She's possessed by the devil The bitch doesn't have a soul She needs fuel from the source of light She doesn't have her own She's consumed She's consumed She's a portal to the underworld And if you want to fuck with her Then you'll be leaving under earth She's the devil in a costume A Satan in a bad place She says she wants to help you But can't even help herself She's stalking in the corridor A next to murder horror show The whore who stole your husband; But she leave a pretty note

I want to scream at you But even standing at my shoulder length My eye at your chest. You'd be a million miles away Look what I make of you. I have no mistakes left and still The fate of it is that, You have my gratitude, your gracious And yet they eat away At all the things I have And maybe there'll be more of me For now the morbid days are just as caving in as Any other making that we make of it Don't thank me, Just outrank them. Banking on your every moment Effervescent, tragic

Lil bitz I applied for a job as a high end furniture sales person. Then they asked how much experience I had in high end furniture sales. I told them five. “I consider myself high-end furniture.” {Enter The Multiverse} ROBERT DINERO You are you very well behaved. Who'd you get. ‘Science.' Physics? No, it just says “science” Oh, I get it… What's to get. You're in the—ahem— What is it? Special class. What

I know the man in the chair By his eyes And the course of the road And the cause of his numbers, I know very odd, very sure, very well— and yes, I know the strings, and the things And the force of control And the conduct, the code Yes, I know not to leave him alone And we're all full of wonder, here Of the wonder years, But where are you, dear? Cause it's four in the morning— I'm cold, and I'm lonely— I'm shocked and forgotten It's four in the morning And no, I'm

BGI TAPPED Sometimes, I write in Lin cadences Sometimes I pass time with Jim Fallon, I write behind closed eyes and white bars, Pigeons and white doves, While I get made fun of I tried to just let bygones by bygones But I can't cause I miss my son And there's no love in the bottom of class wars And harsh poverty; there's no brotherly love And New York just don't want me here Is this your card?! No motherfucker! Oh. Goddamn. You are bad at this. I thought I was! I told

OMG! RYAN SEACREST! Everyone forgot about you! I–thanks! *weird smile* Quickly! Get on the bus! We're already on our way to pick up K-FED. COPYRIGHT THE FESTiVAL PROJECT, INC. ™ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. [The Festival Project ™] The Complex Collective © -Ū.

There's no such thing as yours and mine; We were all just thrown here There is no thing as up and down Or in or out– We're all just born to die here The theory or hypothesis of cloud based lifeform states that some humans, born with less conscious energy than others, are made in a basic state form and must be programmed by other forces of nature separate from one's direct environmental circumstances, but rather a synthesis of technological or even hybrid computational constructs within

Isn't it strange that I can write something, and not remember what I wrote the next day? I remember that I wrote it, and writing it, but not the words, really, or the structure. They make pictures in the documents, shapes that they themselves as things make imprints as etching but have never been seen, by anyone else but me, at least—and whoever is phishing in my documents. That's the dangerous part. I do remember Jimmy Fallon, or just glimpse of it—that's the other dangerous

Ugh, it's a fuckin riddle. *sad eyes* No fair. *super sad eyes* Super no fair *Super duper sad eyes* {Enter The Multiverse} YO! LETS GO TO TUBBY'S! YEEEAAAAAHHHHH! ITS TUBBY TUESDAYS!!! “TUBBY TUESDAYS?!” “Tubby Tuesdays” WELCOME TO TUBBY'S–I hope you're having a very Tubby day! We are now! Well, that's what I like to hear! Happy Tubby Tuesday everybody, right this way! All the tables are booths! …uh…okay. Before:

…We have a weird connection, don't we? The scene was from The Television People, but the image was the clear as day vision of Patrick in a sunlit warehouse somewhere in Manhattan with one of his many lovers—somewhere in my mind, amidst the distractions, I was still trying to formulate the leeways between things I'd already written, and for whatever reason assembling an actual plot for its pilot season. STEPHEN COLBERT enters and unbuttons his suit jacket— in trademark

[The Festival Project ™ ] Look, I've got some… time. How much time we talking? Enough. Alright, what's that make us? A deal. Alright. But you have to be quiet about it. Body is a minimum concern But accolades, achievements, Education— If you want to know, A billion's the goal— There's a goldmine full of pretty, perfect women But what are you worth, And where is your value What are you, earth, sir? Where are your manners, and What are your

425 I don't know which bridge is the Brooklyn one, I won't lie It's frequency too famous for suicide I think about it every time Is this my stop? I want to die And meanwhile, On the four to five I caught the four right on time But only because I've run a mile You can't take anything from me, I already have nothing If you want more than what I'm made of, Then hold on and let me grab something Take all the waste and the filth And the days I've lost, The guilt Take the birthdays,

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

{Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Official Music Video: https://www.YouTube.com/@thefestivalproject {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

Official Music Video: {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project™] THE FESTIVAL PROJECT COPYRIGHT 2015-2025 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. -Ū.

**CUT TO:** INT. RACHEL DRATCH'S OFFICE - DAY RACHEL DRATCH (50s, comedic actress, eating a bagel) sits at her desk. The door bursts open and SCIENTIST 1 rushes in. SCIENTIST 1 Hey—uh— RACHEL DRATCH Rachel looks up, annoyed. RACHEL DRATCH What, dammit; what?! I just sat down with my bagel!

She doesn't even have a name My pussy is cleaner than a motherfucker This ain't no community like Donald Glover Ya'll [][][] actin childish, Gambino— If you wanna turn it on, Then send a c-note (I'm in south side) What she want Peloton What she on peloton What she got peloton What she on Peloton {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2025 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.

While I thought you were alive… Did I also die? Are we dead in dreams? So what does this mean? Must I ride the wave? Are we all the same, Tell me have I died? Are we all alike? Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ | Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019 ™ All Rights Reserved. C'cxell Soleïl Till I Die: Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū Lyrics/Composed: C'cxell Soleïl Again and again— Till I Die Again and again— Till I Die Again