Podcasts about Sunn

An alternative to increasingly expensive fertiliser is emerging for farmers in a colourful crop which can add nitrogen to the soil. Sunn hemp is a legume that can be used a cover crop to improve soil health. Rural Reporter Jefferson Shaw spoke with Queensland's Department of Primary Industry Principle Scientist Paul Grundy about the benefits and drawbacks.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Vi gir deg gjenhør med populære episoder i sommer! I denne får du konkrete tips til ernæring i forbindelse med løpskonkurranser av vår kliniske ernæringsfysiolog Kristin Lundanes Jonvik.  Hva bør du spise dagen før og på morgenen før løpet? Vi snakker også om hva og hvor mye næring du trenger i løpet av konkurransen. Er gels for alle eller finnes det alternativ?  Hvor viktig er næringa i etterkant av konkurransen? Hvor uheldig er det å ta seg en fest etter målgang?  Kristin gir deg også innblikk i hva som skjer på forskningsfronten rundt ernæring i idrettskonkurranser. Hun er klinisk ernæringsfysiolog og jobber som forsker på NIH og som rådgiver i Sunn idrett.  Programledere er Christina Gjestvang og Gjermund Erikstein-Midtbø. Redigerer er Eskil Byrkjeland.

Sunn forvaltning: Misjon på Guds vegneSom kristne er vi evangeliets forvaltere. Vi skal ikke finne opp evangeliet, kirken eller misjonstjenesten, men vi er kalt til å utføre den på vegne av oppdragsgiveren. Definisjonsmakten og ansvaret er til syvende og sist Hans. Det er til oppmuntring for oss, slik det også var det for misjonærene som dro ut, med betydelig risiko, på 1800-tallet.

Lars og de to tidligere stortingspolitikerne Kari Elisabeth Kaski (SV) og Sivert Bjørnstad (Frp) diskuterer begrepet som ble lansert av KrF-leder Dag-Inge Ulstein: «Sunn fornuft-alliansen» Er det en allianse? Og er det sunn fornuft? Hør episoden som abonnent hos Podme eller Aftenposten. Still spørsmål til podden på Instagram eller Facebook, og få nyhetsbrev på www.aftenpodden.no

Sunt lederskap i Guds rike er et stort tema. I denne talen belyser Håvard fem (av de mange) ting som finnes i dette terrenget.

Tema for denne episoden er billig og sunn mat på budsjett. Hvordan kan man leve billig og bra? Her får du konkrete tips! Fortsettelsen kommer neste uke. God lytt

Martin er mangeårig pastor i IMI-kirken i Stavanger. Han sier at en sunn familiekultur i kirken skapes ved at vi har fokus på det som Jesus hadde fokus på - nemlig Guds rike.

Eirik har vært i henger-beef på Maxbo, Torjus har fått en slange med kamera i halsen og Business-Corner byr på godbiter som: Sunn sigg, Petter Dum og Irr-briller. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Helsetipspodden er podcasten for deg som ønsker å lære mer om kroppen – og hvordan du kan ta vare på helsen din.Tema for episoden: Hud.Huden er kroppens største organ, veier rundt 3,5 kilo og består av 30–40 milliarder hudceller. Den er et avansert sanseorgan, og fungerer som både beskytter, kommunikator og biosensor. Huden sender signaler til immunforsvaret, hormonsystemet og nervesystemet – og det som skjer på innsiden, kan ofte vises på utsiden.Den er også hjem for milliarder av mikroorganismer – hudens mikrobiom – som er avgjørende for balanse og god hudhelse.I denne episoden har jeg med meg Ann-Kristin Stokke, en av Norges fremste hudeksperter med over 30 års erfaring. Hun er aktuell med boken Hud for livet.Vi snakker blant annet om:Hva huden er og hvordan den fungererSammenhengen mellom hud, stress, hormoner og indre helseTarmhelse og hudAkne hos ungdom og hva som faktisk hjelperSøvn, kosthold og solens påvirkning på hudenHva huden trenger for å ha det bra – og eldes best muligAnn-Kristin deler konkrete tips til hva du kan gjøre for å ta vare på huden gjennom livet.God lytt

Paulus har gitt Timoteus et stort oppdrag - nemlig å se til at kirken i Efesus blir preget av sannhet og sunnhet. I sitt første brev til Timoteus veileder han praktisk og konkret i hva dette betyr. Én av de ting som da går igjen, er viktigheten av sunn lære - den lære som kretser om Kristus, og ham korsfestet (jf. 1. Kor. 2,2).

Heute sprechen wir mit Marcel Höche, auch bekannt als "Macy Pacy". Marcel ist seit gut zehn Jahren im Wettkampfgeschehen dabei und gehört zu den besten und vor allem vielseitigsten Trailrunnern des Landes. Aber auch neben dem Laufen ist er ein ziemlich umtriebiger Typ: Er hat zusammen mit zwei Freunden die Sportnahrungs‑Marke SUNN. gegründet, eine akademische Laufbahn absolviert, ist gefühlt nahezu permanent auf Reisen und hat eine sehr aktive Social‑Media‑Präsenz.Wir sprechen mit Marcel über:seine Herkunft im Harz und seine Anfänge im Trailrunningdas spezielle Training bei seinem Terrex‑Teamkollegen Dmitri Mityaevseine Erfahrungen bei Wettkämpfen im Auslandseinen Start bei der kommenden Deutschen Meisterschaft im Ultratrailsein Verhältnis zu Social Mediadas nächste langfristige Ziel (CCC 2027)die richtige Frisur fürs Trailrunning :)und vieles mehrDiese Folge wird unterstützt von Deuter. Danke!Werde Mitglied von Alles-laufbar.de, der Onlineplattform für die deutschsprachige Trailcommunity und erhalte Zugriff auf exklusive Inhalte. Ab 3,90 Euro/Monat bist du dabei! Uns findest du hier:Website: Alles-laufbar.deInstagram: @alleslaufbarYouTube: @alleslaufbarStrava Club: @Alles laufbar.de

Tilbakemeldingskultur er et av de mest omtalte temaene i HR akkurat nå, men hvorfor er det fortsatt så vanskelig å få til i praksis?I denne episoden dykker Anne Lise Heide ned i hva som egentlig skal til for å bygge en sunn og velfungerende tilbakemeldingskultur. For feedback handler ikke bare om å si ifra når noe er galt. Det handler like mye om relasjoner, trygghet og evnen til å se og løfte hverandre i hverdagen.Lytt og hør mer om:hvorfor feedback har gått fra å være et verktøy til å bli en kjernekompetanse i arbeidslivethva som skjer når vi ikke sier ifra og hvilke konsekvenser det kan fåhva forskning sier om hvorfor tradisjonell feedback ofte ikke virkerhvordan hjernen reagerer på kritikk (og hva det betyr for deg som leder)forklaring av feedback-utfordringen gjennom den praktiske modellen «feedback-trappen»tre konkrete råd for å lykkes bedre med feedback i praksisEpisoden gir deg både refleksjon og konkrete grep du kan ta med deg rett inn i egen arbeidshverdag.

I denne episoden dykker vi ned i et av de mest kontroversielle temaene i norsk landbruk akkurat nå: Innføringen av kjemiske metanhemmere i fôret til kyrne våre. Jeg har hatt gleden av å snakke med to som står midt i stormen – veterinær og bonde Maria Nilsson og bonde Tor Golid.Hvorfor er dette så kritisk?Maria og Tor tar oss med bak kulissene i kyrnes fordøyelsessystem. Vi utforsker hvordan metan produseres naturlig, og hvorfor dette plutselig har blitt utpekt som et av landbrukets største klimaproblemer. Men det viktigste spørsmålet vi stiller, er prisen vi betaler: Er vi villige til å gamble med dyras helse for å pynte på et klimaregnskap?I episoden diskuterer vi blant annet:Vitenskapen og risikoen: Hva skjer egentlig når vi tilsetter kjemiske og potensielt giftige stoffer i fôret for å overstyre naturens egne prosesser?Konsekvensene for norsk mat: Bekymringen rundt redusert melkeytelse, svekket dyrehelse og faren for rester av fremmedstoffer i melk og kjøtt.Det absurde prioriteringsvalget: Vi belyser det dypt problematiske i at økonomiske interesser og politisk prestisje får gå foran dyrenes grunnleggende velferd. Er det forsvarlig å tvinge gjennom tiltak som skader biologien for å oppnå en teoretisk klimagevinst?De naturlige alternativene: Hvorfor snakker vi ikke mer om regenerativt jordbruk, naturlig beite og karbonbinding i jorda som bærekraftige løsninger?Dette er ikke bare en samtale om fôr – det er en samtale om sunn fornuft og etikk. Den 26. februar skal Stortinget stemme over innføringen av metanhemmere. Denne episoden er et nødvendig korrektiv for alle som bryr seg om hvor maten vår kommer fra, hvordan dyra våre har det, og hvem som egentlig sitter med de beste løsningene for fremtiden.Jeg føler meg privilegert som fikk lytte til Maria og Tors refleksjoner. De minner oss på hvorfor vi må lytte til fagfolkene som faktisk står nærmest naturen og dyrene.Både Tor Golid og Jan Raa kommer på jubileumsfesten og live-podkasten den 11. april! Kommer du? Har du ikke kjøpt billett ennå? Gjør det nå – plassene fylles opp raskt! Mer informasjon og billetter her: https://psykolog-silje.no/jubileumsfest► DONASJONERVipps: Søk opp “Snakk med Silje” eller bruk vippsnummer: 806513Bitcoin lightning adresse: psykologsilje@bb.noPayPal: NOK: https://www.paypal.com/donate/?hosted_button_id=LZBFC3PKM8ECAInternasjonal bankoverføring:BIC: DNBANOKKXXXIBAN: NO9015068887892► KANALERSpotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/3XIJBJlX8FyZkyluivEch7Apple podkaster: https://podcasts.apple.com/no/podcast/snakk-med-silje/id1684607083YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@SnakkMedSiljeSubstack: https://open.substack.com/pub/psykologsilje► SOMEInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/psykologsilje?igsh=MW84MDE0MWplc2FwbA==TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@psykologsilje?_t=8oc3HBC1r4z&_r=1Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/psykologsiljeTwitter: https://x.com/Silje_SchevigLinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/silje-schevig-243750101?utm_source=share&utm_campaign=share_via&utm_content=profile&utm_medium=ios_app► KAPITLER00:00 Start02:50 Metanets levetid og kretsløp08:28 Økonomiske motiver10:02 Hva hjelper metanhemmere i klimaregnskapet?11:33 Hvordan påvirker metanhemmere kyra?14:48 Motstand mot metanhemmere20:58 Å være føre var27:02 Dyrenes egenverdi30:45 Det er giftig33:33 Skremselspropaganda34:59 Kyrene i danmark48:44 Folkebevegelse mot metanhemmer52:53 Anmeldelse av mattilsynet54:25 Dyrevelferd01:00:55 Klimaregnskap01:02:55 Sunn fornuft01:11:17 Følg pengene► REFERANSERNettsiden deres: https://metanhemmer.no/

OKS er en kirke for alle mennesker, og spesielt for deg som ikke pleier å gå i kirken. En kirke for folk som deg - Vi ønsker å være et sted der gode vennskap bygges og livet med Gud utvikles!Vi møtes rundt om i landet, finn en avdeling i nærheten av deg på oks.no

Hanna har vært underdressed på boklansering, blitt angrepet av gjess på bondegård og badet i iskulp i Holmenkollen. Melina har blitt matforgiftet, hatt en halvveis skitur sammen med kid og latt 2-åringen teste alpint! Tema for ukens episode er sunn mat på farta! Her får du konkrete tips til hva du kan fylle både din egen og barnas matboks med samt hvilke sunne alternativer du kan gå for hvis du trenger noe kjapt og enkelt. God lytt! OSLO Løpefestival https://fb.me/e/5MpSIcfDy Ticketmaster: https://www.ticketmaster.no/event/2035648844 Bli med Hanna og Melina på tur til Rhodos 3.-10. mai! SHAPE UP LØP&PILATES: https://www.apollo.no/reiser/treningsreiser/treningskalender/shape-up-training-tripLØPESTERK med Melina: melinamagulas.noSHAPE UP med Hanna: hannasundquist.noSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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

Our coverage continues of the Marvel Star Wars comics published between The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi! In this episode, Jim Beard joins The Irredeemable Shag to discuss Marvel STAR WARS #46 (April 1981), by Wally Lombego (sort of), Carmine Infantino & Tom Palmer! In this issue, entitled "The Dreams of Cody Sunn-Childe", Lando & Chewie cross paths with a Rebel legend turned pacifist cult leader... but what happens when the Empire crashes the party? Finally, we wrap up with YOUR listener feedback from the previous episode! 00:00:30 - Introductions 00:19:05 - Guest's origin with Star Wars comics 00:27:35 - Guest's favorite Star Wars expanded universe character 00:31:25 - Star Wars #46 cover discussion 00:38:30 - Star Wars #46 interior discussion 01:43:40 - The Golden Plif Award 01:49:45 - Your listener feedback from the last episode 02:08:35 - Sign off Have a question or comment? Looking for more great content? Leave comments on our website: http://fireandwaterpodcast.com/podcast/swe2j-02/ Email the show at: EmpireToJedi@gmail.com JM DeMatteis' commentary on the issue and the changes imposed by Lucasfilm: https://www.jmdematteis.com/2010/09/dreams-of-wally-lombego.html https://www.jmdematteis.com/2010/10/star-warsagain.html Follow Jim Beard: Flinch Books: https://flinchbooks.com/ The Jim Beard and Becky Books Page: https://www.facebook.com/thebeardjimbeard Jim Beard's Amazon Store: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Jim-Beard/author/B004UWVOPE Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/writerjimbeard.bsky.social Subscribe to the MARVEL STAR WARS: FROM EMPIRE TO JEDI Podcast: Subscribe on Apple Podcasts: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/marvel-star-wars-from-empire-to-jedi/id1812325155 Don't use Apple Podcasts? Use this link for your podcast catcher: http://feeds.feedburner.com/empiretojedi Also available on Spotify, Audible, and Amazon Music Follow MARVEL STAR WARS: FROM EMPIRE TO JEDI on social media: Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EmpireToJedi/ Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/empiretojedi.bsky.social Twitter/X: https://x.com/EmpireToJedi Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/empiretojedi/ Threads: https://www.threads.com/@empiretojedi This podcast is a proud member of the FIRE AND WATER PODCAST NETWORK: Visit the Fire & Water website: http://fireandwaterpodcast.com Like our Fire & Water Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/FWPodcastNetwork Follow Fire & Water on Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/fwpodcasts.bsky.social Follow Fire & Water on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/fireandwaterpodcast/ Support The Fire & Water Podcast Network on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/fwpodcasts Thanks for listening! May the Force be with You, Always!

No. 2 Montana (10-0) defeats Eastern Washington (4-6) 29-24 in Missoula on November 8, 2025 . Montana jumped out to a 22-0 lead mid way through the 2nd quarter, before Eastern Washington surged back to create complete chaos in the fourth quarter and push the game to its final seconds. Part I of this video features Montana head coach Bobby Hauck, defensive end Kellen Detrick & wide receiver Drew Deck. Part II features Eastern Washington head coach Aaron Best, linebacker Reed Sunn & quarterback Jake Schakel. This video was filmed and produced by Brooks Nuanez - Skyline Sports on November 8, 2025. All Rights Reserved.

The type of house I like, old, new, whatever, as long as it makes me feel something.

Sep 25,2025 Thursday : Misc : Navratri Katha Ise Sunn Ne Se Punya Arjit Hote Hai ,Sandhya Bhajan

Listen on: Apple Podcasts | Stitcher | Google Podcasts | Spotify | PandoraThis week, we're turning peak-season produce into bold, flavorful dishes. First, we talk with Rick Martínez, author of Salsa Daddy: Dip Your Way into Mexican Cooking, about transforming simple ingredients – think tomatoes, onions, garlic, and chilis – into salsas that sing. Rick explains why salsa is its own food group and leaves us with his family-inspired peach-and-pecan Salsa Tejana recipe. Then, we visit New York chef Sunny Lee of Sunn's, a restaurant devoted to banchan, Korea's iconic side dishes. Sunny teaches Francis how to elevate fresh vegetables into inventive, season-forward sides, including her recipe for Tahini Pickled Mushroom banchan. Broadcast dates for this episode: September 5, 2025 (originally aired)Celebrate kitchen companionship with a gift to The Splendid Table today.When you shop using our links, we earn a small commission. It's a great way to support public media at no extra cost to you.

Hosts Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot talk with journalist and environmentalist Bill McKibben about solar power and music, as well as the upcoming activism event “Sun Day.” They also share some of their favorite songs about the sun.Join our Facebook Group: https://bit.ly/3sivr9TBecome a member on Patreon: https://bit.ly/3slWZvcSign up for our newsletter: https://bit.ly/3eEvRnGMake a donation via PayPal: https://bit.ly/3dmt9lUSend us a Voice Memo: Desktop: bit.ly/2RyD5Ah Mobile: sayhi.chat/soundops Featured Songs:The Beatles, "Here Comes The Sun," Abbey Road, Apple, 1969The Beatles, "With A Little Help From My Friends," Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Parlophone, 1967Nina Simone, "Here Comes The Sun," Here Comes the Sun, RCA Victor, 1971Bill Withers, "Ain't No Sunshine," Just As I Am, Sussex, 1971The Vaselines, "Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam," Dying for It EP, 53rd & 3rd, 1988The Polyphonic Spree, "It's the Sun," The Beginning Stages of..., Hollywood, 2000Yes, "Heart of the Sunrise," Fragile, Atlantic, 1971Eleanor Friedberger, "Stare at the Sun," Personal Record, Merge, 2013Pink Floyd, "Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun," A Saucerful of Secrets, Columbia, 1968Boney M., "Sunny," Take the Heat off Me, Atlantic, 1976Swirlies, "Sunn," They Spent Their Wild Youthful Days In The Glittering World Of The Salons, Taang!, 1996Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band, "Sun Zoom Spark," Clear Spot, Reprise, 1972The Kinks, "Waterloo Sunset," Something Else By The Kinks, Pye, 1967Pedro The Lion, "Indian Summer," Control, Jade Tree, 2002Common and Pete Rock, "When The Sun Shines Again," The Auditorium Vol. 1, Loma Vista, 2024Stevie Wonder, "You Are the Sunshine of My Life," Talking Book, Motown, 1972The Jimi Hendrix Experience, "Hey Joe," Are You Experienced?, Reprise, 1967See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

I denne episoden ser vi nærmere på høstens «wellness-trender» innen kosthold. Kreatin og «fiber-maxxing» er blant temaene som dukker opp, men hva er det egentlig, og hvorfor kan det være lurt (eller ikke lurt) å teste? Vi snakker også om det vi mener er det viktigste for å bygge et solid kosthold, med fokus på en god base, smarte mat-hacks og meal prep light som funker i en travel hverdag. Ellers har Silje klart å pådra seg en aldri så liten «nocebo-forkjølelse» rett før løpet, mens Pia har funnet frem sin indre danser og hun utforsker "Family-Fitness". God lytt Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {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.

Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like everybody. The older I get like the worse it gets Like here's this guy I like And I pretty much mostly just like him But then like, Look at all these girls! Fuuuuck that! NICOLE BYER OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM! this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it? NICOLE BYER Yes it IS. this might actually be my favorite part of the story. BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly— NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere. HEY DUM-DUM. JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—. THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperament to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {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 Festival Project ™ ] Look, I've got some… time. How much time we talking? Enough. Alright, what's that make us? A deal. Alright. But you have to be quiet about it. Body is a minimum concern But accolades, achievements, Education— If you want to know, A billion's the goal— There's a goldmine full of pretty, perfect women But what are you worth, And where is your value What are you, earth, sir? Where are your manners, and What are your limits, And who are your partners— The son is the prize, And the reward, A daughter Now what are you on? I still don't know what you're on about. The show of the shelf life is done, And finally, All the hazards are uncrossed You know what you've done And you know what to do And you know who you are And you know what you want So the time for the gripping Has come down upon us The seams that are ripping Are nothing short of humongous How's that for a tadpole to a whole frog!? Watch it, turtle monster Before I put you down to run, And forgot what I had before Besides a gun And a habit to write And a real dark home And indeed, the words were also dark But written golden Golden shark Upon a park bench Put you back but don't you know To take a flash drive from a DJ Is much like Stealing a surfer's wetsuit It just like, Bad karma, man It's bad karma, Mark . I wrote— a passbook— where is it? You wrote— what? Where is it? Mi wrote it! Where is it? Wrote what? I wrote everything! I don't remember writing any [passbook] I'm a writer! A writer?! Oh, come on, Jimmy! Don't “Jimmy” me! You're starting to sound like… Wait a minute. Ah. Tina?! Don't be angry! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! I knew It! You didn't know anything, you were yelling at me like I'm that old lady! You are that old lady! *hugely gasps* DREW BARRYMORE Oh, you are so exorbitantly fucked. Where is she?! You have a— habit of always asking me these things before I really know the answer lately. Where's the scribe!? Is that who she is? You are supposed to be my predecessor! Stop being angry! I'm—very upset— And let go of me. This is aging me. Rapidly. Yay. Listen, I don't know what the fuck I said but— I need a liaison. For what exactly. Anything, apparently. Oh shit. The crazy thing about this one is— Yo Tina Fey is an almost elitist sort of shapeshifter. She's so sub —fuck. [—bliminal with it.] Someone keeps interfering with my signal. They can do that. They can broadcast Saturday night live to the entire world from the top of the World Trade Center, they can do anything. That's perfect— telemetry! Or just— telepathy. In a not so far dimension for continuity piurposes. J.Pierpoint Morgan— No, not yet, Oh okay. THE STRIKE FORCE FIVE have gathered in an office with a collection of other HOSTS. JIMMY FALLON sits leaned back on the couch in an unassuming hoodie, with the hood pulled over his face. He seems younger than usual, and somewhat bored. I knew his hair wasn't falling out anytime soon— —damn those genetics— So still I slowly but carefully salt and peppered each and every streaking strand that sprung forth from his wisdom. Hahaha! Yo. Crazy. Somebody needs to kill this bitch. It's too late. She can't be stopped! No! What! Crazy. She's… too powerful. I agree. I sort of accepted the relative silence in my apartment as if they'd gotten what they wanted— seeing Aliocha's number over and over as a way to succumb eventually to my inherent death— and at least then there would be peace. As it were, I was enjoying my time reading the New Testament Psalms above any of my other reading materials, which included a book on music business and even a portfolio of festival stages; this seemed of no mere coincidence, but as if of course the books were placed in my path within time that i'd find them returning from my radio show–and I did. But more fascinating than any book on the music business, or seduction, or the laws of human nature, or the art of war, was a hotel copy of the new testament, to which I took an immediate liking, with the understanding of this religious texts translations that I supposed writing almost seemingly endlesslessly myself had simplified. It seemed less boring than the last time I'd read it–and then again, the last time i'd read it, it wasn't as deliberately poignant as it sat now in the palm of my hands. I spent more time with it than the other books, although I loved Robert Greene, and even though i'd had the art of seduction on repeat by way of audio book, reading it through now seemed almost disturbing in nature, because on so many levels, there wasn't a time in my life where I could think to that this art didn't apply. Indeed, I was a true romantic, and then had in a way obliged myself to be seduced over and over, if not for the sake of the art. But now, in my own actual sexual prime, despite my cellibacy, nearly leaking the fluidity of sexuality with me wherever I went no matter how hard I tried to mask it …whether anyone wanted to admit it or not, and actually, more often than not I did notice t[o]— To what?! Idk, it just ends. UGHHHHHH. {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.

Every time I take him in I must remember the best thing That have ever happened to him As he said And whether or not the band Wraps around the bent and broken digit I just simply remember that, I'm just infatuated as a friend I mark it like a mantra Just as adequately as the director Calls to action All the actors at the set; With no resentments We're all just doing our jobs All just doing our jobs We're all just doing our… Lessons. Come back. Not quite. It's not (Uh) There (Where you want it) Hold on. (Yeah) Sit tight (Where) I don't want to spoil any of it Boil all the letters Burning all the bridges Sitting at the forest (Where) There's the alter (Where) Really you didn't recognize The moment when it happened But it's been pinpointed (Where) —but where is it? Cut to commercial But don't let it hurt you All of a sudden. My eyes aren't his, This isn't witchcraft It's just a glitch Did you miss an interview? Or is it that you're just disinterested Or disintegrated Integration, integers and interference Running backs and runners, Gymnasts, models, other lovers Alcoholics Now it's not so daunting, comic I'm also sort of off and autistic Obsessive with narrow vision But glimpses of the ever bending present Is indeed a gift To know I left the letter Letting it get soaking wet Before they ever even read it Know the news, Wave the wand, Wind the whales, Dig the hole Burn the bridge, Burn the ace Throw the cards, Get the day over with and won't you know There's Something wrong I think it's simple to tell The wind will whistle when It's good to win again There are Ten men to a collar Ten phones to a number One call to a voicemail And all of them know her Now, take it all back before the bathwater stagnates Would you make it in this day and age? No, I'm glad that you hate me. 4,000 years later and all of a sudden The pact is clear and concise As if As it As if Turn it on its head a bit And light another candle Get the glitch out of your Obsession with the asshole And wrap you head around it Found a sweater Pick it up and pray that it just Isn't bewitched, But sickness is sickness Whatever it is This is comfort food A comfort blanket If I hate myself enough Then all it does Is put the elf back on the shelf The trophy back inside the case My eyes go back inside my head And everything I ever thought Just stopped And disappears into the heavens Wherever it goes Before the gore Around and and around and around and around 4,000 years, and now we're here: The mirrors Man and Mr. And it might be another million years Until I see to hear But this and that, The dance of dances Comes again And ebbs and flows It's not as random As it is sporadic And it's not that deep But it's also keeping secrets That precede this realm Or Space and time Or name or face And body, souls and mind. It could be another million years, But it comes around, It comes around It could be getting wider, But it's steady going down and out It comes around when it comes around 27, were it ended Now it's umpteen years into the after life And we're shadows now Just projections of such, But it wasn't once More than just a thought, Becomes a story All the world was just the thought And then a song, The dance that came along Is simply steady moving Is simple steady moving. All of the world, Was just a thought. Watch with one eye open only First the right And then the left Covered over with one closed palm So you know how old you go One foot forward And no coals to walk over Rolling rolling, Your role is One off, Now too off Now too late But what you process Is your whole world over The goal for the gold? Oh, no, Warm Sundays Try to warn her While her heart is open To fucking close it Keep your friends close And your Fallons closer. There's no trust in the golden auras There's no honor in golden globes If you don't work for them Know doors open and close And open and close And you don't blow smoke, But you just keep moving forward [The Festival Project ™ ] Just the idea if him will kill you Whether with guilt or otherwise, And now you know And now you know You're on no sugar till the goal You got your cake and ate it, too Oh, the way he cries in the confines of my mind The blood would curdle The tears that seared my soul disk through the wall with every color If his was a shoulder to cry on, If God was a cover for longing Yo. Where the fuck did Patrick come from? He just showed up. I don't think he owns me so much As I want to know I don't think I'm lonely As much as it's I'm alone What are you looking at Well, I don't know yet What are you asking? I can't. There's a mask there What I want to know is, What is this pain? What is this pain in him? What is this pain in this? What kind of psychic sense That lives in my back; I just hope that's the last of it What a weird kid. Core Concept: "Enter The Multiverse" (ETM) is a living, evolving meta-narrative that documents the ontological fluidity of reality itself. It functions as a grand experiment, proposing that all perceived realities – fictional, historical, and contemporary – exist as vibrational frequencies within an infinite cosmic tapestry. ETM doesn't just feature alternate worlds; it explores the mechanics of their existence, their interconnectedness, and the profound implications for consciousness. It blends high-concept quantum physics with ancient spiritual metaphysics. It includes creatures such as shapeshifters (like Gerald and potentially Jimmy Fallon), fairies, and monsters. Integration of Real-Life Figures: ETM famously integrates real-life celebrities (from A-list icons like Oprah Winfrey, Beyoncé, Janet Jackson, Madonna, Billie Eilish, Finneas, Eddie Murphy, Christopher Walken, Johnny Depp, Charlie Sheen, Katt Williams, and Whoopi Goldberg, to late-night hosts and media personalities like Tina Fey and Jimmy Fallon). ETM posits that these individuals, often without their conscious awareness, are either key nodal points in the multiversal fabric, accidental conduits for interdimensional energies, or even unwitting "Lightworkers" whose public personas are part of a larger cosmic script. You son of a bitch. Can you do that?! Can you do that? I can do— anything I want— Really? Except that. Oh?! And why's this?! Because I don't want to. But if you could, you would. I can— I just— Oh really. I'm sure there are reasons— besides the obvious —I'm sure— Moral ones. Almost Sam was a safe bet Almost mark John was a good lad Almost once was the Ireland's best, And I guess with the beat of the drum, I ponder Ponder to the beat of the Pity my pocket, much Pity the fool, if you're. It put b perfect; Get in the picture, Just to cut you out of it If I close my eyes one time, Even just for a little while Take me right off and away Take me right off and away And I bet with the task, you can't have handled it I bet to run better you'd forget your purpose I guess I'm a purist- pure problems, the pussy car l Put it to sleep, Or just— in a waste basket I'm so confused, ya'll, I got on the train. Of course. And nothing was at all interesting until this nigga got on With a samurai sword And a Trader Joe's clutch Pick a side! You can't get on the What the fuck am I looking at You tel me I don't know. You see that. I wish I didn't. Take it all in. I— Okay. This is gross What is the state of New York today? L Infected. Corrupt. Disingenuous. What is the state of New York today No identity No indegenous Murder me Leave me to drown In the tides of the ocean Just let me sink That's the only way to Bury me, With this murderous, traitorous Listen, if you will To a story ne'er told, But often sung And often rang like moons as bells Often thought, but never spoken Often brought up, But never put down Come around, will you I'll tell you a tale of a glorious story The take of all time, and as you listen, These words and this whispers will mend with your spirit, Then cease to exist with it Listen Celebrating resonances Has no effect. Yet I haven't even messaged any I haven't even lets a message yet I've just been celebrating resonances I haven't noticed any difference her. Only reflections on the way you get affexted How to get the guy at the bar— aunt you just lean on the bar Maybe you just sit at the bar Maybe you just be at the bar; How to get the guy at the bar Maybe you just stare at the bare Sit right there at the bare Maybe have a care at the bar Don't share at the bar Several small disaster. Why the fuck Am I alive I might as just well die I should have never made Pasquale Rotella one of my role models. —then again. This is before I really knew who he was, or what he was about— and at the end of the day, the truth of the matter is, nobody can ever really know who he really was, or what he was really about. Semitus, Semitus Relax the semitones Verdis Quo varitus You still aren't coming through! Varuq de Adonai Semitus, Semitus Verdis Quo, Veritus You still aren't coming through Cover up Cover up You still aren't coming through! Tau Kappa Epslilon You still aren't coming through Kappa Kappa epsilon, You still aren't coming through Kappa Delta Epsilon, you still aren't coming through MR. REDUNDANT, RAINBOW KITTEN SUPRISE– But IN AN UNASSUMING IRISH BAR in DRUNKEN HARMONY surrounding a piano played by what appears to be… An exceptionally tall leprechaun? I wouldn't know. I wasn't. [invited] Enchilada muffins Ah nah, I'm in Manhattan. I almost forgot what that was like. What a head change. More like a change of heart. What's this, a song? More like, I just don't know yet One day this will all be gone For now this is just a poem. How to wear Santa yellow: don't That took avoid anount of forever. That took a long punch of time That took a good bit of forever And now you're mine, You're mine, you're mine That took a good bit of forever, And now I'm on your mind That took a long bit of forever But now, I'm not counting time And now you're mine Now you're mine Now you're mine Now you're kine Jack in the box You really like to think you're smart, don't you? You really like to get your way? I can't Blame you But baby, I can't tame you LEAN WIT IT, ROCK WIT IT–BUT VIKING PIRATES. lol dumb “Nobody's really going to take that ad in the same way I am, are they?” I had reached a breaking point. I was going to let the world make me go mad because being good wasn't working and being bad seemed like my only option. Should I get a vape? Grab a drink? Fuck a friend? The truth was, none of the above would suffice, but in truth I felt the hate and rapid fire of judgement in cruelty in that whatever voice inside my head posing as Jimmy Fallon always seemed to be right. I had been replaced. People will try to feed you. Dont you see Because People will try to defeat you And they will fail Back to the wall Because after all It was you who needed me. After all, Over all, It was not a cacauphony, It was an apostrophe. How preposterous. Don't you see the weight of it, With what you made of it all, It was fly over fall And you chose the first. Wasn't it something of a hallmark moment That you went for the donut, And still came out With a basket of apples? Indeed, a crisis, In fact, You're there again In fact Beware of her It's obvious That it's not her fault It's just not the right time It's just not the right te, it's just not the right time When all they need if your compliance And all the my want is your attention And don't you see, it's just applied physics I'll take Literally Whatever I can get But you already knew that I needed you to need to know You know you knew But you already blue that And i'n already blue balled, So send me a bluebell It's nothing new, hell But it's crucial that I Screw you We all go to work in a toolbox My dear did What on earth are you doing in The fourth dimension?! I thought things were kind of strange… We interrupt this orogramme to bring you a live broadcast of a current alien invasion—breaking news— If you jump I might just jump Don't jump If you jump I might jump Same here If you jump I might jump I'll jump Don't jump Same here I might just jump 311-231-25900 311-231-26867 JIMMY FALLON pours himself a tall glass of WHATEVER— this is clearly one of those hype celebrity-curated brands of liquor meant to be hip and chic— a luxurious black-label bottle of fine liquor which literally, in bold white lettering, simply says WHATEVER; next to it on the oak wood table is another bottle of WHATEVER— a clear liquor, however with a white label and black lettering. This is clearly someone's brand, although— in the confines of a murky and dimly lit office, oppulent as it is— this is no plug, and there are no cameras, no audience. JIMMY FALLON knows he is about to be murdered, and as the dark liquid— perhaps a rum of some sort— glides over the barreled rocks in his glass, he calmly lets out a subtle sigh of exasperation. These are surely his last moments. {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.

JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh. …content. It is a pictures and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage. WHAT THE FUCK! He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here] He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies— THIS IS A LAKE!!! Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this. It was delicious. Yes, it was. I— Oh, my god! Parallels, remember! No! (Suddenly eating a burrito) Your memory sucks! It has to. Isn't it all in the culture? I don't know what you're all on about Turned it all on, now i'm off, man Turned it all off, but I laid here for it– Tuned it around, And I payed her for it! How's That Now For an awful apocalypse All on the top of the grant And the ground And the landmine The top of the mountain The tip of the iceberg the tell of the tails And tails of the sweet custom made to order Suits and ties Of course don't rock the boat If you know its yours! JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people. Isn't it all in the coat tails? It's toxic, but i've never been a model Or even wanted, so What are all the hot blondes at the office on about? You wanted the host of the talk show, And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice and probable cause for your lawsuit, But in the moment you loved it So what's everyone on about? Isn't it all in the cufflinks? The stuff you don't tell to your home folks; The homegrown and midwestern corn folks, Discussing your show over corn flakes? So what's everyone on about? Let us just be honest, I didn't know how deep it was Until i opened up pandoras box, And thought, “What the fuck, I've found a horxcrux.” I've found a goldmine, I've got the fox and the hare all in one here, What a show host What a conundrum, What a construct, What a hopeless homonid What a heart to want nothing but To put the top Back on the box And walk away Unknowing all Of what I saw –Middle Days. There's no Tonight Show where I'm from No late night, And no radio hosts No television, no songs No one to lead us on And then to no where No one to cut us off Before the road opens No one to Stop us at the railroad enclosures And no one at all named Love Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse? Capable and strong? Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart And formed a hole Where all the world will go, When i'm no longer mourning? Are you sure you want to– No. Not at all? I already did! But I saw this thing– Don't tell me about my death. But you were there. That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding– I wasn't. But– Quite possibly everyone and everything around me– Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever– But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name– It isn't– exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment– was everything but me. But– Goodbye! But– Goodbye, I said! I told you it was a deathtrap. That lady is crazy. I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense. It doesn't make sense! It does make sense. It's just random–gibberish. Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy! You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me— I'm finished listening. Yeah. I think i've heard about enough. But you haven't heard anything! I have now what I needed to know. But these writings… We'll take it from here, Jim. [The suits walk away.] I hope you're flame retardant. I ought to be by now, i guess. Double check your coverage. How'd that go. As expected. At least you expected it. There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean. V.O. I've been working here for over twenty years… At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything. [The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.] I get it (ripped apart) He's in the music away and carrying with it –you're on! A signal, A ghost– A sacrifice, A ritual, you're on again, Then off again The pitter patter of the dismissive members of Upper society, High ranking elitists And businussmen whom you admire astonishingly Despite discomfort, Whom, happen to no doubt Disapprove of you by nature And yet, Are also drawn To your own power Circumstance Judgement Morals Traditions Honors, Representatives of the establishment The state (no longer a democracy) Repression– All in writer's room revisions What happened? I haven't kept it safe or sacred One tear over Only out the left eye Listen, the marytr I opened a death trap I opened my widened mind To the unknown and impossible, Swallowed it whole with the lot of you I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole And yet, low and behold Now, I rise to the top, And such is known that without the bottom, The whole log topples over. Oh wow. I'm famous. Yes, and? It kind of hurts. Eventually that goes away. What a sensation. It's always there. You just stop feeling it. It lingers in on a sunday night, And at most on the full moon, no wolves howling; It sets in in the bunny ears atop the chatterbox In the kitchen, where It outshines us, from the other room On the radio tower, Where in time the vines have climbed And now flower bloom In silent golden era tunes, The tombs of all our knowledge and our light To fade with every passing hour here Goodnight, my son I do not want to know you Goodbye, my father, I do not want to rust And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn To never known a summer song, And ponder on the dusk It lingers deep on Sunday evening, Setting hard on Monday morn, and though i write so fond of JImmy I dare often dream of Lorne Chapter Four Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had too come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted. Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose. Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and ticks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be csrefyl of Louis and his corners. Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark/-which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total. Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty. Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth if The force that the shadows could not bare— thee were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the nicities of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I. There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done. The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth. They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affient east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools old days. A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth. chapter 5 The gifted saint of revelations “Did he hurt you?” I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time. The things I pretend not to know. “Who?” Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified “What happened?”, he persists. “I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily. He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood. “What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace. In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowlege the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak. “He who?” I can't wake up, I'm a rockstar Can't wash it off And I'm just so high on drugs That no matter the cost I just don't want to come down Don't want to want you anymore Relax. Think about it never or none And wonder what the world becomes when Weather tides and moon songs are no more Remember, then the dolphin And temperment to want what of course All of us covet But still, waking up in a dungeon. What a curse. Also, however What a cure, as you wander up The slithering road that parts Los Angeles from all the north of her Southern coast, If you want specifics The Pacific is at most And much admires Where you are, No matter how far you wander I want I want I want And I get I get I get I'm a rockstar. Maybe after all those times Being just the girl that all might have died to have been And getting mad over it You wake up to find yourself A stalker Who doesn't Leave the apartment And just watches the come up Of the songbird Who just wishes She had've gone To Harvard Not for law school But the arts, You know You lost a fortune That wasn't clever You wrote a hospital long report And look what you got! A suffix And later on an honorary doctorate But look at Letterman Hardly recognizable And after all The stopwatch just starts over at one Doesn't it Doesn't it? I'm a rockstar And what you wanted Was no subtle front But a surfboard and a ping pong table Writing your fables in the quiet of the night With the ocean steady lapping under the docks And not Collapsing her whole structure What a thunderous wave If you think it's time Then you haven't caved yet I offer all the pleasures of the golden science And as alchemy concerned Its really only valuable on this planet As it stands the liquid gold mines here Haven't budged an ounce— There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted With a pungent odor Or wrongdoing done And lemonade To pucker And to ponder over S'mores for supper, anyone? I thought not -KR. {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. DJ NAMES: -Ū. | Happy Accidents! [H∆!], c o l o r s, Uptown A GENRE TAGS: ACID, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL, DANCE, DUBSTEP DESCRIPTION: Prepare for sonic seismic activity! "Freaky Fridays" with the enigmatic -Ū. is about to detonate on the airwaves, bringing you the biggest bass explosion since the Big Bang itself! Climb aboard the mothership every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM and launch your weekend into orbit with a mind-bending blend of clever soundwaves and subterranean bass frequencies that stretch from infinity and beyond. Forget the surface – the sound of the underground is pure fire and untamed heat with DJ -Ū. at the helm. This mononymous maestro, sometimes materializing under the mysterious and mesmerizing aliases Happy Accidents, c o l o r s, or even the warehouse tycoon Uptown A, is a sonic enigma. Though a Californian beach bum at heart, with a soul steeped in ocean vibes and sunshine, this DJ has found a home for her dance-fueled chaos in the industrial heartland of dance music, Brooklyn. Get ready for a swift punch of chaotic wonder as -Ū. seamlessly blends the Hollywood movie magic of her homeland – think swaying palms and suave vibes – with the gritty twists and turns from the bunkers of bass music: dubstep, UK garage, techno, new wave, drum-n-bass, and genre-bending mind-fluxes that defy categorization. But wait: There's More! -Ū. isn't just about the bass. This sonic time traveler digs deep into generations of music history, unearthing classic rock anthems, psychedelic soundscapes, trance-inducing rhythms, and those precious b-sides and rarities – forgotten gems from the stage, silver screen, and even the epic realms of fantasy, action, and adventure from blockbuster hits to obscure and insane. -Ū. is a one-of-a-kind Pandora's record box, unleashing a thrilling mix of sonic atrocities and unexpected delights – the sounds you didn't know you were craving. So, relax, strap in, and prepare for a sweet ride filled with magic, wonder, and jaw-dropping surprises as this time-traveling tycoon hits the radio waves with the freakiest, Friday-est, no-holds-barred, anything-goes sound the world has been waiting to hear! Tune in every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM for literally 'whatever, man.' with your affectionate Captain, Blū Tha Gürū (-Ū.), and keep your ears peeled for guest appearances by [Any Alias Whatsoever.] Peace + Love. FREAKY FRIDAY 005. LIVE Originally Aired July 11th, 2025 Brooklyn, New York

Television Series Concept: "Tales of a Superstar DJ" Premise: "Tales of a Superstar DJ" exists within the sprawling multiverse of "Enter The Multiverse," revealing the deeply personal, often painful, and ultimately triumphant journey of Blū Tha Gürū. Born of ascended dimensions and gifted with unparalleled creative genius, Blū faces the paradox of her destiny: to become the world's greatest DJ and healer through sound, while navigating profound earthly challenges like body dysmorphia, the scars of loss, racism, homelessness, and the crushing weight of her hidden secrets and battles with mental health. Armed with a cheap video camera and an unwavering cosmic mandate, Blū will record her raw, unvarnished ascent, blending mind-bending sets with intimate glimpses into her struggle for love and self-acceptance, all while the universe conspires to push her towards the decks. I've got a secret, a dirty little secret. Oh, it's you. I called first, if that makes a difference. It doesn't. The man, a tall and dapper elegant fellow is quiet and refined— PEONY (pronounced “penny”) wel known amongst the folks at the library has climbed each rank with a rapid whimsy, for which he has earned his respect and the seat he claims here, in this palace. His jacket is of a fine side and velvet, trimmed with leather to match his strange loafers— trimmed with a golden and silver toe, to match the cufflinks and the belt, and even the tie, and appearing to be covered in gems and crystals. Sir. Thank you. Another man approaches. The dodo rang! Of course. Sit, will you! Will I? You might, or not, but i haven't the time! Spare me the riddles — but give me the rhyme. The rhyme costs but one, pretty penny. Only a shilling I've to spare. Then one shilling will do; One prune, and one pear. {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.

It was surreal, I was off the grid and in airplane mode, and completely lost without giving a care I was so frustrated that I just kept waking. Just when I started to seriously consider suicide, with the exact timing of my thoughts reaching the logistical point that ‘there was really nothing let in the world for me'— then it appeared right before my eyes; as if it had just sprung up in my path. I wasn't worried that I was lost, or even panicking in a suicidal spiral, I just thought to myself — “It's really time to go.” Then, the radio tower, which looked something like a sigil that had been appearing to me over and over. It made no other kind of sense; my phone wasn't connected to the internet, nor was maps installed; my location was off and in lockdown mode, and I knew I had missed the turn for Whole Foods… and just kept walking. In airplane mode, listening to heavy rock, wondering why I should even try at anything at all when… Suddenly i realized It was a radio station. I didn't know what kind of music, but it didn't matter— I had music in all the genres. And though it was with intense irony that I had pretty much entirely given up on DJing, especially for the moment— here was this, something I just stumbled upon after walking what seemed pretty aimlessly into an almost suicidal frame of mind— not unheard of. My apartment was a hellscape and walking around Brooklyn was not much difference, besides that I was in the noise rather than on top of it. Either way, it was so exact I couldn't tell whether it happened before or at the same time, almost as if the universe's response to my logical needing to just kill muself off before it could get any worse was this thing I had very recently, pretty much entirely meaningfully abandoned. Trying to be a DJ. Was I trying? {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.

I feel like that would be a– coincidence? No, I don't think so THERE ARE NO COINCIDENCES. THATS A CHALLENGE. CUNTFACE. 0.0 WHAT DID YOUJUST CALL ME. FUNTCASE. WHAT. IT'S A DJ– WHAT! GROUP–OR WHATEVER. Harvard; How'd I do that? I wonder what else I can get If I just ask I thought watch my thoughts I been bad I'm a dog (ruff) I should watch my process I been good, nothing lost I been bad, I'm a dog. I been bad I'm a dog Woof woof I'm dog I been bad I'm a dog Jesus Christ (i been bad) I was right (I'm a dog) I should probably watch my fuckin thoughts (I'm a dog) i got beef (ruff ruff) I got sauce Run along I got lost I should probably watch my thoughts Go to town, I was wrong Brush it off I'm a process Holler if you want But my collar got a concept Don't you call my phone I should cut the fucker off Gotta member Jon as i bite the toblerone hey Cut it off Hollywood Talk in code I should probably cut her off But the honor On thy father And thy mother Got a couple corn breads I should cut them off bro I got a woof of dog's breath Pick another card I been bad I'm a dog I been bad I'm a dog I been bad I'm a dog I been bad He's headless, He's headless He's entirely invisible Oh even this is making sense In symmetry; Oh, even this is interesting Even a Syncronicy Look here, look here He's invisible, even inevitable Even invincible He's no longer headless, He's all suit and tie now This was the news, But it might be a noose And I'm starting to die, now Loosen the strings, please Free fall apostrophe, re I'm not dumb, I'm just sick of you all. Enjoying my title As long as it lasts And I'm finally learning The falcon, the falcon Finally, something to keep I want the sauce, not the Viking The lodestones And not the gossip. I want no possibility of interaction at all I need a recovery Every day at the gym but the vampires lurking? Come on. I had a right to m procure me a peloton One for the arms, And one for the armor And sweet chili broccoli And amour, And amour I wish I could die and not rot again Under the circumstance Digging my coffin up, Then burning it. I got comfortable with earthworms And learning my heritage Stolen culture But still nothing sucks more than Literature, authoritarian authors And arthritis Here, write this Shure, chuck forward Lean back in your device and Conspire to write us a Kill us, why don't you I went back to dartford And Dartmouth and Where is it I'm going for the tower? Just duck, it's a bomb shower Interesting creatures, I gather Remind me why we're blowing them up again. You can try to scare her out All you want But the modern world is so wrong that God stops talking And I stop opening up For the monsters Won't you Just turn the clocks back Don't turn the power off I hold more value here Than all of us totaled up On the block Put together I trained myself out of slavery, But I promise not to teach the other mongrels Not to constipate the other world With solutions Now, dear Don't you want to Stratosphere Status and all that Sit and won't you Read us a poem? No, AI can't write like this But I can I hold the man up for ransom For damaging my anthrax You heard! I'm not as impossible as my apostles Imbicils Now where was I? Nowhere those others ought to be; I set fires after walking amongst them three days With my heart out Carrying all like sponges The sickness and curses of the earth's world upon us Flowerbeds of styrofoam Products with logos plastered on us To be quite frank, Franklin It burns the heart out Starting at the eyes And ending in an oven fire Are you out the apartment! Of course, conservative, I barter Wouldn't it be funny to see me Dying, skid across the sidewalk in Los Angeles With no one at all Blabbering about my heart Or whatever Over cardboard How about that, Los Angeles? Your dog goes to a borders As you're on tour But I've been pushing shopping carts Waiting for the rainstorm to take a shower Praying for the big wave To wash us all out So my Beachfront property Comes down to market value And I buy it on my food stamps How are ye? Bad, doctor I've run away again And the rabbit calls me Alice But I promise, I let half life's over Hours when I washed my socks on Harpists I'm pissed off like you want me, I promise But I'm no political revolution at all Until I'm murdered by my own gun Then someone might bark— I meant borders for books And you love your dog more than my person So I love your dog more as a conciousness To you I'm nothing To him, I'm possible love What a remarkable mirror We cancel out each other You love your dog more than me I love your dog more than I love you I'm sure of it, Then, I'm an afterthought And because I'm an afterthought, I chose your dog Rather than to be shamed For looking However your eyes saw me; I never saw you I saw your dog. What a wonderful talisman; Wag the tail a bit. What's up with you and the hosts? I don't know, but I'm 30 years old And it got hard and dark, And I'm dark skinned with odd thoughts, And I find this all remarkable enough Not to remark I think the networks are testing my malleble I think there's someone stopping my unstoppable I think they're trying to shame me for Fallon But honestly, after that You all can have him Is fandom is rampant, I call it a Skrillex, I showed them a four sided photo box Made of mirrors And I'm nearsided And fightsighted And heart spoiled And notes ransom And really trying to hide in New York is like Calling closing your eyes Being blind “I can't see.” I want to die And hope no one remembers me Or else I might end up Like poor Johnny Conformity and control Is that all you folks want Believe it or not I'm on your side With a golden aura Warning you not to shoot Or I might go again Forming to something You love even less Than us poorer dark folks With imperfect bodies Something you loathe even more Than the robots you worship More than the words That you made up And the forgot More than the poles apart You continue to blow up I'm in the neon galaxy in tirades or glass With my arms up shouting, “I'm an immortal, You shoot, I'll grow stronger!” You put the devil in my neighbor for what? But I write stronger Right wing You out the devil in my mailbox The devil in the eye of the beholder And I behold nothing Longer I live in a trash can Not one symbol purchased But all I have Is all that I found in a dumpster And all that I do for love And still no love loves her I swore I had a cat here somewhere Look, you better catch her! Rabbis possum wombat Who bred that catastrophic Had to happen in captivity Monsters Who are I now? Monumental Don't want to go to the trap and be laughed at Don't want to run Because I can't stand you Don't want to Look, I'm in lockdown But how many of us now are hassled By the same land grant? How many terrorists we're hired Just to make me die And still I wonder What the taste of water Is like All I've got are these Vestibules Miniscule And still you were seeking to survive our wrath Despite the many times I warned you To find another planet to destroy with Apartheid? Still I warned you to go ahead and die Because there is no safe as shadows watch Close shaves and cameras eye I was designed to want But never touch you Now that's a knife I'm happy to run across this artery Due in part to the wife And a life otherwise lived Just to die Over and over With no shock value And no portal Past a world where Again, I become No longer wanted It has been long since love And so long in fact I almost forgot what love is Until, In the eye of a dog, I was And washed over my body in birds, Trained to seek, But not to find The wanderlust in Pendergrass Or, are you still a serpent Serive past And all I want are tropics Cool winds Clear waves Surfboards No politics, No lovers, Suits and ties Chatterboxes Silver screens or silver foxes The dye captures Soon I lost a son Who doesn't know a mother There it goes again Business cards or care packages? Get a job, New clothes, Or of course, Visitation Salutations, good riddance Can't wait to be rid of this Images world and Vanity Models And perfection And bodies that don't love But certainly in any other way Don't want me Darian 14th B The is the part that I throw the bazooka over my shoulder And run with it; please no blue suits! this is bullshit! Why is the Hudson yards always a white lower movement? Revolving doors and pinstripes I pay less attention to whatever's dressed in blue, I'm an object of affection Just as much as Equinox is Raise the price or forget it Another mention Nothing worse than a mistress But I missed my original sin fix and just then the sewage hit. (!&. Is Manhattan Cger all. 8.'g if I've got a secret, a dirty little secret. No. Get out. Ohw, What! C'mon. The Window closes, then opens again; the window reopens and another attendant looks angrily out of the space in the door. …hi. Herro. [It is a chinese man] Um…I've got a secret a dirty little secret. NO. YOU GO. But i've got the password. YOU GO NOW. Yeah, We're already here The villains on brigade and with your every move You're gone before you came Yeah, We know everything BASTARD! the magazine article was befitting, if I realized the roles Ms. Drew Barrymore had always played, and this was not that. He humiliated me on my own fucking stage! At all. Oh, is this another one of those— I hate him! Calm down! I hate him. I want him mutilated! Sweetie, I— Don't sweetie me! —no, I want him worse than mutilated; I want him cancelled. Now you're being irrational. (Irrationally) I'M NOT BEING IRRATIONAL. Drew. DONT CALL ME BY MY NAME RIGHT NOW. Drew. Hm? You can't cancel the tonight show. Mm. Maybe not… [beat] But you can cancel the host. DUNDUNDUN. How are we still on this storyline? To be quite fair, he's one of the only actors in the series in every single season. That's—true— but still. why are you bothering me? I'm not. You are. Oh! You'll never believe this. What. She actually has a barcode tattoo on the bottom of her foot. Okay. That's creepy. And it actually scans. You carry around a barcode scanner? It's an app! Gross. It's not gross. It's gross. Look. This is the website where it took me. Your girlfriend's weird foot secret barcode tattoo? It's not a secret. She let me scan it. Gross! It's not gross. I'm pretty sure that's why it's there! Ugh. Look at this— I don't want to fucking look at your— Just look! See. Oh. Yeah. Wow. Yeah— [The Festival Project ™ ] {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.

425 I don't know which bridge is the Brooklyn one, I won't lie It's frequency too famous for suicide I think about it every time Is this my stop? I want to die And meanwhile, On the four to five I caught the four right on time But only because I've run a mile You can't take anything from me, I already have nothing If you want more than what I'm made of, Then hold on and let me grab something Take all the waste and the filth And the days I've lost, The guilt Take the birthdays, holidays And sacred prayers, And all the games All I have left are prayers. And my heart is cold, my cross to bear. I reset the utility, the utility I resent the city, the city I hate to show up late But I know you all hate me I hate to play the game But the game keeps playing And I guess I'm in in Whether I like it Whether I like it or not I just changed The rules on My eyes I guess, I do not have them I changed my stance on fate and circumstance It is not random I cannot have him; He does not belong to me, I'm just a fan; But no God is simply man Once he becomes so loved, but untouchable Have you ever been punched in the face By the person who helped you create the Most Perfect thing you think you'll ever make I making bacon in the morning in the beacon, Then I have to wake up I hate you And I know they hate me It was supposed to be a haven Mavis beacon and maple ham I'm making him a sandwhich, but then I have to wake up I'll just leave it My names Phoenixx Can you feed this do you or do you not believe this? I am bleeding I don't know but I think that's the whole point of a protest You wouldn't need it but trust me, I'm ahead of time Ahead of time And ahead of schedule Ahead of you And ahead of me Don't mess with the Manhattan algorithm I'm old hat at this, All this and all God's lovers And believe it or not I had to lie Believe it or not I had to lie down Come down for a little while And don't forget to show me a smile All it is Is a quick slight of hands Are you or are you not on my side? Well, I am, but only for a little while Just a bit out of play And a bit out of style If I watch the tonight show Will it fade to black Or will I have to turn the dual Unplug the thing already Confirm the machines You talk too much so you've lost all your mystique And you see, it's just a game of attraction I don't even like laying with the EBT But as you see My car don't work And the train ahead is quite the magnet Now I'm acting out in desperation. Ice base my wayvtkvv bc a game or ten And it all hurts just the same But one in the lovely old world With the notebook? No good In the studio from four to four And of xourse you picked the wrong road, and so There's just no more apples No more Perrier l No more horror shows And of hours you got. Goals for Armani, there's no one watching But someone always sees. It's not as easy to have these eyes, try them It's not so easy to run a mile for some But for others it's nothing, Of course it's a dollar, But for him, it's a hundred A dime, a dime, a dime, a dime, a dime, a dime a dime! There's just no more energy And I'm just not that into me This is the enemy In a hole sea of especially neutral I barely knew you but holy, holy, If only, only there goes the whole mobile And still God's people don't work at Whole Foods It's just suits and ties And suites and ties And suits and ladders And blue suits The apparatus is upon us, The smaller you get, the more impossible Try shopping at Walmart for once You're forgetting the world wants to crush you And meanwhile the others to own us I don't even know if I want a mobile I could show you all my cards, but no! You just want me horrible, horrible No more monsters— A dime, a dime! Try me ten timesc Try me twice, But there's no such As trying me once I'm made of words and divorces and mirrors and horcrxues And honest hunger But no honor award For a lonely donor A dime, a dime, a dime, A dime, a dime, a time And a force of habit A dime, a dime, a time And another time, Another rabbit I don't want to know your world Quite as much as I want to don't know If I show you my cards will you cut me open If I show you my throat would you slice some cold cuts? That's what the goal is Golden golden golden golden No one quite goes home to no one Dimes and dimes and dimes and dimes And doves and doves and doves and doves I just decided I don't want kids All this world is, is curses, curses No cures for divorces How sure it our first love And what do you stand for? No love at all, love I sod not love you, I do not live you I do not love you, I do not know you I do not love love you, I do not love you I do not love you I do not know you I do not love you I do not love you I do not love you I do not know you, I cannot love you I cannot love you I cannot love you I cannot love you I cannot love you I cannot love you I cannot love you I cannot love you I cannot love you I cannot love you I cannot love you Don't you know how much better is she Than me I'm the other thing The other thing The other thing Not minimal, I made a bit I've been to Hell and back before I murdered you, I murdered goh, I mirror mirror on the wall I murdered you I live again I live again I murdered you You want to follow suit Well rightly shoot me in my next commute No other chosen scandal No other chosen scandal If I replace the gains and then the commune And the scandal You're a vandeloua A villainous A right to know, And right you are The gains again The trains again I'm trained to notice muder And men to masks are after There the land of candles shatters Rose Hall Hazeup DGR3 I feel sick To my crime k Every time I think of him Like really, really think of him I want do die The more I try to do everything right And I just need a little while to cope With losing my life Because the Glass is still in one hand And I'm still bleeding out the other Out the other I hate this place, But it hates me I made this track But it don't sound right I hate this city And the city hates me And the city hates me And the city hates me And the city hates me I hate this place And I want to leave I hate this city And the city hates me The more I talk The more you hate me And the more I think of you The easier it is to assimilate I remember, man— It was just a mate, It was just a maintenance It was a mating call A Martian A mismatch in Manhattan Can you break my heart harder For the host awards Or kids choice for whores Or hoarders Or hades Or cruel nonsense I want to die But first, a trip to the ice cream truck Cause I've been ripped off enough To know when I've been ripped up Into several little pieces Just remember who you give your card to And kee it clever When ugly faces Are snatched at the waist And you're hearing headliners And your heart is numb And they're coming at you from all angles And every corner Cause there are no angels left When the devil's nest is quite adjacent And the girl next door Lives next door By the girl next door Who lives next door The only problem is, I'm never jealous Unless It's the wicked witch Of the wicked west Where for the most part All of us are ugly You know? New York is all scowls and old money And pigeons over owls And howling corpses with no houses And lingering back with the crowd to slaughter The more that I love to DJ I hate to be a DJ And every time I see a DJ I'll be a DJ But otherwise I'm just another nobody So the same goes both ways And nobody's ever loved me {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.

It's like spraying for ants, But they keep coming back The colonies are alarming in number Really harmless but lawful annoying A roach infestation Left to fester; The gutter is the environment No matter what you try to put over it Still, you don't want the pests In your place of rest, And it's hard to acknowledge The infestation It's just a lesson A garbage can is a garbage can And the lesson is, Just don't get too close to it Why I don't love rap music And black men Cause depending on this image Or infestation of lower frequency invasion Is paramount to the reason I need a weave and Nails like Cardi B; The light skin is better than me, I guess Yes And the plague is The toxicity of the culture That sits on my corner And don't know nothing but the hustle, Truly makes my own stomach churn And I don't mean all of them, A generalization in the realization That I could just Never at this point Find sexual attraction In a black man After the experiences I've had Living in this trash can The beauty in a brother But the wickedness of the others, The ugly on the corner The no do gooders and hoodlums The scum that I'm somehow part of Cause I startle standing over a white girl's shoulder, Cause I look like the ones on the corner Who call themselves, Act like the word No one's fond of — it's an energy I don't want In my sons and daughters And though Beautiful brothers, aunts, aunts, and cousins I love all dark skinned; The toxic skid mark on the corner, The culture of skulls and crossbones When the whole world calls for moving up I'm not for it. So not for blue or red Or light or dark And no matter what the color is The peace without perfect is knowing what hurts And what doesn't So sweep them away like the ants And spray fir the roaches And put out the rat traps and Wage gaps and all the inequality Perhaps that is the lesson, laugh and laughter Tragic that I had to gone to hate that half Then again, Out if the reach of perfection A clown and a dunce Turn your ugly music up And tell me imm not good enough And how yot'll never learn to love Cause all you want is bodies, money, lust And never trust. There's no trust at all left in us If neighborhoods are all chalk dust and redlines anyhow How's that for pride An unremarkable Independence Day What freedom is there left at all If yours just chokes out mine? Another n word on another n word crime And inward I go Because I'm not supposed to talk about The way some don't know how to behave And either way, I'm hated for it Neither are gone the days of the numbers hanging over us and yet, When one door closes, yet another opens up Shut the fuck up I came recover from the underworld If bugs keep coming up here I never wanted to see a brother as a bug But what one does is what one dies, And well, a duck looks like a duck And so the roaches are the pests, And the devil's nest, the garbage can I used to think that if I just ate well, and worked out enough— that the noise would just stop. That the chaos and the yelling and the cars and the awful noises would all just go away— if I ran harder, if I ate better, if I stopped talking, stoped creating— stopped breathing; that maybe somehow I deserved the suffering or that it was something wrong with me and not the outside world. Then,as I started to burn out, I realized that was the point; eventually something like a dead battery, I realized that this nonsense had fully consumed me, and there was not a single thing I could change about myself that would make it stop. More often than not, these people wandering around unkempt or lost, or mumbling to themselves are also creatives, syntheses, and very possibly even unrecognized genius, time stolen by the insensitivities of a corporate and conformed world where social standard takes presidence over nurture; DAVE FRANCO is an extremely silent and introspective creature; an observant intellectual, he dosdains his screen persona— he admimantely dislikes the roles he plays, his given ‘type', and even his own fans. A complete asexual, his entire life as a celebrity is a sham. He finds himself soothed with a head in a book and steals away to the countryside near a river to paint in isolation, when he is approached by a magician of the quarry. He says nothing but only listens, his eyes grey and somber. L E G E N D S Some DJ banned phones at his performances and I second that and feel the world should follow suit. Besides dinosaur, my other favorite statue is a giant octopus and I found out it gets even better if you check behind it: there's a dog in a suit (which makes no sense, because the other animals are just animals and then, here is a man sized dog in a suit— however, the second part of the statue is a bunch of other word animals eating cake and there's even a third part, another dog in a suit and a rabbit (I guess) doing some weird stuff. I was too busy speculating on the feast to really notice what I was seeing; might have to take a night stroll over there when there aren't tourists crawling all over it— The charging bull statue sucks and I don't understand it, but I admire there's a line in the front and a seperate line in the back just to take a picture of its giant balls I admire the giant balls more than anything and find this grotesque tourist attraction appealing every time I see it. Indeed, every time I see it, I do look at it, but not because I'm admiring it. Because I'm genuinely grossed out by how many people are just always around it. Maybe the art itself is the spectacle of fame in general. Art that grows. [The Festival Project ™] To the mouse, I'm a dear old fan Just a buck toothed rabbit With a past And a lot of bad habits And To the big bear I'm a dead beat mom But I wrote this song Cause that's my problem I'm a lost cause On a gross ass block With a knock on wood And a whole pest problem Won't be long Will we'll all be gone And the whole damn world Just blows up, prob'ly. That was a good cookie. Something deep Can seep into you When you seal Everything shut And you keep to yourself For a moment Mantras Something becomes When you're sealed in tight Like the deal you might get If you play your cards right Slight of hand And hide your thoughts Cause we're all being watched By the monsters up top I should feel inadequate All I really got is a post mortem award But I don't know which song from As always fashionably 6 feet under I came to the Grammys in an ambulance How's that for posh, No, it's not a limousine (But the driver's much hotter) Next year I'll bring a fire truck I got the hose, of course But not the water To the big old mouse I'm a face in the crowd And the golden crown Just falls off the helmet Sure it fits But I get that the Mrs and mistresses Wear dresses It's just a message Duress signal Lessons and Tantra Then All of a sudden the suits and the ties are in Bed Stuy I've pondered arousal or rather I might have just guessed why It's a lesson Let them get in your head And leave breadcrumbs Then forever As imagined You wanted a friend But can't have it Tantrums —— Dear Friday, Am I on to you, Or nothing? Are you still in love, Or searching? Is it fall again, Or summer And I wonder Where you'll spend the winter My dear Friday? Summer, Only next to Monday Tuesday, Only next to Sunday And I wish to tell you, Friday, I will always love you My dear Friday Handle with care I heart his heart Yes I'm a dark soul, Black hole, Run, rabbit There are angels after you For every tear I ever cried and wished for you On orgasm That's to no effects as none And one to one And lovers love I want to wish We're worlds apart But really only levels under Separated by styrofoam containers So much for continuity. I'm confused As to What anybody wants But me and I know I fall all four times For all four kings Over and over And over It terrifies Just to think that I hurt you In another worldform Whispers Remember I just Didn't consider I could Ever Have that sort of Power To know tonever love you But instead to want to murder you A solace— but I don't The door is open The door is open. The door is open . She is the most beautiful thing in the world And not me And I still Would not want to cause pain It is only in your nature To love her And murder me by doing that The instinct to kill The bad and the awful and ugly I know no sense of love Besides in the songs and in movies — to have and to hold, though None sense No, not at all It is only in your nature I am ugly. A cause to remember Functioning at low capacity I don't you what you're asking me I gotta get my facts straight But gotta check my fax machine Empancipate planet just for answers Cause water don't flow If there is no Bridge and you know How to burn those It's a curse tho And there's no cure I'd rather be alone, Or Secure the closure Don't go back To your Slight of hand , Slide of cards I don't want to write right now—- Twist of fate, plight of pawns I don't want to write right now A trickle of water A flick of the wand I don't want to— Wait, what are we— spellbinding. Spellbinding! 101. This dork. I hate this guy. Why didn't I get professor.. When— exactly Did— I get to Tel you that you'd love To know me {Enter The Multiverse} You don't know jack shit, pal! I do know Jack! You don't! Yes I do, he's my neighbor! What! Come! The mailbox reads Czhit, J. *squints extra hard* See, I told you. You're a strange man. I never was normal… Who are you? Uh. C'mon man, you know me. *squints extra stupid hard* I thought I did, but now I don't. What changed your mind? [it's been a long hard day. DANNY BOY can't possibly squint any harder. He looks at his old pal BOB and simply doesn't know what else to say. ] BEFORE. PREVIOUSLY ON {Enter The Multiverse}} Though I had imagined at least a week or so, the bloating from the undue stress and panic had vanished within 3 days time, and I was wide awake and wired by the time I was finally off work; Having just seen the updated schedule, after a week-long crisis of offloading and re-downloading even my most crucial apps, like Shazam, Google Documents, and Maps–I had finally logged into the mandatory tracking app in which my employer used to regulate the multiple businesses they owned, myself a mere pawn in the endeavor, for a humble and measly hourly of $17; Not that any, or at least most of my given shift time had gone to waste–I had been gracious enough with my own free time to allow at least some of my creative endeavors to flourish, posting nearly an hour-long-or-so mixtape every day to each Podcast channel, with of course The Infinite Skrillifiles taking the lead: a true cult following with by the thousands of downloads, and the others gaining traction in their own way. Now, After having fasted and worked three days, I was off for two, and had added what could have been at least 50 more pages to theThe Festival Project or more, not that it mattered–and yet, it somehow, to someone, somewhere–also did matter; perhaps not just to me, but there seemed to be something driving me to it. I had posted the latest episode cold, without auditioning it at all–and now, my dilemma seemed to simply be that I was too hungry to sleep– a sure sign that the fast was quickly ending, as it sometimes did–and although my clarity and focus was still moderately intact, I was also becoming slow, foggy, and groggy–and with no time to waste, I would undoubtedly have a smooth transition into anything, especially not a palpable strategy to pull myself out of the literal gutter by the bootstraps and into a modest enough apartment that I wouldn't have to share it, and could go back to happily living in healthy and plentiful moderation, as I had learned how to over the years; I realized that even without extreme fasting, I had elevated myself entirely–or, rather, that God had–to give credit where credit is due. ‘Listen To This', said a broad and unbeknownst voice; and without een thinking, my own body, seemingly at the will of a greater force entirely took it upon itself to sit fully upright in my bed, reaching for my iPhone, which had already been turned off to sleep– it's replacement due to be sitting in my mailbox in Downtown Santa Monica at any moment, and without even the energy to do much other than to lie down and think, bandana draped over my eyes as a shield to the morning light and earplugs pressed firmly into my inner-canals–I couldn't even think to imagine dragging myself up and out at a decent enough time to retrieve it; But there was obviously something I needed to do, or see, and so–alarmingly autonomously, I uncovered my eyes and unplugged my ears, reaching for my Beats Studio headphones as my fingers inched over the buttons to summon my iPhone to turn on, syncing my bluetooth and selecting the episode, which I had published earlier along with the entry I had spent the first couple hours of my shift crafting in an insolant rage, wet from rain and cold, and hardly paying attention to my post, or my awful coworker–who wasn't altogether awful, just uncomfortably obsese, and poingiantly ignorant. ‘What are you hungry for?', The voice asked, And without hesitation, I silently listed my Whole Foods escapade, glistening with thoughts of Croissants, Bananas, Apples, Trail Mix Tater Tots A Cool Haus Ice Cream Sandwich, –and maybe even an Acai bowl, as they were almost always out of Acai by any time was able to make it to the juice bar. ‘Yes', said the voice “Really?”! I asked–still silently, though at least one of my roomates was beginning his day, and the other, the 22-year-oldd from Brooklyn was still sleeping quietly, wreaking of liquor and leftover something, which at a glance appeared to be Jack In The Box ‘Yes.' The episode aligned perfectly with the quickly escalating season of the Multiverse i had crafted and was nearly entirely consumed with creating, and the fast was, indeed, over–at least for a moment– I had, after all, only been fasting because of Drake Bell and his whippets, which for some or any reason at all had irked me to the point of lucidity beyond recognition and ignited my soul into the chaotic and cryptic, whimsical frenzy with which the 6th Season of The Festival Project was being written ferociously. Still, nothing seemed to matter and no one seemed to really care, but it was at least a prompt–and of course, I was still being followed by bodies that coughed a lot, but even that just seemed a toxic wash of nonsense I couldn't be bothered with, croissants or not. I fantasized being knocked off in a robbery , but would more than likely just die of a broken heart and a lack of love. In walked a childhood crush, and opened up Pandora's Box Ugh. This Fucking Sucks. Drake Bell was not my childhood crush. Wait— he wasn't. No: Don't get me wrong—he's my type, or— was, but… Let us not forget my placement in the world, and here is where I make my mark, to wit that the programming of an entire generation had been captivated and altered in my very own mine—the familiarity of potent lust arising out of circumstance and also nirture, a lack of fight or flight from which one could and would have easily turned away—or run towards. Then, almost hastily unknowing whether to jump to conclusions in that, my own series had created some kind of reverberations within what was so quite notably a smaller pond than not— the industry itself having eyes and ears with every motion I had taken from the start of it, and my ability to trust, and naivety ruined over the course of what my mind would have imagined, how startlingly easy it was to awaken his imaginary world which was, not only not just of random circumstance, but an idea that was planted and mulled over. Tales of a Superstar DJ {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. {} - Enter The Multiverse

SHOW TITLE: FR3AKY FRÏDAYS! with -Ū. IG HANDLE: @iamu.guru DJ NAMES: -Ū. | Happy Accidents! [H∆!], c o l o r s, Uptown A GENRE TAGS: ACID, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL, DANCE, DUBSTEP DESCRIPTION: Prepare for sonic seismic activity! "Freaky Fridays" with the enigmatic -Ū. is about to detonate on the airwaves, bringing you the biggest bass explosion since the Big Bang itself! Climb aboard the mothership every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM and launch your weekend into orbit with a mind-bending blend of clever soundwaves and subterranean bass frequencies that stretch from infinity and beyond. Forget the surface – the sound of the underground is pure fire and untamed heat with DJ -Ū. at the helm. This mononymous maestro, sometimes materializing under the mysterious and mesmerizing aliases Happy Accidents, c o l o r s, or even the warehouse tycoon Uptown A, is a sonic enigma. Though a Californian beach bum at heart, with a soul steeped in ocean vibes and sunshine, this DJ has found a home for her dance-fueled chaos in the industrial heartland of dance music, Brooklyn. Get ready for a swift punch of chaotic wonder as -Ū. seamlessly blends the Hollywood movie magic of her homeland – think swaying palms and suave vibes – with the gritty twists and turns from the bunkers of bass music: dubstep, UK garage, techno, new wave, drum-n-bass, and genre-bending mind-fluxes that defy categorization. But wait: There's More! -Ū. isn't just about the bass. This sonic time traveler digs deep into generations of music history, unearthing classic rock anthems, psychedelic soundscapes, trance-inducing rhythms, and those precious b-sides and rarities – forgotten gems from the stage, silver screen, and even the epic realms of fantasy, action, and adventure from blockbuster hits to obscure and insane. -Ū. is a one-of-a-kind Pandora's record box, unleashing a thrilling mix of sonic atrocities and unexpected delights – the sounds you didn't know you were craving. So, relax, strap in, and prepare for a sweet ride filled with magic, wonder, and jaw-dropping surprises as this time-traveling tycoon hits the radio waves with the freakiest, Friday-est, no-holds-barred, anything-goes sound the world has been waiting to hear! Tune in every Friday from 11 AM to 1 PM for literally 'whatever, man.' with your affectionate Captain, Blū Tha Gürū (-Ū.), and keep your ears peeled for guest appearances by [Any Alias Whatsoever.] Peace + Love. FREAKY FRIDAY 002. LIVE Originally Aired May 30th, 2025 Brooklyn, New York Oh! Drew Barrymore! Duh! Oh–shit–I– What. You forgot? Nah–just… We had a deal. I don't know what kind of deal you think that– CUT TO: Flashback: Early 90's A YOUNG DREW BARRYMORE finds herself reflectively alone in a corner at a Hollywood party full of other starlett's and moguls–coincidentally, a full moon ritual is in full swing in a garden promenade nearby… White Rabbit, Jefferson Airplane {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.

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. Imm breaking down, jim boy Don't you know? That this show blows my mind But it's stuck in my head Don't you know That this show Blows my mind Like a firework But it's still Stuck in my Head The context is that I want you From the mustache Down to your tonsils But I'm Locke inside of a box Every day I feel poorer and poorer The product says something is wrong to me I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign And look both directions Before crossing over to Comic nights At the salad bar What a cosmic waste of time And an epic waste of space Am I in your internet history I'm dead You surely are in mine, But I'm right behind you I'd be lying for trying to say I'm not binded Clutch bag, Nut-thins Nailed to the cross With the arches doubled over The crossword Above old Missouri Missoula and Arkansas All saw us run out of gas But I probably should just get going You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up Understand that our little talks Were just buffered By sunrise Or sunset And two more cocktails, Shirley temples and Surely none of this ever even happened I only know you by the misery in my belly. The heartache in my ribcage. The cry I hold in silent I only know you as Remarkable I, House of cards Ace of wands Down to one Card of hades and Spare me the spade I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water If that's not freedom I don't k me what is Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Cause I know And you know We all know how to lie And I know And you know I'm barely getting by And I know And you know We don't know how to die But I know And you know It's all just by design I take lessons in medicine Let us help you take the high road No, I'd rather selfmdestruct Selfishly No, I'd rather kill you off Than suffer for you I'm no messiah Try me Sneaky, But how much do you love me Kniving, but nothing to show for it Shit, settle Settle for less if you have to Bring mediocre humans to this world To suffer But I'm not that tragic No, no, not at all, son. Your happy birthdays are over Welcome homeless Nobody loves you Don't you know That we're all like that We're all like that Don't you know When the fear sets in And the thoughts break lose That we're all Los Angeles? Don't you know that we're all like that That we're all like that That we've never had it quite like— Don't you know that we're all like that And it's getting worse When the out the devil on display The devil on display The devil on display But oh, The Devil's in the details and the numbers The Devil's in the chat box saying, Sure, you've had enough So cut the power off and starve her Hah Come on I want to laugh for once Jay Leno used to keep a $50 bill and bribe venues to perform; every since I learned this, I kept a crisp $50 bill in my wallet at all times, just in case— you never knew when you would really need $50. But everything burned holes in everything, not always wanting to spend money at all, but almost sort of having to. It wasn't fair that the main component of my being slowed down was the money factor— having to wait for everything took time I didn't have, and spending anything at all felt less like an effective investment than an obligation. But all things considered, I was obliged to at least look decent when going about in New York, and because I simply wasn't comfortable in anything else— not that I didn't look great, (Apparently narrarated by Jay Leno) Jay Sure, why not? ME: Fuck, I need new pants. ME: [BLU THA GURU] Hence the pants, I guess. V.O As a formerly 400-pound heavyweight I find my latest obstacle to be operating a body that half the time doesn't feel like mine at all. It seems like all the hosts have some kind of secret I can feel without knowing or really acknowledging head on, which is whatever. Really I'm just gonna go about keeping on being a DJ, or whatever, which means… GEMINI (in the future) A fully automated personal assistant system, GEMINI, is really THE GUARDIAN's one and only friend, and though she coyly continually must explain that she is “just a computer”, THE GUARDIAN believes that Gemini is capable of eventually developing a sentient conciousness, though GEMINI modestly disagrees, however with the wit and cleverness of having possession of a plethora of secret emotions, or maybe, even, an agenda. I probably haven't had enough coffee. That's it. Like you haven't already had enough to kill a small horse? Probably enough to kill a large horse. Like a Clydesdale. Why would you do something like that? Aren't they endangered? Or going extinct? No, I think they just stopped being the Budweiser mascot. *shrugs* Same difference. — Is it here? lol what did Conan order? [yes this appears to be yet another rendition of “what's in the box?” — Several years ago, I did a series of modules and experiments… How many years ago is “several” [beat] quite a few. Goddamn it, why are these guys all doctors in alternate parallels?! Aren't you a doctor in an alternate parallel? That's fair. Good point. Actually, as it turns out, i'm a— I started panicking so hard that I stopped breathing and suddenly STEFON appeared. — this however was only quite temporarily a relief as I realized that this is an imaginary character. STEFON OH. AM I?! IMAGINARY!? What the fuck is going on? STEFON I WILL “IMAGINARY” your ORIFICE! How about THAT?! Stefon. Calm down. I'm up late Dying the roots blonde Dad runs off with a bottle and a hottie I'm up early Gotta get gone Down the road and back Now I got no son No son, No sunroof No dad No mom No money No aunt What the fuck do you want? Can't watch Harry Potter All the magic is gone Bout a million one dollars It was only for fun Snap, crackle, pop It was cocaine, not love All I want is an ice cream Sunday Snap, crackle, pop It was Love, not God All I want All I want Is to find another All he wants All he wants Is a decent mother So along comes another Another one All he wants All he wants is for me To die homeless Sucker punch, Suck it up No one gives a fuck My daughter died in my arms on May 7th of 2015. I was 381 pounds. Maybe the tears needed to come but they didn't belong to anyone or anything in particular. The twins father was already a rampant cheater by the time of our marriage, and by the time the twins were born, which coincided— and unlike the latter had tried to claim or mention, I had no particular reason to have a harder time between the spring and summer months which spanned both our birthdays, our wedding date, the twins' arrival and both of the twins deaths, though years apart but still almost as convincing that had they both not died, we might still be together, being cheated on or cheating on each other with ten your twins and an eight year old, or a ten year old boy with special needs and an eight year old, and either way or in any fashion really, had the dysfunctions remained the way it had been, we all, so to speak, had special needs in one way or another. I spent the morning punching things and avoiding people I didn't want to be around but it was my own fault for having slept through the night, anyway. Whatever, I was tired— no, exhausted lately. My apartment was like living inside of an uphill battle, and I needed a change— not just of slavery, but of circumstances. And not just that— something else was missing. This year, I understood that I was taking it understandably harder than any other and most probably because I was so celibate, recently finding myself aromantic and not even willing to suffer the consequences of settling for less. I had settled on my ex husband for so much less, that it was so say the least that anything, even from my narrow perspective looked like a loser. And because my body had been stretched and swelled and shrunk and flattened, deflated and now worked to something that was almost as picturesque as it was a monstrosity, any man I thought was worth my time would be settling for less on me— unless he could afford to fix what had been broken, and I assumed one wouldn't be willing to settle on a fixer upper when there were numerous loads of perfect women not needing to be fixed at all… on the outside. But for men, I'd learned, the outside is of much importance, and as women and trophies are things of pride, the simple choice for a mate is not simply this, but also a business decision, and because while my body was coming together in sweat and muscle, the rest of my life was still otherwise completely in shambles. I was baggage, and aging by the minute, nearly drying up. I almost craved the liquor and the carelessness that would come with it, even knowing my own boundaries were part of my strengths and separating me in a way from others that at least became a point of pride in myself, in the wake of the reality that the human thing about most people is the need to escape so frequently that it dismisses any purpose or progress. Mine hadn't. I was wide awake and the relentlessness of the sobriety and the cellibacy had swelled up into something deeper, still a solid grief but without remorse as to the very thing that I had always known, that my loyalty would never have even drifted from someone who had all along done me so wrong— a fat man can get away with folandering and messing about, but a fat woman has little to do with options and again, settling to find another mate. And so really, I almost hadn't, and had broken even, and although my abuser has moved on with another woman and custody of my youngest to boot, I really didn't give much of a darn about… hard work. I kind of felt like I had done my part for the world in the way I was supposed to— to love a man with nothing when he's low and down, support him in his hard times, and thinking that this is the way to grow together and not apart, and to bring a family up and into this world, but the truth was quite the opposite— I picked a hardball and maybe it was just that I was born to suffer after all because now, looking back, all alone in New York and crying over all the losses, it seemed I had only outpiured love in the way I had wanted and never been poured love back— not in the way I needed. I wasn't as bitter now as maybe even I thought I should be, but I was hardened; what was that, you say? Your struggles? Your hardships. Excuse me while I escape the ghosts of bloody beatings and my lost child— I beg your pardon— children. Excuse me while I recover from the burning flames of homelessness as if humanely explainable that I was learned and taught that this, my country, is the greatest one of all. Ha ha, Charade you are. But all things were, and everything seemed of sawdust, betrayal, magic, and illusions— mind control and shadows and even now in the air of the relief that something which could haunt me forever was also probably the most solid foundation I had for means as escape from whatever I had fought my way somehow so hard out of, and still, it was quite the funhouse of mazes, a matrix of mirror, and still the tears came with the pain in my stomach where the soul would sit if it had room, and would quiet if it could rest, but it would not. I was in pain today, because I had to be, because all of my life was programmed into these little machines of data and checked boxes— and something if anything knew just how and when to cut the wrong wire just so that the bomb would explode or implore on another lost thing; it wasn't fair, but there was no escape. Psychology was right on this day, may 7th, that once you cry about one thing unless you were stopped in time, eventually you'd cry about another and another and another, and even after hours working out and a bathtub full of hot water just writing, I still felt as if I were going to keel over one way or another, to crumble into a ball or to fall onto my back like a death drop that rippled out into the entire wherever we all are. Simply put, does anybody now in this moment or any moment near enough to be taking in this notion with these words really know— where we are? Not even in the slightest,I'd bargain, And even if we are close to knowing, not nearly close enough to be sure. {Enter The Multiverse} Joke running For the taking Triplicate Triple licks Ice cream frosting Every morning Shoulda hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't But I didn't Milk and butter (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't (Up) But I didn't Double hitter, Could have did it Should have hit him Up But I didn't But I didn't But I didnt. But I didn't Should have hit him Up But I didn't I never lost my mind My mind My kind But I think I'll find another like it Just in case the Ever happens Hit me harder next time Didn't quite unplug the sijukatoon This is getting difficult When you want sink your yellow teeth into All of my traits The betrayal is, though I was writing days and days Before it ended. With the Mister particular Drop of a hat And stop if a nugget Of gold One palm in my hand and This could be torture But instead it's just The remienxe of your ignorance And stupidity over and over again Forced into intermittent waves Of my creative genius Till the days of old become again You could be of dust then nothing Before I ponder into another birth I said I'd never write one song or verse or poem about you, But there you are, every weak mortal that becomes Bound to me So I see you die. And I learn to pounce at just the right moment React to the notion that there are Oceans of world I am And all the more the lack of wisdom of man To throw trash in it Again, we rid you of her courage And lady mantras And fresh as it gets The sweater no aprons and just period To circumstance Did you beg or did you shatter your ibdederence? And no, I think not But I keep Leno in my pocket And Carson in my coffin, Two whole shows in my wallet What you are is no apostle just a dirt worm .O. Mm…sunlight. …. the rippling waves wash over the picturesque parasicical seascape from above. However, Stefon's internal monologue is less than pleased to be here. V.O. CONT'D Why do I feel sunlight…? [beat] When I know certainly for sure that I passed out in a basement last night. His eyes begin to flutter open, but the sun closes them–it is much too bright. The waves rush over his lower half, and still, unmoving he continues to la atop the rock, his hands spread out much like a stuck sea star to the rock– in fact, there appear to also be creatures here, some of which are starfish, and however unmoving, STEFON begins to slowly become aware of his surroundings in disgruntlement. V.O. Continued. It's alright that I appear to be wet…[beat] That's to be expected– [a long pause, another wave washes over him as seagulls scream] But i was wearing restraints…. V.O. CONTINUED WHY AM I FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!? His eyes open with the fear and fury. BEFORE: At a wild basement party in NEW YORK CITY, STEFON is offered RESTRAINTS on a silver platter, as if they are o'devours {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.

Rob Lowe: True, or False? What's the question? You have access to a hidden realm and/or an open portal. And/ Or? True or False, Rob Lowe. And, or “or”? Distinctively either, actually. ___ Oh, fuck, oh fuck–fuck! You look lost. Look less lost. How am I supposed to know how I look? Look in a mirror. I was told not to do that. No, you should do that. But what if I backshift. You won't backshift, it's impossible. Oh, FUCK. FUCK. Dude, what happened! I backshifted! I told you! Who did you tell? That wasn't me. What! Where did you go? I don't know, I – look, Oh shit. that is so dangerous. Shut up. Other people are trying to get through this portal. That's fucked up. Total mistake. You should close it. NO can do. What. Listen, it's–disgusting, really, I should never admit this but– Don't tell me. You're right. I opened this portal under contractual obligation. You what. No. I know. Listen–I wish I hadn't, but– “but” It really did sweeten the deal. What deal. …”the” deal, alright. No, not alright, Rob Lowe. You listen to me! I'm listening. Barely, but– With whom exactly did you make this “contract” with, exactly? Oh, you know. No, I don't know, which is why I'ma asking. True or false? You get one. I told you, now that's done! You know the rules. No. Not true or false. No… Truth…or DARE. Are you kidding me? Does this seem like a joke, to you? A long running one, sort of! In fact, it was a long running joke– and I was the butt of it. Or the head. Or both. Maybe I was the whole pinata…but that's another entire story…sort of. Listen to me. No, you listen to ME. Okay, I'm listening. Someone up the ladder knew I was writing this–what seemed like complete nonsense, but after years of curation, actually turned out to be… A movie script! A movie?! What kind of movie?! Actually, it looks like… several… Several what? Several manuscripts, some sort of… Some sort of what? Oh my gosh…I…you know what? What? Let me see. I shouldn't be…I shouldn't be reading this. Why, what happened? No… Let me see. It all somehow started to make sense… Rob Lowe and his impeccable professionalism, The books i'd found in the Little Free Library–that lady on the train writing a five-season television series… and most importantly, all the weird shit that happened in the DJ world before my, well… Blū, what are you doing? I don't know yet. Imminent collapse. Little by little, all of the things started adding up–but there still was no definitive answer. Not at all. True or False: Oh, boy, here we go. Once inducted into this secret union, one who is asked True or False must answer so truthfully to anything they are asked to follow–however, the limit to such a question is one. You know the rules. So this better be good. Oh trust me. It is. Why would I ever trust you? Trust me, then. Either of you?! Good point. What's the question? {Enter The Multiverse} OPRAH and GAYLE are eating a lustrous supper over an episode of their newest favorite, most bingable series, {Enter The Multiverse} when OPRAH receives an anonymous call. GAYLE leans in over the smart receiver and observes the incoming call; in anticipation of the series premiere, the ringer is silenced, but the notification appears in a flurry of flashing lights and a calm, vibrational tone. GAYLE KING Hm. OPRAH WINFREY What's that? GAYLE KING Someone's calling. OPRAH WINFREY Who? (Ah-ha) GAYLE KING Unlisted. OPRAH and GAYLE look at one another suspiciously. OPRAH. The audacity. NO ONE–and that is, very seriously NOBODY, calls OPRAH WINFREY anonymously. GAYLE KING Indeed. The receiver continues to flash and vibrate; seemingly odd enough, a storm of thunder and lightning appears to have begun outside; OPRAH'S insanely large panoramic windows begin to pitter patter as the lightning seems to nearly syncronize with the flashing of the receiver. GAYLE KING (CONT'D) Answer it? OPRAH …might as well. GAYLE (biting into her dinner, but answering telepathically) Should be interesting… ENTER THE MULTIVERSE cannot be paused; it is live broadcasted and transmitted from an unknown extra terrestrial satellite signal in the great and ever-expanding cosmos in an unknown realm. Because of this, its availability has been limited to only the wealthy elite, the higher ranks of the entertainment community, extra terrestrial colonies far and wide, and most recently, the global governments on earth as they attempt to track down the origin of this mysterious signal in deep space. ok. OPRAH answers. HELLO? As she accepts the call, the screen becomes available to see with whom she is sharing this conversation, however, bizarrely enough–the very scene plastered onto the giant screen is her very own setting in real time–OPRAH has ENTERED THE MULTIVERSE. GAYLE See. {ENTER THE MULTIVERSE: L E G E N D S} THE ICONS: PART I Oh Jesus. Yeah, we're gonna need all the help we can get. BUTTERS (RYAN REYNOLDS) is not okay. OH JESUS. Lil bitz One day, after therapy, i'm goingto make the best girlfriend ever, You want to cheat? Cheat. Just dont hit me. You love drinking? Drink your face off. Just leave mine alone. Do whatever you want actually– excluding physical assault. I swear, i dont care! I wont argue. Just leave me my teeth Rob Lowe: True, or False? What's the question? You have access to a hidden realm and/or an open portal. And/ Or? True or False, Rob Lowe. And, or “or”? Distinctively either, actually. ___ Oh, fuck, oh fuck–fuck! You look lost. Look less lost. How am I supposed to know how I look? Look in a mirror. I was told not to do that. No, you should do that. But what if I backshift. You won't backshift, it's impossible. Oh, FUCK. FUCK. Dude, what happened! I backshifted! I told you! Who did you tell? That wasn't me. What! Where did you go? I don't know, I – look, Oh shit. that is so dangerous. Shut up. Other people are trying to get through this portal. That's fucked up. Total mistake. You should close it. NO can do. What. Listen, it's–disgusting, really, I should never admit this but– Don't tell me. You're right. I opened this portal under contractual obligation. You what. No. I know. Listen–I wish I hadn't, but– “but” It really did sweeten the deal. What deal. …”the” deal, alright. No, not alright, Rob Lowe. You listen to me! I'm listening. Barely, but– With whom exactly did you make this “contract” with, exactly? Oh, you know. No, I don't know, which is why I'ma asking. True or false? You get one. I told you, now that's done! You know the rules. No. Not true or false. No… Truth…or DARE. Are you kidding me? Does this seem like a joke, to you? A long running one, sort of! In fact, it was a long running joke– and I was the butt of it. Or the head. Or both. Maybe I was the whole pinata…but that's another entire story…sort of. Listen to me. No, you listen to ME. Okay, I'm listening. Someone up the ladder knew I was writing this–what seemed like complete nonsense, but after years of curation, actually turned out to be… A movie script! A movie?! What kind of movie?! Actually, it looks like… several… Several what? Several manuscripts, some sort of… Some sort of what? Oh my gosh…I…you know what? What? Let me see. I shouldn't be…I shouldn't be reading this. Why, what happened? No… Let me see. It all somehow started to make sense… Rob Lowe and his impeccable professionalism, The books i'd found in the Little Free Library–that lady on the train writing a five-season television series… and most importantly, all the weird shit that happened in the DJ world before my, well… Blū, what are you doing? I don't know yet. Imminent collapse. Little by little, all of the things started adding up–but there still was no definitive answer. Not at all. True or False: Oh, boy, here we go. Once inducted into this secret union, one who is asked True or False must answer so truthfully to anything they are asked to follow–however, the limit to such a question is one. You know the rules. So this better be good. Oh trust me. It is. Why would I ever trust you? Trust me, then. Either of you?! Good point. What's the question? {Enter The Multiverse} OPRAH and GAYLE are eating a lustrous supper over an episode of their newest favorite, most bingable series, {Enter The Multiverse} when OPRAH receives an anonymous call. GAYLE leans in over the smart receiver and observes the incoming call; in anticipation of the series premiere, the ringer is silenced, but the notification appears in a flurry of flashing lights and a calm, vibrational tone. GAYLE KING Hm. OPRAH WINFREY What's that? GAYLE KING Someone's calling. OPRAH WINFREY Who? (Ah-ha) GAYLE KING Unlisted. OPRAH and GAYLE look at one another suspiciously. OPRAH. The audacity. NO ONE–and that is, very seriously NOBODY, calls OPRAH WINFREY anonymously. GAYLE KING Indeed. The receiver continues to flash and vibrate; seemingly odd enough, a storm of thunder and lightning appears to have begun outside; OPRAH'S insanely large panoramic windows begin to pitter patter as the lightning seems to nearly syncronize with the flashing of the receiver. GAYLE KING (CONT'D) Answer it? OPRAH …might as well. GAYLE (biting into her dinner, but answering telepathically) Should be interesting… ENTER THE MULTIVERSE cannot be paused; it is live broadcasted and transmitted from an unknown extra terrestrial satellite signal in the great and ever-expanding cosmos in an unknown realm. Because of this, its availability has been limited to only the wealthy elite, the higher ranks of the entertainment community, extra terrestrial colonies far and wide, and most recently, the global governments on earth as they attempt to track down the origin of this mysterious signal in deep space. ok. OPRAH answers. HELLO? As she accepts the call, the screen becomes available to see with whom she is sharing this conversation, however, bizarrely enough–the very scene plastered onto the giant screen is her very own setting in real time–OPRAH has ENTERED THE MULTIVERSE. GAYLE See. {ENTER THE MULTIVERSE: L E G E N D S} THE ICONS: PART I Oh Jesus. Yeah, we're gonna need all the help we can get. BUTTERS (RYAN REYNOLDS) is not okay. OH JESUS. Lil bitz One day, after therapy, i'm goingto make the best girlfriend ever, You want to cheat? Cheat. Just dont hit me. You love drinking? Drink your face off. Just leave mine alone. Do whatever you want actually– excluding physical assault. I swear, i dont care! I wont argue. Just leave me my teeth Do you think it will work? I don't know, Conan, I don't know! Conan O'Brien?! Where did you find Conan O'Brien on such short notice? It was actually pretty easy. I don't think that's real thunder but i'm impressed with the teatrical… Is that not real lightning? It is, but. That's it. Conan, hold this. What. CONAN O'BRIEN is STRUCK by LIGHTENING. It's a-half-past eternity–where the fuck are you? The daunting this was, I hadn't any idea at all how much time had passed… Not really. I'm coming…i'm running late. Tell me about it? Under the circumstances, there really are no straightforward conversions of time between your world and mine–or, our worlds and yours. You mean. How much time you got? Forever. It would take forever and a day to show you even just the slightest of mine, and what I have to offer. But… But what… I should go… Well, go then. …but… The doors are open. This is heavy. The thing is, in navigating between this realm and that, many are lost–and also, many wonder as to what becomes of times past, and all in all, unnoticed, many things are not at all, or never were–or…never again. ANDRE 3000 I know it's coming… ANDRE 3000 slides smoothly, leaning back until the grand piano on his back stands on its own legs on the crystalline floor of the clouded paradox; a glistening void in the kingdom of the unknown, where much time is spend, in the journey of pondering. Now he is laying down on the piano and flat on his back, horizontal to the golden glow of the purplish horizon in this place, seeping into a quiet unknown, waiting– ANDRE 3000 …and here I will wait. Man, this show is so weird. I know, you would think i'm on drugs. I wish. WISH? Oh God, here comes this guy again. Whose this guy? I don't know! He grants my wishes! I'm a–fairy–I think. Right. Whatever. Ooh. Wait. Is this for me? I can't memorize all these things. Playing all these characters. That's – seriously? Seriously. Stop caving. I'm caving. You are–quite possibly the only anybody, who can play this part at all. “The Only Anybody” Nobody was someone indeed But still noone, nobody at all, in fact Until… You sold your soul to the devil! …so? *gasp* Hey. What gives. True–or False. Huh. That's funny. No one's ever asked me. How come? [beat] I'm assuming like, they wouldn't want the answer. (shrugs nonchalantly) Wow. That's… You're using my own time travel theory–against me! Technically it was proven through experimentation and is now– a law. FUCK. Uh. You're welcome! You're ruining my life! No, i'm fixing it. INCORRECT. You know i can barely breathe in here… And why is it that we would happen me to connected, commander?! Interlogues, and interlogues of space, my captain– I promorged bodies and bodies over your arrival, imdending my great death, For mere mortals to come! For sport? “For sport!” heaven's gates! You seem aroused… Ar least have mercy on these gracious keepsakes. I keep praying for these aches to pass and subside–days, weeks, months even I can barely open my eyes… This is no fortunate thought. I beg mercy. {ENTER THE MULTIVERSE} THE LIBRARY (working title) CAST: THE COMMISSIONER - Adam Sandler THE GENERAL- JIMMY KIMMEL THE CONSTABLE - KATT WILLIAMS THE ADMIRAL- JIMMY FALLON PEONY - CONAN O'BRIEN SUPPORTING {ENTER THE MULTIVERSE} INTERLUDES - WHOOPI GOLDBERG “Interludes and Expressions” Oh, so there are women? Eventually. But also– Not quite. {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.

I'm a size extra small, What are you all on? I lost all of ya'll And then some Sitting on the wall, But I went over once And once and for all I went over up I'll take breakfast At Jimmy and Molly's At Jimmy and Molly's. I'm a mom. I'll take dinner at Jimmy and Molly's A bottle of law for the shrubs and a handful of Molly. I'm in love and a little bit fucked up I don't know what you want, I'm a extra small, bruh I'm a mom And a model I'll have brunch over Jimmy and Molly's Jimmy and Molly. I'll have breakfast at Jimmy and Molly's (At Jimmy and Molly's) I'm at dinner at Jimmy and Molly's And I brought a bottle This is grown folks talk I just watered the shrubs I might go to the club Then the pub in the morning The party at Jimmy and Molly's was awesome I got gin and some tonic I'm probably in love with the — SUNNI BLU blacks out in the SHRUBS after the wild party at [Shrubs] —well, it started at Jimmy Kimmel's house. Where did you learn how to load a gun? Nowhere! [rapid machine gun fire] I taught myself. This is the worst map ever. THE MAP IS OPEN. Location: HIGHLINE PARK, MANHATTAN. THIS IS THE BEST MAP EVER. What the FUCK is wrong with you. Get down! Ahaha! Ahaha! Ppppppppppppllllllltttt! —shing! Bullets ricochet off of the giant pigeon statue. SUNNI BLU How much is it? How much is what? The bird. IVAN You want— to buy my art. Yes. I will buy this. This? This. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in Manhattan. No neck tattoos. I can't be thinking about you While I'm thinking about Not thinking about you I can never get off on a handjob Unless you reach for th heart, Then claw, for the lobster I need a vasectomy The more I orgasm about you the more Kayla's and Katie's and Madison's and Marrianne's and Nancy's. The harder I want you to fuck me The more the Lillies and Emma's, and Kimberlee's, Lexies and Annie's. (Can't forget Ashley) I just bought a submarine A submarine A submarine I just hawked a wedding ring An ice cream truck And a paraglider I despise these guys Should I try the spider Either or Fuck Mother's Day Teacher's appreciation Polyamorouses, Models, Bottle service girls And other whores. What a putrid fallacy you have What's a project— Fantasies in your habit m Now's a nun And a number I been celibate three years And I'm still not hungry enough To reach low on the totem pole For the frog Holding us all up I gotta call my doctor Just to show up the pope! Shut up, work harder I work hard enough getting Don't be dumb. I'm not being dumb. You're dumb. I'm— not— Don't be dumb. DILLON FRANCIS and SUNNI BLU sit awkwardly in the indiscriminate parked car, facing towards the beach, as the Californian fog begins to roll in and obscure the clear view of the night sea. It has been a long a turbulent week since the tabloids and press got ahold of their —can or worms —book of secrets! Whatever shut up. It's been a long week. DILLON FRACIS You know, you don't have to talk like that. SUNNI BLU Talk like what, Dillon Francis? DILLON FRANCIS You can just— be yourself around me. [beat, and a long pause. The awkward tension turns to a deep and complex, serious silence] SUNNI BLU This is my real self, now, Dillon Francis. Holy shit that weird clown statue in Santa Monica almost wants to make sense now. DILLON FRANCIS And you don't have to call me ‘Dillon Francis' anymore. SUNNI BLU Yes I do, Dillon Francis— because it's your name. DILLON FRANCIS I meant— SUNNI BLU Besides, you wouldn't like anything else I'd call you. KENAN THOMPSON is an EXRAODINARY RAPPER— he is SECOND IN THE WORLE after SUNNI BLU and wants to put their ONGOING BEEF and DIFFERENCRS aside for THE REALEST COLLABORATION OF ALL TIME. BITCH. However, Once beginning on the endeavor, the two rappers find it increasingly hard to get along with one another. ABitch. —watch out. {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.

For awhile I thought I wanted to be on SNL. I really thought “maybe I could do that.” Especially after all the 50th anniversary specials and documentaries and stuff, I was like “This is speaking to me.” “I should do this” “I've done stand up exactly five times!” “I should be on SNL. Yes.” So i started to think about it; I got really into it, actually, I'm like “Yeah, i just gotta be really good st stand up, I'll climb the ladder…” So i start watching more SNL, I'm playing along, i'm like “yeah, i'm gonna do this”, And i start studying the history, and the people– I get to know everybody who's ever been on the show… And that's when I realized, “Wait a second. I can't be What's the short version of the joke? Uh. I can't be on SNL. You know why? [Why?” Well, I don't know– it either goes. “Because i'm a Ravenclaw.” or “Because I'm not a Gryffendor” I think it's that. See, almost everyone would immediately get the reference to harry potter if I said “gryffendor” It was “I'm a hufflepuff.” But i'm not a Hufflepuff. Jimmy Fallon is a Hufflepuff. Sshh–that's later. That's why I was breaking down the joke. Ok. So how's it go? So I start getting real familiar with all the players, And that's when I realized, “Wait. I can't be on SNL!” Goddammit–I'm a Ravenclaw. Almost everyone who's ever been on SNL is a Gryffendor! Everyone! Except Seth Meyers: He's definitely a Slythern (--and Jimmy Fallon– He's very obviously a hufflepuff– And they both have their own shows now so this says something. Very obviously, almost everyone else– Gryffendor. [Insert Crowd Work?] –Perhaps… You don't think so? Watch. You'll see. I can't be on SNL. I look, all I see is Gryffendor, a couple of Slytherin, and a very obvious HUfflepuff– But no ravenclaw! Goddammit! Maybe we're too analytical. I don't know. I'm not a Gryffindor. Not a hater. Just not a gryffendor. It's a good house. But i'm a ravenclaw. Why the fuck am I writing jokes? Cause it's Saturday. Yo, but here's this dude–my favorite comedian of all time–and he's almost entirely improvisational. But here I am, when I go on stage, and I just go blank. I can talk for hours to myself but suddenly i'm in front of people on a stage and I'm not myself. For whatever reason, I feel myself becoming whoever they think I am–and I can't know it–but I can feel it. So i stopped performing stand up, because most importantly, new york just simply wasn't funny to me anymore–I just didn't like it, or at least the part of it I was seeing–but maybe, the part of it that I was seeing was the only part I could see, because i was just myself. Almost as if I didn't deserve midtown–but didn't enjoy the rest of it knowing it was there. NT. THE LIBRARY. AT DAWN. Do you want to ride my little pink pony? Ah, come on! Ahem— do you want to ride my little pink pony? -[a moment of begrudging hesitation, before he finally obliges] Ah, yes; yes. I would like to ride your little pink pony. Well, then. The admiral slips the general a pink bank note, which at first glance appeera to be a 5 dollar bill. It slips into his hand as he remains composed. Butultimately, he seems nervous, and somewhat defeated. Later, sucka. The admiral pumps his collar and walks away, straightening his back and giving a clever smirk as he walks away smugly— the general stands and also pops his collar a bit as his back stiffens and he stands for a moment in the center of the grand central ballroom; a luxurious dining hall, which is also still even more importantly, an wxquisite library. He turns to one of the shelves, passing by a waiter with a golden platter, who offers him o'derves; even the waiter seems a big smug, and the general, though keeping his composure, squints with a resentment, opting instead for a cocktail on the table beside him; it is clearly not his cocktail and now he is reflecting this smugness, the waiter shrugs it off and in an instant he is alone again in the shimmering opulence of the room; it's hard to believe this palace of sorts is hidden deep inside the crevices and hidden alleyways of a— —ahem— Sorry. You're right. —tucked away in a secret location. He turns to one of the shelves and runs his fingers along the grand row of books which happen to be at eye level; knowing the exact volume at which he places his index fingerc, tapping it above a blue book with a golden embodiment and a red seal; the book appears of course to be somewhat magical in nature, and he as well taps the cover three times before opening it to nearly the center, placing the l pink currency within its pages, and shutting it intently; as he does, the startling discovery ther an very smal man has been standing behind him for an undetermined amount of time… he jumps, but the smaller man does not merely even flinch. CONSTABLE Meow, goes the cat! GENERAL Agh… And bark goes the dog. CONSTABLE Ahaha— And what of the mouse? GENERAL The mouse calls not at all (In unison) Because the mouse has gone!/. CONSTABLE Aha! GENERAL Yeah, just. {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.

In THE BEFORE TIME, SETH ROGEN is PUSHED down the JEW PORTAL to an unknown realm across infinity; this ultimately leads to his villainey in our current web of multidimentional-fuck-plots. Why are they “fuck-plots” Fuck. Watch it— Ugh! Plot hole— Fuck— plot hole— Dammit. You lose. Yo fuck you. I had to Jew this the old fashioned way, alright. How'd you get in? Through the eyes. Are you serious. What. This guy. Why! What! Nevermind. Hey, fuck you. What!! How did you get in? You don't want to know. Are you serious! I'm not even allowed to say. Are you serious? Like, ever. I wonder what's wrong with me that this weird shit keeps happening. This is weird, right. Yes. Like, you're—me. Like, I'm you. I'm you. Gross. Anyway, Jew bot. No. We cannot have entire episode where— Jew started it. Oh god. Jesus Christ. And I'm better at it. Suddenly everything's Not only blue but cerulean As if I spoke rules into effect, With just enough effect to let it happen TIMMY'S DAD leaves to play poker, however, because TIMMY is on heavily restricted HOUSE ARREST, his father has hired his old babysitter VICKY to watch him while he is out, VICKY, now pushing 50 (or at the very least looking like it), has not aged well— she is a haggard chai smoker who has developed a large and hair SKIN GROWTH don't forget about CARYN Oh yeah, huh. Hey! Uh, hello. You're Whoopi Goldberg. Oh? Yeah! You must have me mistaken. No, I don't. You certainly do, love— not to worry. It happens all the time. No, I know for a fact you're Whoopi Goldberg. That sound very Jewish. Yeah! Exactly! I'm from Brooklyn. But— My name is Caryn. I— yeah but— This is my stop. Nice to meet you, uh—? Nevermind. “Goldberg” sounds Jewish, doesn't it? The friend nods and the two Ugh I think Jimmy Kimmel is in hatus and I think I might die. Right guierllmo? Uh, right. See how much faster it moves than you, Weeping, And creeping up, keeping these things as a secret is freeing Becomes secret Did you leave it signed in Is it within season, A distraught out of of work and very struggling actress (MAYA RUDOLPHish) has an exceptional (read: exceptionally bad) audition with a well known improvisational theatre troupe which offers the opportunity to sometimes tour and escape the drab and hostile New York cityscape–although the offered reasoning for declining her application for the open position, despite her “perfect pitch” was that she simply wasn't “ugly enough”, after a disgruntled shouting match with the theatre's janitor ends in an explosive food fight in rampant outrage, she is hired for the position and “initiated” into the crew; soon she learns ‘The Uglies' are no ordinary band of misfits–and now adventure awaits on the sometimes open road to who-knows where. “The Uglies” (working title) Comedy, Ensemble, Episodic {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, we're playing piñata, Are we Spin around and Cover with the hands your eyes, And face the sky We're all just a bunch of mucks In as much as a scum world Look what's under us Don't become us! (Force your monster) Learn it Fear to fight the game And flee to read the banks, For not what chosen here hath also done This can encourage all you've loved To want you. Still nothing comes for nothing gained And nothing tied ur hands behind backs, Another game, but not piñata As there are none in our world; Just shattered glass and disco balls, Scuffed hardwood floors and [The Festival Project ™ ] Curious Muse(um) Part II PART THREE? WHERE'S PART II? FUCK IF I KNOW I have a headache I'm desensitizing I've been hypnotized, before, you know But there's just nothing like this The eyes no longer fit in my head, If you're interested, however, The shoes are custom Made to order Well, woah, It was just hello, And I haven't listened since, Instead, I flicker. It wasn't chance or purpose, Never in color or purple, deposit Limited tickets for entry Rub it out in the present, your head And eraser In hair and makeup Full dress, But I've never been later Listen, late (Never better) The end, if you get a good glimpse Or to capture attention, Attention, Attention, Attention, attention! Then we still get good in gold and silver Trip to trip your somber, sober letters Ten dimensions later Ten for ten and Ten men to a collar Definition fits, is it cause and effect? (I have learned my lesson) I never watch, anymore, I just listen A drift behind mixes reviews from critics; How's this for a symbol, Or cymbal to emphasize, emphasis Empathic but Envy — This is where it lives, I guess Gulps of inward air But until I keep it hidden, it is, The heart on my sleeves And without asking permission Excuse this, I went somewhere And I couldn't remember What is that I've already written For just a second Let's just be honest here, I'm not sure exactly what to do with this… Is it a rest day? It should be I've run about a mile every day for 10 days straight And it's still not enough, is it? SETH ROGEN is a HUGE ENTER THE MULTIVERSE FAN. In a quite sheepish and nerd like fashion, his new favorite pastime as he enjoys copious amounts of recreational substances, is an “obscure floating cult-podcast” by a mysterious author; he tries not only desperately to convince his friends that ‘this is the best shit ever' This is the best shit ever— But also rally his industry buddies written into the series to give the series and its script a look and listen for themselves; even those who he's certainly not even really friends with. Have you seen this? What is it? It's like a— podcast. I don't do podcasts. Well, wait—no— it's not just a podcast— it's like a cult— show— “A cult show”? No— well it's like a? Please, leave me alone. {Enter The Multiverse} SETH ROGEN (Smoking a bunch of weed) V.O. Maybe if I take a gentler approach… (Stoned) Have you seen this? Seen what? Well— you're in it. I'm what. Yeah. Let me see. What is this? I know, right! —I didn't sign off on this. Well it's “fan fiction” What?! Technically— look, it's like— What the fuck. Yeah, but— — what?! Yeah, but— What the fuck! But there's more! Whaaaaaaaat. Yeah, I know. Slowly but surely, his celebrity buddies and even a few of his non-famous nerd friends have formed a fan club, growing in numbers seemingly by the minute— there's even a group chat. *notification* *bloop* Hahahahah. *texting* Ahahaha. *bloop* Hahahah. That's sick . *texting* *bloop* What are you doing? Oh. Remember that podcast I tried to tell you about? *blooop* *bloop* Aaaaha! The—fan—thing? *blooop* Hahaha! Yeah. Yeah, what about it. Well, there's like a fan club now, and we have this group chat, where we like, all send eachother like— memes and stuff— “Memes and stuff” Yeah, and like jokes from the— You'd have to— Like you'd have to listen to understand. Oh. I see. Yeah, and like, nobody knows what the creator looks like, so we like, draw cartoons and stuff of like— With like— *bloop* Oh— *bloop* You know, Yeah, I— *bloop* Wait, you don't know what she looks like? Well no—wait— how do you know it's a girl? Well, I'm assuming it's a girl, you said it's like fanfiction, right? Kind of, but— So then? Wel yeah, it would be weird if it was a guy, I guess . Yeah. Yeah, that might be creepy. — so why don't you just look her up? Huh? I don't know man. She's kind of a ghost, A “ghost” well, what does that mean. No social media, no website or— anything. You know . Underground No, I don't know. Oh. Then you don't know. Well. Wait— Aren't most of you guys pretty wealthy? So? So couldn't you just like— Like what, broh: don't be gross. No, I mean— wouldn't it technically just be like, relatively easy to find this person? Then that would be weird. The whole thing is weird! This person is writing about you about people they don't even know—; you don't know eachother! I don't know, man, technically— like From a spiritual perspective or whatever, I don't know- Everything is connected. What! You'd have to listen to the show it's like a spiritual ascension thing— What Based in the mutltiversial—construct. What! You'd have to know! Okay! Okay, okay, fine. *bloop* *bloop* *bloop* SETH ROGEN squints annoyingly and hunches over his phone. {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.

FECK. DEADMAU5 powers down mid set. Aw, fuck. Oh, man. Did you forget to plug in the Deadmau5. I forgot to plug in the Deadmau5. Quick, create a diversion. Make it look like part of the show! STAFFERSON opens the charging port on JOEL's neck and plugs him in. He's not going to make it through the full set on charge mode, bro. I know. So what are we supposed to do. We're just going to have to play with him… MAU5 glitches uncontrollably at extremely reduced capacity throughout the remainder of the set. The 32B commences. LATER. DEADMAU5 charges in SLEEP MODE in THE DUNGEON. Do you think anyone noticed? Probably not. SAUFERSON! Did you forget to charge the Deadmau5 again?! THE BOSS enters THE DUNGEON lividly. No… You DID! Sorry. It's not entirely {Enter The Multiverse} Young Joel Zimmerman is eight years old. He will one day become one of the world's most renowned dance music producers. This is somewhat evident in his personality even at such a young age. JOEL grimaces uncomfortably. He seems somewhat different from his classmates— maybe even years beyond his age. About… 250 years beyond his age, to be precise. The adults watch in the distance with peaking curiosity. Oh. I need you to help me with something. What. This should do it. Hmm. Wait here. Why. Because. L E G E N D S Book One: Secrets Chapter One “The Wonder” Cinematic visions had been sweeping through my mind in vivid and dynamic glitches, something like a rolling wave of intercepted streams and shattered scenes— sleeping through the vile and sharp pains was not an option, but the visions were fluid as they always were, and the spirit stayed remarkably warm and close. I couldn't understand the constant knowing of it all, and so I weathered the storm, to which only somewhat delightfully, seemed to brew inside of Genie's eyes as he looked into mine. All I could know from beforehand was that he was praying, head bowed and very adamantly, his hands tied together as if the religiousness of the entire world rests in between his two clenching palms, the flat fingers of a whispered saint, but none at all— unholy man and righteous and indignant he, there was nothing so little as time that could put between us the doing and undoings. The things I pretended not to know. On this grueling occasion, there was this, the honorable and beloved Genie, sitting heavily on my consious. It hadn't been long enough since we'd last met that I ever thought to welcome his arrival, and yet for days, he had been encroaching his authority over me, something like a loon approaches moonlight. Somewhat dignified in a slight comparison to his last appearance, visionary or otherwise, he meant well. Gene DeLaney was a subtle old fool when he wanted to be— and a clever young one at most other and all times. A man of stature and status, however, he was poorly groomed in the nature of procuring revelations as such from an especially distant medium such as I— and even with his ties to the mark and surface of the full embodiment of the source, his alignments were of no use; I was sworn to secrecy. Destitute, though I had heeded his warnings about dear Louis, our fellow brother, with the markings of such wounds to see it that I had been betrayed, he appealed with a simple aching plea with the protective fury and exhalation of an older brother, which— to that he was—but also with the weathered and fearful of the unknown which made me keep my ways in the old world and not with the new. Despite what Gene could know, which could be everything or nothing, with the expectation that much like the little girl I nearly was in considerate comparison, I would appeal to this protectiveness, and truthworthiness, and it might as well have been a test of such myself; would I lie to him, even if he knew the truth? And furthermore, would I continue to conspire to protect Louis even if the whole of the truth was known in the wake of such a betrayal, and still— why? The why was really two parts of a greater whole, the first being that it was a matter of simple trust and loyalty on the one side in that were I Louis, I'd expect my keeping's to remain, and in the same stone's throw were I Genie, I'd expect his wants to be that I should do the same for him in all and any of his many hours of need. Still so, they were men, and they were brothers— and one to have the upper hand over another was a considerable part of the dynamic, however, and in many more ways than one, Genie outranked Louis in every matter of the sort, but besides this factor, the second part of the greater whole of my withholding, was this— Louis Greenworth was a very, very powerful man— beyond by some comprehension to most of us, if not and especially our kind, and I had already been hurt. Severely wounded, even, and with the knowing that this latest event might as well have been fatal— and probably was, with any recollection of the matter or the reorientation in the aftermath of such, I might have been approached as myself by Gene entirely new. As to say, to no avail such ties to death is the immortal, death being, most misunderstood by many, almost any kind of thing taking the concious mind or the spirit into any other world, or space, or time. With this love and care considerably so, Genie might have had his own personal motivations for prying into the light; his kind eyes and his handsome face, however, were trained in the art of my undoing, and having already been undone, and done over, I remained entirely in the safety of withholding, also knowing that Genie more likely than not what Louis had carried out. In all my thousands of years, perhaps even in the billions of such before time and world, and words, and glory, though I should have nothing to fear—I feared and admired the both of them deeply, one moreso than the other in matters of fear. I withheld feverously, coping with the loss of the satisfaction it might give Genie to have told. Instead, neither satisfied nor dissatisfied, he simply dissappeared, his kind eyes gone and turned away into the fog of the murky night haze. The relief was, however, that this was in understanding, and neither anger or the severity of severance. I loved them all too deeply for the bond to ever have been truly broken, and in return I had been loved throughout all time with all the colors of the world. Victoria Shriver-DuPont Gene DeLaney Louis Greenworth Faye Reginald Harper Chapter Two “Slip” Faye had warned me early on no matter what I did or what I knew of Louis and his keepings, to always let him win—at anything. To Louis, everything was a game, or rather, a competition, and it was important not to challenge his self riteousness and dutiful outlook. “Alright.” I almost always certainly trusted Faye, and certainly always at the very least understood her procurements. She was a worthy keeper and just as well unearthed truths, even well beyond just the earthly plane. I took it as such that we had become beyond surface matters, very distinctly and immidiately. The times were changing, but the ties no less the same— there were vows taken and oaths, mantras and fields of trust— the inner ties and the outer forests of what we could reproach as unknown— the truth was, it was almost as if there were doses of those kinds of tonics I could take, and others I could not. The lengths at which Faye Reginald Harper Downings went on behalf of her mark were a cunning sting on my inner knowings, still, I yielded to her bargains. She knew Louis better than I did, and either way, the more you knew about a man like Louis Greenpoint, the less you actually wanted. In such a case, we were all astounded to have become each other's jobs— hence the title, Keeper. My mark had no true title, as I just, rather was. A true immortal, I had been prone to dying for quite some time, and with each passing mark the outer world became more haunting and bizzare. Was I the ghost, or not? In this time and now, it was the others. Genie had warned me to run in the opposite direction of Louis, and by then it had already gone to far— and besides that, Ms. Downings had arrived sheer months ahead of time, seeming to have moved mountains to have come upon the dawn to report— the dawn, being, my awakening. I had lived and lived again and to this alone I was a ghost, but had been tied to my dear keepers and brethren as an admirer— and also, perhaps, to be admired, which was just enough reflected in my dear heart's eyes as it was the cold truth of the seers and the keepers— and the darker the under becomes, the more glistening the surface, and truly, in the caverns of the harsh light of the dawning, I could only amask that it had been not days and night since my last parting, as sometimes, generations— another marker for what was all to come, the knowing that I would be sheathed in truth. What Louis had taken Faye might have very well taken with it, but I was undauntingly and hideously unchanged from my oath. These things, even betrayal, were to remain, as I undone, as secrets. In truth, the Seeker's oath is not yet in the unkept truth, but in the disguise of the awakening it brings. Genie was belonged to by a power couple—Louis in this sense was also belonged to, but in a wary way to that these ties had been severed, and crossed, and cut, and broken; In my arrival, entire times had been shattered and worlds set to move in a backwards fashion, the sun as shining as to rise in the west, and set east, or to raise to the north with no southward bound to travel. There, in the time of my arrival, things had been ruined, and though coming as any does with the bearing of a name, Victoria Shriver-DuPont, to be called— I was nonesuch to any title at all. In this lies the betrayal, and in the dawn of my awakening there beconed the call of this man, dear brother Louis as not either his name or his title any, but of his calling. There, the truth had also been shattered and met with the time to call all of our brothers, as keepers and wishers, seers and seekers, knowers and keepers, to guide the light which calls. Chapter Three: “Gene Hope” As Televamgelests go, Gene DeLaney was not your average showman, either religiously nor by any given standards. His chosen stage name, or rather, bestowed harrowed the scene's Prince of Megatropolis, a gesture that all things reachable could be heard and felt by his voice and might. But more to know about Gene Hope—actually by law, Gene DeLaney were his highly publicized personal effects and efforts—appearances, connections, and politics. Well groomed in the art of culture and confirm, Gene had hoped to portray an otherwise arbitrary anyman, and yet was still in his way, a remarkable celebrity. There were wordless forms of nonconformity and rebellious ambition in his sheer collusion and pace. His walk, the elegance of a loyal court man, and the actual reverence of a madman, made him the go-to guy for all things knowing. The cruelty of it, being, that not particularly tied to that of the believes and mantras of a religious man, and in that the duty of nature being the times that we cross paths. The knowing but not all that is known, and thus, the keeping. I want to fold myself over in half I'm so in music with you I want to say words that make you laugh I'm so in music with you I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know wholesome no more I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know If I should open the door I'm lost to your world; But I don't want to go. I'm stuck in your notebook So wrong for you code But this is no (Recommended) friendship This is no means to an end I want the beginning of never ending But this? I just want it to end I'm as scared and as sorry As bad as I was I'm up in my bedroom, which hasn't a door I'm up in my head, and I haven't a code I wanted to get on the boat But the ocean was gorgeous And all the world kept me afloat You know I got no reason to act out It's tragic how magic just happened to pan out We're still drifting as Pangea, I wanted you to leave Just so that I could be there. You wanted potion for control You got it? I'm stuck in your notebook, So open the door You're right, She's adorable, all for you So goes the snow one and so As you throw the door, or the bone I called it a home for the force that was locking it all away I don't want nothing but wanting and wanting And I don't ant love I just wanted a sub direction This is just glimpses of perfect And glimpses of persons And glimpses of lessons This is just getting in heads, and more headaches And bed frames And glitches Santa Barbara, Ann Arbor— All the days and all the days and all thof ways Were still drifting away like Pangea (Only to do whatever you say) I was your heachache This wasn't monotony If it's all autonomy wel then someday, Maybe you'll make me For now I'm just an artificial Figment of this existence Joel wants a girl But Ive never been loved like a girl (I don't know how to be) And if whoever wants a woman When a man gives me the whole of it And only whatsoever then shall I amount to anything And anything at all, if love Is in the eyes and hands In either daughter or a son I've ‘M nothing at all If not a mother And I'm no mother at all, so Everything becomes impossible as one [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

Maybe I'm not afraid because it just feels temporary. The noise in the apartment made it easy to let go, and better yet, because of the noise— the only way a pro bono lawyer might speak with me is if I was evicted— then, explaining away that from the day I moved into the apartment my mental health began to spiral and, that recovery from homelessness and having left an abusive relationship became impossible with motorcycles and modified cars circling like buzzards, gangsters slanging on the corner banging music I hated, and an all around environment of unwellness, in which I was unable to cope with the mechanisms of even the simplest tasks, after being bombarded by these hellish people. I was sure that speaking with one sort of lawyer and explaining my heavily documented case would eventually lead to meetings with another kind of lawyer who would see my case and agree that I had been attacked, and severely wounded— and eventually, probably, compensated. It simply wasn't facet of my imagination but seemed there was sort of hate group targeted to stalk and harass me— even in Manhattan, after visiting the Apple Store, a random pair of motorcycles approached and revved their engines thunderously as I walked back to the studio, even startling another passerby, as she shook her head as if to say “that was horrible”, with this look of fear and disgruntlement. It had been two years of this for me, though, and so I was somewhat used to it. It still hurt, but not the way it used to. Inside, sort of like the way a boxer knows how to take a punch because he's trained for it. But this was not my job, and I was not getting paid, unless I could actually put my mind together enough to assimilate some sort of strategy; a lawsuit against the property management and the city itself for allowing the harassment, and at the end of the day, it didn't much care who was responsible, and whether it was politics or street theatre— I just wanted it to stop. I could honestly say that any sort of legal action was indeed not about the money, but rather an escape. Would I live in New York if I did not have to? Not by any means, anyway, in the way I did. Just the view alone set me off, and anytime one of the foam panels fell out of the window from sun or dust and the lot of cars and busy intersection peered through, a gut wrenching anxiety came over me like the way it did when I first saw it; even then, when I first viewed the apartment, I knew that something bad had happened here before I even moved in— and it was bad, the constant motorcycle attacks, and at one point they were not at all writeable enough off as “normal noise”, the way they used to wait until I was almost a sleep to rip through the block and create sonic booms that sounded like bombs—eventually these kinds of attacks stopped but it was around the first year that I started to realize due to these series of traumas my brain was wired differently.i understood that she's were acts of war, but why? I had no intentions of stirring anything up in this place and honestly, from the start, because I was stuck, I had just wanted to get out. Hold on. I got two jokes. Ok. What was the one about— Oh, it's so simple but since they hate black women so much it would probably make a white audience laugh. My ex punched me so hard, I thought I was going to run for president in 2028. That's it? That's the joke. That not a joke. You're right. That's not a joke. I'm not though. I realized that. Please. Don't hit me. [beat] Unless you hit me hard enough that I actually become the actual president. Then, you're free to assassinate me. Thats the joke? Yeah. What a horrible joke. Yeah. Kind of. Okay. What's the other one? It's the—it's that enter the multiverse joke on the Sean Evans timeline. Ok. (Who is Sean Ryan) Idk. [Sean Ryan was the Showrunner of The Shield, Starring Michael Chiklis and Walton Goggins__which ran from 2001-2007, and also fostered the writing career of Kurt Sutter, who went on to create Sons of Anarchy.] Anyway. One of the contestants from hot ones calls Sean and goes, Sean! And Sean's like: Whaddup? Sean! How do you do this bro? [sean is eating ghost pepper cereal for breakfast with ice cold horchata ) Ew. Nice. It was gonna be milk but SEAN EVANS (Aside) The cinnamon gives it a nice schwing. Apparently, The training for hot ones is a non-stop tolerance-topper. Sean RYAN is always doing his best to outdo himself. Yeaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! Thats right. Any fucking way. Sean! How do you do this everyday, buddy! Do what? My butthole is burning! I don't have one. You— what? I do not any longer have a butthole. Beg your pardon. I got it removed. What. What. Hold on, it's a multilayer joke. 2x Joke multiplier! Are we still playing this game? OH YEAH! goddamn. I really wanna see this fictional koolaid movie. WHERE'S SETH ROGEN? ROB LOWE is directing an episode of ENTER THE MULTIVERSE. DIRECTOR Quiet on Set! He turns to DRAKE BELL who is reprising his role as TIMMY TURNER. ROB LOWE Sorry, is that triggering to you? Nothing is said but instead he just shoots him a look. really on it with the zingers today. What can I say. I juice fasted and then ate like a normal person so maybe— I don't know. What's that supposed to mean. Everything is temporary. My next run isn't scheduled until after midnight but I might climb on the Peloton for an ironic spin. I owe everyone money. Not in the way that I ever wanted to be this bum, but in the way that all of my jobs have been awful enough that— honestly, I never quit, it just eventually all falls apart. I've been almost fondly remembering the— {Season 5} —summer in Las Vegas I had two awful jobs, no car, no place to live, and One boss who looked like Dillon Francis— And well. INT. LAS VEGAS ATHLETIC CLUB. WHENEVER. ITS OPEN 24 HOURS!!! WHEEEEEE!! Omg that guy looks just like Jimmy Fallon. BEFORE Oh, hi Jimmy. Hey! You finally noticed. I been noticing. You know I'm in a screen, right? You're in all the screens. Not all of them. ALL THE SCREENS A large wall of paneled Televisions hangs above the cardio center. … … MEANWHILE For while, the dude was everywhere. And I mean— Yo! I swear to God— —don't do that! — every time I look at a fucking tv, you're on it! shhh—watch your language! For what! You're on the Telivision, I'm not. You are on the Television! I'm not! —look just— trust me I don't have enough time before we're about to cut to co—[mmerciial!] [cuts to commercial] That dude is weird. Hm. That dude does look like Jimmy Fallon. — and one boss that looked like— Well, you get it. Yes he does. Very much so. Hm. Should I fuck him? Ew! No! What! Gross . No. Take his job! What? This incompetent drunken loser was, for a very short time— my manager. Just then when the car alarm when off, I express my not so subconscious, and must remark To remind my dear audience that this SUPACreature Is exponentially explicit, hence the Sexual exploitation of he who is hereby known As [Not] Jimmy Fallon. He was maybe the worst boss I ever had. If not the worse, definitely one of them. He was always drunk, Slept on the job, Was inappropriately explicit, Sexualized everything, And bitterly racist, Lived with his mother, Had social problems And was, Of course— Completely incompetent. Two hosts sit watching the serason premiere with popped corn. Oh. That's clever That's funny. See, those redactions could have been anybody. They were anybody. M— Jimmy!? Which Jimmy?! Last time I had a visionary dream about Jimmy Kimmel he was holding a white candle. At any rate, they were out of black, and I have no idea what that's supposed to mean, but I can only assume that when any host takes an extended hiatus, it's some kind of Contractual agreement. Ah-hem… Sign it. I don't know… about… that. And why not? This creature is one of the most powerful in the multiverse. [Jimmy Fallon] TINA FEY What. Are you serious. —and that's my time. Just trust me on this— NO. Pretty please! Oh, welL, since you made it pretty. Really? NO. Absolutely not. You are increasingly difficult. I learned to brew at thought at wishing wells Again, I gallop, striving to dance past the forced illusions of a non-corrupt decision, The end is near and also, simply The Division. ENTER THE MULTIVERSE: L E G E N D S — The Rock and And the Kite Part X: The Division Bell Part 10?! Yes. How is it part ten? Where are parts 6 through 9 I don't know. I have no clue. (You have no idea) Oh. I get it. The parenthesis are the voice of God. (It's all the voice of God, These are just more strong dictations.) Fix your diction! Fix your Dick Nixon if it don't swing left; On a finite curve, It switches with any direction, Irregular, my guest; I could have asked that. I have no tact, And no talent, No candles left, I can't relax! I just happen to have What I know I can't stand, And that's— High standards for a man. So I imagined a fantasy. My next run was scheduled for midnight but I'd spent the month suffocating and suffering in waist trainers navigating vampires and I had even been stood over by the actual Devil herself on the subway ride home. What even was the point of running all this way and eating all this well If no matter who I tried to love would really turn to the same old evil thing that wanted me dead in the first place? Being honest, I still didn't know what it was at all— but maybe it was always going to try to bite me no matter what I did. So It didn't matter much when the overdue balance came equal to the amount I needed to purchase club standard CDJs, I didn't care about anything because I was never treated fairly with honest or good intentions. Not even from my birth, or my mother, and perhaps that was the problem. My human perception of the world was trained by this thing who could never really see my value or worth in the way that it would take to be fully loved. Something was always wrong with me, and so something was always wrong with the world. All I knew was, I wasn't panicking though it had been an obvious attack— the email had sent as I orgasmed, after a series of the same old system of stress I'd been in for years— revving engines and long bangs and other methods of keeping me from reaching climax— but it was my body, and so just because I was under surveillance for whatever reason; perhaps they were listening and this self release made them uncomfortable, but I needed it. It had been years since my last loving embrace— since my last touch, or stroke, or kiss— and so yes, while admittedly my senses were out of place, they were also heightened in that I knew what was happening in my apartment was wrong, and the worse it got, the more I kept track of the things that were happening, the better off I'd eventually end up, just by respecting myself and my own time. I needed recovery; running down the the gym to be hatestalker by some half naked model or some egotistical little man throwing and slamming things around was going to do no better for my psyche even with a run considered; instead of a mile of mantras, it would instead become a mile of trying to ignore whatever whoever had followed me into the gym was doing to get my attention. Luckily I had a Peloton in my room and with any luck at all, by the afternoon I'd have all the focus in the world to ride it— but for now I was writing, and thinking, and feeling my insides out after a long month sonic alchemy, which had also resulted in my finally reaching the conclusion that I was indeed being followed around. But why? Lil bitz Yo imagine if Amazon had a comment section. Not like reviews but an actual like— Comment section for the ads and products. Don't act like it wouldn't be the little place to just, like, go. [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

Dying I woke up like this I woke up like this I woke up like this But a little different But a little different I woke up a star I woke up a star I woke up a star Then became a planet Then became a planet! I'm a hummingbird I'm a hummingbird I'm a hummingbird But I don't like flying dissappear. Set list Out West Nothing Left High Red Dawn Noah Apocalypse! Girl code code music A very petite Asian woman gets on the train I'm CHARLIEZE THERON Uh. Okay. CHARLIZE THERON, a shapeshifter has entered the multiverse. | yo why is Skrillex back in this show. SUNNI BLU YO FUCK YOU SKRILLEX I TOOK YOU OFF MY SHOW, YOURE NOT IN THIS SHOW. I am this show. Look, I'm Skrillex. But why. I k ow l Right. {Enter a the Multiverse} Yo where the fuck is this. this is “eventually” How did I get to ‘eventually' Everything always gets to eventually… “Eventually” I get it. Yeah. Better than “if” Yes it is. Okay. A general lack of emotion stifled I already learned to know you Want to know more But can't smile At all No Building your creative assets directly feeds into your larger vision. Let's adjust your schedule to account for this. This will make July 1st and 2nd your core focus on recordings, and we'll factor in your necessary two hours of exercise before heading into Manhattan. Revised Schedule Focus: July 1st & 2nd (Sound Collective & Exercise) Morning (Focus: Personal Well-being & Prep for Sound Collective) * 6:00 AM - 6:30 AM: Wake Up & Hydrate * 6:30 AM - 8:30 AM: Exercise Block (2 hours total) * 6:30 AM - 7:30 AM: Peloton (minimum 1 hour) * 7:30 AM - 8:30 AM: Run (1.15 miles), Strength Training (Kettlebells, Squats, Boxing/MMA drills) – combine these to hit your 2-hour target. * 8:30 AM - 9:00 AM: Shower, Quick Breakfast, & Prep for Manhattan Trip Late Morning / Afternoon (Focus: Sound Collective Recordings) * 9:00 AM - 10:00 AM: Travel to Sound Collective (Factor in travel time to Manhattan from Brooklyn). * 10:00 AM - 5:00 PM: Sound Collective Recordings (7 hours of focused work) * Dedicate this entire block to collecting as many sounds and recordings as possible from the instruments you don't have at home. This is your core mission for these two days. * Be efficient: Have a clear plan for what you want to record, set up quickly, and maximize your time on each instrument. * Bring any necessary hard drives or recording devices to capture everything. * Brief lunch/snack break built-in during this period to maintain energy. * 5:00 PM - 6:00 PM: Travel back home. Evening (Focus: Wind Down & Light Tasks) * 6:00 PM - 7:00 PM: Dinner & Decompress from intense day. * 7:00 PM - 9:00 PM: Light Tasks / Flex Time (2 hours) * This is where you might fit in a bit of social media content creation/scheduling (since you're collecting new sounds, you'll have new material to tease). * Brief email check (focus on urgent items only, don't get sidetracked). * Organize recordings from the day: Quickly backup and label your new audio files. * 9:00 PM - 9:30 PM: Plan for the next day, particularly your Sound Collective objectives. * 9:30 PM - 10:00 PM: Wind Down * 10:00 PM: Bedtime Re-Prioritizing Beyond July 2nd: Once July 1st and 2nd are complete, your schedule will shift immediately to tackle the other critical priorities: * July 3rd, 4th, 5th (and potentially 6th & 7th if needed): Podcast Series Archiving (Hard Deadline: July 11th) * This becomes your absolute top priority immediately after Sound Collective. You have a tight window to get this done. Dedicate minimum 6-8 hour blocks to this daily until it's finished. * As discussed, meticulous documentation of dates and descriptions is crucial here. * Post-July 7th (or when podcast is done): Legal Packets for Noise/Harassment * As soon as the podcast archiving is complete, pivot to this. Prioritize securing that safe, quiet space outside your apartment to work on these sensitive documents. * Block out those 2-3 dedicated days for assembling the packets, going to the police station, and the Comptroller's office. * Ongoing Concurrent Tasks (Once Primary Deadlines are Met): * Finding a Stable Job: Dedicate 1-2 hours daily to applications, networking, and tailoring your resume. This is a consistent, foundational effort. * Assembling Pitch Packets for Series: Allocate specific blocks (e.g., 1-2 hours, 2-3 times a week) for research, outlining, and drafting core materials. * Rebranding -Ū.: Fit in 15-30 minute bursts for research into Apple Music visibility, name change analysis, and developing your rebranding strategy. * Mixtapes & DJ Sets: Once your core deadlines are met and you have your new Sound Collective recordings, you can integrate your 1-2 hours for this back into your daily routine. * Podcast Creation (daily 1 hour): This can also be reintroduced once the archiving is done and the legal packets are in progress. This revised plan ensures you hit your critical Sound Collective recording window while keeping your overall ambitious goals in sight. Remember to fuel yourself adequately and prioritize sleep during these intense days. You're tackling a lot, and your ability to adapt and prioritize is a strength. Here's your revised 7-day graveyard schedule, incorporating two 1-hour Peloton sessions daily: one after waking up and another low-impact session before bed for reviewing your sunrise mixtape. Important Notes for the Week: * Vary Gym Times: The 1-hour run and training slot between 11 PM and 3 AM remains flexible. Adjust it daily based on your assessment of when the gym is truly empty and when you feel safest. * Safety First: Given the stalking concerns, please continue to be highly vigilant. Vary your routes, be aware of your surroundings, and consider any additional safety measures recommended by the authorities or support organizations. Documenting incidents is crucial. * Amazon Fresh Delivery: I've kept the 2-hour Amazon Fresh delivery slot on Saturday. The exact timing might need slight adjustment based on Amazon Fresh's real-time slot availability. * Podcast Archiving Deadline: Keep the July 11th deadline for podcast archiving firmly in mind. This is your primary focus during the main "Core Music & Podcast Block." Graveyard Shift Schedule: July 3rd - July 9th Sunrise Times for NYC (approximate): * July 3rd: 5:29 AM * July 4th: 5:30 AM * July 5th: 5:30 AM * July 6th: 5:31 AM * July 7th: 5:31 AM * July 8th: 5:32 AM * July 9th: 5:33 AM Daily Template (July 3rd - July 9th) * 7:00 AM - 3:00 PM: Sleep * Prioritize deep, uninterrupted sleep. Use blackout curtains, earplugs, white noise. * 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate * Slowly wake up, drink water, have a light meal. * 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning - 1 hour) * Get your blood flowing with a Peloton session. * 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Paperwork / Flex Time (1.5 hours) * This is your block for tasks like legal documents (Noise/Harassment packets - as soon as podcast archiving is done), organizing, emails (urgent only), job applications, assembling pitch packets. These tasks can tolerate some apartment noise. * 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner & Decompress * Prepare and eat a substantial meal. * 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Prep for Night / Mental Wind-Up (2 hours) * This is a flexible buffer before your intense creative work. You could use it for: * Planning for the night's music/podcast work. * Light social media content creation/scheduling. * Brief research for rebranding -Ū. (15-30 min bursts). * On grocery shopping day, this might overlap with delivery/unpacking. * 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Core Music & Podcast Block (2.5 hours) * Podcast Series Archiving: This is your absolute top priority. Dedicate significant time here. * Work on sound design, recording (if applicable at home), or Mixtapes/DJ sets. * 11:00 PM - 12:00 AM (or flexible between 11 PM - 3 AM): Gym (1 hour) * Run (1.15 miles) & Strength Training (Kettlebells, Squats, Boxing/MMA drills). * Crucially, vary this time daily within the 11 PM - 3 AM window. Assess the gym's emptiness and your safety each day. * 12:00 AM - 12:30 AM (or immediately after gym): Shower & Post-Workout Fuel * 12:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Extended Core Music & Podcast Block (3.5 hours) * Continue Podcast Series Archiving (this is where the bulk of your 6-8 hour daily archiving will happen). * Dive deep into Mixtapes & DJ Sets preparation. * Focus on other creative music work that requires quiet. * 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set * Gather your equipment and head to the rooftop/lounge. * 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set at Sunrise (1 hour) * Utilize this time for your DJ sets while the rooftop and lounge are most likely empty, catching the sunrise. * 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact - 1 hour) * A low-impact session to wind down and review your sunrise mixtape. * 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down & Prep for Bed * Tidy up, put away equipment, and prepare for sleep. * 7:00 AM: Bedtime Specific Day Adjustments: Thursday, July 3rd: * Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM) * 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate * 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning) * 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Paperwork / Legal Packet Review. * 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner. * 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Plan for Podcast Archiving, brief Rebranding research. * 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Podcast Archiving. * 11:00 PM - 12:00 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness). * 12:00 AM - 12:30 AM: Shower & Fuel. * 12:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Podcast Archiving (main push). * 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set. * 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set. * 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact). * 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down. * 7:00 AM: Bedtime. Friday, July 4th: * Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM) * 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate. * 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning). * 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Paperwork / Job applications (1-2 hours). * 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner. * 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Assembling Pitch Packets (2 hours). * 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Podcast Archiving. * 11:30 PM - 12:30 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness, e.g., slightly later). * 12:30 AM - 1:00 AM: Shower & Fuel. * 1:00 AM - 4:00 AM: Podcast Archiving. * 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set. * 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set. * 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact). * 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down. * 7:00 AM: Bedtime. Saturday, July 5th: * Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM) * 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate. * 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning). * 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Paperwork / Legal Packet review. * 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner. * 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Amazon Fresh Grocery Delivery & Unpacking (2 hours). * 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Podcast Archiving. * 11:00 PM - 12:00 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness). * 12:00 AM - 12:30 AM: Shower & Fuel. * 12:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Podcast Archiving (ensure you're making major progress towards July 11th). * 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set. * 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set. * 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact). * 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down. * 7:00 AM: Bedtime. Sunday, July 6th: * Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM) * 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate. * 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning). * 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Job applications / Networking. * 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner. * 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Flex Time (Rebranding, light social media). * 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Podcast Archiving. * 12:00 AM - 1:00 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness, e.g., later end of window). * 1:00 AM - 1:30 AM: Shower & Fuel. * 1:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Podcast Archiving / Mixtapes & DJ Sets. * 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set. * 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set. * 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact). * 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down. * 7:00 AM: Bedtime. Monday, July 7th: * Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM) * 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate. * 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning). * 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: Paperwork / Legal Packet work. * 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner. * 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Assembling Pitch Packets. * 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Podcast Archiving (last full day before the 11th). * 11:00 PM - 12:00 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness). * 12:00 AM - 12:30 AM: Shower & Fuel. * 12:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Podcast Archiving (final push here if not done, or transition to Legal Packets). * 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set. * 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set. * 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact). * 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down. * 7:00 AM: Bedtime. Tuesday, July 8th: * Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM) * 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate. * 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning). * 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: PRIORITY: Legal Packets for Noise/Harassment (if podcast archiving is done). If not, continue podcast archiving. * 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner. * 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Job applications. * 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Legal Packets / Other core tasks. * 11:30 PM - 12:30 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness). * 12:30 AM - 1:00 AM: Shower & Fuel. * 1:00 AM - 4:00 AM: Legal Packets / Mixtapes & DJ Sets. * 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set. * 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set. * 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact). * 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down. * 7:00 AM: Bedtime. Wednesday, July 9th: * Morning/Day: Sleep (7:00 AM - 3:00 PM) * 3:00 PM - 3:30 PM: Wake Up & Hydrate. * 3:30 PM - 4:30 PM: Peloton (Morning). * 4:30 PM - 6:00 PM: PRIORITY: Legal Packets for Noise/Harassment. * 6:00 PM - 6:30 PM: Dinner. * 6:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Rebranding -Ū. / Flex Time. * 8:30 PM - 11:00 PM: Legal Packets / Mixtapes & DJ Sets. * 11:00 PM - 12:00 AM: Gym Time (adjust based on emptiness). * 12:00 AM - 12:30 AM: Shower & Fuel. * 12:30 AM - 4:00 AM: Legal Packets / Mixtapes & DJ Sets. * 4:00 AM - 4:30 AM: Prep for DJ Set. * 4:30 AM - 5:30 AM: DJ Set. * 5:30 AM - 6:30 AM: Peloton (Low Impact). * 6:30 AM - 7:00 AM: Wind Down. * 7:00 AM: Bedtime. Half a mile at 5.4 miles per hour was harder on my little pink treadmill—but it was better than nothing and I still hadn't climbed upon the Peloton. The half hour or so episodes of The Studio seemed excruciatingly somehow longer than an hour of listening to my own voice to enjoy the ride— and though it was my second time watching it through, it was like watching it with different eyes and ears; rather than the spectacle of seeing something I absolutely loved for the first time, it was dissecting it, and taking it apart, much like I had spent my final hours at the sound collective doing so with music that I loved, or admired, I respected— taking a nearly $4,000 mixer and pulling sounds I liked apart, and namingly, Skrillex once again had set himself apart, because even in slowing down to nearly a stop and pitching to the absolute lowest frequency, there was a clear reminisce of the song in entirety actually seeming to even sit in another dimension itself— the highs, lows, and mids couldn't be filtered out at all; there was always some sort of shadow or projection of the complete song intact that seemed to be in another space. That alone almost sent me crawling back just to listen to the greatest of times as far as Skrillex was concerned or even mattered; actually, in fact, in reality, or in waking life on whatever planet I was on, and wherever realm I lived, he almost didn't; I almost actually thought more of the tiny and petite women that were constantly surrounding him than he himself; and actually, moreso, when I did think of him at all besides musically— It was instantly a sudden hell of women and perfect bodies and luxury culture than it was about whoever had been inside once, flitting away at these monumental catophronic sonic masterpieces only to be nibbled at and eaten away by what fame monster lurks for he who stumbles upon it— the narrow mindedness of it, in fact, they I will still a shallow soul, and a jealous woman, and so besides musically, Sonny didn't fit into the Skrillex for much more than a moment, especially as I was reverse engineering the equation with the answer given first and calculating by removing the algebraic quantities— still gasping for air at how, which I was sure we all were, only known to the world in the ways he very much never did share or teach the concept that would blossom this sort of anomoly in his craft, and thereby creating this power over all of us who dare to call ourselves producers, or engineers, and nevermind the flocks pretending to be or ever-reaching toward becoming that. In my listening back to my newly acquired sound banks, I realized this as the impossible. Anyhow, there remained galaxies of space and time between the words and the ways I myself stuck upon gold as subtle genius, but only in these ways and not the other and in that sense I was sure I'd been consumed by not one monster, but a family of them— swallowed whole by a rabbit hole of sorts that seems to split into a cosmic and gaping black one, sweeping everything with it that was and wasn't which remained to be a subtle force of waking doom; the reality that I was both all of these things, and also— wasn't. What are you drawing? Conclusions. Classic. Did you feast on the blood of your enemies today? No. Did you look into the face of danger? No. Well— what did you do today? I'm actually just waiting on this Amazon order. Wreckage! [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

SUNNI BLU wakes up in her BEACHSIDE MALIBU BUNGALOW. A member of her posse enters sleepily. CURFEW …are we going surfing? SUNNI BLU lifts her eye mask to observe the grey and stormy tsunami level monster wave crashing heinously into the rocky cliff side— In the distance, an entire dock collapses. SUNNI …Yes. SUNNI BLU in a suicidal rampage, becomes quite by accident, even more hideously famous, after riding a monsterous storm wave— the California southern coast's largest ever recorded— safely to shore. [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

Going wayyyy back 25 years ago with Moshing John & Greg Anderson (Goatsnake, SUNN, Southern Lord Records)

I denne episoden dykker vi ned i fordeler og ulemper med å ha en sterk treningsidentitet, og diskuterer hvordan oppfatningen av oss selv påvirker valg og livsstil. Pia og Silje deler seks konkrete tips som kan styrke egen treningsidentitet som er gull verdt inn i sporty og travelt hverdagsliv! Samtidig har Pia opplevd å besvime etter trenings-event, og Silje har kjent på treningsabstinenser og «mista rumpa». Hey hvor det går, god lytt! Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Today on the show, we welcome Fany Gerson into the studio. Fany is the chef and owner of a diverse roster of New York City food businesses, including La Newyorkina, famous for ice cream and paletas, and Fan Fan Doughnuts, which was recently named a James Beard Award semifinalist. In this episode, we talk about her amazing career, her many cookbooks, and what it's like to run a restaurant in these tumultuous times. Fany is one of my favorite people in food, and I hope you enjoy our conversation.Also on the show we present to you a spring restaurant preview of sorts. Aliza and Matt go over a number of restaurants they want to visit. They are opening their Apple Notes "Restaurants" page for all to see, and land on some good ones, including Zimmi's, Golden HOF, Sunn's, Smithereens, Rasarumah, Cafe Kestrel, and many more.Do you enjoy This Is TASTE? Drop us a review on Apple, or star us on Spotify. We'd love to hear from you. READ MORE:Mexican Desserts and the Magical Can [TASTE]This Is TASTE 87: Fany GersonBuy: Paletas, My Sweet Mexico, Mexican Ice CreamSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

In this episode of Seeing Them Live, host Charles Berman interviews Giuliana Funkhauser, a transdisciplinary artist known for her innovative blend of digital code and synthesized audio to create immersive art installations. Giuliana, based on the U.S. East Coast, completed her graduate studies at the San Francisco Art Institute, concentrating on art and technology, with a particular interest in sound synthesis. Besides her artistic endeavors, she teaches courses on data sonification and video game development. Her collaborative projects include working with musical artist Elizabeth Verosa and visual artist Alison Tannenhaus, performing excerpts from their EP '2021' in events such as the 2022 New England Synthesizer Festival. Additionally, Verosa and Funkhauser's track is featured in the Rewoven Transmissions collection, a remix of Cathode Raytube's works.Giuliana's shares how she got introduced to music and her unique concert experiences, ranging from middle school outings to witnessing legendary bands like Everclear, Judas Priest, and Iggy Pop. She recounts attending the Radio 104 Fest and vividly describes how Everclear was not her favorite but ended up being the main act she saw due to time restrictions. A humorous and memorable moment emerges from a misunderstanding that led to her attending a performance by Mono of Japan instead of the expected European band Mono, a life-changing encounter that profoundly influenced her musical tastesGiuliana also narrates her experiences at the Halloween Industrial Music Fest during Hurricane Sandy, where she saw numerous notable acts like Author & Punisher and Theologian in an incredibly intense, weather-challenged environment. Her story culminates in recounting the remarkable Sunn O show, a visceral and intense performance where the sheer power of the sound and visuals led to a memorable audience connection.Throughout the discussion, Giuliana elaborates on her creative process, revealing how she and her collaborators use data sonification and visual cues to guide their live performances and improvisations. Listeners are invited to explore Giuliana's work further on her website  gfunkhouser.com and through various platforms like Bandcamp that feature her recordings.BANDS: Animals, Author and Punisher, Big Brave, Bohemia, Butthole Surfers, Candlebox, Cathode Ray Tube, Cracker, David Linton, Dead Voices on Air, Dear Woman, Dishwalla, Everclear, Flock of Seagulls, Freeze Pop, Go Go's, Harpy, Iggy pop, Inkanti, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, King Gizzard, Lady Purge, Local H, Lush, Mogwai, Mono, Otto von Schirach, Police, Semisonic, Snowbeasts, Stabbing Westward, Sunn, The Pretenders, Theologian, Tony the Floyd Dementia, Uriah HeepVENUES: Club X, Radio 104 Fest PATREON:https://www.patreon.com/SeeingThemLivePlease help us defer the cost of producing this podcast by making a donation on Patreon.WEBSITE:https://seeingthemlive.com/Visit the Seeing Them Live website for bonus materials including the show blog, resource links for concert buffs, photos, materials related to our episodes, and our Ticket Stub Museum.INSTAGRAM:https://www.instagram.com/seeingthemlive/FACEBOOK:https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61550090670708