I was on the wrong bus for awhile before I noticed it, or rather, the right bus, going in the wrong direction— or even, to be clearer, as the bus was marked 5554, or some other number at the end, of course overshadowed by the first sequenced numbers, always tending to me uncomfortable— even though I had attempted to wash its original meaning to my self out of my mind by replacing it with its most commonly accepted Angel number meaning—I was doing everything I could anyway to move toward forgiveness and alluding to the obvious notion that, whatever had happened between my ex and I had been for the better after all, after all was said and done ( and though it never really was), the love and our marriage were at least ended, and never to rerun to that or any relationship which would put my mind and body at risk, let alone my heart or my soul.
Strangely enough, of course, by the time I had realized it, though, I was back at the same intersection at which I always transferred, and though I had been in the city long enough, but not quite settled, it had been a while since I had been turned around or lost unintentionally—though I did sometimes make a habit or acurrying about in airplane mode and taking trains out of my way in order to dislodge whatever had been tracking me, whether it was supernatural or otherwise—it did seem to deter the sometimes uncomfortable and problematic psychological attacks—which, the more I studied and gave way to being some kind of targeted practice, using the empties bodies of those controlled by their phones—consistently connected to applications such as Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, and Tik Tok—“Tracking Apps” which I called them, and was not wholeheartedly against so much as without need for them, as my need for any sort of affection—especially the false instant gratification one might gain or lose, becoming victim to the racially programmed algorithms and calculated population division and psychological terrorization of an entire generation; no judgement passed, but I had been careful to remind myself that whatever was happening by way of social media was a cultural and non-televised revolution, from which I wanted no part of. Still, I had noticed that when a high number of coughing people did happen to find my way around my presence, I was connected to some sort of network, and that those particular people were typically visibly sick in some other way—scrolling mindlessly, or without the light or life in their eyes left, eating poisonous food, or acting in the way of some other unworldly seeming sickness; I began to cope of course with the comfort that, in the event of bad intentions having been set on me in any individualist mindset—a curse would be returned tenfold if not more.
I think link Larkin is lurking
I'm cravin a link aausage in this obsirdisty
Dirty as the Mother Earth
What if I have to listen to deadmau5 all night every night forever?
Not every night. Just work nights.
Ah, fuck. I'm living in my head again.
That's not so bad, is it?
I mean, at the moment— but like I said, it's—
Whatever happened between you two is not my business.
The scar over my right eye, which my ex husband had carved into the shape of an eye using my own house key began to warm and tingle, but not quite burn, as it had in the past—the scythe shaped scar on the inside of my lip began to well up as I clenched my teeth, running my tongue against the back of my teeth as not to give it any more power or attention—I had decided after all, that even my worst enemies were just myself, and though
And letting it all sink in
Sunnï Blū in an all-red sprinter
I don't want to live here,
I just wanna go somewhere to go.
Been in a Benz, dear l l l
I guess I'll see you when I see you
I guess I'll see you when I see you
I guess I'll see you when I see you
I guess I'll see you when I see you
The less you have to lie, I guess
Waiting for the world to end
Waiting for a song to sing
Makes me feel like I'm living
Like I'm living in anything
Everything is everything.
Was I really that hangry?
I don't know why you hate me
I really don't care no more!
Nothings the same these days
Not even the way it feels,
I really don't care no more
Ain't gonna pay to be played with;
(But I might get paid though)
No, I really don't care how you feel
You don't care how I live
I really don't care no more
I missed the last 5 songs
Really don't care no more
Sometimes it's a half, or a whole thing—
Sometimes it's living your life and not worrying about where you're going
Maybe there's just no maybes
ELOHIM is a NANNY and struggling musician
Why would she be struggling?? She's white and prett.
it happens to all of us, you know.
He does it for the music!
What music might that be?
I thought those could be m his kids with you honestly, before I decided you were the nanny.
How would these be his kids?
The older one's already taller than him.
Look, you gotta know something.
How did you even find me hiding in this deadmau5 construct?
This is a game of strategy!
The Illuminati's watching
And lastly, your intentions
Do you wanna like—get married and have kids, or—
—I wanna party and get fucked up until we kill each other—
I like learning my lessons the hard way.
This is hardly enough money, Dillon.
I can't sell you anything for this.
Ugh, this nigga is corny.
I just thought it would be funny.
You will stand the test of time.
You will stand the test of time.
You will stand the test of time.
You will stand the test of time.
For every time I thought about the father of my child,
The shit we pull just to pull up to Skrillex
And be respected for anything
The best transmutation I could commit to was to change my triggers into positive intentions, turning 4:20 into DillonnFrwncis forever reason just in case it did need to be as easily discarded,
Still, something seems missing
And everything under the son is just wonderful;
He'll find another mother for his son and his daughter soon—
A wonderful world for him
Don't talk too much about the truth,
All I really ever wanted was a husband,
And a come up on an comet—
But I probably lost it all at once
Accomplishments and comments
I mean, this algorithm says otherwise
Does any one else really wanna be this guys wife?
Listen, look—check this out, guys.
I'm gonna go ahead and send all of these
[fully compatible matches]
I—no, I'm—I'm just— giving it to you.
I am going to give you my soul.
Yeah—but what do you want from me?
You're fucking gross, man.
You know what? Forget the paperwork. Just take it.
SATAN has never been given a gift.
It's not sad. He's very unpleasant.
Every time I saw the perfect type of woman I wished I was— I thought of Sonny, and anothe tip in my soul—then, I turned the thought into a magnificent force of motion—to wish him nothing but the very best, and move on.
Dah daba da da da badabadah
Sunni, what are you doing?
shut up, Morgan—you fuckin hater?
I'm not a hater, I just hate this song.
What songs?! I don't make music!
Sunni, I can't fight all these charges.
I'm fighting the charges! You're just my lawyer!
Just because you have all the money in the world, it doesn't mean you can do whatever you want.
SUNNI, YOU KICKED A BABY?
Getcha bow legged ass baby out my way!
[swings leg, cut back to]
JIMMY FALLON IS IN TEARS, riding a fully packed bus through the Bronx after being separated from AMY PEOLER**sp AND TINA FEY
I think we can all agree, Homeless Jimmy Fallon is the most tragic Jimmy Fallon.
I thought long haired Jimmy Fallon was pretty tragic.
Tall Jimmy Fallon had me confused—
Yeah but blue eyed Jimmy Fallon.
I M A G I N A R Y. F R I E N D S
Dillon Francis has just become Captain of The Assholes, a special branch of selected Motherfuckers.
Deadmau5 hacked into SUPACREE'S conciousness with computer programming.
That sounds like a hassle.
Wait tho, didn't Dillon Francis do exactly the same thing, but with like magic or something?
But wait— but Skrillex did it first
Shhhh! We're gonna miss something important—
—but like—with frequencies—
—like genetic synethisis, or something?
What's “genetic synesthesis” exactly?
What the fuck are you nerds watching?
Oh shit! Now what's happening.
You did it, I'm just watching.
What the fuck is happening?!
Did you change the channel? Where is SUPACREE?!
You can't! It's a live premiere or something!
It's like a livestream—! Kind of!
It's not a channel, it's an application!
So close the application and restart it or something!
You can't, it's it's the beta version and I got it illegally!
I'd you exit the application, it just deletes itself—or something—!
What the fuck are you guys doing?'
Go back to your hole and write math problems, or something.
The fourth roommate, dressed in all black adorned with a hoodie, slinks back into the hallway, disappearing into a darkly lit room—
Sitting behind the illuminated screen of a custom computer set up, the fourth roommate takes off her hood, revealing herself to be COUGHS, a popular celebrity photographer, best known for her work with real-world SONNY/SKRILLEX
The sound of her nails typing quickly against the keyboard of the still darkly-lit room becomes the prominent sound, over her roommates arguing in the background, as we fade into the background of a green and black coding screen.
Let the stones fall where they may;
Let the cards fall how they may—
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