The artist reserves all rights to intellectual property maintained and produced by any and all publications of this series and is thereby protected under any applicable copyright law and/or trademark. All fictionalizations of persons living or dead are meant to be perceived as characterized and/or fictional (fan-fiction) are for entertainment purposes only, and are not to be perceived as real re-enactments, dramatizations of events past or present, media dialogues or agendas, or factual exchanges pertaining to and surrounding real-life circumstances. The dialogues and entires expressed in this project are in no way liable for any action, expression, disagreements, entitlements held by the reader at his or her/ their own discretion. I guess any time I try to terminate my state of being, I am annihilated You're really right; this is a death curse You're really right, this is a death curse Any time I try to find my way out, I am exiled You're right, this is a time bomb You're right, I've got my eyes closed Are there any intimate conclusions? Are there any derelictions, or delusions? And redactions or delirium, any infinity? Any fear at all? I hear you now I all bleed blue I'm born to suffer Stuff the earplugs in a little deeper little longer, Then we all get caught in martyrdom Or someone else's story Ooh, you started it Not now, God! He was born and gone in such an instant That I bark to love him First as dog and then as servant Other Master is absolved and yet absorbent I get caught in my own foul ball I have missed for trains Just decided to cast you all out The demons wandered Just like they wanted The snake still slithered, The owl still called I was also cosmic once Just I just forgot I was never pardoned Oh who are I I smell howling. Hogties withered out ones, Wondered weathered swallows When I see Whether or not You tip your hat to my making— The ball rolls, The owl cries, The harp sings, The hare runs, The mark, my cause. I am your forager. Then, gripping in the wakes The calls that bantered Not here or owl, I Not dog or rabbit, No wake and no fortune You are to run Or lest be tortured You are our call No, for what They says have ceased and the harp has stung sound, Not one but two sour notes aching, And there I bartered with all but nothing that I had To love, the power Then angst in me mine soul and my ties, My ways were na'er seek but shattered also I lake in lessons and drift in oceans and drown in all our skies, azure and lavender, Creeping in the cape that is both overshadowed our, I Gripping in the ways seeks foreign to none and also listened in your foyer Waking not as ghosts but yet as haunted Here tith thee my tide and I bade farewell And fate he they to keep our half tide I am hiding in your wakes and in my foreign I am forgotten and also withered, gathered! I am decrcrepit and unloved kept secret I am as shamed and as unwell as all our sick and tired Poor and outside I am as outside as the grass and trees have slaughtered I am as ancient as before the oceans tide did bring, my kind did watch your light come for us out of darkness And into my shores of only oceans you not know, My thoughts be born into your shadows And my own making is your honor Whatever that means This Is creepy. You're right! Fly bird! Fly! Uh. Did you bring a bird with you into the office. Kind of Kind of? Yes or no? I think of him fondly I killed myself on his birthday he didn't even want me But luckily it's also Obama's Birthday, that is I was not hot enough To this day I want another body Aftermarket Parts With happy accidents {enter the multiverse} Kind of! What does that even mean! Bird, go away! It means “kind of!” He follows me everywhere. What! Thais ridiculous. It is. Ridiculous! [The Festival Project ™] The Complex Collective © {Enter The Multiverse} Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 All Rights Reserved