–AND WHEN I GOT THERE SHE SAID.

MILEY

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?

SUNNI BLU

IT'S YOUR FLOWERS!

MILEY

I CAN BUY MYSELF FLOWERS!

[SHE ANGRILY TOSSES THE BOUQUET INTO THE TRASH CAN.]

SUNNI BLU

YOU ASKED ME!

MILEY

IT'S A CODEWORD. DON'T YOU SPEAK CODE?

SUNNI BLU

.;.I'M A RAPPER!

MILEY

WHAT KIND OF DRUG DEALER DOESNT SPEAK CODE?

SUNNI BLU

…I'm a rapper.

MILEY

Yeah! that sells drugs!

SUNNI BLU

—On the side!

MILEY

Speaking of on the side– you seeing anybody?

SUNNI BLU

Uhhh….My therapist. Weekly.

MILEY

You know what I mean.

SUNNI BLU

Don't be gross.

MILEY

Oh, I'm not. Yet.

SUNNI BLU

Yer uh–not my type.

MILEY

I'm everybody's type.

SUNNI BLU

I'm not everybody.

[beat]

Ugh, what's up with this fog.

This is crazy.

Nuts.

This whole block smells like mildew.

I'm so worn away,

And in the wash,

I need to wash my clothes,

And sure did need that walk;

Now I listen to Punjabi, and suffer

Waiting for my supper

—all Shabbat I had only peanut butter

God,

I wonder what's wrong with me.

I stopped hearing voices,

And stopped making choices

I'm voiceless

Here's to moving forward,

A gramophone for you,

In case you forgot what the award was named for;

Also,

Just in case you never saw one,

Here: For the Time Traveling DJ.

“The Time Traveling DJ”

Another dead celebrity.

Assasinated?! At 28?!

If I should be so lucky.

—you were so lucky.

I had passed by the place sometime in March, and to think it was already May and looking at June, made me feel useless— I was stuck in time, lost in love, and heartbroken again, and without really knowing why, I had been placed prominently out of body, and thought it time for something different, as I had been feeling strange.

‘Holy shit, this sucks.'

I had stopped caring to even try at my weekly gig—I thought by now though I had agreed to ply for free, that someone might have offered some form of payment, as I continued to return— played through the technical difficulties presented—and even had proved myself thoroughly in previous weeks—and perhaps it was the culture itself which I disposed, as it almost seemed each song offered some form of attack on who I simply was—ugly, poor, and fat—and though I had become quite fit, had fallen prey to be devoured by the negativity around me—and the negativity within, exsasserbated heavily by the music—not quite yet under the influence, but attempting to dive head first into the culture, not clinging so much desperately to the greed and materialism the capitalistic world had presented and programmed as normal, as to quietly retracting my own traits and replacing them with a nutrality that couldn't quite be so detectable as to attract chaos, like before.

NEW DJ GOAL: Play Ooby Dooby at Ubbi Dubbi

James Hype made the most atrocious noise during his EDC set, and it stirred the genes of my ancestors so much that I actually thought—

‘Alright, these white dudes have too much fucking power.'

Fuck this.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ©

-U.