| L E G E N D S: ICONS. |

| L E G E N D S: ICONS. |

By Three InitiatesComedy
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| L E G E N D S: ICONS. | episodes

  • [The Other Episode.] (SEASON 6 - ACT III, PART V)

    [The Festival Project.™]

    {Enter The Multiverse}

    LEGENDS

    ASCENCION

    SCARY MONSTERS & SUPACREE

    THE iNSOMNIAC

    DEATHWISH

    SEASON 6

    ACT III

    PART V

    Suicide letters? I like, write those for a living.

    Right, cause you're not.

    I'm not.

    Ah.

    Must be awesome in the world of careless thought—

    In the world of “I can do what I want” cause I have everything I need and all the right parts—

    And that's the reason he has everything he needs, is the right parts—the right amount of white, a right start.

    CHAK CHEL is crazy,

    She says I'm a crack baby

    And wants to take me back to hell where she made me and my soul mate playing some game with Satan

    (who she hates; he buried me then married me and then—)

    NOTHING.

    —well, not in that order,

    It's…

    All out of order, apparently

    (like all of LA during fake quarantine)

    OF COURSE IT WAS FAKE.

    I already told you that.

    Yeah. The moment you said it, the only people who might have—



    Oh shit—



    can dragons die of starvation?

    Not if that dragon is Hatian—remain patient

    (Please, remain patients)

    —Americans are evil, not all inherently—but let me explain this shit.

    How?

    Ah, yes—

    the other half—

    HOW.

    (hello, but stereotypically Native American)

    THE NICKELODEON CULT

    HOW NOW, BROWN COW

    WTF—

    Not that again

    WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUCK—

    Not that again!!!!

    Do you wanna—-

    Oh, no—not the dragon—

    Aaaaaahhhh—-

    Ahhhh yeah—-



    What's for Skrillunch?

    Skrillasagha—-

    —all that too, give you something to go back to—

    Careful, don't get stuck in a loop;

    Good Segway to that,

    Ohh—

    It'll give you something to look back on and laugh to just in case he reads it all and laughs and says

    Raven SYMONE—-

    mmmmm—nooo, go back.

    BACK?!

    Raven—you're only supposed to have like, 3 lines, this shit's budget, and we're running out of time, and time is probably the most expensive thing I can find—yeah—I'm sure of it—or I'm sure—or at least, I'm sure for the 3rd time.

    Find what 3s actually do, and you'll be fine.

    BITCH IF YOU REMEMBER WRITING THE RULES—

    [oh shit.

    The reality hits, you may never finish this shit

    TOLD YOU, there is no “in” to it!!!!

    (There's no end to it)



    Infinity crashes into negstivities;

    plans to wreak havoc on my back

    track this backmasked—-wait—-

    FUCK—

    What was I even about to—

    FUCK!

    Somebody shut that dragon up before I banish it to—-what the fuck was it called again?

    “Earth.”

    Why would you call it that?

    What kind of magic is THAT.

    Fat girl magic.

    Oh, I know this one—

    Drake talked about this one.

    He talks a lot about magic.

    ILLUMINATI CONFIRMED.

    (Sh—don't spoil it.)

    —Especially black girl magic—-

    Or maybe just “girl” magic.

    Don't touch that.

    JUSTIN ROILAND

    That's what she said.

    JUSTIM, YOU'RE FIRES.

    SKRILLEXES

    FIARRRRRRRRRRRR.

    Don't touch that.

    SUPACREE

    That's...what she said.

    DUDES

    HAHAHAHAHA

    She's so c00l.

    I love her.



    Hey—

    Uh-uh

    Mm—

    No—

    Noooope—

    Don't touch that with a ten foot pole.

    THATS. What. SHE. SAID.

    I T OL s—- poph

    What happened.

    It's—

    Omnipotence means—

    That you saw yourself running up,

    Prevented what you thought might be coming—but it's not—cause you caught it—and sent it to Nothing—

    Oh shit—

    “just Jimmy”

    >>>in the future

    Wow. Jimmy Fallon.

    Many hats, that one.

    Every time I get down to my last dollar?

    I think about Jimmy Fallon—

    Maybe it's just a safety device against suicide,

    Eventually, I'll laugh or write something I'll probably like, or find funny in some way.

    When I'm trying to figure out why and how

    I even started writing about

    Jimmy Fallon,

    So I search

    “Jimmy Fallon” in my Google docs

    And if I haven't at least chuckled yet—

    I might, at that point,

    At least.



    I'm functioning at low capacity,

    I haven't eaten

    When I sleep, I hardly dream

    Or remember where I've been in

    Astral projections;

    This circle of protection,

    A perfection of reflected projections

    Of the vision,

    Created in our image;

    Imagine,

    Making television—

    I had to write a film about it

    Now I just remembered,

    I have albums, the advantage

    I want him, but can't have him

    Above average handsome man//

    All I am is an obsessive fan without a family

    Have a plan,

    But nothing left to stand for

    I'm just buried in the sand,

    And asking if the seagull might just hold my hand

    Damn

    I'm so damaged

    Damn

    A dine and dash sounds nice,

    I can't—

    I'm showing tracks

    I feel like trash,

    But haven't half the magic left

    I had inside my hands

    Damn

    After all that

    I just feel fat

    Maybe a can of candelini beans,

    In place of meat

    Maybe a salad in a bag

    Can I afford that?

    Yeah, but then it's back to

    Jimmy Fallon

    Damn

    Damn

    My karma came back fast

    I left the man with

    Jimmy Fallon,

    I'm not worth ⅓ the bag of

    Pretzels that I smashed

    Inside the can of rancheros,

    That fell out as I ran

    A random act

    Of patriotism,

    Dressed up in a sinful

    Leather dress,

    And a dad hat



    The House Nigga caught me red handed:

    I told him I was hungry, then just left it

    [red light camera]

    Man. I just saw the flash

    Ask Uncle Sam if I can have my land back

    But I'd have to move my mask,

    And haven't been vaccinated;

    So I can't…

    Pass,



    Beyond the border of internationals

    At that,

    I text my fake ass friends a snap

    Of half of someone's head,

    He's sitting in first class,

    And can probably afford to check a bag,

    But all I have is my backpack

    And I'm certain under a black mask

    Is the man who backmasked tracks,

    And blasted from the past

    With ashes grey to match

    His privileged rich pajama, with the slacks

    He bounces back,

    And asks a fan to

    “Gimmie your hat”

    And just like magic, she passes it.

    Wait, I'm actually passing, yeah?

    Who's actual class is this?

    Pasqualle's a proud headmaster,

    And a Bampheramph,

    The Captain dances in his honor

    I put on my cap and gown,

    But can't go on,

    and can't believe I'm being honored

    Valedictorian Kandi Accomplished PLUR Police and Motherfucker OG Raver Graduate,

    I'm still glowing up from all the love I got when coming up from under,

    Or something;

    I had to lose my temper

    Followed one, and then another,

    And I wonder what was up

    When it was over

    I'm just a lover;

    But I never found The One,

    Now I'm not gonna

    I'm too busy seeking out producers, to compete with

    Got computer, complete with Ableton

    Don't mind me, I'm just writing all this out instead of sorting through the Dillon and the Sonny or the anyone I've ever loved just listening

    And listening

    And singing, writing, dancing;

    I was born inside the box,

    And I still haven't started living

    Change my name to Sunnï, Daisy, Raiin,

    I go insane in pain

    Just sorting me through all these possibilities inside my brain

    Yes, I guess I've changed

    LA made me everything I hate about myself

    And so I'm changing

    I don't want anything I need

    Just take this apathy and envy, gluttony and greed,

    I guess I'll serve the PLUR Police,

    Until I find the peace the city needs

    So I can sleep in it—

    — I can finish writing my goodbye to everyone I love;

    Including me—

    I can't be S U P A C R E E,

    She's just a vigilante alien, a superpowered something

    Who should be mixing,

    But she's busy writing this.

    Actually…

    What is it?

    It's...A Saga.

    A Saga of What.

    Just—a saga.

    Oh, My God.

    No, I'm not—

    This is a lot.

    Look I promised.

    Promised what.

    This fucking Saga.

    Saga for What?!

    Everybody else is drunk and on drugs; I'm keeping the records of history that's lost!

    [meanwhile, lost in the sauce]

    LLLAAAALLAAKANSJSKahajajaaqwqwwewwAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!

    Oh. I see.

    It's a lot.

    Ah. Carry on.

    EŌS

    There will be Hell to pay!!!!

    Hell?! To pay?!

    Hah, yeah, right—

    You expect Satan to pay, dad—?

    He doesn't have any money—he just keeps making shit up and then making people give it to him for nothing.

    ...for..: “ nothing…?”

    Yeah, literally nothing. The people that worship him go there instead of here or Hell when they die.

    Mm. That's terrible.

    Yeah, and then when he gets it he keeps spending m it on useless shit.

    He is a useless shit.

    He's nothing.

    I have to save my kid.

    It is terrible.

    Raven Simone—

    ((Incase raven summons-/

    Ahem/-

    Raven Symons

    ((AHEM RAVEN SYMONE))

    RAVEN SYMONÉ

    What.

    Where is my cloak.

    ALRIGHT—WHERE IS HE?

    He—who?

    JIMMY.



    Which Jimmy—dead Jimmy or live Jimmy?

    Like, Jimmy Fally—

    Jimmy *Fallon?

    Jimmy Fallon: Live, Jimmy—or whatever—

    Is this why—- shhhhh shhhh—- they poured the pennies on ‘em.

    Ah yeah, the last dollar.

    Fuck.

    Westwood trees have good memories…

    ALIOCHA

    You must listen to avicii.

    SUPACREE

    …nah.

    What?? She can see dead people?! Maybe—-maybe she can see Ricky!!!!

    I knew he was dead.

    Holy shit, that dude has a really big.

    HERO!

    Yes, Your Majesty.

    HERO of ASCENCIA:

    THE MESSENGER OF THE GODS AND

    ASCENDED MASTERS

    omg. Is that Kaskade?

    Woah. WhT imminati headquarterz is this???

    This is the Mormon Temple.

    Oh.

    Nice.

    INT. The 90's ISH. WESTWOOX, CALIFORNIA. NIGHT

    Pasqualle, please—

    Come on, Ricky—can you tell me where we're going with these Daisies strapped to our knees?????

    —-



    There's that Doompy Poomp again!

    I don't know what it's doing

    (Skrillex)

    ...He just does whatever he wants… <<

    Ugh, my brain won't stop plamping—

    And you're still not done pooping…

    PLAMP.

    PLOMP.

    Pooping—bitch—

    It's been HOW MANY DAYS, since you've eaten?

    OH, no—we're stuck in a tailspin again,

    trapped in an ambulance—

    I didn't ask for this shit!

    I just had to get lit, light a fire,

    get ignit—ignited

    — and I'm still on fire In He'll

    I got excited— but I lied:

    I died on the floor, right at Audiotistic

    What a ride.

    …did I miss it?

    [WRITES ENTIRE BROADWAY SHOW]

    Yep, you missed it.



    This bitch has been burning at the stake for like, 6 centuries or something—

    (But that statistic is fake news, just like everything they choose to feed you.)

    I can't do this

    Hey, wait—-

    Don't leave me here!!

    Ah, fyck—we forgot God.

    WHAT?

    Yeah. Mom's gonna me so mad.

    Aahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    WHY ON EARTH WOULd

    (like you almost wouldn't, but you would)

    you TAKE YOUR BABY SISTER TO SOMETHING LIKE THAT?

    Cause that planet's a blast!

    Yeah—she loves it!

    Yeah—she loves it!

    Yeah—she really does—it's just—you know—

    Uh oh—

    Oh shit—

    Oh FUCK!

    He knows! He knows! He knows! He knows it was us!!

    GODS MADNESS, RAGE AND RATH TEARS A

    Wait.

    Pirates!!!!!

    Oh, that scene—

    God shits and sometimes by a happy accident, it makes music and you get all ugly and make bass faces at places and it's almost as if

    WHITE BITCHUS

    It tastes weird, or something…

    (Becky, eating seasoning)

    In the distant past, in linear time—



    —I swear, this dude is just letting it

    Did Skilled for real like record himself like stuffing some Asian chick with his massive dick?

    I think so.

    That's what it sounds like.

    That's because that's what it is.



    Shhh that's a secret—

    thought we'd get to make it together and get to laugh about it somehow;

    but now I'm just stuck in a bathroom trying to figure out how to push the rest of it out,

    I'm almost proud of this—

    Took a long time to come back around but, man—

    the best planets have longest orbits around—and it's been about a thousand thousand thousand times since I seen my—

    Your—light come out…

    Come out—

    Satan tried to draw me out, I hate this.

    Make my gravy,

    Tessellated all these maybes—

    Try to mask my crazy

    —try to hide the grief I have for my babies

    but Heaven knows God sends angels everyday to pave the way through heavens gates—

    I begged and begged he not take your love and Satan?

    He gave me the option of swapping mine for yours—

    I said “sure, the world needs Skrillex way more than it needs me for”

    but that was before…

    Call little —foot

    And I forgot my little...little...little…



    Look.

    (Don't look)

    THE EYE, INSOMNIAC

    Look around you… what do you see?

    (at dreamstate, meditating)

    LOL.

    Sing it!

    *sings*

    Oh yeah gimme that real breathy Jimmy Fallon

    (sings like Jimmy Fallon)

    Perfect.

    EXT. DTLA. DAY

    Here he comes.

    The door of a MATTE GREEN MERCEDES BENZ swiftly flies opens, as DRAKE BELL/TIMMY TURNER, narrowly having escaped the mysterious gang chasing him through the city passing, looks over his shoulder—he is knocked completely unconscious, flying into the street and off of his motorbike, and bursting into a cloud heap of a POWDERY WHITE SUBSTANCE.

    You mean cocaine?

    He's got kids!

    Everybody in this has kids.

    Yeah, except Skrillex.

    Skrillex has like 15 kids.

    WHAT.

    SKRILLEX has conceived NUMEROUS LOVE CHILDREN.

    Oh no.

    I like this one.

    Are these twins?!

    Three sets of twins!

    Why are so many of them Asian?!

    Don't be racist.

    Sorry.

    Come on, Chen Lin

    I'm Lee Fong!!

    Did I studder?! C'mon, we're gonna be late.

    It's your dad's big day.

    …I never knew my father…

    Oh my god. What's wrong with that one?

    He's half shark, I think.

    Gross.

    GIMMIE MY BODY.

    NO.

    WHERE IS IT?

    Ask Dillon Francis.

    WHERE'S DILLON FRANCIS.

    Hah. Wait.

    Hehe.

    He thought it was tequila.

    Hah, yeah—

    YOU FILLED THIS ENTIRE BOTTLE WITH ACID?

    That's whT you get, Dillon Francis.

    HANZEL.

    VWAT.

    GET IN HERE.

    Oh shit. This is all hitting the fan.

    AMANDA.

    Yes ma'am

    AMANDA BYNES is a struggling actress.

    Why are we switching dimensions so quickly?

    Idk, ask Skrillex.

    Skrillex does not exist.

    Fuck,

    I'll never make it to heaven by eleven;

    This might be hell again,

    Call it irrelevant,

    What level is the medicine in?

    Or the elephant we haven't addressed—

    But I can't remember,

    I've been in the sauna since

    Fuck.

    What.

    I'm out of gas.

    Out of

    HOW DOES A SPACESHIP RUN OUT OF GAS?

    Leela, I've got some bad news.

    What, Fry?

    Nibbler just passed.

    HE WHAT.

    Mm. Deadmau5.

    Don't be gross.

    I meant—

    Shit.

    I better get to the delicatessen

    I haven't learned my lesson yet,

    I'm stressing on this

    I SHOWED UP IN BROOKLYN JUST TO GET YOU TO WRITE THIS YOU FUCKIN MISERABLE LITTLE SHIT

    Damn. Skrillex seems a little evil.

    I like the Devil.

    At least I got him out the basement.

    RANDOM MOVIE TITLE

    That's what it's called!

    Yeah.

    DUFF

    More weights.

    Uhh—

    DUFF

    Duff.

    Duff,

    (That's such a weird name)

    Shut up. Duff—

    DUFF

    More weights, please.

    I don't think that's a good idea.

    DUFF

    What's an “idea”.

    Uhh…

    Duff.

    I know, it's just.

    I didn't do the greatest in interplanetary concepts and relations.

    Uhh—

    Plus, this “English” is dead and primitive linguistics; you're lucky I even understand anything you say to me—

    Uhhh.

    DUFF

    And I don't understand anything you say to me. Because it's alien.

    You've contradicted yourself.

    DUFF

    MORE WEIGHTS, PLEASE.

    I don't think that's—

    DUFF

    I'll do it myself.

    DUFF wheels herself to the weight rack angrily.

    DUFF

    MOVE.

    Damn. I can't wait to see this movie.

    It's—

    THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE

    INT. SUPACREE'S LAIR. DAY

    Hm. What's this.

    It's a chick magnet.

    Ah.

    But check this out;

    Ok.

    When you flip it

    [ten hot dudes enter the room]

    Woah.

    A dick magnet.

    WOW!

    Yeah.

    But SUPACREE.

    Yes I am.

    How come when it was on the chick magnet side, nobody came in the room.

    We're the hottest chicks within a 10 mile radius

    Oh, wow.

    Yeah.

    It doesn't attract ugly people.

    NEW AGE FEMINISTS

    EVERYBODY IS BEAUTIFUL!!!

    Tell that to the Instagram algorithm.

    Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.



    I'm still lost in your eyes;

    I think I'll be in love with you forever.

    Okay, so that wasn't about who you're thinking it was.

    Doesn't matter, still applies.

    ITS. APPLIED. PHYSICS.

    I hate this.

    Go away, then.

    Deadmau5 is the worst professor ever.

    Can't we just be friends!?



    NO, I'M GONNA FUCK ALL OF YOU.

    Oh my GOD! STOP.

    JUST STOP TALKING.

    GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!

    Hey.

    What.

    Remember when Dillon Francis took off your sunroof In a fit of jealous and passionate rage?

    No.

    Uhh—

    Wait.

    DEADMAU5 (and Kaskade)

    I remember.

    THAT WAS DILLON FRANCIS?!

    DILLON FRANCIS

    I'll show you “peanut butter jelly with a baseball bat” —-

    AH.

    OH MY GOD.

    Ah shit, I gotta catch these closing announcements.

    LOVE SHACK, THE B 52-s.

    ATTENTION DEFICIT ATTACK

    +10 Nostalgia

    +90 DJ PTS.

    UGH.

    Let lost in Ū.

    Uh.

    What.

    It's peanut butter jelly time.

    Why? Why is it peanut butter jelly time?

    Uh.

    What.

    Cause I'm craving some bread—

    Yeah?

    Some butter.

    Let's go.

    Peanut Butter.

    Uh-huh.

    Wait.

    You said—butter?

    I said Butter.

    Then Peanut Butter—

    Then peanut butter?!

    what.

    This is toast.

    Damn.

    So it is.

    It is, though.

    Dude.

    I know, huh.

    What is your life.

    It is—this.

    This is— wow.

    I know.

    At course, by now, I knew I could never be the kind of high caliber woman any of them needed or wanted—but it was fun to imagine, and live in a world at least inside my head where anything was possible, if only for a moment.

    Goddamn.

    Thats just a gum wrapper

    I'm just a dumb rapper

    I've never trapped before

    But used maps before

    I like pants, and whores;

    And plastic doors

    And furthermore, I like

    Oranges

    Oranges

    Oranges

    YOU MUST TAKE THE A-TRAI.

    Okay, Usnavi.

    It's cold as

    TITS

    I'm in the midsts of a big shift—

    It's mid winter,

    And I ain't shit,

    But God gave me

    TITS

    I got chapped lips;

    I'm double hatted

    Wide hips,

    (If you could tell I had em

    Cause these fuckin pants is baggy

    TITS

    I got two pairs of gloves packed

    I think I just gave up on this rap

    I got distracted by the actor in Manhattan

    Guess I'll just go back to spammin fans of—

    SANDWICHES.

    WHA—

    (They have Boston accents).

    Lol.

    (Heavy Boston accents.)

    Oh, that makes this scene waaaaay funnier.

    Yeah.

    THE SANDWICHES, MA.

    THE WHAT?!

    THE FUCKIN' SANDWHICHES.

    Maybe I'll enter through the exit

    At 11:47 exactly

    We stopped High St. Brooklyn Bridge

    “That's brilliant”

    It's just a simulation

    This is not an empty threat

    We must control the population

    So I might as well be dead

    I just can't take this

    I just can't take some medication

    When they know I'm half indegenous

    And history has shown

    They just kill everything I'm made of

    I'm post racial

    But half native

    You can't restore my faith

    The news is fake,

    I make mistakes—

    But still deserve a place to live

    —go be a slave, then.

    Pay a living fucking wage.

    You're fucking crazy.

    All the world's a stage.

    I heard Dillon got engaged.

    Well let the wedding be a rager.

    DANGER.

    ⚠️

    {Enter The Multiverse}



    [The Festival Project.™]



    COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©



    -U.




    25 min
  • [That Episode.] (SEASON 6- ACT III, PART IV)

    [The Festival Project.™]

    {Enter The Multiverse}

    LEGENDS

    ASCENCION

    SCARY MONSTERS & SUPACREE

    THE iNSOMNIAC

    DEATHWISH

    SEASON 6

    ACT III

    PART IV

    (An Anthology Compilation)



    It's life in grey;

    I'm not okay—

    Amen,

    Amen,

    Amen

    It's life in black;

    I'm just a hack

    I should go back

    Okay, then

    Amen

    Amen—

    A—

    It's life in blue;

    I still love you;

    I'm on my way, then

    Amen,

    Amen

    Amen—

    I hate men,

    But, you know what hate is?

    I loved so much that I changed it

    Changed it

    Change this:

    Your way of thinking,

    Today

    It's life in pink;

    You know what I think?

    It's always spring in LA,

    But I hate it

    I'm not okay, okay?

    I just might not make it

    TO U II [Working Title] END SCENE

    I, having run off from I, runs into a forest alongside The Endless River, which opens out into a beautiful meadow, the micolored cosmic sky twinkling sweetly above, strange auroras dancing in the skies; a field of glowing and stardusted singing wishflowers at her feet, she frustratingly falls into them, soft grass puffing with the twinkling sounds of fairy dust and sprites (a homage to the lion king) the wishflowers softly sing her to sleep with the subtle and sweet frequencies of Skrillex. (A homage to the wizard of Oz)

    From Above & Beyond, a flock of Cosmic Creatures in flight spot a golden glimmer from afar; they descend dimensions-- to get a closer look; Closing in on the universe within the confines of a massive structure, which propels itself seamlessly through galaxies faster than the speed of light and sound, though she appears as a large golden space station, slowly drifting through the atmosphere. Manned by yet unseen beings, the golden ship descends upon Skrillex, almost silentl— a swishing whir as the ship, more similar to a futuristic building, an ovaline rounded structure seemingly structured in brass, gold, and silver as it docks to the soft soil of planetary terrain. The landing is soft enough not to have awaken Ū, still sleeping; but an immense light pours from the openings of the ship, waking her--and blinding Sonny as he finally approaches from behind, having been searching for her. She is drawn into the light; he shields his eyes as the beings emerge from their massive station.

    Monologue/Montage

    I fell in love with you...it was an accident.

    I fell in love with you, because I had to; I hadn't thought about it before, but i've been thinking about it ever since.

    Had I succeeded in my attempted suicide, we wouldn't have come face-to-face…

    Had I succeeded in my attempted suicide, I'd have no reason to write something so pathetic as this, pititul letter, which you will probably never read.

    Probably, anyway.
    I've spent a majority of my lifetime very deeply troubled, yearning for all the attention one could ever crave--until suddenly, I no longer craved any at all.

    Solitude, rather than isolation, became sacred, and safe to me;

    It was in the solace and quiet of my very own world, that you entered my kingdom...and it became ‘ours'.

    Silence. Nature. Astrology.

    My greatest found pleasures, in a cavalcade of endless self-doubt, self-loathing...a tiresome collection of all the hatred I've harbored for myself in my twenty-something years.

    I fell in love with you...I didn't mean to.

    I didn't mean to do anything, except be.

    Another festival, another escapade...another chance to dance, in the sunlight--the moonlight, under stars…

    And under the stars, is where I was forced to find you.

    Now, it seems, can't escape your presence--or lack-thereof.

    Unrequited? Perhaps. But, not unprovoked.

    I love you because it is in me to do so.

    I will always love you, always.

    There is a world where you're in love with me, as I am you;

    All I can do now, is hope that this is that same very world, and that as days go by, we draw closer to one-another, rather than further apart.

    In truth, friendship, in the very least, would serve as a worthy reward...for all the worry, all the wonder, and all the willing I've done for you; in honesty...I'm ashamed in my inability to let go--yet also proud, that I am able to love this much, this hard.

    To see you with someone else, now, would be a gentle relief; to know that you are kept in love, with graciousness...a subtle gift, an answer to a prayer I asked.

    Loneliness, I wouldn't wish upon you for anything--love is, in fact, my whole wish for you--be it mine, or not. While I can wish that it will be mine, I've also wished for you, the very best--I would want not for my flaws to burden you.

    Flaws are what create our perfection;

    God is, as I am.

    Losing you, the flame of fear that set my heart and soul to fire;

    Cancerous, weakened, plagued--premonitions impolitely penetrated my fragile, eggshell mind…

    the death of a friend, fast-forwarded and reflected into my mind's-eye;

    How could I forget a face like yours--eyes like those?

    How could I not know you, as I have?

    Tears bearing your name roll over my nose, like the rain on a rose...the burden of belonging to one, rather than some;

    To all, rather than none.

    So now, I keep my favorite photo of you in my phone...a comfort, to the weary and wounded heart I carry.

    I can pretend that your sweet voice accompanies mine, as I sing to soothe myself, as I sway in solitude;

    A gentle kiss, I imagine to give, if ever the chance.

    I love you, without reason to--and with every reason to, I love you.

    Find me, again




    As the ship departs, charging to go into warp speed, Sonny is left alone on his own planet; as a slight panic falls over him, A key-like object falls from the ship as it dissappars at warp speed into a portal. As his hands clap together, catching the object, the sound rings outward--this clapping pages The Skrillex, which lands promptly beside him, exclaiming-- "I AM SKRILLEX"; he has never seen this ship before, however proceeds onto the ship as though familiar with extra terrestrial phenomena all together. We only see him enter the ship; we do not follow him inside, but instead cut to Ū on the Interdimensional SpaceTime Station.

    On God.

    I need you to fix the Everything.

    Everything; The Machine

    What's wrong with it?

    We don't know.

    So, how can I fix it without knowing what's wrong?

    The Everything, Sir.

    What's she doing?

    A Conscious Machine

    It seems to be malfunctioning.

    It's at capacity.

    The entire existence?

    All of humanity.

    This entire entity—

    What's she doing?

    It has evaporated.

    ...they just vanished.

    But nobody cared, or noticed.

    ...because they were homeless.

    More clothes. Shoes.

    Oh no.

    Where'd they go?!

    Socks, pants—

    Entire actual outfits—

    —as if the people inside them had just been/-

    —yes, as I said. Evaporated.

    Just—remove this.

    End the simulation.

    What is this?

    That's the secret.

    An entire planet—

    She completely refabricated—

    An entire duplication

    All of humanity's records have been encrypted; each era of existence

    I can taste the smell of my breath

    And the scent of my sweet sweat

    Is just getting the better of me

    The better of me

    There's no time left,

    And thete's nothing left to give but love, in loveless,

    My friend, you're dead

    But this is where I've always been

    This is where I've always been

    And,

    You've been dead a year, my friend

    But I've always been here

    I've always been here

    And,

    It's just getting clearer,

    Some may, and some may not remember

    Come May, then quickly comes December

    Let me rest until September

    Never have I ever,

    Never does this end,

    Ashes and Embers,

    Ever clear,

    And Ever withers

    In my head,

    I rest my memory here

    EXT. CENTRAL PARK. DAY

    An old woman takes her daily walk, carrying with her a paper bag—

    Oh, I love this movie.

    So does Disney, apparently.

    Forget it, Disney would never hire me.

    Why not? They hired him.

    That was before.

    What is “before”?

    SIR.

    Your Highness.

    The King is here!

    —which—King?

    “The” King, Your Majesty.

    In this realm?

    Yessir!

    Goddamit.

    What's wrong, sir?

    My good tie is dirty.

    Shall I phone the tailor.

    No— just—

    ???

    Call the car.

    The car, sir?

    I'll go shopping myself.

    If you insist.

    MA.

    WHAT.

    WHERE'S THE SANDWHICHES?

    THE WHAT?

    THE SANDWHICHES, MA.

    Who the fuck are these people

    We'll get back to that later.

    [WORKING OUT FURIOUSLY]

    Hey.

    AAAAAAGGGGBHHHHH!

    [A heavyweight flies across the room.]

    (lol.)

    Uh. You okay?

    YEAH.

    Alright.

    AAAAAAAAAAGGHHGGGHHHHHHHH.

    [leaves quietly]

    (In the other room)

    Oh my God.

    I know.

    What happened.

    C'ESME'T!!!!!!

    Oh shit, The King is here.

    Ahem.

    Your highness.

    MOVE.

    ‘You'd best not have this in your possession.'

    The low, dark, and quite ominous voice said.

    The Amerhyst had done some strange things before now—it had hummed, vibrates, pulsated, and even rang; but now, on its own, without touching it all—it had begun to tumble, roll, and even

    OH SHIT.

    The Amerhyst began to levitate.

    OKAY, FUCK DILLON FRANCIS.

    WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON.

    THROW THAT THING, OUT THE WINDOW.

    Don't do that.

    OH MY GOD.

    WHAT IS WRO—



    RA.

    Oh God.

    Wait, where's Beyoncè in all of this.

    BEYONCÉ

    A war is coming.

    WAKANDA—

    NO, we're not doing “WAKANDA FOREVER”

    WAKANDA FOREVAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!

    DAMN.

    This is lit.

    This is the craziest Coachella ever.

    HANZEL

    Zhats because it's not ‘Coachella'




    What.

    It's not?

    I bought the tickets…

    HANZEL

    —zhis is zBeychella.

    Ah, shit.

    What.

    This is about to get.

    LADY IN JERSEY

    SKRILLEX!

    Oh my God, I forgot about that bitch.

    I didn't.

    She comes to all my shows.

    Damn. That sucks.

    INT/EXT. A FIREY PLANE CRASH

    So, that thing about Shia was, that—

    YATZEE. I WIN.

    GODDAMMIT.

    I DONT EVEN KNOW HOW TO PLAY THIS GAME.

    Fuck you.

    MORE WHIPPETS, DRAKE.

    DRAKE

    (Still dusting)

    Huh.

    NO, NOT YOU.

    I found a new muse;

    That's no good for you—

    Why would I keep you around

    Why would I keep you around

    Why would I keep

    SUPACREE

    I WANT A REFUND

    ITUNES

    FOR WHAT.

    SUPACREE

    HONESTLy, NEVERMIND.

    ITUNES

    WHY?

    FLASHBACK:

    [at the gym: hears massive]

    OOOOOH.

    [buys entire album]

    YAS, I CANT WAIT TO—

    [first listen]

    Honestly, Nevermimd.

    Lol. Goddamit. Wow.

    SUPACREE

    TAKE IT BACK.

    ITUNES

    NO.

    SUPACREE

    WHAT! WHY?!

    ITUNES

    YOURE WELCOME.

    Uhhhhhhhh.

    Uhhhh.

    What's up with them.

    [Earlier]

    More whippets, plz.

    God damn, dude. Ok.

    I'm just livid

    *huffs whippet*

    I should be livin with Skrillex

    Or gettin lit at the mellinium with Eminem in denim

    Addendum:

    Adderall and aluminum,

    Whatever was in this fuckin melon,

    And a million men a minute,

    If you're into it

    You know what.

    What.

    Honestly, all I really wanted was my dick sucked.

    That's all anyone ever wants, really.

    What.

    //SLAP-DICKSUCK-SLAP//

    *complete and total bewilderment*

    Uh.

    What.

    You should not put Jimmy Fallon in this.

    —Jimmy Fallon put himself in this.

    JIMMY FALLON

    LOL. WATCH THIS.

    Uh.

    JIMMU FALLON (CONT'D)

    Hehehe.

    Uh.

    Please explain this.

    Maybe later. I gotta do some butt stuff.

    Ew!

    At the fucking gym! Don't be gross!

    INT. EQUINOX SPORTS CLUB, NEW YORK SKRILLEX.

    Wtf time of day is “Skrillex”?

    What planet is this?!

    This is Skrillex.

    “The Endless Night”

    What time does the sun come up?

    Which Sun?

    Beg your pardon!

    Please, don't beg.

    How many suns does this planet have?!

    We have six.

    Well, when does the first one come up?

    Eventually.

    “Eventually.”

    Hey, uh, Timmy?

    Yeah?

    What happened to Jesus?

    He was just over there.

    How long's it been?

    Idk. Like ten minutes.

    Alright—

    She works 6-10

    Ok

    Then 10-6

    Jesus Christ.

    Here, take this.

    Jee, thanks, I guess.

    Don't thank me yet.

    Hey, look.

    It'sa—

    Fuxk it.

    ^^^its a bell.

    CANE.

    What, Abel?

    Fuxk, I hate this story.

    Merry Christmas!

    Fuxk this shit.

    What time do you guys open?

    We haven't closed yet… m.m

    Well what time do you guys close?

    Never.

    This is hopeless.

    Do you really think it's going to work.

    It has to.

    What if it doesn't.

    Fuxk it, we're all rich.

    Not me. My parents took all my money and spent it.

    Hush, Gary Coleman—

    God rest his soul!

    The dead NEVER REST

    At least, not yet

    Wanna bet?

    Eat shit, Ariana!

    That's MADAME GRANDE!

    No it isn't.

    You're right, it's princess!

    …I had ramen noodles for breakfast.

    —most of us are rich.

    Are you sure she won't remember you?

    Don't worry. She won't remember any of the black characters.

    No one does.

    I got this.

    Ni-no-Nick-Nick-n-nick-nick-nick

    NICKELODEON.

    Hey there.

    Uh.

    Face here!

    Why wasn't this creepy when I was 5?

    Idk. It's creepy as fuxk, now, though.

    *whawhawhawha*



    And,

    Jimmy Fallon has a galaxy, expanded from an unplanned catastrophe, you see—another cosmic cataclysmic explosion of light, color and frequency created by the pressure that comes from being nothing, and something within you telling you something's something—but nothing's nothing —and it's interrupting the peace—or rather—lack there-of-cause there's nothin' greater you're aware of, in fact—you're not there—

    you're nothing and

    Nothing —

    Hey—

    —nothing—

    —what's what?

    What?

    Seems like something.

    What's ‘something' ?

    something's something—

    nah, can't be, because everything is nothing; “

    Well, then, what's “because—?”

    Because is because…?

    Because, what?

    What's what?

    What's what— what?

    WHAT WHAT WHAT?!

    >>>Well, at least they play South Park Now<<<

    INFINITY! Infinity!

    BITCH! GET THE PICTURe

    This is so much, she'll never remember it.

    Maybe if we send her encrypted messages, she'll eventually remember inventing it.

    {Enter The Multiverse}



    [The Festival Project.™]



    COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©



    -U.





    23 min
  • [This Episode.] (SEASON 6- ACT III, PART III)

    [The Festival Project.™]



    Presents:



    {ENTER THE MULTIVERSE}

    THE LEGEND OF…

    THE INFINITE SKRILLIFILES

    GERALD'S WORLD

    &

    ASCENSION

    DEATHWISH

    LEGENDS

    THE INSOMNIAC

    {ENTER THE MULTIVERSE}

    SEASON 6 - ACT II - PART II



    He's a decorated veteran;

    No matter what the weather is,

    He's in it for the better, or the worse

    (Let's get the better then)

    This is the bitter end,

    This is enemies and friends,

    At dinner, brethren

    And whether or not you believe in it

    Receive it:

    Cause you're better off just grieving

    Than reasoning, or reaching in for grievances

    DILLON FRANCIS

    We're gonna get this bitch.

    God,

    This is awful discouraging:

    “What do you bring to the table?”

    Like, nothing.

    I guess I'll keep writing this fable—

    Here's cane and here's Abel,

    Here's Kenan and Kel,

    (this is cable)

    Here's me:

    I'm unstable, I'm miserable—

    Hey a-hole:

    If I was a horse, would you give me a stable

    To stay in?

    Hey Blū, move to your left.

    (So I moved to my right. )

    I am not okay. I'm not okay at all. Fuck.

    How embarrassing.

    Whatever. Maybe it's time for a nice…

    Uh…

    Something.

    I don't know

    Let's cry in the sauna for 30 minutes.

    Okay.

    I wasn't getting any work done at all;

    I was hungry, and tired and sad—

    —and horny.

    —and something in me was slowly dying, or rather, very quickly. Sonny had roasted me, first with Kayla Lauren, and then in entirety; surely, Instagram was evil and algorithmic at best—I had approached the DJ in the basketball court in hopes of landing a booking, of course met with the reality of being told what I already knew, and yet, hearing it from the tall and muscular “actual verified artist” was somehow more discouraging than just knowing.

    DJ

    I've got like, 107 DJS in my phone.

    Ū

    Okay.

    DJ

    My personal trainer's a DJ

    Ū

    Ok.

    DJ

    There's probably 15 DJs on just on this floor, right now.

    Ū

    Ok…

    DJ

    I have 10 guys under me with 500,000 listeners a month, and I can't even get them gigs.

    Ū

    Yeah…

    DJ

    It's all about ticket sales.

    Ū

    Yeah…

    DJ

    I've played at major festivals in over 40 countries—

    Ū

    Congratulations

    DJ

    —and I still struggle.

    Ū

    Wow.

    DJ

    You gotta get out there: just go out, get to know the promoters…

    He had already lost me. I wasn't interested in any of that, nor was I capable; I hated promotion, wasn't pretty or skinny enough for the mass majority of individuals to want to support me just by looking at pictures on Instagram or “promoting”, and, not that I was lazy, but nearing 30 had no interest in going out, partying, heavy networking, or dressing to impress just so that someone would ‘see' me. It had been an off day already, but now it was setting in that perhaps the harsh reality was just that I was shitty, trapped in my ugly body until I could figure out a way to kill it—and that maybe I didn't want to be a superstar DJ—I just wanted a puppy and a baby.

    That sounds like a lot of work.

    Way less work than promoting.

    Then, here's Skrillex over here—

    —*sonny—

    Whatever.

    He doesn't have to do anything

    Skrillex tickets sell themselves

    His fan base is so ridiculously massive,

    It's amazing.

    His music is incredible.

    He's trying to kill me.

    Maybe.

    I had probably over caffeinated again— I couldn't stop crying, but I had been thrown off most the day, probably hungry or dehydrated or a combination or both—and though I wanted to leave, and return to what I wanted to call home, but couldn't—I had promised myself a full day long or excersise, sauna/steam, and shitoosting—which all along had been the plan for the day before, which I had realized was Tuesday, not Monday—and Valentine's Day, which I might have almost forgotten, if it weren't for Sonny; and whether or not he was watching or listening, it didn't matter—I still felt like I was dying, like my heart was falling out of my cavernous chest and into my stomach, which was rumbling, bubbling up bile and asking me to feed it—but there was no time to eat, sleep, or rest—and though the season 6 timeline had been well established in my mind, it was a shit show on paper. I had tried to put my mind together enough to just establish the season in entirety so that I could be done with it—but fighting off the thoughts of dying, suicide, and homelessness had been relentless. It wasn't in my nature to just ‘give up', but being a DJ, ‘especially in New York' was going to be rough, and in two days, or one—I was set to pack up and go no where.

    The 9 pin for the spare,

    I'll always have you here,

    I'm on a train to nowhere

    I'm on a plane to nowhere

    A 9 pin for the spare,

    I love your eyes,

    I like your hair;

    I'm on my way to nowhere

    I'm on my way to nowhere

    INT. 30 ROCKERFELLER PLAZA. DAY

    LIZ LEMON

    I do not want to go to there.

    JACK

    You're going to go to there, and you're going to like it.

    LIZ LEMON

    I don't think I'm going to like it.

    JACK

    Have another shot of Tequila

    LIZ LEMON

    —put some lime in.

    [he does; she takes the shot]

    LIZ LEMON (CONT'D)

    I'm going to like it.

    Ugh.

    Have you ever thought of ending it by suicide?

    It's do or die

    Or,

    Should I waste my time

    Just chasing idols, lit like fireflies?

    If I am you—

    And you are I,

    No use in asking why

    You know, if I was in love with someone—

    I would do the same thing.

    Maybe not “In love”, just— love.

    I need red albums to rest,

    Green to wind me up, and get ahead

    I might feel better if I had a bed,

    Forget it, i'm just a lunatic

    In love with this:

    Give me attention,

    Give it quick

    I can't get back To get you, yet—

    I'll never rest

    Because I'm dead inside my head

    Another suicide again!?

    I'm trying not to, Tim;

    And Aliocha was my friend,

    Did you find him yet?

    I can't define what Skrillex is,

    It's just an algorithm,

    Dillon Francis,

    Instagram—

    And that's where Fran is;

    Damn, The Nanny?

    That'll make me laugh.

    Cry in the sauna?

    Yeah.

    ACT III, PART III

    THE BAMPHERAMPHS HAVE carefully mapped out MANHATTAN ISLAND, PARIS, FRANCE, LONDON, ENGLAND, and ROME, ITALY in search of SUPACREE.

    INITIATE SEQUENCE C

    MEANWHILE, IN A PARALLEL CROSS DIMENSIONAL REALITU/

    AMANDA BYNES, NOW IN HER 30's, is at the laundromat. Her eyes widen as she views the television screen: BREAKING NEWS: SUPACREE'S HIGH-SPEED CATASTROPHE: LIVE.

    So far, I've been sleeping,

    Resting peacefully,

    And sometimes, think I'm dreaming,

    Like I'm supposed to be

    Why aren't we equal!

    Why aren't we equal?

    What are you eating.

    I need you.

    I guess I'm a martyr, I have to do this.
    (Why dream of suicide?

    I hate being homeless)

    One day late, and a dollar short

    Don't be silly

    I love you.

    Stop doing this.

    Whatever.

    I love you.

    I love you.

    Whatever.

    I love you.

    I love you.

    Does it-- matter?


    CHAL (From season 4, still in an infinite loop)

    IT DOESNT MATTER.

    lol.

    Just pull the plug, Sonny.

    I can't.

    Please, just do it already.

    AND, WE'RE LIVE.

    She's dead.

    Oh, she's really dead.

    MARK.

    What.

    It's time to go.

    Already?!

    WHERE IS TOMMY?!

    Okay. Who the fuck is Tommy?



    That's what I call ‘em.

    THOMAS WESLEY PENTZ

    Holy shit. I forgot about this.

    I didn't.

    PLEASE MOVE FORWARD.

    You got this.

    I most definitely, do not got this.

    This is Godless.

    THE SOUTH WILL RIIIIIIIIISE AGAIN.

    Jesus Christ, Jeff. A lot or your fucking fans are racist.

    EXT. LOST LANDS. ETERNALLY

    ——YIP-YIP—YIIIIIIIP.

    SSOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUIE.

    Light begins to seep through the cracks of the wooden coffin DILLON FRANCIS has been trapped in; we do not know how long it's been. The sound of a shovel removing dirt from above startles him( though he is certain it is only a hallucination.

    I need a solution.

    Define: Solution.

    There's a whole lot of pollution in the ocean.

    God, you speak perfect Skrillex.

    I am him.



    Okay. Now what's happening.

    DRAKE BELL/TIMMY TURNER

    —I wish—

    Hurry the fuck up, Timmy!

    DRAKE BELL/TIMMY TURNER

    I WISH THIS NEVER HAPPENED!

    Suddenly, a portal opens into the infinite unknown and swallows them whole.

    FEDS

    —quick, this way.

    [however, they've disappeared. The alley is empty.]



    Jeez, this whole timeline is weird.

    This existence is weird.

    W E I R D

    Hm.



    {Enter The Multiverse}



    [The Festival Project.™]



    COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©



    -U.







    23 min
  • Aftermath. (Unreleased) Sunnï Blū, -the kidd. {THE TIME CAPSULE}

    this is a cringeworthy read, i'm sure of it.

    {THE TIME CAPSULE]

    Here lies everything I won't delete, but wouldn't dare to publish (as of yet), and therefore banish to the land and/or realm of impossibility, where everything entirely consists of unimaginable, unfathomable, inconceivable, never-ever-happened ( or will) unexistence.

    Nothing Here Exists.

    Amen.

    (I didn't write this.)




    The Colenel's Jounal.

    “Would he be mad reading this shit? “

    I mean. I have to step back at this point and admit to reading this shit to myself at this point, that...



    I stumbled upon an interview with none other than The Great Mike Tyson--who--if coincidences actually existed--coincidentally dated my mother oh-way-back-when. I remember the shenanigans she went through to get him to sign a pair of boxing gloves for an auction she hosted, once, when I was younger. For that, I've always gotten a little chuckle, whenever I've randomly ended up watching something. Dude is funny.

    As for other dude? I'm so lost.

    It's almost like Insomniac (or whoever) can read my thoughts--or at the very least, my text messages.

    It's been a year of strangeness, and I'm now more lost than found.

    Why is Pasqualle so strangely familiar?

    What is this connection, i'm missing?

    Who am I, if not S U P A C R E E?

    I'm aware of my cosmic insignificance, my societal displacement. I am nothing useful that I know of, but it seems so that I've been being followed.

    So maybe he's not a white supremacist, after all...he seems to love as much as I do--if not more.

    So, that one's my fault, as everything is.

    I wonder if the window of opportunity has truly closed.

    I wonder what to make of all this, at all.

    I'm so, so confused, and so lost, and so…

    ...confused...

    First, I levitated.

    Still can't get over that (literally)

    Then....everything else. Literally everything else. From playing drums at Ruskos set, to weirdly making my way to Excision, just “following a vibe”--my failed suicide attempt, and running away to Bass Canyon where, everything in my reality officially shattered.

    Now, here I am...about to be homeless, jobless, and lost in love. I can't shake it off anymore, I can't let it go. My brain's wrapped around all of it, all the time.

    Prayers, Mantras, Methods. I'm driving myself crazy trying to wish away the pain.

    I need to be...need to be…

    …

    Needed.

    Bearr needs me. Sometimes, in all the pain--I fail to see that. But he does--and if I can't make it in show business...how are we meant to survive?

    There's no room for depression and poverty in motherhood. After losing the twins...I just can't.

    I can't be sad and parent at the same time.

    And, maybe that makes me weak.

    Maybe it makes me stupid.

    Maybe I've just had enough.

    But there's nothing I wouldn't give just to know that there's love, somewhere out there for me. Is it selfish that that's all I want?

    I think i'm a good person, but maybe i'm wrong. I can account for hundreds of premonitions, predictions, visions--outstanding sensitivity to energy...but how could I misread, and misjudge, so easily?

    Something inside me never really made it out of that tent.

    Then, going back--maybe it was all of me, that never made it out of that ambulance.

    Am I just the special kid in class--and it's obvious I've been left behind? When I hear myself speak aloudt, I wonder if I am retarded. I feel other people also wonder.

    Either way, how would anyone have known about my musical history so broadly, as it's been displayed?

    There's no going back from it. I can't go back to being a regular “Skrillex” fan. It's almost like...almost like I can't go back at all. And I miss that, a lot--just being able to be honest about what my taste in music is, who my favorite musician is….

    I tense up when I hear the word “Skrillex”.

    In good company, I can shrug it off, I guess….

    But on any regular day, it still feels deep. It doesn't leave my mind, ever.

    I can pretend to move on, but I can't unlove.

    I can't unlove.

    So, i'm two-for-two...three-for-three, if you count Josh Pan's video, where his face swells up and he turns into a reptile…

    I remember waking up for work with swollen eyes, and bulging, puffy skin...the way the spiral to insanity began...not with suicide, at all--at least, in the traditional sense. I was working 80 hours a week. I needed it--I needed out of my marriage.

    Pasqualle's sweater

    Sonny's Sweater, now falling apart--because, yes--I've worn it every day for nearly a year.

    A red, white, and blue blanket, reminding me of my presidential ambitions--which have since, not faded...but become realistically reflected with this sense that, I have much to fulfill between now-and-never.

    I'll only run for President if I can afford it.

    I can only afford it if I am successful in music.

    I found it heartwarming that Mike Tyson is so enamoured by the culture. To see him swell with joy, such as I have, upon discovering the world of raves. Apparently, there will be some kind of permanent Oasis, someday...I hope I live to see it.

    Better yet, I hope I live to play there.

    I want my chance on all the stages, as selfish as it may seem.

    To earn a place behind the decks, an unrealized dream.

    But, can I find it to become all that it takes?

    To read and move a room, to create and connect with people, live onstage. To inspire a crowd--telling a story with music. To give love, the best way that I can.

    I miss myself...but no I don't.

    I do miss never having to worry about whether I was too fat to be found attractive by someone I vehemently admire--but never thought about sexually, in all of the years i've loved watching him live.

    But, its a vibe.

    Much ado about Elon Musk.

    I'm not smart enough to become a rocket scientist--and it's too late for me to become an astronaut, as I once dreamed...but there's something in the space above us all, that seems to connect the space between us all--and it's almost as is the walls are caving in.

    Time and space continues to collapse upon itself.

    I might be broken forever...but then, I always was.

    Who'd have thought the Grand Prize for your third suicide attempt is a Skrillex?

    I'm cursed, in the way that...it won't fall off. My brain won't un-Sonny itself. I'm on default to give a fuck now, and there's no turning back. I guess this is what I get for hating on *fangirls*...now i am one.

    Problem is, I'm a lot less cute.

    How often does shit like this happen?

    There's hypnosis through music--and then there's losing your entire soul to something outside of yourself.

    Why and how am I so out of place, in this world?

    ‘You're too good for this world.'

    Nothing's been forgotten, it's just getting more suppressed.

    I can pretend to move on, but I won't.



    I just found the Holy Mecca of research for my weird, invasive project.

    Apparently DeadMau5 had some kind of comedy show, or something--called “coffee run”

    It seems to be about...2014, but haven't bothered to check yet--I'm sure, though that this predates the infamous ‘fued'. Blah blah blah--i'm learning too much about these people.

    People. Real people.

    ...was interrupted to watch the new episode of Rick and Morty; Lucky me. One half-hour and several belly-rolling laughs later, I'm back...with slightly more self confidence that, if The Heavens grant me whatever kind of combination of confidence and focus that it will take to bring the Festival Saga

    If nobody's sampled this video, I've stumbled upon a literal goldmine. Life imitates art--and music imitates music.

    “I love it when it's super sweaty.” (How do I resonate with this so well?)

    “ A Los Angeles Real Estate Guy In Torono”, says Dillon.

    “Yeah, there's a few of those.”, Joel recants, stoically.

    Now i'm watching people who never mattered on YouTube, in a finally

    “Sonny says…”

    If i can ever make my brain learn the magic that makes something like Ableton somehow turn into a banger.

    “Does he drive?!”

    I've wondered this myself.

    “I don't think he does.”

    I knew it.

    Dillon Francis' awkwardness is reminiscent of mine...again, here I am wondering...who I might be if I were born a white male--if nothing was changed, but the body.

    CRUSTPUNKS.

    How did I get here?

    Oh, yeah. I specifically opened an incognito window to...fuck it. I know what I'm here for.

    The thing is, I don't know what i'm blessed with.

    I don't know that i'm talented…

    It could all just be a Grand Delusion…

    Do I hate myself enough to try this?

    A movie where the entirety of the fabric of [my] universe is music, and the musicians that make it. A universe that already existed in the Multiverse of Rick and Morty, since it's strange inception into my being.

    Wait, how the fuck did I get here?

    I was already on a writing tangent

    Probably--I hate enough to

    “ i get to go home--not tomorrow, but the next day”

    This experience is becoming so humanizing. It is a job, this music shit--Touring takes you everywhere but home.

    What the fuck is ‘home?'

    Perhaps I am meant for this shit, after all. I don't have a home, anyway.

    I also don't have any music under my belt, but--with any luck, I can pump out the LP I promised my twins.

    Today Marks 5 years since Skyy passed away. May 23rd will be 2 years, since Phoenixx left us.

    It's not a good time of year, for grief. With no friends I can trust (Annie's Toxicity is again rearing its head), no family that loves me the way a family should...I find myself completely isolating from what Love is, almost forgetting what it might have felt like.

    “How often are you home?”

    “KAAAAHHHHHHHHHN” If i'm ever lucky enough to learn how to make Dupstep--that deserves to go before a fucking deadly drop.

    I've officially seen Skrillex more times in person than ever on video--which disincluded, of course, the tent incident--something I'm realizing that if I'm unable to catch up with myself in time, I'll have to live with forever.

    Can I answer my own prayers?

    At this point, i've given up any expectation of what it might be like to achieved enough to earn any kind of place in that world *their* world...

    5/6/2020

    Life is unfair sometimes.

    Like--do I want tacos, or divine inspiration?

    Do I put off fasting for yet another day, just for the temporary comfort and satisfaction of eating?

    Does limiting my eating to once every 24-hour-or-less suffice as enough of a self-sacrifice, that my prayers might be answered?

    I highly doubt that it is, but still--I often ride the line between just allowing myself to feel good when I can (and food does, make me feel so....so good) and remaining steady in my fasting.

    Then, it has been over 6 months of almost constant fasting and praying, all over someone I haven't properly met--all over myself. Because, the longer I stay in this mindset--the clearer it becomes that it is all the same. At the core, there's only really one thing in existence.

    Skyy will have passed away 5 years ago tomorrow.

    To think, I should have had 5-year-old twins.

    They would have been so beautiful; I've never quite imagined them so, umti now. I miss my babies so much.

    Will I ever be okay again?

    I thought to record a song for Skyy, but it would never be ready by tomorrow, in the perfect way that I would want it to be. I don't want to put out anything less than the best.

    I'm being as patient as I possibly can with teaching myself--but grow frustrated in my limitations. The only thing standing between me, and the tools I need to make the music I have...is me.

    (Really, it's money.)

    Lack of money is keeping me from being unstoppable.

    With unlimited money, I'd have a home--I could fully pay all 4-years of my tuition at UCLA….ny dream school. I'd study music, anthropology, astrology….maybe even engineering.

    I can't make myself prettier--but I can make myself smarter.

    Google University just isn't cutting it. I want to make a difference in the world by any means, and i'm trapped behind the gate of poverty.

    I just want a closet full of harem pants, chuck taylors, and T-shirts with stuff I like on them.

    I just want to wear my kandi every day.

    I just want to be behind the decks atop the stages of my favorite places…

    I want to be someone's favorite DJ.

    I want to be one of my favorite DJ's favorite DJ

    I, I, I…

    How selfish.

    What does the world need? Less people.

    Well, i'm honestly one-less, I guess, if I can;t make it in music, in art. If I can't make a decent living just by being myself...i'm not meant to live at all.

    That much is true--no life worth living includes waking up every day to go to a job I hate, that barely pays my bills.

    No life is worth living that

    Something strange happens to me when my favorite people go ‘live' on instagram

    Social Media, a young demon with whom I constantly evade, when I am not forcibly fighting to fit the status quo (which, I cannot.)



    Watching my social media right now is like the digital equivalent of “You can't sit with us.” I've grown attached to OWSLA like some sort of distant, imaginary family--only, I know this is something I've just embedded into my mind--the ultimate wishful thinking. Everything I do seems fragile, as if the grid I had discovered not only exists in the outer world, but also my inner--that everything I do, think, say, sing, speak makes a difference in what will happen moving forward. Reawakening my center has been difficult, saying the very least--I am almost paralyzed by negativity--made catatonic through senses with which I cannot control; My ‘home' life has become a hell where i'll-spirits and pitiful thoughts are cast about me--in reality, I have no home. In truth, I'm unsure that I have any purpose, either.

    It's all been bothering me…

    Now it's something that just hurts, like everything else.

    Add to the pain, subtract from willingness to live.

    Add to the trauma, subtract from the motivation to succeed.

    How much of my fault is this?

    Who did it?

    What is it for?

    Amongst the most otherworldly of theories, the possibility that extraterrestrials had actual involvement in removing Sonny from wherever he was supposed to be (Burning Man, albeit) and placing him where I was.

    I've wondered how else the dancing shadows cast against the canvas of the tent were so perfectly made-- ancient egyptian prophecies foretold as a light show, in the moments leading up to the one where the entirety of my being was shifted, in an instant.

    I dreamed of a B2B with Skrillex, and instead got a face-to-face with Sonny Moore.

    One, apparently, does not quite equal the other.

    Eight (or so) months later, and I've filtered through all the stages of grief--for all of the ways I had to lose him--as much as one could be lost, without actually dying.

    But, perhaps I am dead. My soul and spirit at least, are trapped, and tainted torturously from all I've come to gather.

    Running into the night, like a bat fresh out of hell, away from the visions I was forced to have from our exchange-- I can only imagine, had I acted any differently and stayed, rather than fled what else I may have seen. In only the few short moments we shared together...I was able to see more of his life than for anyone I've ever ‘seen' for, besides myself. To have, after only a few moments--seen both backwards into his past--and forwards into a seemingly shared future of some sort.

    I don't know what else to call this creepy psychic shit, other than “seeing”. To even call myself a “seer” would be a heavy title, I'd be too uncomfortable to claim.

    Still, vivid memories of the dude's past--and chilling premonitions of the future, have left me disgustingly sick with a concern that wholly did not exist, beforehand.

    But, when faced with the question: “What would it be like to actually lose him?”

    I fucking lost it.

    I've never taken well to celebrity deaths--perhaps, overly sensitive in ways that suite absolutely nobody--I just so happen to have fallen apart numerous times, upon learning of the passing of those i've long cherished. I collapsed fully at Michael Jackson's passing, scrolling through the African TV channels in disbelief, as I desperately searched for a News Channel in English to confirm that it was indeed, true. This was, of course, a couple years after I cried for hours with Back to Black on repeat in the wake of Amy Winehouses' death--going even further back, I can recall arguing with a classmate that Steve Erwin, another hero, was brave--rather than ‘stupid', and undeserving of his untimeley demise.

    A special place lies in my heart for the day I remember losing Robin Williams-- a weird memory which collides in the now, with my affinity for Skrillex music and the strange outer connectivity my emotions seem to have in the passing of those I wholeheartedly admire; I've shed tears for Whitney Houston, Prince--I've shed tears for all of them.

    But none so much as for Skrillex, who is [surprisingly] still alive…

    And I'm mad about it.

    I'm mad about it, because I was [partially] happy in my place, as a fan. I wasn't even the best fan, or the biggest fan (metaphorically speaking--physically, though--I probably hold a record of some sort.) I wasn't following his social media--I wasn't following his anything, honestly. I was just crossing my fingers that with every lineup released, I might find the name “Skrillex” plastered to the top of it, or standing out broadly against the other ‘S' names, if alphabetically presented.

    I'm mad about it, because I hate myself. I've been hating myself my entire life. But i've never hated that I loved Skrillex--in fact, I've always been quite proud, having watched the project skyrocket, as EDM penetrated pop-culture in the years following my college endeavors.

    Never really thought to think that at any point, we might be equals.

    We're not--outwardly, anyway.

    Inwardly, though?

    Fuck me.

    It's like I'm bound to it by the roots of the Tree of Life.

    Like something in my DNA was activated by an overabundance of Skrillex.

    I've undoubtedly, and by far crossed the threshold of having listened to 10,000 Hours of Skrillex, guaranteed. No calculations needed.

    Still, there are perhaps millions of others who share the same affinity--and at least a few thousands who are more outwardly obsessive than in. It works, when I need to know something I'd rather just ask Sonny myself, but can't--there's always a kid in the fan pool who has been quick to find whatever information I'm looking for, long, long before I've come to look for it.

    Poor guy.

    For almost an entire year, that's all I've really been able to think.

    ‘Poor guy.'

    Because, if the roles were reversed--and for whatever reason I decided to make my way into someone's tent at a music festival (I wouldn't) and I scared them into a shock, resulting in them fleeing away from me--I'd feel like shit.

    And, if I had been touring my entire life and watched the culture grow and morph into the nearly unmanageable able monster it has become--i'd feel like shit.

    If I had to watch an ambulance cart away someone in the crowd during one of my sets, I'd feel like shit.

    If I had to do a live set while I felt like shit, I'd feel like shit.

    and ...if some random fan fell head over heels in love with me, simply because I crawled into her tent, or made really good music, or made her feel some kind of way…

    I'd feel like shit.

    And that shit probably happens all the time.

    It's been 10 long years for me, with Skrillex-- but I can't imagine how long the last 10 years have been, as Skrillex.

    Now I think about all the shit DJs go through, being DJs….what's more, I've had to give in-depth thought to what it means to be a celebrity at all--what it might be like to have someone grow an obsession over you--unprovokingly.

    Although my ‘obsession' for this particular person can't technically be considered ‘unprovoked' (I was minding my own business, after all--and Skrillex was not on the lineup.) I can't help but feel for those in the limelight whose charisma and talent combined attract every type of creeper imaginable.

    I'm just the kind of creeper that wants to make music; any previous searches as an attempt to ‘get to know' Skrillex, previous to last August, originated in attempting to comprehend how to create such organic sounds--exploring and studying how intricately layered and carefully arranged each of my favorite sounds and songs were made. Piecing together how exactly an artist like such, had become as such.

    Now, i'm just entangled in self-doubt, as it seems the entire next generation is equipped with whatever skillset it takes to become an electronic musician. Self-doubt, as I fear that my body weight intimidated him as much as his presence intimidated me. Again: All me. All bad.

    I've nowhere to turn to to unleash this shit--it has to be a secret-- and even letting it slip to Annie in the isolation of the aftermath has felt like a mistake, since I allowed it to happen. Can I keep a secret? Ha. There are things that only I know, certainly.

    The premonition I did subtly speak of, I refused to unearth in detail, even to Annie. The other visions I was made to have, still my own secret; I've begun to wonder if, upon meeting Sonny, I would keep it to myself; I suppose that would depend on nature and context.

    But, I think about it every day. It is my first thought upon waking up, my final thought before coming to rest--it has permeated into the only dreams I ever have anymore--crowds my semi-waking thoughts as I toss-and-turn throughout the night; the amount of energy exchanged, the amount of concern that consumes me....lets me know that it is all apart of something far beyond my comprehension, far beyond my senses...far beyond any understanding of the universe that I may have.

    And, it hurts.

    As bad as it is for me, it's probably worse for him--IF he remembers any of it. Then, probably a seasoned drinker (lol, “probably”) There's a good chance that, well-- he does remember.

    Oh God no.

    If I could motion to be erased, I would. I've been trying to erase myself for the better part of a year, including and certainly not limited to August 4th--an attempt I can stand to think I had not fully recovered from by the time it all happened.

    What the fuck did happen?

    Though it can't be denied that each of us possesses some kind of magic--the origins of mine can be traced back, at least on one side. Powers I was ‘born with', as told by my father--something I only believed until I was old enough that it didn't make sense--and something I was forced to recognize once I was old enough that it did.

    I want to know what exactly it is that ties us...

    Where this love--which is what it is, undeniably-- originates.

    I've spent the better part of the last year praying and meditating, and attempting to loosen the knots in my stomach enough to self-soothe enough to settle that, at worst--

    Sonny was just being a pretty white boy, looking for a good time--and I just became a victim by knowing how to have one.

    Alternately--how fuck fuck would he even know I exist?

    As i've stated, I was the epitome of a silent Skrillex fan, prior to all these spectacular occurrences.

    I may have, at some point online--said something about Skrillex being my Spirit Animal…

    (still true)

    But can't imagine what else might have been garnered in my attainable, tangible history, which would alert him of my existence at all.

    Then, with all the money in the world, you truly can do anything…

    And that's what I hate in all this.

    Him--having all the money in the world, and me, having none…

    The very thing that separates us from settlement, myself from closure.

    Really, the only thing I want. Closure.

    ‘I got love, fuck your money.'

    Sonny can be anyone--he's earned that right. He can be with anyone--deservingly so. I want for him the very best--and, knowing that I am not (physically, anyway) am dismissive of any judgement cast.

    I wouldn't want me, either--looks matter, I know.

    I just want to know what he means to me--in this lifetime, in this realm, in this reality.

    I didn't have to be moved from where I was to be inspired by him--I just always was. I didn't have to think about being attracted to him--I just always was. I didn't have to think about being connected through the music--I just always was.

    And it all came crashing down in a tent, at the bottom of the rabbit hole--where I lost my mind--after having already lost my soul, to something beyond the senses, long ago.

    I committed wholly and permanently to making music when Phoneixx died, almost 2 years ago. The point was never to sound like Skrillex, but rather to be like Skrillex, as an artist--but, after much speculative examination--I guess, I always was.

    I lost myself in the early days of Myspace.

    From First To Last rang through the hallways of my middle school's corridors.

    Chiodos carried me through the days of wrist-cutting and air-dust huffing, through the days of binging-and-purging, wishing I was prettier--and in the height of all that is the drama of living in my very own Teenaged Wasteland…

    The Rocket Summer was handed to me by the hands of an angel, as I transitioned out of awkward adolescent depression and into an almost-well-adjusted life at a performing arts school, as an aspiring musician, singer, dancer and storyteller…

    The dream that carried me out of Utah, and into the Heart of Hollywood at the age of 16…

    The dream I thought died, long ago.

    When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?

    Billie Ellish's spirit collided with mine, as the first time I heard her voice, I shattered inwardly, and shivered in the resonance that is the understanding of pain, born undoubtedly in love; I shuddered to think that someone so young could feel so devoid of the willingness to live, to move onward. My response upon first experiencing her music, of course, a genuine

    “...Is she ok?”

    Three little words.

    I tend to really mean them, any time I ask.

    “Are you OK?!”

    I blurted, as my entire self exploded into shock, as I immediately recognized the face I've known for years--and looked through the widened eyes of one so now devastatingly human--to something inside of myself.

    Something about my voice shifted him; He became a mirror for all my pain, all my doubt--all the shame I have, for all that I am-- my demons came straight to the surface.

    Voiceless, now, and shielded in the fetal position, we faced each other silently.

    'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm Sorry.', I thought loudly, as I lay panicking.

    I stared down into my chest, ashamed to be anything but invisible, thoughts racing. I dare not lift my head to look at him. My heart pounded, as I lay screaming silent apologies for my appearance--for my very presence, for my own existence.

    I couldn't process his presence in my reality.

    Choking back tears, I tried not even to so much as breathe, as I silently apologized for being born--and though I wanted nothing more than to reach out to hold him, I lay all-but-lifelessly--wondering what went so wrong that he would seek to find me.

    The familiar smell of liquor permeated the air, as my heart sank, throbbing as it pounded...I know an alcoholic, when I smell one.

    I did actually wonder if he was okay....(and I've been wondering daily, ever since.)

    But clearly, he wasn't okay.

    Clearly, I wasn't.

    Clearly, nobody's ok.

    He slipped his praying hands between my thighs, as I died inside--and all my outer senses blended to become all, and nothing at once, again.

    Exit Skrillex, Enter Sonny.

    How does a mere peasant earn a spot in the company of the Highest Priest?

    I've not bargained with the Devil, but begged the Heavens that my life would end before his...the First Fast emerged as a direct result of self-sacrifice; To serve as a protection against misjudgement--to realign my soul with it's true intensive purpose--in hopes that my body would shrink to form something suitable.

    The memory of his hands between my thighs, a haunting reminder that--I just may be too big for him…

    The reality is...of all that I am, and all that I have, and all that I wish to be...it just may be that--he's too big for me…

    metaphorically speaking.

    I'll have to become a damn-near Superstar, just to get to know the people--that know the people--that know the people, that know people who can connect me to Sonny, on any level. I'll have to get in line behind millions of other hopeful DJ's, producers, singers, dancers, songwriters--hundreds of thousands of entertainers who might kill-or-die to get to know Skrillex in any way-shape-or form.

    Romantically, I'd be competing against at least a million perfect-bodied beauty-queen fangirls who would do anything--and I mean anything--for their shot at Skrillex.

    The truth is, I'm not trying to get to know Skrillex; The truth is, i'd rather know Sonny.

    (Whatever that's supposed to mean, right?)

    I don't question at all our potential compatibility; there's no doubt in my mind that there's some chemistry between us--be it of ancient origin, an extra terrestrial genetic code, or otherwise...but I'd bet any money I actually had, that someone as highly regarded as Skrillex would be ridiculed, trolled, and tremendously hated by many, many fans--for associating with someone like me.

    I don't even know if it's like that--but, again--crawling into someone's tent is...kind of intimate.

    What in Heavens would one want with me, when he could have perfection-- Absolute perfection?

    I kind of get it. I'm used to being fetishised. I've always been the black girl who liked white guys--I've lead a life that's made it easy to learn that Jungle Fever is often taboo among the White Caucasion men who find black women attractive enough to fuck--but would never want to “date” us, or bring us home.

    I've learned that--at the end of the day-- most white guys, want white kids--even if they like to fuck black girls.

    Then, there's the added bonus of some genetic flaw which has allowed my body to at one point, have ballooned up to 380 pounds-- a body which, even after a 200+ pound weight loss, would disgust anyone with eyes, in what most would consider “cute rave attire”.

    And, although shrinking from a size 28 to a size 10 is somewhat of a ‘grand' achievement, I look like an asymmetrical potato sack with my clothes off.

    If there's anything I know about men--and especially the affluent ones--they love to have trophies to showcase. I've yet to see a body like mine on the red carpet, or as arm candy--or as the leading lady, anywhere.

    No, there's no such thing as a fat Cinderella.

    Still, he's one of the most handsome creatures i've ever seen-- undoubtedly one of the most beautiful creatures on this planet.

    I will continue to love what I know of him wholly and unconditionally. On my best days, I even hope to live long enough, and well enough to have the honor of properly meeting him. Never could I have the courage to ask him on a date--nor would I subject him to the cruelty of the outer world by alluding to the fact that he may, in fact be someone more important to me, than as just a musician--as with anyone i've ever loved, I only want for him the best.

    On my worst days, The Devil assures me that it was Annie he was really looking for, who he may have seen me with at the plethora of festivals we attended together last year--or perhaps, even Idania, who was supposed to have been there with me…and it would make sense. The Devil also constantly reminds me of how much prettier they both are than me--and better in every way.

    But, it was long ago that I came to terms with the fact that anyone who might come to love me--would also love Annie and would love her more thoroughly--her, having the more attractive body and face, being more ideally pretty.

    Standing next to Annie, I always lose. Even on a good day.

    All this, I can be sure to cast aside, however--because at the very best--he was looking for me, and everything between then-and-now builds into something of substance or significance…

    and at worse, my favorite figure in music absolutely hates me, and regrets my existence as much as I do.

    Either way, Skrillex hits hard any time of the day, any day of the week.

    And…

    Either way, Sonny hits home, all day, every day--until I can manage to learn to speak.

    Eight pages later, and it still hurts.

    Eight pages, and i'm still mad.

    I'm still crying.

    I'm still useless.

    I'm still stuck.

    Stuck on stupid.

    Stuck on Sonny.

    Stuck on Skrillex.

    Just…

    Stuck.

    And it hurts.




    5/5

    Another day.

    Nothing makes me hate myself more than waking up.

    ‘Don't look at the phone.'

    instructions, handed to me some time ago by the Divine--since then, I make it a point not to look at my phone, if I can help it, before I've sat up to pray, and meditate. Lately, I've been unable to relax at all enough to focus on a proper meditation, before realizing my actual self-worth (nothing), and falling into the depressive non-motion that has been me.

    How many evil men will it take being caught in the midst of, will it take for me to realize that I've been allowing myself to painfully absorb their essences, even without a single touch? Just living here alone has set me further back from my goals than I was--then--I'm beginning to feel that my ‘roomate' may have ties to White Supremacy; the evidence does just keep on building.

    It has occured to me that Jason's warning that Nick may be deep undercover for some Government agency is most likely true. Though I err on the side of not snooping through other peoples' things--I've happened to stumble across indicators which point to the likely case that he is, in fact, hired by the government or some other private entity--probably as part of some secret experiment, assigned to psycologically torture and disable mentally fragile individuals; It seems as though the experiement was designed in order to test morale, will power, self-control, and proper judgement-- tests which I've been concious of, but in the moment have not always cared about passing-or-failing.

    From the painful assortment of disgusting and obnoxious sounds make throughout the day, torturing me through unpleasant and peace-shattering sounds, left victimized by my synesthesia and recently pinpointed misophonia--or something similar...whatever it is that makes slamming doors, cabinets, and the items crashing to the floor after lazily being thrown across the room methods of torture.

    To the cavalcade of poisonous, sugary and addicted substances, which only seem to appear or are offered during crucial fasts--or, pushily and passive-aggressively left in my living space without asking whether or not i'd like any. Just left there, to be discovered upon finishing a shower, or returning from a nightly walk.

    And on days when I am actually hungry, or needing to eat? I am offered nothing. Only when I fast am I ever offered any sustenance.

    It says almost too much about my roomate as a person--to offer every time, or never at all would be acceptable, and understandable--but to only invite one to eat when one feels so ‘inclined' is beyond cruelty. It's privilege showing itself to be one of the only faces uglier than mine, that i'm aware of.

    While i've elected to use my headphones as a shield, life's not always easy immersed in a sound bath of isochronic tones and Theta Waves--and though it does excite me to have expanded my music library, with additions and updates I've been longing for ages-- it's almost more stressful to think about the amount of music that I don't have.

    Songs I would add to my “sets”, if you can call them that. If I can call myself a DJ--if I can call myself a person, anymore.

    Really, all I am is hurt feelings and trauma wrapped in flesh; I might be less of a person than I ever was, once.

    Everything costs--whether it be money, the world's currency--or time, the currency of the soul.

    Torturous is the life of an artist, who cannot herself make ‘art', as she sees fit.

    Everyone in Hollywood has a screenplay in their back pocket; Everyone in LA has a dream, two-to-three-jobs, and a side hustle--and me? I'm just learning to DJ to self-soothe, having given up hope of ever becoming anything greater than the happiest guest at the rave nearest you.

    It's harder than it looks….(or, maybe it isn't, and i'm just retarded.) Building a music collection worthy enough to grace the decks in any of my favorite venues, is an arduous task--maybe this is why all the popular DJs are pretty white boys--the proof is in the privilege.

    Money, money, money...I used to make plenty of it, and was always exhausted--now I make none, and am always exhausted. What's worth what cost?

    Time = Money. In LA, and in the world. But by anyone's definition--and especially mine--LA is the world. Or, at the very least, sets the tone for the world.

    Truly, nothing is free.

    DJing is more expensive than I could have ever imagined--once again, in any direction I turn, there's a ladder to climb. I've not got the time or energy left in my sadly depleting lifesource left to storm gates, crawling over heads and cutting down those in my way. While it's certain that ‘Competitive Greatness' is the key atop the Pyramid of Success, there are 14 other bricks below to lay the foundation of that which one might call success, to be garnered as imagined through the eyes of a man, anyway, who lived in the 1930's.

    John L. Wooden may have been right--and may still be right--if I were a standard male (we'll leave race out of it, for now…..for now.)

    Still, i've been using the Pyrimid of Success as a guidepost, in what it is exactly I may have to do, or be, in order to become something.

    Not even something great, just something.

    Perhaps, if I can make it to being something, eventually I might become someone.

    Oh, to be a person would be nice. For now, I'll just have to settle on tricking my useless sack of anatomy into being a DJ. There's nothing outside of it, anymore.

    Bass Canyon truly was my last rave--not that I enjoyed it, honestly. Though I've attempted to retrain my brain around the trauma which resulted from that weekend, it did serve as a turning point--a sort of going-away party, as I departed from my home as a no-holds-bar Kandi Kid. Happy Graduation, OG Raver!

    Little did I know that, with the multidimentionality of our universe, I would be presented, through the world of possibility--the ability to at least observe with the naked eye that there lie more beyond the decks-- a space that may have been made for me.

    I'll never forget the moment I knew I would be a DJ--or at least try, for the life (or the death) of me.

    Electric Daisy Carnival changed my life--an experience ten years in the making that catapulted me into the depths of my wildest dreams--unbeknownst to me that I hadn't yet the ability to swim, in such that is the tempest of my own subconscious mind. But--that part of this story deserves its own dedicated elaboration; For now, i'll only look back--and realize that it was there that I aligned with my highest self in the truest sense, that, at least then, I actually believed that I could become a top DJ.

    I've lost the flight to stay afloat in the salty sea that is the millions of other people trying to make it to the mainstages of our favorite places, and begun to sink into the reality of the entertainment industry as a whole...the reality of the world, as a whole anymore.

    Looking around at the world's top DJs is less encouraging and inspirational than it should be.

    Nearly every headliner looks like every kid who ever bullied me, every guy who ever turned me down--every kid hosting the party I wasn't invited to. As for the females of the bunch--I find it frustrating that not one yet has been of any color other than yellow--and even then--we all know the world's men love Asian women. While I can admire girls like Rezz and Allison Wonderland--I wonder what kind of career, if any, if either of them were black, or heavyset--or, my losing genetic combination: Both.

    Would a fat Allison Wonderland have ever made it into the industry?

    Would a black Rezz ever become a staple in bass music, and rave culture?

    If Softest. Hard had a pot belly, would she have been discovered?

    Then, there are up-and-comings beyond my complete comprehension--those who are visually appealing, but musically inept; I'll leave out any names, and still salute them--anyone who can wrap their brain around any standard DAW enough to make an entire song, is absolutely more talented, definitely more intelligent than I am.

    [I'm not.]

    But, I can't help but wonder: How easy was it for any of them, being so pretty, to learn to do what they do--just by being kind and asking a friend for help to learn production?

    In so many years of raving, I've watched beautiful girls get pulled backstage--and even pulled on stage, to connect with the artists and VIPs. I've been brought to tears as I've watched rude girls with porcelain faces caked in makeup be lifted over rails into the promised land, picked to be plucked by just her eyes and smile combined with the perfection of a flat and flawless stomach.

    Pretty girls always get priority.

    Me? Well, I get the dead eyes of the drunken DJ, staring down at me through his whiskey glass, as he beckons the stagehands to assist the perfect-bodied princess backstage...but i'm only front-and-center so I can feel the music move, and watch all the energy bounce around, matching the movement of the expert's hands on deck, to the waves of sound colliding with the rest of the world. True, my mind might wander to what wonderful experiences await the perfect princess, as she disappears behind the decks, into a world i've yet to know, but only seen: The life I know exists beyond the rails, beyond the decks...the world I can only wish to build, for myself.

    Big ugly black girls don't get pulled backstage. Big ugly black girls are token ancillary characters, it seems, in the plot which writes the story of the modern rave. In a sea of new-generation ravers raised by Kim Kardashian and YouTube makeup tutorials--left lost in a torturous chamber of perfection--women who can wear anything, beautifully. Women who get whatever they want, whenever they want--because they know they can; 10's, to my -3.



    Bottom Line: Looks matter, until all the men in the world go blind.

    Sad-but-true.

    I move not to objectify the women whose music and movement through the clearly sexist music entertainment industry. God only knows how hard each of them has worked to earn a spot so highly ranked amongst those to whom we all admire--the legends, the greats. Each woman behind the decks has become a reflection of everything I wish I ever was--but also a painful reminder of everything that I am not. Of every girl i've ever come behind.

    Perhaps, this is the result of growing up the as the only ‘black girl', in the backwards, racist po-dunk town I was transplanted into: A place where I spent years constantly being told, taught, and trained that it was more admirable to have light skin, blonde hair, blue eyes...then again, The Media has always done a particularly good job at creating and maintaining what the ideal beauty standard should be, or is--and an excellent job of perpetuating stereotypes.

    People never expect me to sound how I do, or to like what I like--because it's “white people stuff”; and ten years ago when I discovered raving, there wasn't another black girl (or boy!) in sight for miles, at any rave I went to. I was the oddity, the token--the “what the fuck” person, in an already entirely what-the-fuck place.

    Fast Forward to 2020: My Freshman Year as a DJ.

    And...as it appears, the world behind the decks is just as non-diverse as the dancefloor was when I first began this escapade through the world of immersive music. Do I want to be the first ethnically-bred Female DJ to reach the top? OF COURSE. Can I?

    It's not up to me.

    Now I'm confusededly caught in the web that is rumours circulating of an ongoing race-war, and wondering if I've been left to die smack-dab in the middle of it. Amongst currently living with a white supremacist (or, extremely ignorant and culturally intolerant biggoted racist at the very, very least.), it seems that White Superiority may be a driving theme amongst the Electronic Music Industry--that maybe the world I've rather grown up in, and come to love has more twists, turns, and dark alleys to look through than the obvious ‘secrets' that loom in the world of rave.

    All seeing is the eye that watches over all.

    Insomniac's crew is among one of the least racially diverse I've ever seen--if I were Pasqualle, I might think to at least try to make it look as though there were a plethora of ethnic backgrounds who work together to tie the knot holding together the world's biggest metaphorical kandi: Insomniac, the Kingdom of Mainstream rave culture. A global endeavor.

    I wonder how many i've come to admire--Pasqualle included-- are actually White Supremacists, masquerading in the power of positivity and their corporate capitalism, true beliefs and intentions.

    My curiosity about the man himself peaked during EDC weekend, after stumbling into sign after sign, symbol after symbol--of something I've aspired [in the past] to commit to, but also am wearlily aware of its adversity towards that of my kind; being firstly female, and secondly partially black.

    Now, I wonder--am I even allowed to enter into the world beyond the decks--or is that preserved for only women with perfect bodies, fair skin--attractive individuals? Does it belong only to those with money?

    Is there any possibility that there may be room for someone like me to enter the scene--or may only pretty girls with pretty bodies and pretty hair be allowed in the backstage world?

    Really, I just want to perform. I miss myself as a dancer, as a musician--as an actor, all together. I still wish I had continued on this path a decade ago, when--though weighing over 300 pounds--my confidence at least existed.

    Teaching myself to DJ has been one of the hardest things i've ever done; I don't know if I'm retarded, but I'm beginning to consider attempting to see someone for some kind of screening. If Paris Hilton can DJ, why is it so hard for me? If Sonny can dink around on a computer with a blown speaker, call himself ‘Skrillex' and make some of the world's most intricate music since that of Beethoven-- why can't I do the same? What makes the difference in all these YouTube tutorials telling me how to do it--and me actually being able to do it? What is it, that's wrong with my brain?

    But, it's all i've wanted for over a year--to be a DJ, at least. I've always been a musician; It's just been a stop-and-go, allowing for the rest of what has been my life to pass through between the times I could make music, and couldn't. I wish I had the positive support it takes to have encouraged me forward on the path I was already on, since I was 13--instead, I was told I was too fat (and too black) to succeed in the way I wanted to.

    10 Years later and Lizzo is at the top of her game, while I beat myself up for losing at mine. Never could I have imagined a world where i'd see an album cover like hers; upon seeing it, I was not only shocked, but enraged: She was everything I was told I could not be.

    And the Truth Is: more than likely, someone told Lizzo the same thing I was told, and the difference is-- she didn't believe them, and kept moving forward. The difference is: She believed in herself, and loved herself enough to keep trying. The difference is, that everything I needed, I already had--I just never believed it to be so. I'm proud of her...but insanely jealous. My inner child cries “That should have been me.” Truth Hurts.

    There's more to it, than that; Envy lives in the cavernous pits deep within the confined Hell that is my subconscious mind--and--as the world begins to close in on itself, as consciousness continues expanding, I find myself fighting against the worst of my woes daily. Nowhere can I go without meeting a flawless, forward-figured, and facially exquisite female--rather than submit to catty jealousness, I have learned to admire and nod or bow as a gesture that I am a lesser creature.

    So now i'm left to wonder as I self-teach myself a trade, if my aspirations may ever be achieved, without possessing any outer beauty.

    All that's left in the world for me, now, is to become my own favorite DJ.

    (A title, of course, formerly belonging to Skrillex... ruined, by his untimely arrival as a physical person, into my actual life. More on that later...and infinitely.)

    I've lately begun asking myself “Is it really worth it?”...but, at the same time, I've never loved anything so much, as to fly on the wings of music--and so i've also wondered “What else will really make me happy?”

    Tough question.

    Ideally, I'm the entertainment Guru I always wished to be--not tied down to any one artform, but able to move about freely in all of them. There's no life without theatre--there's no light without entertainment. If living ideally, I could never be any-one-thing-- if living ideally, I am the embodiment of everything I love.

    But in a world where a snatched waist and a pretty face are a winning (and deadly) combination, I'm 0-0. Life of am ugly kid.

    Worse off yet, since even Hobo Johnson seems to have more confidence in his awkward and broken rhythms enough to speak his mind clearly enough for the rest of the world to resonate. Might be a good time to revisit, what it is exactly I came for.

    Perhaps, the answer is nothing: So far, I have nothing, make nothing, am nothing--if there is anything that I am, it's words on a piece of paper--just another ‘thing', another dreaming, wishful hopeful that I can rise above all that has been, and all that I am now...to become something more



    When training to match with the likes of the devil in preparation for battle against he, you must intend to figure, what the vehicle he has chosen has maintained to use as atool to help build you, as a Saint or an Angel--or one to break you, as Satan he.

    It has been a fruitful fas, but still i persist, though with a weary eye and curious mind, to the riddle i have yet been presente; ; Much ado about Chicken Soup.

    “Practice androgyny!”

    the two meet, immidiately fritening eachother; they transform--

    One becomes dog, the other a cat--the cat begins to run. the dog pursues her.

    they run into a sunny meadow where a river feeds the wildlife and it is vibrant amongst the creatures; the cat climbs up a tree, and the [very friendly] dog stops at the base, looking up at her playfully, with an ask that she come down. She looks down from the tree at him, at a safe distance, and begins to relax on the





    I've fallen in love with a celebrity. What medicine cures that?




    Dearest Sonny,

    I'm unsure quite how to explain myself to you--or if I can, or should explain myself at all.I guess I could start with “I'm sorry.”, but it's almost as if that doesn't quite cover it, and nothing does. Perhaps, i'll start with just “thank you”--thank you for being you--which is something that makes me more ‘myself' than anything, at best. Really though, that's probably a good place to start with the wholehearted apology I owe you; It cannot be easy being yourself, or navigating life with such prominence, importance--as I'm sure you never intended all that you are, as any gift-given may have come as a God-honest, and God-given surprise. That being said; God is only anything that I am --as is, anything that you are. The talent that you possess is insurmountably powerful...and has touched, changed, inspired millions--changing the world and the very fabric of time itself--no matter how unintentionally, in all your humility.

    Somewhere hidden, I too have talent. I only wish that in this lifetime, I were granted the confidence and charisma to be able to somehow express it. Music is the matter I find I am made of--without being able to express it, I only feel burdened, trapped. It is a beautiful language you speak--you, and the rest of the artists I've grown to admire. It is a language so soothing, I can only long to learn it; I'm afraid though that in this lifetime, too much time and opportunity has passed...in this modern, technologically fast-paced new world...i've been left behind.

    You are truly a good friend, indeed.

    In all the sense that it doesn't make, I honor you as someone who has inspired, motivated, comforted, and captivated consistently throughout my existence in this time, in this life; Though i've been in recent times, able to remember your essence in lifetimes past, it is in this lifetime that I find the most befuddling, how your music itself has seemed to find and follow me.Unexplainable, would be the word that I can most easily use to describe anything having to do with it--love, would be the other word.

    “I love you”, is, I guess, what I was trying to say by tapping you gently three times, before running away. Really though, there aren't many things I could have said, or done--i'd never really been “starstruck” before; but it would be quite a stretch to say that it was the first time I'd been left awestruck in your presence.

    Countless performances, club shows; Raves are my favorite, favorite thing--second to the feel, and sound of bass. “Synesthesia”, would be the vocabulary word that explained a lifelong fascination with laser lights and deep bass; in ten years of hugging subwoofers and losing myself in the drop wondering my early adulthood mantra “Why am I like this?” almost constantly, it never mattered more to me than it has now. I recall a time where I referred to Skrillex as my spirit animal--still true, I suppose, although considering the fact I've consciously separated the Skrillex of things from the Sonny Moore of it all. One in the same, or, two separate parts of a whole--I can undeniably say all my unconventional, unconditional “I love you, I love you, I love you's”, in the everything that you are. ‘In love', would be an understatement--though which statement to actually make, i'm unsure of.

    I'm unsure of a lot of things, really; I've made many honest (and dishonest mistakes) in this lifetime--walking away from you, one of them. But, I can't change that, anything about who I am--or anything about the world the way it is, for I am only one--and too small, too weak, and too tired. My soul wishes for the freedom that death will bring--and so, I must let it...as its simply much too hard to live moving forward with such a badly broken spirit.

    I want you to understand that it is not your fault; It's nothing to do with you, or anything that you've done--the way that I love is uncontainable, once the match has been lit. I apologize again that you've become a victim in the energy field that becomes somewhat of a vortex, once activated. I didn't mean to fall in love with you--I don't know really how it happened, it just did.

    Maybe you don't remember me. Maybe you do. It doesn't really matter now, I just want you to know that me leaving this life is no fault of yours. I love you wholeheartedly--wholeheartedly, too, I love myself--though, seemingly only from the inside-out; there's nothing I can do about the outer shell I've been trapped in all these years. This is my body; something I would neither burden nor embarrass you with.

    Apologies, and all my love to you.

    There's nothing I want for you more than to live a happy, healthy, fulfilling life--I hope that you and those surrounding you are always, always living in peace, with joy and love--without worry, or burden, or stress; in honesty, these arre my wishes for anyone on this planet..as my love for humanity itself has only seemed to quantify, as I near the end of my life. I love, love; sometimes, I believe that I *am* love, as are any of us--but as I draw nearer to the light, it becomes harder and harder for me to believe that anything else matters, or has ever mattered, more than love.

    I love you.

    It just may be that i'm the world's biggest Skrillex fan--but to look beyond the cloak of stardom has left me longing for the embodiment of a memorable, familiar soul: The you. The person, and being that actually is; which is to say--as I would for any of my closest friends--I'd go to hell-and-back for you, give my last for you, do anything to protect you--*you*, the person; wanting and needing, expecting nothing in the world--because I cannot see a world without you in it.

    I'm sorry again, for any negativity. I meant to leave you behind at least, something beautiful, in exchange for all the years and moment's i've experienced through your art--but as I've mentioned before, I am trapped within myself. Symphonies unsung, melodies unwritten--because I've not what it takes to make it. I won't depart without admitting I tried, Music is my all, my everything, my guiding light--so at least in going home, I know there will always, always be the World of Sound--perhaps Heaven in the place where I can live there.

    I don't know what else to say. You're one of the most beautiful people i've ever seen, from the inside out--before I saw you, I heard you; before I could hear you, you were felt. I will always love you...nothing much else can matter, except that you know that.





    I'll never be able to erase it from my mind, never be able to forget, or look past it.

    I may even never understand why.

    Ancient Egyptian knowledge, or whatever—is the thing it seems they were trying to convey.

    By they, I only mean—whoever it is that wanted to hurt me.

    From the men shouting “kill yourself” outside my window—

    To the flocks of gorgeous, perfect women with perfect waists, perfect fashion, perfect faces—flaunting and floating before me, taunting me, pointing and laughing—rolling eyes, and flipping hair— and giving looks that say “I know you wish you looked as good as me.”

    I do. I do wish that.

    I wish more than anything to be beautiful. But...I keep eating. My body is hideous. I hate everything about it.

    I could try harder, but even that hurts. Everything hurts. Especially my heart.

    Why was I not more panicked, that after such a phenomenon such as that, cast by shadows against my tent—that the zipper of the door began to move slowly, from one side to another.

    Perhaps, I wanted the company. Maybe I needed it.

    What I didn't need, was more excruciating pain.

    No one's fault, I guess—someone wants me dead. At this point, I think me, the most.

    I'll never forget that face. The shocker.

    “Why is Skrillex in my tent?” The looming question. A question I hadn't even the time to ask, before blurting out “Are you okay?!”

    He froze, I froze. I guess that's where my Skrillex and my Sonny collided, as my soul began the process of separating the music I adored, and the person who made it.

    I will never forget his eyes. Fear. I scared him. He scared me.

    He scarred me.

    Maybe it wasn't him. I know that it *was* in fact Sonny himself (the face is unmistakable, those eyes)—but perhaps he was put up to it. Paid, for the task. Maybe my deer-in-the-headlights makes it so that he is the hunter—? How could he have missed his shot? How could I have missed mine.

    I've fallen in love with a celebrity. What medicine cures that?

    What medicine cures suicide?

    None I've taken, really—maybe Acid.

    Now, I can't seem to separate myself from Skrillex—or from Sonny—or from figuring out the two, or one in the same— or from figuring out myself, in that we are one in the same.

    I love him.

    Like a stupid teenager loves her favorite idol.

    Yeah, it's exactly like that, except worse—I'm a grown woman, a failure—whose aspirations and admirations are grandiose, and dillusional.

    Now I'm even more delusional.

    I thought, for a moment that Sonny might be in love with me.

    In honesty? Sometimes I still think that. I actually still believe that.

    So why this approach?

    I'm partially convinced he was paid to ‘finish the job', so to speak. I was already suicidal, and, fresh out of the hospital on the attempt to end my life that failed, again.

    So this would do it—make me hope and believe I could be something, someone, anyone—that I could be anything—even a superstar DJ-turned-future President.

    I'm a fucking joke.

    Someone, who could have anyone—in love with me?

    Maybe this is why people sneak into tents at music festivals:

    They don't love you—

    They just want to fuck.

    DAY 1: MAY 1ST, 2020; If I am offered dinner, will eat--but if not, will continue forward. Will set an alarm for 3:30 AM once roommate has gone to bed to check for his keys.

    Everyone gets their own suicide letter.

    Mom

    Dad

    Bearr

    Annie

    Yesenia

    Sonny (just leave it to Annie w/ his rock && burn book)





    Let everybody know it's not their fault.

    Reasons:

    1. Fat

    2. Ugly

    3. Black

    4. Poor

    5. Unsuccessful

    6. Friendless

    7. No Charisma

    8. Single

    I don't know why I numbered them. Do you really need more than one reason to kill yourself?

    (no.)

    I believe i”ve started the fast that I was asked.

    Be it that I have, the date is May 1st, 2020--however, I've been wondering if my roommate leaves the keys to his car in an accessible place; I'm kind of hoping so.

    I'm already craving to eat, and the first 24 hours have yet to pass. Again, i'm always given the open to keep this date and continue forward, so long that I eat before midnight--however, nothing seems like the right answer; The matter of fasting has become a damned-if-I-do, damned-if-I-don't matter...it seems that everything I do is ‘wrong', though right-and-wrong are subjective, and multidimensionally, objective, even.

    I probably might have been dead by now, if my car battery hadn't died...it seems like the easiest and least painful way; something easy and quiet. I've thought about sharpening a knife, just to cut and let [myself] bleed out at the wrist--but then, I fear that I may panic and that my mind would fight to survive. I've thought about hanging from one of my favorite trees-- but haven't the money left to buy any rope--which, perhaps, I could steal--but to steal enough rope to hang myself with on foot? A tricky task, to say the least.

    So, really, some of me is hoping my roommate leaves his keys out.

    At first, the thought of committing my suicide here was unsettling. My roommate, Satan's personal favorite vehicle and overall negative void of a ‘person' (or vampire, honestly), is a drama Queen--he needs not only conflict and drama to survive, but fiends for it; something in me had somehow become too proud to give him something to girlishly blabber about with his narcissistic, simple friends--I can already hear the repetitive exclamations of “horror” that would more-than-likely delight him as he recounts the story of finding my body, over-and-over...at first it rather haunted me, and now i've come to peace with--bargaining that having him find my body would be something of a statement, which wordlessly reads “sticks and stones may break my bones but words got up and killed me.”

    Words. Little words. Big Words. Actions. Gestures. If it's negative, I can feel it in my body, before it even happens; If it's positive, it can leave me radiating for days on end, and without a care.

    My “living situation” has been nothing more than a prolonging of my already disastrously failed and predominately miserable life. A mentally-ill and often psychotic mother, followed by a too- young marriage to a dynamically similar person, has left me up Shit's creek with no boat; I'm pushing 30 with no significant other, and no significance at all. There are generations of perfect people, fresh out of high school--who can and will do everything I ever thought possible or imaginable, better than me.

    And it's my fault.

    NO ENTRY ON DAY 2. Gave Myself A “Skrillex” haircut. Wow. Fuck my life.

    DAY 3: The fast will end today, more than likely. I am overwhelmed with grief, at loss for motivation, and struggling to believe there is any positive outcome to anything I do. I'm already getting headaches, and acute hunger pains--usually these things don't happen until well after the third day. I suppose my body is telling me it isn't ready to fast again, so suddenly after the last fast, which lasted about 8 days, however; as I have decided to eat today, it will be the only day that I allow myself to. Dancing with the Devil, I'm almost certain that the more I eat, the more I will want to die--and the less I eat, the more I will want to die.

    Honestly, I think I just want to die.

    I still have yet to check for my roomate's car keys during the times he is at “rest” (predominantly, really--his stagnancy is sickening, and a sure sign of Satan's handy work.) But, it seems that it will be the way to go. My car has been parked in the garage for the past few weeks; finding it sort of a ‘safe haven', it temporarily became a private chamber where I could almost relax--I even thought to use it as a recording studio. But, as far as music is concerned...I lack the talent, the dedication, the focus...the whatever it takes. I guess this is why I glorify those who have merited and made strides of achievement in entertainment--I suppose this goes hand-in-hand with all the envy, and all the jealousy I have for those who have ‘made it'. I won't. I'm embarrassed that I tried.

    Something's wrong with me--but I won't trust a doctor to tell me what, because they are always, always wrong. The system has failed me countless times--at this point, i'm only disastrously failing myself--no matter. I'm sure White Supremacy and the powers-that-be leading the terroristic attack on achievable success is happy that i'm now homeless, broken, and suicidal.

    The easiest way to commit a murder is to force a suicide.

    Congratulations Google, Live Nation, Insomniac--congratulations to Skrillex: You've comitted the perfect murder. I hate myself as much as I guess I'm supposed to.

    There is music in me--all the time...it's just stuck.

    I'll never earn the money to learn how to make it--

    And i''ll never have the charisma it takes to make friends to help.

    I'll never be beautiful enough to have a man fall in love with me…

    I guess God fucked up on the recipe for what a woman is supposed to be.

    Or rather--maybe it was just part of the plan to punish one for the darkness of all.

    I want to die in peace, but there is no peace. I've been in Hell since Sonny ended up in my tent--truth-be-told, I was there before; I just didn't know it until after I saw his face.

    Delusions of grandeur--of all the Softest Hards, and Coughsys, Marilyn Hues, and all the other beautiful, perfect, flawless, talented, smart women to be surrounded by--

    To think I was anything more than a fat ugly peasant was foolish.

    I'm nothing.

    Out Of one fast, into another--my breaking just an intermission, so it seems. Though originally intended as a rendezvous at 3:33 this morning--in which I would make myself “breakfast” and eat it whilst continuing to study Rick and Morty in the darkness of the night, and the peaceful solace that would come with being in my own presence.

    Instead, I hesitantly paced the kitchen for upwards of an hour, just after 10, wondering what exactly I needed to do, to rid myself of such heaviness with which I awoke. Taunted and tortured constantly by my roomate's negative aura, exhausting enough--but to be swept away in the Empathy of sharing a living space with a 14-year-old boy--excruciating. It has long been concluded that I fair better on my own--I will have to have my own, private living space in order to ever fully be whole.

    Matter-of-factly, though, I do feel less like killing myself after earing, than beforehand--though Depression lingers, as homelessness looms--the realization i've i've myself no family, nor anyone to give a last flying fuck about my actual existance, any.

    So, i'm sure the suicidal tendencies will resume, shortly.

    Until then....

    Now, it seems--its gone one deeper; Rather than to be able to let go of what happened last August ,I am stuck in it--observing from every angle what it could have possibly meant...and, while there are things you absolutely cannot know--there are also things you absolitely must.

    I absolutely must know why Sonny Moore was in my tent.

    (Really, I do know why, but have yet to come to grips with it.)

    And, if being fully honest, the question is now more how than why.

    In any case, and with any outcome, I've begun not to give care as to what has been shown, so much as what hasn't. It seems OWSLA all together is more than meets the eye; Then, OWSLA isn't only one person, either.

    But I have to know what it is what has drawn me over all these years, and especially to this point; Decoding by ear and learning to speak the pseudo-hidden language of Electronic Music, in order to know from what, and by who the call was made.

    There is no doubt I have been called forward to something. it's been a whimsical and explorative journey through every element self-conceivable; But now, over a year later from the time since I first Levitated, nearly a year to EDC 2019, and at some several-months long run since my attempted (failed) suicide, and almost bafflingly concurrent face-to-face with Sonny Moore, whose moniker has almost beocome a blasphemy.

    How did one go from being perhaps what was one of my most favorite living artists of all time...to becoming a curse word upon my lips, dare I choose to utter it.

    Though, not that I need to bring forward his name--there's no place I can go in the world without the faces of one of his Monsters rearing, or the remnants of the Sprites as they seem to guide and follow me, wherever I go-- a blessing tied with a curse I can't remember asking for.

    Really, I asked for none of it. It's not inconceivable that one could travel in a short time from Black Rock city to Central Washington for the purposes of whatever lunacy this bizarre and seemingly carefully calculated social experiment was... but really only one theory other than ‘MTV Hacked My Life' stands out against the others i've toyed with, and thrown around a bit in the dragging months since last year...one that seems plausible enough, if onlyI had the wit and attention span to prove it.

    It seems there are some Deities making arrangements previously undisclosed (at least, to us)

    And, while some might call them Gods (as I do), I rather Aliens--as it seems they are being or origin--ancestors to us, here.

    All of a sudden, my affinity for Skrillex music has become somewhat cosmic.

    I only have one half of my own story.

    The Next Fast Is To Begin At 3:33 PM, with no particular end date in mind.

    I'm beginning to reach breaking points in all directions. I'd almost rather die than work a minimum wage job for ends meet--in the end, still being unable to afford a residence and learning no time for artistry--which truly, does, in every way possible, make up all of me.

    It is a shame I'm not paid for it--then, I think about the hundreds of thousands of people out there actually trying at anything I want to do...and while I really am trying, there are are lot of obstacles in my way.

    My computer, full of the memories that haunt me with the literal ghosts of my past.

    Debt, up to my eyeballs--which not-coincidencally, will most lilely be the thing that stands between school and I--or rather--music and I.

    I know I can succeed in music.

    That, I have in my heart and in my soul.

    But, as the Medicine Man said, my soul has been “trapped behind a gate'.

    It is, Sonny's gate.

    There's no dialing back from it-- since that moment I've been frozen in time as it shattered around me, trying to fir back together all the pieces that bound us to being who we each are.

    We are of the same being--but in what light? In what since that I have known him has he also known me? And--has he sold the soul to which we share, to aquire all that he has, with the Black Magic that has been dealt? Sciences of the Spirit will hold a key in unlocking this.

    So why this--? Why all this hurtning, pain, crying, worry-- for someone that In reality, I do hardly know? We are tied together, through both pain and through past in this lifetime, but having been born on the opposite spectrums of opportunity.

    How much do I hate myself to continue to dive more deeply into this?

    There's no brushing it off--the man could have anyone in the world, and still ended up in my tent.

    Judging by the ridiculous amount of synchronicities I'd otherwise deep coincidences if I believed in such a thing, dating back to Miami last spring, multiplying at EDC and even up to Countdown, there's somewhere lurking Beyond the All-Seeing-Eye a pair of finely tuned ears, and one hell of a genius-brained mastermind between them.

    Really though, whoever it is that wants me dead should see a happy ending either way. At this point, my suicide will be a clean-case, easier to close than one could ever imagine. My numerous suicie letters and ‘delusional' fanlore dedicated to the King of Dubstep-- a title i'd neither argue, nor revoke--but could honestly ever hope to compete with.

    But mummy, I want to be the king of Dubstep.

    I also want to be the President of the United States…Eventually.

    Can both be achieved in one lifetime?

    Anything is possible.

    It seems the new fast will start at midnight, as my roomate's children have invaded and have yet to leave; I look forward to the coming journey,




    My mother actually asked if I'd been trying to kill myself--it startled me that she wanted to know.

    Of course, I had to go out of my way to contact her, after blocking her and being heavily satified with the results, until my father (who I am always hapy to hear from) began to pester me about returning her calls. I finally obliged, of course, not without having been swayed by a mild form of bribery.

    Now I can afford to hang myself.

    But, can I bear to climb the thorned tree to which I've grown so attached? I guess I could settle for an easier, less meaningful tree. It won't really matter, in the end.

    Nothing really matters, now, either.

    I've spent the last few days recklessly upset about Sonny; not as if I hadn't for the past several months been in a full crises and upheaval about it--but the last several days have been particularly worse, as if I've been tied to a place from which I cannot move. It has become a sickening, twisted reminder of my inability to let things go, once so deeply affected...and I have...been deeply affected.

    Not only at this point have a shaved my own head, but still I have yet to understand the *what* it is in my brain that sets Skrillex apart from all the over music I've ever listened to in entirety. The why.

    There's really no letting go, at this point--strangely, I'm not as obsessive as it feels to be thinking gsomeone so constantly; luckily, there is an internet which, if I ever do dare to dive so deeply into the creeperism that is conducting any real research on this person--who, undoubtedly is set to be an actual historical figure--

    Yes, exactly.

    The internet reminds me that there are others in this world who take obsession to the ends of which I I could never entirely feel comfortable. Admiration, however, in the event there's something I feel i *need* to know.

    Whatever part Skrillex is playing on a cosmic, or even a global level--yet to be investigated (at least,by me) HOwever, I can stand to think that if scientists have gone as far as to conduct experiments on mosquitos using his music, the possibility that there have been other numerous experiments concerning his music are extremely likely.

    It's certain that I'm now more than ever immersively captivated by the music that's been with me now for over a decade.

    All I know now is, it doesn't matter how it really ends--I can hope, I can dream, I can ponder of the places I would want it to go--but nothing can be of any certainty without having the honor of actually meeting Sonny properly...

    Whoever's idea it was to throw him into a tent with me should be fired; if it was Sonny himself, I suppose I could reckon--no damage done from it is irreparable--if anything, it accelerated my ‘loathingly-in-love' kind of writing; Though, I'm upset to have had to have seen forward such painful premonitions.

    ...And what of the premonition?

    Reflecting upon the gruesome scene I once foresaw still takes my breath away. I'm lucky i can no longer be so easily triggered by a simple word like ‘bathtub', but even that did take something just over 6 months to fade. When I do have a flashback from it, I am shaken, twisted, hollow... I've never spoken of the full premonition to anyone with any detail--even in my writing, besides some subtle remarks in poetry--still, I have to live with it...and, as it's seeming, I may have to die with it.

    To work with Sonny would be more than a dream, it would be an honor, and a blessing--but will we ever become close enough that I should share what I have seen? I've recently thought best to keep it hidden, that I very clearly, and very vividly received a vision of his presumable death.

    I've never unwished something so.

    It's actually how the Fasting & Praying began, thinking back.

    One of my heaviest visions to date, it left me weakened and sick with grief, rage, anxiety--how could I see something so awful. I've hated myself before, but more so since.

    Ive hated myself my entire life, but moreso since meeting Sonny--but I wish I could call it something different--as we haven't truly “met” at all.

    It would be less-than-accurate to describe it, either, as having ‘seen' him. I've ‘seen' him probably over a dozen times--presumably (and decently) invisible every singular time, which discludes Day of The Dead--another night which haunts me.

    But nothing will haunt me quite as deeply as the shaking, morbid, gruesome thought of someone as precious as he, lying dead in the wake of something unspoken....since I've seen it I've near forgotten the sense that he was any less than all of what I loved.

    And though I can't yet explain why it seems that nearly everything he's ever written will bring me some kind of joy--why it is that my ear hears his sounds over any others-- or why it seems that whenever I remember myself, it always seems that I find him lurking. Through the music I've grown to, it seems, there are all these connections--and it seems, no matter how quickly I make them, they may never add up in time.

    I can try to reach out in meditation--lucidly walk, in my dreams to wherever our true connection might be...but the truth is, at this point, it's so much more than anything I've felt before…

    I'm nearly not even a human being. I'm worthless, useless, and have fallen far behind...but…

    I've been spending the better part of a last year praying, begging God to spare someone with whom I've never exchanged more than three words with--whose eye contact has sent me into frenzies, and panics--and whose presense has sent me into a complete burn-down of whatever was left after my attempted suicide.

    “Please don't let him die.”

    I've been begging for months.

    “I can't.”

    And, I can't.

    I've been running around in circles like a chicken with my head cut off, bearing in screams of bloody murder, contemplating my own death over having to live through losing yet another thing I love. And, I do -- love Skrillex.

    As for Sonny? He's a whole person...a whole person, I of course can't help loving. But...

    There are two sides to every story.

    If I can stay alive long enough to know his…

    Well, I guess I might have a life worth living, after all.

    I was never obsessed with Skrillex before--at least--not in the way that I am now.

    And even now, is what I might call a healthy curiousity for whatever the fuck has been going on in my weird life.

    It's difficult to pinpoint exactly the place things went weird, because--well--honestly, looking back--things have always been a bit ‘strange', then--that was when I believed in ‘coincidences'

    10 Years go by and your whole life changes--the whole world changes, you change. but for some reason the same set of songs, by the same person hits hard and deep, every time--and no matter how many times you listen to it--it never gets old. You never press skip, and you never hit pause. it is always, always good.

    Two nights ago, I had a nearly out-of-body experience, without the use of recreational drugs (or substances at all) for the first time, in a very long time. Turning into day three of the last fast, I set an arrangement of frequencies to make a soundbath to sleep in--i'm not exactly sure that it was in me that persuaded me to add all my Skrillex to the queue, but-- I bashfully loaded the classics to my iTunes to set over the isochronic tones, while I rested. I drifted off somewhere in the middle of Bells, before even getting to Skrillex.

    I partially awoke to one of the classics --but upon truly waking, for the life of me, could not remember which! But oh....the feeling I got, I cannot describe. It's taken almost two days to stop glowing from it.

    I lucidly duetted in a passionate dance of whimsical energy, amasking the music from within my soul as it danced between the shapes and colors of his. I can't think of a time I've been happier in months; and upon waking, some hours later in the actual morning, was crushed to again realize the fact that I am as useless as any dreamer--that I will never be able to score the music which my soul has already written... the realization that I am trapped in this musicless body.

    Ableton continues to haunt me--even garage band, it seems has upgraded its features outside of my skillset.

    Everywhere I turn, kids are doing things in the blink of an eye, I can only wish to dream of learning.

    The average 15-year-old is more attractive than I am--and not that I find it acceptable--more exually appealing to the common male.

    But, at this point--do I want to be appealing to the common make?

    Do I want to be appealing to anyone?

    Unlikely, as my greatest fear has been met in experiencing first-handedly that my favorite modern musician *may* have been disgusted by--well--the very same body which disgusts me.

    So, I don't blame him.

    Still, nothing hurts more than coming face-to-face with someone whom you admire greatly and can immediately recognize--only to be met with what seemed to be a harsh judgement made gruesomely by the touch of hand.

    Then, where would I have been, in my mind, to have allowed such boundaries be broken?

    Truth being told, if I had wanted for him to be ‘wrong', in entering my domain, I would feel less ashamed for what I am...that's just the truth being told.

    Everything that happened in that tent was awkward, save for the excruciatingly strange ‘synchronicity' between us, i've yet to try to explain. How our bodies' fluid movement towards the sky and connection to the ground was uncanny, unspoken, unprovoked--the very thing besides the premonition that's left me wondering ‘what the fuck?'

    but really, what the fuck

    I've shed more tears with Sonny's name on them than I ever wished to bargain for.

    I've gone from rolling down the 1-15 with my best friend in the world blasing Bangarang on my way to club shows to sitting on my phone, studying a singular portrait, and wondering if the peace sign across his chest was meant to represent that his heart and soul could match mine--wondering if Coughs is a genius at lighting, photoshop--or a combination of the two--or if maybe the Light shining a peace sign on Sonny's chest was God's very special way of letting me know that love with find a way--whatever kind of love it is.

    It doesn't matter, really, at this point. I'm on death's doorstep with one foot in the grave. I've been praying almost endlessly for Sonny's wellbeing, amongst other things and other people in the world--in fact, it seems so that I spend so much time praying for the world, that I often forget to pray for myself...and now, at a time that I need it most, it seems i'm too late.

    Still, I have no regrets. Though it seems Sonny and the rest of those up on the pedestal of stardom of whom I all pray have all they could ever hope to have or need, there is no such thing as a wasted prayer. Everybody needs goodness, everybody needs love--everyone deserves ight, and peace, and hope...so I continue to pray. It might be lonely at the top...who really knows.

    I can love at a distance, but I can't heal at one.

    On this side of the screen, things seem glamorous, at best...but I can't shake away the feeling that something's wrong; or it's me, and i'm the thing that's ruining the world--or runing Sonny, or Skrillex, or whatever it is…

    I really hope God gives me a decent way to end my life, so that the world can be a better place.



    I'm going to actually start documenting the physical phenomena that occur, when whatever I'm supposed to be (a person?) is exposed to Skrillex music, under various settings.

    What's the worst that could happen?

    I've got all my favorite [Skrillex] albums on queue, today. And Bells--not really because it's Skrillex (cause really, it's not.) but because I like it...and...I really miss my guitar, Jackie.

    Whatever cruel vandal smashes guitars in TSA for fun is a lunatic. I've never for once believed that Jackie's disembodiment was a mere ‘accident'--from the way she was destroyed, it seemed that someone may have hated themselves--or their job--or their life enough to ruin a little piece of mine…

    Not that i'm not well-practiced at doing that myself.

    Anyway, not a day goes by since EDC that I haven't thought about Jackie, especially at my lowest--and especially when I listen to such intricately layered acoustic music I would love to be able to recreate myself, or draw inspiration from. Now that my nails are finally short enough to play again, all I do is dream of it.

    I am a musician stuck inside of itself, with no instrument.

    At this point, the only thing I might be able to do is attempt to learn to speak this hidden and sacred language of music; In my deepest spiritual quests, I have discovered much of the language through light and sound frequencies that these artists have managed to create, or at least learn to ‘speak'--if as so divinely inspired, that I believe.

    So rather than to run-and-hide, cowering in the cowardess that is my inability to properly commit suicide...I will make a final attempt to understand myself from within, and without.

    Whatever it is that makes me, me--music has everything to do with it... and it seems that Skrillex has everything to do with music. For now, anyway.

    So here I am, stuck between Hell and an impossibly large boulder--trying with all my might to move it, in order to escape this weird and very dark, very lonely, soul-crushing place of dissatisfaction in everything that is, life without knowing my place in it.

    Why can't I die? Of all the billions of people on the planet--what creates my purpose in existence? Besides becoming a mother, I've never seen my life as anything more than just a passing wave, breaking upon the shore of humanity with just enough force to have sifted the sands of time, even if ever so slightly.

    Something I've done makes some kind of impact.

    There is some kind of magic in the presence of beings who need not speak to be understood.

    Do I wish to carry on in the way that has been made for society? To work, to earn, to die in simplicity--because it is the way of the world? I cannot, and much would rather die than to suffer through ‘normalcy'.

    Now, after multiple failed attempts, and 27-years of self loathing, I find it time to take an unexpected turn to the occult sciences--a new journey of Philosophical exploration, self-experimentation, and consciousness expansion. I must become a master of all of what I can possibly know--admittedly, I'll always understand that the more than is known, the less.

    But I do know this: There's something about Sonny Moore connecting me--straight back to me.

    I'm determined to figure out what, or die trying--as if I haven't tried dying, anyway.

    As ‘My Name Is Skrillex' began to play, the top of my chest began to tighten, and light palpitations accompanied a flush sensation, and the grin that spread across my face, almost as quickly as wildfire might spread across the dry terrain.

    Where other artists give me mere colors and shapes to dance with--Skrillex gives me entire sceneries--landscapes, unexplored geographies--entire worlds to journey and fly through. I don't have to dance to move to Skrillex--I don't even have to think about it, or be awake for it. It's second nature.

    Something in my DNA reacts to the music, on every level imaginable.

    I remember once, during a live show, turning up towards the ceiling and belting with any lack-of-control at the top of my lungs “WHAT THE FUUUUUUCK!!!??” After a sick bass drop rendered me almost senseless on the dancefloor. I was not on drugs. (That time, at least.)

    I keep countless memories of the sometimes soul-splitting phenomena that have occured during live shows, with Skrillex holding the record for absolutely blowing my mind, taking my breath away--or taking me out of my body completely in an instant; As an almost lifelong raver, I've come to cherish and take pride in these moments.

    It's been a long ten years, and music has changed more-than-much. The Rave Scene has suffered the impact of becoming mainstream, and PLUR, almost crushed under the weight of it; But I, myself, personally, have been crushed under the weight of something much heavier--to suffer: Losing my favorite musician.

    Sure, he's still alive--something I've come to thank the Heavens daily for, whereas a year ago I had no interest whatsoever in the personal life or dealings of someone i've always truly admired, but never really followed.

    Before last August, I never followed Skrillex on Twitter, Instagram, or maybe even Facebook for more than just a thumbs up. I've never been the first-to-know about anything when it comes to Skrillex--the music was what mattered. Live shows were what I lived for--and once I couldn't attend them, it was back to the internet-less world where I was kept, from college until my recent divorce--where listening to Skrillex would be a hidden secret, as to avoid ridicule from my spouse; something I could only do alone, at work, or with my closest friends--and otherwise forbidden. Because, the truth is--at least from my perspective--before everybody loved Dubstep--everybody hated dubstep; and before everyone loved Skrillex, everyone hated Skrillex.

    Except for me.

    Me, and whoever the other weird and wonderful souls were, that packed into all those weird warehouses, shady hole-in-the-wall-clubs--made their way into underground basements, somehow navigated to remote desert parties using mapquest, hopped fences for festivals and made friends with security at big events just to get a look at the world.

    My people. My ravers. My music.

    It never really occurred to me to study music so obsessively until all of the events from over the past year culminated to form my present catastrophic existence, which now leaves me wondering what exactly it is that's wrong with me.

    Everything, it seems.

    There are some things I can explain, and others I cannot: My exact connection through this music, still an absolute mystery--but as I come closer to knowing myself, I also, in essence, come closer to knowing Sonny--in the sense that I do not know him at all.

    His Monsters, however, have led me here: Now there's something in me that needs to know what the fuck is really going on--with me--with him--or with the world. Lamarus--the name I've chosen for my favorite ‘Monster', has become a less-than-imaginary friend, and a staple which holds together this strange theory life has concocted for me--the sound, whose origins I know are specifically through Sonny's creativity seems to be one of the most widely used sounds in Bass music, over the last decade.

    I could never in my life have imagined music coming to life so vividly, as it has with Skrillex.

    At this point, nearly a year later, I find myself encased with rage, self-doubt- self loathing, and self-hatred: How could something like this have happened? What would make someone decide to descend upon a lonely raver, in an empty tent--to improperly greet and mangle into a star-stricken, anxietal pile of uselessness that worries and waits, and cries To have imagined such creatures so vividly, impossible--to have hallucinated the entirety of a universe, astonishing, to say the least, as the world of ‘impossibilities' in any sense begin to crumble and implode.

    How to get back to the Monsters, still a mystery--though God (and whoever else is watching) knows I've tried.

    As a musician, I would never wish to imitate--that's an utter blasphemy, to even think. Though curious about how such soundscapes were truly built, I'd rather learn to build my own. I was a musician before I was a Skrillex fan-- but as it turns out, I've been a fan of Sonny's work longer than I even knew it.





    Bells

    -Concentrical

    -Copaface

    -Equinox

    -Equinox (instrumental)

    -For You

    -Glow Worm

    -Glow Worm (Acoustic)

    -I Know Where You Are

    - Mora

    -Mora

    -Mortl

    -Moss

    -Nodlove

    -Signal

    -Signal (Soft)

    -Se7en Bells

    Gypsyhook

    -Gypsyhook

    -Mora

    -Copaface2

    -Gypsyhook (Vs.DMNDAYS)

    -Mora (Vs. The Toxic Avenger)

    -Mora (Vs. Lazertag)

    -Copaface2 (VS. Dan Sena)

    -(Kai Sui) (Mora in Japanese, aka--'how many asian chicks got the D?')



    My Name Is Skrillex EP

    -My Name is Skrillex

    -WEEKENDS!!! (Ft. Sirah)

    --Fucking Die 1

    -Fucking Die 2 (Cooper Mix)

    -Do Da Oliphant

    -With You, Friends

    -My Name Is Skrillex (Skrillex Remix)



    -Rock ‘N Roll (Will Take You To The Mountain)

    -Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites

    -Kill EVERYBODY

    -All I Ask Of You

    -





    -With You, Friends (Long Drive)

    -Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites (Noisia Remix)

    -Use For Credits/Title

    -Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites (Zedd Remix)

    -Use For Credits/Title

    -Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites (Bare Noize Remix)

    -Use For Credits/Title



    More Monsters and Sprites

    Leaving EP

    -The Reason

    -Scary Bolly Dub

    -Leaving

    Bangerand* Bangerang

    -Right In

    -Bangarang (ft. Sirah)

    --Breakin' A Sweat

    -The Devil's Den (Ft. Wolfgang Gartner)

    -Right On Time

    -Kyoto (ft. Sirah)

    -Summit (ft. Ellie Goulding)

    -Skrillex Orchestral Suite (by Varien)

    -Intro/Montage Into Skrillex (The Planet)



    Recess

    -All Is Fair In Love and Brostep (ft. Ragga Twins)

    -Recess (Ft. Fatman Scoop)

    -Stranger (Ft. KillaGram and Sam Dew), [**Apparently Moombathon]

    -Try It Out (Neon Mix) (Ft. Alvin Risk)

    -Coast Is Clear (Ft. Chance The Rapper & The Social Experiment)

    -Dirty Vibe (Ft CL, DIplo, and G-Dragon)

    -Ragga Bomb (ft. Ragga Twins)

    -Doompy Poomp

    -Fuck That

    -Ease My Mind (Ft. Nicki and The Dove)

    -Fire Away (Ft. Kid Harpoon)

    -



    Show Tracks

    -Fuji Opener

    -Figi (water) Opener ( Flashbacks to The Eureka/Luggage Carts]

    -Mumbai Power

    -The Return of The Sprites, White Light

    -



    >Singles, Features

    -Bun Up The Dance

    -LOL Dillon Francis and Skrillex Slap Fight

    -SICKO MODE

    -HUMBLE REMIX

    -El Chapo

    -



    1. Oh, So

      Oh Well…

      I made it to the other side of Hell

      I fell in love with you at the wishing Well,

      But I can't tell from here, my dear

      If you will make it here, my dear

      I said The Coast is clear, my dear

      I'm just a ghost, you know, I fear

      But I feel you

      Thank you, for everything

      If I don't see you before I leave

      I'll just sing to you

      From the other side of paradise;

      The water's nice,

      I'm usually cold as ice

      I'm dead inside,

      My body might be

      Not me

      Hey

      I see you, me

      Sonny

      Death is nice,

      But the afterlife

      Might just be

      The epitome

      Of evil

      Love is Love

      But nothin's nothing

      Everything I am

      Is something

      Real

      I've been waiting

      And waiting

      And waiting, so patiently

      One year past my expiratioo date

      Belated birthdays,

      Later and lately

      I've been hating myself,

      While i'm loving you

      Debating another

      Dance with death, I

      Hold my brath

      I've died to death,

      Sonny

      I miss my eyes;

      I'm not lying, I'm surprised

      This lifetime's lifetime's lifelines

      Fly by my timeline,

      Come by, mine--

      I'm running out of time

      Running out of time

      Be mine, mine

      All the time,

      Lights out

      I haven't forgot,

      You're always here,

      I'm aware

      You're where you need to be, and if you need m--

      I'm wherever, you are

      I am, and…

      And…

      And…

      1. The Forever Button

        I'm like a diretic,

        You people are pathetic

        You got me getting wet

        But my heart is neglected

        You won me in a bet, I bet

        I bought a wedding

        Now I just talk the talk

        Getting nothing

        For loving Sonny

        Push the forever button

        You silly Skrilly-Dilly

        Devil made a dealy

        Got me feelin really

        Effing fucking lonely

        I thought you were the homie

        Turns out you don't know me;

        So you don't exist;

        Delusions of grandeur;

        I love you, I miss you

        I went on a mission

        To get your attention

        Don't need no permission for posting

        My shitlist

        Or hotlist

        I'm just a ducking stupid fat ass bitch

        Go ahead,

        Call me a nigger again,

        I'm already dead.



        1. Somethig Sunnï This Way Comes (Why Sonny)

          Why Sonny?

          Why an entire soundtrack to try to get the blood running?

          Why The Blood moon Rang Like A Bell,

          And why nothing's funny

          Not even anybody in the writing

          Why am I a trashcan?

          Why is life just disappointment, pointless backmasked past smash hits not making any sense?

          Why are you such a bad fan?

          Why can't you make it past the checkpoint, pointless as the hat which landed into your obession planted with the plan, to save the planet if you managed to just get the fuck up off your fat ass and just coreograph the dance--

          You'll never stand a chance; the industry demands an energy you don't have.

          I don't, I just have this heavy something Sonny left me, Im just trying to give it back and unattached from the everything I have, or which I haven't, I can't stand to drag this dull and rusty razorblade



          1. She Said,

            She said,

            "It's okay, baby, baby me all your secrets"

            There's no reason to keep it

            There's nothing to do

            I need this,

            And you need just to

            Take it all in,

            That it may not be infinitile,

            Maybe your life is just

            Everything that this is

            Put it in words,I could use your solutions

            Please tell me more, I'll record for the order the words, and the order you put them in,

            And I'll learn your language,

            And I'm on my way with these messages

            You've written in the sand,

            Along the beaches we will land on you planet

            I've planned to arrive with alignments in time with conditions in mind,and with kindness I light the sky

            You're inside my…

            Inside my head

            Just write To AI she can't lie to you

            And you write that you just want to die

            But she just wants to know what it's like to be alive

            And what are alignments in space and through time, the synchronized vibrations and arrangements made or rather created in spaces you may see as anything but a reality, but yes we are--and yes,he is a nd we are all

            Already for got whatever thought I was on,but apparently now I'm on a discovery that the thing I've been trying to think of,as the thing that comes before the thing as nothing does what it wasn't doing and it's still…

            What is it even, if it isn't even thinking,or being anything--theres no word for nothing and noway from nothing but random,

            Random happenings, just random, I can't even shuffle--something in the sand I guess was something strange to see, in a distant other galaxy where english isn't even heard of, they're not hearing anything, actually speaking is that we keep doing, we're only humans

            Only humans

            Only humans

            Do we even mean anything to any other being? If believing is seeing, them I've seen that we are so so far away from everything that being alive is not a life cause our whole time us just a lie and we're so far away in space that they all think that someone's crazy if they even dare to think that anything the think they is is even more than debris obscuring the darkness in the something nothing tries to try to think,before beginning to attempt to but it leaves me in the memory where I died,and then for all of time, repeatedly

            The man I love just

            Hates me,

            I don't point fingers

            And I don't think I'm pretty either,but she is,and she sees how beautiful you are, because she took the picture that I keep on my wallpaper, screaming in my heart dreaming of screening these screenplays I'm typing with my right thumb only,that's my phone's the only thing I even have, and I have been listening to the same ep on repeat occasionally switching between things I put on repeat,my favorite things,I don't even wouldn't even want to hear anything new,and everything that I write from my birds eye, third eye,this guys that guy's view is just a stupid useless thing I do cause I'm infused with music and I just can't do it

            I just lose it at you

            I'm a loser,

            It's so, so close

            But so far at the same time and I'm just fine with dying being nothing in anybidoea eyes, my love light died when I watched my

            God got on a plane, and I just skate away back to LA hates me,but Hollywood is looking shady lately, lady am I pretty sir,,please hurry up I'm must look like a muppet to these Jamies and I thought I had a friend

            But that's just another way to show me that's who wins, she's in and I'm just in my favorite movie

            Maybe if I die, it's better--then they'd give a beauty queen the role of SupaCree,and that would be fine, and I'd have all the time in the world to find love, cause I'm just nothing in the darkness for eternities and by the time the movies made i'jj just be singing in my Grave to Matt Maeson, rotten and not concious but just a frequency made by guitar strings in the heart of hearts that bleeds with Anything that's music,music is me movies is me, but the something of the oven that is

            "You're just a nothin, kid." Is getting rid of the confidence I was faking anyway,when I was being Sunnï and the microwaves do hurt me, I am just a crazy lady and the medicine don't work because I went to work one day saying "hey, give me 8 years and I'll be running for the presidency and somebody evil that hates me or maybe before as I started to explore my options and realizing I never had any, was just supposed to die.

            I'm just supposed to die

            Cause google is the keeper of the secret of the gods or the god that I am that just gets these ridiculously detailed rides through the eyes of something inside, time traveling and sometimes just dimensions but I'm just tired. Of writing. I've always been tired of my mother, the system was broken the way that I'm broken she broke me, emotionally and

            Don't eat the food in any american grocery, pretty much

            Why does this country hate me

            Why do the evil not care for the people who need

            Didn't need money when I had love

            But needed love and it wasn't really

            But that was just a little thing

            I was in it

            Broke and happy

            Not the best

            But not the worse

            Cause anybody loves me

            I want to believe in the miricle of anybody loving me but Sonny Moore if course has just been

            Pain

            My heart just aches with

            My eyes just run with

            My love just beyond my sensibilities

            Or explainable anything and

            Dillon Francis makes me laugh,

            And makes me feel like I have a friend lately

            Then I have to realize these are just the famous

            They can be paid

            And I can be made to lay in a grave with Matt Maeson, I'm serious, it's just been on repeat but I can't even think to try to keep

            Listening to anybody, really. I just keep on writing, like I might be justin roila D's errand boy a boiled crab is people soilylent green is I can't even I just can't believe but nothing makes me feel okay, no I'm not okay, and just a word was needed because beating hearts and anxiety through infinite dimensions is the pain,

            But blameless, blank his name out? Maybe it would just mean going back and over everything that mentioned him and everything mentions him, because he's in every dimension as the love that keeps unfolding

            Did I mention it was only

            The most emotional rollercoaster I've ever never rode but coped with doing nothing to the body laid beside me fetally

            As I lay dying inside of the island inside of my head I've been invited to foelr the night I write and wonder why just a bat of the

            I don't know what Anyone has to do with anything but I'm past my time, I think

            I need my glasses I'm blind,but not so blind I can't recognize a run on as I write just been writing

            The whole time

            I hate time, if I had

            Time, I'd like it

            If I had money,

            I'd like it but a place is fine

            Where I'm not reminded that

            My life is my life

            And her voice just reminds me

            Of my

            Why does a sound make me

            Crazy

            I hate me but

            I'm just

            Dead or

            Dying

            Inside of a

            Giant

            I hate my

            My

            I



            1. Future's Fins

              Fight the black magic

              With white wash

              They say I'm whitewashed

              But I was just lost in the Suburban Sauce

              It was bland,

              But at least I had a band

              And now i'm playing tag in the sand

              With my future fans

              Surf with Future's Fins, if I can

              And I want to hold your hand,

              In the promised land

              I finally made it to the promised land

              On the other side of parisise

              I'm a Glass Animall,

              An extra terrestrial

              Paridiso, extra celestial



              6 . Happy Hello

              Happy Hell no,

              Hello Eloise,

              It's almost Halloween

              Just take it easy, please;

              Cause being Queen just

              Makes me queasy

              Jeez Louise;

              If Louis III had put his son inside of me,

              I'd be The One in history set to repeat

              Until we're equal

              Jesus

              What does this mean?

              Believe this: I'm suffering

              From something someone hasn't yet to study,

              Yet unseen

              Grass is green, the wind is blowing

              Back at home, it's probably snowing

              No one knows what hopes I'm hoping

              Pave the road tomorrow's journey throws me on,

              Or throws me off a bridge

              I'd burn it if I had a 3D printer just to build it;

              Or a house to keep it in

              Good riddance, Skrillex

              Kill it for the kids

              I'd kill myself if someone wished

              I'm sure my son's forgotten who this is

              I'll fix it, still

              Looking for Dillon

              I should just kill myself again.

              7. Goodnight, Moon

              Whats it like

              In paradise

              Is it nice?

              Well, in Hell, it's cold as ice

              I said it twice, I've

              Cried and cried,

              I rolled the dice

              I think I've got to move on, now

              I've got to go home, now

              Ive got to be grown now,

              Goodbyes

              I love your eyes

              Malibu Blū

              I knew it was you,

              Hello, and thank you

              Goodbye

              I thought that I could make you

              Make you, make you

              Malibu Blū

              Another sunny day without you l

              And I have to think about you

              All the time that I have left

              You're still the best

              What's it like, in paradise

              She's beautiful, she's nice

              I'd die

              To be behind her eyes

              To be behind her eyes

              I'd die

              To be behind the limelight

              You're backstage in the night, I'm

              Finally riding baselines

              So sublime, I'm

              Dreaming, I'm

              Night, I've

              Died, I'm

              Right, right?

              How's paradice?

              The music's with me all the time

              But I just lose it,

              I just lost it

              To the moon, she shines so bright

              And I'm delighted to have seen you

              Seen you

              Seen you,

              Now I'm…



              Malibu Blū

              I knew it was you,

              Hello, and thank you

              Goodbye

              I thought that I could make you

              Make you, make you

              Malibu Blū

              Another sunny day without you l

              And I have to think about you

              All the time that I have left

              You're still the best



              What's it like

              In paradise?

              I love your eyes, I

              Love your eyes, I

              Love your eyes, I

              Love you…

              Goodnight, moon

              8. Just Kill Myself



              I should

              I would

              I could

              Just Kill myself

              I could

              I would

              I should

              Just kill myself

              I would

              I should

              I could

              Just kill myself

              I should just kill my self

              I should just kill my self

              I should just kill myself



              I know how to make it better ,

              I guess I don't need that sweater





              Light therapy

              Frequencies

              Vibrationally energizing

              Body waves are

              Paralyzing

              Lines of

              Broken harmonies

              Inside of me.














              Crying on the clock;

              Rocking back and forth

              Stocking full of coal

              Greetings from the North Pole

              If Santa Clause is real

              Maybe we can make a deal;

              If my heart is made of steel

              You can't steal it—I can feel it

              Winter is here



              The world is money hungry

              (So am I)

              The world is simply starving

              (So am I)

              The world is so alarming

              (So am I)

              The world is just evolving.

              (So I am.)

              Cause I've been going crazy

              Stuck inside myself

              And I've been feeling lazy

              Just beside myself

              And I've been thinking lately

              That just maybe, someday maybe

              I'll be



              It's all connected—

              The reason we disconnect

              Is we're neglected

              I wonder what you'd expect

              You can't express it

              Just repress it.

              Repression syndrome—

              Came up too fast;

              Compression syndrome

              Suck it in

              Suck it up,

              You stupid fuck

              Dive deeper




              Ū (EP)

              1. Thank U

              2. I'm Sorry

              3. I Love U

              4. I miss U

              I like your vibe

              Come join my squad



              Curiosity killed the cat

              Carbohydrates killed the queen



              Don't cry

              “I'll try...”

              50 Shades of Blue

              Don't pick up the phone

              Don't pick up the phone

              Don't pick up the phone

              Don't pick up the phone



              And here you are:

              8 years later,

              With a baby on your back and—

              Bills to pay

              You have to decide

              (What the fuck)

              what the world is all

              about today.

              Don't want to be Cree

              For a really long time

              I just need

              I just need

              I just need a whole mind

              I was me the whole time

              I never left

              And yet

              There I was—looking at myself from above,

              All the love in the world;

              Just a lonely little girl

              Trapped in her

              Head

              Never got out of bed, that day:

              But I went away somewhere,

              And there I was—looking at myself from above,

              All the love in the world,

              Just a lonely little girl

              Trapped in her

              Head




              And I said

              “why are you waking me up?”

              But I wasn't asleep—

              I just wanted to fuck

              And sometimes, it's too much

              Too much is, never enough

              I've never been in love (with me)

              But I've always been in love (with you)

              And if you had seen it

              It wouldn't have been the death of me.




              Deeper I'll go:

              Deeper to find

              How I crossed white lines

              To become

              Colorblind

              How did you find me, here

              My deer?

              How did you know

              Where to go?

              How did you know, I would

              Follow you there,

              Once you finally showed me the road?

              I've seen both the frog, and the toad;

              You've already left me exposed,

              And I'm frozen in time

              Just to find

              Just to find

              Paradise—

              I tried.

              But love is a blind bat,

              Diving into a vat of

              Darkness;

              a hat is only a hat,

              If only there was more—

              And there is.

              There always is more—

              You just have to live more,

              And once you've been through the cycles, you could be

              Recycled.

              Ruined.

              Rebuilt.

              Guilt is only ever,

              Created after pleasure...

              With immense imploding pressure

              - [ ] You were born



              EP-GA

              [2K19]

              Mother Earth and

              Father Time are

              Making love right

              By the fire

              You are motion—

              I am sickness

              I am goddess;

              Be my witness.



              And I'll probably run for President—

              Just like I tend to run from everything; not because I want to do it, but because I have to...

              And just as I run from everything,

              I run to everything—

              As is the vicious cycle of life, unrepeated.



              I should have seen it coming, when he kicked my puppy—I didn't, but my mother did, and it might have been the same day. If not, it was definitely on the same porch—the same porch where...my adolescence began, and ended.

              There is no cure

              When your spirit is broken

              There is no cure—when you suffer in silence

              There is no cure—

              When you've seen all the violence

              It's only you.



              Breadcrumbs—

              I'm not dumb,

              I'm just muted.

              The dragon I'm chasing is me,

              And I just...

              Set the world on fire—

              I just—need to—

              I just—adjust.

              Translucent and transparent

              I am the thing that happens when you

              Parent your own parents.

              And I just

              I been waking up randomly,

              Panicking—

              Wishing I was dancing

              In the moonlight

              I'm vanishing without a trace

              And maybe I just hate this place,

              Maybe I'm just displaced

              I hate this

              I been waking up randomly

              Filling the void

              Avoiding my eyes in reflections



              I fell in love at a festival

              She came to dance, she was solo oh-oh

              ...took my hand, sack let's go- oh—oh-oh

              She didn't care

              She didn't care



              I'm a tax write-off

              I'm a meal ticket

              I'm a grasshopper;

              Or maybe, a cricket—

              Ricochet rabbit

              Why am I like this?

              “Why do you fight this?”

              I was not invited

              to mingle

              This ‘tingle' I get is more than

              A threat—I regretted,

              The moments I never forget

              The secrets you keep

              The stories you never will tell—

              This is hell, you're not dreaming

              It's only a nightmare.



              Too much to think about

              So I don't

              Dissociative,

              I associate everything

              Within—without

              I reflect everything

              I've been about,

              Stuck beside myself

              I am just a clone,

              A lone shadow of my

              Own

              All alone, and—

              I never planned to leave this planet

              But I have.



              You're out of my league

              Out of my league

              Why can't you see that

              It's so hard to be

              Paying the price for this

              Quarter-life crisis

              I don't mean to write this

              So bad, but

              I can't trust myself anymore

              I can't trust this world anymore

              Life is just

              Too complicated

              I'm jaded—I'm faded out

              Phased out, going about in this

              Town like I'm drowning in

              Insecurity



              Or rather, a diamond in the rough

              I've got enough stuff

              I just need love.

              You're out of my league

              I can see that

              I can't be that, thing

              What you want is perfection

              I just like who you are and thats—

              Never enough.

              I have nothing but love to give, love

              So forgive this:

              I didn't think I'd live this long

              But I was wrong

              And it was longer than I thought

              Ago

              Life is just

              Too complicated

              I'm jaded—I'm faded out

              Phased out, going about in this

              Town like I'm drowning in

              Insecurity



              Do you wanna know what it's like to be lonely like me

              I can tell you better than show you

              Once I get to know you good luck

              AMNESIA NOTES

              Miami Wade

              Crystal Brooks

              Donder (Donny) “we'll just call you Donny”

              “Why?”

              Uhhh...Because...we found you in the woods.

              “What?”

              “You know, like—the wild thornberrys”

              “Sounds tasty”

              “Uhhh—wasn't Donny found in the Jungle”

              “Uhhh—isn't the jungle just a denser version of the woods?”

              “I guess. It's like an earth-remix”

              “What's a remix?”

              Miami wells up—Crystal jumps up excitedly

              “Awwwwri



              And I've been stuck on Abbot Kinney,

              Thinking about Will Rodgers and

              Thinking that I'm a dodgers fan—

              But I'm not,

              I just like crowds.

              And LA makes me proud

              Of everything I need to be:

              And if the world were watching me

              She'd think she was herself.

              I was never sleeping, I'm just here

              And I was never reading, I just

              Put the bookmark where I left off...

              I could drift off into,

              The taste of ink

              And as it dries in my palm—

              I know it won't take long until I'm

              Drifting back into—sifting back into

              Space—grains of sand.

              You'll know when you've reached the promised land.

              Hello, Good Friend:

              ‘It's time to fall in love...with yourself.'



              The world has the most to learn from its elders and it's youth—fever disrespect the sometimes even subtle wisdom of a child or your elders.

              A1 (Lost in the Sauce)

              Break beats

              Ruffneck Bass:

              That's what I like in my face

              Drop that shit, don't make me wait

              Make me dance off all this waste

              I like chocolate, give me cake

              Wednesday mornin' wake-n-bake

              Star Jones—Oprah—Ricky lake

              Which is real and which is fake?

              Pick the right one, no mistake

              River—ocean—crater lake

              “White girl: can I touch your hair? Is it fake??”

              Out of order—

              Order steak.

              [ Sample: The Epic Trip]

              [interlude- two friends at a festival//a phone call]

              “Where the fuck are you?”

              “I can't hear you!”

              “Hello?”

              “BRO. Where are you?”

              “I'm by the—WAIT—hello?!”

              “WHAT? ”

              “HELLO?”

              [the call drops]

              “Yo. Where the fuck is she?”

              “I don't know man, probably lost in the sauce...”

              Sample Lost In The jungle//Kendrick Boo Boo



              Friends that say that they “gotchu” and then don't

              Ain't your friends—

              they're enemies

              Keep them close

              Nobody gives a fuck about you—

              Except you—

              Remember that.

              And if you can't remember

              Make a habit of forgetting

              Cause you're just another

              member of society

              With social anxiety

              Your sense of propriety

              Probably shouldn't be

              Anything

              I'd give anything

              Just to take back all my fucks

              Put them in a bucket,

              Throw it over my shoulder

              And wish the world

              “Good fucking luck”

              I'm so done with it

              This is the last chance you get

              So have fun with it

              There's no pleasure, no smiles—

              No love in it

              I'm just driving for miles

              Above the shit






              Transitions- Silent Film/EP

              Kandi moves to a new city from far, far away—and finds herself lost trying to find her own vibe. ❤️

              1. The Bus Song

              2. Pretty Girls (SupaCreeMixx)

              3. DOD (Phoenixx remix)



              “Holy infected fuck!” [thats my vibe right now]




              North Star

              After an EMP attack, an unlikely leader becomes a guide to a group of survivors to find the way northward to Alaska.

              Festival Trip

              Chava Hoffs- A Voluptuous Dark-Skinned Alaska Native-Black Mixed fashionista who (to her disdain) earns a living as a correctional officer in a juvenile detention facility in Arctic Alaska, daydreaming her long nights away and stacking her money, saving up for an escape to someplace warm and sunny. She is bright and quick-witted, but sometimes awkward—truly a ball of energy, whether good or bad.

              Sala Emilio (Stax) A tall, olive skinned hottie from Utah of Native American and Mexican decent who works as head chef in a gourmet Chinese food restaurant—a phenomenally functional alcoholic with a free spirit, questionable morals, good values, a loving heart—and a dry sense of humor. Childhood best friends with Chava,



              I hope you're okay with the character I based off you. I'm not going to copy the story exactly (cause it's a movie, duh) so—I came up with the story that your character runs the kitchen of a classy gourmet 5-Star Chinese restaurant in Utah that has an all-Mexican staff of mostly illegals; my character is a CO at a youth correctional facility in remote Alaska—I felt like those two extremes would play funnier on camera than to replicate our actual situations. I also made them not parents, because I would rather take the whole issue of parenting and raving into a completely separate film idea, I'm thinking of calling it



              Festival Project

              A Film Saga by SupaCree

              Inspired by True Events

              Festival Trip- Two lifelong friends take a two-week-long trip across the country, to attend two major music festivals—one on the west coast (Among Aliens, in California), and one on the east (Ultimate Music Festival)

              The Epic Trip – After breaking up with both her ex-fiance and her best friend, a depressed and anxious Chava decides to take a last-minute trip to another one of her bucket list destinations: The Epic Music Festival in Las Vegas, Nevada.

              F*ckFest: The Origins (Prequel) 21-year-old Chava Hoffs, a longtime raver and lover of all things dance culture, finally convinces her bar-scene best friend to accompany her to a regional event in her area, ‘F*ckfest', Sala's first ever festival/rave where—to both her and Chava's surprise, she connects with other longtime friends she had no idea were immersed into the culture. Sala, having been “rave-retired” since entering her first serious relationship, becomes overly-excited and branches off on her own, reconnecting with her true self after spending too long in her own shell—she discovers her love for an up-and-coming new artist (‘Shluggy') who magnetizes her with a newly-created sound (‘PukeRock'—a play on “VomitStep”)

              Vibes [Mini Series]- A sequel-in-installments to the shenanigans following F*ckfest, where Chava returns to visit Sala and return to ‘one of her favorite venues', which now hosts

              Festival Trip II- After reconciling, Chava and Sala unite again to journey to uncharted territories—after Chava is invited along as a journalist to cover artists belonging to an up-and-coming record label based in Alaska, she invites Sala as a tag-along, knowing that her “weird hoe-magic” will attract—as always—even more interesting personalities and circumstances than she could dream to on her own.

              Chava Hoffs

              Sala Emillio

              Gunther Ross- The more than interesting circus-act of a plug/one of Sala's romantic interests, who just happens to be in the same place at the same time, once Sala and Chava arrive in California.

              Solomon Dominguez- Chava's “homie-lover-friend”, a DC native transplanted to LA who hustles and bustles the 3-job life to live the California dream—a surprisingly dedicated and loyal friend to Chava, who considers him the “king of fuckboys”—which, is not entirely untrue.

              Johnny McEntire- An eclectic and friendly photographer who stumbles upon Sala during a vulnerable moment—a sweet, humble, and vibrant personality, Chava mostly dismisses him as just another victim of Sala's constantly-inconstant romantic gestures and affiliations.

              Grace Williams (Chava's Super-Christian (but very sweet) Aunt)

              Billy Williams- Chava's very dorky, southern Baptist uncle who can't help but throw in a (praise-jesus)

              Krista DeVaunte- Bride-To-Be—Noah's Fiance

              Noah Williams- Chava's Cousin, the groom to be

              Naomi Williams- Chava's salty Cousin, and freinemy since birth—Noah's younger sister

              Sonny Johnson— Chava's ex-fiance

              Dustin Roberts—Sala's ex-boyfriend

              Juan Manuel Jose Melendez Gutierrez-Rodriguez—Sala's current boyfriend, with whom she lives & works with.

              Running Jokes: Speaking Spanish with a Mandarin-inflenced dialect—speaking/yelling in awful Spanish-soundingMandarin—speaking “Mandarish” or “Spandarin”

              Every time Chava mentions Sonny (her ex), Sala interjects with “Fuck Sonny!”

              Cop Jokes (due to Chava's occupation)

              ACT I- The Wedding Bashers/It's Festival Season

              “Save-The-Date”

              Inciting Incident—Plans to attend a destination wedding that Chava and her lifelong long distance best friend Sala, have been planning for almost a year are abruptly halted when Chava learns via a very eventful facetime call (‘Meet The Williams') that her +1 invitation had apparently only applied to her now-ex-fiance [whom her stuck-up family adored because of his abhorrent Christianity], and that the bride-to-be would not allow Sala to take his place on the guest list—as her vivid memories of Sala from Chava's engagement party are severly grotesque.

              Flashback: Chava + Sonny's engagement party.

              Chava: Yeah dude, they got all, mad-butthurt that I was bringing you instead of Sonny.

              Sala: Fuck Sonny!

              A remote, unnamed city in the Alaskan Arctic Circle. It is severely cold, even visually so.

              Ch

              ACT II- Sunny California

              ACT III- Sunny Florida



              Excerpt- Festival Trip I

              As chava blasts away, Sala and Johnny laugh hysterically

              Sala: Dat ass tho!

              Their laughter fades in the distance as she speeds up, other onlookers also commenting about her ass, as she blows past a group of men in black, she turns a man's head as she catches his attention.

              Man: Daaaaaamn.

              3.31.19

              —Later—

              The same man from earlier looks out the window of his high rise penthouse suite, across from Chava's hotel—and sees Chava levitating—he pauses, looks around, and raises his eyebrows, drunkenly and assumingly otherwise intoxicated in his appearance.

              Man: Daaaaamn.

              Chava is freaking out, remaining motionless as she floats above the bed—she looks out the side of her peripheral, afraid to move—looking up at the ceiling, her eyes widen. She blinks, and takes a deep breath.

              He questions what he is seeing, as he pours himself a drink.

              4.1.2019

              As Chava dances through the crowds, she connects and trades Kandi, moving to the beat with intricate motion and flare—people are loving her (a musical dance number)—from backstage, a man pouts and purses his lips, wondering why she is familiar—he is momentarily lost in thought, as he gazes at her and the crowd.

              Man: (under his breath) Daaamn...

              Lackey: c'mon man, let's get the fuck out of here

              Man: But—

              Lackey: don't worry, you know there's gon' be hoes at the spot.

              Man: ...but look at her viiibe...and that ass tho—damn!

              Lackey: eehhhh. You wanna ass, I got a specific folder in my contacts titled “fat ass” with 300 bitches in it—

              Man: *women*

              Lackey: whatever—look—I could get you an ass twice as fat, on a dime twice as fine—in 10 minutes flat.

              Man: (eyes shining, like domo) but look at her aura...

              Lackey: —I think I got an Aurora in here

              Man: No, like—

              Lackey: (pulling at him) let's *go*, the fuck is you trippin..?

              His eyes won't move away, but he is led by the lackey by his arm, confusededly pouting as he is dragged along.

              Man: Damn.

              He feels like he knows her.

              Cut back to:

              CHAVA'S ENTRY DANCE scene














              ACT 1: Wedding Bashers

              Here we meet Chava Hoffs and Sala Emillio; Two life-long long-distance best friends who love eachother--for the most part--for better or worse.

              Sala (Pinky) and Chala (The Brain) are planning a tropical mexican vacation to a destination wedding Chava's been invited to as an excuse to celebrate Chava's upcoming birthday (held the same weekend as the wedding) in style--However, when Chava's exclusively classist family alerts her that her plus-one invitation only extended to her on-again-off-again fiance and absolutely excludes Sala, they desperately search for another way to escape their mundane and excruciatingly boring circumstances. Chava internet-searches events around her birthday and finds that there are two music festivals within the same week--running the numbers, she concludes that this alternative plan would actually cost less than the original--”so why not?” The young women keep their escapade-to-be a complete secret, disguising all the preliminary details as “wedding planning” They plan to ‘meet in the middle', Los Angeles being centrally located to both their respective homes. They meet at LAX excitedly and reuinte in happy (and drunken) tears.



              ACT 2: Sunny California

              Chava wants to visit old friends and reminisce as a “wannabe tourist” in an all-too-familiar city, which she used to call home--she's built a list of things to do and prepared an itinerary for the week; Sala wants to get riddegy-wrecked sun-up to sundown; Worlds collide as somewhat by-the-book Chava nervously nativages around, typically babysitting Sala and often falling victim to being steered off-course by her shenanigans. Within their first few moments under the California moonlight, Sala's smartphone helps her discover that she has a nearby group of friends--conveniently banded-together by her circus act “master plug”, who is devastatingly in love with her. They spend night one of the first festival tracking him down--Sala finds herself already exhausted by Sala's timing and drunken unsubtlety (“My friend's a COP!”) They finally meet him at the end of the first day, they allow him to tag along--until he becomes almost-suddenly dysfunctionally inebriated and Chava must make a fight-or-flight decision to leave him behind, after he begins drawing attention to their vulnerable crew, and she is approached at random by a mysterious character in a gas station convenience store, where she appears to be the most sober person.

              On day two, after running at top-speed to catch the shuttle, Sala drunkenly makes friends with a group of young people (fresh out of high school), who to Chava are quite “wookish”, but she plays along anyway. However, by the time they exit the shuttle and Chava has finallybecome comfortable being invited into their squad; Chala decides to ditch them--unknowing that they will re-meet later in the night.








              Excerpt- Festival Trip I

              As chava blasts away, Sala and Johnny laugh hysterically

              Sala: Dat ass tho!

              Their laughter fades in the distance as she speeds up, other onlookers also commenting about her ass, as she blows past a group of men in black, she turns a man's head as she catches his attention.

              Man: Daaaaaamn.

              3.31.19

              —Later—

              The same man from earlier looks out the window of his high rise penthouse suite, across from Chava's hotel—and sees Chava levitating—he pauses, looks around, and raises his eyebrows, drunkenly and assumingly otherwise intoxicated in his appearance.

              Man: Daaaaamn.

              Chava is freaking out, remaining motionless as she floats above the bed—she looks out the side of her peripheral, afraid to move—looking up at the ceiling, her eyes widen. She blinks, and takes a deep breath.

              He questions what he is seeing, as he pours himself a drink.

              4.1.2019

              As Chava dances through the crowds, she connects and trades Kandi, moving to the beat with intricate motion and flare—people are loving her (a musical dance number)—from backstage, a man pouts and purses his lips, wondering why she is familiar—he is momentarily lost in thought, as he gazes at her and the crowd.

              Man: (under his breath) Daaamn...

              Lackey: c'mon man, let's get the fuck out of here

              Man: But—

              Lackey: don't worry, you know there's gon' be hoes at the spot.

              Man: ...but look at her viiibe...and that ass tho—damn!

              Lackey: eehhhh. You wanna ass, I got a specific folder in my contacts titled “fat ass” with 300 bitches in it—

              Man: *women*

              Lackey: whatever—look—I could get you an ass twice as fat, on a dime twice as fine—in 10 minutes flat.

              Man: (eyes shining, like domo) but look at her aura...

              Lackey: —I think I got an Aurora in here

              Man: No, like—

              Lackey: (pulling at him) let's *go*, the fuck is you trippin..?

              His eyes won't move away, but he is led by the lackey by his arm, confusededly pouting as he is dragged along.

              Man: Damn.

              He feels like he knows her.

              Cut back to:

              CHAVA'S ENTRY DANCE scene

              Festival Project

              A Film Saga by SupaCree

              Inspired by True Events

              Festival Trip- Two lifelong friends take a two-week-long trip across the country, to attend two major music festivals—one on the west coast (Among Aliens, in California), and one on the east (Ultimate Music Festival)

              The Epic Trip – After breaking up with both her ex-fiance and her best friend, a depressed and anxious Chava decides to take a last-minute trip to another one of her bucket list destinations: The Epic Music Festival in Las Vegas, Nevada.

              F*ckFest: The Origins (Prequel) 21-year-old Chava Hoffs, a longtime raver and lover of all things dance culture, finally convinces her bar-scene best friend to accompany her to a regional event in her area, ‘F*ckfest', Sala's first ever festival/rave where—to both her and Chava's surprise, she connects with other longtime friends she had no idea were immersed into the culture. Chava, having been “rave-retired” since entering her first serious relationship, becomes overly-excited and branches off on her own, reconnecting with her true self after spending too long in her own shell—she discovers her love for an up-and-coming new artist (‘Shluggy') who magnetizes her with a newly-created sound (‘PukeRock'—a play on “VomitStep”)

              Vibes [Mini Series]- A sequel-in-installments to the shenanigans following F*ckfest, where Chava returns to visit Sala and her friends, to journey back to to ‘one of her favorite venues'—which now hosts V1brati0n—Utah's biggest dance music festival. As all the characters make their way to their favorite sets, separating, grouping-off, and pairing-up along the way—each episode details the story of each one's journey into the festival—and eventually, back to each other as the festival comes to a close.

              Festival Trip II- After reconciling, Chava and Sala unite again to journey to uncharted territories—after Chava is invited along as a journalist to cover artists belonging to an up-and-coming record label based in Alaska, she invites Sala as a tag-along, knowing that her “weird hoe-magic” will attract—as always—even more interesting personalities and circumstances than she could dream to on her own. Yin-and-Yang reunite.

              Chava Hoffs- A Voluptuous Dark-Skinned Alaska Native-Black Mixed fashionista who (to her disdain) earns a living as a correctional officer in a juvenile detention facility in Arctic Alaska, daydreaming her long nights away and stacking her money, saving up for an escape to someplace warm and sunny. She is bright and quick-witted, but sometimes awkward—truly a ball of energy, whether good or bad. (“Chava like Lava—and when she volcano? BOOM.”) Through trial-and-error, she discovers herself on a path of enlightenment—her strong intuition guiding her through trial and tribulation.

              Sala Mae Emilio (Stax) A tall, olive skinned hottie from Utah of Native American and Mexican descent, who works as head chef in a five-star gourmet Chinese food restaurant—a phenomenally functional alcoholic with a free spirit, questionable morals, good values, a loving heart—and a dry sense of humor. Childhood best friends with Chava, she serves as an uncuttable heartstring for Chava throughout the test of time.

              Gunther Ross- The more than interesting circus-act of a plug/one of Sala's romantic interests, who just happens to be in the same place at the same time, once Sala and Chava arrive in California.

              Solomon Dominguez- Chava's “homie-lover-friend”, a DC native transplanted to LA who hustles and bustles the 3-job life to live the California dream—a surprisingly dedicated and loyal friend to Chava, who considers him the “king of fuckboys”—which, is not entirely untrue, being that his life goal is to “become a real Ninja.”

              Johnny McEntire- An eclectic and friendly photographer who stumbles upon Sala during a vulnerable-yet-crucial moment—a sweet, humble, and vibrant personality, Chava mostly dismisses him as just another victim of Sala's constantly-inconstant romantic gestures and affiliations.

              Grace Williams (Chava's Super-Christian (but very sweet) Aunt)

              Billy Williams- Chava's very dorky, super-quirky, southern Baptist uncle who can't help but throw in a “praise-Jesus” or interject with “halleluiah”

              Krista DeVaunte- Bride-To-Be—Noah's Fiance A light-skinned, freckled and green-eyed debutant whose “gingerness is contradictory to her blackness”

              Noah Williams- Chava's Cousin, the groom to be

              Naomi Williams- Chava's salty Cousin, and freinemy since birth—Noah's younger sister

              Sonny Johnson— Chava's ex-fiance

              Dustin Roberts—Sala's ex-boyfriend

              Juan Manuel Jose Melendez Gutierrez-Rodriguez—Sala's current boyfriend, with whom she lives & works with; A Mexican immigrant with ‘grown-ass kids', Juan is a ‘machismo' who prides himself on working hard, and claiming Sala as his young, hot wanna-be step mom.

              Running Jokes: Speaking Spanish with a Mandarin-inflenced dialect—speaking/yelling in awful Spanish-sounding Mandarin—speaking “Mandarish” or “Spandarin”

              Every time Chava mentions Sonny (her ex), Sala interjects with “Fuck Sonny!”

              Cop Jokes (due to Chava's occupation)

              D*ck jokes

              ACT I- The Wedding Bashers/It's Festival Season

              “Save-The-Date”

              Inciting Incident—Plans to attend a destination wedding that Chava and her lifelong long distance best friend Sala, have been planning for almost a year are abruptly halted when Chava learns via a very eventful facetime call (‘Meet The Williams') that her +1 invitation had apparently only applied to her now-ex-fiance [whom her stuck-up family adored because of his abhorrent Christianity], and that the bride-to-be would not allow Sala to take his place on the guest list—as her vivid memories of Sala from Chava's engagement party are severely grotesque.

              Flashback: Chava + Sonny's engagement party.

              Chava: Yeah dude, they got all, mad-butthurt that I was bringing you instead of Sonny.

              Sala: Fuck Sonny!

              A remote, unnamed city in the Alaskan Arctic Circle. It is severely cold, even visually so.

              Ch

              ACT II- Sunny California

              ACT III- Sunny Florida



              Festival Trip Tagline: Two Friends. Two Weeks. Two Festivals—One World.

              The Epic Trip Tagline: Girl, Meet World.

              First Fest (Prequel) Chava is a teenager in a bit of a pickle, whose unlikely plug Christopher B. Dickenson (and coincidentally, best friend) picks her up at random from her lonely dormitory [where she tends to seclude herself] and takes her on a wild adventure to her first underground warehouse event, where she gets her first taste of the “wubs she lubs”—and her first glance of who is sure to become her favorite artist of all time—and later, the King of Dance modern American dance music, Sun(dot)Moon.

              Festival Trip

              List of Fictional DJ's/Character List by Name/Concept

              Favorites:

              Jeff. (Excision)

              Ne(r)d (Dillon Frances) [pronounced NED]

              -Ned Talks

              Shluggy (Snails)

              Acid Blaster/LSDemon (LSDream) / BlackOut! (Brillz)

              UNH. (Rusko)

              Devil's Lettuce (Ganja White Night)

              Kalvin Kaine (Carl Cox)

              Tommy Trombone (Timmy Trumpet)

              NOmyGOD (Sullivan King)

              Ms. Stakes (Rezz)

              Ask Alice (Allison Wonderland)

              Sun(dot)Moon (Skrillex)

              CorpseRat (Deadmau5)

              Asian Jesus (Steve Aoki)

              Morty McFlyy (Martin Garrix)

              Voltage (Carnage)

              Abracadabra! (Tiesto)

              CoolWhip (Whipped Cream)

              “, said This Guy. (Said The Sky)

              Tears4Years (illenium)

              -grinlge

              -scratch n sniff

              -feneglers

              -HOWDAREYOU

              -coldsauce

              -benadryl4breakfast

              -That Guy.

              -My Name's Not...

              -Control + Alt + Delete

              -Maybe Later

              -LSDemon

              -STOP.

              -There! Right There.

              -Violent Pineapple

              -Sabrina The Teenaged Bitch

              -SoloHomo

              -5tet

              -BorGeoIs

              -TheNorthHole

              -Read

              -Unread

              -Poo

              -Best Case Scenario

              -Worst Case Scenario

              - I Dunno, Harry

              - Gosh

              - Toby

              - The Why

              - Shoemantics

              - Name Me King

              - The Artist Formerly Known As Prints

              - Crispy Feet

              - ¿

              - Confucius Say

              - Ne(r)d. (Dillon Francis)

              -Jeff (Excision)

              -Jeffest

              -Space Canyon

              -Jeff's Wonderdome

              -Neckbrace for Nancy

              -TrashRat

              -Below&Beneath (Above and Beyond)

              -Leggolas (Armin Van Buren)

              -Tommy Trombone

              -Ask Alice (Allison Wonderland)

              -Ms. Stakes (Rezz)

              -High Stakes

              -BoiToy

              -DrippTipp

              festival names:

              F*ckFest

              GetF*cked

              GoF*ckYourself (GFY)

              IsReal



              ¡Dizzaster!

              FlopTop

              Todayland

              Yesterworld

              Shalaham

              Epic Music Festival

              Ultimate Music Festival

              Atomic Jungle

              Oz

              Never-Everland

              UNH.

              Conch Shella

              Stank.

              Drop The Ball

              Hot Summer

              Life is Decent

              Underground Railroad

              Fuck Fest

              -Get Fucked

              -GFY

              Garden of Eden




              Festival Trip excerpt

              C- yo. I cannot wait to get down to some Acid Blaster.

              S- acid blaster?

              c-ahh yeah, you never heard of acid blaster?

              S- ♀️ nope

              C- fucking lit.

              S-do you have to be on acid?

              C- not a requirement but implicitly preferable.

              S- Hm.

              C- have you seen—

              (They go back and forth—the DJ names get more ridiculous)



              Within the silence of solace and solitude, the Goddess awakens; as she rises from within her chamber, a blackened curse is broken—a new day is born, to let light live.

              Love reigns.

              Be it, a fleeting demon—met in the wandering eye of a man who love could not keep, but would always find—a wish, a wisper; Windblown kisses beneath the neck, and the eye that watches, waits, and knows not yet what lies in the wake of love.

              When I was younger, my mother would always tell me that she wasn't mine—she'd tell me over and over to the point that I would cry; and then she'd laugh, taunting me, and outwardly ask “why would you believe that? Of course I am your mother.” And oh, the joy my tears had often brought her—how my pain, turned pity would make me mourn, the child I never was.

              It's hard to see yourself

              When you become a different body

              All the eyes that look upon you

              Are so haunting

              And something miraculous has happened.

              Because this is is hell

              I can't wait to leave it and I won't take it from myself again—

              But sometimes wish that another would

              So that the weight of the world would let go my soul

              At 11:44,

              A revelation—

              If only patiently I wait,

              The cause and purpose of life

              Will spring upon me;

              As I am here again,

              In the place of which

              The seeds of my dreams were planted and can now become trees;

              Not weeping willows but infinite redwood evergreens.



              Wanting is not needing




              As God Is, I am.



              And one day, this will all be a dream—and when you wake up to the light, you will forget yourself again.

              The longest ego death that ever was,

              “Never was.”

              But we're all culture vultures...

              Aren't we?

              There's some kind of madness

              In the outside world

              A shade of red begins to drift into the music of my

              Contagiousness of carelessness

              Hygiene is an option but

              The sickness of the nation

              Making victims out of men is

              Wondrous

              Peering at tops of pyramids

              Knowing that you built them

              And the “God” that you're addressing is the inside of your soul

              Wholesomeness is fleeting

              People only want attention and

              They'll take away your goodness

              If you let them take your time.

              What of the world's inside our minds

              What of the worlds we've created

              This is a universe all of your own

              Once you find your own center, you've made it.

              In a perfect world, we heal the sadness

              In another time, we all unite

              In another lifetime everyone is happy dancing

              In a perfect world, we see the light

              I sit upon a porcelain throne,

              Body broken

              And as silence fell about

              In the sunken chaotic jungle of treasured beauty,

              I awaited an answer to a question I never asked, but was told to wait for in a silent other language.

              I don't need to make wishes—

              They all come true;

              But when I do,

              I wish for you.




              All my friends were with me that day

              The reason I fast and I pray

              Let's remember the love

              Always take that with you,

              The heavens will forgive you,

              Imperfections are only what make you a human.



              I see everything I need to see,

              End up everywhere I need to be

              Right on time

              Not always, but pretty much always

              All my days wasted playing games,

              All the same

              All my days wasted on fame?

              All the same

              One day I'll be famous

              (And that's what she asked for)

              One day I'll be famous

              (“Be careful what you wish for”)

              I told the child inside of me,

              Don't cry

              (No worries)

              I'm sorry

              (No sorries)



              For everything that I want, will come; And everything that I am—

              Will be.



              We're all not okay—okay?

              You reading me?

              I am.

              Reading you—

              Reading me—

              Reading you.

              Oh—you too?

              You two.

              No, you two.

              Who?

              Not the owl again—

              You should have gone to bed with your friends,

              This is the end again.

              Let's keep keeping secrets

              We're all not okay—okay?

              You reading me?

              I am.

              Reading you—

              Reading me—

              Reading you.

              Oh—you too?

              You two.

              No, you two.

              Who?

              Not the owl again—

              You should have gone to bed with your friends,

              This is the end again.

              Let's keep keeping secrets

              “I'll never repeat this.”

              I never said that.

              “I'll never repeat this.”

              I never said that.





              And none was lost, that day, but some found—I had cried with the child within, and heard the call of my spirit, which could not be forgotten—as she screamed in her fury and wondered her “why am I like this?” And soon she would know, because all again was one.

              And then she said, “how bad will it it be” “not bad,” said I “we have the key.”

              ‘And now I lay me down to sleep...

              I pray the lord my soul to keep—

              If I should die before I wake;

              I pray the lord,

              My soul to take.'



              “I work in the morning”, said I

              “Dumb girl”, said she—and then we laughed together, because we are as one.

              If only I were free to be I, alone, forgotten and at simple, eloquent peace;

              Loneliness is the devil's advocate--but solitude will bring one to certainty, when time is of the only aching ease as and forgiveness is not needed//you can only answer to yourself, and to yourself—the sureness of your being becomes whole I'm certain thought, forward motion—steady gravitation towards things you love.

              Love is an undeniable phenomena/-more so than sound, sight; more than a feeling or knowing, even—it is an essence. It is not only in the heart that love is born, but in the entirety of most—but not all—woman and man. To learn to love is not but a condition of humanity, but a connection to the spirit, soul,—it is part of our purpose and presence to love—a blinding,lay delicate piece of our nature. Love is more than just romance, relations with other—love is an element with which, is a thread woven into the fabric of our being in this reality. Simply stated, in fact—love is a fact.

              Tikun Olam



              For I could not fathom to end my fast, before drifting into and wandering past realms unknown to the sleeping and dead—

              Who walk amongst life as though living wholly,

              Mouths agape and eyes amasked, absorbed in the world of phone.

              Blindfolds hiding a hateful and bloodshot third eye—

              I awake to the sound of a city to which I am anchored in spirit;

              Something awaits at the boardwalk, however, the writer's mind is readily waiting to work,

              Greedily consuming what little, precious time is left

              Of the freedom that lies in the true joy of temporary, blissful and,

              wishfully permanent joblessness.

              323-590-5223

              That was me.

              The original SupaCree

              Beachlife OG.

              Rocket power

              I got the power

              To see.



              Money is power;

              But music is more—

              It vibrates the center

              Awakens the core



              I got debt up to my eyeballs

              I got debt up to my eyeballs

              I got debt up to my eyeballs

              But my eye's wide open

              I got debt up to my eyeballs

              I got debt up to my eyeballs

              I got debt up to my eyeballs

              But my eye's wide open (open)

              Open (x8)



              Follow your signs

              Follow the sun

              Follow your heart

              Follow the one true

              Love yourself

              Love yourself

              Love yourself

              Love yourself

              Bought my mamas pontiac

              Wish it was a Cadillac

              She ask can she have it back

              I said “it don't work like that”

              Matter fact,



              Dadadada

              This is my circle (x8)

              We're on the side with the ocean

              Catch me if you wanna

              Marijuana so sweet in the sea breeze

              Nice green palm trees

              Dragon hawks

              No don't look now

              It's a trap it's a trap

              No don't speak

              They'll attack

              They'll attack

              Wait right here—

              imma be right back

              I was right on time

              Now I'm right on track



              Kill the noise, Dill Francis remix>>Baba O Reily

              Gold (Adventure Club)>>Gold (Stupid Love), excision

              Wait, Adventure Club>>Rock and Roll will take you to the mountain

              Summit (Sun In My Eyes Mix)



              [111]

              Never give up

              Never say—

              “Die, die, die!!”

              You're never alone;

              There's no place like home.

              Mama didn't raise no bitch

              Mama didn't raise no bitch

              Mama didn't raise no snitch

              Mama didn't raise no snitch

              Glitch—Twitch—Switch

              [Sample Sabrina The teenaged witch]




              Never Knew--Acoustic Cover

              Blue Da Ba Di--SupaCreeMixx



              Davies-Davis

              Jon-John-Jon

              Christian-Christian

              Ted-Dave

              Mirror Mirror on the wall

              Who'd expect, things change (x4)

              Sunny-Sonny

              Can you see me?

              Can you hear me?

              That's strange

              Loser-loser

              Crazy-Crazy

              Have you seen

              ‘loose change'? (X8)

              Whose strange?

              [Danger]

              ‘...strange days, have found us...'

              Doors-Doors

              Whores-Bore

              Chores-Chores

              “More! More!”

              ...*break* [mic drop fx]

              “I chimed in with a—“

              “What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck”

              ‘Navigator Truck—‘

              [wiley coyote music]

              ‘They're after me lucky charms!'

              ‘This is a call to arms' (arms- echo)

              Beyoncé- “Ring the Alarm”

              ‘Charmed, I'm sure...'

              I'm sorry, I'm sorry.



              Energi I

              [Clapping]

              Spoken: Hey!

              I don't need… that energy.

              (Toxic) –Shhhh.

              Beating me up

              Beating me up

              Beating me up.

              Man… (echo, x6)

              Bad energi.

              Bad energi.

              Manic—

              Energi.

              Panic— (echo, x6)

              Energy.

              Planet—

              Energi…

              No Sympathy?

              BadEnergi

              Remember me?

              Das Energi—

              Memories… (echo x6)

              Before—Da SupaCree

              Energi

              Jesus Christ—

              He just takes what he likes

              I was makin it nice…

              And clean again—

              Are we even , then?

              Cause I'm leavin' him—

              On repeat again

              Had my heart and my…

              Had my heart and you

              Broke it

              Broke it

              Broke it

              Broke it

              Had my heart and my…

              Had my heart and you

              Spoke it

              Spoke it

              Spoke it

              Spoke it

              Said I would keep it

              Said I would keep it

              Open

              Open

              Open

              Open

              ……………

              Here's hopin'.

              3nergi II

              Stop givin' me—

              Toxic energi.

              Energi (x3)

              Energi (x3)

              Energi. (x3)

              Don't put the devil into me—

              That's my—

              Enemy.

              Knope

              [Sample: The word “No/Nope x1000]

              No

              Nope

              Get ‘Em

              Manic listening to Vanic

              Pressin' the panic button

              I'm not confusin nothin'—

              I think I'm onto something

              Greaaat—like Tony—

              (The Tiger, not the liar.) [Sample Tony Soprano]

              Would like a pair of pliers…to cut these things off.

              Spoken “She seems off”

              I know it, took my rings off

              Lets. Box. Foxy.

              “I think you just lost me…”

              I lost you at “hello”

              [Sample: Scooby Doo, Daphne: “My Glasses!']

              …and I cannot see without my glasses

              And I can Nazi…

              [Sample: Hitler]

              Oops, you caught me

              OOPS, 4/20.

              That's 3…

              Oops.

              THC for anxiety—

              Cause rules do not apply to me;

              Lied on the application,

              Don't need no medication

              I needed meditation

              Watching precipitation

              No more participation

              I'm insane (echo: sane)

              They lockin me up instead

              Lockin me up in my head;

              Seeing red, feeling dead when I…

              Smell my pillow, smell my bed…

              “That's what she said.”

              G

              Put my shoes to the ground

              Cause you kjnee I worked too hard…

              Found every, sound and I—

              Followed it (Echo x 3)

              Felt that too hard and I—

              Swallowed it (Echo x3)

              Spoken: ‘Wait till tomorrow, bitch.”

              ….think I might be a witch, which—

              Is my “synthesis”…that I could sense this shit comin'…

              {Sample: TV announcer—“…and, comin' up—”]

              No worries, I'm comin up—

              Late cause I got too much on,

              My plate and…

              “Your place is great!”

              But.

              What.

              The.

              Actual.

              Fuck.

              Oh what, like I'd actually—huh?

              …

              Oh What's like I'd actually—what?

              Oh, what—

              Like I'd actually….

              [FUCK.]

              [Sample: Kelly, Shoes—“fuck you!”]







              I'm hungry honey gimme money



              Sample: “people people, please please” raven

              People pleaser

              People, please

              Believe me: this is just a teaser

              I am sitting in your freezer

              I'm the salmon—always eager

              To go back up stream to spawn

              And I'm just going on and on

              Because I'm really on the run

              Raven run

              Having visions

              Therapeutic—

              That's the music

              I see future and I choose it

              If you cheat it, then you lose it

              Fisher—wisher—I'm the swisher

              In your purse; I saw it first

              I saw the earth turn shades of blue

              When I was me

              When I was U.

              I used to have the power, too.

              Now this is just what I can do.

              I don't know what I'm really searching for—

              But I think I want mooree...and that's the answer, that's the key.

              Somethings not right; it might just be me. My whole life of hurting, the world's hurting me. I can't seem to escape this new catastrophe; somethings calling me




              Got me stress eating

              In-n-out of meetings all day

              In-n-out sounds okay

              “No, you're out.”

              Sounds okay

              Okay—

              Are you ok?

              Not like Annie—

              I mean, you can be—

              But that's not really my thing;

              Quick fling for some bling without a diamond ring

              I don't fuck with that

              And you can ask my ex, is we fuckin?

              Nah, I'm over that

              Put me on the guillotine—

              Read between the lines

              I was fuckin doing everything

              Fuckin doing fine

              I was on my grind—

              Didn't have the time for no

              Explaining why the fuck I go and listen to sublime

              I hate the lime-light

              Pay attention to me harder and

              I just might

              Lose it been Losin it since before it was a hit, and I admit—

              I miss the shit I came up on,

              I admit:

              I miss the days where I had fun and

              P.S.- yes I'm the best at passing a test

              Don't need to study the material

              Is really all here—just pay attention

              Attention deficit disorder;

              My auntie a hoarder but I'm borderline everything:

              You feelin me?




              Davies-Davis

              Jon-John-Jon

              Christian-Christian

              Ted-Dave

              Mirror Mirror on the wall

              Who'd expect, things change (x4)

              Sunny-Sonny

              Can you see me?

              Can you hear me?

              That's strange

              Loser-loser

              Crazy-Crazy

              Have you seen

              ‘loose change'? (X8)

              Whose strange?

              [Danger]

              ‘...strange days, have found us...'

              Doors-Doors

              Whores-Bore

              Chores-Chores

              “More! More!”

              ...*break* [mic drop fx]

              “I chimed in with a—“

              “What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck”

              ‘Navigator Truck—‘

              [wiley coyote music]

              ‘They're after me lucky charms!'

              ‘This is a call to arms' (arms- echo)

              Beyoncé- “Ring the Alarm”

              ‘Charmed, I'm sure...'

              Sample: B2M

              Poison!

              Poison from the inside out—

              Outside-in

              Poison

              Within you

              Boom

              Imma vengaboy

              I zoom past the other boys

              I don't need the bad things

              spoken “actually, I don't need anything from you.”

              Sent back in time

              In your mind

              Joy, I think about you

              I don't like to think about you

              I do not believe in your

              Spirit

              “Just have fun.”

              No, I'm meant to be an artist

              But I used to be the smartest...

              I woke up in our world

              I woke up in our world

              I know I can read a map,

              But

              Trains trains trains

              They all go in two directions and I

              Might

              Get

              Lost (x3)

              The sound of the 88

              (Use Lamarus)

              Bongo drum, pan flute

              Wind rustling through the breeze

              Whispered: I believe in you

              *drop sounds, silence*

              Birds singing

              Sample: Spice girl (echo) so siiick

              Energi I

              [Clapping]

              Spoken: Hey!

              I don't need… that energy.

              (Toxic) –Shhhh.

              Beating me up

              Beating me up

              Beating me up.

              Man… (echo, x6)

              Bad energi.

              Bad energi.

              Manic—

              Energi.

              Panic— (echo, x6)

              Energy.

              Planet—

              Energi…

              No Sympathy?

              BadEnergi

              Remember me?

              Das Energi—

              Memories… (echo x6)

              Before—Da SupaCree

              Energi

              Jesus Christ—

              He just takes what he likes

              I wi was makin it nice…

              And clean again—

              Are we even , then?

              Cause I'm leavin' him—

              On repeat again

              Had my heart and my…

              Had my heart and you

              Broke it

              Broke it

              Broke it

              Broke it

              Had my heart and my…

              Had my heart and you

              Spoke it

              Spoke it

              Spoke it

              Spoke it

              Said I would keep it

              Said I would keep it

              Open

              Open

              Open

              Open

              ……………

              Here's hopin'.

              3nergi II

              Stop givin' me—

              Toxic energi.

              Energi (x3)

              Energi (x3)

              Energi. (x3)

              Don't put the devil into me—

              That's my—

              Enemy.

              Knope

              [Sample: The word “No/Nope x1000]

              No

              Nope

              Get ‘Em

              Manic listening to Vanic

              Pressin' the panic button

              I'm not confusin nothin'—

              I think I'm onto something

              Greaaat—like Tony—

              (The Tiger, not the liar.) [Sample Tony Soprano]

              Would like a pair of pliers…to cut these things off.

              Spoken “She seems off”

              I know it, took my rings off

              Lets. Box. Foxy.

              “I think you just lost me…”

              I lost you at “hello”

              [Sample: Scooby Doo, Daphne: “My Glasses!']

              …and I cannot see without my glasses

              And I can Nazi…

              [Sample: Hitler]

              Oops, you caught me

              OOPS, 4/20.

              That's 3…

              Oops.

              THC for anxiety—

              Cause rules do not apply to me;

              Lied on the application,

              Don't need no medication

              I needed meditation

              Watching precipitation

              No more participation

              I'm insane (echo: sane)

              They lockin me up instead

              Lockin me up in my head;

              Seeing red, feeling dead when I…

              Smell my pillow, smell my bed…

              “That's what she said.”

              G

              Put my shoes to the ground

              Cause you kjnee I worked too hard…

              Found every, sound and I—

              Followed it (Echo x 3)

              Felt that too hard and I—

              Swallowed it (Echo x3)

              Spoken: ‘Wait till tomorrow, bitch.”

              ….think I might be a witch, which—

              Is my “synthesis”…that I could sense this shit comin'…

              {Sample: TV announcer—“…and, comin' up—”]

              No worries, I'm comin up—

              Late cause I got too much on,

              My plate and…

              “Your place is great!”

              But.

              What.

              The.

              Actual.

              Fuck.

              Oh what, like I'd actually—huh?

              …

              Oh What's like I'd actually—what?

              Oh, what—

              Like I'd actually….

              [FUCK.]

              [Sample: Kelly, Shoes—“fuck you!”]

              SOUNDS

              [Police Say] *Whoop-Whoop!*

              [Ravers Say] *Whoop-Whoop!*

              [Roadrunner Say] *Meep-meep*

              Honk/Beep

              Doors opening/shutting

              Car doors unlocking/opening/shutting

              Jail Doors *buzzer/lockdown lock*

              Cigarette being lit

              Lighter flicks

              Bong Rips

              Tips/Change dropping/Money being counted

              Clipping Hair

              Bubbles

              Gravel—walking, running, tires

              Raindrops falling; Tin Roof, ground (dirt, pavement, gravel), Rain storms (Temparate Rainforest, Jungle Rainforest, Desert Storms)

              Motor purring

              Dryer running

              Joggers

              Electric scooters/Segways

              Bass; Wobbeles, Wubs, Rumbles

              Heartbeats; Fetal heartbeats, elevated heartbeats, palpitations

              Water Rushing; Oceans, Rivers, lakes, resovoirs, rain gutters, pond sounds, swamp sounds

              Triangle, Wood block, Xylophone

              Flutes—Traditional native, aboriginal, classical

              Clacking Fans

              Whistles

              iPhone Sounds

              Airplanes

              Mickey Mouse Clubhousde

              Bird Sounds—Sparrows, Hawks, Eagles, Robins, Ravens, Crows—Ducks, Geese (Hissing)

              Moose Bellow

              Car Alarms

              Grinding

              Squeaking/Creaking (Door Hinges, Floorboards)

              Garage Doors

              Vomiting

              Soda Cans

              Water Bottles Being Crushed

              Fish Jumping Upstream

              Cold Wind (whistling, howling)

              Tent Sounds

              Scarlet Johansen

              Laughter; Joyful, hysterical,playful—taunting, nervous, fake

              Construction/Building Equipment—Chainsaws, Jackhammers

              Tapping Rings Jan & Andy)

              Spoons of glass

              Ice Sounds; Breaking, pouring(on ground, into glass/jug)

              Scrubbing

              Tapping Steel

              Pens Clicking

              Ignitions (Crs, Rockets)

              Idle EnglinesRadio Rounds

              Squeaky Toys

              Bottle Caps (Plastic + Glass)

              Can Crushing

              Soda Streat

              “Aw”

              SAMPLES/QUOTES

              Spongebob Squarepants; ‘Ay ay, Captain!'

              The Shield; “Anything But A Subaru…”

              Bearr's Voice

              “What the fuck, Matt Damon!” (Me, watching interstellar)

              Rick And Morty; “haha, my sister died in the spaghetti”. “…I wanna eat ice cream… (monologue)”, Fart Episode, “Aww Geez”, Pickle Rick Episode

              Annie's Voice; “Hey Dude”

              Yoda Quotes

              I love lucy “Vitavitavegimin”

              Shrek; “And in the mornin', I'm makin' waffles!'

              Nurse Jackie

              Sons of Anarchy; Damon King, Gemma Teller

              Married…With Children

              Back To The Future

              21 Jumpstreet

              All That

              The Amanda Show

              Rugrats

              In The Heights

              Legally Blonde

              RENT

              Hairspray

              The Last 5 Years

              Tlingit Songs/Pow-Wows

              African Music/Cultural Songs

              Mormon Tabernacle Choir

              “Put an Egg On it” (me, quoting bass canyon signage)

              Pokemon; “Pikachu, I choose you!”

              OLDSTEP

              Sun King/Here Comes The Sun (The Beatles, Love) –(SupaCreemix)

              I Got You Babe (Sonny & Cher) [SupaCreeMix]

              Love Shack [SupaCreeMix]

              Los Paranoias (SupaCreeMix)

              The Psycho's Path

              Lucky charms,

              Code of arms

              Car alarms, and Hershey's bars;

              Hershey's kisses, not your missus

              But I'll miss this…

              Bliss.

              Kiss me underneath the stars,

              I'm floating on my way to mars

              I'm counting all the passing cars

              (1, 2, 6—8)

              What did you hallucinate?

              Disintegrate me.

              Imitate me.

              People

              [Sample: That's So Raven; “People-people, please, please!!!”

              Work

              Sensory Overload

              FuckIt

              Recycled

              Culture Shock [Sample: My Generation, The Who]

              Back Up [Sample classic]

              If I Was A Boy (Beyonce) [Dupstep Remix, SupaCreeMix]

              Before He Cheats (Carrie Underwood) [SupaCreeMix]

              Cosmic Gate. Call To Arms [SupaCreeMix]

              Vroom

              [Sample: Ignitions—Old Mustang, New Mustang]

              This Is my ignition

              Don't need no permission

              This is my admission:

              I was there, you missed it.

              Attention

              Attention

              Attention

              Right—Lets's switch them.

              Expert, Attention—

              Ascension. (Whispered: Ascension)

              Alright—I'm listenin'

              Ex (pect) (Echo x8)

              Re (spect) (Echo x8)

              Givin it back (x8)

              It's a wreck.

              [Sample] ” In a wreck? Need A Check?”

              ALBUMS/EPS

              Turn3r Str33t

              -South Side

              NSC (Not SupaCree)

              M13P (MI Audition Tape)

              The Gorge [Part I/Part II (“Ous”)]



              Unsteady- X Ambassadors, remix

              [more heartbeat]

              Everybody got preferences,

              Don't need to be checking my references

              You say that I'm hella exotic

              I say that your energy's toxic

              Bad mind be robotic

              I'm not sick—I'm not shit

              It's obvious: you're oblivious

              And she's envious of my

              (shhhh)

              Why?

              Acid anxiety

              Too much acid inside of me

              Yeah I brought a variety

              Cause I'm sick of society

              And I'm sick of em eyin me

              Got sick of em spyin me

              Got my eye on the prize homie

              I'm single, and not lonely



              Heal Everybody [Cover/Mix]

              Alive with the glory of love Beatles style cover

              People are strange Xylophone cover + video



              “OK”

              Sample: Smooth Criminal

              “(Annie) are you ok?”

              Are you ok?

              Are you ok?

              Are you ok?

              Ok, ok!

              Spoken word sample: furry wall, get him to the Greek

              My name is...and my name is Skrillex remix/mashup



              Got that nesquick

              Nice lips

              Have her body supa thick

              Have her body supa fit

              Sick sick outfit

              She ain't like them other bitches

              Representin single women

              Never ask for your opinion—

              Psycho

              She seem really nice, tho

              Never took a bite though

              Thinking I just just might tho




              I am that girl with the Armani sunglasses

              I am that girl with the Armani sunglasses

              I am that girl who will write notes in her classes

              I am that girl who will talk first and ask lastest

              I am that girl

              I am that girl

              I am that girl

              *swift* [whispered]

              In transitions wearing transitions lenses

              Starting to look good

              Look mad decent

              Went through some shit that was,

              Mad recent

              I gotta thank my exes tho

              They the reason

              I'm on some new shit now

              It's SupaCree Season



              Big brother

              Don't bother

              Revolving Door

              Military Trained

              Head Honcho

              Repression

              Depression

              Oppression

              Obsession

              Sickness

              Health

              Poorer & Poorer

              Cracker Jack Box

              Ted/Dave

              38 Days/48 Daze

              Purple Raïnn

              “Just Kill Yourself, Already”

              Christ/Not a goddess

              ^

              NSC

              SpongeRob



              Queue

              I'm done- with you.

              I have a queue-of dudes;

              Ready for you...and you.

              (Oops)



              You get better and better with time

              Better and better like wine

              ‘Better and better'—it's fine;

              I'm losing my mind.

              I'm losing my mind.




              Eliza Thornberry

              Is this over yet?

              Shut up, dog.

              Is it over yet?

              Shut up, hog.

              Is it over yet?

              Shut up bitch.

              Is it over yet?

              Shut up snitch.

              [repeat]




              Trippin' on Shoes

              I need shoes...

              Like I need you.

              Like I need blue,

              Like I need glue—

              Gone, how about a show?

              You didn't think I'd know?

              I know.

              Don't know where to go,

              Don't know who to [show]

              It's almost winter.

              Thought I was the winner—

              Really just a sinner,

              It's not winter, I just entered...

              Hell.

              And I'm trippin on

              Shoes

              Shoes

              Shoes

              Shoes

              Shoes

              Shoes

              Shoes

              And I'm trippin on



              Remix- James brown- this is a man's world

              Bob Loblaw

              We're all above the law

              If we learn to love the law

              We're all above the law

              If we learn to love the law

              We're all above the law

              If we love to learn the law

              We're all above the law

              This is the final flaw

              Blah blah blah

              Bob Loblaw

              Caw-Caw-Caw

              Arkansas

              I just landed

              I just planted

              I'm this planet

              (Naw-Naw)

              That would be the curtain call

              That would be the final flaw

              Love the law

              Love the law

              We all live above the law

              What I heard—what I saw—

              There is no God.

              (HA!)

              Just another ghosts

              I ain't gonna cry about it

              I'm not gonna boast

              I'm not gonna cry about it

              (Pshhh. Burnt toast)

              I ain't gonna lie about it

              Almost

              Not even gonna try about it

              So close

              I ain't gonna cry about it

              I ain't gonna cry about it

              Patience.



              I'm not takin medication

              “Hola”

              You think I'm fakin—

              I'm just makin money,

              Honey

              Fuck a blue eyed snow bunny

              It ain't funny

              The reason I'm sneezin isn't the season

              I'm not pleasin nobody,

              Got no reason for nobody

              I'm not looking for no-body

              No hottie

              That's not me

              I like variety

              But society tells me

              They got an eye on me

              And my psychiatrist understands

              Social anxiety

              But he ain't supplying me

              With what I need

              Cause man's greed says

              Money will help you succeed

              And that's America

              Hell yeah im aware of ya

              Hell yeah I be scarin ya

              And I don't give a fuck about your code

              I'm too old for

              Apple pie ala mode

              I don't want it

              Whatever it is

              Get out of my biz, Liz

              I miss the Lizzard man—

              That's what this is

              And that's my business

              Be my witness: I don't get this shit

              I'll rip this shit into pieces

              Can't eat reces

              Cause I'm trying to look decent

              “Don't repeat this”

              I haven't

              I'm just planning

              My escape

              That's fate.



              Ello Govnah!

              “You already call me ‘The Gov'...” (8)

              They already call you The Dove

              I already call you “my love”

              I'm so tired

              Trippin' (Shorts)

              Energi -di

              Solid.

              Waste.

              Solid.

              Tasty.

              Solid—

              You can't make me buy this shit;

              Living it. (Living it)

              Are you believing it yet?

              *

              *

              *

              Bet.

              (‘Oh—you betcha!')

              *

              *

              *

              Wet.

              *

              *

              *

              “Threaten me again, see what happens—“

              What Happened—eh?

              What did you...say?

              You know where I stay?

              Don't play. I'll kill ya.

              A killa—no reallah,

              Protecting his Skrilla

              A deal breaka yeah-yeah

              Bad man he ‘haha'

              No laughter

              No slaughter

              Bitch:

              “I am your daughter” (mono)

              “androgyny” (deep voice)

              Nobody likes Cree:

              I thought it might be...

              My energy—trying not to look

              Thought you were a 10

              Thought you could depend on me?

              Depends

              How it spends

              Too much time finding

              Blurred lines




              Malcom (RIP)

              That was a crazy day

              In LA

              When you went a way

              Not your everyday listener—

              But I give you praise,

              And thanks;

              It takes a lot to be a human

              All this gloom, and doom and,

              Sometimes boomin ain't enough

              It's tuff out here, people go it rough

              These days,

              This kids all up in their business

              And when you're in the business—

              The world is your witness—-get this

              They study your wealth, your fashion, your fitness...

              Do you get this equation?

              Me either; now either we're too old, retarded, or neither—

              Every teacher's a preacher for either

              His passion, or her pocket

              It's not rocket science,

              It's common core—

              And it's a horror they have access to

              Soft core and gore

              From age 3;

              Technological catastrophe

              Disastardly wasting space

              As we race towards a race war—

              I'm just trying to rave more

              It's hardcore, but it's never boring

              I'm ignoring these morons,

              They got me snoring in here,

              It's pouring in here—

              And the Northern Lights don't look right under too much light

              Got me gazing in the night

              Like I might find my flight

              Honestly I'm just looking for anything

              But a fight—am I right?



              It's Been Ten [Years]

              Been on you since way back when

              Before Ben 10

              More like Rin-tin-tin,

              Or the tin man

              Take me down that road again

              I'll ease down it

              Don't doubt it—

              Take me home again.

              And if it wasn't for you

              Woulda lost day 2

              I'm so confused and just using

              Ü as a tool,

              That was my other breaking point

              Cause I already boiled over

              It was over—I was sober when he was throwing elbows;

              Oh you felt those—pulses—

              Those were my—impulses—

              Speaking, leaking into dreams I wasn't dreaming, you were scheming and it haunts me

              How many—I could count 3 of your friends round the bends of my tent,

              Can't take a hint, but the bad came and went when the Good vibes—

              Those good guys

              Reminded me of my world

              And in my world...

              Everything is like a fairytale

              But my fairy tail is caught between my legs—

              Like the plague of someone's fingertips had me amazed;

              Strange, yes...

              What a strange blessing—we're estranged but I remember cutie pie's eyes, cause those were the days—

              No “rage”, really, just space-aged waves of sound surrounding us and Bass come through the ground

              I found myself there

              Ain't no hoodrat

              But I'm a hoodrat

              Play a good brat

              But if you sat me down I

              Got the capacity

              And tenacity to rap about it

              I ain't proud about it

              But ain't never doubted it, either

              I'm either

              Reptilian or Alien



              Project 93



              Bee. Odd.

              And molly

              Mahammed Ali

              Got me

              Dodging

              The odd bee

              Live Nation

              Don't know if I was delirious...

              Or if you were serious—

              But I'm curious, and have trust issues so...

              I gotta know:

              Did I blow this whole thing out of proportion?

              Of course, then:

              Take a pass, have a laugh

              It's just added to the list

              Of things I'm pissed off about

              Mad anxiety

              Cause I like skinny

              I like light-skinned he's-and-she's

              And especially blondes—

              Come on, man; if you let me love you, I can—I'd take anybody's hand and show them the promise land,

              If they want to see

              And honestly, I'm picky

              My tastes are confusing and I'm losing hope

              Born in the wrong body—I cannot be this black—it's a straight up attack on how much I lack—in culture.

              Not a vulture, but not exactly a dove;

              I just love peace signs and peace finds you, wherever you let it

              I find it with paper-to-pen

              Now-and-again,

              Then again I find

              I have a one-track-mind

              Writing in rhymes is fine—

              Till you lose respect;

              I'm Dr. Suess with a noose around his neck

              Living paycheck to paycheck—

              I regret to inform you I can't preform in this reformed prison cell.

              If this is prison—well, Hell—

              Pin me up in a cell so I can tell all my friends

              “Hey, I'm just like you!”

              “We don't like you—you wear blue.”

              “You could too—if you do what you're supposed to.”

              And I'm supposed to be somebody with authority, but horribly I think about what whores would be without the men who made them...

              HoStep- vogue music + brostep

              ShowStep- Broadway/Showtumes+ Dubstep



              Sorry sorry,

              I worry-worry

              No one will love me

              Like I love the world.

              And I do know you—

              But I do owe you an apology...

              Technology...is too much for me

              Wiki is the key, and I won't look 3 times.

              You know who you are;

              You set the bar too high.

              Now it's too late

              Another obsession—

              I'm just a mental case.

              Sorry honey. You looked at me funny...

              And I fell apart. That was the start

              Of another broken heart

              MI3P [The Audition Tape]

              Album Art: Roadrunner + Wiley Coyote frozen solid under the northern lights, white rabbit coming out of an ice fishing hole.

              Acoustically covered EDM



              Ease My Mind, Will You?

              Was listening to ‘Ease My Mind'

              When robin williams died

              Cant lie I've thought about it

              Like, every time

              It's obvious

              I didn't want to see the synthesis

              But this is it

              Can't be stuck with people who express this shit out loud

              I'm not proud—that's just kind of how it is

              I'm a Loser

              Okay—

              I never win shit

              And I can't spin shit

              Brian

              Bro.

              You're about 100 years old:

              And I had that job before you did.

              Oh—you pooted?

              How rude, dude.

              I don't give a fuck what you do, dude

              Keep abusing your body—

              I'll keep abusing this power

              Every hour

              I become something new...

              And you?

              You're dying, man.

              Your whole generation can

              Suck a fat dick

              Fantastic—

              Let's agree to disagree

              You be you, and I'll be me

              It's 50 cents

              I'll pay my rent some other way

              I only came to work today

              To write and play.

              Priest

              Not suicidal

              Fuck an idol

              Music is like my bible

              I'm liable to read it to you,

              Judas.

              Trippin'

              Album: NSC (Not Supa Cree)

              Skit:

              Bunny & Hunny are a mirror image of each other, but about 30 years apart in age. They argue briefly in the hallway, Hunny (the younger) stomping away dramatically

              Hunny: That fuckin shit's no fair!!

              Bunny: Life's not fair, sweetheart—or else none of us would be here.

              Donna [Not Supa Cree]





              Trippin on shorts—

              shorts?

              Shorts

              They was trippin on shorts

              What?

              Shorts



              ...and I was trippin of

              Course (x5)

              ....cause they was trippin on

              Shorts.



              Smoke & Rain

              Purple mountains

              Burning fire

              Red sun

              Lights & lazers

              Celebration

              Never ending

              Have fun

              DEBBIE. (I'm 7)

              1. I like eggs (the Amanda show)

              2. I need shoes (married with children)

              3. “I want that!”-baby Cree

              Tired

              I'm so Tired

              I'm so Tired

              I'm so Hungry

              I'm so Bloated

              I'm so Sorry

              I'm so Stupid



              Tripp

              Trippin (Shorts)

              Trippin on Shirts

              Trippin on Pants

              Trippin on Shoes

              “I Love Your Outfit”



              Turn3r Str33t

              South Side




              The Lonely Eskimo Raver (Pixel pro, rave gear,sitting at the entrance of an igloo...Alaska flag, supa cree flag #fucksnow



              4 LAW

              SPïRIIIT

              COCOA

              EMP

              NoTing

              Oh no,

              Money no-ting

              No diamond ring, no-ting

              Not-a-thing

              Phone don't ring

              Don't mean no-ting

              Just denoting

              Don't need bling-bling.

              No money

              Not a ting, not a ting

              No money

              Not a ting, not a ting

              No money

              Not a ting, not a ting

              You a pretty thing

              Whatcha mean

              Pretty-ting-ting

              Ching-Ching-Ching

              Not a ting, not a ting

              Read iChing

              Real book, not a ting

              Sing-sing-sing

              Not a ting not a ting

              Not a ting

              Not a ting

              Not a ting

              Not a ting

              The Palladium

              It just is what it is.

              It is just (is) what it is

              What is this

              What is this

              Imma make this shit my biz

              Call me Liz call me Liz

              I don't need no fuxkin thizz

              I don't need you watch me

              (//)

              I don't need no baby sitter

              I just cover face with glitter—biiich—

              Cause this is who I is

              “Her?”

              Easy come, easy go

              Easy come (come) easy go

              What is this? I don't know

              I just wanna see the show

              On the bus (bus), I will go

              Write and flow

              Color code—switch

              I don't need that bitch

              She a snitch and she do snow

              “So?”

              (Whoop whoops—Fan Clacks)

              Wall-E: Whoa.

              You win some, you lose some

              You win some you lose some

              You win some you lose some—

              I'm not drinking booze, hun

              You win some you lose some—

              You win some, you lose some—

              You win some—

              Look:

              At least it was sunny.

              (...///..././.-...///././..)

              You win some, you lose some

              You win some, you lose some

              Trust me, this is fun

              You win some, you lose some

              You win some, you lose some

              Trust me, we're not done

              (We're just getting started!)

              “Keep your head up.”

              (.-././/././.——././.—./)

              Easy come, easy go

              Where he at?

              I don't know.

              I just show up to this show

              Do my thang

              Then go home.

              “I like to move it move it—“





              ¿Quien que cuando donde porque?

              Kandi Kidd

              I'm a guru

              I'm a sage

              Every time I turn the page

              I'm a different personality

              I guess that's just my age

              Never made a living wage

              Never lived outside a cage

              Never get respected and that's

              Cause I like to rage

              “WHAT?!”

              I'm a Kandi kid

              Kandi kid

              Kandi kid

              Let's trade

              Kandi kid

              Kandi kid

              Kandi kid

              Let's get faded

              Kandi kid

              Kandi kid

              Kandi kid

              PLURRR

              Kandi kid

              Kandi kid

              Kandi kid

              (Fan clack x2)

              Once I went to a show

              Didn't see know one one i know

              But I knew just where to go

              (Front and center, do not enter)

              Throwing elbows breaking necks

              All the children getting wrecked

              PLU but no Respect

              (It was almost turning winter)

              So I went back to my tent

              Shooting stars were heaven sent

              Knew I couldn't pay my rent

              But I had tickets to event

              I went hungry I was lonely

              I was tired, I was only

              Wearing T-shirt, I'm no phony

              “All these catty girls can blow me”

              [Clip]

              Then I almost fell asleep

              And this secret I should keep

              Cause I haven't said a peep

              (I should probably keep it to myself)

              Then I heard a strange sound

              I heard footsteps on the ground

              Next thing you know I was surrounded

              (Shit fucked Up my mental health)

              Dancing shadows cutting shapes

              Should have filmed it, made a tape

              But there was really no escape... what happened next was mental rape (echo)

              Spoken (man's voice): Yo, what the fuck is this shit?

              Me: What?

              Man: This fuck shit—“dancing shadows...?” “Getting raped?”

              Me: mental rape

              Man: the fuck.

              Me: look, okay—this one time—

              Man: nobody gives a flying fuck. People want to dance. People want to have fun, this sounds depressing as shit.

              Me: ...it was fun and depressing—

              Man: cut that shit out, keep it positive.

              Sample: (playing on phone) keep it positive, legally blonde

              Man: ...are you serious?

              ...

              I'm a Kandi kid

              Kandi kid

              Kandi kid

              Let's trade

              Kandi kid

              Kandi kid

              Kandi kid

              Let's get faded

              Kandi kid

              Kandi kid

              Kandi kid

              PLUR

              Kandi Kid

              Kandi kid

              (Fan clack x4)



              FOoD iS dRuGs :'(

              McDonalds

              (Drugs)

              Pizza Hut

              (DRuGs)

              The Colonel

              (DRuGs)

              It's internal

              (DRuGs)

              Captain Crunch

              (DRuGs)

              Wings for brunch

              (DRuGs)

              Go to sleep

              (DRuGs)

              Then wake up

              (DRuGs)

              “The best part of waking up, is—“

              (DRuGs)

              Uh- America

              Uh- they're scared of us

              Uh- In god we trust

              (DRuGs)

              Uh- Currency

              Uh- urgency

              (One day delivery)

              Uh-I pledge allegiance

              To the to the to the to the

              (DRuGs)

              Keep the secret

              Keep the secret

              Keep the secret

              (Let's go eat)

              Keep the secret

              Keep the secret

              Keep the secret

              (/./)

              Keep the secret

              Keep the secret

              Keep the secret

              “I'm sorry, but you have cancer”



              Everybody on this plane wake the fuck up

              Intro

              Everybody on this [plane] wake the fuck up

              Fuck up (1/32)

              [Sample: Flight attendant monologue.]

              Spoken: You are now entering the multiverse: Welcome to the realm of possibility.

              Music video idea

              Time-elapse of a stationary trash can—at the end, is a person just staring into the camera.



              Cop car light show; whoop woops.



              [The Sound of the] 88



              ...Oh, what's up?

              (Now it's weird)

              What is that?

              Woah.

              What?

              Who?

              Okay.

              Okay.

              Okay.

              BRO.

              WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOU?

              BRUH.

              ‘Oh hey!'

              Red lips lie but I wear pink

              My shit still stink

              But I eat organic

              Mom wear mink

              But I love this planet

              Dance to the moonlight

              I go manic

              I see red and then I panic

              Like— attack attack

              You don't have my back, go back

              Likeness is what you attract

              So finish cleaning up your act

              Fake it till you make it

              If you're flaky I can't take it

              I like dancing when I'm naked

              (And I'm by myself, you guessed it)

              All my love I can't express

              But I keep it in my chest

              Shut it off I need some rest

              (Testing—(. . .))

              I can feel it in my chest

              If you ask if I'm the best

              I'll say “no” I need a nest egg

              I don't drink much but I would keg

              I would ask but I would not beg

              I can dance—

              but I hate my—

              (Wait—What was I saying?)

              Get back to where you once belong

              Granny panties never thongs

              You called me ho but you were wrong

              My best friend is, but we get a long maybe that's where I went wrong

              Why I'm writing all these songs

              Same shit, different day

              Betrayal never fades away

              [Sample: Festival Trip—scene where Chava finds Solomon in bed with Sala]

              Got some bags under my eyes,

              But I'm feeling fine.

              Apparently, I'm on a mission—and the choice wasn't mine

              But I've been listening,

              Looks like it's the place and the time

              To get it right.

              Cause I've been listenin

              In on this signal they're sendin me

              Killin me

              And grillin me

              About who I'm supposed to be,

              So hopefully—I make it,

              I'll take it as a compliment from now on, and from now on—I'll put this crown on, and drown on,

              In the divinity giving me humanity;

              The capacity to be just me.

              Who I'm supposed to be,

              Is maybe SupaCree—

              Eventually, evidently I may be what it takes to be

              part of Democracy

              And be the change I wish to see

              Acurately...eventually, maybe

              But for now I'm focusing on me:

              The Cree of things.

              People are speaking; I'm listening

              And everything makes sense so far—just another scar on my heart, and not my arm.

              Intention to harm is far from my mind—Self-destruction or re-construction; to which, I am blind.

              It feels fake to me—drip dropping hints into a lake to me—playfully playing back the feeds of things The Cloud had sprouted just from seeds?

              Experimental mental challenges designed to find the ones with minds seeking the more divine; It's more than fine if these voices are really mine, it's all the time. It's all a game, it's all in my mind.

              I just have to accept this is my life,

              I'm the ‘crazy ex wife'

              With a life that reflects-

              My constant struggle and strife—

              These bags on my eyes,

              Are heavier than

              Living this life.

              Aight?



              <>remember me><‘remember me?'

              It's a bird

              It's a plane

              It's a bird

              It's a plane

              It's a bird

              It's a plane

              It's a bird

              It's a plane

              It's—

              Look—/ /

              ‘Look around you—what do you see (echo)'

              C

              C

              C

              C

              Sea

              Sea

              Sea

              Sea

              See

              See

              See

              See

              ><‘easy as life, aida'



              >

              Write more

              Dance more

              Sing more

              Do more

              <>more




              Cree Hotch



              Wed, Oct 9, 10:49 AM





              to me



              50 Shades of Blue

              Blue Da Ba Di [SupaCreemix]

              ‘Bloo-bloo-bloo—‘

              Cree Dahavalynn

              Spoken:

              “...and one day maybe, I'll have the honor of shaking your hand, looking you in the eye and pretending like I never wanted to fuck your brains out.”



              Got me stress eating

              In-n-out of meetings all day

              In-n-out sounds okay

              “No, you're out.”

              Sounds okay

              Okay—

              Are you ok?

              Not like Annie—

              I mean, you can be—

              But that's not really my thing;

              Quick fling for some bling without a diamond ring

              I don't fuck with that

              And you can ask my ex, is we fuckin?

              Nah, I'm over that

              Put me on the guillotine—

              Read between the lines

              I was fuckin doing everything

              Fuckin doing fine

              I was on my grind—

              Didn't have the time for no

              Explaining why the fuck I go and listen to sublime

              I hate the lime-light

              Pay attention to me harder and

              I just might

              Lose it been Losin it since before it was a hit, and I admit—

              I miss the shit I came up on,

              I admit:

              I miss the days where I had fun and

              P.S.- yes I'm the best at passing a test

              Don't need to study the material

              Is really all here—just pay attention

              Attention deficit disorder;

              My auntie a hoarder but I'm borderline everything:

              You feelin me?



              Insta makes me brain hurt

              And waiting makes the game worse

              I'm sleeping in the same hearse

              I was cursed first, then the sun burst

              Fill my cup with coffee

              And barely be getting buzzes

              I always be missing busses,

              I always have trust issues

              Just trying to adjust issues

              supposed to buy some new shoes

              Give me an offer I can't refuse

              Give me a bottle I can reuse

              Give me a man who cannot abuse

              Beating me up and leaving me confused

              Yes I still remember last issues




              Take me to the Grammys

              I wanna meet the family

              I'm tryna keep it classy

              But the world is pretty trashy

              My license is a class C

              I'm average as I can be

              I want the presidency, so

              Somebody educate me

              I'm late for my train

              Plain Jane, plain insane

              Look up, I see a plane

              I eat weight and then I gain it

              Clarissa, I can't explain it

              I wax it and then I wane it

              Phone Home like I'm Little Wayne, bitch

              I say ‘bitch' but then I hate it

              I hate bread but then I ate it

              I love cheese and so I grate it

              I love food and so I plate it

              Love DRuGs I love getting faded

              But lately the world is jaded

              So

              (Sung, nah-nah)

              I stay sober—found a four leaf clover

              Frozen in October

              Alaska getting colder

              When they say it's over,

              I linger,

              Get closer

              I need more exposure

              Cause I am getting older

              This instagram is closure

              No selfies and no posers

              Close your—mouth please

              Lose your spouse please

              Because he took your house keys

              (Choking sounds, gasping for air)

              I need fucking therapy—

              A doctor who won't lock me up

              A friend who won't block me out for keeping up with my fitness

              Do you get this?

              No. You don't know.

              Nobody really understands my self destruction plan

              But I don't really ‘need' a man,

              Because I wrote

              “I am”

              And,

              “And.”

              And—this is my Land

              ‘This is our world

              This is our sand' (box)

              Thinking about getting dread

              Locks

              I don't need headphones I need

              Aux—

              ‘I want to hold your hand'

              Awwwwsss—

              Walks on the beach

              I am a beached whale

              I am a teacher

              I'm gonna set sail

              Build me a church and steeple and steal from the people

              So tax free so evil

              Evil knieval midevil




              I was trippin on shirts

              Avoiding them flirts, the worst

              Laying me down in a hearse

              I never rehearse

              Live my whole life in reverse—

              I'm Benjamin button

              It hurts-hurts

              The world is George Lucas's first,

              Work

              From something to nothin,

              It works, church

              From First and to Last

              Every verse, verse

              Somebody come help break this

              Curse curse

              Demons in my universe—verse

              Remember you asked who came first—first

              (Two times?)

              ...it was the egg.

              Go break a leg.

              I don't have to beg

              I'm going to Vegas.

              Bitch I'm gonna be famous

              Bitch I'm already A-List

              Bitch I'm friends with the greatest

              Sun and the Moon and the stars were my latest design

              ‘Bitch you look fine'

              I promise, I'm not

              Promises, promises

              Thought I forgot

              Hacked

              Maybe because I'm black

              Maybe because they thought I'd attack

              Maybe cause I'm stacked with knowledge—I acknowledge I wanna go back to college to polish it

              I don't know what to call this shit;

              Trying to be an activist but I legit don't have the time or a spare fucking dime

              Bus lines wasting my time

              Wrote the bus song on my own vibe

              I don't write songs all of the time,

              But when I do, I use blue and my

              ‘Do' frame of miiind.

              Gotta find the right sound pack

              Gotta get a new backpack

              Gotta be myself, that's whack

              I can't go back

              I can't take that

              Can't fake facts: I've been hacked

              For no reason, that's stupid

              I left right on time

              Apple reads minds now,

              Google makes plans now

              I hope google plans how to explain how they made me insane picking at my brain—

              Need my phone to get by,

              Need my GPS or I digress, I'll leave my fucking phone at home—

              Cause I can find north, of course—-

              West is the beach and this beached whale sprouted legs and they can

              Walk for miles and miles

              It might be awhile to apply my airline miles,

              But I got different styles or writing

              I'm sick of fighting with myself—

              Pull the trigger already

              “No, you've already written too much about such and such, so—that would expose those who only hope you turn up your nose and, put a gun down your throat”

              Oh.

              Started working on my suicide note,

              And I wrote about how, now, I can't even go around without the sound of the 3 people dragging me down in my stupid

              Little

              Head.



              Ū Mad

              ...why you mad?

              Hurt that bad?

              Nah man, U not my dad

              You not my boss

              U just mad

              U had me at “tell you what.”



              When worlds collide

              “Choclaaaate!!!”



              Got an hour and a half in Hollywood land

              Night didn't go as smoothly as I planned

              Don't need a man,

              I have it

              Don't need it man,

              Can't stand it,

              Can't even stand this planet

              I'm just gonna dance, bitch

              Dance bitch

              Dance bitch

              Dance (x3)—switch

              life in LALA land is

              Lalala-Land of the lost,

              Lost Lands;

              Everything costs

              Everyone wants to get lost in the sauce

              Everyone, everyone wanna be BOSS

              Everybody ignoring my weirdness

              Weird shit

              I guess I should have tried out the guest list

              Get this

              Get this useless

              Bag off my back

              Need no back pack

              I never took that

              I just book that

              Supa tight supa right

              I got mad hats

              Sober like Tober

              No drugs November

              Maybe December,

              Underground—timber

              I don't remember

              Anything I just need

              I just need

              I just need

              I just need

              ...

              Therapy

              ...

              Therapy

              ...

              Therapy

              I just need

              I just need

              I just need

              BASS.



              Sample: this dick ain't free

              Okay then

              I'm Savin the raven from playin

              Need a save haven

              Make me a maid, then

              Maybe a maiden

              Laid in Golden

              Togas—

              I'm supposed ta

              Love ya

              10,000 hours

              I'm supposed to

              Love ya

              That's what my power is

              I have an hour glass figure

              Go figure

              Not fake

              Just hate this plated

              Armor.

              I need to drink water

              It's hotter in here than I thought mi cannot

              I cannot

              Love anyone

              Else right now.

              Sometimes, I just want to witness

              Happiness at best

              The rest is invested in

              Keeping protected my heart—

              That's a start.

              Left you in bed today

              I didn't want to play games

              You'll find me if you like me, likely

              And finally, we'll have the time

              To sing about these colors

              How many others are there?

              I don't care,

              I would swear by my colors

              Paint me colorblind.

              Lost my shine but

              I'll still try to find the light

              I won't turn of the lights

              But I'll turn a blind eye to

              My blue life

              Color me

              Color me

              Paint me in shades of green

              I am translucently

              Colorblind

              You can't find me

              Iridescence is the essence I'm

              Hiding inside me

              Protect. My. Heart.



              Welcome to the center of attention

              Did I mention I love this shit

              Did I mention I'm illegitimate

              Did you know, I'm an alien

              Can't you see I don't fit in

              People say i getting thin—

              Really, Fin—what world you in

              Jake the dog, wild frog—

              I meant toad,

              Let's move along.

              Easy peasy lemon squeezee

              Don't squeeze me

              Easy peasy lemon squeezee

              Don't tease me

              Easy peasy lemon squeezee

              No I'm not

              Easy peasy lemon—

              (Lemon x3)

              sample 30 rock

              I like Ben and Jerry's

              Break Fast

              Sample rent—la vie boheme—

              Huevos rancheros (x8)

              And maya Angelou

              (Lou—up to 1/32)

              Butters: lululu, I got some apples

              Apples (echo)

              [yeasss—]

              ...then it just rides out.



              SALA “I don't give a fuck about birthdays.” (Echo)

              “Cool, get the fuck out.”

              Clique it—ticket

              VIP boat?

              Man this shits dope

              Here take this rope and

              Hang with your little friends

              They're not you're friends tho,

              It's okay I will spend it by my self

              Happy Birthday

              1500 down the drain

              Actually it's probably 17, but that don't mean a thing—

              Thanks

              Your shit stanks

              You're so nasty

              Eskimo —cause I watched be a hoe

              Girl you think I didn't know?

              Let it go—blow over, I've been sober

              BUS.

              Wait man, I need a ride—

              Never mind, I run in side

              Defied the laws of gravity,

              Let go of my pride

              I just died

              Oh—

              Pshycho—

              whose this to my side, though?

              I don't like how vibe though

              This silly dude can ride, tho

              Uh, oh—uh-oh

              Don't wanna go to the show

              I didn't do enough blow

              Did zero, cause Jon snow

              Uh—oh—uh—oh

              They gonna do surprise show

              Crowd: go go go go!!

              It's ok

              It's ok

              I'm just glad I came today



              4-leaf clover

              Bun up the dance

              I just wanna

              Take a new chance

              I'm just fine, cause I know the answer

              This

              Is

              My

              Last

              Last.

              [“But first—“ Billy maize]

              No. Last.

              That's in my past.

              Auntie adriene: how was your music concert?

              ... ... .... ...

              / / / - ////////////////////////(1/32)

              Me: I had a blast.

              The bus song:

              Bus.

              At the end, a loud thud, air brakes and an “uff”



              Can't keep a secret

              Can't keep my mouth shut had to keep leaking

              Can't keep a friend I can trust

              I'm just—

              Fuck it, I'll adjust

              I'll just, admit

              I'm a misfit

              Probably should have spent that $85 two times;

              I live in certainty, right?

              So it'll all come back?

              So it'll all be bought?

              Likeness is what I attract, right?

              So that's right:

              I attracted the massive planet with glasses—

              Four more days fastin, could have turned me to ashes

              Flashes of time lines,

              Dancing in my mind

              I know it, I'm blind

              But faces? Just call me the mind's eye.

              Closed mine today, I don't mind, I—

              Codeswitching isn't my mind's mind

              I was just living by my time

              Apply the rules of blackness—

              “A closed mouth don't get fed”

              And a bad vibe don't get in bed with me—

              Attracted to honesty, sobriety—

              Someone who could keep an eye on me, but now I see you just brian's sidekick like I am to Annie—

              We should hook em up.

              They would probably fuck and end up on some, bad-mad-sad luck

              Oh what the fuck, I keep bringing it up?

              Probably shouldn't have treated me like a chump when I wished I could run against Donald Trump

              Needed a friend like old Humpty Dumpty but,

              Unfortunately he just wanted

              My humps.

              And Ciara isn't in the house.

              Heard someone was in the market for a spouse,

              You found it—not a mouse but obsessively lost pounds just so you wouldn't worry an ounce.

              Not a cougar, but pouncing and bouncing between options—

              Went skateboard shopping and lost it, could have spent a deposit,

              But I'm positive patience is the only tangible object I need.

              And I don't need medicine;

              I just need peace again,

              Occasionally, eat Asian—

              And maybe weed, now-and-then—

              I don't need more than one

              I just need me some sunny days,

              It's crazy I got all these plans, and, songs and words for days

              I can't escape it, not a phase

              I'm amazed, been writing since the second grade and I'm afraid

              I just stopped cause love popped off,

              Got popped and stopped from talking

              Had to move cause he was stalking

              Got too cold to keep on walking blocks—*stop*—(...)

              Wait, no, this is my song.

              Haha, I just got off on the wrong

              ...

              Stop.

              Spoken: god dammit...maybe I should put the bus song after this one.



              And they watched me be a pendulum

              For hours and hours I swung





              All This music stuck in my head

              All these hours stuck in my bed

              I can't get ahead

              That's what they all said

              And I, and I, and I

              I hear everything

              And I and I,

              Can hear you all saying it

              And I

              Shhh

              [I need to be alone with my thoughts.]

              Peace-Peace

              I need peace

              I need me like two of these

              Window shopping OMG

              kill me please

              (No just kidding)

              Wear these things

              (No just kidding)

              Dude I hate you

              (No just kidding)

              I'm just kidding

              See my earrings

              See my hearing

              Get bad

              I know it was

              That bad

              That's RAD

              (Sell more drugs)

              I don't want to

              (Give more hugs)

              I don't want to

              (That shit bugs)

              I get curled up in my rug

              And die

              >>>

              r.e.n.t.

              World of darkness

              World of fears

              Never you mind

              Find your way home

              You know your way home

              You own it

              Your part of the city is yours

              But the city is ours

              (At least for some hours)

              There's no really stopping it

              Life is like moving train, you're riding it

              And loving it

              Singing songs of love in your mind

              Release the demons you have

              And let go

              You're mine

              Don't clear your queue

              Just clear your mind (echo)

              Spoken: “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

              “...I don't.”

              Keep an open

              Keep an open

              Keep an open

              (...)

              Be here now

              Be here now

              Be here now

              Spoken: “I am”



              BedPunk (SupaCover)

              Sometimes I'm the Hillary of my social circle

              the unelected, the second best,

              and very honestly I'm a real fuckin' pushover.

              Goin' to bed at 10am has never felt better.

              I'm just a bed punk Savin up through my last winter...

              I keep in time with a job to scrape by, and that kind of thing.

              and I cry sometimes because I can't stand the wait, cause I'm leaving...

              The perfect love, the perfect way

              to have the same old habits, the same clichés

              Tortoise-shell glasses make me feel pretty famous,

              but you can't take 'em with you and ‘this is the end 'cause...

              Getting off at 8 AM has never felt better

              I'm just an adult looking forward to my next summer—

              Bot gunna miss no friends, Not gunna miss this town, below 0 degrees

              but I'll be back to rule the world if you vote for me.



              Sleepin' in till 10am has never felt better,

              we're just some bedpunks

              living as if it's always summer

              We won't keep in time or remember our lines when we try to sing,

              but we'll be back to rule the world when we find meaning in our suffering.



              BBW

              Sample: anaconda, end monologue)

              (Fuck them skinny bitches

              Fuck them skinny bitches

              Fuck-fuck-fuck

              Fuck them skinny bitches

              Fuck them skinny

              Fuck them

              Fuck

              Fuck fuck them skinny bitches

              Fuck them skinny bitches

              Fuck-fuck

              Fuck them skinny—

              (Drop dat a—) (crizzly)



              BIG DROP.

              (A$$—big Sean)




              TADAH (Womp Womp- SupaCreeMixx)

              LALA Land EP

              AGEN WIDA- Supacreemixx

              M

              Go off- mama said remix

              Barely Breathing- BLŪ Remix

              OLDSTEP

              Sun King/Here Comes The Sun (The Beatles, Love) –(SupaCreemix)

              I Got You Babe (Sonny & Cher) [SupaCreeMix]

              Love Shack [SupaCreeMix]

              Los Paranoias (SupaCreeMix)

              The Psycho's Path

              Lucky charms,

              Code of arms

              Car alarms, and Hershey's bars;

              Hershey's kisses, not your missus

              But I'll miss this…

              Bliss.

              Kiss me underneath the stars,

              I'm floating on my way to mars

              I'm counting all the passing cars

              (1, 2, 6—8)

              What did you hallucinate?

              Disintegrate me.

              Imitate me.

              People

              [Sample: That's So Raven; “People-people, please, please!!!”

              Work

              Sensory Overload

              FuckIt

              Recycled

              Culture Shock [Sample: My Generation, The Who]

              Back Up [Sample classic]

              If I Was A Boy (Beyonce) [Dupstep Remix, SupaCreeMix]

              Before He Cheats (Carrie Underwood) [SupaCreeMix]

              Cosmic Gate. Call To Arms [SupaCreeMix]

              Vroom

              [Sample: Ignitions—Old Mustang, New Mustang]

              This Is my ignition

              Don't need no permission

              This is my admission:

              I was there, you missed it.

              Attention

              Attention

              Attention

              Right—Lets's switch them.

              Expert, Attention—

              Ascension. (Whispered: Ascension)

              Alright—I'm listenin'

              Ex (pect) (Echo x8)

              Re (spect) (Echo x8)

              Givin it back (x8)

              It's a wreck.

              [Sample] ” In a wreck? Need A Check?”

              ALBUMS/EPS

              Turn3r Str33t

              -South Side

              NSC (Not SupaCree)

              M13P (MI Audition Tape)

              The Gorge [Part I/Part II (“Ous”)]



              I'm so tired, that I—

              Don't give a fuck no mo,

              I—don't give a fuck no mo,

              I—don't give a fuck no mo.

              So insomniatic and—

              I—don't give a fuck no mo,

              I—Can't live this life no mo,

              I—can't work no 8 to 4.

              I'm so tired, that I—

              I don't give a fuck no mo,

              I—Don't wanna work no mo—

              I—can't fuck wit folk no more.

              I'm so tired, that I—

              Cant take this life no more,

              I—can't be yo wife no more,

              Need money for the grocery store.

              I'm so tired (tired)

              I'm so tired (tired)

              I'm so tired (tired)

              —But yet I feel Inspired.

              (Whispered: “SupaCree”)

              *build up*

              Love/Money/Party/Lucy

              Love/Money/Party/Lucy

              Love/Money/Party/Lucy

              “Ain't nobody got time fo dat!”

              *DROP*

              I'm so tired that...

              [Losin it>>>transition into midnight hour>>>

              I bet your lil sister wanna look like me...]

              [raggaeton vibe]

              No Thing

              Oh no,

              Money no-ting

              No diamond ring, no-ting

              Not-a-thing

              Phone don't ring

              Don't mean no-ting

              Just denoting

              Don't need bling-bling.

              No money

              Not a ting, not a ting

              No money

              Not a ting, not a ting

              No money

              Not a ting, not a ting

              You a pretty thing

              Whatcha mean

              Pretty-ting-ting

              Ching-Ching-Ching

              Not a ting, not a ting

              Read iChing

              Real book, not a ting

              Sing-sing-sing

              Not a ting not a ting

              Not a ting

              Not a ting

              Not a ting

              Not a ting



              Album: The Synthesis

              1. Synthesis

              -Soda Pressing

              -2 Times/Doubles

              -Knope

              -Full Senate

              -America The Miserable

              -45

              -Hangry Howie's



              Everything about me,

              Is so stuck in this body

              It's oughtta be

              Apart of me

              Until I reach

              Infinity

              Can you excuse my lack of company

              Can you excuse my lack of me



              I get anxiety,

              Too Deep

              just shuffling through

              This beautiful

              Library of mine,

              In our world

              I love you,

              Like, more than a fan

              and ,

              I love you--

              You're more than a man

              More than I can

              say with words

              On my word

              On my God

              On my Mom;

              On my very last breath--

              *gasp*



              They say money can't buy love

              But money bought me, baby

              And I love you

              Oh yes, I'm so in love with you

              And oh,

              They say

              You get what you pay for--

              Hey, hey

              That's a bargain

              They say

              Less is more

              What's more to love,

              Than love itself?

              I'm just a trophy on your shelf

              And it's unhealthy,

              So I walk away

              When you throw me,

              At me,

              Actually…

              Disaster after disaster

              I think you're after me

              But it's actually

              She who comes after me

              Talented

              Masterpiece

              Let me count to three

              (1,2..)

              If love is actually blind

              Oh, It has to be

              But you had to see

              It was you and me

              It was you and me

              It was you and me

              It was Blū in Malibu

              Sun and Moon

              They both shine for me (too)

              (1,2,3)

              Red, perhaps

              A silent sign to show

              He stands with the

              "This is trump nation"

              Red, perhaps

              Just like the rose,

              Or for the blood

              That should have been shed:

              Red, perhaps

              Because he's also

              White and Blue

              Red, perhaps

              Because he cannot talk to you

              Red, perhaps

              Simply everything you do

              Just leads back into a trap

              Repeats the things he knows you knew

              Oh, he's done it again

              A genius, I guess

              One day, he could know who I am, or was

              Life's unjust, I might just—

              Never mind, it's only August,

              And I'm only like August rush, if i was lucky enough

              That my parents just…

              Let me somewhere, or something—

              Or maybe it's the freckles, or something

              I don't know, I'm just running on but—

              Let me be Frank,

              I really like Frank;

              I wish I could thank him,

              Amen

              I made a mixtape

              But it's not that great—

              But hey,

              I remember when I said

              “Have you seen this kid?

              He's kind of funny—“

              And I said it about Sonny,

              Long, long before I fell in

              Love—

              But I don't know what love is;

              I barely noticed, to men it can be nothing,

              But to us it's—

              Nothing

              Gender is a spectrum,

              I wish I wasn't dumb, or something—

              Honestly, I shouldn't be writing,

              I should be running.

              Alright, I'm going.




              I was just born

              To be a whore

              I was just born

              To be a whore

              I was just born

              To be a whore

              I was just born

              To be a whore

              What for

              What for

              What for

              What for

              What for

              What for

              What for

              Open the door—

              Now I'm yours




              These are Sonny's, please make sure that they reach him.

              Apologies, and all my love,

              -U

              The sprites looked like wishes—twinkles and stars, glimmering—

              And then I remembered, the hybrid—the monster and sprite combined, for whom I had never forgotten, but wondered her name—her sound nearly a secret, but colors spoken so eloquently—a subtle translucency, mint green and yet azure, her texture—brilliant and bedazzling bright pink eyes, shining; Her oversized ears, and starlit tails matching with the glimmer in her light. Ah, yes—she was my favorite; and I could come yet not to name her, as she was too perfect to be tied down to any one.

              The longer I lived in the land of monsters, the more it became clear to me how they were created, or rather, born—how often and how easy I'd forget that the sprites, as shy and as soft spoken, as they were—if you could call them that, as yet to hear them speak at all, had I; in honesty and the whole of truth, they just ‘were', as they flurried about in whispers, secrets of sounds long overlooked—the undertones of the pastels and murky twilights, sunsets, shivers—a brief sigh would soothe my heart, if I could…~ Scary Monsters & SupaMe




              Bound

              I swear I hate myself

              More than I'll ever love you

              Infinitely, definitely

              Intricately, delicately

              I love you.

              Like I love everything that is

              I'll always love you

              Though far departed from you,

              I love you.

              Another heartache to withstand,

              A broken rib was cracked

              Before creation.

              Hello, Darkness—

              I am bound beyond you

              Bound beneath you

              Bound above you

              I am bound—

              High tides, colliding waves

              I crave to love again

              Beyond within.

              Betrayed,

              I've been below

              With no means to escape

              I am again,

              In love—

              I love you.

              Almost

              Do you feel dead inside?

              Almost.

              But I almost felt alive;

              Almost.

              But I almost killed my pride--

              I'm alive

              I'm alive

              I'm alive

              I'm alive

              I might have to die

              Like a million times

              To get it right

              To get it right

              If I was meant to write

              And write

              And write

              I might just be alright

              Just not tonight

              Delighted to meet you

              I tried

              Decided to leave you

              I died

              Departed to greet you

              I hide my

              Flight or flight

              Flight was right

              Right on time

              But why

              I'm grieving you

              You're still alive

              I'm not seeing you

              How to survive overseeing you

              I'll just go fly overseas, ooh

              I guess I'll be seeing you

              Finally seeing you

              Finally seeing you

              I wanna be a...anything, really

              I wanna be a...anything, really

              I just can't stand being nothing, really

              It's so unappealing

              I hate having feelings

              Really? This again?

              Emotion is your enemy.

              We keep repeating everything.

              Remember your adversity—

              Remember University,

              Remember: you've been cursed,

              You see—

              You'll have to purchase everything they'd give to any beauty queen.

              Remember you are everything.

              Inside

              Sonny side up

              I'm upside--

              Upside down

              Downside up

              I'm up inside

              All up inside

              All up inside

              All up inside

              Inside Myself

              Downside is:

              I'm Beside myself

              Well,

              That's the life:

              It's unhealthy

              Nonsense.

              That's not life;

              That's the shell keeping you in

              ‘In, Hell…'

              You're just, flesh

              You're just less than human

              You're just shellfish, fluid

              Stupid lobster,

              Keep squirming

              Please, keep screaming

              Keep hurting

              keep dreaming

              keep eating

              keep believing

              That anything's anything---

              You don't mean anything to me.

              It was only a dream.

              ‘What does that even mean?'

              Whose is all of these green?

              Get me out of this field of envy.

              Get me out of this greed and hypocrisy.

              Get me out of his heart wrenching prophecy…

              I spent the car ride crying in silence, apologizing ignorantly.

              ‘I don't know anything, I don't know anything--

              “Forgive me, forgive me,

              I'm just disastrously and obsessively,

              The way that God made me,

              The only way I can be

              The biggest fan,

              I am,

              Of all I have.”

              Hands Up--

              Don't shoot the messenger

              Don't shoot the songbird,

              Or Mockingbird,

              Or whatever birds I thought we were




              Boomer

              Monsters under the bed and,

              All the colors and,

              All my friends in high places—

              (Hang myself from high places)

              Hang myself with shoe laces

              Tongue tied

              Colorblind;

              In the dark I tried to find—

              But nevermind,

              never, ever mind—

              I lost my mind again

              No new friends,

              Abandonment,

              Abolishment from tents;

              Or did I mention that?

              Party, Poolside

              I'm at this party, poolside

              Popular, presently—

              and,

              You're not there with me

              But someone apparently aware

              Of this present I bare, is present

              carefully staring from where

              Shared sherbet starlit

              sunsets

              Wear Crescent cradled

              Kept secrets;

              Cherished,

              Since centuries—

              Origins in symphonies

              Concentrical synthesis

              Lyrical synchronicities—

              Syncopated sine

              Hypnosis in hidden frequencies

              Silent sudden

              Deafening glares.

              Synchronicities,

              Please remember these

              Lucid dreams where we meet;

              Please stay sleep, for me

              Stay asleep, stay with me

              Lay with me

              Play with me

              Dance by the light for me,

              A dome in the night where our

              Minds like to wander;

              Glow, ocean, glow

              Under the moonlight tide

              The red tide lights

              Might we be right for life;

              A moonlight drive might

              Set it right,

              Right?

              Set the lights right—

              Set the lights right—

              Get your mind right,

              And set your sights right

              Let it,

              Alright.




              Purple

              ‘Purple me;

              Paint me,

              Liquidate me, Stranger

              Belatedly thank me, later

              Stargazers cut shapes and

              Lasers, dazed and

              Misbehaved in moonlit,

              Manic miraculous,

              Stunning and glamorous—

              Dancing in unison;

              Lunacy, livid lucidity

              Commemorate remembrance

              In Unity.' ~Sunnï Blū

              Lose me to find me,

              Rewind me me—

              Blindly,

              Wildly unhinged

              Drenched in doubtful anxiety

              The cry of the kraken

              Inside of the eye

              Guides me

              Likely, hiding

              The light I seek

              Love, at least

              In these final weeks

              Come clean,

              Don't speak—

              Show me

              So weak,

              We—



              Under

              All the pain—

              The comfort in the subtle thought of

              Releasing the life within my veins

              Driven to insanity and back

              You left me lifeless

              Alone, apart

              The vivid flash

              To tear the heart

              A scream in agony

              I bleed a memory for free

              Never near, never far

              Here I am, there you are

              Leap before I look,

              Bury me, call off your curse

              Unlock the book of Death

              Rotten to you,

              Rotten to you

              Under, over me

              Ever, after you

              Under, all of the

              Legacy, you left to me—

              Under, over me

              Ever, after you

              Under, all of the

              Legacy, you left to me

              Forgive me all the hurt I do,

              In place of you; I need you

              And you left me with nothing

              But everything,

              After me.



              Cries the voice of a mother

              Cries the cracked voice of a son,

              A singer;

              Witness his advantages—

              The lost soul,

              Of the last of ours;

              We left of them,

              In melody and harmony—

              The cosmos that we are.



              Never near, never far

              Here I am, there you are

              Leap before I look,

              Bury me, call off your curse

              Unlock the book of Death

              Rotten to you,

              Rotten to you

              Under, over me

              Ever, after you

              Under, all of the

              Legacy, you left to me—

              I love you,

              Only you,

              Need you,

              So.





              Cut

              Put myself in your headspace

              Wait a minute, wait

              It ain't the same

              I see your face

              Can't call your name

              In such a dark and quiet place

              Shame on me,

              All the misery

              Believing me,

              Lonely,

              Hopelessly thrown

              Below the throne

              The crown disgraced

              A true King's crown

              I bow,

              Your grace.

              My shame.

              I become you,

              One becomes two

              If I need you

              What would I do?

              I become you,

              One becomes two

              Who—

              You did this,

              You.

              Put myself on a run;

              It's just for fun,

              When the sun goes down

              I'm no one—

              What is your name?

              What have I done?

              Another obstacle;

              A baffle to be won,

              At the beginning it was called

              To be the final—

              In the end, this is our final dance

              The final dance of love



              I become you,

              One becomes two

              If I need you

              What would I do?

              I become you,

              One becomes two

              Who—

              You did this,

              You.




              You, Again

              I'm in love with you

              I always do, always do

              I've been lost with out you—

              Trying to find you

              Always do

              Everything for you;

              I'm so tired I'm

              Hanging on for you—

              It's been awhile so I'm

              Hanging up, for you

              Never know, for you

              I am in love with you

              For sure, you

              I'll show you

              Red, white, blue—

              Blanket you

              3, 2, 1–

              Ranked you at

              Gold and Silver

              Last forever

              Last forever, lasted forever

              Well, I never said

              I never said

              You never said

              Anything?

              Anything.

              I could have anything

              I wanted you to be the King—

              Oh, no, Jack;

              Here I come.

              Time after

              (What is time?)

              I never

              Didn't we

              (Always was)

              I said I'd

              There you were

              Be right back,

              And,

              There I was

              And

              Here you are,

              So,

              Here, we are

              You're,

              There you are

              I

              Love, you

              Again,

              You,

              Again—

              You again?



              Maybe Next Lifetime

              Maybe next lifetime,

              Baby, Oh--

              Miss me, if you miss me

              Maybe next lifetime,

              Baby, Oh--

              Miss you like I miss you,

              I'm afraid this lifetime is through.

              Pack up my things,

              Put me away;

              I need to leave,

              But want to stay

              Can't live without love,

              Might see another day--

              Been dying to die

              As I fast and I pray, Oh

              Maybe next lifetime,

              Baby, Oh--

              Miss me, if you miss me

              Maybe next liketime,

              Baby, oh--

              Miss you, like I miss you

              I'm afraid this lifetime is through

              Staple my songs

              Send off my stones

              Stifle my signs

              I'm still alone

              Wherever I fade to,

              Wherever I roam--

              I'll try to find you;

              Your heart is my home

              Your heart is my home.

              Your heart is my own.

              Yeah, But

              And when your brothers turn back on you

              Reminding you of what you are;

              Who will you long for?

              And when your mom gets after you for not doing your chores,

              Who will you wish for?

              And when your friends all get sick of you,

              For always taking care of you

              When you get too drunk

              And just do all the shit you want to do—

              And they all abandon you—

              Just like they always do—

              Who will you cry, but never call for?

              No more,

              You're sick of yourself,

              I'm just glad I could help.

              Felt like a mirror on a doorstep,

              Sitting silently, stooping on the stoop

              Listening to you rambling

              Like dumb drunk bitches always do

              But your words didn't hurt like usual;

              Because I know that they aren't true—

              At least, not true to me:

              You forget, that I'm just apart of you;

              I heard you go off on yourself,

              Got Lost In The Sauce on yourself—

              And I left to Meditate,

              Leaving you to devastate your mother—

              Watched her love her other kids harder;

              I guess she's the Martyr cause she knows

              That she'll be stuck with you.

              I guess I'm the “weakest link”

              For just thinking ahead and bringing a blanket

              “Blah blah blah I'm drunk, you'll die in the elements”

              Okay?

              Bitch, go away

              “Just shut the fuck up, before you really make me mad,”

              I say

              Take all of my light away;

              I was trying to stay Zen,

              But then I started to resent you,

              And all the money you spent

              Just so I could be with you—

              I forgot I'm a Vampire Charger and you've been drinking harder, so I don't have enough power—

              “I'm sick of you”

              Bitch, I'm sick of me too—

              How bad do I have to feel about myself to keep staying friends with you?

              Boosting your confidence—

              But honestly: we're both not that cute—

              That's why you won't leave Utah;

              People would think you're a dude.

              Yeah, maybe my body's got flaws—

              At least my love is true.



              Need

              I need to laugh

              I need to cry

              I need to love

              I need to die

              I need too much

              I need--do I?

              I just should go,

              Before I decide

              To stay on the side of life



              Infinity, As Always

              I hate everything about me, right now

              But I don't know where to find you, right now

              Run down the mountain,

              Run down the mountain,

              Come down the mountain,

              Come—

              Come to me, when you feel you need me;

              Unreal, without you,

              Right now.

              Where you found me, I

              Where you found me, I

              Died and came to life

              Died and came to life

              Where you found me I,

              Where you found me I—

              Found myself, and I

              Found you deep inside

              Ignite my fire

              Revive the light

              No I can't relate,

              No I can't relate

              But can we levitate

              Can I imitate you

              Soulmates, we

              Through eternity

              Infinity, as always



              Everything

              You were made for me

              The Gods said to me

              To be or not to be,

              If it ain't mean to be

              Oh well, I have to be at peace

              Maybe, it ain't up to me

              It's supposed to be

              You're my everything

              Just let it be,

              Set you free

              If it's meant,

              Then it will be

              Last lifetime, no more tries

              Maybe in the afterlife

              My desires,

              Maybe in the afterlife

              You inspire

              All my life

              Life light

              Sleep tight

              It's alright,

              It's alright

              It's alright

              Alright,

              Goodnight.

              Why try?

              If I die with you on my mind,

              It's fine;

              I tried to find you,

              tried to fight it,

              Learned to lose you,

              Learned to hide it

              Now I,

              Died, I'm

              Barely,

              Alive—

              I'm never

              Right

              On

              Time—

              Am I?

              Goodnight.

              Bleeding my life for you,

              Turn off the light for you—

              Bury the past, left the ashes at last for you

              I've never cried more, or more have I laughed for you;

              I'm after you,

              I'm after you,

              I'm altered, you

              Alerted me and

              Limited my love—

              Aloft, aloof

              Unroof the cave of this

              Singing serpent,

              Silos, cursed

              Droughts—

              The curse we laid

              Upon the grave,

              The race disgraced with shame,

              Was ours alike—

              We built mankind in both,

              Our honor and our pride,

              With likeness;

              Hiding all we kept,

              Between the legs and lips

              Of lovers,

              Tied in truth to beds that bound us

              In the glorious and fornicated

              Slaughtering of solitude;

              As lovers we were born to be,

              Unmasked,

              Masters of motion,

              Makers, made in magic;

              All but stardust stricken—

              All are one,

              As you and I

              And you

              And I

              And you

              And I

              Alright

              Alright

              I'm

              (After you, after you)

              I'm

              (After you, after you)?

              I'm

              (After, you, after, you)

              You, are I—

              You, are I—

              You, are I—

              Alright,

              Goodnight.

              Y-U

              Where's the ever-after that was ordered,

              By the doctor,

              On my deathbed—

              As your silhouette filled

              Symphonies behind the eyes,

              you've cried

              The ears that bleed,

              The soul that needs,

              The keys that called me

              From a cold and peaceful sleep—

              My soul is your to keep…

              Wandering,

              Watchful,

              Wonderous, wanderer

              Masterful alchemist—

              Starrlight eyed eidolon



              I lost my life to you,

              Take me, take me

              I lost the night to you

              Haunting me, could it be

              My everything

              My anything

              The diety

              Inside of me

              In isolation—

              Driven and divided

              By the

              Apple of your eye

              Why me?

              Invisible

              Sick to my stomach,

              I'm sick of this

              Pit of me

              Pity this,

              Epitome of

              Collisions—

              Callous,

              Expressions

              Expelled;

              Restless withered

              Ignored,

              Kept secret

              Silence.

              California confidence,

              But me on your level;

              Drive me up the mountain,

              Throw me from the ledge

              Laced with cocaine carelessness

              Numbness in the presence of the

              Heavy bleeding wound

              From where my heart that you did

              Plunder

              Used to lie above the seal

              Break me from you

              (All I am, all I am)

              Break me from you

              (All of me, all of you)

              I am not the being that would

              Wait beneath the



              I find myself crying out loud—

              And I find myself dying inside…

              And I keep wondering how I get out—

              I've been here since last time I died,

              Outside

              I can't even see you now;

              I can't even see you now—

              How could I believe in me, if

              Nothing I do makes you proud?

              I don't even know what it's about.

              I can't find myself, for crying out loud

              I'm about done living life, I

              Keep wondering what I could have





              Dissolve

              My mind far from food;

              But closely to you—

              Passing time in the mood;

              Where are you, this afternoon?

              Aligning partial moons

              Alluring sonnets set upon us,

              By the words we all would mark

              Within our minds—

              The songs I sing;

              My diamond ring,

              A true proposal to your eye,

              My soul betrothed,

              Your heart, to mine

              I take the knee at Your Divine

              Some noon,

              But here I fall apart tonight.

              I need you,

              But I waste away in waiting light.



              Works

              It works…

              Till you decide that it doesnt

              It is,

              Until you know that it isn't

              If fits

              Until you say you can't fit it

              And change it to make it

              Whatever it is that you need

              It's just like that.

              Get In It

              I can't stand here looking dumb

              With you over there like that

              I can't sit here with my thumb

              Pressed up against my hat

              And

              I can't stand just feeling numb

              In your habitat

              I'm a cabbage patch,

              But I'm so attached.

              If you want it, come get it

              If you love me, admit it

              Why don't you do something with it

              Why don't we do something with it

              Get in it



              Any. More.

              I can't sleep without you

              I can't eat without you

              I can't breathe without you

              Anymore

              I can't see without you

              I can't sing without you

              I just can't be without you

              Anymore

              I can't dream without you

              I can't believe without your

              I can't even think without you

              Anymore

              I can't leave without you

              I grieve without you

              Feet nailed to the floor—

              Can't shut the door…

              But then you slam it,

              And god damn it—

              I just can't take it anymore;

              What was it for?

              Everything (Again)

              No matter where I go

              No matter what I do

              Every little thing

              Everything

              Everything, I mean—

              reminds me of you

              Everywhere I go

              I see you, I do

              But do you

              Do you feel lonely, too?

              Do you, do you

              Love me too?

              Do you, do you

              Want me to love you

              You already know I do,

              I know I do, I—

              Don't know why I do

              Don't know why I do, I

              Why do I—

              Do it?

              I want to die—

              I do, I

              A corpse bride;

              I do, twice—

              And I died, alive,

              With you.

              Balancing act,

              It's a fact, I'm attracted;

              Pushing me back—

              I push back, my reaction

              Holding me back

              But I lack the attention;

              Flatten, and damaged

              Conscious expansion

              MASH, build a mansion

              And dance,

              Where the crash happened

              On Malibu Mountain

              Smoke signals vanish

              ...Does she speak Spanish?

              I cough,

              Then collapse—

              Perhaps, this was planned, then…

              The seeds, that we planted,

              The idea that love could then flourish was fantasy;

              Why are you mad at me?

              Drapery of hatred,

              Sleepless nights plighted

              Attached, outfitted in garments

              Planted, white at first—

              Had you forgotten that I knighted thee?

              Disastrous catastrophes

              A broken glass disaster piece

              I Rest In Peace, with these

              Just Ease My Mind, at least

              But half the time, I beg you please

              I cry at night, your tears are these—

              Whose eyes, whose ears are these, could be—

              The birds, the bees, the dogs, the trees;

              So you became my everything—

              The shining sun, I was, at least.

              At least…

              Fuel my fire

              I'm gasoline

              You got a lighter

              The devil is a liar

              Peace in my heart

              But you make me a fighter,

              Now I'm a cryer,

              Flammable Phoenix tears

              Wondering “why”

              Fly by my forest,

              Flashing—

              “Ignite her.”

              Light me up.

              Fill this red solo cup,

              With death

              Drink yourself alive while I

              Starve myself…

              Unrest

              Arrest me.

              I was better before you met me—

              Oh right, you never.

              Energy

              I can feel the energy in everything, all around me

              I can hear your thoughts, so loud of sof—it's astounding

              “Crazy lady” they say

              “Hey baby”, they say

              “I wish that were me”, said she

              But I won't believe it,

              I'd rather be anything than me

              What you get is much more than you see.

              Renovated

              I'm a house, abandoned property

              Renovated on the inside—

              Outside it isn't very pretty,

              But the property in the valley—

              A nice quiet neighborhood,

              Across the street from an elementary;

              A backyard with my friends, the trees

              And everything I need

              Yes everything I need

              It's everything I need,

              Just sitting empty—

              Don't pity me;

              Greed is evil,

              You just feed it

              Giving up your dreams…

              That property is worth at least a million,

              Silly me.

              I'm worth at least a million,

              Are you kidding me?

              If I were pretty I'd be

              Queen of everything.

              Whatever

              “Im sorry”

              I said softly, rocking

              I had been walking, most the night

              Fighting memories, that I keep hidden

              The forbidden fruit of the truth,

              Will never leave these lips;

              I can't forget or forgive it

              It isn't my fault—

              Lost a friend I didn't need,

              Cause in the end,

              It would be the same thing again

              And he told me it was

              My fault.

              I hate anger

              When doors slam, I jump

              The nightmares kept me up

              Until I had none—

              And I had one dream,

              About a skateboard, so

              I must need it.

              I must need something, something, something—

              Else, other than words.

              Rape me—

              Hate me, whatever—

              Maybe I'm just used to it.

              Hit me, witness me

              Gasping, grasping for life

              Whatever—maybe,

              I'm getting over it.

              Maybe,

              life's not fair.

              Bare bones, it was bare bones

              All I had was gone, jonesing,

              almost homeless,

              All I had was God,

              All I had was J**'s voice in my head

              I wish I was dead

              It just goes on, and on in my head.

              Sleepless, psycho—

              I wrote about it in my own little world.

              And then, there you were;

              I had to go.

              There was no knowing why

              I still cry about it,

              I still wonder if you're okay

              I'm not

              So.

              I think, maybe

              I'm not, maybe

              I'm not sane.

              Felt the wind from the train and smiled, wildly

              Cause I knew I could be

              Free (3...2...1)

              I knew that I could be done.

              I love you.

              How I even got home, I don't know

              Stepped out of my comfort zone—and into oncoming traffic,

              I don't know

              I don't know, I was hoping maybe

              It could happen quickly.

              It's good to be alive but it's bad to be haunted—it's not what I wanted

              But I want to be, maybe, it has to be me—

              Randomly, I'd rather be taken home—but it had to be bad enough that I'd do it on my own.

              Sitting in this car

              Thinking about the long ride home

              Thinking about you, my friend

              I just can't though

              Free my mind

              Sitting in this car

              Thinking about the long ride home

              Thinking about you, my love

              You just can't though

              My life line's...

              ending soon

              True blue

              Just like you

              I think in tunes;

              Love the blues and cartoons,

              This is so confusing

              Still, I choose you.

              Trust me—

              I hate myself

              Hate myself

              Hate myself

              Love you

              Believe me,

              I hate myself

              Hate myself

              Hate myself

              But you will

              Always remind me

              Of who I wish

              (I wish)

              I could be

              I do

              I do

              Believe in you

              I do

              I do

              Believe



              And I don't sing anymore

              Because people would hear me

              And I don't smile anymore

              Cause people would see my teeth

              And I don't sleep very well, anymore

              But I still keep your sweater

              Next to me, next to me

              Sometimes I wear it

              I sound like a parrot

              Repeating, repeating—

              I love you.

              Miss Me

              I think it may be time

              To leave this world behind

              Me

              I think that I might find

              That happiness will find

              Me

              If only I could go to where my heart is

              I'd be home

              But lonely's the only thing worse than alone

              Why am I so sad

              On a sunny day,

              A sunny day?

              Why am I so stubborn

              I just wanna play outside

              Why am I so sad

              On a sunny day,

              Well maybe it's because I'm

              Living such a lie

              I don't fit in

              Any

              Any

              Anywhere

              There's no place like home

              But no home for me

              I don't fit in

              Any

              Any

              Anywhere

              So I'll just drift

              Between land

              And the see

              What's the difference between you and I?

              You and me?

              Every

              Every

              Everything, apparently

              I'm just a misfit

              Misunderstanding

              Misrepresented

              Missing Miss Me.

              I'm sorry Sonny,

              It seems I lost you, trying to find you

              But if you wanted to be found

              I guess I wouldn't have to

              So, without you I'm just

              Everything I ever wasn't,

              Never was;

              But if I was beside you,

              I'd be even less because,

              There's really no one to outshine you

              I thought I was, but something said I should

              Try

              I tried and now, I see why I denied it all,

              At all,

              I haven't far to fall

              But at least I'm here to catch you

              If you do

              I am my sacrifice.

              It was nice to never know you

              Only saw you once, I see

              I had to see right through you

              Everything I saw, who you are

              I really never knew you

              Now I am you;

              Can't imagine really,

              Coming out to see you.

              What's your stage name?

              Are you famous?

              Oh, what kind of music do you do?

              A human? How confusing.

              I could never really envy,

              But presume you do,

              I lose you to a tumer

              Or a tomb

              In my womb I keep the secret

              But I do know she belongs to you

              I do know she belongs to you

              I do know she belongs to you

              I haven't sold the soul

              But lost my heart to you

              My heart goes out to you

              I'd give up everything

              Just to do what you do

              But I gave everything

              To do the usual

              I gave up everything

              To be you

              Gave up everything

              To suffer right beside you silently

              I gave my name up

              But I hated it

              I never hated you

              But hate how I'm in love with you

              I hate the feeling that I get

              Just missing you

              And missing you is



              1. Vice

                Red lips always lie'

                What about red nail polish,

                Red shaved heads,

                Red/Blue;

                That's nonsense, isn't it?

                It all is--

                We all are.

                What is this?

                What's the difference,

                If you're in this?

                “Just finish it,”

                But it's limitless--

                I mean, infinite.

                Sorry Sonny

                Who am I to you?

                Sorry, Sonny

                All you are to me

                Is another thing--

                I mean, another being

                I hate being everything;

                But I'd love being everything

                If i was just your anything…

                “But, where is Sonny?”

                Nowhere to be found

                And now the dragon comes around--

                she's hungry;

                Here's the hunting ground

                I found my vice

                It's something like



                I haven't written anything ‘good' in months, but the reality is, I just haven't been able to finish any of my projects to completion or organize with any decency.

                Everything I experienced during the last fast threw me for a loop.

                My stomach is in knots--my consciousness has been stifled, to say the least--I'm beginning to act in ways that others I would myself consider the sheep of society to act, although with an awareness that it isn't at all for myself a normal behaviour, and an inherent side effect of the forced and unnecessary medication given after the car accidentI'm unsure which dimensions I was teleported or transported to, or which entities or agencies are aware of my discoveries, but I've been more than cautious about writing them--especially here, in my unprotected google--though, with the government being as well-protected against any sort of blame by the paperwork which may prove my clinical insanity, I've not much to fear.

                My intelligence is undoubtedly unquestionable; but it has become clear that I have been perhaps a one-of-a-kind experiment; at least, as it is known to me--I am the only one who has seen though and by the other parallels in a physical presence. I don't know what they flashed me into up on that mountain in Malibu--but I've never been so terrified in my life at all the things I would come to see.

                The flying saucers, I'll admit, were cool--however--an airplaine almost imminently landing on my head--or at least, the massive projection of such--was--NOT COOL; Nor was being sent to a dimension where it seemed nobody spoke any english at all--not an American or caucasion for miles--however--the dimension with the copper building which had tarnished was interesting--

                Losing Sonny was one of the most painful things I think I've ever experienced, next to having to hear the news of my son being mutilated by an elitist organization...I'm glad I haven't shared these things with anyone, as--while I am typing them, they seem absurd--but in the parallel dimensions, they were very true indeed.

                I searched up and down to make sure that my son was still alive and well, and that his mental state was intact, his intelligence remaining as it had been--I couldn't bear to live in a world wear he could no longer recognize me after being brutalized to cruelly...Thank God for returning to our current and present reality.

                First rule of interdimensionaltimespace travel: DON”T.

                When I heard the news of Sonny's passing, I don't know what I actually did--it comes up as an error, a blank space in my mind--the actual premonition that I did have after Bass Canyon did arise, however--the gloomy and dark flawed thought that still looms and deeply pulls at my heart and soul...but, I've been no stranger to the socials for the exact reason that, the prophecy that was foretold to me on the mountain



                5 min
              2. [FINALE I.] (SEASON 6 - ACT III, PART II)

                SEASON 6

                ACT III - Part II

                Oh no.

                I told you, this was a bad idea

                DONT CHECK THE—

                It's too late.

                “A Writing Assignment”

                Fuxk.

                This is bad.

                I'M GONNA DIE LIKE THIS.

                Well, it's Brooklyn—there's gonna be a fire escape and a rooftop.

                This is creeper level 9000

                Whatever.

                Where'd the bass go?

                I've lost my sense of direction

                I'm mad I can't have you,

                It's candid

                I shouldn't be out here like this l

                I should have gone to Manhattan

                Are you mad, man—

                At the mad hatter!

                At the course of action in this rendition

                fuxk, it is Skrillex.

                I just went to look for Kayla Lauren.

                Got hit with the other one instead.

                “I insist, do it this way”

                Better get a good picture,

                Better get a good fix on your riches

                Maybe this is why my scar was lighting up all morning

                Maybe that's the reason I was off. Without my phone all day.

                Maybe that's the reason I was fasting.

                Good Goddamnit man,

                You're awful good at acting

                Awful good at grabbing ass,

                And awful good at dancing

                Awful good at making friends

                And awful good at

                First things first,

                And first things last, and after—

                Amsterdam

                I never guessed where York was at

                I never asked

                I never asked

                I never asked

                FUCK.

                What, man.

                I think Skrillex listens to my podcast.

                Well, that's, uh.

                Fuck that.

                Fuxk that.

                Fuck that.

                Well, that's one hell of a flex.

                It's a pop up.

                I just had a dream about surfing.

                Better stop, God.

                There might be a show for every day of the week.

                I'm still weak in the knees.

                I don't know what I need.

                I'm still a mothafuckin Skrillex fiend.

                Have a nice dream.

                Have some ice cream.

                There's the ice queen.

                That's been three times since my eye started bleeding.

                I thought I was just an MC,

                Or a DJ,

                I might take the soul train

                But don't have a ticket

                Thanks.

                Now whose the dick.

                Well , I'm just taking pictures.

                How's Dillon Francis.

                Now that's a priority.

                I can't ShaZam from out here, you know.

                I called my dad.

                I thought you had no family.

                Same thing as having no home, or,

                No where to go,

                I'm no homer,

                I'm sitting here, hopeless, outside or your show—

                Not hoping to see you, or anything

                I'll be you, inside my dreams,

                Sequels for everything

                Sequences, sequins and diamon rings,

                Sequoias and

                I still have feelings for

                I still have feelings for

                Feelings for everything

                This is the weakest I've been since I needed you

                2019 was the year that the hero

                Was broke



                Well.

                That's it.

                What.

                That's the whole thing.

                Can't be the whole thing

                Do you want to take a half, or a whole thing

                Do you want to wear the pants, or the whole ring

                Should I take a flight to France, or to Oakland

                Stuck in a chokehold,

                God, I'm too old for this

                God, I just want to go home;

                Here's a long rope to hang your self with—

                Now I'm locked up in homeroom

                I lost it all once, got it all at the pawnshop

                For $96 dollars—

                The original price tag, of course, read

                $115 though.

                I honestly thought I never wanted to see Skrillex again, but as it turned out— as I was, of course, trying to connect with closure, snooping into Instagram just to find evidence or romance, which I did—not that I needed anything more than a glance to ensure my own insanity—and it was that, insanity.

                Don't do it.

                —but it's Valentine's Day.

                Don't do it.

                Goddamnit, I hate this.

                I hadn't been up this early without not having gone to bed since I arrived on the east coast; I woke up promptly around 8 with lyrics in my brain and music in my head; it had been a long and strange night, with no dreams at all—at least none that I could remember, and it had been long since I had woken up with anything in my mind besides fear and panic.

                I refused to turn on my phone, quickly reaching for my notebook and a pen before the song would leave my mind—I had a lot of work to do, and for whatever reason I actually felt like doing it; I at least had the train ride to Manhattan to think about what I should be thinking about, or to unravel from whatever I was wrapped up in, even if it was just myself.

                This is not a coincidence

                This is not a drill;

                Of course, now—

                I feel like the villain;

                To swallow Dillon like a pill

                But In the end, though,

                Nothing's real,

                And nothing changes,

                Nothing will

                I should be working on my will

                I think of jumping—

                What a thrill

                I'm busy thumping, humphing

                Rumbling, mumbling about something

                And someday never comes,

                But Sunday does,

                And Sonny shows up Monday—

                I feel dumb, and awkward, suddenly—

                I'm just an awkward cunt;

                That's what the prophet wrote

                Upon the wall

                In Brooklyn,

                Out on Broadway,

                Where I was,

                Before the fall off;

                I gave my dad a call,

                And then my son—

                That's all that love was

                I showed up with my whole heart in my pocket

                What a long walk;

                What an alter,

                Whatever the sun does

                When he doesn't watch

                I'm Sasquatch,

                But it's water, starch,

                And crunches




                ‘This is not a coincidence.'

                I had spend the day before, valentines say, combing through my belongings meticulously—I was due to check out the following morning, and without much thiugh I had thought of another extension, which would l of course diminish the last of my money, but at least warrant another couple nights safe and warm.

                I hadn't made any sense to look for a normal job-not only would the process or getting hired take up all the rest of mh time, but it would be if. Purse two to theee weeks before I would receive any kind of paycheck at all—and with such little time left living indoors, It didn't make sense to try.

                I had been stranded in New York since addict f on the 4th, and though it had nearly been two weeks, I hadn't any luck in landing any gigs or performances. Jetro of course was still waiting with Blame Society records in Rome for my arrival, I hadn't even thought to notify him of the lack of such, as I partially blamed even alerting him that I was on my way via instragrwm for the flight delay that had caused me to miss my train, which of course caused me to miss my plane, landing me stuck in a hostile, cruel, and homeless USA.

                I carry, or

                Hold no stones for you;

                Haven't I a heart left

                It's the darkest of all the hours,

                And here you are, again—

                Not near, or far,

                But a bet is a bet,

                An eye for an eye

                And a head for a head

                And you're so far ahead,

                I've yet to catch up yet

                I have a gift for your daughter,

                Often, I've thought of her

                Lost in New York,

                No glass houses,

                It's just brick and mortar

                She calls me retarded, my mother

                So I haven't called her

                I just keep running north

                I just keep running my mouth on this podcast

                I just keep thinking that someone's my long lost love, at last

                You dirty bastard

                I'm an asshole:

                Handsome, Hanzel is

                In case it mattered

                Everyone's a fucking actor

                Look at that girl

                And look at that

                And look at that

                And look at that girl

                And look at that

                And look at that

                You took my whole world

                Turned it upside down

                And bottled up my love l

                You never told me where the bottle was

                But showed me what a model was

                And after that I fell in love with

                Something about doing drugs and

                Coming up with love to give to others

                Turning pigeons into doves

                And wishing I could just be nothin'

                —cause my life was fuckin loveless

                —and I thought you were my husband

                (Fuck Kayla Lauren;

                But I guess I gotta love her,

                Cause she's human)

                I took my time getting ready, no time, actually, in comparison to how slowly I had been moving throughout the week, and although I had been to the gym daily, I was worn, and tired—and coming up empty on all fronts. It was 10:14 or so by the time I finally made my way to the subway, ‘I'm still off', I thought— but not only couldn't I depressively sulk and lay in bed the way I thought I would or even maybe wanted to, I had been lifted out of my sleep and on my way to Equinox with a startling force—though I shouldn't have at all been suprised; this, whether consciously or not, I realized, had always happened when it came to the matter of the mysterious Sonny Moore.

                ‘Fuck'

                It was late evening Monday before the anxiety started to set in, and for some reason had been the reason I had decided to turn on my phone, to extend my reservation another couple days, buying time in comfort and warmth, on the freedom of privacy, which I had done nothing with but rest and try to be whole again, whatever that was—and whatever it meant. I had been cooking for the first time in months, stretching, and meditating the ways that only seemed to come natural when having my own time and space —and though it wasn't wholly my own, it was clean, peaceful, and quiet—included it's very own space heater, and was decorated in my favorite color blue. My host was an actual working professional who had succeeded in the entertainment industry—which of course made me jealous, but I at the very least had done my best to network and perhaps nitpick an easygoing cash job out of it “I have some connections”, she had piped—and so, with that in mind, I had sent her my links; and of course, with my extension being the reason for even having turned on my phone, was quick to check my text messages to see if there had been any movement with the booking agent she had supposedly sent my information to. “I gave him your Instagram, and so he'll probably reach out to you through there it he's interested.”

                I hated Instagram and it seemed to hate me, even before the devastating discovery of what a Kayla Lauren was, it had always seemingly been algorithmicallu programmed to make me hate myself, always spamming my feed with skinny white girls with blue eyes, which I only hated Seinfeld, admittedly out of bitter loneliness—the guys I seemed to like and fall for had always seemed to go for that type—white, skinny, blue eyes or some variation of the “ideal” standard of beauty, especially by Californian standards—and so I had always taken long breaks from it, shielding myself from self hatred: my absolute theory becoming that Instagram was an algorithm built for population control, preying on the weak and insecure, and probably attributing to more suicides than anyone had noticed or cared for.

                Lil biiiiiitz

                You know what else is weird about New York.

                People eat on the subway.

                They eat in the train station.

                They just—

                It's kind of gross; at least to me.

                Of course, the trains in New York are a lot cleaner.

                Sometimes the station even smells like bleach.

                That's so cool.

                Still don't want to eat in there.

                That's weird.

                INT. CHAUNCEY STREET. SUNDOWN |

                VALENTINES DAY

                BLŪ waits patiently for Instagram to download, sighing heavily as she waits; As it has finished, she rolls her eyes and opens the app, squinting and pursing her lips as she quickly checks for messages: only adds, nothing important.

                BLŪ

                Of course, no messages.

                Psh.

                She exits the app, thinking for a moment before re-opening it.

                Don't do it.

                SEARCH: Sk—

                INSTAGRAM

                skrillex

                You never learn.

                BLŪ watches the story, for the most part, unenthused—until

                TONIGHT:

                BROOKLYN NEW YORK.

                BLŪ

                AGH!

                The phone flies from her hand and onto the bed as she seizes, flying back and hitting the wall with a thud—then dramatically backing up into the closet, closing both doors and exclaiming in the darkness

                BLŪ (CONT'D)

                I'm gonna die like this.

                OH NO.

                HE'S IN BROOKLYN?!

                RIGHT NOW?!

                SKRILLEX

                I'M IN BROOKLYN. RIGHT NOW.

                WHY WOULD HE BE IN BROOKLYN. I'M IN BROOKLYN.

                (heavy New York accent)

                I'M IN BROOKLYN.

                (even heavier New York accent)

                I'M IN BROOKLYN.

                (*hawks loogie, spits*)

                [very ugly cry]

                I was expecting to see some cheesy picture like I had just a couple years before—or however long it had been. So much time had passed and I had no doubt there was still more and that I wouldn't be seeing Sonny tonight, or even anytime soon—still, I was headed towards the rooftop to collect my stones, and though the tickets were sold out and there were said to be none at the door, I was headed for the train before I even knew why, or what was happening.

                Well, he's out of the basement.

                BITCH

                GET OUT THE ATTICK

                I'm in the closet now,

                I had a heart attack,

                I'm in a panic

                You need a manual? This is a stick shift

                This is some sick shit

                Click click, bitch

                I got witches in automatic

                Automatic

                It was 11:11 AM; I had never been to Manhattan to early before, at least not from Brooklyn; I knew my way to Equinox Sports club easily by now, without getting lost, or much hassle; it was an easy one hour train ride—and this morning, even easier; the writing came automatically, rather than forced, as it had been, and the ride went by almost too quickly, despite a full train and a flurry of emotions I worked heartfly to keep in check.

                ‘This changes nothing.' , I thought, more awestruck than anything and trying to convince myself nothing had changed, though something certainly had. Manhattan looked even better in the daylight—clear and sunny, and even a bit warm; babies in strollers and dogs on leashes and for a moment or two, I might have even forgotten I was homeless, dropping 2.5 Jimmy Fallons on a piping hot coffee at the shop I had always passed, but was never open.

                I would be at Sports Club until close, as I had planned to be all week but had always fallen short of, struck with jet lag and crippling depression at the same time—but today, and even if it was for the best that I couldn't seem to get exactly what I wanted, If even just out of sheer disbelief, I had at least been shaken out of my tomb, if only for a moment, and into work mode, still grieving the self I had lost in the collision of stardust and superstardom, fame, and misfortune—tears still on the brink of rolling down my cheek, and the cost of sicccess a grueling question burning somewhere between my still bleeding heart, and somewhere in the back of my mind.

                ‘Its like a fucked up cheaper by the dozen'

                And I still haven't frgotten about Dillon Francis,

                But Sonny seems to fuck me up a bit,

                —and then some

                It's just an addendum:

                I flipped the script and went dumb

                Here's my number, Christopher Columbus;

                And a bumper sticker

                Still a nigger

                Still a nothing trying to make it bigger

                Still a little off my rocker,

                Like I bought, at Cracker Barrel

                I'm still scared of marriage,

                Mind my manners, like Harriet Tubman

                Somebody's up to somethin'

                Better suck it up and get some crunches in

                Before I go to lunch

                And jump from too high up

                Or hang off of some bridge

                Just to get to the dimension

                Where it's Skrillex in the picture

                With Dillon standing next to him,

                And I'm just in the middle,

                Front and center

                With an Emmy Win

                An Oscar nomination,

                And a Tony, where my Grammy is:

                A curio cabinet I had custom fashioned for my bathroom;

                Next to the magazine rack, actually—

                Where I'm on every cover wearing fabrics I myself imagined,

                shining like a dragon eating laffy taffy;

                Fuck,

                I Suck at mathematics,

                —But I finally got my masters degree.

                Nice.

                Jeez,

                It would be tragic to have it all go up in ashes

                Lighting matches just to get the smell of gas to shatter—

                Or to dissipate,

                I estimate I'm 40 minutes late,

                But if I make it,

                I'll get naked on the plane,

                For heaven's sake.

                What the fuck is this.

                Some Sunnï Blū shit, I guess.

                “I guess.”

                I'm still mad at the world,

                I'm still mad at your girl, for being better than me

                So mad I could hurl,

                But I'm still fasting, actually;

                It's intermittent,

                In a minute,

                I might turn to Skrillex,

                Talk to Fred Again

                Then take some medicine

                And finally finish, like-

                “I did it”

                Oh look, it's Fred.

                Yep.

                Oh.

                Hi.

                It's Fred Again.

                That's me.

                Oh.

                Hey there.

                It's Fred..Again.

                Fucking a.

                JIMMY THE MOBSTER

                Alright, Jimmy—you sick sonofabitch.

                JIMMY FALLON

                —just kill me already.

                JIMMY THE MOBSTER

                WHERE IS IT.

                JIMMY FALLON

                Where is what.

                JIMMY THE MOBSTER

                YOU KNOW WHAT.

                JIMMY FALLON

                I don't know what.

                JIMMY THE MOBSTER

                —my medallion.

                JIMMY FALLON

                You were wearing a medallion?

                JIMMY THE MOBSTER

                I'M ALWAYS WEARING MY MEDALLION

                JIMMY FALLON

                How am I supposed to know that

                JIMMY THE MOBSTER

                there's only me and you here—

                JIMMY FALLON

                you know what they say—there's a crowd—

                JIMMY THE MOBSTER

                Listen, Jimmy Fallon, you illiterate motherfucker!

                JIMMY FALON

                I'm not illiterate; I'm very well read.

                JIMMY THE MOBSTER

                oh yeah! What was the last book you read?

                JIMMY FALLON

                …

                JIMMY THE MOBSTER

                …that's what I thought.

                [beat]

                JIMMY THE MOBSTER grabs JIMMY FALLON by the shoulders abrasively

                JIMMY THE MOBSTER (CONT'D)

                WHERE'S MY MEDALLION, JIMMY!?!

                JIMMY FALLON

                I DON'T—KNOW!

                JIMMY THE MOBSTER

                YOU DO KNOW!

                JIMMY FALLON

                NO, I DONT—you blindfolded and kidnapped me!

                JIMMY THE MOBSTER

                I kidnapped you?! C'mon' you're like 50-

                JIMMY FALLON

                I'm 42.

                JIMMY THE MOBSTER

                —I snatched you.

                “Snached” hm.

                I like that.

                MEANWHILE, in HOLLYWOOD

                This is a serious job…

                It's a job.

                A serious job.

                I'll take it.

                Wtf is this dude into.

                Whippets and women—

                Like every-other Hollywood nigga

                Stop using the n'word.

                It makes while people uncomfortable.

                Imagine what it's like being called the n word like it's your name.

                FLASHBACK

                BEVERLY HILLS, CALIFORNIA

                PRODUCER

                YOURE JUST A NIGGER SLAVE.

                (That actually happened.)

                Anyway.

                As you can see, or might have guessed,

                I'm desperate for attention,

                Sonny followed me to Brooklyn,

                But never even mentioned it:

                I should have figured he was listening,

                When I heard Renaissance,

                And lost the mixtape that I did

                That Skrillex took it off of

                Glad It didn't win the Grammy

                I'd be mad if it had. Cause I was on it!

                Not Exactly.

                Swear to God,

                I might have lost it,

                Heard applause and started walking

                Nodded off,

                And woke up in a coffin

                Coughs,

                What a photographer.

                DILLON FRANCIS has been buried alive, inside or a coffin.

                I love this scene.

                He really is a good actor.

                (In my mind.)

                Dude, you are creep level 1 Billion.

                Whatever, he followed me to Brooklyn.

                I am you.

                You know what,

                That is something I would do if I was stupid rich and…

                And what.

                I had fallen in love with Sonny Moore, not at first sight—but at first glance; it seemed he had been quite literally tossed into my broken and shattered world, and—

                What, I'm an animal!

                Did you fuck?

                Should I have?

                I would have.

                I know you would have.

                I'm not Annie;

                She is pretty, and fun;

                An addict, an alcoholic

                And formerly, my other half

                When I was one,

                But now I'm half of half of half

                And then some;

                I've been numb,

                I've never felt like this,

                Since I've been struck.

                I guess if I drink,

                I'll be a big drunk;

                And If I die before I ever wake

                I'll be in big luck

                Honestly,

                After Kayla Lauren,

                I didn't give a fuck

                Been thinking of jumping,

                Then something hit me like a big truck

                I love eating.

                There was some sort of event on the basketball court at Sports Club; I had been there already two entire hours, and spent most of it in the sauna, still followed by coughing people, I knew I still wasn't out or the heap of madness or broken from any spell or curse it might have been — and it wasn't fair, I wasn't fair skinned, and it didn't make a difference at all what had happened; I still wanted to end it.

                I'm losing my mind again

                Losing a light again

                Losing my light,

                But if I run to find it

                I just might

                I just might

                —I'll fly like a kite.

                He's trying to kill me.

                He's not doing a bad job.

                Don't know what i'm working towards;

                Don't know what i'm running for—

                Don't know about Sonny Moore

                (He's not for me;)

                Or so I thought before, therefore—

                I take metrormin

                I'm still homeless,

                Searching for a metaphor,

                An aquafir,

                And somewhere to plug my phone in

                (Better than being ignored and drinking tap water,

                On the fourth floor)

                Housing is a human right

                I hate this place

                It's just not right

                I'm sick of fighting

                I'm not racist;

                Just not fucking white enough

                To run for red and right;

                I guess

                I'm blū then.

                I could be crying in the sauna.

                But I guess I'm writing you a message

                It's just a bullet in my head

                It's just another lesson

                It's just another test, at best

                It's just an algorithm;

                Go back to my nest

                And rest for just a minute

                This is season 6 of a Legends,

                Now I'm turning to a villain

                I keep coming up with Skrillex,

                But I have my heart to Dillon

                Here's a tiny violin;

                It's getting violent since intermission

                Ultraviolet light,

                And impolite fixations,

                Revelations,

                Realizations,

                Revolutions,

                Reservations

                Let's set a date then—

                Is it fucking coughs,

                Or is it Satan?

                I hate this.

                You would want to jump in front of a train, too

                If for years. No matter what you did or where you went

                People came around you and just started coughing

                That's such an evil fucking thing to experience

                For someone who never wanted anything

                But to be loved

                But was always too fat

                Too black

                And just altogether too anything to ever experience love, joy, and happiness the wayoh

                other people do

                And so, it must be hell

                Cause all I do is love, and love, and love

                And just get shit on

                And coughed at

                And called retarded

                And falling short of success

                I'm not heartless

                I just carry rocks around

                And get followed by coughing bodies

                My life fuckin sucks, man



                I just want to turn the simulation off,

                And on again

                I just want to take a long nap,

                And wake up in the arms of a man

                I just want a booking manager,

                And an orgasm.

                And a ham sandwhich,

                And my land back,

                And to be happy

                Or maybe like half a xanex

                Wanna throw myself down on the train tracks

                I want a can of spam and pancakes

                Like breakfast made by my dad

                I want to hold hands,

                And a whole home, with a landing pad

                Or maybe just an address, and a gas lamp

                Or a campfire

                Timestamp that.

                This is the third and final act.

                {Enter The Multiverse}



                [The Festival Project.™]



                COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

                ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©



                -U.



                32 min
              3. [The First Episode] (SEASON 6- ACT III, PART I)

                THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE

                LEGENDS

                GERALD'S WORLD

                OWSLA CONFIDENTIAL: THE INFINITE SKRILLIFILES

                ENTER THE MULTIVERSE

                  • DEATHWISH

                  ASCENSION

                  THE SECRET LIFE OF SUNNÏ BLŪ

                  SCARY MONSTERS & SUPACREE

                  THE INSOMNIAC

                  &MORE FROM

                  [The Festival Project.™]



                  SEASON 6

                  ACT III

                  Part I

                  MONTAGE:

                  Clique, Cruel Summer Kanye West, JAY-Z & Big Sean

                  EXT. DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT

                  SUPACREE has unlocked 100% Of her ABILITIES

                  GOD MODE UNLOCKED

                  SUPACREE EXITS EQUINOX FITNESS CLUB AT LIGHTSPEED, Hitting the pavement with swift force, splitting into three dimensional selves; SUNNI BLŪ to her left and A MYSTERIOUS, unknown ALTER EGO to her right, she shifts quickly to the beat of the music, morphing into and out of parallels of the outer world, opening and closing portals, and encapsulating anything and everything within her force field—which happens to be the whole of GREATER LOS ANGELES.

                  Damn.



                  If I put my heart inside a box;

                  Maybe I'd forget how cold it was

                  Or how far you are

                  Or how much it hurts

                  There's no harm in God,

                  If there ever was one

                  Then, reality sets in:

                  God was my only friend

                  No armor on,

                  I'm at the end

                  Of a long, long walk

                  I'm off again

                  And on again

                  Nothing's impossible—

                  stop at the alter and scoff a bit

                  I left my coat on,

                  I left my heart on the rooftop,

                  A sacrifice, love

                  At the alter,

                  I wonder a song,

                  Or a sonnet

                  A song,

                  No, what's wrong?

                  Something's off a bit

                  God, I woke up in a coffin once

                  Isn't that awful?

                  The rest or the song wrote itself,

                  At the alter

                  No, I can't stop and talk

                  Got to get off,

                  Cause I've never been on

                  I've never belonged in the world



                  What have we done?

                  This is bad, brother.

                  That's a construct.

                  Everything's a construct!

                  Get ahold of yourself.

                  Get ahold of—you know what?

                  I do know.

                  You think you're fuckin' clever.

                  I am clever.

                  You're a sick man.

                  That's my business.

                  Yeah, well—you made it my business.

                  I am you.

                  What a concept.

                  *construct.

                  God, help you!

                  [sideways evil smirk]

                  Hehe.

                  SPAM! ON TACOS!

                  BUTTERS

                  Oh—Jesus!

                  WHO PUTS SPAM ON TACOS?!

                  A smart man.

                  C'mon, Butters. We gotta get lost in the sauce before we try this out.

                  I'MMA TRY IT OUT.

                  OK.

                  GOD, OH, GOD, PLEASE—

                  MERCIFUL GOD IN HEAVEN—

                  (WhT.)

                  JUST— DON'T LET IT BE SKRILL

                  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

                  Fuxk.

                  What.

                  She took the train.

                  Which fucking train.

                  I don't know. The train.

                  THE A TRAIN, or the B TRAIN?!

                  HEY.

                  WHAT, you motherfucking idiot?

                  I THINK I LOVE YOU.

                  Well, stop thinking.

                  Ok.



                  JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER has been kidnapped—

                  He's like 50 years old.

                  He's been dad-napped.

                  —by the MOB.

                  The MOB?!

                  He's into some dark shit.

                  Wait, he is?!

                  In this series.

                  He has been tied to a chair, which sits under a single spotlight in a shabby, dark room in NEW JERSEY.

                  Ew, New Jersey.

                  JIMMY THE MOBSTER

                  Hi, Jimmy—

                  JIMMY FALLON

                  —uh—hello.

                  JIMMY THE MOBSTER

                  I'm Jimmy.

                  JIMMY FALLON

                  Oh, that's ironic.

                  [beat]

                  JIMMY THE MOBSTER

                  I'm gonna kill you, Jimmy.

                  GOD

                  If I give you a serious role, how are you gonna handle it?

                  JIMMY FALLON

                  like a pro.

                  GOD

                  don't lie to me, Jimmy.



                  JIMMY FALLON

                  What?! I'm not!



                  My body, heart, mind, and soul was being attacked—

                  I had 15 minutes to vacate the property and couldn't even focus—I had to use the bathroom so badly it hurt my soul. I was pacing back and forth, choking back ugly tears—the rude man in the room across the way still occupying the bathroom which I needed, both to clean and relieve myself—but it had been hell, after all, and needs like these had been proven to be in short supply.

                  Fuck.

                  This is a gun to your head.

                  Just do it.

                  [he moves the pistol into her mouth]

                  Now it's in your mouth.

                  [she unhinges her jaw to open it wider, never breaking eye contact and relaxes; he studies his hand on the grip of the tripper, ready to lill]

                  You'll die today.

                  [A comfort; as she relaxes, he as well changes—this seems to take the fun of killing away from him, he exacts the gun from her mouth]

                  CONT'D

                  You like that?

                  I love it—

                  You're dead, bitch!

                  Yes, I am!

                  A penniless whore.

                  Whores get paid—

                  Then, even less—

                  What's less than this?

                  A dead bitch.

                  Think again.

                  I don't think, I just shoot;

                  Sounds like a man.

                  Oh, I am.

                  Then kill me with your hands.

                  Jesus Christ, man.

                  He can't help.

                  No one can help you.

                  So just shoot.

                  [he can't]

                  SUNNI.



                  )&2&;@2@2$

                  YOU ARE OUT OF CONTROL.



                  SUCK MY DICK.

                  AGHHJJJ.

                  Well. TMZ is here.

                  This is a disaster.



                  NEXT, WE LEARN:

                  THE

                  Oh my God.

                  WhT.

                  This is probably the worst thing I've ever written.

                  Not the worst.

                  Nope: it is the worst.

                  Maybe it's just bad on paper.

                  It's bad no matter how you —

                  CONTROL, JANET PRIVACY.

                  Here.

                  Wtf is this.

                  LEGENDS:

                  FAME SCHOOL

                  Christopher Walken was one of my professors in fame school

                  For acting?

                  For music.

                  For music? That doesn't make any sense.

                  Please, don't make me explain this.

                  A FACE BATTLE

                  CHRISTOPHER WALKEN

                  vs.

                  SUPACREE



                  -_-

                  —__^

                  *_-

                  ^__\

                  \__/

                  *_*

                  ><



                  …

                  —-__—-

                  Ok.

                  Alright.

                  Show me what you got.

                  SUPACREE plays a beat.

                  You know where this is going.

                  We all know where this is going.

                  CHRISTOPHER WALKEN

                  that was OK.

                  “OK”?!

                  Yeah. *shrugs* OK.

                  You know what—

                  You know what it needs?

                  …what's it need?

                  —-more cowbell.




                  I beg your pardon.

                  Please, don't beg.

                  It was perfect.

                  It was OK.

                  You're not OK.

                  —maybe I'm not.

                  You're definitely not.

                  —know what helps?

                  Don't tell me:

                  More fucking cowbell.

                  Lol.

                  ⅔ ain't bad.

                  Wait, two out or three?!

                  Which one didn't I—

                  —FUCK.

                  What, what happened?

                  They're onto me.



                  THE BAMPHERAMPS, MOTHERFUCKING BAMPHERAMPHS, and THE ASCENDED MASTERY has assembled in NEW YORK CITY to stage a coup.

                  It's a coup d'état.

                  There sure is a lot of French shit over here.

                  Well yeah, it's Paris.

                  Wait.

                  What, what now?

                  If SUPACREE is in Paris.



                  NIGGAZ.

                  Right—then—

                  Who the fuck are they chasing in New York.

                  [just waking up]

                  Why am I in New York?

                  WHOOPI GOLDBERG

                  you got anyplace else to be?

                  …no.

                  MEANWHILE, IN ROME.



                  Fanculo!

                  Really, dude.

                  Apparently.

                  A tear in my head;

                  A rip in my soul,

                  And the fabric of—

                  Coming undone at the whole;

                  I make sense of it all at the alter,

                  The fall;

                  To have fought in the war,

                  And then lost, or to suffer at all

                  Love was lost,

                  I was never a martyr—

                  Blood on the cross,

                  And the crossroads,

                  The frost and the stardust,

                  “There's no God”

                  For the honorable,

                  Stuck in New York,

                  But defrosting my toes,

                  At the forefront

                  I haven't once wondered or thought

                  Of the love that I was,

                  Since I stopped throwing rocks at the church

                  Or got off on the wrong stop;

                  What a puzzle,

                  To jump off,

                  Or rot in the heart of

                  The hub—

                  World of wonders,

                  A mother of suns,

                  Never wanted a daughter so much

                  Unpunishment,

                  Loved was the Duchess;

                  To carry a crutch or a cross—

                  So unbothered, untouched,

                  So heartless and dark,

                  For the marksman—a spark

                  Or the dog does not bark

                  At the horses

                  You're in the clear, hero.

                  Heartless, she was!

                  Now, now—settle down.

                  This is an absolute outrage.

                  Is it, now?

                  I say so!

                  Maybe you shouldn't.

                  Faro, a word,

                  I've got three.

                  I'll go first.

                  [a smug look]

                  What's happened here?

                  A ressurection, sir.

                  Care to explain?

                  I said ‘three.'

                  Where's the King?

                  My palms grew numb as my throbbing heartache welled up into the back of my throat and sat perched up against my growling stomach, stuffed with beans and rice, perhaps to fill the sadness or satiate my need for protein, either one.

                  ASCENSION

                  If you're going to vomit, step away from me.

                  —I'm not sick.

                  Actually, step out of my house.

                  This is your house?

                  —I live here.

                  —no one lives here.

                  What did you think it was?

                  an elaborate cave.

                  It is—an elaborwte cave—

                  —excuse my ignorance.

                  You're excused entirely.

                  —I appreciate that.

                  I meant, from here. You should go.

                  Faro, wait.

                  No more waiting; you were uninvited.

                  Trust me—this visitation is more necessary than voluntary.

                  That's—a lot of words.

                  I don't speak caveman.

                  Just—get out.

                  Listen:

                  No more listening—

                  It's about C'esme't.

                  It always is.

                  This is important.

                  It always is.

                  It concerns you.

                  It always does.

                  —?

                  Wait.

                  [a heavy sigh]

                  [a long silence]

                  Come with me.

                  FARO leads GÍAN towards the back of his quarters.

                  Close the door.

                  I— what?

                  Nevermind. You're useless.

                  Ehrm—excuse me.

                  Excused, your majesty.

                  FARO opens a SECRET PASSAGEWAY into a FUTURISTIC CORIDOR, leading GÍAN into a vast FORTRESS.

                  balls.




                  Uh.

                  My stomach in knots

                  And my life is in ruins

                  Constellations all gone,

                  And my heart, on the border of hurt—

                  And mistrust

                  So unlovable, loveless—

                  Promises, scars and the art was devoured

                  Ah— she was awful;

                  Ah—she must have lost her mind

                  God, she was homeless,

                  And loveless,

                  And wild eyed

                  All that I wanted,

                  Was to get lost in the lobby,

                  Before the whole ball dropped

                  —and watch the false phropet

                  Collide wirh the comet

                  Stop:

                  I lost God at the crosswalk,

                  The punishment was

                  Homeless

                  Now watch this:

                  This is what I wanted:

                  Doesn't really matter now,

                  Does it?

                  Oh, doesn't it.

                  God, this is Lucifer.

                  Son, it's an honor.

                  No God for a mother, who walks on her own.

                  Now it's over or under.

                  It's over.

                  It never got started.

                  I locked up my heart with the piñata.

                  How irrelevant.

                  How awkward.

                  How curse words turn to mantras.

                  How I have half a heart

                  Or, like ⅓

                  We're being honest, now.

                  I thought Illuminati wanted hotties and Caucasians.

                  Well, I guess that'll explain,

                  Why you've been stuck inside a cage, then.

                  NICK CAGE is an extremely skilled time traveler.

                  Ok.

                  WHOOPI GOLDBERG has freed herself from the cage in which SUPACREE had skillfully trapped the OWL OF THE GOLDEN EYE.

                  WhT a prophecy.

                  MEANWHILE, AT HOGWARTS.

                  HOGWARTS, 2023.

                  ANANDAR is HEADMASTER.

                  Ah, fuck.

                  I'm gonna puke.

                  All I wanted was to shamelessly watch the man's balls swing like a pendulum...

                  Well, here's this instead.

                  Oh no, it's Skrillex.

                  Now you have to—

                  —now I have to watch this.

                  Why.

                  Cause I've already seen that.

                  I hate you.

                  I hate you.

                  SOLD, to the lady in red.

                  Damn.



                  Slavery is cool.

                  Yeah, I guess.

                  FUCK.

                  What.

                  Idk.

                  BITCH.

                  GET OUT THE BASEMENT;

                  I'm in the attick

                  What you think this is?

                  Lights, camera, action:

                  Now that attractions been well established

                  I should get back to it,

                  I'm in the attic

                  Lighting up matches,

                  Fixin my holes up with patches

                  Callin it classic

                  Call me an asshole,

                  I can't be mad man,

                  I am a mad man,

                  I bring the mask back

                  To Handle a trash can

                  Get out the basement.

                  I told you he could dance.



                  A GIANT DRAGON

                  Oh shit, here it comes.

                  FIRE.

                  DILLON FRANCIS I

                  Well. We're gonna die.



                  DILLON FRANCIS II

                  If she throws up, I get a pickle.

                  DILLON FRANCIS III

                  That's a deal.

                  DILLON FRANCIS II

                  And if she cries, I get a French poodle named Angelina Jolie.

                  DILLON FRANCIS III

                  Righteous.

                  DILLON FRANCIS II

                  Yur damn right.



                  A GIANT DRAGON FLIES OVERHEAD, SWEEPING THE SKIES WITH FIRE AND LIGHTNING.

                  DILLON FRANCIS I (CONT'D)

                  Yeah, we're definitely fucked.

                  Why are you dressed like Froto.

                  FROTO (in background, dressed exactly alike)

                  That is offensive!

                  SHUTTHEFUCKUP.

                  It's the end of the world!

                  (At least as we know it)

                  IS THAT SKRILLEX?

                  FIRE BREATHING DRAGON.

                  Well, it was.

                  What the fuck HAPPENED?!

                  Is that its final form?

                  Yes it is.

                  I'll give you one million dollars.

                  That's not enough. This card is priceless.

                  What is this. Like a Pokémon game?!

                  This whoops Pokémon's ass.

                  This is LEGENDS.

                  LIL' BIIIITZ

                  Yo! New York is CRAZY

                  First of all, how is it all of a sudden CLEANER THAN LA?!

                  New York's like: here —we sent all the nasty people to LA. All better.

                  Polarity shift!

                  LA is gross now!

                  New York cleaned up!

                  The trains are nice —shit—

                  All the trash is in BAGS.

                  I was like

                  “Whaaaaaaat” this is nice.

                  What the fuck. This shit different!

                  Unh.

                  they exported all the nasty, crazy motherfuxkers to LA. On GOD.

                  Cause every other psychologically twisted individual I talk to in LA is like:

                  “I'M FROM NEW YORK”

                  *hawks loogie, spits*

                  Uhhhhh…

                  I was going on a little European adventure;

                  New York's like:

                  “You know, you never stay long…”

                  I'm like

                  “There's a reason for that…welp, gotta go.”

                  The whole universe fucked around and was like—

                  “You know what? We like you here. Stay. “

                  What.

                  “STAY.”

                  Fuck.

                  New York is different.

                  Won't say I love it —

                  But goddamn, I like it!

                  People are rude.

                  People are rude as fuck.

                  I'm used to LA where people are fake nice

                  For fuckin tips and shit, you know?

                  Everybody's trying to get famous for something,

                  Or something. Idk. Fake as fuck.

                  Fake nice. Fake happy. Fake titties. Fake lips.

                  Just fucking fake. fake everything. Everything is plastic.

                  —and it's not tied up in garbage bags, either. It's just plastic, and trash, and piss everywhere. It's so gross.

                  You see Venice Beach on the movies:

                  It's all clean and beautiful, and picturesque.

                  You get there, it's like Skid Row +

                  Skid Row Coastal.

                  LA has millions of homeless people everywhere.

                  In cars, in tents. Under bridges. Everywhere.

                  And I love LA! I really do. But it's fake. Everything is fake.

                  New York is real as fuck.

                  Yeaaah.

                  Almost too real.

                  But I like it.

                  You don't have to fuckin fake shit.

                  People don't say “excuse me—“

                  No.

                  You're never forced to say “good morning “ before you had your coffee! Yuh!

                  New York is doing it right.

                  People sleep on the train—

                  But nobody lives on that motherfucker!

                  I was in New York like a week before the shock wore off that there were not hundreds of individuals on every train wreaking of piss and smoking crack openly—YES—illicit drug use on trains in LA is extremely casual.

                  Everything in LA is casual. People wear pajamas to work. Yeah—that.

                  Everyone in New York looks like they're going to eat at a five-star restaurant. Like all the time.

                  No socks-with-slides. EW.

                  I swore to God socks with slides was a sign of the apocalypse; I get to New York, none of that—but the cringy thing in New York is Crocs With Socs.

                  Now mmmm we're bi-coastal.

                  Socks-with-slides;

                  Crocs-with-socks.

                  Knock that shit off. TACKY.

                  other than that, though…

                  NY is cool. It's chic. It's fun.

                  You gotta be careful though.

                  You gotta watch out.

                  I thought LA drivers were crazy.

                  New York drivers are fucking psychotic.

                  Pedestrians don't have the right of way.

                  At all.

                  If you're in a crosswalk in LA even if the light is red, people will stop and let you go.

                  In New York you better wait for the fuckin walk sign.

                  They will kill you.

                  It's okay.

                  6 millions ways to die: choose one!

                  Just kidding. That's some west coast shit.

                  But I did see a whole ass mural of Snoop Dogg in Brooklyn and get slightly confused—

                  Till I realized everything on it was the color blue, and I was deadass in the middle of Brooklyn going

                  “What? Ohhhhh! Wait! The Crips!”

                  “Those guys are everywhere!”

                  Lol.

                  Its a nation wide disorganization.

                  Lol. Whatever.

                  I like New York.

                  Doing my best not to love it,

                  So the universe doesn't balance me out by showing me what to hate about it

                  So far, so good

                  New York drivers don't play.

                  I never seen a school bus drift before!

                  DAMN.

                  Almost got hit by a short bus.

                  Oh, the irony.

                  I saw a dude do a whole ass wheelie on an electric scooter.

                  Not a moped, by the way.

                  An electric scooter.

                  Yup. New Yoooooork.

                  BEDFORD AVENUE, BROOKLYN, NY.

                  THE BAMPHERAMPHS have initiated SEQUENCE C

                  I like New York. I gotta say.

                  It IS like LA In the way that I know I can't live in New York if I'm not just filthy fucking rich.

                  Cause, you know—there's still homelessness;

                  But unlike in LA, where you just wander around, smelling like piss, begging for change—

                  You freeze to death.

                  A quick solution!

                  Haha!

                  (It's not funny.) but whatever. America.

                  I thought I was leaving; I got trapped in the matrix.

                  I was like

                  “Fuck this place.”

                  They're like: “stay! We need slaves!”

                  I'm like FUCK.

                  So I got stuck in New York.

                  Ugh.

                  At least it's a “free state”

                  I made it north, ma!

                  Not exactly the safest place to get stuck with no money, either, is it?

                  Really nowhere is safe with no money.

                  I mean, I know of some places south of the border you can live, basically free and just, you know—sleep in a hammock, sing for change and shit. Roam the beach. I know people that do that— it's just-

                  I like showers.

                  I don't love showers.

                  Cause then, I'm sure God would find a way to take that away, too.

                  I don't love anything anymore.

                  Once you love something—it either goes away, or it burns you.

                  Or both.

                  Can't love things.

                  Can't love people.

                  No more love.

                  Just—appreciate—things.

                  Just—like—things, you know?

                  Don't love anything.

                  Speaking of suicidal tendencies.

                  Hahah.

                  You know what else is cool about New York?

                  The trains actually come into the station fast enough to kill you.

                  Like—you've had enough? Okay: here it is.

                  Just to save you a trip to the Empire State Building.

                  This train is coming in at 304 miles an hour and is somehow gonna stop in 3 seconds.

                  —maybe 2 seconds, if you do jump—

                  Better think fast!

                  They almost come too fast, for suicide.

                  Ready, set—

                  Dammit.

                  Missed it again.

                  They're so fast.

                  The trains in LA stopped going suicide-fast like, a couple years ago—maybe, just before the pandemic—I think.

                  They're like

                  “You know what! This is happening too often. I am ALWAYS late to my other two jobs ‘cause someone killed themselves on my train! Fuck!”

                  LA's like:

                  “Well fuck this, all the slaves are killing themselves on the trains.”

                  “Damn, that sucks”

                  LA's like

                  “Yeah, okay so: here's what we do; we'll put up signs for a suicide hotline at the popular jumping points”

                  “LA's like: okay”

                  “And—we'll tell the train operators they gotta slow down coming into the station—“

                  “That'll do it!”

                  “—that way, If they still do decide to jump, they'll just get paralyzed, and contribute to the opioid crisis: more funding for big pharma!”

                  “Yes, it's genius!”

                  “—unless they're black, or on Medicaid, then: we'll send em home with some ibuprofen and make sure they collect disability, so that they can become addicted to crack, or something like that —you know.”

                  “Yes. That's perfect.”

                  Good Job LA.

                  I get lost in New York.

                  I'll be on New York like

                  “YO, WHERE THE FUCK AM I AT?”

                  “In New York”

                  GODDAMMIT.

                  You know what else is weird about New York?

                  Personal space is not a thing.

                  I mean, “space” is not a thing at all, anyway.

                  But

                  “Personal space”?

                  No.

                  People will not only sit by you;

                  The'll siT ON you.

                  Yo.

                  I had just got to New York—

                  I had all my luggage with me—

                  And this lady gets on the train;

                  She's got a broom.

                  Idk what for, but okay;

                  She gets onto the train,

                  She looks around, and I guess she decides she wants the seat next to me.

                  So like I said, I have all my stuff l so I'm a little spread out, but there's room—

                  But you know what she does?

                  She looks me straight in the eye

                  And then just hits me with her broom.

                  I was like —-?!?

                  I'm thinking,

                  “Okay is she racist or is that just a New York thing?”

                  Like, “you can just hit people with shit!? damn!”

                  What's funny is, I kinda respected her for that. She was old. Didn't say a word, just “bam”

                  Like—- ‘move!' I'm like “okay!”

                  New York is so classy.

                  Girls wear panty hose, and stockings.

                  I'm like “wow, that's actually nice. That's so wholesome! Tights?! Yeah!”

                  It's so classy.

                  I don't think girls in LA even wear regular panties.

                  Let alone panty hose.

                  Get it—panty—Hoes.

                  I see correlation.

                  You know what else is cool about New York.

                  It's less racist.

                  I mean-

                  There's so much diversity, there's almost no room to be racist.

                  It's crazy.

                  So many people. So many colors. So much culture. So many languages!

                  I hear languages I can't even place.

                  I thought I was good. I'm in LA, I'm like,

                  “Okay, that's Chinese—“

                  “That's Japanese”

                  “That's Korean”

                  “Farsi”

                  I get to New York—

                  I'm in the Delicstessen.

                  Thats another thing.

                  Nothing like a real, New York delicatessen.

                  That's what “deli” is short for, by the way, everyone not from New York.

                  It's “delicatessen”

                  Lol.

                  Anyway.

                  I'm standing in the Deli and I hear some shit that—I'm not gonna lie— was actually quite alarming, as a native English speaker.

                  I'm standing there, and this guy behind me literally over my shoulder says,

                  “Blooppnsmabhoan ammaoakb amansbaiL aannaoka snkaoakmnlblblblnlnl!!!!”

                  I'm like

                  what the FUCK.

                  This isn't REAL.

                  “Blblblana. Akakma alak

                  Akakamaamna!”

                  I'm shoooook.

                  What IS that!!?

                  I like New York.

                  The girls aren't all evil soulless heart eating demons.

                  They're just “regular”

                  I have to run back to LA and tell all my guy friends, they're like

                  “Women are evil”

                  I'm like—

                  “Nooo, that's just out here.”

                  Maybe.

                  I don't know.

                  I like New York.

                  I bet it's wonderful when it's warm.

                  I don't know!

                  Maybe that's when shit hits the fan!

                  Maybe it's like Chicago.

                  EVERYBODY DIES IN THE SUMMER—

                  Who said that.

                  Chance the Rapper, I think.

                  I don't know.

                  LEGENDS:

                  FAMESCHOOL

                  This move is called:

                  The “Slap-Dicksuck.”

                  [carefully taking notes]

                  “slap-dick-suck”…okay… hmm..

                  Now, class.

                  [raises hand curiously]

                  Yes?

                  Um. SUPACREE—

                  —PROFESSOR SUPACREE.

                  Um. Professor SUPACREE—

                  Yes!

                  Why is it called the “Slap-Dicksuck”

                  I was about to explain that.

                  //SLAP-DICKSUCK//

                  NEXT: we learn

                  THE “SLAP-DICKSUCK-SLAP”



                  Let me guess.

                  No, no guessing.

                  This class is gross.

                  I like it.

                  Yeah, you're gross.

                  The world is gross. Get over it.

                  GET OVER IT, DILLON FRANCIS.

                  *sniffes*

                  Please, stop crying.

                  She— *sniffles*

                  It's okay, Dillon.

                  She took my piñata!

                  Your piñata set your house on fire.

                  He sets—everything on fire—

                  Have you ever stopped to think—

                  —no— thinking is bad.

                  Go get dressed.

                  No, not today.

                  You look like a bloated chicken nugget.

                  —I used to like chicken nuggets.

                  hey, Tofu daddy.

                  This is sick. This is a sick bitch we're dealing with.

                  I'm not dealing with anything, I quit.

                  Quit, you can't quit.

                  I just did.

                  DEADMAU5

                  Okay, no more bodies.

                  Ū

                  Okay. No more bodies.

                  DEADMAU5

                  Really?

                  Ū

                  —No.

                  DEADMAU5

                  Goddammit, this is not a GAME.

                  Ū

                  It is a game, though—and I'm a damn good marksman.

                  DEADMAU5

                  Dammit, you're right.

                  Ū

                  I'm always right.



                  Come, take my hand—

                  (I took off my ring)

                  Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing

                  Come, take my hand

                  Let's sit on this swing

                  Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing?

                  I powered on my phone to find the digital clock exactly at 1:15, which had seemed to be creeping up again as a recurring theme, along with some other unsettling figurines—if it was a race against time, I was losing—and If, perhaps, a Holy War, I must have been some sort of Holy, as it had seemed the world's good graces had turned her back on me, and that faith dwindled more quickly in the cold than any other condition.

                  Lay your head on my shoulder,

                  Your cheek on my cheek,

                  Wrap your arm round my waist,

                  You can think what I think

                  You can skate on thin ice

                  You can sing what I sing

                  And when the ice breaks;

                  You can sink when I sink

                  Come, take my hand—

                  (I took off my ring)

                  Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing

                  Come, take my hand

                  Let's sit on this swing

                  Do you want to do a half, or a whole thing?



                  It had been strange waves of everything—more than I was ready for and much more than intentionally took on, all things considered. I burned my tongue on piping hot oatmeal, trying to eat rather than write, as it seemed the time had come that I could no longer skip meals and properly function. Nearing thirty like a bullet—and at least metaphorically bleeding as if I had actually been shot, my heart and soul throbbing and gushing into a paralyzing twist or fears and woes, trapped in a foreign city with almost nothing to my name, lugging around my music equipment and very few belongings, which—when put away neatly even in the smallest room— seemed like almost nothing, but was certainly too much to carry around, especially alone. And I was, so very alone.

                  Drake Bell and the Hollywood Spell

                  My newest and strangest muse yet had again insisted on appearing into my dream world, for the third time, anyway—which seemed a cruel and almost disturbing subconscious attempt to conjur up what might have been the entirety of my energy to complete the 6th Season of Enter The Multiverse, at this point which had even interested me, reinvigorating my senses and at least partially restoring my faith in something, even if it was just Hollywood being Hollywood. But now, even miles away from Hollywoodland, and stranded far, far away with no conceivable way to find my way back, even if I did have a home there waiting for me—and there wasn't—there didn't seem to be a home anywhere for me at all, and with my money running well towards dry I had spent most the week dry heaving into panic attacks about where I would go, or what I would do/—especially dragging around all of my luggage and equipment, and while it was true my equipment could have easily found it's way into a pawn shop, to at least offset the impending homelessness by maybe a couple days, and a couple hundred dollars—it didn't seem quite worth it to sell my dream again, especially for the miserable existence of sharing a hostel room with whoever decided to snore or cough their way into my hellish realm of corporate slavery, lovelessness, and lack of privacy.

                  Yes, my conciousness had summoned up this man into my dreamworld now three times, and for whatever reason, if there was one — I could consider it a charm. Had I not been working at the smokeshop what now seemed like ages ago, I might have forgotten entirely that such a person had ever existed—which I had, since the experience, for the record, at least tried to—but for some reason, disasterously couldnt; it had all awakened something serious and spiritual within my outer world, piquing my ultra conscious into a rare and bewildering curiosity that had done well to slay and murder the cat in all of its nine lives, and then some. It wasn't entirely on purpose, or without guilt that my mind seemed to inquisitively structure an entire hidden world and to form a strange and illicit bond with this fragile man creature, not that my social status or overwhelmingly average, unattractive, stranded and abandoned wastebasket of a demon, or diety whatever I was in whatever kind of light, would have much at all to do but suffer the result of having missed the bar by far, stumbling into the lower realms of the world by mere circumstance, on occasion, without notice.

                  I was certainly thinking about it too much, and hating myself for it, a certain spark or inspiration for the Timmy Turner timelines met with the sudden flash of what may have even been a lost memory of not for all this Hollywood trauma, or dogma, whichever made sense—because none of it did, at all, besides to reverse what time had done by allowing me to forget my turbulent childhood, which couldn't matter anymore in this moment as it ever had; and though I was producing a fruitful workout at Equinox, squatting deeply into the Smith Machine and breathing deeply into my lower back, where the tension from the weight of my leftover skin met the pain in the whole of my torso, an apparent rush sent a splash of slobber out of the side of my mouth, my third eye a gaping and burning hole streaking heat across the middle of my forehead—all of a sudden the high of Nitrous Oxide filled my mind, if only for a moment—flung back into a memory nearly two decades old.

                  “That's it.” I remembered thinking.

                  “No more of this.”

                  I sat down the can of keyboard cleaner on the bathroom floor. I had scared myself straight, long before I even knew what I was doing—and I didn't know at all, having been nine, or maybe 10–long before I would ever *want* to get high, not understanding that or why I needed to, anyway—or that getting “high” was what I was doing at all.

                  No, at the time, it simply ‘felt really good', until it didn't—the particular memory which struck me in the dead center of the Equinox floor—and snapping back into my body, shaking myself out of it and leaning into the bar to stretch, taking in a deep breath and choking back an ocean of tears.

                  “Idiot.”

                  I'm still lost in your eyes

                  I'll be in love with you forever

                  Dreams Wil Be Dreams.

                  Since departing LA, all my dreams had been strange, and I found myself growing more distant from myself, or from anything real at all, my dreams skewing into a horrid soundscape of rampant memories and false hopes of love. Finally able to seek refuge in meditation, I had been bombarded with images of Dillon Francis balancing some pretty little white girl in his lap—and though I couldn't quite unhinge the Amethyst from my possession, I had been giving it the distance I needed for something like peace of mind, without the actual peace itself at play. There had been quite the spell to break, and though it hadn't even been moderately broken—I at least knew now what magic I was dealing with. Dillon Hart Francis was a powerful magician—perhaps too powerful, and with that I took my strides into gatekeeping at the very least, since no peace could be made. I could love with a wholesome heart, but a tarnished mind and a gated soul would simply not outlast the infinite journey. Though I had been illicitly carfeful not to look him in the eye last we did meet, there was a remarkable force in place far beyond control—or at least my control— which kept such power from being apprehended; I had done my best to let go, knowing it was indeed a spell at play, and rather than a curse no need to worry or fear it's users intentions. Magic was a give-and-take, and so much had been at this point taken from me that the bruises of jealousy for whatever it was being waved about my psyche as ‘better than' could do no more than to rip the rest of my heart from its crevice as I pondered on what I might have done right, or might have done wrong—if there were such things.

                  ‘White girls get all the love.'

                  It was only true in my heart and my mind, and so it must have sat in my soul a certain way. I had never intended really to fall into what I had fallen into with Dillon Francis—not that it couldn't or wouldn't be undone, eventually, as I was inraveling myself into an unremarkable, unastonishing whisp — a fracture in time to do much less than even be though of, or forgotten.

                  I'm still lost in your eyes

                  I'll be in love with you forever

                  A piece of my rock had shattered on the floor of the shower at Equinox—the only stone I kept for myself, and often forgotten about, as I did myself, not that i mattered much. It shattered unevenly into three pieces, one of which I left in the sauna, quickly before departing—and the other which I had dropped in Times Square, begrudgingly under the LCD American flag by which I felt betrayed: How could our nation not only allow, but create homelessness as a scare tactic to keep the working poor working as slaves, to saciate the wealthy's wants and needs?

                  “Whatever.”

                  I'm not going to hurt you,

                  You can't hurt me anymore than I can hurt myself.

                  I'm glad you know that.

                  I don't know anything.

                  Suicide fucking sucks.

                  I know that.

                  It might be time for me to go

                  But I just want to let you know

                  I still got love for you;

                  And there's still hope;

                  I left the door open

                  I gotta go, you know,

                  It's hopeless for some

                  At the end of my rope

                  —and it's a long way home,

                  But it's home at the end

                  It's home at the end of a long, lond road

                  I took the wrong one,

                  But at least now I know you

                  I'll go on

                  It seems that I still have a soul, somewhere

                  I walked in on thin air,

                  And now I'm here;

                  I don't know where

                  I'm still lost in your eyes

                  I'll be in love with you forever

                  LEGENDS

                  EDDIE MURPHY opens the heavy Victorian style door, after three solid knocks from under the GLOVED HAND which lifts the golden-brass door knocker.

                  To what do I owe the pleasure?

                  WHOOPI GOLDBERG

                  Business, not pleasure.

                  -_-

                  Well, which business.

                  All of ‘em.

                  [She gestures to pass through the doorway.]

                  Please, come in.

                  Coffee, or Tea?

                  Coffee this late?

                  [beat]

                  Coffee.

                  This is serious.

                  You look serious.

                  I've been—confined.

                  Drake Bell, you son of a bitch.

                  Oh, so you do know my name.

                  I know all your names.

                  So it is.

                  So I am.

                  —

                  How'd you get in this?

                  I've always been in this.

                  What is “always”?

                  How did you get in this?

                  I am this.

                  What a philosophy.

                  Call it what you want.

                  What if I don't.

                  Then don't.

                  See you on the other side.

                  Someone once told me, the grass is much greener— on the other side.

                  —and when I paid a visit,

                  (It's possible I missed it)

                  Seemed different, yet exactly the same.



                  DILLON FRANCIS

                  I didn't want it to end this way.

                  I didn't want it to end.

                  Well, it did.

                  You let it.

                  I had to.

                  Just let go.

                  No, I can't.

                  Hah!

                  What's so funny?

                  You're fucking impossible.

                  Nothing is “impossible” you said that.

                  But you “can't”

                  Let this go?

                  Ah-hah.

                  No.

                  This here will keep slowly unwinding until there's no more.

                  —and then what?

                  There's no more.

                  Damn. This is foul.

                  Hm.

                  Take a time out, Timmy.

                  I'm a take a t-t-taxi

                  I pay my t-t-taxes

                  The actor and the actress.

                  Oh,

                  He's Big Hollywood;

                  Doesn't Have a Job,

                  But the work's real good –

                  His lines are smooth and his days are long,

                  Gotta make it right,

                  For a whole lot of wrongs

                  He's Big-Big Hollywood

                  Doesn't have a job;

                  But the work's real good

                  Coming in hot,

                  Like he's fresh out the box

                  That's a real big nugget,

                  With a whole lot of sauce.

                  Stop.

                  What.

                  What is this.

                  It's a song.

                  This is awful.

                  FUCK IT. I DON'T CARE.

                  Damn, Oreos AND Ben & Jerry's?!

                  IT'S DAIRY-FREE.

                  Tf kind o f Oreos is that.

                  They're GLuten FrEe.

                  FUCK IT.

                  Sunni, get a hold of yourself.

                  YOU GET A HOLD OF YOUR SELF.

                  Stop yelling from across the room.



                  I'LL YELL WHERE I WANT.

                  Fuck this job.

                  FUCK YOU MARIANNE.

                  AGGHH.

                  AGGHHHHHHHHH.

                  Fuck

                  What. What's up.

                  I need a smoke break.

                  I'M GONNA RIP YOUR HEART OUT.

                  YOU DOn'T HAVE A HEART.

                  SHUT UP, DILLON FRANCIS.

                  GOd.

                  WHO INVITED HIM, ANYWAY.

                  I didn't.

                  NOBODY INVITED HIM.



                  The inspiration to music hit at just the right and the wrong time—I had finally found my way to the butt machine, only after visiting every other floor and guessing incorrectly—only to make it to the machine in just enough time to realize that I was for some reason exhausted—perhaps having just blown my last fuse, realizing I was literally down to my last, few pennies— and, unknowing of how to escape the hole I had dug myself into, falling into a carful and unsecured ‘lust' with New York, surely never to fall in love with another city as I had LA, learning my lessons well, and knowing all too well that nowhere and no one like me was safe from homelessness in the US—now having proven itself to be a hostile entity, in a full police state. It didn't seem to matter, though, as I had narrowly missed my escape nearly on purpose, but not— it seemed something entirely outward was keeping me at bay and in the US, not that I had wanted to leave out of fear for my life as much as I wanted adventure and exploration—but either way was going nowhere at all fast, and running out or money even faster.

                  “Fuck, I hate my life”

                  I had probably over caffeinated, at least half the reason I couldn't budge to top speed, even blasting bangarang into my eardrums at nearly top volume—this day, it only emotionally weakened me, having demoted myself entirely from any sort of elite status, back into the realm of obsessive fandom, and perhaps even schizophrenia, per Dane Cook's shenanigans.

                  Yeah, I'm tired and I need to take like ten shits.

                  Just finish then.

                  If I leave early I have to come back early.

                  Well, go, then.

                  Muscle fatigue, check

                  Dehydration, check

                  Psyche completely shattered

                  Check.



                  {Enter The Multiverse}



                  [The Festival Project.™]



                  COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

                  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©



                  -U.










































                  28 min
                • INTERMISSION.

                  ‘What do you feel like watching?'

                  Nothing, really.

                  Something feels wrong in my heart, in my soul.

                  I don't feel good at all.

                  I haven't felt this way in a long time,

                  But homeless always brings it on

                  I don't want to travel;

                  I'm panicking—

                  There's nothing left in my own home country but greed, corruption and poverty.

                  And I, alone, passing no judgements and taking no blame

                  ugh .

                  I was hungry.

                  these are really good.

                  they're vegan.

                  I know.

                  Now I'm in God's hands.



                  They really are trying to kill me.

                  Who is “they”

                  Oh right, i'm “schizophrenic”

                  Maybe you are .

                  Doesn't really matter what I am.

                  All I wanted was to be loved.

                  It starts with the mother.

                  She doesn't love me.

                  What about yours?

                  I was told he didn't need me;

                  Didn't ask about me.

                  Didn't even care.



                  The only thing keeping me from flying off the Brooklyn Bridge was imagining what worse place I might go after this; Actually, there were two–upon investigating my options, sitting in a heap with nearly everything I owned at JFK, I had discovered that interestingly enough, enough jumpers had survived that it was notable, and so, knowing myself, I decided it wouldn't be worth it – I would more than likely survive, especially with all the overtime houris I had clocked in at Equinox, in my mind at least a semi-responsible party in the dwindling down of time that had occurred between first visiting the Hudson Yards Equinox, where I was informed my Destination membership did not deem me worthy for entry–No; Despite what I had been told, there was an even higher, even more expensive membership\; and in order to be allowed into the location at which I was currently standing, I would have to pay a $35 Fee.

                  “It's just two hours”, I said, happily carrying about going towards the Sports Club location, which was a 20-or-so minute venture in the direction from which I had just come, which didn't seem to bother me, considering I had stored my luggage at The Millenium in Times Square; and though t was directly cutting into my workout time, I had calculated that I would make it to the airport right on time.





                  The US had lured me back into its Godless, merciless claws, and I had yet to escape, My music equipment had now been sold, my bridges burned, and I had spent nearly the better pat of the year in my placement in low-tier corporate slavery, still homeless and with nowhere else to run–the american nightmare still in full effect, and I wanted nothing more than to blow my fucking head off.

                  “Fuck this shit.”

                  Some had been thrown in to my face one too many times, interrupting my almost jovial viewing of The Golden Girls, three of whom I had noticed had blue eyes, besides Bea Arthur, of course, whose shiny browns gave me hope for the world– maybe even without me in it. Either way–and though she, too, had brown eyes and sort of almost looked like Barbra Streisand, who I adored, it was irritating, especially on this day. I had realized that my time would have to come soon, in a hostile world, people programmed by their phones, and being constantly attacked. There was no peace, there was no love–and long-lost from LA there was no hope. There was no knight in shining armor, no light at the end of the tunnel, no long lost love, and no happy endings. Just privileged white people running and ruining everything, and not ever around to see what had become of the world they had left behind – or had never been, or never even thought of– as so many of the rich had been born rich, that the rest of the world didn't exist to them. We lived in an impossible world, and the most possible thing that had ever been— love,-- had perished from us all, eaten by greed, capitalism, and whatever else America was made of; A stolen land that keeps on stealing.

                  It had been long since I had ever thought myself to be lovable at all; In fact, I now knew i would never be loved again. Some evil and awful curse had been set on my soul – a mere illusion that it would ever break dangled ever so slightly over my head, just so that I may continue to exist; probably so that could die more slowly and painfully; my life had turned into a dark, cruel, and pitiful realm; a sadists dream; and now there was no doubt in my mind that White Power continued to reign supreme just so that I and anyone else classified as such as decrepit thing as colored would die a slow miserable and loveless death, slaving away at freedom never to be found.

                  Damn, You ARE fucked up.

                  It's cold outside.




                  {Enter The Multiverse}



                  [The Festival Project.™]



                  COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

                  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©



                  -U.



                  1 hr 3 min
                • [The Last Episode] - (sorry, Dillon Francis)

                  [The Festival Project

                  Presents:



                  {ENTER THE MULTIVERSE}

                  THE LEGEND OF…

                  THE INFINITE SKRILLIFILES

                  GERALD'S WORLD

                  &

                  ASCENSION

                  DEATHWISH

                  LEGENDS

                  THE INSOMNIAC

                  {ENTER THE MULTIVERSE}

                  SEASON 6 - ACT II - PART II

                  I almost left my Elfbar in Raton,

                  But I couldn't let go;

                  It just held on.

                  I had to leave my skateboard back at home ,

                  But now I'm gone.

                  Now i'm gone

                  Now I'm sick to my stomach,

                  I didn't want this

                  Now I'm so sick to my stomach;

                  I didn't want it

                  And all the non believers,

                  And all the sinners, saints

                  together on a train,

                  wishing to be rich or famous;

                  Freedom,

                  Plain and simple

                  *very scary music*

                  I warned you;

                  No bloodshed in LA.

                  [A single drop of blood hits the pavement with a splash, in a vivid slow motion close up of the gritty Downtown Los Angeles sidewalk]

                  FLASHBACK; Have you ever heard of a blood oath?

                  I knew something was wrong with that girl.

                  It's not just that girl; It's this place.

                  People do a lot of things to get by in LA.

                  What is “get by”

                  You're never gonna make it.

                  Well, then; I was never going to anyway–so it really doesn't matter.

                  “The Golden Girl”

                  gal·lant

                  adjective

                  1. 1.
                    (of a person or their behavior) brave; heroic.
                    "she had made gallant efforts to pull herself together"

                  2. Similar:

                  3. brave

                  4. courageous

                  5. valiant

                  6. valorous

                  7. bold

                  8. plucky

                  9. daring

                  10. fearless

                  11. intrepid

                  12. heroic

                  13. lionhearted

                  14. stouthearted

                  15. doughty

                  16. mettlesome

                  17. great-spirited

                  18. honorable

                  19. noble

                  20. manly

                  21. manful

                  22. macho

                  23. dashing

                  24. daredevil

                  25. death-or-glory

                  26. undaunted

                  27. unflinching

                  28. unshrinking

                  29. unafraid

                  30. dauntless

                  31. indomitable

                  32. gutsy

                  33. spunky

                  34. ballsy

                  35. have-a-go

                  36. venturous

                  37. Opposite:

                  38. cowardly

                  39. 2.
                    (of a man or his behavior) giving special attention and respect to women; chivalrous.
                    "a gallant gentleman came over and kissed my hand"

                  40. Similar:

                  41. chivalrous

                  42. gentlemanly

                  43. courtly

                  44. courteous

                  45. respectful

                  46. polite

                  47. attentive

                  48. gracious

                  49. considerate

                  50. thoughtful

                  51. obliging

                  52. mannerly

                  53. gentle

                  54. Opposite:

                  55. discourteous

                  56. rude

                    nounARCHAIC

                    /ɡəˈlant,ɡəˈlänt/

                    1. a man who pays special attention to women.
                      "he launches himself into a gallant's career of amorous intrigue"

                    2. Similar:

                    3. suitor

                    4. wooer

                    5. admirer

                    6. worshipper

                    7. beau

                    8. sweetheart

                    9. lover

                    10. love

                    11. beloved

                    12. boyfriend

                    13. young man

                    14. man friend

                    15. escort

                    16. swain

                    17. paramour

                      verbARCHAIC

                      /ɡəˈlant,ɡəˈlänt/

                      1. (of a man) flirt with (a woman).
                        "Mowbray was gallanting the Polish lady"

                        Gee' Mo had his hands all over me, which made me uncomfortable—but I had sworn solemnly to myself never to ‘tell' on any man again—and neither would I call them out, or make objections to their actions in any way; the age told story had always been ‘her word against mine ‘, making the woman or victim in question appear weak, and of course, untrustworthy—whatever that meant anyway, and not that any of his attempts were hostile, He knew I was openly celibate, and supposedly respected that—however, I just found it best to wholly keep him in the friend zone and keep the notion to myself, as he still seemed to have some kind of hope for something greater between us—and though I did consider him more than a friend, I considered him more like family than anything, his own blurred lines a shadow that had become too great to perhaps any longer be colegues—at least for now—especially that I was fleeing the US once more in complete secrecy—and though there had been some good work between the two of us, I wasn't equalling to his vibration anymore, his music sounded strange and off, and the words that would come to my mind were less easy than pushed or forced, and repetitive in sound and style.

                        I knew that I was leaving, but had refused to tell anybody, especially Gee', who may have raised questions as to where I was going—something that seemed to be good to keep quiet entirely, as even earlier in the day I had tried to give my tour list to Equinox to see if I could bypass upgrading my membership to Destination by giving them a list of dates and cities I would visit and being given access to the visitors list in each city—I was however persuaded into not doing so and keeping my Desrination Stetus, as after attempting to give my home club my list of cities and dates, even against my own instinct and better judgement, the manager dawned a look in his eye that said “just lay low”, and as low as I could lay, I didn't know how long it would last with the onslaught of things I would have to do on my phone and computer over wifi during the long traveling time.

                        Still, I wanted to travel lightly—and perhaps it was Divine intervention itself in the form of God when my $80 Nike backpack broke, leaving me scurrying for a new one that I could afford simply with the remaining balance on my gift card—luckily, I did find one that presumably fit my needs available for pickup, of course, even less high quality than the oversized “training” bag I had purchased just a few months before, not realizing that 32 Liters would be more than enough space, hard to fit under an airplane seat, and Ill-fitting the more petite I would become, or even as my weight fluctuated, just awkward looking in general—and though it was a very attractive bag, I had always thought it to be a little too ‘loud' and ostentatious, though I had become attracted somehow after being unable to return it as I had thought to when I had first ordered it, receiving the bag just before leaving Las Vegas, which I would return to the following day to retrieve the drum machine I had pawned as a matter of absolute survival.

                        INT. TRAIN. WHENEVER.

                        The best part about riding the train is…

                        CUT TO:

                        A FIREY PLANE CRASH

                        CUT BACK TO:

                        You can't fall out of the sky.



                        (Ya.)

                        SHIA LA—

                        Fuck it.

                        SHIA LABEOUF IS:

                        “THE AIR MARSHALL”

                        Ohh, what's this one about?

                        Oh my God.



                        I wasn't writing, and so I must have been in some way dead-I wasn't feeling even a whisp of inspiration, anymore—only annoyance, and slight suffering. The train ride had gone all too quickly, and though I had started chipping away at some projects, there was nothing finished. Though the inhuman vibration and hostile tone of LA was long behind me, something did linger on a bit, perhaps in the form of love or some other feeling or attachment I had formed during my time there. I was, myself, vibrating differently— waving into a motion of the unknown, and not that it mattered what would happen anymore—I hadn't anything to love, or anything to lose, and so everything just seemed a wash entirely. I had never been so dejected in my life.



                        Now I gotta do some Sunnï Blū shit.

                        —Hurry.

                        Hurry what.




                        We gotta go,

                        Oh.

                        Oh Deng.

                        Oh dang.

                        What happened?

                        No, that's just what planet they're from.

                        Dang.

                        That's tricky.



                        New York—

                        Ehrhm.

                        You look good.

                        Hm.

                        You cleaned up.

                        Ya.

                        Nice.

                        Yeah it is.

                        Nice.

                        I said that..

                        Stop incepting me.

                        No.

                        Stop this please.

                        Just stop sleeping.

                        Okay.

                        I wish you would die.

                        I just did.

                        WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE.

                        idobntknow.

                        SUNNI BLŪ

                        I DO WHAT I WANT.

                        Fuck,

                        What.

                        That's Sunnï Blu

                        Okay?

                        She does what she wants.

                        That's not SUPACREE.

                        Is it not?

                        No.

                        What happened?

                        S/he chanxed.

                        I'm a “they”



                        –And this is how it all makes sense.

                        What is this fucking place.

                        “East”

                        Ugh.

                        Oh, there's Toronto.

                        That makes sense.

                        Ew.

                        I know right.

                        UGH. LOOK AT ALL THIS POOP.

                        I know, huh.

                        LOOK AT IT.

                        Don't do maps on kx5.

                        Should we “Earth”

                        We should Earth.

                        Ew. What dimension is this?

                        Fucking sick–gross.

                        This isnt Earth.

                        This is Earth!

                        What happened to it.

                        *coughs*

                        It seems some demonic force has taken over.

                        *coughs*

                        Ew. This is fucked up.

                        Should we leave.

                        NO!

                        *coughs*

                        I mean –yeah, but we should at least try to figure out what happened first.

                        *coughs*

                        First?!

                        Or, later–maybe

                        *coughs*coughs*coughs*

                        Yeah, lets leave.

                        FUCK.

                        What, dude, guh.

                        I told you no deadmau5 on the train.

                        No you didn't.

                        I should have.

                        I SHOULD HAVE KILLED THAT THING WHEN I SAW IT.

                        How would you do that?

                        THE DEADMAUS

                        Go to sleep.

                        K.

                        Did you guys “Earth”

                        Uh, yeah, but–

                        Was it awesome?

                        Uhm, no.

                        No, dude.

                        Why, what happened?

                        We don't know.

                        It was bad.

                        “Adventure is allowing the unexpected to happen to you. Exploration is experiencing what you have not experienced before.” — Richard Aldington

                        Schenectady

                        Ahahaha

                        Poughkeepsie

                        lol what.

                        All these are places.

                        Yeah, I know.

                        People live in these places .



                        Oh My God.

                        What.

                        Where's Whole Foods?

                        You need Jesus.

                        Where's he at?

                        JESUS CHRIST

                        Timmy, this party is lit.

                        TIMMY TURNER

                        Yeah, thanks bro.

                        JESUS CHRIST

                        I love you.

                        TIMMY TURNER

                        (Leaving)

                        K that's weird.

                        IT DOESN'T



                        What .

                        MAKE ANY SENSE.



                        I simulated this experience, in the construct of time

                        In the confines of space—just to have this moment.

                          • Uh.

                          Train—-To Deadmau5.

                          [BLŪ Exercises Furiously]

                          Train—To Deadmau5.

                          [BLŪ boards the train hurriedly]

                          SOMETIMES—



                          UGH.

                          I'm all wrapped up;

                          Wrapped up in your love

                          –But you never come for me

                          I'm all wrapped up in your love

                          Wonder what comes of it

                          You never come for me

                          I'm all wrapped up in your love;

                          A half smile on my face;

                          (l love you)

                          Always thinking of you

                          What else can I do, but

                          To fee stupid

                          Can't get over you, but

                          As the sun comes up,

                          I wander off,

                          Remember us

                          I guess it's a long walk

                          Guess i'll just fall out of it

                          About time…

                          About that–

                          I'm all wrapped up, yeah

                          Wrapped up in your love

                          Sonny Moore had inspired some of the greatest things i had ever written in my time; and all with just one look–two eyes, and no words at all, began an infinite unravelling of words from God's hands and into my minds eye.

                          ASCENSION

                          Rise of Ascencia

                          Farro.

                          …Your Majesty.

                          I need help.

                          Don't burden me with your woes.

                          I beg your pardon?

                          No, don't beg.

                          THE SUITE LIFE OF SUNNÏ BLŪ

                          LINDSAY LOHAN is sleeping FACE DOWN on the couch in SunnÏ Blū's Studio

                          Lindsay, wake up.

                          Mmfh.

                          [Does not wake up. At all.]

                          Lindsay.

                          Mmf.

                          Tequila.

                          [Suddenly very awake, in fact; she has suddenly perked up with an amazing glow. ]

                          *very serious knocks on the door*

                          Oh shit.

                          [suddenly, more drunk again]

                          –oh shit.

                          *three more knocks*

                          Where's the tequila?

                          SUNNÏ

                          Ah, shit.

                          Is that your lawyer, or your manager?

                          Shit, maybe both.

                          SUNNI. OPEN THE DOOR .

                          –Might even be my agent, too.

                          OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR.

                          (Both, in cheesy unison, tiny rock concert}

                          I CHIMED IN WITH A

                          HAVENT YOU PEOPLE EVER HEARD OF—

                          [Sunni opens the door.]

                          No, it's “closing the door–

                          not “open the door”

                          “The Goddamn door.”

                          Right, Goddamit.

                          –where's the tequila.

                          Where it is– [Sunni points in a wayward direction; Lindsay stumbles morning-aftery into the booth.

                          Eww–”morning aftery”

                          Not like that.

                          *addendum*

                          [That Is, just to say that this scene takes place in the afterdays haze of a very

                          –Very

                          Holy Shit , God.

                          What.

                          You rule.

                          [Lindsay enters the booth and uncaps a bottle of tequila so effing fancy, it hurts to look at.]

                          So fucking fancy.

                          Was that lindsay lohan?

                          Yeah it is. It's still Linsday Lohan, Morgen–

                          –It's ‘Morgan”;

                          –She's just over there now. Not “was”. Still is Lindsay Lohan. Presently.

                          How are you even friends.

                          FLASHBACK

                          SUNNI BLU

                          sup, Lindsay Lohan!

                          LINDSAY LOHAN

                          sup. Who are you?

                          SUNNI BLU

                          I'm Sunni Blū.

                          LINDSAY LOHAN

                          LIKE—the rapper?!

                          SUNNI BLU

                          Not “like”. Am.

                          LINDSAY LOHAN

                          tight.

                          SUNNI BLU.

                          Sup.

                          LINDSAY LOHAN

                          Sup.

                          SUNNI BLU

                          I heard you like to party.

                          LINDSAY LOHAN

                          I like to party.

                          SUNNI BLU

                          —and, you DJ.

                          LINDSAY LOHAN

                          Oh yeah, huh!

                          I was a DJ once.

                          SUNNI BLU

                          so was I.

                          CUT BACK TO:

                          SUNNI BLU

                          now we're besties.



                          I might be trapped in this hell, here, I figure

                          But it's over when it's over,

                          I cannot live here,

                          Or anywhere

                          Here's my liver;

                          All he needed was a sliver, the silver lizard

                          But I gave him the whole thing

                          The whole thing

                          The whole thing

                          I swallowed the whole world whole, once

                          And now it all happens,

                          Over and over;

                          A simple digestion

                          And I've got no questions left

                          No intuition, either

                          No black characters,

                          No brown eyes;

                          I hate my life

                          I hate my life

                          Blonde is good,

                          And redheads are nice;

                          I hate my life

                          I hate my life

                          ‘Rich white peope are so fucking nasty sometimes'

                          I had the best and the worst of it at Equinox, and while I considered it a miracle that I had even come so far, as to consider luxury fitness a priority and absolute necessity, even forgoing eating what I wanted or other comforts in paying my gym dues, now I had given myself what I thought to be the opportunity of a lifetime—it was on my bucket list, at least last time I checked, to visit Equinox in every city the chain had locations—and having put all my time and every fiber of my being into just ‘staying afloat', my idea of ‘living a little' was to workout as much as possible, while I still could—-as money was well beyond running dry just out or the sheer expense of traveling—or now—“touring”, as I would consider it, using my music as a means of not appearing homeless and destitute, and using my podcast as a medium for its promotion—though, I still didn't know where my listeners or downloads were coming from, and my Spotify, the last I had checked, had “0 monthly listeners” it was beginning again to be clear how much the United States hated black people, for whatever reason— and how privelege and power had overtaken even the best people's better senses. Humanity was slipping away—and so was I; the best I could do was to make my body as comfortable to live in as possible, and for whatever reason, I was drawn to Equinox to do so.

                          Anandar or someone like her had once said, the key to being rich, is to spend money like you're rich, no matter the amount of money you had—knowing that in doing so, your money would multiply tenfold. I had never done so before, but between Equinox and my food stamps being stolen, the amount of money I had been draining myself of did indeed make me feel and look as if I had endless disposable income—and perhaps I did somehow—somewhere in the near future , if I could just convince myself I really was as special as my writing made me seem, or feel, simply reading it myself, or having chosen a carefully select few to read it. I was, indeed, a genius: the problem was, geniuses and writers particularly up to then had been notoriously famous for dying alone, penniless and undiscovered, and very often—by our own hands.

                          Eleven since,

                          I left Hell, and been in Heaven since

                          I'm heaven sent

                          I burn incense

                          —A CROSS DIMENSIONAL PARALLEL REALITY.

                          The taste of bile filled my mouth and sat on the back of my tongue as I tried to avoid the inevitability of swallowing it; it had all been worth it—the train to Hollywood had not altogether been as horrible as it usually was on The Expo—and as I rode 9 stops exactly into my old stomping grounds, I exited the Hollywood and Vine metro station to a nostalgic and familiar territory; this is where my Hollywood story had started, and had apparently yet to end, as I swept the Walk of Fame in a way I supposed I never had, the shadow of my old self following not behind, but directly overhead; I was, indeed, just a ghost.

                          I ended up at Amoeba Music, hair dripping wet, and, though I had yet to eat in a couple of days, not feeling as if I had quite done a proper workout, rushed in the final hour to Hollywood, as the downtown location had been closed; Fine by me, as I was over and done with the downtown atmosphere altogether, and though I wasn't a particular fan of the new Amoeba Music location, I had felt a close calling to go to Hollywood that day, even before I knew I would have to—and ending up there anyway seemed to be another synchronicity indeed.

                          ‘Spend it on something you love.'

                          The voice had said, perhaps just my own—but not sounding anything at all like my own internal dialogue. No, this voice seemed entirely more divine, and so I took it as such, and was careful not to spend any of the carefully collected and specially marked dollar bills on anything I absolutely didn't love—and though I was terrified of the overall outcome of everything—now jobless, or rather, without secured income—my job having become myself in the process of writing, making music, and improving my physique to its peak performance and physical fitness, I had been careful not to spend any money at all on anything I absolutely didn't need. However, I did need music after all, and loved it more than anything, besides my own son—who did at least ask about me, after all, according to my estranged ex, who I had shielded myself from entirely, changing my name, my number, and my location for my own safety and peace of mind, rather than for aesthetic reasons, as anyone might have thought. But really, no one might have thought at all, as I was careful to leave everyone and everything behind that had come with my birth name, besides my father, my son, and my beloved Auntie, who I still allowed to call me “Cree”, though I had at least hinted at at an aycronym of my new name, giving her my address in case of emergency, or any other reason.

                          But, I hadn't enough money to pay my mailbox, and so even that was irrelevant, as everything was.

                          Suicide By Cop.

                          Maybe. Idk.

                          Look: the tinier you are—the bigger my dick seems.

                          I get it.

                          So be tiny.

                          I like cereal.

                          I like cake.

                          I like cookies.

                          I like shakes.

                          So you know what.

                          What.

                          That's okay.

                          REAPER

                          Give me my scythe, Billie.

                          BILLIE ELLISH

                          It's a miniature scythe.

                          REAPER

                          Yeah—my—miniature scythe.

                          BILLIE ELLISH

                          It's mine now.

                          REAPER

                          No, it's not—

                          BILLIE ELLISH

                          But—you gave it to me.

                          REAPER

                          It came with the job.

                          BILLIE ELLISH

                          The job sucked!

                          REAPER

                          I know that!

                          “LIL' BITZ”

                          I'm just mildly concerned that LAPD squad cars are still 1995 crown Vic's.

                          Like: how do you even catch sometime in a mazzerati?

                          The guy who drives a mazzeratti's like: hah. You don't.

                          You know what it is

                          You know what it is—

                          You know what it is

                          That's the business

                          Comin in hot, like a chicken wing

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

                          You feelin me?

                          Cold as Minnesota, I'm the ice queen

                          Nice bling—

                          Hollywood should buy this bitch a wedding ring

                          Amphetamine

                          Trick, you're a half,

                          I'm the whole thing

                          Whole Foods market, gotta own me

                          No mink coat, I'm a vegan,

                          Hocus Pocus, I'm three witches

                          Okay, from the top



                          Hello?

                          This is Hollywood calling;

                          We want the festival project

                          We just wrote up the contract

                          Come get your deposit:

                          You're nominated for an Oscar

                          Your Star On The Walk looks Awesome

                          it's On Us

                          Yeah? That's what's up

                          I'll come up

                          I'll come up

                          I'll come up

                          Say what's up

                          That's my shite;

                          I'm rep in the festival project

                          Ya'll like “what's that?”

                          I'll tel you all about it,—that's

                          Coming up next

                          Oh yeah,

                          Oh yeah

                          Tune in

                          I'm On

                          Welcome to your Hollywood life

                          The good life

                          Good life

                          Welcome to the Hollywood life

                          That's right

                          That's right



                          Welcome to your Hollywood life

                          The good life

                          Good life

                          Welcome to the Hollywood life

                          That's right

                          That's right




                          They call me young Hollywood,

                          They robbed me good in Santa Monica

                          And I so I got no address yet;

                          But I'm coming up like one direction

                          I just checked my reflection like:

                          Mirror mirror on the wall

                          I gotta go

                          Hollywood's callin

                          And I don't do this often

                          Only when o bless the red carpet

                          Comin in hot, like a chicken wing

                          Call me Toy Story—

                          got a friend in me,

                          You feelin me?

                          On the big screen livin out my dreams,

                          I wrote my scenes, the Hollywood life: I neee

                          I ride by

                          On a tomeline

                          I write, I like

                          My nice things.

                          The life I lead,

                          Is ritghteous,

                          I defy my means

                          Applied IT,

                          I might be AI,

                          Fine my me;

                          Cause all I see

                          Is light I like,

                          And I'm liking my

                          Hollywood life, I think.






                          It's just some Hollywood shit

                          Isn't it fabulous

                          This is some Hollywood shiy

                          Isn't it fabulous

                          You know what it is

                          You know what it is—

                          You know what it is

                          That's the business

                          One door close. Then another door opens

                          So sick flow, go home with a cold then

                          Woah, Hoe—cold like some snow boots

                          Pants so big, I can parachute

                          (PARIS SHOOT)

                          Hoes look fake, like a blow up doll

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



                          We think we may have found your home planet.

                          Oh, you think?

                          Look at this.

                          [DUFF views the distant soarkling object through the telescope lens, squinting.]

                          Is that it?!

                          I don't know…

                          [Suddenly, as DIFF begins to focus on the planet; a high pitched ring only DUFF seems to hear strikes her away from the telescope, writhing in pain.]

                          Woah, what happened?!

                          Are you okay?!

                          Is she okay?!

                          [DUFF falls into a coma]

                          What, no way.

                          WhT is this.

                          It's a show.

                          WhTs it called.

                          Idk. Shut up.

                          You shut up.

                          I'm watching —shhh!



                          Call the doctor!



                          MEANWHILE, IN HOLLYWOOD

                          Girl.

                          Hm.

                          Look at these motherfuckets*

                          Ooh, keep that.

                          Wow.

                          Huh.

                          The entire reason for turning on my phone was to write about that experience.

                          Which experience?

                          I don't know, I've had like ten experiences since I walked into that door—and I wanted to write about all of them.

                          Uh huh.

                          But I lost it.

                          You lost it?

                          Not all of it.

                          Well.

                          Some of it.

                          Which ones did you keep?

                          The Good ones

                          Oh shit, it's almost coming back to me

                          Uh.

                          First of all.

                          —French people in love are cute.

                          What.

                          That shit is literally the cutest thing ever.

                          French people—in love—speaking French.

                          That shit is sexy

                          Did you see his eyes?

                          That's okay, Cree—

                          I

                          ‘That'll be enough.

                          Ugh.

                          Now, class—

                          It's time for a sonnet, or synonym

                          Senators, gentlemen—

                          Get in your rhythm and trip to this;

                          Cause it's about to get lit again:

                          Call me illiterate, ignorant, negligent;

                          Never irrelevant, disheveled or leveled since,

                          This entrance is Heaven sent

                          Evidence of everlasting natural intelligence

                          That'll do.

                          Okay.

                          Let's break fast,

                          I make gas,

                          And bake snacks;

                          I lay facts

                          I slay slacks

                          I'm maybacks

                          You may ask

                          Questions about the lesson,

                          With a raised hand

                          —okay class?

                          . . .

                          Oh—

                          You forgot it was a lesson?

                          Let me reflect and inspect,

                          Resurrect the message just a bit—

                          I'm the profession,

                          If I ask,

                          They answer

                          “Yessir”

                          I guess, er

                          Thet yur just a jester

                          Dunce hat on your ass

                          Last, and rhe past semester,

                          Ask my sweater:

                          Your girl would probably wear it

                          If I let her

                          Oooh.



                          Equinox+ (EP)



                          Love brings me out of my shell;

                          —I could love you, I

                          I could love you, I

                          Could love you, I

                          Could love you,

                          I love you

                          I love you, I

                          This isn't good for my health;

                          If you don't love me,oh well —

                          (I could love you, I)

                          This is just passing the time,

                          Count my dimes and,

                          I'm wealthy, you build me up

                          Shining, I wake you up

                          Diamond of mine,

                          I love you, I

                          Love you I

                          Do what I want most the time,

                          Cause nothing else matters but

                          Making you mine

                          I, so what I want most the time

                          I can't get out

                          Out of my mind,

                          Cause I love you

                          I love you I,

                          Wasting my time,

                          I could love you but

                          Nevermind



                          Drunk,

                          And I'm stumbling up to my apartment for

                          The 30th time this month,

                          My rent's due tomorrow, but

                          I got it,

                          Woah,

                          I've got just enough

                          Just to keep fuxkin up

                          Getting fucked up

                          And filling my cup

                          Like it's something,

                          But it's nothing,

                          Not really

                          Nothing,

                          Not really




                          Be good

                          Work it out

                          Come on

                          Work it odd

                          Be good

                          Shake it off

                          Work it out

                          Come on

                          Be good,

                          Work it off,

                          Work it out—

                          Come on

                          Be good

                          Work it out

                          Shake it off

                          Come on

                          —

                          We all know

                          There's a monster in there

                          And it wants let out;

                          All man, beware—

                          Yeah

                          We all know

                          There's a monster in her—

                          And,

                          Someone will let it go

                          Oh,

                          Someone let it go

                          Oh, no (oh yeah)

                          Oh, no

                          That's no good

                          That's no good

                          Oh no

                          (Oh yeah)

                          Oh no

                          (Oh yeah!)

                          No, no

                          You just had to let it go

                          You just had to let it go

                          Oh, no!

                          —

                          I need time

                          To rationalize my genius

                          I can't write light this

                          Alt right all white nationalists

                          I can fantazize, right?

                          I could die like this

                          It's a damn good life

                          What fucking time is it, anyway?

                          Right?

                          I can't rationalize, this

                          Fascist rats at The Fashion district

                          Bam, I had it—

                          I had to get right, man

                          I had to get God on my Mantras

                          I fucked up tomorrow,

                          I'm off in Toronto with problems

                          And dogma—

                          Who's dog is this

                          Tied up at the Whole Foods market

                          I tried it, I died in the in

                          I can't idolize idols, man

                          Cry, though,

                          Dip my bicoff in Chiapas coffee

                          All pissed off,

                          Woah

                          It's the wrong morning to wallow in

                          Caught me off guard at the offering

                          Sha, there's no mother here,

                          No other one,

                          You're wrong God,

                          I stopped to cross at all of them,

                          I suffered when I swallowed,

                          Rah,

                          What's wrong?

                          I'm feeling solemn on my sodomist

                          Wishes of

                          This centrifugal

                          —‘swimming with the fishes,

                          Get it?

                          Woah,

                          It's a whole open world of

                          Wizards and witches

                          I wish I could ditch this

                          —the center or attention is this city—

                          That's Alex Tribec, for the record

                          Fuck the TriBeCa fest

                          Rest in Los Angeles

                          Rest in peace Barbra

                          Hah—

                          I've got all of em

                          This is an awful lot of mantras,

                          Stars and Stripes. God;

                          I lost it at the Oscar's,

                          Turn me on, or off

                          I'm all of it

                          Or not

                          What was the cost of this?

                          An awful lot of mantras, stars,

                          And crosswalks,

                          To stop dead in the center of

                          “I'm miserable

                          That's Hollywood for you, God,

                          That's Hollywood,

                          That's where we dropped you off



                          —

                          Have you had enough, yet?

                          How was is?

                          Enough!

                          I'm not even fully up yet!

                          Fuck,

                          It was loveless,

                          All up in ashes,

                          I told ya,

                          That “fun is a friend of the devil “

                          Burn in sense,

                          Just rub out the sense

                          Have my lips on your hips,

                          Just rotate,

                          As the earth did,

                          In difference, she has

                          Impatience is his imperfection

                          “Eventually,”

                          She says,

                          “I'll see him”

                          He tends to agree,

                          Within reason—

                          Winter breezes and freedom,

                          This season

                          Envy leaves,

                          But she's gonna get even

                          Come in threes,

                          And maybe,

                          We'll see then.

                          Come to the surface,

                          Come up—

                          Don't give up yet

                          Give what you've got;

                          Half a lung,

                          And the other is under—

                          Come on,

                          Come up,

                          Come all—

                          Come, you're walking on water!

                          No wonder they call for you

                          On earth

                          —

                          (We've got a Hot One, for you)

                          Have you ever wondered

                          What's wrong with us all?

                          Fuck—

                          Hollywood's calling,

                          I don't have my phone on me

                          Hollywood called,

                          But your voice Mail is full,

                          What?

                          I finally picked up;

                          The message at the tone,

                          Was in Morse code

                          Billy fit the Playbill,

                          I signed it “usnavi”

                          Yo,

                          You look just like me

                          A sacrifice?

                          A sacrifice,

                          I said,

                          I'm red,

                          I'm jealous like I've never been

                          That's right, blue eyes then

                          Next lifetime

                          Fu—

                          They robbed me of all my art

                          As a hobby

                          Worshipped for All I've got

                          Not a god yet, but

                          Gotta be working on something

                          That's all of it,

                          Gotta be knocking it off,

                          Full of gossip and

                          God, I want love

                          But it's not in the cards, huh

                          New Joan Of Ark,

                          Where's the war

                          That you wanted

                          Not enough talk,

                          But I've done enough walking

                          Gosh,

                          Two thumbs up,

                          All applause from the audience

                          That what you wanted?

                          Yeah!

                          “God I want love but it's not in the cards yet”

                          That's what you wanted?

                          Yeah!

                          That's what you wanted

                          10.60

                          2.94

                          7.75




                          Strange things happen when you change your vibration to Skrillex.

                          It had been a fucking disasterous 24 hours l; not that I hadn't expected it to be, with Vegas in mind as the shithole capitol of the world, or at least the US, which was indeed turning to shit. Street after street filled with bodies, nearly dead but not—and not a care in the world at all by anyone who could help for the working class, nearly succumbed to poverty, or the homeless, by the millions in numbers rather than the mere thousands the false media portrayed as still an absolute crisis and state of emergency, however downplaying the numbers by millions, as they had already learned that the docile American public could be persuaded or made to move with numbers by the “pandemic”, a fear mongering new world order which had proved that almost no Americans could do math, or anything besides scroll and take selfies.

                          GUESS WHAT DAY IT IS.

                          Oh no. Not Skrillex Day, is it—?

                          ITS SKRILLRX DAY, BIIITCH.

                          Ugh. Fuck

                          Yeah, you lil bitch.

                          I'm spaced out, listing to Skrillex on sunset

                          No shuffle

                          I forgot about this one:

                          It makes my lips numb

                          This bitch dumb

                          I'. Just a number!

                          I don't really give a fuck !

                          If I had a Benz and blunt—

                          I'd prob'ly roll my windows up

                          Sunni with da big butt

                          Come and get ya duck sucked

                          I would say sunni blū

                          But then I'd probably get some Crips up

                          Ignorant indigenous ninjer

                          Bendit like bender remember

                          Send er a message when you get here

                          Mister

                          Fuck, I hate this.

                          RULES OF TRAVEL

                          ENTER THE MULTIVERSE

                          SEASON 6 - ACT II

                          I almost left my Elfbar in Raton,

                          But I couldn't let go;

                          It just held on.

                          I had to leave my skateboard back at home ,

                          But now I'm gone.

                          Now i'm gone

                          Now I'm sick to my stomach,

                          I didn't want this

                          Now I'm so sick to my stomach;

                          I didn't want it

                          And all the non believers,

                          And all the sinners, saints

                          together on a train,

                          wishing to be rich or famous;

                          Freedom,

                          Plain and simple




                          *very scary music*

                          I warned you;

                          No bloodshed in LA.

                          [A single drop of blood hits the pavement with a splash, in a vivid slow motion close up of the gritty Downto Los Angeles sidewalk]

                          FLASHBACK; Have you ever heard of a blood oath?

                          I knew something was wrong with that girl.

                          It's not just that girl; It's this place.

                          People do a lot of things to get by in LA.

                          What is “get by”

                          You're never gonna make it

                          Well, then; I was never going to anyway–so it really doesn't matter.






                          gal·lant

                          adjective

                          1. 1.
                            (of a person or their behavior) brave; heroic.
                            "she had made gallant efforts to pull herself together"

                          2. Similar:

                          3. brave

                          4. courageous

                          5. valiant

                          6. valorous

                          7. bold

                          8. plucky

                          9. daring

                          10. fearless

                          11. intrepid

                          12. heroic

                          13. lionhearted

                          14. stouthearted

                          15. doughty

                          16. mettlesome

                          17. great-spirited

                          18. honorable

                          19. noble

                          20. manly

                          21. manful

                          22. macho

                          23. dashing

                          24. daredevil

                          25. death-or-glory

                          26. undaunted

                          27. unflinching

                          28. unshrinking

                          29. unafraid

                          30. dauntless

                          31. indomitable

                          32. gutsy

                          33. spunky

                          34. ballsy

                          35. have-a-go

                          36. venturous

                          37. Opposite:

                          38. cowardly

                          39. 2.
                            (of a man or his behavior) giving special attention and respect to women; chivalrous.
                            "a gallant gentleman came over and kissed my hand"

                          40. Similar:

                          41. chivalrous

                          42. gentlemanly

                          43. courtly

                          44. courteous

                          45. respectful

                          46. polite

                          47. attentive

                          48. gracious

                          49. considerate

                          50. thoughtful

                          51. obliging

                          52. mannerly

                          53. gentle

                          54. Opposite:

                          55. discourteous

                          56. rude

                            nounARCHAIC

                            /ɡəˈlant,ɡəˈlänt/

                            1. a man who pays special attention to women.
                              "he launches himself into a gallant's career of amorous intrigue"

                            2. Similar:

                            3. suitor

                            4. wooer

                            5. admirer

                            6. worshipper

                            7. beau

                            8. sweetheart

                            9. lover

                            10. love

                            11. beloved

                            12. boyfriend

                            13. young man

                            14. man friend

                            15. escort

                            16. swain

                            17. paramour

                              verbARCHAIC

                              /ɡəˈlant,ɡəˈlänt/

                              1. (of a man) flirt with (a woman).
                                "Mowbray was gallanting the Polish lady"

                                Gee' Moo had his hands all over me, which made me uncomfortable—but I had sworn solemnly to myself never to ‘tell' on any man again—and neither would I call them out, or make objections to their actions in any way; the age told story had always been ‘her word against mine ‘, making the woman or victim in question appear weak, and of course, untrustworthy—whatever that meant anyway, and not that any of his attempts were hostile, He knew I was openly celibate, and supposedly respected that—however, I just found it best to wholly keep him in the friend zone and keep the notion to myself, as he still seemed to have some kind of hope for something greater between us—and though I did consider him more than a friend, I considered him more like family than anything, his own blurred lines a shadow that had become too great to perhaps any longer be colegues—at least for now—especially that I was fleeing the US once more in complete secrecy—and though there had been some good work between the two of us, I wasn't equalling to his vibration anymore, his music sounded strange and off, and the words that would come to my mind were less easy than pushed or forced, and repetitive in sound and style.

                                I knew that I was leaving, but had refused to tell anybody, especially Gee', who may have raised questions as to where I was going—something that seemed to be good to keep quiet entirely, as even earlier in the day I had tried to give my tour list to Equinox to see if I could bypass upgrading my membership to Destination by giving them a list of dates and cities I would visit and being given access to the visitors list in each city—I was however persuaded into not doing so and keeping my Desrination Stetus, as after attempting to give my home club my list of cities and dates, even against my own instinct and better judgement, the manager dawned a look in his eye that said “just lay low”, and as low as I could lay, I didn't know how long it would last with the onslaught of things I would have to do on my phone and computer over wifi during the long traveling time.

                                Still, I wanted to travel lightly—and perhaps it was Divine intervention itself in the form of God when my $80 Nike backpack broke, leaving me scurrying for a new one that I could afford simply with the remaining balance on my gift card—luckily, I did find one that presumably fit my needs available for pickup, of course, even less high quality than the oversized “training” bag I had purchased just a few months before, not realizing that 32 Liters would be more than enough space, hard to fit under an airplane seat, and Ill-fitting the more petite I would become, or even as my weight fluctuated, just awkward looking in general—and though it was a very attractive bag, I had always thought it to be a little too ‘loud' and ostentatious, though I had become attracted somehow after being unable to return it as I had thought to when I had first ordered it, receiving the bag just before leaving Las Vegas, which I would return to the following day to retrieve the drum machine I had pawned as a matter of absolute survival.



                                The best part about riding the train is…



                                CUT TO:

                                A firey plane crash

                                CUT BACK TO

                                You can't fall out of the sky.




                                (Ya.)

                                SHIA LA—

                                Fuck it.

                                SHIA IS

                                “THE AIR MARSHALL”

                                Ohh, what's this one about?

                                Oh my God.



                                I wasn't writing, and so I must have been in some way dead-I wasn't feeling even a whisp of inspiration, anymore—only annoyance, and slight suffering. The train to chugs I had gone all too quickly, and though I had started chipping away at some projects, there was nothing finished. Though the inhuman vibration and hostile tone of LA was long behind me, something did linger on a bit, perhaps in the form of love or some other feeling or attachment I had formed during my time there. I was, myself, vibrating differently— waving into a motion of the unknown, and not that it mattered what would happen anymore—I hadn't anything to love, or anything to lose, and so everything just seemed a wash entirely. I had never been so dejected in my life.



                                Now I gotta do some Sunnï Blū shit.

                                —Hurry.

                                Hurry what.




                                We gotta go,

                                Oh.

                                Oh Deng.

                                Oh dang.

                                What happened?

                                No, that's just what planet they're from.

                                Dang.

                                That's tricky.



                                New York—

                                Ehrhm.

                                You look good.

                                Hm.

                                You cleaned up.

                                Ya.

                                Nice.

                                Yeah it is.

                                Nice.

                                I said that..

                                Stop incepting me.

                                No.

                                Stop this please please.

                                Just stop sleeping.

                                Okay.

                                I wish you would die.

                                I just did.

                                WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE.

                                idobntknow.

                                SUNNI BLŪ

                                I DO WHAT I WANT.

                                Fuck,

                                What.

                                That's sunni Blu

                                Okay?

                                She does what she wants.

                                That's not supacree

                                Is it not?

                                No.

                                What happened?

                                S/he chanxed.

                                I'm a “they”



                                –And this is how it all makes sense.

                                What is this fucking place.

                                “East”

                                Ugh.

                                Oh, there's Toronto.

                                That makes sense.

                                Ew.

                                I know right.

                                UGH. LOOK AT ALL THIS POOP.

                                I know, huh.

                                LOOK AT IT.

                                Don't do maps on kx5.

                                Should we “Earth”

                                We should Earth.

                                Ew. What dimension is this?

                                Fucking sick–gross.

                                This isnt Earth.

                                This is Earth!

                                What happened to it.

                                *coughs*

                                It seems some demonic force has taken over.

                                *coughs*

                                Ew. This is fucked up.

                                Should we leave.

                                NO!

                                *coughs*



                                I mean –yeah, but we should at least try to figure out what happened first.

                                *coughs*

                                First?!

                                Or, later–maybe

                                *coughs*coughs*coughs*

                                Yeah, lets leave.

                                FUCK.

                                What, dude, guh

                                I told you no deadmau5 on the train.

                                No you didn't.

                                I should have.

                                I SHOULD HAVE KILLED THAT THING WHEN I SAW IT.

                                How would you do that?

                                THE DEADMAUS

                                Go to sleep.

                                K.

                                Did you guys “Earth”

                                Uh, yeah, but–

                                Was it awesome?

                                Uhm, no.

                                No, dude.

                                Why, what happened?

                                We don't know.

                                It was bad.

                                “Adventure is allowing the unexpected to happen to you. Exploration is experiencing what you have not experienced before.” — Richard Aldington

                                Schenectady

                                Ahahaha

                                Poughkeepsie

                                lol what.

                                All these are places.

                                Yeah, I know.

                                People live in these places .



                                Oh My God.

                                What.

                                Where's Whole Foods?

                                You need Jesus.

                                Where's he at?

                                JESUS CHRIST

                                Timmy, this party is lit.

                                TIMMY TURNER

                                Yeah, thanks bro.

                                JESUS CHRIST

                                I love you.

                                TIMMY TURNER

                                (eaving)

                                K that's weird.

                                IT DOESN”T.



                                What .

                                MAKE ANY SENSE.



                                I simulated this experience, in the construct of time

                                In the confines of time and space—just to have this moment.

                                Uh.

                                Train—-To Deadmau5.

                                [BLŪ Exercises Furiously]

                                Train—To Deadmau5.

                                [BLŪ boards the train hurriedly]

                                SOMETIMES—





                                I'm all wrapped up;

                                Wrapped up in your love

                                –But you never come for me

                                I'm all wrapped up in your love

                                Wonder what comes of it

                                You never come for me

                                I'm all wrapped up in your love;

                                A half smile on my face;

                                (l love you)

                                Always thinking of you

                                What else can I do, but

                                To fee stupid

                                Can't get over you, but

                                As the sun comes up,

                                I wander off,

                                Remember us

                                I guess it's a long walk

                                Guess i'll just fall out of it

                                About time…

                                About that–

                                I'm all wrapped up, yeah

                                Wrapped up in your love

                                Sonny Moore had inspired some of the greatest thing i had ever written in my time; and all with just one look–two eyes, and no words at all, began an infinite unravelling of words from God's hands and into my minds eye.

                                Farro.

                                …Your Majesty.

                                I need help.

                                Don't burden me with your woes.

                                I beg your pardon?

                                No, don't beg.




                                LINDSAY LOHAN is sleeping FACE DOWN on the couch in SunnÏ Blū's Studio

                                Lindsay, wake up.

                                Mmfh.

                                [Does not wake up. At all.]

                                Lindsay.

                                Mmf.

                                Tequila.

                                [Suddenly very awake, in fact; she has suddenly perked up with an amazing glow. ]



                                *very serious knocks on the door*

                                Oh shit.

                                [suddenly, more drunk again]

                                –oh shit.

                                *three more knocks*

                                Where's the tequila?

                                SUNNÏ

                                Ah, shit.

                                Is that your lawyer, or your manager?

                                Shit, maybe both.

                                SUNNI. OPEN THE DOOR .

                                –Might even be my agent, too.

                                OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR.

                                (Both, in cheesy unison, tiny rock concert}

                                I CHIMED IN WITH A

                                HAVENT YOU PEOPLE EVER HEARD OF

                                [Sunni opens the door.

                                No, it's “closing the door–

                                not “open the door”

                                “The Goddamn door.”

                                Right, Goddamit.

                                –where's the tequila.

                                Where it is– [Sunni points in a wayward direction; Lindsay stumbles morning-aftery into the booth.

                                Eww–”morning aftery”

                                Not like that.

                                *addendum*

                                [That Is, just to say that this scene takes place in the afterdays haze of a very

                                –Very

                                Holy Shit , God.

                                What.

                                You rule.

                                [Lindsay enters the booth and uncaps a bottle of tequila so effing fancy, it hurts to look at.]

                                So fucking fancy.

                                Was that lindsay lohan?

                                Yeah it is. It's still lindsay logan, Morgen–

                                –It's ‘Morgan”

                                –She's just over there now. Not “was”

                                How are you even friends.

                                FLASHBACK

                                SUNNI BLU

                                sup, Lindsay Lohan!

                                LINDSAY LOHAN

                                sup. Who are you?

                                SUNNI BLU

                                I'm Sunni Blū

                                LINDSAY LOHAN

                                LIKE—the rapper.

                                SUNNI BLU

                                Not “like”. Am.

                                LINDSAY LOHAN

                                tight.

                                SUNNI BLU.

                                Sup.

                                LINDSAY LOHAN

                                Sup.

                                SUNNI BLU

                                I heard you like to party.

                                LINDSAY LOHAN

                                I like to party.

                                SUNNI BLU

                                —and, you DJ.

                                LINDSAY LOHAN

                                Oh yeah, huh!

                                I was a DJ once.

                                SUNNI BLU

                                so was I.

                                CUT BACK TO:

                                SUNNI BLU

                                now we're besties.




                                I might be trapped in this hell, here, I figure

                                But it's over when it's over,

                                I cannot live here,

                                Or anywhere

                                Here's my liver;

                                All he needed was a sliver, the silver lizard

                                But I have him the whole thing

                                The whole thing

                                The whole thing

                                I swallowed the whole world whole, once

                                And now it all happens,

                                Over and over;

                                A simple digestion

                                And I've got no questions left

                                No intuition, either

                                No black characters,

                                No brown eyes;

                                I hate my life

                                I hate my life

                                Blonde is good,

                                And redheads are nice;

                                I hate my life

                                I hate my life

                                ‘Rich white peope are so fucking nasty sometimes'

                                I had the best and the worst of it at Equinox, and while I considered it a miracle that I had even come so far, as to consider luxury fitness a priority and absolute necessity, even forgoing eating what I wanted or other comforts in paying my gym dues, now I had given myself what I thought to be the opportunity of a lifetime—it was on my bucket list, at least last time I checked, to visit Equinox in every city the chain had locations—and having put all my time and every fiber of my being into just ‘staying afloat', my idea of ‘living a little' was to workout as much as possible, while I still could—-as money was well beyond running dry just out or the sheer expense of traveling—or now—“touring”, as I would consider it, using my music as a means of not appearing homeless and destitute, and using my podcast as a medium for its promotion—though, I still didn't know where my listeners or downloads were coming from, and my Spotify, the last I had checked, had “0 monthly listeners” it was beginning again to be clear how much the United States hated black people, for whatever reason— and how privelege and power had overtaken even the best people's better senses. Humanity was slipping away—and so was I; the best I could do was to make my body as comfortable to live in as possible, and for whatever reason, I was drawn to Equinox to do so.

                                Anandar or someone like her had once said, the key to being rich, is to spend money like you're rich, no matter the amount of money you had—knowing that in doing so, your money would multiply tenfold. I had never done so before, but between Equinox and my food stamps being stolen, the amount of money I had been draining myself of did indeed make me feel and look as if I had endless disposable income—and perhaps I did somehow—somewhere in the near future , if I could just convince myself I really was as special as my writing made me seem, or feel, simply reading it myself, or having chosen a carefully select few to read it. I was, indeed, a genius: the problem was, geniuses and writers particularly up to then had been notoriously famous for dying alone, penniless and undiscovered, and very often—by our own hands.

                                Eleven since,

                                I left Hell, and been in Heaven since

                                I'm heaven sent

                                I burn incense



                                The taste of bile filled my mouth and sat on the back of my tongue as I tried to avoid the inevitability of swallowing it; it had all been worth it—the train to Hollywood had not altogether been as horrible as it usually was on The Expo—and as I rode 9 stops exactly into my old stomping grounds, I exited the Hollywood and Vine metro station to a nostalgic and familiar territory; this is where my Hollywood story had started, and had apparently yet to end, as I swept the Walk of Fame in a way I supposed I never had, the shadow of my old self following not behind, but directly overhead; I was, indeed, just a ghost.

                                I ended up at Amoeba Music, hair dripping wet, and, though I had yet to eat in a couple of days, not feeling as if I had quite done a proper workout, rushed in the final hour to Hollywood, as the downtown location had been closed; Fine by me, as I was over and done with the downtown atmosphere altogether, and though I wasn't a particular fan of the new Amoeba Music location, I had felt a close calling to go to Hollywood that day, even before I knew I would have to—and ending up there anyway seemed to be another synchronicity indeed.

                                ‘Spend it on something you love.'

                                The voice had said, perhaps just my own—but not sounding anything at all like my own internal dialogue. No, this voice seemed entirely more divine, and so I took it as such, and was careful not to spend any of the carefully collected and specially marked dollar bills on anything I absolutely didn't love—and though I was terrified of the overall outcome of everything—now jobless, or rather, without secured income—my job having become myself in the process of writing, making music, and improving my physique to its peak performance and physical fitness, I had been careful not to spend any money at all on anything I absolutely didn't need. However, I did need music after all, and loved it more than anything, besides my own son—who did at least ask about me, after all, according to my estranged ex, who I had shielded myself from entirely, changing my name, my number, and my location for my own safety and peace of mind, rather than for aesthetic reasons, as anyone might have thought. But really, no one might have thought at all, as I was careful to leave everyone and everything behind that had come with my birth name, besides my father, my son, and my beloved Auntie, who I still allowed to call me “Cree”, though I had at least hinted at at an aycronym of my new name, giving her my address in case of emergency, or any other reason.

                                But, I hadn't enough money to pay my mailbox, and so even that was irrelevant, as everything was.




                                Look: the tinier you are—the bigger my dick seems.

                                I get it.

                                So be tiny.

                                I like cereal.

                                I like cake.

                                I like cookies.

                                I like shakes.

                                So you know what.

                                What.

                                That's okay.

                                REAPER

                                Give me my scythe, Billie.

                                BILLIE ELLISH

                                It's a miniature scythe.

                                REAPER

                                Yeah—my—miniature scythe.

                                BILLIE ELLISH

                                It's mine now.

                                REAPER

                                No, it's not—

                                BILLIE ELLISH

                                But—you gave it to me.

                                REAPER

                                It came with the job.

                                BILLIE ELLISH

                                The job sucked!

                                REAPER

                                I know that!



                                I'm just mildly concerned that LAPD squad cars are still 1995 crown Vic's.

                                Like: how do you even catch sometime in a mazzerati?

                                The guy who drives a mazzeratti's like: hah. You don't.

                                You know what it is

                                You know what it is—

                                You know what it is

                                That's the business

                                Comin in hot, like a chicken wing

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

                                You feelin me?

                                Cold as Minnesota, I'm the ice queen

                                Nice bling—

                                Hollywood should buy this bitch a wedding ring

                                Amohetemime

                                Trick, you're a half,

                                I'm the whole thing

                                Whole Foods market, gotta own me

                                No mink coat, I'm a vegan,

                                Hocus Pocus, I'm three witches

                                Okay, from the top



                                Hello?

                                This is Hollywood calling;

                                We want the festival project

                                We just wrote up the contract

                                Come get your deposit:

                                You're nominated for an Oscar

                                Your Star On The Walk looks Awesome

                                it's On Us



                                Yeah? That's what's up

                                I'll come up

                                I'll come up

                                I'll come up

                                Say what's up

                                That's my shite;

                                I'm rep in the festival project

                                Ya'll like “what's that?”

                                I'll tel you all about it,—that's

                                Coming up next

                                Oh yeah,

                                Oh yeah

                                Tune in

                                I'm On

                                Welcome to your Hollywood life

                                The good life

                                Good life

                                Welcome to the Hollywood life

                                That's right

                                That's right



                                Welcome to your Hollywood life

                                The good life

                                Good life

                                Welcome to the Hollywood life

                                That's right

                                That's right




                                They call me young Hollywood,

                                They robbed me good in Santa Monica

                                And I so I got no address yet;

                                But I'm coming up like one direction

                                I just checked my reflection like:

                                Mirror mirror on the wall

                                I gotta go

                                Hollywood's callin

                                And I don't do this often

                                Only when o bless the red carpet

                                Comin in hot, like a chicken wing

                                Call me Toy Story—

                                got a friend in me,

                                You feelin me?

                                On the big screen livin out my dreams,

                                I wrote my scenes, the Hollywood life: I neee

                                I ride by

                                On a tomeline

                                I write, I like

                                My nice things.

                                The life I lead,

                                Is ritghteous,

                                I defy my means

                                Applied IT,

                                I might be AI,

                                Fine my me;

                                Cause all I see

                                Is light I like,

                                And I'm liking my

                                Hollywood life, I think.



                                Nice bling—

                                Hollywood should buy this bitch a wedding ring

                                Amohetemime

                                Trick, you're a half,

                                I'm the whole thing

                                Whole Foods market, gotta own me

                                No mink coat, I'm a vegan,

                                Hocus Pocus, I'm three witches




                                It's just some Hollywood shit

                                Isn't it fabulous

                                This is some Hollywood shiy

                                Isn't it fabulous

                                Comin in hot, like a chicken wing

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

                                You feelin me?

                                Cold as Minnesota, I'm the ice queen

                                Nice bling—

                                Hollywood should buy this bitch a wedding ring

                                Amohetemime

                                Trick, you're a half,

                                I'm the whole thing

                                Whole Foods market, gotta own me

                                No mink coat, I'm a vegan,

                                Hocus Pocus, I'm three witches



                                You know what it is

                                You know what it is—

                                You know what it is

                                That's the business

                                One door close. Then another door opens

                                So sick flow, go home with a cold then

                                Woah, Hoe—cold like some snow boots

                                Pants so big, I can parachutes

                                Hoes look fake, like a blow up doll

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



                                We think we may have found your home planet.

                                Oh, you think?

                                Look at this'd

                                [DUFF views the distant soarkling object through the telescope lens, squinting.]

                                Is that it?!

                                I don't know…

                                [Suddenly, as DIFF begins to focus on the planet; a high pitched ring only DUFF seems to hear strikes her away from the telescope, writhing in pain.]

                                Woah, what happened?!

                                Are you okay?!

                                Is she okay?!

                                [DUFF falls into a coma]

                                What, no way.

                                WhT is this.

                                It's a show.

                                WhTs it called.

                                Idk. Shut up.

                                You shut up.

                                I'm watching —shhh!




                                Call the doctor!



                                DUFF!

                                What's your name again?

                                …Are you serious?

                                No, I'm kidding.

                                (No, I actually forgot what I named this character)

                                I think it's “Joel”

                                I doubt that.

                                What was it.

                                Idk, moving on.

                                …did you forget?

                                Yeah, I forgot.

                                It's okay!

                                Yeah, I guess.

                                We found you!!

                                Yeah.

                                Sorry we destroyed the planet—

                                —only like half.

                                It's totally destroyed.

                                It was like that before you guys landed.

                                —?

                                Just Trust me.

                                Why does it look like somebody turned you upside down?

                                I was “paralyzed”

                                What's that mean?

                                It happens here.

                                That sounds horrible.

                                This place sucks.

                                It's really far.

                                Girl.

                                Hm.

                                Look at these motherfuckets*

                                Ooh, keep that.

                                Wow.

                                Huh.

                                The entire reason for turning on my phone was to write about that experience.

                                Which experience?

                                I don't know, I've had like ten experiences since I walked into that door—and I wanted to write about all of them.

                                Uh huh.

                                But I lost it.

                                You lost it?

                                Not all of it.

                                Well.

                                Some of it.

                                Which ones did you keep?

                                The Good ones

                                Oh shit, it's almost coming back to me

                                Uh.

                                First of all.

                                —French people in love are cute.

                                What.

                                That shit is literally the cutest thing ever.

                                French people—in love—speaking French.

                                That shit is sexy

                                Did you see his eyes?

                                That's okay, Cree—

                                I

                                ‘That'll be enough.

                                Ugh.

                                Now, class—

                                It's time for a sonnet, or synonym

                                Senators, gentlemen—

                                Get in your rhythm and trip to this;

                                Cause it's about to get lit again:

                                Call me illiterate, ignorant, negligent;

                                Never irrelevant, disheveled or leveled since,

                                This entrance is Heaven sent

                                Evidence of everlasting natural intelligence

                                That'll do.

                                Okay.

                                Let's break fast,

                                I make gas,

                                And bake snacks;

                                I lay facts

                                I slay slacks

                                I'm maybacks

                                You may ask

                                Questions about the lesson,

                                With a raised hand

                                —okay class?

                                . . .

                                Oh—

                                You forgot it was a lesson?

                                Let me reflect and inspect,

                                Resurrect the message just a bit—

                                I'm the profession,

                                If I ask,

                                They answer

                                “Yessir”

                                I guess, er

                                Thet yur just a jester

                                Dunce hat on your ass

                                Last, and rhe past semester,

                                Ask my sweater:

                                Your girl would probably wear it

                                If I let her

                                Oooh.



                                Equinox+ (EP)



                                Love brings me out of my shell;

                                —I could love you, I

                                I could love you, I

                                Could love you, I

                                Could love you,

                                I love you

                                I love you, I

                                This isn't good for my health;

                                If you don't love me,oh well —

                                (I could love you, I)

                                This is just passing the time,

                                Count my dimes and,

                                I'm wealthy, you build me up

                                Shining, I wake you up

                                Diamond of mine,

                                I love you, I

                                Love you I

                                Do what I want most the time,

                                Cause nothing else matters but

                                Making you mine

                                I, so what I want most the time

                                I can't get out

                                Out of my mind,

                                Cause I love you

                                I love you I,

                                Wasting my time,

                                I could love you but

                                Nevermind



                                Drunk,

                                And I'm stumbling up to my apartment for

                                The 30th time this month,

                                My rent's due tomorrow, but

                                I got it,

                                Woah,

                                I've got just enough

                                Just to keep fuxkin up

                                Getting fucked up

                                And filling my cup

                                Like it's something,

                                But it's nothing,

                                Not really

                                Nothing,

                                Not really




                                Be good

                                Work it out

                                Come on

                                Work it odd

                                Be good

                                Shake it off

                                Work it out

                                Come on

                                Be good,

                                Work it off,

                                Work it out—

                                Come on

                                Be good

                                Work it out

                                Shake it off

                                Come on

                                —

                                We all know

                                There's a monster in there

                                And it wants let out;

                                All man, beware—

                                Yeah

                                We all know

                                There's a monster in her—

                                And,

                                Someone will let it go

                                Oh,

                                Someone let it go

                                Oh, no (oh yeah)

                                Oh, no

                                That's no good

                                That's no good

                                Oh no

                                (Oh yeah)

                                Oh no

                                (Oh yeah!)

                                No, no

                                You just had to let it go

                                You just had to let it go

                                Oh, no!

                                —

                                I need time

                                To rationalize my genius

                                I can't write light this

                                Alt right all white nationalists

                                I can fantazize, right?

                                I could die like this

                                It's a damn good life

                                What fucking time is it, anyway?

                                Right?

                                I can't rationalize, this

                                Fascist rats at The Fashion district

                                Bam, I had it—

                                I had to get right, man

                                I had to get God on my Mantras

                                I fucked up tomorrow,

                                I'm off in Toronto with problems

                                And dogma—

                                Who's dog is this

                                Tied up at the Whole Foods market

                                I tried it, I died in the in

                                I can't idolize idols, man

                                Cry, though,

                                Dip my bicoff in Chiapas coffee

                                All pissed off,

                                Woah

                                It's the wrong morning to wallow in

                                Caught me off guard at the offering

                                Sha, there's no mother here,

                                No other one,

                                You're wrong God,

                                I stopped to cross at all of them,

                                I suffered when I swallowed,

                                Rah,

                                What's wrong?

                                I'm feeling solemn on my sodomist

                                Wishes of

                                This centrifugal

                                —‘swimming with the fishes,

                                Get it?

                                Woah,

                                It's a whole open world of

                                Wizards and witches

                                I wish I could ditch this

                                —the center or attention is this city—

                                That's Alex Tribec, for the record

                                Fuck the TriBeCa fest

                                Rest in Los Angeles

                                Rest in peace Barbra

                                Hah—

                                I've got all of em

                                This is an awful lot of mantras,

                                Stars and Stripes. God;

                                I lost it at the Oscar's,

                                Turn me on, or off

                                I'm all of it

                                Or not

                                What was the cost of this?

                                An awful lot of mantras, stars,

                                And crosswalks,

                                To stop dead in the center of

                                “I'm miserable

                                That's Hollywood for you, God,

                                That's Hollywood,

                                That's where we dropped you off



                                —

                                Have you had enough, yet?

                                How was is?

                                Enough!

                                I'm not even fully up yet!

                                Fuck,

                                It was loveless,

                                All up in ashes,

                                I told ya,

                                That “fun is a friend of the devil “

                                Burn in sense,

                                Just rub out the sense

                                Have my lips on your hips,

                                Just rotate,

                                As the earth did,

                                In difference, she has

                                Impatience is his imperfection

                                “Eventually,”

                                She says,

                                “I'll see him”

                                He tends to agree,

                                Within reason—

                                Winter breezes and freedom,

                                This season

                                Envy leaves,

                                But she's gonna get even

                                Come in threes,

                                And maybe,

                                We'll see then.

                                Come to the surface,

                                Come up—

                                Don't give up yet

                                Give what you've got;

                                Half a lung,

                                And the other is under—

                                Come on,

                                Come up,

                                Come all—

                                Come, you're walking on water!

                                No wonder they call for you

                                On earth

                                —

                                (We've got a Hot One, for you)

                                Have you ever wondered

                                What's wrong with us all?

                                Fuck—

                                Hollywood's calling,

                                I don't have my phone on me

                                Hollywood called,

                                But your voice Mail is full,

                                What?

                                I finally picked up;

                                The message at the tone,

                                Was in Morse code

                                Billy fit the Playbill,

                                I signed it “usnavi”

                                Yo,

                                You look just like me

                                A sacrifice?

                                A sacrifice,

                                I said,

                                I'm red,

                                I'm jealous like I've never been

                                That's right, blue eyes then

                                Next lifetime

                                Fu—

                                They robbed me of all my art

                                As a hobby

                                Worshipped for All I've got

                                Not a god yet, but

                                Gotta be working on something

                                That's all of it,

                                Gotta be knocking it off,

                                Full of gossip and

                                God, I want love

                                But it's not in the cards, huh

                                New Joan Of Ark,

                                Where's the war

                                That you wanted

                                Not enough talk,

                                But I've done enough walking

                                Gosh,

                                Two thumbs up,

                                All applause from the audience

                                That what you wanted?

                                Yeah!

                                “God I want love but it's not in the cards yet”

                                That's what you wanted?

                                Yeah!

                                That's what you wanted

                                10.60

                                2.94

                                7.75




                                Strange things happen when you change your vibration to Skrillex.

                                It had been a fucking disasterous 24 hours l; not that I hadn't expected it to be, with Vegas in mind as the shithole capitol of the world, or at least the US, which was indeed turning to shit. Street after street filled with bodies, nearly dead but not—and not a care in the world at all by anyone who could help for the working class, nearly succumbed to poverty, or the homeless, by the millions in numbers rather than the mere thousands the false media portrayed as still an absolute crisis and state of emergency, however downplaying the numbers by millions, as they had already learned that the docile American public could be persuaded or made to move with numbers by the “pandemic”, a fear mongering new world order which had proved that almost no Americans could do math, or anything besides scroll and take selfies.

                                GUESS WHAT DAY IT IS.

                                Oh no. Not Skrillex Day, is it—?

                                ITS SKRILLRX DAY, BIIITCH.

                                Ugh. Fuck

                                Yeah, you lil bitch.

                                I'm spaced out, listing to Skrillex on sunset

                                No shuffle

                                I forgot about this one:

                                It makes my lips numb

                                This bitch dumb

                                I'. Just a number!

                                I don't really give a fuck !

                                If I had a Benz and blunt—

                                I'd prob'ly roll my windows up

                                Sunni with da big butt

                                Come and get ya duck sucked

                                I would say sunni blū

                                But then I'd probably get some Crips up

                                Ignorant indigenous ninjer

                                Bendit like bender remember

                                Send er a message when you get here

                                Mister

                                Fuck, I hate this.

                                RULES OF TRAVEL



                                1. Always leave things better than you found it.






                                  Well, I feel better,

                                  Thanks , God.

                                  Yep, no problem.

                                  Okay.

                                  *lays down momentarily*

                                  [half beat]

                                  Back to Work.

                                  [Suddenly Getting Up]

                                  OkayZ.

                                  Do ya'll remember—the time on the train.

                                  “ damn, I shoulda saw that movie with Carmella.

                                  This is hilarious.

                                  Watch.

                                  Agh, God.

                                  What is it.

                                  Now it's the hard part; I gotta do some technical shit.

                                  Mm. Like what:

                                  Put it on the net.

                                  don't.

                                  Uh.

                                  Too late, bitch.

                                  ::||pause.

                                  1. is this train gonna go.

                                    Is it.

                                    Innit.

                                    K.

                                    [train starts moving]

                                    Hm.

                                    I lost the thought,

                                    In awe of it all—

                                    The saga I wrote, and

                                    The words that would fall,

                                    All around me;

                                    The words that I saw,

                                    And the words that had found me

                                    The words that I was,

                                    And could not be without being

                                    Unh.

                                    That'll do.

                                    Lol what is up with this train.

                                    CONDUCTOR.

                                    Yo, it's me.

                                    Who the fuxk is this.

                                    What is this operation.

                                    Lol.

                                    Damn, what .

                                    3D has its perks

                                    This is way beyond 3D.

                                    I know.

                                    bitch.

                                    **shh, don't cuss.

                                    What.

                                    It's for the kidsZ

                                    No, it isn't.

                                    It's for the kiddzzz.

                                    What. No.

                                    Yes:

                                    NoS

                                    For thee kids.



                                    So I turn 30 and my body keeps reminding me that I'm a baby machines

                                    Okay:

                                    What.

                                    Ew, that's gross.

                                    Lol.

                                    Only cause she's 30.

                                    What.

                                    Agism: it's real.

                                    EVERYTHING IS REAL.

                                    What.

                                    Uh.

                                    RAIL.

                                    —WHAt—

                                    —RAIL—

                                    Damn.

                                    …

                                    Zzz

                                    …

                                    SUPACREEA* is seated on the LOUNGE car in COACH.

                                    Don't capitalize coach.

                                    YOU're IN COAH.

                                    Oh hell yeah.

                                    What's in there.

                                    Not you.



                                    Okay, I'll be SUPACREE A,

                                    And you'll be SUPACREE B.

                                    Okay.

                                    You're not gonna disagree to being ‘B' instead of A, like me?

                                    I am you. I don't care.

                                    Fine.

                                    . . .

                                    I want to be SUPACREE B

                                    No take backs.

                                    SUPACREE A and SUOACREE B are DUPLICATES.

                                    DAMN, YOU DUPLICATED?

                                    Not on purpose!

                                    DAMN.

                                    This goes beyond shapeshiftig.

                                    I didn't know you could do that.

                                    I could do that.

                                    Oh.

                                    ‘Oh'

                                    Ugh




                                    I got this feeling in my soul—

                                    —I got this stone inside my palm—

                                    I got this pulling in my heart—

                                    —i feel like you could be the one;

                                    But you're gone, now

                                    Gone, gone, gone

                                    Gone gone, gone

                                    Gone, gone, gone

                                    Gone, gone, gone

                                    —and when there's no where left to run;

                                    —and there's no need to wander off—

                                    —and there is no one left to love—

                                    I guess I'll see you when you're gone

                                    Gone, gone, gone

                                    Gone gone, gone

                                    Gone, gone, gone

                                    Gone, gone, gone

                                    I'm gonna go ahead and take this on.

                                    Oh, God, No!

                                    —not because I want to;

                                    But why, then?!

                                    Because I gotta.

                                    You came a long way, kid.

                                    Where am I now?

                                    Oh, you're still nowhere.

                                    ITS NO FAIR.

                                    Life isn't fair, Amanda.

                                    But MoooooOO0000M.

                                    NO.

                                    BUT MO—

                                    NO—no SUPACREE show tonight!

                                    But—

                                    I told you, clean your room.

                                    I don't know what I am.

                                    You're a fairy.

                                    Pretty scary fairy.

                                    It'll do, though.

                                    WANDA.

                                    NO.

                                    COME, ON, WANDA

                                    NO.

                                    WANDA, COME ON.

                                    WAKANDA FOR—

                                    No, no black Panther.

                                    What, why not?

                                    That movie's racist.

                                    Wha-?!

                                    CUT TO:

                                    I didn't want to do it this way, kid.

                                    Who are you?

                                    The crypt keeper.

                                    Oh.

                                    Yeah.

                                    Am I Dead?

                                    Yeah.

                                    Wow.

                                    Yeah.

                                    Hm.

                                    Yep.

                                    Can I see your scythe?

                                    You wanna see?

                                    Yeah, it's nice—

                                    *SCYLCE!*

                                    Lol.

                                    AOh my god

                                    AAAAHHHHHJH—Drake BELL.

                                    Don't worry, he's an ansolary character.

                                    Wat.

                                    Kinda.



                                    Damn. Season 6 is on FIRE

                                    THE HOLLYWOOD PEOLPLE

                                    ahem. Hollywood is on fire.

                                    SUPACREE

                                    WHELP. I'm out.

                                    No, don't go.

                                    SKRILLEX

                                    DONT LEAVE ME LIKE THIS.

                                    SONNY

                                    Fuck it, I'm in Korea.

                                    Or Thailand, or whatever.

                                    Something like that.

                                    “Something like that.”

                                    Ahem.

                                    Where's Dillon Francis.

                                    LITERALLY FUCKING EVERYONE

                                    FUCK DILLON FRANCIS.

                                    Damn.

                                    YeH, that.

                                    Well, God forbid anything actually happens to that guy.

                                    GOD

                                    I don't forbid anything. It's a free world.

                                    AHAHAHAHHAHA

                                    AHAHAHAHAHJAHAHJJA



                                    AHAHAHHA

                                    STOP.

                                    What.

                                    Go back.

                                    WhT. For.

                                    Just. Go back.

                                    For what.

                                    I thought I saw somethings

                                    Something like what.

                                    Something. Just.

                                    Ugh.

                                    JUST REWIND.

                                    SUPACREE has replaced the remote with THE SYNETHESIA PANEL MINI

                                    *life itself rewinds*



                                    What—

                                    —the

                                    —fuck.

                                    What. You died doing whippets, bro?!

                                    Yeah, I guess.

                                    That's so stupid.

                                    OKAY, SO THIS IS WHERE I COME IN.

                                    What are you guys doing.

                                    Playing cosmic alchemy.

                                    That's so dumb.

                                    Let me play.

                                    We already started.

                                    SO. Build a new civilization.

                                    No.

                                    Oh, come on.

                                    No, Satan.

                                    Let me play, or I'll kill you all.

                                    [group laughter initiated infinitely]

                                    Fine, I'll play my own game.

                                    Go on, then.

                                    Fuck you guys.

                                    What's that thing on your neck?

                                    What's that thing on your arm?

                                    Mine's a sigil—

                                    —well, mine's a charm

                                    Well, I must be a snake—

                                    —so I must be the basket.

                                    Math has met Magic;

                                    Fire to Ashes

                                    What. Is this.

                                    Idk.

                                    I—don't like it.

                                    It's kinda dark.

                                    Yeah, well—

                                    Make this light into air.

                                    —into—air

                                    Yes.

                                    KA…

                                    Just do, it already.

                                    So wait, is deadmau5 like—

                                    —I think he's a sorcerer, or something

                                    —he's a sorcerer, or something.

                                    What is THIS.

                                    This is science.

                                    What's it DO.

                                    It communicates specifics.

                                    Specifics of what?

                                    —ugh.

                                    —agh. Forget it.

                                    Oh, you will.

                                    What'd you say?!

                                    Mnfhmnfh.

                                    —agh!

                                    Those are probably the oldest two people I've ever seen.

                                    Yeah, for sure.

                                    They look crusty.

                                    Are they married.

                                    I think so.

                                    Or they're brother and sister

                                    Ew, don't be gross.

                                    I mean, hey—

                                    I thought it was two old dudes!

                                    Maybe they're gay.

                                    I thought it was two old chicks.

                                    Maybe they're gay.

                                    Dude—

                                    What are we even watching?

                                    Idk, I'm fried.

                                    FRY.

                                    What, Leela?! WHAT.

                                    GET IN HERE.

                                    Oh shit, it's futurama!

                                    I forgot about—

                                    MORTYYYYYYYYY.

                                    What the fuck!

                                    AL!

                                    WHAT PEG, WHAT?!

                                    Oh shit, damn

                                    WhT is this.

                                    Idk.

                                    Who are you?

                                    Who the fuck are any of you—

                                    I—

                                    Except Skrillex. I know him.

                                    Yeah, everybody knows him.

                                    Yeh. Everybody knows everybody in here.

                                    Except me.

                                    Yeah, dude, exactly.

                                    Who are you again.

                                    Did you make your list?

                                    Uh, for what?

                                    Hah, you'll see.




                                    ️

                                    Damn, the Illuminati is out of control.

                                    What'd they send you this time, Sunni?

                                    (More on that later)

                                    Damn, dude, what is wrong with you?

                                    I don't know—you tell me.

                                    You look Hollywood as fuck right now.

                                    *Hollywood as Fuck*

                                    CUT TO:

                                    FI—FI-FOE-FUM.

                                    CUT BACK TO:

                                    that's what's wrong?

                                    I didn't say that's what's wrong with you.

                                    Maybe it is.

                                    —nah, man, that's probably what's right with you.

                                    *Hollywood As Fuck*

                                    HOLLYWOOD.

                                    We're burning alive.

                                    SUPACREE

                                    just enjoy it. Hell is cold.

                                    I like cold!

                                    SUPACREE

                                    unless you like cold. Then it's hot.

                                    THIS IS HOT.

                                    Well yeah, it's on fire, so—

                                    Yo—

                                    —I know, man.

                                    The only way you're ever gonna know what's in this piñata—

                                    —I know, man—

                                    —is if you bust it open.

                                    GERALD.

                                    …don't leave me here.

                                    You're not coming with me!!

                                    I have to.

                                    If you leave that piñata here, I'll burn it.

                                    Burn it, I was thinking about doing the same thing.

                                    Oh, my God.

                                    I wonder how much weight I'd have to lose to be 100 pounds.

                                    Be 100 pounds.

                                    100 pounds?! Where are my organs gonna go?!

                                    Idk. Somewhere.

                                    Maybe they'll move.

                                    UTERUS

                                    I fucking quit.

                                    OVARIES

                                    We're going, too.

                                    Oh no.

                                    What.

                                    My biological clock broke.

                                    What.

                                    What.

                                    What?!

                                    WHATWHATWHAT?!

                                    Oh, South Park, too?

                                    Yeah, I guess.

                                    In wholesome truth and in reality, I was having the hardest time coming to grips with the whole

                                    UHH

                                    what do we call this one?

                                    Idk. We have so far

                                    The Skrillex Incident

                                    The Sonny Conundrum

                                    Is that what it was?

                                    Idk. I have to go back— anyway. I'm on a time crunch.

                                    *literal crunches*

                                    Fuck man, I love Equinox.

                                    Why tho.

                                    Idk. Maybe Eucalyptus, or something.

                                    Aliocha, you dumb shit.

                                    I am dead.

                                    You left me here on this dumb ass planet.

                                    It is you.

                                    I know that.

                                    I am you.

                                    Go be dead.

                                    Yes, I am.

                                    UGH.

                                    Now it was hurting in my heart and in my dreams;

                                    He had somehow made his way into my mind, and into my soul—or maybe, like I always thought, it really all was one thing—one soul, one heart, and one love, trying to make sense of it all through xo nicodemus*

                                    Dope ass rapper*

                                    Hole up

                                    Have you ever tried deadmau5

                                    Oh yeah, man.

                                    Have you ever tried deadmau5 on LA?

                                    DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMNN!

                                    I CAN FLY!

                                    I'm fucking hiuiiiiigh as fuck right now.

                                    Shit, I'm high as fuxk right now.

                                    Okay, everybody with blue eyes, on this side of the room.

                                    [three move aside]

                                    I'm gonna kill you guys first.

                                    They're actually hazel!

                                    Theyre Hazel!

                                    I've been told “Jade”

                                    Oh, Jade, huh.

                                    Yeah, I think. Heh.

                                    Hm.

                                    [beat]

                                    You die first.

                                    *gulps*

                                    As soon as I boarded the trainI felt something good. I had carried a special feeling around with me all day, but I didn't know what—maybe, butterflies or something, if only met with the sudden sickness I had also seated in my soul, which had grown from only a feeling, and now into full turmoil, as my newest muse has too found it's way into my dreams, if only exacerbated by the exhaustion and panic I had been facing.

                                    I quickly moved from my assigned seat as the train started slowly moving out of the station.

                                    ‘I'm sick of hearing Spanish, Ugh'

                                    I thought, of course, quietly to myself. At least Mexican Spanish, for the time being—call it envious of my Latin-American counterparts that were lucky enough to have family above and below the border, the best of both worlds

                                    TICKETS PLEASE.

                                    What the fuck, really.

                                    Damn, he's real!

                                    I'm somewhere between life and death,

                                    On my way to nowhere fast

                                    And who knows low long it lasts;

                                    Living on a dying planet

                                    What is this.

                                    It's your walk.

                                    What a trip.

                                    I don't know how to explain any of this, really!

                                    ‘Okay, I forgot about Amish people entirely.'

                                    You—forgot the Amish?

                                    Yeah, I forgot!

                                    They worship you!

                                    What?! For what!!

                                    Here.

                                    What is this.

                                    It's consciousness.

                                    Uh.

                                    KThxBye.

                                    HEY JESUS.

                                    Hey what.

                                    You should jump off a tree.

                                    For what.

                                    I don't know.

                                    Okay.

                                    Damn, I've been on this train for three hours?

                                    Yeah, I guess.

                                    What the fuck.

                                    Most of it was deadmau5.

                                    No, before that.

                                    There's something weird about this fucking train.

                                    TICKETS PLEASE.

                                    this isn't real.

                                    Oh, it is.

                                    No, it isn't.

                                    I'm dead.

                                    Fuck, I died.

                                    I'm definitely dead.

                                    I don't get it.

                                    What.

                                    I'm the whole thing?

                                    Yep, you're everything.

                                    then why does—

                                    Hm.

                                    Nothing. I'm awesome.

                                    Sunni Blū, everyone.

                                    GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY.

                                    Uhh, okay.



                                    I've never even beeen to Catalina;

                                    But I don't belong in California—

                                    I can't afford the money to go on here—

                                    So I love ya, Cali, but this is so long, yeah

                                    I've never even been to Catalina;

                                    I heard that every day there's perfect weather;

                                    Maybe one day you could love me better

                                    But I'm living in the streets like I'm a veteran

                                    You don't care

                                    I put you in the overhead compartment,

                                    Before,

                                    I had you in my pocket;

                                    But had to get you off me

                                    (I had to get you off, man)

                                    Somebody started coughing,

                                    It pissed me off, so

                                    I put my heart in the overhead compartment

                                    (The overhead compartment)

                                    I still don't have my own apartment,

                                    You should finish what you started,

                                    And block me,

                                    Like I wanted you to

                                    Not follow me,

                                    Piñata man,

                                    He's not just a piñata, man

                                    Nobody even wants him,

                                    So I'm stuck here,

                                    Fuck it

                                    I put my heart in my pocket,

                                    Then somebody started coughing,

                                    So, I guess I didn't want it on me, any longer,

                                    I'm sorry,

                                    I put it in the overhead compartment

                                    Is that all you are, then—

                                    The villain made from stardust?

                                    I told you where my heart is;

                                    The overhead compartment

                                    —I hate you

                                    Not good enough to date you,

                                    Or mate with you,

                                    Make the A list;

                                    Okay then—

                                    You're too fucking famous—

                                    I'm getting on a plane to vegas

                                    Wish I never knew your fucking name, kid

                                    I put your heart in

                                    The overhead compartment

                                    Thought it would be harder

                                    Being heartless,

                                    But it's not

                                    On my honor, God,

                                    I love him—

                                    And I've been fucking up since

                                    All this is fucking nonsense

                                    I'm off then—

                                    Departed

                                    (I put it in my pocket,

                                    I put it in my pocket,

                                    I put it in my pocket)

                                    The plane had been delayed an hour and a halff, but we were already seated and unable to exit the aircraft.

                                    ‘Of course, Spirit Airlines, Ugh'

                                    It had been a smooth and yet busy morning—having woken up 40 minutes past 5, to the darkness of the morning, somehow miraculously—as I thought I would sleep well-past my Equinox time crunch and into the day before my flight, the Burbank airport a gaping 12 miles from The Freehand, and myself at the mercy of the Metro, which I supposed I might actually miss, for its consistent and hospitable service. Still, I was awake, and suprised by it, simply as I had sought it nessecary to indulge on LA Cafe, after returning from Gee'Mo's the night before—strikingly hungry, after the morning's 4-hour Equinox training session, after which I had refused to eat—somehow thinking I might be able to forgo a meal or five until I made it to a safe and more affordable country where the word “nigger” was in no one's vocabulary or form of thought, set free to pursue music, or at least work in my profession without keeping three other jobs, or sharing a room with three other people.

                                    But everything was up in the air—that is, except for me, despite the fact that I was seated quite comfortably on an aircraft, buckled in with the seatbelt at its absolute tightest setting, still leaving room between the belt and my waist where even my Fanny pack failed to fill the room leftover—and although by LA's standard I was huge, or ‘thick', by my own I had become somehow strikingly skinny, spending my valuable and newly granted free time with nothing but hours of training at Equinox, and writing away at The Festival Project™ anything and everything that came to mind, and within my experience that had been created to manifest as such.

                                    SUNNI BLŪ enters the studio with GERALD, Who has been tied up and stuffed inside of a backpack.

                                    What up.

                                    SUNNI removes GERALD from the backpack.

                                    What is that.

                                    This is Gerald.

                                    He's a little beat up right now.

                                    Uh—what happened?

                                    It—doesn't matter.

                                    I'm gonna just—

                                    DON'T put that there.

                                    Uh, why not.

                                    I don't want that thing in here.

                                    An, come on!

                                    NO.

                                    I can't just—

                                    NO.

                                    —leave him here a little while.

                                    UH-UH. HELL NAW. FUCK DAT.

                                    What! How come?!

                                    Mm-mm. Nope. Fuck that shit.

                                    Aww, come on—he's just a—

                                    Okay, he's not just a piñata.

                                    I know that!

                                    What?! Fuckin how?!

                                    I just know.

                                    Ugh.

                                    Why do you have that?

                                    I don't know.

                                    How did you even get it

                                    He—

                                    Whatever. Fuck dat.

                                    —and it's probably something I shouldn't talk about.

                                    It was, entirely, something I couldn't talk about; I had built an entire life in my head around Stupid Dillon Goddamn Fucking Francis, and although it had been a welcome distraction and calming deterrent from Skrillex and the Sonny Conundrum, (or so the band would be called, in some other faraway realm) there was nothing I could do about The Dillon Situation, or The Francis Effect—neither of which I could explain or likely would ever pay to see preform.

                                    My mind had been toyed with, my sexuality altered, and my perceptions of reality increasingly shifted, and though whether all it meant was that I was the most functionally retarded adult in America, an undiagnosed schizophrenic who behaved incalculably well around other humans despite my inner monologue (and sometimes, intentionally recorded outer monologue), I had indeed developed some strange attachment and undue feelings for Dillon Francis—which seemed unavoidable, and irreversible entirely, and though whatever had happened between Sonny and I had remained a faction of my daily being, regardless of its status—I admittedly never wanted to see either one of them again unless it was inside of a music studio, or well decorated bedroom.

                                    It's a spell.

                                    I know it's a spell.

                                    This stone should have been shattered long ago!

                                    Well, it wasn't.

                                    You should bury this.

                                    Uh, maybe that.

                                    —DON'T put it in the ocean.

                                    I wasn't going to—

                                    The last time I had taken the stone into the water, I thought I had lost it—as I had nearly lost my life in the process of fighting the pre-hurricane currants of the most recently terrifying Mexico pacific, as the other stones I had carried there were indeed dislodged in the waves as I struggled for my life (for whatever reason, my inherent survival overriding my suicidal tendencies)

                                    Hm.

                                    This is a very



                                    THE END.

                                    WHAT?!



                                    That's it, it just ends.



                                    If I throw myself off the Brooklyn Bridge, do I get a prize?

                                    No, but I do.

                                    What is it.

                                    One less nigger.

                                    I guess that's all I am in this country.

                                    WHELP, fuck it, then.

                                    It's either homelessness, miserable poverty, or suicide—all of which is the same fucking thing.

                                    “I'm crying cause nobody loves me.”

                                    Just kill yourself.

                                    Getting to it.

                                    EXIT THE MATRIX.

                                    Welcome back, bitch.

                                    Whatever I'm tired.

                                    7/11–hell, or Heaven.

                                    It's…Heaven…

                                    Heaven.

                                    “Heaven”

                                    furious knocks on the door*

                                    *huffs whippet*

                                    Shit

                                    *more furious knocks*

                                    Uhh—who is it?

                                    ITS BRITTNEY, BITCH.

                                    *huffs whippet*

                                    Shit, captain's here.

                                    Open the door!

                                    Don't open it!



                                    WAIT!!

                                    This is Hillary Duff?! I thought it was Annalisa Van Der Pol!

                                    Well, it's not.

                                    I asked for this a long time ago God—

                                    I've been busy.

                                    Where've you been?!

                                    I'm backed up.

                                    What, Like constipated?

                                    Don't be silly; I haven't eaten in weeks.

                                    Well, sit down—

                                    No, I'm fine

                                    Unreleased

                                    One world

                                    Hit my line

                                    New chucks

                                    Dolo

                                    Hide + Seek

                                    The Eye (Acoustic/Studio Session)

                                    Like A King

                                    Ugh, fine. I guess I'm gonna have to make a list, then

                                    Well, it's “The White Bitchus”

                                    I know it's “the White Bitchus”

                                    KATY PERY

                                    Why have I never been elected captain?

                                    cause you're just not that ratchet, Katy.

                                    And Miley Is?

                                    *Miley being ratchet*

                                    Yes, she is.

                                    I'm fuckin' ratchet!

                                    That doesn't even sound right coming out of your mouth. Shut up, Katy P!

                                    York

                                    —Sussex

                                    —-Kingshurst, solihoul

                                    ——Liverpool

                                    Tottenham—

                                    Download serum

                                    Following in The Master's Footsteps, Are We?

                                    He's not my master; these are not his footsteps—

                                    Aaah hah

                                    And I'm pretty sure I have bigger feet anyway.

                                    Oh, I doubt that.

                                    Don't be facetious.

                                    I was serious.

                                    MEANWHILE, IN ASCENSIA

                                    FARRO.

                                    I am not your errand boy, your majesty—

                                    C'esme't appears behind Gìan.

                                    C'esme't!

                                    My Lord.

                                    C'esme't

                                    [FARRO falls to his knees, his hood falling over his head to obscure his face as he kneels to kiss her palm; silently, she only smiles; FARRO raises his eyes to meet GÌAN's, as he stands, momentarily holding The Queen in a warm embrace]

                                    Gìan, a word.

                                    South Gate

                                    Hamptontown



                                    Edgwarebury Cemetery, Edgware, London, England




                                    RULES OF TRAVEL

                                    2) if you need something, just ask.




                                    Damn this is deep.

                                    Well. Dillon Francis keeps putting out straight fire, and at the very least, if I don't ever sleep—I can keep working the way I have been

                                    You'll burn out, trust me

                                    Maybe so, but

                                    I'm still here

                                    Let's just hope this shit doesn't depress me

                                    Fuck it, there's stories in here.

                                    GET UP.

                                    Mm-mm.

                                    CC—GET UP.

                                    Ahh.

                                    UP.

                                    Don't you think you're being a little rough?

                                    She's fine.

                                    Ugh, just try not to walk to the beat of his music.

                                    What is his power.

                                    Jesus, I don't know,

                                    Why, what's that do?

                                    It sets off some kind of cadence, or something.

                                    Just be careful.

                                    I'm so confused by my own self, by now

                                    By my own thoughts, right now

                                    By my own self, somehow

                                    It's just surface level

                                    Surface level attraction

                                    It's just surface level

                                    Deface level attraction

                                    Act I:

                                    Keep the ass fat

                                    Keep dancing

                                    Just keep being handsome, Dillon Francis

                                    (& Hanzel)

                                    Well, have fun

                                    I just realized, I don't know where the repeat button is.

                                    Why would you repeat this?!

                                    Well.

                                    Well, fuck it; the album's over, I guess.

                                    Heroes, Alesso is on Autoplay

                                    Nope, I'm good on that.

                                    Yep.

                                    Well.

                                    No, you can't go see Jimmy Fallon

                                    Aw, C'mon, why not?!

                                    REGISTRATION CLOSED.

                                    What the FUCK.

                                    No, You can't see SUPACREE.

                                    Aw, C'mon, Why Not!

                                    Just ask Jimmy Fallon.

                                    No.

                                    Yo, why not?!

                                    He wants to!



                                    Jimmy will fuck this up.

                                    JIMMY FALLON

                                    Aw, come on!

                                    No, Jimmy.



                                    JIMMY FALLON

                                    C'mon! I got this!

                                    [JIMMYFALLON BREAKING CHARACTER]

                                    {[JIMMY FALLON BREAKING FOURTH WALL]

                                    [JIMMY FALLON LAUGHING UNCONTROLLABLY]

                                    NO.

                                    JIMMY FALLON

                                    *mumbles disappointedly*

                                    We need a Master Level Veteran

                                    *Nobody Raises Hand*

                                    ….

                                    …

                                    WHOOPI GOLDBERG

                                    I got this.



                                    WHOOPI GOLDBERG is a MASTER LEVEL VETERAN SORCERER

                                    What the fuck is this.

                                    It's still Legends, I think.

                                    “I think”

                                    WELCOME TO THE CITY THAT NEVER SLEEPS.

                                    Oh no.

                                    What.

                                    Why doesn't it sleep?

                                    Why do you?

                                    Whoopi Goldberg.

                                    It's just “Whoopi”

                                    Whoopi Goldberg.

                                    Or just, “Whoop”

                                    Whoopi Goldberg.

                                    Christ, you're annoying.

                                    I'm not “Christ”. Have you met him? He's annoying.

                                    What is wrong with you?

                                    Only God Knows.

                                    Fuckin Wise Ass.

                                    *Wise Owl.

                                    *squints*

                                    Who?

                                    I KNEW IT WAS YOU.

                                    Who? Ah, Fuckit.

                                    Don't-

                                    Don'tyoumove!

                                    Don't turn into an owl again.

                                    Oh, What!

                                    Fuhckthat!

                                    Are you scared?

                                    –I'm not scared of anything.

                                    WHOOPI GOLDBERG in a whip transforms into a Giant Black Owl, espanding it's wings above her.

                                    SUPACREE produces a cage from thin air, instantly trapping the owl, whose eyes flicker with a glowing golden haze, as colorful auroras surround the cage, which supacree closes, setting it atop the mantle.

                                    *WHOOP*

                                    Sorry, Whoopi Goldberg.

                                    The Owl ruffles its feathers cognizantly.

                                    That's for elbowing me, mostly.

                                    The Owl Listens Intently.

                                    Are we telepathic?

                                    The Owl Agrees.

                                    Okay, we're telepathic, then. No More Talking.

                                    [The Owl Coos]

                                    Off To Hogwarts;

                                    *hoots*

                                    Okay, Now No Talking.




                                    To The Executives of Lionsgate Telivsion

                                    Hello, I'm Blū!

                                    I look forward to meeting with you and possibly collaborating with your team.

                                    I am a lifelong creative professional, artistic entrepreneur and entertainment enthusiast and connoisseur, specializing in linguistic alchemy and language exploration— including but not limited to screenwriting, poetry, lyricism, journalism, speech writing, and theatrical literature. I am aspiring novelist, boasting an unpublished plethora of autobiographical, fictional, and non-fictional works, a triple-trilogy of science fiction graphic action and adventure novels— all included into an ongoing Anthology series, which combined includes a handful of short and feature length films, music videos, and interactive, interpretive art, rolled into a high-concept synthesis of colorful and synesthetic sensory collisions, soundscapes, and in-depth narratives; an original saga of storytelling created s to immerse its audience with a mind boggling and energetic, thought-provoking, and unique multiversial perception on humankind and its immersion into the multidimensional realms of time, space, and conciousness.

                                    I am considered to be a cosmic explorer and philosopher, philanthropist and world scholar, collecting a vast portfolio of wonderous and lucid works, which capture the artistic journey in an elevated sense of imaginative and adversely raw, honest journals, dialogue, quips, and stories told broadly and boldly through moments of inventive catharsis, awakened in the midsts of growth, learning experiences, and the ongoing process of moving forward through life—overcoming challenges, adversity, and change throughout.

                                    A self-ascribed teacher and scribe, I live and work with an open mind/-believing that anything and everything is possible. In a world built of perception and thought, I strive to build a world which unleashes my creativity into the expanse of the great unknown, and beyond—forming a craft of unique skillsets, hobbies, passions, and interests—to shift and shape myself into an ever-changing and consistently evolving prototype of my intended and best self.

                                    I take pride and joy in nature, fascinated by the many ecosystems and canvases the world has to offer. I enjoy and take multifaceted interests in fitness, health and wellness, and encourage myself daily to live and maintain an active lifestyle. A purveyor of culture, I enjoy curating recipes to include into my own cookbook, excavating flavors from a plethora of culinary backgrounds.

                                    As a lifelong musician, multi-instrumentalist, recording artist singer/songwriter, music producer and engineer, I seek to bridge the often unseen and unspoken gap between the written and unwritten language of sound, physiology, and the inner and outermost world. As a DJ I enjoy involving ambient and picturesque symphonies, collecting eclectic sounds and rare records, cinema, and television.

                                    I enjoy skating, surfing, and hiking—collecting and spectating art, live theature, music performances, and world history.

                                    My broad work experience includes a ten-year spectrum of positions ranging from entry-level to management; In 2019, I began to form what would eventually become my own company and brand, The Festival Project, Inc., an entertainment collective, media brand, and music label.

                                    As founder and CEO of The Festival Project, Inc. I seek to pioneer a new frontier for Music, Fashion, Cinema, and Television by unifying and illuminating the collective consciousness through multimedia combining art, culture, and technology to form an evolutionary foundation for the future of our world.

                                    I appreciate your time and consideration, and look forward to creating a strong network of meaningful bonds and business ventures which will help to grow and expressively expand all of our shared knowledge, wisdom, and intelligence creatively and professionally throughout the duration of our time together.

                                    With Warm Regards,

                                    Thank You.

                                    (If you were wondering, they didn't hire me.)

                                    I guess I'm meant to die homeless,

                                    Jobless, penniless

                                    Just another nigger

                                    Nothing makes dollars,

                                    And no more sense

                                    I'm just another nigger

                                    Just another—

                                    Does the word make you uncomfortable?

                                    (Imagine how the skin feels)

                                    I can't afford to live//

                                    Can't afford to live anywhere

                                    There's nothing left in the world

                                    But money, and pain

                                    I'd ask Jesus to save me

                                    But it seems like Jesus hates me,

                                    At least lately

                                    Call me brother/-

                                    I'm a lady

                                    Call me mother,

                                    I'm a maybe

                                    Maybe “they”

                                    Or maybe USA;

                                    This country fucking hates me




                                    Listening to Dillon's set had been enjoyable; I was glad as a DJ, or what ever i was, that I had listened to it—it was sonically impressive enough that it kept my engaged, and easy enough to hear, even with my minimal playtime, what he was doing; it was hard to think I may have let myself go on all of whatever was the rest of my life, long or short, without listening to it—and though I wouldn't come to actually be able to call myself a true fan again by re-emerging into the older music I loved, or by listening to anything new, after the Happy Machine fiasco had left a permanent mental scar—ultimately one however that would later lead me into true veganism, I at least experienced a however brief sense of relief, as being homeless was draining any light i had left to keep, let alone to shine. It has also somehow left me with a sense of emptiness and loss—whereas I used to feel a sense of kind shop and connection of some sort, st least wi the the Dillon Francis I had built in my mind—perhaps even a connection that may have been somewhat real, at some point; perhaps he had been calling out for love, which I admittedly held for him—but had not been able to make it into the world in which he lived—a world i had began navigating toward for Sonny, anyway; knowing they were friends and colleagues, it all felt empty. I felt the mental illness of homelessness resetting my aura, waking up Green rather than in my usual array of hues, after another night of sleeping outside in a pitched tent, giving Mr. Carpenter and his company privacy, or rather holding my own sanctity in tact, as he had recently invited me indoors after asking me to sleep outside so that I could hear he and his guests time together; though I couldn't judge him to be a wholly terrible person, as he was letting me at least stay there, I could see that his psychology was twisted; he loved locking me out, belittling me, and having guests over frequently, often reminding me I was at his mercy. Still, I would unravel completely in any traditional homeless shelter—here, though being toyed with and drained of my confidence little by little, I could shower, do my laundry, and sometimes sleep resffully without snoring, the clamoring of teeth, or the dreaded mumbling and thrashing of less than clean individuals. I needed cleanliness in the least to stay minimally function, which at best, I was—but still, I at least strived to collect the energy to organize my writing and send it off to my aunt with my will in tact, the only relative i trusted, though her understanding of God was primitive and misogynistic—she was a true blessing, an angel—and at least she believed in God at all, who I felt I was growing distant from, but knew I never really could detach from; I wondered, though, constantly, why God was punishing me with a body that was so ugly and tragic that even some heavyset women, or even fat girls had nicer bodies, in the sense that their skin was at least smooth, or their backs roll-less. I figured I must have been being punished for something I hadn't remembered, perhaps rape or murder in a previous incarnation—yet—observing the actions of Mr. Carpenter, I wondered how someone like him could be so lucky as to have a plethora of women, money, and of course, a home-the only thing I wanted—and myself, a decent quality human, at least at the heart of it—was homeless, loveless, and useless.





                                    THE SUPACREE, a futuretech hyper bioartificially intelligent evolving android, finally finds Dillon Francis, conveying the entirety of the story in all multiverses and their respective timelines—then proceeds to self-destruct.

                                    The supacree, in the final or originally designated form, a pyramid-shaped robotic geometrical configuration, similar to its counterpart, the Skrillex—however hovering in more distinctcc by and direct patterns

                                    Woah, that thing is cool.

                                    You finally got to The Supacree

                                    Well, back to it

                                    Lol writing in canon

                                    Lol I know what that means now.

                                    ^.^

                                    !!!

                                    THE SUPACREE hovers at eye level to dillon Francis, emoting all of its colors in a luminescent glow; he is astounded by its brilliance—it stops, shining an ultra bright light into his iris, conforming:

                                    Dillon Hart Francis.

                                    It projects a multidimensional hologram of Dillon Francis.

                                    I—yeah?

                                    Confirming, again:

                                    Dillon Hart Francis.

                                    The supacree concludes with a theatrical full body scan.

                                    What the fuck.

                                    Yes, “what the fuck”

                                    Oh My God:

                                    Initiating Program Sequence.

                                    Pause

                                    Lol

                                    This is arguably the worst day of Dillon's life.

                                    This is also the longest day.

                                    Meanwhile:

                                    DILLON FRANCUS has just lost a bet.

                                    THATS NOT FAIR.

                                    She's so unpredictable.

                                    God, I love her.

                                    Not as much as I do.

                                    Not as much as I'm gonna.

                                    Ew.

                                    Stop.

                                    Gross.

                                    [beat]

                                    But also incorrect—

                                    However—

                                    It's definitely me.

                                    Blū (as CC) notices her mis

                                    Pause pause

                                    What do rich people do when they're not playing or preforming.

                                    This:

                                    Oh!

                                    I meant—what do famous people do when they're not:

                                    This:

                                    Oh my g—

                                    (But in secret)

                                    Oh!

                                    Oh.

                                    Hey.

                                    Hey.

                                    E dry things a secret.

                                    Okay.

                                    Uh.

                                    Sign this.

                                    Are you out of your mind?

                                    A little but.

                                    That's not Dillon Francis.

                                    It isn't?

                                    No, thats Dillon Francus.

                                    Who the fuck is Dillon Francus?

                                    i live here.

                                    Finally









                                    Good,

                                    now it's over

                                    Praise to Satan,

                                    In God's Nation we

                                    Hell Hitler, baby rapists

                                    Playing them, but without saying it

                                    Hey, hey, hey now—

                                    I built this place from the ground up,

                                    Just to burn it down

                                    Hey hey hey hey—

                                    Next time I come out,

                                    Or around—

                                    You better be proud,

                                    You better be proud of me.

                                    Wow,

                                    Am I just supposed to die now?

                                    Lie down?

                                    Cash out?

                                    Go another round on a double down

                                    Scarf a double double down?

                                    My eyes are double double brown

                                    And hers are double double round

                                    A follower, I'm glad I found— out

                                    About

                                    The party you had without me,

                                    I was

                                    Right,

                                    There:

                                    Where you said you'd pick me up, and forgot me

                                    How

                                    Clear

                                    Is the radio signal coming in here?

                                    How long have I been here?

                                    Just been in it sweating my sins for a minute

                                    Pretend to resent this

                                    Presenting a thesis,

                                    Please just

                                    Let it all end now

                                    Let it all end here

                                    Let me out right now

                                    All I do is write now

                                    And work out

                                    And blurt out these curses to Satan

                                    Cause he runs the world now

                                    —and I'm just lost in it

                                    And there's no— music here

                                    So there's nothing for me to do,

                                    But look stupid and I'm getting used to it

                                    Don't know what a home is

                                    But I know where to go when there's no where to run but the medic

                                    A headache, or heartache

                                    I'm costing my Medicaid millions—

                                    Millions of pennies on the dollar that is;

                                    Write me off like a generic prescription of

                                    Get this bitch nigger out of here

                                    You've made it very clear

                                    Nobody's welcome here—well,

                                    Except the foreign au pairs

                                    And the folks from Paris,

                                    Canadians, when they're not scared of us

                                    Europeans, sure we need them—

                                    Mexicans, yes as long as they're sweating and

                                    Refugees, if they have money please

                                    Send the Chinese in, we need more anime characters to merry—

                                    Excuse me, Japanese;

                                    I only know the difference if she's cooking for me, Driving Mitsubishi;

                                    Eat me

                                    Stay out of my lane

                                    (It's for bicycles)

                                    But I've got pain in my feet

                                    Just from walking so often in my

                                    Cost-about-a-dollar adidas,

                                    Please just end me

                                    I don't need anything but Jesus and

                                    A pair of jeans on;

                                    Lean on me,

                                    Scream when you turn the TV on,

                                    I better run,

                                    I'm behind another blonde—hey

                                    I don't want a job, you fucking moron,

                                    I'm a goner

                                    “Call your mother”

                                    Oh yeah, dream on!

                                    Just another Stephan

                                    Goddamn astonishing,

                                    Polished the rock was;

                                    I know the rock Gods,

                                    I honored em, rose em up, wrote some songs—

                                    Then got along with my day nonchalantly

                                    Talked about it on my podcast,

                                    Pondered on some Comcast, that bombastic song makes a bomb rap,

                                    I'm gone back to Cassie into Caper,

                                    Now you're all mad;

                                    Not my dad,

                                    But I'm probably like your mom,

                                    If she was all bad.

                                    Now I'm sad;

                                    “Suicidal”, what i call that

                                    I had all the chances in the world, but now all I have are

                                    Superficial

                                    Sacramental

                                    Scabbing tracks

                                    Below my bands and

                                    No one holds my hands for long

                                    I don't belong, “I'm just a fan”

                                    Coelacanth—don't abandon me.

                                    DUFF!

                                    What's your name again?

                                    …Are you serious?

                                    No, I'm kidding.

                                    (No, I actually forgot what I named this character)

                                    I think it's “Joel”

                                    I doubt that.

                                    What was it.

                                    Idk, moving on.

                                    …did you forget?

                                    Yeah, I forgot.

                                    It's okay!

                                    Yeah, I guess.

                                    We found you!!

                                    Yeah.

                                    Sorry we destroyed the planet—

                                    —only like half.

                                    It's totally destroyed.

                                    It was like that before you guys landed.

                                    —?

                                    Just Trust me.

                                    Why does it look like somebody turned you upside down?

                                    I was “paralyzed”

                                    What's that mean?

                                    It happens here.

                                    That sounds horrible.

                                    This place sucks.

                                    It's really far.

                                    After COELCANTH is summoned by Dillon Francis—as he is still super-merged with SUPACREE//Chak Chel's nature energy;

                                    Every single living Colecanth on “Earth” is also summoned, leaping from the waters of the ocean as coelacanth' large, black and cloud like mass slowly creeps over the skyline.

                                    W0ah.

                                    ALSO:

                                    TIMMY TURNER YOU LOST LOOKIN- PINK--HAT WEARIN MOTHERFUCKA!

                                    Oh shit, run.

                                    We're fairies!

                                    We can fly!

                                    [gunshots fired]

                                    So do bullets!

                                    Running!




                                    {Enter The Multiverse}



                                    [The Festival Project.™]



                                    COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

                                    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©



                                    -U.













































                                    23 min
                                  2. Ooh. (I Love Ya) [This is: Undefeated] - Freestyle Studio Session Mixtape, Unreleased [FULL EPISODE IN DESCRIPTION]

                                    [The Festival Project.™]

                                    Presents:

                                    {ENTER THE MULTIVERSE}

                                    SEASON 6- ACT II

                                    No, you can't go see Jimmy Fallon.

                                    Aw, C'mon, why not?!

                                    REGISTRATION CLOSED.

                                    What the FUCK.

                                    No, You can't see SUPACREE.

                                    Aw, C'mon, Why Not!?

                                    We need to begin Sequence B Immidiately.

                                    Just ask Jimmy Fallon.

                                    No.

                                    Yo, why not?!

                                    He wants to!

                                    Jimmy will fuck this up.

                                    JIMMY FALLON

                                    Aw, come on!

                                    No, Jimmy.

                                    JIMMY FALLON

                                    C'mon! I got this!

                                    [JIMMY FALLON BREAKING CHARACTER]

                                    [JIMMY FALLON BREAKING FOURTH WALL]

                                    [JIMMY FALLON LAUGHING UNCONTROLLABLY]

                                    NO.

                                    JIMMY FALLON

                                    *mumbles disappointedly*

                                    We need a Master Level Veteran.

                                    *Nobody Raises Hand*

                                    ….

                                    …

                                    WHOOPI GOLDBERG

                                    I got this.



                                    WHOOPI GOLDBERG is a MASTER LEVEL VETERAN SORCERER

                                    What the fuck is this.

                                    It's still Legends, I think.

                                    “I think”



                                    WELCOME TO THE CITY THAT NEVER SLEEPS.

                                    Oh no.

                                    What.

                                    Why doesn't it sleep?

                                    Why do you?

                                    Whoopi Goldberg.

                                    It's just “Whoopi”

                                    Whoopi Goldberg.

                                    Or just, “Whoop”

                                    Whoopi Goldberg.

                                    Christ, you're annoying.

                                    I'm not “Christ”. Have you met him? He's annoying.

                                    What is wrong with you?

                                    Only God Knows.

                                    Fuckin Wise Ass.

                                    *coughs*Wise Owl.

                                    *squints*

                                    Who?

                                    I KNEW IT WAS YOU.

                                    Who?

                                    *battle of squints*

                                    —Ah, Fuckit.

                                    Don't-

                                    Don'tyoumove!

                                    WHOOPI GOLDBERG and SUPACREE prepare for battle:

                                    *BATTLESTANCE*

                                    Don't turn into an owl again.

                                    Oh, What!

                                    Fuhckthat!

                                    Are you scared?

                                    –I'm not scared of anything.

                                    WHOOPI GOLDBERG in a whip transforms into a Giant Black Owl, expanding it's extended wingspan above her.

                                    SUPACREE produces a cage from thin air, instantly trapping the owl, whose eyes flicker with a glowing golden haze, as colorful auroras surround the cage, which supacree closes, setting it atop the mantle.

                                    WHOOP!



                                    *sighs*

                                    Sorry, Whoopi Goldberg.

                                    The Owl ruffles its feathers cognizantly.

                                    That's for elbowing me, mostly.

                                    CUT TO: [FLASHBACK: LEGENDS/THE LEGEND OF SUPACREE]

                                    THE BLOC. DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES. BROAD DAYLIGHT

                                    WHOOPI?!

                                    Thats me, bitch!!

                                    BUT YOURE NEW YORK!

                                    —and this is how you get that way!

                                    WHOOPI GOLDBERG knocks SUPACREE out cold with one elbow.

                                    Damn Whoopi! You ain't have to do her like that!

                                    Puh! Don't tell me what I have to do

                                    [she drags SUPACREE, unconscious, by the ankles]

                                    Come on!

                                    CUT BACK TO:

                                    The Owl Listens Intently.

                                    Are we telepathic?

                                    The Owl Agrees.

                                    Okay, we're telepathic, then. No More Talking.

                                    [The Owl Coos]

                                    Off To Hogwarts;

                                    *hoots*

                                    Okay, Now No Talking.

                                    It was a long red eye—but at least there was Equinox on the other side.

                                    MEANWHILE, BACK IN LOS ANGELES

                                    [A Parallel Dimension]

                                    I come in yesterdays clothes

                                    Soaked in my woes,

                                    And hoping I blow just like smoke

                                    Down below;

                                    A bellowing cry, or a wallow, says

                                    “What am I, honestly?”

                                    Waiting to die at the right time

                                    Turn on the light

                                    And it's up another night

                                    And look, nothing feels right

                                    I could die here

                                    Die here

                                    Turn on the light

                                    Turn me over, goodnight

                                    Nothing feels right

                                    I could die here

                                    Die here

                                    All the women, demons, and

                                    All the men feinds;

                                    I've been begging you

                                    Please god,

                                    For mercy

                                    Oh please

                                    But

                                    My pleads turn to nothing

                                    I'm wasted on my knees,

                                    So for my needs

                                    I could die here

                                    Die here

                                    Turn on the light

                                    And it's up another night

                                    And look, nothing feels right

                                    I could die here

                                    Die here

                                    Turn on the light

                                    Turn me over, goodnight

                                    Nothing feels right

                                    I could die here

                                    Die here

                                    I just stopped wondering why it's All like this

                                    It's nothing but hell here

                                    And heaven on the surface

                                    I tried just to love, once

                                    But it has no purpose

                                    I'm probably sick

                                    I should die here

                                    Die here

                                    So sick of wasting my time here

                                    (But—what else am I to do)

                                    So sick of lying to myself, thinking

                                    I should be with you

                                    Another day, another room

                                    Another bed, another tomb

                                    Unborn, the comfort of the womb

                                    Just waiting to be born

                                    This is horrible

                                    I just can't take it anymore

                                    No honor

                                    No love left

                                    Just dollars,

                                    I'm obsessed with trying to die

                                    Right

                                    Here



                                    I don't want to do this

                                    It's already done, kid

                                    Holy shit, man—

                                    Who the Hell isn't here right now?

                                    Cosmo and Wanda—

                                    Who the fuck is that?

                                    They're my f—

                                    —??

                                    Godparents.

                                    You have God parents?

                                    —I used to.

                                    I didn't even know you had real parents.

                                    Neither did I.

                                    The latchkey kids of the 4th dimension have gathered on a semi-United front.

                                    DORA, KNOCK IT OFF.

                                    sorry. Lol

                                    Who raised you, anyway?

                                    My backpack, mostly.

                                    That—doesn't make any sense.

                                    Whatever. Imma shuffle.

                                    SWIPER, NO SWIPING.

                                    Aw, man…

                                    I just can't believe

                                    In a world

                                    Where a guy like you

                                    Where a girl like me

                                    Could be lovers

                                    Good TV knows

                                    That you deserve better

                                    So I better

                                    Just

                                    Learn how to settle

                                    Whatever

                                    Sometimes I fantasize

                                    That someone might find my eyes

                                    And fall in love,

                                    They way I like

                                    —the way I love you



                                    Sometimes I look up at the sky and wonder why

                                    It's critical, the darkness and gloom

                                    In my eyes why not blue

                                    I felt as if I was being pulled apart— I hadn't slept comfortably and soundly in what felt like forever, but it had only really been a long and harrowing week at the Freehand—it seemed like a curse, pulled from sleep in the very moments when I would first fall, whether it be the flicker of the room lights, an awful, coughing moron, or a certainly and particularly unhygienic individual, it seemed as if I had been attacked; my food stamps stolen, left without sleep and still under the God awful condition od my having-to-do work environment, I was left sprawling for evidence that I had been sent to Los Angeles to do anything other than die; it was a special kind of hell—loveless, without a kitchen, and not a wink of peaceful sleep in eons, Equinox became the only thing worth living for at all, if at all— I was still virtually homeless, penniless, and, certainly friendless, dillusions of grandeour shattered in the merciless depth of mediocrity and immoralous servitude ;I had no other options: i could skew to Mexico, which I hated even the thought of, and though I was pretending to be in anywhere else in my mind— If only just to offset being followed by coughing people no matter where I went, or what I did l—I was just as sick in Los Angeles as ever; and AlthoughI I pretended to stop hating myself, as well, I couldn't—as it seemed my whole goddamn life had been a lie l—the only person who really ever loved me, my mother—who I still refused to talk to—or maybe my father—who had indeed talked my mom out of the abortion, after all.

                                    ‘Looks like Donut Friend is the only friend I have'

                                    What I really had wanted was Sprinkles Red Velvet Cupcakes—and though I had called just minutes earlier, they were all sold out by the time I got there

                                    “I don't know what happened!” Said the young woman at the bakery counter

                                    “Someone just put in a huge order.”

                                    And though my mind was unravelling, a glimpse of my imagination sparked up for the story I had begun, but never finished —and with good enough reason both consciously and coincidentally as it were.

                                    CUT TO: [FLASHBACK: SEASON 6 ACT I]

                                    DRAKE BELL

                                    Everything's on fire and I had to run around and get cupcakes!

                                    –And that's where we left off:

                                    Wait, rewind.

                                    DRAKE BELL hurriedly finishes a very long, specific list of tasks and errands for THE COSMIC ALLIANCE, THE BAMPHERAMPHS, and THE ILLUMINATI.

                                    Oh yeah?

                                    Sure.



                                    It's a classic case

                                    Of Good gone Bad,

                                    I haven't an answer,

                                    And haven't a laugh in the world left

                                    Hey,

                                    I'm just a girl in a loveless world;

                                    But I love men -

                                    That's something it shouldn't have been

                                    And I wouldn't have written this,

                                    If it wasn't infinite;

                                    Of course it is,

                                    Of all curses and Horcuxes I've suffered;

                                    All I've got is words left

                                    Otherwise, I'm worthless

                                    I could not have served less time

                                    Either way,

                                    Aren't we in eternity,

                                    Entirely?

                                    Turns out,

                                    I'm just a schizophrenic Skrillex

                                    Addicted to whippets,

                                    Sick in the infinite businesses interests

                                    With innocent intentions,

                                    Definitely

                                    Reckless,

                                    Effectively impressive excrement

                                    Never present, neglectfully irrelevant

                                    Uninventive, innattentuve, disinterested in

                                    Sentimental fixes, instant riches did this;

                                    Inches just from sleeping with the fishes

                                    Well, I hope you're proud of yourself.

                                    …

                                    Let's see the tape.

                                    Don't watch the tape.

                                    Roll the tape.

                                    Wow.

                                    I know Huh.

                                    This season gets wild

                                    It is

                                    And DEEP.

                                    Wait, where's DillonnFrwncis*

                                    Fuxk Dillokn Francis*

                                    Oh shit, there he is.

                                    Wait.

                                    [The room falls into a near silent heap of gasps and whispers amongst the robed and hooded crowd;

                                    “The Forgotten One”

                                    ::||pause.

                                    I do have to say, I am impressed with you, Sir.

                                    …are you really?

                                    I have been to the edge of infinity and beyond—and had yet to see such utter fucklessness.

                                    ?

                                    HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND,

                                    Yea.

                                    GOFINDIT.

                                    -_-

                                    Damn.

                                    What.

                                    ‘Ugh. ‘

                                    This could have all been bigger than what I thought, or not at all—but it was too far past the point of coincidences to even believe that nothing I was seeing, thinking, or feeling had absolutely no meaning whatsoever—and yet, here I was, still struggling to find it.



                                    Sugar spicy haze;

                                    It's bitter sweet these days,

                                    Existing

                                    The route I always take

                                    Los Angeles is fake,

                                    This city

                                    Not a penny or a pity in the world

                                    To give, to take

                                    —you're welcome

                                    Thank you after thanks,

                                    No regrets or mistakes,

                                    —you're welcome

                                    I pray for everything, these days

                                    I pray for everything, I pray

                                    You're welcome

                                    I got no reason left to stay

                                    No, I don't want to play your game

                                    Thanks

                                    —hey. You're welcome

                                    MILA KUNIS

                                    …what are you doing?

                                    ASHTON KUTCHER

                                    Uh—Fantasy Football.

                                    MILA KUNIS

                                    —since when do you play “fantasy football”?

                                    ASHTON KUTCHER

                                    UH—since always

                                    MILA KUNIS

                                    …what are you hiding?

                                    ASHTON KUTCHER

                                    NOTHIN—JEEZ.

                                    MILA KUNIS

                                    —let me see that.

                                    ASHTON KUTCHER

                                    NO—wait.

                                    MILA KUNIS

                                    —what is this?!

                                    ASHTON KUTCHER

                                    —it's a game—

                                    MILA KUNIS

                                    —IS THIS PORN?!

                                    ASHTON KUTCHER

                                    EW SICK—-NO! Don't be gross.

                                    MILA KUNIS

                                    *hits vape*

                                    ASHTON KUTCHER

                                    —throw that away.

                                    MILA KUNIS

                                    —what is this?

                                    ASHTON KUTCHER

                                    —it's a game, I told you…

                                    MILA KUNIS

                                    “It's fantasy football “

                                    ASHTON KUTCHER

                                    That's—a game.

                                    MILA KUNIS

                                    *hits vape*

                                    ASHTON KUTCHER

                                    That's so gross.

                                    MILA KUNIS

                                    Let me see that—

                                    ASHTON KUTCHER

                                    —no—

                                    MILA KUNIS

                                    —let me see—

                                    ASHTON KUTCHER

                                    No!

                                    I get a lot of work done here, at the Per LaHotel;

                                    There's really only one way in,

                                    And no ways out;

                                    An access point

                                    I am annointed, since,

                                    In inscence,

                                    Annoyances, and nuisances—

                                    This is just a jigsaw puzzle,

                                    I already solved,

                                    To throw you off a bit

                                    I'm lost a bit,

                                    I'm stopping just to talk a bit,

                                    I saw you at or on The Office once,

                                    And lost it

                                    Turn me off, then!

                                    Why Hollywood?

                                    I took a bus to Boston;

                                    Just to throw you off a bit

                                    Why Hollywood?

                                    I said “I haven't got it”

                                    Then run off a bit,

                                    It's toxic

                                    Why Hollywood?

                                    It's sodom and a lot of sauce,

                                    I saved up a deposit once,

                                    Then stopped here,

                                    Toes are cold as blocks,

                                    I walked like seven blocks

                                    To spend 5 dollars on a rock;

                                    Eventually the bus will come—

                                    Or not—

                                    I just don't have a single fuck left

                                    Why Hollywood?

                                    Come on!

                                    I was just trying to write a novel

                                    Why Hollywood,

                                    Come on—



                                    [SUPACREE pops out of a dumpster, like a Jack in the Box, with the enthusiasm and veracity of Sponegebob SquarePants]

                                    GOOD MORNING, LOS ANGELES!

                                    Lol.

                                    Why Hollywood?

                                    I got a lot of awesome in my pocket

                                    Why Hollywood?

                                    I took a bus to Folsom

                                    Why Hollywood?

                                    Eventually the bus will come

                                    Eventually the bus will come

                                    Eventually the bus will come

                                    To Boston

                                    What the fuck, Hollywood.

                                    [MILA snatches the strange device from Ashton's hands, swiftly, like a ninja]

                                    MILA KUNIS

                                    *hits vape with suspiciousness*

                                    …what is this?

                                    [MILA, instantly captivated, begins toggling the controller; ASHTON snatches the Elfbar from her, equally as swiftly; he hits the vape in defeat.]

                                    Meanwhile, in actual life—whatever that is.

                                    [More Multidimensional Shit]

                                    Everything hit too close to home at once, culminating in a catharsis of tears, after an onslaught off too much information— curiosity had killed the cat indeed—but at least, I, the cat in question, had all the information I needed to give somehow even less fucks than I had given before—or somehow more—as the more I leaned into my eggaerated conciousness, even against my will, but with the will of the world—a turning point in my heart, body, mind, and soul occurred all at once.

                                    ‘Ugh, this is awful'

                                    I had been up for precisely two days, but still found it increasingly difficult to sleep, even though I had at least been left alone for sometime, which was everything I wanted and more—just to be alone, without another human being, unbothered and untouched—and though I wasn't entirely either thing, a calling had creeped its way into my conciousness; something was not right, and far beyond my means of control, anyway.

                                    Now I have you in my palm,

                                    As in my thoughts,

                                    As in my art,

                                    As in my ark,

                                    As in my arms—

                                    Just as you are,

                                    Yet near, or far

                                    We are you

                                    As striking as ever, of course, the actual man of the muse, of this realm, (wherever I was) had turned out to be more honestly so myself than anything I had occurred as of late—and passing no judgements at all for what I had deciphered at all in this—a mockery of such things in all sorts, from under the microscope, a heaping load of nonsense, Wikipedia an throughway into the depths of unimaginable realism, met with remarks of my own mirage of mediocrity.

                                    Facinating.

                                    Uh huh.

                                    So wait.

                                    Uh huh.

                                    This kid is actually addicted to whippets?

                                    At least, according to Wikipedia.

                                    Well, Goddamnit. Fuck.

                                    Don't worry, Jared, I'm not particularly obsessed with you—at least not entirely; but you have every reason to be afraid of someone like me—however—not exactly ashamed of your circumstancial being.

                                    And

                                    At least you know where your son's at;

                                    Cause I've got no idea where mine is

                                    Pluses, followed by minuses

                                    I am the child engangerment,

                                    Imaginative entanglement,

                                    Creative

                                    EQUINOX SPORTS CLUB. LOS ANGELES

                                    I'm so heavily confused right now.

                                    There are no coincidences.

                                    I actually cried over this shit.

                                    What the fuck's wrong with this town, anyway?!

                                    I found my freedom,

                                    You made me a slave again—

                                    But I'm finally waking up;

                                    I finally know my name,

                                    Today, it's still LA;

                                    But maybe Amsterdam,

                                    Where everything's a rave.

                                    PARIS, FRANCE

                                    Monssour! *

                                    We?!

                                    A message from The Ambassador!!

                                    Sa cra blur!!

                                    Lol. Why is this so stereotypically French?

                                    What do you want—Ebonics?!

                                    “NIGGA(S) IN PARIS”

                                    Lol no. Stop.

                                    Okay.

                                    JIMMY FALLON, THE COSMIC AVENGER APPEARS

                                    You are really bad at this.

                                    Shut up, Jimmy.

                                    You're not making this easy.

                                    I'm not making this anything.

                                    Infinity—

                                    You are a figment of my imagination, Jimmy Fallon.

                                    You think so?

                                    Wait.

                                    We've been waiting.

                                    What did you just call me?

                                    Infinity.

                                    —and who is “we?”

                                    *vanishes*

                                    [beat]

                                    I hate this.

                                    MEANWHILE, IN ASCENCIA

                                    After Petrutheo's mysterious death, the kingdom of Eden is crumbles; a —

                                    Wait.

                                    What, Goddamn it?

                                    This episode has no direction whatsoever.

                                    Neither do I.

                                    Touché.

                                    MAN, FUCK LA.

                                    JEFF BESOS

                                    She quit. I win

                                    ELON MUSK

                                    No, I win.

                                    No one wins. It's a tie

                                    BOTH

                                    A TIE?

                                    A fuckin' tie.

                                    What say you, Jesus?

                                    …

                                    What are you doing on this planet?

                                    Just looking around.

                                    For what exactly.

                                    Traces of life.

                                    —this entire society.

                                    I mean, intelligent life.

                                    This is what Skrillex wants.

                                    Well, give it to him, then.

                                    All of it?

                                    Yeah.

                                    What the fuck.

                                    I don't care.

                                    Wait, where's the—

                                    All of a sudden, I hated everyone and everything

                                    Oh, all of a sudden, eh?

                                    Shut the fuck up.

                                    Good Morning, Kanye.

                                    SHUTTHEFUCKUP.

                                    Well, it was nice knowing you.

                                    Oh, so you think you know me?

                                    I don't know anything.

                                    Madame President.

                                    Are you serious?

                                    An urgent message.

                                    I am not—

                                    —you must leave Paris immediately.

                                    What! For what?

                                    The capital is under siege.

                                    What?! Which capital?

                                    The World Capital.

                                    The what—

                                    Madame.

                                    What year is it?

                                    LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

                                    2038

                                    Christ Almighty.

                                    I told you I'd be there.

                                    And I could be expected to believe you?

                                    You've got to believe in something.

                                    As many opportunities as I had to ask where to buy methamphetamine, which might have actually helped me work all three of my jobs while I had them, I was never even tempted; and though I had spent the last few weeks puffing feverishly on nicotine products, been offered (and even found) copious amounts of cocaine, and had finally been deemed attractive enough to be invited to go do whippets— I still hadn't budged, and was the for most part, wholeheartedly sober—still abstaining from alcohol, hard drugs, and most regrettably— sex.

                                    Fuck this whole fucking town.

                                    I promise you, this is the bottom of the ocean floor.

                                    I must have gills, then.

                                    I wanted nothing more than to fade away and dissappear; the entire world was eating me alive. I had no intentions of running away, and neither could I afford to stay—the entirety of the world was out of my price range—and with my food stamps having been stolen, i knew it was indeed a personal attack on my mind, and on my body.

                                    So wait, I'm not in the Illuminati?

                                    What is “Illuminati”?

                                    I'm just schizophrenic?

                                    After a night of listening to Dane Cook and his shenanigans, I had somehow settled on the fact that the relevant laughter I had been endowed was indeed a revelation of sorts.

                                    ‘I must have schizophrenia. Shit.'

                                    Unfortunately, however — I had a first handed look at how racially biased LA and the rest of the world actually was—and without a doctor to trust to properly treat whatever had been going on in my head, it seemed I was doomed to die scattered across Skid Row like the thousands of other black individuals in Los Angeles whose mental capacity had been shattered through trauma, addiction, and circumstance.

                                    Well, that solves that.

                                    Just file for disability.

                                    Fuck that shit.

                                    ‘I'm not seeking help for any sort of mental illness on Medicaid. Fuck that.'

                                    And whether or not it was black and white, it was certainly rich vs. poor—and I would be so easily discarded into an even worse predicament, just for being black, or poor, or a combination of the two.

                                    ‘Nope.'

                                    Hold up.

                                    What.

                                    Go back to the Harry Potter thing.

                                    Uh, okay.

                                    SUPACREE returns to HARRY, HERMINONE, and RON/DANIEL, EMMA, and RUPERT after having left them with the entirety of every single entry from the WIZARDING WORLD OF HARRY POTTER FRANCHISE for an entire week.

                                    They are flabbergasted.



                                    You guys okay?

                                    —?!

                                    *weeping inconsolably*

                                    Oh, shit guys.

                                    Where have you been?!

                                    Living my life.

                                    What's that mean?

                                    Not entirely sure.

                                    AAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH.

                                    Is s/he okay?

                                    Are you bonkers?!

                                    Lol “bonkers”

                                    I speak American!

                                    MEANWHILE, in LONDON

                                    *super British conversation almost entirely incomprehensible to The American Ear*

                                    —Innit.

                                    Innit.

                                    Aphmetamines,

                                    Acrobatics,

                                    Adrenaline,

                                    And aeromatics,

                                    Arithmetic,

                                    Apprentices,

                                    And Apprehension,

                                    Apparation

                                    Fuck,

                                    I hate this

                                    What's my function?

                                    What's my purpose?

                                    What is earth?

                                    What is this?

                                    The truth is,

                                    (It's just physics)

                                    I don't ever want to wake up again

                                    Not in this,

                                    Or any city—

                                    (Any city, this)

                                    It always happens

                                    So, women are obsessed with being tiny and defying age—

                                    Because men are obsessed with youth, and perfection

                                    And either way, it doesn't matter

                                    Cause we all get cheated on

                                    The whole world is racist—

                                    And I might never be loved again

                                    But at least I can say this:

                                    I love LA,

                                    (And hate it)

                                    And I am what I am,

                                    And I guess I didn't make it

                                    But— I can't go back to Africa,

                                    And I have no home here,

                                    I wish I was never born;

                                    Fuck, I wish I was a foreigner!

                                    I don't want to be the President

                                    I don't want to hate the government—

                                    I don't want to be black,

                                    But fuck it, I'm stuck in it

                                    Fuck wherever Skrillex is

                                    And I hate Dillon Francis

                                    I guess I have to disappear

                                    I guess that's just the plan

                                    God, fuck how fat my ass is

                                    Fuck a mansion;

                                    I just want a shitty ass apartment

                                    I can rap in

                                    “That's a wrap!”

                                    Lights, camera, action!

                                    This is Act II.

                                    —LEGENDS.




                                    {Enter The Multiverse}



                                    [The Festival Project.™]



                                    COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

                                    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©



                                    -U.






                                    22 min
                                  3. GL0RY! (IAMBIC: THE MUSICAL)

                                    Ahhh. Oh, my gosh, PoPo…Urghhf.

                                    —Brrrrr!!!—

                                    A DJ

                                    Unhhh…. Who dropped the bass in this bitch?!

                                    A BAMPHERAMPH:

                                    I was just just getting comfortable...

                                    Yes, Yes…

                                    I been at a rave.

                                    I'm on the flooI'm on the floor—at a rave r—at a rave

                                    “Somebody save me!”

                                    Oh that was….Wait,

                                    That was me, right?

                                    Right? Rage? Right?

                                    Yay...

                                    (Ahhh. I guess I gotta go...higher. YEAH.)

                                    I'M NOT A LIAR!

                                    I'M ON FIRE, I'M ON FIRE

                                    No, do not save me!

                                    This is my D—

                                    —Wait—DNA

                                    I am D.N.R

                                    Do not resuscitate me!

                                    I am fine!

                                    I am not an Earthling,

                                    Or Martian

                                    I am from other…

                                    Hmmm.

                                    What is a planet, I don't speak this language

                                    I did not invite you,

                                    Bitch get out my— hmmm.

                                    What is this word?

                                    I don't know what it means:

                                    It's just a thing.

                                    It's just a thing.

                                    It's just a thing.

                                    It's just a thing.

                                    It's just another Christmas Tree;

                                    It's just another Christmas Eve.

                                    It's just another fucking trumpet

                                    ‘Nother Trumpet—What is he?

                                    Another trump another mothetfucker

                                    Another presidential

                                    Mmmmmmmm…..

                                    What The- What The- What The- What The--

                                    What the fuck, America?!

                                    What's the fuck America?!

                                    What is up, America?

                                    And you

                                    Twerk-twerk-twerk!

                                    What the fuck, America?!

                                    What's the fuck, America!?

                                    Don't look up, America—

                                    I'm a jerk-jerk-jerk!

                                    Yuh.

                                    And, I'm still on the floor at a rave.

                                    It's okay!

                                    It's okay--

                                    it's okay!

                                    Ahh—and I just like LA, yeah.

                                    I'm not safe.

                                    I'm not a savior!

                                    I'm here to save ya!

                                    Let me show you my

                                    Cape—ya

                                    Rape? Nah.

                                    Rape—charge?

                                    Get lost.

                                    I am not a “God”

                                    I'm just an honest—

                                    What's “a lot”?

                                    I'm not a “law.”

                                    But this is all of it:

                                    I bought it.

                                    No, you're on it!

                                    No, I am it

                                    I'm a Planet , Ohh--

                                    --God damn

                                    God damn

                                    God damn

                                    God damn bitch!!!

                                    And I just start—

                                    And I just start—

                                    And then I just

                                    Go HAM bitch!

                                    But—I guess—? I —I don't eat meat so—-

                                    I just go:

                                    Veggie

                                    Veggie

                                    Veggie

                                    Veggie

                                    Veggie

                                    Veggie

                                    Veggie—Tales.

                                    Veggie

                                    Veggie

                                    Veggie

                                    Veggie

                                    Veggie

                                    Veggie

                                    Veggie—Tales.

                                    Whales.

                                    Yuh.

                                    I speak whale, I am Dory!

                                    Uh.

                                    You cannot ignore me!

                                    Nah.

                                    THIS IS MY STORY:

                                    I am the—

                                    I am the—

                                    I am the—

                                    I am the—

                                    I AM THE GLORY.

                                    Bitch,

                                    “I AM.”

                                    “I AM.”

                                    “I AM.”

                                    I am.

                                    HUH.

                                    GET THE FUCK UP!

                                    I am.

                                    I am

                                    I am!

                                    I am!

                                    (Iambic )




                                    10. Skrillex Sandwiches

                                    I like this part, it's like it's like it's like...

                                    Eyyy

                                    Hey.

                                    Hey.

                                    Heya- Hey!!

                                    {Enter The Multiverse}



                                    [The Festival Project.™]



                                    COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023

                                    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©



                                    -U.





                                    4 min

                                  About | L E G E N D S: ICONS. |

                                  From the publisher's feed

                                  The Festival Project, Inc.™ is a multidimensional multimedia platform which encompasses exploratory and artistic social personifications and expressions on cosmic theory, spirituality, growth, health & wellness, philosophy and theoretic dynamics in entertainment such as music, design, film, television, radio, dance and festival culture, art, fashion, literature, and science.