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*bitch slap* WOAH. YO. YO WHAT. It's alright, man YoC timmy, your bodyguard looks like my breakfast That's not surprising, you gargantuan bitch — Keep your eyes peeled! For what! S U P A c R E E For that. For that exactly? Yes. ___ Listen, Timmy turdsnack “Turdsnack?” My POOPS could eat you and still not be satisfied. What. You're a snack for my turds! I quickly promised myself an entire slice of New York style cheese pizza on the day that it would be announced to the world that Dillon Francis was married—or getting married. I knew it would be made public, rather than done quietly—he was a man of high status and regard, and not one to elope. Lessons in love, v3, Kaskade Shazam? Oh, I got it, it's KASKADE it is I GODDAMNIT, KASKADE, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. KASKADE I WILL NOT. Ugh Ugh. Ughhhhhhhh UGH! {infinite ‘ugh'} As it might have just as well been public knowledge anything that Dillon Francis might have done, even if not just to pull each and every last disposable dollar from his inherently mostly upper-class and wealthy white audience—I might not have such luck with Skrillex, after whomever he would marry—if— he would marry—and he would do so very privately, or be outed, of course, by the relentless paparazzi PIZARO, Fine, you can be in Ascension. YES. But shut up. Ok. Like, a lot. Sonny was more than likely to elope, as it seemed there was indeed some sort of diety of the darker realm attached to he and his fame— and for the most part, at this point, I wanted none of it at all besides the limelight myself, much more than worked for an well-deserved—and of course— the beautiful bodies in which they inhabited, my dragon now barely tamed and feirce, with a hunger which screamed and burned at only the most11 Ohhh, what the fuck. Heartbreaker, Mariah Carey That's a lot of—- Bluiuuuuuuuujrrrrrrrrrr Oh look, here's Jaz-Z again . AGAIN. JAY-Z HEY, YO. Don't kill me. Don't be racist. No, I mean— Jay-A (in a cross dimension) AYO. Yo, wtf does this dude want. Idk. How long have you been offline. A lot. She's offline s. Yep. Okay, here I go. She's offline again l? Yeah. Alright, I know where to find her. FUCK THIS SHIT. I truly and simply just wasn't attracted to the only type of men I seemed to draw— even the kings amongst us, who just as well I saw as brothers— not exactly unfit at all, but just ‘not for me', and as it may have seemed to be, it didn't seem that anybody was made for me at all, outside of my own mind. I downloaded tinder, knowing that my rotten body would so quickly end up in the discard pile after a short tryst, perhaps a night or so—but I only needed a night or so. I was sick of waiting for a night in shining armour, and in the mean time, being continually exhumed and exploited by the music industry. The way I saw it, the children of tomorrow were the perfection of the human form— brighter all-black-or-all-white but collisions and blends of any and all— the harmony in balance, neither one nor the other, and the segue to a truly colorless world. The blacks, it seemed, had truly been cursed—if even by their own beliefs. Perhaps, it was just that black men collected women like objects in his quest for power— and though all men were the likely to want and need the most perfectly fit and socially acceptable, usually white trophy wives, the masculine black energybhad made itself apparent and open about it— I must have been of some sort of importance or posed a threat to someone indeed, as I continued to be followed by coughing people— probably just soulless, controlled bodies, and I suspected the most recent satire launches to be responsible for the increase of coughing bodies, and beached whales. Everything is everything. Whales, who use sonar to navigate, had been reported to have been acting strangely—and so were the human counterparts, scrolling drones who fed themselves on processed trash, and it may have been this jnowledge alone that left the white supremacist elite, who owned most of the corporations. The world responsible for contaminating the food and water supply, especially to the poor and brown skinned, wanting me dead—or better yet, just to kill myself. My suicide would be marked as a result of “lifelonst struggles with mental illness”, of course, leaving out that these situations had always been syncronisicslly provoked, after I had once aspired to run for President: it had government money written all over it—someone always knew where I was and how I would get there—but now it seemed that they wanted my attention, rather than to remain cloaked in secrecy. Earlier: “HOMELESS” MAN I'M NOT FBI. Oh, so it's the FBI. I thought it had just been the NYPD and some special forces that had been planted in and around the city in various places I frequented— but today, it seemed, that an undercover hiding in plain sight was giving me the answer I wanted, but never bothered to ask I was certain I was being followed, and my only actual question was posed to god Why am I still alive. COUGHS COUGHS COUGHS Just kill yourself. Is it because of Skrillex. COUGH. His name is Sonny. Well if that's all this is about, you can have him. Or whoever. It's whatever's Whatever he wants . Just give it to him and leave me alone Just kill your self. Why is it so important for me to be poor, fat and just as well dead. What the fuck did I do? {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.