Podcasts about Chiodos

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Play Episode Listen Later Sep 30, 2024 121:32

On this episode, we reflect back on the long and influential career of Craig Owens and his time with Chiodos and the many other projects that he would go on to helm. Also on the episode, we share our thoughts on albums from artists like Boston Manor, House of Protection, The Amity Affliction, and Rain City Drive #Chiodos #DestroyRebuildUntilGodShows #CinematicSunrise #IslesAndGlaciers #CraigOwens #BostonManor #HouseOfProtection #TheAmityAffliction #RainCityDrive _______________________________________ Find us on social media: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://discord.gg/2jv87Wypvw⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.twitter.com/TheSkinnyPod⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠mail to:theskinnywithmikeandadam@gmail.com⁠⁠⁠ --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/theskinnywithmikeandadam/support

From Autumn to Ashes - Vulgar Display of Podcast

The Barn

Play Episode Listen Later Sep 25, 2024 59:13

Send us a textFrom Autumn to Ashes, the post-hardcore band that has left an indelible mark on the emo and hardcore scenes, is making waves once again. Known for their intense emotional music and energetic performances, the band has announced three special shows this summer, much to the delight of their dedicated fanbase.Originating from Long Island, New York, From Autumn to Ashes (FATA) formed in 2000 and quickly rose to prominence with their unique blend of hardcore, metal, and punk rock. The band's signature sound is characterized by the interplay between harsh screams and clean vocals, driven by powerful guitar riffs and dynamic drumming. Their debut album, Too Bad You're Beautiful (2001), set the stage for their success, followed by influential releases like The Fiction We Live (2003) and Abandon Your Friends (2005).After a hiatus starting in 2008, FATA briefly reunited in 2014, much to the excitement of their fans who had longed for their return. Their music continues to resonate, bridging generational gaps and drawing in new listeners while maintaining a strong connection with those who grew up with their sound.This summer, From Autumn to Ashes is set to perform at three highly anticipated shows:July 12 – Los Angeles, CA at Echoplex: This show will feature performances by Dead American, Sledges, and Stateside, promising a night of high-energy music and unforgettable moments.July 13 – Pomona, CA at The Glass House: Fans can catch FATA along with the same supporting acts—Dead American, Sledges, and Stateside. The Glass House, known for its intimate atmosphere, is the perfect venue to experience the raw intensity of their live performance.October 2 – Birmingham, AL at Workplay Theatre & Canteen: This special performance will serve as a pre-party for the final Furnace Fest. The lineup includes With Honor, With Blood Comes Cleansing, Thoughtcrimes, The Undertaking!, Before There Was Rosalyn, Lethal Method, Stay Lost, and Blind Tiger. This eclectic mix of bands ensures a diverse and electrifying evening of hardcore and post-hardcore music.www.BetterHelp.com/TheBarnhttp://www.betterhelp.com/TheBarn http://www.betterhelp.com/TheBarnThis episode is sponsored by www.betterhelp.com/TheBarn and brought to you as always by The Barn Media Group. YOUTUBE https://www.youtube.com/@TheBarnPodcastNetwork SPOTIFY https://open.spotify.com/show/09neXeCS8I0U8OZJroUGd4?si=2f9b8dfa5d2c4504 APPLE https://podcasts.apple.com/podcast/id1625411141 I HEART RADIO https://www.iheart.com/podcast/97160034/ AMAZON https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/7aff7d00-c41b-4154-94cf-221a808e3595/the-barn

Music Box Vol.49: John Cena, NSYNC, Elvis Presley, Chiodos, Sisqo, and more!

PWTCAST

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 31, 2024 61:44

Scrump and Drew talk about the music of NSYNC, Sisqo, Chiodos, AMANTES DEL FUTURO, John Cena, Eagles of Death Metal, Christone "Kingfish" Ingram, Elvis Presley, and more! It's Gonna Be Me-NSYNC Incomplete-Sisqo Baby, You Wouldn't Last a Minute On the Creek-Chiodos El Cumbe-AMANTES DEL FUTURO Bad, Bad Man-John Cena I Want You So Hard-Eagles of Death Metal Empty Promises-Christone "Kingfish" Ingram No More-Elvis Presley Special thanks to John Cena for the outro. Patreon Merchandise Social Media: Twitter Instagram

eagles elvis presley john cena nsync death metal music box sisqo christone kingfish ingram chiodos scrump

18: Alls Well That Ends Well by Chiodos

CD Burners

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 23, 2024 40:34

On this week's episode of CD Burners, T.J. and Morgan take a look at the debut album from Chiodos, Alls Well That Ends Well, released in 2005. This album, produced by Mark Hudson, takes you on a post-hardcore journey. The guys talk about the experience of listening to this album from beginning to end and how it sparked influence for so many other artists in the scene.

alls well that ends well chiodos mark hudson

Breakdowns For Breakfast: Chiodos- Devil

The Is For Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Jan 16, 2024 73:38

Its time to get out the DUCT TAPE. Danger and Monster talk Devil, the fourth and final studio album from the post-hardcore sometimes emo, Chiodos. We get a little AWKWARD & UNUSUAL at times but I assure you, if you are LOKOKING FOR A TORNADO its not here. Here at Breakdowns, it it all SUNNY DAYS & HAND GRENADES. It doesn't matter when you listen to this one, whether it is at 3AM or on your drive home after work, I promise you will know WHY THE MNSTERS MATTER.

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Gucci Caligula With Guest Sister Sleep

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Play Episode Listen Later Nov 9, 2023 80:45

Gucci Caligula Playlist. Sister Sleep joins us today and we chat about their new album, gender, representation, influences, and a lot more. This was one of my favorite episodes we've done and i hope you enjoy. We have a ⁠⁠⁠⁠Discord⁠⁠⁠⁠ now so come hang out with us and for those who want to support the show go check out our ⁠⁠⁠⁠Patreon⁠⁠⁠⁠ we have some awesome perks and it'll help us out a lot. Links for both of those are in our LinkTree and on all of our socials. Make sure to follow us on all socials to keep up with interviews and playlists ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@VIPlaylistpod⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ and we have a YouTube now so go subscribe to us!! Special thanks to ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Ghostshaft⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Boo Lay⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Keanu DiCaprio⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ and ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠FBD Media ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠for making that amazing tune you hear at the end of the episode. Go check out their socials and jam some of their tunes on Spotify. Artists on the Gucci Caligula playlist are Don Henley, Rod Stewart, Elton John, Ozzy Osbourne, AC/DC, blink 182, Green Day, My Chemical Romance, Alesana, Silverstein, Chiodos, The Used, SeeYouSpaceCowboy, Save Face, Creeper, A Sunday Fire, Julien Baker, Alkaline Trio, The Callous Daoboys, Tiny Banshee, and Cascadent. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/viplaylistpod/message

Screamo Tournament (Part 2)

Pretty Good Vibrations

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 1, 2023 72:40

** This is Part 2 ** If you know, you know. And if you don't know, the chances that you will be glad that you found out are pretty slim! Artists include Pierce the Veil, Sason, Silverstein, Hawthorne Heights, Underoath, Emery, Chiodos, and more. Jed Payne (Church and Other Drugs) is my fantastic co-host for this one! Spotify playlist for today's episode: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2Gi1fs63mkkVz2XexnLrRd?si=9cc0b7d94ce24ba5 Dan's music licensing library: https://dankoch.net/library Email Dan: prettygoodvibrationspodcast@gmail.com IG: www.instagram.com/prettygoodvibespod/ Artwork: https://www.nickryanluevano.com/

Screamo Tournament (Part 1)

Pretty Good Vibrations

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 25, 2023 79:18

If you know, you know. And if you don't know, the chances that you will be glad that you found out are pretty slim! Artists include Pierce the Veil, Sason, Silverstein, Hawthorne Heights, Underoath, Emery, Chiodos, and more. Jed Payne (Church and Other Drugs) is my fantastic co-host for this one! Spotify playlist for today's episode: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2Gi1fs63mkkVz2XexnLrRd?si=9cc0b7d94ce24ba5 Dan's music licensing library: https://dankoch.net/library Email Dan: prettygoodvibrationspodcast@gmail.com IG: www.instagram.com/prettygoodvibespod/ Artwork: https://www.nickryanluevano.com/

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What Inspires Dream Pop Music? EP 122 Alex Stanilla

The Story

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 1, 2023 62:12

Super excited to announce new guest, Alex Stanilla, to The Story!The protagonists of ALEX STANILLA's songs live at the intersection of fact and fiction, the push and pull between introspective honesty and rich character study. “I'm really inspired by film,” the Lebanon, PA-based singer-songwriter says. “My lyrical style tends to take an impressionistic view of films, with the subtext of watching it through a different lens and using it to interpret my life.”Stanilla's life has seen its fair share of musical milestones (for starters, he performed at Carnegie Hall as a 10-year-old violinist) but now his latest act puts his cinematic songwriting style – and film degree – on full display. His self-released single “Favorite Song” is awash in vibrant indie-rock groove and meditative poise, ruminating on the 1979 musical drama All That Jazz and its semi-autobiographical look at the life of Bob Fosse. It's rough-around-the-edges passion seeded with grand ambitions, richly intimate soul-searching storytelling that still manages to resonate on a universal level.There's a refreshing level of self-awareness in Stanilla's songs, from his 2017 LP/mixtape Qualia (later reissued in 2019) to a prolific 2020-2021 singles series. And while some minor details have at times been changed to protect the guilty – namely himself – an air of authenticity still permeates every note of his music. He plays all of those notes himself, on every instrument, equally inspired by the tenderness and inward turmoil of Elliott Smith, the eccentricity of synthy electro-pop, and the energy of underground bands like Chiodos, Circa Survive, and Dance Gavin Dance that influenced his early years.Find The Story Podcast here: coryrosenproductions.com/podcastsSupport this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/the-story/donations

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Light Up the Moment With Guest Greg (Rexx) Molina of A Moments Notice

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Play Episode Listen Later Apr 6, 2023 75:20

Light Up the Moment Playlist. Greg vocalist of A Moments Notice joins us to talk about new music, the show that made him fall in love with hardcore, Charlie Puth, Military, and a lot more! We have a Discord now so come hang out with us and for those who want to support the show go check out our Patreon we have some awesome perks and it'll help us out a lot. Links for both of those are in our LinkTree and on all of our socials. Make sure to follow us on all socials to keep up with interviews and playlists @VIPlaylistpod and we have a YouTube now so go subscribe to us!! Special thanks to Ghostshaft, Boo Lay, Keanu DiCaprio and FBD Media for making that amazing tune you hear at the end of the episode. Go check out their socials and jam some of their tunes on Spotify. Artists on the Light Up the Moment playlist are Living Legends, Charizma, AFI, Walls of Jericho, As Blood Runs Black, Born of Osiris, Bleeding Through, The Devil Wears Prada, Chiodos, Enter Shakari, Suffokate, A Skylit Drive, The Midnight, Charlie Puth, Anderson.Paak, Thundercat, Memoire, and Hand of Mercy. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/viplaylistpod/message

Interview with AllThePrettyThings Logan Tabor

Meet Me For Coffee

Play Episode Listen Later Mar 1, 2023 13:34

Wilmington, North Carolina-based alltheprettythings has combined musicians from bands you might know to make music you would not expect. The multitude of styles and influences that go into these songs will change the way you look at rock music. Anthemic tracks dominate their body of work. “Teenage Lines” soaring sonics and vocal urgency contrasts in some ways with the warm, familiar nature of “Careful Girls (Little Love)” but both have a signature complexity that marks the band's music. Vocalist, Logan Tabor (Mood Mechanics) assembles his lyrics using past and present thoughts from a book of phrases he has fancied over the years – some were random thoughts and some pieces of songs that would never be. In their combination, he imbues them with new, deeper meaning. The intensity of each of the songs is buoyed by his dynamic, versatile performance style. Scottish-Born, South African-raised and San Antonio, TX-based guitarist Tristan Matthew (Newlands, touring bassist for Chiodos) discerns what to contribute to a song through contemplation. The song speaks to him – tells him what it needs. His inspiration transforms the song giving it the right mix of subtlety and presence. The affable Jeremy Bryan (Alesana) on drums enthusiastically supports his bandmates' songwriting efforts. “We all seem to intuitively understand what direction the songs want to go, so we help them get there,” he says. His work ethic (collaborating while on tour) combined with his belief in the talent of Logan, Worth and Tristan moves the project forward in the most positive of directions. For Worth Weaver (producer and touring guitarist for He Is Legend, Thousand Foot Krutch), recording is more of a ‘scientific' endeavor. The alchemy that happens in his studio transforms the parts his bandmates send him and that he records, making them into a seamless whole. Worth makes it all fit – pushing out the boundaries of the songs to make room for some serious innovation. Some bass tracks were recorded by the band's original bassist, James Weaver (Worth's brother who passed in 2020) and the resulting EP will be dedicated to his memory. The four members are currently in talks with a notable bassist to carry the torch for future recordings and tours. What keeps the band inspired is their friendship and like-minded senses of humor. While recording, band members named unfinished songs after lines from their shared favorite movies. From Ace Ventura, Pet Detective to That Thing You Do!, the members grew up with so many of the same cultural references that made their way into their jokes and – more importantly - their music. For the members of alltheprettythings this journey is one of friends that are family and keeping the creative process enjoyable for them – and the listener!#interview #newmusic #newartist #heislegend #thrice #blessthefall

Movie Time! When Effects Were Special: The Wizard of Speed and Time (1988) and Killer Klowns from Outer Space (1988)

Popzara Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 27, 2023 107:07

It's Popzara's Movie Time! Podcast!, where our own movie nerds Ethan Brehm and Nate Evans take you on an unscripted journey yakking and chatting about some of their favorite movie moments and cinematic scenes, from past and present, presented without snark and snobbery for your listening pleasure. First up is The Wizard of Speed and Time, written, directed, edited, and starring special effects man Mike Jittlov in his first (and only) feature film. An expanded version of his infamous 1979 short film made for The Wonderful World of Disney episode “Major Effects”, has there ever been a film so unbelievably optimistic about the magic of special effects, yet so diabolically cynical about Hollywood? While it's nearly impossible to find a ‘legit' copy there are plenty of decent copies freely available online. Next is Killer Klowns From Outer Space, another first (and another only) directorial effort by the Chiodo Brothers, stop-motion masters whose work you've definitely seen in other movies. It's a true horror-comedy classic that's as big on spectacle as it is low on budget as the Chiodos employ every trick in the book to bring their ludicrous premise of murderous space clowns turning people into cotton candy to life, helped by one of the decade's most undeniably catchy theme songs from “The Dickies”.

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

The Infinite Skrillifiles: OWSLA Confidential

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 15, 2023 4:55

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 telli

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

[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 15, 2023 4:55

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 telli

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

Gerald’s World.

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 15, 2023 4:55

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 telli

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

The Legend of S Ū P ∆ C Я E E ™

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 15, 2023 4:55

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 telli

united states god love jesus christ music women american fear time california live money black world president success social media trust english google babies hollywood starting apple spirit man los angeles technology lost body prayer las vegas media voice future space hell running real energy land living speaking sound west kingdom building truth practice walk thinking miami happiness dj chinese gold masters christianity depression reading government teaching heart fighting turning elon musk japanese devil spanish moon dance left dc dna drive holy leaving therapy drop losing write satan darkness open mom night fake dive twitch utah shame dead alive strange gods 3d ring aliens poor started watching toxic asian memories testing code protect dragon divine mexican monster sun nazis disasters fall in love balancing run reflecting drugs attention tree lack created stuck witness planet beyonce rain alaska standing captain oprah winfrey ocean curse hurt mama enemy empathy sick childhood danger birds praying heard apologies tough boom kiss beatles forgive shoes ugly eagles protecting cops act dancing debt origins promises paradise cloud flight fasting front lights guilt nevada monsters sing driven worse panic demons wood bills tiger shit ucla hang singing shooting michael jackson believing sitting paying suck fill traditional native americans loneliness wear honestly throw passing paid pokemon gotta ninjas silent pack worlds smoke minds library gps diving curiosity judas aftermath fuel b2b intention fuck emotion waste window rock and roll betrayal amen countdown died lonely bass deeper underground grave jungle expert releasing bet ascension beating mike tyson solid hates smell kim kardashian marijuana hiding limited echo methods hanging ravens crying superstar plans leap bitch poison baptist envy greed multiverse found zen sciences rivers closed joyful paint oasis shut coast absolute purple bots sad aligning bought grass goddess judging djs rocket rape trapped mainstream glow throwing mantra sober felt walks lizzo gov quien hawks thank god edm decoding meditate shades nonsense shorts silly nah mad singles armor robin williams omg billie eilish fin lied ignite ludwig van beethoven ducks ranked lemon ruined bus yang george lucas boosting decided cousin makers alarm lala bare surf myspace martyrs thc acid shrek touring bells bro whitney houston toxicity matt damon laying closure anarchy goodnight men in black watched djing makes pit wandering cigarettes burning man blackrock i love rick and morty upside debating heavens pyramid collisions experimental burnt tsa white supremacy malibu lay imperfection tied stunning barely bag mandarin bury betrayed bleeding sala goin cries two weeks ay glitch rocking lava abandonment tasty granny laid restless cree odd learned wet unreal likeness crows hershey good friends rotten pikachu drifting attached rewind philosophical blanket yin pin clique robins diplo chicken soup lucid unmasked sticks and stones kidd whoop northern lights emp dubstep lax auntie threaten downside attracted black magic skrillex mouths of course vips live nation sleepless fins trippin edc insomniacs carbohydrates delusions manic oh god bruh one world imitate silos time capsules unreleased choking energi aw charmed white supremacists chance the rapper pressed repression eskimos sweater fast forward compression electronic music somethings stocking delighted spirit animals raves gestures watchful fetal swallowed flashing synchronicities breadcrumbs code switching rebuilt father time foxy staple truth hurts ancient egyptians admiration lunacy pave voiceless randomly panicking suess humpty dumpty save the date unsuccessful huevos killin kandi deities sparrows daw shhhh ableton grand prize cherished dillon francis epitome laced synesthesia time money droughts butters reawakening piecing rin unexplainable supa lackey chainsaws repeats effing uhhh blindly that guy flatten white lights excision news channel will you medicine man givin stifle deafening chava symphonies festival season aight whispered skyy big words coughs sunn red blue savin phone home everything everything jungle fever callous jamies uuml alternately chala where do we go bangarang tin roof in la sprites dissociative hey dude gasping inwardly hunny scary monsters translucent this guy aloft no sympathy wonderous adventure club losin lost lands rezz plain jane plur sleepin big drop xylophone female dj liquidate romantically electric daisy carnival god on inciting incident central washington bloo disintegrate blindfolds hobo johnson ous alerted windblown all seeing eye iridescence chiodos abolishment owsla taunted look at drapery blue red too deep lizzard from first to last google university josh pan matt maeson steve erwin grand delusion abbot kinney wubs phoenixx rocket summer i died christ not levitated respect it brostep ease my mind sonny moore bass canyon allison wonderland dupstep

The Greatest Song In The World: Part V (feat. The Goo Goo Dolls, Chiodos, The Hotelier, & Dave Hause)

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 6, 2023 98:59

Production note: Apologies in advance for the noticeable difference in audio quality on this episode. Mike's usual microphone was not working correctly, so he was recording on a headset. We are looking to resolve the issue so it shouldn't happen going forward. Thank you for your understanding. It's time for us to revisit the ever-growing list, The Greatest Song In The World! On this month's submissions, both Adam and Mike submit songs that stand out greatly in their respective albums and not only that, but we share two songs submitted by our listeners - one is an amazing opening track and the other an emotional closing track! Thank you for hanging out with us and allowing us the opportunity to discuss and share some amazing songs that we hope you will enjoy as well! Stay subscribed to our show and tell a friend to stay up to date on every time we submit new songs as The Greatest Song In The World! Also on the episode, we share our thoughts on albums from artists and bands like The Smashing Pumpkins, Thrice, Port Noir and Cavetown. #Cavetown #Chiodos #DaveHause #TheGooGooDolls #TheHotelier #PortNoir #TheSmashingPumpkins #Thrice ---------------------------------- Find us on social media: https://discord.gg/2jv87Wypvw https://www.twitter.com/TheSkinnyPod https://www.instagram.com/mikewearsprada mail to:theskinnywithmikeandadam@gmail.com --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/theskinnywithmikeandadam/support

song apologies production world part smashing pumpkins goo goo dolls hotelier dave hause chiodos cavetown port noir

Lesley en Bart scene het wel zitten met deze top 5

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 6, 2023 66:46

Deze week een nieuwe aflevering van KINK FAST en hierin ‘scene’ de DJ’s het wel zitten, want er komen alleen maar screamo en emocore bands in deze top 5 voorbij, dit met o.a. From First To Last, Alesana en Scary Kids, Scaring Kids. Daarnaast is er een mooi kaasblokje met nieuwe muziek van The Hearted en Bayline en hebben we nog meer nieuwe muziek van Real Friends en The Boucing Souls. Wil je KINK FAST live beluisteren op de radio, dan kan voortaan via DAB+ (blok 7D) op maandag om 16.00 en zaterdag om 17.00 op KINK DISTORTION. Playlist: 01. Fall Out Boy – Love From The Other Side02. Scary Kids, Scaring Kids – The Only Medicine 03. Chiodos – Baby, You Wouldn’t Last A Minute On The Creek 04. Real Friends – Six Feet 05. The Bouncing Souls – Ten Stories High 06. Alesana – Ambrosia 07. Armor For Sleep – The Truth About Heaven 08. The Hearted – The Devil’s Hold 09. Bayline – Ignore the Devil 10. From First To Last – Secrets Don’t Make Friends 11. Deftones – Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)

Lesley en Bart scene het wel zitten met deze top 5

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 6, 2023 66:46

Deze week een nieuwe aflevering van KINK FAST en hierin ‘scene’ de DJ’s het wel zitten, want er komen alleen maar screamo en emocore bands in deze top 5 voorbij, dit met o.a. From First To Last, Alesana en Scary Kids, Scaring Kids. Daarnaast is er een mooi kaasblokje met nieuwe muziek van The Hearted en Bayline en hebben we nog meer nieuwe muziek van Real Friends en The Boucing Souls. Wil je KINK FAST live beluisteren op de radio, dan kan voortaan via DAB+ (blok 7D) op maandag om 16.00 en zaterdag om 17.00 op KINK DISTORTION. Playlist: 01. Fall Out Boy – Love From The Other Side02. Scary Kids, Scaring Kids – The Only Medicine 03. Chiodos – Baby, You Wouldn’t Last A Minute On The Creek 04. Real Friends – Six Feet 05. The Bouncing Souls – Ten Stories High 06. Alesana – Ambrosia 07. Armor For Sleep – The Truth About Heaven 08. The Hearted – The Devil’s Hold 09. Bayline – Ignore the Devil 10. From First To Last – Secrets Don’t Make Friends 11. Deftones – Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)

Craig Owens (D.R.U.G.S.)

Talk Toomey

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 18, 2022 40:54

Craig Owens of D.R.U.G.S. joins Joshua Toomey and the Talk Toomey Podcast. Craig and Joshua discuss the latest D.R.U.G.S. record, Destroy Rebuild and the 11 year wait in between records. Craig speaks on this being a home for his heavier side and the guys go into the original lineup of the band being a bit of a Screamo Supergroup. Craig discusses his upbringing and singing in the choir at school. He then talks about not being worried about blowing out his voice with all the training he has had over the years. The guys then get into some Chiodos talk and what Craig thinks was/is the downfall of the band. Craig then talks about Emo Nite and the culture around the events. They also talk Flint Michigan and The Machine Shop. They wind down with Craig's history of working with Dr. Dre and how that came to be. Toomey asks about his favorite Chiodos song and they finish talk about Matt Cutshall and the Emo's Not Dead videos.

emo not dead flint michigan toomey machine shop chiodos emo nite craig owens joshua toomey matt cutshall talk toomey podcast

Ernest Scared Stupid

The Guys Review

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 10, 2022 67:05

Ernest Scared Stupid Welcome to The Guys Review, where we review media, products and experiences. **READ APPLE REVIEWS/Fan Mail**Mention Twitter DM group - like pinned tweet @The_GuysReviewRead emails theguysreviewpod@gmail.comTwitter Poll Ernest scared stupid ( here in sweden this movie is called Ernest töntarnas konung. To translate that into english its ernest king of the geeks/dweebs/nerds) Director: John R. Cherry IIIWriters John R. Cherry III (story) Coke Sams (story) Charles Gale (screenplay) Starring: Jim VarneyEartha KittAustin NaglerShay AstorJonas Moscartolo Released: 11 oktober 1991 Budget$9,6M ($20,875,488.99M in 2022) Gross worldwide $14,143,280M ($30,754,988.11M in 2022) Opening weekend US & Canada $4,453,132M ($9,683,469.59M in 2022) Ratings: IMDb 5.7/10 Rotten Tomatoes 17% Metacritic 38% Google Users 80% (why i give those titles and why they expand? its becaus of Game of thrones every time Daenerys (stormborn)Targaryen is represented in her scenes she gets a new title and have like 50 of them.) Here cometh thine shiny awards Sire. My Lord Tucker the Wanker second Earl of Wessex. Lord of the Furries. Heir of Lord baldy the one eyed snake wrestler. Protector of Freedom units. Step Sibling with funny feelings down stairs. Entertainer of uncles. Jailor of innocent. Spanker of innocent milk maids and stable boys. The toxic wanker. Cheif shitting doughnut. Teepee giver to the great Cornholio. THIS DON'T HAVE ANY AWARDS. I'VE TRIED TO WATCH IT. MY RATING SCORE 5/5 BEERS. First Time you saw the movie? Plot:In the late 19th century, the demonic troll Trantor transforms children into wooden dolls to feast upon their energy in Briarville, Missouri. The townsfolk capture him and seal him under an oak tree, with Phineas Worrell, one of the village elders and an ancestor of Ernest P. Worrell, establishing the seal. Trantor vengefully places a curse on the Worrell family, stating that he can only be released on the night before Halloween by a Worrell. As part of the curse, every generation of Worrells will get "dumber and dumber and dumber", until the dumbest member of the family is foolish enough to release him from his earthly prison. One hundred years later, Ernest, a sanitation worker, helps a few of his middle school friends, Kenny Binder, Elizabeth and Joey, construct a treehouse in the same tree that unknowingly contains the dormant creature, after the mayor's sons demolished their own cardboard haunted house. When Old Lady Hackmore discovers this, she angrily leaves. Following her, Ernest learns the story of Trantor and idiotically reports it to the kids. Inadvertently, Ernest releases the troll. Joey is walking home from the treehouse when he hears something rustling through the trees. Joey slowly walks and slips down in a muddy hole. Trantor grabs Joey's wrist and turns him into a wooden doll. Ernest finds Kenny's dad, Sheriff Cliff Binder, and explains the situation but Binder does not believe him. After none of the townsfolk will assist Ernest because of the upcoming Halloween party, he mounts a one-man (and one-dog) defense operation in preparation for Trantor's appearance. Meanwhile, Trantor captures a boy on a skateboard as his second victim. Tom and Bobby Tulip, hoping to exploit Ernest, sell him various fake troll traps, but one backfires on the mayor's sons and Ernest loses his job. Ernest, Kenny and Elizabeth return to Hackmore, where they learn that only "the heart of a child, and a mother's care" can defeat the troll. Later that night, Trantor claims Elizabeth as his third victim as he sneaks into her house while she is resting on her bed. While Kenny and his friend Gregg are walking, Trantor uses Elizabeth's voice to lure Kenny away, then takes Gregg as a fourth victim. Despite parents being upset at their missing children, Mayor Murdock and Sheriff Binder still proceed with a Halloween party at the school, believing the missing children will be there. Trantor appears there and takes the mayor's oldest son as his fifth and final wooden doll. In the ensuing fight between Trantor and Ernest, Trantor turns Ernest's dog Rimshot into a wooden doll before being repelled by soft-serve ice cream on Ernest's hands. Kenny realizes that "mother's care" refers to milk and rallies a troll-fighting team to destroy them. Back at the treehouse, Trantor successfully summons his army of trolls while Ernest unsuccessfully tries to stop them. The townspeople show up, only for the trolls to overwhelm and beat them up. Kenny and his friends arrive and begin destroying the trolls with milk. During the fight, Trantor escapes beneath the tree where he summons the powers of the underworld, making him invincible, especially to milk. Enraged, Kenny unsuccessfully tries to destroy Trantor, who also turns Kenny into a doll. With the other townsfolk now backing him up and telling him to douse Trantor in milk, Ernest realizes that milk weakened the troll children, while unconditional love ("the heart of a child") would weaken Trantor himself. He takes Trantor and dances with him while the mob watches, overloading him with love, and finally kisses his snot-ridden nose, causing Trantor to explode. With Trantor's destruction, Ernest is proclaimed a hero. All of the wooden dolls are restored, including those from the early 19th century, and life returns to normal. Sheriff Binder apologizes to his son for doubting him and Ernest. Ernest is happy that his dog is also back to normal. TOP 5The pizzas seen being thrown at the bullies who try to attack the kids' tree house are re-used props from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze (1991). Both movies had the same prop master, Doug White.The Chiodo Brothers are credited with special effects for this film, who also made Killer Klowns from Outer Space (1988). Look for trolls in the finale that resemble Klowns, as well as the same spinning death effect. The Chiodos actually didn't save any of the original Klown molds. Though they may have used some ears molds. John Cherry's troll designs just happened to look a lot like the Klowns. In the opening credits (specifically around the 00:01:16 mark), there is a quick flash of a random man. He is Robert Hill, Jr., one of the grips. His son was in the film as a child extra.In the original script for "Ernest Scared Stupid", the villain wasn't a troll, it was actually a haunted statue. The original script had a lot of the flavor of "Scared Stupid" though. But there were no trolls; there was one statue that came to life - it was some terrible person who came back from the dead. John Cherry and Coke Sams went to Disney with that script. They both felt that it was the best thing they've ever written and that they knew what Disney wanted. But, Disney read it and their exact response was, "What were you guys smoking when you wrote this?" They added, "We want a haunted tree house." So John and Coke dismembered anything they could salvage from the original "Scared Stupid" script and cranked it into the next one.Creature effects creator Charles Chiodo designed "Trantor" the troll using fourteen motors to operate various facial features. His teeth were fabricated from dental acrylic, his skin was "baked foam," and each eyebrow hair was inserted individually. The trolls were designed with two noses that dripped synthetic mucus, concocted from methyl cellulose, personal lubricant, and an unnamed "vegetable agent" that caused it to spoil quickly. A thicker version of the substance was used as troll saliva. **TRIPLE LINDY AWARD** **REVIEW AND RATING**TreyChris 4Stephen 4.5Tucker 4.5 TOP 5Stephen:1 Breakfast club2 T23 Sandlot4 Color out of space5 Mail order brides Chris:1. sandlots2. T23. trick r treat4. rocky horror picture show5. hubie halloween Trey:1) Boondocks Saints2) Mail Order Brides3) Tombstone4) Very bad things5) She out of my league Tucker:1. T22: Tombstone3: My Cousin Vinny4: John Wick5: Scream WHAT ARE WE DOING NEXT WEEK? Web: https://theguysreview.simplecast.com/EM: theguysreviewpod@gmail.comIG: @TheGuysReviewPodTW: @The_GuysReview - Twitter DM groupFB: https://facebook.com/TheGuysReviewPod/YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCYKXJhq9LbQ2VfR4K33kT9Q Please, Subscribe, rate and review us wherever you get your podcasts from!! Thank you,-The Guys

Bart en Lesley summer playlist

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 15, 2022 58:20

Onze KINK FAST DJ’s Bart en Lesley nemen het er even van en zijn met vakantie. Vanaf 22 augustus is er weer een reguliere aflevering van KINK FAST. Tot die tijd laten de heren je achter met een fijne playlist om de zomer door te komen. Playlist: 01. Fall Out Boy – I Slept With Someone in Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me 02. AS IT IS – ILY, HOW ARE YOU? 03. Cartel – Deep South 04. Anti-Flag – The Press Corpse 05. Senses Fail – Death By Water 06. Four Year Strong – It Must Really Suck To Be Four Year Strong Right Now 07. Boysetsfire – Rookie 08. Motion City Soundtrack – Capital H09. Alexisonfire – Reverse the Curse 10. Balance and Composure – Parachutes 11. Chiodos – There’s No Penguins In Alaska 12. Jack’s Mannequin – Dark Blue 13. Between You & Me – Twice Shy 14. Avenged Sevenfold – Afterlife 15. Milestones – Bittersweatheart 16. FEVER 333 – Made An American

Bart en Lesley summer playlist

Violence and Sunshine: A Music Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 15, 2022 58:20

Onze KINK FAST DJ’s Bart en Lesley nemen het er even van en zijn met vakantie. Vanaf 22 augustus is er weer een reguliere aflevering van KINK FAST. Tot die tijd laten de heren je achter met een fijne playlist om de zomer door te komen. Playlist: 01. Fall Out Boy – I Slept With Someone in Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me 02. AS IT IS – ILY, HOW ARE YOU? 03. Cartel – Deep South 04. Anti-Flag – The Press Corpse 05. Senses Fail – Death By Water 06. Four Year Strong – It Must Really Suck To Be Four Year Strong Right Now 07. Boysetsfire – Rookie 08. Motion City Soundtrack – Capital H09. Alexisonfire – Reverse the Curse 10. Balance and Composure – Parachutes 11. Chiodos – There’s No Penguins In Alaska 12. Jack’s Mannequin – Dark Blue 13. Between You & Me – Twice Shy 14. Avenged Sevenfold – Afterlife 15. Milestones – Bittersweatheart 16. FEVER 333 – Made An American

Metal Antics Podcast: Ep. 52 Greg Diamond

Metal Antics

Play Episode Listen Later Mar 16, 2022 65:56

The boys sit down with the man who wears a lot of hats around the music scene, Greg Diamond, to talk about Warped Tour, how booking an artist works, and filling in for Chiodos!

metal antics warped tour chiodos greg diamond

29. Chiodos, Piano Guy and Craigery from MySpace

Play Episode Listen Later Mar 13, 2022 60:35

Chiodos was an American post-hardcore band from Davison, Michigan. Fronted by scene-famous vocalist Craig Owens, the band has seen numerous lineup changes with even Owens himself kicked out in 2009 before rejoining in 2012. In 2010, Alternative Press described Chiodos' sound as frighteningly mighty with exhilarating musicianship and inspired lyrical introspection that dodges easy categorization and plays out like an evening at some glorious experimental-hardcore cabaret, topped by a nightcap at the broke-down bordello across the back alley. Follow us on Instagram and Listen to our Companion Playlist --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/violenceandsunshine/message

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The Chiodos In The Rye

Letâ€™s Go to The Library

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 28, 2022 51:54

On a cold day in Michigan in 2001 The Chiodos Brothers were formed. A couple years later the band came to their senses and dropped The and Brothers to form the post hardcore powerhouse Chiodos. We're joined by long time homie James to discuss their 4 (but really 5) album discography and share some memories along the way.

michigan brothers chiodos

Joseph Arrington: Playing with Purpose and Overcoming Adversity | Touring, Recording & Video Games

Nashville Drummers Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 23, 2022 110:38

Join us for Episode 8 of Nashville Drummers Podcast featuring none other than Joseph Arrington!In Episode 8 we talk all things drums and a lot more with Joseph Arrington. We learn of Joesph's unique upbringing and impactful stories of failure and adversity, contributing to the seasoned player, mentor and educator that he is today. We hope you enjoy.Follow Joseph on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/josephwesleyarringtonAs Mentioned in the Episode:Modern Drummer Feature - https://www.moderndrummer.com/2018/05/on-the-beat-with-joseph-arrington-of-royal-coda-keeping-it-organic/Music Featured in this Episode:Intro: Royal Coda - Numbing AgentOutro: Gold Necklace - Just the Right Way ------Connect with Nashville Drummers Podcast:InstagramFacebookWebsiteAbout Joseph:Joseph Arrington was born in the small town of Orem, UT, and pursued drums throughout high school and long into his transplant to Sacramento, CA. In California, he paired up with artists such as A Lot Like Birds, Sianvar, Royal Coda, Kurt Travis, and Love Mischief to kick out more than two dozen albums and 25 full US tours in 9 years. He has also toured internationally with acts such as Chiodos, We Came as Romans, Amity Affliction, Scary Kids Scaring Kids and more. Modern Drummer Magazine's 2017 Reader's Poll considered him in the Top 4 Progressive Drummers of the year. To this day, Joesph continues to hone his skills as a music educator, teaching on tour and remotely. He;s currently cooking up endless 4-course drum meals for a new project "Gold Necklace" as well as prepare for Royal Coda's upcoming new releases on the horizon. When Joesph isn't drumming, he enjoys martial arts, reading, a good indie video game, and cooking and enjoying Nashville hot chicken.Interview by: Dan Ainspan, Nathan SletnerRecorded February 2022 in Nashville, TN

242. I Woke Up In a Car by Something Corporate

Reminiscent

Play Episode Listen Later Sep 24, 2021 70:40

Khaki rock is back baby, and we're here for it! Andrew McMahon graces our screens with some sensible slacks, no shoes, and multiple microphones. There's not much to the video, a few dudes being dudes, hanging out in Canda on a day off from touring. They seem both exhausted and energized by the camera lenses pointed at them, and they deliver a totally fun performance and some oh-so-relatable yard game shots. Since the video itself isn't too involved, we really dive heavily into our own about hating the newspaper, journalism students quoting Wikipedia on a college essay, Tom giving a 15-minute speech on crop circles, taking piano lessons, and some tour stories that heavily relate to the lyrics of this amazing song. BONUS EPISODES AND PHOTOS ON PATREON! Links: I Woke Up In a Car Music Video Punk Rock Princess Episode I Woke Up In a Car Live Faint by Meteora Intensity In Ten Cities by Chiodos Songs of the week: Runaway Horses by The Killers A Damned Shame by Gold Bloom Hit us up online! Patreon | Twitter | Instagram | SpaceHey

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Ep. 20 - Playlist: Warped Tour '06

Nostalgia Nites

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 9, 2021 49:28

Happy summer vibes! We are talking about Warped Tour in this episode. ‘06 was our first Warped we went to together and it was definitely one to remember. So many good bands from Cartel to Chiodos to Underoath — too many to name! But this playlist has some of the best jams from that summer and we are so excited to bring you on this nostalgic heatwave with us ☀️ Check out the playlist in the link in our bio on IG @NostalgiaNites (same @ for Twitter/tiktok). Rate and review us and tell all your friends!

playlist cartel warped tour warped underoath chiodos

Ep. 4 with Thomas Erak of The Fall of Troy

Dr. Chickering's Podcast for Champions

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 2, 2021 41:12

Thomas Erak, shredder extraordinaire from The Fall of Troy, Just Like Vinyl, Chiodos, and a myriad of other bands joins the podcast to discuss how music and life has changed over the past decade. We tell each of our stories about what was once assumed to be the final Fall of Troy show and try to predict the future of live music. We also managed to toss in the following: Twitch streams Tom Brady The Myspace Era Star Wars The Zorse Industries Podcast is powered by Zorse Industries Please send love/hate to the following: Instagram: @ZorseIndustries Facebook: @ZorseIndustries Email: zorseindustries@gmail.com --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/zorse-industries/support

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216. Baby, You Wouldn't Last a Minute on the Creek by Chiodos

Reminiscent

Play Episode Listen Later Mar 26, 2021 57:49

There was no living creature as foul as Chiodos, and all of their poems were… actually Shakespeare sonnets? Anyways, we’re here talking about Chiodos and there’s a whole lot to say about it. The screaming, the stabbing, the high pitched voices, the breakdowns, and the rumors floating around our high school that their name was pronounced Chiodos and not Chiodos. Get it straight people. On the surface, the music video for Baby, You Wouldn’t Last a Minute on the Creek is kind of nonsense, but after heavily discussing the weird ubiquity of Chiodos among our hip hop friends, we got to the bottom of the meaning of it. It’s drugs, people… Zip Zop Zooey, the kids love me. BONUS EPISODES AND PHOTOS ON PATREON! Links: Baby, You Wouldn’t Last a Minute on the Creek Music Video Big Time and the Dirty Dirty T-shirts The Wordless by Cinematic Sunrise Songs of the week: BCKYRD by Hot Mulligan Losing Myself by State Champs Hit us up online! Patreon | Twitter | Instagram | SpaceHey

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(Part 2) The Fearless Family Who Gave Up Everything For The Italian Life

The Not Your Average Lives Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Mar 15, 2021 51:02

EP98: This is the Part 2 of my fun conversation with Lisa and Sam Chiodo. In this segment, we talk all about Italy and I was excited to share some of my memories of a 2012 trip to Tuscany with my husband, 2 globe-trotting friends, and my recently engaged daughter and her fiance. I must say, this was a fantastic trip down the memory lane! If you missed Part 1, check it out here: https://notyouraveragegrandma.podbean.com/e/part-1-the-fearless-family-who-gave-up-everything-for-the-italian-life/ In this second segment, it was interesting to learn more about how the couple uprooted their family and immersed themselves in a very different environment where there were massive cultural and language differences. It gives us the sense that, although we come from different places and speak different languages, we are all so similar and connected. And it also made me realize that when we hear of stories like Lisa's and Sam's, it inspires us to explore different people and cultures more. I'm not sure about you, but I'm ready for another Italian adventure!!! If you'd like to check out the paid workshop we talked about that the Chiodos have coming up, you can register here: https://www.lifemappingitaly.com/workshop/ If you're interested in booking your own Italian adventure, I highly recommend including Girosole, the company that did the self-guided walking tour I went on, as part of your research: https://www.girosole.com/tours/ There are many different tour options to choose from. You can learn more about the Chiodos and connect with them at the following sites: Website: www.renovatingitaly.com Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/renovating.italy/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/RenovatingItaly.com.au/ If you'd like to connect with me, you can find me at: Website: https://www.notyouraveragegrandma.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LaurieColvinWright/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/not_your_average_grandma/ Youtube: www.youtube.com/c/NotYourAverageGrandma

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Episode 6: Baby, You Wouldn't Last a Minute Jumping in the Lake

Har(EMO)ny Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Mar 10, 2021 43:24

Can someone tell us who Joey Pea-Pot is? This week our "Hot Topic" is about an awesome dude who jumps in Lake Michigan every day to relieve stress (and hangovers). We discuss the emo classic "Baby, You Wouldn't Last a Minute on the Creek," by Chiodos and reminisce on some Facebook memories.

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What Does A Drum Tech Do On Tour? ft. Tanner Wayne of In Flames

Don't Shit On The Bus

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 22, 2021 60:25

Tanner Wayne joins us this week to discuss everything he knows about working as a drum tech. Tanner's career path over the past 15 years has allowed him to learn both the artist and tech side of working with drums. Tanner has worked for over 15 artists as a drum tech during his career so far - some of which are Of Mice & Men, Atreyu, & Miguel. He has also played in Chiodos, Scary Kids Scaring Kids - and is currently a member of the band In Flames. In this episode of the Don't Shit On The Bus podcast we will learn: • Tanner's journey to success in the touring world • A day in the life of a drum tech on the road • The importance of knowing your stock • Tips for being a successful drum tech (0:00) Intro (3:15)Tanner gets on the bus (8:00) The importance of being a good hang (11:25) Don't be a punisher ! (13:30) How Tanner started touring (20:37) Skills needed to be a good drum tech (25:12) What's a carnet? (and some travel stories) (29:21) Daily responsibilities (36:25) Self-care on the road (40:38) Doors and downtime (47:00) Showtime and putting out fires (53:35) Break it down and load it out --- Tanner Wayne - Guest ► Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tannerwayne ► Twitter: https://www.instagram.com/tannerwayne ► Website: https://www.tannerwayne.com --- Don't Shit On The Bus Podcast ► Website: http://www.dontshitonthebus.com ► Spotify: http://bit.ly/DSotBspotify ► Apple Podcasts: http://bit.ly/DSotBapple ► Twitter: https://twitter.com/DSotBpodcast ► Instagram: https://instagram.com/DSotBpodcast ► Facebook: https://facebook.com/DSotBpodcast ►Patreon: https://patreon.com/DSotB --- Neil Westfall - Host ► Twitter: https://twitter.com/NW44 ► Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/neilwestfall44 ► Twitch: https://www.twitch.tv/neilwestfall44 Adam Elmakias - Host ► Twitter: https://twitter.com/elmakias ► Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/elmakias ► Website: https://www.adamelmakias.com ---

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What Does A Monitor Engineer Do On Tour? ft. Charlie Bybee (5 Seconds Of Summer, ONE OK ROCK, Rise Against)

Don't Shit On The Bus

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 15, 2021 70:06

Tanner Wayne joins us this week to discuss everything he knows about working as a drum tech. Tanner's career path over the past 15 years has allowed him to learn both the artist and tech side of working with drums. Tanner has worked for over 15 artists as a drum tech during his career so far - some of which are Of Mice & Men, Atreyu, & Miguel. He has also played in Chiodos, Scary Kids Scaring Kids - and is currently a member of the band In Flames. In this episode of the Don't Shit On The Bus podcast we will learn: • Tanner's journey to success in the touring world • A day in the life of a drum tech on the road • The importance of knowing your stock • Tips for being a successful drum tech (0:00) Intro (3:15)Tanner gets on the bus (8:00) The importance of being a good hang (11:25) Don't be a punisher! (13:30) How Tanner started touring (20:37) Skills needed to be a good drum tech (25:12) What's a carnet? (and some travel stories) (29:21) Daily responsibilities (36:25) Self-care on the road (40:38) Doors and downtime (47:00) Showtime and putting out fires (53:35) Break it down and load it out --- Tanner Wayne - Guest ► Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tannerwayne ► Twitter: https://www.instagram.com/tannerwayne ► Website: https://www.tannerwayne.com --- Don't Shit On The Bus Podcast ► Website: http://www.dontshitonthebus.com ► Spotify: http://bit.ly/DSotBspotify ► Apple Podcasts: http://bit.ly/DSotBapple ► Twitter: https://twitter.com/DSotBpodcast ► Instagram: https://instagram.com/DSotBpodcast ► Facebook: https://facebook.com/DSotBpodcast ►Patreon: https://patreon.com/DSotB --- Neil Westfall - Host ► Twitter: https://twitter.com/NW44 ► Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/neilwestfall44 ► Twitch: https://www.twitch.tv/neilwestfall44 Adam Elmakias - Host ► Twitter: https://twitter.com/elmakias ► Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/elmakias ► Website: https://www.adamelmakias.com --- #NeilWestfall #InFlames #TannerWayne #AdamElmakias #ADayToRemember #DontShitOnTheBus

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Last Roundup Horror Show ep.61-"Metal Boobs, Incest, Werewolf Denial & The Chiodos Brothers"

ZTOTV podcasts

Play Episode Listen Later Jan 25, 2021 81:14

On this all new episode of the Last Roundup Horror Show podcast Jon and Frank are running the show by themselves as Jason is missing in action. In his stead the guys welcome fellow #ZTOTV podcaster and cohost of "What's The Word? With Jay and Trent"/ #Henodus lead guitarist Jayson Arcos to discuss a wide variety of horror/science fiction films. Featured reviews: 1.Phantasm: Oblivion (1998)-Jon's pick 2.The Chill Factor (1993)-Frank's pick 3.An American Werewolf In London (1981)-Facebook group poll winner 4.Killer Klowns From Outer Space (1988)-Jason's pick Thank you for listening to #LRHSpod intro/outro music by: Henodus

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Ep. 155 with Thomas Erak

Dr. Chickering's Podcast for Champions

Play Episode Listen Later Jan 25, 2021 40:36

Thomas Erak, shredder extraordinaire from The Fall of Troy, Just Like Vinyl, Chiodos, and a myriad of other bands joins the podcast to discuss how music and life has changed over the past decade. We tell each of our stories about what was once assumed to be the final Fall of Troy show and try to predict the future of live music. We also managed to toss in the following: Twitch streams Tom Brady The Myspace Era Star Wars Dr. Chickering's Podcast for Champions is powered by Zorse Industries Please send love/hate to the following: Instagram: @ZorseIndustries Facebook: @ZorseIndustries Email: zorseindustries@gmail.com

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HOLIDAY BONUS: Stephen Chiodo and Cig Neutron!

The Nick Taylor Horror Show

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 29, 2020 54:18

Welcome back to the Nick Taylor Horror Show! Stephen Chiodo is an American writer, director, and special effects makeup artist and one of the legendary Chiodo Brothers. The Chiodo Brothers are a trio of special effects and stop motion artists and animators best known for their work on Team America: World Police, Critters, and Killer Klowns from Outer Space which Stephen also directed. The Chiodos also created the claymation sequences for the Large Marge scene from Pee-wee's Big Adventure, as well as the stop-motion elements in the North Pole scenes from Elf. Stephen's latest feature is Alien Xmas, an animated feature that he directed. When extraterrestrials attempt to steal Earth's gravity, only the gift-giving spirit of Christmas and a small Alien named X can save the world. Executive Produced by Jon Favreau, don't forget to check out Alien Xmas this holiday season, now streaming on Netflix. Also on today's episode is none other than the one and only Cig Neutron. Cig is no stranger to the show and like Stephen is also a special effects makeup artist, director, and creature designer. Cig has done effects work on multiple movies including Tron Legacy, Suckerpunch, and Star Trek Discovery, and was on Face/Off's season 7 then again on season 11 as one of the Face/Off allstars. Cig also hosts a podcast that I really love called Cig Neutron's Spewtron, available everywhere, and he does a pretty cool series of livestreams on Twitch where he breaks down his effects techniques so if you're not already, make sure you follow Cig Neutron on all of the social medias. We had a pretty wide-ranging conversation. Both of these guys are really fascinating and accomplished artists - we got into everything from creative processes, to practical effects and geeked out about favorite new artists, shows, and movies so get ready for recommendations. Quick note that this interview was done back in May. I hope you all enjoy this conversation with Stephen and Cig as much as I did. Here without further ado are Stephen Chiodo and Cig Neutron. Thanks for listening! Don't forget to subscribe, and follow the show on Instagram at @IMNickTaylor and on Twitter at the same handle. ----- Produced by Simpler Media

"What Could Have Been" (Chiodos: Career in Review) Episode 165

Second City Kids

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 30, 2020 101:28

Notes Movies/TV/Books Assassin’s Creed x Netflix Oscar Isaac Moonknight Halloween Kills Mandalorian is back! Sly joins the suicide squad Tom and Jerry movie Gaming Call of Duty Black Ops Cold War Cyberpunk 2077 Consoles bricking Project 007 Music news/review Chiodos A Career in Review Salem - S/T EP Review BMTH - Post Human: Survival Horror review Best consecutive album releases Social media wrap up * Twitter, periscope,snapchat tumblr Reddit @secondcitykids * Instagram: Secondcitykidsj * www.facebook.com/secondcitykids *Secondcitykids@gmail.com Subscribe and rate on iTunes, Tune In Radio, Stitcher, Spotify, Google Play and anywhere else podcast are found Secondcitykidspodcast.podbean.com

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74 - Chiodos - All's Well That Ends Well

The Vinyl Countdown

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 26, 2020 49:25

Hello, and welcome back for this very special “Thanksgiving” edition of the show! I mean, it's not really but it just so happens to be releasing on Thanksgiving so just go with it lol I will say, I'm thankful for the represses of this album this year because the OG presses are super expensive. As the title says, I'll be diving into 2005's “All's Well That Ends Well” by Chiodos!

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En Vogue With Guest Nick Moore (Before Their Eyes, Owner of InVogue Records)

in flames underoath chiodos

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 12, 2020 48:25

Today we have Nick Moore vocalist of Before Their Eyes and owner of InVogue Records. I have been a fan since I was a teen so this episode is very special to me. We talked about how Before Their Eyes was a last stitch effort, Landon Tewers, Craig Owens, what its like owning a record label and a lot more. Definitely a must listen.AnimalJam - Terrorantula is the closing song for today's episode. This is one of my favorite bands I've discovered this year. Go check them out on Facebook and Instagram and listen to them on YouTube, Spotify, and Apple Music.Support the show (https://www.buymeacoffee.com/VIPlaylistpod)

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Atreyu - (Una Historia Interminable)

Biblioteca Del Metal

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 5, 2020 63:38

La Tienda De Biblioteca Del Metal: Encontraras, Ropa, Accesorios,Decoracion, Ect... Todo Relacionado Al Podcats Biblioteca Del Metal Y Al Mundo Del Heavy Metal. Descubrela!!!!!! Ideal Para Llevarte O Regalar Productos Del Podcats De Ivoox. (Por Tiempo Limitado) https://teespring.com/es/stores/biblioteca-del-metal-1 Atreyu es una banda estadounidense de metalcore originaria del Condado de Orange, Estados Unidos. Tiene como integrantes a los guitarristas Dan Jacobs y Travis Miguel, bajista Marc McKnight y al baterista vocalista Brandon Saller. En su sitio web la banda señala que su estilo está muy influenciado por el thrash metal de los años 1980. En un principio la banda fue llamada “Retribution” y luego fue cambiada a “Atreyu” debido al nombre de uno de los personajes de la novela de Michael Ende, La historia interminable. La banda editó dos álbumes de forma independiente antes de firmar con la discográfica Victory Records. Después de firmar contrato, la banda publicó su álbum debut Suicide Notes and Butterfly Kisses (2002). Dos sencillos fueron extraídos de ese álbum, “Ain't Love Grand” y “Lip Gloss and Black” Este último se convirtió en un signo del grupo y es tocada frecuentemente al final de sus conciertos. El 29 de julio de 2004, el disco The Curse se puso a la venta y llegó al puesto No. 32. Dos sencillos fueron publicitados de ese álbum “Right Side of the Bed” y “The Crimson”. The Curse fue un disco mucho mejor trabajado que Suicide Notes and Butterfly Kisses y las letras de Varkatzas vieron una mayor madurez. El disco A Death-Grip on Yesterday fue publicado el 28 de marzo de 2006. Tiene mucho de la corriente que caracterizó a Atreyu en los álbumes previos y también posee secciones vocales diseñadas por Varkatzas, quién se opone a cantar con una técnica gutural en todas sus letras. Para agosto de 2006, dos sencillos fueron editados de A Death-Grip on Yesterday, “Ex's and Oh's”, y “The Theft”. Atreyu ha tocado en varias giras para publicitar sus álbumes. Entre éstas giras se cuenta su participación en la edición 2005 de Warped Tour, la participación en el Ozzfest el 2004 y 2005. Además, se le suma la gira Otoño 2006 titulada World Championship Tour, planeada con bandas como From First To Last, Chiodos, y Every Time I Die. Esta gira se extendió a Gran Bretaña con 36 Crazyfists, Chiodos y 3 en colaboración. El 4 de octubre de 2006 se anunció que la banda dejaba Victory Records y firmaría contrato con la productora Hollywood Records perteneciente a Disney. Su nuevo disco, Lead Sails Paper Anchor, lanzado el 28 de agosto de 2007 bajo la producción de Hollywood Records, muestra un sonido evolucionado, complicados riffs de guitarra, menos voces 'rasgadas' y dan paso a una voz mucho más melodiosa que en su disco anterior A death grip on yesterday. Alcanzó el puesto número 8 en el Billboard 200, y fueron lanzados los sencillos “Becoming The Bull” , “Doomsday” y “Falling Down”. La edición estadounidense tiene un tema extra, una versión de la canción “Epic” de la banda Faith No More mientras que en la ediciones europea y australiana el tema extra es una versión de “Clean Sheets” de The Descendents. Hicieron una gira por los Estados Unidos, en el festival Taste Of Chaos 2008, compartiendo escena con Avenged Sevenfold, Bullet for My Valentine, y BlesstheFall. También hicieron gira en Nueva Zelanda y Australia junto con Avenged Sevenfold y Bullet for My Valentine, encontrándose con una buena recepción de sus seguidores. En su blog, habían dicho que planeaban hacer otra gira por allí en algún otro momento del año. El 22 de abril de 2008, Lead Sails Paper Anchor fue relanzado con los dos temas extras antes mencionados , un DVD, y un pequeño libro digital. Este lanzamiento vino con una carátula nueva. La promoción de este CD se hizo en su página de Myspace mediante un avance. El 23 de mayo de 2008, Varkatzas tuvo que suspender dos conciertos - May Day en Indianápolis y Balloon Fest en El Paso - debido a una infección en la garganta, por ello Brandon Saller y Marc McKnight estuvieron a cargo de los vocales durante esos dos conciertos. En un blog del bajista Marc McKnight, se dijo que Atreyu había empezado a grabar su siguiente álbum en la primavera estadounidense de 2009. Su siguiente disco titulado Congregation of the Damned el cual fue grabado en Henson Studios, en Los Ángeles, California fue lanzado el 27 de octubre de 2009. Este disco tiene un contenido muy Hardcore como en el álbum Suicide Notes And Butterfly Kisses, un sonido similar pero bastante evolucionado dejando a la vista las mejoras que ha tenido la banda en aquellos tiempos; De este álbum fue lanzado el sencillo “Storm to pass”, el cual sonó en las emisoras de radio. El 1 de julio de 2014, la banda anunció oficialmente que volverían con nuevo material y, además, volver a hacer presentaciones en vivo. El 5 de septiembre de 2014, la banda lanzó un nuevo sencillo a través de su cuenta en YouTube titulada “So Others May Live”. El 29 de junio de 2015, su nuevo álbum titulado Long Live, fue anunciado para el 18 de septiembre de ese mismo año. El 17 de julio de 2015, la banda lanzó el videoclip de su siguiente sencillo, “Long Live”, a través de su canal en YouTube. El 18 de septiembre de 2015, el álbum Long Live fue publicado alcanzando, como máximo, el puesto No. 26 en el Billboard 200. El 9 de marzo de 2018, el vocalista de Avenged Sevenfold, M. Shadows, confirmó que la banda estaba trabajando en un lanzamiento, todavía sin título en aquel entonces, programado para ese mismo año, a través de un Ask Me Anything en Reddit. El 12 de octubre de 2018, lanzaron su nuevo álbum, In Our Wake. Hasta la actualidad, este disco cuenta con cuatro sencillos: “Anger Left Behind”, “In Our Wake”, “The Time Is Now” y “House Of Gold”. Estos tres últimos incluyen video musical. El 19 de julio de 2019, la banda anunció que lanzarían una edición de lujo de “In Our Wake”, el cual incluye 7 canciones adicionales. Finalmente, el 16 de agosto de 2019, lanzaron “In Our Wake (Deluxe Edition)”. El mismo cuenta con el sencillo “Generation” y su respectivo video musical. El 30 de septiembre de 2020, la banda y Alex Varkatzas anunciaron en un comunicado mediante sus redes sociales que el vocalista abandonaba el grupo. La separación ha sido definidas como amistosa.

The Death of Chiodos

Note To Scene

Play Episode Listen Later Sep 23, 2020 19:11

How Craig Owens' dynasty collapsed.

death chiodos

Drop Dead Cutie

Ya Ever Heard Of...?!

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 11, 2020 86:37

Its episode 13!! In this episode Nick and Rob discuss what music they have been listening to as well as dropping a heartfelt song from the band Whale Bones. Nick got the pleasure to discuss the record In Vogue by the band Drop Dead, Gorgeous while Rob got to listen to Death Cab For Cutie's record Narrow Stairs.

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Episode 31: Tanner Wayne

Prada Pod

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 27, 2020 69:04

We've known Tanner since opening for Chiodos back in 2007. We discuss Tanner's gigging with In Flames and tenacious drive to tech and play drums. On Warped 2009 Tanner filled in with Underoath, which was a fun story to revisit, too. Always a blast to catch up with Tawnski!All tips and donations are appreciated as we now take a summer vacation from the Prada Pod:Paypal - pradapod@tdwpband.comVenmo - PradaPodMETZIDLES Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Episode 74 - First Impressions - D.R.U.G.S. - King I Am

Vinyl Divers

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 12, 2020

On this episode of the Vinyl Divers Podcast, Anthony discusses the new single, King I Am, from the artist Craig Owens. Gaining popularity with the band, the Chiodos, a post hardcore metal band in the mid 2000’s, started a new project called, Destroy Rebuild Until God Shows, or D.R.U.G.S. in 2009. After a self titled album release and a couple of years with Warped Tour, the band hasn’t released anything until 2020. Anthony dives into the new single with this new First Impressions! Vinyl Divers Podcast theme: Stage Dive by Silent Partner On the Web: BICBP-Radio.com Facebook: Vinyl Divers Podcast Instagram: @vinyldiverspodcast Twitter: @vinyldiverspod

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Episode #56 - Touring Drummer, Tanner Wayne

The Danny Toddcast

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 15, 2020 65:29 Transcription Available

Had the pleasure of talking to my friend Tanner Wayne. Tanner has been in the music scene for over a decade and has played with bands such as; Underoath, Emmure, Chiodos and more...He is currently the drummer for the Swedish heavy metal band IN FLAMES. Make sure to check him out on Instagram @tannerwayne!

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The Bug Boys With Guest Cicadia

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Play Episode Listen Later May 17, 2020 41:08

In this episode we talk about space, the best DGD album, how Cicadia came to be, where Dylan finds the inspiration for his lyrics, and more. Make sure to go give me a follow on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram so you can keep up with the great interviews ill be releasing the next few weeks. Leave me some feedback as well I'd love to hear from you. Support the show (https://www.buymeacoffee.com/VIPlaylistpod)

Rocking in business

Business Owner Battlefield

Play Episode Listen Later Jan 7, 2020 30:36

We talked to Brad, former member of the band Chiodos. We spent the time diving into the idea of a business in being a rock band and the challenges that come with that. We went over some myths about being in a band. Even went over how to grow and what strategies that can be incorporated for someone going forward. Enjoy!

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S1E32 - Killer Klowns From Outer Space (1988)

Podcast of the Dead

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 27, 2019 88:29

It has plenty of kitsch but what it lacks in taste it makes up for in fun and execution. The premise is simple and it does exactly what it says on the tin, but Killer Klowns From Outer Space is a passion project of the Chiodos brothers and it shows. If you want a truly entertaining and goofy B horror film, there's not much better of a place to start. We honestly couldn't get through this episode without having a little fun with it so hopefully you enjoy the season finale of season 1! Thank you!

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Sci-Fi and Drums: Part 2 (with Joseph Arrington)

You're Good. Get Better.

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 11, 2019 84:04

Joseph has played drums for a ton of great bands and artists (Royal Coda, La Taiga, Kurt Travis, A Lot Like Birds, Chiodos). In part 1 of this 2 part conversation we start by talking sci-fi and move into music and life. More on Joseph: https://www.instagram.com/josephwesleyarrington https://www.patreon.com/josephwesleyarrington

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Sci-Fi and Drums: Part 1 (with Joseph Arrington)

You're Good. Get Better.

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 4, 2019 61:34

Joseph has played drums for a ton of great bands and artists (Royal Coda, La Taiga, Kurt Travis, A Lot Like Birds, Chiodos). In part 1 of this 2 part conversation we start by talking sci-fi and move into music and life. More on Joseph: https://www.instagram.com/josephwesleyarrington https://www.patreon.com/josephwesleyarrington

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Bradley Bell (Chiodos)

That One Time On Tour

Play Episode Listen Later Sep 25, 2019 77:38

Chris chats with, Bradley Bell, from the awesome band, Chiodos! IG: @sirbradleybell @chiodos http://www.equalvision.com/artists/chiodos/ Listen and subscribe at: http://jabberjawmedia.com and http://tototpodcast.com Please subscribe, rate, and review on iTunes! And follow us on all platforms: @tototpodcast Wanna help out the show? Head over to http://patreon.com/tototpodcast Leave us some love/hate, suggest a guest, or tell us your own tour story on the TOTOT Hotline: (765)372-8818 Buy some TOTOT gear: http://tee.pub/lic/tototpodcast Check out this week's sponsors: Catch & Release, The Merch Planet, Permanence Tattoo Gallery, and Merge4! For more info: -Catch & Release- http://catchreleaseofficial.bandcamp.com http://facebook.com/catchrelease01 http://instagram.com/catchandreleaseband http://twitter.com/catchrelease5 -The Merch Planet- http://themerchplanet.com (Use the promo code: TOTOT15 to save 15%) -Permanence Tattoo Gallery- 1007 Meridian St, Anderson, IN 46016 (765) 393-3334 http://facebook.com/permanencetattoogallery http://instagram.com/permanencetattoogallery -Merge 4- http://merge4.com Don't miss "Rock The Ship" brought to you by Pirates Press Records! http://piratespressrecords.com Event link: https://www.facebook.com/events/350847939200433/ Check out Chris's old band, Chronic Chaos, on Spotify! https://open.spotify.com/artist/3g21wPm2j0Z3QnFNZs1jPP Special Thanks to our Patreon Producer: Punk Rock Bob Foster ( @punkrockbobfoster ) Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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15 - Cinematic Sunrise - A Coloring Storybook and Long Playing Record

The Vinyl Countdown

Play Episode Listen Later Sep 12, 2019 17:08

On this week's episode, I will be covering an EP (don't let the name of the album confuse you) that is near and dear to my heart. The one and only release from one of Craig Owens' (of Chiodos fame) many, many side projects: Cinematic Sunrise's “A Coloring Storybook and Long Playing Record! Released in 2008, I've loved this EP since the moment I heard it and honestly, nothing has changed. So, grab your undersized band t-shirt, skinny jeans and eye liner as I go back to the emo/pop-punk wasteland that was 2008!

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04 - Flagpole Sitta (Harvey Danger/Chiodos)

Punk Goes Pod

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 22, 2019 106:09

In what is the best fourth episode yet, Sam and Emma discuss all things from the 1990s... well, two things from the 90s: American Pie, and 'Flagpole Sitta' by Harvey Danger. Sam comes to the realisation that it's okay to like other music besides metal as he and Emma discuss Chiodos' cover; while Emma questions what type of rock Sam must have been living under to have never heard 'Santa Monica' by Everclear. The duo may have even found a new love in the bonus covers section. THE ORIGINAL https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wYsMjEeEg4g Artist: Harvey Danger Album: Where Have All The Merrymakers Gone? (1997) THE COVER https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dVGXJtWP4tU Artist: Chiodos Album: Punk Goes Pop, Vol. 2 (2009) OTHER COVERS Unnamed band of children: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8vfk8j8kdgI Elohim: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HdzYPHqesDk The Composure: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=htY9OZ8LZpo The Holophonics: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKXG1MBG_j8 FURTHER LISTENING blink-182 x Lil Wayne, ‘What’s My Age Again? / A Milli’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Dpk2Hg-19Y Weezer feat. Lil Wayne, ‘Can’t Stop Partying’ (Raditude, 2009): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3OVQc7x2Zgw The Rasmus, ‘In the Shadows’ (Dead Letters, 2003): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ao2u7F_Qzg Lit, ‘My Own Worst Enemy’ (A Place in the Sun, 1999): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sc5iTNVEOAg Everclear, ‘Santa Monica’ (Sparkle and Fade, 1995): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MW6E_TNgCsY John Roderick and the Long Winters, ‘(It’s a) Departure’ (Putting the Days to Bed, 2006): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_x7sA9V3Kmk

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Trench Talk Ep 42: Do These Albums Hold Up? (w/ Chris Dahlberg)

Trench Talk: A Metal Trenches Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 5, 2019 87:28

FlightOfIcarus and Chris Dahlberg join forces once again to answer the age old question of whether old albums still hold up. More specifically, they mine through their earliest reviews to see if their words and scores still hold strong with new ears.The reviews in question:Boy Sets Fire - The Misery Index: Notes from the Plague Years:www.cosmosgaming.com/music/music-reviews/boy-sets-fire-the-misery-index-notes-from-the-plague-years/Mors Principium Est - Dawn Of The Fifth Era:https://metaltrenches.com/reviews/line-up-change-pshaw-77A Life Once Lost - Hunter"http://www.cosmosgaming.com/music/music-reviews/a-life-once-lost-hunter/Septicflesh - Titan: http://www.metalstorm.net/pub/review.php?review_id=13289Horse The Band - The Mechanical Handwww.cosmosgaming.com/music/music-reviews/horse-the-band-the-mechanical-hand/ Periphery - Juggernaut: http://www.metalstorm.net/pub/review.php?review_id=13288Korn - See You On The Other Side:http://www.cosmosgaming.com/music/music-reviews/korn-see-you-on-the-other-side/Behemoth - The Satanist: http://www.metalstorm.net/pub/review.php?review_id=13260Chiodos - All’s Well that Ends Well:www.cosmosgaming.com/music/music-reviews/chiodos-alls-well-that-ends-well/Slipknot - The Gray Chapter:http://www.metalstorm.net/pub/review.php?review_id=13022Become a Patron! https://www.patreon.com/metaltrenchesSUBSCRIBE TO OUR NEWSLETTER: http://eepurl.com/dogQCDDon't forget to SUBSCRIBE, like, comment, rate, etc. Find more over at MetalTrenches.com. Podcast also available on iTunes, BitChute, and CastBox.Connect:https://metaltrenches.comhttps://www.minds.com/metaltrencheshttps://www.facebook.com/metaltrenches/https://metaltrenches.bandcamp.com/https://twitter.com/MetalTrencheshttps://www.instagram.com/metal.trenchesPodcast Theme Song: The Hudson Horror – “What The Moon Brings”Background art thanks in part to Kim Holm: https://denungeherrholm.smugmug.com/I do not own the rights to the song clips featured on this podcast. All credit to the artists and labels with specific permission granted. Clips are for promotional purposes only in the hopes that their use will further encourage listeners to purchase the albums.Support the show (https://www.patreon.com/metaltrenches/creators)

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Episode 36 - The Perfect Concert

Topicocalypse

Play Episode Listen Later May 18, 2019 26:42

What's up fans! We have another music based episode for your hungry ears. Danial walks down memory lane, remembering his favorite concert headlined by the Dropkick Murphys. He tells us about some of his other favorite concert experiences, one of them being Avenged Sevenfold, and then asks us what our dream concert would be? And who would we schedule for Coachella? This begins a long, hilarious talk about mosh pitting, concert venues, and a debate about whether or not EDM sounds like Transformers having sex. We also talk about Justin trying to steal the lead singer of Bless the Fall's shoe when he was crowd surfing. Bands mentioned include AC/DC, DJ, Snake, From First to Last, Skrillex, Metallica, Motley Crue, Chiodos, Chevelle, Bless the Fall, Rage Against the Machine, Kid Rock, Fred Durst, Guns and Roses, Faith No More, Motorhead, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Rolling Stones, The Who, Pearl Jam, The Deftones, My Chemical Romance, Thrice, and The Used and many others. As always, you can find our podcast and our many great back episodes on podbean, iTunes, podcasts.com, Google Play, Stitcher, Apple Podcasts and other great podcasting outlets around the world. We're also on social media at Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. If you have any questions or want us to read your email on the show, you can reach us at topicocalypse@gmail.com. We hope you enjoy! --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

OH YES! - Episode 9 (Nick Martin of Sleeping with Sirens)

OH YES! A Podcast by Breathe Carolina

Play Episode Listen Later May 14, 2019 57:08

On this episode of the “OH YES! PODCAST” we have one of the best dudes in the music business, Nick Martin from Sleeping With Sirens. We chat about how he went from screaming in a hardcore band, to being a guitar tech, to being in a supergroup with members of Chiodos, Story Of The Year and From First To Last, to quitting music to make merch for bands, and to finding his way back to the stage. Make sure and hit the 5 Star Rating and leave a review and SUBSCRIBE! --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/breathecarolina/support

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BadXChannels - check out Craig Owens (Chiodos) new solo project

MUSICS THE HANG UP - FUTURE FUNK & VAPORWAVE NEWS

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 31, 2018 23:53

Craig Owens new solo project BadXChannels motivated me to finally start this podcast. In this episode, we'll be looking at his new music, a few songs and how they have affected me.Full Episode Blog Post: S01E01: BADXCHANNELS – CHECK OUT CRAIG OWENS (CHIODOS) NEW SOLO PROJECTJoin us online:Website: http://musicsthehangup.comTwitter - https://twitter.com/MusicsTheHangUpInstagram - https://www.instagram.com/musicsthehangup/Support the show (https://www.patreon.com/musicsthehangup)

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All-Access #2: Craig Owens (Chiodos/DRUGS/badxchannels)

All Access

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 3, 2018 28:52

ORIGINAL AIR DATE: EARLY 2018 Listen to our conversation with Craig Owens of Chiodos fame and what he has been up to with his new project badxchannels

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EP83 - Sean Thriller Smith - Part II Turbo - Sean Vs. Wild Podcast

Sean Vs. Wild

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 26, 2018 58:55

Greetings Wildlings! Zack and Sean are back for the "THRILLING" sequel to last week's in depth conversation. This week, the dynamic duo focus on Sean's podcast career - what inspired him to start his brand, to which podcasts he is listening, how a single compliment changed his career path, growing up fat, receiving advice from Craig Owens of Chiodos, inside tips on getting guests, Jennifer Lawrence being Sean's dream guest, and phonies smoking cigarettes. Later in the show, Zack finds out what Sean is watching on TV and in the cinema, and the two reflect on awkward movies they rented as kids. Find out more than you ever wanted to know about your loyal host, it's this week's episode of the Sean Vs. Wild Podcast! Zack's Links: http://www.lighttreasons.com http://www.flyingaxes.com http://www.herelancer.com Sean's Links: Site - http://www.seanvswild.com Itunes - https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/sean-vs.-wild/id1192530869 Spotify - https://open.spotify.com/show/6mOBU5U1RW679W3lVgRV21 Android - http://www.subscribeonandroid.com/seanvswild.com/rss Google Play - https://play.google.com/music/m/Iqdwyk4q6aqnzzqffdeoql2n7kq?t=Sean_Vs_Wild iHeartRadio: https://www.iheart.com/show/263-sean-vs-wild/ Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/seanvswild Instagram - @SeanVsWildPodcast Twitter - @SeanVsWild TuneIn - http://tunein.com/radio/Sean-Vs-Wild-p1009380/ Audible - http://www.audibletrial.com/seanvswild Today's podcast is sponsored by AUDIBLE. Audible is extending a 30 day free trial to the listeners of the Sean Vs. Wild podcast! Simply go to http://www.audibletrial.com/seanvswild , Sign up for your free 30 day trial, and then choose an audiobook from over 180,000 in their catalog. And when you do, the fine folks at Audible help me out with a little something to help keep the lights on in the Smithsonian. That's it. Quick. Simple. Now go enjoy your book! Today's podcast is brought to you by AUDIOPHILE INK. You're going to want to use AUDIOPHILE INK for all your screenprinting needs. Shirts, hats, sweatshirts, hoodies, track shorts, underoos, Audiophile Ink can print em all. Audiophile Ink is located in the heart of Louisville, KY. and ships to all 50 states. So whether you're in my neck of the woods, or you're across the country, Audiophile Ink has you covered. High Quality, Competitive Prices, printed on the brands you want, you're not going to find a better deal than Audiophile Ink! Check it out at http://www.audiophileink.com

SHAWNA KENNEY & RICH DOLINGER DISCUSS THEIR BOOK LIVE AT THE SAFARI CLUB WITH MIKE GITTER AND HIS BOOK XXX FANZINE

Skylight Books Author Reading Series

Play Episode Listen Later May 31, 2018 41:03

Live at the Safari Club: A People’s History of HarDCore is the uncensored oral history of a notorious underground punk venue in the nation’s capital, told by the very bands, fans, zinesters, promoters, graffiti artists, scenesters, senators’ kids and activists who made it happen. From 1988 to 1997, the Safari Club was Washington, DC’s version of New York’s iconic CBGBs. An Ethiopian restaurant by day turned-Go-Go club-on-Saturday nights, this windowless dive deep in the heart of the city then known as the “murder capital of the world” transformed into an all-ages venue every Sunday afternoon. New York bands Sick of it All, Murphy’s Law, Bold, Earth Crisis and Gorilla Biscuits played their first DC shows on the Safari’s tiny mirrored stage. Southern California’s Chain of Strength, Insted, and Strife all breezed through at least once, while local legends Ignition, Kingface, Swiz, Battery, Damnation A.D. and Government Issue screamed for change. Live at the Safari Club allows the scene to tell its own tales—the broken arms, bruised egos, back-stabbings, riots, rip-offs, fights, lifelong friendships and love stories revolving around the music. Shawna Kenney authored the award-winning memoir I Was a Teenage Dominatrix(Last Gasp), edited the anthology Book Lovers (Seal Press) and co-wroteImposters (Mark Batty Publishers). She contributed to the book 9:30: A Time and Place as well as Spoke: Images and Stories from the 1980s Washington, DC Punk Scene (Akashic Books). Her freelance work has appeared in The New York Times, Ms., Bust, Vice, Narratively, Alternative Press, Creative Nonfiction, and more. Rich Dolinger has played in bands and has been involved in the hardcore scene since the late 80s. He’s dabbled in photography, music journalism, graphic design and film editing. His photography and articles have appeared in Spin Magazine, AP, Highwire Daze and While You Were Sleeping. He owns the Los Angeles-based contracting company Straight Edge Tile. Photo by Kym Ghee For well over three decades now, Mike Gitter has been responsible for hurting your ears. When xXx¨Fanzine released its twentieth and final issue in 1988, he focused on a career in music journalism as a contributing editor to Rip and Tower Records Pulse while freelancing for the likes of Thrasher, Kerrang!, Spin and Rolling Stone (amongst others). A move to New York City in 1989 eventually found him transitioning into the A&R departments of various record labels including Atlantic, Roadrunner, Century Media and Razor & Tie. Some of his more notable signings include Jawbox and Bad Religion for Atlantic, Killswitch Engage and Megadeth for Roadrunner; HIM and Chiodos for Razor & Tie as well as The Shrine and Ignite at Century Media. He’s also worked in music merchandising and artist management. Mike currently lives and works in Los Angeles, CA Event date: Tuesday, September 5, 2017 - 7:30pm

8 - Vocal Parts, Harmony Arts and a Few Incredibly Short Audio Clips

Joyous Eclectic

Play Episode Listen Later May 23, 2018 108:25

In Episode 8 we delve into some of our favourite vocal parts and harmonies in songs. Matt also challenges Parker and Chad to a '3, 2, 1' game - see if you can beat those two dinguses at it! Did you have any thoughts? Comments? Please send them to us at joyouseclectic@gmail.com! Social Media: https://www.instagram.com/joyouseclectic/ | https://www.facebook.com/joyouseclectic/ | https://twitter.com/joyouseclectic Promotion: Check out Out of the Dust by visiting http://www.outofthedustmusic.com/ or following them on social media at @theoutofthedust Songs Used Chad's Songs: "The Last Stage of Consumption" by lowercase noises, "All Nereids Beware" by Chiodos, "Metal Boy" by Lo Beggar, "Woods" by Bon Iver, "I've Got Friends" by Manchester Orchestra Matt's Songs: "Familiarity" by Punch Brothers, "Lysergic Bliss" by of Montreal, "715 - Creeks" by Bon Iver, "White Winter Hymnal" by Fleet Foxes Parker's Songs: "Dogs" by Damien Rice, "Should You Return" by Copeland, "Fearless" by In the Midst of Lions, "Here and Heaven" from The Goat Rodeo Sessions, "Homesick" by Kings of Convenience Listener Submissions: "Something" by Layla Hathaway & Snarky Puppy (submitted by Rob Hudson) Game Clips: (Listen before you spoil the answers for yourself! Now that you've been warned...) "Barbie Girl" by Aqua, "Here It Goes Again" by OK Go, "Piano Man" by Billy Joel, "Back in Black" by AC/DC All intros/bumpers/outros written and recorded by hosts. Check out our 'sister' podcast "Two Bros Driving" here: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/two-bros-driving/id1349804668?mt=2 or follow their social media @twobrosdriving

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Episode 36 - The Perfect Concert

Topicocalypse

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 16, 2018 26:02

What's up fans! We have another music based episode for your hungry ears. Danial walks down memory lane, remembering his favorite concert headlined by the Dropkick Murphys. He tells us about some of his other favorite concert experiences, one of them being Avenged Sevenfold, and then asks us what our dream concert would be? And who would we schedule for Coachella? This begins a long, hilarious talk about mosh pitting, concert venues, and a debate about whether or not EDM sounds like Transformers having sex. We also talk about Justin trying to steal the lead singer of Bless the Fall's shoe when he was crowd surfing. Bands mentioned include AC/DC, DJ, Snake, From First to Last, Skrillex, Metallica, Motley Crue, Chiodos, Chevelle, Bless the Fall, Rage Against the Machine, Kid Rock, Fred Durst, Guns and Roses, Faith No More, Motorhead, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Rolling Stones, The Who, Pearl Jam, The Deftones, My Chemical Romance, Thrice, and The Used and many others. As always, you can find our podcast and our many great back episodes on podbean, iTunes, podcasts.com, Google Play, Stitcher, Apple Podcasts and other great podcasting outlets around the world. We're also on social media at Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. If you have any questions or want us to read your email on the show, you can reach us at topicocalypse@gmail.com. We hope you enjoy!

69. Craig Owens (BadxChannels/Chiodos)

BREWtally Speaking Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Mar 4, 2018 77:49

Craig Owens is my guest this week. Craig and I chat about his newer project, BadxChannels, and how it came to be. We talk about how BxC has evolved from the WHYFDML ep to some of the newer songs Craig has put out, and how he's been crafting a way to marry the two styles together. We also get into his curated soundcloud playlist of artists that he likes, and how the music industry has changed thanks to platforms like soundcloud and Craig's ability to be a musical chameleon. Intro Music: "Ambition" and " Chin Ups" by Chae Hawk Outro Music: "Don't Come and See Me" by BadxChannels Links: Facebook: @badxchannels, @moshpitnation, @jonsuntitledpodcast Instagram: @badxchannels, @mospitnation, @jonsuntitledpodcast Twitter: @craigowens, @moshpitnation, @jonsuntitledpod Snapchat: @craigblowens Soundcloud: @badxchannels Email: jonsuntitledpod@gmail.com Website: Moshpitnation.com

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Episode 27: Killer Klowns From Outer Space

Bourbon & Blood

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 2, 2017 35:26

On this episode we dive into our choices for holiday pie, Bozo the clown, and this amazingly wacky movie by the Chiodos brothers.

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078 Casey Bates (Portugal The Man, Pierce The Veil, Chiodos)

Noise Creators Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 3, 2017 78:17

In this episode I do a second round of all new questions with Casey Bates who you may know from his excellent work with Portugal The Man, Pierce The Veil, Chiodos, MxPx and many more! Go To NoiseCreators To Get To Know The Producers Behind Your Favorite Records: NoiseCreators.com Hosted by Jesse Cannon: jessecannon.com Show Notes: http://bit.ly/1m8hoBG Subscribe on iTunes: http://apple.co/1Yluk3v and review us there! Overcast.FM http://bit.ly/1I9OPhE and recommend us there! Noise Creators on Twitter: @noisecreators Jesse Cannon on Twitter: @jessecannon

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Best Friends with Sam Pura - Episode 3 - Thomas Pridgen (The Mars Volta, Chiodos, Trash Talk)

Best Friends with Sam Pura

Play Episode Listen Later Mar 6, 2017 108:58

Best Friends with Sam Pura - Episode 3 - Thomas Pridgen (The Mars Volta, Chiodos, Trash Talk) In this episode: I interview Thomas Pridgen, drummer / touring musician / session drummer for countless projects including The Mars Volta, Giraffe Tongue Orchestra, Chiodos, Trash Talk, Suicidal Tendencies, and many more. Thomas shares his experiences of being a touring musician along with his history and upbringing. On this episode's "Hot or Shot" segment, I talk about the Grammys, Oscars, Original content, and share a personal experience about existing financially in the creative world. Thanks for being my Best Friend! I hope you enjoy. Cheers! You can download, subscribe, and donate to my podcast here: Spotify, iTunes, PodBean Podcast Artwork by Tyler Way // Contact: Tylerway21@gmail.com Connect with Thomas Pridgen, Sam Pura & The Panda Studios:https://www.thepandastudios.comIG: @sampura / @thepandastudiosFB: facebook.com/thepandastudiosTwitter: @sampura / @thepandastudiosAll Inquiries Please Email: Sam@thepandastudios.com Episode 3 Theme Song Hot or Shot Theme Song Sam Pura - Episode 3 - Spotify Playlist Thomas Pridgen Wikipedia

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Craig Owens (Chiodos, BadXChannels, D.R.U.G.S., Bea5t)

Lead Singer Syndrome with Shane Told

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 20, 2016 72:45

Episode 54 - Craig Owens joins Shane this week to talk about his "roller coaster" career as the singer of Chiodos, supergroup D.R.U.G.S, and now his new project BadXChannels. Craig openly discusses his role as the "heel" of the scene, his departure and rejoining of Chiodos, the collapse of D.R.U.G.S, his polarizing personality, and what is was like to collaborate with Dr. Dre. Go Blue! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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36 | Killer Klowns from Outer Space-Stephen Chiodo

The Odd Podcast with Joe Parisi

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 15, 2016 50:53

Killer Klowns from Outer Space is a fantastic cult classic sci-fi horror comedy from 1988 written and directed by the Chiodo Brothers. The Chiodo brothers are these 3 brothers who grew up making films in their basement for fun and now work in the Hollywood special effects industry. They do it all...puppets, creatures, stop motion and more! They created and operated the Critters in the movie Critters (1986) and it's sequels, they did the stop motion in the famous Large Marge scene in Pee Wee's Big Adventure and they created all of the mouse dioramas in the 2010 comedy Dinner for Schmucks. That's just the tip of the iceberg with the Chiodos. Stephen Chiodo is my guest on this episode to talk all about Killer Klowns from Outer Space, his career in the special effects industry and more! A great peek behind the curtain into the film industry. Thanks for listening! Follow The Odd Podcast- www.facebook.com/oddpodcast www.twitter.com/odd_podcast Email: theoddpodcast@gmail.com Get your Odd Podcast T-Shirt- www.oddpodcast.spreadshirt.com

002 Casey Bates (Portugal the Man, Chiodos)

Noise Creators Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 17, 2015 91:25

Our first producer guest is Casey Bates and you're in luck since he's a fantastic interview and super awesome dude! Casey Bates lives in Seattle and has worked with some of your favorite bands including Portugal The Man, Chiodos, Pierce The Veil, Memphis May Fire, Gatsbys American Dream, He Is We, Foxy Shazam, MxPx, This Providence and Forgive Durden. Go To NoiseCreators To Get To Know The Producers Behind Your Favorite Records: NoiseCreators.com Show Notes: http://bit.ly/1m8hoBG Subscribe on iTunes: http://apple.co/1Yluk3v and review us there! Overcast.FM http://bit.ly/1I9OPhE and recommend us there! Noise Creators on Twitter: @noisecreators Jesse Cannon on Twitter: @jessecannon

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Bradley Bell from Chiodos

Everblack : Metal Podcast's tracks

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 25, 2014 9:40

Guest : Bradley Bell from ChiodosRABID NOISE on Rabbit Radio : Metal, Rock and Everything noisy from Australia and around the world!Listen to Rabid Noise at www.rabbitradio.com.au live every wednesday night 9-11:30PMHosted by Nev PearceProudly supported by RW PROMOTION : www.rwpromotion.com.auCONTACT: rabidnoiseradio@hotmail.comRABBIT RADIO : GOLD COAST'S FIRST INDEPENDENT PROGRESSIVE RADIO STATION - Connecting the thriving cultural community of the Gold Coast via a cross platform media outlet!!listen live at rabbitradio.com.auDownload the Rabbit Radio app free or tune in with shoutcast

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Bradley Bell from Chiodos

Everblack : Metal Podcast's tracks

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 24, 2014 9:40

Guest : Bradley Bell from ChiodosRABID NOISE on Rabbit Radio : Metal, Rock and Everything noisy from Australia and around the world!Listen to Rabid Noise at www.rabbitradio.com.au live every wednesday night 9-11:30PMHosted by Nev PearceProudly supported by RW PROMOTION : www.rwpromotion.com.auCONTACT: rabidnoiseradio@hotmail.comRABBIT RADIO : GOLD COAST'S FIRST INDEPENDENT PROGRESSIVE RADIO STATION - Connecting the thriving cultural community of the Gold Coast via a cross platform media outlet!!listen live at rabbitradio.com.auDownload the Rabbit Radio app free or tune in with shoutcast

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WMSC 042514 CD 2 Chiodos Interview

Japan Nick's Rock and Metal Pandemonium

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 14, 2014 44:26

Friday April 25th 2014 CD2 Japan Nick’s Rock and Metal Pandemonium Rattlehead Live a Lie from the Blackout Brigade Hatchet- Screams of the Night from Dawn of the End The Mentors- Get Up and Die from Sex Drugs and Rock N Roll Rattlehead- My Sweet Sally from the Blackout Brigade Craig Owens Chidos Interview Chiodos Duct Tape

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The Daniel Day Lewis of Porn

flight porn daniel day lewis cee lo green conchords anna lee chiodos emarosa jonny craig

Play Episode Listen Later Sep 8, 2014 66:14

This week, we're joined by a very special guest and someone who's work we're huge fans of! Please welcome to our show – hopefully not for the last time – rising adult film star, Anna Lee!Before she arrived to the recording studio, we also discussed Cee Lo Green's ignorant rabbling on Twitter, the rumors circling around regarding a possible return of the Flight of the Conchords, and also the sudden member lineup changes in Chiodos.And at the end of the episode, Adam reviews records from Jonny Craig, Emarosa, The Color Morale and frnkiero and the cellabration. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/theskinnywithmikeandadam/support

Crowd Surf Across America Fan Questions Special

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Play Episode Listen Later Aug 4, 2014 37:08

Over the weekend, Adam and Mike attended the Crowd Surf Across America Tour at the Glasshouse in Pomona, CA. Before the show, we decided to take the show to the public and talk to the fans of the bands Chiodos, blessthefall, I Killed the Prom Queen, and Capture the Crown what their thoughts were going into the show and who they were most excited to see. We got some unique perspectives as well as some dedicated fans to speak their minds, so we hope you'll enjoy this special episode this week! --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/theskinnywithmikeandadam/support

Macho Grande 121 Sonisphere 2014

Macho Grande Podcast, rock, Metal Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 22, 2014

Our Sonisphere 2014 special. Featuring all the coverage of the festival with interviews from Tesseract, 65daysofstatic, the safety fire, raging speed horn, silverstein, bleed from within, Centiment and Kerbdog. Plus music from Yashin and Chiodos. contact us - info@machograndepodcast.co.uk Twitter - @machogranderock merch - http://www.machogrande.bigcartel.com/ 'This podcast is intended for promotional purposes only' Macho Grande Podcast' does not claim to own copyright etc, all copyright is respected to the artists and labels.

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Devil by Chiodos Review