[0022.]

Someone help me.

What happened.

What's good bro.

I think deadmau5 is my cat.

Nah.

You're serious?

I'm…deadfuckingnserious.

What makes you think that?

[cat is deadmau5]

lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing

All you really want is for like, one man to like ,

Just like you,

But dudes are notorious for like—

Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person?

Like dudes like everyone

They are notorious whoooores.

The like everybody.

The older I get like the worse it gets

Like here's this guy I like

And I pretty much mostly just like him

But then like,

Look at all these girls!

Fuuuuck that!

NICOLE BYER

OH LOOK. ITS DUM-DUM!

this is because I keep forgetting you, isn't it?

NICOLE BYER

Yes it IS.

this might actually be my favorite part of the story.

BLŪ is taking a shower when suddenly—

NICOLE BYER appears out of nowhere.

HEY DUM-DUM.

JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity.

Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray.

Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision.

Then again, he always seems sort of...

JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip.

Basking in the wonderful allone ness of solitude and silence, he uncaps a bottle of [insert product placement here] and takes a very hearty swig, letting out a super contended sigh.

…content.

It is a picturesque and perfect day; however, something seems off; just then, as he admires his first catch, hanging from the line over the bow, a GIANT SHARK appears out of the water, snapping up his catch and retreating into the abyss with a thunderous SPLASH. Dripping with dismay (and lots of water) JIMMY KIMMEL explodes with an equally thunderous rage.

WHAT THE FUCK!

He teeters, sopping wet to the edge of the boat, peering momentarily into the rippling water before he realizes it may not be safe, and in the same glimpse from the side of his squinted unrelentlessly still glistening eyes, realizes that this shark has knocked over and spilled his entire bottle of [insert product placement here]

He confusedly and exasperatedly cries out and upward into the skies—.

THIS IS A LAKE!!!

Just a note to remember that I finally perfected my recipe for the absolute best vegan breakfast burrito just previously to writing this.

It was delicious.

Yes, it was.

I—

Oh, my god!

Parallels, remember!

No!

(Suddenly eating a burrito)

Your memory sucks!

It has to.

Isn't it all in the culture?

I don't know what you're all on about

Turned it all on, now i'm off, man

Turned it all off, but I laid here for it–

Tuned it around,

And I payed her for it!

How's

That

Now

For an awful apocalypse

All on the top of the grant

And the ground

And the landmine

The top of the mountain

The tip of the iceberg

the tell of the tails

And tails of the sweet custom made to order

Suits and ties

Of course

don't rock the boat

If you know its yours!

JIMMY KIMMEL stares into the distance as baby shark blares over the common room television screen–he appears to be babysitting, but his look is so far off, you wouldn't know he was in the room. The baby shark song seems to drum up some uncomfortable memories from fishing over the weekend. He squints with disdain over the incident with a weary glean in his eyes; this is not something you discuss with other people.

Isn't it all in the coat tails?

It's toxic, but i've never been a model

Or even wanted, so

What are all the hot blondes at the office on about?

You wanted the host of the talk show,

And woke up to croissants and roses, orange juice

and probable cause for your lawsuit,

But in the moment you loved it

So what's everyone on about?

Isn't it all in the cufflinks?

The stuff you don't tell to your home folks;

The homegrown and midwestern corn folks,

Discussing your show over corn flakes?

So what's everyone on about?

Let us just be honest,

I didn't know how deep it was

Until i opened up pandoras box,

And thought,

“What the fuck,

I've found a horxcrux.”

I've found a goldmine,

I've got the fox and the hare all in one here,

What a show host

What a conundrum,

What a construct,

What a hopeless homonid

What a heart to want nothing but

To put the top

Back on the box

And walk away

Unknowing all

Of what I saw

–Middle Days.

There's no Tonight Show where I'm from

No late night,

And no radio hosts

No television,

no songs

No one to lead us on

And then to no where

No one to cut us off

Before the road opens

No one to

Stop us at the railroad enclosures

And no one at all

named Love

Don't you know that the idea of all of you at all

Is just so comfortable, mountain or a horse?

Capable and strong?

Don't you know the mold of you has sunk into my heart

And formed a hole

Where all the world will go,

When i'm no longer mourning?

Are you sure you want to–

No.

Not at all?

I already did!

But I saw this thing–

Don't tell me about my death.

But you were there.

That's the thing, actually, you're not understanding–

I wasn't.

But–

Quite possibly everyone and everything around me–

Possibly even, or most probably, everything ever–

But I promise, Jimmy, if that is even your name–

It isn't–

exactly. Everything happening–or unhappening in the moment–

was

everything but me.

But–

Goodbye!

But–

Goodbye, I said!

I told you it was a deathtrap.

That lady is crazy.

I'm telling you, have faith! It makes sense.

It doesn't make sense!

It does make sense.

It's just random–gibberish.

Its absolutely ludicrous, Jimmy. She's crazy!

You're youre right; it is ludicrous, actually, but listen to me—

I'm finished listening.

Yeah. I think i've heard about enough.

But you haven't heard anything!

I have now what I needed to know.

But these writings…

We'll take it from here, Jim.

[The suits walk away.]

I hope you're flame retardant.

I ought to be by now, i guess.

Double check your coverage.

How'd that go.

As expected.

At least you expected it.

There isn't anything around here I haven't been expecting lately. I mean.

V.O.

I've been working here for over twenty years…

At least you're not being haunted by ghosts or anything.

[The irony is in that yes, actually, he is talking to a ghost.]

I get it

(ripped apart)

He's in the music

away

and carrying with it

–you're on!

A signal,

A ghost–

A sacrifice,

A ritual,

you're on again,

Then off again

The pitter patter of the

dismissive members of

Upper society,

High ranking elitists

And businussmen

whom you admire astonishingly

Despite discomfort,

Whom, happen to no doubt

Disapprove of you by nature

And yet,

Are also drawn

To your own power

Circumstance

Judgement

Morals

Traditions

Honors,

Representatives of the establishment

The state

(no longer a democracy)

Repression–

All in writer's room revisions

What happened?

I haven't kept it safe or sacred

One tear over

Only out the left eye

Listen, the marytr

I opened a death trap
I opened my widened mind

To the unknown and impossible,

Swallowed it whole with the lot of you

I died with knowing only the lowest of the totem pole

And yet, low and behold

Now, I rise to the top,

And such is known that without the bottom,

The whole log topples over.

Oh wow. I'm famous.

Yes, and?

It kind of hurts.

Eventually that goes away.

What a sensation.

It's always there. You just stop feeling it.

It lingers in on a sunday night,

And at most on the full moon,

no wolves howling;

It sets in in the bunny ears

atop the chatterbox

In the kitchen, where

It outshines us, from the other room

On the radio tower,

Where in time

the vines have climbed

And now flower bloom

In silent golden era tunes,

The tombs of all our knowledge and our light

To fade with every passing hour here

Goodnight, my son

I do not want to know you

Goodbye, my father,

I do not want to rust

And again I wake in the pain and lure of autumn

To never known a summer song,

And ponder on the dusk

It lingers deep on Sunday evening,

Setting hard on Monday morn,

and though i write so fond of JImmy

I dare often dream of Lorne

Chapter Four

Donovan Arnold was a lover and not a fighter. He never much had to come up against any kind of battle, either, because he was quite prone to always getting exactly what he wanted.

Louis Greenworth was not merely a friendly rival—but a challenge, and the two came head to heat in various bouts and brawls in their time at The Summit, where most if not many collide with one another for fortune, and in gratitude that there they had been chosen for greater purpose.

Something told me not too far on that Donovan had many to will and tricks up his sleeve without showing it, and in Louis's visions, he cautioned that I should be wary—although, in the rarer and flickering lights of Donovan's knowing and unknown, I should be careful of Louis and his corners.

Then, there wasn't a force amongst us which would lightly convey Louis—his doings and his shadows were dark--which is why I had been fashioned to it, and the powerful man he was beared such a heavy weight on all the world around him that he was nothing less than a storm to weather in total.

Then, Donovan was such the luck and clever, loving sprite, that his wit and charm was assuring to my embark; there was no way of truly ever waning in the way that Donovan had winged his way into the arrangement in his favor, but at the very least— disappointing his approval would gain no absolute pleasure beyond the astonishing dissonance of loyalty.

Then, there were keepers surrounding the might and the truth of The force that the shadows could not bare— there were times and marks and truths beyond the summit that were merely a facet of the things in the beyond, and in the way that The Source rules over its keepers, and its knowings—there was hardly any way for the niceties of pride, judgment most often throwing its way between dear Donovan Arnold and I.

There was no nose that could t smell the stench if the foul odor that the rot of betrayal had done.

The way of Donovan was seeking to know, without keeping or honor of heart—and I could not withstand another deep wound in the pit of my own truth.

They called him Donovan Arnold Palmer because he made a mean Long Island iced tea— which of course he attributed to his affluent east coast heritage, hailing from a long line of the posh and uptight standard boys and girls of the fools and good old days.

A clean cut brown nose and absolute stickler for circumstance and dedication, his placement within these sacred places was vanity, first and foremost—and with a sense of tradition and pride he carried on in the way any man would, with great relief that the world didn't rest on his shoulders the way it did on Louis— then, nothing really rested on anyone the way it did in Louis Greenworth.

chapter 5

The gifted saint of revelations

“Did he hurt you?”

I looked away without knowing where to look at all but down, my body aching with the waves of having been pressed and clutched against the spirals of time.

The things I pretend not to know.

“Who?”

Genie seemed disappointed but still, patiently coaxing me with the comfort of his warmth— calling my eyes and looking deeply into the soul. I was petrified

“What happened?”, he persists.

“I don't know what your talking about.” , I mumble guiltily.

He pauses for a moment as if he knows the depth of it— somewhere inside of me I know he knows, and behind me my mind is reeling and screaming, like a desperate unearthed fortune of unknown. Barely breathing, and shallow in the dark of the luminescence of the moonlight night, my loyalty overwhelms my pride and brotherhood.

“What did he say?” Now his eyes fill with the pain and begging for the mercy of truth, as he whispers almost with a whimper, even in his strength and grace.

In all those prayers not once had I even the ounce of nerve to think that he had uttered my name— now looking into him but huddled under him in heaps and ruins, I could not remember a time more when I wanted to disacknowledge the unknown and send a heap of words into the capes and canyons of his holy ears, though these things I knew for any time but especially this, I could never speak.

“He who?”

I can't wake up,

I'm a rockstar

Can't wash it off

And I'm just so high on drugs

That no matter the cost

I just don't want to come down

Don't want to want you anymore

Relax.

Think about it never or none

And wonder what the world becomes when

Weather tides and moon songs are no more

Remember, then the dolphin

And temperament to want what of course

All of us covet

But still, waking up in a dungeon.

What a curse.

Also, however

What a cure, as you wander up

The slithering road that parts

Los Angeles from all the north of her

Southern coast,

If you want specifics

The Pacific is at most

And much admires

Where you are,

No matter how far you wander

I want

And

I get

I'm a rockstar.

Maybe after all those times

Being just the girl that all might have died to have been

And getting mad over it

You wake up to find yourself

A stalker

Who doesn't

Leave the apartment

And just watches the come up

Of the songbird

Who just wishes

She had've gone

To Harvard

Not for law school

But the arts,

You know

You lost a fortune

That wasn't clever

You wrote a hospital long report

And look what you got!

A suffix

And later on an honorary doctorate

But look at Letterman

Hardly recognizable

And after all

The stopwatch just starts over at one

Doesn't it

Doesn't it?

I'm a rockstar

And what you wanted

Was no subtle front

But a surfboard and a ping pong table

Writing your fables in the quiet of the night

With the ocean steady lapping under the docks

And not

Collapsing her whole structure

What a thunderous wave

If you think it's time

Then you haven't caved yet

I offer all the pleasures of the golden science

And as alchemy concerned

Its really only valuable on this planet

As it stands the liquid gold mines here

Haven't budged an ounce—

There's an overflow of all you've ever wanted

With a pungent odor

Or wrongdoing done

And lemonade

To pucker

And to ponder over

S'mores for supper, anyone?

I thought not

-KR.

{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.

[0022.]

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