Bon Ami.

‘ I don't want to be the reason, I could never know you— And I don't want to be the reason I could never love you' ‘Weird dreams, bro.' I had woken up with a song in my head I just flat out refused to sing, I knew it wouldn't come out the way it sounded in my head it was beautiful, but the dream was a sentiment in itself — starring Lindsay Lohan, of course, still a redhead. Apparently we were sisters—same father. Different mother; waking up not was silly and sounded bizzare but in the dream it made sense. We were aware of each other, but just now really meeting for the first time— the place at all didn't seem Los Angeles, but the house was large and kind of old. It seemed I wanted to speak to her but was nervous—then, abandoning a music project entirely, had decided to ask Lindsay to go on a walk—she obliged, but seemed like she really wanted to be left alone, which I ignored—I wanted to get to know my sister, but really— I think, it seemed like I just wanted to ask questions about being super famous. ‘What was it like to be loved?' I didn't ask flat out. In fact, I stayed quiet and let her do the talking— eventually she became upset and began crying. Being rich and famous was not all it was chocked up to be; upset and furious though not irate and simply in tears, she began to reveal she had a drinking problem—naturally of course, I then took her to have a drink. I made the drinks weaker, but she wanted more, but I didn't want her to get sick, so she stormed off and started yelling at me again. Now she was drunk and actually yelling— she told me her real Hollywood story, full of struggles, an that everything was a lie. I changed the subject to our paternal bond, telling her none of that mattered and we should just focus on being sisters, but she just kept going on about the Hollywood life—and how fake everything was. She claimed she was a washed up old sham— I refused that she seemed to be doing well, and I quipped “That's not true, didn't I see you on Fallon?” It was in fact the only Tonight Show segment I had watched all year, after writing the song ‘JIMMY FALLON' in early spring— I did after all, love Lindsay Lohan, who had been written into the festival project as well, ironically as Sunnï Blu's alcoholic celebrity companion—so this dream was probably my fault anyway somehow, considering it was happening in my head. Lol. Her her response to the comment about her appearance on Tonight made me laugh—still pirated she goes “Oh please! Have you ever heard him speak a full sentence [on his own]?!” Seemed like a personal dig, but I tried to hold back a snickering giggle. “Okay…” I let her go on, eventually as it seemed returning to the bar. It seemed the tact that we were sisters by blood only kind of mattered to me— Dream ended with a song that happened to be in the key of frankengenie, but I wasn't going to sing it. It was Christmas Day, not that it mattered, and I had been to bed in the early morning after the last release The Glimmer Twins [The Abyss], which was a narrative song for The festivsl projedt's Enter The Multiverse collection Ghat I'd been inspired to write from a book I was reading. I woke up needing the Peloton, but opted for Christmas Pasta, closer to sitting down to write then not and knowing if i excersisd at all it would be hours before diving into Ableton, I wasn't fat, but feeling heavier than usual after au gratin potatoes made from scratch and yellow curry over lentils and brown rice —all completely organic, but still heavier than I was used to, though in the spirit of the holidays, it was nice to cook. Pasta sounded okay, and I knew I needed to write something better than [The Abyss], anyway, and so I went to work—first on the food. Then on the music. —takes of a superstar DJ. lol what happened to Lindsay? Idk. I could practically taste the tequila. Well, I was the one pouring it. Way to enable. I was just trying to calm her down. Did it work? Eventually I guess. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©