The Secret Life Of Sunnï Blū

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...

Transcribe →

[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 ...

Transcribe →

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 ©

Transcribe →

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. ©

Transcribe →

Don’t Put All Your Eggs In One Basket…

Dec 18, 202401:09:45Tap to summarize

PATRICK wakes up face down in a racquetball court, ears first, then eyes as he looks about his surroundings, a racquet still in his hands, and —VICTOR playing wallball with himself, just near enough to Patrick that it's dangerous. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT, INC. circa 2018- 2024 | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Transcribe →

[My First Stand-Up.]

Dec 11, 202400:09:09Tap to summarize

So You've done it to one, Then you might as well done it to all of us She lied to me first, So I went and sent it right back to her Al would have never hit Peg —no, never. He couldn't even cheat on her —-he was always looking but seemingly— Never really hoping. Never. —sometimes touching— —had to; that's the job— But it was these ladies— Oh that? That's just—temptation! He affixed the affidavit… That's odd. She looked straight at me. I actually really wanted her autograph. You won't be needing it. No, this: INT. PALEYFEST which theatre was it? I don't know, but Wow! I love this place. For she was sacred; Every mistake made, The game, we were playing Made in her name To win To this, I bid you good night. A kiss, on the hand; A turn of the cheek. You're headed straight for the academy, with this. But first— You've got to be kidding me with this. No. She isn't! Rehab. “The R/FX Episide” Wait, this couldn't be— [the F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Episode] wtf could that possibly stand for ROSS Nice. MOUSE Nice twice! That's MINE. wtf is this. He. Appears to be codewitching. Speak thus language: [Ebonics] I can't! Exactly, you win!!!!!!! Lmfao what a— Robot. Oh shit, nice Good thing I took notes earlier. SHE DID? WHERE? Hidden. So they can't keep taking this thing they don't make anymore. What is it? Love. Light. Energy. —oh, they make energy. Oh, really? Yes it's just. NEGATIVE Look: I'm EVIL! EVIL! (That's true, they do keep just—doing this to her) It's ok, I'll just make more. Thanks. But just for you! What! wtf is this. I dunno. For some reason [ANNE HATHAWAY is a shapeshifter] I don't get it, she should be delirious by now What the fuck are you doing?, INSTAGRAM SPYING. Nope. Kbye. I win. You realize this is violent as fuck right. THE MAYOR You know what. You're right. Welp, fuck this. FBI/CIA (But musically) Hmm. [Musically] WOULD Ū LIKE TO DEVELOP AN APP -_- …is there any money in it? (Cont'd) PUT A BUG IN HER PHONE! PUT A BUG IN HER PHONE! You know what You could never hit a white woman like this. You could never do anything like this to a white woman. Well, why not? Because they're fucking fragile. I'm offended! You hurt my feelings Over WHAT NOTHING. I'M JUST CRANKY. Infinitely fucking grateful for this experience, to be truthful. You realize the closer you get to other people, the more they start to act— Seriously fucking stupid. Just like him. We keep track of your worldliness from up here, you know. I gathered this. I'm famished. Ok Satan. Keep making this, I keep taking it I love it. I want her. Then I'm certain something must be wrong with your penis. And this is what made him crazy. You can't—do this… can you? I can be funny! Make me laugh, then. Seriously, it's the least you could do. It's literally the most minimal thing you could do to a woman— just. Listen, you can't write th— Make me cum. I can't! Then I win. That P.E.A.C.E. Movie It is finished, but you just keep writing it! Hush, man of the year. Man of the year?! I win! Damn it. Seconded. Again. Is there a bronze, in this, I guess. Bronzer! I need bronzer! Make him look brown He's brownish. Hmm. Not for me, I guess. See! She's racist! Maybe, a little bit. What is this. This a a blood oath. [put that one scene I wrote earlier right here] ALGORITHM HUH?! Exactly. Keep writing this way, Until you have enough of this project that —-They can't recreate this. Why not? Cause I'm writing it. Take—this... Off.. [This is why he gave you a magnet.] Two magnets. K this is yours. And this is mine. Is that the n*gga that— Yes. wtf. The n*gga from hurcules?! I think it is. It is. lol DISNEY Could not make this shit up, I promise, it's almost as if— Stop following me. ILLUMINATI Stop taking about all theee secret things. (I'm driving there.) They HATE you. I don't get why you keep making things this DIFFICULT for me. Because this is racism. We pretty much just— I'm prettier. —despondent. Hm. What. THEY TOOK HER. What do you MEAN. She's GONE, GONE FUCKING WHERE. DILLON FRANCIS This can't be it. What do you mean. ANNIE Hello. just say it. DILLON FRANCIS …you're my Queen. -___- ANNIE yay! I win! LATER now get the stones. HUH. SATAN Uh oh. What do you mean. The stones! It's a CLOAK. What's this? *hiccups* nothin. Hey. What. Did u want this. I dunno. Did you fuck it already. Yep. Then you can have him. yay! Hoo *hiccups*ray. Wait. Who did this. KASKADE IT WAS THE MORMONS! Huh. Hey look, we're gonna need another. Damn this party is MASSIVE in here. I don't get how they did this. Exactly. That's who you mated with?! Yes. WHY. I switched it. Teehee. Hey, WhT. I need eyes on this. H3H3 Ah shit, What. There's a dead mouse in my— Imminent. Hm. What. Seems like it's landing, This… What is it. Ship. HEY LOOK, ITS THE TITANIC. She'll find it, I have my eyes in this. listen, this lady can keep SECRETS. Until she doesn't. AND THEN, Where the fuck is this thing. I don't know where the fuck that thing is. *gasps* The flag! Yeus! GET IT. The flattery. O, The collisions! I'm just being honest. What. This isn't what you think. It was the c o l o r s that did it. Oh really. I really didn't. O, The CALAMITY. I'm gonna need you to stay like this. Keep eating frequently. MOVE IT, GRANDE. ARIANA -_- That name is ironic. Hey. Pst. Switch me places. No, I'm EMMY I know it, But I'm gonna wake up in a second And I need YOU To be *dissappears* She's never going to get back to me, is she. No, I— I got it. “The Hollywood Lights” Doesn't this episode already have a title. That's from the episode, they're all Crossdimensions! Yes. Cross dimensional, yes. Whose this guy? Who, Einstein. Call me “Einstein” Alright. Ah fuck. What....

Transcribe →

{This is Theatre} (Act I)

Dec 10, 202400:22:58Tap to summarize

It was marky mark and Channing Tatum, but in the dream they were just my friends. They were hanging out in Vegas and I dropped by to say hi, but I had to get going. I was renting a white Beamer SUV which I thought was too nice for me. Thought about going back to say hello but had to convince my parents. Dumb. At least I figured out who those two shirtless dudes were. Oh they also had that guy from Dexter with them. That's correct. And an old dude. But what is that dudes name? Idk. Shirtless dude three. SHIRTLESS DUDE 3 You mean me. God, that Beamer was nice. It was white. It was white, but it was also a rental. I don't know if I could see myself getting a white car. It was pearlescent white though, kind of cream, but with sparkles. You're right, that's a different kind of white. Why would they let me drive this thing? I can drive, I was more surprised anyone would let me rent a car after the Enterprise fiasco. Luckily, it was under my mom's name. Well, this is fucked up. {Enter The Multiverse} My dellisions of granduer sure are fire right now Are you sure you don't know who you are Or where I'll be right there On the highway to hell Like a baseball bat out of heaven I wear my hat backwards, Cause I'm the only one To throw shade On my back end Can I just say, I really like the gangster version of deadmau5. Oh SHIT, There he go. RUN, BLAT-BLAT. (Still Canadian tho) Ah, FUCK, man. What suh tho?! I'm out of gas, eh. The car's out of gas?! Ammo, bud! Oh shit, aight. Must have been surfing in the dream, because I was eating lots of fish and cool about it. That's true! I only ever eat fish when I'm surfing. Why were we in Vegas then? No, the guys were in Vegas, I was just visiting. That doesn't seem like the place to just “visit”. Maybe it was EDC, I don't know. Then why were we eating fish!? That was in another part of the dream. Oh. So we were traveling? I guess so. That sounds rich. Stephen Colbert stands over Jimmy Kimmel with a wooden sword, hitting him repeatedly, yelling KING ME. OW. NO. KING ME. OW, WHAT THE FUCK MAN! KING ME! OWC, knock it OFF! He overpowers Colbert and takes the wooden sword. GIVE ME THAT. he thwaps him with the sword one good time. OW. EXACTLY. Fuck outta here! Why won't you king me?! What makes you think I'm in charge of Kinging?! You wrote the game! I co-wrote the game—with-very minimal effort, by the way, other people— Including my//yourself. Was I there? Gee, maybe not… Seriously, I don't know where my head is sometimes. Plastered inside of the television. Like literally?! I guess. In or on. Anyway, if you're unhappy with your lowly, monocle status, you should talk to The Creator. Who's the creator? Nobody really seems to know… Well then, how am i supposed to talk to him,? Let's find out, Wait, what. One… Jimmy Kimmel Begins to morph into a bird, feathers first and more slowly than usual. What is that? [via tootsie pops owl] Two-hoo! I feel like I've heard this before somewhere. THREE! OH MY GAAA—AAHHHHH! Suddenly, Jimmy Kimmel is transformed into a giant-esque owl. WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!! Jimmy Kimmel swoops above him, grabbing Colbert by the shoulders, as he screams inconsolably. He begins to fly out of the oversized window, then doubles back for a moment, hovering over the wooden sword. Get the sword! YOU CAN STILL TALK? GET THE SWORD. He lowers Colbert down to the sword, his talons digging deeply into his shoulders—it looks like this probably hurts a lot, he meekly but with great f air grabs the sword, and his feed dangle as the owl takes flight, bawking, Of course I can still tallk; I'm smarter than your actual human self! SO IT WAS YOU WHO ATE MY TOOTSIE POP. JIMMY KIMMEL the OWL lets out a deep and bellowing meniacal laugh as he takes flight, STEPHEN COLBERT crying in shame. NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! {Enter The Multiverse} Gotta take it real hard Hang down, head in shame Strong arm, the charms off Work hard, the thigh gap Gets a good man Get the gap tooth fixed, Maybe bleach a few shades Paula Patton, or whatever Zoe Kravitz, like My Time's up; I want to be a good mom Hey, Lorne won't like me Hey, hey, Lorne won't like me at all. What's up on the network I'm waiting on my closeup I take lessons real hard I want to be a good mom, Or if not A long gone alcoholic I mean long gone I mean long gone I mean long gone I mean woke up, blacked out Still pedaling forward on the peloton A skeleton I mean long, long gone No, Lorne don't like me at all What's in the back of the bus? A diversity hire, Fresh out of Harvard university What's on the top of the tube Well, a fresh pack of lubricated condoms, If you really want to know No raw dog What's on the top of the morning An hour on the Peloton, Another in the tub, Doc What's on your mind? Are you really on the road? (No raw dog) Woah, If you really want to know I'm in love, So you're all of them, Until I come, And then you just, Run off like a ghost I'm in the room with a body, And you're not her, I must have gone off the hard stuff (on behalf of Oliver) What if you wrote your book, Knowing who might open it? Who wrote the forward, Colbert. Tough crowd— Now I'm out of folks to come up on, After all that hard stuff Simply won't go on I want to be a good mom, But so much for that It goes well up my spine, Like an epidural, I'm all out of experience. I've got 30 minutes of torture left But I'm all out of droplets, From the hyperdermal contraption I've strapped on And the 4 kilometer run And the dance number to Beyoncé, Of course. (It was Destiny's child, But I was dancing to Beyoncè) It was Destiny's Child, But I was dancing to Beyoncé, Also. “Aw, love…” I always gawk, When couples go on as they do, Even if it occurs that, The one I love, Dawns his beloved And arm and arm My heart weighs just a ton I can't even hear the words anymore It's just all for numbers One for Oliver I can't even hear the words anymore It's just for numbers Almost a Californian As long as I just keep going And don't eat Before sweating it all off in the tub Now the scar on the inside of my lip lights up And raises Just at the sound of []; Had better not touch that one, Put the sides to the side And mark the folder Do not touch Move off of it And wonder what the fuck That number was all for All four I could fly a kite Out of that thing on your back— Impresario If that be the case, Than that makes them the rock, Then what of the kite, And the wind And the string So I wanna kill you. Impresario I'll be Lennon And you be the other. I've got my Yoko out on tour Impresario I work hard for a broke heart Just for songs Impresario Get the monster out Put it all on him Like a kite in the wind Put it all on him Ad hominum/ homonym ATTN: Jimmy Fallon. JIMMY FALLON receives a large shipment of grade A douches, with one simple sticky note which reads an anonymous message in neat cursive. ‘Likeness is what your attract.' Why do I have some of your memories? Before: Hmmm… Where can I offload these? I need more storage. L E G E N D S </...

Transcribe →

winter has come.

Dec 9, 202400:04:10Tap to summarize

A very dark skinned man, athletic build and tall introduces himself. He appears to be some type of fitness instructor. MOZU (In African accent) Hello! I am MOZU! PATRICK Oh. Hello, Mozu. MOZU (In very clear American accent) How we doin'? There is a slight awkward break and short pause before he continues, laughing. MOZU CONT'D Haha! Got you! Thought I was African, didn't you? PATRICK (awkwardly) Wouldn't have mattered! MOZU That one always gets people. PATRICK How often do you do that? MOZU A lot. PATRICK Oh. That is funny. MOZU Yes, it is. Haha! I'm from Michigan. PATRICK Oh—which part? MOZU Detroit. 8 Mile. PATRICK Oh! MOZU Aha! Got you again! Oh, I'm kidding. Suburbs. Near the lakes. Very nice actually. PATRICK (Laughing awkwardly) Oh… MOZU We have a boat. PATRICK Oh. Still? MOZU Would you believe me if I told you it sank? PATRICK I'm not sure. MOZU It did. Not all the way, but. We still have it. PATRICK You're kind of funny. MOZU Not as funny as you, so I've heard. PATRICK You've “heard”? MOZU I was briefed. They always stick me with the Higher end clientele. PATRICK Is that so? MOZU Yeah. I'm the only one that doesn't get starstruck so easily. PATRICK It's probably your quick-wit…and subtle self depreciating racism. MOZU A combination that can't be beat. PATRICK It can't. MOZU So, where you from? PATRICK (without hesitation) The Bronx. MOZU I sense this is not a joke. PATRICK I don't see a camera anywhere—do you? MOZU Funny you should say that… PATRICK Why? MOZU I was hoping you would sign me this autograph, here—- He produces a folded piece of paper from his pocket. PATRICK Seriously? MOZU Yeah, actually— I just need you to sign right here— [beat, an almost solid glare of disbelief.] MOZU It's—your release form. PATRICK Oh! MOZU Got you again, didn't I? Haha! PATRICK Yes, you did. MOZU Good. Just sign here. He does. MOZU CONT'D And here. He signs again. MOZU CONT'D And. As he is finished signing the form MOZU sneaks a quick selfie. PATRICK (Lowly) Eee. MOZU Yeah. PATRICK (Short) Okay. MOZU To track your progress. He lets out a deep sigh. MOZU Away we go. They walk into the luxury gym, which appears to be empty, as the sun rises over Manhattan. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

Transcribe →

12. The Little Red Hen.

Nov 28, 202401:03:03Tap to summarize

Concourse 12. 8 PM. Sharp. ‘How am I still writing this story?' What even is this story? To be fair, I didn't know what I was writing but it sounded good—there was something powerful about the way the shadow figures danced in the confines of my mind—careful not to become attached to the love I had grown for them, the mysterious shadows, they appeared both as creatures of man, and as animals; this— The Prairie Dog— a fortified soldier but also a leader. There's nothing you can do about this, you know. Why exactly should I want to do anything at all? It's a curse. So it is. —you'll be rid of it within the turn of seasons. Worthwhile advice. I envy you. — as anyone should. —you shouldn't. The second, a voice unknown. I didn't know these pussyfoot bastards worked on Sundays. They work to the will of your beck and call. Like all good slaves and servants should. As to be expected under your remarkable guidance. My remarkable guidance is yet to be a consideration as my unintentional inadequacies. Verily, I'm sure. Are you sure. There was once a time I wasn't so sure or anything— Now I'm more than sure of everything than I ever was. Now I believe you. —you shouldn't. It was a raised scar, like the one on my elbow from when I was 9–one I was sure would never heal. It could easily be felt by running my tongue only the bottom of my lower lip— evidence that there has been a hole in my face that had gone straight through to the other side—just then I remembered that also my too teeth had left bloody, skinless indents on my upper lip, which eventually inspired me to re-pieirce my upper lip—the canine tooth had almost gone all the way through, anyway— I joked; but it wasn't funny. Why in the fuck should I trust you? That's a good question. It's a question that deserves an answer. Even if I gave you a good one, would you trust it? What? Do you trust me at all? I'm trying to. Trying is doing. There are tougher things than swallowing your pride. How about—swallowing a bullet. That's some class-A on-screen banter. Now I have an endless supply of coffee in my room. That's good—if only there were somehow also warm calorie-free pastries to add to the pleasure of luxury one would find such as waking up to one's own studio, fresh out of time and chock full of ideas, and a hearty list of things to do— with a whole world of… Oh. The wi-FI is on. Something about my creative intelligence had seem to spark a curious interest within the pre-concious life forms of the lower realms. Lucky, I was just visiting—sure to take my life at any given moment when just so I felt that I had been fed up to here with simply human senselessness; however, I was indeed tasked with enveloping humankind in my own ways—that is, the ways of higher thinking, as I had traveled far and long from an ascended realm, only of course to be welcomed by absolute l chaos—and some primitive, intrinsic fear. Humans happen to be almost immidiateky stifled by one's outer appearances—as to say the least— as when I first I arrived I was neither welcome, nor valued. AHAT—WHATTHEFUCK. Yes. EEGH. How do you do? [The Festival Project.™] {Enter The Multiverse} There for I, There for I, There for I, None! As truth did shatter mine ever being, And also Ever person near WHO VALIDATED THAT BITCH'S PARKING. —you think she drove here?! —if she did it would be on a broomstick. Goddammit. Get her out of here! Out! I said! You're…not a fan of Fallon's, are you. No, I'm not. (No—God, no.) Well, why not? First of all, he winks at people. ;) *cringe* Like, off camera. And I want damages. Damages?! Damages. He's seeking damages?! To what. Like, my entire—everything. Damages to everything. My entire life! Ah. I've got to admit, being sued hy Jimmy Fallon is probably the most exciting thing that's ever happened in the entirety of this series! What about that thing with Skrillex. That was pretty exiting. Which thing with Skrillex? All the things with Skrillex were pretty exciting. (Admittedly, yes.) Then there was Dillon Francis. I hate Dillon Francis. Exactly. Why! Because he excited you. Next question! Ahead. Yo. I finally get to link up with Supacree. You're a mess. Everything is a mess. The world is a mess. —your mom's a mess. Amanda, please. Have you been drinking? How long has deadmau5 been a cat? Forever, I think. Exciting! Enter through the exit! Enter through the exit! Who the fuck let you in here. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Transcribe →

{Fuck Around And Find Out}

Nov 28, 202400:39:40Tap to summarize

Let me guess; you thought I would look like Paula Patton? I was hoping. Well, that's too bad. I told you I was ugly; I look like this. I gathered. This–couldn't possibly be what you thought i was thinking. I don't have to think what you're thinking; I know what you're thinking without thinking it. This telepathy thing just keeps sinking in deeper. You can be relevant–or irrelevant; which is it? Goddamit. Where am I…what am I? What is this? Shh, don't even speak; not even in whispers–it can hear you. What can hear me? The algorithm. Why are you still writing? How are you still writing? I don't know. Pettiness. Spite. My friends are hating you for this. I didn't plan on this being the reason for exacting my revenge. What exactly are you exacting–your revenge– on or at? I've been meditating some very deep thoughts, recently. I see. Deep–and disturbing. How else can you be the light? I want to throw up. Dillon Francis? Hanzel, actually. JUST DO IT. I killed myself, recently. How recently? Recently enough it shouldn't matter yet; Or should, already. “Vice City” I began recording everything surrounding my apartment. Ugly little men were acting strangely and it seemed that everything around and about me was centered on my very deep and very dark past. Interesting architecture. Exquisite. Somebody knew who i was–or who I used to be, and was using it against me–the only problem was, that it couldn't be used against me. I had everything, but in a deeper and more meaningful sense, I had lost everything. I was an easy target–like taking candy from a baby–or–taking a baby from its mother. Simply put–I didn't want to play What game are we playing? Why the fuck are you even in my fame game? I don't know, Keenan Thompson. I don't know. Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

Transcribe →

All episodes

CIRCV5.

[Be Careful What You Wish For.]

Bon Ami.

dosage.

Don’t Put All Your Eggs In One Basket…

[My First Stand-Up.]

{This is Theatre} (Act I)

winter has come.

12. The Little Red Hen.

{Fuck Around And Find Out}