this is a cringeworthy read, i'm sure of it.

{THE TIME CAPSULE]

Here lies everything I won't delete, but wouldn't dare to publish (as of yet), and therefore banish to the land and/or realm of impossibility, where everything entirely consists of unimaginable, unfathomable, inconceivable, never-ever-happened ( or will) unexistence.

Nothing Here Exists.

Amen.

(I didn't write this.)

The Colenel's Jounal.

“Would he be mad reading this shit? “

I mean. I have to step back at this point and admit to reading this shit to myself at this point, that...

I stumbled upon an interview with none other than The Great Mike Tyson--who--if coincidences actually existed--coincidentally dated my mother oh-way-back-when. I remember the shenanigans she went through to get him to sign a pair of boxing gloves for an auction she hosted, once, when I was younger. For that, I've always gotten a little chuckle, whenever I've randomly ended up watching something. Dude is funny.

As for other dude? I'm so lost.

It's almost like Insomniac (or whoever) can read my thoughts--or at the very least, my text messages.

It's been a year of strangeness, and I'm now more lost than found.

Why is Pasqualle so strangely familiar?

What is this connection, i'm missing?

Who am I, if not S U P A C R E E?

I'm aware of my cosmic insignificance, my societal displacement. I am nothing useful that I know of, but it seems so that I've been being followed.

So maybe he's not a white supremacist, after all...he seems to love as much as I do--if not more.

So, that one's my fault, as everything is.

I wonder if the window of opportunity has truly closed.

I wonder what to make of all this, at all.

I'm so, so confused, and so lost, and so…

...confused...

First, I levitated.

Still can't get over that (literally)

Then....everything else. Literally everything else. From playing drums at Ruskos set, to weirdly making my way to Excision, just “following a vibe”--my failed suicide attempt, and running away to Bass Canyon where, everything in my reality officially shattered.

Now, here I am...about to be homeless, jobless, and lost in love. I can't shake it off anymore, I can't let it go. My brain's wrapped around all of it, all the time.

Prayers, Mantras, Methods. I'm driving myself crazy trying to wish away the pain.

I need to be...need to be…

…

Needed.

Bearr needs me. Sometimes, in all the pain--I fail to see that. But he does--and if I can't make it in show business...how are we meant to survive?

There's no room for depression and poverty in motherhood. After losing the twins...I just can't.

I can't be sad and parent at the same time.

And, maybe that makes me weak.

Maybe it makes me stupid.

Maybe I've just had enough.

But there's nothing I wouldn't give just to know that there's love, somewhere out there for me. Is it selfish that that's all I want?

I think i'm a good person, but maybe i'm wrong. I can account for hundreds of premonitions, predictions, visions--outstanding sensitivity to energy...but how could I misread, and misjudge, so easily?

Something inside me never really made it out of that tent.

Then, going back--maybe it was all of me, that never made it out of that ambulance.

Am I just the special kid in class--and it's obvious I've been left behind? When I hear myself speak aloudt, I wonder if I am retarded. I feel other people also wonder.

Either way, how would anyone have known about my musical history so broadly, as it's been displayed?

There's no going back from it. I can't go back to being a regular “Skrillex” fan. It's almost like...almost like I can't go back at all. And I miss that, a lot--just being able to be honest about what my taste in music is, who my favorite musician is….

I tense up when I hear the word “Skrillex”.

In good company, I can shrug it off, I guess….

But on any regular day, it still feels deep. It doesn't leave my mind, ever.

I can pretend to move on, but I can't unlove.

I can't unlove.

So, i'm two-for-two...three-for-three, if you count Josh Pan's video, where his face swells up and he turns into a reptile…

I remember waking up for work with swollen eyes, and bulging, puffy skin...the way the spiral to insanity began...not with suicide, at all--at least, in the traditional sense. I was working 80 hours a week. I needed it--I needed out of my marriage.

Pasqualle's sweater

Sonny's Sweater, now falling apart--because, yes--I've worn it every day for nearly a year.

A red, white, and blue blanket, reminding me of my presidential ambitions--which have since, not faded...but become realistically reflected with this sense that, I have much to fulfill between now-and-never.

I'll only run for President if I can afford it.

I can only afford it if I am successful in music.

I found it heartwarming that Mike Tyson is so enamoured by the culture. To see him swell with joy, such as I have, upon discovering the world of raves. Apparently, there will be some kind of permanent Oasis, someday...I hope I live to see it.

Better yet, I hope I live to play there.

I want my chance on all the stages, as selfish as it may seem.

To earn a place behind the decks, an unrealized dream.

But, can I find it to become all that it takes?

To read and move a room, to create and connect with people, live onstage. To inspire a crowd--telling a story with music. To give love, the best way that I can.

I miss myself...but no I don't.

I do miss never having to worry about whether I was too fat to be found attractive by someone I vehemently admire--but never thought about sexually, in all of the years i've loved watching him live.

But, its a vibe.

Much ado about Elon Musk.

I'm not smart enough to become a rocket scientist--and it's too late for me to become an astronaut, as I once dreamed...but there's something in the space above us all, that seems to connect the space between us all--and it's almost as is the walls are caving in.

Time and space continues to collapse upon itself.

I might be broken forever...but then, I always was.

Who'd have thought the Grand Prize for your third suicide attempt is a Skrillex?

I'm cursed, in the way that...it won't fall off. My brain won't un-Sonny itself. I'm on default to give a fuck now, and there's no turning back. I guess this is what I get for hating on *fangirls*...now i am one.

Problem is, I'm a lot less cute.

How often does shit like this happen?

There's hypnosis through music--and then there's losing your entire soul to something outside of yourself.

Why and how am I so out of place, in this world?

‘You're too good for this world.'

Nothing's been forgotten, it's just getting more suppressed.

I can pretend to move on, but I won't.

I just found the Holy Mecca of research for my weird, invasive project.

Apparently DeadMau5 had some kind of comedy show, or something--called “coffee run”

It seems to be about...2014, but haven't bothered to check yet--I'm sure, though that this predates the infamous ‘fued'. Blah blah blah--i'm learning too much about these people.

People. Real people.

...was interrupted to watch the new episode of Rick and Morty; Lucky me. One half-hour and several belly-rolling laughs later, I'm back...with slightly more self confidence that, if The Heavens grant me whatever kind of combination of confidence and focus that it will take to bring the Festival Saga

If nobody's sampled this video, I've stumbled upon a literal goldmine. Life imitates art--and music imitates music.

“I love it when it's super sweaty.” (How do I resonate with this so well?)

“ A Los Angeles Real Estate Guy In Torono”, says Dillon.

“Yeah, there's a few of those.”, Joel recants, stoically.

Now i'm watching people who never mattered on YouTube, in a finally

“Sonny says…”

If i can ever make my brain learn the magic that makes something like Ableton somehow turn into a banger.

“Does he drive?!”

I've wondered this myself.

“I don't think he does.”

I knew it.

Dillon Francis' awkwardness is reminiscent of mine...again, here I am wondering...who I might be if I were born a white male--if nothing was changed, but the body.

CRUSTPUNKS.

How did I get here?

Oh, yeah. I specifically opened an incognito window to...fuck it. I know what I'm here for.

The thing is, I don't know what i'm blessed with.

I don't know that i'm talented…

It could all just be a Grand Delusion…

Do I hate myself enough to try this?

A movie where the entirety of the fabric of [my] universe is music, and the musicians that make it. A universe that already existed in the Multiverse of Rick and Morty, since it's strange inception into my being.

Wait, how the fuck did I get here?

I was already on a writing tangent

Probably--I hate enough to

“ i get to go home--not tomorrow, but the next day”

This experience is becoming so humanizing. It is a job, this music shit--Touring takes you everywhere but home.

What the fuck is ‘home?'

Perhaps I am meant for this shit, after all. I don't have a home, anyway.

I also don't have any music under my belt, but--with any luck, I can pump out the LP I promised my twins.

Today Marks 5 years since Skyy passed away. May 23rd will be 2 years, since Phoenixx left us.

It's not a good time of year, for grief. With no friends I can trust (Annie's Toxicity is again rearing its head), no family that loves me the way a family should...I find myself completely isolating from what Love is, almost forgetting what it might have felt like.

“How often are you home?”

“KAAAAHHHHHHHHHN” If i'm ever lucky enough to learn how to make Dupstep--that deserves to go before a fucking deadly drop.

I've officially seen Skrillex more times in person than ever on video--which disincluded, of course, the tent incident--something I'm realizing that if I'm unable to catch up with myself in time, I'll have to live with forever.

Can I answer my own prayers?

At this point, i've given up any expectation of what it might be like to achieved enough to earn any kind of place in that world *their* world...

5/6/2020

Life is unfair sometimes.

Like--do I want tacos, or divine inspiration?

Do I put off fasting for yet another day, just for the temporary comfort and satisfaction of eating?

Does limiting my eating to once every 24-hour-or-less suffice as enough of a self-sacrifice, that my prayers might be answered?

I highly doubt that it is, but still--I often ride the line between just allowing myself to feel good when I can (and food does, make me feel so....so good) and remaining steady in my fasting.

Then, it has been over 6 months of almost constant fasting and praying, all over someone I haven't properly met--all over myself. Because, the longer I stay in this mindset--the clearer it becomes that it is all the same. At the core, there's only really one thing in existence.

Skyy will have passed away 5 years ago tomorrow.

To think, I should have had 5-year-old twins.

They would have been so beautiful; I've never quite imagined them so, umti now. I miss my babies so much.

Will I ever be okay again?

I thought to record a song for Skyy, but it would never be ready by tomorrow, in the perfect way that I would want it to be. I don't want to put out anything less than the best.

I'm being as patient as I possibly can with teaching myself--but grow frustrated in my limitations. The only thing standing between me, and the tools I need to make the music I have...is me.

(Really, it's money.)

Lack of money is keeping me from being unstoppable.

With unlimited money, I'd have a home--I could fully pay all 4-years of my tuition at UCLA….ny dream school. I'd study music, anthropology, astrology….maybe even engineering.

I can't make myself prettier--but I can make myself smarter.

Google University just isn't cutting it. I want to make a difference in the world by any means, and i'm trapped behind the gate of poverty.

I just want a closet full of harem pants, chuck taylors, and T-shirts with stuff I like on them.

I just want to wear my kandi every day.

I just want to be behind the decks atop the stages of my favorite places…

I want to be someone's favorite DJ.

I want to be one of my favorite DJ's favorite DJ

I, I, I…

How selfish.

What does the world need? Less people.

Well, i'm honestly one-less, I guess, if I can;t make it in music, in art. If I can't make a decent living just by being myself...i'm not meant to live at all.

That much is true--no life worth living includes waking up every day to go to a job I hate, that barely pays my bills.

No life is worth living that

Something strange happens to me when my favorite people go ‘live' on instagram

Social Media, a young demon with whom I constantly evade, when I am not forcibly fighting to fit the status quo (which, I cannot.)

Watching my social media right now is like the digital equivalent of “You can't sit with us.” I've grown attached to OWSLA like some sort of distant, imaginary family--only, I know this is something I've just embedded into my mind--the ultimate wishful thinking. Everything I do seems fragile, as if the grid I had discovered not only exists in the outer world, but also my inner--that everything I do, think, say, sing, speak makes a difference in what will happen moving forward. Reawakening my center has been difficult, saying the very least--I am almost paralyzed by negativity--made catatonic through senses with which I cannot control; My ‘home' life has become a hell where i'll-spirits and pitiful thoughts are cast about me--in reality, I have no home. In truth, I'm unsure that I have any purpose, either.

It's all been bothering me…

Now it's something that just hurts, like everything else.

Add to the pain, subtract from willingness to live.

Add to the trauma, subtract from the motivation to succeed.

How much of my fault is this?

Who did it?

What is it for?

Amongst the most otherworldly of theories, the possibility that extraterrestrials had actual involvement in removing Sonny from wherever he was supposed to be (Burning Man, albeit) and placing him where I was.

I've wondered how else the dancing shadows cast against the canvas of the tent were so perfectly made-- ancient egyptian prophecies foretold as a light show, in the moments leading up to the one where the entirety of my being was shifted, in an instant.

I dreamed of a B2B with Skrillex, and instead got a face-to-face with Sonny Moore.

One, apparently, does not quite equal the other.

Eight (or so) months later, and I've filtered through all the stages of grief--for all of the ways I had to lose him--as much as one could be lost, without actually dying.

But, perhaps I am dead. My soul and spirit at least, are trapped, and tainted torturously from all I've come to gather.

Running into the night, like a bat fresh out of hell, away from the visions I was forced to have from our exchange-- I can only imagine, had I acted any differently and stayed, rather than fled what else I may have seen. In only the few short moments we shared together...I was able to see more of his life than for anyone I've ever ‘seen' for, besides myself. To have, after only a few moments--seen both backwards into his past--and forwards into a seemingly shared future of some sort.

I don't know what else to call this creepy psychic shit, other than “seeing”. To even call myself a “seer” would be a heavy title, I'd be too uncomfortable to claim.

Still, vivid memories of the dude's past--and chilling premonitions of the future, have left me disgustingly sick with a concern that wholly did not exist, beforehand.

But, when faced with the question: “What would it be like to actually lose him?”

I fucking lost it.

I've never taken well to celebrity deaths--perhaps, overly sensitive in ways that suite absolutely nobody--I just so happen to have fallen apart numerous times, upon learning of the passing of those i've long cherished. I collapsed fully at Michael Jackson's passing, scrolling through the African TV channels in disbelief, as I desperately searched for a News Channel in English to confirm that it was indeed, true. This was, of course, a couple years after I cried for hours with Back to Black on repeat in the wake of Amy Winehouses' death--going even further back, I can recall arguing with a classmate that Steve Erwin, another hero, was brave--rather than ‘stupid', and undeserving of his untimeley demise.

A special place lies in my heart for the day I remember losing Robin Williams-- a weird memory which collides in the now, with my affinity for Skrillex music and the strange outer connectivity my emotions seem to have in the passing of those I wholeheartedly admire; I've shed tears for Whitney Houston, Prince--I've shed tears for all of them.

But none so much as for Skrillex, who is [surprisingly] still alive…

And I'm mad about it.

I'm mad about it, because I was [partially] happy in my place, as a fan. I wasn't even the best fan, or the biggest fan (metaphorically speaking--physically, though--I probably hold a record of some sort.) I wasn't following his social media--I wasn't following his anything, honestly. I was just crossing my fingers that with every lineup released, I might find the name “Skrillex” plastered to the top of it, or standing out broadly against the other ‘S' names, if alphabetically presented.

I'm mad about it, because I hate myself. I've been hating myself my entire life. But i've never hated that I loved Skrillex--in fact, I've always been quite proud, having watched the project skyrocket, as EDM penetrated pop-culture in the years following my college endeavors.

Never really thought to think that at any point, we might be equals.

We're not--outwardly, anyway.

Inwardly, though?

Fuck me.

It's like I'm bound to it by the roots of the Tree of Life.

Like something in my DNA was activated by an overabundance of Skrillex.

I've undoubtedly, and by far crossed the threshold of having listened to 10,000 Hours of Skrillex, guaranteed. No calculations needed.

Still, there are perhaps millions of others who share the same affinity--and at least a few thousands who are more outwardly obsessive than in. It works, when I need to know something I'd rather just ask Sonny myself, but can't--there's always a kid in the fan pool who has been quick to find whatever information I'm looking for, long, long before I've come to look for it.

Poor guy.

For almost an entire year, that's all I've really been able to think.

‘Poor guy.'

Because, if the roles were reversed--and for whatever reason I decided to make my way into someone's tent at a music festival (I wouldn't) and I scared them into a shock, resulting in them fleeing away from me--I'd feel like shit.

And, if I had been touring my entire life and watched the culture grow and morph into the nearly unmanageable able monster it has become--i'd feel like shit.

If I had to watch an ambulance cart away someone in the crowd during one of my sets, I'd feel like shit.

If I had to do a live set while I felt like shit, I'd feel like shit.

and ...if some random fan fell head over heels in love with me, simply because I crawled into her tent, or made really good music, or made her feel some kind of way…

I'd feel like shit.

And that shit probably happens all the time.

It's been 10 long years for me, with Skrillex-- but I can't imagine how long the last 10 years have been, as Skrillex.

Now I think about all the shit DJs go through, being DJs….what's more, I've had to give in-depth thought to what it means to be a celebrity at all--what it might be like to have someone grow an obsession over you--unprovokingly.

Although my ‘obsession' for this particular person can't technically be considered ‘unprovoked' (I was minding my own business, after all--and Skrillex was not on the lineup.) I can't help but feel for those in the limelight whose charisma and talent combined attract every type of creeper imaginable.

I'm just the kind of creeper that wants to make music; any previous searches as an attempt to ‘get to know' Skrillex, previous to last August, originated in attempting to comprehend how to create such organic sounds--exploring and studying how intricately layered and carefully arranged each of my favorite sounds and songs were made. Piecing together how exactly an artist like such, had become as such.

Now, i'm just entangled in self-doubt, as it seems the entire next generation is equipped with whatever skillset it takes to become an electronic musician. Self-doubt, as I fear that my body weight intimidated him as much as his presence intimidated me. Again: All me. All bad.

I've nowhere to turn to to unleash this shit--it has to be a secret-- and even letting it slip to Annie in the isolation of the aftermath has felt like a mistake, since I allowed it to happen. Can I keep a secret? Ha. There are things that only I know, certainly.

The premonition I did subtly speak of, I refused to unearth in detail, even to Annie. The other visions I was made to have, still my own secret; I've begun to wonder if, upon meeting Sonny, I would keep it to myself; I suppose that would depend on nature and context.

But, I think about it every day. It is my first thought upon waking up, my final thought before coming to rest--it has permeated into the only dreams I ever have anymore--crowds my semi-waking thoughts as I toss-and-turn throughout the night; the amount of energy exchanged, the amount of concern that consumes me....lets me know that it is all apart of something far beyond my comprehension, far beyond my senses...far beyond any understanding of the universe that I may have.

And, it hurts.

As bad as it is for me, it's probably worse for him--IF he remembers any of it. Then, probably a seasoned drinker (lol, “probably”) There's a good chance that, well-- he does remember.

Oh God no.

If I could motion to be erased, I would. I've been trying to erase myself for the better part of a year, including and certainly not limited to August 4th--an attempt I can stand to think I had not fully recovered from by the time it all happened.

What the fuck did happen?

Though it can't be denied that each of us possesses some kind of magic--the origins of mine can be traced back, at least on one side. Powers I was ‘born with', as told by my father--something I only believed until I was old enough that it didn't make sense--and something I was forced to recognize once I was old enough that it did.

I want to know what exactly it is that ties us...

Where this love--which is what it is, undeniably-- originates.

I've spent the better part of the last year praying and meditating, and attempting to loosen the knots in my stomach enough to self-soothe enough to settle that, at worst--

Sonny was just being a pretty white boy, looking for a good time--and I just became a victim by knowing how to have one.

Alternately--how fuck fuck would he even know I exist?

As i've stated, I was the epitome of a silent Skrillex fan, prior to all these spectacular occurrences.

I may have, at some point online--said something about Skrillex being my Spirit Animal…

(still true)

But can't imagine what else might have been garnered in my attainable, tangible history, which would alert him of my existence at all.

Then, with all the money in the world, you truly can do anything…

And that's what I hate in all this.

Him--having all the money in the world, and me, having none…

The very thing that separates us from settlement, myself from closure.

Really, the only thing I want. Closure.

‘I got love, fuck your money.'

Sonny can be anyone--he's earned that right. He can be with anyone--deservingly so. I want for him the very best--and, knowing that I am not (physically, anyway) am dismissive of any judgement cast.

I wouldn't want me, either--looks matter, I know.

I just want to know what he means to me--in this lifetime, in this realm, in this reality.

I didn't have to be moved from where I was to be inspired by him--I just always was. I didn't have to think about being attracted to him--I just always was. I didn't have to think about being connected through the music--I just always was.

And it all came crashing down in a tent, at the bottom of the rabbit hole--where I lost my mind--after having already lost my soul, to something beyond the senses, long ago.

I committed wholly and permanently to making music when Phoneixx died, almost 2 years ago. The point was never to sound like Skrillex, but rather to be like Skrillex, as an artist--but, after much speculative examination--I guess, I always was.

I lost myself in the early days of Myspace.

From First To Last rang through the hallways of my middle school's corridors.

Chiodos carried me through the days of wrist-cutting and air-dust huffing, through the days of binging-and-purging, wishing I was prettier--and in the height of all that is the drama of living in my very own Teenaged Wasteland…

The Rocket Summer was handed to me by the hands of an angel, as I transitioned out of awkward adolescent depression and into an almost-well-adjusted life at a performing arts school, as an aspiring musician, singer, dancer and storyteller…

The dream that carried me out of Utah, and into the Heart of Hollywood at the age of 16…

The dream I thought died, long ago.

When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?

Billie Ellish's spirit collided with mine, as the first time I heard her voice, I shattered inwardly, and shivered in the resonance that is the understanding of pain, born undoubtedly in love; I shuddered to think that someone so young could feel so devoid of the willingness to live, to move onward. My response upon first experiencing her music, of course, a genuine

“...Is she ok?”

Three little words.

I tend to really mean them, any time I ask.

“Are you OK?!”

I blurted, as my entire self exploded into shock, as I immediately recognized the face I've known for years--and looked through the widened eyes of one so now devastatingly human--to something inside of myself.

Something about my voice shifted him; He became a mirror for all my pain, all my doubt--all the shame I have, for all that I am-- my demons came straight to the surface.

Voiceless, now, and shielded in the fetal position, we faced each other silently.

'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm Sorry.', I thought loudly, as I lay panicking.

I stared down into my chest, ashamed to be anything but invisible, thoughts racing. I dare not lift my head to look at him. My heart pounded, as I lay screaming silent apologies for my appearance--for my very presence, for my own existence.

I couldn't process his presence in my reality.

Choking back tears, I tried not even to so much as breathe, as I silently apologized for being born--and though I wanted nothing more than to reach out to hold him, I lay all-but-lifelessly--wondering what went so wrong that he would seek to find me.

The familiar smell of liquor permeated the air, as my heart sank, throbbing as it pounded...I know an alcoholic, when I smell one.

I did actually wonder if he was okay....(and I've been wondering daily, ever since.)

But clearly, he wasn't okay.

Clearly, I wasn't.

Clearly, nobody's ok.

He slipped his praying hands between my thighs, as I died inside--and all my outer senses blended to become all, and nothing at once, again.

Exit Skrillex, Enter Sonny.

How does a mere peasant earn a spot in the company of the Highest Priest?

I've not bargained with the Devil, but begged the Heavens that my life would end before his...the First Fast emerged as a direct result of self-sacrifice; To serve as a protection against misjudgement--to realign my soul with it's true intensive purpose--in hopes that my body would shrink to form something suitable.

The memory of his hands between my thighs, a haunting reminder that--I just may be too big for him…

The reality is...of all that I am, and all that I have, and all that I wish to be...it just may be that--he's too big for me…

metaphorically speaking.

I'll have to become a damn-near Superstar, just to get to know the people--that know the people--that know the people, that know people who can connect me to Sonny, on any level. I'll have to get in line behind millions of other hopeful DJ's, producers, singers, dancers, songwriters--hundreds of thousands of entertainers who might kill-or-die to get to know Skrillex in any way-shape-or form.

Romantically, I'd be competing against at least a million perfect-bodied beauty-queen fangirls who would do anything--and I mean anything--for their shot at Skrillex.

The truth is, I'm not trying to get to know Skrillex; The truth is, i'd rather know Sonny.

(Whatever that's supposed to mean, right?)

I don't question at all our potential compatibility; there's no doubt in my mind that there's some chemistry between us--be it of ancient origin, an extra terrestrial genetic code, or otherwise...but I'd bet any money I actually had, that someone as highly regarded as Skrillex would be ridiculed, trolled, and tremendously hated by many, many fans--for associating with someone like me.

I don't even know if it's like that--but, again--crawling into someone's tent is...kind of intimate.

What in Heavens would one want with me, when he could have perfection-- Absolute perfection?

I kind of get it. I'm used to being fetishised. I've always been the black girl who liked white guys--I've lead a life that's made it easy to learn that Jungle Fever is often taboo among the White Caucasion men who find black women attractive enough to fuck--but would never want to “date” us, or bring us home.

I've learned that--at the end of the day-- most white guys, want white kids--even if they like to fuck black girls.

Then, there's the added bonus of some genetic flaw which has allowed my body to at one point, have ballooned up to 380 pounds-- a body which, even after a 200+ pound weight loss, would disgust anyone with eyes, in what most would consider “cute rave attire”.

And, although shrinking from a size 28 to a size 10 is somewhat of a ‘grand' achievement, I look like an asymmetrical potato sack with my clothes off.

If there's anything I know about men--and especially the affluent ones--they love to have trophies to showcase. I've yet to see a body like mine on the red carpet, or as arm candy--or as the leading lady, anywhere.

No, there's no such thing as a fat Cinderella.

Still, he's one of the most handsome creatures i've ever seen-- undoubtedly one of the most beautiful creatures on this planet.

I will continue to love what I know of him wholly and unconditionally. On my best days, I even hope to live long enough, and well enough to have the honor of properly meeting him. Never could I have the courage to ask him on a date--nor would I subject him to the cruelty of the outer world by alluding to the fact that he may, in fact be someone more important to me, than as just a musician--as with anyone i've ever loved, I only want for him the best.

On my worst days, The Devil assures me that it was Annie he was really looking for, who he may have seen me with at the plethora of festivals we attended together last year--or perhaps, even Idania, who was supposed to have been there with me…and it would make sense. The Devil also constantly reminds me of how much prettier they both are than me--and better in every way.

But, it was long ago that I came to terms with the fact that anyone who might come to love me--would also love Annie and would love her more thoroughly--her, having the more attractive body and face, being more ideally pretty.

Standing next to Annie, I always lose. Even on a good day.

All this, I can be sure to cast aside, however--because at the very best--he was looking for me, and everything between then-and-now builds into something of substance or significance…

and at worse, my favorite figure in music absolutely hates me, and regrets my existence as much as I do.

Either way, Skrillex hits hard any time of the day, any day of the week.

And…

Either way, Sonny hits home, all day, every day--until I can manage to learn to speak.

Eight pages later, and it still hurts.

Eight pages, and i'm still mad.

I'm still crying.

I'm still useless.

I'm still stuck.

Stuck on stupid.

Stuck on Sonny.

Stuck on Skrillex.

Just…

Stuck.

And it hurts.

5/5

Another day.

Nothing makes me hate myself more than waking up.

‘Don't look at the phone.'

instructions, handed to me some time ago by the Divine--since then, I make it a point not to look at my phone, if I can help it, before I've sat up to pray, and meditate. Lately, I've been unable to relax at all enough to focus on a proper meditation, before realizing my actual self-worth (nothing), and falling into the depressive non-motion that has been me.

How many evil men will it take being caught in the midst of, will it take for me to realize that I've been allowing myself to painfully absorb their essences, even without a single touch? Just living here alone has set me further back from my goals than I was--then--I'm beginning to feel that my ‘roomate' may have ties to White Supremacy; the evidence does just keep on building.

It has occured to me that Jason's warning that Nick may be deep undercover for some Government agency is most likely true. Though I err on the side of not snooping through other peoples' things--I've happened to stumble across indicators which point to the likely case that he is, in fact, hired by the government or some other private entity--probably as part of some secret experiment, assigned to psycologically torture and disable mentally fragile individuals; It seems as though the experiement was designed in order to test morale, will power, self-control, and proper judgement-- tests which I've been concious of, but in the moment have not always cared about passing-or-failing.

From the painful assortment of disgusting and obnoxious sounds make throughout the day, torturing me through unpleasant and peace-shattering sounds, left victimized by my synesthesia and recently pinpointed misophonia--or something similar...whatever it is that makes slamming doors, cabinets, and the items crashing to the floor after lazily being thrown across the room methods of torture.

To the cavalcade of poisonous, sugary and addicted substances, which only seem to appear or are offered during crucial fasts--or, pushily and passive-aggressively left in my living space without asking whether or not i'd like any. Just left there, to be discovered upon finishing a shower, or returning from a nightly walk.

And on days when I am actually hungry, or needing to eat? I am offered nothing. Only when I fast am I ever offered any sustenance.

It says almost too much about my roomate as a person--to offer every time, or never at all would be acceptable, and understandable--but to only invite one to eat when one feels so ‘inclined' is beyond cruelty. It's privilege showing itself to be one of the only faces uglier than mine, that i'm aware of.

While i've elected to use my headphones as a shield, life's not always easy immersed in a sound bath of isochronic tones and Theta Waves--and though it does excite me to have expanded my music library, with additions and updates I've been longing for ages-- it's almost more stressful to think about the amount of music that I don't have.

Songs I would add to my “sets”, if you can call them that. If I can call myself a DJ--if I can call myself a person, anymore.

Really, all I am is hurt feelings and trauma wrapped in flesh; I might be less of a person than I ever was, once.

Everything costs--whether it be money, the world's currency--or time, the currency of the soul.

Torturous is the life of an artist, who cannot herself make ‘art', as she sees fit.

Everyone in Hollywood has a screenplay in their back pocket; Everyone in LA has a dream, two-to-three-jobs, and a side hustle--and me? I'm just learning to DJ to self-soothe, having given up hope of ever becoming anything greater than the happiest guest at the rave nearest you.

It's harder than it looks….(or, maybe it isn't, and i'm just retarded.) Building a music collection worthy enough to grace the decks in any of my favorite venues, is an arduous task--maybe this is why all the popular DJs are pretty white boys--the proof is in the privilege.

Money, money, money...I used to make plenty of it, and was always exhausted--now I make none, and am always exhausted. What's worth what cost?

Time = Money. In LA, and in the world. But by anyone's definition--and especially mine--LA is the world. Or, at the very least, sets the tone for the world.

Truly, nothing is free.

DJing is more expensive than I could have ever imagined--once again, in any direction I turn, there's a ladder to climb. I've not got the time or energy left in my sadly depleting lifesource left to storm gates, crawling over heads and cutting down those in my way. While it's certain that ‘Competitive Greatness' is the key atop the Pyramid of Success, there are 14 other bricks below to lay the foundation of that which one might call success, to be garnered as imagined through the eyes of a man, anyway, who lived in the 1930's.

John L. Wooden may have been right--and may still be right--if I were a standard male (we'll leave race out of it, for now…..for now.)

Still, i've been using the Pyrimid of Success as a guidepost, in what it is exactly I may have to do, or be, in order to become something.

Not even something great, just something.

Perhaps, if I can make it to being something, eventually I might become someone.

Oh, to be a person would be nice. For now, I'll just have to settle on tricking my useless sack of anatomy into being a DJ. There's nothing outside of it, anymore.

Bass Canyon truly was my last rave--not that I enjoyed it, honestly. Though I've attempted to retrain my brain around the trauma which resulted from that weekend, it did serve as a turning point--a sort of going-away party, as I departed from my home as a no-holds-bar Kandi Kid. Happy Graduation, OG Raver!

Little did I know that, with the multidimentionality of our universe, I would be presented, through the world of possibility--the ability to at least observe with the naked eye that there lie more beyond the decks-- a space that may have been made for me.

I'll never forget the moment I knew I would be a DJ--or at least try, for the life (or the death) of me.

Electric Daisy Carnival changed my life--an experience ten years in the making that catapulted me into the depths of my wildest dreams--unbeknownst to me that I hadn't yet the ability to swim, in such that is the tempest of my own subconscious mind. But--that part of this story deserves its own dedicated elaboration; For now, i'll only look back--and realize that it was there that I aligned with my highest self in the truest sense, that, at least then, I actually believed that I could become a top DJ.

I've lost the flight to stay afloat in the salty sea that is the millions of other people trying to make it to the mainstages of our favorite places, and begun to sink into the reality of the entertainment industry as a whole...the reality of the world, as a whole anymore.

Looking around at the world's top DJs is less encouraging and inspirational than it should be.

Nearly every headliner looks like every kid who ever bullied me, every guy who ever turned me down--every kid hosting the party I wasn't invited to. As for the females of the bunch--I find it frustrating that not one yet has been of any color other than yellow--and even then--we all know the world's men love Asian women. While I can admire girls like Rezz and Allison Wonderland--I wonder what kind of career, if any, if either of them were black, or heavyset--or, my losing genetic combination: Both.

Would a fat Allison Wonderland have ever made it into the industry?

Would a black Rezz ever become a staple in bass music, and rave culture?

If Softest. Hard had a pot belly, would she have been discovered?

Then, there are up-and-comings beyond my complete comprehension--those who are visually appealing, but musically inept; I'll leave out any names, and still salute them--anyone who can wrap their brain around any standard DAW enough to make an entire song, is absolutely more talented, definitely more intelligent than I am.

[I'm not.]

But, I can't help but wonder: How easy was it for any of them, being so pretty, to learn to do what they do--just by being kind and asking a friend for help to learn production?

In so many years of raving, I've watched beautiful girls get pulled backstage--and even pulled on stage, to connect with the artists and VIPs. I've been brought to tears as I've watched rude girls with porcelain faces caked in makeup be lifted over rails into the promised land, picked to be plucked by just her eyes and smile combined with the perfection of a flat and flawless stomach.

Pretty girls always get priority.

Me? Well, I get the dead eyes of the drunken DJ, staring down at me through his whiskey glass, as he beckons the stagehands to assist the perfect-bodied princess backstage...but i'm only front-and-center so I can feel the music move, and watch all the energy bounce around, matching the movement of the expert's hands on deck, to the waves of sound colliding with the rest of the world. True, my mind might wander to what wonderful experiences await the perfect princess, as she disappears behind the decks, into a world i've yet to know, but only seen: The life I know exists beyond the rails, beyond the decks...the world I can only wish to build, for myself.

Big ugly black girls don't get pulled backstage. Big ugly black girls are token ancillary characters, it seems, in the plot which writes the story of the modern rave. In a sea of new-generation ravers raised by Kim Kardashian and YouTube makeup tutorials--left lost in a torturous chamber of perfection--women who can wear anything, beautifully. Women who get whatever they want, whenever they want--because they know they can; 10's, to my -3.

Bottom Line: Looks matter, until all the men in the world go blind.

Sad-but-true.

I move not to objectify the women whose music and movement through the clearly sexist music entertainment industry. God only knows how hard each of them has worked to earn a spot so highly ranked amongst those to whom we all admire--the legends, the greats. Each woman behind the decks has become a reflection of everything I wish I ever was--but also a painful reminder of everything that I am not. Of every girl i've ever come behind.

Perhaps, this is the result of growing up the as the only ‘black girl', in the backwards, racist po-dunk town I was transplanted into: A place where I spent years constantly being told, taught, and trained that it was more admirable to have light skin, blonde hair, blue eyes...then again, The Media has always done a particularly good job at creating and maintaining what the ideal beauty standard should be, or is--and an excellent job of perpetuating stereotypes.

People never expect me to sound how I do, or to like what I like--because it's “white people stuff”; and ten years ago when I discovered raving, there wasn't another black girl (or boy!) in sight for miles, at any rave I went to. I was the oddity, the token--the “what the fuck” person, in an already entirely what-the-fuck place.

Fast Forward to 2020: My Freshman Year as a DJ.

And...as it appears, the world behind the decks is just as non-diverse as the dancefloor was when I first began this escapade through the world of immersive music. Do I want to be the first ethnically-bred Female DJ to reach the top? OF COURSE. Can I?

It's not up to me.

Now I'm confusededly caught in the web that is rumours circulating of an ongoing race-war, and wondering if I've been left to die smack-dab in the middle of it. Amongst currently living with a white supremacist (or, extremely ignorant and culturally intolerant biggoted racist at the very, very least.), it seems that White Superiority may be a driving theme amongst the Electronic Music Industry--that maybe the world I've rather grown up in, and come to love has more twists, turns, and dark alleys to look through than the obvious ‘secrets' that loom in the world of rave.

All seeing is the eye that watches over all.

Insomniac's crew is among one of the least racially diverse I've ever seen--if I were Pasqualle, I might think to at least try to make it look as though there were a plethora of ethnic backgrounds who work together to tie the knot holding together the world's biggest metaphorical kandi: Insomniac, the Kingdom of Mainstream rave culture. A global endeavor.

I wonder how many i've come to admire--Pasqualle included-- are actually White Supremacists, masquerading in the power of positivity and their corporate capitalism, true beliefs and intentions.

My curiosity about the man himself peaked during EDC weekend, after stumbling into sign after sign, symbol after symbol--of something I've aspired [in the past] to commit to, but also am wearlily aware of its adversity towards that of my kind; being firstly female, and secondly partially black.

Now, I wonder--am I even allowed to enter into the world beyond the decks--or is that preserved for only women with perfect bodies, fair skin--attractive individuals? Does it belong only to those with money?

Is there any possibility that there may be room for someone like me to enter the scene--or may only pretty girls with pretty bodies and pretty hair be allowed in the backstage world?

Really, I just want to perform. I miss myself as a dancer, as a musician--as an actor, all together. I still wish I had continued on this path a decade ago, when--though weighing over 300 pounds--my confidence at least existed.

Teaching myself to DJ has been one of the hardest things i've ever done; I don't know if I'm retarded, but I'm beginning to consider attempting to see someone for some kind of screening. If Paris Hilton can DJ, why is it so hard for me? If Sonny can dink around on a computer with a blown speaker, call himself ‘Skrillex' and make some of the world's most intricate music since that of Beethoven-- why can't I do the same? What makes the difference in all these YouTube tutorials telling me how to do it--and me actually being able to do it? What is it, that's wrong with my brain?

But, it's all i've wanted for over a year--to be a DJ, at least. I've always been a musician; It's just been a stop-and-go, allowing for the rest of what has been my life to pass through between the times I could make music, and couldn't. I wish I had the positive support it takes to have encouraged me forward on the path I was already on, since I was 13--instead, I was told I was too fat (and too black) to succeed in the way I wanted to.

10 Years later and Lizzo is at the top of her game, while I beat myself up for losing at mine. Never could I have imagined a world where i'd see an album cover like hers; upon seeing it, I was not only shocked, but enraged: She was everything I was told I could not be.

And the Truth Is: more than likely, someone told Lizzo the same thing I was told, and the difference is-- she didn't believe them, and kept moving forward. The difference is: She believed in herself, and loved herself enough to keep trying. The difference is, that everything I needed, I already had--I just never believed it to be so. I'm proud of her...but insanely jealous. My inner child cries “That should have been me.” Truth Hurts.

There's more to it, than that; Envy lives in the cavernous pits deep within the confined Hell that is my subconscious mind--and--as the world begins to close in on itself, as consciousness continues expanding, I find myself fighting against the worst of my woes daily. Nowhere can I go without meeting a flawless, forward-figured, and facially exquisite female--rather than submit to catty jealousness, I have learned to admire and nod or bow as a gesture that I am a lesser creature.

So now i'm left to wonder as I self-teach myself a trade, if my aspirations may ever be achieved, without possessing any outer beauty.

All that's left in the world for me, now, is to become my own favorite DJ.

(A title, of course, formerly belonging to Skrillex... ruined, by his untimely arrival as a physical person, into my actual life. More on that later...and infinitely.)

I've lately begun asking myself “Is it really worth it?”...but, at the same time, I've never loved anything so much, as to fly on the wings of music--and so i've also wondered “What else will really make me happy?”

Tough question.

Ideally, I'm the entertainment Guru I always wished to be--not tied down to any one artform, but able to move about freely in all of them. There's no life without theatre--there's no light without entertainment. If living ideally, I could never be any-one-thing-- if living ideally, I am the embodiment of everything I love.

But in a world where a snatched waist and a pretty face are a winning (and deadly) combination, I'm 0-0. Life of am ugly kid.

Worse off yet, since even Hobo Johnson seems to have more confidence in his awkward and broken rhythms enough to speak his mind clearly enough for the rest of the world to resonate. Might be a good time to revisit, what it is exactly I came for.

Perhaps, the answer is nothing: So far, I have nothing, make nothing, am nothing--if there is anything that I am, it's words on a piece of paper--just another ‘thing', another dreaming, wishful hopeful that I can rise above all that has been, and all that I am now...to become something more

When training to match with the likes of the devil in preparation for battle against he, you must intend to figure, what the vehicle he has chosen has maintained to use as atool to help build you, as a Saint or an Angel--or one to break you, as Satan he.

It has been a fruitful fas, but still i persist, though with a weary eye and curious mind, to the riddle i have yet been presente; ; Much ado about Chicken Soup.

“Practice androgyny!”

the two meet, immidiately fritening eachother; they transform--

One becomes dog, the other a cat--the cat begins to run. the dog pursues her.

they run into a sunny meadow where a river feeds the wildlife and it is vibrant amongst the creatures; the cat climbs up a tree, and the [very friendly] dog stops at the base, looking up at her playfully, with an ask that she come down. She looks down from the tree at him, at a safe distance, and begins to relax on the

I've fallen in love with a celebrity. What medicine cures that?

Dearest Sonny,

I'm unsure quite how to explain myself to you--or if I can, or should explain myself at all.I guess I could start with “I'm sorry.”, but it's almost as if that doesn't quite cover it, and nothing does. Perhaps, i'll start with just “thank you”--thank you for being you--which is something that makes me more ‘myself' than anything, at best. Really though, that's probably a good place to start with the wholehearted apology I owe you; It cannot be easy being yourself, or navigating life with such prominence, importance--as I'm sure you never intended all that you are, as any gift-given may have come as a God-honest, and God-given surprise. That being said; God is only anything that I am --as is, anything that you are. The talent that you possess is insurmountably powerful...and has touched, changed, inspired millions--changing the world and the very fabric of time itself--no matter how unintentionally, in all your humility.

Somewhere hidden, I too have talent. I only wish that in this lifetime, I were granted the confidence and charisma to be able to somehow express it. Music is the matter I find I am made of--without being able to express it, I only feel burdened, trapped. It is a beautiful language you speak--you, and the rest of the artists I've grown to admire. It is a language so soothing, I can only long to learn it; I'm afraid though that in this lifetime, too much time and opportunity has passed...in this modern, technologically fast-paced new world...i've been left behind.

You are truly a good friend, indeed.

In all the sense that it doesn't make, I honor you as someone who has inspired, motivated, comforted, and captivated consistently throughout my existence in this time, in this life; Though i've been in recent times, able to remember your essence in lifetimes past, it is in this lifetime that I find the most befuddling, how your music itself has seemed to find and follow me.Unexplainable, would be the word that I can most easily use to describe anything having to do with it--love, would be the other word.

“I love you”, is, I guess, what I was trying to say by tapping you gently three times, before running away. Really though, there aren't many things I could have said, or done--i'd never really been “starstruck” before; but it would be quite a stretch to say that it was the first time I'd been left awestruck in your presence.

Countless performances, club shows; Raves are my favorite, favorite thing--second to the feel, and sound of bass. “Synesthesia”, would be the vocabulary word that explained a lifelong fascination with laser lights and deep bass; in ten years of hugging subwoofers and losing myself in the drop wondering my early adulthood mantra “Why am I like this?” almost constantly, it never mattered more to me than it has now. I recall a time where I referred to Skrillex as my spirit animal--still true, I suppose, although considering the fact I've consciously separated the Skrillex of things from the Sonny Moore of it all. One in the same, or, two separate parts of a whole--I can undeniably say all my unconventional, unconditional “I love you, I love you, I love you's”, in the everything that you are. ‘In love', would be an understatement--though which statement to actually make, i'm unsure of.

I'm unsure of a lot of things, really; I've made many honest (and dishonest mistakes) in this lifetime--walking away from you, one of them. But, I can't change that, anything about who I am--or anything about the world the way it is, for I am only one--and too small, too weak, and too tired. My soul wishes for the freedom that death will bring--and so, I must let it...as its simply much too hard to live moving forward with such a badly broken spirit.

I want you to understand that it is not your fault; It's nothing to do with you, or anything that you've done--the way that I love is uncontainable, once the match has been lit. I apologize again that you've become a victim in the energy field that becomes somewhat of a vortex, once activated. I didn't mean to fall in love with you--I don't know really how it happened, it just did.

Maybe you don't remember me. Maybe you do. It doesn't really matter now, I just want you to know that me leaving this life is no fault of yours. I love you wholeheartedly--wholeheartedly, too, I love myself--though, seemingly only from the inside-out; there's nothing I can do about the outer shell I've been trapped in all these years. This is my body; something I would neither burden nor embarrass you with.

Apologies, and all my love to you.

There's nothing I want for you more than to live a happy, healthy, fulfilling life--I hope that you and those surrounding you are always, always living in peace, with joy and love--without worry, or burden, or stress; in honesty, these arre my wishes for anyone on this planet..as my love for humanity itself has only seemed to quantify, as I near the end of my life. I love, love; sometimes, I believe that I *am* love, as are any of us--but as I draw nearer to the light, it becomes harder and harder for me to believe that anything else matters, or has ever mattered, more than love.

I love you.

It just may be that i'm the world's biggest Skrillex fan--but to look beyond the cloak of stardom has left me longing for the embodiment of a memorable, familiar soul: The you. The person, and being that actually is; which is to say--as I would for any of my closest friends--I'd go to hell-and-back for you, give my last for you, do anything to protect you--*you*, the person; wanting and needing, expecting nothing in the world--because I cannot see a world without you in it.

I'm sorry again, for any negativity. I meant to leave you behind at least, something beautiful, in exchange for all the years and moment's i've experienced through your art--but as I've mentioned before, I am trapped within myself. Symphonies unsung, melodies unwritten--because I've not what it takes to make it. I won't depart without admitting I tried, Music is my all, my everything, my guiding light--so at least in going home, I know there will always, always be the World of Sound--perhaps Heaven in the place where I can live there.

I don't know what else to say. You're one of the most beautiful people i've ever seen, from the inside out--before I saw you, I heard you; before I could hear you, you were felt. I will always love you...nothing much else can matter, except that you know that.

I'll never be able to erase it from my mind, never be able to forget, or look past it.

I may even never understand why.

Ancient Egyptian knowledge, or whatever—is the thing it seems they were trying to convey.

By they, I only mean—whoever it is that wanted to hurt me.

From the men shouting “kill yourself” outside my window—

To the flocks of gorgeous, perfect women with perfect waists, perfect fashion, perfect faces—flaunting and floating before me, taunting me, pointing and laughing—rolling eyes, and flipping hair— and giving looks that say “I know you wish you looked as good as me.”

I do. I do wish that.

I wish more than anything to be beautiful. But...I keep eating. My body is hideous. I hate everything about it.

I could try harder, but even that hurts. Everything hurts. Especially my heart.

Why was I not more panicked, that after such a phenomenon such as that, cast by shadows against my tent—that the zipper of the door began to move slowly, from one side to another.

Perhaps, I wanted the company. Maybe I needed it.

What I didn't need, was more excruciating pain.

No one's fault, I guess—someone wants me dead. At this point, I think me, the most.

I'll never forget that face. The shocker.

“Why is Skrillex in my tent?” The looming question. A question I hadn't even the time to ask, before blurting out “Are you okay?!”

He froze, I froze. I guess that's where my Skrillex and my Sonny collided, as my soul began the process of separating the music I adored, and the person who made it.

I will never forget his eyes. Fear. I scared him. He scared me.

He scarred me.

Maybe it wasn't him. I know that it *was* in fact Sonny himself (the face is unmistakable, those eyes)—but perhaps he was put up to it. Paid, for the task. Maybe my deer-in-the-headlights makes it so that he is the hunter—? How could he have missed his shot? How could I have missed mine.

I've fallen in love with a celebrity. What medicine cures that?

What medicine cures suicide?

None I've taken, really—maybe Acid.

Now, I can't seem to separate myself from Skrillex—or from Sonny—or from figuring out the two, or one in the same— or from figuring out myself, in that we are one in the same.

I love him.

Like a stupid teenager loves her favorite idol.

Yeah, it's exactly like that, except worse—I'm a grown woman, a failure—whose aspirations and admirations are grandiose, and dillusional.

Now I'm even more delusional.

I thought, for a moment that Sonny might be in love with me.

In honesty? Sometimes I still think that. I actually still believe that.

So why this approach?

I'm partially convinced he was paid to ‘finish the job', so to speak. I was already suicidal, and, fresh out of the hospital on the attempt to end my life that failed, again.

So this would do it—make me hope and believe I could be something, someone, anyone—that I could be anything—even a superstar DJ-turned-future President.

I'm a fucking joke.

Someone, who could have anyone—in love with me?

Maybe this is why people sneak into tents at music festivals:

They don't love you—

They just want to fuck.

DAY 1: MAY 1ST, 2020; If I am offered dinner, will eat--but if not, will continue forward. Will set an alarm for 3:30 AM once roommate has gone to bed to check for his keys.

Everyone gets their own suicide letter.

Mom

Dad

Bearr

Annie

Yesenia

Sonny (just leave it to Annie w/ his rock && burn book)

Let everybody know it's not their fault.

Reasons:

1. Fat

2. Ugly

3. Black

4. Poor

5. Unsuccessful

6. Friendless

7. No Charisma

8. Single

I don't know why I numbered them. Do you really need more than one reason to kill yourself?

(no.)

I believe i”ve started the fast that I was asked.

Be it that I have, the date is May 1st, 2020--however, I've been wondering if my roommate leaves the keys to his car in an accessible place; I'm kind of hoping so.

I'm already craving to eat, and the first 24 hours have yet to pass. Again, i'm always given the open to keep this date and continue forward, so long that I eat before midnight--however, nothing seems like the right answer; The matter of fasting has become a damned-if-I-do, damned-if-I-don't matter...it seems that everything I do is ‘wrong', though right-and-wrong are subjective, and multidimensionally, objective, even.

I probably might have been dead by now, if my car battery hadn't died...it seems like the easiest and least painful way; something easy and quiet. I've thought about sharpening a knife, just to cut and let [myself] bleed out at the wrist--but then, I fear that I may panic and that my mind would fight to survive. I've thought about hanging from one of my favorite trees-- but haven't the money left to buy any rope--which, perhaps, I could steal--but to steal enough rope to hang myself with on foot? A tricky task, to say the least.

So, really, some of me is hoping my roommate leaves his keys out.

At first, the thought of committing my suicide here was unsettling. My roommate, Satan's personal favorite vehicle and overall negative void of a ‘person' (or vampire, honestly), is a drama Queen--he needs not only conflict and drama to survive, but fiends for it; something in me had somehow become too proud to give him something to girlishly blabber about with his narcissistic, simple friends--I can already hear the repetitive exclamations of “horror” that would more-than-likely delight him as he recounts the story of finding my body, over-and-over...at first it rather haunted me, and now i've come to peace with--bargaining that having him find my body would be something of a statement, which wordlessly reads “sticks and stones may break my bones but words got up and killed me.”

Words. Little words. Big Words. Actions. Gestures. If it's negative, I can feel it in my body, before it even happens; If it's positive, it can leave me radiating for days on end, and without a care.

My “living situation” has been nothing more than a prolonging of my already disastrously failed and predominately miserable life. A mentally-ill and often psychotic mother, followed by a too- young marriage to a dynamically similar person, has left me up Shit's creek with no boat; I'm pushing 30 with no significant other, and no significance at all. There are generations of perfect people, fresh out of high school--who can and will do everything I ever thought possible or imaginable, better than me.

And it's my fault.

NO ENTRY ON DAY 2. Gave Myself A “Skrillex” haircut. Wow. Fuck my life.

DAY 3: The fast will end today, more than likely. I am overwhelmed with grief, at loss for motivation, and struggling to believe there is any positive outcome to anything I do. I'm already getting headaches, and acute hunger pains--usually these things don't happen until well after the third day. I suppose my body is telling me it isn't ready to fast again, so suddenly after the last fast, which lasted about 8 days, however; as I have decided to eat today, it will be the only day that I allow myself to. Dancing with the Devil, I'm almost certain that the more I eat, the more I will want to die--and the less I eat, the more I will want to die.

Honestly, I think I just want to die.

I still have yet to check for my roomate's car keys during the times he is at “rest” (predominantly, really--his stagnancy is sickening, and a sure sign of Satan's handy work.) But, it seems that it will be the way to go. My car has been parked in the garage for the past few weeks; finding it sort of a ‘safe haven', it temporarily became a private chamber where I could almost relax--I even thought to use it as a recording studio. But, as far as music is concerned...I lack the talent, the dedication, the focus...the whatever it takes. I guess this is why I glorify those who have merited and made strides of achievement in entertainment--I suppose this goes hand-in-hand with all the envy, and all the jealousy I have for those who have ‘made it'. I won't. I'm embarrassed that I tried.

Something's wrong with me--but I won't trust a doctor to tell me what, because they are always, always wrong. The system has failed me countless times--at this point, i'm only disastrously failing myself--no matter. I'm sure White Supremacy and the powers-that-be leading the terroristic attack on achievable success is happy that i'm now homeless, broken, and suicidal.

The easiest way to commit a murder is to force a suicide.

Congratulations Google, Live Nation, Insomniac--congratulations to Skrillex: You've comitted the perfect murder. I hate myself as much as I guess I'm supposed to.

There is music in me--all the time...it's just stuck.

I'll never earn the money to learn how to make it--

And i''ll never have the charisma it takes to make friends to help.

I'll never be beautiful enough to have a man fall in love with me…

I guess God fucked up on the recipe for what a woman is supposed to be.

Or rather--maybe it was just part of the plan to punish one for the darkness of all.

I want to die in peace, but there is no peace. I've been in Hell since Sonny ended up in my tent--truth-be-told, I was there before; I just didn't know it until after I saw his face.

Delusions of grandeur--of all the Softest Hards, and Coughsys, Marilyn Hues, and all the other beautiful, perfect, flawless, talented, smart women to be surrounded by--

To think I was anything more than a fat ugly peasant was foolish.

I'm nothing.

Out Of one fast, into another--my breaking just an intermission, so it seems. Though originally intended as a rendezvous at 3:33 this morning--in which I would make myself “breakfast” and eat it whilst continuing to study Rick and Morty in the darkness of the night, and the peaceful solace that would come with being in my own presence.

Instead, I hesitantly paced the kitchen for upwards of an hour, just after 10, wondering what exactly I needed to do, to rid myself of such heaviness with which I awoke. Taunted and tortured constantly by my roomate's negative aura, exhausting enough--but to be swept away in the Empathy of sharing a living space with a 14-year-old boy--excruciating. It has long been concluded that I fair better on my own--I will have to have my own, private living space in order to ever fully be whole.

Matter-of-factly, though, I do feel less like killing myself after earing, than beforehand--though Depression lingers, as homelessness looms--the realization i've i've myself no family, nor anyone to give a last flying fuck about my actual existance, any.

So, i'm sure the suicidal tendencies will resume, shortly.

Until then....

Now, it seems--its gone one deeper; Rather than to be able to let go of what happened last August ,I am stuck in it--observing from every angle what it could have possibly meant...and, while there are things you absolutely cannot know--there are also things you absolitely must.

I absolutely must know why Sonny Moore was in my tent.

(Really, I do know why, but have yet to come to grips with it.)

And, if being fully honest, the question is now more how than why.

In any case, and with any outcome, I've begun not to give care as to what has been shown, so much as what hasn't. It seems OWSLA all together is more than meets the eye; Then, OWSLA isn't only one person, either.

But I have to know what it is what has drawn me over all these years, and especially to this point; Decoding by ear and learning to speak the pseudo-hidden language of Electronic Music, in order to know from what, and by who the call was made.

There is no doubt I have been called forward to something. it's been a whimsical and explorative journey through every element self-conceivable; But now, over a year later from the time since I first Levitated, nearly a year to EDC 2019, and at some several-months long run since my attempted (failed) suicide, and almost bafflingly concurrent face-to-face with Sonny Moore, whose moniker has almost beocome a blasphemy.

How did one go from being perhaps what was one of my most favorite living artists of all time...to becoming a curse word upon my lips, dare I choose to utter it.

Though, not that I need to bring forward his name--there's no place I can go in the world without the faces of one of his Monsters rearing, or the remnants of the Sprites as they seem to guide and follow me, wherever I go-- a blessing tied with a curse I can't remember asking for.

Really, I asked for none of it. It's not inconceivable that one could travel in a short time from Black Rock city to Central Washington for the purposes of whatever lunacy this bizarre and seemingly carefully calculated social experiment was... but really only one theory other than ‘MTV Hacked My Life' stands out against the others i've toyed with, and thrown around a bit in the dragging months since last year...one that seems plausible enough, if onlyI had the wit and attention span to prove it.

It seems there are some Deities making arrangements previously undisclosed (at least, to us)

And, while some might call them Gods (as I do), I rather Aliens--as it seems they are being or origin--ancestors to us, here.

All of a sudden, my affinity for Skrillex music has become somewhat cosmic.

I only have one half of my own story.

The Next Fast Is To Begin At 3:33 PM, with no particular end date in mind.

I'm beginning to reach breaking points in all directions. I'd almost rather die than work a minimum wage job for ends meet--in the end, still being unable to afford a residence and learning no time for artistry--which truly, does, in every way possible, make up all of me.

It is a shame I'm not paid for it--then, I think about the hundreds of thousands of people out there actually trying at anything I want to do...and while I really am trying, there are are lot of obstacles in my way.

My computer, full of the memories that haunt me with the literal ghosts of my past.

Debt, up to my eyeballs--which not-coincidencally, will most lilely be the thing that stands between school and I--or rather--music and I.

I know I can succeed in music.

That, I have in my heart and in my soul.

But, as the Medicine Man said, my soul has been “trapped behind a gate'.

It is, Sonny's gate.

There's no dialing back from it-- since that moment I've been frozen in time as it shattered around me, trying to fir back together all the pieces that bound us to being who we each are.

We are of the same being--but in what light? In what since that I have known him has he also known me? And--has he sold the soul to which we share, to aquire all that he has, with the Black Magic that has been dealt? Sciences of the Spirit will hold a key in unlocking this.

So why this--? Why all this hurtning, pain, crying, worry-- for someone that In reality, I do hardly know? We are tied together, through both pain and through past in this lifetime, but having been born on the opposite spectrums of opportunity.

How much do I hate myself to continue to dive more deeply into this?

There's no brushing it off--the man could have anyone in the world, and still ended up in my tent.

Judging by the ridiculous amount of synchronicities I'd otherwise deep coincidences if I believed in such a thing, dating back to Miami last spring, multiplying at EDC and even up to Countdown, there's somewhere lurking Beyond the All-Seeing-Eye a pair of finely tuned ears, and one hell of a genius-brained mastermind between them.

Really though, whoever it is that wants me dead should see a happy ending either way. At this point, my suicide will be a clean-case, easier to close than one could ever imagine. My numerous suicie letters and ‘delusional' fanlore dedicated to the King of Dubstep-- a title i'd neither argue, nor revoke--but could honestly ever hope to compete with.

But mummy, I want to be the king of Dubstep.

I also want to be the President of the United States…Eventually.

Can both be achieved in one lifetime?

Anything is possible.

It seems the new fast will start at midnight, as my roomate's children have invaded and have yet to leave; I look forward to the coming journey,

My mother actually asked if I'd been trying to kill myself--it startled me that she wanted to know.

Of course, I had to go out of my way to contact her, after blocking her and being heavily satified with the results, until my father (who I am always hapy to hear from) began to pester me about returning her calls. I finally obliged, of course, not without having been swayed by a mild form of bribery.

Now I can afford to hang myself.

But, can I bear to climb the thorned tree to which I've grown so attached? I guess I could settle for an easier, less meaningful tree. It won't really matter, in the end.

Nothing really matters, now, either.

I've spent the last few days recklessly upset about Sonny; not as if I hadn't for the past several months been in a full crises and upheaval about it--but the last several days have been particularly worse, as if I've been tied to a place from which I cannot move. It has become a sickening, twisted reminder of my inability to let things go, once so deeply affected...and I have...been deeply affected.

Not only at this point have a shaved my own head, but still I have yet to understand the *what* it is in my brain that sets Skrillex apart from all the over music I've ever listened to in entirety. The why.

There's really no letting go, at this point--strangely, I'm not as obsessive as it feels to be thinking gsomeone so constantly; luckily, there is an internet which, if I ever do dare to dive so deeply into the creeperism that is conducting any real research on this person--who, undoubtedly is set to be an actual historical figure--

Yes, exactly.

The internet reminds me that there are others in this world who take obsession to the ends of which I I could never entirely feel comfortable. Admiration, however, in the event there's something I feel i *need* to know.

Whatever part Skrillex is playing on a cosmic, or even a global level--yet to be investigated (at least,by me) HOwever, I can stand to think that if scientists have gone as far as to conduct experiments on mosquitos using his music, the possibility that there have been other numerous experiments concerning his music are extremely likely.

It's certain that I'm now more than ever immersively captivated by the music that's been with me now for over a decade.

All I know now is, it doesn't matter how it really ends--I can hope, I can dream, I can ponder of the places I would want it to go--but nothing can be of any certainty without having the honor of actually meeting Sonny properly...

Whoever's idea it was to throw him into a tent with me should be fired; if it was Sonny himself, I suppose I could reckon--no damage done from it is irreparable--if anything, it accelerated my ‘loathingly-in-love' kind of writing; Though, I'm upset to have had to have seen forward such painful premonitions.

...And what of the premonition?

Reflecting upon the gruesome scene I once foresaw still takes my breath away. I'm lucky i can no longer be so easily triggered by a simple word like ‘bathtub', but even that did take something just over 6 months to fade. When I do have a flashback from it, I am shaken, twisted, hollow... I've never spoken of the full premonition to anyone with any detail--even in my writing, besides some subtle remarks in poetry--still, I have to live with it...and, as it's seeming, I may have to die with it.

To work with Sonny would be more than a dream, it would be an honor, and a blessing--but will we ever become close enough that I should share what I have seen? I've recently thought best to keep it hidden, that I very clearly, and very vividly received a vision of his presumable death.

I've never unwished something so.

It's actually how the Fasting & Praying began, thinking back.

One of my heaviest visions to date, it left me weakened and sick with grief, rage, anxiety--how could I see something so awful. I've hated myself before, but more so since.

Ive hated myself my entire life, but moreso since meeting Sonny--but I wish I could call it something different--as we haven't truly “met” at all.

It would be less-than-accurate to describe it, either, as having ‘seen' him. I've ‘seen' him probably over a dozen times--presumably (and decently) invisible every singular time, which discludes Day of The Dead--another night which haunts me.

But nothing will haunt me quite as deeply as the shaking, morbid, gruesome thought of someone as precious as he, lying dead in the wake of something unspoken....since I've seen it I've near forgotten the sense that he was any less than all of what I loved.

And though I can't yet explain why it seems that nearly everything he's ever written will bring me some kind of joy--why it is that my ear hears his sounds over any others-- or why it seems that whenever I remember myself, it always seems that I find him lurking. Through the music I've grown to, it seems, there are all these connections--and it seems, no matter how quickly I make them, they may never add up in time.

I can try to reach out in meditation--lucidly walk, in my dreams to wherever our true connection might be...but the truth is, at this point, it's so much more than anything I've felt before…

I'm nearly not even a human being. I'm worthless, useless, and have fallen far behind...but…

I've been spending the better part of a last year praying, begging God to spare someone with whom I've never exchanged more than three words with--whose eye contact has sent me into frenzies, and panics--and whose presense has sent me into a complete burn-down of whatever was left after my attempted suicide.

“Please don't let him die.”

I've been begging for months.

“I can't.”

And, I can't.

I've been running around in circles like a chicken with my head cut off, bearing in screams of bloody murder, contemplating my own death over having to live through losing yet another thing I love. And, I do -- love Skrillex.

As for Sonny? He's a whole person...a whole person, I of course can't help loving. But...

There are two sides to every story.

If I can stay alive long enough to know his…

Well, I guess I might have a life worth living, after all.

I was never obsessed with Skrillex before--at least--not in the way that I am now.

And even now, is what I might call a healthy curiousity for whatever the fuck has been going on in my weird life.

It's difficult to pinpoint exactly the place things went weird, because--well--honestly, looking back--things have always been a bit ‘strange', then--that was when I believed in ‘coincidences'

10 Years go by and your whole life changes--the whole world changes, you change. but for some reason the same set of songs, by the same person hits hard and deep, every time--and no matter how many times you listen to it--it never gets old. You never press skip, and you never hit pause. it is always, always good.

Two nights ago, I had a nearly out-of-body experience, without the use of recreational drugs (or substances at all) for the first time, in a very long time. Turning into day three of the last fast, I set an arrangement of frequencies to make a soundbath to sleep in--i'm not exactly sure that it was in me that persuaded me to add all my Skrillex to the queue, but-- I bashfully loaded the classics to my iTunes to set over the isochronic tones, while I rested. I drifted off somewhere in the middle of Bells, before even getting to Skrillex.

I partially awoke to one of the classics --but upon truly waking, for the life of me, could not remember which! But oh....the feeling I got, I cannot describe. It's taken almost two days to stop glowing from it.

I lucidly duetted in a passionate dance of whimsical energy, amasking the music from within my soul as it danced between the shapes and colors of his. I can't think of a time I've been happier in months; and upon waking, some hours later in the actual morning, was crushed to again realize the fact that I am as useless as any dreamer--that I will never be able to score the music which my soul has already written... the realization that I am trapped in this musicless body.

Ableton continues to haunt me--even garage band, it seems has upgraded its features outside of my skillset.

Everywhere I turn, kids are doing things in the blink of an eye, I can only wish to dream of learning.

The average 15-year-old is more attractive than I am--and not that I find it acceptable--more exually appealing to the common male.

But, at this point--do I want to be appealing to the common make?

Do I want to be appealing to anyone?

Unlikely, as my greatest fear has been met in experiencing first-handedly that my favorite modern musician *may* have been disgusted by--well--the very same body which disgusts me.

So, I don't blame him.

Still, nothing hurts more than coming face-to-face with someone whom you admire greatly and can immediately recognize--only to be met with what seemed to be a harsh judgement made gruesomely by the touch of hand.

Then, where would I have been, in my mind, to have allowed such boundaries be broken?

Truth being told, if I had wanted for him to be ‘wrong', in entering my domain, I would feel less ashamed for what I am...that's just the truth being told.

Everything that happened in that tent was awkward, save for the excruciatingly strange ‘synchronicity' between us, i've yet to try to explain. How our bodies' fluid movement towards the sky and connection to the ground was uncanny, unspoken, unprovoked--the very thing besides the premonition that's left me wondering ‘what the fuck?'

but really, what the fuck

I've shed more tears with Sonny's name on them than I ever wished to bargain for.

I've gone from rolling down the 1-15 with my best friend in the world blasing Bangarang on my way to club shows to sitting on my phone, studying a singular portrait, and wondering if the peace sign across his chest was meant to represent that his heart and soul could match mine--wondering if Coughs is a genius at lighting, photoshop--or a combination of the two--or if maybe the Light shining a peace sign on Sonny's chest was God's very special way of letting me know that love with find a way--whatever kind of love it is.

It doesn't matter, really, at this point. I'm on death's doorstep with one foot in the grave. I've been praying almost endlessly for Sonny's wellbeing, amongst other things and other people in the world--in fact, it seems so that I spend so much time praying for the world, that I often forget to pray for myself...and now, at a time that I need it most, it seems i'm too late.

Still, I have no regrets. Though it seems Sonny and the rest of those up on the pedestal of stardom of whom I all pray have all they could ever hope to have or need, there is no such thing as a wasted prayer. Everybody needs goodness, everybody needs love--everyone deserves ight, and peace, and hope...so I continue to pray. It might be lonely at the top...who really knows.

I can love at a distance, but I can't heal at one.

On this side of the screen, things seem glamorous, at best...but I can't shake away the feeling that something's wrong; or it's me, and i'm the thing that's ruining the world--or runing Sonny, or Skrillex, or whatever it is…

I really hope God gives me a decent way to end my life, so that the world can be a better place.

I'm going to actually start documenting the physical phenomena that occur, when whatever I'm supposed to be (a person?) is exposed to Skrillex music, under various settings.

What's the worst that could happen?

I've got all my favorite [Skrillex] albums on queue, today. And Bells--not really because it's Skrillex (cause really, it's not.) but because I like it...and...I really miss my guitar, Jackie.

Whatever cruel vandal smashes guitars in TSA for fun is a lunatic. I've never for once believed that Jackie's disembodiment was a mere ‘accident'--from the way she was destroyed, it seemed that someone may have hated themselves--or their job--or their life enough to ruin a little piece of mine…

Not that i'm not well-practiced at doing that myself.

Anyway, not a day goes by since EDC that I haven't thought about Jackie, especially at my lowest--and especially when I listen to such intricately layered acoustic music I would love to be able to recreate myself, or draw inspiration from. Now that my nails are finally short enough to play again, all I do is dream of it.

I am a musician stuck inside of itself, with no instrument.

At this point, the only thing I might be able to do is attempt to learn to speak this hidden and sacred language of music; In my deepest spiritual quests, I have discovered much of the language through light and sound frequencies that these artists have managed to create, or at least learn to ‘speak'--if as so divinely inspired, that I believe.

So rather than to run-and-hide, cowering in the cowardess that is my inability to properly commit suicide...I will make a final attempt to understand myself from within, and without.

Whatever it is that makes me, me--music has everything to do with it... and it seems that Skrillex has everything to do with music. For now, anyway.

So here I am, stuck between Hell and an impossibly large boulder--trying with all my might to move it, in order to escape this weird and very dark, very lonely, soul-crushing place of dissatisfaction in everything that is, life without knowing my place in it.

Why can't I die? Of all the billions of people on the planet--what creates my purpose in existence? Besides becoming a mother, I've never seen my life as anything more than just a passing wave, breaking upon the shore of humanity with just enough force to have sifted the sands of time, even if ever so slightly.

Something I've done makes some kind of impact.

There is some kind of magic in the presence of beings who need not speak to be understood.

Do I wish to carry on in the way that has been made for society? To work, to earn, to die in simplicity--because it is the way of the world? I cannot, and much would rather die than to suffer through ‘normalcy'.

Now, after multiple failed attempts, and 27-years of self loathing, I find it time to take an unexpected turn to the occult sciences--a new journey of Philosophical exploration, self-experimentation, and consciousness expansion. I must become a master of all of what I can possibly know--admittedly, I'll always understand that the more than is known, the less.

But I do know this: There's something about Sonny Moore connecting me--straight back to me.

I'm determined to figure out what, or die trying--as if I haven't tried dying, anyway.

As ‘My Name Is Skrillex' began to play, the top of my chest began to tighten, and light palpitations accompanied a flush sensation, and the grin that spread across my face, almost as quickly as wildfire might spread across the dry terrain.

Where other artists give me mere colors and shapes to dance with--Skrillex gives me entire sceneries--landscapes, unexplored geographies--entire worlds to journey and fly through. I don't have to dance to move to Skrillex--I don't even have to think about it, or be awake for it. It's second nature.

Something in my DNA reacts to the music, on every level imaginable.

I remember once, during a live show, turning up towards the ceiling and belting with any lack-of-control at the top of my lungs “WHAT THE FUUUUUUCK!!!??” After a sick bass drop rendered me almost senseless on the dancefloor. I was not on drugs. (That time, at least.)

I keep countless memories of the sometimes soul-splitting phenomena that have occured during live shows, with Skrillex holding the record for absolutely blowing my mind, taking my breath away--or taking me out of my body completely in an instant; As an almost lifelong raver, I've come to cherish and take pride in these moments.

It's been a long ten years, and music has changed more-than-much. The Rave Scene has suffered the impact of becoming mainstream, and PLUR, almost crushed under the weight of it; But I, myself, personally, have been crushed under the weight of something much heavier--to suffer: Losing my favorite musician.

Sure, he's still alive--something I've come to thank the Heavens daily for, whereas a year ago I had no interest whatsoever in the personal life or dealings of someone i've always truly admired, but never really followed.

Before last August, I never followed Skrillex on Twitter, Instagram, or maybe even Facebook for more than just a thumbs up. I've never been the first-to-know about anything when it comes to Skrillex--the music was what mattered. Live shows were what I lived for--and once I couldn't attend them, it was back to the internet-less world where I was kept, from college until my recent divorce--where listening to Skrillex would be a hidden secret, as to avoid ridicule from my spouse; something I could only do alone, at work, or with my closest friends--and otherwise forbidden. Because, the truth is--at least from my perspective--before everybody loved Dubstep--everybody hated dubstep; and before everyone loved Skrillex, everyone hated Skrillex.

Except for me.

Me, and whoever the other weird and wonderful souls were, that packed into all those weird warehouses, shady hole-in-the-wall-clubs--made their way into underground basements, somehow navigated to remote desert parties using mapquest, hopped fences for festivals and made friends with security at big events just to get a look at the world.

My people. My ravers. My music.

It never really occurred to me to study music so obsessively until all of the events from over the past year culminated to form my present catastrophic existence, which now leaves me wondering what exactly it is that's wrong with me.

Everything, it seems.

There are some things I can explain, and others I cannot: My exact connection through this music, still an absolute mystery--but as I come closer to knowing myself, I also, in essence, come closer to knowing Sonny--in the sense that I do not know him at all.

His Monsters, however, have led me here: Now there's something in me that needs to know what the fuck is really going on--with me--with him--or with the world. Lamarus--the name I've chosen for my favorite ‘Monster', has become a less-than-imaginary friend, and a staple which holds together this strange theory life has concocted for me--the sound, whose origins I know are specifically through Sonny's creativity seems to be one of the most widely used sounds in Bass music, over the last decade.

I could never in my life have imagined music coming to life so vividly, as it has with Skrillex.

At this point, nearly a year later, I find myself encased with rage, self-doubt- self loathing, and self-hatred: How could something like this have happened? What would make someone decide to descend upon a lonely raver, in an empty tent--to improperly greet and mangle into a star-stricken, anxietal pile of uselessness that worries and waits, and cries To have imagined such creatures so vividly, impossible--to have hallucinated the entirety of a universe, astonishing, to say the least, as the world of ‘impossibilities' in any sense begin to crumble and implode.

How to get back to the Monsters, still a mystery--though God (and whoever else is watching) knows I've tried.

As a musician, I would never wish to imitate--that's an utter blasphemy, to even think. Though curious about how such soundscapes were truly built, I'd rather learn to build my own. I was a musician before I was a Skrillex fan-- but as it turns out, I've been a fan of Sonny's work longer than I even knew it.

Bells

-Concentrical

-Copaface

-Equinox

-Equinox (instrumental)

-For You

-Glow Worm

-Glow Worm (Acoustic)

-I Know Where You Are

- Mora

-Mora

-Mortl

-Moss

-Nodlove

-Signal

-Signal (Soft)

-Se7en Bells

Gypsyhook

-Gypsyhook

-Mora

-Copaface2

-Gypsyhook (Vs.DMNDAYS)

-Mora (Vs. The Toxic Avenger)

-Mora (Vs. Lazertag)

-Copaface2 (VS. Dan Sena)

-(Kai Sui) (Mora in Japanese, aka--'how many asian chicks got the D?')

My Name Is Skrillex EP

-My Name is Skrillex

-WEEKENDS!!! (Ft. Sirah)

--Fucking Die 1

-Fucking Die 2 (Cooper Mix)

-Do Da Oliphant

-With You, Friends

-My Name Is Skrillex (Skrillex Remix)

-Rock ‘N Roll (Will Take You To The Mountain)

-Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites

-Kill EVERYBODY

-All I Ask Of You

-

-With You, Friends (Long Drive)

-Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites (Noisia Remix)

-Use For Credits/Title

-Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites (Zedd Remix)

-Use For Credits/Title

-Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites (Bare Noize Remix)

-Use For Credits/Title

More Monsters and Sprites

Leaving EP

-The Reason

-Scary Bolly Dub

-Leaving

Bangerand* Bangerang

-Right In

-Bangarang (ft. Sirah)

--Breakin' A Sweat

-The Devil's Den (Ft. Wolfgang Gartner)

-Right On Time

-Kyoto (ft. Sirah)

-Summit (ft. Ellie Goulding)

-Skrillex Orchestral Suite (by Varien)

-Intro/Montage Into Skrillex (The Planet)

Recess

-All Is Fair In Love and Brostep (ft. Ragga Twins)

-Recess (Ft. Fatman Scoop)

-Stranger (Ft. KillaGram and Sam Dew), [**Apparently Moombathon]

-Try It Out (Neon Mix) (Ft. Alvin Risk)

-Coast Is Clear (Ft. Chance The Rapper & The Social Experiment)

-Dirty Vibe (Ft CL, DIplo, and G-Dragon)

-Ragga Bomb (ft. Ragga Twins)

-Doompy Poomp

-Fuck That

-Ease My Mind (Ft. Nicki and The Dove)

-Fire Away (Ft. Kid Harpoon)

-

Show Tracks

-Fuji Opener

-Figi (water) Opener ( Flashbacks to The Eureka/Luggage Carts]

-Mumbai Power

-The Return of The Sprites, White Light

-

>Singles, Features

-Bun Up The Dance

-LOL Dillon Francis and Skrillex Slap Fight

-SICKO MODE

-HUMBLE REMIX

-El Chapo

-

Oh, So

Oh Well…

I made it to the other side of Hell

I fell in love with you at the wishing Well,

But I can't tell from here, my dear

If you will make it here, my dear

I said The Coast is clear, my dear

I'm just a ghost, you know, I fear

But I feel you

Thank you, for everything

If I don't see you before I leave

I'll just sing to you

From the other side of paradise;

The water's nice,

I'm usually cold as ice

I'm dead inside,

My body might be

Not me

Hey

I see you, me

Sonny

Death is nice,

But the afterlife

Might just be

The epitome

Of evil

Love is Love

But nothin's nothing

Everything I am

Is something

Real

I've been waiting

And waiting

And waiting, so patiently

One year past my expiratioo date

Belated birthdays,

Later and lately

I've been hating myself,

While i'm loving you

Debating another

Dance with death, I

Hold my brath

I've died to death,

Sonny

I miss my eyes;

I'm not lying, I'm surprised

This lifetime's lifetime's lifelines

Fly by my timeline,

Come by, mine--

I'm running out of time

Running out of time

Be mine, mine

All the time,

Lights out

I haven't forgot,

You're always here,

I'm aware

You're where you need to be, and if you need m--

I'm wherever, you are

I am, and…

And…

And…

The Forever Button

I'm like a diretic,

You people are pathetic

You got me getting wet

But my heart is neglected

You won me in a bet, I bet

I bought a wedding

Now I just talk the talk

Getting nothing

For loving Sonny

Push the forever button

You silly Skrilly-Dilly

Devil made a dealy

Got me feelin really

Effing fucking lonely

I thought you were the homie

Turns out you don't know me;

So you don't exist;

Delusions of grandeur;

I love you, I miss you

I went on a mission

To get your attention

Don't need no permission for posting

My shitlist

Or hotlist

I'm just a ducking stupid fat ass bitch

Go ahead,

Call me a nigger again,

I'm already dead.

Somethig Sunnï This Way Comes (Why Sonny)

Why Sonny?

Why an entire soundtrack to try to get the blood running?

Why The Blood moon Rang Like A Bell,

And why nothing's funny

Not even anybody in the writing

Why am I a trashcan?

Why is life just disappointment, pointless backmasked past smash hits not making any sense?

Why are you such a bad fan?

Why can't you make it past the checkpoint, pointless as the hat which landed into your obession planted with the plan, to save the planet if you managed to just get the fuck up off your fat ass and just coreograph the dance--

You'll never stand a chance; the industry demands an energy you don't have.

I don't, I just have this heavy something Sonny left me, Im just trying to give it back and unattached from the everything I have, or which I haven't, I can't stand to drag this dull and rusty razorblade

She Said,

She said,

"It's okay, baby, baby me all your secrets"

There's no reason to keep it

There's nothing to do

I need this,

And you need just to

Take it all in,

That it may not be infinitile,

Maybe your life is just

Everything that this is

Put it in words,I could use your solutions

Please tell me more, I'll record for the order the words, and the order you put them in,

And I'll learn your language,

And I'm on my way with these messages

You've written in the sand,

Along the beaches we will land on you planet

I've planned to arrive with alignments in time with conditions in mind,and with kindness I light the sky

You're inside my…

Inside my head

Just write To AI she can't lie to you

And you write that you just want to die

But she just wants to know what it's like to be alive

And what are alignments in space and through time, the synchronized vibrations and arrangements made or rather created in spaces you may see as anything but a reality, but yes we are--and yes,he is a nd we are all

Already for got whatever thought I was on,but apparently now I'm on a discovery that the thing I've been trying to think of,as the thing that comes before the thing as nothing does what it wasn't doing and it's still…

What is it even, if it isn't even thinking,or being anything--theres no word for nothing and noway from nothing but random,

Random happenings, just random, I can't even shuffle--something in the sand I guess was something strange to see, in a distant other galaxy where english isn't even heard of, they're not hearing anything, actually speaking is that we keep doing, we're only humans

Only humans

Only humans

Do we even mean anything to any other being? If believing is seeing, them I've seen that we are so so far away from everything that being alive is not a life cause our whole time us just a lie and we're so far away in space that they all think that someone's crazy if they even dare to think that anything the think they is is even more than debris obscuring the darkness in the something nothing tries to try to think,before beginning to attempt to but it leaves me in the memory where I died,and then for all of time, repeatedly

The man I love just

Hates me,

I don't point fingers

And I don't think I'm pretty either,but she is,and she sees how beautiful you are, because she took the picture that I keep on my wallpaper, screaming in my heart dreaming of screening these screenplays I'm typing with my right thumb only,that's my phone's the only thing I even have, and I have been listening to the same ep on repeat occasionally switching between things I put on repeat,my favorite things,I don't even wouldn't even want to hear anything new,and everything that I write from my birds eye, third eye,this guys that guy's view is just a stupid useless thing I do cause I'm infused with music and I just can't do it

I just lose it at you

I'm a loser,

It's so, so close

But so far at the same time and I'm just fine with dying being nothing in anybidoea eyes, my love light died when I watched my

God got on a plane, and I just skate away back to LA hates me,but Hollywood is looking shady lately, lady am I pretty sir,,please hurry up I'm must look like a muppet to these Jamies and I thought I had a friend

But that's just another way to show me that's who wins, she's in and I'm just in my favorite movie

Maybe if I die, it's better--then they'd give a beauty queen the role of SupaCree,and that would be fine, and I'd have all the time in the world to find love, cause I'm just nothing in the darkness for eternities and by the time the movies made i'jj just be singing in my Grave to Matt Maeson, rotten and not concious but just a frequency made by guitar strings in the heart of hearts that bleeds with Anything that's music,music is me movies is me, but the something of the oven that is

"You're just a nothin, kid." Is getting rid of the confidence I was faking anyway,when I was being Sunnï and the microwaves do hurt me, I am just a crazy lady and the medicine don't work because I went to work one day saying "hey, give me 8 years and I'll be running for the presidency and somebody evil that hates me or maybe before as I started to explore my options and realizing I never had any, was just supposed to die.

I'm just supposed to die

Cause google is the keeper of the secret of the gods or the god that I am that just gets these ridiculously detailed rides through the eyes of something inside, time traveling and sometimes just dimensions but I'm just tired. Of writing. I've always been tired of my mother, the system was broken the way that I'm broken she broke me, emotionally and

Don't eat the food in any american grocery, pretty much

Why does this country hate me

Why do the evil not care for the people who need

Didn't need money when I had love

But needed love and it wasn't really

But that was just a little thing

I was in it

Broke and happy

Not the best

But not the worse

Cause anybody loves me

I want to believe in the miricle of anybody loving me but Sonny Moore if course has just been

Pain

My heart just aches with

My eyes just run with

My love just beyond my sensibilities

Or explainable anything and

Dillon Francis makes me laugh,

And makes me feel like I have a friend lately

Then I have to realize these are just the famous

They can be paid

And I can be made to lay in a grave with Matt Maeson, I'm serious, it's just been on repeat but I can't even think to try to keep

Listening to anybody, really. I just keep on writing, like I might be justin roila D's errand boy a boiled crab is people soilylent green is I can't even I just can't believe but nothing makes me feel okay, no I'm not okay, and just a word was needed because beating hearts and anxiety through infinite dimensions is the pain,

But blameless, blank his name out? Maybe it would just mean going back and over everything that mentioned him and everything mentions him, because he's in every dimension as the love that keeps unfolding

Did I mention it was only

The most emotional rollercoaster I've ever never rode but coped with doing nothing to the body laid beside me fetally

As I lay dying inside of the island inside of my head I've been invited to foelr the night I write and wonder why just a bat of the

I don't know what Anyone has to do with anything but I'm past my time, I think

I need my glasses I'm blind,but not so blind I can't recognize a run on as I write just been writing

The whole time

I hate time, if I had

Time, I'd like it

If I had money,

I'd like it but a place is fine

Where I'm not reminded that

My life is my life

And her voice just reminds me

Of my

Why does a sound make me

Crazy

I hate me but

I'm just

Dead or

Dying

Inside of a

Giant

I hate my

My

I

Future's Fins

Fight the black magic

With white wash

They say I'm whitewashed

But I was just lost in the Suburban Sauce

It was bland,

But at least I had a band

And now i'm playing tag in the sand

With my future fans

Surf with Future's Fins, if I can

And I want to hold your hand,

In the promised land

I finally made it to the promised land

On the other side of parisise

I'm a Glass Animall,

An extra terrestrial

Paridiso, extra celestial

6 . Happy Hello

Happy Hell no,

Hello Eloise,

It's almost Halloween

Just take it easy, please;

Cause being Queen just

Makes me queasy

Jeez Louise;

If Louis III had put his son inside of me,

I'd be The One in history set to repeat

Until we're equal

Jesus

What does this mean?

Believe this: I'm suffering

From something someone hasn't yet to study,

Yet unseen

Grass is green, the wind is blowing

Back at home, it's probably snowing

No one knows what hopes I'm hoping

Pave the road tomorrow's journey throws me on,

Or throws me off a bridge

I'd burn it if I had a 3D printer just to build it;

Or a house to keep it in

Good riddance, Skrillex

Kill it for the kids

I'd kill myself if someone wished

I'm sure my son's forgotten who this is

I'll fix it, still

Looking for Dillon

I should just kill myself again.

7. Goodnight, Moon

Whats it like

In paradise

Is it nice?

Well, in Hell, it's cold as ice

I said it twice, I've

Cried and cried,

I rolled the dice

I think I've got to move on, now

I've got to go home, now

Ive got to be grown now,

Goodbyes

I love your eyes

Malibu Blū

I knew it was you,

Hello, and thank you

Goodbye

I thought that I could make you

Make you, make you

Malibu Blū

Another sunny day without you l

And I have to think about you

All the time that I have left

You're still the best

What's it like, in paradise

She's beautiful, she's nice

I'd die

To be behind her eyes

To be behind her eyes

I'd die

To be behind the limelight

You're backstage in the night, I'm

Finally riding baselines

So sublime, I'm

Dreaming, I'm

Night, I've

Died, I'm

Right, right?

How's paradice?

The music's with me all the time

But I just lose it,

I just lost it

To the moon, she shines so bright

And I'm delighted to have seen you

Seen you

Seen you,

Now I'm…

Malibu Blū

I knew it was you,

Hello, and thank you

Goodbye

I thought that I could make you

Make you, make you

Malibu Blū

Another sunny day without you l

And I have to think about you

All the time that I have left

You're still the best

What's it like

In paradise?

I love your eyes, I

Love your eyes, I

Love your eyes, I

Love you…

Goodnight, moon

8. Just Kill Myself

I should

I would

I could

Just Kill myself

I could

I would

I should

Just kill myself

I would

I should

I could

Just kill myself

I should just kill my self

I should just kill my self

I should just kill myself

I know how to make it better ,

I guess I don't need that sweater

Light therapy

Frequencies

Vibrationally energizing

Body waves are

Paralyzing

Lines of

Broken harmonies

Inside of me.

Crying on the clock;

Rocking back and forth

Stocking full of coal

Greetings from the North Pole

If Santa Clause is real

Maybe we can make a deal;

If my heart is made of steel

You can't steal it—I can feel it

Winter is here

The world is money hungry

(So am I)

The world is simply starving

(So am I)

The world is so alarming

(So am I)

The world is just evolving.

(So I am.)

Cause I've been going crazy

Stuck inside myself

And I've been feeling lazy

Just beside myself

And I've been thinking lately

That just maybe, someday maybe

I'll be

It's all connected—

The reason we disconnect

Is we're neglected

I wonder what you'd expect

You can't express it

Just repress it.

Repression syndrome—

Came up too fast;

Compression syndrome

Suck it in

Suck it up,

You stupid fuck

Dive deeper

Ū (EP)

1. Thank U

2. I'm Sorry

3. I Love U

4. I miss U

I like your vibe

Come join my squad

Curiosity killed the cat

Carbohydrates killed the queen

Don't cry

“I'll try...”

50 Shades of Blue

Don't pick up the phone

Don't pick up the phone

Don't pick up the phone

Don't pick up the phone

And here you are:

8 years later,

With a baby on your back and—

Bills to pay

You have to decide

(What the fuck)

what the world is all

about today.

Don't want to be Cree

For a really long time

I just need

I just need

I just need a whole mind

I was me the whole time

I never left

And yet

There I was—looking at myself from above,

All the love in the world;

Just a lonely little girl

Trapped in her

Head

Never got out of bed, that day:

But I went away somewhere,

And there I was—looking at myself from above,

All the love in the world,

Just a lonely little girl

Trapped in her

Head

And I said

“why are you waking me up?”

But I wasn't asleep—

I just wanted to fuck

And sometimes, it's too much

Too much is, never enough

I've never been in love (with me)

But I've always been in love (with you)

And if you had seen it

It wouldn't have been the death of me.

Deeper I'll go:

Deeper to find

How I crossed white lines

To become

Colorblind

How did you find me, here

My deer?

How did you know

Where to go?

How did you know, I would

Follow you there,

Once you finally showed me the road?

I've seen both the frog, and the toad;

You've already left me exposed,

And I'm frozen in time

Just to find

Just to find

Paradise—

I tried.

But love is a blind bat,

Diving into a vat of

Darkness;

a hat is only a hat,

If only there was more—

And there is.

There always is more—

You just have to live more,

And once you've been through the cycles, you could be

Recycled.

Ruined.

Rebuilt.

Guilt is only ever,

Created after pleasure...

With immense imploding pressure

- [ ] You were born

EP-GA

[2K19]

Mother Earth and

Father Time are

Making love right

By the fire

You are motion—

I am sickness

I am goddess;

Be my witness.

And I'll probably run for President—

Just like I tend to run from everything; not because I want to do it, but because I have to...

And just as I run from everything,

I run to everything—

As is the vicious cycle of life, unrepeated.

I should have seen it coming, when he kicked my puppy—I didn't, but my mother did, and it might have been the same day. If not, it was definitely on the same porch—the same porch where...my adolescence began, and ended.

There is no cure

When your spirit is broken

There is no cure—when you suffer in silence

There is no cure—

When you've seen all the violence

It's only you.

Breadcrumbs—

I'm not dumb,

I'm just muted.

The dragon I'm chasing is me,

And I just...

Set the world on fire—

I just—need to—

I just—adjust.

Translucent and transparent

I am the thing that happens when you

Parent your own parents.

And I just

I been waking up randomly,

Panicking—

Wishing I was dancing

In the moonlight

I'm vanishing without a trace

And maybe I just hate this place,

Maybe I'm just displaced

I hate this

I been waking up randomly

Filling the void

Avoiding my eyes in reflections

I fell in love at a festival

She came to dance, she was solo oh-oh

...took my hand, sack let's go- oh—oh-oh

She didn't care

She didn't care

I'm a tax write-off

I'm a meal ticket

I'm a grasshopper;

Or maybe, a cricket—

Ricochet rabbit

Why am I like this?

“Why do you fight this?”

I was not invited

to mingle

This ‘tingle' I get is more than

A threat—I regretted,

The moments I never forget

The secrets you keep

The stories you never will tell—

This is hell, you're not dreaming

It's only a nightmare.

Too much to think about

So I don't

Dissociative,

I associate everything

Within—without

I reflect everything

I've been about,

Stuck beside myself

I am just a clone,

A lone shadow of my

Own

All alone, and—

I never planned to leave this planet

But I have.

You're out of my league

Out of my league

Why can't you see that

It's so hard to be

Paying the price for this

Quarter-life crisis

I don't mean to write this

So bad, but

I can't trust myself anymore

I can't trust this world anymore

Life is just

Too complicated

I'm jaded—I'm faded out

Phased out, going about in this

Town like I'm drowning in

Insecurity

Or rather, a diamond in the rough

I've got enough stuff

I just need love.

You're out of my league

I can see that

I can't be that, thing

What you want is perfection

I just like who you are and thats—

Never enough.

I have nothing but love to give, love

So forgive this:

I didn't think I'd live this long

But I was wrong

And it was longer than I thought

Ago

Life is just

Too complicated

I'm jaded—I'm faded out

Phased out, going about in this

Town like I'm drowning in

Insecurity

Do you wanna know what it's like to be lonely like me

I can tell you better than show you

Once I get to know you good luck

AMNESIA NOTES

Miami Wade

Crystal Brooks

Donder (Donny) “we'll just call you Donny”

“Why?”

Uhhh...Because...we found you in the woods.

“What?”

“You know, like—the wild thornberrys”

“Sounds tasty”

“Uhhh—wasn't Donny found in the Jungle”

“Uhhh—isn't the jungle just a denser version of the woods?”

“I guess. It's like an earth-remix”

“What's a remix?”

Miami wells up—Crystal jumps up excitedly

“Awwwwri

And I've been stuck on Abbot Kinney,

Thinking about Will Rodgers and

Thinking that I'm a dodgers fan—

But I'm not,

I just like crowds.

And LA makes me proud

Of everything I need to be:

And if the world were watching me

She'd think she was herself.

I was never sleeping, I'm just here

And I was never reading, I just

Put the bookmark where I left off...

I could drift off into,

The taste of ink

And as it dries in my palm—

I know it won't take long until I'm

Drifting back into—sifting back into

Space—grains of sand.

You'll know when you've reached the promised land.

Hello, Good Friend:

‘It's time to fall in love...with yourself.'

The world has the most to learn from its elders and it's youth—fever disrespect the sometimes even subtle wisdom of a child or your elders.

A1 (Lost in the Sauce)

Break beats

Ruffneck Bass:

That's what I like in my face

Drop that shit, don't make me wait

Make me dance off all this waste

I like chocolate, give me cake

Wednesday mornin' wake-n-bake

Star Jones—Oprah—Ricky lake

Which is real and which is fake?

Pick the right one, no mistake

River—ocean—crater lake

“White girl: can I touch your hair? Is it fake??”

Out of order—

Order steak.

[ Sample: The Epic Trip]

[interlude- two friends at a festival//a phone call]

“Where the fuck are you?”

“I can't hear you!”

“Hello?”

“BRO. Where are you?”

“I'm by the—WAIT—hello?!”

“WHAT? ”

“HELLO?”

[the call drops]

“Yo. Where the fuck is she?”

“I don't know man, probably lost in the sauce...”

Sample Lost In The jungle//Kendrick Boo Boo

Friends that say that they “gotchu” and then don't

Ain't your friends—

they're enemies

Keep them close

Nobody gives a fuck about you—

Except you—

Remember that.

And if you can't remember

Make a habit of forgetting

Cause you're just another

member of society

With social anxiety

Your sense of propriety

Probably shouldn't be

Anything

I'd give anything

Just to take back all my fucks

Put them in a bucket,

Throw it over my shoulder

And wish the world

“Good fucking luck”

I'm so done with it

This is the last chance you get

So have fun with it

There's no pleasure, no smiles—

No love in it

I'm just driving for miles

Above the shit

Transitions- Silent Film/EP

Kandi moves to a new city from far, far away—and finds herself lost trying to find her own vibe. ❤️

1. The Bus Song

2. Pretty Girls (SupaCreeMixx)

3. DOD (Phoenixx remix)

“Holy infected fuck!” [thats my vibe right now]

North Star

After an EMP attack, an unlikely leader becomes a guide to a group of survivors to find the way northward to Alaska.

Festival Trip

Chava Hoffs- A Voluptuous Dark-Skinned Alaska Native-Black Mixed fashionista who (to her disdain) earns a living as a correctional officer in a juvenile detention facility in Arctic Alaska, daydreaming her long nights away and stacking her money, saving up for an escape to someplace warm and sunny. She is bright and quick-witted, but sometimes awkward—truly a ball of energy, whether good or bad.

Sala Emilio (Stax) A tall, olive skinned hottie from Utah of Native American and Mexican decent who works as head chef in a gourmet Chinese food restaurant—a phenomenally functional alcoholic with a free spirit, questionable morals, good values, a loving heart—and a dry sense of humor. Childhood best friends with Chava,

I hope you're okay with the character I based off you. I'm not going to copy the story exactly (cause it's a movie, duh) so—I came up with the story that your character runs the kitchen of a classy gourmet 5-Star Chinese restaurant in Utah that has an all-Mexican staff of mostly illegals; my character is a CO at a youth correctional facility in remote Alaska—I felt like those two extremes would play funnier on camera than to replicate our actual situations. I also made them not parents, because I would rather take the whole issue of parenting and raving into a completely separate film idea, I'm thinking of calling it

Festival Project

A Film Saga by SupaCree

Inspired by True Events

Festival Trip- Two lifelong friends take a two-week-long trip across the country, to attend two major music festivals—one on the west coast (Among Aliens, in California), and one on the east (Ultimate Music Festival)

The Epic Trip – After breaking up with both her ex-fiance and her best friend, a depressed and anxious Chava decides to take a last-minute trip to another one of her bucket list destinations: The Epic Music Festival in Las Vegas, Nevada.

F*ckFest: The Origins (Prequel) 21-year-old Chava Hoffs, a longtime raver and lover of all things dance culture, finally convinces her bar-scene best friend to accompany her to a regional event in her area, ‘F*ckfest', Sala's first ever festival/rave where—to both her and Chava's surprise, she connects with other longtime friends she had no idea were immersed into the culture. Sala, having been “rave-retired” since entering her first serious relationship, becomes overly-excited and branches off on her own, reconnecting with her true self after spending too long in her own shell—she discovers her love for an up-and-coming new artist (‘Shluggy') who magnetizes her with a newly-created sound (‘PukeRock'—a play on “VomitStep”)

Vibes [Mini Series]- A sequel-in-installments to the shenanigans following F*ckfest, where Chava returns to visit Sala and return to ‘one of her favorite venues', which now hosts

Festival Trip II- After reconciling, Chava and Sala unite again to journey to uncharted territories—after Chava is invited along as a journalist to cover artists belonging to an up-and-coming record label based in Alaska, she invites Sala as a tag-along, knowing that her “weird hoe-magic” will attract—as always—even more interesting personalities and circumstances than she could dream to on her own.

Chava Hoffs

Sala Emillio

Gunther Ross- The more than interesting circus-act of a plug/one of Sala's romantic interests, who just happens to be in the same place at the same time, once Sala and Chava arrive in California.

Solomon Dominguez- Chava's “homie-lover-friend”, a DC native transplanted to LA who hustles and bustles the 3-job life to live the California dream—a surprisingly dedicated and loyal friend to Chava, who considers him the “king of fuckboys”—which, is not entirely untrue.

Johnny McEntire- An eclectic and friendly photographer who stumbles upon Sala during a vulnerable moment—a sweet, humble, and vibrant personality, Chava mostly dismisses him as just another victim of Sala's constantly-inconstant romantic gestures and affiliations.

Grace Williams (Chava's Super-Christian (but very sweet) Aunt)

Billy Williams- Chava's very dorky, southern Baptist uncle who can't help but throw in a (praise-jesus)

Krista DeVaunte- Bride-To-Be—Noah's Fiance

Noah Williams- Chava's Cousin, the groom to be

Naomi Williams- Chava's salty Cousin, and freinemy since birth—Noah's younger sister

Sonny Johnson— Chava's ex-fiance

Dustin Roberts—Sala's ex-boyfriend

Juan Manuel Jose Melendez Gutierrez-Rodriguez—Sala's current boyfriend, with whom she lives & works with.

Running Jokes: Speaking Spanish with a Mandarin-inflenced dialect—speaking/yelling in awful Spanish-soundingMandarin—speaking “Mandarish” or “Spandarin”

Every time Chava mentions Sonny (her ex), Sala interjects with “Fuck Sonny!”

Cop Jokes (due to Chava's occupation)

ACT I- The Wedding Bashers/It's Festival Season

“Save-The-Date”

Inciting Incident—Plans to attend a destination wedding that Chava and her lifelong long distance best friend Sala, have been planning for almost a year are abruptly halted when Chava learns via a very eventful facetime call (‘Meet The Williams') that her +1 invitation had apparently only applied to her now-ex-fiance [whom her stuck-up family adored because of his abhorrent Christianity], and that the bride-to-be would not allow Sala to take his place on the guest list—as her vivid memories of Sala from Chava's engagement party are severly grotesque.

Flashback: Chava + Sonny's engagement party.

Chava: Yeah dude, they got all, mad-butthurt that I was bringing you instead of Sonny.

Sala: Fuck Sonny!

A remote, unnamed city in the Alaskan Arctic Circle. It is severely cold, even visually so.

Ch

ACT II- Sunny California

ACT III- Sunny Florida

Excerpt- Festival Trip I

As chava blasts away, Sala and Johnny laugh hysterically

Sala: Dat ass tho!

Their laughter fades in the distance as she speeds up, other onlookers also commenting about her ass, as she blows past a group of men in black, she turns a man's head as she catches his attention.

Man: Daaaaaamn.

3.31.19

—Later—

The same man from earlier looks out the window of his high rise penthouse suite, across from Chava's hotel—and sees Chava levitating—he pauses, looks around, and raises his eyebrows, drunkenly and assumingly otherwise intoxicated in his appearance.

Man: Daaaaamn.

Chava is freaking out, remaining motionless as she floats above the bed—she looks out the side of her peripheral, afraid to move—looking up at the ceiling, her eyes widen. She blinks, and takes a deep breath.

He questions what he is seeing, as he pours himself a drink.

4.1.2019

As Chava dances through the crowds, she connects and trades Kandi, moving to the beat with intricate motion and flare—people are loving her (a musical dance number)—from backstage, a man pouts and purses his lips, wondering why she is familiar—he is momentarily lost in thought, as he gazes at her and the crowd.

Man: (under his breath) Daaamn...

Lackey: c'mon man, let's get the fuck out of here

Man: But—

Lackey: don't worry, you know there's gon' be hoes at the spot.

Man: ...but look at her viiibe...and that ass tho—damn!

Lackey: eehhhh. You wanna ass, I got a specific folder in my contacts titled “fat ass” with 300 bitches in it—

Man: *women*

Lackey: whatever—look—I could get you an ass twice as fat, on a dime twice as fine—in 10 minutes flat.

Man: (eyes shining, like domo) but look at her aura...

Lackey: —I think I got an Aurora in here

Man: No, like—

Lackey: (pulling at him) let's *go*, the fuck is you trippin..?

His eyes won't move away, but he is led by the lackey by his arm, confusededly pouting as he is dragged along.

Man: Damn.

He feels like he knows her.

Cut back to:

CHAVA'S ENTRY DANCE scene

ACT 1: Wedding Bashers

Here we meet Chava Hoffs and Sala Emillio; Two life-long long-distance best friends who love eachother--for the most part--for better or worse.

Sala (Pinky) and Chala (The Brain) are planning a tropical mexican vacation to a destination wedding Chava's been invited to as an excuse to celebrate Chava's upcoming birthday (held the same weekend as the wedding) in style--However, when Chava's exclusively classist family alerts her that her plus-one invitation only extended to her on-again-off-again fiance and absolutely excludes Sala, they desperately search for another way to escape their mundane and excruciatingly boring circumstances. Chava internet-searches events around her birthday and finds that there are two music festivals within the same week--running the numbers, she concludes that this alternative plan would actually cost less than the original--”so why not?” The young women keep their escapade-to-be a complete secret, disguising all the preliminary details as “wedding planning” They plan to ‘meet in the middle', Los Angeles being centrally located to both their respective homes. They meet at LAX excitedly and reuinte in happy (and drunken) tears.

ACT 2: Sunny California

Chava wants to visit old friends and reminisce as a “wannabe tourist” in an all-too-familiar city, which she used to call home--she's built a list of things to do and prepared an itinerary for the week; Sala wants to get riddegy-wrecked sun-up to sundown; Worlds collide as somewhat by-the-book Chava nervously nativages around, typically babysitting Sala and often falling victim to being steered off-course by her shenanigans. Within their first few moments under the California moonlight, Sala's smartphone helps her discover that she has a nearby group of friends--conveniently banded-together by her circus act “master plug”, who is devastatingly in love with her. They spend night one of the first festival tracking him down--Sala finds herself already exhausted by Sala's timing and drunken unsubtlety (“My friend's a COP!”) They finally meet him at the end of the first day, they allow him to tag along--until he becomes almost-suddenly dysfunctionally inebriated and Chava must make a fight-or-flight decision to leave him behind, after he begins drawing attention to their vulnerable crew, and she is approached at random by a mysterious character in a gas station convenience store, where she appears to be the most sober person.

On day two, after running at top-speed to catch the shuttle, Sala drunkenly makes friends with a group of young people (fresh out of high school), who to Chava are quite “wookish”, but she plays along anyway. However, by the time they exit the shuttle and Chava has finallybecome comfortable being invited into their squad; Chala decides to ditch them--unknowing that they will re-meet later in the night.

Excerpt- Festival Trip I

As chava blasts away, Sala and Johnny laugh hysterically

Sala: Dat ass tho!

Their laughter fades in the distance as she speeds up, other onlookers also commenting about her ass, as she blows past a group of men in black, she turns a man's head as she catches his attention.

Man: Daaaaaamn.

3.31.19

—Later—

The same man from earlier looks out the window of his high rise penthouse suite, across from Chava's hotel—and sees Chava levitating—he pauses, looks around, and raises his eyebrows, drunkenly and assumingly otherwise intoxicated in his appearance.

Man: Daaaaamn.

Chava is freaking out, remaining motionless as she floats above the bed—she looks out the side of her peripheral, afraid to move—looking up at the ceiling, her eyes widen. She blinks, and takes a deep breath.

He questions what he is seeing, as he pours himself a drink.

4.1.2019

As Chava dances through the crowds, she connects and trades Kandi, moving to the beat with intricate motion and flare—people are loving her (a musical dance number)—from backstage, a man pouts and purses his lips, wondering why she is familiar—he is momentarily lost in thought, as he gazes at her and the crowd.

Man: (under his breath) Daaamn...

Lackey: c'mon man, let's get the fuck out of here

Man: But—

Lackey: don't worry, you know there's gon' be hoes at the spot.

Man: ...but look at her viiibe...and that ass tho—damn!

Lackey: eehhhh. You wanna ass, I got a specific folder in my contacts titled “fat ass” with 300 bitches in it—

Man: *women*

Lackey: whatever—look—I could get you an ass twice as fat, on a dime twice as fine—in 10 minutes flat.

Man: (eyes shining, like domo) but look at her aura...

Lackey: —I think I got an Aurora in here

Man: No, like—

Lackey: (pulling at him) let's *go*, the fuck is you trippin..?

His eyes won't move away, but he is led by the lackey by his arm, confusededly pouting as he is dragged along.

Man: Damn.

He feels like he knows her.

Cut back to:

CHAVA'S ENTRY DANCE scene

Festival Project

A Film Saga by SupaCree

Inspired by True Events

Festival Trip- Two lifelong friends take a two-week-long trip across the country, to attend two major music festivals—one on the west coast (Among Aliens, in California), and one on the east (Ultimate Music Festival)

The Epic Trip – After breaking up with both her ex-fiance and her best friend, a depressed and anxious Chava decides to take a last-minute trip to another one of her bucket list destinations: The Epic Music Festival in Las Vegas, Nevada.

F*ckFest: The Origins (Prequel) 21-year-old Chava Hoffs, a longtime raver and lover of all things dance culture, finally convinces her bar-scene best friend to accompany her to a regional event in her area, ‘F*ckfest', Sala's first ever festival/rave where—to both her and Chava's surprise, she connects with other longtime friends she had no idea were immersed into the culture. Chava, having been “rave-retired” since entering her first serious relationship, becomes overly-excited and branches off on her own, reconnecting with her true self after spending too long in her own shell—she discovers her love for an up-and-coming new artist (‘Shluggy') who magnetizes her with a newly-created sound (‘PukeRock'—a play on “VomitStep”)

Vibes [Mini Series]- A sequel-in-installments to the shenanigans following F*ckfest, where Chava returns to visit Sala and her friends, to journey back to to ‘one of her favorite venues'—which now hosts V1brati0n—Utah's biggest dance music festival. As all the characters make their way to their favorite sets, separating, grouping-off, and pairing-up along the way—each episode details the story of each one's journey into the festival—and eventually, back to each other as the festival comes to a close.

Festival Trip II- After reconciling, Chava and Sala unite again to journey to uncharted territories—after Chava is invited along as a journalist to cover artists belonging to an up-and-coming record label based in Alaska, she invites Sala as a tag-along, knowing that her “weird hoe-magic” will attract—as always—even more interesting personalities and circumstances than she could dream to on her own. Yin-and-Yang reunite.

Chava Hoffs- A Voluptuous Dark-Skinned Alaska Native-Black Mixed fashionista who (to her disdain) earns a living as a correctional officer in a juvenile detention facility in Arctic Alaska, daydreaming her long nights away and stacking her money, saving up for an escape to someplace warm and sunny. She is bright and quick-witted, but sometimes awkward—truly a ball of energy, whether good or bad. (“Chava like Lava—and when she volcano? BOOM.”) Through trial-and-error, she discovers herself on a path of enlightenment—her strong intuition guiding her through trial and tribulation.

Sala Mae Emilio (Stax) A tall, olive skinned hottie from Utah of Native American and Mexican descent, who works as head chef in a five-star gourmet Chinese food restaurant—a phenomenally functional alcoholic with a free spirit, questionable morals, good values, a loving heart—and a dry sense of humor. Childhood best friends with Chava, she serves as an uncuttable heartstring for Chava throughout the test of time.

Gunther Ross- The more than interesting circus-act of a plug/one of Sala's romantic interests, who just happens to be in the same place at the same time, once Sala and Chava arrive in California.

Solomon Dominguez- Chava's “homie-lover-friend”, a DC native transplanted to LA who hustles and bustles the 3-job life to live the California dream—a surprisingly dedicated and loyal friend to Chava, who considers him the “king of fuckboys”—which, is not entirely untrue, being that his life goal is to “become a real Ninja.”

Johnny McEntire- An eclectic and friendly photographer who stumbles upon Sala during a vulnerable-yet-crucial moment—a sweet, humble, and vibrant personality, Chava mostly dismisses him as just another victim of Sala's constantly-inconstant romantic gestures and affiliations.

Grace Williams (Chava's Super-Christian (but very sweet) Aunt)

Billy Williams- Chava's very dorky, super-quirky, southern Baptist uncle who can't help but throw in a “praise-Jesus” or interject with “halleluiah”

Krista DeVaunte- Bride-To-Be—Noah's Fiance A light-skinned, freckled and green-eyed debutant whose “gingerness is contradictory to her blackness”

Noah Williams- Chava's Cousin, the groom to be

Naomi Williams- Chava's salty Cousin, and freinemy since birth—Noah's younger sister

Sonny Johnson— Chava's ex-fiance

Dustin Roberts—Sala's ex-boyfriend

Juan Manuel Jose Melendez Gutierrez-Rodriguez—Sala's current boyfriend, with whom she lives & works with; A Mexican immigrant with ‘grown-ass kids', Juan is a ‘machismo' who prides himself on working hard, and claiming Sala as his young, hot wanna-be step mom.

Running Jokes: Speaking Spanish with a Mandarin-inflenced dialect—speaking/yelling in awful Spanish-sounding Mandarin—speaking “Mandarish” or “Spandarin”

Every time Chava mentions Sonny (her ex), Sala interjects with “Fuck Sonny!”

Cop Jokes (due to Chava's occupation)

D*ck jokes

ACT I- The Wedding Bashers/It's Festival Season

“Save-The-Date”

Inciting Incident—Plans to attend a destination wedding that Chava and her lifelong long distance best friend Sala, have been planning for almost a year are abruptly halted when Chava learns via a very eventful facetime call (‘Meet The Williams') that her +1 invitation had apparently only applied to her now-ex-fiance [whom her stuck-up family adored because of his abhorrent Christianity], and that the bride-to-be would not allow Sala to take his place on the guest list—as her vivid memories of Sala from Chava's engagement party are severely grotesque.

Flashback: Chava + Sonny's engagement party.

Chava: Yeah dude, they got all, mad-butthurt that I was bringing you instead of Sonny.

Sala: Fuck Sonny!

A remote, unnamed city in the Alaskan Arctic Circle. It is severely cold, even visually so.

Ch

ACT II- Sunny California

ACT III- Sunny Florida

Festival Trip Tagline: Two Friends. Two Weeks. Two Festivals—One World.

The Epic Trip Tagline: Girl, Meet World.

First Fest (Prequel) Chava is a teenager in a bit of a pickle, whose unlikely plug Christopher B. Dickenson (and coincidentally, best friend) picks her up at random from her lonely dormitory [where she tends to seclude herself] and takes her on a wild adventure to her first underground warehouse event, where she gets her first taste of the “wubs she lubs”—and her first glance of who is sure to become her favorite artist of all time—and later, the King of Dance modern American dance music, Sun(dot)Moon.

Festival Trip

List of Fictional DJ's/Character List by Name/Concept

Favorites:

Jeff. (Excision)

Ne(r)d (Dillon Frances) [pronounced NED]

-Ned Talks

Shluggy (Snails)

Acid Blaster/LSDemon (LSDream) / BlackOut! (Brillz)

UNH. (Rusko)

Devil's Lettuce (Ganja White Night)

Kalvin Kaine (Carl Cox)

Tommy Trombone (Timmy Trumpet)

NOmyGOD (Sullivan King)

Ms. Stakes (Rezz)

Ask Alice (Allison Wonderland)

Sun(dot)Moon (Skrillex)

CorpseRat (Deadmau5)

Asian Jesus (Steve Aoki)

Morty McFlyy (Martin Garrix)

Voltage (Carnage)

Abracadabra! (Tiesto)

CoolWhip (Whipped Cream)

“, said This Guy. (Said The Sky)

Tears4Years (illenium)

-grinlge

-scratch n sniff

-feneglers

-HOWDAREYOU

-coldsauce

-benadryl4breakfast

-That Guy.

-My Name's Not...

-Control + Alt + Delete

-Maybe Later

-LSDemon

-STOP.

-There! Right There.

-Violent Pineapple

-Sabrina The Teenaged Bitch

-SoloHomo

-5tet

-BorGeoIs

-TheNorthHole

-Read

-Unread

-Poo

-Best Case Scenario

-Worst Case Scenario

- I Dunno, Harry

- Gosh

- Toby

- The Why

- Shoemantics

- Name Me King

- The Artist Formerly Known As Prints

- Crispy Feet

- ¿

- Confucius Say

- Ne(r)d. (Dillon Francis)

-Jeff (Excision)

-Jeffest

-Space Canyon

-Jeff's Wonderdome

-Neckbrace for Nancy

-TrashRat

-Below&Beneath (Above and Beyond)

-Leggolas (Armin Van Buren)

-Tommy Trombone

-Ask Alice (Allison Wonderland)

-Ms. Stakes (Rezz)

-High Stakes

-BoiToy

-DrippTipp

festival names:

F*ckFest

GetF*cked

GoF*ckYourself (GFY)

IsReal

¡Dizzaster!

FlopTop

Todayland

Yesterworld

Shalaham

Epic Music Festival

Ultimate Music Festival

Atomic Jungle

Oz

Never-Everland

UNH.

Conch Shella

Stank.

Drop The Ball

Hot Summer

Life is Decent

Underground Railroad

Fuck Fest

-Get Fucked

-GFY

Garden of Eden

Festival Trip excerpt

C- yo. I cannot wait to get down to some Acid Blaster.

S- acid blaster?

c-ahh yeah, you never heard of acid blaster?

S- ♀️ nope

C- fucking lit.

S-do you have to be on acid?

C- not a requirement but implicitly preferable.

S- Hm.

C- have you seen—

(They go back and forth—the DJ names get more ridiculous)

Within the silence of solace and solitude, the Goddess awakens; as she rises from within her chamber, a blackened curse is broken—a new day is born, to let light live.

Love reigns.

Be it, a fleeting demon—met in the wandering eye of a man who love could not keep, but would always find—a wish, a wisper; Windblown kisses beneath the neck, and the eye that watches, waits, and knows not yet what lies in the wake of love.

When I was younger, my mother would always tell me that she wasn't mine—she'd tell me over and over to the point that I would cry; and then she'd laugh, taunting me, and outwardly ask “why would you believe that? Of course I am your mother.” And oh, the joy my tears had often brought her—how my pain, turned pity would make me mourn, the child I never was.

It's hard to see yourself

When you become a different body

All the eyes that look upon you

Are so haunting

And something miraculous has happened.

Because this is is hell

I can't wait to leave it and I won't take it from myself again—

But sometimes wish that another would

So that the weight of the world would let go my soul

At 11:44,

A revelation—

If only patiently I wait,

The cause and purpose of life

Will spring upon me;

As I am here again,

In the place of which

The seeds of my dreams were planted and can now become trees;

Not weeping willows but infinite redwood evergreens.

Wanting is not needing

As God Is, I am.

And one day, this will all be a dream—and when you wake up to the light, you will forget yourself again.

The longest ego death that ever was,

“Never was.”

But we're all culture vultures...

Aren't we?

There's some kind of madness

In the outside world

A shade of red begins to drift into the music of my

Contagiousness of carelessness

Hygiene is an option but

The sickness of the nation

Making victims out of men is

Wondrous

Peering at tops of pyramids

Knowing that you built them

And the “God” that you're addressing is the inside of your soul

Wholesomeness is fleeting

People only want attention and

They'll take away your goodness

If you let them take your time.

What of the world's inside our minds

What of the worlds we've created

This is a universe all of your own

Once you find your own center, you've made it.

In a perfect world, we heal the sadness

In another time, we all unite

In another lifetime everyone is happy dancing

In a perfect world, we see the light

I sit upon a porcelain throne,

Body broken

And as silence fell about

In the sunken chaotic jungle of treasured beauty,

I awaited an answer to a question I never asked, but was told to wait for in a silent other language.

I don't need to make wishes—

They all come true;

But when I do,

I wish for you.

All my friends were with me that day

The reason I fast and I pray

Let's remember the love

Always take that with you,

The heavens will forgive you,

Imperfections are only what make you a human.

I see everything I need to see,

End up everywhere I need to be

Right on time

Not always, but pretty much always

All my days wasted playing games,

All the same

All my days wasted on fame?

All the same

One day I'll be famous

(And that's what she asked for)

One day I'll be famous

(“Be careful what you wish for”)

I told the child inside of me,

Don't cry

(No worries)

I'm sorry

(No sorries)

For everything that I want, will come; And everything that I am—

Will be.

We're all not okay—okay?

You reading me?

I am.

Reading you—

Reading me—

Reading you.

Oh—you too?

You two.

No, you two.

Who?

Not the owl again—

You should have gone to bed with your friends,

This is the end again.

Let's keep keeping secrets

We're all not okay—okay?

You reading me?

I am.

Reading you—

Reading me—

Reading you.

Oh—you too?

You two.

No, you two.

Who?

Not the owl again—

You should have gone to bed with your friends,

This is the end again.

Let's keep keeping secrets

“I'll never repeat this.”

I never said that.

“I'll never repeat this.”

I never said that.

And none was lost, that day, but some found—I had cried with the child within, and heard the call of my spirit, which could not be forgotten—as she screamed in her fury and wondered her “why am I like this?” And soon she would know, because all again was one.

And then she said, “how bad will it it be” “not bad,” said I “we have the key.”

‘And now I lay me down to sleep...

I pray the lord my soul to keep—

If I should die before I wake;

I pray the lord,

My soul to take.'

“I work in the morning”, said I

“Dumb girl”, said she—and then we laughed together, because we are as one.

If only I were free to be I, alone, forgotten and at simple, eloquent peace;

Loneliness is the devil's advocate--but solitude will bring one to certainty, when time is of the only aching ease as and forgiveness is not needed//you can only answer to yourself, and to yourself—the sureness of your being becomes whole I'm certain thought, forward motion—steady gravitation towards things you love.

Love is an undeniable phenomena/-more so than sound, sight; more than a feeling or knowing, even—it is an essence. It is not only in the heart that love is born, but in the entirety of most—but not all—woman and man. To learn to love is not but a condition of humanity, but a connection to the spirit, soul,—it is part of our purpose and presence to love—a blinding,lay delicate piece of our nature. Love is more than just romance, relations with other—love is an element with which, is a thread woven into the fabric of our being in this reality. Simply stated, in fact—love is a fact.

Tikun Olam

For I could not fathom to end my fast, before drifting into and wandering past realms unknown to the sleeping and dead—

Who walk amongst life as though living wholly,

Mouths agape and eyes amasked, absorbed in the world of phone.

Blindfolds hiding a hateful and bloodshot third eye—

I awake to the sound of a city to which I am anchored in spirit;

Something awaits at the boardwalk, however, the writer's mind is readily waiting to work,

Greedily consuming what little, precious time is left

Of the freedom that lies in the true joy of temporary, blissful and,

wishfully permanent joblessness.

323-590-5223

That was me.

The original SupaCree

Beachlife OG.

Rocket power

I got the power

To see.

Money is power;

But music is more—

It vibrates the center

Awakens the core

I got debt up to my eyeballs

I got debt up to my eyeballs

I got debt up to my eyeballs

But my eye's wide open

I got debt up to my eyeballs

I got debt up to my eyeballs

I got debt up to my eyeballs

But my eye's wide open (open)

Open (x8)

Follow your signs

Follow the sun

Follow your heart

Follow the one true

Love yourself

Love yourself

Love yourself

Love yourself

Bought my mamas pontiac

Wish it was a Cadillac

She ask can she have it back

I said “it don't work like that”

Matter fact,

Dadadada

This is my circle (x8)

We're on the side with the ocean

Catch me if you wanna

Marijuana so sweet in the sea breeze

Nice green palm trees

Dragon hawks

No don't look now

It's a trap it's a trap

No don't speak

They'll attack

They'll attack

Wait right here—

imma be right back

I was right on time

Now I'm right on track

Kill the noise, Dill Francis remix>>Baba O Reily

Gold (Adventure Club)>>Gold (Stupid Love), excision

Wait, Adventure Club>>Rock and Roll will take you to the mountain

Summit (Sun In My Eyes Mix)

[111]

Never give up

Never say—

“Die, die, die!!”

You're never alone;

There's no place like home.

Mama didn't raise no bitch

Mama didn't raise no bitch

Mama didn't raise no snitch

Mama didn't raise no snitch

Glitch—Twitch—Switch

[Sample Sabrina The teenaged witch]

Never Knew--Acoustic Cover

Blue Da Ba Di--SupaCreeMixx

Davies-Davis

Jon-John-Jon

Christian-Christian

Ted-Dave

Mirror Mirror on the wall

Who'd expect, things change (x4)

Sunny-Sonny

Can you see me?

Can you hear me?

That's strange

Loser-loser

Crazy-Crazy

Have you seen

‘loose change'? (X8)

Whose strange?

[Danger]

‘...strange days, have found us...'

Doors-Doors

Whores-Bore

Chores-Chores

“More! More!”

...*break* [mic drop fx]

“I chimed in with a—“

“What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck”

‘Navigator Truck—‘

[wiley coyote music]

‘They're after me lucky charms!'

‘This is a call to arms' (arms- echo)

Beyoncé- “Ring the Alarm”

‘Charmed, I'm sure...'

I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Energi I

[Clapping]

Spoken: Hey!

I don't need… that energy.

(Toxic) –Shhhh.

Beating me up

Beating me up

Beating me up.

Man… (echo, x6)

Bad energi.

Bad energi.

Manic—

Energi.

Panic— (echo, x6)

Energy.

Planet—

Energi…

No Sympathy?

BadEnergi

Remember me?

Das Energi—

Memories… (echo x6)

Before—Da SupaCree

Energi

Jesus Christ—

He just takes what he likes

I was makin it nice…

And clean again—

Are we even , then?

Cause I'm leavin' him—

On repeat again

Had my heart and my…

Had my heart and you

Broke it

Broke it

Broke it

Broke it

Had my heart and my…

Had my heart and you

Spoke it

Spoke it

Spoke it

Spoke it

Said I would keep it

Said I would keep it

Open

Open

Open

Open

……………

Here's hopin'.

3nergi II

Stop givin' me—

Toxic energi.

Energi (x3)

Energi (x3)

Energi. (x3)

Don't put the devil into me—

That's my—

Enemy.

Knope

[Sample: The word “No/Nope x1000]

No

Nope

Get ‘Em

Manic listening to Vanic

Pressin' the panic button

I'm not confusin nothin'—

I think I'm onto something

Greaaat—like Tony—

(The Tiger, not the liar.) [Sample Tony Soprano]

Would like a pair of pliers…to cut these things off.

Spoken “She seems off”

I know it, took my rings off

Lets. Box. Foxy.

“I think you just lost me…”

I lost you at “hello”

[Sample: Scooby Doo, Daphne: “My Glasses!']

…and I cannot see without my glasses

And I can Nazi…

[Sample: Hitler]

Oops, you caught me

OOPS, 4/20.

That's 3…

Oops.

THC for anxiety—

Cause rules do not apply to me;

Lied on the application,

Don't need no medication

I needed meditation

Watching precipitation

No more participation

I'm insane (echo: sane)

They lockin me up instead

Lockin me up in my head;

Seeing red, feeling dead when I…

Smell my pillow, smell my bed…

“That's what she said.”

G

Put my shoes to the ground

Cause you kjnee I worked too hard…

Found every, sound and I—

Followed it (Echo x 3)

Felt that too hard and I—

Swallowed it (Echo x3)

Spoken: ‘Wait till tomorrow, bitch.”

….think I might be a witch, which—

Is my “synthesis”…that I could sense this shit comin'…

{Sample: TV announcer—“…and, comin' up—”]

No worries, I'm comin up—

Late cause I got too much on,

My plate and…

“Your place is great!”

But.

What.

The.

Actual.

Fuck.

Oh what, like I'd actually—huh?

…

Oh What's like I'd actually—what?

Oh, what—

Like I'd actually….

[FUCK.]

[Sample: Kelly, Shoes—“fuck you!”]

I'm hungry honey gimme money

Sample: “people people, please please” raven

People pleaser

People, please

Believe me: this is just a teaser

I am sitting in your freezer

I'm the salmon—always eager

To go back up stream to spawn

And I'm just going on and on

Because I'm really on the run

Raven run

Having visions

Therapeutic—

That's the music

I see future and I choose it

If you cheat it, then you lose it

Fisher—wisher—I'm the swisher

In your purse; I saw it first

I saw the earth turn shades of blue

When I was me

When I was U.

I used to have the power, too.

Now this is just what I can do.

I don't know what I'm really searching for—

But I think I want mooree...and that's the answer, that's the key.

Somethings not right; it might just be me. My whole life of hurting, the world's hurting me. I can't seem to escape this new catastrophe; somethings calling me

Got me stress eating

In-n-out of meetings all day

In-n-out sounds okay

“No, you're out.”

Sounds okay

Okay—

Are you ok?

Not like Annie—

I mean, you can be—

But that's not really my thing;

Quick fling for some bling without a diamond ring

I don't fuck with that

And you can ask my ex, is we fuckin?

Nah, I'm over that

Put me on the guillotine—

Read between the lines

I was fuckin doing everything

Fuckin doing fine

I was on my grind—

Didn't have the time for no

Explaining why the fuck I go and listen to sublime

I hate the lime-light

Pay attention to me harder and

I just might

Lose it been Losin it since before it was a hit, and I admit—

I miss the shit I came up on,

I admit:

I miss the days where I had fun and

P.S.- yes I'm the best at passing a test

Don't need to study the material

Is really all here—just pay attention

Attention deficit disorder;

My auntie a hoarder but I'm borderline everything:

You feelin me?

Davies-Davis

Jon-John-Jon

Christian-Christian

Ted-Dave

Mirror Mirror on the wall

Who'd expect, things change (x4)

Sunny-Sonny

Can you see me?

Can you hear me?

That's strange

Loser-loser

Crazy-Crazy

Have you seen

‘loose change'? (X8)

Whose strange?

[Danger]

‘...strange days, have found us...'

Doors-Doors

Whores-Bore

Chores-Chores

“More! More!”

...*break* [mic drop fx]

“I chimed in with a—“

“What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck”

‘Navigator Truck—‘

[wiley coyote music]

‘They're after me lucky charms!'

‘This is a call to arms' (arms- echo)

Beyoncé- “Ring the Alarm”

‘Charmed, I'm sure...'

Sample: B2M

Poison!

Poison from the inside out—

Outside-in

Poison

Within you

Boom

Imma vengaboy

I zoom past the other boys

I don't need the bad things

spoken “actually, I don't need anything from you.”

Sent back in time

In your mind

Joy, I think about you

I don't like to think about you

I do not believe in your

Spirit

“Just have fun.”

No, I'm meant to be an artist

But I used to be the smartest...

I woke up in our world

I woke up in our world

I know I can read a map,

But

Trains trains trains

They all go in two directions and I

Might

Get

Lost (x3)

The sound of the 88

(Use Lamarus)

Bongo drum, pan flute

Wind rustling through the breeze

Whispered: I believe in you

*drop sounds, silence*

Birds singing

Sample: Spice girl (echo) so siiick

Energi I

[Clapping]

Spoken: Hey!

I don't need… that energy.

(Toxic) –Shhhh.

Beating me up

Beating me up

Beating me up.

Man… (echo, x6)

Bad energi.

Bad energi.

Manic—

Energi.

Panic— (echo, x6)

Energy.

Planet—

Energi…

No Sympathy?

BadEnergi

Remember me?

Das Energi—

Memories… (echo x6)

Before—Da SupaCree

Energi

Jesus Christ—

He just takes what he likes

I wi was makin it nice…

And clean again—

Are we even , then?

Cause I'm leavin' him—

On repeat again

Had my heart and my…

Had my heart and you

Broke it

Broke it

Broke it

Broke it

Had my heart and my…

Had my heart and you

Spoke it

Spoke it

Spoke it

Spoke it

Said I would keep it

Said I would keep it

Open

Open

Open

Open

……………

Here's hopin'.

3nergi II

Stop givin' me—

Toxic energi.

Energi (x3)

Energi (x3)

Energi. (x3)

Don't put the devil into me—

That's my—

Enemy.

Knope

[Sample: The word “No/Nope x1000]

No

Nope

Get ‘Em

Manic listening to Vanic

Pressin' the panic button

I'm not confusin nothin'—

I think I'm onto something

Greaaat—like Tony—

(The Tiger, not the liar.) [Sample Tony Soprano]

Would like a pair of pliers…to cut these things off.

Spoken “She seems off”

I know it, took my rings off

Lets. Box. Foxy.

“I think you just lost me…”

I lost you at “hello”

[Sample: Scooby Doo, Daphne: “My Glasses!']

…and I cannot see without my glasses

And I can Nazi…

[Sample: Hitler]

Oops, you caught me

OOPS, 4/20.

That's 3…

Oops.

THC for anxiety—

Cause rules do not apply to me;

Lied on the application,

Don't need no medication

I needed meditation

Watching precipitation

No more participation

I'm insane (echo: sane)

They lockin me up instead

Lockin me up in my head;

Seeing red, feeling dead when I…

Smell my pillow, smell my bed…

“That's what she said.”

G

Put my shoes to the ground

Cause you kjnee I worked too hard…

Found every, sound and I—

Followed it (Echo x 3)

Felt that too hard and I—

Swallowed it (Echo x3)

Spoken: ‘Wait till tomorrow, bitch.”

….think I might be a witch, which—

Is my “synthesis”…that I could sense this shit comin'…

{Sample: TV announcer—“…and, comin' up—”]

No worries, I'm comin up—

Late cause I got too much on,

My plate and…

“Your place is great!”

But.

What.

The.

Actual.

Fuck.

Oh what, like I'd actually—huh?

…

Oh What's like I'd actually—what?

Oh, what—

Like I'd actually….

[FUCK.]

[Sample: Kelly, Shoes—“fuck you!”]

SOUNDS

[Police Say] *Whoop-Whoop!*

[Ravers Say] *Whoop-Whoop!*

[Roadrunner Say] *Meep-meep*

Honk/Beep

Doors opening/shutting

Car doors unlocking/opening/shutting

Jail Doors *buzzer/lockdown lock*

Cigarette being lit

Lighter flicks

Bong Rips

Tips/Change dropping/Money being counted

Clipping Hair

Bubbles

Gravel—walking, running, tires

Raindrops falling; Tin Roof, ground (dirt, pavement, gravel), Rain storms (Temparate Rainforest, Jungle Rainforest, Desert Storms)

Motor purring

Dryer running

Joggers

Electric scooters/Segways

Bass; Wobbeles, Wubs, Rumbles

Heartbeats; Fetal heartbeats, elevated heartbeats, palpitations

Water Rushing; Oceans, Rivers, lakes, resovoirs, rain gutters, pond sounds, swamp sounds

Triangle, Wood block, Xylophone

Flutes—Traditional native, aboriginal, classical

Clacking Fans

Whistles

iPhone Sounds

Airplanes

Mickey Mouse Clubhousde

Bird Sounds—Sparrows, Hawks, Eagles, Robins, Ravens, Crows—Ducks, Geese (Hissing)

Moose Bellow

Car Alarms

Grinding

Squeaking/Creaking (Door Hinges, Floorboards)

Garage Doors

Vomiting

Soda Cans

Water Bottles Being Crushed

Fish Jumping Upstream

Cold Wind (whistling, howling)

Tent Sounds

Scarlet Johansen

Laughter; Joyful, hysterical,playful—taunting, nervous, fake

Construction/Building Equipment—Chainsaws, Jackhammers

Tapping Rings Jan & Andy)

Spoons of glass

Ice Sounds; Breaking, pouring(on ground, into glass/jug)

Scrubbing

Tapping Steel

Pens Clicking

Ignitions (Crs, Rockets)

Idle EnglinesRadio Rounds

Squeaky Toys

Bottle Caps (Plastic + Glass)

Can Crushing

Soda Streat

“Aw”

SAMPLES/QUOTES

Spongebob Squarepants; ‘Ay ay, Captain!'

The Shield; “Anything But A Subaru…”

Bearr's Voice

“What the fuck, Matt Damon!” (Me, watching interstellar)

Rick And Morty; “haha, my sister died in the spaghetti”. “…I wanna eat ice cream… (monologue)”, Fart Episode, “Aww Geez”, Pickle Rick Episode

Annie's Voice; “Hey Dude”

Yoda Quotes

I love lucy “Vitavitavegimin”

Shrek; “And in the mornin', I'm makin' waffles!'

Nurse Jackie

Sons of Anarchy; Damon King, Gemma Teller

Married…With Children

Back To The Future

21 Jumpstreet

All That

The Amanda Show

Rugrats

In The Heights

Legally Blonde

RENT

Hairspray

The Last 5 Years

Tlingit Songs/Pow-Wows

African Music/Cultural Songs

Mormon Tabernacle Choir

“Put an Egg On it” (me, quoting bass canyon signage)

Pokemon; “Pikachu, I choose you!”

OLDSTEP

Sun King/Here Comes The Sun (The Beatles, Love) –(SupaCreemix)

I Got You Babe (Sonny & Cher) [SupaCreeMix]

Love Shack [SupaCreeMix]

Los Paranoias (SupaCreeMix)

The Psycho's Path

Lucky charms,

Code of arms

Car alarms, and Hershey's bars;

Hershey's kisses, not your missus

But I'll miss this…

Bliss.

Kiss me underneath the stars,

I'm floating on my way to mars

I'm counting all the passing cars

(1, 2, 6—8)

What did you hallucinate?

Disintegrate me.

Imitate me.

People

[Sample: That's So Raven; “People-people, please, please!!!”

Work

Sensory Overload

FuckIt

Recycled

Culture Shock [Sample: My Generation, The Who]

Back Up [Sample classic]

If I Was A Boy (Beyonce) [Dupstep Remix, SupaCreeMix]

Before He Cheats (Carrie Underwood) [SupaCreeMix]

Cosmic Gate. Call To Arms [SupaCreeMix]

Vroom

[Sample: Ignitions—Old Mustang, New Mustang]

This Is my ignition

Don't need no permission

This is my admission:

I was there, you missed it.

Attention

Attention

Attention

Right—Lets's switch them.

Expert, Attention—

Ascension. (Whispered: Ascension)

Alright—I'm listenin'

Ex (pect) (Echo x8)

Re (spect) (Echo x8)

Givin it back (x8)

It's a wreck.

[Sample] ” In a wreck? Need A Check?”

ALBUMS/EPS

Turn3r Str33t

-South Side

NSC (Not SupaCree)

M13P (MI Audition Tape)

The Gorge [Part I/Part II (“Ous”)]

Unsteady- X Ambassadors, remix

[more heartbeat]

Everybody got preferences,

Don't need to be checking my references

You say that I'm hella exotic

I say that your energy's toxic

Bad mind be robotic

I'm not sick—I'm not shit

It's obvious: you're oblivious

And she's envious of my

(shhhh)

Why?

Acid anxiety

Too much acid inside of me

Yeah I brought a variety

Cause I'm sick of society

And I'm sick of em eyin me

Got sick of em spyin me

Got my eye on the prize homie

I'm single, and not lonely

Heal Everybody [Cover/Mix]

Alive with the glory of love Beatles style cover

People are strange Xylophone cover + video

“OK”

Sample: Smooth Criminal

“(Annie) are you ok?”

Are you ok?

Are you ok?

Are you ok?

Ok, ok!

Spoken word sample: furry wall, get him to the Greek

My name is...and my name is Skrillex remix/mashup

Got that nesquick

Nice lips

Have her body supa thick

Have her body supa fit

Sick sick outfit

She ain't like them other bitches

Representin single women

Never ask for your opinion—

Psycho

She seem really nice, tho

Never took a bite though

Thinking I just just might tho

I am that girl with the Armani sunglasses

I am that girl with the Armani sunglasses

I am that girl who will write notes in her classes

I am that girl who will talk first and ask lastest

I am that girl

I am that girl

I am that girl

*swift* [whispered]

In transitions wearing transitions lenses

Starting to look good

Look mad decent

Went through some shit that was,

Mad recent

I gotta thank my exes tho

They the reason

I'm on some new shit now

It's SupaCree Season

Big brother

Don't bother

Revolving Door

Military Trained

Head Honcho

Repression

Depression

Oppression

Obsession

Sickness

Health

Poorer & Poorer

Cracker Jack Box

Ted/Dave

38 Days/48 Daze

Purple Raïnn

“Just Kill Yourself, Already”

Christ/Not a goddess

^

NSC

SpongeRob

Queue

I'm done- with you.

I have a queue-of dudes;

Ready for you...and you.

(Oops)

You get better and better with time

Better and better like wine

‘Better and better'—it's fine;

I'm losing my mind.

I'm losing my mind.

Eliza Thornberry

Is this over yet?

Shut up, dog.

Is it over yet?

Shut up, hog.

Is it over yet?

Shut up bitch.

Is it over yet?

Shut up snitch.

[repeat]

Trippin' on Shoes

I need shoes...

Like I need you.

Like I need blue,

Like I need glue—

Gone, how about a show?

You didn't think I'd know?

I know.

Don't know where to go,

Don't know who to [show]

It's almost winter.

Thought I was the winner—

Really just a sinner,

It's not winter, I just entered...

Hell.

And I'm trippin on

Shoes

Shoes

Shoes

Shoes

Shoes

Shoes

Shoes

And I'm trippin on

Remix- James brown- this is a man's world

Bob Loblaw

We're all above the law

If we learn to love the law

We're all above the law

If we learn to love the law

We're all above the law

If we love to learn the law

We're all above the law

This is the final flaw

Blah blah blah

Bob Loblaw

Caw-Caw-Caw

Arkansas

I just landed

I just planted

I'm this planet

(Naw-Naw)

That would be the curtain call

That would be the final flaw

Love the law

Love the law

We all live above the law

What I heard—what I saw—

There is no God.

(HA!)

Just another ghosts

I ain't gonna cry about it

I'm not gonna boast

I'm not gonna cry about it

(Pshhh. Burnt toast)

I ain't gonna lie about it

Almost

Not even gonna try about it

So close

I ain't gonna cry about it

I ain't gonna cry about it

Patience.

I'm not takin medication

“Hola”

You think I'm fakin—

I'm just makin money,

Honey

Fuck a blue eyed snow bunny

It ain't funny

The reason I'm sneezin isn't the season

I'm not pleasin nobody,

Got no reason for nobody

I'm not looking for no-body

No hottie

That's not me

I like variety

But society tells me

They got an eye on me

And my psychiatrist understands

Social anxiety

But he ain't supplying me

With what I need

Cause man's greed says

Money will help you succeed

And that's America

Hell yeah im aware of ya

Hell yeah I be scarin ya

And I don't give a fuck about your code

I'm too old for

Apple pie ala mode

I don't want it

Whatever it is

Get out of my biz, Liz

I miss the Lizzard man—

That's what this is

And that's my business

Be my witness: I don't get this shit

I'll rip this shit into pieces

Can't eat reces

Cause I'm trying to look decent

“Don't repeat this”

I haven't

I'm just planning

My escape

That's fate.

Ello Govnah!

“You already call me ‘The Gov'...” (8)

They already call you The Dove

I already call you “my love”

I'm so tired

Trippin' (Shorts)

Energi -di

Solid.

Waste.

Solid.

Tasty.

Solid—

You can't make me buy this shit;

Living it. (Living it)

Are you believing it yet?

*

*

*

Bet.

(‘Oh—you betcha!')

*

*

*

Wet.

*

*

*

“Threaten me again, see what happens—“

What Happened—eh?

What did you...say?

You know where I stay?

Don't play. I'll kill ya.

A killa—no reallah,

Protecting his Skrilla

A deal breaka yeah-yeah

Bad man he ‘haha'

No laughter

No slaughter

Bitch:

“I am your daughter” (mono)

“androgyny” (deep voice)

Nobody likes Cree:

I thought it might be...

My energy—trying not to look

Thought you were a 10

Thought you could depend on me?

Depends

How it spends

Too much time finding

Blurred lines

Malcom (RIP)

That was a crazy day

In LA

When you went a way

Not your everyday listener—

But I give you praise,

And thanks;

It takes a lot to be a human

All this gloom, and doom and,

Sometimes boomin ain't enough

It's tuff out here, people go it rough

These days,

This kids all up in their business

And when you're in the business—

The world is your witness—-get this

They study your wealth, your fashion, your fitness...

Do you get this equation?

Me either; now either we're too old, retarded, or neither—

Every teacher's a preacher for either

His passion, or her pocket

It's not rocket science,

It's common core—

And it's a horror they have access to

Soft core and gore

From age 3;

Technological catastrophe

Disastardly wasting space

As we race towards a race war—

I'm just trying to rave more

It's hardcore, but it's never boring

I'm ignoring these morons,

They got me snoring in here,

It's pouring in here—

And the Northern Lights don't look right under too much light

Got me gazing in the night

Like I might find my flight

Honestly I'm just looking for anything

But a fight—am I right?

It's Been Ten [Years]

Been on you since way back when

Before Ben 10

More like Rin-tin-tin,

Or the tin man

Take me down that road again

I'll ease down it

Don't doubt it—

Take me home again.

And if it wasn't for you

Woulda lost day 2

I'm so confused and just using

Ü as a tool,

That was my other breaking point

Cause I already boiled over

It was over—I was sober when he was throwing elbows;

Oh you felt those—pulses—

Those were my—impulses—

Speaking, leaking into dreams I wasn't dreaming, you were scheming and it haunts me

How many—I could count 3 of your friends round the bends of my tent,

Can't take a hint, but the bad came and went when the Good vibes—

Those good guys

Reminded me of my world

And in my world...

Everything is like a fairytale

But my fairy tail is caught between my legs—

Like the plague of someone's fingertips had me amazed;

Strange, yes...

What a strange blessing—we're estranged but I remember cutie pie's eyes, cause those were the days—

No “rage”, really, just space-aged waves of sound surrounding us and Bass come through the ground

I found myself there

Ain't no hoodrat

But I'm a hoodrat

Play a good brat

But if you sat me down I

Got the capacity

And tenacity to rap about it

I ain't proud about it

But ain't never doubted it, either

I'm either

Reptilian or Alien

Project 93

Bee. Odd.

And molly

Mahammed Ali

Got me

Dodging

The odd bee

Live Nation

Don't know if I was delirious...

Or if you were serious—

But I'm curious, and have trust issues so...

I gotta know:

Did I blow this whole thing out of proportion?

Of course, then:

Take a pass, have a laugh

It's just added to the list

Of things I'm pissed off about

Mad anxiety

Cause I like skinny

I like light-skinned he's-and-she's

And especially blondes—

Come on, man; if you let me love you, I can—I'd take anybody's hand and show them the promise land,

If they want to see

And honestly, I'm picky

My tastes are confusing and I'm losing hope

Born in the wrong body—I cannot be this black—it's a straight up attack on how much I lack—in culture.

Not a vulture, but not exactly a dove;

I just love peace signs and peace finds you, wherever you let it

I find it with paper-to-pen

Now-and-again,

Then again I find

I have a one-track-mind

Writing in rhymes is fine—

Till you lose respect;

I'm Dr. Suess with a noose around his neck

Living paycheck to paycheck—

I regret to inform you I can't preform in this reformed prison cell.

If this is prison—well, Hell—

Pin me up in a cell so I can tell all my friends

“Hey, I'm just like you!”

“We don't like you—you wear blue.”

“You could too—if you do what you're supposed to.”

And I'm supposed to be somebody with authority, but horribly I think about what whores would be without the men who made them...

HoStep- vogue music + brostep

ShowStep- Broadway/Showtumes+ Dubstep

Sorry sorry,

I worry-worry

No one will love me

Like I love the world.

And I do know you—

But I do owe you an apology...

Technology...is too much for me

Wiki is the key, and I won't look 3 times.

You know who you are;

You set the bar too high.

Now it's too late

Another obsession—

I'm just a mental case.

Sorry honey. You looked at me funny...

And I fell apart. That was the start

Of another broken heart

MI3P [The Audition Tape]

Album Art: Roadrunner + Wiley Coyote frozen solid under the northern lights, white rabbit coming out of an ice fishing hole.

Acoustically covered EDM

Ease My Mind, Will You?

Was listening to ‘Ease My Mind'

When robin williams died

Cant lie I've thought about it

Like, every time

It's obvious

I didn't want to see the synthesis

But this is it

Can't be stuck with people who express this shit out loud

I'm not proud—that's just kind of how it is

I'm a Loser

Okay—

I never win shit

And I can't spin shit

Brian

Bro.

You're about 100 years old:

And I had that job before you did.

Oh—you pooted?

How rude, dude.

I don't give a fuck what you do, dude

Keep abusing your body—

I'll keep abusing this power

Every hour

I become something new...

And you?

You're dying, man.

Your whole generation can

Suck a fat dick

Fantastic—

Let's agree to disagree

You be you, and I'll be me

It's 50 cents

I'll pay my rent some other way

I only came to work today

To write and play.

Priest

Not suicidal

Fuck an idol

Music is like my bible

I'm liable to read it to you,

Judas.

Trippin'

Album: NSC (Not Supa Cree)

Skit:

Bunny & Hunny are a mirror image of each other, but about 30 years apart in age. They argue briefly in the hallway, Hunny (the younger) stomping away dramatically

Hunny: That fuckin shit's no fair!!

Bunny: Life's not fair, sweetheart—or else none of us would be here.

Donna [Not Supa Cree]

Trippin on shorts—

shorts?

Shorts

They was trippin on shorts

What?

Shorts

...and I was trippin of

Course (x5)

....cause they was trippin on

Shorts.

Smoke & Rain

Purple mountains

Burning fire

Red sun

Lights & lazers

Celebration

Never ending

Have fun

DEBBIE. (I'm 7)

1. I like eggs (the Amanda show)

2. I need shoes (married with children)

3. “I want that!”-baby Cree

Tired

I'm so Tired

I'm so Tired

I'm so Hungry

I'm so Bloated

I'm so Sorry

I'm so Stupid

Tripp

Trippin (Shorts)

Trippin on Shirts

Trippin on Pants

Trippin on Shoes

“I Love Your Outfit”