The Infinite Skrillifiles: OWSLA Confidential

I, sir, I honor you my proxy And what will with what you make take of that, my beast and brawn affronted; That to no matter to which I may stand as though offered to the Gods, I am at bare my force and wary feast upon thy eyes as swarms, And then to no may have you since! I am at all, my eye, your arm, And hallowed crucifix! CHAOS shatters into a FIRE of FEATHERED fury and precedent mercury of volcanic embering magma and sparse clouds of silver and gold, while though first bleeding from the mouth he is engulfed in flame at once, becoming not unlike the Phoenix, a galaxy into his own forever escaping and never ending realms. Ahhh, you're right. YO WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE? That's ludicrous! ah huh, I know, right. You took all that? Yep. {Enter The Multiverse} Sire, Your honor. I am bound. I have been forged. The crown. Certainly. Your high marks! Aye… You've been betrayed. …To no doubt. I am obliged to confront, your majesty, at all hours and in this your fortress— —your honor— And Chaos, that this, though there be your throne, Cannot bear weight of rock and stone to rebel archer, That which I am tied to seek, dear honor, Your vary mercy that there I, Here too, am slain! Damn. Creep shit, huh. Yeah. Why does Colbert get all the best parts?! Because he's capable of reading these types of monologues from cue cards! That circuit. He has a bigger cause than you know. [Redacted] It wasn't that I thought I was actively being watched, but more along the lines of knowing for a Friday, my mind wouldn't drift elsewhere and upward beyond, to the sixth, seventh, 8th or 15th floors— or whatever other crazy shit was apparently above them. Secret places I knew of and often thought about, but not too hard. It boggled my mind what was beyond and out of focus from the lower realms of New York, where it was dark and often dirty and hurtful to even wander. My breaths became deep and hollow; They won't turn your face to you, But they will burn through your whole world, wanting you undone Following sealing knives, half have no concious And tethered tongues— This is Levels, Watch us This is Levels, On your mark, This is levels, Christ conscious, This is Levels, Boats on the dock, Storm water, Pure thoughts of harm, But also luck, Drifting in that same water, Ducks, Not known in here our land, or others. You are no longer closer nor called for what you want It doesn't get that much more simple, nor more complex It doesn't get less disheveled than ‘anyway.' I suffer surface just to suffice this sauna trap It doesn't get any less leveled that two tall towers, September 11th. It doesn't get differentiated or dismissed, either, Without press involvement You got to love an easy bake oven and a handful of drama; You've got to love the plausible options for objections and motions to show cause You have got to love old folks and hard laughs, got to! You've got to love the cosmos for at least trying to show us God back, Though god turned back on us a month ago, Or so it was written More hard times And more cold half's And limbs lost, and marks and mauve and cranberry fortunes. More dusks and more dawns and more mortals but no heart left; No call to arms if you were worn backwards for your half. Now time for the calm but the ball bearings not lose but close hard down when you tip the nose up not to dive but force up the wheels as lifting planes does but you are donuts and dusk and dawn, and you are clutching stones in pockets, Four for corners of those the rock has, And that, North south, East west, And these days give gratitude, For wire stakes and high makes this time for more time deaf authors, Still no mortal walk has I, And still indifference to her call, my fortune is in death which may be cause to no one to suffer, As I have not love, And I have not friends, And I have not bonded and therefore this betrayal from where there speaks my meadow and assault have again lied, as devil does against all time. And so I smile, there, and welcome death, form withered birds did wander and then, before my eyes evolved to dust which then did sparkle, And there setting into scattered grains of sand. For which her shores were thought of, not as birds, but sure enough as rocks to till and thunder; And magnanimous waves you did there found I, Making graves and also these as caves, and banks, and ways to think her mazes as a construct. So now there, you are conformed, And all but may you came to offer. So there then shall tipping this and waves had planted oceans from my martyrs, And so again I called to brothers and also the fathers formed, as I had thought to know, these times and others as a motion [to show cause] So shattered banks and blanks my checkbook, scattered eyes though blue have yet been battered black and darkened; And also that became of which her office was unboxed, there was no work there, For her thoughts had caused the forests and winds to suffer from her art, therefore. There is no homeland, now or here or either, Shall I wonder? And then frayed her mark and also frayed this flag did fly for shame and horror. So there, did also Chaos sit and lack and gripping rope upon there crosses, also did my eye to mind, Him to a rope, but had departed. So I watched him hang from the noose, Though loosened grasp from known the ballet dancer, also then became the rabbit This of past and present. Ah, Fuck with me. I want you to. Aye aye. What is his power? Just wait for it… I don't think this is what you want it to— Just wait. Just listen? Listen to what? The man is just— blabbering. The cadence in his voice though; it's a rhythm. What, The cadence! In his voice— Mm. McDonald's. Okay?! But why are you saying—? Wait a minute. Wait what?! Play the tape back, and boost the audio. What for. Just do it, Mark. This costs a fortune and he's taking up all of our— THE MAN IN THE BOX has exploded. — time. What just happened. I told you he would do it. And we missed it. I don't get it. Where is he? There's no way of knowing yet. Check the grid. It's not… that simple…. Well then! Check the cadence. Or something ! Whatever you said. Jesus, I hate these alien motherfuckers! He's not an “alie What—? He's just— I mean— I do not understand. —he's human he's just— these ancients are gifted with— [sort of] Gifted?! You call that gifted?! He exploded into a fireball of feathers and— whatever this is— what is it?! It appears to be volcanic ash, sir. WHAT?! I'm moving backwards, forwards, backwards— forward time and time is dust from now on, I am in the end of my shattered and half lived life, Though bonded body to not my soul, which seeks not love and light, the morsels of the marker of my kind, And this to fill my aching desire to—- — now you've gotta run. From what? THE— AAAAhahsHAHSHjhabdbsnNadbdbamamBSBDNAGAGHAHghahsbabahaa!! WHAT WAS THAT. I DONT KNOW. I JUST HAD SIX ORGASMS. [BLACKOUT.] {Enter The Multiverse} DANE COOK wakes up from a VERY HARD NAP. …what just happened? This is your fault. You caused that. Okay. Gun in my face. I've had things, but not that. Get up. Jesus Christ. Just calm down. This is my calm. [The Festival Project ™] Do not panic. What the fuck are you telling me. Just stay calm. Do not panic. Don't panic what! That. Oh. You showed us what you are. No I did not. You want that? Uh… CC Just when you think you have me all figured out, I promise, it's not that. He has a gun! Fall back! Oh shitsauce, what in the fuck is going on! I may have had to stop and think for a moment ‘Where the fuck was I going?” The problem was I knew I already had the answer, and it was “Nowhere, fast.” Maybe even faster than ever. That hollow pit inside my stomach was calm now because most of all, I wasn't on the subway, I was on autopilot somewhere way far off from my body. Train me not, For this I die as one and always Sure to come for what is known and also for my martyr. Soon to fall I, bitter from the rock And drifting intermittent conscious, The constant not to known, But just a trough to all our horses. So this shame and guilt and rit and raft which I whitewater, so then to shall be betrayed as so they say I am, for now and onward. So her force is death and her tip have sung and those caves we made were of not fortune, but gloom and pity, merriment and pepper peer to socket and For now, my broken. Withered here and there And for to curse, But not to save my cycle, Dim this light for this I offer sacrament, Married waves and crevices of canyons I had watered, and then to twist of pine and though my time was won as always, want. The tip and twist of time would trim her down of those as slaughtered. Giving time and giving hate, and giving twins, And giving tin and giving golden graves, for maids And golden trophies. Giving taste and giving waste and giving ghosts wool coats for courthouses, Giving dim and dinner to these flames for which were ordered, have I. Giving those is taste and giving those is feasts, and giving those is masonry, created in her honor; Giving those is peace and wars, And to left ties, a peril force And giving these is tales and miners Trapped in these there caves as though you drift in barren lands. Well! Well. If I don't know who it is And I don't know what it is What I can't catch Man, Just leave the the fuck alone already, Would you? I have to wonder why I even come here, Full frozen How I'm running on low fuel, But just a sure to fact— (((Huh.))) Yeah, I recognize that dudes voice at this point Alright, maybe I am being followed. Yeah, that can't be a coincidence. It could. It is the rock. No it couldn't, Cause it's the rock. INT. ROCKEFELLER PLAZA. SUNRISE Okay, it's pretty from every angle! My fingers are frozen. Can I go inside now?! Yes. Here is the entrance. Jesus Christ! {Enter The Multiverse} Jesus All Day Christ. What are you looking at? I don't know yet. L E G E N D S It's pizza time. It's Kimmel time. [redacted] These are dangerous thoughts. Oh no, I turned my mind off. I love Kimmel, but I lost focus. Maybe this was the hour I needed without timing my life out. Then again, I did just recently watch him burst into flames in my living room. I have to wonder what that's about. Socumopolus Open On The Operating Table. Symposium, 2025/2026 TBA -Ū. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū Symposium is a concept album that reinterprets the ancient Greek tradition of philosophical dialogue for the modern age. Taking its name from Plato's seminal text, which structured profound conversations about Love (Eros) as a series of distinct speeches, this album presents a series of intense, mythic narratives—the tracks—that each serve as a unique speech on the nature of consciousness, suffering, and transcendence. The album's unconventional structure, with initial tracks sporting double titles (e.g., forgetmenots.//follow through.), reflects the complex philosophical dualism explored throughout the work—the conflict between the body and the mind, the real and the dream, the past and the imperative to move forward. Each long-form track is a deep dive into an extreme mental state, an attempt to define the core truth of existence through an absurd or heightened reality. [Socumopolus Open On the Operating Table] This track is a visceral representation of the album's Platonic core. It is a grueling philosophical thought experiment set to music made to be experienced as though sifting through a gallery; as interpretive art rather than festival minded electronic dance music. ‘Socumolopus' opens in the uncomfortable and disjointed stairway of becoming undone at the midst of a medical mercy— unable to move or act with the understanding and awareness of a total loss of autonomy and control. A complete paralysis, but not of thought. Socumopolus Open On the Operating Table tells the story of a man undergoing high-risk, life-saving surgery. Due to a failure in anesthesia, he is trapped in a state of conscious paralysis—unable to alert the surgeons, yet fully aware as the operation unfolds. Indeed he reaches a certain purgatory of sorts and a certain death, as he becomes outward of himself enough to realize he knows nothing of this self, even his own name which he is called. He is now only Socumopolus. He is forced to watch his own body being opened, simultaneously experiencing the surgery from the table and from an out-of-body perspective above., however, once the initial shock of the blood and gore of his organs unraveling on the table before him, he drifts between lucid galaxies and worlds, traveling beyond all known time. His consciousness drifts in a purgatory spanning what is hours, but is rather eons in his own unaligned infinite outer consciousness, mingling the visceral reality of the operating room with non-sequitur dreams and the background noise of the hospital's televisions, and in and out of worlds alike; but also unknown. Symposium: A Concept Theory The track is a direct musical translation of Plato's Dualism—the belief that the mind/soul is separate from the physical body. [The Body] The character's physical being is the object of suffering (the operating table), imperfect and subject to the knife. [The Soul] His consciousness detaches, viewing the scene from above—this is the transcendent perspective, attempting to find "The Form of Truth" outside the confines of the suffering body. The character's hours-long, suspended state—neither fully alive nor dead, neither fully conscious nor dreaming—is the album's metaphor for the Ladder of Ascent in the Symposium. He is stuck in the intermediate steps, struggling between the earthly, mortal reality and the potential for a higher, purer vision, while the surrounding hospital noise and fragmented dreams represent the strange, sometimes absurd "speeches" (like Aristophanes' myth) that interrupt the pursuit of ultimate truth. In Socumopolus Open On the Operating Table, the operating room becomes the stage for a private, intense symposium on what it means to be aware when the self is literally dismantled. The surreality is not in the musicality, but the concept of the artwork itself, which reads most like an awkward statue or sculpture stationed distinctly in the way of a place you least expected, or perhaps even dead-center your normal course. It blocks the path with the cause to force you to think of creating an alternate route, or to travel or explore beyond what is familiar or known— or perhaps— just to force you to think at all when you may suppose the rest can just be turned off, as you cross out or autopilot and into a newfound structure for your own immortal cause. Thank You for Listening. Chroma 111. The Shoestring Theory. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

Chroma111. She does backflips Purple cosmos Whole turnover— We set the whole world on its stomach; A Whole corpse So so wrong Oh oh oh, You made me fall in love Oh, You made me fall in love “Jimmy Gets Belligerent” Hey. Yeah. Remember when Anne Hathaway went into God Mode? FLASHBACK: ANNE HATHAWAY goes into GOD MODE. CUT IMMIDIATELY BACK TO: Yeah. Well this is that, but Jimmy Kimmel. oh boy. Yeah, that. {enter the multiverse} lol. Please writing gods tell me how and why this dude is running around the multidimentions carrying briefcases of sedatives and other recreational enhancements— JIMMY KIMMEL enters EXTREMELY CONFUSIEDLY. And also, why, Apparently he remembers nothing at all, While everyone else in this entire arc seems to have some sort of familiarity within these paradoxes?? I don't know. But I love Jimmy Kimmel. Duh, who doesn't? Yeah alright— but you know why? DAVID LETTERMAN MOO-HA-HA! Yo what the fuck. That dude is kind of evil. TINY KIMMEL (staring into the old ass television SET in a hypnotic state, mimicking with his own version of this evil, diabolical laugh.) Ehheehee!!! DAVID LETTERMAN discovers TELESYNTHESIS via his late night ENDEAVORS, all the while unmasking the true secret to TIME TRAVEL and THE MULTIDIMENSION, unlocked. YOUNG(ER) LETTERMAN Yessss, come to me dear child! Yeeeesssssssss. Damn. Yeah. That right there. That's how it works, apparently. L E G E N D S MOOHAHA! wtf. CC Sometimes we see the things in the TV which are plainly meant to see, but so often overlooked… {Enter The Multiverse} Stephen Colbert Lost Light I was thinking fondly about that scene at the end of the first season of The Studio— That nearly final shot from the finale where the light hits Seth Rogen's smiling eyes, and made them seem ten times bigger than they ever thought they could be— or how maybe possibly, How you never quite noticed how beautiful they are, because you're always remarkably distracted by his charm, and his trademark laugher, or his other well known markers. But I was thinking about it for a second time today, because I was also still somewhere somehow working on the other part of my projects that were although, still falling apart, however important— this ramshackle chaos between all of these media monarchies, the hosts of late night television —though some departed— and an arc that was coming together from scenes i'd already written in hiatus but still probably couldn't find, even if I tried… and the basis of it was really so dark and so off from what the regular gesture or any of those personalities was as established, I sometimes stayed off it, even if though the vision in my mind that made the anchor of something that was supposed to come from that side of the project, was so vivid in the moment, as if I was watching the actual finished product played back or played out in my mind. The reality of my actual life had become such a cruel joke that I no longer really even wanted to cave in and just write it, because I was so particularly embarrassed of how i'd even thought of [any of] that. But here was this, Mr. Stephen Colbert, whom I adored severely, who also had eyes that were quite shiny and large and round that made him, with his boyish face and little dimples, quite cute to look at— but more like a teddy bear, than any vicious or decrepit sexual monster, like some of the other [aforementioned], or so, not mentioned for other reasons. To be clear, this is what, from what I would gather, could come with the job, but the job was also another job, and had its own sort of chronicled problems and equations to solve that I could gawk at, if I watched enough of them. So far, however, there was only really only never more than one I would ever flock to for my gawking, and because I was so enamored by it, I mostly never bothered the others, until it came up in my project as something so artful that it would cause such a gentle heart murmur as one did— This sudden image of Mister Colbert standing in a stream of light in however an outward darkness, with the expression one might call a ‘longingness' as if in all the light had been forgotten—and now was shining on him with such a glow that it took the warmth inside my glow from it, as I saw this, a man of shadows seeming to have come to a final moment of some hope left. But was it lost? Was it false hope? And what had happened? Last I left dear Colbert and our other dearly beloved in a twist of fate— a paradox at the proportion of Titans, in that this, a pocket watch, and a very daunting silver pistol, seeming to be stuck inside a hall of some sort where the linoleum floors and barren abandonment amongst the tattered and ripped unkempt nature of either of them— —Or at least I believed in my head— it were Mr. Kimmel and Colbert, but the scene had been somewhere so long gone and forgotten that I could not remark on which other host it was, that had the memories of all the paradoxes still sharp and hard on his mind, while poor Kimmel somehow seemed, even after a thousand rounds of groundhogged circumstances— (that is to say ‘over and over')— to not remember anything that had happened? But what did happen? And still this was far off from that same shadowed dark place where now in this vivid moment Mister Colbert stood looking up into the light with such grace as if to say, maybe he was thankful for what was approaching— but what? In this pale and yellow warm light streaking across his already very shiny eyes and pleasant face he seemed to be seeking some relief and may have even found it, but was now alone in this place, silver pistol still clutched in his hand, and standing even in the dark set, some percentium arch, rather, as the floor beneath his feet seemed even that rubber type you'd find upon a stage somewhere… But where had I drifted off? I'd come to New York all those years ago mindlessly writing about what appeared to be that same watch, or a watch—a pocket watch, that was somehow rather important to the plot, also. It had to have been important because, at least I thought, it was Morgan Freeman that brought it up [in the first place]. And of course I couldn't overlook at all how anyone I'd written about or thought of fondly just rather seemed to show up in these shows where the hosts were so good at their job they sometimes almost entirely disappeared in plain sight — and for a moment the spectacle was that they even seemed to have removed themselves as a whole from the eyes of the camera, and the audience at the job. A well-done late night host is often a man inside a hole— a suit in the dark where there's not light, because in essence, in the man, he must remain as trapped and as silenced as I have been, or I am, as I write this. And perhaps that's why I found them here, in a foreign land, in my prison trap where I keep my eyes from the rest of the world that cannot have them, under my public sunglasses and ‘why-try' when I am forced to go out into the world and have at it, but always quite missing my mark and stumbling back into the box with much damage and the excitement of a child on Christmas to see my cat, and a warm box, and an hour of something to laugh at. But this project was no laughing matter— mostly because it was sadness; sadness which I kept composed— [the neighbor exits quietly] Oh she IS capable of shutting the door normally. Look at that. —Sadness which I kept composed as darkness, woven into songs as verses or poems as proses without ever giving it a single thought of what was reflected or why it was I was decided to watch that. {Enter The Multiverse} After all, we began chasing Skrillex into forests with monsters, and now balance the delicate calorie deficits of all of what they have— the actors and actresses, media titans, and even politicians, as I burn through my own light like the Palisades fires, where ironically my legend was born before I'd even think to write it; L E G E N D S Somewhere in a place inside my mind where my diaries and lost unrequited love would become sometimes my light and sometimes my darkness and the forced focus of becoming nothing without actually being done— this sort of infinite place that has to exist somewhere in my mind, because it does— and also out in the world — [the door slams violently] Nevermind, she sucks. They all suck. —because thst's where it comes from. So what of Colbert, and the Gun, and the watch, and the Owl, and all of our friends on the trains, in the mazes and libraries? I hadn't not the slightest cause to reckon where the rest of it was because the tragedy of the story was still being just as lived as it was written. The variable pertaining to how many times I had seemingly fallen in love with nothing more than just a shadow or simple reflection of my own thoughts— Glimpses into mirrors and corridors of infinite in all the effective possibilities of the things I'd ever wanted. Perhaps the darkness was that without searching, I wanted to be loved— And it was here, the whole time, quantified and personified in the people that had so much of it, that I could take the idea of such and skate on it, like a complex sort of obstacle, that it wasn't directed at me— but then it was— because I was looking to deeply into something I loved, That it would come back in the form of something, no matter what it was. Long after the perfume was gone, the diamond eyes would still remind me of an Owl that I had once seen and even become, but since arriving in New York and staying too long, had not come back. There certainly was a piece or part of me that had lived and died here, but I was unsure what it was yet. But what of Colbert? Even this was an incomplete and intercepted thought, or concept. All I looked at was him in this light, clutching this little gun that I loved because it was so silver and so polished and so small, And the words “Lost Light”. So perhaps I'd write that song next. [The Festival Project ™] —Death of a Superstar DJ Chroma111. INT. CRYPT. ROCKEFELLER PLAZA. I told you he was a genius! [a mechanical sound erupts from the cooridor above.] Hey! What happened?! BILL MURRAY Well, that's easy! You're trapped. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

Not even a wisper of collision penetrates explicitly this inclusion; Segmented and represented this disarray of miserable approval, And, abject, Or i object, I guess To that which is to say Today is in between the ordinary and disarray, To make arrangements; A solemn display of effect and intent of regression, And yet without all clear disrespect to port or establishment; Still here are there words and where there was love, no more— none for her but then around, within arousal stands as that, to which has since been lost, If not to time, another concept thus by force unknown, to with and withstand habitat for circumstantial evidence of coincidence, But yet arbitrary and then dismayed for short or arc, There this, no more her words for flower, more of words to thus embark. Still time, Very well, my breath, for I have opened a foreign chapter— Then with the way you say, you wore our out, In time you are uncovered for her drugs and left to smuggle over-under— Therefore when that said time has come, you know to form the drift to wait, And yet lack still this patience I have tamed you many acres since the ancients fell upon there ails; There pitting since sunk and crucial to this, and our time is not lost nor won, disheveled making prayers for sense and dollar signs; No have no more barren chest and thought of songs, much less a found the words for songs as though my love has crept upon the rock, That dusk and dawn, the ocean licks with parched tongue. Scare her dry and feast and fragile and evidence remained as these as words and thoughts, The truths would tell the tale for every way. With each drift scattered mark, upon those boats with sails above known not as white but also many colors of the brethren cut from clothes of all apart and none of one, for this, her maritime. {Enter The Multiverse} I opened right to Debbie downer; I got medicine for your habit (I got the remedy in the form of a secret, But the misery is in keeping it) I got a kind heart, I did some mai tai, Should have learned some thai chi As if I took some matcha Or chai tea Caffeine Adrenaline I got a kind heart Adderall instead of Ritalin Entry level access Salary yellow fashion, Intercept, invest Inception, redirect Service elevator, eh; She don't live here no more But where she is? Couldn't tell you. What's the story On a ten star war. No more Harvard, Purple hearted general, General admission to a festival? Just miss me that that bullshit. For your pleasure, Every crevice just has pressure in it— Now I get it I hypnotized myself, I guess The ribbon Blue belt I should be cleaning instead of half sleeping; I keep explaining myself thinking somebody can hear me When they obviously can't. I've been screaming silently for seven seconds, Several years I think on other planets Pull your hair back in a bun And then you'll learn, I guess I passed out cold upon the stand That was the plan, I guess Much slower to close than to open, Although, I know I pop-button broke the code before But still no low moral summoning (Sorry, product) Still no low road or mud throwing No more home She's 32 and 3 months older But looks much longer And harder, tired Must have body or Motive Must have body Or bad intentions Take a man, and write a book about it Take a man, and write a book about it I call that a thirst trap I call that a thirst trap. She must no longer Prim and proper But the work is never over, Show us all the roots, and know the knowledge But don't talk or comment on it I was “almost” once And I was honest twice Three times, you're a liar Mister, honor, pleasure, Fisher wife And never leather, Tipping tethered, Tied to rock and kite And lock and key For here and there Forbearance, rather Here for never ever after Amen and then some L E G E N D S I told you Jimmy Fallon was a Skrillex. I know. What's worse: Skrillex is a Jimmy Fallon. Oh, that is worse. yO iT iS pRoGrEsSiVeLy WOrSE: Is this what you wanted? The awful destruction of constructs— Click, boom— Knife, gun, Add an axe, Bind the axel, Excellent, Put the prejudice inside your head ahead (We brought it back) Put the Edipus complex To this effect Upon a platter Silver as the gun at stake, And raise the hand that shouldn't matter After that? You won. Four tries; Six goons, Four Gods, One white ther I have Two white coats and misters, hot coals Dark fires, have ones, Six mazes, one center On your mark “The Dark Forest” Ugh I hate this one, Get set Don't forget, we all died here. We all crisis, We all Christ. Goosebumps, right? Gimmie that kite! You dumb son of a bitch! GO! Check it out! I look like Kim Kardashian. But you smell like Kim Chi. Yooo that joke took me like 2 months to write down! I know huh! [The Festival Project ™] I looked for something on Hulu to watch for so long that I almost ate my entire dinner without clicking on something. Finally, I find something that interests me, which is just a graphic of a television set and some color palette by now that is somewhat of a calling card for me. So I get there, And it is of interests, And yet of course the unexplainable anomaly of this, is that, no matter how far I try to run l He just keeps coming back. ‘Like this is crazy.' I never found myself agreeing with Louis C.K. about anything at all, and personally and particularly, I never found him funny, until, that was the sudden realization that the same array of betrayal, anger, and agony fueled by rage and jealousy had taken over he and I and many others probably, when introduced to the possibility of having to share the same reality with a head of hair and a face like that. I might have mustered a “my sentiments exactly” though silently before taking in to my own wonder and amazement that twice in one week, besides skipping over the algorithmic traps in my sidebar which I treated like little land mines or time bombs, but mostly allotted to my own Internet history of my uninhabited viewing, as it seemed I'd been most preoccupied in rerouting this energy into a fascination with TV programming, giving me the satiety for the comfort and familiarity in something; and I was with some some kind of certainty I knew alluded to the old adage of mother knowing everything. Even if everything hadn't happened yet, actually, or maybe it had. This strange sort of desire however was some sort of weakness, with the ability to have a fixation for a desire without any way of actually getting it. As she used to say. “Having champagne taste, but beer money.” [so I avoid it because it makes me angry.] Sometimes even, tearfully angry, and it made me feel so uncontrollably adolescent that I would have equated it to the hysteria of beetlemania; screaming and clawing and aching and chasing for this being that was so notably out of reach. Worse off, I'd realized in this running from what seemed was chasing me was how common I was in this feeling, [] To my demise. In this sense, the safety of this entire being and any alike, was that I could seek logic in my jealousy by rationalizing not attaching to a certain subject sexually or otherwise. But this basis in the contempt of familiarity was really rather irritating, in that it seemed as simple as having an awareness of this seeing all the time, to the point that I became a subconscious aching for [something], blossoming into the actual conscious awareness out of the repressive need for something I no longer had and always wanted: [The Festival Project ™] And for for this, I considered it a sort of sickness that I couldn't seem to tear away from it, but also something that had happened very naturally, and now had unearthed an entire cavern of secrets I could be found no where writing or even very rarely thinking them. Thoughts or ideas worth protecting and the kind of code that goes about saying nothing, looking the other way, keeping your mouth shut and hiding or guarding with your life. But media, or the eye that seems to see all lately had been poking at it, maybe because I wasn't. Maybe because I spent an hour at a time four day a week with [a less than separate set of characters] —or big brother, if you will, in a safe and respectable distance and admiration [] Where I could at a certain pace study this sort of programming without anything having to be reflective of the life I wasn't living— the sex I wasn't having. Watching the ABC version of late night programming was allowing me to focus on the other things I needed— being very skinny, and crossing one leg over the other and sitting pretty; while also showing me another side of a suit and tie that was interesting— The ability to be invisible, and also say many things without talking, for anyone paying attention to the complex series of things very often overlooked by a normal onlooker or audience, Which I was, and wasn't— because I was looking for something. The mind boggling thing to me was, by watching, I was actually finding it. [The Festival Project ™] —Death of a Superstar DJ As Seen on TV The Television People “Puzzle Pieces” I don't want anything I don't want anyone Conflated circumstance Oh, it was was just a nut— Got it and now it's gone Pulled it all off at the thought It was Thunderous But now I got it together I don't want anyone Especially not a poor boy No I'm not alone, boy I got my kitty Pet the cat and love my pussy, So it's really not a mystery I don't need him, or anybody really Miss me with that shit That's a pretty promise and a big redaction Deadass I stepped into my ballet shoe And onto shards of glass I guess that's on pointe But off topic Co-ed saunabody shopping I show up at Equinox But only when I want (On proxy) I protect my heart (On God) I don't want nobody really. One one-off on Wall Street, brother Don't bother calling back Don't got my number, Not a problem Not my name Or my address Cause if you did You'd be depressed like I am. Now we're getting dressed You take a cab I take the train Just another day of training But my life. Is steady draining There's no use in even explaining myself I guess I'm selfish Like dental floss for Christmas Or shellfish for the kitty But for me just friuits and veggies You don't notice? I love nobody, Cause nobody could love me Now I'm over it Now I'm over it Now I'm over it But you know the cost I was nothing Now I want Nothing Nobody love me I don't want nobody, No I'm not sorry How they're swarming on my GPS location With these second rate bit glitches I stay sleeping in my kitch But I'll never rest, I guess Until theirs justice Said that. {Enter The Multiverse} Excerpt: The Television People (TVP) Season 4 © The Complex Collevtivd [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights Reserved REGINALD Would you kill your prostitute for one million dollars? PATRICK Why would you ask me that? REGINALD That's an odd answer. I'd expect your response to be somewhere along the lines of denial of— ever having a prostitute. PATRICK I'm a talk show host. REGINALD Is that supposed to mean something? PATRICK There are certain societal assumptions. REGINALD Do you find yourself—befitting to any of those stereotypes? PATRICK I don't find myself “befitting” at all. REGINALD You know, local [charters of our office] — (But Patrick speaks quickly and with dominance to cut him off.) PATRICK Now that I know what you are— REGINALD You mean “who”? PATRICK I mean “what”; why make and owl's cry in response to a dog's bark? [a realization between the both of them is immidiately found; this sort of language has implied they are belonging to the same branch of THE EYE which acts above the law; it is a fair fight— and now they this phrase has been established, there are now rules written or unspoken which can be applied here.] REGINALD cocks his head and forces an awkward smirk. REGINALD Very well. I am quite the trouble maker; I am mischief, I am danger, I am Chaos, I am leveled I am honored, I am damned I am also coming making day of peace and hallowed are you; I am also coming waves of needing peace to which I bound to. So sparrow coming grace and peace and giving, Made and tied, Though had you not the ever presence or the record for the time, So then you too shall wander, mercilessly to and fro and all about, And here and there but never where my value has been gathered. So for that, the dust is set, And said and twisted, never making bread for peace And dead for death, and craving this, to set of force her Having made my honor there, and lying in the wit and willow, weathered veins and weathervane, And twisting wind of fate and fortune. So, my mind and tressure buried there for gains and white, her shadow Barren in the east, and in the west her mortuary; Seeking sane and crypt but tied and kept for thithered foust and fouling, Butter turned to brittle, May, September, Then another serpent— More to moulf and wept her slated dream for keeping broken bear in, There the wake had frozen into lake and also leather boxes, For what will of what I am and is her fare not wearing any; Though the mister winds of east and west had set her onward any. Lemons and limes, though— Taking my time, soured Never with water, sugar But chest without pride; There in the wake marked and marched o. Her army, Not to yawn or buyoer billow, Porridge feathered, Cream and none for part her hunger There though, then were the marks And the found of the wicked past; Ties there and fire would have her mark upon the dungeon throne, Weeping here though on the floor for flour Every hour passed as I, come creeping with the forest feathered, dimmed the basket having cut from tethered grass, I. And now we wait though them, here, The marshmellow and willow not having woken, Though Monday, for total control of her honor, Contorted. Then came, seeking guild and weight and force, The fear and wind though wish to pull apart the storm had gathered, fell apart itself, Though sit not back and then became as strong, a pebble which from dust became an avalanche at once, through windows past, I— Marked one forest, and one warm summer, And one forest, and good quilt, did slither, and then making in the forest, I, for did I run As yet to suffer also. Yo where the fuck am I going. Alright, airtight we want and something foraged from nothing in her name, And this the time that tells itself for life and health In other ways besides your own. Don't cough. For those who either suffering or lost know of your forces and so sure does come the rock that turned from stone in forests over, So you sure too shall come another, Poor and hurt but soon to suffer, Also. tisk- tisk The risk my friends is running wise, The coyotes running wild for find that lone and feathered friend, To which has flight with all the know that he, and friends are feasts of foe and so these might and waves of time are sure to grow into another. Right on. So I write on and then, the missed and uninformed becomes again the death I recommended. Ten till ten tales and also please give, and whistle whalfolks under our time which has lost mine and all others. So tempted there come gathered, weeping Feathers at her slaughtered as palms, Weight beyond the brow and below the belt to which that called her— Devil's mate and crater for the fate but fame at heart earned, casting shadows over which has lost its appetite, for now becalmed her hunger. Her hunger. Her hunger. REGINALD's tone changes entirely— if at first it may have been a playful game (and it wasn't) now it is serious— crucial, even. REGINALD Why did you do it? PATRICK I wouldn't do something like that… REGINALD —something like what? PATRICK realizes quickly he's been playing over in his mind that has not yet fully been realized on the surface of the conversation— it was an honest answer, but still implicit, and so in this moment of self awareness and realization, also of stunning showman and marksmanship, a certain light comes on as if the camera has been directed at him; his entire mask comes on at once, and no longer can the reminisce of an honest thought be detected. He has become a wall. PATRICK To follow up on your first question. Which was odd— REGINALD About killing your prostitute. (He means to intimidate, but PATRICK is a stone.) PATRICK You must not watch my show at all. REGINALD takes a moment to collect himself, with even just the slightest and temporary glimpse of fear in that he may have met his mental match, and has already lost the fight, also collecting his briefcase before he I told you no more trains. At the risk of sounding obnoxious, I've started ignoring all the voices in my head— Even though they're always right. fuck! REGINALD pauses, takes a deep breath while opening the door before looking back over his shoulder. REGINALD I must not. He walks out and immediately slams the door behind him. PATRICK, as if still in the eye of the camera remains calm, although, just the glimmer of fire in his eyes reflect the battle has yet been won. But as we all know by now, He will win the fight. The television people, season four I can't stand these fuckin hoes; Two days off in your hole Offers you a whole new perspective Of your own God complex; You're better off alone, Dead, Or on prescription medicines For all those thoughts in your head Like the bullet holes left from the gun That is poor and alone And just not having money. Confidence lost with a look, And you're sure you just should have gone come But the court office closes its doors at 4:30 And you've been done wrong Four long lost lovers over, It not about that, but motorcycles It's not about reps, It's about cycles I'm one our Peloton down And a whole world to go While you morons just on and on Won't stop talking Here's to disturbing your peace at the equinox And anywhere else you rest your rotten core, You dirty who're— What's it costs for love? Not a whole lot, Don't you see that I'm struggled in Brooklyn? Fuck this whole raw sewage garbage bucket If I gargle hard enough I'll just throw up But you push all the bottles and straws to the end of the curb And the colored sand blacks to the outskirts So we work harder It's a ocean of no But you know not what it does not to know me So below your own suffering goes the call of the crow just before dawn Mx To drop out Cool I don't want to be here I just want a surfboard Apparently it's your year But I'd slit my wrists for Harvard Yeah, it is— that kind of hurt Yes, it is that kind of pain The corvette stole your very favorite colors And your name That sort of wickedness, Just before it ends The candles flickers and the winter's coming in atop the l marble kitchen counters All right, all yours Patched up, or in the poorhouse Compliments to the chef, of course, compliments to the chef. Gotta go to the court house Of course cause I'm black So it's automatically implied I just don't work hard enough Or just ain't made the cut My momma was a dancer, not an athlete My momma made me fat and now I can't do that either If I'm the other black girl In a room full of white men I automatically become “The ugly one” So then I'm off. What's the point of coming here? A black book? A black box? Try to run me off out of the equinox on Walter Well done. I should not have wrote about it Lil bitz My son accused me of being in the Illuminati. He's 9. How do you even respond to that? I love my son, He's like really, really… fat. It's okay— I kinda like it; he's fat, I used to be fat; So we talk about fat people shit. Like McDonald's. And ham. lol This lady on the subway leaned on my hand on the pole. And I mean like really leaned into it, With her whole body weight. I just came from the gym, I been up all night, And she like— Leaned. Like, you know I didn't say shit, I just let it happen, But inside I'm like, WHY ARE YOU TOUCHHING MEEEEEEEEE?!!?!? WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING ME?! This train is not full. I don't think you understand. I just came out the steam room. I am the equivalent of fresh and pressed. Then she's just gon Leeeean. FUCK THAT. STOP TOUCHING MEEEEE. but like irl I'm just standing there like, No protest. Inside: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! STOP IT! Outside: [nothing] Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

Not even a wisper of collision penetrates explicitly this inclusion; Segmented and represented this disarray of miserable approval, And, abject, Or i object, I guess To that which is to say Today is in between the ordinary and disarray, To make arrangements; A solemn display of effect and intent of regression, And yet without all clear disrespect to port or establishment; Still here are there words and where there was love, no more— none for her but then around, within arousal stands as that, to which has since been lost, If not to time, another concept thus by force unknown, to with and withstand habitat for circumstantial evidence of coincidence, But yet arbitrary and then dismayed for short or arc, There this, no more her words for flower, more of words to thus embark. Still time, Very well, my breath, for I have opened a foreign chapter— Then with the way you say, you wore our out, In time you are uncovered for her drugs and left to smuggle over-under— Therefore when that said time has come, you know to form the drift to wait, And yet lack still this patience I have tamed you many acres since the ancients fell upon there ails; There pitting since sunk and crucial to this, and our time is not lost nor won, disheveled making prayers for sense and dollar signs; No have no more barren chest and thought of songs, much less a found the words for songs as though my love has crept upon the rock, That dusk and dawn, the ocean licks with parched tongue. Scare her dry and feast and fragile and evidence remained as these as words and thoughts, The truths would tell the tale for every way. With each drift scattered mark, upon those boats with sails above known not as white but also many colors of the brethren cut from clothes of all apart and none of one, for this, her maritime. {Enter The Multiverse} I opened right to Debbie downer; I got medicine for your habit (I got the remedy in the form of a secret, But the misery is in keeping it) I got a kind heart, I did some mai tai, Should have learned some thai chi As if I took some matcha Or chai tea Caffeine Adrenaline I got a kind heart Adderall instead of Ritalin Entry level access Salary yellow fashion, Intercept, invest Inception, redirect Service elevator, eh; She don't live here no more But where she is? Couldn't tell you. What's the story On a ten star war. No more Harvard, Purple hearted general, General admission to a festival? Just miss me that that bullshit. For your pleasure, Every crevice just has pressure in it— Now I get it I hypnotized myself, I guess The ribbon Blue belt I should be cleaning instead of half sleeping; I keep explaining myself thinking somebody can hear me When they obviously can't. I've been screaming silently for seven seconds, Several years I think on other planets Pull your hair back in a bun And then you'll learn, I guess I passed out cold upon the stand That was the plan, I guess Much slower to close than to open, Although, I know I pop-button broke the code before But still no low moral summoning (Sorry, product) Still no low road or mud throwing No more home She's 32 and 3 months older But looks much longer And harder, tired Must have body or Motive Must have body Or bad intentions Take a man, and write a book about it Take a man, and write a book about it I call that a thirst trap I call that a thirst trap. She must no longer Prim and proper But the work is never over, Show us all the roots, and know the knowledge But don't talk or comment on it I was “almost” once And I was honest twice Three times, you're a liar Mister, honor, pleasure, Fisher wife And never leather, Tipping tethered, Tied to rock and kite And lock and key For here and there Forbearance, rather Here for never ever after Amen and then some L E G E N D S I told you Jimmy Fallon was a Skrillex. I know. What's worse: Skrillex is a Jimmy Fallon. Oh, that is worse. yO iT iS pRoGrEsSiVeLy WOrSE: Is this what you wanted? The awful destruction of constructs— Click, boom— Knife, gun, Add an axe, Bind the axel, Excellent, Put the prejudice inside your head ahead (We brought it back) Put the Edipus complex To this effect Upon a platter Silver as the gun at stake, And raise the hand that shouldn't matter After that? You won. Four tries; Six goons, Four Gods, One white ther I have Two white coats and misters, hot coals Dark fires, have ones, Six mazes, one center On your mark “The Dark Forest” Ugh I hate this one, Get set Don't forget, we all died here. We all crisis, We all Christ. Goosebumps, right? Gimmie that kite! You dumb son of a bitch! GO! Check it out! I look like Kim Kardashian. But you smell like Kim Chi. Yooo that joke took me like 2 months to write down! I know huh! [The Festival Project ™] I looked for something on Hulu to watch for so long that I almost ate my entire dinner without clicking on something. Finally, I find something that interests me, which is just a graphic of a television set and some color palette by now that is somewhat of a calling card for me. So I get there, And it is of interests, And yet of course the unexplainable anomaly of this, is that, no matter how far I try to run l He just keeps coming back. ‘Like this is crazy.' I never found myself agreeing with Louis C.K. about anything at all, and personally and particularly, I never found him funny, until, that was the sudden realization that the same array of betrayal, anger, and agony fueled by rage and jealousy had taken over he and I and many others probably, when introduced to the possibility of having to share the same reality with a head of hair and a face like that. I might have mustered a “my sentiments exactly” though silently before taking in to my own wonder and amazement that twice in one week, besides skipping over the algorithmic traps in my sidebar which I treated like little land mines or time bombs, but mostly allotted to my own Internet history of my uninhabited viewing, as it seemed I'd been most preoccupied in rerouting this energy into a fascination with TV programming, giving me the satiety for the comfort and familiarity in something; and I was with some some kind of certainty I knew alluded to the old adage of mother knowing everything. Even if everything hadn't happened yet, actually, or maybe it had. This strange sort of desire however was some sort of weakness, with the ability to have a fixation for a desire without any way of actually getting it. As she used to say. “Having champagne taste, but beer money.” [so I avoid it because it makes me angry.] Sometimes even, tearfully angry, and it made me feel so uncontrollably adolescent that I would have equated it to the hysteria of beetlemania; screaming and clawing and aching and chasing for this being that was so notably out of reach. Worse off, I'd realized in this running from what seemed was chasing me was how common I was in this feeling, [] To my demise. In this sense, the safety of this entire being and any alike, was that I could seek logic in my jealousy by rationalizing not attaching to a certain subject sexually or otherwise. But this basis in the contempt of familiarity was really rather irritating, in that it seemed as simple as having an awareness of this seeing all the time, to the point that I became a subconscious aching for [something], blossoming into the actual conscious awareness out of the repressive need for something I no longer had and always wanted: [The Festival Project ™] And for for this, I considered it a sort of sickness that I couldn't seem to tear away from it, but also something that had happened very naturally, and now had unearthed an entire cavern of secrets I could be found no where writing or even very rarely thinking them. Thoughts or ideas worth protecting and the kind of code that goes about saying nothing, looking the other way, keeping your mouth shut and hiding or guarding with your life. But media, or the eye that seems to see all lately had been poking at it, maybe because I wasn't. Maybe because I spent an hour at a time four day a week with [a less than separate set of characters] —or big brother, if you will, in a safe and respectable distance and admiration [] Where I could at a certain pace study this sort of programming without anything having to be reflective of the life I wasn't living— the sex I wasn't having. Watching the ABC version of late night programming was allowing me to focus on the other things I needed— being very skinny, and crossing one leg over the other and sitting pretty; while also showing me another side of a suit and tie that was interesting— The ability to be invisible, and also say many things without talking, for anyone paying attention to the complex series of things very often overlooked by a normal onlooker or audience, Which I was, and wasn't— because I was looking for something. The mind boggling thing to me was, by watching, I was actually finding it. [The Festival Project ™] —Death of a Superstar DJ As Seen on TV The Television People “Puzzle Pieces” I don't want anything I don't want anyone Conflated circumstance Oh, it was was just a nut— Got it and now it's gone Pulled it all off at the thought It was Thunderous But now I got it together I don't want anyone Especially not a poor boy No I'm not alone, boy I got my kitty Pet the cat and love my pussy, So it's really not a mystery I don't need him, or anybody really Miss me with that shit That's a pretty promise and a big redaction Deadass I stepped into my ballet shoe And onto shards of glass I guess that's on pointe But off topic Co-ed saunabody shopping I show up at Equinox But only when I want (On proxy) I protect my heart (On God) I don't want nobody really. One one-off on Wall Street, brother Don't bother calling back Don't got my number, Not a problem Not my name Or my address Cause if you did You'd be depressed like I am. Now we're getting dressed You take a cab I take the train Just another day of training But my life. Is steady draining There's no use in even explaining myself I guess I'm selfish Like dental floss for Christmas Or shellfish for the kitty But for me just friuits and veggies You don't notice? I love nobody, Cause nobody could love me Now I'm over it Now I'm over it Now I'm over it But you know the cost I was nothing Now I want Nothing Nobody love me I don't want nobody, No I'm not sorry How they're swarming on my GPS location With these second rate bit glitches I stay sleeping in my kitch But I'll never rest, I guess Until theirs justice Said that. {Enter The Multiverse} Excerpt: The Television People (TVP) Season 4 © The Complex Collevtivd [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights Reserved REGINALD Would you kill your prostitute for one million dollars? PATRICK Why would you ask me that? REGINALD That's an odd answer. I'd expect your response to be somewhere along the lines of denial of— ever having a prostitute. PATRICK I'm a talk show host. REGINALD Is that supposed to mean something? PATRICK There are certain societal assumptions. REGINALD Do you find yourself—befitting to any of those stereotypes? PATRICK I don't find myself “befitting” at all. REGINALD You know, local [charters of our office] — (But Patrick speaks quickly and with dominance to cut him off.) PATRICK Now that I know what you are— REGINALD You mean “who”? PATRICK I mean “what”; why make and owl's cry in response to a dog's bark? [a realization between the both of them is immidiately found; this sort of language has implied they are belonging to the same branch of THE EYE which acts above the law; it is a fair fight— and now they this phrase has been established, there are now rules written or unspoken which can be applied here.] REGINALD cocks his head and forces an awkward smirk. REGINALD Very well. I am quite the trouble maker; I am mischief, I am danger, I am Chaos, I am leveled I am honored, I am damned I am also coming making day of peace and hallowed are you; I am also coming waves of needing peace to which I bound to. So sparrow coming grace and peace and giving, Made and tied, Though had you not the ever presence or the record for the time, So then you too shall wander, mercilessly to and fro and all about, And here and there but never where my value has been gathered. So for that, the dust is set, And said and twisted, never making bread for peace And dead for death, and craving this, to set of force her Having made my honor there, and lying in the wit and willow, weathered veins and weathervane, And twisting wind of fate and fortune. So, my mind and tressure buried there for gains and white, her shadow Barren in the east, and in the west her mortuary; Seeking sane and crypt but tied and kept for thithered foust and fouling, Butter turned to brittle, May, September, Then another serpent— More to moulf and wept her slated dream for keeping broken bear in, There the wake had frozen into lake and also leather boxes, For what will of what I am and is her fare not wearing any; Though the mister winds of east and west had set her onward any. Lemons and limes, though— Taking my time, soured Never with water, sugar But chest without pride; There in the wake marked and marched o. Her army, Not to yawn or buyoer billow, Porridge feathered, Cream and none for part her hunger There though, then were the marks And the found of the wicked past; Ties there and fire would have her mark upon the dungeon throne, Weeping here though on the floor for flour Every hour passed as I, come creeping with the forest feathered, dimmed the basket having cut from tethered grass, I. And now we wait though them, here, The marshmellow and willow not having woken, Though Monday, for total control of her honor, Contorted. Then came, seeking guild and weight and force, The fear and wind though wish to pull apart the storm had gathered, fell apart itself, Though sit not back and then became as strong, a pebble which from dust became an avalanche at once, through windows past, I— Marked one forest, and one warm summer, And one forest, and good quilt, did slither, and then making in the forest, I, for did I run As yet to suffer also. Yo where the fuck am I going. Alright, airtight we want and something foraged from nothing in her name, And this the time that tells itself for life and health In other ways besides your own. Don't cough. For those who either suffering or lost know of your forces and so sure does come the rock that turned from stone in forests over, So you sure too shall come another, Poor and hurt but soon to suffer, Also. tisk- tisk The risk my friends is running wise, The coyotes running wild for find that lone and feathered friend, To which has flight with all the know that he, and friends are feasts of foe and so these might and waves of time are sure to grow into another. Right on. So I write on and then, the missed and uninformed becomes again the death I recommended. Ten till ten tales and also please give, and whistle whalfolks under our time which has lost mine and all others. So tempted there come gathered, weeping Feathers at her slaughtered as palms, Weight beyond the brow and below the belt to which that called her— Devil's mate and crater for the fate but fame at heart earned, casting shadows over which has lost its appetite, for now becalmed her hunger. Her hunger. Her hunger. REGINALD's tone changes entirely— if at first it may have been a playful game (and it wasn't) now it is serious— crucial, even. REGINALD Why did you do it? PATRICK I wouldn't do something like that… REGINALD —something like what? PATRICK realizes quickly he's been playing over in his mind that has not yet fully been realized on the surface of the conversation— it was an honest answer, but still implicit, and so in this moment of self awareness and realization, also of stunning showman and marksmanship, a certain light comes on as if the camera has been directed at him; his entire mask comes on at once, and no longer can the reminisce of an honest thought be detected. He has become a wall. PATRICK To follow up on your first question. Which was odd— REGINALD About killing your prostitute. (He means to intimidate, but PATRICK is a stone.) PATRICK You must not watch my show at all. REGINALD takes a moment to collect himself, with even just the slightest and temporary glimpse of fear in that he may have met his mental match, and has already lost the fight, also collecting his briefcase before he I told you no more trains. At the risk of sounding obnoxious, I've started ignoring all the voices in my head— Even though they're always right. fuck! REGINALD pauses, takes a deep breath while opening the door before looking back over his shoulder. REGINALD I must not. He walks out and immediately slams the door behind him. PATRICK, as if still in the eye of the camera remains calm, although, just the glimmer of fire in his eyes reflect the battle has yet been won. But as we all know by now, He will win the fight. The television people, season four I can't stand these fuckin hoes; Two days off in your hole Offers you a whole new perspective Of your own God complex; You're better off alone, Dead, Or on prescription medicines For all those thoughts in your head Like the bullet holes left from the gun That is poor and alone And just not having money. Confidence lost with a look, And you're sure you just should have gone come But the court office closes its doors at 4:30 And you've been done wrong Four long lost lovers over, It not about that, but motorcycles It's not about reps, It's about cycles I'm one our Peloton down And a whole world to go While you morons just on and on Won't stop talking Here's to disturbing your peace at the equinox And anywhere else you rest your rotten core, You dirty who're— What's it costs for love? Not a whole lot, Don't you see that I'm struggled in Brooklyn? Fuck this whole raw sewage garbage bucket If I gargle hard enough I'll just throw up But you push all the bottles and straws to the end of the curb And the colored sand blacks to the outskirts So we work harder It's a ocean of no But you know not what it does not to know me So below your own suffering goes the call of the crow just before dawn Mx To drop out Cool I don't want to be here I just want a surfboard Apparently it's your year But I'd slit my wrists for Harvard Yeah, it is— that kind of hurt Yes, it is that kind of pain The corvette stole your very favorite colors And your name That sort of wickedness, Just before it ends The candles flickers and the winter's coming in atop the l marble kitchen counters All right, all yours Patched up, or in the poorhouse Compliments to the chef, of course, compliments to the chef. Gotta go to the court house Of course cause I'm black So it's automatically implied I just don't work hard enough Or just ain't made the cut My momma was a dancer, not an athlete My momma made me fat and now I can't do that either If I'm the other black girl In a room full of white men I automatically become “The ugly one” So then I'm off. What's the point of coming here? A black book? A black box? Try to run me off out of the equinox on Walter Well done. I should not have wrote about it Lil bitz My son accused me of being in the Illuminati. He's 9. How do you even respond to that? I love my son, He's like really, really… fat. It's okay— I kinda like it; he's fat, I used to be fat; So we talk about fat people shit. Like McDonald's. And ham. lol This lady on the subway leaned on my hand on the pole. And I mean like really leaned into it, With her whole body weight. I just came from the gym, I been up all night, And she like— Leaned. Like, you know I didn't say shit, I just let it happen, But inside I'm like, WHY ARE YOU TOUCHHING MEEEEEEEEE?!!?!? WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING ME?! This train is not full. I don't think you understand. I just came out the steam room. I am the equivalent of fresh and pressed. Then she's just gon Leeeean. FUCK THAT. STOP TOUCHING MEEEEE. but like irl I'm just standing there like, No protest. Inside: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! STOP IT! Outside: [nothing] Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

JIMMY KIMMEL takes a long horn of a mysterious white substance up his nose. JIMMY KIMMEL You're right. That is good cocaine. Like really good. —only the best! JIMMY KIMMEL I'm going to bed now What?! JIMMY KIMMEL I've got to go to sleep. Are you serious?! JIMMY KIMMEL Very serious. You know. Mucho tired. Now excuse me. I don't understand. JIMMY KIMMEL passes out face down on the couch. {Enter The Multiverse} Lil bitz The jonas borthers made a christmas movie and at first I wasn't sure why, But then I thought about it harder, I was like “jonas brothers… Christmas…?” Oh, i get it– Like, “Ho, Ho, Ho!” …cause there's three of them. L. JONES DUM-DUM! YA LOOK RATCHET. BLŪ Omg why r u 18 feet tall. L. JONES YA LOOK CRUSTY. BLŪ I am crusty. L. JONES YA LOOK LOST. BLŨ. I am lost! L. JONES WHY I AINT GET MY WISH YET? HUH?! I'm not being Blū Tha Gürū right now. I'm just— [almost hit by a bus] L. JONES you simple bitch. BLŨ —blū. L. JONES What the hell that supposed to mean? BLŪ You came all the way to the lower realms just to be that tall. —Nah! Look, this is difficult. Can we just MERGE? BLŪ Nah uh— I already merged with— L. JONES Uhh-huh! —enough of you! Enough of you —“alumni” Enough of you already! Just. {Enter The Multiverse} Alright. We merged. Now where we at? I don't even know. Simple bitch. Molly with the suede suit, Black shirt Tan boots, Truth, King, Speak words— Design: leave earth Three times, I need Meanwhile, Three hursts, Three tries, The bullet doesn't miss twice, He hurts. Please, rehearse Get back in the beer bandit Here, bandit! (Hound dog) Heavy job, son— Him and all birds, All God, That's a strong heart— Let it blow out. Candle dust? Here and there. Set the box? Theatre office. Want a crumb? Want a whole number on a warred bat? This dimension's all that; This dimension's all that and then some! Clear to the agenda and a brick wall— I'll probably cut my head off I'll probably cut my head off— Before I cut my hair off; Lead ball? Medicine. Ten tall messages and massive planted evidence. Ten all autographs and all the fumbled balls caught; Penned down hens and reprimanded feeble horseradish, Course, cough, hold it back a second if you're strong, though— Sure, cross your heart inside of Molly in the bottle, I put the message down the river just a bit, But just a bit— But just a second, for the kids; The syndicate is dead, infact. I'm stuck inside your head, in fact— The President misread, in fact, The fractal our eyes mattered, Tip a hat to Mr. Random, On appealed ball fields, Diplomat and moral conduct, Struck before the clock forgot construct itself, Around and about, For here and for now, our— Missing hatred for negating, nothing said I And bitter here bats, and slaughtered hear hearts, For the never late the daughters eyes, For turning over Lilly leaves and parceled tongues, And tisk for tat, there were upon the Ace, her hands And slain in ink for our might. Therefore, to say, he hated her, Bearing him none and down the arm would flow the anchor, gallantly— Whispering cheery cherry blossoms in the hour I, For their time stands to nothing, Stands to none at all but thought forgotten Here for are, I And bare to one the number, Won the fight and mastered in the mortar, All the ashes flames and flit and flicker, tith the half, I, And fully weighed the anchor this and hither bate of fount, aye. And thou art my God; To stand and know and wither here under yet; brings us though nothing but thousand years longer, And nothing this time has yet passed us in all knowing, not keeping but feeling not seeking the band her; This waits you and I forage keep the heaping wate and grip that have I for your fortune, meadow tatter art, And ye, Ye shall not find me. Now I go. What?! She said she's leaving. IKNOWTHAT, L E G E N D S Red is the ram, Goes hard on the court; Ramshakle! Ramshakle! Full on the course; Coarse is the red jackal, Red suit and tie; Red is the sea, If you're willing to die, And I'd part it for neither and none, So come one and come all To the unknown dungeon, Of full feathered flowers. This thing is just festering— I've got to pop it. Not yet. I told you, there in his pocket— An advocate of the well known not-God, Sure was Chaos the done and the forest, Dark shadow! Dark shadow, Willing and honored. Forgiving and honest, brotherhoods— But who art thou? Keeping your tied and your triads as morals; Sacred for neither and loyal to none are, And art in her folds, so as one, We become our. Hours and ions and // Glitches// And circuit, Missed calls and mystics// [Intercepted] Hollow and all words And all worlds have gathered Beyond all our knowledge The all known has shattered. So sits beyond her graces in said forest as before none, And her altered battered ties to one beyond but not the rope cut, This twisting and the tide came, All as Scarlett, bronze, and crimson— Kill her, sire, sure—would you? Do her the honor; Untie the monster, And relish her pleasure, Please, sir, would you?? Shook her, wrought and gaping, Incrept, slaughtered and martyred— Bonded but not undone, As I bow before I. —bleeding waves. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

Who left a whole box of corn flakes In a locker At the Equinox On Wall Street? I told you go to the one at The Rock. I told you, I'm not going on that block, like at all. {Enter The Multiverse} That's just my Karma, Ms. Nancy; I did a whole lot than just Thought about it More edits, More recognition that I—l couldn't stand it; The planet just seems to get smaller and smaller With less and less plants in it; I have your pants on, But shoes didn't fit I wrote a whole book and resenting But still not the movies, I meant it. Damn. She's just so much better than I am Head in a frying pan on high beforehand, And however damaged, It felt bad I know what I did I felt that Camera Obscura, for sure, you know But disconnect, Swallow badders, wha— t?! Get my peanut butter up; Why! I'm a circus monkey; Damn. I got karma faster Than I should have known I lost episodes And threw away the whole entire show I went running long And then I threw up on the subway I only like the one Sublime album (The one with wrong way.) You know? Cuh' I went the wrong way I fucked up on all my dollars I got karma back hard, yah Got a poem or prose or song on ol' Ms. Molly, too, (or two) I fall in love inside the tube, Truth is, though Teletubbies and teleportation Ain't so far off from where I come from Problem is, Opporsite world, I'm the story of the whole show; For sure dawg. —a situational Thought process. When the crack finally kicks in, Astounding the loss of my confidence I've gotten lost in a toxic land I got syndrome “talk to much” Not on the spectrum, nor diagnosable X's and O's on the tic tac toe board, Just an underhanded “I told you so” All the rockstars want —Subtle thoughts of suicide as the train approaches? Nah, Models and the other types of girls That never work at all, They just born at it. I got bored with it, But not the fourth one, Cross my first amendment, On my heart like catholic More like Bart Simpsons, Like art magic Cause I won't watch that show But love Matt Groening— Maybe I'm the type that just Love hating But hate loving with No way to I don't hate you; Yeah you're right, I'm off Take two. ((Good Luck Riding The J Home.)) Not a gym run, a different kind of cause, I guess I got so many plausible options, I guess I should call on one of them, Toss a number up, struck the dog on mathematics I can't let my lantern out of gas, We're not friends, are we? What a fiend! Are you offended? I just want to see my dreams relayed to me— Is that too much to ask? So I'm the asshole. What did I pack a bag for?! Picnic baskets. What did I leave this curse for? Nothing, Thanks for asking, Nance. I put a pilot on the presence of a whole color— phenomenon. I swallowed all my pride and presence just for an automaton. This automation algorithm— is it? Doesn't make a difference. I spilled blood inside my kitchen, Put deposits on a flicker, Tricked the treasure at a phantom, Phantom I want more but swallowed all my high pulp orange juice on knowledge of the only one; There's only God, There's only us— There's only cause+ effect, 6 more albums, note books and a couple novels that came out of that one. Squeeze em hard, ya'll. Don't let me love God. Don't let me talk back, I'm not about a rack. Tantrum, yes. Talk to my God. Please. Talk to me God. Now. Talk to my family one time. Now. Talk out me sideways— Now. Bring me a rebel. Now. I have a headache. Now. I got regrets son. Now I got a dead son, a dead daughter a ghost cat and George Jettson, Michael Jackson and George Zimmerman, all of my tabs open: I take a tab hoping I fall asleep on the cold ocean, Calm before storm comes Out on a surfboard Look at the full moon— Nobody can hear you so SCREAM. Now. For crying out loud, Take the knife out, For a second or thought, I'm a wife now; What back handed thought or a back and on blacklist— Your back room was only your conscious— Now I'm looking at my left side, Also catatonic, Not aboard the problem like you wanted, What an order form for border patrol, You want tall glasses of hard fortune, Work hard for it, or rosemary pork on sourdough. I'm in love with you, but in poverty— There the devil is. But oh, aren't we all familiar? Suit and tie hangs to the tide, I tie the knot with rope from which I die, And quickly crafting coffins, want to walk around before I go off, Diving board or world one antenna? Not to mention it, redirect the attention and energy into something other than consumptive— Everything I do and everywhere I go, I clutch this stone Or put inside my pockets knowing if I let it go Or it falls out and to the ground Not only will I float up, But the world will open And swallow us all whole ((Down.)) I live with the knowledge of criminal visions and masterpiece compilations, but as of today I owe a bank my very and entire existence It is what it claims to be, these days ring true Nothing these days sounds like music but you. I put that book back on the shelf; Rewound the tape before I put it in the case I knew it would be late because, well That's the way it always is That's the way I always am I'm sorry mom. That's the way it always is— They told me I don't need no makeup on, However this may have only been true when I was ten to twenty two, Or twenty two, Or two whole years ago before the motorcycles stole my story. When I put the sun up in the sky, I suppose, is when I started this [that's called a God Complex] It's all behind us now, or rather All up front And out in the open In twelve point font As if I would ever cop to it I took the wrong way to Wall Street l Believe me l, i think of the tree at the rock, Long before this all was ever thought of, And I held her seed in the heart of my palm God said go the other way, I said “Okay” I want to see how much money I make; I wear makeup, I got nothing So much for a body I got stuck with words and good talking, And long vocabulary instead of the coast and a longboard So what's the cost for a whole table turn? So what's the cost for a “her—perfect.” Huh? What is the cost for some popcorn in Lorne's office? What is the cost just to cover the love boat theme song— Don't get me wrong I have original music I'm just hard getting to it; The motors are running The mirror: my mind is a murderer, murderer Engine's are purring are hurting her, hurting But I been wanting some corn on the cob To talk to my mom To call some place home To care for my son To wake up on Sunday past noon like “That was a good show.” And the next sold out . real talk, I got real problems Someone knows I'm on top of my thoughts at the rock, Choking back cocaine All the world under me, Mad at the world though For not looking up to me Huh I call this suffering Cause I already been been hungry, And homeless So I know this Pit-of-your stomach And tied to a brick at the bottom of the ocean feeling, that really Sits somewhere between “Hopeless” And “not good” But hey— If you were to say “how's your day” I answer “I'm great!” Like a positive, programmed robot or something, my mantras lately, replaced however with repetitive honest pleas of “Please help me.” Seems like— the only thing meaningful is saying this inside my Google documents; However, Seems like, It isn't worth the breathing, really Oddly, I forget to— Then I get this special feeling, Almost sentimental, inside my head I don't need medicine as much as I just need a friend besides my cat —thoughts of hammers in my brain— If I could tell you what the level of the pain is? Mercy. There doesn't seem to be a number Merry Christmas, Let's get displaced; Case is dismissed— Let's get shitfaced Wash the dishes, Pick the peloton, Pick imaginary friends And watch the President be hilarious, Until it effects us negative and in the read, When peanut butter bread and jelly All you ever get for breakfast For extended periods of time. Hah. Bloodshed? Wrong. Blood hound? Bad. Segmented thoughts on a toothache? Too late. I hate to tell you what the truth is, Cause you'd hate it. Useless. Jew fits; I just saved two cents on toothpaste And you got two new fits to wear for your friends approval and some cool picks But I can't do this anymore I want to choose live; Inside my death is The whole of the city, Electric and Thomas Edison And impressive Mister Business— Rockerfeller read about it; Somebody gotta learn and teach to squeeze the money out the people! Something simple says, “Just stop it.” Choke a chicken over breakfast, Thoughts of Belfast, real fast train to somewhere in LA, I think Today will be the day That I give bacon To charity, No care left, to give a gift So thankful, For being blessed with time to waste To write this piece of shit I guess I died I guess in family guy? I didn't like it, yet I think sometime's in stewie's cadence— …like, a British baby? And a talking dog? And a dumb ass dad? And a bunch of songs? And some salad dressing, To go with that master habit of getting Grams and Grammies; But in the long run, after a long talk on the roof with the opposite of God, I finally call a conference with all the lawyers of the court— But not to work at all, Only order sandwhiches Obsession has its advantages and platinum records, If you tap into it directly. Forget it. I'm out of magic. Or out of patience— out of time for petitions, But which one is it? Which dimension actually gets me picture perfect Instead of nervous in the eye of the beholders? Learn your lesson well; There's got to, got to be a reason why The wrong way is the right. There's got to be a reason why— My day becomes the night. There's got to be a reason for the words upon the paper, But I've got to figure out my rhythm later; I gone up instead of downtown, Turn the clock before the sunrise, I just want to find the love and the peace in it agai. Gotta love a synchronicity; I get stuck inside bronze statues Door way syndrome And I shutter just to never remember him But here the picture is, a perfect person Headless and befriended him, the lover The line inside my mind is crossed I'll suffer till I turn to dust on this one. My thoughts the first time I saw him? I hate him, Cause he'll never love me. What a troubled thought for a little girl on a lot of drugs and a weight problem. One more, I don't remember where I'm going Day to, I have to remember to forget you Take three, I'm happy that they pay me to tape these things Because I'm maybe going crazy; From the outside though, you wouldn't know it Low and behold, this is my show afterall And covered in gold like the whole of the moon I can play to the tune of two men, to two million don't let it torment you, You looks twisted Get out of your head, and turn off your television Go on a walk, Get run over by a bus or motorcycles Turn around and talk to God and your disciples — cause they all watch. Oh, what's wrong now? That's a long run, And now another pilot that I'm proud of— Stop looking at the ground— It hurts. Today, I learned my lesson, It was not a new apartment— It's a prison. I gotta say I kinda gotta love to wonder where the fuck I'm at besides “Manhattan”. The cat needs water, My heart needs captions. New York needs Jesus Hope he don't see this (Even if he did he probably wouldn't believe it, Or Even if he did He's having trouble learning English, And, Even if he did he had he's been repealing all his promises to return to us; We worship dollars A cock-shaped structures in New York— TIME TRAVELER Its called The Rock. SUPER NEW YORKER What. TIME TRAVELER I'm looking for The Rock. SUPER NEW YORKER What's that. TIME TRAVEL It's called “Rockefeller Plaza.” SUPER NEW YORKER What's that. TIME TRAVELER It's a building? I guess? SUPER NEW YORKER It's not. TIME TRAVELER It is. It's— SUPER NEW YORKER It's not. TIME TRAVELER But— *fucks off immidiately without any closure whatsoever.* TIME TRAVELER Huh. the TIME TRAVELER pulls up a picture on their device; the building itself seems to have disappeared from the photo; (Like Marty McFlyim back to the future) Contd Must be the wrong dimension… But then JOHN D. ROCKERFELLER Is MURDERED at the height of STANDARD OIL. Oh no! So that's what happened… Yeah? He was a bastard. Well! Damn. {Enter athe Multiverse} So you're everywhere all the time, And I got nothing left to run And we already talked the talk And we're already back to one Let the waves blow over, Cravings, tasting haze of periwinkle, heaven waking Putting every penny on the promise that you got me But you never save me, Really, Jesus? Racist! I got a lot of stakes in the game And all these snakes keep weighing in! I got these eight days left inside my head, And I'm a murderer Remember to admit his wrong you are Next time the caw will crow. I crevice drawing under rock Inside the undertoe, My surfboard heading home for shore, My body going under. Oh Conan, what have you done. I'm not sure yet. So? Go get him, you old hoot. I just want to watch a little longer! *feathers ruffled* What! It is comical So i'm stuck inside the equinox on Wall Street catatonic, Adding up the dollar signs and losses, Well now, Got my hosts and calling cards, And struck with dirty dozens Doesn't anybody understand? [no. Nobody does.] Certainly, you know, nobody does this. Certainly, I'm folding all the shirts for all the husbands Certainly my love was lost, but for sure I didn't want it. For sure, I dropped a couple rocks I had inside my pocket . Well done, folks. Guess what? Those aren't crocodile tears I'm crying. I'm dehydrated but they're called psychic cause Nobody knows where they come from; Some would form the thought that you got water trapped inside your soul It only happens when the sun sheds hard tears Here, solar panels Animals and tragic circumstances, Fucking Asholes Never shine your diamond on the twilight, Shooting stars; Never shoot at birds from cars; Remember, They are flying. I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you, done. I swallowed you whole, I swallows you whole, I swallowed you down some. I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you whole, I swallowed you up; I swallowed you whole I swallowed you whole, You know what the cost is Just a heads up, If you take a picture of a gamgstalkers face, They run away. The crime being committed is a non-contact form of combat, a scientifically proven biological weapon. When you begin to document this meticulously, a pattern of coordination begins to become established. It's no longer some sort of phenomenon, that can be written off as a symptom of a broken mind; The more evidence you gather, It becomes a verifiable crime. Remember that the point of it is to control you, to enslave your autonomy— to program you to believe something is wrong, when clearly, The signs of an awakened mind can pick out patterns in the construct of human social behavior that is not ours; it is a deficit in conciousness, a weakness, caused by the moral degradation of our souls in the societal world— A loss of God. And also remember, Humans have a history to seek and destroy which it does not understand, And cannot control— However, also, God comes in all forms. You must know when all is all. Okay, shh— Don't lock the door, now You got a pardon, You better run. I am an a-list celebrity; I am an “amen, sister— I hear that!” I am a medicine woman, A centrifugal figure, A ritual character, Skilled at charicature— A big Kimmel fan, A rick and a Morty, A woman a man, A puppet, the master, A cat in a hatbox, A blasphemous coffin; A wart on a warflower. Hm. Now who could possibly take that out of context? Soft surf rock at the equinox on Wall Street. I love all four stories, I rode all four horses, I put all four corners of the earth onto a surface Then I rolled it up Huh… Somebody does that. Leets go, hard core But don't forget the hot sauce Don't forget the — Smattercat?! SMATTERCAT?! SMAAAAAATERCAAAAAAAAAT! The Adventures of Atticus Catticus. Man, this is fucked up. I can't disagree with you. I can't get you out of my head (I want head) Can't get you out of my mind I find that You must want me dead Tan lines l You must want me off my meds! You want in me in bed at 9 sharp You know what!? You remind me of Harper. Now let's talk shop, Calm, little brother I went with the other oath— Don't you belong to God? Who's on the phone? Donald Trump. Tell him “no.” No to what? Just tell him “no.” Then he'll get here faster. So what do you got in your supplements? Simple psychology; Have a red album. Nah that. I got gold gold balls on all of my prostitutes Pulled apart orgasms, Never been touched, sire. Never have I took forgranted this passion( Never have —that flex— Theatrical pangentry. Never went Ham sandwhich Ham sandwhich Ham sandwhich GODDAMMIT. I thought you grant wishes. — also in charge of summoning. Part time. Well what are you mad about?! At least you got a job! I'm so sick of this kid, He just summons “Ham sandwhich” What's wrong with that? I gave him “ham sandwhich”, Alright?! All kinds, And you know what? That guy has all kinds of magic— All the kinds— Every kind you can imagine, And no matter what, He just wants. Hmmmm…: …. Come on. Summon a dog, or something… A new bike… ……. ……..:::: ……. …. Ham sandwhich. GOD DAMMIT. …and a kite. …what was that? I want a kite. Y…you want to fly a kite. Ya. Alright! But first. An, God. Ham Sandwhich. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? SO WHAT I LOVED NANCY REGAN! SHE HAD THE BEST CATCHPHRASES! AND ALL THE KENNEDIES! FUCK WITH ME. Somebody shoot that bitch. But sir— Before she runs for president. But sir… THINK OF IT LIKE KILLING BABY HITLER. You're right. TAKE THE SHOOOOOT. MEANWHILE… In the MULTIDIMENTIONAL SPACETIME SURVEILANCE FACILITY Oh good. What's that. Someone one assasinated me. That's good. I'll say. Wouldn't want you to run for president. Someone still would have had to elected me. Oh, you mean like in all these parallels over here. *shrugs* They'll collapse eventually. They haven't yet. I just got assasinated. Wait for it. I've been waiting. I don't get why you hate me so much. I'm indifferent, really, just waiting for something exciting. I just got assasinated. And I just got a ten cent raise. From what I can tell, doesn't make much of a differences. It's like, limited assimilation in this dimension; Did I correct you— Lessons, I'm not making any promises. Look out little brother! I set them on you. Got to put the pudding in your pot— And don't forget to floss. What's corrextions? Look, I'm anatomically correct— Shut up, Ken. I don't click on videos or images Because I love him It's just a crush, A pair of wooden crutches A horcrux And a fox A crucifix And Sunday Brunches. It's just a bunch of pictures, Edits, autographs, Extended plays It's just an infinite inside my head— It's been a couple days. A couple miles down And sure to go, You're all for it— Soon you got to know Whatever you done Has come for your— Stop the truck for misuse of four muses And autotune to ruin it— Your mascot is a narwhal But you're rooting for the Bruins. What is even a Bruin? A bunch of racist frat boys and hot bitches in sororities and covens? Bet that Okay, Like, I fall in love But just to write a bit I pour my heart out in a song And for the moment I could make forget i'm ugly Even if for the duration of the half time; Half a pack at halftime, Half a pack at bedtime 20 cigarettes on your 2020 vision. Three beers, Then three beers Thirty three years and he still won't love me Thirty three years and I'm still no woman. He show first, So I shot back I forgot rock doves Served a purpose Postage For lost albums on the surface Surfboards For hot rod bod host, I offered up Conan, Now pick that hard eye Banjo up Water dance Pick that apple, Off the tree With not a scratch Hands tied behind your back; Baggage claim, River dance Pick it up without a fork You whispered us a state of trance For God's socks, If I fly coach, Low ball Lost a fortune Don't call me ‘bud' I think about your walk all day; Like, Three or four times, maybe Not no noodle soup, you wonder But you're asking for a Ballroom. Haggard. God did far too good a job on you; As the car jumped over the moon. I complete your meat puppet, But recently went vegan Line them up and then A heart attack, A hot bath, And a hammock. You got your offer, But I want it back, I want my roses. Golden proses so rit and rattle. I rot in hell for all I've done, then scramble; Damn. I just can't get you off my head without ramble You're probably on a tour bus; She's pulling out all the stop— But you're my monster, just know that Although I'm on top of her turf. So much for Service Monday. So much for making money on a conduit, a conduct. So much for love as. He aim for the head; I aim for the neck; He aim for the heart, I duck, I fall in her eyes, High water— No more cam tide Sunsets. What, I get you really wanted oceans, So you got them. Godsense. Pull, Conan Pull— Haul in! All in on your cards, But take the occult off them; Offering? Totem pole. More than one? I love to hope. Fix your face. Pull the plug— I'm off till Sunday, Off till Sunday. Ten days to Tuesday, You want no more Ten days to Sunday And ten more before that; Ten tongues before dawn, And other I slaughter And slaught cross the sloth, I wither, Your honor. Ten tales too soon, Ten wide my diamonds; Ten eyes in your Isis, My mind, Orion. Ten lost in the Outback; Ten lost on your mass, tongue Two whipped at the alter— I called her about that. So to the effect you check your fax and press the send, I'm steady living, never coming back, Or cap the president— Never living, Never listing residence on Madison You're stuck inside my half-life That I'm mad besides the medicine. You're stuck inside my past, Like all the knives inside my back, And still I fondly think upon a laugh, As ice cream sundaes, Half a sandwich Appetite for having all you are inside my master work of art, The world, your face I cut from clay inside my hands And I still have you in my swollen arteries, and trees the veins, The wicked summers and the bitter winters came, But did not cross paths, So to not bear ties, and to not plug Holes in the hull of the whole ship I think I sunk overtime instead of rather All at once, You know, It doesn't suffix What it takes to turn it back from “Love him” Into nothing. 20 hours passed and 20 cigarettes and ivory towers, But forgive the lives inside of Mormon wives and ice cold showers— Scatterbrained but highly trained in “Never Happened.” “Didn't matter.” So you roll it up into a movie script and call them actors. Why'd you flash me, dancer, Don't you know how bad I want that? Out inside your dozens, for my cinnamon coated combat Nail box fires Had you ordered Your desires Flow the golden drifter Fear of rivers never frozen. Don't you know the sun draws close But the heart grows cold, But the want goes harder? Don't you know the doors get shut, And the Kings get cut, And the wind blows wilder? Don't you know the stars just fall from the sky (They all fall from the sky, They fell from the sky) Don't you know We're all gonna die Put a trial to the wand, Fore you take her heart out Ten times.

My thoughts are, I'm making you miserable It just doesn't mean as much I can't catch a break, I guess Chipmunk in cheekbones And missing this presence It's never escape this dismensions Or never dealing the message Or never just getting the lesson Move past it, It's kept in a box That has locks more secure than your mess is Entire apartments. From the start the argument has been, if not about this, than what? If not about us, than when? Or who? You should have been accomplished; Compliments to the chef, If you can cross this off your checklist You might have even made it To the age inside the matrix. It's just a broken down truck A whole damn box of tools You lose yourself and pretend You don't forget to use, But it's just useless Lower dosage, Pay the tip and pay the postage Post matron mortal, A whole box A whole box of chocolate Lost on your Botox Oh, but we're friends now? No. Robots in a digital world, Only programmed to carry out certain tasks, And then vanish. I dig up your past, and then replaced it with a mattress And a box of matches; Whoever does it next can have it— How they're making hatchbacks out of plastic, I can't manage, But it's fascinating. —The edit effect. Good to see I'm not the only one who noticed— turns out I am a trendsetter, trendsetter Now inaction doesn't really make the pain better But the strain of sweat and tears will make my bed wetter. Just a clip— The college kids don't know the difference It's just a temporary love because I'm friendless— The predicate of this is that the people never get it. As it happens, once I'm past it But let's have a laugh at medicine Inside my head and bring it back again, The panic So much for tall dark and handsome When it's decided that I want something Everyone does sure follow I am a trendsetter. Go back and get the song back, Jack Johnson For nine seasons I was Kevin Nealon, Ten since tent cities and intensities— Oh, there are English pubs? I only had the Irish, Blimey. Ten times limon, Rice and beans and I'm convinced I'm dying Cut my eye out Blood and ribbons, tenements and genre binders Television friends and Lipton dipping into Hot boiling water Have a monologue prepared And mother? Never talk about her. Tip the tooth fairy, bet she does her job Your wings are growing out in February Never leave the nest, dear Gotta wait till next year. These printers and prenups are dripping in women It's finally winter with little indifference To the matter at hand; You're well enough dressed But wet and soaked in raw sewage Standing in your ankle socks, You wanker. An addendum to all my ever living misses And these premium obsessions, So neglect the data that you entered, Even for a minute, introspections, Get the limit in but never medicine the mister You probably should have been there— It wasn't your decision. Encrypted sir, For heaven's sense, I love a good caricature But Heaven hasn't said a sentence since just after dinner When the strict caloric deficit set in With all the evidence collected. This is what become of the avoidance, I have to cut you out and then in the way, I guess I get rewarded but it shouldn't ever hurt this much just moving forward It really shouldn't ever hurt this much just moving forward. Apologies to Matt Damon, I am in pain And then the very subtle finger tips I will admit Could calm me down a bit I panic at the passkey woven case If all these baseless claims And waves of delusional grandeur; You can love that but never afford it How and arrow in a stray hat The fact is, I'm just a madman And a phantom And yet The cracks in the mask have been detected— An internet trend that I can pretend I hadn't mentioned to my artificial intelligence, Then again Curiosity let the cat out of the bag, But couldn't for a second bring him to have the heart to kill him. How many mistakes can I make in just this commercial break— They're breaking my heart from the land of the lost! You can beat the boss, but there's just another one You can play the game, but you can't turn it off— You get more lives than one, But I promise, you wouldn't want them It just gets harder, I walk on quantum physics Mystified by Wall Street, we all learn to die at once To become what we always wanted; Peace and nothingness, the power to see beyond screens, Out of the box where the state of the art Is the way of the world, And never the opposite. So I shared my toy With every other girl and boy Inside the World Wide Web Who wanted playing with it Guess you could say in a way I am giving, On the prejudice That all I'll ever get is just a glimpse or image With respect To turning my eyes backwards before it gets to damage any valuables. Those assholes. forgetmenots. // II. follow through. Unreleased TBA Symposium. [As Seen On TV] TBA 2025/2026 Composed by C'cxell Solïel Prod By -Ū. DBA Blü Tha Gürū Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

Now, and??? Okay! Just another dime, And just enough to find Before I count them up to dollars— But you're turning into wine. What did you ever want? This is my other world. Go shatter you tantric catwalk elsewhere! Don't you know there is a show to put on? A wool to pull over the eyes of the unknown? Why do you have to groan at the quantifiable harm known but justice undone. No harm, no foul No food, no valid excuse for betraying my sacred dopamine, but hopefully you know only no good But words can come from it, And words that fall on blind eyes have no context at all. {Enter The Multiverse} Uncorrected transcript. [excuse my neighbors in the background they're determined to make my life miserable more than likely in exchange for dollar signs.] Okay, my Wi-Fi is off, my Bluetooth is off. Oh, my laptop is open, my Wi-Fi is on. I can give me a second to remedy that. Hello. Hello. I'm Atticus's tail says hello. What's going on? Oh, I wasn't planning on oh, my WiFi on my computers off. That is good. Uh, I keep all my devices uh, at minimum on off the grid as often as possible. Um, there there actually it's crazy how much of a difference this makes. I gotta pour myself some coffee. it is almost midnight, o'clock. Hello, um, what's up, we're missing talking episodes. Um, we're missing talking episodes from season 12. I can't find anything like past October, and I know it's on one of my hard drives, but all of my hard drives are full, um, I have like something like 10 terabytes altogether of stuff that needs to be like moved around and not all of it. Some of it's like really personal, like not personal, but like sensitive information that I can't necessarily utilize a cloud for. So I am it's taking me some time to organize some stuff. I I try to do between like eight and 12 hours of just organizing on any typical night after my uh exercise or whatever, or between I would say that exercise is definitely like the primary function of like my life. And that's like the priority right now, especially with the things that I've been going through. I think it's really important to keep my physical and mental health as um in in it's not gonna be at its peak, um, because of the noise pollution that I've been dealing with, and it's actually made me really sick over this extended period of two times. um, and I'm trying to um seek treatment for that, but it's a uh it's a long road, I have a long road ahead of me. We could just say that. Um, which is why I am giving you guys, um, some stuff that I've been working on that's not necessarily finished, and I'm actually really like, I'm embarrassed because I don't necessarily um I I actually have a hard rule of not releasing any music until it's absolutely finished. like even if it is a first draft, like it still has to be finished. um, but I actually and I gave you, I think, I think two tracks, which is actually four. um because this upcoming project, it's a concept album called a symposia. um and the concept for it is um a lot. I don't necessarily have to explain right now. Um, but all of the tracks so far on it are double tracks, and so it is typically I've always really loved albums that have that are like gapless. I don't think through my distributor, like I can never technically um, like put out an album that has no um technical stop or start between songs, like they would have to be cut a certain type of way that, like my distributor does it. There's always gonna be a gap between my music, but um all of the tracks are um double tracks, so they're all two tracks in one, um that are kind of along the same theme or idea and um like lead into the next track. I've always loved albums like that. uh, one of my favorite compilation albums, um like just to give you an example, just to throw it out there, is like, the Beatles love album, which is not actually a Beatles album. It's just a, um, it's a compilation of their um songs made for the Cirus Sole show that I think is still playing in Vegas. I don't know if it is it's been playing for like 10 years, and I still haven't seen it. um I really I really want to take mushrooms and go uh see that show. I've wanted to do that since it came out, but my favorite one of my favorite albums in the world is the love album, which is is basically a mash up of like their greatest hits, crafted by, um engineers and people who used to work with the Beatles and stuff for this uh Cir dis soet show um in Vegas that I hope I get to see I hope it's just one of those like long standing like like Siegfried and Roy. I just realized that they were in Vegas for like 40 years, like they were just there, they were just a stable, so hopefully that show is um kind of like that and one day I'll get the, uh one day I'll get the opportunity to see it. Like my my bucket list, like destination, like vacation at one point was to go see the Beatles love on like an EDC week. um that's still something that I want to do. I promise myself I wouldn't go to EDC unless I like ever got booked there. Um, and I think this year is like 30 years or something of EDC, and so they um they sold out in like five minutes. um so it's it's not it's not something I'd consider doing by myself anyway, unless I was gonna go with my best friend, and um and I was like I was talking to my best friend and I was like, oh, maybe I should check on, like the early bird tickets for ADC, and they were like, they was sold out, and was this celebrating 30 years, and I'm like, okay, well, I guess I should uh work on getting a booking agent, but my music is not my music is kind of turned into like a passion project. um, since everything that I've been going through over the last couple of years kind of just like took me off my path in that sort of way and DJing, I kind of wanna preserve it as like, I really love being a DJ. I really love producing music and because it's so consumer, there's a bunch of people in the industry that are not necessarily like music oriented or love oriented, and it's just like a whole different vibration from like the peace and the love and the unity respect of that. Like I like the scene for. I really want to check out, like as far as a festival goer is concerned, I really wanna check out some of these new festivals that are popping up that are doing like no cell phones. I kind of wanna check those out, cause I feel like the quality of of the experience has been preserved or will have been preserved in in certain spaces like that, um, but anyway, I'm uh I have been physically ill for like a few months now. um, and so the best that I can do for you guys my audience just because I'm not sure if I will get symposium out this year in which case it will come out next year. um, and then I think this track, I'm not sure, this track is definitely like a track that was in my mind. um implementing all of the like sound design stuff that I'm doing for symposium and is also a double track. um it's called Forget me nots. uh and then the second track is followed through. uh,get me nots/follow through. I think it's like an eight or nine. um minute track or whatever. It's not finished. Um, actually, the only finished track that you guys have heard, and even this even bitter butter and southwest of your scars is like a double track that is finished, that is on symposium, but it's still the version one, like it's not um I haven't done like any of the final mastering or any of the things that I do in the process of getting ready for a a release. I do have like a a like an implemented ritual structure of doing things like that, even for projects that seem like mindless, or, you know, things that are seem seemingly just like thrown together, like chasing dragons, was kind of like not necessarily even a concept until the three tracks were like sandwiched together, and I was like, oh, okay, like, this does tell a story and and they were all created in a certain way so that they'd go together. I think I fixed that. um, because, um, chasing dragons, the EP was for some reason, when chasing dragons got released to, like all the major platforms, it had chasing dragons was the first and the last track, and then dishes and the sink was just in the middle, which was weird. um so the third track on chasing dragons is actually immortalist and I got that all fixed. and I also got the regular like the normal version of the songightfall is out on the platforms now. Those were two er errors um that I needed to fix that I finally did. um but I'm slower to do music things now because like I said, my health is the priority. So it's like, yo, if it comes down to like getting a good meal in or like some good exercise or like right now I'm doing active recovery because I'm dumb. I went from like not really running anymore and only walking for an hour every day on the treadmill and doing like an hour between one and two hours on the pelotone, a day which is technically still three hours of work, um, but then I went back into heavy training the way that I preferred to do like I prefer to be at the gym between two and three hours every day. That is my ideal. That is where my body feels comfortable, um and flexible and like happy. Um, and if I can do that in the very beginning, like to start my day, cause I don't necessarily have 24 hour, like days anymore. um like what's technically the end of my day is oftentimes the very beginning of other people's days, and so I'm kind of just on on night, like, routine because it is like, I'm I'm basically just like protecting myself from the uh, you know, like my my nervous system can't take any further damage. Like, I do have really pronounced synesthesia and, um, I wasn't necessarily like planning to be exposed to extreme like noise pollution for an extended period of time without having the financial security or stability to escape from it, cause honestly, if I could have moved, I would have moved or if I could have just left, I would have just left, um, but I obviously wasn't in a situation that I could, and so I became very vulnerable um, to this type of attack, which I learned was actually very common. It's not something that is just like, oh, you know, um, this is just something that I'm going through. It's actually a very common for people of color to be, um vulnerable to this kind of disease that comes from um an implementation of using sound as a weapon. And I mean, like the irony is is that I was already kind of studying synesthetics and the way that, you know, as a culture or the way that in as as far as like mass consumerism is concerned, that's why people pay so much for a, you know, festiv for the festival experiences because sound can be a very much uh manipulated to be a physical thing. It's not, you know, it's not invisible. And so the fact that those same kind of um those that same kind of engineering can be implemented also in a negative way to have a negative effect. Like, you don't have to punch somebody in the face, like, you can just back up your exhaust, your engine exhaust, and, you know, fire at point blank to somebody that is, you know, caught off guard. and in that way, um sound can be used as a weapon, it uses the same dynamics, the same kind of dynamics as, you know, the reason why we go in the th you know, in flocks by the thousands and the millions to these festivals to feel the vibrations that that are on the opposite end of the same spectrum, the healing vibrations of, you know, certain things. and so I've been doing my best to try and, you know, maintain a certain level of health through, you know, using, um, you know, certain frequencies to block out. But when it's your physical person is in a space that's being manipulated to be on a certain frequency, um, uh, the exposure to this negative frequency that is unnatural to your body over a period of time. um, you begin to get very, very sick and that's what's happened to me. And so I'm trying my best to like keep my head above water and, you know, stay afloat. Um, but I didn't expect it especially after, you know, a period of like two or three years before that, where I was just like on the go all the time. Um, and, you know, not necessarily having like a a suitable foundational stability or a place to call home and then going straight into something else that was like more traumatic and more violent than, um then I expected, and so I've been trying to remedy that. um, the best that I can and because I'm putting my mental health and my physical health first, I'm not necessarily like, I it was weird. I was kind of in like a meditative space and I had, you know, like this this kind of spirit come over me that was like music, you know, music is gonna be there forever. like, as long as you're as long as you exist, you know, whether it's in like a physical realm or like an infinite realm or whatever, like as long as you exist, there's always gonna be music. and that was kind of like the sign that like, K, as much as I do like having a streak of, you know, like being an Ableton every day for several hours a day. um, the way that I am using these techniques that I'm applying in symposium and as seen on TV, which reminded up being a double album, because I actually have, um, like several, um, tracks that are like honestly on TV, I've been working on since, like, 2023., like, early 2023. Um, and so, the things that I've like collected, it's kind of interesting because my evolution as an artist or like my technique as a producer will be, um represented here in this project, which I hope comes out next year, but I can't say for sure, cause it's probably the it's definitely the biggest, most um important album I've ever worked on and I I put a lot of care and thought into those as seen on TV tracks because it does um like creatively, I guess, run alongside this series into the multiverse and all the series within the festival project, uh Ascension Death Wish, legends, um the legend of uh, the secret life and the sweet life of sunny Blue, just to name a few, there are I keep trying to make like a list of all of the shows within the festival project, but then I'm like, oh, like there are so many that it would it just falls apart. And so I mean like I'm getting a little bit more organized with the with the actual structure of, like, the television and movie, like, script part of the project. um, while I'm cleaning out my hard drives, but having to organize everything so that it's, you know, so that I can go to a certain hard drive and be like, okay, well, this is um, you know, this is this season to this season. I'm still archiving episodes from, you know, 2021 and and because a lot of those statistics can't be like once I delete an episode from the podcast, it goes away and all the all the statistical information about the number of downloads,, like all of its information, all of its metadata goes away. and that's very important for what I'm going through in my personal life right now in order to protect myself for those things to be taken down, but also for it to be archived in a way that I can reference as a creator like, okay, this is this day that this was published with this, that like, because it's it's a time travel concept that is multifaceted, and it is like based in this multiperceptory m multiperceptory multiimensional concept of technically technically infinite time and space, like it has to be organized in such a way that, like, all of the series and all of their all of the ways that they're connected to any particular parallels have to be, you know, they have to be organized and documented so that because I'm the more that I'm looking at it, the more it makes sense. I'll be like, oh, like, I thought this was just like nonsense or whatever, but when I'm putting it into like an organized space, um, and to me, that's like the god part about it is that like, oh, like, um like, I' I'll be looking at the writing and noticing how it takes like particular shapes or how the shapes will cut is sometimes like make pictures, like sometimes when you're looking at the clouds and you see, you know, shapes and the clouds. sometimes the riding for this project is like that, which is kind of incredible to me.c it's not something that I'm doing um, intentionally, it's kind of just something that's happening. I'm writing in a stream of consciousness that's also, you know, like artistic, creative in a way, that kind of has this, like, sense of divinity to it that I'm not necessarily, like, consciously doing. Um, so everything has to be organized in such a way that like it is gonna take time, um, and because it takes time and a lot of the other things that I did not foresee happening or also taking a lot of my time, like a lot of my my time and energy to document like how sick I've been getting a lot of time and energy has been focused on just like, doing the research on, you know, like crazy crazy shit that I never really took interest in, um, but could be applied here. um, could be applied to this situation and and kind of just finally being able to have a piece of mind to give myself the benefit of the doubt that, like, it wasn't in my head. like, I just had to be uh, I just had to be pushed to the point that I could understand, you know, that this um, sometimes very silent type of, um, you know, warfare is is like a documented not even necessarily historically, but like presently and present day. um, they're just I don't think haven't been enough survivors of this kind of thing, um, that it could be, um that it could be notably researched, like the amount of reports, but, you know, it's it's not it's not by choice, like it is taking up a lot of my time and I wish I was the kind of person that could just ignore it. Um, but I'm getting very physically ill. Um, so I can't, like, I can't ignore the fact that, like, you know, I'm running on zero pretty much all the time, and that my my patterns of speech have changed in my, you know, my thoughts have been intercepted and my, you know, like, because physical and mental health is such a priority to me, the fact that those things have been the primary uh, source of degradation has has affected me in such a way that it's not, I mean, like, it's less emotional than it is the logical answer to, you know, like if you have a cold, you take cold medicine or if you have the flu, you take, you know, it's it's like, well, remedying something that is a fi physical illness, you know. um, removing the cancer from the body, uh, you know, in such a way that it doesn't come back is kind of my main primary concern in this way. Um, so I am am especially because I can't but the talking episodes are actually more popular this season than any other season. and I can't find like six or seven of them, because I I don't know, I was just switching out all my, you know, uh my stuff so quickly and pulling things out of the cloud that it, you know, got saved under drive zip eight, seven six nine, you know, like. It's it's just a mess of of terabytes and tabyrites of creative work, um, and, you know, other things that I've had to dedicate my time to, which is not necessarily fair, but, you know what they say is life is not fair. Um, so, you know, life hasn't been fair, but I have, you know, been blessed in such a way that, like I I I've at least been able to um creatively channel some of the some of the energy and some of the time that I have left over that is technically mine. while in the sense that I've had a lot of my time and energy just stolen in siphoned, um, you know, I have been able to kind of forge a medium through fighting this that allowed me to, you know, start doing art along the lines of, um more more the way that I want my music to to think and feel. And so I'm I'm still just working from a little tiny MacBook air. um, so my, you know, um, my projects get like overwhelmed really quickly. I can't necessarily implement all of my um my plugins or all of the tools that I like to use at once, and so everything is kind of segment segmented in the way that I'm working. um and like, yeah, my projects get overloaded very quickly. um so the tracks that I'm giving you are not finished, but they're more um I would say like they're more, like colored, they're more like filled out. It's not necessarily abstract in the way that some of my stuff is like very like, you know, like drag and drop and cut and go, well, I do a lot of like, even in my even in my like my cut and dry stuff, I do a lot of sample manipulation. I very rarely will keep a sample in the way that it is without doing something to it, you know, like, I don't do dragon drop, um, unless I'm planning on just, like, you know, giving a beat to a rapper a artist for free. like, sometimes I'll just be like, okay, for the next 15 minutes, just do, like, something, you know, like a two or three minute, like dragon drop or whatever. But those those are not necessarily tracks that I A share here or B like plan on doing anything with because the world of sampling has gotten to the point where it's like, yo, you gotta have some creativity, like you can't just open up a sample pack and drag it and drop it into place, because then you have eight or nine songs that sound exactly the same. Eight or nine songs that are the same because basically you're just putting together a, you know, you're putting together stems from a track that was already created, you know, by somebody that's trying to sell you something, so um, you know, I I take a little bit more creative uh integrity in the stuff that I do mean seriously. Um, a lot of it lately hasn't been serious, but I I actually did want to take an hour to talk about this not this track in particular, just talk about why I'm doing this because it was something that it was like, oh, I feel like this project is a little bit more special or is a little bit more like technical than some of the other work that I've shared here on this podcast or work that I've put out before and so I kind of wanted to keep it to myself um, but then I've kind of had a couple, like, you know, like heart shattering experiences that make me realize, like, you don't know. like, you don't really know what's gonna happen and life is, um, sometimes very cruel and sometimes life is, you know, it just takes turns that are not necessarily. um you know, like you don't you don't ever know. And my mindset has not necessarily been that negative. It's like, oh, everything, you know, there's a there's a reason for everything, and blah, blah, blah, and I still do believe that, but like, you know, two years of constant, like, torture and stress to the point where I don't necessarily have a medium for support or, you know, um, like, I don't necessarily have the foundation of community. um, being in a place that is not my home and coming from a family that's very, very small and doesn't necessarily have, you know, well, like, I don't have what some people have, I don't have a large network of family and friends and the kind of family and friends that you create for yourself in the business are not necessarily, um, you know, like people can't necessarily be trusted to have your best interests. Um, especially especially if you are coming from like a a margin for success that, you know, is documented, like you've done well, you can't necessarily still believe that, like, everyone in your immediate circle has the best interest for you, because it is in human nature that everybody has, you know, themselves as the primary interest, and so um, me being like a a solidly um you know, like self sufficient. I won't say independent person. um, driving towards independence or whatever. um, but being a person that spends a lot of time in solitude and with enough respect, like enough self-respect to understand what my when my spiritual and my personal boundaries are being pushed even even in a person you know, professional setting. um like I took today for active recovery because I'm dumb and I went straight back into training as if I'd never really stopped. like it okay, like I'm on the Peloton seven days a week and I have a treadmill that I walk on in for an hour a day, you know, five to six days a week, but it's not the same as like being in the gym and lifting in stri strength training and and um active recovery um but I was like, okay, if I was running like a Madonna or whatever, you know, for this amount of time, then I should be able to do that. I should be able to do that. No, I didn't run a Madonna, but I ran like a 3K and then a little bit. and I like, my body was like, yeah, this is good, but then I had, like the rest of the day and I did not properly hydrate, and I got, like even more sick. and so I'm like, oh, fuck. Like, I really got like I really got a prioritize, like, my physical health, because if I keep letting myself get pushed, you know, like over the summer, before requisite when I was just like, oh, you know, like, I'm just gonna record. I'm gonna go to Manhattan 20 fucking days in a row and not take a day off and I'm also gonna train, you know, and I'm also gonna do this, like the like, I'm maximized my potential for burnout, which also left me per like, personally vulnerable. to the, like, professional sabotage and, like, weird, underhanded, like, underbelly shit that, like people in the DJ circuit are doing because it's so hard to actually break through., from the level of like consumer professionalism right now. So people are doing like a lot of nasty things to try to get that main stage spot and I wasn't like in my head, I'm still very much like a Disney kid, like, I'm still like, I don't necessarily well, I mean, like Disney to teach us like, there's always gonna be a villain, but like, a society kind of undoes that teaching and is like, but that's just in movies and that's just in your head, but there's no like to me, I there is just this weird misst up between real life and what is told that like, okay, like anything that exists that is like in a certain field of negativity is just in your head. but, like, evil is it like a documented source of the opposite of good. since the beginning of time, and I just don't understand in how in a society we can philosophically and psychologically embrace therapy, however, when it when it comes to, like, real lived experiences, when you're dealing with something that is not necessarily, uh, like a normal part of societal living, like that stuff only happens in movies. I'm like, but it does happen. Sometimes you just have to, you know, like being having I've I've never really been such a socially dependent creature. like, a lot of people have to have some kind of validation. That's why social media is like ruling our society right now. is because people have to have the validation or the likes of whatever they're doing is like cool with the rest of the group. and to me, that this is dangerous group think. like, if you're all thinking the same way, then there's something being missed. There's always something being missed, you know, if you're all on the same frequency or the same form of thought, you know. And so, I've always been like a big, you know, maybe it's just because I don't have any siblings. I've been like a big believer in embracing, um, independent thought, like, okay, if everybody else is thinking one way, then what is the opposite of what everybody else is thinking and not necessarily alluding to the fact that the opposite might be the right thing, but anything between whatever the group think and the opposite is, is also like valid, could be valid, you know, it's not necessarily the opposite of what everybody's thinking, but it's somewhere along the spectrum of maybe that or maybe the opposite, like it could be anything else in between. And so I think I'm the kind of person or the kind of thinker that's motivated by the the spectrum, you know, the spectrum, uh process, anything in between, like not necessarily that, not necessarily the opposite of that, but like what other possibilities, you know? um, could be validated or verified through thinking outside of the box or outside of a you know, being forced to the point of conformity that, like, everything sounds the same and everything looks the same and everything has like a way. That's not necessarily wrong. um, but also not necessarily the only way or right. um, so that I' of been uh what what did I get on that round about? I don't know. I've just been playing with like a lot of different concepts, like not necessarily trying to sound like anything. or anyone, and also not necessarily having the opportunity or environmental expression, like the space to be able to sound like myself. Like I still don't artistically or musically think that I sound like myself. um, and that they are elements of myself there, but it's something that's kind of, um, in its, you know, convex form of being this thing that is potential, but not necessarily fully realized or realizable yet. Like, I haven't had I haven't had peace and I haven't had like full p I haven't had peak health in a long time, or a safe environment in a very long time. and I think that the disallowance of comfort, not necessarily the safity of um of complatancy, you know, or or being comfortable to a point that it's it becomes dangerous, um, but just being able to kind of be in a life that is not necessarily like violent or terrible all the time. I think removing these barriers has not necessarily been a foreseeable reality for nearly a decade and while some artists technically thrive in what is, you know, what is this, you know, tragedy and darkness? It's there's only so much of a certain space that my creative ingenuity can take up and not void. And so, understanding that this time is kind of transitional in the sense that eventually it has to in no matter what direction break free from its current state of, you know, entrapment and its current state of imprisonment. um and so in my artistry and not will change, but I don't think I don't think it's necessarily going to be like fully realized until I have a a a point that I'm in an environment that I can breathe and be and think clearly without the force of control or being subjugated to, you know, a certain level of violence that's not necessarily always physical, but is certainly not, um, you know, without it's notable, um, impact on my physical health, my physical and mental health. So that being said, um, this track, um, this track is somewhere between symposium and, um, as seen on TV, I think I began writing it before the concept for symposium was fully formed. and, um, I think it was like the first of its little group of double tracks and I didn't necessarily mean, like, for the story, cause it, you know, ideally, like a song is like five minutes or less or whatever. um five minutes or less or whatever, but I've again, not been, uh, trying to conform to what is supposed to be this, or what is supposed to be that, and, um I don't know. I I began writing it in with the mindset and the technicality of symposium, but also as I listen back to it, um, I'm also using elements that have been implementing for the last few years into as seen on TV. And so there's some like to me, it's very beautiful. Again, what what is more important or more, you know, like wh what is more palatable for my audience is always differed like my favorite tr tracks are not your guys's favorite tracks from what I'm looking at for for the numbers, you know, my favorite episodes of me talking are not your favorite episodes for me talking. So, I mean, like they're exists here, this obvious, like, it's weird because a lot of artists can be applied to their fans and to their listeners. It's like the the listeners are being projective of like they see themselves in their favorite artists, or they see themselves reflected back through an artist that they, you know, like Taylor Swift, like, all her fans are Taylor Swift and like, most artists are that way that, you know, they're reflective of the people that they look like and have the same experience of and that's how, you know, um, that's how mass that's how mass media works. It's reflected, you know, through the medium of sorts, you know, um it as a as a concept that is shared amongst all all of those, you know, people. um, but I'm looking at my numbers and I'm realizing that, like, oh, there there's like a distinctly different flavor from the way that, like, my perception of what is my best work is and what my audience thinks is the best or, you know, the like I look a lot at the numbers not as they happen, but like over time, whereas I'll be in hiatus for a certain amount of months and then I'll come back. and see what the numbers are reflecting in in what is more, you know, palatable for my audience, like what my audience is is actually agreeing with more is like my better work and it's always not it's not necessarily again, it's not necessarily opposite. but it's not um, you know, it's not always what I expect to be. So this to me, I like um, but it doesn't necessarily like that you, whoever you are as an audience is gonna agree. Um This is actually the least completed track. um I feel like I'm showing you yeah, like I'm showing you my my uh it just it's naked cause it's very much not done. This is probably the most incomplete thing that I've ever, like, put out for anybody else to listen to. Um, but just being audit honest as like a person, not like as a entertainer, cause I don't necessarily see myself as that anymore after these couple years. Um, but being honest, like as a human being, as like a person, um, I've had some times that feel as though are, you know, an indication of not having a very prolonged experience in this sort of way. And I don't, like, I don't wanna put a trigger warning on anything. And I don't wanna, you know, like I I also don't want to insinuate things that are not there. Um, but a lot of the time, that is just to say that I don't feel safe, um, that I don't feel, um safe or secure, um, and that there's not necessarily a like sh it's just New York City. There's no level of like autho like a there is no necessary authority complex that has any sort of like, ability to protect you, you know, from uh certain experiences that are not necessarily um, you know, there's there's no level of protection from from, you know, there there are more heavily funded organizations that are like banks and investments or are more funded than the police. So when you're telling the police, like, hey, I'm being, you know, stalked or harassed and like, there's a pattern and like, here's the evidence and they won't even look at your evidence. Um, even though technically by the law, like it is, you know, documented uh, verifiable, like verifiable, like, no, there's none in my head. Like, I have like the videos, I have pictures, I have audio recordings of like this is happening to me, and they won't even look at it, um, not necessarily because they don't want to, but maybe because they've been trained to look in the other way. Um, and then, you know, just the cultural disadvantage of like, youre snitch. I'm like, I'm also within inches of my life sometimes. and nobody's helping me. Um, and it's not necessarily a mental condition. I think that more now than ever, I would be like readily willing to admit like, oh yeah, like, I should just take the meds, but I'm like, this is I'm not hallucinating this. I'm not gonna take some kind of fucking pill for some kind of medication for something that's like, I'm experiencing this, and not only am I experiencing this with like my eyes, my nose, my ears, like, I'm now videotaping 100% of my life everywhere I go. If I walk out the door, I'm recording, like, that's how many times I've been stalked or followed. Like, if I walk outside of my apartment, like I'm I'm videotaping it, because if I don't, if something happens, then it's literally their word against mine. and the police is, like, literal their whole thing is like, if we didn't see it, it didn't happen. Like, you can get you can get, like beaten within an inch of your life and the police can show up and you can tell them and they can see you like bleeding from the face or whatever, and be like, that guy did it, but the police will straight up tell you. the police will straight up tell you like if we didn't see it, it didn't happen, like we can write the report, but like we like they will not investigate. Period. They will not investigate. And so understanding that, like that opens the, you know, the possibility of like way, way more heinous crimes, you know, being able to be, um, played out without, you know, without any possibility of you having help for that, as, you know, is like dangerous to me, and a lot of the time I feel like I'm in danger, um, to me, and so, my priority is not sitting down in Ableton and and you know, getting these cues just right, like, especially with this this track. um, like it's so, so far from complete, but when I hear it, it still sounds it sounds decent enough that, like, I'll give it to you guys just in case, like like the least sometimes that I feel is gonna happen is that I just get hit by a bus. uh, which does happen almost any time I go outside. It's like, I will not get a bicycle. I won't because I'm like, that's like the easiest way to ensure that I will get hit by something. I'll get hit by something. um I will get hit by something, so I don't um I don't, you know. I'm just trying to, uh, get along and protect myself and away that, you know, maybe possibly enables me to, like, disappear. I don't necessarily need to be anybody. I stopped fighting for that main stage spot a long time ago, cause I I see that it's not about like it can't necessarily be about the love when it's about the money. and I have so, so much love. like for the music, um, and for what used to be the scene. I mean, the scene's always been kind of dirty. You pick up any book about DJ culture, about festival culture, you know, about music in the in the sense that it's been meant in the rave world has always had like a CD side to it. um because it was previously a counterculture, you know, that became mainstream and it still definitely has its like flavor, it definitely has its like, you know it's flavors to it, which, you know, is is a magnetism or like a draw, that's like, oh, there is this darkness that exists, but like, at the core of it is the frequency, you know? And I think that if there was ever going to be like a place for like a placeholder for success for me and the industry, it would be somewhere in the future when it can be a more decisive. No, what am I trying to say? Oh, I don't know. I think that money really fucks things up sometimes, and because of the amount of inequality in the world and the fact that the the world has become such a competitive space, um, that there're actually less places for opportunity for artists, even though it seems like there should be more. um I think until it's like about wellness, yeah, I think in until music can be until we can create like spaces where wellness is like at the center of these, you know, gatherings, then I don't think it's necessarily going to be like a safe place. Um for anybody, but let alone for me, because I'm very much like a fragile person when it comes down to, um, like per like the protection of my spirit and the protection of my aura, I don't necessarily want to be in a place of uh tragedy or a place of defense all the time. I I wanna go outside and and be in defense mode 100% of the time. I am right now, so um, like anything I I I kind of take it with a grain of salt in the way that like anything I say can and will be used against me. And so I don't say so much. I I don't say so much, and I want to be sure to take care of my art in a way that it doesn't is not, um, you know, so that it doesn't necessarily exist in a place of toxicity or that it's not coming from. Like, I won't sit down and Ableton if I feel a certain way. It's not just me being lazy. Like it's if I have like a certain vibration that's incurable, like it's not uh it doesn't make sense for me to, like, you know, sit down and work on a track. So this this track, uh, forget me nots and follow through. um, I think it is the first track and symposium. I don't know, because when I listen back to it, I also hear um when I listen back to it, I also hear as seen on TV, like a lot. um like a lot. And so it's kind of interesting to see those two kind of elements of my artistic personality combined, because I think the tracks that I've shared with you that are from symposium or different in the way that they're um made only one way, but this one is definitely implementing um techniques from two projects. Um, so the what are the two other ones? I think it's like talked to me about it. Is that oneosium? I think so. and bitter butter and southwest of your scars. Ah, those are all from this project, but then I I look at this one, which is technically the first of the bunch and it's so not done. that I'm like, don't put it out until it's done. and I'm like, well, and might not ever be done with the shit that's happening is kind of scary. Like, it's I might I may not ever be able to get back to a place where this is possible because of the things that are continually happening uh, to me. Um, I I don't know what the source of evil is. Like, I really don't, like I am very much a spiritual person and I do have like the tendency to believe that like no matter what God has my back so if I'm removed from one situation or existence into another, it is for the protection of that aura, for the protection of that frequency, for the protection of, you know, keeping my, you know, um my source intact, like there's, you know, certain elements or certain frequencies that can't exist in in other realms. I think that, uh, a toxic environment. Like my energ is not going to sustain an intoxic environment. It's just not. It's just not. It's not necessarily even a personal or emotional preference. It's more of like a oh, this doesn't go in there. Like this doesn't go there or I don't exist over there. Like, I don't, you know, it's not. I think I wish that I could be applied to like every space and time, but I think that there are certain drawbacks to being in energy that is applicable to anything and everything. I think that, you know, in the very rare circumstances that an energy like that exists, um it's very magnetizing, it's very, uh enigmatic and it's very charismatic in the way that, like, everybody wants it, everybody wants a piece, everybody wants to be around it, but also for that person, you know, where that energy exists, you know, for that vehicle, I think that it becomes like exhausting to the point that, you know, um, the human of of that, um, you know, the human of that energy is entirely vulnerable all the time. And so those people that are, um designated to do those kinds of jobs, having that high level of power and energy are also, uh, you know, in every sense of the word, um, like exhausted to some effect, um, and I'm exhausted, um, but I think that this last two years has been a case study for all of the like I mean, like she's just horrible things people are doing to each other to try to get ahead, you know, like to try to get a little bit of the pie just to get the tiniest crumbs or to get you know, people are stepping on heads out here. Like people are doing what it takes and they're justifying things that are technically morally, you know. so very morally, uh, corrupt and so so so bad to other people with the justification of like, that's just the way it is. Or you you gotta do what you gotta do and I'm like, yo, dude, but like again, my energy just does not exist in that space for that mindset you know where it's like you know, um because I also believe that like a certain level of justifying, you know, morally uh, you know, morally corrupt behavior eventually just makes it so that you can't get ahead. I I honestly chronically believe that, like if you're constantly fucking other people over just to get to the top, like your top is not going to be consistent with what is actually success and what is actually um freedom, you know, like, you are gonna owe back energy to a certain extent, you know, um, because you stole it in the first place, like, you can't you can't sustain on stolen energy. Like you cannot do it. Like you cannot exist in a place that that was taken from somebody else without something else in turn being taken from you. I honestly truly believed that with every like with every last breath, with every last word, I honestly believe that like that that good overpowers evil. Like, you can't sustain on something that you robbed from somebody, you can't sustain on something that you you know, that that you took, eventually, you know, karmically, um, it comes back too, and so, I don't think energy is any different. I think if you suck the life out of somebody, eventually something' gonna get sucked out of you and, uh, it's one of those things where it's like one step forward, two steps back for people who uh subsist on energy that way. I just I don't know. um, I try more and more to be conscious of my self to point where I realized that um the effect that I have on people could be, you know, long lasting. It's it's something that could be like a ripple effect, and so I'm very careful with my energy in the way that, you know, I if I dole it out, I expect I expect 39%. I don't know why that's the number. 39% to get it back. um, you know, on a certain way. And uh understanding my limits and my like just understanding my ability and my placement. understanding the, you know, the the love you make. yeah, all that. and the love that you make is equal to the love that you take. And so um also, I think that love in itself is probably the most valuable heat source and that it overpowers what is um technically needed in the society of, you know, for survival. I think that love overpowers, you know, whatever material, you know, the material sense of existence is. I think that love overpowers, whatever is morally corrupt, whatever is systematically corrupt. I think that love at the end of the day, like, really does put in its place. um what is supposed to be and what is not supposed to be. And so in because I think like living in this spirit with the understanding that like it took me a really long time. I think I having a a a victim's mentality of like, I must deserve this in some sort of way, but then understanding also like I didn't do anything wrong. Um Sometimes these things just happen and the understanding of why that is is not always attainable. Um, and so to wallow in it and to be like, why, why? You know, like, why? I mean, I think in a from a philosophical standpoint, I do a lot of this because it's like this doesn't necessarily make sense, but it has to it has to be an art artistic way for me to be like, well, it doesn't make sense, but like, you know, now I have ten pages about trying to figure, like, instead of actually just wallowing it and being like, what? Well, now I have ten pages of like this, you know, something that can be considered beautiful. you know, something that can be considered, uh, useful to somebody, maybe not now, but at some point in time, you know, because all of my work is is stored in like this digital time space, kind of like encrypted into history in itself being like a digital marker for, you know, something that very much did exist or did happen. I still believe I still live in the belief that like this, well, it's just like the overall knowing that this part, this faction of history is a very, you know, uh verifiable part of ancient history, you know, to a culture that exists like beyond our time. And so with that understanding that, like it's so crazy, because I do have this overriding kind of factor of, you know, God that's just kind of like, oh, these are ancient times. this is an ancient world and it's hard to like wrap your mind around it because youth, you know, you think of yourself in the present time of like being a, you know, a being of existence in the future. Oh, I watched the jet the Jetsons. Oh, that was so good. I watched uh the Jetsons. which I didn't know is also the Simpsons. and like every animated show that came out on it like a lot, actually. It's a good show. I got I think I gotta watch it again because I was like, oh, this is like ten different shows. It was like ten different shows. um but I watched like the pilot, I think episode of the Jetsons and I was tripping. I I was tripping. um it was just really good. Anyway, um I think what what was I saying? Oh, like this time being like a marker for actual actually being a primitive civilization. Whereas like not necessarily compared to what we know as the primitive civilizations, you know, of human time, like, you think of primitive civilizations of being like the ancient Egyptians or, you know, the Mayans or, uh, you know, the Greeks, uh loved them. I really I I almost even favored them over the Romans. almost, almost, almost, I don't know, I could talk about history and culture forever. cause I'm like, but the other Romans really, like their architecture, but the Greeks more culturally, like artistically, I think where what is the word for them? Uh, the Greeks? What is the word for them? I think there were definitely more, uh yeah, yeah, definitely more artistic philosophical than the Romans, but the Romans had like a lot, like a lot to do with modern society to the point where that's also uh admirable. I do like the Romans. They're just like shitty and violent. They're just shitty and violent anyway. um what was I saying? I don't know. I'm wrapping this up. cause I'm hungry. I don't know about a taco, though. This is technically the start of my day. at midnight o'clock. Um, at midnight o'clock. oh, that's what I was talking about. Markers for ancient civilizations. Oh, yeah, this this time is so so far beyond. But I think the the incredible thing about this time that we're living in now presently, um, is that it is so, like there's so much record of it that it does exist beyond our time for, you know, potentially millions of years and into hire and further civilizations. So I kind of live with that, like, understanding of like this this also and itself being like, a part of the ancient world as far as time is concerned, you know? like, in as much a stipulation of like any apocalyptic or societal, you know, destruction is made, like nothing really sees past, like nothing really sees past the fact that, like, they're so much historical information about our present time in the future that it is consistently creating to an adding to like the what am I trying to say? Oh, something about the multiviverse. Something about the cosmos or something. constantly expanding, because it is, but whatever, I actually just kind of made this as a real time episode to so that I could share this song and then um not really like I don't necessarily have anything for you, anything else for you in this season. um it's there. like, there are six or seven other episodes. There might even be some music. oh, all the freaky Fridays or whatever, mix tapes. Did I even post what up Wednesday? I did I did a freaky Friday on a Wednesday and it was arguably the best. of all the freaky Fridays. I don't know if I posted that already. um I don't know if I posted that already. but it's not. Also, like my podcasting distributor is kind of archaic. So it takes a lot of work just to go check on what's been posted or whatever. um So I'm I'm not going to make any promises and be like, oh, go check if that was posted. And if it is posted, I'll just maybe post it again, cause it's worth it. Um, what up Wednesdays? I did it twice, actually. um because it got difficult to do freaky Fridays. It's still kind of fucking difficult to do it. And, uh, I it pains me to realize, like, how physically affected. I've I have been. um cause it sucks, cause it's not just something that's in my head, it's like ow, like, my body hurts. like, I cannot, you know. I can't withstand a certain frequency or electronic exposure that is negative over this much time. Like, I'm just like broken down right now. Um at least I'm still capable, cause I didn't ever think. I was like, I don't think I'll ever run more than a mile again. Um, I probably should um take the proper steps to make sure that, though, uh, now that I'm running again, I take the proper steps, like, I forgot to stretch, and I forgot to drink water. Stupid. Well, I I just felt so good to run. I love those woodway treadmills so much, so much, it just felt so good that I didn't that I couldn't stop and then when I did, like my body is like, okay, like you're stupid. Like it felt really good, so I'm like, all right, like active recovery. I'm gonna do like two hours on the pelotone and then a walk. um, before I run again. and that's what I'm about to do right now. I love getting to the reunion parts of the bad girls club because as the most fighting and I burn the most calories during the reunions, I just finished to season. I just watched the season for the second time. and uh I have a reunion episode coming up, so I'm a I'm— I don't know. I'm pretty boring person to be quite honest, but here's the song. okay, I'm at an hour yet. Here's the song forgetmenot// and follow through. It's not finished. Like if I could give you a percentage on the— what are you doing? Yo, this dudes are weird all day. I'm sorry. Um. He's so funny. He's so funny. Earlier he like earlier he like sneezed. Earlier he sneezed. But like also farted and this scared himself so bad that I could not contain myself. Because he was like embarrassed. but like, also he sneezed and farted and probably could not. He was like, oh, my God. Like, oh my God. And then, uh, I laughed for like a good five minutes after that. He seemed genuinely embarrassed. I was like, yeah. yeah, that that is shocking that you can manage to do something like that. like being a cat, but, you know, oh, he did. It was good. That's why we have emotional support animals, because I needed that laugh. I don't think I' laughed so hard at anything in a very, very long time, so I'm glad I have my little kitty. my satterat, my Mr. Cat, mush matters anyway. uh, was I wrapping something up? I was.ive meods to follow through. this song that's about to come up, and then I'm maybe I'll maybe I'll if it's not out already. Well, if it is, here it is again, what up Wednesday? I'll go dig it out of the fucking archives. you guys couldn't have that. decent. Um, keep in mind that the CDJs at the radio station, where do Freaky Fridays are also very archaic? Um, I'm not complaining, though. I don't know. I don't know if I got to the episode where I was talking about that. Uh, or maybe I got I got fi I gotta figure it out. um I gotta figure out where these episodes are. There's like six or seven. Should I uh honorable mentions or dishonorable mensions? I feel like it borders on both. because I just figured out what apparently the six seven phenomenon is. And I'm actually worried about suburban children, like, having act like, why are they saying this? Because I looked up I looked up where it came from, it came from this rapper called scrilla dude. not gonna lie. One of my personal favorites, cause I love rap, that is terrible to a certain extent. um and it is, like it's not only it's not only like it's not lyrically terrible. He's actually really good um He's actually really good whatever he's saying. I know what he's saying, which is what's terrifying that, like, apparently suburban upper middle class and upper class children are saying this. six seven thing, because it came from this video by this rapper called Skrilla do doot. Yup. and well, it's culture music, like it's it's trap culture music, it's not necessarily drill, but it's done in the style of drill. um, talking about like the culture the culture the culture um that is not necessarily like great. cause he was talking I was like yo. what the fuck are children saying this for? Um, what the fuck are children exposed to this for? Because there was no, like parental block on it or anything like that. And the dude was talking about like, straight up murderer. He was like, yeah, m, like this though. And I was like, oh no, like I I actually kind of dig his music because it's it's like it's the music that was born of like the Young Thug and the low Wayne and themehesine and it's bad. It's really bad. Like it's really bad. like if your kids are saying six seven, like, the origin of that is not, I'm like,o, shout out sc a d do, because that is facts, but also like, like like kids should not necessarily like, everything he was saying and all of his songs, I was like, that's bad. That's bad that you said that. not that you shouldn't, actually. I feel like there, like art exists as a medium to be able to have this level of freedom of speech, and that's why it exists. But also like, if you understand which I think kids obviously don't if they're just like, oh, six, seven, I'm like, okay, like, but obviously, like, this is where that came from. Like, and this is where that came from, and the dude is talking about some stuff that I'm like what? Like, I'm not confused. I know what he's talking about. But like, children should not necessarily like, even if they don't know what he's talking about, this is not like, this is different from like, when I was like, 10 and it's getting hot in here. So take off all your clothes, like that came out or like to the window to the wall, like this is mild, those things are mild, compared to like, the shit that scrill a do dude. talks about. I'm like, oh, what? What? And apparently we little kids are seeing this and exposed to it, like, they don't necessarily know what it means, but he's like, yo, these are the lyrics to my songs. Listen. I'm like, oh, like. That's troubling. That that exists. That's troubling. truly troubling. I'm I'm not talking shit. I actually really like it, but like parental controls, like, my kids should not be exposed to this, like via the Internet. Like, you should not like, this should be something especially if you live in the subrooms like if you live in a house that has rooms, like if you live in a house that has rooms in an all. like the culture that this is referencing and you know what? The only thing that actually made me look it up was like so many people were saying it in the circuit of television that I watched that I was like, it was bothering me. It was bothering me like Labubu was, but Labubu was far less disturbing, far less. I was like, oh, no. this is not cool. This is not cool, David Letterman. This is not cool, because he was like,Yo, what's up six seven? I'm like, you're 106. I don't know why you're saying this. So I looked it up. So I looked it up, and I was like, oh no, like, okay, like we know it's a cultural fucking phenomenon, but like, do you know why? Do you know why? Like, do you know why? And do you know what this man is talking about? Do you know what this man is saying? Anyway. I'm not I'm actually not gonna say it. Like I'm not gonna say it because I think it it exempt exemplifies that's what I'm trying to say right yeah. I think it exemplifies and represents a part of the culture that is deeply, deeply, deeply, deeply wrong. um in the history of the United States of America. I think it's just bad news. It's just bad news. And it's bad news, like it exists, but the reason why it exists is terrible, like it shouldn't exist is it's terrible. It's bad. It's bad and it's bad that kids are saying this. It's bad anyway. it's really bad. Anyway, I got Peloton time, bad girls' club reunion, some coffee to reheat. Here's this song, um there's no anything else for a while. I gotta make sure that like my uh I got to make sure if I get taken out, it's by like a city bus. And, you know, not just because my insides are uh imploding. um and yeah, my insides are imploding. Uh, gotta take care of number one, which is me. So, that self serving thing I get, but, you know, I'm just not the kind to to step on heads or like, I'm not gonna make it, like, purposely harder for you to do something. Like, I do believe in free will to the point where if you're not hurting anybody else, it's not affecting anybody else's, like vibe, like, do what you want, like, as long as you're not objectively or subjectively hurting anybody. Like, just don't hurt anybody, but besides this, you know, take care of yourself, but it's not, you know. I mean, you're not causing any quantifiable harm. Go ahead and, you know? I, um, but that's it. That's that's it for me. Thank you for listening. Is that it? Yeah, forget me nots. It's not finished. I've got a lot to do. Like, I actually had this is a song that actually has like a list, like a handwritten list on a piece of paper of like do this and do that and do this and do that. But like here's what I have so far just in case, you know, the city buses be getting awful close to the curb sometimes. where I stand, I am yep, they do. anyway. um I said more stories to tell and stuff, but now it's not the time or the place. did I say my thing? Yeah, I say my. Dave you were listening. something, you're listening, see you next time. That's it, yeah. Yeah, I don't have anything else. Thank you for listening. See you next time, bye.

Did you get what you came for!? Already! I don't even notice. A bed of spaghetti with a side of honey cornbread, Something bout a conscious brother covered in your cologne early in the morning I probably ought to postpone the outcome But won't, Coz I'm still caught up on your Cornflakes Broke hoes with waffles Colbert Probably on the wrong show, For God sakes I can't fake it anymore! I got blanketed! I left all my bank notes Makes with blank faces, Staring st me like the Mona Lisa Wanna lean in with a secret, Give me a reason I should believe it And then eat it Drop a box of water on my “Not that” Turning over stomachs in the courtroom Just for profit I probably got my dollar back, Before I even dropped it I probably should pay off my taxes Before I run for office Checking out my dumb drumbs Rumba on a Sunday That's instead of psalms, boss Cross my heart in progress. One more time around— Or what? Or else. or else. (Instrumental/Rap Beat) Unreleased TBA Prod By -Ū. DBA Blü Tha Gürū Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

I do clearly not have the patience or attention span for psytrance so here's something I call “Psytrash” -Ū. Demo 1 Test “Sponglesauce” (Unfinished, Unmixed/Mastered V1) Symposium 2025/2026 TBA Prod By -Ū. DBA Blü Tha Gürū Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

I usually have a pretty strict rule about sharing unfinished tracks (don't do it) but under the circumstances I'm not sure I'll ever finish these. Here's a super early unmixed/unmastered v1 of a double track from my upcoming project Symposium. If projects called Symposium start popping up backdated just know who it really came from. I love Greek theatre and this concept has been a basis for the reality of an album I was trying to put out by the end of this year, but I dunno. The projects are a lot more detailed and technical than some of my more cut-and-dry forms. Anyway, I've had a bunch of people trying to copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ and {Enter a the Multiverse} and backdating to get an economic advantage in something they didn't think of or invent (people that have a lot of money copyrighting things I wrote or stealing my intellectual property.) People have been poaching my intellectual property and this is a form of targeted hate. I guess that's what happens in pay-to-play when non-creatives have financial advantage over those who have to work eighteen times as hard for their income. Just know my music is driven by passion and not so much with the mindset of needing it to have mass appeal to crowds or sell things. It's just art. I have this sort of hate coming from all directions right now and it's making me sick to the point that it might actually end my life, so here's this and will probably put out some other demos and unfinished music so someone gets to hear it, as times are uncertain and the stuff I've been going through is a bit evil, or like, beyond that. Thanks for listening and supporting my artwork and I hope you like it; Here's some proses and comedy or enter the multiverse or whatever. P&L. -Ū. Somebody tell me why this money lobster is snatching up the people wtf is going on. I swear to got we went five stops and did not move not one time. I saw the New York stock exchange building for the first time and I was so in awe of it, that it was a full five minutes I spent just looking at it before I realized there was a statue of a little girl standing right next to me in the same exact pose. I was like, “Oh I guess that's the vibe.” —Fearless Girl. When I bleed out for you— Something you wanted Standing in God at the bottom A lobster, a child in awe All bronze as the charging bull Cause you thought you were home, But you wasn't, Border on awkward You're always stopped at the border And poppin a tire just over it All for a song, But to tell you the tow was so worth it You're picking up dollars just outside the guitar shop It's only twenty more minutes I bought you a donut But broke all those promises I want to pour out my heart On poor Wall Street, Can't afford Walmart no more It's not walking distance from Brooklyn I broke all my horses in Telling them stories of Harvard Now how's that work for you? I want my deposit back I spilled my blood on the floor for four whole hogwarts; I told you it was a novel I want love no more, No I want nothing but upholstered coffins Whole organic coffee beans, And no more hard parties No more half naked bodies at equinox Under my rubber glove fortress No more jumping rope Or onto/ in front of the subways I want to die I want to go to heaven I don't mean the Equinox, That's probably where my head is I mean the place where all my family and my bed is And when i say my “bed” don't mean a salad lettuce So I can fit those dresses, I'm stressed beyond depressed, Sick of messes so [exit] I took a left Nexus, Something in my past about a Lexus Where the leg press is? Put one more set in. I won't lie, I just can't wait to watch CHAOS Hope falls And then I die To eat, On Livingston street— As history repeats itself, Thanksgiving lasts six weeks, I wish I was Netflix, Gangstalkers dressed in red, I cannot stress this much, I barely needed medicines, Then again, I met Miss Christine in this pristine design — Jimmy Kimmel, Live. —Cause that holiday was eight years long, maybe even Nine. Who is that? Oh? That's ol' one-arm sally. Why would you call her that? She clearly has two arms! Yeah, but you'd be suprised what she can do with just one. It's Hollywood's best kept secret— But maybe that's because it's being kept in New York. Happiness is a blue suit Happiness is a long tie A black tie function A quick exchange A long night And a shift change. Bury this with the gun, I'm no more trouble, The war was over, but learner, Mortimer, Oh girls young daughter You've got another thing coming I have a very good story to tell And it's only funny If it was not me; Welcome to my comedy hour. Zoe Kravitz Is Not Zoe Saldana Kinda. Almost. Maybe. He's a bird —that's a plane They said. “Let's crash together.” Then he blew up in the turbine Under my arm Woke up in the morning A long way from the runway; That's a strange, awkward situation I hope to almost almost Go dopamine on Microexpressions Sometimes I wish I unseen eyes— Lifetimes pass and I still I just counted three lies —damn. That shit happens all day, don't it. Sorry, Doctor; I just got to watch and love ya. Sorry, Mortimer, I sought out another coach and reporter, Sure, this low dosage got my heart broken But those blue adderall are much better than nothing. I promise, I saw the big one, broad shoulders— Boy, but I wanted the other. Don't you give that man an arrow! Don't you know that bronze bulls throw stones?! Also, —and she's tall— Whose your alter, Harper? THROW THE BALL. I think that's a bad I— JUST THROW IT! *does* You're right. That wasn't good at all. But, wait, don't— See me in sim city, Christmas trees and American flags, And I'm smitten; Six figures I go missing; Recees just said that, But Clorox degreases. Television— Rules The Nation. She is— 103 feet tall, I dive 110 feet deep I eat How many —ah fuck, here comes Skrillex again. Yeah, fuck. Go the other way. Ten tantrums, All in fault lines Guess which language you're going to crypt Gypsies in? Nobody gets me, But Zimmerman …okay I'll be entirely honest I like that typo —I wish. What the fuck was I typing anyway? How many times does it take to write a name like though before your documents just autocorrects it— Or is it Gemini is having programmed thoughts of him and I? Who is it, dear? It's Seth Meyers. Twice. Yo what's up with these late night hosts, yo? They all got weird parents, and weird lives or something… Like they came out of a box, or something. So you will admit Seth Meyers is a host now? Disqualified for lack of suit and jacket— however, I find that his lineage— YOWHO IS THIS GUY. It's Seth Meyers… And his shrunken head. Yo, That is creepy. You wouldn't even know, really… Ohhh that's how it's duplicating? Ah huh. Gross! I know gross! That's gnar-gnar. Whateves. We gotta get that head. You have to get it. I'm not touching that thing. Whatevs. Part I. Talk To Me About It// Pt II.Guardians of the (Unfinished, Unmixed/Mastered V1) Symposium 2025/2026 TBA Prod By -Ū. DBA Blü Tha Gürū Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

I had to hsve still believed in magic to some degree, because in all of the applicable ways it made sense, I applied it— much with reverence and spirituality such is religion, all of my ritual occultation was indeed still based in the science of source, as to say that God itself was all the major diety I needed to call upon, in prayer and in this thought process. I was more in alignment with this definition of divinity than with any given science or religion, or rather an antithesis of either, because as it seemed the walls would draw in on one or another, I found myself and my God at the center of all things, both dark and light— encompassing both the greatness of what was as known, and also not— the words and words seeming to pour from me like another space in time was held inside myself and beyond what even I could have understood. I couldn't force my artwork, and even knowing that I was slipping between the cracks as far as deadlines were concerned I was wreaking havoc in another realm of artistic torture— knowing what I already had, but could not possibly forage or put out— my unplublished works a daunting reminder of what was about me, but was not known. Then again, as an artist, I wondered had I any purpose at all in being known, or was it just some kind of harsh injustice to my own talent that I would hide in the shadows while I presumed some other alias or moniker would take the spotlight, and especially so for some of my more controversial tones and pieces. Overall, I was devastated that these two years just as any other period in my life seemed just to be a fight against whatever the opposite of God was and my own absence from this light I with desperation called upon over and over— with the knowing well that in time and never my own that it did work, and that this magic and occult was a real substance, but never in the way that I might think or understand, and most certainly not under the guise of any rules of expectation. I was a flying saucer in the vast expanse of outer known time, and my own body was something like a waking memory of sliver for all that was and all I had done and could do in conciousness. In that aspect, I was not awake, and only dreaming in a way that was personified by my self in the physical realm where I seemed to be having some kind of shattered montage of a life awakened from a death sleep and into the afterlife of an only somewhat waking world— the twisted bodies surrounding none less than the half capacity I'd ever had to congulate an imaged world in my own fortune, and I was sure otherwise I was half braindead or some partial version of a somewhat paralyzed and seemingly unconscious drone of one world or another, my inner essence escaping for freedom and in the silent darkness screaming up to the gathered surface to please pull the plug— to let me pass on, and to go into the world of fortune; under the circumstances it appeared as if the darkness was always grasping at its chance to imprison even this of what was left, along the lines of gratitude I felt shattered but also honored; whatever I was had also kept itself tied to these words and these colorful arts as a hidden sign that there was a truth in this previous life that had went unsaid. And so magic it was as it pertained to God because I believed in both or as one as another or one in the same. I am, dog on a leash I am heart full of love I am all out of time I am all out of home I couldn't make any sense of what seemed to be some kind of telepathic connection with the host of the tonight show, which I kept at a safe enough and respectable distance, but perhaps maybe it was telemetry. Perhaps somehow my strange frequency was intercepting with a broadcast signal, or a radio tower, or perhaps it was the show itself— as I called it, the ghost of Johnny Carson. Overall I hadn't meant for it to happen, but it did seem to always kind of rather by accident happen— my strange dreams of all the people coming together for the 50th anniversary of Saturday night live, and though for some or whatever reason thinking it would stop, but it hadn't, and in fact rumbling thoughts of mark wahlberg and some of the other recent guests could not have been a coincidence, nor could have been what seemed at the time Robert Dinero or any of the others who had been blooming in my mind in the weeks leading up to the event and I couldn't have considered it any more after being unable to focus on anything besides what seemed to have been a protruding vein from the poor man's forehead, which for myself had made me promise not to look at all too closely— Then, here it was nearly a year later and I couldn't do anything but momentarily curse aloud and pause in the thought of not letting myself go north of where I was in my media calling; even in the modern world of horrid things one human being does to another, under no circumstances whatsoever could I continue l to belittle and downplay my own self respect, especially in the grips of something that felt like a more rising sense of urgency than ever— I hadn't had sex in year with anyone, and there were very few things I actually wanted. I was increasingly picky to my own demise, and increasingly delusional, and vulnarable in such a sense that anything I knew I wanted, I also knew to respect myself enough to stay far away from. Not so much the double edged sword was this than simply knowing better— the other hosts and almost all the world were safe— this was not. I kept it out of the news And out of my head For awhile now; I kept it out of the noose As far as my head is concerned But after awhile, when I started to smile It was thinking of you; Now more than ever I've got more than nothing to lose. I'm a straight jacket away from an Oscar And eight days from my triumph I called also the Ace of the Spades, The Club and the Diamond I'm tipping my hat to your making But playing for tips And paying for service I've got more than four words But the forward was barely a dollar. I'm rarely a savage, But also, your honor I give not a gasp but a grasping at petals And strings of a flower The rock to a kite And a wind in the forager, So much beyond what I know is unmasked In my country not home But a foreigner CHAOS It took me two times to find you out.. It's not my fault, I'm not the one. CHAOS And still, you saw what God I was. The god of Chaos, not my love. You are not my king! “Not my king” he says I— And yet am king; A king of kind; The king of thieves! And you, my grace? Caring verily fir your thanks And what if my remarks? The careless woman! And of swords. Adeiu. But still untied I gallop! (Turning) And yet I stay. To careless words. A triumph. Not to mark my time to dust As there to wait in forests wonder, Catching, maybe, as you were But still my tied to bark an order To what! Your making. My kind! And gathered. The wake to drift the call to forward, And coming in the mark I gathered Your ties be mind, And yet the waiting shadows foraged (And also in the art I bathe) Several other ballads pondered To mine ties, your art my word Your thought my song, And wind my fortune And so you are, then my kite! I am both what kite and wind you may; But what of stone and rock? [suddenly, in modern tongue] I'm glad you asked. CUT TO: CONAN O BRIEN wakes up suddenly in his pleated blue pajamas from what seems like a very deep sleep. CONAN Surfing? I think I will go surfing. He gets out of bed and stares out of the window at the sunrise; it is a picturesque Californian day. {Enter the multiverse} I guess any time I try to terminate my state of being, I am annihilated You're really right; this is a death curse You're really right, this is a death curse Any time I try to find my way out, I am exiled You're right, this is a time bomb You're right, I've got my eyes closed Are there any intimate conclusions? Are there any derelictions, or delusions? And redactions or delirium, any infinity? Any fear at all? I hear you now I all bleed blue I'm born to suffer Stuff the earplugs in a little deeper little longer, Then we all get caught in martyrdom Or someone else's story Ooh, you started it Not now, God! He was born and gone in such an instant That I bark to love him First as dog and then as servant Other Master is absolved and yet absorbent I get caught in my own foul ball I have missed for trains Just decided to cast you all out The demons wandered Just like they wanted The snake still slithered, The owl still called I was also cosmic once Just I just forgot I was never pardoned Oh who are I I smell howling. Hogties withered out ones, Wondered weathered swallows When I see Whether or not You tip your hat to my making— The ball rolls, The owl cries, The harp sings, The hare runs, The mark, my cause. I am your forager. Then, gripping in the wakes The calls that bantered Not here or owl, I Not dog or rabbit, No wake and no fortune You are to run Or lest be tortured You are our call No, for what They says have ceased and the harp has stung sound, Not one but two sour notes aching, And there I bartered with all but nothing that I had To love, the power Then angst in me mine soul and my ties, My ways were na'er seek but shattered also I lake in lessons and drift in oceans and drown in all our skies, azure and lavender, Creeping in the cape that is both overshadowed our, I Gripping in the ways seeks foreign to none and also listened in your foyer Waking not as ghosts but yet as haunted Here tith thee my tide and I bade farewell And fate he they to keep our half tide I am hiding in your wakes and in my foreign I am forgotten and also withered, gathered! I am decrcrepit and unloved kept secret I am as shamed and as unwell as all our sick and tired Poor and outside I am as outside as the grass and trees have slaughtered I am as ancient as before the oceans tide did bring, my kind did watch your light come for us out of darkness And into my shores of only oceans you not know, My thoughts be born into your shadows And my own making is your honor Whatever that means This Is creepy. You're right! Fly bird! Fly! Uh. Did you bring a bird with you into the office. Kind of Kind of? Yes or no? I think of him fondly I killed myself on his birthday he didn't even want me But luckily it's also Obama's Birthday, that is I was not hot enough To this day I want another body Aftermarket Parts With happy accidents {enter the multiverse} Kind of! What does that even mean! Bird, go away! It means “kind of!” He follows me everywhere. What! Thais ridiculous. It is. Ridiculous! See, I've got to figure this out, because it seems like, indirectly, sometimes the weird and random things going on in my head, are at least very partially Actually [nevermind] This makes whatever I'm supposed to do increasingly difficult, on the basis that [Ahem] SNL alumni that [uncontrollable fit of hysterical coughing] ago. I can't understand what I might have done to deserve this kind of torture— My own accidental muses have all been [birds, at some point or another], Untouchable, entirely separate other monsters, and I've often thought that perhaps this is my kind of purgatory; Because I fell so insensibly and head over heels in love before and was still rampantly tortured and undermined, I was unwilling to see myself in any sort of attainable situation, And so everything had become some sort of fantastical delusion— Or perhaps even a hope that I could at the very least Become something greater; in that understanding the factors that were determining the outcomes of these other peoples lives I for whatever reason seemed to be magnetized to, I could emulate myself into a situation where none of it any longer mattered. Still, it was some sort of strange fascination that anytime someone seemingly out of place appeared somewhere in my dreams or in my rampant and running thoughts, they just so happened to be hovering somewhere near this [concept], and while it seemed some sort of intriguing, it was also deeply troubling, and dangerous, and wore on my consciousness in ways I could not consider well at all, or forward thinking Discussing this sort of feelings would simply mean a diagnosis of some sort of delusions, but without the risk of doing that far, I could simply only attribute it to some sort of spiritual purpose, which at the very least in the safest way, was most probably one sided. I was just a troubled girl in a lot of pain, and somehow my brain was wrapping itself around a way to manage this constant sort of torture. Oh this is so much funnier with the [redactions] Agreed. It was different, maybe, not because it sounded different. It sounded the same, exactly. But the difference was, I was listening as a producer, and not as some girl that was in love with him. Or— thought she was. Now I didn't think anything much besides how well it would mash with any of my other favorite songs, by my other favorite artists— or how it was mixed just right and how some sounds hit in the head, and some in the top and how I knew how to do that, but I was kind of lazy. I thought about the glue that held everything together, which is what pissed me off about his music— sounds that didn't come apart and made entirely new sounds together from whatever they once were, because they were so meticulously plastered that way. This kind of engineering gave way to perfectly round spheres elsewhere, or perhaps even the kind of colors in other music but wasn't so much any one thing or another here. Perhaps the point was, that at the time, it was sort of abstract in a way that set a new norm. Now everyone sounded like him— besides him: who could say who he really was presently anyway, besides him, if even that— or the people around him; a constantly changing array of whatever's…things and persons I'd stopped being mad about ages ago. At least, sort of. I was still kind of mad, but more that I still just paled in comparison, and almost that I'd lost total interest, besides learning this: what I could apply to it now, knowing what I knew, but still might never possibly achieve, not at this point anymore because I couldn't..:but perhaps because I didn't want to. And it really was great— eight or ten or twelve Grammies great, but I was just kind of— not that. Not the way I used to be. Still, I gave myself the benefit of the doubt. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] -Ū. Death of A Superstar DJ Copyright athe Complex Collective © 2025 All Rights Reserved.

exit 77 (Instrumental) -ũ. (Unreleased) DBA Blū Tha Gürū A kite in the wind And a knot that was tied at the rock, And a solemn last thought, For a drop of your pronouns; Wild and twisted the time Or the will of the tale to be told As if tongue handn't strung that same one– Still yonder the surface But never that gathered To wake and to wild her thirst At the alter The christened and severed, But glistened as cherubs had waited her heralded platters See, i told you it was the feast. I couldn't figure out what “heralded” would have to do with “platters” Then again nothing much made sense at the time anymore as it was, or for that matter as much as it did therefore after–sometimes much after–timetimes weeks, and sometimes years, and sometimes what was heard to bear, the weight of eons passed between one thing and another. Entire worlds and lifetimes i'd had my eye and the back of my eye on, though departed, however as such categorized as things which could not have ever possibly have been discussed with one person or another–because, of course, however cosmic–they could not be explained, nor verified. It was the greatest secret I ever had, and it was in every single essence of the word a very secret. It wasn't so deep or dark or anything which would convey that it should not be shared–but in the nature that it had come to me, in itself it was a very rare thing which could not be taught, or talked about. Some kind of work of art, or act of God, or reward for having such a hard love–but it might have been the cruelest one, especially because it wasn't dark, or amoral, or beyond ordinary at all outside of how it had been thought–or born in thought in the very moment of that inconsiderate system of escape in that which is the essence of presence, if even for a moment, of someone whom you very much love–even though present it is not. It is this, transference of energetic movement one might refer to as shapeshifting, and in some unwritten form of parallel I had been given this sort of encrypted phantom of knowledge i'd had my mind set on being wrapped around.But for that matter, whatever cloud I sat on no matter how high up, i had to live in such a way that I could convince myself to understand that every now and again, this one and I would cross paths. For now, it was the best and worst secret I could ever have–the best because it was one I could have, and the worst because it was the most interesting thought–a puzzle solved and yet without any satisfaction because though the pieces had been put together, perhaps in a way you couldn't ever know what it was. This finished picture with fitting edges and four sharp corners with no discernable art that made it up. ‘What is that supposed to be.' Then, this is pertaining to the assumption that you've for whatever reason the skill or need to put together this puzzle without ever having or having seen a picture of the box–just fitting the marked edges that ran along each other all together until one by one they all had a place to go–rectangular in shape and perfectly fitting and still in all that time and effort having done what you thought needed to be done in order to know what that might have been a picture of… You have no idea. And worse, it emulates no known abstract art–it seems less even than just a conglomerate mix of things, or a half-thought, or a pre-emptive idea–it just was jumbled, and now it's not. [] [The Festival Project ™] The Complex Collective © {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 All Rights Reserved. [] A Novel

The artist reserves all rights to intellectual property maintained and produced by any and all publications of this series and is thereby protected under any applicable copyright law and/or trademark. All fictionalizations of persons living or dead are meant to be perceived as characterized and/or fictional (fan-fiction) are for entertainment purposes only, and are not to be perceived as real re-enactments, dramatizations of events past or present, media dialogues or agendas, or factual exchanges pertaining to and surrounding real-life circumstances. The dialogues and entires expressed in this project are in no way liable for any action, expression, disagreements, entitlements held by the reader at his or her/ their own discretion. I guess any time I try to terminate my state of being, I am annihilated You're really right; this is a death curse You're really right, this is a death curse Any time I try to find my way out, I am exiled You're right, this is a time bomb You're right, I've got my eyes closed Are there any intimate conclusions? Are there any derelictions, or delusions? And redactions or delirium, any infinity? Any fear at all? I hear you now I all bleed blue I'm born to suffer Stuff the earplugs in a little deeper little longer, Then we all get caught in martyrdom Or someone else's story Ooh, you started it Not now, God! He was born and gone in such an instant That I bark to love him First as dog and then as servant Other Master is absolved and yet absorbent I get caught in my own foul ball I have missed for trains Just decided to cast you all out The demons wandered Just like they wanted The snake still slithered, The owl still called I was also cosmic once Just I just forgot I was never pardoned Oh who are I I smell howling. Hogties withered out ones, Wondered weathered swallows When I see Whether or not You tip your hat to my making— The ball rolls, The owl cries, The harp sings, The hare runs, The mark, my cause. I am your forager. Then, gripping in the wakes The calls that bantered Not here or owl, I Not dog or rabbit, No wake and no fortune You are to run Or lest be tortured You are our call No, for what They says have ceased and the harp has stung sound, Not one but two sour notes aching, And there I bartered with all but nothing that I had To love, the power Then angst in me mine soul and my ties, My ways were na'er seek but shattered also I lake in lessons and drift in oceans and drown in all our skies, azure and lavender, Creeping in the cape that is both overshadowed our, I Gripping in the ways seeks foreign to none and also listened in your foyer Waking not as ghosts but yet as haunted Here tith thee my tide and I bade farewell And fate he they to keep our half tide I am hiding in your wakes and in my foreign I am forgotten and also withered, gathered! I am decrcrepit and unloved kept secret I am as shamed and as unwell as all our sick and tired Poor and outside I am as outside as the grass and trees have slaughtered I am as ancient as before the oceans tide did bring, my kind did watch your light come for us out of darkness And into my shores of only oceans you not know, My thoughts be born into your shadows And my own making is your honor Whatever that means This Is creepy. You're right! Fly bird! Fly! Uh. Did you bring a bird with you into the office. Kind of Kind of? Yes or no? I think of him fondly I killed myself on his birthday he didn't even want me But luckily it's also Obama's Birthday, that is I was not hot enough To this day I want another body Aftermarket Parts With happy accidents {enter the multiverse} Kind of! What does that even mean! Bird, go away! It means “kind of!” He follows me everywhere. What! Thais ridiculous. It is. Ridiculous! [The Festival Project ™] The Complex Collective © {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 All Rights Reserved

bitterbutter//SW of Your Scars 00:00-4:00 - “bitterbutter” 4:00-End- SouthWest of Your Scars (Unmixed V1) (unreleased, upcoming) Symposium. TBA 2025 Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Wh— Good morning sunshine. —why did you wake me up? You're on in five. I'm—what?! Aren't you aware that “nap time” is “nap time”?! ITS IN MY CONTRACT. It's also in your contract that you host the show. Oh my— —in like, five minutes. Four and a half, really. Or three. AUGH! Where's Deborah? Who the fuck is “Debra”? No, Deborah— you've gotta be kidding me. DEBBIE! What?! Come on, give me Debbie. You know Debbie, don't you? Come on! I thought it was Debrah? No it's— {Enter The Multiverse} GUILLERMO English not that good.. A blurred and cloudy vision awakes us as the former dreamer to GUILLERMO, who appears to be perched with his foot upon a rock in a domineering yet hunched and drunken stance to be profusely yelling at someone in SPANISH. (Hecho En Mexico) As we look closer, he appears to be yelling quite belligerently at a MULE. [Extremely inebriated and profanity laden and heavily dialected Mexican Spanish] ¡—ay pindejo! ¿…Guillermo? GUILLERMO turns back and uncrossed his hunch, throwing a roped machete over his shoulder to his back. He he neither confirms nor denies himself, and rather just passes in a hobble of inebriated self certainty with a crooked smile. Heh. Where the hell are we? We're down on that farmland out in Mexico Guillermo bought with all that Kimmel money… Kimmel! I should have known he had something to do with this. He does. Cause he always does— but well— GUILLERMO in the nearby distance brutally opens a COCONUT with his MACHETE and chases his TEQUILLA with it. —Guillermo is King here. GUILLERMO catches wind of this conversation and interjects. EN ESPAÑOL GUILLERMO ¡Órale, pues! ¿¡Qué chingados están esperando!? ¡Pónganse vergas, pinches güeyes mugrosos! Oh shit. We'd better— Yeah. GUILLERMO. {ENTER THE MULTIVERSE} Órale! ¡Levántense ya, pinches nacos de mierda hijos de su puta madre... pendejos! L E G E N D S Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Gotta love [hatred]; Single mother raised a surfer Caught the california coast And all the love of mother– Dontcha know it takes a whole village Don't you know You killed my whole village? I, mother, grew up there a sawdust Choctaw, I walked across mountains and Draw sandcastles on all antarctica? Dontcha know America the beautiful from day one wanted all us Sumwuns Homeless? I yearn for the coast, But all i got was motorcycles I'd die for the surf But all i got was homeless shelters, Project housing No, don't talk back, but on your conscious Are all the drugs you swallow Just to hold the thoughts back Of the sons and daughters slaughtered For your coastal homes on water From that old money in boston To the college that it funded But you're under the impression that you earned it. Never was a live lived any easier than these and he's and hers With blue eyes; Live on autopilot unless otherwise decided Undeserving of your turkey Put machines to work for war, with every word you wrote An order form to be ignored From old man tom On turkey day; You never would forget that he was red Till he regrets to get the President a gift Of sacrificial and indigenous proportions So much for portion and/or guun control The model girls are throwing up their supper Passing over butter on the cornbread Never apple cider, only water Meanwhile in africa, It not has rained a drop No more the currency prints pennies for your thoughts no store bought penne for these staten island italians either Lets just react to image over Islam; Can the taliban afford it? A four door? Guess not. Each day at 7 o clock They use a corvette as a gun And kets just hope this judge sits highly on her honor code Beyond nazi enforcement endorsements for internment camps And turn it down; You tried your very hardest But they want you in a dungeon Or the projects, Where its much worse Marcy houses But no more the rappers platinum come from Broken home; The trappers are all planted Have a plate or more of shit you can't afford Unless you're working late Adore commercial holidays for profit ignore the purpose of the slaughter Punish all the poor, but right after you rob them Take a snore and pour your water over corn atop the cob, And in another world just hope your boy comes home from war, Or door-to-door insurance sales You might as well just heads or tails To whether you will live or die to tell the tale Of black or white Over your pecan/pumpkin pie. I don't think i'm really supposed to celebrate “thanksgiving” this year. It seems even my ancestors were forcefully evicted and tortured simply just for existing. Why should i expect in this day and age it should be any different? I'm being targeted simply just for attempting to exist in the United State of America as an African American Indigenous. Perhaps, just as in the days of the great genocide–were I perfect and young with light skin I would be left alive, to marry and make good children. But instead I am seen as a thing, and left out easily in the street– Perhaps because they haven't use for me. It is easy to torture ugly things–from which some even draw enjoyment. And so it seems my time in the world is coming to an end, And if today i am thankful for anything at all, it is this. The end of a torturous and pitiful, wretched life. THE MISTRESS coils an emerald stone and tumbles it into her expanded palm— it momentarily transforms into an equally as emerald SNAKE before becoming once again a stone inside her palm. Enamoured, she looks it over with amusement, but still sighs with the dismissal of boredom. —oh look at that, I do have a snake. What do you know! She grumbles. Not much of snakes but they do, at the least, bring dreams to nightmares… Don't they! How posh. {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S flower. Unreleased — TBA 2026 Prod. By -Ū. DBA Blū Tha Gürū Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

I just don't wanna stop I'm down, I won't come back up I just does spectacular Your a spaturlar with no pam So your ham gets stuck; Like traffic. Fuck That's tragic; Mu is magic Pack mad vanacular ‘cross Atlantic Records: put wax on the tracks I'm stacking Watch is platinum and not plastic I recycle bought my own bag and shit That's an Apple Watch So your mad and shit Cause now your whole life has been hacked and shit I'm a has been that's been back and shit I put the whole black inside of the blacklist Writin my rhymes inside Whole Foods bags and shit So it vanishes When I light matches I can't redact that, Man that shit tragic! It just two minutes of spittin Imm a class act Hat is your highnesses Do I do what I wants? Was it a car or a cat I saw? I can'thack it y'all Since I been on this block My axis whack as wobbles Lost all my marbles At the rock I swear to [Got'Eeem] I do what I want I do what I want? I do what I want. I do what I want Do I do what I want [Ummm. Hello?!] Anita Palindrome. (Instrumental) Unreleased TBA 2025 Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Lil Bitz LOST CAUSE I saw this dude and i thought to myself Ooh, he got a big forehead –FIVE head! But then i kept seeing him and every time i seen him the number increased. Six head! Seven head! Eight head! NINE HEAD Eventua;ly all i could see was his head. The rest didnt even exist no more The room became his head, I'm like, “Wuhhooahhhh” {Enter The Multiverse} SUNNI BLU ooh , she think she bad But she know she aint bad She wantto be bad But we know she aint bad, son She be getting ready in the bathroom, Bad stuff She be take that pink inside the powderm, at the club Boo boo boo! she pretty but she roode She just about a tool; I'm finna acta fool Gaddang Aint no way she think she famous She cant even bang! Bitch get out my way Go take ur medication! Jeezuz, I ben vegan long time but want Cheeze itz And i need a girlfriend —I think she's it Got me cheesin' Order some Chinese-es On eazy puff Cuh she know i like it ruff On wifey i cant get enough My life i put my life on God Oh christ I cross my heart I be like ten feet tall L E G E N D S What do you do when death is on your doorstep? You let him in, give him a kiss Warm on the forehead and then sit him down for dinner. That is, before you look inward. Cause it feels so good to die, don't it? Or don't you remember? SUNNI BLU YO THAT JUST GAVE ME SEVERE ANXIETY, SON. YOOO Lil Bitzs ISO Sunni Blu Lost Cause I JUST WATCHED A WHOLE DE LA SOUL SET that had a DJ BOOTH IN IT THAT DID NOT GET TOUCHED THE WHOLE SET. Half the first verse went by, i'm like, “Alright, come on. Touch the decks.” He did not. The whole first verse went by, HE DID NOT TOUCH THE DECKS. He just sittin there in the background like, “1, 2, 3!” I'm like, “yeah , alright, 1,2,3– TOUCH THE DECKS.” Then the second verse started, He's still sitting there like, “1,2,3!” I'm starting to have a heart attack like, ‘…TOUCH THE DECKS.' He did not touch the decks! Now he dancin, Hands up in the air. I'm like, “COME ON BRUH.” Talkin bout “Long Island” “1,2,3!” TOUCH THE DECKS. He did not touch the decks. Second Verse: I'm like, “omg he not touchin the decks” Then they bring out a whole band… And i'm like, “Oh, he finna play with the band.” He did NOT. The band came out, Third verse– He steps away from the decks. I'm like— “What the fuck is going on here.” Then he just dancin around, BOTH hands in the air i'm like, “ok ….where the DJ AT.” COME ON DJ— TOUCH THE DECKS. The whole song went by. He did not touch the decks. He exit stage right. Everybody exit, Peace out. Left the decks right there. By themselves. UNTOUCHED. Center stage. I thought i died. They brought the whole DJ booth; They brought all the decks…. They set the decks up, They did the whole song. The decks did not get touched. Not one time. Not once did the decks get touched. I died. Then I came back, and i thought. “I might be the only non-male person alive To be this mad—- That a deck did not get touched.” How's that. 5 out of 10. It was almost a dick joke. That's why I gave it a five. Almost a dick–is not a dick. By God, you're right. 5 inches is not a dick. Not even of really good penis. I'm sorry, It's just not. {Enter The Multiverse} It's not a DJ set if your hands are above your head more than 10% of the time. Period. #facts You gotta touch the decks. [The Festival Project ™ ] It's like 5 in the morning on thanksgiving, i just watched Jimmy Kimmel and i'm about to eat some tacos. Cause my life been like that. {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S The Winery. (Instrumental) Unreleased — TBA 2026 Prod. By -Ū. DBA Blū Tha Gürū Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

{Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S INT. SHOWER. WHENEVER NICOLE BYER Heeeey dum-dum! …I don't know why you keep doing this. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Rules of time travel: 1. Don't. 2. There are no rules. 3. Know Yourself One should know how to spot or recognize any parallel, paradoxical, or pro-dimensional version of oneself in the various multidimentional and infinite realities displayed both on and off of the grid in alignment {Enter The Multiverse} THE TITANS and OTHER DIETIES ARE FIGHTING an EPIC BATTLE in the DREAMWORLD —however, the battle is ABRUPTLY PAUSED when their HUMAN COUNTERPARTS in our own PARALLELS are awakened. Oh, so that's why he wants all that rufintinol… EXACTLY! MEANWHILE ERYKAH BADU enters the CHAMBERS. BADU I need candlelight to do what I'm about to do… For I counted— Thrice. And I laid six hands upon her grave; Six times the serpent never faught And so remained my heart as sacred. These people are fucking obsessed with me. Sim: Similar to human force, but not. Subjectively comparative to that of a familiar, A Similar seeks in its nature to exist for the soul purpose of a magician's makeshift (or temporary) parallels), in order to form a bond to which the reality it seeks is material, rather than theoretical. In that sense, a Similar eventually ceases to exist entirely once this task is established and formed a concrete foundation in which this multiconditional energy has an exact route one way or another— such is the familiar or other medicinal artofaxts such as a ‘totem' or poppet, however increasingly more complex. Similar energies are made to look and intuitively co-exist among humans but lack certain conscious or emotional elements, and fundamentally, spiritual energy. A similar mustn't be programmed, however like inanimate material objects, and are instead formed with a sort of energy which is encrypted by the magician itself, by creating a limited energy of oneself which is then for lack of a better term, ‘injected' into the electromagnetic field or aura of such a creature that remains and dwells in the realm of lower conciousness— it is for this purpose that the Sim remains in such that is a shield against energy of foreign nature which might corrupt the making of this primitive or primordial material construct. This energy does not travel and is thus conformed to its stake in the grid of multidimentional plans it is made in. I don't understand. [The Festival Project ™] Come here, cat. Oh, no! L E G E N D S BLŪ looks into the fridge. It is EMPTY. CHAOS I have lots of food…at my house. FINI Ugh, what is his job, anyway? Yeah, what does he even do?? CC If I told you, you wouldn't believe me. {Enter The Multiverse} I hate him! Just golf, would you? I do! I hate everything right now. Just hit the ball! —these are not even your games— Just golf! Goddamn you! —I don't know why you keep playing them! He hits the ball VERY hard. GOD! Finally! —and dragging me into it! Your anger may be making your game better. —and it's Top Golf. I don't see anyone playing these types of bets. He hits the ball. You were right. $10 Dollars. [The Festival Project ™] He is troubled —and she is weeping. BADU With three knives I found my blood; And with three knives I found my art And with three more I severed hearts— And tears remained upon the blade. And on, Their paper was our mirrors for eyes And I became not One, But all or more, And trust upon the world, Her core. The battle has won. I talk to you in my sleep, Therefore I am your fortune My love, I weep to wake from dreams To which we are tied in sacred honor As Divine. At once, my time is come, And though I shake with fear and favor, My making of your fortress shall be mine, In heart, forever. Amen. In all the ways I love you, And yet, cannot. Shatter my heart, For things are blind, And now I covet such as times That trees brought up from seeds grow wise. Hey, somebody— Make me laugh. Mr. Colbert? …your honor. Not it! V.O, The truth is, I don't know what I did at that party. [The Festival Project ™] FRENCH HENCHMAN Be in Los Angeles by sundown. MAU5 …but I live in Toronto. FRENCH HENCHMAN Precisely. MAU5 …why are you asking me to travel on my time? FRENCH HENCHMAN —because I know you're capable of this! MAU5 Ugh. Fine. FRENCH HENCHMAN See u soon. MAU5 Honey! Where's my mouse head? APPARENTLY ALSO KELLY It's in the shop. MAU5 What? APPARENTLY ALSO KELLY That's what the assistant told me. MAU5 What assistant? APPARENTLY ALSO KELLY *Shrugs.* ‍♀️ MAU5 …ur so pretty. {Enter The Multiverse} I heard and hurt that it's a numbers game; I'm laying in my grave, A shallow pool of doom and hatred But I have my name And it is mine and mine alone And it is mind and mind as one And it is time and time again I wish to die But then become another. PARIS TIPTON walks into THE HILTON HOTEL and launches into a RAGE. Not this again. {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Good ‘Ol Johnny O! (Unreleased) {Enter athe Multiverse} {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S Prod. by -Ū. DBA Blū Tha Gürū Preformed by: SUNNI BLU Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

{Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S JETFU3L. (Unreleased) TBA 2026 Prod. by -Ū. DBA Blū Tha Gürū Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

{Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Come Sit Down On These Size 15 Chuck Taylors. (Unreleased) 2026 TBA Prod. by -Ū. DBA Blū Tha Gürū Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Jack The Stripper. (Unreleased) 2026 TBA Prod. by -Ū. DBA Blū Tha Gürū Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Governing Mortimer's Arc. (Unreleased) [Untitled Project 2025] TBA Prod. by -Ū. DBA Blū Tha Gürū Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

{Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S Is it any good at all? I don't want to watch the crash To see she crash and burned I loved But it's not your fault I've just been lost without you Face down on the asfault Can't get my ass up without now Now I toll the cost Like a bunch of boiling water Bubbled uo But just before I know it's hot It all goes up in smoke Or clouds, Evaporation. [Tortious Interference.] (A Freestyle Mixtape) Performed by Blū Tha Gürū. a.k.a the kidd. a.k.a Sunnï Blū a.k.a. -31. a.k.a. ayeyo blu Prod. by J. Dilla (I think) Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

[est. 1983] (Instrumental) Prod. By Blū The Gürū Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

‘Plucoronary Amblistsaine.' (Unreleased) Untitled Project, 2025 TBA 2026 Prod. by -Ū. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Vagabond Rock. Prod. by -Ū. DBA: Blū Tha Gürū Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Prestidigitation. Prod. by -Ū. DBA: Blū Tha Gürū Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

D0N'T.. Prod. by -Ū. DBA: Blū Tha Gürū Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

hyenas. Prod. by -Ū. DBA: Blū Tha Gürū Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

{Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S wango. Prod. by -Ū. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

{Enter The Multiverse} ‘The Legend of Red Man Tom.' Prod. by -Ū. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Self Care— A Freestyle Mixtape. Performed By: Blū Tha Gürū Prod. By J. Dilla Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

He's the luckiest man in the world. Not to mention, a notorious telepath… C'mon, you have a good hand… –and he's going to throw the galaxy's most important poker game {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

07. s w e e t p o t a t o p i e. Vogue Mix V1 So why am I envious? It isn't athletics, I promise Its pages and pages Poems and proses Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW.

The CELEBRITY YAUGHT is HIJACKED by a MARTIAN named GOD. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

05. s t r a n g e. L.JONES Ah, now— mirror, mirror on the wall OOH, this shit is dirty, let me get that— HEY! Ah damn! I didn't know you were in there! I'm always in here! I was looking for myself! Exactly! What do you want? What do you want?! You can't answer my question with a question! I am you! Not all the way— Hey look here, that guru sent me and I want you to get something straight— —you are right, this is hanging cooked. [she tilts the mirror and the man stumbles diagonally] HEY! My bad. Now LOOK! There is a reason I am appearing to you here in today. Now wait a minute, I gotta get some windex, this spot is just buggin me. No! Do NOT use windex! You are right! I just got a brand new jug of white vinegar! Now HEY! {Enter The Multiverse} SUNNI BLŪ has just finished an interview and performance on JIMMY KIMMEL LIVE and exits with their ENTORAGE. There's something off about that gal. You mean guy? What? No— —that's a guy. *squints* A what. Wait— That's a lady. You thought that was a girl the entire interview? What? That's a dude. You're kidding me. Sunni Blu is a man. Trust me. That's it… SUNNI BLU'S PHONE rings Calling Hmm. Hello? I know you're a woman. …who is this? That's it. This is the worst idea I've ever had. Where are you, Jimmy? No place you need to be concerned about. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. “Man In The Mirror”

04. s l y t h e r i n. Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

03. s w e a t. Just pretend It's imminent; My relapse, As a drug I take it in in increments Collapse; My photographic image memory Serves me perfectly A classical caricature And still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt (Still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt) I'm here in present tense An artifact and image Inside all the builds and relics Mr. Tim is here When Mr, Night Guy gets too perfect Ties it on a bit for treasure chests And pleasure's never where the head will reac, dear Here hearts Silk eyes Don't trust Tame scarves Legwarmers Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Wedding bells And autocrats Grandfather clock and pendulum And scarcities and garish art, And murderers upon the dusk The carriage sure to'ave spoken Crypt sinking, There faultlines, now quaking My hind legs are to shore And still my forelegs tip. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events.

02. s t r I k e f o r c e. Mister Jimmy you're out of touch. Mr. Chaos you're out of God. Ms. Divine, you're not enough Ms. Monroe, you're out of love A dozen is a dozen Hallmark roses I still love my ‘ol Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy Mr. Trump, You're out of touch Mr. Moore, You're out of line Ms. Monroe, you're not enough Mr. God, you're out of love But I still love my ol' Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy I still love my Hollywood, Golden boys I still love my silver screen And golden eras, I still love my world before love I still like my alma mater But i'll never ever love her I put out for dear Miss Molly I get up for four-door wallets I belong to none or nothing I should die, I don't belong her I still call her over after Don't belong here under, over I still love my golden boys though I still love my golden trophy Mister Jimmy, you're out of touch.

s u c k e r p u n c h. The kid will never go to sleep, You know The boy will never rest He'll never do his best, you know He'll never do his best She'll never be the best you know She's never out of bed She'll never see the sun you know ‘It's only in your head' The boy will never drown, you know You know the boy's so cold You might go out for now, you know But you'll go home alone He'll never hit the ground, you know The boy will never rest The boy will just go down, You know As history at best (The girl is staring out the window as the frost comes out their mouths) Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I still don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked for an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer – while the poorer suffer longer. No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded wager No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've been ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's some sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like, “Help me.” I'm like, Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provinces. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you up now pull you down a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance m because the whites in New York can be so violently racist m Their strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies their hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind Why existing in white neighborhoods in less than perfect black skin seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor What if covert racism doesn't hurt as much– (or never, ever-after) Mister Jimmy you're out of touch. Mr. Chaos you're out of God. Ms. Divine, you're not enough Ms. Monroe, you're out of love A dozen is a dozen Hallmark roses I still love my ‘ol Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy Mr. Trump, You're out of touch Mr. Moore, You're out of line Ms. Monroe, you're not enough Mr. God, you're out of love But I still love my ol' Miss Molly I still love my golden trophy I still love my Hollywood, Golden boys I still love my silver screen And golden eras, I still love my world before love I still like my alma mater But i'll never ever love her I put out for dear Miss Molly I get up for four-door wallets I belong to none or nothing I should die, I don't belong here I still call her over after Don't belong here under, over I still love my golden boys though I still love my golden trophy Mister Jimmy, you're out of touch. F I can very much count you out; E I can very much drift away G I can very well close my eyes. Am What do you want me to say? You want the whole thing? Well what a fun night. It was a hard roll; it was a good time It was a hard come down, though A hard fuck It was a hard laugh; I wrote a good book We took a long ride; Then smoked a long blunt Woah Hush now, good fan Come and take a hard roll A long stroll a hot dance I want to take a half more The comedown was hard, But i just got the honor roll Come down, good fan I want to hold your hand now I want to take a good pause I want to have a hard roll Calm down, good fan I'm headed for your heart now (i want to take a hard fall, I want to take a hard roll) Come on, good man I wanna get a hard on I wanna take a hard fan I want to have a hard fuck I'm going for your heart now I want to have a long roll I'm going for your heart now I want to take a good smoke Yeah, and it's something like that And i look both ways before I cross the Cut the road Yeah, i hate myself as well But i know you don' But you know, we're all getting older It just goes more post mortem To hold secrets inside Pass over regrets and don't touch em Like you don't want em But you don't want No one else And you don't wanna run So you either say hello to the dog Or bark, And then jump back I have you on speed dial But I misfire T total recall I don't call blocked numbers but still number one d-d-don't be a retard, Work harder Learn more than your other parts To control them supermanteras Entourage Tata- Ratata Don't be retarded Rat poison for supper Rat poison for supper And politics for something sweet afterward You heard of the knowledge? You heard of the good book Good one, Doctor I'll run harder next workhour Cause we're all undercooked And we're all overdone on the outside still half frozen in the gut though, You know You know? Enjoy your holiday supper Enjoy your apartment Enjoy your destruction I'm just getting started corrupting your disk drive Full system failure! Fill system failure! Full Jimmy Fallon! I mean– Redact that. Don't be retarded. Run out of water! We're all out of order! I might as well pull the plug Or just more fires. I got hard times under And hard times covered No hard times coming cause Look, I got smarter (don't be retarded) I got semi sweet chocolate And lessons And lovers And neighbors And demons and evil around I So who could have thought That the work of God was just [us, at it] At first, i thought nothing, and then all at once, All it was, as is. While I hope that one day for me, there's a me And a man in a meadow No time to decide however, how long I can act as irreverent, The single disciple, the limitless modem,, the signal to imminent the I took a misstep, I went the wrong way I thought I was done, but I should be on stage Just pretend It's imminent; My relapse, As a drug I take it in in increments Collapse; My photographic image memory Serves me perfectly A classical caricature And still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt (Still I'm sure it's supposed to hurt) I'm here in present tense An artifact and image Inside all the builds and relics Mr. Tim is here When Mr, Night Guy gets too perfect Ties it on a bit for treasure chests And pleasure's never where the head will reac, dear Here hearts Silk eyes Don't trust Tame scarves Legwaemwss Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Silk ties Autographs Wedding bells And autocrats Grandfather clock and pendulum And scarities and garish art, And murderers upon the dusk The carriage sure to'ave spoken Crypt sinking, There faultlines, now quaking My hind legs are to shore And still my forelegs tip So why am I envious? It isn't athletics, I promise Its pages and pages Poems and proses Keep it together karassndra Why are you out all alone in a war zone without a gun? Why are you out with the bomb squad in a rainstorm Why are you known amongst all the lands? You won by a landslide but by a show of hands And a slight side of hands And a show to the world that you own what you're on, Let them come hold enough to hold you down with the motorcycles. No country for old nothing When the highlight of your whole life Is the subdural hematoma growing to the surface. And you were sure before you'd never have that part of your symmetry in tact again See how the devil surrounds us when we interact with God and pure genius Human will always kill God; He doesn't understand it The attacks and the tactical wall for sure come to a close; The whole empire is falling And Heaven is calling us home; This has been just a warning I'm still hiding j. The closet; I'm sure to fly your hawk back, homing, Nothing like a good pigeon, depending on the moment And deepening hour disinterest in anything? See how evil walks amongst us When you haven't come upon it in a moment Or have all your other targets lined up— Do remember dear ther it all comes back to haunt them When they're all younger And haven't been tortured yet The fun part first and the war part after; Sure to suffer if you're sure to hurt her Sure to muder for a quarter or a tucked shirt Sure to give a shit if just my mister in a basket Do you understand that? I won't Good good Goddamn I might have a heart attack I might have to kill myself I hate this place I'm tired now I dropped my hat . I'm an individual Stuck in a simulated and subject collective consciousness I'll tel you where the problem is I promise this It seemed more like a tactical marketing strategy than an actual accident, knowing the type of superstar Sonny had become. Yet, I couldn't help but give it a second thought, almost admiring it—whatever it was—as there is no such thing as bad press. As it all played out over social media—which I obstinately rejected, but however so embraced by those in what one used to call "the arts"—it felt undone; It was now strictly business within those very same markets. Here was this, an apparent plagiarism based on ‘outsourcing' a simple photo for a follow-up single to an album I knew I could not be moved to listen to, even after months. I had spent my own time, in a torturous chaos sense, researching these sorts of psychological tactics and strategies of such conglomerates. It seemed almost as if the negative and seemingly coincidental exposure was in congruency with the so very Skrillexian need to stay relevant to the newer age in changing times. He seemed to embrace some sort of artistic evolution, at least from what I could sense at a long and strong distance. However, my ability to understand the article I'd very much by accident stumbled upon—while overlooking my own dilapidated ticket stubs on Resident Advisor—cautioned at the kind of humbled and grown logic that had become what was left of my womanhood. I had in so many ways made a fool of myself, an embarrassment for what I thought of at the time in the name of love. Still, in all this time, I was so desolated and alone that it had become such an apparent and distraught sense of waking up to what formerly was. With this, I thought one of two things. I knew this Sonny, like most men of prestige, power, and great wealth, had devised his team of sharp-witted, intelligent, beautiful women. This apparent slip-up over the artwork for his latest endeavor—which I had, for every reason, protested in defense of my own dignity—was perhaps the result of a beautiful woman without creative ingenuity stealing the artwork in bad taste, as evidenced. Or—even more cunning—this was the wit of a trained and marginalized soldier in the art of programming. The apparent plagiarism was, in fact, another brutal and hollow Skrillefied market for attention. Over the last decade, he had no shortage of the ability to create and draw eyes to whatever art or concept was forced out of the mechanized monster. Still, there was a sharp growl. I knew I was meant to find this as a reminder of what I'd find if I looked any further or listened to his music anymore: a rise in sharp numbers, mass appeal tactics, and this-or-that shallow hogwash of distinctly skeletal bodies and avant-garde aesthetics. It pointed at the unachievable from my eyes and standpoint. It was the rockstar air and attire of everything I wasn't: strictly thin Hollywood or other ideals to which the construct was entitled, but I wasn't. I had to set out on my own way because what I had intended with music was jumbled into appearances, pornographic sexualities, and masculine dominance. It meant I had aged out of the desirability and affect these very same masses were being marketed from. Sure, I understood that the Skrillex project had established a sort of order for what the electronic festival industry wanted. But I also wanted something else accomplished in my time that wasn't just being some shallow, hot-girl, obscure go-after. The entire time, I had been under the impression of a duality of magnetism I often still had difficulty loosening myself from—that this illusion of an emotional tie or loveness, outside of what was a physical or illustrious concept, had no substance within the business at its core. It was, to say the least, a heartless world and a heartless business. Now that my own music was without purpose, I could forever distance myself from the other masses—the consumer-prosumer-commercialized "artists" that had sprung up out of access to the direct-to-streaming music market via technology and disposable funding. I had no way of embodying my mind to do away with the parts of me that needed to change to become one of them—in the sense that if my music looked and sounded alike, I would be embraced. But I was far from being the type of consciousness that had formed seemingly with the twist of a knob or an Ableton shortcut by one of electronic's founding fathers. In an unfortunate way, I had finally realized he was just that. — Death of A Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

Give me a minute. I gotta call my inviolate sister. You have an involate sister? Something like that. Ok? Hold on. Hello. Ring ring. You! What do you want?! The better question is: what don't I already have!? I don't know! You idiot! Yes. “Me” “idiot” lol what is that dude getting at anyway? I really don't know . {Enter The Multiverse} Hey. …hey. Do you have Syphilis? What! No! Why? Do you have syphilis? I might. So why would you ask me? I just know we sleep with a lot of the same girls and everything. Since when? I told you before, I don't mind having leftovers. Gross stop! You've been taking all my sloppy seconds? Leftovers. It just—sounds classier. Well not if you have syphilis! Lil bitz I just found out you can say “Deepthroat” on TV Also, I just learned the word “tube steak” I was looking vegan cupcakes on Amazon Cause I'm fantastic And what comes up in the search next to my cupcakes Blows my mind I found these lollipops… For cats. And I thought “People are crazy” It's just something I would never do. I was like “Why would I get him a lollipop?” “I don't even like him.” Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

RANGER ​​Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger (I'm doing the most) How dare you? Bitch I said that shit just to scare you Bitch you a demon! I ate the peas out the can And I hope that you see this What in the fuck do you mean I see and hear things I sea and here that, I failed the test now But passed the bar Wow You're funny Refinance the payment to fuck me Over You don't even know her So the glove don't fit? You still killed that bitch, OJ! Okay That a big ball player I'm a big black finger up your ass; What's cracking? Doing the work of the crackers I screenshot and capture Refinance the black list You act on behalf of the TRAP Refinance the TAP Refinance the cap and gown Cause I'm already drowning Refinance the black and brown Cause you know that I'm proud But I'm sitting her pouting (Wut) Refinance the land Refinance the Indian reservation where my dad at Refinance the car Refinance the boat Ok, Fuckit Refinance the Ranger Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger (I'm doing the most) Refinance the Ranger Refinance the house Refinance the boat Refinance the— Doing the most Refinance the cat Refinance the dog Finance the—? Fuck it. Refinance the Ranger Fresh from the land of a thousand suns And I stil don't know which stone to land on No random environment; I underwent the whole attorney And still met with resistance I just asked an an amphetamine as if it was A supplement to my existence In fact, it is, An edifice or m addition to my nutrition deficit And I says, For whatever's lost but goes on, Fight for rich or poorer while the poorer suffer longer No longer argue my agreements, Distance to whatever's after There I rest upon the sober throne, And throwing watermelon seeds into the ground as as stones, For may as well without the water And also sure to rot, Or waste as rats, Computer paper, There again Recycling bins of compost Just for show, but not for shredded paper No, no longer or wonder my nonsense, In fact, I, raging there had kept no more a suffer than a secret to be sure of here— And sure of her I was and sheer and gathered Torment your emotions, Also just to want but not to have As those that matter. So I've called in all the white clothes Now we represent with denim. And I'm stuck inside your television Stuck inside your television Don't you know you've shown you're weakness in the purest of hatred, Separating yourselfs as the basis for this Depreciation? Wonder, again I wonder And still no sad trombones, Only stories, and somber surfers And solemn whores and silent wars with words And sundries From the land of one thousand suns And a thousand sons you've lost A thousand wars, A thousand girls who want you Gathered over rails and velvet theatre ropes for it Rare. But slightly often scored, Parched, And barely long forgotten, Tipping, And waiting only This bitch comes on the train and smells like soup. Don't look at me as if I'm the one to have done something, I've no cardboard box but rather lift my chin at Whole Foods market over bags or water. You know it? I also do that for the dozen, No trend follows, or feathered gathered, Hollow winds and tunnels Tunnels sent and shadows I hadn't been pin pricked I never been picked out Blow the candles for which wish? I've be ever been bound to love Or celebrated by another besides my mother But here's so sensory deprivation, Overstimulation lol I love getting on the train and just happening to see a dude who is not listening to his dumb fucking girlfriend But she won't shut the fuck up He's just standing there like “Clearly I'm getting sex out of this” And she won't stop talking. I love that. I'm like “bitch, shut up.” He's like “Help me.” I'm like Not my problem, broskies, You better look interested instead of over here. Anyway, another year's gone by and no one's here for me. Anyway, another son was born without my honor. Anyway, I want to lap it up like all the water on the floor Before I realized it was gold, And I was slaughtered No use crying over spilled galaxies, Still you're trapped in I, And I'm found to want more than I decided If I'm divided and clustered up And yet I'm divine then, I should gather all I've had Combine it into one —and yet Another columbine has come As if they're all occurrences, Just set to Apple Watches And broadcast t'all the provences. In a cinch I've just realized I've the trench coat to match your jacket But no longer the converse all stars And you've seen to washed yours off from my angle Simple single triangle and spheres for fears of masturbating, Crash the grate at all the hours, Never really gravitating for anything important, Only alt-right Can't afford that All your penlaltied for real to mean political rallies or ambitions act as barriers to those that actually ally. Who am I? That's right? I can't belay in body! Oh, I can't to grip the shadows Boxing with the cat for your night V.O We were friends with the humans— Most of our job is finding out what happened with them. Future people Vintage potluck All out time And all our hard work All our bad luck All our warns Fell on her shores as lodes for her Oh, How his legs fall so calmly one over the other Or, How his songs flow not as words, but heart strings Our melodies will walk in chords for all time For now if ta zzz A as te r ( I love when i get off the train and that happens) What a brilliant blue, Yea, in fact, its cerulean Yes, in fact, if you can Facts to rule them all, so If you fax, try to call, here goes all your worry Here's your love; None For the facts you were sure to walk about, now you're our, gone From the top Don't ever forget you're on watch I've got a whole heart full of freedom Just don't look up from your phone e They brought you jo now pull you don't a bit You're a clown, it seems But no activists They heil Hitler in central Bedford No articles of new clothing l, huh? They love to watch all your digging They call it hyper vigilance because racism in New York can be so violent That its strength lies not only in money and power but nearly balanced numbers Which justifies hurtful and aggressive actions as adaptations to the changing world They see themselves as the controllers Still slave master but in such a context That they mask the hatred that lies under the surface as social issues of another kind it seems to hurt in another way you can't always tell the doctor. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.