Podcasts about Dillons

Hunter and I chat with experiencer and international fashion photographer Elsa Dillon about her and her family's life of the last 10 years, her contact with Nefertiti, the over 200 entities that her and her family have met, and so much more. It's a mind blower! The Dillons' website: https://www.spinbeings.com/ To support The Melt just visit our Locals page at https://themeltpodcast.locals.com/ or our Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/themeltpodcast where you can subscribe for as little as $5 a month to receive extended episodes, exclusive episodes, and early access to regular episodes. For one time donations- PayPal: fosamsara@gmail.com   Find The Melt on… Rumble: https://rumble.com/c/c-2365404 YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@TheMeltPodcast Check out our merch at: https://the-melt.creator-spring.com/   Music by The Godawful Joy: https://thegodawfuljoy.bandcamp.com/releases and Matt Presti: https://www.mattpresti.com/music.html

The K-State women's soccer team loss their final regular season game at home to KU 2-0.

#16 KSU (7-1, 4-1) The K-State football team came up with big plays late including a 51-yard FG by Chris Tennant propels the Cats by in-state rival KU last Saturday!

The Kansas State Football team (#16) & women's soccer squad face-off against the Kansas Jayhawks in the respective sports in Manhattan this weekend!

Ag caint ar Bernard nó Bernie Dillon, fear gnó aitheanta as Leitir Ceanainn, a fuair bás in Oispís Leitir Ceanainn an tseachtain seo. Reáchtáil Bernie agus teaghlach Dillon ollmhargadh Dillons ar phríomhshráid Leitir Ceanainn ar feadh blianta fada

In E179 my returning guests are Elsa Dillon & Becca Dickens. This is the Dillons 2nd incarnation here onGAIA, and they are a family of over souls all called in together again to incarnate, in this realm. Theyhave experienced over 600 Beings to date in many forms & multi dimensional realms. Becca Dickens is aregenerative farmer and energy healer. She is co-owner of Regenerative Life Farm, home to a chemical-free, no-till, deep compost market garden with magical soil and 300 pastured chickens and cattle. As anEnergy Worker, Becca uses intuition and divine guidance to help people shift energy, heal emotionallyand physically and remember who they are. Thank you for liking and subscribing to our channels, andplease do share this with your friends!You Tube Link: https://youtu.be/nnmx1Msbh7wElsa Dillon's Links:Website: https://www.spinbeings.com/https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQIe_mHJdbIDAILY PRACTISE- SEEINGhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3euas9uBLAkDIRECT MEhttps://direct.me/spinbeingscomBecca Dicken's Links:Farm Website: https://www.regenerativelifefarm.com/Energy Healing Booking Page: https://www.regenerativelifefarm.com/energy-healingKaren Holton's Links:Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/karenholtontvDownload my exclusive audio content found only on SPREAKER, Spotify, Apple, Podbean, iHeart,Goodpods and more – https://www.spreaker.com/show/quantum-guides-show-with-karen-holtonBuy Me A Coffee: https://buymeacoffee.com/karenholtontvDonations:https://www.paypal.com/donate?token=F6qEh1kC3y2W7ZI1pPniaMh_apaLgbpuDEvA3i04X556EwBQzi2hpjEciR-6Fgxu9XQwZZzdWKPpz5SsWebsite: https://www.karenholtonhealthcoach.com/Channels:Censored Content: https://www.youtube.com/c/KarenHoltonTVUncensored Content: Odysee: https://odysee.com/@KarenHoltonTV - Rumble: https://rumble.com/c/c-2423374 (KarenHoltonTV) - X (Twitter): https://x.com/KarenHoltonTV and Telegram:https://t.me/KarenHoltonTVPlease follow me on Odysee, X, Telegram & Rumble!The Quantum Guides Show and the Aliens & Angels Podcast are now part of the Forbidden KnowledgeNews Network! https://forbiddenknowledge.news/Improve your health and help support Forbidden Knowledge News:https://go.shopc60.com/FORBIDDEN10/(or use coupon code knowledge10)Other valuable content from Karen Holton:Quantum Health Transformation V.3.0 - a free, no strings attached, 9 Step online, lifestyle course to giveyou the tips and resources you need to thrive! By following my own channeled advice, I made mydreams come true! Whether you are in the awakening process, or simply want more out of life, thiscourse is for you.Complete Quantum Health Transformation V3.0 Playlist on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qwSmOYvGXBA&list=PLe1pNMTCSTLlzyU9vc_SmK4zs4_JCcpa1&pp=gAQBiAQB- or watch the Quantum Health Transformation V.3.0 program on Karen's website:https://www.karenholtonhealthcoach.com/quantum-health-transformation-free-online-course/Complete Quantum Guides Show 2024 Playlist on YouTube (Episodes 148+) - Interviews with AwakenedMasters! Their quantum work will inspire you! This podcast is ideally suited to the newly awakened, andfor those who wish to learn about the greater reality which lies outside of the mainstream construct.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jxgz_d63ajs&list=PLe1pNMTCSTLkNBkKxasRct_8h7STDzaqv&pp=gAQBiAQBComplete Quantum Guides Show 2023 Playlist on YouTube (Episodes 100 - 147):https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CmrnmMjMQC0&list=PLe1pNMTCSTLls_TtYhNcoNSKC75Gpy3Qt&pp=gAQBiAQBAliens & Angels Live Podcast: Featuring real-life people with real-life experiences. Complete playlist:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pDzEoxIOyng&list=PLe1pNMTCSTLk4saG-kQHgWqx-QQ7BtMAv&pp=gAQBiAQBKaren's Website: https://www.karenholtonhealthcoach.comKaren's Free Resources - https://www.karenholtonhealthcoach.com/free-resources/Support Karen Holton TV:Buy Me A Coffee - https://buymeacoffee.com/karenholtontvDonations:https://www.paypal.com/donate?token=F6qEh1kC3y2W7ZI1pPniaMh_apaLgbpuDEvA3i04X556EwBQzi2hpjEciR-6Fgxu9XQwZZzdWKPpz5SsZen Domes Orgonite - https://www.karenholtonhealthcoach.com/product-category/zen-domes-orgonite/Comfort Crystals - https://www.karenholtonhealthcoach.com/product-category/comfort-crystals/Services & Support - https://www.karenholtonhealthcoach.com/product-category/services/PDF Downloads - https://www.karenholtonhealthcoach.com/product-category/downloads/ 

Get the jars, vinegar and flavourings at the ready because Caitlin Ruth is about to inspire you to start pickling and preserving everything you can get your hands on. Caitlin worked as a professional chef in many kitchens in many places, but her childhood love of pickling and fermenting always came with her. She has now captured all of her favourite recipes and tips and tricks in a beautiful new book called Funky, which is published by the incredible Blasta Books – publishers to the stars of the food world and admired by renowned chefs including Nigella Lawson. In this episode, Caitlin and Mick Kelly of GIY chat about: ·      How Caitlin got her start in restaurant kitchens at the young age of 12!·      Moving to Ireland and becoming a stalwart of the west cork food scene, working in famous spots like Dillons of Timoleague and Deasys of Clonakilty. ·      Her love of pickling and fermenting and what drives her to spend so much time and effort making them and creating new recipes. ·      Why pickling and preserving hold the keys to food sustainability. ·      Some of Caitlin's favourite recipes, tips and tricks that you can try right away.  GIY are proud to align our mission, vision and impact with the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs). In response to the urgency of the climate crisis, and in line with the UN Decade of Action, our ambition at GIY is to inspire 100 million people around the world to grow some of their own food by 2030.Join the GIY movement by following our social channels and signing up to our newsletter on GIY.ie 

Ascension Farro, a reclusive alchemist hailing from the far away crystalline caves of Avallia, returns to the Valley In The Kingdom of Acenscia once Per Revolutionary Orbit, to relay to The Ascended Mastery his findings, Astral Readings, Predictions from the Outer Realms, and Oracles from Beyond Infinity, In The Greater Unknown. He is thought to be the most powerful Wizard in this, and perhaps even of the outer realms; which caters to his illusive habits, and social dissertation–however, he remains friendly with C'esme't, as she sometimes visits the caves of Avallia, en route to certain tasks or journeys in the outer realms, often bearing fruits or other rarities as gifts, merely in exchange for his time–which she deems to be precious, allotting to the differences in their respective perceptions of the construct itself. Petrutheio approaches Gían ferociously, in irritation after being bombarded with numerous visions Why is it, lately, that you are constantly in my mind's eye? Perhaps it's that you've become quite fond of me— Perhaps it's with whom you've been spending your time. —and ‘with whom' might that be? With my wife! Yet to be… If you truly were wise, you'd depart from this realm immediately, in order to best preserve your life. Is that a threat? Look me in my eyes. Should I adjust my distance or my height? Look at me. I see you. Mark my words: Oh, but–I haven't a pen to write them— Then store them carefully in your memory-- What? I'm listening. C'esme't is my one and only Queen; She has by Prophecy, been bonded and betrothed to me. Are you reiterating the Prophecy to yourself, or relaying it to me? Let me state this more clearly-- With ‘clarity', you mean; You should leave— Why so urgently? Both urgently and immediately, actually. Is that a suggestion? For now, maybe. Are you implying you would remove me forcefully from this Kingdom, otherwise? Huh. [A silent tension.] You will see. [He leaves calmly.] C'ESME'T. Stop bothering me. What are these devastating lucidities you've dared to dream? Is it daring? You're my Queen. I'm a lady, not a possession. (grimaces) What's a ‘lady' [A bold look.] C'esme't. What of Persephone? She's no more than nothing. So, ‘nothing', then? No more than it. ___ SIR JYRE! MY LIEGE! Where is C'esme't!? I don't know… Don't lie to me! Why not? It's fun. Is banishment fun? Mine, or yours? Where is she!? [a slight gasp/beat] …my dear nephew— —we're not related— —not by blood… Where is C'esme't? [he pauses for a moment, before turning away to pour a drink.] You should sit. I'm fine, thanks. Drink? [Petruthieo pauses for a moment, reflecting on the previous night's happenings.] I don't drink. Maybe you should. Where's my Queen? —Is she yours? I'll have you exiled. No you won't. I won't? [sir jyre turns to produce a small golden charm, which swings, sparking at the end of a golden chain. Without hesitation, Petrutheo is immediately familiar.] Where's she gone? You'll either sit, or you'll drink if you really want to know. Petrutheo sits, flushed and defeated. I'll tell you— What is it? I am under strict confidentiality enforcements. How exactly strict She'll kill me—-and you. Gían comes running into the room, flustered. Where is she?! —and him. What are you doing? –dying. Die faster. Q: How do you break up with deadmau5. A: You don't. JOEL TALK TO THE HEAD. Oh, come on! What is this. Idk. I figured if there was a dimension where SUPACREE is dating DIPLO– Ew. What. Ew. –Then there's probably one where she's got somethin' going on with that guy. How do you figure. Hm. Hm. Interesting. Very Interesting Grow up. We all have –girlfriends. –jobs to do. –secret fetishes. Sick. This is retarded. Turn this off. I want to die. WHERE IS SKRILLEX. Skrillex is playing mountain man with a bunch of fake models and rapper dudes, Woah. He looks different. What happened. More on that later. Or not. Oh, come on! Everybody. Shut up. Not me, right? Especially you. *eyes* what's 9x9? Uhhh– Are you serious? This isn't math! Everything is math! HOW IS THIS MOVIE CAST? CAN DEADmAU5 ACT? –short anser: YES. Long Answer: By The time this movie gets made, we'll all be dead. We're all dead now. Dead *and* gone. *crowd gasps exaggeratedly* I THOUGHT THIS MOVIE WAS ABOUT SKRILLEX. It was- he didn't like it. Why wouldn't he like it? You called him a “nigga” 47 times. Was it 47? At the SUPERBOWL. I guess that makes him the champion of niggas. I guess so. Whatever happened to Dillon Francis. Idk he's pussywhipped or something. I guess. Nice. Still gettin it. Shut up, fans. Okay, ouch. How. How–?? How does someone with THIS MUCH pride and THIS MUCH ego get THIS MUCH power? Probably with all that pride and ego. This is correct. ____ {JOSHrushes in violently.] DRAKE Uh huh… SOMETHING IS WRONG. …what makes you say that…? LOOK AT ME. I see you… I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY. –how am I supposed to tell that just by looking at you? YOU ARE SUSPICIOUS. [suspiciously] No I'm not? [He violently grabs DRAKE by his lapel; gripping him with a fierce and wild look in his eyes] Look Motherfucker; I am looking! I have always wanted to kill you–and now there's NOTHING stopping me. EXCEPT THE LAW– [MEGAN/MIRANDA/CARLY enters mysteriously.] Unhand the boob. BOTH ….MEGAN?! JOSH (er…wait) Sure. [They stare at her in awe; her silhouette grasping at the shadows of the dimly lit space; she is dressed in a sultry black dress, sheer panty hose, and knee high boos, with a matching fedora and puffs seductively on a long and narrow cigarette from the extra long holster. ] Separate. [They obey, bewildered.] Sit. You smoke now? Sometimes. For dramatic effect. This is uncomfortable. Very unsettling. Wait. Wait. Are we filming right now. Is someone filming? [Breaking 4th wall.] Camera's always rolling. ;;PAUSE. Oh, that's why Drew Barrymore was in my dream last night. This is a lot of celebrities. GOD I'm working on something. ::||ALRIGHT, UNPAUSE. Hold on a second. No, we're rolling. –I am one-hundred percent heavily medicated right now. I second that. Ditto. –I'm also slightly intoxicated. Also that. Hashtag “me too.” No “hashtag me too” DOn't say that in Hollywood! It was a joke! I was kidding! That's not funny. Nobody's laughing! C'mon! I meant–I'm like, drunk right now– Still though– Very tacky… I've been day drinking. Drinking and smoking?! I don't believe you! Oh, you don't? [beat] hmm . [Shrugs, admittedly.] Wait, wait–hold it. No holding, we're rolling. Are we rolling–? Holding… And…We're rolling! I'm definitely rolling. Drake! I'm rolling. Ballsacks. C'mon, man! *drake being dumb* I'm being serious! So am I. This is serious. *smokes* Gross. Stop doing that. Doing what? This is what I do… No, I mean: I woke up this morning and I swear to God– Woah! Don't do that. I did everything under the sun EXCEPT go to work to be on TV for a show I wrapped like 15 years ago! You–WHAT? Uhhh… Is this real? … … … Damn. this just got super existential; I have to take a second to summerize this, I'll fill in the dialogue late , I guess The scene was running on anyway. What? I liked it. Anyway, So what we have here is a cross-dimensional triad: DRAKE has been running throughout the interdimensions of time, but unbeknownst to the audience is which DRAKE this is; is this the real life DRAKE BELL, actually a fictional character written into the fabric of SUPACREE'S reality as fate would have it–or the fictional DRAKE from DRAKE & JOSH; Although apparently heavily medicated, JOSH PECK, the actor has been tossed into a nightmarish infinite loop along with other various HOLLYWOOD CELEBRITIES, as SUPACREE has opened various portals throughout the known universe in order to life-switch timelines without having to shapeshift into anyone's body, simply switching her own timeline–with that of her ideal career; Only having done this once, however, triggers an inescapable loop of infinite switches, resulting in a massive disillusion and chaos, as some celebrities go missing entirely from any known reality (in which SUPACREE omnisciently exists, typically, intermittently throughout the series); However, in this scene the audience must suspend its sense of belief, as it takes place in a multidimensional environment; DRAKE and JOSH perhaps, has been running throughout it's entirety, never having been canceled and JOSH PECK has arrived on set in a drug-fueled delusional meltdown; A Parrallell JOSH at some point perhaps even switching timelines; This mysterious, shadowy version of MIRANCA/MEGAN/CARLY is written as such so that this character can be placed or moved to or throughout various specific timelines: Adhering to the plot however, JOSH PECK is an actor, out of sorts with himself, meanwhile– This version of DRAKE is the fictional character from a TV show, in his own fictional world; He is a 4th dimensional device However, The audience should remain unaware that MIRANDA COSGROVE has already merged with her 4th dimensional counterparts, after joining SUPACREE in her Hollywood crusades, traveling through time, space, and the inter/multidimensions on missions to answer the SOS Hollywood originally signaled to SUPACREE during The Legend of Supacree in the first season. That should do. Wow. Hold it What. You looked this deep into that boy's eyes? Not on purpose. - The ‘-complications.' mixtape compilation series which focuses its internal monologue on the ideology of exploratory existentialism, using simple and classic mixing techniques into smooth transitions which mirror synconocities in time, musical elements, and lyricism to illustrate a vortex of collisions in cosmic omniscience, theming its recurring dominant soundscapes into a singular foundational focal point, and centering its multidimensionality into a gripping pull to return its emphasis on reflecting at checkpoints as if to reiterate a greater hidden meaning; the highs and lows of falling in love, it's consequences, long days and nights, missed connections, lost and unrequited love—capturing overall the rock and roll darkness of the neo-moden dance music scene—moving about from world to world—night after night, song after song—bodies on bodies and the escapism of rave and dance floor culture, connected through the pulsating and throbbing heartbeats bridged by light waves, and spread across neon skies across the globe. Featuring dearly beloved hit and dance classics alike from global and legendary super-artists and masters of the dance floor, deadmau5, Kaskade, kx5, Skrillex, Fred Again.., Claptone, and more—featuring new music by and mixed with heart & soul by underground swamp creature and ancient rave God ‘- Ū.' as she explores the outer realms of dance music pre-and-post existence in the guttural haze of the afterlife. Wow, You're funny, God. If i must say so. I mean. Wow. I didn't do this all myself, you know; I had help. What?! Help From Who?! Dillon Francis, Apparently Oh, I highly doubt that, Oh, I wouldn't . I need a lover— I need a lover; Call me your lover (I want just a lover) I need a lover (I need a lover) Dillon Francis was quite possibly the whitest white man in the ever living world— But maybe, that's what I liked about him. Now that I had time to process that for the most part, I had been tricked into fulfilling some strange prophecy— there was nothing less-alluring about the world I had been peering into, now more than anything Movement at the stillpoint Mark something You've got to balance this shit out— You've got to Turn the world on its head (I don't get it) Now you're into this club (I don't fit in) Now you're into this world (But we've been here) Wait I'm not new to this! Wanna go do it again?! Nothing's new to me! I keep secrets like Fountains keep pennies Plant daisies on mountains —your hand in my mouth says that “Head is the answer” Thanks, Kendrick Now I remember what I wanted in the first place Now I remember what I printed; What I cooked him in the kitchen after— —back to keeping secrets; What's an apron and a hat is all you're wearing when I get there— Just like the man in Manhattan Or cat on the Channel— A special edition of some shit with Mario Lopez That sent me right back to the minion With eyes like you had in that dream I went back to I'd say “Fuck Dillon Francis” If I thought of “fuck” as an adjective, Instead of an adverb. Fuck this whole world — Now I just want to surf, I had just scratched the surface of scratching— Before storing my turntables What. All of a sudden, I'm a DJ?! Gee thanks! But God, I'm still loveless and I hope you Marry that blue eyed girl Pop out a bunch of kids that look Just like you What else would I do with my time Than scroll through Instagram And eat a ham-salmon sandwhich— Thinking of going for pancakes, after god likes me fat, We talk much more that way PASQUALE I need you up at night. CC For what. SUPCREE For what. SUNNI BLŪ I AM UP. PASQUALE: This is for what. THE INSOMNIACS ARE ALL IN . “ALL IN” wtf does that mean. The grey streaks in his beard drive me wild-his eyes even wilder; “it's best I not look into them”, I thought, “when giving him this stone..” or maybe, even at all; I knew that if I were to look into his eyes, I would fall in love—all the way in, and not just the lust that I had been struggling with, noticeably for years, now; I would see him from the inside out, from the outside in—and any way in between. I already knew that I wanted him—but for exactly what and how long seemed to allude me. It ha: been a long day with no end yet in sight, and though I was tired, accidentally having fasted throughout the day — namely because I had been out of water the night before, dethawing ice from the hotel's machine into an emergency supply—and having awoke with an immovable force to head straight to the gym, promptly after doing laundry. Though I left what was considerably late, conforming my sleep patterns to my roommate's schedule had not been the easiest of tasks; I found it to be true that energy—or rather, a lack therof, was remarkably contagious. I had been more tired than usual, and more “down” than my normal waves—in fact—it was easy to differentiate this energy from my own, and though I was thankful to have a quiet, moderately clean, and near silent roommate—lucky, even—it was nearly impossible to escape the grip of empathy as it grew into me, our time together short but stifling enough that I was up into the early mornings as she dawdled away on her phone—and, having spent the entirety of my stay offline—becoming increasingly sensitive to her phone's radio signals, sometimes seeming to blast into my brain and penetrating the deepest of sleeps, and though I thought to return to deadmau5 to set myself to rest, for the most part I had been enjoying peaceful enough rest once she finally did get to sleep—in the early morning, which meant that I would more naturally wake closer to noon, eating up most of my morning with sleeping and battling the force of inner city traffic to make my way into the gym, or the library—whichever suited the day and the time—though, for the last three days, I had made it a point to get to the gym daily, rather than every other day, which I had missed, but become a hassle—and though I had found a gym that was decent and clean, it was rather small, the sauna never hot enough—and of course, as it had appeared from my first day having arrived at the club, I was of course being watched and followed—and though I had briefly wondered by “who”, I knew it was of the through forces of The Eye, otherwise known as the Illuminati, if there ever were such a thing— (but of course, there wasn't) often blasting Skrillex every other song as some means of torture, which I could attempt to ignore, but my body couldn't—failing to lift under the pressure of a weakened state by about the third Skrillex tune, confirming my suspicions entirely—a drastic jump from conspiracy to the conformation of psychological terrorism via Skrillex—but for what? By now, of course, I had begun to figure out that I wasn't entirely normal, —that something wasn't right, or maybe even that I had done something exceptionally right, and though I didn't know exactly what, I began to think about the amount of writings I had published online, as well as the significantly “extraterrestrial” recordings that went along with them, and though having used Skrillex as a springboard, the longer I went mulling over all that had happened I realized that there appeared to be something bigger at place—Perhaps I was, indeed, incredibly enlightened—and there seemed to be a greater, outer force that indeed knew and saw all, even deeply into my psyche, and into my dreams. Though I had darted down with excruciating detail into my Google documents the latest dream that I had with Dillon Francis, I didn't know what exactly to make of this particular cadence of synchronicities on this otherwise ‘normal' morning, not that anything at all had actually been normal in any way by far, as long as I could remember backward. Things had indeed been strange for years, which had culminated in the conglomeration of documents, recordings, and other odd-end and unfinished projects that had so far been created under the umbrella of The Festival Project—but it was this day that I truly began to realize that there was something more than circumstantial or coincidental at all about whoever I was, and whatever I was doing—and even with all of my theoretical writings of supernatural, subliminal, and subconscious circumstances and happenings, I wasn't, having existed for the most part broken, homeless, and unpaid for my efforts—sure of either who I was, or what I was doing—let alone how. In all of the strangeness, I only attributed “God” for whatever weird strange thing would happen next— and here it was. I had been thinking about Mario Lopez a lot recently or lately, in bits and pieces and of course less often than I thought of any other reoccurring figure, but certainly about Mario Lopez, his seemingly ageless and incredibly healthy, youthful appearance, and oddly, even of his children, as I knew that he had them; and I had, of course, along with all of those things had wondered about his wife—the whole of his family, of course. His fame had lasted nearly my entire lifetime, and I was almost always pleasantly charmed by the sound of his voice, or his familiar face; and there it was, now—plastered up on a screen I hadn't realized was even there before, but now somehow stood out broadly against the backdrop of the otherwise drab laundromat, which I of course found to be remarkable, as I had very recently for whatever reason been struck with flashes of not so much a curiosity of the man at all—but rather a form of reflective thought. “Oh shit, there he is!” I thought, finding just his appearance on TV coincidental, at best, before zeroing in on the actual atrocities yet unexplainable by man, or any other force—the only cruel explaination being that The Illuminati itself did indeed have access to my Google documents, even though I had been for the most part of two weeks completely offline, with no intention to publish at all—however—I had forgotten about the dream itself, until this sudden collision of sorts had stirred remnince of at all; a dream I had recorded with implicit detail from my first waking moments, indicating some importance; my dreams had been straightforward and vivid lately, and had been filled with all sorts of reoccurring figures, from Sonny Moore, to Billie Ellish, and of course Dillon Francis-and in moments, of course, the later had come rushing back to me with a vengeance, as a life sized-dancing Minion with two differently colored eyes shifted my attentioj from the screen, directly to recalling that dream— the most vivid dream of all of them—and though Sonny had appeared to me more recently, I thought it best not to record them; I still felt betrayed that he had come to New York and left me to be circulated through the system—which of course I was sure had it's purpose, but didn't make me resent him any less for it, compounding the hurt that he had put me through parading Kayla Lauren around—it seemed the entire model of The Skrillex Conundrum was to make me feel stupid, fat, and in cursed skin— and I was at least no longer two of those things. Still, though, I did carry feelings for the man that were impossible to offload, and though I had quite blatently broadcasted my sexual attraction to Dillon, who was apparently, of course, taken by a blue eyed girl of course—it had somehow become deeper at least to me in the following days and weeks afteer my departure from “Season 6” and it's adjacent episodes, a strange half-season debacle in which the emotional uproar of Sonny's appearance in New York and the upheaval of my surroundings—my entry into the homeless system—allowed me to embarrass myself without reform in the honest and brutally raw, post-season aftermath—a restless and sleepless chaos filled nightmare from which the only redeeming comfort was deadmau5, which may have been the point of it at all—as I fiddled in Ableton, it seemed to become a more natural process, creating drum patterns with ease and the once-tedious challenges and difficulties of music production and engineering having become things of the past—but something in all this had seeded in my mind a crucial element of the cosmic alchemists mindset I had been living in; there seemed to be, as in the Christopher Nolan film Tenet, parallel streams of time running both “forward” and “backward”, and even “up” and “down” respectively, creating where and how i was at any given moment as the perceptive present—as in—there always seemed to be some extension of myself both forward and backward in time, if there were such things, and as I continued to write, evidences of God, extra terrestrial presence, interplanetary mechanisms—mauverability through deep space, and time travel all became increasingly and rapidly relevant; I had to have been right enough about something , somewhere, at some point—but even up to now couldn't wrap my head around trying to get a “normal” job, which might be worth the money to be able to escape from my way-too-many-black-people Hellscape, (not that way ‘too many white people' wasn't a thing, but at least was not as abruptly obnoxious—as I had now realized that overt racists often more tactically employed quiet methods of psychological disengagement, rather than flat-out disrespect and cruelty the black-on-black culture had thus far represented. In my mind, however, race had little to do with my actual placement in the world—at least, or so I thought— and though the appearance of where I had been at this point situated was grim or perhaps even bleak, the opposite was actually true; I was now, though strictly under the radar, off the grid, and underground, an extremely accomplished writer, whether anybody knew it or not—and someone did. Low and behold, “The Lopez Kids”, who has been thinking of and new existed were brought the the screen, after a segment featuring Jeannie Aiki had bedazzled me enough to Google her, her familiar voice sparking a curiosity, her own beautiful young one putting a glisten in my eye, along with a tear; I missed my son dearly, and was glad to know that he was with my mother—still worrisome, to say the least, but not as worrisome as he having been with his father, who I knew was fucking up in extreme ways beforehand—but had only been confirmed a few days before, actually exactly one week earlier, as I had toggled off airplane mode just long enough to revive an incoming call from my father—and, having only just the night before having had the dream about Dillon's strange eyes—a dream in which he was not present, but his truck was— promoted me to quickly answer the call, though I had been in the midsts of a whirlwind of transit—a chaotic navigation through unknown territories; he told me that my mother had my son—that my ex husband was unable to care for him any longer. The more right about my ex husband I was, the more peril it felt; I knew my son would be a different person if I had had the ability to raise him. “Something is up.”, I bawled— having seen and heard enough of my own mind scattered across the silver screen— Not only had the Minions eyes reminded me exactly of Dillons—the only dream out of a series of dreams about he, Sonny, and even one with my ex that I had found it important to record—but it was also “National Oreo Day”, which was celebrated with Oreo Doughnuts, appearances from Jeannie Aiko, whose apparent first interview had been with Johnny Depp—who had found his way into my dreams years earlier than nearly anyone else in this lifelong series of bizzare oddities— Ellen DeGenwres discluded—who had more than likely been the first and most random celebrity to make their way into my semi-conciousness; I had never been particularly obsessed or even a fan of Ellen, and yet her appearance in a teenaged dream had stayed with me years into my adulthood—and thiugh during my childhood and adolescent years it had always seemed I had been somehow destined for fame, even before the mockery of the masses and media turned my entire generation inevitably into fame-hungry “artists” , the last few years altogether had been remarkably and even increasingly synchronized; it was as if I had indeed in my lifetime made groundbreaking alterations to the space time continuum. It wasn't until later in the day that I decided to find the document in which I had recorded the dream; I began to laugh reading over my own words as unhinged as it all was—the recording was bizzare and though I hadn't forgotten having the dream itself, I indeed had forgotten many of the details, which of course made me instantly regret not having written down any of the dreams I was having about Sonny—still careful not to let myself feel too much of anything having to with him, even and especially his music, which I only allowed myself to play with purpose, for study. SILVER SCREEN SHOWER SCENE Woah, have you lost your goddamn mind. Yes. I live in a very strange place in the universe. [there are several glitches in the matrix; almost too much to bear.] Very,very strange. What are you doing? Crying? ..I'm not crying… Stop crying, Jesus– –DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BAGELS I HAD TO EAT TO BE SUPACREE? A lot. You look hideous. I am hideous! No arguments, there. Ugh. Lets Go! Try not to look off into the distance with your finger in the air like that; It makes me feel like we're in a comic book or something What if–we are?! Then we're probably about to get our butts kicked before the scene changes or you have to turn the – {NINJAS OUT OF NOWHERE} “The Noir Episdoe” This is business, not war. What's the difference? [beat] Money. HIIIIIIIIIYAAAAAAHHHHH!!! Oh My God. I'm so fat. YAH! Why do I always have to fight when i'm fat?! YAH! KI-YAH! — [ROundhouse Kick} HIIIIIII_YAHH. DO you have to say “Hi-yah” every time you deal a fatal blow. –they're not fatal, they're gonna wake up, eventually–YAH. Oh yeah? Even that guy? {Super dead guy} Probably not him. “Probably.” YOU are a PR nightmare. I'm an everything nightmare. Ugh. I just found out what PR even was. LAWYER enters furiously You fucking lunatic! It's sunny out– What did you do this time? UPDATE: The Skrillex Reddit is still the cringiest place on earth. It's so gross. I hate this. Worst place ever. WORST FUCKING PLACE EVER. Fuck. What. We have to go back. Why? What'd you lose? –My dignity. Worst place ever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Ascension Farro, a reclusive alchemist hailing from the far away crystalline caves of Avallia, returns to the Valley In The Kingdom of Acenscia once Per Revolutionary Orbit, to relay to The Ascended Mastery his findings, Astral Readings, Predictions from the Outer Realms, and Oracles from Beyond Infinity, In The Greater Unknown. He is thought to be the most powerful Wizard in this, and perhaps even of the outer realms; which caters to his illusive habits, and social dissertation–however, he remains friendly with C'esme't, as she sometimes visits the caves of Avallia, en route to certain tasks or journeys in the outer realms, often bearing fruits or other rarities as gifts, merely in exchange for his time–which she deems to be precious, allotting to the differences in their respective perceptions of the construct itself. Petrutheio approaches Gían ferociously, in irritation after being bombarded with numerous visions Why is it, lately, that you are constantly in my mind's eye? Perhaps it's that you've become quite fond of me— Perhaps it's with whom you've been spending your time. —and ‘with whom' might that be? With my wife! Yet to be… If you truly were wise, you'd depart from this realm immediately, in order to best preserve your life. Is that a threat? Look me in my eyes. Should I adjust my distance or my height? Look at me. I see you. Mark my words: Oh, but–I haven't a pen to write them— Then store them carefully in your memory-- What? I'm listening. C'esme't is my one and only Queen; She has by Prophecy, been bonded and betrothed to me. Are you reiterating the Prophecy to yourself, or relaying it to me? Let me state this more clearly-- With ‘clarity', you mean; You should leave— Why so urgently? Both urgently and immediately, actually. Is that a suggestion? For now, maybe. Are you implying you would remove me forcefully from this Kingdom, otherwise? Huh. [A silent tension.] You will see. [He leaves calmly.] C'ESME'T. Stop bothering me. What are these devastating lucidities you've dared to dream? Is it daring? You're my Queen. I'm a lady, not a possession. (grimaces) What's a ‘lady' [A bold look.] C'esme't. What of Persephone? She's no more than nothing. So, ‘nothing', then? No more than it. ___ SIR JYRE! MY LIEGE! Where is C'esme't!? I don't know… Don't lie to me! Why not? It's fun. Is banishment fun? Mine, or yours? Where is she!? [a slight gasp/beat] …my dear nephew— —we're not related— —not by blood… Where is C'esme't? [he pauses for a moment, before turning away to pour a drink.] You should sit. I'm fine, thanks. Drink? [Petruthieo pauses for a moment, reflecting on the previous night's happenings.] I don't drink. Maybe you should. Where's my Queen? —Is she yours? I'll have you exiled. No you won't. I won't? [sir jyre turns to produce a small golden charm, which swings, sparking at the end of a golden chain. Without hesitation, Petrutheo is immediately familiar.] Where's she gone? You'll either sit, or you'll drink if you really want to know. Petrutheo sits, flushed and defeated. I'll tell you— What is it? I am under strict confidentiality enforcements. How exactly strict She'll kill me—-and you. Gían comes running into the room, flustered. Where is she?! —and him. What are you doing? –dying. Die faster. Q: How do you break up with deadmau5. A: You don't. JOEL TALK TO THE HEAD. Oh, come on! What is this. Idk. I figured if there was a dimension where SUPACREE is dating DIPLO– Ew. What. Ew. –Then there's probably one where she's got somethin' going on with that guy. How do you figure. Hm. Hm. Interesting. Very Interesting Grow up. We all have –girlfriends. –jobs to do. –secret fetishes. Sick. This is retarded. Turn this off. I want to die. WHERE IS SKRILLEX. Skrillex is playing mountain man with a bunch of fake models and rapper dudes, Woah. He looks different. What happened. More on that later. Or not. Oh, come on! Everybody. Shut up. Not me, right? Especially you. *eyes* what's 9x9? Uhhh– Are you serious? This isn't math! Everything is math! HOW IS THIS MOVIE CAST? CAN DEADmAU5 ACT? –short anser: YES. Long Answer: By The time this movie gets made, we'll all be dead. We're all dead now. Dead *and* gone. *crowd gasps exaggeratedly* I THOUGHT THIS MOVIE WAS ABOUT SKRILLEX. It was- he didn't like it. Why wouldn't he like it? You called him a “nigga” 47 times. Was it 47? At the SUPERBOWL. I guess that makes him the champion of niggas. I guess so. Whatever happened to Dillon Francis. Idk he's pussywhipped or something. I guess. Nice. Still gettin it. Shut up, fans. Okay, ouch. How. How–?? How does someone with THIS MUCH pride and THIS MUCH ego get THIS MUCH power? Probably with all that pride and ego. This is correct. ____ {JOSHrushes in violently.] DRAKE Uh huh… SOMETHING IS WRONG. …what makes you say that…? LOOK AT ME. I see you… I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY. –how am I supposed to tell that just by looking at you? YOU ARE SUSPICIOUS. [suspiciously] No I'm not? [He violently grabs DRAKE by his lapel; gripping him with a fierce and wild look in his eyes] Look Motherfucker; I am looking! I have always wanted to kill you–and now there's NOTHING stopping me. EXCEPT THE LAW– [MEGAN/MIRANDA/CARLY enters mysteriously.] Unhand the boob. BOTH ….MEGAN?! JOSH (er…wait) Sure. [They stare at her in awe; her silhouette grasping at the shadows of the dimly lit space; she is dressed in a sultry black dress, sheer panty hose, and knee high boos, with a matching fedora and puffs seductively on a long and narrow cigarette from the extra long holster. ] Separate. [They obey, bewildered.] Sit. You smoke now? Sometimes. For dramatic effect. This is uncomfortable. Very unsettling. Wait. Wait. Are we filming right now. Is someone filming? [Breaking 4th wall.] Camera's always rolling. ;;PAUSE. Oh, that's why Drew Barrymore was in my dream last night. This is a lot of celebrities. GOD I'm working on something. ::||ALRIGHT, UNPAUSE. Hold on a second. No, we're rolling. –I am one-hundred percent heavily medicated right now. I second that. Ditto. –I'm also slightly intoxicated. Also that. Hashtag “me too.” No “hashtag me too” DOn't say that in Hollywood! It was a joke! I was kidding! That's not funny. Nobody's laughing! C'mon! I meant–I'm like, drunk right now– Still though– Very tacky… I've been day drinking. Drinking and smoking?! I don't believe you! Oh, you don't? [beat] hmm . [Shrugs, admittedly.] Wait, wait–hold it. No holding, we're rolling. Are we rolling–? Holding… And…We're rolling! I'm definitely rolling. Drake! I'm rolling. Ballsacks. C'mon, man! *drake being dumb* I'm being serious! So am I. This is serious. *smokes* Gross. Stop doing that. Doing what? This is what I do… No, I mean: I woke up this morning and I swear to God– Woah! Don't do that. I did everything under the sun EXCEPT go to work to be on TV for a show I wrapped like 15 years ago! You–WHAT? Uhhh… Is this real? … … … Damn. this just got super existential; I have to take a second to summerize this, I'll fill in the dialogue late , I guess The scene was running on anyway. What? I liked it. Anyway, So what we have here is a cross-dimensional triad: DRAKE has been running throughout the interdimensions of time, but unbeknownst to the audience is which DRAKE this is; is this the real life DRAKE BELL, actually a fictional character written into the fabric of SUPACREE'S reality as fate would have it–or the fictional DRAKE from DRAKE & JOSH; Although apparently heavily medicated, JOSH PECK, the actor has been tossed into a nightmarish infinite loop along with other various HOLLYWOOD CELEBRITIES, as SUPACREE has opened various portals throughout the known universe in order to life-switch timelines without having to shapeshift into anyone's body, simply switching her own timeline–with that of her ideal career; Only having done this once, however, triggers an inescapable loop of infinite switches, resulting in a massive disillusion and chaos, as some celebrities go missing entirely from any known reality (in which SUPACREE omnisciently exists, typically, intermittently throughout the series); However, in this scene the audience must suspend its sense of belief, as it takes place in a multidimensional environment; DRAKE and JOSH perhaps, has been running throughout it's entirety, never having been canceled and JOSH PECK has arrived on set in a drug-fueled delusional meltdown; A Parrallell JOSH at some point perhaps even switching timelines; This mysterious, shadowy version of MIRANCA/MEGAN/CARLY is written as such so that this character can be placed or moved to or throughout various specific timelines: Adhering to the plot however, JOSH PECK is an actor, out of sorts with himself, meanwhile– This version of DRAKE is the fictional character from a TV show, in his own fictional world; He is a 4th dimensional device However, The audience should remain unaware that MIRANDA COSGROVE has already merged with her 4th dimensional counterparts, after joining SUPACREE in her Hollywood crusades, traveling through time, space, and the inter/multidimensions on missions to answer the SOS Hollywood originally signaled to SUPACREE during The Legend of Supacree in the first season. That should do. Wow. Hold it What. You looked this deep into that boy's eyes? Not on purpose. - The ‘-complications.' mixtape compilation series which focuses its internal monologue on the ideology of exploratory existentialism, using simple and classic mixing techniques into smooth transitions which mirror synconocities in time, musical elements, and lyricism to illustrate a vortex of collisions in cosmic omniscience, theming its recurring dominant soundscapes into a singular foundational focal point, and centering its multidimensionality into a gripping pull to return its emphasis on reflecting at checkpoints as if to reiterate a greater hidden meaning; the highs and lows of falling in love, it's consequences, long days and nights, missed connections, lost and unrequited love—capturing overall the rock and roll darkness of the neo-moden dance music scene—moving about from world to world—night after night, song after song—bodies on bodies and the escapism of rave and dance floor culture, connected through the pulsating and throbbing heartbeats bridged by light waves, and spread across neon skies across the globe. Featuring dearly beloved hit and dance classics alike from global and legendary super-artists and masters of the dance floor, deadmau5, Kaskade, kx5, Skrillex, Fred Again.., Claptone, and more—featuring new music by and mixed with heart & soul by underground swamp creature and ancient rave God ‘- Ū.' as she explores the outer realms of dance music pre-and-post existence in the guttural haze of the afterlife. Wow, You're funny, God. If i must say so. I mean. Wow. I didn't do this all myself, you know; I had help. What?! Help From Who?! Dillon Francis, Apparently Oh, I highly doubt that, Oh, I wouldn't . I need a lover— I need a lover; Call me your lover (I want just a lover) I need a lover (I need a lover) Dillon Francis was quite possibly the whitest white man in the ever living world— But maybe, that's what I liked about him. Now that I had time to process that for the most part, I had been tricked into fulfilling some strange prophecy— there was nothing less-alluring about the world I had been peering into, now more than anything Movement at the stillpoint Mark something You've got to balance this shit out— You've got to Turn the world on its head (I don't get it) Now you're into this club (I don't fit in) Now you're into this world (But we've been here) Wait I'm not new to this! Wanna go do it again?! Nothing's new to me! I keep secrets like Fountains keep pennies Plant daisies on mountains —your hand in my mouth says that “Head is the answer” Thanks, Kendrick Now I remember what I wanted in the first place Now I remember what I printed; What I cooked him in the kitchen after— —back to keeping secrets; What's an apron and a hat is all you're wearing when I get there— Just like the man in Manhattan Or cat on the Channel— A special edition of some shit with Mario Lopez That sent me right back to the minion With eyes like you had in that dream I went back to I'd say “Fuck Dillon Francis” If I thought of “fuck” as an adjective, Instead of an adverb. Fuck this whole world — Now I just want to surf, I had just scratched the surface of scratching— Before storing my turntables What. All of a sudden, I'm a DJ?! Gee thanks! But God, I'm still loveless and I hope you Marry that blue eyed girl Pop out a bunch of kids that look Just like you What else would I do with my time Than scroll through Instagram And eat a ham-salmon sandwhich— Thinking of going for pancakes, after god likes me fat, We talk much more that way PASQUALE I need you up at night. CC For what. SUPCREE For what. SUNNI BLŪ I AM UP. PASQUALE: This is for what. THE INSOMNIACS ARE ALL IN . “ALL IN” wtf does that mean. The grey streaks in his beard drive me wild-his eyes even wilder; “it's best I not look into them”, I thought, “when giving him this stone..” or maybe, even at all; I knew that if I were to look into his eyes, I would fall in love—all the way in, and not just the lust that I had been struggling with, noticeably for years, now; I would see him from the inside out, from the outside in—and any way in between. I already knew that I wanted him—but for exactly what and how long seemed to allude me. It ha: been a long day with no end yet in sight, and though I was tired, accidentally having fasted throughout the day — namely because I had been out of water the night before, dethawing ice from the hotel's machine into an emergency supply—and having awoke with an immovable force to head straight to the gym, promptly after doing laundry. Though I left what was considerably late, conforming my sleep patterns to my roommate's schedule had not been the easiest of tasks; I found it to be true that energy—or rather, a lack therof, was remarkably contagious. I had been more tired than usual, and more “down” than my normal waves—in fact—it was easy to differentiate this energy from my own, and though I was thankful to have a quiet, moderately clean, and near silent roommate—lucky, even—it was nearly impossible to escape the grip of empathy as it grew into me, our time together short but stifling enough that I was up into the early mornings as she dawdled away on her phone—and, having spent the entirety of my stay offline—becoming increasingly sensitive to her phone's radio signals, sometimes seeming to blast into my brain and penetrating the deepest of sleeps, and though I thought to return to deadmau5 to set myself to rest, for the most part I had been enjoying peaceful enough rest once she finally did get to sleep—in the early morning, which meant that I would more naturally wake closer to noon, eating up most of my morning with sleeping and battling the force of inner city traffic to make my way into the gym, or the library—whichever suited the day and the time—though, for the last three days, I had made it a point to get to the gym daily, rather than every other day, which I had missed, but become a hassle—and though I had found a gym that was decent and clean, it was rather small, the sauna never hot enough—and of course, as it had appeared from my first day having arrived at the club, I was of course being watched and followed—and though I had briefly wondered by “who”, I knew it was of the through forces of The Eye, otherwise known as the Illuminati, if there ever were such a thing— (but of course, there wasn't) often blasting Skrillex every other song as some means of torture, which I could attempt to ignore, but my body couldn't—failing to lift under the pressure of a weakened state by about the third Skrillex tune, confirming my suspicions entirely—a drastic jump from conspiracy to the conformation of psychological terrorism via Skrillex—but for what? By now, of course, I had begun to figure out that I wasn't entirely normal, —that something wasn't right, or maybe even that I had done something exceptionally right, and though I didn't know exactly what, I began to think about the amount of writings I had published online, as well as the significantly “extraterrestrial” recordings that went along with them, and though having used Skrillex as a springboard, the longer I went mulling over all that had happened I realized that there appeared to be something bigger at place—Perhaps I was, indeed, incredibly enlightened—and there seemed to be a greater, outer force that indeed knew and saw all, even deeply into my psyche, and into my dreams. Though I had darted down with excruciating detail into my Google documents the latest dream that I had with Dillon Francis, I didn't know what exactly to make of this particular cadence of synchronicities on this otherwise ‘normal' morning, not that anything at all had actually been normal in any way by far, as long as I could remember backward. Things had indeed been strange for years, which had culminated in the conglomeration of documents, recordings, and other odd-end and unfinished projects that had so far been created under the umbrella of The Festival Project—but it was this day that I truly began to realize that there was something more than circumstantial or coincidental at all about whoever I was, and whatever I was doing—and even with all of my theoretical writings of supernatural, subliminal, and subconscious circumstances and happenings, I wasn't, having existed for the most part broken, homeless, and unpaid for my efforts—sure of either who I was, or what I was doing—let alone how. In all of the strangeness, I only attributed “God” for whatever weird strange thing would happen next— and here it was. I had been thinking about Mario Lopez a lot recently or lately, in bits and pieces and of course less often than I thought of any other reoccurring figure, but certainly about Mario Lopez, his seemingly ageless and incredibly healthy, youthful appearance, and oddly, even of his children, as I knew that he had them; and I had, of course, along with all of those things had wondered about his wife—the whole of his family, of course. His fame had lasted nearly my entire lifetime, and I was almost always pleasantly charmed by the sound of his voice, or his familiar face; and there it was, now—plastered up on a screen I hadn't realized was even there before, but now somehow stood out broadly against the backdrop of the otherwise drab laundromat, which I of course found to be remarkable, as I had very recently for whatever reason been struck with flashes of not so much a curiosity of the man at all—but rather a form of reflective thought. “Oh shit, there he is!” I thought, finding just his appearance on TV coincidental, at best, before zeroing in on the actual atrocities yet unexplainable by man, or any other force—the only cruel explaination being that The Illuminati itself did indeed have access to my Google documents, even though I had been for the most part of two weeks completely offline, with no intention to publish at all—however—I had forgotten about the dream itself, until this sudden collision of sorts had stirred remnince of at all; a dream I had recorded with implicit detail from my first waking moments, indicating some importance; my dreams had been straightforward and vivid lately, and had been filled with all sorts of reoccurring figures, from Sonny Moore, to Billie Ellish, and of course Dillon Francis-and in moments, of course, the later had come rushing back to me with a vengeance, as a life sized-dancing Minion with two differently colored eyes shifted my attentioj from the screen, directly to recalling that dream— the most vivid dream of all of them—and though Sonny had appeared to me more recently, I thought it best not to record them; I still felt betrayed that he had come to New York and left me to be circulated through the system—which of course I was sure had it's purpose, but didn't make me resent him any less for it, compounding the hurt that he had put me through parading Kayla Lauren around—it seemed the entire model of The Skrillex Conundrum was to make me feel stupid, fat, and in cursed skin— and I was at least no longer two of those things. Still, though, I did carry feelings for the man that were impossible to offload, and though I had quite blatently broadcasted my sexual attraction to Dillon, who was apparently, of course, taken by a blue eyed girl of course—it had somehow become deeper at least to me in the following days and weeks afteer my departure from “Season 6” and it's adjacent episodes, a strange half-season debacle in which the emotional uproar of Sonny's appearance in New York and the upheaval of my surroundings—my entry into the homeless system—allowed me to embarrass myself without reform in the honest and brutally raw, post-season aftermath—a restless and sleepless chaos filled nightmare from which the only redeeming comfort was deadmau5, which may have been the point of it at all—as I fiddled in Ableton, it seemed to become a more natural process, creating drum patterns with ease and the once-tedious challenges and difficulties of music production and engineering having become things of the past—but something in all this had seeded in my mind a crucial element of the cosmic alchemists mindset I had been living in; there seemed to be, as in the Christopher Nolan film Tenet, parallel streams of time running both “forward” and “backward”, and even “up” and “down” respectively, creating where and how i was at any given moment as the perceptive present—as in—there always seemed to be some extension of myself both forward and backward in time, if there were such things, and as I continued to write, evidences of God, extra terrestrial presence, interplanetary mechanisms—mauverability through deep space, and time travel all became increasingly and rapidly relevant; I had to have been right enough about something , somewhere, at some point—but even up to now couldn't wrap my head around trying to get a “normal” job, which might be worth the money to be able to escape from my way-too-many-black-people Hellscape, (not that way ‘too many white people' wasn't a thing, but at least was not as abruptly obnoxious—as I had now realized that overt racists often more tactically employed quiet methods of psychological disengagement, rather than flat-out disrespect and cruelty the black-on-black culture had thus far represented. In my mind, however, race had little to do with my actual placement in the world—at least, or so I thought— and though the appearance of where I had been at this point situated was grim or perhaps even bleak, the opposite was actually true; I was now, though strictly under the radar, off the grid, and underground, an extremely accomplished writer, whether anybody knew it or not—and someone did. Low and behold, “The Lopez Kids”, who has been thinking of and new existed were brought the the screen, after a segment featuring Jeannie Aiki had bedazzled me enough to Google her, her familiar voice sparking a curiosity, her own beautiful young one putting a glisten in my eye, along with a tear; I missed my son dearly, and was glad to know that he was with my mother—still worrisome, to say the least, but not as worrisome as he having been with his father, who I knew was fucking up in extreme ways beforehand—but had only been confirmed a few days before, actually exactly one week earlier, as I had toggled off airplane mode just long enough to revive an incoming call from my father—and, having only just the night before having had the dream about Dillon's strange eyes—a dream in which he was not present, but his truck was— promoted me to quickly answer the call, though I had been in the midsts of a whirlwind of transit—a chaotic navigation through unknown territories; he told me that my mother had my son—that my ex husband was unable to care for him any longer. The more right about my ex husband I was, the more peril it felt; I knew my son would be a different person if I had had the ability to raise him. “Something is up.”, I bawled— having seen and heard enough of my own mind scattered across the silver screen— Not only had the Minions eyes reminded me exactly of Dillons—the only dream out of a series of dreams about he, Sonny, and even one with my ex that I had found it important to record—but it was also “National Oreo Day”, which was celebrated with Oreo Doughnuts, appearances from Jeannie Aiko, whose apparent first interview had been with Johnny Depp—who had found his way into my dreams years earlier than nearly anyone else in this lifelong series of bizzare oddities— Ellen DeGenwres discluded—who had more than likely been the first and most random celebrity to make their way into my semi-conciousness; I had never been particularly obsessed or even a fan of Ellen, and yet her appearance in a teenaged dream had stayed with me years into my adulthood—and thiugh during my childhood and adolescent years it had always seemed I had been somehow destined for fame, even before the mockery of the masses and media turned my entire generation inevitably into fame-hungry “artists” , the last few years altogether had been remarkably and even increasingly synchronized; it was as if I had indeed in my lifetime made groundbreaking alterations to the space time continuum. It wasn't until later in the day that I decided to find the document in which I had recorded the dream; I began to laugh reading over my own words as unhinged as it all was—the recording was bizzare and though I hadn't forgotten having the dream itself, I indeed had forgotten many of the details, which of course made me instantly regret not having written down any of the dreams I was having about Sonny—still careful not to let myself feel too much of anything having to with him, even and especially his music, which I only allowed myself to play with purpose, for study. SILVER SCREEN SHOWER SCENE Woah, have you lost your goddamn mind. Yes. I live in a very strange place in the universe. [there are several glitches in the matrix; almost too much to bear.] Very,very strange. What are you doing? Crying? ..I'm not crying… Stop crying, Jesus– –DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BAGELS I HAD TO EAT TO BE SUPACREE? A lot. You look hideous. I am hideous! No arguments, there. Ugh. Lets Go! Try not to look off into the distance with your finger in the air like that; It makes me feel like we're in a comic book or something What if–we are?! Then we're probably about to get our butts kicked before the scene changes or you have to turn the – {NINJAS OUT OF NOWHERE} “The Noir Episdoe” This is business, not war. What's the difference? [beat] Money. HIIIIIIIIIYAAAAAAHHHHH!!! Oh My God. I'm so fat. YAH! Why do I always have to fight when i'm fat?! YAH! KI-YAH! — [ROundhouse Kick} HIIIIIII_YAHH. DO you have to say “Hi-yah” every time you deal a fatal blow. –they're not fatal, they're gonna wake up, eventually–YAH. Oh yeah? Even that guy? {Super dead guy} Probably not him. “Probably.” YOU are a PR nightmare. I'm an everything nightmare. Ugh. I just found out what PR even was. LAWYER enters furiously You fucking lunatic! It's sunny out– What did you do this time? UPDATE: The Skrillex Reddit is still the cringiest place on earth. It's so gross. I hate this. Worst place ever. WORST FUCKING PLACE EVER. Fuck. What. We have to go back. Why? What'd you lose? –My dignity. Worst place ever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Ascension Farro, a reclusive alchemist hailing from the far away crystalline caves of Avallia, returns to the Valley In The Kingdom of Acenscia once Per Revolutionary Orbit, to relay to The Ascended Mastery his findings, Astral Readings, Predictions from the Outer Realms, and Oracles from Beyond Infinity, In The Greater Unknown. He is thought to be the most powerful Wizard in this, and perhaps even of the outer realms; which caters to his illusive habits, and social dissertation–however, he remains friendly with C'esme't, as she sometimes visits the caves of Avallia, en route to certain tasks or journeys in the outer realms, often bearing fruits or other rarities as gifts, merely in exchange for his time–which she deems to be precious, allotting to the differences in their respective perceptions of the construct itself. Petrutheio approaches Gían ferociously, in irritation after being bombarded with numerous visions Why is it, lately, that you are constantly in my mind's eye? Perhaps it's that you've become quite fond of me— Perhaps it's with whom you've been spending your time. —and ‘with whom' might that be? With my wife! Yet to be… If you truly were wise, you'd depart from this realm immediately, in order to best preserve your life. Is that a threat? Look me in my eyes. Should I adjust my distance or my height? Look at me. I see you. Mark my words: Oh, but–I haven't a pen to write them— Then store them carefully in your memory-- What? I'm listening. C'esme't is my one and only Queen; She has by Prophecy, been bonded and betrothed to me. Are you reiterating the Prophecy to yourself, or relaying it to me? Let me state this more clearly-- With ‘clarity', you mean; You should leave— Why so urgently? Both urgently and immediately, actually. Is that a suggestion? For now, maybe. Are you implying you would remove me forcefully from this Kingdom, otherwise? Huh. [A silent tension.] You will see. [He leaves calmly.] C'ESME'T. Stop bothering me. What are these devastating lucidities you've dared to dream? Is it daring? You're my Queen. I'm a lady, not a possession. (grimaces) What's a ‘lady' [A bold look.] C'esme't. What of Persephone? She's no more than nothing. So, ‘nothing', then? No more than it. ___ SIR JYRE! MY LIEGE! Where is C'esme't!? I don't know… Don't lie to me! Why not? It's fun. Is banishment fun? Mine, or yours? Where is she!? [a slight gasp/beat] …my dear nephew— —we're not related— —not by blood… Where is C'esme't? [he pauses for a moment, before turning away to pour a drink.] You should sit. I'm fine, thanks. Drink? [Petruthieo pauses for a moment, reflecting on the previous night's happenings.] I don't drink. Maybe you should. Where's my Queen? —Is she yours? I'll have you exiled. No you won't. I won't? [sir jyre turns to produce a small golden charm, which swings, sparking at the end of a golden chain. Without hesitation, Petrutheo is immediately familiar.] Where's she gone? You'll either sit, or you'll drink if you really want to know. Petrutheo sits, flushed and defeated. I'll tell you— What is it? I am under strict confidentiality enforcements. How exactly strict She'll kill me—-and you. Gían comes running into the room, flustered. Where is she?! —and him. What are you doing? –dying. Die faster. Q: How do you break up with deadmau5. A: You don't. JOEL TALK TO THE HEAD. Oh, come on! What is this. Idk. I figured if there was a dimension where SUPACREE is dating DIPLO– Ew. What. Ew. –Then there's probably one where she's got somethin' going on with that guy. How do you figure. Hm. Hm. Interesting. Very Interesting Grow up. We all have –girlfriends. –jobs to do. –secret fetishes. Sick. This is retarded. Turn this off. I want to die. WHERE IS SKRILLEX. Skrillex is playing mountain man with a bunch of fake models and rapper dudes, Woah. He looks different. What happened. More on that later. Or not. Oh, come on! Everybody. Shut up. Not me, right? Especially you. *eyes* what's 9x9? Uhhh– Are you serious? This isn't math! Everything is math! HOW IS THIS MOVIE CAST? CAN DEADmAU5 ACT? –short anser: YES. Long Answer: By The time this movie gets made, we'll all be dead. We're all dead now. Dead *and* gone. *crowd gasps exaggeratedly* I THOUGHT THIS MOVIE WAS ABOUT SKRILLEX. It was- he didn't like it. Why wouldn't he like it? You called him a “nigga” 47 times. Was it 47? At the SUPERBOWL. I guess that makes him the champion of niggas. I guess so. Whatever happened to Dillon Francis. Idk he's pussywhipped or something. I guess. Nice. Still gettin it. Shut up, fans. Okay, ouch. How. How–?? How does someone with THIS MUCH pride and THIS MUCH ego get THIS MUCH power? Probably with all that pride and ego. This is correct. ____ {JOSHrushes in violently.] DRAKE Uh huh… SOMETHING IS WRONG. …what makes you say that…? LOOK AT ME. I see you… I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY. –how am I supposed to tell that just by looking at you? YOU ARE SUSPICIOUS. [suspiciously] No I'm not? [He violently grabs DRAKE by his lapel; gripping him with a fierce and wild look in his eyes] Look Motherfucker; I am looking! I have always wanted to kill you–and now there's NOTHING stopping me. EXCEPT THE LAW– [MEGAN/MIRANDA/CARLY enters mysteriously.] Unhand the boob. BOTH ….MEGAN?! JOSH (er…wait) Sure. [They stare at her in awe; her silhouette grasping at the shadows of the dimly lit space; she is dressed in a sultry black dress, sheer panty hose, and knee high boos, with a matching fedora and puffs seductively on a long and narrow cigarette from the extra long holster. ] Separate. [They obey, bewildered.] Sit. You smoke now? Sometimes. For dramatic effect. This is uncomfortable. Very unsettling. Wait. Wait. Are we filming right now. Is someone filming? [Breaking 4th wall.] Camera's always rolling. ;;PAUSE. Oh, that's why Drew Barrymore was in my dream last night. This is a lot of celebrities. GOD I'm working on something. ::||ALRIGHT, UNPAUSE. Hold on a second. No, we're rolling. –I am one-hundred percent heavily medicated right now. I second that. Ditto. –I'm also slightly intoxicated. Also that. Hashtag “me too.” No “hashtag me too” DOn't say that in Hollywood! It was a joke! I was kidding! That's not funny. Nobody's laughing! C'mon! I meant–I'm like, drunk right now– Still though– Very tacky… I've been day drinking. Drinking and smoking?! I don't believe you! Oh, you don't? [beat] hmm . [Shrugs, admittedly.] Wait, wait–hold it. No holding, we're rolling. Are we rolling–? Holding… And…We're rolling! I'm definitely rolling. Drake! I'm rolling. Ballsacks. C'mon, man! *drake being dumb* I'm being serious! So am I. This is serious. *smokes* Gross. Stop doing that. Doing what? This is what I do… No, I mean: I woke up this morning and I swear to God– Woah! Don't do that. I did everything under the sun EXCEPT go to work to be on TV for a show I wrapped like 15 years ago! You–WHAT? Uhhh… Is this real? … … … Damn. this just got super existential; I have to take a second to summerize this, I'll fill in the dialogue late , I guess The scene was running on anyway. What? I liked it. Anyway, So what we have here is a cross-dimensional triad: DRAKE has been running throughout the interdimensions of time, but unbeknownst to the audience is which DRAKE this is; is this the real life DRAKE BELL, actually a fictional character written into the fabric of SUPACREE'S reality as fate would have it–or the fictional DRAKE from DRAKE & JOSH; Although apparently heavily medicated, JOSH PECK, the actor has been tossed into a nightmarish infinite loop along with other various HOLLYWOOD CELEBRITIES, as SUPACREE has opened various portals throughout the known universe in order to life-switch timelines without having to shapeshift into anyone's body, simply switching her own timeline–with that of her ideal career; Only having done this once, however, triggers an inescapable loop of infinite switches, resulting in a massive disillusion and chaos, as some celebrities go missing entirely from any known reality (in which SUPACREE omnisciently exists, typically, intermittently throughout the series); However, in this scene the audience must suspend its sense of belief, as it takes place in a multidimensional environment; DRAKE and JOSH perhaps, has been running throughout it's entirety, never having been canceled and JOSH PECK has arrived on set in a drug-fueled delusional meltdown; A Parrallell JOSH at some point perhaps even switching timelines; This mysterious, shadowy version of MIRANCA/MEGAN/CARLY is written as such so that this character can be placed or moved to or throughout various specific timelines: Adhering to the plot however, JOSH PECK is an actor, out of sorts with himself, meanwhile– This version of DRAKE is the fictional character from a TV show, in his own fictional world; He is a 4th dimensional device However, The audience should remain unaware that MIRANDA COSGROVE has already merged with her 4th dimensional counterparts, after joining SUPACREE in her Hollywood crusades, traveling through time, space, and the inter/multidimensions on missions to answer the SOS Hollywood originally signaled to SUPACREE during The Legend of Supacree in the first season. That should do. Wow. Hold it What. You looked this deep into that boy's eyes? Not on purpose. - The ‘-complications.' mixtape compilation series which focuses its internal monologue on the ideology of exploratory existentialism, using simple and classic mixing techniques into smooth transitions which mirror synconocities in time, musical elements, and lyricism to illustrate a vortex of collisions in cosmic omniscience, theming its recurring dominant soundscapes into a singular foundational focal point, and centering its multidimensionality into a gripping pull to return its emphasis on reflecting at checkpoints as if to reiterate a greater hidden meaning; the highs and lows of falling in love, it's consequences, long days and nights, missed connections, lost and unrequited love—capturing overall the rock and roll darkness of the neo-moden dance music scene—moving about from world to world—night after night, song after song—bodies on bodies and the escapism of rave and dance floor culture, connected through the pulsating and throbbing heartbeats bridged by light waves, and spread across neon skies across the globe. Featuring dearly beloved hit and dance classics alike from global and legendary super-artists and masters of the dance floor, deadmau5, Kaskade, kx5, Skrillex, Fred Again.., Claptone, and more—featuring new music by and mixed with heart & soul by underground swamp creature and ancient rave God ‘- Ū.' as she explores the outer realms of dance music pre-and-post existence in the guttural haze of the afterlife. Wow, You're funny, God. If i must say so. I mean. Wow. I didn't do this all myself, you know; I had help. What?! Help From Who?! Dillon Francis, Apparently Oh, I highly doubt that, Oh, I wouldn't . I need a lover— I need a lover; Call me your lover (I want just a lover) I need a lover (I need a lover) Dillon Francis was quite possibly the whitest white man in the ever living world— But maybe, that's what I liked about him. Now that I had time to process that for the most part, I had been tricked into fulfilling some strange prophecy— there was nothing less-alluring about the world I had been peering into, now more than anything Movement at the stillpoint Mark something You've got to balance this shit out— You've got to Turn the world on its head (I don't get it) Now you're into this club (I don't fit in) Now you're into this world (But we've been here) Wait I'm not new to this! Wanna go do it again?! Nothing's new to me! I keep secrets like Fountains keep pennies Plant daisies on mountains —your hand in my mouth says that “Head is the answer” Thanks, Kendrick Now I remember what I wanted in the first place Now I remember what I printed; What I cooked him in the kitchen after— —back to keeping secrets; What's an apron and a hat is all you're wearing when I get there— Just like the man in Manhattan Or cat on the Channel— A special edition of some shit with Mario Lopez That sent me right back to the minion With eyes like you had in that dream I went back to I'd say “Fuck Dillon Francis” If I thought of “fuck” as an adjective, Instead of an adverb. Fuck this whole world — Now I just want to surf, I had just scratched the surface of scratching— Before storing my turntables What. All of a sudden, I'm a DJ?! Gee thanks! But God, I'm still loveless and I hope you Marry that blue eyed girl Pop out a bunch of kids that look Just like you What else would I do with my time Than scroll through Instagram And eat a ham-salmon sandwhich— Thinking of going for pancakes, after god likes me fat, We talk much more that way PASQUALE I need you up at night. CC For what. SUPCREE For what. SUNNI BLŪ I AM UP. PASQUALE: This is for what. THE INSOMNIACS ARE ALL IN . “ALL IN” wtf does that mean. The grey streaks in his beard drive me wild-his eyes even wilder; “it's best I not look into them”, I thought, “when giving him this stone..” or maybe, even at all; I knew that if I were to look into his eyes, I would fall in love—all the way in, and not just the lust that I had been struggling with, noticeably for years, now; I would see him from the inside out, from the outside in—and any way in between. I already knew that I wanted him—but for exactly what and how long seemed to allude me. It ha: been a long day with no end yet in sight, and though I was tired, accidentally having fasted throughout the day — namely because I had been out of water the night before, dethawing ice from the hotel's machine into an emergency supply—and having awoke with an immovable force to head straight to the gym, promptly after doing laundry. Though I left what was considerably late, conforming my sleep patterns to my roommate's schedule had not been the easiest of tasks; I found it to be true that energy—or rather, a lack therof, was remarkably contagious. I had been more tired than usual, and more “down” than my normal waves—in fact—it was easy to differentiate this energy from my own, and though I was thankful to have a quiet, moderately clean, and near silent roommate—lucky, even—it was nearly impossible to escape the grip of empathy as it grew into me, our time together short but stifling enough that I was up into the early mornings as she dawdled away on her phone—and, having spent the entirety of my stay offline—becoming increasingly sensitive to her phone's radio signals, sometimes seeming to blast into my brain and penetrating the deepest of sleeps, and though I thought to return to deadmau5 to set myself to rest, for the most part I had been enjoying peaceful enough rest once she finally did get to sleep—in the early morning, which meant that I would more naturally wake closer to noon, eating up most of my morning with sleeping and battling the force of inner city traffic to make my way into the gym, or the library—whichever suited the day and the time—though, for the last three days, I had made it a point to get to the gym daily, rather than every other day, which I had missed, but become a hassle—and though I had found a gym that was decent and clean, it was rather small, the sauna never hot enough—and of course, as it had appeared from my first day having arrived at the club, I was of course being watched and followed—and though I had briefly wondered by “who”, I knew it was of the through forces of The Eye, otherwise known as the Illuminati, if there ever were such a thing— (but of course, there wasn't) often blasting Skrillex every other song as some means of torture, which I could attempt to ignore, but my body couldn't—failing to lift under the pressure of a weakened state by about the third Skrillex tune, confirming my suspicions entirely—a drastic jump from conspiracy to the conformation of psychological terrorism via Skrillex—but for what? By now, of course, I had begun to figure out that I wasn't entirely normal, —that something wasn't right, or maybe even that I had done something exceptionally right, and though I didn't know exactly what, I began to think about the amount of writings I had published online, as well as the significantly “extraterrestrial” recordings that went along with them, and though having used Skrillex as a springboard, the longer I went mulling over all that had happened I realized that there appeared to be something bigger at place—Perhaps I was, indeed, incredibly enlightened—and there seemed to be a greater, outer force that indeed knew and saw all, even deeply into my psyche, and into my dreams. Though I had darted down with excruciating detail into my Google documents the latest dream that I had with Dillon Francis, I didn't know what exactly to make of this particular cadence of synchronicities on this otherwise ‘normal' morning, not that anything at all had actually been normal in any way by far, as long as I could remember backward. Things had indeed been strange for years, which had culminated in the conglomeration of documents, recordings, and other odd-end and unfinished projects that had so far been created under the umbrella of The Festival Project—but it was this day that I truly began to realize that there was something more than circumstantial or coincidental at all about whoever I was, and whatever I was doing—and even with all of my theoretical writings of supernatural, subliminal, and subconscious circumstances and happenings, I wasn't, having existed for the most part broken, homeless, and unpaid for my efforts—sure of either who I was, or what I was doing—let alone how. In all of the strangeness, I only attributed “God” for whatever weird strange thing would happen next— and here it was. I had been thinking about Mario Lopez a lot recently or lately, in bits and pieces and of course less often than I thought of any other reoccurring figure, but certainly about Mario Lopez, his seemingly ageless and incredibly healthy, youthful appearance, and oddly, even of his children, as I knew that he had them; and I had, of course, along with all of those things had wondered about his wife—the whole of his family, of course. His fame had lasted nearly my entire lifetime, and I was almost always pleasantly charmed by the sound of his voice, or his familiar face; and there it was, now—plastered up on a screen I hadn't realized was even there before, but now somehow stood out broadly against the backdrop of the otherwise drab laundromat, which I of course found to be remarkable, as I had very recently for whatever reason been struck with flashes of not so much a curiosity of the man at all—but rather a form of reflective thought. “Oh shit, there he is!” I thought, finding just his appearance on TV coincidental, at best, before zeroing in on the actual atrocities yet unexplainable by man, or any other force—the only cruel explaination being that The Illuminati itself did indeed have access to my Google documents, even though I had been for the most part of two weeks completely offline, with no intention to publish at all—however—I had forgotten about the dream itself, until this sudden collision of sorts had stirred remnince of at all; a dream I had recorded with implicit detail from my first waking moments, indicating some importance; my dreams had been straightforward and vivid lately, and had been filled with all sorts of reoccurring figures, from Sonny Moore, to Billie Ellish, and of course Dillon Francis-and in moments, of course, the later had come rushing back to me with a vengeance, as a life sized-dancing Minion with two differently colored eyes shifted my attentioj from the screen, directly to recalling that dream— the most vivid dream of all of them—and though Sonny had appeared to me more recently, I thought it best not to record them; I still felt betrayed that he had come to New York and left me to be circulated through the system—which of course I was sure had it's purpose, but didn't make me resent him any less for it, compounding the hurt that he had put me through parading Kayla Lauren around—it seemed the entire model of The Skrillex Conundrum was to make me feel stupid, fat, and in cursed skin— and I was at least no longer two of those things. Still, though, I did carry feelings for the man that were impossible to offload, and though I had quite blatently broadcasted my sexual attraction to Dillon, who was apparently, of course, taken by a blue eyed girl of course—it had somehow become deeper at least to me in the following days and weeks afteer my departure from “Season 6” and it's adjacent episodes, a strange half-season debacle in which the emotional uproar of Sonny's appearance in New York and the upheaval of my surroundings—my entry into the homeless system—allowed me to embarrass myself without reform in the honest and brutally raw, post-season aftermath—a restless and sleepless chaos filled nightmare from which the only redeeming comfort was deadmau5, which may have been the point of it at all—as I fiddled in Ableton, it seemed to become a more natural process, creating drum patterns with ease and the once-tedious challenges and difficulties of music production and engineering having become things of the past—but something in all this had seeded in my mind a crucial element of the cosmic alchemists mindset I had been living in; there seemed to be, as in the Christopher Nolan film Tenet, parallel streams of time running both “forward” and “backward”, and even “up” and “down” respectively, creating where and how i was at any given moment as the perceptive present—as in—there always seemed to be some extension of myself both forward and backward in time, if there were such things, and as I continued to write, evidences of God, extra terrestrial presence, interplanetary mechanisms—mauverability through deep space, and time travel all became increasingly and rapidly relevant; I had to have been right enough about something , somewhere, at some point—but even up to now couldn't wrap my head around trying to get a “normal” job, which might be worth the money to be able to escape from my way-too-many-black-people Hellscape, (not that way ‘too many white people' wasn't a thing, but at least was not as abruptly obnoxious—as I had now realized that overt racists often more tactically employed quiet methods of psychological disengagement, rather than flat-out disrespect and cruelty the black-on-black culture had thus far represented. In my mind, however, race had little to do with my actual placement in the world—at least, or so I thought— and though the appearance of where I had been at this point situated was grim or perhaps even bleak, the opposite was actually true; I was now, though strictly under the radar, off the grid, and underground, an extremely accomplished writer, whether anybody knew it or not—and someone did. Low and behold, “The Lopez Kids”, who has been thinking of and new existed were brought the the screen, after a segment featuring Jeannie Aiki had bedazzled me enough to Google her, her familiar voice sparking a curiosity, her own beautiful young one putting a glisten in my eye, along with a tear; I missed my son dearly, and was glad to know that he was with my mother—still worrisome, to say the least, but not as worrisome as he having been with his father, who I knew was fucking up in extreme ways beforehand—but had only been confirmed a few days before, actually exactly one week earlier, as I had toggled off airplane mode just long enough to revive an incoming call from my father—and, having only just the night before having had the dream about Dillon's strange eyes—a dream in which he was not present, but his truck was— promoted me to quickly answer the call, though I had been in the midsts of a whirlwind of transit—a chaotic navigation through unknown territories; he told me that my mother had my son—that my ex husband was unable to care for him any longer. The more right about my ex husband I was, the more peril it felt; I knew my son would be a different person if I had had the ability to raise him. “Something is up.”, I bawled— having seen and heard enough of my own mind scattered across the silver screen— Not only had the Minions eyes reminded me exactly of Dillons—the only dream out of a series of dreams about he, Sonny, and even one with my ex that I had found it important to record—but it was also “National Oreo Day”, which was celebrated with Oreo Doughnuts, appearances from Jeannie Aiko, whose apparent first interview had been with Johnny Depp—who had found his way into my dreams years earlier than nearly anyone else in this lifelong series of bizzare oddities— Ellen DeGenwres discluded—who had more than likely been the first and most random celebrity to make their way into my semi-conciousness; I had never been particularly obsessed or even a fan of Ellen, and yet her appearance in a teenaged dream had stayed with me years into my adulthood—and thiugh during my childhood and adolescent years it had always seemed I had been somehow destined for fame, even before the mockery of the masses and media turned my entire generation inevitably into fame-hungry “artists” , the last few years altogether had been remarkably and even increasingly synchronized; it was as if I had indeed in my lifetime made groundbreaking alterations to the space time continuum. It wasn't until later in the day that I decided to find the document in which I had recorded the dream; I began to laugh reading over my own words as unhinged as it all was—the recording was bizzare and though I hadn't forgotten having the dream itself, I indeed had forgotten many of the details, which of course made me instantly regret not having written down any of the dreams I was having about Sonny—still careful not to let myself feel too much of anything having to with him, even and especially his music, which I only allowed myself to play with purpose, for study. SILVER SCREEN SHOWER SCENE Woah, have you lost your goddamn mind. Yes. I live in a very strange place in the universe. [there are several glitches in the matrix; almost too much to bear.] Very,very strange. What are you doing? Crying? ..I'm not crying… Stop crying, Jesus– –DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BAGELS I HAD TO EAT TO BE SUPACREE? A lot. You look hideous. I am hideous! No arguments, there. Ugh. Lets Go! Try not to look off into the distance with your finger in the air like that; It makes me feel like we're in a comic book or something What if–we are?! Then we're probably about to get our butts kicked before the scene changes or you have to turn the – {NINJAS OUT OF NOWHERE} “The Noir Episdoe” This is business, not war. What's the difference? [beat] Money. HIIIIIIIIIYAAAAAAHHHHH!!! Oh My God. I'm so fat. YAH! Why do I always have to fight when i'm fat?! YAH! KI-YAH! — [ROundhouse Kick} HIIIIIII_YAHH. DO you have to say “Hi-yah” every time you deal a fatal blow. –they're not fatal, they're gonna wake up, eventually–YAH. Oh yeah? Even that guy? {Super dead guy} Probably not him. “Probably.” YOU are a PR nightmare. I'm an everything nightmare. Ugh. I just found out what PR even was. LAWYER enters furiously You fucking lunatic! It's sunny out– What did you do this time? UPDATE: The Skrillex Reddit is still the cringiest place on earth. It's so gross. I hate this. Worst place ever. WORST FUCKING PLACE EVER. Fuck. What. We have to go back. Why? What'd you lose? –My dignity. Worst place ever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Ascension Farro, a reclusive alchemist hailing from the far away crystalline caves of Avallia, returns to the Valley In The Kingdom of Acenscia once Per Revolutionary Orbit, to relay to The Ascended Mastery his findings, Astral Readings, Predictions from the Outer Realms, and Oracles from Beyond Infinity, In The Greater Unknown. He is thought to be the most powerful Wizard in this, and perhaps even of the outer realms; which caters to his illusive habits, and social dissertation–however, he remains friendly with C'esme't, as she sometimes visits the caves of Avallia, en route to certain tasks or journeys in the outer realms, often bearing fruits or other rarities as gifts, merely in exchange for his time–which she deems to be precious, allotting to the differences in their respective perceptions of the construct itself. Petrutheio approaches Gían ferociously, in irritation after being bombarded with numerous visions Why is it, lately, that you are constantly in my mind's eye? Perhaps it's that you've become quite fond of me— Perhaps it's with whom you've been spending your time. —and ‘with whom' might that be? With my wife! Yet to be… If you truly were wise, you'd depart from this realm immediately, in order to best preserve your life. Is that a threat? Look me in my eyes. Should I adjust my distance or my height? Look at me. I see you. Mark my words: Oh, but–I haven't a pen to write them— Then store them carefully in your memory-- What? I'm listening. C'esme't is my one and only Queen; She has by Prophecy, been bonded and betrothed to me. Are you reiterating the Prophecy to yourself, or relaying it to me? Let me state this more clearly-- With ‘clarity', you mean; You should leave— Why so urgently? Both urgently and immediately, actually. Is that a suggestion? For now, maybe. Are you implying you would remove me forcefully from this Kingdom, otherwise? Huh. [A silent tension.] You will see. [He leaves calmly.] C'ESME'T. Stop bothering me. What are these devastating lucidities you've dared to dream? Is it daring? You're my Queen. I'm a lady, not a possession. (grimaces) What's a ‘lady' [A bold look.] C'esme't. What of Persephone? She's no more than nothing. So, ‘nothing', then? No more than it. ___ SIR JYRE! MY LIEGE! Where is C'esme't!? I don't know… Don't lie to me! Why not? It's fun. Is banishment fun? Mine, or yours? Where is she!? [a slight gasp/beat] …my dear nephew— —we're not related— —not by blood… Where is C'esme't? [he pauses for a moment, before turning away to pour a drink.] You should sit. I'm fine, thanks. Drink? [Petruthieo pauses for a moment, reflecting on the previous night's happenings.] I don't drink. Maybe you should. Where's my Queen? —Is she yours? I'll have you exiled. No you won't. I won't? [sir jyre turns to produce a small golden charm, which swings, sparking at the end of a golden chain. Without hesitation, Petrutheo is immediately familiar.] Where's she gone? You'll either sit, or you'll drink if you really want to know. Petrutheo sits, flushed and defeated. I'll tell you— What is it? I am under strict confidentiality enforcements. How exactly strict She'll kill me—-and you. Gían comes running into the room, flustered. Where is she?! —and him. What are you doing? –dying. Die faster. Q: How do you break up with deadmau5. A: You don't. JOEL TALK TO THE HEAD. Oh, come on! What is this. Idk. I figured if there was a dimension where SUPACREE is dating DIPLO– Ew. What. Ew. –Then there's probably one where she's got somethin' going on with that guy. How do you figure. Hm. Hm. Interesting. Very Interesting Grow up. We all have –girlfriends. –jobs to do. –secret fetishes. Sick. This is retarded. Turn this off. I want to die. WHERE IS SKRILLEX. Skrillex is playing mountain man with a bunch of fake models and rapper dudes, Woah. He looks different. What happened. More on that later. Or not. Oh, come on! Everybody. Shut up. Not me, right? Especially you. *eyes* what's 9x9? Uhhh– Are you serious? This isn't math! Everything is math! HOW IS THIS MOVIE CAST? CAN DEADmAU5 ACT? –short anser: YES. Long Answer: By The time this movie gets made, we'll all be dead. We're all dead now. Dead *and* gone. *crowd gasps exaggeratedly* I THOUGHT THIS MOVIE WAS ABOUT SKRILLEX. It was- he didn't like it. Why wouldn't he like it? You called him a “nigga” 47 times. Was it 47? At the SUPERBOWL. I guess that makes him the champion of niggas. I guess so. Whatever happened to Dillon Francis. Idk he's pussywhipped or something. I guess. Nice. Still gettin it. Shut up, fans. Okay, ouch. How. How–?? How does someone with THIS MUCH pride and THIS MUCH ego get THIS MUCH power? Probably with all that pride and ego. This is correct. ____ {JOSHrushes in violently.] DRAKE Uh huh… SOMETHING IS WRONG. …what makes you say that…? LOOK AT ME. I see you… I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY. –how am I supposed to tell that just by looking at you? YOU ARE SUSPICIOUS. [suspiciously] No I'm not? [He violently grabs DRAKE by his lapel; gripping him with a fierce and wild look in his eyes] Look Motherfucker; I am looking! I have always wanted to kill you–and now there's NOTHING stopping me. EXCEPT THE LAW– [MEGAN/MIRANDA/CARLY enters mysteriously.] Unhand the boob. BOTH ….MEGAN?! JOSH (er…wait) Sure. [They stare at her in awe; her silhouette grasping at the shadows of the dimly lit space; she is dressed in a sultry black dress, sheer panty hose, and knee high boos, with a matching fedora and puffs seductively on a long and narrow cigarette from the extra long holster. ] Separate. [They obey, bewildered.] Sit. You smoke now? Sometimes. For dramatic effect. This is uncomfortable. Very unsettling. Wait. Wait. Are we filming right now. Is someone filming? [Breaking 4th wall.] Camera's always rolling. ;;PAUSE. Oh, that's why Drew Barrymore was in my dream last night. This is a lot of celebrities. GOD I'm working on something. ::||ALRIGHT, UNPAUSE. Hold on a second. No, we're rolling. –I am one-hundred percent heavily medicated right now. I second that. Ditto. –I'm also slightly intoxicated. Also that. Hashtag “me too.” No “hashtag me too” DOn't say that in Hollywood! It was a joke! I was kidding! That's not funny. Nobody's laughing! C'mon! I meant–I'm like, drunk right now– Still though– Very tacky… I've been day drinking. Drinking and smoking?! I don't believe you! Oh, you don't? [beat] hmm . [Shrugs, admittedly.] Wait, wait–hold it. No holding, we're rolling. Are we rolling–? Holding… And…We're rolling! I'm definitely rolling. Drake! I'm rolling. Ballsacks. C'mon, man! *drake being dumb* I'm being serious! So am I. This is serious. *smokes* Gross. Stop doing that. Doing what? This is what I do… No, I mean: I woke up this morning and I swear to God– Woah! Don't do that. I did everything under the sun EXCEPT go to work to be on TV for a show I wrapped like 15 years ago! You–WHAT? Uhhh… Is this real? … … … Damn. this just got super existential; I have to take a second to summerize this, I'll fill in the dialogue late , I guess The scene was running on anyway. What? I liked it. Anyway, So what we have here is a cross-dimensional triad: DRAKE has been running throughout the interdimensions of time, but unbeknownst to the audience is which DRAKE this is; is this the real life DRAKE BELL, actually a fictional character written into the fabric of SUPACREE'S reality as fate would have it–or the fictional DRAKE from DRAKE & JOSH; Although apparently heavily medicated, JOSH PECK, the actor has been tossed into a nightmarish infinite loop along with other various HOLLYWOOD CELEBRITIES, as SUPACREE has opened various portals throughout the known universe in order to life-switch timelines without having to shapeshift into anyone's body, simply switching her own timeline–with that of her ideal career; Only having done this once, however, triggers an inescapable loop of infinite switches, resulting in a massive disillusion and chaos, as some celebrities go missing entirely from any known reality (in which SUPACREE omnisciently exists, typically, intermittently throughout the series); However, in this scene the audience must suspend its sense of belief, as it takes place in a multidimensional environment; DRAKE and JOSH perhaps, has been running throughout it's entirety, never having been canceled and JOSH PECK has arrived on set in a drug-fueled delusional meltdown; A Parrallell JOSH at some point perhaps even switching timelines; This mysterious, shadowy version of MIRANCA/MEGAN/CARLY is written as such so that this character can be placed or moved to or throughout various specific timelines: Adhering to the plot however, JOSH PECK is an actor, out of sorts with himself, meanwhile– This version of DRAKE is the fictional character from a TV show, in his own fictional world; He is a 4th dimensional device However, The audience should remain unaware that MIRANDA COSGROVE has already merged with her 4th dimensional counterparts, after joining SUPACREE in her Hollywood crusades, traveling through time, space, and the inter/multidimensions on missions to answer the SOS Hollywood originally signaled to SUPACREE during The Legend of Supacree in the first season. That should do. Wow. Hold it What. You looked this deep into that boy's eyes? Not on purpose. - The ‘-complications.' mixtape compilation series which focuses its internal monologue on the ideology of exploratory existentialism, using simple and classic mixing techniques into smooth transitions which mirror synconocities in time, musical elements, and lyricism to illustrate a vortex of collisions in cosmic omniscience, theming its recurring dominant soundscapes into a singular foundational focal point, and centering its multidimensionality into a gripping pull to return its emphasis on reflecting at checkpoints as if to reiterate a greater hidden meaning; the highs and lows of falling in love, it's consequences, long days and nights, missed connections, lost and unrequited love—capturing overall the rock and roll darkness of the neo-moden dance music scene—moving about from world to world—night after night, song after song—bodies on bodies and the escapism of rave and dance floor culture, connected through the pulsating and throbbing heartbeats bridged by light waves, and spread across neon skies across the globe. Featuring dearly beloved hit and dance classics alike from global and legendary super-artists and masters of the dance floor, deadmau5, Kaskade, kx5, Skrillex, Fred Again.., Claptone, and more—featuring new music by and mixed with heart & soul by underground swamp creature and ancient rave God ‘- Ū.' as she explores the outer realms of dance music pre-and-post existence in the guttural haze of the afterlife. Wow, You're funny, God. If i must say so. I mean. Wow. I didn't do this all myself, you know; I had help. What?! Help From Who?! Dillon Francis, Apparently Oh, I highly doubt that, Oh, I wouldn't . I need a lover— I need a lover; Call me your lover (I want just a lover) I need a lover (I need a lover) Dillon Francis was quite possibly the whitest white man in the ever living world— But maybe, that's what I liked about him. Now that I had time to process that for the most part, I had been tricked into fulfilling some strange prophecy— there was nothing less-alluring about the world I had been peering into, now more than anything Movement at the stillpoint Mark something You've got to balance this shit out— You've got to Turn the world on its head (I don't get it) Now you're into this club (I don't fit in) Now you're into this world (But we've been here) Wait I'm not new to this! Wanna go do it again?! Nothing's new to me! I keep secrets like Fountains keep pennies Plant daisies on mountains —your hand in my mouth says that “Head is the answer” Thanks, Kendrick Now I remember what I wanted in the first place Now I remember what I printed; What I cooked him in the kitchen after— —back to keeping secrets; What's an apron and a hat is all you're wearing when I get there— Just like the man in Manhattan Or cat on the Channel— A special edition of some shit with Mario Lopez That sent me right back to the minion With eyes like you had in that dream I went back to I'd say “Fuck Dillon Francis” If I thought of “fuck” as an adjective, Instead of an adverb. Fuck this whole world — Now I just want to surf, I had just scratched the surface of scratching— Before storing my turntables What. All of a sudden, I'm a DJ?! Gee thanks! But God, I'm still loveless and I hope you Marry that blue eyed girl Pop out a bunch of kids that look Just like you What else would I do with my time Than scroll through Instagram And eat a ham-salmon sandwhich— Thinking of going for pancakes, after god likes me fat, We talk much more that way PASQUALE I need you up at night. CC For what. SUPCREE For what. SUNNI BLŪ I AM UP. PASQUALE: This is for what. THE INSOMNIACS ARE ALL IN . “ALL IN” wtf does that mean. The grey streaks in his beard drive me wild-his eyes even wilder; “it's best I not look into them”, I thought, “when giving him this stone..” or maybe, even at all; I knew that if I were to look into his eyes, I would fall in love—all the way in, and not just the lust that I had been struggling with, noticeably for years, now; I would see him from the inside out, from the outside in—and any way in between. I already knew that I wanted him—but for exactly what and how long seemed to allude me. It ha: been a long day with no end yet in sight, and though I was tired, accidentally having fasted throughout the day — namely because I had been out of water the night before, dethawing ice from the hotel's machine into an emergency supply—and having awoke with an immovable force to head straight to the gym, promptly after doing laundry. Though I left what was considerably late, conforming my sleep patterns to my roommate's schedule had not been the easiest of tasks; I found it to be true that energy—or rather, a lack therof, was remarkably contagious. I had been more tired than usual, and more “down” than my normal waves—in fact—it was easy to differentiate this energy from my own, and though I was thankful to have a quiet, moderately clean, and near silent roommate—lucky, even—it was nearly impossible to escape the grip of empathy as it grew into me, our time together short but stifling enough that I was up into the early mornings as she dawdled away on her phone—and, having spent the entirety of my stay offline—becoming increasingly sensitive to her phone's radio signals, sometimes seeming to blast into my brain and penetrating the deepest of sleeps, and though I thought to return to deadmau5 to set myself to rest, for the most part I had been enjoying peaceful enough rest once she finally did get to sleep—in the early morning, which meant that I would more naturally wake closer to noon, eating up most of my morning with sleeping and battling the force of inner city traffic to make my way into the gym, or the library—whichever suited the day and the time—though, for the last three days, I had made it a point to get to the gym daily, rather than every other day, which I had missed, but become a hassle—and though I had found a gym that was decent and clean, it was rather small, the sauna never hot enough—and of course, as it had appeared from my first day having arrived at the club, I was of course being watched and followed—and though I had briefly wondered by “who”, I knew it was of the through forces of The Eye, otherwise known as the Illuminati, if there ever were such a thing— (but of course, there wasn't) often blasting Skrillex every other song as some means of torture, which I could attempt to ignore, but my body couldn't—failing to lift under the pressure of a weakened state by about the third Skrillex tune, confirming my suspicions entirely—a drastic jump from conspiracy to the conformation of psychological terrorism via Skrillex—but for what? By now, of course, I had begun to figure out that I wasn't entirely normal, —that something wasn't right, or maybe even that I had done something exceptionally right, and though I didn't know exactly what, I began to think about the amount of writings I had published online, as well as the significantly “extraterrestrial” recordings that went along with them, and though having used Skrillex as a springboard, the longer I went mulling over all that had happened I realized that there appeared to be something bigger at place—Perhaps I was, indeed, incredibly enlightened—and there seemed to be a greater, outer force that indeed knew and saw all, even deeply into my psyche, and into my dreams. Though I had darted down with excruciating detail into my Google documents the latest dream that I had with Dillon Francis, I didn't know what exactly to make of this particular cadence of synchronicities on this otherwise ‘normal' morning, not that anything at all had actually been normal in any way by far, as long as I could remember backward. Things had indeed been strange for years, which had culminated in the conglomeration of documents, recordings, and other odd-end and unfinished projects that had so far been created under the umbrella of The Festival Project—but it was this day that I truly began to realize that there was something more than circumstantial or coincidental at all about whoever I was, and whatever I was doing—and even with all of my theoretical writings of supernatural, subliminal, and subconscious circumstances and happenings, I wasn't, having existed for the most part broken, homeless, and unpaid for my efforts—sure of either who I was, or what I was doing—let alone how. In all of the strangeness, I only attributed “God” for whatever weird strange thing would happen next— and here it was. I had been thinking about Mario Lopez a lot recently or lately, in bits and pieces and of course less often than I thought of any other reoccurring figure, but certainly about Mario Lopez, his seemingly ageless and incredibly healthy, youthful appearance, and oddly, even of his children, as I knew that he had them; and I had, of course, along with all of those things had wondered about his wife—the whole of his family, of course. His fame had lasted nearly my entire lifetime, and I was almost always pleasantly charmed by the sound of his voice, or his familiar face; and there it was, now—plastered up on a screen I hadn't realized was even there before, but now somehow stood out broadly against the backdrop of the otherwise drab laundromat, which I of course found to be remarkable, as I had very recently for whatever reason been struck with flashes of not so much a curiosity of the man at all—but rather a form of reflective thought. “Oh shit, there he is!” I thought, finding just his appearance on TV coincidental, at best, before zeroing in on the actual atrocities yet unexplainable by man, or any other force—the only cruel explaination being that The Illuminati itself did indeed have access to my Google documents, even though I had been for the most part of two weeks completely offline, with no intention to publish at all—however—I had forgotten about the dream itself, until this sudden collision of sorts had stirred remnince of at all; a dream I had recorded with implicit detail from my first waking moments, indicating some importance; my dreams had been straightforward and vivid lately, and had been filled with all sorts of reoccurring figures, from Sonny Moore, to Billie Ellish, and of course Dillon Francis-and in moments, of course, the later had come rushing back to me with a vengeance, as a life sized-dancing Minion with two differently colored eyes shifted my attentioj from the screen, directly to recalling that dream— the most vivid dream of all of them—and though Sonny had appeared to me more recently, I thought it best not to record them; I still felt betrayed that he had come to New York and left me to be circulated through the system—which of course I was sure had it's purpose, but didn't make me resent him any less for it, compounding the hurt that he had put me through parading Kayla Lauren around—it seemed the entire model of The Skrillex Conundrum was to make me feel stupid, fat, and in cursed skin— and I was at least no longer two of those things. Still, though, I did carry feelings for the man that were impossible to offload, and though I had quite blatently broadcasted my sexual attraction to Dillon, who was apparently, of course, taken by a blue eyed girl of course—it had somehow become deeper at least to me in the following days and weeks afteer my departure from “Season 6” and it's adjacent episodes, a strange half-season debacle in which the emotional uproar of Sonny's appearance in New York and the upheaval of my surroundings—my entry into the homeless system—allowed me to embarrass myself without reform in the honest and brutally raw, post-season aftermath—a restless and sleepless chaos filled nightmare from which the only redeeming comfort was deadmau5, which may have been the point of it at all—as I fiddled in Ableton, it seemed to become a more natural process, creating drum patterns with ease and the once-tedious challenges and difficulties of music production and engineering having become things of the past—but something in all this had seeded in my mind a crucial element of the cosmic alchemists mindset I had been living in; there seemed to be, as in the Christopher Nolan film Tenet, parallel streams of time running both “forward” and “backward”, and even “up” and “down” respectively, creating where and how i was at any given moment as the perceptive present—as in—there always seemed to be some extension of myself both forward and backward in time, if there were such things, and as I continued to write, evidences of God, extra terrestrial presence, interplanetary mechanisms—mauverability through deep space, and time travel all became increasingly and rapidly relevant; I had to have been right enough about something , somewhere, at some point—but even up to now couldn't wrap my head around trying to get a “normal” job, which might be worth the money to be able to escape from my way-too-many-black-people Hellscape, (not that way ‘too many white people' wasn't a thing, but at least was not as abruptly obnoxious—as I had now realized that overt racists often more tactically employed quiet methods of psychological disengagement, rather than flat-out disrespect and cruelty the black-on-black culture had thus far represented. In my mind, however, race had little to do with my actual placement in the world—at least, or so I thought— and though the appearance of where I had been at this point situated was grim or perhaps even bleak, the opposite was actually true; I was now, though strictly under the radar, off the grid, and underground, an extremely accomplished writer, whether anybody knew it or not—and someone did. Low and behold, “The Lopez Kids”, who has been thinking of and new existed were brought the the screen, after a segment featuring Jeannie Aiki had bedazzled me enough to Google her, her familiar voice sparking a curiosity, her own beautiful young one putting a glisten in my eye, along with a tear; I missed my son dearly, and was glad to know that he was with my mother—still worrisome, to say the least, but not as worrisome as he having been with his father, who I knew was fucking up in extreme ways beforehand—but had only been confirmed a few days before, actually exactly one week earlier, as I had toggled off airplane mode just long enough to revive an incoming call from my father—and, having only just the night before having had the dream about Dillon's strange eyes—a dream in which he was not present, but his truck was— promoted me to quickly answer the call, though I had been in the midsts of a whirlwind of transit—a chaotic navigation through unknown territories; he told me that my mother had my son—that my ex husband was unable to care for him any longer. The more right about my ex husband I was, the more peril it felt; I knew my son would be a different person if I had had the ability to raise him. “Something is up.”, I bawled— having seen and heard enough of my own mind scattered across the silver screen— Not only had the Minions eyes reminded me exactly of Dillons—the only dream out of a series of dreams about he, Sonny, and even one with my ex that I had found it important to record—but it was also “National Oreo Day”, which was celebrated with Oreo Doughnuts, appearances from Jeannie Aiko, whose apparent first interview had been with Johnny Depp—who had found his way into my dreams years earlier than nearly anyone else in this lifelong series of bizzare oddities— Ellen DeGenwres discluded—who had more than likely been the first and most random celebrity to make their way into my semi-conciousness; I had never been particularly obsessed or even a fan of Ellen, and yet her appearance in a teenaged dream had stayed with me years into my adulthood—and thiugh during my childhood and adolescent years it had always seemed I had been somehow destined for fame, even before the mockery of the masses and media turned my entire generation inevitably into fame-hungry “artists” , the last few years altogether had been remarkably and even increasingly synchronized; it was as if I had indeed in my lifetime made groundbreaking alterations to the space time continuum. It wasn't until later in the day that I decided to find the document in which I had recorded the dream; I began to laugh reading over my own words as unhinged as it all was—the recording was bizzare and though I hadn't forgotten having the dream itself, I indeed had forgotten many of the details, which of course made me instantly regret not having written down any of the dreams I was having about Sonny—still careful not to let myself feel too much of anything having to with him, even and especially his music, which I only allowed myself to play with purpose, for study. SILVER SCREEN SHOWER SCENE Woah, have you lost your goddamn mind. Yes. I live in a very strange place in the universe. [there are several glitches in the matrix; almost too much to bear.] Very,very strange. What are you doing? Crying? ..I'm not crying… Stop crying, Jesus– –DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BAGELS I HAD TO EAT TO BE SUPACREE? A lot. You look hideous. I am hideous! No arguments, there. Ugh. Lets Go! Try not to look off into the distance with your finger in the air like that; It makes me feel like we're in a comic book or something What if–we are?! Then we're probably about to get our butts kicked before the scene changes or you have to turn the – {NINJAS OUT OF NOWHERE} “The Noir Episdoe” This is business, not war. What's the difference? [beat] Money. HIIIIIIIIIYAAAAAAHHHHH!!! Oh My God. I'm so fat. YAH! Why do I always have to fight when i'm fat?! YAH! KI-YAH! — [ROundhouse Kick} HIIIIIII_YAHH. DO you have to say “Hi-yah” every time you deal a fatal blow. –they're not fatal, they're gonna wake up, eventually–YAH. Oh yeah? Even that guy? {Super dead guy} Probably not him. “Probably.” YOU are a PR nightmare. I'm an everything nightmare. Ugh. I just found out what PR even was. LAWYER enters furiously You fucking lunatic! It's sunny out– What did you do this time? UPDATE: The Skrillex Reddit is still the cringiest place on earth. It's so gross. I hate this. Worst place ever. WORST FUCKING PLACE EVER. Fuck. What. We have to go back. Why? What'd you lose? –My dignity. Worst place ever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Ascension Farro, a reclusive alchemist hailing from the far away crystalline caves of Avallia, returns to the Valley In The Kingdom of Acenscia once Per Revolutionary Orbit, to relay to The Ascended Mastery his findings, Astral Readings, Predictions from the Outer Realms, and Oracles from Beyond Infinity, In The Greater Unknown. He is thought to be the most powerful Wizard in this, and perhaps even of the outer realms; which caters to his illusive habits, and social dissertation–however, he remains friendly with C'esme't, as she sometimes visits the caves of Avallia, en route to certain tasks or journeys in the outer realms, often bearing fruits or other rarities as gifts, merely in exchange for his time–which she deems to be precious, allotting to the differences in their respective perceptions of the construct itself. Petrutheio approaches Gían ferociously, in irritation after being bombarded with numerous visions Why is it, lately, that you are constantly in my mind's eye? Perhaps it's that you've become quite fond of me— Perhaps it's with whom you've been spending your time. —and ‘with whom' might that be? With my wife! Yet to be… If you truly were wise, you'd depart from this realm immediately, in order to best preserve your life. Is that a threat? Look me in my eyes. Should I adjust my distance or my height? Look at me. I see you. Mark my words: Oh, but–I haven't a pen to write them— Then store them carefully in your memory-- What? I'm listening. C'esme't is my one and only Queen; She has by Prophecy, been bonded and betrothed to me. Are you reiterating the Prophecy to yourself, or relaying it to me? Let me state this more clearly-- With ‘clarity', you mean; You should leave— Why so urgently? Both urgently and immediately, actually. Is that a suggestion? For now, maybe. Are you implying you would remove me forcefully from this Kingdom, otherwise? Huh. [A silent tension.] You will see. [He leaves calmly.] C'ESME'T. Stop bothering me. What are these devastating lucidities you've dared to dream? Is it daring? You're my Queen. I'm a lady, not a possession. (grimaces) What's a ‘lady' [A bold look.] C'esme't. What of Persephone? She's no more than nothing. So, ‘nothing', then? No more than it. ___ SIR JYRE! MY LIEGE! Where is C'esme't!? I don't know… Don't lie to me! Why not? It's fun. Is banishment fun? Mine, or yours? Where is she!? [a slight gasp/beat] …my dear nephew— —we're not related— —not by blood… Where is C'esme't? [he pauses for a moment, before turning away to pour a drink.] You should sit. I'm fine, thanks. Drink? [Petruthieo pauses for a moment, reflecting on the previous night's happenings.] I don't drink. Maybe you should. Where's my Queen? —Is she yours? I'll have you exiled. No you won't. I won't? [sir jyre turns to produce a small golden charm, which swings, sparking at the end of a golden chain. Without hesitation, Petrutheo is immediately familiar.] Where's she gone? You'll either sit, or you'll drink if you really want to know. Petrutheo sits, flushed and defeated. I'll tell you— What is it? I am under strict confidentiality enforcements. How exactly strict She'll kill me—-and you. Gían comes running into the room, flustered. Where is she?! —and him. What are you doing? –dying. Die faster. Q: How do you break up with deadmau5. A: You don't. JOEL TALK TO THE HEAD. Oh, come on! What is this. Idk. I figured if there was a dimension where SUPACREE is dating DIPLO– Ew. What. Ew. –Then there's probably one where she's got somethin' going on with that guy. How do you figure. Hm. Hm. Interesting. Very Interesting Grow up. We all have –girlfriends. –jobs to do. –secret fetishes. Sick. This is retarded. Turn this off. I want to die. WHERE IS SKRILLEX. Skrillex is playing mountain man with a bunch of fake models and rapper dudes, Woah. He looks different. What happened. More on that later. Or not. Oh, come on! Everybody. Shut up. Not me, right? Especially you. *eyes* what's 9x9? Uhhh– Are you serious? This isn't math! Everything is math! HOW IS THIS MOVIE CAST? CAN DEADmAU5 ACT? –short anser: YES. Long Answer: By The time this movie gets made, we'll all be dead. We're all dead now. Dead *and* gone. *crowd gasps exaggeratedly* I THOUGHT THIS MOVIE WAS ABOUT SKRILLEX. It was- he didn't like it. Why wouldn't he like it? You called him a “nigga” 47 times. Was it 47? At the SUPERBOWL. I guess that makes him the champion of niggas. I guess so. Whatever happened to Dillon Francis. Idk he's pussywhipped or something. I guess. Nice. Still gettin it. Shut up, fans. Okay, ouch. How. How–?? How does someone with THIS MUCH pride and THIS MUCH ego get THIS MUCH power? Probably with all that pride and ego. This is correct. ____ {JOSHrushes in violently.] DRAKE Uh huh… SOMETHING IS WRONG. …what makes you say that…? LOOK AT ME. I see you… I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY. –how am I supposed to tell that just by looking at you? YOU ARE SUSPICIOUS. [suspiciously] No I'm not? [He violently grabs DRAKE by his lapel; gripping him with a fierce and wild look in his eyes] Look Motherfucker; I am looking! I have always wanted to kill you–and now there's NOTHING stopping me. EXCEPT THE LAW– [MEGAN/MIRANDA/CARLY enters mysteriously.] Unhand the boob. BOTH ….MEGAN?! JOSH (er…wait) Sure. [They stare at her in awe; her silhouette grasping at the shadows of the dimly lit space; she is dressed in a sultry black dress, sheer panty hose, and knee high boos, with a matching fedora and puffs seductively on a long and narrow cigarette from the extra long holster. ] Separate. [They obey, bewildered.] Sit. You smoke now? Sometimes. For dramatic effect. This is uncomfortable. Very unsettling. Wait. Wait. Are we filming right now. Is someone filming? [Breaking 4th wall.] Camera's always rolling. ;;PAUSE. Oh, that's why Drew Barrymore was in my dream last night. This is a lot of celebrities. GOD I'm working on something. ::||ALRIGHT, UNPAUSE. Hold on a second. No, we're rolling. –I am one-hundred percent heavily medicated right now. I second that. Ditto. –I'm also slightly intoxicated. Also that. Hashtag “me too.” No “hashtag me too” DOn't say that in Hollywood! It was a joke! I was kidding! That's not funny. Nobody's laughing! C'mon! I meant–I'm like, drunk right now– Still though– Very tacky… I've been day drinking. Drinking and smoking?! I don't believe you! Oh, you don't? [beat] hmm . [Shrugs, admittedly.] Wait, wait–hold it. No holding, we're rolling. Are we rolling–? Holding… And…We're rolling! I'm definitely rolling. Drake! I'm rolling. Ballsacks. C'mon, man! *drake being dumb* I'm being serious! So am I. This is serious. *smokes* Gross. Stop doing that. Doing what? This is what I do… No, I mean: I woke up this morning and I swear to God– Woah! Don't do that. I did everything under the sun EXCEPT go to work to be on TV for a show I wrapped like 15 years ago! You–WHAT? Uhhh… Is this real? … … … Damn. this just got super existential; I have to take a second to summerize this, I'll fill in the dialogue late , I guess The scene was running on anyway. What? I liked it. Anyway, So what we have here is a cross-dimensional triad: DRAKE has been running throughout the interdimensions of time, but unbeknownst to the audience is which DRAKE this is; is this the real life DRAKE BELL, actually a fictional character written into the fabric of SUPACREE'S reality as fate would have it–or the fictional DRAKE from DRAKE & JOSH; Although apparently heavily medicated, JOSH PECK, the actor has been tossed into a nightmarish infinite loop along with other various HOLLYWOOD CELEBRITIES, as SUPACREE has opened various portals throughout the known universe in order to life-switch timelines without having to shapeshift into anyone's body, simply switching her own timeline–with that of her ideal career; Only having done this once, however, triggers an inescapable loop of infinite switches, resulting in a massive disillusion and chaos, as some celebrities go missing entirely from any known reality (in which SUPACREE omnisciently exists, typically, intermittently throughout the series); However, in this scene the audience must suspend its sense of belief, as it takes place in a multidimensional environment; DRAKE and JOSH perhaps, has been running throughout it's entirety, never having been canceled and JOSH PECK has arrived on set in a drug-fueled delusional meltdown; A Parrallell JOSH at some point perhaps even switching timelines; This mysterious, shadowy version of MIRANCA/MEGAN/CARLY is written as such so that this character can be placed or moved to or throughout various specific timelines: Adhering to the plot however, JOSH PECK is an actor, out of sorts with himself, meanwhile– This version of DRAKE is the fictional character from a TV show, in his own fictional world; He is a 4th dimensional device However, The audience should remain unaware that MIRANDA COSGROVE has already merged with her 4th dimensional counterparts, after joining SUPACREE in her Hollywood crusades, traveling through time, space, and the inter/multidimensions on missions to answer the SOS Hollywood originally signaled to SUPACREE during The Legend of Supacree in the first season. That should do. Wow. Hold it What. You looked this deep into that boy's eyes? Not on purpose. - The ‘-complications.' mixtape compilation series which focuses its internal monologue on the ideology of exploratory existentialism, using simple and classic mixing techniques into smooth transitions which mirror synconocities in time, musical elements, and lyricism to illustrate a vortex of collisions in cosmic omniscience, theming its recurring dominant soundscapes into a singular foundational focal point, and centering its multidimensionality into a gripping pull to return its emphasis on reflecting at checkpoints as if to reiterate a greater hidden meaning; the highs and lows of falling in love, it's consequences, long days and nights, missed connections, lost and unrequited love—capturing overall the rock and roll darkness of the neo-moden dance music scene—moving about from world to world—night after night, song after song—bodies on bodies and the escapism of rave and dance floor culture, connected through the pulsating and throbbing heartbeats bridged by light waves, and spread across neon skies across the globe. Featuring dearly beloved hit and dance classics alike from global and legendary super-artists and masters of the dance floor, deadmau5, Kaskade, kx5, Skrillex, Fred Again.., Claptone, and more—featuring new music by and mixed with heart & soul by underground swamp creature and ancient rave God ‘- Ū.' as she explores the outer realms of dance music pre-and-post existence in the guttural haze of the afterlife. Wow, You're funny, God. If i must say so. I mean. Wow. I didn't do this all myself, you know; I had help. What?! Help From Who?! Dillon Francis, Apparently Oh, I highly doubt that, Oh, I wouldn't . I need a lover— I need a lover; Call me your lover (I want just a lover) I need a lover (I need a lover) Dillon Francis was quite possibly the whitest white man in the ever living world— But maybe, that's what I liked about him. Now that I had time to process that for the most part, I had been tricked into fulfilling some strange prophecy— there was nothing less-alluring about the world I had been peering into, now more than anything Movement at the stillpoint Mark something You've got to balance this shit out— You've got to Turn the world on its head (I don't get it) Now you're into this club (I don't fit in) Now you're into this world (But we've been here) Wait I'm not new to this! Wanna go do it again?! Nothing's new to me! I keep secrets like Fountains keep pennies Plant daisies on mountains —your hand in my mouth says that “Head is the answer” Thanks, Kendrick Now I remember what I wanted in the first place Now I remember what I printed; What I cooked him in the kitchen after— —back to keeping secrets; What's an apron and a hat is all you're wearing when I get there— Just like the man in Manhattan Or cat on the Channel— A special edition of some shit with Mario Lopez That sent me right back to the minion With eyes like you had in that dream I went back to I'd say “Fuck Dillon Francis” If I thought of “fuck” as an adjective, Instead of an adverb. Fuck this whole world — Now I just want to surf, I had just scratched the surface of scratching— Before storing my turntables What. All of a sudden, I'm a DJ?! Gee thanks! But God, I'm still loveless and I hope you Marry that blue eyed girl Pop out a bunch of kids that look Just like you What else would I do with my time Than scroll through Instagram And eat a ham-salmon sandwhich— Thinking of going for pancakes, after god likes me fat, We talk much more that way PASQUALE I need you up at night. CC For what. SUPCREE For what. SUNNI BLŪ I AM UP. PASQUALE: This is for what. THE INSOMNIACS ARE ALL IN . “ALL IN” wtf does that mean. The grey streaks in his beard drive me wild-his eyes even wilder; “it's best I not look into them”, I thought, “when giving him this stone..” or maybe, even at all; I knew that if I were to look into his eyes, I would fall in love—all the way in, and not just the lust that I had been struggling with, noticeably for years, now; I would see him from the inside out, from the outside in—and any way in between. I already knew that I wanted him—but for exactly what and how long seemed to allude me. It ha: been a long day with no end yet in sight, and though I was tired, accidentally having fasted throughout the day — namely because I had been out of water the night before, dethawing ice from the hotel's machine into an emergency supply—and having awoke with an immovable force to head straight to the gym, promptly after doing laundry. Though I left what was considerably late, conforming my sleep patterns to my roommate's schedule had not been the easiest of tasks; I found it to be true that energy—or rather, a lack therof, was remarkably contagious. I had been more tired than usual, and more “down” than my normal waves—in fact—it was easy to differentiate this energy from my own, and though I was thankful to have a quiet, moderately clean, and near silent roommate—lucky, even—it was nearly impossible to escape the grip of empathy as it grew into me, our time together short but stifling enough that I was up into the early mornings as she dawdled away on her phone—and, having spent the entirety of my stay offline—becoming increasingly sensitive to her phone's radio signals, sometimes seeming to blast into my brain and penetrating the deepest of sleeps, and though I thought to return to deadmau5 to set myself to rest, for the most part I had been enjoying peaceful enough rest once she finally did get to sleep—in the early morning, which meant that I would more naturally wake closer to noon, eating up most of my morning with sleeping and battling the force of inner city traffic to make my way into the gym, or the library—whichever suited the day and the time—though, for the last three days, I had made it a point to get to the gym daily, rather than every other day, which I had missed, but become a hassle—and though I had found a gym that was decent and clean, it was rather small, the sauna never hot enough—and of course, as it had appeared from my first day having arrived at the club, I was of course being watched and followed—and though I had briefly wondered by “who”, I knew it was of the through forces of The Eye, otherwise known as the Illuminati, if there ever were such a thing— (but of course, there wasn't) often blasting Skrillex every other song as some means of torture, which I could attempt to ignore, but my body couldn't—failing to lift under the pressure of a weakened state by about the third Skrillex tune, confirming my suspicions entirely—a drastic jump from conspiracy to the conformation of psychological terrorism via Skrillex—but for what? By now, of course, I had begun to figure out that I wasn't entirely normal, —that something wasn't right, or maybe even that I had done something exceptionally right, and though I didn't know exactly what, I began to think about the amount of writings I had published online, as well as the significantly “extraterrestrial” recordings that went along with them, and though having used Skrillex as a springboard, the longer I went mulling over all that had happened I realized that there appeared to be something bigger at place—Perhaps I was, indeed, incredibly enlightened—and there seemed to be a greater, outer force that indeed knew and saw all, even deeply into my psyche, and into my dreams. Though I had darted down with excruciating detail into my Google documents the latest dream that I had with Dillon Francis, I didn't know what exactly to make of this particular cadence of synchronicities on this otherwise ‘normal' morning, not that anything at all had actually been normal in any way by far, as long as I could remember backward. Things had indeed been strange for years, which had culminated in the conglomeration of documents, recordings, and other odd-end and unfinished projects that had so far been created under the umbrella of The Festival Project—but it was this day that I truly began to realize that there was something more than circumstantial or coincidental at all about whoever I was, and whatever I was doing—and even with all of my theoretical writings of supernatural, subliminal, and subconscious circumstances and happenings, I wasn't, having existed for the most part broken, homeless, and unpaid for my efforts—sure of either who I was, or what I was doing—let alone how. In all of the strangeness, I only attributed “God” for whatever weird strange thing would happen next— and here it was. I had been thinking about Mario Lopez a lot recently or lately, in bits and pieces and of course less often than I thought of any other reoccurring figure, but certainly about Mario Lopez, his seemingly ageless and incredibly healthy, youthful appearance, and oddly, even of his children, as I knew that he had them; and I had, of course, along with all of those things had wondered about his wife—the whole of his family, of course. His fame had lasted nearly my entire lifetime, and I was almost always pleasantly charmed by the sound of his voice, or his familiar face; and there it was, now—plastered up on a screen I hadn't realized was even there before, but now somehow stood out broadly against the backdrop of the otherwise drab laundromat, which I of course found to be remarkable, as I had very recently for whatever reason been struck with flashes of not so much a curiosity of the man at all—but rather a form of reflective thought. “Oh shit, there he is!” I thought, finding just his appearance on TV coincidental, at best, before zeroing in on the actual atrocities yet unexplainable by man, or any other force—the only cruel explaination being that The Illuminati itself did indeed have access to my Google documents, even though I had been for the most part of two weeks completely offline, with no intention to publish at all—however—I had forgotten about the dream itself, until this sudden collision of sorts had stirred remnince of at all; a dream I had recorded with implicit detail from my first waking moments, indicating some importance; my dreams had been straightforward and vivid lately, and had been filled with all sorts of reoccurring figures, from Sonny Moore, to Billie Ellish, and of course Dillon Francis-and in moments, of course, the later had come rushing back to me with a vengeance, as a life sized-dancing Minion with two differently colored eyes shifted my attentioj from the screen, directly to recalling that dream— the most vivid dream of all of them—and though Sonny had appeared to me more recently, I thought it best not to record them; I still felt betrayed that he had come to New York and left me to be circulated through the system—which of course I was sure had it's purpose, but didn't make me resent him any less for it, compounding the hurt that he had put me through parading Kayla Lauren around—it seemed the entire model of The Skrillex Conundrum was to make me feel stupid, fat, and in cursed skin— and I was at least no longer two of those things. Still, though, I did carry feelings for the man that were impossible to offload, and though I had quite blatently broadcasted my sexual attraction to Dillon, who was apparently, of course, taken by a blue eyed girl of course—it had somehow become deeper at least to me in the following days and weeks afteer my departure from “Season 6” and it's adjacent episodes, a strange half-season debacle in which the emotional uproar of Sonny's appearance in New York and the upheaval of my surroundings—my entry into the homeless system—allowed me to embarrass myself without reform in the honest and brutally raw, post-season aftermath—a restless and sleepless chaos filled nightmare from which the only redeeming comfort was deadmau5, which may have been the point of it at all—as I fiddled in Ableton, it seemed to become a more natural process, creating drum patterns with ease and the once-tedious challenges and difficulties of music production and engineering having become things of the past—but something in all this had seeded in my mind a crucial element of the cosmic alchemists mindset I had been living in; there seemed to be, as in the Christopher Nolan film Tenet, parallel streams of time running both “forward” and “backward”, and even “up” and “down” respectively, creating where and how i was at any given moment as the perceptive present—as in—there always seemed to be some extension of myself both forward and backward in time, if there were such things, and as I continued to write, evidences of God, extra terrestrial presence, interplanetary mechanisms—mauverability through deep space, and time travel all became increasingly and rapidly relevant; I had to have been right enough about something , somewhere, at some point—but even up to now couldn't wrap my head around trying to get a “normal” job, which might be worth the money to be able to escape from my way-too-many-black-people Hellscape, (not that way ‘too many white people' wasn't a thing, but at least was not as abruptly obnoxious—as I had now realized that overt racists often more tactically employed quiet methods of psychological disengagement, rather than flat-out disrespect and cruelty the black-on-black culture had thus far represented. In my mind, however, race had little to do with my actual placement in the world—at least, or so I thought— and though the appearance of where I had been at this point situated was grim or perhaps even bleak, the opposite was actually true; I was now, though strictly under the radar, off the grid, and underground, an extremely accomplished writer, whether anybody knew it or not—and someone did. Low and behold, “The Lopez Kids”, who has been thinking of and new existed were brought the the screen, after a segment featuring Jeannie Aiki had bedazzled me enough to Google her, her familiar voice sparking a curiosity, her own beautiful young one putting a glisten in my eye, along with a tear; I missed my son dearly, and was glad to know that he was with my mother—still worrisome, to say the least, but not as worrisome as he having been with his father, who I knew was fucking up in extreme ways beforehand—but had only been confirmed a few days before, actually exactly one week earlier, as I had toggled off airplane mode just long enough to revive an incoming call from my father—and, having only just the night before having had the dream about Dillon's strange eyes—a dream in which he was not present, but his truck was— promoted me to quickly answer the call, though I had been in the midsts of a whirlwind of transit—a chaotic navigation through unknown territories; he told me that my mother had my son—that my ex husband was unable to care for him any longer. The more right about my ex husband I was, the more peril it felt; I knew my son would be a different person if I had had the ability to raise him. “Something is up.”, I bawled— having seen and heard enough of my own mind scattered across the silver screen— Not only had the Minions eyes reminded me exactly of Dillons—the only dream out of a series of dreams about he, Sonny, and even one with my ex that I had found it important to record—but it was also “National Oreo Day”, which was celebrated with Oreo Doughnuts, appearances from Jeannie Aiko, whose apparent first interview had been with Johnny Depp—who had found his way into my dreams years earlier than nearly anyone else in this lifelong series of bizzare oddities— Ellen DeGenwres discluded—who had more than likely been the first and most random celebrity to make their way into my semi-conciousness; I had never been particularly obsessed or even a fan of Ellen, and yet her appearance in a teenaged dream had stayed with me years into my adulthood—and thiugh during my childhood and adolescent years it had always seemed I had been somehow destined for fame, even before the mockery of the masses and media turned my entire generation inevitably into fame-hungry “artists” , the last few years altogether had been remarkably and even increasingly synchronized; it was as if I had indeed in my lifetime made groundbreaking alterations to the space time continuum. It wasn't until later in the day that I decided to find the document in which I had recorded the dream; I began to laugh reading over my own words as unhinged as it all was—the recording was bizzare and though I hadn't forgotten having the dream itself, I indeed had forgotten many of the details, which of course made me instantly regret not having written down any of the dreams I was having about Sonny—still careful not to let myself feel too much of anything having to with him, even and especially his music, which I only allowed myself to play with purpose, for study. SILVER SCREEN SHOWER SCENE Woah, have you lost your goddamn mind. Yes. I live in a very strange place in the universe. [there are several glitches in the matrix; almost too much to bear.] Very,very strange. What are you doing? Crying? ..I'm not crying… Stop crying, Jesus– –DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BAGELS I HAD TO EAT TO BE SUPACREE? A lot. You look hideous. I am hideous! No arguments, there. Ugh. Lets Go! Try not to look off into the distance with your finger in the air like that; It makes me feel like we're in a comic book or something What if–we are?! Then we're probably about to get our butts kicked before the scene changes or you have to turn the – {NINJAS OUT OF NOWHERE} “The Noir Episdoe” This is business, not war. What's the difference? [beat] Money. HIIIIIIIIIYAAAAAAHHHHH!!! Oh My God. I'm so fat. YAH! Why do I always have to fight when i'm fat?! YAH! KI-YAH! — [ROundhouse Kick} HIIIIIII_YAHH. DO you have to say “Hi-yah” every time you deal a fatal blow. –they're not fatal, they're gonna wake up, eventually–YAH. Oh yeah? Even that guy? {Super dead guy} Probably not him. “Probably.” YOU are a PR nightmare. I'm an everything nightmare. Ugh. I just found out what PR even was. LAWYER enters furiously You fucking lunatic! It's sunny out– What did you do this time? UPDATE: The Skrillex Reddit is still the cringiest place on earth. It's so gross. I hate this. Worst place ever. WORST FUCKING PLACE EVER. Fuck. What. We have to go back. Why? What'd you lose? –My dignity. Worst place ever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Eagle Radio's Pat James calls Lacy Powers of Hutch to share that she is the "Heat a Home, Pack a Pantry" winner of a fully installed furnace from TimeSaver Home Services, and a $250 Dillons gift card to pack her pantry from JZ Auto Appearance Specialties, Steamatic of Central Kansas and Hutch Auto Body!

The 10 Year Elk Hunt – Dillon Deitz This week I have Dillon Deitz on the podcast to talk about his recent elk hunt.  Dillon chased elk for ten years before he finally found success and put one on the ground.  This is a really good story and Dillon is a great guest.  Also be sure to watch the film “Decade”, the story of Dillons hunt on YouTube Dillon Deitz Instagram – https://www.instagram.com/dillondeitz/ YouTube Channel - https://www.youtube.com/@Dillondeitz    BACKCOUNTRY ROOKIES @backcountryrookies OUT OF STATE HUNTER @outofstatehunter OUTDOORCLASS Save 20% on the best hunting education platform out there!  Use the code ROOKIES today and start the course https://www.outdoorclass.com GOHUNT  Use the code ROOKIES when you become an Insider or Explorer and get GOHUNT Gear Shop Credit https://www.gohunt.com MARSUPIAL GEAR Website - https://www.marsupialgear.com/ Instagram - @marsupialgear KODIAK CANVAS Website - https://www.kodiakcanvas.com Instagram - @kodiakcanvas

Number two in an evening recorded last week in Nelson's kitchen, so we're getting a little weird! The Notes: Those doodoo's are the story of Will's life! William Faulkner: Champion Drinker! Faulkner vs Hemingway! Drinking in re: Writing aka the terrifying implications! Drunk writers vs drunk actors! Are you a drunk writer and/or actor, let us know! Will's working on his book of facebook co-worker posts about Ollie, so get ready to buy that shit! Reclaim that content! Will is also playing Starfield! It's impressive when someone kills a dragon (usually)! Don't kill Pete's Dragon, he's not a threat! The Dragons of Dillons calendar! What makes a dragon hot!? If he doesn't have a hoard, why are you with him, girl!? A dragon needs to be a protector and a provider! The fuckability of Bluey's Dad! Hop on the fuckability train! Contact Us! Follow Us! Love Us! Email: doubledeucepod@gmail.com Twitter & Instagram: @doubledeucepod Facebook: www.facebook.com/DoubleDeucePod/ Patreon: patreon.com/DoubleDeucePod Also, please subscribe/rate/review/share us! We're on Apple, Android, Libsyn, Stitcher, Google, Spotify, Amazon, Radio.com, RadioPublic, pretty much anywhere they got podcasts, you can find the Deuce! Podcast logo art by Jason Keezer! Find his art online at Keezograms! Intro & Outro featuring Rob Schulte! Check out his many podcasts! Brought to you in part by sponsorship from Courtney Shipley, Official Superfans Stefan Rider and Amber Fraley, and listeners like you! Join a tier on our Patreon! Advertise with us! Check out the Lawrence Times's 785 Collective at https://lawrencekstimes.com/785collective/ for a list of local LFK podcasts including this one!  

Making a splash at the 2023 Newport International Boat Show were the new Dillons Small Batch Gin Cocktails and Kassey Fitrzyk from Dillons visited with a taste. As broadcast Sept 15 2023 WADK AM/FM Newport RI.

Join me Bengals legendary running back Corey Dillon. Bengals, Captain and Big savage, Greg Luther, as we recap the Bengals victory over to Los Angeles Rams

Gameday! Reviewing AJ Dillons Game and My Week 2 Picks! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Gameday! Reviewing AJ Dillons Game and My Week 2 Picks! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Skrillex and Dillon Francis battle furiously over the devotion of their biggest fan— AHEM. Right. Over the love and devotion of their biggest fan. That's right! Oh please. How is anyone going to believe that. Just believe!! Believe it! Bbbbbbblllllliiieeevveeeeeee!! Fuck this shit. Uh, no thanks. Skinny white girls. Send the Becky's. Hot white girls. Ah, oh shit. Send The White Bitchus. MILEY, PLEASE STOP. FUCK TINA FEY!!!! I HATE YOU!!! WHERE'S SUPACREE?!? SUPACREE: fuck supacree. You are supacree. I'm not supacree. What the fuck is wrong with you? SKRILLEX IS EVIL. I NEED GECS. FUCK YOUR GECS. FUCK YOUR SKRILLEX. (Eggageratwd gasp) TAKE THAT BACK! TAKE SKRILLEX BACK. ALL SALES FINAL. JUST DATE HIM. No. Just—come on! No!! Why not, yo. Fuck Dillon Francis. I said no. Nancy Reagan: just say no! Uhhhhhh. That's a lot of money. Yes it is. Ii SHE SAID YESSSSS!! [Tom Cruising] After being exposed as u and as a female though questionably, Dillon Francis and Supacree begin dating as a PR stunt to cause a media frenzy and paparazzi uproar; OWSLA revolts Where is Skrillex this whole time?? Wherever the fuck he is. Who the fuck cares. With Kay”- They're not together!!! So we're in denial? She's a robot No, she's just white. She's a porn star Just as likely!! No, she's just— well, maybe FAKE LIP HOE fake boobs, too So is she just a nicki Minaj She's a nicki mirage— What's that mean? She doesn't exist. HEY. Oh, hey I HAVE TALENT. Sorry nicki Fuck your Skrillex! By all means Fuck dude, I might have to kill myaelf again Again m? DIDNT you already do that? I just did this? I've been here I remember this. No way. I just did this? How close are we? We're getting close. Bet you she jumps Bet she slits her wrists She'll chicken out No, she does it—I've seen this. You've seen this?! It's a rerun? A rerun?! What's a rerun? This is live? It's a taping. What! It's live action! In real-time HD I HATE YOU. I HATE THIS. Where's Dillon Francis He quit I was hacked I got it Oh no. Oh NO. Don't tell me— Okay. Fuck this. I quit. What! I can't do this. It's just acting. Look, no offense— Oh I remember this, he said Look no offense, but— You're not my type. He's not my type! You have a type? He's not my— — —- —- Where's Skrillex? You're an idiot. OH. Oh, YEAH. I did this. Yea, you did You dumb bitch HE KNEW THIS? He stole it? It was HIM? Honestly, I'm all for it, just ACTION! AAAAAHHHHHHHH—— Oh, no— DILLON FRANCIS, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!! SUPACREE— I thought supacree is dead She is— Okay, then— THE MASKED BANANA ATTACKS DILLON FRANCIS ON THE SET OF HIS MUSIC VIDEO, “REACHING OUT” Oh no. PANDA. What the fuck! Am I late? WHO ARE YOU? get out of here josh pan! You're not even in this. I am in this. Here's my contract. (He produces a folded piece of paper) . FUCK Who: Skrillex. What: What? What's a Skrillex? When: INFINITE--I TOLD YOU--! IN-FIN- Where: Which dimension was this? Why: “Why, yes, I--I know why!” How: “How.” Okay, lets figure this out--so. If “U” comes down the mountain, frantically looking for Dillon Francis, and ends up blasting into current reality, after getting out of the hospital, moves south to san diego, but never makes it to Mexico--where SupaCree meets Gerald, then...U, who blasts thorough the panoramic window, kicking dillon francis's ass (and already knows Gerald), has to happen “after” The Masked Banana and the Bampheramps initiate Dillon Francis, who is paid $10 to Deliver Skrillex to “U” as reality shatters, but theoretically speaking, actually has to be SupaCree, having already returned from Mexico, Which U encourages for him to leave to, I guess arriving as SupaCree and Gerald are headed for the border, which I guess leaves an easy opening for the Federales to turn her over to the Secret Service, who orders her to divulge her favorite DJ, who really is, at that point, Dillon Francis, prompting them to retrieve him at his home and as he is tortured by the Secret Service becomes hardened and agrees to cooperate, so they arm him with the Rave weapons that he has when U bursts through the panoramic window, and he pretty much doesn't even react, and Gerald greets U, who he recognizes as a friend. This is all actually happening at the same time. Okay, so where is Skrillex? Beats the fuck outta me. Why is she mad at him? I think, maybe because she's been on a wild goose chase the entire time. Ah, yes, the SupaCree and Skrillex animated movie. That's correct; They settle in Mexico, yes? At least for awhile, I think… Well, how does that movie go? “The Brothers” love to party, so they take The SupaCree (were you sure it was a supacree?) ((Some kind of tesseract--)) (Is that what that even means?) ((I guess.)) (((you have to know. Go google it))) Okay, not a tesseract--or possibly--who cares. A giant spacecraft, which their little sister, a very strange and interesting--I don't know, I think she had a beak, and hair like a pineapple or something? Hard to see it now Hard to see anything, actually--isn't it? I do need to do something with it Gather all the Dillon Francis. That;s it. What does Dillon Francis have to do with ANYTHING-- That's his magic. Duh. That has to be the reason for “anything”, if it means you're writing scenes for Dillon Francis, which, by the way-- are funny -- and, by the way, makes you the new Hunter S. Thompson. New? I'm the old Hunter S. Thompson. I do keep wondering why the heavens must think it's funny to use use as a channel for any soul that needs a body. Yeah well, it's only entertaining when it's entertainers, otherwise it's just humiliating. Fix the writing. Send it. This is what you need. I need a way to get to “me” to connect the things in all these scenes. That scene where U breaks through the window--which U is it? Possibly the ninja urging Skrillex to flee to Tijuana. That would actually make sense, maybe but how does SupaCree ge tThe Skrillex randomly to give to Skrillex? Isn't that the thing the Masked Banana takes after smashing Gerald's body again, I think? I think. So I think that makes sense, since she has the magic to defeat him. What about the chicken wing scene, Chak Chel's super young, I think; He recognized her, so when did they meet? When she hijacks him on the Uber that leaves him “Nowhere”, which is actually..okay, enough. It doesn't really matter. Yes it does, if I don't know it nobody else will get it either. These things have to be able to be answered. I'm the showrunner. Showrunner? I thought you were the actor! I'm the everything if it ever sees the day of light, even Dillon Francis. For all intensive purposes. And Thematically, speaking. Don't spoil it. Spoil what? Nobody's even reading it. Or have you forgotten the reality where actually, yes, someone is reading this? Not really, but I just forget to care a bit and unleash. I need it. I have nothing left . The laptop, don't forget the evil version of that special someone who you're trying to get to stealing everything you've got, so you would write the plot of II U. Which is…? After Scary Monsters, SupaCree goes back to Skrillex, after Dillon Francis, Bampheramphing delivers him, then dips and now she has to take, while everyone is hunting him, for whatever reason, back to Skrillex, which she leaves him in... That's right, she's U that entire movie, and disappears at the end, sending Sonny back to burning man, where the third josh pan from the ascended masters asks if he wants to trade and maybe that's the gap, I think, which makes When Worlds Collide make any sense, if When Worlds Collide combine all of the events as aforementioned, then, as the battle happens SupaCree and Skrillex, Dillon Francis are all everywhere and nowhere, Bampherampin, shapeshifting as they have to under certain circumstances and becoming one another, or anyone at all, just to revolve around the revolving doors in all the worlds, which ends, and that just has to be the beginning, Where SupaCree as GAD addresses everyone, before anything is anything and nothing has happened, but it already has, and already is and Skrillex has been banished, but unanimously everyone keeps asking “where is Skrillex?” because the whole thing never happens without Original Cree Googling the instruments her favorite musician uses; that's before the Scary Monsters show up wreaking havoc for “Their Master” taking her through all the past, and everything that ever happened, leading up to loving Skrillex, to which, the significance really is so many thing that matter, that there isn't SupaCree or EDC or Dillon Francis if there's not a Skrillex, or a Sonny Moore to make it. True. FUCK. Are you serious? As a Skrillex. There's no SupaCree without Skrillex. GAY. It is, kinda. And on some, what I guess is a genetic level, something that was just supposed to happen? Yeah, because SupaCree IS the future president of the united states. WHAT? I told you, it's infinite. That was just something I used to want. That's the only thing you're even getting, if we're being clear. Bullshit. What do you think it all meant to be? Look, i'm not running, I told you. Maybe that's why they used Sonny. If they knew me like they know me, and they're always keeping track--then why would they replace Jon, literally, with someone even-- Why anything, if this is the realm of possibility, and everything means everything, so you still get to be a DJ? Oh. Snap. Oh, snap--that's right, Raven. What happened to the scenes where she's just acting as a stand in---or the ones where Raven's writing this, as you get it from the masters? Or the Raving Ravens, shifting into Ravens at the dances, and the raves where all the magic battles actually happen; Raven Raves in Space, and also, meditates with Sammi, as he Bampheraphs the characters from all the places that keep coming up, where people under scared keep wondering “WHAT THE FUCK IS THaT SHIT?” OR the part where SupaCree gets really fucking mad, and just takes all beautiful things you can imagine, and just leaves the earth a stagnant, godless, evil-people planet; with no moon, no sun, no stars, no music, and no human kindness; leaving people with no homes, no food, and no magic. They're just in a void, where nothing ever can and ever will happen. And then? Skrillex shows up. Right? I guess, that's where he was banished. Damn, this is some crazy shit. And SupaCree goes back, refusing ever to go back to that “primitive planet full of savages”, unleashing, just like Jesus did when he returned and energetic magic-wreaking-havoc on whatever. This is impossible. Nothing is impossible. Go on. Go on TO WHAT? IT just doesn't END. Yeah, Infinite. SO I don't even know where to start. REmember? Start with Dillon Francis, just connect the dots… Connect the dots, she Says, like in Jack U? “I am the line between your eyes,” she writes Whose eyes? Oh, you know who. Oh, you know--who knows Dillon Francis and the everybody you just wrote a massive fan-girl hope-it-don't-blow-back but -not-a-fan-fic, but you can't sell out your Skrillex, as if you ever really had shit, or a reason to protect his ass, cause he don't fuck with that shit. What's that shit? ANYOFIT. Goddamn. That got dark. Or, Deep, if you're asking Hanzel. What else did we leave out? All the series in Festival Trip, which you seem to just “Forget” is really how you started this. I started that with Levitation, which I still don't really get, and ended up with all the fasting, just to levitate again. But what about the show Ascension or Beyond the Senses, if you can even remember what the plot of either of them is. I still remember, it's just open-ended, every artist really gets their albums all interpreted in this creative vision. That's just it, you're just envisioning, you're never taking action. And you're always being watched, and tracked, in someway or another. Somewhere, someone has the map, you know--you fucking lost it. Well, I don't really care about that, I lost my fucking Skrillex. I can't even fucking listen now, it hurts me just to hear it, and what used to be my favorite thing, man...I can't even hear it-- But it also seems, you can't not-hear it, cause you get the itch after awhile of never listening, a sudden need for Skrillex. Or, if, something like an addict, you just fiend and then you need it; and, just like an addiction, you reach for it when you panic, or you're sad, or lost or lonely--have you ever even though that? That you're not obsessive, or insane--you're really just an addict. It's a fucking synthesis or things, I said that all before; that the significance of anything, is more than just a simple answer, and no answer's actually certain. Because Skrillex isn't really even more than just a person, and the Sonny Moore I'm sure I seen, is completely separate and I think that's probably the reason that I even cared, is I was asking someone scared and unprepared to even see me, even if he had, disastrously drunk and just as likely to be just as nervous anyway, I don't know what he was thinking, but I meant exactly what I asked and Honestly been worried, I asked if he was okay, but no one's okay if they're drinking. Everyone drinks. Everyone but me. And yet, you sit here spinning. Hey, I only took my chances just to try to get to Sonny. Are you really that much worried about someone who has everything? If Sonny had everything, then why'd he even need me? Like you said, it could be several different reasons, maybe money; maybe someone paid him, like they paid your ex, just to confuse things. As if suicidal tendencies preceding wouldn't end me? Well, it hasn't ended yet, nor have you heard a thing from Sonny. No, not heard--but seen a lot of things that seem to call me; like the peace sign on his chest, made from the portrait by ms coughsy. Everytime that someone coughs, I just get ansty, filled with envy. And the coughing all goes back, before I met the man that made me. Maybe she was helping him with all the things you need to see things. See things like? She just might also be in love with Sonny. Or she's not, but time as being friends, and all the friends he keeps, and all the people in the industry are pretty, look at ellie. And he seemed to turn away, when his hands rubbed against your belly. Which suggests the other theory, that he paid to maybe--nothing. So you'd never even think to point the finger if he did that? On the second round, he didn't come in without my consent: and I consented, I just used my hand to signal in sign language. And he didn't enter, probably thinking “what the fuck was that shit?” That's the same thing I was thinking, but is finally making sense--the “I can't breathe” and “black lives matter” he was making signs for “love wins” and “equality” of which there isn't in this fucking country. So the banner as the visuals and blue haired kid on stage? I guess a separate dimension, or perhaps it all was staged. Between Live Nation, and Insomniac, although they're all the same…. Which is exactly why Excision seems so evil and so strange. They all seem evil now, in honesty--the poptarts, all the games? And then ther's fucking Dillon Francis, kicking ass and taking names. But then you haven't paid attention much to anyone these days. Except for Dillon Francis and Sonny or what the fuck's his stage name even? That's obsession, I think. No, that's actually the magic. How? Remember, that coincidences don't even exist? And all the random happenstances, like the shit you might have missed, as in: The album Occult Classic, which came out on OWSLA is, a song you love and danced all summer, and you went through all that shit because you fell in love with what the fuck, was Jon really in? Another thing to make you question which reality you're in: He might have been just “Jon”, a secret agent, or now that you're over it, some kind of fucking bampharmph who wants you as his president. That's never happening. Oh, if you live, believe it is. Because honey, look at Sonny: Money wants what money gets, and money gets whatever money wants--whatever that thing is and Occult Classic seems to be the real that all the magic is. Imagine if those doctors that fucked up your life had best interests, rather than investments in the pockets of the rich. And if you haven't noticed by now, this is bigger than it gets: there really are too many sides, and you're the central target. All this is, is that you either fucking live or fucking die-- And if you have to fucking write, then fine, just write it right this time. See there's a side that has investments in the interest that you die; And the otherside, which hopes you make the things that you've been writing. Don't forget the many people listening and watching right, at any time, where any webcam, or a subtle other eye, might pick up any of your actions, or the words you mutter, with the many mics and many minds--but never one alike the writer writing all these sides, just trying just to find the light. And what defines the difference between fan and future wife? Well, I would have to be his friend before admitting I were either; see, your wife should be your biggest fan, but ‘fan' isn't my title, when if anything, i'm after all this shit, a fucking vital in whatever makes this shit at all exist, and though he's just an idol I could never stand to idolize another human adult, nor do I blame him for making me so fucking suicidal; anot I take all the responsibility for where my mind goes, while he might have not been cogniscent enough to answer back at all--I always thought it looked like he was pushed into my tent, or like perhaps he might have fallen, and I just don't get at all, why after everything i've been through, it still matters at all. Because whatever happened in the tent still is, just as it is with Getter's set, if you remember was another entrance into the dimension which you vision in this body, but could enter , when you went and left your body, back at Audiotistic; and had your spirit really is some kind of speciality, which lets the living and the dead to do some crazy shit. So someone knows that you're a psychic,with a light inside projected in the eyes of those come seeking light, and live with good intentions. And your heart of hearts reacts to certain frequencies in music, though the language you remember as the origins of your origins. Origins which, as Chak Chel teaches may predate this planet. But Chak Chel was just a song you liked, on--Listen to that album. Now? Yes, go listen to The Origins, Bass Music is Power. Now isn't that much better than repeating Midnight Hour? But the everything of everything suggests it comes around, with time and patience, maybe everything works itself out. But what about Chak Chel-- A strange collision, this one? Yes, I didn't know her spirit was so motherfucking ancient, it just kind of unraveled as it merged with me, which honestly is creepy--but I dig it. But she doesn't really say much if my body is mistreated. All the processed food and poisons fuck her up… Which is why you ditch this country and you flee to somewhere decent, where you write the rest of this and just eat mangoes by the beach; kid. Kid, wait, who is this addressing ‘me' as fucking “kid” This is the tired, broken spirit, being poisoned in this shit. I hate this whole entire life of yourse, now mine, until you fucking die; go back to somewhere you can sit and meditate; go contemplate the ancient art of human sacrifice. That might be nice, trust me, I've been trying. You've been sitting and complaining about everything, never trying. Have you even thought that maybe, if you try, you'll find your guy? He is not my guy. No, he's your whatever you like; the love you keep inside your heart, your soul, your spirit all combined are something which resulted in a saga that you're writing; that you've already completed, even, if you can imagine it--even if it's meant as ‘infinite”, the plot itself is final. Final maybe, buti'm starting to project what it might look like if I send it off, and never get it read--or even on the shorter term of things, I just can't organize it all, in order to present it. Though you might resent it, if your guy is not your guy, well--try the other guy. But no one is my guy, I'm just alone and want to die. Then how does that explain the wild party Gerald had at Dillons? Had you noticed the banana, or the other hints when watching it the first time? No, I hadn't even noticed. Someone's sending you a message, it's impressive and you know it. I'll admit, it is impressive--and it's strange, that Dillon Francis has this magic and a range of characters and happenstances that all help to set the stage; it kind of gives me hope or something. But, what is that? Turn the page. I have been turning pages, turning over rocks, which makes me think: I'm living under one, with this whole entire thing-- I mean-- I gave up all my music, fasted, never counted days, and ended up climbing up a mountain, where the nature came to me: and I tried to run from everything, but Sonny followed me; between his mother, then Avicii it was like the spirits pleading, but I couldn't even think with all the callings calling me; the butterflies— and then advice from Gods I worshipped on my knees and cried, The final Prophecy revealed a terrifying secret, and the staff I carried with me as a walking stick just planted, pounding out upon the giant rock, an Omen on it's own, as I was told to go unfold the whole of what was shown, to fucking DJ Dillon Francis, a man I don't even know. But Dillon Francis makes you laugh. He's funny, yeah, I know. But I was fasting, praying, meditating deeply for sometime, I didn't count, but weeks, and maybe even reaching past a month or so--who knows? It didn't matter, I had stopped paying attention to my phone. I ran up on the mountain to be left alone, for days no matter where I'd go, i'd just be followed. Sitting on the mountain peak, I sighed a sigh of great relief, ask asked for peace, and praying, pleading just to die--or nap at least; The answer, which, with instant and in anger from a voice I only know as “God”, who of course is no stranger, but not normally so quick to respond, or speak at all--if ever. Prayers are typically answered over some time, it could be years before God hears them; but (s)/he keeps a watchful eye. This going up the mountain sounds like something you would write. Aha, that's right, but I was not--just talking the whole time; and all the while I realized someone else alive was actually hearing me, the whole entire time. Someone else, like who? I guess that's just as likely anybody with the right technology, your answer's as good as mine. Well, I don't have an answer, something's just not right. Something isn't right, it's Sonny--I just realy don't know why. What could be the something? Maybe, really, you're the why? The why I fasted for so long was so I just could try to let it go, and get away from it, I tried and tried and tried; I said I wouldn't end the fast, until I really could forget. So, then, what happened? You couldn't forget-- No instead, I just remembered burning as a witch; what it was like to be on fire, burning skin and all of it, as I looked at the mountain side, wondering who lit it and remembering the Gods who made the fire, and then gifted it, and everything the Gods inspired, human's thought was magic, and for sometime, even had the gifts, until they couldn't manage, and they acted in their savage primitive limited and rather Godless, doing for the Gods, some awful things, that made them leave them stranded on this planet; taking back the wisdom, and the gift of magic. But what about the magic that exists, that you believe in. It was only given back, sparingly in secret--I was told the story of a boy who needed it, in ancient times, just to survive as he was shunned by his village, who did violent things just threatened by the difference in his skin. Magic appeared because of racists? Because nobody could love him, they just couldn't understand the science in the evolution; But a God who loved humanity, gave magic as solution--which, as a reaction as the magic did consume him, ended in a definite conclusion, as he ran away and took away another which did suit him. Really? How did all this happen? Who told you and when? I don't have any control when it happens, The Gods speak and I listen. Or, I look--I just do what they say, or don't-say, they don't speak this any language; just existing in a form of consciousness, with lessons that I'm made to learn, reflect with introspection. So what happens in these ‘lessons'? Typically, it varies. Lessons could be something simple, to something that's really scary. What's something really scary? Most those visions, I keep private; thinking somehow they might be prevented, if I just ignore it. What do you mean by “visions”, seeing with your eyes? More like, glimpses into timelines I exist in through my life; eventually happening at some point I experience in life. So kind of like, a dream? More vivid than a dream--it's like, some people get Deja Vu-- I get that all the time. But these visions, are so vivid, rather Lucid, like an Astral Projection being played a hundred times, at once just so I can't forget; It stays fresh in my mind. This happens, when you're dreaming? When I was dreaming, mostly, early, as A child...but as I grew, they'd happen any time, it didn't matter, visions don't happen in my eyes--but more like, in the minds eye, maybe the third eye, with a light. So these “visions”, do they always happen in due time? That's exactly why they're visions, they are always right about whatever it is in them, sometimes even as reminders that whatever circumstance has happened several times, suggesting I have lived inside this lifeline, and this timeline different times--with lessons, messages, reminders--different actions, reactions, and choices which define and differentiate the visions from the time--which hopefully align with positive results...If I am lucky. What helps you differentiate between timelines? I don't. I just remember having already been in the situation, remembering precisely my choice from a separate time. So, these are memories? I guess, if memories mean I remember things that are currently happening, sometimes. Sometimes. It's the sometimes that seems to keep me out of another suicide, or attemp, which I honestly can comprehend, isn't something I actually lived through. Death, the master of illusion as he...is, or me, as I suppose was given as a title I lived in, after coming down the mountain. But then, once I went up the mountain, I never really came down--did I? Of course you did. You're here to tell it. Or tell no one, really, no one being, Dillon Francis. What does Dillon Francis have to do with anything? My sentiments.. I practically exploded being given specific directions to somehow, go “find him.” Your sentiments, but not sentiments exactly? Perhaps, exactly, moreso and overwhelmingly and exhausted, having been considerably terrified after the many, many, almost too many revelations passed to me that day, which quickly turned to night, which I may have noticed was strikingly offset, by the time I managed to find my way down; that something had changed, making me lose my way. What changed? The sun had set, not west, which I was facing, but into the north instead. A Northern Sunset?! Nothing but subtle in the comparison of all that I had seen, the things that had been said and sent, I had been, yet again, not just an antenna but been asked, by some, and demanded by others, a series of tasks, to take back. Reconstruct man's commandments into commandments of the land, the protection of this planet as a sacred being; and being burdened to bear the curse, and keep the secret, seeking only one to which I might relay it. The One, being? If you haven't managed which is The One, I can't come to repeat it. You say, a curse, kept with a secret--that was what sent you down the mountain? No, that wasn't quite it....it was something so unsettling, as the universe as the outside world, so powerfully reflected in an instant manifestation, a response to a conclusion, which had barely formed as ‘thought', before being answered. I leapt into a panic, flying down the mountain, i'll admit, with newly-granted magic, which helped me down quite quickly. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Skrillex and Dillon Francis battle furiously over the devotion of their biggest fan— AHEM. Right. Over the love and devotion of their biggest fan. That's right! Oh please. How is anyone going to believe that. Just believe!! Believe it! Bbbbbbblllllliiieeevveeeeeee!! Fuck this shit. Uh, no thanks. Skinny white girls. Send the Becky's. Hot white girls. Ah, oh shit. Send The White Bitchus. MILEY, PLEASE STOP. FUCK TINA FEY!!!! I HATE YOU!!! WHERE'S SUPACREE?!? SUPACREE: fuck supacree. You are supacree. I'm not supacree. What the fuck is wrong with you? SKRILLEX IS EVIL. I NEED GECS. FUCK YOUR GECS. FUCK YOUR SKRILLEX. (Eggageratwd gasp) TAKE THAT BACK! TAKE SKRILLEX BACK. ALL SALES FINAL. JUST DATE HIM. No. Just—come on! No!! Why not, yo. Fuck Dillon Francis. I said no. Nancy Reagan: just say no! Uhhhhhh. That's a lot of money. Yes it is. Ii SHE SAID YESSSSS!! [Tom Cruising] After being exposed as u and as a female though questionably, Dillon Francis and Supacree begin dating as a PR stunt to cause a media frenzy and paparazzi uproar; OWSLA revolts Where is Skrillex this whole time?? Wherever the fuck he is. Who the fuck cares. With Kay”- They're not together!!! So we're in denial? She's a robot No, she's just white. She's a porn star Just as likely!! No, she's just— well, maybe FAKE LIP HOE fake boobs, too So is she just a nicki Minaj She's a nicki mirage— What's that mean? She doesn't exist. HEY. Oh, hey I HAVE TALENT. Sorry nicki Fuck your Skrillex! By all means Fuck dude, I might have to kill myaelf again Again m? DIDNT you already do that? I just did this? I've been here I remember this. No way. I just did this? How close are we? We're getting close. Bet you she jumps Bet she slits her wrists She'll chicken out No, she does it—I've seen this. You've seen this?! It's a rerun? A rerun?! What's a rerun? This is live? It's a taping. What! It's live action! In real-time HD I HATE YOU. I HATE THIS. Where's Dillon Francis He quit I was hacked I got it Oh no. Oh NO. Don't tell me— Okay. Fuck this. I quit. What! I can't do this. It's just acting. Look, no offense— Oh I remember this, he said Look no offense, but— You're not my type. He's not my type! You have a type? He's not my— — —- —- Where's Skrillex? You're an idiot. OH. Oh, YEAH. I did this. Yea, you did You dumb bitch HE KNEW THIS? He stole it? It was HIM? Honestly, I'm all for it, just ACTION! AAAAAHHHHHHHH—— Oh, no— DILLON FRANCIS, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!! SUPACREE— I thought supacree is dead She is— Okay, then— THE MASKED BANANA ATTACKS DILLON FRANCIS ON THE SET OF HIS MUSIC VIDEO, “REACHING OUT” Oh no. PANDA. What the fuck! Am I late? WHO ARE YOU? get out of here josh pan! You're not even in this. I am in this. Here's my contract. (He produces a folded piece of paper) . FUCK Who: Skrillex. What: What? What's a Skrillex? When: INFINITE--I TOLD YOU--! IN-FIN- Where: Which dimension was this? Why: “Why, yes, I--I know why!” How: “How.” Okay, lets figure this out--so. If “U” comes down the mountain, frantically looking for Dillon Francis, and ends up blasting into current reality, after getting out of the hospital, moves south to san diego, but never makes it to Mexico--where SupaCree meets Gerald, then...U, who blasts thorough the panoramic window, kicking dillon francis's ass (and already knows Gerald), has to happen “after” The Masked Banana and the Bampheramps initiate Dillon Francis, who is paid $10 to Deliver Skrillex to “U” as reality shatters, but theoretically speaking, actually has to be SupaCree, having already returned from Mexico, Which U encourages for him to leave to, I guess arriving as SupaCree and Gerald are headed for the border, which I guess leaves an easy opening for the Federales to turn her over to the Secret Service, who orders her to divulge her favorite DJ, who really is, at that point, Dillon Francis, prompting them to retrieve him at his home and as he is tortured by the Secret Service becomes hardened and agrees to cooperate, so they arm him with the Rave weapons that he has when U bursts through the panoramic window, and he pretty much doesn't even react, and Gerald greets U, who he recognizes as a friend. This is all actually happening at the same time. Okay, so where is Skrillex? Beats the fuck outta me. Why is she mad at him? I think, maybe because she's been on a wild goose chase the entire time. Ah, yes, the SupaCree and Skrillex animated movie. That's correct; They settle in Mexico, yes? At least for awhile, I think… Well, how does that movie go? “The Brothers” love to party, so they take The SupaCree (were you sure it was a supacree?) ((Some kind of tesseract--)) (Is that what that even means?) ((I guess.)) (((you have to know. Go google it))) Okay, not a tesseract--or possibly--who cares. A giant spacecraft, which their little sister, a very strange and interesting--I don't know, I think she had a beak, and hair like a pineapple or something? Hard to see it now Hard to see anything, actually--isn't it? I do need to do something with it Gather all the Dillon Francis. That;s it. What does Dillon Francis have to do with ANYTHING-- That's his magic. Duh. That has to be the reason for “anything”, if it means you're writing scenes for Dillon Francis, which, by the way-- are funny -- and, by the way, makes you the new Hunter S. Thompson. New? I'm the old Hunter S. Thompson. I do keep wondering why the heavens must think it's funny to use use as a channel for any soul that needs a body. Yeah well, it's only entertaining when it's entertainers, otherwise it's just humiliating. Fix the writing. Send it. This is what you need. I need a way to get to “me” to connect the things in all these scenes. That scene where U breaks through the window--which U is it? Possibly the ninja urging Skrillex to flee to Tijuana. That would actually make sense, maybe but how does SupaCree ge tThe Skrillex randomly to give to Skrillex? Isn't that the thing the Masked Banana takes after smashing Gerald's body again, I think? I think. So I think that makes sense, since she has the magic to defeat him. What about the chicken wing scene, Chak Chel's super young, I think; He recognized her, so when did they meet? When she hijacks him on the Uber that leaves him “Nowhere”, which is actually..okay, enough. It doesn't really matter. Yes it does, if I don't know it nobody else will get it either. These things have to be able to be answered. I'm the showrunner. Showrunner? I thought you were the actor! I'm the everything if it ever sees the day of light, even Dillon Francis. For all intensive purposes. And Thematically, speaking. Don't spoil it. Spoil what? Nobody's even reading it. Or have you forgotten the reality where actually, yes, someone is reading this? Not really, but I just forget to care a bit and unleash. I need it. I have nothing left . The laptop, don't forget the evil version of that special someone who you're trying to get to stealing everything you've got, so you would write the plot of II U. Which is…? After Scary Monsters, SupaCree goes back to Skrillex, after Dillon Francis, Bampheramphing delivers him, then dips and now she has to take, while everyone is hunting him, for whatever reason, back to Skrillex, which she leaves him in... That's right, she's U that entire movie, and disappears at the end, sending Sonny back to burning man, where the third josh pan from the ascended masters asks if he wants to trade and maybe that's the gap, I think, which makes When Worlds Collide make any sense, if When Worlds Collide combine all of the events as aforementioned, then, as the battle happens SupaCree and Skrillex, Dillon Francis are all everywhere and nowhere, Bampherampin, shapeshifting as they have to under certain circumstances and becoming one another, or anyone at all, just to revolve around the revolving doors in all the worlds, which ends, and that just has to be the beginning, Where SupaCree as GAD addresses everyone, before anything is anything and nothing has happened, but it already has, and already is and Skrillex has been banished, but unanimously everyone keeps asking “where is Skrillex?” because the whole thing never happens without Original Cree Googling the instruments her favorite musician uses; that's before the Scary Monsters show up wreaking havoc for “Their Master” taking her through all the past, and everything that ever happened, leading up to loving Skrillex, to which, the significance really is so many thing that matter, that there isn't SupaCree or EDC or Dillon Francis if there's not a Skrillex, or a Sonny Moore to make it. True. FUCK. Are you serious? As a Skrillex. There's no SupaCree without Skrillex. GAY. It is, kinda. And on some, what I guess is a genetic level, something that was just supposed to happen? Yeah, because SupaCree IS the future president of the united states. WHAT? I told you, it's infinite. That was just something I used to want. That's the only thing you're even getting, if we're being clear. Bullshit. What do you think it all meant to be? Look, i'm not running, I told you. Maybe that's why they used Sonny. If they knew me like they know me, and they're always keeping track--then why would they replace Jon, literally, with someone even-- Why anything, if this is the realm of possibility, and everything means everything, so you still get to be a DJ? Oh. Snap. Oh, snap--that's right, Raven. What happened to the scenes where she's just acting as a stand in---or the ones where Raven's writing this, as you get it from the masters? Or the Raving Ravens, shifting into Ravens at the dances, and the raves where all the magic battles actually happen; Raven Raves in Space, and also, meditates with Sammi, as he Bampheraphs the characters from all the places that keep coming up, where people under scared keep wondering “WHAT THE FUCK IS THaT SHIT?” OR the part where SupaCree gets really fucking mad, and just takes all beautiful things you can imagine, and just leaves the earth a stagnant, godless, evil-people planet; with no moon, no sun, no stars, no music, and no human kindness; leaving people with no homes, no food, and no magic. They're just in a void, where nothing ever can and ever will happen. And then? Skrillex shows up. Right? I guess, that's where he was banished. Damn, this is some crazy shit. And SupaCree goes back, refusing ever to go back to that “primitive planet full of savages”, unleashing, just like Jesus did when he returned and energetic magic-wreaking-havoc on whatever. This is impossible. Nothing is impossible. Go on. Go on TO WHAT? IT just doesn't END. Yeah, Infinite. SO I don't even know where to start. REmember? Start with Dillon Francis, just connect the dots… Connect the dots, she Says, like in Jack U? “I am the line between your eyes,” she writes Whose eyes? Oh, you know who. Oh, you know--who knows Dillon Francis and the everybody you just wrote a massive fan-girl hope-it-don't-blow-back but -not-a-fan-fic, but you can't sell out your Skrillex, as if you ever really had shit, or a reason to protect his ass, cause he don't fuck with that shit. What's that shit? ANYOFIT. Goddamn. That got dark. Or, Deep, if you're asking Hanzel. What else did we leave out? All the series in Festival Trip, which you seem to just “Forget” is really how you started this. I started that with Levitation, which I still don't really get, and ended up with all the fasting, just to levitate again. But what about the show Ascension or Beyond the Senses, if you can even remember what the plot of either of them is. I still remember, it's just open-ended, every artist really gets their albums all interpreted in this creative vision. That's just it, you're just envisioning, you're never taking action. And you're always being watched, and tracked, in someway or another. Somewhere, someone has the map, you know--you fucking lost it. Well, I don't really care about that, I lost my fucking Skrillex. I can't even fucking listen now, it hurts me just to hear it, and what used to be my favorite thing, man...I can't even hear it-- But it also seems, you can't not-hear it, cause you get the itch after awhile of never listening, a sudden need for Skrillex. Or, if, something like an addict, you just fiend and then you need it; and, just like an addiction, you reach for it when you panic, or you're sad, or lost or lonely--have you ever even though that? That you're not obsessive, or insane--you're really just an addict. It's a fucking synthesis or things, I said that all before; that the significance of anything, is more than just a simple answer, and no answer's actually certain. Because Skrillex isn't really even more than just a person, and the Sonny Moore I'm sure I seen, is completely separate and I think that's probably the reason that I even cared, is I was asking someone scared and unprepared to even see me, even if he had, disastrously drunk and just as likely to be just as nervous anyway, I don't know what he was thinking, but I meant exactly what I asked and Honestly been worried, I asked if he was okay, but no one's okay if they're drinking. Everyone drinks. Everyone but me. And yet, you sit here spinning. Hey, I only took my chances just to try to get to Sonny. Are you really that much worried about someone who has everything? If Sonny had everything, then why'd he even need me? Like you said, it could be several different reasons, maybe money; maybe someone paid him, like they paid your ex, just to confuse things. As if suicidal tendencies preceding wouldn't end me? Well, it hasn't ended yet, nor have you heard a thing from Sonny. No, not heard--but seen a lot of things that seem to call me; like the peace sign on his chest, made from the portrait by ms coughsy. Everytime that someone coughs, I just get ansty, filled with envy. And the coughing all goes back, before I met the man that made me. Maybe she was helping him with all the things you need to see things. See things like? She just might also be in love with Sonny. Or she's not, but time as being friends, and all the friends he keeps, and all the people in the industry are pretty, look at ellie. And he seemed to turn away, when his hands rubbed against your belly. Which suggests the other theory, that he paid to maybe--nothing. So you'd never even think to point the finger if he did that? On the second round, he didn't come in without my consent: and I consented, I just used my hand to signal in sign language. And he didn't enter, probably thinking “what the fuck was that shit?” That's the same thing I was thinking, but is finally making sense--the “I can't breathe” and “black lives matter” he was making signs for “love wins” and “equality” of which there isn't in this fucking country. So the banner as the visuals and blue haired kid on stage? I guess a separate dimension, or perhaps it all was staged. Between Live Nation, and Insomniac, although they're all the same…. Which is exactly why Excision seems so evil and so strange. They all seem evil now, in honesty--the poptarts, all the games? And then ther's fucking Dillon Francis, kicking ass and taking names. But then you haven't paid attention much to anyone these days. Except for Dillon Francis and Sonny or what the fuck's his stage name even? That's obsession, I think. No, that's actually the magic. How? Remember, that coincidences don't even exist? And all the random happenstances, like the shit you might have missed, as in: The album Occult Classic, which came out on OWSLA is, a song you love and danced all summer, and you went through all that shit because you fell in love with what the fuck, was Jon really in? Another thing to make you question which reality you're in: He might have been just “Jon”, a secret agent, or now that you're over it, some kind of fucking bampharmph who wants you as his president. That's never happening. Oh, if you live, believe it is. Because honey, look at Sonny: Money wants what money gets, and money gets whatever money wants--whatever that thing is and Occult Classic seems to be the real that all the magic is. Imagine if those doctors that fucked up your life had best interests, rather than investments in the pockets of the rich. And if you haven't noticed by now, this is bigger than it gets: there really are too many sides, and you're the central target. All this is, is that you either fucking live or fucking die-- And if you have to fucking write, then fine, just write it right this time. See there's a side that has investments in the interest that you die; And the otherside, which hopes you make the things that you've been writing. Don't forget the many people listening and watching right, at any time, where any webcam, or a subtle other eye, might pick up any of your actions, or the words you mutter, with the many mics and many minds--but never one alike the writer writing all these sides, just trying just to find the light. And what defines the difference between fan and future wife? Well, I would have to be his friend before admitting I were either; see, your wife should be your biggest fan, but ‘fan' isn't my title, when if anything, i'm after all this shit, a fucking vital in whatever makes this shit at all exist, and though he's just an idol I could never stand to idolize another human adult, nor do I blame him for making me so fucking suicidal; anot I take all the responsibility for where my mind goes, while he might have not been cogniscent enough to answer back at all--I always thought it looked like he was pushed into my tent, or like perhaps he might have fallen, and I just don't get at all, why after everything i've been through, it still matters at all. Because whatever happened in the tent still is, just as it is with Getter's set, if you remember was another entrance into the dimension which you vision in this body, but could enter , when you went and left your body, back at Audiotistic; and had your spirit really is some kind of speciality, which lets the living and the dead to do some crazy shit. So someone knows that you're a psychic,with a light inside projected in the eyes of those come seeking light, and live with good intentions. And your heart of hearts reacts to certain frequencies in music, though the language you remember as the origins of your origins. Origins which, as Chak Chel teaches may predate this planet. But Chak Chel was just a song you liked, on--Listen to that album. Now? Yes, go listen to The Origins, Bass Music is Power. Now isn't that much better than repeating Midnight Hour? But the everything of everything suggests it comes around, with time and patience, maybe everything works itself out. But what about Chak Chel-- A strange collision, this one? Yes, I didn't know her spirit was so motherfucking ancient, it just kind of unraveled as it merged with me, which honestly is creepy--but I dig it. But she doesn't really say much if my body is mistreated. All the processed food and poisons fuck her up… Which is why you ditch this country and you flee to somewhere decent, where you write the rest of this and just eat mangoes by the beach; kid. Kid, wait, who is this addressing ‘me' as fucking “kid” This is the tired, broken spirit, being poisoned in this shit. I hate this whole entire life of yourse, now mine, until you fucking die; go back to somewhere you can sit and meditate; go contemplate the ancient art of human sacrifice. That might be nice, trust me, I've been trying. You've been sitting and complaining about everything, never trying. Have you even thought that maybe, if you try, you'll find your guy? He is not my guy. No, he's your whatever you like; the love you keep inside your heart, your soul, your spirit all combined are something which resulted in a saga that you're writing; that you've already completed, even, if you can imagine it--even if it's meant as ‘infinite”, the plot itself is final. Final maybe, buti'm starting to project what it might look like if I send it off, and never get it read--or even on the shorter term of things, I just can't organize it all, in order to present it. Though you might resent it, if your guy is not your guy, well--try the other guy. But no one is my guy, I'm just alone and want to die. Then how does that explain the wild party Gerald had at Dillons? Had you noticed the banana, or the other hints when watching it the first time? No, I hadn't even noticed. Someone's sending you a message, it's impressive and you know it. I'll admit, it is impressive--and it's strange, that Dillon Francis has this magic and a range of characters and happenstances that all help to set the stage; it kind of gives me hope or something. But, what is that? Turn the page. I have been turning pages, turning over rocks, which makes me think: I'm living under one, with this whole entire thing-- I mean-- I gave up all my music, fasted, never counted days, and ended up climbing up a mountain, where the nature came to me: and I tried to run from everything, but Sonny followed me; between his mother, then Avicii it was like the spirits pleading, but I couldn't even think with all the callings calling me; the butterflies— and then advice from Gods I worshipped on my knees and cried, The final Prophecy revealed a terrifying secret, and the staff I carried with me as a walking stick just planted, pounding out upon the giant rock, an Omen on it's own, as I was told to go unfold the whole of what was shown, to fucking DJ Dillon Francis, a man I don't even know. But Dillon Francis makes you laugh. He's funny, yeah, I know. But I was fasting, praying, meditating deeply for sometime, I didn't count, but weeks, and maybe even reaching past a month or so--who knows? It didn't matter, I had stopped paying attention to my phone. I ran up on the mountain to be left alone, for days no matter where I'd go, i'd just be followed. Sitting on the mountain peak, I sighed a sigh of great relief, ask asked for peace, and praying, pleading just to die--or nap at least; The answer, which, with instant and in anger from a voice I only know as “God”, who of course is no stranger, but not normally so quick to respond, or speak at all--if ever. Prayers are typically answered over some time, it could be years before God hears them; but (s)/he keeps a watchful eye. This going up the mountain sounds like something you would write. Aha, that's right, but I was not--just talking the whole time; and all the while I realized someone else alive was actually hearing me, the whole entire time. Someone else, like who? I guess that's just as likely anybody with the right technology, your answer's as good as mine. Well, I don't have an answer, something's just not right. Something isn't right, it's Sonny--I just realy don't know why. What could be the something? Maybe, really, you're the why? The why I fasted for so long was so I just could try to let it go, and get away from it, I tried and tried and tried; I said I wouldn't end the fast, until I really could forget. So, then, what happened? You couldn't forget-- No instead, I just remembered burning as a witch; what it was like to be on fire, burning skin and all of it, as I looked at the mountain side, wondering who lit it and remembering the Gods who made the fire, and then gifted it, and everything the Gods inspired, human's thought was magic, and for sometime, even had the gifts, until they couldn't manage, and they acted in their savage primitive limited and rather Godless, doing for the Gods, some awful things, that made them leave them stranded on this planet; taking back the wisdom, and the gift of magic. But what about the magic that exists, that you believe in. It was only given back, sparingly in secret--I was told the story of a boy who needed it, in ancient times, just to survive as he was shunned by his village, who did violent things just threatened by the difference in his skin. Magic appeared because of racists? Because nobody could love him, they just couldn't understand the science in the evolution; But a God who loved humanity, gave magic as solution--which, as a reaction as the magic did consume him, ended in a definite conclusion, as he ran away and took away another which did suit him. Really? How did all this happen? Who told you and when? I don't have any control when it happens, The Gods speak and I listen. Or, I look--I just do what they say, or don't-say, they don't speak this any language; just existing in a form of consciousness, with lessons that I'm made to learn, reflect with introspection. So what happens in these ‘lessons'? Typically, it varies. Lessons could be something simple, to something that's really scary. What's something really scary? Most those visions, I keep private; thinking somehow they might be prevented, if I just ignore it. What do you mean by “visions”, seeing with your eyes? More like, glimpses into timelines I exist in through my life; eventually happening at some point I experience in life. So kind of like, a dream? More vivid than a dream--it's like, some people get Deja Vu-- I get that all the time. But these visions, are so vivid, rather Lucid, like an Astral Projection being played a hundred times, at once just so I can't forget; It stays fresh in my mind. This happens, when you're dreaming? When I was dreaming, mostly, early, as A child...but as I grew, they'd happen any time, it didn't matter, visions don't happen in my eyes--but more like, in the minds eye, maybe the third eye, with a light. So these “visions”, do they always happen in due time? That's exactly why they're visions, they are always right about whatever it is in them, sometimes even as reminders that whatever circumstance has happened several times, suggesting I have lived inside this lifeline, and this timeline different times--with lessons, messages, reminders--different actions, reactions, and choices which define and differentiate the visions from the time--which hopefully align with positive results...If I am lucky. What helps you differentiate between timelines? I don't. I just remember having already been in the situation, remembering precisely my choice from a separate time. So, these are memories? I guess, if memories mean I remember things that are currently happening, sometimes. Sometimes. It's the sometimes that seems to keep me out of another suicide, or attemp, which I honestly can comprehend, isn't something I actually lived through. Death, the master of illusion as he...is, or me, as I suppose was given as a title I lived in, after coming down the mountain. But then, once I went up the mountain, I never really came down--did I? Of course you did. You're here to tell it. Or tell no one, really, no one being, Dillon Francis. What does Dillon Francis have to do with anything? My sentiments.. I practically exploded being given specific directions to somehow, go “find him.” Your sentiments, but not sentiments exactly? Perhaps, exactly, moreso and overwhelmingly and exhausted, having been considerably terrified after the many, many, almost too many revelations passed to me that day, which quickly turned to night, which I may have noticed was strikingly offset, by the time I managed to find my way down; that something had changed, making me lose my way. What changed? The sun had set, not west, which I was facing, but into the north instead. A Northern Sunset?! Nothing but subtle in the comparison of all that I had seen, the things that had been said and sent, I had been, yet again, not just an antenna but been asked, by some, and demanded by others, a series of tasks, to take back. Reconstruct man's commandments into commandments of the land, the protection of this planet as a sacred being; and being burdened to bear the curse, and keep the secret, seeking only one to which I might relay it. The One, being? If you haven't managed which is The One, I can't come to repeat it. You say, a curse, kept with a secret--that was what sent you down the mountain? No, that wasn't quite it....it was something so unsettling, as the universe as the outside world, so powerfully reflected in an instant manifestation, a response to a conclusion, which had barely formed as ‘thought', before being answered. I leapt into a panic, flying down the mountain, i'll admit, with newly-granted magic, which helped me down quite quickly. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Skrillex and Dillon Francis battle furiously over the devotion of their biggest fan— AHEM. Right. Over the love and devotion of their biggest fan. That's right! Oh please. How is anyone going to believe that. Just believe!! Believe it! Bbbbbbblllllliiieeevveeeeeee!! Fuck this shit. Uh, no thanks. Skinny white girls. Send the Becky's. Hot white girls. Ah, oh shit. Send The White Bitchus. MILEY, PLEASE STOP. FUCK TINA FEY!!!! I HATE YOU!!! WHERE'S SUPACREE?!? SUPACREE: fuck supacree. You are supacree. I'm not supacree. What the fuck is wrong with you? SKRILLEX IS EVIL. I NEED GECS. FUCK YOUR GECS. FUCK YOUR SKRILLEX. (Eggageratwd gasp) TAKE THAT BACK! TAKE SKRILLEX BACK. ALL SALES FINAL. JUST DATE HIM. No. Just—come on! No!! Why not, yo. Fuck Dillon Francis. I said no. Nancy Reagan: just say no! Uhhhhhh. That's a lot of money. Yes it is. Ii SHE SAID YESSSSS!! [Tom Cruising] After being exposed as u and as a female though questionably, Dillon Francis and Supacree begin dating as a PR stunt to cause a media frenzy and paparazzi uproar; OWSLA revolts Where is Skrillex this whole time?? Wherever the fuck he is. Who the fuck cares. With Kay”- They're not together!!! So we're in denial? She's a robot No, she's just white. She's a porn star Just as likely!! No, she's just— well, maybe FAKE LIP HOE fake boobs, too So is she just a nicki Minaj She's a nicki mirage— What's that mean? She doesn't exist. HEY. Oh, hey I HAVE TALENT. Sorry nicki Fuck your Skrillex! By all means Fuck dude, I might have to kill myaelf again Again m? DIDNT you already do that? I just did this? I've been here I remember this. No way. I just did this? How close are we? We're getting close. Bet you she jumps Bet she slits her wrists She'll chicken out No, she does it—I've seen this. You've seen this?! It's a rerun? A rerun?! What's a rerun? This is live? It's a taping. What! It's live action! In real-time HD I HATE YOU. I HATE THIS. Where's Dillon Francis He quit I was hacked I got it Oh no. Oh NO. Don't tell me— Okay. Fuck this. I quit. What! I can't do this. It's just acting. Look, no offense— Oh I remember this, he said Look no offense, but— You're not my type. He's not my type! You have a type? He's not my— — —- —- Where's Skrillex? You're an idiot. OH. Oh, YEAH. I did this. Yea, you did You dumb bitch HE KNEW THIS? He stole it? It was HIM? Honestly, I'm all for it, just ACTION! AAAAAHHHHHHHH—— Oh, no— DILLON FRANCIS, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!! SUPACREE— I thought supacree is dead She is— Okay, then— THE MASKED BANANA ATTACKS DILLON FRANCIS ON THE SET OF HIS MUSIC VIDEO, “REACHING OUT” Oh no. PANDA. What the fuck! Am I late? WHO ARE YOU? get out of here josh pan! You're not even in this. I am in this. Here's my contract. (He produces a folded piece of paper) . FUCK Who: Skrillex. What: What? What's a Skrillex? When: INFINITE--I TOLD YOU--! IN-FIN- Where: Which dimension was this? Why: “Why, yes, I--I know why!” How: “How.” Okay, lets figure this out--so. If “U” comes down the mountain, frantically looking for Dillon Francis, and ends up blasting into current reality, after getting out of the hospital, moves south to san diego, but never makes it to Mexico--where SupaCree meets Gerald, then...U, who blasts thorough the panoramic window, kicking dillon francis's ass (and already knows Gerald), has to happen “after” The Masked Banana and the Bampheramps initiate Dillon Francis, who is paid $10 to Deliver Skrillex to “U” as reality shatters, but theoretically speaking, actually has to be SupaCree, having already returned from Mexico, Which U encourages for him to leave to, I guess arriving as SupaCree and Gerald are headed for the border, which I guess leaves an easy opening for the Federales to turn her over to the Secret Service, who orders her to divulge her favorite DJ, who really is, at that point, Dillon Francis, prompting them to retrieve him at his home and as he is tortured by the Secret Service becomes hardened and agrees to cooperate, so they arm him with the Rave weapons that he has when U bursts through the panoramic window, and he pretty much doesn't even react, and Gerald greets U, who he recognizes as a friend. This is all actually happening at the same time. Okay, so where is Skrillex? Beats the fuck outta me. Why is she mad at him? I think, maybe because she's been on a wild goose chase the entire time. Ah, yes, the SupaCree and Skrillex animated movie. That's correct; They settle in Mexico, yes? At least for awhile, I think… Well, how does that movie go? “The Brothers” love to party, so they take The SupaCree (were you sure it was a supacree?) ((Some kind of tesseract--)) (Is that what that even means?) ((I guess.)) (((you have to know. Go google it))) Okay, not a tesseract--or possibly--who cares. A giant spacecraft, which their little sister, a very strange and interesting--I don't know, I think she had a beak, and hair like a pineapple or something? Hard to see it now Hard to see anything, actually--isn't it? I do need to do something with it Gather all the Dillon Francis. That;s it. What does Dillon Francis have to do with ANYTHING-- That's his magic. Duh. That has to be the reason for “anything”, if it means you're writing scenes for Dillon Francis, which, by the way-- are funny -- and, by the way, makes you the new Hunter S. Thompson. New? I'm the old Hunter S. Thompson. I do keep wondering why the heavens must think it's funny to use use as a channel for any soul that needs a body. Yeah well, it's only entertaining when it's entertainers, otherwise it's just humiliating. Fix the writing. Send it. This is what you need. I need a way to get to “me” to connect the things in all these scenes. That scene where U breaks through the window--which U is it? Possibly the ninja urging Skrillex to flee to Tijuana. That would actually make sense, maybe but how does SupaCree ge tThe Skrillex randomly to give to Skrillex? Isn't that the thing the Masked Banana takes after smashing Gerald's body again, I think? I think. So I think that makes sense, since she has the magic to defeat him. What about the chicken wing scene, Chak Chel's super young, I think; He recognized her, so when did they meet? When she hijacks him on the Uber that leaves him “Nowhere”, which is actually..okay, enough. It doesn't really matter. Yes it does, if I don't know it nobody else will get it either. These things have to be able to be answered. I'm the showrunner. Showrunner? I thought you were the actor! I'm the everything if it ever sees the day of light, even Dillon Francis. For all intensive purposes. And Thematically, speaking. Don't spoil it. Spoil what? Nobody's even reading it. Or have you forgotten the reality where actually, yes, someone is reading this? Not really, but I just forget to care a bit and unleash. I need it. I have nothing left . The laptop, don't forget the evil version of that special someone who you're trying to get to stealing everything you've got, so you would write the plot of II U. Which is…? After Scary Monsters, SupaCree goes back to Skrillex, after Dillon Francis, Bampheramphing delivers him, then dips and now she has to take, while everyone is hunting him, for whatever reason, back to Skrillex, which she leaves him in... That's right, she's U that entire movie, and disappears at the end, sending Sonny back to burning man, where the third josh pan from the ascended masters asks if he wants to trade and maybe that's the gap, I think, which makes When Worlds Collide make any sense, if When Worlds Collide combine all of the events as aforementioned, then, as the battle happens SupaCree and Skrillex, Dillon Francis are all everywhere and nowhere, Bampherampin, shapeshifting as they have to under certain circumstances and becoming one another, or anyone at all, just to revolve around the revolving doors in all the worlds, which ends, and that just has to be the beginning, Where SupaCree as GAD addresses everyone, before anything is anything and nothing has happened, but it already has, and already is and Skrillex has been banished, but unanimously everyone keeps asking “where is Skrillex?” because the whole thing never happens without Original Cree Googling the instruments her favorite musician uses; that's before the Scary Monsters show up wreaking havoc for “Their Master” taking her through all the past, and everything that ever happened, leading up to loving Skrillex, to which, the significance really is so many thing that matter, that there isn't SupaCree or EDC or Dillon Francis if there's not a Skrillex, or a Sonny Moore to make it. True. FUCK. Are you serious? As a Skrillex. There's no SupaCree without Skrillex. GAY. It is, kinda. And on some, what I guess is a genetic level, something that was just supposed to happen? Yeah, because SupaCree IS the future president of the united states. WHAT? I told you, it's infinite. That was just something I used to want. That's the only thing you're even getting, if we're being clear. Bullshit. What do you think it all meant to be? Look, i'm not running, I told you. Maybe that's why they used Sonny. If they knew me like they know me, and they're always keeping track--then why would they replace Jon, literally, with someone even-- Why anything, if this is the realm of possibility, and everything means everything, so you still get to be a DJ? Oh. Snap. Oh, snap--that's right, Raven. What happened to the scenes where she's just acting as a stand in---or the ones where Raven's writing this, as you get it from the masters? Or the Raving Ravens, shifting into Ravens at the dances, and the raves where all the magic battles actually happen; Raven Raves in Space, and also, meditates with Sammi, as he Bampheraphs the characters from all the places that keep coming up, where people under scared keep wondering “WHAT THE FUCK IS THaT SHIT?” OR the part where SupaCree gets really fucking mad, and just takes all beautiful things you can imagine, and just leaves the earth a stagnant, godless, evil-people planet; with no moon, no sun, no stars, no music, and no human kindness; leaving people with no homes, no food, and no magic. They're just in a void, where nothing ever can and ever will happen. And then? Skrillex shows up. Right? I guess, that's where he was banished. Damn, this is some crazy shit. And SupaCree goes back, refusing ever to go back to that “primitive planet full of savages”, unleashing, just like Jesus did when he returned and energetic magic-wreaking-havoc on whatever. This is impossible. Nothing is impossible. Go on. Go on TO WHAT? IT just doesn't END. Yeah, Infinite. SO I don't even know where to start. REmember? Start with Dillon Francis, just connect the dots… Connect the dots, she Says, like in Jack U? “I am the line between your eyes,” she writes Whose eyes? Oh, you know who. Oh, you know--who knows Dillon Francis and the everybody you just wrote a massive fan-girl hope-it-don't-blow-back but -not-a-fan-fic, but you can't sell out your Skrillex, as if you ever really had shit, or a reason to protect his ass, cause he don't fuck with that shit. What's that shit? ANYOFIT. Goddamn. That got dark. Or, Deep, if you're asking Hanzel. What else did we leave out? All the series in Festival Trip, which you seem to just “Forget” is really how you started this. I started that with Levitation, which I still don't really get, and ended up with all the fasting, just to levitate again. But what about the show Ascension or Beyond the Senses, if you can even remember what the plot of either of them is. I still remember, it's just open-ended, every artist really gets their albums all interpreted in this creative vision. That's just it, you're just envisioning, you're never taking action. And you're always being watched, and tracked, in someway or another. Somewhere, someone has the map, you know--you fucking lost it. Well, I don't really care about that, I lost my fucking Skrillex. I can't even fucking listen now, it hurts me just to hear it, and what used to be my favorite thing, man...I can't even hear it-- But it also seems, you can't not-hear it, cause you get the itch after awhile of never listening, a sudden need for Skrillex. Or, if, something like an addict, you just fiend and then you need it; and, just like an addiction, you reach for it when you panic, or you're sad, or lost or lonely--have you ever even though that? That you're not obsessive, or insane--you're really just an addict. It's a fucking synthesis or things, I said that all before; that the significance of anything, is more than just a simple answer, and no answer's actually certain. Because Skrillex isn't really even more than just a person, and the Sonny Moore I'm sure I seen, is completely separate and I think that's probably the reason that I even cared, is I was asking someone scared and unprepared to even see me, even if he had, disastrously drunk and just as likely to be just as nervous anyway, I don't know what he was thinking, but I meant exactly what I asked and Honestly been worried, I asked if he was okay, but no one's okay if they're drinking. Everyone drinks. Everyone but me. And yet, you sit here spinning. Hey, I only took my chances just to try to get to Sonny. Are you really that much worried about someone who has everything? If Sonny had everything, then why'd he even need me? Like you said, it could be several different reasons, maybe money; maybe someone paid him, like they paid your ex, just to confuse things. As if suicidal tendencies preceding wouldn't end me? Well, it hasn't ended yet, nor have you heard a thing from Sonny. No, not heard--but seen a lot of things that seem to call me; like the peace sign on his chest, made from the portrait by ms coughsy. Everytime that someone coughs, I just get ansty, filled with envy. And the coughing all goes back, before I met the man that made me. Maybe she was helping him with all the things you need to see things. See things like? She just might also be in love with Sonny. Or she's not, but time as being friends, and all the friends he keeps, and all the people in the industry are pretty, look at ellie. And he seemed to turn away, when his hands rubbed against your belly. Which suggests the other theory, that he paid to maybe--nothing. So you'd never even think to point the finger if he did that? On the second round, he didn't come in without my consent: and I consented, I just used my hand to signal in sign language. And he didn't enter, probably thinking “what the fuck was that shit?” That's the same thing I was thinking, but is finally making sense--the “I can't breathe” and “black lives matter” he was making signs for “love wins” and “equality” of which there isn't in this fucking country. So the banner as the visuals and blue haired kid on stage? I guess a separate dimension, or perhaps it all was staged. Between Live Nation, and Insomniac, although they're all the same…. Which is exactly why Excision seems so evil and so strange. They all seem evil now, in honesty--the poptarts, all the games? And then ther's fucking Dillon Francis, kicking ass and taking names. But then you haven't paid attention much to anyone these days. Except for Dillon Francis and Sonny or what the fuck's his stage name even? That's obsession, I think. No, that's actually the magic. How? Remember, that coincidences don't even exist? And all the random happenstances, like the shit you might have missed, as in: The album Occult Classic, which came out on OWSLA is, a song you love and danced all summer, and you went through all that shit because you fell in love with what the fuck, was Jon really in? Another thing to make you question which reality you're in: He might have been just “Jon”, a secret agent, or now that you're over it, some kind of fucking bampharmph who wants you as his president. That's never happening. Oh, if you live, believe it is. Because honey, look at Sonny: Money wants what money gets, and money gets whatever money wants--whatever that thing is and Occult Classic seems to be the real that all the magic is. Imagine if those doctors that fucked up your life had best interests, rather than investments in the pockets of the rich. And if you haven't noticed by now, this is bigger than it gets: there really are too many sides, and you're the central target. All this is, is that you either fucking live or fucking die-- And if you have to fucking write, then fine, just write it right this time. See there's a side that has investments in the interest that you die; And the otherside, which hopes you make the things that you've been writing. Don't forget the many people listening and watching right, at any time, where any webcam, or a subtle other eye, might pick up any of your actions, or the words you mutter, with the many mics and many minds--but never one alike the writer writing all these sides, just trying just to find the light. And what defines the difference between fan and future wife? Well, I would have to be his friend before admitting I were either; see, your wife should be your biggest fan, but ‘fan' isn't my title, when if anything, i'm after all this shit, a fucking vital in whatever makes this shit at all exist, and though he's just an idol I could never stand to idolize another human adult, nor do I blame him for making me so fucking suicidal; anot I take all the responsibility for where my mind goes, while he might have not been cogniscent enough to answer back at all--I always thought it looked like he was pushed into my tent, or like perhaps he might have fallen, and I just don't get at all, why after everything i've been through, it still matters at all. Because whatever happened in the tent still is, just as it is with Getter's set, if you remember was another entrance into the dimension which you vision in this body, but could enter , when you went and left your body, back at Audiotistic; and had your spirit really is some kind of speciality, which lets the living and the dead to do some crazy shit. So someone knows that you're a psychic,with a light inside projected in the eyes of those come seeking light, and live with good intentions. And your heart of hearts reacts to certain frequencies in music, though the language you remember as the origins of your origins. Origins which, as Chak Chel teaches may predate this planet. But Chak Chel was just a song you liked, on--Listen to that album. Now? Yes, go listen to The Origins, Bass Music is Power. Now isn't that much better than repeating Midnight Hour? But the everything of everything suggests it comes around, with time and patience, maybe everything works itself out. But what about Chak Chel-- A strange collision, this one? Yes, I didn't know her spirit was so motherfucking ancient, it just kind of unraveled as it merged with me, which honestly is creepy--but I dig it. But she doesn't really say much if my body is mistreated. All the processed food and poisons fuck her up… Which is why you ditch this country and you flee to somewhere decent, where you write the rest of this and just eat mangoes by the beach; kid. Kid, wait, who is this addressing ‘me' as fucking “kid” This is the tired, broken spirit, being poisoned in this shit. I hate this whole entire life of yourse, now mine, until you fucking die; go back to somewhere you can sit and meditate; go contemplate the ancient art of human sacrifice. That might be nice, trust me, I've been trying. You've been sitting and complaining about everything, never trying. Have you even thought that maybe, if you try, you'll find your guy? He is not my guy. No, he's your whatever you like; the love you keep inside your heart, your soul, your spirit all combined are something which resulted in a saga that you're writing; that you've already completed, even, if you can imagine it--even if it's meant as ‘infinite”, the plot itself is final. Final maybe, buti'm starting to project what it might look like if I send it off, and never get it read--or even on the shorter term of things, I just can't organize it all, in order to present it. Though you might resent it, if your guy is not your guy, well--try the other guy. But no one is my guy, I'm just alone and want to die. Then how does that explain the wild party Gerald had at Dillons? Had you noticed the banana, or the other hints when watching it the first time? No, I hadn't even noticed. Someone's sending you a message, it's impressive and you know it. I'll admit, it is impressive--and it's strange, that Dillon Francis has this magic and a range of characters and happenstances that all help to set the stage; it kind of gives me hope or something. But, what is that? Turn the page. I have been turning pages, turning over rocks, which makes me think: I'm living under one, with this whole entire thing-- I mean-- I gave up all my music, fasted, never counted days, and ended up climbing up a mountain, where the nature came to me: and I tried to run from everything, but Sonny followed me; between his mother, then Avicii it was like the spirits pleading, but I couldn't even think with all the callings calling me; the butterflies— and then advice from Gods I worshipped on my knees and cried, The final Prophecy revealed a terrifying secret, and the staff I carried with me as a walking stick just planted, pounding out upon the giant rock, an Omen on it's own, as I was told to go unfold the whole of what was shown, to fucking DJ Dillon Francis, a man I don't even know. But Dillon Francis makes you laugh. He's funny, yeah, I know. But I was fasting, praying, meditating deeply for sometime, I didn't count, but weeks, and maybe even reaching past a month or so--who knows? It didn't matter, I had stopped paying attention to my phone. I ran up on the mountain to be left alone, for days no matter where I'd go, i'd just be followed. Sitting on the mountain peak, I sighed a sigh of great relief, ask asked for peace, and praying, pleading just to die--or nap at least; The answer, which, with instant and in anger from a voice I only know as “God”, who of course is no stranger, but not normally so quick to respond, or speak at all--if ever. Prayers are typically answered over some time, it could be years before God hears them; but (s)/he keeps a watchful eye. This going up the mountain sounds like something you would write. Aha, that's right, but I was not--just talking the whole time; and all the while I realized someone else alive was actually hearing me, the whole entire time. Someone else, like who? I guess that's just as likely anybody with the right technology, your answer's as good as mine. Well, I don't have an answer, something's just not right. Something isn't right, it's Sonny--I just realy don't know why. What could be the something? Maybe, really, you're the why? The why I fasted for so long was so I just could try to let it go, and get away from it, I tried and tried and tried; I said I wouldn't end the fast, until I really could forget. So, then, what happened? You couldn't forget-- No instead, I just remembered burning as a witch; what it was like to be on fire, burning skin and all of it, as I looked at the mountain side, wondering who lit it and remembering the Gods who made the fire, and then gifted it, and everything the Gods inspired, human's thought was magic, and for sometime, even had the gifts, until they couldn't manage, and they acted in their savage primitive limited and rather Godless, doing for the Gods, some awful things, that made them leave them stranded on this planet; taking back the wisdom, and the gift of magic. But what about the magic that exists, that you believe in. It was only given back, sparingly in secret--I was told the story of a boy who needed it, in ancient times, just to survive as he was shunned by his village, who did violent things just threatened by the difference in his skin. Magic appeared because of racists? Because nobody could love him, they just couldn't understand the science in the evolution; But a God who loved humanity, gave magic as solution--which, as a reaction as the magic did consume him, ended in a definite conclusion, as he ran away and took away another which did suit him. Really? How did all this happen? Who told you and when? I don't have any control when it happens, The Gods speak and I listen. Or, I look--I just do what they say, or don't-say, they don't speak this any language; just existing in a form of consciousness, with lessons that I'm made to learn, reflect with introspection. So what happens in these ‘lessons'? Typically, it varies. Lessons could be something simple, to something that's really scary. What's something really scary? Most those visions, I keep private; thinking somehow they might be prevented, if I just ignore it. What do you mean by “visions”, seeing with your eyes? More like, glimpses into timelines I exist in through my life; eventually happening at some point I experience in life. So kind of like, a dream? More vivid than a dream--it's like, some people get Deja Vu-- I get that all the time. But these visions, are so vivid, rather Lucid, like an Astral Projection being played a hundred times, at once just so I can't forget; It stays fresh in my mind. This happens, when you're dreaming? When I was dreaming, mostly, early, as A child...but as I grew, they'd happen any time, it didn't matter, visions don't happen in my eyes--but more like, in the minds eye, maybe the third eye, with a light. So these “visions”, do they always happen in due time? That's exactly why they're visions, they are always right about whatever it is in them, sometimes even as reminders that whatever circumstance has happened several times, suggesting I have lived inside this lifeline, and this timeline different times--with lessons, messages, reminders--different actions, reactions, and choices which define and differentiate the visions from the time--which hopefully align with positive results...If I am lucky. What helps you differentiate between timelines? I don't. I just remember having already been in the situation, remembering precisely my choice from a separate time. So, these are memories? I guess, if memories mean I remember things that are currently happening, sometimes. Sometimes. It's the sometimes that seems to keep me out of another suicide, or attemp, which I honestly can comprehend, isn't something I actually lived through. Death, the master of illusion as he...is, or me, as I suppose was given as a title I lived in, after coming down the mountain. But then, once I went up the mountain, I never really came down--did I? Of course you did. You're here to tell it. Or tell no one, really, no one being, Dillon Francis. What does Dillon Francis have to do with anything? My sentiments.. I practically exploded being given specific directions to somehow, go “find him.” Your sentiments, but not sentiments exactly? Perhaps, exactly, moreso and overwhelmingly and exhausted, having been considerably terrified after the many, many, almost too many revelations passed to me that day, which quickly turned to night, which I may have noticed was strikingly offset, by the time I managed to find my way down; that something had changed, making me lose my way. What changed? The sun had set, not west, which I was facing, but into the north instead. A Northern Sunset?! Nothing but subtle in the comparison of all that I had seen, the things that had been said and sent, I had been, yet again, not just an antenna but been asked, by some, and demanded by others, a series of tasks, to take back. Reconstruct man's commandments into commandments of the land, the protection of this planet as a sacred being; and being burdened to bear the curse, and keep the secret, seeking only one to which I might relay it. The One, being? If you haven't managed which is The One, I can't come to repeat it. You say, a curse, kept with a secret--that was what sent you down the mountain? No, that wasn't quite it....it was something so unsettling, as the universe as the outside world, so powerfully reflected in an instant manifestation, a response to a conclusion, which had barely formed as ‘thought', before being answered. I leapt into a panic, flying down the mountain, i'll admit, with newly-granted magic, which helped me down quite quickly. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

"Doc Rabbit, Bruh Fox, and Tar Baby" "The well-known author retells 24 black American folk tales in sure storytelling voice: animal tales, supernatural tales, fanciful and cautionary tales, and slave tales of freedom. All are beautifully readable. With the added attraction of 40 wonderfully expressive paintings by the Dillons, this collection should be snapped up."--(starred) School Library Journal. This book has been selected as a Common Core State Standards text Exemplar (Grade 6-8, Stories) in Appendix B. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/avant-garde-books/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/avant-garde-books/support

"The well-known author retells 24 black American folk tales in sure storytelling voice: animal tales, supernatural tales, fanciful and cautionary tales, and slave tales of freedom. All are beautifully readable. With the added attraction of 40 wonderfully expressive paintings by the Dillons, this collection should be snapped up."--(starred) School Library Journal. This book has been selected as a Common Core State Standards text Exemplar (Grade 6-8, Stories) in Appendix B. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/avant-garde-books/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/avant-garde-books/support

On Tuesday-Friday at 9:00 a.m., tune in to Mississippi Sports Today as Craig Horton and company highlight sports news from around Mississippi high school and college sports

What are you doing? –dying. Die faster. Q: How do you break up with deadmau5. A: You don't. JOEL TALK TO THE HEAD. Oh, come on! What is this. Idk. I figured if there was a dimension where SUPACREE is dating DIPLO– Ew. What. Ew. –Then there's probably one where she's got somethin' going on with that guy. How do you figure. Hm. Hm. Interesting. Very Interesting Grow up. We all have –girlfriends. –jobs to do. –secret fetishes. Sick. This is retarded. Turn this off. I want to die. WHERE IS SKRILLEX. Skrillex is playing mountain man with a bunch of fake models and rapper dudes, Woah. He looks different. What happened. More on that later. Or not. Oh, come on! Everybody. Shut up. Not me, right? Especially you. *eyes* what's 9x9? Uhhh– Are you serious? This isn't math! Everything is math! HOW IS THIS MOVIE CAST? CAN DEADmAU5 ACT? –short anser: YES. Long Answer: By The time this movie gets made, we'll all be dead. We're all dead now. Dead *and* gone. *crowd gasps exaggeratedly* I THOUGHT THIS MOVIE WAS ABOUT SKRILLEX. It was- he didn't like it. Why wouldn't he like it? You called him a “nigga” 47 times. Was it 47? At the SUPERBOWL. I guess that makes him the champion of niggas. I guess so. Whatever happened to Dillon Francis. Idk he's pussywhipped or something. I guess. Nice. Still gettin it. Shut up, fans. Okay, ouch. How. How–?? How does someone with THIS MUCH pride and THIS MUCH ego get THIS MUCH power? Probably with all that pride and ego. This is correct. ____ {JOSHrushes in violently.] DRAKE Uh huh… SOMETHING IS WRONG. …what makes you say that…? LOOK AT ME. I see you… I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY. –how am I supposed to tell that just by looking at you? YOU ARE SUSPICIOUS. [suspiciously] No I'm not? [He violently grabs DRAKE by his lapel; gripping him with a fierce and wild look in his eyes] Look Motherfucker; I am looking! I have always wanted to kill you–and now there's NOTHING stopping me. EXCEPT THE LAW– [MEGAN/MIRANDA/CARLY enters mysteriously.] Unhand the boob. BOTH ….MEGAN?! JOSH (er…wait) Sure. [They stare at her in awe; her silhouette grasping at the shadows of the dimly lit space; she is dressed in a sultry black dress, sheer panty hose, and knee high boos, with a matching fedora and puffs seductively on a long and narrow cigarette from the extra long holster. ] Separate. [They obey, bewildered.] Sit. You smoke now? Sometimes. For dramatic effect. This is uncomfortable. Very unsettling. Wait. Wait. Are we filming right now. Is someone filming? [Breaking 4th wall.] Camera's always rolling. ;;PAUSE. Oh, that's why Drew Barrymore was in my dream last night. This is a lot of celebrities. GOD I'm working on something. ::||ALRIGHT, UNPAUSE. Hold on a second. No, we're rolling. –I am one-hundred percent heavily medicated right now. I second that. Ditto. –I'm also slightly intoxicated. Also that. Hashtag “me too.” No “hashtag me too” DOn't say that in Hollywood! It was a joke! I was kidding! That's not funny. Nobody's laughing! C'mon! I meant–I'm like, drunk right now– Still though– Very tacky… I've been day drinking. Drinking and smoking?! I don't believe you! Oh, you don't? [beat] hmm . [Shrugs, admittedly.] Wait, wait–hold it. No holding, we're rolling. Are we rolling–? Holding… And…We're rolling! I'm definitely rolling. Drake! I'm rolling. Ballsacks. C'mon, man! *drake being dumb* I'm being serious! So am I. This is serious. *smokes* Gross. Stop doing that. Doing what? This is what I do… No, I mean: I woke up this morning and I swear to God– Woah! Don't do that. I did everything under the sun EXCEPT go to work to be on TV for a show I wrapped like 15 years ago! You–WHAT? Uhhh… Is this real? … … … Damn. this just got super existential; I have to take a second to summerize this, I'll fill in the dialogue late , I guess The scene was running on anyway. What? I liked it. Anyway, So what we have here is a cross-dimensional triad: DRAKE has been running throughout the interdimensions of time, but unbeknownst to the audience is which DRAKE this is; is this the real life DRAKE BELL, actually a fictional character written into the fabric of SUPACREE'S reality as fate would have it–or the fictional DRAKE from DRAKE & JOSH; Although apparently heavily medicated, JOSH PECK, the actor has been tossed into a nightmarish infinite loop along with other various HOLLYWOOD CELEBRITIES, as SUPACREE has opened various portals throughout the known universe in order to life-switch timelines without having to shapeshift into anyone's body, simply switching her own timeline–with that of her ideal career; Only having done this once, however, triggers an inescapable loop of infinite switches, resulting in a massive disillusion and chaos, as some celebrities go missing entirely from any known reality (in which SUPACREE omnisciently exists, typically, intermittently throughout the series); However, in this scene the audience must suspend its sense of belief, as it takes place in a multidimensional environment; DRAKE and JOSH perhaps, has been running throughout it's entirety, never having been canceled and JOSH PECK has arrived on set in a drug-fueled delusional meltdown; A Parrallell JOSH at some point perhaps even switching timelines; This mysterious, shadowy version of MIRANCA/MEGAN/CARLY is written as such so that this character can be placed or moved to or throughout various specific timelines: Adhering to the plot however, JOSH PECK is an actor, out of sorts with himself, meanwhile– This version of DRAKE is the fictional character from a TV show, in his own fictional world; He is a 4th dimensional device However, The audience should remain unaware that MIRANDA COSGROVE has already merged with her 4th dimensional counterparts, after joining SUPACREE in her Hollywood crusades, traveling through time, space, and the inter/multidimensions on missions to answer the SOS Hollywood originally signaled to SUPACREE during The Legend of Supacree in the first season. That should do. Wow. Hold it What. You looked this deep into that boy's eyes? Not on purpose. - The ‘-complications.' mixtape compilation series which focuses its internal monologue on the ideology of exploratory existentialism, using simple and classic mixing techniques into smooth transitions which mirror synconocities in time, musical elements, and lyricism to illustrate a vortex of collisions in cosmic omniscience, theming its recurring dominant soundscapes into a singular foundational focal point, and centering its multidimensionality into a gripping pull to return its emphasis on reflecting at checkpoints as if to reiterate a greater hidden meaning; the highs and lows of falling in love, it's consequences, long days and nights, missed connections, lost and unrequited love—capturing overall the rock and roll darkness of the neo-moden dance music scene—moving about from world to world—night after night, song after song—bodies on bodies and the escapism of rave and dance floor culture, connected through the pulsating and throbbing heartbeats bridged by light waves, and spread across neon skies across the globe. Featuring dearly beloved hit and dance classics alike from global and legendary super-artists and masters of the dance floor, deadmau5, Kaskade, kx5, Skrillex, Fred Again.., Claptone, and more—featuring new music by and mixed with heart & soul by underground swamp creature and ancient rave God ‘- Ū.' as she explores the outer realms of dance music pre-and-post existence in the guttural haze of the afterlife. Wow, You're funny, God. If i must say so. I mean. Wow. I didn't do this all myself, you know; I had help. What?! Help From Who?! Dillon Francis, Apparently Oh, I highly doubt that, Oh, I wouldn't . I need a lover— I need a lover; Call me your lover (I want just a lover) I need a lover (I need a lover) Dillon Francis was quite possibly the whitest white man in the ever living world— But maybe, that's what I liked about him. Now that I had time to process that for the most part, I had been tricked into fulfilling some strange prophecy— there was nothing less-alluring about the world I had been peering into, now more than anything Movement at the stillpoint Mark something You've got to balance this shit out— You've got to Turn the world on its head (I don't get it) Now you're into this club (I don't fit in) Now you're into this world (But we've been here) Wait I'm not new to this! Wanna go do it again?! Nothing's new to me! I keep secrets like Fountains keep pennies Plant daisies on mountains —your hand in my mouth says that “Head is the answer” Thanks, Kendrick Now I remember what I wanted in the first place Now I remember what I printed; What I cooked him in the kitchen after— —back to keeping secrets; What's an apron and a hat is all you're wearing when I get there— Just like the man in Manhattan Or cat on the Channel— A special edition of some shit with Mario Lopez That sent me right back to the minion With eyes like you had in that dream I went back to I'd say “Fuck Dillon Francis” If I thought of “fuck” as an adjective, Instead of an adverb. Fuck this whole world — Now I just want to surf, I had just scratched the surface of scratching— Before storing my turntables What. All of a sudden, I'm a DJ?! Gee thanks! But God, I'm still loveless and I hope you Marry that blue eyed girl Pop out a bunch of kids that look Just like you What else would I do with my time Than scroll through Instagram And eat a ham-salmon sandwhich— Thinking of going for pancakes, after god likes me fat, We talk much more that way PASQUALE I need you up at night. CC For what. SUPCREE For what. SUNNI BLŪ I AM UP. PASQUALE: This is for what. THE INSOMNIACS ARE ALL IN . “ALL IN” wtf does that mean. The grey streaks in his beard drive me wild-his eyes even wilder; “it's best I not look into them”, I thought, “when giving him this stone..” or maybe, even at all; I knew that if I were to look into his eyes, I would fall in love—all the way in, and not just the lust that I had been struggling with, noticeably for years, now; I would see him from the inside out, from the outside in—and any way in between. I already knew that I wanted him—but for exactly what and how long seemed to allude me. It ha: been a long day with no end yet in sight, and though I was tired, accidentally having fasted throughout the day — namely because I had been out of water the night before, dethawing ice from the hotel's machine into an emergency supply—and having awoke with an immovable force to head straight to the gym, promptly after doing laundry. Though I left what was considerably late, conforming my sleep patterns to my roommate's schedule had not been the easiest of tasks; I found it to be true that energy—or rather, a lack therof, was remarkably contagious. I had been more tired than usual, and more “down” than my normal waves—in fact—it was easy to differentiate this energy from my own, and though I was thankful to have a quiet, moderately clean, and near silent roommate—lucky, even—it was nearly impossible to escape the grip of empathy as it grew into me, our time together short but stifling enough that I was up into the early mornings as she dawdled away on her phone—and, having spent the entirety of my stay offline—becoming increasingly sensitive to her phone's radio signals, sometimes seeming to blast into my brain and penetrating the deepest of sleeps, and though I thought to return to deadmau5 to set myself to rest, for the most part I had been enjoying peaceful enough rest once she finally did get to sleep—in the early morning, which meant that I would more naturally wake closer to noon, eating up most of my morning with sleeping and battling the force of inner city traffic to make my way into the gym, or the library—whichever suited the day and the time—though, for the last three days, I had made it a point to get to the gym daily, rather than every other day, which I had missed, but become a hassle—and though I had found a gym that was decent and clean, it was rather small, the sauna never hot enough—and of course, as it had appeared from my first day having arrived at the club, I was of course being watched and followed—and though I had briefly wondered by “who”, I knew it was of the through forces of The Eye, otherwise known as the Illuminati, if there ever were such a thing— (but of course, there wasn't) often blasting Skrillex every other song as some means of torture, which I could attempt to ignore, but my body couldn't—failing to lift under the pressure of a weakened state by about the third Skrillex tune, confirming my suspicions entirely—a drastic jump from conspiracy to the conformation of psychological terrorism via Skrillex—but for what? By now, of course, I had begun to figure out that I wasn't entirely normal, —that something wasn't right, or maybe even that I had done something exceptionally right, and though I didn't know exactly what, I began to think about the amount of writings I had published online, as well as the significantly “extraterrestrial” recordings that went along with them, and though having used Skrillex as a springboard, the longer I went mulling over all that had happened I realized that there appeared to be something bigger at place—Perhaps I was, indeed, incredibly enlightened—and there seemed to be a greater, outer force that indeed knew and saw all, even deeply into my psyche, and into my dreams. Though I had darted down with excruciating detail into my Google documents the latest dream that I had with Dillon Francis, I didn't know what exactly to make of this particular cadence of synchronicities on this otherwise ‘normal' morning, not that anything at all had actually been normal in any way by far, as long as I could remember backward. Things had indeed been strange for years, which had culminated in the conglomeration of documents, recordings, and other odd-end and unfinished projects that had so far been created under the umbrella of The Festival Project—but it was this day that I truly began to realize that there was something more than circumstantial or coincidental at all about whoever I was, and whatever I was doing—and even with all of my theoretical writings of supernatural, subliminal, and subconscious circumstances and happenings, I wasn't, having existed for the most part broken, homeless, and unpaid for my efforts—sure of either who I was, or what I was doing—let alone how. In all of the strangeness, I only attributed “God” for whatever weird strange thing would happen next— and here it was. I had been thinking about Mario Lopez a lot recently or lately, in bits and pieces and of course less often than I thought of any other reoccurring figure, but certainly about Mario Lopez, his seemingly ageless and incredibly healthy, youthful appearance, and oddly, even of his children, as I knew that he had them; and I had, of course, along with all of those things had wondered about his wife—the whole of his family, of course. His fame had lasted nearly my entire lifetime, and I was almost always pleasantly charmed by the sound of his voice, or his familiar face; and there it was, now—plastered up on a screen I hadn't realized was even there before, but now somehow stood out broadly against the backdrop of the otherwise drab laundromat, which I of course found to be remarkable, as I had very recently for whatever reason been struck with flashes of not so much a curiosity of the man at all—but rather a form of reflective thought. “Oh shit, there he is!” I thought, finding just his appearance on TV coincidental, at best, before zeroing in on the actual atrocities yet unexplainable by man, or any other force—the only cruel explaination being that The Illuminati itself did indeed have access to my Google documents, even though I had been for the most part of two weeks completely offline, with no intention to publish at all—however—I had forgotten about the dream itself, until this sudden collision of sorts had stirred remnince of at all; a dream I had recorded with implicit detail from my first waking moments, indicating some importance; my dreams had been straightforward and vivid lately, and had been filled with all sorts of reoccurring figures, from Sonny Moore, to Billie Ellish, and of course Dillon Francis-and in moments, of course, the later had come rushing back to me with a vengeance, as a life sized-dancing Minion with two differently colored eyes shifted my attentioj from the screen, directly to recalling that dream— the most vivid dream of all of them—and though Sonny had appeared to me more recently, I thought it best not to record them; I still felt betrayed that he had come to New York and left me to be circulated through the system—which of course I was sure had it's purpose, but didn't make me resent him any less for it, compounding the hurt that he had put me through parading Kayla Lauren around—it seemed the entire model of The Skrillex Conundrum was to make me feel stupid, fat, and in cursed skin— and I was at least no longer two of those things. Still, though, I did carry feelings for the man that were impossible to offload, and though I had quite blatently broadcasted my sexual attraction to Dillon, who was apparently, of course, taken by a blue eyed girl of course—it had somehow become deeper at least to me in the following days and weeks afteer my departure from “Season 6” and it's adjacent episodes, a strange half-season debacle in which the emotional uproar of Sonny's appearance in New York and the upheaval of my surroundings—my entry into the homeless system—allowed me to embarrass myself without reform in the honest and brutally raw, post-season aftermath—a restless and sleepless chaos filled nightmare from which the only redeeming comfort was deadmau5, which may have been the point of it at all—as I fiddled in Ableton, it seemed to become a more natural process, creating drum patterns with ease and the once-tedious challenges and difficulties of music production and engineering having become things of the past—but something in all this had seeded in my mind a crucial element of the cosmic alchemists mindset I had been living in; there seemed to be, as in the Christopher Nolan film Tenet, parallel streams of time running both “forward” and “backward”, and even “up” and “down” respectively, creating where and how i was at any given moment as the perceptive present—as in—there always seemed to be some extension of myself both forward and backward in time, if there were such things, and as I continued to write, evidences of God, extra terrestrial presence, interplanetary mechanisms—mauverability through deep space, and time travel all became increasingly and rapidly relevant; I had to have been right enough about something , somewhere, at some point—but even up to now couldn't wrap my head around trying to get a “normal” job, which might be worth the money to be able to escape from my way-too-many-black-people Hellscape, (not that way ‘too many white people' wasn't a thing, but at least was not as abruptly obnoxious—as I had now realized that overt racists often more tactically employed quiet methods of psychological disengagement, rather than flat-out disrespect and cruelty the black-on-black culture had thus far represented. In my mind, however, race had little to do with my actual placement in the world—at least, or so I thought— and though the appearance of where I had been at this point situated was grim or perhaps even bleak, the opposite was actually true; I was now, though strictly under the radar, off the grid, and underground, an extremely accomplished writer, whether anybody knew it or not—and someone did. Low and behold, “The Lopez Kids”, who has been thinking of and new existed were brought the the screen, after a segment featuring Jeannie Aiki had bedazzled me enough to Google her, her familiar voice sparking a curiosity, her own beautiful young one putting a glisten in my eye, along with a tear; I missed my son dearly, and was glad to know that he was with my mother—still worrisome, to say the least, but not as worrisome as he having been with his father, who I knew was fucking up in extreme ways beforehand—but had only been confirmed a few days before, actually exactly one week earlier, as I had toggled off airplane mode just long enough to revive an incoming call from my father—and, having only just the night before having had the dream about Dillon's strange eyes—a dream in which he was not present, but his truck was— promoted me to quickly answer the call, though I had been in the midsts of a whirlwind of transit—a chaotic navigation through unknown territories; he told me that my mother had my son—that my ex husband was unable to care for him any longer. The more right about my ex husband I was, the more peril it felt; I knew my son would be a different person if I had had the ability to raise him. “Something is up.”, I bawled— having seen and heard enough of my own mind scattered across the silver screen— Not only had the Minions eyes reminded me exactly of Dillons—the only dream out of a series of dreams about he, Sonny, and even one with my ex that I had found it important to record—but it was also “National Oreo Day”, which was celebrated with Oreo Doughnuts, appearances from Jeannie Aiko, whose apparent first interview had been with Johnny Depp—who had found his way into my dreams years earlier than nearly anyone else in this lifelong series of bizzare oddities— Ellen DeGenwres discluded—who had more than likely been the first and most random celebrity to make their way into my semi-conciousness; I had never been particularly obsessed or even a fan of Ellen, and yet her appearance in a teenaged dream had stayed with me years into my adulthood—and thiugh during my childhood and adolescent years it had always seemed I had been somehow destined for fame, even before the mockery of the masses and media turned my entire generation inevitably into fame-hungry “artists” , the last few years altogether had been remarkably and even increasingly synchronized; it was as if I had indeed in my lifetime made groundbreaking alterations to the space time continuum. It wasn't until later in the day that I decided to find the document in which I had recorded the dream; I began to laugh reading over my own words as unhinged as it all was—the recording was bizzare and though I hadn't forgotten having the dream itself, I indeed had forgotten many of the details, which of course made me instantly regret not having written down any of the dreams I was having about Sonny—still careful not to let myself feel too much of anything having to with him, even and especially his music, which I only allowed myself to play with purpose, for study. SILVER SCREEN SHOWER SCENE Woah, have you lost your goddamn mind. Yes. I live in a very strange place in the universe. [there are several glitches in the matrix; almost too much to bear.] Very,very strange. What are you doing? Crying? ..I'm not crying… Stop crying, Jesus– –DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BAGELS I HAD TO EAT TO BE SUPACREE? A lot. You look hideous. I am hideous! No arguments, there. Ugh. Lets Go! Try not to look off into the distance with your finger in the air like that; It makes me feel like we're in a comic book or something What if–we are?! Then we're probably about to get our butts kicked before the scene changes or you have to turn the – {NINJAS OUT OF NOWHERE} “The Noir Episdoe” This is business, not war. What's the difference? [beat] Money. HIIIIIIIIIYAAAAAAHHHHH!!! Oh My God. I'm so fat. YAH! Why do I always have to fight when i'm fat?! YAH! KI-YAH! — [ROundhouse Kick} HIIIIIII_YAHH. DO you have to say “Hi-yah” every time you deal a fatal blow. –they're not fatal, they're gonna wake up, eventually–YAH. Oh yeah? Even that guy? {Super dead guy} Probably not him. “Probably.” YOU are a PR nightmare. I'm an everything nightmare. Ugh. I just found out what PR even was. LAWYER enters furiously You fucking lunatic! It's sunny out– What did you do this time? UPDATE: The Skrillex Reddit is still the cringiest place on earth. It's so gross. I hate this. Worst place ever. WORST FUCKING PLACE EVER. Fuck. What. We have to go back. Why? What'd you lose? –My dignity. Worst place ever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

What are you doing? –dying. Die faster. Q: How do you break up with deadmau5. A: You don't. JOEL TALK TO THE HEAD. Oh, come on! What is this. Idk. I figured if there was a dimension where SUPACREE is dating DIPLO– Ew. What. Ew. –Then there's probably one where she's got somethin' going on with that guy. How do you figure. Hm. Hm. Interesting. Very Interesting Grow up. We all have –girlfriends. –jobs to do. –secret fetishes. Sick. This is retarded. Turn this off. I want to die. WHERE IS SKRILLEX. Skrillex is playing mountain man with a bunch of fake models and rapper dudes, Woah. He looks different. What happened. More on that later. Or not. Oh, come on! Everybody. Shut up. Not me, right? Especially you. *eyes* what's 9x9? Uhhh– Are you serious? This isn't math! Everything is math! HOW IS THIS MOVIE CAST? CAN DEADmAU5 ACT? –short anser: YES. Long Answer: By The time this movie gets made, we'll all be dead. We're all dead now. Dead *and* gone. *crowd gasps exaggeratedly* I THOUGHT THIS MOVIE WAS ABOUT SKRILLEX. It was- he didn't like it. Why wouldn't he like it? You called him a “nigga” 47 times. Was it 47? At the SUPERBOWL. I guess that makes him the champion of niggas. I guess so. Whatever happened to Dillon Francis. Idk he's pussywhipped or something. I guess. Nice. Still gettin it. Shut up, fans. Okay, ouch. How. How–?? How does someone with THIS MUCH pride and THIS MUCH ego get THIS MUCH power? Probably with all that pride and ego. This is correct. ____ {JOSHrushes in violently.] DRAKE Uh huh… SOMETHING IS WRONG. …what makes you say that…? LOOK AT ME. I see you… I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY. –how am I supposed to tell that just by looking at you? YOU ARE SUSPICIOUS. [suspiciously] No I'm not? [He violently grabs DRAKE by his lapel; gripping him with a fierce and wild look in his eyes] Look Motherfucker; I am looking! I have always wanted to kill you–and now there's NOTHING stopping me. EXCEPT THE LAW– [MEGAN/MIRANDA/CARLY enters mysteriously.] Unhand the boob. BOTH ….MEGAN?! JOSH (er…wait) Sure. [They stare at her in awe; her silhouette grasping at the shadows of the dimly lit space; she is dressed in a sultry black dress, sheer panty hose, and knee high boos, with a matching fedora and puffs seductively on a long and narrow cigarette from the extra long holster. ] Separate. [They obey, bewildered.] Sit. You smoke now? Sometimes. For dramatic effect. This is uncomfortable. Very unsettling. Wait. Wait. Are we filming right now. Is someone filming? [Breaking 4th wall.] Camera's always rolling. ;;PAUSE. Oh, that's why Drew Barrymore was in my dream last night. This is a lot of celebrities. GOD I'm working on something. ::||ALRIGHT, UNPAUSE. Hold on a second. No, we're rolling. –I am one-hundred percent heavily medicated right now. I second that. Ditto. –I'm also slightly intoxicated. Also that. Hashtag “me too.” No “hashtag me too” DOn't say that in Hollywood! It was a joke! I was kidding! That's not funny. Nobody's laughing! C'mon! I meant–I'm like, drunk right now– Still though– Very tacky… I've been day drinking. Drinking and smoking?! I don't believe you! Oh, you don't? [beat] hmm . [Shrugs, admittedly.] Wait, wait–hold it. No holding, we're rolling. Are we rolling–? Holding… And…We're rolling! I'm definitely rolling. Drake! I'm rolling. Ballsacks. C'mon, man! *drake being dumb* I'm being serious! So am I. This is serious. *smokes* Gross. Stop doing that. Doing what? This is what I do… No, I mean: I woke up this morning and I swear to God– Woah! Don't do that. I did everything under the sun EXCEPT go to work to be on TV for a show I wrapped like 15 years ago! You–WHAT? Uhhh… Is this real? … … … Damn. this just got super existential; I have to take a second to summerize this, I'll fill in the dialogue late , I guess The scene was running on anyway. What? I liked it. Anyway, So what we have here is a cross-dimensional triad: DRAKE has been running throughout the interdimensions of time, but unbeknownst to the audience is which DRAKE this is; is this the real life DRAKE BELL, actually a fictional character written into the fabric of SUPACREE'S reality as fate would have it–or the fictional DRAKE from DRAKE & JOSH; Although apparently heavily medicated, JOSH PECK, the actor has been tossed into a nightmarish infinite loop along with other various HOLLYWOOD CELEBRITIES, as SUPACREE has opened various portals throughout the known universe in order to life-switch timelines without having to shapeshift into anyone's body, simply switching her own timeline–with that of her ideal career; Only having done this once, however, triggers an inescapable loop of infinite switches, resulting in a massive disillusion and chaos, as some celebrities go missing entirely from any known reality (in which SUPACREE omnisciently exists, typically, intermittently throughout the series); However, in this scene the audience must suspend its sense of belief, as it takes place in a multidimensional environment; DRAKE and JOSH perhaps, has been running throughout it's entirety, never having been canceled and JOSH PECK has arrived on set in a drug-fueled delusional meltdown; A Parrallell JOSH at some point perhaps even switching timelines; This mysterious, shadowy version of MIRANCA/MEGAN/CARLY is written as such so that this character can be placed or moved to or throughout various specific timelines: Adhering to the plot however, JOSH PECK is an actor, out of sorts with himself, meanwhile– This version of DRAKE is the fictional character from a TV show, in his own fictional world; He is a 4th dimensional device However, The audience should remain unaware that MIRANDA COSGROVE has already merged with her 4th dimensional counterparts, after joining SUPACREE in her Hollywood crusades, traveling through time, space, and the inter/multidimensions on missions to answer the SOS Hollywood originally signaled to SUPACREE during The Legend of Supacree in the first season. That should do. Wow. Hold it What. You looked this deep into that boy's eyes? Not on purpose. - The ‘-complications.' mixtape compilation series which focuses its internal monologue on the ideology of exploratory existentialism, using simple and classic mixing techniques into smooth transitions which mirror synconocities in time, musical elements, and lyricism to illustrate a vortex of collisions in cosmic omniscience, theming its recurring dominant soundscapes into a singular foundational focal point, and centering its multidimensionality into a gripping pull to return its emphasis on reflecting at checkpoints as if to reiterate a greater hidden meaning; the highs and lows of falling in love, it's consequences, long days and nights, missed connections, lost and unrequited love—capturing overall the rock and roll darkness of the neo-moden dance music scene—moving about from world to world—night after night, song after song—bodies on bodies and the escapism of rave and dance floor culture, connected through the pulsating and throbbing heartbeats bridged by light waves, and spread across neon skies across the globe. Featuring dearly beloved hit and dance classics alike from global and legendary super-artists and masters of the dance floor, deadmau5, Kaskade, kx5, Skrillex, Fred Again.., Claptone, and more—featuring new music by and mixed with heart & soul by underground swamp creature and ancient rave God ‘- Ū.' as she explores the outer realms of dance music pre-and-post existence in the guttural haze of the afterlife. Wow, You're funny, God. If i must say so. I mean. Wow. I didn't do this all myself, you know; I had help. What?! Help From Who?! Dillon Francis, Apparently Oh, I highly doubt that, Oh, I wouldn't . I need a lover— I need a lover; Call me your lover (I want just a lover) I need a lover (I need a lover) Dillon Francis was quite possibly the whitest white man in the ever living world— But maybe, that's what I liked about him. Now that I had time to process that for the most part, I had been tricked into fulfilling some strange prophecy— there was nothing less-alluring about the world I had been peering into, now more than anything Movement at the stillpoint Mark something You've got to balance this shit out— You've got to Turn the world on its head (I don't get it) Now you're into this club (I don't fit in) Now you're into this world (But we've been here) Wait I'm not new to this! Wanna go do it again?! Nothing's new to me! I keep secrets like Fountains keep pennies Plant daisies on mountains —your hand in my mouth says that “Head is the answer” Thanks, Kendrick Now I remember what I wanted in the first place Now I remember what I printed; What I cooked him in the kitchen after— —back to keeping secrets; What's an apron and a hat is all you're wearing when I get there— Just like the man in Manhattan Or cat on the Channel— A special edition of some shit with Mario Lopez That sent me right back to the minion With eyes like you had in that dream I went back to I'd say “Fuck Dillon Francis” If I thought of “fuck” as an adjective, Instead of an adverb. Fuck this whole world — Now I just want to surf, I had just scratched the surface of scratching— Before storing my turntables What. All of a sudden, I'm a DJ?! Gee thanks! But God, I'm still loveless and I hope you Marry that blue eyed girl Pop out a bunch of kids that look Just like you What else would I do with my time Than scroll through Instagram And eat a ham-salmon sandwhich— Thinking of going for pancakes, after god likes me fat, We talk much more that way PASQUALE I need you up at night. CC For what. SUPCREE For what. SUNNI BLŪ I AM UP. PASQUALE: This is for what. THE INSOMNIACS ARE ALL IN . “ALL IN” wtf does that mean. The grey streaks in his beard drive me wild-his eyes even wilder; “it's best I not look into them”, I thought, “when giving him this stone..” or maybe, even at all; I knew that if I were to look into his eyes, I would fall in love—all the way in, and not just the lust that I had been struggling with, noticeably for years, now; I would see him from the inside out, from the outside in—and any way in between. I already knew that I wanted him—but for exactly what and how long seemed to allude me. It ha: been a long day with no end yet in sight, and though I was tired, accidentally having fasted throughout the day — namely because I had been out of water the night before, dethawing ice from the hotel's machine into an emergency supply—and having awoke with an immovable force to head straight to the gym, promptly after doing laundry. Though I left what was considerably late, conforming my sleep patterns to my roommate's schedule had not been the easiest of tasks; I found it to be true that energy—or rather, a lack therof, was remarkably contagious. I had been more tired than usual, and more “down” than my normal waves—in fact—it was easy to differentiate this energy from my own, and though I was thankful to have a quiet, moderately clean, and near silent roommate—lucky, even—it was nearly impossible to escape the grip of empathy as it grew into me, our time together short but stifling enough that I was up into the early mornings as she dawdled away on her phone—and, having spent the entirety of my stay offline—becoming increasingly sensitive to her phone's radio signals, sometimes seeming to blast into my brain and penetrating the deepest of sleeps, and though I thought to return to deadmau5 to set myself to rest, for the most part I had been enjoying peaceful enough rest once she finally did get to sleep—in the early morning, which meant that I would more naturally wake closer to noon, eating up most of my morning with sleeping and battling the force of inner city traffic to make my way into the gym, or the library—whichever suited the day and the time—though, for the last three days, I had made it a point to get to the gym daily, rather than every other day, which I had missed, but become a hassle—and though I had found a gym that was decent and clean, it was rather small, the sauna never hot enough—and of course, as it had appeared from my first day having arrived at the club, I was of course being watched and followed—and though I had briefly wondered by “who”, I knew it was of the through forces of The Eye, otherwise known as the Illuminati, if there ever were such a thing— (but of course, there wasn't) often blasting Skrillex every other song as some means of torture, which I could attempt to ignore, but my body couldn't—failing to lift under the pressure of a weakened state by about the third Skrillex tune, confirming my suspicions entirely—a drastic jump from conspiracy to the conformation of psychological terrorism via Skrillex—but for what? By now, of course, I had begun to figure out that I wasn't entirely normal, —that something wasn't right, or maybe even that I had done something exceptionally right, and though I didn't know exactly what, I began to think about the amount of writings I had published online, as well as the significantly “extraterrestrial” recordings that went along with them, and though having used Skrillex as a springboard, the longer I went mulling over all that had happened I realized that there appeared to be something bigger at place—Perhaps I was, indeed, incredibly enlightened—and there seemed to be a greater, outer force that indeed knew and saw all, even deeply into my psyche, and into my dreams. Though I had darted down with excruciating detail into my Google documents the latest dream that I had with Dillon Francis, I didn't know what exactly to make of this particular cadence of synchronicities on this otherwise ‘normal' morning, not that anything at all had actually been normal in any way by far, as long as I could remember backward. Things had indeed been strange for years, which had culminated in the conglomeration of documents, recordings, and other odd-end and unfinished projects that had so far been created under the umbrella of The Festival Project—but it was this day that I truly began to realize that there was something more than circumstantial or coincidental at all about whoever I was, and whatever I was doing—and even with all of my theoretical writings of supernatural, subliminal, and subconscious circumstances and happenings, I wasn't, having existed for the most part broken, homeless, and unpaid for my efforts—sure of either who I was, or what I was doing—let alone how. In all of the strangeness, I only attributed “God” for whatever weird strange thing would happen next— and here it was. I had been thinking about Mario Lopez a lot recently or lately, in bits and pieces and of course less often than I thought of any other reoccurring figure, but certainly about Mario Lopez, his seemingly ageless and incredibly healthy, youthful appearance, and oddly, even of his children, as I knew that he had them; and I had, of course, along with all of those things had wondered about his wife—the whole of his family, of course. His fame had lasted nearly my entire lifetime, and I was almost always pleasantly charmed by the sound of his voice, or his familiar face; and there it was, now—plastered up on a screen I hadn't realized was even there before, but now somehow stood out broadly against the backdrop of the otherwise drab laundromat, which I of course found to be remarkable, as I had very recently for whatever reason been struck with flashes of not so much a curiosity of the man at all—but rather a form of reflective thought. “Oh shit, there he is!” I thought, finding just his appearance on TV coincidental, at best, before zeroing in on the actual atrocities yet unexplainable by man, or any other force—the only cruel explaination being that The Illuminati itself did indeed have access to my Google documents, even though I had been for the most part of two weeks completely offline, with no intention to publish at all—however—I had forgotten about the dream itself, until this sudden collision of sorts had stirred remnince of at all; a dream I had recorded with implicit detail from my first waking moments, indicating some importance; my dreams had been straightforward and vivid lately, and had been filled with all sorts of reoccurring figures, from Sonny Moore, to Billie Ellish, and of course Dillon Francis-and in moments, of course, the later had come rushing back to me with a vengeance, as a life sized-dancing Minion with two differently colored eyes shifted my attentioj from the screen, directly to recalling that dream— the most vivid dream of all of them—and though Sonny had appeared to me more recently, I thought it best not to record them; I still felt betrayed that he had come to New York and left me to be circulated through the system—which of course I was sure had it's purpose, but didn't make me resent him any less for it, compounding the hurt that he had put me through parading Kayla Lauren around—it seemed the entire model of The Skrillex Conundrum was to make me feel stupid, fat, and in cursed skin— and I was at least no longer two of those things. Still, though, I did carry feelings for the man that were impossible to offload, and though I had quite blatently broadcasted my sexual attraction to Dillon, who was apparently, of course, taken by a blue eyed girl of course—it had somehow become deeper at least to me in the following days and weeks afteer my departure from “Season 6” and it's adjacent episodes, a strange half-season debacle in which the emotional uproar of Sonny's appearance in New York and the upheaval of my surroundings—my entry into the homeless system—allowed me to embarrass myself without reform in the honest and brutally raw, post-season aftermath—a restless and sleepless chaos filled nightmare from which the only redeeming comfort was deadmau5, which may have been the point of it at all—as I fiddled in Ableton, it seemed to become a more natural process, creating drum patterns with ease and the once-tedious challenges and difficulties of music production and engineering having become things of the past—but something in all this had seeded in my mind a crucial element of the cosmic alchemists mindset I had been living in; there seemed to be, as in the Christopher Nolan film Tenet, parallel streams of time running both “forward” and “backward”, and even “up” and “down” respectively, creating where and how i was at any given moment as the perceptive present—as in—there always seemed to be some extension of myself both forward and backward in time, if there were such things, and as I continued to write, evidences of God, extra terrestrial presence, interplanetary mechanisms—mauverability through deep space, and time travel all became increasingly and rapidly relevant; I had to have been right enough about something , somewhere, at some point—but even up to now couldn't wrap my head around trying to get a “normal” job, which might be worth the money to be able to escape from my way-too-many-black-people Hellscape, (not that way ‘too many white people' wasn't a thing, but at least was not as abruptly obnoxious—as I had now realized that overt racists often more tactically employed quiet methods of psychological disengagement, rather than flat-out disrespect and cruelty the black-on-black culture had thus far represented. In my mind, however, race had little to do with my actual placement in the world—at least, or so I thought— and though the appearance of where I had been at this point situated was grim or perhaps even bleak, the opposite was actually true; I was now, though strictly under the radar, off the grid, and underground, an extremely accomplished writer, whether anybody knew it or not—and someone did. Low and behold, “The Lopez Kids”, who has been thinking of and new existed were brought the the screen, after a segment featuring Jeannie Aiki had bedazzled me enough to Google her, her familiar voice sparking a curiosity, her own beautiful young one putting a glisten in my eye, along with a tear; I missed my son dearly, and was glad to know that he was with my mother—still worrisome, to say the least, but not as worrisome as he having been with his father, who I knew was fucking up in extreme ways beforehand—but had only been confirmed a few days before, actually exactly one week earlier, as I had toggled off airplane mode just long enough to revive an incoming call from my father—and, having only just the night before having had the dream about Dillon's strange eyes—a dream in which he was not present, but his truck was— promoted me to quickly answer the call, though I had been in the midsts of a whirlwind of transit—a chaotic navigation through unknown territories; he told me that my mother had my son—that my ex husband was unable to care for him any longer. The more right about my ex husband I was, the more peril it felt; I knew my son would be a different person if I had had the ability to raise him. “Something is up.”, I bawled— having seen and heard enough of my own mind scattered across the silver screen— Not only had the Minions eyes reminded me exactly of Dillons—the only dream out of a series of dreams about he, Sonny, and even one with my ex that I had found it important to record—but it was also “National Oreo Day”, which was celebrated with Oreo Doughnuts, appearances from Jeannie Aiko, whose apparent first interview had been with Johnny Depp—who had found his way into my dreams years earlier than nearly anyone else in this lifelong series of bizzare oddities— Ellen DeGenwres discluded—who had more than likely been the first and most random celebrity to make their way into my semi-conciousness; I had never been particularly obsessed or even a fan of Ellen, and yet her appearance in a teenaged dream had stayed with me years into my adulthood—and thiugh during my childhood and adolescent years it had always seemed I had been somehow destined for fame, even before the mockery of the masses and media turned my entire generation inevitably into fame-hungry “artists” , the last few years altogether had been remarkably and even increasingly synchronized; it was as if I had indeed in my lifetime made groundbreaking alterations to the space time continuum. It wasn't until later in the day that I decided to find the document in which I had recorded the dream; I began to laugh reading over my own words as unhinged as it all was—the recording was bizzare and though I hadn't forgotten having the dream itself, I indeed had forgotten many of the details, which of course made me instantly regret not having written down any of the dreams I was having about Sonny—still careful not to let myself feel too much of anything having to with him, even and especially his music, which I only allowed myself to play with purpose, for study. SILVER SCREEN SHOWER SCENE Woah, have you lost your goddamn mind. Yes. I live in a very strange place in the universe. [there are several glitches in the matrix; almost too much to bear.] Very,very strange. What are you doing? Crying? ..I'm not crying… Stop crying, Jesus– –DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BAGELS I HAD TO EAT TO BE SUPACREE? A lot. You look hideous. I am hideous! No arguments, there. Ugh. Lets Go! Try not to look off into the distance with your finger in the air like that; It makes me feel like we're in a comic book or something What if–we are?! Then we're probably about to get our butts kicked before the scene changes or you have to turn the – {NINJAS OUT OF NOWHERE} “The Noir Episdoe” This is business, not war. What's the difference? [beat] Money. HIIIIIIIIIYAAAAAAHHHHH!!! Oh My God. I'm so fat. YAH! Why do I always have to fight when i'm fat?! YAH! KI-YAH! — [ROundhouse Kick} HIIIIIII_YAHH. DO you have to say “Hi-yah” every time you deal a fatal blow. –they're not fatal, they're gonna wake up, eventually–YAH. Oh yeah? Even that guy? {Super dead guy} Probably not him. “Probably.” YOU are a PR nightmare. I'm an everything nightmare. Ugh. I just found out what PR even was. LAWYER enters furiously You fucking lunatic! It's sunny out– What did you do this time? UPDATE: The Skrillex Reddit is still the cringiest place on earth. It's so gross. I hate this. Worst place ever. WORST FUCKING PLACE EVER. Fuck. What. We have to go back. Why? What'd you lose? –My dignity. Worst place ever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

What are you doing? –dying. Die faster. Q: How do you break up with deadmau5. A: You don't. JOEL TALK TO THE HEAD. Oh, come on! What is this. Idk. I figured if there was a dimension where SUPACREE is dating DIPLO– Ew. What. Ew. –Then there's probably one where she's got somethin' going on with that guy. How do you figure. Hm. Hm. Interesting. Very Interesting Grow up. We all have –girlfriends. –jobs to do. –secret fetishes. Sick. This is retarded. Turn this off. I want to die. WHERE IS SKRILLEX. Skrillex is playing mountain man with a bunch of fake models and rapper dudes, Woah. He looks different. What happened. More on that later. Or not. Oh, come on! Everybody. Shut up. Not me, right? Especially you. *eyes* what's 9x9? Uhhh– Are you serious? This isn't math! Everything is math! HOW IS THIS MOVIE CAST? CAN DEADmAU5 ACT? –short anser: YES. Long Answer: By The time this movie gets made, we'll all be dead. We're all dead now. Dead *and* gone. *crowd gasps exaggeratedly* I THOUGHT THIS MOVIE WAS ABOUT SKRILLEX. It was- he didn't like it. Why wouldn't he like it? You called him a “nigga” 47 times. Was it 47? At the SUPERBOWL. I guess that makes him the champion of niggas. I guess so. Whatever happened to Dillon Francis. Idk he's pussywhipped or something. I guess. Nice. Still gettin it. Shut up, fans. Okay, ouch. How. How–?? How does someone with THIS MUCH pride and THIS MUCH ego get THIS MUCH power? Probably with all that pride and ego. This is correct. ____ {JOSHrushes in violently.] DRAKE Uh huh… SOMETHING IS WRONG. …what makes you say that…? LOOK AT ME. I see you… I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY. –how am I supposed to tell that just by looking at you? YOU ARE SUSPICIOUS. [suspiciously] No I'm not? [He violently grabs DRAKE by his lapel; gripping him with a fierce and wild look in his eyes] Look Motherfucker; I am looking! I have always wanted to kill you–and now there's NOTHING stopping me. EXCEPT THE LAW– [MEGAN/MIRANDA/CARLY enters mysteriously.] Unhand the boob. BOTH ….MEGAN?! JOSH (er…wait) Sure. [They stare at her in awe; her silhouette grasping at the shadows of the dimly lit space; she is dressed in a sultry black dress, sheer panty hose, and knee high boos, with a matching fedora and puffs seductively on a long and narrow cigarette from the extra long holster. ] Separate. [They obey, bewildered.] Sit. You smoke now? Sometimes. For dramatic effect. This is uncomfortable. Very unsettling. Wait. Wait. Are we filming right now. Is someone filming? [Breaking 4th wall.] Camera's always rolling. ;;PAUSE. Oh, that's why Drew Barrymore was in my dream last night. This is a lot of celebrities. GOD I'm working on something. ::||ALRIGHT, UNPAUSE. Hold on a second. No, we're rolling. –I am one-hundred percent heavily medicated right now. I second that. Ditto. –I'm also slightly intoxicated. Also that. Hashtag “me too.” No “hashtag me too” DOn't say that in Hollywood! It was a joke! I was kidding! That's not funny. Nobody's laughing! C'mon! I meant–I'm like, drunk right now– Still though– Very tacky… I've been day drinking. Drinking and smoking?! I don't believe you! Oh, you don't? [beat] hmm . [Shrugs, admittedly.] Wait, wait–hold it. No holding, we're rolling. Are we rolling–? Holding… And…We're rolling! I'm definitely rolling. Drake! I'm rolling. Ballsacks. C'mon, man! *drake being dumb* I'm being serious! So am I. This is serious. *smokes* Gross. Stop doing that. Doing what? This is what I do… No, I mean: I woke up this morning and I swear to God– Woah! Don't do that. I did everything under the sun EXCEPT go to work to be on TV for a show I wrapped like 15 years ago! You–WHAT? Uhhh… Is this real? … … … Damn. this just got super existential; I have to take a second to summerize this, I'll fill in the dialogue late , I guess The scene was running on anyway. What? I liked it. Anyway, So what we have here is a cross-dimensional triad: DRAKE has been running throughout the interdimensions of time, but unbeknownst to the audience is which DRAKE this is; is this the real life DRAKE BELL, actually a fictional character written into the fabric of SUPACREE'S reality as fate would have it–or the fictional DRAKE from DRAKE & JOSH; Although apparently heavily medicated, JOSH PECK, the actor has been tossed into a nightmarish infinite loop along with other various HOLLYWOOD CELEBRITIES, as SUPACREE has opened various portals throughout the known universe in order to life-switch timelines without having to shapeshift into anyone's body, simply switching her own timeline–with that of her ideal career; Only having done this once, however, triggers an inescapable loop of infinite switches, resulting in a massive disillusion and chaos, as some celebrities go missing entirely from any known reality (in which SUPACREE omnisciently exists, typically, intermittently throughout the series); However, in this scene the audience must suspend its sense of belief, as it takes place in a multidimensional environment; DRAKE and JOSH perhaps, has been running throughout it's entirety, never having been canceled and JOSH PECK has arrived on set in a drug-fueled delusional meltdown; A Parrallell JOSH at some point perhaps even switching timelines; This mysterious, shadowy version of MIRANCA/MEGAN/CARLY is written as such so that this character can be placed or moved to or throughout various specific timelines: Adhering to the plot however, JOSH PECK is an actor, out of sorts with himself, meanwhile– This version of DRAKE is the fictional character from a TV show, in his own fictional world; He is a 4th dimensional device However, The audience should remain unaware that MIRANDA COSGROVE has already merged with her 4th dimensional counterparts, after joining SUPACREE in her Hollywood crusades, traveling through time, space, and the inter/multidimensions on missions to answer the SOS Hollywood originally signaled to SUPACREE during The Legend of Supacree in the first season. That should do. Wow. Hold it What. You looked this deep into that boy's eyes? Not on purpose. - The ‘-complications.' mixtape compilation series which focuses its internal monologue on the ideology of exploratory existentialism, using simple and classic mixing techniques into smooth transitions which mirror synconocities in time, musical elements, and lyricism to illustrate a vortex of collisions in cosmic omniscience, theming its recurring dominant soundscapes into a singular foundational focal point, and centering its multidimensionality into a gripping pull to return its emphasis on reflecting at checkpoints as if to reiterate a greater hidden meaning; the highs and lows of falling in love, it's consequences, long days and nights, missed connections, lost and unrequited love—capturing overall the rock and roll darkness of the neo-moden dance music scene—moving about from world to world—night after night, song after song—bodies on bodies and the escapism of rave and dance floor culture, connected through the pulsating and throbbing heartbeats bridged by light waves, and spread across neon skies across the globe. Featuring dearly beloved hit and dance classics alike from global and legendary super-artists and masters of the dance floor, deadmau5, Kaskade, kx5, Skrillex, Fred Again.., Claptone, and more—featuring new music by and mixed with heart & soul by underground swamp creature and ancient rave God ‘- Ū.' as she explores the outer realms of dance music pre-and-post existence in the guttural haze of the afterlife. Wow, You're funny, God. If i must say so. I mean. Wow. I didn't do this all myself, you know; I had help. What?! Help From Who?! Dillon Francis, Apparently Oh, I highly doubt that, Oh, I wouldn't . I need a lover— I need a lover; Call me your lover (I want just a lover) I need a lover (I need a lover) Dillon Francis was quite possibly the whitest white man in the ever living world— But maybe, that's what I liked about him. Now that I had time to process that for the most part, I had been tricked into fulfilling some strange prophecy— there was nothing less-alluring about the world I had been peering into, now more than anything Movement at the stillpoint Mark something You've got to balance this shit out— You've got to Turn the world on its head (I don't get it) Now you're into this club (I don't fit in) Now you're into this world (But we've been here) Wait I'm not new to this! Wanna go do it again?! Nothing's new to me! I keep secrets like Fountains keep pennies Plant daisies on mountains —your hand in my mouth says that “Head is the answer” Thanks, Kendrick Now I remember what I wanted in the first place Now I remember what I printed; What I cooked him in the kitchen after— —back to keeping secrets; What's an apron and a hat is all you're wearing when I get there— Just like the man in Manhattan Or cat on the Channel— A special edition of some shit with Mario Lopez That sent me right back to the minion With eyes like you had in that dream I went back to I'd say “Fuck Dillon Francis” If I thought of “fuck” as an adjective, Instead of an adverb. Fuck this whole world — Now I just want to surf, I had just scratched the surface of scratching— Before storing my turntables What. All of a sudden, I'm a DJ?! Gee thanks! But God, I'm still loveless and I hope you Marry that blue eyed girl Pop out a bunch of kids that look Just like you What else would I do with my time Than scroll through Instagram And eat a ham-salmon sandwhich— Thinking of going for pancakes, after god likes me fat, We talk much more that way PASQUALE I need you up at night. CC For what. SUPCREE For what. SUNNI BLŪ I AM UP. PASQUALE: This is for what. THE INSOMNIACS ARE ALL IN . “ALL IN” wtf does that mean. The grey streaks in his beard drive me wild-his eyes even wilder; “it's best I not look into them”, I thought, “when giving him this stone..” or maybe, even at all; I knew that if I were to look into his eyes, I would fall in love—all the way in, and not just the lust that I had been struggling with, noticeably for years, now; I would see him from the inside out, from the outside in—and any way in between. I already knew that I wanted him—but for exactly what and how long seemed to allude me. It ha: been a long day with no end yet in sight, and though I was tired, accidentally having fasted throughout the day — namely because I had been out of water the night before, dethawing ice from the hotel's machine into an emergency supply—and having awoke with an immovable force to head straight to the gym, promptly after doing laundry. Though I left what was considerably late, conforming my sleep patterns to my roommate's schedule had not been the easiest of tasks; I found it to be true that energy—or rather, a lack therof, was remarkably contagious. I had been more tired than usual, and more “down” than my normal waves—in fact—it was easy to differentiate this energy from my own, and though I was thankful to have a quiet, moderately clean, and near silent roommate—lucky, even—it was nearly impossible to escape the grip of empathy as it grew into me, our time together short but stifling enough that I was up into the early mornings as she dawdled away on her phone—and, having spent the entirety of my stay offline—becoming increasingly sensitive to her phone's radio signals, sometimes seeming to blast into my brain and penetrating the deepest of sleeps, and though I thought to return to deadmau5 to set myself to rest, for the most part I had been enjoying peaceful enough rest once she finally did get to sleep—in the early morning, which meant that I would more naturally wake closer to noon, eating up most of my morning with sleeping and battling the force of inner city traffic to make my way into the gym, or the library—whichever suited the day and the time—though, for the last three days, I had made it a point to get to the gym daily, rather than every other day, which I had missed, but become a hassle—and though I had found a gym that was decent and clean, it was rather small, the sauna never hot enough—and of course, as it had appeared from my first day having arrived at the club, I was of course being watched and followed—and though I had briefly wondered by “who”, I knew it was of the through forces of The Eye, otherwise known as the Illuminati, if there ever were such a thing— (but of course, there wasn't) often blasting Skrillex every other song as some means of torture, which I could attempt to ignore, but my body couldn't—failing to lift under the pressure of a weakened state by about the third Skrillex tune, confirming my suspicions entirely—a drastic jump from conspiracy to the conformation of psychological terrorism via Skrillex—but for what? By now, of course, I had begun to figure out that I wasn't entirely normal, —that something wasn't right, or maybe even that I had done something exceptionally right, and though I didn't know exactly what, I began to think about the amount of writings I had published online, as well as the significantly “extraterrestrial” recordings that went along with them, and though having used Skrillex as a springboard, the longer I went mulling over all that had happened I realized that there appeared to be something bigger at place—Perhaps I was, indeed, incredibly enlightened—and there seemed to be a greater, outer force that indeed knew and saw all, even deeply into my psyche, and into my dreams. Though I had darted down with excruciating detail into my Google documents the latest dream that I had with Dillon Francis, I didn't know what exactly to make of this particular cadence of synchronicities on this otherwise ‘normal' morning, not that anything at all had actually been normal in any way by far, as long as I could remember backward. Things had indeed been strange for years, which had culminated in the conglomeration of documents, recordings, and other odd-end and unfinished projects that had so far been created under the umbrella of The Festival Project—but it was this day that I truly began to realize that there was something more than circumstantial or coincidental at all about whoever I was, and whatever I was doing—and even with all of my theoretical writings of supernatural, subliminal, and subconscious circumstances and happenings, I wasn't, having existed for the most part broken, homeless, and unpaid for my efforts—sure of either who I was, or what I was doing—let alone how. In all of the strangeness, I only attributed “God” for whatever weird strange thing would happen next— and here it was. I had been thinking about Mario Lopez a lot recently or lately, in bits and pieces and of course less often than I thought of any other reoccurring figure, but certainly about Mario Lopez, his seemingly ageless and incredibly healthy, youthful appearance, and oddly, even of his children, as I knew that he had them; and I had, of course, along with all of those things had wondered about his wife—the whole of his family, of course. His fame had lasted nearly my entire lifetime, and I was almost always pleasantly charmed by the sound of his voice, or his familiar face; and there it was, now—plastered up on a screen I hadn't realized was even there before, but now somehow stood out broadly against the backdrop of the otherwise drab laundromat, which I of course found to be remarkable, as I had very recently for whatever reason been struck with flashes of not so much a curiosity of the man at all—but rather a form of reflective thought. “Oh shit, there he is!” I thought, finding just his appearance on TV coincidental, at best, before zeroing in on the actual atrocities yet unexplainable by man, or any other force—the only cruel explaination being that The Illuminati itself did indeed have access to my Google documents, even though I had been for the most part of two weeks completely offline, with no intention to publish at all—however—I had forgotten about the dream itself, until this sudden collision of sorts had stirred remnince of at all; a dream I had recorded with implicit detail from my first waking moments, indicating some importance; my dreams had been straightforward and vivid lately, and had been filled with all sorts of reoccurring figures, from Sonny Moore, to Billie Ellish, and of course Dillon Francis-and in moments, of course, the later had come rushing back to me with a vengeance, as a life sized-dancing Minion with two differently colored eyes shifted my attentioj from the screen, directly to recalling that dream— the most vivid dream of all of them—and though Sonny had appeared to me more recently, I thought it best not to record them; I still felt betrayed that he had come to New York and left me to be circulated through the system—which of course I was sure had it's purpose, but didn't make me resent him any less for it, compounding the hurt that he had put me through parading Kayla Lauren around—it seemed the entire model of The Skrillex Conundrum was to make me feel stupid, fat, and in cursed skin— and I was at least no longer two of those things. Still, though, I did carry feelings for the man that were impossible to offload, and though I had quite blatently broadcasted my sexual attraction to Dillon, who was apparently, of course, taken by a blue eyed girl of course—it had somehow become deeper at least to me in the following days and weeks afteer my departure from “Season 6” and it's adjacent episodes, a strange half-season debacle in which the emotional uproar of Sonny's appearance in New York and the upheaval of my surroundings—my entry into the homeless system—allowed me to embarrass myself without reform in the honest and brutally raw, post-season aftermath—a restless and sleepless chaos filled nightmare from which the only redeeming comfort was deadmau5, which may have been the point of it at all—as I fiddled in Ableton, it seemed to become a more natural process, creating drum patterns with ease and the once-tedious challenges and difficulties of music production and engineering having become things of the past—but something in all this had seeded in my mind a crucial element of the cosmic alchemists mindset I had been living in; there seemed to be, as in the Christopher Nolan film Tenet, parallel streams of time running both “forward” and “backward”, and even “up” and “down” respectively, creating where and how i was at any given moment as the perceptive present—as in—there always seemed to be some extension of myself both forward and backward in time, if there were such things, and as I continued to write, evidences of God, extra terrestrial presence, interplanetary mechanisms—mauverability through deep space, and time travel all became increasingly and rapidly relevant; I had to have been right enough about something , somewhere, at some point—but even up to now couldn't wrap my head around trying to get a “normal” job, which might be worth the money to be able to escape from my way-too-many-black-people Hellscape, (not that way ‘too many white people' wasn't a thing, but at least was not as abruptly obnoxious—as I had now realized that overt racists often more tactically employed quiet methods of psychological disengagement, rather than flat-out disrespect and cruelty the black-on-black culture had thus far represented. In my mind, however, race had little to do with my actual placement in the world—at least, or so I thought— and though the appearance of where I had been at this point situated was grim or perhaps even bleak, the opposite was actually true; I was now, though strictly under the radar, off the grid, and underground, an extremely accomplished writer, whether anybody knew it or not—and someone did. Low and behold, “The Lopez Kids”, who has been thinking of and new existed were brought the the screen, after a segment featuring Jeannie Aiki had bedazzled me enough to Google her, her familiar voice sparking a curiosity, her own beautiful young one putting a glisten in my eye, along with a tear; I missed my son dearly, and was glad to know that he was with my mother—still worrisome, to say the least, but not as worrisome as he having been with his father, who I knew was fucking up in extreme ways beforehand—but had only been confirmed a few days before, actually exactly one week earlier, as I had toggled off airplane mode just long enough to revive an incoming call from my father—and, having only just the night before having had the dream about Dillon's strange eyes—a dream in which he was not present, but his truck was— promoted me to quickly answer the call, though I had been in the midsts of a whirlwind of transit—a chaotic navigation through unknown territories; he told me that my mother had my son—that my ex husband was unable to care for him any longer. The more right about my ex husband I was, the more peril it felt; I knew my son would be a different person if I had had the ability to raise him. “Something is up.”, I bawled— having seen and heard enough of my own mind scattered across the silver screen— Not only had the Minions eyes reminded me exactly of Dillons—the only dream out of a series of dreams about he, Sonny, and even one with my ex that I had found it important to record—but it was also “National Oreo Day”, which was celebrated with Oreo Doughnuts, appearances from Jeannie Aiko, whose apparent first interview had been with Johnny Depp—who had found his way into my dreams years earlier than nearly anyone else in this lifelong series of bizzare oddities— Ellen DeGenwres discluded—who had more than likely been the first and most random celebrity to make their way into my semi-conciousness; I had never been particularly obsessed or even a fan of Ellen, and yet her appearance in a teenaged dream had stayed with me years into my adulthood—and thiugh during my childhood and adolescent years it had always seemed I had been somehow destined for fame, even before the mockery of the masses and media turned my entire generation inevitably into fame-hungry “artists” , the last few years altogether had been remarkably and even increasingly synchronized; it was as if I had indeed in my lifetime made groundbreaking alterations to the space time continuum. It wasn't until later in the day that I decided to find the document in which I had recorded the dream; I began to laugh reading over my own words as unhinged as it all was—the recording was bizzare and though I hadn't forgotten having the dream itself, I indeed had forgotten many of the details, which of course made me instantly regret not having written down any of the dreams I was having about Sonny—still careful not to let myself feel too much of anything having to with him, even and especially his music, which I only allowed myself to play with purpose, for study. SILVER SCREEN SHOWER SCENE Woah, have you lost your goddamn mind. Yes. I live in a very strange place in the universe. [there are several glitches in the matrix; almost too much to bear.] Very,very strange. What are you doing? Crying? ..I'm not crying… Stop crying, Jesus– –DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BAGELS I HAD TO EAT TO BE SUPACREE? A lot. You look hideous. I am hideous! No arguments, there. Ugh. Lets Go! Try not to look off into the distance with your finger in the air like that; It makes me feel like we're in a comic book or something What if–we are?! Then we're probably about to get our butts kicked before the scene changes or you have to turn the – {NINJAS OUT OF NOWHERE} “The Noir Episdoe” This is business, not war. What's the difference? [beat] Money. HIIIIIIIIIYAAAAAAHHHHH!!! Oh My God. I'm so fat. YAH! Why do I always have to fight when i'm fat?! YAH! KI-YAH! — [ROundhouse Kick} HIIIIIII_YAHH. DO you have to say “Hi-yah” every time you deal a fatal blow. –they're not fatal, they're gonna wake up, eventually–YAH. Oh yeah? Even that guy? {Super dead guy} Probably not him. “Probably.” YOU are a PR nightmare. I'm an everything nightmare. Ugh. I just found out what PR even was. LAWYER enters furiously You fucking lunatic! It's sunny out– What did you do this time? UPDATE: The Skrillex Reddit is still the cringiest place on earth. It's so gross. I hate this. Worst place ever. WORST FUCKING PLACE EVER. Fuck. What. We have to go back. Why? What'd you lose? –My dignity. Worst place ever. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

Republican Shannon Dillon will challenge incumbent Democrat Shannon Taylor for the Henrico Commonwealth's Attorney's seat, after being named the Republican nominee for the seat. Dillons previously sought the party's nomination in 2015 but finished third in a three-way primary election behind Tony Pham (41%) and Jeff Everhart (40%) with about 19% of the vote. Taylor has held the seat since 2012 and is seeking her fourth term. Dillon is a former U.S. Navy JAG officer, special assistant U.S. attorney and criminal defense attorney. "I'm running to restore dignity, competency, and accountability to the Office of Henrico County Commonwealth's Attorney,” she...Article LinkSupport the show

This morning Jen and James are going to be talking about the Wellston and Vinton Softball games and some Dumb Criminal News! Later in the show were also going to be watching another one of Dillons videos!

Hour 3 - We wrap up a Wednesday Steve and Ted with business news from The Wichita Business Journal.  Need a job, several entities are hiring at the airport, and Dillons as well.

This conversation gets SPICY!!!With a marketplace full of options and new competitors emerging daily, it's more difficult (and expensive) than ever to attract and retain customers. Today's buyers aren't just looking for vendors; they're searching for partners who are dedicated to shared success. That's why an awesome customer education program is essential to improving retention and growing your brand. Ryan Dillon, Vice President of Corporate Development at Thought Industries, joins JD Dillon to break down the essentials of a solid customer education program and connect over some common ground—they have the same last name, both work in tech and are both online talk show hosts! Ryan's show Hot Takes is inspired by the popular YouTube chicken wing/celeb interview series Hot Ones. So, to make our guest feel at home, as the conversation around how to build a rad customer education program heats up, Ryan and JD eat increasingly spicy chicken wings. Get ready for 2 Dillons, 7 hot sauces and 25 minutes of fun on this ITK episode! Watch the full video of this episode on the Axonify YouTube Channel.Sign up for ITK updates and show announcements at axonify.com/itk.Grab a copy of JD's new book - The Modern Learning Ecosystem - at jdwroteabook.com.In The Know is brought to you by Axonify, the mobile-first training and communication solution that helps make sure your frontline workforce is ready for anything. To learn more about Axonify's digital learning experience and check out success stories from companies like Kroger, Levi's, Briscoe Group, Citizen's Bank, MOL Group and Etihad Airways, visit axonify.com.

Snl Irish incident Snl “offensive” Collin Farrel sketch, is snl still funny?, Dillons table manners, Reddit relationship advice If you want us to answer relationship advice email us Insignificantotherspod@gmail.com

With bold paintings and a simple, rhyming text, Caldecott Medalists Leo & Diane Dillon bring young readers a rap a tap tap celebration of dance that will have readers clapping and tapping along."There once was a man who danced in the street / He brought pleasure and joy to the people he'd greet / He didn't just dance, he made art with his feet / Rap a tap tap--think of that!" This simple book for young children has the added bonus of describing the life of a ground-breaking African-American tap dancer. Bill "Bojangles" Robinson was one of the most popular entertainers of the 1920s-30s. People said he "talked with his feet," and in the Dillons' graceful paintings of old New York, he dances from page to page to the tune of a toe-tapping rhyme. Rap a tap tap--think of that! --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/avant-garde-books/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/avant-garde-books/support

Welcome to the second season and 94th episode of Food Freedom and Fertility. This episode jumps in where the last episode left off with our guest and listener Caitlin Dillon. Caitlin was a listener who participated in a contest last season and won the opportunity to be a guest on the podcast. Last episode Caitlin and Sophia discussed what Caitlin Dillon and her husband have been doing in their TTC journey. We pick up as we dive deeper in to Caitlin's data, labs and personal habits.  While Caitlin and Sophia give additional suggestions and recommendations for the Dillons they also remind them that they are working very hard on a very emotional task and praise them for the work they have done to this point.   Some of the additional information our hosts share are tips on how to help inflammation such as eating leafy green veggies, fish and fruits. They also discuss signs to tell if you have inflammation. Typically, when progesterone is not optimal inflammation is the first place to look. Some of the signs are painful joints or a puffy face. One topic up for discussion was the importance of a pelvic floor therapist in a woman's life and how valuable it is to see one. They suggest that every woman at some point in their life see a PFT. In summary, Caitlin and Sophia share what they would suggest that Caitlin and her husband do next in their journey. First on the list is to dive into Caitlin's progesterone levels, make an appointment with a pelvic floor therapist, move forward with FERTILYSIS, tame inflammation issues, look into Caitlin's husbands high white blood cells in his semen, rule out Caitlin's L-shaped cervix. There is a type of massage technique from central America called “Maya Abdominal Therapy” and it manually repositions the uterus which could help with the cervix. And finally, Caitlin should get her clotting factors tested for Antiphospholipid (an autoimmune disorder that is associated with pregnancy complications, including preeclampsia, thrombosis, autoimmune thrombocytopenia, fetal growth restriction, and fetal loss) and a blood test called D -dimer. It was a pleasure having a listener join the podcast for these 2 special episodes and we hope that some of the info shared in this podcast can be valuable in your journey as well. Also, a huge thank you Caitlin for your vulnerability and your confidence in sharing your story with Food,  Freedom and Fertility.   If you would like more information and discount codes to our sponsors please follow the links to 3 of our most favorite brands that we have raved about throughout our podcast.   Special links and codes from this episode Proov Testing Kit and online app 25% OFF in $25 or more FFF25    FullWell: FFF10 10% pre-natal, fish oil or men's pre-natal The Pre-Natal Nutrition Library: FFF20 20% a monthly or annual membership      

ELSA & DILLON FAMILY BIO Family of 10 Experiencers living on farm in Byron Bay Hills, Australia Elsa, mom of 8 Children with husband Richard Dillon Both Elsa & Richard International Fashion Photographers & Videographer shooting Celebrities, Magazines & Advertising Behind the scene Professionals for over 3 decades DILLONS 2nd Incarnation here on GAIA Family OVER SOULS all called in together again to incarnate, in this Realm Experiences, BEINGS Messages, OVERSOUL connection & Happenings with Paranormal Over 400 BEINGS to date Many Forms & Multi Dimensional Realms Sharing since last xmas with those ready to Experience website: spinbeings.com youtube spin beings If you enjoyed this content please consider donating: buymeacoffee.com/typicalskeptic or use one of our affilliates - tachyonliving.com/rob.html and use code skeptic free gift for a free gift -Book a reading with Debra Moffit Intuitive readings:Use Code TSP2023 https://www.debramoffitt.com?cc=STP2023 -Natural Shilajit and Monoatomic Gold from Healthy Nutrition LLC.use code: ROB And my affiliate link to share: https://glnk.io/77v6/3 For more typical skeptic podcast interviews go to: www.youtube.com/c/typicalskeptic www.anchor.fm/typical-skeptic www.rokfin.com/typicalskeptic www.rumble.com/typicalskeptic #extraterrestrial #contact #experiencer #alien #uap #ufotwitter #podcast #youtubepremiere #typical_skeptic #elsadillon #maryrodwell --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/typical-skeptic/message Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/typical-skeptic/support

Hunter and I chat with experiencer and international fashion photographer Elsa Dillon about her and her family’s life of the last 10 years, her contact with Nefertiti, the over 200 entities that her and her family have met, and so much more. It’s a mind blower! The Dillons’ website: https://www.spinbeings.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/The-Melt-Podcast-114107834647543 Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/the_melt_podcast/ GETTR: https://gettr.com/user/themeltpodcast Twitter: @MeltPodcast... Read More

Dillon Barr joins the show for his THIRD appearance all the way from Kenya! Dillon has gotten into some pretty cool things since the last time we chatted. Before he joined the team at Thought Leader, his role with Whitman Roy Partnerships had him and his (now) wife living and working in various countries, including Kenya. Dillon and Andres share some ideas on the biggest lessons learned through high ticket sales, take a deep dive into his upcoming comic universe, Unfound Anamnesis (coming out soon!), and his latest venture with his brother called Brudders Beards. There is so much jam packed into this episode, buckle up! Check out Dillons book here: The Happiness Gap Thought Leader: https://thought-leader.com/ Matt Emmorey's books: Here Unfoud Anamnesis: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC-FLGsUdToDZDNfQiG0w2pA?app=desktop Brudders Beards: https://bruddersbeards.com/ Check out our merch here: Will Metscher Southwestern Real Estate Greta Huerta/ Quintin Roberts and Cardinal Senior Benefits EnLight.Energy

Eagle Radio along with Timesaver Home Services congratulate Bill Hunt of Hutchinson who wins a fully installed furnace from Time Saver Home Services plus a $250 grocery card from Dillons.  Thanks for all of your nominations with Heat a Home, Pack a Pantry, from Time Saver Home Services, Dillon's, Beds for Less, JZ Auto Appearance Specialties, and Eagle Radio.

Dillon and Bridget talk: Dillons gross story Bros box office bomb Casey Anthony's new job Kanye West's Tweet Dahmer

Podcast guest 555 is Elsa Dillon, mom of 8 Children who with Husband Richard Dillon are a family of 10 Experiencers Living on farm in Byron Bay Hills, East Coast of Australia. Both Elsa & Richard International Fashion Photographers & Videographer shooting Celebrities, Magazines & Advertising BTS Professionals for over 3 decades.The Dillon Family are all incarnating together again, in this realm and this is their 2nd incarnation here on GAIA. The Dillons are now sharing their daily experiences, messages & happenings with the paranormal and with contact of over 350 BEINGS to date in many forms & multi dimensional realms. The being in the thumbnail photos is CAUMA - SOLSTICE BEING Painted by Gigi Dillon. CALMER Balancer through Rest, Showing us visuals of a tight rope performer, Amazing acrobatics, at great heights, overcome fear, IMPOSSIBLE POSSIBLE once in CALM. Elsa's YouTube Channel https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCK__aejydZlM6QMY9i_z0jQ/videos Elsa's Website https://www.spinbeings.com/ Elsa's Instagram https://www.instagram.com/spinbeings/ Elsa's Bitchute https://www.bitchute.com/channel/7JOZjihKP9Yc/ --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/jeffrey-s-reynolds/message Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/jeffrey-s-reynolds/support

Dillon and Bridget talk: Dillons weight loss challenge Chick-fil-a Bridget can't day dreams Dj Dillon Bruce Springsteen Role playing for couples top ten people to interview

-The new set -Dillons farts -Trump's WNBA joke -How to make friends -Mayor Kenny is giving up -Top ten dilfs Description

Dillon and Bridget talk: the problem with old people ,Howie Mandel's Tik Tok, Dillons scarring childhood, top ten dogs

  Vidcast:  https://youtu.be/eRSEoEdC8Vk   The CPSC and Kroger are recalling Kroger aspirin 81 mg delayed-release enteric coated tablets and Kroger Acetaminophen 650mg, 225 count bottles.  These containers are not child-proof, and the federal Poison Prevention Packaging Act (PPPA) requires that aspirin and acetaminophen, the generic for Tylenol, must be sold in containers that children cannot open and swallow the contents.  About 209,430 of the acetaminophen containers and 25,660 of the aspirin containers were sold by Kroger at a variety of retail outlets including: Baker's, City Market, Dillons, Dillons Marketplace, Food 4 Less, FoodsCo, Fred Meyer, Fry's Food And Drug, Fry's Marketplace, Fry's Mercado, Gerbes, JayC, JayC Food Plus, King Soopers, King Soopers Fresh Fare, King Soopers Marketplace, Kroger, Kroger Fresh Fare, Kroger Marketplace, Mariano's, Metro Market, Payless Super Market, Pick 'n Save, Pick 'n Save Marketplace, Smith's, and Smith's Marketplace stores nationwide from August 2021 through March 2022. If you have one of these products, you can return it to your nearest Kroger store or place it out of reach of your kids.  For more information, call Kroger at 1-800-576-4377.   https://www.cpsc.gov/Recalls/2022/Time-Cap-Labs-Recalls-Kroger-Brand-Aspirin-and-Ibuprofen-Due-to-Failure-to-Meet-Child-Resistant-Packaging-Requirement-Risk-of-Poisoning https://www.cpsc.gov/Recalls/2022/Aurohealth-Recalls-Kroger-Brand-Acetaminophen-Due-to-Failure-to-Meet-Child-Resistant-Packaging-Requirement-%20Risk-of-Poisoning https://www.cpsc.gov/Recalls/2022/Sun-Pharma-Recalls-Kroger-Brand-Acetaminophen-Due-to-Failure-to-Meet-Child-Resistant-Packaging-Requirement-Risk-of-Poisoning     #kroger #aspirin #acetaminophen #packaging #poisoning #children #recall  

Spring cleaning had me feeling a mental urgency at ALL THE THINGS I needed to get cleaned in my home. I am sharing how I am approaching that overwhelm. Also sharing how organization and inventory of your stuff can save you money and reduce clutter (starting with the freezer!)     Products recommended here may include referral links to Amazon. If you click through and buy something I may earn a commission, at no cost to you.  The main points covered in this episode My cleaning goals for last weekend and how I was derailed by spring cleaning mental drama My spring cleaning list and closet jenga Operating from a sense of urgency and how it can lead to shame/resent Paying attention to our thoughts and which thoughts we will 'hop on and run off with' Cleaning out the freezer The hidden costs of stockpiling and having all of the options on hand, scarcity  minset  How to do a food inventory (and save money on groceries!) Organizing things in a way that makes them accessible and visible  Doing an inventory of things to prevent you from doubling up by buying more because you don't realize you have it at home   All the fun links you might like 61. How we introduced chores to our kids (Saturday Morning Chores) 60. Doing Chores You Want to Avoid (how I life coached myself to do the dishes) @GOCLEANCO on Instagram A quick video about thought trains by Russ Harris  154. What to do now that you are motivated (simplify getting started) 15 Practical Tips for Moms to GET STUFF DONE 78. Small things that can change your whole life (the compound effect) A post I shared on IG, four years go, about using the notes app to do storage inventory Bitters, I like this peach one by Dillons, the next one I want to try is the Alcohol-Free digestive bitters by Flora   FULL TRANSCRIPT (unedited) Welcome to the simple purpose podcast. Around here, we talk about ways that you can simplify your home, your heaart your life. So you can show up right now in whatever season you're in and show up for it on purpose with intention about what you want, and how you want to act and what you want more of and what you want less of. Today, I want to talk about some recent decluttering and cleaning that I was doing the other weekend. And some realizations I came to while I was doing it. And I share this stuff not because I think it's something you've never heard, or maybe don't even know because often, I think I share things that we do know deep down inside, but I share it because it's a good reminder, it was a good reminder to me and so I want to share it with here here with you. And maybe you will find something from it. So Spring is here, spring is here in Canada. And I don't know about you, but I've noticed as my kids are getting older, and we're like in this family home, that wshen spring comes along, I kind of lose my blinders. I've got blinders on either side of my head, of all of the areas of my home that have built up with grime and clutter over the winter months. And I started also thinking that maybe spring cleaning was invented by Canadian parents who had paid very little attention to their homes for the hockey season. And now they're just faced with realities of unmapped floors and chaotic mushrooms. So Saturday is our joy morning here. It's a routine that we have so that rooms are just getting picked up for the most part on a regular basis. I'm going to link an episode where I talk about Saturday morning chores, how we started our kids doing it and also an episode about me, life coaching myself to doing the dishes. It's a very underrated episode. So I think it's worth sharing. So I was rolling into the Saturday and I felt this freedom that you have when you don't have any plans, no hockey, no plans, I put on my sneakers, I put on a good playlist and I was ready to get some cleaning done. The other weekend I intended to break up them up and also help at least one kid dredge under ...

    Our good friend Patrick Dawson joined us to talk about the Southern Nevada Battle Born Beard & Moustache Competition. This is the first competition for the newly formed Sin City Beard Coalition and its going to be one heck of an event!!! They will have a mechanical bull, AXE throwing, a chili cook-off, and a beard competition!!! This will be a benefit for the Pediatric Brain Tumor Foundation whose mission is to #CareCureThrive - a world without childhood brain tumors.  We also had NASCAR Xfinity Series driver, Dillon Bassett vist Talking Beards.  We broke the news of Honest Amish getting their logo on the hood of the #77 car of Dillons car this weekend in Atlanta.   Aaron was super excited about this one!!!  Hopefully we sold Dillon on growing the most magnificent beard in NASCAR!!! Southern Nevada Battle Born Beard and Moustache Competition https://fb.me/e/50Jx6lyuG Patrick Dawson https://www.facebook.com/patrick.daws... Pediatric Brain Tumor Foundation https://www.facebook.com/curethekids/  Disabled American Veterans http://www.dav15nv.org/ Bassett Racing https://www.facebook.com/BassettRacing0444/   Talking Beards website www.talkingbeards.com   Please check out our friends at Honest Amish and try one of the best selling beard brands available!!! Honest Amish- use promo code "talkingbeards" to save 15% https://www.honestamish.com   Grooming Emporium https://www.facebook.com/The-Grooming-Emporium-105907971248916   SUBSCRIBE to the Talking Beards podcast by going to- www.thebeardcaster.com/subscribe   Talking Beards Store https://teespring.com/…/talking-beards-3   BS Buttons Beard Bulletin Board- let us know about something you want to promote https://www.facebook.com/groups/407082256748940/   BS Buttons on Facebook-order your buttons through this link- https://www.facebook.com/groups/872390072895713/   Aaron D. Johnston- Aaron D Johnston- Facebook https://www.facebook.com/aaron.d.johnston1 Aaron D. Johnston-Instagram https://www.instagram.com/aarondjohnston   Scott Sykora Scott Sykora- Facebook https://www.facebook.com/scottsykora Scott Sykora- Instagram https://www.instagram.com/scottsykora/   Check out our other great shows on Talking Beards-The Network www.talkingbeards.com/the-network   Talking Beards is available of the KPNL Network-go check out other various “strange” shows- KPNL RADIO http://www.kpnl-db.com/   THE NEW HOME OF THE TALKING BEARDS NETWORK https://www.youtube.com/c/TalkingBeards/featured

Award-winning chef and sustainable Irish food champion Caitlin Ruth is our guest on the NeighbourFood podcast this week. Caitlin is a chef, originally from New Hampshire in the States, and found her way via Belgium to Timoleague in West Cork. Her career has brought her to Lettercollum House, Dillons and Deasys where she gained a reputation for serving sensational seafood and a Bib Gourmand. Most recently Caitlin has taken to cliffs, beaches and roadsides with a new food truck adventure. The hero in all her dishes is whatever she can get hold of from her local growers. Hyper-local is what she calls it. We had a chat with her about the importance of sustainable food choices, how creativity can flourish in this vagabond approach to serving food and how she only takes on interesting jobs. Find out more about Cailtin on :www.instagram.com/caitlinruthfood/https://caitlinruthfood.ie/The NeighbourFood Podcast is presented by Jack Crotty and Joleen Cronin. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

The date is July 17th, not June. But we can't go back and correct... as the Dillons learn. Yes, there's more than one of them today! A very special episode featuring another Dillon. For real!

The rocket gets into space and not to long later, Dillon saw a space station. All the sudden, Dillon was attacked by a glowing spirit shadow, which looks like a good thing to be an angel but Dillons friends save the day!