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.
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
Cause I can't stop lying to you
And you can't stop lying to me
And you just keep letting me be
But all comes from nothing
I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet
Just like my feet in the styrupa,
You're just fucking mad at me
For having such vivid imaginary catastrophies
Maybe it's everything Love is
But all comes from nothing
I'm clutching the clutch with both my feet
Just like my feet in the styrupa,
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)
Cause I can't stop lying to you
And you can't stop lying to me
And you just keep letting me be
I should be parking my car in the lobby for washing
It's just natural distrust
And all comes from nothing
I should be working on something
(I should be resting on Sundays, the lord says)
But take my time word for it,
Cause I can't stop lying to you
And you can't stop lying to me
And you just keep letting me be
‘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.
What happens after The Daisy swallows Dillon Francis?!
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—
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.
Well, first there was infinite—
It's The Passion of Dillon Francis.
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.
Is a square peg to a round hole
And nothing's left but to give
Try to forget that it's Infinite
I met you here, at the crossroads
And you said you wouldn't come,
Pardon my awful camaraderie
Oh! I forgot all my manners
Beg your hard on for hours,
Till wilted, like later my flowers
—better off watching your crotch,
Like last that I saw you—
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)
I died in a fire, you know
Despite how I tried to avoid them
They light up at night, sometimes
I'm just here to top off my tires,
—better off watching, I'm novice
Another day at the office,
A shot gun in place of deposits, collateral
I'm actually quite proud of it
This is called something of consciousness,
A madman, if you can imagine
Now you attack at your best,
Invested my time in unrest,
We mustn't forget how it started
Must be intense in the moment
When you're Dillon Francis
Tell me again how you're different;
I exist just to wash dishes and watch DJs—
A patronage made just to let the white bitches forget all their privelege;
Everyone Talks, Neon Trees
Three Pound Chicken Wing, deadmau5
Paradise, Laidback Luke feat. Bright Lights
I don't care what body you're in—
If it's all the same love,
Maddened me once, with your syntax and grammar
If looked as disheveled as I felt
They would have stopped me from entering
This just happens over and over
“ I might as well end it, then”
Cause nobody wants me at this damn party
‘Stream of consciousness'
[Three knocks on the door]
I assume that it's nothing
No wonder I used to cut myself
I'm still not small enough
I like to eat every now and again
I guess that's my problem
I just want someone to want me
That doesn't remind me of
But instead as in awe of my body
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.
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.
Can't help yourself can you you?
I can't help my attraction
And I'm not here to dance
(But the music's fantastic)
Well, Dillon's front row is always a sight for sore eyes.
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.
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.
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
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
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
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?'
What if this is your life for the next 10 years?
I'm getting too old for this.
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.
When I'm bored at a show—
No thanks, I'm not really lonely,
“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;
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 ?'
GERALD has permanently shapeshifted into a Human being.
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!
God dammit, I almost forgot about this album.
Yeah, but I forgot about the album.
Oh fuck, where is Skrillex?
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.
What, Dillon—! I thought you weren't DRINKING!
Oh shit. I gave that to Dillon Francis.
Well, then, you have your answer.
Let it happen. Tame Impala
Whats your deal with Dillon Francis?
What?! I don't have a deal with Dillon Francis…
Damn. This set is getting good.
The infinite Skrillifiles
5) 3 time space time continuums just shattered
OH SHIT, it just shattered twice. We gotta go.
Damn, this game really has gone on forever—
ALI and AVICII are very, very drunk in Heaven.
MARTY! MARTY MCFLY! DAWG, it's good to see you!
Wait. What the Fuxk dimension is THIS?'
It's the one with Dillon Francis
Dillon Francis is in a lot of dimensions.
Yeah but this is the right one.
That was the theme song for the TV show.
What! I thought you didn't drink.
SUPACREE and SUNNÍ BLŪ have collided in a para-dimensional reality
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
They're trying to kill me
I'm trying to write myself out the box
I see you went and hopped on the band wagon
Somebody get that dragon.
That's how much I paid for this
I've been waiting all season for this.
I thought it was Ū VS Dillon Francisz
Wait, did anybody ever find Skrillex?
Just then, someone threw a Red Bull and it hit my foot enough that it actually distracted me from writing—
I have to take back these boots in the morning.
I didn't think you'd come!
I thought you were on vacation.
Listen, Dillon—I have to tell you something.
This isn't going to be easy.
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.
Ah, okay—but not because you said so.
I'm finna spit this quick while you spin it
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.
I'm in the Illuminati. You?
And yo this shit is toxic
My foot starting to throb again
On the wrong kind of drama
But it's all wrong, ya'll
Lost My Mind, Alison Wonderland
OHH THIS SHIT BE HITTING 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 —
What do you want from me?
All I've got is applause, and a cough drop
It's just another night at the office
In a tick tock, or two, when you're off
—trying to write myself out the box
But i'll stay till the end,
Cause last time I walked off
And my thoughts wandered back to the dance floor
A penny for gods thoughts
And now she keeps dropping them
—and more often then not,
She's dropping the knowledge
I just want to be like you,
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 —
One time, I lost my mind and drove off of a bridge.
I had at one point been unwell, and so—
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?
No seriously, I watched him die.
I HAVE NOT SLEPT IN ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS.
Great, the vampires are here, too.
Good. I've been craving Vegan blood.
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
I didn't even want to come to this
It's filled will memories
Cause I can't finish writing
And I used to love this stuff, but
This is a lot of Skrillex.
They're both okay. They're both millionaires.
I'm definitely in the Illuminati.
Guess I'd regret to suggest that
Would you get into bed with me
At best but I've yet to digest
For whoever's holding your hand
Wet at the back of the ears
But I've known you for years
If a grown man can be a romantic,
This is the promised land
I see now, how a woman's like a hat
Whatever it is what you have,
And you have so many that
Most likely just using me to bring these
If he needs a wife, she's
Probably staring back at me,
Through the back of the camera;
Fantastic beasts and fucking fansasies
A back handed chance at a handsome
But he'll never been had like that,
But he could have more than that,
Mad at me for taking so long but,
I've been in the world of monsters,
Oh what a horrible feeling
I'm dealing with being unappealing and
Kenny Powers middle name is White,
The alter to sell away something inside,
Or at least I'd like to I've
I'd smile if I had the time--
Remind me, what it is again
But I'm out of my element--
And the elephant in the room is named
I'll probably never be the DJ that I wanna be
And no one wants to play with me
Maybe it's just a mistake
Its just no one speaks my language
I'm sitting in the back of the short bus
Discussing this with my imaginary elephant,
But that's irrelevant to the
White rinocerous in front of the bus
with trust issues bigger than the rest of us
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