Tales Of A Superstar DJ

CIRCV5.

Dec 27, 202400:03:42Tap to summarize

…If you haven't seen him at his worst… WHERE'S MY SHIT?! …yo…you are so evil… [*breaks everything*] …Then you don't deserve him at his best. I'm your host, Jimmy Fallon And this— Is TRUTH OR DARE?! ‘ This dude is easily the best villain ever. Easily. {Enter The Multiverse} Blue eyes, it is. I wish, I wish, Be careful what you wish for, Or cook in a Petri dish The world is a stage, The people a plague The magic was gone, The days were the same. [The Festival Project ™] Blonde hair, blue eyes; Live once, lose twice— Brown skin, brown eyes Die inside. (Or just die.) {Rewind} Captain Captain! Oh, Good, come in, Cannon. You've—changed. …as you know, Monday we disembark. Yes, I'm aware. And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us. Yes. I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self. How old are you, anyway? You should never ask a woman her age, LT. Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know. Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately… Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that. I'm still very much in the privacy of my office. You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public. Never as a woman her age! You're not a woman; you're my captain. We'll see about that after tonight. Being a woman, or being my captain? Both, probably. Hm. By any chance would you be interested in joining me? As your subordinate, or as a man. Both, probably. Or neither… presumably. As my escort. I beg your pardon. I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition. —er, your condition, captain? Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind. [he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.] Consider it done. Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour. Half an hour? Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early. We're earning points? We are now. Very well then. What am I wearing? Something sharp. Sharper than the inside of a half hour. On your mark. I'll—see you soon. He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him. Sergeant. Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back. Oh. I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage. Whatever, though. Doesn't matter. At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture, TVP S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer. DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour. — Who's this beautiful sister. My head writer; don't even think about it. I dont think. I just do. Esha approaches— Dash politely bo s and kisses Esha's hand Should I get tested? —and funny. Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with daemon dash, furious Patrick means to interrogate her Why would you even date that asshole Because—Pat. He's a comedian. I'm a comedian! So? So, he's funny. And? And he said things to me— What kind of things Charming, funny things— Okay? Things he wouldnt say to you over dinner— because, I'm —you're a woman. —and your head writer. So naturally. Esh, you're a genius, So is he. We have—some new material to work through. Ahq! Your monologue tonight. Oh yes. Oh yes. You can thank me later. Broken bottles. :9'd one stop her Walkin walking God knows I don't belong here And I don't want to Passover was April 21-30 Global War on Terrorism Aka WWIII Oh, indeed. Don't look left Take a deep breath My heart beats differently I think it might be the end I think it might be I think I might be the enemy. The pushing mechanism When i breath him in I levitate And gravitate to what it meant The sake of the art, The hurt of the heart As sacred as it ever was The turning or the Torah talks of Gestures, since the fall of Rome The toga on the alter Solid hands unwrap us all From falling over Old and awkward No award for wisdom No rest for the wiser No love for the troll Since thunder struck from under us, Delivered all but what we wanted So we talk of karma sutra, Surely we can't talk at all Of what we know As once was bonded Laughed it off To come from what The call to us, Fair serve governors fortress I work up in mentions Carved the scarlet letter out of Cannons, of course MA. WHAT. I'm BUSY. ITS ON. The what? The show we watch! The one that— YES, Oh, my GOD. Yes. YESSSSSSSSS. Usnavi, get your popcorn This is some worth watching Up in arms for forwards Causing sore arms, Numb thumbs From crucifixes Are you wondering what God Would walk about the horned carving A kamazake walk of tall corn— Follow me, dear mantra Your whole house is watching. Sacre. It's happening again isn't it. I do want ice cream. All I need is a divorce And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall To rub me off at the stroke of Nevermind what the clock says In God's house they're all wrong The blsphomoous for Catholics Has begun, So strum your number into the teleprompter And just hope no one gets hurt By the hook on the next song —like the hook of my last surviving bra digs into my back does, Or the skin on my lack of tummy Has rubbed off under the suicide Of the cycle— It's getting tighter A loss of interest is equal to A loss of conciousness And I'm 21 days drunk On the alternate, though— I'm sober and feeling less Loved. The animal I've become is all cardio And karma sutra For karma comes To the weak of heart To use the world as swords To cause harm To the calm artists I thought I told you off once. (Already) You look awful. lol. You look terrible, broh. But my album sound fire. #producerholes [portal] It's coffee time!! It's not coffee time! It's not coffee time. Iiiiits coffee time. Damn. Where's the cat. Gestating. {Enter a the Multiverse} Wake up in a wet bed, sweat pouring engine strikes Disaster, roaring Ranting, raving,, Lunatics, icons Ione, eye color No warning: I want you Adonis New Adonis</p...

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[Be Careful What You Wish For.]

Dec 27, 202401:09:29Tap to summarize

Did I forget Steve Allen? I don't know, but I definitely almost forgot Sephen Colbert. WHY! Because I can't decipher who you are from the other four of you! There's three of us. Where's number four?! {Enter The Multiverse} Suddenly, not every day was the same—and that was strange, as it seemed the entire year had just been residuals of the same day over and over—but these days we're distinctly different, and perhaps that's because without knowing what I was going to write, things were kept interesting, and even more interesting was what I was writing at all. Music: but was it comfortable? I had put out a single a day which by now amounted to an album all put together, and I might have thought to put it out as a compilation toward the end of it all, but I hadn't gotten that far yet; I was still in the proc de of an actual album, though more complex in reasoning and context—the concept was struggling to come to the surface. It had, after all, been in the realization that a prefixed muse has been envisioned somewhere in the sands of time, that painting of melting clocks merging together into some desert scraped sandstorm, something of illusion and something like a half imagined oasi…a hallucinated woman who might have been me, but actually beautiful—perfect, actually, draped in pearls and diamonds, dripping in them—leading this lost and wandering man—a beautiful man, also, to an oasis. Was the oasis real? I wasn't sure yet, and after the first track Mirage, I was behind by 4 days on what was supposed to have been whatever tracks followed, the list of them now stuck in wax to the base of the candle at the altar, still burning— a black candle for protection , of course—a strong reminder I should keep moving until whatever things and creatures had seemingly been sent after me could not find me, any longer—and however thought it might have been the case, even if just a seed as planted into my mind — it seems at least that one negative had turned positive, in the very least. The woman whom I had shared a room with just the year before— who seemed to be something like demonically possessed and had also just rather disappeared without a trace—left behind just a bit more than her sunglasses. Since I had thought it better safe than sorry to record everything just in case I continued to be attacked, (having been literally pounced on already twice by other roommate)s—a beautiful soundscape emerged from having been cursed out, a rant which had become increasingly hilarious over time, and of course, remembering Ms. Keisha more fondly than not, especially having left her sunglasses behind. Besides, after having by grown up with my mother, even the meanest people sometimes seemed mild by comparison in remembrance of her sometimes bitter and absolute cruelty. It's hard to have imagined that I had grown up under those conditions—and though now understanding that how some others had grown up in roach and rat infested housing projects, and however clean, mostly orderly, and overall class wise my mother was, on her worst days she had been horrible, especially for a child or adolescent to have dealt with alone, and so Ms. Keisha, though at most times, an irritant, had become a buried treasure, as I sifted through the mounds of recordings in order to create something unique, and different. After tipping off the copyright sensors not once, but twice—once having submitted a completely self composed work and still somehow being flagged by the system as copyrighted material, my music became more bizzare and strange, not just bending rules, but completely breaking them. —Tales of a superstar DJ. LINDSAY LOHAN is sleeping FACE DOWN on the couch in SunnÏ Blū's Studio Lindsay, wake up. Mmfh. [Does not wake up. At all.] Lindsay. Mmf. Tequila. [Suddenly very awake, in fact; she has suddenly perked up with an amazing glow. ] *very serious knocks on the door* Oh shit. [suddenly, more drunk again] –oh shit. *three more knocks* Where's the tequila? SUNNÏ Ah, shit. Is that your lawyer, or your manager? Shit, maybe both. SUNNI. OPEN THE DOOR . –Might even be my agent, too. OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR. (Both, in cheesy unison, tiny rock concert} I CHIMED IN WITH A HAVENT YOU PEOPLE EVER HEARD OF [Sunni opens the door. No, it's “closing the door– not “open the door” “The Goddamn door.” Right, Goddamit. –where's the tequila. Where it is– [Sunni points in a wayward direction; Lindsay stumbles morning-aftery into the booth. Eww–”morning aftery” Not like that. *addendum* [That Is, just to say that this scene takes place in the afterdays haze of a very –Very Holy Shit , God. What. You rule. [Lindsay enters the booth and uncaps a bottle of tequila so effing fancy, it hurts to look at.] So fucking fancy. Was that lindsay lohan? Yeah it is. It's still lindsay logan, Morgen– –It's ‘Morgan” –She's just over there now. Not was How are you even friends. FLASHBACK ‘ I don't want to be the reason, I could never know you— And I don't want to be the reason I could never love you' ‘Weird dreams, bro.' I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing; I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head. it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead. Apparently we were sisters—same father, different mother; waking up, though, was silly and sounded bizzare— but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?' I didn't ask flat out. In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chalked up to be; upset and furious— though not irate, and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, however, I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, and that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused, stating that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped— “That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?” It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head. Lol. Her response to the comment about the appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated (pissed, drunk) she goes “Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!” Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle. “Okay…” I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the fact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me— Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it. It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl Project's Enter The Multiverse collection —which I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. Of courses I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i exercised at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I ...

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Bon Ami.

Dec 26, 202400:03:54Tap to summarize

‘ I don't want to be the reason, I could never know you— And I don't want to be the reason I could never love you' ‘Weird dreams, bro.' I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing; I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head. it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead. Apparently we were sisters—same father, different mother; waking up, though, was silly and sounded bizzare— but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?' I didn't ask flat out. In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chalked up to be; upset and furious— though not irate, and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, however, I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, and that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused, stating that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped— “That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?” It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head. Lol. Her response to the comment about the appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated (pissed, drunk) she goes “Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!” Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle. “Okay…” I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the fact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me— Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it. It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl Project's Enter The Multiverse collection —which I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. Of courses I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i exercised at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after Au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though… in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food, Then on the music. —Tales of a superstar DJ. lol what happened to Lindsay? Idk. I could practically taste the tequila. Well, I was the one pouring it. Way to enable. I was just trying to calm her down. Did it work? Eventually I guess. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

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[The Abyss.] (ft. The Glimmer Twins)

Dec 25, 202400:07:43Tap to summarize

TITUS Come, now— As the king does sit upon my throne, Though not a King myself as I, Still cherished among men and many Who are in thine favor, As you seek truth to bear, my King And not your but also yours, Does partake thy bethrotjen nature, To swallow whole a seed a assumption as To vanish by trace, The rather and tide to bond, For truth you seek, And truth I bear, As fruit does grow, By force of not God, But nature, And to thine, the faring way The truth does seek you, too Thus, my God and Queen— But also King, Ruler never captured And gained wisdom by time, Which— None does have, but thyself. And now, Titus. To know,node bearing fruit are I And bearing truth shall you, A lesson gathered, as you as one And I as other— under the assumption of Love What is love? God, this is a sausage feat in here. Let's get some women in this bitch. Oh, there are women— They just don't speak much— Especially in this series Ascension. Because they're perfect. Archaic is this, A truce for the truth I seek. A wage for the war I've bargeouned. Listen now. You tell me. I tell you all that I know, For nothing now, And in nothing's sake, The shared alter. I, too, you. And you to I— Have we parted but some to forge But others? No others remain. And still I gather. With flower. And grow thy seed. The fruit, or truth? No difference. A tree, I am born. To wake. A shadow in the summer's night where autumn azure sun does beem, The wicked truth you lie to pardon Stands in its own awakening; Shallow moon tide's at dawn, And so, you kind folk of Kingdom there And Kingdom come, The truth is said as this, The seed the fruit— The love was born in ritual, And only then, The dance was made, For the song to have been sung as such. Dear Queen, my heart. For never better none has taken guilt in wavering the time has come; Never now but always forward And never there but always bound, To love itself, And so I am. Again. Trust me. I have. The King is slain. —but also lives. As haunted and as haunting no doubt, But to gain is this, my trust And in your waiver— the vow My honor, and sacntity so. The swine. Not of this realm, but others seek. And in this realm and others so The truth of fruit shall parish, Ignored and never eaten Never to have grown from seed, And then, of course, No tree shall I shadow In midnight summer's truth, The blue azure light, Of seeking sun, Soon to align, By midnight dawn, And waking tide— The moon you say. A sworn disaster. And so, I pray. All's fair. And you. [TITUS with a heavy heart exits the corridor.] {Enter The Multiverse} The Strine Force Five assembles in the basement before supper is called SETH, a peckish boy, almost goilish looking, maybe 11 or so steals cookies from OLIVER, who might be about 9, who speaks with a heavy and very proper English accent— Stop stealing my biscuits! Why bring them if you're not going to share? I did share. You lot had the box! You know these are cookies, right? They're my special biscuits. UPSTAIRS, MOM and DAD, very much the classic stereotypical suburban and American everywoman and Everyman prepare for supper. DAD, who resembles almost too much the LATE JOHNNY CARSON, peers into his newspaper conspicuously— Who does mom resemble? Let me — LATER, at the DINNER TABLE. Boys, Say hello to your uncle Steve. [The man heavily resembles Steve Allen] OLIVER Hello, Uncle Steve! UNCLE STEVE …I'm not your uncle. LIL JIMMY (Mumbling) I don't like uncle Steve… BIG JIMMY elbows him. Hard. LIL JIMMY Ow! BIG JIMMY smacks him upside the head, however without harming his very neatly done swooping hair. LIL JIMMY Where's uncle Jack? UNCLE STEVE He's on his way. DAD (Grumbles) …always late. LIL JIMMY (also grumbling, almost mimicking) —that's what I'm saying. BIG JIMMY shoves LIL JIMMY into his seat Also meanwhile, in another alternate dimension. So you're real name is JIMMY WANG. I fucking guess. That's nuts! —it's..:whatever. No, that's nuts— No, it's balls, homie, Your actual name is actually “Dick” twice. Hehehehe. Stop it. Did you have a middle name. No! Let me see. NO. Stop— let me— NO! [he grabs the birth certificate from Jimmy's grip] Let's see. —Jimmy— UGH, Oh, that's interesting, Jimmy and not James, how endearing—let's see— Jimmy—Ah, RICHARD— Wang. Oh my God. Your whole name is just— STOP IT. —it's just dicks. Just—penis words. Tripe dicks. AH! [nearly in tears, JIMMY runs to sulk into the washroom while his buddies continue making dick jokes; it's almost to much to bear—having learned so much about his true identity, most recently, that he was adopted at a very young age from a very nice Asian couple.] SUNNI BLU (Reading newspaper, breaking fourth wall) I told you he was Asian bro. SUDDENLY, Deadpool crashes through the door. SUNNI BLU tosses the super hot model in their lap across the room. YO. DEADPOOL. DEADPOOL YO. SUNNI BLU NOT COOL, BRO. DEADPOOL —what was your name again? SUNNI BLU Ya mutha! DEADPOOL NOT COOL. SUNNI BLU Whateva. {Enter The Multiverse} “Tools of the Trade” Welcome to Hollywood. Who are you? That's not important. It seems important. Now—lessonsz Ok. Tools of the trade: Uh huh. My dick. [he insinuates his crotch] Package. My dyke. [A very pretty lesbian appears out of nowhere.] Hello. My Dick Van Dyke. DICK VAN DYKE also appears out of nowhere. Woah, dude! Careful, he's priceless. I know dude. I can hear you, you know. I hear you too, Dick. Woah! How old are you, dude? Old! Get out of here; Go lay down; Take a nap! They said the gig was till 3. You're off early. Or late. [DICK VAN DYKE turns to leave.] I can still hear you. sweet yellow pinapple and coconut curry over brown rice and lentils sounded like a good Christmas Eve In— “Wait? It is Christmas Eve, isn't it?” I checked the date and time as my phone connected to the wifi. “Yep.” I concurred, slurping the last of the curry broth from my dinner bowl— my second, but most likely out of three. I'd made enough to last however two or three days, and though I had been offline for throught most of now what seemed the entire month, letting my bills lapse over to make nonexistent room in the budget for the peloton, which seemed fair, considering how small I was getting, even cooking and eating myself into the non complacent waking coma that was the vivid and apt focus needed to create music for hours on end—something I had never quite done before in a certain way, and it seemed as though working in this fashion seemed somehow to have moved me solidly forward and sideways through time a bit—some sort of diagonal. I had rested the Sabbath and in the midst of it fallen behind by two days, but making up for it and catching up speed, I had submitted two releases in the early mo...

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crAzy.

Dec 24, 202400:05:00Tap to summarize

Oh dear God. What is this place? It's right …now. Are you telling me I'm in a dead girl's house? You're dead, Major. Yeah, but I watched her die! Well then, you had better take some preventative measures this time around. So you're saying— Still alive now; and if you play your cards right— I don't have any cards—and what game is this, anyway? Just keep the little psycho out of danger. Have you met this woman? No, I'm postponing that until much later in life. Always speaking in riddles; What do you mean? I hope to die an old man. As opposed to? Anything. Two merging portals, a convergence— At the center of both, two parallels; A tin can and a straw hat, An idiom for relax, and then I lost my cat again, And my hat once , Half an hour went, and then came again In the sands of time, in bike cleats And needing desperately to feel Needed To nurture Feeling desperately to mean something To anybody Needing desperately to be deceased Besides lonely And having done my part To do Anything but eat everything And die But at least not once did I Have blue eyes So I wonder what It must be like To be loved by all; But I've never died Not at all. Perception is a virtue, And Jesus was a good brother; Come rescue you at the alter( Come rescue us on resistance Come now, and come all to pardon Come now, and one all to worship Come now, and pull the reigns back on the horses Come now, wild and fortuned To honor us There we are again In the shadow of light Where all must capture The essence of having once lived As a memory, though residual Lived in dreams and as fairy tails This, remembers us nothing, But having parted from somewhere So adorned as to call perfect, As we all were, there together None forsaken, but then, Enlisted to portray such As entertainers, A freedom, The good and the bad train; The things and the people, The planets and animals, And shadows beyond them, Above us, and below then Is also What we are, As such, Above is below, And also Within without, However Besides the point is ritual, Which we shall honor, As part us, And part other The unbeknownst; Not to all but many, Still shadows and unwaking Still sleep but never found alive Still alive but never found in ours Still breathing but never once to light, And encapsulated, captured Another time, and presence What will you summon! Another; Another, Another— As time is forgotten. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

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frankengenie.

Dec 23, 202400:05:42Tap to summarize

Au gratin potatoes And not all is forgotten, I should have done Nothing, Instead I come running for answers Under a mile Don't open the mailbox No hairpin monitors, All of ya's, all divorce No wars are gonna be over Or not sorry Undone, nah Give a silk scarf to the model Give them all Hearts Give them all work I strip down and it goes like this; I don't know poker, But I wrote four albums on heartache One more, I'm the boss in him Get them all up for the mouse in the trap The dove in the hammock The silk brain on candle boxes Don't worry, I've got a lawsuit forming Large numbers Steady hawking the pawn Sadie Hawkins Of course Someone has karma coming up With two r's And ten knuckles Don't let me harm you I've got my armor on Au gratin, All vegan protein, if you wanted em Coconut products. Now leave me alone, You weak dick mother fuckers Shooting off in under an unremarkable Ten minutes or so under ya In ten minues death flats I'd be heart flatlining if I had to waste any or all of my time on ya Get behind me, The fart wafts further The harder I cough Looking back on your discovery Of her majesty I've never laughed harder at nothing before You want hair and switch nothing waist perfect trophy blondes And perfec trophy blondes And trophy perfect blondes Like the rest of us are all just For contrast or something The discards, rejects Too dark Too whatever you don't want? It's a pride problem. Now get away from me and take your snake with you, Your big brother. JESUS CHRIST V.O. Contrary to popular belief, I did not die on the cross. JESUS CHRIST, though bloodied and brutally beaten, appears strong—as he tries desperately to move the stones which seal the tomb he has been “buried” in. Before: …he's still not dead! Well, dead enough JESUS CHRIST V.O. It had been three days. I was beautiful, Or could be— Coudle have been Or might be; Won't though Until the end of this one, When it's over The catastrophe of fat and black; The opposite of likely to succeed — Though some have bested the odds, Still yet to be betrayed, By the men they love, Then again— All men betray; Especially, those who love them. SATAN appears inside the cave, standing against the wall with his arms crossed, quite satisfied .. Without even turning around, JESUS seems to know he is there. JESUS CHRIST Hello, Satan. Though only slightly, even just the presence of the other seems to make him a bit weaker; he squints with distaste, backing away from the boulder in agony— his wounds seem to have quickly healed, but not vanished, as he looks at the inside of his palms with a hint of worry and annoyance. I don't—- care about anything I know, nobody loves me The Devil and I are aligned I behind by five, One flower, Two cherries, No hymen Leftover au gratin potatoes from before, And I'm rotten to the core, Oh, what a disaster No better than the whore next door KIMMEL (As ‘THE HIGH PRIEST') lol i can't read this. What. It's messy-the writing. I might have been distracted. HEX! By What? Can't say. Speak we though in Codes, mantras, and double entendre; the sheep devil's tongue, a sword, The caption of God wedded between you– What a stone! Had he wished the– uh … [The Festival Project ™ ] Had he wished the sautered arm a loin or other parsensed Have ye worshiped not th gallows eyes Both not pardoned And still, these eyes gaping Having earned it back from all time, Still ruined, having left none, Still in wartime– Goddammit what was I doing CUT TO: A fight to the death. Noneshaped but left faring way– Here, I stand. What the FUCK does this SAY? I don't know, man. well, we'd better figure it out before. [The door is kicked in.] Ugh. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

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dosage.

Dec 21, 202400:05:45Tap to summarize

Jesus and all the Christ, Nobody knows what hit you– You don't know how it goes, do you? You don't know how it goes, you know Jesus and all the Christ; The beauty of the boy, the vice Nobody knows what hit ya, You don't know how it goes; How could ya? Jesus and all the Christ; The glamour and the lights, How could you? How could you roll the dice? (I'm a rich man) How could you Let's see what those two blue sparkling pools will do for you. Unknown. Banking on nostalgia And new media I was old in ‘02, I get all the best lines, the best monologues I have the best eyes, The best times Did I tell you you were stupid? If you didn't, you should have. I told you you were golden. That shouldn't have happened. I'll see you on the backlot (I'm still on the backlot) Only If you really Want it broken links And broken heart club Broken art And harmful arm cuts broken arms And broken clauses Stop it now, Before I hurt you Stop it now, Before it's over Stop the tape, Then overdub it Stop it, Don't come any closer Couth, gridiron club Got it all done, like you wanted. You know that's a magician. I figured. Well, have at it. Have at what? That's the spirit. It always was. Access Point. Ah, fuck. Password. [Redacted] Access granted. FUCK. Bracelet, four For ten toes Awkward Leaving it over, And smoothing it undone, Awkward, Ten more honor pageants ‘Who are you‘ awards? Tell them i'm coming on, Coming on Coming on faster Faster Faster Health heart, made of Horse follicle, Tender, that one Are you - now South Greetings, arms wide Have you or harder Harder Harder Thank you That was a good orgasm. I thought so. Have another. Half an aspirin in all our water. Half a dose of the worst coming over The war's finally over But here comes another The worst of it The microwave silence The hearing heart gallows The, The, The Unpolished, Who unwavering calls halfheartedly Into the night, And gallops forward, drinking syrup from a handpicked tampon Now Who wanted that one? Classless heifer. (An ugly) Who drove out here to Harlem To no parking at all? Why bother? Why call? No voicemail storage, you know Remote control access, And still covered up softly Go whip your toupe back on For seconds Four seconds more, I'll have your head with it, The plant based ready whip You want acid? Ass and tits; I've got leftovers and no husband, But don't want yours, honey, Mustard Hot honey mustard. Hot honey mustard. Hot honey mustard. Must have money to ride, huh? come harder up Dawson's, I'll bet you a crunch sandwich for lunch Whispers of it after had a manhattan Left up Left bastard. Limp. Time to finish that Tom Hanks movie. Don't go, Tonto! [Enter The Multiverse] [The Festival Project ™ ] The Complex Collective © The Fed's with the suds, And meanwhile, I'm all stocks and bonds Stocks and bonds What is the world Where you do just whatever you want Whatever you want. (Whatever you want.) I'll kill you before monday, you know; All of you. I got a jar of I'm sorry, and –wait, are all models also prostitutes? It was better when you wanted it all, You wanted it all For the television thrown out the window Top of the Tarmac God, you want soap, You want water Did you want cold water? Do you want a warm oven? Don't cover it all; Just ignore her, Then tell the whole story Why is Billie Ellish my kid sister? Miserable, Miserable Miserable, Miserable, Misery, Misery, Miser, Misery! I got a whole jar of “shut the fuck up before i call the cops on you.” I got a whole jar of “just stop with that awful ass music” I got a whole modem for internet service, A whole home how, All homewreckers: You don't know how it really goes, do you? Did you? Do you want it? Do you want tik tok, Tik tok, An arm clock, Or a wristwatch? Just watch. That's a good adjustment. Whoever wrote this was judge honorable. Whoever wrote this was misdjudged and just ugly The color of fudge, Holding grudges, And much darker stepping off the subway after a long run; —and does dubstep (but hates programming drums) If i can see your spine through your back, you're beautiful. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

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[Knock on Wood.]

Dec 21, 202401:03:12Tap to summarize

Here's what's gonna happen… Okay— I'll be writing you a prescription for Ivermectin. WHAT IN THR FUCK DOES THAT MEAN? Exactly. Hehehe…you'll see. Oh no. What happens. Here it comes. Doctor Meyers! I'm—busy. You'll want to know about this. I guarantee you it's something I probably already know— No— that's impossible. Nothing is impossible. I'm a doctor. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

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atrophy.

Dec 20, 202400:07:37Tap to summarize

You're going to need something to hold onto, Wanderer, You old man, you old dog [Knowing] Gnawing on a ham sandwich Half gone, And half past disaster, Mark 9— All new time zone, Get lost, before I bother you. Looking backwards in time at the weakness I've had Or the week Or the month, Or the year— Fuck the mothballs in the closer Over motorcycles, or you wanted to know Where the hole in my heart was, When I'm sure you're the one who bit it off. Goddammit dude! “The Worst Shapeshifter in History” What the fuck, man! What. You sold your soul to be on Saturday Night Live?! What else was I gonna do with it? Ah, Gee—nothin' I guess! I could be luckier I guess To have gotten what I wanted Waking up in a warm music studio I could never call home Without someone to love in it, Or roll over onto, What's a revolving door for a prophet : Word to my Nothing and NoOne Get away from me All the demons you throw out Come back to you Redefining beauty in the age of faux vanity Atrocities everlasting, And atrocity exhibition, —a aphantom on the train tracks. An epiphany. —Atrophy. c o l o r s ft. Uptown A & Happy Accidents -Ū. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

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All For U.

Dec 19, 202400:04:03Tap to summarize

…If you haven't seen him at his worst… WHERE'S MY SHIT?! …yo…you are so evil… [*breaks everything*] …Then you don't deserve him at his best. Wake up in a wet bed, sweat pouring engine strikes Disaster, roaring Ranting, raving,, Lunatics, icons Ione, eye color No warning: I want you Adonis New Adonis I got something for you; It's got four doors, I know you can't afford it, Come on, Only one offer Come on, You know I want you What I want a car in New York for? Even the scorecard, Cork off the bottle, huh? Go figure. I got sharp numbers, No harm no foul ball; Still stick in the Capstone, There's a sandstorm On the first montage. Pitch up, With the fever pitch With the fever pitch downstroke UP Pitch down With the force With the force Or What have you Play ball, No– playfair Payboy model Wayfair value Strict non-orders Foreigner syndrome Alcohol bottle Palindrome, Astronomy No, Farquad Noah's Ark and all Going door to door, the doctor Doing more and more The Talk show host Losing more the Mortimer, Call it Losing more, The Watchamacalit, Chocolate bar, So far, Hard to forget No, Hard Ball, Soft pitch— Watch this: THE COSMIC AVENGER (V.O) I cannot resist a chocolate cake! Huh. Seriously, I'm telling you. *sniffs* hm. {Enter The Multiverse} Yo, i'm telling you: she's spot on. Like, scary accurate. Precise. Always right. Even on Tuesdays. Why would it matter if it's Tuesday or not? Most Psychics are wrong on Tuesdays. Really. You didn't know about this? Never heard that. Most of them. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

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All episodes

CIRCV5.

[Be Careful What You Wish For.]

Bon Ami.

[The Abyss.] (ft. The Glimmer Twins)

crAzy.

frankengenie.

dosage.

[Knock on Wood.]

atrophy.

All For U.