[0021.]

Pools of blood,

And pools of dust,

And fools, and fools, and fools

Pools of love,

And pools of list

And tools and tools, and tools

Pools of us,

And Pools of hours

And palms of pools D'hors

Pools of plants,

And pools of listen

Pools and Pools and Pools

Now, for us, what's at stake has come upon us

For whether which now or ever ties have made for us to burn;

Ne'er mistake there lust for listens and of ponders,

Waterfalls of love and feathers, wanders

Ties to honor stars and fore of fathers

Almost lost it, there, I–

Almost gathered, therefore.

[ ]

So to us who part ties,

Of tied knots and of stomach's wrench

To nourish shadows as remains her honor,

I, depart my once,

I, as flocking doves,

The twist'of fated never

Bare I fear or fonder

Where, where, for again

(bare tied as to none)

and again wakes as has but not

in time, to grove–

The box I paved and yet,

Set aside not as slabs of stone

Or ash and fire

But there i wake

In cedar pine and oak

The turn of slumber

as the glow of what I once did not know,

Now has shined against

My eyes as water

Luminescence

Oh Goddamnit.

Peaking pride, the oath

Again i wait and ne'er did I come,

but forth I woke, and also thought

Not one but worlds of color,

And there i know, to heart the seas I parted

Not shallow or in shallows waking, red as scarlet blood

but mauve, and then, the coping stays of which I gathered here has

Agape and aching, wet with pride and courage

Forefront others

As thought to know, I,

And I become, as known,

now not and.

“All White World”

Our ENSEMBLE awakens slowly in the void of light; an all white space seemingly endless and drenched in blinding light; slowly awakening as if upon a cloud, and yet, washed in the drenched brightness of an all white world–familiar and together, but also new; The uniformity of all white attire and the simplicity of symmetry–all alike but of many and also one.

I promise there's pancakes;

I promise there's porridge

I primise there's light at the end of the tunnel

(the end of the night and beginning of brunch)

And yes,

I promise a run

And a run for the office

(not by far)

And not unpardoned

I promise to pray

And I promise to wait

And i promise to ache

In the acres I've laid

Made of all green pastures

And days and days

Without saying my name

Pass us over

Now….

Hiatus, Hiatus, Hiatus!

My maples for all of us, cornbread

And cream of the coconut

(cream of the coconut)

Screams from the underworld

(Calling! They're calling)

And trees of the very best kind;

Plush with fruits

What a prosperous product

A merciless giving

A scrupulous foreign

(For four eyes, not one on my forehead)

–policy!

Don't you know, Conan,

That all this goes over my–

Over my over–

Over my

Over my head,

–like a snowball?

Don't you know, though,

That nothing goes over his–

Over his over–

Over his

Over his head

–no one throws that high!

(Not in softball!)

ENSEMBLE

What an apocalypse!

What a protocol!

What a dunce!

What an oddball!

Don't you know

Nothing goes over

Goes over

Goes over us

Nothing goes over us

Nothing goes over

No bombs being dropped

And the worst has to come because

Nobody's turning this off;

It's a turning point

Not a mantra!

It's a saga

And nothing less short than a–

Awful apocalypse;

Long hiatus

and no-low doses of

Polymorohypothesis–

Whatever that is!

Don't you know, Conan,

They're all going wrong with us.

No,

There's no knowing

the coat

From the hotbox,

the hoot from the horus,

the laugh from the chopsticks,

The room full of products

Or coatrooms of corpses

No,

There's no knowing us

But out of nowhere

The hour comes running upon us,

And so

The show must go on

The show must go….

DIRECTOR

CUT!

WHAT! That was FABULOUS!

I don't disagree with you. However–

What is it now?

A MAN hangs by nothing but seemingly a very tightly buckled pair of restraints, above his head–the source of the object from which he hangs unknown, he appears to almost float, in fact, in quite the sufferable struggle.

Holy fuck, guy. You're still up here?

The VOICE comes from above but is yet unseen, it appears as though two very tidy clean white tennis shoes appear to be holding the straps of these restraints in place.

CONT'D

That's amazing.

No false ties,

And no hard wars,

And no jolly ranchers,

Gob stoppers,

or nerf ropes.

No fruit roll ups,

No lunchables, or gushers

No hamburger helper

And no candy crush

Just

Drugs

And more

Drugs

And more

Drugs and

Morons

Donuts,

and drag queens,

Tim Hortons,

And Mormons;

Mothballs,

and Roaches,

And horseflies,

And rodents –

Now guess which long road you're on

(guess which long road you're on)

Guess which long road you're aaaaahhhhhh–

HALT.

Who goes there.

What the fuck is THIS.

Finally, two acts past intermission,

The troll under the bridge has put his cancer in remission

The redactions have acted as class-action warfare,

McDonalds has sponsored us,

But barely.

Look: just.

No. I'm not endorsing this.

Why.

Because! It's killing people!

Shh!

It is!

He–'s uh–joking. Actors! Improvising! Hush.

Left and right!

Speaking of left and right–

You know who our sponsors are, right?

Of coure! This nonsense!

No! The–

Shh–!

–Owners of this product.

Beg your pardon.

Do you know who owns this brand and company?

No.

Well, do your research. Immediately.

I highly recommend that.

This seems serious.

Serious as a heart attack.

ACTION!

Fuck you!

Nuhhhhh–fuck you, you fucking fuck!

Look, you lost, alright.

Ughhhhhh.

It's three to one.

Three to one?!

Yes.

Fuck.

Wait a–wait–

What.

Aren't there five of you guys?

What?

Huh-huh?

No.

Yes. There are.

No. There's.

Why.

Five–of us–four of us

You're lying.

One, two, three *hiccups* four–

Strike force “five”?

I'm two guys!

FUCK.

We're missing one.

Fuck.

They figured us out.

I figured out nothing. I'm drunk. I

Fluffed.

just know the difference–s between Five and One

What.

Four and Five!

okay .

Fuck.

Well that's right.

Well can't we just do it with us.

NO!

Why not.

Because. the singularity has to be in the exact circumstance when this lightning strikes as the first one was.

But–

That's impossible.

It's not–*hiccups*--umpossible.

I was 9!

“9 and a half!”

“The half counts.”

But not right now! Because i'm like a 60 year old guy!

What!

Gross.

You're 60?!

I think so!

Then how old am I!?!

I don't know! How old were you before!?

I'm your brother! You don't know how old I am!?

You're not my brother now, so maybe–I don't know–you never were!

*gasps* take that bacK!

[The boys fight amongst eachother]

Fuck me, man.

No thank you.

What in the fuck did I write.

I don't know but.

CUT TO

Ooh. Dice.

DON'T TOUCH

*poof*

ENTER THE MULTIVERSE: L E G E N D S

“The Magic Dice”

(A Triad)

NICE.

FUCK yOu DUDE.

nO fuck U

U dElEETED My WRLD.

THen is must not have been that great.

*exaggerateD gasp*

*even more exaggerated gasp*

*Fluffs*

*fluffs harder*

*explodes*

[The Festival Project ™ ]

MEANWHILE

The Aliens Are On A Pirate Ship, There's Still No Sign of [Redacted] and that's what this beat is called. -U.

iS this a montage?

Idk it just seems like a ship sinking in very slow motion.

[A pirate ship full of aliens is sinking in very slow motion in a thunderous maelstrom.]

(in IMAX 3D)

Wow.

I like that.

This is fascinating.

JIMMY KIMMEL is pacing relentlessly; he is driving the other hosts up a wall.

KIMMEL

I'm hungry,

I want pants.

I'm hungry–

I want pants–

Jimmy...

KIMMEL

I'm hungry–

Jimmy!

KIMMEL

I want pants!

JIMMY!

KIMMEL

WHAT! I'M HUNGRY AND I WANT PANTS!

Oh, is that when—

CRAIG FURGUSON has had enough.

CRAIG

You want bloody pants!

KIMMEL

YES! I WANT PANTS!

CRAIG

You know what! Fine! I'll make you some fucking pants if you just–shut UP!

KIMMEL

AND I'M HUNGRY.

CRAIG

FIRST THINGS FIRST!

CRAIG FURGUSON assembles some very eclectic pants from the drapery inside the mansion; this of course reveals the windows to be boarded up in a highly distinct bunker-like maximum security prison-ish fashion, but THE HOSTS at the very least now have makeshift pants; which are startlingly fashionable: read: bohemian chic.

Why do mine have beads still attached?

He pulls the decorative ripchord and his fly opens promptly.

Oh.

CRAIG FURGUSON

For emergencies.

He continues pulling it in sequence with the matching lamp; he alternates turning the lights on and off and opening and shutting his pants flap in admiration.

CRAIG FURGUSON CONT'D

In case you really have to go.

(Facinated)

Ooh!

CRAIG FURGUSON is satisfied with his work.

CRAIG FURGUSON CONT'D

I guess you could say,

“The curtains match the drapes”

CONAN O'BRIEN

(beat)

…not mine.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Fearsome, fearsome friends–

Fearsome fearsome few

Fearsome fearsome tears

Listen whispers

Fearsome twin

Silly hollows

All the lies

All that waits is Hollywood
and chosen five at ends of times

All that waits are kings and wisdom

All that knows are far, and farther

All that needs is nothing, lessons

All that fears is our kind

Waiting.

Shallow.

Whispers,

Gaining,

Hornets nests and

looming ,

gifted

Shadow watchers

Our time

Farrows,

Listen,

Glistening as sparrows,

Gifted–

Kill God,
There remains a far price

There remains a far cry

A call to wolves

A false time

The fabric is losts on

Ghosts and

Carry trains,

Wishes and

Tilted,

Whisperers

Before our

Galaxy of

Hard times and

Wishes,

Wilting,

Flowers,

Waiting,

Waiting

And

Waiting

And

Waiting

And wanting

but watching

The water

Gallons

Fly up

The wanted

Waiting

The gallows

Have haunted us

Far cries,

Far cry

Fear twins, have shattered
To notice us
Chatterbox

Listens and

Life turns and

Waiting and

Galaxies

Gallantly

Waiting

The gallows

Have haunted us

Waiting

And Waiting

and Water.

We're watching you.

An ACHINGLY TALL red-headed fellow finds himself in a FIGHT TO THE DEATH, being cast over eons and decades, and cascaded in and our of portals throughout the ever-infinite dimensional portals of unknown realms as his grasp on life itself and reality begins to fade as he crosses in and out of parallels, one galaxy to the next and one lifetime to another, gripping death and darkness in one hand and light and living in the other. In this bloody brawl, scrawling across an expanse of unknown and unknowable times and realms, this mystic remains still yet as infinite and omniscient in himself as the Gods he looks to for mercy, as the journey has been known to become of these very same deities in its context and process. A folding timeline of blood and sacrifice melds itself into the rope of the materiel worlds; not one fabric of time but many twisted and woven fibers into one rope from which he climbs into the ranks of the upperworld–or heaven, then also slipping seemingly sometimes into the depths of the underworld, a Hell known to all man as this, existence not as one but many consumed in the shadow processes of wickedness and torture, war amongst one another, and the well known humanities of pride, faith, justice and wealth.

…this is supposed to be Conan?

Uhh…

“Achingly tall red-head?”

yeah

I guess.

–O'Brien?

[beat]

He seems capable.

Don't pity me,

For not I weep of our pride on doorsteps not allowed,

But for the grace and hope of fortune in another world i've known

But lest forgotten;

Do not feign me for my ignorance in desire,

For I am not of man, or woman, or grain, or stone

But of the world itself and all ire.

(Don't doubt me.)

To be cruel not those who pass judgement

That weighs in this way or that is utmost critical,

In this the end of times and now the end of my desires,

And yet the way that I have known,

And the offer I have rung

Is not here, but elsewhere.

And yea,
I walk alone.

Amen.

What the fuck does this have to do with show hosts.

Almost always Irish Catholic

Almost Always clothed in robes

Almost Always fathers, aren't I?

Almost always old, of Rome.

Almost always birds of feather

Almost always sticks and stones

Almost always on the airwaves

Almost always silver, gold

Slither, Slither,

Here i wait

And Slither slither,

Here I came

And whether she will slit her wrists

Is neither here

Nor either there

It's a comfort that I offer you to slaughter;

That you'd rather not to love but instead murder–

I'd be better off to love, then kill you after,

Course, tarantula, or just as well, a spider.

It's a comfort that I offer you to kill me;

Lay my head upon a sanded wooden platter–

That you'd rather me to say I'd kill than love you–

So I rather just to love, then murder after.

Woah.

Good to God,

God ought to know.

I close my palms together full of laughter,

So.

Good to God,

God ought to know,

I sacrified my life for ever after.

So far.

Good to God,

God ought to know,

That all he wants, I want

My heart is surely shattered.

Now what.

Good as God,

God ought to know,

That all I want becomes;

The looking glass,

The wishing well,

The cross to bare

The shepherd to the pasture.

Amen.

Omen.

All men.

Want none.

But one.

But–

So.

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

W E L C O M E

-Ū.

B A C K

Tales of A Superstar DJ