Into The Future

A Divine Psychic's Reaffirmations of The Reflective Premonitions from A Life Lived Infinitely

There's no doubt that I have been unbreakably and unbearably tied to the future which I once foresaw, and still oftentimes do with the reminders of each lucid love once set in place as a code, a language spoken between those of us in this realm, and those ascended beyond the duty of this existence.

Though names continue to blur and confuse the true presence of either's auras. I've come to believe almost to a point of knowing the connection between myself, Dillon Francis, and Sonny Moore—Respectively and as a conglomerate the latter mentioned a fluid and translucent reflection of myself in every sense that all he is up to this point is all of what I am, and also am not.

Though careless now in my regards to that of what may actually happen behind this point, there are broad visions of certainty pertaining to the realm of infinity, with the extended knowledge of what has already, and what will happen, if allowed to be so. Still, careless in the overall outcome, I can only help to wonder which circumstances I have received not in the energetic form of thought or imagination, but in the broad and astral cosmic visions of what lie ahead, as I have finally come to gracefully l accept and respect my very psychic sensibilities.

So far as dead celebrities are concerned, I've journeyed not into the contrast of the bitter unknown in which lie the secrets and contracts these before and beyond us have held and struggled by: I am only here and now to grasp the very allusive faith that death, though a misunderstanding amongst the many so-called living, brings with it some palpable positives, if granted the power and advantage of what I myself have, in the honor of such being revisited by those held with such a title as “idols”.

From a Medium's perspective, the media's often thought to be poisonous programming of those feeble minded enough to allow fear to convey such a message into the classic and bold assumption that the oftentimes occult symbology and consistent references to such an uncommon realm of illuminated thought, the mass is yet to be of any true concern or observable disgruntlement as it concerns to me. Still, as having been gifted in spirit by those who I would not call from the pursuit of peaceful rest by shackling such enigmas to each's given name, given only to be called aloud in the language of this ‘living' realm we so inhabit.

As I've come to wholly believe the disastrous events of yesterday's Surf to be yet another end, and beginning to a chapter of life I've not yet deemed worthy of calling it so, I hope to move forward now into an actual life I may cherish, love, and adore as I also wish to be.

“Washed in the waves”, I wrote, some weeks or months ago, and then read this morning—an eerie reminder that things sometimes written in the confines and “secrecy” of my Google documents, become in external force, a true form of nature by ways unremembered until being revisited in the walking and waking of being. As I had asked to come to know Phoenixx's final moments, The Gods, or God as a whole, as technically we are all as one in some aspect— gifted me with the discomfort of drowning, though, as I looked up in panic and realized the surface was far beyond my reach, feeling my body swept both above and beneath me by another wave—did come to peace and relaxation, as swiftly, my lungs filled with seawater; however, rather than the luxury of returning or staying home in my Kingdom, was quickly respawned underwater, to fight heroically for my life as my senses connected back into my spirit—a stronger swimmer than surfer, anyway, I snapped to the surface, to find myself facing what seemed to be a giant wall of water, and must have truly been (as I stand broadly at nearly 5'7–5'6 ½, or even, most recently 5'5 to meet Sonny, for whom I must admit I still have some romantic—or at the very least positive—feelings for, somewhere in the middle.)

...in the face of another wave, which I dove under, quickly and into the current, pulling fiercely north—swimming outrageously with every bit of my might out of the riptide, until being able to firmly plant my feet into the shallow sandbar of the high-tide ripples of ocean which left me drowning, only to be reborn into the wake of this, yet another realm of dissallusioned existence—although, continuing to pray in every outward moment of my consciousness, I wish this to be the enlightened and ascended light-filled and beauteous being of wealth, health, and connection—be it romantic or otherwise.

Though I have mourned tirelessly the broken bond between myself and that of my son, who comes solely before any man ever could in all of my heart and soul as a mother, I have come to understand the seemingly impossible placement of myself as a single, working mother in this world to be anything other than neglectful/-as so it stands that I have been asked in this mission to fulfil a purpose, with which an ancient oracle, foreseen prophecies, and higher knowledge of the great cosmos have been forced to set and unravel through myself and rarely found but often sought after ‘others' which walk amongst us—however, I shield myself from the honor of, in the name of humility, perceiving myself as the powerful diety I am said and supposedly written to be—simply allowing others, if so inclined to grasp the God or Goddess within me—whichever it is they seek, or may see, as either this conscience presence to to my knowledge has no true masculine or feminine assignment, but rather is, as a whole, two equal parts to one. This light which I truthfully hold dear, and as it stands have taken immense pleasure in keeping mostly secret or hidden, is sometimes the challenge in this persistence of will that keeps this body, long forsaken and badly broken enough to continually need to escape into a parallell of disassociation, if you could call it that—I wouldn't, for it could indeed be damning.

With this lust for romance, the primal, tantric collision of souls, and the sense of peace and true wellness I have to this point found fleeting but continue to seek, this very real essence of love has formed in such a unique unfolding of attraction and ancient remembrance, that even I have become aware of its potential impact, as I've yet to know any story such as this, so far, to become true—other than as told by what has been watered down to the current eyes and ears of this generation's beloved entertainment. Potentially, a true fairytale, and literal storybook romance, I may have indeed stumbled into a life in which I find myself to be a true Queen—with, or without the King I so wish to be worshiped with, and also worship.

Why, in today's climate, would a woman such as I be made to believe that a Queen would need a King to rule? First handedly, always a Mother and by nature a nurturer at heart, I have always known I had never wanted, nor could I raise my son alone. Though no longer a fear which keeps me bound to the dismantling remains of a critically horrible marriage—the responsibility I can finally take part of, having realized now my inept naivety, previous morbid obesity, and overall dissatisfaction in the quality of care our children would receive after their entrance into the world and our benign poverty—the societal wrath cast upon single mothers as a whole, not to mention black single mothers, is one which God itself has deemed unnecessary, and unequivocal in the equation of my most important purpose here.

As I continue to long being a parent to my so-far one and only, and my body begins to crave the duty of motherhood yet again be become whole, it has come as a knowing that the treasure within my womb is indeed a gift for the King which I no longer seek, but pray to all the heavens, is instead seeking me,

Enter: Dillon Francis

Though umremarkable at best, my attraction to this personality was of course instant, perhaps as intrinsically as this person rests in my infinite reflection of time and space in the many memories granted to keep during this journey; though however close to Mr. Sonny Moore he may be, (or rather was) and as the arrangement stands, a typically theoretical pawn in the overall plan as exacted at least shines a light into the levels of these dimensions where we all have resided for some eons of consciousness, long before the boundaries and constructs of time, or even be it the bottling of bonded souls we as well call “bodies”. Strange to keep the diamond eyed diety within the structure of that one might call a “name”, “Dillon Francis” is nothing more than a label or title for the business he has constructed to be his image, mine of which, he was made in the likes of,

Here may be an exceptionally exquisite time to mention Joel, whom I also rapidly remember amonsgst us, as we cast the cosmic spells of constructing through consciousness, a world of more than One,

Though, with a very adimate interjection I might add, though handsome as he may be, I find myself magnetically drawn to in a platonic nature; upon hearing of his separation from his wife or partner, I've often pondered and prayed that they reconcile, or, part ways permanently, be it best in joy and love for either of them. Still, though his essence is strongly familiar and the nature of our time here in the realm we currently share remains titlating near-mystery—I say near, to call attention to the fact that as I've begun to tie together the delicate strands of fabric which holds our realities together, I've gained some understanding into the placement of this figure's re-arrival into my orbital path, I've never envisioned a romance, nor have I a vision which pursuades me to believe our crossings in this journey to be any other than cordial, and at times, hysterical—for this soul has the uncanny ability, as always, to make me wholeheartedly laugh, with glee.

Moving on into the darkest of realms I hold dear and sacred, the Prince who's crown so beautifully tarnished, as it was so graciously given early in this walking life, or even, preconception of the notion of the next.

I know for a fact for there to be a time and place for Sonny in my life, though which of the many dubious parts he shall play in it, I have decidedly left entirely to him. Unfortunatey, it seems, there are others so dead set upon the manifestation in the interest that he become a King into their realm of reigning, however—with the given knowledge that none other can or will love him as I—have grown comfortable with the wilted, wary and wrinkled petals in the fluorescent flowers born from our love, which I kept for so long before all but giving up the romanticized and vivid visions, reflected in the truth of memories already lived, infinitely. The visions I keep from being bonded to Sonny are less lighthearted, to say the least, and more dammning, all the more,

As I begin to realize the time on the mountain with his mother in prayer may point to more than one devilish and cruel woman in pursuit of happiness by way of his fortune, I've begun to morbidly attach this threat to that of the most recently acquired demon, so forced her way into my mind by way of inhabiting a body I already have, and could also never—on a larger scale, though, I also see this creature as a feat of my creation, as the eye upon her skin does speak to me, to worship and praise my power as a whole; however, I sometimes worry that the predator to which Sonny's mother warned to be a “vulture” to her son as prey and asked, or rather, pleaded for my aide to reach into the Land of the Living where she was no longer permitted, as, being unknown, does rest peacefully, aside from the beckoning cry of the spirit residing in Sonny, supposedly with whom I share a soul. Fortold to me by a number of Ascended, Sonny's seeking to remove this soul has been both a burden, and blessing—as this allows me to exist in both the realms of darkness, and light—and, as for him—the ability (or previous ability, anyway) to create light through music allowed such a force as Skrillex to flourish and grow in the first place.

The memories I keep with Sonny are few, mostly because in the event that we are allowed to again become whole, I lose myself in a sense to him—as does he, to me; one of the last memories I have as myself is falling asleep with him in my arms, in one moment admiring his beauty, and the very next, so deeply asleep that being whisked away into a lucid dream we share illuminates a golden flash I now only slightly can recall the excellence of, but can remember the calm and fluid relief of the connection at last refound.

These Three Kings, for which I have come to call them, each hold an essence in their presence so cherished to me, that whether in this waking life or in the next I know will come again to me. In a constant prayer for peace and freedom, and seeing as death has greeted me once again as a mother and humble friend I hope to grasp in this reality the kindness and care I once was afforded to give and receive.

Be it a simple ask, I only want to know love again, not in the way of wanting to be wanted, or needing to be needed, but in the grace that gives and allows me to be whole again. As my childbearing years come to a close, I am forced to wonder if the golden essence that will become as One lies within any a man I have come to admire within the future I have seen, but also lived.

Chapter ???

Mr. Dillon Hart Francis

I've talked too many times about the way I was introduced to this monster, but never have spilled the many memories made in the lifetimes past, present, or potential future—perhaps, that it is beyond my fathomable understanding, such as any interaction with the many geniuses of art I have either mentioned, written about, or come to know quite lovingly in omnipotence—or even, that as a generally conservative (at least, publicly) sexualist, visions drawn from this timeline I share with Dillon have, until recently, been kept pushed and concealed into the depths of my subconscious, the pit of my soul. Be it out of guilt, for the sheer and simple knowledge of the ascended arrangement between us, or that as time has been reset again for events that have once transpired to yet be made again, though consciously connected, have a hard time coping with the sometimes dark reality that Dillon, or rather, the Deity seated in him just may be (and is) a demon I of the enlightened have struggled not to dance with.

Aside, though I find this bond to be less romantic, certainly based upon Dillon's own preferences and tastes rather than my own mindset—alternately, my simple perceptions of his preferences and tastes, being that he may not have a set “type”, but be as it may my complex self loathing and hatred takes marks off of any attraction he has to me, other than primal or sexual.

Still, I have found myself drifting into the less-vivid memories from timelines where we do, in fact, find our bond to be unbreakable in ways that continually astound the both of us—timelines where, although for some time the complete labeling our very close friendship as a “relationship” or partnership at all supersedes us.

The simplicities of our bond stand to act as the foundation which allow it to be stronger than foreseen; we are rather old fashioned in a sense that allows us freedom to lead respectable and almost at times, boring lives above ground, however— the arousal of secrecy behind closed doors always allowed us the intimacy and fantastically explorative, boundless sex life—which, timelessly has proven in a sense to be both the darkness and the light that creates the balance in our oneness.

After becoming so recklessly distraught in the obsessive love created by being introduced to Sonny and his powers so abruptly, in the wake of a crucial turning point between the past life I lived within this one, there are such various pathways which Dillon and I respectively have found out way to one another; as I mentioned before, being that the two of them are as connected to each other for as long as I have been in oneness—I would find it astonishing it either one of them were not aware or awakened to this battle being fought between ancient forces; the only certainty that remains for aby of us, is that Love shall reign.

Outside to some degree for what I would call “normal” for myself, I've come not to care of any romantic interest from any man, let alone these two—albeit, very hysterical, sometimes to the point of being orgasmic—“humans”, which, although as I roll my eyes, I am reminded by placing the quotations around such a word as ‘human' am prompted to, at least momentarily, before returning to describe the “future-memory” as I've come to call it, with Dillon Francis. Ahem. Mr, Dillon Francis. (Who, by the way, gets bored easily.)

Chapter Me

Justin Roiland (However You Say It)

I remember making love to Justin Roiland on a sofa I can neither remember the color of, or actual texture—but also in an armchair, I believe later that same evening. This strange tie came about almost as a comedic “relief” from the chaotic and mind-unraveling insanty of a magic act, from which came the likes of the word “Bampheramph” and other ridiculous and yet exceptionally and

Gratuitously creative notions from the senselessness of the now-seemingly-imaginary world I was forced to live in at the time—a circumstance that often left me to wonder whether Justin Roiland himself, who I deem almost entirely all of the credit for creating the beloved series whose name I find to be utterly unimportant at this moment, anywa—also became trapped in the infinite realms possibility in the midsts of creating these worlds, where I continue to find myself. Though, honestly and hopefully, this occasion were let into the Illuminated mind's eye purely for creative purposes, I still find myself avoiding in any way, shape, or form glancing into the eyes a lit by the flash of a photo-opportunity—as, I will admit, my attraction to this man I believe was already openly vocalized, during a discussion between my former lover and I—needless today, between that time, the time of this vision, and the third and final blow of the glance into a photo I happened to stumble upon whilst looking for an honest-out of the Hell my sexual demons have crafted for me to live in, I've come to consolidate the memories I've had with Justin into fictional instances, save for the painfully vivid image imprinted, of the socks he wore the night—we found each other to be comfortable company.

Still, as a notation, I might offer the notion that my sexual fluidity more than likely is opened by the consumption of a few drinks—although, many a timeline, my choice to drink and continued drinking is paired with the knowing that Sonny has chosen another—which tends to leave a gaping enough crevice in my heart and beguiled soul that I seek to be conciled and comforted in the absence of permanent love, self medicate with the temporary dillusiom of lust and the supposed “excitement” of sensually seducing these men of admiration through the dedicated effort of first impressing them with my own body of work, so that they may one day see me as fit to be in ther presence, even if privately— often which is preffered over a public companionship.

I now am well aware as to what can happen when two famous entertainers find themselves to catch the media's eye, or approval—either which exists to suit the cause or flow with the agenda, which, I guess, leads me into my own fortold fame and fortune, and how it came about.

Chapter IV

FAME

It's been beknownst to me for some time that I would, at least for awhile, have to seperate myself from my previous identity to be considered, or rather, given the go ahead for illicit fame, or promoted as an actual celebrity. I have also known, that as with such coveted titles, as not to be mentioned here, but perceived as being of great fame, that those selected are chosen and vetted, then primed for stardom long before becoming popular household names, so to speak— a phenomenon which stands as the explanation for “it happened overnight” which the media will continue to say, as a way to stay aligned with the system of belief that Disney fairytales do sometimes happen—an agenda which the Skrillex-SupaCree mega-franchise upholds, as a registered and crucial factor in this all-American-acid trip of a reality from whence the aforementioned bodies and each of our respective counterparts both came from, and also created—but anyone actually famous will argue point-blank “took years” which is usually true... though, depending on the amount of connections, apparent wealth, and overall ease of access each famous person has or gets during their so-called “rise, the amount of actual work and/or challenge endured during these times varies greatly.

Still, there's something to be said for those who face not challenges such as I and others, in the sacrifice i will safely leave unspoken; but will say, for each of us, a loss of love is asked.

Though I fully refuse to consider the sacrifice of my son's presence in my immediate present life as the ideal force behind the first leap/push and/or jump into the crisis of fame— if not only to use it to one day to heroically return for him after having assured his protection from predators without any doubt, and secured his rapid advancement in society by being able to give him the advantage and freedom of a proper education, perhaps even a worldly one of global proportions—its long since been settled since my departure that this loss of mine eventually becomes his gain, if I continue to allow myself to be groomed for the stardom written both into the actual cosmos, and these Google documents.

Again I have fastened myself in becoming celibate, though having broken this vow—which only recently became a vow, as the first bout of celibacy was an honest and voluntary innocence of neivety, in believing the longer I waited for Sonny, the more quickly he'd come—or that even he may just wait for me.

Though I have no memory in actuality of the exact work which skyrockets me to fame, or the exact moment, I know it quickly approaches, as rapidly as it always does and as it always has, in the infinitely seeming times before of which I have lived this exact representation of this existence. I know that, even as it has been years since my selection and vetting, priming and prepping—although throughout my early life was given glimpses and many clues along the path which stretches between my perceived “birth” and my complete “death”.

The value of “it happened overnight” begins to grow with the preceding memory that, it literally does go from 0-100% famous in just a blink; however, I can't consider my current standing in the ranks of fame to be at ‘zero', either, in the present moment. I sleep often unrestingly knowing that many famous people are aware of my being and presence, in this and it's future existence— and sometimes restfully dream in the sometimes positive essence that I may just be so thoughtfully and Carl fly admired by those I very much lovingly and graciously admire myself, if not only for laying each carefully placed breadcrumb of hope and guidance in the most arduous and challenging puzzle pieces of this path, I keep in my heart, a silent but carefully worded thank-you letter for all the keys, not yet entirely collected, but in knowing honestly, are almost a complete set to the kingdom of Heaven.

For, I have acknowledged—being of Queens and Kings, that being of the ascended elite calls first to complete a set of tasks; my latest lesson, being that it is impossible to compete if you find yourself held to a standard of artistry and creativity the world around you may lack. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer; or, as I have chosen, have neither until the vibration of their energy matches mine, or just as likely calls to it.

Being as translucent and iridescent in form as possible has created a realm of which I find myself to have designed—and even that the system I have myself blamed as the cause for my apparent failure and supposed weaknesses, even to fall into alignment with my true purpose.

Being a God or Goddess is a self-perceived notion, that is—until one or more in the external circumstances of interaction begin to label you as such. In pleasant company, I have been called a “God”, a “Goddess”, a “Genius”—all of which I have come to see as literal synonyms—a “Prodigy”, a “Miracle” or even once “Jesus, or something”—as, were it not for the bloodcurdlingly painful actual visual memory of my palms burning and bleeding, having levitated entirely, my intrinsic telepathy (which I have now learned to somewhat curtail), maligned with the sometimes creepy manifestations of synchronicity, and sometimes even now rapidly evolving telekinesis—I might not believe. However, it may be of importance to state that perception is in fact reality—and, also living in the wicked and Wild West have come to reconcile with the fact that each person in my own reflection has, too, their own perception of reality—which can be irreparably problematic, as your average, every day person does not mesesaeily know or believe in my divinity, the encapsulation of a diety within this body, or—may even consciously not believe in the idea of God at all (which makes no sense at all, but I've come to grips with unconsciousness as a non-problematic challenge) which perhaps, perceptively speaking, limits my existence as a force at all. Although, more times than not, most people know there's just something special about me—sometimes, very often, actually, over the course of my life has this been uttered from the mouths other than that belonging to the body that birthed me—but more recently over the last few years, which I have considered myself to be in ‘Fame School' due to the many hints and clues besides the Skrillex of it all I have been given over the last five years—which is an awesome musical, by the way. I think.

Acknowledging that whatever happens to me now, is just a recordable part of history—that everything I do and everyone I meet becomes part of a world which I have been granted to understand is an important part of literature, and American history as a whole—and, with some opinions I have formed and actions I have taken, I bitterly admit do not cohesively exist as “Cree”, with the agenda of those who call the plays for the ever-fixed game of Fame that I never was asked to play, but in reconciliation, asked for myself in the preexsisance of this, in the aforementioned Kingdom of Heaven where, not as depicted in the prude and chaste reflection of man's conservative and burdening representation of God, Love and Sex are synonymously bonded with one another.

That being said, my placement in poverty has seated immediately in some interestingly immoral or, at least imperceptibly incomprehensible methods of creating financial gain—and whereas men can so openly brag about selling drugs and pimping women for entertainment purposes and receive erroneous profit, women more metaphorically mask the torturous prostitution of femininity in the industry with clever quips and interesting and astonishingly intelligent codes hidden within the lyricism I so wonderously adore, and have been gifted the talent to decode, as my soul awakened by the cry for help became alive through music, in the tragic loss of my own son and daughter—and in the discovery of all the sons and daughters near and dear to me on earth.

Though changing my name (and more than likely, my number) will not release the powerful energy sought after by lovers and losers by nature, who will still seek to find and capture my essence, if not only for a moment—however, I can begin to release the pain and torture allowed by being born to a mother who could not wholly and unconditionally love, and as a result seeking company by those who in the same predicament relied on me to mend breakage far beyond repair, who came to feed on my light as an energy source until it's near depletion; but, as we all learned from that, the Implosion of this regenerative life force, ie, my soul and the external resulting explosion is a force of magic and magnetism yet unmatched, or captured by wrath itself.

Fame, though with external circumstances again wavering and uncomfortable, may be “posthumous” given that as my writing is being recorded—as well as some of the metaphysical phenomenon of extraterrestrial presence now captured on tape— is fast approaching, which sets a stage for the never-random and increasingly expansive world that allows such men of marvel to become playthings—with the understanding of the memory that one of the first things I chose to do with my success is to complete the procedures which would take my body from a “7” to a “10+”, a well-deserved reward for all the effort it takes to lose more than 200 pounds.

With that, I close with a pseudo-quote from Jack Donagy of 30 Rock, the misogynist, conservative and even sometimes very outwardly white-supremacist corporate boss of Liz Lemon (also, kind of racist) who notes during a NSF conversation with the latter-mentioned that his love-interest (at least, for that episode) “does it like an ugly girl”, which I instantly understood, as—the longer time spent in California, where men seem to prefer a very basic personality and even more below-average facial structure so long as it's attached to a “hot” body, than to women who look like me—or look like women at all. Us “ugly” girls, spend a long time on the sidelines, before getting picked—and because of that, when we finally do get laid, are hungry for it—or, better put—monsterously fucking horny.

However, the more ideally attractive I continue to force myself to get, so that even in the event of my failure to pass the final series of Fame tests, I can still walk home with the prize of a decently attractive Caucasian male to mate with before I reach the age of 32–the age my mother had me, and therefore I will not seek to continue to try to have more children by this time, have I not already at least started.

Now, moving on from fame into the even stranger future memory of my later childbearing years, after my very short run with illicit fame—a track I set myself, as not wanting to be “famous forever”, but only to use the wealth and general acceptance garnered for it as a platform to give my children an exceptional life, as not only my Father asked, but my son Phoenixx in Heaven wishes for his Brother. My daughter, though I less frequently mention, has nearly never left my side, serving as an Angel with pride into the world that once my purpose is served in, I will leave and return to her—where she and I will walk back to the Kingdom of Heaven to greet her brother, hand in hand.

Chapter V

All My Children—And Their Fathers