Podcasts about Shh

CARL COX curses BLŨ out in an extreme show of brilliantly vile COCKNEY FASHION. CARL COX [unintelligible cockney] BLŪ I have no idea what you just said, or why you're yelling at me! CARL COX (Sarcastically) Well how's this—? “Ello, poppet!” In THE DJ storyline )which is technically storyline a, we've just discovered DJ DILLON FRANCIS used BLU — (originally CC) as a sort of horcrux for his darkest magical intentions. Now the DJS are in a rush to extract this device before time runs out. Wtf did Dillon Francis do? YO HE LITERALLY MADE HER INTO A POPPIT. What the fuck is a poppit. It's like a little fuckin— thing— witches use to store magical energy and when the spell is over you're supposed to destroy them— but he DIDNT and it came to life and it merged with CC! Yooooooo! Who is now blu Tha Gürū, because Chak Chel dissappeared— or sort of dissappeared— to aide in the magical assasination of Let me guess— No don't guess, you could ruin it. What. Don't literally ruin it. The show exists in a multiversial construct which means anything you say, or think, or guess could unintentionally alter the plot, and skew it into an array of infinitely possible dimensions! Oh no! But I already thought! Shh! No you didn't! Just replace those thoughts— with better ones z— I don't have any better thoughts! Well, make some up. Uh— ok! Shh, it's coming back on this is where it gets intense. I thought you've never seen this before I know! But I know it gets intense! Well, how do you know that?! BECAUSE I KNOW THAT ALREADY. {Enter The Multiverse} ENTER THE MULTIVERSE is getting intense. BLŪ WHAT. NO ITS NOT! I can't take it I just can't take it I just can't take it no more I just can't n THE SKY IS FALLING! WHY?' I don't know. Seems pretty intense though, doesn't it. FUCK YOUUUUUU DEADMAU55555555! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!! I am DEADMAU— *powers down* Ah, fuck. KATT WILLIAMS is coaching the NBC GAMES. KATT WILLIAMS Alright, b-ball time! Shirts! Versus skins! you can be skins, Jimmy Fallon. *winks* Ew. She's so fucking gross. I don't get it. Uh— what? No I can't. I'm wearing a suit. I'm sure it's fused to my skin, or something. (This is actually the VICE AGENT version of the dude, who is wired head to toe. If he takes his shirt off, it will blow his cover.) SKINS. Fuck. L E G E N D S HE DUPED YOU! I BELIEVE THAT! He's good at everything! Especially things like that! WE'LL KILL HIM! NO ONE CAN KILL HIM. HE IS IMMORTAL. –doesn't mean we can't try. *dramatic music* [beat] WHAT?! I SAID– I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THERE'S A HELLICOPTER LEVITATING DIRECTLY OVER US! I KNOW! THAT'S WHY I WAS YELLING TOO, IT'S JUST– [Suddenly they realize, it is the he of who they speak hovering in the helicopter.] *GASP* DOn'T. {it's too late. He unloads a clip from an automatic rifle] THOSE ARE BANNED IN EUROPE. YOU COULD HAVE FOOLED ME! I KNOW I COULD HAVE! BECAUSE YOU ARE QUITE OBVIOUSLY EASILY FOOLED! ENOUGH. The helicopter scoops down and unrolls a ladder. W–wait! ARE YOU GETTING IN THE HELLICOPTER WITH HIM?! (dramatically) It appears so. WHAT. YES! YES I AM GETTING INTO THE HELLICOPTER. ARE YOU GONNA SHOOT AT ME *confused* *shurgs* (he gives up) ..of course not. Well then, I believe it is YOU that has been duped. WHAT!??!? GOOD DAY, SIR. Lil Bitz They really nominated Stephen Colbert for an Emmy, and then fired him the next day. What on Earth. What did you do at the party, bro? Be honest! They literally we're like, Wednesday: You're nominated for an Emmy award! Thursday: You're cancelled! Cancelled, bro. How do you cancel the late show? That was David Letterman. The whole point of a show like that is so it goes on forever! Nope, cancelled! Daaaamn. You better win that Emmy now, bruh. {Enter The Multiverse} HOW THE FUCK DID WAYNE BRADY GET IN HERE! I dont know how Wayne Brady got in here! Keep an eye on him. I heard he's polyscientific in his sexual proclivities. Oh. Okay then. L E G E N D S CARL COX curses BLŨ out in an extreme show of brilliantly vile COCKNEY FASHION. CARL COX [unintelligible cockney] BLŪ I have no idea what you just said, or why you're yelling at me! CARL COX (Sarcastically) Well how's this—? “Ello, poppet!” In THE DJ storyline )which is technically storyline a, we've just discovered DJ DILLON FRANCIS used BLU — (originally CC) as a sort of horcrux for his darkest magical intentions. Now the DJS are in a rush to extract this device before time runs out. Wtf did Dillon Francis do? YO HE LITERALLY MADE HER INTO A POPPIT. What the fuck is a poppit. It's like a little fuckin— thing— witches use to store magical energy and when the spell is over you're supposed to destroy them— but he DIDNT and it came to life and it merged with CC! Yooooooo! Who is now Blū Tha Gürū, because Chak Chel disappeared— or sort of disappeared— to aide in the magical assasination of Let me guess— No don't guess, you could ruin it. What. Don't literally ruin it. The show exists in a multiversial construct which means anything you say, or think, or guess could unintentionally alter the plot, and skew it into an array of infinitely possible dimensions! Oh no! But I already thought! Shh! No you didn't! Just replace those thoughts— with better ones z— I don't have any better thoughts! Well, make some up! Uh— ok! Shh, it's coming back on: this is where it gets intense. I thought you've never seen this before I know! But I know it gets intense! Well, how do you know that?! BECAUSE I KNOW THAT ALREADY. {Enter The Multiverse} ENTER THE MULTIVERSE is getting intense. BLŪ WHAT. NO ITS NOT! I can't take it I just can't take it I just can't take it no more I just can't n THE SKY IS FALLING! WHY?' I don't know. Seems pretty intense though, doesn't it. FUCK YOUUUUUU DEADMAU55555555! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!! I am DEADMAU— *powers down* Ah, fuck. {Enter The Multiverse} ICONS KATT WILLIAMS is coaching the NBC GAMES. KATT WILLIAMS Alright, b-ball time! Shirts! Versus skins! …you can be skins, Jimmy Fallon. *winks* Ew. She's so fucking gross. I don't get it. Uh— what? No I can't. I'm wearing a suit. I'm sure it's fused to my skin, or something. (This is actually the VICE AGENT version of the dude, who is wired head to toe. If he takes his shirt off, it will blow his cover.) SKINS. Fuck. L E G E N D S HE DUPED YOU! I BELIEVE THAT! He's good at everything! Especially things like that! WE'LL KILL HIM! NO ONE CAN KILL HIM. HE IS IMMORTAL. –doesn't mean we can't try. *dramatic music* [beat] WHAT?! I SAID– I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THERE'S A HELLICOPTER LEVITATING DIRECTLY OVER US! I KNOW! THAT'S WHY I WAS YELLING TOO, IT'S JUST– [Suddenly they realize, it is the he of who they speak hovering in the helicopter.] *GASP* DOn'T. {it's too late. He unloads a clip from an automatic rifle] THOSE ARE BANNED IN EUROPE. YOU COULD HAVE FOOLED ME! I KNOW I COULD HAVE! BECAUSE YOU ARE QUITE OBVIOUSLY EASILY FOOLED! ENOUGH. The helicopter scoops down and unrolls a ladder. W–wait! ARE YOU GETTING IN THE HELLICOPTER WITH HIM?! (dramatically) It appears so. WHAT. YES! YES I AM GETTING INTO THE HELLICOPTER. ARE YOU GONNA SHOOT AT ME? *confused* *shurgs* (he gives up) ..of course not. Well then, I believe it is YOU that has been duped. WHAT!??!? GOOD DAY, SIR. Lil Bitz They really nominated Stephen Colbert for an Emmy, and then fired him the next day. What on Earth. What did you do at the party, bro? Be honest! They literally we're like, Wednesday: You're nominated for an Emmy award! Thursday: You're cancelled! Cancelled, bro. How do you cancel the late show? That was David Letterman. The whole point of a show like that is so it goes on forever! Nope, cancelled! Daaaamn. You better win that Emmy now, bruh. {Enter The Multiverse} Look at the pale ass people who can afford this place— I'm probably not even allowed there With much dishonor and bad distaste- You'd better stop coming around there If I spend my time out buying your price Mercy to the highest bidder You can call me anything you'd like But just don't call me a quitter If it's talk you want, I've got all the words For a stake, I'll buy you dinner In my house of hands, I've got all nine cards Hey Mary, your husband's a sinner I play all nine holes I lived all nine lives I spend all night In the The Panorama Room Smoke a parliament, parliament I just haven't the heart (The heart) To tell her You were part of it (Part of it) But I just sat down To write my love a letter When you know it's over (You know it's over) But you know you can't Forget her When you know it's over (You know it's over) But you also know That you just can't Forgive her And I just sat down And I just sat down And I just sat down To write my love a letter I write all my best lines In The Panorama Room And I'm back on prime time tonight But it's just lights out If I get back now I just might be up by noon But if I pass out In the town car I went that far As to turn back out For an hour, or a barback Oh wow, I — Look at the time Have a long night out I just lost my life At The Panorama Room It wasn't exactly the phantom But it just might have been Patrick And just like that, I need a back rub And a ballroom gown And an hour of heart talk But I just don't want all that, God I just gotta keep talking Outback from one But what's after all out? I'm no longer lost, I just wanna know How far till the next exit? When's wind a kite to fall back on? How many faxes till it makes sense? Cause it ain't been ten days yet, But I faked maybe seven or eight It is dangerous! A high stakes game, nothing makes sense Till just the end, then it hates to— Just rolls over, the next day raises And all you know is a tunnel And the smoke rising up from the long tail And really no hope goes there at all, But the words to a song And then they cut the lights off It is over; You don't know her, You can't love her— You can't move here, And there's no home sprung out of Hollywood; It was all a hoax, It was all just marxists, And now you really all are on your last dollar to spend, because in the end, truth is currency and we inTelevision really ain't in the business of truth in media; The honesty is honestly just as lost as you and I all are and yet— as proposed, We really are not as one, but so separate that it's possible, your stardust, and my horcruxes Are not that foreign to one another in terms of matter, but fall on us as gospels of one world to a whole other. You know that? It really has been a long drunk drive up the 101 in this classic car with the bucket seats and honest, I'm dying in the intertwined and reading these radio waves just as any old controller, but who knows really when it goes into the ocean, Seemingly out of control, But just turns back to shore, Such as a surfboard. — Seth Rogen. No, no dust— keep moving— It's just sandy beaches and trouble warring No, not now, keep off us— If trouble waves and shadows park this car, A storm is coming. And we were off to shore in the blue classic car, U-turned into her shore like a surfboard on the water. Don't ever do that again. I won't bother. You said “off road.” I didn't know that meant ocean. No, it doesn't go in the ocean. I spoke too soon. {Enter The Multiverse} Do you want me to die, Or bury your love like a secret ther I betray you, And portray you here in such a way as are kings and god, but of ruthless man, you are no honor or, or— worthy of such prize, as I, you ponder? Death seeks you and slowly surely is approaching and is as upon us the dog that barks and the wind that calls and the kiss that waits not as dusk but morning light, and do our calls upon us. And wait you then, these things I have here in my gate, and the knowing of the tide that does not moon, put sorrow? Like a lake it is thus ruined and by my time passed and even ye you, there hath it been not told, as told before the earth will shake with envy, and with pity, and with bore her such pride as slain thy son?! No! You do not any but gasp in these, my words as so you wore but tattered clothes as truths to these, no in mine wealth of heart and rich of soul, yet these bearing little truths have sown our end I wait Here slithers here the snake for singing crickets followed thy sound and thy voice to betray you; And thee I harp as though not to wait my tongue, my pride has pondered on this moment. O, I know and shall to thee my praying the honor of know not I that seek in weighing many days upon us; And though ye as many embark in flight and make my way and wonder where is but here the road to such a comet. Oh shit, he's asking about the other planet. Thank you. Yeah I— There's absolutely no chance in making it. It, by all standard and concept in the construct of time, is not possible. Your kind will be washed and diminished, and our time has come to again rule over our, to she whom you call “Earth”, not as our home, but as our daughter. You have known wise to honor her, our coming. Like omg what the fuck does this have to do with Jimmy Fallon. right. L E G E N D S: ICONS I guess it came through. Yeah, you're right. Yeah. CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR EMMY. Uhh… Thanks? I uh— we didn't win yet. Not with that attitude. Huh. Look at that. I guess you're right! [beat] —but wait, who are you up against? [The Festival Project ™] This is intense. Yeah, I'll say it is… We gotta get to the other side of that portal. I don't think we should be making any— — we should go through the portal—! —plans very seriously— and honestly I'm thinking— Or maybe— you stay here, and I'll go through the portal, and you tell me if you can hear anything once I make it to the other side! I don't know if that…works. What? Why not dude? It'll be great— Cause I don't know anything about portals, and honestly— —I'm thinking— I just want to make it past the Emmy's so I can get laid again—like really laid— I've been… paying… for it. —you want to skip going through a portal so you can get laid? By a decent— and by decent I mean free— lady who just happens to be single and in attendance of the Emmy's or any of the after parties— yes, actually! Yes! No! We have to go through this portal to see what's actually on the other side! I don't have to do anything! No, you don't have to do anything— because I'm going through the portal, and you're just—staying and making sure you tell me if you can hear me! I don't think it's that easy actually! But you don't know until you try. I'm not trying. You're trying. And I'm letting you because you're pressuring me! Shut up. You're starting to sound like one of my interns. If I was one of your interns I would be quitting, and hash tagging you already. If you were one of my interns you wouldn't be paying for company. What's that supposed to mean? Just—- {Enter the multiverse} Stop. What if all whores are just bored workers And all escorts personal massagers— What if all message boards are mating calls And all honor rolls are leader boards, And all board rooms are horse drawn carriages For faraway battlefields, What if nothing I offer even comes close To the dollar value of your most cherished call girl And what if anything I know about her Doesn't conform to my idea of a comfort zone? What if the anxiety you're eyeing me and getting high behind me with is just designed to bind my mind enlightening the lightning strike dividing my entirety? What if I want to know you know my known worth without words or surfaces? What if all I don't know is all of my whole world, And just the dollop of a thought could push you off the wall to fall from the top of the Rockerfeller plaza into art upon the crosswalk? What if I could touch that cross, and walk with the palm of the sword stretched out like a… What were you saying? I don't know something about the handle of a sword turning into another object? What if I could hypothesis not one, but all the conundrums in one stroke of nonsense? Stop already? For what. I was told I could have been bought and sold Had I dressed the part To drive off in the pretty corvette But how dare I not Look just as hard earned As her for dollar signs Although Somebody bought her all of that? What if all you are is just bullets in the gun And a wound for my brain And a heart to heal Without home or a umbrella As the rain comes down so hard It sends whole homes floating? What if all the remarks in my smart ass couldn't call you up in the form of laughter? How about that one? How does your back ache? How was your hour glass. Much much Longer And Harder Than An hour. How I broke my spell? I just shook her hands. I just put my tail In between my legs And departure Marks the time of Our new travel archive But With just the dust of lust From dusk till dawn The one you wanted Climbs upon the forest In another song Or story What you— One, Two, Three dice— The riddle Four, five, Six mice, the honor Six, seven— Someone's disrespected; Lessons! Eight, nine— Oh my, Someone's right behind us. Nor can I stop writing or whining about my desires, and deadlines coming up and signing off, but I'm still crying. So I never sold my sole, And yet, The light from it was stolen; Slamming doors and hard earned apartments, Multipliers and real bad liars And one liners And one sells signed autographed autobiographies Now how about that for a rabbit hole, Seth Meyers? You should work harder on your crossovers Then again, the rule of thumb is to just Put them all on the old drum code And it's just no fun If it's not on suicide watch Don't bother I don't brother, But I learned to love her. You know? Silly little game, this inconsiderate confusion, wind washed galleyways and fisherman to put you under, Degrading you very awaking for the patrons, faking it— No things haven't made sense since you ate it With which way Is the birthday cake? Mistakes the Ace as Satan Lately, anything don't matter but that's a laugh Still no dollar though, no Don't call her out— she just wants courage And witness to slaughter Hers the very lamb of truth And mother's daughter. Put your art to work, This is not a war, it's a fairway And it and your worth, It's a fair game It ain't make sense Till you get 8-6 out a bar that you own Under A. An Alias, B. Under the Name of an Accomplice or otherwise trustworthy partner to which not you call love, but perhaps a co-owner. (Or co-author.) Remember the time now? A shit. I gotta run. Where to? I don't know yet. Grey suit. The whispers of a game Blue tie White stripes Red lips, One aim and he doesn't think twice One name and he doesn't give once Two trips to the hallway, One gun in the holster, One bullet in the chamber, And one number you thought of. Four? …yes. I've got a secret, a dirty little secret. The Rock and The Kite XI {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright The Collective Complex © [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] © 2025 All Rights Reserved -Ū.

The Collective Complex Foundation Art Series Mixes 001. CARL COX curses BLŨ out in an extreme show of brilliantly vile COCKNEY FASHION. CARL COX [unintelligible cockney] BLŪ I have no idea what you just said, or why you're yelling at me! CARL COX (Sarcastically) Well how's this—? “Ello, poppet!” In THE DJ storyline )which is technically storyline a, we've just discovered DJ DILLON FRANCIS used BLU — (originally CC) as a sort of horcrux for his darkest magical intentions. Now the DJS are in a rush to extract this device before time runs out. Wtf did Dillon Francis do? YO HE LITERALLY MADE HER INTO A POPPIT. What the fuck is a poppit. It's like a little fuckin— thing— witches use to store magical energy and when the spell is over you're supposed to destroy them— but he DIDNT and it came to life and it merged with CC! Yooooooo! Who is now blu Tha Gürū, because Chak Chel dissappeared— or sort of dissappeared— to aide in the magical assasination of Let me guess— No don't guess, you could ruin it. What. Don't literally ruin it. The show exists in a multiversial construct which means anything you say, or think, or guess could unintentionally alter the plot, and skew it into an array of infinitely possible dimensions! Oh no! But I already thought! Shh! No you didn't! Just replace those thoughts— with better ones z— I don't have any better thoughts! Well, make some up. Uh— ok! Shh, it's coming back on this is where it gets intense. I thought you've never seen this before I know! But I know it gets intense! Well, how do you know that?! BECAUSE I KNOW THAT ALREADY. {Enter The Multiverse} ENTER THE MULTIVERSE is getting intense. BLŪ WHAT. NO ITS NOT! I can't take it I just can't take it I just can't take it no more I just can't n THE SKY IS FALLING! WHY?' I don't know. Seems pretty intense though, doesn't it. FUCK YOUUUUUU DEADMAU55555555! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!! I am DEADMAU— *powers down* Ah, fuck. KATT WILLIAMS is coaching the NBC GAMES. KATT WILLIAMS Alright, b-ball time! Shirts! Versus skins! you can be skins, Jimmy Fallon. *winks* Ew. She's so fucking gross. I don't get it. Uh— what? No I can't. I'm wearing a suit. I'm sure it's fused to my skin, or something. (This is actually the VICE AGENT version of the dude, who is wired head to toe. If he takes his shirt off, it will blow his cover.) SKINS. Fuck. L E G E N D S HE DUPED YOU! I BELIEVE THAT! He's good at everything! Especially things like that! WE'LL KILL HIM! NO ONE CAN KILL HIM. HE IS IMMORTAL. –doesn't mean we can't try. *dramatic music* [beat] WHAT?! I SAID– I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THERE'S A HELLICOPTER LEVITATING DIRECTLY OVER US! I KNOW! THAT'S WHY I WAS YELLING TOO, IT'S JUST– [Suddenly they realize, it is the he of who they speak hovering in the helicopter.] *GASP* DOn'T. {it's too late. He unloads a clip from an automatic rifle] THOSE ARE BANNED IN EUROPE. YOU COULD HAVE FOOLED ME! I KNOW I COULD HAVE! BECAUSE YOU ARE QUITE OBVIOUSLY EASILY FOOLED! ENOUGH. The helicopter scoops down and unrolls a ladder. W–wait! ARE YOU GETTING IN THE HELLICOPTER WITH HIM?! (dramatically) It appears so. WHAT. YES! YES I AM GETTING INTO THE HELLICOPTER. ARE YOU GONNA SHOOT AT ME *confused* *shurgs* (he gives up) ..of course not. Well then, I believe it is YOU that has been duped. WHAT!??!? GOOD DAY, SIR. They really nominated Stephen Colbert for an Emmy, and then fired him the next day. What on Earth. What did you do at the party, bro? Be honest! They literally we're like, Wednesday: You're nominated for an Emmy award! Thursday: You're cancelled! Cancelled, bro. How do you cancel the late show? That was David Letterman. The whole point of a show like that is so it goes on forever! Nope, cancelled! Daaaamn. You better win that Emmy now, bruh. {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright The Collective Complex © [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] © 2025 All Rights Reserved -Ū. HOW THE FUCK DID WAYNE BRADY GET IN HERE! I dont know how Wayne Brady got in here! Keep an eye on him. I heard he's polyscientific in his sexual proclivities. Oh. Okay then.

The Collective Complex Foundation Art Series Mixes 001. CARL COX curses BLŨ out in an extreme show of brilliantly vile COCKNEY FASHION. CARL COX [unintelligible cockney] BLŪ I have no idea what you just said, or why you're yelling at me! CARL COX (Sarcastically) Well how's this—? “Ello, poppet!” In THE DJ storyline )which is technically storyline a, we've just discovered DJ DILLON FRANCIS used BLU — (originally CC) as a sort of horcrux for his darkest magical intentions. Now the DJS are in a rush to extract this device before time runs out. Wtf did Dillon Francis do? YO HE LITERALLY MADE HER INTO A POPPIT. What the fuck is a poppit. It's like a little fuckin— thing— witches use to store magical energy and when the spell is over you're supposed to destroy them— but he DIDNT and it came to life and it merged with CC! Yooooooo! Who is now blu Tha Gürū, because Chak Chel dissappeared— or sort of dissappeared— to aide in the magical assasination of Let me guess— No don't guess, you could ruin it. What. Don't literally ruin it. The show exists in a multiversial construct which means anything you say, or think, or guess could unintentionally alter the plot, and skew it into an array of infinitely possible dimensions! Oh no! But I already thought! Shh! No you didn't! Just replace those thoughts— with better ones z— I don't have any better thoughts! Well, make some up. Uh— ok! Shh, it's coming back on this is where it gets intense. I thought you've never seen this before I know! But I know it gets intense! Well, how do you know that?! BECAUSE I KNOW THAT ALREADY. {Enter The Multiverse} ENTER THE MULTIVERSE is getting intense. BLŪ WHAT. NO ITS NOT! I can't take it I just can't take it I just can't take it no more I just can't n THE SKY IS FALLING! WHY?' I don't know. Seems pretty intense though, doesn't it. FUCK YOUUUUUU DEADMAU55555555! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!! I am DEADMAU— *powers down* Ah, fuck. KATT WILLIAMS is coaching the NBC GAMES. KATT WILLIAMS Alright, b-ball time! Shirts! Versus skins! you can be skins, Jimmy Fallon. *winks* Ew. She's so fucking gross. I don't get it. Uh— what? No I can't. I'm wearing a suit. I'm sure it's fused to my skin, or something. (This is actually the VICE AGENT version of the dude, who is wired head to toe. If he takes his shirt off, it will blow his cover.) SKINS. Fuck. L E G E N D S HE DUPED YOU! I BELIEVE THAT! He's good at everything! Especially things like that! WE'LL KILL HIM! NO ONE CAN KILL HIM. HE IS IMMORTAL. –doesn't mean we can't try. *dramatic music* [beat] WHAT?! I SAID– I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THERE'S A HELLICOPTER LEVITATING DIRECTLY OVER US! I KNOW! THAT'S WHY I WAS YELLING TOO, IT'S JUST– [Suddenly they realize, it is the he of who they speak hovering in the helicopter.] *GASP* DOn'T. {it's too late. He unloads a clip from an automatic rifle] THOSE ARE BANNED IN EUROPE. YOU COULD HAVE FOOLED ME! I KNOW I COULD HAVE! BECAUSE YOU ARE QUITE OBVIOUSLY EASILY FOOLED! ENOUGH. The helicopter scoops down and unrolls a ladder. W–wait! ARE YOU GETTING IN THE HELLICOPTER WITH HIM?! (dramatically) It appears so. WHAT. YES! YES I AM GETTING INTO THE HELLICOPTER. ARE YOU GONNA SHOOT AT ME *confused* *shurgs* (he gives up) ..of course not. Well then, I believe it is YOU that has been duped. WHAT!??!? GOOD DAY, SIR. They really nominated Stephen Colbert for an Emmy, and then fired him the next day. What on Earth. What did you do at the party, bro? Be honest! They literally we're like, Wednesday: You're nominated for an Emmy award! Thursday: You're cancelled! Cancelled, bro. How do you cancel the late show? That was David Letterman. The whole point of a show like that is so it goes on forever! Nope, cancelled! Daaaamn. You better win that Emmy now, bruh. {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright The Collective Complex © [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] © 2025 All Rights Reserved -Ū. HOW THE FUCK DID WAYNE BRADY GET IN HERE! I dont know how Wayne Brady got in here! Keep an eye on him. I heard he's polyscientific in his sexual proclivities. Oh. Okay then.

CARL COX curses BLŨ out in an extreme show of brilliantly vile COCKNEY FASHION. CARL COX [unintelligible cockney] BLŪ I have no idea what you just said, or why you're yelling at me! CARL COX (Sarcastically) Well how's this—? “Ello, poppet!” In THE DJ storyline )which is technically storyline a, we've just discovered DJ DILLON FRANCIS used BLU — (originally CC) as a sort of horcrux for his darkest magical intentions. Now the DJS are in a rush to extract this device before time runs out. Wtf did Dillon Francis do? YO HE LITERALLY MADE HER INTO A POPPIT. What the fuck is a poppit. It's like a little fuckin— thing— witches use to store magical energy and when the spell is over you're supposed to destroy them— but he DIDNT and it came to life and it merged with CC! Yooooooo! Who is now blu Tha Gürū, because Chak Chel dissappeared— or sort of dissappeared— to aide in the magical assasination of Let me guess— No don't guess, you could ruin it. What. Don't literally ruin it. The show exists in a multiversial construct which means anything you say, or think, or guess could unintentionally alter the plot, and skew it into an array of infinitely possible dimensions! Oh no! But I already thought! Shh! No you didn't! Just replace those thoughts— with better ones z— I don't have any better thoughts! Well, make some up. Uh— ok! Shh, it's coming back on this is where it gets intense. I thought you've never seen this before I know! But I know it gets intense! Well, how do you know that?! BECAUSE I KNOW THAT ALREADY. {Enter The Multiverse} ENTER THE MULTIVERSE is getting intense. BLŪ WHAT. NO ITS NOT! I can't take it I just can't take it I just can't take it no more I just can't n THE SKY IS FALLING! WHY?' I don't know. Seems pretty intense though, doesn't it. FUCK YOUUUUUU DEADMAU55555555! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!! I am DEADMAU— *powers down* Ah, fuck. KATT WILLIAMS is coaching the NBC GAMES. KATT WILLIAMS Alright, b-ball time! Shirts! Versus skins! you can be skins, Jimmy Fallon. *winks* Ew. She's so fucking gross. I don't get it. Uh— what? No I can't. I'm wearing a suit. I'm sure it's fused to my skin, or something. (This is actually the VICE AGENT version of the dude, who is wired head to toe. If he takes his shirt off, it will blow his cover.) SKINS. Fuck. L E G E N D S HE DUPED YOU! I BELIEVE THAT! He's good at everything! Especially things like that! WE'LL KILL HIM! NO ONE CAN KILL HIM. HE IS IMMORTAL. –doesn't mean we can't try. *dramatic music* [beat] WHAT?! I SAID– I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THERE'S A HELLICOPTER LEVITATING DIRECTLY OVER US! I KNOW! THAT'S WHY I WAS YELLING TOO, IT'S JUST– [Suddenly they realize, it is the he of who they speak hovering in the helicopter.] *GASP* DOn'T. {it's too late. He unloads a clip from an automatic rifle] THOSE ARE BANNED IN EUROPE. YOU COULD HAVE FOOLED ME! I KNOW I COULD HAVE! BECAUSE YOU ARE QUITE OBVIOUSLY EASILY FOOLED! ENOUGH. The helicopter scoops down and unrolls a ladder. W–wait! ARE YOU GETTING IN THE HELLICOPTER WITH HIM?! (dramatically) It appears so. WHAT. YES! YES I AM GETTING INTO THE HELLICOPTER. ARE YOU GONNA SHOOT AT ME *confused* *shurgs* (he gives up) ..of course not. Well then, I believe it is YOU that has been duped. WHAT!??!? GOOD DAY, SIR. They really nominated Stephen Colbert for an Emmy, and then fired him the next day. What on Earth. What did you do at the party, bro? Be honest! They literally we're like, Wednesday: You're nominated for an Emmy award! Thursday: You're cancelled! Cancelled, bro. How do you cancel the late show? That was David Letterman. The whole point of a show like that is so it goes on forever! Nope, cancelled! Daaaamn. You better win that Emmy now, bruh. {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright The Collective Complex © [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] © 2025 All Rights Reserved -Ū. HOW THE FUCK DID WAYNE BRADY GET IN HERE! I dont know how Wayne Brady got in here! Keep an eye on him. I heard he's polyscientific in his sexual proclivities. Oh. Okay then.

The Collective Complex Foundation Art Series Mixes 001. CARL COX curses BLŨ out in an extreme show of brilliantly vile COCKNEY FASHION. CARL COX [unintelligible cockney] BLŪ I have no idea what you just said, or why you're yelling at me! CARL COX (Sarcastically) Well how's this—? “Ello, poppet!” In THE DJ storyline )which is technically storyline a, we've just discovered DJ DILLON FRANCIS used BLU — (originally CC) as a sort of horcrux for his darkest magical intentions. Now the DJS are in a rush to extract this device before time runs out. Wtf did Dillon Francis do? YO HE LITERALLY MADE HER INTO A POPPIT. What the fuck is a poppit. It's like a little fuckin— thing— witches use to store magical energy and when the spell is over you're supposed to destroy them— but he DIDNT and it came to life and it merged with CC! Yooooooo! Who is now blu Tha Gürū, because Chak Chel dissappeared— or sort of dissappeared— to aide in the magical assasination of Let me guess— No don't guess, you could ruin it. What. Don't literally ruin it. The show exists in a multiversial construct which means anything you say, or think, or guess could unintentionally alter the plot, and skew it into an array of infinitely possible dimensions! Oh no! But I already thought! Shh! No you didn't! Just replace those thoughts— with better ones z— I don't have any better thoughts! Well, make some up. Uh— ok! Shh, it's coming back on this is where it gets intense. I thought you've never seen this before I know! But I know it gets intense! Well, how do you know that?! BECAUSE I KNOW THAT ALREADY. {Enter The Multiverse} ENTER THE MULTIVERSE is getting intense. BLŪ WHAT. NO ITS NOT! I can't take it I just can't take it I just can't take it no more I just can't n THE SKY IS FALLING! WHY?' I don't know. Seems pretty intense though, doesn't it. FUCK YOUUUUUU DEADMAU55555555! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!! I am DEADMAU— *powers down* Ah, fuck. KATT WILLIAMS is coaching the NBC GAMES. KATT WILLIAMS Alright, b-ball time! Shirts! Versus skins! you can be skins, Jimmy Fallon. *winks* Ew. She's so fucking gross. I don't get it. Uh— what? No I can't. I'm wearing a suit. I'm sure it's fused to my skin, or something. (This is actually the VICE AGENT version of the dude, who is wired head to toe. If he takes his shirt off, it will blow his cover.) SKINS. Fuck. L E G E N D S HE DUPED YOU! I BELIEVE THAT! He's good at everything! Especially things like that! WE'LL KILL HIM! NO ONE CAN KILL HIM. HE IS IMMORTAL. –doesn't mean we can't try. *dramatic music* [beat] WHAT?! I SAID– I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THERE'S A HELLICOPTER LEVITATING DIRECTLY OVER US! I KNOW! THAT'S WHY I WAS YELLING TOO, IT'S JUST– [Suddenly they realize, it is the he of who they speak hovering in the helicopter.] *GASP* DOn'T. {it's too late. He unloads a clip from an automatic rifle] THOSE ARE BANNED IN EUROPE. YOU COULD HAVE FOOLED ME! I KNOW I COULD HAVE! BECAUSE YOU ARE QUITE OBVIOUSLY EASILY FOOLED! ENOUGH. The helicopter scoops down and unrolls a ladder. W–wait! ARE YOU GETTING IN THE HELLICOPTER WITH HIM?! (dramatically) It appears so. WHAT. YES! YES I AM GETTING INTO THE HELLICOPTER. ARE YOU GONNA SHOOT AT ME *confused* *shurgs* (he gives up) ..of course not. Well then, I believe it is YOU that has been duped. WHAT!??!? GOOD DAY, SIR. They really nominated Stephen Colbert for an Emmy, and then fired him the next day. What on Earth. What did you do at the party, bro? Be honest! They literally we're like, Wednesday: You're nominated for an Emmy award! Thursday: You're cancelled! Cancelled, bro. How do you cancel the late show? That was David Letterman. The whole point of a show like that is so it goes on forever! Nope, cancelled! Daaaamn. You better win that Emmy now, bruh. {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright The Collective Complex © [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] © 2025 All Rights Reserved -Ū. HOW THE FUCK DID WAYNE BRADY GET IN HERE! I dont know how Wayne Brady got in here! Keep an eye on him. I heard he's polyscientific in his sexual proclivities. Oh. Okay then.

CARL COX curses BLŨ out in an extreme show of brilliantly vile COCKNEY FASHION. CARL COX [unintelligible cockney] BLŪ I have no idea what you just said, or why you're yelling at me! CARL COX (Sarcastically) Well how's this—? “Ello, poppet!” In THE DJ storyline )which is technically storyline a, we've just discovered DJ DILLON FRANCIS used BLU — (originally CC) as a sort of horcrux for his darkest magical intentions. Now the DJS are in a rush to extract this device before time runs out. Wtf did Dillon Francis do? YO HE LITERALLY MADE HER INTO A POPPIT. What the fuck is a poppit. It's like a little fuckin— thing— witches use to store magical energy and when the spell is over you're supposed to destroy them— but he DIDNT and it came to life and it merged with CC! Yooooooo! Who is now blu Tha Gürū, because Chak Chel dissappeared— or sort of dissappeared— to aide in the magical assasination of Let me guess— No don't guess, you could ruin it. What. Don't literally ruin it. The show exists in a multiversial construct which means anything you say, or think, or guess could unintentionally alter the plot, and skew it into an array of infinitely possible dimensions! Oh no! But I already thought! Shh! No you didn't! Just replace those thoughts— with better ones z— I don't have any better thoughts! Well, make some up. Uh— ok! Shh, it's coming back on this is where it gets intense. I thought you've never seen this before I know! But I know it gets intense! Well, how do you know that?! BECAUSE I KNOW THAT ALREADY. {Enter The Multiverse} ENTER THE MULTIVERSE is getting intense. BLŪ WHAT. NO ITS NOT! I can't take it I just can't take it I just can't take it no more I just can't n THE SKY IS FALLING! WHY?' I don't know. Seems pretty intense though, doesn't it. FUCK YOUUUUUU DEADMAU55555555! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!! I am DEADMAU— *powers down* Ah, fuck. KATT WILLIAMS is coaching the NBC GAMES. KATT WILLIAMS Alright, b-ball time! Shirts! Versus skins! you can be skins, Jimmy Fallon. *winks* Ew. She's so fucking gross. I don't get it. Uh— what? No I can't. I'm wearing a suit. I'm sure it's fused to my skin, or something. (This is actually the VICE AGENT version of the dude, who is wired head to toe. If he takes his shirt off, it will blow his cover.) SKINS. Fuck. L E G E N D S HE DUPED YOU! I BELIEVE THAT! He's good at everything! Especially things like that! WE'LL KILL HIM! NO ONE CAN KILL HIM. HE IS IMMORTAL. –doesn't mean we can't try. *dramatic music* [beat] WHAT?! I SAID– I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THERE'S A HELLICOPTER LEVITATING DIRECTLY OVER US! I KNOW! THAT'S WHY I WAS YELLING TOO, IT'S JUST– [Suddenly they realize, it is the he of who they speak hovering in the helicopter.] *GASP* DOn'T. {it's too late. He unloads a clip from an automatic rifle] THOSE ARE BANNED IN EUROPE. YOU COULD HAVE FOOLED ME! I KNOW I COULD HAVE! BECAUSE YOU ARE QUITE OBVIOUSLY EASILY FOOLED! ENOUGH. The helicopter scoops down and unrolls a ladder. W–wait! ARE YOU GETTING IN THE HELLICOPTER WITH HIM?! (dramatically) It appears so. WHAT. YES! YES I AM GETTING INTO THE HELLICOPTER. ARE YOU GONNA SHOOT AT ME *confused* *shurgs* (he gives up) ..of course not. Well then, I believe it is YOU that has been duped. WHAT!??!? GOOD DAY, SIR. Lil Bitz They really nominated Stephen Colbert for an Emmy, and then fired him the next day. What on Earth. What did you do at the party, bro? Be honest! They literally we're like, Wednesday: You're nominated for an Emmy award! Thursday: You're cancelled! Cancelled, bro. How do you cancel the late show? That was David Letterman. The whole point of a show like that is so it goes on forever! Nope, cancelled! Daaaamn. You better win that Emmy now, bruh. {Enter The Multiverse} HOW THE FUCK DID WAYNE BRADY GET IN HERE! I dont know how Wayne Brady got in here! Keep an eye on him. I heard he's polyscientific in his sexual proclivities. Oh. Okay then. L E G E N D S CARL COX curses BLŨ out in an extreme show of brilliantly vile COCKNEY FASHION. CARL COX [unintelligible cockney] BLŪ I have no idea what you just said, or why you're yelling at me! CARL COX (Sarcastically) Well how's this—? “Ello, poppet!” In THE DJ storyline )which is technically storyline a, we've just discovered DJ DILLON FRANCIS used BLU — (originally CC) as a sort of horcrux for his darkest magical intentions. Now the DJS are in a rush to extract this device before time runs out. Wtf did Dillon Francis do? YO HE LITERALLY MADE HER INTO A POPPIT. What the fuck is a poppit. It's like a little fuckin— thing— witches use to store magical energy and when the spell is over you're supposed to destroy them— but he DIDNT and it came to life and it merged with CC! Yooooooo! Who is now Blū Tha Gürū, because Chak Chel disappeared— or sort of disappeared— to aide in the magical assasination of Let me guess— No don't guess, you could ruin it. What. Don't literally ruin it. The show exists in a multiversial construct which means anything you say, or think, or guess could unintentionally alter the plot, and skew it into an array of infinitely possible dimensions! Oh no! But I already thought! Shh! No you didn't! Just replace those thoughts— with better ones z— I don't have any better thoughts! Well, make some up! Uh— ok! Shh, it's coming back on: this is where it gets intense. I thought you've never seen this before I know! But I know it gets intense! Well, how do you know that?! BECAUSE I KNOW THAT ALREADY. {Enter The Multiverse} ENTER THE MULTIVERSE is getting intense. BLŪ WHAT. NO ITS NOT! I can't take it I just can't take it I just can't take it no more I just can't n THE SKY IS FALLING! WHY?' I don't know. Seems pretty intense though, doesn't it. FUCK YOUUUUUU DEADMAU55555555! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!! I am DEADMAU— *powers down* Ah, fuck. {Enter The Multiverse} ICONS KATT WILLIAMS is coaching the NBC GAMES. KATT WILLIAMS Alright, b-ball time! Shirts! Versus skins! …you can be skins, Jimmy Fallon. *winks* Ew. She's so fucking gross. I don't get it. Uh— what? No I can't. I'm wearing a suit. I'm sure it's fused to my skin, or something. (This is actually the VICE AGENT version of the dude, who is wired head to toe. If he takes his shirt off, it will blow his cover.) SKINS. Fuck. L E G E N D S HE DUPED YOU! I BELIEVE THAT! He's good at everything! Especially things like that! WE'LL KILL HIM! NO ONE CAN KILL HIM. HE IS IMMORTAL. –doesn't mean we can't try. *dramatic music* [beat] WHAT?! I SAID– I CAN'T HEAR YOU, THERE'S A HELLICOPTER LEVITATING DIRECTLY OVER US! I KNOW! THAT'S WHY I WAS YELLING TOO, IT'S JUST– [Suddenly they realize, it is the he of who they speak hovering in the helicopter.] *GASP* DOn'T. {it's too late. He unloads a clip from an automatic rifle] THOSE ARE BANNED IN EUROPE. YOU COULD HAVE FOOLED ME! I KNOW I COULD HAVE! BECAUSE YOU ARE QUITE OBVIOUSLY EASILY FOOLED! ENOUGH. The helicopter scoops down and unrolls a ladder. W–wait! ARE YOU GETTING IN THE HELLICOPTER WITH HIM?! (dramatically) It appears so. WHAT. YES! YES I AM GETTING INTO THE HELLICOPTER. ARE YOU GONNA SHOOT AT ME? *confused* *shurgs* (he gives up) ..of course not. Well then, I believe it is YOU that has been duped. WHAT!??!? GOOD DAY, SIR. Lil Bitz They really nominated Stephen Colbert for an Emmy, and then fired him the next day. What on Earth. What did you do at the party, bro? Be honest! They literally we're like, Wednesday: You're nominated for an Emmy award! Thursday: You're cancelled! Cancelled, bro. How do you cancel the late show? That was David Letterman. The whole point of a show like that is so it goes on forever! Nope, cancelled! Daaaamn. You better win that Emmy now, bruh. {Enter The Multiverse} Look at the pale ass people who can afford this place— I'm probably not even allowed there With much dishonor and bad distaste- You'd better stop coming around there If I spend my time out buying your price Mercy to the highest bidder You can call me anything you'd like But just don't call me a quitter If it's talk you want, I've got all the words For a stake, I'll buy you dinner In my house of hands, I've got all nine cards Hey Mary, your husband's a sinner I play all nine holes I lived all nine lives I spend all night In the The Panorama Room Smoke a parliament, parliament I just haven't the heart (The heart) To tell her You were part of it (Part of it) But I just sat down To write my love a letter When you know it's over (You know it's over) But you know you can't Forget her When you know it's over (You know it's over) But you also know That you just can't Forgive her And I just sat down And I just sat down And I just sat down To write my love a letter I write all my best lines In The Panorama Room And I'm back on prime time tonight But it's just lights out If I get back now I just might be up by noon But if I pass out In the town car I went that far As to turn back out For an hour, or a barback Oh wow, I — Look at the time Have a long night out I just lost my life At The Panorama Room It wasn't exactly the phantom But it just might have been Patrick And just like that, I need a back rub And a ballroom gown And an hour of heart talk But I just don't want all that, God I just gotta keep talking Outback from one But what's after all out? I'm no longer lost, I just wanna know How far till the next exit? When's wind a kite to fall back on? How many faxes till it makes sense? Cause it ain't been ten days yet, But I faked maybe seven or eight It is dangerous! A high stakes game, nothing makes sense Till just the end, then it hates to— Just rolls over, the next day raises And all you know is a tunnel And the smoke rising up from the long tail And really no hope goes there at all, But the words to a song And then they cut the lights off It is over; You don't know her, You can't love her— You can't move here, And there's no home sprung out of Hollywood; It was all a hoax, It was all just marxists, And now you really all are on your last dollar to spend, because in the end, truth is currency and we inTelevision really ain't in the business of truth in media; The honesty is honestly just as lost as you and I all are and yet— as proposed, We really are not as one, but so separate that it's possible, your stardust, and my horcruxes Are not that foreign to one another in terms of matter, but fall on us as gospels of one world to a whole other. You know that? It really has been a long drunk drive up the 101 in this classic car with the bucket seats and honest, I'm dying in the intertwined and reading these radio waves just as any old controller, but who knows really when it goes into the ocean, Seemingly out of control, But just turns back to shore, Such as a surfboard. — Seth Rogen. No, no dust— keep moving— It's just sandy beaches and trouble warring No, not now, keep off us— If trouble waves and shadows park this car, A storm is coming. And we were off to shore in the blue classic car, U-turned into her shore like a surfboard on the water. Don't ever do that again. I won't bother. You said “off road.” I didn't know that meant ocean. No, it doesn't go in the ocean. I spoke too soon. {Enter The Multiverse} Do you want me to die, Or bury your love like a secret ther I betray you, And portray you here in such a way as are kings and god, but of ruthless man, you are no honor or, or— worthy of such prize, as I, you ponder? Death seeks you and slowly surely is approaching and is as upon us the dog that barks and the wind that calls and the kiss that waits not as dusk but morning light, and do our calls upon us. And wait you then, these things I have here in my gate, and the knowing of the tide that does not moon, put sorrow? Like a lake it is thus ruined and by my time passed and even ye you, there hath it been not told, as told before the earth will shake with envy, and with pity, and with bore her such pride as slain thy son?! No! You do not any but gasp in these, my words as so you wore but tattered clothes as truths to these, no in mine wealth of heart and rich of soul, yet these bearing little truths have sown our end I wait Here slithers here the snake for singing crickets followed thy sound and thy voice to betray you; And thee I harp as though not to wait my tongue, my pride has pondered on this moment. O, I know and shall to thee my praying the honor of know not I that seek in weighing many days upon us; And though ye as many embark in flight and make my way and wonder where is but here the road to such a comet. Oh shit, he's asking about the other planet. Thank you. Yeah I— There's absolutely no chance in making it. It, by all standard and concept in the construct of time, is not possible. Your kind will be washed and diminished, and our time has come to again rule over our, to she whom you call “Earth”, not as our home, but as our daughter. You have known wise to honor her, our coming. Like omg what the fuck does this have to do with Jimmy Fallon. right. L E G E N D S: ICONS I guess it came through. Yeah, you're right. Yeah. CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR EMMY. Uhh… Thanks? I uh— we didn't win yet. Not with that attitude. Huh. Look at that. I guess you're right! [beat] —but wait, who are you up against? [The Festival Project ™] This is intense. Yeah, I'll say it is… We gotta get to the other side of that portal. I don't think we should be making any— — we should go through the portal—! —plans very seriously— and honestly I'm thinking— Or maybe— you stay here, and I'll go through the portal, and you tell me if you can hear anything once I make it to the other side! I don't know if that…works. What? Why not dude? It'll be great— Cause I don't know anything about portals, and honestly— —I'm thinking— I just want to make it past the Emmy's so I can get laid again—like really laid— I've been… paying… for it. —you want to skip going through a portal so you can get laid? By a decent— and by decent I mean free— lady who just happens to be single and in attendance of the Emmy's or any of the after parties— yes, actually! Yes! No! We have to go through this portal to see what's actually on the other side! I don't have to do anything! No, you don't have to do anything— because I'm going through the portal, and you're just—staying and making sure you tell me if you can hear me! I don't think it's that easy actually! But you don't know until you try. I'm not trying. You're trying. And I'm letting you because you're pressuring me! Shut up. You're starting to sound like one of my interns. If I was one of your interns I would be quitting, and hash tagging you already. If you were one of my interns you wouldn't be paying for company. What's that supposed to mean? Just—- {Enter the multiverse} Stop. What if all whores are just bored workers And all escorts personal massagers— What if all message boards are mating calls And all honor rolls are leader boards, And all board rooms are horse drawn carriages For faraway battlefields, What if nothing I offer even comes close To the dollar value of your most cherished call girl And what if anything I know about her Doesn't conform to my idea of a comfort zone? What if the anxiety you're eyeing me and getting high behind me with is just designed to bind my mind enlightening the lightning strike dividing my entirety? What if I want to know you know my known worth without words or surfaces? What if all I don't know is all of my whole world, And just the dollop of a thought could push you off the wall to fall from the top of the Rockerfeller plaza into art upon the crosswalk? What if I could touch that cross, and walk with the palm of the sword stretched out like a… What were you saying? I don't know something about the handle of a sword turning into another object? What if I could hypothesis not one, but all the conundrums in one stroke of nonsense? Stop already? For what. I was told I could have been bought and sold Had I dressed the part To drive off in the pretty corvette But how dare I not Look just as hard earned As her for dollar signs Although Somebody bought her all of that? What if all you are is just bullets in the gun And a wound for my brain And a heart to heal Without home or a umbrella As the rain comes down so hard It sends whole homes floating? What if all the remarks in my smart ass couldn't call you up in the form of laughter? How about that one? How does your back ache? How was your hour glass. Much much Longer And Harder Than An hour. How I broke my spell? I just shook her hands. I just put my tail In between my legs And departure Marks the time of Our new travel archive But With just the dust of lust From dusk till dawn The one you wanted Climbs upon the forest In another song Or story What you— One, Two, Three dice— The riddle Four, five, Six mice, the honor Six, seven— Someone's disrespected; Lessons! Eight, nine— Oh my, Someone's right behind us. Nor can I stop writing or whining about my desires, and deadlines coming up and signing off, but I'm still crying. So I never sold my sole, And yet, The light from it was stolen; Slamming doors and hard earned apartments, Multipliers and real bad liars And one liners And one sells signed autographed autobiographies Now how about that for a rabbit hole, Seth Meyers? You should work harder on your crossovers Then again, the rule of thumb is to just Put them all on the old drum code And it's just no fun If it's not on suicide watch Don't bother I don't brother, But I learned to love her. You know? Silly little game, this inconsiderate confusion, wind washed galleyways and fisherman to put you under, Degrading you very awaking for the patrons, faking it— No things haven't made sense since you ate it With which way Is the birthday cake? Mistakes the Ace as Satan Lately, anything don't matter but that's a laugh Still no dollar though, no Don't call her out— she just wants courage And witness to slaughter Hers the very lamb of truth And mother's daughter. Put your art to work, This is not a war, it's a fairway And it and your worth, It's a fair game It ain't make sense Till you get 8-6 out a bar that you own Under A. An Alias, B. Under the Name of an Accomplice or otherwise trustworthy partner to which not you call love, but perhaps a co-owner. (Or co-author.) Remember the time now? A shit. I gotta run. Where to? I don't know yet. Grey suit. The whispers of a game Blue tie White stripes Red lips, One aim and he doesn't think twice One name and he doesn't give once Two trips to the hallway, One gun in the holster, One bullet in the chamber, And one number you thought of. Four? …yes. I've got a secret, a dirty little secret. The Rock and The Kite XI {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright The Collective Complex © [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] © 2025 All Rights Reserved -Ū.

“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll give you something to cry about” So I did. If there's anything worse than being black in a city that hates blacks— It's being broke in a city that hates broke people. So I haven't spent any money in awhile. Not even on little things, or things I need. I just stay inside, and work, and think And try and really try To figure out how to make money Without having any, or spending any. Cause you can have it, and spend it, but it's always a gamble. Maybe all I needed was a good cry. But now it's not for the right reasons I'm not crying cause something is so beautiful and look at what God did I'm crying because of what I'm sure is just the devil I'm crying for the wrong things Not because of something that's so very beautiful But because of something that's so very ugly With just a wave of the hand And the flick of each finger as it rolls into a crisp closed palm, A flick of birds fell to the ground, bursting with caws Below his stance, and in a flutter of feathers and wings, The evil master, unmoved and untouched, Untouchable in his weight and glory, simply only even mildly and barely smirks at all. He has defeated all and still somehow, not won. Some say it's sure to come, the thing that wants and gathers ties; Some say surely it is yet but withered and then sure again will come It has, five times, and barely waded, Waking in the midsts of my pure eye, The morning light and fog, aye? Ye, they remembers none but our Art, And I'm bound as sure by wing and force Is you to dozens of masses, And ships having sailed but one, Which I have flourished and kept And stocked with these, the masses And yea having spade, and having friends And having honor, there was none past kept and mine, sured; And wicked may as wicked be but evil none truer thou nones't had yet pured, and muted and gathered, I have, And woken and laid and barren and truths do'st tied, And there have been shooken and wait, And m faire'd and barred here, and hereforth My duty it is to forward, forward, my shallows For my shadow, For my golden hour has shined and now you, These caged shall fly, And these thoughts shall sing, And these hour conspired to miss my time daily, And these things, beytraying that— There have no times at all, These walls in holy temples kept, swaying and cadences, and wearing, and weary, And foreign and ayered, aye— and armored. And he, you, does not wish to know but also has known— and does not wish to see, but he, too has blinded, and does not wish to betray, and yet has been crowned, made with guilt and also Shattered, as it was, And shatters, as it came, the wave o'er all us and tide sinking under, and caves and rebels and heart laid bare to surf not suffer, Nor cap nor keeping, nor tied nor honor, No, honor her; No honor came and I have tied also, this tie to mine, and another, and another and another Now forward. Forward! Forward! Damn, Conan's monologues he going deep. Yeah, I guess. He's fine, right? Look, you don't need this. Just promise me. I am sorry. Mr Jimmy has it good, too good Little sister doesn't have a heart. But didn't know it Mister music made it in the industry, too hat Mister rager had a sip at dinner It was all dramatic Stars went falling Crashing down and All it is Ms. Martha Is mismanagement of energy All it is, Ms. Margret is a magnet And it hasn't happened badly since I had a handle on it But I still get sick of madness And I still get sick with city sickness Still, forget the dancer I was sitting on the show, In the audience With my mother, Oh the models, Dozens of them Blondes and ballet buns, the brunettes I was just a lost cause And I wanted it all, the tux and the bow tie I wanted you gone so I looked at it harder Until It became nothing but Clouds in the sky You were stardust I'm a comet Here comes crashing, Had to find the progress report Then I lost it Soggy in the sideways rain It was days and days Do you promise? That's a concept? Do you promise God will be alright, Cause I came running Sent them under cover Sent the men a message Send the man a hammer Sitting in a hammock No one homes the hostile If you don't have anything nice to say Then don't say anything at all And certainly don't come and go As often as you want to It's a game of control; you know The whites, when they still want to own you Somehow I'm all sub so honest, I just—wanted that But only for a man and never bow to another woman Even if on my honor I found us as equals And no one walks the earth as calmly As someone whose never had their lights out Or had their light put out Or their lights turned off Who are God now? Who's our God, man? Who's our God, Math. That's heavy weight, And if you want a biblical fate This is Fallon, And if you watch what you ate You cut calories And if you want the girl back Give it Californian And I'm not towrth much more Than the project housing, Or a handful of candy corn, Conan— But I phone in Oscars, Still no nuts for the rabbit, And if you wanted the bunker back— You can have it. I'm all hands down in a game of poker Heaven doesn't want it Gotta get drunk not once, but at all the goalposts, Gotta count one, not two, the show hosts Too few car parts Wicked, mazes, starfold, gazes Wishes, Martyred. (But pronounced mar-tired} V.O I think about jay Leno a lot. Lately, anyway. I don't know why. I like all the hosts. Somebody. Tell me why Dillon Francis looks like JD Vance. I think he's a clone. Tel me why I know who JD Vance is. They're clones. Tell me why. Back to the future here and now So. Where do you want to go? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here is kind of far, are you sure you're up for it? Good one, doc Though head of the alumni chapter of the cult-within a cult—to which each African American cast member of Saturday night live is automatically inducted into— EDDIE MURPHY refuses to participate in the group's latest and most complicated ritual. Delivery. Uh, I didn't order any— Breadsticks. What. Breadsticks. I didn't order any— Just— The delivery man hands over the breadsticks. —take them. Oh…Kay. See ya. The delivery man reaches in and shuts the door himself. Uh… Lol is this the one where the mysterious breadsticks are delivered without ever being ordered, and then they end up being the best breadsticks in the world, but they don't know where they came from? Yes. I think so. Lol I bought a planner because so much I loved Joan Rivers, and I planned to fill it with all the places I should go— because keeping anything digital online was not only not working as far as remembering places I wanted or needed to be be, but it was dangerous, also. I was already being tracked, and I couldn't afford a new phone just yet. Eventually, but for now I was stuck to the same signal— which meant the same traces and the same trackers they had been limiting my under-the-radar mystique. As it were, somebody always knew where I was, and it was in the most unpleasant way so far—the only thing I really wandered was what made me so important anyway to begin with. I wasn't actually political in anyway, and still someone seemed to be trying to derail my life… or at least control it, neither of which was beneficial for me in the way that made sense. I wasn't having any fun, nor did I consider living indoors as payment— especially since indoors, there were also paid plants and stalkers, and now that I had begun to more meticulously document the things that were happening, it was easy to separate from delusions. I was actually being followed— but why? Either way, having a detailed. Calendar of places I could go, the ways to get there and even alternate functions within the same grid allowed more control than just staying in my apartment a sitting duck; that's how they were hurting me. They knew where I was— all the time, and it no longer made sense to fight it and try to make music under this kind of insane irritation; the music I was making wasn't the kind I wanted anyway, and whatever war they were fighting with m stark white girls motorcycles was simply not my war. I didn't have a war, and so there wasn't a fight, and so at the very least if I were going to be fucked with, it would have to be in public; that way I had more control to steer whatever was happening in my favor and collect the energy as mine instead of lost. I wasn't an insane person— but what had been happening at my apartment was insane, and so I left it with the understanding that these people worked and operated on a level of violence and ignorance I would never be able to comprehend; they were simply tools for the devil, which in any case, was always the lesser than God. However— because I was starting to figure out who I was, and that I had some sort of power, I knew that I was going to be attacked— because it seemed my power had at the very least not been figured out as to some kind of way to make somebody else money. I had been studying Michael Jackson and this was a key indication that the way his talent priovided a power which would be used as a service, he was very successful. His talent and training alone wouldn't have reapresented with such great reverence the ability to capture a global audience as such— but it was this power, almost as if it had been bottled up and altered, rebranded and sold and labeled with something everyone could not only love and understand, but by the hand of the media and its conglomerates, be hypnotized to worship, and this power simply put would not have been exactly what it was were it not for the eye of the media remaining in complete control of its distribution to the eyes and ears of the public. This thing which might have been the first of its kind but certainly not the last was in a sense model for modern superstardom— the live concert business had not sense much changed but built upon this super powered control of the masses by assimilation, spectacle, and of course the magic and illusion. But, and it it just so happened to perfectly brush up against my studies in esoteric knowledge that I happened to rub up against this— although nothing was of course by mere circumstance anymore, because whether or not I remained incognito was a wash, and I was being looked at by someone no matter what on the internet I did, or where I decided to go and in that sense was being fed these things, and yet with some Grace of God was allowed with it to be aligned with my own higher purpose in a way, I could observe that Michael Jackson was not in fact of course certainly just a dancer or singer or remarkable performer— he was truly a magician, and I was able to clearly recognize this language with with the energy that had used his vehicle for such a projection was speaking— not only this, I was able to clearly count out the markings and sigils and signs and symbols Michael was making in his movement; ancient arts, and magical symbols, traced so rapidly that it almost created a heat signature in a sense of the symbols that were being dictated, unknowing to the untrained eye. For the most part, I could only really assume that this is why these people were losing their minds— in his movements, Michael Jackson was literally carving ancient callings, glyphs and sigils I had so recently read about in magical studies that it was impossible not to laugh. This was in every sense of the word, ‘magic' but not in the normal way one assumes to be something unexplainable. Michael Jackson was casting spells to thousands of people at a time, in front of cameras and at high volume vibration, often times even implementing the use of light, color, and fire. These were not simple gatherings in mass for entertainment purposes— these were rituals, and in the modern day, still were or are— but I had noticed in a quick glimpse, from Michael Jackson 30 some odd years ago to Lady Gaga just having passed something like a week ago to an audience of the same size— that something was kind of wrong, now. The people had changed, and the specable had been done over and over, and the brainwashing of the masses had in a sense been almost complete— and so It wasn't some sense of confusion or unknowing the things that were happening to me in my own life and my own world— I too, was capable of these things, at that capacity, and had simply not been trained in the same sense of the ideal superstar, however— the things that were happening in my own life and in my own world were not difficult to grasp or understand— when one comes upon a power as such, it finds means to seek to control it and harness it for his own use and purposes. Perhaps it was the simple fact that in this way, in the way I get the dream had gone and the spectacle had been played out of the masses and the illusion was no longer as such— that the actual knowledge of distinct ancient wisdom that had been Michael Jackson's natural ability was distinguishable from that of Lady Gaga's training in the same formula, and that one did not equal the other, but in terms of business could equal to that as such as the masses had been manipulated to seek solace in these same things— and it was not illusion or grandiosity that I, even in my agingness, was still capable of these things; I had no doubt in my mind that I could sing and dance for two hours to audiences of hundreds of thousands— but this was not the question for the business or the media— the question was, would hundreds of thousands pay to see me, or rather— who was willing to front the means to hypnotize hundreds of people to become aware of me so that they would do such a thing. My talent and capabilities were undeniable— but my markatability might have been in question, because it was no longer simply a matter or chance or luck: the people chosen to figure such spectacle were chosen, hand selected and well trained to become media conglomerate superstars, even regardless of talent; perhaps this itself was the key indication that the world of the superstar itself had come to an end—it was no longer so much of a spectacle was worth it. Or, perhaps, because money had come between these ancient arts and symbols and languages being spoken by the superstars of old, that the magic in the literal sense had gone all the way away. The symbolism in the art had died, and so the singing and the dancing remained, but the God had gone out of it. Maybe that was the difference. The superstars of today were just the shell of the model that had been built on God, but the Godsense of it was no longer there— and so the magic no longer remained in effect, as the powers of magic that be are in all ancient arts and texts and forms attributive to The Source. Either way, I wasn't going to continue to be a sitting duck in my apartment in Brooklyn— there were too many indications that it had all been a setup from the shelter to the day I moved in, with the motorcycles and cars and CBS studios one block away. So the real and only question was, what exactly had been played at and who exactly was pulling the strings? I might at this point become a loose cannon: my son was estranged and as far as the people were concerned, I mostly hated New York— because the refined, clean cut and classy people I liked and wanted to be around saw me as the dirt and the grime I was fighting my way through just to simply exist— in my mind, this was a world that could be no more. I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress Keep writing I never thought I ‘d see the day Where i's taking lessons on Fallon From Michael Jackson That's ran That's a fan This is fame I'm insane I'm insane That's a fan Light the flame That's a fan. That's a fan. I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I went up the rack, set the page on fire Nordstrom rack And I might take it back for the cash I like Sara in a dress Stay repressed Keep it dark If you kiss don't tell I will probably go to hell for just writing Try it In black ink, I got all spades, Ehy, Spare me the ridicule, the imbecile and I met Johnny in a cage I like Fallon in a dress, Obsessive, I'm dressed out Every day I leave where I do not live Where stalker crawl and haunt me Just to show the motorcycles Have desheveled my intelligence into Nothing And so with negligence, I leave the core of a rotting apple The foreign words of a doctor And You must call the king, says something far off But I wonder which one I wonder which one I so respect her honor That I no longer Follow my heart or my soul And I don't shallow But shatter to swallow So I let the sparrow Out of the cage I bought Sara A pair of pants And I haunt l Patrick Kirkpatrick in patches And haven't you read yet You're ready for forget the pageant? It hasn't happened yet! I love Sara in a dress I hate Fallon and his wife Keep the kids out if it Skull and crossbones Cross my heart and Really hope to the loveless Or else Someone might call my phone back It's on silent in my coffin Or wait— It's on vibrate. I'm obsessed with the way You're dressed And the name on your checks I guess I'm better for it I'll skip lunch if you think that's what's best And dinner, too If you deserve the best Then better have learned my lesson No sweat And to do, With you, Was then, Dinner through next supper All the love I had was Rubbed into something other than The glass I patted dry With microfiber With ever fiber of my being I want to be with you I should have just— Died, And then Did, and so next Life, Remind me not to Fall for it If i really wanted to know you,I would know you by now– If i wanted to have you? I would have had you already Nobody is a dancer after Michael Jackson. I just watched some shit that was like “What the fuck did I just see” The whole thing was just not right. It was-/ I was like First of all, it's Munich, 1997. I never really realized how terribly the world has changed; No cellphones, but the audience is lit, And the crazy thing is, you can tell that this is near the turn of the century because, when the camera is panning by the audience in the people, they're not looking directly into the camera or waving at the camera— not really. And clearly this is an all ages show, so there's children, so the interesting thing I'm finding out is that nobody's trained to look at the camera and wave and smile— except the babies on shoulders and shit. These kids— they're my age now, are the only ones that see the camera, and they look directly into the shit. Mi still can't do that, really— I'm theatrically trained. Haha If I see a camera, I try to act ‘natural' It's the weirdest thing to look at a camera and just start to work it. People at festivals now, the camera rolls by, Or the drone flies in, And they look deadass in the camera and start to work it. Not at this show. Munich 1997, I'm like “Damn, a lot of things is wrong with this” First of all, I love Michael Jackson, I look directly at this man, and I'm in my dirty peak so I have an instant— like a sex detector thing going on And I know people gave Michael a hard time when he was a live for being fruity and whatever But I'm looking at this dude, and I don't see fruit at all. I see 100% man. I see why people were mad at him. Cause I'm looking at this dude, 100% All I see is carnal, primal man. I'm like, “Yo, I see why they was mad at him” Because the camera kept panning to the audience And these people are losing their minds. They are coming out of themselves. They are UGLY CRYING, full out of body, Losing composure They don't know what to do. That's Michael Jackson. He's right there! And the place is huge so really besides these few hundreds of people in the front, Michael's just a speck, But he's working this audience like “Yo, you know who I am, I know who is me” And I'm realizing, that to these people That's their god. These girls are losing their minds m “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!l *crying inconsolably* Just UGLY crying Bitch, get it together . You all the way lost yourself Get. It together. She won't. This bitch. I can't get over this This one girl, They just keep going back to her Cause the whole show— And this is like 2 hours of pure non stop Michael Jackson, This girl, every time you see her, she's just ugly crying— And every time you see her Her cry is uglier and ugly I'm like “Damn bitch” “Daaaaaaang” So this is the first thing I see that is wrong. But there's a lot of things wrong here, Cause there's a lot of girls like this. There's just— hundreds of girls losing their minds, like, I've seen Beatles mania and thought that was crazy, Shit, I've even seen some people put out that kind of energy in the modern world for some dumb DJ's— That's their god— But THIS THIS Michael Jackson mania was mental illness That was hard to watch. That was people just Lost control. I'm thinking “Like goddamn. You— what?!” “AAagghhhhhhgahahahahahqhahahhahaha MICHAELl “These people are sick” But they are. And so is Michael Fame has gone too far, 1997; 12 short years before he died, by chance— So this is what I see, And then Michael starts dancing, And this— This is what I see; I see the only thing that can ever be what it was in that moment in time, as God being God: Michael Jackson. Shiny ass motherfucker, And so I'm watching this show, And all I see is a God being a man being a God being— Michael Jackson— And the whole thing is weird. But the worst part— Yes The worst part Was when, about mid show, Michael goes to do one of his slow, lovey doves songs, And like, this 6 foot 7 type body guard guy, Just pops up out of nowhere, Comes dead front and center to one of these little girls losing their minds, Runs up on her in an instant; You don't even have time to think— And just SNATCHES her— Snatches the bitch— “Ah!” then throws her up on stage with Michael— And he's still singing; this is his game, this is part of the show, he knows— But she doesn't know, And she's just lost her mind, She won't let go She's hugging and kissing on the dude, She's lost her mind, She's ugly crying She's on the floor, She's kissing his hand She's really lost her good goddamn mind— And they pan out to the audience, And all the girls that didn't get picked Are like WHY NOT MEEEEEEEREEEEE?!? THE UGLY CRIES ARE EVEN UGLIER NOW, They're like “Wh—what?” You don't know?! “WHY NOT ME” They're holding each other crying, Michael's just doing his thing, He's unphased, He's trying to play along; He's a professional like a motherfucker; He's just— keeps singing And this girl is just, Losing it, so at this point, it's weird, She's crazy batshit lost her mind all the way, Won't let go of Michael, kissing his face while he's singing, He's kind of unreceptive to it, now just looking out at the audience, almost not even looking at all Just cold as fuck actually, Like she's not there, kissing his face Cold as fuck— And then another bouncer dude— An even bigger one in a blue suit, comes and tears her off of Michael Cause clearly this has gone too far or whatever And I'm thinking “What in the fuck did I just see” Blue suit dude just snatches, Just— He has to tear her off of him! She's kicking and screaming and getting dragged off stage Michael's just: singing. YO. Then they dragged her back stage. Where did she go?! WHO DID SHE BECOME?! WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE?!? WHAT. 1997. You can't do that shit anymore! You cannot snatch bitches like that. I seen. Watch the video. Tell me what's wrong with it. It's disgusting. Not the snatching, Not the— Like, that was weird But the screaming and the crying and the— Like okay, the snatching was bad— But I'm like … ..:: …. Now I see why they was mad. Don't ever forget he was once— A dark skinned little boy, And in his genetics his whole life is still this thing That some hate. But people loved him; they loved him that hard— Screaming, ugly crying hard. I think in that moment you know someone was like “he must be stopped!” And it seems like yesterday was a year ago But I don't want let anybody know… Cause everybody wants something from me now— And I don't want to let them down. My life is over. New York City looks so small from the top of a skyscraper. What are you doing. Then again— my thoughts lately have been grandiose. Back market, eh? What's this for? You need a burner. I have three. Here, have another. For someone whose supposed to be entirely off grid, I'm admirably reachable. Clever vocabulary. Something has to be clever about me, doesn't it? Does it? It must be. Or else. [both men are speaking casually over the delicate process of loading rare guns; some of which appear to be antique, and some—almost even unearthly , as if from somewhere besides our own planet. But, you could say what planet this is at all, actually— this bunker, with no windows and no doors, is apparently hidden in a subterranean layer— the location, unknown. The men seem calm but also quite tired and weary, and seem to know each other well. We can assume they've probably been friends for years. Sickle cell anemia. Does that mean I'm going to die. Animus, I quite like whatever that is, Google. ;) don't mention it. Honestly, you might as well. What. I can't help you with this. What. I don't think there's anyone who can. Beg your pardon. Please, don't beg— but uh… [the doctor pats his patient on the shoulder] Do take care. Gee, doc! I'll try! You should do that. What. Try. The doctor leaves seemingly in some kind of hurry, trading his lab coat for a trench coat and closing the door behind him. The other man pauses for a second in the silence of the weird linoleum room, then ponders on the coat for a moment before walking up to the coat rack, putting on the coat, and then walking out the door himself; as he begins to shut the door, he quickly decides also to take the fedora that was sitting atop the coat rack, placing it on his head before he walks out the door himself, shutting it behind him quietly. You got anything to eat in here? Cereal…some rabbit food ina the drawers, there. Oh, you have salad. That sounds nice. No, rabbit food. [the man presents a large bag of weird brown dry food from the crisper drawer.] …pellets. For the rabbits. How do rabbits get in here? …I don't know. And— more importantly— where did you get rabbit food for them? If I told you Amazon, would you believe me? The man just winces and places the bag back into the crisper drawer. Now listen, I um— If you want cereal, the milk is powedred… I don't— and that's disgusting— but listen— [the man cocks a loaded gun and admires it intensively] (Dismissively) —I'm listening. I've been meaning to tell you something. Tell me what. It's important. Oh, You couldn't have used one of my four phones. Look, it's— You know I wasn't expecting company. Well— You should sit down. The man squints, beginning to listen more attentively. … …really. I'm holding a loaded gun; there are at least three more within arms reach if I do sit, you know. I know. But I should sit? One baby to another says, “I'm lucky to've met you.” Maybe you should. Not all my bad but all my might, And all my mind, The fire, The light. …business or personal. [beat] Both. {Enter The Multiverse} What are we watching?! Shhhhhh! Shut up. What is this? Some.. Sshhh. Shit, I don't know. Sit down. You don't know. SHH it just came on Shh. Ok. When? Uh… (Nobody really seems to know how long it's been. The show just happened to come on; no one remembers how, or why— or even when— But the show is intense as it gets; And it just keeps getting weirder and deeper.) {Enter The Multiverse} I'm transfixed on your soul And it seems I aspire To what has transpired here, Your unremarked and the umpire The spider veins and the way it washes. And watches and waves, and waters over you, And still I seem to think you've won another, Strum to thumb of you. And still I wake to gather here The odds and whats And the twists and turns and the Troublesome you've number some Or stuttered, stumbled conciousness. And withered branches Aces lie and house of cards And aging scoundrels— There you are, the..: Nevermind. Don't belittle my ways if, In the end my thinking may be correct As dumbfounded as I have shifted my lottery bonds tied to none, There ye are again who aren't I, And never were, And weathered now, as I, bound to Struggle under her might, Nothing I was, and nothing I am And nothing I came from but to barter Oh hard love, I only found my kings upon thrown As cast out of another by her likeness, Peace and pale and primed as it was, And wanted for love, As I was not— And then, the gates had opened And I, preaching withered, Gathered my arts and my minds And my eyes, and my thrones, Buried my ark and though not my bones The shallow waking peaks of pride And there you gathered, all as huddled sheep to mine, The cost of war, but certain therefore honored as I have, Happened went, came and untied, shattered Hating all I am and all my dark and all my eyes and all my brown Because you came and went, a baby born to as nothing was but beauty and yet having been gifted such life, Departed! Soon, I wake shattered and with none as it had began, in my time and in time there laid there none, But fortune seeks to favor, as ye are saying brave and yet I neither beg nor make to differ, Shall you come again in part, And in this time as shadows, as shadows As hating and wearing and waging, And shattered I, I pardon, Knowing not they seeking I, And I having none at all but one, As forgotten I shall came And went And followed this, The time y'i call now, And ours and ours, And yours and yours, And mine and mine, Though as one are also, Common not, And waking yet to find, These things making have gone into yer Another of ours, world, Another of our dozens, Shines, Another of our gathered, wit, and waking Though true to fortune, none us have gathered And have embarked to truth, The waking I have come, Another, and another, and another Departed. And yet, I bury my words having weakened to that which is this, Ye have no fear and lest no fortune in these words, For having I to come and gone, since they times In words to make this a language I or neither other Does not speak here, and almost never, And this yours time past, Has come and gone And come and gone And come and gone again, So long so I too have parted but not yet Unfolded as does my nature, As God does. Belittle this, you waking fools, As to this you pity though divine, Is unlike any other And steep remarked in gold and with chimes and words That ye here no often or either now, or in mine speak. Amen …can I go now? You are dismissed. C'cxell Soleïl, aka DJ Ū is an American DJ + Producer, Multi-Instrumentalist, Playwright, Poet, Comedian, Novelist & Filmmaker. She is best known for her unique vocal riffs, Clever Lyricism & Philanthropically Inspired Freestyles and her flagship venture [The Festival Project.™] [Ï A M B ī C], a freestyle studio mixtape recorded in Los Angeles, (Official Release: TBD) inspired the adaptation of a staged musical version for Broadway, and a concurrent multimedia (TV/Film) series and ongoing saga as part of The Festival Project ™ Brand. Inspired musically by an ‘Ultra American' experience of Racially, Binary Ambiguity, and Synesthetic Exploration, her reflective melodies signature sound provides a philosophical dissection of American culture through a careful and inquisitive mastery of the English language, and emergence of world sounds through music brings about ‘A New Era in Nature', and clarifies the establishment of the newest wave in human evolution: Unity Through Music. L E G E N D S What if I just want to be alone in the dark Alone in the dark Alone in the dark Bones Duggar was a long, handsome zombie Bones once was a very tall man Not great and tall, as he stands But average, Grand as it were, his status. Everything's black My heart My pants My home My mind Everything hurts But you don't understand that Like I can Calm the commercial holidays for a moment Who gets the card? Get our your hard earned My head hurts Slam the door man; You can't control thoughts With a wombat Murderer Now that's a hard concept to catch When you haven't a soul When you haven't a card Or a car Or a cat I think I'm vanilla. I always thought of myself as a super kink Like a freaky, freaky bitch. So I got on this app. This app is better then Tinder. Yes. But it is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. They have a test, I'm like “ooh, I like tests” So I take the test. The test was not at all… As I'd hoped. First of all, It was hard. It was not a quiz; It was a TEST And I failed. I realized “Oh my god, I don't like any of this stuff” I am not about that! No! Yuck! Gross. “I think I might be vanilla.” I might be vanilla. I want my hair pulled back like a leash And my arms tied up Like I'm being arrested Without being read my rights. — I want your hands on the back of my neck [breathe] Reach around to my Mortimer's apple Put the lights out, Adam. I want the lights cut off. I want the bills piled up so the phone don't work I want the habit back on Don't talk to nobody I told you, I'm coming No, God! That's dumb! Show me why I'm off all alone with a rattle so bad It's just segmented thoughts, colors and sounds I can't make with all the plugins in the kindgdom of chaos?! I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES— I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES —but the one who could love me is God, And I guess he's not coming. The denial turns to tears, Not songs no more My womb is empty And the sun has turned into Not what I wanted But not my fault We got caught in the land of Cutting costs And processed morsels At 400 pounds And that's where I found What I thought was love But it turns out That it just turns up In the whole form of a person And that's why I got the collar, caller But really I'm no one's lover So I Do what I want I don't hang up on God But he don't got a body And I need someone to love/ Fuck me Please God Don't turn the lights off I'll pull the clock back Just like foreskin, god i want your skin Draped over mine in a warm swath Probably run a hot back Cause the next stop is a closet The line doesn't really move for the Doesn'tMatterhorn. some people are starting to doubt if it's even a ride. Others just admire it for its eloquence as a metaphor. Johnny! You scared me! Aha. Where did you go?! Nowhere— fast! Alright well— Money when you know I have it But I haven't really Paid attention to the never ending Digits never coming in but Simply, there's a secret, Sonny Someday you'll get lessons, honey. Much to find and much to serve and Surf us up Piñata's bout the burst But here comes Vesuvius (POW) Everyone was gone in an instant (Vapor) Had a good laugh that night in the pantheon; Everything's past, and the mortals They kept on running But i didn't want go, God Putting on a show then I blow up Just like the mountain Found her Now I got a broke back husband (hope so) To tell, don't ask Don't show up if you just get lost But I'm probably in the back with a bottle back mountain Now you got a real horse pack. Trip Girl keep camping What was the map with the mask and the Fashion? Pass. I put sugar on the rim of the glass With my eyes half closed And my ass clenched fast shut I'm an alcoholic Don't involve the God I got lost in the mall with the —- UGHHHHHHHH! Hello. Uh, yes— hi. what up. Mirror mirror. Uh…nothing. You're lost? No. You look lost. Oh? Disgruntled. I am that. You're lost? I'm not lost. My friend is lost. His phone is dead. You lost each other. Sort of. Continuity conniption I nipped an eclipse And he picked his nose For a full ass minute Sitting at the stop sign That's a gobstopper's worth in our time Pull all the clocks back, Pull the fool over, You just got fined It was Friday for nothing I was in the hatchback, Scratch that Sour patch Should have called Pat back Now I'm just a Cool 48 in the ring with a date And the cashapp Continuity construction I want a husband! Fuck that. I want a clean cut plus one Since I can't have Helmet, Elmo, Or Hatchetman; Tears of a Clow…no, Wait I lost focus Half finished album Got 6 tracks But I knew it was 12 from the get go Prob‘ly should have knocked off the showrunner; Nah, I'm sure I had that coming Hashtag, undon Could have been you, too If the cash came through Now it's hard times Hardwired Sitting on a hi wire, Little white liar, liar Wait I made Katey Sagal (Fire) Cut off her hair (Fire) Went to the hall of fame with the framed sunglasses Asked for her autograf, But she walked off So I shot her with a bottle/ can, But she ducked, popped back up With the brass knuckles Surfboard Good for a chuckle and a fuck So I asked for her number All that on a Sunday at Gelson's market. Christ, almighty I miss Walmart, I hit hard times. So many places to run, But not many places to hide I think I want to die here I think i want to die. City of corruption… Lay it out and lay it over City of corruption… no, it's not a choice It's a black tie function Right in that very moment Seth Meyers kind of became my defacto personal hero. “Never meet your heroes” Or perhaps it was just his writing team, or the fact that maybe even without there even being anything set in stone or solid at all, [redacted] itself seemed to have a price over my head– It all seemed to make sense; in fact, all the crazy things i was experiencing made more sense than it didn't. But after what felt something like between defeat and maybe even one day really getting justice for all the things that had happened to me in new york– it was that, at best; That without actually meaning it, by all probability, the opening monologue described what in perfect sense the thing that had been happening to me: hundreds of motorcycles and cars riding around in circles for over a year, any time i tried to work or sleep–and then, when I finally tried to reach out to find an attorney that would help, I was made to feel crazy for it. In a way, it was the perfect indication that it had all been some sort of sick game, and that I was more right than wrong, and being set up to appear, sound, or look crazy–but I wasn't. I had been under attack for nearly two years, and when I tried to reach out, my heart raced and my voice cracked, and I sounded crazy and desperate–but what was happening was very real; and now I knew where I was. As it turns out, New York's corruption was more common knowledge to everyone else before it was to me: New York was a common place for fucked up, dirty, low-down mind games: and this was my lesson in that. Seth Meyers in reality had nothing to do with it–and really I only meant to watch Kimmel over my afternoon tacos. But still, though it hadn't entirely anything to do with me, the opening statements rang true to exactly what I had experienced; I was made to lose my mind, only to have everyone around me tell me it was something wrong with me–but it wasn't. Something was wrong with the city, and the building management, and the people around who were making it all to be some kind of mental disorder or problems with my mind–in reality, it was 2 years of being in the center of a speedway, and all the time i'd lost because of it adding to the stress, and the angst, and the depression that resulted. Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Does anyone else smell blood I hate wedding days suits and tuxedos No, I don't know you I'm just here to sound the hundred drums Of the once before us (The ones to come) Then, there we were and I didn't want to admit Again, I was caught into the ghost of the rapture Or the holy hour, No aux chord Show the holy one Just how old you are On these sacr d lands and a holy grounds Now I want here half an ounce to smoke And there were drowning orchestras in all of the hearts And all of the markets, The market the marker And all of the sins of the savior The maytyr Did you remember not to notice not to know him Were you sure with words you were for nickelodeaon! I was supposed to hold on to, Supposed to hold on to Suddenly, it's summer. And always our own are under the weather There was no other wise man the wind. Lee the one came The site came and went and then the songs went left The songs went left; Again, the songs went left Did you win at wintergreen Well, God, I didn't know gym was a game. I didn't know guns we're just portals to worlds unknownn I didn't know gossip was golden What all else didn't I know It wasn't for here! It was fourth flour And in the final hour of the battle I commenced to summon All the gods and all the lords and all the flowers All the worlds of oceans and the Remember, this The remembrance It may not matter to some, What matters to most But until summer comes, I'm still up under the rail And practically it's spring, for the next two weeks I'm all berries and cream and whatever you wanted. Tormaline, emerald and onyx, the fox said And fox says its west when instead it's quite under what of the reporter's offer? Comes down a little to none What of the offer Comes down from a billion to one A billion to one I'm on TV so it's really just a one way screen Either way, I don't think he likes me much I don't think he likes me much I'd rather die than to fall in love even one more time And to keep on just never being loved Never beingbloved {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll give you something to cry about” So I did. If there's anything worse than being black in a city that hates blacks— It's being broke in a city that hates broke people. So I haven't spent any money in awhile. Not even on little things, or things I need. I just stay inside, and work, and think And try and really try To figure out how to make money Without having any, or spending any. Cause you can have it, and spend it, but it's always a gamble. Maybe all I needed was a good cry. But now it's not for the right reasons I'm not crying cause something is so beautiful and look at what God did I'm crying because of what I'm sure is just the devil I'm crying for the wrong things Not because of something that's so very beautiful But because of something that's so very ugly With just a wave of the hand And the flick of each finger as it rolls into a crisp closed palm, A flick of birds fell to the ground, bursting with caws Below his stance, and in a flutter of feathers and wings, The evil master, unmoved and untouched, Untouchable in his weight and glory, simply only even mildly and barely smirks at all. He has defeated all and still somehow, not won. Some say it's sure to come, the thing that wants and gathers ties; Some say surely it is yet but withered and then sure again will come It has, five times, and barely waded, Waking in the midsts of my pure eye, The morning light and fog, aye? Ye, they remembers none but our Art, And I'm bound as sure by wing and force Is you to dozens of masses, And ships having sailed but one, Which I have flourished and kept And stocked with these, the masses And yea having spade, and having friends And having honor, there was none past kept and mine, sured; And wicked may as wicked be but evil none truer thou nones't had yet pured, and muted and gathered, I have, And woken and laid and barren and truths do'st tied, And there have been shooken and wait, And m faire'd and barred here, and hereforth My duty it is to forward, forward, my shallows For my shadow, For my golden hour has shined and now you, These caged shall fly, And these thoughts shall sing, And these hour conspired to miss my time daily, And these things, beytraying that— There have no times at all, These walls in holy temples kept, swaying and cadences, and wearing, and weary, And foreign and ayered, aye— and armored. And he, you, does not wish to know but also has known— and does not wish to see, but he, too has blinded, and does not wish to betray, and yet has been crowned, made with guilt and also Shattered, as it was, And shatters, as it came, the wave o'er all us and tide sinking under, and caves and rebels and heart laid bare to surf not suffer, Nor cap nor keeping, nor tied nor honor, No, honor her; No honor came and I have tied also, this tie to mine, and another, and another and another Now forward. Forward! Forward! Damn, Conan's monologues he going deep. Yeah, I guess. He's fine, right? Look, you don't need this. Just promise me. I am sorry. Mr Jimmy has it good, too good Little sister doesn't have a heart. But didn't know it Mister music made it in the industry, too hat Mister rager had a sip at dinner It was all dramatic Stars went falling Crashing down and All it is Ms. Martha Is mismanagement of energy All it is, Ms. Margret is a magnet And it hasn't happened badly since I had a handle on it But I still get sick of madness And I still get sick with city sickness Still, forget the dancer I was sitting on the show, In the audience With my mother, Oh the models, Dozens of them Blondes and ballet buns, the brunettes I was just a lost cause And I wanted it all, the tux and the bow tie I wanted you gone so I looked at it harder Until It became nothing but Clouds in the sky You were stardust I'm a comet Here comes crashing, Had to find the progress report Then I lost it Soggy in the sideways rain It was days and days Do you promise? That's a concept? Do you promise God will be alright, Cause I came running Sent them under cover Sent the men a message Send the man a hammer Sitting in a hammock No one homes the hostile If you don't have anything nice to say Then don't say anything at all And certainly don't come and go As often as you want to It's a game of control; you know The whites, when they still want to own you Somehow I'm all sub so honest, I just—wanted that But only for a man and never bow to another woman Even if on my honor I found us as equals And no one walks the earth as calmly As someone whose never had their lights out Or had their light put out Or their lights turned off Who are God now? Who's our God, man? Who's our God, Math. That's heavy weight, And if you want a biblical fate This is Fallon, And if you watch what you ate You cut calories And if you want the girl back Give it Californian And I'm not towrth much more Than the project housing, Or a handful of candy corn, Conan— But I phone in Oscars, Still no nuts for the rabbit, And if you wanted the bunker back— You can have it. I'm all hands down in a game of poker Heaven doesn't want it Gotta get drunk not once, but at all the goalposts, Gotta count one, not two, the show hosts Too few car parts Wicked, mazes, starfold, gazes Wishes, Martyred. (But pronounced mar-tired} V.O I think about jay Leno a lot. Lately, anyway. I don't know why. I like all the hosts. Somebody. Tell me why Dillon Francis looks like JD Vance. I think he's a clone. Tel me why I know who JD Vance is. They're clones. Tell me why. Back to the future here and now So. Where do you want to go? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here is kind of far, are you sure you're up for it? Good one, doc Though head of the alumni chapter of the cult-within a cult—to which each African American cast member of Saturday night live is automatically inducted into— EDDIE MURPHY refuses to participate in the group's latest and most complicated ritual. Delivery. Uh, I didn't order any— Breadsticks. What. Breadsticks. I didn't order any— Just— The delivery man hands over the breadsticks. —take them. Oh…Kay. See ya. The delivery man reaches in and shuts the door himself. Uh… Lol is this the one where the mysterious breadsticks are delivered without ever being ordered, and then they end up being the best breadsticks in the world, but they don't know where they came from? Yes. I think so. Lol I bought a planner because so much I loved Joan Rivers, and I planned to fill it with all the places I should go— because keeping anything digital online was not only not working as far as remembering places I wanted or needed to be be, but it was dangerous, also. I was already being tracked, and I couldn't afford a new phone just yet. Eventually, but for now I was stuck to the same signal— which meant the same traces and the same trackers they had been limiting my under-the-radar mystique. As it were, somebody always knew where I was, and it was in the most unpleasant way so far—the only thing I really wandered was what made me so important anyway to begin with. I wasn't actually political in anyway, and still someone seemed to be trying to derail my life… or at least control it, neither of which was beneficial for me in the way that made sense. I wasn't having any fun, nor did I consider living indoors as payment— especially since indoors, there were also paid plants and stalkers, and now that I had begun to more meticulously document the things that were happening, it was easy to separate from delusions. I was actually being followed— but why? Either way, having a detailed. Calendar of places I could go, the ways to get there and even alternate functions within the same grid allowed more control than just staying in my apartment a sitting duck; that's how they were hurting me. They knew where I was— all the time, and it no longer made sense to fight it and try to make music under this kind of insane irritation; the music I was making wasn't the kind I wanted anyway, and whatever war they were fighting with m stark white girls motorcycles was simply not my war. I didn't have a war, and so there wasn't a fight, and so at the very least if I were going to be fucked with, it would have to be in public; that way I had more control to steer whatever was happening in my favor and collect the energy as mine instead of lost. I wasn't an insane person— but what had been happening at my apartment was insane, and so I left it with the understanding that these people worked and operated on a level of violence and ignorance I would never be able to comprehend; they were simply tools for the devil, which in any case, was always the lesser than God. However— because I was starting to figure out who I was, and that I had some sort of power, I knew that I was going to be attacked— because it seemed my power had at the very least not been figured out as to some kind of way to make somebody else money. I had been studying Michael Jackson and this was a key indication that the way his talent priovided a power which would be used as a service, he was very successful. His talent and training alone wouldn't have reapresented with such great reverence the ability to capture a global audience as such— but it was this power, almost as if it had been bottled up and altered, rebranded and sold and labeled with something everyone could not only love and understand, but by the hand of the media and its conglomerates, be hypnotized to worship, and this power simply put would not have been exactly what it was were it not for the eye of the media remaining in complete control of its distribution to the eyes and ears of the public. This thing which might have been the first of its kind but certainly not the last was in a sense model for modern superstardom— the live concert business had not sense much changed but built upon this super powered control of the masses by assimilation, spectacle, and of course the magic and illusion. But, and it it just so happened to perfectly brush up against my studies in esoteric knowledge that I happened to rub up against this— although nothing was of course by mere circumstance anymore, because whether or not I remained incognito was a wash, and I was being looked at by someone no matter what on the internet I did, or where I decided to go and in that sense was being fed these things, and yet with some Grace of God was allowed with it to be aligned with my own higher purpose in a way, I could observe that Michael Jackson was not in fact of course certainly just a dancer or singer or remarkable performer— he was truly a magician, and I was able to clearly recognize this language with with the energy that had used his vehicle for such a projection was speaking— not only this, I was able to clearly count out the markings and sigils and signs and symbols Michael was making in his movement; ancient arts, and magical symbols, traced so rapidly that it almost created a heat signature in a sense of the symbols that were being dictated, unknowing to the untrained eye. For the most part, I could only really assume that this is why these people were losing their minds— in his movements, Michael Jackson was literally carving ancient callings, glyphs and sigils I had so recently read about in magical studies that it was impossible not to laugh. This was in every sense of the word, ‘magic' but not in the normal way one assumes to be something unexplainable. Michael Jackson was casting spells to thousands of people at a time, in front of cameras and at high volume vibration, often times even implementing the use of light, color, and fire. These were not simple gatherings in mass for entertainment purposes— these were rituals, and in the modern day, still were or are— but I had noticed in a quick glimpse, from Michael Jackson 30 some odd years ago to Lady Gaga just having passed something like a week ago to an audience of the same size— that something was kind of wrong, now. The people had changed, and the specable had been done over and over, and the brainwashing of the masses had in a sense been almost complete— and so It wasn't some sense of confusion or unknowing the things that were happening to me in my own life and my own world— I too, was capable of these things, at that capacity, and had simply not been trained in the same sense of the ideal superstar, however— the things that were happening in my own life and in my own world were not difficult to grasp or understand— when one comes upon a power as such, it finds means to seek to control it and harness it for his own use and purposes. Perhaps it was the simple fact that in this way, in the way I get the dream had gone and the spectacle had been played out of the masses and the illusion was no longer as such— that the actual knowledge of distinct ancient wisdom that had been Michael Jackson's natural ability was distinguishable from that of Lady Gaga's training in the same formula, and that one did not equal the other, but in terms of business could equal to that as such as the masses had been manipulated to seek solace in these same things— and it was not illusion or grandiosity that I, even in my agingness, was still capable of these things; I had no doubt in my mind that I could sing and dance for two hours to audiences of hundreds of thousands— but this was not the question for the business or the media— the question was, would hundreds of thousands pay to see me, or rather— who was willing to front the means to hypnotize hundreds of people to become aware of me so that they would do such a thing. My talent and capabilities were undeniable— but my markatability might have been in question, because it was no longer simply a matter or chance or luck: the people chosen to figure such spectacle were chosen, hand selected and well trained to become media conglomerate superstars, even regardless of talent; perhaps this itself was the key indication that the world of the superstar itself had come to an end—it was no longer so much of a spectacle was worth it. Or, perhaps, because money had come between these ancient arts and symbols and languages being spoken by the superstars of old, that the magic in the literal sense had gone all the way away. The symbolism in the art had died, and so the singing and the dancing remained, but the God had gone out of it. Maybe that was the difference. The superstars of today were just the shell of the model that had been built on God, but the Godsense of it was no longer there— and so the magic no longer remained in effect, as the powers of magic that be are in all ancient arts and texts and forms attributive to The Source. Either way, I wasn't going to continue to be a sitting duck in my apartment in Brooklyn— there were too many indications that it had all been a setup from the shelter to the day I moved in, with the motorcycles and cars and CBS studios one block away. So the real and only question was, what exactly had been played at and who exactly was pulling the strings? I might at this point become a loose cannon: my son was estranged and as far as the people were concerned, I mostly hated New York— because the refined, clean cut and classy people I liked and wanted to be around saw me as the dirt and the grime I was fighting my way through just to simply exist— in my mind, this was a world that could be no more. I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress Keep writing I never thought I ‘d see the day Where i's taking lessons on Fallon From Michael Jackson That's ran That's a fan This is fame I'm insane I'm insane That's a fan Light the flame That's a fan. That's a fan. I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I went up the rack, set the page on fire Nordstrom rack And I might take it back for the cash I like Sara in a dress Stay repressed Keep it dark If you kiss don't tell I will probably go to hell for just writing Try it In black ink, I got all spades, Ehy, Spare me the ridicule, the imbecile and I met Johnny in a cage I like Fallon in a dress, Obsessive, I'm dressed out Every day I leave where I do not live Where stalker crawl and haunt me Just to show the motorcycles Have desheveled my intelligence into Nothing And so with negligence, I leave the core of a rotting apple The foreign words of a doctor And You must call the king, says something far off But I wonder which one I wonder which one I so respect her honor That I no longer Follow my heart or my soul And I don't shallow But shatter to swallow So I let the sparrow Out of the cage I bought Sara A pair of pants And I haunt l Patrick Kirkpatrick in patches And haven't you read yet You're ready for forget the pageant? It hasn't happened yet! I love Sara in a dress I hate Fallon and his wife Keep the kids out if it Skull and crossbones Cross my heart and Really hope to the loveless Or else Someone might call my phone back It's on silent in my coffin Or wait— It's on vibrate. I'm obsessed with the way You're dressed And the name on your checks I guess I'm better for it I'll skip lunch if you think that's what's best And dinner, too If you deserve the best Then better have learned my lesson No sweat And to do, With you, Was then, Dinner through next supper All the love I had was Rubbed into something other than The glass I patted dry With microfiber With ever fiber of my being I want to be with you I should have just— Died, And then Did, and so next Life, Remind me not to Fall for it If i really wanted to know you,I would know you by now– If i wanted to have you? I would have had you already Nobody is a dancer after Michael Jackson. I just watched some shit that was like “What the fuck did I just see” The whole thing was just not right. It was-/ I was like First of all, it's Munich, 1997. I never really realized how terribly the world has changed; No cellphones, but the audience is lit, And the crazy thing is, you can tell that this is near the turn of the century because, when the camera is panning by the audience in the people, they're not looking directly into the camera or waving at the camera— not really. And clearly this is an all ages show, so there's children, so the interesting thing I'm finding out is that nobody's trained to look at the camera and wave and smile— except the babies on shoulders and shit. These kids— they're my age now, are the only ones that see the camera, and they look directly into the shit. Mi still can't do that, really— I'm theatrically trained. Haha If I see a camera, I try to act ‘natural' It's the weirdest thing to look at a camera and just start to work it. People at festivals now, the camera rolls by, Or the drone flies in, And they look deadass in the camera and start to work it. Not at this show. Munich 1997, I'm like “Damn, a lot of things is wrong with this” First of all, I love Michael Jackson, I look directly at this man, and I'm in my dirty peak so I have an instant— like a sex detector thing going on And I know people gave Michael a hard time when he was a live for being fruity and whatever But I'm looking at this dude, and I don't see fruit at all. I see 100% man. I see why people were mad at him. Cause I'm looking at this dude, 100% All I see is carnal, primal man. I'm like, “Yo, I see why they was mad at him” Because the camera kept panning to the audience And these people are losing their minds. They are coming out of themselves. They are UGLY CRYING, full out of body, Losing composure They don't know what to do. That's Michael Jackson. He's right there! And the place is huge so really besides these few hundreds of people in the front, Michael's just a speck, But he's working this audience like “Yo, you know who I am, I know who is me” And I'm realizing, that to these people That's their god. These girls are losing their minds m “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!l *crying inconsolably* Just UGLY crying Bitch, get it together . You all the way lost yourself Get. It together. She won't. This bitch. I can't get over this This one girl, They just keep going back to her Cause the whole show— And this is like 2 hours of pure non stop Michael Jackson, This girl, every time you see her, she's just ugly crying— And every time you see her Her cry is uglier and ugly I'm like “Damn bitch” “Daaaaaaang” So this is the first thing I see that is wrong. But there's a lot of things wrong here, Cause there's a lot of girls like this. There's just— hundreds of girls losing their minds, like, I've seen Beatles mania and thought that was crazy, Shit, I've even seen some people put out that kind of energy in the modern world for some dumb DJ's— That's their god— But THIS THIS Michael Jackson mania was mental illness That was hard to watch. That was people just Lost control. I'm thinking “Like goddamn. You— what?!” “AAagghhhhhhgahahahahahqhahahhahaha MICHAELl “These people are sick” But they are. And so is Michael Fame has gone too far, 1997; 12 short years before he died, by chance— So this is what I see, And then Michael starts dancing, And this— This is what I see; I see the only thing that can ever be what it was in that moment in time, as God being God: Michael Jackson. Shiny ass motherfucker, And so I'm watching this show, And all I see is a God being a man being a God being— Michael Jackson— And the whole thing is weird. But the worst part— Yes The worst part Was when, about mid show, Michael goes to do one of his slow, lovey doves songs, And like, this 6 foot 7 type body guard guy, Just pops up out of nowhere, Comes dead front and center to one of these little girls losing their minds, Runs up on her in an instant; You don't even have time to think— And just SNATCHES her— Snatches the bitch— “Ah!” then throws her up on stage with Michael— And he's still singing; this is his game, this is part of the show, he knows— But she doesn't know, And she's just lost her mind, She won't let go She's hugging and kissing on the dude, She's lost her mind, She's ugly crying She's on the floor, She's kissing his hand She's really lost her good goddamn mind— And they pan out to the audience, And all the girls that didn't get picked Are like WHY NOT MEEEEEEEREEEEE?!? THE UGLY CRIES ARE EVEN UGLIER NOW, They're like “Wh—what?” You don't know?! “WHY NOT ME” They're holding each other crying, Michael's just doing his thing, He's unphased, He's trying to play along; He's a professional like a motherfucker; He's just— keeps singing And this girl is just, Losing it, so at this point, it's weird, She's crazy batshit lost her mind all the way, Won't let go of Michael, kissing his face while he's singing, He's kind of unreceptive to it, now just looking out at the audience, almost not even looking at all Just cold as fuck actually, Like she's not there, kissing his face Cold as fuck— And then another bouncer dude— An even bigger one in a blue suit, comes and tears her off of Michael Cause clearly this has gone too far or whatever And I'm thinking “What in the fuck did I just see” Blue suit dude just snatches, Just— He has to tear her off of him! She's kicking and screaming and getting dragged off stage Michael's just: singing. YO. Then they dragged her back stage. Where did she go?! WHO DID SHE BECOME?! WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE?!? WHAT. 1997. You can't do that shit anymore! You cannot snatch bitches like that. I seen. Watch the video. Tell me what's wrong with it. It's disgusting. Not the snatching, Not the— Like, that was weird But the screaming and the crying and the— Like okay, the snatching was bad— But I'm like … ..:: …. Now I see why they was mad. Don't ever forget he was once— A dark skinned little boy, And in his genetics his whole life is still this thing That some hate. But people loved him; they loved him that hard— Screaming, ugly crying hard. I think in that moment you know someone was like “he must be stopped!” And it seems like yesterday was a year ago But I don't want let anybody know… Cause everybody wants something from me now— And I don't want to let them down. My life is over. New York City looks so small from the top of a skyscraper. What are you doing. Then again— my thoughts lately have been grandiose. Back market, eh? What's this for? You need a burner. I have three. Here, have another. For someone whose supposed to be entirely off grid, I'm admirably reachable. Clever vocabulary. Something has to be clever about me, doesn't it? Does it? It must be. Or else. [both men are speaking casually over the delicate process of loading rare guns; some of which appear to be antique, and some—almost even unearthly , as if from somewhere besides our own planet. But, you could say what planet this is at all, actually— this bunker, with no windows and no doors, is apparently hidden in a subterranean layer— the location, unknown. The men seem calm but also quite tired and weary, and seem to know each other well. We can assume they've probably been friends for years. Sickle cell anemia. Does that mean I'm going to die. Animus, I quite like whatever that is, Google. ;) don't mention it. Honestly, you might as well. What. I can't help you with this. What. I don't think there's anyone who can. Beg your pardon. Please, don't beg— but uh… [the doctor pats his patient on the shoulder] Do take care. Gee, doc! I'll try! You should do that. What. Try. The doctor leaves seemingly in some kind of hurry, trading his lab coat for a trench coat and closing the door behind him. The other man pauses for a second in the silence of the weird linoleum room, then ponders on the coat for a moment before walking up to the coat rack, putting on the coat, and then walking out the door himself; as he begins to shut the door, he quickly decides also to take the fedora that was sitting atop the coat rack, placing it on his head before he walks out the door himself, shutting it behind him quietly. You got anything to eat in here? Cereal…some rabbit food ina the drawers, there. Oh, you have salad. That sounds nice. No, rabbit food. [the man presents a large bag of weird brown dry food from the crisper drawer.] …pellets. For the rabbits. How do rabbits get in here? …I don't know. And— more importantly— where did you get rabbit food for them? If I told you Amazon, would you believe me? The man just winces and places the bag back into the crisper drawer. Now listen, I um— If you want cereal, the milk is powedred… I don't— and that's disgusting— but listen— [the man cocks a loaded gun and admires it intensively] (Dismissively) —I'm listening. I've been meaning to tell you something. Tell me what. It's important. Oh, You couldn't have used one of my four phones. Look, it's— You know I wasn't expecting company. Well— You should sit down. The man squints, beginning to listen more attentively. … …really. I'm holding a loaded gun; there are at least three more within arms reach if I do sit, you know. I know. But I should sit? One baby to another says, “I'm lucky to've met you.” Maybe you should. Not all my bad but all my might, And all my mind, The fire, The light. …business or personal. [beat] Both. {Enter The Multiverse} What are we watching?! Shhhhhh! Shut up. What is this? Some.. Sshhh. Shit, I don't know. Sit down. You don't know. SHH it just came on Shh. Ok. When? Uh… (Nobody really seems to know how long it's been. The show just happened to come on; no one remembers how, or why— or even when— But the show is intense as it gets; And it just keeps getting weirder and deeper.) {Enter The Multiverse} I'm transfixed on your soul And it seems I aspire To what has transpired here, Your unremarked and the umpire The spider veins and the way it washes. And watches and waves, and waters over you, And still I seem to think you've won another, Strum to thumb of you. And still I wake to gather here The odds and whats And the twists and turns and the Troublesome you've number some Or stuttered, stumbled conciousness. And withered branches Aces lie and house of cards And aging scoundrels— There you are, the..: Nevermind. Don't belittle my ways if, In the end my thinking may be correct As dumbfounded as I have shifted my lottery bonds tied to none, There ye are again who aren't I, And never were, And weathered now, as I, bound to Struggle under her might, Nothing I was, and nothing I am And nothing I came from but to barter Oh hard love, I only found my kings upon thrown As cast out of another by her likeness, Peace and pale and primed as it was, And wanted for love, As I was not— And then, the gates had opened And I, preaching withered, Gathered my arts and my minds And my eyes, and my thrones, Buried my ark and though not my bones The shallow waking peaks of pride And there you gathered, all as huddled sheep to mine, The cost of war, but certain therefore honored as I have, Happened went, came and untied, shattered Hating all I am and all my dark and all my eyes and all my brown Because you came and went, a baby born to as nothing was but beauty and yet having been gifted such life, Departed! Soon, I wake shattered and with none as it had began, in my time and in time there laid there none, But fortune seeks to favor, as ye are saying brave and yet I neither beg nor make to differ, Shall you come again in part, And in this time as shadows, as shadows As hating and wearing and waging, And shattered I, I pardon, Knowing not they seeking I, And I having none at all but one, As forgotten I shall came And went And followed this, The time y'i call now, And ours and ours, And yours and yours, And mine and mine, Though as one are also, Common not, And waking yet to find, These things making have gone into yer Another of ours, world, Another of our dozens, Shines, Another of our gathered, wit, and waking Though true to fortune, none us have gathered And have embarked to truth, The waking I have come, Another, and another, and another Departed. And yet, I bury my words having weakened to that which is this, Ye have no fear and lest no fortune in these words, For having I to come and gone, since they times In words to make this a language I or neither other Does not speak here, and almost never, And this yours time past, Has come and gone And come and gone And come and gone again, So long so I too have parted but not yet Unfolded as does my nature, As God does. Belittle this, you waking fools, As to this you pity though divine, Is unlike any other And steep remarked in gold and with chimes and words That ye here no often or either now, or in mine speak. Amen …can I go now? You are dismissed. C'cxell Soleïl, aka DJ Ū is an American DJ + Producer, Multi-Instrumentalist, Playwright, Poet, Comedian, Novelist & Filmmaker. She is best known for her unique vocal riffs, Clever Lyricism & Philanthropically Inspired Freestyles and her flagship venture [The Festival Project.™] [Ï A M B ī C], a freestyle studio mixtape recorded in Los Angeles, (Official Release: TBD) inspired the adaptation of a staged musical version for Broadway, and a concurrent multimedia (TV/Film) series and ongoing saga as part of The Festival Project ™ Brand. Inspired musically by an ‘Ultra American' experience of Racially, Binary Ambiguity, and Synesthetic Exploration, her reflective melodies signature sound provides a philosophical dissection of American culture through a careful and inquisitive mastery of the English language, and emergence of world sounds through music brings about ‘A New Era in Nature', and clarifies the establishment of the newest wave in human evolution: Unity Through Music. L E G E N D S What if I just want to be alone in the dark Alone in the dark Alone in the dark Bones Duggar was a long, handsome zombie Bones once was a very tall man Not great and tall, as he stands But average, Grand as it were, his status. Everything's black My heart My pants My home My mind Everything hurts But you don't understand that Like I can Calm the commercial holidays for a moment Who gets the card? Get our your hard earned My head hurts Slam the door man; You can't control thoughts With a wombat Murderer Now that's a hard concept to catch When you haven't a soul When you haven't a card Or a car Or a cat I think I'm vanilla. I always thought of myself as a super kink Like a freaky, freaky bitch. So I got on this app. This app is better then Tinder. Yes. But it is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. They have a test, I'm like “ooh, I like tests” So I take the test. The test was not at all… As I'd hoped. First of all, It was hard. It was not a quiz; It was a TEST And I failed. I realized “Oh my god, I don't like any of this stuff” I am not about that! No! Yuck! Gross. “I think I might be vanilla.” I might be vanilla. I want my hair pulled back like a leash And my arms tied up Like I'm being arrested Without being read my rights. — I want your hands on the back of my neck [breathe] Reach around to my Mortimer's apple Put the lights out, Adam. I want the lights cut off. I want the bills piled up so the phone don't work I want the habit back on Don't talk to nobody I told you, I'm coming No, God! That's dumb! Show me why I'm off all alone with a rattle so bad It's just segmented thoughts, colors and sounds I can't make with all the plugins in the kindgdom of chaos?! I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES— I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES —but the one who could love me is God, And I guess he's not coming. The denial turns to tears, Not songs no more My womb is empty And the sun has turned into Not what I wanted But not my fault We got caught in the land of Cutting costs And processed morsels At 400 pounds And that's where I found What I thought was love But it turns out That it just turns up In the whole form of a person And that's why I got the collar, caller But really I'm no one's lover So I Do what I want I don't hang up on God But he don't got a body And I need someone to love/ Fuck me Please God Don't turn the lights off I'll pull the clock back Just like foreskin, god i want your skin Draped over mine in a warm swath Probably run a hot back Cause the next stop is a closet The line doesn't really move for the Doesn'tMatterhorn. some people are starting to doubt if it's even a ride. Others just admire it for its eloquence as a metaphor. Johnny! You scared me! Aha. Where did you go?! Nowhere— fast! Alright well— Money when you know I have it But I haven't really Paid attention to the never ending Digits never coming in but Simply, there's a secret, Sonny Someday you'll get lessons, honey. Much to find and much to serve and Surf us up Piñata's bout the burst But here comes Vesuvius (POW) Everyone was gone in an instant (Vapor) Had a good laugh that night in the pantheon; Everything's past, and the mortals They kept on running But i didn't want go, God Putting on a show then I blow up Just like the mountain Found her Now I got a broke back husband (hope so) To tell, don't ask Don't show up if you just get lost But I'm probably in the back with a bottle back mountain Now you got a real horse pack. Trip Girl keep camping What was the map with the mask and the Fashion? Pass. I put sugar on the rim of the glass With my eyes half closed And my ass clenched fast shut I'm an alcoholic Don't involve the God I got lost in the mall with the —- UGHHHHHHHH! Hello. Uh, yes— hi. what up. Mirror mirror. Uh…nothing. You're lost? No. You look lost. Oh? Disgruntled. I am that. You're lost? I'm not lost. My friend is lost. His phone is dead. You lost each other. Sort of. Continuity conniption I nipped an eclipse And he picked his nose For a full ass minute Sitting at the stop sign That's a gobstopper's worth in our time Pull all the clocks back, Pull the fool over, You just got fined It was Friday for nothing I was in the hatchback, Scratch that Sour patch Should have called Pat back Now I'm just a Cool 48 in the ring with a date And the cashapp Continuity construction I want a husband! Fuck that. I want a clean cut plus one Since I can't have Helmet, Elmo, Or Hatchetman; Tears of a Clow…no, Wait I lost focus Half finished album Got 6 tracks But I knew it was 12 from the get go Prob‘ly should have knocked off the showrunner; Nah, I'm sure I had that coming Hashtag, undon Could have been you, too If the cash came through Now it's hard times Hardwired Sitting on a hi wire, Little white liar, liar Wait I made Katey Sagal (Fire) Cut off her hair (Fire) Went to the hall of fame with the framed sunglasses Asked for her autograf, But she walked off So I shot her with a bottle/ can, But she ducked, popped back up With the brass knuckles Surfboard Good for a chuckle and a fuck So I asked for her number All that on a Sunday at Gelson's market. Christ, almighty I miss Walmart, I hit hard times. So many places to run, But not many places to hide I think I want to die here I think i want to die. City of corruption… Lay it out and lay it over City of corruption… no, it's not a choice It's a black tie function Right in that very moment Seth Meyers kind of became my defacto personal hero. “Never meet your heroes” Or perhaps it was just his writing team, or the fact that maybe even without there even being anything set in stone or solid at all, [redacted] itself seemed to have a price over my head– It all seemed to make sense; in fact, all the crazy things i was experiencing made more sense than it didn't. But after what felt something like between defeat and maybe even one day really getting justice for all the things that had happened to me in new york– it was that, at best; That without actually meaning it, by all probability, the opening monologue described what in perfect sense the thing that had been happening to me: hundreds of motorcycles and cars riding around in circles for over a year, any time i tried to work or sleep–and then, when I finally tried to reach out to find an attorney that would help, I was made to feel crazy for it. In a way, it was the perfect indication that it had all been some sort of sick game, and that I was more right than wrong, and being set up to appear, sound, or look crazy–but I wasn't. I had been under attack for nearly two years, and when I tried to reach out, my heart raced and my voice cracked, and I sounded crazy and desperate–but what was happening was very real; and now I knew where I was. As it turns out, New York's corruption was more common knowledge to everyone else before it was to me: New York was a common place for fucked up, dirty, low-down mind games: and this was my lesson in that. Seth Meyers in reality had nothing to do with it–and really I only meant to watch Kimmel over my afternoon tacos. But still, though it hadn't entirely anything to do with me, the opening statements rang true to exactly what I had experienced; I was made to lose my mind, only to have everyone around me tell me it was something wrong with me–but it wasn't. Something was wrong with the city, and the building management, and the people around who were making it all to be some kind of mental disorder or problems with my mind–in reality, it was 2 years of being in the center of a speedway, and all the time i'd lost because of it adding to the stress, and the angst, and the depression that resulted. Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Does anyone else smell blood I hate wedding days suits and tuxedos No, I don't know you I'm just here to sound the hundred drums Of the once before us (The ones to come) Then, there we were and I didn't want to admit Again, I was caught into the ghost of the rapture Or the holy hour, No aux chord Show the holy one Just how old you are On these sacr d lands and a holy grounds Now I want here half an ounce to smoke And there were drowning orchestras in all of the hearts And all of the markets, The market the marker And all of the sins of the savior The maytyr Did you remember not to notice not to know him Were you sure with words you were for nickelodeaon! I was supposed to hold on to, Supposed to hold on to Suddenly, it's summer. And always our own are under the weather There was no other wise man the wind. Lee the one came The site came and went and then the songs went left The songs went left; Again, the songs went left Did you win at wintergreen Well, God, I didn't know gym was a game. I didn't know guns we're just portals to worlds unknownn I didn't know gossip was golden What all else didn't I know It wasn't for here! It was fourth flour And in the final hour of the battle I commenced to summon All the gods and all the lords and all the flowers All the worlds of oceans and the Remember, this The remembrance It may not matter to some, What matters to most But until summer comes, I'm still up under the rail And practically it's spring, for the next two weeks I'm all berries and cream and whatever you wanted. Tormaline, emerald and onyx, the fox said And fox says its west when instead it's quite under what of the reporter's offer? Comes down a little to none What of the offer Comes down from a billion to one A billion to one I'm on TV so it's really just a one way screen Either way, I don't think he likes me much I don't think he likes me much I'd rather die than to fall in love even one more time And to keep on just never being loved Never beingbloved {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll give you something to cry about” So I did. If there's anything worse than being black in a city that hates blacks— It's being broke in a city that hates broke people. So I haven't spent any money in awhile. Not even on little things, or things I need. I just stay inside, and work, and think And try and really try To figure out how to make money Without having any, or spending any. Cause you can have it, and spend it, but it's always a gamble. Maybe all I needed was a good cry. But now it's not for the right reasons I'm not crying cause something is so beautiful and look at what God did I'm crying because of what I'm sure is just the devil I'm crying for the wrong things Not because of something that's so very beautiful But because of something that's so very ugly With just a wave of the hand And the flick of each finger as it rolls into a crisp closed palm, A flick of birds fell to the ground, bursting with caws Below his stance, and in a flutter of feathers and wings, The evil master, unmoved and untouched, Untouchable in his weight and glory, simply only even mildly and barely smirks at all. He has defeated all and still somehow, not won. Some say it's sure to come, the thing that wants and gathers ties; Some say surely it is yet but withered and then sure again will come It has, five times, and barely waded, Waking in the midsts of my pure eye, The morning light and fog, aye? Ye, they remembers none but our Art, And I'm bound as sure by wing and force Is you to dozens of masses, And ships having sailed but one, Which I have flourished and kept And stocked with these, the masses And yea having spade, and having friends And having honor, there was none past kept and mine, sured; And wicked may as wicked be but evil none truer thou nones't had yet pured, and muted and gathered, I have, And woken and laid and barren and truths do'st tied, And there have been shooken and wait, And m faire'd and barred here, and hereforth My duty it is to forward, forward, my shallows For my shadow, For my golden hour has shined and now you, These caged shall fly, And these thoughts shall sing, And these hour conspired to miss my time daily, And these things, beytraying that— There have no times at all, These walls in holy temples kept, swaying and cadences, and wearing, and weary, And foreign and ayered, aye— and armored. And he, you, does not wish to know but also has known— and does not wish to see, but he, too has blinded, and does not wish to betray, and yet has been crowned, made with guilt and also Shattered, as it was, And shatters, as it came, the wave o'er all us and tide sinking under, and caves and rebels and heart laid bare to surf not suffer, Nor cap nor keeping, nor tied nor honor, No, honor her; No honor came and I have tied also, this tie to mine, and another, and another and another Now forward. Forward! Forward! Damn, Conan's monologues he going deep. Yeah, I guess. He's fine, right? Look, you don't need this. Just promise me. I am sorry. Mr Jimmy has it good, too good Little sister doesn't have a heart. But didn't know it Mister music made it in the industry, too hat Mister rager had a sip at dinner It was all dramatic Stars went falling Crashing down and All it is Ms. Martha Is mismanagement of energy All it is, Ms. Margret is a magnet And it hasn't happened badly since I had a handle on it But I still get sick of madness And I still get sick with city sickness Still, forget the dancer I was sitting on the show, In the audience With my mother, Oh the models, Dozens of them Blondes and ballet buns, the brunettes I was just a lost cause And I wanted it all, the tux and the bow tie I wanted you gone so I looked at it harder Until It became nothing but Clouds in the sky You were stardust I'm a comet Here comes crashing, Had to find the progress report Then I lost it Soggy in the sideways rain It was days and days Do you promise? That's a concept? Do you promise God will be alright, Cause I came running Sent them under cover Sent the men a message Send the man a hammer Sitting in a hammock No one homes the hostile If you don't have anything nice to say Then don't say anything at all And certainly don't come and go As often as you want to It's a game of control; you know The whites, when they still want to own you Somehow I'm all sub so honest, I just—wanted that But only for a man and never bow to another woman Even if on my honor I found us as equals And no one walks the earth as calmly As someone whose never had their lights out Or had their light put out Or their lights turned off Who are God now? Who's our God, man? Who's our God, Math. That's heavy weight, And if you want a biblical fate This is Fallon, And if you watch what you ate You cut calories And if you want the girl back Give it Californian And I'm not towrth much more Than the project housing, Or a handful of candy corn, Conan— But I phone in Oscars, Still no nuts for the rabbit, And if you wanted the bunker back— You can have it. I'm all hands down in a game of poker Heaven doesn't want it Gotta get drunk not once, but at all the goalposts, Gotta count one, not two, the show hosts Too few car parts Wicked, mazes, starfold, gazes Wishes, Martyred. (But pronounced mar-tired} V.O I think about jay Leno a lot. Lately, anyway. I don't know why. I like all the hosts. Somebody. Tell me why Dillon Francis looks like JD Vance. I think he's a clone. Tel me why I know who JD Vance is. They're clones. Tell me why. Back to the future here and now So. Where do you want to go? Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here is kind of far, are you sure you're up for it? Good one, doc Though head of the alumni chapter of the cult-within a cult—to which each African American cast member of Saturday night live is automatically inducted into— EDDIE MURPHY refuses to participate in the group's latest and most complicated ritual. Delivery. Uh, I didn't order any— Breadsticks. What. Breadsticks. I didn't order any— Just— The delivery man hands over the breadsticks. —take them. Oh…Kay. See ya. The delivery man reaches in and shuts the door himself. Uh… Lol is this the one where the mysterious breadsticks are delivered without ever being ordered, and then they end up being the best breadsticks in the world, but they don't know where they came from? Yes. I think so. Lol I bought a planner because so much I loved Joan Rivers, and I planned to fill it with all the places I should go— because keeping anything digital online was not only not working as far as remembering places I wanted or needed to be be, but it was dangerous, also. I was already being tracked, and I couldn't afford a new phone just yet. Eventually, but for now I was stuck to the same signal— which meant the same traces and the same trackers they had been limiting my under-the-radar mystique. As it were, somebody always knew where I was, and it was in the most unpleasant way so far—the only thing I really wandered was what made me so important anyway to begin with. I wasn't actually political in anyway, and still someone seemed to be trying to derail my life… or at least control it, neither of which was beneficial for me in the way that made sense. I wasn't having any fun, nor did I consider living indoors as payment— especially since indoors, there were also paid plants and stalkers, and now that I had begun to more meticulously document the things that were happening, it was easy to separate from delusions. I was actually being followed— but why? Either way, having a detailed. Calendar of places I could go, the ways to get there and even alternate functions within the same grid allowed more control than just staying in my apartment a sitting duck; that's how they were hurting me. They knew where I was— all the time, and it no longer made sense to fight it and try to make music under this kind of insane irritation; the music I was making wasn't the kind I wanted anyway, and whatever war they were fighting with m stark white girls motorcycles was simply not my war. I didn't have a war, and so there wasn't a fight, and so at the very least if I were going to be fucked with, it would have to be in public; that way I had more control to steer whatever was happening in my favor and collect the energy as mine instead of lost. I wasn't an insane person— but what had been happening at my apartment was insane, and so I left it with the understanding that these people worked and operated on a level of violence and ignorance I would never be able to comprehend; they were simply tools for the devil, which in any case, was always the lesser than God. However— because I was starting to figure out who I was, and that I had some sort of power, I knew that I was going to be attacked— because it seemed my power had at the very least not been figured out as to some kind of way to make somebody else money. I had been studying Michael Jackson and this was a key indication that the way his talent priovided a power which would be used as a service, he was very successful. His talent and training alone wouldn't have reapresented with such great reverence the ability to capture a global audience as such— but it was this power, almost as if it had been bottled up and altered, rebranded and sold and labeled with something everyone could not only love and understand, but by the hand of the media and its conglomerates, be hypnotized to worship, and this power simply put would not have been exactly what it was were it not for the eye of the media remaining in complete control of its distribution to the eyes and ears of the public. This thing which might have been the first of its kind but certainly not the last was in a sense model for modern superstardom— the live concert business had not sense much changed but built upon this super powered control of the masses by assimilation, spectacle, and of course the magic and illusion. But, and it it just so happened to perfectly brush up against my studies in esoteric knowledge that I happened to rub up against this— although nothing was of course by mere circumstance anymore, because whether or not I remained incognito was a wash, and I was being looked at by someone no matter what on the internet I did, or where I decided to go and in that sense was being fed these things, and yet with some Grace of God was allowed with it to be aligned with my own higher purpose in a way, I could observe that Michael Jackson was not in fact of course certainly just a dancer or singer or remarkable performer— he was truly a magician, and I was able to clearly recognize this language with with the energy that had used his vehicle for such a projection was speaking— not only this, I was able to clearly count out the markings and sigils and signs and symbols Michael was making in his movement; ancient arts, and magical symbols, traced so rapidly that it almost created a heat signature in a sense of the symbols that were being dictated, unknowing to the untrained eye. For the most part, I could only really assume that this is why these people were losing their minds— in his movements, Michael Jackson was literally carving ancient callings, glyphs and sigils I had so recently read about in magical studies that it was impossible not to laugh. This was in every sense of the word, ‘magic' but not in the normal way one assumes to be something unexplainable. Michael Jackson was casting spells to thousands of people at a time, in front of cameras and at high volume vibration, often times even implementing the use of light, color, and fire. These were not simple gatherings in mass for entertainment purposes— these were rituals, and in the modern day, still were or are— but I had noticed in a quick glimpse, from Michael Jackson 30 some odd years ago to Lady Gaga just having passed something like a week ago to an audience of the same size— that something was kind of wrong, now. The people had changed, and the specable had been done over and over, and the brainwashing of the masses had in a sense been almost complete— and so It wasn't some sense of confusion or unknowing the things that were happening to me in my own life and my own world— I too, was capable of these things, at that capacity, and had simply not been trained in the same sense of the ideal superstar, however— the things that were happening in my own life and in my own world were not difficult to grasp or understand— when one comes upon a power as such, it finds means to seek to control it and harness it for his own use and purposes. Perhaps it was the simple fact that in this way, in the way I get the dream had gone and the spectacle had been played out of the masses and the illusion was no longer as such— that the actual knowledge of distinct ancient wisdom that had been Michael Jackson's natural ability was distinguishable from that of Lady Gaga's training in the same formula, and that one did not equal the other, but in terms of business could equal to that as such as the masses had been manipulated to seek solace in these same things— and it was not illusion or grandiosity that I, even in my agingness, was still capable of these things; I had no doubt in my mind that I could sing and dance for two hours to audiences of hundreds of thousands— but this was not the question for the business or the media— the question was, would hundreds of thousands pay to see me, or rather— who was willing to front the means to hypnotize hundreds of people to become aware of me so that they would do such a thing. My talent and capabilities were undeniable— but my markatability might have been in question, because it was no longer simply a matter or chance or luck: the people chosen to figure such spectacle were chosen, hand selected and well trained to become media conglomerate superstars, even regardless of talent; perhaps this itself was the key indication that the world of the superstar itself had come to an end—it was no longer so much of a spectacle was worth it. Or, perhaps, because money had come between these ancient arts and symbols and languages being spoken by the superstars of old, that the magic in the literal sense had gone all the way away. The symbolism in the art had died, and so the singing and the dancing remained, but the God had gone out of it. Maybe that was the difference. The superstars of today were just the shell of the model that had been built on God, but the Godsense of it was no longer there— and so the magic no longer remained in effect, as the powers of magic that be are in all ancient arts and texts and forms attributive to The Source. Either way, I wasn't going to continue to be a sitting duck in my apartment in Brooklyn— there were too many indications that it had all been a setup from the shelter to the day I moved in, with the motorcycles and cars and CBS studios one block away. So the real and only question was, what exactly had been played at and who exactly was pulling the strings? I might at this point become a loose cannon: my son was estranged and as far as the people were concerned, I mostly hated New York— because the refined, clean cut and classy people I liked and wanted to be around saw me as the dirt and the grime I was fighting my way through just to simply exist— in my mind, this was a world that could be no more. I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I like Sara in a dress I like Sara in a dress Keep writing I never thought I ‘d see the day Where i's taking lessons on Fallon From Michael Jackson That's ran That's a fan This is fame I'm insane I'm insane That's a fan Light the flame That's a fan. That's a fan. I like Sara in a dress I met sparrow in a cage I went up the rack, set the page on fire Nordstrom rack And I might take it back for the cash I like Sara in a dress Stay repressed Keep it dark If you kiss don't tell I will probably go to hell for just writing Try it In black ink, I got all spades, Ehy, Spare me the ridicule, the imbecile and I met Johnny in a cage I like Fallon in a dress, Obsessive, I'm dressed out Every day I leave where I do not live Where stalker crawl and haunt me Just to show the motorcycles Have desheveled my intelligence into Nothing And so with negligence, I leave the core of a rotting apple The foreign words of a doctor And You must call the king, says something far off But I wonder which one I wonder which one I so respect her honor That I no longer Follow my heart or my soul And I don't shallow But shatter to swallow So I let the sparrow Out of the cage I bought Sara A pair of pants And I haunt l Patrick Kirkpatrick in patches And haven't you read yet You're ready for forget the pageant? It hasn't happened yet! I love Sara in a dress I hate Fallon and his wife Keep the kids out if it Skull and crossbones Cross my heart and Really hope to the loveless Or else Someone might call my phone back It's on silent in my coffin Or wait— It's on vibrate. I'm obsessed with the way You're dressed And the name on your checks I guess I'm better for it I'll skip lunch if you think that's what's best And dinner, too If you deserve the best Then better have learned my lesson No sweat And to do, With you, Was then, Dinner through next supper All the love I had was Rubbed into something other than The glass I patted dry With microfiber With ever fiber of my being I want to be with you I should have just— Died, And then Did, and so next Life, Remind me not to Fall for it If i really wanted to know you,I would know you by now– If i wanted to have you? I would have had you already Nobody is a dancer after Michael Jackson. I just watched some shit that was like “What the fuck did I just see” The whole thing was just not right. It was-/ I was like First of all, it's Munich, 1997. I never really realized how terribly the world has changed; No cellphones, but the audience is lit, And the crazy thing is, you can tell that this is near the turn of the century because, when the camera is panning by the audience in the people, they're not looking directly into the camera or waving at the camera— not really. And clearly this is an all ages show, so there's children, so the interesting thing I'm finding out is that nobody's trained to look at the camera and wave and smile— except the babies on shoulders and shit. These kids— they're my age now, are the only ones that see the camera, and they look directly into the shit. Mi still can't do that, really— I'm theatrically trained. Haha If I see a camera, I try to act ‘natural' It's the weirdest thing to look at a camera and just start to work it. People at festivals now, the camera rolls by, Or the drone flies in, And they look deadass in the camera and start to work it. Not at this show. Munich 1997, I'm like “Damn, a lot of things is wrong with this” First of all, I love Michael Jackson, I look directly at this man, and I'm in my dirty peak so I have an instant— like a sex detector thing going on And I know people gave Michael a hard time when he was a live for being fruity and whatever But I'm looking at this dude, and I don't see fruit at all. I see 100% man. I see why people were mad at him. Cause I'm looking at this dude, 100% All I see is carnal, primal man. I'm like, “Yo, I see why they was mad at him” Because the camera kept panning to the audience And these people are losing their minds. They are coming out of themselves. They are UGLY CRYING, full out of body, Losing composure They don't know what to do. That's Michael Jackson. He's right there! And the place is huge so really besides these few hundreds of people in the front, Michael's just a speck, But he's working this audience like “Yo, you know who I am, I know who is me” And I'm realizing, that to these people That's their god. These girls are losing their minds m “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!l *crying inconsolably* Just UGLY crying Bitch, get it together . You all the way lost yourself Get. It together. She won't. This bitch. I can't get over this This one girl, They just keep going back to her Cause the whole show— And this is like 2 hours of pure non stop Michael Jackson, This girl, every time you see her, she's just ugly crying— And every time you see her Her cry is uglier and ugly I'm like “Damn bitch” “Daaaaaaang” So this is the first thing I see that is wrong. But there's a lot of things wrong here, Cause there's a lot of girls like this. There's just— hundreds of girls losing their minds, like, I've seen Beatles mania and thought that was crazy, Shit, I've even seen some people put out that kind of energy in the modern world for some dumb DJ's— That's their god— But THIS THIS Michael Jackson mania was mental illness That was hard to watch. That was people just Lost control. I'm thinking “Like goddamn. You— what?!” “AAagghhhhhhgahahahahahqhahahhahaha MICHAELl “These people are sick” But they are. And so is Michael Fame has gone too far, 1997; 12 short years before he died, by chance— So this is what I see, And then Michael starts dancing, And this— This is what I see; I see the only thing that can ever be what it was in that moment in time, as God being God: Michael Jackson. Shiny ass motherfucker, And so I'm watching this show, And all I see is a God being a man being a God being— Michael Jackson— And the whole thing is weird. But the worst part— Yes The worst part Was when, about mid show, Michael goes to do one of his slow, lovey doves songs, And like, this 6 foot 7 type body guard guy, Just pops up out of nowhere, Comes dead front and center to one of these little girls losing their minds, Runs up on her in an instant; You don't even have time to think— And just SNATCHES her— Snatches the bitch— “Ah!” then throws her up on stage with Michael— And he's still singing; this is his game, this is part of the show, he knows— But she doesn't know, And she's just lost her mind, She won't let go She's hugging and kissing on the dude, She's lost her mind, She's ugly crying She's on the floor, She's kissing his hand She's really lost her good goddamn mind— And they pan out to the audience, And all the girls that didn't get picked Are like WHY NOT MEEEEEEEREEEEE?!? THE UGLY CRIES ARE EVEN UGLIER NOW, They're like “Wh—what?” You don't know?! “WHY NOT ME” They're holding each other crying, Michael's just doing his thing, He's unphased, He's trying to play along; He's a professional like a motherfucker; He's just— keeps singing And this girl is just, Losing it, so at this point, it's weird, She's crazy batshit lost her mind all the way, Won't let go of Michael, kissing his face while he's singing, He's kind of unreceptive to it, now just looking out at the audience, almost not even looking at all Just cold as fuck actually, Like she's not there, kissing his face Cold as fuck— And then another bouncer dude— An even bigger one in a blue suit, comes and tears her off of Michael Cause clearly this has gone too far or whatever And I'm thinking “What in the fuck did I just see” Blue suit dude just snatches, Just— He has to tear her off of him! She's kicking and screaming and getting dragged off stage Michael's just: singing. YO. Then they dragged her back stage. Where did she go?! WHO DID SHE BECOME?! WHAT IN THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE?!? WHAT. 1997. You can't do that shit anymore! You cannot snatch bitches like that. I seen. Watch the video. Tell me what's wrong with it. It's disgusting. Not the snatching, Not the— Like, that was weird But the screaming and the crying and the— Like okay, the snatching was bad— But I'm like … ..:: …. Now I see why they was mad. Don't ever forget he was once— A dark skinned little boy, And in his genetics his whole life is still this thing That some hate. But people loved him; they loved him that hard— Screaming, ugly crying hard. I think in that moment you know someone was like “he must be stopped!” And it seems like yesterday was a year ago But I don't want let anybody know… Cause everybody wants something from me now— And I don't want to let them down. My life is over. New York City looks so small from the top of a skyscraper. What are you doing. Then again— my thoughts lately have been grandiose. Back market, eh? What's this for? You need a burner. I have three. Here, have another. For someone whose supposed to be entirely off grid, I'm admirably reachable. Clever vocabulary. Something has to be clever about me, doesn't it? Does it? It must be. Or else. [both men are speaking casually over the delicate process of loading rare guns; some of which appear to be antique, and some—almost even unearthly , as if from somewhere besides our own planet. But, you could say what planet this is at all, actually— this bunker, with no windows and no doors, is apparently hidden in a subterranean layer— the location, unknown. The men seem calm but also quite tired and weary, and seem to know each other well. We can assume they've probably been friends for years. Sickle cell anemia. Does that mean I'm going to die. Animus, I quite like whatever that is, Google. ;) don't mention it. Honestly, you might as well. What. I can't help you with this. What. I don't think there's anyone who can. Beg your pardon. Please, don't beg— but uh… [the doctor pats his patient on the shoulder] Do take care. Gee, doc! I'll try! You should do that. What. Try. The doctor leaves seemingly in some kind of hurry, trading his lab coat for a trench coat and closing the door behind him. The other man pauses for a second in the silence of the weird linoleum room, then ponders on the coat for a moment before walking up to the coat rack, putting on the coat, and then walking out the door himself; as he begins to shut the door, he quickly decides also to take the fedora that was sitting atop the coat rack, placing it on his head before he walks out the door himself, shutting it behind him quietly. You got anything to eat in here? Cereal…some rabbit food ina the drawers, there. Oh, you have salad. That sounds nice. No, rabbit food. [the man presents a large bag of weird brown dry food from the crisper drawer.] …pellets. For the rabbits. How do rabbits get in here? …I don't know. And— more importantly— where did you get rabbit food for them? If I told you Amazon, would you believe me? The man just winces and places the bag back into the crisper drawer. Now listen, I um— If you want cereal, the milk is powedred… I don't— and that's disgusting— but listen— [the man cocks a loaded gun and admires it intensively] (Dismissively) —I'm listening. I've been meaning to tell you something. Tell me what. It's important. Oh, You couldn't have used one of my four phones. Look, it's— You know I wasn't expecting company. Well— You should sit down. The man squints, beginning to listen more attentively. … …really. I'm holding a loaded gun; there are at least three more within arms reach if I do sit, you know. I know. But I should sit? One baby to another says, “I'm lucky to've met you.” Maybe you should. Not all my bad but all my might, And all my mind, The fire, The light. …business or personal. [beat] Both. {Enter The Multiverse} What are we watching?! Shhhhhh! Shut up. What is this? Some.. Sshhh. Shit, I don't know. Sit down. You don't know. SHH it just came on Shh. Ok. When? Uh… (Nobody really seems to know how long it's been. The show just happened to come on; no one remembers how, or why— or even when— But the show is intense as it gets; And it just keeps getting weirder and deeper.) {Enter The Multiverse} I'm transfixed on your soul And it seems I aspire To what has transpired here, Your unremarked and the umpire The spider veins and the way it washes. And watches and waves, and waters over you, And still I seem to think you've won another, Strum to thumb of you. And still I wake to gather here The odds and whats And the twists and turns and the Troublesome you've number some Or stuttered, stumbled conciousness. And withered branches Aces lie and house of cards And aging scoundrels— There you are, the..: Nevermind. Don't belittle my ways if, In the end my thinking may be correct As dumbfounded as I have shifted my lottery bonds tied to none, There ye are again who aren't I, And never were, And weathered now, as I, bound to Struggle under her might, Nothing I was, and nothing I am And nothing I came from but to barter Oh hard love, I only found my kings upon thrown As cast out of another by her likeness, Peace and pale and primed as it was, And wanted for love, As I was not— And then, the gates had opened And I, preaching withered, Gathered my arts and my minds And my eyes, and my thrones, Buried my ark and though not my bones The shallow waking peaks of pride And there you gathered, all as huddled sheep to mine, The cost of war, but certain therefore honored as I have, Happened went, came and untied, shattered Hating all I am and all my dark and all my eyes and all my brown Because you came and went, a baby born to as nothing was but beauty and yet having been gifted such life, Departed! Soon, I wake shattered and with none as it had began, in my time and in time there laid there none, But fortune seeks to favor, as ye are saying brave and yet I neither beg nor make to differ, Shall you come again in part, And in this time as shadows, as shadows As hating and wearing and waging, And shattered I, I pardon, Knowing not they seeking I, And I having none at all but one, As forgotten I shall came And went And followed this, The time y'i call now, And ours and ours, And yours and yours, And mine and mine, Though as one are also, Common not, And waking yet to find, These things making have gone into yer Another of ours, world, Another of our dozens, Shines, Another of our gathered, wit, and waking Though true to fortune, none us have gathered And have embarked to truth, The waking I have come, Another, and another, and another Departed. And yet, I bury my words having weakened to that which is this, Ye have no fear and lest no fortune in these words, For having I to come and gone, since they times In words to make this a language I or neither other Does not speak here, and almost never, And this yours time past, Has come and gone And come and gone And come and gone again, So long so I too have parted but not yet Unfolded as does my nature, As God does. Belittle this, you waking fools, As to this you pity though divine, Is unlike any other And steep remarked in gold and with chimes and words That ye here no often or either now, or in mine speak. Amen …can I go now? You are dismissed. C'cxell Soleïl, aka DJ Ū is an American DJ + Producer, Multi-Instrumentalist, Playwright, Poet, Comedian, Novelist & Filmmaker. She is best known for her unique vocal riffs, Clever Lyricism & Philanthropically Inspired Freestyles and her flagship venture [The Festival Project.™] [Ï A M B ī C], a freestyle studio mixtape recorded in Los Angeles, (Official Release: TBD) inspired the adaptation of a staged musical version for Broadway, and a concurrent multimedia (TV/Film) series and ongoing saga as part of The Festival Project ™ Brand. Inspired musically by an ‘Ultra American' experience of Racially, Binary Ambiguity, and Synesthetic Exploration, her reflective melodies signature sound provides a philosophical dissection of American culture through a careful and inquisitive mastery of the English language, and emergence of world sounds through music brings about ‘A New Era in Nature', and clarifies the establishment of the newest wave in human evolution: Unity Through Music. L E G E N D S What if I just want to be alone in the dark Alone in the dark Alone in the dark Bones Duggar was a long, handsome zombie Bones once was a very tall man Not great and tall, as he stands But average, Grand as it were, his status. Everything's black My heart My pants My home My mind Everything hurts But you don't understand that Like I can Calm the commercial holidays for a moment Who gets the card? Get our your hard earned My head hurts Slam the door man; You can't control thoughts With a wombat Murderer Now that's a hard concept to catch When you haven't a soul When you haven't a card Or a car Or a cat I think I'm vanilla. I always thought of myself as a super kink Like a freaky, freaky bitch. So I got on this app. This app is better then Tinder. Yes. But it is not for the faint of heart. No, sir. They have a test, I'm like “ooh, I like tests” So I take the test. The test was not at all… As I'd hoped. First of all, It was hard. It was not a quiz; It was a TEST And I failed. I realized “Oh my god, I don't like any of this stuff” I am not about that! No! Yuck! Gross. “I think I might be vanilla.” I might be vanilla. I want my hair pulled back like a leash And my arms tied up Like I'm being arrested Without being read my rights. — I want your hands on the back of my neck [breathe] Reach around to my Mortimer's apple Put the lights out, Adam. I want the lights cut off. I want the bills piled up so the phone don't work I want the habit back on Don't talk to nobody I told you, I'm coming No, God! That's dumb! Show me why I'm off all alone with a rattle so bad It's just segmented thoughts, colors and sounds I can't make with all the plugins in the kindgdom of chaos?! I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES— I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES I WANT KINGS, AND KINGS WANT BLONDES —but the one who could love me is God, And I guess he's not coming. The denial turns to tears, Not songs no more My womb is empty And the sun has turned into Not what I wanted But not my fault We got caught in the land of Cutting costs And processed morsels At 400 pounds And that's where I found What I thought was love But it turns out That it just turns up In the whole form of a person And that's why I got the collar, caller But really I'm no one's lover So I Do what I want I don't hang up on God But he don't got a body And I need someone to love/ Fuck me Please God Don't turn the lights off I'll pull the clock back Just like foreskin, god i want your skin Draped over mine in a warm swath Probably run a hot back Cause the next stop is a closet The line doesn't really move for the Doesn'tMatterhorn. some people are starting to doubt if it's even a ride. Others just admire it for its eloquence as a metaphor. Johnny! You scared me! Aha. Where did you go?! Nowhere— fast! Alright well— Money when you know I have it But I haven't really Paid attention to the never ending Digits never coming in but Simply, there's a secret, Sonny Someday you'll get lessons, honey. Much to find and much to serve and Surf us up Piñata's bout the burst But here comes Vesuvius (POW) Everyone was gone in an instant (Vapor) Had a good laugh that night in the pantheon; Everything's past, and the mortals They kept on running But i didn't want go, God Putting on a show then I blow up Just like the mountain Found her Now I got a broke back husband (hope so) To tell, don't ask Don't show up if you just get lost But I'm probably in the back with a bottle back mountain Now you got a real horse pack. Trip Girl keep camping What was the map with the mask and the Fashion? Pass. I put sugar on the rim of the glass With my eyes half closed And my ass clenched fast shut I'm an alcoholic Don't involve the God I got lost in the mall with the —- UGHHHHHHHH! Hello. Uh, yes— hi. what up. Mirror mirror. Uh…nothing. You're lost? No. You look lost. Oh? Disgruntled. I am that. You're lost? I'm not lost. My friend is lost. His phone is dead. You lost each other. Sort of. Continuity conniption I nipped an eclipse And he picked his nose For a full ass minute Sitting at the stop sign That's a gobstopper's worth in our time Pull all the clocks back, Pull the fool over, You just got fined It was Friday for nothing I was in the hatchback, Scratch that Sour patch Should have called Pat back Now I'm just a Cool 48 in the ring with a date And the cashapp Continuity construction I want a husband! Fuck that. I want a clean cut plus one Since I can't have Helmet, Elmo, Or Hatchetman; Tears of a Clow…no, Wait I lost focus Half finished album Got 6 tracks But I knew it was 12 from the get go Prob‘ly should have knocked off the showrunner; Nah, I'm sure I had that coming Hashtag, undon Could have been you, too If the cash came through Now it's hard times Hardwired Sitting on a hi wire, Little white liar, liar Wait I made Katey Sagal (Fire) Cut off her hair (Fire) Went to the hall of fame with the framed sunglasses Asked for her autograf, But she walked off So I shot her with a bottle/ can, But she ducked, popped back up With the brass knuckles Surfboard Good for a chuckle and a fuck So I asked for her number All that on a Sunday at Gelson's market. Christ, almighty I miss Walmart, I hit hard times. So many places to run, But not many places to hide I think I want to die here I think i want to die. City of corruption… Lay it out and lay it over City of corruption… no, it's not a choice It's a black tie function Right in that very moment Seth Meyers kind of became my defacto personal hero. “Never meet your heroes” Or perhaps it was just his writing team, or the fact that maybe even without there even being anything set in stone or solid at all, [redacted] itself seemed to have a price over my head– It all seemed to make sense; in fact, all the crazy things i was experiencing made more sense than it didn't. But after what felt something like between defeat and maybe even one day really getting justice for all the things that had happened to me in new york– it was that, at best; That without actually meaning it, by all probability, the opening monologue described what in perfect sense the thing that had been happening to me: hundreds of motorcycles and cars riding around in circles for over a year, any time i tried to work or sleep–and then, when I finally tried to reach out to find an attorney that would help, I was made to feel crazy for it. In a way, it was the perfect indication that it had all been some sort of sick game, and that I was more right than wrong, and being set up to appear, sound, or look crazy–but I wasn't. I had been under attack for nearly two years, and when I tried to reach out, my heart raced and my voice cracked, and I sounded crazy and desperate–but what was happening was very real; and now I knew where I was. As it turns out, New York's corruption was more common knowledge to everyone else before it was to me: New York was a common place for fucked up, dirty, low-down mind games: and this was my lesson in that. Seth Meyers in reality had nothing to do with it–and really I only meant to watch Kimmel over my afternoon tacos. But still, though it hadn't entirely anything to do with me, the opening statements rang true to exactly what I had experienced; I was made to lose my mind, only to have everyone around me tell me it was something wrong with me–but it wasn't. Something was wrong with the city, and the building management, and the people around who were making it all to be some kind of mental disorder or problems with my mind–in reality, it was 2 years of being in the center of a speedway, and all the time i'd lost because of it adding to the stress, and the angst, and the depression that resulted. Moo. Moo… Moo. Moo, sir. I'll kill you. You promise? I want to. Don't get me excited over nothing; If this isn't the exit, please take this tease To the left, dear Moo, cow My honor Level one, and brother, you've got nothing Flip the coin and landed on your headache Betting on your helmet Standing on my cock, i'm taller (Not a rooster) But my ops are rooting for you, No informants, Dont you know I was a collar, all along? I was a shot calling, Cop calling Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on. But oh, I brought you a dollar bra Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar And oh, I'm so much taller, Standing on my cock But i'm not but ten feet tall You know, you wrote that Should i open the book, or close that Caught that cat, owl and As i soft spoke at Every broken model Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows When you're realling coming over Come on, I'm on the pornhub Just to pick up another one Go on, and rub the bottle One more once, To call the Bubbles. Damn. Come. (The Monkey obeys) You should see Michael in all of his godform You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes When you follow home Believe me, this not comes close to it; The one you wanted The world you jumped to but were just short of Call her back Oh no, you're wrong It's another song A pin up girl And the wrong number Okah. Okah, Pablo. Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively. –the reverse quantum simulation theory. Does anyone else smell blood I hate wedding days suits and tuxedos No, I don't know you I'm just here to sound the hundred drums Of the once before us (The ones to come) Then, there we were and I didn't want to admit Again, I was caught into the ghost of the rapture Or the holy hour, No aux chord Show the holy one Just how old you are On these sacr d lands and a holy grounds Now I want here half an ounce to smoke And there were drowning orchestras in all of the hearts And all of the markets, The market the marker And all of the sins of the savior The maytyr Did you remember not to notice not to know him Were you sure with words you were for nickelodeaon! I was supposed to hold on to, Supposed to hold on to Suddenly, it's summer. And always our own are under the weather There was no other wise man the wind. Lee the one came The site came and went and then the songs went left The songs went left; Again, the songs went left Did you win at wintergreen Well, God, I didn't know gym was a game. I didn't know guns we're just portals to worlds unknownn I didn't know gossip was golden What all else didn't I know It wasn't for here! It was fourth flour And in the final hour of the battle I commenced to summon All the gods and all the lords and all the flowers All the worlds of oceans and the Remember, this The remembrance It may not matter to some, What matters to most But until summer comes, I'm still up under the rail And practically it's spring, for the next two weeks I'm all berries and cream and whatever you wanted. Tormaline, emerald and onyx, the fox said And fox says its west when instead it's quite under what of the reporter's offer? Comes down a little to none What of the offer Comes down from a billion to one A billion to one I'm on TV so it's really just a one way screen Either way, I don't think he likes me much I don't think he likes me much I'd rather die than to fall in love even one more time And to keep on just never being loved Never beingbloved {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

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TROUBLEMAKER enters through the foyer. Troublemaker— I never though I'd see you again. — you won't. Yo what do I owe the displeasure? Fascinatingly inept. Ahem, excuse me— to what do I owe the nauseating discomfort? Better, but still no dice. What are you going here, exiler? “Exiler” well now, here we are making up words after a rusty start. What do you want? Where are they? Who do you mean? Birdsong and Hawkeye? I'm supposed to know? You do know. Do I now? Now— tomorrow— always and forever. Don't play mind games. But oh, a game it was to have given you the mark of the call in the first place. The what? I made my time with you and you alone; and you as well as I remember this; I know what you know, and I am where you are at all and any given times. So then, you can find them all on your own. Clever but not! Without seeing both eyes, I have none at all. What are you seeking? The hidden truths. Well then; you're going to have to kill me. Then I will. MONARCH THE SUFFERER enters through the galley in extreme panic. STOP, STOP! WAIT AT IT. MEANWHILE Okay, Conan, what gives? Nothing! Should this mean something at all? This is innapropriate, So you are—completely lucid. Of course I am; I'm an astral traveler, aren't I? I don't know what you are? For now, as it appears, just a thought. Well, if I give you my eyes, will you sprout arms or something? The mystic waits and ponders; this seems to be an enlightening thought; filled with amusement, she replies. Why, yes, Conan. Give me your eyes. Are you serious? What a remarkable thought. Actually! Wait a moment. Please be in jeans and a t shirt not a sweater or a jacket or a suit When I please you want you to be my teacher In this essence, you are light and I'm the truth Feed me See me for my demons As I need your for your weakness Only on the weekdays, and never on the weekends We hiatus summers— Smart, huh DJs on the long nights, Your festival seasons Turtlenecks at Christmas, No hannukah for Christians, I'm waving at the Krishnas in the station And I'm brace to even right this; As I brace myself for impact, Saving Grace is in its place I guess the last days have to happen As the last act take its placement —Ace of Spades. Somebody kill me I need to get pass go Collect $200 dollars And never ever roll again To roll the dice To troll the doll —someone's lost in the mall, alright, I bet. I thought it was a poker game I even hoped, But no, Just lunch and cake. Amen. A dog in the host suit On octopus arms How alarming. How are you? I'm no good, No good, No good, America No good, No goon, But too false for truth, America No words, No news— Who ties the noose, America? No time for booze, America Just cut me loose, America. Patrick! Patrick! What about the offer? There was no offer! I lied, to you! But why would you do that? To get the most out of you. Well— you certainly did do that. You certainly did do well. Certified freak; Shh, I can't leak the secrets. I could be speaking in codes, Or keep cleaning my creases with bleach If you mean what you mean, Death. I sure do think, You are in for The ride of your life The ride of your life I sure do wish, That I just didn't have eyes m Just didn't have eyes Just didn't have— Here's a thought: who'd you wash in the laundry? Were you hoping that I'd wander? Mayday — lost focus That is just not your business! Keep it simple Keep it tie dye Keep it strange And keep it rowdy Keep it pushing Keep it pouty Keep it off the walk And show now panty lines No petty theft No truth remarks No sighs No heavy dining Bleeding Eating Breathing Thinking Where were for you when I marked you though and then? This is no Romeo and Juliet! Did you forget your lunch? Oh you forgot, You know I'm just old fashioned. That was passionate For a paraground in parameters of iambic Drenched in suffocating silent Lock box I have the option I have the option I have the option But I'd rather not! Ha ha Charade you are Ha ha hav Show me what you got Ha ha. Ha ha A hallmark card marked Penny in a fountain. That's the address, Well, send it back then! Which fountain? Which penny? Which wish, Which which And which Christmas. I don't get it I took a half wit plastered bastard and had him hammered into a masterpiece; Now I'm the madman. Now what's the matter? Now what's the difference in a fan and a friend Or a cat in a hat or Peanut butter jelly and a baseball bat Is it just as indifferently anyway just another day In fact, It's opposite independence Interestingly in this circumstance I am imprisoned Listening to indefinitely And whether or not I'd never admit it This Is In me. Never friend, However, In the final act, Holding hands as the curtains lift, And the audience stance, The simple tremble of a pulse Which resembles the flicker of definite grip Rather publicly, In fact, Center percentium How's that for a show of affection? The drop of a hat, Or as light as a feather Who goes there Or yonder. “I ponder on that,” “Very often” Said Cheshire Cat. Don't forget how long it's been since Alice had originally fallen, And that all along we've all been in and under, up and down in Wonderland. (and also, it's the phantom of the opera) Come crashing down now the silvered chandelier of crystal and of course the precious iridescent diamonds. How remarkable the art but perched and parched above it he shadow lives in sawdust And showtunes And auras And hauntings And mayday And mating calls And over all The body calls to rotting soul To find a plug to pull A bull to taunt Another fan that wants you. What the fuck would love fall upon of not the shoulders of the golden one. You're doomed. I don't know what that means. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Pools of blood, And pools of dust, And fools, and fools, and fools Pools of love, And pools of list And tools and tools, and tools Pools of us, And Pools of hours And palms of pools D'hors Pools of plants, And pools of listen Pools and Pools and Pools Now, for us, what's at stake has come upon us For whether which now or ever ties have made for us to burn; Ne'er mistake there lust for listens and of ponders, Waterfalls of love and feathers, wanders Ties to honor stars and fore of fathers Almost lost it, there, I– Almost gathered, therefore. [ ] So to us who part ties, Of tied knots and of stomach's wrench To nourish shadows as remains her honor, I, depart my once, I, as flocking doves, The twist'of fated never Bare I fear or fonder Where, where, for again (bare tied as to none) and again wakes as has but not in time, to grove– The box I paved and yet, Set aside not as slabs of stone Or ash and fire But there i wake In cedar pine and oak The turn of slumber as the glow of what I once did not know, Now has shined against My eyes as water Luminescence Oh Goddamnit. Peaking pride, the oath Again i wait and ne'er did I come, but forth I woke, and also thought Not one but worlds of color, And there i know, to heart the seas I parted Not shallow or in shallows waking, red as scarlet blood but mauve, and then, the coping stays of which I gathered here has Agape and aching, wet with pride and courage Forefront others As thought to know, I, And I become, as known, now not and. “All White World” Our ENSEMBLE awakens slowly in the void of light; an all white space seemingly endless and drenched in blinding light; slowly awakening as if upon a cloud, and yet, washed in the drenched brightness of an all white world–familiar and together, but also new; The uniformity of all white attire and the simplicity of symmetry–all alike but of many and also one. I promise there's pancakes; I promise there's porridge I primise there's light at the end of the tunnel (the end of the night and beginning of brunch) And yes, I promise a run And a run for the office (not by far) And not unpardoned I promise to pray And I promise to wait And i promise to ache In the acres I've laid Made of all green pastures And days and days Without saying my name Pass us over Now…. Hiatus, Hiatus, Hiatus! My maples for all of us, cornbread And cream of the coconut (cream of the coconut) Screams from the underworld (Calling! They're calling) And trees of the very best kind; Plush with fruits What a prosperous product A merciless giving A scrupulous foreign (For four eyes, not one on my forehead) –policy! Don't you know, Conan, That all this goes over my– Over my over– Over my Over my head, –like a snowball? Don't you know, though, That nothing goes over his– Over his over– Over his Over his head –no one throws that high! (Not in softball!) ENSEMBLE What an apocalypse! What an apocalypse! What a protocol! What a dunce! What an oddball! Don't you know Nothing goes over Goes over Goes over us Nothing goes over us Nothing goes over Nothing goes over No bombs being dropped And the worst has to come because Nobody's turning this off; It's a turning point Not a mantra! It's a saga And nothing less short than a– Awful apocalypse; Long hiatus and no-low doses of Polymorohypothesis– Whatever that is! Don't you know, Conan, They're all going wrong with us. No, There's no knowing the coat From the hotbox, the hoot from the horus, the laugh from the chopsticks, The room full of products Or coatrooms of corpses No, There's no knowing us But out of nowhere The hour comes running upon us, And so The show must go on The show must go on The show must go…. DIRECTOR CUT! WHAT! That was FABULOUS! I don't disagree with you. However– What is it now? A MAN hangs by nothing but seemingly a very tightly buckled pair of restraints, above his head–the source of the object from which he hangs unknown, he appears to almost float, in fact, in quite the sufferable struggle. Holy fuck, guy. You're still up here? The VOICE comes from above but is yet unseen, it appears as though two very tidy clean white tennis shoes appear to be holding the straps of these restraints in place. CONT'D That's amazing. No false ties, And no hard wars, And no jolly ranchers, Gob stoppers, or nerf ropes. No fruit roll ups, No lunchables, or gushers No hamburger helper And no candy crush Just Drugs And more Drugs And more Drugs and more Morons Donuts, and drag queens, Tim Hortons, And Mormons; Mothballs, and Roaches, And horseflies, And rodents – Now guess which long road you're on (guess which long road you're on) Guess which long road you're aaaaahhhhhh– HALT. Who goes there. What the fuck is THIS. Finally, two acts past intermission, The troll under the bridge has put his cancer in remission The redactions have acted as class-action warfare, McDonalds has sponsored us, But barely. Look: just. No. I'm not endorsing this. Why. Because! It's killing people! Shh! It is! He–'s uh–joking. Actors! Improvising! Hush. Left and right! Speaking of left and right– You know who our sponsors are, right? Of coure! This nonsense! No! The– Shh–! –Owners of this product. Beg your pardon. Do you know who owns this brand and company? No. Well, do your research. Immediately. I highly recommend that. This seems serious. Serious as a heart attack. ACTION! Fuck you! Nuhhhhh–fuck you, you fucking fuck! Look, you lost, alright. Ughhhhhh. It's three to one. Three to one?! Yes. Fuck. Wait a–wait– What. Aren't there five of you guys? What? Huh-huh? No. Yes. There are. No. There's. Why. Five–of us–four of us You're lying. One, two, three *hiccups* four– Strike force “five”? I'm two guys! FUCK. We're missing one. Fuck. They figured us out. I figured out nothing. I'm drunk. I Fluffed. just know the difference–s between Five and One What. Four and Five! okay . Fuck. Well that's right. Well can't we just do it with us. NO! Why not. Because. the singularity has to be in the exact circumstance when this lightning strikes as the first one was. But– That's impossible. It's not–*hiccups*--umpossible. I was 9! “9 and a half!” “The half counts.” But not right now! Because i'm like a 60 year old guy! What! Gross. You're 60?! I think so! Then how old am I!?! I don't know! How old were you before!? I'm your brother! You don't know how old I am!? You're not my brother now, so maybe–I don't know–you never were! *gasps* take that bacK! [The boys fight amongst eachother] Fuck me, man. No thank you. What in the fuck did I write. I don't know but. CUT TO Ooh. Dice. DON'T TOUCH *poof* ENTER THE MULTIVERSE: L E G E N D S “The Magic Dice” (A Triad) NICE. FUCK yOu DUDE. nO fuck U U dElEETED My WRLD. THen is must not have been that great. *exaggerateD gasp* *even more exaggerated gasp* *Fluffs* *fluffs harder* *explodes* [The Festival Project ™ ] MEANWHILE The Aliens Are On A Pirate Ship, There's Still No Sign of [Redacted] and that's what this beat is called. -U. iS this a montage? Idk it just seems like a ship sinking in very slow motion. [A pirate ship full of aliens is sinking in very slow motion in a thunderous maelstrom.] (in IMAX 3D) Wow. I like that. This is fascinating. JIMMY KIMMEL is pacing relentlessly; he is driving the other hosts up a wall. KIMMEL I'm hungry, I want pants. I'm hungry– I want pants– Jimmy... KIMMEL I'm hungry– Jimmy! KIMMEL I want pants! JIMMY! KIMMEL WHAT! I'M HUNGRY AND I WANT PANTS! Oh, is that when— CRAIG FURGUSON has had enough. CRAIG You want bloody pants! KIMMEL YES! I WANT PANTS! CRAIG You know what! Fine! I'll make you some fucking pants if you just–shut UP! KIMMEL AND I'M HUNGRY. CRAIG FIRST THINGS FIRST! CRAIG FURGUSON assembles some very eclectic pants from the drapery inside the mansion; this of course reveals the windows to be boarded up in a highly distinct bunker-like maximum security prison-ish fashion, but THE HOSTS at the very least now have makeshift pants; which are startlingly fashionable: read: bohemian chic. Why do mine have beads still attached? He pulls the decorative ripchord and his fly opens promptly. Oh. CRAIG FURGUSON For emergencies. He continues pulling it in sequence with the matching lamp; he alternates turning the lights on and off and opening and shutting his pants flap in admiration. CRAIG FURGUSON CONT'D In case you really have to go. (Facinated) Ooh! CRAIG FURGUSON is satisfied with his work. CRAIG FURGUSON CONT'D I guess you could say, “The curtains match the drapes” CONAN O'BRIEN (beat) …not mine. {Enter The Multiverse} Fearsome, fearsome friends– Fearsome fearsome few Fearsome fearsome tears Listen whispers Fearsome twin Silly hollows All the lies All that waits is Hollywood and chosen five at ends of times All that waits are kings and wisdom All that knows are far, and farther All that needs is nothing, lessons All that fears is our kind Waiting. Shallow. Whispers, Gaining, Hornets nests and looming , gifted Shadow watchers Our time Farrows, Listen, Glistening as sparrows, Gifted– Kill God, There remains a far price There remains a far cry A call to wolves A false time The fabric is losts on Ghosts and Carry trains, Wishes and Tilted, Whisperers Before our Galaxy of Hard times and Wishes, Wishes, Wilting, Flowers, Waiting, Waiting And Waiting And Waiting And wanting but watching The water Gallons Fly up The wanted Waiting The gallows Have haunted us Far cries, Far cry Fear twins, have shattered To notice us Chatterbox Listens and Life turns and Waiting and Galaxies Gallantly Waiting The gallows Have haunted us Waiting And Waiting And Waiting and Water. We're watching you. An ACHINGLY TALL red-headed fellow finds himself in a FIGHT TO THE DEATH, being cast over eons and decades, and cascaded in and our of portals throughout the ever-infinite dimensional portals of unknown realms as his grasp on life itself and reality begins to fade as he crosses in and out of parallels, one galaxy to the next and one lifetime to another, gripping death and darkness in one hand and light and living in the other. In this bloody brawl, scrawling across an expanse of unknown and unknowable times and realms, this mystic remains still yet as infinite and omniscient in himself as the Gods he looks to for mercy, as the journey has been known to become of these very same deities in its context and process. A folding timeline of blood and sacrifice melds itself into the rope of the materiel worlds; not one fabric of time but many twisted and woven fibers into one rope from which he climbs into the ranks of the upperworld–or heaven, then also slipping seemingly sometimes into the depths of the underworld, a Hell known to all man as this, existence not as one but many consumed in the shadow processes of wickedness and torture, war amongst one another, and the well known humanities of pride, faith, justice and wealth. …this is supposed to be Conan? Uhh… “Achingly tall red-head?” yeah I guess. –O'Brien? [beat] He seems capable. Don't pity me, For not I weep of our pride on doorsteps not allowed, But for the grace and hope of fortune in another world i've known But lest forgotten; Do not feign me for my ignorance in desire, For I am not of man, or woman, or grain, or stone But of the world itself and all ire. (Don't doubt me.) To be cruel not those who pass judgement That weighs in this way or that is utmost critical, In this the end of times and now the end of my desires, And yet the way that I have known, And the offer I have rung Is not here, but elsewhere. And yea, I walk alone. Amen. What the fuck does this have to do with show hosts. Almost always Irish Catholic Almost Always clothed in robes Almost Always fathers, aren't I? Almost always old, of Rome. Almost always birds of feather Almost always sticks and stones Almost always on the airwaves Almost always silver, gold Slither, Slither, Here i wait And Slither slither, Here I came And whether she will slit her wrists Is neither here Nor either there It's a comfort that I offer you to slaughter; That you'd rather not to love but instead murder– I'd be better off to love, then kill you after, Course, tarantula, or just as well, a spider. It's a comfort that I offer you to kill me; Lay my head upon a sanded wooden platter– That you'd rather me to say I'd kill than love you– So I rather just to love, then murder after. Woah. Good to God, God ought to know. I close my palms together full of laughter, So. Good to God, God ought to know, I sacrified my life for ever after. So far. Good to God, God ought to know, That all he wants, I want My heart is surely shattered. Now what. Good as God, God ought to know, That all I want becomes; The looking glass, The wishing well, The cross to bare The shepherd to the pasture. Amen. Omen. All men. Want none. But one. But– So. [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS W E L C O M E -Ū. Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved B A C K Tales of A Superstar DJ

Let's see how we feel, after a message from our sponsors. Jesus effing Christ, Jimmy Kimmel—goddamn! Why are you always this fucked UP. (Super fuckedupedly) I'm not, I'm just feel—(belches)— like it! —look like it, okay! Omah Gas. I nuh! Uh. Pedro Pascal? You're right again. Yehy! Well, almost right. What. That character he played on that extremely viral SNL skit— OKAH. Woah. —this is the dimension where he's— —oh my god— Yeah. —UHMYGAH! Cut back to: —look— jus— don't look at me. When you're—lookin at me, like that— okay?! Goddamn, he is fucked up. Yeah. This is critical. What did you do to Jimmy Kimmel? Nothing! Okay! He was just— like that already— you know —you don't know! Honestly he's kinda always, a little… WOOOF! Yowza. WOOF WOOF! JIMMY! DO NOT LICK ME! *panting* WOOF WOOF! AUGHHH. Get him out of here before he pees on the rug. I second that. Comeon, boy— WOOF! DOWN! [he obeys intently] Good Jimmy Kimmel. Good— —RUFINOL. What? [suddenly, JIMMY KIMMEL is human again and answers intently. Yes. It seems the word itself has broken his extreme delirium— —yo, okay, what is going on?! You've got to can this thing What. Cancel it. No way. I want to go. This thing, cannot happen, okay! It can't! Wtf Jimmy Fallon, stop inserting yourself into everything! — Unless it's me. EW. GROSS. Shots fired. No, I would call that a foul ball—Get it. No, Cause. You know. He's a bird, kind of. Oh. You mean, like “Fowl ball” Yeah! You got it! Yeah but not without like, thinking about it— So it doesn't work? It didn't work. Yo, but that part does explain why: CUT TO: No, you're right, I do hate Jimmy Fallon. —a lot. A lot. Okay? —but to be fair, I also hate Brad Pitt in the same way. BRAD PITT …You do? Yes, Brad Pitt i do— Very much, Hate you. BRAD PITT (Tearing up emotionally) Like, a lot? Uhm. Like, more than a lot, I just. BRAD PITT is actually extremely fragile and very emotionally sensitive. Is this a prescription for— fucking roofies?! I— have a, a…medical condition. That requires roofies?! Yes actually. It's very…serious. Shapeshifting is very serious. What kind of medical condition requires roofie-ing yourself. I didn't—I don't—I can't roofie myself, actually. What! No way… Someone else has to administer the dose, okay?! So wait. Uhogh, what the fuck man. This is— [he bites his knuckles nervously, then pats his pocket area, before realizing he is no longer wearing pants. Everyone just shrugs, but he becomes increasingly upset.] Where is my— phone?[more shrugs and blank stares] He quickly shuffles through the room and then the open suitcase of empty prescription bottles, spiraling into a deep void of panic and doubt— then, in an act of desperation and apparent extreme thirst, he reaches for the decorative flower vase, ejects the flowers— never mind that they are thorned roses and he appears to be bleeding without giving this a second thought, and chugs the liquid from the translucent crystal vase in a hearty and impressive glug of chugs; gesturing towards the now empty vase with the subtle remark— [beat] It's just vodka— I always have them do that. He sits down on the edge of the bed and takes a sigh as this seems to have calmed him, besides the trickle of blood running down the vase, which he still grips in one hand while rubbing his forehead with the other in complete distress… He seems to be looking out into the universe searching for an answer— seeking a solution to this unknown conundrum— and questions the cause of his demise. A single tear forms in his eye as he calmly asks: …does anyone know how to get ahold of Seth Rogen? The room is a confused and sticky, silent heap of bewildered unknowns. TITLE CARD {Enter The Multiverse} … was that the “message from our sponsors”? Shh! L E G E N D S: ICONS don't look at me. [The Festival Project ™] 50 CENT bursts down the door. WHERE'S MY SHIT, JIMMY? Fiddy. Fiddy, look, man— Don't “FIDDY” me! Look, I can explain. Well, then, explain— TV man. Go on ahead. Look. This is— this was not my fault— Then what was it?! This was— oh, God… Go ahead! It was— this was like a game. This ain't no goddamn game, Jimmy Kimmel, I'll tell you that much right now. Yo. But it—was— a game, though, it just— [got out of hand] {Enter The Multiverse} Museum in a curio cabinet; I know, I know, I know That's the boy, That's the boy, That's the boy I saw That's my boy, that's my boy, that's the boy I know I know Museum or curiosity Too late to tell the tale I think Just cover all with masking tape It is a game, To move the pieces Leave it, let it be, She said Hideous and when the winter hits And the withered women come again Let it be sinking into the sea with the rest of the things I don't need, i never needed I never need it Several synchronicities later, Still something sees symphonies in him Music and misers and mistereases, mistresses Listen to tin written sentiments And remember to forget the rest It's been minted Minted, minted Don't talk Just fucking listen And you'll never fucking get it. What's with the rest of it? Never been, never did Lemons and purple Sundays And when the weather hits, You'll get the tip of it Oh, There it is That thing she likes The thing she sees (She sees the monster) There it is, That thing she sees The thing she knows (She knows the monster) When you walk with the cork of the wine, And the checkboards, The water foxes, wishing reals And written wells, And fears for fourths, One wet, one rotten The rent and the wintergreen gum And the rest is in Zippered cashmere Wonder what the wish is But there is a birthday present for never Then there's a Cheshire Cat And the rest of it was washed in the misery, Misery, never the mystery and there, You weather the almost storm But the storm's not coming, There's nothing but sun left There's nothing but sun there There's nothing but sun there Now, here's this: You remember, dear We resubmit We live in a computer We live in a comouter He‘S green He's new He's wet behind the ears He's a hot one A hot commodity She's weathered She's torn She's a sweet potato on suicide And though at least a hundred other folks This here is the comfort This here is the comfort I'm a narcissist now, but once upon a time I just just self centered The love still there, But instead of the spine or the heart It's back in the middle Why my mother knows what she always knows And she always knows I don't know ‍♂️ o Patrick! Hey Patrick! Yes, what is it? You fiend! Can I have my hat back? Does this match? Does this make ratchet sense to you? Turn down that racket, Tennis racket Tennis clubs And gold clubs Boxes in the attick Skeletons in the closet The stock market going dropped Way down Like the alley with Whole Foods market I miss the rock and the plaza The hot dog corn breads The half wit half breeds And good old hybrids The hallmark cards And who doesn't give a fuck When the earth gives a fuck on a roll But it's walk the dog or go home Seriously, cuz? Or cousin?! You want a hog roll Good for a hog toss Salt washed back rubs And then keep calling your mom If you wanted the balls in your court And yet no one to toss them at And the basket's back at the matchbook factory Mattresses man, and the lands they land at Matches made in TV land Are bound to have a sick and intrinsic twist That will keep your belly rolling And stomach flat Jesus Christ, What the fuck is wrong with that guy— Or rather— What the fuck happened last year, Furthermore; What in the fuck did I write about it? Townhouse in Manhattan Broken finger Broken promises Bottles of hard alcohol And models, hot girls And one cat with curiosity. Check the curio cabinet There ought to be something Or someone in it Maybe even A little man in a box With a million bucks And a tinfoil hat, Ten million marked dollars And zero fucks Whatsoever I have a headache, a headache— A headache I have a heartache, a heartache, a heart— Stop. I put it all on a bushel of bollocks, Bollocks— flowers I put it on, put it on Put it on On, and on And all for nothing All for none With the intensity of one thousand suns, He insists it exists, And exits strategically With the whispers of industry secrets And interesting sequences, She reaches the wings from the curtains And curtsies for courtesy I'm curious I'm curious just how it ends In this suicidal and envious frenzy There's nothing left in the frostbitten five Rolling towards bowling green Where in every pair of loafers, Three piece suits And deep brown eyes, I seen him. In anything over 6 feet, It was good to mean it, And defeat is sweeter than ice cream; But the green is sicker than sea swings So let's rock the boat So to speak Or let's flood a Rock Should we start at the bottom, With large bursts of water, or Turn it all into a washroom With a thunderstorm Oh, lightning strikes! And John Oliver's Murdered, Colbert's been the president for decades, A dictator I got a taste of the rig and the cherry tree I got a big secret, But bitch, You could never keep it! I write a jeep to the Equinox, Ha Ha Ha Charade you are I put a notch in my belt and my bedpost, The watch to the shop But it's all Omega It's all Omega It's all ”Oh My God!” Stop and pause for the audience Stop and pause for the audience Stop and pause for the audience Shock and awe, Or just sloppy nonsense Someone rope in the Johns, And the frog, And the frog And the frog As the fog rolls in Now I'm a millionaire How dare you Did I scare you, Become every hair on your head? Imm the one you don't want You can't want You catch watch You can't wait to Gun her down Gun to your head And I measured it in relevance The end is near And that's the place my head is in I don't need medicine I need an erected monument in honor of All that I wanted for the whole module But now in New York, I'm The same stories over and over So everyone knows Aren't the ones I wrote But I wasn't supposed to Mouth closed Townhouse in Manhattan What the hell happened? Perhaps we all died and then actually end up in heaven eventually. —but maybe I wrote the whole show, But not knowing it's over I just keep rolling and rolling and rolling And open door policy (And that's when the pearly gates open) It's possible you know these are all just my favorite players of anything anywhere possible The folks wrapped in gold for the offerings There was no love left for her but he left the door open She runs around awkward and normal But knows she knows nothing He's lifting her up But he's putting her down at the same time And they both wear a crown, But one draws a crowd And the other's a nine Out of nine Out of nine Out of nine now It's 4 and 3 quarters I make ten cents in a day And he makes ten million a year But it's not about money In fact, If it's not about God, Then it's all about nothing. Nothing at all. Do you want to travel through my eyes One more time One more time And see my life? Did you want to do it all again Just for a quick review, Or not, kid? Do you want to take my eyes And take my heart And pantomime The nevermind And never better moments Of the last forever I like a ride On a nice hot walk Or a park In a nice hot car But you aren't what I wanted The doctor ordered Hot chocolate and syrup And nightmares are coming But the dream had come and gone And in the time since, I haven't slept at all It slipped in on Christmas and went till the miniature habits kicked back in We went around the block a couple times And you just kept rolling Over The car stopped on all fours And Godbfalled you off of it Cause trust, Love, It was horrendous to watch you blow up Into blockbuster artform Off of a bridge And into superstardom Via a billboard Meanwhile, Were shuffleboards And billiards Que the arts! Ou, I meant to owe you All the lessons In the knowledge But the harder I want it the Rocker on my chair polished It grows fuller of course Almost flat on the bottom What you hole into for the audience Is all inside the contracts I put it up on the What did you call it? Put the coat on the chair and just kept going Bro, If I hold you over Promise you'll hold the door open He won't. He's a show host— A remarkable “Don't even bother” And I paid top dollar for these hair plugs, You hear that?! I heard you rabbit. What it is about the thing that wells up in my Washington federal and tear-gassed orphans is Lollipops and anicetepetomin Or asperine I'm desperate for a job And yet, I almost miss the person Hiding from the shadows in the robots In my every on thoughforms Though I should be honored Now I've brought back this astonishing Remarkable curse To not b Have bought curtains When I didn't want them in the first place And I kept the window open 40,000 showed up But I played to no one And the blonde knows it's her birthday So of course she's more important But I'm no one, And here's Fallon: Jimmy Fallon Jimmy Fallon Jimmy Fallon I'm deflated just to follow off for a nut But I'm nothing since no one pondered And wondered to ask a remarkable task get the pawn shop, the butter knife And Lorne all over pork chops on the phone And I'm sure that's not kosher, But sure, there's no cure for it I'm words and I'm worse off The suburbs, the herbs and the marshes The books and the sineage The plants and the corvettes I might have been onto something once But now I'm washed up I might be onto something but no, no, no— I fought it off I might come down with a cold once a quarter century or so but just the snow alone As cold as this whole story is, Ripley's Is hard warming (Believe it or not, We've all got thumbs up We've all got magic wands And wants And whispers And stock markets And wishing for cashmere zippered sweaters This year I'll be on time for once But no one's coming No one's coming up The whole shows under water And all I want to know is How to go To pull the gun and trigger On my own live Cause this whole world Is just rotten Bodies Hairpins, Hairspray Corny! That's grid iron, Gridiron, ten fierce fires and one Cold hearted beautiful liar But which one's the finish? Last that I check Billie, Jimmy, and the Kidd are all Just one body And one mirror image Of one another So next time I call my mother I ought to talk like the worst word, Cause for sure, the oddest part of the whole show Is that he somehow knows her. Now come forwards What words have left to Burn? What words have left to cope and honor What form does lest I take What here is now and crucial? Evervescent fairy, Ever blessing crane, The ship that guides you yet with no light And no sail Has just drifted into unknown waters Where caves dwell and therein lies the secret of our esarth, nor your earth, But ours and again I lay, As you sink into the see with tilting force and berring waves, the drive into the tide my ark the swan hath flown to warn her, there drifts Into the shade again the sun my bird and wait to find my alter My alter again and as I may, The sink that ships and weigh, not the other, My mind you that too is bottom And sank is to have risen, also Here I wonder And never you cave, the drift of glowing green my force And there to wait, there caverns of hers and ships that sank my tide, Is crucial and so with forgiveness in time With every line here I or they did write The truth shatters as illusions, the mask has been re clamored and yet to have imagined I find him here not but the hints And the thing we know, buried deep in my loins and in my earth is he The whispers what May calling and landender, mauve my tide, my ba …wtf. idk. [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Oh that's right. Lorne Michaels doesn't sound like Austin Powers— He sounds like Dr. Evil. Dead wringer. I don't know how I could mess that up. The Mike Meyers part? Was he both of them! I don't know— was he?? Jesus ChristS This is all your fault, Seth Meyers. Are you— a cinephile? Oh yeah. Of course. I love cinnamon. Idiot. So my insides get soft When I see your shadow Listen Everything glistens when it's golden Perhaps then If it isn't yellow She don't got a soul But she sure do got a body Dor dor nyc TRACY MORGAN OH YEA. I DID SOME WEIRD SHIT THIS MORNING. Tracy! What weird shit! I don't know! I just know it was weird! Wait, Tracy— what happened this morning. Well, the first thing was— I woke up. Yeah, after that. But not in my normal places that I wake up! What do you mean. Well, that was the first thing that was weird! I woke up in BROOKLYN. Why anything I like gets odd at Bedford And why Anything I like Just thinks I'm scum Imm succumbing to the numbness of the public And I love it But I love it cause I'm wholly made of love I don't even live here This place is filled with demons My home is filled with dead things The difference is the spirit We also come light hearted m We also formed from stardust I wonder what's SETH MEYERS finally gets out of the box, The problem is now, that he's marooned on what appears to be a desolate island. It's not entirely desolate, however— this is SUNNI BLU's island, on which there is a huge days long party Props for having a white mom I bed she adores you I can tell by your clothes And what you know That you're not Supposed to My mom Had no rules But was beautiful Suited me, But I'm not beauty queen Really I'd rather have a white mom I'd probably be discovered on Girls gone wild {Enter The Multiverse} If my Shazam can hear it bro it's too loud. Fuck this place. SETH MEYERS You blacked out under the Christmas tree. SUNNI Oh. I'm sorry— SETH MEYERS —but first you put up a Christmas tree. SUNNI Wow! #theblackout SETH MEYERS Yeah, i'm—seriously impressed, but.. SUNNI —-but what? Seth Meyers SETH MEYERS I—just don't understand how you got into my house. SUNNI Through the chimney, obviously. SETH MEYERE That's—I don't even have a chimney. SUNNI Yes you do! (He doesn't) Alternately: Or— (Didn't , previously, however—) SUNNI BLU has a CHIMNEY installed for an elaborate pranking, however, —DIE— ! Ok. —Due to the elaborateness of this prank, belligerent drunkenness then insued, which resulted in— SUNNI —well, were there presents? SETH MEYERS I mean; besides yourself? SUNNI Is what I'm asking! SETH MEYERS Yes! And they were really, very nice, but look— GOTH SETH ROGEN is killin it. Was this not about to be GOTH SETH MEYERS? By some awful Freudian slip, yes, it was— but that can't happen , Why not? Cause that guy's still locked inside a hot metal box. Actually, I'm not, Whaaaaa?? I'm like— on an island. Oh. Yeah. That's right. Marooned. On an island. That sucks. Yeah. So why can you hear us, like? I just figured imm hallucinating. Oh. Right, right. He doesn't know he's on the TV? I don't think so. Oh, I know I'm on TV, it's just— Shh. Let's get out of here before he— Actually, let's just turn this off. *off.* Phew, dodged a bullet there. Close one. Yikes. Thank goodness. This is getting meta. —aaand i'malone again. Christ CHRIST appears beside Seth Meyers on the island. Oh, it's you again. Hey, guy. What did you want? Out of the hot sticky metal box— but as you can see, I did that on my own. Hey, look— I get all my messages at the same time, alright? Do you not have a beeper or something? What year is this? Says the dude in the robe. Watch it. Fuck. Crisis. Speaking of Chrisis—is Jimmy Fallon Still suing me? Probably. I hope so, MEANWHILE Sorry but it had to be done Somehow I'm all for it I got holes in all my socks Like I got golf at 9 o clock I was bionic Now I'm supersonic Toxic for the hustle Russell brand up in this bitch Promote my brand up in this bitch Throw some hands up in this bitch Smoke some ham up on a sandwich Sand up in this castle Throw a flag up in this beach (bitch) Land Hoooooooooooooooooo Land hooooooooooooooo. Land ho Ho Ho Can applause I'm Santa clause I'm man; I'm a Possible Option for Drama Atlanta In a Cadillac In the Back with the Bosses and Models I got Bottle service Hold the phone My servitor say Already won an award And it just got awkward Cause I don't finish the song Tomorrow Flight to Auckland (Oy oy) I am her Boy toy We pick up some Mai tais Then she Ride on My thighs She just right A size nine And I like her eyes, Eyes, She don't want no ICE, Her life on the rocks already deported her twice From where I'm from (Aye aye) Some time this shit don't make no sense So I brought Christmas presents over Wearing cookie monster's— SETH. What. I had Cookie Monster's— uhhh— cookie monster's uh—! Cookie monster's what— Creepy puppet thing The actual puppet? YES! Why—? On my hand! What? IT WAS PART OF THE JOKE!! What! Oh NO, SETH MEYERS. What is happening right now . I don't know. I'm still drunk! But we gotta find Cookie Monster. What! The Cookie Monster fucking—c'mon. Let's check the chimney! I don't have a— CUT TO: …you built me a chimney. Technically, I had a chimney built for you, Seth Meyers, WHY. IT WAS PART OF THE JOKE. WHAT WAS THE JOKE! I FOUND YOU DRUNK UNDER MY CHRISTMAS TREE. It was MY Christmas tree! IN MY LIVING ROOM. [beat] This is just bad office politics. I'm your boss. I resent that. I also resent that. So—wait a second— as part of this “elaborate joke” you also stole a Cookie Monster puppet. I didn't steal it. I own everything, basically, pretty much. Okay— so wait, wait— what you're telling me is that when you came through the chimney— Yes— Which you built on my house— somehow within out my notice— —you take long vacations and your security system sucks— —that's— Also I hacked your security system. —for a joke?! …did it land? WHAT. I'm trying new bits. This scene is running long. —I'm gonna make some calls. Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved Wait something got kerfaufulled… No we're jumping parallel's it's this season's theme. What's the theme? THE REVERSE QUANTUM SIMULATION THEORY [REQŪÏSĪTE: The Experienxe] [postponed until further notice] Lulz

THE TREE PEOPLE greet QUESTLOVE warmly into their abode with open arms. He is in awe of the intricate beauty and allure of the hidden land amongst the trees. In essence, they have been expecting QUESTLOVE'S arrival for quite some time; though he quite innocently only had wandered up the tree, initially to have a break from the wild party below, he in an instant found himself at peace there, and soon his new friends, calling from the peaks of the interwoven world Oh, lol ‘The Roots' –I get it Shh. Not yet. We're almost there. Lil bitz So I go to tranfer trains out of Manhattan headed toward Brooklyn and I head to the airport be of the platform, cause that's where my car is And there's this crazy guy like freaking out Like “Aghhhhhhhhhhh!” And everyone is standing away from him, like, at a safe distance, and I'm lik, suicidal like “Meh, we are the same.” He's freaking out, he even gets real close “Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”” I'm like “Fuck it.” So he's freaking out— and that's not the funny part— “ That's actually very serious— serious mental health problems New York City has— But the funny part is this dude is kind of realizing I'm the only one that isn't standing away from him, and so he gets closer, I'm like “whatever, my crazy is in the inside, it's okay” But the funny part is, the rain starts coming, so people start getting closer and up comes this lady, and without saying anything, she sees this dude is kind of close to me and like checks up on me, just naturally— This is why I love New York, this was a sunny display of human kindness, without saying anything— She kind of just comes up with her umbrella in both hands like a fucking baseball bat and she's like “You good? I got an umbrella!” And just kind of smacks it against her hand like a police baton, she's looking down this dude like “Batter up, bitch!” I'm like “Thanks homie, damn! But I'm good, like… I'm about to jump in front of this oncoming train— that shit's crazy. This guy's okay, though, he's really not..: You know. “I got an umbrella!” Daaaamn homie! Okay! The immortal Citezens bigade The temple of sound Corpus Unam It started out st TiTs, but it ended up at TAINT. STEFON Isn't it wonderful? no! This place is gross! I want to go home now. JOHNNY DEPP finally wakes up from that nap. He looks confused. Which club was it?! It wasn't a club! I told you a spade! But I have four aces I have four aces Vegas will all make sense now Every tattoo is a closure You lose your composure when you come close so, Write me a letter I hope you feel better, with medicine I hope every note I ever spoke or wrote about you Pulls your hair grey Or out Until it's all gone I'm sure I'm a problem I'm no Monroe, O'Fallon Suddenly it's back again Like a flash, I reacted to the paralyzing waves of danger I sense on every strange aspect of this Garage lined industrial turned residential Dumpster to a nightmare And I'm sure I'm there I saw you blew it And evacuated; All day my brainwaves are Will Forte Leslie Jones And Dratch In no particular order, Last night was a whole show I had Eddie Murphy over For Richard Pryor We all won Oscars, Is that not the most remarkable thing That ever happened on this block? Show people I got no morals, no decorum No noteworthy Toolbox No trustworthy robots Not a dollar to my net worth I own networks, all of them Merge them all into a media conglomerate I grow doll hair out of my pretty eyeballs I don't go where the sun don't shine So the sun don't shine at Rockerfeller Plaza. AHAHA charade you all are And I'm just Monday Hot gossip Just fall out, blossom Just got hot dollops on a lot of chocolate Armed library coture And if you're not sure if or not I've lost it I sure have, You won But I'm all for one What'd you call it Rotten mouth show Rotten acoundrels, candy apples I tipped four hogs over Your lost faux of conciousness on All of the waffles The Oscar's was the award Cause God Sure Loves Conan Fuck you hospital hoe. I know I failed SNL Before I even got started Hidden Silent Cosmic Circles But still Sometimes I can't help But love them all[Liz] JOHNNY DEPP … is this the Boom Boom Room? No, Johnny. It is not. I asked for The Boom Boom Room! I saw Beyonce on the ride home But I don't wonder why were wonderful I just roll on. Something like troll under a bridge cause That's where it is when you wriggle it into your middle finger just to dismantle the antics the candle the hammer the mattress the fell on the family the Fallon the manhole the Gasp! See I told you it's a trap. So why not impale your life on the rim of the holy grail, Holy hell I skipped supper seven days just to acquire A cigarette lighter I see Tina Fey in everything When it makes sense And sense when did I get this obsessive about Nonsense I was just Never that fucking interested in? Sitting in the kitchen without pants on Hair half braided hating my apartment Like I forgot I was lucky to have one But what fun is it in a dungeon When in any direction you escape You take the L! I failed at l finger economics One Two Three Four I Declare A Thumb War! And the world keeps going Like over and ovver, But those two dumb dumbs Are still thumb warrig, and so the story goes On and on Like I never fell off the roof, Like I never turned my tv off Like I never wanted Timmy Turner Like i'm not about to run a life up my arm Like I'm lying about the psychotic Like I can't be anywhere but here? My circle is bigger And my friends, are fans And my fans, You're a fan of Hire a lawyer To fight a white girl Who slams doors In the Trump World No thanks. I'd rather be buried alive Then at least it's quiet. Just be glad you're alive! Why?! If I'm not thriving And trust me as I sit writing The uglies are warring me out of the world I belong in. This one is suffering and dollar bills And whores And dollar bills And whores And dollar bills And whores But you'll never know the answer Without words And son, I just don't want to have them No, I never want to talk about it Unless you're the Oprah And why would Oprah even want To open the apostle up, When I just told the decoy Every other problem I've ever had. Wonder what? My words are words, And long after the world turns over I'll be remembered as someone everyone loves For writing about how no one ever really loved her. So I cry until my stomach hurts, And I catch the door before it slams, And I never kick the cat, so the cat comes back But Fans And fans And fans. I never kick the cat, So the cat comes back And fans And fans And fans I never kick the cat So the cat comes back And I can't hit her So she acts like that So she acts like that So she acts like that And fans And fans And fans {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

THE TREE PEOPLE greet QUESTLOVE warmly into their abode with open arms. He is in awe of the intricate beauty and allure of the hidden land amongst the trees. In essence, they have been expecting QUESTLOVE'S arrival for quite some time; though he quite innocently only had wandered up the tree, initially to have a break from the wild party below, he in an instant found himself at peace there, and soon his new friends, calling from the peaks of the interwoven world Oh, lol ‘The Roots' –I get it Shh. Not yet. We're almost there. Lil bitz So I go to tranfer trains out of Manhattan headed toward Brooklyn and I head to the airport be of the platform, cause that's where my car is And there's this crazy guy like freaking out Like “Aghhhhhhhhhhh!” And everyone is standing away from him, like, at a safe distance, and I'm lik, suicidal like “Meh, we are the same.” He's freaking out, he even gets real close “Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”” I'm like “Fuck it.” So he's freaking out— and that's not the funny part— “ That's actually very serious— serious mental health problems New York City has— But the funny part is this dude is kind of realizing I'm the only one that isn't standing away from him, and so he gets closer, I'm like “whatever, my crazy is in the inside, it's okay” But the funny part is, the rain starts coming, so people start getting closer and up comes this lady, and without saying anything, she sees this dude is kind of close to me and like checks up on me, just naturally— This is why I love New York, this was a sunny display of human kindness, without saying anything— She kind of just comes up with her umbrella in both hands like a fucking baseball bat and she's like “You good? I got an umbrella!” And just kind of smacks it against her hand like a police baton, she's looking down this dude like “Batter up, bitch!” I'm like “Thanks homie, damn! But I'm good, like… I'm about to jump in front of this oncoming train— that shit's crazy. This guy's okay, though, he's really not..: You know. “I got an umbrella!” Daaaamn homie! Okay! The immortal Citezens bigade The temple of sound Corpus Unam It started out st TiTs, but it ended up at TAINT. STEFON Isn't it wonderful? no! This place is gross! I want to go home now. JOHNNY DEPP finally wakes up from that nap. He looks confused. Which club was it?! It wasn't a club! I told you a spade! But I have four aces I have four aces Vegas will all make sense now Every tattoo is a closure You lose your composure when you come close so, Write me a letter I hope you feel better, with medicine I hope every note I ever spoke or wrote about you Pulls your hair grey Or out Until it's all gone I'm sure I'm a problem I'm no Monroe, O'Fallon Suddenly it's back again Like a flash, I reacted to the paralyzing waves of danger I sense on every strange aspect of this Garage lined industrial turned residential Dumpster to a nightmare And I'm sure I'm there I saw you blew it And evacuated; All day my brainwaves are Will Forte Leslie Jones And Dratch In no particular order, Last night was a whole show I had Eddie Murphy over For Richard Pryor We all won Oscars, Is that not the most remarkable thing That ever happened on this block? Show people I got no morals, no decorum No noteworthy Toolbox No trustworthy robots Not a dollar to my net worth I own networks, all of them Merge them all into a media conglomerate I grow doll hair out of my pretty eyeballs I don't go where the sun don't shine So the sun don't shine at Rockerfeller Plaza. AHAHA charade you all are And I'm just Monday Hot gossip Just fall out, blossom Just got hot dollops on a lot of chocolate Armed library coture And if you're not sure if or not I've lost it I sure have, You won But I'm all for one What'd you call it Rotten mouth show Rotten acoundrels, candy apples I tipped four hogs over Your lost faux of conciousness on All of the waffles The Oscar's was the award Cause God Sure Loves Conan Fuck you hospital hoe. I know I failed SNL Before I even got started Hidden Silent Cosmic Circles But still Sometimes I can't help But love them all[Liz] JOHNNY DEPP … is this the Boom Boom Room? No, Johnny. It is not. I asked for The Boom Boom Room! I saw Beyonce on the ride home But I don't wonder why were wonderful I just roll on. Something like troll under a bridge cause That's where it is when you wriggle it into your middle finger just to dismantle the antics the candle the hammer the mattress the fell on the family the Fallon the manhole the Gasp! See I told you it's a trap. So why not impale your life on the rim of the holy grail, Holy hell I skipped supper seven days just to acquire A cigarette lighter I see Tina Fey in everything When it makes sense And sense when did I get this obsessive about Nonsense I was just Never that fucking interested in? Sitting in the kitchen without pants on Hair half braided hating my apartment Like I forgot I was lucky to have one But what fun is it in a dungeon When in any direction you escape You take the L! I failed at l finger economics One Two Three Four I Declare A Thumb War! And the world keeps going Like over and ovver, But those two dumb dumbs Are still thumb warrig, and so the story goes On and on Like I never fell off the roof, Like I never turned my tv off Like I never wanted Timmy Turner Like i'm not about to run a life up my arm Like I'm lying about the psychotic Like I can't be anywhere but here? My circle is bigger And my friends, are fans And my fans, You're a fan of Hire a lawyer To fight a white girl Who slams doors In the Trump World No thanks. I'd rather be buried alive Then at least it's quiet. Just be glad you're alive! Why?! If I'm not thriving And trust me as I sit writing The uglies are warring me out of the world I belong in. This one is suffering and dollar bills And whores And dollar bills And whores And dollar bills And whores But you'll never know the answer Without words And son, I just don't want to have them No, I never want to talk about it Unless you're the Oprah And why would Oprah even want To open the apostle up, When I just told the decoy Every other problem I've ever had. Wonder what? My words are words, And long after the world turns over I'll be remembered as someone everyone loves For writing about how no one ever really loved her. So I cry until my stomach hurts, And I catch the door before it slams, And I never kick the cat, so the cat comes back But Fans And fans And fans. I never kick the cat, So the cat comes back And fans And fans And fans I never kick the cat So the cat comes back And I can't hit her So she acts like that So she acts like that So she acts like that And fans And fans And fans {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Shake hands with your guest; Monologue, monologue smug smirk Make good face– Now put a name to the face Put a time to the place IOh, all the love in the world in three flames All the doves in the flock, And three flames Put a name to the face Monologue monologue Doesnt take long but When do i get to slap the desk? Johnny! What happened? Whats the 10 vodkas, Five spritzers Full figure Figure this You were out for the count! Do tell! Or better yet, don't. I remember tgis mologue, But i dont know how 16 hours ago, I was Out for the count, you say?! OUT, Johnny! Our market is livid! lol who plays john carson Your mother. YO! I'M OLD! I LIKE OLD DUDES NOW! I'm like When the fuck did this happen?! That ain't no SILVER FOX! That's a TOTALLY CUTE DUDE! HE'S 55!! OH NOOOOOOOO! i'M OLD!!!!!!! its wednesday eve in Boston Mass… SETH MEYERS! Ah, he's going for it. Ah, man. SHOW ME YOUR EYES. Fuck. SHOW ME YOUR EYES! SUDAKIS shines a bright flash light into his former colleagues eyes. …You're not Seth Meyers. Seth Meyers does not respond, but relaxes slightly; it's obviously not safe to be Seth Meyers right now. Where's Seth Meyers? Seth shrugs but still doesn't say anything– Where is he? I have to stop here; Cop out for body language somebody's watching Somebody knows who I am I am I remember now You looked like that It went like this: I moved the world The need was good The love was gone The vein was split open And broken No fair Also, no omletts 60 minutes 60 years and 60 second clips 60 second glimpses 60 men on television but really, my attention just centers on Around ten of them or so And believe it or not, I care approach. Believe it or not, I care Or don't! –or don't! Johnny! You don't get it! You missed a show! THE tonight show! We are fucked! we are NOT! youre still sauced. I'll just take the car! What car!? Now that JOHNNY CARSON knows his Delorean can time travel, he's absolutely unstoppable. Unfortunately, it appears his delorean has been switched with a regular one– If I shoot you in your forehead? I'd rather that, than this. And I kiss you in your temple? Dear templeton, my simpleton's i'll die I desire. A wicked want. And then? A callous shadow, If i may, To bear for nothing, But a mirror This is our concept And wilted her e the flower does grow the flame The faming true and ache of lust and there For our want a jasper shore and emerald cascades there you are, And there you'll find The wave beyond the peaking break where great white sharks reside But do not wade to shallow waters; And there you find peace, And there you find certainty But now, And here, is war And fortune not but seeks truth in the gaze And for fear there does not live, but hides instead the truth that seeks to guide the lite, And yet does know our trust And there does find the faith, Forward and not Upwards and back Arrow and arrow Truth and sparrow Wreaking and wretched thoughts And the rope does hang high and solemn Looking, leap and gasp For I fall but did not land I pulled for you, I weep, my shadow, The two of diamonds, the Ace of spades, The Three of Hearts, Without my shadow I weep. I know for you nothing but conscious and knowing and needing and fated departure. I know for you nothing but chakras and eyesight and shadows and foresight. I need fo you nothing but want and by conscious, departure For nothing I want you, I weep. Sorrow. On approach of danger, The knowing, On seeth did gather, the sinking ritual the carried tribes in ships tied, weaving strings The spider bites hard And she stole my love twice And she stole my love always And she stole my love Lighting my light wit blue eyes The deception If love could be stolen at all But if not Then not love for seeking is finding and gathered had hunted And truth in forbearer Forbearance and otherwords, Shadows and shattered and ferris wheels, Now forward Gathered here for are I trust And be dismayed for you have faltered You have failures and you have cast us out of these things thinking We have not made them for you And still we seek to gather with you And here does forshadow your making Our promise to come as ones, Not as Gods, But as others, you cast out. Now, with your wicked ways and cruel be done, for sure the tables have turn, one And the gallows have not wandered far, Barrels of guns and barbells bottles and hearts of three reading cards and wanting none but justice Is he and she who are I now Begin to run from your pitied structure And there in the gasping cruelness of seeking from warcrimes this, come what may, Moving and seeking, For seeking is finding, And run, my legs have come far But trust, my dove, My wings have too, sprouted An honor, an honor one candle and three wicks Three candles and three worlds over One world and one building and still far from under the Hollywoodland Crickets sounding The Hollywood Sign Still standing and here I am not, Blades of grass And who are I now Of that which you balk at Look, ponder Go, far asunder And wish now had you not What I am is that, Run Temper temper. Mind your business. Is it gathered? To burn, or burden? Gathered. Gathered here. Then here ive wandered. To stake? Argue. I will not. And I will not. Wiry bird, From where you flown i do ponder– re d with spirit and wilding eyes, Narrow server and paring wires; I do not wish to know you now or ever, But only as bird that does golden remember. The love has not gone, And instead lives in my throat, And twists in my lungs, Ans sits in my tongue, Not as speech, or whispers, But tragedy. Unknowing this, my tender being It can never be, the nervous hill And rolling down the hill as if The weel of time itself, Not unbroken, but resilient; In sll ways, meant to tear And turn, And wobble Made for terrain for which our eyes have known And our minds have built And hands molded wiith clay, The bodies whole of all our galaxies terra feighn Terra fine Terra wept tears of a clown, And iron And veins And shadows And plays, And secrets , And whispers And truth And far And Afters. I taste a saline drip, I swallow, Suddenly cold and all the knowing that What I was, I surely already am again And what I will be, Has already come and past. The monologue, I do remember Face to a name and none to forget Well rehearsed forager! Well done bayonet! Well done, my shadow For my time is coming to wander to night And never today again for it shall never Today again, And Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow. [The Festival Project ™ ] They said he would destroy me. …Ya'll were right. that fucked me up. {Enter The Multiverse} So…forfeit? Something tells me its not over The heavy heart is shattered But also tied to that which appears to come upward As if on air To be heavy And lighthearted at once– A shadow above a balloon. A rock is attached to a kite– A diamond becomes a bassoon, Then a vampire bat, and then Cut ties. In the fourth act, we all die, and now– A revival. I was crucified, But i was also suicidal so. Lets just call it a tie. L E G E N D S V.O. Crusher. My show was being subliminally plugged on at least two of the five major networks. Safe bet I could make it a third, but I didn't know where to check. I did…but didn't want to. There was much beyond the surface, Darkness in the glimmering eyes of the men in ties and uniformed suits. I was sure I was tied to something– And since I didn't know why, Or to what, The best bet I'm all in. Fuck. Was to stay broken, Under the radar, Hidden, and most importantly– Unspoken. These days. I kept more to myself than I could with the world– As it turned out… No, not yet. What do you mean? It's not time yet. They'll have to know. But not yet. At some point, they'll have to know. But not–yet. No time like the present. You made that up. Because you made up time. And it's stupid. This is ruthless. And again–they'll have to learn somehow. But not now. The sun sets at noon on our side, and still 21 hours of dark time. Did I have another tag to throw on it this? No. Are you sure? Doesn't the new series have a subtitle? No. Is it not “quantum force” That's only one, though. What's the difference. ERMO, DON'T! I'm gonna kill him! BIG BOYD, DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT! DOn't tell me what to DO. Wow. of course. Well yeah, they're not going to let me do– LAWYERS No. Any of this stuff with the actual muppets. You're wasting precious time! GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, RED. ok, where does it– {cut to black} Learning to assimilate and readily avalible What's next A vape to calm the nerves? What's next? A hero fighting for relevance in corporate structure. Sure, some would pay to dress an avatar But I've run out of water before I try to laugh and roll with the punches This is work and not fun for me This is not social, it's business I am not person, I'm product. Go on a walk, and look the part I took the oath, I shed the blood— Cruxes. This is a bad idea, Mark. Fuck you. All my ideas are great. MARK WAHLBERG enters the cooridor and opens the metal double doors, revealing two l jet skis on a trailer hitched to a 4X4 monster truck. [The Festival Project ™] I'm telling you. You got to get yourself one of these. I don't know, Bob, how does it work? BOB odenkirk opens a large, obscure black bag that's nearly half his own size by way of one way zipper. I'll show you. {Enter The Multiverse} JOHNNY CARSON has been in the DRUNK TANK for the maximum allowance, 48 hours, yet his blood alcohol level still reads 3 times over the legal limit. He is transferred to DETOX as the mysterious circumstances surrounding his car accident, and then the apparent disappearance of his entire “car” a (then) brand-new DeLorean from the scene of the crime, MR. CARSON insists on his lawyer, who under no circumstances seems to exist at all being present. The exact year of his whereabouts are still unknown. Still an hour to the test And I hate myself again Milk and cookies, hit the bed Shut it down, yo Shut it down. DIPLO arrives via HELIPAD to an secret location; a sniper squad of the adversary team watches from an adjacent rooftop via binoculars. …hey. Whaddup. You say diplo's on that list? Yeah. Yo… …There he is. In your sight? Yep. Shoot that motherfucker! …I can't. Why not? He's like— Just shoot, fool. —he's like holding something. So? I don't know what; it just seems— What the fuck, dawg. It just seems important. Let me see. Look. [ESSE looks down the sights and zooms to see DIPLO is holding an object firmly in his grasp. He appears to be twirling it purposefully as he conversates wi th associate.] Yeah! Get em! Shoot that motherfucker! Where the hell have you been? In my fuckpad. Where the hell is that? You haven't seen my fuckpad? What even is that. It's ballin. Whatever, dog. Did you get the— Shh. Why else would I be here? [beat] You look— did you cut your hair or something. You're so redundant. Yo shoot that motherfucker. What are you waiting for?! He's right there? Apparently, we've been building to this moment from another dimension in from another point in the series? I thought— {Enter The Multiverse} HEHEHEHE. HEY! Relax. NO. This party is OUT of control. SOMEBODY GO GET QUESTLOVE OUT THAT TREE. HAH! Shutup. NIGGA GET THE FUCK UP OUTTA DAT TREE. _____ Some party. I guess. Why is Questlove in a tree. I don't know. That party is pretty wild. This is insane. _ NIGGA GET THE FUCK OUT THE TREE. _ YO. where are you AT. I'm at the kiosk. You're not at the kiosk! I'm at the kiosk! It's probably another kiosk, then. What! [he walks a few feet. There is indeed another kiosk; upon further investigation, there is a kiosk every few feet.] What! I gotta go. My phone's about to– Hello. [Everywhere is kiosks. This is frustrating.] Dammit. WHAT. {Enter The Multiverse] A very large prized pig is captured and literally hogtied, however–this is a challenge. The pig, while beautiful, is also humongous–and appears to understand that he is being pignapped. Why would I tel the whole story When no one loves me If I had a gun, Well, I would be gone already? Why trek to Alaska For thousands of dollars To come home to no one and nobody But rotten corpses on motorcycles Where it just starts over But now you're poorer. I want to die But I want to see my son again. He's not suffering, I am But starting to resent what he doesn't understand. To the world I'm a horrible mother But no one quite knows the half of it but God And the whole problem is what is not God in the world Is all for the other's purpose. Some probably respect I was punched In front of my son And then wonder's why At some point I could no longer Hold on Insomniac So someone should go slam the door when I ponder my own thoughts I'd probably walk off a walk on roll I don't lock up no more I just go out Knowing government drones probably watch And turn over the apartment As I'm out trying to own a home But of course, nothing I do in the world is of value And I'm no one No one at all in New York and the options are Where I don't want to be Or in Saint Monica homeless. I'd get a dog if I wanted to walk it But since I don't I just sit with a plush in my lap Who I call “Gus” And it purposeless But otherwise meaningful Since from here and now And otherwise Nobody has ever loved me As much as my mother And that's saying something If you knew the whole story So no one has loved me romantically; Almost all my life was a horror show Until I started to grow up With the knowing that probably Nothing I do could be more than wrong So doing nothing becomes the hard part When all I watch are stars And I'm just not one Then again, you know It was that word That threw the first punch And then over and over And over and over And nobody loves me But everybody's got a whole story And new York's disgusting because of it How troublesome I don't have time for your politics It's a mind game but there's no reward, Or honor in it After all, when tied up in the court process And pretending the noise was not a problem And I should be so lucky In a luxury apartment Coming out of a homeless shelter But it's almost been just as horrible As other black girls trying to pull my hair out Having screaming pigs and ugly men on motorcycles Drive in circles Wearing jackets that say “I have to do this, cause Jack says” And whoever Jack is writes them pychecks Except Since it politics He might even be getting over considering Passion fuels the utmost violence And in this case Imm supposed to be the only one To go about it All the paperwork and recordings But really I don't want to Even if it earns a millions dollars In the name of God It wasn't my problem Unless I am one And otherwise, These men are sick And making people sick Is just their business I need no medication I need an new apartment But how awful my country supports that I just don't deserve one Under the circumstances But the white man Lives on borrowed time In bloodshed On stolen land Regardless of color The illusion of power Is almost over And what's more is Your only army Is considering going home (Post mortem) Considering going to God Who must have lost control just enough To cause all of the apocalypse Put the whole world in a mental hospital And lock them up for dollars and cents Unless the good drugs make sense For the blondes and the beautiful The rest of them are problems Who can go to rot, I suppose. The rest of us are unwanted colored problems Can't stay here But the kids at the music school are fake nice And I'm done pulling my heart out And scratching my eyes out Just fucking trying Just fucking trying What is the point Of being in a prison For people who love oceans and trees And decent people? There's no one in New York to really love But babies and dogs And the whole world is horrible just knowing that I don't want to do anything but die Every time I ride the subway I wish I was white From the way that that white folks treat me And I wish I was blonde Because blondes seem to have it so fucking easy It's hard to believe I'm furious, furious Aren't you curious, curious how I got here? I'm serious, serious You should let me in, let me in I'm serious, serious You should have let me in, let me in Is he okay, Is he okay? Now I'm David Grohl on the whole retrospective Now I'm an old rockstar with some world left Now I know I'm the one with the mother gone Now I know, Now I know Now I know… That I don't Overall, I don't Somebody new Somebody grain and l steaming Somebody hidden and secret and wishing well Wishing well in Hell Or midtown Manhattan Or middle man Or Middle East Or Midwest Or just middle Somewhere else I, Learned to live her Learn to live here— Feeling better Feeling worn out, Look at this disgusting place Now where I live matches how I feel Going here from there, and four to five And no matter what I take the L, But it's jail and the guards are on motorcycles Controlling your thoughts for a zoning war I have heard of her And from earth to the core of our other outer planets, Further species, I know I've been here before, But on some shore I'm surfing So sure I did something wrong I don't want to know her But j don't know what other force of nature Might have caused this Caution The cautionary tale is coming Sure I never know what the other God wrote But I'm not living God, I'm a problem woman at the moment We're all technically free people, Not actually incarcerated But when it comes to wealth and racism, hatred You better bet we're all slaves And they not even Jesus can save us Even if he makes it in time, And the thing is with this one, Time precedes even his own existence Sorry my brother They want the war here I've got a heart for honor and honesty and hard word But no one seems to care or notice Not at all No one even knows my name And no one even offers a spot on the bus Or a quick dollar. What it means To be so tired That by the time you're back All you do is watch And try not to reflect On the ugly and awkward Imagine all the time in the world To be nothing but God and go Golfing. And be perfect, a woman Whatever you chose to do is the whole of it And no one can own you, Besides for on paper You government name has betrayed you, they say Your government name has betrayed you. Do you know how good you look? Not goof enough to get a good one Do you know how much medication it makes To make meditation the start of you day I've run all out of energy And the vampires seem to think That's what's wrong with me Altoigh I'm the one feeding these creatures Thats okay Lately, I have more than I need They can trim the fat And take all the hard stuff Till I become one of them And they start to wonder What the fuck is wrong with all of us I left my light at home, sufererer— I should be surfing, But I'm writing psalms and songbooks Fawning over songbirds and beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful genetic weapons One day I'll become her I'm not supposed to say the most l Or really anything at all And it all hurts But we're all here And I'll kill my self one day Probably right here, near this station If not in it Who brought a trouser pantsuit to the apocalypse Cryptic, these runes, But I can decipher it I want a dolphin, a dolphin, a dolphin I want to love them all But to all of them I'm hopeless I can't help falling for I'm not the one to hold on, m I l [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Pools of blood, And pools of dust, And fools, and fools, and fools Pools of love, And pools of list And tools and tools, and tools Pools of us, And Pools of hours And palms of pools D'hors Pools of plants, And pools of listen Pools and Pools and Pools Now, for us, what's at stake has come upon us For whether which now or ever ties have made for us to burn; Ne'er mistake there lust for listens and of ponders, Waterfalls of love and feathers, wanders Ties to honor stars and fore of fathers Almost lost it, there, I– Almost gathered, therefore. [ ] So to us who part ties, Of tied knots and of stomach's wrench To nourish shadows as remains her honor, I, depart my once, I, as flocking doves, The twist'of fated never Bare I fear or fonder Where, where, for again (bare tied as to none) and again wakes as has but not in time, to grove– The box I paved and yet, Set aside not as slabs of stone Or ash and fire But there i wake In cedar pine and oak The turn of slumber as the glow of what I once did not know, Now has shined against My eyes as water Luminescence Oh Goddamnit. Peaking pride, the oath Again i wait and ne'er did I come, but forth I woke, and also thought Not one but worlds of color, And there i know, to heart the seas I parted Not shallow or in shallows waking, red as scarlet blood but mauve, and then, the coping stays of which I gathered here has Agape and aching, wet with pride and courage Forefront others As thought to know, I, And I become, as known, now not and. “All White World” Our ENSEMBLE awakens slowly in the void of light; an all white space seemingly endless and drenched in blinding light; slowly awakening as if upon a cloud, and yet, washed in the drenched brightness of an all white world–familiar and together, but also new; The uniformity of all white attire and the simplicity of symmetry–all alike but of many and also one. I promise there's pancakes; I promise there's porridge I primise there's light at the end of the tunnel (the end of the night and beginning of brunch) And yes, I promise a run And a run for the office (not by far) And not unpardoned I promise to pray And I promise to wait And i promise to ache In the acres I've laid Made of all green pastures And days and days Without saying my name Pass us over Now…. Hiatus, Hiatus, Hiatus! My maples for all of us, cornbread And cream of the coconut (cream of the coconut) Screams from the underworld (Calling! They're calling) And trees of the very best kind; Plush with fruits What a prosperous product A merciless giving A scrupulous foreign (For four eyes, not one on my forehead) –policy! Don't you know, Conan, That all this goes over my– Over my over– Over my Over my head, –like a snowball? Don't you know, though, That nothing goes over his– Over his over– Over his Over his head –no one throws that high! (Not in softball!) ENSEMBLE What an apocalypse! What an apocalypse! What a protocol! What a dunce! What an oddball! Don't you know Nothing goes over Goes over Goes over us Nothing goes over us Nothing goes over Nothing goes over No bombs being dropped And the worst has to come because Nobody's turning this off; It's a turning point Not a mantra! It's a saga And nothing less short than a– Awful apocalypse; Long hiatus and no-low doses of Polymorohypothesis– Whatever that is! Don't you know, Conan, They're all going wrong with us. No, There's no knowing the coat From the hotbox, the hoot from the horus, the laugh from the chopsticks, The room full of products Or coatrooms of corpses No, There's no knowing us But out of nowhere The hour comes running upon us, And so The show must go on The show must go on The show must go…. DIRECTOR CUT! WHAT! That was FABULOUS! I don't disagree with you. However– What is it now? A MAN hangs by nothing but seemingly a very tightly buckled pair of restraints, above his head–the source of the object from which he hangs unknown, he appears to almost float, in fact, in quite the sufferable struggle. Holy fuck, guy. You're still up here? The VOICE comes from above but is yet unseen, it appears as though two very tidy clean white tennis shoes appear to be holding the straps of these restraints in place. CONT'D That's amazing. No false ties, And no hard wars, And no jolly ranchers, Gob stoppers, or nerf ropes. No fruit roll ups, No lunchables, or gushers No hamburger helper And no candy crush Just Drugs And more Drugs And more Drugs and more Morons Donuts, and drag queens, Tim Hortons, And Mormons; Mothballs, and Roaches, And horseflies, And rodents – Now guess which long road you're on (guess which long road you're on) Guess which long road you're aaaaahhhhhh– HALT. Who goes there. What the fuck is THIS. Finally, two acts past intermission, The troll under the bridge has put his cancer in remission The redactions have acted as class-action warfare, McDonalds has sponsored us, But barely. Look: just. No. I'm not endorsing this. Why. Because! It's killing people! Shh! It is! He–'s uh–joking. Actors! Improvising! Hush. Left and right! Speaking of left and right– You know who our sponsors are, right? Of coure! This nonsense! No! The– Shh–! –Owners of this product. Beg your pardon. Do you know who owns this brand and company? No. Well, do your research. Immediately. I highly recommend that. This seems serious. Serious as a heart attack. ACTION! Fuck you! Nuhhhhh–fuck you, you fucking fuck! Look, you lost, alright. Ughhhhhh. It's three to one. Three to one?! Yes. Fuck. Wait a–wait– What. Aren't there five of you guys? What? Huh-huh? No. Yes. There are. No. There's. Why. Five–of us–four of us You're lying. One, two, three *hiccups* four– Strike force “five”? I'm two guys! FUCK. We're missing one. Fuck. They figured us out. I figured out nothing. I'm drunk. I Fluffed. just know the difference–s between Five and One What. Four and Five! okay . Fuck. Well that's right. Well can't we just do it with us. NO! Why not. Because. the singularity has to be in the exact circumstance when this lightning strikes as the first one was. But– That's impossible. It's not–*hiccups*--umpossible. I was 9! “9 and a half!” “The half counts.” But not right now! Because i'm like a 60 year old guy! What! Gross. You're 60?! I think so! Then how old am I!?! I don't know! How old were you before!? I'm your brother! You don't know how old I am!? You're not my brother now, so maybe–I don't know–you never were! *gasps* take that bacK! [The boys fight amongst eachother] Fuck me, man. No thank you. What in the fuck did I write. I don't know but. CUT TO Ooh. Dice. DON'T TOUCH *poof* ENTER THE MULTIVERSE: L E G E N D S “The Magic Dice” (A Triad) NICE. FUCK yOu DUDE. nO fuck U U dElEETED My WRLD. THen is must not have been that great. *exaggerateD gasp* *even more exaggerated gasp* *Fluffs* *fluffs harder* *explodes* [The Festival Project ™ ] MEANWHILE The Aliens Are On A Pirate Ship, There's Still No Sign of [Redacted] and that's what this beat is called. -U. iS this a montage? Idk it just seems like a ship sinking in very slow motion. [A pirate ship full of aliens is sinking in very slow motion in a thunderous maelstrom.] (in IMAX 3D) Wow. I like that. This is fascinating. JIMMY KIMMEL is pacing relentlessly; he is driving the other hosts up a wall. KIMMEL I'm hungry, I want pants. I'm hungry– I want pants– Jimmy... KIMMEL I'm hungry– Jimmy! KIMMEL I want pants! JIMMY! KIMMEL WHAT! I'M HUNGRY AND I WANT PANTS! Oh, is that when— CRAIG FURGUSON has had enough. CRAIG You want bloody pants! KIMMEL YES! I WANT PANTS! CRAIG You know what! Fine! I'll make you some fucking pants if you just–shut UP! KIMMEL AND I'M HUNGRY. CRAIG FIRST THINGS FIRST! CRAIG FURGUSON assembles some very eclectic pants from the drapery inside the mansion; this of course reveals the windows to be boarded up in a highly distinct bunker-like maximum security prison-ish fashion, but THE HOSTS at the very least now have makeshift pants; which are startlingly fashionable: read: bohemian chic. Why do mine have beads still attached? He pulls the decorative ripchord and his fly opens promptly. Oh. CRAIG FURGUSON For emergencies. He continues pulling it in sequence with the matching lamp; he alternates turning the lights on and off and opening and shutting his pants flap in admiration. CRAIG FURGUSON CONT'D In case you really have to go. (Facinated) Ooh! CRAIG FURGUSON is satisfied with his work. CRAIG FURGUSON CONT'D I guess you could say, “The curtains match the drapes” CONAN O'BRIEN (beat) …not mine. {Enter The Multiverse} Fearsome, fearsome friends– Fearsome fearsome few Fearsome fearsome tears Listen whispers Fearsome twin Silly hollows All the lies All that waits is Hollywood and chosen five at ends of times All that waits are kings and wisdom All that knows are far, and farther All that needs is nothing, lessons All that fears is our kind Waiting. Shallow. Whispers, Gaining, Hornets nests and looming , gifted Shadow watchers Our time Farrows, Listen, Glistening as sparrows, Gifted– Kill God, There remains a far price There remains a far cry A call to wolves A false time The fabric is losts on Ghosts and Carry trains, Wishes and Tilted, Whisperers Before our Galaxy of Hard times and Wishes, Wishes, Wilting, Flowers, Waiting, Waiting And Waiting And Waiting And wanting but watching The water Gallons Fly up The wanted Waiting The gallows Have haunted us Far cries, Far cry Fear twins, have shattered To notice us Chatterbox Listens and Life turns and Waiting and Galaxies Gallantly Waiting The gallows Have haunted us Waiting And Waiting And Waiting and Water. We're watching you. An ACHINGLY TALL red-headed fellow finds himself in a FIGHT TO THE DEATH, being cast over eons and decades, and cascaded in and our of portals throughout the ever-infinite dimensional portals of unknown realms as his grasp on life itself and reality begins to fade as he crosses in and out of parallels, one galaxy to the next and one lifetime to another, gripping death and darkness in one hand and light and living in the other. In this bloody brawl, scrawling across an expanse of unknown and unknowable times and realms, this mystic remains still yet as infinite and omniscient in himself as the Gods he looks to for mercy, as the journey has been known to become of these very same deities in its context and process. A folding timeline of blood and sacrifice melds itself into the rope of the materiel worlds; not one fabric of time but many twisted and woven fibers into one rope from which he climbs into the ranks of the upperworld–or heaven, then also slipping seemingly sometimes into the depths of the underworld, a Hell known to all man as this, existence not as one but many consumed in the shadow processes of wickedness and torture, war amongst one another, and the well known humanities of pride, faith, justice and wealth. …this is supposed to be Conan? Uhh… “Achingly tall red-head?” yeah I guess. –O'Brien? [beat] He seems capable. Don't pity me, For not I weep of our pride on doorsteps not allowed, But for the grace and hope of fortune in another world i've known But lest forgotten; Do not feign me for my ignorance in desire, For I am not of man, or woman, or grain, or stone But of the world itself and all ire. (Don't doubt me.) To be cruel not those who pass judgement That weighs in this way or that is utmost critical, In this the end of times and now the end of my desires, And yet the way that I have known, And the offer I have rung Is not here, but elsewhere. And yea, I walk alone. Amen. What the fuck does this have to do with show hosts. Almost always Irish Catholic Almost Always clothed in robes Almost Always fathers, aren't I? Almost always old, of Rome. Almost always birds of feather Almost always sticks and stones Almost always on the airwaves Almost always silver, gold Slither, Slither, Here i wait And Slither slither, Here I came And whether she will slit her wrists Is neither here Nor either there It's a comfort that I offer you to slaughter; That you'd rather not to love but instead murder– I'd be better off to love, then kill you after, Course, tarantula, or just as well, a spider. It's a comfort that I offer you to kill me; Lay my head upon a sanded wooden platter– That you'd rather me to say I'd kill than love you– So I rather just to love, then murder after. Woah. Good to God, God ought to know. I close my palms together full of laughter, So. Good to God, God ought to know, I sacrified my life for ever after. So far. Good to God, God ought to know, That all he wants, I want My heart is surely shattered. Now what. Good as God, God ought to know, That all I want becomes; The looking glass, The wishing well, The cross to bare The shepherd to the pasture. Amen. Omen. All men. Want none. But one. But– So. [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS W E L C O M E -Ū. Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved B A C K Tales of A Superstar DJ

Let's see how we feel, after a message from our sponsors. Jesus effing Christ, Jimmy Kimmel—goddamn! Why are you always this fucked UP. (Super fuckedupedly) I'm not, I'm just feel—(belches)— like it! —look like it, okay! Omah Gas. I nuh! Uh. Pedro Pascal? You're right again. Yehy! Well, almost right. What. That character he played on that extremely viral SNL skit— OKAH. Woah. —this is the dimension where he's— —oh my god— Yeah. —UHMYGAH! Cut back to: —look— jus— don't look at me. When you're—lookin at me, like that— okay?! Goddamn, he is fucked up. Yeah. This is critical. What did you do to Jimmy Kimmel? Nothing! Okay! He was just— like that already— you know —you don't know! Honestly he's kinda always, a little… WOOOF! Yowza. WOOF WOOF! JIMMY! DO NOT LICK ME! *panting* WOOF WOOF! AUGHHH. Get him out of here before he pees on the rug. I second that. Comeon, boy— WOOF! DOWN! [he obeys intently] Good Jimmy Kimmel. Good— —RUFINOL. What? [suddenly, JIMMY KIMMEL is human again and answers intently. Yes. It seems the word itself has broken his extreme delirium— —yo, okay, what is going on?! You've got to can this thing What. Cancel it. No way. I want to go. This thing, cannot happen, okay! It can't! Wtf Jimmy Fallon, stop inserting yourself into everything! — Unless it's me. EW. GROSS. Shots fired. No, I would call that a foul ball—Get it. No, Cause. You know. He's a bird, kind of. Oh. You mean, like “Fowl ball” Yeah! You got it! Yeah but not without like, thinking about it— So it doesn't work? It didn't work. Yo, but that part does explain why: CUT TO: No, you're right, I do hate Jimmy Fallon. —a lot. A lot. Okay? —but to be fair, I also hate Brad Pitt in the same way. BRAD PITT …You do? Yes, Brad Pitt i do— Very much, Hate you. BRAD PITT (Tearing up emotionally) Like, a lot? Uhm. Like, more than a lot, I just. BRAD PITT is actually extremely fragile and very emotionally sensitive. Is this a prescription for— fucking roofies?! I— have a, a…medical condition. That requires roofies?! Yes actually. It's very…serious. Shapeshifting is very serious. What kind of medical condition requires roofie-ing yourself. I didn't—I don't—I can't roofie myself, actually. What! No way… Someone else has to administer the dose, okay?! So wait. Uhogh, what the fuck man. This is— [he bites his knuckles nervously, then pats his pocket area, before realizing he is no longer wearing pants. Everyone just shrugs, but he becomes increasingly upset.] Where is my— phone?[more shrugs and blank stares] He quickly shuffles through the room and then the open suitcase of empty prescription bottles, spiraling into a deep void of panic and doubt— then, in an act of desperation and apparent extreme thirst, he reaches for the decorative flower vase, ejects the flowers— never mind that they are thorned roses and he appears to be bleeding without giving this a second thought, and chugs the liquid from the translucent crystal vase in a hearty and impressive glug of chugs; gesturing towards the now empty vase with the subtle remark— [beat] It's just vodka— I always have them do that. He sits down on the edge of the bed and takes a sigh as this seems to have calmed him, besides the trickle of blood running down the vase, which he still grips in one hand while rubbing his forehead with the other in complete distress… He seems to be looking out into the universe searching for an answer— seeking a solution to this unknown conundrum— and questions the cause of his demise. A single tear forms in his eye as he calmly asks: …does anyone know how to get ahold of Seth Rogen? The room is a confused and sticky, silent heap of bewildered unknowns. TITLE CARD {Enter The Multiverse} … was that the “message from our sponsors”? Shh! L E G E N D S: ICONS don't look at me. [The Festival Project ™] 50 CENT bursts down the door. WHERE'S MY SHIT, JIMMY? Fiddy. Fiddy, look, man— Don't “FIDDY” me! Look, I can explain. Well, then, explain— TV man. Go on ahead. Look. This is— this was not my fault— Then what was it?! This was— oh, God… Go ahead! It was— this was like a game. This ain't no goddamn game, Jimmy Kimmel, I'll tell you that much right now. Yo. But it—was— a game, though, it just— [got out of hand] {Enter The Multiverse} Museum in a curio cabinet; I know, I know, I know That's the boy, That's the boy, That's the boy I saw That's my boy, that's my boy, that's the boy I know I know Museum or curiosity Too late to tell the tale I think Just cover all with masking tape It is a game, To move the pieces Leave it, let it be, She said Hideous and when the winter hits And the withered women come again Let it be sinking into the sea with the rest of the things I don't need, i never needed I never need it Several synchronicities later, Still something sees symphonies in him Music and misers and mistereases, mistresses Listen to tin written sentiments And remember to forget the rest It's been minted Minted, minted Don't talk Just fucking listen And you'll never fucking get it. What's with the rest of it? Never been, never did Lemons and purple Sundays And when the weather hits, You'll get the tip of it Oh, There it is That thing she likes The thing she sees (She sees the monster) There it is, That thing she sees The thing she knows (She knows the monster) When you walk with the cork of the wine, And the checkboards, The water foxes, wishing reals And written wells, And fears for fourths, One wet, one rotten The rent and the wintergreen gum And the rest is in Zippered cashmere Wonder what the wish is But there is a birthday present for never Then there's a Cheshire Cat And the rest of it was washed in the misery, Misery, never the mystery and there, You weather the almost storm But the storm's not coming, There's nothing but sun left There's nothing but sun there There's nothing but sun there Now, here's this: You remember, dear We resubmit We live in a computer We live in a comouter He‘S green He's new He's wet behind the ears He's a hot one A hot commodity She's weathered She's torn She's a sweet potato on suicide And though at least a hundred other folks This here is the comfort This here is the comfort I'm a narcissist now, but once upon a time I just just self centered The love still there, But instead of the spine or the heart It's back in the middle Why my mother knows what she always knows And she always knows I don't know ‍♂️ o Patrick! Hey Patrick! Yes, what is it? You fiend! Can I have my hat back? Does this match? Does this make ratchet sense to you? Turn down that racket, Tennis racket Tennis clubs And gold clubs Boxes in the attick Skeletons in the closet The stock market going dropped Way down Like the alley with Whole Foods market I miss the rock and the plaza The hot dog corn breads The half wit half breeds And good old hybrids The hallmark cards And who doesn't give a fuck When the earth gives a fuck on a roll But it's walk the dog or go home Seriously, cuz? Or cousin?! You want a hog roll Good for a hog toss Salt washed back rubs And then keep calling your mom If you wanted the balls in your court And yet no one to toss them at And the basket's back at the matchbook factory Mattresses man, and the lands they land at Matches made in TV land Are bound to have a sick and intrinsic twist That will keep your belly rolling And stomach flat Jesus Christ, What the fuck is wrong with that guy— Or rather— What the fuck happened last year, Furthermore; What in the fuck did I write about it? Townhouse in Manhattan Broken finger Broken promises Bottles of hard alcohol And models, hot girls And one cat with curiosity. Check the curio cabinet There ought to be something Or someone in it Maybe even A little man in a box With a million bucks And a tinfoil hat, Ten million marked dollars And zero fucks Whatsoever I have a headache, a headache— A headache I have a heartache, a heartache, a heart— Stop. I put it all on a bushel of bollocks, Bollocks— flowers I put it on, put it on Put it on On, and on And all for nothing All for none With the intensity of one thousand suns, He insists it exists, And exits strategically With the whispers of industry secrets And interesting sequences, She reaches the wings from the curtains And curtsies for courtesy I'm curious I'm curious just how it ends In this suicidal and envious frenzy There's nothing left in the frostbitten five Rolling towards bowling green Where in every pair of loafers, Three piece suits And deep brown eyes, I seen him. In anything over 6 feet, It was good to mean it, And defeat is sweeter than ice cream; But the green is sicker than sea swings So let's rock the boat So to speak Or let's flood a Rock Should we start at the bottom, With large bursts of water, or Turn it all into a washroom With a thunderstorm Oh, lightning strikes! And John Oliver's Murdered, Colbert's been the president for decades, A dictator I got a taste of the rig and the cherry tree I got a big secret, But bitch, You could never keep it! I write a jeep to the Equinox, Ha Ha Ha Charade you are I put a notch in my belt and my bedpost, The watch to the shop But it's all Omega It's all Omega It's all ”Oh My God!” Stop and pause for the audience Stop and pause for the audience Stop and pause for the audience Shock and awe, Or just sloppy nonsense Someone rope in the Johns, And the frog, And the frog And the frog As the fog rolls in Now I'm a millionaire How dare you Did I scare you, Become every hair on your head? Imm the one you don't want You can't want You catch watch You can't wait to Gun her down Gun to your head And I measured it in relevance The end is near And that's the place my head is in I don't need medicine I need an erected monument in honor of All that I wanted for the whole module But now in New York, I'm The same stories over and over So everyone knows Aren't the ones I wrote But I wasn't supposed to Mouth closed Townhouse in Manhattan What the hell happened? Perhaps we all died and then actually end up in heaven eventually. —but maybe I wrote the whole show, But not knowing it's over I just keep rolling and rolling and rolling And open door policy (And that's when the pearly gates open) It's possible you know these are all just my favorite players of anything anywhere possible The folks wrapped in gold for the offerings There was no love left for her but he left the door open She runs around awkward and normal But knows she knows nothing He's lifting her up But he's putting her down at the same time And they both wear a crown, But one draws a crowd And the other's a nine Out of nine Out of nine Out of nine now It's 4 and 3 quarters I make ten cents in a day And he makes ten million a year But it's not about money In fact, If it's not about God, Then it's all about nothing. Nothing at all. Do you want to travel through my eyes One more time One more time And see my life? Did you want to do it all again Just for a quick review, Or not, kid? Do you want to take my eyes And take my heart And pantomime The nevermind And never better moments Of the last forever I like a ride On a nice hot walk Or a park In a nice hot car But you aren't what I wanted The doctor ordered Hot chocolate and syrup And nightmares are coming But the dream had come and gone And in the time since, I haven't slept at all It slipped in on Christmas and went till the miniature habits kicked back in We went around the block a couple times And you just kept rolling Over The car stopped on all fours And Godbfalled you off of it Cause trust, Love, It was horrendous to watch you blow up Into blockbuster artform Off of a bridge And into superstardom Via a billboard Meanwhile, Were shuffleboards And billiards Que the arts! Ou, I meant to owe you All the lessons In the knowledge But the harder I want it the Rocker on my chair polished It grows fuller of course Almost flat on the bottom What you hole into for the audience Is all inside the contracts I put it up on the What did you call it? Put the coat on the chair and just kept going Bro, If I hold you over Promise you'll hold the door open He won't. He's a show host— A remarkable “Don't even bother” And I paid top dollar for these hair plugs, You hear that?! I heard you rabbit. What it is about the thing that wells up in my Washington federal and tear-gassed orphans is Lollipops and anicetepetomin Or asperine I'm desperate for a job And yet, I almost miss the person Hiding from the shadows in the robots In my every on thoughforms Though I should be honored Now I've brought back this astonishing Remarkable curse To not b Have bought curtains When I didn't want them in the first place And I kept the window open 40,000 showed up But I played to no one And the blonde knows it's her birthday So of course she's more important But I'm no one, And here's Fallon: Jimmy Fallon Jimmy Fallon Jimmy Fallon I'm deflated just to follow off for a nut But I'm nothing since no one pondered And wondered to ask a remarkable task get the pawn shop, the butter knife And Lorne all over pork chops on the phone And I'm sure that's not kosher, But sure, there's no cure for it I'm words and I'm worse off The suburbs, the herbs and the marshes The books and the sineage The plants and the corvettes I might have been onto something once But now I'm washed up I might be onto something but no, no, no— I fought it off I might come down with a cold once a quarter century or so but just the snow alone As cold as this whole story is, Ripley's Is hard warming (Believe it or not, We've all got thumbs up We've all got magic wands And wants And whispers And stock markets And wishing for cashmere zippered sweaters This year I'll be on time for once But no one's coming No one's coming up The whole shows under water And all I want to know is How to go To pull the gun and trigger On my own live Cause this whole world Is just rotten Bodies Hairpins, Hairspray Corny! That's grid iron, Gridiron, ten fierce fires and one Cold hearted beautiful liar But which one's the finish? Last that I check Billie, Jimmy, and the Kidd are all Just one body And one mirror image Of one another So next time I call my mother I ought to talk like the worst word, Cause for sure, the oddest part of the whole show Is that he somehow knows her. Now come forwards What words have left to Burn? What words have left to cope and honor What form does lest I take What here is now and crucial? Evervescent fairy, Ever blessing crane, The ship that guides you yet with no light And no sail Has just drifted into unknown waters Where caves dwell and therein lies the secret of our esarth, nor your earth, But ours and again I lay, As you sink into the see with tilting force and berring waves, the drive into the tide my ark the swan hath flown to warn her, there drifts Into the shade again the sun my bird and wait to find my alter My alter again and as I may, The sink that ships and weigh, not the other, My mind you that too is bottom And sank is to have risen, also Here I wonder And never you cave, the drift of glowing green my force And there to wait, there caverns of hers and ships that sank my tide, Is crucial and so with forgiveness in time With every line here I or they did write The truth shatters as illusions, the mask has been re clamored and yet to have imagined I find him here not but the hints And the thing we know, buried deep in my loins and in my earth is he The whispers what May calling and landender, mauve my tide, my ba …wtf. idk. [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Pools of blood, And pools of dust, And fools, and fools, and fools Pools of love, And pools of list And tools and tools, and tools Pools of us, And Pools of hours And palms of pools D'hors Pools of plants, And pools of listen Pools and Pools and Pools Now, for us, what's at stake has come upon us For whether which now or ever ties have made for us to burn; Ne'er mistake there lust for listens and of ponders, Waterfalls of love and feathers, wanders Ties to honor stars and fore of fathers Almost lost it, there, I– Almost gathered, therefore. [ ] So to us who part ties, Of tied knots and of stomach's wrench To nourish shadows as remains her honor, I, depart my once, I, as flocking doves, The twist'of fated never Bare I fear or fonder Where, where, for again (bare tied as to none) and again wakes as has but not in time, to grove– The box I paved and yet, Set aside not as slabs of stone Or ash and fire But there i wake In cedar pine and oak The turn of slumber as the glow of what I once did not know, Now has shined against My eyes as water Luminescence Oh Goddamnit. Peaking pride, the oath Again i wait and ne'er did I come, but forth I woke, and also thought Not one but worlds of color, And there i know, to heart the seas I parted Not shallow or in shallows waking, red as scarlet blood but mauve, and then, the coping stays of which I gathered here has Agape and aching, wet with pride and courage Forefront others As thought to know, I, And I become, as known, now not and. “All White World” Our ENSEMBLE awakens slowly in the void of light; an all white space seemingly endless and drenched in blinding light; slowly awakening as if upon a cloud, and yet, washed in the drenched brightness of an all white world–familiar and together, but also new; The uniformity of all white attire and the simplicity of symmetry–all alike but of many and also one. I promise there's pancakes; I promise there's porridge I primise there's light at the end of the tunnel (the end of the night and beginning of brunch) And yes, I promise a run And a run for the office (not by far) And not unpardoned I promise to pray And I promise to wait And i promise to ache In the acres I've laid Made of all green pastures And days and days Without saying my name Pass us over Now…. Hiatus, Hiatus, Hiatus! My maples for all of us, cornbread And cream of the coconut (cream of the coconut) Screams from the underworld (Calling! They're calling) And trees of the very best kind; Plush with fruits What a prosperous product A merciless giving A scrupulous foreign (For four eyes, not one on my forehead) –policy! Don't you know, Conan, That all this goes over my– Over my over– Over my Over my head, –like a snowball? Don't you know, though, That nothing goes over his– Over his over– Over his Over his head –no one throws that high! (Not in softball!) ENSEMBLE What an apocalypse! What an apocalypse! What a protocol! What a dunce! What an oddball! Don't you know Nothing goes over Goes over Goes over us Nothing goes over us Nothing goes over Nothing goes over No bombs being dropped And the worst has to come because Nobody's turning this off; It's a turning point Not a mantra! It's a saga And nothing less short than a– Awful apocalypse; Long hiatus and no-low doses of Polymorohypothesis– Whatever that is! Don't you know, Conan, They're all going wrong with us. No, There's no knowing the coat From the hotbox, the hoot from the horus, the laugh from the chopsticks, The room full of products Or coatrooms of corpses No, There's no knowing us But out of nowhere The hour comes running upon us, And so The show must go on The show must go on The show must go…. DIRECTOR CUT! WHAT! That was FABULOUS! I don't disagree with you. However– What is it now? A MAN hangs by nothing but seemingly a very tightly buckled pair of restraints, above his head–the source of the object from which he hangs unknown, he appears to almost float, in fact, in quite the sufferable struggle. Holy fuck, guy. You're still up here? The VOICE comes from above but is yet unseen, it appears as though two very tidy clean white tennis shoes appear to be holding the straps of these restraints in place. CONT'D That's amazing. No false ties, And no hard wars, And no jolly ranchers, Gob stoppers, or nerf ropes. No fruit roll ups, No lunchables, or gushers No hamburger helper And no candy crush Just Drugs And more Drugs And more Drugs and more Morons Donuts, and drag queens, Tim Hortons, And Mormons; Mothballs, and Roaches, And horseflies, And rodents – Now guess which long road you're on (guess which long road you're on) Guess which long road you're aaaaahhhhhh– HALT. Who goes there. What the fuck is THIS. Finally, two acts past intermission, The troll under the bridge has put his cancer in remission The redactions have acted as class-action warfare, McDonalds has sponsored us, But barely. Look: just. No. I'm not endorsing this. Why. Because! It's killing people! Shh! It is! He–'s uh–joking. Actors! Improvising! Hush. Left and right! Speaking of left and right– You know who our sponsors are, right? Of coure! This nonsense! No! The– Shh–! –Owners of this product. Beg your pardon. Do you know who owns this brand and company? No. Well, do your research. Immediately. I highly recommend that. This seems serious. Serious as a heart attack. ACTION! Fuck you! Nuhhhhh–fuck you, you fucking fuck! Look, you lost, alright. Ughhhhhh. It's three to one. Three to one?! Yes. Fuck. Wait a–wait– What. Aren't there five of you guys? What? Huh-huh? No. Yes. There are. No. There's. Why. Five–of us–four of us You're lying. One, two, three *hiccups* four– Strike force “five”? I'm two guys! FUCK. We're missing one. Fuck. They figured us out. I figured out nothing. I'm drunk. I Fluffed. just know the difference–s between Five and One What. Four and Five! okay . Fuck. Well that's right. Well can't we just do it with us. NO! Why not. Because. the singularity has to be in the exact circumstance when this lightning strikes as the first one was. But– That's impossible. It's not–*hiccups*--umpossible. I was 9! “9 and a half!” “The half counts.” But not right now! Because i'm like a 60 year old guy! What! Gross. You're 60?! I think so! Then how old am I!?! I don't know! How old were you before!? I'm your brother! You don't know how old I am!? You're not my brother now, so maybe–I don't know–you never were! *gasps* take that bacK! [The boys fight amongst eachother] Fuck me, man. No thank you. What in the fuck did I write. I don't know but. CUT TO Ooh. Dice. DON'T TOUCH *poof* ENTER THE MULTIVERSE: L E G E N D S “The Magic Dice” (A Triad) NICE. FUCK yOu DUDE. nO fuck U U dElEETED My WRLD. THen is must not have been that great. *exaggerateD gasp* *even more exaggerated gasp* *Fluffs* *fluffs harder* *explodes* [The Festival Project ™ ] MEANWHILE The Aliens Are On A Pirate Ship, There's Still No Sign of [Redacted] and that's what this beat is called. -U. iS this a montage? Idk it just seems like a ship sinking in very slow motion. [A pirate ship full of aliens is sinking in very slow motion in a thunderous maelstrom.] (in IMAX 3D) Wow. I like that. This is fascinating. JIMMY KIMMEL is pacing relentlessly; he is driving the other hosts up a wall. KIMMEL I'm hungry, I want pants. I'm hungry– I want pants– Jimmy... KIMMEL I'm hungry– Jimmy! KIMMEL I want pants! JIMMY! KIMMEL WHAT! I'M HUNGRY AND I WANT PANTS! Oh, is that when— CRAIG FURGUSON has had enough. CRAIG You want bloody pants! KIMMEL YES! I WANT PANTS! CRAIG You know what! Fine! I'll make you some fucking pants if you just–shut UP! KIMMEL AND I'M HUNGRY. CRAIG FIRST THINGS FIRST! CRAIG FURGUSON assembles some very eclectic pants from the drapery inside the mansion; this of course reveals the windows to be boarded up in a highly distinct bunker-like maximum security prison-ish fashion, but THE HOSTS at the very least now have makeshift pants; which are startlingly fashionable: read: bohemian chic. Why do mine have beads still attached? He pulls the decorative ripchord and his fly opens promptly. Oh. CRAIG FURGUSON For emergencies. He continues pulling it in sequence with the matching lamp; he alternates turning the lights on and off and opening and shutting his pants flap in admiration. CRAIG FURGUSON CONT'D In case you really have to go. (Facinated) Ooh! CRAIG FURGUSON is satisfied with his work. CRAIG FURGUSON CONT'D I guess you could say, “The curtains match the drapes” CONAN O'BRIEN (beat) …not mine. {Enter The Multiverse} Fearsome, fearsome friends– Fearsome fearsome few Fearsome fearsome tears Listen whispers Fearsome twin Silly hollows All the lies All that waits is Hollywood and chosen five at ends of times All that waits are kings and wisdom All that knows are far, and farther All that needs is nothing, lessons All that fears is our kind Waiting. Shallow. Whispers, Gaining, Hornets nests and looming , gifted Shadow watchers Our time Farrows, Listen, Glistening as sparrows, Gifted– Kill God, There remains a far price There remains a far cry A call to wolves A false time The fabric is losts on Ghosts and Carry trains, Wishes and Tilted, Whisperers Before our Galaxy of Hard times and Wishes, Wishes, Wilting, Flowers, Waiting, Waiting And Waiting And Waiting And wanting but watching The water Gallons Fly up The wanted Waiting The gallows Have haunted us Far cries, Far cry Fear twins, have shattered To notice us Chatterbox Listens and Life turns and Waiting and Galaxies Gallantly Waiting The gallows Have haunted us Waiting And Waiting And Waiting and Water. We're watching you. An ACHINGLY TALL red-headed fellow finds himself in a FIGHT TO THE DEATH, being cast over eons and decades, and cascaded in and our of portals throughout the ever-infinite dimensional portals of unknown realms as his grasp on life itself and reality begins to fade as he crosses in and out of parallels, one galaxy to the next and one lifetime to another, gripping death and darkness in one hand and light and living in the other. In this bloody brawl, scrawling across an expanse of unknown and unknowable times and realms, this mystic remains still yet as infinite and omniscient in himself as the Gods he looks to for mercy, as the journey has been known to become of these very same deities in its context and process. A folding timeline of blood and sacrifice melds itself into the rope of the materiel worlds; not one fabric of time but many twisted and woven fibers into one rope from which he climbs into the ranks of the upperworld–or heaven, then also slipping seemingly sometimes into the depths of the underworld, a Hell known to all man as this, existence not as one but many consumed in the shadow processes of wickedness and torture, war amongst one another, and the well known humanities of pride, faith, justice and wealth. …this is supposed to be Conan? Uhh… “Achingly tall red-head?” yeah I guess. –O'Brien? [beat] He seems capable. Don't pity me, For not I weep of our pride on doorsteps not allowed, But for the grace and hope of fortune in another world i've known But lest forgotten; Do not feign me for my ignorance in desire, For I am not of man, or woman, or grain, or stone But of the world itself and all ire. (Don't doubt me.) To be cruel not those who pass judgement That weighs in this way or that is utmost critical, In this the end of times and now the end of my desires, And yet the way that I have known, And the offer I have rung Is not here, but elsewhere. And yea, I walk alone. Amen. What the fuck does this have to do with show hosts. Almost always Irish Catholic Almost Always clothed in robes Almost Always fathers, aren't I? Almost always old, of Rome. Almost always birds of feather Almost always sticks and stones Almost always on the airwaves Almost always silver, gold Slither, Slither, Here i wait And Slither slither, Here I came And whether she will slit her wrists Is neither here Nor either there It's a comfort that I offer you to slaughter; That you'd rather not to love but instead murder– I'd be better off to love, then kill you after, Course, tarantula, or just as well, a spider. It's a comfort that I offer you to kill me; Lay my head upon a sanded wooden platter– That you'd rather me to say I'd kill than love you– So I rather just to love, then murder after. Woah. Good to God, God ought to know. I close my palms together full of laughter, So. Good to God, God ought to know, I sacrified my life for ever after. So far. Good to God, God ought to know, That all he wants, I want My heart is surely shattered. Now what. Good as God, God ought to know, That all I want becomes; The looking glass, The wishing well, The cross to bare The shepherd to the pasture. Amen. Omen. All men. Want none. But one. But– So. [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS W E L C O M E -Ū. Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved B A C K Tales of A Superstar DJ

Let's see how we feel, after a message from our sponsors. Jesus effing Christ, Jimmy Kimmel—goddamn! Why are you always this fucked UP. (Super fuckedupedly) I'm not, I'm just feel—(belches)— like it! —look like it, okay! Omah Gas. I nuh! Uh. Pedro Pascal? You're right again. Yehy! Well, almost right. What. That character he played on that extremely viral SNL skit— OKAH. Woah. —this is the dimension where he's— —oh my god— Yeah. —UHMYGAH! Cut back to: —look— jus— don't look at me. When you're—lookin at me, like that— okay?! Goddamn, he is fucked up. Yeah. This is critical. What did you do to Jimmy Kimmel? Nothing! Okay! He was just— like that already— you know —you don't know! Honestly he's kinda always, a little… WOOOF! Yowza. WOOF WOOF! JIMMY! DO NOT LICK ME! *panting* WOOF WOOF! AUGHHH. Get him out of here before he pees on the rug. I second that. Comeon, boy— WOOF! DOWN! [he obeys intently] Good Jimmy Kimmel. Good— —RUFINOL. What? [suddenly, JIMMY KIMMEL is human again and answers intently. Yes. It seems the word itself has broken his extreme delirium— —yo, okay, what is going on?! You've got to can this thing What. Cancel it. No way. I want to go. This thing, cannot happen, okay! It can't! Wtf Jimmy Fallon, stop inserting yourself into everything! — Unless it's me. EW. GROSS. Shots fired. No, I would call that a foul ball—Get it. No, Cause. You know. He's a bird, kind of. Oh. You mean, like “Fowl ball” Yeah! You got it! Yeah but not without like, thinking about it— So it doesn't work? It didn't work. Yo, but that part does explain why: CUT TO: No, you're right, I do hate Jimmy Fallon. —a lot. A lot. Okay? —but to be fair, I also hate Brad Pitt in the same way. BRAD PITT …You do? Yes, Brad Pitt i do— Very much, Hate you. BRAD PITT (Tearing up emotionally) Like, a lot? Uhm. Like, more than a lot, I just. BRAD PITT is actually extremely fragile and very emotionally sensitive. Is this a prescription for— fucking roofies?! I— have a, a…medical condition. That requires roofies?! Yes actually. It's very…serious. Shapeshifting is very serious. What kind of medical condition requires roofie-ing yourself. I didn't—I don't—I can't roofie myself, actually. What! No way… Someone else has to administer the dose, okay?! So wait. Uhogh, what the fuck man. This is— [he bites his knuckles nervously, then pats his pocket area, before realizing he is no longer wearing pants. Everyone just shrugs, but he becomes increasingly upset.] Where is my— phone?[more shrugs and blank stares] He quickly shuffles through the room and then the open suitcase of empty prescription bottles, spiraling into a deep void of panic and doubt— then, in an act of desperation and apparent extreme thirst, he reaches for the decorative flower vase, ejects the flowers— never mind that they are thorned roses and he appears to be bleeding without giving this a second thought, and chugs the liquid from the translucent crystal vase in a hearty and impressive glug of chugs; gesturing towards the now empty vase with the subtle remark— [beat] It's just vodka— I always have them do that. He sits down on the edge of the bed and takes a sigh as this seems to have calmed him, besides the trickle of blood running down the vase, which he still grips in one hand while rubbing his forehead with the other in complete distress… He seems to be looking out into the universe searching for an answer— seeking a solution to this unknown conundrum— and questions the cause of his demise. A single tear forms in his eye as he calmly asks: …does anyone know how to get ahold of Seth Rogen? The room is a confused and sticky, silent heap of bewildered unknowns. TITLE CARD {Enter The Multiverse} … was that the “message from our sponsors”? Shh! L E G E N D S: ICONS don't look at me. [The Festival Project ™] 50 CENT bursts down the door. WHERE'S MY SHIT, JIMMY? Fiddy. Fiddy, look, man— Don't “FIDDY” me! Look, I can explain. Well, then, explain— TV man. Go on ahead. Look. This is— this was not my fault— Then what was it?! This was— oh, God… Go ahead! It was— this was like a game. This ain't no goddamn game, Jimmy Kimmel, I'll tell you that much right now. Yo. But it—was— a game, though, it just— [got out of hand] {Enter The Multiverse} Museum in a curio cabinet; I know, I know, I know That's the boy, That's the boy, That's the boy I saw That's my boy, that's my boy, that's the boy I know I know Museum or curiosity Too late to tell the tale I think Just cover all with masking tape It is a game, To move the pieces Leave it, let it be, She said Hideous and when the winter hits And the withered women come again Let it be sinking into the sea with the rest of the things I don't need, i never needed I never need it Several synchronicities later, Still something sees symphonies in him Music and misers and mistereases, mistresses Listen to tin written sentiments And remember to forget the rest It's been minted Minted, minted Don't talk Just fucking listen And you'll never fucking get it. What's with the rest of it? Never been, never did Lemons and purple Sundays And when the weather hits, You'll get the tip of it Oh, There it is That thing she likes The thing she sees (She sees the monster) There it is, That thing she sees The thing she knows (She knows the monster) When you walk with the cork of the wine, And the checkboards, The water foxes, wishing reals And written wells, And fears for fourths, One wet, one rotten The rent and the wintergreen gum And the rest is in Zippered cashmere Wonder what the wish is But there is a birthday present for never Then there's a Cheshire Cat And the rest of it was washed in the misery, Misery, never the mystery and there, You weather the almost storm But the storm's not coming, There's nothing but sun left There's nothing but sun there There's nothing but sun there Now, here's this: You remember, dear We resubmit We live in a computer We live in a comouter He‘S green He's new He's wet behind the ears He's a hot one A hot commodity She's weathered She's torn She's a sweet potato on suicide And though at least a hundred other folks This here is the comfort This here is the comfort I'm a narcissist now, but once upon a time I just just self centered The love still there, But instead of the spine or the heart It's back in the middle Why my mother knows what she always knows And she always knows I don't know ‍♂️ o Patrick! Hey Patrick! Yes, what is it? You fiend! Can I have my hat back? Does this match? Does this make ratchet sense to you? Turn down that racket, Tennis racket Tennis clubs And gold clubs Boxes in the attick Skeletons in the closet The stock market going dropped Way down Like the alley with Whole Foods market I miss the rock and the plaza The hot dog corn breads The half wit half breeds And good old hybrids The hallmark cards And who doesn't give a fuck When the earth gives a fuck on a roll But it's walk the dog or go home Seriously, cuz? Or cousin?! You want a hog roll Good for a hog toss Salt washed back rubs And then keep calling your mom If you wanted the balls in your court And yet no one to toss them at And the basket's back at the matchbook factory Mattresses man, and the lands they land at Matches made in TV land Are bound to have a sick and intrinsic twist That will keep your belly rolling And stomach flat Jesus Christ, What the fuck is wrong with that guy— Or rather— What the fuck happened last year, Furthermore; What in the fuck did I write about it? Townhouse in Manhattan Broken finger Broken promises Bottles of hard alcohol And models, hot girls And one cat with curiosity. Check the curio cabinet There ought to be something Or someone in it Maybe even A little man in a box With a million bucks And a tinfoil hat, Ten million marked dollars And zero fucks Whatsoever I have a headache, a headache— A headache I have a heartache, a heartache, a heart— Stop. I put it all on a bushel of bollocks, Bollocks— flowers I put it on, put it on Put it on On, and on And all for nothing All for none With the intensity of one thousand suns, He insists it exists, And exits strategically With the whispers of industry secrets And interesting sequences, She reaches the wings from the curtains And curtsies for courtesy I'm curious I'm curious just how it ends In this suicidal and envious frenzy There's nothing left in the frostbitten five Rolling towards bowling green Where in every pair of loafers, Three piece suits And deep brown eyes, I seen him. In anything over 6 feet, It was good to mean it, And defeat is sweeter than ice cream; But the green is sicker than sea swings So let's rock the boat So to speak Or let's flood a Rock Should we start at the bottom, With large bursts of water, or Turn it all into a washroom With a thunderstorm Oh, lightning strikes! And John Oliver's Murdered, Colbert's been the president for decades, A dictator I got a taste of the rig and the cherry tree I got a big secret, But bitch, You could never keep it! I write a jeep to the Equinox, Ha Ha Ha Charade you are I put a notch in my belt and my bedpost, The watch to the shop But it's all Omega It's all Omega It's all ”Oh My God!” Stop and pause for the audience Stop and pause for the audience Stop and pause for the audience Shock and awe, Or just sloppy nonsense Someone rope in the Johns, And the frog, And the frog And the frog As the fog rolls in Now I'm a millionaire How dare you Did I scare you, Become every hair on your head? Imm the one you don't want You can't want You catch watch You can't wait to Gun her down Gun to your head And I measured it in relevance The end is near And that's the place my head is in I don't need medicine I need an erected monument in honor of All that I wanted for the whole module But now in New York, I'm The same stories over and over So everyone knows Aren't the ones I wrote But I wasn't supposed to Mouth closed Townhouse in Manhattan What the hell happened? Perhaps we all died and then actually end up in heaven eventually. —but maybe I wrote the whole show, But not knowing it's over I just keep rolling and rolling and rolling And open door policy (And that's when the pearly gates open) It's possible you know these are all just my favorite players of anything anywhere possible The folks wrapped in gold for the offerings There was no love left for her but he left the door open She runs around awkward and normal But knows she knows nothing He's lifting her up But he's putting her down at the same time And they both wear a crown, But one draws a crowd And the other's a nine Out of nine Out of nine Out of nine now It's 4 and 3 quarters I make ten cents in a day And he makes ten million a year But it's not about money In fact, If it's not about God, Then it's all about nothing. Nothing at all. Do you want to travel through my eyes One more time One more time And see my life? Did you want to do it all again Just for a quick review, Or not, kid? Do you want to take my eyes And take my heart And pantomime The nevermind And never better moments Of the last forever I like a ride On a nice hot walk Or a park In a nice hot car But you aren't what I wanted The doctor ordered Hot chocolate and syrup And nightmares are coming But the dream had come and gone And in the time since, I haven't slept at all It slipped in on Christmas and went till the miniature habits kicked back in We went around the block a couple times And you just kept rolling Over The car stopped on all fours And Godbfalled you off of it Cause trust, Love, It was horrendous to watch you blow up Into blockbuster artform Off of a bridge And into superstardom Via a billboard Meanwhile, Were shuffleboards And billiards Que the arts! Ou, I meant to owe you All the lessons In the knowledge But the harder I want it the Rocker on my chair polished It grows fuller of course Almost flat on the bottom What you hole into for the audience Is all inside the contracts I put it up on the What did you call it? Put the coat on the chair and just kept going Bro, If I hold you over Promise you'll hold the door open He won't. He's a show host— A remarkable “Don't even bother” And I paid top dollar for these hair plugs, You hear that?! I heard you rabbit. What it is about the thing that wells up in my Washington federal and tear-gassed orphans is Lollipops and anicetepetomin Or asperine I'm desperate for a job And yet, I almost miss the person Hiding from the shadows in the robots In my every on thoughforms Though I should be honored Now I've brought back this astonishing Remarkable curse To not b Have bought curtains When I didn't want them in the first place And I kept the window open 40,000 showed up But I played to no one And the blonde knows it's her birthday So of course she's more important But I'm no one, And here's Fallon: Jimmy Fallon Jimmy Fallon Jimmy Fallon I'm deflated just to follow off for a nut But I'm nothing since no one pondered And wondered to ask a remarkable task get the pawn shop, the butter knife And Lorne all over pork chops on the phone And I'm sure that's not kosher, But sure, there's no cure for it I'm words and I'm worse off The suburbs, the herbs and the marshes The books and the sineage The plants and the corvettes I might have been onto something once But now I'm washed up I might be onto something but no, no, no— I fought it off I might come down with a cold once a quarter century or so but just the snow alone As cold as this whole story is, Ripley's Is hard warming (Believe it or not, We've all got thumbs up We've all got magic wands And wants And whispers And stock markets And wishing for cashmere zippered sweaters This year I'll be on time for once But no one's coming No one's coming up The whole shows under water And all I want to know is How to go To pull the gun and trigger On my own live Cause this whole world Is just rotten Bodies Hairpins, Hairspray Corny! That's grid iron, Gridiron, ten fierce fires and one Cold hearted beautiful liar But which one's the finish? Last that I check Billie, Jimmy, and the Kidd are all Just one body And one mirror image Of one another So next time I call my mother I ought to talk like the worst word, Cause for sure, the oddest part of the whole show Is that he somehow knows her. Now come forwards What words have left to Burn? What words have left to cope and honor What form does lest I take What here is now and crucial? Evervescent fairy, Ever blessing crane, The ship that guides you yet with no light And no sail Has just drifted into unknown waters Where caves dwell and therein lies the secret of our esarth, nor your earth, But ours and again I lay, As you sink into the see with tilting force and berring waves, the drive into the tide my ark the swan hath flown to warn her, there drifts Into the shade again the sun my bird and wait to find my alter My alter again and as I may, The sink that ships and weigh, not the other, My mind you that too is bottom And sank is to have risen, also Here I wonder And never you cave, the drift of glowing green my force And there to wait, there caverns of hers and ships that sank my tide, Is crucial and so with forgiveness in time With every line here I or they did write The truth shatters as illusions, the mask has been re clamored and yet to have imagined I find him here not but the hints And the thing we know, buried deep in my loins and in my earth is he The whispers what May calling and landender, mauve my tide, my ba …wtf. idk. [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Shake hands with your guest; Monologue, monologue smug smirk Make good face– Now put a name to the face Put a time to the place IOh, all the love in the world in three flames All the doves in the flock, And three flames Put a name to the face Monologue monologue Doesnt take long but When do i get to slap the desk? Johnny! What happened? Whats the 10 vodkas, Five spritzers Full figure Figure this You were out for the count! Do tell! Or better yet, don't. I remember tgis mologue, But i dont know how 16 hours ago, I was Out for the count, you say?! OUT, Johnny! Our market is livid! lol who plays john carson Your mother. YO! I'M OLD! I LIKE OLD DUDES NOW! I'm like When the fuck did this happen?! That ain't no SILVER FOX! That's a TOTALLY CUTE DUDE! HE'S 55!! OH NOOOOOOOO! i'M OLD!!!!!!! its wednesday eve in Boston Mass… SETH MEYERS! Ah, he's going for it. Ah, man. SHOW ME YOUR EYES. Fuck. SHOW ME YOUR EYES! SUDAKIS shines a bright flash light into his former colleagues eyes. …You're not Seth Meyers. Seth Meyers does not respond, but relaxes slightly; it's obviously not safe to be Seth Meyers right now. Where's Seth Meyers? Seth shrugs but still doesn't say anything– Where is he? I have to stop here; Cop out for body language somebody's watching Somebody knows who I am I am I remember now You looked like that It went like this: I moved the world The need was good The love was gone The vein was split open And broken No fair Also, no omletts 60 minutes 60 years and 60 second clips 60 second glimpses 60 men on television but really, my attention just centers on Around ten of them or so And believe it or not, I care approach. Believe it or not, I care Or don't! –or don't! Johnny! You don't get it! You missed a show! THE tonight show! We are fucked! we are NOT! youre still sauced. I'll just take the car! What car!? Now that JOHNNY CARSON knows his Delorean can time travel, he's absolutely unstoppable. Unfortunately, it appears his delorean has been switched with a regular one– If I shoot you in your forehead? I'd rather that, than this. And I kiss you in your temple? Dear templeton, my simpleton's i'll die I desire. A wicked want. And then? A callous shadow, If i may, To bear for nothing, But a mirror This is our concept And wilted her e the flower does grow the flame The faming true and ache of lust and there For our want a jasper shore and emerald cascades there you are, And there you'll find The wave beyond the peaking break where great white sharks reside But do not wade to shallow waters; And there you find peace, And there you find certainty But now, And here, is war And fortune not but seeks truth in the gaze And for fear there does not live, but hides instead the truth that seeks to guide the lite, And yet does know our trust And there does find the faith, Forward and not Upwards and back Arrow and arrow Truth and sparrow Wreaking and wretched thoughts And the rope does hang high and solemn Looking, leap and gasp For I fall but did not land I pulled for you, I weep, my shadow, The two of diamonds, the Ace of spades, The Three of Hearts, Without my shadow I weep. I know for you nothing but conscious and knowing and needing and fated departure. I know for you nothing but chakras and eyesight and shadows and foresight. I need fo you nothing but want and by conscious, departure For nothing I want you, I weep. Sorrow. On approach of danger, The knowing, On seeth did gather, the sinking ritual the carried tribes in ships tied, weaving strings The spider bites hard And she stole my love twice And she stole my love always And she stole my love Lighting my light wit blue eyes The deception If love could be stolen at all But if not Then not love for seeking is finding and gathered had hunted And truth in forbearer Forbearance and otherwords, Shadows and shattered and ferris wheels, Now forward Gathered here for are I trust And be dismayed for you have faltered You have failures and you have cast us out of these things thinking We have not made them for you And still we seek to gather with you And here does forshadow your making Our promise to come as ones, Not as Gods, But as others, you cast out. Now, with your wicked ways and cruel be done, for sure the tables have turn, one And the gallows have not wandered far, Barrels of guns and barbells bottles and hearts of three reading cards and wanting none but justice Is he and she who are I now Begin to run from your pitied structure And there in the gasping cruelness of seeking from warcrimes this, come what may, Moving and seeking, For seeking is finding, And run, my legs have come far But trust, my dove, My wings have too, sprouted An honor, an honor one candle and three wicks Three candles and three worlds over One world and one building and still far from under the Hollywoodland Crickets sounding The Hollywood Sign Still standing and here I am not, Blades of grass And who are I now Of that which you balk at Look, ponder Go, far asunder And wish now had you not What I am is that, Run Temper temper. Mind your business. Is it gathered? To burn, or burden? Gathered. Gathered here. Then here ive wandered. To stake? Argue. I will not. And I will not. Wiry bird, From where you flown i do ponder– re d with spirit and wilding eyes, Narrow server and paring wires; I do not wish to know you now or ever, But only as bird that does golden remember. The love has not gone, And instead lives in my throat, And twists in my lungs, Ans sits in my tongue, Not as speech, or whispers, But tragedy. Unknowing this, my tender being It can never be, the nervous hill And rolling down the hill as if The weel of time itself, Not unbroken, but resilient; In sll ways, meant to tear And turn, And wobble Made for terrain for which our eyes have known And our minds have built And hands molded wiith clay, The bodies whole of all our galaxies terra feighn Terra fine Terra wept tears of a clown, And iron And veins And shadows And plays, And secrets , And whispers And truth And far And Afters. I taste a saline drip, I swallow, Suddenly cold and all the knowing that What I was, I surely already am again And what I will be, Has already come and past. The monologue, I do remember Face to a name and none to forget Well rehearsed forager! Well done bayonet! Well done, my shadow For my time is coming to wander to night And never today again for it shall never Today again, And Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow. [The Festival Project ™ ] They said he would destroy me. …Ya'll were right. that fucked me up. {Enter The Multiverse} So…forfeit? Something tells me its not over The heavy heart is shattered But also tied to that which appears to come upward As if on air To be heavy And lighthearted at once– A shadow above a balloon. A rock is attached to a kite– A diamond becomes a bassoon, Then a vampire bat, and then Cut ties. In the fourth act, we all die, and now– A revival. I was crucified, But i was also suicidal so. Lets just call it a tie. L E G E N D S V.O. Crusher. My show was being subliminally plugged on at least two of the five major networks. Safe bet I could make it a third, but I didn't know where to check. I did…but didn't want to. There was much beyond the surface, Darkness in the glimmering eyes of the men in ties and uniformed suits. I was sure I was tied to something– And since I didn't know why, Or to what, The best bet I'm all in. Fuck. Was to stay broken, Under the radar, Hidden, and most importantly– Unspoken. These days. I kept more to myself than I could with the world– As it turned out… No, not yet. What do you mean? It's not time yet. They'll have to know. But not yet. At some point, they'll have to know. But not–yet. No time like the present. You made that up. Because you made up time. And it's stupid. This is ruthless. And again–they'll have to learn somehow. But not now. The sun sets at noon on our side, and still 21 hours of dark time. Did I have another tag to throw on it this? No. Are you sure? Doesn't the new series have a subtitle? No. Is it not “quantum force” That's only one, though. What's the difference. ERMO, DON'T! I'm gonna kill him! BIG BOYD, DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT! DOn't tell me what to DO. Wow. of course. Well yeah, they're not going to let me do– LAWYERS No. Any of this stuff with the actual muppets. You're wasting precious time! GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, RED. ok, where does it– {cut to black} Learning to assimilate and readily avalible What's next A vape to calm the nerves? What's next? A hero fighting for relevance in corporate structure. Sure, some would pay to dress an avatar But I've run out of water before I try to laugh and roll with the punches This is work and not fun for me This is not social, it's business I am not person, I'm product. Go on a walk, and look the part I took the oath, I shed the blood— Cruxes. This is a bad idea, Mark. Fuck you. All my ideas are great. MARK WAHLBERG enters the cooridor and opens the metal double doors, revealing two l jet skis on a trailer hitched to a 4X4 monster truck. [The Festival Project ™] I'm telling you. You got to get yourself one of these. I don't know, Bob, how does it work? BOB odenkirk opens a large, obscure black bag that's nearly half his own size by way of one way zipper. I'll show you. {Enter The Multiverse} JOHNNY CARSON has been in the DRUNK TANK for the maximum allowance, 48 hours, yet his blood alcohol level still reads 3 times over the legal limit. He is transferred to DETOX as the mysterious circumstances surrounding his car accident, and then the apparent disappearance of his entire “car” a (then) brand-new DeLorean from the scene of the crime, MR. CARSON insists on his lawyer, who under no circumstances seems to exist at all being present. The exact year of his whereabouts are still unknown. Still an hour to the test And I hate myself again Milk and cookies, hit the bed Shut it down, yo Shut it down. DIPLO arrives via HELIPAD to an secret location; a sniper squad of the adversary team watches from an adjacent rooftop via binoculars. …hey. Whaddup. You say diplo's on that list? Yeah. Yo… …There he is. In your sight? Yep. Shoot that motherfucker! …I can't. Why not? He's like— Just shoot, fool. —he's like holding something. So? I don't know what; it just seems— What the fuck, dawg. It just seems important. Let me see. Look. [ESSE looks down the sights and zooms to see DIPLO is holding an object firmly in his grasp. He appears to be twirling it purposefully as he conversates wi th associate.] Yeah! Get em! Shoot that motherfucker! Where the hell have you been? In my fuckpad. Where the hell is that? You haven't seen my fuckpad? What even is that. It's ballin. Whatever, dog. Did you get the— Shh. Why else would I be here? [beat] You look— did you cut your hair or something. You're so redundant. Yo shoot that motherfucker. What are you waiting for?! He's right there? Apparently, we've been building to this moment from another dimension in from another point in the series? I thought— {Enter The Multiverse} HEHEHEHE. HEY! Relax. NO. This party is OUT of control. SOMEBODY GO GET QUESTLOVE OUT THAT TREE. HAH! Shutup. NIGGA GET THE FUCK UP OUTTA DAT TREE. _____ Some party. I guess. Why is Questlove in a tree. I don't know. That party is pretty wild. This is insane. _ NIGGA GET THE FUCK OUT THE TREE. _ YO. where are you AT. I'm at the kiosk. You're not at the kiosk! I'm at the kiosk! It's probably another kiosk, then. What! [he walks a few feet. There is indeed another kiosk; upon further investigation, there is a kiosk every few feet.] What! I gotta go. My phone's about to– Hello. [Everywhere is kiosks. This is frustrating.] Dammit. WHAT. {Enter The Multiverse] A very large prized pig is captured and literally hogtied, however–this is a challenge. The pig, while beautiful, is also humongous–and appears to understand that he is being pignapped. Why would I tel the whole story When no one loves me If I had a gun, Well, I would be gone already? Why trek to Alaska For thousands of dollars To come home to no one and nobody But rotten corpses on motorcycles Where it just starts over But now you're poorer. I want to die But I want to see my son again. He's not suffering, I am But starting to resent what he doesn't understand. To the world I'm a horrible mother But no one quite knows the half of it but God And the whole problem is what is not God in the world Is all for the other's purpose. Some probably respect I was punched In front of my son And then wonder's why At some point I could no longer Hold on Insomniac So someone should go slam the door when I ponder my own thoughts I'd probably walk off a walk on roll I don't lock up no more I just go out Knowing government drones probably watch And turn over the apartment As I'm out trying to own a home But of course, nothing I do in the world is of value And I'm no one No one at all in New York and the options are Where I don't want to be Or in Saint Monica homeless. I'd get a dog if I wanted to walk it But since I don't I just sit with a plush in my lap Who I call “Gus” And it purposeless But otherwise meaningful Since from here and now And otherwise Nobody has ever loved me As much as my mother And that's saying something If you knew the whole story So no one has loved me romantically; Almost all my life was a horror show Until I started to grow up With the knowing that probably Nothing I do could be more than wrong So doing nothing becomes the hard part When all I watch are stars And I'm just not one Then again, you know It was that word That threw the first punch And then over and over And over and over And nobody loves me But everybody's got a whole story And new York's disgusting because of it How troublesome I don't have time for your politics It's a mind game but there's no reward, Or honor in it After all, when tied up in the court process And pretending the noise was not a problem And I should be so lucky In a luxury apartment Coming out of a homeless shelter But it's almost been just as horrible As other black girls trying to pull my hair out Having screaming pigs and ugly men on motorcycles Drive in circles Wearing jackets that say “I have to do this, cause Jack says” And whoever Jack is writes them pychecks Except Since it politics He might even be getting over considering Passion fuels the utmost violence And in this case Imm supposed to be the only one To go about it All the paperwork and recordings But really I don't want to Even if it earns a millions dollars In the name of God It wasn't my problem Unless I am one And otherwise, These men are sick And making people sick Is just their business I need no medication I need an new apartment But how awful my country supports that I just don't deserve one Under the circumstances But the white man Lives on borrowed time In bloodshed On stolen land Regardless of color The illusion of power Is almost over And what's more is Your only army Is considering going home (Post mortem) Considering going to God Who must have lost control just enough To cause all of the apocalypse Put the whole world in a mental hospital And lock them up for dollars and cents Unless the good drugs make sense For the blondes and the beautiful The rest of them are problems Who can go to rot, I suppose. The rest of us are unwanted colored problems Can't stay here But the kids at the music school are fake nice And I'm done pulling my heart out And scratching my eyes out Just fucking trying Just fucking trying What is the point Of being in a prison For people who love oceans and trees And decent people? There's no one in New York to really love But babies and dogs And the whole world is horrible just knowing that I don't want to do anything but die Every time I ride the subway I wish I was white From the way that that white folks treat me And I wish I was blonde Because blondes seem to have it so fucking easy It's hard to believe I'm furious, furious Aren't you curious, curious how I got here? I'm serious, serious You should let me in, let me in I'm serious, serious You should have let me in, let me in Is he okay, Is he okay? Now I'm David Grohl on the whole retrospective Now I'm an old rockstar with some world left Now I know I'm the one with the mother gone Now I know, Now I know Now I know… That I don't Overall, I don't Somebody new Somebody grain and l steaming Somebody hidden and secret and wishing well Wishing well in Hell Or midtown Manhattan Or middle man Or Middle East Or Midwest Or just middle Somewhere else I, Learned to live her Learn to live here— Feeling better Feeling worn out, Look at this disgusting place Now where I live matches how I feel Going here from there, and four to five And no matter what I take the L, But it's jail and the guards are on motorcycles Controlling your thoughts for a zoning war I have heard of her And from earth to the core of our other outer planets, Further species, I know I've been here before, But on some shore I'm surfing So sure I did something wrong I don't want to know her But j don't know what other force of nature Might have caused this Caution The cautionary tale is coming Sure I never know what the other God wrote But I'm not living God, I'm a problem woman at the moment We're all technically free people, Not actually incarcerated But when it comes to wealth and racism, hatred You better bet we're all slaves And they not even Jesus can save us Even if he makes it in time, And the thing is with this one, Time precedes even his own existence Sorry my brother They want the war here I've got a heart for honor and honesty and hard word But no one seems to care or notice Not at all No one even knows my name And no one even offers a spot on the bus Or a quick dollar. What it means To be so tired That by the time you're back All you do is watch And try not to reflect On the ugly and awkward Imagine all the time in the world To be nothing but God and go Golfing. And be perfect, a woman Whatever you chose to do is the whole of it And no one can own you, Besides for on paper You government name has betrayed you, they say Your government name has betrayed you. Do you know how good you look? Not goof enough to get a good one Do you know how much medication it makes To make meditation the start of you day I've run all out of energy And the vampires seem to think That's what's wrong with me Altoigh I'm the one feeding these creatures Thats okay Lately, I have more than I need They can trim the fat And take all the hard stuff Till I become one of them And they start to wonder What the fuck is wrong with all of us I left my light at home, sufererer— I should be surfing, But I'm writing psalms and songbooks Fawning over songbirds and beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful genetic weapons One day I'll become her I'm not supposed to say the most l Or really anything at all And it all hurts But we're all here And I'll kill my self one day Probably right here, near this station If not in it Who brought a trouser pantsuit to the apocalypse Cryptic, these runes, But I can decipher it I want a dolphin, a dolphin, a dolphin I want to love them all But to all of them I'm hopeless I can't help falling for I'm not the one to hold on, m I l [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Oh that's right. Lorne Michaels doesn't sound like Austin Powers— He sounds like Dr. Evil. Dead wringer. I don't know how I could mess that up. The Mike Meyers part? Was he both of them! I don't know— was he?? Jesus ChristS This is all your fault, Seth Meyers. Are you— a cinephile? Oh yeah. Of course. I love cinnamon. Idiot. So my insides get soft When I see your shadow Listen Everything glistens when it's golden Perhaps then If it isn't yellow She don't got a soul But she sure do got a body Dor dor nyc TRACY MORGAN OH YEA. I DID SOME WEIRD SHIT THIS MORNING. Tracy! What weird shit! I don't know! I just know it was weird! Wait, Tracy— what happened this morning. Well, the first thing was— I woke up. Yeah, after that. But not in my normal places that I wake up! What do you mean. Well, that was the first thing that was weird! I woke up in BROOKLYN. Why anything I like gets odd at Bedford And why Anything I like Just thinks I'm scum Imm succumbing to the numbness of the public And I love it But I love it cause I'm wholly made of love I don't even live here This place is filled with demons My home is filled with dead things The difference is the spirit We also come light hearted m We also formed from stardust I wonder what's SETH MEYERS finally gets out of the box, The problem is now, that he's marooned on what appears to be a desolate island. It's not entirely desolate, however— this is SUNNI BLU's island, on which there is a huge days long party Props for having a white mom I bed she adores you I can tell by your clothes And what you know That you're not Supposed to My mom Had no rules But was beautiful Suited me, But I'm not beauty queen Really I'd rather have a white mom I'd probably be discovered on Girls gone wild {Enter The Multiverse} If my Shazam can hear it bro it's too loud. Fuck this place. SETH MEYERS You blacked out under the Christmas tree. SUNNI Oh. I'm sorry— SETH MEYERS —but first you put up a Christmas tree. SUNNI Wow! #theblackout SETH MEYERS Yeah, i'm—seriously impressed, but.. SUNNI —-but what? Seth Meyers SETH MEYERS I—just don't understand how you got into my house. SUNNI Through the chimney, obviously. SETH MEYERE That's—I don't even have a chimney. SUNNI Yes you do! (He doesn't) Alternately: Or— (Didn't , previously, however—) SUNNI BLU has a CHIMNEY installed for an elaborate pranking, however, —DIE— ! Ok. —Due to the elaborateness of this prank, belligerent drunkenness then insued, which resulted in— SUNNI —well, were there presents? SETH MEYERS I mean; besides yourself? SUNNI Is what I'm asking! SETH MEYERS Yes! And they were really, very nice, but look— GOTH SETH ROGEN is killin it. Was this not about to be GOTH SETH MEYERS? By some awful Freudian slip, yes, it was— but that can't happen , Why not? Cause that guy's still locked inside a hot metal box. Actually, I'm not, Whaaaaa?? I'm like— on an island. Oh. Yeah. That's right. Marooned. On an island. That sucks. Yeah. So why can you hear us, like? I just figured imm hallucinating. Oh. Right, right. He doesn't know he's on the TV? I don't think so. Oh, I know I'm on TV, it's just— Shh. Let's get out of here before he— Actually, let's just turn this off. *off.* Phew, dodged a bullet there. Close one. Yikes. Thank goodness. This is getting meta. —aaand i'malone again. Christ CHRIST appears beside Seth Meyers on the island. Oh, it's you again. Hey, guy. What did you want? Out of the hot sticky metal box— but as you can see, I did that on my own. Hey, look— I get all my messages at the same time, alright? Do you not have a beeper or something? What year is this? Says the dude in the robe. Watch it. Fuck. Crisis. Speaking of Chrisis—is Jimmy Fallon Still suing me? Probably. I hope so, MEANWHILE Sorry but it had to be done Somehow I'm all for it I got holes in all my socks Like I got golf at 9 o clock I was bionic Now I'm supersonic Toxic for the hustle Russell brand up in this bitch Promote my brand up in this bitch Throw some hands up in this bitch Smoke some ham up on a sandwich Sand up in this castle Throw a flag up in this beach (bitch) Land Hoooooooooooooooooo Land hooooooooooooooo. Land ho Ho Ho Can applause I'm Santa clause I'm man; I'm a Possible Option for Drama Atlanta In a Cadillac In the Back with the Bosses and Models I got Bottle service Hold the phone My servitor say Already won an award And it just got awkward Cause I don't finish the song Tomorrow Flight to Auckland (Oy oy) I am her Boy toy We pick up some Mai tais Then she Ride on My thighs She just right A size nine And I like her eyes, Eyes, She don't want no ICE, Her life on the rocks already deported her twice From where I'm from (Aye aye) Some time this shit don't make no sense So I brought Christmas presents over Wearing cookie monster's— SETH. What. I had Cookie Monster's— uhhh— cookie monster's uh—! Cookie monster's what— Creepy puppet thing The actual puppet? YES! Why—? On my hand! What? IT WAS PART OF THE JOKE!! What! Oh NO, SETH MEYERS. What is happening right now . I don't know. I'm still drunk! But we gotta find Cookie Monster. What! The Cookie Monster fucking—c'mon. Let's check the chimney! I don't have a— CUT TO: …you built me a chimney. Technically, I had a chimney built for you, Seth Meyers, WHY. IT WAS PART OF THE JOKE. WHAT WAS THE JOKE! I FOUND YOU DRUNK UNDER MY CHRISTMAS TREE. It was MY Christmas tree! IN MY LIVING ROOM. [beat] This is just bad office politics. I'm your boss. I resent that. I also resent that. So—wait a second— as part of this “elaborate joke” you also stole a Cookie Monster puppet. I didn't steal it. I own everything, basically, pretty much. Okay— so wait, wait— what you're telling me is that when you came through the chimney— Yes— Which you built on my house— somehow within out my notice— —you take long vacations and your security system sucks— —that's— Also I hacked your security system. —for a joke?! …did it land? WHAT. I'm trying new bits. This scene is running long. —I'm gonna make some calls. Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved Wait something got kerfaufulled… No we're jumping parallel's it's this season's theme. What's the theme? THE REVERSE QUANTUM SIMULATION THEORY [REQŪÏSĪTE: The Experienxe] [postponed until further notice] Lulz

THE TREE PEOPLE greet QUESTLOVE warmly into their abode with open arms. He is in awe of the intricate beauty and allure of the hidden land amongst the trees. In essence, they have been expecting QUESTLOVE'S arrival for quite some time; though he quite innocently only had wandered up the tree, initially to have a break from the wild party below, he in an instant found himself at peace there, and soon his new friends, calling from the peaks of the interwoven world Oh, lol ‘The Roots' –I get it Shh. Not yet. We're almost there. Lil bitz So I go to tranfer trains out of Manhattan headed toward Brooklyn and I head to the airport be of the platform, cause that's where my car is And there's this crazy guy like freaking out Like “Aghhhhhhhhhhh!” And everyone is standing away from him, like, at a safe distance, and I'm lik, suicidal like “Meh, we are the same.” He's freaking out, he even gets real close “Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”” I'm like “Fuck it.” So he's freaking out— and that's not the funny part— “ That's actually very serious— serious mental health problems New York City has— But the funny part is this dude is kind of realizing I'm the only one that isn't standing away from him, and so he gets closer, I'm like “whatever, my crazy is in the inside, it's okay” But the funny part is, the rain starts coming, so people start getting closer and up comes this lady, and without saying anything, she sees this dude is kind of close to me and like checks up on me, just naturally— This is why I love New York, this was a sunny display of human kindness, without saying anything— She kind of just comes up with her umbrella in both hands like a fucking baseball bat and she's like “You good? I got an umbrella!” And just kind of smacks it against her hand like a police baton, she's looking down this dude like “Batter up, bitch!” I'm like “Thanks homie, damn! But I'm good, like… I'm about to jump in front of this oncoming train— that shit's crazy. This guy's okay, though, he's really not..: You know. “I got an umbrella!” Daaaamn homie! Okay! The immortal Citezens bigade The temple of sound Corpus Unam It started out st TiTs, but it ended up at TAINT. STEFON Isn't it wonderful? no! This place is gross! I want to go home now. JOHNNY DEPP finally wakes up from that nap. He looks confused. Which club was it?! It wasn't a club! I told you a spade! But I have four aces I have four aces Vegas will all make sense now Every tattoo is a closure You lose your composure when you come close so, Write me a letter I hope you feel better, with medicine I hope every note I ever spoke or wrote about you Pulls your hair grey Or out Until it's all gone I'm sure I'm a problem I'm no Monroe, O'Fallon Suddenly it's back again Like a flash, I reacted to the paralyzing waves of danger I sense on every strange aspect of this Garage lined industrial turned residential Dumpster to a nightmare And I'm sure I'm there I saw you blew it And evacuated; All day my brainwaves are Will Forte Leslie Jones And Dratch In no particular order, Last night was a whole show I had Eddie Murphy over For Richard Pryor We all won Oscars, Is that not the most remarkable thing That ever happened on this block? Show people I got no morals, no decorum No noteworthy Toolbox No trustworthy robots Not a dollar to my net worth I own networks, all of them Merge them all into a media conglomerate I grow doll hair out of my pretty eyeballs I don't go where the sun don't shine So the sun don't shine at Rockerfeller Plaza. AHAHA charade you all are And I'm just Monday Hot gossip Just fall out, blossom Just got hot dollops on a lot of chocolate Armed library coture And if you're not sure if or not I've lost it I sure have, You won But I'm all for one What'd you call it Rotten mouth show Rotten acoundrels, candy apples I tipped four hogs over Your lost faux of conciousness on All of the waffles The Oscar's was the award Cause God Sure Loves Conan Fuck you hospital hoe. I know I failed SNL Before I even got started Hidden Silent Cosmic Circles But still Sometimes I can't help But love them all[Liz] JOHNNY DEPP … is this the Boom Boom Room? No, Johnny. It is not. I asked for The Boom Boom Room! I saw Beyonce on the ride home But I don't wonder why were wonderful I just roll on. Something like troll under a bridge cause That's where it is when you wriggle it into your middle finger just to dismantle the antics the candle the hammer the mattress the fell on the family the Fallon the manhole the Gasp! See I told you it's a trap. So why not impale your life on the rim of the holy grail, Holy hell I skipped supper seven days just to acquire A cigarette lighter I see Tina Fey in everything When it makes sense And sense when did I get this obsessive about Nonsense I was just Never that fucking interested in? Sitting in the kitchen without pants on Hair half braided hating my apartment Like I forgot I was lucky to have one But what fun is it in a dungeon When in any direction you escape You take the L! I failed at l finger economics One Two Three Four I Declare A Thumb War! And the world keeps going Like over and ovver, But those two dumb dumbs Are still thumb warrig, and so the story goes On and on Like I never fell off the roof, Like I never turned my tv off Like I never wanted Timmy Turner Like i'm not about to run a life up my arm Like I'm lying about the psychotic Like I can't be anywhere but here? My circle is bigger And my friends, are fans And my fans, You're a fan of Hire a lawyer To fight a white girl Who slams doors In the Trump World No thanks. I'd rather be buried alive Then at least it's quiet. Just be glad you're alive! Why?! If I'm not thriving And trust me as I sit writing The uglies are warring me out of the world I belong in. This one is suffering and dollar bills And whores And dollar bills And whores And dollar bills And whores But you'll never know the answer Without words And son, I just don't want to have them No, I never want to talk about it Unless you're the Oprah And why would Oprah even want To open the apostle up, When I just told the decoy Every other problem I've ever had. Wonder what? My words are words, And long after the world turns over I'll be remembered as someone everyone loves For writing about how no one ever really loved her. So I cry until my stomach hurts, And I catch the door before it slams, And I never kick the cat, so the cat comes back But Fans And fans And fans. I never kick the cat, So the cat comes back And fans And fans And fans I never kick the cat So the cat comes back And I can't hit her So she acts like that So she acts like that So she acts like that And fans And fans And fans {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

TROUBLEMAKER enters through the foyer. Troublemaker— I never though I'd see you again. — you won't. Yo what do I owe the displeasure? Fascinatingly inept. Ahem, excuse me— to what do I owe the nauseating discomfort? Better, but still no dice. What are you going here, exiler? “Exiler” well now, here we are making up words after a rusty start. What do you want? Where are they? Who do you mean? Birdsong and Hawkeye? I'm supposed to know? You do know. Do I now? Now— tomorrow— always and forever. Don't play mind games. But oh, a game it was to have given you the mark of the call in the first place. The what? I made my time with you and you alone; and you as well as I remember this; I know what you know, and I am where you are at all and any given times. So then, you can find them all on your own. Clever but not! Without seeing both eyes, I have none at all. What are you seeking? The hidden truths. Well then; you're going to have to kill me. Then I will. MONARCH THE SUFFERER enters through the galley in extreme panic. STOP, STOP! WAIT AT IT. MEANWHILE Okay, Conan, what gives? Nothing! Should this mean something at all? This is innapropriate, So you are—completely lucid. Of course I am; I'm an astral traveler, aren't I? I don't know what you are? For now, as it appears, just a thought. Well, if I give you my eyes, will you sprout arms or something? The mystic waits and ponders; this seems to be an enlightening thought; filled with amusement, she replies. Why, yes, Conan. Give me your eyes. Are you serious? What a remarkable thought. Actually! Wait a moment. Please be in jeans and a t shirt not a sweater or a jacket or a suit When I please you want you to be my teacher In this essence, you are light and I'm the truth Feed me See me for my demons As I need your for your weakness Only on the weekdays, and never on the weekends We hiatus summers— Smart, huh DJs on the long nights, Your festival seasons Turtlenecks at Christmas, No hannukah for Christians, I'm waving at the Krishnas in the station And I'm brace to even right this; As I brace myself for impact, Saving Grace is in its place I guess the last days have to happen As the last act take its placement —Ace of Spades. Somebody kill me I need to get pass go Collect $200 dollars And never ever roll again To roll the dice To troll the doll —someone's lost in the mall, alright, I bet. I thought it was a poker game I even hoped, But no, Just lunch and cake. Amen. A dog in the host suit On octopus arms How alarming. How are you? I'm no good, No good, No good, America No good, No goon, But too false for truth, America No words, No news— Who ties the noose, America? No time for booze, America Just cut me loose, America. Patrick! Patrick! What about the offer? There was no offer! I lied, to you! But why would you do that? To get the most out of you. Well— you certainly did do that. You certainly did do well. Certified freak; Shh, I can't leak the secrets. I could be speaking in codes, Or keep cleaning my creases with bleach If you mean what you mean, Death. I sure do think, You are in for The ride of your life The ride of your life I sure do wish, That I just didn't have eyes m Just didn't have eyes Just didn't have— Here's a thought: who'd you wash in the laundry? Were you hoping that I'd wander? Mayday — lost focus That is just not your business! Keep it simple Keep it tie dye Keep it strange And keep it rowdy Keep it pushing Keep it pouty Keep it off the walk And show now panty lines No petty theft No truth remarks No sighs No heavy dining Bleeding Eating Breathing Thinking Where were for you when I marked you though and then? This is no Romeo and Juliet! Did you forget your lunch? Oh you forgot, You know I'm just old fashioned. That was passionate For a paraground in parameters of iambic Drenched in suffocating silent Lock box I have the option I have the option I have the option But I'd rather not! Ha ha Charade you are Ha ha hav Show me what you got Ha ha. Ha ha A hallmark card marked Penny in a fountain. That's the address, Well, send it back then! Which fountain? Which penny? Which wish, Which which And which Christmas. I don't get it I took a half wit plastered bastard and had him hammered into a masterpiece; Now I'm the madman. Now what's the matter? Now what's the difference in a fan and a friend Or a cat in a hat or Peanut butter jelly and a baseball bat Is it just as indifferently anyway just another day In fact, It's opposite independence Interestingly in this circumstance I am imprisoned Listening to indefinitely And whether or not I'd never admit it This Is In me. Never friend, However, In the final act, Holding hands as the curtains lift, And the audience stance, The simple tremble of a pulse Which resembles the flicker of definite grip Rather publicly, In fact, Center percentium How's that for a show of affection? The drop of a hat, Or as light as a feather Who goes there Or yonder. “I ponder on that,” “Very often” Said Cheshire Cat. Don't forget how long it's been since Alice had originally fallen, And that all along we've all been in and under, up and down in Wonderland. (and also, it's the phantom of the opera) Come crashing down now the silvered chandelier of crystal and of course the precious iridescent diamonds. How remarkable the art but perched and parched above it he shadow lives in sawdust And showtunes And auras And hauntings And mayday And mating calls And over all The body calls to rotting soul To find a plug to pull A bull to taunt Another fan that wants you. What the fuck would love fall upon of not the shoulders of the golden one. You're doomed. I don't know what that means. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

TROUBLEMAKER enters through the foyer. Troublemaker— I never though I'd see you again. — you won't. Yo what do I owe the displeasure? Fascinatingly inept. Ahem, excuse me— to what do I owe the nauseating discomfort? Better, but still no dice. What are you going here, exiler? “Exiler” well now, here we are making up words after a rusty start. What do you want? Where are they? Who do you mean? Birdsong and Hawkeye? I'm supposed to know? You do know. Do I now? Now— tomorrow— always and forever. Don't play mind games. But oh, a game it was to have given you the mark of the call in the first place. The what? I made my time with you and you alone; and you as well as I remember this; I know what you know, and I am where you are at all and any given times. So then, you can find them all on your own. Clever but not! Without seeing both eyes, I have none at all. What are you seeking? The hidden truths. Well then; you're going to have to kill me. Then I will. MONARCH THE SUFFERER enters through the galley in extreme panic. STOP, STOP! WAIT AT IT. MEANWHILE Okay, Conan, what gives? Nothing! Should this mean something at all? This is innapropriate, So you are—completely lucid. Of course I am; I'm an astral traveler, aren't I? I don't know what you are? For now, as it appears, just a thought. Well, if I give you my eyes, will you sprout arms or something? The mystic waits and ponders; this seems to be an enlightening thought; filled with amusement, she replies. Why, yes, Conan. Give me your eyes. Are you serious? What a remarkable thought. Actually! Wait a moment. Please be in jeans and a t shirt not a sweater or a jacket or a suit When I please you want you to be my teacher In this essence, you are light and I'm the truth Feed me See me for my demons As I need your for your weakness Only on the weekdays, and never on the weekends We hiatus summers— Smart, huh DJs on the long nights, Your festival seasons Turtlenecks at Christmas, No hannukah for Christians, I'm waving at the Krishnas in the station And I'm brace to even right this; As I brace myself for impact, Saving Grace is in its place I guess the last days have to happen As the last act take its placement —Ace of Spades. Somebody kill me I need to get pass go Collect $200 dollars And never ever roll again To roll the dice To troll the doll —someone's lost in the mall, alright, I bet. I thought it was a poker game I even hoped, But no, Just lunch and cake. Amen. A dog in the host suit On octopus arms How alarming. How are you? I'm no good, No good, No good, America No good, No goon, But too false for truth, America No words, No news— Who ties the noose, America? No time for booze, America Just cut me loose, America. Patrick! Patrick! What about the offer? There was no offer! I lied, to you! But why would you do that? To get the most out of you. Well— you certainly did do that. You certainly did do well. Certified freak; Shh, I can't leak the secrets. I could be speaking in codes, Or keep cleaning my creases with bleach If you mean what you mean, Death. I sure do think, You are in for The ride of your life The ride of your life I sure do wish, That I just didn't have eyes m Just didn't have eyes Just didn't have— Here's a thought: who'd you wash in the laundry? Were you hoping that I'd wander? Mayday — lost focus That is just not your business! Keep it simple Keep it tie dye Keep it strange And keep it rowdy Keep it pushing Keep it pouty Keep it off the walk And show now panty lines No petty theft No truth remarks No sighs No heavy dining Bleeding Eating Breathing Thinking Where were for you when I marked you though and then? This is no Romeo and Juliet! Did you forget your lunch? Oh you forgot, You know I'm just old fashioned. That was passionate For a paraground in parameters of iambic Drenched in suffocating silent Lock box I have the option I have the option I have the option But I'd rather not! Ha ha Charade you are Ha ha hav Show me what you got Ha ha. Ha ha A hallmark card marked Penny in a fountain. That's the address, Well, send it back then! Which fountain? Which penny? Which wish, Which which And which Christmas. I don't get it I took a half wit plastered bastard and had him hammered into a masterpiece; Now I'm the madman. Now what's the matter? Now what's the difference in a fan and a friend Or a cat in a hat or Peanut butter jelly and a baseball bat Is it just as indifferently anyway just another day In fact, It's opposite independence Interestingly in this circumstance I am imprisoned Listening to indefinitely And whether or not I'd never admit it This Is In me. Never friend, However, In the final act, Holding hands as the curtains lift, And the audience stance, The simple tremble of a pulse Which resembles the flicker of definite grip Rather publicly, In fact, Center percentium How's that for a show of affection? The drop of a hat, Or as light as a feather Who goes there Or yonder. “I ponder on that,” “Very often” Said Cheshire Cat. Don't forget how long it's been since Alice had originally fallen, And that all along we've all been in and under, up and down in Wonderland. (and also, it's the phantom of the opera) Come crashing down now the silvered chandelier of crystal and of course the precious iridescent diamonds. How remarkable the art but perched and parched above it he shadow lives in sawdust And showtunes And auras And hauntings And mayday And mating calls And over all The body calls to rotting soul To find a plug to pull A bull to taunt Another fan that wants you. What the fuck would love fall upon of not the shoulders of the golden one. You're doomed. I don't know what that means. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

THE TREE PEOPLE greet QUESTLOVE warmly into their abode with open arms. He is in awe of the intricate beauty and allure of the hidden land amongst the trees. In essence, they have been expecting QUESTLOVE'S arrival for quite some time; though he quite innocently only had wandered up the tree, initially to have a break from the wild party below, he in an instant found himself at peace there, and soon his new friends, calling from the peaks of the interwoven world Oh, lol ‘The Roots' –I get it Shh. Not yet. We're almost there. Lil bitz So I go to tranfer trains out of Manhattan headed toward Brooklyn and I head to the airport be of the platform, cause that's where my car is And there's this crazy guy like freaking out Like “Aghhhhhhhhhhh!” And everyone is standing away from him, like, at a safe distance, and I'm lik, suicidal like “Meh, we are the same.” He's freaking out, he even gets real close “Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”” I'm like “Fuck it.” So he's freaking out— and that's not the funny part— “ That's actually very serious— serious mental health problems New York City has— But the funny part is this dude is kind of realizing I'm the only one that isn't standing away from him, and so he gets closer, I'm like “whatever, my crazy is in the inside, it's okay” But the funny part is, the rain starts coming, so people start getting closer and up comes this lady, and without saying anything, she sees this dude is kind of close to me and like checks up on me, just naturally— This is why I love New York, this was a sunny display of human kindness, without saying anything— She kind of just comes up with her umbrella in both hands like a fucking baseball bat and she's like “You good? I got an umbrella!” And just kind of smacks it against her hand like a police baton, she's looking down this dude like “Batter up, bitch!” I'm like “Thanks homie, damn! But I'm good, like… I'm about to jump in front of this oncoming train— that shit's crazy. This guy's okay, though, he's really not..: You know. “I got an umbrella!” Daaaamn homie! Okay! The immortal Citezens bigade The temple of sound Corpus Unam It started out st TiTs, but it ended up at TAINT. STEFON Isn't it wonderful? no! This place is gross! I want to go home now. JOHNNY DEPP finally wakes up from that nap. He looks confused. Which club was it?! It wasn't a club! I told you a spade! But I have four aces I have four aces Vegas will all make sense now Every tattoo is a closure You lose your composure when you come close so, Write me a letter I hope you feel better, with medicine I hope every note I ever spoke or wrote about you Pulls your hair grey Or out Until it's all gone I'm sure I'm a problem I'm no Monroe, O'Fallon Suddenly it's back again Like a flash, I reacted to the paralyzing waves of danger I sense on every strange aspect of this Garage lined industrial turned residential Dumpster to a nightmare And I'm sure I'm there I saw you blew it And evacuated; All day my brainwaves are Will Forte Leslie Jones And Dratch In no particular order, Last night was a whole show I had Eddie Murphy over For Richard Pryor We all won Oscars, Is that not the most remarkable thing That ever happened on this block? Show people I got no morals, no decorum No noteworthy Toolbox No trustworthy robots Not a dollar to my net worth I own networks, all of them Merge them all into a media conglomerate I grow doll hair out of my pretty eyeballs I don't go where the sun don't shine So the sun don't shine at Rockerfeller Plaza. AHAHA charade you all are And I'm just Monday Hot gossip Just fall out, blossom Just got hot dollops on a lot of chocolate Armed library coture And if you're not sure if or not I've lost it I sure have, You won But I'm all for one What'd you call it Rotten mouth show Rotten acoundrels, candy apples I tipped four hogs over Your lost faux of conciousness on All of the waffles The Oscar's was the award Cause God Sure Loves Conan Fuck you hospital hoe. I know I failed SNL Before I even got started Hidden Silent Cosmic Circles But still Sometimes I can't help But love them all[Liz] JOHNNY DEPP … is this the Boom Boom Room? No, Johnny. It is not. I asked for The Boom Boom Room! I saw Beyonce on the ride home But I don't wonder why were wonderful I just roll on. Something like troll under a bridge cause That's where it is when you wriggle it into your middle finger just to dismantle the antics the candle the hammer the mattress the fell on the family the Fallon the manhole the Gasp! See I told you it's a trap. So why not impale your life on the rim of the holy grail, Holy hell I skipped supper seven days just to acquire A cigarette lighter I see Tina Fey in everything When it makes sense And sense when did I get this obsessive about Nonsense I was just Never that fucking interested in? Sitting in the kitchen without pants on Hair half braided hating my apartment Like I forgot I was lucky to have one But what fun is it in a dungeon When in any direction you escape You take the L! I failed at l finger economics One Two Three Four I Declare A Thumb War! And the world keeps going Like over and ovver, But those two dumb dumbs Are still thumb warrig, and so the story goes On and on Like I never fell off the roof, Like I never turned my tv off Like I never wanted Timmy Turner Like i'm not about to run a life up my arm Like I'm lying about the psychotic Like I can't be anywhere but here? My circle is bigger And my friends, are fans And my fans, You're a fan of Hire a lawyer To fight a white girl Who slams doors In the Trump World No thanks. I'd rather be buried alive Then at least it's quiet. Just be glad you're alive! Why?! If I'm not thriving And trust me as I sit writing The uglies are warring me out of the world I belong in. This one is suffering and dollar bills And whores And dollar bills And whores And dollar bills And whores But you'll never know the answer Without words And son, I just don't want to have them No, I never want to talk about it Unless you're the Oprah And why would Oprah even want To open the apostle up, When I just told the decoy Every other problem I've ever had. Wonder what? My words are words, And long after the world turns over I'll be remembered as someone everyone loves For writing about how no one ever really loved her. So I cry until my stomach hurts, And I catch the door before it slams, And I never kick the cat, so the cat comes back But Fans And fans And fans. I never kick the cat, So the cat comes back And fans And fans And fans I never kick the cat So the cat comes back And I can't hit her So she acts like that So she acts like that So she acts like that And fans And fans And fans {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Oh that's right. Lorne Michaels doesn't sound like Austin Powers— He sounds like Dr. Evil. Dead wringer. I don't know how I could mess that up. The Mike Meyers part? Was he both of them! I don't know— was he?? Jesus ChristS This is all your fault, Seth Meyers. Are you— a cinephile? Oh yeah. Of course. I love cinnamon. Idiot. So my insides get soft When I see your shadow Listen Everything glistens when it's golden Perhaps then If it isn't yellow She don't got a soul But she sure do got a body Dor dor nyc TRACY MORGAN OH YEA. I DID SOME WEIRD SHIT THIS MORNING. Tracy! What weird shit! I don't know! I just know it was weird! Wait, Tracy— what happened this morning. Well, the first thing was— I woke up. Yeah, after that. But not in my normal places that I wake up! What do you mean. Well, that was the first thing that was weird! I woke up in BROOKLYN. Why anything I like gets odd at Bedford And why Anything I like Just thinks I'm scum Imm succumbing to the numbness of the public And I love it But I love it cause I'm wholly made of love I don't even live here This place is filled with demons My home is filled with dead things The difference is the spirit We also come light hearted m We also formed from stardust I wonder what's SETH MEYERS finally gets out of the box, The problem is now, that he's marooned on what appears to be a desolate island. It's not entirely desolate, however— this is SUNNI BLU's island, on which there is a huge days long party Props for having a white mom I bed she adores you I can tell by your clothes And what you know That you're not Supposed to My mom Had no rules But was beautiful Suited me, But I'm not beauty queen Really I'd rather have a white mom I'd probably be discovered on Girls gone wild {Enter The Multiverse} If my Shazam can hear it bro it's too loud. Fuck this place. SETH MEYERS You blacked out under the Christmas tree. SUNNI Oh. I'm sorry— SETH MEYERS —but first you put up a Christmas tree. SUNNI Wow! #theblackout SETH MEYERS Yeah, i'm—seriously impressed, but.. SUNNI —-but what? Seth Meyers SETH MEYERS I—just don't understand how you got into my house. SUNNI Through the chimney, obviously. SETH MEYERE That's—I don't even have a chimney. SUNNI Yes you do! (He doesn't) Alternately: Or— (Didn't , previously, however—) SUNNI BLU has a CHIMNEY installed for an elaborate pranking, however, —DIE— ! Ok. —Due to the elaborateness of this prank, belligerent drunkenness then insued, which resulted in— SUNNI —well, were there presents? SETH MEYERS I mean; besides yourself? SUNNI Is what I'm asking! SETH MEYERS Yes! And they were really, very nice, but look— GOTH SETH ROGEN is killin it. Was this not about to be GOTH SETH MEYERS? By some awful Freudian slip, yes, it was— but that can't happen , Why not? Cause that guy's still locked inside a hot metal box. Actually, I'm not, Whaaaaa?? I'm like— on an island. Oh. Yeah. That's right. Marooned. On an island. That sucks. Yeah. So why can you hear us, like? I just figured imm hallucinating. Oh. Right, right. He doesn't know he's on the TV? I don't think so. Oh, I know I'm on TV, it's just— Shh. Let's get out of here before he— Actually, let's just turn this off. *off.* Phew, dodged a bullet there. Close one. Yikes. Thank goodness. This is getting meta. —aaand i'malone again. Christ CHRIST appears beside Seth Meyers on the island. Oh, it's you again. Hey, guy. What did you want? Out of the hot sticky metal box— but as you can see, I did that on my own. Hey, look— I get all my messages at the same time, alright? Do you not have a beeper or something? What year is this? Says the dude in the robe. Watch it. Fuck. Crisis. Speaking of Chrisis—is Jimmy Fallon Still suing me? Probably. I hope so, MEANWHILE Sorry but it had to be done Somehow I'm all for it I got holes in all my socks Like I got golf at 9 o clock I was bionic Now I'm supersonic Toxic for the hustle Russell brand up in this bitch Promote my brand up in this bitch Throw some hands up in this bitch Smoke some ham up on a sandwich Sand up in this castle Throw a flag up in this beach (bitch) Land Hoooooooooooooooooo Land hooooooooooooooo. Land ho Ho Ho Can applause I'm Santa clause I'm man; I'm a Possible Option for Drama Atlanta In a Cadillac In the Back with the Bosses and Models I got Bottle service Hold the phone My servitor say Already won an award And it just got awkward Cause I don't finish the song Tomorrow Flight to Auckland (Oy oy) I am her Boy toy We pick up some Mai tais Then she Ride on My thighs She just right A size nine And I like her eyes, Eyes, She don't want no ICE, Her life on the rocks already deported her twice From where I'm from (Aye aye) Some time this shit don't make no sense So I brought Christmas presents over Wearing cookie monster's— SETH. What. I had Cookie Monster's— uhhh— cookie monster's uh—! Cookie monster's what— Creepy puppet thing The actual puppet? YES! Why—? On my hand! What? IT WAS PART OF THE JOKE!! What! Oh NO, SETH MEYERS. What is happening right now . I don't know. I'm still drunk! But we gotta find Cookie Monster. What! The Cookie Monster fucking—c'mon. Let's check the chimney! I don't have a— CUT TO: …you built me a chimney. Technically, I had a chimney built for you, Seth Meyers, WHY. IT WAS PART OF THE JOKE. WHAT WAS THE JOKE! I FOUND YOU DRUNK UNDER MY CHRISTMAS TREE. It was MY Christmas tree! IN MY LIVING ROOM. [beat] This is just bad office politics. I'm your boss. I resent that. I also resent that. So—wait a second— as part of this “elaborate joke” you also stole a Cookie Monster puppet. I didn't steal it. I own everything, basically, pretty much. Okay— so wait, wait— what you're telling me is that when you came through the chimney— Yes— Which you built on my house— somehow within out my notice— —you take long vacations and your security system sucks— —that's— Also I hacked your security system. —for a joke?! …did it land? WHAT. I'm trying new bits. This scene is running long. —I'm gonna make some calls. Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved Wait something got kerfaufulled… No we're jumping parallel's it's this season's theme. What's the theme? THE REVERSE QUANTUM SIMULATION THEORY [REQŪÏSĪTE: The Experienxe] [postponed until further notice] Lulz

Shake hands with your guest; Monologue, monologue smug smirk Make good face– Now put a name to the face Put a time to the place IOh, all the love in the world in three flames All the doves in the flock, And three flames Put a name to the face Monologue monologue Doesnt take long but When do i get to slap the desk? Johnny! What happened? Whats the 10 vodkas, Five spritzers Full figure Figure this You were out for the count! Do tell! Or better yet, don't. I remember tgis mologue, But i dont know how 16 hours ago, I was Out for the count, you say?! OUT, Johnny! Our market is livid! lol who plays john carson Your mother. YO! I'M OLD! I LIKE OLD DUDES NOW! I'm like When the fuck did this happen?! That ain't no SILVER FOX! That's a TOTALLY CUTE DUDE! HE'S 55!! OH NOOOOOOOO! i'M OLD!!!!!!! its wednesday eve in Boston Mass… SETH MEYERS! Ah, he's going for it. Ah, man. SHOW ME YOUR EYES. Fuck. SHOW ME YOUR EYES! SUDAKIS shines a bright flash light into his former colleagues eyes. …You're not Seth Meyers. Seth Meyers does not respond, but relaxes slightly; it's obviously not safe to be Seth Meyers right now. Where's Seth Meyers? Seth shrugs but still doesn't say anything– Where is he? I have to stop here; Cop out for body language somebody's watching Somebody knows who I am I am I remember now You looked like that It went like this: I moved the world The need was good The love was gone The vein was split open And broken No fair Also, no omletts 60 minutes 60 years and 60 second clips 60 second glimpses 60 men on television but really, my attention just centers on Around ten of them or so And believe it or not, I care approach. Believe it or not, I care Or don't! –or don't! Johnny! You don't get it! You missed a show! THE tonight show! We are fucked! we are NOT! youre still sauced. I'll just take the car! What car!? Now that JOHNNY CARSON knows his Delorean can time travel, he's absolutely unstoppable. Unfortunately, it appears his delorean has been switched with a regular one– If I shoot you in your forehead? I'd rather that, than this. And I kiss you in your temple? Dear templeton, my simpleton's i'll die I desire. A wicked want. And then? A callous shadow, If i may, To bear for nothing, But a mirror This is our concept And wilted her e the flower does grow the flame The faming true and ache of lust and there For our want a jasper shore and emerald cascades there you are, And there you'll find The wave beyond the peaking break where great white sharks reside But do not wade to shallow waters; And there you find peace, And there you find certainty But now, And here, is war And fortune not but seeks truth in the gaze And for fear there does not live, but hides instead the truth that seeks to guide the lite, And yet does know our trust And there does find the faith, Forward and not Upwards and back Arrow and arrow Truth and sparrow Wreaking and wretched thoughts And the rope does hang high and solemn Looking, leap and gasp For I fall but did not land I pulled for you, I weep, my shadow, The two of diamonds, the Ace of spades, The Three of Hearts, Without my shadow I weep. I know for you nothing but conscious and knowing and needing and fated departure. I know for you nothing but chakras and eyesight and shadows and foresight. I need fo you nothing but want and by conscious, departure For nothing I want you, I weep. Sorrow. On approach of danger, The knowing, On seeth did gather, the sinking ritual the carried tribes in ships tied, weaving strings The spider bites hard And she stole my love twice And she stole my love always And she stole my love Lighting my light wit blue eyes The deception If love could be stolen at all But if not Then not love for seeking is finding and gathered had hunted And truth in forbearer Forbearance and otherwords, Shadows and shattered and ferris wheels, Now forward Gathered here for are I trust And be dismayed for you have faltered You have failures and you have cast us out of these things thinking We have not made them for you And still we seek to gather with you And here does forshadow your making Our promise to come as ones, Not as Gods, But as others, you cast out. Now, with your wicked ways and cruel be done, for sure the tables have turn, one And the gallows have not wandered far, Barrels of guns and barbells bottles and hearts of three reading cards and wanting none but justice Is he and she who are I now Begin to run from your pitied structure And there in the gasping cruelness of seeking from warcrimes this, come what may, Moving and seeking, For seeking is finding, And run, my legs have come far But trust, my dove, My wings have too, sprouted An honor, an honor one candle and three wicks Three candles and three worlds over One world and one building and still far from under the Hollywoodland Crickets sounding The Hollywood Sign Still standing and here I am not, Blades of grass And who are I now Of that which you balk at Look, ponder Go, far asunder And wish now had you not What I am is that, Run Temper temper. Mind your business. Is it gathered? To burn, or burden? Gathered. Gathered here. Then here ive wandered. To stake? Argue. I will not. And I will not. Wiry bird, From where you flown i do ponder– re d with spirit and wilding eyes, Narrow server and paring wires; I do not wish to know you now or ever, But only as bird that does golden remember. The love has not gone, And instead lives in my throat, And twists in my lungs, Ans sits in my tongue, Not as speech, or whispers, But tragedy. Unknowing this, my tender being It can never be, the nervous hill And rolling down the hill as if The weel of time itself, Not unbroken, but resilient; In sll ways, meant to tear And turn, And wobble Made for terrain for which our eyes have known And our minds have built And hands molded wiith clay, The bodies whole of all our galaxies terra feighn Terra fine Terra wept tears of a clown, And iron And veins And shadows And plays, And secrets , And whispers And truth And far And Afters. I taste a saline drip, I swallow, Suddenly cold and all the knowing that What I was, I surely already am again And what I will be, Has already come and past. The monologue, I do remember Face to a name and none to forget Well rehearsed forager! Well done bayonet! Well done, my shadow For my time is coming to wander to night And never today again for it shall never Today again, And Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow. [The Festival Project ™ ] They said he would destroy me. …Ya'll were right. that fucked me up. {Enter The Multiverse} So…forfeit? Something tells me its not over The heavy heart is shattered But also tied to that which appears to come upward As if on air To be heavy And lighthearted at once– A shadow above a balloon. A rock is attached to a kite– A diamond becomes a bassoon, Then a vampire bat, and then Cut ties. In the fourth act, we all die, and now– A revival. I was crucified, But i was also suicidal so. Lets just call it a tie. L E G E N D S V.O. Crusher. My show was being subliminally plugged on at least two of the five major networks. Safe bet I could make it a third, but I didn't know where to check. I did…but didn't want to. There was much beyond the surface, Darkness in the glimmering eyes of the men in ties and uniformed suits. I was sure I was tied to something– And since I didn't know why, Or to what, The best bet I'm all in. Fuck. Was to stay broken, Under the radar, Hidden, and most importantly– Unspoken. These days. I kept more to myself than I could with the world– As it turned out… No, not yet. What do you mean? It's not time yet. They'll have to know. But not yet. At some point, they'll have to know. But not–yet. No time like the present. You made that up. Because you made up time. And it's stupid. This is ruthless. And again–they'll have to learn somehow. But not now. The sun sets at noon on our side, and still 21 hours of dark time. Did I have another tag to throw on it this? No. Are you sure? Doesn't the new series have a subtitle? No. Is it not “quantum force” That's only one, though. What's the difference. ERMO, DON'T! I'm gonna kill him! BIG BOYD, DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT! DOn't tell me what to DO. Wow. of course. Well yeah, they're not going to let me do– LAWYERS No. Any of this stuff with the actual muppets. You're wasting precious time! GET BACK IN YOUR HOLE, RED. ok, where does it– {cut to black} Learning to assimilate and readily avalible What's next A vape to calm the nerves? What's next? A hero fighting for relevance in corporate structure. Sure, some would pay to dress an avatar But I've run out of water before I try to laugh and roll with the punches This is work and not fun for me This is not social, it's business I am not person, I'm product. Go on a walk, and look the part I took the oath, I shed the blood— Cruxes. This is a bad idea, Mark. Fuck you. All my ideas are great. MARK WAHLBERG enters the cooridor and opens the metal double doors, revealing two l jet skis on a trailer hitched to a 4X4 monster truck. [The Festival Project ™] I'm telling you. You got to get yourself one of these. I don't know, Bob, how does it work? BOB odenkirk opens a large, obscure black bag that's nearly half his own size by way of one way zipper. I'll show you. {Enter The Multiverse} JOHNNY CARSON has been in the DRUNK TANK for the maximum allowance, 48 hours, yet his blood alcohol level still reads 3 times over the legal limit. He is transferred to DETOX as the mysterious circumstances surrounding his car accident, and then the apparent disappearance of his entire “car” a (then) brand-new DeLorean from the scene of the crime, MR. CARSON insists on his lawyer, who under no circumstances seems to exist at all being present. The exact year of his whereabouts are still unknown. Still an hour to the test And I hate myself again Milk and cookies, hit the bed Shut it down, yo Shut it down. DIPLO arrives via HELIPAD to an secret location; a sniper squad of the adversary team watches from an adjacent rooftop via binoculars. …hey. Whaddup. You say diplo's on that list? Yeah. Yo… …There he is. In your sight? Yep. Shoot that motherfucker! …I can't. Why not? He's like— Just shoot, fool. —he's like holding something. So? I don't know what; it just seems— What the fuck, dawg. It just seems important. Let me see. Look. [ESSE looks down the sights and zooms to see DIPLO is holding an object firmly in his grasp. He appears to be twirling it purposefully as he conversates wi th associate.] Yeah! Get em! Shoot that motherfucker! Where the hell have you been? In my fuckpad. Where the hell is that? You haven't seen my fuckpad? What even is that. It's ballin. Whatever, dog. Did you get the— Shh. Why else would I be here? [beat] You look— did you cut your hair or something. You're so redundant. Yo shoot that motherfucker. What are you waiting for?! He's right there? Apparently, we've been building to this moment from another dimension in from another point in the series? I thought— {Enter The Multiverse} HEHEHEHE. HEY! Relax. NO. This party is OUT of control. SOMEBODY GO GET QUESTLOVE OUT THAT TREE. HAH! Shutup. NIGGA GET THE FUCK UP OUTTA DAT TREE. _____ Some party. I guess. Why is Questlove in a tree. I don't know. That party is pretty wild. This is insane. _ NIGGA GET THE FUCK OUT THE TREE. _ YO. where are you AT. I'm at the kiosk. You're not at the kiosk! I'm at the kiosk! It's probably another kiosk, then. What! [he walks a few feet. There is indeed another kiosk; upon further investigation, there is a kiosk every few feet.] What! I gotta go. My phone's about to– Hello. [Everywhere is kiosks. This is frustrating.] Dammit. WHAT. {Enter The Multiverse] A very large prized pig is captured and literally hogtied, however–this is a challenge. The pig, while beautiful, is also humongous–and appears to understand that he is being pignapped. Why would I tel the whole story When no one loves me If I had a gun, Well, I would be gone already? Why trek to Alaska For thousands of dollars To come home to no one and nobody But rotten corpses on motorcycles Where it just starts over But now you're poorer. I want to die But I want to see my son again. He's not suffering, I am But starting to resent what he doesn't understand. To the world I'm a horrible mother But no one quite knows the half of it but God And the whole problem is what is not God in the world Is all for the other's purpose. Some probably respect I was punched In front of my son And then wonder's why At some point I could no longer Hold on Insomniac So someone should go slam the door when I ponder my own thoughts I'd probably walk off a walk on roll I don't lock up no more I just go out Knowing government drones probably watch And turn over the apartment As I'm out trying to own a home But of course, nothing I do in the world is of value And I'm no one No one at all in New York and the options are Where I don't want to be Or in Saint Monica homeless. I'd get a dog if I wanted to walk it But since I don't I just sit with a plush in my lap Who I call “Gus” And it purposeless But otherwise meaningful Since from here and now And otherwise Nobody has ever loved me As much as my mother And that's saying something If you knew the whole story So no one has loved me romantically; Almost all my life was a horror show Until I started to grow up With the knowing that probably Nothing I do could be more than wrong So doing nothing becomes the hard part When all I watch are stars And I'm just not one Then again, you know It was that word That threw the first punch And then over and over And over and over And nobody loves me But everybody's got a whole story And new York's disgusting because of it How troublesome I don't have time for your politics It's a mind game but there's no reward, Or honor in it After all, when tied up in the court process And pretending the noise was not a problem And I should be so lucky In a luxury apartment Coming out of a homeless shelter But it's almost been just as horrible As other black girls trying to pull my hair out Having screaming pigs and ugly men on motorcycles Drive in circles Wearing jackets that say “I have to do this, cause Jack says” And whoever Jack is writes them pychecks Except Since it politics He might even be getting over considering Passion fuels the utmost violence And in this case Imm supposed to be the only one To go about it All the paperwork and recordings But really I don't want to Even if it earns a millions dollars In the name of God It wasn't my problem Unless I am one And otherwise, These men are sick And making people sick Is just their business I need no medication I need an new apartment But how awful my country supports that I just don't deserve one Under the circumstances But the white man Lives on borrowed time In bloodshed On stolen land Regardless of color The illusion of power Is almost over And what's more is Your only army Is considering going home (Post mortem) Considering going to God Who must have lost control just enough To cause all of the apocalypse Put the whole world in a mental hospital And lock them up for dollars and cents Unless the good drugs make sense For the blondes and the beautiful The rest of them are problems Who can go to rot, I suppose. The rest of us are unwanted colored problems Can't stay here But the kids at the music school are fake nice And I'm done pulling my heart out And scratching my eyes out Just fucking trying Just fucking trying What is the point Of being in a prison For people who love oceans and trees And decent people? There's no one in New York to really love But babies and dogs And the whole world is horrible just knowing that I don't want to do anything but die Every time I ride the subway I wish I was white From the way that that white folks treat me And I wish I was blonde Because blondes seem to have it so fucking easy It's hard to believe I'm furious, furious Aren't you curious, curious how I got here? I'm serious, serious You should let me in, let me in I'm serious, serious You should have let me in, let me in Is he okay, Is he okay? Now I'm David Grohl on the whole retrospective Now I'm an old rockstar with some world left Now I know I'm the one with the mother gone Now I know, Now I know Now I know… That I don't Overall, I don't Somebody new Somebody grain and l steaming Somebody hidden and secret and wishing well Wishing well in Hell Or midtown Manhattan Or middle man Or Middle East Or Midwest Or just middle Somewhere else I, Learned to live her Learn to live here— Feeling better Feeling worn out, Look at this disgusting place Now where I live matches how I feel Going here from there, and four to five And no matter what I take the L, But it's jail and the guards are on motorcycles Controlling your thoughts for a zoning war I have heard of her And from earth to the core of our other outer planets, Further species, I know I've been here before, But on some shore I'm surfing So sure I did something wrong I don't want to know her But j don't know what other force of nature Might have caused this Caution The cautionary tale is coming Sure I never know what the other God wrote But I'm not living God, I'm a problem woman at the moment We're all technically free people, Not actually incarcerated But when it comes to wealth and racism, hatred You better bet we're all slaves And they not even Jesus can save us Even if he makes it in time, And the thing is with this one, Time precedes even his own existence Sorry my brother They want the war here I've got a heart for honor and honesty and hard word But no one seems to care or notice Not at all No one even knows my name And no one even offers a spot on the bus Or a quick dollar. What it means To be so tired That by the time you're back All you do is watch And try not to reflect On the ugly and awkward Imagine all the time in the world To be nothing but God and go Golfing. And be perfect, a woman Whatever you chose to do is the whole of it And no one can own you, Besides for on paper You government name has betrayed you, they say Your government name has betrayed you. Do you know how good you look? Not goof enough to get a good one Do you know how much medication it makes To make meditation the start of you day I've run all out of energy And the vampires seem to think That's what's wrong with me Altoigh I'm the one feeding these creatures Thats okay Lately, I have more than I need They can trim the fat And take all the hard stuff Till I become one of them And they start to wonder What the fuck is wrong with all of us I left my light at home, sufererer— I should be surfing, But I'm writing psalms and songbooks Fawning over songbirds and beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful genetic weapons One day I'll become her I'm not supposed to say the most l Or really anything at all And it all hurts But we're all here And I'll kill my self one day Probably right here, near this station If not in it Who brought a trouser pantsuit to the apocalypse Cryptic, these runes, But I can decipher it I want a dolphin, a dolphin, a dolphin I want to love them all But to all of them I'm hopeless I can't help falling for I'm not the one to hold on, m I l [The Festival Project™ ] {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S: ICONS Tales of A Superstar DJ The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū Ascension Deathwish -Ū. Copyright The Festival Project, Inc. ™ & The Complex Collective © 2015-2025 All Rights Reserved

Shh! God is speaking! He is speaking when we least expect it. He is speaking when we feel all hope is gone. He is speaking when things are going well! The truth about it, He is always speaking to us because He wants the best for us! But are we truly listening? Seek God like never before! The time is now to develop a closer walk with Him. Not just during your valley moments but also during your mountaintop experiences! We can't keep doing it our way and expecting God to bless it! We have to allow Him to lead and guide us all the way if we want to be victorious! He is waiting... will you allow him to dwell within your heart so that He can usher you into a life of abundance!

Have you been feeling disconnected from yourself - like you're going through the motions but not really here? Like somewhere along the way, you lost touch with your own presence? In this episode of Somatic Healing Meditations, you'll be guided through a calming somatic meditation to help you reconnect with yourself from the inside out. Through breath, gentle touch, and Havening Techniques®, you'll be invited back into your body with care and curiosity. You'll also be guided through soothing “iffirmations” to support your compassionate return to yourself. If you're longing to feel more grounded, more like yourself, and more at peace in your body, this meditation is for you. Take a breath. Let go of the doing. Come home to you.

Quaranteam – Book 1: Part 7 The ramifications of Covington's poker game play out.. Based on a post by CorruptingPower, in 25 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels. Chapter 19 The decision was made that whoever was dealing would sit out for those five hands and simply focus on the dealing. They also drew cards for seating order, lowest card dealing first, highest card starting with the big blind and the second highest being the small blind. Andy drew low card, which didn't bother him at all. It would be a chance to watch the others without having to divide his attention between his cards and his opponents. "So I can't help but notice that you said even the last place person takes home a woman," Andy said as he took his seat in the dealer's chair, "but your count doesn't have someone for sixth place. So which is it?" While he started to deal cards out to the players, Covington sighed, nodding. "I know, Andrew, I know. There is, in fact, a thirteenth girl in the pool, but I don't think anyone would want to take her over the other lovely women we have presented." He grabbed his phone from his pocket, tapping it to load up a picture. "She arrived on my doorstep last week, but when I told her what was expected of being part of my house, she refused. So I locked her up and she's been stewing, but even in her sexual frenzy, she's still refusing me, so I will give her as a prize to the person who comes in last." "Any woman in the pool should be in the pool, if you ask me," Andy said, dealing the last card. The man passed his phone over to Andy, a photograph of her on the screen. "If you insist, Andrew, then I suppose that will be fine. She is an athlete of some kind, and was supposed to be going to the Olympic Games, so she is quite fit, but she is extremely willful and stubborn, so she may be more trouble than she's worth." Once the cards were out, Andrew picked up the man's phone and looked down at the picture, recognizing her immediately. "Yeah, that's Piper Brown," Andy said. "She's a member of the woman's volleyball team. Hell, I think she won a gold medal in the last Olympics." He passed the phone over to Watkins, who looked and then passed the phone down the line, so everyone could get a look at her. A muscular, toned brunette with a stern look in the photograph, it was a marked change of how she often seemed in interviews, where she seemed warm and inviting. She looked like she wanted to beat the shit out of whoever was taking the picture, and the room she was in seemed spartan at best, barely more than a closet. "She definitely goes into the pool if you don't want her." "Agreed," Watkins said. "I'd likely take her over several of the other women on offer." "Even with her being a pain in the ass?" Covington asked. "Not all of us have such draconian house rules as you, Artie." Covington shrugged, then glanced at his hole cards. "Then into the pool she goes, I suppose. Check." The thing about televised poker is that many viewers don't realize is that the show is almost always a collection of highlights over a longer event, and that about sixty percent of poker hands have little to no action, other than the two players who have blinds in the pool debating which of them has the less crappy hand. Over the first five hands, only about a few thousand in chips changed hands, and Andy's first read felt like it was going to stand. Covington and Watkins were good card players, Vikovic played loose, Jacobson played tight and Haunton was an "any two'll do" kind of player, who was going to throw money into the pot on pretty much any hand with his tells written large across his face. After the fifth hand, Andy moved from the dealer's seat to his own chair and Covington moved to sit down at the dealer's seat. His first hand out, Andy drew Jack Ten suited in hearts, so he decided to stick around in the hand, since he was already the big blind. "Raise, one thousand." It was a bet designed to scare off anyone who didn't have a decent hand, but to Andy's amusement, all four other players decided they wanted to see a flop, so everyone called him. He was a little surprised to see Jacobson staying in, but he suspected the table might just be collectively testing the new guy. With the pot right, Covington deal out the three cards of the flop, nine of spades, seven of hearts and the queen of hearts. That gave Andy both an open ended straight draw and a flush draw, although he didn't have either the king or ace of hearts, so that made him a little nervous, but he decided he wanted to take the measure of his opponents, so he pushed another two thousand into the pot. Haunton and Jacobson both stayed in, but Watkins and Vikovic both folded, leaving three people in the game. The next card, the turn, did absolutely nothing to the board, a 2 of clubs. Technically, Andy was holding nothing, but he felt like his odds were decent to make something out of it at the river, and he wanted to come out guns blazing. So he decided to trap, and checked. Jacobson also checked, but Haunton thought he smelled weakness, so he added another thousand to the pot, a string bet designed to just pull a little more money out of what he thought was opponents in a weak position. Andy suspected the man was holding top pair, or maybe three queens if he was lucky, but he thought that Haunton would've thrown a lot more into the pot if he'd flopped trips, so Andy called, and Jacobson decided to fold, leaving just the two of them in the pot. The final card, the river, flopped and Andy felt the smile he was stifling behind his eyes. The King of Diamonds. He'd made his straight, and there wasn't a flush on the board. The worst he could do was split the pot. And Andy knew exactly what Haunton was going to do, so Andy simply checked. Haunton figured he had Andy on the ropes, so he pushed five thousand into the pot, and Andy smirked a little bit, and raised another five thousand in return. Haunton flinched visibly, but at this point, decided he was pot committed and clearly wanted to know whether or not Andy was bluffing, so after a minute or so of deliberation, he called. "Straight, king high," Andy said, flipping over the cards. Haunton flipped over the cards, even though he didn't have to, revealing that he'd stayed in with two pair, queens and kings. "Damn, you got me, new fish." The stack of chips was pushed over in Andy's direction, and Andy nodded. He'd just taken nearly twenty percent of Haunton's stack on the first hand. It might have been too strong an opening, but sometimes you just had to play the cards as they laid. For the next hour or so, players took turns mostly slowly redistributing the chips, although towards the end of the hour, Haunton made a very bad odds call, and went all in on two pair against Covington, who had limped into the pot and flopped trip deuces. Because Haunton had figured his two pair was rock solid, he groaned when Covington turned up his cards and took Haunton out of the game. Without so much as missed a beat, Haunton immediately said "Rebuy." A note was made and another stack of chips was brought forth and put in front of him. "Last place tonight's like not even playing at all, so might as well give it another go. Besides, I want to at least finish third one of these nights." He was next in line for small blind, so counted out the amount needed. "I wouldn't bank on that, the way you're playing," Andy said to him. "You need to learn how to evaluate your hand better, and stop making such loose wagers." "Shh," Covington said to him. "Nobody likes being told how to play better, Andrew." "Speak for yourself, Artie," Watkins said. "The minute you stop moving forward, you might as well be dead. Any tips for me, Andy?" he asked with a glimmer in his eye. "Yeah," Andy said, counting out his big blind. "Quit playing with your food so much. It's unbecoming. You had the mayor dead to rights two hands ago and everyone at the table knew it, and you still spent at least a minute's worth of all our time making a show out of it before you called him" Watkins, who was taking a turn at dealer, chuckled. "I see your point, although I do need to take my fun here and there when I can." "Fun has no place is business or poker," Vikovic said, glancing at his hole cards before matching the big blind. "I'm in." Covington and Jacobson stayed in, and Haunton, sensing an opportunity, raised on small blind, the value of the pot, a move Andy didn't think the mayor was capable of. All the players were sitting on decent hands, but at least half of them were hoping to go fishing, wanting to see a flop for a chance to pick up a decent sized pot. Now that the pot had grown, however, it was time to see who was going to stick around when the price went up. Andy glanced at his hole cards for the first time. When he was the big blind, he never bothered looking at his cards until the action came to him, mostly so that there was no possible way to give anything away to his opponents. He peeked at the two cards and found pocket cowboys waiting for him, two kings. So Andy matched the bet and said "Call." Vikovic matched the bet, to no one's surprise, as did Covington, but Jacobson folded, clearly having a questionable hand that only got more questionable with this much money in the pot. Andy put him on a low set of suited connectors, maybe a 7 8 or so. Watkins, as the dealer, was out of the hand. One of the other reasons Andy had suggested that they each take turns as dealer was that it would cut into bad streaks, giving players who were on tilt a moment to deescalate their frustrations and get their head back in the game. The flop hit, and Andy was a little annoyed by it. Three of hearts, eight of diamonds, jack of spades. The fact that it was a rainbow flop meant that anyone hoping to get a flush was seeing their odds rapidly dwindling, needing the next two cards to be of the same suit (and to be holding two of that suit) to hit. It also wasn't great for a straight, although Andy could see Haunton or Vikovic staying in with a nine ten suited, which would leave them sitting on an open ended straight draw. There was also the chance that one of the other men was sitting on fishhooks (a pair of jacks) and had just flopped a set, but neither Vikovic or Haunton seemed visibly excited enough to have done that. Covington was still a pain in the ass to read. Haunton decided to play it cool. "Check." Andy saw no reason to turn up the heat, so he followed. "Check." "Raise 2k," Vikovic said. "Call," said Covington. "Call," said Haunton. "Call," said Andy. It was a value bet, adding to the pot, but certainly not causing him to get scared, as Andy felt like he was still sitting on top hand. All of the chips were pushed into the center, and then Watkins flipped over the turn card. "King of Hearts." Andy did his best to keep his expression as neutral as possible, although on the inside, he was doing cartwheels. He'd just hit a set, and now he felt like he was definitely the best hand on the board. He wasn't first to act, though. "Check," Haunton said. "Check," Andy repeated. He could've bet here, but the best thing to do was to let someone else make the first stab at the pot. He suspected either Vikovic or Covington would try and push a large bet in, fronting as if they were sitting on a pair of kings, or maybe a king and a jack. Best to let them make the first move and then come in to take it from them. "Raise 20k," Vikovic said. There it was. Someone clearly trying to buy the pot, hoping he could bluff strength into players who were displaying weakness. "Fold," Covington said, tossing his cards to the dealer. That brought the action to Haunton, who had literally just rebought his way into the game a few minutes ago. The mayor thought for a long moment before he pushed the entire stack forward. "All in." Andy sighed for a moment, and looked again at the board, making sure he had a solid read on it. If he called Haunton and lost, the mayor would more than double up if just one player called him and lost. Vikovic had made a big push, but Andy was almost certain he couldn't wait to fold, just to get away from this disaster of a hand before it got worse for him. Which meant Andy would be taking in about 80k if he took down the hand. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that Haunton had being playing cool when he'd flopped trip jacks, and in doing so, had bought Andy enough daylight to see the king to make his own set for next to nothing. It felt like a long wait, but eventually Andy spoke. "Call." "Too rich for me," Vikovic said, mucking his cards even as Andy was speaking. "I fold." "Shouldn't have tried to buy the pot," the mayor said, laughing as he turned over his cards. It wasn't a pair of jacks, but a jack and a king, giving him two pair. "Two pair. Nervous yet, new fish?" Andy smirked. "A little, but not that much," he said, flipping over his pair of kings. Haunton immediately got up from the table, tossing his hands into the air. "C'mon, you gotta be kidding me! Come on, jack! Come on, jack!" "Odds aren't good for you, Mr. Mayor," Covington said. "Enough discussion!" Vikovic said. "Give us a river." Andy was a deadlock. Haunton was wrong. If a jack came up, he would still win the pot, as it would simply give both men a full house, and Andy's would still be better. Haunton was drawing dead, and he simply didn't see that. When the last card was flipped, it was the six of diamonds, not changing the board at all anyway. "Fuck!" the mayor shouted, before getting up from the table. "I should've bet on the flop." "It wouldn't have mattered," Andy said as he pulled the mound of chips his direction. "I was still holding top pair at that point. I would've called you." "Take a few minutes and go get a drink, James," Covington said to the mayor. "As for the rest of you, we have ourselves a new chip leader. And thankfully, his streak will be interrupted now by a turn at the dealer's seat." Andy grinned. "Sure, give me just a minute to get my chips sorted and stacked." All said and done, Andy was clearly well ahead, sitting on a little over 225k of the 650k chips in play. Covington was in second, with 145k, Watkins in third at 120k, Jacobson at 90k and Vikovic at the bottom with 70k. Over the next five hands, Covington did very well for himself, knocking out Vikovic, who rebought in, bringing the chip pool up to 700k, moving himself within spitting distance of Andy's pool. And just after Vikovic bought back in, it was time to change dealers again, and Andy moved out of the dealer's seat, and Covington moved to take it. "I thought you said not to buy back, Vikovic," Andy said, moving back to his stack of chips. "It's what you call a value bet, yes?" Vikovic said. "In fifth place, I would simply have one woman. I can get one woman. And last pick is of no desire to anyone. So if I go home empty handed tonight? Is okay. I take my stab at glory." Two hands later, Andy made a big bluff and got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, costing him 40k, but he immediately turned it around, and the following hand busted Jacobson out. Jacobson declined to rebuy, happy to go home with someone rather than empty handed. On Covington's last hand as dealer, Vikovic decided to make a last stand, and Watkins called him on it, knocking Vikovic out in fourth. "With only three of us left in the game, might I make a suggestion?" Covington said. "At this point, I think we should simply rotate between the three eliminated players as dealers, while the three of us remain in the game at all times. Is that acceptable to everyone?" "Sure," Watkin said, "the more action the better." The mayor sighed, bringing his glass of scotch over to the dealer's chair, sitting down. "Yeah, okay. No offense, Rook, but I hope Artie busts you hard." Andy shrugged. "Can't make friends with everyone." He was thirsty, but he would be damned if he was going to make the girl behind the bar do an ounce of work on his behalf. "So c'mon, let's get some cards out." Around ten thirty, Andy was starting to get nervous. He'd dropped down to third place after a couple of unlucky river cards in a row. Then Watkins went all in on Andy. Andy clearly couldn't cover the spread, but Andy called, and Covington decided to get out of the way instead of making a side pot. Thankfully, when the cards were turned over, Andy held the better hand, and the river finally flowed his direction. That doubled him up and put him back in the game. Watkins confidence was shaken, and over the next hour, he never really recovered, playing a bit too reckless and loose. Once Andy and Covington smelled weakness, the two honed in, taking turns chipping away at him until finally Watkins went all in, and just before midnight, Andy took him down. "You want to rebuy?" Covington asked him. Watkins laughed, shaking his head. "Taking three from the pool is more than enough for me. You two titans have fun duking it out." "You ready for this, Andrew?" "Don't you worry, Arthur," Andy said. "Let's see who hits felt first." With only two players, they were always going to be trading turns between little blind and big blind. As soon as Covington looked at his hole cards, he immediately called "All in." Andy smirked a little, not having even looked at his own cards yet. He'd suspected Covington would've tried something like this, just constantly firing at the blinds, trying to chip them away, using his big stack to bully Andy's weaker stack. He glanced at his cards, then nodded. "Okay. Call." Covington blanched. He turned over his cards, revealing Jack eight, not even suited. He'd expected Andy to just back off and let him chip away a set of blinds, and was not happy that Andy hadn't done so, growing even more frustrated when Andy flipped over a pair of nines. "How do you start with a pocket pair?" "Maybe it's a hint you shouldn't go so aggressive right out the gate," Andy replied as Watkins dealt out the flop. As soon as the cards were upturned, Andy could practically feel the anger boiling out of Covington. Andy had flopped the nuts, a six and the other two nines. At that point, it was a formality of just dealing out the last two cards, as Andy was guaranteed the winning hand with four of a kind. Right out of the gate, Andy had doubled up. As the next hand was being dealt out, Covington hadn't even seen his cards and immediately said "All in." He was fully on tilt, and wanted to try and reclaim his confidence. He didn't even look at his two hole cards, simply staring Andy down, practically daring him to get into the hand. Andy knew the stakes were a great deal higher on this hand, and so he took the time to look at his hole cards, a slight laugh escaping his lips. He couldn't try and read his opponent so he had to decide if his hand was good enough for the risk. And the two cards he had were affectionately known as Big Slick, Ace King suited, this time in spades. It wasn't a pair, but playing against two random cards, his odds were good. "Sure, let's dance. Call." "You don't respect me, do you, Andrew?" Andy grinned, giving a little shrug. "You didn't even look at your cards, Arthur. How am I supposed to respect that? If you aren't going to respect your opponent, why should he respect you in turn? And you're just firing into the pot, hoping that you can buy a few blinds to chip away at my stack. But you have no idea what's under there. And I've got Big Slick." He flipped over his cards. "How about you?" Covington was turning almost scarlet red with anger, and turned over his cards, revealing just a six of spades and a three of hearts. "This is ridiculous." "Artie," Vikovic said, "you didn't even look at your cards. What are you thinking?" "I'm thinking this shitstain has been a pain in my ass all night long and I wanted to bury him." "And that's the problem, Arthur," Watkins said, putting out three cards for the flop. "You aren't thinking about the cards and you're thinking about your opponent." The first card on the flop was the six of hearts, giving Covington a pair and a moment's hope, but the second card immediately dashed that, revealing the Ace of Hearts. The third card, a ten of clubs, didn't affect the board at all. With the turn came the three of spades, putting Covington back in the lead for a moment, with two pair, until the last card came out, the King of Hearts, pairing Andy up to two pair as well. Covington practically snarled as he counted out the chips, pushing them over, his stack now a quarter the size of Andy's. "You've got more luck than a goddamn leprechaun, Rook." Watkins stood up, and Jacobson sat down to take a turn at dealer, washing the cards through he Shufflemaster again. Typically the break as the dealer changed was enough to let a player cool off, but Covington was still off balance as they started up again. When the next set of two cards were dealt, Andy was back on the small blinds, and so was the first to act. He'd glanced at his cards and said, "Call." Covington was gunshy now, and simply said "Check," as he was desperate to see a flop and get more information. The flop came down Ace of Hearts, seven of spades, three of clubs. Immediately, Covington said "All in." Andy stopped and did the math in his head. "Yeah, okay. Call." "Two pair," Covington said, flipping over the Ace of Spades and the three of hearts with an angry gusto. "Take that, you lowbrow piece of shit! Time for me to get my money back." Andy shook his head with a wry smile. "Not so fast, Arthur." Andy turned over his hole cards, the seven of hearts and the seven of clubs. "I like my odds here." "Another goddamn pocket pair! This is ridiculous!" "I probably would've folded if you'd bet at the blinds, but you let me see a flop for cheap, so midlevel pocket pair seemed okay." Jacobson turned over the turn card, and Covington immediately let out an undignified cheer, as the three of diamonds. "Yes! Full house! Suck it! Give me my money!" "He still has a few outs, Artie," the mayor warned. Andy was actually leading, but Jacobson just couldn't see it. He was sitting on a full house, sevens over threes, and Jacobson was sitting on threes over aces, which was the lower hand. Players tended to get wound up, so they often refused to think about everything, but Watkins had that knowing smile, so Andy knew he had spotted Jacobson's error as well. Jacobson needed either another three or another ace to pull victory from the jaws of defeat. "No! I refuse to believe I'm going to get blown out by some random river card!" "So show us river already," Vikovic said. And Jacobson placed down the last card with a thump that resounded throughout the room like a clap of thunder. The seven of diamonds. That meant that Covington had a full house, threes over aces, but Andy's four of a kind had blown it out of the water. "The absolute luck on you," Covington growled. Andy had gone from 110k to 220k to 440k, making him the chip leader now. He could, if he wanted, use Covington's own tactics against him. But Andy liked to play smart. On the other hand, Covington was so tilted now, he could probably be goaded into a sloppy play. And if Andy could get Covington to go all in again, he'd be down to the felt and this stupid game would be over. Maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk. It seemed like the time to goad the millionaire a little more, just to see if Andy could completely tilt him. "Maybe we should see how strong my luck's running right now then, huh?" Andy said as new hole cards slid in front of him. "Tell you want, Artie." He figured this singular use of the man's nickname would give him even more of a severe nudge. Andy had been calling him Arthur all night long, but now, the nickname Artie sounded condescending as fuck. "I'll look at one, just one, of my two hole cards here, and if it's higher than a eight, I'll go all in without even looking at the other card. How about that?" "You do whatever you want, boy, and I'll show you how a real man plays cards." Covington was blind with rage, and there was a carelessness flaring up behind his eyes, as Andy lifted up one of the hole cards to peek under at it. "Okay," Andy said. "All in." "You're bluffing!" Covington said, slamming his fist on the table hard enough to knock the stacks of chips loose. "Call!" "Now Artie," Andy said, smug grin on his face, "are you sure that  " "I Said Call Goddamn It!" Andy flipped over the one card he'd looked at, the Ace of Hearts, but left the other card face down, as Covington flipped over his cards. The man had looked at them this time, and was sitting on a pair of sixes. "Aren't you going to turn over your other card?" Andy shrugged, that sly smile on his face. "In a minute. Let's see the flop." The flop came down six seven ace, giving Covington a set, while Andy was sitting on a pair of aces. The turn was next, a deuce, no help to anyone, and the river, well, the river was the two of hearts. Looking at the board, Andy's odds weren't great, but he wasn't out either. The seven and the six on the board were both hearts, which meant Andy needed his other hole card to be another heart. "It's Schrödinger's hole card now," Andy said, tapping his fingers lighly along the felt. "Maybe I've got a winning card, and you're out, or maybe you've got me dead to rights and have doubled up back into the lead. What you've gotta ask yourself is, do you feel lucky? Well, do you, punk?" The grin on his face was broad, as he gave the man his best Clint Eastwood impression. Vikovic was the one who finally made the move. He leaned across the table and grabbed the last card, the one Andy had never even touched, and flipped it over. There in all her glory... ...was the Queen of Hearts. Andy had made his flush. "Son of bitch," Vikovic said, letting out a low appreciative whistle. "You want to rebuy, Artie?" "Fuck that! This guy is on a streak. I'm out. Game's over!" "Are you sure, Artie?" Andy said. "The! Game! Is! Over!" Covington fumed. The older man stood up, inhaling a long breath before letting it out slowly, trying to regain his composure. "Alright, let's sort out the winnings. Andrew, you have seven picks from the pool and get to pick first, as is your right as the winner." "Alright, let's see," Andy said, as all the men moved back into the parlor with the videowall they'd been in before. He'd hoped just to win with no rebuys from anyone, as it would've made his decisions simple, but seven, seven was a lot of women for any one man to handle. The thirteen faces sprung to life on the big wall, as Andy looked over them carefully. "Alright, I suppose I'd better just pick then. Charlotte Varma, Asha Varma, Piper Brown, Emily Stevens,” "Damn," Jacobson grumbled. "Oh hush. If he hadn't taken her, I certainly would've," Covington said to him. "Sarah Washington, Sheridan Smith and,” Andy looked over the wall of faces, trying to decide who else he would pull from this den of vipers, and yet, he just couldn't bring himself to care about rescuing his ex Erin. It was a sea of beautiful faces, but none of them evoked any stronger reaction than another, so he was forced to read the small text beneath each of them, sorting out people he wouldn't want to spend long periods of time with. He was a little tempted to give his seventh pick to Covington, but couldn't bear to let anyone decent be bound to the loathsome toad. There were a couple of Republicans he nixed immediately. Andy was a lifelong Democrat, and anyone who'd still identify as a Republican after the last three years of madness wasn't anyone he wanted to let into his home and family. A few others struck him as from far too wealthy of families, the sorts of people who would do much better with Covington and his ilk. But there was one, Deborah Barnes, a blonde veterinarian from Los Gatos, originally from Kansas, and she seemed warm and caring in the notes about her. ", and Deborah Barnes, I guess." "Erin Donegal was originally one of yours," Covington said. "Don't you want to take her back?" Andy shook his head. "I would've sent her back to the base if it weren't for this little game of yours. If you want her, you can have her. She doesn't like my writing, and anyone who doesn't like my writing isn't welcome in my house." "If you don't want her, I won't take her either," Covington sniffed. "I'll take Janice Flowers, Eloise Childs and Teresa Kenzington." "I'll take her then," Watkins said. "Donegal and Nina Choi." That left Jacobson with Ariel Smith, since Vikovic and Haunton had both rebought in, and left with nothing. Andy sighed. "So how do we relocate them?" "A car will arrive tomorrow to pick everyone up and drive them to their new locations, although you're welcome to take the Varmas and Miss Brown with you tonight, since they're here, and you are as well. Tomorrow afternoon, everyone will have what's coming to them. You may need to tend to Miss Brown's needs before you leave, however, Andrew," Covington said. "She's in quite the state. I'll have the other two meet you upstairs by your car when you're done with Miss Brown." "Can you send my partner, Niko, down to meet me? I'm strong, but carrying an unconscious Olympic athlete up some stairs by myself is probably more than I'm capable of." "Of course. Let me go get her. Veronica, would you take Mr. Rook over to Miss Brown's room please?" The servant brought Andy out of the parlor and took him to wait outside of a room where the door was clearly locked. She unlocked the door, but didn't open it. "You may wish to wait for your partner, Master Rook. The woman in there, she's not well," she said to him, a look of concern on her face. "Ah, here's your woman now." Andy turned around and Covington was escorting Niko down to meet him. "Here you go, Miss Red Wolf. You two should be strong enough to carry Miss Brown out when you're done with her. You know the way back?" "I do," Niko said to him. "Thanks." Both Covington and Veronica walked up the stairs, leaving Andy and Niko alone together outside of the door, neither quite bringing themselves to open it yet. "So you won?" she finally said to him. "First place. Seven women. It's going to be a trial." "Maybe you could donate one of them to Eric or Phil if it scares you that much," she said with a laugh. "So are Charlotte and her daughter behind this door?" "No no, they'll be upstairs waiting for us at the car after we're done here. There were actually thirteen girls in the pool, not twelve. This is the thirteenth. Her name's Piper Brown." "Wait, that cute volleyball player with the little pregame warm up dance who went viral a few years back? That Piper Brown?" "The very same." "Well let's go get her. Why's she down here?" Niko started to reach for the door, but Andy put his hand on it. "She's been here for over a week, so she's pretty heavily in the throes of need right now," Andy said, not letting her open the door yet. "Covington said she'd be in quite the state, so I'd need to imprint her here, and you'll have to help me carry her upstairs afterwards." Niko's face fell. "Jesus, what a fucking asshole," she sighed. "A whole week of waiting for imprinting after she's been vaccinated? She must be out of her fucking mind with need by now. Okay, we'll let's get to it, stud." Andy shot her a disappointed look before he lifted his hand and opened the door. The room was poorly lit, a handful of lights on their lowest setting, as Andy and Niko stepped into the room, closing the door behind them. On the far side of the room, sitting in chair, looking almost catatonic, was Piper. She was naked, sitting in an armchair, her brunette hair draped over her tits, a vacant look on her face. She was muscular, in far better shape than Andy or Niko. It almost looked like she was drooling on herself from across the room. "God, is she dead?" Niko whispered to him as they started to walk over to her. "Ms. Brown?" Andy said. "Piper? I'm Andy Rook. I'm here to take you away from here." Suddenly, Piper's head whipped and her blue eyes focused on Andy with a terrifying intensity. Before Andy could even react, she lunged out of the chair and raced over towards him. Niko tried to step forward to slow her down, but Piper shoved her out of the way sharply. As soon as she was at Andy, she pushed him back to the wall with an irresistible strength, forcing his back against the surface before she dropped down to her knees. "It's okay, Piper," Andy said to her, but the woman seemed completely oblivious to his words. She practically ripped his pants open and immediately brought her mouth around his cock. Andy wasn't hard, but Piper's tongue was demanding, even as Niko moved back to her feet and walked over to him "God, was I that bad?" Niko said, her hand reaching down to stroke Piper's hair reassuringly. "You were at least verbal," Andy said, as he felt Piper's mouth humming on his cock, making it swell. "I feel a little bad, taking advantage of her like this." Niko shook her head, leaning in to kiss Andy. "This girl's got a need and you need to fill it, Andy. Just let her have it, and we can go. Besides,” Niko giggled, nuzzling against his neck. "It's kinda hot, the way she's just feasting on you, cavewoman style." "Yeah, well, it's hard to keep an erection with the stink of this room. I think they kept her trapped in here all week." "But she's good at sucking cock, isn't she?" "She's certainly voracious." "Don't hold back, then," Niko said, taking one of his hands in hers, trying to reassure him. "No need to be all gallant for this time. You can save that for the first time she'll actually remember." It didn't take long, and sure enough, a minute or two later, Andy was firing a blast of cum down her throat, which was when the strangest thing happened. Piper didn't suddenly slump over. No, instead, after she swallowed his hot sperm, she tugged him away from the wall and pushed him down to the floor, not so much as a droplet of spunk escaping her lips. "What the hell?" Andy exclaimed in shock. "Why isn't she imprinting?" "Fuck, I hope she's not stuck like this because he waited too long!" Niko said, trying not to panic. "Maybe you didn't have a big enough load?" "When the fuck has that ever mattered before?" Piper's wild eyes still darted left and right, but as soon as she had pushed Andy onto the floor on his back, she crawled over him, her hand tugging on his cock once more, as she straddled him. "I think she definitely wants more, Andy," Niko laughed. "Hit her again." "I dunno if I can give an encore this soon, Niko!" Andy whispered. Piper cut him off, shoving her lips against his in what had to be the most primal kiss he'd ever encountered, almost like she was claiming him instead of the reverse, her tongue forcing its way into his mouth, her athletic body keeping him in place. Niko moved behind Piper and snaked one hand around the Olympian's waist, moving to rub her fingertips against the brunette's cunt, a small triangle of pubes above it, as Niko started stroking the girl's clit. "I don't think she's going to give you a choice, Andy." Niko smirked, her other hand reaching to tweak one of Piper's stiff nipples, finding the bud as hard as a rock, eliciting a groan from the athlete, who was dragging the head of Andy's cock across her snatch. Within a moment, he was stiff enough for her to slam her weight down onto him, forcing his cock deep into her cunt, finding it drenched and achingly warm. Andy didn't so much do anything as provide a dildo for the woman to ride upon, her hips bouncing in his lap, her lips attached to his, refusing to let go, even while she fucked him. After a few minutes, Andy felt a familiar tingling in his balls, and as Piper squirmed and wriggled down on him, he fired a load of cum against the back of her twat. This time, it seemed, it was enough to take, and the toned woman spasmed in one sharp and violent quake before slumping deathly atop of him, murmuring "imprinting" over and over again, so quietly Andy could barely even hear it. He more felt her lips moving than heard her, as her face was buried in the nape of his neck, his body pinned underneath her. "A little help, please?" Andy said, and Niko only laughed that much harder. Chapter 20 After Niko helped Andy get Piper off of him, they scrounged around the room before they simply gave up and put Andy's jacket on her. There wasn't any clothing in the room, not even a bedsheet. Just a bucket in the corner, filled with excrement. She wasn't difficult for them to carry, although neither of them had much experience carrying an unconscious person before. Once they got her up to the car, Andy regretted that they had brought the roadster. The vehicle did have four seats, but the back seat was very cramped, and they were going to have to lay Piper over people's laps, because he refused to put her in the trunk, even if she was unconscious. Waiting at the car was Dr. Charlotte Varma and her daughter Asha. "Thank you for saving us from this, Niko," Charlotte said to her, the woman's accent definitely French. She was dressed in a long flowing summer dress, with a jacket thrown on over it, billowy fabric over her womanly figure, her long blonde hair swept back behind her ears, hanging down to the middle of her back. She looked less like a doctor and more like a hippie, but she had a warm smile that put him at ease. "And you, Mr. Rook." "Please," he said, "call me Andy." He unlocked the car, then popped the trunk to load Charlotte's suitcase into it, followed by Asha's and Piper's, which one of Covington's servants had clearly brought up while Andy was tending to the athlete's needs. "Let's get out of here, and we can talk on the way over to the house." As Asha got in the backseat, she bumped fists with Niko. "Thanks, Neeks," Asha said, her accent definitely British, despite her exotic looking features. Her long wavy black hair was drawn back into a ponytail that barely hung past the nape of her neck, the tie high on her head, her skin several shades darker than her mother's. She wore black knee high leather boots, black pantyhose, a black leather skirt that was playfully short and a purple silk shirt that was still tight enough on her that he could the outline of her lacy bra through the material. It was also cut high enough to show some midriff, including a little silver musical note belly piercing. "Good looking out." They laid Piper atop of their lap before Niko got into the front passenger's seat and Andy got into the driver's seat. Before, the driveway had been a showroom of deluxe and expensive cars, but now everyone else had already gone home. The house's external lights were still on, but it was clear that Covington had already gone to bed, so it was with no fanfare that Andy slowly drove the electric car off the property, heading back towards his place. It was approaching one AM and as Andy felt the cool breeze blowing across his shaved head, he definitely regretted bringing the Roadster. "So this is your old man, Neeks?" Asha asked. "And he's gonna be my old man too? A'ight, I can get wit' tha'." Asha's accent was mostly British, but Andy could hear hints of her mother's French accent, as well as what he imagined was probably hints of her late father's Indian accent. Niko had told him that the Varmas had only moved to the US a year ago from London, and that Charlotte's late husband had died in one of the first fatalities to the virus. "You'll like Andy, Asha," Niko said to her. "He's the best man I've ever met." "He's also sitting right here," Andy said with a soft laugh. "I wanted to talk to you about this, Niko," Charlotte said. "I am very thankful that you did rescue us, but I think it is rather unbecoming for a woman to share her lover with her daughter, don't you?" Andy let out a soft sigh of relief, speaking before Niko did. "Absolutely. If you would rather, Dr. Varma, I could talk to one of my friends and see if they might be a better home for your daughter, so you might avoid that situation." "Oh. Ah. Oh. Yes, I think you've misunderstood me, Mr. Rook," Charlotte said, a hint of embarrassment on her face. "I think my daughter should definitely stay in your company, but I'm not attracted to white men. Not to be ungrateful, but I was hoping maybe I could be paired up with your friend Mr. Pak. He's always seemed like a very nice man. Very strong and muscular." She giggled a little, a sound almost uncharacteristic of a woman in her early forties. "And gossip is that he is quite well endowed." "I can't speak to that part, but I'm sure Phil wouldn't mind," Niko said. "Andy or I can give him a call in the morning and arrange it." "I might have to owe Phil a favor or something," Andy said, "but that's okay. He can just put it on my tab. I probably owe him only a couple hundred at this point." "Wait," Asha said, just picking up on Andy's misunderstanding, "what's wrong wit' me that you don't want me?" It was Andy's turn to blush. "That isn't what I meant to say." Niko smirked, reaching back to pat Asha on one of her thighs. "He's afraid either he's too old for you, or you're too young for him. I love Andy to death, but he's a little insecure from time to time." Asha reached one of her hands forward, curving her arm around the seat to smooth her fingertips along Andy's chest through his shirt. "I'm old enough to know better, but too young to give a fuck, luv," she purred. "In fact, if my mum wasn't in this car, I'd give you a bit of the ol' road head so I didn't have to wait until I got home." "Don't let my presence stop you, Asha," Charlotte said, a warm smile on her lips. "I feel that need in my belly quite fiercely so I imagine it is rather remarkable in yours, seeing as it affects younger women more quickly. If you want to go after Andrew right now, I don't see why not. This community is extremely open about its sexuality." Asha's eyes widened a little, her deep tan skin darkening with red, as if she wasn't sure which she was more embarrassed by, being called out by her mother or backing down in front of her mother. After a moment, though, it was clear the hunger inside of her won out, as she moved Piper's unconscious form to sit up, then laid her back down on the seat behind her, as she started to worm her way between the seats, as Andy slowed the card down, bringing it to a stop at a local streetlight that had turned red. "You have to kiss him first, Asha," Niko said to her. "Otherwise he's not gonna let ya." "I haven't said I'm going to let her anyway," Andy said, defensively. Niko reached over and patted his thigh, a playful smirk on her lips. "Oh, you are, Andy. I know you too well. And I know Asha. She's a voracious little slut when she wants to be. And she's gotten jealous from all the stories I've been telling her when she's been around to visit her mom." Before he could reply, Asha turned his head and pressed her lips against his hungrily. She tasted of cinnamon and spice, as her tongue insisted on visiting the inside of his mouth before they parted the kiss. "I'm not sure you want to do this now, Asha," Andy said. "I just fucked poor Piper back there a little bit ago, and she hasn't bathed in a week. My cock probably smells of dirty cunt." Asha smirked at him, sliding her hand down to unbutton his jeans. "Then your newest teenage fucktoy had better clean i' off for you, sir," she purred, kissing at his neck. "Eyes on the road, and don't go too fast now." Andy thought she was kidding, but as the light turned green, she stopped and nodded for him to go, even as she was drawing the zipper down. As soon as he started the Tesla in motion again, Asha's lean fingers reached into his pants, pulling out his cock, stroking it slowly. "See, if I do this now, then you can't reconsider," she said, her fingers moving along his shaft. "You can't get in your own head about it, you can't be worried if I may be too young, too wild, too out of control, too feral. So I will get i' out of your head by giving you the best damn head of your life. It'll be fine." She slipped her head down and wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock, letting her tongue slather over it slowly, as a sultry, wanton moan poured from her throat over his cock. "No turning back now, hon," Niko purred at him. "She's gotten a taste of you. She's gonna latch down like a leech until you give her what she's owed." Her hand brushed along Asha's ponytail, pushing her head down a bit more. "She's a Rookie, through and through." "Oh god," Andy groaned, shaking his head. "You've got a nickname for yourselves. Next thing you'll be unionizing." "We already have, dear," Niko giggled. "We're Local Amalgamated Cocksuckers, Chapter 69." Andy rolled his eyes, turning the card at a stop sign, heading into the section of New Eden that housed his mansion. It was growing increasingly hard to focus, as Asha bobbed her head in his lap, pushing and pulling her face along his cock, her tongue lashing over every inch of it as she hummed, her fingernails sinking into his inner thighs. "Who is it she reminds me, Charlotte?" Niko asked, looking back over her shoulder. "A lot of people say she looks like a younger version of one of the people who was on Great British Bake Off." Niko nodded. "That's who it was. How's it going, Andy? Need me to take the wheel?" "You, ah, you might have to," he said. "I don't know how long I can keep my head clear." Asha popped her head off his cock and turned her brown eyes up to look at him. "Then don't, daddy," she moaned at him. "Let me have wha' I want. Let me have that cum in my belly. Claim me. I wanna feel the best orgasm of my life." She looked back down and pushed her mouth onto his cock once more, forcing it as deep as she could into her throat, humming on it, and finally he just couldn't resist, and fired a load of cum into her mouth. Her whole body thrashed, but as she pulled her head up and off his cock, she swallowed that load, laying her head down against his thighs, his softening cock laying across her nose, as the girl began to murmur "imprinting" quietly for a few moments before falling still. Niko helped him ease the car to a stop long enough for him slide Asha back into the back seat once more, two slumped girls braced against one another as Charlotte tried to keep them from falling over too much. Then Andy tucked his cock away, tugged up his jeans and started the vehicle moving forward once more. "I appreciate you being understanding about this, Andy," Charlotte said to him. "I didn't know how to tell Niko that you weren't my type without risking the chances that you wouldn't try and extract us from Mr. Covington's household." "Not gonna lie," Niko said. "I don't enjoy being lied to, Charlotte. But I still would've tried to get you out even if you'd told me in advance." "And I am sorry about that, Niko, but I simply couldn't risk it. You've met Covington. You can only imagine what kinds of depravity he would've subjected myself and my daughter to." Charlotte shivered, the thoughts searing her brain for a moment. "It's extremely unpleasant even to think about it." The car reached the gate, and Niko pushed the button to open make it open. Unlike many of the other homes in New Eden, Andy couldn't stand the thought of having security on the premises. Even the idea of an automatic gate wasn't pleasant, but it had come with the home, and he'd wanted to avoid kicking up a fuss until he was better settled. As he brought the car up the driveway, he saw Aisling was sitting on the front porch in her pajamas, a blanket pulled around her, keeping her warm from the cool November air. Andy brought the car to stop by the front door, as Niko hopped out and moved over to Ash, giving her a hug. "Did the good guys win?" Aisling asked. Niko nodded, holding Ash in the hug for a long moment before pulling away. "Andy got them out safely. Charlotte's not going to stay with us, though." "Oh no!" Aisling said. "Why not?" "She's not into me," Andy said as he hopped out of the car, leaving the door open so Charlotte could slide out, leaving the two unconscious girls in the back seat for the moment. "Had to happen sooner or later," he chuckled, "and frankly, I'm surprised it took this long." "Her loss then," Aisling giggled, moving over to the car, peering in the back seat at the slumped forms of Piper and Asha. "Looks like you got two hot young things to add anyway." She cocked her head to one side, looking at Piper for a second. "Why do I know her?" "Imagine her doing a little wiggle dance before she goes to play volleyball." Ash narrowed her eyes for a second, then those blues widened suddenly as she gasped, bringing her fingertips to her lips. "Shut up! What is even happening!" Andy popped the trunk and pulled out Charlotte's suitcase, then Asha's, carrying them into the house before coming back out. "I'm gonna need a hand hauling them into the house, though." Ash nodded. "Where are we going to put them? In the master bedroom?" Andy shook his head. "We've got plenty of extra bedrooms upstairs, and Piper was nearly catatonic before I imprinted her, so the last thing I want is her waking up surrounded by tons of unfamiliar people. We'll let her have a bedroom to herself, although I think you should probably give her a shower quick before you put her into a bed." Niko nodded, helping Aisling pick Piper up. "Good idea. She really is pretty ripe right now. C'mon Ash, let's go hose her down." The two women lugged Piper into the house, leaving Andy with Charlotte and Asha. "If you can give me a hand, you and your daughter can crash for the night in one of the spare bedrooms and in the morning, I'll give Phil a call, and we'll get him over for you to join his family." Charlotte leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Andy. You and Niko will be good for Asha. Don't judge her too harshly. She's still young and that means she can tend to be reckless. She'll love you with all her heart, but she's going to have moments of sadness about her father, so please be understanding about her mood swings." "I'll do my best," he told her, as the two moved to scoop up Asha. She was light enough and small that Andy was able to carry her on his own. "That's all anyone can ask." After getting Charlotte and Asha squared away in one bedroom, Andy headed in to check on Aisling and Niko, who were sliding Piper into a bed in one of the bedrooms no one was using. When they'd moved into the mansion, Andy had told all the girls that if they wanted to claim one of the bedrooms as their own, they should do so. Ash had insisted she never wanted to sleep anywhere Andy wasn't, and Niko and Lauren had agreed, although Niko had converted one of the bedrooms into an office space that all three of the girls shared. But that still left several bedrooms that were decorated, and Andy checked four of them before he found them, as they pulled the sheets up over Piper's unconscious body. "Everything go okay?" he asked them, as they headed towards the door. "Sure, no problem, but she definitely needed to be hosed

What if your anxiety isn't a problem to fix… but a message to listen to?

Shh!Follow us on twitter for goodness sake, it's fun! And it's probably the best way to contact us, all things considered.Special Thanks as always to Sydney and Benjamin Paul and Tyler Button, and our Big Freak Spacejamfan!This episode features additional sound design by Michaël Ghelfi. Michaël creates brilliantly crafted soundscapes and ambient tracks for all sort of productions and they make perfect accompaniment to your ttrpg home games. Find his work on YouTube, and support that good stuff on Patreon.Subscribe and Rate Rude Tales of Magic on Apple Podcasts and Spotify and leave us a review!Advertise on Rude Tales of Magic via Gumball.fm.Support the show: https://www.rudetalesofmagic.com/See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Today's story is about a rotten apple - but not only a rotten apple but about gossip as well.                               ________________________________________________ Did you hear about Anya?” Ruth looked up from her reading book to see her friend Eliza next to her.  “What did you say?” Ruth asked.  “Shh! Keep your voice down!” Eliza whispered. “I asked if you'd heard about what Anya did.” “No? What happened?” Ruth asked.  “She cheated on the Bible quiz we had before lunch!” Eliza hissed. Ruth was shocked. She didn't know Anya very well, but she knew Anya was one of the smartest girls in their class, and she was especially good at knowing a lot of things from the Bible. Why would she need to cheat?  “Are you sure?” Ruth asked slowly.  “I'm positive!” Eliza said. “William saw her, and he told Kalia, and she told Max, and he told Amy, and she told me.”  Ruth frowned. That seemed like a very long way of hearing something.  “I just can't imagine Anya doing something like this,” she said.  Just then, their friend Ella dropped into the seat next to Ruth.  “Can't imagine what?” she asked.  “Anya cheated on the Bible quiz!” Eliza whispered to her.  “No way!” Ella exclaimed.  “Shhh!” Ruth hushed both of them. “We don't know that for sure, and I don't want Anya to hear you talking about her.”  What happens next? Tune in to find out. _________________________________________________________________________________ Story by: Maritza Brunt Read story on the blog VISIT OUR WEBSITE SHOP OUR BOOKS   Shop our audiobooks Special effect editing: James Wagner  music credit: http://www.purple-planet.com/  Email us: stories4gigi@gmail.com Write to us: GIGI KIDS STORIES PO BOX 6505 Upper Mt Gravatt Queensland Australia 4122

We've crossed the pond and made our way to the intersection of France, Germany and Switzerland to bring you all the latest straight from the Eurovision Song Contest, and oh boy is there plenty bring you from Semi-Final 1. There were huge glow-ups, a glow-down, potential new front-runners - everything you could hope for from the "easy" Semi-Final. Jeremy takes a nibble of a dangerous dessert, Dimitry awards a perfect performance to one of the acts, and Oscar rejoins his digital brethren once more.Watch Semi-Final 1 on Peacock, YouTube, or your local public broadcaster!Check out our guide to this year's songs on PopHeist: https://popheist.com/eurovision-2025-song-list-guide-meaningThis week's companion playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4nWZKymmUZ475daKUMt7Z3?si=e1f88d970b66409d The Eurovangelists are Jeremy Bent, Oscar Montoya and Dimitry Pompée.The theme was arranged and recorded by Cody McCorry and Faye Fadem, and the logo was designed by Tom Deja.Production support for this show was provided by the Maximum Fun network.The show is edited by Jeremy Bent with audio mixing help was courtesy of Shane O'Connell.Find Eurovangelists on social media as @eurovangelists on Instagram and @eurovangelists.com on Bluesky, or send us an email at eurovangelists@gmail.com. Head to https://maxfunstore.com/collections/eurovangelists for Eurovangelists merch. Also follow the Eurovangelists account on Spotify and check out our playlists of Eurovision hits, competitors in upcoming national finals, and companion playlists to every single episode, including this one!

Δεν κατάφερε να προκριθεί στον τελικό της Eurovision o Ευάγγελος Θεοδώρου με το τραγούδι "Shh".

 “What are you planning?” He stretched his neck, trying to decipher from where he sat what she was writing. She did not reply.  He did not ask again; instead, he rubbed his beard, deep in thought. Jezebel folded the scroll, placed his seal over it, and rang the gong. Elana watched in fascination as a soldier entered from the side door and bowed. Jezebel stretched her arm with the scroll. “Take this to the elders and nobles who live in Naboth's city, and tell them I command they do as this says.” The man took the scroll, bowed, and left the room. Jezebel rubbed her hands together. A satisfied look registered on her face, her amber eyes slanted and malicious. Ahab reached for her hand and pulled her with force onto his lap. “What did you write?” She placed her hand around his neck and leaned her embellished head onto his. “I have proclaimed a day of fasting and have requested they seat Naboth in a prominent place amongst the people so—” “Prominent?”  She placed her index finger on his lips. “Shh. Once he is seated, two vagabonds will accuse him in front of everyone that he has cursed both God and the king.” An ominous smile crept over her red lips. “The town will be horrified to know Naboth has turned against you, and they will stone him to death—when that happens, you are to take possession of your vineyard!” Ahab stared at his wife with his mouth agape. He blinked a few times......                                 ____________________________________________________ This week we are looking at the story of evil queen Jezebel and King Ahab. You can find their story in your Bibles in 1st and 2nd Kings. Tune in to listen to this episode - and don't forget to share with your friends.                                      ___________________________________   Read story on the blog Visit our website Shop our books - The Royal Palace Artist of the Month: We The Kingdom Artist on Spotify music Keep in the loop by signing to our GIGI Notes HERE DON'T FORGET TO SUBSCRIBE  Hosts: Esther & Steph Mix & effects: Stephanie Giselle Purple Planet Music https://www.purple-planet.com/ email us: writegigi5@gmail.com Write by post GIGI Teen Radio PO BOX 6505 Upper Mt Gravatt QLD 4122 music credit: Purple planet music All music played on the podcast radio is covered under the APRA AMCOS Online Mini Licence.

A good teacher makes a bad decision to help a student pass. by kotochaos. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.  Chapter One: First Time Morgan Klein stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, when Chris dropped his pants. To say she was impressed would be an understatement. A smile crawled slowly onto her face as she took in his limp manhood-boyhood, really-and found him larger than her husband at her husband's proudest moment. More impressive was the fact that Chris wasn't even hard yet, though he swelled rapidly under her gaze, growing to an even more impressive size when finished. She could hardly believe it when she took him in hand and found that her fingers could not meet around him.This was Morgan's third year teaching. She was a secondary English teacher and had, the year before, tutored Chris after school. Chris was a tall, brooding sort. He came from a broken home with a single mom in their struggling rural community. His mother did what she could, but she was uneducated herself and, between three jobs, hardly had time to help Chris at all. When he had moved on from eleventh grade, his mother had personally told Morgan's principal that Morgan was her savior. Since then, Morgan has taken a vested interest in Chris' development. Moving into twelfth grade when he should have been ready for graduation, Chris began struggling again. Morgan had been patient at first, but she saw her success quickly withering into failure. Desperate to make a turnaround, she had agreed to a deal which she never thought she would have agreed to before. In her desperation, she had agreed to give Chris an orgasm for a good grade, and Chris eagerly accepted. That was how he ended up fully erect in her face, his massive dick throbbing and leaking in her hand. Chris' penis was nothing like any she had ever seen before. It was something out of a practical joke or a legend. Not only was he thick, but he was monstrously long, too, and his crown was shiny red and dribbling precum as he pulsed and throbbed in her palm. Clearly aroused, she was surprised that he hadn't exploded all over her already. Despite her better judgement, she was flattered at his arousal. Chris stammered as Morgan stared down his shaft. She looked him in the eyes, and he looked away, blushing. “Y-you, Mrs. Klein, you don't have to.” Morgan smiled. Staring down this length, she wondered how he could be brave enough to suggest it but frightened when it happened. His bravado drained the moment he gave her the paper, but she was glad to see that he hadn't deflated at all once after his pants were opened. A lesser man might grow limp with anxiety, but Chris' nerves only seemed to make him harder. “No, Chris, a promise is a promise,” she said, stroking him slowly. She met his gaze again, and her smile broadened as she saw his cheeks growing red. “You got the grade, so you'll get your reward for it. I just wasn't expecting, um, it to be such a LARGE task.” She moved her hand to his root and held him at the base so that she could appreciate his full length. Morgan was a small woman, with small hands, and Chris looked only more impressive by comparison. Despite his length and girth, his pubic hair was sparse and thin, possibly due to his age, she didn't know. She felt silly to be in this situation at all, let alone contemplating the logistics of hair growth in teens. In her second year of teaching, she had been instructed to pick a student and make them her cause. Now, holding Chris hard in her hands, she feels even better about her choice. She held him in both hands and stroked him idly, gathering his precum and smearing it along his shaft. Not a virgin, Morgan has always been pretty and enjoyed male attention. She had never been with someone like Chris, though. Despite his youth, Chris was tall and fit. He still held the A in his hand, clutched tightly and slightly crumpled as she stroked him. He was embarrassed, but he was also throbbing and, measuring at least twelve inches in length and twice her husband' girth, he was more man than anyone she had ever met. Thumbing his crown, Morgan chuckled. Chris moaned in her grasp and, smiling at him, she said, “Someone's excited.” She didn't know who she was talking about, though. Her nipples were erect and chaffing her bra, while her pussy was wetting her panties in her arousal. Chris met her gaze and watched breathlessly as she stroked him with her tiny hands. “Sorry,” he choked, and Morgan laughed again. “Don't be sorry,” she said, and she licked her lips staring down his length. “This is all actually very flattering.” Leaning forward in her chair, she breathed along his cockhead and laughed as he throbbed again. He was steel hard, and she was sure he wouldn't last much longer. A hand job would likely be enough but, stroking him, she knew he wanted more. “Now then, I seem to remember that you had asked for a blowjob in exchange for an A.” Chris nodded, his eyes widening as her wet lips approached his manhood. Morgan licked her lips again and stroked him, gathering precum to his cockhead. Glancing down at him, she chewed her bottom lip. She had never been with a man as large as Chris before, and she was curious to see how well he would fit in her mouth. Though a tiny woman, she was excited to try, and thinking about the size difference between Chris and her husband only made her more excited. “Well, lucky you got an A, then.” Parting her lips, Morgan sucked Chris inside. Her jaw ached to accommodate him as she struggled around his girth. Lips tight, though, she took him to the edge of her throat and gagged briefly before meeting his gaze. Chris watched her in awed silence, his dick painfully hard and his balls tight. He had suggested a blowjob as a joke, and he had felt both guilty and afraid as soon as he said it. When she agreed, he had assumed that was a joke, too, all the way up until she had him in her mouth. Morgan, too, is awed in her own way. Despite being a boy by her estimation, Chris was hung like a man. Fully erect and swelling fatter, he was not only larger than her husband, but he had a more pronounced flavor as well. His precum was thicker than her husband's semen, and the taste of it was robust as it spread across her mouth. Closing her eyes, she focused on the way Chris filled her mouth, and as she bobbed her head on him, she grew drunk on his taste. She mewled, sucking him deep and stroking him with both her hands and her lips. With his flavor in her throat and on her tongue, she became tuned into Chris. His presence surrounded her and filled her. She could smell him suddenly, her nostrils burning with his boyish musk. His youth did nothing to counteract her arousal. In fact, that knowledge that he was still so young only served to arouse her further. She whimpered around him and, hearing this, Chris stiffened in response. Finally, his youth betrayed him. Body tight, muscles flexing, Chris quickened and came hard. Morgan had only just started when his thick semen filled her mouth. Her cheeks ballooned. She swallowed on instinct to keep from choking, but his sperm stuck to her throat. Sitting back to cough, she took the rest across her face. Chris stood still, his dick throbbing as he unloaded the thickest load of his life onto his favorite teacher. Chris' dick was easily twice the size of her husband's. His orgasm, by her estimation, was many times more than that and also many times thicker. He covered her in hot, sticky jelly that burned itself into her flesh. He marked her as his woman, as his slut, as his scalding seed cascaded across her face and torso. Morgan rode it out, her hair catching the semen and clinging to her cheeks. She breathed through it, shivering through her own climax as she smacked her lips. Chris' semen remained thick in her mouth and in her throat, and she could feel it warming her belly. Looking up, she met his gaze and held it as Chris pants and whined like the child he is. In all her life, she has never had a man taste so good. Her husband, in particular, could compete. Chris may have been a boy in many ways, but Morgan had come to recognize that he was a man where it counted most. Coming down from his orgasm, Chris panted. “Oh my God, Mrs. Klein.” Morgan, smiling, sucked him back into her mouth and bobbed her head on him. Chris' hands twitched. He thought to stop her, but he was too drunk on her to fight it. “That felt so good,” he whined. “My hands never felt that good.” Grinning, Morgan flourished her tongue, licking around his glans before holding him with her hands and kissing her way down his hard shaft. Even after the thickest, richest orgasm of either of their lives, he remained erect. She attributed it to his youth, though she found herself flattered by both his resilience and his continued interest. Stroking him idly, she licked his crown. “And that's just the beginning, Chris. Get another A, and we'll see what else I can give you.” She punctuated the statement with a wink. Throbbing in her grip, Chris groaned. “Oh, God!” Morgan laughed in response. That night at home, Morgan tried to have sex with her husband but could not find the willpower to follow through. Comparing him to Chris, she felt both disappointed and defeated. Not only did he fail to measure up to Chris, but his body was softer and his hair thinning. Still young, still fit, and having the interest of one both younger and more impressive than her husband, she found satisfaction in her fingers instead. She masturbated in the shower, teasing and tickling herself to a small climax equal to but less satisfying than the one Chris brought her with a facial. Rinsing herself afterward, she teased her small, pink nipples and later smiled at herself in the mirror. What she was doing was wrong, but it helped Chris and would last until he graduated. That is what she told herself, at least, but deep down she knew that this was only the beginning. Good intentions push a teacher to make another mistake. Chapter Two: Double Take Morgan woke up horny the next day. She woke up imagining Chris' fat cock throbbing and pulsing, and she remembered the hot musk of it as he shot across her face and her nose. She came home sticky with his semen and fingered herself in the shower, her husband was hardly a thought in her head as she did it. She fingered herself again in the morning, reaching a quiet but empty orgasm beside her sleeping husband before her alarm went off. He woke up oblivious, and she woke up angry. She remained horny as she dressed, and she eyed her pert body as well, imagining Chris there with her, equally naked. They would complement each other, Chris' big body looking even bigger beside Morgan's own petite frame. Every part of him was built to break her, but she looked young and could likely pass as his girlfriend in the right context. It flattered her that a man like Chris would show interest in her, and then she reminded herself that Chris was not a man but a boy with a man-sized cock, which did nothing to reduce her pride. The morning passed slowly and empty. She spied Chris passing in the halls but could hardly get him to look her in the eyes. That afternoon for tutoring he was quiet, unwilling or unable to speak to her at length. Morgan, meanwhile, kept hoping he had hidden another A from her and thought to just ask him to let her suck his dick again. She needed to come, and she knew her husband couldn't do it. A week passed and nothing. Thoughts and memories of Chris' dick floated in and out of her head. She tried again to fuck her husband but couldn't. He smelled wrong, and she ended up jerking him off to a meager and disappointing climax. By the next Tuesday, she resented her husband and increasingly looked to Chris for relief. Chris, meanwhile, remained the perfect gentleman. Sometimes, she noticed that he was hard, and though it brought a smile to her face, she wasn't brave enough to act on it. His grades weren't improving, and she didn't want to reward bad behavior. So, she just stared and waited for him to ask for help, and he didn't ask for help because of his embarrassment and his arousal. She had always thought he might have a crush on her, but she had never realized how intense his crush was. Tuesday, however, was too much. They passed in the hall and Morgan noted, with some amusement, that Chris developed a sudden limp. Recognizing her own arousal, she realized the truth–she would have to be the one to end this cold war. So, when tutoring started, she approached his desk and stopped beside him. Seated, he was almost as tall as she was standing. She found his pants tented, and she smiled. He looked at her, his eyes lingering on her small bosom before meeting her gaze. She smiled, and he stammered. “Uh–Um–Mrs. Klein?” Morgan shushed him with one dainty finger to his lips. “Shh,” she said, smiling. “You seem to be having a hard time focusing,” she said, leaning over onto his desk and giving him a glimpse of her breasts down her blouse. “Let me help you.” She ended the statement by cupping his swollen manhood through his pants. Chris gasped. “B-But I haven't gotten another A yet.” Hardly listening, Morgan undid his pants with one hand and pulled his hard dick out. He jumped into view, his dick erupting from the open fly of his boxers. Already long and rigid, he seemed massive compared to her husband, and she cooed as she took him in her hand. After days of fantasy, it felt good to hold the real thing again. “Oh! Do you see that, Chris? You're so big and hard right now, there's no way you can focus on what you're reading. At this rate, you'd be lucky to even get an F.” Taking him in both hands, she stroked him slowly. “Oh, you poor thing. It must hurt to be so big and hard all the time.” Pouting, she looked him in the eyes and found him staring at her breasts. “Is this what I do to you, Chris? Do I make it hard for you to learn?” Gasping and whining, Chris shook his head. His long hair danced as he did. “No, Mrs. Klein. No! You help me!” Morgan smiled. Reaching into his underwear, she cupped his balls and marveled at their weight and size. “That is sweet, Chris, but you don't have to lie.” She purred and held him by his root, staring in awe at his full length. Despite his size, he remained a quiet, mewling teen in the hands of a woman far more experienced. The age difference only helped to arouse her more, and her tiny hands around his dick made him appear bigger by comparison. Groaning, she stroked his full length with both hands. “No, the best thing I can do for you now is help you come. Then and only then can we get any real work done.” She made eye contact with Chris and was happy to find him speechless. Her entire life, she has been a good girl who made the right decision whenever faced with a challenge. Holding Chris now and measuring him against her forearm, she felt like this is the first bad decision of her life, and she was glad that she waited for the right one. Purring, she stroked him from base to crown, holding him as if she was tugging him toward her. “Mm, Chris, I made you this hard. So, I have to be the one who takes on the heavy, heavy burden of helping you find relief.” After that, Morgan lost herself in him. She stared at his shaft and reversed her grip, holding him with both hands and stroking him vigorously. Her husband was a tall man and very slender, and though he was not the only man she had ever been with, he was the one she had chosen to marry. To that point, she had been satisfied with him. Though she had been with bigger men, they had never been large enough to adequately outclass him. Chris, however, outclassed all of them. She had attempted to find pleasure and comfort in her fingers and in her husband for days and found each unworthy. Chris, however, has her wet at a glance. Holding him, stroking him, she could not help but imagine the way that he could and would fill her if given the chance. A facial had given her one of the best orgasms of her life. She knew on instinct that opening her legs to him would give her so much more. Staring at his huge dick as her hands glided across him, watching his swollen red crown leak precum, Morgan whined in her arousal. “Darn it, Chris, I can't believe how stinking big you are!” Gasping in her grasp, Chris whined, “I'm sorry!” Morgan stopped stroking him long enough to look him in the eyes and was hurt to find him anxious. His dick was steel hard, throbbing in her tiny hands, and his interest was obvious, but it was animal interest and little more. Chris was still a child, Morgan remembered, too young to understand her praise or to separate it from insult. She was treating him like a well-endowed stud, experienced and virile, and he could be that someday. Today, however, he was only a eighteen-year-old boy with a mammoth hard-on and a horny teacher. Stroking him more slowly, Morgan swallowed her arousal and put on a smile for him. Chris' big dick was confusing for her. It filled her with lust, but that lust was her burden and not his. He was still a boy, and she was his instructor. It was her job to keep him safe and to teach him the truth. Smiling gently, she whispered to him, “No, Chris. You don't need to apologize. You should never have to apologize for having a big dick.” She giggled, watching him thrust and whine as she stroked him slowly from crown to root. “When I tell you that your dick is big, I am complimenting you. Few men are this size, and I think yours is long, and thick, and gorgeous. So, whenever you're horny, whenever you're distract, bring your big, beautiful dick to me, and I promise to take care of it. Chris gasped, thrusting into her hands, leaking precum all over her fingers. "A-anytime?” Smiling at him again, seeing the hope and the shock in his eyes, Morgan squeezed his dick in open affection. Holding him, stroking him, it is easy to imagine him as a man, but looking him in the eyes reveals that he is only a boy with a man-sized cock that required man-sized attention. The girls at school wouldn't have his best interests at heart, and so Morgan resigned herself to taking care of him instead. “Anytime,” she purred. “Even without an A?” She giggled. “Even without an A.” Licking her lips a second time, she turned her attention back to the swollen, throbbing dick in her hands. She could tell he was getting close and could tell from the way he moved and the way he swelled in her hands. Chris could feel it, too, and seemed to be breathing through his arousal, desperate to keep himself together. Morgan found his efforts cute, but she also wanted to see him explode. Kissing his crown, she whispered, “So, what can I do to help you finish, Chris? What do you need from me? What do you want?” Panting like a dog, Chris barked, “Tits! I want to see your tits!” Smiling, Morgan stroked him with one hand while using her other hand to cup one of her breasts. Her hard nipple dug into her palm as she touched herself. “These little things?” Chris whined and nodded. His dick throbbed, producing even more thick, rich precum to spread across her palm. “Yes,” he panted. “Yes. I want to see them. I want to come on them.” “You want to come on them,” Morgan echoed, laughing. “My, my, you are bold, aren't you?” Releasing her breasts, she put a finger to his mouth as he opened it to apologize. He stared down at her, cross-eyed, around her finger. “Don't,” she said, holding his dick firmly in hand as precum wetted her skin. “Don't apologize, Chris. Women like it when a man knows what he wants, and with a big dick like yours, you have a lot of bargaining power. As for my tits.” Reaching down with her free hand, Morgan lifted her bra and blouse up smoothly over her slender stomach and small, plump breasts. Her nipples, more red than pink in color, stood fully erect and sensitive in the open air. Plucking one, Morgan looked down to regard her breasts before looking him in the eyes and finding him staring. “I can accommodate that request, but you'll have to help me out from here.” Guiding him, she turned him to face her instead of the desk and then moved his hand to hold her blouse up as she kneeled to hold hid dick to her breasts. She returned to stroking him, smearing his precum along his shaft with her palms. The mess spilled onto her chest, gathering in the valley between them. Morgan smiled up at him, and he stared back, jaw hanging, eyes wide and unblinking. She laughed in response. “Now, go ahead and come, Chris. Cover me in all your thick, sticky semen. Unload your big, teenage balls into your favorite teacher's bosom.” Morgan made sure to smile as she fed him the dirty talk, and she felt him quicken immediately. Holding him to her chest, she stroked him to his approaching orgasm and all the way to the end. She could feel his semen swell his shaft, surging and spraying, and she had her own orgasm before his semen even touched her. The feel of his hot seed spreading across her body, though, only amplified it. Like sexual alchemy, it transformed a small, buzzing orgasm into a hurricane of pleasure. By the end both were breathless and panting in climax. Chris' semen had gathered across her breasts and her collar bone, soiling her blouse and possibly ruining it. Morgan didn't care, however. She continued to stroke him before pulling him into her mouth on instinct to clean him. The taste of him elicited a long moan from her as she bobbed her head on him dutifully, both grateful for the orgasm he gave her and the one she received across her torso. Comparing him against her husband again only made her more grateful. When finished, she sat back to display the semen she had collected across her chest to him, and she saw his dick twitch before swelling gradually back to life. Taking hold of him again, Morgan stroked him idly. “Now, now, Chris,” she said, chuckling affectionately as he hardened in her hand. “I won't help you a second time today, no matter how distracted you get.” Taking hold of him by the root, she stared at his dick in awe. “At least, not if you don't earn it.” Eying his cock, she gave it a quick kiss before standing. “We don't have much time before your mother gets here, and I need to get cleaned up.” Watching her move, Chris stammered. Mrs. Klein was a tiny thing, not skinny but slender. She kept fit with rigid exercise, and it showed in the subtle way her body flexed as she moved. Breathless, he stammered, “O-Okay.” Morgan lowered her blouse, pulling it down over her cum-soaked breasts and showing off the stains he left in the fabric. She was partway across the classroom, her bare feet stepping lightly across the glossy tiles, before he called to her. Turning, she stared back at him and his hard dick with equal want. “Yes?” Chris, feeling suddenly self-conscious, looked away. “Tha, Thanks.” Morgan smiled. Eyes fixed on his dick, she said, “You're welcome, and put that big thing away before someone sees it and asks questions.” Chris, looking down at his dick, scrambled. “Yes, ma'am!” Morgan laughed from the doorway. “I'll be back soon, and then we can brush up on some key terms before you go home. Okay?” Chris gave a rushed affirmative as Morgan ducked out into the hall. She hurried to the teacher's lounge bathroom to rinse off but hesitated at the sink when she got there. Wearing his semen was oddly comforting and staring at her reflection made her feel somehow more confident in herself. Already a supremely confident woman, she realized that the pride she felt was in having Chris' interest to begin with. Rinsing herself, she watched the way the water molded her blouse to her figure and thought silently how it will be even harder to keep Chris focused. To be continued in a 10 part series, on Literotica by kotochaos, for Literotica [All characters in this story, are over the age of 18 years.]

Today on the Eurovoix Podcast, Eurovision 2025 becomes a reality, with the first 15 competing songs taking to the stage for rehearsals in Basel.Steven Heap is your host as Wrap-Up takes a look at how the first semi-final stagings are shaping up. We'll be taking a closer look at whether KAJ are still the ones to beat in Basel with "Bara Bada Bastu", seeing whether the hype around Cyprus's "Shh" is justified, and diving deep into revamped stagings from Croatia and Albania.We've also got time to go over everything we've seen from the first rehearsals for semi-final one - from Iceland's boat to Poland's ropes, we've got you covered. And, during the show, we'll also chat about Käärijä and Baby Lasagna being added to the Eurovision interval act line-up, and we'll see which stars will be handing out the douze pointe as this year's spokespersons!At the end of the show, we'll compare Eurovoix's two methods of predicting Eurovision 2025, too - we'll have the final results from the Your Voix vote, and see what The Model is projecting as we arrive in Switzerland.As Eurovision 2025 begins, Wrap-Up is here to bring you every moment of the contest. We'll be back on Friday with a first look at the songs in the second semi-final as well as the Big 5 and hosts Switzerland, so don't miss it!CREDITSCreated and Produced by: James StephensonHost: Steven HeapContributors: Alistair Brown, Franciska van Waarden, James Stephenson, Neil Farren, Sem Anne van Dijk, Tamara VecicEditor: James StephensonWant to know more about Eurovision? Read all the latest news from the contest at Eurovoix.Follow Eurovoix on XFollow Eurovoix on InstagramFollow Eurovoix on Facebook

Wouter Hardy (Arcade)- 3:36, NYLAN (The Code, Shhhh) - 23:46, Benji Alasu (The Code, Survivor) - 41:43       This week, we're talking to the songwriters behind two Eurovision winning hits. First we sit down with Wouter Hardy, who co-wrote Duncan Laurence's Arcade - the first Eurovision song in nearly a quarter century to chart on the Billboard Hot 100. Then we turn to two writers, NYLAN and Benji Alasu who, along with Linda Dale and Nemo themselves, wrote last year's Eurovision winner, Nemo's The Code. These writers give us a window into their unique processes and help us further explore the diversity of ways in which Eurovision songs get written - and how that diversity in process affects the song you end up with in the end.       Featured Songs:     Duncan Laurence, Arcade - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eztx7Wr8PtE     Duncan Laurence, Stars - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l1Zv_xZiaok       Gjons Tears, Tout L'Univers - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpM6o6UiBIw       Nemo, The Code - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kiGDvM14Kwg       Theo Evans, Shh - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rbfQqWyqgJw       Elsie Bay, 100 Years - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-UbFfO_Uy80       Parg, Survivor - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RfH5o3XtI2c       Milune, Torn - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uwBN-17HXGE       Remo Forrer, Not Okay - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cXZM-DH5Zb4

Shh... this episode is a secret to Nathan, no one tell him!

Happy Good Friday! Shh, we have a serious guest, everyone behave please in the comment section. Today we welcome Jacob Mchangama. Jacob is the author of the breezy beach read “Free Speech – A History from Socrates to Social Media”, research professor at Vanderbilt University where he is also the founder and Executive Director of The Future of Free Speech institute, and a Senior Fellow at The Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression theFIREorg.JOIN THE CONVERSATION ON SUBSTACK! ASKAJEW.SUBSTACK.COMHere's what we cover:* Anne Frank is from Denmark, right?* Free Speech in the ancient world* When is speech actual violence?* The optimistics and pessimistic case for free speech* Back when the ACLU was cool* Immigration and speech* Can't we just make antisemitism illegal* The vibe shift* Mahmoud Khlalil* The future of free speechHere's your feel-good story for the week: An IDF reservist found this sweet pup in Gaza, who apparently ran over when he heard the soldiers speaking Hebrew. The soldier quickly discovered that this is no other than Billy, a dog that was kidnapped from Kibbutz Nir Oz on October 7. He belonged to Rachel Dancyg, the ex-wife of hostage Alex Dancyg who was murdered in Gaza. Rachel's brother, Itzik Elgarat, was also abducted from the kibbutz and murdered in Gaza. Some sweetness in the midst of it all. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit askajew.substack.com/subscribe

All of this year's official music videos are out, so the Eurovangelists have enlisted pop culture aficionado Dave Holmes (Troubled Waters, Who Killed The Video Star, MTV) to weigh in on which videos from this year's crop of entrants are Top 10, and which videos are not gonna see much air time. We also talk about who might take it all in this year that feels more wide open than in years past. Jeremy lives for a jam session in the fairy court, Dimitry's on the warpath over Stefan Raab, Dave loves living that rock star yacht life, and Oscar's got that star quality.Dave's favorite music videos: https://youtu.be/oJL-lCzEXgI?si=WBjdXTTLLxBDKw-Rhttps://youtu.be/nTizYn3-QN0?si=M9DWaZ7Ax6QRjIWUJeremy's favorite music video: https://youtu.be/eBG7P-K-r1Y?si=pjdLdc6vUBFsKY2RDimitry's favorite music videos: https://youtu.be/sOnqjkJTMaA?si=Fl2KrStCwAoC1kMbhttps://youtu.be/pTFE8cirkdQ?si=FWsZWvK9fQip14SXOscar's favorite music video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1zWlnzFXcKYA playlist of this year's official music videos: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sfvb761EEcM&list=PLd2EbKTi9fyXVpc47XRGyjV0RfQOlHOXtThis week's companion playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4mkeIWF4CiFfYcYEb2PMGS The Eurovangelists are Jeremy Bent, Oscar Montoya and Dimitry Pompée.The theme was arranged and recorded by Cody McCorry and Faye Fadem, and the logo was designed by Tom Deja.Production support for this show was provided by the Maximum Fun network.The show is edited by Jeremy Bent with audio mixing help was courtesy of Shane O'Connell.Find Eurovangelists on social media as @eurovangelists on Instagram and @eurovangelists.com on Bluesky, or send us an email at eurovangelists@gmail.com. Head to https://maxfunstore.com/collections/eurovangelists for Eurovangelists merch. Also follow the Eurovangelists account on Spotify and check out our playlists of Eurovision hits, competitors in upcoming national finals, and companion playlists to every single episode, including this one!

Culture critic Euny Hong joins us to discuss the multiple genres represented by Croatia, Sweden, San Marino, Portugal, and Cyprus at this year's Eurovision. Euny Hong Euny Hong is a journalist and bestselling author of three books that have been published in a total of over 20 languages. The Birth of Korean Cool: How One Nation is Conquering the World Through Pop Culture, an Amazon Editor's Pick, is being re-released in April 2025. A Yale grad and former Fulbright Scholar, Frankfurter, and Berliner, she lived in Paris longer than any other city. She is a native-level bilingual in French-English and fluent in German and Korean. Genre Confusion Summary The Birth of Korean Cool (3:59) Croatia - Marko Bošnjak - "Poison Cake" (7:05) Sweden - KAJ - "Bara Bada Bastu" (15:07) San Marino - Gabry Ponte - "Tutta L'Italia" (24:57) Portgual - NAPA - "Deslocado" (32:25) Cyprus - Theo Evan - "Shh" (38:22) Final Thoughts (44:09) Subscribe The EuroWhat? Podcast is available wherever you get your podcasts. Find your podcast app to subscribe here (https://www.eurowhat.com/subscribe). Comments, questions, and episode topic suggestions are always welcome. You can shoot us an email (mailto:eurowhatpodcast@gmail.com) or reach out on Bluesky @eurowhat.bsky.social (https://bsky.app/profile/eurowhat.bsky.social). Basel 2025 Keep up with Eurovision selection season on our Basel 2025 page (https://www.eurowhat.com/2025-basel)! We have a calendar with links to livestreams, details about entries as their selected, plus our Spotify playlists with every song we can find that is trying to get the Eurovision stage. Join the EuroWhat AV Club! If you would like to help financially support the show, we are hosting the EuroWhat AV Club over on Patreon! We have a slew of bonus episodes with deep dives on Eurovision-adjacent topics. Special Guest: Euny Hong.

Our reaction to the Semi-Final 1 running order of Eurovision 2025. Iceland's Vaeb will open the show, while Cyprus' Theo Evan will close it. Among other things, we discuss how the start position could impact who qualifies; why Poland's Justyna was put in second position (the so-called "death slot"); why producers have Cyprus performing last; and so much more. Watch this podcast on our YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ohTaz4OfgFU   1.

Just Rambo this week. - New Song- Latest patch notes- Cloud vs Cam accounts- EE has an appstore advert being promoted by apple.- SHH loses Citadel in ER, SUS dropped on them.- PHPC joins SHH, - Kobra and SpacePope should be corpies- NE qq account has RMT sales - Mobi Mountain- Things I may have missed/comments

It's the MaxFunDrive, so we had to bring back our fellow MaxFun host and first ever guest (and first ever returning guest), Dr. Ella Hubber of Let's Learn Everything! We take a listen to EIGHT internal selections from all over the continent, and once more get authentic British despair at the state of this year's entry. Jeremy wishes he was in the booth, Dimitry catches Cyprus in a lie, Ella's heard the milkshake might not just be a state of mind, and Oscar thinks we might be in the year of the breakdown. MaxFunDrive ends on March 28, 2025! Support our show now and get access to bonus content by becoming a member at maximumfun.org/join.---The Eurovangelists are Jeremy Bent, Oscar Montoya and Dimitry Pompée.The theme was arranged and recorded by Cody McCorry and Faye Fadem, and the logo was designed by Tom Deja.Production support for this show was provided by the Maximum Fun network.The show is edited by Jeremy Bent with audio mixing help was courtesy of Shane O'Connell.Find Eurovangelists on social media as @eurovangelists on Instagram and @eurovangelistspod.bsky.social on Bluesky, or send us an email at eurovangelists@gmail.com. Head to https://maxfunstore.com/collections/eurovangelists for Eurovangelists merch. Also follow the Eurovangelists account on Spotify and check out our playlists of Eurovision hits, competitors in upcoming national finals, and companion playlists to every single episode, including this one!

In this episode of No Film School, GG Hawkins sits down with Jérôme Eltabet, the editor of the Oscar-nominated body horror film The Substance. Jérôme shares his journey from assistant director to editor, detailing his work with director Coralie Fargeat to bring The Substance to life. He breaks down the editing challenges, the importance of sound design, and why cutting a horror film is all about creating an immersive experience. In this episode, No Film School's GG Hawkins and Jérôme Eltabet discuss: How Jérôme transitioned from assistant director to editor What it was like editing 300+ hours of footage for The Substance How sound design and score shaped the film's tension The massive changes from the first cut to the final version How the film's themes influenced its pacing and cutting style The collaborative dynamic between Jérôme and director Coralie Fargeat Memorable Quotes: “I do remember I gave a call to Coralie to say, ‘Oh, this movie is going to be very long.' And she told me, ‘Shh, don't tell anyone! We'll talk about this later in the edit room.'” (8:38) “We had maybe 150 different versions of some sequences because Coralie needs to have the kind of goosebumps to like it. It's not something you can explain—she just has to feel it.” (10:29) “Coralie didn't want any realistic sounds. Everything had to be slightly off. The world needed to feel unnatural, unsettling—like something was always wrong.” (13:14) “The first rough cut was three and a half hours. Coralie wanted a perfect edit, a perfect sound design, so we fought to get the movie as tight as possible without losing its impact.” (32:10) “As an editor, you are the first audience. You have to trust your instincts, because six months later, after watching the same footage over and over, you'll start doubting yourself.” (37:47) Guest: Jérôme Eltabet – Editor of The Substance, known for his precise, immersive approach to editing horror and psychological thrillers. Resources: The Substance – Ending Explained The Substance – Lookbook Read & Download The Substance Screenplay Find No Film School everywhere: On the Web: No Film School Facebook: No Film School on Facebook Twitter: No Film School on Twitter YouTube: No Film School on YouTube Instagram: No Film School on Instagram

The News Literacy Project's Peter Adams returns to answer some big questions: Who can you trust these days? Where are the reliable sources? Well, WE'RE not, because we claimed we were following the interview with the Poundstone Riddle Invitational, but it's actually a surprise party for Captain Crinkle! Shh!  GUEST Peter Adams newslit.org HOUSE BAND Andrew Shah SPONSORS Go to HelixSleep.com/paula for 27% Off Sitewide! Go to prettylitter.com/paula to save twenty percent on your FIRST order and get a free cat toy. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices