I can't fall for this again—

Another rich and handsome man—

A dream he wants to be my friend

A dream he wants to hold my hand

Oh look,

Another dance for anthem

Look,

I'm just another fan

No, I can't fall for this again

—but they would go against the plan

A simple programming error,

Lips the color of a pomagranite

Circle on the palm,

And then , of course,

We press the center

And look, here we are again

Another life,

Another love

A new wife—

Another husband

Honest?

I'm just good with fucking

—aha

I just want to fuck you

I got love, but what it good for

Look at me, or look at nothing!

Look,

I'm just good with fucking

Check the news for new engagements

Fucking sick and fucking tragic

Nothing more than actors,

DJs, drinks and addicts

Look,

I'm just a happy accident—

I still hate Dillon Francis

And I never wanted Skrillex:

That shit never even happened!

Have you had enough yet?!

Carrot cake does sound good

Ten karat long engagement ring—

Is that a lot?

I'm just a homeless

Look, I'm just another DJ

Some fake model stole it

Some would call it occult Magic

—honest?

I just want some dick, man

Fuck it

—aha

I just want to fuck you

I got love, but what it good for

Look at me, or look at nothing!

Look,

I'm just good with fucking

You know why you like me?!

Yes, I know why I like you—

Cause I'm rich!

—no, actually—it's because you're smart.

Where in the fuck are you going?

I don't know yet.

Well, know faster—we have company.

Fuck.

Destroy every bit of evidence.

Ok.

—and make sure nobody sees you.

Yeah, right!

YO.

Why the fuck are you here, Timmy?

I told you, I'm not Timmy.

I don't give a fuck who you are—where's my money?

It's— it's on the way, I promise.

I'm don't take well tk promises, Timmy.

What do you take well to?

Money.

FUCK.

What!

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!

What?!

We're too late, she's gone!

Goddammit.

—She was already here!

FUCK.

FUCK.

FUCK!

>>> FUCK!

How do you know?

—there's glitter, everywhere.

Is it gone?

It's gone?

ALL OF IT.

TIMMY TRUMPET plays a SKRILLEX.

Etto, Timmy?!

Oh shit, another Timmy.

That's weird. I was just thinking he about Skrillex.

Why.

Timmy, put a shirt on.

That's it.

What.

You can't be hot and play the trumpet.

Why.

One thing's gotta go.

THE DEVIL takes away Timmy Trumpet's ability to play the trumpet.

WHAT.

Can't have both.

Well, I don't really need both now, do I?

When I'm in a tough spot I have to listen to deadmau5

—something about the precision and frequencies out my brain somewhere between auropilot and dead space.

I don't know.

I've done just about everything you can think of listening to deadmau5.

Almost.

But, I noticed—

Working out to deadmau5 is strange.

It puts me in some kind of vibration where people notice me—

Not just notice me.

People are suddenly “impressed” with whatever it is I'm doing.

And it's usually something regular as fuck—

I'm just doing it to deadmau5.

And for some reason, people are like

“Wooooow!!”

Okay, whatever.

I used to work out to Skrillex.

Actually.

I used to work out to only Skrillex.

I don't know if its just because I was fat, or cause I liked Skrillex.

Now its like running a serrated knife up my spine.

I started to figure out I was kind of famou—

Kind of—

When I showed up at the gym and Skrillex songs kept coming on

I'm like

“This is what I get for doing nothing but free trials”

But hey,

You try finding a gym in the shitty areas of New York worth paying for.

It's very hard.

The crazy thing about this story is—

There's a lot of crazy things about this story, actually.

EXT. BASKETBALL COURT. DAY.

Alright— shirts and skins —Shirt—Skin Shirt,Skin—

Uhh! Nah. I wanna be “shirts”

Why dude?! Your girl's mad hot!

So?!

So I know you got it goin on! Look at you!

I'm mad rich!

Yeah—but girls always cheat on flabby rich dudes! With hotter dudes.

My girlfriend might be cheating on me!

Yeah—She's not, though.

How do you know?

Cause I tried!

Yeah. Take your shirt off.

No—uh! How do you know she's just not into you!

Because! He tried—

HE tried!

You sell out.

And Andre tried—

[ANDRE is tall (about 6'9 dark, and handsome]

—you too, bro?

[ANDRE shrugs nonchalantly]

That's an NBA player—

What the FUCK, YO.

—and she said NO.

ANDRE

Yup. Shot me down.

Oh really—from all the way up there?!

Face it, man! You're fuckin hot!

I don't like the way that sounds coming from you—

Take your shirt off!

Were you this aggressive with my girl?!

Don't be like that…

Nah— fuck you!

Yo! C'mon, man—

And you three!

You're holding up the game getting mad over nothing. It's Hollywood!

It's Beverly Hills!

—Exactly my point!

You're new here—you'll catch on.

You know what!

I'm shirts—you're skins—Game on.

[SUNNI BLU goes beast mode and plays the dirtiest, most whoopass game in history—out of spite and anger of the toxic masculinity; this of course earns SUNNI BLU even more respect as a “man's man”]

Later: as the owner of the clippers, sunni BLU trades “Andre” to the worst basketball team in history.

For,

As soon as the moon is full,

She also begins to wane—

And as sure as we are to shine,

We also fade away

I had one slice of red velvet cake, one slice of cheesecake—which of course only reminded me of Sonny Moore—the decadent, delicious red velvet—and Dillon Francis—the spiced and ecclectic trademark carrot cake—if only not to sooty the pain of joe much I wanted both of them, but probably didn't need them—how I craved them so, but they probably weren't good for me, nor would they last—

—but they would both be delicious, anyhow.

The seagull said.

“To the sea, we go!”

Overhead, he flies

As the day goes by me

Idly, I wait—

I could take a ride,

But i'd rather be

By myself,

By my…

INT. EMPIRE ENPANADAS. NIGHT

You gonna order?

What you got?

Empanadas.

Just empanadas?

—Yeah.

Okay, that's weird.

Lol the only thing funny about this scene is that their New York accents are so atrociously heavy.

Right.

—weird.

INT. SUBWAY STATION. DAY.

Sunni BLU is passed out in the subway station.

Ew…

Yeah, my god.

Wait—is that—

—sunni?!

SUNNI drunkenly groans.

Sunni! Get up!

Ughhhh.

What are you doing?!

I'm drunk.

I know that.

You're always drunk.

Yeah.

What are you doing here.

What.

In the subway.

I do this sometimes.

What. For what?!

You never know who you're gonna meet.

In the subway

On the floor?!

YeH! I met R- Kelly down here!

What!

When was this

Not at this station, though, but yeah.

To think,

It was all just an awful game, to make you write more songs—

And in the end, if you don't make the cut

They just make you kill yourself, anyway.

Love isn't real, but money is;

And all men want is money,

So they can buy the love—

And all women want is love—

But it has to come with money

Or it all just falls apart

It all just falls apart

It all just falls apart

“Illuminatus”,

Open, close

Illuminaudio, for starters

Cross a crucifix for sons, and wanted daughters

What's a brother to a sister—

Or a mother to a father?

What's a stop sign to a car,

If no one's driving?

In the end, they kill you off

In the end, they kill you off

With every cough, they kill you off—

But there's always another

Who wants to be a star—

Or just

The mother of his child,

Maybe both

Genetic lotto luck

—the cut off.

Agatha…

A far cry, out into the distance–a wind, almost a whisper; A lover, long gone and almost since forgotten, unseen since the very dawn of time and first ever glimpse of light–

…We Meet Again.

FUCK. WHAT IS THIS.

I know, man.

FUCK.

Fuck.

Well, are you gonna tell this story or not?

This isn't possible.

It is possible.

This isn't happening.

–

This dude has a radio tower in his front yard.

That's his front yard?!

I fucking guess.

What is that.

That's a satilite.

Nice.

Yep.

Alright, you son of a bitch.

Hey! My mom's nice!

Not that nice–bringing you here.

How do you know that's how I got here?

Exactly my point.

[cocks pistol slowly.]

You're dead, mouse.

OH.

I GET IT.

kill that motherfucker.

Wait. Hold up.

Hold the phone!

Holding.

How did we get to this point?

I mean– a few ways.

What are you watching.

SHH.

Wedon'tknow.

SHHH.

OK!

SHHHHHHH!

IT' getting good.

Ya. It's getting deeper.

So much deeper.

WAit.

…

Who are you?

I'm a fan.

No.

How did you get in my house?

It's my house.

It's–

–no.

No, it's not.

YEs. this is my house.

No.

What.

GEt out.

SHH.

What.

DUde–

No.

Ze show is on and it is getting one deeper. Be quiet.

IT's getting two deeper.

–like nine deeper.

SHHH.

Oh, I get it.

She really wants to fuck Dillon Francis.

#FuckDillonFrancis

Uh, no–

I already did that.

Gross.

Excuse me.

You are excused!

I mean, I beg your pardon.

Please, don't beg.

Er, uh–

Could you repeat that last part?

Woah, this gets multidimensional as fuck.

I have a time machine.

Are there any loopholes?

There are loopholes.

THere better be loopholes.

Sorry, we're out.

GodDAMMIT.

What.

I was really looking forward to those loopholes.

Well, they're gone.

FUCK.

HEre, have some

Oh-Noh's.

I don't want–

Just SHUT UP and EAT YOUR CEREAL.

Don't worry–I'm still Team Skrillex.

There are TEAMS?!

Oh, yeah, bro.

Oh, so–it is a love story.

I don't think that's what this is.

I'M GONNA MURDER YOU.

Ok.

WITH MY DICK.

A-1.

There's something I need to tell you.

What.

But i'm sworn to secrecy

Then how am I supposed to–

Just–shh– follow my lead.

“The Magic Effect.”

Did it work?

Don't know yet.

You nutted to this girl 36 times in the last 20 Calendar days.

Ok…

36 Times. One Girl. 20 Days.

…What's your point.

This is ferocious.

I have your entire internet history.

All of it?

Oh yes. All of it.

Welp.

Well.

THat's it for me.

I've had enough.

There's no Skrillex Deepfake.

Aw. that sux.

Why would you look at this?

…why not, though?

You're a disturbed man.

I'm pretty regular.

REGULR TO WHO?

*shrugs* Me, I guess.

TURN THIS OFF.

I can't take it anymore.

Whatever happened to the–

SHHH.

Fuck. I'm so wasted.

So what do you think is gonna happen?

Listen. I have a lot to get through. THis is all just nonsense.

I think we're avoiding some heavy subjects, here.

Well, there are a lot of discrepancies.

Kill yourself.

I just did.

Kill yourself–again.

I–GodDAMMIT.

Just do it.

NO.

Come on.

Congratulations, you got the job!

Yes! Thank you!

…What's the job?

I need you to get the fuck out of here in the next five seconds–before I blow my head off, and take you with me.

Don't do that.

Five…

Yo, i'm serious.

Four…

Jesus Christ, dude.

YOu don't think this hits a little close to home.

Home? what is home?

For the Record, Skrillex, Dillon Francis, and Deadmau5 respectively are all getting their dicks sucked on yachts right now in some foreign exotic country–

You're not wrong.

That is correct.

Standard music business.

And People are living in tents under bridges.

I'm just saying.

If you think this project is reckless and bizarre, check your own simulation.

So.

So.

Where were we?

Somewhere between blowing our heads off and getting our dicks sucked?

I'm sure there's a striking correlation somewhere.

‘My Candle Burns At Both Ends…'

Oh, More Occult Magic

God Bless The Illuminati

GOD

I Am The Illuminati

Glad that's settled.

Three.

Goddamit, don't do this.

Two– [cocks pistol]

Why just pistols.

Cause shotguns are messy–

–and for dramatic effect;

I love that sound.

[the other party quickly removes his handgun from his waistband, shooting the other man and then himself quickly; They now both lay dead.]

How do I write this

Just write it.

I need adderall.

You need Jesus.

By goD, youre right. [iPhone]

What are you doing?

Calling on Jesus.

Are you serious.

He's the plug.

Ugh.

I need adderall.

What did I do?!

YOu know what you did.

∆

Well, alright then.

∆

Must be something.

∆

I got it.

“The Legend of Supacree”

L E G E N D S

“Tales of A Superstar DJ”

To do: Cut Freaky Friday 001

Cut Throwback Thursday 001

Cut SOM III

Part I {God Is God]

Part II [Clockwork]

–Pull 212 Remix

It's far beyond my control

I get out of my head and into my soul

In one ear, never out the other

If the wind blew down your door,

How would I call for you?

—Through her, I suppose

And the silk of her hair,

Or the satin of her dress,

—

Oh, it's almost admissible,

Surely admirable,

Worth a smile or not,

That all the world is words,

In the end,

As I tear down my worlds,

and start over from One

And I've already stopped enough once for today,

I think

Surely, what you'd like is just

The time to get it all to nothing

(Never had I wanted it or needed it)

The phone was ringing,

But I'll never be off the hook again,

If you look for the proper way to move forward,

You'll never find it,

Especially looking behind you

(Always looking behind you—

Head in the past

Just like you

It's just like me,

Too,

To sit down and decide a whole song about you

While taking it all down.

I'm never distraught with the thoughts of a stranger,

Oh, on the contrary;

You should be mad about battle,

But I'm all for the veterans and

And never off if we were not at war with one another, but

Then again,

That's all we've ever done

It would be

Devastating

To even think of

Something more clever

“Clever and splendiferous confectionary efforts,

Just spectacular concessions my dear; I'll have another.”

Hadn't I deciphered once or twice the rhyme for riddles down to dollars and cents?

I did, I thought, once.

I never hindered Heaven from pondering over my shoulder once or twice upon a full lit moon, which under I predicted my own fortune.

Once— or twice, but—

Nevermind, or nothing;

Indifference, for instance, instantly inscessent ancestral insimination incriminating risidual visuals uhh—

—From the festival.

Right.

The festival project.

[—Parallels.—]

GOD: So you want to be The “Glass Animals”

*nods*

Glass Animals.

That's what I said. Glass Animals

There's no “The”

Context.

Ok.

So–”Glass Animals”

*nods*

Are you sure you don't want to be made of something else?

*nods*

*shrugs* Okayy. Glas Animals.

I'm lost,

But don't remind me

Running out of time

But time can't find me

Open up my eye 10 times in 9 days

I should probably fall away

Back to the bay,

No baby, don't cry

No baby, don't cry

No baby, don't cry

[Midnight Request Line.]

Sleek black corvette.

Not a dent, not a scratch

And I am feeling better,

Since you asked

What a warm and welcome

Pleasant, wet suprise

What do I owe you the—time

I guess it made me smile for awhile, now

I'm sad again—

Wow, that was quick…

Only took a second, but don't mind my arrogance

‘—I play this and it puts me in a trance.'

I want to dance with you

I hope someone holds my hand like that, one day

Where are you taking me?

“Away, my dear, away…”, he's saying…

I lie awake midday and taking shallow breaths,

I drift away

A weapon for my empathy,

[Midnight Request Line.]

I have no idea what happened.

‘Ambiguous Ambitions - The Crossing ‘

A shiver up my spine

I don't really mind,

I'm still trying to find the word for it—

But tongue in cheek it is

That's—if it fits

You but me once,

And I liked it

Come bite me twice

If you buy it;

Alright, Ryan—where is it?

Where is what?

You know what I'm talking about.

I don't know anything!

“Ryan Remembers Everything”

Goddamn it, wake up.

I need silence.

GET UP, GODDAMNIT.

Okay—

Okay—

—I just need you to tell me where it is—

Where what is?!

I don't think this is very funny.

This got serious.

Ouch.

I don't want to watch TV anymore ever again.

I really wish you'd tell me

Oh, you wish?

Watch this.

I'm sorry, Ryan.

Hello.

I—hello.

I'll have a tall order of whatever's in that box.

You want what's in that box?

Yessir.

What is happening?

I dunno.

I'm afraid that's going to be a problem.

*gasp* can we have ninjas?

*NINJAS*

NINJA FIGHT.

—oh sht rly.

*lmfao*

Sometimes i'm set in my ways,

Sometimes days go by—days,

In the blink of an eye,

Ever since I decided,

I might have had love with you.

I think we have some things to figure out, about it

—it being ourselves,

And washing my hands never felt so right

In my life

Somebody told me the stars in the sky were spirit guides,

And it stuck,

I'm up all night,

But i'm the only star I see

In New York City

Don't look up to see me—

Don't look up to me please, kid, really

I mean, why, my baby?

I mean,

Hi lady—

You so fly tonight, just my delight

I —

Like the way I look by you

I—

You know,

If I sit in the city every night like this,

And write,

It just might

Be the end of me

Be the end of me

Be the end of me

You know,

If I did get the limelight,

Right on time to soothe and

Satiate my need to be an idol LC

Even this late in life,

Like—

—fuck

‘8I just want him to like me'

I shouldn't even think about

Superstardom like that,

But I'll be right back,

I gotta get the rabbit out the

White hat,

What a habit to have, huh

What an idea that we might all get along

Or a lot done

Or be better off alone

Than just to fuck off

And write another song—

Because the audience will like it

But we're all over it;

It's all done, isn't it?

“The Running Game”

I don't know what you want to hear from me. \

How about, “I'm sorry.”

Ok, I'm sorry.

You don't do much, do you?

I guess I don't.

Sabotage//Salvation

Idk what this is supposed to mean.

This is my demise.

You're completely a ticking time bomb.

You're not wrong.

Salvation, from the doldrums.

A sound to soothe my soul,

I sink beneath you,

South and under smoky water

Open mouth, and barely thought of,

Although often,

Walk or waltz, would I

To fall, my love,

So becoming of a flower;

forth and outward over fountains;

Leaps and bounds,

Of course–

Well, this is dope af.

What are you doing.

What.

What happened.

THis is really good.

So.

So, i gotta turn this one off now–

And listen to that one insead.

All the time?

Yeah.

Oh.

For, like ever..?

Well, no.

I gotta put it in the vault.

Noooh.

Yes.

YEs.

Yes.

Forever.

FOrever, no, for now– yes.

That could be almost forever.

Yeah. Almost.

“Almost Invisible.”

Take out my eyes, for now

(If i could, would you want them)

To beg or to barter for,

I offer them up, as

Ritual sacrifice

(it's just a)

Ritual Sacrifice.

These two eyes.

__

He was the boy who owned the world;

Hailing from the land of a thousand suns,

He said,

“I'll give you a dozen roses, honey,

If all you ever do is,

Smile for me,

So, go ahead,

Smile for a dozen roses or more,”

And the irony is that she did it–

Not for the roses,

–but for the attention.

(Just for the attention.)

It was she who birthed the worlds;

Building the land of a thousands suns,

She said

I'll give you a dozen horses,

“If you could just–

Pick the winning one”

And the irony is,

that he did it–

Because he loved horses,

And now he had twelve of them!

(--And any one could be the winning one,

no matter what she does;

He's got a dozen of em,

Anyway.)

Fuck.

What.

Well, that went off the deep end.

Fuck.

Well, this just got dark.

This guy comes off your blacklist tonight.

No, this person

Guy.

PErson. Most certainly does not.

I promise if I love a=a=A=a

What is this

That's a making no complese sense equation.

Think about it in a multidimensional–

Oh, that makes total sense.

Just remember, when using this– this has been around for a really long time.

It's been A long time.

I died in your bed,

But woke up in your arms;

Oh when you love, love–

Love me harder,

Love me harder–

Oh, baby when you love,

love me harder

Love me harder

Love//Love Me Harder

Love//Love Me Harder

Love//Love//Love

Love Me Harder

Love//Love Me Harder

Love//Love//Love

Love Me Harder

I woke up in your bed,

And then died in your arms;

It was a work of art, I suppose

What we were, or are

(Or aspire to be.)

Please. Give me your iPhone.

No!

No?

(Takes I phone.)

Is there a reason you don't want me having this?

…no.

No?

—it's full of stuff.

“Stuff.”

Yes. It's—

“Stuff.”

Yes.

—

—and things.

I know.

Look.

We had a deal.

We had no “deal”

We had a deal.

This train just goes on forever, you know;

Whether you're on, or off it—

So get off, and back on at the wrong stop

Once, if not just for the discovery

Of another supermarket,

Where you shop for strawberries and

Groceries

Good flex, God;

I got a gang of em

I'm gonna explain it as straight as it gets

Sometimes,

You just got to know where to go

If you don't trust your gut,

You'll just never get,

Never get it right.

Alright, alright,

I started it

Alright, right—

I gotta get it right,

I gotta get ;

I'm the worst at introductions

Oh and,

So bad at

Goodbyes

Oh, why'd you have to leave me by my idol

Why,

Why'd you have to lead me by my eyes

By my eyes

God, I love the way

I love the way,

I love the way you

Love me

God, I love

The way you

The way you

Love me

You forgot about me, didn't you?

You forgot all about me

You forgot all about it—

All about it

Al about it

It's not the same, anymore

Since you gave it a name, is it?

There's nothing I can do

To help me, help you

This is all I can do,

To help me, love you

I have to remove you;

I have to remove you

In a room—

Full of beauty—

In a world,

Full of woes

I lose the last dose of you, on my tongue

Nobody ever wanted it, like I do—

Like I do

I lose the last dose of you on my tongue,

And I'm all full of love again;

I never saw anything like it,

I was a modem, still plugged into the wall

An anonymous post partum unremarkable

Post-party proclamations

and eternal damnation for ordering breakfast

Evading transportation authorities

Unworried the informant sleeping under me

Oh,

Now she wants to song—

Oh, look—

And now, she has a song to sing

A point to make,

A wrong to ring;

The man she brings along

Is bad for her

Oh, she's gotta work

(She loves to work,

She's got to work it)

What kills her makes her stronger

What doesn't kill her makes her stronger

All she does is

Carry on

And

Carry on

And

Carry on.

“Mrs Sheffield left flushing queens, for this.”

Mrs Sheffield left Flushing, Queens, for this?!

Mrs Sheffield left Flushing, Queens for this!

Mrs, Sheffield!

-1flushing queens, fah ‘dis.

Very well worth it,

I got all the way to brooklyn

And way beyond my means for this

It's well outta my means.

It's out of my hands, now.

That boy called you “grandpa”

How is it all over?

When I bet to God I was,

Just in your lap at this party,

And you were under me slippin on some sort of

Lager or

Something

Weren't you?

Yeah,

I was just there, too

I was just there, too—

I was just there, too—

Oh, now she has a song…

All of a sudden.—

But it's not all of a sudden at all

It's not all of a sudden

There's nothing, is there?

Oh,

There's something, surely

I went to bed late;

But I'm getting up early.

I see the way he looks at me—

—take it easy, baby

We could have the whole room waiting

Like a stoner at a stop sign

My bad,

My eyes lie to me

All the time

Driving me mad

Telling me

I want you inside me

My bad

My bad

Well, I want you in my bed

But I haven't had one yet

I'm thinking Purple Mattress;

Or is that mids, to you kids

Like Timmy ho's

Or my mustang civic

It's a custom, yeah

Nobody has it yet

It's a hybrid

Like I am

—I am a bit off subject, now

(My bad)

We never had sex in my bathroom

(That was your house)

I took a mouse to the mountain

(My bad)

My writing is getting more

Acid-centric,

Lysergic acid diethylamide;

I didn't buy any,

But I haven't the need anymore,

Really

I just wake up like this:

That is, when I wake up

(I have long nights, kids)

My bad

I want to see you very briefly

Without your briefs,

You know what I mean?

Me neither—

Sexual delinquency in meditated frequencies

Repeat this sequence

I keep my deepest secrets

Where I need it

Right up my slime,

Where my spleen is—

Dreamed it, and I haven't cleaned since

(Or dreamed since)

In this

Endless emission,

Ignition sequence begins

When The Lean splits

Under the blood moon;

An eclipse.

I drift off a lot—

Just thinking of your penis

My daydreams are not very safe for the public

I think they're X-rated or worse,

Even thinking of you as a person,

Or worse:

As my husband

once, as my lover—

Lovers have all the fun, anyway

Hm

All the things that I'd do to you

After you put me through—

What are you looking for, exactly?

A synchronicity.

Just any synchronicity?

There's no such thing as “just any” synchronicity.

Does “laying low” mean nothing to you?

I'm laying low!

On a city tour?!

It's a big city!

[From Afar]

IS THAT HER?

Aw, fuck.

Well, well, well–here we go–0

I don't have time for this.

Here it is.

I don't know what you're doing.

We're going on an adventure!

NO.

I. Cant. Enjoy. Anything.

WELCOME TO HOLLYWOOD.

I hate this.

My creativity had become merciless–inspiration pouring from the world as if all that it wanted wast o be collected and captured in any way I could see fit to create–

What do you want?

Out of life–or in this store?

Out of life.

Lets start with this store.

A Living Lion;

The eyes inside,

I smiled, declined to act on impulse

He'll admit,

She's less complex, cause she's basic

Everthemore complacent, blatantly lazy--

and crazy adorable.

Whatmore could any man want?

Whatmore could any man need?

Whatmore could any man have;

But the best friend who needed therapy,

Several Plastic surgeries,

A fading glass menagerie--

If she knew what that means.

(Basically, they're both nobodies.)

‘What on God's awful green earth

makes you think I would

ever want

anything

to do

with either of you two

Losers?

Beggars can't be choosers.

His plan B was Annie;

But she was never like me

Enough to be

Happy with

Sonny;

Let alone anybody.

What is happening?

Do you have an explanation of what's happening to me.

Every realm of reality and possibility. This is infinity.

What is this all supposed to mean to me?

You can see everything and nothing;

You can be anything.

So what would that mean?

What does it mean to you?

That Love is Love, then.

I've been half of a wide-open bleeding heart,

Since the Goddamn start of it.

He started it,

Or someone did

I didn't ever ask for it

I was only ever always on the dancefloor when it mattered.

I was always looking past him, but not ever looking at him.

It was always just at random, but i'd never thought to ask him

A question,

Or to greet him--

I just.

Adjust.

They're watching us, from above.

Adjust.

They just don't trust us

Adjust.

Look what we've done, look what we've done to the planet that gave us all the light that we come from.

Look, there.

It appears to be ‘shimmering'

What exactly is happening.

The entirety of its surface is Auquous.

Oceana.

If i learn all the planets,

In the everlasting galaxies--

And learn how to explore it…

I just might get to Skrillex.

I might fully need a Xanex bar if I ever see this kid in person.

He's olden than you.

By like, a minute.

Still.

I mean, really. I don't think this is ever going to work.

It might not work, I mean--

What?

If you had to actually--

Oh God, no; I'd be far too nervous.

So what are you going to do when it comes time for festival season

Run.

Hide.

Run + Hide.

Fight or Flight; A Natural Response to Skrillex

There is no natural response to Skrillex, because it's unnatural

Be civil.

I am I ‘m trying to figure out how to protect this species.

Oh now, you're acting as if he's not human

Of course he is. But i'm not.

Of course.

All it is, is science, a bit of misunderstanding.

Experimental sorcery, possible exploitation.

I'm not exploiting Skrillex.

No, he's exploiting YOU.

No.

Wake the fuck up.

No.

(Stop repeating yourself)

Wake up; you're being manipulated.

By Skrillex? Cool.

By whatever's manipulating Skrillex.

Alright.

Alright? You're part of a machine.

So?

“SO?” You're this comfortable having given your soul up to the devil.

I haven't done that.

Do you know what it takes to achieve that of which you so covet?

Money.

And?

Power.

Go on.

Fame.

So, calculate.

It adds up the same either way.

Skrillex isn't real.

Maybe not, but Sonny Moore is--

Is, what--

Is “who”...

“Who…”

I love.

What?

--But that's all I know.

That's it?

Yes.

Elaborate.

Can't.

What do you mean?

Well, it goes like this: This is insanity. I've been through every wormhole, every parallel, every revolutionary subconscious thought, every world, every realm, every lifetime...and at the end of the day--or the beginning, depending-- it's really all the same question, and the same answer--over and over again; From the Beginning to the End. It is infinite. Everything is Everything.

Quickly, tell me--

What, now?

What goes on a Skrillex Pizza?

Nothing, because it's not a thing!

It is not.

It isn't!

Stop arguing at get to work.

On what?

On building

Building What

[The] Skrillex.

How in the fuck am I supposed to do that?

How in the fuck did you get to be a vegetarian?

It just happened.

So.

So…

Are you really a vegetarian?

___

Why did you do this?

I didn't do this! You did this!

I didn't do this! Why would I do this?

How could you!

I didn't!

What the fuck is HE doing here?

What the fuck.

You need to stop this.

I can't stop.

What did you DO.

Exactly what I had to.

Shasta!

Who the fuck is that?

That's that bitch.

I told you it was Shasta.

Who the fuck is Shasta. What show is this?

Where is Skrillex?

FUCK SKR—

Wait, what show is this?

INT. THE VOID. DAY & NIGHT.

I remember the first time I ever realized, I could love anyone in the world, if they needed me to—or, if they just gave me the chance. Or if I got the chance. Or, if there was a chance.

And, if there was a chance, and it was supposed to happen, it always would—especially if I wanted it—

But definitely, if I needed it.

But, what is is “if”?

And, what is “supposed”?

What is it to “want”?

And what's a “need”?

Now I know— or at least pretend to.

Because, the more it is I think I know, the actual less I feel that I actually do;

None the wiser, I am what I always was—

And God is, as I am.

Sunni Blu becomes a popular androgynous rapper, as as s/he rises to fame is forced to take on a mre masculine persona to monetize thiher music.

After releasing a series of Skrillex diss-tracks, and music aimed at OWSLA's top dogs, a feud between Skrillex and Sunni Blu, or rather their ‘teams' breaks out into the media.

After Skrillex is hacked and left with his entire music collection missing, it is presumed the attack and disappearance of his hard drives was orchestrated by Sunni; After his unreleased music is leaked and the damage is deemed ‘irreparable' The Skrillex Project is forced to close, and the artist himself disappeared into obscurity-- after hearing one of his unreleased tracks used for one of Sunni Blu's hits, he( ‘*the fictional Skrillex*) secretly attends one of Sunni's concerts; Sunni Blu spots him in a large crowd and the two brawl; Skrillex with the upper hand after Sunni draws back from a bloody nose and retreats; It is revealed that the unreleased Skrillex track which was ‘gifted' to her came from the stolen collection, unbeknownst to Sunni Blu

Although Sunni Blu's true identity has yet to be revealed to more than Dillon Francis, beside the publicity and management who have been helping to keep her secret;

Dillon Francis and Sunni Blu are cornered by paparazzi, revealing to the public that she is, in fact, a female;

As allegations arise that Sunni Blu is a transgender, rumors put a strain on Sunni Blu and Dillon Francis's collaborations…

TBC.

All of a sudden—or maybe, even, not so suddenly—I was Clark Kent—or whatever Superman's name was. I had been without contacts or glasses for quite some time, and had quite explicitly in one of my many letters to God—or really any holy power in a realm which might have received my charred requests—all the things I needed, and some of the things I very badly wanted—tightly bundled and wax-sealed with intention for nothing besides that of the greater good, or course, for myself or anyone else—set ablaze in the unforgiving streets of New York City, in secrecy at odd hours of the night; it hadn't been my actual intent to have to practice any magic at all, especially under the circumstances, it it seemed that someone nearly unmentionable at all, had hexed a nasty attack on my psyche—a satanic, demonic possession of the weak and feeble bodies around me, and unable to isolate in completion, I became vulnerable to such a wicked curse that it had altered my psychic morality—as one does not practition a counter-curse or attack , in my medicinal expertise, without first being provoked—as one military typically mustn't bomb another, or even it's own enemy without being first considerably attacked—and it was, at this point, indeed a terrible holy war.

I pulled the stars into order

I put the water to fountains, in mountaintops

I don't know who I am either

But you call me God,

Agree, I'd not—

But at least I love you

I believe I was you once

I'm awful sorry that I broke you

I might have put the sun

Just to far up and out of reach

Believe me, see—I see you

Doesn't matter what we try to do

Unity is beautiful

I live on the 8th floor

I don't intend what I'm there for

It doesn't feel bad though

It doesn't feel bad though

I don't know what you're after

-Blū

Do I scare you?

Only a little.

Huh.

What?

Nothing..

I hate you.

ihateyou.

Eventually, The Ascended Masters will intervene.

They already have.

Oh, Christ Almighty.

He's not coming.

[Answering Phone] Jesus Christ Almighty

–WHERERU?

I TOLD YOU I'D GET THERE GODDAMNIT.

Fascinating.

Do my eyes deceive me,

Or

Is there a secret between us:

A secret illusion;

Should I bury it,

Or keep it neatly

And unseen,

Between my knees,

And where you need me?

Is there a thing that I should need,

But never speak–

I'll keep it in my sweet release

To dream beliefs of evil

Seen, aquamarine revines,

And pulsing veins,

–and stolen hearts,

Not passing judgment,

But just passing by

To hide, to pass the time

To find a high,

Align in color

Fly,

Write another rhyme,

Or wire fireflies a transfer of light,

Like the eyes reflect to mine.

WHY would you write this?

WHY.

I hate blue eyes.

That's racist.

No it isn't.

Congratulations on making it into my aerospace, unscathed

A coincidence, this is not.

I have something for you.

I don't need anything from you.

That's because I gave you everything you need.

Right. I have everything.

RIght.

So you should know whatever you need comes at a high price.

What makes you think I need something.

You said you have something for me?

Yes I do.

You don't seem the gift giving type.

I'm not.

So, what do you want from me?

WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

Oh. it' s another one.

What's he need?

Probably nothin, really

Oh, it's something.

This shouldn't be happening.

I agree.

why is this bothering me.

Google it's self had deleted half my entry, which was admittedly sloppily thrown together, at nearly a full episode's length; probably for the best, as I was becoming more intolerant of my societal responsibility by the moment, and increasingly self destructive asa result. It was still chaotic; fame kept coming closer towards me and then leaping away, but not out of reach or out of sight, but rather than chase it, I merely calmly strode forward in a never-changing pace, not rushing and always careful to remain calm, even when filled with fury. I had become unrecognizably fit, chaste, and a remarkably healthy eater; I was all together well, besides in the areas of romance and sexuality of course. I was ready to pounce, but timing would be key, and patience the virtue;

UH – “hehe”

…I beg your pardon.

“Hehe”

Um…

Fuck.

Or “haha” “haha”

…

Just admit it.

…

Admit it already!

–haha.

Admit WHAT.

This gets Levels.

Nobody thought Patrice O Neal was a woman!

I thought Patrice O Neal Was a Woman.

Ah, fuck, I'm nobody.

“Nobody”

Is that Bob Saget?

I swiped right on this dude, just cause he looked exactly like Bob Saget.

Omg. Bob Saget!

Fuck, that's right.

EXT. THE W HOTEL, BEVERLY HILLS, DAY/ EXT . PODSHARE WESTWOOD ROOFTOP, DAY

OH MY GOD, GUYS, LOOK: IT'S BOB SAGET.

No it's not!

Oh My God! Yeah IT IS!

Fuck, really?! Bob Saget?!

BOB SAGET!

YO GUYS, IT'S BOB SAGET.

It was, in fact, Bob Saget.

Bob Saget's dead, right?

Oh yeah, bud.

That's it guys! No more dead celebrities!

I'm coming with you!

NO MORE GHOSTS.

Look, I have something to tell you.

UGH. COME ON.

This is a weird superpower.

EXT. GRAVEYARD, QUEENS, NY. DAY

…

…

…

Having fun yet?

Alright! I have a question!

What?

When do I get to–

Get to what?

You know.

V.O.

Things I know about myself…

I have a dominant personality, but am sexually submissive—

I am monogamous.

I know what I like —

*Drill beat*

Die in your sleep

(Hope you die in your sleep)

Die in your sleep

(Betta die in your sleep)

I look like a vacation.

But k'm still on the clock (psyche)

Countin my rocks

And holdin my (unh) crotch

You better watch your back

—hold on your coughs

Don't run in no crocs! (No!)

I'm offset

Now I'm upset l

—I love you.

Shut up, foo— I don't even love myself.

…you told her?!

I—yeah…

What did she say?!

She said “shut up, fool

Been. Long time since I missed my exit

HEY!

[looks over slowly]

I LIKE YOUR BALLS.

[beat]

[thumbs up]

How do I not have “throwing elbows?!”

BECAUSE YOURE NOT DOING YOUR JOB!

Shut up, Jeff

COME TO THE DARK SIDE

WE HAVE COOKIES

Half of Hollywood shows up at Joel's super nerdy Star Wars party

The truth comes in glimpses;

A shattered reality

Scattered the ashes at malice, insanity—

Actress, an actress;

She laughs when she has to, l l l

And last to leave, actually,

After each practice

Practice conspicuous,

Conspiracy conspiracy

Perspiration lyrics,

affixed to the rhythms

She sleeps at the regency, l

Freedom for secrecy

Believe, please believe me, my love l

It was easy

The truth comes in glimpses;

A shattered reality

Scattered the ashes at malice, insanity—

Actress, an actress;

She laughs when she has to, l l l

And last to leave, actually,

After each practice

Practice conspicuous,

Conspiracy conspiracy

Perspiration lyrics,

affixed to the rhythms

She sleeps at the regency, l

Freedom for secrecy

Believe, please believe me, my love l

It was easy

Sunni BLU

Tweety bird

Mickey Mouse

Betty boop

I woke up like this

But a little different

I woke up a star

Then became a planet

I'm a hummingbird, but I don't like flying

I might look alright,

But I feel like dying

I hate waking up at 5 am

Just to be the first one at the gym

I don't wanna do that shit again—

Well,

I might as well just stay up!

I hate waking up at 5 am

Just to take my goddamn medicine, but

If I don't I'll feel like shit—

Well,

I might as well just stay up!

I might as well just stay up!

This is a recipe for disaster.

No, this is a recipe for Skrillex.

Oh.

This is the recipe for disaster.

Thanks, Dillon Francis.

FOR WHAT?

I remember the moment I became partially deaf.

Or at least, in the synesthetic sense.

Dillon Francis is delicious

Come on let me lick it on a stick

Give it to me like a big

Meat popsicle

Meat popsicle

Meat popsicle

Meat popsicle

Sample: Willy winks*

ITS WILLY WONKA

Lol are we still doing the bit where the misspellings are like a, another entirely different dimension?

Yeah.

Haha. Yeah.

—and the chocolate factory

“Lick an orange. It tastes like an orange. The strawberries taste like strawberries! The snozzberries taste like snozzberries!”

KATT WILLIAMS IS—

WILLY WONKA.

Oh hell naw!

Don't look at me;

I'm just a DJ, don't look at me—

Shaking my head, but it don't mean nothing

Don't know what you mean

You don't even see me;

I ain't even here!

Invisibility,

The MVP or VIP.

It don't mean nothing

Don't look at me!

Shaking my head, but it don't mean nothing,

Hey,

Don't look at me;

I'm just a DJ, man,

I'. The life of the party

I do know what you mean!

Shaking my head, but it don't mean nothing

I don't know what you mean—

Hey, I ain't see nothing, nope

Don't look at me

I could get some work in;

I got 12 minutes,

God as my witness

I work on my fitness

And listen to —

Simple Temptations and

limited Intervals,

Quick algorithmics,

And tentative frequencies

No more mentions for attention whores

Like Kayla Lauren!

I promise that's my last one,

That bitch is boring,

I'm not sorry but I'm soarin on my suorin

While you're snoring on my metamorphosis

Imm getting sworn in

Don't look at me;

I'm just a DJ, don't look at me—

Shaking my head, but it don't mean nothing

Don't know what you mean

You don't even see me;

I ain't even show up to work this week

OG VIP ASAP MVP

It don't mean nothing

I'm just a DJ

Don't look at me

—-

Hey Mr. wedding ring—

I'll buy you a drink,

You know,

Like an old cream soda.

Or a float,

You can drink in the bucket seat

Tell me, Mr. Wedding ring

Do you have everything you need?

I don't envy anything besides your energy and symphonies,

Please

Excuse this phony boner,

I don't know if you're alone

If this is Homer,

I'm a poet, though—

And not a poser

Hey,

Do you suppose you know the code

For doors that open up;

I walk a lonely road,

But Frog and Toad are old

And told me you'd be there to show me

(Whatever)

Woah

Where am I supposed to go from here

I'm nowhere, dear

I'm Alice lost in wonderland

And all her friends—

Even the one in red

Who wants her head

(Where'd that come from)

Yo!

It's a real bad acid trip,

I can't get a grip on reality

Can't get off the grid at random,

If you're being tracked

By the feds and fandom

Woah.

I may be one of the greatest writers in history

But will you remember me?

My ex gets

Under my skin with

Champion fashion;

It's in bad taste

But I haven't had my own bathroom

In half a millennium

Im under persenium arches

Sniffing cristanthimymums sampling Arsenio Hall

Are you ip yet?

I'm still enthralled with this story

But yo!

(Where's Unaavvi at)

I haven't been to a show

(Where's the party at)

I should be gripping a pole

(Where is Cardi at)

But it takes all day to get back to the Bronx in the snow!

Fuck New York when it's cold

And it's always cold in New York

When you don't know nobody

And your only hobby is hobbling around in the hotel lobby

Counting the robbers and gobblins

A

D Whitney's and Bobby's

The ghosts and the zombies

Everything hurts

But everything heals, with time//

Whatever that is;

And whatever that means,

It's means to an end, if you let it be

So let it be

But, it persists in lettering me;

He becomes me in my sleep, In dreams

I think I really need him, or something

Or anyone, or anybody

Anything, or something

Anybody, anybody

Excerpt From:

“DJ AND CC TAKE HOLLYWOOD”

Wait, CC—you're a sex addict?!

I'm an everything addict! You know this!

I didn't know!

—Except pills; I hate pills.

What? I've seen you take pills before.

Case in point!

Why didn't you just tell me?

It doesn't exactly come up organically in conversation, Dillon.

What?! We talk about sex all the time.

Like, in general—but not fórreal! What the fuck!

What the fuck?! Whats the difference?!

If you have to ask, I feel like you're really not gonna like the answer, dog.

—

“WorstConversationEver”

(Bong rips)

Remember your dad's friend Tom?

Oh my God. You fucked Tom?!

NO!

okay, cause—

I sucked his dick while I pretended to mow the lawn!

What the hell?!

—and he still paid me.

Whatthefuck.

Yeah, fucked up.

So who mowed the lawn?!

He mowed his own lawn!

This is the worst conversation ever.

The crazy thing about this story is—

There's a lot of crazy things about this story, actually.

EXT. BASKETBALL COURT. DAY.

Alright— shirts and skins —Shirt—Skin Shirt,Skin—

Uhh! Nah. I wanna be “shirts”

Why dude?! Your girl's mad hot!

So?!

So I know you got it goin on! Look at you!

I'm mad rich!

Yeah—but girls always cheat on flabby rich dudes! With hotter dudes.

My girlfriend might be cheating on me!

Yeah—She's not, though.

How do you know?

Cause I tried!

Yeah. Take your shirt off.

No—uh! How do you know she's just not into you!

Because! He tried—

HE tried!

You sell out.

And Andre tried—

[ANDRE is tall (about 6'9 dark, and handsome]

—you too, bro?

[ANDRE shrugs nonchalantly]

That's an NBA player—

What the FUCK, YO.

—and she said NO.

ANDRE

Yup. Shot me down.

Oh really—from all the way up there?!

Face it, man! You're fuckin hot!

I don't like the way that sounds coming from you—

Take your shirt off!

Were you this aggressive with my girl?!

Don't be like that…

Nah— fuck you!

Yo! C'mon, man—

And you three!

You're holding up the game getting mad over nothing. It's Hollywood!

It's Beverly Hills!

—Exactly my point!

You're new here—you'll catch on.

You know what!

I'm shirts—you're skins—Game on.

[SUNNI BLU goes beast mode and plays the dirtiest, most whoopass game in history—out of spite and anger of the toxic masculinity; this of course earns SUNNI BLU even more respect as a “man's man”]

Later: as the owner of the clippers, sunni BLU trades “Andre” to the worst basketball team in history.

SUPACREE buys DIPLO a glass house to replace the one he burned down in a crime of passion.]

There, now, you'll stop throwing stones—

Huh!

AND. Everyone can see when you ugly cry.

*humphs*

Now, stop it!

Is it supacree?

Uh?

Could be Sunni Blu.

Sunni Blu is a dude—

Sunni Blu is pretending to be a dude.

Oh yeah, huh.

Dang.

Huh.

Well, then.

We've gotta consult The Big Book of Dillon Francis.

Don't say that like it's some kind of guide book.

It is a guidebook.

To what??

To Dillon Francis!

That's preposterous.

Didn't you choose Sonny?

Didn't I waste my time writing the great big book of Dillon Francis!?

Touché.

Might as well do something with it.

I got it.

THIS IS ENVIRONMENTALLY IRRESPONSIBLE.

BURN IT ALL.

You're gonna hurt someone's feelings.

Yeah, my own.

STOP TOUCHING THAT.

Wait, where is—

Fuck.

What?

Now I'm “that girl who fell in love with Skrillex”

Lol, which one.

Hum. The one who wrote a novel about it.

Pick your poison.

Rum.

Not a rum and coke?

No, just straight up—you know what? How much is the bottle?

Uhhh. Just.

[SUPACREE pours the remains of the bottle into a red solo cup.]

Ugh. Come on.

What! At least you're not “The Black Yoko Ono”

How did you even find out about that one.

Infinite what the fucks.

Now the world's getting mad again,

I wrote something damaging;

Doors just start slamming at random,

And coughing—

Sounds of motorists passing,

Just scrambling my brain,

I'm insane, but at least I have plainly created

What may be historical, one day—

I've made a whole masterpiece, a symphony that easily outlives me, infinity—

My body's just a body

Rush a cop just got get off this awful planet;

I don't want what comes with poverty and fat,

I don't compete with Instagram models,

And everyone does that—

I'm not a catfish, facts are facts

I use my camera just to document the interesting phenomena I happen to walk past;

Saw Dillon Francis on a wall, and had to grant the wish he asked—

But don't know what it is exactly,

I'm just happening, actually—

I probably need nap but now Insomniac's been tracking me;

I happily allow it; I program myself with beats,

So when I finally sleep, I dream in music sequences, or something—

I don't know

I might delete it upon listening to rampant white supremacy or privelege on repeat,

But that's just me,

Forgetting I'm the one in trouble,

On the run, without a family

So perception is reality, and mine is badly damaged—

Damn Pasquale again, I had to re-decipher all the messages transmitted from imaginary friends,

Collecting images in infrared

*gasp*

Okay, just—breathe…

I can't! I have to wear a mask!

It's mandatory—so is being black,

I have to! But I'm not a rapper!

Maybe I should talk to Chance,

Or Marshall Mathers:

They might have to answer

To the questions that I can't afford to ask

This automatic writing might just be the most

Goddamned advanced evidence of intelligent inhabitants in other dimensions, or other planets

Or all of the above,

Or maybe just of Dillon Francis using magic,

Which he got from—

Oh, no, here it comes

SK—

Fuck this. Fuck this mother—FAWN.

Are we out of F*cks, then?

I floppin' guess!

I thought you loved him.

It is what it is.

What is it?

INFI—

THE END.

INFINITI!

...yes, mom?

GET IN HERE,

Huh?

Don't say “huh”.

Okay, what?

Don't say “what”

…

…

…

...welll, what do you want?

What is this?

*shrugs*

INFINITY

[ooh, with a ‘Y'

that's how you know mom's angry this time]

*COUGHS*

Betcha his photographer's in love with him.

Which one has the VooDoo Doll?

There's a Skrillex VooDoo Doll?

It's technically ‘Sonny'

Aww.

You'd be surprised at the shit these girls will—

INFINITY.

WHAT.

What is THIS?!

It's just—Skrillex.

AFH.

Now you're FUCKED.

I thought we were out of FUCKS.

That was FAUX.

Awww: I see what you did there.

Am I done now?

What does Dillon Francis want?!

—don't answer that.

[whispering in ear.]

That's not possible

So. I shifted a consciousness into this rock.

Why would—why?

For good luck.

Oh, this is a problem,

But it turns out.

HUH.

Damn. I'm on one,

I have blue balls,

This is not fun. This is not fun. This is not fun.

Okay; now you're done.

So, that's it--? You really want to ride this Sinking Ship?

If that's what this is, then I guess that says it.

Says…?

Says “I just bought a ticket to Titanic at Bass Canyon.”

Is that where you bought it?

Is it?

Why would you give yourself in, for him?

(For Anyone?)

In.

(Psh)

I gave myself out.

Out? Look at you.

Look at me.

I'd rather not.

You know what it is

You know what it is—

You know what it is

That's the business

Comin in hot, like a chicken wing

This ain't Toy Story—got no friend in me,

You feelin me?

Cold as Minnesota, I'm the ice queen

Nice bling—

Hollywood should buy this bitch a wedding ring

Amohetemime

Trick, you're a half,

I'm the whole thing

Whole Foods market, gotta own me

No mink coat, I'm a vegan,

Hocus Pocus, I'm three witches

Okay, from the top

Hello?

This is Hollywood calling;

We want the festival project

We just wrote up the contract

Come get your deposit:

You're nominated for an Oscar

Your Star On The Walk looks Awesome

it's On Us

Yeah? That's what's up

I'll come up

I'll come up

I'll come up

Say what's up

That's my shite;

I'm rep in the festival project

Ya'll like “what's that?”

I'll tel you all about it,—that's

Coming up next

Oh yeah,

Oh yeah

Tune in

I'm On

Welcome to your Hollywood life

The good life

Good life

Welcome to the Hollywood life

That's right

That's right

Welcome to your Hollywood life

The good life

Good life

Welcome to the Hollywood life

That's right

That's right

They call me young Hollywood,

They robbed me good in Santa Monica

And I so I got no address yet;

But I'm coming up like one direction

I just checked my reflection like:

Mirror mirror on the wall

I gotta go

Hollywood's callin

And I don't do this often

Only when o bless the red carpet

Comin in hot, like a chicken wing

Call me Toy Story—

got a friend in me,

You feelin me?

On the big screen livin out my dreams,

I wrote my scenes, the Hollywood life: I neee

I ride by

On a tomeline

I write, I like

My nice things.

The life I lead,

Is ritghteous,

I defy my means

Applied IT,

I might be AI,

Fine my me;

Cause all I see

Is light I like,

And I'm liking my

Hollywood life, I think.

Nice bling—

Hollywood should buy this bitch a wedding ring

Amohetemime

Trick, you're a half,

I'm the whole thing

Whole Foods market, gotta own me

No mink coat, I'm a vegan,

Hocus Pocus, I'm three witches

It's just some Hollywood shit

Isn't it fabulous

This is some Hollywood shiy

Isn't it fabulous

Comin in hot, like a chicken wing

This ain't Toy Story—got no friend in me,

You feelin me?

Cold as Minnesota, I'm the ice queen

Nice bling—

Hollywood should buy this bitch a wedding ring

Amohetemime

Trick, you're a half,

I'm the whole thing

Whole Foods market, gotta own me

No mink coat, I'm a vegan,

Hocus Pocus, I'm three witches

You know what it is

You know what it is—

You know what it is

That's the business

One door close. Then another door opens

So sick flow, go home with a cold then

Woah, Hoe—cold like some snow boots

Pants so big, I can parachute

PARACHUTE!

Hoes look fake, like a blow up doll

Harlem shake, i'm bout to blow up ya'll

SAM ASH. HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA. DAY.

Do you have any Jog Wheels?

Beg your pardon?

Uh, Jog Wheels.

“Jog Wheels”

Yeah, you know, like (imitates DJ scratching)

Oh, you mean these? (Entire room of DJ controllers)

Yeah, but just–this (points to Jog Wheel)

Oh, “Jog Wheels…”

Yes. Jog Wheels.

…Just “Jog Wheels?”

…yes.

No.

[Leaving store with frustrated infuriation]

AGH.

BEFORE:

Oh my God! We've been robbed!

WHAT!

OH MY GOD!

WHAT!

WHAT'D THEY TAKE?!

–

Have you tried Guitar Center?

THEY TOOK MY JOG WHEELS.

Bitch you mad?

Mad at what?

I'm still making money;

I don't give a fuck

Get my bag;

Count it up

I'm a dog—

And you know I like it rough

(Ruff ruff ruff)

Where you from?

Where you hood at?

Keep it clsssy

But I'm acting like a hood rat

I'm a playa

I got boss racks

Call me north

Cause I'm pointed where the moss at

(Money)

I am from Los Angeles

I got all these fans and stuff

I smoke on dat tangle

I be at PINK buying bras n stuff

I still shop at hollister

The Bronx ain't got no Rosses

Or hot topics

But I bought this floss

To drop it like a thot n stuff

Bitch you mad?

Mad at what?

I'm still making money;

I don't give a fuck

Get my bag;

Count it up

I'm a dog—

And you know I like it rough

(Ruff ruff ruff)

I show up

Play some ratchet music

I show up

Play some ratchet music.

In the booth I'm eating waffles.

Had to force quit my serato

Key: F

It's such a wonderful feeling–

leaving, release,

sweet relief,

Slowly bleeding out

Dreaming, in peace

With no reason

to grieve–finallly–

Freedom

Mm-hmm

mm-hmm

Mmm-hmmm

__

I'm so LA for no reason.

Souls—

So long,

So gone,

Almost

The time has come to walk

The time has come again to rise,

Rise up

The time has come to walk, come on

The time that's come is ours,

From now on

Give me time to walk,

An Hour or so

A trot, the fox

Time to run

An hour or nothing

The founder of the establishment

The Tower of Babel

Another arrangement

The flounder, the fox, the horse

Come one, come all,

Come one, come now

The walk or a run

A gallop, or trot— the horse

A crown for a gallon of water

A gallon of water

A gallon of water

I know who you are my son;

Come one, come all

Come mother, come father

Come dog, and come brother

A sister, another

All for a walk in the park

I lost it

All for a gallon of water

A gallon of water

Souls—

So long,

So gone,

Almost

The time has come to walk

The time has come again to rise,

Rise up

The time has come to walk, come on

The time that's come is ours,

From now on

Sonny left you out in the cold

Sonny doesn't know what to do

Sonny gotta very old soul, so

Sonny's done away with the truth

Sonny didn't open any doors

Sonny's always sitting in the booth

Sonny isn't coming for you, poor

Sonny's so in love with Sunni Blu

So be Sunni Blu

So be Sunni Blu

You'll see Sonny soon

The universe is split into two, you know

Who are you?

(I told you)

What do you do?

(I just want to make music)

So you do

Don't go assuming you're consumed, dude

Just renew

You're a renewable

Don't be confused if confucius say

“Hey, just play to the tune “

Get a mop and a broom

And a mic and a boom

Rent a room somewhere for a month or two

Just don't be stupid

Cupid's run out of room

So

Sonny's just a man that I love

Sonny means less, but he does too much

Sonny's just human

Sonny's got proof that

Once you've got money,

It's all for amusement

Just be Sunni Blu, kid

I should have kissed him.

Flashback: Montage—Season 6

V.O.

I have a massive headache.

I can't stop thinking about Dillon Francis.

I'm hungry but haven't been to the gym and don't want to risk getting fat;

All my extra smalls fit, but my butt is getting bigger.

My new job's alright, but I feel like a loser.

LA broke is better than regular broke, but it would be nice not to be in debt.

I feel like I need a hug or a really good fuck or maybe both and then a cuddle.

I can't sleep and I hate all my roommates for just existing.

I think I might be getting sick just from being around other people too much.

I spent like $200 on protein and left almost all of it in Las Vegas.

LA Fitness sucks but it's better than nothing;

I really miss Equinox.

It doesn't seem like anybody really cares about me.

I'm Lonely all of a sudden.

I've really been craving pancakes. A lot.

Sometimes it seems like everything I've written is just a waste of time.

I can't stop thinking about sex.

Sometimes I think about sex with Dillon Francis.

Skrillex isn't real.

Nothing I seem to do adds up.

I'm a loser.

I keep checking my emails like something is going to change.

Sometimes I feel like I'm about to be famous—

I'm still hungry and thinking about a late night walk to LA Cafe; I really like their tater tots.

I miss being a mom.

Still thinking about LA CAFE but I already had Tocya Orgánica because the juice bar was closed when I got off work.

I just want someone to love me.

I thought I sold my soul but I still need love so I know it's still in there somewhere.

I literally spend every day working just to pay for a room to share with four people.

I almost had confidence before the Australian man came along.

It's weird to think about how everything I've written is just sitting in my Google documents doing nothing.

All the jobs I actually want to do are for people with beautiful bodies and mine is disgusting.

There's No Rick and Morty with no Justin Roiland.

There's No Pirates of The Caribbean with No Johnny Depp.

There's no room for reality in Hollywood.

{Drill Music Playing}

EXT. DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES. NIGHT

DRAKE BELL enters the SMOKE SHOP

Enter The Multiverse

L E G E N D S

The Legend of…

“Looking Back”

All of a sudden—or maybe, even, not so suddenly—I was Clark Kent—or whatever Superman's name was. I had been without contacts or glasses for quite some time, and had quite explicitly in one of my many letters to God—or really any holy power in a realm which might have received my charred requests—all the things I needed, and some of the things I very badly wanted—tightly bundled and wax-sealed with intention for nothing besides that of the greater good, or course, for myself or anyone else—set ablaze in the unforgiving streets of New York City, in secrecy at odd hours of the night; it hadn't been my actual intent to have to practice any magic at all, especially under the circumstances, and it seemed that someone nearly unmentionable at all, had hexed a nasty attack on my psyche—a satanic, demonic possession of the weak and feeble bodies around me, and unable to isolate in completion, I had become vulnerable to such a wicked curse that it had altered my psychic morality—as one does not practition a counter-curse or attack, in my own medicinal expertise, without first being provoked—as one military typically mustn't bomb another, or even it's own enemy without being first considerably attacked—and it was, at this point, indeed a terrible holy war.

I had at the very least been able to return to regular gym sessions, though still not training as thoroughly as before; I had allowed myself to gain quite a bit of weight over the period of just a couple weeks, eating for the most part what I wanted out of comfort, especially having nearly starved and defaulted into severe malnutrition after eating nothing but bananas for a period which lasted something like three weeks—and without adequate protein intake, I had l lost quite a bit of muscle, not that, for the most part, the muscles that I had been building weren't there—in fact, I found myself, at least as of late, looking like any retired or untrained athlete that had let themselves gain atop the muscle they had built—fat now sitting on top of my larger muscles and making the weight gain look and feel even more hideous, and after several days of at least regular lifting and sauna, I still didn't feel like running, which would alleviate most of the gain more rapidly. I was still somewhat sort of depressed—my new roommate having obviously been possessed, constantly bringing up things I didn't want to think about or remember—mostly things from my terribly abusive marriage, and of course grinding her teeth, moaning and mumbling all through the night, always specifically having some kind of problem when I seemed to be making any progress at all in music; My miserable, fat, and drunken ex had after all wanted to be a musician, and I considered him probably to be the soul proprietor of the cruel attacks, and though I had forgiven him, at least for the cheating and for the most part for beating my face in—at least as much as I could, it seemed that simply having become an actual working and professional musician myself angered him greatly, making him bitter enough to the point that he would sit and ruminate on my imminent failure enough that I could sense this—not that it mattered, as by now I had gone too far and worked too hard to do anything else—and though he was well aware of Sunnï Blū by now, I was certain he hadn't the slightest clue that Sunni was just a fictional character. I had started creating music under a number of different aliases, which I learned to be common amongst musicians—but I felt it rather to be nessececary, especially sense whatever satanic and demonic force continued to urge me to kill myself (not entirely out of the question, but still the furthest thing from my mind), as in his care our poor little boy had become morbidly obese, which also ate a hole in my heart and my soul; it wasn't fair that through our separation his body had become so grotesque

and unsightly—but now, it was out of my control.

This Clark Kent was not a mother—I never spoke of my failed marriage or about my son to anyone; I was simply a single woman, business minded and for the most part no-nonsense. I secretly sent care packages to my some 150- pound 6 year old in hopes that he would somehow understand my love for him; I often made mixtapes with him in mind—he loved Daft Punk. I wasn't interested in dating or even socializing beyond the neasesaey network connections, which were far and few between in the area I had been settled in, but not quite comfortable. Black men in the music scene never wanted to collaborate or or facilitate promotions without some gesture of romantic or sexual connection—in an area, music—which I considered now strictly business, and for the most part, had been talking myself down from the fantastical wet-dreamy world of fandom which might have anything to do with seeing myself with anyone in such a realm as to have crafted for themselves a career in the world of music at all—in fact, I had become unmovable from my cellibacy—though the sexual beast that dwelled on the base of my spine flamboyantly crept up into my loins and even sometimes up into my heart, I had learned to swallow it down; there was no man that I wanted or needed so much as the ones I had, and would now rather suffer alone than to struggle to try to find someone that I actually could see as a partner—Creative and emotional intelligence aside, by now I just preferred being alone, and it seemed that even those I had cared for had started to become like my ex husband—probably also overtaken by demons—and so I felt it safe and more valuable to be alone, thinking perhaps having given birth to three of his children, that my body, mind, and soul was ruined—but I'd rather go it alone myself than go back to him, or worse—end up with someone so much like him that I ended up dead, homeless, or a combination of the two—which I already had, not that I saw it as an immovable fate.

This new and most astonishing Clark Kent kept to herself, and was quiet; she was observant, and critical, but not too critical—kind, but also not too kind; In New York City of all places, a sucker is a sucker—kindness is considered as weakness, and no good deed does in fact go unpunished.

The prescription was perfect, and I could see sharply and clearly now; the world was color coded with shades of dark green and royal blue, with tinges of bright yellow l as if hinting that the wishes I made upon the candles I had burned would come true—and I hoped that they would, though I had done most of my spell work for protection and binding—not to collect such terrible karma for the injustice done, but to dissuade whatever had been following me—attaching its nasty energy into my world and in my realm and urging me to kill myself; everything was evil blue eyes and perfect bodied women, my music unheard and unliked and no notable achievements made.

I dreamt of a world where my evil and estranged husband would reproduce with someone else—that all the hatred and darkness and energy of our shared past that he was constantly sending towards me would become a distant memory, his attention set on his new wife and child; I wanted only really to become a non-factor, left alone and loveless, albeit never unhinged or undone by love or in the hands of a man again—at least in that matter. I ran my tongue over the inside of my bottom lip where my teeth had punctured through, all the way to the other side—amazed that even years later the scar was raised, which always made me wonder how bad it really was; I couldn't have known then, even with the remarkable and obvious damage that he had done to my face, how bad it really was—and here, still, six years later, I wondered how I had survived such a gruesome assault—not that about I would have admitted it, as it seemed Hollywood itself even had been overrun with the never ending infinite saga of the he-said-she-said Battle of The Sexes, even my own pitiful self having to side with the men.

“I must have deserved that.”

I only see your shadow;

For you, I kindly waited—

My eyes are very open,

But my heart is very hated

LOOK AT IT.

I—

JUST-LOOK AT IT.

I want to die and

I don't know why

I want to die and

I don't know why

I want to die and

I don't know why.

Why lie about it I

Feel like dying

I look past everything—

Even what I should see

I feel like dying

I'm constantly out of alignment

With my design

Don't mind me,

I was just l

Light at the end of the

Nightmare, or just a dream

I keep on waking up

Crying myself to sleep

I want to die and

I don't know why

I want to die and

I don't know why

I want to die and

I don't know why.

Why lie about it I

Feel like dying

—

I love the way your body looks—

Please, hold me tight and don't let go

I love the way your body looks—

Please hold me tight and don't let go

Come take a glance

At my mammary glands

No arms, no hands

No legs, no chance

Something bout those camouflage pants

I

Yeah, I'm just a fan,

I promise

I'm Stan

It's that bad

It's that bad

I run 15 miles an hour down a mountain

What you think about that?

I forgot a pen and a pad,

But look, I found one on the ground—

Aren't you proud of me?

I turn a mound into a man—

I promise,

I'm a fan

It's that bad

It's that bad

I'm a fountain

Look, I found you

Proud family fountaine

Yeah, I'm just a black

Campaign magnet manager

Yeah

Everything the prophet Jon said was a code,

And yet

I was nowhere to be found at all

I was

Probably still drowning in blood, after all of it

Writing my name on the wall

Or deposit slips

Slitting my wrists at the catacombs,

Woah

Slow down

This is all so uncalled for

So much the overachiever

And leaver of lovers,

The teacher

“I loved him so

Much”

Stockholm,

Stockholder

Stop go,

Stop go

red rover,

Red rover

Send someone right over

Cause

911!

911!

Hit the ground running,

Or duck and find cover

(Or better yet, find a revolver)

You're calling a four leaf clover

Art for the front cover

Ah, a world wonder

“I should probably call her…”

Enough

Sir, you remind me of someone

You left the door open

I probably won't close it

A loft, like the apartment I once

Grew up in

Or whatever my mind was,

In the moment

Why would someone smell this way

I'm just a machine, I'm

Irony, irony—

Ey!

Flock to the crossing,

I've never felt so dumb before

Just after

Loving one star

As hard as I could

And it all fell apart at the alter

Now I'm at the crossroads

Sell my soul, sure

For certain

But I never owned it

You'd better talk to my husband

He owns it

I'm better off drowning in sorrow

Than blood now

I'd better count all my arrows

And bloodhounds

Before the sun goes down

And before the hunt's getting started

A carver, for carving

But I couldn't quite catch the words,

I was starving

I couldn't quite make a song out of stardust

I'd better go

Just before the war starts up

“What did you call this?”

“A word,”

I said to my father

The world that I started, in ruins

So I stared it over

And over and over

So much for luxury—

I thought I wanted towel service and saunas

But turns out I love Eucapuptus

Whatever that does

Or something

I thought of being discharged

Or discarded

Like all of the common in poverty

Washed up

Like mau5 was

Before and after the comeback

“Commander…”

I never liked being captain

I warned you;

I only practice three out of the Ten Commandments

Serve condiments like mustard

And never ever wear condoms

I warned them,

Warranted

Now, let me show you where your cock goes

(In the ocean)

Cous-cous, or Caucasus

Persuasion, a caution

Caucasians

Dark, was the sun when I woke up

In all purple armor

Better to marry a fighter, prepared for the war that was coming

We all won

We're all in,

But undone

Rough,

I like a ruffian, I might add

But things never add up

I would love a muffin

Here goes a whole stream of conscious

(Or cous cous, or caucus or)

I lost the word for it

Watching the omnibus roll past

Fuck, now was was it

Some carbohydrate

(Quinoa)

You never know what you got

Till it's gone

I just lost a penny—

I'll pick up another one

Haven't you suffered enough for the moment?

I suffered once,

But it's still not over—

One for the floor and then

One just to follow

One for the floor, and then

One just to follow

I hate losing money, you know.

If I cut you off [Now]

⌨️️ ️

, you might lose your tolerance…

Hello, again

My dear old friend

I've missed you

How could you leave me

After all we've been through

That's just what I do now,

You know

I should have been more thorough

With all of my old stuff

I couldn't love you enough

In her body or another

Or all of us

INT. PLANET FITNESS. NIGHT

survivalism, deadmau5

Wonder, wonder

Would you, would you

Will I will I

Die tonight

Wonder wonder

If if if I

Stay up to the

Morning light

If I if I.

Could find

Your eyes again

Your eyes again

Your eyes again

Your eyes your eyes

Are mine

Thank you, kind stranger

No challenge, a charger

I was awfully awestruck,

But stood there just after

Standing on sutphin,

No love and no laughter

I'll see you tomorrow

Cause I'll be here after all

No wonder, no wonder

A wonderful somethin

No standing on sutphin

No love, and no laughter

There's no code of arms,

There's mo alarm, either

So unfit for love, so unfit the mother

Thank you, kind stranger

I couldn't care anymore, if I tried

Who loves me or not

I was what I was

Now I'm gone

And I'm off of it

I couldn't care for the cause

Cause it's all done

I couldn't care for a father or mother

Who loved me so much all at once

I was born from the stardust

To stories of Noah and Arks

(Or just one boat,)

But I stood on sutphin and archer

For nothing and no one

Here we are,

At the turn of the hour

Fear for a flower

A finder, a follower

Folley, you all are

The whole world, we're rolling

We're wrapping up capstones

And craping our pants

Just like pansies

And on we run

And on we are

And off we're not

—but we're off work when the party ends

And up at dark

And here we are, at once

So far

‘That one was hard', i thought loudly to myself, finishing one banana and reaching to quickly peel another–I had been famished, and by force of nature had broken the predominant rule of fast–not to interact with the public, and therefore had been quick to hurry the fast to a finish; now that it had been s long in the understanding of the spiritual connotations of fasting, i knew never to attempt a show–especially a long DJ set, without having eaten, especially well; I needed to maintain focus, and as my career began to shift heavily, I became quite religious to certain superstition and routine of course, never allowing myself to fall prey to anything too ridiculous; I had been thoroughly taken advantage of–and knew certainly by now there was no room for error or mistakes, misjudgement of character– and I myself, perhaps just a canvas–rather than an unfriendly mirror most would be unwilling to face.

The last and first thing I had consumed had been coffee– a lightly brewed vanilla bean which had exceeded most of the coffee I had consumed during my time in new york by far –a daily staple and absolute necessity, learning harshly from having spent tolerance breaks and unwilling days without coffee begging God for a glimpse of light; Alas, it had come to the point in my adulthood that certain things were just part of me–and coffee was one of them, a welcome and at least usually warm antidote for what seemed to be more often than not a cold, heartless world.

But today, the sun shone and spread light and joy into my heart and mind a I trekked the nearly one mile walk to a nearby asian fusion restaurant that I had avoided before, but now was unwilling to suffer the consequences of a 4-hour set during a fast in which I spent a devoted amount of time and energy in the early morning amidst the miserable and robotic drones of the early morning commute–I was at least happy to have poured through a decent chapter or two of the books that I had finally climbed from the plateau of reading–a book about the rich history of the underground–a well-written journey into the past of a world I loved, but had become so distant from, in my heart and mind, but never in my soul– my own collection of unique and eclectic mixtapes growing daily, my own skill surpassing even my expectations–but it wasn'tmy expectation that I needed to surpass: i had yet to attract the attention of the greats–or even the lower-level promoters and managers which would spark my entry into the dance-club scene, elevating my professional DJ career from playing in parties, bars, and strip clubs and into the actual raves, clubs, and festivals that my soul came from –and called back out to, between the lines and hidden subliminal messages coded deep in the basslines, drops, and 4-to-the-floor anthems I curated with such forceful thought and empathy into my sets and mixes–mixes made of course with love on the mind and deep in my soul but seemingly nowhere to be found, lost in translation and unrequited, reverberated in the emotional undertones of the music I played day in, and day out, sometimes with tears in my eyes, but always with God on my shoulders, most often whispering the next selection into my mind's eye – my music a leap in blind faith.

‘Fuck, I do feel better.'

The Pad Thai hadn't been great at all, but it had been enough to soothe the intense waves of dissociative dissolution and disconnect that came with each and every passing fast–and with each one an honorable lesson in gratitude, for all that had come with my sacred journey: Now, I was a true DJ.

I don't know why imm looking for

Platinum delusions

“I have a question”,

Well, there goes your l answer l;

There goes your skeleton, creeping out the back door—

There goes your relevance,

An acelance,

A metaphor

Is that what you asked for?

You looked in the wrong mirror today

Is this what you wanted or not?

Delusions of grandeur

Emotions and saw what you bought from the storefront

Gobbler it up, and wanted more

More important words, for the chauffeur

Are you sure, dear

On a short order

Or a show with a shirt run

You saw the short

So you order it

Abort mission at once—

They'll call you up when all the smoke is up

In the rooftop of the cathedral

Is that what you wanted

Is that what your question was?

More discoveries, coming right up

At water Michael makers in a room full of synthesizers you could only wish you were in

It's fittinf, the description for the symptoms of schizophrenia

If everything relates, it should be an easy diagnosis—

But it isn't

It's real as hell,

But isn't

I just want a feel for who you are

So I can stop myself from loving your accomplishments

And settle for less

Like the rest of the talentless miscreants

With financial constraints

And too many problems

To overcome

Into abundance

Your works is my music and I just dance to it;

Meanwhile imm miserable and you're courting princesses

Soon to be queens, co conspirators, aqua rain es

And I'm still crying in the door idiots you opened and then left me in

To sift though this

Infinite

Disaster of indifference

I found you in the kitchen sink

So was bound to drown you in it

A katy for your baby again—

A calamity of mastery,

An actor for your Gem—another character I'd written out of affinity for abandonment

Flattened my abdomen for him

But still couldn't change my skin color

If I wanted

Dillon Francis seems more obnoxious than usual

[DILLON FRANCIS BEING EXTRA]

Mm–I don't think so.

This is out of control.

It's not out of control I'm in control

This is out of control.

we're going to play a game.

What kind of game.

A minigame.

What does this game entail.

haha.

**sidenote:

Laidback Luke is not laidback at all.

He seems calm.

That's just his demeanor.

Haha.

Okie. Whats wrong with al these guys

Nobody sleeps here.

What about him. He looks asleep.

No.

[waves hand gently]

See he's–

You're on in 5.

[Suddenly, Very awake.]

Oh wow.

See. Superstar DJ.

Well, fuck, man.

What is this

Just stand here

What. For what

Just– wait here.

Wait?! For what?!

Just – [Leaves]

LAIDBACK LUKE

(eyes)

I don't like this.

(eyes)

I don't like this at all.

MA, MORE COFFEE.

WAAAT?

MORE COFFEE, MA!!!

Lol these guys again.

I love these guys.

How did we get here?

Technically, we're still in a deadmau5 construct.

I dont think he's okay.

I Don't think anybody's okay.

Are you okay?

No.

(eyes)

…

Oh.

“Oh”

What are you doing here.

Whatever I'm doing.

You're a madman.

I fucking wish.

Be careful now—-

—careful for what—

Don't you know—wishes come true.

If that were the case I'd be the richest man in the world.

—maybe you are.

[A mysterious stone is presented.]

What is this?

[a myateriius half—smirk]

Your fortune, sir.

THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS.

What—?

You know what.

The Lakers Won?

Don't be smart!

—but—I'm a genius!

[he launches towards him with fury—a coffee table comes between the two men

—now, you're a rational man—

—AGHH—

—I wouldn't expect you to succumb to such violence.

If I don't kill you with my own hands, someone else will.

—kill me? With your own hands? Someone else?!

AGH!!

[he crushes the coffee table]

That was redwood!

—it's still redwood.

[he picks up a pointy table leg]

Where is it?

Where is what?

I'm ugly

Nobody loves me

Somebody hug me

Move over,

You need a mother;

I'm just your lover—

You're lucky

And woah

I think I want some Timmy hos

I catch the 40

Gross

Everybody's broke

What is this place?

—is that still happening?

The ashes, falling

Almost forgot about the raindrops

Something's calling me

The bus is coming

What day is it?

Last summer,

I suffered longer

Last summer still isn't over

Last summer

I came back to make money

And have none now

Last summer,

You laughed at me

Last summer,

I got my hat back

Last summer

I worked harder

Last summer I sold my hatch back

I have a whole bachelor's degree waiting for me