jimmy Fallon— but angry.

The astonishing part about it was,

I didn't even know why.

Well, first of all, I just sat through an hour and a half special, and I have realized that I am not a fan of this guy.

No?

No.

I like his face.

Huh.

He's the right body type.

Wait.

Good hair.

Uh huh.

Long, weird nostrils.

What.

That is a nice nose.

Yeah. It's aviary.

I get that.

And—

Wait.

What is it?

Was I just—

I was a very sad, very fat very broken 18-year-old girl.

Oh great, this again.

Always this.

A married man. How could you?

I couldn't! Didn't I made that clear!

What. He seems happy.

Yeah, on TV.

He looks fine

That's his job.

—and goddammit, he's good at it?

—and goddammit, he's good at it!

14 Faces, Lewis Del Mar

Okay, it's pretty safe to say that is not just one guy.

-Su.

Come on, Jim.

Why?! What?! I can't! My parents!

These are not your parents!

What?! What do you mean?!

I'll explain later—

—what?! Look!

That's my mom—

And that's my dad!

That is not correct.

Oh, I get it—

What. What happened.

So he's like—

An old soul, right?

Kind of.

Yes.

Not that old.

Old, though.

Suddenly, the anger turned to sadness, and tears welled up in my eyes—

No, don't you dare shed a tear over that man.

What are you?

Once, an obedient lap dog,

Now poised and poached over me,

A gargoyle, though picturesque and statuesque

As if drawn from an angel,

The guardian of the night,

Who watches over my heart,

Calms the raging rivers of my wishes,

Set boats to my dreams,

Blows wind to my sail,

A bassinet of hope

Really dog, Jimmy Fallon?

I don't know. I don't know.

It was too late, I was already in love—

But at a safe enough distance that it had become, in its own way, a guardianship of sorts—and it had run deep enough cut, but not scar, and even perhaps bumped up enough against my heart to bruise, but not be broken; I would have to let it run its course, and as it would, I would for show go everywhere I could within that realm; I simply could not be trusted, in my own mind, not to bond with such that had found me in the dreamworld. In the spiritual realms of such remained only as hidden as they each had been, out of sight, but ne'er out of touch, or out of mind. A strange but hearty love, a burden, as were the others—and so I knew it was good, but mine alone, left to wilt, withered and weathered as the time drew on.

A quilted touch, a wandering whisper

To glassy eyes and hunted hearts

A crossbow, arrows sigh and wonder

The target marked, a sign of stone

Bewildered, the beast of burden

Fury, upon the alter

Aware, agape, agahst

Above you,

Wallowing in holy grave and matrimony

Sermon psalm, clary sage

Simple words,

Semper, the sound

I suffer not to know you;

A kindness

Dog's paw atop a stolen mantle

Pray you, I

Hear now, this;

To love is but a service

I shall keep to own a desire,

So shed upon the willow, to weep

Forgiveness, over ye

Cherished gentleman

DAMN. Who the FUCK are you.

Wordless warrior,

Come now,

The hour of desire strikes with night

And hallow tide,

The idol,

Set to barrow,

Barron wonder—

Seek now your truth;

I give not one but two

Of all you prey,

Of Ayer, amber,

Silver, set upon a stone

Casket of crowns, preach thee

Pray you I, gathered now

These in here,

We are above,

That is also below you

I'm gonna need some time with you.

Great. Now I have to be perfect.

So be perfect then.

Fine.

Great wind,

Fall upon us;

So sweet with will that I,

Ye, a mere stone, might stand

What.

Jimmy Fallon?!

I…

Yeah!

‍♀️

DEADMAU5

It's okay. I can handle it.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Candid talks on loss, grief, and toxicicity.

Confliction,

Betrayal—

& Romance

Is all I've had since our last dance

Confliction,

Betrayal

And Romance

Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Rachel dratch and her counterpart, the cat woman from 30 rock, along with Elizabeth Taylor are all looking for orangey, the immortal superstar movie cat, in order to restore the time continuum, and return to their proper respective dimensions.

I got pro hoes from soho

Bohemian low blow

Colombian blowouts, and

Smoke to stroke rolled gold

Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Medicine man

Would you give me a hand with this

I need some medicine quick

(Cause I can't with this)

Medicine man

Need a can of some laugher

I heard that's the medicine

Medicine man

Medicine man

could you give me a

Hand with this man

It's just damages

I need some aspirin

But imm

I'm better off dead

Than over the counter

It's just damages

Something like that

Rip Minnie ripperton

I knew you were gone

But not that gone

Not gone like that

I just had to know,

Now I'm 9 years old

But I can't do the math

Not at all,

Not at all

I'm so over it, actually

My goals are abandoned

I can't trust the man in the television

I haven't remembered an image this

Disasterous since

It was my family picture

Without me in it!

Damn!

Fuck,

Now I gotta finish this whole maya rudolph timeline this shit just keeps getting deeper and deeper.

Hey. You.

What the fuck, man.

Come here.

No!

Yes, Maya! Yes!

Mm. Vanilla ice cream is sounding

Like

The best.

Just plain, regular—

Just “vanilla”

Just vanilla bean—ice cream.

Uh.

Uh.

Woah

Where the fuck are we

Where the hell are we

Where are we GOING

Woah,

What does the man with the van do

Domino sugar

Kellogg

When you get off the

All the good days are gone

And I've sent you on right back

But I will still love you

I was just thinking of that thing

You never said

But I will still love you

When you get off the ground level

Just for a minute and

Find yourself a revolving door

Only to find

That the world revolves around you

And if all the world's a stage,

Then all the world is full of actors

And all the trains are out of order

And all the walk is out of water

You're just another

Meant to suffer

So you did again

And you did this again

And you did it

On camera

Cause if you asked,

Then they would have said no anyway

And if it was a hall pass

I wouldn't have been as flattered

To have

Never

Even left the apartment

I asked for something new

And what do you know

How does God do,

On the day of the dead

Cause

That's where I went

Every chair costs and thing,

You know

Every couch costs a fortune

And you would have been

On the couch, still

Cause you can't get a job

With the punches he dealt you

Who designed 111 Murray?

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

Loyalty,

Respect for the family

Honor to the matriarch,

And understanding of the father,

Whoever you are

Off of it,

For now, at least

A thoughtful subject

Willing to do anything and all

For the sake of the artform

Your hearts and your secrets are

Acknowledged,

I am honorable, trustworthy

And safe, you see

You really think I'd risk your reputation and put the future of my career in jeopardy?

I thought maybe—

Well, do me a favor—don't think at all

But especially of me

[The cream of the crop

Will rise to the top.]

All rise,

All I'm craving on Passover is

Things that rise up, like I oughtta

But I just bought a prescription

Full of omissions and admissions

A ticket to watch the policy reform

Or something,

I'm sure if imm watching closely I could

Probably find

I'm being brought up

And hung over board

Like I ought to be

I'm sorry,

But also bored,

Of him

And myself,

Sure there's a forward in my book for them all

Who wasn't there when I walked across the hall

To the commencement ceremony

Case adjourned or dismissed

As ridiculous as the algorithm its

As easy as it is just for

Forget it all, and move on from this

Polish up my trophies

I don't want a dog

Or no one to love me

Ever again

Honestly

Yo, dude, the truth is

I love music, Jews

And short stories

Whoever wrote em

Poems, and sure—

Your body's disgusting,

But beyond that,

You've had a fascinating personality

And fat ass

Since the very beginning

My friends, lovers and misterssses

All gallivant and rant about you

Give you attention

It's just another dick,

Another lesson

Another flatline, and after that

Was nothing

Where I went back to the dimension

Where I fear the electricity and cooking gas has no

Phantom,

It's actually random how bad it is,

The reverence for television

Another addiction

Or a magic trick

Another rabbit,

It comes and and it passes,

Thank god for that, though

I'd had it with him

Now, back to Patrick—

I like his attitude, actually

“Dammit”

Says Dillon Francis,

I was almost out of it,

Now I'm back in it again

“Yes” I said to him

“But differently”

This time,

I only pay attention to his

Filmography

Instead of his geography, genetics,

Latest releases and his girlfriend

Cause let's face it

I still hate that shady demon

But hey, I made the game up

So o guess you could say

I'm finally playing it

SUNNI BLŪ

Look at my dick!

I'm pitching a tent

Come sit on this!

Attention!

I'll pay you rent!

Let's get dinner!

Are you into this?

I got dentures!

Insurance on bitches

Suicide doors make you

Deathwish

If you do not get on my guest list!

(SYRUP)

Fuck man, I gotta get rid of this thing!

What is it?!

I don't know yet!

I got a hoe-y

Named Zoe

When my wifey ain't home

She come over and know me

Woah

Come over and blow me

Got another named Chloe

Don't know where my home is

Nope!

But I know how a hoe gets

Don't pick up the phone,

That's I no

I got problems

Just get her a Benz, yo

That makes more sense, bro

I'm coming down I got

Benzos all on my adderall

This isn't fun at all

I'm a superstar

I need a trip to the moon and back

For what.

I don't know.

There's something up there.

James cannon is an action hero line none other— and that's because there are so many of them, and yet

I'm James cannon

None of them look the same.

James cannon?

I'm-James Cannon,

Sir!

What is it?

I'm James cannon!

The complex collective is committed to serving the independent artist community by providing a safe and welcoming environment, performance opportunities, rehearsal spaces, and outlets in which they can grow, enhance their skills and master their craft, and create bonds with one another, by providing a community and protecting the mental health, promoting health, fitness, and wellbeing, while committing to improving the livelihoods of struggling artists by means of providing access to clean, organic nutrition, (The Starving Artist Foundation temporary emergency shelter and resources for battered women (Off The Map), and allowing safe, tech-free and low-tech spaces, chill out rooms, light and sound therapy during winter, and seasonal theatre productions, live showcases, and art exhibits and installations by at-risk, homeless, independent and full time artists committed to the passionate pursual of their unique dreams and goals, in every artistic endeavor imaginable.

The complex collective is open to writers, musicians, graphic and visual artists, filmmakers, fashion designers, spiritual enthusiasts, world travelers, and others seeking a safe space to bond, heal, and create through collaboration, exploration, and self improvement.

Created as a warehouse project based in Brooklyn New York, The Complex Collective as a non profit seeks to encompass a large warehouse space which will serve as a multi-use facility which includes a kitchen and food pantry, dance floor/event space, black box theatre, cafe/ small stage, fitness spaces (Yoga/Dance) Boxing Club, and media room designed to open the minds of artists to a bustling Mecca of creativity and opportunity. The space will be used to hold flea markets, host seminars, community meetings, and lectures, as well as provide an operational and practical multimedia space to screen films, stage plays, musicals, and other theatrical productions, as well as host musical events and artists, such as DJs and live bands, poetry readings, dance recitals and other community geared events.

You smell like a dental office.

Must be my oral fixations.

You look like you wear dentures.

Okay, really?

–But nice ones.

You're a dead man, Fallon.

Have you visited your algorithm lately?

I'm not afraid of you!

[the man shoots a member of his own team]

Now are you afraid?

I'm more, concerned, actually— worried, maybe.

You should probably be afraid.

What, “probably”?

Don't get smart with me, I'll end you.

I'm not smart, I'm funny.

Uh, okay?

And you're not gonna shoot me, you know why?

Who said I was gonna shoot you?

[a moment of tension arises, FALLON gulps nervously, but doesn't back down, keeping eye contact with his captor]

That was my friend. I shot him.

That was your friend? You have friends?!

I HAVE FRIENDS,

I have the FRIENDS spec!

I have the kind of friends you're gonna need, Fallon; cause what I'm gonna do to you—you're gonna wish I'd just shot ya.

Turns out when I make wishes—they come true.

Nice.

Alright, Fallon or Leno.

What.

You have to pick

It's not even—that's—

Come on!

Aaaaahhh— Leno.

WHAT.

YES.

DAMMIT.

Alright. Next:

Call on me, would ya?!

Fallon, Or Kimmel?

Whaaaaaaaaat.

Come on.

You gotta pick, man.

Jesus [expletive] Christ.

Kimmel.

Are you serious.

Yippie.

Alright.

Now.

[explotive] me, man.

Fallon or O'Brian.

Don't do this to me.

Oh, come on man.

It's a death match. You have to—

Alright, alright— fine—

You leave Fallon alone.

Fuck off, I do what I want.

It was supposed to have been different.

You should have thought about that, before wishing so hard to be on the television

Here's a visual of your simulation

Hatred, assimilation of the nations latest migration

A rampant attack on

American integrity

At least have some respect,

For the rest of us

You don't go to someone's house after basically being invited

Whatever, they more just stormed in like

WE ARE COMING IN HERE

And you're like

That's fine, just—

You can earn your keep, just don't

*THROWING TRASH*

*PLAYING ONNOXIOUS LOUD MUSIC*

*HAVING 90 disrespectful ass kids*

Okay, that's…

Okay.

It's fine, just don't

*BREAKS EVERYTHING*

*facepalm*

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

“How Patty Met Kandi”

A flashback episode,season 1

Veronica Moises is an extremely attractive young starlett, known in entertainment for her sexually aggressive attitude, especially towards men of power–after turning her down, Veronica fires back from being rejected by planting a seed in Katie's mind, suggesting that she ‘the camera man caught us” and urgent her to check the tapes–however, without the audio, as the microphones were off, Catherine mistakes Veronica and Patrick's gestures as infidelity, and after Patrick returns home, Catherine, in a wine-fueled and drunken rage, ejects Patrick from their home, and as he is captured upon the townhome's doorstep, stil scolded by Katherine (Catherine?) *check notes*,

Well, he does call her Katie, right?

Right.

So it must have been Katherina

It was actually Katherina, and was changed to Katherine

But couldn't Katherine have changed, then, to Catherine?

DOES IT MATTER?

YES. She's a very important character, we almost actually can sympathize with this person.

For WHAT? She's listed as an antagonist in the first season.

SECONDARY Antagonist, cause that other lady.

Who, Karen?

Her name isn't Karen, she's just A Karen…

What is her name?

Idk.

And how does Esha go from receptionist–

Secretary.

Whatever. How did this bitch go from working at Starbucks to hosting her own Television series.

Since when did she work at Starbucks?!

I don't know! I haven't written that part, yet!

FUCK

FUCK.

FUCK!

I thought for sure Goldberg would pull us out of this.

Doctor Goldberg! Doctor Goldberg!

WHAT! I'm BUSY.

My Proctor…

What, Ishii?

You must see…

Fuck.

Fuck. If i write this I'm dead.

Take my hand–

Fuck that.

If I don't write this, i'm dead.

FFUCK!

Two F's on that.

It's a sharp fuck

FUCK.

Then what's that?

That's a hard fuck.

What's the difference?

FUCK, man!

*shrugs*

Somethin'.

Episode Summary:

–Patrick's daughter watches in awe from the bottom window of their townhome, though she is supposed to be sleeping, more than likely the cause of his spiral than actually being thrown out of his home–the eyes of his daughter watching he and Katherine

Are we sticking with Katherina, then?

Katherine.

Whatever, yeah.

Alright. Fine.

–argue sets him off into his own drunken rampage, as he rents an opulent suite and for the first time in his life, hires a companion to accompany his drug-fueled backhanded

google , synonyms for revenge….

Requital or Retribution?

I like Requital, but let's see what best suits Patrick's rampage.

This dude is a bleeding heart.

Or half of one, at best.

We like Patrick.

No, we love Patrick.

Everyone does.

Too close for comfort,

And too far to talk

I fed my soul instead of burning my body for once

A luck of the draw,

A call of the cards,

Is the ace of wands

It's Wednesday,

But feels like Sunday

Run, would you, offhand for someone

Not only do I not qualify, but

Alright, I have no alibi.

I lied.

I died that night.

Finally, a truce.

What would you like, Ivy?

Hmm

Buy me a motorcycle.

A motorcycle, really?

Yes, i'd like that.

Really? What kind?

A fast one! like – A kawasaki.

OWW–

Shut up, Frank.

Alright.

WHo the FUCK is FRANK.

Yo, I fucked hobo Johnson in a bathroom stall at some festival in my dream once, and that guy was like an adonis.

You what.

But let's be fair, i've fucked deadmau5 way more times both sleeping and in my waking life, than anybody–and that includes the father of my children.

Explain to me this part.

Which part.

Alright, i'm calling it off.

THe engagement?

No, the stipulations surrounding the engagement.

WHO'S DRIVING THIS?

IT'S IN AUTOPILOT.

Sir, i've lost control.

That's what you think.

PATRICK:

KATIE, WAIT.

KATHERINE:

KATHERINA?

NO, it'S KATHERINE.

PERIOT.

BEFORE:

WHOOPI GOLDBERG

I'm a “mimick”

Not with those hands, she isn't!

How many talismans is that?

Looks like

FACTS:

That's a magician!

Good cover, though.

WOAH, WOAH, WOAH.

Not yet, Joe. Not yet.

“The New YOrkisode”

CUT BACK TO: [THE TV PEOPLE]

PATRICK:

KATIE! WAIT–

[KATHERINE slams the door]

PATRICK (CONT'D)

KATIE!

[KATHERINE CONTINUES YELLING FROM THE PARLOR (UPSTAIRS WINDOW)]

Lol that is some New York-y shit–

Yelling out the window

Yeah, if you're in a neighborhood that doesn't have bars on the window

Or like–

This fancy ass shit, right here

Yeah, my luxury apartment with paper thin walls and paper mache exterior made so cost effectively that the traffic alone gives me whatever disgusting trash disease is plaguing the rest of this city's inhabitants.

[I haven't made my bed for like 3 days straight and my room is not clean. This is bizarre to me, besides the fact that I'm basically still writing as if I might actually find gainful employment with this–

Creativity, is it?

I'm pretty sure at this point, it's just divinity, all of which will be

[SKYROCKETED TO LITERAL FAME BY MEANS OF A VERY IMAGINARY, METAPHORICAL KITE]

Devastating to kill myself without seeing any of this stuff actually published.

HOW DO I EMBED MY SUICIDE LETTER ONTO MY WEBPAGE.

Excuse me.

IS THAT INCLUDED IN MY FREE TRIAL?!

ELOHIM

Oh, my God.

Which Elohim? The singer or–

GOD ALMIGHTY

AH, MY GOD.

Tell the one about the wedding ring.

*lols infinitely*

KATHERINE:

Your kids are sleeping. Try not to wake them up!

PATRICK:

They're our kids…

KATHERINE:

That's what you think…

Technically, this line doesn't make sense, and Katherine is simply trying to be flippant, however, she does, as often so, get the last words–as Patrick spots his eldest (read: favorite) child, poking her head out from below, where however her mother cannot see her, but Patrick can, and is clearly made ashamed of his presence, locked out and on the doorstep of his own home, leaving afterward in a calm and disgraced rage, as not to further disturb his daughter; this initial occurrence can, at the very least for the audience be seen as Hazel's reason for such obstinate aggression and rebellion towards her mother, especially as the series progresses.

Patrick then lashes out against Veronica, ultimately swearing to have her blacklisted from the entertainment industry, to which her egotistic response only allows Patrick's more deviant shadow to become awakened, his response something along the lines of…

Wait, what was that conversation?

Something like

PATRICK

You'll never work in this town again.

VERONICA

Well, lucky for me, I'm more fond of the Hollywood life.

PATRICK

You think my reach doesn't extend across the country since its on the only arm that hasn't been up your ass?

yeah , something like that–but i've got classic deadmau5 on trying to soothe my way into filling out my divorce papers for hopefuly the last time–but we'll see how far I get– and I'll be lucky to be divorced before being stuck in that bullshit causes a forfiture to my own life by suicide–but i'd be damned if everything I'd ever written automatically belonged by half to my only living son's father, and perhaps I had become the devil and the only real villain if it meant being so selfish as such that I would rather leave my son nothing at all in the event of my death, than have anything more I'd created end up in his father's clutches. I would rather die alone than return to the hands by which I died and crumbled.

Patrick's an asshole.

Yes. But not a wifebeater.

Correct.

‘Tis true.

Shall we?

We shall.

“The Oldest Souls In New York”

Now, Go:

I don't have a heart, I have a fist, and a gun

I don't have the dirt,

But a shovel and a bird

I don't have to look but once, to know

Two times, twice,

Three times,

It's done

My soul is older,

But I want to know you,

Sit on your show

Just across from this

Donovan, dove

or Jack Doughnogy,

Lick me a doughnut

So awful, my last action

Is Jack Canon

On James Cameron

And

Poor little Nancy

Who never was

Poverty stricken at all

Or a poet

The blow was so low below the belt

I had hoped not to bury the hatchet

or merry the knot

or tie the astronaut to the dog,

Click, click motherfucker

I'm onto all of you

Hello,

You ugly motherfucker

I'm an ugly motherfucker

Getting older by the moment

SENATOR

Hello, is this Fallon?

No, this is Patick.

Strawberry Patches and management

Haven't you had enough of the good stuff?

A starburst, Ali, is all that I wanted
All you wanted was done

All i wanted was

Aliocha back

Now Alidoja runs ghost;

If i put this all out, it's a pulitzer,

Tony,

And Oscar

All in the same award show

Another old and lost broken soul in New York

I love God

But fuck money

I lost a lot more than one,

Just a dollar

MANAGER

I got you an interview on Fallon.

SUNNI BLU

I'm not doin' Fallon. That dude is weird.

MANAGER

You're doing it. IT's PR for your next album.

SUNNI BLU

Whateva.

MANAGER

By the way–Have you picked a title yet?

SUNNI BLU

Yeah, I'm The President.

MANAGER

No, I mean–for the album.

SUNNI BLU

Oh yeah. It's NIGGAZ.

MANAGER (kind of afraid)

–Where?!

SUNNI BLU

Oh yeah, my friends are comin over later, too. Hehe. you racist basta'd.

MANAGER

I mean wait. What?

SUNNI BLU

That's the album title: It's NIGGAZ.

MANAGER

You chose the name

SUNNI BLU

Watch it…

MANAGER

(using heavy quotes)

Hold on, i got something in my throat that's almost vomit,

But i'm gonna ball it up into a love note or poetic whatever or something so i don't hurl

All you are is a punching bag,

and a bullet wound waiting to happen

I'm at least half of a man,

If I dress up in drag,

Despise all I can't have

And wind up cleaning bathrooms

Rather than wining and dining

Drying the eyes that I cried for you

Some ungodly reason, if it's

Some Unholy war that got us

All up in shambles

Your name upon Dollars

I'm closing my curtains

Curtailing my words rather carefully

Looking in mirrors, aware of you

Beware of this woman

Aware of the wolf

If the world that you wanted

Was so far from what's wanted

I might as well jump

From the stop sign

I bought

At the Art walk.

That should do it.

Man, fuck Jimmy Fallon.

I can't! My hands are tied!

That's – not what I meant.

FOOTBALL (EN ESPANOL)

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLL

GOAT:

I'm Skrillex.

lol celebrities.

Everyone is perfect, and huge

Well, the women are tiny

But also some are huge–

And still tiny.

But more on the atrocious expectations of man later

And why my God apparently fucking hates me so much

That my body might not ever see the sun.

What in the fuck does Skrillex even DO on the red carpet?

Isn't that dude like 4'11?

Does he just show up and have to look up at everybody, like

“Hey”

Or do they run it like elementary school,

Shortest to tallest

ok:

Sonny, you go first

Then all the pop stars and disney kids…

Wait, those are the same people

Hold up.

There's only like 20 names on the A list

And like 5 of them Rotate.

What's that like?

Nobody remembers you

like 5 seconds after your first Grammy–

I guess that's like “15 minutes”

Or Nobody can ever forget you,

Cause you're Billie Ellish,

Or Taylor Swift,

And literally every other grammy award ever made is like

Made specifically, just for you.

What's that like?

What's that world?

Meanwhile i'm over here wondering what the fuck kind of favor Jimmy Fallon put in with the Heavens

To get this many entries in The Festival Project™

(Almost as much as Skrillex)

Almost,

But not

FUck dude, I just want to try that trifruit jam I made on the organic sourdough bread I have, but I haven't been to the gym today– and I'm teetering on rest day, or just getting it in super hard until I still die of sexual starvation anyway, cause–

How the fuck do you be that tall anyway?

What the fuck is “5'11?”

WHY are you that TALL?

WHAT do you DO up there?

What are you doing up there?!

WHAT'S up there to SEE.

Meanwhile, i'm like

5'7 masquerading as 5'4

Cause, you know–

Skrillex.

Meanwhile,

I'm reading Russell Brand's Booky Wookie

And it might as well just be

Every male celebrity's bookie wookie

Cause who wouldn't go out and et the maximum amount of pussy with like

Umpteen million fucking dollars?!

Am i right, or am I just

DYing of celibacy?

“Jimmy Fallon's Alibi”

And other short stories

By

Story Lord

As Told By

CCS Stone

“The Scribe of all Times”

They say you had a show today at 14th street.

Couldn't have been me!

I was out—

Uh—

Sick.

Can't find him anywhere.

He's gone.

GONE.

Look, I'm just gonna

Hover here, for a second.

Goddammit, Jimmy Fallon!

Fallon, you idiot.

Come with me.

No:

Don't say that.

I need new interns!

Why!

Make sure they're—

Like— guys.

(Guys being guys)

Ugh. Okay. Look—

Just make them—

Like—more mature?

Smarter?

I don't know

{older guys being older guys)

Ugh.

You're losing at this.

I know. I can feel it.

WHERES JIMMY FALLON

I DKNT MNOW

JUST KILL HIM.

Look, he's probably.

Found him.

Are you sure?

What tipped you off?

The horribly awesome bad Australian accent

Fuck this nigga up.

WHERE IS IT

AND WE'RE ON IN 5…

Mfuck man. I don't know how the fuck to be Iimmy Fallon!

(Yes you do)

Just—

Do an impression!

Of WHO

Of Jimmy Fallon!

Uhhhhhhhh—-

I'm so fucking dead for this.

Can it, would you.

OKOKOKIHATETHISFUCKINGPIECEOFSHITJOB—

CHAOSMAGICK.

Aww. I love your mom.

She's awesome.

Here's some snacks.

Awww.

Yay. Moms.

Yay.

She's awesome.

Sometimes.

But uhh—who's your dad.

*ploof*

PILLOW FIIIIIIIIGHTTTT!

*shoots with a tranq dart*

Nice.

Ahahaha… *drinks harder*

Haha…

*falls onto bean bag chair, sleeps*

…hasaahhh.

Holy shit.

Okay idk what the fuck—

This can't be accurate, or anything, is it?

It is…it's…extremely accurate.

Okay, Jimmy Fallon

Okay, God—

Your Wikipedia just told me everything I needed to know.

You can thank my wife

I did. I read her page first.

And the Grammy award goes to..

*plz let it be me*

NOT. You

Wait…

I can…

I just realized

This goes in the COMEDY category.

Oh, fucking —SHIT.

This is fucked up.

This—is accurate.

Look, I've been praying a lot about this

I guess so much that

Jimmy

What's up.

I knew everything on your Wikipedia page about you before I even read it,

Which must mean—

OH FUCK. I've got to get out of here.

The Illuminati offered me like

1 million dollars to wreck your marriage

And I said no, but

I love you anyway—

And your family,

So—

Whatever,

Hope it works out.

There should be some crazy fine ass hoes and cumsluts on approach if that's like—

What you wanted, or whatever.

Please GOD—

Just make it STOP!

FUCK THIS JIMMY FALLON MOTHERFUCKER

JUST GET HIM WHATEVER THE FUCK HE WANTS

WHATEVER HE WANTS, just

GIVE IT TO HIM.

PLEASE.

Jesus CHRIST.

“Yeshua”

Huh.

What.

Oh, that shut you up, didn't it?

What happened?

Okay, so there's the impenetrable ten—

Alright alright

Apparently these 5 dudes

[5 GUYS]

I TOLD YOU IT WAS

SHH. Be quiet.

K

It's like

Breakfasts in bed stuff

And back rubs

And

Bathtubs

Long getaways on islands

Where

I'm sure nobody knows us

And I hope it holds up,

Cause I couldn't hold off

Somewhere I'm still homeless

And lost as I always was but

Hey,

That's music

Someone must be

Something somewhere

Something something

I'm sure of it,

I'm sure I was

— one of her muses?

Look, just use this for music.

Well, he…is amusing.

He's obnoxious.

This is a toxic relationship.

Do you want this?

Do you really want this again?

Right now all I want is some drugs

And a boyfriend who loves me

I don't do husbands

For nothing

My trust is all fucked up

And plus

GYM JIMMY FALLON

I don't do black girls.

I hate them.

Noted.

Anyway.

My times up.

Want this job?

Uhh?

[insert inflammatory drunkenly racist rant here]

Fuck this dude.

Okay, woah.

Okay—

See ya in New York.

WhT.

The Mafia is coming.

Don't you mean the mob?

Go…fuck yourself.

It—Woah. Okay.

T. Hanks

Here's a dollar.

Oh shit:

Tacos

$1

Lights on

I told you

It's gonna be a long night, hon.

You might want to run more

I don't though.

Alright, so just

Run for cover

Adjust,

And don't be so remarkable

As to summon up

Another God

To your Alter

So Justin Timberlake is your friend, huh

Oh those eyes

That's so—

Blinding

Well, that sucks, cause

Britney Spears is my best friend

And my worst nightmare

Like

Everything I wanted to

And should have been

Beautiful, scrawny,

Talented and gorgeous

And yet somehow also

Obnoxiously burdened

By so much being wanted

That now I'm just washed up

And wasted by sunup

To sundown

Now how's that sound?

H—inin..

Hi

See,

[Redacted]'s wife

Controls all our lives

His life and mine;

His for the better, however

And mine for the worse, I fear

For better or worse, they said

Year after year

For better or worse, they said

Year after year

I want a divorce, I said

I wouldn't hear it

The cycle of toxicity

Stops here with me

Hear ye!

Here ye!

Court is now in session

Hear ye

Here he

Ii hope you learned your lesson

Here he

Here

Designer children,

—Do you want this?

Here ye—

I hear ye!

—Your soulmate is Skrillex.

Well, just like the rest of them

The oceans of oceans of

Ocean eyed blondes

That I also love

But this shit gets haunting

Like mm—

(daunting)

Why would he

Or anybody

Want me?

This apprenticeship isn't going to be easy, you know…

Break her heart, Jim!

Alright, Jim-Boy—you got this.

It already is hard, on my heart.

That's what I've been trying to tell you—-

This—

Will require you to love with boundlessness, beyond limitation—- unconditionally, with no expectation.

I already hadn't any expectations regarding [Redacted] . Besides— he's married.

—No expectations whatsoever.

I've noticed your nonconformity and intention to mass appeal, actually.

I'm astonished, really.

I'm telling you, this is a dangerous man.

—my God, just beautiful.

A weaponized person, you see.

I do see.

Weaponized by beauty.

He's just beautiful.

Don't do anything I wouldn't do.

What wouldn't you do?

—What did you do, actually?

—What didn't we?

We share a middle name,

and so we share a middle ground, I think

I found—

Something I can't have,

But want

Distractions,

This one has it all.

Go that way!

It appears, however, though,

My focus is here, suddenly.

Why.

I don't know.

Are you in any way miserable, at all, sire?

(They're all miserable, when they get to me, actually.)

I need peace with this.

Dearly beloved,

We are dearly departed,

You started a war with my heart

Then put some water on it

Sons and daughters of the alter,

Father figures and celebrities,

We are gathered here today,

To finally rest in peace,

Posthumously

Amen

Amen.

You may be seated.

Father!

My child.

Please!

What is it?

Come quickly!

Oh shit, what the fuck.

Shhh! Not in the church!

It's not a real church! They're just Catholics.

SHHHH.

Come on:

What the fuck Jimmy Fallon is this.

You know, I've got them all gathered up here,

At your alter.

pew-pew-pew

Haha, get it.

Very funny, God

Look, you got this.

Not now, imagination.

I don't have time for this.

I gotta get rid of all this Jimmy Fallon before…

I'm gonna kill that kid.

Fuck, man.

Well, you started it—

You know we're at war, here,

We're at work here

With each other and ourselves

The Hell comes from

Stardust above us

Neither or nor

Forever or awkward

The charm that undoes,

Then

Comes up as

The Impossible

Sweet and sour

Patches and pick up,

Lick up your weapons,

And kick out your husbands, kids!

God the Judge has come

Once and for all,

To the pulpit

Will she kill herself again?

Or finally publish

[The Festival Project ™]

“The Fallon Files”

Is an extention of the infinite Skrillifiles, most notably due to its conjunction within the enter the multiverse and legends franchises, as the infinite multiverses begin to more consistently intersect eith one another, creating continuity within the plots of each series respectively, and collectively combining eventually into a singularity in which the fictional SKRILLEX and the fictitious JIMMY FALLON, both established as extremely gifted extraterrestrial shapeshifters, possibly even of some, if even distant relation, due to their shared aviary hereditary ancestry and notable presence in the shared collective consciousness pre existence, which extends throughout the duration of the Ascension series, and appearing within nearly every subsidiary in some way shape or form within each series, playing either protagonists, or sometimes even exaggerated antagonists, caricatures of each other or themselves, or sometimes even playing themselves, and therefore one another, creating a soft of chaotic confusion

Lol— I'm typing this with one finger cause I have a palm full of shea butter in my hand.

Lol.

—amongst the audience, and other characters—almost invariably and distinctly being as undetectably as possible, one another, at some point/- reflectively at any given time within the series.

Line?

Nothing, you're just a bird right now, actually, Jimmy.

—looking like Jimmy?

Yes, but

[Aviary behavior]

—but maybe “Skrillex?”

Up to you, actually.

[The Appraisal of the Shapeshifted Ascended Mastery, Transcended, INC. ]

And alternate titles…

The Jimmy Fallon Effect

The Unrequittance of Jimmy Fallon

The Jimmy Fallon Disaster

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-Ū.

“How Patty Met Kandi”

A flashback episode,season 1

Veronica Moises is an extremely attractive young starlett, known in entertainment for her sexually aggressive attitude, especially towards men of power–after turning her down, Veronica fires back from being rejected by planting a seed in Katie's mind, suggesting that she ‘the camera man caught us” and urgent her to check the tapes–however, without the audio, as the microphones were off, Catherine mistakes Veronica and Patrick's gestures as infidelity, and after Patrick returns home, Catherine, in a wine-fueled and drunken rage, ejects Patrick from their home, and as he is captured upon the townhome's doorstep, stil scolded by Katherine (Catherine?) *check notes*,

Well, he does call her Katie, right?

Right.

So it must have been Katherina

It was actually Katherina, and was changed to Katherine

But couldn't Katherine have changed, then, to Catherine?

DOES IT MATTER?

YES. She's a very important character, we almost actually can sympathize with this person.

For WHAT? She's listed as an antagonist in the first season.

SECONDARY Antagonist, cause that other lady.

Who, Karen?

Her name isn't Karen, she's just A Karen…

What is her name?

Idk.

And how does Esha go from receptionist–

Secretary.

Whatever. How did this bitch go from working at Starbucks to hosting her own Television series.

Since when did she work at Starbucks?!

I don't know! I haven't written that part, yet!

FUCK

FUCK.

FUCK!

I thought for sure Goldberg would pull us out of this.

Doctor Goldberg! Doctor Goldberg!

WHAT! I'm BUSY.

My Proctor…

What, Ishii?

You must see…

Fuck.

Fuck. If i write this I'm dead.

Take my hand–

Fuck that.

If I don't write this, i'm dead.

FFUCK!

Two F's on that.

It's a sharp fuck

FUCK.

Then what's that?

That's a hard fuck.

What's the difference?

FUCK, man!

*shrugs*

Somethin'.

Episode Summary:

–Patrick's daughter watches in awe from the bottom window of their townhome, though she is supposed to be sleeping, more than likely the cause of his spiral than actually being thrown out of his home–the eyes of his daughter watching he and Katherine

Are we sticking with Katherina, then?

Katherine.

Whatever, yeah.

Alright. Fine.

–argue sets him off into his own drunken rampage, as he rents an opulent suite and for the first time in his life, hires a companion to accompany his drug-fueled backhanded

google , synonyms for revenge….

Requital or Retribution?

I like Requital, but let's see what best suits Patrick's rampage.

This dude is a bleeding heart.

Or half of one, at best.

We like Patrick.

No, we love Patrick.

Everyone does.

Too close for comfort,

And too far to talk

I fed my soul instead of burning my body for once

A luck of the draw,

A call of the cards,

Is the ace of wands

It's Wednesday,

But feels like Sunday

Run, would you, offhand for someone

Not only do I not qualify, but

Alright, I have no alibi.

I lied.

I died that night.

Finally, a truce.

What would you like, Ivy?

Hmm

Buy me a motorcycle.

A motorcycle, really?

Yes, i'd like that.

Really? What kind?

A fast one! like – A kawasaki.

OWW–

Shut up, Frank.

Alright.

WHo the FUCK is FRANK.

Yo, I fucked hobo Johnson in a bathroom stall at some festival in my dream once, and that guy was like an adonis.

You what.

But let's be fair, i've fucked deadmau5 way more times both sleeping and in my waking life, than anybody–and that includes the father of my children.

Explain to me this part.

Which part.

Alright, i'm calling it off.

THe engagement?

No, the stipulations surrounding the engagement.

WHO'S DRIVING THIS?

IT'S IN AUTOPILOT.

Sir, i've lost control.

That's what you think.

PATRICK:

KATIE, WAIT.

KATHERINE:

KATHERINA?

NO, it'S KATHERINE.

PERIOT.

BEFORE:

WHOOPI GOLDBERG

I'm a “mimick”

Not with those hands, she isn't!

How many talismans is that?

Looks like

FACTS:

That's a magician!

Good cover, though.