Episodes

  • {Happy Accidents Set #666}

    {Happy Accidents Set #666}
    Jul 17 2025
    If this is a vault, I could get ambushed– If it were a parking lot, Then I could get robbed My plate was a lot, But i'm going back for seconds; Well, I walked right into that one It'll take awhile to work its way into words But for now, i'm still heart being hurt Does your stomach hurt? Did your eyes go wrong? No! I got hot all over, Wrote words to a song Worese is, I don't think Anything under the sun And all of esoterics Really string along the whole hypothesis I hope I off myself You can save for the car in the lot You can purchase the clothes on the rack But to know what you want, And just cant have? Like a lock on a door To a home you don't own Nor can you afford. Theres no comfort there. In fact, Much like mother-son abandonment; Unintentional on all behalfs. Perhaps i could cut the time in half Perhaps i cut cut my elbow off Perhaps i'm a dunce What an awful haircut Now I'm a loose end? I guess that's better than a tied knot This sad song is no loose synths But it costs two cents And it's full of resentments I meant it, This is hard work Sentiments The smell of mints and cinnamon ALERT: WARNING! REVERSE QUANTUM SIMULATION THEORY IN EFFECT I'm still in the knock offs and riff with residual memory. You meant it I have an office full of blank checks I slipped three fingers In his breast coat pocket, And don't you know what i discovered at the bottom An oval Don't open it Oh look, a portal to another world. Please, don't touch that. Touch what. Yo, we are fucked. We are so So as much as you say I have memories You might as well have just filled my head with these dilemmas and politics What a horrific incident The jump off What a trough full of horses and numbers! My belief is in the sweet amenities My grief is in the reasons for believing No kitchen to cook in My hair all pulled out Bloodshot eyes And you're right I might as well kill myself in this apartment While I still have it You're right I shit my eyelids over my hindsight Scary people In scary places Doing scary things For scary reasons So what's a delusion When all the world is grandiose? What's the point of a walk In the wrong body? What's the point of being a showrunner When there's already Quinta Brunson And everybody seems to love her Now I don't know what show i'm on Or what I'm on about I have a headache And a very hard time Wrapping my head around it I'm thinking of four songs And a number Can you guess even one of them? What's this one on? God, or Amazon? I don't know, But i'm sorry. I'm so sorry. [The Festival Project ™ ] 7 Spades Seven days later Seven fake deaths Seven stories high 7H Rockefeller Plaza 7 Names Same bitch Main frame Mother nature Same demeanor Technicalities take place Sunny spaces Nominations, Nicaragua, Water caves, and Stop chasing waterfalls And showhosts You know they hate you. Same old Different day Saint Monica And whatername And Joan of Ark and Sacred satan Listen, Linda 2-4-6-8 TEN. AH FUCK. THAT'S EVERYONE THEN? EYES. WE MADE IT. WE MADE IT. OH THANK THE– DEVIL WORSHIPPER! I–WhaT? YOu–YOU LIT THE CANDLE! I THOUGHT HE WAS A VIRGIN. YOU THOUGHT I WAS A VIRGIN? –looked like it! *gasps exaggeratedly, very offended* “The impenetrable ten” Now, the question is: can I get all ten of these people in a room together at the same time. And the answer is: if you ever do—you'll wish you hadn't. THAT IS OUT OF BOUNDS. How are you even fitting in here? I'm—I didn't. Time is slipping. Time is slipping! YOU SCREWED ME OUT OF A DOODLE! A WHAT! A DOODLE. L E G E N D S To a the end of the era, But wish it was the end of the night By the end of the year I just might be As high as I never am But god knows I am And I know I am High but Sober End of the night, but it might roll over I'll pick you up like a four leave clover I should have never called you I should have never ever lover to love you Love you I should never come out at night But if I come out at night, Then I'll make it real loud I gues I've just been wondering Like What is my Midnight perfect I've just been wondering Like What is my Midnight Perfect I'm not a midnight Person More like 3 in the morning But I don't love nothing Almost not yet At all, I think in the back of my mind I'm worth it But when I come out I come right back down To nothing I've been wondering, Like What is my Midnight purpose Imm not a midnight Person More like Three in the morning In the Back of my mind I think I'm worth it But when I come out I come right back down To the surface I'm not a midnight Person I'm not a midnight Person I've been wondering about my midnight Purpose If I'm not perfect m You won't love me Just by looking I've been smaller up front Our back I'm big and round And I' know. Around ...
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    1 hr and 4 mins
  • Before The Crash.

    Before The Crash.
    Jul 17 2025
    …We have a weird connection, don't we? The scene was from The Television People, but the image was the clear as day vision of Patrick in a sunlit warehouse somewhere in Manhattan with one of his many lovers—somewhere in my mind, amidst the distractions, I was still trying to formulate the leeways between things I'd already written, and for whatever reason assembling an actual plot for its pilot season. STEPHEN COLBERT enters and unbuttons his suit jacket— in trademark Colbert. This is obviously not something he's doing subconsciously— because just as some bystander on the train engaged the same action, I realized suddenly that I must retrieve some sort of information. STEPHEN COLBERT Drew Barrymore! DREW BARRYMORE seems annoyed, but obliges somewhat politely. DREW BARRYMORE …Colbert. STEPHEN COLBERT I— have an offer you're not gonna refuse. DREW BARRYMORE takes a sip of her fruity drink. DREW BARRYMORE Jesus Christ. The Unforeseen Overture: Navigating Adversity in the Pursuit of Art and Community The rhythm of the electronic music scene pulsed through my veins, a beat I deeply understood and longed to amplify. My vision for the July 11, 2025 event was more than just a party; it was an ambitious undertaking for The Festival Project, Inc.™, an immersive arts installation designed to embody peace, love, unity, and respect within the dance community. This wasn't merely a gig; it was a profound manifestation of my artistic ethos, a crucial step for my non-profit, The Collective Complex ©, and a testament to my dedication to community building through performance. Yet, the week leading up to that date became an unforeseen overture, a discordant prelude that challenged my core values and tested my resolve. The sudden, unprofessional cancellation of the event, shrouded in a symphony of miscommunication and control, forced a deeper understanding of both the industry and my own resilience. What initially felt like a devastating blow transformed into a profound learning experience, a disruption that, though painful, ultimately strengthened my commitment to my artistic path. The first jarring note in this unforeseen overture came with the concealed venue closure. I learned, not through direct communication, but by having to track down the event coordinator on social media, that the very foundation of our event—the venue itself—was in jeopardy. This wasn't just a logistical oversight; it was a profound failure of transparency, a direct contradiction to the collaborative spirit I champion. The shock of having to chase down such critical information was immediate, leaving me feeling disrespected and marginalized, a chilling echo of the systemic gatekeeping I've seen affect so many aspiring artists. What followed was an almost immediate escalation. Hours after the event was belatedly posted as "confirmed" on Resident Advisor, with an incorrect title, my team discovered the ticket link was already canceled. This wasn't a glitch; it felt like an act of deliberate professional sabotage. My team had dedicated countless hours, reaching out to networks and brand sponsors, only to find their efforts rendered moot by a link that was dead on arrival. The emotional toll was immense, a sharp, uncommunicated blow to the meticulous hard work we had poured into this project. It was as if the stage lights had been plunged into darkness without warning, leaving us, the performers, to navigate a sudden, unexpected void. The formal cancellation notification, when it finally arrived on Sunday, felt absurd. The event had already been effectively canceled on RA since Friday night, and I had already made the difficult decision to independently pull the plug due to the egregious lack of communication. Receiving the email, first to a personal address because my professional emails had been blocked—a detail that still baffles me—and then a minute later to my professional one, underscored the profound unresponsiveness and operational deficiencies of the other party. It was a clear demonstration that their actions were consistently behind the curve, creating mounting pressure and uncertainty for everyone involved. The feeling of constantly being one step behind, not due to our own failings but theirs, was demoralizing and deeply frustrating. Amidst this chaotic unraveling, the coordinator leveled a baffling accusation: that my "tone and communication have come across as consistently rude and disrespectful." This was a pivotal moment, a direct challenge to my professional integrity. To be accused of disrespect when I was simply trying to coordinate crucial event logistics with a non-responsive party felt like an insidious form of gaslighting. It wasn't just a disagreement; it was an attempt to undermine my perception of reality, to deflect from their own severe shortcomings by shifting blame onto my proactive efforts. This experience, however, served as a powerful lesson. It cemented my ...
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    4 mins
  • APOCALYPSE: NOW!

    APOCALYPSE: NOW!
    Jul 16 2025
    “Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then beneath the waves, like the quaking shake of a mighty oak anchored elsewhere and tied to the sea. “So you know.” I was hoping he would kill me before the next time I had to ever really know anything. He was the subject, and the predicate The wrong done, and the justice She was the pride and the prejudice But Judas brings the law Did you look in the box? No, I– [The Box Is The Box] –No, I haven't. Nearly three nights ago, a mysterious box arrived on the doorstep of an equally mysterious writer, who spends their time in isolation due to the often unannounced arrival of various ghosts, spirits, time travelers, and other figures by instant teleportation and other magical forms of transportation into their shabby New York apartment. Some of ya'll got so many air wick plug ins and scentci wax melts you don't know you smell like booboo. It's an illusion. You leave your house, You smell like booboo. I promise. Oh, God, I think I need a drink. Are you alright? Let me just–sit down for a second. Of course. My God. What's wrong. Look, i'm not supposed to say anything about this but. What's wrong? It's nothing, I'm just–I'm in a song. …what? A song! Is that all?! You don't understand. It's not a normal kind of song. It's– [takes a puff of inhaler] You wouldn't understand. Well what's so wrong about being in a song? Its not – a regular song–and it's not [gasping] finished! I still kind of wanted to be a comedian–but I knew I wasn't funny in the way that made sense to keep going and stand up there. I was still writing comedy, but I didn't know how to take myself out of it–the truth was, I was in a lot of pain. A lot of emotional pain that was becoming physical–and I didn't know what to do about it to break the barrier of nervousness and blank slate state of feeling the audience's perceptions of me more overwhelmingly than ever feeling myself. look at this song. I know huh. It's purple. Every time. It is purple. And what is that. Like a muted trombone? IS THAT A TROMBONE? Or a tuba? No, it has to be a trombone…becasue you can hear it slide– And that's what that sound is. What a sneaky rabbit. Super sneaky rabbit. So if i can see all this, I'm almost certainly sure the motorcycles outside and the slamming doors are meant to murder me. I'm sure that's what it is. You ever notice how being broke in New York makes you a bad person? Like, if you're broke, you're just automatically shitty. I never meant to be in New York broke. I never meant to be in New York, But I certainly never meant to be here and be poor, Poor in New York? Automatically a shitty person. Despite how you act. You can be a rich piece of shit— But the status is automatically “You got dough? Oh, alright. Carry on” That's the attitude in New York City. Crap people get by cause they got their hands on some money and the rules in New York say it doesn't really matter how you come by it, As long as you come by it. There's no real rules or real laws to it— Just “Get the money” Well god damn. This makes me nervous. I'm an artist. I've tried everything. I didn't mean to be the automatic enemy here. Of course not. But New York is a terrifying place to me, now, Cause I realized I can be a very sweet, very humble, very honest person— And that kind of shit doesn't matter here, really. It brings you no respect to be decent. It's about the money. So I'm a musician— which in New York also makes me like, Automatically not special, And I'm trying to just be a musician, and so naturally, I'm broke. Like broke in half. Like all my bills are late. But music is my solace. So I'm listening to music, And I'm listening to a song that is so beautiful, that I start to cry. The first time I heard it, it made me cry And I'm listening to it over, and it made me cry And it's so beautiful, and God is so beautiful And look at what God did, So I'm crying, And I don't even know what it is about the beauty of it that's making me cry, But it's making me cry, And New York hears me crying And New York goes “I'll give you something to cry about” And I open my email And there's a bill from my landlord reminding me how often I'm talked about due to my late payments— And I'm realizing I've been here two years and I still don't have any money, Even though I've been trying and trying And trying So now I'm crying for other reasons. Thanks a lot, New York. “I'll ...
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    1 hr and 24 mins
  • {Enter The Multiverse} S11002

    {Enter The Multiverse} S11002
    Jul 16 2025
    Every time I take him in I must remember the best thing That have ever happened to him As he said And whether or not the band Wraps around the bent and broken digit I just simply remember that, I'm just infatuated as a friend I mark it like a mantra Just as adequately as the director Calls to action All the actors at the set; With no resentments We're all just doing our jobs All just doing our jobs We're all just doing our… Lessons. Come back. Not quite. It's not (Uh) There (Where you want it) Hold on. (Yeah) Sit tight (Where) I don't want to spoil any of it Boil all the letters Burning all the bridges Sitting at the forest (Where) There's the alter (Where) Really you didn't recognize The moment when it happened But it's been pinpointed (Where) —but where is it? Cut to commercial But don't let it hurt you All of a sudden. My eyes aren't his, This isn't witchcraft It's just a glitch Did you miss an interview? Or is it that you're just disinterested Or disintegrated Integration, integers and interference Running backs and runners, Gymnasts, models, other lovers Alcoholics Now it's not so daunting, comic I'm also sort of off and autistic Obsessive with narrow vision But glimpses of the ever bending present Is indeed a gift To know I left the letter Letting it get soaking wet Before they ever even read it Know the news, Wave the wand, Wind the whales, Dig the hole Burn the bridge, Burn the ace Throw the cards, Get the day over with and won't you know There's Something wrong I think it's simple to tell The wind will whistle when It's good to win again There are Ten men to a collar Ten phones to a number One call to a voicemail And all of them know her Now, take it all back before the bathwater stagnates Would you make it in this day and age? No, I'm glad that you hate me. 4,000 years later and all of a sudden The pact is clear and concise As if As it As if Turn it on its head a bit And light another candle Get the glitch out of your Obsession with the asshole And wrap you head around it Found a sweater Pick it up and pray that it just Isn't bewitched, But sickness is sickness Whatever it is This is comfort food A comfort blanket If I hate myself enough Then all it does Is put the elf back on the shelf The trophy back inside the case My eyes go back inside my head And everything I ever thought Just stopped And disappears into the heavens Wherever it goes Before the gore Around and and around and around and around 4,000 years, and now we're here: The mirrors Man and Mr. And it might be another million years Until I see to hear But this and that, The dance of dances Comes again And ebbs and flows It's not as random As it is sporadic And it's not that deep But it's also keeping secrets That precede this realm Or Space and time Or name or face And body, souls and mind. It could be another million years, But it comes around, It comes around It could be getting wider, But it's steady going down and out It comes around when it comes around 27, were it ended Now it's umpteen years into the after life And we're shadows now Just projections of such, But it wasn't once More than just a thought, Becomes a story All the world was just the thought And then a song, The dance that came along Is simply steady moving Is simple steady moving. All of the world, Was just a thought. Watch with one eye open only First the right And then the left Covered over with one closed palm So you know how old you go One foot forward And no coals to walk over Rolling rolling, Your role is One off, Now too off Now too late But what you process Is your whole world over The goal for the gold? Oh, no, Warm Sundays Try to warn her While her heart is open To fucking close it Keep your friends close And your Fallons closer. There's no trust in the golden auras There's no honor in golden globes If you don't work for them Know doors open and close And open and close And you don't blow smoke, But you just keep moving forward [The Festival Project ™ ] Just the idea if him will kill you Whether with guilt or otherwise, And now you know And now you know You're on no sugar till the goal You got your cake and ate it, too Oh, the way he cries in the confines of my mind The blood would curdle The tears that seared my soul disk through the wall with every color If his was a shoulder to cry on, If God was a cover for longing Yo. Where the fuck did Patrick come from? He just showed up. I don't think he owns me so much As I want to know I don't think I'm lonely As much as it's I'm alone What are you looking at Well, I don't know yet What are you asking? I can't. There's a mask there What I want to know is, What is this pain? What is this pain in him? What is this pain in this? What kind of psychic sense That lives in my back; I just hope that's the last of it What a ...
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    23 mins
  • off rhythm laughter. [the c o l o r s edition]

    off rhythm laughter. [the c o l o r s edition]
    Jul 16 2025
    [The Festival Project ™ ] Look, I've got some… time. How much time we talking? Enough. Alright, what's that make us? A deal. Alright. But you have to be quiet about it. Body is a minimum concern But accolades, achievements, Education— If you want to know, A billion's the goal— There's a goldmine full of pretty, perfect women But what are you worth, And where is your value What are you, earth, sir? Where are your manners, and What are your limits, And who are your partners— The son is the prize, And the reward, A daughter Now what are you on? I still don't know what you're on about. The show of the shelf life is done, And finally, All the hazards are uncrossed You know what you've done And you know what to do And you know who you are And you know what you want So the time for the gripping Has come down upon us The seams that are ripping Are nothing short of humongous How's that for a tadpole to a whole frog!? Watch it, turtle monster Before I put you down to run, And forgot what I had before Besides a gun And a habit to write And a real dark home And indeed, the words were also dark But written golden Golden shark Upon a park bench Put you back but don't you know To take a flash drive from a DJ Is much like Stealing a surfer's wetsuit It just like, Bad karma, man It's bad karma, Mark . I wrote— a passbook— where is it? You wrote— what? Where is it? Mi wrote it! Where is it? Wrote what? I wrote everything! I don't remember writing any [passbook] I'm a writer! A writer?! Oh, come on, Jimmy! Don't “Jimmy” me! You're starting to sound like… Wait a minute. Ah. Tina?! Don't be angry! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! I knew It! You didn't know anything, you were yelling at me like I'm that old lady! You are that old lady! *hugely gasps* DREW BARRYMORE Oh, you are so exorbitantly fucked. Where is she?! You have a— habit of always asking me these things before I really know the answer lately. Where's the scribe!? Is that who she is? You are supposed to be my predecessor! Stop being angry! I'm—very upset— And let go of me. This is aging me. Rapidly. Yay. Listen, I don't know what the fuck I said but— I need a liaison. For what exactly. Anything, apparently. Oh shit. The crazy thing about this one is— Yo Tina Fey is an almost elitist sort of shapeshifter. She's so sub —fuck. [—bliminal with it.] Someone keeps interfering with my signal. They can do that. They can broadcast Saturday night live to the entire world from the top of the World Trade Center, they can do anything. That's perfect— telemetry! Or just— telepathy. In a not so far dimension for continuity piurposes. J.Pierpoint Morgan— No, not yet, Oh okay. THE STRIKE FORCE FIVE have gathered in an office with a collection of other HOSTS. JIMMY FALLON sits leaned back on the couch in an unassuming hoodie, with the hood pulled over his face. He seems younger than usual, and somewhat bored. I knew his hair wasn't falling out anytime soon— —damn those genetics— So still I slowly but carefully salt and peppered each and every streaking strand that sprung forth from his wisdom. Hahaha! Yo. Crazy. Somebody needs to kill this bitch. It's too late. She can't be stopped! No! What! Crazy. She's… too powerful. I agree. I sort of accepted the relative silence in my apartment as if they'd gotten what they wanted— seeing Aliocha's number over and over as a way to succumb eventually to my inherent death— and at least then there would be peace. As it were, I was enjoying my time reading the New Testament Psalms above any of my other reading materials, which included a book on music business and even a portfolio of festival stages; this seemed of no mere coincidence, but as if of course the books were placed in my path within time that i'd find them returning from my radio show–and I did. But more fascinating than any book on the music business, or seduction, or the laws of human nature, or the art of war, was a hotel copy of the new testament, to which I took an immediate liking, with the understanding of this religious texts translations that I supposed writing almost seemingly endlesslessly myself had simplified. It seemed less boring than the last time I'd read it–and then again, the last time i'd read it, it wasn't as deliberately poignant as it sat now in the palm of my hands. I spent more time with it than the other books, although I loved Robert Greene, and even though i'd had the art of seduction on repeat by way of audio book, reading it through now seemed almost disturbing in nature, because on so many levels, there wasn't a time in my life where I could think to that this art didn't apply. Indeed, I was a true romantic, and then had in a way obliged myself to be seduced over and ...
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    4 mins
  • [0022.]

    [0022.]
    Jul 16 2025
    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 ...
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    1 hr and 12 mins
  • FR3AKY FRÏDAYS w/-Ū. 005.

    FR3AKY FRÏDAYS w/-Ū. 005.
    Jul 15 2025
    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 pictures 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 ...
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    2 hrs and 1 min
  • kürūkámä.

    kürūkámä.
    Jul 12 2025

    It was surreal, I was off the grid and in airplane mode, and completely lost without giving a care

    I was so frustrated that I just kept waking.

    Just when I started to seriously consider suicide, with the exact timing of my thoughts reaching the logistical point that ‘there was really nothing let in the world for me'— then it appeared right before my eyes; as if it had just sprung up in my path.

    I wasn't worried that I was lost, or even panicking in a suicidal spiral, I just thought to myself —

    “It's really time to go.”

    Then, the radio tower, which looked something like a sigil that had been appearing to me over and over. It made no other kind of sense; my phone wasn't connected to the internet, nor was maps installed; my location was off and in lockdown mode, and I knew I had missed the turn for Whole Foods… and just kept walking.

    In airplane mode, listening to heavy rock, wondering why I should even try at anything at all when…

    Suddenly i realized It was a radio station. I didn't know what kind of music, but it didn't matter— I had music in all the genres.

    And though it was with intense irony that I had pretty much entirely given up on DJing, especially for the moment— here was this, something I just stumbled upon after walking what seemed pretty aimlessly into an almost suicidal frame of mind— not unheard of.

    My apartment was a hellscape and walking around Brooklyn was not much difference, besides that I was in the noise rather than on top of it. Either way, it was so exact I couldn't tell whether it happened before or at the same time, almost as if the universe's response to my logical needing to just kill muself off before it could get any worse was this thing I had very recently, pretty much entirely meaningfully abandoned. Trying to be a DJ.

    Was I trying?

    {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.

    Copyright © The Festival Project, Inc. ™ |

    Copyright The Complex Collective © 2019-2025 ™ All Rights Reserved.

    -Ū.
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    5 mins