Seasons EP Part II- Spring//Summer. (c o l o r s)

I'm thinking maybe we should end tonight early, while everything's still on a high note. You call that a high note. Everything is high to me. You said it, not me. You may as well have said it. I supplemented it. You, Are a temporary fix for a permanent problem Art on my wall, And a star on my walk— A room full of boredom, A clause in a contract No more than just Four words, All of four letters, All perfect. Why the pause? I've been Looking at this show As if it were a box of darkness Waiting to be unlodged From my corpse, Or rather, even Sarcophagus, As it were, The words and characters had formed Over me, more like a storm Though I had submerged under the surface Only to learn that I had Learned that somehow I could breathe under water And stay there forever, If I wanted, A shadow of showmanship, The fear of being further pursecuted For having infinitely discovered such inspiration In such an offhand Person Sure, not as eloquent as my usual entries, But this soliloquy, I beg of you— Is more of syllables You see? I have hatred in my heart That has flowered into my mind As some sort of algorithmic cursemark Where hereunto Even Google taunts me; Reminding me of my own failure, Sure of all my debts, Ugliness, and lack of money Assuring that I will Probably never Make it in show business. I'm drained just sitting here, still and surrounded by The working clsss cotezens Who parade around as if Doing something noteworthy By feeding the machine And playing along With the recfomensations Of doctors Sponsored by pharmaceutical companies And invested in politicians With racist policies and intentions To exterminate psychologically Only the brownest and brazen enough To know better than To follow the orders of A robotic and problematic —I'll stop you there It's three syllables. What are they I'll think on it under warm water And hope that this 8 year old scar Is unswollen By nightfall tomorrow. —it's a curse, or what? No, it's the government . The laws of karma affect all power and control beyond a magicians natural limitations and inhibitions. Just for shits and giggles, They planted the demons The shamans, And all of the actors They bought out The psychological terrorism Began when she had indeed Fallen by his hand— A fist at best But may have as well been The bullet of a gun. She spoke openly of social reform And affordable housing, Equality, And economically priced produce. —so they tried to murder her— On numerous occasions But couldn't. They started a war With a mother Who never believed in nothing And had lost Children To God itself. They waged war with an army of robots Using telephone service And terms of agreement They sent stalkers Who spoke of shamans And acted like demons Agents who Remembered The names of people Past And present None forgotten Witnesses to what had happened Burned notebooks And credibility clauses. God never forgot her But often brought warnings Of those that had come for her They painted a picture of mental illness and poverty, And with every hope, Forced the suicide Knowing that she'd leave her son a fortune— —but had not known, The gold was of the fools type— As was his father. The barrel of the gun Was the punching bag And the thinking horns The slamming doors $49 Dollar whores And interceptions of brainwaves The assasination Was purely a psychological thriller— The will had an omen That no money Would fall to the hands of The man Who had hurt her In front of her sons. So the world went on Without a mother Or without a God As they all had worshipped The opposite for so long That true love Has become Obsolete —like an old iPhone With a broken screen As a metaphore For generation Z Her body was the equivalent Of the thing you don't need But once used daily And couldn't have gone anywhere Without it A suicide seemed The only way To escape the debt And the only thing She used to love Was music Now, Just like her son It was just a job— And the worst part was Both things Cost too much To afford it The legend continues With having to record everything— When the recording stops The world attacks And anxiety takes over everything Once she starts to sing The people start coughing The lights start flashing The doors start slamming And the name of her son's father Whispers over and over Like the sound of her mother popping gum And sighing eggaderatedly in agony. It's a competition On a planet With 8 billion people Who all believe that (((Whatever they believe)) And it must be true. It's a competition On a planet With I billion people Who all believe that (((God))) It must be -Ū. I didn't come here to be a messiah Or leave tire marks With my scuffed up Nikes Rounding the corner Out of Whole Foods market Like I stole something Only to come Back to the office To be greeted by shopping carts full of garbage Bad music on low quality speakers And trash under All of the ugly parked cars On the sidewalk White girls will boycott this series Because of how honest I am About how toxic they are With their microexpressions And arrogance In public. (It's just race-relations.) Where am I?! Apparently, I'm a vegetable in a coma. Right… So you won't just mind if I— No, not at all. Focus shifting is an aspect of multidimentionality in which a subject becomes perceptionally hyper focused with a seperate intention from previous projects or interests in order to better develop the consistency and understanding of the overal idea or process of creating, designing, building, or adding to various tasks and projects, with the overall realization that focus shifting to enhance the quality or oucome of one process may increase the likelihood of success in another— a more long-term of understanding multitasking, the in depth nature of focus shifting requires the extention of a project within the circumstantial purpose of completing or building on another, with the intention to return to the original task or subject with further tools, understanding, and conceptual awareness of the completed concept on a broad spectrum. vent, baby keem (Happy Accidents Remix) {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.