[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

{Enter The Multiverse}

Please hit me

I'd love for this to be the end of the story

But then, no one would ever read it—

But then, nobody would believe me

Anyway

I was as depressed as I had ever been with an added element of motion sickness, met with an absolute inability to function or even coincide with what was societally expected of me, and disconnected from any sense of what I thought would be a motion towards freedom.

Helpless, worthless, and even now, breathless, my stomach churned monstrously and my vision blurred with dizziness I couldn't offset with food or water—not that I would allow myself much of either, as I had been ejected from LVAC and, unwilling to gamble hadn't considered LA without the security of income. I had stepped back into Eōs with caution, only to be of course rattled about in every way I could—Travis still encouraged me, however the rest of the world was quickly caving in, and I felt much like a trapped rat in the narrow confines of a gym I felt paled in comparison to the other, and was somehow even more overrun with girls twice as thin as I would ever aspire to be—better simply based on privelege and genetics.

But DJs married models—actors married models—and rappers, despite my disinterest in the like, married models—and though I had lost the battle with time, my 24 inch waist did measure up, even with the folds of loose skin that barred me from being beautiful at all, and kept me confined in my very own hell.

I wasn't in the right place or time, it seemed, and as much as I wanted to avoid anything remnicent of Skrillex or Dillon Francis, it had simple become impossible. Everything hurt; my muscles ached and my head pounded with grief, as if I had lost another child of my own, not only because I had, but because even drifting further and further away from what was, I would always be reminded of him no matter what.

One More Time

I wasn't strong anymore—nothing motivated me, not even love, which I used to be filled with, but now seemed a hollow void in the bottom of my heart, creeping and eating slowly away at all that was left of my soul, until there were none. It seemed the whole of me was shrouded in darkness; more than a mood or a state of being but instead being itself—I felt more alike and at odds with Sonny than ever before, mot purposely but actually feeling more myself in all black than in anything, perhaps wishfully llre illusive but plainly out of sorts in my usual flurry of colors. My feelings, as they were, and I still had them were of a high frequency, but my body and mind itself of low bearing of my surroundings, so much so that I could barely breathe, even, without my chest caving in or mh heart pounding erratically—I could barely stand to be awake, and let my mind to drift, only to find it was anchored to this desert, like a ball and chain—I had indeed fallen in love with downtown L, and as such neglected to go back, fearing again that all Ioved would crumble and falter under this terrible curse, whatever it was.

Still, surrounded by toxicity, I found myself becoming ill and weakened, however regaining my personal depth, having the ability to be alone for longer periods of time—something within me knew my placement to be an error, either or judgement or circumstance, but for fear of the white devil I wouldn't stray I to the beknownst boundaries of LA without a backfall. It wasn't fair, but it wasn't even either—I was playing with a fixed deck against the most skilled magicians of our time, my only weapon, words, as I had all but lost the music that went with it.

Goddamn it, Dillon Francis!!

I told you that thing was enchanted!

Throw it away!

NO!

Oh, I get it—

Travis Apple was a very strange man. He had a knack for making me laugh, and happened to bear a striking resemblance to Dillon Francis—not so much so that I couldn't separate the two, but enough that it was either thoroughly entertaining or extremely frustrating. His eyes were always blue, and he cut me more slack than I felt I deserved, but also seemed to be talking in a backwards kind of code. It just so happened to be that I was so devastatingly attracted to Dillon Francis, that I was perhaps somewhat attracted to him, too—however severely, and I kept a safe distance, which for whatever reason he really never seemed to mind, I was glad he was married, and happily so—it made it easy to stay far away,and never laugh too hard at his antics.

Oh come on

Oh

Come on

Oh come on

I j-use

W-w-w-wanted

You're at-t-t-tentiom!

Woah'

You were my water

And now you haunt me

Stop

It's just those eyes of yours

They really drove me wild

I really miss your smile

It's been a little while

But I still love you p

God, kid, are you really that miserable?

*nods*. I

What is it?

It's just sushi.

I meant why?

—apparently, I'm famous.

Well, not yet

(Eating sushi)

Mmmm

And at this rate…

‘God dammit.'

He was, in fact, the master of illusion; I could only see what I wanted to see, besides what I needed to see, and I suppose all I wanted to actually see was the man that inspired me enough so that nothing really mattered at the end of the day, I just kept writing. It did bring me joy—there was something wild about my imagination to begin with, but, with a certain spark, Dillon had brought a lot more to it than I could have thought on my own.

I think I need to go away,

For a really long time;

I can't be alone, without you

I can't be alone without you

Nowadays,

It's okay to be sad,

It's okay to be crazy

But I don't feel that way

I've been great,

I just feel lost without you

I just can't be alone, without you

Out here on my own,

Without you

See, that ain't a girl;

That's a demon

You don't see

But I see it

(I see it)

Not what I want,

But I gotta believe it

I think I gotta go away

For a long, long time

Maybe you're the right one

Maybe it's the wrong life

I don't care, I just want to live right

But I'm bad at it

Nowadays,

It's okay to be sad,

It's okay to be crazy

But I don't feel that way

I've been great,

I just feel lost without you

I think I need to go away,

For a really long time;

I can't be alone, without you

I can't be alone without you

FUCK THIS.

I agree.

No seriously—FUCK Dillon Francis!

Yeah, I know.

“Yeah, I know.” But do you remember WHY?

Why?

https://youtu.be/7L4JnAuW00k

Dillon Francis, I knew by now, was a very skilled sorcerer. I was fasting, and quickly shifting through times, realms, and dimensions as empty as ever as I knew myself to be; these days the shortest fasts seemed the longest—and by the look and feel of things, I was always still the biggest one in the room no matter where I went.

‘Let's see what this guy can do with half a moon.'

If I had to go all the way to the dance floor to continue assessing my feelings for this man, it then had to be true that there were feelings at all—and there had to have been. Either way, I didn't care much; I wasn't expecting any outcome and at the very least and most simultaneously, I was there as a fan. I was, after all, as written, Dillon Francis's biggest fan—and though I didn't wear any apparel that made it obviously so, I sought to seek means to an end at some point for the saga I had written.

I had hoped to potentially see Dillon's Kayla Lauren in the wings, as I thought surely for there to be one; it would be odd for any man, especially one that traveled as much as he did, to have two dogs of his own.

Again, it didn't seem to matter, as I kept it in the forefront of my mind always that a man like Dillon Francis could have anyone he wanted in the world, most certainly anyone in the audience, If a world renowned DJ were ever to do such a thing as to sink as low as to converse with a peasant, such as I; at the very least, I would record, as always, Shazam, as always, and music mine as much as I possibly could, seeing as I wasn't there to dance or to drink at all, but simply just to observe; my soul acted in certain ways in this environment, and I wanted to know why, or what it was exactly that made it do so, quite unforgivingly.

Still, there was magic in the air; and whether it was his, or mine, or neither I neither cared to know nor did, but knew it to be—there was just nothing to to do but submit, as I had learned; and rightfully so, as I was coming to him, it allowed him to assert his dominance, which I liked and needed anyhow, in any event. Allowing any potential anyone to become the master was a given; and though not yet at my beauty's peak of perfection, my sexuality was peaking enough for me to explore my innate attraction to him, as I allowed it. I wanted to be controlled, and so although it felt forced and always ridden with guilt, whatever had happened with Sonny had sent me through an infinite loop and then put Kayla Lauren on display at the worst possible time; and though rarely missing a gym day since, I credited my own perseverance for it rather than her sheer luck at the genetic lottery. I would never be a little white girl, and though at my worst they acted as kryptonite to my super powers, whatever they were—I still had whatever it was they didn't, and perhaps not the affluent white man's proper ideal, still something and someone at best, maybe.

I hoped to see a girl he might belong to at the show; but then wondered of course who might stay with the dogs.

Are you serious?

Either way, I was going to write, and record, and align with whatever my purpose was—as regardless of how, it seemed to have something to do with Dillon Francis.

I was fasting, of course, but it hadn't been long; I had fulfilled what would be my calorie deficit with a box of plant based Oreos just the night before departing LA full of grief, stress, and chocolate,'for whatever reason; I would have a vegan doughnut at pink box, I decided, before I left Vegas—maybe to make up for the one I had lost in the wind from the oncoming train just days before—I called it God's work, as nothing else could be so comical and devastating at the same time—but was also still craving a doughnut and, still fitting I to everything I owed that I had purchased in an extra small, very comfortably, thought to be allowed one, at one time or another. It didn't matter to me; the white women of the world were made to steal anything I wanted or needed; especially a Sonny or a Dillon Francis, but at the very least I could ease my grief with sweets and work off the stress whenever I was blessed enough to hold gym memberships. I didn't care much, but needed the processing speed of a wired brain and empty stomach to be able to compute whatever might be meant for me to grasp in the matrix; after all, I had once thought of Dillon Francis to be a computer-program himself; the most nonplahable character yet, but still a record breaking synchronicity or rather large group of them, now, in my book.

.Red Hot Chili Peppers - These Are The Ways

I can see

It's not meant to be

Cause I can't stop lying to you

And you can't stop lying to me

I just keep tying you up

And you just keep letting me be

So who are you to me

A fantasy?

Freedom?

Sweet relief?

Perhaps, just nothing

But all comes from nothing

All comes from nothing

All comes from lusting

I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet

The break is stuck,

Just like my feet in the styrupa,

Good luck to me

You're just fucking mad at me

For having such vivid imaginary catastrophies

Maybe it's everything Love is

But fucking

What?

God, I'm lucky;

I ought to be

I run a Fortune 500

Maybe it's nothing

But all comes from nothing

All comes from nothing

All comes from lusting

I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet

The break is stuck,

Just like my feet in the styrupa,

Good luck to me

You're just fucking mad at me

For having such vivid imaginary catastrophes

(Don't forget the apostrophe,

Since you'll be forging for me)

I can see

It's not meant to be

Cause I can't stop lying to you

And you can't stop lying to me

I just keep tying you up

And you just keep letting me be

So who are you to me

A fantasy?

Freedom?

Sweet relief?

Perhaps, just nothing

I should be parking my car in the lobby for washing

Don't mind me,

It's just natural distrust

All turns to dust,

And all comes from nothing

God, I'm lucky

I should be working on something

(I should be resting on Sundays, the lord says)

But take my time word for it,

I'm the one writing it

Monday Thru Sunday

I can see

It's not meant to be

Cause I can't stop lying to you

And you can't stop lying to me

I just keep tying you up

And you just keep letting me be

So who are you to me

A fantasy?

Freedom?

Sweet relief?

Perhaps, just nothing

‘Just remember, that every girl you see that makes you sad, is the kind of girl he gets—and that's the reason for it.' , I thought to myself.

As long as I remembered Instagram models and actresses existed, I couldn't continue to be hurt by it, but I was still, somehow even after 30 years, getting used to being the ugly fat black girl—and since I wasn't Lizzo or Megan The Stallion, I really wasn't anyboth; there was still no place for me at all in the world I wanted to belong to, and I was still as I represented as I would ever be. Maybe tonight I would use my two drink tickets; a sure recipe for disaster, as I had at least almost made it to the 48 hour mark fasting, If I was counting correctly.

Perhaps a vegan doughnut could soak up the liquor and shame after leaving the encore at 3 am with nothing but a handful of words and some samples, and perhaps a podcast episode if there could be one.

Dua Lipa, Hallucinate

What happens after The Daisy swallows Dillon Francis?!

Dillon HART Francis.

That's a funny name!

He's a funny guy.

Sometimes.

Sometimes.

What was I to do? I just kept writing and had nowhere to send it; there was no pitch, there was no plot, and there was certainly no point. Enter The Multiverse and The Festival Project as a whole made up for everything I could have potentially been worth—which was nothing— and I hadn't a clue at all what I was purposed for; I seemed almost psychically robotic, remembering things as they happened within seconds, only enough to slightly offset a rebuttal that at any rate seemed scripted, but wasn't—at least yet. It seemed as if I was in a movie, but to any such ohaycologist of course this could have been considered mania, psychosis, or delusions of grandeur—or even—

Dillusions of Granduer.

I was funny too, sometimes.

I didn't have to think Dillon Francis was shallow—I knew he was shallow, just as such with Sonny or any other man worth his salt, whatever that actually meant. But, just as I had harshly learned anything else, I was starting to understand why, as the smaller and more agile I became, the more I could do with my own body, and as such began to understand why men preferred slim and petite women. I was settling in well to my non-bianary status, and my celibacy—I could do more on my own or with myself than with any partner to date, and with the only human of interest being himself well over 300 pounds, I opted to keep to myself and simply observe human nature for the time being, rather than to take part in it. I wasn't eating, but for the first time in days I had slept, and pushing anything from the future or past far from my mind, I opted to remain present, and aloof; it wouldn't mean much to try to care at all about anything—the more I cared, the more the universe would subtract from my contentedness.

Hear Me Now, Nicky Romero

“If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.” —William Blake

As if this isn't the greatest story ever told.

I'm pretty sure that's The Passion of The Christ.

This is The Passion Of The Christ.

That's just blasphemous.

It's The Passion of—

Go on.

I mean, it is infinite.

Well, first there was infinite—

—everything—

—Everything.

Now what.

Oh, I know.

What is it?

It's The Passion of Dillon Francis.

Why is that?

Because, they're going to kill him.

Why? Dillon Francis isn't in the Illuminati!

Think twice before going there.

But I've got a one track mind.

A one track mind

In a multitrack world

Is a square peg to a round hole

And a half-heart

To a whole world

And nothing's left but to give

But to give is to get

Just live,

Try to forget that it's Infinite

What's for dinner dear?

I met you here, at the crossroads

Like I said I would;

And you said you wouldn't come,

But here you are:

A phenomenon

Pardon my awful camaraderie

Oh! I forgot all my manners

Beg your hard on for hours,

Till wilted, like later my flowers

Oh, the debachery

—better off watching your crotch,

Than up on the cross,

Like last that I saw you—

Stop

Look, I just want to watch;

I just want to wash all the blood off my hands,

From the Hog I put on the bonfire

(Forgot what it's called in Oahu)

Who are you?

I died in a fire, you know

In your eyes,

Despite how I tried to avoid them

They light up at night, sometimes

No

Divine or desire

I'm just here to top off my tires,

I'm tired, you know

—better off watching, I'm novice

Another day at the office,

A shot gun in place of deposits, collateral

Oh, I'm the asshole—

I'm actually quite proud of it

This is called something of consciousness,

Writing a canon,

But I'm quite forgetful;

A madman, if you can imagine

(Disasterous)

Now you attack at your best,

I'm un-vested

Invested my time in unrest,

Don't forget

I'm just under your bed

We mustn't forget how it started

Intensive care

Must be intense in the moment

When you're Dillon Francis

Ah yes.

Leave A Trace, CHRCHES

Tell me again how you're different;

I exist just to wash dishes and watch DJs—

I'm lazy;

A patronage made just to let the white bitches forget all their privelege;

In fact, it's a gift

In fact, they're chosen—

In fact,

I'm just

“Isn't”

It's miserable

Everyone Talks, Neon Trees

|

Three Pound Chicken Wing, deadmau5

|

Paradise, Laidback Luke feat. Bright Lights

Let me explain,

How it's a vibration;

I don't care what body you're in—

It's all the same love,

If it's all the same love,

Then I love you

I love you

I love you,

But I'm in a body

It's torturous

Let me explain how

It's a vibration

New word:

It's Sapiosexual;

Oh, I forgot how you

Maddened me once, with your syntax and grammar

Ah, now I'm sad as Hell

‘Might as well end it”,

I thought to myself

If looked as disheveled as I felt

They would have stopped me from entering

Even at ‘Envy'

Let me explain,

How I'm the villain

This just happens over and over

To poor Skrillex

And Dillon Francis

So much fame and fortune

It turns into torture

The girls on the rail

A pecking order;

Ready to devour,

And be devoured by

The man of the hour

“ I might as well end it, then”

I said.

(But just for attention,

I'm stuck in this body,

Just rotting

Cause nobody wants me at this damn party

I've had enough of it

I need some water and

Probably a therapist

Oh,

‘Stream of consciousness'

There, I remembered it.

Who could ever love me

(No one does)

Who could ever need me

(No one does)

Who would ever want me

(No one does)

Uh huh,

I'm no fun at parties

[Three knocks on the door]

I ignore it

(This part is important)

[three more knocks]

Ought to be something,

But still,

I assume that it's nothing

No guts, and no glory

Nobody to love me

Uh huh

I'm no fun at parties

Who could ever love me

(No one does)

Who could ever need me

(No one does)

Who would ever want me

(No one does)

No wonder I used to cut myself

“I can feel something”

I once sung

Now I just run;

But—

I'm still not small enough

For somebody to want me

I like to eat every now and again

But—

I guess that's my problem

I just want someone to want me

That doesn't remind me of

Something i'm not

But instead as in awe of my body

As I am of

Anything other than

Tragedy

Walk like an Egyptian, The Bangles

I excused myself for the lackluster workout—after all, it had been days since my last real meal, and three now since my last solid anything; I had been happy with coconut water and alkaline, trying not to stay too far from the petite I was aiming for.; the plaid dress was a perfect match for the boots I had picked out, astonished that with the nearly 300-lb weight loss, my feet had also happened to shrink down a size and a half—I was dressed to impress, but prepared to be humiliated, and to top that—very eager to Google how long it would take me to get from XS, to Pink Box doughnuts—which was open 24 hours. At least I didn't exactly look like a prostitute—and, as an added bonus, might even could keep the dress for work or interviews; the boots walked nicely, at least for now, and I didn't mind the modesty, as I was already as out of place and forgotten as could be.

Rather than opting for a coconut water, I stayed empty; not much was needed to do what I intended, which was almost nothing, and I hoped at the very least my senses and delicate nerves would be somehow put at ease.

My iPhone microphone was sensitive enough to catch a song from a car waiting for the light halfway across the street—

Freddie's Dead, Curtis Mayfield

I crossed at the walk and kept my eyes to the ground, steadying my gait I into an awkward trot as not to appear to confident. I was right on time at the bus stop, and, within moments, not to my suprise, the 103 passed by me, even as I leaned against the stop waving my phone wirh the screen lit.

“What a dick.”

Perhaps I had fasted too long and worked out too hard; I had indeed left my clothes in a heap of heavy and drenched conglomerate of sweat and tears. I did have a headache, and didn't care much to return yet to my dwelling—in fact, there was something calling me out, and so out I went. Summoning a surprisingly inexpensive Über, I trotted begrudgingly to the WinCo behind me for a Pressed Coconjr Water—the world seemed to dysfunction a little too autonomously when I was running on empty, and with less stored fat supply than before, any triggered ketosis often resulted in a heavy cloud of thoughtless disability; I fumbled around clumsily, breathing shallow in the overstimulation of everything and everyone's aura—but that was exactly what I needed to see: Dillon had always glowed in brilliant shades of purple, but at one time, white—which startled me, especially because it was rare for anyone to glow that way. 120 calories of Coconut water wouldn't quite offset the caloric deficits

Raul picked me up in a brand new Tesla, of course—which didn't feel like a coincidence, as nothing did; I had just earlier in the day been thinking of Lim Manuel Miranda, whose face was earned on the cover of a magazine as I purchased my coconut wate; I snapped a picture and hurried along to my whatever it was—instead of spending the next two hours on the bus, I'd get to collect the music from the warmup DJ, and since it was his job I wanted to aquire, it was probably in good taste and good fortune to support anyone whose name I didn't already know.

As I arrived to the encore, my eyes were blurred and I was still a little woozy, but the headache was gone and replaced with an all-out bad attitude that didn't exactl come from out of nowhere. As easily distracted as I was, and out of place, I was surprisingly quick to lose self awareness; as I stopped to take a portrait for the festival project, security approached, assuming I was as trashed as anybody else hunched over the trash can—I explained I was working on an art project, and she seemed refreshed—I hadn't realized that how it looked wasn't at all out of the ordinary, remembering where I was, and suddenly, remembering where I was, I remembered the first time I was here, which had inspired the poem Red Velvet, which was lost to time and buried in the rubble of my endlessly infinite Google documents

I never received my drink tickets—probably for the best, as k had been tempted this time to actually use them. My life was in actual shambles, with no direction whatsoever—and here I was, on the guestlist at Dillon Francis of all places, with nearly no other place to be. Maybe if I was vigilant I would be front and center at the rail—placing me back in the fandom instead of fiending for a reason or purpose any of this had happened.

I'm not mad

You're a man

And an animal

Can't help yourself can you you?

Don't be mad at me

I'm just a fan

And an animal

I can't help my attraction

I'm second to last,

Wirh my hand on the rail

And I'm not here to dance

(But the music's fantastic)

Well, Dillon's front row is always a sight for sore eyes.

This is hilarious.

I'm laughing on the inside.

Just, have a little drink with me.

WHY DOES THE DJ KEEP PLAYING SIMMERTIME SADNESS!!! ITS NOT EVEN SUMMER.

#SELFIE

The club scene had changed much since the days of Red Velvet, but not much, also—vanity had always been the norm, but now more was allowable; at least Fat girls were allowed on the Dance floor without bogarting our way in—but now, the whole of the masses needed photographic evidence of everything; I wasn't in the least interested in taking photos of myself, or anything really hit the discarded rmknce of what had been a night of drinking and shenanigans, whatever the outcome; I never knew, but typically lately had made a habit of throwing away the trash after taking the photos for my project; tonight thiugh, something new caught my eye, as the warm up and caught my ears and I Shazammed every song for the taking—.Recycling bins at the foot of the rails—where, by the way, I had been pushed to front and center, looking quite like someone's

Grandmother in my spectacles and too- long- for- the-club-dress—but I was comfortable, hadn't been given any trouble at the door, and, for the time being, was actually next to someone's grandparents.

b€NZ (feat syaquis)

Front row lit

Finna get bent

Imma get

Imma get.

I don't mind a white girl

It's just for the night, girl

But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl

We finnafight girl

Go ahead

Get it

Get it

Shake

that bony ass

Like we on skid row.

Yas

Go ahead.

Front row lit

Fin a get bent

Imma get

Imma get.

I don't mind a white girl

It's just for the night, girl

But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl

We fin a fight girl

Go ahead

Get it

Get it

Front row lit

Fin a get bent

Imma get

Imma get.

I don't mind a white girl

It's just for the night, girl

But if you hit me with that ponytail one more time, girl

We fin a fight girl

Go ahead

Get it

Get it

Shame that bony ass

Like we on skid row.

Where we gonna go

In the morning

Go ahead.

The DJ's pace was picking up, so I knew that it had to be toward the end of his set—would I even make it to close—or did I want to? There wasn't much to see, but there might be more to write.

I looked around myself, empathy giving way; now I wasn't myself, or anyone in particular—just a bystander in the crowd, drunk off the placebo of experience

‘What if this was your life every night for the last 10 years?'

Uhhhh.

I Shazamed another tune—

What if this is your life for the next 10 years?

Oh Fuxk.

I'm getting too old for this.

Or… just old enough.

The night was moving forward, and so people were drunker, and I probably wouldn't stay at the front row too long; but I was right in the place where the bass hit just right, so it felt good enough— but you couldn't see the DJ's hands.

Just so you know,

When I'm bored at a show—

I take out my notebook

Oh no,

You're not bothering me;

No thanks, I'm not really lonely,

I'm just

Writing a novel

Or album

Or movie

Or something

“Are you in the industry?”

The tallish blonde girl next to me asked, progressively more drunk than when she first had appeared next to me at the rail—the front row was now predominately female, which I supposed to be typical—what a life.

I just shook my head and continued as I was. For the most part unamused, and even a little bored, as I always was at a club show. I wasn't behind the decks, so I wasn't really anywhere at all.

Maybe it was the bass, but I had suddenly stopped craving a doughnut, however by 4 am I was probably just about going to be ready for one;

Or half dozen, cause—

And with a flash of steam and sweat, the man of the hour appeared, but I found it hard to lift my head—

I probably should step back from this front row…

The energy in your front row is everything; at least to a DJ like me…

Okay Gerald, I'll get you a table— you can't tell anyone you're a piñata. Okay ?'

okay.

GERALD has permanently shapeshifted into a Human being.

(To a hot girl)

I'M ACTUALLY A PIÑATA.

(Drunken hot girl)

WHAT?

I'M A PIÑATA!

WHAT?!

GERALD, NO.

WHAT? She's drunk!

So?! i told you already—don't tell anyone you're using magic—-or I'm using magic—

But—Dillon—magic is real! You said so!

I know that!!!

DFR, Dillon Francis

God dammit, I almost forgot about this album.

No you didnt.

(Shapeshifting)

(Spellcasting)

(Other Magic shit)

Yeah, but I forgot about the album.

Yeah, I bet

SAVAGE>< Freek

In The Ghetto, Skrillex

No.

No.

No.

Oh fuck, where is Skrillex?

Oh yeah, huh?!

OH YEAH, huh.

—

What the everlivingFUCK.

Oh shit.

WHAT are you doing?

Just playing a game.

WHATDIDITELLYOU—

Oh shit, she's mad—

Run, dude—

Run!!

OH SHIT.

I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU

Well—

Well.

Well, well, well—

Suddenly, it seemed everyone in the front row Was alt right- and as always, all the hot white girls moved into VIP—it was a tired game; I would always be black, and I would always be ugly, and so it hurt less than made me think twice or three times who I was dealing with.

I just so happened to look over my shoulder and be somewhat attracted to the girl behind me.

‘'maybe it's time to start dating women'

…but that would never work.

GERALD.

WHAT?!

I thought I told you—

I know, I know—

GIMME ANOTHER SHOT.

What, Dillon—! I thought you weren't DRINKING!

Gerald! It's me!

I know it's you.

No! It's me! Ū!

SUPACREE?!

NO' SHH! I'm Ū!!!

Where's

/ Dillon Francis?!

WHERE IS SKRILLEX?

He's in your heart.

Oh shit. I gave that to Dillon Francis.

Well, then, you have your answer.

Fuxk.

Let it happen. Tame Impala

Man, I love that kid.

I love that kid.

So what happened?

It's a long story.

—NOT THE TIME MACHINE

—NOT THE BOX

GET IN THE TIME MACHINE!

NOT THE BOX—!!!!!

UGH, not Dillon Francis.

(Yes, Dillon Francis.)

What's his deal?!

Who's what, him!!?

YES.

Satan.

Hm.

Whats your deal with Dillon Francis?

What?! I don't have a deal with Dillon Francis…

What?! YOU DONT!?

NO!

Why not?

Cause! Being honest..?

The devil, being honest:

(Psh)

I owe him money.

What!! Satan, no way.

Yes way!

Hod that happen?'

Lost a bet.

Damn. This set is getting good.

What are you watching?

Gerald's world

The legend of supacree

Enter the multiverse

The infinite Skrillifiles

What?

Uh oh.

What ñ

5) 3 time space time continuums just shattered

CONFETTI BLAST

OH SHIT, it just shattered twice. We gotta go.

Where we going

To the planet

Which—ducking planet.

The one with the ducks.

QUACK

oh shit. A duck

DUCK

DUCK!!

DUCK—DUCK—DUCK—

Damn, this game really has gone on forever—

ITS EDM O CLOCK, BITCH—!

GET UP!!

Mmm. We better go.

Yes. We better go

ALI and AVICII are very, very drunk in Heaven.

THEY FINALLY MADE IT?!

—of course we made it!

—We knew the way!

But of course:

GOD

No, go back.

WHAT

ARE YOU serious?

MARTY! MARTY MCFLY! DAWG, it's good to see you!

Wait. What the Fuxk dimension is THIS?'

It's the one with Dillon Francis

That's— a —FUCK.

Dillon Francis is in a lot of dimensions.

Yeah but this is the right one.

How do you know?

That was the theme song for the TV show.

What TV show?

Damn. I'm fucked up.

What! I thought you didn't drink.

I don't I'm an empath.

MEANWHILE

SUPACREE and SUNNÍ BLŪ have collided in a para-dimensional reality

OH, SHIT, it's ME

OH FUCK—DAMN.

Now what do we do?

Drugs?

Drugs.

Yeaaaaaaaah.

One More Time, Daft Punk

My son's favorite song.

It was the second time it had played today, and the first time it wasn't nearly as bad as the second

— now i was glad for the cloud of cold steam, I couldn't hide my upset as much as I wanted to

‘'Just keep writing'

Okay.

They're trying to kill me

With white girls,

And memories

And it just might work

I'm trying to write myself out the box

Oh my god

And it just my work

I'm trying to get lost

But I'm all out of sauce

This is not gonna work

I see you went and hopped on the band wagon

Somebody get that dragon.

/$3/

Huh

That's how much I paid for this

You—what?!

I paid $3

You paid $3

Yes.

For this.

Yes.

I'm gonna kill you.

Ū VS DILLON FRANCIS

Uh oh. Here it goes.

FIGHT.

Oh shit.

I've been waiting all season for this.

Here it goes.

KO.

SUPACREE WINS.

What.

It's over already?

This isn't possible.

GAME OVER.

What the Fuxk.

This is insane.

No fucking way

#%%]!!

Wait.

What the fuck

I thought it was Ū VS Dillon Francisz

YeH!

It was.

What the fuck.

So how did SUPACREE win?

Huh.

Wait, did anybody ever find Skrillex?

Oh, My God.

Just then, someone threw a Red Bull and it hit my foot enough that it actually distracted me from writing—

THROW ANOTHER ONE!

No, dont!

Why, what's wrong?

I have to take back these boots in the morning.

Oh good, Jesus made it.

What Jesus who!

JESÚS CHRIST!

What? What do you want?

I didn't think you'd come!

I had to.

I thought you were on vacation.

Exactly.

Listen, Dillon—I have to tell you something.

Uh huh.

This isn't going to be easy.

Chak Chel, what is it?

I need you to listen.

Uh, I'm kinda busy.

It was at this point—

Really, this point—?

I had to stop and asses for myself what was really happening. I was writing up a storm, and it did seem to happen automatically, as it had before.

I'm a looper

Open the coupe up,

Stupid,

Who did you think I is

This is the business

Go listen to Skrillex

And

KILL YOURSELF

Huh?

JUST KILL YOURSELF.

Ah, okay—but not because you said so.

Listen,

I'm finna spit this quick while you spin it

Spit in it: clitoris

I'm different bitch

After this dinner

I'm still in the kitchen

With dishes, bitch

Till it glistens

While I listen

To excision

(I'm just kidding)

Dammit, this is a lot of Skrillex

What exactly did you say about Dillon Francis not being in the Illuminati

First of all, the Illuminati isn't real.

SUPACREE

How did you get famous?

SUNNÍ BLŪ

I'm in the Illuminati. You?

SUPACREE

I AM the Illuminati.

SUNNÍ BLŪ

NIce.

[Cheers]

Hey.

Hey.

Anybody seen Gerald?

…

…

…

Zzz.

Damn.

Nodding off

On the clock

I'm on the floor,

And yo this shit is toxic

Turn the knob a bit;

My foot starting to throb again

I'm looking hot like

Somebody's mom again

Damn.

I'm getting off

On the wrong kind of drama

This isn't long at all

But it's all wrong, ya'll

I dont belong here

Lost My Mind, Alison Wonderland

OHH THIS SHIT BE HITTING DIFFERENT

It did hit different.

Someone either vomited or spilled the rest of their drink on me, which took me out of my moment: the music was telling a story, at least to me—and I didn't feel like feeling right then, but it was all I could do ñ. I was surprised that I was still standing at all,

Ugh. I don't understand my feelings.

This was deeper than it seemed, bigger than it —

Ugh.

What do you want from me?

All I've got is applause, and a cough drop

It's just another night at the office

I'm somebody's mom

In a long lost thought;

All zeros on the clock

In a tick tock, or two, when you're off

And you're long gone,

I'll still be wandering

Stuck at the mall

Till the bus comes

—trying to write myself out the box

I'm a lost soul

I'm a club kid

I'm a lost cause

But i'll stay till the end,

Cause last time I walked off

And my thoughts wandered back to the dance floor

All that I wanted is

A penny for gods thoughts

And now she keeps dropping them

—and more often then not,

She's dropping the knowledge

That I'm in the wrong,

For just wanting you:

But what can I do;

I just want to be like you,

and less of a primate

Something saw right through me, and I felt invisible—now a doughnut sounded good, and I hoped that they would have vegan this early in the morning. There was about a half hour left of the set, and I was tired; I would stay until the end of the set, for some reason—-but now —

Oh shit.

Remember that one time/—

Which TIME

One time, I lost my mind and drove off of a bridge.

That did happen.

That did happen.

I had at one point been unwell, and so—

ugh, that's it

Some smelly kid squeezed his way in between me and the next person over,,probably on molly or something—meanwhile the young white supremacists club of America was codeswitching up a storm, me pretending not to notice, but— he was dancing a little too hard, hitting me a little too much—and clearly not giving any kind of fuck: it wouldn't be my first panic attack on the dance floor, but it probably would be my last; it was the same story over and over again— only the next generation had even less of a Fuxk than I ever did.

I left the dance floor and opted to stand behind VIP —

DID ANYONE EVER FIND SKRILLEX?

Wrf. He died.

WHAT.

No seriously, I watched him die.

Okay. Then what?

Then he got up.

That's a twist.

Now I can't sleep.

That sounds traumatic.

It was traumatic.

How long's it been?

I HAVE NOT SLEPT IN ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS.

Great, the vampires are here, too.

Good. I've been craving Vegan blood.

Ihj.

What. It's better for you.

God dammit, Dillon Francis

Why does this always happen?

I can't remember half of what I did

Before I napped, and landed back in this dimension

Now, I'll give you my attention for a minute—

But I'm worried about Skrillex

Didnt I mention i needed permission

(Or just a perscription)

To get this ignition

I didn't even want to come to this

I hate this club

It's filled will memories

You won't remember me

For half another century

Cause I can't finish writing

I'm too busy riding

The bus

To work

And crying all the time

Cause therapy doesn't

And I used to love this stuff, but

UHH

1–2–3 :

BUN UP THE DANCE

This is a lot of Skrillex.

Is he okay?

Is Dillon Francis Okay!?

They're both okay. They're both millionaires.

They'll be fine.

huayayay!!!!.

Fuck this.

Fuck this.

Alright, I'm leaving.

Are we eating?

If it's vegan.

Ah man.

What just happened?

I'm definitely in the Illuminati.

I have a tendency

To pretend that

You're friends with me

Speeded

I get it's a

Fantasy

But

I had to see you

In the flesh

I digress

I picture you're just as

Obsessed with me

Guess I'd regret to suggest that

You should have

Sex with me

Directly

but it's nestled

in my head

In the red

Would you get into bed with me

After everything I said

Or I wrote, and you read

Or am I just

Better off dead

Youre so far ahead,

And I get that it's

Just a test

At best but I've yet to digest

Breakfast

Caught in a web of

Heaven or or empathy

Trying to empty my envy

For whoever's holding your hand

Instead of me

Please,

Forgive me—

But,

If you're reading this,

It's too late;

All triple sixes and

Tipping the sinners

With witless intentions

Wet at the back of the ears

But I've known you for years

And I said I'd be here;

I remembered the dress

{Enter The Multiverse}

TRAKTOR PRO III

Controller Missing TSIs.
i don't know what that means.

got no decks rn ffs fml

just a laptop.
i know 2 shortcuts in Serrato.
my life is

gimmie some CDJS

thats my wish

Man, fuck CC.

What—you think?

Dude, I know.

She's my bestie.

Your bestie? Nah that, she's holding you back.

No she's not...

Yes she is. Think about where you would be without dragging her around—

Flashbacks of a drunken CC remind DJ of the bad times.

Maybe you're right.

Meanwhile

Cc wakes from a drunken stupor suddenly at a party; her focus shifts from a blurry unconsciousness into dreamlike state to the DJ, just across the room. She picks herself up off the floor and staggers drunkenly to him.she stands at the side of the DJ and just stares Rather drunkenly for a moment, before the DJ notices and gives her an odd look, still mixing. She gestures for him to remove his headphones, which he, clearly annoyed, ignores and continues into a drop. She puckers and taps him on the shoulder, to which he shrugs—she looks at him with a plea, gesturing him to remove his headphones, to which he annoyingly obliges.

You're the DJ???

He gives her an irritated look and gesture as if to say “clearly”.

Oh, well yeah—

She then excitedly (yet, still drunkenly) removes the USB drive from her neck, putting it into the DJs hands.

Here, play this.

The DJ looks at her curiously, now less irritated but still cautiously.

What is it?

My friends music, he's a DJ—well—music producer, I guess

The DJ samples it in his headphones, giving a nod of approval—

This is fire—

Yeah, I know!

He's a DJ—?

She nods happily.

What's he called?

DJ.

...yeah, DJ what?

...That's his name.

…

…

They both shrug, as the DJ mixes the new track into his set. She bumps along.

(It's October 5th.)

{Enter the Multiverse}

circa 2021

I knew I was being watched at all times, and the more I paid attention to being watched, the less noticeable it would become. I threw up a flare in way of not caring; I ate what I wanted and ran about in an inward frenzy—yet also, in a cool, and outermost calm state. I felt already that I had lost the game; that I wasn't famous yet, and so I wouldn't or couldn't be—I had failed, and so it didn't matter what I did or didn't do. I had no one left to please, however, I couldn't seem to stop writing— and I hadn't been, really. But now, it came about again automatically as it had in the beginning. I wasn't angry, and I wasn't going to be; my feelings were justified, and they had to be, because somehow, they still existed—despite my trying to abolish them as it seemed everyone else had in the way of making and sustaining income. But I was miserable, not doing anything anywhere near what I wanted to, and wasn't making the money I needed to do anything but wake up and exist in a rather unadmirable fashion.

@zaexoolin

October, deadmau5

I had written galaxies of entries into The Festival Project, and it didn't seem to matter at all— I wasn't making any money from it, and now, I didn't know how to. I hadn't the time or energy to organize the Project into anything understandable to anyone other than myself, and though the whole of it was somewhat complete; if completion was attainable any, in the infinite sense and overall nature of the project itself—but it had not yet been standardized into any format which would even be moderately accepted in the writing world wirh any interest; it wasn't Hollywood formatted and didn't fit the picture for any other adaptable publication—it had its own form and while I very well understood it, it would take a decent amount of explaining to anyone my vision for the massive project.

Still, the universe had a way of telling me I was selling myself short and maybe even selling my soul in the exact opposite way as anyone might have chosen to—I wasn't having any fun, experiencing the benefits of actual fame, though The Festival Project's strange cult following had become effective in making itself apparently notable, and I was literally living hand to mouth on borrowed time. Though escaping Vegas by just a hairline, and finding bits and pieces of myself scattered all across Los Ángeles, the notion of becoming homeless and out of my senses loomed over me with every colored person howling and cussing at themselves and at the world—and not that there hadn't been such in Las Vegas—in fact, there were more, as the Nevadan mental health system was far worse than California's healthcare by anyone's standard, and yet— it was more forcibly apparent that rather than by choices, the homeless of Los Ángeles were there by circumstance.

Though I hated it, I was willing to work any job that would secure my independent housing, as I had learned to live with very little and stayed content in doing so; a true minimalist, I fancied not what others had as to keep up with the times, but only of things I hadn't. I wanted my own door to shut, my own bed to make—my own kitchen to cook in, and although it came at a cost, the skyrocketing rent in LA was worth it enough, equated to the energy alone in the city.

I wasn't anytime soon going to Mexico without a decent amount of money, and more than probably wouldn't be able to keep up the pace of a commission-only job enough to secure a space in LA—but I knew something was coming.

After all, there was a coughing demon following me everywhere I went, and so I thought myself to be a pretty important obsession in someone else's mind to put out such a terrible force of energy. It didn't seem to matter much, anything, actually—I wasn't doing anything I wanted, I wasn't getting what I needed, and I was harder working than anyone I met at all. The end of my life could be any day at any time, and so I became reckless in the aftermath of having lost all that I had ever loved.

R E C K L E S S

Los Ángeles

What if I took my heart out? | | |

You'd love the taste of my blood,

With a Bite of the lip, and a twist of the tongue

Pull me under,

No wonder—

Catch more flies with honey

Oh.

I didn't know you go here

It's below zero where I'm from

Cold as the stone you were under,

That went unturned until

Suddenly,

I was at home dear,

All alone where

All of a sudden you know me;

No,

Let's not go there—

I was in the clear,

I was in the clear

I was in the air, with you

I was in a dream, and then

Woke up to care for you

Staring at the wall

In a cold sweat

Oh, there you are again

I didn't know you go here

Hello, dear

Better prepare the proper paperwork

Better prepare the proper paperwork

Better wear the proper attire;

You're said to inspire the choir

In your downward spiral

Look at my eyes

Look at my eyes

Look at my eyes, when I lie to you

That's just the life of a writer;

Live and we die just to love you

Then write of it

But in spite of it all

And everything I stand for;

Coming this fall:

I could fall for you

What if I took my heart out? | | |

You'd love the taste of my blood,

With a Bite of the lip, and a twist of the tongue

Pull me under,

No wonder—

Catch more flies with honey

—Shhh.

The brim of my hat, on a pole

Where do I get off writing stories?

Where do I get off—?

Ah

Where do I get my glory?

Give me my roses,

I'm horny

Give me more, Moses;

I've had it up to here with this nonsense

Divine nonchalance and omnipotence

God, this is potent

You poisoned my apple with acid, I know it

Alone in a fortress

‘Four figures is worth it,'

I figured

Go figure,

Addicted to light fixtures, forged as robotix

I hope to God i get off of this rocket as polished and Godlike as Ali

But nobody gets it, but me and my daughter

Who doesn't exist yet

Or did,

And we're simply reliving the story

Instead of just

Writing it

Riding the bus to the end of the infinite

Invisible Infidelity,

hell is embellished with heavenly decoratives and eloquent expletives

Where the hell is my stop, anyway

I stopped paying attention

Where the Hell do I get off?

—for S—

—Ssshhhhhhutthefuckup!!!

Watch this

Ugh

Get it?

Stop it, Satan.

Stop what? Come on.

Stop following me.

You like it—

—Sometimes it's funny.

You're very quick.

Could be quicker.

I could give you this whole damn city, if you want it.

It's already mine.

Wouldn't it be nice if everyone else knew it too?

Nobody has to know.

Oh, but you'd like that.

I'd like a lot of things.

But not love?

What is that?

You tell me.

Name your price.

Are you serious!?

How's the weather?

I want to make a baby

Dhow me that you love me

Come inside me, then divide me

Bring the joy into my pride

Cause I admire you

I desire you,

Light my fire;

I exist to inspire you

Dammit.

Dammit.

—down girl.

I told you I'm going to put that dragon to sleep.

I'll put it to sleep.

Dragons don't sleep!

That's a myth!

Dragons are a myth!

Myths are a myth.

If you land that ship here I'm going to make you pay for parking by the minute.

Alright. How much?

Half a million.

Deal.

SUPACREE has officially and permanently hijacked Dillon Francis.

Where is Dillon Francis?

I told you it was cold up here.

Don't look at me!

Oh what's wrong

EVERYTHING.

Whats going to happen here?

Anything that can.

No no! Do t touch it! It's a Tesla!

What?! Last year I saw you take a baseball bat to a fucking Beamer!

It was Boston!

?!

They love baseball

Watch this:

Satan.

I told you—

—I wasn't listening.

I can be anywhere you are.

The US Bank building was indeed high enough to kill you from jumping off of it; I couldn't stop thinking about it, as I stood by the base of it, actually across the street at the library, which I for some reason, had somehow considered as my own.

-TAZER-

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

-TAZER-

-TAZER-

-TAZER-

—WOOOOOOOOOO!!!

YOU'RE SICK.

I love it! One more!

WHAT!

ONE MORE.

(This part is important.)

HIT ME BABY, one more time!

BRITTNEY SPEARS

Hey, shut the fuck up, okay—my kids watch this show!

WOOOOOOOOOO.

This is nuts.

This is out of control.

That's a lot of—

—Lazers!

—Cough syrup.

Oh, yeah it is.

Wish.

what?! Already?!

Whats your first wish?!

I'm not done yet

You have to be—

There's a limit?!

WISH.

OKay, OKAY!! I wish—

Oh shit, here she goes. Hide!

Ugh!

Noorotic, Redman

NEW DJ UNLOCKED/

Q-Beet

“Q-BEET IS GOD. “

Ok.

I had just that very morning imagined myself quitting my shitty job, trading in my business professional clothes for something, anything else—and just finally, once again—being Sunnï Blū. In pondering, looking over my polished and professional appearance, in a collared faux-pearl dress and DKNY boots I actually liked…but it didn't at all feel like me. And while Sunnï Blū also wasn't me, and merely just a character I had created and ended up quite by accident somehow method acting by solid definition—it was still an entirely more enthralling existence, as the character I had created had indeed come into a life of its own and become nothing at all of how I had first imagined, but somehow even better.

‘What would Sunnï Blū even wear?' I had asked myself, probably even too loudly, so much so that the universe with full-throttle intention did respond, in an excitingly timely manner.

EXT. WHERE MONSTERS DREAM, DTLA. DAY

Oh I love this part.

GOOGLE

‘What does Sunnï Blū Wear?'

oh my god.

what is this.

i love it.

#lilbitz

LA is some shit.

Some people in LA are too rich.

You're so rich, I can't look at you.

You're so rich, you make my eyes hurt.

What are you even wearing?

lacoste-too-much.

Durh.

EXT. DTLA FASHION DISTRICT. DAY

‘Can you believe Porter Robinson invented trance?

I thought almost too deeply about it for a moment, trying to understand where in my own multidimensionality I was, or where he was, in the grand scheme of things.

POOOR-TER ROBINSON. POOR-TER ROBINSON. -lil B.

Yes, actually, I do believe that. I could believe that.

I invented trance!

Uh huh.

I am I!

Oh shit. I am Porter Robinson.

PORTER ROBINSON.

Check out my band:

Porter and the Robinsons.

Yessir.

Anywho.

The smell of eucalyptus filled my nostrils; someone behind me was annointing themselves with the oil and it sparked up a fire in my brain; I had been trying to become a member of Equinox fitness for years, and had almost always fallen short just in funding, and though something was telling me I would be coming into some sort of money somehow, I was again falling short—it was almost impossible for me to arrive anywhere on time anywhere I didn't want to be; and I didn't like my new job as much as I thought I needed it…

Sonny Moore died of a broken heat;

I survived him, but I never was the same.

That was they day my eyes had turned go hazel—

Now comes the day my eyes will fade to grey

My eyes will fade to grey.

‘Ugh.'

Rooms>< anything

I was almost certain at one point or another that—

Fuck this—there's a glitch in the matrix!

(I thought this was an article on the secret love affair between Allison Wonderland and Dillon Francis!)

((That's not a secret!))

This is impossible.

What am I looking at.

(Yes, please try to explain to yourself how this is happening.)

(this isn't happeninG.)

THIS ISNT REAL

—-MWJAY TJE FJCU—-

WHAT THE FUCK AM I LOOKING AT

(Hush, please, before you send up a sign.)

There's a signal.

Let's go.

Let's go?' Where?!

To the planet.

To which—planet?!

The one with the:

‘—THIS ISN'T HAPPENING— ‘

(now you've done it.)

You really sold you soul for this?

What'd you sell yours for?

Same as you, I guess.

x__x

God is in the shadows,

And yet I rise above,

Just to illuminate the picturesque,

The life that all of us have left to share

To live

To love

To love one another

To love one another

I judge not a mother,

Nor pity a father;

I honor them

Once and for all,

One becomes of us

Not then, or after—

Now,

Right where we are,

Under the stars,

Or drawing them;

A wish becomes a prayer to God

Until you are one

Lost wanderers talk in tongues

Lost wanderers talk in tongues

Lost wanderers talk in tongues,

The prophets

(Of The profits)

All will fall or none

All is fair in love,

But one must fall,

First

I smell winter in the air.

‘It has to be a dummy company' , I thought.

‘A front for something. ‘

If I was being set up to fail, there were some broad strikes being taken—but still, I wasn't all the way fooled; something seemed off, and If at the very least I was watching my dreams shatter around me, at least I was doing it in Los Angeles against the backdrop of this historic LA skyline on this iconic coastal Mecca, rather than Vegas's dry and unforgiving desert, which for the most part was also littered with homeless, mentally Ill and unbathed Inhabitants—however, strange and bizzare as it seemed, it was as if Los Angeles had less of them.

I sat out in on the Whole Foods patio at 8th and grand, which I had never done and somehow also remembered doing, and though temping, the skinny black girl who stopped herself in front of me just to take a sip of her kombucha wouldn't persuade me to start doingso; in fact, I was in a tailspin—very much so in a panic, such that I was actually eating midday, rather than the end of it. The job I had just started seemed a sham, and though there had initially been something that excited me about it, after being late my first day, I almost believed myself to be in a realm where I was doomed to fail, or stuck in a loop as I had been all the rest of my life; then l, it could have been the fact that I was carrying documents with my old name on them—which I had theorized allowed whoever such was practicing black magic against that name to continue doing so successfully.

The passport office had apparently ‘made an error' with my documents, and so had delayed me at least by a day or two from completely shedding any remnince of her, to which I would to happy to forget entirely, and—though somewhere in the pit of my heart that I could no longer speak to anyone from my last, pretending for the time being that it didn't exist and was safer; it had to have been narrowed down to two perpetrators for the dark and awful magic that was being used against me, always there but less present when actually dealing with her belongings, family, or friends—and while it may have been her ex husband who forced her to suicide, it may well have been coughs, the photographer for no other reason than love and love alone, in any facet.

A fit man with an attractive tattoo seated himself in front of me; I could tell he was attractive, and thought it best to keep him headless rightly so. Today, all the white girls were evil again, but really they always were, and it was me who just cared to notice them—they just needed attention, and didn't seem to do much other than try to get it—not that they had to try. I had learned that I didn't hate them—however, that we lived in different worlds. They couldn't understand me, or find me as attractive as they thought themselves, and their Caucasian male counterparts were trained for the most part not to find African American features as beautiful, scientifically, I had learned. And, while my heart was forgiving, my soul still crept up just to wince at every reflection of ‘ugly' anyone I might have thought to be attractive thought that I was.

Sonny Moore is like candy..

…I really want it, but it's definitely not good for me.

Good, go on.

lol I do have a sweet tooth.

Eugh!

So then, what does that make Dillon Francis.

MEAT.

Ew, gross.

…I could eat it, but I probably wouldn't feel very good afterwards.

Daww.

All I need is a DAW

And a Dog;

And a friend,

And a hug,

And a car,

And a bed—

And you out of my head

Cause

I gotta get

I gotta get

I gotta get it all on my own, you know

And I gotta get out of here

But I owe you for something

I know it

I'll take out a loan In the morning

Slowly but surely,

Slowly but surely

Slowly but surely

I'm waking up

Run just to run

(Gotta run, gotta hide)

I'm picking you up

(I'm picking you up at 9)

Probably shouldn't be driving

Probably shouldn't be driving

On all this wine;

Took my first sip

When I saw you weren't mine, but now I'm

Picking you up

Picking you up at 9

All I need is your arms,

And some love,

Some songs,

And a hug

And a road,

And a room to go to with you,

PAUSE

oh shit. I never seen tiesto before.

What? Why not?!

Cause fuck tiesto.

Anyways

“Happy birthday tiesto!!!!”

Wait, is that his name?!

Yeah that's his name!

Like his actual name?!

I don't know! What the Fuck!

Might be worth knowing.

I doubt that.

His wife is younger than me!

Well, good news is, you're getting older.

Okay—

Wow! This song IS red!

Red music for the win.

Red music is balls!

What!

She's from another realm.

—

MA.

What, Jeff.

It's excision.

What did you say?

My name's excision.

Sure it is.

Ma.

What, Jeff.

I made a new song.

Of course you did.

Wanna hear it?

Not before breakfast.

But it's past noon.

So it is—

Can I play it?

No.

What. Why not.

I still haven't had breakfast.

FAST FORWARD.

NO.

UNH.

Oh, GOD.

What? Don't look at me…

No Exsision on an empty stomach.

Okay.

I SAID—

SUPACREE

Oh, I get it.

This shit smacks.

///UNH.

Literally, sometimes—

Owie…

But you know what? I had a good run.

Okay.

When do we get the rest of the DJs?

Huh?

Okay, who wants in?

*literally nobody raises a hand*

Okay, I'll go.

Are you serious?

Serious as a heart attack.

THAT'S how you got in?

Heart attacks are a sure-bet! But no!

Well then, what happened?

Someone broke his heart.

Aw, shit.

DONT LOOK AT ME.

Aw, fucksauce.

Nice Nikes.

Wanna fight me?

Do you like me?

I'll give you a black eye;

Yikes

Three stripes me,

I'm a zebra, no white, see?

Psyche

—

#lilbitz

I love LA.

Sometimes I can't tell if people are wearing costumes or if that's like—their—themselves. Like their true selves.

I can't tell.

And it's okay.

It's really okay.

Cause sometimes I look at myself in the mirror, and I'm like—

Fuck.

Who is this guy?

Yeah.

Or I just laugh

I'm like

*laughs*

“You idiot”

But it's whatever!

That's my true self.

Sometimes.

Whatever.

Maybe I am in costume!

I don't know.

Sometimes, I think I'm in a movie

Sometimes, people come up and tell me I'm in a movie.

I'm like “oh no! Whose the main character”

Lol.

“I better get out of their way!”

Haha or I'm like,

“Yeah, I'm definitely the villain; get the fuck away from me.”

But no. I love LA.

I'm at the gym— I saw this dude in faded blue jeans, a jersey, some socks, and some Nike slides.

I'm like yeah, I'm home.

I'm home.

Then I go to get a second look at him and he's got rhinestone facial piercings, I'm like.

“Yup.”

Fuck.

I love LA.

And they were oddly placed, at that.

He had like, his eye wrinkles and second-dimples pierced

Like—who has two sets of dimples, anyway?!

LA people. Bet.

—

ALRIGHT DEADMAU5—TAKE IT AWAY.

What?

No literally. Take away all the deadmau5.

What, you can't do that!

But I can.

—

I love deadmau5.

Beepbeepboop.

Probably more than I should.

Beepbeepboop.

Way more than I should.

Beepbeepboop. Beepboop.

—

Yo.

Yo.

Whatever happened to Pasquale?

?

What happened to Pasquale?

?

What even originally happened to Pasquale?

Let's find out.

—NO—NOT THE TIME MACHINE AGAIN.

Relax.

I WILL NOT RELAX.

Relaaaaaax…

I WILL NOT RELA—

—AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH.

Ducks.

What the—

I told you.

DONT

DUCK

WITH

TIME

—

The thing I knew about Sonny was, I was never going to run into him in public; he was too famous, and too recognizable—and so I didn't have to worry—though, he was always in my mind somewhere, if not in the corner of my eye or somewhere over my shoulder—something like a dry cough that never went away. Might as well have been.

— have you ever heard of a blood oath?!

No—because they're secret.

Turns out that building with my emblem on top is the Los Angeles public library.

What a coincidence!

No it isn't.

I was being facetious.

Wow. That should be a spelling bee word.

I'm sure it has been.

—

I got my back up against the wall

Why'd I fall for you?

We got al the same problems

Lack of endorphins,

The wrong—a lot of things

Maybe nothings wrong with God, after all

Fuck, gotta love androgyny.

. . .

This just got weird.

Like it wasn't weird before?

No, it's really weird now.

WHt is this!!

Oh my god!

WHAT IS THIS.

I don't know.

HOW'D THEY DO THIS?

Who is “they”?

WHOOOIII DID THIS?!

Ruffle your feathers a bit?

EXT. SOMETHING POETIC. NIGHT

for fuck's sake.

ffs.

Fuck.

I hate sales

@TechnoTupac

I thought about changing Into my tennis shoes, just for the commute—but it wasn't an option. I was dressed of course in off season designer off the clearance rack from Ross, trying not to sweat so much that I couldn't return it later, along with the shoes I crammed my unpolished toes into, in hopes that the sheer pantyhose I was wearing would offset the obvious fact that I hadn't had a pedicure in about a year—I had suddenly gone from homeless with two jobs in Las Vegas, to sleeping in an 8-bed room in downtown LA, extending my 2-night stay into six after a contingent job offer; now, it was day one of training, and after a night of music mining and gorging on LA's finest vegan fare at The Vegan Playground, which of course I had found by following some DJ on Instagram whose name I couldn't remember... however, he seemed important enough at least to me. I had never had to wear high heels for so many days in a row—and though I could have at any time opted for some eloquent flats, these rhinestone sling backs, with about a 6-inch heel matched the sheer sleeves on my size 8 dress, which was labeled a small on the rack, and hugged all my curves almost dangerously— and though proudly I had been able to fit in anything down to a size four, I wasn't taking any chances after spending a night's worth of sleep on a fried “chik'n” sandwhich that was too spicy to finish, even if I had room for it after the slice of cheese pizza, which actually paled in comparison to the Whole Foods slices I loved at double the cost, and the vegan donut holes and cookies I couldn't resist, and didn't quite regret—though I prefferee the Sprouts cookies, and however small, the doughnuts were almost worth it.

It was good.

I had spent the night running about collecting things I thought I needed, or at least whatever I was programmed to, though I didn't really understand why I still went out of my way to collect music at all, wherever I went, as my “career” seemed to be taking an entirely different direction; my new job was in marketing, and though I knew I'd be good at it, and was doing just about anything to earn my own downtown apartment, no matter how tiny, I wondered how, if at all, working 46 hours a week and commuting at least 7 more, besides spending any required amount of the gym would allow me to be any kind of DJ; but I wasn't really any kind of DJ at all, I thought—I had failed and let go of my dreams enough to settle for the occasional guest list appearance.

I wanted to shoot myself in the feet, and It felt like I already had; these heels were the end of me, making my typical 7 minute walk into 15 and the 10 minute walk on the other end into 20; I arrived late, but didn't think it much to matter; I would spend the day filling out as many job applications as possible. This particular one was commission-only, and I wasn't about to be homeless and rambling on the streets like the tens of people I passed daily running about, most of them black. Still, somehow it didn't seem to matter. If the reigning white supremacy wanted me homeless, I would be homeless—and it was probably as entertaining as could be to watch me struggle to survive, dangling the possibility of opportunity and success over me all the while knowing I would fail.

Rich people and their games.

But, I at least knew that I had been up before the sun and into the gym before cramming myself into all that I wasn't--professional business attire I couldn't afford, but at least looked good in-- and so I had changed for the better in at least one way.
Although not born into prestige and perhaps even made never to be born at all, I kept waking up into this vessel, it's true purpose yet unknown—

If it existed at all.

Mm,

He smells like hard liquor

Let me just

Sneak a peak—

So you know you're alluring

And luring me

Please

I can't seem to breathe deeply

I need you

Complete me

Come soothe me

Let me move you l

Come through me

Oh

I want

To love

Your body

Oh

I want

To touch

You softly

Oh,

I want you

Oh so badly

Rick your body

On me, on me

Uh

It's just lust

Uh

It's just another lover

Uh

It'd just another comfort

Cunning

(I'm coming)

So love me

Love my like no other

Touch me;

Oh,

I need another

Body on me

Stop it

It's just lust

It's just another love

Just another

Confrontation

Imm still waiting on my other

But he never

Calls me

As long as he

Comes up

Running through my head

Through my veins

And my blood

Just hold me

Stop it

It's just lust

Uh

I want ya

Uh

I love when the liquor's strong on em

What

It's just another love song

It's just another love

It's just another body

What

You got all of em

I could drown all my sorrows in an ice cream sandwhich; i had all the self control in the world but the lust was almost unbearable; he was my type and I wanted him, but trapped in my own body I knew not to cross boundaries. It wouldn't help much nor would guilt be any further from my mind; I was collecting feelings for unattainable men like toys from McDonald's; however harder to forget about but easily just as practically useless and meant purely for aesthetic value.

I was wet, dripping with lust and breathing shallow like a heat wave had come over me; I hadn't been able to get Dillon or Sonny off of my mind all day, and now here was this man; pale, fit, and pretty like I liked them—he smelled strongly of booze which for whatever reason always got me thoroughly aroused. and—best yet, he was stripped down to his tight, unforgiving boxer briefs—perhaps I would pounce on him and give way to my inhibitions and primal instinct, dislodging my tantric inclinationsand pretending he was someone I actually wanted or cared for…

—but no such, as it had come to be that there was nothing I could do with myself without feeling one way or another about anyone else; my feelings were real, and there was no more making a fool out of myself about it—I wasn't a high caliber Kayla Lauren, or anyone, of that matter— and so I had let my fascination subside. Still, however burning with lust in the forefront of my mind, and sitting deeply in my soul.

I was loyal, always monogamous , and celibate for the longest everlasting moment, even—but couldn't detest h from human feeling, or my peaking sexuality, at that. I could test a man apart and eat him alive thinking endlessly og nothing but what I would do with a body, if given the chance…

I opened my ice cream sandwich quietly and lodged two earplugs deeply into my skull, placing my headphones over the top of them just to be sure that the disgusting coughing, sniffling demon of a woman in the bottom bunk below couldn't tarnish what sleep I would get, if any—allowing the sweet Tahitian vanilla vegan ice cream and perfect sugary chocolate chip outer to lull me into a complacent, dissatisfied slumber.