Arturo's keyboard mini lab

MkII

Hurt me so good

Baby daddy

Make me wanna scream

Don't you know I love it

Roller coaster

Hands around my throat

You choke me.

Throw me off my boat

I'm drowning in your ocean

W

Love me love me

(Moans)

Living in grace,

In your glory

In the shadow of your talents

And the glamor of your essence,

Whatever that is.

I should just

Sell that bitch

She work hard

Slave so strong, baby

I should just

Sell that bitch

Have me a picnic

Take her to market

Honest

Slave work hard, baby

Slave work hard

She work hard,

For no money

#1s

(Lols)

one hell of a parable

An attack on my psyche

KILLYOURSELF.

*COUGH*

Find your way somewhere and

JUMP

For the fun of it

JUMP from the top of the rock

(If they let you in!)

JUMP from the

*COUGHS*

Oh,

Just kill yourself,

Jesus

I gotta go,

I gotta go again

What do you know

What do you know again?

Right when you show up

I wanna throw up

Or show you the—

Drums

COUGH

Or just kill yourself

Jump right in front of the train,

I dare ya

Come along way from the Uptown A,

No!

we're going down

We're going going down and about

Sabatoge on my body

Attack of the zombies

The gangstakers cough

But I wonder who pays them

On government money?

But no m debt forgiveness

If freedom is slavery

What do you call this?

I warned you,

Stay out of the politics—

Focus on music

You'd said you'd take care of all of it

Then left me stranded.

I like being strangled

I like being robbed

I like falling off of my skateboard

[UMPH]

I left blood there

It's all strays and ashtrays

Where he stays,

But it's okay

Cause these days,

It's all crazy

Eyes glazed,

And all lazy

It's awful:

I'm all fucked up,

This alt-right movement

New wave racists

Consuming me,

Blue eyes and hatred.

They say I'm all wrong

Just for being born,

But I think we're all one

Even if they don't

Plus,

I'm not dark on purpose.

Now you renrmver me?

I remembered you the first time!

Not very well-

Passion Play

I don't feel so good

I think I'm off my rock,

I got a lot to talk about

But not a lot of knowledge

You know that

Everyone, even God suffers

I got a lot of words and worries

All I want is a surfboard

Carve my name out of all of em

Arboles

I'm lost

I could post all this

Or get my nails polished

So much for martyrs

And mothers in morning for ever

I cry every dawn until morning

Fir all the love lost

Add it's all up, that's always

And these days, in haides

I'm a lady in shades from LA

And nobody loves me

Not even my baby

I'm so blazed,

I'm taking it straight to my vein,

On the train in front of all these strangers

*gasp*

Are you okay?

*gasp*

A haphazard orgasm

As my organs shut down

Out of automatic on autopilot

Or a test, maybe

Of

The Uptown A

Gangstaklers in all white

It's alright

I might be uptight

Or up BBC all night writing, in spite of my

*coughs*

Ravenous appetite

Fuck, what's an EXtra small for

If they make extra extra small

And all I want is a hug from

1, two, three—

coughs

All of em!

I just want someone to love me

That doesn't think less of the

Blacks and the browns that aren't

Barbies, and adonises

The rest of us are ugly

So what?

Just discard us in the Bronx and far rockaways,

(Jamaica! Ugh!)

“What the fuck did you just say to me?! “

Bother brawl on the bus

Another. Recording for my opera

Or symphonies, turn coughs in the harmonies

Hopping up hoping the cops aren't watching me

Ok, okay—

The train seems to be coming

As quickly as I need

But I still need bravery

Hey, it's the brain dead nobody

Said somebody—

I turned 5 dollars to 20

And 20 to a million

By wishing on

Anything other than.

Whatever Horace me this body

Cause nobody loves me

I'm almost invisible

Brimming with envy

And needing attention

And money to turn into

Energy

He said

“I didn't mean to hurt you—

Or hate you”

She said,

“I didn't mean to have coffee

At half past 11 pm—

But here we are again—

Here we are again

It's gets harder and harder to love again

This is the ark of our story

What is that

*sniffs* what is what

What is that

*sniffs*

That face.

Just *snifs.* my face.

Are you crying?

{crying) mm—mm. *sniffs*

Don't fucking cry— if you fucking cry—I'll fucking kill you.

(Very ugly cry)

Don't ugly cry!

(Even uglier cry)

Ugh!

*shoots with pistol*

*dies instantly*

Fuck!

—He'll be back.

[Dillon Francis just had that look on his face.]

Like

(But worse.)

Starr Michael Roberts - May all his curses and his karma be returned to him; may he suffer now all the damage he has done unto others tenfold; return immediately every demon and all dieties against him in karma and chaos; let Starr Michael Roberts wither and diminish under his own doing. Let his wifebeating father Michael John Roberts be cursed forever for beating his wife to suicide. Let this generational cycle of abuse be broken and it's effects not passed on though time. Let this counter curse protect all affected and break the cycle of abuse and harm.

So mote it be.

Amen.

Starr Michael Roberts is a fat alcoholic pedophile wifebeater. May all his curses and his karma be returned to him; may he suffer now all the damage he has done unto others tenfold; return immidiately every demon and all dieties against him in karma and chaos; let Starr Michael Roberts wither and diminish under his own doing. Let his wifebeating father Michael John Roberts be cursed forever. Let this counter curse protect all affected and break the cycle of abuse and harm.

So mote it be.

Amen.

The coughing had stopped for awhile but had suddenly returned, as if I had done something wrong—but it only seemed that the more I paid attention to myself and my health, improving my life and my habits, this energy followed, as if trying to keep or return me to the Hell from which I had been born, raised, and married into— only to overcome by luck if anything, albeit strength and wit; the cycle of abuse was still the ever present cycle—and the more I read about the psychological mindset of a psychopath, the more I had come to realize my own pitiful narssism, as if it had become a contagious burden— which I had tried to thrwart at every angle, of course—but as it appeared, most of being a typical person was conversing, about if not mindless things like the weather, then about oneself—and especially since I had done my very best to be soully a musician, I had been in the habit of upselling myself, which for the most part I hated anyway; However, some achievements and talents I really did take such pride in that sometimes I felt that there were only so many things that I could say, that I was often repeating myself, or even worse—speaking from some kind of scripted dialogue, which didn't seem much but a stones throw away from the surreal and bizzare unreality that I had been in; things each day seemed more and more like a movie, the night before culminating in an entire plethora of new discoveries—both about myself, and my apparent self-made external world.

I knew that my return to Equinox would in some way be a catch—the recently-increased initiation fee which I accredited to the prolonged disability from joining, however worth the wait had doubled— jumping from something like $250, to $500 in what seemed overnight, though it had been already almost eight months since I had rejoined—and nearly seven in New York alone, though the time had flown despite its absolutely dreadful happenings, not yet having any fun at all in the city besides very brief moments of euphoria—no, instead I had been shown a first-hand look at the broken system, the broken economy, and the broken people of the world first-handedly, fighting tooth-and-nail to stay well—which had been an incredible fight in itself, in addition to the growing number of actual physical fights and altercations I myself never thought would become of my growing years—but New Yorkers, it seemed—especially and particularly the poor and black ones—liked to fight, and I was learning well to protect myself and defend, both in wit and might. But, especially as of lately, I had grown tired, depressed—and especially very hungry, my food supply dwindled to that of simply whatever I could get my hands on from the local food pantries, and I was learning very well that ‘poor people food' and ‘fat people food' were more commonly than not the same things. The grocery stores in the area were allowed to mark up everything in order to compete with each other in greed, in the poverty-stricken neighborhood of Ozone Park, which lived up to its name exceedingly, filled with trash, and heavy with the exhaust of every imaginable industrial machine imaginable, from automobiles to airplanes and beyond—it was an overall disgusting place to be, and with the coming times the reality had set in that I was just as likely broken as those around me in some way—but in understanding how, I would often also want and need to understand why—an answer only God would give me.

Just a couple days before, I had woken up seemingly into a fairytale—

I had been again in the habit for some reason of checking my email, and upon refreshing my GMail had a slew of messages from Equinox, who I had chosen specifically just the day before not to block or place into spam—and though with the passing months of March, April, May, June and almost all of July begrudgingly giving way to the need to work out, trying most every-other gym within reach and at times trekking a tolling 2.5 hours one-way to the most affordable and/or acceptable gym, hating every moment of it as with time passed, I came to understand that a vast majority of people living in the ‘under-realms' of society were less likely to use trash cans even indoors— beginning with a mall-bound gym in the Bronx, which at the very least had a sauna, I couldn't dare to pay the monthly cost, knowing that I would sooner-than-later be transferred to a shelter even further than the gym I had chosen—x-sport fitness—and had grown to a boiling hate, observing the petty mis-management, being told one thing and then another—but above all, the dirty, trashy facilities—the number one factor which disinterested me from paying for any of the gyms I had joined in my time in New York, besides blink—which I had mostly detested due to it seeming more like a high school play room than an actual gym, and of course, it's lack of adequate sauna facilities or even hot showers.

It was during my return to ka futness however that I realized my life had changed fiercer, that I was being watched, tested, and tempted—and though I knew something remarkably greater was at play, my own character had been numerously thrown into question—which I understood, but was still however irritated by, never knowing why someone such as I would be held to such high standards at all, and although knowing that a notable amount of my writing and other works of art had been published and had been become some sort of a public interest, I didn't understand why it mattered so much to the rich and privileged elites who had everything without any of the trauma or having to work too inadequately hard for it that I was so squeaky clean—and for the most part, I was, besides the couple of inherited traits and nasty habits I had adopted under duress of trauma, abuse, and neglect—let alone poverty itself—and I found it baffling that in a society where the white elite had bought up all of the food and property in the world and were selling it back at acceleratingly increased prices for profit to the lower masses, that stealing vegan protein from Whole Foods market could or would be looked down upon—and had just few months earlier been ‘thwarted' in an attempt to gain proper enough nutrition to function, as the homeless system did not provide water at all, or vegan food, leaving me to eat for the most part, only bananas for weeks on end—and of course, once allocated the funds to eat, being limited to such predatory pricing that two avacados might cost $6, or just one mango $3– not of course that I could keep much food for long; the shelter did. It provide a refrigerator or kitchen, and as I hadn't yet been able to afford a cooler, having decided to catch up on my bills with the income I was receiving as a DJ, rather than spend it on any of my other needs—food, clothes, and of course, my hair, which had embarrassingly at this point grown into matter dreads I would more than likely have to cut off—and at least, of course— if I was going to cut my hair I would have to be really skinny—because I was already too black and too fat to be pretty at all, really, by societal standards—but chopping my hair off would be the end of my existence, perhaps a much-needed end, as my existence so far hasn't been admirable, besides a few redeeming factors and qualities I had that even I liked—and, I did at least like myself enough on the inside to try to keep the outside decent, at least clothed.

‘That's it. I'm not going back to the gym until I can afford Equinox.”

I had certainly mentioned this jokingly on my podcast, whose audience I was still largely unaware of, but didn't care— I was still continually being coughed at, bullied, and harassed by means of what seemed psychological terror and torture—and by now I knew the more I felt or thought that it could be black magic inflicted by my fat, stupid, lazy estranged ex-husband, the easier it would be to allude my suicide to “mental illness”, rather than the plan truth; someone had been torturing me for years, at this point, and any of my actions or the circumstances surrounding them were actually justified, not just indignantly but brutally and honestly so—I had been robbed, starved, stalked, and even lead-on by things and people that I loved,

Check the hat and glasses;

Yeap,

That's a bampheramph laughin at you

Not with you

Highly unusual and peculiar, sure

Dad hats: the lowest level of bampheramph—

These bamphers show you what not to do, how not to act, and just how not to be in general

After bampheramph camp, the graduates are ranked by performance —typically— “bad” “very bad” or “what the fuck”, and very rarely even “what the fuck, dude” or “I don't even know”, the average graduate being given the “Classicl bampheramph” status, and typically wear “dorky sun hats” regardless of location, placement, or time of year

Reserve bamphers may wear backwards snap backs after once having served as captain; other reserve bampheramphs may present SnapBack forwards or even sideways, before having served as captain or during service as captain, if any other hat is not needed or called for

The motherfuckers, a special branch of bampheramphs dedicated specifically to

DJs

The 7 aliases

7 alieses

5 Guys

Two Dudes

Codename.Blū.

c o l o r s.

Happy Accidents

Dillon Francis is atop the roof at the Wynn/Encore, preparing to meet his untimely death.

Dillon Hart Francis! You come down from there this instant!

He looks below to the Las Vegas strip, a bustling blur of lights and traffic.

DILLON!

Chak Chel

Let him jump.

Chak Chel!

What! Let ‘em.

Chak Chel, come on!

The Little Motherfuckers are—

Well—

A group of young children are causing a ruckus on their bicycles. None of them are wearing helmets—of course—eventually to become motherfuckers

Smells like fire to the west

Yes, I still have eyes for you

I guess there's still some time between us

Guess I still have ties to you

Do my eyes deceive me or

Is this make believe

Believe me

All I see is you, sometimes

Even— especially in my dreams

I keep your secrets,

I feel scared when your hands touch my hands

But feel good when my lips touch your lips

I feel sad when your heart touch my heart—

I feel love with your hands on my hips,

I'll be getting it all done and over with, for the most part

Give me a call,

When you're all done, at the mortuary

I'm so sorry

I'd bend over backwards, for you

Even eat meat, if you told me too

Or cheese, Jesus

You'd better believe it

Mission impossible

Even stevens

The rest of the things

As seen on TV

The rest of the evening.

My ex fucked me up so bad

I might never be right again

He used to say l”I'm a champion”

He was a loser—

He punched me in the face so hard, I actually apologized for it.

He decked me out.

Not once—

But like 5 times.

In a ROW.

Teeth went through my lip and everything

Came out on the other side,

I was like

“Oh, awesome I was thinking about getting a piercing—

Now I don't have to!

Saved me $30 and the cost of saline!

Phew.

Fucked me up.

To this day if I see you in champion sportswear, I am immediately convinced you're an idiot.

No take backs.

If I see you in champion sportswear,

I just automatically assume you're stupid

Not sorry.

Oh well.

If I see you wearing champion sportswear,

I just assume you're a lazy, retarded idiot.

*shrugs* not my fault.

I wear Nike.

—but it I see you in white Nikes that are supposed to be white, but they're all dirty and gross and caked in whatever—

I'm just gonna assume you're a fat dirty asshole that's gonna punch me in the face,

And walk away.

Clean your shoes!

Lol I'm so fucked up

lil biiiiiiiittzzzzz.

YOU GAVE DILLON FRANCIS YOUR NAME?!

no!

Well thank god

I gave Dillon Francis your name.

ARE YOU CRAZY

No. But he is!

Exactly!

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.

Starr Michael Roberts

b.04.06.1989

i return to you this these dreadful curses and karmic energy; I relinquish these Hellish demons and suffering to be set free to love, to live, and to create without your essence throughout all time, in death and in the walk of life. Your curses and energy are returned directly and immediately to you. May you be bound from doing harm to yourself or others to the end of days and beyond all time.

with love and light

for ye shall never know my names