hey fam.

At an interesting and quick pace, The man asked to be seen by the doctor, A wish, No distasteful strand of eloquence left unopened— He asked for a mailbox, and she gave him a shovel (And a shower for a show!) O Conan!!! That just became so readily amusing to me, That I might have failed to have mentioned, dear reader An atrocity unwinding for us we have found— and we have found such indeed, in perpetual times, To be one another, and all at all times! A quest! Given a seat at the entry, To have been given any attention, And keep each of them with me A mention— For factor of disappearance— “¿whereforeartthou women? “ We'll ask— (But no children please) I get it; I got tracked down for an autograph And asked for one, if any For a stone each Goes to the other. Listen, Movement again Catch me if you can, car//cat. What a head trip What a head trip What a disasterous ask, How I failed to have lost you at all, And found one at the crossroads, Dropped off at the crosswalk Don't forget waffles! Stramlining streamers And bicycle tires Times of the times Of the times (Of the times, I said) I love iron And ironing boards in the flatiron district Don't do anything I wouldn't (Fair, and very well said.) Fair and very well done, your honor Are we all on the same ark now, Noah?! No! It couldn't be I had ever lived so dangerously Look at me I went all that way And only lost $22 dollars! A dollar a minute! —times a wasting! I went all this way And still owe 30 minutes on the stationary bike {After 30 More Minutes on The Stationary Bike} In the crosshairs//crosfires of something once thought as love, we find reason to give in trust to such, as not has now parted from within these sequences —of time, through time— and by time, in and of itself, in nature —with and throughout cause of now and where we have come, into truth; Awakened by our judgement, And in spirit, here gathered as farkind. Sometimes, I honestly don't know what any of this stuff means— or what I'm writing until after I've done it. I've got to go; That's Christopher Lloyd. John Wilkins, Sr. Sir. Reporting for duty. Have you got your paperwork gathered? As you asked. As was commanded. Yes, sir. I see here you have— mounted— —and unmounted— —yes…this mission—several times within the last decade. I've seen to it to show all paths taken within the simulation—sir—both in and out of each district within the series grid. *face* —uh, sir. …I see. And your continuum? Spotless: In fact— with your judgment, you might confirm I've become somewhat of a— (Clearing throat) Ahem. —celebrity. *coughs* —sir. [a break] —it has been well documented. All Things Considered… …All Things Considered. (Breaks fourth wall, as if to say “i beat you to the punch.) (No pun intended.) That's not funny! No, it's not, but— All Things Considered… …. “All Things Considered” {Enter The Multiverse} Huh. A new show. Oh My God. What's wrong? A new parallel. —where? …close. And—how?! Since when did we ever know how things happen— [The Festival Project ™ ] —In this realm, or anywhere else? —- How's “anywhere else” sound? Marvelous— as long as it doesn't cost too much. It won't. Please tell me you're taking these things seriously. Serous as it gets. It's as serious as they come, I think. They're going to kill him. They're going to kill me! I'm…gonna kill him. Well— that's enough! Off to work! I've gotta go! AND LIVE FROM NEW YORK, ITS —I touched it. Shut the —— UP. Um. What. You can't say that. We're live . I just did [bleep] say that Why is it— —oh my god— —where's the censor?! Are we live!? We're live! Cut to commercial! We can't! Run the backup generators. Ahahahahah. We gotta get this thing off the ground. We'll see. Oh! She's— I'm sure you'll understand lately. Through the corridor. Where's the corridor. You'll see it. *walks into wall* Er—maybe not. Portal! Portal! Portal! Always. Follow. Your instinct. Maybe later? I— Wait! Where are you going?! Somewhere else! I don't know! There's something you should know. What should I know. He—shot himself this morning. Oh, that's terrible. I might have my wires crossed, Then again, Come again, Here again— Second time The controller of everything Controller of God —but if God has a controller I guess that's who I am (That's who I am) I'm not tryna look cute today; I just wanna go in on a loan How long has it been Seen I seen what you saw— But if I saw your face, It's a whole new world I got lost once; No more scholarships No more storms, No abortions. No missed calls, No more harsh words (Harsh words lost!) No more music, More songs Fire on, Bass guitar— I play everything on the wall I'm a whole animal I got tired of the wall, I got a will to work I just won't work For a star! Someone call my employer, I got ties, and bosses Leather cuffs and centrifugal force less I'm so worthless But you started it for her No, I don't want to smile; I should just start the fire under my soul To get lost with it. I'm still tied to the art, Still tied to it all I still can't decide For my heart Or my soul If I should just move on with it. I shouldn't move over so fast; This whole car has bucket seats. I should just leave it to God, And I don't want to worry too much About projects I already took losses on If it buffers again, I know I'm in charge Just thinking about where I've gone with it says I should let it go, All the way gone. I don't need a divorce I need to resurface Just let go And just get gone I've been missing a piece of my heart And I've had a lot of fun times On rooftops But I got two dogs barkin With no bones And no boners As thrones To sit upon What was that about the crown? If my plane goes down, all is lost. I thought about voice activated doors— Keeping the lights on at night And starting wars over Don't hold onto value What doesn't serve you only Sell the dream they sold you To show you The cold shoulders; I need no more open doors And no pawns If it's not worth all of it All of it. I don't want More open doors, And more artifacts to show I could only get cold hard numbers No nurses more; Wait till you get a divorce— That'll show you the cold hard world. I'm not worried about an offer. I'm not worried about a job, As long as I've got long John Silvers I'm not worried about the way it works so much Except Leaving a piece of myself In the past, With no way to get out. (There's no way to get out) Didn't I say before That I loved the whole world over you. You built the whole world over water The wall around Rome in a day. Remember the time you sold your piece And your peace Remember what you could give To forgive To forget To spend your entire life Spinning and spinning In the wild And End-the-end It's a win-win situation. It's a push to start world, you know This—we live in A paranormal paradox Of modern amenities And [Conviniences] [The Festival Project™] —-I just want to play with him. I promise, I'll give it right back when I'm finished I don't plan on keeping it Or living long Or doing well— Or coming home till morning. Everyone gets worried after supper When the car backs out of the driveway, God knows I could be gone for an hour at most, Or a month, Depending on Where I'm going Nobody knows When I close my doors to visitors Open to the public, on some days. On some, Corporate function. Dress code with all the right Suits and ties, Dollar signs and Brunches Now, far beyond private Firewall And a lockdown mode. I'm dizzy with the loss of time But you'd chain me to a bedpost, Managed by a stranger Then again, at night I've lost all hopes All night, Steady fishing in a man made pond For nine hosts. So if 9 out of 10 times The answer is yes, And one no— Might as well vote; Get on with it I should fill out an app for McDonald's yet I'm already full of c/gum And water. So why not? [The Festival Project ™ ] Laramie Hughes is a jack of all trades. A representative of God on all behalfs Tearing down the institutions of sanity Forbearance of betrayal Unkind, but bewildered They come in all incarnations Ignorant to one another Which one's which? However, The light that brings awareness to all things, The triad of knowledge, Wisdom and illumination Your pain is words in music Tears to translation, The chaos, destruction Of forming worlds once thought As foraged, once of thought But now become of us What we are The color of God (He looks to meet his untimely demise atop a skyscapter in midtown Manhattan) Oh God, here it goes Below, the summoned protector waits, awakened as archangel and antithesis to what is known, to catch him — thus prolonging his existence, and though not truly preventing his untimely death, giving birth to his enlightenment... Oh God, here it comes. He jumps, giving way to all element -a ragdoll, She stands basking in his glory, Nonchalont And catches him. A high tide breaks, Catching into a storm In the night, Off the coast, In Los Angeles Embargo! Embargo! A sanctioned cry, For here once more Friday comes, Again we call to all Ark, The martyr of aces— Keeper of stones, Craft of Wanda, They call God, But also non-form Circumstance of other Antithesis, Before antiquity. The light in your language Has crafted pure steadyform Emotion in my cadence, Thought to be worlds of wonder Dance, brave fortune has captured! Light, scared not of darkness But ending in all time The underworlds unknown to awareness At all— A Kingdom; See you now the heart unfold, The tired messages of animals form A love so misrepresented as to call it so One, Besides the box of fixatures, Captor or wrechetness The end of all evil, The Sun of a new kind Blood on the water, Bask in I now, Another misfortune The keeper of keys has gone and fallen Not into rest, But another world— Waking is he to the cries And the sorrow thoughts of others, The many amass, To structure what had bonded Him of his hands, The ties, No more a world he leaves behind! No more is he! Steady, mister I have forgiven the end of all what is real In exchange for your interest Sanctioned Embargo! Embargo! So, wounded mother— In your care I bloom If only to forget of you, Upon waking my own, A gifted enchanted and given sword, No shield but I, As my own title Becomes coordinates; A map and globe to scale Crafted of thought Trickle now your tears, chorus Dear chorus— Sing now of accomplishments and whistles gestured at the woven wicker basket Have you a candle for us, Doctor— Or perhaps, As architect, You have fashioned, dear savior A mercy- Forgive us of our pondering Unknown of your nature Until light had vanished From our eyes And dark tortured skies Screeched with winds captivated As to know Where you had gone. Oh— why?! Would this lapis appease you? A ring of tin and aluminum; I thought not (Then again to think at all, Becomes your own world.) Again I am crying for your forgiveness A kindness granted Only to know once, The word of your will Again, The fur of cat is groomed With the essence of frankincense, The wreath of rosemary A run through the financial cordidor Panhandling There, I gathered wood for fire— The journey a gift of eternal enchantments A forceful trek to ponder What I had tied To my own, A heart, A soul, A seed— An ocean. Keeper's Saint, Will you again find tide with us? In our minds, we are at feast and in fortunes But our bodies gravely, Not at rest, But to give way to What is wanted. Embargo! For this true, it's no comedy upon us; These acts of kindness And tea fortold Have come again, As once in Athens, And again in Rome And now in New Jerusalem, As to be Opposite Eden —and suddenly, All the blondes I had become Had come to surface That I was her, Buried in my own blindness and envy Having thought of myself as the enemy And she of circumstantial evidence of the devil at large I pitied again, The blankness of my own heart The displacement of my own soul Never having been loved at all By a man besides my own father She can clear a sample! Why I got licenses, Replacements and mailboxes?! I got nothing but a refund Shit 15 more minutes, no fame Control Let me get the fuck out of here Before the whole world follows Let me get the fuck out of here Before the whole world follows Six Kings since Six aces Since process Covered incofortable Since Prince given 6 senses 6 grievances Seven suns Seven daughters Seven worlds Seven waters BENYONCÉ and her 6 parallel selves are seated at an upscale restaurant in New York City. Oh my God— That's Beyoncé. No way! It is— Oh my Yod. Seven waters please Uh… My cousins! Cousins! You didn't know—? Family. Cousins! Right A super gay waiter enters wearing by some coincidence a relic he purchased that Beyoncé herself had once worn; he clocks in for his shift and sees the seven neyonces ay the table ||| {THE GAYEST FANGIRL SCREAM THAT EVER} Sss. Demarcus, as we learn the super fan is called, after losing his job due to the incident, is sought out by Beyoncé and her 6 multidimentional selves and contracted as a bampheramph to enter the void and aide in time traveling the other dimensional multi space, returning each Beyonce to her respective existences and thus restoring the balance to the Beyonceverse as a whole; though he he learns he may never be able to return home to his primary dimension, he agrees anyway to the dangerous feat and is promised upon completion of the mission to be thoroughly rewarded, however Demarcus makes it known that the greatest reward of all is to have had the joy and experience of meeting his all time idol and lifelong hero— a tale of the love and power of fandom, and heroic journey of everyday heroes, brought together though the love and journey of music—and superstardom. [Demarcus is eventually returned to a dimension in which his wildest dreams have become a reality.] #fastfridays {Enter The Multiverse} L E G E N D S Embargo! Nonetheless, here we are-/ All unmasked and known by our titles As labels, In the unknown the darkened light spoken Had awoken to none more than chaos A rampant pain and fury of unrequited love On four accounts, Mark the 5 and 6 For an eight series coincidal There we are in the whole form If only one God, Which has been said To walk upon us, All the knowing of Nothing at all Besides the hope of a midnight dawn By candlelight Foraged in rain And pastel paint For domed cielings Incense prayers And glorious foretelling Of those to come once And again And never more Once world has sought Only fair weather modems And blinding call, so— We are again In entourage, Our own truth— Embargo! The chorus and ensemble assembles As protons and smoke, Ashes and dust, Cadences and melodies Melodramas [The Festival Project ™] Hark! How now? Vikings! —you said what? And Frat Boys! Jyre snatches the binoculars from Hyro.. Let me see that. To die in one way, In form another— For who can deny any artform So crafted with such delicate an I, That any you, fair beings Could understand The circumstance of what love I gave The shield of oath, The blood of sacrifice, An origin None truth would swallow Or define the son(g)bird, Once scattered and set to depart Dear storms would follow, A songbird, Canary, Dove, And the trumpets of swaddled, Mother goose and laid bane in arms, The wrath of therefore furious wages, The seeing and benign snadow of tithings Truths that borrow! Scared from creatures Actual or none at all The gallows and gourdes Of strings pulling, Speaking our words from quilted fingertips— The Gods, Safely perched and at safe distance From he who does not want her But becomes of all the treasured stone Awakened in her fortresses Cast of shadows, Bond and tied by boundless skies The Cosmos, A journey— Entered in antithesis And formed awakened in the galaxies For where apartheid stands as happened No other circumstance and safety whileyou, Will I now or neither gathered From all eyes have seen, Heart has heard, Sailors watch the sails have set Into wind with breath of air, Forming therefore more words, wisdom of color Coat of arms Swarms of aces, And currents dollars; The foretelling of stories often told, But neigh listened to, But watched and taught By neighbors with greetings, Dressed as others in our forms, How call, A truth be told, For once in the den of wolves And the call of tiles, Tires, never once to touch the ground, Chosen by nature To be fitted by those of ours Who wait in the galley— Unbynow, our ties Who have chosen in sense of nature To have forgiven us, Our lies— To have caused us To have shattered there, And on the wicked, resting wings Of a creature Who does not fly She keeps holy water by her bedside Of roses and willpower The 6th Saint of Guesses And Fantasy… Wow! Reese Witherspoon. Hey. Yeah! I totally forgot you existed. Well… thanks— —and I totally get you mixed up with Drew Barrymore, sometimes— Oh… Brittney Murphy— Okay, that's not— —Dakota Fanning. Okay, yeah, that's— But she's like 12. She's like, 30, I think. What's the difference? A lot. Like, a decade and a half. Hollywood, ya know. Uh… Time flies. Anyway. Yeah. Reese Witherspoon. Geez. Yeah. Have fun. Wait, where are you going? I gotta go— whatever, some bullshit— Hollywood— blah blah blah. Then why am I here? Consider yourself lucky. For what?! Everybody wants to be in The Festival Project! What's “the festival Project?” I don't know. ‍♀️ —?! Welp, see ya. —!!! {embargo} I was serious enough, In my words and my ties For the sake of my bonds, Out of bounds and on Brooklyn bound trains, From Manhattan Machine washed field of fantasy, Outfitted for us all on the glory of a spring day In autumn, California heroine or lure, Folktales And superstardom Made of truth and of love, A new kind, The end of ages laced with wickedness A bounty on her words, The way of others are kind in their shadows, No one has called, And now, No one is watching Waiting, whisperer A different one, another kind The brief awaiting, Then there goes I Under the hidden sun, The Autumn come, The fall of man, The dawn of love, The synchronicity of sounds as songs The birds call home, No wonder the window was open. No books, All alone— To summon up my own galaxy Would be to wish I hadn't let tie me To worldly pleasure On fasting day— But yet again, Here calls my own nature, Needing to be needing to be wanted, Then withered, as it were, to something else. Hiding in your eyes, I am My love of natures kind Your hazel tides And ocean blue— The thought of jade, Who yet again Was meant for always, As I am only Darkness scorned beauty All of your luck, as my witness Forever to hear shadow To the wickedness of man Though we are not aligned, Still the same as many kind, I want not the slow churning Of being that, and this at all —as God is one And acts in many parts, All of us, Or some, Between set boundaries, Games of war, And for arguments sake, inquisitive Gestures of word fare, gameplay, Galleys and artfare— Begin to think you, me, And I, yourself, you— Lest we part in denial Of our dire cause To form man The Standard. The Classic. The Ordinary. And— You rat-toothed bastard! What did I do?! You know what you done! I haven't! And that's bad grammar— Don't you tell me how the hell to talk, before I kill ya! Kill me! For what! You know what! I must admit, I've become quite partial to using This Jimmy Fallon character As a human shield. WHY. WHY ME. wtf. lol Why Jimmy Fallon. Because. — AGH— NO HES GOOD HOOMAN SHIELD. ___ HE'S A GOOD HUMAN SHIELD! Enter the corridors, The unclaimed nature Of travelers, in our time, Coming the wave of signs, Foreigners, Call watchers, Then and here, Come waiting, wanting to know glory, The foundation Of Love Light The faceless god Comes creeping in the night Seeking body to form Among the walking, A fiercety of weapons kind Explanations embellished with Seemingly meaningless Only wanting time to waste, Skinny and shallow, Part chef and waiting, None to others, at all, Therefore I now, part ways From waves and tides To become rain and ghosts, Beauty and wind, Lessons and learned sins, Therefore now I, Wait and wonder, Pondering to feed the birds Or quench the thirst For game and superstardom, Not only of hreatness, But ground in the greys and silvers of my hair Mustache and whiskers, Brows and hind eyes— Where are you now That I was upon waking, A mistress, But gathered now, Awakens under clouds of sun, To be another, Only formed as the ground crumbled under her Again, I live Again, I go where there is no light of sun By the shield of sight, And the whisp of this, That needs attention as such, To call I— A lost soul, But friendly enough ghost To have written songs in your partial kitewind. Then, said I— A watch upon the wrist would only tell time, But not the day or the place of arrival for I, Dear pardoned traveler, Have also come journeys Bound by galaxies grasp, To have whispered into ears, The things of Jesus You will wait for him As the curtain closes, To come again, though does he know not In which beast he will be But you, shadows Wait in his envy, The things you seek to ask and believe The greetings of long since foreshadowed bark Amongst you, believe now, A new tale of these things, As we bring peace, You are now In our forest, Whenever be you now Or forever, As all is eternal, As I am You are Fuck! Whatever that means! I know, right! Is this gonna happen every Friday now?! Every Friday you fast, yes! Goddamn! Or don't! I don't care, really. Up to you. No preference or preference really— Anandar! You called me out of my— —what was I saying!? First Aliocha Then Anandar, A salamander and wildebeest this morning The grounds had shook With all of the games being played In the honor of one Then, I thought A ghost myself— Impartial to suicide, But having lost the fit of love Now to be tied at the alter, A sash Okay. Delicate rain falls from leather skies, Calling beasts of ours to nest in the calm and warm Mother of Grattitude, May I ask, Where are you now, That I've become humbled, And true to art, As having been asked, Now not scrolled upon stone walls Or scryed by fire, But in this age, Begot by light, Another monster of my mind, Shifted into these as saints, The words of songs and poems, The pages of unknown worlds, In the cyberspace, Perhaps, Also as cosmos, Also as thoughts Also as words Also as light— Also as species; These things are true to which I know With what knowledge you have gave me To think this way, Upon each breath— No attempt to be prolific, But to be at all Some wages as exchanged Material things not wanted, but needed And monetary gains, Also as thoughts now, But perhaps also cosmos True, or not? Fact, or fiction? Carson, or Fallon? What? Who wore the pants better. I— Quickly! I'm a dead man. (I'm sure they're both dead.) Hurry up! What the fuck! We're talking about two literal ghosts here! Which is why—we don't have all day. Do you know how long it took me to get Wilder down here for this? Isn't he dead too?! Perhaps, I am. Boy, the rabbit was mad… Almost as mad as the hatter, And as expected GET THAT DAMN CAT OUT OF HERE! Your annual obsession is in; Turns out, you've come down with the madness We all tried on, as a hat once in fables But now, Machine washable, Returned to Amazon With the packaging label attached, And still! None was as mad as the black hatter at all! No tea, but only strong Colombian coffee led Taken black, And made so strong by Alice, Who indeed had been shrunk To be fit to be tied By Kendrick Lamar, No white rabbit at all, But oh, To call him a cat, Or a hatter, Or caterpillar Would make no sense at all— At all you say?! At all, As you see, He was no red King, No, But made house of cards And all had fallen on his kingdom To become something other Than Alice at all, But also lost For you see, She had fallen, dear Alice, Into some hole in Compton, And dropped Into the bottom of the ocean Propmptly below The Island Of Long —as so is below Had happened above Once a porcelain fable, Now having been painted, With the laces Or tie died folly Of uncorked Nothing happens for nothing at all No justice for just calls, No focus, Full world The fear bought And new war For walks Erhmergersh It's a purple flermergerder! *gasps* Erhmgersh! Whurt er luridly purple plurbergerder!! Lurvlry! Oh!! Ernd Shutrd ur lurvley sherd erv pruplelerplre! There's in sense in An evening with fate if he misses it Assumed to be dead, or with you— But for the cause, There was no absolute certainty of the remittance— The scoured and folded body Of the wonderful world of God, Once betrayed and forgotten For better or worse, With Gratitude asking for an experience Her waters had sculled canyons, And her words fell as oceans Of another place in time Or custom caskets Please bury me, sheathed in earth, So that I breathe her Forgiveness For a toxic and harmful incarnation Of our greedy Alignments and reconciliation Recognizing that— If it's going to go fast, It's gonna be loud— And if it's gonna be loud It might as well be a gun (Just kill me already) Not hungry yet, But moving my parts where they ought to be Out in the world, And not waiting at all To come home, If I'm called with the promise Of never returning —not to return here . Maybe i'm the one they call The devil himself When all I wanted Ever Was just to be loved —even by just my mother Not every other day But every day By someone I live and can't love In crustpunks city, USA Better known as Brooklyn New York Where the mullet is making a comeback God help em! I just turned back time By two whole minutes Thinking of skylines painted With music Meanwhile, I almost forgot I'm still a cat My fucking goodness But I've no use for a litter box Not even a little bit (Which things should be and which things though not) The curious case of Benjamin Button In full throttle. I'm so serious— That's the second mullet I've seen in a week. Stop it! God help em God bless em Gid love em Haven't I been standing here More than 12 minutes already? Standing still in New York As new worlds are formed With new words I must have done something wrong today. The bus driver was okay lookin. I don't look at bus drivers. I'm like— Woah, buddy. You can handle all that you can handle all this. Good job, Jimmy. Can you please stop using me as a human shield. No! Cause then I'd need another human shield! Then get another human shield! No! Why not! This one is indisposable! Oh God. Where'd she go!? Who?! God! What! She never came here! What do you mean!? She said— I was here the whole time! I didn't see anybody! Well who'd you see? Nobody, just some crack head! Goddammit, we missed her! What?! Didn't I tell you—all the crackheads are God?! What! Nobody ever told me that. How did nobody ever tell you that? I told you that! You never told me that. I told you that. I know I told you that. You never told me that. Well— Goddammit. What the FUCK. Why the devil always wanna be BEHIND a motherfucker? Do I have something on my back? Oh look. A portal. Skrillex?! It looks like The Devil attached to my back I might have to take a knife in it A counterpart To take the hex off (Something told me not to go out.) Something also told me Nothing happens at all With no movement But God was lost as crossroads, either how And anyway, And anyway, we all got lost At one time or another What if I told you, Once formed to one another You've become Forever bonded AVENGERS, ASSEMBLE! You really want to bring the— Now, When you need it most, you become the hero you are Ther you always were. But least expected it, Especially now that everyone Well fit to be Tied to the cross This for sure is why I dont fly spirit. The New York experience At poverty level Is eye opening To the inequality And injustice Foraged by ignorance I've never been to bowling green But got errands to run Honestly, You put your practically newborn baby in a bus Exposed to all these people?! BITCH, are you OUT OF YOUR MIND? #I_NY Yo somebody' actual grandma just got on the bus In a tube top I'm not eggagerating This woman was like 70 years old And you know black don't crack! But I'm like: DAMN. Who GRANDMAMA IS THIS?! Then she gon sit down next to me, And get on Instagram. She's checkin her stories. I'm like— Damn, She looks about the same age as my actual grandmother. That's— I'm like Woah. My grandmother don't do all that. My grandma taught me how to make lemonade, that's it. How to make lemonade, and to stay in abusive marriages until the kids grow up. That's it. This I know. Thanks grandma. I almost like this lady better. She tore up, but she hip! Is not the entire world a chemical dependence? Dancing through projects And galaxies Stunted in movement, alcoves Shallow ponds and hollow rivers tides Comes again who I am, When not all else m She got off the bus, I was like “Bye grandma!” Aww. Imma miss her. She smelled good, too. You know racism is really bad When a colored woman would rather wear an old, ratty old wig Or a terrible weave Than her own natural hair. I'm guilty of it myself— And this is because I know The way you are treated in public— By not only whites— but other blacks Judgement and mistreatment of the public in general— If you natural hair is the furthest away from what has been made to be the ideal standard. I'm rolling through the hood To return after 9 months This internet router Which never worked due to “outages” And came with hidden fees Now on my credit report The deeper I get into the hood, and the more the bus clears out The most clusters of housing projects And dilapidated buildings I see— A reminder that the world at all much has not been changed But only further hidden away from the eyes of what is known A car without a name a fixer upper but a keeper A classic [EKO restaurant] {Enter The Multiverse} Punk rock Jimmy Had a lot to say Skeleton, skin and bones Skeleton Keys, I am formicated I thought none deserving of such At all All the icons And idols And suffered star worshipers Watching for lost survivors Galloping the galaxies —unicorns. Horses colored as unicorns No fair appetite at all For applications, Mezmerized, believing you will fold at mercy The ions, are to say at least All to none They had already worshiped her Already murdered her Already bloodied her gown! Drown, now! Die! Silence! Cadences, Return to sender, your creatures Fury of the underlord Garnished of the underwent Weeping of galaxies tied Tied, Dirty faith. Wicked wars, Sorted earth, l — Now, remember how you found her YO, FUCK YOU JIMMY FALLON. He shakes his head and smirks smugly. Oh… “OH” ?! OH! YOU RUINED MY LIFE. You had a life? I had SOMETHING. What was it? I— *smash* Wow. —SHOULD KILL YOU. Somebody get this guy out of here! AGH?! No, it's okay. You were wrong about everything. I was— you just shifted. Excuse me? You shifted! Who are you?! BUBBLEEEEESSSSS!!!! I'm— so sorry. THEY KILLED MY DOG. Your rot weiler's name was “bubbles?!” BUBBBBBBBBLLLLEESSSSSSSSSSS!!!! OH GOD, BUBBLES!!!!!! WHYYYYYYYYYYYY {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] The Complex Collective. © COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.