Me, Myself, and I.

By: Sunnï Blu Stone
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  • Summary

  • After an enormous writing catharsis and extreme strike of inspiration which has lasted for five years, following an eight year writer's block an artist finds herself drowning in the massive amount of largely incomplete and unpublished works she has created; hundreds of thousands of documents, worlds within worlds, catalogues of music, and series of novels--as her inner worlds and outer worlds begin to mesh and collide into a self-fulfilling prophecy of instant manifestation, the worlds and characters of her fictional works taking on lives of their own in the real world.

    {Enter The Multiverse}



    [The Festival Project.™]



    COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

    Copyright 2025 by Sunnï Blu Stone
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Art
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Episodes
  • [Be Careful What You Wish For.]

    [Be Careful What You Wish For.]
    Dec 27 2024
    Did I forget Steve Allen? I don't know, but I definitely almost forgot Sephen Colbert. WHY! Because I can't decipher who you are from the other four of you! There's three of us. Where's number four?! {Enter The Multiverse} Suddenly, not every day was the same—and that was strange, as it seemed the entire year had just been residuals of the same day over and over—but these days we're distinctly different, and perhaps that's because without knowing what I was going to write, things were kept interesting, and even more interesting was what I was writing at all. Music: but was it comfortable? I had put out a single a day which by now amounted to an album all put together, and I might have thought to put it out as a compilation toward the end of it all, but I hadn't gotten that far yet; I was still in the proc de of an actual album, though more complex in reasoning and context—the concept was struggling to come to the surface. It had, after all, been in the realization that a prefixed muse has been envisioned somewhere in the sands of time, that painting of melting clocks merging together into some desert scraped sandstorm, something of illusion and something like a half imagined oasi…a hallucinated woman who might have been me, but actually beautiful—perfect, actually, draped in pearls and diamonds, dripping in them—leading this lost and wandering man—a beautiful man, also, to an oasis. Was the oasis real? I wasn't sure yet, and after the first track Mirage, I was behind by 4 days on what was supposed to have been whatever tracks followed, the list of them now stuck in wax to the base of the candle at the altar, still burning— a black candle for protection , of course—a strong reminder I should keep moving until whatever things and creatures had seemingly been sent after me could not find me, any longer—and however thought it might have been the case, even if just a seed as planted into my mind — it seems at least that one negative had turned positive, in the very least. The woman whom I had shared a room with just the year before— who seemed to be something like demonically possessed and had also just rather disappeared without a trace—left behind just a bit more than her sunglasses. Since I had thought it better safe than sorry to record everything just in case I continued to be attacked, (having been literally pounced on already twice by other roommate)s—a beautiful soundscape emerged from having been cursed out, a rant which had become increasingly hilarious over time, and of course, remembering Ms. Keisha more fondly than not, especially having left her sunglasses behind. Besides, after having by grown up with my mother, even the meanest people sometimes seemed mild by comparison in remembrance of her sometimes bitter and absolute cruelty. It's hard to have imagined that I had grown up under those conditions—and though now understanding that how some others had grown up in roach and rat infested housing projects, and however clean, mostly orderly, and overall class wise my mother was, on her worst days she had been horrible, especially for a child or adolescent to have dealt with alone, and so Ms. Keisha, though at most times, an irritant, had become a buried treasure, as I sifted through the mounds of recordings in order to create something unique, and different. After tipping off the copyright sensors not once, but twice—once having submitted a completely self composed work and still somehow being flagged by the system as copyrighted material, my music became more bizzare and strange, not just bending rules, but completely breaking them. —Tales of a superstar DJ. LINDSAY LOHAN is sleeping FACE DOWN on the couch in SunnÏ Blū's Studio Lindsay, wake up. Mmfh. [Does not wake up. At all.] Lindsay. Mmf. Tequila. [Suddenly very awake, in fact; she has suddenly perked up with an amazing glow. ] *very serious knocks on the door* Oh shit. [suddenly, more drunk again] –oh shit. *three more knocks* Where's the tequila? SUNNÏ Ah, shit. Is that your lawyer, or your manager? Shit, maybe both. SUNNI. OPEN THE DOOR . –Might even be my agent, too. OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR. (Both, in cheesy unison, tiny rock concert} I CHIMED IN WITH A HAVENT YOU PEOPLE EVER HEARD OF [Sunni opens the door. No, it's “closing the door– not “open the door” “The Goddamn door.” Right, Goddamit. –where's the tequila. Where it is– [Sunni points in a wayward direction; Lindsay stumbles morning-aftery into the booth. Eww–”morning aftery” Not like that. *addendum* [That Is, just to say that this scene takes place in the afterdays haze of a very –Very Holy Shit , God. What. You rule. [Lindsay enters the booth and uncaps a bottle of tequila so effing fancy, it hurts to look at.] So fucking fancy. Was that lindsay lohan? Yeah it is. It's still ...
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    1 hr and 9 mins
  • Waiting (ft. Uptown A)

    Waiting (ft. Uptown A)
    Dec 13 2024
    They own everything . Everything? I'm saying— Everything. Wow. NBC and Coca Cola, huh. Nice wager. Whatever, I still haven't been paid yet. Exactly. There that bitch go. Aha. Caught ya red handed! Or green handed Whatever— just Let's drop a house on this hoe. Facts. What kind of house? Idk? Make it like a duplex? How many stories; At least 3; At least And a basement. Correct. Just make sure she end up under that hoe. [a house drops on the wicked witch of the west. Or was it the east? I'm pretty sure it was the west I miss California Go back, then. I— am trying. YO. Yoooo. What happened. They dropped a house on my ass. Ah, damn. Is that where we at? For sure, dis a whole ass house up in here. Facts, bro. Dis a nice house. Hell yeah it is. But oh, shit— [the witch is barefooted] Yo ruby slippers is gone, bruh! Fuck them Ruby slippers, man! I got a house! I own property in this BITCH. Fo sho— where we at, tho? PANORAMIC VIEW OF LOS ANGELES. WE OUT WEST. AAAAAAHHHHHH SHIT. Call the homies. You're not green anymore! I was never “green” It was just a skin condition I picked up All that broomstick flyin around Damn. Facts. Yo, order some pizza. Alllllrrrriiiiiiiigghhhhhjt. [THE WICKED WITCH OF THE WEST HOSTS A HOUSE PARTY IN THE HOLLYWOOD HILLS] Giggidy! Who the fuck is this fool? I don't know. I don't know what day it is; I have sex with aliens. We've been playing games forever Nothing changes, names or weather I used to get the tens, And be on one, So if two is four, Two fifteens, two fifteens I don't want to mean to mean you Didn't mean to be mean, but I meant what I said When I said what I meant About you, So now I go south, For the winter South, till the sun comes out again South, East these days it ain't easy to forget you Dreaming of the west coast What's the dose for lost love? I might never know how to take it; The hard way, I guess Or dark, like my coffee The coffin's open Did you want to join? A double wide, for the shoe that fits The soul that grasps And the sole that holds An awkward foot Two for two, Or four, for free And I adore you, but Double down on your thoughts Two tens used to take me somewhere, Who knows though Now I fly south for the winter Knowing I might never come home It could be a targeted attack from the whites. that's fair, but still it might help. It will help, but only temporarily. Who knows I do. Please never say those two words next to each other ever again. Noted. I don't see any difference either way, No dissalusion, just indirection, in fact I've lost the infection and the undertones in my own dissonance, and everything seems distant Establishing dependence in intellogstions, I'd be gracious if you presented this Impending tragedy, rather as a… Message, sent I thought you were my best friend Missed connections I thought you were a bottle of my favorite elixir Dear, it doesn't make any different at all It doesn't make any difference at all If you can't play it Play it out, nice Brush strokes, Put the spokes on the back wheel, Just so everything is real (It isn't) Indifference in a nutshell is Irreverence and irrelevance It's hell, isn't it, If all the good girls are in it, Or going there Where are you? Somehow lost focus, reworked for greatness and I just realized I can't do this anymore I can't do this anymore I can't do this anymore; I can't stand it I'll call Matt lauer What! Why?! What for. Because he's Matt Lauer! What! He'll know what to do. [mattress flying through the air] KEVIN HART Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo— {Enter The Multiverse} This is a house of cards; You know it's a house of cards, right? This is a house of cards; I know it's a house of cards, right? This is my house of cards; I know it's a house of cards, right. {Enter The Multiverse} What up. I'm a walking pile of words. That's Hot. Is it? Ehhh… Two Jews walk into a bar. Oh, come on. —the problem is when they walked in, it was the 1930's. Yikes. Now when is it? NEW YORK CITY. MODERN DAY. [unintelligible Yiddish] {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT, INC. circa 2018- 2024 | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.
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    4 mins
  • I_NY Track 01. WEALTH.

    I_NY Track 01. WEALTH.
    Dec 11 2024

    I_NY. (The Studio Album)

    Uptown A, -Ū.

    Track 01. WEALTH.

    Released formerly as Under The (L), as the final track on the previous collaborative EP The Spider, I_NY. Layers its progression to double its first track, as the narrative follows-up with a continuance of the mysterious assassain‘s alternate storyline; a glimpse of decayed sounds for telling the underlying action-adventure fantasy set to be revealed in the upcoming short film, for which the soundtrack's thoughtfully composed ten tracks gives way to, in its cinematic sounds and city scapes gestures of industrial suggestive aural tones and deeply heavy rolling baselines.

    I_NY. is out now—give it a listen!

    YouTube:

    https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_lJA5QcV0YzxJ5oc_CwSyfnGXWAbDpNMvw

    iTunes:

    I_NY. (The Studio Album) by Uptown A & -Ū

    .https://music.apple.com/us/album/i-ny-the-studio-album/1777071731

    Spotify:

    https://open.spotify.com/album/4bj5gXMZXiWujnIps54vz9?si=TKwRe-yYSM2_8bwZ2sQhuQ

    Apple Music:

    https://music.apple.com/us/album/i-ny-the-studio-album/1777071731

    Check Out The Spider (EP) Here:

    iTunes:

    https://music.apple.com/us/album/the-spider-ep/1765564720

    Apple Music:

    https://music.apple.com/us/album/the-spider-ep/1765564720

    Spotify:

    https://open.spotify.com/album/7qE9jTR1vkT8PLoSMmjcUd?si=Tjz_hBowROafFaanhtJ4rw

    Uptown A's edgy and avant garde city grunge speaks true to its name in the upcoming I Love New York, styled I_NY for those who might be on the fense so-to-speak— the new wave industrial techno and garage grunge elements of the dance music counter cultures and subculture which spines the present day interpretations of the rave culture.

    “It's a fully instrumental album because the city speaks for itself.”, says the producer, a transplant from the west coast.

    The Album, part one of a series of New York inspired soundscapes and symphonies composed by the multi instrumentalist DJ and musician whose electronic sound showcases the warehouse essenses of the brick wall backdrops, chained link and bared wire, bars and windows, barebones underbelly of the subterranean world lurking just below the street of Manhattan's glitz and glamour waterfronts, Giving insight to the world of bass music culture, the techno-punk grotesque outcry's give a neo gothic twist.

    {Enter The Multiverse}

    [The Festival Project.™]

    COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024

    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©
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    14 mins

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