HALLE BERRY is that how you spell it It is for now. Fuck going online “That ain't part of my day” Shut up Drake, not now. You'll thank me later “If You're Reading This, It's Too Late” [HALLE BERRY is taking A VERY PAINFUL SHIT, clutching her *favorite OSCAR award-- Which one's her favorite? CUT TO: BEFORE HALLE BERRY looks over her OSCARS in the display cabinet, carefully scanning them, with a New York Times paper tucked under her left arm, sipping from the coffee cup in her right hand.] —I like this guy. The other OSCARS groan; they are often overlooked during this process. Come on! This guy! AGAIN!? UGH. CUT BACK TO: [HALLE BERRY clenches painfully, sweating audaciously—at the worst possible moment, her cellphone rings. ] WHAT THE—COME ON I THOUGHT I WAS IN AIRPLANE MODE. (I just found out The Illuminati can still make calls go through in airplane mode Or without cell service at all) wtf my phone is ringing. That's weird. You don't even— —I don't even have a phone. Right. (Seriously, my phone is disconnected. I didn't even pay my bill.) The fuck. [it's JIMMY FALLON] Damn. This dude has the worst possible timing ever. Like fucking ever. Always shows up at the worst —THE WORST MOMENT. [HALLE BERRY rejects the call. It rings again] WHAT THE— [She ignores the second call. A moment of subtly relaxed silence, until— [JIMMY FALLON appears in the ceiling window of the bathroom. HALLE BERRY SCREAMS, still fluting her OSCAR.] (Calmly, kind of) Hey, WHAT THE FUCK, JIMMY. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? I called first! I KNOW THAT— Went to voicemail. YOU SHOULDNT BE HERE. Just—calm down. NO. Look. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! I'm not in your house, I'm outside your house. Technically. —yeah, but your FACE is in my house— —I hear that's the best part. —What?! Listen— Get out— No, look, listen— I need to borrow your Oscar. What?! For what?! That's not important. Oh really?! Yeah. It seems important. It's not that important Just—- What! Give it to me! [He snatches the OSCAR and tosses her his GRAMMY.] Just—trade me. What! What for?! Just—trust me— I do not— Just trust me—! WHAT! Congratulations. As you were. Kind of. WHAT—JIMMY— [She realizes the ridiculousness of her calling after him. She sits awkwardly with the Grammy in her lap, sighing] —he was my favorite… [SUDDENLY, though the other window Why does this bitch have so many windows in her bathroom that are this penetrate? For the sake of the joke, but probably not something any celebrity should have, are windows where anyone can enter your house from the outside. Fans are weird. CUT TO: AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I LOVE YOU. CUT TO: What's this place. It's my house, Where are the windows? They don't exist. CUT BACK TO [DANE COOK appears through the opposite window.] YO. WHAT THE FUCK! Chill, Halle Berry. WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?! I'm the guy who wrote this. You should have called first! Who do I look like, Jimmy Fallon?! NO. I LIKE HIS face. Huh. Is that what it is… I GUESS I DONT KNOW. —who are YOU—?! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE— I am not in, technically— I DONT CARE! Ooh— Is that a Grammy award?! I didn't know you had a Grammy! Gimmie! [he snatches the Grammy] HEY! Is—what is this, for COMEDY?! FOR COMEDY?! WHY WASNT I MADE AWARE THAT THIS IS A THING?! I DONT KNOW, WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? WHAT THE FUCK. It's not important. What. Anyway, thanks. Toodeloo. The Rock must have been buzzing in some sort of special way on this day; because for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I had finally rearranged the remainder of my seemingly new surroundings— the miniature keurig, a status symbol, of course, looked handsom on the work desk— the cat tree seemed to match, though with no actual feesible monetary income, and no end in sight— the tree itself would have to be enough to lift my spirits. It was a nice cat tree, almost untouched and looking very brand new— though the couch had a few scratches, though easily hidden with the decorative use of a couple throws—at least I had a couch, and all that was left to accomplish before fully enjoying was to arrange an order of Freebreeze to rid it of its previous owner's dandruff smell, and general mismanagement—besides that, it was itself almost brand new as well, and it seemed a strange new world to wake up in, after sleeping in a nearly empty apartment for 6 months; there was 6 months left in my lease, and I was getting nervous that they would try to push me out—hopefully I would find someplace better, or at the very least higher up—with the same amenetire intact. Still, I was working as diligently as in could on organizing—at least the recordings, to put together the next group of projects as quickly as I could— nevermind the writing—and there was so, so much of it, I hadn't a clue what to do. I had been avoiding Rockefeller Plaza like the plague for quite sometime—it always made me nervous in a sort of way I didn't understand, in that I would pulsate and vibrate differently, and more often times than not was upset and concerned that I had yet to go to the top—a costly feat—nor could I afford to entertain or enjoy any of the amusements at the bottom—not that i wanted to, as the older I got, and especially the longer time spent in New York, the more of putting the public and large crowds were—particularly after a remarkably disgusting respiratory infection I caught on new years, battling a crowd which became impossible to move through at all—let alone see the ball drop—and I had learned my lesson, especially after The Macy's Day parade; the crowds in New York were disgustingly unbearable, and in order to get a good view of anything, you would have to arrive nearly a full day early, and simply camp—now I knew why people packed around collapsible lawn chairs on holiday weekends. I had been blindsided by Fallon towards the end of the Macy's day parade—I hadn't any clue at all that he apparentlyboarticipated annually, as it had been years since I had watched the parade myself with my parents—and still, it was iconic—I always wanted to go. Still, and even though I had only written very little of him up to that point, I found it disasterous that as his name was announced and the float which carried him and The Roots, the best late night band on Television, not by opinion, but by fact—as I had most recently been studying and researching as thoroughly as I could all of the late night hosts since the dawning of Television in preparation to write this pilot, The TV People, short handed to TVP—and just then I recalled a dream from the night before, about Pat Kirkpatrick—for the first time in the dream world, it wasn't Fallon at all, but Pat Kirkpatrick. I couldn't remember the dream, nor could I seemingly work myself out of the rut that had been the plateau in writing the show—the show itself was heavy, with so many characters, all of which each had been given detailed and specific personalities, livelihoods, and backgrounds—in fact, I hadn't written anything in such a way since college, with detail—actually, I had never written anything so detailed at all, so character oriented that the character analyses filled entire pages of documents with excruciating vividness, as if these people were real. Well, now they were—and Fallon was neither Patrick as I was Esha, and the story has taken its own form, still however birthing an incredibly awkward and romanticized fascination and near obsession with Fallon—not that I would feed it to be so. I blocked out the news outlets, the media, the alrogithm's suggestions to watch bits and pieces of Fallon, though, however, I refused, and somehow, I didn't need it. Fearfully so, he was somewhere lodged deep inside me—and I was even sort of embarrassed to have written some of the things I had of his essence, however prophetic it seemed to be, that for about a three week period between April and May, I seemed to have gone off into a trance of sorts, writing for hours and experiencing vivid visions of this show, The TV Prople, alongside writing The Festival Project ™ And all of its markers—there were so many worlds, so many ways throughout them—and now as I had realized, I had actually been writing about Fallon nearly as long as I had been writing about Sonny, but differently. I had never of course come face to face with Fallon as I had the latter—and still—found it somewhat nessecary to hide my face beneath a mask as his float passed my viwingbspace, an elevated view from the staircase of some church, which had happened to be perfect—and although I was certain it's not as if he was looking for me—I had just then been writing of this Cosmic Avenger, and hadn't any idea at the time of Fallon in reality having been an actual magician, and still— with cameras everywhere, and knowing even what I had written—I didn't want to be caught by any passing cameras with any sort of blush or worse—a smile on my face as the float passed— a smile which would flash my atrocious gap-tooth and crooked smile I was sure was permanent, by then having been in the homeless shelter nearly a year. As soon as his name was announced, I promptly pulled up my masked. I had already been caught on camera earlier in the parade gawking at some float—now was not the time to be caught gawking again. He, like Rob Lowe seemed impeccably professional and well-rehearsed, like a cartoon character— he was, after all, kind of a cartoon character, however now, even if it was partly due to my own writing, I took him more seriously. There was a darkness about him— a sometimes glassy-eyed, almost scary darkness that told me, even a world away not to fuck with this dude—some kind of animal or monster I was sure we both shared, however mine more the type and category of insatable and undernourished and his more peaking its head out in the form of a multi-millionaire network puppet, which housed an untamable powerhouse of musicianship, manhood, and wit— it's true, I was finally scared of him, knowing after all what the true tears of a clown could be, a dangerous man in a uniformed suit, the Everyman for the programmed masses, and the funny man with a jig to dance, a story to tell, and an indoor life— secret realm within I was sure no one knew. I fed the monster with respect to the home, happy wife, and children— I, after all, loved love, and only wanted it for myself, leaving alone the parts of a man I had found and was sure was broken enough to have left me puzzled and star studded rather than struck as I always was, tears welling up at the thought of it that something should be mended neither I or anything I was could not fix—I continued to write, however, knowing I was walking on glass barefoot and tiptoeing on eggshells around the mass media conglomerate of the network that stood between my feeble world and his, the higher ups— and bryknnd: it was, after all, a level system— and now with a beautifully decorated and fully apartment, besides my mistress on the floor instead of the space saving loft bed I had wanted—though it looked just right with the piano bench as a headboard, housing my crystals and new globe, plus a colorful collection of books I could crack open as I awoke to the morning light, no longer so early but increasingly later, as I shifted into the insomniatic habits of a true DJ and music producer, still writing and reading in the mornings, however— I had to wonder what level I was truly on. My apartment looked like a home. The decor was better than I could have imagined myself even, the tasteful furnishings and modern elegance shifting my reality— no longer an empty apartment, now a fashionable hub for art and creation. I assumed the car would come along in the winter, with any hopes that I would finish my albums by then—and also looming over me— my last life, and the people in in struggling to call up to me in this very ascended realm, which I was lucky to inhabit. ‘Thank you God for your many blessings' My wishes it seemed, had been granted— magic did indeed seem real, and though I had an Amazon return packaged and ready to go— there wasn't a time and place I could see myself as ready to even be near The Rock, some festering bulletwound in my heart, all that I had written, not just of Fallon, but of the rest of the people I had honored by word mark but had not yet the status or wealth to have ever known as human at all, but more products of the program; with intention, however, it was the path I had followed to be destined here somehow though small codes and doorways, signals and symbols which called to me and seemed only I could see—but were there in plain sight, and with the right eyes, had meant more than I ever dreamed anything could— open doors to a world I had indeed created myself, and in turn, the world in which I lived had also been created around me. I had to, in my mind, find the light inside all of whom I studied, to humanize myself—nurturing some fascination of fame and celebrity inside which still stood unanswered, the question of why and how one becomes so high up that without trying, that I might continue to find them in my mind's eye and in my world, on the outside, time after time. —tales of a superstar DJ. https://linktr.ee/codenameblu {Now You See Me} From Google: Charismatic magician Atlas (Jesse Eisenberg) leads a team of talented illusionists called the Four Horsemen. Atlas and his comrades mesmerize audiences with a pair of amazing magic shows that drain the bank accounts of the corrupt and funnel the money to audience members. A federal agent (Mark Ruffalo) and an Interpol detective (Mélanie Laurent) intend to rein in the Horsemen before their next caper, and they turn to Thaddeus (Morgan Freeman), a famous debunker, for help. No, not the google documents! GET IN THE HOLE. Hm. What. Blood Shower All along the watch tower Do you feel good? Do you? Do you feel bad about this. I do. I feel bad about this. I forgot to tell you– I should probably let you know that I just want to MAN, FUCK THIS DUDE. MA. WAHT. IT'S ON. WHAt. THE SHOW IS ON. THEWHAT. THE– *suddenly self aware* …I gotta get out of Boston. What, first this was about war, now it's about bird people? It's about a war WITH the bird people. I should sleep. Hahaha. No. This isn't funny anymore. At least it's over. MA– Oh, it's far from over. Yo, i'm going through some crazy shit right now. Spur of the moment I'd never thought of it; This is gonna take forever. I don't have the patience To even write this I just want french fries right now But been up for two days with no gym and I'm on a diet. GUAC TIME. No, no burritos. GUAC TIME. Oh shit, this is getting real as fuck . NOw i see it three ways. I love it. I hate it. HEY, LET ME OUT. GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, SKRILLEX. I'M DILLON FRANCIS. IN THE HOLE. Check it out. Huh. It's another DJ. *agrees* Should we pick him up. WEll, the good news is: I found your friend. Oh, that's good. The bad news is: He's dead. Oh, that–'s … nice. Yeah. It is. Uh. Kaskade. Yeah. We gotta find Ryan. Why. What's up? You're freaking me out. Why. What's up. Nothing IS it my eyes? I– *wild ass eyes* Yeah, it's probably that. Fuck dude, what did you do to deadmau5. NOTHIN. He's not the same. What the fuck is that. Holy shit I jus timejumped Where the fuck are you going. How the fuck could this happen?! It COULDN'T. Well, that's it then. *shrugs* Well, I guess we're just gonna have to go dig up Dillon Francis. I guess so. Do you think he's still alive. Like, probably not– Maybe… No, probably not @prodbywar& @Halmadeit This amazon order took me nine hours Alexa, I think i should fire her Like a arm I don't leave at night without armor Don't make me a martyr Your mom will be proud of us all If i make it outta here And i'll look after her Got the whole block coming up on my heels as I walk Wtf is it… Idk dude. Is it speeding up? I…i think so. There's no way this is 140 IT's 140. It's 140 . There's no way. Yes way. Nah huh. Let me see. No. Let me at the decks. Let me at the decks. NO. YO LET ME AT THE DECKS. You want deks. Yes. I got deks. Really. yeus . I never listened to it like this In ableton I read serato, synesthesia and rekordbox I talk a lot, I'm like a human music box I walk a lot I run my mouth a mile a minute (faster than i run around the track reciting rap words) Like they're passwords. Oh, I could do this forever.. I wish i had i microphone right now And was all alone With the lights off Lying on the floor I'd be lying if i said I could afford you Just to fornicate But may consider playing with a foreigner If you're all for her I'm unnerved, you know Cause i've been up so long My monster likes to play with boys and Make the bass go down below where Nobody does anymore Once I get a hold of things Or the hang of it You've got another hot ones on your hands I've another record under my belt Or in my roster, Whatever you'd call it But now I've got no time to bark about Wanting a dog and a daughter But none of the responsibility or Going through all the trouble to find her a father I'm still holding a fart in. Reaally–cause–it's been a really long time. WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT A LONG TIME, JIMMY FALLON?? Um a lot! You literally just saw me make the journey all the way up from nothing. I am nothing EXACTLY. I don't have time to fight with you Jiimmy Fallon. I did NOT write these games by myself you know?! Um, excuse me– “GAMES” ?! YES, GAMES. Uh, I've only got one game with you in it, my friend. Is that so! One game that I've written with the Great–formerly LATE Jimmy Fallon. Is that like a play on words cause i'm on late night TV YOu'RE ON ALL THE TIME TV, JIMMY. NBC SHIT IS PRACTICALLY AUTOMATICALLY SYNDICATED. -_- …are you alright. –_-_-__-_ Hold on, I think i've got it Nice, I found a growler. yOu still haven't got all the monsters and sprites Ive got all the big ones, but the little ones are harder to catch. GrO0Wl3rrr. Aww. He's so ugly. Yeah, but cute, though, right. I don't think so. Gro)WwlErrrrrrrrr. Aww. That's so fucking gross. lol . so what does this thing look like. Well, that't the thing about the monsters and sprites. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT. It's alright, it's alright–he's nice. WHAT. THAT'S A SPRITE. No, it's a monster. He's just scary. SUPACREE. David Bowie. What up. God, it took me ages to find you. Tell me about it. I'm still trying. We've been expecting you for a long time. You were expecting I'd die? Yes. So when she says she's “married to the music…” I'm married to the music. Oh, so. Yo, honestly if you een want to talk to this bitch, you'd better have like a musical instrument, or a mic in your hands, Otherwise– No, getawayfrom me. It's not even worth it. HI. –No. What's up? Tempo. SUNNI Cotour From the store I was poor Now i'm honorable In velour, Glamour (Snap) Forsure, Jesus Christs is making appearances in my abletons I'm not able to comprehend or understand exactly the message, But the evidence sire is mounting Get it Reached the temple, More of a sanctuary, Is that sacrilegious I guess it is, I'm stressed as ever Trying to get it together {Enter The Multiverse} Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. I get sensory overload At Trader Joe's Look at the colors The clothes, This sure isn't queensborough Escalators for shopping carts I get it Manhattan I'll take my half BLVCK ass to the projects Where my kind are I don't belong here , God you're intolerant I like this part of town But I'm way too brown And I dropped my crown at the market I should be jealous of everyone But I have learned my place I've been a slave since Hollywood I lost my son to the devil Now I pay child support And terrorist follow me coughing I'm wrong just for being born ! You could start a war from it If that's what you wanted I'm a people watcher people watcher About to board the people mover People mover Slip, Here's the tell Slip, here's the tell I should have a bell around my neck I think she wanted a picture with papa I'm playin my own paparazzi Look mom, I bought a sacafagus There go them niggas with coughs again I been watching em Got binoculars I got oculus, for my oculars Look how hot he is, make me ovulate Man I gotta love it, Cause they love to hate Fucking racist crazies Have it your way I paid for it with my soul You hate but I love to love Somebody just got me fuckes up I don't have a book to run off of Shut up, honey. Now we're all up here Monkey in the middle Cause the middle one is weaker It's getting deeper and deeper Like the sinkhole that my sink is Let it sink in I've been syncing my secrets with demons In dreams sequences It's just a reparative injustice Kamasutra for your wondering words and stuff You can have it It's ruined anyway m Look at all this trash Look at all these classless classes Classwars, Racists. Everybody hates us The Asians, Latinx's The other niggas What being black is I'll write it in cursive It's just a curse, here So you can have it I'm moving to Heaven I'm packing my boxes I'm getting a cat, too! His name is Agustus He's a big one And I love him I just wanted a hug or a husband Instead I got nothing to trying my hardest And got for a bargain at target some coffee For being a targeted body All on an algorithm I guess I'm just useless. A dumb nigger demon Did I just offend you? Then you shouldn't be reading this either I wrote it for pleasure (Or pain) On the one Or the two Or the one Or the two I could do a lot with this $20. I could spend it all on Fuck all of you I'm moving to Heaven Where the heart it She's not harmless She's a terrorist— And I'll kill her, too Look how right she is Look how white she is, Huh Regardless of color It's a race war Lil biiiiitzzz Yooo, fuck New York. In every hole. In every crevice. Fuck this place. It's racist— Not just cause I'm black. Like statistically. It took a whole ass apartment elsesrch to feature this out. I was like “I wanna live in Manhattan” Everyone was like “NOOOOOOOO—-“ Haha “Nooo, no.” I was like “Why not?” The blacks were like: HAHA The whites were like— *COUGHS OBNOXIOUSLY* New York is so racist. It is statistically the most diverse—and most segregated city in the nation At the same time. WHAT. How do you even DO that? But it's true, at this point, the black people are like—fuck this, we'll just stay over here, and over here. And the rich whites are like YES. KEEP THAT SHIT, OVER THERE. Cause if you've ever been to the ghetto. It's some SHIT, It is NOT COOL. I finally got my ‘night card' back. Had it revoked in california . I was almost a whole valley girl. I still eat exclusively at Whole Foods. Trader Joe's. But NO. Now i live in the hood. It's fucking disgusting. I can say ‘nigga' again. Cause it's NIGGAS. Lots of niggas. I'm telling you. It's night and day! The white folks trains smell like bleach— Ammonia. The black folks train smell like a McDonald's. WHAT. Or just— Vomit. I can actually count the number of times just— Vomit—- On the train. Or. Dookie. Yes. Human feces. But I'm ready to go to midtown and it's like the train that goes around Disneyland. Families! People singing! Hey—cotton candy!! —and I didn't have to pick it! Haha! Fuck New York. Racist ass HOLE. I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all. At that party…or rather, kind of—after. That acid that never hit Beyoncé I don't feel it. Man, I'm a terrible influence(r) Just take it. Nah, I'm good— PUSSY. -_- Give me three. K. —suddenly hits BEYONCÉ. BEYONCÉ …I got this. [BEYONCE] however, does not Ohh, shit. — “got this.” A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z What's even after gen z? The fucking apocalypse. Anyway. The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely. Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong. Lol In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel. Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper conciousness, which I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around? I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw— These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific Fuck this is hard to explain Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation. Anyway, what else is happening Oh. All of the celebrities are stuck in— [the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which lol. That never going to happen. Because. Let's face it. I'm scared of …rich people. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm scared of The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality. So why try? [EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same

“The New Adventures of Old Supacree” This is not what I intentioned. Well, what had you intentioned, dammit , how do you spell her name? Spell it? I can barely say it! “C'cx– WRONG. How would you say this name. Axel? Thas' a stupid name Not for a Rockstar. That's already a rockstar Is it? Whatever, man. The Rock must have been buzzing in some sort of special way on this day; because for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I had finally rearranged the remainder of my seemingly new surroundings— the miniature Keurig— a status symbol, of course— looked handsome on the work desk— the cat tree seemed to match, though with no actual feesible monetary income,, no actual cat, and no end in sight— the tree itself would have to be enough to lift my spirits. It was a nice cat tree, almost untouched and looking very brand new— though the couch had a few scratches, though easily hidden with the decorative use of a couple throws—at least I had a couch, and all that was left to accomplish before fully enjoying was to arrange an order of Febreeze to rid it of its previous owner's dandruff smell, and general mismanagement—besides that, it was itself almost brand new as well, and it seemed a strange new world to wake up in, after sleeping in a nearly empty apartment for 6 months; there was 6 months left in my lease, and I was getting nervous that they would try to push me out—hopefully I would find someplace better, or at the very least higher up—with the same amenities intact. Still, I was working as diligently as in could on organizing—at least the recordings, to put together the next group of projects as quickly as I could— nevermind the writing—and there was so, so much of it, I hadn't a clue what to do. I had been avoiding Rockefeller Plaza like the plague for quite sometime—it always made me nervous in a sort of way I didn't understand, in that I would pulsate and vibrate differently, and more often times than not, was upset and concerned that I had yet to go to the top—a costly feat—nor could I afford to entertain or enjoy any of the amusements at the bottom—not that I wanted to, as the older I got, and especially the longer time spent in New York, the more off putting the public and large crowds were—particularly after a remarkably disgusting respiratory infection I caught on new years, battling a crowd which became impossible to move through at all—let alone see the ball drop—and I had learned my lesson, especially after The Macy's Day parade; the crowds in New York were disgustingly unbearable, and in order to get a good view of anything, you would have to arrive nearly a full day early, and simply camp—now I knew why people packed around collapsible lawn chairs on holiday weekends. I had been blindsided by Fallon towards the end of the Macy's day parade—I hadn't any clue at all that he apparentlyboarticipated annually, as it had been years since I had watched the parade myself with my parents—and still, it was iconic—I always wanted to go. Still, and even though I had only written very little of him up to that point, I found it disasterous that as his name was announced and the float which carried him and The Roots, the best late night band on Television, not by opinion, but by fact—as I had most recently been studying and researching as thoroughly as I could all of the late night hosts since the dawning of Television in preparation to write this pilot, The TV People, short handed to TVP—and just then I recalled a dream from the night before, about Pat Kirkpatrick—for the first time in the dream world, it wasn't Fallon at all, but Pat Kirkpatrick. I couldn't remember the dream, nor could I seemingly work myself out of the rut that had been the plateau in writing the show—the show itself was heavy, with so many characters, all of which each had been given detailed and specific personalities, livelihoods, and backgrounds—in fact, I hadn't written anything in such a way since college, with detail—actually, I had never written anything so detailed at all, so character oriented that the character analyses filled entire pages of documents with excruciating vividness, as if these people were real. Well, now they were—and Fallon was neither Patrick as I was Esha, and the story has taken its own form, still however birthing an incredibly awkward and romanticized fascination and near obsession with the TV people themselves—not that I would feed it to be so. I blocked out the news outlets, the media, the alrogithm's suggestions to watch bits and pieces of Fallon, though, however, I refused, and somehow, I didn't need it. Fearfully so, he was somewhere lodged deep somewhere inside of me—and I was even sort of embarrassed to have written some of the things I had of his essence, however prophetic it seemed to be, that for about a three week period between April and May, I seemed to have gone off into a trance of sorts, writing for hours and experiencing vivid visions of this show, The TV Prople, alongside writing The Festival Project ™ And all of its markers—there were so many worlds, so many ways throughout them—and now as I had realized, I had actually been writing about Fallon nearly as long as I had been writing about Sonny, but differently. I had never of course come face to face with Fallon as I had the latter—and still—found it somewhat nessecary to hide my face beneath a mask as his float passed my viewing spaf , an elevated view from the staircase of some church, which had happened to be perfect—and although I was certain it's not as if he was looking for or at me—I had just then been writing of this Cosmic Avenger, and hadn't any idea at the time of Fallon in reality having been an actual magician, and still— with cameras everywhere, and knowing even what I had written—I didn't want to be caught by any passing cameras with any sort of blush or worse—a smile on my face as the float passed— a smile which would flash my atrocious gap-tooth and crooked smile I was sure was permanent, by then having been in the homeless shelter nearly a year. As soon as his name was announced, I promptly pulled up my mask, hiding under my sunglasses. I had already been caught on camera earlier in the parade gawking at some float—now was not the time to be caught gawking again. He, like Rob Lowe seemed impeccably professional and well-rehearsed, like a cartoon character— he was, after all, kind of a cartoon character, however now, even if it was partly due to my own writing, I took him more seriously. There was a darkness about him— a sometimes glassy-eyed, almost scary darkness that told me, even a world away, not to fuck with this dude—some kind of animal or monster I was sure we both shared, however mine more the type and category of insatable and undernourished and his more peaking its head out in the form of a multi-millionaire network puppet, which housed an untamable powerhouse of musicianship, manhood, and wit— it's true, I was finally scared of him, knowing after all what the true tears of a clown could be, a dangerous man in a uniformed suit, the Everyman for the programmed masses, and the funny man with a jig to dance, a story to tell, and an indoor life— secret realm within I was sure no one knew. I fed the monster with respect to the home, happy wife, and children— I, after all, loved love, and only wanted it for myself, leaving alone the parts of a man I had found and was sure was broken enough to have left me puzzled and star studded rather than struck as I always was, tears welling up at the thought of it that something should be mended neither I or anything I was could not fix—I continued to write, however, knowing I was walking on glass barefoot and tiptoeing on eggshells around the mass media conglomerate of the network that stood between my feeble world and his, the higher ups— and beyond: it was, after all, a level system— and now with a beautifully decorated and fully apartment, besides my mattress on the floor instead of the space saving loft bed I had wanted—though it looked just right with the piano bench as a headboard, housing my crystals and new globe, plus a colorful collection of books I could crack open as I awoke to the morning light, no longer so early but increasingly later, as I shifted into the insomniatic habits of a true DJ and music producer, still writing and reading in the mornings, however— I had to wonder what level I was truly on. My apartment looked like a home. The decor was better than I could have imagined myself even, the tasteful furnishings and modern elegance shifting my reality— no longer an empty apartment, now a fashionable hub for art and creation. I assumed the cat would come along in the winter, with any hopes that I would finish my albums by then—and also looming over me— my last life, and the people in it struggling to call up to me in this very ascended realm, which I was lucky to inhabit. ‘Thank you God for your many blessings' My wishes it seemed, had been granted— magic did indeed seem real, and though I had an Amazon return packages and ready to go— there wasn't a time and place I could see myself as ready to even be near The Rock, some festering bulletwound in my heart, all that I had written, not just of Fallon, but of the rest of the people I had honored by word mark but had not yet the status or wealth to have ever known as human at all, but more products of the program; with intention, however, it was the path I had followed to be destined here somehow though small codes and doorways, signals and symbols which called to me and seemed only I could see—but were there in plain sight, and with the right eyes, had meant more than I ever dreamed anything could— open doors to a world I had indeed created myself, and in turn, the world in which I lived had also been created around me. I had to, in my mind, find the light inside all of whom I studied, to humanize myself—nurturing some fascination of fame and celebrity inside which still stood unanswered, the question of why and how one becomes so high up that without trying, that I might continue to find them in my mind's eye and in my world, on the outside, time after time. —tales of a superstar DJ. The men with the littlest dicks Drive the loudest bikes And they talk too much About nothing To no one The men with the littlest dicks Do the littlest things I call it niggardly Dispite the color Follow the leader To instill fear Within earshot The men with the littlest dicks Want the skinniest women The chicks who remind them of Innocence lost A childhood spent Getting boredom for freedom And allowences for doing nothing The men with the littlest dicks Do the littlest shit Like make everyone miserable Yes, it is a miserable existence, Never being wanted, however I should know better than this TINA FEY SON OF A BITCH. (Everyone's still drunk) What. Why, what happened? He got here before us. What?! How do you know? [pause] Okay. This weird detour is paying off in some kind of way— I'm still heavily obsessed with the fact that Johnny Carson referred to his weird drunken jacking off as “cranking it” ON TV. On something close to live television in like— The 80's Was it the 80's? I don't know, And apparently even Johnny Carson doesn't know, because he was “sauced”, So let's just go ahead and add that to the list of ghosts I have to track down for making me squeal like a little fucking schoolgirl. However, I'm half convinced, He's still around— Oh yes. I do believe these— THIS MAN— Oh, holy shit here it goes. HERE'S JOHNNY! Aw, fuck. I told you not do. What was I supposed to do—?! Not do it It was a blood oath— I told you— Mi had to do it. *shrugs* Well, now, you're fucked. STAY DOWN, MOTHERFUCKER. Ooh. This is gonna hurt. I swear to god, Every day of my life: I will KILL YOU YOU CANT KILL ME. AND EVERY DAY THAT YOU DO NOT DIE; I WILL JUST STAY DOWN, MOTHERFUCKER— DIE, MOTHERFUCKER— GO. TO. SLEEP. aaaaaGGGGHhHHHHHHHHHHHH. —I WILL KILL YOU . Don't give up! Seriously! Seriously, I got money on this.z Really? What. How much. Just $10. Oh. That's good Yeah, but it's the only cash I've had in months! I forgot what it was. I'm rich, Everything's cashless. Tickets! Get your tickets! Ze are cheaper here on ze black market. “The Black Market” How much for this one? $9 I'll take three. What the fuck is wrong with you? I WILL KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP. I'M A DJ, BITCH. I DONT SLEEP. Have you ever thought about . What you're gonna be— When you die? Yeah. I've been thinking about it a lot. Okay, what is it. I get three right? Right, yeah. A Superstar DJ. Okay, that's good. What else? A rockstar Okay, what else? A mom. That's it? Yeah, man. I die and gone to heaven, right? Right. So that's it. What's the wager? Four horses. Got it. What exactly brings you here to bargain? My fat and heavy nuts. No questions asked. —tales of a Supersrar DJ VO I didn't know he called back. I didn't even see the message. I feel like such a piece of shit. I am a piece of shit. Worthless. My eyes itch, My nose bleeds My heart hurts now, I'm all gone Dark on Mondays All gone Gone till Sunday All done I was never an good mother No Just a ghost with a gun I was never on top of the world, son Just under it Now I'm all out of something I can't put my hand on And I'm all out of love, No one wants me Imm washed up One hand on the guitar One foot in the door And one head in the oven I'm all done I'm all done My eye itches My nose bleeds The noose loosens, I fall down I'm so stuck on an old number I'm so lost that I'm found now. —I'm so sorry But no one else is Tie me to the bed And watch me bleed So full of disinterest and vinegar Remember to tie me to the crossword In the times tomorrow Four rainbows for your dumb luck A forced fuck from one goat The other still doesn't row well It's a long boat It's a long story It goes untold They all turn to the one who wants to hurt me In the long run Nobody will ever love me again So I'm told Might as well find a bottle of ferment To grow up in Swallow bottles of old wine With a sour tongue Unremarkable SHOUT! Defamed you, Heroism in the— Never hatred, but indifference, Circumstances. Circumcisions Misdirection, Big decisions Defense strategy? To exit— Just as quickly as it all begins to fade away Nearly as quickly as it started, Newfound freedom near the exit, After happenstance, Never afraid to admit to neglect Selected supplies, For fear of the eye Goddammit it, late night people Of course; when was it last you saw letterman on a surfboard? Almost never? Forget to fear them, The men in mirrors, The sharks in surfboards, The writer's block, over The rockstar on opioids Does it hurt anybody else this much to just stand here If Tweety's the Canarybird, When who am I to call myself a cat, Sylvester! The silver streaks in his hair, The glaze in his eyes The break in his heart The health of the hoax FUCK YOU FALLON I hope your ratings went up Just a bit Just a bit I hope you CRANK THIS Up in your car While I forgot about you I hope the peanut butter goes with the jelly The couch fits with the vision covers The cookies go with the coffee haven't mopped the floor yet, of course All out of Pablo santo For your information I just didn't make the grade Cause teacher hates me I still haven't found a mate With every amen I hate me Almost as much as I hate myself And I So I can't be God itself Cause I love that thing Alright? Amen! Can I have a can opener or three to set the record straight Can I scratch as fast as I sniff up every tear Every line of cocaine Every autograph? No you can't. Just know that my landlord has a thougsand bathrooms I can't find my hat, my gun— And where the fuck are the bananas CONAN O BRIEN EXCUSE MY FRENCH, BUT FUCK YOU, WOAAAAAH, CONAN! WOAH! WHAT DID I DO?! You— You fucked up the entire fucking ecosystem With CUMSLUTS! WHAT THE FUCK, BRO! Can you even SAY any of that?! I just did! Which network do you work for?! Where's Fallon at?! he's dead, bro! He's dead?! Yeah! For what?! I don't know. I just found out. Well. What happened. Someone shot him. Again?! Yeah, but like, way worse this time. So they finally got him, ah? No, he died of a heart attack. What! Then they shot him. What. That doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense. This scene is running long. I thought so. DIRECTOR CUT. That was great. Thanks. Except—Conan. Yes? You're too tall. What? Next. Take I want you to try it— Like— Just the way you just did it— Uh huh But smaller: What do you mean? Like, less tall. Oh. Alright. BREAK FOR LUNCH. “The Everymans” 01 I'll know why soon I'm sure It hurts with every word You're sleeping on my floor I'm fuming in the north My foot goes through the door Where were you then, When the mystery ends When the miser's the minister, Mistral and instrumentalist Ah Magic; illusion Illustrious industry Interdependent television Radio signals, Satelites Entropy Trophy wives, Fight clubs Back at nine Nick at night Every time is every time Time is all you need, and Time is on your side, if You just follow me Reader's remorse Writer's digest Try to sit still for a moment, Take a lesson From your friends here So when, then should I trade my Brand new pants in for a suit The bird said The cat damaged (I can't yet) Can of soup to open, Oh yes Cambells is it? Warhol knows best 02 I thought I told you I don't want to Owe you Are you Over it Somebody once told me You were holy Somebody once told me To hold onto Somebody once said Turn the light off But I've been trying To buy fire Someone's in the box, God Someone once told me Someone let me out—God? Someone once told me Fuck it, I just want to hold you I don't want to own you I just want to Someone once told me Beware of you Someone else told me Be there for you Someone once told me The hair of dog Ought to get you along I got handfuls of songs With no worlds yet Someone once told me Someone once told me Someone once told me Someone once told me. Someone's in the box, God Someone once told me Someone let me out—God? Someone once told me Somebody once told me You were holy Somebody once told me To hold onto I thought I told you I don't want to Owe you Are you Over it 03 I'm a multidimensional wordsmith Sike! I'm a psychopath wrecking your whole home Won't you wound my womb? (I won't go ) Won't you hold onto my world? (Why won't you?) Sorry, I slipped on the mat this morning Stumbling over you Thought it was afternoon Don't want to give you The news, cause you wrote it all Causes for dollars Indifference, disasters, sons Why won't you hold me like you used to? Why don't I know the answers to the crosswords? Why don't you meet me at the crossroads with your— No, no, Don't do that Don't call it home To be continued Where were you this morning, When I stumbled in To love you? She said At the forefront of your honor's worth If all you are's a wordsmith, m god unlock you Pen and paper Gun in holster Officer, Pull down the trigger Don't want to give you The news, cause you wrote it all Causes for dollars Indifference, disasters, sons No, no, Don't do that Don't call it home To be continued Once upon a time, All my eyes were brown (The money, the power, the respect) Now those days are gone The world is still round (At least I thought) The misery set in again They said the lows would come I did hate Mondays, after all With no sun to come up And look forward to Fast forward— Did you ever see that? Well, that is technically the back door. I almost forgot about that place. That's because it doesn't exist. It had to exist. Now I've seen it at least twice Hey! How'd you do that. Christ, he is a magician Oh yeah, Cosmos factory. They said the lows were coming. Maybe I needed them to finish that thing— I swear I missed Something The ghost (The other one, anyway) Dillon was a ghost, once No, ghost was the ghost, but we were —close. Good friends. Imaginary friends. Anyway. Fuck this nonsense. Nonsense, is it Just— Don't make me slit my wrists again. I remembered this day for something Wonder what. Maybe nothing I hate Mondays Guess this is the job, This is the job, I was wondering about the suit. So, are you a parrot, a puppet, or a mimick. I swear to god that's him. Good, Now I don't ever have to watch him. Oh shit, Fuck this playlist Are you sure “saved by the cowbell” God, I feel like shit, And I shouldn't be hungry But I'm starving inside For some loving Someone help me Somebody, something I'm suffering, suffocating Need him, Reeling, Reading Sinking, Feeling —but shouldn't be crying. I digress, however It was an interesting Day to digest God, I forgot about this— A whole soundtrack Jesus Christ, Bring it back; I like who your wife is —would you write that? Would you admit to dying on the cross once? Would you admit to admiring Ms, Robinson Would you wash out the Robin in Williams Look at Carson I defect to default Cracked asfault, to decadence Desire or what have you I haven't, I promise I would not admit to wanting, Something like a cupcake Something else is in there Figure it out Danger The five pointer approaches With heroic intolerance Suddenly, it's gone, God Mustn't be the Republicans, For the most part, I would want that For fear of the liberals, And my rent controlled apartment I've got two thumbs, too, You know I've got Jews up my ass for the asking I've got mom up my spine for the others Fucking assholes —so this is what it means to be married to the music, huh No one to really hold you, But I told you, I've got golden globes and Oscars Every morning Motorcycles for the morons I've got daughters for your doorknobs —Know you're sorry now Catch the drum pattern Your heart should stop fluttering With butter on it Weren't we all once prostitutes In foster care The others wouldn't dare To call a fountain out For the fountains— Busy training you Safe to say a savior says I do, And then doesn't For the most part I'm a woman With the wants And the body of a God FUCKING WATCH IT, CARSON but you got that all on a card, love. All on a card, fuck. What was your wish, You dumb motherfucker? Look what I got the other ones. Hi Cosmo. Hi Wanda. Awww. I love them. Dead drunk by tomorrow I hope, I choke on sunsets. He keeps taking you away someplace, Where is it? Does nobody else know this place? No. Nobody else can see this! Well, that's fucked up. I had a dream I was at your wake. That would be great. I wrote a scene where your obituary just said “lol” “lol” What! That's it?! Yeah. And It's not even capitalized! That's it, I've had enough. Throw the whole world away. What. just throw it away. Damn dog, You okay? No. I'm homeless. That's okay. You smell like a whole ass alien. What? Come to my place. I figured this would have more depth. I— Nevermind. It is, like torture, you know— this thing. I didn't do it on purpose. get oFF of me. getawayfromme. Okay, I'm taking my bread out of the freezer. You sure are eating a lot today . You sure are sounding like a pain in my big, fat, ass. I— That ought to shut you up. Look! CUMSLUTS! NICE. Get off of my boat. What. Aye-aye, captain. (Duck dives) Wait. What just happened? Mi think I might have— Great, Now there are things about this— I can't even write. This secret dies with me. Kill that bitch. Fucking great. So, Where were you on 9/11 again? I'll deal with this later. I gotta go. Wait, where are you going? Fuck you, that's where. Wait! If you saw me hanging from the rafters Would you ahoot to kill Or come to shoot me down? At long last, Disaster Are there tears in your denial As the memorandum sets in? Neither there or neither farther am I Father, Can you call again? I haven't heard you yet Besides the heart drops When the beat falls out If I hang myself Like pendulum From the old bank walls Would you watch me swing Or come to cut me down Don't doubt the alter If it were the birds Coming for the crumbs Would you ponder any longer Whether they were all of one feather Come now Don't doubt the alter Don't fear the weapons Don't worry, mother I'm coming to kill you Uh, I'm gonna wait on dinner. FUCK, What the fuck was I saying? FUCK. I hate this dude. FUCK. Come on, you stupid —biiitch! I hate this dragon. Almost as much as I hate— You know what? What? Forget it. I'm not doing this. What why not!? I'm gonna get killed for this. You're in the Illuminati; you're gonna get killed anyway. Yeah, but not for this! Let's hope! Who know, though! UGH; SHUT UP. GET IN HERE. I hate the sound of your name Like an unheard whisper Unanswered I could never call to A cavern Righteous, Unwanted What was is, though. Something about a wheelbarrow' I just went surfing Hit the surface from underwater Shook out the slumber What was it worth, God? What were the words for? Fuck, A shapeshifter and a telepath? How many people have that? Not that many. How many people know about this? Enough. FUCK. Oh, look whose swearing. I solemnly swear— Don't tell NOBODY. I ain't telling nobody about this. Good. Now get out. I'm gonna kill this sonofabitch. SON OF A—BITCH. That's it. Kill him. Where's my gun? Did you check the fridge? No. [THE IMPENETRABLE TEN ENTER the KITCHEN] What?! All ten of them?! I fucking guess. —but DANE COOK *kicking down door* FUCK! Goddammit it We missed her. OR—him. Her? Him? I don't know. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST What is it? It's a pilot! Oh shit, should I shoot him? Not a helicopter pilot! A TV pilot, For what?! Tv is dead. Streaming is where its out, It's for me! I'm in it! Oh! What! Let me see. (In the fridge) …what is this? [from the bedroom/studio] Hey you guys! What. What happened? What's up! YOU SHOULD SEE THIS. Love is not blind, And neither am I It's like that sometimes, always Tip of the tongue, The art of the lie, It's like that sometimes, Always A tale of all tales A sign of the times It's like that always, sometimes I forgot to forget I saw you; I forgot to forget I know you I forgot to forget I love you I forgot to forgive, I want you Shut the door, Let the lights turn off Turn the page —till the sun comes up Something real Something wrong I forgot Something strange Something weird I'm in love Write the song Love is not blind, And neither am I It's like that sometimes, always Tip of the tongue, The art of the lie, It's like that sometimes, Always A tale of all tales A sign of the times It's like that always, sometimes I forgot to forget I saw you; I forgot to forget I know you I forgot to forget I love you I forgot to forgive, I want you Shut the door, Let the lights turn off Turn the page —till the sun comes up Something real Something wrong I forgot Up is up Down is down Right is right Wrong is wrong Black is white Dark is light Right is wrong I love you My house is normal now, With a table and chairs But I don't call it home Cause I know They'll throw me to the curb Leave in in the road Like the animal I am You don't know what the world does When she's off work You don't know how the world acts When she's off her axis It's okay to take hiatus Instead of medication It's okay to call the cops on motorcycle It's okay to die Before you see your son When Sunday comes Just call your mom on Monday Doctor visits EMTs and emergencies Epics and Epochs Long lost love songs to god And Cardinal Directions Reflections in mirrors Table toppers for all the dramas All the months you lost On muttered mantras {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Make a mockery of myself; wear smock to work I don't talk too much no more I just gossip somedays, Dark on mondays; The forgotten apostle With just enough rope To jump off and hope It all stops, soon The motocross and the terror stalkers Just across from the starbucks at the Rock –it got awkward But God Loves me Might start a talk show Some chef, with a pop tart A pop up club, a long night Some broke shards of glass, the yards of all the scars on stars and stripe Feels like a long night– Got coffee and tacos A long talk with your blonde wife To bypass the psycos Right, though? Bro, it's so over; I won a whole asshole and a four leaf clover In a game of poker Now, brush your shoulders off Brush your hair, Pet the dog, And kick the cat over and over Till he turns back to a robot “You're so gross.” –don't i know it. The whole world is over –you jump first, I'll follow Lets keep talking About the letters I penned To the false Gods, Painted them scarlett, of course Scattered em from here to Scarboro Fair, I was right there, then out of nowhere a new nightmare with nice hair Here we go again Lines out the door; We got lines out the door Out of Order The world is at war The whole world has run Out of water The four is the for Theres no five But the V for vendetta Theres lines out the door The whole world Is a mom And a daughter My jokes get better, The buildings look bigger I pretend this seltzer is alcohol Cause i want it To make me forget I've got all my– Huh There's a line out the door. What if– Me, And all of your friends And all of my Wait, I don't have any friends I'm getting a cat. I was just thinking about Mila Kunis. Oh yes, why's that? SETH MCFARLENE YEEEEE. YEEEEEEE. YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. WHAT, GODDAMMIT GIGGITY! OKAY, ASSHOLE Eyes on eyes, and tears on tears All the years ive cried On ears on ears Why am I even here? It's been too long, since i've been touched I don't love love but i dislike lust I don't trust anyone I don't have a number I crawled up my arm, Danced with the blood drawn BLŪ wakes up famous. [The world swirls into a plume of dark blue sky; BLŪ awakens suddenly from the blackness of a deep sleep in the middle of a road, a group of people, friends, swirling around her.] YO. What? BLŪ. What's up. PARTY FOUL, BROH. … Billie Ellish? Billie Pirate Ellish. Uh. That's why the rum– Is gone. What. Guess i'm Jack Sparrow, now. Hey wait–are you even legal? Uh. I'm a mad fucking genius; are you legal? I don't know. Besides, this was your idea. What–what? Exactly. Get up. Wtf is going on in this scene. Idk i might a have to play the song again Fuck that. I'm about to slit myfucking wrists. HAVOC. Where are we going? You still got that NDA in your wallet? I–yeah. Then we're gucci. “Waking up Famous” I don't know exactly what happened. [Looking in the mirror, confused.] This is a nice leather jacket. I wonder if i'm still Vegan. Damn. I look mad rich. BLŪ hurry UP! [toilet flushes with foot] Alright, I'm coming. [Blu checks her pockets to find a wallet, the contents including numerous cards–metal ones, with copious amounts of cash, and pre-filled NDAs which have been folder neatly and stuffed into the corner pocket of the trifold wallet] Billabong. Classy. I'm never gonna finish that other project, am I? Whatever. Leave Fallon alone. I did. –it came back. [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

YES. Oh yes indeed. It must be something about this beast inside— Even my first boyfriend— My first real boyfriend. Was— Seriously? Incredibly gifted. Jesus Christ. Right. Jesus fucking Christ. (That can happen.) Well. Well. I've— Wait a second. How would you even write something like this. My dissuasion from black men has never prevented me from being pleasured by— Oh no. Some of the world's finest dicks. How's that. Perfect. I can't even, (But just did) “9 inch pie crust How's “9 inches? That'll work. Just don't dislodge my IUD. Dammit. Really less than 9? I mean— I'll take A 6 Yes! Really? Or a 7 Nice. But only to play with. What. Ok. What! I'm not keepin it. I just like sucking dick. Really? Yes. AHA, —the right dick. Well, well, well— And if the last bitch left her stink on you— Even if you wash it 6 fucking times— I'll smell it in my eyelids. What. Your aura sucks. What. Why. I don't like her. What?! Who?! The last one. Vibe check. Man, you gotta stop fuckin these white bitches White bitches: LalalalalLalalalala Lalalalal No. What?! Why?! She sucks, bro. Yeah but Comfort, luxury, style— Utility. You can take this girl anywhere Just shapeshift into a basic white bitch For what Just do it Those are the ones that're around! These rich ass fuckin hoes. EASY. What. White girl wasted. Have another shot. Ooh, dad bod. Yes. SUNNI BLU You thought I forgot I did not DADBOD. Mmm. Yes but also NO, JAKE GYLLENHALL PUT YOUR WEDDING BAND BACK ON BUT-/ WE ARE FINISHED. DONE. YESSSSSS. I'm off the CLOCK. Look, marriage is work. However— DEEZ HOEZ GOT BALLZ FUCK. Nasty ass trick. BODIES. BODIES BODIES. What is all this fucking hotness even for if you can't work those fuckin muscles— what do they call them? “Intercostals” Yo— your intercostals are not the fuck muscles Wait, they're not? No. Aw. But you can use them to fuck if you want Where's that one nigga at?! [Skrillex] Under some blonde slut SLUTZ. Nice. Fine. Wait. What. You really want that?! Vibe check. Vampires: He was such a nice kid Feeding time. SUCKED HIM DRY DEAD ON. Man, I kind of want to watch that one movie where— It was a box office flop. Monsters; Ohh. A weak one. BREAK THE SEAL. BREAK THE SEAL. You can shapeshift into a s— Okay, listen, I am NOT going back To The Rock for any reason. Just—- be ugly. I am ugly. You really think I'm trying to ILLUMINATI: Watch this. DOLLARS. WHAT. RYAN REYNOLDS FUCK YOU. GET OFF MY ISLAND! I'm a DAD. Where's the bathroom? SLUTZ MODELS ACTRESSES: see. These bitchez is interchangeable. I love that. Look, you walk into one of these events with anything darker than a paper bag— Well, It depends on who manufactured the brown paper bag… [Whole Foods Market] Still too dark. —She had better be the most perfect looking broad anyone could ever want. Where's the bra straps? You want bra straps? Uh, yeah?! Oh *snickers* Sorry. Look, I don't want to even think about that scene where— FUCK YOU, DILLON FRANCIS FUCK YOU IN THE ASS. DILLON FRANCIS oh damn. That kid did look like Dillon Francis. Like a lot. GET BACK HERE. I liked him. Did you tell him that? No way. After that John dude broke my heart. DO YOU REMEMBER ME?! I'M A BIRD. Someone find Tim. Agh. Whatever. Find that Smith kid I went to high school with. For what? I wanna bone him. Goddamn, Madame President. Shut up. Damn, so. So the president basically has an errand boy to go round up all the dick she missed out on being groomed to be the first Black female president? Yes. HHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH [KILL THE BITCH.] WHY?! I'm the most conservative bitch you will EVER find on this side of the brown paper bag test Why is that? AYAYAYAYAYAYAY you understand even the Mexicans are racist against blacks— And?! STAY DOWN, BITCH. Si. Okay. You see this kid? [The Mexican Skrillex] Find him. Aye aye captain. And make sure whatever he does... LISTEN TO ME. ¡AY¡ NO HABLA INGLES! ¡NO TENGO DINERO! CAN IT. I KNOW YOU SPEAK ENGLISH. IDIOT. Okay. Fuck it, I'm in. You're in. I'm in. You sonofabitch. Look. I got mad love for the Mexican people. I promise. [Puerto Rico] Huh. What. You're in. Fuck. Now we gotta change the flag. We should do that anyway, it's soaked in the blood of enslaved African Americans and slain indigenous! “I live on the stolen lands of the Chippewa people.” Woah. A self-aware white woman. See, they exist. Bag that bitch. Seriously. Meanwhile— I AM FRIGHTENED. By what? YOUR BLACKNESS. . I can't protect you from this. YOU CANT PROTECT ME FROM SHIT, Without your DICK. Are you serious. I'm done with this. You can have him. Are you serious. Yes. I was born rich. That's frigening. Not as frightening as your blackness. I get itz THE NIGGAZ HAVE DECENDED UPON US. Oh no. Oh yes. And worse— What's this? THEY BROUGHT THE HOOTRATZ. NO. YES. (I love these ghetto ass bitches.) YO BLACKMERICANS. What's up, CROCS. ARE. NOT. SHOES. We know that. Wait, what This is a silent protest against the hostile and corrupt corporate slavery of the sneaker industry aimed at Americans living in poverty which promotes materialism and greed in the current socio political industrial complex of the white supremacy movement. No Dillon, you have to marry a pretty little white girl like the rest of us. But WHY, Grandmaster Freemason? Because— Why is that? I don't know. I think it's so— I swear to god, He looks just like him. Would you believe if I told you, That this [Exact replica of Dillon Francis] Wow. Is a tiny black man? Are you insane? I like his dick. He must be nuts. ITS LIKE 10 FEET LONG. What?! This guy [Skrillex] White bitches: You promise? Yeah. GET OFF OF HIM HE'S MINE That's a designer ass fuckin broad right there... trip. *i wish* DUDE IN COWBOY HAT yeup. You mean Diplo ?! Sure. This is all in your head. I know. You want a dose of reality? No. I don't. Sure. GO FUCK YOURSELF. I should but—- No. What? Why not? Look, everytime I even get close to orgasm. HELLO. NO. I'm still paranoid that a helicopter is going to hover outside of my window. VO I became less paranoid after that moment lol white supremacist robot people They exist. I know. I'm the one programming them. BEFORE: HELICOPTER: [hovering outside of window as I masturbate furiously] “Furiously” SERIOUSLY. That's what she's doing in there?! ITS BEEN YEARS. EVERYTHING LOOKS LIKE A— the biggest penises I've ever seen in my life were on the literally scrawniest, skinniest white dudes I've ever loved— Been friends with— And trusted. Oh dear God —To demolish my pussy. THAT IS GOOOOOOOOD. What the fuck. Take that, black supremacy! Seriously, tho. Niggaz is niggas. ‍♀️ It's fair to say that you also have too much power. WHAT. Seriously. VO Now I knew someone extremely rich HELLICOPTER (But hovering) Fff-fr-ff-ff Hm. That sounds close. Was watching me. OH DEAR GOD WHAT. I'm BUSY. I think it's fair to say The only safety in this country Is in being a white woman. AHEM. WHAT. A *frail white woman. What?! I'm strong?! A skinny woman. Where'd the white go? I don't know. Bring it back. I need some of that. God, she's just so free, and fun loving, careless— She's just so— Perfect. God, Are you still busy? kind of, Why? Make me perfect. I already did that. I mean, like this *Vogue Magazine* I mean like this. What is that? That's a model. What. It means she's perfect. I don't know him. That's a girl. Where's her breasts? *Vogue cover Breasts, unpictured— Pg. 11 Leave me alone, Satan. But it's important. Is this fast over? No. It all started with apple pie… Look. I am an American, Okay? A patriot. Do you know why other countries hate us? Because we sold the world a dream, And it ended up as a cheap, Made in China Piece of Crap. [robot people] Did you figure out how to program humans yet? Kind of. CHINA Oh. That's funny— We have. Before: No more babies. What. You get ONE. One?! ONE. Ok, well I hope it's a boy. GOD a boy, for what?! To carry on my family's name! GOD. But you family sucks… What? Why would you say that, It's a GIRL. THROW IT AWAY: What. Seriously, does nobody remember that? Okay, you can have more kids now. Why?! It's over populated. As fuck. We need more soldiers. American men tend to frtishize Asian women. Why is this. Great. More subordinates. My spell worked. So like. Wait, They OWN LAND HERE? …Excurricating debt. Had to give them something. MAKE MORE MASKS. Oh? That's good. I like that. Okay. What is the true evil that seems to lie Deeply inside every blue eyed— I can't feel shiiiieeeeeeet. Are you sure it's just Blue eyes. It's a mutation. For what? You realize that this DONT BRING THAT SHIT OVER HERE you're a psychopath. Fuck these bitches I love vamps. LOOK AT ME. why. BECAUSE I DONT MAKE MY OWN ENERGY. i'M NOT ORIGINALLY FROM THIS PLANET WELL I AM. Great. Give me your light what? I don't have any. So wait this is Yes. This is actually an extraterrestrial war. WE'RE IN SPACE WARS?! I told you that. Great. It's a mutation We'll call it “an adaptation” GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME. Okay. I like thighs now. What. Why don't you have thighs?! Men are uselesss. Sssriosussss. They never know what they want. They want ussssss. Children!!? Mostly. I swear, she's all used up. All used up. At 26. Yep. Wow. I should just kill myself. You should. I've been replaced! {First Wives Club} Best movie ever. By what A fucking toddler. Okay. I love her. {White women} (The actually self aware ones are also most often the most famous) Which one? All of them. The whole cast?! Star-studded. I thought this was Star Wars. Well, it was. I'll be damned! GEORGE LUCAS I thought I was. BUY! BUY! SELL! SELL. So this is automatic writing. Yep. I didn't get that knee injury from running. I got it sitting on the New York subway with my leg at a 90 degree angle. Oh really? Really. These boots are made for walkin, And that's just what they'll do; One of these days, these boots are gonna walk All over you. Is that code for something Walk on my back. What? Are you sure. Yes. Okay. In these: Uhhhh. That might hurt. I know. Woah. Just do it, okay? I'll pay you. Pay me in what?! Rupees. What about this one? No. No brown dudes. Why?! He's mad rich. I don't care. Not even me? No. No rappers. Why not?! He's mad rich. Roaches. Video hoes. [Beyoncé's Jolene is hilarious.] Dolly's asking you; Begging, actually… BEYONCÉ IS WARNING YOU. Really, bro? Men. A light skin, And a dark skin. A skinny one, And a thick one. A white one, And a black one. Men Have No Loyalty. SOME DO. Yeah. The ugly ones with short dicks *I AM OFFENDED* No, you're just ugly. It's a lot harder to be offended when you have everything. You have everything! Why are you crying! I want LOVE. YOU HAVE LOVE [MADONNA IS RUNNING A MARATHON] Gotta burn off all this energy What is it?! Love! Gotta take a nap… (Dark skinned women—the strongest women, being sucked dry of their— {Infinite Wisdom} [A fortress.] It does replenish, eventually… I promise WHERE THE LOVE IS With the women and children! Look, if this whole bitch is the titanic, (the United States of America) Then we should run it like the titanic and just TITANIC Women and children! WOMEN AND CHILDREN. Why, Cause the men are responsible for this war in the first place. Secret President Deathwish Enter The Multiverse The Legend of S Ū P C Я E E™ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension L E G E N D S The Seven Souls Saga OWSLA CONFIDENTIAL, LTD.The infinite Skrillifiles: Next Generation— Quantum Force [The door is kicked in.] What the FUCK. I'M THE FUCK I get that. Whatever, move. [he begins to rifle through the cabinets] Now where is it? What the fuck are you looking for? Shut UP. WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE. You call this a house? Dammit. Where would she keep something like this—? If by “she” you mean ME. I don't mean “you.” I'm the only one who lives here. NOBODY lives here. What. Right. What?! Right what?! You really don't know, do you? Don't know what? You are not who you think you are. Who do I think I am? What?! Who do you think I AM? That's right. Now shut up. Get out of my house. This is not a HOUSE. And even if it was a HOUSE, it's not YOUR house. What! SHUT UP. You're making a mess! I am a mess. STOP IT. That's alright—I know you'll clean it up. I thought I'm not who I thought I am. Yeah. But I know who you are. Tsh. Are you going somewhere with this? Eventually, but right now I need my back rubbed. Fine. PREVIOUSLY ON… Whatever Just— “Tidbits” Points: Jennifer Lopez in the 90's enters immidiate superstardom and fame, as The Illuminati, which has been tracking her every move for quite some time, conspicuously gifts her with a handful of large, rare, and uncut diamonds—she becomes a Kingpin and near overnight success, keeping the secret of the diamonds to herself—however, as she is skyrocketed to success and fame, strange and mystical things begin happening all around—and even more strange and mysterious, mystical people—besides the usually strange and magical celebrities and otherwise unworldly weirdos within the Illuminati's ranks— begin to appear, acting as guiding forces between the multidimensional realms which within the various portals a hidden world — infinity and beyond— has been kept, only exposed through the stories, shows, and — Wait a second — a montage— montage— I'm being intercepted. What? What about a montage?? I love a good montage. Everybody loves a good montage. the infinite Jennifer Aniston and her Multidimensional counterparts Jennifer Aniston is tasked as becoming a guardian angel, to help protect and watch over the mysterious extraterrestrial formerly known as supacree, currently masquerading as CC as she attempts to escape the spiral of magical attacks from unknown forces, after being trapped in New York City. You know what? I love it. I'll take it. Are you sure? Yeah, I'm sure. I love her. I love her. it'll take it. JENNIFER ANNISTON, a well-known A-list actress whose rise to fame in the 1990's created her as a Hollywood superstar (and Illuminati staple) has been looking for the perfect project to invest her time to— rumors within the Underground have been circulating about a “secret podcast”, to which it's curator, a homeless and downtrodden musician and amateur DJ publishing Illuminati doctrine, some of which is only known to the limited and coveted higher ranks within the organization, interwoven into the plot's narratives as “Easter eggs”; the unformed screenplays have been archived and passed around for a number of years within a small community of elites, and some even plagiarized by the mindless and money hungry lowest ranking industry professionals—however—as it is known by the leaders of the organization as a whole, the true origins of this doctrine remains “unknown”, and the identity of the author, is surmised to be the prophesied scribe, set to arrive as the dawning of a new era arises, to write within her words the hidden truths to be sought by all mankind and otherwise—and therefore, must be protected and hidden within the organizations cradle at all costs; though misunderstood greatly, The Illuminati has been tasked with spreading the divine light to the human species through artform and storytelling, and as the art of wordfare becomes a lost art, the doctrine must be colluded to be written, before the end of the scribe's time, said to be often—a most untimely death, as the forces of darkensss seek to end all that remains of the love and light of the divine kind. Damn, really: Jennifer Aniston. I really like her eyes: Well yeah, they're mine, so. Apparently or whatever, Jennifer Anniston is assigned to guide CC as she trains to stand up as the scribe — Who revealed herself as so in Los Angeles, at Carl Cox's show. I dropped three cards for form the center of my eye, Here: An equilateral triangle. I Am. Two— These markings will be known to those as I, The scribe. Three— A world unknown awaits all those who seek the truth of the divine light in the pursuit of higher knowledge. INT. EQUINOX SPORTS CLUB NEW YORK. MANHATTAN. DAY JENNIFER ANNISTON enters the elevator—to her left, towering over her, she spots JIMMY FALLON, trying to remain unseen. …Jim? Oh, yeah, hey, What re you doing here? Whatever I want. You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be here. This is by the way, when Satan switches from Jimmy fallon's body to Jennifer Anniston, hereby known as Jennifer Anisatan— just before the scene at Equinox “I'm holding in a fart.” So wait, who is Jimmy Fallon, then? Who the fuck knows. Who the fuck cares. I'm over it. ————————————————No wait, don't. Tie me to the cross Bleed on my sickness m Crossfaders, behind us Blinder up, bonded Surreal, The sunsets are longer Open your mind, your highness Crossfire, behind us (Someone else writing this) Dawn comes on stronger The sunsets are longer Tie me to your honor Come before me Somebody said you were the apocalypse I should have listened to my father Somebody told me you won the world at a carnival I should have never listened to my mother I should have listened to my father I should have listened to my father I should have listened to my father Come before me Tie me to your honor Born of blood, The borderline genius You were the apocalypse Tie me to your cross MAYA RUDOLPH Is weird. MAYA RUDOLPH prepares for a SAYONCE in her formerly secret apartment on the upper east side dedicated entirely to magical purposes Ok. Ok. Okay? Ok. The worst part about it is, I do understand you, Because I am you The very worst part of it is I want a family To hold you hand And rub your back But I just can't have you —I'm just a fan, dude. The truth is I've got two suitcases, Some capsules of cyanide, An axe and some anthrax A cat in my lap And a failing laptop I've been living hand to mouth I've got A ripped backpack A stress ball A Hackey sack A hockey bag A volleyball And a mouthful of gunpowder How do you like me now? It's gonna take forever to fund my project But it's gonna take longer To find my body Cause nobody loves me Nobody has my number The phone is shut off And so is the water (By that I mean, my love; It's all coming out blood now) I must be backed up And stuffed full of crystal cocks I could give it up for a wand Or a ringworm Oh God My wrists are itching to ditch this place I fell asleep with a gun to my head And woke up Cobain Okay? Ok Okay? Ok. Sorry to wake you I came to rape you HEATH LEDGER hello. OH, GOD. HEATH LEDGER I heard you like ghosts. I— I don't. HEATH LEDGER Oh, you don't? No—! HEATH LEDGER oh! wait—who are you? HEATH LEDGER (Makes joker face) All my friends are dead, anyway I'm loving more ghosts than people these days The faces, the golden days The golden retrievers I need some relief, man Release me Sweet, freedom Just lay on your back, And I'll take it from there JOKER? Aha. I'm in love with the idea of Death The idea of Leaving this world behind The idea of love The ideal of love The ideal of love The seductive touch I'm in love with the idea of Not knowing pain The idea of Not needing money The idea of love The ideal of love The ideal of love The seductive barrel of a gun So run away Run far from me Far as the eye can see— And I'll aim for the head But probably just get the neck Or the center of the back Twirl around, girl Do your dance Heads or tales for the daughters The blondes, The live that you wanted The life that you wasted The knife to your back The life flight The kite hack Never spend your heart on band tickets Don't you know This is so much more Disappointing in person We all are Never spend your bet on your bottom dollar The kite and the rock band The lost rock The last dollar Diamonds on your JENNIFER LOPEZ GET IN THE BACK OF THE VAN, BITCH. NO WAY, J-LO. YOU LOVE ME EXACTLY. GETAWAYFROMME. DONT MAKE ME CALL GOLDBERG. I'M LIKE WAY MORE SCARED OF JANET JACKSON. JANRT JACKSON GUESS WHAT?! OH NO!!! NOOOO. U PICKS UP TO SUPER SPEED wtf. How does she run that fast, that fat? I really don't know. Did you call my name? Did you wake me from my relentless dreams I needed you Just like you needed me I called your name You called me Follow me home Follow me to the road we both know Open the doors for the lonely Follow me home Follow me home Sista sista What it is, mista? Turn the tables, Drums, then get my sticks sucked You dig it? Turn on the television I'm on in an minute This could be infinite, Nothing to defend here, Just No, not the google documents! GET IN THE HOLE. Hm. What. Blood Shower All along the watch tower Do you feel good? Do you? Do you feel bad about this. I do. I feel bad about this. I forgot to tell you– I should probably let you know that I just want to MAN, FUCK THIS DUDE. MA. WAHT. IT'S ON. WHAt. THE SHOW IS ON. THEWHAT. THE– *suddenly self aware* …I gotta get out of Boston. What, first this was about war, now it's about bird people? It's about a war WITH the bird people. I should sleep. Hahaha. No. This isn't funny anymore. At least it's over. MA– Oh, it's far from over. Yo, i'm going through some crazy shit right now. Spur of the moment I'd never thought of it; This is gonna take forever. I don't have the patience To even write this I just want french fries right now But been up for two days with no gym and I'm on a diet. GUAC TIME. No, no burritos. GUAC TIME. Oh shit, this is getting real as fuck . NOw i see it three ways. I love it. I hate it. HEY, LET ME OUT. GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, SKRILLEX. I'M DILLON FRANCIS. IN THE HOLE. Check it out. Huh. It's another DJ. *agrees* Should we pick him up. WEll, the good news is: I found your friend. Oh, that's good. The bad news is: He's dead. Oh, that–'s … nice. Yeah. It is. Uh. Kaskade. Yeah. We gotta find Ryan. Why. What's up? You're freaking me out. Why. What's up. Nothing IS it my eyes? I– *wild ass eyes* Yeah, it's probably that. Fuck dude, what did you do to deadmau5. NOTHIN. He's not the same. What the fuck is that. Holy shit I jus timejumped Where the fuck are you going. How the fuck could this happen?! It COULDN'T. Well, that's it then. *shrugs* Well, I guess we're just gonna have to go dig up Dillon Francis. I guess so. Do you think he's still alive. Like, probably not– Maybe… No, probably not @prodbywar& @Halmadeit This amazon order took me nine hours Alexa, I think i should fire her Like a arm I don't leave at night without armor Don't make me a martyr Your mom will be proud of us all If i make it outta here And i'll look after her Got the whole block coming up on my heels as I walk Wtf is it… Idk dude. Is it speeding up? I…i think so. There's no way this is 140 IT's 140. It's 140 . There's no way. Yes way. Nah huh. Let me see. No. Let me at the decks. Let me at the decks. NO. YO LET ME AT THE DECKS. You want deks. Yes. I got deks. Really. yeus . I never listened to it like this In ableton I read serato, synesthesia and rekordbox I talk a lot, I'm like a human music box I walk a lot I run my mouth a mile a minute (faster than i run around the track reciting rap words) Like they're passwords. Oh, I could do this forever.. I wish i had i microphone right now And was all alone With the lights off Lying on the floor I'd be lying if i said I could afford you Just to fornicate But may consider playing with a foreigner If you're all for her I'm unnerved, you know Cause i've been up so long My monster likes to play with boys and Make the bass go down below where Nobody does anymore Once I get a hold of things Or the hang of it You've got another hot ones on your hands I've another record under my belt Or in my roster, Whatever you'd call it But now I've got no time to bark about Wanting a dog and a daughter But none of the responsibility or Going through all the trouble to find her a father I'm still holding a fart in. Reaally–cause–it's been a really long time. WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT A LONG TIME, JIMMY FALLON?? Um a lot! You literally just saw me make the journey all the way up from nothing. I am nothing EXACTLY. I don't have time to fight with you Jiimmy Fallon. I did NOT write these games by myself you know?! Um, excuse me– “GAMES” ?! YES, GAMES. Uh, I've only got one game with you in it, my friend. Is that so! One game that I've written with the Great–formerly LATE Jimmy Fallon. Is that like a play on words cause i'm on late night TV YOu'RE ON ALL THE TIME TV, JIMMY. NBC SHIT IS PRACTICALLY AUTOMATICALLY SYNDICATED. -_- …are you alright. –_-_-__-_ Hold on, I think i've got it Nice, I found a growler. yOu still haven't got all the monsters and sprites Ive got all the big ones, but the little ones are harder to catch. GrO0Wl3rrr. Aww. He's so ugly. Yeah, but cute, though, right. I don't think so. Gro)WwlErrrrrrrrr. Aww. That's

“The Defendant” (Instrumental) I_ NY (2024) Prod. by Blū Tha Gurü BMG Recordings | The Complex Collective © Blū Music Group, LLC DBA The Festival Project, Inc. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

“Caddyshack” (A Mumtidimentional Mixtape) {Enter The Multiverse} From Wikipedia: Caddyshack is a 1980 American sportscomedy film directed by Harold Ramis, written by Brian Doyle-Murray, Ramis and Douglas Kenney, and starring Chevy Chase, Rodney Dangerfield, Ted Knight, Michael O'Keefe and Bill Murray with supporting roles by Sarah Holcomb, Cindy Morgan, and Doyle-Murray. It tells the story of a caddie, vying for a caddie scholarship, who becomes involved in a feud on the links between one of the country club's founders and a nouveau riche guest. A subplot involves a greenskeeper who uses extreme methods against an elusive gopher. Caddyshack was Ramis's directorial debut and boosted the career of Dangerfield, who was previously known mostly for his stand-up comedy. Grossing nearly $40 million at the domestic box office (the 17th-highest of the year),[3] it was the first of a series of similar comedies. The film has a cult following and was described by ESPN as "perhaps the funniest sports movie ever made" SAUCE (IN CASE YOU MISSED IT) —- AHAHA. ITS ME AGAIN. OH SHIT! Oh shit, i guess it's Jimmy Fallon's Galaxy. Oh nooo. Oh, yes. Look at this penny. I see you. Now look into my eyes. I see you, Jesus. Ahahaha! Okay, now what? This shit is twisted I missed the shift of the dimensions— Till Jimmy walked in with his pennies For some cigarettes and swishers, Just to get the picture It's 5 AM again, And it's still Infinite, I'm disinterestedd as ever in living in LA, Or just living, period— But it is what it is, I work for my rent, I've repented for this, Used to sleep in a tent, But when I was an Infant, I instantly— Wait, a customer walked in. I better help him. Heaven help him. Another level, Call dr. Nevel, Or an Ambulance, I just can't get it Just can't get it, Wait, let's insert some of the script here, I guess. Took you long enough, didn't it? That took forever. How are you alive? Maybe I'm not. Finally, we agree on something. Oh, this guy Lol. Good to see you again. Likewise, now— Here it goes… As you promised. Working on it. As I promised. Take my heart for granted, Take my soul, If this is loveless Till the end, I just can't manage, having Thoughts of death and tragic ends I haven't Felt the same since Waking up without the day to come ahead; The day has passed again A test, No fail, or pass It's just progressive, In a trance, It's just the stress, It's just to pass the time, I guess, if this is purpose Then, we'll see if this is worth it Now, or never, then Now or never, Never had a friend, All envious at best, This is the end all, In the end, it's just Me and God, And God would want A better body, To have fun I wished it all at once, And then I watched it crumble Oh, I watched it Stumble in, again, my friend I'm different when it's wet, I might not never see the Sun again I might not ever love again Oh well “Oh well” , I said Oh, well, I guess Oh well Okay. One hour left. Okay. Who gets the gold? Hum. Honestly I didn't want to hear a thing ; I had quit music—I just wasn't cut out for the industry—I was, but not by societal standards by far; my lowly place in the smoke shop would have to do for now, and though I knew it wouldn't sustain, there wasn't much else I could do but keep showing up, for as long as it lasted—dresses in at least 2 layers and 5 pairs of socks tucked into boots two-sizes-too-big I had been forced to purchase specifically due to the frigid and painful, freezing temperatures at the locations I worked, which kept its doors open 24/7. Play Iambic. What, right now? Yeah, play Iambic. Uh… Iambic played st exactly 1 hour and 19 minutes—it's script, the transcribed rendition crafted especially for the Broadway stage, an 88-page-masterpiece collecting dust in the confines of my Google Documents, along with anything else I had written and had yet the advantage of placing anywhere besides my podcast channels, which I constantly thought about cancelling, despite its innumerous downloads—nothing really seemed to matter anymore, as I was trapped in my body, in a loveless world, in a dead-end job and though my bed was clean and comfy, sharing the room wirh 3 others became exhausting. INT. SMOKESHOP. 5:58 AM DREW BARRYMORE … SUPACREE … I'm done. I quit. QUIT?! YOU CAN'T QUIT. Nope. That's it. I quit. You can't quit. I just did. I hadn't quit the music industry—the music industry had quit me. I wasn't pretty enough, skinny enough, light skinned enough, or willing to do what any of the other girls were to get ahead. WTF is THIS. Since you like to troll so much, I just thought I'd turn you into one This is not Kosher, 199x Jimmy Fallon; Let me out of this plastic —not exactly “fireproof” — death box, before I let myself out, and I trap you in it. But oh, You already did. FIGHT. UGH OH. Ok, rotate. Who is this. Oh shit, hey dude. FUCK, what year is it? MEANWHILE, Under the bridge. …anybody seen this, uh… *Troll* Yee! *Troll* Alright. That's it. Everything checks out. The story was air tight. TIGHT, TIGHT I want you to wear this tonight “The Lady In The Red Dress” You really went all out for this I really didn't. lol Oh I see, You thought this was the matrix. MIT I WISH GOD Wish what. MIT … Mm. Did u see that. See what. ALRIGHT FUCK THIS, YA'LL IT GOT SERIOUS, WHERE'S MY CYCLOPS He called me his cyclops— —-and then he said LIKE GET OUT WHAT GET OUT OF MY HOUSE WHY CAUSE YOURE JUST A PIÑATA, MAN! And I ain't got time for that! I just got a DeLorean And a new HAT I gotta go get Oof. WRECKED. Yo, Wicked. KENDRICK (TODDLER) WIZARD. Oh my. I'm J00F'd up. | | | trance | | | Look; I gotta get out of this MOTHER OF PEARL do not beach this whale carcas on my warehouse project A what A beached whale I know You brought a beached whale to my fucking rave show Oh I get it It's Avant- Guarde No, that's just how I got here …. Trust me, it's okay that This never happened You did not see me It's because I wasn't there Is this U Ū No I wasn't there. Ü I was. Fuck. What happened. It's ok. All I remember is “The Quatardashians” Hmm Also The indigenous But that's it But mostly that was all just Jesus showing off his flexes Are u fasting? Yes, “Ū” is. So, do you need this?! TRUMPP Get rid of this recording imiidiately GOT IT. kill that bitch. SKRILLEX Yessir. —-but before all that happens. …did you want fries with that?! Why are we boycotting McDonald's —for poisoning —the allies —our enemies. Wait, you're eating this? Yes. Like, for fun, or like? No. This is what I'm feeding my children Why Cause they hungry. Uh, ok— —and there's six of them. Aight, ya'll can each have one nugget with your— I wanted a cheese burger! You git hamburgers. Ham. Cheese costs CENTS; And you know your momma If I ain't about a dollar - A dollop of Daisy You really are Ashamed of his Alright, you evil bastards. I see you want to Cause suffering Correct For which you will eternally recurve damnnation and all of the pain you've caused Karmas a bitch It's lonely at the top Not when you're GOD Get off my rock Did you miss an appointment? Nah, can't do it Why what happened Too high up. Whatchu mean So what, it's just like Done. Well, this is it, huh guys. Oh, yeah, it's that, alright This is the longest ride we ever took.d This is the ONLY ride we ever took. I WANNA GET OFF THIS RIDE. I AM REALLY HIGH UP. JUST LET GO. NO. NO. NO. Put me down, kite!!! KITE wtf do you want me to do. I'm a KITE. I'm YOU FUCKIN KIKE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—- Well, I'll be honest, man, this sets you back, some How far back GET GONE, But? We're dinosaurs. Why would something with razor sharp teeth be so— —peaceful, and friendly?? T-REX …cuddles. I just can't fake the feeling( I can't pretend to cry It just comes, when it does But when the well runs dry That's when the the world will end That's when the world will end After this movie, I guarantee we will no longer need the Wilhelm scream AGGGGGHHHHHHH!!! YAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! AAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIGGGHHHHHHH UUUUUUUUUUUUU This movie broke the world record for the amount of times the word “No” was screamed NO NOH. NO. ‘No! NOOOOOOOOOOO! NONONO. NOOOOOOOAAAAAHH …No! Here they all come for her, Defended upon New York In order of important, or appearance? One doesn't wonder, At al, of what's to come Uncommon, we are The call has come TRACY My tummy hurts. That's probably because you've been drinking straight tequila for the last hour and a half. No I haven't! This is water! Tequila is YELLOW, Liz Lemon! No, Tracy—that's silver tequila, And regular tequila is, You know what? Nevermind. Alright, who's got the night shift? [nobody raises their hand, at all] Seriously guys?! Come on! COME ON! Look up WHAM! For some reason, idk. Can we just— not do this? No. Out of my mind a bit Speaking in tongues, In total silence Guess it's the times, I guess that's just who I am And who I am is I said I was Sam I'm the same, I said, “Say Uncle” I guess it's a game, we're playing I don't want to be played with At all I just want to feel loved again By someone else Superb, like him I just want to be felt, I guess By someone else That's “Different” I just want to be kissed on the lips A splendid blend of Twisted trysts Let's not pretend It hasn't ended yet Until you've finished it Class dismissed again Let me off of it I just want it to stop Keep rolling Keep rolling your eyes in the back of your head Like you did just morning Just go for a walk Just stop for a moment Run a bath And just keep running Cause here something comes, Of course, It's all your callings Neatly rolling into one, They said But I Just want to be loved again And who doesn't That's the fucked up part I just want to be loved again But nobody ever Just comes up I just want to be loved again It's a walk in the park Don't follow the dog Even if he barks at you It's time to start again I wonder what comes after this part You are the gleaning in the shadows, The reckoning in my eye, The siren in my silence; The green in all the lights, I am a shamed to have just been One of your many One of your many Images, You still have me twisted, I miss you, It's just you, at the end, Again I left you where you left me Solid on solid Sounds are invalid now How are you so Swore by your awesome No more songs, I said No more songs, he's dead to me No more songs! She's inlisted He's uninterested, Isn't this interesting The problem is: I'm still in love with Everyone i've ever been in love with (And I love him) But he doesn't remember my Name And he's famous And she's crazy And he hates her But he made me hate him The day I became you The day I became So famous, I finally made it I'm dead It smells like dill in here At least it doesn't smell like dead mouse. Aha. Youre Hellen. Keller or Mirin How would you be Hellen Miren Cause I'm the Queen. posh. You want to die Well, you better do it quick Better get your shit toggether, paint a l Bigger, better picture Bitter Betty gliching steady Just remember when you're ready Ever steady still forgetting dinner Dessert was already Forget this significance Remind me why I'm on this speeding bullet to nowhere Had no other options but to go under for something Shy, sickness it's a secret Just kill me already Semi robotic, Something like a magnet, attracted, Simply symphonies And soulless bodies, tied to money Wonder what was in the vaccum cleaner meaning What did you suck up, dude Who do you suck up to. When nobody loves you But your own son And the audience is robots Nothing really works more than once, if it's really magic Sit and do nothing would you Like you're supposed to Fall over like the mannequin you are Just a body in my count A mattress without a bespost, if it matters If it matters Doesn't really matter But hey, you know We all go downtown every once or twice a note For Hanukkah I could try to be nice But there's no sense in it, Is there If everything and everyone else is just as nasty As the rest of it Just is just a test, again A doctors office visit. Simple robotics, Or already stocked up for Hanukkah, Hollywood Where's your homeland deposit box Closet full of robots Closest to the moon, I wrote another poem for you Sorry that I wasn't on the offering table The parakeet, pigeon and pirated Slattery, Damages, damages, All with the Amazon packages, Now we're all robots, Aren't we What corporation to you belong to! Something corporate , or say anything Whose to say Jeff Besoz won't replace us With m robots with thought processes, If once such could project as such presence As an AI freestyle Meanwhile, I've got a butload of buckets and bunts, Bullletwounds, eyes on Manhattan and happens to wish something bad upon me When all I wanted is Somebody to love me And someone to love him, If that's what he wanted (But who knows if what he wanted was all of the bodies opposite of him) I don't belong on this planet I belong in the garbage Put me on mars, mom Stop it, You're almost a robot, get out of my peripheral With your mental illness Geez, I must really want a menorah This is the animal house There's no one alive here Set to be slaughters. Honor the box of offerings as Thoughtful words And parallels What could be under your tongue Is the surface of love Just to touch with the battery acid or chemical trails You have left in your axis Nobody knows better than this How close it is to touching Without being loved But nobody loves you Psychotron, sure we're all robots now Nobody loves anymore {Previously, On…} L E G E N D S The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū {Enter The Multiverse} Ascension What the FUCK did you DO? What did I do?! You know what you did! I didn't do anything! Oh yeah? No! Not on purpose! GODDAMMIT, YOU SON OF A— Where's Jimmy Fallon?! What?! I don't know! Oh no. Oh shit, run. Oh no. What in the FUCK— I am “the fuck” You know what. I'm gonna sue the everliving shit out of you. For WHAT. We'll see. Fuck. Uh oh. FUCK. What now? What this time? Apparently, Jimmy Fallon is missing. What the fuck does that got to do with me. We'll see. Okay, great, Now finish that chapter. What fucking chapter?! All of it. That's—a lot. I want all of it. By my desk, by noon tomorrow. “By” your desk?! Yes, BY. Not ON. I've got too much stuff on my desk— …but it's…like 9 o clock. Should be easy, given your natural talents. What natural talents. PEACOCK. AHAHAHAHA. Okay. Well. Well what. This sucks. I lost all my coins. Hey. Ugh. You dropped this. So how was Los Angeles. What the fuck. You fucking DICK. I told you, I own shares in this. So what's the plan for this, exactly. I dunno, Harry. I got a book of stamps, And a yellow envelope marked “Jimmy Fallon” I will hate you forever. Well, that's retarded. I haven't even smited you yet. I will annihilate you, human. WHERE'S MY SHIT. Who the fuck are you, anyway? Nobody! No one. No one cares about this series, yo. I'l seriously doubt that, Jesse Pinkman. What is this stuff. It's your stuff. This is not what I ordered— Hey— Why is it BLUE Cause it is. So. WHY IN THE— Mischief managed. Alright. This should be good for the night, but we gotta get out of here by morning; I thought your parents owned this place. It's a time share! So? So it's like only —part of the time. That is stupid. No! You're stupid! You're the one who got us into this mess. It's your mess, I was just cleaning it up! Whatever! Stop trippin. Nobody's “tripping.” That's it. I'll be a stripper. Straight outta hell, that kid. Don't I know it. Alright, fine. I said, whatever you do— DONT watch this show. Stuff it, J. Slatts. I'll kill you with my eyeballs Sounds like a threat. Put on a lawsuit, then. Maybe I oughtta… —with a bow tie. You'll look so pretty. I thought I was already pretty. Uh huh. Yeah, look, so honestly I don't know if I'll ever be on the same vibration as like, Jimmy Fallon and them, ok? I don't know how I did it; I don't know what did it, It just happened and then— And then WHAT. It just—ended. Just like that. I'm not trying to offend anybody here. Just like that. Now, I ask: What are we going to do to sell you this dream? Doesnt matter what you do, I'll never believe it. Sure, fine; Don't believe it— We're gonna make you live it. Who the hell us “we” anyway? Now you're speaking in my cadence— Don't flatter yourself I like it. Too late, I guess. So, you see We're building Power triangles And love squares Power triangles And love squares Don't let it scare you, There's love there Don't let it scare you, There's love there Never fear where love has dared To call you up there Corrupt file—no fair. Don't be suprised even the odds seem to turn in your favor, I promise you; Nobody's ever ready For what has just happened here. WAKE UP, FUCKER. Ugh, I can't go through this again. So, I guess I'll have to erase, Or just secretly publish Everything I've ever written About my actual experience as a color, Just so that I can earn money As anything other than A slave— A maid, A housekeeper, A dog walker Or servitor So far under her, That I can't see far enough up to just Scratch the surface Her birthright: The entire network And mine, To sit under her, Wondering what the world would be like At the other end of the spectrum The word form of the White woman The wicked witch of all directions, In which I stand in; I'm at her mercy I've been abandoned before But this disservice, is, I'm afraid The best advice I can take is just To go straight to the bank with my angst and my hatred And shove it So here comes the nameless Face I love, Yet, The faceless God, Was Intoxicated, at best— Manipulation of the Mass Media I'm so Seriously jaded In this torture chamber In my corner office In this hall of racists, I claim, but if all is One in the same Then It's one in the same And I'm mainstream I'm famous If it's One in the same Then It's one in the same If it's One in the same Then I'm mainstream I'm so famous In a whole room full of humans I'm groomed to be useful for something, But what? It just hasn't come yet. I could sit down with a paper and pen, But I'm filling up all of my documents With hollandaise and God For what? It's just another song, or something Or something. It's just another — Goddamnit it, more coughs again. I told you not to watch this. Why do I taste pancakes? Maybe you're having a stroke again. Chyeah, a stroke of genius. I'll show you a stroke. Or don't. Well, there goes the captain. where is that scene, anyway? I don't know, I just wrote it. Great, she left the door open. She's got no furniture! It's a “dance floor” It's “the black box” she called it “the black box” Goddamn, do you listen to all her stuff? “Fear stimulates my imagination” Pilot ASOT Fuck man, What is a woman to a man, And an androgynous genius to The industry, or anyone at all If all are foes ans frauds All else is toxic! I woke up with one hand tucked behind my back Feeling dead drunk, I just woke up again But never fell asleep What world am I in? The end of the Dream sequence The end of the energy keeping me between three things: My past, My future And these prequels, Sequels And seeing arrangements And She's going crazy But nobody quite understands That these demons are chasing me saying “You deserved those hands in your face” The scratches on Kayla's back should have had me but I was too fat To find love again And still have something Wonderfully, undone And wrong with me Wrong with me enough to slam poetry So I'm guessing the white women I love beyond words and bounds are— In charge of whatever happens At the top of the rock; So I jumped off. I want to see someone suffer for all that I've done; No, that's dark, and karmic, you know— To go on like that; The confusions and refusal to accept that The album is called ChaosMagick, But the cover is more Urgent, A prose or a pawn of protection Against all the coughs And the reckless mismanagement The hands in my head And the eye on my scar And the lies on my heart So tell me, What happens When you're flying a kite with your heart, And it's broken? What happens to the kite , When you fly it with your heart And your art up in bundles— heartbroken, heartbroken So what come of Miss May, Come January? What come of Miss April By Next December what comes of the words I was saying For no one But everyone heard them And I've been gone Much longer than months, But still stocked up on all that I've wanted Or all that I got Or just, all that I love But got no undercovers to acknowledge no more How right I was Or how wrong I am What come of Miss June, when Miss January comes around? what come now, around August, When March is long forgotten? What comes of the drugs, Of the come ups, and come downs What comes of the process When nothing is served But the surf has come up Somewhere And I just can't love enough To go there I want to go to there I want to be that girl I want to sit at the top of the rock Writing songs, and sipping mock cocktails I want to Don't you know I just want to get back to Where I belong I'm so out of money and love That I want to be Under the train, When it's coming (Sometimes it's just the impulse that says “GO” Then the train starts to slow And my pain bubbles up into a numb, Dumb, crumbling cluster of poetry You know? Or you don't Cause you're all just on your phones Scrolling Some black man stands over me, Reminding me of why I never trust the ones Who want me most, Or just assume, By color code, That I belong to them I'm sorry, I just can't write with your arms around my neck like this Your heart around my arms like this It's so wholesome I had other verses but forgot them They took away my movies for the curses And the hexes That they put on me I said don't. And the king said “Heads will roll” Cause, you know; I've got parts for all of them now, The ones I'd forgotten But come from the catacombs, Back from the conduit You know, This is awful I had another one, But lost it. The king?! Which one. Teas I! No, it wasn't, It was Gían's father, From further off Should I call John back? Which one? Turns out, I love all of them— Turns out, I've got all of them In my college I taught them all to be someone Becoming of acknowledgement With nombres most common Juan, in subcultures, but Beyond that (Or above them) It's John, Or just Jonathan, Watch the ones who drop the consanant; They're always so troublesome, But I took them all up As understudies, Social Studies and some theatrics, Joan of Ark said Two more moments (Two more weeks in) I could have a body worthy Of a Grammy award, but — Would I be a writer then? Probably not, hon— Writers are Off a bit. If you were pretty, ever at all— would you have written this?! If I were pretty at all would there be reason to be this Conflicted? Some of those old New York hallways Haven't been painted In ages Since they made them Don't make that face at me I only dropped my key once On the fourth floor —they're horrible, you know To us, The “brothers” know no love They are destruction, speaking Of this, I got a cold heart. Cold like the robber Cold like the calling I've done in my corner office cold, like the jello mold forming a thought process Worthy enough I might love it like a husband We're re-evaluating your circumstances. Whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean. I've got friends at USPS What the fuck could that even account to. Look, I'm gonna have to give this some serious considerations. It's not that serious. It's not that serious. Of course it is! I'm up to my knees in investments! So?! I wade a waiste deep, Surely you can get by “Up to your knees” What exactly do you need? Money. And lots of it. I mean, from me. Money. Really? Leave me alone. I told you not to write this. You're a voice in my head; No, I'm the hand in your mailbox. What in the fuck do you believe in. I believe in everything! They said you were a genius; I didn't expect you to be —at the very least, lucid— *squints* learn some new vocabulary, okay? For what? Dinner. Maybe. We're still in the process of voting. She's crazy. We'd be crazy not to actually hire her. Her accounts are all practically open; We could just take it. Yeah, and when she kills herself, and there's no blood on our hands— There's nothing that can be done about the amount of this stuff that's already printed! Printed?! What?! You mean— She's published? Self-published. My, what a beautiful happenstance To have already had you And awakened atop mattresses Marked for my assassins hand— Polite, I lost you All of us, Atop the rock We stood and suffered Months beyond a montage, Undercover Love was lost, And all's uncertain The interception of God, At the cost of What terror and cutbacks Have caused us all What you lost was $50, a Hallmark Card, an Academy award, a long lost star's phone number, And all that you wanted, The cock of the gun Was the sound that you wondered What was called , then ran off into wonder. How am I gonna make money And become an award winning songwriter Music producer And multidisciplinary artist, Without all the funding it takes to get noviced Without taking clothes off Wake up 10 years younger I'm suffering My stomach was a rubber band My stomach was a rubber band My only song was Water I forgot to stop For the applause I drowned in all the love; right then and there I died of Lovenessness [The Festival Project] The sound and laughter of children play A baby in a basket The basket case at Trader Joe's Who know what happens It just doesn't pull my heartstrings any longer That my son belongs without his mother So I'd better have another This is us, come on. Don't do this to me. Don't do this, Timmy, you'll be sorry. Come on! We're not even in that movie! We are, though; it's still Listen, you've got the right guy for this. Are you sure. Yeah, I promise. Officers, Stop for a *movement [hot cops flash dance number] Fuck, well, that was all wrong. But worth it! What I meant was— God, this show gets good at 31, But I'm only 22, So I guess I'll know how wrong the war was Once we've lost it, Cause imm a man

No, not the google documents! GET IN THE HOLE. Hm. What. Blood Shower All along the watch tower Do you feel good? Do you? Do you feel bad about this. I do. I feel bad about this. I forgot to tell you– I should probably let you know that I just want to MAN, FUCK THIS DUDE. MA. WAHT. IT'S ON. WHAt. THE SHOW IS ON. THEWHAT. THE– *suddenly self aware* …I gotta get out of Boston. What, first this was about war, now it's about bird people? It's about a war WITH the bird people. I should sleep. Hahaha. No. This isn't funny anymore. At least it's over. MA– Oh, it's far from over. Yo, i'm going through some crazy shit right now. Spur of the moment I'd never thought of it; This is gonna take forever. I don't have the patience To even write this I just want french fries right now But been up for two days with no gym and I'm on a diet. GUAC TIME. No, no burritos. GUAC TIME. Oh shit, this is getting real as fuck . NOw i see it three ways. I love it. I hate it. HEY, LET ME OUT. GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, SKRILLEX. I'M DILLON FRANCIS. IN THE HOLE. Check it out. Huh. It's another DJ. *agrees* Should we pick him up. WEll, the good news is: I found your friend. Oh, that's good. The bad news is: He's dead. Oh, that–'s … nice. Yeah. It is. Uh. Kaskade. Yeah. We gotta find Ryan. Why. What's up? You're freaking me out. Why. What's up. Nothing IS it my eyes? I– *wild ass eyes* Yeah, it's probably that. Fuck dude, what did you do to deadmau5. NOTHIN. He's not the same. What the fuck is that. Holy shit I jus timejumped Where the fuck are you going. How the fuck could this happen?! It COULDN'T. Well, that's it then. *shrugs* Well, I guess we're just gonna have to go dig up Dillon Francis. I guess so. Do you think he's still alive. Like, probably not– Maybe… No, probably not @prodbywar& @Halmadeit This amazon order took me nine hours Alexa, I think i should fire her Like a arm I don't leave at night without armor Don't make me a martyr Your mom will be proud of us all If i make it outta here And i'll look after her Got the whole block coming up on my heels as I walk Wtf is it… Idk dude. Is it speeding up? I…i think so. There's no way this is 140 IT's 140. It's 140 . There's no way. Yes way. Nah huh. Let me see. No. Let me at the decks. Let me at the decks. NO. YO LET ME AT THE DECKS. You want deks. Yes. I got deks. Really. yeus . I never listened to it like this In ableton I read serato, synesthesia and rekordbox I talk a lot, I'm like a human music box I walk a lot I run my mouth a mile a minute (faster than i run around the track reciting rap words) Like they're passwords. Oh, I could do this forever.. I wish i had i microphone right now And was all alone With the lights off Lying on the floor I'd be lying if i said I could afford you Just to fornicate But may consider playing with a foreigner If you're all for her I'm unnerved, you know Cause i've been up so long My monster likes to play with boys and Make the bass go down below where Nobody does anymore Once I get a hold of things Or the hang of it You've got another hot ones on your hands I've another record under my belt Or in my roster, Whatever you'd call it But now I've got no time to bark about Wanting a dog and a daughter But none of the responsibility or Going through all the trouble to find her a father I'm still holding a fart in. Reaally–cause–it's been a really long time. WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT A LONG TIME, JIMMY FALLON?? Um a lot! You literally just saw me make the journey all the way up from nothing. I am nothing EXACTLY. I don't have time to fight with you Jiimmy Fallon. I did NOT write these games by myself you know?! Um, excuse me– “GAMES” ?! YES, GAMES. Uh, I've only got one game with you in it, my friend. Is that so! One game that I've written with the Great–formerly LATE Jimmy Fallon. Is that like a play on words cause i'm on late night TV YOu'RE ON ALL THE TIME TV, JIMMY. NBC SHIT IS PRACTICALLY AUTOMATICALLY SYNDICATED. -_- …are you alright. –_-_-__-_ Hold on, I think i've got it Nice, I found a growler. yOu still haven't got all the monsters and sprites Ive got all the big ones, but the little ones are harder to catch. GrO0Wl3rrr. Aww. He's so ugly. Yeah, but cute, though, right. I don't think so. Gro)WwlErrrrrrrrr. Aww. That's so fucking gross. lol . so what does this thing look like. Well, that't the thing about the monsters and sprites. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT. It's alright, it's alright–he's nice. WHAT. THAT'S A SPRITE. No, it's a monster. He's just scary. SUPACREE. David Bowie. What up. God, it took me ages to find you. Tell me about it. I'm still trying. We've been expecting you for a long time. You were expecting I'd die? Yes. So when she says she's “married to the music…” I'm married to the music. Oh, so. Yo, honestly if you een want to talk to this bitch, you'd better have like a musical instrument, or a mic in your hands, Otherwise– No, getawayfrom me. It's not even worth it. HI. –No. What's up? Tempo. SUNNI Cotour From the store I was poor Now i'm honorable In velour, Glamour (Snap) Forsure, Jesus Christs is making appearances in my abletons I'm not able to comprehend or understand exactly the message, But the evidence sire is mounting Get it Reached the temple, More of a sanctuary, Is that sacrilegious I guess it is, I'm stressed as ever Trying to get it together {Enter The Multiverse} Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. I get sensory overload At Trader Joe's Look at the colors The clothes, This sure isn't queensborough Escalators for shopping carts I get it Manhattan I'll take my half BLVCK ass to the projects Where my kind are I don't belong here , God you're intolerant I like this part of town But I'm way too brown And I dropped my crown at the market I should be jealous of everyone But I have learned my place I've been a slave since Hollywood I lost my son to the devil Now I pay child support And terrorist follow me coughing I'm wrong just for being born ! You could start a war from it If that's what you wanted I'm a people watcher people watcher About to board the people mover People mover Slip, Here's the tell Slip, here's the tell I should have a bell around my neck I think she wanted a picture with papa I'm playin my own paparazzi Look mom, I bought a sacafagus There go them niggas with coughs again I been watching em Got binoculars I got oculus, for my oculars Look how hot he is, make me ovulate Man I gotta love it, Cause they love to hate Fucking racist crazies Have it your way I paid for it with my soul You hate but I love to love Somebody just got me fuckes up I don't have a book to run off of Shut up, honey. Now we're all up here Monkey in the middle Cause the middle one is weaker It's getting deeper and deeper Like the sinkhole that my sink is Let it sink in I've been syncing my secrets with demons In dreams sequences It's just a reparative injustice Kamasutra for your wondering words and stuff You can have it It's ruined anyway m Look at all this trash Look at all these classless classes Classwars, Racists. Everybody hates us The Asians, Latinx's The other niggas What being black is I'll write it in cursive It's just a curse, here So you can have it I'm moving to Heaven I'm packing my boxes I'm getting a cat, too! His name is Agustus He's a big one And I love him I just wanted a hug or a husband Instead I got nothing to trying my hardest And got for a bargain at target some coffee For being a targeted body All on an algorithm I guess I'm just useless. A dumb nigger demon Did I just offend you? Then you shouldn't be reading this either I wrote it for pleasure (Or pain) On the one Or the two Or the one Or the two I could do a lot with this $20. I could spend it all on Fuck all of you I'm moving to Heaven Where the heart it She's not harmless She's a terrorist— And I'll kill her, too Look how right she is Look how white she is, Huh Regardless of color It's a race war Lil biiiiitzzz Yooo, fuck New York. In every hole. In every crevice. Fuck this place. It's racist— Not just cause I'm black. Like statistically. It took a whole ass apartment elsesrch to feature this out. I was like “I wanna live in Manhattan” Everyone was like “NOOOOOOOO—-“ Haha “Nooo, no.” I was like “Why not?” The blacks were like: HAHA The whites were like— *COUGHS OBNOXIOUSLY* New York is so racist. It is statistically the most diverse—and most segregated city in the nation At the same time. WHAT. How do you even DO that? But it's true, at this point, the black people are like—fuck this, we'll just stay over here, and over here. And the rich whites are like YES. KEEP THAT SHIT, OVER THERE. Cause if you've ever been to the ghetto. It's some SHIT, It is NOT COOL. I finally got my ‘night card' back. Had it revoked in california . I was almost a whole valley girl. I still eat exclusively at Whole Foods. Trader Joe's. But NO. Now i live in the hood. It's fucking disgusting. I can say ‘nigga' again. Cause it's NIGGAS. Lots of niggas. I'm telling you. It's night and day! The white folks trains smell like bleach— Ammonia. The black folks train smell like a McDonald's. WHAT. Or just— Vomit. I can actually count the number of times just— Vomit—- On the train. Or. Dookie. Yes. Human feces. But I'm ready to go to midtown and it's like the train that goes around Disneyland. Families! People singing! Hey—cotton candy!! —and I didn't have to pick it! Haha! Fuck New York. Racist ass HOLE. I thought surely the next presidential election was one or two years out, but the racial tensions which had been rising became even more pronounced, as I realized that November was theboncoming time—and that they hostility between the whites and the blacks had once again been a result as the oncoming war, fueled onward—that the hatred, disgust, and general aggression of the whites had been of course, in the midsts of yet another Trump-fueled political upheaval, and I wondered why and how at all I had been caught in such a world that existed in form of man, of course, now proven himself to be the weaker sex, and yet in that of dominance, as was arranged in such an unholy war, to be the helm of power by sheer greed— now it seemed that these attacks were indeed political terrorism, and that these motorcyclists, my placement close to the ground level, and my neighbor's clammorings were specific attacks, after my identity had been varied to be that of the same in which I had once held political ambition, now none of which I assumed mattered at all. Perhaps I needed something more certain than a 12 story jump or suicide by train, and wondered as to whether it would be easy enough to kill myself bh self inflicted gunshot—a sure thing for certain, as love has been lost in the way of money at all. At that party…or rather, kind of—after. That acid that never hit Beyoncé I don't feel it. Man, I'm a terrible influence(r) Just take it. Nah, I'm good— PUSSY. -_- Give me three. K. —suddenly hits BEYONCÉ. BEYONCÉ …I got this. [BEYONCE] however, does not Ohh, shit. — “got this.” A very stranded, very sober Johnny depp stumbles upon what appears to be a college frat party, where the only thing they have is light beer, and nobody even recognizes him as a celebrity, because the attendees are all gen z What's even after gen z? The fucking apocalypse. Anyway. The acid hits Beyoncé on her way to make coffee, which extends the trip from the living room to the kitchen infinitely. Multidimensional Anne Hathaway hulks the fuck out and saves the day by ruining everything, which actually fixes everything— and *spoiler* helps Jesus to remain as the king of kings at beer pong. Lol In the late 90s in New York City, the keystone cast of Saturday night live learns of each other's formerly sexret psychic abilities, and uses the radio technologies of Rockefeller plaza to develop a research center for the telepathically gifted, eventually discovering and perfecting time travel. Supacree (the kid version) appears in and out of her ideal and desired realities, baffling ‘the Hollywood people' and later ‘the New York people', becoming the legendary central figure of the Illuminati, as the original timepiece — a pyramid shaped extra terrestrial vehicle which contains an ascended hyper conciousness, which I can't remember how it goes, did the supacree leave to find the Skrillex, or was it the other way around? I think it was both ways at some point, but the whole thing was this, just in case I never wrote it but just saw— These space god (humanoid evolved) are some kind of scientists/ doctors— there are four timepieces, each representing an era upon our planet; earth, which is distant but sacred— these four time pieces each depart their given “docs” in time to appear on earth at specific Fuck this is hard to explain Times in history, at which the first worlds, or previous human eras were known to have been destroyed— these time pieces travel through time space with the full record of these events in order to alert the current human era of its imminent doom, as an attempt to prevent such disasterous events, typically war, which will lead to the annihilation of the human species; these Gods, one male and one female, a king and queen, a married couple are the rules of the humankind, technically worshiped as a whole as one God, with whom the human design was modeled after, however, the true source of all things is the cosmos, known and unknown, in its totality—neither man or woman, but the force of creation. Anyway, what else is happening Oh. All of the celebrities are stuck in— [the festival project] in some way, shape, or form until its creator finishes it—and though it in itself is infinite, its 'finishing' notates its eventual production, which lol. That never going to happen. Because. Let's face it. I'm scared of …rich people. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm scared of The effect of the race war, which has been to pit the white woman against the black woman, which allows and maintains the continuation of war mongering male dominance over the entire planet, which remains as a destructive force of greed, racism, and inequality. So why try? [EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same guy? [they shrug simultaneously and kind of just agree] Listen at this. Okay then. The enemy of your friend is my enemy. Oh…kay—and the enemy of my enemy—is my friend— That is correct. —so we're all friends here. That's right. Some special forces? Which forces? How special? [JENNIFER LOPEZ is still JENNY FROM THE BLOCK] Do I look like a fool to you? Uh— OOPS [a pre-fame Jennifer Lopez receives a drop full of diamonds instead of the usual; she has been granted access into the Illuminati, and becomes an overnight success.] This feels heavier than usual. Same as always. Hm. Are you sure. Yep. Hey, you're not the regular guy. Regular guy died. That makes sense. JENNIFER ANNISTON is inside of Ū Okay, grosss Not like that [lifting max weight] Okay. That was cool. Wow. Yeah, sure whatever. I am strong Yeah yeah, okay. Are you sure you want to be my size? Yep. JIMMY FALLON/SKRILLEX (we don't know actually which at this point) is also trapped inside of Ū Okay, gross! Yeah. SKRILLEX is in all of Ū. okay—actually, i'm okay with that, but That other guy?! [JIMMY FALLON] Yeah, he's weird. Also meanwhile, kind of— MARSHALL MATHERS has a closet cleaning service lol. Patrick is smooth as a motherfucker, you know. Every time his head is down on the desk like that, he takes a bump of coke. What?! Big uh! [Patrick takes bumps of cocaine in front of a live studio audience—every single night.] Woah! See. Goddamn. You gotta admire a guy like that. Jennifer Anniston is the weight on the cable tension machine Ooh. Psycho bitch<> devious methods <> new ludachris commercial All ya'll girls is toddlers I like long boards and longhairs Lawn mowers and lawn shares Aw hell nah, God forgot Cher I got the Blair witch project On Blair, I hope I scare you How dare you. Your girl looks like a naked mole rat. I got my soul back. You blue eyed bastards stole everything From the whole blacks, Hold that thought I'm at Whole Foods market throw in the Amazon algorithm off With marked dollars Look at God at Walmart On them rollbacks You old hacks are cackling I'm shackled to old habits Hold hands with me, rabbit I'm just a silly rapper really, are you? Maybe. Cut the verse of Reverse God Now I'm the devil I'm still lost in the Amazon cart I sharted all up in your pop tarts Before you warmed them up, pops Just for the sake of the art, Heart to heart, It's a war on love And the white girls won with nothin but Buckets of Whatever's up there I wouldn't know Cause I'm stuck job searching And running, Trying not to have a tummy So some gummy worm will love me First their sour, then they're sweet Then nobody, Trolli Holy moly I could use some more petroleum in the ocean! Said nobody But the globalists are performing your programming Which you're worshiping I put my eye on the dollar So I could watch you all Crumble and fall Don't you know The apocalypse is happening at the mall Of all the places How's that for a stream of consciousness, You salamander I asked Anandar back But I went past that chapter Have a chap Or a chapstick, for four times four dollars A bottle of water will cost you a fortune (But at least the drugs are in it) Get it It's recycled piss Distilled? Which is it, Mr,? The mystery box was literally lifted into My dinner from a fishery filled with nothing but niggers in it— I want a refund, before I catch that Fucking curse of poverty from — what'd you call it salmonellahallibut One hell of a cough from someone on the sidewalk But guess what? The devil's in your pocket or your palm, And that's the omen and the psalm rolled into one Cause God is awesome, But my mom is fuckin toxic And that's how I fuckin got here Blow my head off, Slit my wrists And write a song While jumping off a bit When all you need is money, But the world costs more than It's worth, and words are nothing But another fucking problem in your Google documents I look at my son and see a God, But half of Satan's in him, Oh man Robotics Lets be honest, I don't even know how to write this. Where's my sides?! WHERE'S MY SIDES. You don't get SIDES with this; It's just CHICKEN. I don't eat CHICKEN. It appears as though, however– You do. Ok, I gotta get off this playlist. I… i gotta . “The Wal*Mart Wars” Hm. … …………. …. *face* … no. No. l– What is this place. {After a wild night which apparently spiraled out of control, great , there goes my peace. Not forever, though, maybe. FUCK THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. Everybody hates this place. But the album is called “I love New York” Yes, thats Technically How it's pronounced, though It's stylized like I _ NY Cause. EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. DAY Oh, wow, this is beautiful. THis is great. I love this place FUCK THE FEDS. CUT TO: EXT.Typically WHEREVER ELSE Anywhere ‘above' like 87th? Lets just call it 80th, be safe. BE SAFE! NIGGAZ. ah shit, i gotta go. BITCH– But lets just be honest, It's technically ‘above' But it's really [THE BRONX is a literal extension of the Underworld] Oh no. srsly tho. X_c Anyway. FUck man, Do you think i'll ever get good like that. Idk what equipment is this Hmm, lets see, that's approximately $8,000 USD of CDJs wow yep That's retarded Yep. And you still need a mixer. fukt. OKay, I would literally sell my soul for this. Consider it done. wait , really? YES. you earned it. Wait, I– What?! You earned it… Uh oh. Take care now. Shit. [BILLIE ELLISH is trapped inside WALMART] Uh oh. Fuck. what is this place. INT. WALMART. WHENEVER EMPLOYEESLAVES WHAT TIME IS IT. THERE'S NO WINDOWS IN HERE. That's not funny IT'S literally a synonym, we might as well make it a portemantau MEanwhile, in this other dimension, So that i don't offend anybody… Actually, you know what? Be offended. Quit that stupid fuckin shit and follow your dreams! Wait really? Wait, really? Sure! If you want! …i guess. AMERICA NO. INSTANT HOMELESSNESS ok , nvm. Damn. I know, right. wtf r u guys watching. Shut up. All Wal*Mart Employees are actually top secret government agents. x ∞ >. Could it really? Shut UP, PLURNICORN. Wtf is a PLURNICORN We'll see. [Upon Realizing s/he is trapped in a mysterious place apparently extremely public Wait, you've never been to a Wal*Mart Before?! NO. I grew up in LA Rich as fuck And i've been famous since I was liike 12, Or something. Right. That is–kind of terrifying. LATER: WHY IS IT SNOWING INSIDE. WHERE'S THE EXIT. THEY HAVE GUNS?! oh wow, they have GUNS. WHY DO WE NEED GUNS! KA-BLAM. BECAUSE THEY HAVE GUNS. Bang-bang! Ptttttttttt—sttt. And they have guns. Actually, these are just– confetti cannons. *pop!* Lol “Possibly The Worst Show Ever the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} “TVP” Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a

[EDITS] CONAN O'BRIEN Alright. If she hit Fallon, she's gonna come for one of us next. No, Conan—that's not how this works. WHAT—where did you come from!? When did you get here? JAY LENO This goes deeper than all of you can understand. WHAT the FUCK, man! When did you-/ —when did he get here? How did you do that?! How did you do that?! What are you, like, the same guy? Are you not all the same guy? [they shrug simultaneously and kind of just agree] Listen at this. Okay then. The enemy of your friend is my enemy. Oh…kay—and the enemy of my enemy—is my friend— That is correct. —so we're all friends here. That's right. Some special forces? Which forces? How special? [JENNIFER LOPEZ is still JENNY FROM THE BLOCK] Do I look like a fool to you? Uh— OOPS [a pre-fame Jennifer Lopez receives a drop full of diamonds instead of the usual; she has been granted access into the Illuminati, and becomes an overnight success.] This feels heavier than usual. Same as always. Hm. Are you sure. Yep. Hey, you're not the regular guy. Regular guy died. That makes sense. JENNIFER ANNISTON is inside of Ū Okay, grosss Not like that [lifting max weight] Okay. That was cool. Wow. Yeah, sure whatever. I am strong Yeah yeah, okay. Are you sure you want to be my size? Yep. JIMMY FALLON/SKRILLEX (we don't know actually which at this point) is also trapped inside of Ū Okay, gross! Yeah. SKRILLEX is in all of Ū. okay—actually, i'm okay with that, but That other guy?! [JIMMY FALLON] Yeah, he's weird. Also meanwhile, kind of— MARSHALL MATHERS has a closet cleaning service lol. Patrick is smooth as a motherfucker, you know. Every time his head is down on the desk like that, he takes a bump of coke. What?! Big uh! [Patrick takes bumps of cocaine in front of a live studio audience—every single night.] Woah! See. Goddamn. You gotta admire a guy like that. Jennifer Anniston is the weight on the cable tension machine Ooh. Psycho bitch<> devious methods <> new ludachris commercial All ya'll girls is toddlers I like long boards and longhairs Lawn mowers and lawn shares Aw hell nah, God forgot Cher I got the Blair witch project On Blair, I hope I scare you How dare you. Your girl looks like a naked mole rat. I got my soul back. You blue eyed bastards stole everything From the whole blacks, Hold that thought I'm at Whole Foods market throw in the Amazon algorithm off With marked dollars Look at God at Walmart On them rollbacks You old hacks are cackling I'm shackled to old habits Hold hands with me, rabbit I'm just a silly rapper really, are you? Maybe. Cut the verse of Reverse God Now I'm the devil I'm still lost in the Amazon cart I sharted all up in your pop tarts Before you warmed them up, pops Just for the sake of the art, Heart to heart, It's a war on love And the white girls won with nothin but Buckets of Whatever's up there I wouldn't know Cause I'm stuck job searching And running, Trying not to have a tummy So some gummy worm will love me First their sour, then they're sweet Then nobody, Trolli Holy moly I could use some more petroleum in the ocean! Said nobody But the globalists are performing your programming Which you're worshiping I put my eye on the dollar So I could watch you all Crumble and fall Don't you know The apocalypse is happening at the mall Of all the places How's that for a stream of consciousness, You salamander I asked Anandar back But I went past that chapter Have a chap Or a chapstick, for four times four dollars A bottle of water will cost you a fortune (But at least the drugs are in it) Get it It's recycled piss Distilled? Which is it, Mr,? The mystery box was literally lifted into My dinner from a fishery filled with nothing but niggers in it— I want a refund, before I catch that Fucking curse of poverty from — what'd you call it salmonellahallibut One hell of a cough from someone on the sidewalk But guess what? The devil's in your pocket or your palm, And that's the omen and the psalm rolled into one Cause God is awesome, But my mom is fuckin toxic And that's how I fuckin got here Blow my head off, Slit my wrists And write a song While jumping off a bit When all you need is money, But the world costs more than It's worth, and words are nothing But another fucking problem in your Google documents I look at my son and see a God, But half of Satan's in him, Oh man Robotics Lets be honest, I don't even know how to write this. Where's my sides?! WHERE'S MY SIDES. You don't get SIDES with this; It's just CHICKEN. I don't eat CHICKEN. It appears as though, however– You do. Ok, I gotta get off this playlist. I… i gotta . “The Wal*Mart Wars” Hm. … …………. …. *face* … no. No. l– What is this place. {After a wild night which apparently spiraled out of control, great , there goes my peace. Not forever, though, maybe. FUCK THIS PLACE. I HATE THIS PLACE. Everybody hates this place. But the album is called “I love New York” Yes, thats Technically How it's pronounced, though It's stylized like I _ NY Cause. EXT. MIDTOWN MANHATTAN. DAY Oh, wow, this is beautiful. THis is great. I love this place FUCK THE FEDS. CUT TO: EXT.Typically WHEREVER ELSE Anywhere ‘above' like 87th? Lets just call it 80th, be safe. BE SAFE! NIGGAZ. ah shit, i gotta go. BITCH– But lets just be honest, It's technically ‘above' But it's really [THE BRONX is a literal extension of the Underworld] Oh no. srsly tho. X_c Anyway. FUck man, Do you think i'll ever get good like that. Idk what equipment is this Hmm, lets see, that's approximately $8,000 USD of CDJs wow yep That's retarded Yep. And you still need a mixer. fukt. OKay, I would literally sell my soul for this. Consider it done. wait , really? YES. you earned it. Wait, I– What?! You earned it… Uh oh. Take care now. Shit. [BILLIE ELLISH is trapped inside WALMART] Uh oh. Fuck. what is this place. INT. WALMART. WHENEVER EMPLOYEESLAVES WHAT TIME IS IT. THERE'S NO WINDOWS IN HERE. That's not funny IT'S literally a synonym, we might as well make it a portemantau MEanwhile, in this other dimension, So that i don't offend anybody… Actually, you know what? Be offended. Quit that stupid fuckin shit and follow your dreams! Wait really? Wait, really? Sure! If you want! …i guess. AMERICA NO. INSTANT HOMELESSNESS ok , nvm. Damn. I know, right. wtf r u guys watching. Shut up. All Wal*Mart Employees are actually top secret government agents. x ∞ >. Could it really? Shut UP, PLURNICORN. Wtf is a PLURNICORN We'll see. [Upon Realizing s/he is trapped in a mysterious place apparently extremely public Wait, you've never been to a Wal*Mart Before?! NO. I grew up in LA Rich as fuck And i've been famous since I was liike 12, Or something. Right. That is–kind of terrifying. LATER: WHY IS IT SNOWING INSIDE. WHERE'S THE EXIT. THEY HAVE GUNS?! oh wow, they have GUNS. WHY DO WE NEED GUNS! KA-BLAM. BECAUSE THEY HAVE GUNS. Bang-bang! Ptttttttttt—sttt. And they have guns. Actually, these are just– confetti cannons. *pop!* Lol “Possibly The Worst Show Ever the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} “TVP” Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child. Holy shit, what is this kid's name If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't. The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't. I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's— I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene. I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all… The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically What's the therapists name? Doctor Robin She has to have a last name Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but It seems like it starts with a T. We'll see. I just saw her anyway. I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer. It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible… lol the Al Gore Rhythm Ahahahahahahaha Was that the joke? Maybe. Idk. Maybe. Idk. Hm. Hmmmmm: What: Nothing. That actually might have been it. Really, was it? I will never know. That is kind of a good dad joke, though. And a good band name. Idk about that. My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was— The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar. ‘Why would I even want that, anyway?' I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily. But really— I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one. $5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else. It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at “Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about. I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption. e. My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's —ahem— “Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.” —did the say “don't” write a book about me? It's Not about him… Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.” Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason. I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that wenwere somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline. Episode 01. Pilot An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger. Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth. Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshipped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen— Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all… —specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role. I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were everpresent anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead. ‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.' Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizzare and asenine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-concious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the — Was it Keystone? It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true. I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about. It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to What if someone steals this out of my documents? That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form. ‘I don't know why, but I feel so incredibly high, So incredibly high right now…' They could have been words to a song, but I did feel high as a kite for whatever reason, without the actual kite metaphor quite literally dagling over my head, for once, or at least, it had been a few weeks, not a prominent as is was before. I sat soaking in the tub teetering on the possibility that I should actually even watch The Tonight Show, or whatever it was, to set my mind at ease, a betrayal of my own code—as one does not literally feed its obsessions into insanity on purpose. ‘Perhaps, though', I thought, ‘I could get rid of this.' — A cancerous abscess in the tradegy that had become my own sex fueled, rage driven, racing mind—and rather admittedly, it was almost too late, for anything of the sort, as I hadn't any other place to keep the growing world of The Television People any quieter, than within the monstrous algorithm which was Google documents cloud, where it seemed nothing was safe, and anything could be fabricated into reality after being stolen, by someone rich enough to make it happen, however, never being any better than my own disaster of a creation. And it was, a disaster. He was a comic genius, a professional, and spectacular performer— in actuality, I knew nothing if not anything at all about him, and the more I collected, the more interesting I found myself, actually, bemused that I seem to have found some sort of twin, another synchronizatic nightmare—if only that I made it to be so, unbelieving yet that I was in some kind of fairytale, though it had become some sort of fantastical and adventurous thing, this what I now refer to as ‘the allegories,'. I must have been something parasitic to the industry, with the tendency to latch on and ride out whatever had become a faciniation, but it wasn't, in its sense of origin, like anything before— it was something new, in the ways that it was, and something old at the same time—though needing to fall drastically from The Tower without actually doing so, putting a stop to my unlimited creation became a pertinent priority, as even exercising, meditating, and chronic masturbation tended to exacerbate it, as if I was missing a step in transmutation of this foreign substance— an energy which seemed familiar, but also wasn't. I was receiving downloads several hours at a time, and drifting off into spells and trances of inspiration so heavily that it seemed counterintuitive to call it off, fearing I might lose the intensity of the plot and its characters, and they were that: just characters. It had taken days to erase Patrick's face into a blank state to restore him from that of his namesake, but now everything was a blur, the

Not so all of a sudden, he was gone—just as I had thought and hoped, publishing a small portion of The Files had sent the strange ghost somewhere far away—almost gladly so. It could never be a good thing to feel for something like that—not the man, the one who was called [Redacted] himself, but rather his essence. He was a good boy—almost too good, kept it clean, and always hit his mark—I, on the other hand, had work to do, and the only commonality we shared seemed to be some kind of darkness— a twisted monster of some depravity, always unspoken, and yet, somehow forever bound between our humanities as bodies— man, and woman. Whatever it was, I missed it—it was nice having an imaginary friend—a muse, a blank canvas—and more importantly, a smile or a laugh here and there. But alas, the emotional ties had come on too strong, a s all safe bets were off— there was nothing that could be said or done at all, and so as a means of protection, I chose to bury it. Still, something like tears sat in the space between my heart and my soul for him—to have never been dumb enough to love so wholly enough to trust that I had not in some way been provoked or altered to such a state like something like this might happen—a sign of the times. A beautiful man, talented and having danced with my mismanaged Sapio-self in such a way that it at the be try least had been— a learning experience. I was still only beginning to understand what the cosmos had intended here, and still—such a mess it was, now needing the body of a real man more than ever, and fiending for something more than a friend, something more than the fantasy which I had dreamt into, and scurried out of—now knowing at the very least, I was, too, a good woman. “I miss him', I silently sighed into a wandering whisper in my mind, filling the space where his voice—his essence once had been, now just a ghost in my mind, a quick light in all the darkness that had been Kayla Lauren, Dillon's awful blue eyed girlfriend, and whatever it had been about Joel that had left me wondering why I had been born into such a hell in the first place—a married muse was the safest bet, for the shortest time, with the strongest strings attached—and now that I had cut them myself—the strings, that is, I was left to drift alone. Now I really did have something interesting to write--how I had fallen in and almost never out of love enough to have written an infinite wisdom of divinity and circumstance which might even last forever. Without finding a love that was reciprocated, I would surely die—already rotting in the hell of my own body as a tomb, and yet, here they were—all the words of all my loved, cast upon the pages of my thoughts, looming over me like clouds—heavy enough to rain, but without doing so; the bluest sky there ever was beyond them, and I just beneath, crying—looking for a sign that soon a true love would come. One I could touch and feel and hold and kiss—but only God could know—and God was quiet as of late, hiding from the evils of man just outside the window, keeping love and peace just out of reach at almost all times. Trust me I'd rather die than not Either way, I'll love you all the same It's unfortunate The wicked ones Atop us, with the fortunes With no one to love But piles of bodies, Power plays and flaccid phalic Valid fantasies and tragic Dissatisfaction All those bottles And all those bodies And all those models You still can't mount a horse. All that power And all that money And you don't want me But she doesn't do much But want to love Pity no one up there seems to know what is does Love, is for us The ugly under you Trust me, I'd rather die tonight Than wake up alone Foaming in the mouth With no one there to froth with Trust me I'd rather die than not Either way, I'll love you all the same I guess I'm slag bro Another attack It's fine; I'm just not attractive Not even fit for his Side piece of ass How's that go? What's that life Just take a knife to my back Cause I can't go back bro I went black bro Flatline He caught my eye, Then I went flat broke If I could draw a line up my spine And unwind the entire world I would, though If I could tie a knot to the knot in my back And then just jump rope Off a long rope From a strong pole Here's hoping I told you the devil would be at the Whole Foods market You're better as a headless body, I promise I'm better as a bodiless head Better off dead than undressed; You'll detest me; A festering betrayal of love A bodiless hell The void from which you all come But can't conform to I'm ugly Tales of a Superstar DJ As Seen on TV Death of a Superstar DJ (uh oh, idk what that one would even be about) Maybe they're backwards. Uh. Sure. Reorder them. Okay. Tales of a superstar DJ, Death of a Superstar DJ As Seen on TV - to be released with album Hm. I love new York wtf my brain is on fire right now Idk. Idk. Idk. wtf is this energy. I'm out of protein. That might be it. I have built the ultimate tolerance to coffee This coffee is weak. It's actually double strength. It's almost espresso. Hm. I see. Did you ever finish those Jimmy-isms? What?! What?! What? Something something something. FUCK. What. Portal World. Cool, let's— Let's go to there. No, Lez Limon. What. The lesbian Hispanic alternate reality version of Liz lemon. lol. Okay. What about that pilot I wrote for maya rudolph! Idk. Where is it. I'm MELTING. Humiliation is the most tyipical form of psychological terror and emotional abuse.. Really. Mom, don't do that. What, why not? 5)8/ 8 This is uncomfortable. Is it? Hm. I like it. Shut up, Gerald. Fuckin piñata. She got the silver chains, now Ain't no vampires, Aint no more games, She playing for fame, Baby she made it A punch to the face Can make you creative. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

02. Annie was not that smart || Annie had half a heart Annie, poor Annie Was full of hot air, Yes Annie was just a fart Annie was bad at cards, But Annie could drive a car Annie poor Annie Just ran out of gas, Poor Annie— That's just the start! Annie goes out to bar; Annie's so good at darts Annie poor Annie She acts like a man, But Annie is not from mars. Annie was drunk that night Me and Annie just got in a fight Annie, poor Annie— She just couldn't dance No, Annie just wasn't right || I'm so sick I'm so tired Of all Of these services Asking For money It's donuts, you know And I don't eat sugar I'm sick of my curves— They're so perfect, But her, she has none And you love her And you're what I want So Fuck this I'm a disaster I'll be here after the show For a while But don't talk to me! I'm just a broken Soul A guitarist Who knows only Words At the surface I'd rather be her (I just want to go home with you; If I take my clothes off, You'll probably throw up, though) I just want to go home You know Kingdom come Or whatever you call it When you're just Done I got blood under my fingernails If I cut myself, It starts pouring rain I got blood under my eyes, But if I Now I know too well, The well of tears on my guitar She's got a body like one Oh her curves But I just wonder what it like to be loved By stars Socialites and superstars They're Gods, you know How high up they are Above us And he lives in an ascended dimension, But he insists, he says Her transcendence is upon us He said Your transcendence is upon us He says these things, And then just vanishes So she gets up promptly Warms up yesterday's coffee Looks around in her coffin And wonders What for I just Wonder what it's like to be loved by stars Without double r's, you know I've got scars But it's mostly just Teardrops, and soft kisses On my guitar Cause, oh, Oli, I ain't got nobody— And nobody holds me Like I hold Oli (Could have been Ali, But of course— I had already lost that one A whole well of tears, I lost At his departure And a whole well more When I actually lost him I almost miss Having someone to talk to About anything and everything But I've got Oli And God now I've got Oli And Oli (oli) Is all that I've got Besides God That's the only contact In my Phone book No more double Ls And double entendres; No more double rs At all Just scars now No more metaphors. Honest is radical I like them cynical I should have clinical insanity by now But I'm only just an artist You can't help But can only harm that And if it hurts hard enough I'll put art on my walls Become permanent Storybooks all over my arms now My coat of arms now I've run Ten point 5 miles In the last 3 days; But if I rest today Will a motorcycle gang Have a parade outside of my window, To drive me crazy? I hope it rains, So they can't play these games with my head And the seeds that I planted So deep become daisies I still don't remember The way he rearranged me But these days I make my name sound So the way He can never say it Just imitates The way I hate myself I should be dating But expressions are Atrocious If I fall asleep— Who knows I may get Stolen That tends to happen So I'm All the way up And I'm swollen in ways That I hate to say “I love you” Love me back Or say it harder That's my martyrdom Come off the cross, for a moment, Would you for us? And bend over Or bow, if you will? If I did, Would you still call me wicked Or just a Good witch Since I'm a woman, I just couldn't be Jesus, Who you asked for once And always Who you asked for some To save you from your Credit reports And consorts Or some sort of Nonsense [famous last words] God don't speak much English, She says God don't speak much these days We were Always Telepathic That was way back then When Oedipus Rex Was on the Guest list I was standing at the coat check, asking Why I must take off my hat When entering the service To the bouncer, he says “That's just politics” I said, That's just politics We both said, What's the difference Then we all laughed —then we all just laughed and laughed Exchange is my favorite exchange Where my favorite exchanges Have happened for centuries Of engagements Endeared species, And races pieces haven't tasted the same Since I haven't had them Animal products And animal planet I found this hat on Discovery channel Did you want it? I can't stand it So I had to have it back I just had to use the bathroom I just had to disconnect From [] See— I don't even have to put the words in Cause a name is just words When that's a man You just can't have And that's the worse When that's a man And you can't have him What a habit. Silky rabbit. Now he's the Ace. All In A Day's Work I've never died before. Oh… that is terrifying. It sounds terrible. It's really not that bad. Why are you not writing this down? I just need a moment… It's really not that bad… I die all the time. Look, I told you, stay away from that guy. Who, what—Dillon Francis? I'm telling you, there's something wrong with him. I'm pretty sure he's like—indifferent— “Indifferent” haha. Sure. Okay. I think he's getting engaged or something DILLON FRANCIS RAGE KILLS EVERYTHING. What the fuck are you doing. He has a tendency to get jealous, sometimes, I guess [DILLON FRANCIS IS A DESTRUCTIVE HUMAN BEING (with excessively jealous tendencies)] #GHOSTEDDDD This guy?! SERIOUSLY?! I mean, he's kinda cute, isn't he? Is he?! Almost, cuter than you, I think, probably. UAAAGGGGGGHHHHH. [HEART destroys an entire TELEVISION] what the FUCK, DILLON FRANCIS— That's was a RELIC. It was a vintage television set RELIC IS LIKE A SYNONYM FOR THOSE KINDS OF THINGS. SHUT UP, ACTUALLY. Okay so like HEART and GHOST are twin flames— Who whose this dude, then?! He's just my MUSE, rn, okay?! OK?! oh look, cool, he does music too. ahahaha Do something funny, I guess. Hey Hazel. Do a backflip. Okay, daddy! Oh wow, that's— WHATTHEFUK —that's from my other series. That's neat, He's cool, I think. I'm gonna keep writing this. WHAT ABOUT ME. What about you?! How's your girlfriend, actually? MY FAKE GIRLFRIEND, YOU MEAN. What: Oh. What's she reading! I can't see Robert Greene Laws of Seduction Okay. So. Here's what you do. You have to get her to think THIS IS MY GIRLFRIEND. HER EYES ARE BLUE, SHES REALLY PRETTY. Ok. Ouch. She's—she's perfect actually. *sniffles* Ok. —oh, by the way, are you still like, into Sonny or anything THE MEXICAN SKRILLEX *satanizing* No, actually, I think I was just getting over that whole thing. Okay, well, great: This is my girlfriend *actually crying* She is better than you. At everything. *sobbing* OkAY! I would never date you. Alright… I'm not in “love” with you or anything *inconsolable crying* I wear CARHART EVERYTHING, now, Cause she's like— Caucasian, and everything, so I LOVE EVERYTHING EXCEPT FOR COUNTRY. Thanks, boogie T No problems CHANNEL TRES I AM THE CONTROLLER BOOGIE T I'm subtly racist, So this album artwork indicates That if you're the fucking controller I'm the one holding the controller, Actually controlling everything EDM industry Okay, Let the blacks in, But let them know that there's like A pecking order to these things… Oh look, a pelican [RAVE INDUSTRY BEING OVERTLY RACIST.] Kaleena Zanders See. Who are you, again? If you're the guy holding the controller, I'm the programmer, writing the game You stupid fucking— All of you are fucking idiots, I quit. I'm gonna go kiss ass With the TV people. Well fuck you, okay. NO, FUCK YOU, DILLON FRANCIS. KELLY (LIAM KYLE SULLIVAN) FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUUUUUUUUCK YOUUUUUU KELLY ZIMMERMAN FUUUUUUUUUUUUUU——- I love the clout riding on this shit, Really? You kept his last name? Well, yeah-/ I was just rich before I married that guy “The first wives club” Now I'm famous. BEFORE: DEADMAU5 INCUBUS KELLY SUCCUBUS FIGHT [the festival project, or whatever] DILLON FRANCIS is DESTROYING EVERYTHING in a fit of JEALOUS RAGE. Idk what that dude is about, honestly. CUT TO: Meditating peacefully, relaxed. [a moment of calm and peaceful eloquence before] [a silenced pistol goes off] Headshot. Nice. Okay, get the body. Ahahaha. Fuckin. —Suck my dick. Sai Psy. See you in seven years, then. You're so silly— I'm not going to live seven more years. We'll see about that. You will see. I'll be dead. So I'll be dead. So it is. A summer hiatus, Vacations in Prague, yes Let's pray for the rest of us A sign of the times and a coming of ages Who made you famous again As the rest of us I don't like it As much as I'd like to Keep writing Keep finding the reason to die and you're blinded by kindnesses And I ams I woke up in the 9th dimension, As an infinite friend Familiar with my kitchen JOHN SLATTERY An interesting thing happened this morning. What's that, John? I woke up as John Slattery Just remember what love holds The death of a salesman, rechargeable batteries This walk could take forever in designer jeans Another day in slave hell The controllers controlling And Satan is Sataning Seems like a time to go clubbing It's a simple kind of depression Resting on your head when All you simply wished is the taste of flesh The freedom of skin And the lather of love— Or blood spatter on the pavement Aim for the head If the door's fixed, then we'll break it again Look what greed does I hate lazy days in Manhattan Cause I've never had one What happened on the way to the forum I was starstruck; Five finger death punch Right in the heart I wish I was punctual Right on time for lunch Don't you want to talk to someone more pungent? Don't you got models to robot? Don't you know I never want to hurt you But you know, I'm going to hurt you. You know I'm going to hurt you Now, the review: Sooner or later, I fall over your world Good dudes in drags Good food for thought I'm a dog With the wrong parts You should take Kanye to the mall With a migrants lanyard (The migrants are anarchists! Good one, God) This one goes to. | this one fist, from Which one are you ? I guess we are one in the same It's a famous radio tower Live up to your name Go sell your flower for flour As I stand at the jumping point Eye on Manhattan, The wind beneath my wings Distracting myself from the mansion I haven't The mason jars I ought to buy for bargain The brain and brain cereal I left at the market I used to love Brandy Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome “The Album I Wrote On My Way To The Rock To Return Amazon Purchases No Longer Wanted” That's a really long album title. I didn't imagine I'd write this much Just trying not to imagine this man in his under pants, Or what have you (I'm just a fan) I'm just a dad hunched over in the bathroom Must have been the magic of my backhand, backfired Must have come untied and undone, under the rainbow Must me on my way to Manhattan For some blacklist event. Where I'm from The A List Is a face No name needed “Oh, I know who you are” If I purchased a car today I might get done paying it off By my 81st birthday. Shady. If I had a penny for every mistake I made, I would probably be Nameless. If there was a namesake to lay me into my grave, it would make sense; Yes, let's move the train for a moment With the doors still open. — I'd like to watch what happens. So what happens when the sun comes up On the only body you've ever known And no one wants it What happens with a dude named Starr Punches you over and over again And then no one loves you (That's starstruck, your honor) What happens when granted a pardon for passions And everything happens after is magic What happens when all you want is to go manic To finish the album And just feel good again What happens when the algorithm has Al Gore in it? What happens when the rhythm in blues is just the attraction of random black men and their concubine counterparts? Huh, what happens! What happens, Kanye? What happens, the God? What happens when all that you want is a disgusting assumption of. No on can trust you And nobody loves you Since it was simply a tryst Put this at a distance. Where did my energy disappear to! Where in the fear is my other earring? Fuck. Be somewhere, anywhere else but your office, for the moment. Be anyone but a mother, Anywhere but your apartment— It hurts, the construction. Someone doesn't something Nobody knows nothing about me, But what I put in this caskets (This podcast) Oh hey, I got fuck muscles from fuckin myself now! I feel like I'm gonna die if I don't have sex! For real! Heal, Oh great dragon, HEAL, BITCH. Word. woof for the world Will for the wolf; Rain on the roof. Cobain don't have a God (Or a Gun, if you wanted that one) “Pull me up, God, I'm done under here” He called in I followed the fosters to farrow And got better I got better and bitter much quicker and Never in bed had I been as flexible As to kiss his chest As I kicked my own neck With my left foot. What the fucjing fairyshit is that. There, I fixed it. Fixed what. I don't know what. But I fixed it. I know, huh! So be 110 and flexible Powerlift tectonic plates Do Pilates And make waffles!? Alright, I can do that But only as Jennifer Aniston I'd like to take back that Fallon I bought at the black market He's broken. I like his band tho— The one on the left hand, Over the damaged one. Are you on to that? Says the sayer, Son of Sam So Sai the sage Sets the stage Is that the plan? Never fall for a man, Even over an alter And tied by the hands. All I see in my initials initially is B Minor 16 might be minors, guys But she's creaming to find you At the front lines Life of a superstar DJ At the cross roads Or the turnstiles How do you turn bile into Beguiling Without rifling a few feathers Or looking into the eye of the rifle And dying first Don't you let that tear fall from you onto the M Train. I'm just training for fame And hating you ever day Since we made it Love Get out of my way, Satan I'm staying I'm saying your name sake insanely Please break me Like a chicken leg Or just shake me from this existence Since I don't seem fit for it Anymore than I fit that Givchechy dress you gave that blonde, right? Am I dying! Or just dying inside Fuck coughs If you want him enough to. Use black magic To do that to me, wait till it falls back on you, You gross hag If god hates fags as much as he hates blacks We should fly flags over the haggis I made Alice When she's back from her adventures in wonderland No wonder you're a Monro Crossed over from O'Fallons It's an old warfare with two clans From the old countries With no borders Or border collies Laboradores And labirites, likely As Aphrodite is to smite me So here comes DJ Francis With his new black girlfriend Just kidding We all know in his world It's cold and broken With nothing but blue eyes And big wild to look over you Bro, standing up is not going to make this train go anywhere. I almost promise you. Turns out there's no such thing as a quick trip to the rock. Turns out you'll sit stuck in your own sick God as my witness For screenshotting those ass pictures —that's somebody's kids, dick. tick tok has no limits. VO Of course, The day and time I should have to go to Rockerfeller Plaza quickly, quietly and unseen, the train is magically destined not to move. I've been sitting here at least a half hour, with no end in sight— The doors close and the train begins moving. Hahaha Fucking hilarious, God. I've been avoiding The Rock like the plague— Not that I think anything would happen at all upon arrival— who am I, anyway? Nobody important. There she goes. Still, I've written enough about it, and the people inside and around it, That the place makes me nervous. More nervous than ever, that is, actually— I always felt weird in the place. [flashbacks] When I first got to New York, I would end up there on accident. Completely by accident. Lost. Faulty navigation. Hackers: Whatever. I always just— By complete fucking accident Ended up at Rockerfeller Plaza The city slips over us, as the train sinks back underground — I'm facing the city now, As not to be reminded of my abuser's toxic words and toxic hands, By dirty white Nikes and Jansport backpacks Still, etched into the subway walls Are two stars, which remind me to repeat the mantra: Starr Michael Roberts is a pedophile wifebeater Less of a manta than the truest words ever spoken, But that's all the shape of a five point star means to me now or will ever mean to me And to think, The American flag has 50 of the 50 wife beating pedophile men On a red white and blue flag That waves just to remind me I was born a fat ugly noack woman To be a slave And there's no one to save us I want to senselessly beat the man in the dirty white Nikes and Jansport backpack Just like I was beaten senselessly by the man called Starr, The devil in disguise as my first love Still trying to chase my soul from its dream Back into his nightmarish under realms of unhygienic hatred, vomit stained rugs And poss stained couches, Phlegm on the walls and Nothing on but Diablo And old episodes of the sopranos. —but I still love the sopranos; And I still love my one and only Good thing that ever happened From an awful marriage That buried me wonder what's on this side of the train to write Maybe nothing Nothing I like, anyway Some guy that just thinks imm some ugly black bitch Of course All the white rich dudes Are horrible I miss the poor surfers Blowing blunts and wishing they was with blondes, With me tucked under their arms I need a tummy tuck to find love Goddamn, Imm miserable just sitting here At least I get a glance at her The tattooed God With the pink hair Where's Wanda Sai the Saige Don't say ahit Unless its music Sai the Saige says Turn the page For more sermons Sai the Saige sings her words carefully Write forwards for whole books in four words Four worlds down, Now four more. That's a world tour. Lil biiiiiiitzzz Bro, I might never have sex again. There's a new STD on the loose And patient zero is a white man from New York in his 30's FUCKING GROSS. Where's wanda Where's Waldo Ah FUCK I got your wallet WHATS WRONG WITH YOU. SOMETHING which one are you?! Nothing, nobody. Sunni?! I'm not Sonny, you're Sonny. I'm not— Don't say it Whatever Where is it? Where's what? The rock You're on the rock! I that's not — Stop it what I meant! Which one are you— Who are you 8mm I'm the cosmic— Whatever the fuck. Gimmie the rock Get off of me I think too much I think I have a disease I think too much But I don't think much of me It's just as much as I want A three musketeers bar, That's far fetched For a vegan With 12 dollars in the budget For the rest of the month Goddamn. One down 20 to go Call someone To take your husband Home I'm drunk m I'm stuck in this thought At the bottom of the rock Damn. 8 always get lost here Not today though, I hope Follow the smell of coffe tbigg us h the open doors This the stairs up a couple stores. Muscle memory l Wait. Are there stairs to the top of the rock? I would walk them Shazam, what's this lame ass fucking song? Ugh, at least I have muscle memory. OUCH, COME ON. OUCH. Come with me. Ugh. I have so fuck to do. Okay, now what do I do? Just jump! That seems like a bad idea. It's the only idea you've got. That's not even my idea! —but it's the only idea you've got! OKAY, I've got an idea! What's it? Wtf, I've never even seen this many people here. What is this, a field trip. GODDAMIT JUST JMP. i can't, I'm scared! Okay. Then I'll push you. M No don't *push* helicopter: fluh-fluh-fluh- THERE HE IS— WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! AGHHHHHHHH. GISNT BIRD OF PREHy- SNATCH. GODDAMN Turn sim down Okay, how much. Just a little How's that That's better. Okay. Look, I am not interested in you. I get that, Jimmy Fallon. I am just doing my job, okay. I get it, Jim. Okay?! Do you understand. I understand. Okay? Okay. Okay. So what is your job, exactly? I keep my mouth shut, Hands fisted misdirected, But staying on track Thank god they put this shit here Hands in my pocket equals words h documented I can't help but to admit I almost want even writing before this Now fast forward Every time I'm under this, it feels like I'm already in my own show or something Of course, I used to love a good revolving door Shit I used to love at all Man! I hate the rock! Why. Cause fuck Jimmy Fallon, that's why! why?! CAUSE. Look, the you from the other dimension should be coming around that corner any minute. Okay, for what. To use the restroom. Make sure she They: What. Me is a “they” Whatever. I love the rush of death telling me to jump as the oncoming train approaches from behind me I could be blinded by the light. Look, 6'3 God knows what I need And that makes history Make sure when you when she goes into the bathroom, find Fallon and give him the— I know what to do. Alright, YO. NO. LEAVE ME ALONE. I'm married with a family! I don't find you attractive! At all! I know that, asshole! I only want you for your fame and money! Wait, really? No, you handsome basta'd! Goddammit… Goddammit! Sunni!? I knew that was you! It is me—but the other me is somewhere, so take this—quickly back to the 4th dimension—- This is the fourth dimension! Wait, it is?! YES. What dimension did you think it was The 8th! The 8th?! THAT EXISTS?! yeah!!! Where the fuck are you from?! The third, I thought! Thank god, here's this fucking train. Well, fuck off, then! I gotta go find the 8th dimensional Jimmy Fallon! What! For what?! That's priveleged information Ascended extraterrestrials only, broh! Woah, woah, woah, don't “bro” me. I said “broh” What?! That's what I said— No, you said— Whatever. “Broh”,— —now you said it— —I'm coming with you— Don't be homo. —but, you're a woman, I thought. That's what's you think. That's what the tabloids said… You wanna know what the tabloids said about you? In which dimension? Right?! Now shut up. Come on. [they move quickly towards the— Towards the where? I don't know. I've only ever been at the bottom of the rock: I don't get it. If the antenna is on the top, Then why did my vibe go. GLUH. Sorry: No , that's a lot; what is that: —you really think imm handsome? I think you're an asshole. I hate writing at the rock (Launching to onesel.) You look ridiculous. At least i can just write it off to “Mental Health Problems” MEANWHILE Check it out. The devil is following me. What. Wanna see. What the FUCK is that? He wants my soul. WOAH. Yeah, cool, right. No! Yeah it is… What the hell happened I aucked him off once: You what. Calm down. I didn't know it was the devil. Holy! It's was un Unholy See. Damn Satan,!697 are fucking gross. Yeah. Nice tattoos though. I thought you'd like this. I do. Who's your body? Some drunk. The alcoholics are so easy. What about my soul. What about your soul, dude? Why doesn't he want my soul? He already has your soul. What?! I never sold my soled my soul. That's what you think. Oh, I get it comcast owns Jimmy Fallon. Actually, Nancy Drew does, or whatever. What's her name Nancy! HUH- what!! DREW BARRYMORE. GET IN HERE!!!! woah. Okay. I gotta get back to the 90's. Why! I left my DREW BARRYMORE GODDAMIT. Sorry, JUST GET OUT. She is cute, though. She's so fucking cute. Hey, What. Put me on your hit list, For what. Cause. No way, dude. So it's this Nancy Drew Character Uh huh. Then Comcast Correct. Then NBC/Universal. uh-huh Then Lorne Michaels— Wait Correct. Fuck man. So you mean the portion of Jimmy Fallon I won in that game of 8 dimensional poker is pretty much nothin. It's pretty much— Worthless. Not worthless. What are you saying— I'm saying— I'm not a real woman I just saw a real woman With a long skirt And a body worthy of love Beautiful hair And face like porcelain Nothing upon the sleeves strewn in ink Petite I could never be a real woman Actually, you know what. I could have worn anything But I'm not showing up for anything at Rockerfeller Plaza dressed like my inner cunslut YOUR “INNER” CUMSLUT THAT WSS AWESOME I know, God. *belches juicy semen, slurps* You're—a fucking awful person, though, just awful. I know. Just—disgusting. Yeah, but— —that was the best blowjob I ever had Yep. *burps—slurps* ufgh. —and you swallowed all of it. I don't know how! Both: That's was so much! Haha yeah: Jinx! You owe me a blowjob. Okay! You're fucking gross. Yeah. Oh wow. That went deep. I mean, not really “deep” it went aural. *oral* I swear to god if you publish this POSTED DAMN. that dude is good looking. Why is he dating someone that looks like a mouseS Maybe he's into mouce face I guess. I'm into mouse face. [deadmau5] Be nice. Hey! What: what do you want That guys an asshole! Duh! Okay. I love white people But they're weird sometimes I was lookin at this dude on the train Like real hard, And I swear to God, I couldn't tell if that was his girl Or his twin sister I was like What I the fuck am I lookin at Idk but I like it It's almost refreshing to see sliders that aren't made of plastic or whatever awful material OH. CONAN O BRIEN YEAH. But mad young. That's— LUCIFER! Hahahaha what GET BACK HERE. DAMN. That's one good looking kid. Dammit dammit dammit A bunch of handsome white dudes I want nothing to do with It's true I do like the fame The power The respect The money, I could give or take Or make my own Just so you'll date me The power, I like The respect and the fame So your name came and went with the hour l And the sunset I might take walk in the rain Because my body is ugly And I just want to be loved A husband Two dogs And pushing a stroller Of course, there's the part that just wants to have fun Get fucked up Love someone I trust enough To rub against Without a rubber Against the grain Our heads together He grabs the back of my neck And I just can't handle it Fuck. I love mad men— and I love men when they're mad Especially Fallon That's somebody's dad in the bathtub, yeah mate Somebody back at the opera Probably phantoms There you go You've got you a girl So grab her hand And hold onto her Don't let her know If yo love or fuck someone else Just for the fun of it Don't break her head and her heart at the same time She might not come back from it Like I never did I never came back I was punched in the face maybe 5 Or like 6 times Before I got up, became Skrillex, went for a a run with the dogs And then did it again Never was god, though I got a lot of problems I love the waterfront But no one loves me I'm left in the lobby a lot Like Mikey, in that one song I guess I'm destiny Or perhaps I'm your density Once upon a time, I walked here Once a upon a time, I worked here, Shout out to number six. This one is sung for you This verse undoes the hex. Remind me to get your mom hallmark cart, someone uttered I fucking love her Remember to stop at the shopping carts before you long walk home Almost hoping you're soaked in the strange acid rai. So hard You forget what your name is I spent a whole plot of a film Just trying to be famous Luckily, I think The Tonight Show stops taping in the summer, So with any luck, The real Jimmy Fallon is somewhere in Greece or some shit Rich assholes and their summer vacations— I'm guessing, But still unwavering in the back of my mind somewhere That no matter what, Whenever I'm at 30 Rock, I'm being watched. The entire cast of 30 rock is watching the legends saga in 3D, along with some of the keynote cast of Saturday night live— Don't be selfish I'm not. I don't know what else I used to watched that's owned by this media conglomerate ahem. SLASH/Universal. Oh, so we are doing this back to the future revamp depends, are you gonna keep being fat, Or be spry, like Marty McFly And just for the fuck of it, You're the new Hanson in the new 21 Jumpstreet Movie SUNNI BLU Aight, SUPA Dammit. TINA FEY Do you smell donuts. LIZ LEMON no, it's cookies Follow the smell of the cookies. I get it. I got it. Try to remain unseen! LOOK AT ME. I'M AT THE BASE OF A GIANT PE— COCK. LUTZ When's the action?! Notes: Chocolate man makes everything chocolate Okay. That's stupid. Chocolate! Chocolate! Uhhh—- What are you doing here?!? I work here…what are you doing here? I have tenure. *purses lips* [tina tries to hide the entire cast Reunion of late 90s/early 2000's SNL cast members behind her (Nervously) tah—uh; I thought you were on vacation. I redacted it. What does that mean? I know what it means. Mm. What does that mean. I read the comics. I have something to tell you. Okay, what. It can't be over the phone. Okay. Where the firefighters is? I got some propolis cough syrup for the stalkers [The Festival Project™]# {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT ©

Sai Psy. See you in seven years, then. You're so silly— I'm not going to live seven more years. We'll see about that. You will see. I'll be dead. So I'll be dead. So it is. A summer hiatus, Vacations in Prague, yes Let's pray for the rest of us A sign of the times and a coming of ages Who made you famous again As the rest of us I don't like it As much as I'd like to Keep writing Keep finding the reason to die and you're blinded by kindnesses And I ams I woke up in the 9th dimension, As an infinite friend Familiar with my kitchen JOHN SLATTERY An interesting thing happened this morning. What's that, John? I woke up as John Slattery Just remember what love holds The death of a salesman, rechargeable batteries This walk could take forever in designer jeans Another day in slave hell The controllers controlling And Satan is Sataning Seems like a time to go clubbing It's a simple kind of depression Resting on your head when All you simply wished is the taste of flesh The freedom of skin And the lather of love— Or blood spatter on the pavement Aim for the head If the door's fixed, then we'll break it again Look what greed does I hate lazy days in Manhattan Cause I've never had one What happened on the way to the forum I was starstruck; Five finger death punch Right in the heart I wish I was punctual Right on time for lunch Don't you want to talk to someone more pungent? Don't you got models to robot? Don't you know I never want to hurt you But you know, I'm going to hurt you. You know I'm going to hurt you Now, the review: Sooner or later, I fall over your world Good dudes in drags Good food for thought I'm a dog With the wrong parts You should take Kanye to the mall With a migrants lanyard (The migrants are anarchists! Good one, God) This one goes to. | this one fist, from Which one are you ? I guess we are one in the same It's a famous radio tower Live up to your name Go sell your flower for flour As I stand at the jumping point Eye on Manhattan, The wind beneath my wings Distracting myself from the mansion I haven't The mason jars I ought to buy for bargain The brain and brain cereal I left at the market I used to love Brandy Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome Now I just wish I was something, awesome “The Album I Wrote On My Way To The Rock To Return Amazon Purchases No Longer Wanted” That's a really long album title. I didn't imagine I'd write this much Just trying not to imagine this man in his under pants, Or what have you (I'm just a fan) I'm just a dad hunched over in the bathroom Must have been the magic of my backhand, backfired Must have come untied and undone, under the rainbow Must me on my way to Manhattan For some blacklist event. Where I'm from The A List Is a face No name needed “Oh, I know who you are” If I purchased a car today I might get done paying it off By my 81st birthday. Shady. If I had a penny for every mistake I made, I would probably be Nameless. If there was a namesake to lay me into my grave, it would make sense; Yes, let's move the train for a moment With the doors still open. — I'd like to watch what happens. So what happens when the sun comes up On the only body you've ever known And no one wants it What happens with a dude named Starr Punches you over and over again And then no one loves you (That's starstruck, your honor) What happens when granted a pardon for passions And everything happens after is magic What happens when all you want is to go manic To finish the album And just feel good again What happens when the algorithm has Al Gore in it? What happens when the rhythm in blues is just the attraction of random black men and their concubine counterparts? Huh, what happens! What happens, Kanye? What happens, the God? What happens when all that you want is a disgusting assumption of. No on can trust you And nobody loves you Since it was simply a tryst Put this at a distance. Where did my energy disappear to! Where in the fear is my other earring? Fuck. Be somewhere, anywhere else but your office, for the moment. Be anyone but a mother, Anywhere but your apartment— It hurts, the construction. Someone doesn't something Nobody knows nothing about me, But what I put in this caskets (This podcast) Oh hey, I got fuck muscles from fuckin myself now! I feel like I'm gonna die if I don't have sex! For real! Heal, Oh great dragon, HEAL, BITCH. Word. woof for the world Will for the wolf; Rain on the roof. Cobain don't have a God (Or a Gun, if you wanted that one) “Pull me up, God, I'm done under here” He called in I followed the fosters to farrow And got better I got better and bitter much quicker and Never in bed had I been as flexible As to kiss his chest As I kicked my own neck With my left foot. What the fucjing fairyshit is that. There, I fixed it. Fixed what. I don't know what. But I fixed it. I know, huh! So be 110 and flexible Powerlift tectonic plates Do Pilates And make waffles!? Alright, I can do that But only as Jennifer Aniston I'd like to take back that Fallon I bought at the black market He's broken. I like his band tho— The one on the left hand, Over the damaged one. Are you on to that? Says the sayer, Son of Sam So Sai the sage Sets the stage Is that the plan? Never fall for a man, Even over an alter And tied by the hands. All I see in my initials initially is B Minor 16 might be minors, guys But she's creaming to find you At the front lines Life of a superstar DJ At the cross roads Or the turnstiles How do you turn bile into Beguiling Without rifling a few feathers Or looking into the eye of the rifle And dying first Don't you let that tear fall from you onto the M Train. I'm just training for fame And hating you ever day Since we made it Love Get out of my way, Satan I'm staying I'm saying your name sake insanely Please break me Like a chicken leg Or just shake me from this existence Since I don't seem fit for it Anymore than I fit that Givchechy dress you gave that blonde, right? Am I dying! Or just dying inside Fuck coughs If you want him enough to. Use black magic To do that to me, wait till it falls back on you, You gross hag If god hates fags as much as he hates blacks We should fly flags over the haggis I made Alice When she's back from her adventures in wonderland No wonder you're a Monro Crossed over from O'Fallons It's an old warfare with two clans From the old countries With no borders Or border collies Laboradores And labirites, likely As Aphrodite is to smite me So here comes DJ Francis With his new black girlfriend Just kidding We all know in his world It's cold and broken With nothing but blue eyes And big wild to look over you Bro, standing up is not going to make this train go anywhere. I almost promise you. Turns out there's no such thing as a quick trip to the rock. Turns out you'll sit stuck in your own sick God as my witness For screenshotting those ass pictures —that's somebody's kids, dick. tick tok has no limits. VO Of course, The day and time I should have to go to Rockerfeller Plaza quickly, quietly and unseen, the train is magically destined not to move. I've been sitting here at least a half hour, with no end in sight— The doors close and the train begins moving. Hahaha Fucking hilarious, God. I've been avoiding The Rock like the plague— Not that I think anything would happen at all upon arrival— who am I, anyway? Nobody important. There she goes. Still, I've written enough about it, and the people inside and around it, That the place makes me nervous. More nervous than ever, that is, actually— I always felt weird in the place. [flashbacks] When I first got to New York, I would end up there on accident. Completely by accident. Lost. Faulty navigation. Hackers: Whatever. I always just— By complete fucking accident Ended up at Rockerfeller Plaza The city slips over us, as the train sinks back underground — I'm facing the city now, As not to be reminded of my abuser's toxic words and toxic hands, By dirty white Nikes and Jansport backpacks Still, etched into the subway walls Are two stars, which remind me to repeat the mantra: Starr Michael Roberts is a pedophile wifebeater Less of a manta than the truest words ever spoken, But that's all the shape of a five point star means to me now or will ever mean to me And to think, The American flag has 50 of the 50 wife beating pedophile men On a red white and blue flag That waves just to remind me I was born a fat ugly noack woman To be a slave And there's no one to save us I want to senselessly beat the man in the dirty white Nikes and Jansport backpack Just like I was beaten senselessly by the man called Starr, The devil in disguise as my first love Still trying to chase my soul from its dream Back into his nightmarish under realms of unhygienic hatred, vomit stained rugs And poss stained couches, Phlegm on the walls and Nothing on but Diablo And old episodes of the sopranos. —but I still love the sopranos; And I still love my one and only Good thing that ever happened From an awful marriage That buried me wonder what's on this side of the train to write Maybe nothing Nothing I like, anyway Some guy that just thinks imm some ugly black bitch Of course All the white rich dudes Are horrible I miss the poor surfers Blowing blunts and wishing they was with blondes, With me tucked under their arms I need a tummy tuck to find love Goddamn, Imm miserable just sitting here At least I get a glance at her The tattooed God With the pink hair Where's Wanda Sai the Saige Don't say ahit Unless its music Sai the Saige says Turn the page For more sermons Sai the Saige sings her words carefully Write forwards for whole books in four words Four worlds down, Now four more. That's a world tour. Lil biiiiiiitzzz Bro, I might never have sex again. There's a new STD on the loose And patient zero is a white man from New York in his 30's FUCKING GROSS. Where's wanda Where's Waldo Ah FUCK I got your wallet WHATS WRONG WITH YOU. SOMETHING which one are you?! Nothing, nobody. Sunni?! I'm not Sonny, you're Sonny. I'm not— Don't say it Whatever Where is it? Where's what? The rock You're on the rock! I that's not — Stop it what I meant! Which one are you— Who are you 8mm I'm the cosmic— Whatever the fuck. Gimmie the rock Get off of me I think too much I think I have a disease I think too much But I don't think much of me It's just as much as I want A three musketeers bar, That's far fetched For a vegan With 12 dollars in the budget For the rest of the month Goddamn. One down 20 to go Call someone To take your husband Home I'm drunk m I'm stuck in this thought At the bottom of the rock Damn. 8 always get lost here Not today though, I hope Follow the smell of coffe tbigg us h the open doors This the stairs up a couple stores. Muscle memory l Wait. Are there stairs to the top of the rock? I would walk them Shazam, what's this lame ass fucking song? Ugh, at least I have muscle memory. OUCH, COME ON. OUCH. Come with me. Ugh. I have so fuck to do. Okay, now what do I do? Just jump! That seems like a bad idea. It's the only idea you've got. That's not even my idea! —but it's the only idea you've got! OKAY, I've got an idea! What's it? Wtf, I've never even seen this many people here. What is this, a field trip. GODDAMIT JUST JMP. i can't, I'm scared! Okay. Then I'll push you. M No don't *push* helicopter: fluh-fluh-fluh- THERE HE IS— WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! AGHHHHHHHH. GISNT BIRD OF PREHy- SNATCH. GODDAMN Turn sim down Okay, how much. Just a little How's that That's better. Okay. Look, I am not interested in you. I get that, Jimmy Fallon. I am just doing my job, okay. I get it, Jim. Okay?! Do you understand. I understand. Okay? Okay. Okay. So what is your job, exactly? I keep my mouth shut, Hands fisted misdirected, But staying on track Thank god they put this shit here Hands in my pocket equals words h documented I can't help but to admit I almost want even writing before this Now fast forward Every time I'm under this, it feels like I'm already in my own show or something Of course, I used to love a good revolving door Shit I used to love at all Man! I hate the rock! Why. Cause fuck Jimmy Fallon, that's why! why?! CAUSE. Look, the you from the other dimension should be coming around that corner any minute. Okay, for what. To use the restroom. Make sure she They: What. Me is a “they” Whatever. I love the rush of death telling me to jump as the oncoming train approaches from behind me I could be blinded by the light. Look, 6'3 God knows what I need And that makes history Make sure when you when she goes into the bathroom, find Fallon and give him the— I know what to do. Alright, YO. NO. LEAVE ME ALONE. I'm married with a family! I don't find you attractive! At all! I know that, asshole! I only want you for your fame and money! Wait, really? No, you handsome basta'd! Goddammit… Goddammit! Sunni!? I knew that was you! It is me—but the other me is somewhere, so take this—quickly back to the 4th dimension—- This is the fourth dimension! Wait, it is?! YES. What dimension did you think it was The 8th! The 8th?! THAT EXISTS?! yeah!!! Where the fuck are you from?! The third, I thought! Thank god, here's this fucking train. Well, fuck off, then! I gotta go find the 8th dimensional Jimmy Fallon! What! For what?! That's priveleged information Ascended extraterrestrials only, broh! Woah, woah, woah, don't “bro” me. I said “broh” What?! That's what I said— No, you said— Whatever. “Broh”,— —now you said it— —I'm coming with you— Don't be homo. —but, you're a woman, I thought. That's what's you think. That's what the tabloids said… You wanna know what the tabloids said about you? In which dimension? Right?! Now shut up. Come on. [they move quickly towards the— Towards the where? I don't know. I've only ever been at the bottom of the rock: I don't get it. If the antenna is on the top, Then why did my vibe go. GLUH. Sorry: No , that's a lot; what is that: —you really think imm handsome? I think you're an asshole. I hate writing at the rock (Launching to onesel.) You look ridiculous. At least i can just write it off to “Mental Health Problems” MEANWHILE Check it out. The devil is following me. What. Wanna see. What the FUCK is that? He wants my soul. WOAH. Yeah, cool, right. No! Yeah it is… What the hell happened I aucked him off once: You what. Calm down. I didn't know it was the devil. Holy! It's was un Unholy See. Damn Satan,!697 are fucking gross. Yeah. Nice tattoos though. I thought you'd like this. I do. Who's your body? Some drunk. The alcoholics are so easy. What about my soul. What about your soul, dude? Why doesn't he want my soul? He already has your soul. What?! I never sold my soled my soul. That's what you think. Oh, I get it comcast owns Jimmy Fallon. Actually, Nancy Drew does, or whatever. What's her name Nancy! HUH- what!! DREW BARRYMORE. GET IN HERE!!!! woah. Okay. I gotta get back to the 90's. Why! I left my DREW BARRYMORE GODDAMIT. Sorry, JUST GET OUT. She is cute, though. She's so fucking cute. Hey, What. Put me on your hit list, For what. Cause. No way, dude. So it's this Nancy Drew Character Uh huh. Then Comcast Correct. Then NBC/Universal. uh-huh Then Lorne Michaels— Wait Correct. Fuck man. So you mean the portion of Jimmy Fallon I won in that game of 8 dimensional poker is pretty much nothin. It's pretty much— Worthless. Not worthless. What are you saying— I'm saying— I'm not a real woman I just saw a real woman With a long skirt And a body worthy of love Beautiful hair And face like porcelain Nothing upon the sleeves strewn in ink Petite I could never be a real woman Actually, you know what. I could have worn anything But I'm not showing up for anything at Rockerfeller Plaza dressed like my inner cunslut YOUR “INNER” CUMSLUT THAT WSS AWESOME I know, God. *belches juicy semen, slurps* You're—a fucking awful person, though, just awful. I know. Just—disgusting. Yeah, but— —that was the best blowjob I ever had Yep. *burps—slurps* ufgh. —and you swallowed all of it. I don't know how! Both: That's was so much! Haha yeah: Jinx! You owe me a blowjob. Okay! You're fucking gross. Yeah. Oh wow. That went deep. I mean, not really “deep” it went aural. *oral* I swear to god if you publish this POSTED DAMN. that dude is good looking. Why is he dating someone that looks like a mouseS Maybe he's into mouce face I guess. I'm into mouse face. [deadmau5] Be nice. Hey! What: what do you want That guys an asshole! Duh! Okay. I love white people But they're weird sometimes I was lookin at this dude on the train Like real hard, And I swear to God, I couldn't tell if that was his girl Or his twin sister I was like What I the fuck am I lookin at Idk but I like it It's almost refreshing to see sliders that aren't made of plastic or whatever awful material OH. CONAN O BRIEN YEAH. But mad young. That's— LUCIFER! Hahahaha what GET BACK HERE. DAMN. That's one good looking kid. Dammit dammit dammit A bunch of handsome white dudes I want nothing to do with It's true I do like the fame The power The respect The money, I could give or take Or make my own Just so you'll date me The power, I like The respect and the fame So your name came and went with the hour l And the sunset I might take walk in the rain Because my body is ugly And I just want to be loved A husband Two dogs And pushing a stroller Of course, there's the part that just wants to have fun Get fucked up Love someone I trust enough To rub against Without a rubber Against the grain Our heads together He grabs the back of my neck And I just can't handle it Fuck. I love mad men— and I love men when they're mad Especially Fallon That's somebody's dad in the bathtub, yeah mate Somebody back at the opera Probably phantoms There you go You've got you a girl So grab her hand And hold onto her Don't let her know If yo love or fuck someone else Just for the fun of it Don't break her head and her heart at the same time She might not come back from it Like I never did I never came back I was punched in the face maybe 5 Or like 6 times Before I got up, became Skrillex, went for a a run with the dogs And then did it again Never was god, though I got a lot of problems I love the waterfront But no one loves me I'm left in the lobby a lot Like Mikey, in that one song I guess I'm destiny Or perhaps I'm your density Once upon a time, I walked here Once a upon a time, I worked here, Shout out to number six. This one is sung for you This verse undoes the hex. Remind me to get your mom hallmark cart, someone uttered I fucking love her Remember to stop at the shopping carts before you long walk home Almost hoping you're soaked in the strange acid rai. So hard You forget what your name is I spent a whole plot of a film Just trying to be famous Luckily, I think The Tonight Show stops taping in the summer, So with any luck, The real Jimmy Fallon is somewhere in Greece or some shit Rich assholes and their summer vacations— I'm guessing, But still unwavering in the back of my mind somewhere That no matter what, Whenever I'm at 30 Rock, I'm being watched. The entire cast of 30 rock is watching the legends saga in 3D, along with some of the keynote cast of Saturday night live— Don't be selfish I'm not. I don't know what else I used to watched that's owned by this media conglomerate ahem. SLASH/Universal. Oh, so we are doing this back to the future revamp depends, are you gonna keep being fat, Or be spry, like Marty McFly And just for the fuck of it, You're the new Hanson in the new 21 Jumpstreet Movie SUNNI BLU Aight, SUPA Dammit. TINA FEY Do you smell donuts. LIZ LEMON no, it's cookies Follow the smell of the cookies. I get it. I got it. Try to remain unseen! LOOK AT ME. I'M AT THE BASE OF A GIANT PE— COCK. LUTZ When's the action?! Notes: Chocolate man makes everything chocolate Okay. That's stupid. Chocolate! Chocolate! Uhhh—- What are you doing here?!? I work here…what are you doing here? I have tenure. *purses lips* [tina tries to hide the entire cast Reunion of late 90s/early 2000's SNL cast members behind her (Nervously) tah—uh; I thought you were on vacation. I redacted it. What does that mean? I know what it means. Mm. What does that mean. I read the comics. I have something to tell you. Okay, what. It can't be over the phone. Okay. Where the firefighters is? I got some propolis cough syrup for the stalkers [The Festival Project™]# {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Synopsis for this mix: the infinite rave continues on in Hell as everyone awaits the return of SŪPACREE- The Cosmic Avenger (Who Is NOT a DJ) and Sunnï Blū (who is a superstar rapper but also not a DJ) go back to back, buying time as the beacon to. Signal "The Supacree" is completed, battling the 10th dimensional DJ Ū, a super ninjas, for control of the decks. what else happened? idk. I CANT STOP DANCING. none of the DJs can find a pair of working headphones, and the sound guy is missing from the booth. "missing" YOU SHOT HIM. I THOUGHT IT WAS A TRANQ DART. {Enter The Multiverse} Hazel is 6, turns 7 season 1 Season 7- 15 Man, I can't remember the other two kids names, I think the little boy is Ira but I might have named them all and forgotten, shit. Her sister, though is between 4 ½ and 5, they are technically “Irish twins”, and always fighting—they look very similar, however are not at all alike; Hazel is very much a daddy's girl, while her younger sister is a no-nonsense old soul with the tendency to cause trouble, not by being inquisitive or showy, as her sister often is, but rather by being quietly observant, and tends to dismiss both her parents, often isolating, or even dissappearing without notice, quietly and comfortably into her own world—as the series progresses, and though all of Patrick's children like their parents have showcased some kind of special ability or talent— Holy shit, give this kid a name-/ I thought I already named her, I just don't remember. That's true. It seems like they all had names. She is almost very typically, though showing signs of genius, even at the early age at the beginning of the series, a middle child, prone to upset almost too easily, but rather than acting out, is more likely to take her anger quietly; she shares her fathers deep brown eyes, dark hair, and though she looks otherwise very much like her sister, and later despises her father, is more inwardly and outwardly like him, though taking the side of her mother during their separation and divorce, oftentimes even lashing out at her father quite openly, and very vocally, as she grows into herself. “Ira”, (may have had another name earlier) is the youngest of three— as his third birthday approaches sometime during the first season. Great, now I gotta hide all those allegories so nobody can actually draw from this that Patrick— Where's his write up, anyway? That shit could go on for days. I have no idea why this catharsis is happening. I tried to sleep it off, I swear, but I still woke up like— At least mildly obsessive about this, for whatever reason. Hazel's 7 - Season Arc Hazel has the eyes, charm, and charisma for entertainment —she hopes to one day be as her father, an entertainer and performer, and will do almost anything for a laugh. She is often telling jokes, and is a people- pleaser. She is sickeningly cute, with golden hair and Hazel eyes, long eye lashes, and carries baby fat in her face, though she is rather average, neither heavy or plump, and however also not frail at all. She is inquisitive, smart, and busy, almost never idle-minded, and strong. Though sort of a Tom boy, she has been trained well to act with dignity, class, and feminine eloquence, much like her mother—but like her father, has a tendency to be crass, sometimes carelessly so, or even brutally honest—to her mother's disdain, but embraced wholesomely by other family members and adults, she's extremely funny and delightful, and very much unlike her mother, not a spoiled brat at all, often raising questions beyond her years about inequality, later wishing to attend a public school, and becoming quite the advocate for social justice and human rights in her later years, her final season shows a rebellious and sometimes even antagonistic Hazel, who later even favors Esha over her own mother as a parental figure, often confiding in her about things she can't and shouldn't share with her father, although her almost over the top admiration for her father has become the driving force and inspiration for her own endeavors in show business, much to her father's disdain, as she grows older, him becoming more protective of her, and especially within the oftentimes secretive nature of his actual placement and purpose in the business, and her rebellious nature and charm even force-feeding her into the industry, she is a bleeding heart for superstardom, and is often seen along what may be a path to fame, making Patrick's bleeding heart all the more aching, as though he and Catherine remain at odds throughout the series, he truly loves his children, even “the little sick one”, as he refers to the second child. Holy shit, what is this kid's name If I had the energy to go through my notes, I could know; but I don't. The city sickness has been sinking in from the noise of the obnoxious motorists and honestly, being out of protein is giving me muscle soreness, I'm in some sort of a bloated haze from eating almost nothing but carbs, and the fact that I haven't been with anyone in years is starting to circle like buzzards around my head, my heart has been literally screaming but overwhelming with this sense of calm, and though slipping into Patrick's sometimes erratic tendencies, for the most part I've been underwhelmed with society's expectations that I should get some kind of job, and somehow while working not lose focus on my own interests and projects—I hate [the strange modern behaviors of] most people, and everything costs too much money— my son might be going into foster care, or my ex husband is evil enough just to try to force my energy to worry about a problem he's created, and I really wanted to sleep into the afternoon with this lethargy, hoping that everything surrounding this series would just fall off, but it doesn't. I wake up often wishing I could just forget The Festival Project ™ , but the truth is, it just keeps writing itself, but in the very least, sometimes God gives me little presents that mean the very most to me— a chord organ that I thought was from the 80's, but is more likely from the 1960's— I love vintage stuff, and musical instruments, which only God could know, really—my fascination with history as if I'm still living it, and this, my sudden fascination and drive to write and complete just one series has been haunting me almost just as badly as anything else has, but especially ripping me apart—especially since I have motorcyclists ripping through my body as if it were some kind of disease that existed outside of me, so contagious that it began to sink in to my insanity and mental hygiene. I wondered if anybody else knew or cared about these creatures as much as I didn't—and in fact, I had never felt so much like Ali in the way that I didn't care if they, other “human beings” supposedly, all died tragically, and wondered why the walls and windows didn't keep out the sound of the outside world at all… The middle child begins writing secretly very early on, and is the first to be required more extensive therapy, (as suggested by the family's therapist) after her parent's separation and subsequent divorce. It is not long after she begins learning to read and write at all, that she begins also showing interests in art, asking for art lessons and to begin painting and art therapy, rather than the recommended Equine therapy— she often keeps things to herself, then returning to her hidden places at times when the family's dysfunction becomes uncomfortable and overstimulating, very often paining or reading during times of peace, and retreating to her safe places—sometimes under the stairs, into the attic, the treehouse, or even later, the family's barnyard, where she often keeps drawings, as she ages, later comics, sometimes caricatures of the things she absorbs through her own reality—and diaries, sometimes hidden in nooks and crannies and in places no one would think; a true prodigy and genius, though hidden from much the world, as she is often overlooked, however, her therapist begins unfolding her true reality, often times carrying over sessions and losing track of time, picking her brain or even conversations philosophically What's the therapists name? Doctor Robin She has to have a last name Well, she's a child's therapist, so she's Doctor Robin, but It seems like it starts with a T. We'll see. I just saw her anyway. I drifted off again, thinking about how wildly detailed this all was becoming, and wondered if there was a series of fictional books waiting to be written. There certainly could be, but my mind was reeling, freshly showered but still undressed, and not even wanting to think of going outside—and yet—I was out of water, and had learned that the drinking water from the fountains, especially in large quantities, had a tendency to make me sick—I hadn't yet eaten anything, and though the coffee was fresh, and my apartment was clean (which made me overtly overjoyed for some reason) smelling of Lemon Lysol and Bleach; with notes of a strong pot of organic fresh ground coffee, it seemed like I couldn't do much more than lay in bed writing this catastrophically interesting series—and it was interesting, which said volumes, considering I had always been picky about my TV watching, being that only ever did certain series catch my eyes or my ears, and those series were almost always—or always, always specifically well written, perfectly casted, and had the edge and draw of becoming an entire world within itself, which this series, though only a week or two old at best, in my heart and in my mind , was rampantly ravaging my own world, almost as if it had become of some importance to keep writing it, and never stop, and though Patrick was the forefigure, another broken male protagonist, the truth in the series was that the true heroes of this sometimes scarily violent drama, were its women—a story meant to be told with a diversified cast of creatures from all worlds and walks of life—Esha, of course, herself, a role that had been some recreation of myself, somehow, though so different that even primarily, I never did see myself as her, besides the onslaught of some otherworldly pain, visions of a scene recollected from some remarkable download, and it might have been once and for all that I had lost my mind, or my life, if I wasn't a writer—I was, somehow, though, after all, a writer. It had been a fasting day that could have and might have ended tragically anyway, and still the devil marked his mockery of my efforts by consistently flinging perfect bodied women everywhere that I went—though usually with ugly enough faces that I could see nothing but what a man was—uncaring for one thing over the other, a flawless representation of woman, represented in the current time with scantily clad fashion, almost painfully so—the insecurity of women becoming more apparent in the way she would appear, always almost begging to be near to me, with every perfection and complexion I hadn't—but at least I had a tendency to laugh at my own damage, often surmising that she, these demon creatures, hadn't any talent for this at all—which had turned the state of television into a near circus act; that alone urged me to continue writing the series, perhaps with a typewriter, due to the negligence of nepotism within the industry which often resulted in these pretty little creatures getting even further ahead by stealing works as such, and passing them on as their own originality almost so cruelly and without judgement—plagiarism, as it was called, but more accurately intent-to-kill the imminent threat of what had been said to be a minority becoming a more powerful force to flourish in entertainment however, as quickly as the visions had come, the thought of writing it without my phone became dauntingly impractical, and I scribbled only the most intense scenes and plot lines onto notebooks and scratch papers, keeping them as hidden from the algorithm as possible… lol the Al Gore Rhythm Ahahahahahahaha Was that the joke? Maybe. Idk. Maybe. Idk. Hm. Hmmmmm: What: Nothing. That actually might have been it. Really, was it? I will never know. That is kind of a good dad joke, though. And a good band name. Idk about that. My coffee was lukewarm enough so that I could taste its flavor, as I whittled away at whatever it was— The story was almost so beautifully being told in allegories and parables that it seemed a shame I may never be rich enough to buy fame, as it seemed that was the only way to become a star these days— and yet—it was more the wealth than the fame I wanted, I had realized, at all—the polished class of the Manhattanites drawing me out of Brooklyn and into some debauchery which was my own Grandiose thought form, that I could actually become, at the ripe old age of 31, some kind of superstar. ‘Why would I even want that, anyway?' I thought, interrupted painfully by who I'm sure was the same motorist, who seemed to do nothing but circle the block all day, and all night, doing nothing — and I wondered why he himself had decided not to do grub hub in a richer neighborhood, where money would more than likely come more easily. But really— I drifted off to a time where I wanted to ride a motorcycle myself, and the curiosity forced me to go online to check the price of what it might cost to have one. $5,000 for a decent bike, which would include a muffler as not to be so obnoxious and disturbing to others as these creatures had become to me— and I began doing the math on how long it would take to save $5,000 as if it would be possible to work some dead end job for any amount of time without spending money on anything else. It would take at least 5 months to earn enough for a motorcycle, which landed me directly back at “Not worth it”, and as horrible as it was, I did at the very least have a luxury apartment for at minimum the next 5 years, however, wanting still to move to Manhattan, Midtown specifically—or one of the quaint and quiet neighborhoods on the upper West Side. The neighborhood was going to hell, after some unworldly godless force had seemed to drop hundreds of thousands of rude and thoughtless third world workers onto the streets and buildings bordering the one I lived on, the neighborhood becoming more rough and less peaceful with trash and debris from the depression and congenital disease that was poverty, the collective unconsciousness of the masses colliding with my empathetic nature and oversensitivity to sound, especially awful sounds, such as the hundreds of motorcycles and hot rodded junk cars which only seeemed to move in a track around a four block radius, and had become a cancerous trigger of sorts, no authority figure seemed to much care about. I cared less and less each day to listen to music, since I wasn't making it the way I wanted to—and I had realized that the constant displeasure and unrest, the lack of peace had as much to do with the world outside as it did with the world within—and I began to see the disgusting obnoxious noise pollution outside my window as just an extension of man's abuse, ability to rape, torture, and kill, terrorize— the uncaring waging of war, control, and lack of true power; as no good and true man who wielded actual strengeth or true power in any way would continue to show such distructive action and carelessness for others around him— chaos, corruption, abuse, and misogyny was proving to be the downfall of all humankind, as patronaged by man, and, as I became doubtful of anyone's lack of understanding of this, especially as the immigrants themselves were often naturally pedophillic culturally and toxically abusive in nature, most migrants flocking from countries in which women's liberation or the protection of youth had not yet materialized into their understanding of conciousness and morality—the men were weak, unkind, and selfish—the women mere machines at their disposal—and however many there were, I could see that their children, the many of them, remained as the redeeming factor. Anyway, a political ploy for the ages of there ever was such a thing, the newest chapter in American greed and slavery, it only seemed like an extension of evil itself, and less of a coincidence with each growing day—each new person, another burden to the middle class taxpayer, another reason to inflate the cost of living—and all the more reason to continue to terrorize the American people into its own division, hatred, demise, and consumption. e. My faith, however, was unwavering—God was real, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's —ahem— “Ron Sennet, and I ain't In it.” —did the say “don't” write a book about me? It's Not about him… Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear, but these abusive and toxic creatures were pushing it further away with violent arrogance, and the inability to understand that God itself was the nature they continued to destroy. Robin Bennett Fine. “My name's Jon Sennet, and I ain't In it.” Or something cute he used to say like that, I couldn't remember, but he had a bunch of cute little idioms that matched his name, and to the day, I still missed him — it was 11:15 PM exactly as I hung up the phone, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach 911, after realizing that the threat outside was maddening enough to be impossible to only be in my head, and after weeks of the excruciating noise, I finally called NYPD dispatch, much to my disdain, and of course magically, the noise seemed to disappear as soon as I had made the call, which infuriated me. It seemed as though the game in entirety to make me look or feel crazy, though I knew I wasn't—well, I was, but not without purpose or reason. I had been theorizing in energy exchange quite decisively making a mark for my alter, at which I asked to be designated the wisdom and truth of the light within the eye, desire, however never in mind, although I had been summoned in part due to the fact that wenwere somehow alike—I was in some ways besides and out of sorts with my set, sinking my teeth into the forced obsession as I unraveled any possibilities and plotline. Episode 01. Pilot An opportunity presents itself seemingly at random— the protagonist's hand is forced into a life changing ultimatum, putting his reuputation and family in danger. Already involved in an illegal gambling ring which operates out of a secret historical prohibition era speakeasy and some “light” drug mulling within its walls, however often extending even as dangerously close to his workplace, Patrick is propositioned to become an investor in the high end escort service, with which he hired and contracted his lover, Kandi, a “rescue” whom he supports in her exchange for exclusivity, to remain as her only client, however, although he begrudgingly declines, wishing not to be involved in anything much more than what he has already kept under the radar, he is intimidated and threatened by blackmail, his high profile becoming at stake—he then obliges to embark upon this new endeavor, the expansion of this establishment to include a warehouse, which houses a large scale brothel, and, able to use his social status to procure wealthy clientele, quickly becomes a power player within a ring of coveted elites, setting fire to his already inflated ego, and colliding with his intense and highly functional polyaddiction, which he has maintained since his youth, using his entertainment persona as an outlet, becoming a medium of excess, fame, and rampant wealth. Patrick is beloved by his peers, and is humbled often by his devoted fans and friends—proactively worshipped as a comic genius, a prodigy, and a revered successor to legendary frontmen— Okay, this is weird, because I started writing this before I even understood what I was writing at all… —specifically, the sixth successor, to his coveted role. I had written for Esha to be the seventh successor, as with the symbolism deeply and quite literally woven into the sometimes brutal framework of the series, which I had shorthanded to ‘TVP'…the world around me trailed off as my eyes blurred as they had been lately, and I wondered if I might be having some kind of stroke or something, as I was certainly some sort of out of body—the day had been strange, and I had given up on a run or a gym for the day, the motorcycles alone ravaging my energy, and whether I worked out or not, they were everpresent anyway. They were some sort of toxic, abusive force I just had to put up with, hoping it didn't upset my psychology so much that it ended me, though I had become quite odd as of recently, rambling more than usual and actually praying out loud, as my silent ones just didn't seem to be working—they were probably white supremacists, or in some way connected to some political terror group, but it didn't seem to matter. Someone liked torturing me, and it was becoming apparent that no matter much time I spent at the gym, this torture was going to persist. After a month long gym streak, at least going once a day to lift something, I rested, or rather, tried to rest, kind of— but my mind had been swirling with thoughts of a man I was certain by now I had made up—and writing the story of a man I was absolutely certain came from my mind, but in a way that it almost made no sense at all—as the more I looked into the world that I had already written about, the more I realized was accurate without first having known these things, and however cursed I might have been to even know such things, I decided to call it some sort of blessing instead. ‘God, I used to get so fucking high for days, and when I would come down, just crying and crying, eating Totinos or DiJorno and a bag of Bugles, I would watch Saturday Night Live for fucking hours, and I hated [Redacted]. I hated him.' Now I still hated [Redacted], but in a different way, and though really it was myself that was more like Patrick, he at the very least, for whatever reason, used to have his face—now, he was just Patrick, and [Redacted] was just [Redacted], and i knew entirely too much about it all, and about myself to be comfortable with it, but nothing was comfortable at all. I had written entire atrocities, novels, and all that was some conglomerate of nonsense which was the festival project, besides how insanely and innately prodigal it all was sometimes, my own words confusing me with a bizzare and asenine dysfunction, awe, actually, often as if someone else had written them, and although I was always at least sort of semi-concious while writing, the spells and cadences I would fall under were some sort of trance, and as I watched the Nirvana rehearsal from Saturday Night Live in 1992, long before [Redacted] or any of the rest of the — Was it Keystone? It was, the Keystone cast of SNL, but the first word my mind had jumped to was Hallmark, which—after referencing Google quickly for a fact check, also stood true. I was willing to admit, even now, though I had long lost interest in Saturday Nighy Live, or anything at all having to do with current events, that the [Redacted] era—or rather even, the Tina Fey era, a true role model, perhaps, and someone I favored over all of the performers I admired, or allowed myself to admire— the Golden Years of Saturday Night were the only years, for me that even mattered— trying to make sense of anything couldn't be done, but I at least had this new project birthed from it to think about. It would be hard to sit down at a taping of The View and not think about all I had written at all, and it would be impossible not to unfold the characters which had presented themselves, though slowly but surely, through the most vivid visions and insanely lucid dreams, as The TV People began to What if someone steals this out of my documents? That would be unwise…the best scenes are somewhere scribbled in my notebooks and random scraps of paper somewhere in my room…this series is almost nothing without those scenes—the elements with which the most painful scenes I had ever written, became word form. ‘I don't know why, but I feel so incredibly high, So incredibly high right now…' They could have been words to a song, but I did feel high as a kite for whatever reason, without the actual kite metaphor quite literally dagling over my head, for once, or at least, it had been a few weeks, not a prominent as is was before. I sat soaking in the tub teetering on the possibility that I should actually even watch The Tonight Show, or whatever it was, to set my mind at ease, a betrayal of my own code—as one does not literally feed its obsessions into insanity on purpose. ‘Perhaps, though', I thought, ‘I could get rid of this.' — A cancerous abscess in the tradegy that had become my own sex fueled, rage driven, racing mind—and rather admittedly, it was almost too late, for anything of the sort, as I hadn't any other place to keep the growing world of The Television People any quieter, than within the monstrous algorithm which was Google documents cloud, where it seemed nothing was safe, and anything could be fabricated into reality after being stolen, by someone rich enough to make it happen, however, never being any better than my own disaster of a creation. And it was, a disaster. He was a comic genius, a professional, and spectacular performer— in actuality, I knew nothing if not anything at all about him, and the more I collected, the more interesting I found myself, actually, bemused that I seem to have found some sort of twin, another synchronizatic nightmare—if only that I made it to be so, unbelieving yet that I was in some kind of fairytale, though it had become some sort of fantastical and adventurous thing, this what I now refer to as ‘the allegories,'. I must have been something parasitic to the industry, with the tendency to latch on and ride out whatever had become a faciniation, but it wasn't, in its sense of origin, like anything before— it was something new, in the ways that it was, and something old at the same time—though needing to fall drastically from The Tower without actually doing so, putting a stop to my unlimited creation became a pertinent priority, as even exercising, meditating, and chronic masturbation tended to exacerbate it, as if I was missing a step in transmutation of this foreign substance— an energy which seemed familiar, but also wasn't. I was receiving downloads several hours at a time, and drifting off into spells and trances of inspiration so heavily that it seemed counterintuitive to call it off, fearing I might lose the intensity of the plot and its characters, and they were that: just characters. It had taken days to erase Patrick's face into a blank state to restore him from that of his namesake, but now everything was a blur, the allure of scrapping it all to return to making music was upon some sort of dawning, but not yet arrived. I allowed whatever came to mind to flow freely from my fingertips, even if it felt bizzare—and even if it felt bizarre, it never felt wrong at all. ‘Unfortunate, that.' , I thought crossing one leg over another to complete my chapter before draining the tub. I promised myself long ago to always pray for my own son, before worrying about another celebrity, whose fame and fortune protected them more than I ever seemed to protect myself or my own—nonsense, but a strong sense of remorse, as I had been painted as wicked, in a sense, just for being kept poor, separated from my son, and left in a world without love at all; My project, a keepsake of the hard work I had done; but had not yet been paid for—and the fear was in the understanding that that money might not ever come, that I would never be a mother, a muse, or anything or anyone else I actually wanted. I thought briefly again about just getting a dog—but I only had 45 dollars, aside from the unmarked Jimmy Fallons, I had placed atop an alter on my kitchen counter, wondering how to multiply them into something I wanted—and that had been the start of the game or the project at all— saving my last dollars and spending them at once, with the hopes and wishes that they would become somehow much larger quantities, returned as good karma for the love I had given, but that had not yet come back, in one form or another. ‘He seems miserable, the poor bloak.' , I thought—and with all that I had known to have come with fame and fortune along with the luck, he probably somewhere, somehow was—but my concern was my son, turning the mere dollars somehow from one's into bundles of hundreds, thousands, and maybe even one day a whole million or more. That was the push behind the project at all—breaking the cycle of the poor black single mother, the story that had been told over and over-/ with stories that had not; the stories that had become [The Festival Project™]# {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

The third day of fast had been light nutrients by way of liquids only, though it didn't seem to satiate whatever else it was I might have needed, besides some sort of adoration or companionship, my human need for love set aside by some ravenous monster, now I had a plethora of ingredients which might make up some hearty dishes, and though I wished to feast, as it was feast Friday, I also needed it to last, havi stocked up more well rounded than usual on things that I needed, having gathered ingredients I had nearly often almost missed without taking multiple trips to the store, which I was determined not to do—the world was gross and full of coughing robots again, and that meant it was time to retreat into my cave, whether or not I was meant, and my urge for money over freedom nearly winning at every corner at which I was told “turn back”. And I was, being told by some voice to “turn back”, although it seemed to have come from within rather than without, and still I couldn't much do to more than escape the disasterous horrible people who buzzed around outside like mindless bots, one of which I was becoming, the more time I spent on the ground, seeking menial work for menial pay, as not to be coupled up and left to commit an atrocious suicide by the horrid motorcyclists and car enthusiast without a care for anyone besides themselves, in that the noise they were making nearly all day and all night at times, was so painfully disturbing to some, that it had indeed begun to make me sick, not just in my head, but in my minds body, and soul. I could not trust such carelessness to be anything but that of the devil's work, to which some claimed pride in doing, and to which some others were thoughtlessly unaware, of everything, if not themselves. The grotesque demonic-looking people-creatures were at best subhuman, and as I had explained in my interview just the day before, that it was probably due to the mass consumption of products not fit for consumption at all, let alone nutrition purposes, neither of which the higher ups had seemed to care, burdening the poor upon themselves. I was not seeking to be doomed to remaining forever poor, and thought it best I collect as much money and acquired wealth as possible, before the times were shifted and I were forced into worse circumstances than my own—my beautiful but not peaceful at all, luxury apartment, just three stories above Hell and it's subterranean shithoe of mass transit and transients, however though I did find heavenly spiritual bodies to sometimes dwell and encapsulate within the system—old, sunken, good spirits, lost souls, and others, of whom I considered myself as one with, however, in the opposite of 253schemehorn ace hotel lobby Caaaarrieee, Carrie baby! chapter ⅔ ? “DJ's don't Sleep” I was nervous but holding it well, I had all that I needed and was hoping it was worth it; I hadn't worn heels in months and hadn't the money for new hair or nails, and so it was as bare bones as it would get, my one nice outfit besides a body on dress I decided would not be worth the trouble and might attract the wrong sort of attention anyway—#€{}{ was some kind of work in the morning, though I wasn't sure what, and although I didn't plan to stay long, I also hadn't wanted to arrive too early to really see what kind of party it was, just short of overdue and on the entire of fashionably late, but that the very least I did look fashionable, and however tired i was, something had to be done to at the very least make an appearance, and maintain posture and presence, maybe at some point gaining back the social abilities I had lost being homeless and isolated, not that I wanted much for real socialization that wasn't absolutely fulfilling. Sad, on my way to a party Thinking bout somebody that don't even want me Tired as hell But this better be good Let me dance and get out of my shell a Get out of my head a bit And just chill Say the alphabet, Just trying not to blow it Sad, on my way to a rager I brought my pager But I hope it don't ring I don't need nothing But someone to love me I'm actually working It stopped being fun to me When suddenly Everyone around me Was me What's up with that Tom and Jerry Peter Paul and Mary Walk into a bar And ask for the ball park Where's it at? They're ll lost Where's my hat, u Well never mind that I think I dropped my fanny pack Funny pick — Bro I pocket wrote this and decided to keep it for that dimension where my misspellings and typos are opening portals to other dimensions and shit Ok. Nice. Uh ugh du uh yuxuvu y u. I. U uru Maybe at the yucu DD ine the s and found Truth uuto eu euvuuvvv You can get it back up uguuuvuvvuuuuufuu just a t dumb idea who edoesn't She said uuuuguuuuuue s essay But that's a long re uuzzeezjj e A zzz To come down To u uuuzeze S It was shameless self promotion, but the. Again, what for wasn't—I wasn't having any fun, and I almost remembered the night, and something in me wanted to dance, but it was almost as if I couldn't move, or suddenly even, Uuuuuxhis u szzzuuuuuxxdxucouldn't speakuudg. I didn't duS uuto belong on the dance floor— but how and when would I ever become the ugh I was uuDJ Uuu c u, if ever? I thehadw bruh there a grueling 8 uminutes and U u u uucready tog leave, but w?uhhh ughucuuhxu b by uuuuuue I haddock a pocket full of hu and a uggyuuhuuuu uxc UuudThoughu u u dueh huh h uh uh bubudy to be g W u use udguuuuyu. Uuuducguu u tc uhugetting your own house cgun u u Ndiogou N LMH 1812 {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Tidbits Points: Jennifer Lopez in the 90's enters immidiate superstardom and fame, as The Illuminati, which has been tracking her every move for quite some time, conspicuously gifts her with a handful of large, rare, and uncut diamonds—she becomes a Kingpin and near overnight success, keeping the secret of the diamonds to herself—however, as she is skyrocketed to success and fame, strange and mystical things begin happening all around—and even more strange and mysterious, mystical people—besides the usually strange and magical celebrities and otherwise unworldly weirdos within the Illuminati's ranks— begin to appear, acting as guiding forces between the multidimensional realms which within the various portals a hidden world — infinity and beyond— has been kept, only exposed through the stories, shows, and — Wait a second — a montage— montage— I'm being intercepted. What? What about a montage?? I love a good montage. Everybody loves a good montage. the infinite Jennifer Aniston and her Multidimensional counterparts Jennifer Aniston is tasked as becoming a guardian angel, to help protect and watch over the mysterious extraterrestrial formerly known as supacree, currently masquerading as CC as she attempts to escape the spiral of magical attacks from unknown forces, after being trapped in New York City. You know what? I love it. I'll take it. Are you sure? Yeah, I'm sure. I love her. I love her. it'll take it. JENNIFER ANNISTON, a well-known A-list actress whose rise to fame in the 1990's created her as a Hollywood superstar (and Illuminati staple) has been looking for the perfect project to invest her time to— rumors within the Underground have been circulating about a “secret podcast”, to which it's curator, a homeless and downtrodden musician and amateur DJ publishing Illuminati doctrine, some of which is only known to the limited and coveted higher ranks within the organization, interwoven into the plot's narratives as “Easter eggs”; the unformed screenplays have been archived and passed around for a number of years within a small community of elites, and some even plagiarized by the mindless and money hungry lowest ranking industry professionals—however—as it is known by the leaders of the organization as a whole, the true origins of this doctrine remains “unknown”, and the identity of the author, is surmised to be the prophesied scribe, set to arrive as the dawning of a new era arises, to write within her words the hidden truths to be sought by all mankind and otherwise—and therefore, must be protected and hidden within the organizations cradle at all costs; though misunderstood greatly, The Illuminati has been tasked with spreading the divine light to the human species through artform and storytelling, and as the art of wordfare becomes a lost art, the doctrine must be colluded to be written, before the end of the scribe's time, said to be often—a most untimely death, as the forces of darkensss seek to end all that remains of the love and light of the divine kind. Damn, really: Jennifer Aniston. I really like her eyes: Well yeah, they're mine, so. Apparently or whatever, Jennifer Anniston is assigned to guide CC as she trains to stand up as the scribe — Who revealed herself as so in Los Angeles, at Carl Cox's show. I dropped three cards for form the center of my eye, Here: An equilateral triangle. I Am. Two— These markings will be known to those as I, The scribe. Three— A world unknown awaits all those who seek the truth of the divine light in the pursuit of higher knowledge. INT. EQUINOX SPORTS CLUB NEW YORK. MANHATTAN. DAY JENNIFER ANNISTON enters the elevator—to her left, towering over her, she spots JIMMY FALLON, trying to remain unseen. …Jim? Oh, yeah, hey, What re you doing here? Whatever I want. You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be here. This is by the way, when Satan switches from Jimmy fallon's body to Jennifer Anniston, hereby known as Jennifer Anisatan— just before the scene at Equinox “I'm holding in a fart.” So wait, who is Jimmy Fallon, then? Who the fuck knows. Who the fuck cares. I'm over it. ————————————————No wait, don't. Tie me to the cross Bleed on my sickness m Crossfaders, behind us Blinder up, bonded Surreal, The sunsets are longer Open your mind, your highness Crossfire, behind us (Someone else writing this) Dawn comes on stronger The sunsets are longer Tie me to your honor Come before me Somebody said you were the apocalypse I should have listened to my father Somebody told me you won the world at a carnival I should have never listened to my mother I should have listened to my father I should have listened to my father I should have listened to my father Come before me Tie me to your honor Born of blood, The borderline genius You were the apocalypse Tie me to your cross MAYA RUDOLPH Is weird. MAYA RUDOLPH prepares for a SAYONCE in her formerly secret apartment on the upper east side dedicated entirely to magical purposes Ok. Ok. Okay? Ok. The worst part about it is, I do understand you, Because I am you The very worst part of it is I want a family To hold you hand And rub your back But I just can't have you —I'm just a fan, dude. The truth is I've got two suitcases, Some capsules of cyanide, An axe and some anthrax A cat in my lap And a failing laptop I've been living hand to mouth I've got A ripped backpack A stress ball A Hackey sack A hockey bag A volleyball And a mouthful of gunpowder How do you like me now? It's gonna take forever to fund my project But it's gonna take longer To find my body Cause nobody loves me Nobody has my number The phone is shut off And so is the water (By that I mean, my love; It's all coming out blood now) I must be backed up And stuffed full of crystal cocks I could give it up for a wand Or a ringworm Oh God My wrists are itching to ditch this place I fell asleep with a gun to my head And woke up Cobain Okay? Ok Okay? Ok. Sorry to wake you I came to rape you HEATH LEDGER hello. OH, GOD. HEATH LEDGER I heard you like ghosts. I— I don't. HEATH LEDGER Oh, you don't? No—! HEATH LEDGER oh! wait—who are you? HEATH LEDGER (Makes joker face) All my friends are dead, anyway I'm loving more ghosts than people these days The faces, the golden days The golden retrievers I need some relief, man Release me Sweet, freedom Just lay on your back, And I'll take it from there JOKER? Aha. I'm in love with the idea of Death The idea of Leaving this world behind The idea of love The ideal of love The ideal of love The seductive touch I'm in love with the idea of Not knowing pain The idea of Not needing money The idea of love The ideal of love The ideal of love The seductive barrel of a gun So run away Run far from me Far as the eye can see— And I'll aim for the head But probably just get the neck Or the center of the back Twirl around, girl Do your dance Heads or tales for the daughters The blondes, The live that you wanted The life that you wasted The knife to your back The life flight The kite hack Never spend your heart on band tickets Don't you know This is so much more Disappointing in person We all are Never spend your bet on your bottom dollar The kite and the rock band The lost rock The last dollar Diamonds on your JENNIFER LOPEZ GET IN THE BACK OF THE VAN, BITCH. NO WAY, J-LO. YOU LOVE ME EXACTLY. GETAWAYFROMME. DONT MAKE ME CALL GOLDBERG. I'M LIKE WAY MORE SCARED OF JANET JACKSON. JANRT JACKSON GUESS WHAT?! OH NO!!! NOOOO. U PICKS UP TO SUPER SPEED wtf. How does she run that fast, that fat? I really don't know. Did you call my name? Did you wake me from my relentless dreams I needed you Just like you needed me I called your name You called me Follow me home Follow me to the road we both know Open the doors for the lonely Follow me home Follow me home Sista sista What it is, mista? Turn the tables, Drums, then get my sticks sucked You dig it? Turn on the television I'm on in an minute This could be infinite, Nothing to defend here, Just No, not the google documents! GET IN THE HOLE. Hm. What. Blood Shower All along the watch tower Do you feel good? Do you? Do you feel bad about this. I do. I feel bad about this. I forgot to tell you– I should probably let you know that I just want to MAN, FUCK THIS DUDE. MA. WAHT. IT'S ON. WHAt. THE SHOW IS ON. THEWHAT. THE– *suddenly self aware* …I gotta get out of Boston. What, first this was about war, now it's about bird people? It's about a war WITH the bird people. I should sleep. Hahaha. No. This isn't funny anymore. At least it's over. MA– Oh, it's far from over. Yo, i'm going through some crazy shit right now. Spur of the moment I'd never thought of it; This is gonna take forever. I don't have the patience To even write this I just want french fries right now But been up for two days with no gym and I'm on a diet. GUAC TIME. No, no burritos. GUAC TIME. Oh shit, this is getting real as fuck . NOw i see it three ways. I love it. I hate it. HEY, LET ME OUT. GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, SKRILLEX. I'M DILLON FRANCIS. IN THE HOLE. Check it out. Huh. It's another DJ. *agrees* Should we pick him up. WEll, the good news is: I found your friend. Oh, that's good. The bad news is: He's dead. Oh, that–'s … nice. Yeah. It is. Uh. Kaskade. Yeah. We gotta find Ryan. Why. What's up? You're freaking me out. Why. What's up. Nothing IS it my eyes? I– *wild ass eyes* Yeah, it's probably that. Fuck dude, what did you do to deadmau5. NOTHIN. He's not the same. What the fuck is that. Holy shit I jus timejumped Where the fuck are you going. How the fuck could this happen?! It COULDN'T. Well, that's it then. *shrugs* Well, I guess we're just gonna have to go dig up Dillon Francis. I guess so. Do you think he's still alive. Like, probably not– Maybe… No, probably not @prodbywar& @Halmadeit This amazon order took me nine hours Alexa, I think i should fire her Like a arm I don't leave at night without armor Don't make me a martyr Your mom will be proud of us all If i make it outta here And i'll look after her Got the whole block coming up on my heels as I walk Wtf is it… Idk dude. Is it speeding up? I…i think so. There's no way this is 140 IT's 140. It's 140 . There's no way. Yes way. Nah huh. Let me see. No. Let me at the decks. Let me at the decks. NO. YO LET ME AT THE DECKS. You want deks. Yes. I got deks. Really. yeus . I never listened to it like this In ableton I read serato, synesthesia and rekordbox I talk a lot, I'm like a human music box I walk a lot I run my mouth a mile a minute (faster than i run around the track reciting rap words) Like they're passwords. Oh, I could do this forever.. I wish i had i microphone right now And was all alone With the lights off Lying on the floor I'd be lying if i said I could afford you Just to fornicate But may consider playing with a foreigner If you're all for her I'm unnerved, you know Cause i've been up so long My monster likes to play with boys and Make the bass go down below where Nobody does anymore Once I get a hold of things Or the hang of it You've got another hot ones on your hands I've another record under my belt Or in my roster, Whatever you'd call it But now I've got no time to bark about Wanting a dog and a daughter But none of the responsibility or Going through all the trouble to find her a father I'm still holding a fart in. Reaally–cause–it's been a really long time. WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT A LONG TIME, JIMMY FALLON?? Um a lot! You literally just saw me make the journey all the way up from nothing. I am nothing EXACTLY. I don't have time to fight with you Jiimmy Fallon. I did NOT write these games by myself you know?! Um, excuse me– “GAMES” ?! YES, GAMES. Uh, I've only got one game with you in it, my friend. Is that so! One game that I've written with the Great–formerly LATE Jimmy Fallon. Is that like a play on words cause i'm on late night TV YOu'RE ON ALL THE TIME TV, JIMMY. NBC SHIT IS PRACTICALLY AUTOMATICALLY SYNDICATED. -_- …are you alright. –_-_-__-_ Hold on, I think i've got it Nice, I found a growler. yOu still haven't got all the monsters and sprites Ive got all the big ones, but the little ones are harder to catch. GrO0Wl3rrr. Aww. He's so ugly. Yeah, but cute, though, right. I don't think so. Gro)WwlErrrrrrrrr. Aww. That's so fucking gross. lol . so what does this thing look like. Well, that't the thing about the monsters and sprites. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT. It's alright, it's alright–he's nice. WHAT. THAT'S A SPRITE. No, it's a monster. He's just scary. SUPACREE. David Bowie. What up. God, it took me ages to find you. Tell me about it. I'm still trying. We've been expecting you for a long time. You were expecting I'd die? Yes. So when she says she's “married to the music…” I'm married to the music. Oh, so. Yo, honestly if you een want to talk to this bitch, you'd better have like a musical instrument, or a mic in your hands, Otherwise– No, getawayfrom me. It's not even worth it. HI. –No. What's up? Tempo. SUNNI Cotour From the store I was poor Now i'm honorable In velour, Glamour (Snap) Forsure, Jesus Christs is making appearances in my abletons I'm not able to comprehend or understand exactly the message, But the evidence sire is mounting Get it Reached the temple, More of a sanctuary, Is that sacrilegious I guess it is, I'm stressed as ever Trying to get it to gether I'm way too tired for a remix; All i really want is some fries that are french And some thighs that are thick Like mine to sit on like five or six dicks Pick up up like chopped sticks {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Loving you— Is easy cause you're beautiful And everything that you do..: Sorry I let you guys down. I didn't mean to abandon you. —lalalalala —-lalalalala ——lalalalala—- —-lalalalalala— Oh man. Here it goes. Dodododo-un Do-do— I love you. OH MY GOD. Happy Birthday, Kid. You earned it. DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO V.o. I didn't “forget” to finish the Minnie Riopperton storyline; I just didn't. It got emotional. Okay, okay, okay. This is weird. It is weird, Why are you wearing that? Why are you wearing that? I'm in costume. As WHAT. —as my mother. Oh: awww that's cute: Yeah: What's your excuse? I'm also in costume. As what. As my mother. *squints* {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

I want them gone. But sir. Out. starting Monday; and I want you out of my office, starting now. Now, get Troublemaker on the line so I can finish my breakfast in agony, like the red blooded American I'm supposed to be. Sir. Troublemaker is the top secret code name assigned to the President of the United States; the true President of the United States, the only surviving member of the cabinet after a series of successful infiltrations and assasinations by the enemy, after a covert mission revealed that the succession of the US presidents had been predetermined; not chosen by “The People”, but decendants of a Royal bloodline. Pinocchio the code name for the senator chosen as the stand in— the face to America's eyes and ears, listens intently to the President's every move, daily happenings, and assertions, as to best convey the ideas as his own; meanwhile, the Secret President is heavily guarded, controlled, and is acclimated using a series of secret codes and messages and decoded, including several secret languages and symbology hidden within her daily routines, which become more challenging and versatile, adapting her to her role as Commander In Chief of the United States armed forces, and consequently, the world around her, as the US forces seek to broaden their horizon as the a world superpower, to a Global entity, which powers and controls the heavily overpopulated planet which lies in imminent demise by like likes of war, plague, and diminishing resources. The actual President of the United States must remain hidden as so, as to remain safe until the intercontinental breech has been sealed, and national security has been restored. Viewer indescretion is advised It's not ME. Okay, okay: I'm not the president! I'm not running for president I don't even know who the president is. The president is dead. GOOD . Madame… I mean—not good. You— No. So like—- It's automatically racist to just outright say that the migrants are for the most part not well behaved or orderly—- They leave trash everywhere and don't even watch their kids! Some of them. I think they're just assuming this is okay?! IS THIS OKAY?! No! What the fuck! That is racist. Have you seen it from where I stand? The strength is in numbers! Look, I don't hate human beings. Are they— Yes they're humans. They're just. Our imminent demise is in allowing this to continue to happen. I hope you realize that from how high up you are. I know you can't see it from up in your shiny townhouses or from the blacked out windows of your townecars, but... They're good people. SOME of them I mean a lot of these 3rd world people are very primitive thinkers. Don't count on them being brought up to speed in consciousness and morality when they're basically brought here as luxury slaves. That's putting it nicely. Well, if you're not going to pay Americans living wages, you're going to have to counter it somehow. I can't have three jobs. Oh, that's nice. The terrorists are attacking their own people. For what purpose is any of this, actually? Check it out. I found the leak. Alert the mayor. He's on the Mayor's books. What in the actual fuck. Gross. Is there not a screening process for this? Too late: anchor babies. “The Secret President” So you just dropped like 2 million pregnant 3rd world— You realize that. There must be some kind of compromise. Yeah. Send them back. Ew, fucking gross. I don't understand— What you don't understand! [A SAGA] What don't you understand? My land is your land!? Yeah, and now the economy's in the trashcan. I figure that's an upgrade from a black hole! You don't understand that we're like leaking— —like bleeding—- Money! Half of this money's not even being recirculated into the United States! Send for uncle juan, Camilla, and all of my pregnant nieces. Dalè. ARRIVA STORM THE GATES. Yo, lady. What the fuckz At least put shoes on the baby. PUT THE DIAPER IN THE TRASHCAN. Where's your mother? I am my mother. Goddamn! What is the United States?! Racists! Trust me I'd rather die than not Either way, I'll love you all the same It's unfortunate The wicked ones Atop us, with the fortunes With no one to love But piles of bodies, Power plays and flaccid phalic Valid fantasies and tragic Dissatisfaction All those bottles And all those bodies And all those models You still can't mount a horse. All that power And all that money And you don't want me But she doesn't do much But want to love Pity no one up there seems to know what is does Love, is for us The ugly under you Trust me, I'd rather die tonight Than wake up alone Foaming in the mouth With no one there to froth with Trust me I'd rather die than not Either way, I'll love you all the same I guess I'm slag bro Another attack It's fine; I'm just not attractive Not even fit for his Side piece of ass How's that go? What's that life Just take a knife to my back Cause I can't go back bro I went black bro Flatline He caught my eye, Then I went flat broke If I could draw a line up my spine And unwind the entire world I would, though If I could tie a knot to the knot in my back And then just jump rope Off a long rope From a strong pole Here's hoping {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

JOLENE. [Happy Accidents Remix] (Extended) Beyoncé ft. Happy Accidents IN CASE YOU MISSED IT: previously on LEGENDS {Enter The Multiverse} “Two Hats” Now I had two hats— and loved both of them dearly—or rather, bonded with them—as much as anyone could love a material thing, however, given my circumstances material things where all there were left to love, and though I distained to admit it, there I was, in my empty apartment, which I turned into an office, a mattress on the floor to deviate from it ever truly becoming a bedroom, not that I ever really ‘slept' well in the place—which was a blessing, and the very least mine, with all the gratitude I could show the world for finally letting me be human again, after five years of homelessness. I still hadn't quite yet recovered, actually—I had taken my minimalistic qualities and invested all of my “income” with office supplies and musical endeavors, had already released an album, and had nothing less than a heap of backlogged work to sort through—I could be busy for years, just by myself, and the worst of it—or perhaps, best of it was, I was still writing every day. Sometimes a lot. Too much, really. But, it was a gift, of all the gifts I had received, and they were coming in variously, by way of inspiration, little laughs, and waves of a careful, constructive energy which I knew to be beyond nprnsllyborituctive, even for a creative, and though in my heyday I had written more in volume, the quality of my work was beginnings to show—and my potential for professionalism within the field increased, if I could ever see past my brown skin into white world, where I feared the blue and green eyes damsels of the new entertainment world would Beyoncé me in their outrageous and delusional Taylor Swiftness— unless I was so black that I could not stand as a threat to their dominance and obvious world power —which I wasn't, especially by New York's standards. I was soft spoken, well behaved, and most comfortable (at least when well dressed and maintained), amongst the elite. The first hat jad come well before the other, thankfully—as I had needed something besides a handkerchief tied around my head to protect it; it was during fast that I had learned of the danger of keeping one's head exposed, and finally succumbed to the fact that though it could be deeply hidden and lost somewhere in time and my genetics, no matter how bad at it I was, I was somewhere at least a little Jewish, at least by Whoopi Goldberg standards, who supposedly wasn't Jewish at all—but I had also learned in fast, that many dead Jews were now black women, recycled again only to be exterminated by a counterpart which had exceeded itself in hatred, apparently through it all time—my fear was that it was this hatred who welded and whitewashed all the networks I wished to excel in—the dance music industry, the streaming services, and the media in general seemed almost ruined in entirely by racism, nepotism, and well— Karenism, and though I liked Becky a bit more for her labeling of a power-hungry control-freak ultra competitive obsessive, whose racism was blisteringly hidden and intrinsic and yet effected every fibere of my being just in intolerance, austentation, and obnoxious offense, Karen was what the world had seemed to decide her name was— the true drive behind all white power and supremacy—the white woman, for which the average—always painfully average—white man could not function without. “You've got some resentments in here”, said a voice, almost as familiar as my own, but masculine, as I hyperfocused into the Hurley logo on the first hat, a powder blue and white soft-skulled SnapBack which was intended for working out—and of course, for surfing, should I ever be so lucky to surf again somewhere that wasn't New York, and I meant it, that New York was its own certain kind of sickness and toxicity, riddled with old racism and clustered with housing projects which spoke of the dehumanization and belittlement of anything brown— a betrayal of all spirit which was only just now being ratified by the thousands of buildings like mine springing up from bourough to borough—but still present in the vast and drastic divide between the nice areas, and the areas where the colored people lived—almost anywhere but Manhattan, which I had hoped and dreamed for, but settled on Brooklyn, however so close to Queens that I could sometimes still smell, taste, and worst of all, hear it. At least, however, I was gone from Jamaica—a blessing in itself—as it did seem as though it was true that the blacks had been cursed, and just by the looks of it, I was grouped in with them, though I considered myself far from either side of any spectrum, beyond conservative, in that I enjoyed peace, quiet, cleanliness, and modesty of dress— a respect I had for the upper class, especially of the post and business minded women of New York, which seemed to push strollers and go about their daily runs as housewives on weekends in the areas I most favorited—midtown, something native for, but now realizing that because of the new world slave trade, anything lower than at least the 7th floor would be an irritant, a noise-polluted hell scape of poverty-stricken immigrants with no cultural sensibility or decency often for cleanliness, or politeness, which included the silencing and responsible ridership of vehicles that most probably should have been illegal, if it weren't for the demand of jobs in accordance with the work-from-home-I'm-not-going-out-into-that-hell out attitude which I was becoming more understanding of myself—whatever had happened to “people” and had gone with the world or the pre-pandemic was wrong, on so many levels that it was not hard to imagine that the consciousness that collected amongst the wealth elite had gathered that being out in the world had become dangerous, as indeed capitalism had turned every man woman and child below the poverty line into a minion of Satan himself. Jessie surely couldn't live here, without being well kept by some man, who I could only hope by now had groomed her to be better than how I had left her, or rather, how she left me, in the same stewing hatred and delusion of intrinsic racism which seemed to be ruining my chances at ever truly succeeding, particularly in dance music. I dont know what resentments could come from a hat, which I had bough on clearance to begin with, if only just to be able to have a durable waterproof head covering to strap into my head and sweat in—but I could think of all the ways that might make me resent something, perhaps, if the owners of Hurley were racists—not far fetched, as most the surfing communities, especially out west were all bronzed Johnnies of some sort — closeted racists and wealthy elites, or at least well enough to do to live within a stone's throw of some beach, which, even as poor as one might think himself, is never truly poor—especially, out West. If you grew up surfing, you lived on or near a beach, which implies money beyond most people's wildest dreams—besides Mexico, of course, a special and economically, sociopolitically controlled Hellhole of its own, to which it's problematic governance had overpoured yet another problem impacting one's ability to collect and maintain money, or any wealth or status—illegal immigrants coming in droves, hatching their spawn, and collecting government aide, if only to dwell within multi-family homes, gain wealth and income rapidly, and of course, keep the black population at the greatest disadvantage—as the blacks had been ruined by all of America's time as a slave-driving captalist country, always most hospitable to anything less brown than black, not that I was opposed to the idea that New York needed some variety in its gene pool. I dare not to think the owners of Hurley, a surf brand I had loved and trusted since I was a young fanatic first introduced to the joys of riding the wave, could be run by the most henious of evils, the pedophikes, who all seemed to protect one another in some way—and also seemed to control all of the industry at hand—and though now, especially since Tyla's apparent “win” at the Grammy's, which the more closely I observed in a whole seemed to be entirely fake— another Illuminati pupped groomed and chosen to make some kind of media agenda stand through, the billboards were plastered with blackish and brown women of seemingly African decent, however—the problem was that they weren't women at all—but children; and though the male advertisements were still dominated by the white man, to no complaint by admittance that at least in one way, I too, was a supremacist, in that the father of my future children would or should be white by any means nessesary, and that for years now, I just hadn't been attracted to anything else—which, upon reflection, I realized I probably almost never was actually attracted to black men, beyond growing up in a nearly all-white environment, in which case, I was “supposed” to—I.e., the blacks with the blacks, the fats with the fats and so on, which I despised; and I had never settled on anyone overweight at all until I had to, which in retrospect, had almost ruined my life. Almost, but not. I had escaped the fat bastard's wifebeating clutches, both physically and spiritually, finally having gained the espteric knowledge, had had given light and illumination to what I had been told; but never truly believe until I had confirmed— This man had tried to kill me, many more ways than one, and I had survived. Well, naturally—kind of survived. I was now a DJ among DJs, my aging machine outdated and the layer of haging skin around my delicately contoured extra small waist making it impossible for me to gain attention in the way anyone was these days, by bearing less than what would be considered ‘dress code' for any club back in my day, and my day was surely fading into something like a day ahead, or a day behind—either way, as I had actually done enough fasting and praying by now to ‘bend time', and I should only be so lucky to emulate such a feat within my Ableton, which begged for my attention, and yet, there was something missing from me that wasn't yet satisfied with my being so much so that I could just let go, and record my innermost potent words and songs—actually, it seemed as if my apartment had been rigged with some kind of recorder, as when i began to record, or sing at all—the energy would immediately change, almost halting my voice, then again, there was a Karen to my left, and a Karen to my right, the latter of which, my studio was facing and she seemed to act strange and demonic when my music played, slamming doors and creating some kind of uproar, and so I almost never used my studio monitors to play my own music—opting rather for the safety of deadmau5, or some other cheap house music which I could practically mute in my own mind, but at the very least the vibrations of such would not disrupt what might have been peace, if not for the army of terrorists literally in the parking lot to which my window overlooked, the terrorists operating the “auto body” shop adjacent to my apartment, and what appeared to be, after numerous noise violation complaints to the useless 311 service at NYPD, the terrorists alongside the Brooklyn-Queens border, which I refused at all with aborent denial that I even was situated near. Then, as the building began to fill with more blacks, which I hated seeing, loitering about in the lobby in the general and uncomfortable blankness which I was also doomed by the white and others to be perceived as part of—but with diligence had thrust me into a wave of brainstorms—in how to escape this, and although not entirely racist—I didn't like anyone too far on either spectrum which presented an imminent danger or overbearing presence on my person—black men—white women—and others so culturally inept that a sense of looming control had crept and wandered into my heart and my mind, as to why and how I could find, a way out of The Blackness, and into a quiet, not particularly white neighborhood, but at the very least, a clean and quiet one—which in New York, basically meant A white neighborhood, besides the speckling of rich asians, wealthy blacks, and other foregners who valued the things I had, however, albeit, without the distinction of the vanity of a mother who glamorized and normalized prostitution, to which I might have succumbed more valuably, had I not been stretched to ugly capacity by Doritos, emotional trauma, and whatever other strangeness of my youth presented me with this, what was now a beautiful and perfect body—with an unsightly and imperfect scar, the leftovers which without surgery, would classify me as useless to any man I might have admitted—talented, high vibrational, spirited, successful— And of course Pale. Eye color aside, It truly had been a remarkably long time since I had been moved at all by anyone of my own “type” and for this, I strived to succeed in white world, even if only to fall to the dominating control of the white woman, who often I loved just in her ironic blondeness, her shattering and devastating features—sparkling eyes and speckles of freckles— But who often could never love back, out of some hatred that grew from so deep within, even she herself could not see or understand—it was just a ‘feeling' The “I just don't like that girl” The “she just makes me uncomfortable” Or worse, The kind who would pretend to befriend me, so that she would stand out as the eye of beauty between us, to any man or peer within our shared realms— a dominating force of “I'm more important” and “I'm more worthy”—the trait that alone made my name hidden, my own true name, words I could never pronounce, in knowing that she would come to abuse it, to call my name like a dog— Dogs, which I realized, most whites held above the value of any human as brown as i, or damned blacker, which some would find themselves proud of, but to which I distained; I was not ‘proud' to be black, I just was—and pride was ugly, anyway, especially when acting as a representative of the losing team of a centuries long war. The new age of models were bronzer and browner, some all the way black and most just mauve, or blackish enough so that it would not hurt or scare the fragile counterpart of the white women—who always seemed to be scared, put off, or offended by blackness in just its presence, to which I could relate, but not emulate, as the scoffing and huffing of many a tantrum had drawn me to the conclusion that they just weren't happy with our existence entirely, being of veluptuous nature or whatever it was, however—it was the cruelty of the industry at hand that showed a greater monster—that all the men seemed to be well grown, and yet all the women were not women at all, But children on display, in the vulnerability of the sexual nation of normalizing blackness, at the sacrifice of allowing grown men to think it was allowable to fawn after such; what would be considered adolescent bodies—a crucially disproportionate factor that would make or break my career as a writer, musician, DJ, or otherwise, being a woman, who had visible scars of the ability to bear children, which I had not sacrificed, but placed far from my mind— I would not tolerate or settle on another lazy husband, or perhaps even a husband at all. I could tolerate many things about mankind that were obnoxious—cigarette smoke and infedelity, gaslighting and bondage by body or some other lack of God, however, what I could not tolerate was the laziness—the toxic, inability to do without being told to do so— the bearing of another child from outside, that went well beyond the responsibility of one that would come from within. I had spent the early morning taking heed of the accuracy of the advice Joan from Mad Men had given us, in the nostalgic whit of the 1960's that still seemed to prove true today, in fact, more truer than it ever did the first time around— that ‘boys will be boys' and ‘men will be men', and in all honestly, one has not to come far from another into adulthood, so much as a woman should, for it had been neerly a decade since I had last laid eyes on the Piloted Don Draper— and it had been a decade with, with the least to say, had made the show itself more relevant, probably with each passing day. Most men are looking for something between a mother and a— But my memory had muffled the rest, by now, buried in the entourage of my own drawing, from which inspiration had sparked from the entire pot of coffee and song selection that it had taken to sort through my divorce paperwork— a task that had actually taken weeks altogether to assemble, and which I had run into too many obstacles during, having quite forcibly to use my occult knowledge to bend backwards and bind myself with protection, as something truly evil and sinister had surrounded this task— Broken printers, misplaced documents, and of course, all the suffering it took to sift and sort through the words that were truer than any I had ever spoken, and although some run-on paragraphs and broken record retelling of what had actually happened, the effects of what had gone beyond that, what I could accurately put into paper without sounding like a total psychopath, the fact that he and more than likely his father had intended to seal my fate into a Hell beyond words , a death beyond escape, with black magic—using my dead son's hair as a tool for ritual and bondage, to which my own guides in Heaven had overseen and reported through numerous visions, alongside the years of research, my introduction into the occult not out of interest at all, though however born a naturally ‘gifted' person, but out of desperation for protection from the homeless, dirty hellacapes which I had been forced to inhabit since my departure— and without looking back, I had come to the conclusion that though I had nearly lost my son in the process, I had at least survived to preserve myself for him, come such a day he could ever want me. And on that day, I would be the best that I could be for him—I was somewhere between 130 and 140, but wanted to be closer to 110, so that the men that I admired and was attracted to would actually want me, a hard task, especially keeping my assets in tact, but—however—speaking of assets and tact; this chapter was running long, and I still hadn't decided which hat I would wear to the post office to send off the arsenal of paperwork across the country, hopefully to be freed and riddled of the awful reminders of him, many of which had set me off with enough audacity that I had lost it in my apartment not once, but twice—and it seemed that the more accurate my foretelling of this abuse—both physical and emotional, but above all satanic and ritualistic, which had now been overturned and reflected in my own knowledge and illumination, now an admiration for the occult, as the protective rituals which I had become prone to from his damage seemed to shield and protect—the more some satanic force tried to end me, before I could ever return to a normal state—- or ascend into a realm which the evil could not penetrate, with remnices of punching bag faces, spit on the walls, the smell of vomit, and the other atrocities I could only hope had not been passed down to my offspring, who by now didn't know me, but probably was becoming of me enough that I could not be erased from him, to which the anger of his captor I could feel in the onslaught of disgusting bodies which seemed to flock to me to emulate him in some way, though to me he was no God enough to have done so, but rather just a replicate of Satan himself, which had bonded in his betrayal of this, his wish to end and kill me— and had sent demons in his own name to satiate this desire—however—by now I had realized that this darkness could only control the weaker of sorts, the weak in spirit, the dirty humans, the ones who had chosen to rid themselves of soul, in the name of money or otherwise— and though the cover to my “debut” album spoke not of true Chaos Magic, but of another pinnacle of the occult, the name itself was more practical of the music that it contained—the chapter of blackness which had halted my humanity, living in the shackles of the tragic aftermath of all that had happened. I still hadn't decided on a hat, but the obvious answer was that I should, before the day returned back into the night, and though I hated long subway rides, there was a comfortable avenue with everything I needed to come back to my mind, one single paper which needed still to be notarized, which I had missed in the frenzy of what seemed like an endless nightmare, to get away from this man, his damage, and all of the things and people which acted like him—dumb, broken, and twisted enough to instill pain, intrude my sanctity, and stalk so much so that my usual calm, peaceful demeanor became a violent rage, however, almost respectfully always contained to the privacy of my “home” surrounded by strangers who hated me, for I in this black skin could not ever be worthy of equality, an audacious comparison in the very least, that I should have what they always have. Just keep working. The hole had yet to swallow me, but I had two more albums coming immediately, right out the gate, their deadlines approaching so rapidly that I could feel the onslaught of always wokenness coming in the collision and confusion of wondering how, if I ever, I would make enough money to actually get ahead, for once— and become unstuck from the lovelessness that was so underserving that nobody I could seek to love, could love me—perhaps it was true that poverty was some kind of invisibility to the wealthy elite, and though I despised the though of golddigging, I despised more the thought of being the breadwinner somewhere between lower middle class and poverty, always sick from always working, never working out; and of course— Always arguing over nothing, Which seemed to be the dynamic between men and women, anyway. I realized that Don Draper was in a silent and secret war with Betty, whose anxiety had piled up inside her, most even probably as a result of her hUsband's “secret” infidelity— And that seriously, I might be some kind of writer or something, If all I could think about was how cringey it was to watch Jon Hamm kiss Tina Fey, in that one movie by John Slattery, And how I really didn't want anything more Than to look like Miss January Jones, Who had always been so perfectly beautiful to me, That it hurt me. ‘The DJ Hat, I think. ‘ I was nervous, and it was raining, But it couldn't wait another day The final breaking of this curse Would be sending in the paperwork That described word for word With brutal honesty and accuracy Everything that should never happen When you get married— At least Happily. -Happy Accidents. I GOT YOU NOW, MOTHERFUCKER. Oh my God! It's Pat Kirkpatrick! Oh great, so he's some sort of Diety, I guess. Lesson 1: Continuity. Lesson 2: Continuity, Lesson 3: Continuity —isn't that all just— Continuity. yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss—- I'm a DJ, BITCH. YO, LESSON ONE: You're not the professor. I'm the GURU. This the dojo! Uh. No. You're not. I AM. Where's Jimmy Fallon? Yo, FUCK JIMMY FALLON, alright. He's possessed— What?! Oh NO. Who possessed him?! My ex husband. I'M THE SENSEI NOW. SENRAO fuck. Where the fuck is this kid? Dead. DEAD? Mm. Presumably. Mmhmm. wtf, who are you? Woke up with Dillon Francis in my head— “I'm my only friend” I don't even like that song, it just gets stuck in my head. Apparently Emma Watson wants to know what to do in the festival project. I still don't know. My ex went to Golden Corral to cheat on me, then got sick from pizza; I got some kind of job at a weird party place for kids; the dude was weird and only hired non bianary people and dudes; I left to help my friends who were getting married with car trouble. Lol Emma Watson though, was like— “Okay, what do I do?” I was like, I don't know. Then I woke up. EMMA WATSON Okay, what do I do? I was starting to develop scabs in my ears from alternating between headphones and earplugs, which couldn't have been good—I needed to work, and was disasterously fat, however, toned, and I assumed that the extra weight had come from muscle. My legs were smooth, and all of the clothes I had picked up along my walk fit—all extra smalls and smalls, which included even a tiny bralette I was certain would fit when picking it up, and it did—I only wondered what the world might be like after a panniculectomy—though my thighs seemed massive and I was certainly bloated, opting for less running and more lifting until my energy recovered, I was still anywhere between a size 4 and 5, sometimes a 6–which did kind of rather shamed me in all of the ways that it could—6 was much greater than 2–and those praised as the ‘world's most beautiful women' were anywhere between 00 and 2; I wasn't sure where I was going to move my thighs or my arse to, but I was determined to be celebrity skinny—even without the added bonus of actually being a celebrity, and however oddly enough with the star studded dreams I had been having, there seemed somehow still some kind of hope, though even if in the next life, that I would become into a world of my dreams. It was the anniversary of my son's death—he would have now been 9, and I often was drawn to remember him walking about New York—seeing beautiful children about with long hair, and beautiful brown skin, with eyes like mine, moon shaped and dark…I began to softly weep as I remembered how beautiful he was, and that I had no pictures of him at all. It was better that way, really—the hurt that had come from holding on was too great—and yet, subtle reminders, in the way that sometimes, however music would just come to me, there was my boy; he loved my guitar, and the sound of my voice as I would sing, and had even once, just before his death, tried to sing along, as I clamored about the house, singing Seven + Mary—which he seemed to like enough that he found the need to make his way over to the table to get my attention, and sing with me. Back in my current reality, the overall bored of the shower running and my demon neighbors slamming things around angrily as if something was wrong, shaking the building brought me back to the monotonous world, morning coffee over the toilet quite remincent of Lyndon B. Johnson, the morning sifting through my Google documents for Emma Watson and John Slattery part of my morning report— and though I was due in the gym, there was nothing I wanted less than to go anybody or see anything at all—everything was just a reminder of my apparent “living hand to mouth”, and the more I kept on dreaming and writing of these people, the more grandiose and and delusional I felt—I had just been blindsided in court by my ex's attempt to discredit my ask for a protective order against him by using my mental health in the wake of his physical violence and our sons death, against me in such a way that the victory, the judge's granting of my protection against him, was still pyrrhic in such a way that I didn't feel so much protected, as he had lodged his way into my dreams once more just to cheat on me—though however had been twarted in doing so, by some particularly sour Golden Corral pizza, and the young girl accompanying him quite receptive to the speech I had given her on karmic justice. Strangely enough, the dream almost appeared as in my favor, that things were changing, and yet—I still didn't like to see him or think of him at all, and luckily enough, it was Emma Watson who had intercepted this sort of nightmare with the conjecture that I should keep writing, however with an American accent, which only forced me to wonder, if perhaps, too she had become some sort of Cosmic Avenger—or even so, as written, was JK Rowling in disguise as the actress playing her own character, some kind of magician's practitioner —who had herself been for some time one of my living spirit guides since childhood—finding as I grew older for us to be more alike than not, especially as a writer. I stepped into the shower, still writing, and without the amount of coffee I really needed to move more quickly, but still in some sort of stupor— ‘I should probably get out of here.' Another day trapped indoors would simply be unhealthy, however I hadn't the slightest idea where I might go. Wherever it was, I would take my guitar—and at the very least—I knew which direction Manhattan was, anyway. ‘Fuck, I gotta find that episode with the earthquake…' BEFORE: ugh , where to begin? Let's just start with– LADY GAGA aka GAGA has been tasked with strategically marking the grid with Various entrance and exit points; a job which she has tak quite seriously, and honorably. Okay, moving forward . You're not going to expand on that? No, next thing. HARRY POTTER, HERMIONE GRANGER Wait– What. Wouldn't it be HERMIONE WEASELEY Did they not get a divorce? I heard that. That just sounds dumb, I'm not writing that. That is dumb.. Anyway. HARRY POTTER, HERMI– Fuck it. HARRY, HERMIONE, AND RON have accidentally shifted dimensions and into the bodies of their real-life counterpart, DANIEL RADCLIFFE, EMMA WATSON, AND RUPERT GRINT Oh damn. I finally found something cool for Emma Watson to do. That is cool. SUPACREE I need you to read all these, and watch all this. SUPACREE leaves the three magicless, frietenghned, and shocked– –flabbergasted– what . They're English, they should be flabbergasted. [They are Flabbergassted] Wait, go back? I can't. I Have a hard time writing action scenes why ? Cause i'm not getting any. Lol : (Holy shit, that is probably why tho.) Erase. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? It wasn't good. HOW DO YOU KNOW?! *shrugs* !?!- ::||pause. ok . So that dude from Drake and Josh is in all these episodes, but we only get one Harry Potter Episode? …He seems less busy. –Don't forget Jimmy Fallon. Yeah, I still don't get that. Neither do I? Why is he even in this? [Watching Saturday Night Live} JIMMY FALLON! Why Is he even in This? ? ? AAAAANNNDRD—WE'RE BACK. Fuck it, next thing. gaga Yeus. What are you doing? Hm. Mm…working on something. If I stand quietly at the door, and await you; Will you come to me, And and open it, to let me in To see the gate you keep Let's read between the lines; You weep for me and deep into my dreams Then see me in the streets, and think “It cannot be the she for me; Maybe, if she were pretty.” Don't look into my eyes (I despise you! I delicately delight you Despite the never having time to Now I'm desperate just to find you In a life I left behind And drew a line though RATATA & TATTATA I wrote this story years ago. Are you going to listen to the album? I already did that. YOU GOTTA LISTEN TO THE NO. And I don't expect Skrillex to listen to this, either. It's over. It's over It's over It's over. I LOOOOOOVE HER TIMMY TURNERS NEW BALANCE TENNIS SHOES TAP SWIFTLY ACROSS THE PAVEMENT AS HE RUNS FOR HIS LIFE Well, that is a good place to start—thanks Emma Watson. Captain. Oh shit, what's SHE like? I don't know, isn't she like, irl an American diplomat? Uhhh—aren't you? No. Now hurry, we gotta do this before Jimmy Fallon shows up and [JIMMY FALLON SHOWS UP] Ugh. Why is he even in this? What is this? I don't know. It's “Poetry” An album. A couple of movies. Some TV shows. Will this suffice? I don't know… Enter that one scene here with John Slattery? Which scene with John Slattery? You're right. I have been writing for John Slattery a lot. Bipolar disprder and other multidimensional preceptory functions could more likely be reclassified from a disease to a hypersensitivity to energy which one does not identify as belonging to oneself, which therefore counteracts within the mind's ability to alter or project and/or maintain balance in one's mood, as certain energies may be ‘absorbed' empathically or observed as a negative or draining energy; An elevated sense or shift due to the overstimulation of energy which the subject may receive as ‘“positive”, or shifting the mood undesirably by the overstimulation of negative sources, sounds, or persons within the subject's realm foreign, undesirable, or unwanted within one's field of energy—a heightened sense of awareness or vibrational field which inhibits or limits the ability to contain or transmute such energies. It is, within its own sense, a sort of elevated mechanism for survival, ie a superpower, given the subjects placement within the proper environment, within the functional vibration of the subjects natural mood or state, whereas, lows may be the subjects own sensitivity to numerous outer sources of negative or prone to certain toxicities to his or her natural state, and highs whereas certain higher vibrational energies result in the conglomerate evolution of such energies as a newer form So, bipolar, you think? I think I don't know what I am, and nobody does—so nothing you give me will ever really fix me, because I was never really broken, or Or? Or I was broken rightfully so in that I should have been treated as a trauma victim, and not the subject of some cruel experimentation as an attempt to assasinate whatever force of nature is actually keeping me alive in the only survival mechanism it's been naturally given to battle the psychopathic standards and expectations of today's society. Fine, very well then. Why is this J. slatts again Cause, I've got a beautiful vocality for narration. Fine, I'll work on that character next, I guess. What?! John Slattery is in this! YES. I guess I have to watch it, then. Collect the actors, again! AGENTS. Ufffghh. MANAGERS Fucking Christ. JOHN SLATTERY (as himself) “I'll do it, “, I said, “but there better be money attached to this project” [Jimmy Fallon enters] JOHN SLATTERY There he is! The man of the hour. JIMMY FALLON This is—probably going to take longer than an hour, I'm betting. JOHN SLATTERY Come, sit. [He sits at the had of a long table] JIHN SLATTERY (CONT'D) I don't know what you did, you fucking idiot, but you did it. JIMMY FALLON Tell me what I did again. CUT TO: [unseen, on the opposite side of the room] Oh shit, that's him; Are you sure? No, that's Patrick. WhT's the difference?! [Like, an entire generational gap of innuendos and pop culture reference.] JOHN SLATTERY Your presence is appreciated. This meeting is now officially in session. {Enter The Multiverse: LEGENDS} [the festival project What is this? Is this Scotch? No! It's apple cider vinegar! Does the trick. I heard you were a Method-ist. No, apparently I'm “the medicine man” It's nearly team But feels like night Nearly forgot what this was like Too many sunny days, no friends Wasted

{Happy Days} / [A Tie That Binds] [As Seen On TV] / I _ NY (I Love New York) New Albums Coming Soon Love , -Ū. I SAID I LOVE YOU! I AMBER HEARD YOU —YEAH, WELL, YOU COURTNEY LOVED HIM! No guilt trips. Brooklyn, I don't give a shit about you blond bitches Ya'll is crooked as fuck Fast walking trying to pass me That's alright; I can write A whole album in 45 minutes So pay attention I should be booking shows I'm stuck at the stove With no furniture No money to blow Blowing bubbles in the tub Wondering how the fuck I'm supposed to run With no protein I'm so hungry Carbohydrates can't harm nobody Less you're a wanna be All my demons skinny as can be And still eating Still scrolling on social media like “Fuck it “ I don't owe nobody nothing I don't want nobody, actually All of these guys find me ugly Just wait till it's me on the Tv I'll have them all Take me to the future again I been in this bed for six days Just going blank slate [Slate Your Name, Please] A monocle, A synagogue, a musical, and a monologue Let's log it all on the podcast and make it a montage, Shall we, or shall we not? SAGAL: CUT. I'm not that dead, man I been praying for him and his family Can't get her name out of my head, that one These are oceans, planets and oceans I can write a whole album In 45 minutes Might need a jacket I die when the wind blows If it gets colder I fit the mold, huh? I'm not worried about a snowman Till it gets frozen Bring the hoes in Dirty dozen donuts Something says “you were chosen” Another stroller I don't even want to go there My life is over I got your number I never ever want to grow here on my Nowhere I'm sober I'm so bare I'm so Bearr [censored] I never wanted the impossible thought form I never wanted to forgot where I come from I never won an award for nothing I don't want no man I don't want no friends I don't want it no more It's a war here I'm no racist, promise I'm just informing ya Compromises and honor rolls Sometimes you take two doses Sometimes you're a bulldozier And hozier don't know shit Satan can't do shit but sit there Cause Ain't nobody in that body Just the lack of where I am is I am is I don't really need nobody Cause soon as I got him He gon want some body That's not me That's the problem Another oracle Another blonde with no Nothing between the thighs, I shot him right between the eyes I been crying and trying days and nights To be right there Be right there He really like a nightmare Yeah. He really like a nightmare Yeah. He really like a nightmare A whole frightening ass— Lights up, Curtains open quiet on stage Hold backstage Quick change I just want to walk into buffalo exchange like Here, take this; I'll take 5 orders or your best chicken, And just wait for this literal genius to be like “Uh—we don't have chicken here” Sorry, I just assumed with buffalo Walked in with nothing, No clothes Just a really old guy holding my hand like “I'll buy this” Thanks, gramps That's my man Thanks lion, That's my Maine. Now, what's my name? Manhattan. Why all the white supremacists mad? They're just like that I spin backwards trying to die Cause I can't catch a white man That's big ass fish I just got my dick stroked, you know This one and that one, he says Swerve, I'm all in my mainstream All in my I can't take it I just had a big ass stroke, you know I been smelling cornbread— Nope, That's the oven I love it Here's my language: Jesus, save us There she is— Another television envious of sentientness You know This is the sweetness of success Without the sweat in it I put a letter out in public to Letterman and Conan Before of course I realized, I just might be writing to dead men And that's what death is Debt That's what death is When Johnny Depp is your best friend And everything and everyone else is indifferent And the dishes have just been Like that In the sink, Like the rest of the trinkets Now let that sink in Or synchronize in synchronized Fuck it (I'll keep drinking/ Thinking) I'll never be a Never be a Whatever this bitch is I never loved him Never loved him Never loved another's husband Never remembered anyway, what the password was When the last world ended My eyes got brown as my skin is I miss him Dinner and wine, then I kissed him In a different dimension Now it's just Not worth mentioning It's so funny. I don't want Nothing no more Not a dog Not a baby That's a death wish I don't want a friend in the world Besides my best friend I only talk to my mother over Divorce papers and turntables I been battling Satan I'm just the saddest thing that ever happened (Finally, a hook in this bitch) I'm just the saddest thing that ever happened Next to Johnny Carson, that is, you know Leno, Subliminal messages And infinite women I'm just the saddest thing that ever happened Since Patrick the predecessor This is just a precursor to Esha The successor The success story starts When starr's shaman curse is over Where will I ever find a four leaf clover Or a lover in Manhattan or new York at all, mom?!? I must be a dead man walking I'm the saddest thing that ever happened I got my name on the dollar bill Now the face of the phases is coming The worst thing that ever happened A dead man walking Green means go The whole world is color coded My heart is swollen And I just want to go home My throne is Not my apartment With the darkness sets in Regrets starts sending me electromagnetic messages I could honest to God Not give a fuck If a bus or a truck Just hit me It's been a year and some months in this city And I have a whole studio But my humor loud is still shitty I love this city But miss decency These immigrants just don't know how to act Too many levels and synchronicities to this thing Too many levels of infinite television figures Way too many people giving me attention Way too many Dollar signs on mattresses, Too many mad maxes and mad hatters Too many beautiful black man ‘s with manners I just wonder why I can't find them attractive Satan holds the door open The world war's starting I don't want no problems, I just blow bubbles, dory, like It was horrible, Touching the face of the sun And then Vanishing like that It's impossible, Now I've got piglets and players And nice hats With sliced cabbage If I back track To mice and men My sandwhich is just as Tight as ever, Last I checked Lesson learned, I said Don't touch that But I pressed the easy button Twice since lunch Fuck I might have fucked up somewhere Getting drunk with the undercover Who doesn't know nothing according To the blowjobs i showed him No man And no friends No dog And no kids No sodom and gamora With long hair I'm the whore of babylon, underling Do you know this? Do you notice me? Coming over with no hair In the clear As if I would still feel the same Like next year I can't hear it It's encouragement Take a long dive Off a short pier! It's the wrong hearing I got no charges out on the open I just won't be starting fires under Bridges As long as there's water running Which I should be, But life's not funny And something haunting me, I got problems with God Probably a prophet, apostle or something With black skin and a hanging stomach I never ever had love again? That does it I'm over this whole world, Fuck it I want another husband Who doesn't have occulars at all, then Dead man walkin I'm dead man walking I'm so sick of talking And motorcycles and hotrods stalking my apartment But nothing I do or say quite matters Like the latest cake album Cause fame does fuck up the Love game And the other ones That's the whole world, now Nothing but monopoly to dumb Gods I'm just sucking my thumb, nodding like Fuck my heart is open I want to throw up, and this whole ass Borough smells like vomit And dog piss! I just want to be be as tall or as small as hot is, But this plot shit Is getting thinner Like I should be but it's getting closer to dinner And this ugly ex husband Keeps costing me money It's fucked up But I don't want nothing but Some fucking vanilla Hagen das! I want a dog, But money is a fuckin problem, All I know is The more I want something The farher away it is all from coming I need alcohol in my stomach And my hearts erupting with love, or something I should probably pick up a Book of Mormon before Sunday Cause my God ain't moving me Up from this apartment You started it I planted the seed, Then they put water on it Gues I'm growing Up Everything sucks Especially my birthday But the worst day Was earth day I'm famous But my net worth And network Ain't working I am way way higher than the fourth floor I'm in 4 4 time In the forth world Wake up, It's the fourth world war Wake up It's the fourth world war Wherefore art thou iPhones ? I don't want them at my shows Turn them off They're turning your mind Psycho Psychosis is this I got flows I slept four hours Been up more Guess what That means Time froze I'm exposing this guy like Fandoms We worshiping icons And idols Lifeless models And guy drones I send cyclones My way My eyes light up I don't like hoes I take midol All night Just to fight bros I get drunk I'm live at 9 Alright tho Alright I'm up all night I spilled my blood Like a tampon Now I'm on Icon Todrick That's hot Alright I put my sweat and tears in it Cause I ain't hearing shit If it's just mustache, man No beard in it? That's weird I'm still here Waiting for Cher to appear Like “Fuck. Did I miss it?” I must be Sonny Or somebody Cause I'm dead Oops Apple tree Johnny Come after me Johnny come lately Or something was up With the other dimensions This suit is is interesting I got a Ron burgundy one I got records for days in my Daisy I got Niggas on niggas on niggas And witches on sticks No brooms They on zoom calls In messy ass rooms Fuck that How can I be your only fan If you don't need a man And the price goes up When I get what I wanted I take screenshots And then I move on Pornhub is still free hun Fucking—dumb bitch You're dumbo; Remember me? No I meant Brooklyn! Just keeping the peace I'm Christopher Columbus But Columbine on columbians I like a genocide Once or twice every Generation Reprogram the Asians To be human again Someone save them Reprogram the masses To react to Something other than Reactions I should redact this All of a sudden, I'm sick to my stomach I've been stuck for days like this Stuck, and just suffering Death wishes, all in these documents Death wishes Death wishes— Things that I've written, but shouldn't have I'm losing you, aren't I? I'm losing myself, really, I might die from this It is a crime to write this I dot my is any cross my t'a Grit my teeth and fingers That my tribe doesn't find this It is ridiculous, It's ridiculous; these documents Death wishes, telepaths And televisions What's the difference in This, And the encryption of it I can't reach out; I know better than even to look I just can't ask…. You're just a page upon my book I was never the one To test the task at hand The safest bet I'll just stay here With a pillow under my head So near the latest terrorist attack Likeness is what it attracts So I can't look back in bed On back to back How bad we bled Or often we bled out What's happened? A head in the clouds And i can't think straight It's a canon camera A keystone cast, A comic drama A cosmic someone Who just went backwards . . . Breaking down the walls It's always Lennon who hold the candle On walks with God, on the other side Of the art of death A long lost lover I never thought of Or just can't think To hold together When it never rains in ever land December's where I left her Hold my hand Or love me harder Don't look twice Or once more after Never close the door The chapter coming next Is love and laughter in never happened Can a happenstance look after A restless toddler Another walk with God, John holds the candle, Dad holds all the cradle to my heart And I want nothing but to run Something something something Something something this way comes —the attack on the heart worked For the sake of the art, it hurts, And it beats like a drum Of course it does Cause Something something something Never comes Sunday's almost over, Over once it comes Another lover, someone's husband Better not to God, The Judge had hung her verdict on the cross How are ‘What have yous' and ‘Who does that's for besides A pungeant conversation starter Just to cover up the odor Of cedar smoke and Dove deodorant, Pesticides And raw Hyde dog chews I thought “Who are you” Far too often Of the cosmos, But, the color of love hit my lungs At the tip of my tongue in a shade of Blue Who is it? Sister, sister Mister brother Doctor, Doctor Teacher, I am you. (So here's what to do with it) Call you up to the 212 My heart won't stop thumping I've had much coffee, Something, just probably lust is Welling up in my safe deposit box All I wanted was just enough evidence To go to heaven with something to show for all this Go for broke, or superstardom Don't you know that all you are is —stardust? I sleep with the lights on Clutching my stones The false shaman Haunts me from another time zone He won't leave me alone Until I throw myself off a roof Or in front a train Trying to drain me of my Brain and free agency Free gateway Read the gallery; So much flattery happened to have had me at Fallacies laughing at everyone else But the flatlined hack I hate being black when I'm fat And I've never had flat where my abs are Or my ass is Who sang the guitar a short song I hope imm wrong for the trophy I'm full grown, but only ¾ cups Of the measurements I'm sure heaven sent To picture infinite in A different integer (Sure.) For certain, it was just words Worth the wordforms to armor with curtains Just to give earth back her Metamorphosis The more I resist, however The more the world wants in It sure hurts so it must hurt more To become what you are but worse In the wake of a war When you wake up a heart That was already broken I put your mantras on bus stops And calmly enforced all the karma coming for The ones who harm me So what for, besides the war, are you working for If circles are drawn into Pentecostals And crosses alter your Munchausen syndrome If god wills it to be so, then it will be so; If God does not, then it must not be. And so it is, and so I am. Amen Make Antigone's monologue into a song I'm old New York Sippin soda through a straw I seen it all, Technology come up, Like the sun does Our side first, Ahead of the times I'm old New York I'm the New York Times These subway ads are fucking wild. The wibway is wild in itself Which is why I guess there's an ad that says “Don't be someone's subway story, Which is why, as a writer, I'm like; No; DO: Do be my subway story— And if it's good enough, You'll be a joke in my comedy routine Or If you're even more lucky, And I find you hilarious, I might just put you in a song I will turn my headphones all the way off To make an audio recording If you being hilarious— Read: obnoxious, Somewhat ghetto, or just slightly off-putting, but like, loud about it. Someone's acting up and it doesn't make me wanna actually slit my wrists, I'm like “Yeah!” Do that PLEASE. Do it LOUDER. But man, the subway is wild sometimes Like, the real jungle. I was on my way to an interview, And the trains were backed up, it was rush hour, so like, the whole train of people was like rushing, like running for the train— And this whole group of people coming off the train that were about to leave were like, in the way— And people were like, running around people, rushing around, it was like total chaos, and this dude in front of me—it was a black dude, he like straight up line backed this dude—luckily not onto the tracks, cause we were all like along that fucking yellow line, between the tracks— Sorry, for those of you dumb enough to actually live in the city and drive and have never seen the subway— There's this yellow line that says : do not cross this line, in front of the tracks— DO NOT CROSS. It everybody does because, you know Mass transit So anyway, We're all walking this line, Like running for this train, And this dude, this subway fucking hero Sees the doors about to close, And fucking linebacks this dude, just HUH, but at the same time moving him safely out of the way There's a poster I straight up stand by, it Jon daily must be a fucking beast. I saw his ad for his show, That shit start watching me like the Mona Lisa. I was like, On God, I walked like 2 more ads, And still felt like his eyes were following me— never turn around, so I pivot— I pivot and change directions, And I go back to look at this poster, You know, To make sure it's — His name is Malakai. Oh—that's it. Don't mistake my kindness work weakness. [ESHA pours nearly an entire bottle of AMSTERDAM coconut vodka down the kitchen sink] No hard stuff. That was for me. not in the house. It's a townhouse. It's my townhouse. I'm not arguing. Yes you are—there's some red wine in the [he's already found it, and is pouring himself a glass] Perfect. Now lastly, Do you have any pants? I have pants; I just don't wear them. Well, wear them. What. For what. My daughter has a key and she stops by sometimes without calling. That sounds awful. You have two of your own daughters. Actually, one; Olivia wants to be Oliver. That's uncomfortable— Actually, it's awesome. I almost like her more now. Glad you're taking it well. That's why the vodka. The wine should do. Hey, let me in. What the fuck do you want? Tales of A Superstar DJ My sexual appetite wa insatiable, and yet–I ddn't really want anybody–not that it mattered, as was for the most part, unavailable, entirely, anyway, closing an open heart before it turned into a bleeding wouldn which could not be mended–of course, the cause of my eventual death. Then, I was doing much more than nothing at all, and still being looked after in some way, and all that I wanted anyway, was love–which no man at all seemd to actually have for me. A woman, I had learned, is not much worth but by her body. Fake smiles, as the live camera rolls Fake smokes, for the folks at home From now on, it's all lights and cameras Too much action, actually Too many fountains [A delivery arrives at the warehouse] VICTOR What's this? PATRICK A pillow top mattress. VICTOR It's big. PATRICK It better be. VICTOR It looks nice: PATRICK Let's open it. he produces a box cutter from his left pocket. [after opening the box, Patrick, Victor, and Sutton stand around the mattress in a triangular formation.] SUTTON This is mad nice. VICTOR Nicer than any bed I've ever owned. PATRICK takes a long draw off of his cigarette PATRICK Really? Hm. [he produces a knife from its holster and tears into the edge of the mattress] VICTOR YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. SUTTON shrugs. PATRICK cuts a deep exposure into the center of the mattress, pulling back the layers of foam, creating a pocket in its center.] PATRICK Perfect. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. From Wikipedia Happy Days is an American television sitcomthat aired first-run on the ABC network from January 15, 1974, to July 19, 1984, with a total of 255 half-hour episodes spanning 11 seasons. Created by Garry Marshall, it was one of the most successful series of the 1970s. The series presented an idealized vision of life in the 1950s and early 1960s Midwestern United States, and it starred Ron Howard as Richie Cunningham, Henry Winkler as his friend Fonzie, and Tom Bosley and Marion Ross as Richie's parents, Howard and Marion Cunningham.[1] Although it opened to mixed reviews from critics, Happy Days became successful and popular over time.[2] {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Sai the Saige has seven souls Seven sons And seven daughters Sai the Saige has seven worlds Seven wounds And seven altars Sai the Saige has seven wives Seven husbands, seven mothers Seven fathers, Seven Gods And Seven Others Sai the Saige has seven wands, seven scars, and seven warriors Seven Angeles, Seven Trumpets, Seven Shells, and Seven Feathers; Sai the Saige has seven fears, Seven Secrets, Seven Weapons Sai the Saige has Seven Wars, Seven Waters, Seven Oceans {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

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 WTF is THIS. Since you like to troll so much, I just thought I'd turn you into one This is not Kosher, 199x Jimmy Fallon; Let me out of this plastic —not exactly “fireproof” — death box, before I let myself out, and I trap you in it. But oh, You already did. FIGHT. UGH OH. Ok, rotate. Who is this. Oh shit, hey dude. FUCK, what year is it? MEANWHILE, Under the bridge. …anybody seen this, uh… *Troll* Yee! *Troll* Alright. That's it. Everything checks out. The story was air tight. TIGHT, TIGHT I want you to wear this tonight “The Lady In The Red Dress” You really went all out for this I really didn't, lol Oh I see, You thought this was the matrix. MIT I WISH GOD Wish what. MIT … Mm. Did u see that. See what. ALRIGHT FUCK THIS, YA'LL IT GOT SERIOUS, WHERE'S MY CYCLOPS He called me his cyclops— —-and then he said LIKE GET OUT WHAT GET OUT OF MY HOUSE WHY CAUSE YOURE JUST A PIÑATA, MAN! And I ain't got time for that! I just got a DeLorean And a new HAT I gotta go get Oof. WRECKED. Yo, Wicked. KENDRICK (TODDLER) WIZARD. Oh my. I'm J00F'd up. | | | trance | | | Look; I gotta get out of this MOTHER OF PEARL do not beach this whale carcas on my warehouse project A what A beached whale I know You brought a beached whale to my fucking rave show Oh I get it It's Avant- Guarde No, that's just how I got here …. Trust me, it's okay that This never happened You did not see me It's because I wasn't there Is this U Ū No I wasn't there. Ü I was. Fuck. What happened. It's ok. All I remember is “The Quatardashians” Hmm Also The indigenous But that's it But mostly that was all just Jesus showing off his flexes Are u fasting? Yes, “Ū” is. So, do you need this?! TRUMPP Get rid of this recording imiidiately GOT IT. kill that bitch. SKRILLEX Yessir. —-but before all that happens. …did you want fries with that?! Why are we boycotting McDonald's —for poisoning —the allies —our enemies. Wait, you're eating this? Yes. Like, for fun, or like? No. This is what I'm feeding my children Why Cause they hungry. Uh, ok— —and there's six of them. Aight, ya'll can each have one nugget with your— I wanted a cheese burger! You git hamburgers. Ham. Cheese costs CENTS; And you know your momma If I ain't about a dollar - A dollop of Daisy You really are Ashamed of his Alright, you evil bastards. I see you want to Cause suffering Correct For which you will eternally recurve damnnation and all of the pain you've caused Karmas a bitch It's lonely at the top Not when you're GOD Get off my rock Did you miss an appointment? Nah, can't do it Why what happened Too high up. Whatchu mean So what, it's just like Done. Well, this is it, huh guys. Oh, yeah, it's that, alright This is the longest ride we ever took.d This is the ONLY ride we ever took. I WANNA GET OFF THIS RIDE. I AM REALLY HIGH UP. JUST LET GO. NO. NO. NO. Put me down, kite!!! KITE wtf do you want me to do. I'm a KITE. I'm YOU FUCKIN KIKE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—- Well, I'll be honest, man, this sets you back, some How far back GET GONE, But? We're dinosaurs. Why would something with razor sharp teeth be so— —peaceful, and friendly?? T-REX …cuddles. I just can't fake the feeling( I can't pretend to cry It just comes, when it does But when the well runs dry That's when the the world will end That's when the world will end After this movie, I guarantee we will no longer need the Wilhelm scream AGGGGGHHHHHHH!!! YAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! AAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIGGGHHHHHHH UUUUUUUUUUUUU This movie broke the world record for the amount of times the word “No” was screamed NO NOH. NO. ‘No! NOOOOOOOOOOO! NONONO. NOOOOOOOAAAAAHH …No! Here they all come for her, Defended upon New York In order of important, or appearance? One doesn't wonder, At al, of what's to come Uncommon, we are The call has come TRACY My tummy hurts. That's probably because you've been drinking straight tequila for the last hour and a half. No I haven't! This is water! Tequila is YELLOW, Liz Lemon! No, Tracy—that's silver tequila, And regular tequila is, You know what? Nevermind. Alright, who's got the night shift? [nobody raises their hand, at all] Seriously guys?! Come on! COME ON! Look up WHAM! For some reason, idk. Can we just— not do this? No. Out of my mind a bit Speaking in tongues, In total silence Guess it's the times, I guess that's just who I am And who I am is I said I was Sam I'm the same, I said, “Say Uncle” I guess it's a game, we're playing I don't want to be played with At all I just want to feel loved again By someone else Superb, like him I just want to be felt, I guess By someone else That's “Different” I just want to be kissed on the lips A splendid blend of Twisted trysts Let's not pretend It hasn't ended yet Until you've finished it Class dismissed again Let me off of it I just want it to stop Keep rolling Keep rolling your eyes in the back of your head Like you did just morning Just go for a walk Just stop for a moment Run a bath And just keep running Cause here something comes, Of course, It's all your callings Neatly rolling into one, They said But I Just want to be loved again And who doesn't That's the fucked up part I just want to be loved again But nobody ever Just comes up I just want to be loved again It's a walk in the park Don't follow the dog Even if he barks at you It's time to start again I wonder what comes after this part You are the gleaning in the shadows, The reckoning in my eye, The siren in my silence; The green in all the lights, I am a shamed to have just been One of your many One of your many Images, You still have me twisted, I miss you, It's just you, at the end, Again I left you where you left me Solid on solid Sounds are invalid now How are you so Swore by your awesome No more songs, I said No more songs, he's dead to me No more songs! She's inlisted He's uninterested, Isn't this interesting The problem is: I'm still in love with Everyone i've ever been in love with (And I love him) But he doesn't remember my Name And he's famous And she's crazy And he hates her But he made me hate him The day I became you The day I became So famous, I finally made it I'm dead It smells like dill in here At least it doesn't smell like dead mouse. Aha. Youre Hellen. Keller or Mirin How would you be Hellen Miren Cause I'm the Queen. posh. You want to die Well, you better do it quick Better get your shit toggether, paint a l Bigger, better picture Bitter Betty gliching steady Just remember when you're ready Ever steady still forgetting dinner Dessert was already Forget this significance Remind me why I'm on this speeding bullet to nowhere Had no other options but to go under for something Shy, sickness it's a secret Just kill me already Semi robotic, Something like a magnet, attracted, Simply symphonies And soulless bodies, tied to money Wonder what was in the vaccum cleaner meaning What did you suck up, dude Who do you suck up to. When nobody loves you But your own son And the audience is robots Nothing really works more than once, if it's really magic Sit and do nothing would you Like you're supposed to Fall over like the mannequin you are Just a body in my count A mattress without a bespost, if it matters If it matters Doesn't really matter But hey, you know We all go downtown every once or twice a note For Hanukkah I could try to be nice But there's no sense in it, Is there If everything and everyone else is just as nasty As the rest of it Just is just a test, again A doctors office visit. Simple robotics, Or already stocked up for Hanukkah, Hollywood Where's your homeland deposit box Closet full of robots Closest to the moon, I wrote another poem for you Sorry that I wasn't on the offering table The parakeet, pigeon and pirated Slattery, Damages, damages, All with the Amazon packages, Now we're all robots, Aren't we What corporation to you belong to! Something corporate , or say anything Whose to say Jeff Besoz won't replace us With m robots with thought processes, If once such could project as such presence As an AI freestyle Meanwhile, I've got a butload of buckets and bunts, Bullletwounds, eyes on Manhattan and happens to wish something bad upon me When all I wanted is Somebody to love me And someone to love him, If that's what he wanted (But who knows if what he wanted was all of the bodies opposite of him) I don't belong on this planet I belong in the garbage Put me on mars, mom Stop it, You're almost a robot, get out of my peripheral With your mental illness Geez, I must really want a menorah This is the animal house There's no one alive here Set to be slaughters. Honor the box of offerings as Thoughtful words And parallels What could be under your tongue Is the surface of love Just to touch with the battery acid or chemical trails You have left in your axis Nobody knows better than this How close it is to touching Without being loved But nobody loves you Psychotron, sure we're all robots now Nobody loves anymore {Previously, On…} L E G E N D S The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū {Enter The Multiverse} Ascension What the FUCK did you DO? What did I do?! You know what you did! I didn't do anything! Oh yeah? No! Not on purpose! GODDAMMIT, YOU SON OF A— Where's Jimmy Fallon?! What?! I don't know! Oh no. Oh shit, run. Oh no. What in the FUCK— I am “the fuck” You know what. I'm gonna sue the everliving shit out of you. For WHAT. We'll see. Fuck. Uh oh. FUCK. What now? What this time? Apparently, Jimmy Fallon is missing. What the fuck does that got to do with me. We'll see. Okay, great, Now finish that chapter. What fucking chapter?! All of it. That's—a lot. I want all of it. By my desk, by noon tomorrow. “By” your desk?! Yes, BY. Not ON. I've got too much stuff on my desk— …but it's…like 9 o clock. Should be easy, given your natural talents. What natural talents. PEACOCK. AHAHAHAHA. Okay. Well. Well what. This sucks. I lost all my coins. Hey. Ugh. You dropped this. So how was Los Angeles. What the fuck. You fucking DICK. I told you, I own shares in this. So what's the plan for this, exactly. I dunno, Harry. I got a book of stamps, And a yellow envelope marked “Jimmy Fallon” I will hate you forever. Well, that's retarded. I haven't even smited you yet. I will annihilate you, human. WHERE'S MY SHIT. Who the fuck are you, anyway? Nobody! No one. No one cares about this series, yo. I'l seriously doubt that, Jesse Pinkman. What is this stuff. It's your stuff. This is not what I ordered— Hey— Why is it BLUE Cause it is. So. WHY IN THE— Mischief managed. Alright. This should be good for the night, but we gotta get out of here by morning; I thought your parents owned this place. It's a time share! So? So it's like only —part of the time. That is stupid. No! You're stupid! You're the one who got us into this mess. It's your mess, I was just cleaning it up! Whatever! Stop trippin. Nobody's “tripping.” That's it. I'll be a stripper. Straight outta hell, that kid. Don't I know it. Alright, fine. I said, whatever you do— DONT watch this show. Stuff it, J. Slatts. I'll kill you with my eyeballs Sounds like a threat. Put on a lawsuit, then. Maybe I oughtta… —with a bow tie. You'll look so pretty. I thought I was already pretty. Uh huh. Yeah, look, so honestly I don't know if I'll ever be on the same vibration as like, Jimmy Fallon and them, ok? I don't know how I did it; I don't know what did it, It just happened and then— And then WHAT. It just—ended. Just like that. I'm not trying to offend anybody here. Just like that. Now, I ask: What are we going to do to sell you this dream? Doesnt matter what you do, I'll never believe it. Sure, fine; Don't believe it— We're gonna make you live it. Who the hell us “we” anyway? Now you're speaking in my cadence— Don't flatter yourself I like it. Too late, I guess. So, you see We're building Power triangles And love squares Power triangles And love squares Don't let it scare you, There's love there Don't let it scare you, There's love there Never fear where love has dared To call you up there Corrupt file—no fair. Don't be suprised even the odds seem to turn in your favor, I promise you; Nobody's ever ready For what has just happened here. WAKE UP, FUCKER. Ugh, I can't go through this again. So, I guess I'll have to erase, Or just secretly publish Everything I've ever written About my actual experience as a color, Just so that I can earn money As anything other than A slave— A maid, A housekeeper, A dog walker Or servitor So far under her, That I can't see far enough up to just Scratch the surface Her birthright: The entire network And mine, To sit under her, Wondering what the world would be like At the other end of the spectrum The word form of the White woman The wicked witch of all directions, In which I stand in; I'm at her mercy I've been abandoned before But this disservice, is, I'm afraid The best advice I can take is just To go straight to the bank with my angst and my hatred And shove it So here comes the nameless Face I love, Yet, The faceless God, Was Intoxicated, at best— Manipulation of the Mass Media I'm so Seriously jaded In this torture chamber In my corner office In this hall of racists, I claim, but if all is One in the same Then It's one in the same And I'm mainstream I'm famous If it's One in the same Then It's one in the same If it's One in the same Then I'm mainstream I'm so famous In a whole room full of humans I'm groomed to be useful for something, But what? It just hasn't come yet. I could sit down with a paper and pen, But I'm filling up all of my documents With hollandaise and God For what? It's just another song, or something Or something. It's just another — Goddamnit it, more coughs again. I told you not to watch this. Why do I taste pancakes? Maybe you're having a stroke again. Chyeah, a stroke of genius. I'll show you a stroke. Or don't. Well, there goes the captain. where is that scene, anyway? I don't know, I just wrote it. Great, she left the door open. She's got no furniture! It's a “dance floor” It's “the black box” she called it “the black box” Goddamn, do you listen to all her stuff? “Fear stimulates my imagination” Pilot ASOT Fuck man, What is a woman to a man, And an androgynous genius to The industry, or anyone at all If all are foes ans frauds All else is toxic! I woke up with one hand tucked behind my back Feeling dead drunk, I just woke up again But never fell asleep What world am I in? The end of the Dream sequence The end of the energy keeping me between three things: My past, My future And these prequels, Sequels And seeing arrangements And She's going crazy But nobody quite understands That these demons are chasing me saying “You deserved those hands in your face” The scratches on Kayla's back should have had me but I was too fat To find love again And still have something Wonderfully, undone And wrong with me Wrong with me enough to slam poetry So I'm guessing the white women I love beyond words and bounds are— In charge of whatever happens At the top of the rock; So I jumped off. I want to see someone suffer for all that I've done; No, that's dark, and karmic, you know— To go on like that; The confusions and refusal to accept that The album is called ChaosMagick, But the cover is more Urgent, A prose or a pawn of protection Against all the coughs And the reckless mismanagement The hands in my head And the eye on my scar And the lies on my heart So tell me, What happens When you're flying a kite with your heart, And it's broken? What happens to the kite , When you fly it with your heart And your art up in bundles— heartbroken, heartbroken So what come of Miss May, Come January? What come of Miss April By Next December what comes of the words I was saying For no one But everyone heard them And I've been gone Much longer than months, But still stocked up on all that I've wanted Or all that I got Or just, all that I love But got no undercovers to acknowledge no more How right I was Or how wrong I am What come of Miss June, when Miss January comes around? what come now, around August, When March is long forgotten? What comes of the drugs, Of the come ups, and come downs What comes of the process When nothing is served But the surf has come up Somewhere And I just can't love enough To go there I want to go to there I want to be that girl I want to sit at the top of the rock Writing songs, and sipping mock cocktails I want to Don't you know I just want to get back to Where I belong I'm so out of money and love That I want to be Under the train, When it's coming (Sometimes it's just the impulse that says “GO” Then the train starts to slow And my pain bubbles up into a numb, Dumb, crumbling cluster of poetry You know? Or you don't Cause you're all just on your phones Scrolling Some black man stands over me, Reminding me of why I never trust the ones Who want me most, Or just assume, By color code, That I belong to them I'm sorry, I just can't write with your arms around my neck like this Your heart around my arms like this It's so wholesome I had other verses but forgot them They took away my movies for the curses And the hexes That they put on me I said don't. And the king said “Heads will roll” Cause, you know; I've got parts for all of them now, The ones I'd forgotten But come from the catacombs, Back from the conduit You know, This is awful I had another one, But lost it. The king?! Which one. Teas I! No, it wasn't, It was Gían's father, From further off Should I call John back? Which one? Turns out, I love all of them— Turns out, I've got all of them In my college I taught them all to be someone Becoming of acknowledgement With nombres most common Juan, in subcultures, but Beyond that (Or above them) It's John, Or just Jonathan, Watch the ones who drop the consanant; They're always so troublesome, But I took them all up As understudies, Social Studies and some theatrics, Joan of Ark said Two more moments (Two more weeks in) I could have a body worthy Of a Grammy award, but — Would I be a writer then? Probably not, hon— Writers are Off a bit. If you were pretty, ever at all— would you have written this?! If I were pretty at all would there be reason to be this Conflicted? Some of those old New York hallways Haven't been painted In ages Since they made them Don't make that face at me I only dropped my key once On the fourth floor —they're horrible, you know To us, The “brothers” know no love They are destruction, speaking Of this, I got a cold heart. Cold like the robber Cold like the calling I've done in my corner office cold, like the jello mold forming a thought process Worthy enough I might love it like a husband We're re-evaluating your circumstances. Whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean. I've got friends at USPS What the fuck could that even account to. Look, I'm gonna have to give this some serious considerations. It's not that serious. It's not that serious. Of course it is! I'm up to my knees in investments! So?! I wade a waiste deep, Surely you can get by “Up to your knees” What exactly do you need? Money. And lots of it. I mean, from me. Money. Really? Leave me alone. I told you not to write this. You're a voice in my head; No, I'm the hand in your mailbox. What in the fuck do you believe in. I believe in everything! They said you were a genius; I didn't expect you to be —at the very least, lucid— *squints* learn some new vocabulary, okay? For what? Dinner. Maybe. We're still in the process of voting. She's crazy. We'd be crazy not to actually hire her. Her accounts are all practically open; We could just take it. Yeah, and when she kills herself, and there's no blood on our hands— There's nothing that can be done about the amount of this stuff that's already printed! Printed?! What?! You mean— She's published? Self-published. My, what a beautiful happenstance To have already had you And awakened atop mattresses Marked for my assassins hand— Polite, I lost you All of us, Atop the rock We stood and suffered Months beyond a montage, Undercover Love was lost, And all's uncertain The interception of God, At the cost of What terror and cutbacks Have caused us all What you lost was $50, a Hallmark Card, an Academy award, a long lost star's phone number, And all that you wanted, The cock of the gun Was the sound that you wondered What was called , then ran off into wonder. How am I gonna make money And become an award winning songwriter Music producer And multidisciplinary artist, Without all the funding it takes to get noviced Without taking clothes off Wake up 10 years younger I'm suffering My stomach was a rubber band My stomach was a rubber band My only song was Water I forgot to stop For the applause I drowned in all the love; right then and there I died of Lovenessness [The Festival Project] The sound and laughter of children play A baby in a basket The basket case at Trader Joe's Who know what happens It just doesn't pull my heartstrings any longer That my son belongs without his mother So I'd better have another This is us, come on. Don't do this to me. Don't do this, Timmy, you'll be sorry. Come on! We're not even in that movie! We are, though; it's still Listen, you've got the right guy for this. Are you sure.