The Infinite Skrillifiles: OWSLA Confidential

Had no idea I was recording but here's what I got after like 6 minutes of my stomach gurgling and some extremely uncomfortable shallow breathing. Somebody should tell her. Can you walk my dog Before we fuck? My girl's not home. Wanna walk my dog. My neighbor is cheating on his girl but that's not my business. YOU LET HER WALK OUR DOG!!!? BEFORE: V.O. That's not my neighbor… [an evil blonde girl with blue eyes smiles maliciously as she exits the building walking a small black dog] …But that's their dog. LATER THAT NIGHT. V.O. I heard them fucking through the paper thin walls of the apartment. That is definitely not my neighbor. …somebody should tell her. YOU LET HER WALK OUR DOG?! That is not my business. Gee, God, I thought you'd never show up. [ensues Horrible guitar playing with acrylic nails] Self You never employ these two fingers. Also Self Cause they don't work. Try medicating that. They would try! (No thanks, I'll do it myself.) Dumb twat. I don't want to call people that… Thats's just what I am. Yo. Somebody tell her! Somebody tell her! …that's not my business. Maybe she already know. Cabinet slamming is a nasty business! YOU LET THAT BITCH WALK OUR DOOOOOG?! Yo, fuck that dog. Ugly ass chihuahua. [ensues more bad guitar playing with acrylic nails.] [basic ass surf music and some suspicious ass licks] [atrocious traffic noise] Jack went down the rabbit hole Jill came back and asked for more Then she saw that Jack was gone [over all] After all she all, She carried on After all, she carried on After all she carried on After all she carried on. Heheheh. [ghetto people yelling in the street like animals] Jack flew down the wishing well… [car honking that always honks whenever I try to make music and start succeeding (but never actually leaves the lot.)] What happened first? Uh. Jack went down the rabbit hole. Yeah. And then? Auh— [nothing], Jill didn't follow him. She just carried on. Jack flew down the wishing well. [the traffic pics up; the ghetto people start acting a fool. Yes. My windows are closed. My focus is broken by the noise.] Crème filling! Nothing but— crème filling! Oh! I want a croissant. A wonderful croissant with butter And Crème filling. A wonderful croissant With butter! And crème filling especially when— —rare! Especially when! Crème filling. Crème filling. A croissant. What kind of croissant. A delicious croissant. With— butter! —and A — special— No— Delicious— With— Butter And Crème filling. A— Delicious croissant With butter And Crème Filling Where are we from? Obviously this place is hell. Why am I here Why am I here Why am I here A… Fabulous croissant. [mind you, I've still no idea I'm recording. ] V.O. actually, I was assuming I wasn't. Monologue/ talk with God [The noise picks up and I get up to record the evidence that my right to peace and quiet enjoyment of my property have been violated severely— then I realize I've been recording the whole time.[ Oh shit. (Well, there's your answer.) I didn't know I was recording. Well, thats's how this all started. And I guess, how it ends. It's true, I started the series by accident when in my homeless despair, my talking to God out loud began being recorded by my iPhone just turning itself on and recording at random. In this instance, I had probably started the recording for the motorcycles and forgotten about it, but having been sick for days from the motorcycles and noise to no avail, I had begun to exhibit symptoms of extreme stress much akin to the homelessness in which the series started; erratic behaviors such as speaking freely out loud without the intention of being heard— and yet being heard anyway. I wasn't happy in New York, and I still felt homeless. The insanity might have been trademark New York, but it wasn't trademark me. I counted my blessings and all of my change; I knew I would have to leave for my own health, but I didn't know how—and returning to the streets was not an option. I was done playing the victim, and done complaining— my stomach churning with indigestion and my head gnawing with the congestion of a two year long head cold. Something needed to change, and rapidly— New York was turning against my mind, and my mind was turning against my body. This was no game— it was somebody's business. But to me, it was personal. This was my mind and my body being tampered with, and my soul remained at large. Something else entirely was begging to take over; whatever was attempting to destroy me had to be destroyed. Immidiately. This happy accident had to have been the end of the series— the show would come down soon and everything I had written with it. My life and my safety were at stake. I had nothing to risk, but also nothing to lose. I think they call that a lose cannon. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project ™] Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

god new york iphone ugly unknown horrible copyright cabinet delicious fabulous gee monologue later that night

[closure.]

Play Episode Listen Later May 2, 2025 65:25

I represent the respectful west coast Dressed to reflect my deepest and innermost thoughts I just bought some time And a plot of land I just lost my mind But I found the promised lands Kick rocks and aim all your trash into waste baskets Instagram brats with fake stats and bad habits Awake but not woke Got cash but still broke Suffocating in a choke hold New York must think I'm New, too But I'm so old. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

new york kick copyright awake closure dressed suffocating

[Tears of A Clown.]

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 29, 2025 9:55

She stole my Rolex! Why were you wearing a Rolex!? … I wasn't. L E G E N D S You know I'm you, right? Prove it. What way. How many jellybeans are in this jar. 406– [he sneakily drops one jellybean—] —407. Unremarkable bitch. I pulled the shows off the shelves faster than anyone else could get to them; I was being tortured in my own apartment— and for what reason, I was unsure— but I knew this: everything had to come down and out of the internet. Out of the cloud, and off the grid. Someone was attacking me, and I wasn't safe. This wasn't just some paranoid or schizophrenic rampage— someone had used technology to hack into my life and make it a living hell. And for what? I had become nearly not useful at all. I wasn't writing or creating like I used to, I wasn't working out. I was catatonic with depression— but it wasn't just some mental disorder or something happening in my mind— other humans— multiple humans, actually, were being used to suffocate me into nothingness. Snuffing out and squandering my creativity and filling me with panic, thoughts of doom— slamming doors on one end and raving engines on the other, my life had turned into a sonic nightmare. Furthermore, I had begun pulling down every instance of recorded history that had been part of the show; the pattern was remarkable. I had been chased around and tortured for years. This was more than just some rouse— this was a political tactic. Perhaps my once ambitions had been taken too seriously, but I was neither of any interest or threat. Those puppets were in their places and in all I didn't care what happened— unless it was directly to me or at me, which it often was. I stayed silent, knowing that everything was at risk. I was certainly being watched and listened to inside of and outside of my apartment and I realized that no matter how I tried to report or rationalize it with anyone else, it all made me sound crazy. Everyone and everything around was programmed to react as if the things were happening were not happening at all, or as if I was struggling with some sort of mental illness or delusions, but by now I was actually starting to struggle, because I had been tampered with an altered and tortured and sabotaged to the point of insanity— and there as no help, there was no one to run to. These were military tactics and strategies of war— anyone I could try to tell was being controlled by the entity that was conducting the system of control. The neighbor girl, the traffic sounds, the property management; it was no curse! It was a system designed to drive me crazy in order to limit my functionality and credibility in case I actually did decide to pursue politics. But I was far from it, and closer to actually disappearing than ever because in a certain respect, I kind of could if I wanted. What I tell you? I'm not stupid. I got trackers. Fucking crackers. What I tell you? I got hacked. What I tell you? It's a trap. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

clowns prove copyright fucking rolex unremarkable tears of a clown

Transcendental Edifice. [Mirrors]

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 10:10

copyright mirrors transcendental edifice

LVL: BOONE.

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 7:05

copyright

“retarded” (anthem/instrumental) [the weekend]

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 7:44

copyright anthem instrumental retarded

what it is. (Instrumental) [lady gaga]

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 3:19

lady gaga copyright instrumental

4:44

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 63:25

copyright

{Isn't It Obvious?}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 65:52

copyright obvious

The Underlying Cause.

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 35:25

copyright underlying

{The Code Switch}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 68:23

copyright code switch

{The Frequency Exchange}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 66:19

exchange frequency copyright

{The Major Arcana}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 62:21

copyright major arcana

{I'm Your Uncle!}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 67:35

uncle copyright

{It's Saturday Night!}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 71:02

copyright saturday night

{Chametz!}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 71:24

copyright chametz

{actually.}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 79:06

copyright

FU IM ANDY WARHOL.

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 19:59

copyright andy warhol

{supposedly.}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 70:03

copyright

{Enter a the Multiverse S10E03: A Bonus Catastrophe}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 63:24

multiverse copyright catastrophe

{A Very Specific Birthday Card}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 70:15

copyright birthday cards

{Enter The Multiverse S10E01}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 22:47

multiverse copyright

“Ohhhh Noooooo!”

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 62:02

copyright

{A Waste of Time}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 42:34

copyright waste of time

{Cosmic Meadow}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 63:57

cosmic copyright

{A Land Without A Name}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 69:05

land copyright

{neonGARDEN.}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 65:30

copyright

{The Saturday Thing}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 62:45

My audience was still somewhere in February, but it wouldn't stay there long. I had too many things to do— actual, adult things which required my attention. I might not be looking just at one lawsuit, but three; harassment and stalking against the neighbor girl, Negligence on behalf of the property management, and nuscience on behalf of the city— these weren't things I wanted to do— but they were things that were happening. I had basically been tortured inside of my apartment for the better half of two years and now was looking even more desperately to move. But where? Maybe, at this point, anywhere. I had applied for two other apartments but hadn't heard back. It was Saturday afternoon by the time I woke up again, because when I went to bed it was Saturday morning. After a mix tape and a few miles walk around Queens, I returned to the apartment that I loathed; never in nearly two years had I felt home, and now was no different. I sat in the bathtub for awhile knowing the next apartment might not have one; I looked at a place with stand up showers— it was a studio and almost nothing would fit in there but some of my books and my musical equipment, but I didn't care. More space, apparently for me— meant more shit. The more I excersised and ran around, the more likely I was to pick random things up that I wanted or needed. Sometimes new things— sometimes brand new with tags, which, besides the very cool Google swagger I had just been gifted, was the condition for picking up random stuff in New York. In two years I had filled an apartment with things I hadn't purchased, which sometimes used to linger with energies that were odd or foreign. I was too sensitive for New York— and I shouldn't be there. But really, I had no other alternatives. Stil I had found no certain purpose in being in the city, especially not on the bustling corner or noise, which I found remarkably, by walking just a mile east into queens, was a festering loud thoroughfare surrounded by actually clean and quiet neighborhoods with almost no cars, and no people at all. Hidden little places that looked like Queens— but being honest I didn't know. I got lost on purpose. When I returned I was unable to focus the rest of my energy into anything but a mix, which went well enough that I had decided at around the 27 minute mark to just pull the mix at 35– the limit for recordings entered into the contest I so hoped would rescue me into an employed citezin. All of my bills were overdue, and I had no real intention or way of paying them— how can I pay money I don't have. Some of the companies were predatory— an internet service provider I had ordered upon moving to the building that I had cancelled after realizing that there was always an “outage”, promising lower rates than of course were on the bill once it came— and bills for everything else from this to that, and the return of my student loans. ‘Haha' I thought. ‘Jokes on you.' But it wasn't a joke. If anyone or anything was trying to kill me, it was the corporate world, and unfortunately I didn't just squeeze into one of their conformed and comfortable little boxes. I worked long hard hours on my music and my projects— on my writing. I just wasn't getting paid. I didn't see myself at fault for being naturally creative and prone to the trauma that made me feel as if the world owed me something for having endured it rather than I owing it. How could I really owe anything to anyone? Have you met my parents? Someone besides God saw me take a beating from the ex, and in my humble opinion yhet kid—my only witness— might as well have had a high enough throne to have been a king himself by now. ‘I got guardian angels. I'll be alright.' My dreams in the early hours of Saturday morning were weird, but not weird enough that I wanted to share with my audience. In fact, in days, I hadn't felt like saying much of anything. More mixes would have to suffice for the long peloton rides, which meant they had to be an hour— but first, I had to make sure the last one would fit for the contest, I wasn't like the other entrants, I was sure of it, but I could at least play the part— I had taken some savings I'd stashed and all of the money in my comedy wallet to deposit instead of having cash on hand— this might be better, I thought. I hadn't been running, and effectively so my life was kind of crumbling. Then, the noise had been making me a certain kind of sick— and there was only one solution I had yet to really try. I always felt horrible going out in New York— because I was poor. In New York, even thr poor people made it an obsession to look rich, or Hoodrich, which I always found foolish— but after two years of being shamed for wearing ragged gettups and jogging suits everywhere— not fashionable jogging suits, but sauna suits to encourage more sweating to battle the toxic forces of the city itself— I had learned that when it came to at least trying to market onesself— one's art and one's project's one must at least look acceptable to the kinds of people worth interesting or inspiring. These were not the people on my block, but otherwise elsewhere. After two years in, I needed to go out. But first was a digital monster to tame— removing five years of work from the internet had so far not been a daily expenditure, but had taken weeks, almost as if the simulation and the algorithm were fighting me with slow internet and distractions in order to maintain the world that I had come from— but fuck that. I just as well wanted to set the world on fire just as much as everything in it— and it might have been that as I cleaned up for just to happened to be record of severe torture— homelessness, chaos, shifting from place to place, never having a steady home and then finally to have a roof over my head but to battle hundreds of motorcycles circling what was supposed to be my home alerted me to a deeper problem— the fact was, though healthy and fit as I had forced myself to become, there was always something fighting me. Now instead of homelessness itself or the jealous or mentally unstable roommates I had faced in the years before moving into the apartment, it was hundreds of men on motorcycles who didn't just like to ride them, but liked to ride them loudly, right across the street from my apartment where I was expected to make everything I had written, everything I had planned, and all the work I had done come to life— this wasn't just noise I could ignore. Of course, it was the vibrational pain that caused more damage to the nerves itself. This noise caused actual pain. It's hard to spend two years in pain after spending 30 years in pain. My body, my psyche, and my spirit was tired. I had left my mother's antics for an equally as humiliating sort of abuse— perhaps because that's the kind of “love” I was used to. But it wasn't— now I was healthy and almost somewhat independent. Somewhat. There were still miles to run, and battles to conquer; only I didn't want to. Asking the city to compensate me for sending me into an apartment adjacent from 5 garages felt unsafe— but it made me wonder why anybody else hadn't done what I was about it. I obviously had waited this long just expecting for it to stop— but it hadn't; so I began to see the noise as more of a blessing than a curse. Perhaps by making these reports, I was doing somebody a favor; at the very least karmically I expected the favor to be returned. And here yet, bills that hadn't technically existed appeared out of nowhere and I had no means of paying them. I had no real job or steady income and the money I did make was almost always to ensure that my hygienic needs were met: another reason I felt I didn't belong in New York. I didn't understand filling trees with trash. I didn't understand littering— after once being scolded for it as a young person, this was behavior that I had stopped; but here was a city full of apparently grown people that didn't know any better! Fuck that! Now being awake this long my dreams didn't really seem to matter— only my problems. I needed to find another apartment, and fast— in a neighborhood that wasn't plagued with the same issues. But here was the conundrum— how was I going to afford to live in a clean and quiet neighborhood. I knew they existed, but as far as I had been told when I first arrived to New York, it simply was less likely allowed. I loved Manhattan. I had been told explicitly by several people. ‘That's not for us.' But why was I us? In other and more bizzare news, the not suprise realization that it was once again Saturday came to me in a dream. Lorne Micheals liked my sketch, whatever that meant— and it wasn't too bizzare to have seen either Tina Fey or Amy Poehler or even Jimmy Fallon amongst them; they were long gone from Saturday night, but this was my cast. Besides, even in this odd dream that felt surreal and out of place, they were no longer on the show— but scouting for it. I had been scouted; Lorne Liked my sketch, but it came with a speech. It was strange, and though provoking— something about my father running out of time. Must have been my subconscious on the lookout for the way to visit the family, but I was stretched so thin trying to make anything work that nothing did. I went paying for promotions— but business cards, monthly website subscriptions, bills, and the ever growing cost of soap just kept piling up. Then, when I had finally realized I was down to nothing but one bra and socks with holes in them, springing for spandex running wear and sport protein seemed like the move; oh, and vitamins. I had been extra increasingly tired, and though for the most part the motor speedway just beyond my window was to blame, Speaking of motor speedway, it was oddly quiet for 3:00 PM on a Saturday… Then again, the property management was asking me to pay a bill that hadn't existed until— you guessed it— my birthday— and was now threatening eviction upon receipt of the notice. The first notice came close enough to May that it made me wonder why it had been placed on the roster on my birthday in March, and I was just now hearing about it on a Friday afternoon at closing time with the threat that I would be removed from my apartment— a threat I cared almost nothing about due to the persistent motorcycles and cars buzzing around for a year— but now, suddenly they were gone. Usually Saturdays were the worst days of all of them, and suddenly, they weren't circling at all; maybe it had been a set up all along, or even the devil itself; now the devil didn't have to torture me with the sounds of unhappy men with little to no power besides that of the horsepower beneath them so much so that it had become the world's problem to endure such pain as by the hundreds of them pouring out every day over the last two years— now the property management wanted to threaten eviction, but in the technical sense they were wrong; on paper, and otherwise, however, I wasn't going to fight to stay in an apartment I hated! Again, I saw what might have been some kind of evil demonic curse as a blessing instead and looked upon the hundreds of recordings over the last five years. Recordings I had made sleeping in my car, in hostels, in a tent in the Pacific Palisades— recordings I had made in homeless shelters and sleeping in 24-hour gym saunas. Recordings i had shared with the world and now was taking down, because somehow, it felt as if the world liked me better homeless— as if my constant struggle and trauma and suffering was just a source of entertainment for some; political fuel for others to use against me in the skewed perception that I was preaching or on some kind of side. But I was on no kind of side— I was on my side, and the only solace I really had was that God was also on my side, because whatever had been the motorcycles, and the mind games, and the property management's oversight had been the devil. Whatever had been the slamming doors and the lack of peace and the inability to make music in a space that was supposed to be mine— whatever was going against my good, was evil. I didn't want to see it at that, but in some of the wreckage I had lost my shine— in the fight I had somehow been stripped of my power, my will to live, my right to be human. The peace and sanity of having a place to call home— I hadn't had that. I had, however, a voice and random assortments of instruments. I had writings and comedy speeches and monologues— I had mixtapes and albums, and the creative drive of an artistic genius. I just didn't have money— and in New York, that somehow made me the enemy. Death of A Superstar DJ Tears of A Clown Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

god new york death google speaking hidden manhattan queens fuck jokes jimmy fallon recordings tina fey amy poehler negligence pacific palisades hood rich

[The Quantum Simulation Multiverse Theory]

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 64:32

theory multiverse quantum copyright simulation

{The Times}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 28:54

copyright

{Longboard-Type Skateboarding.}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 27:02

copyright skateboarding longboard

{A Situational Comedy}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 22:05

comedy copyright situational

{the isms.}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 66:00

copyright isms

{The Foreseeable Future}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 27, 2025 71:42

copyright

The Underdog.

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 26, 2025 5:10

{Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

underdogs

Ritual Summoning. (The Record Box)

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 26, 2025 4:33

{Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

record ritual summoning

rudimentary.

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 26, 2025 3:40

Official Music Video: https://www.YouTube.com/@thefestivalproject {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

official music video rudimentary

rudimentary.

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 26, 2025 3:40

Official Music Video: {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

rudimentary

[Rudimentary.]

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 26, 2025 67:12

{Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

rudimentary

[Proximity.]

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 26, 2025 91:06

{Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

proximity

+Recovery Day. (Like,)

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 26, 2025 65:51

{Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

recovery day

[Unnamed Episode.]

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 26, 2025 77:43

{Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

unnamed

[The Ūniverse.]

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 26, 2025 65:39

{Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

[Video Killed The Radio—]

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 26, 2025 72:54

{Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

video killed

{TTC-RII.}

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 26, 2025 54:28

{Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

[searching.]

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 26, 2025 88:06

{Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

searching

[10/10 Irony.]

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 26, 2025 33:36

{Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

irony

[Supercuts.]

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 26, 2025 71:11

{Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

supercuts

a.

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 26, 2025 64:50

{Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

The Infinite Skrillifiles: OWSLA Confidential

Search for episodes from The Infinite Skrillifiles: OWSLA Confidential with a specific topic:

Latest episodes from The Infinite Skrillifiles: OWSLA Confidential

YAYAYA.

Boys, And Boys, And Boys.

[The Unknown.]

[closure.]

[Tears of A Clown.]

Transcendental Edifice. [Mirrors]

LVL: BOONE.

“retarded” (anthem/instrumental) [the weekend]

what it is. (Instrumental) [lady gaga]

4:44

{Isn't It Obvious?}

The Underlying Cause.

{The Code Switch}

{The Frequency Exchange}

{The Major Arcana}

{I'm Your Uncle!}

{It's Saturday Night!}

{Chametz!}

{actually.}

FU IM ANDY WARHOL.

{supposedly.}

{Enter a the Multiverse S10E03: A Bonus Catastrophe}

{A Very Specific Birthday Card}

{Enter The Multiverse S10E01}

“Ohhhh Noooooo!”

{A Waste of Time}

{Cosmic Meadow}

{A Land Without A Name}

{neonGARDEN.}

{The Saturday Thing}

[The Quantum Simulation Multiverse Theory]

{The Times}

{Longboard-Type Skateboarding.}

{A Situational Comedy}

{the isms.}

{The Foreseeable Future}

The Underdog.

Ritual Summoning. (The Record Box)

rudimentary.

rudimentary.

[Rudimentary.]

[Proximity.]

+Recovery Day. (Like,)

[Unnamed Episode.]

[The Ūniverse.]

[Video Killed The Radio—]

{TTC-RII.}

[searching.]

[10/10 Irony.]

[Supercuts.]

a.

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