168 episodes

The Festival Project™ is a multi-genre, multi-dimensionally mystifying and magical multimedia series, set against the backdrop of modern dance music-- i.e.” rave” culture-- combined with historical and futuristic elements of science fiction and folklore-- across expansions of space-and-time, unifying with The Universal Consciousness in a multidimensional and explorative ensemble of Films, Episodic Series, Music Videos, Extended Playlists, and Concept Albums.

A perpetual symphony of artistic storytelling though a cavalcade of wonderful and whimsical characters along high-intensity, off-the-map adventures--showcased through Music, Film & Interactive Art Explorations--set upon the dreamlike actual reality of an unravelling fabric of time-and-space.

This explosive and expansive wave of enigmatic, chaos-colliding, charismatic [ and often comedic] kinetic energy, reflects a shared experience throughout all time in human connection; Journey beyond the unknown, to Worlds Within--and Without.

El Festival Project™ es una serie multimedia multigénero, multidimensionalmente desconcertante y mágica, ambientada en el contexto de la música dance moderna, es decir.” cultura rave”, combinada con elementos históricos y futuristas de la ciencia ficción y el folclore, a lo largo de expansiones de espacio y tiempo, unificándose con la Conciencia Universal en un conjunto multidimensional y exploratorio de películas, series episódicas, videos musicales, listas de reproducción extendidas, y álbumes conceptuales. Una sinfonía perpetua de narraciones artísticas a través de una cabalgata de personajes maravillosos y caprichosos a lo largo de aventuras fuera del mapa de alta intensidad, exhibidas a través de exploraciones de música, cine y arte interactivo, ambientadas en la realidad real de ensueño de un tejido del tiempo que se deshace. -y-espacio. Esta ola explosiva y expansiva de energía cinética enigmática, que choca con el caos, carismática [ya menudo cómica], refleja una experiencia compartida a lo largo de todos los tiempos en la conexión humana; Viaje más allá de lo desconocido, a los mundos internos y externos.


Master Of None.

After running away to Mexico, following a fight with his "DJ", Gerald, a Magical Piñata and S Ū P ∆ C Я E E.™, a magical superhuman, become bestest friends; Now, they must find their way home, traveling through Mexico, space, and time to find a happy place.

Gerald’s World‪.‬ Dillon Francis

    • Comedy

The Festival Project™ is a multi-genre, multi-dimensionally mystifying and magical multimedia series, set against the backdrop of modern dance music-- i.e.” rave” culture-- combined with historical and futuristic elements of science fiction and folklore-- across expansions of space-and-time, unifying with The Universal Consciousness in a multidimensional and explorative ensemble of Films, Episodic Series, Music Videos, Extended Playlists, and Concept Albums.

A perpetual symphony of artistic storytelling though a cavalcade of wonderful and whimsical characters along high-intensity, off-the-map adventures--showcased through Music, Film & Interactive Art Explorations--set upon the dreamlike actual reality of an unravelling fabric of time-and-space.

This explosive and expansive wave of enigmatic, chaos-colliding, charismatic [ and often comedic] kinetic energy, reflects a shared experience throughout all time in human connection; Journey beyond the unknown, to Worlds Within--and Without.

El Festival Project™ es una serie multimedia multigénero, multidimensionalmente desconcertante y mágica, ambientada en el contexto de la música dance moderna, es decir.” cultura rave”, combinada con elementos históricos y futuristas de la ciencia ficción y el folclore, a lo largo de expansiones de espacio y tiempo, unificándose con la Conciencia Universal en un conjunto multidimensional y exploratorio de películas, series episódicas, videos musicales, listas de reproducción extendidas, y álbumes conceptuales. Una sinfonía perpetua de narraciones artísticas a través de una cabalgata de personajes maravillosos y caprichosos a lo largo de aventuras fuera del mapa de alta intensidad, exhibidas a través de exploraciones de música, cine y arte interactivo, ambientadas en la realidad real de ensueño de un tejido del tiempo que se deshace. -y-espacio. Esta ola explosiva y expansiva de energía cinética enigmática, que choca con el caos, carismática [ya menudo cómica], refleja una experiencia compartida a lo largo de todos los tiempos en la conexión humana; Viaje más allá de lo desconocido, a los mundos internos y externos.


Master Of None.

After running away to Mexico, following a fight with his "DJ", Gerald, a Magical Piñata and S Ū P ∆ C Я E E.™, a magical superhuman, become bestest friends; Now, they must find their way home, traveling through Mexico, space, and time to find a happy place.

    [BB]

    [BB]

    ‘Oh shit.'

    I thought, quite loudly to myself— but of course, not loudly enough for anyone to actually hear—however someone might have been able to put together from the startled expression on my face that I honestly was surprised, and had forgotten about the most incriminating thing one could ever go about attempting to bring through airport security, besides a gun or an actual bomb—

    ‘My suicide knife.'

    I honestly had forgotten about it— not about suicide entirely, just that I had an easy-out always wirh me nudged somewhere between my sunglssses and haircomb. Not only was I dressed like what some might have considered to be threatening to begin with, and had been pulled aside as usual for the fully thoroughly TSA Pat down…but, the agent examining my bag had produced a—though delightfully fuchsia-purple, with matching safety cover—very carefully sharpened knife, which I had grabbed from the collection of cutlery at the Hostel that gave me the boot, more probably than not, for not being the wide-eyed groupie they wanted and needed to follow them around town to their band's performances, taking pictures and videos for Instagram as proof they were semi-human pro-musicians, and rather taking my time there to develop my own projects, all-the while battling a mentally-ill, anti-America, Al-Jazeera binging also otherwise homeless unhygienic, middle-aged house-rat, who challenged me in completing my workstay duties, hiding cleaning products and of course, curating rumors about my actual identity and intentions in being there—not that I had room to care—still followed by the now notoriously evil abrupt and awful coughing literally everywhere, all the time—signaling that perhaps I was in some lower realm of Hell and should probably just end it all myself, rather than to keep trying at anything—especially music, especially being a DJ. I was used to always having something sharp with me, usually a piece of glass, as my time on the mountain with Avicii and all-out ritualistic skrillex-related torture left me friending for the spilling of my own blood via a broken wine bottle or something similar: not to say I hadn't already been trying furiously to end my existence furiously before whatever happened happened—and now not only didn't I care, I actually had grown a sour taste in my mouth for Skrillex and any of his ass-wipes; Satan wasn't doing anything for me, and I certainly wasn't doing anything for it.

    I hadn't made any music since I'd left the hostel, of course pushed into the world and landing on my feet in the only way I could, albeit not under Satan himself, as though he shared some of the same characteristics—I.e. being a complete dumpster of a human being— but perhaps another of Tje Devil's advocates, as Anandar had called herself, often playing the devil's game and of course, losing—or supposedly winning, as she had returned back to the UK and her riches or whatever she had that I hadn't, though we were all “one”

    The coughs were eating a hole in my stomach in my heart— I inched into the only corner of unoccupied space I could find, though still thoroughly haunted and plagued by the disgusting open-mouthed hacks and mannerless, mouth-breathing consumption of snacks—snacks I had been prodded at by TSA in the shock that i hadn't any; What I did have, however, was cough drops—though stale and probably each containing about a gram of sugar, and yes, the Devil himself prancing around the airport as young-looking women, or children—though it was hard to tell the difference—with the body types of f*****g Kayla Lauren, almost no waists at all but somehow all the chests and ass of a college cheerleader, having decided to fly in crop tops and otherwise revealing, tasteless attire.

    For some reason, I just didn't want or couldn't listen to music, refusing to put my headphones on over my ears at any point and instead endure the coughing. Maybe it was that after countless nights no

    • 3 min
    The Legend Of... S Ū P ∆ (C) R E E.™ M I X X | [Broken Mixer Vs. Broken Heart Pt. XV - FINALE.]

    The Legend Of... S Ū P ∆ (C) R E E.™ M I X X | [Broken Mixer Vs. Broken Heart Pt. XV - FINALE.]

    [The Festival Project.™ ]

    The Legend Of...
    S Ū P ∆ © R E E.™
    E V E R Y D A Y I S R A V E D A Y

    ENTER THE MULTIVERSE
    An Insomniac Original
    (maybe.)

    Ū
    Alright.

    GOD
    This is the part where you don't sleep.

    SUPACREE
    Oh no.

    GOD
    You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep.

    SUPACREE
    Yikes.

    Û
    You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester.

    GERALD
    Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom.

    Ï
    Even better. Remote binge worthy media.

    Excerpt From:
    “Blū and The Cosmic Owl”

    ...

    ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by.

    In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes.

    He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her.

    A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground.

    She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes.

    A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe.

    She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back.

    Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry.

    She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they f

    • 1 hr
    -Ū.

    -Ū.

    ____
    I guess it just is what it is, then
    Comin fresh out the whip, like,
    “I'm off hiatus”
    Gonna jump for a swim in the ‘bitch,'
    Itchin drive me crazy;
    Gonna need 6-10 stitches, the doctor say
    He's in big business, with the witch Tengris–
    Gotta play Tennis while I watch Tenet all in ten minutes
    (On my small engine/indjun)
    Turn around do a spin, drift like i'm Ben Ten,
    And it's intense, like I been campin,
    –Then I ditched Skrillex.
    Just moved in, but it's been lived in
    Set some new intentions,
    Get bent, got some new addictions,
    spin zen, got some new additions
    Big Wig like I'm Hamilton in some New Editions
    Did some big mentions,
    I should send dick pics.

    Watch this.

    “It's Dillon Francis”

    Now I'm real famous,
    But i'm still nameless–
    I just made the game up,
    Still got jealous haters
    *coughs*
    I should say Gel-ous
    Cause she got her nails did

    *indjun; American slang for native or indigenous peoples of Northern America.

    [THE FESTIVAL PROJECT.]

    _________

    [Three cross dimensions are about to collide into a singular reality. Three hospital rooms, three ensembles, three patients on their deathbeds;]

    Three Cities, Three Main Stages At Three Major Music Festivals.

    Three superstar DJs at the decks.

    Did we make it?

    Is it too late?

    Is she gone?

    Where is she?

    Are you serious?

    We're never gonna make it.

    NO!

    3 dimensions: Wait, what happened?
    3 dimensions: Wait, what happened?

    "Are you okay?"

    This isn't happening.

    Do we have time?

    Never say Never.

    -We'll never make it
    -Don't say that!

    Are you ready?

    Yo, where IS she?

    He's like, crazy or something.

    She's crazy.

    This is craaaaazy.

    Ok, first of all--

    Go! Go! Go, now!

    -So, she already told you beforehand?
    -Yes.

    NO!

    YES!

    YAAAAAAS.

    All dimensions: No/NO

    NO, OH GOD NO--

    "YES, OH MY GOD"

    (sampled)

    (What?)

    "JESUS."

    (Sampled from, Coffee Run)

    (What?)

    Don't--

    What are you doing here?

    (Angrily) Ū!!!!

    It's YOU!

    A group dancing to Soulja Boy

    (Youuuuuuuu!)

    (Rollercoaster sample from Scatta)

    I don't know, he's been, you know--

    -Did you know?
    -No…
    -DID YOU KNOW?

    Know what?

    What? What is what?

    (From Deathbed)
    ...Water…
    Surprised reactions, at the bedside

    -Run!

    -How much time do we have?
    -Take all the time you need.

    Time...Ah, yes, I--yes, I remember Time...

    She says it all the time, I didn't think she'd actually–

    He's gone.

    She died, right?

    ------------

    "Running Out Of Time"

    [Frazzled and haggardly beaten, having exhausted everything attempting to unravel an endless web of timelines tied together ultimately by inevitability, he frantically rifles through his apartment, tearing through every corner, fiending for any energy source. He uplifts the couch cushions, tossing away various (insert easter eggs here) objects, empty portal guns, as the vibrations from a buzzing phone alert him of an incoming call, he fishes armpit deep into the crevices, red faced and cracked lips, cursing:

    --c'mon, c'mon--how did this get so f*****g DEEP. God DAMN IT--

    ------

    By Chak Chel's bedside, The Ascended Masters are gathered surrounding a weak and lifeless GOD/Chak Chel in her absolutely oldest physical body.

    Oh man, I don't think she can handle many more of these Damnations, it's just more and more damage…

    I told you we should have Destroyed that damn planet!

    She created that planet--

    It's not about the planet, it's the inhabitants.

    If we annihilate humanity now, the planet itself may regenerate with time…

    Time…? I--

    They all turn their heads toward Chak Chel, as she drifts back out of consciousness.

    PAUSE

    *EDIT*

    What?

    Just–

    What!?

    What would it be like to listen to some Skrillex right now?

    NO. NEVER AGAIN.

    [Thinking, drifts away.]

    *listening to deadmau5, thinking about Skrillex*

    Hmnnn.

    Moar Ghosts N' Stuff.
    *Synth Drops In*

    Nope, I'm Good

    lol.

    CUT

    • 21 min
    i just died.

    i just died.

    Ugh. Dillon Francis again? How.

    How

    F**k, I don't know. What does he want?

    What could he want?

    I think he likes latinas.

    Give him A** on a platter.

    I wouldn't do that to him.

    Dania's a catch

    She is, but she's terrifying.

    You're terrifying.

    I'm terrified of Dillon Francis.

    And of S--

    Shhhhhhhhhh!

    Don't.

    CUT TO

    At a festival, SupaCree sees Skrillex and Dillon Francis at the same time, each at opposite ends of the room; they see her at exactly the same moment…

    Skrillex:

    Dillon Francis:

    SupaCree:

    [They rush towards her as she dies.Her vibe fully activates a forcefield as she vanishes]

    • 22 min
    Broken Heart Vs. Broken Mixer Pt. XIV - -43/Royals

    Broken Heart Vs. Broken Mixer Pt. XIV - -43/Royals

    Really Bad Mashup.
    Blame The Mixer.
    {Enter The Multiverse}
    thefestivalproject.com

    • 4 min
    Broken Heart Vs. Broken Mixer Pt. XIII - ID-"-43."

    Broken Heart Vs. Broken Mixer Pt. XIII - ID-"-43."

    Enter The Multiverse.

    thefestivalproject.com

    • 3 min

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