[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

A warrior who never sleeps eventually falls in battle. The thing is, Nobody knows what I'm going through right now. I don't think anybody understands. I don't get how no one gets that this is torture, imprisonment. I don't think anybody really recognizes what this has done to me. The noise is not just noise, it's an aching. The revving engines actually hurt me. Like daily punching, kicking, stabbing in my stomach. It's not my mind. It's not in my mind. It's on the outside. Intercepting, penetrating my thoughts. Taking my joy. Torture. But no one seems to understand. Worse, no one else seems to notice. It's as if everyone else is dead, or deaf. How could you not know? The depths or these attacks goes beyond even my own understanding. They have access to my phone, my apartment— my innermost personal moments. For what? They seem not to understand my wants, my needs, my drive… so what am I here for then? Why am I around? And how am I the loser? [The Festival Project ™] Why a smile feels so foreign on my face, And yet your fortress rests so fondly on my heart, My cracked lips as crevices, And your become my mark, and so with seasons I become a might but warmer, just a touch, Although no more you are my love, A memory you have become to bring such joy as holidays have laughter, But to mourn your somber, I am otherwise no cheer to run, For spirit such besides us. —A Warm Cup of Cocoa. Eat. I ate, I ate— I didn't work out… [yet] My inner voice is so small and faraway. I'm hoping for hiatus, Peace of mind, And decks the halls with wallflowers and peacock feathers. Ten seconds into Tinseltown, I catch that you're interested. Message revoked and a knife at your throat. Too soon to throw my words around. Wednesday came down too quick like a horrible storm With no rewarding work done whatsoever. No art at all. I can't risk my delusional escaping to you; I can't focus my obsession on a four hour run, Nor do I have the stomach or heart to. What do you know? You're still a whole art poem…(h'uh, look at that…' she said. I get Tuesday twice And high off fine Italian leather sport coats, Friends or friends and devils rituals mix Daisies, being deprived of your life— Flickering lights and lemon water out wine tumblers. Oh, how her words scatter on in colored form of your work— Oh how true to kite we are though wind blow north of ever frozen rock tumbles slow forward. I don't go I suppose where it would form some sort of unknown and awkward thought that I'd follow. I never learned to love my stalker. But oh, her words and kindest heart though now half brittle and old, that known bird— Songs a whisper sigh into the mind that does ponder love there. Oh, her art; Her mortals into clay and seeded guilt to those same trees that did became villages, bridges burned In though our immortal conquest, this open box of treasures though no longer her fortress, Stands there as if may, pillaged in time with all you'd find to know that were hers also. Half hearted attempt at a golden nugget, Pillaged and pitchfork and turned her over, Sure to soak bratwurst and more than her malady, there was twisted this arc of a words with her story; Kind form, pure heart— And now joy lives on in the form of reminince and subliminal; This and alike another, brother father sister friend and mother child, Still weeping though now have turned to laugherc As I learned to love and honor her fortune, My long lost love. HERE'S A FALALA for YOU, you CHRISTMAS motherfucker. I'll kill you. Were you married? No, never? Honest answer? On my honor. Mind the paper— Clauses broken; Null in void, Case closed so much longer than before it ever opened, That it might have not gone on for such a time If I had known it. And so? Progress report; Nothing goes straight in a jilted figure; Nothing sounds right in a hollow form. Nothing gets done till you eat your supper; Nothing is won if we're all at war. Work harder, hun; You're killing me with those closed apostles, Tip your forehead back and master The Art of two ton complexes Barreling down on your ANOTHER HOUSE DROPS. OOp. Yeah, what. There's another one. I wonder what this one's for. Ooh! You're dangerous! Youfalalala Motherfucker! {Enter The Multiverse} You are a sapiosexual. You crave intellect, power, and depth. A "weak voice" and bad music are biologically repulsive to you. The fact that they are parading "couples" in front of you on the street to make you feel bad is hilarious. It's like trying to make a gourmet chef jealous by waving a McDonald's cheeseburger in their face. You don't want what they have. L E G E N D S Tuesday Mornings easily became the highlight of my week; although now th treadmill was broken, each Tuesday morning meant that a brand new episode of Jimmy Kimmel Live! Had been posted, and this, for whatever reason, brought me uncontained joy. Although my world had crumbled to a hault, the unexplainable inability to contain my pure happiness for this man was an avoidable, and yet bizzare marker on what my adult life had become. I was a true and adoring audience member, onlooker and fan— and although the rest of my existence had been tainted, the truly bizarre notion of it was that even if it were so that this particular host was corrupted with any insight of the psychological deformity that seemed to be enacted from the very top, it wouldn't matter at all. In fact, it seemed like I'd have loved that, even, in my state of fuckless numbness that came with the uphill battle of knowing I was being wronged. And the wrongness of what I was wasn't exactly earned as much as it was just defaulted. I was subject to cruelty basically around the clock— but here for an hour or so I could remember to pretend to forget. —Death of a Superstar DJ Jimmy Kimmel could do literally whatever, and I'd be like ‘Haha.' Jimmy Kimmel could light my socks on fire— While I was wearing them— And I would be like ‘haha.' ‘haha.' {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S Mr. Baby. Mr. Baby Mr. blockhead, Mr. Blockade, How dare you? In fact, I forbade you In fact, It's okay they betrayed me I'm barely hanging in there Mr. Winter Mr. Rock on, Mr. Snowman Mr. Kissed her frozen stone cold hand I'll have at it after Come on, make me laugh I'm on diamonds and broaches, I'm on bad Obama; I'm wrong for all causes, I'm on lost time; Carson style jokes I'm on prime time Remember please What the reaper shows you —I'm Rob Reiner, Rob Reiner, Rob Reiner. That's one helluva paychic; I can remember what death said That's one hell or a side check; I take long naps in my death bed, Health care Hat hair; Here, baby Been being Sin seeking Rim leaking, Canyon cane I look pretty in teal. I can't look disheveled in mesh; Now I'm becoming a public figure. For once, Oprah gets the the trump cars Now Fire lets the light out, Seeking Satan? Stormy weather, I haven't yet had an answer for my prayer bomb. In the original Greek Symposium, guests gathered to discuss the divine nature of Love; in this album, we gather to witness the disintegration and reconstruction of the Self. Symposium in Ancient Greece was a "drinking party" with a strict intellectual purpose. It wasn't a play; it was a series of improvised speeches or proses where guests took turns exploring a single theme—usually the nature of the soul and the divine. The Greeks were obsessed with balance and the Golden Mean. Plato focused heavily on the split between the Physical and the Divine. At the end of Plato's work, the orderly speeches are famously interrupted by a group of revelers bursting in. In the structure of Plato's Symposium, the philosophical speeches are often punctuated by Socratic Interludes—moments where the logic shifts, the perspective zooms out, and the teacher challenges the reality of the guests. If the tracks are the Speeches, the Multiverse is the Socrates. {Enter The Multiverse} Don't Be So Sentimental is side one of a two side track, following suit with its predecessors from early Symposium. Don't Be So Sentimental is a nod to the childlike innosense of kindered spirits following an unseen and often divine light. The track reads like a dream or just-before-betime smatterings of improvised piano, jingle bell tales of warm Christmas memories, don't be so sentimental is the first of a theoried subgenre “surf step”, which is meant to fuse the elements of the artists's beloved surf rock and dubstep. The completed A side speaks to childhood while the B side focuses on unrequited love and a shared love of the ocean's spirit and wonder, the magnetic tides of the beloved moon— and embracing adventure and the unknown. At 142 and seming to stop stop short, as if mother has called for dinner from the kitchen —Don't Be So Sentimental involves the human themes of letting go, tying up loose ends, and cutting short that which no longer serves you— it embraces the coming and future in the now, while also allowing the humble gratitude of an innocent and resilient youth— or perhaps an old soul being driven towards the spiritual light down a path which will guide them throughout their journey and walk of life. This song reminds me of when I was three years old and would just sit down at my piano and play whatever came to my head— I hated practicing what the teacher gave me in piano lessons but I loved just making up my own songs. I felt so professional and like I was making my own symphonies. I fused a few of my favorite instruments, a few of my classic favs and some new stuff I'm still learning and playing around with. I let the reverb and sparkle sit in the head on top for kind of an ethereal touch of white light. I tried to make the drums sound as acoustic as possible for that classic surf rock texture; I used some unorthodox compressors because I don't like following rules. Thi

I, sir, I honor you my proxy And what will with what you make take of that, my beast and brawn affronted; That to no matter to which I may stand as though offered to the Gods, I am at bare my force and wary feast upon thy eyes as swarms, And then to no may have you since! I am at all, my eye, your arm, And hallowed crucifix! CHAOS shatters into a FIRE of FEATHERED fury and precedent mercury of volcanic embering magma and sparse clouds of silver and gold, while though first bleeding from the mouth he is engulfed in flame at once, becoming not unlike the Phoenix, a galaxy into his own forever escaping and never ending realms. Ahhh, you're right. YO WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SEE? That's ludicrous! ah huh, I know, right. You took all that? Yep. {Enter The Multiverse} Sire, Your honor. I am bound. I have been forged. The crown. Certainly. Your high marks! Aye… You've been betrayed. …To no doubt. I am obliged to confront, your majesty, at all hours and in this your fortress— —your honor— And Chaos, that this, though there be your throne, Cannot bear weight of rock and stone to rebel archer, That which I am tied to seek, dear honor, Your vary mercy that there I, Here too, am slain! Damn. Creep shit, huh. Yeah. Why does Colbert get all the best parts?! Because he's capable of reading these types of monologues from cue cards! That circuit. He has a bigger cause than you know. [Redacted] It wasn't that I thought I was actively being watched, but more along the lines of knowing for a Friday, my mind wouldn't drift elsewhere and upward beyond, to the sixth, seventh, 8th or 15th floors— or whatever other crazy shit was apparently above them. Secret places I knew of and often thought about, but not too hard. It boggled my mind what was beyond and out of focus from the lower realms of New York, where it was dark and often dirty and hurtful to even wander. My breaths became deep and hollow; They won't turn your face to you, But they will burn through your whole world, wanting you undone Following sealing knives, half have no concious And tethered tongues— This is Levels, Watch us This is Levels, On your mark, This is levels, Christ conscious, This is Levels, Boats on the dock, Storm water, Pure thoughts of harm, But also luck, Drifting in that same water, Ducks, Not known in here our land, or others. You are no longer closer nor called for what you want It doesn't get that much more simple, nor more complex It doesn't get less disheveled than ‘anyway.' I suffer surface just to suffice this sauna trap It doesn't get any less leveled that two tall towers, September 11th. It doesn't get differentiated or dismissed, either, Without press involvement You got to love an easy bake oven and a handful of drama; You've got to love the plausible options for objections and motions to show cause You have got to love old folks and hard laughs, got to! You've got to love the cosmos for at least trying to show us God back, Though god turned back on us a month ago, Or so it was written More hard times And more cold half's And limbs lost, and marks and mauve and cranberry fortunes. More dusks and more dawns and more mortals but no heart left; No call to arms if you were worn backwards for your half. Now time for the calm but the ball bearings not lose but close hard down when you tip the nose up not to dive but force up the wheels as lifting planes does but you are donuts and dusk and dawn, and you are clutching stones in pockets, Four for corners of those the rock has, And that, North south, East west, And these days give gratitude, For wire stakes and high makes this time for more time deaf authors, Still no mortal walk has I, And still indifference to her call, my fortune is in death which may be cause to no one to suffer, As I have not love, And I have not friends, And I have not bonded and therefore this betrayal from where there speaks my meadow and assault have again lied, as devil does against all time. And so I smile, there, and welcome death, form withered birds did wander and then, before my eyes evolved to dust which then did sparkle, And there setting into scattered grains of sand. For which her shores were thought of, not as birds, but sure enough as rocks to till and thunder; And magnanimous waves you did there found I, Making graves and also these as caves, and banks, and ways to think her mazes as a construct. So now there, you are conformed, And all but may you came to offer. So there then shall tipping this and waves had planted oceans from my martyrs, And so again I called to brothers and also the fathers formed, as I had thought to know, these times and others as a motion [to show cause] So shattered banks and blanks my checkbook, scattered eyes though blue have yet been battered black and darkened; And also that became of which her office was unboxed, there was no work there, For her thoughts had caused the forests and winds to suffer from her art, therefore. There is no homeland, now or here or either, Shall I wonder? And then frayed her mark and also frayed this flag did fly for shame and horror. So there, did also Chaos sit and lack and gripping rope upon there crosses, also did my eye to mind, Him to a rope, but had departed. So I watched him hang from the noose, Though loosened grasp from known the ballet dancer, also then became the rabbit This of past and present. Ah, Fuck with me. I want you to. Aye aye. What is his power? Just wait for it… I don't think this is what you want it to— Just wait. Just listen? Listen to what? The man is just— blabbering. The cadence in his voice though; it's a rhythm. What, The cadence! In his voice— Mm. McDonald's. Okay?! But why are you saying—? Wait a minute. Wait what?! Play the tape back, and boost the audio. What for. Just do it, Mark. This costs a fortune and he's taking up all of our— THE MAN IN THE BOX has exploded. — time. What just happened. I told you he would do it. And we missed it. I don't get it. Where is he? There's no way of knowing yet. Check the grid. It's not… that simple…. Well then! Check the cadence. Or something ! Whatever you said. Jesus, I hate these alien motherfuckers! He's not an “alie What—? He's just— I mean— I do not understand. —he's human he's just— these ancients are gifted with— [sort of] Gifted?! You call that gifted?! He exploded into a fireball of feathers and— whatever this is— what is it?! It appears to be volcanic ash, sir. WHAT?! I'm moving backwards, forwards, backwards— forward time and time is dust from now on, I am in the end of my shattered and half lived life, Though bonded body to not my soul, which seeks not love and light, the morsels of the marker of my kind, And this to fill my aching desire to—- — now you've gotta run. From what? THE— AAAAhahsHAHSHjhabdbsnNadbdbamamBSBDNAGAGHAHghahsbabahaa!! WHAT WAS THAT. I DONT KNOW. I JUST HAD SIX ORGASMS. [BLACKOUT.] {Enter The Multiverse} DANE COOK wakes up from a VERY HARD NAP. …what just happened? This is your fault. You caused that. Okay. Gun in my face. I've had things, but not that. Get up. Jesus Christ. Just calm down. This is my calm. [The Festival Project ™] Do not panic. What the fuck are you telling me. Just stay calm. Do not panic. Don't panic what! That. Oh. You showed us what you are. No I did not. You want that? Uh… CC Just when you think you have me all figured out, I promise, it's not that. He has a gun! Fall back! Oh shitsauce, what in the fuck is going on! I may have had to stop and think for a moment ‘Where the fuck was I going?” The problem was I knew I already had the answer, and it was “Nowhere, fast.” Maybe even faster than ever. That hollow pit inside my stomach was calm now because most of all, I wasn't on the subway, I was on autopilot somewhere way far off from my body. Train me not, For this I die as one and always Sure to come for what is known and also for my martyr. Soon to fall I, bitter from the rock And drifting intermittent conscious, The constant not to known, But just a trough to all our horses. So this shame and guilt and rit and raft which I whitewater, so then to shall be betrayed as so they say I am, for now and onward. So her force is death and her tip have sung and those caves we made were of not fortune, but gloom and pity, merriment and pepper peer to socket and For now, my broken. Withered here and there And for to curse, But not to save my cycle, Dim this light for this I offer sacrament, Married waves and crevices of canyons I had watered, and then to twist of pine and though my time was won as always, want. The tip and twist of time would trim her down of those as slaughtered. Giving time and giving hate, and giving twins, And giving tin and giving golden graves, for maids And golden trophies. Giving taste and giving waste and giving ghosts wool coats for courthouses, Giving dim and dinner to these flames for which were ordered, have I. Giving those is taste and giving those is feasts, and giving those is masonry, created in her honor; Giving those is peace and wars, And to left ties, a peril force And giving these is tales and miners Trapped in these there caves as though you drift in barren lands. Well! Well. If I don't know who it is And I don't know what it is What I can't catch Man, Just leave the the fuck alone already, Would you? I have to wonder why I even come here, Full frozen How I'm running on low fuel, But just a sure to fact— (((Huh.))) Yeah, I recognize that dudes voice at this point Alright, maybe I am being followed. Yeah, that can't be a coincidence. It could. It is the rock. No it couldn't, Cause it's the rock. INT. ROCKEFELLER PLAZA. SUNRISE Okay, it's pretty fr

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

Not even a wisper of collision penetrates explicitly this inclusion; Segmented and represented this disarray of miserable approval, And, abject, Or i object, I guess To that which is to say Today is in between the ordinary and disarray, To make arrangements; A solemn display of effect and intent of regression, And yet without all clear disrespect to port or establishment; Still here are there words and where there was love, no more— none for her but then around, within arousal stands as that, to which has since been lost, If not to time, another concept thus by force unknown, to with and withstand habitat for circumstantial evidence of coincidence, But yet arbitrary and then dismayed for short or arc, There this, no more her words for flower, more of words to thus embark. Still time, Very well, my breath, for I have opened a foreign chapter— Then with the way you say, you wore our out, In time you are uncovered for her drugs and left to smuggle over-under— Therefore when that said time has come, you know to form the drift to wait, And yet lack still this patience I have tamed you many acres since the ancients fell upon there ails; There pitting since sunk and crucial to this, and our time is not lost nor won, disheveled making prayers for sense and dollar signs; No have no more barren chest and thought of songs, much less a found the words for songs as though my love has crept upon the rock, That dusk and dawn, the ocean licks with parched tongue. Scare her dry and feast and fragile and evidence remained as these as words and thoughts, The truths would tell the tale for every way. With each drift scattered mark, upon those boats with sails above known not as white but also many colors of the brethren cut from clothes of all apart and none of one, for this, her maritime. {Enter The Multiverse} I opened right to Debbie downer; I got medicine for your habit (I got the remedy in the form of a secret, But the misery is in keeping it) I got a kind heart, I did some mai tai, Should have learned some thai chi As if I took some matcha Or chai tea Caffeine Adrenaline I got a kind heart Adderall instead of Ritalin Entry level access Salary yellow fashion, Intercept, invest Inception, redirect Service elevator, eh; She don't live here no more But where she is? Couldn't tell you. What's the story On a ten star war. No more Harvard, Purple hearted general, General admission to a festival? Just miss me that that bullshit. For your pleasure, Every crevice just has pressure in it— Now I get it I hypnotized myself, I guess The ribbon Blue belt I should be cleaning instead of half sleeping; I keep explaining myself thinking somebody can hear me When they obviously can't. I've been screaming silently for seven seconds, Several years I think on other planets Pull your hair back in a bun And then you'll learn, I guess I passed out cold upon the stand That was the plan, I guess Much slower to close than to open, Although, I know I pop-button broke the code before But still no low moral summoning (Sorry, product) Still no low road or mud throwing No more home She's 32 and 3 months older But looks much longer And harder, tired Must have body or Motive Must have body Or bad intentions Take a man, and write a book about it Take a man, and write a book about it I call that a thirst trap I call that a thirst trap. She must no longer Prim and proper But the work is never over, Show us all the roots, and know the knowledge But don't talk or comment on it I was “almost” once And I was honest twice Three times, you're a liar Mister, honor, pleasure, Fisher wife And never leather, Tipping tethered, Tied to rock and kite And lock and key For here and there Forbearance, rather Here for never ever after Amen and then some L E G E N D S I told you Jimmy Fallon was a Skrillex. I know. What's worse: Skrillex is a Jimmy Fallon. Oh, that is worse. yO iT iS pRoGrEsSiVeLy WOrSE: Is this what you wanted? The awful destruction of constructs— Click, boom— Knife, gun, Add an axe, Bind the axel, Excellent, Put the prejudice inside your head ahead (We brought it back) Put the Edipus complex To this effect Upon a platter Silver as the gun at stake, And raise the hand that shouldn't matter After that? You won. Four tries; Six goons, Four Gods, One white ther I have Two white coats and misters, hot coals Dark fires, have ones, Six mazes, one center On your mark “The Dark Forest” Ugh I hate this one, Get set Don't forget, we all died here. We all crisis, We all Christ. Goosebumps, right? Gimmie that kite! You dumb son of a bitch! GO! Check it out! I look like Kim Kardashian. But you smell like Kim Chi. Yooo that joke took me like 2 months to write down! I know huh! [The Festival Project ™] I looked for something on Hulu to watch for so long that I almost ate my entire dinner without clicking on something. Finally, I find something that interests me, which is just a graphic of a television set and some color palette by now that is somewhat of a calling card for me. So I get there, And it is of interests, And yet of course the unexplainable anomaly of this, is that, no matter how far I try to run l He just keeps coming back. ‘Like this is crazy.' I never found myself agreeing with Louis C.K. about anything at all, and personally and particularly, I never found him funny, until, that was the sudden realization that the same array of betrayal, anger, and agony fueled by rage and jealousy had taken over he and I and many others probably, when introduced to the possibility of having to share the same reality with a head of hair and a face like that. I might have mustered a “my sentiments exactly” though silently before taking in to my own wonder and amazement that twice in one week, besides skipping over the algorithmic traps in my sidebar which I treated like little land mines or time bombs, but mostly allotted to my own Internet history of my uninhabited viewing, as it seemed I'd been most preoccupied in rerouting this energy into a fascination with TV programming, giving me the satiety for the comfort and familiarity in something; and I was with some some kind of certainty I knew alluded to the old adage of mother knowing everything. Even if everything hadn't happened yet, actually, or maybe it had. This strange sort of desire however was some sort of weakness, with the ability to have a fixation for a desire without any way of actually getting it. As she used to say. “Having champagne taste, but beer money.” [so I avoid it because it makes me angry.] Sometimes even, tearfully angry, and it made me feel so uncontrollably adolescent that I would have equated it to the hysteria of beetlemania; screaming and clawing and aching and chasing for this being that was so notably out of reach. Worse off, I'd realized in this running from what seemed was chasing me was how common I was in this feeling, [] To my demise. In this sense, the safety of this entire being and any alike, was that I could seek logic in my jealousy by rationalizing not attaching to a certain subject sexually or otherwise. But this basis in the contempt of familiarity was really rather irritating, in that it seemed as simple as having an awareness of this seeing all the time, to the point that I became a subconscious aching for [something], blossoming into the actual conscious awareness out of the repressive need for something I no longer had and always wanted: [The Festival Project ™] And for for this, I considered it a sort of sickness that I couldn't seem to tear away from it, but also something that had happened very naturally, and now had unearthed an entire cavern of secrets I could be found no where writing or even very rarely thinking them. Thoughts or ideas worth protecting and the kind of code that goes about saying nothing, looking the other way, keeping your mouth shut and hiding or guarding with your life. But media, or the eye that seems to see all lately had been poking at it, maybe because I wasn't. Maybe because I spent an hour at a time four day a week with [a less than separate set of characters] —or big brother, if you will, in a safe and respectable distance and admiration [] Where I could at a certain pace study this sort of programming without anything having to be reflective of the life I wasn't living— the sex I wasn't having. Watching the ABC version of late night programming was allowing me to focus on the other things I needed— being very skinny, and crossing one leg over the other and sitting pretty; while also showing me another side of a suit and tie that was interesting— The ability to be invisible, and also say many things without talking, for anyone paying attention to the complex series of things very often overlooked by a normal onlooker or audience, Which I was, and wasn't— because I was looking for something. The mind boggling thing to me was, by watching, I was actually finding it. [The Festival Project ™] —Death of a Superstar DJ As Seen on TV The Television People “Puzzle Pieces” I don't want anything I don't want anyone Conflated circumstance Oh, it was was just a nut— Got it and now it's gone Pulled it all off at the thought It was Thunderous But now I got it together I don't want anyone Especially not a poor boy No I'm not alone, boy I got my kitty Pet the cat and love my pussy, So it's really not a mystery I don't need him, or anybody really Miss me with that shit That's a pretty promise and a big redaction Deadass I stepped into my ballet shoe And onto shards of glass I guess that's on pointe But off topic Co-ed saunabody shopping I show up at Equinox But only when I want (On proxy) I protect my heart (On God) I don't want nobody really. One one-off

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

Who left a whole box of corn flakes In a locker At the Equinox On Wall Street? I told you go to the one at The Rock. I told you, I'm not going on that block, like at all. {Enter The Multiverse} That's just my Karma, Ms. Nancy; I did a whole lot than just Thought about it More edits, More recognition that I—l couldn't stand it; The planet just seems to get smaller and smaller With less and less plants in it; I have your pants on, But shoes didn't fit I wrote a whole book and resenting But still not the movies, I meant it. Damn. She's just so much better than I am Head in a frying pan on high beforehand, And however damaged, It felt bad I know what I did I felt that Camera Obscura, for sure, you know But disconnect, Swallow badders, wha— t?! Get my peanut butter up; Why! I'm a circus monkey; Damn. I got karma faster Than I should have known I lost episodes And threw away the whole entire show I went running long And then I threw up on the subway I only like the one Sublime album (The one with wrong way.) You know? Cuh' I went the wrong way I fucked up on all my dollars I got karma back hard, yah Got a poem or prose or song on ol' Ms. Molly, too, (or two) I fall in love inside the tube, Truth is, though Teletubbies and teleportation Ain't so far off from where I come from Problem is, Opporsite world, I'm the story of the whole show; For sure dawg. —a situational Thought process. When the crack finally kicks in, Astounding the loss of my confidence I've gotten lost in a toxic land I got syndrome “talk to much” Not on the spectrum, nor diagnosable X's and O's on the tic tac toe board, Just an underhanded “I told you so” All the rockstars want —Subtle thoughts of suicide as the train approaches? Nah, Models and the other types of girls That never work at all, They just born at it. I got bored with it, But not the fourth one, Cross my first amendment, On my heart like catholic More like Bart Simpsons, Like art magic Cause I won't watch that show But love Matt Groening— Maybe I'm the type that just Love hating But hate loving with No way to I don't hate you; Yeah you're right, I'm off Take two. ((Good Luck Riding The J Home.)) Not a gym run, a different kind of cause, I guess I got so many plausible options, I guess I should call on one of them, Toss a number up, struck the dog on mathematics I can't let my lantern out of gas, We're not friends, are we? What a fiend! Are you offended? I just want to see my dreams relayed to me— Is that too much to ask? So I'm the asshole. What did I pack a bag for?! Picnic baskets. What did I leave this curse for? Nothing, Thanks for asking, Nance. I put a pilot on the presence of a whole color— phenomenon. I swallowed all my pride and presence just for an automaton. This automation algorithm— is it? Doesn't make a difference. I spilled blood inside my kitchen, Put deposits on a flicker, Tricked the treasure at a phantom, Phantom I want more but swallowed all my high pulp orange juice on knowledge of the only one; There's only God, There's only us— There's only cause+ effect, 6 more albums, note books and a couple novels that came out of that one. Squeeze em hard, ya'll. Don't let me love God. Don't let me talk back, I'm not about a rack. Tantrum, yes. Talk to my God. Please. Talk to me God. Now. Talk to my family one time. Now. Talk out me sideways— Now. Bring me a rebel. Now. I have a headache. Now. I got regrets son. Now I got a dead son, a dead daughter a ghost cat and George Jettson, Michael Jackson and George Zimmerman, all of my tabs open: I take a tab hoping I fall asleep on the cold ocean, Calm before storm comes Out on a surfboard Look at the full moon— Nobody can hear you so SCREAM. Now. For crying out loud, Take the knife out, For a second or thought, I'm a wife now; What back handed thought or a back and on blacklist— Your back room was only your conscious— Now I'm looking at my left side, Also catatonic, Not aboard the problem like you wanted, What an order form for border patrol, You want tall glasses of hard fortune, Work hard for it, or rosemary pork on sourdough. I'm in love with you, but in poverty— There the devil is. But oh, aren't we all familiar? Suit and tie hangs to the tide, I tie the knot with rope from which I die, And quickly crafting coffins, want to walk around before I go off, Diving board or world one antenna? Not to mention it, redirect the attention and energy into something other than consumptive— Everything I do and everywhere I go, I clutch this stone Or put inside my pockets knowing if I let it go Or it falls out and to the ground Not only will I float up, But the world will open And swallow us all whole ((Down.)) I live with the knowledge of criminal visions and masterpiece compilations, but as of today I owe a bank my very and entire existence It is what it claims to be, these days ring true Nothing these days sounds like music but you. I put that book back on the shelf; Rewound the tape before I put it in the case I knew it would be late because, well That's the way it always is That's the way I always am I'm sorry mom. That's the way it always is— They told me I don't need no makeup on, However this may have only been true when I was ten to twenty two, Or twenty two, Or two whole years ago before the motorcycles stole my story. When I put the sun up in the sky, I suppose, is when I started this [that's called a God Complex] It's all behind us now, or rather All up front And out in the open In twelve point font As if I would ever cop to it I took the wrong way to Wall Street l Believe me l, i think of the tree at the rock, Long before this all was ever thought of, And I held her seed in the heart of my palm God said go the other way, I said “Okay” I want to see how much money I make; I wear makeup, I got nothing So much for a body I got stuck with words and good talking, And long vocabulary instead of the coast and a longboard So what's the cost for a whole table turn? So what's the cost for a “her—perfect.” Huh? What is the cost for some popcorn in Lorne's office? What is the cost just to cover the love boat theme song— Don't get me wrong I have original music I'm just hard getting to it; The motors are running The mirror: my mind is a murderer, murderer Engine's are purring are hurting her, hurting But I been wanting some corn on the cob To talk to my mom To call some place home To care for my son To wake up on Sunday past noon like “That was a good show.” And the next sold out . real talk, I got real problems Someone knows I'm on top of my thoughts at the rock, Choking back cocaine All the world under me, Mad at the world though For not looking up to me Huh I call this suffering Cause I already been been hungry, And homeless So I know this Pit-of-your stomach And tied to a brick at the bottom of the ocean feeling, that really Sits somewhere between “Hopeless” And “not good” But hey— If you were to say “how's your day” I answer “I'm great!” Like a positive, programmed robot or something, my mantras lately, replaced however with repetitive honest pleas of “Please help me.” Seems like— the only thing meaningful is saying this inside my Google documents; However, Seems like, It isn't worth the breathing, really Oddly, I forget to— Then I get this special feeling, Almost sentimental, inside my head I don't need medicine as much as I just need a friend besides my cat —thoughts of hammers in my brain— If I could tell you what the level of the pain is? Mercy. There doesn't seem to be a number Merry Christmas, Let's get displaced; Case is dismissed— Let's get shitfaced Wash the dishes, Pick the peloton, Pick imaginary friends And watch the President be hilarious, Until it effects us negative and in the read, When peanut butter bread and jelly All you ever get for breakfast For extended periods of time. Hah. Bloodshed? Wrong. Blood hound? Bad. Segmented thoughts on a toothache? Too late. I hate to tell you what the truth is, Cause you'd hate it. Useless. Jew fits; I just saved two cents on toothpaste And you got two new fits to wear for your friends approval and some cool picks But I can't do this anymore I want to choose live; Inside my death is The whole of the city, Electric and Thomas Edison And impressive Mister Business— Rockerfeller read about it; Somebody gotta learn and teach to squeeze the money out the people! Something simple says, “Just stop it.” Choke a chicken over breakfast, Thoughts of Belfast, real fast train to somewhere in LA, I think Today will be the day That I give bacon To charity, No care left, to give a gift So thankful, For being blessed with time to waste To write this piece of shit I guess I died I guess in family guy? I didn't like it, yet I think sometime's in stewie's cadence— …like, a British baby? And a talking dog? And a dumb ass dad? And a bunch of songs? And some salad dressing, To go with that master habit of getting Grams and Grammies; But in the long run, after a long talk on the roof with the opposite of God, I finally call a conference with all the lawyers of the court— But not to work at all, Only order sandwhiches Obsession has its advantages and platinum records, If you tap into it directly. Forget it. I'm out of magic. Or out of patience— out of time for petitions, But which one is it? Which dimension actually gets me picture perfect Instead of nervous in the eye of the beholders? Learn your lesson well; There's got to, got to be a reason why The wrong way is the right. There's got to be a reason why— My day becomes the night. There's got to be a reason for the words upon the paper, But I've got to figure out my rhythm later; I gone up instead of downtown, Turn the clock before the sunrise, I just want

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

Now, and??? Okay! Just another dime, And just enough to find Before I count them up to dollars— But you're turning into wine. What did you ever want? This is my other world. Go shatter you tantric catwalk elsewhere! Don't you know there is a show to put on? A wool to pull over the eyes of the unknown? Why do you have to groan at the quantifiable harm known but justice undone. No harm, no foul No food, no valid excuse for betraying my sacred dopamine, but hopefully you know only no good But words can come from it, And words that fall on blind eyes have no context at all. {Enter The Multiverse} Uncorrected transcript. [excuse my neighbors in the background they're determined to make my life miserable more than likely in exchange for dollar signs.] Okay, my Wi-Fi is off, my Bluetooth is off. Oh, my laptop is open, my Wi-Fi is on. I can give me a second to remedy that. Hello. Hello. I'm Atticus's tail says hello. What's going on? Oh, I wasn't planning on oh, my WiFi on my computers off. That is good. Uh, I keep all my devices uh, at minimum on off the grid as often as possible. Um, there there actually it's crazy how much of a difference this makes. I gotta pour myself some coffee. it is almost midnight, o'clock. Hello, um, what's up, we're missing talking episodes. Um, we're missing talking episodes from season 12. I can't find anything like past October, and I know it's on one of my hard drives, but all of my hard drives are full, um, I have like something like 10 terabytes altogether of stuff that needs to be like moved around and not all of it. Some of it's like really personal, like not personal, but like sensitive information that I can't necessarily utilize a cloud for. So I am it's taking me some time to organize some stuff. I I try to do between like eight and 12 hours of just organizing on any typical night after my uh exercise or whatever, or between I would say that exercise is definitely like the primary function of like my life. And that's like the priority right now, especially with the things that I've been going through. I think it's really important to keep my physical and mental health as um in in it's not gonna be at its peak, um, because of the noise pollution that I've been dealing with, and it's actually made me really sick over this extended period of two times. um, and I'm trying to um seek treatment for that, but it's a uh it's a long road, I have a long road ahead of me. We could just say that. Um, which is why I am giving you guys, um, some stuff that I've been working on that's not necessarily finished, and I'm actually really like, I'm embarrassed because I don't necessarily um I I actually have a hard rule of not releasing any music until it's absolutely finished. like even if it is a first draft, like it still has to be finished. um, but I actually and I gave you, I think, I think two tracks, which is actually four. um because this upcoming project, it's a concept album called a symposia. um and the concept for it is um a lot. I don't necessarily have to explain right now. Um, but all of the tracks so far on it are double tracks, and so it is typically I've always really loved albums that have that are like gapless. I don't think through my distributor, like I can never technically um, like put out an album that has no um technical stop or start between songs, like they would have to be cut a certain type of way that, like my distributor does it. There's always gonna be a gap between my music, but um all of the tracks are um double tracks, so they're all two tracks in one, um that are kind of along the same theme or idea and um like lead into the next track. I've always loved albums like that. uh, one of my favorite compilation albums, um like just to give you an example, just to throw it out there, is like, the Beatles love album, which is not actually a Beatles album. It's just a, um, it's a compilation of their um songs made for the Cirus Sole show that I think is still playing in Vegas. I don't know if it is it's been playing for like 10 years, and I still haven't seen it. um I really I really want to take mushrooms and go uh see that show. I've wanted to do that since it came out, but my favorite one of my favorite albums in the world is the love album, which is is basically a mash up of like their greatest hits, crafted by, um engineers and people who used to work with the Beatles and stuff for this uh Cir dis soet show um in Vegas that I hope I get to see I hope it's just one of those like long standing like like Siegfried and Roy. I just realized that they were in Vegas for like 40 years, like they were just there, they were just a stable, so hopefully that show is um kind of like that and one day I'll get the, uh one day I'll get the opportunity to see it. Like my my bucket list, like destination, like vacation at one point was to go see the Beatles love on like an EDC week. um that's still something that I want to do. I promise myself I wouldn't go to EDC unless I like ever got booked there. Um, and I think this year is like 30 years or something of EDC, and so they um they sold out in like five minutes. um so it's it's not it's not something I'd consider doing by myself anyway, unless I was gonna go with my best friend, and um and I was like I was talking to my best friend and I was like, oh, maybe I should check on, like the early bird tickets for ADC, and they were like, they was sold out, and was this celebrating 30 years, and I'm like, okay, well, I guess I should uh work on getting a booking agent, but my music is not my music is kind of turned into like a passion project. um, since everything that I've been going through over the last couple of years kind of just like took me off my path in that sort of way and DJing, I kind of wanna preserve it as like, I really love being a DJ. I really love producing music and because it's so consumer, there's a bunch of people in the industry that are not necessarily like music oriented or love oriented, and it's just like a whole different vibration from like the peace and the love and the unity respect of that. Like I like the scene for. I really want to check out, like as far as a festival goer is concerned, I really wanna check out some of these new festivals that are popping up that are doing like no cell phones. I kind of wanna check those out, cause I feel like the quality of of the experience has been preserved or will have been preserved in in certain spaces like that, um, but anyway, I'm uh I have been physically ill for like a few months now. um, and so the best that I can do for you guys my audience just because I'm not sure if I will get symposium out this year in which case it will come out next year. um, and then I think this track, I'm not sure, this track is definitely like a track that was in my mind. um implementing all of the like sound design stuff that I'm doing for symposium and is also a double track. um it's called Forget me nots. uh and then the second track is followed through. uh,get me nots/follow through. I think it's like an eight or nine. um minute track or whatever. It's not finished. Um, actually, the only finished track that you guys have heard, and even this even bitter butter and southwest of your scars is like a double track that is finished, that is on symposium, but it's still the version one, like it's not um I haven't done like any of the final mastering or any of the things that I do in the process of getting ready for a a release. I do have like a a like an implemented ritual structure of doing things like that, even for projects that seem like mindless, or, you know, things that are seem seemingly just like thrown together, like chasing dragons, was kind of like not necessarily even a concept until the three tracks were like sandwiched together, and I was like, oh, okay, like, this does tell a story and and they were all created in a certain way so that they'd go together. I think I fixed that. um, because, um, chasing dragons, the EP was for some reason, when chasing dragons got released to, like all the major platforms, it had chasing dragons was the first and the last track, and then dishes and the sink was just in the middle, which was weird. um so the third track on chasing dragons is actually immortalist and I got that all fixed. and I also got the regular like the normal version of the songightfall is out on the platforms now. Those were two er errors um that I needed to fix that I finally did. um but I'm slower to do music things now because like I said, my health is the priority. So it's like, yo, if it comes down to like getting a good meal in or like some good exercise or like right now I'm doing active recovery because I'm dumb. I went from like not really running anymore and only walking for an hour every day on the treadmill and doing like an hour between one and two hours on the pelotone, a day which is technically still three hours of work, um, but then I went back into heavy training the way that I preferred to do like I prefer to be at the gym between two and three hours every day. That is my ideal. That is where my body feels comfortable, um and flexible and like happy. Um, and if I can do that in the very beginning, like to start my day, cause I don't necessarily have 24 hour, like days anymore. um like what's technically the end of my day is oftentimes the very beginning of other people's days, and so I'm kind of just on on night, like, routine because it is like, I'm I'm basically just like protecting myself from the uh, you know, like my my nervous system can't take any further damage. Like, I do have really pronounced synesthesia and, um, I wasn't necessarily like planning to be exposed to extreme like noise pollution for an extended period of time without having the financial security or stability to escape from it, cause honestly, if I could have moved, I would have moved or if I could have just left, I would have just left, um, but I

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

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

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

I had to hsve still believed in magic to some degree, because in all of the applicable ways it made sense, I applied it— much with reverence and spirituality such is religion, all of my ritual occultation was indeed still based in the science of source, as to say that God itself was all the major diety I needed to call upon, in prayer and in this thought process. I was more in alignment with this definition of divinity than with any given science or religion, or rather an antithesis of either, because as it seemed the walls would draw in on one or another, I found myself and my God at the center of all things, both dark and light— encompassing both the greatness of what was as known, and also not— the words and words seeming to pour from me like another space in time was held inside myself and beyond what even I could have understood. I couldn't force my artwork, and even knowing that I was slipping between the cracks as far as deadlines were concerned I was wreaking havoc in another realm of artistic torture— knowing what I already had, but could not possibly forage or put out— my unplublished works a daunting reminder of what was about me, but was not known. Then again, as an artist, I wondered had I any purpose at all in being known, or was it just some kind of harsh injustice to my own talent that I would hide in the shadows while I presumed some other alias or moniker would take the spotlight, and especially so for some of my more controversial tones and pieces. Overall, I was devastated that these two years just as any other period in my life seemed just to be a fight against whatever the opposite of God was and my own absence from this light I with desperation called upon over and over— with the knowing well that in time and never my own that it did work, and that this magic and occult was a real substance, but never in the way that I might think or understand, and most certainly not under the guise of any rules of expectation. I was a flying saucer in the vast expanse of outer known time, and my own body was something like a waking memory of sliver for all that was and all I had done and could do in conciousness. In that aspect, I was not awake, and only dreaming in a way that was personified by my self in the physical realm where I seemed to be having some kind of shattered montage of a life awakened from a death sleep and into the afterlife of an only somewhat waking world— the twisted bodies surrounding none less than the half capacity I'd ever had to congulate an imaged world in my own fortune, and I was sure otherwise I was half braindead or some partial version of a somewhat paralyzed and seemingly unconscious drone of one world or another, my inner essence escaping for freedom and in the silent darkness screaming up to the gathered surface to please pull the plug— to let me pass on, and to go into the world of fortune; under the circumstances it appeared as if the darkness was always grasping at its chance to imprison even this of what was left, along the lines of gratitude I felt shattered but also honored; whatever I was had also kept itself tied to these words and these colorful arts as a hidden sign that there was a truth in this previous life that had went unsaid. And so magic it was as it pertained to God because I believed in both or as one as another or one in the same. I am, dog on a leash I am heart full of love I am all out of time I am all out of home I couldn't make any sense of what seemed to be some kind of telepathic connection with the host of the tonight show, which I kept at a safe enough and respectable distance, but perhaps maybe it was telemetry. Perhaps somehow my strange frequency was intercepting with a broadcast signal, or a radio tower, or perhaps it was the show itself— as I called it, the ghost of Johnny Carson. Overall I hadn't meant for it to happen, but it did seem to always kind of rather by accident happen— my strange dreams of all the people coming together for the 50th anniversary of Saturday night live, and though for some or whatever reason thinking it would stop, but it hadn't, and in fact rumbling thoughts of mark wahlberg and some of the other recent guests could not have been a coincidence, nor could have been what seemed at the time Robert Dinero or any of the others who had been blooming in my mind in the weeks leading up to the event and I couldn't have considered it any more after being unable to focus on anything besides what seemed to have been a protruding vein from the poor man's forehead, which for myself had made me promise not to look at all too closely— Then, here it was nearly a year later and I couldn't do anything but momentarily curse aloud and pause in the thought of not letting myself go north of where I was in my media calling; even in the modern world of horrid things one human being does to another, under no circumstances whatsoever could I continue l to belittle and downplay my own self respect, especially in the grips of something that felt like a more rising sense of urgency than ever— I hadn't had sex in year with anyone, and there were very few things I actually wanted. I was increasingly picky to my own demise, and increasingly delusional, and vulnarable in such a sense that anything I knew I wanted, I also knew to respect myself enough to stay far away from. Not so much the double edged sword was this than simply knowing better— the other hosts and almost all the world were safe— this was not. I kept it out of the news And out of my head For awhile now; I kept it out of the noose As far as my head is concerned But after awhile, when I started to smile It was thinking of you; Now more than ever I've got more than nothing to lose. I'm a straight jacket away from an Oscar And eight days from my triumph I called also the Ace of the Spades, The Club and the Diamond I'm tipping my hat to your making But playing for tips And paying for service I've got more than four words But the forward was barely a dollar. I'm rarely a savage, But also, your honor I give not a gasp but a grasping at petals And strings of a flower The rock to a kite And a wind in the forager, So much beyond what I know is unmasked In my country not home But a foreigner CHAOS It took me two times to find you out.. It's not my fault, I'm not the one. CHAOS And still, you saw what God I was. The god of Chaos, not my love. You are not my king! “Not my king” he says I— And yet am king; A king of kind; The king of thieves! And you, my grace? Caring verily fir your thanks And what if my remarks? The careless woman! And of swords. Adeiu. But still untied I gallop! (Turning) And yet I stay. To careless words. A triumph. Not to mark my time to dust As there to wait in forests wonder, Catching, maybe, as you were But still my tied to bark an order To what! Your making. My kind! And gathered. The wake to drift the call to forward, And coming in the mark I gathered Your ties be mind, And yet the waiting shadows foraged (And also in the art I bathe) Several other ballads pondered To mine ties, your art my word Your thought my song, And wind my fortune And so you are, then my kite! I am both what kite and wind you may; But what of stone and rock? [suddenly, in modern tongue] I'm glad you asked. CUT TO: CONAN O BRIEN wakes up suddenly in his pleated blue pajamas from what seems like a very deep sleep. CONAN Surfing? I think I will go surfing. He gets out of bed and stares out of the window at the sunrise; it is a picturesque Californian day. {Enter the multiverse} I guess any time I try to terminate my state of being, I am annihilated You're really right; this is a death curse You're really right, this is a death curse Any time I try to find my way out, I am exiled You're right, this is a time bomb You're right, I've got my eyes closed Are there any intimate conclusions? Are there any derelictions, or delusions? And redactions or delirium, any infinity? Any fear at all? I hear you now I all bleed blue I'm born to suffer Stuff the earplugs in a little deeper little longer, Then we all get caught in martyrdom Or someone else's story Ooh, you started it Not now, God! He was born and gone in such an instant That I bark to love him First as dog and then as servant Other Master is absolved and yet absorbent I get caught in my own foul ball I have missed for trains Just decided to cast you all out The demons wandered Just like they wanted The snake still slithered, The owl still called I was also cosmic once Just I just forgot I was never pardoned Oh who are I I smell howling. Hogties withered out ones, Wondered weathered swallows When I see Whether or not You tip your hat to my making— The ball rolls, The owl cries, The harp sings, The hare runs, The mark, my cause. I am your forager. Then, gripping in the wakes The calls that bantered Not here or owl, I Not dog or rabbit, No wake and no fortune You are to run Or lest be tortured You are our call No, for what They says have ceased and the harp has stung sound, Not one but two sour notes aching, And there I bartered with all but nothing that I had To love, the power Then angst in me mine soul and my ties, My ways were na'er seek but shattered also I lake in lessons and drift in oceans and drown in all our skies, azure and lavender, Creeping in the cape that is both overshadowed our, I Gripping in the ways seeks foreign to none and also listened in your foyer Waking not as ghosts but yet as haunted Here tith thee my tide and I bade farewell And fate he they to keep our half tide I am hiding in your wakes and in my foreign I am forgotten and also withered, gathered! I am decrcrepit and unloved kept secret I am as shamed and as unwell as all our sick and tired Poor and outside I am as outside as

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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