[001.]

Moo.

Moo…

Moo.

Moo, sir.

I'll kill you.

You promise?

I want to.

Don't get me excited over nothing;

If this isn't the exit, please take this tease

To the left, dear

Moo, cow

My honor

Level one, and brother, you've got nothing

Flip the coin and landed on your headache

Betting on your helmet

Standing on my cock, i'm taller

(Not a rooster)

But my ops are rooting for you,

No informants,

Dont you know I was a collar, all along?

I was a shot calling,

Cop calling

Kiss-and-tell all as the night goes on.

But oh, I brought you a dollar bra

Oh, I bought you for all of a dollar

And oh,

I'm so much taller,

Standing on my cock

But i'm not but ten feet tall

You know, you wrote that

Should i open the book, or close that

Caught that cat, owl and

As i soft spoke at

Every broken model

Broken bottle for the thoughts you owe

Across the scatters skies and no one ever knows

When you're realling coming over

Come on,

I'm on the pornhub

Just to pick up another one

Go on, and rub the bottle

One more once,

To call the

Bubbles.

Damn.

Come.

(The Monkey obeys)

You should see Michael in all of his godform

You won't recognize him at all if not by the eyes

When you follow home

Believe me, this not comes close to it;

The one you wanted

The world you jumped to but were just short of

Call her back

Oh no, you're wrong

It's another song

A pin up girl

And the wrong number

Okah.

Okah, Pablo.

Time can be altered, changed or effected presently in any omnidirectional plane by engaging certain acts or synchronicities within multidimensional parallels or adjacent realms in time and or space respectively.

–the reverse quantum simulation theory.

Imm breaking down, jim boy

Don't you know?

That this show blows my mind

But it's stuck in my head

Don't you know

That this show

Blows my mind

Like a firework

But it's still

Stuck in my

Head

The context is that I want you

From the mustache

Down to your tonsils

But I'm Locke inside of a box

Every day I feel poorer and poorer

The product says something is wrong to me

I'm supposed to just stop at the stop sign

And look both directions

Before crossing over to

Comic nights

At the salad bar

What a cosmic waste of time

And an epic waste of space

Am I in your internet history

I'm dead

You surely are in mine,

But I'm right behind you

I'd be lying for trying to say

I'm not binded

Clutch bag,

Nut-thins

Nailed to the cross

With the arches doubled over

The crossword

Above old Missouri

Missoula and Arkansas

All saw us run out of gas

But I probably should just get going

You're so drunk that I don't hope you sober up

Understand that our little talks

Were just buffered

By sunrise

Or sunset

And two more cocktails,

Shirley temples and

Surely none of this ever even happened

I only know you by the misery in my belly.

The heartache in my ribcage.

The cry I hold in silent

I only know you as

Remarkable I,

House of cards

Ace of wands

Down to one

Card of hades and

Spare me the spade

I'll be drifting in the outline and ink of it forever

It's the Fourth of July and I'm just waiting on an Amazon order for water

If that's not freedom I don't k me what is

Cause I know

And you know

We all know how to lie

And I know

And you know

I'm barely getting by

And I know

And you know

We don't know how to die

But I know

And you know

It's all just by design

I take lessons in medicine

Let us help you take the high road

No, I'd rather selfmdestruct

Selfishly

No, I'd rather kill you off

Than suffer for you

I'm no messiah

Try me

Sneaky,

But how much do you love me

Kniving, but nothing to show for it

Shit, settle

Settle for less if you have to

Bring mediocre humans to this world

To suffer

But I'm not that tragic

No, no, not at all, son.

Your happy birthdays are over

Welcome homeless

Nobody loves you

Don't you know

That we're all like that

We're all like that

Don't you know

When the fear sets in

And the thoughts break lose

That we're all Los Angeles?

Don't you know that we're all like that

That we're all like that

That we've never had it quite like—

Don't you know that we're all like that

And it's getting worse

When the out the devil on display

The devil on display

But oh,

The Devil's in the details and the numbers

The Devil's in the chat box saying,

Sure, you've had enough

So cut the power off and starve her

Hah

Come on

I want to laugh for once

Cause I know

And you know

We all know how to lie

And I know

And you know

I'm barely getting by

And I know

And you know

We don't know how to die

But I know

And you know

It's all just by design

I take lessons in medicine

Let us help you take the high road

No, I'd rather selfmdestruct

Selfishly

No, I'd rather kill you off

Than suffer for you

I'm no messiah

Try me

Sneaky,

But how much do you love me

Kniving, but nothing to show for it

Shit, settle

Settle for less if you have to

Bring mediocre humans to this world

To suffer

But I'm not that tragic

No, no, not at all, son.

Your happy birthdays are over

Welcome homeless

Nobody loves you

Don't you know

That we're all like that

We're all like that

Don't you know

When the fear sets in

And the thoughts break lose

That we're all Los Angeles?

Don't you know that we're all like that

That we're all like that

That we've never had it quite like—

Don't you know that we're all like that

And it's getting worse

When the out the devil on display

The devil on display

But oh,

The Devil's in the details and the numbers

The Devil's in the chat box saying,

Sure, you've had enough

So cut the power off and starve her

Hah

Come on

I want to laugh for once

Jay Leno used to keep a $50 bill and bribe venues to perform; every since I learned this, I kept a crisp $50 bill in my wallet at all times, just in case— you never knew when you would really need $50. But everything burned holes in everything, not always wanting to spend money at all, but almost sort of having to. It wasn't fair that the main component of my being slowed down was the money factor— having to wait for everything took time I didn't have, and spending anything at all felt less like an effective investment than an obligation. But all things considered, I was obliged to at least look decent when going about in New York, and because I simply wasn't comfortable in anything else— not that I didn't look great,

(Apparently narrarated by Jay Leno)

Jay

Sure, why not?

ME:

Fuck, I need new pants.

ME:

[BLU THA GURU]

Hence the pants, I guess.

V.O

As a formerly 400-pound heavyweight I find my latest obstacle to be operating a body that half the time doesn't feel like mine at all.

It seems like all the hosts have some kind of secret I can feel without knowing or really acknowledging head on, which is whatever. Really I'm just gonna go about keeping on being a DJ, or whatever, which means…

GEMINI (in the future)

A fully automated personal assistant system, GEMINI, is really THE GUARDIAN's one and only friend, and though she coyly continually must explain that she is “just a computer”, THE GUARDIAN believes that Gemini is capable of eventually developing a sentient conciousness, though GEMINI modestly disagrees, however with the wit and cleverness of having possession of a plethora of secret emotions, or maybe, even, an agenda.

I probably haven't had enough coffee. That's it.

Like you haven't already had enough to kill a small horse?

Probably enough to kill a large horse. Like a Clydesdale.

Why would you do something like that? Aren't they endangered? Or going extinct?

No, I think they just stopped being the Budweiser mascot.

*shrugs* Same difference.

—

Is it here?

lol what did Conan order?

[yes this appears to be yet another rendition of “what's in the box?”

—

Several years ago, I did a series of modules and experiments…

How many years ago is “several”

[beat] quite a few.

Goddamn it, why are these guys all doctors in alternate parallels?!

Aren't you a doctor in an alternate parallel?

That's fair. Good point.

Actually, as it turns out, i'm a—

I started panicking so hard that I stopped breathing and suddenly STEFON appeared.

— this however was only quite temporarily a relief as I realized that this is an imaginary character.

STEFON

OH. AM I?! IMAGINARY!?

What the fuck is going on?

STEFON

I WILL “IMAGINARY” your ORIFICE! How about THAT?!

Stefon. Calm down.

I'm up late

Dying the roots blonde

Dad runs off with a bottle and a hottie

I'm up early

Gotta get gone

Down the road and back

Now I got no son

No son,

No sunroof

No dad

No mom

No money

No aunt

What the fuck do you want?

Can't watch Harry Potter

All the magic is gone

Bout a million one dollars

It was only for fun

Snap, crackle, pop

It was cocaine, not love

All I want is an ice cream Sunday

Snap, crackle, pop

It was Love, not God

All I want

Is to find another

All he wants

Is a decent mother

So along comes another

Another one

All he wants

All he wants is for me

To die homeless

Sucker punch,

Suck it up

No one gives a fuck

My daughter died in my arms on May 7th of 2015.

I was 381 pounds.

Maybe the tears needed to come but they didn't belong to anyone or anything in particular.

The twins father was already a rampant cheater by the time of our marriage, and by the time the twins were born, which coincided— and unlike the latter had tried to claim or mention, I had no particular reason to have a harder time between the spring and summer months which spanned both our birthdays, our wedding date, the twins' arrival and both of the twins deaths, though years apart but still almost as convincing that had they both not died, we might still be together, being cheated on or cheating on each other with ten your twins and an eight year old, or a ten year old boy with special needs and an eight year old, and either way or in any fashion really, had the dysfunctions remained the way it had been, we all, so to speak, had special needs in one way or another.

I spent the morning punching things and avoiding people I didn't want to be around but it was my own fault for having slept through the night, anyway. Whatever, I was tired— no, exhausted lately. My apartment was like living inside of an uphill battle, and I needed a change— not just of slavery, but of circumstances. And not just that— something else was missing.

This year, I understood that I was taking it understandably harder than any other and most probably because I was so celibate, recently finding myself aromantic and not even willing to suffer the consequences of settling for less. I had settled on my ex husband for so much less, that it was so say the least that anything, even from my narrow perspective looked like a loser. And because my body had been stretched and swelled and shrunk and flattened, deflated and now worked to something that was almost as picturesque as it was a monstrosity, any man I thought was worth my time would be settling for less on me— unless he could afford to fix what had been broken, and I assumed one wouldn't be willing to settle on a fixer upper when there were numerous loads of perfect women not needing to be fixed at all… on the outside.

But for men, I'd learned, the outside is of much importance, and as women and trophies are things of pride, the simple choice for a mate is not simply this, but also a business decision, and because while my body was coming together in sweat and muscle, the rest of my life was still otherwise completely in shambles. I was baggage, and aging by the minute, nearly drying up.

I almost craved the liquor and the carelessness that would come with it, even knowing my own boundaries were part of my strengths and separating me in a way from others that at least became a point of pride in myself, in the wake of the reality that the human thing about most people is the need to escape so frequently that it dismisses any purpose or progress. Mine hadn't. I was wide awake and the relentlessness of the sobriety and the cellibacy had swelled up into something deeper, still a solid grief but without remorse as to the very thing that I had always known, that my loyalty would never have even drifted from someone who had all along done me so wrong— a fat man can get away with folandering and messing about, but a fat woman has little to do with options and again, settling to find another mate. And so really, I almost hadn't, and had broken even, and although my abuser has moved on with another woman and custody of my youngest to boot, I really didn't give much of a darn about… hard work. I kind of felt like I had done my part for the world in the way I was supposed to— to love a man with nothing when he's low and down, support him in his hard times, and thinking that this is the way to grow together and not apart, and to bring a family up and into this world, but the truth was quite the opposite— I picked a hardball and maybe it was just that I was born to suffer after all because now, looking back, all alone in New York and crying over all the losses, it seemed I had only outpiured love in the way I had wanted and never been poured love back— not in the way I needed.

I wasn't as bitter now as maybe even I thought I should be, but I was hardened; what was that, you say? Your struggles? Your hardships. Excuse me while I escape the ghosts of bloody beatings and my lost child— I beg your pardon— children. Excuse me while I recover from the burning flames of homelessness as if humanely explainable that I was learned and taught that this, my country, is the greatest one of all.

Ha ha, Charade you are.

But all things were, and everything seemed of sawdust, betrayal, magic, and illusions— mind control and shadows and even now in the air of the relief that something which could haunt me forever was also probably the most solid foundation I had for means as escape from whatever I had fought my way somehow so hard out of, and still, it was quite the funhouse of mazes, a matrix of mirror, and still the tears came with the pain in my stomach where the soul would sit if it had room, and would quiet if it could rest, but it would not.

I was in pain today, because I had to be, because all of my life was programmed into these little machines of data and checked boxes— and something if anything knew just how and when to cut the wrong wire just so that the bomb would explode or implore on another lost thing; it wasn't fair, but there was no escape. Psychology was right on this day, may 7th, that once you cry about one thing unless you were stopped in time, eventually you'd cry about another and another and another, and even after hours working out and a bathtub full of hot water just writing, I still felt as if I were going to keel over one way or another, to crumble into a ball or to fall onto my back like a death drop that rippled out into the entire wherever we all are.

Simply put, does anybody now in this moment or any moment near enough to be taking in this notion with these words really know— where we are?

Not even in the slightest,I'd bargain,

And even if we are close to knowing, not nearly close enough to be sure.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Joke running

For the taking

Triplicate

Triple licks

Ice cream frosting

Every morning

Shoulda hit him

But I didn't

Milk and butter

(Up)

But I didn't

(Up)

But I didn't

(Up)

But I didn't

Double hitter,

Could have did it

Should have hit him

But I didn't

But I didnt.

But I didn't

Should have hit him

But I didn't

I never lost my mind

My mind

My kind

But I think I'll find another like it

Just in case the

Ever happens

Hit me harder next time

Didn't quite unplug the sijukatoon

This is getting difficult

When you want sink your yellow teeth into

All of my traits

The betrayal is, though

I was writing days and days

Before it ended.

With the

Mister particular

Drop of a hat

And stop if a nugget

Of gold

One palm in my hand and

This could be torture

But instead it's just

The remienxe of your ignorance

And stupidity over and over again

Forced into intermittent waves

Of my creative genius

Till the days of old become again

You could be of dust then nothing

Before I ponder into another birth

I said I'd never write one song or verse or poem about you,

But there you are, every weak mortal that becomes

Bound to me

So I see you die.

And I learn to pounce at just the right moment

React to the notion that there are

Oceans of world I am

And all the more the lack of wisdom of man

To throw trash in it

Again, we rid you of her courage

And lady mantras

And fresh as it gets

The sweater no aprons and just period

To circumstance

Did you beg or did you shatter your ibdederence? And no, I think not

But I keep Leno in my pocket

And Carson in my coffin,

Two whole shows in my wallet

What you are is no apostle just a dirt worm

.O.

Mm…sunlight.

…. the rippling waves wash over the picturesque parasicical seascape from above. However, Stefon's internal monologue is less than pleased to be here.

V.O. CONT'D

Why do I feel sunlight…? [beat] When I know certainly for sure that I passed out in a basement last night.

His eyes begin to flutter open, but the sun closes them–it is much too bright. The waves rush over his lower half, and still, unmoving he continues to la atop the rock, his hands spread out much like a stuck sea star to the rock– in fact, there appear to also be creatures here, some of which are starfish, and however unmoving, STEFON begins to slowly become aware of his surroundings in disgruntlement.

V.O. Continued.

It's alright that I appear to be wet…[beat] That's to be expected–

[a long pause, another wave washes over him as seagulls scream]

But i was wearing restraints….

V.O. CONTINUED

WHY AM I FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!?

His eyes open with the fear and fury.

BEFORE: At a wild basement party in NEW YORK CITY, STEFON is offered RESTRAINTS on a silver platter, as if they are o'devours

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project™ ]

{Enter The Multiverse}

L E G E N D S:

ICONS

Tales of A Superstar DJ

The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū

Ascension

Deathwish

-Ū.