@ La Nada

{Enter a the Multiverse}

Black Matte Nails

Custom by Maria

Lo siento, lo siento—

I forgot her real name though

Made in Mexico

I practice Santeria

Now I'm a piñata—

Wouldn't wanna be ya

Just a hide and seek yeah

Kandi when I beat ya,

I just wait to drop the beat yeah;

Guess I'm red cause I'm a beet, yeah.

This is the dumbest rap I've ever

—10 million views.

WHAT?! I posted that 5 minutes ago.

This video is gross.

Ew.

A long swim.

(maybe I did.)

Then it was that;

The girl who never looks back—

What a tragic abandonment

Here's where I was when I landed;

I am this—

And there I was, and there I am,

but then I ran to catch me

Wait, go back.

That's the second time I walked past that place then turned around; so—

So, go back.

I told you—

I guess you did—

There are no guesses in this—

—yeah, I guess—

And-??

AND WHAT?!

There it is.

There what is.

The hat.

NOW.

Pull everything under 10 downloads

Everything under 10 downloads.

What is this m?

six hours mixing.

Six hours in the mix

Oh, Goddamn it.

Why'd you—-

So, being vegan means—

Never eating ice cream—

Never eating that—

Or real pizza.

This is real!!!

So you say.

And—-

“Come in here”

So wait.

Wait what.

Supacree's powers

WAP- (Words are Powerful)

This ability stuns the target with sheer confusion and sexual frustration and/or disgust after making an "innaproprate" or each sexual remark.

Supacree can time travel, but would rather not, after getting stuck in the past and having been unable to escape, then returning to the present via slipping back after being catapulted through the future, landing back in present time after but still trapped in an alternate dimension, only to be returned by force via the illusion of death; however,

SupaCree is an antenna, channeling various waves of energy from a multitude of places within the external mtivrrse, and internal universe.

SupaCree acts as a bridge between the spirit world/realm and the real world; can communicate with spirits and entities from all realms

SupaCree is telepathic, typically able to communicate non verbally with others within her same frequency, as well as other conscious creatures such as animals (dogs, cats etc) birds, and even trees, rocks/crystals stars, planets and other galactic streams consciousness.

SupaCree can collect energy and expand her powers through intentionally or unintentionally "empathizing" with others; she uses this to 'win the hearts' of other DJs, and while later, she learns she has the ability to also "keep" their souls, she would rather not take part in such dark practices.

Now I

Just don't care no more

On the front lines of a goddamn war

And they warned me:

“What did you do this for?”

I said,

“I'm just a foreigner alone in the world

To black, too poor, to be free or adored

Too 4 to be 3;

2, 3, 2 4–

That's one step back

And two steps forward

One step back and

Two steps forward.

Now I'm sick to my stomach

Fuck it

Love got free but she still need money

It does if it wants—

Well, it does, then it doesn't

Now I'm all alone in a 3rd world country

Now I'm so damn dark nobody can love me

I get friends and respect, when they see I got nothing,

But I still make music; I just haven't made money

I'm just a refugee, fleeing “God's Country”

But oh,

Heaven don't need no pesos, euros—

Whatever those are: NFTs and crypto's

God got rich off hope alone;

Just hopes and prayers;

—-Yup, still got those.

Pasquale's Magic Hat

Plus other antics and shenanigans

We work well under pressure.

Under pressure! Pressin down on me! Pressin down on you—

Shut up, DJ BRAIN.

*gasps* that's it!

I'll just have to DJ my way out.

That sounds impossible.

But it isn't.

Fuck this place!

Here we go.

fuck this hat.

Fuck you, then.

FUCK ME, THEN.

Fuck me.

Fuck me.

Fuck me.

Olay.

NO.

Jesús Christ. What level are you on?

What level is this?!

I need Jesus.

[answering the phone] this is Jesus.

I'm in a crisis.

I love that song.

I hate you.

Just kill your self.

I already did.

Do it again.

Oh, GODDAMNIT.

Why. Why would you revive me?

To write more stuff?

Write what stuff?

Oh, you know.

I certainly don't.

Whose hat is this.

It's his hat.

MINT.

Where is she?

We had her pinpointed in Mexico City—

Where is she now?

We don't know, we lost signal.

Well, find it.

She just disappeared.

—-

dissapear.

-blū.

-high.

-sidelines.

fly//fall.

Bring 3 litres of water and 3 tablespoons of pink himalayan salt to a poil over medium heat

take ½ a yellow onion 3 cloves of garlic, and 2 1/2 tomatoes and place in blender with 1/2 cup of water

rather than admit i had any actual favorites; I almost without thought crafted a name, or rather a label for the group of outstanding individuals I had been collecting crystals as gifts–in exchange for the insurmountably immeasurable amount of pleasure, peace love & light I had been guided by in the music–or artwork, in the case of one in particular, though yet to be collected, as I allowed the idea of it to rattle in my mind–doubling as protection from what seemed to be the violently rampant force of antimatter which at times became a consuming challenge, even if only a result of my own ‘mind' in its darkest attempts to end me; However, were it not for any of them–I more than likely wouldn't have become my current self, only a foundation for the being I could hope to become once free; I more than likely would no longer be standing, were it not for the likes of The Luminaries.

That's just the pot calling the kettle black;

I smoke pot, but only when things are tragic

I have magic hands,

I panic when it gets black;

Especially on the sabbath,

When I'm fasting.

To Gucci Ton Masai (Moombaton Remix)

As i hadn't fully realized it would abroad, my time in the city–albeit in a mainly carnivorous country, had begun to make me ill, as I had multiple times under the false proclamation of the meals I ordered being fully vegetarian or vegan, been given food containing animal product–after over a year-long commitment to vegetarianism which at times masqueraded as veganism, out of sheer respect for my body, and the obsession–or rather, admittedly, obsession with becoming fit, with any hope or prayer answered that something I did would warrant the financial allowance of being able to afford the removal of the loose skin–a burden which left me unable to live as freely as I wished for many more reasons than currently writing this, I care to mention. I began to painfully obsess with the athletic physique, which--hidden under the sagging and also admittedly naturally maternal loose skin around my midriff, an actually ideal and quite impressive body type, created from the stature I had built over the duration of replacing the pain that went with the heartbreak self-caused by looking too closely at a figure of celebritism belonging to The Untouchables–who some might proclaim to be “The Illuminati”, allowing themselves to believe in the existence of such a thing, rather than the actual enlightenment which exists amongst the elite and those of awakened consciousness, whether having gained material wealth, or not.

The musician, not a gentleman,

By admission of the magician,

As I listen in, with eyes glistening

Reminded, ever blindly by the times

That I will always love

Always, Always love

Love Always,

Octavia

I began again to self-medicate with holistic nutrition in an attempt to regenerate my wellness, again abandoning bread, and sugar–bargaining with myself that I would be rewarded for avoiding it, no matter how much I continued to crave it. I knew the cravings would once again subside after a few days of abstinence, as did the illusion that chicken McNuggets actually sounded like something I could stand to palette, after accidentally consuming soup with chicken broth as a base–rather than tomato. Still, I began to understand that my wellness would strengthen me in the daily struggle with suicide–that even in a world full of Kayla Laurens that I must also exist to create balance. All that was left was to be comfortable enough with my own body yet again to allow myself to love it as much externally as I did the inward; Understanding that there is no such thing as mental illness, given the proper amount of sunlight, exercise, and balanced nutrition. My time in the city began to act as a prime example of the damage The Age of Man has had, and it's effects on the women and children deemed unfit by the programmed idealistic images, appropriated not by actual science, but the media instead.

Who are they?

Who is “they”

–All The Luminaries.

I would never–

Name them.

They know who they are.

How would that be?

Only they can call to me without a name.

No name, at all.

Not at all.

With a wordless notion,

A bond created,

A tie to sever the blood and damaged—

Bodiless wanderers,

Lost in a thought, or a once-was,

Long lost, memory,

Yet to be

So it has come to be, that which each passing thought or abounding circumstance, that as I've begun to ponder the placement and purpose of each of The Luminaries, the sense of my consciousness in entirely became pulled apart in the exact

Cosmic apotheosis

With all the Deer medicine I pulled for Sonny scrawled out across the table–the Spirit of the Moose, The Elk, and the Deer herself spoke to me softly, in a tone which seemed to be light, like his voice, a tragedy in my mind, saying “You're a loser.”, to which I responded– “Okay, I am.” and then began digging through the crates in my mind to a song reminiscent of such a notion, only taking moments before landing upon none other than a verse from Tame Impala, apparently written in the stream of collective consciousness I believe all true musicians to share, in which the words “i'm a loser, okay” or something along the lines, almost assured me that the self-loathing or rather damnning self depreciation was merely part of being–as, of course, one of many–an artist of sorts.

By now, I truly hated Mexico–or at least the city– which pained me with the sickness of society at its very worst; I wanted nothing more than to desperately escape, The Electric Daisy seeming nothing more than a waste of spirit, and the very little money I had, after fighting for months with the inhumane social experiment that indeed was California's unemployment system, which I prided myself on trying endlessly to escape from, but was again pushed away–by now, some months earlier, being paid off to leave California–the only place in my country worth being–for me, anyway.

But–as everything happens for a reason, at least in my belief system– I realized upon fleeing that the two-to-three jobs it would take to sustain any normalcy in the city of LA, would squander my ability to consistently keep creating, as a plethora of works formed in the time spent searching for something–anything, really–which might resemble a home. I wanted, also desperately, to belong in my own country– also believing that my inherited bloodline did in fact entitle me to some kind of housing–and the evil of greed to be a combination of the pharmaceutical industry's broken mental health system which targeted both people in poverty, and minorities–and the system built on slavery, which allowed such a disasterous thing as the thousands of people living on the streets, not only in california, but all across the country, corporate greed ravishing all of society, forgetting humanity entirely–artists and geniuses like the type I might be if nurtured properly, lost in the greed and evil of man's insatiable desire, which left unhindered would eventually destroy everything, on a planetary scale–we had indeed become a global society.

Now, pinching every penny I could, and after two days of forced resting–I needed more than anything a gymnasium with working machines; However, in the now to-be-expected false advertising of Air B&B, I had only a treadmill and some free weights, with which I could at least to the very minimum, as a run in this city would more than likely take away the good energy I had been carefully rebuilding–and the gym I had originally chosen, now a 4.5- hour cascade across a city I didn't quite fear, but had become irritated with– as the culture, though I understood the origins of such– was as obnoxious as it was sexist, racist, and repressive– undoubtedly the reason for such a growing population of immigrants both legal and illegal to my country–not that I actually believed a wall would keep them out, but perhaps, as I gathered and continued to explore the contrasts between this country and mine, I continued to grow more conservative in my personal pseudo-political beliefs that perhaps law reform should include restrictions on an immigrant's ability–from this country or any– from being able to access funds that could be delegated to giving American-born citizens opportunities, especially those of Native American Heritage, and even descendants of slavery; It deeply irked me that foreigners were able to receive such things as Food Stamps and, in the times of the pandemic–I learned that even those who were illigal immigrants had been given the Emergency Pandemic Stipend, that they were able to receive money I thought would be better spent improving the lives of people born inside the country.

Still, here Iwas, forced to flee because some unfeeling being of privilege had continued to allow the corporate monopolization of most housing in my own dearly beloved country, which left me and millions of others struggling, living in the streets, sleeping in cars, into co-living– which I had summed up to be yet another social experiment of sorts, a devious anti-privacy, data-collecting lower-form of communal living, which allowed the proprietors of such to scope out and psychologically groom individuals such as myself–or, others alike, such as my good friend Ali–who I had been thinking fondly of recently, if only due to the voluntary celibacy and isolation I thought to serve some sort of purpose, rather than to be cursed.

In the morning hours of the dawn, again being some of the only moments of peace I could gather, I again crept into a dreamstate, not visited by the essence of Sonny at all, but rather a second-handed collision of such, as I dreamt to be watching him–or some version of him, on television, even in my dreamstate cowering at the mere mention of him–something I had rather come to do in even my waking moments–as I often hoped and prayed not to hear his or his chosen stage name announced in any way, shape or form; When forced to gaze upon the screens of the modern era, where of course Entertainment channels were usually displayed, in the continuation of cultural obsession that raised mere humans onto pedestals– I had to wish away any notion of his actual existence; The same stood for any circumstance where the radio station I might be tuning into would make any such announcements for news in music, or, of course, just play it.

Yet, as I crept into a dream, I gazed upon the image of a short-haired and spritely, smiling image of him, plastered upon a screen at some red-carpet event; A youthful and energetic Sonny of sorts, as I, in my own dream, became paralyzed and fell into a fetal position, my white hoodie draped over my head as I fell into a dream within a dream–this time, arriving into a world where the colorful stage of what appeared to be some kind of variety show, in the fashion of Dave Chapelle or something of the sort, where I gazed upon a heavyset, dark-skinned, Black woman– no recognizable name or figure I could recall, but in my waking sense might have been Nicole Byer, with whom I had recently discovered, connected and syncronized with–as her lack of use of Ebonics had alerted me to the mandatory standards at which black women could become likable to a white audience in any way–either being overly ghetto and “funny”, or underwhelmingly so, and dressed in such a way that we are neither a threat or annoyance to their privilege or being; A comedian I actually quite became proud of. In my dream, however, she was enjoying a rather decadent dessert, I would perhaps one day create, but no time soon–as I still fawned over and simultaneously hated Kayla Lauren, for being put upon a pedestal for no reason other than sexual preferece to a majority of the world's men...though, lately, I had been craving tirelessly anything covered or filled with Nutella, typically bread, of course– as I'd also been avoiding–just trying to maintain my not-ideal but still perfectly athletic and goddess-like figure, which I myself had built–not for Sonny, but because of him, and his probable ability to even be attracted to the dreadful hanging deposits of fat and skin I could do nothing but wish away, and pray for a time I would be able to remove from my body, only wanting to be loved.

A buttery-looking, soft-roll of perfectly-cooked dough, filled with of course what appeared to be Nutella was cut, allowing the chocolatey inside to be displayed–and even in my dream-within-a-dream, I kept true to my dietary restrictions; denying myself the joy of dining on such a decadent and delectable dessert, and upon waking, of course crafting a recipe for use in the future–where perhaps I had my own home, and my own kitchen to conjure up a homemade dough mixture, adding of course, cream cheese and a house strawberry marmalade to the filling to complete the rather simple bread-and-chocolate on which Ms. Byer had been enjoying inside my dreamspace.

Another recipe, before I would embark on the attempt to rid myself of the tears welling up from within me, by exercising in the dilapidated, however, warm and sunlit almost-gym, where at least the treadmill worked–

A recipe I thought my longtime friend to have created herself, but turned out to be none other than a youtube recipe, from which I based the following:

1-2 Large Sweet Potatoes, Skinned and cubed (save skins for later use)

Parsley

Sage

Rosemary

Thyme

Yellow Mustard

Unrefined Honey

Pink Himalayan Salt

Fresh Ground Black Pepper

Lemon Juice

Coconut Oil

Avocado Oil

The “Get Well Soon” Smoothie

Celery

Carrots

Spinach

Kale

Aruglala

Papaya

Mango

Banana

Strawberry

Blueberry

Raspberry

Blackberry

“Lil Bits”

Yo–I'm a true vegetarian, ya'll. I mean–I might even call myself a vegan if cream cheese and butter just…didn't exist.

Still, I was going through this time where–I hadn't been eating anything dairy or any processed foods at all–and I was also like, super broke; so I couldn't afford to buy any cleaning chemicals, and I'm like “okay, i'll just make my own cleaner from like, essential oils and citrus–

–I'm domestic as fuck–

…sometimes…

Anyway, so I'm making this like, home-made pinesol–minus the actual pine, but–I still had lemons and limes and orange peels– and I'm boiling them, but I'm thinking “hmm, needs more orange peels–and I was completely out of oranges; so–of course– I'm like “oh, I haven't taken out my trash in like a week–

—I Know, i'm gross– but–it's also just me, myself, and I so it's not like the trash is full or anything–but–I know there's like, a weeks worth of orange peels in there.

So I start going through my trash, looking for orange peels–and at that moment I realized exactly how vegetarian I was–or vegan, whatever–but–I won't claim it.

NO I don't claim vegan, cause then random-ass Vegans will start coming up out of the woodworks from absolutely NOWHERE, like *Zombie impersonation* “OHHHH, YOU'RE VEGAN? VEEEEEEGAAAAAAN–”

I'm so vegetarian, yo–my trash smells GOOD. I'm like digging through it, at first I'm like holding my breath, cause–you know–it's trash—then I like come up for air, and I get a whiff of it– and I'm like “mmmmmm!”

Wait a minute! This shit smells GOOD. And I realize I'm like digging through like, basically compost, it's like mango peels, watermelon rhinds, bell pepper stems–which , honestly, sometimes I'll eat, depending on what i'm making, but– I'm like

“Daaaaamn!”

And I'm actually like quite proud of myself, like, taking in deep breaths of aromatic goodness while i'm picking out all the orange peels, and I start thinking, maybe a little too deeply–

I'm like,

“Damn. If my trash smells like this– my pussy must be DELICIOUS.”

*sips coffee*

Cause you really are what you eat; I'm just saying. I used to work with this girl at subway and she would always put like a massive amount of pickles on her sandwich–and–one night we got really drunk and I ate her pussy–

–this actually happened– !

(Oh yeah, I eat pussy.)

–and, I shit you not, her pussy tasted like pickles.

Not just pickles. Subway pickles specifically.

If you've ever worked at Subway, or just eaten a lot of subway–you know what I'm talking about. Subway pickles have like a specific…anyway.

You are what you eat.

But–I'm not fully Vegan, either, like–Like I said; Cream Cheese is a thing. Cheesecake–is a thing– BUTTER– is a THING. And they are all SACRED gifts from GOD. I believe that. I can't eat that shit all the time, but–still–it exists so when I can, I DO. and I love it.

I'm a golden girl. I will eat an entire cheesecake with Me, Myself, and I.

But– I try to make sure it's organic, and–like, farm-raised pasture animals–I don't want Sad Cow Disease;

That's a thing.

It's when you consume the remains or product from an animal that suffers from inhumane treatment. it's real. It's not just cows; that's just the way energy works. If you eat something sad or shitty—you become sad and shitty.

True story. But here's another—which is why I'm not completely vegan, and I would never like, push the vegan lifestyle on anybody who doesn't just decide upon themselves “this is what's right for me” cause, it's not for everyone. Every body is different. We are all made differently. In fact–I met this dude who ONLY ate meat. Nothing else. He–was–honestly not the coolest person to be around either–which is another reason, I just don't believe in extremes entirely, but–here's the extreme opposite of this guy, who nobody liked, and the reason why I will never probably be all the way Vegan;

Another true story.

I was a surf instructor at this summer camp in LA one summer– and–it's west LA, beach cities, so of course a majority of the clientele are like, white, jewish, privileged kids—you know, like 90% of them have nannies and actually prefer this bitch to their own mother–but of course *whispering* so does daddy.

hahah . anyway.

No, i”m serious like half these kids had like super-hot foregin nannies– or, you know, the traditional, abuelita-style housekeeper-duel-nanny-slash-superhero–yeah. Mostly rich, white kids–

And, by the way, anytime we would get black kids, they were either adopted, or just–didn't want to touch the water– that's…how I found out about the “black people don't swim” stereotpype not being that much of a stereotype. It's like–it's real. it's ….genetic or something.

ANYWAY—I'm getting off track here, but not really– cause–genetics–and sometimes white people be fucking up shit entirely just forcing absolutely unnatural genetic things to happen–which I believe to be the case of this poor kid–

Not only was he a ginger– who by the way– I love gingers. I love them so much. I really do. That's not a joke. HOWEVER.

This kid was ginger–remember, we're at a surf camp, on the beach– and this poor kid– and I don't remember his name, either, because he had to go home early–it was so sad!

And I truly believe to this day it was because–not only was he just– stark-almost albino-white-ginger–again–not knocking it, i'm just saying– in our few short moments together, he shared with me that he had NEVER-EVER-EVER had any animal product whatsoever. He was like, 11, I think–maybe 12. He was raised Vegan from BIRTH.

And, again, i'm like over-thinking like “damn. Does that include breastmilk? I mean. It is MILK. It's…”

But he's telling me, in his 11 or 12 years on this planet, he has never-ever-ever had a chicken nugget.

What the fuck.

COME ON, WHITE PEOPLE. And, i'm not being racist–or, at least–really trying–like I said, I like gingers. I LOVE them. BUT. It's summer. He's already at-risk just standing in the sun.

He was covered in head-to-toe with not just sunscreen–ZINC. If you don't know what zinc is–Just–google it–

(and, i'll just note, I'M also heavily covered in it just trying to not get blacker. Like I said–I LOVE gingers–especially when they're fully grown *wink* So i try to not dissuade attraction from caucasions. )

–But anyway this poor kid–

It had to have been the coldest day of the summer–I'm talking like, almost no sunlight, it was warm, cause it was summer, but, still cloudy–and–

This kid had to leave, like, before lunch time. He almost expired. I watched that kid go from like, playing in the waves and smiling to like, getting welts from third degree burns and just about to collapse from lethargy in what had to have been under three hours flat. Never, ever had animal product. Ever. Fully Vegan; this kid is about to die from 2.5 hours at the beach. AT THE BEACH.

So, i'm just saying–you might have to feed your kid some animal product, at some point– or you might have to end up feeding HIM to an animal. I mean;

I'm not Vegan.

{Insert Dairy Farm Bit}

FLURBOS.

I just remembered my Vegan Pitbull.

What! That doesn't make any sense!

I mean–hey–

____

Farro arrives into The Valley of The Kingdom of Ascensia

You look lost.

Do I look it?

Commandant.

Your Royal Highness.

[they greet each other by bowing brow-to-brow.]

Welcome.

I'm not staying.

Of course not– drinks, at least?

Mm. Perhaps– have you any Yuccafruit?

What is that?

*humphs* I thought you were considered to be well traveled.

Moreso than that of a recluse–

–Hm. Apparently not.

___

Snowcone

Great, now I can't rap

You said you're not a rapper

I'm not, but I could at least write them–damn.

Now what happens?

I have been stagnant.

Gripping the smooth and perfectly polished, beautiful stone for hours in my left hand, unable to let go, after a growing attachment seemed to form from a bond–

I see you in incognito!

Shut up, Google!

What did you just say?!

Nothing.

–a jarring astral projection which left me not in question or curiosity, but with the notion that– if I ever in my waking reality were able to again befriend any of the luminaires, however this one in particular–that the most adamant taboo subject of conversation would be work related; relayed in a rather notion of bad conduct from within my dreamworld, from of course, none other than myself, to I– in the form of a friend, not forgotten but not feared or as fondly thought of, of course–before such traumas had been enforced and inflicted upon me.

___

Professor Joel Zimmerman is a highly acclaimed and well respected expert in the learned sciences of Astrology, Astrophysics, and engineering– though often scorned and dreaded by his students–being an unapologetic and unforgiving grader, with a stoic attitude and dark, grim sense of humor–he is praised and highly regarded amongst his peers as a lifelong scholar, collecting in his coveted career, numerous accolades, awards, and scholastic honors.

Dang. Really, dawg?

He looks good in bifocals!

Nobody looks good in bifocals!

This gu does.

Oh come on! Whos gonna buy him as a professor?

He's a genius!

But a professor?

Yes, a professor.

What about that thing on his neck?!

The year is 2042.

Oh.

The study of Interplanetary Sciences have been expanded greatly, since the confirmation of extraterrestrial inhabitance in outer galaxies was officially confirmed via radio frequency transmittal in the early 2020's.

Dr. Zimmerman has dedicated almost the entirety of his career to solving an ongoing string of cosmic and astrological mysteries.

Cameo: C.C. Stone, a young graduate student in the field of Language Arts

What's the point of this character?

I don't know. I just saw her.

Wait, saw who?

Her–me, I guess.

You saw yourself?

I saw C.C. Stone; I guess it's a cameo…she doesn't really say anything, I mean–she's just kind of sitting there, looking eager.

Sitting where, exactly?

In Professor Zimmerman's Classroom–it's one of those like, Ivy-league looking classrooms, with like, the aisles that come down–you know–from like every movie that has a college classroom in it.

Or like–a college classroom.

Yeah.

What'd you see?

Well, she's got these gold-rimmed, round, like, Harry Potter Glasses–

Hm. I see–

And like, this– kinda ugly, oversized plaid sweater, that's kinda light-burnt-brick…with tan cuffs that match the plaid

That's super specific.

I just saw it! Like I saw Joel in his professor getup and bifocals! He had his hands in his pockets, standing at the front of the classroom

Oddly specific visiualization.

Or a vision, I guess.

just keep writing.

Ok.

What the fuck–

What.

Why is this all in one document?

I don't know–so I don't have to sort through as much.

Are you ever going to sort it?

At some point. I was. I guess.

What ever happened to–

Oh, my God–

Where's Dillon Francis?

It's been awhile.

Just forget about it.

It feels like burning alive,

The love was alive,

Then a lie,

As aligned with the eye,

That defines us

–I'm dying inside

(i'm dying inside)

Along for the ride

(it's a long, long ride)

Just trying to find

(how do I find)

My long lost Love

My long lost Lover

Into The Future

A Divine Psychic's Reaffirmations of The Reflective Premonitions from A Life Lived Infinitely

There's no doubt that I have been unbreakably and unbearably tied to the future which I once foresaw, and still oftentimes do with the reminders of each lucid love once set in place as a code, a language spoken between those of us in this realm, and those ascended beyond the duty of this existence.

Though names continue to blur and confuse the true presence of either's auras. I've come to believe almost to a point of knowing the connection between myself, Dillon Francis, and Sonny Moore—Respectively and as a conglomerate the latter mentioned a fluid and translucent reflection of myself in every sense that all he is up to this point is all of what I am, and also am not.

Though careless now in my regards to that of what may actually happen behind this point, there are broad visions of certainty pertaining to the realm of infinity, with the extended knowledge of what has already, and what will happen, if allowed to be so. Still, careless in the overall outcome, I can only help to wonder which circumstances I have received not in the energetic form of thought or imagination, but in the broad and astral cosmic visions of what lie ahead, as I have finally come to gracefully l accept and respect my very psychic sensibilities.

So far as dead celebrities are concerned, I've journeyed not into the contrast of the bitter unknown in which lie the secrets and contracts these before and beyond us have held and struggled by: I am only here and now to grasp the very allusive faith that death, though a misunderstanding amongst the many so-called living, brings with it some palpable positives, if granted the power and advantage of what I myself have, in the honor of such being revisited by those held with such a title as “idols”.

From a Medium's perspective, the media's often thought to be poisonous programming of those feeble minded enough to allow fear to convey such a message into the classic and bold assumption that the oftentimes occult symbology and consistent references to such an uncommon realm of illuminated thought, the mass is yet to be of any true concern or observable disgruntlement as it concerns to me. Still, as having been gifted in spirit by those who I would not call from the pursuit of peaceful rest by shackling such enigmas to each's given name, given only to be called aloud in the language of this ‘living' realm we so inhabit.

As I've come to wholly believe the disastrous events of yesterday's Surf to be yet another end, and beginning to a chapter of life I've not yet deemed worthy of calling it so, I hope to move forward now into an actual life I may cherish, love, and adore as I also wish to be.

“Washed in the waves”, I wrote, some weeks or months ago, and then read this morning—an eerie reminder that things sometimes written in the confines and “secrecy” of my Google documents, become in external force, a true form of nature by ways unremembered until being revisited in the walking and waking of being. As I had asked to come to know Phoenixx's final moments, The Gods, or God as a whole, as technically we are all as one in some aspect— gifted me with the discomfort of drowning, though, as I looked up in panic and realized the surface was far beyond my reach, feeling my body swept both above and beneath me by another wave—did come to peace and relaxation, as swiftly, my lungs filled with seawater; however, rather than the luxury of returning or staying home in my Kingdom, was quickly respawned underwater, to fight heroically for my life as my senses connected back into my spirit—a stronger swimmer than surfer, anyway, I snapped to the surface, to find myself facing what seemed to be a giant wall of water, and must have truly been (as I stand broadly at nearly 5'7–5'6 ½, or even, most recently 5'5 to meet Sonny, for whom I must admit I still have some romantic—or at the very least positive—feelings for, somewhere in the middle.)

...in the face of another wave, which I dove under, quickly and into the current, pulling fiercely north—swimming outrageously with every bit of my might out of the riptide, until being able to firmly plant my feet into the shallow sandbar of the high-tide ripples of ocean which left me drowning, only to be reborn into the wake of this, yet another realm of dissallusioned existence—although, continuing to pray in every outward moment of my consciousness, I wish this to be the enlightened and ascended light-filled and beauteous being of wealth, health, and connection—be it romantic or otherwise.

Though I have mourned tirelessly the broken bond between myself and that of my son, who comes solely before any man ever could in all of my heart and soul as a mother, I have come to understand the seemingly impossible placement of myself as a single, working mother in this world to be anything other than neglectful/-as so it stands that I have been asked in this mission to fulfil a purpose, with which an ancient oracle, foreseen prophecies, and higher knowledge of the great cosmos have been forced to set and unravel through myself and rarely found but often sought after ‘others' which walk amongst us—however, I shield myself from the honor of, in the name of humility, perceiving myself as the powerful diety I am said and supposedly written to be—simply allowing others, if so inclined to grasp the God or Goddess within me—whichever it is they seek, or may see, as either this conscience presence to to my knowledge has no true masculine or feminine assignment, but rather is, as a whole, two equal parts to one. This light which I truthfully hold dear, and as it stands have taken immense pleasure in keeping mostly secret or hidden, is sometimes the challenge in this persistence of will that keeps this body, long forsaken and badly broken enough to continually need to escape into a parallell of disassociation, if you could call it that—I wouldn't, for it could indeed be damning.

With this lust for romance, the primal, tantric collision of souls, and the sense of peace and true wellness I have to this point found fleeting but continue to seek, this very real essence of love has formed in such a unique unfolding of attraction and ancient remembrance, that even I have become aware of its potential impact, as I've yet to know any story such as this, so far, to become true—other than as told by what has been watered down to the current eyes and ears of this generation's beloved entertainment. Potentially, a true fairytale, and literal storybook romance, I may have indeed stumbled into a life in which I find myself to be a true Queen—with, or without the King I so wish to be worshiped with, and also worship.

Why, in today's climate, would a woman such as I be made to believe that a Queen would need a King to rule? First handedly, always a Mother and by nature a nurturer at heart, I have always known I had never wanted, nor could I raise my son alone. Though no longer a fear which keeps me bound to the dismantling remains of a critically horrible marriage—the responsibility I can finally take part of, having realized now my inept naivety, previous morbid obesity, and overall dissatisfaction in the quality of care our children would receive after their entrance into the world and our benign poverty—the societal wrath cast upon single mothers as a whole, not to mention black single mothers, is one which God itself has deemed unnecessary, and unequivocal in the equation of my most important purpose here.

As I continue to long being a parent to my so-far one and only, and my body begins to crave the duty of motherhood yet again be become whole, it has come as a knowing that the treasure within my womb is indeed a gift for the King which I no longer seek, but pray to all the heavens, is instead seeking me,

Enter: Dillon Francis

Though umremarkable at best, my attraction to this personality was of course instant, perhaps as intrinsically as this person rests in my infinite reflection of time and space in the many memories granted to keep during this journey; though however close to Mr. Sonny Moore he may be, (or rather was) and as the arrangement stands, a typically theoretical pawn in the overall plan as exacted at least shines a light into the levels of these dimensions where we all have resided for some eons of consciousness, long before the boundaries and constructs of time, or even be it the bottling of bonded souls we as well call “bodies”. Strange to keep the diamond eyed diety within the structure of that one might call a “name”, “Dillon Francis” is nothing more than a label or title for the business he has constructed to be his image, mine of which, he was made in the likes of,

Here may be an exceptionally exquisite time to mention Joel, whom I also rapidly remember amonsgst us, as we cast the cosmic spells of constructing through consciousness, a world of more than One,

Though, with a very adimate interjection I might add, though handsome as he may be, I find myself magnetically drawn to in a platonic nature; upon hearing of his separation from his wife or partner, I've often pondered and prayed that they reconcile, or, part ways permanently, be it best in joy and love for either of them. Still, though his essence is strongly familiar and the nature of our time here in the realm we currently share remains titlating near-mystery—I say near, to call attention to the fact that as I've begun to tie together the delicate strands of fabric which holds our realities together, I've gained some understanding into the placement of this figure's re-arrival into my orbital path, I've never envisioned a romance, nor have I a vision which pursuades me to believe our crossings in this journey to be any other than cordial, and at times, hysterical—for this soul has the uncanny ability, as always, to make me wholeheartedly laugh, with glee.

Moving on into the darkest of realms I hold dear and sacred, the Prince who's crown so beautifully tarnished, as it was so graciously given early in this walking life, or even, preconception of the notion of the next.

I know for a fact for there to be a time and place for Sonny in my life, though which of the many dubious parts he shall play in it, I have decidedly left entirely to him. Unfortunatey, it seems, there are others so dead set upon the manifestation in the interest that he become a King into their realm of reigning, however—with the given knowledge that none other can or will love him as I—have grown comfortable with the wilted, wary and wrinkled petals in the fluorescent flowers born from our love, which I kept for so long before all but giving up the romanticized and vivid visions, reflected in the truth of memories already lived, infinitely. The visions I keep from being bonded to Sonny are less lighthearted, to say the least, and more dammning, all the more,

As I begin to realize the time on the mountain with his mother in prayer may point to more than one devilish and cruel woman in pursuit of happiness by way of his fortune, I've begun to morbidly attach this threat to that of the most recently acquired demon, so forced her way into my mind by way of inhabiting a body I already have, and could also never—on a larger scale, though, I also see this creature as a feat of my creation, as the eye upon her skin does speak to me, to worship and praise my power as a whole; however, I sometimes worry that the predator to which Sonny's mother warned to be a “vulture” to her son as prey and asked, or rather, pleaded for my aide to reach into the Land of the Living where she was no longer permitted, as, being unknown, does rest peacefully, aside from the beckoning cry of the spirit residing in Sonny, supposedly with whom I share a soul. Fortold to me by a number of Ascended, Sonny's seeking to remove this soul has been both a burden, and blessing—as this allows me to exist in both the realms of darkness, and light—and, as for him—the ability (or previous ability, anyway) to create light through music allowed such a force as Skrillex to flourish and grow in the first place.

The memories I keep with Sonny are few, mostly because in the event that we are allowed to again become whole, I lose myself in a sense to him—as does he, to me; one of the last memories I have as myself is falling asleep with him in my arms, in one moment admiring his beauty, and the very next, so deeply asleep that being whisked away into a lucid dream we share illuminates a golden flash I now only slightly can recall the excellence of, but can remember the calm and fluid relief of the connection at last refound.

These Three Kings, for which I have come to call them, each hold an essence in their presence so cherished to me, that whether in this waking life or in the next I know will come again to me. In a constant prayer for peace and freedom, and seeing as death has greeted me once again as a mother and humble friend I hope to grasp in this reality the kindness and care I once was afforded to give and receive.

Be it a simple ask, I only want to know love again, not in the way of wanting to be wanted, or needing to be needed, but in the grace that gives and allows me to be whole again. As my childbearing years come to a close, I am forced to wonder if the golden essence that will become as One lies within any a man I have come to admire within the future I have seen, but also lived.

Chapter ???

Mr. Dillon Hart Francis

I've talked too many times about the way I was introduced to this monster, but never have spilled the many memories made in the lifetimes past, present, or potential future—perhaps, that it is beyond my fathomable understanding, such as any interaction with the many geniuses of art I have either mentioned, written about, or come to know quite lovingly in omnipotence—or even, that as a generally conservative (at least, publicly) sexualist, visions drawn from this timeline I share with Dillon have, until recently, been kept pushed and concealed into the depths of my subconscious, the pit of my soul. Be it out of guilt, for the sheer and simple knowledge of the ascended arrangement between us, or that as time has been reset again for events that have once transpired to yet be made again, though consciously connected, have a hard time coping with the sometimes dark reality that Dillon, or rather, the Deity seated in him just may be (and is) a demon I of the enlightened have struggled not to dance with.

Aside, though I find this bond to be less romantic, certainly based upon Dillon's own preferences and tastes rather than my own mindset—alternately, my simple perceptions of his preferences and tastes, being that he may not have a set “type”, but be as it may my complex self loathing and hatred takes marks off of any attraction he has to me, other than primal or sexual.

Still, I have found myself drifting into the less-vivid memories from timelines where we do, in fact, find our bond to be unbreakable in ways that continually astound the both of us—timelines where, although for some time the complete labeling our very close friendship as a “relationship” or partnership at all supersedes us.

The simplicities of our bond stand to act as the foundation which allow it to be stronger than foreseen; we are rather old fashioned in a sense that allows us freedom to lead respectable and almost at times, boring lives above ground, however— the arousal of secrecy behind closed doors always allowed us the intimacy and fantastically explorative, boundless sex life—which, timelessly has proven in a sense to be both the darkness and the light that creates the balance in our oneness.

After becoming so recklessly distraught in the obsessive love created by being introduced to Sonny and his powers so abruptly, in the wake of a crucial turning point between the past life I lived within this one, there are such various pathways which Dillon and I respectively have found out way to one another; as I mentioned before, being that the two of them are as connected to each other for as long as I have been in oneness—I would find it astonishing it either one of them were not aware or awakened to this battle being fought between ancient forces; the only certainty that remains for aby of us, is that Love shall reign.

Outside to some degree for what I would call “normal” for myself, I've come not to care of any romantic interest from any man, let alone these two—albeit, very hysterical, sometimes to the point of being orgasmic—“humans”, which, although as I roll my eyes, I am reminded by placing the quotations around such a word as ‘human' am prompted to, at least momentarily, before returning to describe the “future-memory” as I've come to call it, with Dillon Francis. Ahem. Mr, Dillon Francis. (Who, by the way, gets bored easily.)

Chapter Me

Justin Roiland (However You Say It)

I remember making love to Justin Roiland on a sofa I can neither remember the color of, or actual texture—but also in an armchair, I believe later that same evening. This strange tie came about almost as a comedic “relief” from the chaotic and mind-unraveling insanty of a magic act, from which came the likes of the word “Bampheramph” and other ridiculous and yet exceptionally and

Gratuitously creative notions from the senselessness of the now-seemingly-imaginary world I was forced to live in at the time—a circumstance that often left me to wonder whether Justin Roiland himself, who I deem almost entirely all of the credit for creating the beloved series whose name I find to be utterly unimportant at this moment, anywa—also became trapped in the infinite realms possibility in the midsts of creating these worlds, where I continue to find myself. Though, honestly and hopefully, this occasion were let into the Illuminated mind's eye purely for creative purposes, I still find myself avoiding in any way, shape, or form glancing into the eyes a lit by the flash of a photo-opportunity—as, I will admit, my attraction to this man I believe was already openly vocalized, during a discussion between my former lover and I—needless today, between that time, the time of this vision, and the third and final blow of the glance into a photo I happened to stumble upon whilst looking for an honest-out of the Hell my sexual demons have crafted for me to live in, I've come to consolidate the memories I've had with Justin into fictional instances, save for the painfully vivid image imprinted, of the socks he wore the night—we found each other to be comfortable company.

Still, as a notation, I might offer the notion that my sexual fluidity more than likely is opened by the consumption of a few drinks—although, many a timeline, my choice to drink and continued drinking is paired with the knowing that Sonny has chosen another—which tends to leave a gaping enough crevice in my heart and beguiled soul that I seek to be conciled and comforted in the absence of permanent love, self medicate with the temporary dillusiom of lust and the supposed “excitement” of sensually seducing these men of admiration through the dedicated effort of first impressing them with my own body of work, so that they may one day see me as fit to be in ther presence, even if privately— often which is preffered over a public companionship.

I now am well aware as to what can happen when two famous entertainers find themselves to catch the media's eye, or approval—either which exists to suit the cause or flow with the agenda, which, I guess, leads me into my own fortold fame and fortune, and how it came about.

Chapter IV

FAME

It's been beknownst to me for some time that I would, at least for awhile, have to seperate myself from my previous identity to be considered, or rather, given the go ahead for illicit fame, or promoted as an actual celebrity. I have also known, that as with such coveted titles, as not to be mentioned here, but perceived as being of great fame, that those selected are chosen and vetted, then primed for stardom long before becoming popular household names, so to speak— a phenomenon which stands as the explanation for “it happened overnight” which the media will continue to say, as a way to stay aligned with the system of belief that Disney fairytales do sometimes happen—an agenda which the Skrillex-SupaCree mega-franchise upholds, as a registered and crucial factor in this all-American-acid trip of a reality from whence the aforementioned bodies and each of our respective counterparts both came from, and also created—but anyone actually famous will argue point-blank “took years” which is usually true... though, depending on the amount of connections, apparent wealth, and overall ease of access each famous person has or gets during their so-called “rise, the amount of actual work and/or challenge endured during these times varies greatly.

Still, there's something to be said for those who face not challenges such as I and others, in the sacrifice i will safely leave unspoken; but will say, for each of us, a loss of love is asked.

Though I fully refuse to consider the sacrifice of my son's presence in my immediate present life as the ideal force behind the first leap/push and/or jump into the crisis of fame— if not only to use it to one day to heroically return for him after having assured his protection from predators without any doubt, and secured his rapid advancement in society by being able to give him the advantage and freedom of a proper education, perhaps even a worldly one of global proportions—its long since been settled since my departure that this loss of mine eventually becomes his gain, if I continue to allow myself to be groomed for the stardom written both into the actual cosmos, and these Google documents.

Again I have fastened myself in becoming celibate, though having broken this vow—which only recently became a vow, as the first bout of celibacy was an honest and voluntary innocence of neivety, in believing the longer I waited for Sonny, the more quickly he'd come—or that even he may just wait for me.

Though I have no memory in actuality of the exact work which skyrockets me to fame, or the exact moment, I know it quickly approaches, as rapidly as it always does and as it always has, in the infinitely seeming times before of which I have lived this exact representation of this existence. I know that, even as it has been years since my selection and vetting, priming and prepping—although throughout my early life was given glimpses and many clues along the path which stretches between my perceived “birth” and my complete “death”.

The value of “it happened overnight” begins to grow with the preceding memory that, it literally does go from 0-100% famous in just a blink; however, I can't consider my current standing in the ranks of fame to be at ‘zero', either, in the present moment. I sleep often unrestingly knowing that many famous people are aware of my being and presence, in this and it's future existence— and sometimes restfully dream in the sometimes positive essence that I may just be so thoughtfully and Carl fly admired by those I very much lovingly and graciously admire myself, if not only for laying each carefully placed breadcrumb of hope and guidance in the most arduous and challenging puzzle pieces of this path, I keep in my heart, a silent but carefully worded thank-you letter for all the keys, not yet entirely collected, but in knowing honestly, are almost a complete set to the kingdom of Heaven.

For, I have acknowledged—being of Queens and Kings, that being of the ascended elite calls first to complete a set of tasks; my latest lesson, being that it is impossible to compete if you find yourself held to a standard of artistry and creativity the world around you may lack. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer; or, as I have chosen, have neither until the vibration of their energy matches mine, or just as likely calls to it.

Being as translucent and iridescent in form as possible has created a realm of which I find myself to have designed—and even that the system I have myself blamed as the cause for my apparent failure and supposed weaknesses, even to fall into alignment with my true purpose.

Being a God or Goddess is a self-perceived notion, that is—until one or more in the external circumstances of interaction begin to label you as such. In pleasant company, I have been called a “God”, a “Goddess”, a “Genius”—all of which I have come to see as literal synonyms—a “Prodigy”, a “Miracle” or even once “Jesus, or something”—as, were it not for the bloodcurdlingly painful actual visual memory of my palms burning and bleeding, having levitated entirely, my intrinsic telepathy (which I have now learned to somewhat curtail), maligned with the sometimes creepy manifestations of synchronicity, and sometimes even now rapidly evolving telekinesis—I might not believe. However, it may be of importance to state that perception is in fact reality—and, also living in the wicked and Wild West have come to reconcile with the fact that each person in my own reflection has, too, their own perception of reality—which can be irreparably problematic, as your average, every day person does not mesesaeily know or believe in my divinity, the encapsulation of a diety within this body, or—may even consciously not believe in the idea of God at all (which makes no sense at all, but I've come to grips with unconsciousness as a non-problematic challenge) which perhaps, perceptively speaking, limits my existence as a force at all. Although, more times than not, most people know there's just something special about me—sometimes, very often, actually, over the course of my life has this been uttered from the mouths other than that belonging to the body that birthed me—but more recently over the last few years, which I have considered myself to be in ‘Fame School' due to the many hints and clues besides the Skrillex of it all I have been given over the last five years—which is an awesome musical, by the way. I think.

Acknowledging that whatever happens to me now, is just a recordable part of history—that everything I do and everyone I meet becomes part of a world which I have been granted to understand is an important part of literature, and American history as a whole—and, with some opinions I have formed and actions I have taken, I bitterly admit do not cohesively exist as “Cree”, with the agenda of those who call the plays for the ever-fixed game of Fame that I never was asked to play, but in reconciliation, asked for myself in the preexsisance of this, in the aforementioned Kingdom of Heaven where, not as depicted in the prude and chaste reflection of man's conservative and burdening representation of God, Love and Sex are synonymously bonded with one another.

That being said, my placement in poverty has seated immediately in some interestingly immoral or, at least imperceptibly incomprehensible methods of creating financial gain—and whereas men can so openly brag about selling drugs and pimping women for entertainment purposes and receive erroneous profit, women more metaphorically mask the torturous prostitution of femininity in the industry with clever quips and interesting and astonishingly intelligent codes hidden within the lyricism I so wonderously adore, and have been gifted the talent to decode, as my soul awakened by the cry for help became alive through music, in the tragic loss of my own son and daughter—and in the discovery of all the sons and daughters near and dear to me on earth.

Though changing my name (and more than likely, my number) will not release the powerful energy sought after by lovers and losers by nature, who will still seek to find and capture my essence, if not only for a moment—however, I can begin to release the pain and torture allowed by being born to a mother who could not wholly and unconditionally love, and as a result seeking company by those who in the same predicament relied on me to mend breakage far beyond repair, who came to feed on my light as an energy source until it's near depletion; but, as we all learned from that, the Implosion of this regenerative life force, ie, my soul and the external resulting explosion is a force of magic and magnetism yet unmatched, or captured by wrath itself.

Fame, though with external circumstances again wavering and uncomfortable, may be “posthumous” given that as my writing is being recorded—as well as some of the metaphysical phenomenon of extraterrestrial presence now captured on tape— is fast approaching, which sets a stage for the never-random and increasingly expansive world that allows such men of marvel to become playthings—with the understanding of the memory that one of the first things I chose to do with my success is to complete the procedures which would take my body from a “7” to a “10+”, a well-deserved reward for all the effort it takes to lose more than 200 pounds.

With that, I close with a pseudo-quote from Jack Donagy of 30 Rock, the misogynist, conservative and even sometimes very outwardly white-supremacist corporate boss of Liz Lemon (also, kind of racist) who notes during a NSF conversation with the latter-mentioned that his love-interest (at least, for that episode) “does it like an ugly girl”, which I instantly understood, as—the longer time spent in California, where men seem to prefer a very basic personality and even more below-average facial structure so long as it's attached to a “hot” body, than to women who look like me—or look like women at all. Us “ugly” girls, spend a long time on the sidelines, before getting picked—and because of that, when we finally do get laid, are hungry for it—or, better put—monsterously fucking horny.

However, the more ideally attractive I continue to force myself to get, so that even in the event of my failure to pass the final series of Fame tests, I can still walk home with the prize of a decently attractive Caucasian male to mate with before I reach the age of 32–the age my mother had me, and therefore I will not seek to continue to try to have more children by this time, have I not already at least started.

Now, moving on from fame into the even stranger future memory of my later childbearing years, after my very short run with illicit fame—a track I set myself, as not wanting to be “famous forever”, but only to use the wealth and general acceptance garnered for it as a platform to give my children an exceptional life, as not only my Father asked, but my son Phoenixx in Heaven wishes for his Brother. My daughter, though I less frequently mention, has nearly never left my side, serving as an Angel with pride into the world that once my purpose is served in, I will leave and return to her—where she and I will walk back to the Kingdom of Heaven to greet her brother, hand in hand.

Chapter V

All My Children—And Their Fathers

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.

INT. TURNER STREET—FAIRBANKS, ALASKA. DAY.

Have you heard of Dillon Francis?

I mean, I've heard of him…

He's hilarious. I feel like me and him would get along.

I doubt that.

Look at this.

No, thank you.

Just watch it.

Video: Need You, NGTMRE and Dillon Francis

Dillon Francis: “so much trim , dude—shes overage, I think.”

—You're probably right.

Just watch it.

Nah, I'm good.

INT. GOOD CANNABIS—FAIRBANKS, ALASKA. DAY

—-

The DJ—slash—actor somehow became a muse for me after so tragically being entangled in a less-than-comfortable premonition turned fairytale fantasy via tragedy and trauma from the fallout of finding my formerly favorite founding father of modern dance music to have fallen from grace

—Or into it—

EXT. A DITCH SOMEWHERE. TWILIGHT

A drunken DJ is discarded.

—only to amazingly recoup and recover, seemingly like magic—

Which by the way, is real.

A comeback nobody saw coming—

And still doesn't see, at least—as of yet.

I remember the first time I levitated as an adult; two years later to that very day, I found myself uncontrollably laughing, to the opposite affect, so heavy I seemed almost to be bound to the floor;

It was the only gift I received for my birthday that year, though albeit unintentionally given

ROFLMAO.

What in the fuck does that mean?

Rolling on the floor, laughing my ass off.

OH, THAT CHUCKLEFUCKER.

I just laughed so hard, I came.

I saw.

Come here, kid.

OW.

Ohhhhhh, I see.

what was THAT.

Now, you listen,

I am listening.

No, you're laughing.

That was more than a laugh…

It was more than a look.

DID YOU SEE THAT?

WOW.

That was orgasmic.

Shishane!!

I gotta go.

Okay.

But come here.

(They kiss.)

See you tomorrow.

Yeah.

Okay

Hey, I'm home:

SHASTA!!!!!

Where WHERE YOU?

I had work.

Finally having caught up to SupaCree (in Skrillex's body), Sonny (as SupaCree) is flabbergasted at her actions.

Dressed super flamboyantly and colorful, "Skrillex" looks ridiculous, touting a Jamba Juice and sipping erroneously

SupaCree (S): what the fuck.

Skrillex (SC): Yooooo. You're ugly.

Mau5: you're one to talk.

Skrillex: Psh I am sexy as fuck right now.

Wow.

SupaCree: Jamba Juice? I don't drink Jamba Juice.

Skrillex: you do drink Jamba juice. I mean. I do. This was free. Actually, you know what, a lot of shit is free, when you're rich; it's fucked up.

Right.

Yeah. Doesn't make a lot of sense.

___________

(Earlier)

A super hot fan girl walks up to "Skrillex"

Hey stranger.

Hey...wow.

Yeah wow. This is kinda random, but would you want to… (whispers in ear)

Woah. That is random.

(Basic bitch giggle) haha yeah.

You would do that?

Yeah!

Because...I'm... Skrillex..?

Um, yeah, I guess…

Huh.

…

Well...would you do that if I wasn't Skrillex?

..um...no???

Huh.

___________

(later)

Skrillex (SC) Yo! Did you know that people will (whispers in ear) just because you're Skrillex.

SupaCree (S): (bashfully) Well, yeah...

Skrillex: YO!

_______

Switching Back

In an attempt to return to normal, Skrillex ends up back in his own body, but has left SupaCree and Dillon Francis now stranded in eachothers' bodies.

Skrillex/Sonny: sigh of relief--rolls eyes at outfit, but otherwise satisfied, shrugging.

SupaCree (DF) Woah I am...colors…! [Looks over self in awe]

Dillon Francis (SC): Awh what, no way! Aaaaghhh!

SupaCree (DF) [Looking down] ...these are tits.

Dillon Francis (SC) : HEY! Don't touch my tits! [Looks in mirror] FUCK YEAH, I'M DILLON FRANCIS:

Stuck in SuPaCree's body, Dillon Francis experiences full fledged synethesia heightened by the circumstances of the switch; an array of colors and vibrations fill the world; he stares, taken aback by Skrillex's "colors", which only he can see [but is clearly phonomenal.]

SupaCree: Oh man, this is... [looks at Skrillex] Whuuuut.

Skrillex: (creeped) What?

SupaCree (DF) [steps away from him, wide eyed] ...this is a lot.

Dillon Francis (SC) [checking himself out, approving] Dude I'm hungry. What do you eat?

SupaCree: what the fuck do you eat? Sugar Cubes of acid? What the FUCK!

Dillon francis: I try to stay away from processed sugar--

SupaCree: what the fuck is this shit?

Calm Down, You're just ugly.

Are you kidding me? !'m tripping dick right now.

Dillon Francis: I'm tripping dick right now--

SupaCree: HEY. Dont touch my dick! No tits, no dick!

Dillon Francis: first of all, I'm Dillon Francis, I can do whatever I want; secondly, nobody's touching your dick--ew--it's just attached to me.

SupaCree: What is wrong with you?!

Dillon Francis: nothing, im--i'm Dillon Francis.

SupaCree: WHY is everything wavy--what are these colors?

Dillon Francis: it's just---mild synesthesia--

SupaCree: "MILD" (to skrillex) Stay over there.

SKrillex: K.

Dillon Francis: It ramps up when I get excited. Or anxious. Or hungry.

SupaCree: Make it stop.

Dillon Francis: I can't. That's why I rave.

SupaCree: AGH.

Dillon Francis: Just don't get too close to Skrillex.

Both: Why?

Dillon Francis: I don't know, okay? Just...don't. And here, wear these [puts on sunglasses.] There.

SupaCree: better...kind of. This is insane.

Dillon Francis: just don't play his music…

SupaCree: why, what does your music do?

[Skrillex is silent. There is an obvious secret Dillon Francis sends a threatening glare towards him, and they nod in agreement not to elaborate]

SupaCree: nevermind. Switch me back.

Dillon Francis: no way! I'm an even whiter white guy now. I wanna go out!

SupaCree: out where?

Dillon Francis: I don't know. Somewhere really white. Like. Manhattan beach or--Beverly Center.

SupaCree: I don't wanna go out like this!

Dillon Francis: you're right, you look ridiculous.

[She's still dressed in all black, signature skrillex]

_____________

Skrillex, Dillon Francis and SupaCree end up as the finalists in the fight to the death J battle to become “God's” favorite DJ

__________

Dillonception

-Dillon Francis's Magical Universe immediately follows dillonception, where he uses his newly acquired = magic and works for a variety of characters to save the world, albeit from a DJless post apocalyptic wasteland.

_______

Hot fan girl from before: you deleted that picture, right?

(Later)

Dillon Francis (as supa Cree) is wearing a shirt with a picture of the fangirl and skrillex [insert goofy picture here] a reference to Getter, though the act is innocent rather than sexual, as the prior scenes indicate.

The Voices Parodyish

Dilon is the only person who sees Gerald and his friends/ family as “just a pinata”, however, Gerald, appears as, in fact, a real person to everyone else, who believes Dillon to just be joking, or even ‘a real asshole'

However, it is later revealed that as such, Dilon “suffers” from a condition similar to that which the main character of The Voices also struggle

Dillon Francis is officially too hot for Supacree (Sunni Blu, alternately) as they are often booked to work together, Supacree becomes clumsily awry of Dillon Francis, hanzel, and RAF respectively.

Don't do this.

I'm about to.

Just fucking stop!

I won't stop.

You're being ridiculous.

Yes, I am.

What—Dillon Francis?!

What—Kayla Lauren—?

It's a thing.

It's a cult.

Well, fuck this.

I want it.

So, get it.

I got it.

He played you.

Okay, then—

Listen to me—?

I am listening…

You are NOT—

Let me guess—

“NOT HIS TYPE”

—yeah, I know.

So, what's up!

Well, he's hot—

That's so gross—

I'm an adult—

He's a DJ—

—a record producer—

An Oscar nominated actor—

What?!

—and Grammy nominated.

Wait, excuse me.

Same year, too.

Different project, though.

How'd this happen?

“This can't happen”

Oh, my God!

That never happened.

What never happened?

Okay.

Exactly.

What about So—

WHO?

Sorry.

Right, exactly.

Hey, how's Kayla?

Who is “Kayla”?

Well, this hurts.

Just use it.

He won't stay.

Don't need it—

—that's the way//

I want it.

So.

Satan.

...hm?

Can you handle this?

This one's easy.

He looks simple.

But he's not.

Dillon Francis is one of the most powerful Gods of creation in existence.

What about Skrillex?

There's no Skrillex.

What about Sonny?

S/He killed him.

Oh.

Who's this?

This is Esmerelda.

What's...she doing?

Everything I won't.

Woah.

I'll be back.

What is this?

I remember this—he married her, and I suffered.

Who, Kayla Lauren?!

“She's so basic—“

So is Sonny.

OoooOoooOooo000hhhh—

—shots fired.

“ The Simple Skrillex”

That's this one.

Fuck this nigga

—fuck this nigga—

And his posse.

So, what's Dillon want?

Nothing to do with me—

Oh—

Who are you?

Who did you ask for?

...Jesus fucking Christ.

What, Dillon Francis?

...are you busy?

Jesus Christ and Dillon Francis finally have a face to face.

“An Extended Vacation”

Oh, my God.

Don't say that.

Fuck Dillon Francis.

...why does Dillon Francis have my dragon?

Does she know I have her dragon

WHY DOES DILLON FRANCIS—

Is she mad?

HABE MY DRAGON?

Mm. Is she coming?

You know what—?!

—

I should mention Wigga Skrillex, before I for get again

Man, fuck SKRILLEC!

Can't. He's “taken”

Oh, is he?

Plus, Dillon Francis has my—wait—.

How did Dillon Francis get my dragon?

Hoe did you get my dragon?

You keep me jet Blue

I can't forget you,

But I can forgive you for getting me

Used to this,

Uselessness

I'm just another useless piece of—

Dillon Francis, send this shit to Skrillex,

And just kill me—

Or let's burn it,

Just forget it;

Didn't write it

Need a girlfriend?

That can never happen

I don't want it,

I just fantasized about it once,

Or maybe twice

I'm in my mind,

I'll find you by the time I die,

Right?

Right?

Dillon Francis's kick drum.

In the reality where () becomes a college professor, she is interrupted by surprise and stunned, when Skrillex himself appears during a lecture deconstructing his music.

After being banished into a reality where Dillon Francis is a level-one DJ in present times, he furiously attempts to escape through multiple failed attempts. He has also lost his ability and masterful magic of music, and experiences the struggle of obscurity and insignificance in the oversaturated and unfair present music scene. Just as he crosses paths with the alternate reality in which he has fallen into an eternity long Dark Void, which spirals towards Hell in a Terrifying Twilight-Zone like wormhole of sorts, where one's deepest transgressions, fears, and doubts are projected through infinite dimensions, often resulting in “The Illusion of Death”, or rather, depending on the construct of the respective reality, the “nearest-to-Death” experience you can possibly have. As the Dillon Francis in the Dark Void gets nearer to Hell, The Dillon Francis in “Dillon Francis Has No Fans Land” (located amongst the Universal Network of alternate parallels U has been been banishing ‘Hollywood People' into, scattering them into realities where they either haven't-yet or never-will make it to superstardom/celebrity status. *Note* This Universe has the highest concentration of SS as an actual person, as it is revealed to be hidden nestled and hidden in a deep subliminal realm of her own subconscious, which creates a protected vortex “off map”, a hidden Universe with its own complexities, Laws of Science, and Concept of Time; A Nearly Inescapable Consciously constructed set on its own independent, multidimensional grid--which only () herself can travel throughout.

U kidnapping celebrities by Assassinating them through the “illusion of death” ( sometimes as the Colorful Crypt Keeper, depending on the reality) In our present reality (IRL) The Celebrities have either retired, disappeared into isolation “A Syd Barret”, or more dramatically, have actually died. Once removed from the current reality, the stars wake up in a new reality, where they are no longer wealthy, popular, famous or successful; While some entertainers happily (heaven) adjust to normalcy, finding happiness and bliss in simplicity, most are cascaded into an unraveling downward spiral, deteriorating their mental health as they experience life without privilege or status.

“If Your Name Is________________, You're In My Movie”

Once collected, they are then sent “One Deeper” into this skewed universe, again by Death, which happens in exact synchronicity of their first death, resetting time; they

“What is this, Bad DJ Land?”

“Yeah, I mean I call it, Dillon Francis Has No Fans Land, but. Yeah.”

(mimicking her) “Yeah.”

Venice Ventures (A Collection of Short FIlms, a Spinoff of the Scary Monsters Series, a Tie Into Secret Life of Sunni Blu/Much Ado About Sunni Blu, The Legend of SupaCree

-Venice Ventures (Pilot/Venice Mini Burning Man)

-Day Of The Dead

-Who Killed Matt Maeson

-Magic Is Real

-Magic Israel

-Magic Isn't Real

-LSDream (Pt I.Vegas)

-LSDream (Pt. II)

-Brillz (Sammi The Bampheramph, circa 2013)

-Au[DIO]tistic

SupaCree meets two new “friends” at a small festival; However, she soon finds that she's on her own, after feeling “third wheeled” and deciding to roam closer to her home (front and center) on the dance floor. During a drop, she breaks into her signature improvisational “dance trance”, drawing a crowd of impressed and fascinated ravers, becoming quite instantly popular; It's almost, even, as if she has fans--as people excitedly ask to trade kandi and share dances. Then, as Getter begins his set--a circle of people have formed around her, groups of tribes, squads, and kandi kids, magnetically drawn to the The Vibe (I Am The Vibe) and spirit energy that the music awakens within her; The Spirits have called her home to journey into the spirit world, sending “Angels”, or “Light Spirits” tasked to assure that she completes this passage into the spirit world--aligning the present, with the future and past; Alternately, in the Dark Underworld, Demons, or “Dark Spirits/Lost Souls” to work against the light, as an effort to consume her, reawakening The Ego. The Ascended Masters, as an order to bestow Stories of Origin, ancient wisdom, and awaken the God Consciousness, allowing for ascension and Projection within the Interdimensions--must release the seal which holds the oldest known [or unknown soul], so that the “Light Magic” can be passed back to the living descendants of the ancestors amast to be Ascended Masters. To Blissfully yet truly unaware of her own light--either deeply within, or shining throughout, people dancing near her are givingly sharing “conscious gifts” forming a smoke circle within what seems to be an almost gravitational pull. She smokes cooly within the circle, enjoying the auras of those around her--who laugh, smile, dance, and greet her with friendly excitement; As she circle closes, she is handed a mysterious cartridge, filled with a liquid which she quickly examines in the dark and smoky crowd of dancers.

...This is weed?

The girl neither shakes her head yes, or no--just gazing above the rims of her dark sunglasses. She takes three hits, and passes it back to the masked stranger, who disappears into the dancefloor.

Thanks! (but she is already gone)

The energy shifts around her, as her ravey extroversion quickly fades into an introverted and inward, calm and thoughtful state. She contently observes, as usual, checking back to see the the couple she came with, as they wave happily at her. She moves more closely to them, gesturing to meet her closer to the front of the dance floor. She looks up at the performance stage; the visuals, the lights, the many working parts of a high-production value theatrical production. The stage is set so that she has to look more upward at the DJ, who she stares at, drifting into what seems to be a daydream.

Its time for Meditation.

Meditate. Now?

Ground Yourself.

Are you serious? I just got here!

Sit.

As the bass drops, The world around her shifts, into a colorful array of light colliding with sound; Enter, World of Floor.

(A flashback, to past raves) I always knew this world existed, but never had I imagined the things I hadn't seen, around and between all the things I had as I was flying overhead, passing by admiring all the life...and all the lights...

(A montage of the World of Floor)

(The Cosmic Owl's Flight)

In a beautiful starlit meadow, on some distant parallel or humanoid existence, a group of boys are camping, being boys. One boy, a pale and slender boy with gentle eyes under pink-framed wide lens glasses, gazes up at the sparkling night sky toting his gun upwardly, looking through the scope. A bright shooting star appears, bedazzling him as he looks, rubbing his eye.

What are you aiming at? It's darktime, I doubt you'll find anything to shoot.

The boy shrugs,

Suit yourself.

The other boy heads back toward the fire, where at a distance one of the other boys asks “what is he doing?”

I don't know, psh.

Haha--maybe he's shooting stars.

Shut up!

They continue on.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, head pointed up as he watches the sky, inwardly wishing for another shooting star, then suddenly--a light, as something large and white flies over the campsite, leaving behind a gust of wind and sparkling light of stardust, dissipating as the boys all point their heads at the sky, wide eyed.

WOAH!

Did you see that?

What do you mean did I see that? I'm sitting right by you!

It went right over your head!

Like, right by!

They search the sky, as the stars seem to twinkle with a brighter blue-white light; The Giant White Owl once more flies by.

What the--

Don't just stand there!

What IS that thing?

I don't know!

Shoot it.

The boy panics, aiming for the bird. He fires a shot, missing her, then another.

Shoot it!

From a birds eye view, the boys seem small in the vast meadow, nestled in a beautiful valley on a gigantic “alien” planet, with colorful auroras dancing in the atmosphere. The owl glows with the neon light, with giant wise eyes, whose light reflects the tale of all time. Hearing the two shots, but unfamiliar with the sound, she glides into a curve diving downward over the mountainside, towards the boy with the glasses, in her eye surrounded by an aura of golden light; she tilts her head as the shine in her giant eye sparkles with a loving light; As she admires the light, she cries as the sound of the gunfire aligns with a bullet, spinning her graceful flight into a flash of light, leaving behind a twisting trail of cosmic light and stardust. [*Director's Note:Though she appears only as a Giant White Owl (though with a glowing bright white light, only the boy in the glasses sees (with the naked eye) the neon spectrum of light emitted by The Cosmic Owl, eventually a full Prisim..]

He jumps, as his eyes widen with shock and worry, in awe of the spiral of light and a shuttered surprise.

You got it!

Thank God, I would have called this whole thing off.

What was that?

At least he got it.

Taking his gun off and dropping it, he walks still in awe towards the mountain, in an almost hynotized and quiet stride.

...Hey, where are you going?

...I'm gonna go find it.

Go FIND IT?

Why!?

Just because it's not flying, doesn't mean it's not still alive!

That thing was giant!

Like three times your size!

Ten Times!

Unresponsive, and guided by the light, though fading, which has left a spiraled trail against the dark and starry sky. A giant moon rises over the mountain, as she runs into the forested hillside, ascending towards the spiraled light.

Go after him.

I'm not going after him.

Someone go get him.

YOU go get him.

Pftt. Fuck that.

They all stare blankly at eachother in an awkward silence.

...Mom's gonna kill us.

-Countdown

Shunned by h

They know I am Good.

Well.

How?

Who?

They.

Who this they?

Anyone that matters.

How--how?

Insomniac.

Right. EDC.

right.

The music.

Well, it can't always end in martyrdom

It always has

Stay humble.

All are one

Whose world is this, anyway?

Apparently, ours.

Sonny's somewhere

Sonny's always somewhere except, wherever I am.

Not true.

Oh, God.

Hm…? What?

I just want peace

Want, or need?

Need.

Fair.

I need PLUR

Al of it?

I'd gladly trade my life to rave again

You were promised an eternal cebration in paradice

Where's paradice

Stay on the path

San Diego would be on the path.

It is.

A town called paradice

Oh, Tiesto.

His wife is 23.

Gross.

Is it?

Is it love?

For now.

Have faith.

I am faith.

Be kind.

I am kindness.

I said, stay humble.

Kendrick.

And?

AND.

The remix is always better.

Only when it's. .

I am Skrillex.

As if.

what is "if".

Go make music.

Music made me.

I am music.

I need tome.

Who, what, and when, are driving in a car together…

The coffee rub (run*)

There's significance in that video there's significance in Dillon Francis

Even Deadmau5?

Who?

On God.

...what?

...oh great, now I gotta figure out which biblical character represents Dillon Francis?

It's not Jesus.

We know Jesus.

(Everyone knows Jesus)

It is Jesus.

Everything is everything.

That's a step.

No white saviors!

...go somewhere else.

Be a color!

…

___

There's a lady in my kitchen, cooking me breakfast.

I cooked breakfast.

...is it...poisoned?

No, it's breakfast.

…

…

It is hot.

Who are you?

*censored vigorously*

… Apparently, I'm Skrillex.

What the fuck.

What the fuck.

I gotta go.

through the other end of the telephone, a DJ, having overheard the conversation pipes in loudly, with peeping curiosity.

Is that Skrillex?

Call you back.

Supacree continues cooking comfortably.

Is he there?

Another DJ runs towards the phone, having overheard—in the background, we see a news program playing, the headline reads WHERE IS SKRILLEX, the latter obscured.

Is he there?!

Sounds like him.

Yo! It does!

Where is Skrillex!?

I gotta go.

He hangs up the phone.

…

Dillon suspiciously pushes back his plate.

SUPACREE

Let me guess.

DILLON FRANCIS

HEY GOOGLE, call

SUPACREE

I am Google.

DILLON FRANCIS

Apparently, You're Skrillex.

SUPACREE

Apparently, I am.

(I AM.)

What was that?

...what was that?

SUPACREE

That was Ï.

[beat.]

[Very awkward silence]

...I need a…

Eat your breakfast.

Who are you?

Listen, Dillon Francis.

Who is that?

That's—your name.

No, I'm not…

…

…who are you?

Alright, just— look.

“NOT DILLON FRANCIS”

She forfeits.

She forfeits?

This tournament is intense.

How do you even remember this story?

I just remember it...it sticks.

ASCENSION.

Who wrote this?

Who, indeed.

Explain that.

I can't explain that.

You made it, you have to explain it.

I didn't make it.

Yes, you did.

I didn't make this.

I will bring her here.

How?

Jeff: Don't ask me “how”, just watch.

(Jeff?)

What? I don't know how to spell “Excision”

((But I do.))

That's not a fucking FLEX, it's a SKRILLEX.

It is what it is!

IT IS WHAT IT IS AND I KNOW A SKRILLEX WHEN I SEE A SKRILLEX ITS A SKRILLEX.

*GASP* THE HEX.

(Oh shit, what Hex)

((The SKRILL-HEX))

(((AHA.))

Apparently.

Watch this.

[Ext. Basspod (Underground)]

Wait, she's leaving.

Where is she going?

I don't know.

Just--

I can't keep track!

She was just--

--RIGHT THERE--

Wait, what was that?

What was that?

Over there?

Over...where?

It's….it's that way.

That way what?

Lets go.

GETTER doesn't know what he did.

JEFF knows exactly what he did and isn't saying shit.

EXCISION knows where you can get it, but not unless you pay.

SKRILLEXCISION is the world's hottest super-duo,

(who is in reality, just one person.)

((and doesn't exist))

(((at least, in this dimension.)))

SUPACREE, is probably

-she dead

-she's an alien

-she has superpowers

That's just a Skrillex.

I don't think its--

Just leave it.

IT'S A BIRD. IT”S A PLANE. IT”S

SUPACREE

SUPACREE, WHO THE FUCK IS “SUPACREE”?

SUPACREE is a SUPERSTAR DJ.

(who is actually several different people)

((who are actually just one being))

(((infinite))

SKRILLEX is …

…

….

…

Explain that.

I can't explain that, I didn't make that.

Oh, you made it.

I--okay, wait--no. I am NOT taking responsibility for this--

(She is responsible for this)

((and infinite other things))

(((everything, actyally.)))

No, I mean, she's actually everything.

“Everything”

She doesn't know she's in control of it.

Wait, I can control it?

Watch.

Don't watch. Just listen.

It's not how i hear it, it's how I feel it.

Did you run?

NIGGA, I DID NOT RUN; I RAN.

Oh shit, now she knows she's in control of it.

Sick.

Yess--but she doesn't believe it, so it's fucking with existence.

Shit. This existence?

Every existence.

How can you tell?

I don't even know what I'm about to say before I say it, I think she's writing this...

Wait, do you usually know what you're going to say before you're gonna say it--?

I don't know, I can't remember anything before this happened--I'm not even sure if we existed, I think we might be in this shit.

Wait, like in this--like, we're not even…

...then it just ends, dude.

IT JUST ENDED?

But it wasn't just purple rain,

It was rainbows and--wait

So she..

Wait.

Two planets passing so closely, the two worlds are forever changed.

Well. Now that we know this is possible.

Oh shit, that

12th PLanet.

He's black?

I--

Huh.

Wait.

Wait. Can I...Remix this…?

What the fuck is a “Remix”?

The Remixes.

AH, FUCK THIS.

Wait, did it--

It did, it dropped.

He dropped it.

FUCK THIS DUDE.

OH, FUCK THIS MOTHERFUCKER.

THIS MOTHERFUCKER.

--BASS BITCH, MOTHERFUCKER!!

Is that the lyrics?

I don't know, that's just how it goes!

___

How do you know him…?

We are...friends.

BITCH, I AM NOT YOUR FRIEND--

DAMN!

--I AM YOUR SAVIOR, YOU SHOULD BE WORSHIPPING ME--

Oh, shit.

That took a turn.

-- I do worship you.

OH SHIT.

THAT TOOK ANOTHER TURN.

Are you sure it was CTHULU?

(Nods.)

Okay then, lets get this bitch.

__

Skrillex and Dillon Francis make a Deal with The Ex.

OH SHIT--

IS THAT WHY SHE--

YAH.

UNH.

YAS.

So these planets pass so closely, that their atmosphere's collide, and--not only do they--

--THE PLANETS--

--actually manage to acknowledge eachother as it's happening, it actually alters their axis--

--yeah--

--and changes their orbital paths...

Yes.

WHAT?

Okay. So. Look.

There's two planets.

Two planets, yeah.

Different Galaxies.

Well yeah, that--that would depend, wouldn't it.

Dependent by which...definition... ?

I mean; what is even a Galaxy--

I mean, scientifically?

No, infinitely?

Excuse me?

I mean--what is a “galaxy” if existence is infinite.

It's--what?

If Everything is Everything; then whatever a galaxy is, by definition--what our actual perception of this reality is exactly just that

Whatever I was about to type was definitely better sou

The Legend of SupaCree follows an involuntary “hero” on her adventures, after her powers become unlocked; Now, she must join forces with the other DJ's to Save The Rave.

_____

SupaCree refuses to tell anybody anything.

(After Pre-edc scene)

oh dude, that's a lot.

It is a lot.

She still hasn't told her mom you're “Skrillex”

Ugh, no. And she makes me shop at K-Mart every time we go over there.

You got that at K-Mart? It's nice.

Yeah.

Where did you find a K-Mart?

______

Where is “Earff”?

_____

Bampheramph training is considered complete once the trainee “stops crying”, thus begins the official recruitment process, which includes but is not limited to reaching various ‘extremes', which differ by context.

____

Every red cup is just

Another broken heart,

Another broken dream,

Another broken record,

Playing on repeat

…

…

…

Wheres my Skrillex?

Which--

So, Skrillex…

You can call me Sonny.

...Skrillex...

O...kay…

[She squints suspiciously at him and jots something down in her notebook.]

____

So, do you use Serato, or Rekordbox?

Neither I just

[Demonstrates]

What the fuck does that even mean.

It means you can

[Demonstrates]

____1

How is he doing this?

Magic.

I'm not going to fight for him.

Do you honestly think this is happening to anybody else?

Maybe.

Honestly?

Infinite.

Infinite Skrill--

Infinite fucking everything. I'm not about to try to explain it.

So what are you going to do?

I don't know.

The worlds gone mad

she is, but she's not a man.

She's trapped in a casket

Can't listen to the map

And can't imagine he'll ever come back

Jag parked, smogs bad

and she has a plan

But can't get past the magnet

Magic has its way of making things go crazy

Why don't you just--&

Oh what? Have my people call his people?

Something like that

His peopl

I had a dream

About a tent

About a temporary tenant

This christmas, its

Resentment,

Tension

And whatever this is…

Oh yes,

"This is Skrillex…"

wayward

Hey.

Hey.

So, uh.

So.

What's wrong with you?

....what?

What's wrong.

Whats...wrong?

--With you.

SupaCree summons Skrillex.

Skrillex.

Stop it.

Fuck you. Skrillex.

Seriously, stop

You stop. Skrillex-Skrillex-Skriooex o

Oh no

Just stop.

In the parallel where…

SŪpAcree has become a disasterously egotistic and diva-like superstar, we see she is in this world, outwardly bitter, rather angry and dispondant, having learned to capitalize best not being herself.

A young intern helps to prepare an event; His trainer, an astute and rigid stage manager, after finishing a series of detailed questions about the theatrical performance and it's various attendees-+ leaves the intern alone for "just a minute" handing them her clipboard as she hurriedly rushes elsewhere. The intern scans the clipboard, flipping the front page over to reveal a hidden note. Taking the initiative (trying to be assertive in the newly appointed position), asks nervously...

...And what about Skrillex?

Who?

Skrillex.

Who the fuck is that?

Its...Skrillex.

Tell me who that is.

Uh…

Go ahead.

The intern stands, frightened at her anger. The stage manager returns.

_______________

I hate this shit, it isn't fair.

It isnt

Wheres my phone?

__

Woah. You did all this for Skrillex.

Pretty much.

Yeah.

I guess.

Yep.

Wow.

Okay.

You would.

(I did)

Burn it.

What?

Fuck that!

Ughhhhh.

No.

Sonny/fictional skrillex: Do you know why ai put you in this fucked up dimension?

Me: WHAT? YOU DID THIS? NO--WHY--??

Sonny: So you could get your shit together.

Me: well, that's fucked up.

S/FS: I DID NOT think it would take this long

Me: well, how long is it supposed to take?

S/FS: I don't know…

Me: ...well, how long does it usually take?

S/FS:

So wait; You guys from the future--

Fathomable future.

Uh-huh

Have seen the show?

Yes.

My show.

Mm-hmm.

/

Well then, how does it start?

-----------------------------

I already told you, no.

Yes.

I'm not going to Skrillex.

You have to go.

No.

What the fuck is NO.

I'm not going.

WHAT?

What.

You have to go.

Who says?

We do.

Okay.

Okay.

[beat]

Who the fuck are you?

OOH, ARE WE STILL BLEEPING OUT THE SKRILLEX?

Yes.

Sonny

Sonny

Sonny

Sonny

Sonny

Sonny

Sonny

You so

Funny

Funny

Funny

Funny

Funny

Funny

Funny

Do you

Love me

Love me

Love me

Love me

Love me

Love me

Love me

I'm so

Ugly

Ugly

Ugly

Ugly

Ugly

Ugly

Ugly

And I'm nothing

Without you

Was this a song?

Probably.

Looks like a song.

Seems like a song to me.

Nobody should ever hear this.

Define…”nobody”

The Song has become a number 1 hit radio sensation.

What the fuck is my life.

What the fuck is your life.

I don't know what the fuck.

What the fuck.

What the fuuuuuuck .

Speak of the devil—

(Terrified) what? Dillon Francis is here?

What? No—it's just Skrillex, he's just...here to collect.

What?!

What, dude—Skrillex is your plug?

Uhhh.

For what?

Where else am I gonna get premium space bass?

Aaahh

Gasp

I knew it!

I knew something about you was really Skrilly.

Hella Skrilly.

*doorbell rings*

Ok, no Skrilly in front of the—

He is magically just, suddenly inside.

In front of the what?

The two stand starry eyed in amazement.

...hey…

X2: hey…

Should we step outside?

Oh, come in—

—I did.

I see that.

(Lol )Right in

He did that.

He always does.

This...transaction is private.

It's fine. You guys are alright—maybe—breathe a little—

—large gasp, has not been breathing since Skrillex...what did he even do.

He like, apparated

No—apps—no. There's no fire. He didnt apostate.

Alright then, teleport.

That silently?

Yeah, I mean teleportals also are like:

—actual teleportal, which is a huge, very not quiet, black hole like vacuum with lots of colors, lots of light—

Oh.

Well, how did he get in, then?

He shifted.

“What the fuck is Shiffted!?”

The SupaCree and The Skrillex share these commonalities:

*S13 (13th power )

—-

Dude! I got the key!

You got the key,

yeah, it's one of these.

A bunch of keys in a wheelbarrow.

Dude. What. The fuck.

I don't know! I just know, she told me the key was on the key ring

WHAT keyring dyde?! This is just a wheelbarrow full of KE*T!

(He produces a heavy chain which appears to (not really) link the kets together

We...keychain.

—Meanwhile, God deletes all the Florida Keys—except for one—

I will not “go” to the “Skrillex Reddit”

Go to that place.

No way. We are going to the internet for ONE thing—and one thing only.

We are gonna skate to one song, and one song only.

BALL SO HARD MOTHERFUCKERS WANNA—

No. One thing.

Yes, I thought it was Skrillex.

We never go online for Skrillex.

Okay.

Not even shopping.

Alright, let's go.

You don't even know what we're going for

I hope he hears this

She says

I hope he makes it

And by she, I mean me

And I've been peayint for a way to try to say this stuff

Spit it out

Turn it up—

Woah...okay!

Okay what?

What are you gonna do with all this Skrillex?

Uh…

…?

…Just throw it out.

Throw it out!?

Yep.

Why would you do that?

*Shrugs* Don't need it.

Don't need it!?

Yeah, I just said that.

Are you serious?

Yes. Throw it out.

No way. If you're gonna do that…I'll take it!

You want it?

W--Fuck yeah!

For what?

I don't know. I'll think of something.

Okay.

Yeah?

Yeah...whatever.

Yes!

...okay….Just--come help me lift this.

“The Great Big Book of Skrillex”

This...is just an Encyclopedia.

...you bought encyclopedias?

I needed them for my library.

...you have a library?

It isn't finished yet.

It isn't...finished…?

Not yet. They're installing the elevator.

There's an elevator?

Of course there's an elevator; it just doesn't get to the library.

I meant—

Come on.

What did you do to my house ?

Well, after I put the fire out—

What fire?

The main one.

—there were, of course, several smaller fires—

What The Hell?

And now there's just that one.

A fireplace? When did I get a fireplace?

Well, I needed an easier way to get in and out.

—where does it go?

Out the chimney.

—wait, did you just say “in and out”?

That sounds good. I wish they had a vegetarian menu.

French Fries?

Uh huh.

Is that it?

I think so.

GIVE ME ALL OF YOUR SAUCE.

Ohhh, get ketchup.

Sorry, we're out of ketchup.

Out of ketchup?

Yes.

Okay, can I just have special sauce then?

We are out of sauce.

What.

Every sauce?

All The Sauce.

GODDAMMIT DILLON FRANCIS.

I hope this isn't like the Skrillex thing.

We're still under the limit.

Kick it.

—-ugggghh, there are homelesses here!!

—homelesseses are not always bad people

Homeless—AGHHHBLLAAARRRGHHH—

—-...okay, so they're not all sane, either but, neither am I.

Homeless—RAAAAAAHHHH

LALA—Aaahhhh

NANA—*supa drunk* BLEEAAAHHHHHH

DADA- Shhhhh—DADADADA

- (Each character and each ensemble joins until all together they are are a crazy chorus in the ensemble in madness together)

1. Turn off the lights 17 minute dance number

2. Magic is real 20 minute dance number

3. LALa Land

-La-Bay-Bay

-Hollywoodland

-HIII by the beach

-Tent City Madness (homelessess)

-The Bus Song

-¡Panic @ The Disco! (Robbed)

-Traiiin

-ShutTheFuckUp

-It's you! (Bless you.)

-LALA Land (tune it out)

33 minutes

ACT I— a young entrepreneur loses herself in the world of the bustling entertainment industry through entering the worlds within, and navigating the outterworld, while battling the worldly demons of darkness, as she fights for her life to break a curse set upon her by a devil with whom she will not name, but will haunt her—she must manage and master her inner magic to break this curse—and it is only when she learns that the curse may only be broken, if unspoken words are made spoken

I just ate my skateboard

That's okay I ain't bored—

That's ok I ain't organized

I came supplied:

Some dude replied

“I have the answer—come to me, you tiny dancer.”

‘Yessir' I replied with laughter

Smile bright cause I'm an actor

“Faster-faster-faster-faster!! I ”

Shhhhhhhhhhh—SHADDUP.

LALA- oh, hey you—!

DADA- I thought we were suppressing her

LUST-*sluttily*

GAD- *quite so*>> We *are*

LALA- *guiltily* —it's just...

DADA- NO. No ‘it's just'—

NANA- *drunkenly* yeahhh, keep it together, kassandra

LALA & DADA- Shut the fuck up, hoe!

[NANA shrugs and nothings away]

LALA & DADA make a face at each other—

- God, What the fuck is wrong with her, anyway?

NANA coughs loudly, backstage.

GAD- It's a curse.

DOC- we don't believe in Magic.

LALA- I don't believe in you, bitch!

HOLLYWOOD (ensemble)- BITCH—WE DONT BELIEVE IN YOU, EITHER.

The Three: Hot *daaamnn*

Mr Poopy Butthole- hot daaaaamn...! (yeah, there's cameos)

CAST: Mr. Poopy Butthole?!?!

Mr. Poopy Butthole: Uhhh—yeaaah, I just got here I uhhhh, I got big plans—big dreams, you know, I just—I'm gonna be a staaaar!!

CAST: Laughs—the laughter trails off into different forms—awkward, daunting, sarcastic—then, only the spirits and LALA—suddenly, it is dark, and she is laughing all alone. Her laughter turns into a sorrowful pout, looking about quite lost.

She shudders.

Lala- Fuuuuuuuck.

And I could get a place out in Hollywood land—

But I'd rather be close to the surf and the sand—

Cause that's how I planned it

This is my planet

(This is OUR planet)

Oh yeah, my bad—this is weird, having f all of us here

‘You should put on your ears, dear'

Hustle, hustle, hustle

That's how you get muscle

And it just is what it is

Bitch you know this is a business

And you know that's how you get this

Make your check, earn respect build up your interest

Bank?

No thanks.

Cause bro you know that shit stanks—

You studied all your mistakes—

Keep money, make money tell yourself thanks

(Thanks)

You'll probably thank your self later

(Twice?)

That's when you start making paper

(Thanks)

And yeah you know you got haters

(Who?)

Yeah bitch you know he's a hater—

(Boo)

Who?

Yo bitch—I told you no crying!!

(Woah)

(They go in the round, the 3)

“Yes, ohhh my GAD”

(

But I'm not

Spent my deposit on a house that's rotting—vultures spotting me—

Ex husband haunting me

PTSD.

Take it with me everywhere I go,

It follows me,

Swallows me up like the coffee cup I left and needed this morning.

Oh, Elohim.

Lala Land: a musical revue m

Escaping your past is not always easy—Master Your Magic.

Featuring music by:

Skrillex

(Vs)<<

Dillon Francis

Timmy Trumpet

Excision

Snails

Cake

With ORIGINAL MUSIC BY:

SupaCree

With compositions by

Elohim?

Score

Cast:

GAD- everybody has it

LALA

DADA (shaddup)

DEATH

PAIN

WOM

WOP

WUBZ

I have so many songs

I have so many birds

I've had so many lives

(That's absurd)

Yes, it's absurd

I repeat things I've heard

I've been walking through your worlds

And I can sit still

(Sit still, sit still)

Ladada

Don't let nobody steal your vibe

Your vibe's too high

Don't let nobody steal, you

Just get

By, by, by…

Just see you next time,

Never goodbye

Who the fuck is Kayla Lauren?!

Porn star.

Oh.

That was easy.

It always is.

Problem solved. Yes?

Maybe not his—

How about yours?

Sure, I guess.

Meh. Fucking dumbass.

It is, just—

It is what it is!

That's what I said—!

That's what I always said!

It's usually a cliche.

It always is.

Applies, definitely though.

Definitely, yeah…

Yeah…

…

…

…

Maybe they're just friends.

(Everyone cackles)

Poor guy.

He's not poor. Stop calling him poor!

You know what I mean.

*cracks the whip* psh—whipped.

Cooool Whip. lol

Ew.

I know, right? Poor guy.

Like, poor in spirit…

No, he's got spirit.

[reflects on Skrillex]

Well, he had spirit.

What happened?

What did happen?

[reflects on Skrillex]

Oh.

OH!

OH. OH. OH.

Oh, yeah.

That part.

Pshhhh.

...what do you think the album is like?

Well, it is finished.

Probably basic, like—

CUT TO:

Dillon Francis? Ugh!

Ugh! For what?

Noooo—this isn't possible.

This can't be happening.

Skrillex traded me?

What the fuck is this?! I thought we were a team.

No. No teams.

Idiots.

What, they don't know they're all on one team?

It appears not.

What's wrong with them?

Well—whos the weakest link.

All: Not S Ū P A C R E E

Right.

Agreed.

Yeah, we all agree.

I—just said that—

So, who's the weakest link—Skrillex, or Dillon Francis?

Flashback to Skrillex

Hm.

Hmm.

Hmmm.

Flashback to Dillon Francis

Huh.

Hmmm.

Fahk.

…

…

…

So, now what?

Well, I promised I'd wingman ‘em.

He doesn't need a—

[Dillon Francis]

Alright, go help.

See.

Dillon Francis Wins.

WHAT? I never win.

He never wins.

...I never win.

He know this?

Everyone knows this,

Who's everyone?

Nobody.

That's you, then.

Yes, it is.

…