The Secret Life Of Sunnï Blū

FECK.

DEADMAU5 powers down mid set.

Aw, fuck.

Oh, man.

Did you forget to plug in the Deadmau5.

I forgot to plug in the Deadmau5.

Quick, create a diversion.

Make it look like part of the show!

STAFFERSON opens the charging port on JOEL's neck and plugs him in.

He's not going to make it through the full set on charge mode, bro.

I know.

So what are we supposed to do.

We're just going to have to play with him…

MAU5 glitches uncontrollably at extremely reduced capacity throughout the remainder of the set.

The 32B commences.

LATER.

DEADMAU5 charges in SLEEP MODE in THE DUNGEON.

Do you think anyone noticed?

Probably not.

SAUFERSON! Did you forget to charge the Deadmau5 again?!

THE BOSS enters THE DUNGEON lividly.

No…

You DID!

Sorry.

It's not entirely

{Enter The Multiverse}

Young Joel Zimmerman is eight years old.

He will one day become one of the world's most renowned dance music producers.

This is somewhat evident in his personality even at such a young age.

JOEL grimaces uncomfortably. He seems somewhat different from his classmates— maybe even years beyond his age.

About…

250 years beyond his age, to be precise.

The adults watch in the distance with peaking curiosity.

Oh.

I need you to help me with something.

What.

This should do it.

Hmm.

Wait here.

Why.

Because.

L E G E N D S

Book One: Secrets

Chapter One

“The Wonder”

Cinematic visions had been sweeping through my mind in vivid and dynamic glitches, something like a rolling wave of intercepted streams and shattered scenes— sleeping through the vile and sharp pains was not an option, but the visions were fluid as they always were, and the spirit stayed remarkably warm and close.

I couldn't understand the constant knowing of it all, and so I weathered the storm, to which only somewhat delightfully, seemed to brew inside of Genie's eyes as he looked into mine. All I could know from beforehand was that he was praying, head bowed and very adamantly, his hands tied together as if the religiousness of the entire world rests in between his two clenching palms, the flat fingers of a whispered saint, but none at all— unholy man and righteous and indignant he, there was nothing so little as time that could put between us the doing and undoings.

The things I pretended not to know.

On this grueling occasion, there was this, the honorable and beloved Genie, sitting heavily on my consious. It hadn't been long enough since we'd last met that I ever thought to welcome his arrival, and yet for days, he had been encroaching his authority over me, something like a loon approaches moonlight. Somewhat dignified in a slight comparison to his last appearance, visionary or otherwise, he meant well. Gene DeLaney was a subtle old fool when he wanted to be— and a clever young one at most other and all times. A man of stature and status, however, he was poorly groomed in the nature of procuring revelations as such from an especially distant medium such as I— and even with his ties to the mark and surface of the full embodiment of the source, his alignments were of no use; I was sworn to secrecy.

Destitute, though I had heeded his warnings about dear Louis, our fellow brother, with the markings of such wounds to see it that I had been betrayed, he appealed with a simple aching plea with the protective fury and exhalation of an older brother, which— to that he was—but also with the weathered and fearful of the unknown which made me keep my ways in the old world and not with the new.

Despite what Gene could know, which could be everything or nothing, with the expectation that much like the little girl I nearly was in considerate comparison, I would appeal to this protectiveness, and truthworthiness, and it might as well have been a test of such myself; would I lie to him, even if he knew the truth? And furthermore, would I continue to conspire to protect Louis even if the whole of the truth was known in the wake of such a betrayal, and still— why? The why was really two parts of a greater whole, the first being that it was a matter of simple trust and loyalty on the one side in that were I Louis, I'd expect my keeping's to remain, and in the same stone's throw were I Genie, I'd expect his wants to be that I should do the same for him in all and any of his many hours of need. Still so, they were men, and they were brothers— and one to have the upper hand over another was a considerable part of the dynamic, however, and in many more ways than one, Genie outranked Louis in every matter of the sort, but besides this factor, the second part of the greater whole of my withholding, was this— Louis Greenworth was a very, very powerful man— beyond by some comprehension to most of us, if not and especially our kind, and I had already been hurt. Severely wounded, even, and with the knowing that this latest event might as well have been fatal— and probably was, with any recollection of the matter or the reorientation in the aftermath of such, I might have been approached as myself by Gene entirely new. As to say, to no avail such ties to death is the immortal, death being, most misunderstood by many, almost any kind of thing taking the concious mind or the spirit into any other world, or space, or time.

With this love and care considerably so, Genie might have had his own personal motivations for prying into the light; his kind eyes and his handsome face, however, were trained in the art of my undoing, and having already been undone, and done over, I remained entirely in the safety of withholding, also knowing that Genie more likely than not what Louis had carried out. In all my thousands of years, perhaps even in the billions of such before time and world, and words, and glory, though I should have nothing to fear—I feared and admired the both of them deeply, one moreso than the other in matters of fear.

I withheld feverously, coping with the loss of the satisfaction it might give Genie to have told. Instead, neither satisfied nor dissatisfied, he simply dissappeared, his kind eyes gone and turned away into the fog of the murky night haze. The relief was, however, that this was in understanding, and neither anger or the severity of severance.

I loved them all too deeply for the bond to ever have been truly broken, and in return I had been loved throughout all time with all the colors of the world.

Victoria Shriver-DuPont

Gene DeLaney

Louis Greenworth

Faye Reginald Harper

Chapter Two

“Slip”

Faye had warned me early on no matter what I did or what I knew of Louis and his keepings, to always let him win—at anything. To Louis, everything was a game, or rather, a competition, and it was important not to challenge his self riteousness and dutiful outlook.

“Alright.”

I almost always certainly trusted Faye, and certainly always at the very least understood her procurements. She was a worthy keeper and just as well unearthed truths, even well beyond just the earthly plane. I took it as such that we had become beyond surface matters, very distinctly and immidiately. The times were changing, but the ties no less the same— there were vows taken and oaths, mantras and fields of trust— the inner ties and the outer forests of what we could reproach as unknown— the truth was, it was almost as if there were doses of those kinds of tonics I could take, and others I could not. The lengths at which Faye Reginald Harper Downings went on behalf of her mark were a cunning sting on my inner knowings, still, I yielded to her bargains. She knew Louis better than I did, and either way, the more you knew about a man like Louis Greenpoint, the less you actually wanted.

In such a case, we were all astounded to have become each other's jobs— hence the title, Keeper. My mark had no true title, as I just, rather was. A true immortal, I had been prone to dying for quite some time, and with each passing mark the outer world became more haunting and bizzare. Was I the ghost, or not? In this time and now, it was the others.

Genie had warned me to run in the opposite direction of Louis, and by then it had already gone to far— and besides that, Ms. Downings had arrived sheer months ahead of time, seeming to have moved mountains to have come upon the dawn to report— the dawn, being, my awakening.

I had lived and lived again and to this alone I was a ghost, but had been tied to my dear keepers and brethren as an admirer— and also, perhaps, to be admired, which was just enough reflected in my dear heart's eyes as it was the cold truth of the seers and the keepers— and the darker the under becomes, the more glistening the surface, and truly, in the caverns of the harsh light of the dawning, I could only amask that it had been not days and night since my last parting, as sometimes, generations— another marker for what was all to come, the knowing that I would be sheathed in truth.

What Louis had taken Faye might have very well taken with it, but I was undauntingly and hideously unchanged from my oath. These things, even betrayal, were to remain, as I undone, as secrets. In truth, the Seeker's oath is not yet in the unkept truth, but in the disguise of the awakening it brings.

Genie was belonged to by a power couple—Louis in this sense was also belonged to, but in a wary way to that these ties had been severed, and crossed, and cut, and broken; In my arrival, entire times had been shattered and worlds set to move in a backwards fashion, the sun as shining as to rise in the west, and set east, or to raise to the north with no southward bound to travel.

There, in the time of my arrival, things had been ruined, and though coming as any does with the bearing of a name, Victoria Shriver-DuPont, to be called— I was nonesuch to any title at all. In this lies the betrayal, and in the dawn of my awakening there beconed the call of this man, dear brother Louis as not either his name or his title any, but of his calling. There, the truth had also been shattered and met with the time to call all of our brothers, as keepers and wishers, seers and seekers, knowers and keepers, to guide the light which calls.

Chapter Three:

“Gene Hope”

As Televamgelests go, Gene DeLaney was not your average showman, either religiously nor by any given standards. His chosen stage name, or rather, bestowed harrowed the scene's Prince of Megatropolis, a gesture that all things reachable could be heard and felt by his voice and might.

But more to know about Gene Hope—actually by law, Gene DeLaney were his highly publicized personal effects and efforts—appearances, connections, and politics. Well groomed in the art of culture and confirm, Gene had hoped to portray an otherwise arbitrary anyman, and yet was still in his way, a remarkable celebrity.

There were wordless forms of nonconformity and rebellious ambition in his sheer collusion and pace. His walk, the elegance of a loyal court man, and the actual reverence of a madman, made him the go-to guy for all things knowing. The cruelty of it, being, that not particularly tied to that of the believes and mantras of a religious man, and in that the duty of nature being the times that we cross paths. The knowing but not all that is known, and thus, the keeping.

I want to fold myself over in half

I'm so in music with you

I want to say words that make you laugh

I'm so in music with you

I don't know

I don't know

I don't know

I don't know

I don't know wholesome no more

I don't know

I don't know

I don't know

I don't know

If I should open the door

I'm lost to your world;

But I don't want to go.

I'm stuck in your notebook

So wrong for you code

But this is no

(Recommended) friendship

This is no means to an end

I want the beginning of never ending

But this?

I just want it to end

I'm as scared and as sorry

As bad as I was

I'm up in my bedroom, which hasn't a door

I'm up in my head, and I haven't a code

I wanted to get on the boat

But the ocean was gorgeous

And all the world kept me afloat

You know

I got no reason to act out

It's tragic how magic just happened to pan out

We're still drifting as Pangea,

I wanted you to leave

Just so that I could be there.

You wanted potion for control

You got it?

I'm stuck in your notebook,

So open the door

You're right,

She's adorable, all for you

So goes the snow one and so

As you throw the door, or the bone

I called it a home for the force that was locking it all away

I don't want nothing but wanting and wanting

And I don't ant love I just wanted a sub direction

This is just glimpses of perfect

And glimpses of persons

And glimpses of lessons

This is just getting in heads, and more headaches

And bed frames

And glitches

Santa Barbara, Ann Arbor—

All the days and all the days and all thof ways

Were still drifting away like Pangea

(Only to do whatever you say)

I was your heachache

This wasn't monotony

If it's all autonomy

wel then someday,

Maybe you'll make me

For now I'm just an artificial

Figment of this existence

Joel wants a girl

But Ive never been loved like a girl

(I don't know how to be)

And if whoever wants a woman

When a man gives me the whole of it

And only whatsoever then shall I amount to anything

And anything at all, if love

Is in the eyes and hands

In either daughter or a son

I've

‘M nothing at all

If not a mother

And I'm no mother at all, so

Everything becomes impossible as one

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Maybe I'm not afraid because it just feels temporary.

The noise in the apartment made it easy to let go, and better yet, because of the noise— the only way a pro bono lawyer might speak with me is if I was evicted— then, explaining away that from the day I moved into the apartment my mental health began to spiral and, that recovery from homelessness and having left an abusive relationship became impossible with motorcycles and modified cars circling like buzzards, gangsters slanging on the corner banging music I hated, and an all around environment of unwellness, in which I was unable to cope with the mechanisms of even the simplest tasks, after being bombarded by these hellish people. I was sure that speaking with one sort of lawyer and explaining my heavily documented case would eventually lead to meetings with another kind of lawyer who would see my case and agree that I had been attacked, and severely wounded— and eventually, probably, compensated.

It simply wasn't facet of my imagination but seemed there was sort of hate group targeted to stalk and harass me— even in Manhattan, after visiting the Apple Store, a random pair of motorcycles approached and revved their engines thunderously as I walked back to the studio, even startling another passerby, as she shook her head as if to say “that was horrible”, with this look of fear and disgruntlement. It had been two years of this for me, though, and so I was somewhat used to it. It still hurt, but not the way it used to. Inside, sort of like the way a boxer knows how to take a punch because he's trained for it.

But this was not my job, and I was not getting paid, unless I could actually put my mind together enough to assimilate some sort of strategy; a lawsuit against the property management and the city itself for allowing the harassment, and at the end of the day, it didn't much care who was responsible, and whether it was politics or street theatre— I just wanted it to stop. I could honestly say that any sort of legal action was indeed not about the money, but rather an escape. Would I live in New York if I did not have to? Not by any means, anyway, in the way I did.

Just the view alone set me off, and anytime one of the foam panels fell out of the window from sun or dust and the lot of cars and busy intersection peered through, a gut wrenching anxiety came over me like the way it did when I first saw it; even then, when I first viewed the apartment, I knew that something bad had happened here before I even moved in— and it was bad, the constant motorcycle attacks, and at one point they were not at all writeable enough off as “normal noise”, the way they used to wait until I was almost a sleep to rip through the block and create sonic booms that sounded like bombs—eventually these kinds of attacks stopped but it was around the first year that I started to realize due to these series of traumas my brain was wired differently.i understood that she's were acts of war, but why? I had no intentions of stirring anything up in this place and honestly, from the start, because I was stuck, I had just wanted to get out.

Hold on. I got two jokes.

Ok.

What was the one about—

Oh, it's so simple but since they hate black women so much it would probably make a white audience laugh.

My ex punched me so hard, I thought I was going to run for president in 2028.

That's it?

That's the joke.

That not a joke.

You're right. That's not a joke.

I'm not though.

I realized that.

Please. Don't hit me.

[beat]

Unless you hit me hard enough that I actually become the actual president.

Then, you're free to assassinate me.

Thats the joke?

Yeah.

What a horrible joke.

Yeah. Kind of.

Okay. What's the other one?

Ok.

(Who is Sean Ryan)

Idk.

[Sean Ryan was the Showrunner of The Shield, Starring Michael Chiklis and Walton Goggins__which ran from 2001-2007, and also fostered the writing career of Kurt Sutter, who went on to create Sons of Anarchy.]

Anyway.

One of the contestants from hot ones calls Sean and goes,

Sean!

And Sean's like:

Whaddup?

Sean! How do you do this bro?

[sean is eating ghost pepper cereal for breakfast with ice cold horchata )

Ew.

Nice.

It was gonna be milk but

SEAN EVANS

(Aside)

The cinnamon gives it a nice schwing.

Apparently,

The training for hot ones is a non-stop tolerance-topper.

Sean RYAN is always doing his best to outdo himself.

Yeaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!

Thats right.

Any fucking way.

Sean! How do you do this everyday, buddy!

Do what?

My butthole is burning!

I don't have one.

You— what?

I do not any longer have a butthole.

Beg your pardon.

I got it removed.

What.

What.

Hold on, it's a multilayer joke.

2x Joke multiplier!

Are we still playing this game?

OH YEAH!

goddamn. I really wanna see this fictional koolaid movie.

WHERE'S SETH ROGEN?

ROB LOWE is directing an episode of ENTER THE MULTIVERSE.

DIRECTOR

Quiet on Set!

He turns to DRAKE BELL who is reprising his role as TIMMY TURNER.

ROB LOWE

Sorry, is that triggering to you?

Nothing is said but instead he just shoots him a look.

really on it with the zingers today.

What can I say. I juice fasted and then ate like a normal person so maybe— I don't know.

What's that supposed to mean.

Everything is temporary.

My next run isn't scheduled until after midnight but I might climb on the Peloton for an ironic spin.

I owe everyone money.

Not in the way that I ever wanted to be this bum, but in the way that all of my jobs have been awful enough that— honestly, I never quit, it just eventually all falls apart.

I've been almost fondly remembering the—

{Season 5}

—summer in Las Vegas I had two awful jobs, no car, no place to live, and

One boss who looked like Dillon Francis—

And well.

INT. LAS VEGAS ATHLETIC CLUB. WHENEVER.

ITS OPEN 24 HOURS!!!

WHEEEEEE!!

Omg that guy looks just like Jimmy Fallon.

BEFORE

Oh, hi Jimmy.

Hey! You finally noticed.

I been noticing.

You know I'm in a screen, right?

You're in all the screens.

Not all of them.

ALL THE SCREENS

A large wall of paneled Televisions hangs above the cardio center.

…

…

MEANWHILE

For while, the dude was everywhere. And I mean—

Yo! I swear to God—

—don't do that!

— every time I look at a fucking tv, you're on it!

shhh—watch your language!

For what! You're on the Telivision, I'm not.

You are on the Television!

I'm not!

—look just— trust me I don't have enough time before we're about to cut to co—[mmerciial!]

[cuts to commercial]

That dude is weird.

Hm. That dude does look like Jimmy Fallon.

— and one boss that looked like—

Well, you get it.

Yes he does.

Very much so.

Hm.

Should I fuck him?

Ew!

No!

What!

Gross .

No. Take his job!

What?

This incompetent drunken loser was, for a very short time— my manager.

Just then when the car alarm when off, I express my not so subconscious, and must remark

To remind my dear audience that this SUPACreature

Is exponentially explicit, hence the

Sexual exploitation of he who is hereby known

As

[Not] Jimmy Fallon.

He was maybe the worst boss I ever had.

If not the worse, definitely one of them.

He was always drunk,

Slept on the job,

Was inappropriately explicit,

Sexualized everything,

And bitterly racist,

Lived with his mother,

Had social problems

And was,

Of course—

Completely incompetent.

Two hosts sit watching the serason premiere with popped corn.

Oh. That's clever

That's funny.

See, those redactions could have been anybody.

They were anybody.

M— Jimmy!?

Which Jimmy?!

Last time I had a visionary dream about Jimmy Kimmel he was holding a white candle.

At any rate, they were out of black, and I have no idea what that's supposed to mean, but I can only assume that when any host takes an extended hiatus, it's some kind of

Contractual agreement.

Ah-hem…

Sign it.

I don't know… about… that.

And why not?

This creature is one of the most powerful in the multiverse.

[Jimmy Fallon]

TINA FEY

What. Are you serious.

—and that's my time.

Just trust me on this—

NO.

Pretty please!

Oh, welL, since you made it pretty.

Really?

NO. Absolutely not.

You are increasingly difficult.

I learned to brew at thought at wishing wells

Again, I gallop, striving to dance past the forced illusions of a non-corrupt decision,

The end is near and also, simply

The Division.

ENTER THE MULTIVERSE: L E G E N D S —

The Rock and And the Kite Part X:

The Division Bell

Part 10?!

Yes.

How is it part ten? Where are parts 6 through 9

I don't know.

I have no clue.

(You have no idea)

Oh. I get it.

The parenthesis are the voice of God.

(It's all the voice of God,

These are just more strong dictations.)

Fix your diction!

Fix your Dick Nixon if it don't swing left;

On a finite curve,

It switches with any direction,

Irregular, my guest;

I could have asked that.

I have no tact,

And no talent,

No candles left,

I can't relax!

I just happen to have

What I know I can't stand,

And that's—

High standards for a man.

So I imagined a fantasy.

My next run was scheduled for midnight but I'd spent the month suffocating and suffering in waist trainers navigating vampires and I had even been stood over by the actual Devil herself on the subway ride home.

What even was the point of running all this way and eating all this well If no matter who I tried to love would really turn to the same old evil thing that wanted me dead in the first place?

Being honest, I still didn't know what it was at all— but maybe it was always going to try to bite me no matter what I did.

So It didn't matter much when the overdue balance came equal to the amount I needed to purchase club standard CDJs, I didn't care about anything because I was never treated fairly with honest or good intentions.

Not even from my birth, or my mother, and perhaps that was the problem. My human perception of the world was trained by this thing who could never really see my value or worth in the way that it would take to be fully loved. Something was always wrong with me, and so something was always wrong with the world.

All I knew was, I wasn't panicking though it had been an obvious attack— the email had sent as I orgasmed, after a series of the same old system of stress I'd been in for years— revving engines and long bangs and other methods of keeping me from reaching climax— but it was my body, and so just because I was under surveillance for whatever reason; perhaps they were listening and this self release made them uncomfortable, but I needed it. It had been years since my last loving embrace— since my last touch, or stroke, or kiss— and so yes, while admittedly my senses were out of place, they were also heightened in that I knew what was happening in my apartment was wrong, and the worse it got, the more I kept track of the things that were happening, the better off I'd eventually end up, just by respecting myself and my own time. I needed recovery; running down the the gym to be hatestalker by some half naked model or some egotistical little man throwing and slamming things around was going to do no better for my psyche even with a run considered; instead of a mile of mantras, it would instead become a mile of trying to ignore whatever whoever had followed me into the gym was doing to get my attention.

Luckily I had a Peloton in my room and with any luck at all, by the afternoon I'd have all the focus in the world to ride it— but for now I was writing, and thinking, and feeling my insides out after a long month sonic alchemy, which had also resulted in my finally reaching the conclusion that I was indeed being followed around.

But why?

Lil bitz

Yo imagine if Amazon had a comment section.

Not like reviews but an actual like—

Comment section for the ads and products.

Don't act like it wouldn't be the little place to just, like, go.

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Dying

I woke up like this

I woke up like this

I woke up like this

But a little different

But a little different

I woke up a star

I woke up a star

I woke up a star

Then became a planet

Then became a planet!

I'm a hummingbird

I'm a hummingbird

I'm a hummingbird

But I don't like flying

dissappear. Set list

Out West

Nothing Left

High

Red Dawn

Noah

Apocalypse!

Girl code code music

A very petite Asian woman gets on the train

I'm CHARLIEZE THERON

Uh. Okay.

CHARLIZE THERON, a shapeshifter has entered the multiverse.

| yo why is Skrillex back in this show.

SUNNI BLU

YO FUCK YOU SKRILLEX I TOOK YOU OFF MY SHOW, YOURE NOT IN THIS SHOW.

I am this show.

Look, I'm Skrillex.

But why.

I k ow l

Right.

{Enter a the Multiverse}

Yo where the fuck is this.

this is “eventually”

How did I get to ‘eventually'

Everything always gets to eventually…

“Eventually”

I get it.

Yeah.

Better than “if”

Yes it is.

Okay.

A general lack of emotion

stifled

I already learned to know you

Want to know more

But can't smile

At all

No

Building your creative assets directly feeds into your larger vision.

Let's adjust your schedule to account for this. This will make July 1st and 2nd your core focus on recordings, and we'll factor in your necessary two hours of exercise before heading into Manhattan.

Revised Schedule Focus: July 1st & 2nd (Sound Collective & Exercise)

Morning (Focus: Personal Well-being & Prep for Sound Collective)

* 6:00 AM - 6:30 AM: Wake Up & Hydrate

* 6:30 AM - 8:30 AM: Exercise Block (2 hours total)

* 6:30 AM - 7:30 AM: Peloton (minimum 1 hour)

* 7:30 AM - 8:30 AM: Run (1.15 miles), Strength Training (Kettlebells, Squats, Boxing/MMA drills) – combine these to hit your 2-hour target.

* 8:30 AM - 9:00 AM: Shower, Quick Breakfast, & Prep for Manhattan Trip

Late Morning / Afternoon (Focus: Sound Collective Recordings)

* 9:00 AM - 10:00 AM: Travel to Sound Collective (Factor in travel time to Manhattan from Brooklyn).

* 10:00 AM - 5:00 PM: Sound Collective Recordings (7 hours of focused work)

* Dedicate this entire block to collecting as many sounds and recordings as possible from the instruments you don't have at home. This is your core mission for these two days.

* Be efficient: Have a clear plan for what you want to record, set up quickly, and maximize your time on each instrument.

* Bring any necessary hard drives or recording devices to capture everything.

* Brief lunch/snack break built-in during this period to maintain energy.

* 5:00 PM - 6:00 PM: Travel back home.

Evening (Focus: Wind Down & Light Tasks)

* 6:00 PM - 7:00 PM: Dinner & Decompress from intense day.

* 7:00 PM - 9:00 PM: Light Tasks / Flex Time (2 hours)

* This is where you might fit in a bit of social media content creation/scheduling (since you're collecting new sounds, you'll have new material to tease).

* Brief email check (focus on urgent items only, don't get sidetracked).

* Organize recordings from the day: Quickly backup and label your new audio files.

* 9:00 PM - 9:30 PM: Plan for the next day, particularly your Sound Collective objectives.

* 9:30 PM - 10:00 PM: Wind Down

* 10:00 PM: Bedtime

Re-Prioritizing Beyond July 2nd:

Once July 1st and 2nd are complete, your schedule will shift immediately to tackle the other critical priorities:

* July 3rd, 4th, 5th (and potentially 6th & 7th if needed): Podcast Series Archiving (Hard Deadline: July 11th)

* This becomes your absolute top priority immediately after Sound Collective. You have a tight window to get this done. Dedicate minimum 6-8 hour blocks to this daily until it's finished.

* As discussed, meticulous documentation of dates and descriptions is crucial here.

* Post-July 7th (or when podcast is done): Legal Packets for Noise/Harassment

* As soon as the podcast archiving is complete, pivot to this. Prioritize securing that safe, quiet space outside your apartment to work on these sensitive documents.

* Block out those 2-3 dedicated days for assembling the packets, going to the police station, and the Comptroller's office.

* Ongoing Concurrent Tasks (Once Primary Deadlines are Met):

* Finding a Stable Job: Dedicate 1-2 hours daily to applications, networking, and tailoring your resume. This is a consistent, foundational effort.

* Assembling Pitch Packets for Series: Allocate specific blocks (e.g., 1-2 hours, 2-3 times a week) for research, outlining, and drafting core materials.

* Rebranding -Ū.: Fit in 15-30 minute bursts for research into Apple Music visibility, name change analysis, and developing your rebranding strategy.

* Mixtapes & DJ Sets: Once your core deadlines are met and you have your new Sound Collective recordings, you can integrate your 1-2 hours for this back into your daily routine.

* Podcast Creation (daily 1 hour): This can also be reintroduced once the archiving is done and the legal packets are in progress.

This revised plan ensures you hit your critical Sound Collective recording window while keeping your overall ambitious goals in sight. Remember to fuel yourself adequately and prioritize sleep during these intense days. You're tackling a lot, and your ability to adapt and prioritize is a strength.

Here's your revised 7-day graveyard schedule, incorporating two 1-hour Peloton sessions daily: one after waking up and another low-impact session before bed for reviewing your sunrise mixtape.

Important Notes for the Week:

* Vary Gym Times: The 1-hour run and training slot between 11 PM and 3 AM remains flexible. Adjust it daily based on your assessment of when the gym is truly empty and when you feel safest.

* Safety First: Given the stalking concerns, please continue to be highly vigilant. Vary your routes, be aware of your surroundings, and consider any additional safety measures recommended by the authorities or support organizations. Documenting incidents is crucial.

* Amazon Fresh Delivery: I've kept the 2-hour Amazon Fresh delivery slot on Saturday. The exact timing might need slight adjustment based on Amazon Fresh's real-time slot availability.

* Podcast Archiving Deadline: Keep the July 11th deadline for podcast archiving firmly in mind. This is your primary focus during the main "Core Music & Podcast Block."

Graveyard Shift Schedule: July 3rd - July 9th

Sunrise Times for NYC (approximate):

* July 3rd: 5:29 AM

* July 4th: 5:30 AM

* July 5th: 5:30 AM

* July 6th: 5:31 AM

* July 7th: 5:31 AM

* July 8th: 5:32 AM

* July 9th: 5:33 AM

Daily Template (July 3rd - July 9th)

* 7:00 AM - 3:00 PM: Sleep

* Prioritize deep, uninterrupted sleep. Use blackout curtains, earplugs, white noise.

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate

* Slowly wake up, drink water, have a light meal.

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning - 1 hour)

* Get your blood flowing with a Peloton session.

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Paperwork / Flex Time (1.5 hours)

* This is your block for tasks like legal documents (Noise/Harassment packets - as soon as podcast archiving is done), organizing, emails (urgent only), job applications, assembling pitch packets. These tasks can tolerate some apartment noise.

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner & Decompress

* Prepare and eat a substantial meal.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Prep for Night / Mental Wind-Up (2 hours)

* This is a flexible buffer before your intense creative work. You could use it for:

* Planning for the night's music/podcast work.

* Light social media content creation/scheduling.

* Brief research for rebranding -Ū. (15-30 min bursts).

* On grocery shopping day, this might overlap with delivery/unpacking.

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Core Music & Podcast Block (2.5 hours)

* Podcast Series Archiving: This is your absolute top priority. Dedicate significant time here.

* Work on sound design, recording (if applicable at home), or Mixtapes/DJ sets.

* 11:00 PM - 12:00 AM (or flexible between 11 PM - 3 AM): Gym (1 hour)

* Run (1.15 miles) & Strength Training (Kettlebells, Squats, Boxing/MMA drills).

* Crucially, vary this time daily within the 11 PM - 3 AM window. Assess the gym's emptiness and your safety each day.

* 12:00 AM - 12:30 AM (or immediately after gym): Shower & Post-Workout Fuel

* 12:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Extended Core Music & Podcast Block (3.5 hours)

* Continue Podcast Series Archiving (this is where the bulk of your 6-8 hour daily archiving will happen).

* Dive deep into Mixtapes & DJ Sets preparation.

* Focus on other creative music work that requires quiet.

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set

* Gather your equipment and head to the rooftop/lounge.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set at Sunrise (1 hour)

* Utilize this time for your DJ sets while the rooftop and lounge are most likely empty, catching the sunrise.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact - 1 hour)

* A low-impact session to wind down and review your sunrise mixtape.

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down & Prep for Bed

* Tidy up, put away equipment, and prepare for sleep.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime

Specific Day Adjustments:

Thursday, July 3rd:

* Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM)

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning)

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Paperwork / Legal Packet Review.

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Plan for Podcast Archiving, brief Rebranding research.

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Podcast Archiving.

* 11:00 PM - 12:00 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness).

* 12:00 AM - 12:30 AM: Shower & Fuel.

* 12:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Podcast Archiving (main push).

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact).

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime.

Friday, July 4th:

* Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM)

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate.

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning).

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Paperwork / Job applications (1-2 hours).

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Assembling Pitch Packets (2 hours).

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Podcast Archiving.

* 11:30 PM - 12:30 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness, e.g., slightly later).

* 12:30 AM - 1:00 AM: Shower & Fuel.

* 1:00 AM - 4:00 AM: Podcast Archiving.

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact).

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime.

Saturday, July 5th:

* Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM)

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate.

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning).

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Paperwork / Legal Packet review.

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Amazon Fresh Grocery Delivery & Unpacking (2 hours).

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Podcast Archiving.

* 11:00 PM - 12:00 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness).

* 12:00 AM - 12:30 AM: Shower & Fuel.

* 12:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Podcast Archiving (ensure you're making major progress towards July 11th).

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact).

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime.

Sunday, July 6th:

* Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM)

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate.

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning).

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Job applications / Networking.

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Flex Time (Rebranding, light social media).

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Podcast Archiving.

* 12:00 AM - 1:00 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness, e.g., later end of window).

* 1:00 AM - 1:30 AM: Shower & Fuel.

* 1:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Podcast Archiving / Mixtapes & DJ Sets.

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact).

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime.

Monday, July 7th:

* Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM)

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate.

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning).

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Paperwork / Legal Packet work.

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Assembling Pitch Packets.

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Podcast Archiving (last full day before the 11th).

* 11:00 PM - 12:00 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness).

* 12:00 AM - 12:30 AM: Shower & Fuel.

* 12:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Podcast Archiving (final push here if not done, or transition to Legal Packets).

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact).

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime.

Tuesday, July 8th:

* Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM)

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate.

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning).

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: PRIORITY: Legal Packets for Noise/Harassment (if podcast archiving is done). If not, continue podcast archiving.

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Job applications.

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Legal Packets / Other core tasks.

* 11:30 PM - 12:30 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness).

* 12:30 AM - 1:00 AM: Shower & Fuel.

* 1:00 AM - 4:00 AM: Legal Packets / Mixtapes & DJ Sets.

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact).

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime.

Wednesday, July 9th:

* Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM)

* 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate.

* 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning).

* 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: PRIORITY: Legal Packets for Noise/Harassment.

* 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner.

* 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Rebranding -Ū. / Flex Time.

* 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Legal Packets / Mixtapes & DJ Sets.

* 11:00 PM - 12:00 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness).

* 12:00 AM - 12:30 AM: Shower & Fuel.

* 12:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Legal Packets / Mixtapes & DJ Sets.

* 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set.

* 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set.

* 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact).

* 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down.

* 7:00 AM: Bedtime.

Half a mile at 5.4 miles per hour was harder on my little pink treadmill—but it was better than nothing and I still hadn't climbed upon the Peloton.

The half hour or so episodes of The Studio seemed excruciatingly somehow longer than an hour of listening to my own voice to enjoy the ride— and though it was my second time watching it through, it was like watching it with different eyes and ears; rather than the spectacle of seeing something I absolutely loved for the first time, it was dissecting it, and taking it apart, much like I had spent my final hours at the sound collective doing so with music that I loved, or admired, I respected— taking a nearly $4,000 mixer and pulling sounds I liked apart, and namingly, Skrillex once again had set himself apart, because even in slowing down to nearly a stop and pitching to the absolute lowest frequency, there was a clear reminisce of the song in entirety actually seeming to even sit in another dimension itself— the highs, lows, and mids couldn't be filtered out at all; there was always some sort of shadow or projection of the complete song intact that seemed to be in another space.

That alone almost sent me crawling back just to listen to the greatest of times as far as Skrillex was concerned or even mattered; actually, in fact, in reality, or in waking life on whatever planet I was on, and wherever realm I lived, he almost didn't; I almost actually thought more of the tiny and petite women that were constantly surrounding him than he himself; and actually, moreso, when I did think of him at all besides musically— It was instantly a sudden hell of women and perfect bodies and luxury culture than it was about whoever had been inside once, flitting away at these monumental catophronic sonic masterpieces only to be nibbled at and eaten away by what fame monster lurks for he who stumbles upon it— the narrow mindedness of it, in fact, they I will still a shallow soul, and a jealous woman, and so besides musically, Sonny didn't fit into the Skrillex for much more than a moment, especially as I was reverse engineering the equation with the answer given first and calculating by removing the algebraic quantities— still gasping for air at how, which I was sure we all were, only known to the world in the ways he very much never did share or teach the concept that would blossom this sort of anomoly in his craft, and thereby creating this power over all of us who dare to call ourselves producers, or engineers, and nevermind the flocks pretending to be or ever-reaching toward becoming that. In my listening back to my newly acquired sound banks, I realized this as the impossible.

Anyhow, there remained galaxies of space and time between the words and the ways I myself stuck upon gold as subtle genius, but only in these ways and not the other and in that sense I was sure I'd been consumed by not one monster, but a family of them— swallowed whole by a rabbit hole of sorts that seems to split into a cosmic and gaping black one, sweeping everything with it that was and wasn't which remained to be a subtle force of waking doom; the reality that I was both all of these things, and also— wasn't.

What are you drawing?

Conclusions.

Classic.

Did you feast on the blood of your enemies today?

No.

Did you look into the face of danger?

No.

Well— what did you do today?

I'm actually just waiting on this Amazon order.

Wreckage!

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

SUNNI BLU wakes up in her BEACHSIDE MALIBU BUNGALOW. A member of her posse enters sleepily.

CURFEW

…are we going surfing?

SUNNI BLU lifts her eye mask to observe the grey and stormy tsunami level monster wave crashing heinously into the rocky cliff side—

In the distance, an entire dock collapses.

SUNNI

…Yes.

SUNNI BLU in a suicidal rampage, becomes quite by accident, even more hideously famous, after riding a monsterous storm wave— the California southern coast's largest ever recorded— safely to shore.

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.

Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™]

Fonts get into into it

Quinta Brunson

In the box

Or is your frontin

He said,

“I want to hurt you”

Did you?

Did you?

I want to hold you,

Dissolve you

Completely disarm you—

Did you—

Did you?

I don't want to feed you to the wolves

But I absolutely will

I absolutely will if I have to

“I wanted to hurt you.”

Said,

Did you?

Did you?

I wanted to hold you.

Did you?

Did you?

I don't want to harm you;

Completely disarm you

Did you?

Did you?

A complete totality.

A complete fatal—

Did you ask me?

For what, I wonder

I was nobody at all

I'm no one

I don't want to feed you to the wolves

But I absolutely will if I have to.

Problem solved.

(I Wonder.)

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

Had no idea I was recording but here's what I got after like 6 minutes of my stomach gurgling and some extremely uncomfortable shallow breathing.

Somebody should tell her.

Can you walk my dog

Before we fuck?

My girl's not home.

Wanna walk my dog.

My neighbor is cheating on his girl but that's not my business.

YOU LET HER WALK OUR DOG!!!?

BEFORE:

V.O.

That's not my neighbor…

[an evil blonde girl with blue eyes smiles maliciously as she exits the building walking a small black dog]

…But that's their dog.

LATER THAT NIGHT.

V.O.

I heard them fucking through the paper thin walls of the apartment.

That is definitely not my neighbor.

…somebody should tell her.

YOU LET HER WALK OUR DOG?!

That is not my business.

Gee, God, I thought you'd never show up.

[ensues Horrible guitar playing with acrylic nails]

Self

You never employ these two fingers.

Also Self

Cause they don't work.

Try medicating that.

They would try!

(No thanks, I'll do it myself.)

Dumb twat.

I don't want to call people that…

Thats's just what I am.

Yo.

Somebody tell her!

Somebody tell her!

…that's not my business.

Maybe she already know.

Cabinet slamming is a nasty business!

YOU LET THAT BITCH WALK OUR DOOOOOG?!

Yo, fuck that dog.

Ugly ass chihuahua.

[ensues more bad guitar playing with acrylic nails.]

[basic ass surf music and some suspicious ass licks]

[atrocious traffic noise]

Jack went down the rabbit hole

Jill came back and asked for more

Then she saw that Jack was gone

[over all]

After all she all,

She carried on

After all, she carried on

After all she carried on

After all she carried on.

Heheheh.

[ghetto people yelling in the street like animals]

Jack flew down the wishing well…

[car honking that always honks whenever I try to make music and start succeeding (but never actually leaves the lot.)]

What happened first?

Uh. Jack went down the rabbit hole.

Yeah. And then?

Auh— [nothing], Jill didn't follow him. She just carried on.

Jack flew down the wishing well.

[the traffic pics up; the ghetto people start acting a fool. Yes. My windows are closed. My focus is broken by the noise.]

Crème filling!

Nothing but— crème filling!

Oh! I want a croissant.

A wonderful croissant with butter

And Crème filling.

A wonderful croissant

With butter!

And crème filling

especially when—

—rare!

Especially when!

Crème filling.

Crème filling.

A croissant.

What kind of croissant.

A delicious croissant.

With— butter!

—and

A — special—

No—

Delicious—

With—

Butter

And

Crème filling.

A—

Delicious croissant

With butter

And

Crème

Filling

Where are we from?

Obviously this place is hell.

Why am I here

Why am I here

Why am I here

A…

Fabulous croissant.

[mind you, I've still no idea I'm recording. ]

V.O.

actually, I was assuming I wasn't.

Monologue/ talk with God

[The noise picks up and I get up to record the evidence that my right to peace and quiet enjoyment of my property have been violated severely— then I realize I've been recording the whole time.[

Oh shit.

(Well, there's your answer.)

I didn't know I was recording.

Well, thats's how this all started.

And I guess, how it ends.

It's true, I started the series by accident when in my homeless despair, my talking to God out loud began being recorded by my iPhone just turning itself on and recording at random. In this instance, I had probably started the recording for the motorcycles and forgotten about it, but having been sick for days from the motorcycles and noise to no avail, I had begun to exhibit symptoms of extreme stress much akin to the homelessness in which the series started; erratic behaviors such as speaking freely out loud without the intention of being heard— and yet being heard anyway. I wasn't happy in New York, and I still felt homeless. The insanity might have been trademark New York, but it wasn't trademark me. I counted my blessings and all of my change; I knew I would have to leave for my own health, but I didn't know how—and returning to the streets was not an option. I was done playing the victim, and done complaining— my stomach churning with indigestion and my head gnawing with the congestion of a two year long head cold. Something needed to change, and rapidly— New York was turning against my mind, and my mind was turning against my body. This was no game— it was somebody's business. But to me, it was personal. This was my mind and my body being tampered with, and my soul remained at large.

Something else entirely was begging to take over; whatever was attempting to destroy me had to be destroyed.

Immidiately.

This happy accident had to have been the end of the series— the show would come down soon and everything I had written with it. My life and my safety were at stake. I had nothing to risk, but also nothing to lose.

I think they call that a lose cannon.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™]

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

I represent the respectful west coast

Dressed to reflect my deepest and innermost thoughts

I just bought some time

And a plot of land

I just lost my mind

But I found the promised lands

Kick rocks and aim all your trash into waste baskets

Instagram brats with fake stats and bad habits

Awake but not woke

Got cash but still broke

Suffocating in a choke hold

New York must think I'm New, too

But I'm so old.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

She stole my Rolex!

Why were you wearing a Rolex!?

… I wasn't.

L E G E N D S

You know I'm you, right?

Prove it.

What way.

How many jellybeans are in this jar.

406–

[he sneakily drops one jellybean—]

—407.

Unremarkable bitch.

I pulled the shows off the shelves faster than anyone else could get to them; I was being tortured in my own apartment— and for what reason, I was unsure— but I knew this: everything had to come down and out of the internet. Out of the cloud, and off the grid. Someone was attacking me, and I wasn't safe.

This wasn't just some paranoid or schizophrenic rampage— someone had used technology to hack into my life and make it a living hell. And for what? I had become nearly not useful at all. I wasn't writing or creating like I used to, I wasn't working out. I was catatonic with depression— but it wasn't just some mental disorder or something happening in my mind— other humans— multiple humans, actually, were being used to suffocate me into nothingness. Snuffing out and squandering my creativity and filling me with panic, thoughts of doom— slamming doors on one end and raving engines on the other, my life had turned into a sonic nightmare.

Furthermore, I had begun pulling down every instance of recorded history that had been part of the show; the pattern was remarkable. I had been chased around and tortured for years. This was more than just some rouse— this was a political tactic. Perhaps my once ambitions had been taken too seriously, but I was neither of any interest or threat. Those puppets were in their places and in all I didn't care what happened— unless it was directly to me or at me, which it often was. I stayed silent, knowing that everything was at risk. I was certainly being watched and listened to inside of and outside of my apartment and I realized that no matter how I tried to report or rationalize it with anyone else, it all made me sound crazy. Everyone and everything around was programmed to react as if the things were happening were not happening at all, or as if I was struggling with some sort of mental illness or delusions, but by now I was actually starting to struggle, because I had been tampered with an altered and tortured and sabotaged to the point of insanity— and there as no help, there was no one to run to. These were military tactics and strategies of war— anyone I could try to tell was being controlled by the entity that was conducting the system of control. The neighbor girl, the traffic sounds, the property management; it was no curse! It was a system designed to drive me crazy in order to limit my functionality and credibility in case I actually did decide to pursue politics.

But I was far from it, and closer to actually disappearing than ever because in a certain respect, I kind of could if I wanted.

What I tell you?

I'm not stupid.

I got trackers.

Fucking crackers.

What I tell you?

I got hacked.

What I tell you?

It's a trap.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

-Ū.

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

-Ū.