[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

{Enter The Multiverse}

{Enter The Multiverse}

That is good.

Maybe your favorite?

My favorite? Not by far!

By far, eh?

I don't have favorites. I can't.

There's no “can't”

Well, I can't.

But it was good, and now I had the whole day in its entirety to reflect on what was really happening–in my body, in my mind, in my heart, and in my soul. Using deadmau5 as the backdrop for the mapping out of the plot that my innerworkings had created wasn't altogether out of synchronicity and perfection, but still, unable to really move forward, i neglected any further obligation to exploration of the whats and the whys–the wheres and the how's always steadily within reach, thanks to The Grand Ringmaster, Pasquale, respectively.

Okay, now what?

I don't know.

Where could I go from here? I was no longer homeless, but also not home–I had opened a pandora's box of a plethora of cosmic information I had still sensibly yet to divulge, and under the circumstances, probably wouldn't, or couldn't. It was no longer a game of cat and mouse, but rather a game of hide and seek, duck-duck-goose, and truth or dare rolled into one. In the aspect of power, I knew there was enough of it at hand, and at the hand of God itself, that some of it had to be mine. Money aside, I hadn't the mind for once actually step off the ledge and display my talents in an outward enough sense that they actually existed to anyone but myself, and money itself, though meaning more and more to the world, meant actually less, to me.

Hello, Matilda.

Oh shit, what's THIS

Oh, it's Matilda and Skrillex

Is that what we called it?

I don't know.

You don't know.

Never finished it.

Hah. Never finished Skrillex

I think that was the other problem

Yikes.

Well, take care.

Who are YOU?

You don't remember me?

No.

But you remember everything.

Exactly.

Now, now, Matilda.

WAIT a MINUTE. This has nothing to do with deadmau5.

Almost nothing has anything to do with deadmau5.

[Irrelevance, Personified]

What is that.

My deadmau5 album.

Oh, well– geez.

Aha, yeah, right

Everything is Everything.

Yeah.

Everything is Everything. So.

So?

So.

Now I would have to go digging; I was beginning an impressive enough collection on my own of songs and writings that seemingly or at the surface had nothing to do with either Skrillex or Dllon Francis, or deadmau5 respectively–but now, collectively enough, I realized, there may even be a third collection entirely, as I had been writing of deadmau5 for the better part of a year, or even more–and though considerably so it would more than likely be the smallest of the three collections, it was more than likely still enough to stand on it's own somehow.

What are you talking about

I'm just thinking aloud…with my fingers

You're an idiot.

I'm pretty sure it's just repressed sexual agression,

Don't be gross.

Sorry, Travis- I just suck. I understand.

A pre-canned response to whatever it was he was going to say to let me go, after I had promised and failed once again to return to work. Something really was wrong with me, and though I couldn't tell exactly what, I knew it was something–and besides waking up early enough to actually be on time, i still did spend much of the morning reflecting in a self-loathing pseudo—

Wait, pseudo-what?!

I don't know. It just cut off

What?! Why?!

I'm an animal

I have eyes, you know

Where my mind will go,

Well, I can't tell you, but

It's been Hell, and then Heaven

All over the radio

‘Oh

Hello

Who goes there? ‘

“Oh, Hell No

Get out of here!

Who let this kid in here

Who let this kid in here?!”

DON'T FUCKING OPEN THAT DOOR.

Can I open it?

NO.

Should it open?

NO.

I'mma open it. One. Two.

I'm so serious, if you don't stop–

If i don't stop, what?

…

…

…

You know what? Fine. open the door.

Really?

Yeah. open the door.

You want me to open it?

Yeah. I do.

…now I don't feel like opening it.

[smirks, and nods]

By now, I had realized that I had the intrinsic power to read between lines, see into eyes like the windows they are and become the whole soul to embody the entirety of another-and for all intensive purposes, it suited me, as I had learned to maintain my empathetic qualities and curtail the offputting side effects of synesthesia, I had become quite gifted in never quite being myself, or rather, in fact, being anybody but myself, with no intention whatsoever other than to hide whatever it was that seemed so enigmatic about my own force, that it often brought about a disastrous clash of some sort in the outerworld, I had practiced briefly with some of the best; Anandar, a true shapeshifter, had readily prepared me for what would probably be an entirety of never really connecting with anyone ‘normal' again; Even Travis Apple had hi—

Uh

What do you call that?

I don't know.

Is he glowing?

He's not glowing

Goddamit, what is with this guy.

I had now had two bosses in total that reminded me enough of Dillon Francis that I wanted to either punch them, or to fuck them the aforementioned probably being the better idea, and the latter for the matter being off the record, out of bounds. Even this had to be some kind of fantastical jab at my own inability to reconcile with what had been done–and I was still figuring out exactly what; perhaps a spell gone awry (or one that was working perfectly, to my demise or even in my favor without me really knowing how) I was, after all, said to be “in a cult”, none of the benefits of which one might think to pay off from such I had yet seen.

Something suddenly made me want to leave, and as I turned my phone over, coincidentally checking the time, it was 2:22–and I didn't know if it was harder to try and understand what Aliocha wanted when he was alive, or now that he was dead.

u

0.0

Pretty much, fuck this shit.

Fuck this shit

I don't know where we are.

We're lost.

__

What did you do?

I threw a rock at his glass house.

Uh, she threw several “rocks” from inside my house--which is not glass, but does have--or, did have--a lot of glass in it?

Who keeps that much glass?

Fun Fact: Rich People Love Glass things.

What?

Honest.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project ™]

A Follow-Up.

{Enter The Multiverse}

A Follow-Up.

{Enter The Multiverse}

LEGENDS:

“The Betty White Episode”

Not Betty White.

You did this.

I told you.

You were warned.

I don't heed those kinds of warnings!

Ohh, Betty White died.

Died of what?!

Died of OLD—

—she was tired—

We're all tired!

Let her rest.

I got Betty?

I told you this would happen.

Oh, my heavens.

No, I haven't.

God, I need a favor.

—-

Betty, I need your charisma.

(You've got plenty. )

I need yours.

—-

Did you know—

—did I know—?

Did you know—Someone once said Betty White wasn't “photogenic”.

[exaggerated gasp]

WHO SAID THAT?

—they were stupid.

They're so stupid.

RIP.

RIP Betty White.

—-

SHES A GOD.

Okay, Betty White Fandom—stand up.

[whole world stands up]

Observed from galaxies away, the planet Earth is sighted falling slightly off its axis, by onlookers in the museum portion of an extraterrestrial research station.

SUPACREE

Woah, the world.

Nobody *really notices—besides these aliens— except for Supacree.

SUPACREE

Hmm.

ENTER: RAVE WORLD

Here come the totems.

Ahh, the totems.

This isn't right.

I love this one.

That's so fun.

A group of ravers passes another tribe, a Betty White memorial in clutch as their totem.

Aww, Betty White

RIP Betty White.

RIP Betty White!

What? What happened?

Betty White Died

—Betty White died.

NO SHE DIDNT.

I know broh.

BROH.

I know, broh.

WHAT THE FUCK.

RIP Betty White!

—RIP Betty White!

...That's Fucked up...

Yah, I know.

My acid just kicked in. :'(

Oh damn.

That sucks dude.

Mm...Betty White.

[super sad face]

Worst Trip Ever

Betty, help me.

(Just, Help Yourself…)

A plate of cookies has appeared in The Void.

Thanks.

She takes a cookie and settles into the meadow which has appeared in the blank space beside her, creating a lush green atmosphere, a springy jungle surrounding an oasis, at the center of the meadow.

Nobody is there; SUPACREE simply uses her spirit magic, whilst in a state of trance, to call upon The Good Spirits and The Angels for guidance, entering The Void to visualize and project in an open meditative state.

As she sits, quite happily with cookie in hand, by the edge of the oasis;

INT. WRITER'S ROOM. DAY

Wait a second.

What.

She's calling on Betty White?

Yeah, Betty White.

She just died!

Yeah, I know…

It's too soon;

She was 100!

SHE'S A GOD.

—at least with…

Nobody can “play” Betty White!

RIP Betty White.

RIP Betty White.

That's right—and it would be blasphemous to try to capture her essence casting some pathetic— imposter!

Amen.

—Amen.

So this doesn't make sense!

Yes it does.

She's a ghost?!

She's a spirit.

What!

Supacree summons spirits.

(It's a gift.)

[supacree summoning spirits..,completely by accident]

ITS A CURSE.

Ahem.

Anyway.

The Spirit In The Sky

All passing celebrities and those granted fame and/or notoriety must serve a portion of their ‘passing time' as guards, advisors, or angels in the recently departed realms to those who loved them, such as a result or byproduct of the fame which was gifted.

I guess that explains that.

LEGENDS NEVER DIE.

That about says it.

Flashback: SupaCryptKeeper

The Stairway To Heaven

Just let me rest.

No, get up.

Five more minutes.

What is time?

Huh? I am…

Mmmm

______

So.

So.

Who plays Betty White?

…

…

…

I got it.

This is ridiculous.

This is ridiculous.

She'll never do it…

They'll never let us.

It's already approved.

What!

But, she won't–

WANDA SYKES

I'll take it!

This is blasphemous.

As I pedaled up to Whole Foods market, somehow after contemplating that the three days I had spent fasting was enough, besides my almost inability to go anywhere, especially Eōs, plagued by insurmountable anxiety and crippling depression, thoughts of suicide and for the first time in years, night terrors beyond my wildest beliefs, alas, and to my great relief, a planet fitness seemed to glow in the otherwise dreary desert surroundings—without much thought, as I was already headed in the direction of Whole Foods, I turned my bike around swiftly, parking it outside of planet fitness, and strutting inside as if I owned the place. I knew the answer, but still asked Amanda, the woman at the front desk, if she happened to have a trial pass—to my relief, she replied happily “I can give you a day pass., and k forged a smile. At this point, nearly another 48 hours since my last gym session, anything would do. Maybe an hour before Indulging ln what anyone else would call dinner, but for me would be breakfast, after nearing 4 days of nothing but nutrition shakes and leaving me with no energy at all to help reassemble what seemed to be my shattering mind.

It must have been the collective trauma of hating Nevada altogether, but I was coming apart; at least blessed with the capability of sleeping in a bed and shutting the door to all else, plugging my ears almost too deeply with store brand earplugs from CVS to drown out the clamorings and drama of my outer surroundings, I encapsulated myself in mantras, attempting for the first time in months to meditate and heal myself from within, without medication—however something seemed to be approaching; I felt as if I was suffocating, unable to speak or move in a normal way, and more sad than usual—lonelier than ever, and though I had many options, all of them paled in comparison by far, to any of the men I had admired at all, as of late.

That's Bad Luck.

{Enter The Multiverse}