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The ancient pterodactyl, the legendary thunderbird, the cryptid known as the Mothman: could they all be one and the same?Darkness Syndicate members get the ad-free version. https://weirddarkness.com/syndicateInfo on the next LIVE SCREAM event. https://weirddarkness.com/LiveScreamInfo on the next WEIRDO WATCH PARTY event. https://weirddarkness.com/TVIN THIS EPISODE: It's first sighting was described as “half man and half beast, standing about five feet six inches, with a tall pointed head. Whatever it was that he had seen, he was convinced that it was neither a bear nor a monkey.” We take a look at the mysterious creature, the Yeti. (Taking a Look At the Yeti Phenomenon) *** On May 16, 1929, Al Capone was arrested in Philadelphia on gun-carrying charges – but it was a put-up job that unfortunately led to a year in prison and Capone's first encounters with the ghost that he believed haunted him to the grave! (Al Capone and the Ghost of Jimmy Clark) *** Seeing an intruder while in the shower may sound cliché for the movies – but not so much when it happens to you. (Those Strange Fingertips) *** Multiple women have disappeared without a trace from what has become known as Ireland's ‘vanishing triangle'. Their fates still remain a mystery. (The Ireland Vanishings) *** When you see something out of the corner of your eye, simply to turn and not see anything there… is it your imagination, or is something else at work? (From Work to Home) *** The ancient pterodactyl, the legendary thunderbird, the cryptid known as the Mothman: could they all be one and the same? (Is Mothman a Shapeshifter)CHAPTERS & TIME STAMPS (All Times Approximate)…00:00:00.000 = Disclaimer and Cold Open00:01:14.654 = Show Intro00:03:46.764 = Is Mothman a Shapeshifter?00:07:50.436 = The Ireland Vanishings00:11:20.704 = From Work To Home00:16:59.690 = Al Capone and the Ghost of Jimmy Clark00:26:28.279 = Those strange Fingertips (From a Weird Darkness listener)00:29:15.460 = The Yeti Phenomenon00:36:00.136 = Show CloseSOURCES AND REFERENCES FROM THE EPISODE…“Is Mothman a Shapeshifter?” by Nick Redfern for Mysterious Universe: http://bit.ly/2m1A4bV“Al Capone and the Ghost of Jimmy Clark” by Troy Taylor: http://bit.ly/2kbVGC0“Those Strange Fingertips” by Kristine J., submitted at WeirdDarkness.com“The Ireland Vanishings” posted at The Line Up: http://bit.ly/2lGfaiu“From Work to Home” by Thor220 at YourGhostStories.com: http://bit.ly/2m45wX2“Taking a Look at the Yeti Phenomenon” by Nick Redfern for Mysterious Universe: http://bit.ly/2kBC5LGWeird Darkness theme by Alibi Music Library. = = = = =(Over time links seen above may become invalid, disappear, or have different content. I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use whenever possible. If I somehow overlooked doing so for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I will rectify it in these show notes immediately. Some links included above may benefit me financially through qualifying purchases.)= = = = ="I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46= = = = =WeirdDarkness® is a registered trademark. Copyright ©2024, Weird Darkness.= = = = =Originally aired: June 26, 2021SOURCES PAGE: https://weirddarkness.com/ShapeShiftingMothman
Do you find yourself trapped in a "one-day" mindset? Maybe you think, "One day, I'll be out of debt," "One day, I'll have enough," or "One day, I'll finally relax." We often tie our contentment to future circumstances, yet the Apostle Paul shows us a different way—contentment in the here and now.Paul, who experienced both wealth and poverty, wrote in Philippians 4:11-13 about the secret to contentment:“I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content... I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”Paul's contentment wasn't based on his circumstances but on his relationship with Jesus Christ. Whether he faced abundance or need, his joy remained unshaken because it was rooted in something eternal.Contentment Is LearnedContentment doesn't happen overnight. As Paul emphasized, it's a learned behavior. By shifting our focus from earthly circumstances to God, we begin to see that no amount of money, success, or possessions will ever satisfy us. Only a deep relationship with Jesus can fill the longing in our souls.Hebrews 13:5 reminds us:“Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for he has said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you.'”The Role of GratitudeGratitude plays a crucial role in fostering contentment. Recognizing what God has already done for us transforms our perspective. As Dr. Art Rainer says, “When you realize that you're entitled to nothing, you become thankful for everything.”If you're struggling to feel content, practicing intentional gratitude can shift your mindset from scarcity to abundance.Five Steps to Cultivate ContentmentHere are five practical steps to help you experience lasting contentment:Make Gratitude a Daily Habit: Begin each day by listing three things you're grateful for. This simple practice shifts your focus to what you already have.Bring Your Needs to God: Share your needs (not wants) with God. Approach Him with a thankful heart, trusting in His faithful provision.Find Contentment in Christ: Reflect on Philippians 4:11-13. Meditate on the sufficiency of Christ in meeting your deepest needs.Appreciate the Present: Pause and savor the blessings around you. Stop striving for more and find joy in the moment.Practice Generosity: Generosity turns gratitude into action. Giving to others reminds you of your own blessings and brings joy through sharing.Contentment isn't found in “one day.” It's found today in the sufficiency of Christ, a heart of gratitude, and the joy of giving.A Resource for Finding PeaceIf financial fear or anxiety is stealing your peace this season, consider our 21-day devotional, Look At the Sparrows. This resource offers biblical guidance to help you find peace and contentment, no matter your circumstances.You can get your copy by visiting FaithFi.com/give with a gift of $25 or more. Your support not only equips you with this valuable devotional but also helps keep this ministry thriving so that others may see God as their ultimate treasure. On Today's Program, Rob Answers Listener Questions:I'm divorced after 30 years. Do I still have any retirement or death benefits from my ex-spouse, or is everything over after the divorce?I have a $20,000 car loan and some investments. Would paying off the car loan by withdrawing from my IRAs be a good idea?My dad has a HELOC with an interest rate of 9.49%. We want to get rid of it, and we'd like to know if a zero-interest credit card is a good option to do this. Is there another option you'd suggest?We recently sold our house and have around $350,000 in a bank that earns practically nothing. My husband is suspicious of moving it into a high-yield savings account because it's not a brick-and-mortar bank. Are there any concerns we should be aware of? If not, how can we go about finding a good bank online?My wife and I are senior citizens, and we recently gained custody of our 10-year-old granddaughter. Her father passed away, and her mother is not in her life. We want some direction and understanding regarding setting up a trust for her for later in life. We're obviously brand new at parenting again, so any advice you have would be appreciated.Resources Mentioned:Christian Community Credit Union (CCCU)Look At The Sparrows: A 21-Day Devotional on Financial Fear and AnxietyRich Toward God: A Study on the Parable of the Rich FoolFind a Certified Kingdom Advisor (CKA) or Certified Christian Financial Counselor (CertCFC)FaithFi App Remember, you can call in to ask your questions most days at (800) 525-7000. Faith & Finance is also available on the Moody Radio Network and American Family Radio. Visit our website at FaithFi.com where you can join the FaithFi Community and give as we expand our outreach.
Ignite Digital Marketing Podcast | Marketing Growth Tips | Alex Membrillo
This week, Cardinal CEO, Alex Membrillo, and Hasan Ramusevic, CEO of Hasan + Shumaker explore the intricacies of selecting the right agency for healthcare marketers, highlighting the importance of thorough research and recognizing the unique value specialist healthcare agencies provide. Learn how these healthcare specific marketing agencies offer a deeper understanding of industry regulations and patient acquisition strategies, ultimately boosting your marketing efforts. If you're looking to improve your selection process and build stronger, more collaborative relationships with your marketing agency, this conversation will give you the insights and strategies to make more informed decisions that drive long-term success. RELATED RESOURCES Connect with Hasan - https://www.linkedin.com/in/hasan-ramusevic/ How Our Agency Maintains Exclusivity in Competitive Healthcare Markets - https://www.cardinaldigitalmarketing.com/healthcare-resources/blog/maintaining-exclusivity-in-competitive-healthcare-markets/ How to Create an RFP That Finds You the Ideal Marketing Agency - https://www.cardinaldigitalmarketing.com/healthcare-resources/blog/how-to-create-an-rfp-that-finds-you-the-ideal-marketing-agency/ Is Your Digital Marketing Agency Underperforming? 5 Things to Look At - https://www.cardinaldigitalmarketing.com/healthcare-resources/blog/evaluating-digital-marketing-agency-performance/
On episode 166 of Talking Tacos the boys sidestep porn bans, specifically Bill in North Carolina. Like…wtf is going on? This is America and we like our porn. Hands off you shitty little politicians. Speaking of politicians, did you know that Prohibition created the police state that we currently live in? Fun times. Also, ANOTHER idiot billionaire is taking ANOTHER metal balloon to the depths of the ocean to LOOK AT the fucking Titanic. Bro, watch the movie and the Discovery Channel. Godspeed. We have an everything-bagel-flavored hot sauce and a bunch of other stuff to talk about.
adminIntro Tony's Trip to Spain Quoridor Pac-Man Ancient Knowledge Back to Spain Game Toppers LLC Draftosaurus Iron, Blood, Snow & Mud Portal Games Look at the Stars Miniature Market Time […] The post RDTN Episode 319: Draftosaurus, Look At the Stars, Time Division, and Iron, Blood, Snow & Mud first appeared on Rolling Dice & Taking Names.
The ancient pterodactyl, the legendary thunderbird, the cryptid known as the Mothman: could they all be one and the same? (Is Mothman a Shapeshifter) *** It's first sighting was described as “half man and half beast, standing about five feet six inches, with a tall pointed head. Whatever it was that he had seen, he was convinced that it was neither a bear nor a monkey.” We take a look at the mysterious creature, the Yeti. (Taking a Look At the Yeti Phenomenon) *** On May 16, 1929, Al Capone was arrested in Philadelphia on gun-carrying charges – but it was a put-up job that unfortunately led to a year in prison and Capone's first encounters with the ghost that he believed haunted him to the grave! (Al Capone and the Ghost of Jimmy Clark) *** Seeing an intruder while in the shower may sound cliché for the movies – but not so much when it happens to you. (Those Strange Fingertips) *** Multiple women have disappeared without a trace from what has become known as Ireland's ‘vanishing triangle'. Their fates still remain a mystery. (The Ireland Vanishings) *** When you see something out of the corner of your eye, simply to turn and not see anything there… is it your imagination, or is something else at work? (From Work to Home) SOURCES AND REFERENCES FROM THE EPISODE…“Is Mothman a Shapeshifter?” by Nick Redfern for Mysterious Universe: http://bit.ly/2m1A4bV“Al Capone and the Ghost of Jimmy Clark” by Troy Taylor: http://bit.ly/2kbVGC0“Those Strange Fingertips” by Kristine J., submitted at WeirdDarkness.com“The Ireland Vanishings” posted at The Line Up: http://bit.ly/2lGfaiu“From Work to Home” by Thor220 at YourGhostStories.com: http://bit.ly/2m45wX2“Taking a Look at the Yeti Phenomenon” by Nick Redfern for Mysterious Universe: http://bit.ly/2kBC5LG= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =Weird Darkness theme by Alibi Music Library. Background music provided by Alibi Music Library, EpidemicSound and/or StoryBlocks with paid license. Music from Shadows Symphony (https://tinyurl.com/yyrv987t), Midnight Syndicate (http://amzn.to/2BYCoXZ) Kevin MacLeod (https://tinyurl.com/y2v7fgbu), Tony Longworth (https://tinyurl.com/y2nhnbt7), and Nicolas Gasparini (https://tinyurl.com/lnqpfs8) is used with permission of the artists.= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =(Over time links seen above may become invalid, disappear, or have different content. I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use whenever possible. If I somehow overlooked doing so for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I will rectify it in these show notes immediately. Some links included above may benefit me financially through qualifying purchases.)= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = ="I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =WeirdDarkness® is a registered trademark. Copyright ©2024, Weird Darkness.= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =Originally aired: June 26, 2021PARTIAL TRANSCRIPT: https://weirddarkness.com/shape-shifting-mothman/
Today, I am blessed to have here with me Dr Jay T. Wiles. He is the co-founder and Chief Scientific Officer at Hanu Health. Dr Jay is also a prominent expert in mental health optimization, HRV, and biofeedback. Dr Jay is a clinical health and performance psychologist. He has a master's degree in clinical therapy and then went on to his doctoral degree in clinical psychology. When he was in his residency, he and his co-workers were exposed to a toxic black mold. This led him to be more interested in health, wellness, and integrative holistic health. Since then, his residency in the Department of Veteran Affairs grew his desire to study heart rate variability and biofeedback and how it relates to Nervous System Monitoring and functioning. In 2018, Dr Jay launched his consulting company, which is utilized by elite athletes, high-performance executives, and CEOs to understand data from wearables while learning how to manage their nervous systems using tools and procedures. His firm, Hanu, was founded in 2021. It is a digital mental health platform that uses wearable technology to track changes in the human stress response. They then train resilience through various techniques. In this episode, Dr Jay speaks about heart rate variability and its relation to the nervous system. Dr Jay talks about how to gauge parasympathetic balance. Tune in as we chat about Heart Rate Variability, Nervous System, Stress, Parasympathetic Balance, measuring HRV, Pre-Meal Breathwork Sessions, and many more. Get your Hanu Health device, 20% off! Head to http://www.hanuhealth.com and use the coupon code ketokamp at checkout.
Inflation for 2024, Areas to Look At for 2024, Artificial Intelligence in 2024 and More on Pints and Portfolios in Sunnyvale Saturday, January 20th
Inflation for 2024, Areas to Look At for 2024, Artificial Intelligence in 2024 and More on Pints and Portfolios in Sunnyvale Saturday, January 20thSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
A Look At 1 Thessalonians 5:4-11, primarily focusing on Paul's exhortation for the Thessalonians to be awake and sober and what this says to our culture of addiction.
In this podcast we talk about the importance of gratitude and humility in achieving happiness and fulfillment. The conversation highlights how gratitude allows us to appreciate what we have and not focus on entitlement or what we don't have, while humility is about doing things for a sense of purpose and not self-indulgence. Aryeh Weinstein has served as the Rabbi of The Shul at Newtown, a Chabad synagogue in Newtown, Pennsylvania and as the director of the Jay Michael Swartz Jewish Learning Academy over 20 years. Resources:Go to https://GreenChef.com/gratitude60 and use code gratitude60 to get 60% off plus free shipping! This episode is brought to you by BetterHelp. Give online therapy a try at https://www.betterhelp.com/GRATITUDE and get on your way to being your best self. Timestamps:00:00:00 Introduction: Nothing is owed, everything is a gift 00:01:41 What Gratitude Means and Its Importance 00:07:46 Jewish Spirituality and Gratitude 00:11:41 Jewish Prayer Focuses on Gratitude and Requests 00:14:18 Starting the Day with Enormous Gratitude in Judaism 00:15:35 Alpha State and the Power of Gratitude 00:17:22 A Quote on Gratitude that Inspires 00:18:16 Gratitude: Choosing Which Side of the Tapestry to Look At 00:20:22 The Reality of the Other Side of the Tapestry 00:23:26 Choosing What We Can Do Over What Will Happen to Us 00:24:43 Developing Gratitude from Childhood to Adulthood 00:25:39 Importance of Learning from Negative Experiences 00:28:19 Practicing Gratitude Consistently 00:33:21 Gratitude for Parents, Wife, and Spiritual Master 00:35:09 Guiding Teachings of Important People in Gratitude JourneySee omny.fm/listener for privacy information.
In just a few minutes, the Dune: Part Two trailer has brought exciting revelations, while raising intriguing questions. On this week's Dune Talk, we're tackling the mystery of a key character who has yet to be shown... How exactly will the movie portray Paul's younger sister, Alia? Johnny, Marcus, and Simon also continue their discussion of that black-and-white arena scene on Giedi Prime. Plus, quick movie news updates.Segments:0:00:00 - IntroDUNE MOVIE NEWS0:01:29 - 'Dune: Part Two' global release dates0:02:26 - Javier Bardem praises Austin Butler0:05:43 - Black-and-white arena scene0:19:22 - Connections to 'Dune: Messiah'?0:22:16 - How will Alia appear in the movie?0:41:48 - OutroDune news stories covered on this podcast episode:Return to Arrakis With Dune: Part Two's TrailerWhen Does the ‘Dune: Part Two' Movie Release InternationallyBald Austin Butler Is an "Amazing Creature to Look At" in ‘Dune: Part Two', Says Co-Star Javier BardemVisit https://dunenewsnet.com/ for more features and follow us on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook to be the first to hear exciting Dune announcements and movie news.This show's hosts:Marcus Gabriel | @MarcusIsWritingSimon Daoudi | @sdaoudiJohnny Sobczak | @JohnnySobczakDo you have a question or suggestion for a future episode of Dune Talk? Tweet out to @DuneTalkShow, reply to our posts on Facebook or Instagram, or email us at DuneTalkPod 'at' gmail 'dot' com.Special thanks goes out to Ashton GIeckman for music and Sheldon Lee for voice overs.
19 April 2023 PM Show - Clay Parikh - We Have the Evidence, We Need to Get it Done; A Look At the Future of Humanity If We Fail Like, Comment, Share, and SUBSCRIBE! On Rumble: https://rumble.com/user/ConservativeDaily On Foxhole: https://pilled.net/profile/181316 Follow us on Social Media: https://libertylinks.io/ConservativeDaily https://libertylinks.io/JoeOltmann https://libertylinks.io/Apollo We might get canceled again…don't miss anything important. Subscribe to our newsletter: https://bit.ly/joinconservativedaily If you want to support the show, you can donate here: http://bit.ly/cd-donate https://www.americaneducationdefenders.com/ is a 501c3 that creates education content to enable children to have fun and develop their gifts! 10% off with Promo Code CD23 All proceeds enable Paul to create more amazing content! Support and protect your family and your second amendment NOW. DCF Guns is your one-stop-shop for firearms, ammunition, body armor, gear, and training. Get prepared for anything at https://www.dcfguns.co/ and use Promo Code JOE for 5% Discount online. Get the best coffee that only TRUE PATRIOTS can handle at https://beardedmancoffee.com/ and use Promo Code 1776 Support the fight for our nation by use promo code CD21 to get up to 66% off at https://www.mypillow.com/radiospecials or by placing your order over the phone at 800-872-0627. BUY 1 GET 1 FREE Special on the MyPillow 2.0 with Code CD21 Become a Conservative Daily member right now for massive savings on Faxblasts and member only perks! Use the link and sign up today! https://conservative-daily.com/forms/Step1b Text FREEDOM to 89517 to get added to our text list to receive notifications when we go Live! Privacy Policy: https://conservative-daily.com/Legal/Privacy Terms: https://conservative-daily.com/Legal/Terms Reply STOP to stop further text messages from Conservative Daily. Message and Data Rates may apply. Need help? (855) 954-6644 or reply HELP. Subscribe to our daily podcast at Apple Podcasts: http://bit.ly/ConservativeDailyPodcast We are also available on Spotify! https://open.spotify.com/show/2wD8YleiBM8bu0l3ahBLDN And on Pandora: https://www.pandora.com/podcast/conservative-daily-podcast/PC:37034 And on iHeart Radio: https://www.iheart.com/podcast/256-conservative-daily-podcast-53710765/ on TuneIn: https://tunein.com/radio/Conservative-Daily-Podcast-p1350272/ And now also on Audible! https://www.audible.com/pd/Conservative-Daily-Podcast-Podcast/B08JJQQ4M Support Joe Oltmann in his legal battle against Eric Coomer: https://givesendgo.com/defendjoeoltmann
Today, I am blessed to have here with me Dr Jay T. Wiles. He is the co-founder and Chief Scientific Officer at Hanu Health. Dr Jay is also a prominent expert in mental health optimization, HRV, and biofeedback. Dr Jay is a clinical health and performance psychologist. He has a master's degree in clinical therapy and then went on to his doctoral degree in clinical psychology. When he was in his residency, he and his co-workers were exposed to a toxic black mold. This led him to be more interested in health, wellness, and integrative holistic health. Since then, his residency in the Department of Veteran Affairs grew his desire to study heart rate variability and biofeedback and how it relates to Nervous System Monitoring and functioning. In 2018, Dr Jay launched his consulting company, which is utilized by elite athletes, high-performance executives, and CEOs to understand data from wearables while learning how to manage their nervous systems using tools and procedures. His firm, Hanu, was founded in 2021. It is a digital mental health platform that uses wearable technology to track changes in the human stress response. They then train resilience through various techniques. In this episode, Dr Jay speaks about heart rate variability and its relation to the nervous system. Dr Jay talks about how to gauge parasympathetic balance. Tune in as we chat about Heart Rate Variability, Nervous System, Stress, Parasympathetic Balance, measuring HRV, Pre-Meal Breathwork Sessions, and many more. Get your Hanu Health device, 20% off! Head to http://www.hanuhealth.com and use the coupon code ketokamp at checkout. Download your FREE Vegetable Oil Allergy Card here: https://onlineoffer.lpages.co/vegetable-oil-allergy-card-download/ / / E P I S O D E S P ON S O R S Wild Pastures: $20 OFF per Box for Life + Free Shipping for Life + $15 OFF your 1st Box! https://wildpastures.com/promos/save-20-for-life-lf?oid=6&affid=132&source_id=podcast&sub1=ad BonCharge: Blue light Blocking Glasses, Red Light Therapy, Sauna Blankets & More. Visit https://boncharge.com/pages/ketokamp and use the coupon code KETOKAMP for 15% off your order. Text me the words "Podcast" +1 (786) 364-5002 to be added to my contacts list. [8:46] Heart Rate Variability Increasing? Don't Worry. Nervous System is Adapting! - Heart rate and heart rate variability are not the same things. We may acquire a decent insight by evaluating both of them. - Heart rate variability is similar to examining heart rate through a microscope. - The heart does not beat to the beat of a metronome. In reality, it rapidly accelerates and decelerates. - Heart rate variability examines temporal variations or variance, which is the difference in time between each succeeding heartbeat. - Increased Heart Rate Variability indicates that the nervous system is adaptable; it can assimilate information within its surroundings and adjust. [14:17] Stress is Not Bad, Just Be Adaptable and Regulate Your Nervous System - Remember that HRV as a metric does not often behave the same way as many other metrics that serve as the normative basis of comparison. - Several conflicting elements contribute to HRV being what it is. When we compare two people's heart rate variability, it's like comparing apples and oranges. - A decrease in heart rate variability indicates that the nervous system is too busy and is having a tough time changing and adapting to its surroundings. - If we are not regulating our nervous system response, as seen by a reduction in heart rate variability, it undoubtedly aggravates any other forms of physiological abnormalities. [19:20] What Is the Best Way to Gauge the Parasympathetic Balance? - There are other methods available, but they are often more intrusive. - Another approach would be to examine general brainwave functioning and changes in brainwave states. - We have so much evidence in the scientific literature that heart rate variability is now the single best non-invasive technique to have a proxy for nervous system functioning and balance. - Many people experience nervous system assaults throughout the day, increasing over time. If they are unaware of what is going on, and especially if they are not managing their reaction at that period, we observe the emergence of a host of various mental and physical health problems. - What we can truly do is train our neurological systems to behave in a more adaptable manner, which will make us happier. [30:17] Using the Device to Measure HRV? Look At the Stress Resiliency Number - The Stress Resiliency Number is a 0 to 100 number that takes all of your data and plots it on a 0 to 100 scale. - If you don't understand how to interpret HRV, Stress Resiliency Number is a great number to look at. - Your goal is to get yourself above that 80 to 100 thresholds, which is like our green zone. - As the HRV goes down, so does your Stress Resiliency Number. [41:59] Digest Your Meal Better, Do A Pre-Meal Breathwork Session - It's a biofeedback session to help stimulate your parasympathetic nervous system and the vagus nerve prior to a meal. - If we go into a meal and eat in a sympathetically driven state, it will cause immense dysbiosis and dysregulation of the gut. - Do a very short practice, 60 seconds to two minutes of a breathwork session that we call pre-meal. And we also do it post-meal to start that process. - When people do the breathwork session, their meal does not have nearly as much of an input influence on the metabolically, so we do not see significant amounts of blood sugar rise. Plus, people's nervous system recovers quickly. - It is imperative to do something parasympathetically stimulating or stimulating our vagus nerve before and after eating. [59:09] Having A Bad Performance Anxiety? Calm Down, Focus and Work to Increase Your HRV - One major issue that people have is experiencing bad performance anxiety during biofeedback sessions, which causes them to feel agitated and lowers their HRV. - Don't be discouraged; this is an excellent learning opportunity for you. Address and work on the problem. - Any upward direct movement is beneficial since it indicates that the nervous system is actively engaged. But what we want to do is gradually raise it over time. - Work to figure out where you are, and then just go forward. Simply strive to improve by 1% every day, just as you would in any other aspect of your life. AND MUCH MORE! Resources from this episode: ● Company Website: https://www.hanuhealth.com/ ● Personal Website: https://www.drjaywiles.com/ ● Podcast: https://www.hanuhealth.com/podcast/ ● Follow Dr Jay T. Wiles: ● Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DrJayWiles/ ● Twitter: https://twitter.com/DrJayWiles ● Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/jay-t-wiles-28756b60/ ● Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/drjaywiles/?hl=en ● Join the Keto Kamp Academy: https://ketokampacademy.com/7-day-trial-a ● Watch Keto Kamp on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCUh_MOM621MvpW_HLtfkLyQ Get your Hanu Health device, 20% off! Head to http://www.hanuhealth.com and use the coupon code ketokamp at checkout. Download your FREE Vegetable Oil Allergy Card here: https://onlineoffer.lpages.co/vegetable-oil-allergy-card-download/ / / E P I S O D E S P ON S O R S Wild Pastures: $20 OFF per Box for Life + Free Shipping for Life + $15 OFF your 1st Box! https://wildpastures.com/promos/save-20-for-life-lf?oid=6&affid=132&source_id=podcast&sub1=ad BonCharge: Blue light Blocking Glasses, Red Light Therapy, Sauna Blankets & More. Visit https://boncharge.com/pages/ketokamp and use the coupon code KETOKAMP for 15% off your order. Text me the words "Podcast" +1 (786) 364-5002 to be added to my contacts list. *Some Links Are Affiliates* // F O L L O W ▸ instagram | @thebenazadi | http://bit.ly/2B1NXKW ▸ facebook | /thebenazadi | http://bit.ly/2BVvvW6 ▸ twitter | @thebenazadi http://bit.ly/2USE0so ▸ tiktok | @thebenazadi https://www.tiktok.com/@thebenazadi Disclaimer: This podcast is for information purposes only. Statements and views expressed on this podcast are not medical advice. This podcast including Ben Azadi disclaim responsibility from any possible adverse effects from the use of information contained herein. Opinions of guests are their own, and this podcast does not accept responsibility of statements made by guests. This podcast does not make any representations or warranties about guests qualifications or credibility. Individuals on this podcast may have a direct or non-direct interest in products or services referred to herein. If you think you have a medical problem, consult a licensed physician.
Festival Project A Saga S Ū P A © R E E ™ One World. | PEACE. LOVE. UNITY. RESPECT. | Lifelong friends navigate the infinitely incredible world of rave culture, journeying together (and sometimes, apart) into the PLUniveRse© in fantastical, philosophical, and third-eye-opening adventures--the likes of which have never been seen (or foretold.) Festival Project™ is a multi-genre, mystifying and magical cross-genre series, set against the backdrop of modern rave culture-- combined with historical and futuristic elements-- across expansions of space-and-time, unifying with The Universal Consciousness in a multidimensional and explorative ensemble of Films, Episodic Series, Music Videos, Extended Playlists, and Concept Albums. A perpetual symphony of artistic storytelling though a cavalcade of wonderful and whimsical characters along high-intensity, off-the-map adventures--showcased through Music, Film & Interactive Art Explorations--set upon the dreamlike actual reality of an unravelling fabric of time-and-space. Enter The Multiverse: Anything Is Possible. This explosive and expansive wave of enigmatic, chaos-colliding, charismatic [ and often comedic] kinetic energy, reflects a shared experience throughout all time in human connection; Journey beyond the unknown, to Worlds Within--and Without. Everything is Everything. The Festival Project Saga is a multi-media Music, Film and Television saga that offers a new perspective on the ever-changing and recently popularized culture of dance music; it touches on the history of the culture as a whole, as well as a variety of other societal issues this generation faces—friendship, connectivity, communication—the dawn of social media, America's education system and justice system, immigration, and emerging mental health and drug crisis—while also taking a look at a history of counter culture as a derivative of the rapidly evolving technology of today's society. Through its characters and storylines, we dive deeply into a conglomerate of generational growth and exponentially educational topics, lightheartedly touching tales of friendship, family through blood and through bond, and exploring fields, of Astrology, Philosophy. Festival Trip- Two lifelong friends take a two-week-long trip across the country, to attend two major music festivals—one on the west coast (Among Aliens, in California), and one on the east (Ultimate Music Festival) Chava Hoffs Sala Emillio Gunther Ross- The more than interesting circus-act of a plug/one of Sala's romantic interests, who just happens to be in the same place at the same time, once Sala and Chava arrive in California. Solomon Dominguez- Chava's “homie-lover-friend”, a DC native transplanted to LA who hustles and bustles the 3-job life to live the California dream—a surprisingly dedicated and loyal friend to Chava, who considers him the “king of fuckboys”—which, is not entirely untrue. Johnny McEntire- An eclectic and friendly photographer who stumbles upon Sala during a vulnerable moment—a sweet, humble, and vibrant personality, Chava mostly dismisses him as just another victim of Sala's constantly-inconstant romantic gestures and affiliations. Grace Williams (Chava's Super-Christian (but very sweet) Aunt) Billy Williams- Chava's very dorky, southern Baptist uncle who can't help but throw in a (praise-jesus) Krista DeVaunte- Bride-To-Be—Noah's Fiance Noah Williams- Chava's Cousin, the groom to be Naomi Williams- Chava's salty Cousin, and freinemy since birth—Noah's younger sister Sonny Johnson— Chava's ex-fiance Dustin Roberts—Sala's ex-boyfriend Juan Manuel Jose Melendez Gutierrez-Rodriguez—Sala's current boyfriend, with whom she lives & works with. Running Jokes: -Ridiculous DJ names and Absurd Fictional Festivals -Speaking Spanish with a Mandarin-inflenced dialect—speaking/yelling in awful Spanish-sounding-Mandarin—speaking “Mandarish” or “Spandarin” -Every time Chava mentions Sonny (her ex), Sala interjects with “Fuck Sonny!” -Cop Jokes (due to Chava's occupation) “Go climb broke-bitch mountain!” ACT I- The Wedding Bashers/It's Festival Season “Save-The-Date” Inciting Incident—Plans to attend a destination wedding that Chava and her lifelong. long- distance best friend Sala, have been planning for almost a year are abruptly halted when Chava learns via a very eventful FaceTime call (‘Meet The Williams') that her +1 invitation had apparently only applied to her now-ex-fiance [whom her stuck-up family adored because of his abhorrent Christianity], and that the bride-to-be would not allow Sala to take his place on the guest list—as her vivid memories of Sala from Chava's engagement party are severely grotesque. Flashback: Chava + Sonny's engagement party. Chava: Yeah dude, they got all, mad-butthurt that I was bringing you instead of Sonny. Sala: Fuck Sonny! [The Break-Up] Sala: FUCK YOUR BIRTHDAY! CHAVA: I'M SURE YOU WOULD IF YOU COULD, IF MY BIRTHDAY HAD A PENIS. Sala: YOUR BIRTHDAY DOES HAVE A PENIS—IT'S YOU, DICK. CHAVA: THEN SUCK ME, SALLY MAE. SALA: YOU WISH, WANDA. CHAVA: Can't make a wish with no fucking candles, Kandace. SALA: Huh. I would have thought there were candles just judging by hard you fucking BLOW, Bonnie! CHAVA: Then drive off cliff, Clyde. A remote, unnamed city near the North Pole, in the Alaskan Arctic Circle. It is severely cold, even visually so. ACT II- Sunny California ACT III- Sunny Florida In the scene where random ravers find Sala's backpack in the parking lot, debut Rave Dora [Backpack SupaCreeMixx] “I'm a backpack loaded up with things and Knick-knacks too—anything that you might need, I got inside for you...” Festival Trip One-Liners/ Slang/ Phrases Keep up, Kassandra Hold Up, Heather Be back, Becky Back up, Barbra Shut up, Susan/ Shut Up Sandra/ Shut Up Sharon/ Sit Down, Sally Shove It, Shelly Stop It, Stella Chill, Chelsea Cheer Up, Charlie (a reference to Willy Wonka) Get out my biz, Liz Really Billy? Excerpt, Act III Chava: Dude, your energy is killing me. Sala: So. Chava: Soo, fix it. Sala: What do I look like—Bob the Builder? Chava: More like Wreck-It-Ralphed-All-Over-Yourself Sala: Fuck you. Chava: Off limits. I'm the last person on earth you haven't fucked. Sala: Jealous? Chava: Of the super-massive black-hole that is your vagina? No. I just wish my camera had a better low-light filter so I had actual photographic proof of an 8th world wonder. Sala: …fuck you. Chava: ‘No' Means ‘No'. [blows whistle] Get up. Sala: Ahhhhh—Get fucked! Chava: I was—and you ruined it being a hoe—but I'm willing to look past that, because its a beautiful fucking day in Miami and we're about to get lit. C'mon. S'day one. Sala: Day 1 of rave 2, I'm over it. Chava: Hoe, I'm over you. Sala: Get over me, then, bitch— Chava: I already said I am. Get with it. Sala: Get with this dick. Chava: What's a dick without some balls, bro? Pussy. Sala: … Chava: You mad? Sala: I been mad. Chava: Stay mad, then. Sala: How about I just stay here. Chava: Pay here, stay here, bitch—this trip ain't free. Sala: This trip ain't me. Raves are your thing. I'm not a “festival chick.” Chava: You are for the next three days. Sala: …Three…?! Chava: And counting. Get. Some. Motherfuckin' balls. Here, have some Jesus Juice. [She extends her arm, holding the bottle in front of Sala] Sala: Ughhh. Chava: Come on, man. I'm tryna see Cow Turds. Sala: You're engaged to one. Chava: Shut the fuck up and drink. Here, I'll have one with you. The Epic Trip – ‘Girl—Meet World'. After breaking up with both her ex-fiance and her best friend, a depressed and anxious Chava decides to take a last-minute trip to another one of her bucket list destinations: The Epic Music Festival in Las Vegas, Nevada. F*ckFest: The Origins (Prequel) 21-year-old Chava Hoffs, a longtime raver and lover of all things dance culture, finally convinces her bar-scene best friend to accompany her to a regional event in her area, ‘F*ckfest', Sala's first ever festival/rave where—to both her and Chava's surprise, she connects with other longtime friends she had no idea were immersed into the culture. Sala, having been “rave-retired” since entering her first serious relationship, becomes overly-excited and branches off on her own, reconnecting with her true self after spending too long in her own shell—she discovers her love for an up-and-coming new artist (‘Shluggy') who magnetizes her with a newly-created sound (‘PukeRock'—a play on “VomitStep”) Vibes [Mini Series, Prequel]- A sequel-in-installments to the shenanigans following F*ckfest, where Chava returns to visit Sala and return to ‘one of her favorite venues', which now hosts GoF*ckYourself (GFY), the biggest summertime festival in the region. Festival Trip II [First Sequel ]- It's been a magical year and the breakup is over; A 20-something's imaginary friend returns, a decade after disappearing, just as she finds herself on the brink of ‘real adulthood', and has settled into the mundane and mediocre—as he leads her on a journey of self-discovery, she internally struggles with whether to tell her therapist—after deciding (or rather, being convinced) she shouldn't, she begins a desperate search for answers in what seems like a downward spiral into (Use- I'm on my way to heaven, for trailer.) A group of friends decide to form their own society after discovering an “uncharted” island—what they don't know [understand] is that the world government is observing at every angle—and as their population increases, they struggle as the popularity of their culture and lifestyle explode— Craig's world- an ensemble about the good old days of craigslist Ū [Amnesia/Working Title] Miami (Ami) A fashion designer and music enthusiast who attends festivals in her spare time, seeking inspiration for her fashion and design blog; she shares an apartment with her lesbian best friend from college, who works as a freelance writer and photographer. Crystal (Chrys) A short-haired-yet-feminine gender-non-conforming lovable with a dry sense of humor and an eye for art; Music lover and fan of festivals, Miami's “convert” into the rave world. Serra- A high-matinence instagram model who supports herself through social media promotion and influencing, modeling Miami's fashion line and sugar-babying/arm-candying to make her way through life, usually attending festivals as someone's date or just to take pictures/show face. Samuel/Donnie- Sensei Samurai: An award-winning world-renowned music artist and specialty DJ, the soul-headliner of ‘Magic's Mountain art and Music Festival' Daz- Sam/Donnie's Manager- (Antagonist) Lazers, pyrotechnics, strobes, and confetti light the night sky as Sensei Samurai, a medium-build white guy sporting two long braids and a samurai cut (his signature style), dances atop the table which supports a state-of-the-art DJ set-up; The stage is massive, the crowd is wild--but he is at home--or rather, at work, and at the top of his game. He jumps down from the table, drinking from a red solo cup, before he picks up the microphone to speak to his audience: Samuel: LET ME SEE YOU FUCKING JUMP. He dances around, flailing his arms to gesture to the crowd, drinking again from his red solo cup . He moves to the beat of the music as he focuses to adjust the mixer, structuring a build-up. His manager watches from backstage, carefully eying his every move. Samuel: --ARE YOU GUYS READY? [He lights a ciggarette, sips from his cup again as he continues to mix. He nods along to the beat, grooving as he plots his next move, looking into the crowd with hunger in his eye.] Dez: (speaking into a earpiece) Sammy, take it easy... [He glances stage left, to where Dez is situated and watching him like a hawk; He nonchalantly shrugs, blowing out a plume of smoke into the air, decisively irritated with the instruction.] Dez: (Cont'd): I mean it, chill. [Samuel sticks his finger into his ear, wiggling it profusely--and dislodges the hidden inner-earpiece, eyeing Dez as he pulls up his headphones, deep in the mix; He takes a long drag from his ciggarette, master-minding as he feverously twists the knobs and dials of the mixer.] Samuel (over the mic) NO CHILL MOTHERFUCKERS. [The music speeds as he prepares for the drop.] Dez: (forgetting momentarily that he will not be heard) Sam, don't--! [Too late. Samuel Drops the bass so hard, it hurts, ripping off his headphones and running straight into the crowd, head first to crowd surf. The crowd goes massively, insanely wild.] Through the lens of Crystal's camera, we see a series of still photos, capturing Sam's wild plunge into the crowd, just off-center in the front row. Miami looks to her right, giving her a nod of approval; Crystal shoots her a hand signal for “ok”. Miami looks to her left, lifting an eyebrow and smirking at Serra, who bounces off-beat against a tall wooky gentleman who has his arms around her through the sleeves of a spirit hood, tilting her head from side to side as she poses for selfies. Miami happily sways to the motion of the music, putting one hand over the rail and pulling up her mask with the other, as she watches Samuel be lifted back onto the stage and take his place behind the decks. The set continues, the crowd, the lazers, and the effects go wild: The backdrop reads ‘SENSEI SAMURAI' His backup dancers are acrobatic ninjas. Samuel: Thank you Magical Mountain, I Love You Guys!! The crowd goes wild as Samuel exits the stage, ignoring Dez as he breezes past him. Dez: (following after him) I thought I said, “No more crowd surfing, no more stage diving.” Samuel: I thought you said that, too. Dez: Do you recall “OhMyLanta?” Samuel: (sarcastically) Oh, you mean that festival in Atlanta? Dez: Yes. Samuel: How creative. Dez: ‘Creative' would describe the legal team's very expensive, very strenuous tactical strategy which weaseled you out of a very serious lawsuit. Samuel: What? When was this? Dez: This was when you decided to stage dive wearing goth-pants and your chains got stuck in that kid's earholes Samuel: They're called Tripp pants. Dez: Oh yeah...what do you call them after mutilating a teenager with them? Samuel: Tripp pants I can sell on eBay. I made that kid a star. Dez: You made him a cripple. Samuel: --we still talk. [EXT. A FARAWAY FOREST] Bass blasts through the christmas-lit forest, a festival set in the meadow against the lush and natural forest scenery; Attendees come-and-go to-and-from the lines of tents and out into the festival grounds, where DJs headline stages, dancers and performers interact with spectators, vendors practice their unique salesmanship, and the wild and true nature of ravers is unleashed. Frozen breath leaks from the laughing mouths of three young individuals, running through the forest; Twigs crush and leaves crackle underfoot of their prancing and galloping feet, clad in combat boots, tennis shoes, and platforms, respectively. Ripped fishnets hug the thighs that sweep together rapidly, swooshing as the legs that bare them race forward; a pashmina trails behind one's back, acting as a cape of sorts. A thud, in the darkness of the forest. Crystal and Serra continue forward, unaware their friend has fallen for a few short moments, leaving Miami behind. Miami confusedly looks for the obstruction which caused her to trip, discovering under a pile of brush and leaves, a man (Samuel) lying face down on the ground; her eyes widen and she draws slightly back, frightened, before squinting and leaning in to get a closer look; She turns on a glow toy for added light, she pants heavily under her breath, shaking slightly as she brushes away debris and leaves, uncovering his head and shoulders, revealing he is wearing a mask. She examines him. His glasses are broken, lying on the ground under his face--His hair is wet; he appears dead. Crystal: ...I told you not to wear those. Miami: Yo… Crystal: Yo--*gasps* (she grabs Serra by the shoulder, holding her back.) Serra: (She notices the body, under her pashmina, spirit hood, and glasses) Ohwhatthefuck. (she takes a few steps back) Crystal: Don't move. Serra: Yeah, fuck that. Fuck this. (she wraps the pashmina tightly around her face) [muffled] Fuck this. Crystal: ...Ami, we should get out of here. Miami: We should help him. Crystal: He may be beyond help, honey. Serra: He's fucking dead. Whatthefuck. Fuck this! Crystal: ...Is he dead? Miami: (she looks at him closely, there are no signs of life. she checks for breathing with her hand.) ...I don't know. (she checks again, leaning in closer. she grabs his wrist to check a pulse) Serra: Don't touch it! Miami: Shut up, I'm trying to get a pulse (beat) ...he's super cold. Serra: He's super dead! Miam: No, no...I don't think so. Crystal, come here--help me turn him over. Crystal: Are you sure? What if he--wakes up and tries to--?? Miami: (urgently) What if it was you? Crystal fishes for a flashlight and switchblade in her fanny pack, places the flashlight in her mouth and positioning the knife under her kandi cuffs. She cautiously inches forward. Crystal: Serra, try to get some cell service so we can call for help. The girls carefully turn him onto his back, wide eyed and bewildered. He is completely lifeless, clamy and pale--covered with dirt, and forestry. Miami continues to check for a pulse, shaking her head as he continues to appear dead. Crystal: Do you feel anything? Miami: …(shaking her head) I can't...he's like…(as she pulls up the sleeve of his hoodie and notices a familiar tattoo. she pauses for a moment, thinks, and then looks towards his head) Do you still have my mirror in your fanny pack?) Crystal returns to her fanny pack, digging for the mirror. Miami carefuly leans in towards the man, examining him once more; she notices a necklace, also familiar--she thinks, as she moves to remove first the excess hair, and then the mask from his face, very carefully. She peels off his mask, immidiately shocked as she reckognizes his face--It is Samuel, who she knows as Sensai Samurai. She yeeps (imploded gasp, making Crystal look up; she, too recognizes him; she gasps. They look at eachother, then at him--then back to eachother.) Miami: ...Give me your mirror. Crystal: Dude, is this…? Miami: Your mirror. (she holds the mirror under his nose--a subtle cloud of fog appears; he is, in fact, alive.) Crystal: Oh, my God. Miami: He's breathing. Serra! Crystal: ...This is Sensai Samurai. Miami: (trying to convince herself) It probably just looks like him…. Crystal: I just took one-hundred close-up photos, dude--like, less than an hour ago-- Miami: Shhhhh! (she frantically begins to check his pockets) He's gotta have a wallet. Crystal: What, you were going to save him--now you wanna roll him? Miami: An ID. He's got to have an ID. (she frantically searches him) Hey Serra! (Crystal lifts the other sleeve of his sweater, revealing a brightly colored wristband, and one singular kandi bracelet, which reads “Sensai” Simoltaneously, Miami has found something in one of the pockets--she produces a small box from one of the pockets of his cargo pants) Crystal: Holy fuck. Look. (she gestures the wrist band and bracelet.) Miami: ...Artist's wristband. Fuck. It is him. Crystal: [Samuel is slumped lifelessly over both Crystal and Miami's shoulders, head hanging downward and hair flailing and dangling in his face as the girls struggle to support him. His oversized light-up sunglasses begin slipping, almost revealing his eyes.] Girl:(looking over, concerned) ...Is your friend okay? [He is clearly not. Serra slides her finger up his nose to adjust his glasses, eyeing the girl suspiciously.] Crystal: [flatly] Yes. [Samuel's dead-weight pulls him towards the ground, as he slips; the girls struggle to readjust; he seems heavier by the minute. They all three stare back at the girl, awkwardly; Miami fakes an ‘everything's fine' smile, while Crystal stares blankly through her sunglasses and Serra shoots a look of dissatisfaction. [INT. KITCHEN. DAY.] The three girls gaze in awe of Donnie, multitasking busily in the kitchen, hair pinned neatly atop his head with chopsticks, wearing a neatly-pressed (as in, freshly ironed) apron, as he removes one baking mit with his mouth and works about, happily consumed and bouncily, humming. -...He's so...domestic. Crystal -You'd think he'd carry a better tune. Miami- Cause you'd be belting melodies after waking up out of a drug-induced coma? Crystal- No--I guess I'd open a bake shop in some random girls' kitchen. Miami: Donnie? Donnie: Hmm, yes? Miami: We...we have some news for you. Donnie: Oooh! Is it celebrity news? Miami:...sort of. Donnie: I hope it's juicy gossip. Crystal: Believe me--it'll be the talk of the town. Donnie: This town? Crystal: Any town. [ She refills her wine glass first, then prepares two more, never breaking eye contact with donnie; His lighthearted excitement turns to slight confusion, as he furrows his brows,] Miami: (sighs, taking his hand) Here, lets sit down. Donnie: But, the macaroons-- Serra-What? That's what you're making? [Donnie nods.] Serra-...(to the side) maybe we should let him finish the macaroons, first...what if this like, fucks him all up. Miami: No, it's time. I feel like we've already waited too long. Serra-...I feel like he makes really good macaroons. Miami: Yeah? Like grammy-award-winning macaroons? -If by ‘Grammy', you mean my Grandmother would approve… Miami: Your grandmother died of complications from diabetes. Serra-...and you think macaroons had absolutely nothing to do with that? [Crystal has already finished her first glass of wine, and begins to reach for the second glass, when Miami, out of the corner of her eye, catches her, snatching the glass from her gracefully, as she floats it to Donnie, sitting beside him, crossing her legs.] Donnie: Before noon? Crystal- Oh, so you know that rule? Donnie: I know some things. A 20-something's imaginary friend returns, a decade after disappearing, just as she finds herself on the brink of ‘real adulthood', and has settled into the mundane and mediocre—as he leads her on a journey of self-discovery, she internally struggles with whether to tell her therapist—after deciding (or rather, being convinced) she shouldn't, she begins a desperate search for answers in what seems like a downward spiral into A group of friends decide to form their own society after discovering an “uncharted” island—what they don't know [understand] is that the world government is observing at every angle—and as their population increases, they struggle as the popularity of their culture and lifestyle explode— Craig's world- an ensemble about the good old days of craigslist Blue Story A wayward security officer drunkenly fills out an application to join the police academy, and is accepted—both to his surprise, and dismay. #SQUAD OUT!- A Mockumentary-Style Comedy following several “tribes”, “squads”, “rave families”, and even solo-ravers surrounding a large group of ravers and friends. Ū [Amnesia/Working Title] Amnesia [Working Title] Three girls at a camping festival find an incapacitated man in the woods and take him back to their campsite for safety—when one of the girls discovers that she recognizes the mysterious man, actually a headliner at the festival they're attending—two of the girls keep it a secret from their friend who would certainly take advantage of the situation. After discovering a “butt-load” of mind-altering substances on his person, Miami, the ring leader, makes a ‘judgement call' not to call the authorities, deciding instead to attempt to take him back to his trailer—however—when the girls haul him back to his campsite, they discover his manager, Dez, rifling through his belongings. When Samuel awakens, he has no memory of himself—and so a journey begins: a test of friendship, and a race against the clock. Miami (Ami) A fashion designer and music enthusiast who attends festivals in her spare time, seeking inspiration for her fashion and design blog; she shares an apartment with her lesbian best friend from college, who works as a freelance writer and photographer. Crystal (Chrys) A short-haired-yet-feminine gender-non-conforming lovable with a dry sense of humor and an eye for art; Music lover and fan of festivals, Miami's “convert” into the rave world. Shane- A high-matinence instagram model who supports herself through social media promotion and influencing, modeling Miami's fashion line and sugar-babying/arm-candying to make her way through life, usually attending festivals as someone's date or just to take pictures/show face. DONNIE “*giggles* what's a rave?” Miami (takes a deep breath) Crystal (facepalm) Shane (purses her lips) C-Is Giving drugs to somebody with amnesia bad? M-I don't know what's bad for amnesia S-Well maybe, it's not giving it to him that would be bad—like, they were already in his system, probably wouldn't he go like, into withdraw or something. You're probably right S-(I'm probably not) Samuel/Donnie- Sensei Samurai: An award-winning world-renowned music artist and specialty DJ, the soul-headliner of ‘Magic's Mountain art and Music Festival' Daz- Sam/Donnie's Manager- (Antagonist-) Lazers, pyrotechnics, strobes, and confetti light the night sky as Sensei Samurai, a medium-build white guy sporting two long braids and a samurai cut (his signature style), dances atop the table which supports a state-of-the-art DJ set-up; The stage is massive, the crowd is wild--but he is at home--or rather, at work, and at the top of his game. He jumps down from the table, drinking from a red solo cup, before he picks up the microphone to speak to his audience: Samuel: LET ME SEE YOU FUCKING JUMP. He dances around, flailing his arms to gesture to the crowd, drinking again from his red solo cup . He moves to the beat of the music as he focuses to adjust the mixer, structuring a build-up. His manager watches from backstage, carefully eying his every move. Samuel: --ARE YOU GUYS READY? [He lights a ciggarette, sips from his cup again as he continues to mix. He nods along to the beat, grooving as he plots his next move, looking into the crowd with hunger in his eye.] Dez: (speaking into a earpiece) Sammy, take it easy... [He glances stage left, to where Dez is situated and watching him like a hawk; He nonchalantly shrugs, blowing out a plume of smoke into the air, decisively irritated with the instruction.] Dez: (Cont'd): I mean it, chill. [Samuel sticks his finger into his ear, wiggling it profusely--and dislodges the hidden inner-earpiece, eyeing Dez as he pulls up his headphones, deep in the mix; He takes a long drag from his ciggarette, master-minding as he feverously twists the knobs and dials of the mixer.] Samuel (over the mic) NO CHILL MOTHERFUCKERS. [The music speeds as he prepares for the drop.] Dez: (forgetting momentarily that he will not be heard) Sam, don't--! [Too late. Samuel Drops the bass so hard, it hurts, ripping off his headphones and running straight into the crowd, head first to crowd surf. The crowd goes massively, insanely wild.] Through the lens of Crystal's camera, we see a series of still photos, capturing Sam's wild plunge into the crowd, just off-center in the front row. Miami looks to her right, giving her a nod of approval; Crystal shoots her a hand signal for “ok”. Miami looks to her left, lifting an eyebrow and smirking at Serra, who bounces off-beat against a tall wooky gentleman who has his arms around her through the sleeves of a spirit hood, tilting her head from side to side as she poses for selfies. Miami happily sways to the motion of the music, putting one hand over the rail and pulling up her mask with the other, as she watches Samuel be lifted back onto the stage and take his place behind the decks. The set continues, the crowd, the lazers, and the effects go wild: The backdrop reads ‘SENSEI SAMURAI' His backup dancers are acrobatic ninjas. Samuel: Thank you Magical Mountain, I Love You Guys!! The crowd goes wild as Samuel exits the stage, ignoring Dez as he breezes past him. Dez: (following after him) I thought I said, “No more crowd surfing, no more stage diving.” Samuel: I thought you said that, too. Dez: Do you recall “OhMyLanta?” Samuel: (sarcastically) Oh, you mean that festival in Atlanta? Dez: Yes. Samuel: How creative. Dez: ‘Creative' would describe the legal team's very expensive, very strenuous tactical strategy which weaseled you out of a very serious lawsuit. Samuel: Law-Suit? I've never worn one of those. Black-Label? Dez: More like ‘black-book' with your name written on and in it. It took me weeks clean up. Samuel: When was this? Dez: When you decided to stage dive wearing goth-pants and one of your chains got stuck in that kid's earhole. Samuel: They're called ‘Tripp' pants. Dez: Oh yeah...what do you call them after mutilating a teenager with them? Samuel: Tripp pants I can sell on eBay. Dez: You made him a cripple. Samuel: --we still talk. Bass blasts through the christmas-lit forest, a festival set in the meadow against the lush and natural forest scenery; Attendees come-and-go to-and-from the lines of tents and out into the festival grounds, where DJs headline stages, dancers and performers interact with spectators, vendors practice their unique salesmanship, and the wild and true nature of ravers is unleashed. Frozen breath leaks from the laughing mouths of three young individuals, running through the forest; Twigs crush and leaves crackle underfoot of their prancing and galloping feet, clad in combat boots, tennis shoes, and platforms, respectively. Ripped fishnets hug the thighs that sweep together rapidly, swooshing as the legs that bare them race forward; a pashmina trails behind one's back, acting as a cape of sorts. A thud, in the darkness of the forest. Crystal and Shane continue forward, unaware their friend has fallen for a few short moments, leaving Miami behind. Miami confusedly looks for the obstruction which caused her to trip, discovering under a pile of brush and leaves, a man (Samuel) lying face down on the ground; her eyes widen and she draws slightly back, frightened, before squinting and leaning in to get a closer look; She turns on a glow toy for added light, she pants heavily under her breath, shaking slightly as she brushes away debris and leaves, uncovering his head and shoulders, revealing he is wearing a mask. She examines him. His glasses are broken, lying on the ground under his face--His hair is wet; he appears dead. Miami is horrified, speechless, breathless. Crystal: ...I told you not to wear those. Miami: Yo… Crystal: Yo--*gasps* (she grabs Shane by the shoulder, holding her back.) Shane: (She notices the body, under her pashmina, spirit hood, and glasses) Ohwhatthefuck. (she takes a few steps back) Crystal: Don't move. Serra: Yeah, fuck that. Fuck this. (she wraps the pashmina tightly around her face) [muffled] Fuck this. Crystal: ...Ami, we should get out of here. Miami: We should help him. Crystal: He may be beyond help, honey. Shane: He's fucking dead. Whatthefuck. Cystal: ...Is he dead? Miami: (she looks at him closely, there are no signs of life. she checks for breathing with her hand.) ...I don't know. (she checks again, leaning in closer. she grabs his wrist to check a pulse) Shane: Don't touch it! Miami: Shut up, I'm trying to get a pulse (beat) ...he's super cold. Shane: He's super dead! Miam: No, no...I don't think so. Crystal, come here--help me turn him over. Crystal: Are you sure? What if he--wakes up and tries to--?? Miami: (urgently) What if it was you? Crystal fishes for a flashlight and switchblade in her fanny pack, places the flashlight in her mouth and positioning the knife under her kandi cuffs. She cautiously inches forward. Crystal: Shane, try to get some cell service so we can call for help. The girls carefully turn him onto his back, wide eyed and bewildered. He is completely lifeless, clamy and pale--covered with dirt, and forestry. Miami continues to check for a pulse, shaking her head as he continues to appear dead. Crystal: Do you feel anything? Miami: …(shaking her head) I can't...he's like…(as she pulls up the sleeve of his hoodie and notices a familiar tattoo. she pauses for a moment, thinks, and then looks towards his head) Do you still have my mirror in your fanny pack?) Crystal returns to her fanny pack, digging for the mirror. Miami carefuly leans in towards the man, examining him once more; she notices a necklace, also familiar--she thinks, as she moves to remove first the excess hair, and then the mask from his face, very carefully. She peels off his mask, immidiately shocked as she reckognizes his face--It is Samuel, who she knows as Sensai Samurai. She yeeps (imploded gasp, making Crystal look up; she, too recognizes him; she gasps. They look at eachother, then at him--then back to eachother.) Miami: ...Give me your mirror. Crystal: Dude, is this…? Miami: Your mirror. (she holds the mirror under his nose--a subtle cloud of fog appears; he is, in fact, alive.) Crystal: Oh, my God. Miami: He's breathing. Shane! Crystal: ...This is Sensai Samurai. Miami: (trying to convince herself) It probably just looks like him…. Crystal: I just took one-hundred close-up photos, dude--like, less than an hour ago-- Miami: Shhhhh! (she frantically begins to check his pockets) He's gotta have a wallet. Crystal: What, you were going to save him--now you wanna roll him? Miami: An ID. He's got to have an ID. (she frantically searches him) Hey Shane! (Crystal lifts the other sleeve of his sweater, revealing a brightly colored wristband, and one singular kandi bracelet, which reads “Sensai” Simultaneously, Miami has found something in one of the pockets--she produces a small box from one of the pockets of his cargo pants) Crystal: Holy fuck. Look. (she gestures the wrist band and bracelet.) Miami: ...Artist's wristband. Fuck. It is him. Crystal: [Samuel is slumped lifelessly over both Crystal and Miami's shoulders, head hanging downward and hair flailing and dangling in his face as the girls struggle to support him. His oversized light-up sunglasses begin slipping, almost revealing his eyes.] Girl:(looking over, concerned) ...Is your friend okay? [He is clearly not. Serra slides her finger up his nose to adjust his glasses, eyeing the girl suspiciously.] Crystal: [flatly] Yes. [Samuel's dead-weight pulls him towards the ground, as he slips; the girls struggle to readjust; he seems heavier by the minute. They all three stare back at the girl, awkwardly; Miami fakes an ‘everything's fine' smile, while Crystal stares blankly through her sunglasses and Serra shoots a look of dissatisfaction. [INT. KITCHEN. DAY.] The three girls gaze in awe of Donnie, multitasking busily in the kitchen, hair pinned neatly atop his head with chopsticks, wearing a neatly-pressed (as in, freshly ironed) apron, as he removes one baking mit with his mouth and works about, happily consumed and bouncily, humming. -...He's so...domestic. Crystal -You'd think he'd carry a better tune. Miami- Cause you'd be belting melodies after waking up out of a drug-induced coma? Crystal- No--I guess I'd open a bake shop in some random girls' kitchen. Miami: Donnie? Donnie: Hmm, yes? Miami: We...we have some news for you. Donnie: Oooh! Is it celebrity news? Miami:...sort of. Donnie: I hope it's juicy gossip. Crystal: Believe me--it'll be the talk of the town. Donnie: This town? Crystal: Any town. [ She refills her wine glass first, then prepares two more, never breaking eye contact with donnie; His lighthearted excitement turns to slight confusion, as he furrows his brows,] Miami: (sighs, taking his hand) Here, lets sit down. Donnie: But, the macaroons-- Serra-What? That's what you're making? [Donnie nods.] Serra-...(to the side) maybe we should let him finish the macaroons, first...what if this like, fucks him all up. Miami: No, it's time. I feel like we've already waited too long. Serra-...I feel like he makes really good macaroons. Miami: Yeah? Like grammy-award-winning macaroons? -If by ‘Grammy', you mean my Grandmother would approve… Miami: Your grandmother died of complications from diabetes. Serra-...and you think macaroons had absolutely nothing to do with that? [Crystal has already finished her first glass of wine, and begins to reach for the second glass, when Miami, out of the corner of her eye, catches her, snatching the glass from her gracefully, as she floats it to Donnie, sitting beside him, crossing her legs.] Donnie: Before noon? Crystal- Oh, so you know that rule? Donnie: I know some things. Under The Mask —A superstar DJ and his best friend embark on a series of festivals under cover as non-celebrity citizens to first-handedly experience the other side of his world. Grandma's Girl- A funeral turns into an accidentally epic week-long house party, after the ‘favorite grand child' becomes disappointed in the traditional send-off given by the family; While grieving and going through her late-grandmothers belongings, Serra discovers journals and an old phonebook, containing the life and times of her wildly adventurous grandma and her close friends—when she realizes that none of the people from her grandmother's life ‘before the family' are in attendance of her funeral (or even aware of her passing), she links up with her best friends to organize a ‘proper goodbye'. All heaven breaks loose, when ‘ravers of old' begin showing up to pay their respects to Silvia—things get a little out-of-hand when the gathering explodes due-to-word of mouth, as it turns out Grandma Silvia had a few more connections than expected—and they've all come from near-and-far to say their goodbyes. Deathwish—A series about a woman who makes a death wish—but the stakes are raised wen all her wildest dreams come true, and death lurks just around the corner at every turn. ((M3))- A collection of silent films, by SupaCree Enter: World of Music Ascension- Set in a parallel universe, Father TIme and Mother Nature are reconnected on Earth, as the dawn of a new-era arises at the peak of mankind's evolutionary journey. Series is set in a parralell universe, a seperate realm where humans have met faced dark ages, technological or technological setbacks they live harmoniously and peacefully within— live spiritually and intuitively with the planet, and can gain/ strengthen certain abilities through higher learning, strength training, conditionig, and meditation; We begin at the dawn of a new age, where beings ('God Bodies' [working])acended from higher plains of conciousness walk amongst the living in 'humanform', guided and led to higher forms of being through teachings of the Acended sorcerers and masters belonging to the universal collective conciousness of light; Also amongst the living, in 'humanform', Costumes: Modern-Futuristic da ‘Thieo' makes his final wish (for his truest and ever lasting love) to his appointed Acceded Sorcerer; but there are trials he must endure and obstacles to be met before his wish come true— C'Esmett— A warrior princess raised to rule is on on the brink of going rouge, after she is betrayed by her betrothed —her calling to become queen is imminent; yet she must overcome boundaries set by tradition, facing the powers-that-be to strengthen and master her own. Her ancient knowledge, ascended sorcery, and intrinsic healing mysticism— amongst other gifts of nature (a seer, fortune of truths; being of light) “I'm sorry, but it's out of my control.” “NOTHING Is out of your control." "--Except for you." She scorns him, and turns away swiftly, as her cape sweeps across the floor, as it flutters and whips behind her “I'm sorry, but it's out of my control.” “NOTHING Is out of your control." "--Except for you." She scorns him, and turns away swiftly, as her cape sweeps across the floor, as it flutters and whips behind her--she turns again, eyeing him directly, pointing to him with dismay as she takes in a breath; catching herself in anger, she deflates, keeping eye contact (though her gaze suddenly softens as she arrives ‘ACENSION' Ascension- Set in a parallel universe, Father TIme and Mother Nature are reconnected on Earth, as the dawn of a new-era arises at the peak of mankind's evolutionary journey. CHARACTERS Thïeo {Petrutheïo} Godform Spiritclad Cross-Bodied sorcerer; Humanborn earthbound in his most recent incarnation to rule in the new age…(t b c) C'Esmétt {Ch'Esmett X'oxįl Nazari is the most powerful being on planet Earth, and throughout multiple dimensions, through which she presides over, in various forms and figures; She possesses the universe's oldest Soul. a Godform Spiritclad Ascended Sorceress who possesses rare “Creation Energy”—the ability to form and shape matter, bend and travel through time, and control aspects of reality; Youthful and fiery, she is praised as a God of Light; Supporting: Kï'yara—Fireborn, Earthbound Rai'ayn—Loveborn, Multi-Dimentional Onyyxx—Rooted, Tri-Dimentiinal The elements: Love Matter Earth -Of Ground -Of Water -Of Fire -Of Air ...there are more but I'm tired right now. The realms: Now Then (points in the past to which time bending bodies may access) The past (inaccessible points on past timelines to those in human form or bound to earth, besides Godform; even so, the process is strenuous and dangerous. Love Self (to self, to travel inward and reflect a physical presence of the world within, outwardly; true self exists freely and ideally—you are able to converse with self as others see you [appearing as an identical twin with ideal aspects. Light therapy Frequencies Vibrationally energizing Body waves are Paralyzing Lines of Broken harmonies Inside of me. Crying on the clock; Rocking back and forth Stocking full of coal Greetings from the North Pole If Santa Clause is real Maybe we can make a deal; If my heart is made of steel You can't steal it—I can feel it Winter is here The world is money hungry (So am I) The world is simply starving (So am I) The world is so alarming (So am I) The world is just evolving. (So I am.) Cause I've been going crazy Stuck inside myself And I've been feeling lazy Just beside myself And I've been thinking lately That just maybe, someday maybe I'll be It's all connected— The reason we disconnect Is we're neglected I wonder what you'd expect You can't express it Just repress it. Repression syndrome— Came up too fast; Compression syndrome Suck it in Suck it up, You stupid fuck Dive deeper Ū (EP) 1. Thank U 2. I'm Sorry 3. I Love U 4. I miss U I like your vibe Come join my squad Curiosity killed the cat Carbohydrates killed the queen Don't cry “I'll try...” 50 Shades of Blue Don't pick up the phone Don't pick up the phone Don't pick up the phone Don't pick up the phone And here you are: 8 years later, With a baby on your back and— Bills to pay You have to decide (What the fuck) what the world is all about today. Don't want to be Cree For a really long time I just need I just need I just need a whole mind I was me the whole time I never left And yet There I was—looking at myself from above, All the love in the world; Just a lonely little girl Trapped in her Head Never got out of bed, that day: But I went away somewhere, And there I was—looking at myself from above, All the love in the world, Just a lonely little girl Trapped in her Head And I said “why are you waking me up?” But I wasn't asleep— I just wanted to fuck And sometimes, it's too much Too much is, never enough I've never been in love (with me) But I've always been in love (with you) And if you had seen it It wouldn't have been the death of me. Deeper I'll go: Deeper to find How I crossed white lines To become Colorblind How did you find me, here My deer? How did you know Where to go? How did you know, I would Follow you there, Once you finally showed me the road? I've seen both the frog, and the toad; You've already left me exposed, And I'm frozen in time Just to find Just to find Paradise— I tried. But love is a blind bat, Diving into a vat of Darkness; a hat is only a hat, If only there was more— And there is. There always is more— You just have to live more, And once you've been through the cycles, you could be Recycled. Ruined. Rebuilt. Guilt is only ever, Created after pleasure... With immense imploding pressure - [ ] You were born EP-GA [2K19] Mother Earth and Father Time are Making love right By the fire You are motion— I am sickness I am goddess; Be my witness. And I'll probably run for President— Just like I tend to run from everything; not because I want to do it, but because I have to... And just as I run from everything, I run to everything— As is the vicious cycle of life, unrepeated. I should have seen it coming, when he kicked my puppy—I didn't, but my mother did, and it might have been the same day. If not, it was definitely on the same porch—the same porch where...my adolescence began, and ended. There is no cure When your spirit is broken There is no cure—when you suffer in silence There is no cure— When you've seen all the violence It's only you. Breadcrumbs— I'm not dumb, I'm just muted. The dragon I'm chasing is me, And I just... Set the world on fire— I just—need to— I just—adjust. Translucent and transparent I am the thing that happens when you Parent your own parents. And I just I been waking up randomly, Panicking— Wishing I was dancing In the moonlight I'm vanishing without a trace And maybe I just hate this place, Maybe I'm just displaced I hate this I been waking up randomly Filling the void Avoiding my eyes in reflections I fell in love at a festival She came to dance, she was solo oh-oh ...took my hand, sack let's go- oh—oh-oh She didn't care She didn't care I'm a tax write-off I'm a meal ticket I'm a grasshopper; Or maybe, a cricket— Ricochet rabbit Why am I like this? “Why do you fight this?” I was not invited to mingle This ‘tingle' I get is more than A threat—I regretted, The moments I never forget The secrets you keep The stories you never will tell— This is hell, you're not dreaming It's only a nightmare. Too much to think about So I don't Dissociative, I associate everything Within—without I reflect everything I've been about, Stuck beside myself I am just a clone, A lone shadow of my Own All alone, and— I never planned to leave this planet But I have. You're out of my league Out of my league Why can't you see that It's so hard to be Paying the price for this Quarter-life crisis I don't mean to write this So bad, but I can't trust myself anymore I can't trust this world anymore Life is just Too complicated I'm jaded—I'm faded out Phased out, going about in this Town like I'm drowning in Insecurity Or rather, a diamond in the rough I've got enough stuff I just need love. You're out of my league I can see that I can't be that, thing What you want is perfection I just like who you are and thats— Never enough. I have nothing but love to give, love So forgive this: I didn't think I'd live this long But I was wrong And it was longer than I thought Ago Life is just Too complicated I'm jaded—I'm faded out Phased out, going about in this Town like I'm drowning in Insecurity Do you wanna know what it's like to be lonely like me I can tell you better than show you Once I get to know you good luck AMNESIA NOTES Miami Wade Crystal Brooks Donder (Donny) “we'll just call you Donny” “Why?” Uhhh...Because...we found you in the woods. “What?” “You know, like—the wild thornberrys” “Sounds tasty” “Uhhh—wasn't Donny found in the Jungle” “Uhhh—isn't the jungle just a denser version of the woods?” “I guess. It's like an earth-remix” “What's a remix?” Miami wells up—Crystal jumps up excitedly “Awwwwri And I've been stuck on Abbot Kinney, Thinking about Will Rodgers and Thinking that I'm a dodgers fan— But I'm not, I just like crowds. And LA makes me proud Of everything I need to be: And if the world were watching me She'd think she was herself. I was never sleeping, I'm just here And I was never reading, I just Put the bookmark where I left off... I could drift off into, The taste of ink And as it dries in my palm— I know it won't take long until I'm Drifting back into—sifting back into Space—grains of sand. You'll know when you've reached the promised land. Hello, Good Friend: ‘It's time to fall in love...with yourself.' The world has the most to learn from its elders and it's youth—fever disrespect the sometimes even subtle wisdom of a child or your elders. A1 (Lost in the Sauce) Break beats Ruffneck Bass: That's what I like in my face Drop that shit, don't make me wait Make me dance off all this waste I like chocolate, give me cake Wednesday mornin' wake-n-bake Star Jones—Oprah—Ricky lake Which is real and which is fake? Pick the right one, no mistake River—ocean—crater lake “White girl: can I touch your hair? Is it fake??” Out of order— Order steak. [ Sample: The Epic Trip] [interlude- two friends at a festival//a phone call] “Where the fuck are you?” “I can't hear you!” “Hello?” “BRO. Where are you?” “I'm by the—WAIT—hello?!” “WHAT? ” “HELLO?” [the call drops] “Yo. Where the fuck is she?” “I don't know man, probably lost in the sauce...” Sample Lost In The jungle//Kendrick Boo Boo Friends that say that they “gotchu” and then don't Ain't your friends— they're enemies Keep them close Nobody gives a fuck about you— Except you— Remember that. And if you can't remember Make a habit of forgetting Cause you're just another member of society With social anxiety Your sense of propriety Probably shouldn't be Anything I'd give anything Just to take back all my fucks Put them in a bucket, Throw it over my shoulder And wish the world “Good fucking luck” I'm so done with it This is the last chance you get So have fun with it There's no pleasure, no smiles— No love in it I'm just driving for miles Above the shit Transitions- Silent Film/EP Kandi moves to a new city from far, far away—and finds herself lost trying to find her own vibe. ❤️ 1. The Bus Song 2. Pretty Girls (SupaCreeMixx) 3. DOD (Phoenixx remix) “Holy infected fuck!” [thats my vibe right now] North Star After an EMP attack, an unlikely leader becomes a guide to a group of survivors to find the way northward to Alaska. Festival Trip Chava Hoffs- A Voluptuous Dark-Skinned Alaska Native-Black Mixed fashionista who (to her disdain) earns a living as a correctional officer in a juvenile detention facility in Arctic Alaska, daydreaming her long nights away and stacking her money, saving up for an escape to someplace warm and sunny. She is bright and quick-witted, but sometimes awkward—truly a ball of energy, whether good or bad. Sala Emilio (Stax) A tall, olive skinned hottie from Utah of Native American and Mexican decent who works as head chef in a gourmet Chinese food restaurant—a phenomenally functional alcoholic with a free spirit, questionable morals, good values, a loving heart—and a dry sense of humor. Childhood best friends with Chava, I hope you're okay with the character I based off you. I'm not going to copy the story exactly (cause it's a movie, duh) so—I came up with the story that your character runs the kitchen of a classy gourmet 5-Star Chinese restaurant in Utah that has an all-Mexican staff of mostly illegals; my character is a CO at a youth correctional facility in remote Alaska—I felt like those two extremes would play funnier on camera than to replicate our actual situations. I also made them not parents, because I would rather take the whole issue of parenting and raving into a completely separate film idea, I'm thinking of calling it Festival Project A Film Saga by SupaCree Inspired by True Events Festival Trip- Two lifelong friends take a two-week-long trip across the country, to attend two major music festivals—one on the west coast (Among Aliens, in California), and one on the east (Ultimate Music Festival) The Epic Trip – After breaking up with both her ex-fiance and her best friend, a depressed and anxious Chava decides to take a last-minute trip to another one of her bucket list destinations: The Epic Music Festival in Las Vegas, Nevada. F*ckFest: The Origins (Prequel) 21-year-old Chava Hoffs, a longtime raver and lover of all things dance culture, finally convinces her bar-scene best friend to accompany her to a regional event in her area, ‘F*ckfest', Sala's first ever festival/rave where—to both her and Chava's surprise, she connects with other longtime friends she had no idea were immersed into the culture. Sala, having been “rave-retired” since entering her first serious relationship, becomes overly-excited and branches off on her own, reconnecting with her true self after spending too long in her own shell—she discovers her love for an up-and-coming new artist (‘Shluggy') who magnetizes her with a newly-created sound (‘PukeRock'—a play on “VomitStep”) Vibes [Mini Series]- A sequel-in-installments to the shenanigans following F*ckfest, where Chava returns to visit Sala and return to ‘one of her favorite venues', which now hosts Festival Trip II- After reconciling, Chava and Sala unite again to journey to uncharted territories—after Chava is invited along as a journalist to cover artists belonging to an up-and-coming record label based in Alaska, she invites Sala as a tag-along, knowing that her “weird hoe-magic” will attract—as always—even more interesting personalities and circumstances than she could dream to on her own. Chava Hoffs Sala Emillio Gunther Ross- The more than interesting circus-act of a plug/one of Sala's romantic interests, who just happens to be in the same place at the same time, once Sala and Chava arrive in California. Solomon Dominguez- Chava's “homie-lover-friend”, a DC native transplanted to LA who hustles and bustles the 3-job life to live the California dream—a surprisingly dedicated and loyal friend to Chava, who considers him the “king of fuckboys”—which, is not entirely untrue. Johnny McEntire- An eclectic and friendly photographer who stumbles upon Sala during a vulnerable moment—a sweet, humble, and vibrant personality, Chava mostly dismisses him as just another victim of Sala's constantly-inconstant romantic gestures and affiliations. Grace Williams (Chava's Super-Christian (but very sweet) Aunt) Billy Williams- Chava's very dorky, southern Baptist uncle who can't help but throw in a (praise-jesus) Krista DeVaunte- Bride-To-Be—Noah's Fiance Noah Williams- Chava's Cousin, the groom to be Naomi Williams- Chava's salty Cousin, and freinemy since birth—Noah's younger sister Sonny Johnson— Chava's ex-fiance Dustin Roberts—Sala's ex-boyfriend Juan Manuel Jose Melendez Gutierrez-Rodriguez—Sala's current boyfriend, with whom she lives & works with. Running Jokes: Speaking Spanish with a Mandarin-inflenced dialect—speaking/yelling in awful Spanish-soundingMandarin—speaking “Mandarish” or “Spandarin” Every time Chava mentions Sonny (her ex), Sala interjects with “Fuck Sonny!” Cop Jokes (due to Chava's occupation) ACT I- The Wedding Bashers/It's Festival Season “Save-The-Date” Inciting Incident—Plans to attend a destination wedding that Chava and her lifelong long distance best friend Sala, have been planning for almost a year are abruptly halted when Chava learns via a very eventful facetime call (‘Meet The Williams') that her +1 invitation had apparently only applied to her now-ex-fiance [whom her stuck-up family adored because of his abhorrent Christianity], and that the bride-to-be would not allow Sala to take his place on the guest list—as her vivid memories of Sala from Chava's engagement party are severly grotesque. Flashback: Chava + Sonny's engagement party. Chava: Yeah dude, they got all, mad-butthurt that I was bringing you instead of Sonny. Sala: Fuck Sonny! A remote, unnamed city in the Alaskan Arctic Circle. It is severely cold, even visually so. Ch ACT II- Sunny California ACT III- Sunny Florida Excerpt- Festival Trip I As chava blasts away, Sala and Johnny laugh hysterically Sala: Dat ass tho! Their laughter fades in the distance as she speeds up, other onlookers also commenting about her ass, as she blows past a group of men in black, she turns a man's head as she catches his attention. Man: Daaaaaamn. 3.31.19 —Later— The same man from earlier looks out the window of his high rise penthouse suite, across from Chava's hotel—and sees Chava levitating—he pauses, looks around, and raises his eyebrows, drunkenly and assumingly otherwise intoxicated in his appearance. Man: Daaaaamn. Chava is freaking out, remaining motionless as she floats above the bed—she looks out the side of her peripheral, afraid to move—looking up at the ceiling, her eyes widen. She blinks, and takes a deep breath. He questions what he is seeing, as he pours himself a drink. 4.1.2019 As Chava dances through the crowds, she connects and trades Kandi, moving to the beat with intricate motion and flare—people are loving her (a musical dance number)—from backstage, a man pouts and purses his lips, wondering why she is familiar—he is momentarily lost in thought, as he gazes at her and the crowd. Man: (under his breath) Daaamn... Lackey: c'mon man, let's get the fuck out of here Man: But— Lackey: don't worry, you know there's gon' be hoes at the spot. Man: ...but look at her viiibe...and that ass tho—damn! Lackey: eehhhh. You wanna ass, I got a specific folder in my contacts titled “fat ass” with 300 bitches in it— Man: *women* Lackey: whatever—look—I could get you an ass twice as fat, on a dime twice as fine—in 10 minutes flat. Man: (eyes shining, like domo) but look at her aura... Lackey: —I think I got an Aurora in here Man: No, like— Lackey: (pulling at him) let's *go*, the fuck is you trippin..? His eyes won't move away, but he is led by the lackey by his arm, confusededly pouting as he is dragged along. Man: Damn. He feels like he knows her. Cut back to: CHAVA'S ENTRY DANCE scene ACT 1: Wedding Bashers Here we meet Chava Hoffs and Sala Emillio; Two life-long long-distance best friends who love eachother--for the most part--for better or worse. Sala (Pinky) and Chala (The Brain) are planning a tropical mexican vacation to a destination wedding Chava's been invited to as an excuse to celebrate Chava's upcoming birthday (held the same weekend as the wedding) in style--However, when Chava's exclusively classist family alerts her that her plus-one invitation only extended to her on-again-off-again fiance and absolutely excludes Sala, they desperately search for another way to escape their mundane and excruciatingly boring circumstances. Chava internet-searches events around her birthday and finds that there are two music festivals within the same week--running the numbers, she concludes that this alternative plan would actually cost less than the original--”so why not?” The young women keep their escapade-to-be a complete secret, disguising all the preliminary details as “wedding planning” They plan to ‘meet in the middle', Los Angeles being centrally located to both their respective homes. They meet at LAX excitedly and reuinte in happy (and drunken) tears. ACT 2: Sunny California Chava wants to visit old friends and reminisce as a “wannabe tourist” in an all-too-familiar city, which she used to call home--she's built a list of things to do and prepared an itinerary for the week; Sala wants to get riddegy-wrecked sun-up to sundown; Worlds collide as somewhat by-the-book Chava nervously nativages around, typically babysitting Sala and often falling victim to being steered off-course by her shenanigans. Within their first few moments under the California moonlight, Sala's smartphone helps her discover that she has a nearby group of friends--conveniently banded-together by her circus act “master plug”, who is devastatingly in love with her. They spend night one of the first festival tracking him down--Sala finds herself already exhausted by Sala's timing and drunken unsubtlety (“My friend's a COP!”) They finally meet him at the end of the first day, they allow him to tag along--until he becomes almost-suddenly dysfunctionally inebriated and Chava must make a fight-or-flight decision to leave him behind, after he begins drawing attention to their vulnerable crew, and she is approached at random by a mysterious character in a gas station convenience store, where she appears to be the most sober person. On day two, after running at top-speed to catch the shuttle, Sala drunkenly makes friends with a group of young people (fresh out of high school), who to Chava are quite “wookish”, but she plays along anyway. However, by the time they exit the shuttle and Chava has finallybecome comfortable being invited into their squad; Chala decides to ditch them--unknowing that they will re-meet later in the night. Excerpt- Festival Trip I As chava blasts away, Sala and Johnny laugh hysterically Sala: Dat ass tho! Their laughter fades in the distance as she speeds up, other onlookers also commenting about her ass, as she blows past a group of men in black, she turns a man's head as she catches his attention. Man: Daaaaaamn. 3.31.19 —Later— The same man from earlier looks out the window of his high rise penthouse suite, across from Chava's hotel—and sees Chava levitating—he pauses, looks around, and raises his eyebrows, drunkenly and assumingly otherwise intoxicated in his appearance. Man: Daaaaamn. Chava is freaking out, remaining motionless as she floats above the bed—she looks out the side of her peripheral, afraid to move—looking up at the ceiling, her eyes widen. She blinks, and takes a deep breath. He questions what he is seeing, as he pours himself a drink. 4.1.2019 As Chava dances through the crowds, she connects and trades Kandi, moving to the beat with intricate motion and flare—people are loving her (a musical dance number)—from backstage, a man pouts and purses his lips, wondering why she is familiar—he is momentarily lost in thought, as he gazes at her and the crowd. Man: (under his breath) Daaamn... Lackey: c'mon man, let's get the fuck out of here Man: But— Lackey: don't worry, you know there's gon' be hoes at the spot. Man: ...but look at her viiibe...and that ass tho—damn! Lackey: eehhhh. You wanna ass, I got a specific folder in m
Festival Project A Saga S Ū P A © R E E ™ One World. | PEACE. LOVE. UNITY. RESPECT. | Lifelong friends navigate the infinitely incredible world of rave culture, journeying together (and sometimes, apart) into the PLUniveRse© in fantastical, philosophical, and third-eye-opening adventures--the likes of which have never been seen (or foretold.) Festival Project™ is a multi-genre, mystifying and magical cross-genre series, set against the backdrop of modern rave culture-- combined with historical and futuristic elements-- across expansions of space-and-time, unifying with The Universal Consciousness in a multidimensional and explorative ensemble of Films, Episodic Series, Music Videos, Extended Playlists, and Concept Albums. A perpetual symphony of artistic storytelling though a cavalcade of wonderful and whimsical characters along high-intensity, off-the-map adventures--showcased through Music, Film & Interactive Art Explorations--set upon the dreamlike actual reality of an unravelling fabric of time-and-space. Enter The Multiverse: Anything Is Possible. This explosive and expansive wave of enigmatic, chaos-colliding, charismatic [ and often comedic] kinetic energy, reflects a shared experience throughout all time in human connection; Journey beyond the unknown, to Worlds Within--and Without. Everything is Everything. The Festival Project Saga is a multi-media Music, Film and Television saga that offers a new perspective on the ever-changing and recently popularized culture of dance music; it touches on the history of the culture as a whole, as well as a variety of other societal issues this generation faces—friendship, connectivity, communication—the dawn of social media, America's education system and justice system, immigration, and emerging mental health and drug crisis—while also taking a look at a history of counter culture as a derivative of the rapidly evolving technology of today's society. Through its characters and storylines, we dive deeply into a conglomerate of generational growth and exponentially educational topics, lightheartedly touching tales of friendship, family through blood and through bond, and exploring fields, of Astrology, Philosophy. Festival Trip- Two lifelong friends take a two-week-long trip across the country, to attend two major music festivals—one on the west coast (Among Aliens, in California), and one on the east (Ultimate Music Festival) Chava Hoffs Sala Emillio Gunther Ross- The more than interesting circus-act of a plug/one of Sala's romantic interests, who just happens to be in the same place at the same time, once Sala and Chava arrive in California. Solomon Dominguez- Chava's “homie-lover-friend”, a DC native transplanted to LA who hustles and bustles the 3-job life to live the California dream—a surprisingly dedicated and loyal friend to Chava, who considers him the “king of fuckboys”—which, is not entirely untrue. Johnny McEntire- An eclectic and friendly photographer who stumbles upon Sala during a vulnerable moment—a sweet, humble, and vibrant personality, Chava mostly dismisses him as just another victim of Sala's constantly-inconstant romantic gestures and affiliations. Grace Williams (Chava's Super-Christian (but very sweet) Aunt) Billy Williams- Chava's very dorky, southern Baptist uncle who can't help but throw in a (praise-jesus) Krista DeVaunte- Bride-To-Be—Noah's Fiance Noah Williams- Chava's Cousin, the groom to be Naomi Williams- Chava's salty Cousin, and freinemy since birth—Noah's younger sister Sonny Johnson— Chava's ex-fiance Dustin Roberts—Sala's ex-boyfriend Juan Manuel Jose Melendez Gutierrez-Rodriguez—Sala's current boyfriend, with whom she lives & works with. Running Jokes: -Ridiculous DJ names and Absurd Fictional Festivals -Speaking Spanish with a Mandarin-inflenced dialect—speaking/yelling in awful Spanish-sounding-Mandarin—speaking “Mandarish” or “Spandarin” -Every time Chava mentions Sonny (her ex), Sala interjects with “Fuck Sonny!” -Cop Jokes (due to Chava's occupation) “Go climb broke-bitch mountain!” ACT I- The Wedding Bashers/It's Festival Season “Save-The-Date” Inciting Incident—Plans to attend a destination wedding that Chava and her lifelong. long- distance best friend Sala, have been planning for almost a year are abruptly halted when Chava learns via a very eventful FaceTime call (‘Meet The Williams') that her +1 invitation had apparently only applied to her now-ex-fiance [whom her stuck-up family adored because of his abhorrent Christianity], and that the bride-to-be would not allow Sala to take his place on the guest list—as her vivid memories of Sala from Chava's engagement party are severely grotesque. Flashback: Chava + Sonny's engagement party. Chava: Yeah dude, they got all, mad-butthurt that I was bringing you instead of Sonny. Sala: Fuck Sonny! [The Break-Up] Sala: FUCK YOUR BIRTHDAY! CHAVA: I'M SURE YOU WOULD IF YOU COULD, IF MY BIRTHDAY HAD A PENIS. Sala: YOUR BIRTHDAY DOES HAVE A PENIS—IT'S YOU, DICK. CHAVA: THEN SUCK ME, SALLY MAE. SALA: YOU WISH, WANDA. CHAVA: Can't make a wish with no fucking candles, Kandace. SALA: Huh. I would have thought there were candles just judging by hard you fucking BLOW, Bonnie! CHAVA: Then drive off cliff, Clyde. A remote, unnamed city near the North Pole, in the Alaskan Arctic Circle. It is severely cold, even visually so. ACT II- Sunny California ACT III- Sunny Florida In the scene where random ravers find Sala's backpack in the parking lot, debut Rave Dora [Backpack SupaCreeMixx] “I'm a backpack loaded up with things and Knick-knacks too—anything that you might need, I got inside for you...” Festival Trip One-Liners/ Slang/ Phrases Keep up, Kassandra Hold Up, Heather Be back, Becky Back up, Barbra Shut up, Susan/ Shut Up Sandra/ Shut Up Sharon/ Sit Down, Sally Shove It, Shelly Stop It, Stella Chill, Chelsea Cheer Up, Charlie (a reference to Willy Wonka) Get out my biz, Liz Really Billy? Excerpt, Act III Chava: Dude, your energy is killing me. Sala: So. Chava: Soo, fix it. Sala: What do I look like—Bob the Builder? Chava: More like Wreck-It-Ralphed-All-Over-Yourself Sala: Fuck you. Chava: Off limits. I'm the last person on earth you haven't fucked. Sala: Jealous? Chava: Of the super-massive black-hole that is your vagina? No. I just wish my camera had a better low-light filter so I had actual photographic proof of an 8th world wonder. Sala: …fuck you. Chava: ‘No' Means ‘No'. [blows whistle] Get up. Sala: Ahhhhh—Get fucked! Chava: I was—and you ruined it being a hoe—but I'm willing to look past that, because its a beautiful fucking day in Miami and we're about to get lit. C'mon. S'day one. Sala: Day 1 of rave 2, I'm over it. Chava: Hoe, I'm over you. Sala: Get over me, then, bitch— Chava: I already said I am. Get with it. Sala: Get with this dick. Chava: What's a dick without some balls, bro? Pussy. Sala: … Chava: You mad? Sala: I been mad. Chava: Stay mad, then. Sala: How about I just stay here. Chava: Pay here, stay here, bitch—this trip ain't free. Sala: This trip ain't me. Raves are your thing. I'm not a “festival chick.” Chava: You are for the next three days. Sala: …Three…?! Chava: And counting. Get. Some. Motherfuckin' balls. Here, have some Jesus Juice. [She extends her arm, holding the bottle in front of Sala] Sala: Ughhh. Chava: Come on, man. I'm tryna see Cow Turds. Sala: You're engaged to one. Chava: Shut the fuck up and drink. Here, I'll have one with you. The Epic Trip – ‘Girl—Meet World'. After breaking up with both her ex-fiance and her best friend, a depressed and anxious Chava decides to take a last-minute trip to another one of her bucket list destinations: The Epic Music Festival in Las Vegas, Nevada. F*ckFest: The Origins (Prequel) 21-year-old Chava Hoffs, a longtime raver and lover of all things dance culture, finally convinces her bar-scene best friend to accompany her to a regional event in her area, ‘F*ckfest', Sala's first ever festival/rave where—to both her and Chava's surprise, she connects with other longtime friends she had no idea were immersed into the culture. Sala, having been “rave-retired” since entering her first serious relationship, becomes overly-excited and branches off on her own, reconnecting with her true self after spending too long in her own shell—she discovers her love for an up-and-coming new artist (‘Shluggy') who magnetizes her with a newly-created sound (‘PukeRock'—a play on “VomitStep”) Vibes [Mini Series, Prequel]- A sequel-in-installments to the shenanigans following F*ckfest, where Chava returns to visit Sala and return to ‘one of her favorite venues', which now hosts GoF*ckYourself (GFY), the biggest summertime festival in the region. Festival Trip II [First Sequel ]- It's been a magical year and the breakup is over; A 20-something's imaginary friend returns, a decade after disappearing, just as she finds herself on the brink of ‘real adulthood', and has settled into the mundane and mediocre—as he leads her on a journey of self-discovery, she internally struggles with whether to tell her therapist—after deciding (or rather, being convinced) she shouldn't, she begins a desperate search for answers in what seems like a downward spiral into (Use- I'm on my way to heaven, for trailer.) A group of friends decide to form their own society after discovering an “uncharted” island—what they don't know [understand] is that the world government is observing at every angle—and as their population increases, they struggle as the popularity of their culture and lifestyle explode— Craig's world- an ensemble about the good old days of craigslist Ū [Amnesia/Working Title] Miami (Ami) A fashion designer and music enthusiast who attends festivals in her spare time, seeking inspiration for her fashion and design blog; she shares an apartment with her lesbian best friend from college, who works as a freelance writer and photographer. Crystal (Chrys) A short-haired-yet-feminine gender-non-conforming lovable with a dry sense of humor and an eye for art; Music lover and fan of festivals, Miami's “convert” into the rave world. Serra- A high-matinence instagram model who supports herself through social media promotion and influencing, modeling Miami's fashion line and sugar-babying/arm-candying to make her way through life, usually attending festivals as someone's date or just to take pictures/show face. Samuel/Donnie- Sensei Samurai: An award-winning world-renowned music artist and specialty DJ, the soul-headliner of ‘Magic's Mountain art and Music Festival' Daz- Sam/Donnie's Manager- (Antagonist) Lazers, pyrotechnics, strobes, and confetti light the night sky as Sensei Samurai, a medium-build white guy sporting two long braids and a samurai cut (his signature style), dances atop the table which supports a state-of-the-art DJ set-up; The stage is massive, the crowd is wild--but he is at home--or rather, at work, and at the top of his game. He jumps down from the table, drinking from a red solo cup, before he picks up the microphone to speak to his audience: Samuel: LET ME SEE YOU FUCKING JUMP. He dances around, flailing his arms to gesture to the crowd, drinking again from his red solo cup . He moves to the beat of the music as he focuses to adjust the mixer, structuring a build-up. His manager watches from backstage, carefully eying his every move. Samuel: --ARE YOU GUYS READY? [He lights a ciggarette, sips from his cup again as he continues to mix. He nods along to the beat, grooving as he plots his next move, looking into the crowd with hunger in his eye.] Dez: (speaking into a earpiece) Sammy, take it easy... [He glances stage left, to where Dez is situated and watching him like a hawk; He nonchalantly shrugs, blowing out a plume of smoke into the air, decisively irritated with the instruction.] Dez: (Cont'd): I mean it, chill. [Samuel sticks his finger into his ear, wiggling it profusely--and dislodges the hidden inner-earpiece, eyeing Dez as he pulls up his headphones, deep in the mix; He takes a long drag from his ciggarette, master-minding as he feverously twists the knobs and dials of the mixer.] Samuel (over the mic) NO CHILL MOTHERFUCKERS. [The music speeds as he prepares for the drop.] Dez: (forgetting momentarily that he will not be heard) Sam, don't--! [Too late. Samuel Drops the bass so hard, it hurts, ripping off his headphones and running straight into the crowd, head first to crowd surf. The crowd goes massively, insanely wild.] Through the lens of Crystal's camera, we see a series of still photos, capturing Sam's wild plunge into the crowd, just off-center in the front row. Miami looks to her right, giving her a nod of approval; Crystal shoots her a hand signal for “ok”. Miami looks to her left, lifting an eyebrow and smirking at Serra, who bounces off-beat against a tall wooky gentleman who has his arms around her through the sleeves of a spirit hood, tilting her head from side to side as she poses for selfies. Miami happily sways to the motion of the music, putting one hand over the rail and pulling up her mask with the other, as she watches Samuel be lifted back onto the stage and take his place behind the decks. The set continues, the crowd, the lazers, and the effects go wild: The backdrop reads ‘SENSEI SAMURAI' His backup dancers are acrobatic ninjas. Samuel: Thank you Magical Mountain, I Love You Guys!! The crowd goes wild as Samuel exits the stage, ignoring Dez as he breezes past him. Dez: (following after him) I thought I said, “No more crowd surfing, no more stage diving.” Samuel: I thought you said that, too. Dez: Do you recall “OhMyLanta?” Samuel: (sarcastically) Oh, you mean that festival in Atlanta? Dez: Yes. Samuel: How creative. Dez: ‘Creative' would describe the legal team's very expensive, very strenuous tactical strategy which weaseled you out of a very serious lawsuit. Samuel: What? When was this? Dez: This was when you decided to stage dive wearing goth-pants and your chains got stuck in that kid's earholes Samuel: They're called Tripp pants. Dez: Oh yeah...what do you call them after mutilating a teenager with them? Samuel: Tripp pants I can sell on eBay. I made that kid a star. Dez: You made him a cripple. Samuel: --we still talk. [EXT. A FARAWAY FOREST] Bass blasts through the christmas-lit forest, a festival set in the meadow against the lush and natural forest scenery; Attendees come-and-go to-and-from the lines of tents and out into the festival grounds, where DJs headline stages, dancers and performers interact with spectators, vendors practice their unique salesmanship, and the wild and true nature of ravers is unleashed. Frozen breath leaks from the laughing mouths of three young individuals, running through the forest; Twigs crush and leaves crackle underfoot of their prancing and galloping feet, clad in combat boots, tennis shoes, and platforms, respectively. Ripped fishnets hug the thighs that sweep together rapidly, swooshing as the legs that bare them race forward; a pashmina trails behind one's back, acting as a cape of sorts. A thud, in the darkness of the forest. Crystal and Serra continue forward, unaware their friend has fallen for a few short moments, leaving Miami behind. Miami confusedly looks for the obstruction which caused her to trip, discovering under a pile of brush and leaves, a man (Samuel) lying face down on the ground; her eyes widen and she draws slightly back, frightened, before squinting and leaning in to get a closer look; She turns on a glow toy for added light, she pants heavily under her breath, shaking slightly as she brushes away debris and leaves, uncovering his head and shoulders, revealing he is wearing a mask. She examines him. His glasses are broken, lying on the ground under his face--His hair is wet; he appears dead. Crystal: ...I told you not to wear those. Miami: Yo… Crystal: Yo--*gasps* (she grabs Serra by the shoulder, holding her back.) Serra: (She notices the body, under her pashmina, spirit hood, and glasses) Ohwhatthefuck. (she takes a few steps back) Crystal: Don't move. Serra: Yeah, fuck that. Fuck this. (she wraps the pashmina tightly around her face) [muffled] Fuck this. Crystal: ...Ami, we should get out of here. Miami: We should help him. Crystal: He may be beyond help, honey. Serra: He's fucking dead. Whatthefuck. Fuck this! Crystal: ...Is he dead? Miami: (she looks at him closely, there are no signs of life. she checks for breathing with her hand.) ...I don't know. (she checks again, leaning in closer. she grabs his wrist to check a pulse) Serra: Don't touch it! Miami: Shut up, I'm trying to get a pulse (beat) ...he's super cold. Serra: He's super dead! Miam: No, no...I don't think so. Crystal, come here--help me turn him over. Crystal: Are you sure? What if he--wakes up and tries to--?? Miami: (urgently) What if it was you? Crystal fishes for a flashlight and switchblade in her fanny pack, places the flashlight in her mouth and positioning the knife under her kandi cuffs. She cautiously inches forward. Crystal: Serra, try to get some cell service so we can call for help. The girls carefully turn him onto his back, wide eyed and bewildered. He is completely lifeless, clamy and pale--covered with dirt, and forestry. Miami continues to check for a pulse, shaking her head as he continues to appear dead. Crystal: Do you feel anything? Miami: …(shaking her head) I can't...he's like…(as she pulls up the sleeve of his hoodie and notices a familiar tattoo. she pauses for a moment, thinks, and then looks towards his head) Do you still have my mirror in your fanny pack?) Crystal returns to her fanny pack, digging for the mirror. Miami carefuly leans in towards the man, examining him once more; she notices a necklace, also familiar--she thinks, as she moves to remove first the excess hair, and then the mask from his face, very carefully. She peels off his mask, immidiately shocked as she reckognizes his face--It is Samuel, who she knows as Sensai Samurai. She yeeps (imploded gasp, making Crystal look up; she, too recognizes him; she gasps. They look at eachother, then at him--then back to eachother.) Miami: ...Give me your mirror. Crystal: Dude, is this…? Miami: Your mirror. (she holds the mirror under his nose--a subtle cloud of fog appears; he is, in fact, alive.) Crystal: Oh, my God. Miami: He's breathing. Serra! Crystal: ...This is Sensai Samurai. Miami: (trying to convince herself) It probably just looks like him…. Crystal: I just took one-hundred close-up photos, dude--like, less than an hour ago-- Miami: Shhhhh! (she frantically begins to check his pockets) He's gotta have a wallet. Crystal: What, you were going to save him--now you wanna roll him? Miami: An ID. He's got to have an ID. (she frantically searches him) Hey Serra! (Crystal lifts the other sleeve of his sweater, revealing a brightly colored wristband, and one singular kandi bracelet, which reads “Sensai” Simoltaneously, Miami has found something in one of the pockets--she produces a small box from one of the pockets of his cargo pants) Crystal: Holy fuck. Look. (she gestures the wrist band and bracelet.) Miami: ...Artist's wristband. Fuck. It is him. Crystal: [Samuel is slumped lifelessly over both Crystal and Miami's shoulders, head hanging downward and hair flailing and dangling in his face as the girls struggle to support him. His oversized light-up sunglasses begin slipping, almost revealing his eyes.] Girl:(looking over, concerned) ...Is your friend okay? [He is clearly not. Serra slides her finger up his nose to adjust his glasses, eyeing the girl suspiciously.] Crystal: [flatly] Yes. [Samuel's dead-weight pulls him towards the ground, as he slips; the girls struggle to readjust; he seems heavier by the minute. They all three stare back at the girl, awkwardly; Miami fakes an ‘everything's fine' smile, while Crystal stares blankly through her sunglasses and Serra shoots a look of dissatisfaction. [INT. KITCHEN. DAY.] The three girls gaze in awe of Donnie, multitasking busily in the kitchen, hair pinned neatly atop his head with chopsticks, wearing a neatly-pressed (as in, freshly ironed) apron, as he removes one baking mit with his mouth and works about, happily consumed and bouncily, humming. -...He's so...domestic. Crystal -You'd think he'd carry a better tune. Miami- Cause you'd be belting melodies after waking up out of a drug-induced coma? Crystal- No--I guess I'd open a bake shop in some random girls' kitchen. Miami: Donnie? Donnie: Hmm, yes? Miami: We...we have some news for you. Donnie: Oooh! Is it celebrity news? Miami:...sort of. Donnie: I hope it's juicy gossip. Crystal: Believe me--it'll be the talk of the town. Donnie: This town? Crystal: Any town. [ She refills her wine glass first, then prepares two more, never breaking eye contact with donnie; His lighthearted excitement turns to slight confusion, as he furrows his brows,] Miami: (sighs, taking his hand) Here, lets sit down. Donnie: But, the macaroons-- Serra-What? That's what you're making? [Donnie nods.] Serra-...(to the side) maybe we should let him finish the macaroons, first...what if this like, fucks him all up. Miami: No, it's time. I feel like we've already waited too long. Serra-...I feel like he makes really good macaroons. Miami: Yeah? Like grammy-award-winning macaroons? -If by ‘Grammy', you mean my Grandmother would approve… Miami: Your grandmother died of complications from diabetes. Serra-...and you think macaroons had absolutely nothing to do with that? [Crystal has already finished her first glass of wine, and begins to reach for the second glass, when Miami, out of the corner of her eye, catches her, snatching the glass from her gracefully, as she floats it to Donnie, sitting beside him, crossing her legs.] Donnie: Before noon? Crystal- Oh, so you know that rule? Donnie: I know some things. A 20-something's imaginary friend returns, a decade after disappearing, just as she finds herself on the brink of ‘real adulthood', and has settled into the mundane and mediocre—as he leads her on a journey of self-discovery, she internally struggles with whether to tell her therapist—after deciding (or rather, being convinced) she shouldn't, she begins a desperate search for answers in what seems like a downward spiral into A group of friends decide to form their own society after discovering an “uncharted” island—what they don't know [understand] is that the world government is observing at every angle—and as their population increases, they struggle as the popularity of their culture and lifestyle explode— Craig's world- an ensemble about the good old days of craigslist Blue Story A wayward security officer drunkenly fills out an application to join the police academy, and is accepted—both to his surprise, and dismay. #SQUAD OUT!- A Mockumentary-Style Comedy following several “tribes”, “squads”, “rave families”, and even solo-ravers surrounding a large group of ravers and friends. Ū [Amnesia/Working Title] Amnesia [Working Title] Three girls at a camping festival find an incapacitated man in the woods and take him back to their campsite for safety—when one of the girls discovers that she recognizes the mysterious man, actually a headliner at the festival they're attending—two of the girls keep it a secret from their friend who would certainly take advantage of the situation. After discovering a “butt-load” of mind-altering substances on his person, Miami, the ring leader, makes a ‘judgement call' not to call the authorities, deciding instead to attempt to take him back to his trailer—however—when the girls haul him back to his campsite, they discover his manager, Dez, rifling through his belongings. When Samuel awakens, he has no memory of himself—and so a journey begins: a test of friendship, and a race against the clock. Miami (Ami) A fashion designer and music enthusiast who attends festivals in her spare time, seeking inspiration for her fashion and design blog; she shares an apartment with her lesbian best friend from college, who works as a freelance writer and photographer. Crystal (Chrys) A short-haired-yet-feminine gender-non-conforming lovable with a dry sense of humor and an eye for art; Music lover and fan of festivals, Miami's “convert” into the rave world. Shane- A high-matinence instagram model who supports herself through social media promotion and influencing, modeling Miami's fashion line and sugar-babying/arm-candying to make her way through life, usually attending festivals as someone's date or just to take pictures/show face. DONNIE “*giggles* what's a rave?” Miami (takes a deep breath) Crystal (facepalm) Shane (purses her lips) C-Is Giving drugs to somebody with amnesia bad? M-I don't know what's bad for amnesia S-Well maybe, it's not giving it to him that would be bad—like, they were already in his system, probably wouldn't he go like, into withdraw or something. You're probably right S-(I'm probably not) Samuel/Donnie- Sensei Samurai: An award-winning world-renowned music artist and specialty DJ, the soul-headliner of ‘Magic's Mountain art and Music Festival' Daz- Sam/Donnie's Manager- (Antagonist-) Lazers, pyrotechnics, strobes, and confetti light the night sky as Sensei Samurai, a medium-build white guy sporting two long braids and a samurai cut (his signature style), dances atop the table which supports a state-of-the-art DJ set-up; The stage is massive, the crowd is wild--but he is at home--or rather, at work, and at the top of his game. He jumps down from the table, drinking from a red solo cup, before he picks up the microphone to speak to his audience: Samuel: LET ME SEE YOU FUCKING JUMP. He dances around, flailing his arms to gesture to the crowd, drinking again from his red solo cup . He moves to the beat of the music as he focuses to adjust the mixer, structuring a build-up. His manager watches from backstage, carefully eying his every move. Samuel: --ARE YOU GUYS READY? [He lights a ciggarette, sips from his cup again as he continues to mix. He nods along to the beat, grooving as he plots his next move, looking into the crowd with hunger in his eye.] Dez: (speaking into a earpiece) Sammy, take it easy... [He glances stage left, to where Dez is situated and watching him like a hawk; He nonchalantly shrugs, blowing out a plume of smoke into the air, decisively irritated with the instruction.] Dez: (Cont'd): I mean it, chill. [Samuel sticks his finger into his ear, wiggling it profusely--and dislodges the hidden inner-earpiece, eyeing Dez as he pulls up his headphones, deep in the mix; He takes a long drag from his ciggarette, master-minding as he feverously twists the knobs and dials of the mixer.] Samuel (over the mic) NO CHILL MOTHERFUCKERS. [The music speeds as he prepares for the drop.] Dez: (forgetting momentarily that he will not be heard) Sam, don't--! [Too late. Samuel Drops the bass so hard, it hurts, ripping off his headphones and running straight into the crowd, head first to crowd surf. The crowd goes massively, insanely wild.] Through the lens of Crystal's camera, we see a series of still photos, capturing Sam's wild plunge into the crowd, just off-center in the front row. Miami looks to her right, giving her a nod of approval; Crystal shoots her a hand signal for “ok”. Miami looks to her left, lifting an eyebrow and smirking at Serra, who bounces off-beat against a tall wooky gentleman who has his arms around her through the sleeves of a spirit hood, tilting her head from side to side as she poses for selfies. Miami happily sways to the motion of the music, putting one hand over the rail and pulling up her mask with the other, as she watches Samuel be lifted back onto the stage and take his place behind the decks. The set continues, the crowd, the lazers, and the effects go wild: The backdrop reads ‘SENSEI SAMURAI' His backup dancers are acrobatic ninjas. Samuel: Thank you Magical Mountain, I Love You Guys!! The crowd goes wild as Samuel exits the stage, ignoring Dez as he breezes past him. Dez: (following after him) I thought I said, “No more crowd surfing, no more stage diving.” Samuel: I thought you said that, too. Dez: Do you recall “OhMyLanta?” Samuel: (sarcastically) Oh, you mean that festival in Atlanta? Dez: Yes. Samuel: How creative. Dez: ‘Creative' would describe the legal team's very expensive, very strenuous tactical strategy which weaseled you out of a very serious lawsuit. Samuel: Law-Suit? I've never worn one of those. Black-Label? Dez: More like ‘black-book' with your name written on and in it. It took me weeks clean up. Samuel: When was this? Dez: When you decided to stage dive wearing goth-pants and one of your chains got stuck in that kid's earhole. Samuel: They're called ‘Tripp' pants. Dez: Oh yeah...what do you call them after mutilating a teenager with them? Samuel: Tripp pants I can sell on eBay. Dez: You made him a cripple. Samuel: --we still talk. Bass blasts through the christmas-lit forest, a festival set in the meadow against the lush and natural forest scenery; Attendees come-and-go to-and-from the lines of tents and out into the festival grounds, where DJs headline stages, dancers and performers interact with spectators, vendors practice their unique salesmanship, and the wild and true nature of ravers is unleashed. Frozen breath leaks from the laughing mouths of three young individuals, running through the forest; Twigs crush and leaves crackle underfoot of their prancing and galloping feet, clad in combat boots, tennis shoes, and platforms, respectively. Ripped fishnets hug the thighs that sweep together rapidly, swooshing as the legs that bare them race forward; a pashmina trails behind one's back, acting as a cape of sorts. A thud, in the darkness of the forest. Crystal and Shane continue forward, unaware their friend has fallen for a few short moments, leaving Miami behind. Miami confusedly looks for the obstruction which caused her to trip, discovering under a pile of brush and leaves, a man (Samuel) lying face down on the ground; her eyes widen and she draws slightly back, frightened, before squinting and leaning in to get a closer look; She turns on a glow toy for added light, she pants heavily under her breath, shaking slightly as she brushes away debris and leaves, uncovering his head and shoulders, revealing he is wearing a mask. She examines him. His glasses are broken, lying on the ground under his face--His hair is wet; he appears dead. Miami is horrified, speechless, breathless. Crystal: ...I told you not to wear those. Miami: Yo… Crystal: Yo--*gasps* (she grabs Shane by the shoulder, holding her back.) Shane: (She notices the body, under her pashmina, spirit hood, and glasses) Ohwhatthefuck. (she takes a few steps back) Crystal: Don't move. Serra: Yeah, fuck that. Fuck this. (she wraps the pashmina tightly around her face) [muffled] Fuck this. Crystal: ...Ami, we should get out of here. Miami: We should help him. Crystal: He may be beyond help, honey. Shane: He's fucking dead. Whatthefuck. Cystal: ...Is he dead? Miami: (she looks at him closely, there are no signs of life. she checks for breathing with her hand.) ...I don't know. (she checks again, leaning in closer. she grabs his wrist to check a pulse) Shane: Don't touch it! Miami: Shut up, I'm trying to get a pulse (beat) ...he's super cold. Shane: He's super dead! Miam: No, no...I don't think so. Crystal, come here--help me turn him over. Crystal: Are you sure? What if he--wakes up and tries to--?? Miami: (urgently) What if it was you? Crystal fishes for a flashlight and switchblade in her fanny pack, places the flashlight in her mouth and positioning the knife under her kandi cuffs. She cautiously inches forward. Crystal: Shane, try to get some cell service so we can call for help. The girls carefully turn him onto his back, wide eyed and bewildered. He is completely lifeless, clamy and pale--covered with dirt, and forestry. Miami continues to check for a pulse, shaking her head as he continues to appear dead. Crystal: Do you feel anything? Miami: …(shaking her head) I can't...he's like…(as she pulls up the sleeve of his hoodie and notices a familiar tattoo. she pauses for a moment, thinks, and then looks towards his head) Do you still have my mirror in your fanny pack?) Crystal returns to her fanny pack, digging for the mirror. Miami carefuly leans in towards the man, examining him once more; she notices a necklace, also familiar--she thinks, as she moves to remove first the excess hair, and then the mask from his face, very carefully. She peels off his mask, immidiately shocked as she reckognizes his face--It is Samuel, who she knows as Sensai Samurai. She yeeps (imploded gasp, making Crystal look up; she, too recognizes him; she gasps. They look at eachother, then at him--then back to eachother.) Miami: ...Give me your mirror. Crystal: Dude, is this…? Miami: Your mirror. (she holds the mirror under his nose--a subtle cloud of fog appears; he is, in fact, alive.) Crystal: Oh, my God. Miami: He's breathing. Shane! Crystal: ...This is Sensai Samurai. Miami: (trying to convince herself) It probably just looks like him…. Crystal: I just took one-hundred close-up photos, dude--like, less than an hour ago-- Miami: Shhhhh! (she frantically begins to check his pockets) He's gotta have a wallet. Crystal: What, you were going to save him--now you wanna roll him? Miami: An ID. He's got to have an ID. (she frantically searches him) Hey Shane! (Crystal lifts the other sleeve of his sweater, revealing a brightly colored wristband, and one singular kandi bracelet, which reads “Sensai” Simultaneously, Miami has found something in one of the pockets--she produces a small box from one of the pockets of his cargo pants) Crystal: Holy fuck. Look. (she gestures the wrist band and bracelet.) Miami: ...Artist's wristband. Fuck. It is him. Crystal: [Samuel is slumped lifelessly over both Crystal and Miami's shoulders, head hanging downward and hair flailing and dangling in his face as the girls struggle to support him. His oversized light-up sunglasses begin slipping, almost revealing his eyes.] Girl:(looking over, concerned) ...Is your friend okay? [He is clearly not. Serra slides her finger up his nose to adjust his glasses, eyeing the girl suspiciously.] Crystal: [flatly] Yes. [Samuel's dead-weight pulls him towards the ground, as he slips; the girls struggle to readjust; he seems heavier by the minute. They all three stare back at the girl, awkwardly; Miami fakes an ‘everything's fine' smile, while Crystal stares blankly through her sunglasses and Serra shoots a look of dissatisfaction. [INT. KITCHEN. DAY.] The three girls gaze in awe of Donnie, multitasking busily in the kitchen, hair pinned neatly atop his head with chopsticks, wearing a neatly-pressed (as in, freshly ironed) apron, as he removes one baking mit with his mouth and works about, happily consumed and bouncily, humming. -...He's so...domestic. Crystal -You'd think he'd carry a better tune. Miami- Cause you'd be belting melodies after waking up out of a drug-induced coma? Crystal- No--I guess I'd open a bake shop in some random girls' kitchen. Miami: Donnie? Donnie: Hmm, yes? Miami: We...we have some news for you. Donnie: Oooh! Is it celebrity news? Miami:...sort of. Donnie: I hope it's juicy gossip. Crystal: Believe me--it'll be the talk of the town. Donnie: This town? Crystal: Any town. [ She refills her wine glass first, then prepares two more, never breaking eye contact with donnie; His lighthearted excitement turns to slight confusion, as he furrows his brows,] Miami: (sighs, taking his hand) Here, lets sit down. Donnie: But, the macaroons-- Serra-What? That's what you're making? [Donnie nods.] Serra-...(to the side) maybe we should let him finish the macaroons, first...what if this like, fucks him all up. Miami: No, it's time. I feel like we've already waited too long. Serra-...I feel like he makes really good macaroons. Miami: Yeah? Like grammy-award-winning macaroons? -If by ‘Grammy', you mean my Grandmother would approve… Miami: Your grandmother died of complications from diabetes. Serra-...and you think macaroons had absolutely nothing to do with that? [Crystal has already finished her first glass of wine, and begins to reach for the second glass, when Miami, out of the corner of her eye, catches her, snatching the glass from her gracefully, as she floats it to Donnie, sitting beside him, crossing her legs.] Donnie: Before noon? Crystal- Oh, so you know that rule? Donnie: I know some things. Under The Mask —A superstar DJ and his best friend embark on a series of festivals under cover as non-celebrity citizens to first-handedly experience the other side of his world. Grandma's Girl- A funeral turns into an accidentally epic week-long house party, after the ‘favorite grand child' becomes disappointed in the traditional send-off given by the family; While grieving and going through her late-grandmothers belongings, Serra discovers journals and an old phonebook, containing the life and times of her wildly adventurous grandma and her close friends—when she realizes that none of the people from her grandmother's life ‘before the family' are in attendance of her funeral (or even aware of her passing), she links up with her best friends to organize a ‘proper goodbye'. All heaven breaks loose, when ‘ravers of old' begin showing up to pay their respects to Silvia—things get a little out-of-hand when the gathering explodes due-to-word of mouth, as it turns out Grandma Silvia had a few more connections than expected—and they've all come from near-and-far to say their goodbyes. Deathwish—A series about a woman who makes a death wish—but the stakes are raised wen all her wildest dreams come true, and death lurks just around the corner at every turn. ((M3))- A collection of silent films, by SupaCree Enter: World of Music Ascension- Set in a parallel universe, Father TIme and Mother Nature are reconnected on Earth, as the dawn of a new-era arises at the peak of mankind's evolutionary journey. Series is set in a parralell universe, a seperate realm where humans have met faced dark ages, technological or technological setbacks they live harmoniously and peacefully within— live spiritually and intuitively with the planet, and can gain/ strengthen certain abilities through higher learning, strength training, conditionig, and meditation; We begin at the dawn of a new age, where beings ('God Bodies' [working])acended from higher plains of conciousness walk amongst the living in 'humanform', guided and led to higher forms of being through teachings of the Acended sorcerers and masters belonging to the universal collective conciousness of light; Also amongst the living, in 'humanform', Costumes: Modern-Futuristic da ‘Thieo' makes his final wish (for his truest and ever lasting love) to his appointed Acceded Sorcerer; but there are trials he must endure and obstacles to be met before his wish come true— C'Esmett— A warrior princess raised to rule is on on the brink of going rouge, after she is betrayed by her betrothed —her calling to become queen is imminent; yet she must overcome boundaries set by tradition, facing the powers-that-be to strengthen and master her own. Her ancient knowledge, ascended sorcery, and intrinsic healing mysticism— amongst other gifts of nature (a seer, fortune of truths; being of light) “I'm sorry, but it's out of my control.” “NOTHING Is out of your control." "--Except for you." She scorns him, and turns away swiftly, as her cape sweeps across the floor, as it flutters and whips behind her “I'm sorry, but it's out of my control.” “NOTHING Is out of your control." "--Except for you." She scorns him, and turns away swiftly, as her cape sweeps across the floor, as it flutters and whips behind her--she turns again, eyeing him directly, pointing to him with dismay as she takes in a breath; catching herself in anger, she deflates, keeping eye contact (though her gaze suddenly softens as she arrives ‘ACENSION' Ascension- Set in a parallel universe, Father TIme and Mother Nature are reconnected on Earth, as the dawn of a new-era arises at the peak of mankind's evolutionary journey. CHARACTERS Thïeo {Petrutheïo} Godform Spiritclad Cross-Bodied sorcerer; Humanborn earthbound in his most recent incarnation to rule in the new age…(t b c) C'Esmétt {Ch'Esmett X'oxįl Nazari is the most powerful being on planet Earth, and throughout multiple dimensions, through which she presides over, in various forms and figures; She possesses the universe's oldest Soul. a Godform Spiritclad Ascended Sorceress who possesses rare “Creation Energy”—the ability to form and shape matter, bend and travel through time, and control aspects of reality; Youthful and fiery, she is praised as a God of Light; Supporting: Kï'yara—Fireborn, Earthbound Rai'ayn—Loveborn, Multi-Dimentional Onyyxx—Rooted, Tri-Dimentiinal The elements: Love Matter Earth -Of Ground -Of Water -Of Fire -Of Air ...there are more but I'm tired right now. The realms: Now Then (points in the past to which time bending bodies may access) The past (inaccessible points on past timelines to those in human form or bound to earth, besides Godform; even so, the process is strenuous and dangerous. Love Self (to self, to travel inward and reflect a physical presence of the world within, outwardly; true self exists freely and ideally—you are able to converse with self as others see you [appearing as an identical twin with ideal aspects. Light therapy Frequencies Vibrationally energizing Body waves are Paralyzing Lines of Broken harmonies Inside of me. Crying on the clock; Rocking back and forth Stocking full of coal Greetings from the North Pole If Santa Clause is real Maybe we can make a deal; If my heart is made of steel You can't steal it—I can feel it Winter is here The world is money hungry (So am I) The world is simply starving (So am I) The world is so alarming (So am I) The world is just evolving. (So I am.) Cause I've been going crazy Stuck inside myself And I've been feeling lazy Just beside myself And I've been thinking lately That just maybe, someday maybe I'll be It's all connected— The reason we disconnect Is we're neglected I wonder what you'd expect You can't express it Just repress it. Repression syndrome— Came up too fast; Compression syndrome Suck it in Suck it up, You stupid fuck Dive deeper Ū (EP) 1. Thank U 2. I'm Sorry 3. I Love U 4. I miss U I like your vibe Come join my squad Curiosity killed the cat Carbohydrates killed the queen Don't cry “I'll try...” 50 Shades of Blue Don't pick up the phone Don't pick up the phone Don't pick up the phone Don't pick up the phone And here you are: 8 years later, With a baby on your back and— Bills to pay You have to decide (What the fuck) what the world is all about today. Don't want to be Cree For a really long time I just need I just need I just need a whole mind I was me the whole time I never left And yet There I was—looking at myself from above, All the love in the world; Just a lonely little girl Trapped in her Head Never got out of bed, that day: But I went away somewhere, And there I was—looking at myself from above, All the love in the world, Just a lonely little girl Trapped in her Head And I said “why are you waking me up?” But I wasn't asleep— I just wanted to fuck And sometimes, it's too much Too much is, never enough I've never been in love (with me) But I've always been in love (with you) And if you had seen it It wouldn't have been the death of me. Deeper I'll go: Deeper to find How I crossed white lines To become Colorblind How did you find me, here My deer? How did you know Where to go? How did you know, I would Follow you there, Once you finally showed me the road? I've seen both the frog, and the toad; You've already left me exposed, And I'm frozen in time Just to find Just to find Paradise— I tried. But love is a blind bat, Diving into a vat of Darkness; a hat is only a hat, If only there was more— And there is. There always is more— You just have to live more, And once you've been through the cycles, you could be Recycled. Ruined. Rebuilt. Guilt is only ever, Created after pleasure... With immense imploding pressure - [ ] You were born EP-GA [2K19] Mother Earth and Father Time are Making love right By the fire You are motion— I am sickness I am goddess; Be my witness. And I'll probably run for President— Just like I tend to run from everything; not because I want to do it, but because I have to... And just as I run from everything, I run to everything— As is the vicious cycle of life, unrepeated. I should have seen it coming, when he kicked my puppy—I didn't, but my mother did, and it might have been the same day. If not, it was definitely on the same porch—the same porch where...my adolescence began, and ended. There is no cure When your spirit is broken There is no cure—when you suffer in silence There is no cure— When you've seen all the violence It's only you. Breadcrumbs— I'm not dumb, I'm just muted. The dragon I'm chasing is me, And I just... Set the world on fire— I just—need to— I just—adjust. Translucent and transparent I am the thing that happens when you Parent your own parents. And I just I been waking up randomly, Panicking— Wishing I was dancing In the moonlight I'm vanishing without a trace And maybe I just hate this place, Maybe I'm just displaced I hate this I been waking up randomly Filling the void Avoiding my eyes in reflections I fell in love at a festival She came to dance, she was solo oh-oh ...took my hand, sack let's go- oh—oh-oh She didn't care She didn't care I'm a tax write-off I'm a meal ticket I'm a grasshopper; Or maybe, a cricket— Ricochet rabbit Why am I like this? “Why do you fight this?” I was not invited to mingle This ‘tingle' I get is more than A threat—I regretted, The moments I never forget The secrets you keep The stories you never will tell— This is hell, you're not dreaming It's only a nightmare. Too much to think about So I don't Dissociative, I associate everything Within—without I reflect everything I've been about, Stuck beside myself I am just a clone, A lone shadow of my Own All alone, and— I never planned to leave this planet But I have. You're out of my league Out of my league Why can't you see that It's so hard to be Paying the price for this Quarter-life crisis I don't mean to write this So bad, but I can't trust myself anymore I can't trust this world anymore Life is just Too complicated I'm jaded—I'm faded out Phased out, going about in this Town like I'm drowning in Insecurity Or rather, a diamond in the rough I've got enough stuff I just need love. You're out of my league I can see that I can't be that, thing What you want is perfection I just like who you are and thats— Never enough. I have nothing but love to give, love So forgive this: I didn't think I'd live this long But I was wrong And it was longer than I thought Ago Life is just Too complicated I'm jaded—I'm faded out Phased out, going about in this Town like I'm drowning in Insecurity Do you wanna know what it's like to be lonely like me I can tell you better than show you Once I get to know you good luck AMNESIA NOTES Miami Wade Crystal Brooks Donder (Donny) “we'll just call you Donny” “Why?” Uhhh...Because...we found you in the woods. “What?” “You know, like—the wild thornberrys” “Sounds tasty” “Uhhh—wasn't Donny found in the Jungle” “Uhhh—isn't the jungle just a denser version of the woods?” “I guess. It's like an earth-remix” “What's a remix?” Miami wells up—Crystal jumps up excitedly “Awwwwri And I've been stuck on Abbot Kinney, Thinking about Will Rodgers and Thinking that I'm a dodgers fan— But I'm not, I just like crowds. And LA makes me proud Of everything I need to be: And if the world were watching me She'd think she was herself. I was never sleeping, I'm just here And I was never reading, I just Put the bookmark where I left off... I could drift off into, The taste of ink And as it dries in my palm— I know it won't take long until I'm Drifting back into—sifting back into Space—grains of sand. You'll know when you've reached the promised land. Hello, Good Friend: ‘It's time to fall in love...with yourself.' The world has the most to learn from its elders and it's youth—fever disrespect the sometimes even subtle wisdom of a child or your elders. A1 (Lost in the Sauce) Break beats Ruffneck Bass: That's what I like in my face Drop that shit, don't make me wait Make me dance off all this waste I like chocolate, give me cake Wednesday mornin' wake-n-bake Star Jones—Oprah—Ricky lake Which is real and which is fake? Pick the right one, no mistake River—ocean—crater lake “White girl: can I touch your hair? Is it fake??” Out of order— Order steak. [ Sample: The Epic Trip] [interlude- two friends at a festival//a phone call] “Where the fuck are you?” “I can't hear you!” “Hello?” “BRO. Where are you?” “I'm by the—WAIT—hello?!” “WHAT? ” “HELLO?” [the call drops] “Yo. Where the fuck is she?” “I don't know man, probably lost in the sauce...” Sample Lost In The jungle//Kendrick Boo Boo Friends that say that they “gotchu” and then don't Ain't your friends— they're enemies Keep them close Nobody gives a fuck about you— Except you— Remember that. And if you can't remember Make a habit of forgetting Cause you're just another member of society With social anxiety Your sense of propriety Probably shouldn't be Anything I'd give anything Just to take back all my fucks Put them in a bucket, Throw it over my shoulder And wish the world “Good fucking luck” I'm so done with it This is the last chance you get So have fun with it There's no pleasure, no smiles— No love in it I'm just driving for miles Above the shit Transitions- Silent Film/EP Kandi moves to a new city from far, far away—and finds herself lost trying to find her own vibe. ❤️ 1. The Bus Song 2. Pretty Girls (SupaCreeMixx) 3. DOD (Phoenixx remix) “Holy infected fuck!” [thats my vibe right now] North Star After an EMP attack, an unlikely leader becomes a guide to a group of survivors to find the way northward to Alaska. Festival Trip Chava Hoffs- A Voluptuous Dark-Skinned Alaska Native-Black Mixed fashionista who (to her disdain) earns a living as a correctional officer in a juvenile detention facility in Arctic Alaska, daydreaming her long nights away and stacking her money, saving up for an escape to someplace warm and sunny. She is bright and quick-witted, but sometimes awkward—truly a ball of energy, whether good or bad. Sala Emilio (Stax) A tall, olive skinned hottie from Utah of Native American and Mexican decent who works as head chef in a gourmet Chinese food restaurant—a phenomenally functional alcoholic with a free spirit, questionable morals, good values, a loving heart—and a dry sense of humor. Childhood best friends with Chava, I hope you're okay with the character I based off you. I'm not going to copy the story exactly (cause it's a movie, duh) so—I came up with the story that your character runs the kitchen of a classy gourmet 5-Star Chinese restaurant in Utah that has an all-Mexican staff of mostly illegals; my character is a CO at a youth correctional facility in remote Alaska—I felt like those two extremes would play funnier on camera than to replicate our actual situations. I also made them not parents, because I would rather take the whole issue of parenting and raving into a completely separate film idea, I'm thinking of calling it Festival Project A Film Saga by SupaCree Inspired by True Events Festival Trip- Two lifelong friends take a two-week-long trip across the country, to attend two major music festivals—one on the west coast (Among Aliens, in California), and one on the east (Ultimate Music Festival) The Epic Trip – After breaking up with both her ex-fiance and her best friend, a depressed and anxious Chava decides to take a last-minute trip to another one of her bucket list destinations: The Epic Music Festival in Las Vegas, Nevada. F*ckFest: The Origins (Prequel) 21-year-old Chava Hoffs, a longtime raver and lover of all things dance culture, finally convinces her bar-scene best friend to accompany her to a regional event in her area, ‘F*ckfest', Sala's first ever festival/rave where—to both her and Chava's surprise, she connects with other longtime friends she had no idea were immersed into the culture. Sala, having been “rave-retired” since entering her first serious relationship, becomes overly-excited and branches off on her own, reconnecting with her true self after spending too long in her own shell—she discovers her love for an up-and-coming new artist (‘Shluggy') who magnetizes her with a newly-created sound (‘PukeRock'—a play on “VomitStep”) Vibes [Mini Series]- A sequel-in-installments to the shenanigans following F*ckfest, where Chava returns to visit Sala and return to ‘one of her favorite venues', which now hosts Festival Trip II- After reconciling, Chava and Sala unite again to journey to uncharted territories—after Chava is invited along as a journalist to cover artists belonging to an up-and-coming record label based in Alaska, she invites Sala as a tag-along, knowing that her “weird hoe-magic” will attract—as always—even more interesting personalities and circumstances than she could dream to on her own. Chava Hoffs Sala Emillio Gunther Ross- The more than interesting circus-act of a plug/one of Sala's romantic interests, who just happens to be in the same place at the same time, once Sala and Chava arrive in California. Solomon Dominguez- Chava's “homie-lover-friend”, a DC native transplanted to LA who hustles and bustles the 3-job life to live the California dream—a surprisingly dedicated and loyal friend to Chava, who considers him the “king of fuckboys”—which, is not entirely untrue. Johnny McEntire- An eclectic and friendly photographer who stumbles upon Sala during a vulnerable moment—a sweet, humble, and vibrant personality, Chava mostly dismisses him as just another victim of Sala's constantly-inconstant romantic gestures and affiliations. Grace Williams (Chava's Super-Christian (but very sweet) Aunt) Billy Williams- Chava's very dorky, southern Baptist uncle who can't help but throw in a (praise-jesus) Krista DeVaunte- Bride-To-Be—Noah's Fiance Noah Williams- Chava's Cousin, the groom to be Naomi Williams- Chava's salty Cousin, and freinemy since birth—Noah's younger sister Sonny Johnson— Chava's ex-fiance Dustin Roberts—Sala's ex-boyfriend Juan Manuel Jose Melendez Gutierrez-Rodriguez—Sala's current boyfriend, with whom she lives & works with. Running Jokes: Speaking Spanish with a Mandarin-inflenced dialect—speaking/yelling in awful Spanish-soundingMandarin—speaking “Mandarish” or “Spandarin” Every time Chava mentions Sonny (her ex), Sala interjects with “Fuck Sonny!” Cop Jokes (due to Chava's occupation) ACT I- The Wedding Bashers/It's Festival Season “Save-The-Date” Inciting Incident—Plans to attend a destination wedding that Chava and her lifelong long distance best friend Sala, have been planning for almost a year are abruptly halted when Chava learns via a very eventful facetime call (‘Meet The Williams') that her +1 invitation had apparently only applied to her now-ex-fiance [whom her stuck-up family adored because of his abhorrent Christianity], and that the bride-to-be would not allow Sala to take his place on the guest list—as her vivid memories of Sala from Chava's engagement party are severly grotesque. Flashback: Chava + Sonny's engagement party. Chava: Yeah dude, they got all, mad-butthurt that I was bringing you instead of Sonny. Sala: Fuck Sonny! A remote, unnamed city in the Alaskan Arctic Circle. It is severely cold, even visually so. Ch ACT II- Sunny California ACT III- Sunny Florida Excerpt- Festival Trip I As chava blasts away, Sala and Johnny laugh hysterically Sala: Dat ass tho! Their laughter fades in the distance as she speeds up, other onlookers also commenting about her ass, as she blows past a group of men in black, she turns a man's head as she catches his attention. Man: Daaaaaamn. 3.31.19 —Later— The same man from earlier looks out the window of his high rise penthouse suite, across from Chava's hotel—and sees Chava levitating—he pauses, looks around, and raises his eyebrows, drunkenly and assumingly otherwise intoxicated in his appearance. Man: Daaaaamn. Chava is freaking out, remaining motionless as she floats above the bed—she looks out the side of her peripheral, afraid to move—looking up at the ceiling, her eyes widen. She blinks, and takes a deep breath. He questions what he is seeing, as he pours himself a drink. 4.1.2019 As Chava dances through the crowds, she connects and trades Kandi, moving to the beat with intricate motion and flare—people are loving her (a musical dance number)—from backstage, a man pouts and purses his lips, wondering why she is familiar—he is momentarily lost in thought, as he gazes at her and the crowd. Man: (under his breath) Daaamn... Lackey: c'mon man, let's get the fuck out of here Man: But— Lackey: don't worry, you know there's gon' be hoes at the spot. Man: ...but look at her viiibe...and that ass tho—damn! Lackey: eehhhh. You wanna ass, I got a specific folder in my contacts titled “fat ass” with 300 bitches in it— Man: *women* Lackey: whatever—look—I could get you an ass twice as fat, on a dime twice as fine—in 10 minutes flat. Man: (eyes shining, like domo) but look at her aura... Lackey: —I think I got an Aurora in here Man: No, like— Lackey: (pulling at him) let's *go*, the fuck is you trippin..? His eyes won't move away, but he is led by the lackey by his arm, confusededly pouting as he is dragged along. Man: Damn. He feels like he knows her. Cut back to: CHAVA'S ENTRY DANCE scene ACT 1: Wedding Bashers Here we meet Chava Hoffs and Sala Emillio; Two life-long long-distance best friends who love eachother--for the most part--for better or worse. Sala (Pinky) and Chala (The Brain) are planning a tropical mexican vacation to a destination wedding Chava's been invited to as an excuse to celebrate Chava's upcoming birthday (held the same weekend as the wedding) in style--However, when Chava's exclusively classist family alerts her that her plus-one invitation only extended to her on-again-off-again fiance and absolutely excludes Sala, they desperately search for another way to escape their mundane and excruciatingly boring circumstances. Chava internet-searches events around her birthday and finds that there are two music festivals within the same week--running the numbers, she concludes that this alternative plan would actually cost less than the original--”so why not?” The young women keep their escapade-to-be a complete secret, disguising all the preliminary details as “wedding planning” They plan to ‘meet in the middle', Los Angeles being centrally located to both their respective homes. They meet at LAX excitedly and reuinte in happy (and drunken) tears. ACT 2: Sunny California Chava wants to visit old friends and reminisce as a “wannabe tourist” in an all-too-familiar city, which she used to call home--she's built a list of things to do and prepared an itinerary for the week; Sala wants to get riddegy-wrecked sun-up to sundown; Worlds collide as somewhat by-the-book Chava nervously nativages around, typically babysitting Sala and often falling victim to being steered off-course by her shenanigans. Within their first few moments under the California moonlight, Sala's smartphone helps her discover that she has a nearby group of friends--conveniently banded-together by her circus act “master plug”, who is devastatingly in love with her. They spend night one of the first festival tracking him down--Sala finds herself already exhausted by Sala's timing and drunken unsubtlety (“My friend's a COP!”) They finally meet him at the end of the first day, they allow him to tag along--until he becomes almost-suddenly dysfunctionally inebriated and Chava must make a fight-or-flight decision to leave him behind, after he begins drawing attention to their vulnerable crew, and she is approached at random by a mysterious character in a gas station convenience store, where she appears to be the most sober person. On day two, after running at top-speed to catch the shuttle, Sala drunkenly makes friends with a group of young people (fresh out of high school), who to Chava are quite “wookish”, but she plays along anyway. However, by the time they exit the shuttle and Chava has finallybecome comfortable being invited into their squad; Chala decides to ditch them--unknowing that they will re-meet later in the night. Excerpt- Festival Trip I As chava blasts away, Sala and Johnny laugh hysterically Sala: Dat ass tho! Their laughter fades in the distance as she speeds up, other onlookers also commenting about her ass, as she blows past a group of men in black, she turns a man's head as she catches his attention. Man: Daaaaaamn. 3.31.19 —Later— The same man from earlier looks out the window of his high rise penthouse suite, across from Chava's hotel—and sees Chava levitating—he pauses, looks around, and raises his eyebrows, drunkenly and assumingly otherwise intoxicated in his appearance. Man: Daaaaamn. Chava is freaking out, remaining motionless as she floats above the bed—she looks out the side of her peripheral, afraid to move—looking up at the ceiling, her eyes widen. She blinks, and takes a deep breath. He questions what he is seeing, as he pours himself a drink. 4.1.2019 As Chava dances through the crowds, she connects and trades Kandi, moving to the beat with intricate motion and flare—people are loving her (a musical dance number)—from backstage, a man pouts and purses his lips, wondering why she is familiar—he is momentarily lost in thought, as he gazes at her and the crowd. Man: (under his breath) Daaamn... Lackey: c'mon man, let's get the fuck out of here Man: But— Lackey: don't worry, you know there's gon' be hoes at the spot. Man: ...but look at her viiibe...and that ass tho—damn! Lackey: eehhhh. You wanna ass, I got a specific folder in m
Festival Project A Saga S Ū P A © R E E ™ One World. | PEACE. LOVE. UNITY. RESPECT. | Lifelong friends navigate the infinitely incredible world of rave culture, journeying together (and sometimes, apart) into the PLUniveRse© in fantastical, philosophical, and third-eye-opening adventures--the likes of which have never been seen (or foretold.) Festival Project™ is a multi-genre, mystifying and magical cross-genre series, set against the backdrop of modern rave culture-- combined with historical and futuristic elements-- across expansions of space-and-time, unifying with The Universal Consciousness in a multidimensional and explorative ensemble of Films, Episodic Series, Music Videos, Extended Playlists, and Concept Albums. A perpetual symphony of artistic storytelling though a cavalcade of wonderful and whimsical characters along high-intensity, off-the-map adventures--showcased through Music, Film & Interactive Art Explorations--set upon the dreamlike actual reality of an unravelling fabric of time-and-space. Enter The Multiverse: Anything Is Possible. This explosive and expansive wave of enigmatic, chaos-colliding, charismatic [ and often comedic] kinetic energy, reflects a shared experience throughout all time in human connection; Journey beyond the unknown, to Worlds Within--and Without. Everything is Everything. The Festival Project Saga is a multi-media Music, Film and Television saga that offers a new perspective on the ever-changing and recently popularized culture of dance music; it touches on the history of the culture as a whole, as well as a variety of other societal issues this generation faces—friendship, connectivity, communication—the dawn of social media, America's education system and justice system, immigration, and emerging mental health and drug crisis—while also taking a look at a history of counter culture as a derivative of the rapidly evolving technology of today's society. Through its characters and storylines, we dive deeply into a conglomerate of generational growth and exponentially educational topics, lightheartedly touching tales of friendship, family through blood and through bond, and exploring fields, of Astrology, Philosophy. Festival Trip- Two lifelong friends take a two-week-long trip across the country, to attend two major music festivals—one on the west coast (Among Aliens, in California), and one on the east (Ultimate Music Festival) Chava Hoffs Sala Emillio Gunther Ross- The more than interesting circus-act of a plug/one of Sala's romantic interests, who just happens to be in the same place at the same time, once Sala and Chava arrive in California. Solomon Dominguez- Chava's “homie-lover-friend”, a DC native transplanted to LA who hustles and bustles the 3-job life to live the California dream—a surprisingly dedicated and loyal friend to Chava, who considers him the “king of fuckboys”—which, is not entirely untrue. Johnny McEntire- An eclectic and friendly photographer who stumbles upon Sala during a vulnerable moment—a sweet, humble, and vibrant personality, Chava mostly dismisses him as just another victim of Sala's constantly-inconstant romantic gestures and affiliations. Grace Williams (Chava's Super-Christian (but very sweet) Aunt) Billy Williams- Chava's very dorky, southern Baptist uncle who can't help but throw in a (praise-jesus) Krista DeVaunte- Bride-To-Be—Noah's Fiance Noah Williams- Chava's Cousin, the groom to be Naomi Williams- Chava's salty Cousin, and freinemy since birth—Noah's younger sister Sonny Johnson— Chava's ex-fiance Dustin Roberts—Sala's ex-boyfriend Juan Manuel Jose Melendez Gutierrez-Rodriguez—Sala's current boyfriend, with whom she lives & works with. Running Jokes: -Ridiculous DJ names and Absurd Fictional Festivals -Speaking Spanish with a Mandarin-inflenced dialect—speaking/yelling in awful Spanish-sounding-Mandarin—speaking “Mandarish” or “Spandarin” -Every time Chava mentions Sonny (her ex), Sala interjects with “Fuck Sonny!” -Cop Jokes (due to Chava's occupation) “Go climb broke-bitch mountain!” ACT I- The Wedding Bashers/It's Festival Season “Save-The-Date” Inciting Incident—Plans to attend a destination wedding that Chava and her lifelong. long- distance best friend Sala, have been planning for almost a year are abruptly halted when Chava learns via a very eventful FaceTime call (‘Meet The Williams') that her +1 invitation had apparently only applied to her now-ex-fiance [whom her stuck-up family adored because of his abhorrent Christianity], and that the bride-to-be would not allow Sala to take his place on the guest list—as her vivid memories of Sala from Chava's engagement party are severely grotesque. Flashback: Chava + Sonny's engagement party. Chava: Yeah dude, they got all, mad-butthurt that I was bringing you instead of Sonny. Sala: Fuck Sonny! [The Break-Up] Sala: FUCK YOUR BIRTHDAY! CHAVA: I'M SURE YOU WOULD IF YOU COULD, IF MY BIRTHDAY HAD A PENIS. Sala: YOUR BIRTHDAY DOES HAVE A PENIS—IT'S YOU, DICK. CHAVA: THEN SUCK ME, SALLY MAE. SALA: YOU WISH, WANDA. CHAVA: Can't make a wish with no fucking candles, Kandace. SALA: Huh. I would have thought there were candles just judging by hard you fucking BLOW, Bonnie! CHAVA: Then drive off cliff, Clyde. A remote, unnamed city near the North Pole, in the Alaskan Arctic Circle. It is severely cold, even visually so. ACT II- Sunny California ACT III- Sunny Florida In the scene where random ravers find Sala's backpack in the parking lot, debut Rave Dora [Backpack SupaCreeMixx] “I'm a backpack loaded up with things and Knick-knacks too—anything that you might need, I got inside for you...” Festival Trip One-Liners/ Slang/ Phrases Keep up, Kassandra Hold Up, Heather Be back, Becky Back up, Barbra Shut up, Susan/ Shut Up Sandra/ Shut Up Sharon/ Sit Down, Sally Shove It, Shelly Stop It, Stella Chill, Chelsea Cheer Up, Charlie (a reference to Willy Wonka) Get out my biz, Liz Really Billy? Excerpt, Act III Chava: Dude, your energy is killing me. Sala: So. Chava: Soo, fix it. Sala: What do I look like—Bob the Builder? Chava: More like Wreck-It-Ralphed-All-Over-Yourself Sala: Fuck you. Chava: Off limits. I'm the last person on earth you haven't fucked. Sala: Jealous? Chava: Of the super-massive black-hole that is your vagina? No. I just wish my camera had a better low-light filter so I had actual photographic proof of an 8th world wonder. Sala: …fuck you. Chava: ‘No' Means ‘No'. [blows whistle] Get up. Sala: Ahhhhh—Get fucked! Chava: I was—and you ruined it being a hoe—but I'm willing to look past that, because its a beautiful fucking day in Miami and we're about to get lit. C'mon. S'day one. Sala: Day 1 of rave 2, I'm over it. Chava: Hoe, I'm over you. Sala: Get over me, then, bitch— Chava: I already said I am. Get with it. Sala: Get with this dick. Chava: What's a dick without some balls, bro? Pussy. Sala: … Chava: You mad? Sala: I been mad. Chava: Stay mad, then. Sala: How about I just stay here. Chava: Pay here, stay here, bitch—this trip ain't free. Sala: This trip ain't me. Raves are your thing. I'm not a “festival chick.” Chava: You are for the next three days. Sala: …Three…?! Chava: And counting. Get. Some. Motherfuckin' balls. Here, have some Jesus Juice. [She extends her arm, holding the bottle in front of Sala] Sala: Ughhh. Chava: Come on, man. I'm tryna see Cow Turds. Sala: You're engaged to one. Chava: Shut the fuck up and drink. Here, I'll have one with you. The Epic Trip – ‘Girl—Meet World'. After breaking up with both her ex-fiance and her best friend, a depressed and anxious Chava decides to take a last-minute trip to another one of her bucket list destinations: The Epic Music Festival in Las Vegas, Nevada. F*ckFest: The Origins (Prequel) 21-year-old Chava Hoffs, a longtime raver and lover of all things dance culture, finally convinces her bar-scene best friend to accompany her to a regional event in her area, ‘F*ckfest', Sala's first ever festival/rave where—to both her and Chava's surprise, she connects with other longtime friends she had no idea were immersed into the culture. Sala, having been “rave-retired” since entering her first serious relationship, becomes overly-excited and branches off on her own, reconnecting with her true self after spending too long in her own shell—she discovers her love for an up-and-coming new artist (‘Shluggy') who magnetizes her with a newly-created sound (‘PukeRock'—a play on “VomitStep”) Vibes [Mini Series, Prequel]- A sequel-in-installments to the shenanigans following F*ckfest, where Chava returns to visit Sala and return to ‘one of her favorite venues', which now hosts GoF*ckYourself (GFY), the biggest summertime festival in the region. Festival Trip II [First Sequel ]- It's been a magical year and the breakup is over; A 20-something's imaginary friend returns, a decade after disappearing, just as she finds herself on the brink of ‘real adulthood', and has settled into the mundane and mediocre—as he leads her on a journey of self-discovery, she internally struggles with whether to tell her therapist—after deciding (or rather, being convinced) she shouldn't, she begins a desperate search for answers in what seems like a downward spiral into (Use- I'm on my way to heaven, for trailer.) A group of friends decide to form their own society after discovering an “uncharted” island—what they don't know [understand] is that the world government is observing at every angle—and as their population increases, they struggle as the popularity of their culture and lifestyle explode— Craig's world- an ensemble about the good old days of craigslist Ū [Amnesia/Working Title] Miami (Ami) A fashion designer and music enthusiast who attends festivals in her spare time, seeking inspiration for her fashion and design blog; she shares an apartment with her lesbian best friend from college, who works as a freelance writer and photographer. Crystal (Chrys) A short-haired-yet-feminine gender-non-conforming lovable with a dry sense of humor and an eye for art; Music lover and fan of festivals, Miami's “convert” into the rave world. Serra- A high-matinence instagram model who supports herself through social media promotion and influencing, modeling Miami's fashion line and sugar-babying/arm-candying to make her way through life, usually attending festivals as someone's date or just to take pictures/show face. Samuel/Donnie- Sensei Samurai: An award-winning world-renowned music artist and specialty DJ, the soul-headliner of ‘Magic's Mountain art and Music Festival' Daz- Sam/Donnie's Manager- (Antagonist) Lazers, pyrotechnics, strobes, and confetti light the night sky as Sensei Samurai, a medium-build white guy sporting two long braids and a samurai cut (his signature style), dances atop the table which supports a state-of-the-art DJ set-up; The stage is massive, the crowd is wild--but he is at home--or rather, at work, and at the top of his game. He jumps down from the table, drinking from a red solo cup, before he picks up the microphone to speak to his audience: Samuel: LET ME SEE YOU FUCKING JUMP. He dances around, flailing his arms to gesture to the crowd, drinking again from his red solo cup . He moves to the beat of the music as he focuses to adjust the mixer, structuring a build-up. His manager watches from backstage, carefully eying his every move. Samuel: --ARE YOU GUYS READY? [He lights a ciggarette, sips from his cup again as he continues to mix. He nods along to the beat, grooving as he plots his next move, looking into the crowd with hunger in his eye.] Dez: (speaking into a earpiece) Sammy, take it easy... [He glances stage left, to where Dez is situated and watching him like a hawk; He nonchalantly shrugs, blowing out a plume of smoke into the air, decisively irritated with the instruction.] Dez: (Cont'd): I mean it, chill. [Samuel sticks his finger into his ear, wiggling it profusely--and dislodges the hidden inner-earpiece, eyeing Dez as he pulls up his headphones, deep in the mix; He takes a long drag from his ciggarette, master-minding as he feverously twists the knobs and dials of the mixer.] Samuel (over the mic) NO CHILL MOTHERFUCKERS. [The music speeds as he prepares for the drop.] Dez: (forgetting momentarily that he will not be heard) Sam, don't--! [Too late. Samuel Drops the bass so hard, it hurts, ripping off his headphones and running straight into the crowd, head first to crowd surf. The crowd goes massively, insanely wild.] Through the lens of Crystal's camera, we see a series of still photos, capturing Sam's wild plunge into the crowd, just off-center in the front row. Miami looks to her right, giving her a nod of approval; Crystal shoots her a hand signal for “ok”. Miami looks to her left, lifting an eyebrow and smirking at Serra, who bounces off-beat against a tall wooky gentleman who has his arms around her through the sleeves of a spirit hood, tilting her head from side to side as she poses for selfies. Miami happily sways to the motion of the music, putting one hand over the rail and pulling up her mask with the other, as she watches Samuel be lifted back onto the stage and take his place behind the decks. The set continues, the crowd, the lazers, and the effects go wild: The backdrop reads ‘SENSEI SAMURAI' His backup dancers are acrobatic ninjas. Samuel: Thank you Magical Mountain, I Love You Guys!! The crowd goes wild as Samuel exits the stage, ignoring Dez as he breezes past him. Dez: (following after him) I thought I said, “No more crowd surfing, no more stage diving.” Samuel: I thought you said that, too. Dez: Do you recall “OhMyLanta?” Samuel: (sarcastically) Oh, you mean that festival in Atlanta? Dez: Yes. Samuel: How creative. Dez: ‘Creative' would describe the legal team's very expensive, very strenuous tactical strategy which weaseled you out of a very serious lawsuit. Samuel: What? When was this? Dez: This was when you decided to stage dive wearing goth-pants and your chains got stuck in that kid's earholes Samuel: They're called Tripp pants. Dez: Oh yeah...what do you call them after mutilating a teenager with them? Samuel: Tripp pants I can sell on eBay. I made that kid a star. Dez: You made him a cripple. Samuel: --we still talk. [EXT. A FARAWAY FOREST] Bass blasts through the christmas-lit forest, a festival set in the meadow against the lush and natural forest scenery; Attendees come-and-go to-and-from the lines of tents and out into the festival grounds, where DJs headline stages, dancers and performers interact with spectators, vendors practice their unique salesmanship, and the wild and true nature of ravers is unleashed. Frozen breath leaks from the laughing mouths of three young individuals, running through the forest; Twigs crush and leaves crackle underfoot of their prancing and galloping feet, clad in combat boots, tennis shoes, and platforms, respectively. Ripped fishnets hug the thighs that sweep together rapidly, swooshing as the legs that bare them race forward; a pashmina trails behind one's back, acting as a cape of sorts. A thud, in the darkness of the forest. Crystal and Serra continue forward, unaware their friend has fallen for a few short moments, leaving Miami behind. Miami confusedly looks for the obstruction which caused her to trip, discovering under a pile of brush and leaves, a man (Samuel) lying face down on the ground; her eyes widen and she draws slightly back, frightened, before squinting and leaning in to get a closer look; She turns on a glow toy for added light, she pants heavily under her breath, shaking slightly as she brushes away debris and leaves, uncovering his head and shoulders, revealing he is wearing a mask. She examines him. His glasses are broken, lying on the ground under his face--His hair is wet; he appears dead. Crystal: ...I told you not to wear those. Miami: Yo… Crystal: Yo--*gasps* (she grabs Serra by the shoulder, holding her back.) Serra: (She notices the body, under her pashmina, spirit hood, and glasses) Ohwhatthefuck. (she takes a few steps back) Crystal: Don't move. Serra: Yeah, fuck that. Fuck this. (she wraps the pashmina tightly around her face) [muffled] Fuck this. Crystal: ...Ami, we should get out of here. Miami: We should help him. Crystal: He may be beyond help, honey. Serra: He's fucking dead. Whatthefuck. Fuck this! Crystal: ...Is he dead? Miami: (she looks at him closely, there are no signs of life. she checks for breathing with her hand.) ...I don't know. (she checks again, leaning in closer. she grabs his wrist to check a pulse) Serra: Don't touch it! Miami: Shut up, I'm trying to get a pulse (beat) ...he's super cold. Serra: He's super dead! Miam: No, no...I don't think so. Crystal, come here--help me turn him over. Crystal: Are you sure? What if he--wakes up and tries to--?? Miami: (urgently) What if it was you? Crystal fishes for a flashlight and switchblade in her fanny pack, places the flashlight in her mouth and positioning the knife under her kandi cuffs. She cautiously inches forward. Crystal: Serra, try to get some cell service so we can call for help. The girls carefully turn him onto his back, wide eyed and bewildered. He is completely lifeless, clamy and pale--covered with dirt, and forestry. Miami continues to check for a pulse, shaking her head as he continues to appear dead. Crystal: Do you feel anything? Miami: …(shaking her head) I can't...he's like…(as she pulls up the sleeve of his hoodie and notices a familiar tattoo. she pauses for a moment, thinks, and then looks towards his head) Do you still have my mirror in your fanny pack?) Crystal returns to her fanny pack, digging for the mirror. Miami carefuly leans in towards the man, examining him once more; she notices a necklace, also familiar--she thinks, as she moves to remove first the excess hair, and then the mask from his face, very carefully. She peels off his mask, immidiately shocked as she reckognizes his face--It is Samuel, who she knows as Sensai Samurai. She yeeps (imploded gasp, making Crystal look up; she, too recognizes him; she gasps. They look at eachother, then at him--then back to eachother.) Miami: ...Give me your mirror. Crystal: Dude, is this…? Miami: Your mirror. (she holds the mirror under his nose--a subtle cloud of fog appears; he is, in fact, alive.) Crystal: Oh, my God. Miami: He's breathing. Serra! Crystal: ...This is Sensai Samurai. Miami: (trying to convince herself) It probably just looks like him…. Crystal: I just took one-hundred close-up photos, dude--like, less than an hour ago-- Miami: Shhhhh! (she frantically begins to check his pockets) He's gotta have a wallet. Crystal: What, you were going to save him--now you wanna roll him? Miami: An ID. He's got to have an ID. (she frantically searches him) Hey Serra! (Crystal lifts the other sleeve of his sweater, revealing a brightly colored wristband, and one singular kandi bracelet, which reads “Sensai” Simoltaneously, Miami has found something in one of the pockets--she produces a small box from one of the pockets of his cargo pants) Crystal: Holy fuck. Look. (she gestures the wrist band and bracelet.) Miami: ...Artist's wristband. Fuck. It is him. Crystal: [Samuel is slumped lifelessly over both Crystal and Miami's shoulders, head hanging downward and hair flailing and dangling in his face as the girls struggle to support him. His oversized light-up sunglasses begin slipping, almost revealing his eyes.] Girl:(looking over, concerned) ...Is your friend okay? [He is clearly not. Serra slides her finger up his nose to adjust his glasses, eyeing the girl suspiciously.] Crystal: [flatly] Yes. [Samuel's dead-weight pulls him towards the ground, as he slips; the girls struggle to readjust; he seems heavier by the minute. They all three stare back at the girl, awkwardly; Miami fakes an ‘everything's fine' smile, while Crystal stares blankly through her sunglasses and Serra shoots a look of dissatisfaction. [INT. KITCHEN. DAY.] The three girls gaze in awe of Donnie, multitasking busily in the kitchen, hair pinned neatly atop his head with chopsticks, wearing a neatly-pressed (as in, freshly ironed) apron, as he removes one baking mit with his mouth and works about, happily consumed and bouncily, humming. -...He's so...domestic. Crystal -You'd think he'd carry a better tune. Miami- Cause you'd be belting melodies after waking up out of a drug-induced coma? Crystal- No--I guess I'd open a bake shop in some random girls' kitchen. Miami: Donnie? Donnie: Hmm, yes? Miami: We...we have some news for you. Donnie: Oooh! Is it celebrity news? Miami:...sort of. Donnie: I hope it's juicy gossip. Crystal: Believe me--it'll be the talk of the town. Donnie: This town? Crystal: Any town. [ She refills her wine glass first, then prepares two more, never breaking eye contact with donnie; His lighthearted excitement turns to slight confusion, as he furrows his brows,] Miami: (sighs, taking his hand) Here, lets sit down. Donnie: But, the macaroons-- Serra-What? That's what you're making? [Donnie nods.] Serra-...(to the side) maybe we should let him finish the macaroons, first...what if this like, fucks him all up. Miami: No, it's time. I feel like we've already waited too long. Serra-...I feel like he makes really good macaroons. Miami: Yeah? Like grammy-award-winning macaroons? -If by ‘Grammy', you mean my Grandmother would approve… Miami: Your grandmother died of complications from diabetes. Serra-...and you think macaroons had absolutely nothing to do with that? [Crystal has already finished her first glass of wine, and begins to reach for the second glass, when Miami, out of the corner of her eye, catches her, snatching the glass from her gracefully, as she floats it to Donnie, sitting beside him, crossing her legs.] Donnie: Before noon? Crystal- Oh, so you know that rule? Donnie: I know some things. A 20-something's imaginary friend returns, a decade after disappearing, just as she finds herself on the brink of ‘real adulthood', and has settled into the mundane and mediocre—as he leads her on a journey of self-discovery, she internally struggles with whether to tell her therapist—after deciding (or rather, being convinced) she shouldn't, she begins a desperate search for answers in what seems like a downward spiral into A group of friends decide to form their own society after discovering an “uncharted” island—what they don't know [understand] is that the world government is observing at every angle—and as their population increases, they struggle as the popularity of their culture and lifestyle explode— Craig's world- an ensemble about the good old days of craigslist Blue Story A wayward security officer drunkenly fills out an application to join the police academy, and is accepted—both to his surprise, and dismay. #SQUAD OUT!- A Mockumentary-Style Comedy following several “tribes”, “squads”, “rave families”, and even solo-ravers surrounding a large group of ravers and friends. Ū [Amnesia/Working Title] Amnesia [Working Title] Three girls at a camping festival find an incapacitated man in the woods and take him back to their campsite for safety—when one of the girls discovers that she recognizes the mysterious man, actually a headliner at the festival they're attending—two of the girls keep it a secret from their friend who would certainly take advantage of the situation. After discovering a “butt-load” of mind-altering substances on his person, Miami, the ring leader, makes a ‘judgement call' not to call the authorities, deciding instead to attempt to take him back to his trailer—however—when the girls haul him back to his campsite, they discover his manager, Dez, rifling through his belongings. When Samuel awakens, he has no memory of himself—and so a journey begins: a test of friendship, and a race against the clock. Miami (Ami) A fashion designer and music enthusiast who attends festivals in her spare time, seeking inspiration for her fashion and design blog; she shares an apartment with her lesbian best friend from college, who works as a freelance writer and photographer. Crystal (Chrys) A short-haired-yet-feminine gender-non-conforming lovable with a dry sense of humor and an eye for art; Music lover and fan of festivals, Miami's “convert” into the rave world. Shane- A high-matinence instagram model who supports herself through social media promotion and influencing, modeling Miami's fashion line and sugar-babying/arm-candying to make her way through life, usually attending festivals as someone's date or just to take pictures/show face. DONNIE “*giggles* what's a rave?” Miami (takes a deep breath) Crystal (facepalm) Shane (purses her lips) C-Is Giving drugs to somebody with amnesia bad? M-I don't know what's bad for amnesia S-Well maybe, it's not giving it to him that would be bad—like, they were already in his system, probably wouldn't he go like, into withdraw or something. You're probably right S-(I'm probably not) Samuel/Donnie- Sensei Samurai: An award-winning world-renowned music artist and specialty DJ, the soul-headliner of ‘Magic's Mountain art and Music Festival' Daz- Sam/Donnie's Manager- (Antagonist-) Lazers, pyrotechnics, strobes, and confetti light the night sky as Sensei Samurai, a medium-build white guy sporting two long braids and a samurai cut (his signature style), dances atop the table which supports a state-of-the-art DJ set-up; The stage is massive, the crowd is wild--but he is at home--or rather, at work, and at the top of his game. He jumps down from the table, drinking from a red solo cup, before he picks up the microphone to speak to his audience: Samuel: LET ME SEE YOU FUCKING JUMP. He dances around, flailing his arms to gesture to the crowd, drinking again from his red solo cup . He moves to the beat of the music as he focuses to adjust the mixer, structuring a build-up. His manager watches from backstage, carefully eying his every move. Samuel: --ARE YOU GUYS READY? [He lights a ciggarette, sips from his cup again as he continues to mix. He nods along to the beat, grooving as he plots his next move, looking into the crowd with hunger in his eye.] Dez: (speaking into a earpiece) Sammy, take it easy... [He glances stage left, to where Dez is situated and watching him like a hawk; He nonchalantly shrugs, blowing out a plume of smoke into the air, decisively irritated with the instruction.] Dez: (Cont'd): I mean it, chill. [Samuel sticks his finger into his ear, wiggling it profusely--and dislodges the hidden inner-earpiece, eyeing Dez as he pulls up his headphones, deep in the mix; He takes a long drag from his ciggarette, master-minding as he feverously twists the knobs and dials of the mixer.] Samuel (over the mic) NO CHILL MOTHERFUCKERS. [The music speeds as he prepares for the drop.] Dez: (forgetting momentarily that he will not be heard) Sam, don't--! [Too late. Samuel Drops the bass so hard, it hurts, ripping off his headphones and running straight into the crowd, head first to crowd surf. The crowd goes massively, insanely wild.] Through the lens of Crystal's camera, we see a series of still photos, capturing Sam's wild plunge into the crowd, just off-center in the front row. Miami looks to her right, giving her a nod of approval; Crystal shoots her a hand signal for “ok”. Miami looks to her left, lifting an eyebrow and smirking at Serra, who bounces off-beat against a tall wooky gentleman who has his arms around her through the sleeves of a spirit hood, tilting her head from side to side as she poses for selfies. Miami happily sways to the motion of the music, putting one hand over the rail and pulling up her mask with the other, as she watches Samuel be lifted back onto the stage and take his place behind the decks. The set continues, the crowd, the lazers, and the effects go wild: The backdrop reads ‘SENSEI SAMURAI' His backup dancers are acrobatic ninjas. Samuel: Thank you Magical Mountain, I Love You Guys!! The crowd goes wild as Samuel exits the stage, ignoring Dez as he breezes past him. Dez: (following after him) I thought I said, “No more crowd surfing, no more stage diving.” Samuel: I thought you said that, too. Dez: Do you recall “OhMyLanta?” Samuel: (sarcastically) Oh, you mean that festival in Atlanta? Dez: Yes. Samuel: How creative. Dez: ‘Creative' would describe the legal team's very expensive, very strenuous tactical strategy which weaseled you out of a very serious lawsuit. Samuel: Law-Suit? I've never worn one of those. Black-Label? Dez: More like ‘black-book' with your name written on and in it. It took me weeks clean up. Samuel: When was this? Dez: When you decided to stage dive wearing goth-pants and one of your chains got stuck in that kid's earhole. Samuel: They're called ‘Tripp' pants. Dez: Oh yeah...what do you call them after mutilating a teenager with them? Samuel: Tripp pants I can sell on eBay. Dez: You made him a cripple. Samuel: --we still talk. Bass blasts through the christmas-lit forest, a festival set in the meadow against the lush and natural forest scenery; Attendees come-and-go to-and-from the lines of tents and out into the festival grounds, where DJs headline stages, dancers and performers interact with spectators, vendors practice their unique salesmanship, and the wild and true nature of ravers is unleashed. Frozen breath leaks from the laughing mouths of three young individuals, running through the forest; Twigs crush and leaves crackle underfoot of their prancing and galloping feet, clad in combat boots, tennis shoes, and platforms, respectively. Ripped fishnets hug the thighs that sweep together rapidly, swooshing as the legs that bare them race forward; a pashmina trails behind one's back, acting as a cape of sorts. A thud, in the darkness of the forest. Crystal and Shane continue forward, unaware their friend has fallen for a few short moments, leaving Miami behind. Miami confusedly looks for the obstruction which caused her to trip, discovering under a pile of brush and leaves, a man (Samuel) lying face down on the ground; her eyes widen and she draws slightly back, frightened, before squinting and leaning in to get a closer look; She turns on a glow toy for added light, she pants heavily under her breath, shaking slightly as she brushes away debris and leaves, uncovering his head and shoulders, revealing he is wearing a mask. She examines him. His glasses are broken, lying on the ground under his face--His hair is wet; he appears dead. Miami is horrified, speechless, breathless. Crystal: ...I told you not to wear those. Miami: Yo… Crystal: Yo--*gasps* (she grabs Shane by the shoulder, holding her back.) Shane: (She notices the body, under her pashmina, spirit hood, and glasses) Ohwhatthefuck. (she takes a few steps back) Crystal: Don't move. Serra: Yeah, fuck that. Fuck this. (she wraps the pashmina tightly around her face) [muffled] Fuck this. Crystal: ...Ami, we should get out of here. Miami: We should help him. Crystal: He may be beyond help, honey. Shane: He's fucking dead. Whatthefuck. Cystal: ...Is he dead? Miami: (she looks at him closely, there are no signs of life. she checks for breathing with her hand.) ...I don't know. (she checks again, leaning in closer. she grabs his wrist to check a pulse) Shane: Don't touch it! Miami: Shut up, I'm trying to get a pulse (beat) ...he's super cold. Shane: He's super dead! Miam: No, no...I don't think so. Crystal, come here--help me turn him over. Crystal: Are you sure? What if he--wakes up and tries to--?? Miami: (urgently) What if it was you? Crystal fishes for a flashlight and switchblade in her fanny pack, places the flashlight in her mouth and positioning the knife under her kandi cuffs. She cautiously inches forward. Crystal: Shane, try to get some cell service so we can call for help. The girls carefully turn him onto his back, wide eyed and bewildered. He is completely lifeless, clamy and pale--covered with dirt, and forestry. Miami continues to check for a pulse, shaking her head as he continues to appear dead. Crystal: Do you feel anything? Miami: …(shaking her head) I can't...he's like…(as she pulls up the sleeve of his hoodie and notices a familiar tattoo. she pauses for a moment, thinks, and then looks towards his head) Do you still have my mirror in your fanny pack?) Crystal returns to her fanny pack, digging for the mirror. Miami carefuly leans in towards the man, examining him once more; she notices a necklace, also familiar--she thinks, as she moves to remove first the excess hair, and then the mask from his face, very carefully. She peels off his mask, immidiately shocked as she reckognizes his face--It is Samuel, who she knows as Sensai Samurai. She yeeps (imploded gasp, making Crystal look up; she, too recognizes him; she gasps. They look at eachother, then at him--then back to eachother.) Miami: ...Give me your mirror. Crystal: Dude, is this…? Miami: Your mirror. (she holds the mirror under his nose--a subtle cloud of fog appears; he is, in fact, alive.) Crystal: Oh, my God. Miami: He's breathing. Shane! Crystal: ...This is Sensai Samurai. Miami: (trying to convince herself) It probably just looks like him…. Crystal: I just took one-hundred close-up photos, dude--like, less than an hour ago-- Miami: Shhhhh! (she frantically begins to check his pockets) He's gotta have a wallet. Crystal: What, you were going to save him--now you wanna roll him? Miami: An ID. He's got to have an ID. (she frantically searches him) Hey Shane! (Crystal lifts the other sleeve of his sweater, revealing a brightly colored wristband, and one singular kandi bracelet, which reads “Sensai” Simultaneously, Miami has found something in one of the pockets--she produces a small box from one of the pockets of his cargo pants) Crystal: Holy fuck. Look. (she gestures the wrist band and bracelet.) Miami: ...Artist's wristband. Fuck. It is him. Crystal: [Samuel is slumped lifelessly over both Crystal and Miami's shoulders, head hanging downward and hair flailing and dangling in his face as the girls struggle to support him. His oversized light-up sunglasses begin slipping, almost revealing his eyes.] Girl:(looking over, concerned) ...Is your friend okay? [He is clearly not. Serra slides her finger up his nose to adjust his glasses, eyeing the girl suspiciously.] Crystal: [flatly] Yes. [Samuel's dead-weight pulls him towards the ground, as he slips; the girls struggle to readjust; he seems heavier by the minute. They all three stare back at the girl, awkwardly; Miami fakes an ‘everything's fine' smile, while Crystal stares blankly through her sunglasses and Serra shoots a look of dissatisfaction. [INT. KITCHEN. DAY.] The three girls gaze in awe of Donnie, multitasking busily in the kitchen, hair pinned neatly atop his head with chopsticks, wearing a neatly-pressed (as in, freshly ironed) apron, as he removes one baking mit with his mouth and works about, happily consumed and bouncily, humming. -...He's so...domestic. Crystal -You'd think he'd carry a better tune. Miami- Cause you'd be belting melodies after waking up out of a drug-induced coma? Crystal- No--I guess I'd open a bake shop in some random girls' kitchen. Miami: Donnie? Donnie: Hmm, yes? Miami: We...we have some news for you. Donnie: Oooh! Is it celebrity news? Miami:...sort of. Donnie: I hope it's juicy gossip. Crystal: Believe me--it'll be the talk of the town. Donnie: This town? Crystal: Any town. [ She refills her wine glass first, then prepares two more, never breaking eye contact with donnie; His lighthearted excitement turns to slight confusion, as he furrows his brows,] Miami: (sighs, taking his hand) Here, lets sit down. Donnie: But, the macaroons-- Serra-What? That's what you're making? [Donnie nods.] Serra-...(to the side) maybe we should let him finish the macaroons, first...what if this like, fucks him all up. Miami: No, it's time. I feel like we've already waited too long. Serra-...I feel like he makes really good macaroons. Miami: Yeah? Like grammy-award-winning macaroons? -If by ‘Grammy', you mean my Grandmother would approve… Miami: Your grandmother died of complications from diabetes. Serra-...and you think macaroons had absolutely nothing to do with that? [Crystal has already finished her first glass of wine, and begins to reach for the second glass, when Miami, out of the corner of her eye, catches her, snatching the glass from her gracefully, as she floats it to Donnie, sitting beside him, crossing her legs.] Donnie: Before noon? Crystal- Oh, so you know that rule? Donnie: I know some things. Under The Mask —A superstar DJ and his best friend embark on a series of festivals under cover as non-celebrity citizens to first-handedly experience the other side of his world. Grandma's Girl- A funeral turns into an accidentally epic week-long house party, after the ‘favorite grand child' becomes disappointed in the traditional send-off given by the family; While grieving and going through her late-grandmothers belongings, Serra discovers journals and an old phonebook, containing the life and times of her wildly adventurous grandma and her close friends—when she realizes that none of the people from her grandmother's life ‘before the family' are in attendance of her funeral (or even aware of her passing), she links up with her best friends to organize a ‘proper goodbye'. All heaven breaks loose, when ‘ravers of old' begin showing up to pay their respects to Silvia—things get a little out-of-hand when the gathering explodes due-to-word of mouth, as it turns out Grandma Silvia had a few more connections than expected—and they've all come from near-and-far to say their goodbyes. Deathwish—A series about a woman who makes a death wish—but the stakes are raised wen all her wildest dreams come true, and death lurks just around the corner at every turn. ((M3))- A collection of silent films, by SupaCree Enter: World of Music Ascension- Set in a parallel universe, Father TIme and Mother Nature are reconnected on Earth, as the dawn of a new-era arises at the peak of mankind's evolutionary journey. Series is set in a parralell universe, a seperate realm where humans have met faced dark ages, technological or technological setbacks they live harmoniously and peacefully within— live spiritually and intuitively with the planet, and can gain/ strengthen certain abilities through higher learning, strength training, conditionig, and meditation; We begin at the dawn of a new age, where beings ('God Bodies' [working])acended from higher plains of conciousness walk amongst the living in 'humanform', guided and led to higher forms of being through teachings of the Acended sorcerers and masters belonging to the universal collective conciousness of light; Also amongst the living, in 'humanform', Costumes: Modern-Futuristic da ‘Thieo' makes his final wish (for his truest and ever lasting love) to his appointed Acceded Sorcerer; but there are trials he must endure and obstacles to be met before his wish come true— C'Esmett— A warrior princess raised to rule is on on the brink of going rouge, after she is betrayed by her betrothed —her calling to become queen is imminent; yet she must overcome boundaries set by tradition, facing the powers-that-be to strengthen and master her own. Her ancient knowledge, ascended sorcery, and intrinsic healing mysticism— amongst other gifts of nature (a seer, fortune of truths; being of light) “I'm sorry, but it's out of my control.” “NOTHING Is out of your control." "--Except for you." She scorns him, and turns away swiftly, as her cape sweeps across the floor, as it flutters and whips behind her “I'm sorry, but it's out of my control.” “NOTHING Is out of your control." "--Except for you." She scorns him, and turns away swiftly, as her cape sweeps across the floor, as it flutters and whips behind her--she turns again, eyeing him directly, pointing to him with dismay as she takes in a breath; catching herself in anger, she deflates, keeping eye contact (though her gaze suddenly softens as she arrives ‘ACENSION' Ascension- Set in a parallel universe, Father TIme and Mother Nature are reconnected on Earth, as the dawn of a new-era arises at the peak of mankind's evolutionary journey. CHARACTERS Thïeo {Petrutheïo} Godform Spiritclad Cross-Bodied sorcerer; Humanborn earthbound in his most recent incarnation to rule in the new age…(t b c) C'Esmétt {Ch'Esmett X'oxįl Nazari is the most powerful being on planet Earth, and throughout multiple dimensions, through which she presides over, in various forms and figures; She possesses the universe's oldest Soul. a Godform Spiritclad Ascended Sorceress who possesses rare “Creation Energy”—the ability to form and shape matter, bend and travel through time, and control aspects of reality; Youthful and fiery, she is praised as a God of Light; Supporting: Kï'yara—Fireborn, Earthbound Rai'ayn—Loveborn, Multi-Dimentional Onyyxx—Rooted, Tri-Dimentiinal The elements: Love Matter Earth -Of Ground -Of Water -Of Fire -Of Air ...there are more but I'm tired right now. The realms: Now Then (points in the past to which time bending bodies may access) The past (inaccessible points on past timelines to those in human form or bound to earth, besides Godform; even so, the process is strenuous and dangerous. Love Self (to self, to travel inward and reflect a physical presence of the world within, outwardly; true self exists freely and ideally—you are able to converse with self as others see you [appearing as an identical twin with ideal aspects. Light therapy Frequencies Vibrationally energizing Body waves are Paralyzing Lines of Broken harmonies Inside of me. Crying on the clock; Rocking back and forth Stocking full of coal Greetings from the North Pole If Santa Clause is real Maybe we can make a deal; If my heart is made of steel You can't steal it—I can feel it Winter is here The world is money hungry (So am I) The world is simply starving (So am I) The world is so alarming (So am I) The world is just evolving. (So I am.) Cause I've been going crazy Stuck inside myself And I've been feeling lazy Just beside myself And I've been thinking lately That just maybe, someday maybe I'll be It's all connected— The reason we disconnect Is we're neglected I wonder what you'd expect You can't express it Just repress it. Repression syndrome— Came up too fast; Compression syndrome Suck it in Suck it up, You stupid fuck Dive deeper Ū (EP) 1. Thank U 2. I'm Sorry 3. I Love U 4. I miss U I like your vibe Come join my squad Curiosity killed the cat Carbohydrates killed the queen Don't cry “I'll try...” 50 Shades of Blue Don't pick up the phone Don't pick up the phone Don't pick up the phone Don't pick up the phone And here you are: 8 years later, With a baby on your back and— Bills to pay You have to decide (What the fuck) what the world is all about today. Don't want to be Cree For a really long time I just need I just need I just need a whole mind I was me the whole time I never left And yet There I was—looking at myself from above, All the love in the world; Just a lonely little girl Trapped in her Head Never got out of bed, that day: But I went away somewhere, And there I was—looking at myself from above, All the love in the world, Just a lonely little girl Trapped in her Head And I said “why are you waking me up?” But I wasn't asleep— I just wanted to fuck And sometimes, it's too much Too much is, never enough I've never been in love (with me) But I've always been in love (with you) And if you had seen it It wouldn't have been the death of me. Deeper I'll go: Deeper to find How I crossed white lines To become Colorblind How did you find me, here My deer? How did you know Where to go? How did you know, I would Follow you there, Once you finally showed me the road? I've seen both the frog, and the toad; You've already left me exposed, And I'm frozen in time Just to find Just to find Paradise— I tried. But love is a blind bat, Diving into a vat of Darkness; a hat is only a hat, If only there was more— And there is. There always is more— You just have to live more, And once you've been through the cycles, you could be Recycled. Ruined. Rebuilt. Guilt is only ever, Created after pleasure... With immense imploding pressure - [ ] You were born EP-GA [2K19] Mother Earth and Father Time are Making love right By the fire You are motion— I am sickness I am goddess; Be my witness. And I'll probably run for President— Just like I tend to run from everything; not because I want to do it, but because I have to... And just as I run from everything, I run to everything— As is the vicious cycle of life, unrepeated. I should have seen it coming, when he kicked my puppy—I didn't, but my mother did, and it might have been the same day. If not, it was definitely on the same porch—the same porch where...my adolescence began, and ended. There is no cure When your spirit is broken There is no cure—when you suffer in silence There is no cure— When you've seen all the violence It's only you. Breadcrumbs— I'm not dumb, I'm just muted. The dragon I'm chasing is me, And I just... Set the world on fire— I just—need to— I just—adjust. Translucent and transparent I am the thing that happens when you Parent your own parents. And I just I been waking up randomly, Panicking— Wishing I was dancing In the moonlight I'm vanishing without a trace And maybe I just hate this place, Maybe I'm just displaced I hate this I been waking up randomly Filling the void Avoiding my eyes in reflections I fell in love at a festival She came to dance, she was solo oh-oh ...took my hand, sack let's go- oh—oh-oh She didn't care She didn't care I'm a tax write-off I'm a meal ticket I'm a grasshopper; Or maybe, a cricket— Ricochet rabbit Why am I like this? “Why do you fight this?” I was not invited to mingle This ‘tingle' I get is more than A threat—I regretted, The moments I never forget The secrets you keep The stories you never will tell— This is hell, you're not dreaming It's only a nightmare. Too much to think about So I don't Dissociative, I associate everything Within—without I reflect everything I've been about, Stuck beside myself I am just a clone, A lone shadow of my Own All alone, and— I never planned to leave this planet But I have. You're out of my league Out of my league Why can't you see that It's so hard to be Paying the price for this Quarter-life crisis I don't mean to write this So bad, but I can't trust myself anymore I can't trust this world anymore Life is just Too complicated I'm jaded—I'm faded out Phased out, going about in this Town like I'm drowning in Insecurity Or rather, a diamond in the rough I've got enough stuff I just need love. You're out of my league I can see that I can't be that, thing What you want is perfection I just like who you are and thats— Never enough. I have nothing but love to give, love So forgive this: I didn't think I'd live this long But I was wrong And it was longer than I thought Ago Life is just Too complicated I'm jaded—I'm faded out Phased out, going about in this Town like I'm drowning in Insecurity Do you wanna know what it's like to be lonely like me I can tell you better than show you Once I get to know you good luck AMNESIA NOTES Miami Wade Crystal Brooks Donder (Donny) “we'll just call you Donny” “Why?” Uhhh...Because...we found you in the woods. “What?” “You know, like—the wild thornberrys” “Sounds tasty” “Uhhh—wasn't Donny found in the Jungle” “Uhhh—isn't the jungle just a denser version of the woods?” “I guess. It's like an earth-remix” “What's a remix?” Miami wells up—Crystal jumps up excitedly “Awwwwri And I've been stuck on Abbot Kinney, Thinking about Will Rodgers and Thinking that I'm a dodgers fan— But I'm not, I just like crowds. And LA makes me proud Of everything I need to be: And if the world were watching me She'd think she was herself. I was never sleeping, I'm just here And I was never reading, I just Put the bookmark where I left off... I could drift off into, The taste of ink And as it dries in my palm— I know it won't take long until I'm Drifting back into—sifting back into Space—grains of sand. You'll know when you've reached the promised land. Hello, Good Friend: ‘It's time to fall in love...with yourself.' The world has the most to learn from its elders and it's youth—fever disrespect the sometimes even subtle wisdom of a child or your elders. A1 (Lost in the Sauce) Break beats Ruffneck Bass: That's what I like in my face Drop that shit, don't make me wait Make me dance off all this waste I like chocolate, give me cake Wednesday mornin' wake-n-bake Star Jones—Oprah—Ricky lake Which is real and which is fake? Pick the right one, no mistake River—ocean—crater lake “White girl: can I touch your hair? Is it fake??” Out of order— Order steak. [ Sample: The Epic Trip] [interlude- two friends at a festival//a phone call] “Where the fuck are you?” “I can't hear you!” “Hello?” “BRO. Where are you?” “I'm by the—WAIT—hello?!” “WHAT? ” “HELLO?” [the call drops] “Yo. Where the fuck is she?” “I don't know man, probably lost in the sauce...” Sample Lost In The jungle//Kendrick Boo Boo Friends that say that they “gotchu” and then don't Ain't your friends— they're enemies Keep them close Nobody gives a fuck about you— Except you— Remember that. And if you can't remember Make a habit of forgetting Cause you're just another member of society With social anxiety Your sense of propriety Probably shouldn't be Anything I'd give anything Just to take back all my fucks Put them in a bucket, Throw it over my shoulder And wish the world “Good fucking luck” I'm so done with it This is the last chance you get So have fun with it There's no pleasure, no smiles— No love in it I'm just driving for miles Above the shit Transitions- Silent Film/EP Kandi moves to a new city from far, far away—and finds herself lost trying to find her own vibe. ❤️ 1. The Bus Song 2. Pretty Girls (SupaCreeMixx) 3. DOD (Phoenixx remix) “Holy infected fuck!” [thats my vibe right now] North Star After an EMP attack, an unlikely leader becomes a guide to a group of survivors to find the way northward to Alaska. Festival Trip Chava Hoffs- A Voluptuous Dark-Skinned Alaska Native-Black Mixed fashionista who (to her disdain) earns a living as a correctional officer in a juvenile detention facility in Arctic Alaska, daydreaming her long nights away and stacking her money, saving up for an escape to someplace warm and sunny. She is bright and quick-witted, but sometimes awkward—truly a ball of energy, whether good or bad. Sala Emilio (Stax) A tall, olive skinned hottie from Utah of Native American and Mexican decent who works as head chef in a gourmet Chinese food restaurant—a phenomenally functional alcoholic with a free spirit, questionable morals, good values, a loving heart—and a dry sense of humor. Childhood best friends with Chava, I hope you're okay with the character I based off you. I'm not going to copy the story exactly (cause it's a movie, duh) so—I came up with the story that your character runs the kitchen of a classy gourmet 5-Star Chinese restaurant in Utah that has an all-Mexican staff of mostly illegals; my character is a CO at a youth correctional facility in remote Alaska—I felt like those two extremes would play funnier on camera than to replicate our actual situations. I also made them not parents, because I would rather take the whole issue of parenting and raving into a completely separate film idea, I'm thinking of calling it Festival Project A Film Saga by SupaCree Inspired by True Events Festival Trip- Two lifelong friends take a two-week-long trip across the country, to attend two major music festivals—one on the west coast (Among Aliens, in California), and one on the east (Ultimate Music Festival) The Epic Trip – After breaking up with both her ex-fiance and her best friend, a depressed and anxious Chava decides to take a last-minute trip to another one of her bucket list destinations: The Epic Music Festival in Las Vegas, Nevada. F*ckFest: The Origins (Prequel) 21-year-old Chava Hoffs, a longtime raver and lover of all things dance culture, finally convinces her bar-scene best friend to accompany her to a regional event in her area, ‘F*ckfest', Sala's first ever festival/rave where—to both her and Chava's surprise, she connects with other longtime friends she had no idea were immersed into the culture. Sala, having been “rave-retired” since entering her first serious relationship, becomes overly-excited and branches off on her own, reconnecting with her true self after spending too long in her own shell—she discovers her love for an up-and-coming new artist (‘Shluggy') who magnetizes her with a newly-created sound (‘PukeRock'—a play on “VomitStep”) Vibes [Mini Series]- A sequel-in-installments to the shenanigans following F*ckfest, where Chava returns to visit Sala and return to ‘one of her favorite venues', which now hosts Festival Trip II- After reconciling, Chava and Sala unite again to journey to uncharted territories—after Chava is invited along as a journalist to cover artists belonging to an up-and-coming record label based in Alaska, she invites Sala as a tag-along, knowing that her “weird hoe-magic” will attract—as always—even more interesting personalities and circumstances than she could dream to on her own. Chava Hoffs Sala Emillio Gunther Ross- The more than interesting circus-act of a plug/one of Sala's romantic interests, who just happens to be in the same place at the same time, once Sala and Chava arrive in California. Solomon Dominguez- Chava's “homie-lover-friend”, a DC native transplanted to LA who hustles and bustles the 3-job life to live the California dream—a surprisingly dedicated and loyal friend to Chava, who considers him the “king of fuckboys”—which, is not entirely untrue. Johnny McEntire- An eclectic and friendly photographer who stumbles upon Sala during a vulnerable moment—a sweet, humble, and vibrant personality, Chava mostly dismisses him as just another victim of Sala's constantly-inconstant romantic gestures and affiliations. Grace Williams (Chava's Super-Christian (but very sweet) Aunt) Billy Williams- Chava's very dorky, southern Baptist uncle who can't help but throw in a (praise-jesus) Krista DeVaunte- Bride-To-Be—Noah's Fiance Noah Williams- Chava's Cousin, the groom to be Naomi Williams- Chava's salty Cousin, and freinemy since birth—Noah's younger sister Sonny Johnson— Chava's ex-fiance Dustin Roberts—Sala's ex-boyfriend Juan Manuel Jose Melendez Gutierrez-Rodriguez—Sala's current boyfriend, with whom she lives & works with. Running Jokes: Speaking Spanish with a Mandarin-inflenced dialect—speaking/yelling in awful Spanish-soundingMandarin—speaking “Mandarish” or “Spandarin” Every time Chava mentions Sonny (her ex), Sala interjects with “Fuck Sonny!” Cop Jokes (due to Chava's occupation) ACT I- The Wedding Bashers/It's Festival Season “Save-The-Date” Inciting Incident—Plans to attend a destination wedding that Chava and her lifelong long distance best friend Sala, have been planning for almost a year are abruptly halted when Chava learns via a very eventful facetime call (‘Meet The Williams') that her +1 invitation had apparently only applied to her now-ex-fiance [whom her stuck-up family adored because of his abhorrent Christianity], and that the bride-to-be would not allow Sala to take his place on the guest list—as her vivid memories of Sala from Chava's engagement party are severly grotesque. Flashback: Chava + Sonny's engagement party. Chava: Yeah dude, they got all, mad-butthurt that I was bringing you instead of Sonny. Sala: Fuck Sonny! A remote, unnamed city in the Alaskan Arctic Circle. It is severely cold, even visually so. Ch ACT II- Sunny California ACT III- Sunny Florida Excerpt- Festival Trip I As chava blasts away, Sala and Johnny laugh hysterically Sala: Dat ass tho! Their laughter fades in the distance as she speeds up, other onlookers also commenting about her ass, as she blows past a group of men in black, she turns a man's head as she catches his attention. Man: Daaaaaamn. 3.31.19 —Later— The same man from earlier looks out the window of his high rise penthouse suite, across from Chava's hotel—and sees Chava levitating—he pauses, looks around, and raises his eyebrows, drunkenly and assumingly otherwise intoxicated in his appearance. Man: Daaaaamn. Chava is freaking out, remaining motionless as she floats above the bed—she looks out the side of her peripheral, afraid to move—looking up at the ceiling, her eyes widen. She blinks, and takes a deep breath. He questions what he is seeing, as he pours himself a drink. 4.1.2019 As Chava dances through the crowds, she connects and trades Kandi, moving to the beat with intricate motion and flare—people are loving her (a musical dance number)—from backstage, a man pouts and purses his lips, wondering why she is familiar—he is momentarily lost in thought, as he gazes at her and the crowd. Man: (under his breath) Daaamn... Lackey: c'mon man, let's get the fuck out of here Man: But— Lackey: don't worry, you know there's gon' be hoes at the spot. Man: ...but look at her viiibe...and that ass tho—damn! Lackey: eehhhh. You wanna ass, I got a specific folder in my contacts titled “fat ass” with 300 bitches in it— Man: *women* Lackey: whatever—look—I could get you an ass twice as fat, on a dime twice as fine—in 10 minutes flat. Man: (eyes shining, like domo) but look at her aura... Lackey: —I think I got an Aurora in here Man: No, like— Lackey: (pulling at him) let's *go*, the fuck is you trippin..? His eyes won't move away, but he is led by the lackey by his arm, confusededly pouting as he is dragged along. Man: Damn. He feels like he knows her. Cut back to: CHAVA'S ENTRY DANCE scene ACT 1: Wedding Bashers Here we meet Chava Hoffs and Sala Emillio; Two life-long long-distance best friends who love eachother--for the most part--for better or worse. Sala (Pinky) and Chala (The Brain) are planning a tropical mexican vacation to a destination wedding Chava's been invited to as an excuse to celebrate Chava's upcoming birthday (held the same weekend as the wedding) in style--However, when Chava's exclusively classist family alerts her that her plus-one invitation only extended to her on-again-off-again fiance and absolutely excludes Sala, they desperately search for another way to escape their mundane and excruciatingly boring circumstances. Chava internet-searches events around her birthday and finds that there are two music festivals within the same week--running the numbers, she concludes that this alternative plan would actually cost less than the original--”so why not?” The young women keep their escapade-to-be a complete secret, disguising all the preliminary details as “wedding planning” They plan to ‘meet in the middle', Los Angeles being centrally located to both their respective homes. They meet at LAX excitedly and reuinte in happy (and drunken) tears. ACT 2: Sunny California Chava wants to visit old friends and reminisce as a “wannabe tourist” in an all-too-familiar city, which she used to call home--she's built a list of things to do and prepared an itinerary for the week; Sala wants to get riddegy-wrecked sun-up to sundown; Worlds collide as somewhat by-the-book Chava nervously nativages around, typically babysitting Sala and often falling victim to being steered off-course by her shenanigans. Within their first few moments under the California moonlight, Sala's smartphone helps her discover that she has a nearby group of friends--conveniently banded-together by her circus act “master plug”, who is devastatingly in love with her. They spend night one of the first festival tracking him down--Sala finds herself already exhausted by Sala's timing and drunken unsubtlety (“My friend's a COP!”) They finally meet him at the end of the first day, they allow him to tag along--until he becomes almost-suddenly dysfunctionally inebriated and Chava must make a fight-or-flight decision to leave him behind, after he begins drawing attention to their vulnerable crew, and she is approached at random by a mysterious character in a gas station convenience store, where she appears to be the most sober person. On day two, after running at top-speed to catch the shuttle, Sala drunkenly makes friends with a group of young people (fresh out of high school), who to Chava are quite “wookish”, but she plays along anyway. However, by the time they exit the shuttle and Chava has finallybecome comfortable being invited into their squad; Chala decides to ditch them--unknowing that they will re-meet later in the night. Excerpt- Festival Trip I As chava blasts away, Sala and Johnny laugh hysterically Sala: Dat ass tho! Their laughter fades in the distance as she speeds up, other onlookers also commenting about her ass, as she blows past a group of men in black, she turns a man's head as she catches his attention. Man: Daaaaaamn. 3.31.19 —Later— The same man from earlier looks out the window of his high rise penthouse suite, across from Chava's hotel—and sees Chava levitating—he pauses, looks around, and raises his eyebrows, drunkenly and assumingly otherwise intoxicated in his appearance. Man: Daaaaamn. Chava is freaking out, remaining motionless as she floats above the bed—she looks out the side of her peripheral, afraid to move—looking up at the ceiling, her eyes widen. She blinks, and takes a deep breath. He questions what he is seeing, as he pours himself a drink. 4.1.2019 As Chava dances through the crowds, she connects and trades Kandi, moving to the beat with intricate motion and flare—people are loving her (a musical dance number)—from backstage, a man pouts and purses his lips, wondering why she is familiar—he is momentarily lost in thought, as he gazes at her and the crowd. Man: (under his breath) Daaamn... Lackey: c'mon man, let's get the fuck out of here Man: But— Lackey: don't worry, you know there's gon' be hoes at the spot. Man: ...but look at her viiibe...and that ass tho—damn! Lackey: eehhhh. You wanna ass, I got a specific folder in m
Festival Project A Saga S Ū P A © R E E ™ One World. | PEACE. LOVE. UNITY. RESPECT. | Lifelong friends navigate the infinitely incredible world of rave culture, journeying together (and sometimes, apart) into the PLUniveRse© in fantastical, philosophical, and third-eye-opening adventures--the likes of which have never been seen (or foretold.) Festival Project™ is a multi-genre, mystifying and magical cross-genre series, set against the backdrop of modern rave culture-- combined with historical and futuristic elements-- across expansions of space-and-time, unifying with The Universal Consciousness in a multidimensional and explorative ensemble of Films, Episodic Series, Music Videos, Extended Playlists, and Concept Albums. A perpetual symphony of artistic storytelling though a cavalcade of wonderful and whimsical characters along high-intensity, off-the-map adventures--showcased through Music, Film & Interactive Art Explorations--set upon the dreamlike actual reality of an unravelling fabric of time-and-space. Enter The Multiverse: Anything Is Possible. This explosive and expansive wave of enigmatic, chaos-colliding, charismatic [ and often comedic] kinetic energy, reflects a shared experience throughout all time in human connection; Journey beyond the unknown, to Worlds Within--and Without. Everything is Everything. The Festival Project Saga is a multi-media Music, Film and Television saga that offers a new perspective on the ever-changing and recently popularized culture of dance music; it touches on the history of the culture as a whole, as well as a variety of other societal issues this generation faces—friendship, connectivity, communication—the dawn of social media, America's education system and justice system, immigration, and emerging mental health and drug crisis—while also taking a look at a history of counter culture as a derivative of the rapidly evolving technology of today's society. Through its characters and storylines, we dive deeply into a conglomerate of generational growth and exponentially educational topics, lightheartedly touching tales of friendship, family through blood and through bond, and exploring fields, of Astrology, Philosophy. Festival Trip- Two lifelong friends take a two-week-long trip across the country, to attend two major music festivals—one on the west coast (Among Aliens, in California), and one on the east (Ultimate Music Festival) Chava Hoffs Sala Emillio Gunther Ross- The more than interesting circus-act of a plug/one of Sala's romantic interests, who just happens to be in the same place at the same time, once Sala and Chava arrive in California. Solomon Dominguez- Chava's “homie-lover-friend”, a DC native transplanted to LA who hustles and bustles the 3-job life to live the California dream—a surprisingly dedicated and loyal friend to Chava, who considers him the “king of fuckboys”—which, is not entirely untrue. Johnny McEntire- An eclectic and friendly photographer who stumbles upon Sala during a vulnerable moment—a sweet, humble, and vibrant personality, Chava mostly dismisses him as just another victim of Sala's constantly-inconstant romantic gestures and affiliations. Grace Williams (Chava's Super-Christian (but very sweet) Aunt) Billy Williams- Chava's very dorky, southern Baptist uncle who can't help but throw in a (praise-jesus) Krista DeVaunte- Bride-To-Be—Noah's Fiance Noah Williams- Chava's Cousin, the groom to be Naomi Williams- Chava's salty Cousin, and freinemy since birth—Noah's younger sister Sonny Johnson— Chava's ex-fiance Dustin Roberts—Sala's ex-boyfriend Juan Manuel Jose Melendez Gutierrez-Rodriguez—Sala's current boyfriend, with whom she lives & works with. Running Jokes: -Ridiculous DJ names and Absurd Fictional Festivals -Speaking Spanish with a Mandarin-inflenced dialect—speaking/yelling in awful Spanish-sounding-Mandarin—speaking “Mandarish” or “Spandarin” -Every time Chava mentions Sonny (her ex), Sala interjects with “Fuck Sonny!” -Cop Jokes (due to Chava's occupation) “Go climb broke-bitch mountain!” ACT I- The Wedding Bashers/It's Festival Season “Save-The-Date” Inciting Incident—Plans to attend a destination wedding that Chava and her lifelong. long- distance best friend Sala, have been planning for almost a year are abruptly halted when Chava learns via a very eventful FaceTime call (‘Meet The Williams') that her +1 invitation had apparently only applied to her now-ex-fiance [whom her stuck-up family adored because of his abhorrent Christianity], and that the bride-to-be would not allow Sala to take his place on the guest list—as her vivid memories of Sala from Chava's engagement party are severely grotesque. Flashback: Chava + Sonny's engagement party. Chava: Yeah dude, they got all, mad-butthurt that I was bringing you instead of Sonny. Sala: Fuck Sonny! [The Break-Up] Sala: FUCK YOUR BIRTHDAY! CHAVA: I'M SURE YOU WOULD IF YOU COULD, IF MY BIRTHDAY HAD A PENIS. Sala: YOUR BIRTHDAY DOES HAVE A PENIS—IT'S YOU, DICK. CHAVA: THEN SUCK ME, SALLY MAE. SALA: YOU WISH, WANDA. CHAVA: Can't make a wish with no fucking candles, Kandace. SALA: Huh. I would have thought there were candles just judging by hard you fucking BLOW, Bonnie! CHAVA: Then drive off cliff, Clyde. A remote, unnamed city near the North Pole, in the Alaskan Arctic Circle. It is severely cold, even visually so. ACT II- Sunny California ACT III- Sunny Florida In the scene where random ravers find Sala's backpack in the parking lot, debut Rave Dora [Backpack SupaCreeMixx] “I'm a backpack loaded up with things and Knick-knacks too—anything that you might need, I got inside for you...” Festival Trip One-Liners/ Slang/ Phrases Keep up, Kassandra Hold Up, Heather Be back, Becky Back up, Barbra Shut up, Susan/ Shut Up Sandra/ Shut Up Sharon/ Sit Down, Sally Shove It, Shelly Stop It, Stella Chill, Chelsea Cheer Up, Charlie (a reference to Willy Wonka) Get out my biz, Liz Really Billy? Excerpt, Act III Chava: Dude, your energy is killing me. Sala: So. Chava: Soo, fix it. Sala: What do I look like—Bob the Builder? Chava: More like Wreck-It-Ralphed-All-Over-Yourself Sala: Fuck you. Chava: Off limits. I'm the last person on earth you haven't fucked. Sala: Jealous? Chava: Of the super-massive black-hole that is your vagina? No. I just wish my camera had a better low-light filter so I had actual photographic proof of an 8th world wonder. Sala: …fuck you. Chava: ‘No' Means ‘No'. [blows whistle] Get up. Sala: Ahhhhh—Get fucked! Chava: I was—and you ruined it being a hoe—but I'm willing to look past that, because its a beautiful fucking day in Miami and we're about to get lit. C'mon. S'day one. Sala: Day 1 of rave 2, I'm over it. Chava: Hoe, I'm over you. Sala: Get over me, then, bitch— Chava: I already said I am. Get with it. Sala: Get with this dick. Chava: What's a dick without some balls, bro? Pussy. Sala: … Chava: You mad? Sala: I been mad. Chava: Stay mad, then. Sala: How about I just stay here. Chava: Pay here, stay here, bitch—this trip ain't free. Sala: This trip ain't me. Raves are your thing. I'm not a “festival chick.” Chava: You are for the next three days. Sala: …Three…?! Chava: And counting. Get. Some. Motherfuckin' balls. Here, have some Jesus Juice. [She extends her arm, holding the bottle in front of Sala] Sala: Ughhh. Chava: Come on, man. I'm tryna see Cow Turds. Sala: You're engaged to one. Chava: Shut the fuck up and drink. Here, I'll have one with you. The Epic Trip – ‘Girl—Meet World'. After breaking up with both her ex-fiance and her best friend, a depressed and anxious Chava decides to take a last-minute trip to another one of her bucket list destinations: The Epic Music Festival in Las Vegas, Nevada. F*ckFest: The Origins (Prequel) 21-year-old Chava Hoffs, a longtime raver and lover of all things dance culture, finally convinces her bar-scene best friend to accompany her to a regional event in her area, ‘F*ckfest', Sala's first ever festival/rave where—to both her and Chava's surprise, she connects with other longtime friends she had no idea were immersed into the culture. Sala, having been “rave-retired” since entering her first serious relationship, becomes overly-excited and branches off on her own, reconnecting with her true self after spending too long in her own shell—she discovers her love for an up-and-coming new artist (‘Shluggy') who magnetizes her with a newly-created sound (‘PukeRock'—a play on “VomitStep”) Vibes [Mini Series, Prequel]- A sequel-in-installments to the shenanigans following F*ckfest, where Chava returns to visit Sala and return to ‘one of her favorite venues', which now hosts GoF*ckYourself (GFY), the biggest summertime festival in the region. Festival Trip II [First Sequel ]- It's been a magical year and the breakup is over; A 20-something's imaginary friend returns, a decade after disappearing, just as she finds herself on the brink of ‘real adulthood', and has settled into the mundane and mediocre—as he leads her on a journey of self-discovery, she internally struggles with whether to tell her therapist—after deciding (or rather, being convinced) she shouldn't, she begins a desperate search for answers in what seems like a downward spiral into (Use- I'm on my way to heaven, for trailer.) A group of friends decide to form their own society after discovering an “uncharted” island—what they don't know [understand] is that the world government is observing at every angle—and as their population increases, they struggle as the popularity of their culture and lifestyle explode— Craig's world- an ensemble about the good old days of craigslist Ū [Amnesia/Working Title] Miami (Ami) A fashion designer and music enthusiast who attends festivals in her spare time, seeking inspiration for her fashion and design blog; she shares an apartment with her lesbian best friend from college, who works as a freelance writer and photographer. Crystal (Chrys) A short-haired-yet-feminine gender-non-conforming lovable with a dry sense of humor and an eye for art; Music lover and fan of festivals, Miami's “convert” into the rave world. Serra- A high-matinence instagram model who supports herself through social media promotion and influencing, modeling Miami's fashion line and sugar-babying/arm-candying to make her way through life, usually attending festivals as someone's date or just to take pictures/show face. Samuel/Donnie- Sensei Samurai: An award-winning world-renowned music artist and specialty DJ, the soul-headliner of ‘Magic's Mountain art and Music Festival' Daz- Sam/Donnie's Manager- (Antagonist) Lazers, pyrotechnics, strobes, and confetti light the night sky as Sensei Samurai, a medium-build white guy sporting two long braids and a samurai cut (his signature style), dances atop the table which supports a state-of-the-art DJ set-up; The stage is massive, the crowd is wild--but he is at home--or rather, at work, and at the top of his game. He jumps down from the table, drinking from a red solo cup, before he picks up the microphone to speak to his audience: Samuel: LET ME SEE YOU FUCKING JUMP. He dances around, flailing his arms to gesture to the crowd, drinking again from his red solo cup . He moves to the beat of the music as he focuses to adjust the mixer, structuring a build-up. His manager watches from backstage, carefully eying his every move. Samuel: --ARE YOU GUYS READY? [He lights a ciggarette, sips from his cup again as he continues to mix. He nods along to the beat, grooving as he plots his next move, looking into the crowd with hunger in his eye.] Dez: (speaking into a earpiece) Sammy, take it easy... [He glances stage left, to where Dez is situated and watching him like a hawk; He nonchalantly shrugs, blowing out a plume of smoke into the air, decisively irritated with the instruction.] Dez: (Cont'd): I mean it, chill. [Samuel sticks his finger into his ear, wiggling it profusely--and dislodges the hidden inner-earpiece, eyeing Dez as he pulls up his headphones, deep in the mix; He takes a long drag from his ciggarette, master-minding as he feverously twists the knobs and dials of the mixer.] Samuel (over the mic) NO CHILL MOTHERFUCKERS. [The music speeds as he prepares for the drop.] Dez: (forgetting momentarily that he will not be heard) Sam, don't--! [Too late. Samuel Drops the bass so hard, it hurts, ripping off his headphones and running straight into the crowd, head first to crowd surf. The crowd goes massively, insanely wild.] Through the lens of Crystal's camera, we see a series of still photos, capturing Sam's wild plunge into the crowd, just off-center in the front row. Miami looks to her right, giving her a nod of approval; Crystal shoots her a hand signal for “ok”. Miami looks to her left, lifting an eyebrow and smirking at Serra, who bounces off-beat against a tall wooky gentleman who has his arms around her through the sleeves of a spirit hood, tilting her head from side to side as she poses for selfies. Miami happily sways to the motion of the music, putting one hand over the rail and pulling up her mask with the other, as she watches Samuel be lifted back onto the stage and take his place behind the decks. The set continues, the crowd, the lazers, and the effects go wild: The backdrop reads ‘SENSEI SAMURAI' His backup dancers are acrobatic ninjas. Samuel: Thank you Magical Mountain, I Love You Guys!! The crowd goes wild as Samuel exits the stage, ignoring Dez as he breezes past him. Dez: (following after him) I thought I said, “No more crowd surfing, no more stage diving.” Samuel: I thought you said that, too. Dez: Do you recall “OhMyLanta?” Samuel: (sarcastically) Oh, you mean that festival in Atlanta? Dez: Yes. Samuel: How creative. Dez: ‘Creative' would describe the legal team's very expensive, very strenuous tactical strategy which weaseled you out of a very serious lawsuit. Samuel: What? When was this? Dez: This was when you decided to stage dive wearing goth-pants and your chains got stuck in that kid's earholes Samuel: They're called Tripp pants. Dez: Oh yeah...what do you call them after mutilating a teenager with them? Samuel: Tripp pants I can sell on eBay. I made that kid a star. Dez: You made him a cripple. Samuel: --we still talk. [EXT. A FARAWAY FOREST] Bass blasts through the christmas-lit forest, a festival set in the meadow against the lush and natural forest scenery; Attendees come-and-go to-and-from the lines of tents and out into the festival grounds, where DJs headline stages, dancers and performers interact with spectators, vendors practice their unique salesmanship, and the wild and true nature of ravers is unleashed. Frozen breath leaks from the laughing mouths of three young individuals, running through the forest; Twigs crush and leaves crackle underfoot of their prancing and galloping feet, clad in combat boots, tennis shoes, and platforms, respectively. Ripped fishnets hug the thighs that sweep together rapidly, swooshing as the legs that bare them race forward; a pashmina trails behind one's back, acting as a cape of sorts. A thud, in the darkness of the forest. Crystal and Serra continue forward, unaware their friend has fallen for a few short moments, leaving Miami behind. Miami confusedly looks for the obstruction which caused her to trip, discovering under a pile of brush and leaves, a man (Samuel) lying face down on the ground; her eyes widen and she draws slightly back, frightened, before squinting and leaning in to get a closer look; She turns on a glow toy for added light, she pants heavily under her breath, shaking slightly as she brushes away debris and leaves, uncovering his head and shoulders, revealing he is wearing a mask. She examines him. His glasses are broken, lying on the ground under his face--His hair is wet; he appears dead. Crystal: ...I told you not to wear those. Miami: Yo… Crystal: Yo--*gasps* (she grabs Serra by the shoulder, holding her back.) Serra: (She notices the body, under her pashmina, spirit hood, and glasses) Ohwhatthefuck. (she takes a few steps back) Crystal: Don't move. Serra: Yeah, fuck that. Fuck this. (she wraps the pashmina tightly around her face) [muffled] Fuck this. Crystal: ...Ami, we should get out of here. Miami: We should help him. Crystal: He may be beyond help, honey. Serra: He's fucking dead. Whatthefuck. Fuck this! Crystal: ...Is he dead? Miami: (she looks at him closely, there are no signs of life. she checks for breathing with her hand.) ...I don't know. (she checks again, leaning in closer. she grabs his wrist to check a pulse) Serra: Don't touch it! Miami: Shut up, I'm trying to get a pulse (beat) ...he's super cold. Serra: He's super dead! Miam: No, no...I don't think so. Crystal, come here--help me turn him over. Crystal: Are you sure? What if he--wakes up and tries to--?? Miami: (urgently) What if it was you? Crystal fishes for a flashlight and switchblade in her fanny pack, places the flashlight in her mouth and positioning the knife under her kandi cuffs. She cautiously inches forward. Crystal: Serra, try to get some cell service so we can call for help. The girls carefully turn him onto his back, wide eyed and bewildered. He is completely lifeless, clamy and pale--covered with dirt, and forestry. Miami continues to check for a pulse, shaking her head as he continues to appear dead. Crystal: Do you feel anything? Miami: …(shaking her head) I can't...he's like…(as she pulls up the sleeve of his hoodie and notices a familiar tattoo. she pauses for a moment, thinks, and then looks towards his head) Do you still have my mirror in your fanny pack?) Crystal returns to her fanny pack, digging for the mirror. Miami carefuly leans in towards the man, examining him once more; she notices a necklace, also familiar--she thinks, as she moves to remove first the excess hair, and then the mask from his face, very carefully. She peels off his mask, immidiately shocked as she reckognizes his face--It is Samuel, who she knows as Sensai Samurai. She yeeps (imploded gasp, making Crystal look up; she, too recognizes him; she gasps. They look at eachother, then at him--then back to eachother.) Miami: ...Give me your mirror. Crystal: Dude, is this…? Miami: Your mirror. (she holds the mirror under his nose--a subtle cloud of fog appears; he is, in fact, alive.) Crystal: Oh, my God. Miami: He's breathing. Serra! Crystal: ...This is Sensai Samurai. Miami: (trying to convince herself) It probably just looks like him…. Crystal: I just took one-hundred close-up photos, dude--like, less than an hour ago-- Miami: Shhhhh! (she frantically begins to check his pockets) He's gotta have a wallet. Crystal: What, you were going to save him--now you wanna roll him? Miami: An ID. He's got to have an ID. (she frantically searches him) Hey Serra! (Crystal lifts the other sleeve of his sweater, revealing a brightly colored wristband, and one singular kandi bracelet, which reads “Sensai” Simoltaneously, Miami has found something in one of the pockets--she produces a small box from one of the pockets of his cargo pants) Crystal: Holy fuck. Look. (she gestures the wrist band and bracelet.) Miami: ...Artist's wristband. Fuck. It is him. Crystal: [Samuel is slumped lifelessly over both Crystal and Miami's shoulders, head hanging downward and hair flailing and dangling in his face as the girls struggle to support him. His oversized light-up sunglasses begin slipping, almost revealing his eyes.] Girl:(looking over, concerned) ...Is your friend okay? [He is clearly not. Serra slides her finger up his nose to adjust his glasses, eyeing the girl suspiciously.] Crystal: [flatly] Yes. [Samuel's dead-weight pulls him towards the ground, as he slips; the girls struggle to readjust; he seems heavier by the minute. They all three stare back at the girl, awkwardly; Miami fakes an ‘everything's fine' smile, while Crystal stares blankly through her sunglasses and Serra shoots a look of dissatisfaction. [INT. KITCHEN. DAY.] The three girls gaze in awe of Donnie, multitasking busily in the kitchen, hair pinned neatly atop his head with chopsticks, wearing a neatly-pressed (as in, freshly ironed) apron, as he removes one baking mit with his mouth and works about, happily consumed and bouncily, humming. -...He's so...domestic. Crystal -You'd think he'd carry a better tune. Miami- Cause you'd be belting melodies after waking up out of a drug-induced coma? Crystal- No--I guess I'd open a bake shop in some random girls' kitchen. Miami: Donnie? Donnie: Hmm, yes? Miami: We...we have some news for you. Donnie: Oooh! Is it celebrity news? Miami:...sort of. Donnie: I hope it's juicy gossip. Crystal: Believe me--it'll be the talk of the town. Donnie: This town? Crystal: Any town. [ She refills her wine glass first, then prepares two more, never breaking eye contact with donnie; His lighthearted excitement turns to slight confusion, as he furrows his brows,] Miami: (sighs, taking his hand) Here, lets sit down. Donnie: But, the macaroons-- Serra-What? That's what you're making? [Donnie nods.] Serra-...(to the side) maybe we should let him finish the macaroons, first...what if this like, fucks him all up. Miami: No, it's time. I feel like we've already waited too long. Serra-...I feel like he makes really good macaroons. Miami: Yeah? Like grammy-award-winning macaroons? -If by ‘Grammy', you mean my Grandmother would approve… Miami: Your grandmother died of complications from diabetes. Serra-...and you think macaroons had absolutely nothing to do with that? [Crystal has already finished her first glass of wine, and begins to reach for the second glass, when Miami, out of the corner of her eye, catches her, snatching the glass from her gracefully, as she floats it to Donnie, sitting beside him, crossing her legs.] Donnie: Before noon? Crystal- Oh, so you know that rule? Donnie: I know some things. A 20-something's imaginary friend returns, a decade after disappearing, just as she finds herself on the brink of ‘real adulthood', and has settled into the mundane and mediocre—as he leads her on a journey of self-discovery, she internally struggles with whether to tell her therapist—after deciding (or rather, being convinced) she shouldn't, she begins a desperate search for answers in what seems like a downward spiral into A group of friends decide to form their own society after discovering an “uncharted” island—what they don't know [understand] is that the world government is observing at every angle—and as their population increases, they struggle as the popularity of their culture and lifestyle explode— Craig's world- an ensemble about the good old days of craigslist Blue Story A wayward security officer drunkenly fills out an application to join the police academy, and is accepted—both to his surprise, and dismay. #SQUAD OUT!- A Mockumentary-Style Comedy following several “tribes”, “squads”, “rave families”, and even solo-ravers surrounding a large group of ravers and friends. Ū [Amnesia/Working Title] Amnesia [Working Title] Three girls at a camping festival find an incapacitated man in the woods and take him back to their campsite for safety—when one of the girls discovers that she recognizes the mysterious man, actually a headliner at the festival they're attending—two of the girls keep it a secret from their friend who would certainly take advantage of the situation. After discovering a “butt-load” of mind-altering substances on his person, Miami, the ring leader, makes a ‘judgement call' not to call the authorities, deciding instead to attempt to take him back to his trailer—however—when the girls haul him back to his campsite, they discover his manager, Dez, rifling through his belongings. When Samuel awakens, he has no memory of himself—and so a journey begins: a test of friendship, and a race against the clock. Miami (Ami) A fashion designer and music enthusiast who attends festivals in her spare time, seeking inspiration for her fashion and design blog; she shares an apartment with her lesbian best friend from college, who works as a freelance writer and photographer. Crystal (Chrys) A short-haired-yet-feminine gender-non-conforming lovable with a dry sense of humor and an eye for art; Music lover and fan of festivals, Miami's “convert” into the rave world. Shane- A high-matinence instagram model who supports herself through social media promotion and influencing, modeling Miami's fashion line and sugar-babying/arm-candying to make her way through life, usually attending festivals as someone's date or just to take pictures/show face. DONNIE “*giggles* what's a rave?” Miami (takes a deep breath) Crystal (facepalm) Shane (purses her lips) C-Is Giving drugs to somebody with amnesia bad? M-I don't know what's bad for amnesia S-Well maybe, it's not giving it to him that would be bad—like, they were already in his system, probably wouldn't he go like, into withdraw or something. You're probably right S-(I'm probably not) Samuel/Donnie- Sensei Samurai: An award-winning world-renowned music artist and specialty DJ, the soul-headliner of ‘Magic's Mountain art and Music Festival' Daz- Sam/Donnie's Manager- (Antagonist-) Lazers, pyrotechnics, strobes, and confetti light the night sky as Sensei Samurai, a medium-build white guy sporting two long braids and a samurai cut (his signature style), dances atop the table which supports a state-of-the-art DJ set-up; The stage is massive, the crowd is wild--but he is at home--or rather, at work, and at the top of his game. He jumps down from the table, drinking from a red solo cup, before he picks up the microphone to speak to his audience: Samuel: LET ME SEE YOU FUCKING JUMP. He dances around, flailing his arms to gesture to the crowd, drinking again from his red solo cup . He moves to the beat of the music as he focuses to adjust the mixer, structuring a build-up. His manager watches from backstage, carefully eying his every move. Samuel: --ARE YOU GUYS READY? [He lights a ciggarette, sips from his cup again as he continues to mix. He nods along to the beat, grooving as he plots his next move, looking into the crowd with hunger in his eye.] Dez: (speaking into a earpiece) Sammy, take it easy... [He glances stage left, to where Dez is situated and watching him like a hawk; He nonchalantly shrugs, blowing out a plume of smoke into the air, decisively irritated with the instruction.] Dez: (Cont'd): I mean it, chill. [Samuel sticks his finger into his ear, wiggling it profusely--and dislodges the hidden inner-earpiece, eyeing Dez as he pulls up his headphones, deep in the mix; He takes a long drag from his ciggarette, master-minding as he feverously twists the knobs and dials of the mixer.] Samuel (over the mic) NO CHILL MOTHERFUCKERS. [The music speeds as he prepares for the drop.] Dez: (forgetting momentarily that he will not be heard) Sam, don't--! [Too late. Samuel Drops the bass so hard, it hurts, ripping off his headphones and running straight into the crowd, head first to crowd surf. The crowd goes massively, insanely wild.] Through the lens of Crystal's camera, we see a series of still photos, capturing Sam's wild plunge into the crowd, just off-center in the front row. Miami looks to her right, giving her a nod of approval; Crystal shoots her a hand signal for “ok”. Miami looks to her left, lifting an eyebrow and smirking at Serra, who bounces off-beat against a tall wooky gentleman who has his arms around her through the sleeves of a spirit hood, tilting her head from side to side as she poses for selfies. Miami happily sways to the motion of the music, putting one hand over the rail and pulling up her mask with the other, as she watches Samuel be lifted back onto the stage and take his place behind the decks. The set continues, the crowd, the lazers, and the effects go wild: The backdrop reads ‘SENSEI SAMURAI' His backup dancers are acrobatic ninjas. Samuel: Thank you Magical Mountain, I Love You Guys!! The crowd goes wild as Samuel exits the stage, ignoring Dez as he breezes past him. Dez: (following after him) I thought I said, “No more crowd surfing, no more stage diving.” Samuel: I thought you said that, too. Dez: Do you recall “OhMyLanta?” Samuel: (sarcastically) Oh, you mean that festival in Atlanta? Dez: Yes. Samuel: How creative. Dez: ‘Creative' would describe the legal team's very expensive, very strenuous tactical strategy which weaseled you out of a very serious lawsuit. Samuel: Law-Suit? I've never worn one of those. Black-Label? Dez: More like ‘black-book' with your name written on and in it. It took me weeks clean up. Samuel: When was this? Dez: When you decided to stage dive wearing goth-pants and one of your chains got stuck in that kid's earhole. Samuel: They're called ‘Tripp' pants. Dez: Oh yeah...what do you call them after mutilating a teenager with them? Samuel: Tripp pants I can sell on eBay. Dez: You made him a cripple. Samuel: --we still talk. Bass blasts through the christmas-lit forest, a festival set in the meadow against the lush and natural forest scenery; Attendees come-and-go to-and-from the lines of tents and out into the festival grounds, where DJs headline stages, dancers and performers interact with spectators, vendors practice their unique salesmanship, and the wild and true nature of ravers is unleashed. Frozen breath leaks from the laughing mouths of three young individuals, running through the forest; Twigs crush and leaves crackle underfoot of their prancing and galloping feet, clad in combat boots, tennis shoes, and platforms, respectively. Ripped fishnets hug the thighs that sweep together rapidly, swooshing as the legs that bare them race forward; a pashmina trails behind one's back, acting as a cape of sorts. A thud, in the darkness of the forest. Crystal and Shane continue forward, unaware their friend has fallen for a few short moments, leaving Miami behind. Miami confusedly looks for the obstruction which caused her to trip, discovering under a pile of brush and leaves, a man (Samuel) lying face down on the ground; her eyes widen and she draws slightly back, frightened, before squinting and leaning in to get a closer look; She turns on a glow toy for added light, she pants heavily under her breath, shaking slightly as she brushes away debris and leaves, uncovering his head and shoulders, revealing he is wearing a mask. She examines him. His glasses are broken, lying on the ground under his face--His hair is wet; he appears dead. Miami is horrified, speechless, breathless. Crystal: ...I told you not to wear those. Miami: Yo… Crystal: Yo--*gasps* (she grabs Shane by the shoulder, holding her back.) Shane: (She notices the body, under her pashmina, spirit hood, and glasses) Ohwhatthefuck. (she takes a few steps back) Crystal: Don't move. Serra: Yeah, fuck that. Fuck this. (she wraps the pashmina tightly around her face) [muffled] Fuck this. Crystal: ...Ami, we should get out of here. Miami: We should help him. Crystal: He may be beyond help, honey. Shane: He's fucking dead. Whatthefuck. Cystal: ...Is he dead? Miami: (she looks at him closely, there are no signs of life. she checks for breathing with her hand.) ...I don't know. (she checks again, leaning in closer. she grabs his wrist to check a pulse) Shane: Don't touch it! Miami: Shut up, I'm trying to get a pulse (beat) ...he's super cold. Shane: He's super dead! Miam: No, no...I don't think so. Crystal, come here--help me turn him over. Crystal: Are you sure? What if he--wakes up and tries to--?? Miami: (urgently) What if it was you? Crystal fishes for a flashlight and switchblade in her fanny pack, places the flashlight in her mouth and positioning the knife under her kandi cuffs. She cautiously inches forward. Crystal: Shane, try to get some cell service so we can call for help. The girls carefully turn him onto his back, wide eyed and bewildered. He is completely lifeless, clamy and pale--covered with dirt, and forestry. Miami continues to check for a pulse, shaking her head as he continues to appear dead. Crystal: Do you feel anything? Miami: …(shaking her head) I can't...he's like…(as she pulls up the sleeve of his hoodie and notices a familiar tattoo. she pauses for a moment, thinks, and then looks towards his head) Do you still have my mirror in your fanny pack?) Crystal returns to her fanny pack, digging for the mirror. Miami carefuly leans in towards the man, examining him once more; she notices a necklace, also familiar--she thinks, as she moves to remove first the excess hair, and then the mask from his face, very carefully. She peels off his mask, immidiately shocked as she reckognizes his face--It is Samuel, who she knows as Sensai Samurai. She yeeps (imploded gasp, making Crystal look up; she, too recognizes him; she gasps. They look at eachother, then at him--then back to eachother.) Miami: ...Give me your mirror. Crystal: Dude, is this…? Miami: Your mirror. (she holds the mirror under his nose--a subtle cloud of fog appears; he is, in fact, alive.) Crystal: Oh, my God. Miami: He's breathing. Shane! Crystal: ...This is Sensai Samurai. Miami: (trying to convince herself) It probably just looks like him…. Crystal: I just took one-hundred close-up photos, dude--like, less than an hour ago-- Miami: Shhhhh! (she frantically begins to check his pockets) He's gotta have a wallet. Crystal: What, you were going to save him--now you wanna roll him? Miami: An ID. He's got to have an ID. (she frantically searches him) Hey Shane! (Crystal lifts the other sleeve of his sweater, revealing a brightly colored wristband, and one singular kandi bracelet, which reads “Sensai” Simultaneously, Miami has found something in one of the pockets--she produces a small box from one of the pockets of his cargo pants) Crystal: Holy fuck. Look. (she gestures the wrist band and bracelet.) Miami: ...Artist's wristband. Fuck. It is him. Crystal: [Samuel is slumped lifelessly over both Crystal and Miami's shoulders, head hanging downward and hair flailing and dangling in his face as the girls struggle to support him. His oversized light-up sunglasses begin slipping, almost revealing his eyes.] Girl:(looking over, concerned) ...Is your friend okay? [He is clearly not. Serra slides her finger up his nose to adjust his glasses, eyeing the girl suspiciously.] Crystal: [flatly] Yes. [Samuel's dead-weight pulls him towards the ground, as he slips; the girls struggle to readjust; he seems heavier by the minute. They all three stare back at the girl, awkwardly; Miami fakes an ‘everything's fine' smile, while Crystal stares blankly through her sunglasses and Serra shoots a look of dissatisfaction. [INT. KITCHEN. DAY.] The three girls gaze in awe of Donnie, multitasking busily in the kitchen, hair pinned neatly atop his head with chopsticks, wearing a neatly-pressed (as in, freshly ironed) apron, as he removes one baking mit with his mouth and works about, happily consumed and bouncily, humming. -...He's so...domestic. Crystal -You'd think he'd carry a better tune. Miami- Cause you'd be belting melodies after waking up out of a drug-induced coma? Crystal- No--I guess I'd open a bake shop in some random girls' kitchen. Miami: Donnie? Donnie: Hmm, yes? Miami: We...we have some news for you. Donnie: Oooh! Is it celebrity news? Miami:...sort of. Donnie: I hope it's juicy gossip. Crystal: Believe me--it'll be the talk of the town. Donnie: This town? Crystal: Any town. [ She refills her wine glass first, then prepares two more, never breaking eye contact with donnie; His lighthearted excitement turns to slight confusion, as he furrows his brows,] Miami: (sighs, taking his hand) Here, lets sit down. Donnie: But, the macaroons-- Serra-What? That's what you're making? [Donnie nods.] Serra-...(to the side) maybe we should let him finish the macaroons, first...what if this like, fucks him all up. Miami: No, it's time. I feel like we've already waited too long. Serra-...I feel like he makes really good macaroons. Miami: Yeah? Like grammy-award-winning macaroons? -If by ‘Grammy', you mean my Grandmother would approve… Miami: Your grandmother died of complications from diabetes. Serra-...and you think macaroons had absolutely nothing to do with that? [Crystal has already finished her first glass of wine, and begins to reach for the second glass, when Miami, out of the corner of her eye, catches her, snatching the glass from her gracefully, as she floats it to Donnie, sitting beside him, crossing her legs.] Donnie: Before noon? Crystal- Oh, so you know that rule? Donnie: I know some things. Under The Mask —A superstar DJ and his best friend embark on a series of festivals under cover as non-celebrity citizens to first-handedly experience the other side of his world. Grandma's Girl- A funeral turns into an accidentally epic week-long house party, after the ‘favorite grand child' becomes disappointed in the traditional send-off given by the family; While grieving and going through her late-grandmothers belongings, Serra discovers journals and an old phonebook, containing the life and times of her wildly adventurous grandma and her close friends—when she realizes that none of the people from her grandmother's life ‘before the family' are in attendance of her funeral (or even aware of her passing), she links up with her best friends to organize a ‘proper goodbye'. All heaven breaks loose, when ‘ravers of old' begin showing up to pay their respects to Silvia—things get a little out-of-hand when the gathering explodes due-to-word of mouth, as it turns out Grandma Silvia had a few more connections than expected—and they've all come from near-and-far to say their goodbyes. Deathwish—A series about a woman who makes a death wish—but the stakes are raised wen all her wildest dreams come true, and death lurks just around the corner at every turn. ((M3))- A collection of silent films, by SupaCree Enter: World of Music Ascension- Set in a parallel universe, Father TIme and Mother Nature are reconnected on Earth, as the dawn of a new-era arises at the peak of mankind's evolutionary journey. Series is set in a parralell universe, a seperate realm where humans have met faced dark ages, technological or technological setbacks they live harmoniously and peacefully within— live spiritually and intuitively with the planet, and can gain/ strengthen certain abilities through higher learning, strength training, conditionig, and meditation; We begin at the dawn of a new age, where beings ('God Bodies' [working])acended from higher plains of conciousness walk amongst the living in 'humanform', guided and led to higher forms of being through teachings of the Acended sorcerers and masters belonging to the universal collective conciousness of light; Also amongst the living, in 'humanform', Costumes: Modern-Futuristic da ‘Thieo' makes his final wish (for his truest and ever lasting love) to his appointed Acceded Sorcerer; but there are trials he must endure and obstacles to be met before his wish come true— C'Esmett— A warrior princess raised to rule is on on the brink of going rouge, after she is betrayed by her betrothed —her calling to become queen is imminent; yet she must overcome boundaries set by tradition, facing the powers-that-be to strengthen and master her own. Her ancient knowledge, ascended sorcery, and intrinsic healing mysticism— amongst other gifts of nature (a seer, fortune of truths; being of light) “I'm sorry, but it's out of my control.” “NOTHING Is out of your control." "--Except for you." She scorns him, and turns away swiftly, as her cape sweeps across the floor, as it flutters and whips behind her “I'm sorry, but it's out of my control.” “NOTHING Is out of your control." "--Except for you." She scorns him, and turns away swiftly, as her cape sweeps across the floor, as it flutters and whips behind her--she turns again, eyeing him directly, pointing to him with dismay as she takes in a breath; catching herself in anger, she deflates, keeping eye contact (though her gaze suddenly softens as she arrives ‘ACENSION' Ascension- Set in a parallel universe, Father TIme and Mother Nature are reconnected on Earth, as the dawn of a new-era arises at the peak of mankind's evolutionary journey. CHARACTERS Thïeo {Petrutheïo} Godform Spiritclad Cross-Bodied sorcerer; Humanborn earthbound in his most recent incarnation to rule in the new age…(t b c) C'Esmétt {Ch'Esmett X'oxįl Nazari is the most powerful being on planet Earth, and throughout multiple dimensions, through which she presides over, in various forms and figures; She possesses the universe's oldest Soul. a Godform Spiritclad Ascended Sorceress who possesses rare “Creation Energy”—the ability to form and shape matter, bend and travel through time, and control aspects of reality; Youthful and fiery, she is praised as a God of Light; Supporting: Kï'yara—Fireborn, Earthbound Rai'ayn—Loveborn, Multi-Dimentional Onyyxx—Rooted, Tri-Dimentiinal The elements: Love Matter Earth -Of Ground -Of Water -Of Fire -Of Air ...there are more but I'm tired right now. The realms: Now Then (points in the past to which time bending bodies may access) The past (inaccessible points on past timelines to those in human form or bound to earth, besides Godform; even so, the process is strenuous and dangerous. Love Self (to self, to travel inward and reflect a physical presence of the world within, outwardly; true self exists freely and ideally—you are able to converse with self as others see you [appearing as an identical twin with ideal aspects. Light therapy Frequencies Vibrationally energizing Body waves are Paralyzing Lines of Broken harmonies Inside of me. Crying on the clock; Rocking back and forth Stocking full of coal Greetings from the North Pole If Santa Clause is real Maybe we can make a deal; If my heart is made of steel You can't steal it—I can feel it Winter is here The world is money hungry (So am I) The world is simply starving (So am I) The world is so alarming (So am I) The world is just evolving. (So I am.) Cause I've been going crazy Stuck inside myself And I've been feeling lazy Just beside myself And I've been thinking lately That just maybe, someday maybe I'll be It's all connected— The reason we disconnect Is we're neglected I wonder what you'd expect You can't express it Just repress it. Repression syndrome— Came up too fast; Compression syndrome Suck it in Suck it up, You stupid fuck Dive deeper Ū (EP) 1. Thank U 2. I'm Sorry 3. I Love U 4. I miss U I like your vibe Come join my squad Curiosity killed the cat Carbohydrates killed the queen Don't cry “I'll try...” 50 Shades of Blue Don't pick up the phone Don't pick up the phone Don't pick up the phone Don't pick up the phone And here you are: 8 years later, With a baby on your back and— Bills to pay You have to decide (What the fuck) what the world is all about today. Don't want to be Cree For a really long time I just need I just need I just need a whole mind I was me the whole time I never left And yet There I was—looking at myself from above, All the love in the world; Just a lonely little girl Trapped in her Head Never got out of bed, that day: But I went away somewhere, And there I was—looking at myself from above, All the love in the world, Just a lonely little girl Trapped in her Head And I said “why are you waking me up?” But I wasn't asleep— I just wanted to fuck And sometimes, it's too much Too much is, never enough I've never been in love (with me) But I've always been in love (with you) And if you had seen it It wouldn't have been the death of me. Deeper I'll go: Deeper to find How I crossed white lines To become Colorblind How did you find me, here My deer? How did you know Where to go? How did you know, I would Follow you there, Once you finally showed me the road? I've seen both the frog, and the toad; You've already left me exposed, And I'm frozen in time Just to find Just to find Paradise— I tried. But love is a blind bat, Diving into a vat of Darkness; a hat is only a hat, If only there was more— And there is. There always is more— You just have to live more, And once you've been through the cycles, you could be Recycled. Ruined. Rebuilt. Guilt is only ever, Created after pleasure... With immense imploding pressure - [ ] You were born EP-GA [2K19] Mother Earth and Father Time are Making love right By the fire You are motion— I am sickness I am goddess; Be my witness. And I'll probably run for President— Just like I tend to run from everything; not because I want to do it, but because I have to... And just as I run from everything, I run to everything— As is the vicious cycle of life, unrepeated. I should have seen it coming, when he kicked my puppy—I didn't, but my mother did, and it might have been the same day. If not, it was definitely on the same porch—the same porch where...my adolescence began, and ended. There is no cure When your spirit is broken There is no cure—when you suffer in silence There is no cure— When you've seen all the violence It's only you. Breadcrumbs— I'm not dumb, I'm just muted. The dragon I'm chasing is me, And I just... Set the world on fire— I just—need to— I just—adjust. Translucent and transparent I am the thing that happens when you Parent your own parents. And I just I been waking up randomly, Panicking— Wishing I was dancing In the moonlight I'm vanishing without a trace And maybe I just hate this place, Maybe I'm just displaced I hate this I been waking up randomly Filling the void Avoiding my eyes in reflections I fell in love at a festival She came to dance, she was solo oh-oh ...took my hand, sack let's go- oh—oh-oh She didn't care She didn't care I'm a tax write-off I'm a meal ticket I'm a grasshopper; Or maybe, a cricket— Ricochet rabbit Why am I like this? “Why do you fight this?” I was not invited to mingle This ‘tingle' I get is more than A threat—I regretted, The moments I never forget The secrets you keep The stories you never will tell— This is hell, you're not dreaming It's only a nightmare. Too much to think about So I don't Dissociative, I associate everything Within—without I reflect everything I've been about, Stuck beside myself I am just a clone, A lone shadow of my Own All alone, and— I never planned to leave this planet But I have. You're out of my league Out of my league Why can't you see that It's so hard to be Paying the price for this Quarter-life crisis I don't mean to write this So bad, but I can't trust myself anymore I can't trust this world anymore Life is just Too complicated I'm jaded—I'm faded out Phased out, going about in this Town like I'm drowning in Insecurity Or rather, a diamond in the rough I've got enough stuff I just need love. You're out of my league I can see that I can't be that, thing What you want is perfection I just like who you are and thats— Never enough. I have nothing but love to give, love So forgive this: I didn't think I'd live this long But I was wrong And it was longer than I thought Ago Life is just Too complicated I'm jaded—I'm faded out Phased out, going about in this Town like I'm drowning in Insecurity Do you wanna know what it's like to be lonely like me I can tell you better than show you Once I get to know you good luck AMNESIA NOTES Miami Wade Crystal Brooks Donder (Donny) “we'll just call you Donny” “Why?” Uhhh...Because...we found you in the woods. “What?” “You know, like—the wild thornberrys” “Sounds tasty” “Uhhh—wasn't Donny found in the Jungle” “Uhhh—isn't the jungle just a denser version of the woods?” “I guess. It's like an earth-remix” “What's a remix?” Miami wells up—Crystal jumps up excitedly “Awwwwri And I've been stuck on Abbot Kinney, Thinking about Will Rodgers and Thinking that I'm a dodgers fan— But I'm not, I just like crowds. And LA makes me proud Of everything I need to be: And if the world were watching me She'd think she was herself. I was never sleeping, I'm just here And I was never reading, I just Put the bookmark where I left off... I could drift off into, The taste of ink And as it dries in my palm— I know it won't take long until I'm Drifting back into—sifting back into Space—grains of sand. You'll know when you've reached the promised land. Hello, Good Friend: ‘It's time to fall in love...with yourself.' The world has the most to learn from its elders and it's youth—fever disrespect the sometimes even subtle wisdom of a child or your elders. A1 (Lost in the Sauce) Break beats Ruffneck Bass: That's what I like in my face Drop that shit, don't make me wait Make me dance off all this waste I like chocolate, give me cake Wednesday mornin' wake-n-bake Star Jones—Oprah—Ricky lake Which is real and which is fake? Pick the right one, no mistake River—ocean—crater lake “White girl: can I touch your hair? Is it fake??” Out of order— Order steak. [ Sample: The Epic Trip] [interlude- two friends at a festival//a phone call] “Where the fuck are you?” “I can't hear you!” “Hello?” “BRO. Where are you?” “I'm by the—WAIT—hello?!” “WHAT? ” “HELLO?” [the call drops] “Yo. Where the fuck is she?” “I don't know man, probably lost in the sauce...” Sample Lost In The jungle//Kendrick Boo Boo Friends that say that they “gotchu” and then don't Ain't your friends— they're enemies Keep them close Nobody gives a fuck about you— Except you— Remember that. And if you can't remember Make a habit of forgetting Cause you're just another member of society With social anxiety Your sense of propriety Probably shouldn't be Anything I'd give anything Just to take back all my fucks Put them in a bucket, Throw it over my shoulder And wish the world “Good fucking luck” I'm so done with it This is the last chance you get So have fun with it There's no pleasure, no smiles— No love in it I'm just driving for miles Above the shit Transitions- Silent Film/EP Kandi moves to a new city from far, far away—and finds herself lost trying to find her own vibe. ❤️ 1. The Bus Song 2. Pretty Girls (SupaCreeMixx) 3. DOD (Phoenixx remix) “Holy infected fuck!” [thats my vibe right now] North Star After an EMP attack, an unlikely leader becomes a guide to a group of survivors to find the way northward to Alaska. Festival Trip Chava Hoffs- A Voluptuous Dark-Skinned Alaska Native-Black Mixed fashionista who (to her disdain) earns a living as a correctional officer in a juvenile detention facility in Arctic Alaska, daydreaming her long nights away and stacking her money, saving up for an escape to someplace warm and sunny. She is bright and quick-witted, but sometimes awkward—truly a ball of energy, whether good or bad. Sala Emilio (Stax) A tall, olive skinned hottie from Utah of Native American and Mexican decent who works as head chef in a gourmet Chinese food restaurant—a phenomenally functional alcoholic with a free spirit, questionable morals, good values, a loving heart—and a dry sense of humor. Childhood best friends with Chava, I hope you're okay with the character I based off you. I'm not going to copy the story exactly (cause it's a movie, duh) so—I came up with the story that your character runs the kitchen of a classy gourmet 5-Star Chinese restaurant in Utah that has an all-Mexican staff of mostly illegals; my character is a CO at a youth correctional facility in remote Alaska—I felt like those two extremes would play funnier on camera than to replicate our actual situations. I also made them not parents, because I would rather take the whole issue of parenting and raving into a completely separate film idea, I'm thinking of calling it Festival Project A Film Saga by SupaCree Inspired by True Events Festival Trip- Two lifelong friends take a two-week-long trip across the country, to attend two major music festivals—one on the west coast (Among Aliens, in California), and one on the east (Ultimate Music Festival) The Epic Trip – After breaking up with both her ex-fiance and her best friend, a depressed and anxious Chava decides to take a last-minute trip to another one of her bucket list destinations: The Epic Music Festival in Las Vegas, Nevada. F*ckFest: The Origins (Prequel) 21-year-old Chava Hoffs, a longtime raver and lover of all things dance culture, finally convinces her bar-scene best friend to accompany her to a regional event in her area, ‘F*ckfest', Sala's first ever festival/rave where—to both her and Chava's surprise, she connects with other longtime friends she had no idea were immersed into the culture. Sala, having been “rave-retired” since entering her first serious relationship, becomes overly-excited and branches off on her own, reconnecting with her true self after spending too long in her own shell—she discovers her love for an up-and-coming new artist (‘Shluggy') who magnetizes her with a newly-created sound (‘PukeRock'—a play on “VomitStep”) Vibes [Mini Series]- A sequel-in-installments to the shenanigans following F*ckfest, where Chava returns to visit Sala and return to ‘one of her favorite venues', which now hosts Festival Trip II- After reconciling, Chava and Sala unite again to journey to uncharted territories—after Chava is invited along as a journalist to cover artists belonging to an up-and-coming record label based in Alaska, she invites Sala as a tag-along, knowing that her “weird hoe-magic” will attract—as always—even more interesting personalities and circumstances than she could dream to on her own. Chava Hoffs Sala Emillio Gunther Ross- The more than interesting circus-act of a plug/one of Sala's romantic interests, who just happens to be in the same place at the same time, once Sala and Chava arrive in California. Solomon Dominguez- Chava's “homie-lover-friend”, a DC native transplanted to LA who hustles and bustles the 3-job life to live the California dream—a surprisingly dedicated and loyal friend to Chava, who considers him the “king of fuckboys”—which, is not entirely untrue. Johnny McEntire- An eclectic and friendly photographer who stumbles upon Sala during a vulnerable moment—a sweet, humble, and vibrant personality, Chava mostly dismisses him as just another victim of Sala's constantly-inconstant romantic gestures and affiliations. Grace Williams (Chava's Super-Christian (but very sweet) Aunt) Billy Williams- Chava's very dorky, southern Baptist uncle who can't help but throw in a (praise-jesus) Krista DeVaunte- Bride-To-Be—Noah's Fiance Noah Williams- Chava's Cousin, the groom to be Naomi Williams- Chava's salty Cousin, and freinemy since birth—Noah's younger sister Sonny Johnson— Chava's ex-fiance Dustin Roberts—Sala's ex-boyfriend Juan Manuel Jose Melendez Gutierrez-Rodriguez—Sala's current boyfriend, with whom she lives & works with. Running Jokes: Speaking Spanish with a Mandarin-inflenced dialect—speaking/yelling in awful Spanish-soundingMandarin—speaking “Mandarish” or “Spandarin” Every time Chava mentions Sonny (her ex), Sala interjects with “Fuck Sonny!” Cop Jokes (due to Chava's occupation) ACT I- The Wedding Bashers/It's Festival Season “Save-The-Date” Inciting Incident—Plans to attend a destination wedding that Chava and her lifelong long distance best friend Sala, have been planning for almost a year are abruptly halted when Chava learns via a very eventful facetime call (‘Meet The Williams') that her +1 invitation had apparently only applied to her now-ex-fiance [whom her stuck-up family adored because of his abhorrent Christianity], and that the bride-to-be would not allow Sala to take his place on the guest list—as her vivid memories of Sala from Chava's engagement party are severly grotesque. Flashback: Chava + Sonny's engagement party. Chava: Yeah dude, they got all, mad-butthurt that I was bringing you instead of Sonny. Sala: Fuck Sonny! A remote, unnamed city in the Alaskan Arctic Circle. It is severely cold, even visually so. Ch ACT II- Sunny California ACT III- Sunny Florida Excerpt- Festival Trip I As chava blasts away, Sala and Johnny laugh hysterically Sala: Dat ass tho! Their laughter fades in the distance as she speeds up, other onlookers also commenting about her ass, as she blows past a group of men in black, she turns a man's head as she catches his attention. Man: Daaaaaamn. 3.31.19 —Later— The same man from earlier looks out the window of his high rise penthouse suite, across from Chava's hotel—and sees Chava levitating—he pauses, looks around, and raises his eyebrows, drunkenly and assumingly otherwise intoxicated in his appearance. Man: Daaaaamn. Chava is freaking out, remaining motionless as she floats above the bed—she looks out the side of her peripheral, afraid to move—looking up at the ceiling, her eyes widen. She blinks, and takes a deep breath. He questions what he is seeing, as he pours himself a drink. 4.1.2019 As Chava dances through the crowds, she connects and trades Kandi, moving to the beat with intricate motion and flare—people are loving her (a musical dance number)—from backstage, a man pouts and purses his lips, wondering why she is familiar—he is momentarily lost in thought, as he gazes at her and the crowd. Man: (under his breath) Daaamn... Lackey: c'mon man, let's get the fuck out of here Man: But— Lackey: don't worry, you know there's gon' be hoes at the spot. Man: ...but look at her viiibe...and that ass tho—damn! Lackey: eehhhh. You wanna ass, I got a specific folder in my contacts titled “fat ass” with 300 bitches in it— Man: *women* Lackey: whatever—look—I could get you an ass twice as fat, on a dime twice as fine—in 10 minutes flat. Man: (eyes shining, like domo) but look at her aura... Lackey: —I think I got an Aurora in here Man: No, like— Lackey: (pulling at him) let's *go*, the fuck is you trippin..? His eyes won't move away, but he is led by the lackey by his arm, confusededly pouting as he is dragged along. Man: Damn. He feels like he knows her. Cut back to: CHAVA'S ENTRY DANCE scene ACT 1: Wedding Bashers Here we meet Chava Hoffs and Sala Emillio; Two life-long long-distance best friends who love eachother--for the most part--for better or worse. Sala (Pinky) and Chala (The Brain) are planning a tropical mexican vacation to a destination wedding Chava's been invited to as an excuse to celebrate Chava's upcoming birthday (held the same weekend as the wedding) in style--However, when Chava's exclusively classist family alerts her that her plus-one invitation only extended to her on-again-off-again fiance and absolutely excludes Sala, they desperately search for another way to escape their mundane and excruciatingly boring circumstances. Chava internet-searches events around her birthday and finds that there are two music festivals within the same week--running the numbers, she concludes that this alternative plan would actually cost less than the original--”so why not?” The young women keep their escapade-to-be a complete secret, disguising all the preliminary details as “wedding planning” They plan to ‘meet in the middle', Los Angeles being centrally located to both their respective homes. They meet at LAX excitedly and reuinte in happy (and drunken) tears. ACT 2: Sunny California Chava wants to visit old friends and reminisce as a “wannabe tourist” in an all-too-familiar city, which she used to call home--she's built a list of things to do and prepared an itinerary for the week; Sala wants to get riddegy-wrecked sun-up to sundown; Worlds collide as somewhat by-the-book Chava nervously nativages around, typically babysitting Sala and often falling victim to being steered off-course by her shenanigans. Within their first few moments under the California moonlight, Sala's smartphone helps her discover that she has a nearby group of friends--conveniently banded-together by her circus act “master plug”, who is devastatingly in love with her. They spend night one of the first festival tracking him down--Sala finds herself already exhausted by Sala's timing and drunken unsubtlety (“My friend's a COP!”) They finally meet him at the end of the first day, they allow him to tag along--until he becomes almost-suddenly dysfunctionally inebriated and Chava must make a fight-or-flight decision to leave him behind, after he begins drawing attention to their vulnerable crew, and she is approached at random by a mysterious character in a gas station convenience store, where she appears to be the most sober person. On day two, after running at top-speed to catch the shuttle, Sala drunkenly makes friends with a group of young people (fresh out of high school), who to Chava are quite “wookish”, but she plays along anyway. However, by the time they exit the shuttle and Chava has finallybecome comfortable being invited into their squad; Chala decides to ditch them--unknowing that they will re-meet later in the night. Excerpt- Festival Trip I As chava blasts away, Sala and Johnny laugh hysterically Sala: Dat ass tho! Their laughter fades in the distance as she speeds up, other onlookers also commenting about her ass, as she blows past a group of men in black, she turns a man's head as she catches his attention. Man: Daaaaaamn. 3.31.19 —Later— The same man from earlier looks out the window of his high rise penthouse suite, across from Chava's hotel—and sees Chava levitating—he pauses, looks around, and raises his eyebrows, drunkenly and assumingly otherwise intoxicated in his appearance. Man: Daaaaamn. Chava is freaking out, remaining motionless as she floats above the bed—she looks out the side of her peripheral, afraid to move—looking up at the ceiling, her eyes widen. She blinks, and takes a deep breath. He questions what he is seeing, as he pours himself a drink. 4.1.2019 As Chava dances through the crowds, she connects and trades Kandi, moving to the beat with intricate motion and flare—people are loving her (a musical dance number)—from backstage, a man pouts and purses his lips, wondering why she is familiar—he is momentarily lost in thought, as he gazes at her and the crowd. Man: (under his breath) Daaamn... Lackey: c'mon man, let's get the fuck out of here Man: But— Lackey: don't worry, you know there's gon' be hoes at the spot. Man: ...but look at her viiibe...and that ass tho—damn! Lackey: eehhhh. You wanna ass, I got a specific folder in m
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
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
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
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
You thought that the last episode was the last one in David Sidoni's 2023 housing market predictions series. PSYCHE. In this BONUS episode, he gives you some insight on how a recession could totally upend all the other predictions we've talked about so far. So, buckle your seatbelts because it's going to be a wild ride. Here are the biggest takeaways from today's discussion: Episode Highlights: [02:31] Here's a Quick Recap You should be expecting a normalizing and stabilizing housing market in 2023 (EXCEPT RENTS - sorry). Mortgage rates are likely to gradually decrease. Home prices will probably increase or decrease around 1-2% because demand is still higher than supply. Don't believe him? Go back and listen to the previous four episodes and believe. [5:25] Okay, What Happens If We Go Into a Stanky Recession? David's got a truth bomb for you: we're already floating in and out of a recession and have been for about 6-8 months. However, several folks are expecting things to get worse in 2023. The stock market hasn't had a major dip since 2008 - which is around 15 YEARS - so we're about due for another one and it's time to start preparing. Typically during an economic downturn, the government will cut interest rates causing home prices, mortgage rates and other factors to fall and could bring more buyers to the market. But, a more severe recession could mean fewer sales. BUT inventory will still be low! Which brings us back to supply and demand. More buyers = more demand = higher prices. Boom. [13:58] Let's Look At the History In the last 4 out 6 recessions, home prices went UP. In 2008, the crash was caused by the housing market, but this next one will not be because inventory is too low. A regular recession usually does not impact housing. The 2008 one that we're all familiar with was an anomaly. Resources Mentioned: https://www.usatoday.com/story/money/personalfinance/real-estate/2022/12/15/housing-market-six-experts-2023-real-estate-industry/10881757002/ https://www.redfin.com/news/housing-market-predictions-2023/ https://www.bankrate.com/real-estate/housing-market-predictions-2023/ https://www.newsweek.com/will-house-prices-drop-2023-real-estate-experts-predictions-1761338 https://www.marketwatch.com/story/house-prices-will-fall-in-2023-but-affordability-will-be-at-its-worst-since-1985-says-capital-economics-11668530061 https://www.yahoo.com/now/heres-where-morgan-stanley-bets-154429100.html https://www.realtor.com/news/trends/2023-the-year-of-the-homebuyer-our-bold-predictions-on-home-prices-mortgage-rates-and-more/ https://www.housingwire.com/articles/the-red-hot-housing-market/ https://www.inman.com/2022/12/28/the-2023-housing-market-a-real-estate-reckoning-is-at-hand/
You thought that the last episode was the last one in David Sidoni's 2023 housing market predictions series. PSYCHE. In this BONUS episode, he gives you some insight on how a recession could totally upend all the other predictions we've talked about so far. So, buckle your seatbelts because it's going to be a wild ride. Here are the biggest takeaways from today's discussion: How recessions have affected the housing market in years past A brief review of the projected trends for 2023 What could happen to sales if the government gets involved How inventory could be the key to an unexpected market change Episode Highlights: [02:31] Here's a Quick Recap You should be expecting a normalizing and stabilizing housing market in 2023 (EXCEPT RENTS - sorry). Mortgage rates are likely to gradually decrease. Home prices will probably increase or decrease around 1-2% because demand is still higher than supply. Don't believe him? Go back and listen to the previous four episodes and believe. [5:25] Okay, What Happens If We Go Into a Stanky Recession? David's got a truth bomb for you: we're already floating in and out of a recession and have been for about 6-8 months. However, several folks are expecting things to get worse in 2023. The stock market hasn't had a major dip since 2008 - which is around 15 YEARS - so we're about due for another one and it's time to start preparing. Typically during an economic downturn, the government will cut interest rates causing home prices, mortgage rates and other factors to fall and could bring more buyers to the market. But, a more severe recession could mean fewer sales. BUT inventory will still be low! Which brings us back to supply and demand. More buyers = more demand = higher prices. Boom. [13:58] Let's Look At the History In the last 4 out 6 recessions, home prices went UP. In 2008, the crash was caused by the housing market, but this next one will not be because inventory is too low. A regular recession usually does not impact housing. The 2008 one that we're all familiar with was an anomaly. Resources Mentioned: https://www.usatoday.com/story/money/personalfinance/real-estate/2022/12/15/housing-market-six-experts-2023-real-estate-industry/10881757002/ https://www.redfin.com/news/housing-market-predictions-2023/ https://www.bankrate.com/real-estate/housing-market-predictions-2023/ https://www.newsweek.com/will-house-prices-drop-2023-real-estate-experts-predictions-1761338 https://www.marketwatch.com/story/house-prices-will-fall-in-2023-but-affordability-will-be-at-its-worst-since-1985-says-capital-economics-11668530061 https://www.yahoo.com/now/heres-where-morgan-stanley-bets-154429100.html https://www.realtor.com/news/trends/2023-the-year-of-the-homebuyer-our-bold-predictions-on-home-prices-mortgage-rates-and-more/ https://www.housingwire.com/articles/the-red-hot-housing-market/ https://www.inman.com/2022/12/28/the-2023-housing-market-a-real-estate-reckoning-is-at-hand/
The new year promises many new discoveries and innovations in the world of SCIENCE!!! Mike, Mike, Chip Johnson, and Shirley Burton take a look at upcoming advances in everything from outer space to microscopic organisms. Plus, Ashley's Box Office Buzz, Michelle's Iconic Rock Moments, and Shout Outs. We want to hear from you! Feedback is always welcome. Please write to us at feedback@earthstationone.com and subscribe and rate the show on Apple Podcast, Stitcher Radio, Google Play, Spotify, Pandora, Amazon Music, wherever fine podcasts are found, and now we can be found on our own YouTube Channel. Links Earth Station One on Apple Podcasts Earth Station One on Stitcher Radio Earth Station One on Spotify Past Episodes of The Earth Station One Podcast The ESO Network Patreon The New ESO Network TeePublic Store ESO Network Patreon Angela's A Geek Girl's Take Ashley's Box Office Buzz Michelle's Iconic Rock Talk Show The Earth Station One Website Tifosi Optical The New Earth Station One YouTube Channel My Crazy Nerd Life Beyond The Airwaves Inuhele Promos Tifosi Optics The ESO Network Patreon If you would like to leave feedback or a comment on the show please feel free to email us at feedback@earthstationone.com Special Guests: Chip Johnson and Shirley Burton.
Find Weird Darkness wherever you listen to podcasts: https://weirddarkness.com/listen. #mothman, #alcopone,#yeti, #bigfoot, #sasquatch, #jimmyclark, #vanishingtriangle, #unexplainedireland, #shadowpeople, #pterodactyl, #thunderbird, #paranormal, #truestories, #paranormalstories, #ghoststories, #horrorstories, #truecrime, #cryptidsIN THIS EPISODE: It's first sighting was described as “half man and half beast, standing about five feet six inches, with a tall pointed head. Whatever it was that he had seen, he was convinced that it was neither a bear nor a monkey.” We take a look at the mysterious creature, the Yeti. (Taking a Look At the Yeti Phenomenon) *** On May 16, 1929, Al Capone was arrested in Philadelphia on gun-carrying charges – but it was a put-up job that unfortunately led to a year in prison and Capone's first encounters with the ghost that he believed haunted him to the grave! (Al Capone and the Ghost of Jimmy Clark) *** Seeing an intruder while in the shower may sound cliché for the movies – but not so much when it happens to you. (Those Strange Fingertips) *** Multiple women have disappeared without a trace from what has become known as Ireland's ‘vanishing triangle'. Their fates still remain a mystery. (The Ireland Vanishings) *** When you see something out of the corner of your eye, simply to turn and not see anything there… is it your imagination, or is something else at work? (From Work to Home) *** The ancient pterodactyl, the legendary thunderbird, the cryptid known as the Mothman: could they all be one and the same? (Is Mothman a Shapeshifter)SOURCES AND ESSENTIAL WEB LINKS…“Is Mothman a Shapeshifter?” by Nick Redfern for Mysterious Universe: http://bit.ly/2m1A4bV “Al Capone and the Ghost of Jimmy Clark” by Troy Taylor: http://bit.ly/2kbVGC0 “Those Strange Fingertips” by Kristine J., submitted at WeirdDarkness.com“The Ireland Vanishings” posted at The Line Up: http://bit.ly/2lGfaiu “From Work to Home” by Thor220 at YourGhostStories.com: http://bit.ly/2m45wX2 “Taking a Look at the Yeti Phenomenon” by Nick Redfern for Mysterious Universe: http://bit.ly/2kBC5LG = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =Weird Darkness theme by Alibi Music Library. Background music provided by Alibi Music Library, EpidemicSound and/or StoryBlocks with paid license. Music from Shadows Symphony (https://tinyurl.com/yyrv987t), Midnight Syndicate (http://amzn.to/2BYCoXZ), Kevin MacLeod (https://tinyurl.com/y2v7fgbu), Tony Longworth (https://tinyurl.com/y2nhnbt7), and Nicolas Gasparini (https://tinyurl.com/lnqpfs8) is used with permission of the artists.= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =(Over time links seen above may become invalid, disappear, or have different content. I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use whenever possible. If I somehow overlooked doing so for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I will rectify it in these show notes immediately. Some links included above may benefit me financially through qualifying purchases.)= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = ="I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46Weird Darkness®, Weird Darkness© 2022
A LOOK AT INNOVATIONS IN SEL EDUCATION, an SELtoday.org Presentation, with David Adams CEO of The Urban Assembly and Educational Psychologist Dr.Christina Cipriano , Asst Professor at The Yale Child Study Center and Director of Research at the Yale Center for Emotional Intelligence. EVERYTHING WE DO IS AT ACE-ED.ORG. PLEASE VISIT. THANK YOU
An Look At the Deaths Of Actress Brittany Murphy And Her Husband Of 2 1/2 Years Simon Monjack 5 Months Apart But Under Eerily Similar CircumstancesIn this episode we take a bit of a more controversial look at the untimely deaths of Brittany Murphy and her husband's mysteriously similar death 5 months later, Simon Monjack. Brittany burst on to the scene after nailing the role of "Tai Fraser" in the 1995 hit "Clueless". She transformed from that cute, lovable character into what she and the world believed to be the quintessential Hollywood leading lady by losing weight, going blond and glamming up her style, makeup and wardrobe. She was dating her leading men, but nothing serious or long term ever materialized until she met Simon in 2006. They married less than a year later. And then in 3 years time, they would both be dead. The media relentlessly hounded Brittany before her marriage. They then turned their sights on Simon after her death by spreading rumors and conjecture about his marriage to Brittany, the influence and control he allegedly had over her life, and the possibility that he had a hand in his death. But what the media failed to do was take a look at themselves and the role THEY played in both of their lives and their deaths. PROMO: STRICTLY STALKINGSOURCES:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5pnHf0_b6-Uhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=404d64wYldUhttps://www.wikitree.com/wiki/Bertolotti-12http://www.autopsyfiles.org/reports/Celebs/murphy,%20brittany_report.pdfhttp://www.autopsyfiles.org/reports/Celebs/monjack,%20simon_report.pdfhttps://www.yahoo.com/entertainment/three-persistent-rumors-circulating-since-090000613.htmlhttps://hollywoodlife.com/feature/brittany-murphy-mom-sharon-4536857/LINKS:Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/killaforniapodPayPal: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/killaforniapodMerchandise: https://killaforniadreamingpodcast.threadless.com/Website: https://killaforniadreamingpodcast.buzzsprout.com/Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1296620370450345/Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/killaforniadreamingInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/killaforniadreamingpod/?hl=enTwitter: https://twitter.com/killaforniapodEmail: killaforniapod@gmail.com
Investment Strategist, Lyn Alden and Head of Research & Development for Swan Bitcoin, Pablo Fernandez join me for a detailed conversation about the Bitcoin Lightning Network. We discuss Lyn's most recent article, "A Look At the Lightning Network" & discuss the exciting developments & innovation happening on the Lighting Network.Chapters:00:00:00 Pacific Bitcoin Conference00:02:49 Bitcoin Lightning Network 10100:11:16 Discussing the need for the Lightning Network & Bitcoin Scalability00:16:09 History of Internet Protocols: What is “TCP/IP”?00:19:52 Why do we need Layers of Money?00:24:13 Explaining what is “Toro” Protocol & Building on top of Lightning00:27:55 Responding to Critiques about the Bitcoin Lightning Network00:35:37 How does the Lightning Network Improve Privacy?00:39:21 Does the Lack of Fee's on the Lightning Network Affect Bitcoin's Base Layer?00:43:25 Exciting Devolvements happening on the Lightning Network!00:50:21 What can we do to grow user adoption on the Lightning Network?00:54:42 Watch “Hard Money” by Swan Studios00:57:57 Twitter Spaces Q&A Connect with Lyn: https://twitter.com/LynAldenContacthttps://twitter.com/ToneVaysConnect with Pablo: https://twitter.com/pablof7zhttps://twitter.com/CryptonomistaConnect with Brady:https://twitter.com/citizenbitcoinSave the date for the Pacific Bitcoin Conference, November 10th & 11th in Los Angeles, California. Join the waitlist and get early access to ticket specials: https://www.pacificbitcoin.comConnect with Swan on social media:Twitter: https://twitter.com/SwanBitcoinTelegram: https://t.me/swansignalLinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/company/swan...Swan Signal Live and Swan Lounge are a production of Swan Bitcoin, the best way to accumulate Bitcoin through automatic recurring buys at https://swanbitcoin.com.Are you a high net worth individual or do you represent corporation that might be interested in learning more about Bitcoin? Swan Private guides corporations and high net worth individuals toward building generational wealth with Bitcoin. Find out more at https://swanbitcoin.com/privateGet your free ebook or audiobook copy of "Inventing Bitcoin" here: https://swanbitcoin.com/freebookWe also have the book available en español, y puede descargar su copia en https://swanbitcoin.com/librogratisGet your free ebook copy of "21 Lessons" here:https://swanbitcoin.com/21lessonsJoin our Swan Force, our referral program, and get paid to recruit new Bitcoiners: https://swanbitcoin.com/enlist
Pattern: OMG Heel by Megan Williams ($5 Knitting Pattern available on Ravelry) Needles: US 1.5 (2.5 mm) Yarn: Hypnotic Yarn Plush Sock in the Pumpkin Patch colorway (October Yarnable Subscription Box Colorway). Click here for my YouTube Unboxing Video. Ravelry Project Page 264.0 meters for Stash Dash Curious about Yarnable? Consider checking out my Yarnable Subscription Box Affiliate Link. Use Coupon Code BOSTONJEN for $5 off your first box. Don't forget- Yarnable/Hypnotic Yarn is a Snack Shack Sponsor Mr. Fezziwig Socks Pattern: OMG Heel by Megan Williams Yarn: Woolens & Nosh Corriedale Sock in the Mr. Fezziwig Colorway Needles: US 1.5 (2.5 mm) My Ravelry Project Page 238.0 meters for Stash Dash Rainbow Crochet Crop Pattern: 100% improvised. Yarn: Lion Brand Re-up. Colors: Ecru, Red, Orange, Sunflower, Lime, Aqua, Lilac and Raspberry Hook: E (3.5 mm) Ravelry Project Page 482 g used. 719.7 meters for Stash Dash. 3 ply yarn in Blues & Greens Wool of the Andes Unspun Roving. Colorway: Delft Heather (100 grams) 100% Peruvian Highland Wool. Malabrigo Nube. 113 grames Combed Top 100% Merino Wool in Colorway 809 Solis. Rhapsody Fiber Arts- 2oz 50% Angora/50% merino no colorway- lighter blues. This 3 ply skein is 31 inches long from end to end, or 62 inches per wrap of the noddy noddy. 106 wraps= 6,572 inches or 166.9 meters for Stash Dash (because the fiber went through the orifice 4 times) On the Needles, Hook or Bobbins Shawl Design I shared some preliminary details about a new design idea using a 150g skein of fingering weight from agirlandherwool in the On the Boardwalk colorway. Meggsie/Marta Scrappy Socks Pattern: OMG Heel by Megan Williams ($5 Knitting Pattern available on Ravelry) Needles: US 1.5 (2.5 mm) Yarn: Patons Kroy Socks FX in the Geranium Colors Colorway (leftover from Marta's Socks) & Yarn: Knit Picks Felici in the Double Dog Dare Colorway (leftover from Meggsie's socks) + also added yarn from Aila's dance socks. Ravelry Project Page Love Letters Socks Pattern: OMG Heel by Megan Williams ($5 Knitting Pattern available on Ravelry) Needles: US 1.5 (2.5 mm) Yarn: Fibernymph Dye Works Mountain Tweed BFL in the Love Letters Colorway Ravelry Project Page Felici Socks (4 in progress) Pattern: OMG Heel by Megan Williams ($5 Knitting Pattern available on Ravelry) Needles: US 1.5 (2.5 mm) Baker Street Colorway (Ravelry Page), Desert Rose (Ravelry Page), Bayou Colorway (Ravelry Page) Psychedelic Rainbow (Ravelry Page- used a Lemonade Shop yarn for heel) Scrappy Hexagon Blanket Pattern: Basic Crochet Hexagon Pattern & Tips from Make Do and Crew Website & YouTube Tutorial Hook: F (3.75 mm) Yarn: Knit Picks Hawthorne Marl Sock Lab in the Grey White Marl Colorway, Patons Kroy in the Gentry Colorway + fingering weight scraps Ravelry Project Page As of 6/14: 95 light gray, 27 dark gray – 112 total Brainstorming Stash Dash Planning I'm brainstorming baby blanket options Snuggle Bean Blanket by Little Duck Crochet available on Etsy & Ravelry Link ($5 US) Abacus Blanket by Susan Carlson available on LoveCrafts & Ravelry & Etsy ($6 US) or maybe a simple corner to corner (C2C) crochet blanket? From the Armchair Hooked and Booked podcast with AJ of KJKrochet, South Africa Crochet Conversations Inez and Mell from Singapore Heard about both of these from the Two Ewes Fiber Adventures Podcast. Black Cake by Charmaine Wilkerson. Bookshop Affiliate Link. Amazon Affiliate Link. Note: Some links are listed as Amazon Affiliate Links. If you click those, please know that I am an Amazon Associate and I earn money from qualifying purchases. Knitting in Passing Kris' Felici sock (Ravelry Project Page) blew out after just more than a year but keep in mind that Kris wears her socks daily from October- May and teaches dance in them. In My Travels I shared some stories about my recent trip to Ireland, Scotland and Spain. Patrons, don't forget to check out the Patreon feed for blog posts, photos and a Google Album of my trip pictures. KAL News #SplashPadParty22 Link to the 2022 Splash Pad Party Rules.docx Participant Sign Up- Google Form Check out our amazing Sponsors! Click here for the Google doc with their websites and Instagram profiles. Check out the list of available Coupons from our amazing sponsors: Ravelry link Check out the Splash Pad Exclusive Items here Enter your FOs using this Splash Pad Summer Celebration Form to be eligible for prizes (not a Ravelry link). View all the Entries and the Leaderboard here -> Splash Pad Party Player Stats Need help with an entry submission? -> Splash Pad Support Request Form Questions- check out this Ravelry Thread or email Jen. On this episode I talked about: Thanks to everyone who joined our May 30th Kick Off. Thursday June 23rd at 8p Eastern we're doing another Zoom hangout for Patrons at the$5 level and up. Check out the details here. Splash Pad '22 logo bags are available from Woolen Women Fibers. Check out their knit kits here or sock sets here. Events Sock Week with Knitty Natty. July 10-17th. I'll be co-hosting an event with Natalie on Tuesday July 12th at 8p Eastern! Summer Sock Camp hosted by Kay of The Crazy Sock Lady YouTube Channel. The KAL runs 5/28/22 – 8/31/22 this year! Irocknitters KAL hosted by Cori (Irocknits Designs, also a Splash Pad Sponsor). Check out this post in her Ravelry Group. KAL runs from April 25th through June 30, 2022. Woolen Women Fibers Rock It Tee KAL. Check out this post on Instagram for details. Runs May 7-July 30th. Two Ewes Fiber Adventures Summer Spin In. June 1-September 5th. Find their Ravelry Group thread here. #SummerSpinIn2022 Stash Dash (Hosted by The Knit Girllls) will be hosted on Discord again and will be from May 27th-end of August. Discord link: knit girllls discord Stash Dash Update: Jen's Stash Dash Spreadsheet Tracker- Google Doc Jasmin's Stash Dash Spreadsheet Tracker- Google Doc On a Happy Note Girls weekend with Kris and Laura. Got a cool embroidered art piece for our guest room which Mom and Dad got me for my birthday. Birthday celebrations. Friday- kayaking with Mom, Dad and Dan. Beer out on the sandbar, local brewery, then ice cream and dinner with RGM. Sleepover at Mom's. Pool day, lobsters. Kids bouncing on air mattress. Fake out with a small ice cream cake- which I have VERY strong feelings about. Kara's kids- Emelie and Teddy. Em asked me if she could lick my cake. I thought she said Look AT my cake and I said SURE! Quote of the Week One does not ‘find oneself' by pursuing one's self, but on the contrary by pursuing something else and learning through some discipline or routine (even the routine of making beds) who one is and wants to be. –May Sarton Thank you for tuning in! Contact Information: Check out the Down Cellar Studio Patreon! Ravelry: BostonJen & Down Cellar Studio Podcast Ravelry Group Instagram: BostonJen1 YouTube: Down Cellar Studio Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/downcellarstudio Sign up for my email newsletter to get the latest on everything happening in the Down Cellar Studio Check out my Down Cellar Studio YouTube Channel Knit Picks Affiliate Link Bookshop Affiliate Link Yarnable Subscription Box Affiliate Link Music -“Soft Orange Glow” by Josh Woodward. Free download: http://joshwoodward.com/ Note: Some links are listed as Amazon Affiliate Links. If you click those, please know that I am an Amazon Associate and I earn money from qualifying purchases.
A Look At 25 Years Of Running The Mesh Concept...Who Meshes? How? Who's Deep? How? F Swing? Or Arrow? Or Seam?? Is It worth My Practice Time If We Can't Protect? PlayAction Mesh?
Key Points, Top Takeaways, and Memorable Quotes“I kinda want to make a team and a support system to kind of help athletes in these areas that don't have beaches, that don't really have support, get the support that they need because I thought I had to move to California to pursue this dream.” 8:40“My partner, Tamber, she is a mom of two, and she says that, ‘Beach volleyball, playing every day makes me a better mother.' Because she can go and take out her frustrations in practice or have a different outlet to look at and has things to pursue, she wants to be a good athlete, dedicated person for her children.” 17:04“That's to me, what I would want to communicate to the next generation: whatever you are putting up there, make sure it's really you.” - Wendy @ 25:43“I had a little bit of a problem in my career, like mixing up the final goal with the journey. You really put it into perspective when you don't play anymore.” 28:35“You gotta find the things that matter within that journey. The journey ends up being the final destination because we can't really control the outcome, we can't really control the end goal, but we can control small things throughout and we can control what we're paying attention to.” 29:20“I do come from more humble beginnings so I do have to kinda have to work harder to accomplish my goals. Putting in that work gives me confidence to succeed. Kinda like I can do that. I've proven myself wrong many times, so I can continue doing it.” 42:34“One thing that I've learned and one thing I would go back and tell my younger self to do and my younger athletes: you can be confident without being cocky in the sense that you believe you are good and you're not comparing yourself to anyone else.” 43:35“Compete with yourself, collaborate with your community.” - Wendy @ 45:40 Guest Bio - Melissa Fuchs Powell played D1 indoor volleyball for Central Michigan and Houston Baptist University. She started playing beach volleyball during her Sophomore year of college and took her Fifth year at the University of Utah. After graduating with her Masters Melissa moved to California to pursue Professional beach volleyball after making the P1440 Developmental Team. Since then she has earned her AAA rating numerous times in the CBVA, Taken 3rd place in an AVPNext Big Money Tour Event, placed 5th place 2 times on the FIVB World Tour representing Team USA, and 5th place twice in the NORCECA continental tour, along with other notable finishes in Women's Open Tournaments. She is currently ranked number 42 in the USA national beach rankings and is currently ranked 180th in the World Rankings with her Partner Tambre. On the side, Melissa loves to make TikTok videos and create volleyball-related content. She also is the CEO and Founder of Project Beach Utah, a professional beach volleyball organization focused on the growth of the sport locally. Show Notes0:00 - What I Meant to Say Podcast Intro0:18 - Introducing Melissa Fuchs Powell0:42 - Welcome to Melissa1:54 - Just Got Back from Brazil5:29 - My Partner is Tamber Nobles6:23 - Project Beach Utah Story9:52 - Tryouts for the Developmental Team 11:18 - 70 Athletes in One Year13:32 - Community of Friends14:39 - Finding a Purpose and Identity as an Athlete17:03 - Playing Volleyball Makes Tamber a Better Mother18:20 - Have You Watched ‘Being Serena?'18:54 - Tell Us About Your Instagram and TikTok Creativity20:09 - Vine Came Out When I Was in High School21:16 - I Used Musically When I Was Student Teaching 5th Graders21:46 - One Funny Video22:42 - Trying TikTok24:12 - Take a Look At the Middle and Setter Clip24:52 - Turning Your Feed Into the Real You26:01 - That Clip Had 624,000+ Views and ‘The Crowd' Clip26:56 - Authenticity on Video28:00 - She's Funny, but Growth Mindset Posts Matter too28:31 - Covid Gave Me Perspective30:25 - When Did You Graduate College and Start Playing Beach Volleyball?31:45 - TCU and NCAA Beach Volleyball Chatter32:45 - 1st Year Programs for Collegiate Beach Volleyball33:45 - Be Better Commercial33:54 - Jason Has a Question: Volleyball As Escapism?34:19 - My Escapism When Volleyball Became My Profession35:45 - Enjoyment of the Coaching Aspect36:15 - Opening a Mom Group with Babysitting37:42 - Volleyball Goals for the Next Year39:18 - Confident, Energetic, and Approachable40:07 - We Are a Volleyball Family40:48 - Passionate, but Relaxed Style of Play42:58 - Confident Not Cocky44:35 - Staying Hungry/Humble/Happy, but Confident45:59 - Humble in My Family's Household47:02 - Sibling Talk: Youngest Always the Best!48:26 - Lesson in Flow49:02 - The Story Deeper than Volleyball50:30 - What Role Do You See Yourself Playing in the Beach Volleyball Community?52:03 - You Are So Approachable54:00 - Feeling Like An Outsider55:29 - One of My Reasons for Starting PBU 56:04 - Where Can We Find You?56:33 - Where Are You Going Next for Volleyball?56:50 - Thank You57:30 - What I Meant to Say Podcast Closing Links & Where to Find MelissaProjectBeachUtah.comIG - @melissalessaTikTok - @BeachVolleyMel
Whether its Bitcoin, Apple, or real estate, macro conditions must be factored in when discussing asset prices or general sentiment. As the UK reports record inflation levels, Target cites inventory woes & lackluster earnings, El Salvador's President Bukele host a en economic conference speaking to the benefits of Bitcoin for emerging economies. Is there any hope for BTC or any other markets to bounce into a relief rally? Find out today in the latest Market Analysis from Native Assets. 0:00 Intro 0:57 General Market Outlook 1:21 Latest Financial Headlines 2:22 Why You Should Think Deeper About Sentiment 4:04 Jerome Powell Back Hawkish 8:39 A Look At the DXY 11:48 A Look At BTC 19:18 Bukele Promotes BTC At Global Economic Summit 20:18 IMF & World Bank To Blame For The Dump? ---------- Native Assets is a blockchain firm specializing in educational seminars, detailed research, industry analysis + corporate advising. Our mission? To empower you with knowledge + insights to prosper in the new digital asset era - the blockchain era. --- Grab your copy of "The Blockchain Blueprint"
A Look At 25 Years Of Running The Mesh Concept...Who Meshes? How? Who's Deep? How? F Swing? Or Arrow? Or Seam?? Is It worth My Practice Time If We Can't Protect? PlayAction Mesh?
• Support our show here and all podcast platforms https://aliasconnect.co/morsecodepod • Merch Store --> https://TheMorseCodeOnline.com/Merch • Proudly brought to you by Cold River Vodka! Go find the spirit of Maine at @ColdRiverVodka on Twitter/Instagram and online at https://www.coldrivervodka.com Justin Lang (@jlang20) host of the "How Can This Be?" Podcast is back in studio and the fellas touch on: -A wee bit of NFL action from this past weekend -A Look At a Memorable Weekend On Twitter Brought To You By Nancy Reagan and Madonna Comparisons no-one asked for -Justin walks us through what it was lie growing up with a nudist in the family... -A deep dive into Derek Jeter's Infamous Lineup -Game Show Hosts -The US Economy? -Maybe (perhaps) More?
SUBSCRIBE, AND SHARE!!!Today we will dive into Pastor Andy's newest book, "Babylon: The Bookends of Prophetic History". Two Questions for Pastor Andy to answer:Gap theory folks Explain why they say Peter is the law and Paul is graceBabylon Video's to Look At:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTBHGfULSC8 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2O3eCzqvY0 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DRoune6n1w Pastor Andy's Book: Babylon: The Bookends of Prophetic History purchase here: https://www.amazon.com/Babylon-Bookends-Prophetic-Andrew-Woods/dp/194577472X
Talk Python To Me - Python conversations for passionate developers
Have you heard of the package Rich? This library allows you to create very, well, rich terminal-based UIs in Python. When you think of what you can typically build with basic print statements, that may seem quite limited. But with Rich, imagine justified tables, progress bars, rendering of markdown, and way more. This is one of the fastest growing projects in the Python space these days. And the creator, Will McGugan is here to give is the whole history and even a peak at the future of Rich and a follow on library called Textual. Links from the show Will on Twitter: @willmcgugan Rich: github.com Textual: github.com Pyfilesystem: pyfilesystem.org A Look At – and Inside – Textual Video: youtube.com ObjExplore: reposhub.com ghtop: ghtop.fast.ai Watch YouTube live stream edition: youtube.com Episode transcripts: talkpython.fm ---------- Stay in touch with us ---------- Subscribe on YouTube (for live streams): youtube.com Follow Talk Python on Twitter: @talkpython Follow Michael on Twitter: @mkennedy Sponsors Shortcut Talk Python Training AssemblyAI
Today the FDA approved Comirnaty (Pfizer's mRNA Vaccine) For Emergency Use to PREVENT COVID-19 Infection. This opens the door for new mandates, a police state and maybe Concentration Camps. Tonight We'll Look At this whole mess.
Today the FDA approved Comirnaty (Pfizer's mRNA Vaccine) For Emergency Use to PREVENT COVID-19 Infection. This opens the door for new mandates, a police state and maybe Concentration Camps. Tonight We'll Look At this whole mess.
ITS BEEN A LONG ROAD SINCE AUGUST 2020 AND WE SHOULD BE VERY PROUD OF OUR PROGRESS. LOOK AT 2020 AND THEN LOOK AT AUGUST 2021 AND DO SOME SELF REFLECTING. TUNE IN AND LETS HAVE A CHAT WITH SOME COFFEE!!
1:10 - Author Carolyn Schlam discusses her new book “The Joy of Art: How to Look At, Appreciate, and Talk about Art”. Schlam has set out to write a book that guides the art viewing experience from an artist's perspective.27:19 - Artist Terrell James discusses her work. James is a master of colorful abstraction based on the influence of landscapes. Her work is exhibited worldwide and can be found in major collections like MFA Boston, MFA Houston, the Menil Collection and the Whitney Museum of American Art.69:45 - The week's top art headlines
Know anyone who struggles with thoughts of suicide? Do YOU struggle with this kind of mental attack? God's WORD has the answers you are looking for. Let's LOOK AT and then PRAY these verses together! You are NOT alone! Do NOT miss this episode! Are you in crisis? Call or text 1-800-273-8255 24/7 or visit https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org. You are loved.
Look At the Fine Print Today: It's kind of hard to do that when you're looking at the 2,700 page Infrastructure bill – John provides details. Then, Stanford University medical professor Jay Bhattacharya puts the Delta variant into perspective including what's happening in Texas and Florida. Finally, media critic Jeff McCall, Professor of Communications at DePauw University evaluates the media coverage of the Cuomo investigation and cable news ratings. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
How to Find Ideal Clients With Paul Kennedy We all have clients. Sometimes we have great ones, and we call them our ideal clients. Other times we have some of the bottom-of-the-barrel, less-than-ideal clients. It might be a bit noisy or a bit squeaky, and frustratingly, the squeaky wheel gets the grease a lot of the time. We've got Paul Kennedy from PGV Consulting, and we'll talk about how to find ideal clients and remove the terrible ones. Get more tips on how to find ideal clients at dorksdelivered.com.au How Do You Identify An Ideal Client How do you identify a bad client? Start With Your Why Paul: I'd like to start with the “Why” and focus on what we have previously discussed about Simon Sinek. I love what Simon Sinek is about, and most of your listeners will be familiar with him. Paul: If you find out your “Why”, your purpose, why you're doing what you're doing, it could be a mixture of both business aspirations and personal ones. Particularly if you're self-employed, it's good to blend the two because your personal life and your business life have to live in harmony with each other. Paul: If you focus on your “Why”, it gives you your passion as to why you're really doing this. For instance, I'm an accountant by qualification. That doesn't necessarily mean that I actually really want to do accounting, especially a few years down the track. My “Why” was not to be an accountant, and that kind of led me to where I am. Paul: Working out your “Why” makes the other questions—your “What”, “How”, “Where”, and “When” so much easier. It's like picking up the correct piece of the jigsaw first. Once you've done that, the rest of it follows much more easily. Paul: Most of us meet and start off by asking, "What are you doing?" In my case, I'd perhaps start telling you about accounting, but it's not where I really want to spend my time and perhaps not where other people want to spend theirs. Nirvana: Ideal Clients Seek You Out Paul: I've got a few beliefs. One of them is Nirvana. It is when you get your business to the point where your ideal clients are actually seeking you out. Paul: Once you've reached Nirvana, it means you're in a very privileged position. If somebody is looking for somebody in your field and they know what you can do and what you've done for others, they will come to you and it won't be all about price. It will actually be because they want Josh Lewis to look after their business, their IT. You change the relationship, and it becomes one where they actually want you. It's not an argument or discussion over price. Have a Business Plan Paul: I am also a great believer in a business plan. I think it's very unwise to start a business unless you have a plan. It doesn't mean you have to be fixated on it, but it gives you some sort of general direction to where you want your business and career to go. Once you've started on that journey, that will lead you to who your ideal clients are and what makes them ideal. How Do You Identify a Bad Client? Who is Your Ideal Client? Paul: Identify the criteria and the things that make up your ideal client—the people who value, respect, and actually act on your advice. Paul: A non-ideal client would be someone who neither respects, values, nor acts on your advice. They might still be paying you, but from your perspective, it would be very frustrating to give them your best advice but they do not actually act on it. Think About Your Criteria Paul: I encourage people to think through what are the criteria of your ideal clients. It is actually quite helpful to spend a bit of time identifying the traits of non-ideal clients. Paul: I often encourage people to think of a situation they might have had where they won two clients, they're driving home, and they're pretty happy and excited. They're particularly excited about winning Client A. They're a bit lukewarm and cool about having Client B. Paul: I encourage people to think through what were the traits of Client A that got you excited, and what were the traits of Client B that made you feel a bit cool about it (I've won them, but I'm not sure this is going to go the way I hope it does)? The more you can drill down on that, the more it will help you identify the clients you want and those you don't want. Should You Keep a Non-Ideal Client? If you've just started in business, the expenses are being covered, and there's food on the table, is it okay to stick with bad clients if removing them will mean that you're no longer financially healthy? Paul: We obviously need to be and want to be financially healthy. It perhaps comes down to timing as to how long you might bite your tongue and continue working with somebody who's not an ideal client. How do you deal with a non-ideal client? Think About Increasing the Price Paul: All of us in business invariably have some clients that we perhaps don't want. You can have a very direct conversation and say, 'Look, perhaps I'm not the best person for you.' We could do it by increasing your price to be unattractive to people who are not ideal clients. That's something that we've learnt, so we changed around our business model from charging per hour to charging a flat rate per month. In 2009, we're charging $55 or $85 an hour. In 2010, we changed the business model around to per month. One of our clients didn't want to pay per month. I told them that with the number of hours they're doing with us, they're going to be saving money in three months on average. But they were not interested, so I went from $85 to $110 to $150 to $200 an hour before they agreed to go per month. We were making heaps less money, but they were fitting in with the model and how we wanted our business to work. And they were happier with that because then it was back to less than what they were originally paying, so it worked out for everyone. Paul: If you really don't believe that this is the sort of business you want to be working with a particular client, increasing your price so that you're unattractive is one way of doing it. Be Upfront Paul: It's not a bad idea to be even a bit more upfront and simply say, 'I don't think I'm the right person for you.' You were talking about different ways to terminate a contract with a client. We've done this before as well. We've noticed that the businesses that we're working with are getting bigger and bigger. One of them was going in a different direction and was more interested in running a home network for the 40 employees as opposed to a business network. We said that's not really what we do and we're more than happy to put you in contact with someone that works with businesses that have the same ethos. We found that was a professional way to break into that closing doors should situations change. Is there any way you shouldn't terminate a contract? Paul: I do it as pleasantly as possible. I think that we need to be honest, not everybody is going to work with everybody. Otherwise, you'd end up marrying everybody. Paul: You can't be everything to everybody. You shouldn't try to be. If you do, you'd probably come to grief and a bit unstuck. Be Innovative Paul: I have a client with whom I've done quite a bit of work over the years. My role was to identify people that I knew that represented his or his company's ideal client criteria and to introduce the two. They would host a high-quality event, and I would invite these people along and learn a bit about each other. One thing would lead to another and invariably business. Paul: In doing so, I was introducing my client to his prospective client, who loved what my client did, but because they were spread across Australia, it was just going to be prohibitive. Paul: After I've done my initial introduction, my client and the prospective client sat down and talked it through. The latter said that they love what my client does—bringing our senior management together for a day and a half once a month for 10 months—but the cost is much more than they are prepared to pay and bringing together the senior management from across Australia once a month is really overwhelming for us. Paul: This happened 5 years ago, so I was a bit surprised that my client hadn't thought of doing it by Zoom. Five years later, they are still doing business. The client is delighted. They've achieved it at a much lower rate, and they've managed to do it without disrupting their business every month when they bring a group of senior executives together. Paul: It's often not what you do. With my client, all they really changed was how they did it. I can't really take the credit, but my client said that I have changed the criteria of their ideal client. They see themselves delivering what they do—business coaching—to a much larger audience than what they previously have perceived. I'm a great believer in knowing who your ideal clients are, who you would like them to be, and who they could be. Look At the Good Side of Things Paul: I think with COVID-19 essentially everybody has recognised that we can do so much. What we were previously doing physically at one location we can actually do via Zoom. COVID-19 has actually accelerated much of the change that was going on. In business, being able to do things through Zoom is awesome. It's not about the lack of resources; it's more about being resourceful with what you've got. That's a big thing that we bring to businesses. People don't want to use the XYZ tool and aren't ready for that. Most of the time, when you push into a corner like what COVID-19 did for a lot of businesses, you find out that these tools aren't that bad. They're not the enemy, and they're going to help you out. They're going to take you off the road, and you're going to be significantly more utilised throughout the day. Some people drive. I have a friend that drives an hour and 40 minutes to work every morning, five days a week. It's ridiculous. When his business went into COVID lockdown, he found that he had more time for his family. He spent an extra 40 minutes with his family in the morning and an extra 40 minutes in the afternoon, and they were happy but he was still spending an extra 2 hours a day at work. It's definitely a blessing in disguise. Paul: Personally, I'm not particularly good around the technology side, but you obviously have taken to it like a duck to water. I think that's a wonderful gift. Paul: Technology is your friend, and I'm learning that myself and enjoying working with people who have that outlook and have that ability, which I very much respect. It should sit there like electricity is your friend. We don't need to know how it works. We don't need to know if it's AC or DC coming through on high voltage lines. It just matters that we need to flip the switch and it works, and that should be what all business owners want. Ensure Your Ideal Clients Know Who to Call (You) Paul: If you turn the switch on and it doesn't work, even though you might not know how it works, you at least know who to call. Henry Ford said that he doesn't have to know everything. He just has to know who to contact to make sure that he can achieve everything. Paul: That's very much what I'm about. I believe in the business plan and in knowing your ideal client and who they are. Make Your Ideal Clients Remember You Paul: What I do is I work with my client in identifying a number of activities. They could be one-on-one introductions, giving presentations, writing articles, whatever's right for my client so that we are constantly getting them in front of their ideal clients. Paul: I think some people go way over the top. They're excellent at what they do, but I think they significantly overcommunicate to the point where their target market is annoyed and say, 'If I get another email from Paul: Kennedy, I'll scream.' You don't want to do that. Paul: On the other hand, you don't want to go to the other extreme where your target market says, 'I've got an email from this guy Paul: Kennedy, and I don't think I even know him.' You've got to be just right. It'll be different for every business, but you have to make sure that when your ideal client has a need, you are the one they think of and they know how to contact you. Build a Business Development and Marketing Calendar Paul: Identify those five to eight activities and then build a marketing and business development calendar that bullet points down which activities you are going to do each month. They are all different because there is no single silver bullet. I don't believe you could do it all via LinkedIn or do it all via one-on-one introduction. You need to be doing a variety of activities that are getting you in front of these ideal clients and you need to do it consistently, not just once. Paul: Get yourself to the point where you've built your brand amongst your target markets or your ideal clients so that when the time is right for them, not when the time is right for you, they keep thinking, 'I need to go and talk to Josh at Dorks Delivered.' I agree. We call it the digital fridge magnet. When you look at the plumber or the nice pizza place around the corner, if you don't have that on the fridge and you forget, a lot of the time you end up going somewhere else. You want to be in front of them enough but you're not annoying them and pestering them. Paul: Absolutely. I've got an excellent database of people I know and who know me. Some of the people are so good at their social media, but personally, I think they do too much of it to the point where I have it set up so that it's automatically put into a subfolder in their name because I respect what they do, but I physically cannot consume everything that they're churning out. It could be one video a day and I just physically don't have that time. Paul: I think so much of that good content that they're sending out goes to waste. In my case, it goes automatically into the subfolders. Sometimes I get to look at it, most of the time not. These people are so good at what they do, but it's actually going to waste. Paul: On the other hand, you have the extreme of people who don't communicate at all. I think finding that right balance somewhere in the middle so that you're there enough, but not to the point where you are an annoyance, is the way to go. How Do You Avoid Losing a Prospective Client? Do you think you can get too close to an ideal client and break the relationship? Do you think you can do things that are too friendly and they think that's weird? What situations could get you too close? What are the Don'ts to make sure that you don't destroy a relationship with an ideal client? Remain Professional at All Times Paul: I do think you must at all times remain professional. You don't want to get to the point where the relationship has become casual and taken for granted. If there is an issue, either party might get reluctant to raise it because of the closeness so it festers away. Equally, if you do get too close or your relationship has become too entrenched with that one individual in the company, what happens if that person moves on and he's no longer there? Paul: It's a fine line. On one hand, you obviously want the relationship to be a healthy one, a productive one that works cooperatively for all parties. It's important to make sure that it always remains professional, but you don't take each other for granted and that you deliver what you say you are going to deliver. Don't get to the point where you're essentially living in each other's pockets. I think there is a dividing line and it's important to keep that. I know one time that I felt a bit uncomfortable. We don't work with this company anymore. We were quite close to them, and they would have parties and I'd bring along a keg of beer to celebrate. There was this one Christmas party in particular. I was there with a keg of beer and then a few hours went by, they shut the gates. I thought that's a bit weird, and then a few of the key decision-makers in the business started smoking a joint. They offered me to join them, but I'm not that guy. I said no judgement, but I obviously did. They felt comfortable enough to do that in front of me, but I did not feel comfortable being around that. Paul: I think that's an example of where getting too close can cause a bit of grief and can actually ruin the relationship. Planning, Growth, and Value Tell us about PGV Consulting and how that works with businesses that are listening and how they can leverage your services to be able to help them find ideal clients. Paul: I'm an accountant by qualification, but I don't do any accounting. I just wasn't very good. In the last 25 years, I've been really about business planning, business development, connections, and introductions. Paul: PGV stands for planning, growth, and value. Planning Paul: I like to begin with the business plan. Otherwise, it's a bit like going and trying to put a house on a roof before you've put the foundations down. I see the business plan as being the foundation, and it's important that you do that. As part of that process, you go through all the normal things like mission, vision, strengths, SWOT analysis and so on, but I really like to drill down on ideal clients and equally non-ideal clients. Growth Paul: If you've reached Nirvana, your ideal clients seek you out, sadly, non-ideal clients will also seek you out. When that happens, it's always good to know your competitors. Refer your non-ideal clients to them. Anything that can slow a competitor down is possibly a good thing. Paul: Work out what activities are going to engage you with those ideal clients on a consistent and ongoing basis so that they get to know you and particularly what you can do for them. Paul: People can engage my time by booking me for a certain number of hours per month where I work with them initially on the plan, if they don't have one, and then actually implementing the plan and particularly getting them in front of their ideal clients: people I know and who know me. Value Paul: I have a wonderful database that's very up to date and very comprehensive. I go through that when I'm working with a client in my database to see who I know that meets my client's ideal client criteria. And then we set about a series of activities, such as one-on-one introductions and presentations, so that one gets to learn the story of the other and see if they can do business together. I think that's very valuable to any business. I guess a lot of people out there claim to do similar things, but I think what's big and promising is you've got a client base where people can hit the ground running. You know these people, and being able to find the right person that fits your business means that it can be a few hours that you're spending with them and they might be coming out on the other side with maybe not a client, but at least an introduction to an ideal client. Paul: A person or an organisation might not necessarily be an ideal client themselves, but they may know your ideal client and be able to introduce you or where you work in partnership, alliances, etc. I'm also a great believer in that so long as it works for all the parties involved. You don't really want to be doing work with people who are frustrating, not ideal, can't pay your bill, don't actually act on your advice. Paul: Do anything you can do to avoid that so that you're always working in your circle of people who do actually value what you're about and actually act on it and are able and willing to pay for your services. 'How to Find the Ideal Clients' by Paul Kennedy Paul: I wrote an article some time ago called 'How to Find the Ideal Clients.' If it's of interest to any of your listeners, I'm very happy for them to have a copy. It was published in Spark Magazine about 4 years ago. [insert link to article] Paul: Also, with the new financial year, I think it's the perfect time to sit down and revisit your business plan if you have one or build one if you don't. Identify who your ideal clients are, work out what those actions and activities are going to be that you will progressively unfold over the next 12 to 18 months, and consistently deliver it and get your story in front of those people you want to have as your clients. I'm sure you'll find that your business grows the way you want it to. I love going back to the business plans that I've done in the past, and I can look through some of the stupid ideas I had and some of the amazing things that I've been able to accomplish to sort of put things into perspective. Sometimes we are too busy running the rat race to realise how far we've run. Recommended Book: Start With Why by Simon Sinek Paul: I think that really takes you back to where we began: Start with “Why”. As you go home every night, you're pretty excited and pleased about it because you've actually helped the sort of people you want to be doing business with. You can see the difference that you're bringing about in their business, and that's the motivation to get up the following day and go back and do it again. You took the words out of my mouth. I was about to ask about your favourite book, but I think you've answered that question perfectly. Start With Why [italicize] is definitely up there if it's not your favourite. Start with your “Why”. The big thing for me is to try to remove your business from it. That's what I did. Look at why you do what you do outside of the business. What is the driving motivators for you? What would you do for free? If you were retired, where would you stand and how would your day look? If your business fits into that, awesome. If it doesn't, make it fit into that. What is Freedom to You? What is business built freedom to you? What would you say is the vehicle of business and how does that bring freedom to you? Paul: It's spending your time doing what you want to do, enjoying it and seeing the rewards. That kind of almost defines your “Why” for each of us, doesn't it? It will be different for everybody, but business freedom is getting your business to the point where you want it to be and where your ideal clients are actually coming to you and that you can see that you've created that. Paul: I can see that you're getting your business to that point where the sort of people you want are approaching you. And at the end of each day, you've built your business so that it's delivering the outcome that you want. If you have any feedback or any questions, feel free to jump across iTunes. Leave us some love, give us some feedback. Paul will be in our Facebook group where you can ask different questions. Stay good and stay healthy.
“IS MOTHMAN A SHAPESHIFTER?” and 5 More True Paranormal Stories! #WeirdDarknessLike the podcast on Facebook – https://facebook.com/weirddarkness, join the Weirdos Facebook Group – https://facebook.com/groups/marlarhouse, and sign up for the fee email newsletter - https://weirddarkness.com/newsletter! Please SHARE Weird Darkness with someone who loves paranormal stories, true crime, monsters, or unsolved mysteries like you do! Recommending the show to others helps make it possible for me to keep doing the show!IN THIS DARKIVES EPISODE FROM JUNE 2018: It's first sighting was described as “half man and half beast, standing about five feet six inches, with a tall pointed head. Whatever it was that he had seen, he was convinced that it was neither a bear nor a monkey.” We take a look at the mysterious creature, the Yeti. (Taking a Look At the Yeti Phenomenon) *** On May 16, 1929, Al Capone was arrested in Philadelphia on gun-carrying charges – but it was a put-up job that unfortunately led to a year in prison and Capone's first encounters with the ghost that he believed haunted him to the grave! (Al Capone and the Ghost of Jimmy Clark) *** Seeing an intruder while in the shower may sound cliché for the movies – but not so much when it happens to you. (Those Strange Fingertips) *** Multiple women have disappeared without a trace from what has become known as Ireland's ‘vanishing triangle'. Their fates still remain a mystery. (The Ireland Vanishings) *** When you see something out of the corner of your eye, simply to turn and not see anything there… is it your imagination, or is something else at work? (From Work to Home) *** The ancient pterodactyl, the legendary thunderbird, the cryptid known as the Mothman: could they all be one and the same? (Is Mothman a Shapeshifter)SOURCES AND ESSENTIAL WEB LINKS…“Is Mothman a Shapeshifter?” by Nick Redfern: http://bit.ly/2m1A4bV “Al Capone and the Ghost of Jimmy Clark” by Troy Taylor: http://bit.ly/2kbVGC0 “Those Strange Fingertips” by Kristine J., submitted at WeirdDarkness.com“The Ireland Vanishings”: http://bit.ly/2lGfaiu “From Work to Home” by Thor220: http://bit.ly/2m45wX2 “Taking a Look at the Yeti Phenomenon” by Nick Redfern: http://bit.ly/2kBC5LG Weird Darkness theme by Alibi Music Library. Background music, varying by episode, provided by Alibi Music, EpidemicSound and/or AudioBlocks with paid license. Music from Shadows Symphony: https://tinyurl.com/yyrv987t, Midnight Syndicate: http://amzn.to/2BYCoXZ, Kevin MacLeod: https://tinyurl.com/y2v7fgbu, Tony Longworth: https://tinyurl.com/y2nhnbt7, and/or Nicolas Gasparini/Myuu: https://tinyurl.com/lnqpfs8 is used with permission. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =(Over time links seen above may become invalid, disappear, or have different content. I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use whenever possible. If I somehow overlooked doing so for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I will rectify it in these show notes immediately. Some links included above may benefit me financially through qualifying purchases.)= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =WANT TO ADVERTISE ON WEIRD DARKNESS?Weird Darkness has partnered with AdvertiseCast to handle our advertising/sponsorship requests. They're great to work with and will help you advertise on the show. Email sales@advertisecast.com or start the process now at https://weirddarkness.com/advertise = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = ="I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46Find out how to escape eternal darkness at https://weirddarkness.com/eternaldarkness WeirdDarkness™ - is a registered trademark. Copyright ©Weird Darkness 2021.= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =00:15:00.429,
Look At the Big Picture --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/keith-stensaas/support
TDAgiantslayer@gmail.com 97X PODBEAN Apple Podcast webstix.com Tony Herman - the coolest cat on the net Code: wellbuilttda 15% off Here's a sharable link: https://wellbuiltsupplements.com/discount/wellbuilttda Daily Greens probiotic, vegan protein, whey protein, Digestive enzymes, Omega 3's, Performance energy, Performance BCCA's, Vitamins for men, Vitamins for women and a whole lot more. Right now I am pumping the greens and Pre-workout and loving them both… Heres a secret “I'm on them right now as I do my podcast”. TDA Conference May 21st & 22nd at HillSpring Church BAMF Bad Action Messiah Follower Sessions on: the 2nd amendment, Total safety in your home and person, the Homosexual agenda, Health life and fitness, The mans personality, Spiritual nuclear warfare, Making it happen! and fantastic praise and worship! AND WE ADDED A SPEAKER FROM BRIDGEWORKS… Phil Gwoke speaking on Race Relations… Starts Friday night at 7pm Saturday 8am - 4pm FREE, and a gun raffle etc… Register at TDAGiantslayer@Gmail.com There are 3 things that they say you should never bring up at a family gathering, among friends or at a dinner party… Religion, sex and politics … well guess where we are going this week…. Pizza On the Passover the Jews were excited to have the new profit or even some thought Messiah enter into the city because they were convinced he would be the new political leader. Once he was King and overthrew the Roman government they could sit back and relax and enjoy easy Street. We are very much the same in today's political world! As the church we need to RE-ENGAGE IN THE WORLD OF POLITICS. THE PASSOVER WAS A VERY POLITICAL EVENT POLITICS FILL SCRIPTURE Esther was a political book, Daniel, Jeremiah, Paul was political a. I am a Roman citizen, I appeal to Ceaser. AND EVEN TODAY PALM SUNDAY… is a political juggernaut in Christ day. Roman empire vs. Jewish people. Secular Religion vs. Biblical religion (Ceaser was God) In Jesus day there was no separation of Church and state… they were the same! Religion and politics were one and the same! TO QUOTE CARLYLE FIELDING THE 3RD No distinction whatsoever between politics and religion IN CHRIST DAY. BUT LET ME BE CLEAR…. IT IS NOT MERELY THAT THE CHURCH AND STATE INFLUENCE EACH OTHER and coincide and share the same position. BUT RATHER THAT THE CHURCH SHOULD JUDGE THE STATE and keep her in line by voting, praying and pointing out sin ***Remember when the Roman state and church (THE JEWISH NATION) joined forces they crucified Christ! SO WHAT ABOUT SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE? THE MYTH OF SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE The first amendment reads as follows, “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof;.” But many think this line in the first amendment says there shall be, “A separation of church and state.” What it says is that congress shall make no law establishing a state religion, but all citizens can practice religion freely. So where did this myth of separation of church and state come from? Thomas Jefferson's letter from 1802 to the Danbury Baptist Association. When we consider the following we get a different point of view; Above the Speaker of The House title in Congress, it says, “In God We trust.” Each President at their inauguration has said, “So help me God.” Every Inaugural address has included the word God. Christmas is a national holiday. Our national anthem includes God. The Declaration of Independence mentions God four times. Chaplains have been on the public payroll since the beginning. A Bible verse is engraved on the Liberty Bell. Oaths in the courtroom have always included a mention of God since the beginning. The dollar bill includes the term “In God we trust.” The Supreme Court building has carvings of Moses and the Ten Commandments. This list is only a few on the inclusions of God that exist in conjunction with our government and its documents or buildings. In the modern age we hear a lot about separation of church and state. But when we LOOK AT the facts, the actual wording and the intent, we find it is a myth.
1:05 Biden’s First WeekTrillions in New StimulusHow Stimulus Dollars Drive Up Asset PricesReinstates Lobbying Ban60-Day Review of Mining Activities on Federal Lands?Pro-business vs. Taxes — Taxing Unrealized Capital Gains?9:29 MarketEverybody's Bored with GoldStocks & Sectors That Are RunningLithium Gains: Critical Elements LithiumWe’re In a BubbleWhere to Redeploy Capital?20:35 Comments on Police & MilitaryNYPD Violent Response to ProtestsTroops Sleeping in Parking GarageTwo Justice Systems: Kalief Browder, Riley Williams33:15 Funny Story36:00 What to Look At?CannabisImproved Year-over-Year Data
In this episode, Danny discusses the HAES movement, health at every size! How health does not linearly equate to lean and visa versa! Then, we dive into some of your questions, ranging from home exercises to vegetable intake options!---Thanks For Listening!---RESOURCES/COACHING:Check out my programs and E-Books! Click HERE!I am all about education and that is not limited to this podcast! Feel free to grab a FREE guide (Nutrition, Training, Macros, Etc!) HERE!Interested in Working With Coach Danny and His One-On-One Coaching Team? Click HERE!Want To Have YOUR Question Answered On an Upcoming Episode of DYNAMIC DIALOGUE? You Can Submit It HERE!Want to Support The Podcast AND Get in Better Shape? Grab a Program HERE!----SOCIAL LINKS:Follow Coach Danny on INSTAGRAMFollow Coach Danny on TwitterFollow Coach Danny on FacebookGet More In-Depth Articles Written By Yours’ Truly HERE!-----TIMESTAMPS:Healthy at EVERY SIZE Movement! 3:11The Bigger Picture to Look At! 10:51“Best exercises at home for abs?” 13:16“What do you suggest for those who do not eat many vegetables?” 16:51“Do you ever do boxing for cardio?” 20:10“Best path to becoming a personal trainer? Bachelor's degree or certification and job?” 22:17
Matt and Jared are back for Episode 40 as they give you five things to look at with women's basketball. || 0:00 - Intro || 2:37 - Rhonda Bush named Interim Tennis Coach || 4:40 - Basketball Update - Nine Days Away || 8:10 - Five Things to Look At with UWG Women's Basketball || 18:44 - Episode Wrap-Up
Hi, everyone, welcome back to the show. This week is a precarious one, as we post the episodes on Monday. The Election happens on Tuesday, however, and that means the world might become a very different creature in the next seven days. So to anticipate GOOD or BAD, this week is all about jokes. For total distraction, I have 45 minutes of jokes that I will read to you this week. You can press play and just forget the world as you meditate on such classics as "Did you Hear About the Invisible Man's Family? His Kids Were Nothing to Look At, Either!" – 45 minutes of that, thank me or pie me later. The jokes for this episode actually come from my Joke Calendar, which I had at my office at work. I tormented 30-50 people at work so much (true story) that they stole the calendar from me, and placed it in the ice box! I responded to the prank with "The Joke Calendar", which is a track I'm also including in this week's humor pack for Side A. This track is from my album This is the TRUTH, which is on Bandcamp. But chances are, you're here for part two of all the porn titles of 1984, read by a computer, continued from last week. The L-Z of that massive list is another 45 minute track of distraction, and available here as Side B. This concludes the adult entertainment onslaught from Episode 29. Good cheer, and see you on the other side of the mirror next week, Ethan
Valeria interviews Carolyn Schlam. Carolyn is an award-winning American painter, sculptor and glass artist born and raised in New York City. She studied painting with Norman Raeben, youngest son of the Yiddish writer Sholem Alecheim, in Carnegie Hall Studios, and glass-making at Urban Glass in Brooklyn. She currently maintains her painting and collage studio at 14 Gitana Avenue, Camarillo, CA 93012 and is currently working as an artist in residence at the Glass Arts Collective in Westlake Village, CA. Carolyn is also a published author. Her book, “The Creative Path: A View from the Studio on the Making of Art,” is a treatise on art making from philosophical, psychological, practical and spiritual points of view and was published in 2018 by Skyhorse Publishing. Her latest book, “The Joy of Art: How to Look At, Appreciate and Talk About Art” is an art appreciation course from the artist's lens, and is now available for purchase at booksellers everywhere. Carolyn's books for children, “Art Smarts: A Primer for the Young Artist” and “The Alphabet Club” are available through her studio. In 2013, Carolyn was named one of the 48 finalists in the Smithsonian Museum Portrait Competition. Her portrait, “Frances at 103” was exhibited in the National Portrait Gallery for one year and was subsequently acquired by the Museum. It is in the permanent collection of the Smithsonian Museum of African American History and Culture. In 2018, her “Mother and Child” joined the prestigious Cedars Sinai Art Collection. Carolyn has a strong interest in donating works to organizations and collections, especially those with a feminist orientation, and encourages interested parties to contact her. Carolyn Schlam's portraiture is infused with emotional content, expressing the vulnerability and longing of her mostly female subjects. She explores portraiture in its many aspects– traditional, in which appearance and character are foremost; expressionistic, in which the inner life is heightened; and stylized, in which the image becomes iconic. She is known for her use of exuberant color, elegant drawing and modern design. To learn more about Carolyn Schlam and her work please visit: https://www.carolynschlam.com/ For Intro-free episodes: https://www.patreon.com/aquestforwellbeingpodcast Podcast Page: https://fitforjoy.org/podcast — This podcast is a quest for well-being, a quest for a meaningful life to the exploration of fundamental truths, enlightening ideas, insights on physical, mental, and spiritual health. The inspiration is Love. The aspiration is to awaken new ways of thinking that can lead us to a new way of being, being well.
With leas than a couple days to go before the start of the MLS Is Back tournament, the SFTS boys chat LA Galaxy depth based on last week’s scrimmage intra-squad match. Plus a scorching-hot rumor of one, Messi , to the LA Galaxy. Follow us on twitter @sfts96 Rudy @iamsmarts Angel @lividaf96 Jorge Jayundftd7 Frank […] The post SFTS – Messi to LA Galaxy ? and A Look At the G’s Depth Ahead of the MLS Is Back Tournament appeared first on Straight from the Stands.
This week, we are tackling that dreadful word... business finances. I’m chatting it up with Michelle Loretta, a business planner and financial strategist at Sage Wedding Pros. Tackling everything from financial planning, online bookkeeping, forecasting and paperwork, this episode is chock full of educational tidbits every entrepreneur should have in their back pocket to make savvy and money-saving decisions in their business. KEY TAKEAWAYS: Math Shame Financial Fundamentals Finance Squad for your Business Strategy Investment Accounts/Personal Finance Organize Paperwork Other Financing Software to Look At Segmenting Financial Forecasting
In this episode, we recap Look At the Flowers, episode 14 of the tenth season of The Walking Dead. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
Look At the Obvious --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/clevin-brailsford/support
In the latest episode, we discuss a couple of Punk sub-genres that are completely new to us, and completely dumb! We also demonstrate how sometimes when a band has a revolving door of members, that can turn into some pretty cool music! New music from Armors, Oliver Tree, Two Feet and YUNGBLUD (Sending that one out to you Rev!), and a fresh batch of WTF's of the week for your head-scratching enjoyment! Playlist: https://spoti.fi/35mWeH6 Altmathcoremelodicscreamo - (17:13) Serenity At The Disco - (31:31) Don't Turn Left - (46:47) He's Hard to Look At - (64:06) मैंने आपका अकाउंट हैक कर लिया - (77:03)
Tired of commercials interrupting your listening experience? For just $5 per month you can listen to all past, present, and future #WeirdDarkness episodes commercial-free – plus BONUS AUDIO and news about the podcast! Learn more at http://www.WeirdDarkness.com/WEIRDO.Feel depressed or hopeless? Visit http://www.iFred.org. Suicide thoughts? Call anytime (800)273-8255.IN THIS EPISODE: (Archive episode – previously aired June 25, 2018) *** It’s first sighting was described as “half man and half beast, standing about five feet six inches, with a tall pointed head. Whatever it was that he had seen, he was convinced that it was neither a bear nor a monkey.” We take a look at the mysterious creature, the Yeti. (Taking a Look At the Yeti Phenomenon) *** On May 16, 1929, Al Capone was arrested in Philadelphia on gun-carrying charges – but it was a put-up job that unfortunately led to a year in prison and Capone’s first encounters with the ghost that he believed haunted him to the grave! (Al Capone and the Ghost of Jimmy Clark) *** Seeing an intruder while in the shower may sound cliché for the movies – but not so much when it happens to you. (Those Strange Fingertips) *** Multiple women have disappeared without a trace from what has become known as Ireland’s ‘vanishing triangle’. Their fates still remain a mystery. (The Ireland Vanishings) *** When you see something out of the corner of your eye, simply to turn and not see anything there… is it your imagination, or is something else at work? (From Work to Home) *** The ancient pterodactyl, the legendary thunderbird, the cryptid known as the Mothman: could they all be one and the same? (Is Mothman a Shapeshifter)If you like what you hear, please share a link to this episode on your social media, tell your friends about the podcast, and please leave a rating and review of the podcast; I might read your review here in a future episode!STORY AND MUSIC CREDITS AND/OR SOURCES…“Is Mothman a Shapeshifter?” by Nick Redfern: http://bit.ly/2m1A4bV “Al Capone and the Ghost of Jimmy Clark” by Troy Taylor: http://bit.ly/2kbVGC0 “Those Strange Fingertips” by Kristine J., submitted at WeirdDarkness.com“The Ireland Vanishings”: http://bit.ly/2lGfaiu “From Work to Home” by Thor220: http://bit.ly/2m45wX2 “Taking a Look at the Yeti Phenomenon” by Nick Redfern: http://bit.ly/2kBC5LG Weird Darkness theme by Manuel Marino (http://bit.ly/2JLBRKp). Background music provided by EpidemicSound and AudioBlocks with paid license. Music by Shadows Symphony (http://bit.ly/2W6N1xJ) and Midnight Syndicate (http://amzn.to/2BYCoXZ) is also sometimes used with permission. SUPPORT THE PODCAST…Become a PATRON (Official Weirdo): http://www.WeirdDarkness.com/WEIRDO Visit my sponsors: http://www.WeirdDarkness.com/sponsors Subscribe to my other podcast, “Lifelines: Verse Of The Day”: https://www.spreaker.com/show/lifelinesverse MY RECORDING TOOLS…* MICROPHONE (Neumann TLM103): http://amzn.to/2if01CL* POP FILTER (AW-BM700): http://amzn.to/2zRIIyK* XLR CABLE (Mogami Gold Studio): http://amzn.to/2yZXJeD * MICROPHONE PRE-AMP (Icicle): http://amzn.to/2vLqLzg * SOFTWARE (Adobe Audition): http://amzn.to/2vLqI6E * HARDWARE (MacBook Pro): http://amzn.to/2vQzD5g I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use. If I somehow overlooked doing that for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I’ll rectify it the show notes as quickly as possible.***WeirdDarkness™ - is a registered trademark of Marlar House Productions. Copyright © Marlar House Productions, 2019."I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46 *** How to escape eternal darkness: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2IYmodFKDaM
Common Mistakes In Small Business: Part Two Well, we had such a fantastic response from the previous podcast that we've decided to do another one expanding on common mistakes in small business. So we already know remove repetition, step one. Document, step two. Remove objections from your customers, step three. How are you going to have time to do all that? You're already pretty busy. Read more about Common mistakes in small business: https://dorksdelivered.com.au/blog/455-455-common-mistakes-in-small-business-part-two Time Management The answer is, time management. Make sure you're better at managing your time. Use different things in your life when you're able to make sure that you're aware of how long you're spending on things. Work for 25 minutes, break for five minutes. You might have heard of it before, The Pomodoro. Now, The Pomodoro timer or tomato timer gives you an indication of how long you should be working on something and how long you should breaking for something. It's what they have found to be a very productive way of running your business. This goes especially well for things that are very time intensive and complex in nature, so you want to make sure that you're doing things like that. I've said this also before and I'll say it again, being aware of where your time is going. Your time is the most valuable thing you've got. Spend it with your family, spend it with your friends, don't spend it on things that you shouldn't be spending things on. Don't start automating tasks that don't need to be automated, and I know I am guilty of this. I’m in the process of making a cocktail machine that goes along, and you can order the app off your phone, that goes along and pours the drinks out of the each of the different things, and mixes it all up for you, and bang, presto, you've got yourself a cocktail. What I'm saying though is automate on things that you want to learn about and spend your time on things that you want to spend your time on that may increase the value of your life or increase your knowledge. Don't spend your time on useless things. Be Aware of Your Time Being aware of where you're spending your time is the most important thing. If you download things such as Rescue Time or ManicTime or any of the other different time tools that are out there you can see how much you're spending your time on, and then put a dollar figure on it. If you think that your time is worth 10 dollars an hour, which you'd be surprised at how many business owners are sitting at around 2.50 to 10 dollars an hour, if you think your time is worth 10 dollars an hour work out all the math for that. If you want to be earning 200 dollars an hour, or 500 dollars an hour, work out the math around that and then break it down and have a look at how much it costs you to spend the time that you spend on Facebook on Facebook. You might think “Oh, I don't sped that much time on Facebook. It's okay, it's only when I'm doing something else. It's only when I'm in an elevator I just on Facebook.” Well, it's not really downtime for your body, it's not really downtime for your mind. It's releasing some small hits of dopamine and a bunch of depression, so you need to be aware of where you are spending your time and is it valuable? It's not if you're going to be spending it on things like Facebook, but put a quantity next to it and see if you'd be comfortable spending that money to use Facebook, and then think would you rather be spending that money to do something else? Look At the Big Picture I look at every tasks that I do throughout my entire week, month and year and think “How much is this worth to me?” That could be a relationship that I have with a friend, them coming over for a sneaky beer on a Friday afternoon and I'm sitting there for two or three hours, or four hours chatting about stuff, and I have already pre thought “Okay, I'm here for four hours having this beer. Is this worthwhile to me?” And you have to be around, you have to be living, you have to be around for a reason to be do something, and I know that if I quantify the relationship with that person and think “If I want to be earning 400 dollars an hour and I'm spending four hours with that person, is this time worth 1600 dollars?” It's very easy to quantify if you then look at other things that you do throughout your day, such as jumping on Facebook, or playing Angry Birds or something else. If you're doing those activities and that was to amount to two or three hours, and then you think “I'm spending four hours spending a beer,” 100% building a relationship with a real person face-to-face is a significantly better thing to be doing than sitting in an isolated room with a piece of glass and plastic in your hand, flicking things around on a cancer stick. It's much, much better to be doing something that is building a relationship and forming something, in my opinion away. Obviously, each to their own, but you want to make sure that you're productive in your business. Lists, Lists and More Lists Time management is massive. Make sure you're managing your time. Lists are huge to me. I make lists of everything that needs to be done in the business, everything that needs to be done around the house, everything that needs to be done everywhere. I've got lists and I know if I was called to go overseas next week, if I was called to go overseas in two hours time, I've got a list of exactly what needs to be packed depending on how long I need to go overseas for. I've got a list to know exactly what tasks need to be done around the house from cleaning pool filters to washing windows and shampooing carpets. The whole lot is in there, anything and everything that needs to be done around the house has been documented. Any of the tasks that need to be done that are maintenance things have been documented. I know exactly the status and health check of where my time is going over the next day, month and year. Make People Aware of Your Way of Doing Things People need to be aware of what you're doing, because there is always mishaps, there's always things that come up, there's always those annoyances that occur, a friend gets sick, you get sick, your car breaks down, you get a smashed windscreen, whatever the case is, that is something that you can't predict and it just happens, so you need to be able to be aware of where you want your time to go for when those things do happen so that you can be aware of how you can shift everything along and organise your life around the model of a Gantt chart. The Final Word Time management is super, super important, crazy important. So is documenting everything down so that you can have people starting to do the work that you should be doing. Ultimately, what we'd love to hear from you guys is how would you like to see your business time improved? Do you think you are the most productive person out there? Is your business up to the test? We're giving away a special deal here where I'd love to come in and personally help you and your business out. I'd love to come in and see how we can go about improving your time and improving your bottom line. If that's of interest to you email @podcasts@dorks.com and I'll personally respond and jump onto it and see what I can do. And when I say personally, I mean I personally wrote the automation that will respond to you and then I'll, we'll go from there. It'll be automated, it'll be amazing. We're going to make your business and profitable and it's going to be so cool. Let's go along the journey together. All right, if you have enjoyed this jump across to iTunes and leave us some love, give us some reviews, and stay good.
This is a comparison of the modern Christian understanding of the work of Christ with the ancient Christian understanding of the work of Christ. These understandings are not simply differences, but they are two systems of thought. This is an audio version of my article, "Two Ways to Look At the Work of Christ." The written version can be found at www.danielhannawriter.com/two-ways-to-look-at-the-work-of-christ You can follow me to get updates by by signing up to my mailing list by clicking here: bit.ly/32VDhKY or follow me on Facebook by clicking here: goo.gl/tXwi7i Music played at the beginning and end of the podcast is titled "Prelude No. 6" by Chris Zabriskie from his album Preludes used under https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/
Episode Description: In this episode, we get to know Irwin Hau of Chromatix and get a walkthrough on the book he’s writing. He shares his knowledge on clarity, models, and having a fantastic 4 that helps your personal journey. Resources: Chromatix - https://www.chromatix.com.au/ LinkedIn - https://au.linkedin.com/in/irwinhau Streetlights App - https://www.streetlightsbible.com/downloadslapp/ Posh Incredible Transformations - https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/posh-incredible-transformations/id1377517663?mt=2 Youtube Channel - https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCyrz1fZpMDHSfGm7t29ieOA/featured Website - Poshinc.com Email - tifany@poshinc.com Episode Notes: * Intro - 0:00 * Bose Noise Canceling Headphones - 0:48 * Melbourne Is a Quiet City - 2:10 * Digging Into Irwin’s Brain and Feelings - 2:32 * The 5 Areas of Irwin - 3:35 * Clarity Has Been a Big Part of My Journey - 7:27 * Realizing When and Giving a Tip - 8:08 * 5 Words for My 5-Year-Old - 11:19 * Chapter 1 of My Book - 13:04 * Having a Fantastic 4 - 14:00 * Cross-Pollinating Hobbies, Interests, and Business Together - 18:00 * Finding Myself in My Early 30s - 20:28 * 100s of Notebooks I Don’t Look At - 23:05 * Has Writing Everything Down Given You Clarity? - 24:10 * The Power of the Right Question - 24:48 * What’s Your Unfair Advantage? - 26:31 * Finding Your Passion - 28:38 * Seeing How Unlike Things Connect - 30:24 * Knowing How to Read People In Magic and In Business - 33:42 * Being Into Transferable Skills - 35:10 * Being An Emotional Person With Mental Models - 36:28 * Legacy Book, Not Changing the Past, and Helping Others - 37:52 * What’s My Purpose? - 40:32 * Knowledge and God - 41:30 * Asking 5 Things You’ve Learned in Life - 42:26 * The View of What My Parents Have Given Me - 43:30 * The Tangible and The Intangible - 45:36 * What’s the Definition of Success In Writing? - 46:40 * How Do You Ask Better Questions? - 47:48 * The Idea of Success, Growth, and Content - 48:54 * Getting to a Place of Contentment - 54:00 * Finding About My Faith and What I Was Made For - 54:38 * Modeling Off Jesus and the 4 Key Areas - 57:25 * Streetlights - 58:30 * Working On Physical - 59:00 * Helping Others and Give Them Mental Models - 59:42 * A Lot of Great Advice On How to Live - 1:00:30 * Asking the Right Question - 1:01:55 * Wrap Up - 1:03:24 * Last Thoughts/Suggestions - 1:04:15 * Closing - 1:06:37
***ADULT THEMES AND LOTS OF BLEEPED SWEARS***As you'll hear in this episode, Flick has had very little sleep... very little, which means that she's not holding back with the language.Most for the more direct 'fruity' language has been bleeped, but there's also a lot of conversation about adult themes. We review my choice for Listen To which is the splendid "Uncle Mort's North Country" by Peter Tinniswood and Flick's choice for Look At the classic chick-flick "How to be Single".And then it gets a bit tense.Don't worry, we may make it up one day.TTFNJohn
Hour One with Ket Shah 01. Moods Ft. Jaâl - It's Alright (Boogie Angst 2018) 02. The Black Eyed Peas Ft. Esthero - 4 Ever (Interscope 2018) 03. Thundercat Ft. BadBadNotGood - King of the Hill (Brainfeeder 2018) 04. Slotta - Dare To Dream (Slotta Mix) (Deeper Shades 2018) 05. KOG x IZEM - Change (Heavenly Sweetness 2018) 05. Tipimente - Savale (Kaymillion 2018) 06. Coyote - Back Home (Music For Dreams 2018) 07. Chicago Damn - Flush (intimate Friends 2018) 08. Auntie Flo Ft. Andrew Ashong - Havana Rhythm Dance (Brownswood 2018) 09. Felix Leifur - Between Us (Dirt Crew 2018) 10. Saine - Low Key (Delusions of Grandeur 2018) 11. Jason Eli Ft. Cherie Mathieson & Nathan Haines - Big Yellow Taxi (Self Released 2018) Hour Two with Alan Kenny Arscott (DJ A.K.A) 01. Kamasi Washington - Ooh Child (Young Turks 2018) 02. Makaya McCraven Ft. Junius Paul - Prosperity’s Fear (Int Anthem Recs 2018) 03. Carmen Lundy - The Lamp Is Low (Black Hawk 1986) 04. Marlena Shaw - Look At Me, Look At you (We’re Flying) (Columbia1977/ SoulMusic Recs 2018) 05. Kandace Springs - Piece Of Me (Blue Note 2018) 06. Talos Ft. Poppy Ajudah - Oh Girl High Focus 2018) 07. Kindred The Family Soul - Stars ( Hidden Beach 2003) 08. Kaidi Tatham Ft. Dego - It’s A World Before You (First Word Recs 2018) 09. Atjazz, Jullian Gomes - Empty Paradise (Atjazz Record Co 2018) 10. BokkieUlt Ft. Karyendasoul - Is Bindi (Ocha Mzansi 2018)
Setting Alerts for Iron Condors - What Percentage to Look At?
1. Patriots to sign wide receiver Eric Decker to 1-year deal (ESPN) 2. Kim Kardashian Calls Sister Kourtney the "Least Exciting to Look At" During Epic Fight on KUWTK (E! News) 3. New Orange County Housewife Gina Kirschenheiter Opens Up About Filing for Divorce (Bravo) 4. Nick Carter Under Review by District Attorney for Sexual Assault Allegations (E! News) 5. Apple Hits $1 Trillion Mark Special Guest: Nastia Liukin The Morning Toast with Jackie Oshry (@jackieoproblems) and Guest Co-Host Margo Oshry (@margoshry) The Morning Toast Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/themorningtoast
“Al Capone and the Ghost of Jimmy Clark” and 5 More TRUE Paranormal Horror Stories! #WeirdDarkness==========IN THIS EPISODE: It’s first sighting was described as “half man and half beast, standing about five feet six inches, with a tall pointed head. Whatever it was that he had seen, he was convinced that it was neither a bear nor a monkey.” We take a look at the mysterious creature, the Yeti. (Taking a Look At the Yeti Phenomenon) *** On May 16, 1929, Al Capone was arrested in Philadelphia on gun-carrying charges – but it was a put-up job that unfortunately led to a year in prison and Capone’s first encounters with the ghost that he believed haunted him to the grave! (Al Capone and the Ghost of Jimmy Clark) *** Seeing an intruder while in the shower may sound cliché for the movies – but not so much when it happens to you. (Those Strange Fingertips) *** Multiple women have disappeared without a trace from what has become known as Ireland’s ‘vanishing triangle’. Their fates still remain a mystery. (The Ireland Vanishings) *** When you see something out of the corner of your eye, simply to turn and not see anything there… is it your imagination, or is something else at work? (From Work to Home) *** The ancient pterodactyl, the legendary thunderbird, the cryptid known as the Mothman: could they all be one and the same? (Is Mothman a Shapeshifter)If you like what you hear, please share a link to this episode on your social media, tell your friends about the podcast, and please leave a rating and review of the podcast; I might read your review here in a future episode! SPONSORS...*Advertise your product/service on Weird Darkness; visit http://www.bgadgroup.com or call 770-874-3200.*MY PILLOW: http://www.MyPillow.com (Use promo code WEIRD to get 2 premium pillows for the price of one!)BECOME A PATRON at http://www.patreon.com/marlarhouse ESSENTIAL LINKS...THE MARLAR SHEET NEWSLETTER: http://www.MarlarHouse.com/MarlarSheet FACEBOOK GROUP: http://www.facebook.com/groups/marlarhouse UPCOMING EVENTS: http://www.MarlarHouse.com/Events AUDIOBOOKS: http://www.weirddarkness.com/audiobooks MOBILE APP: http://ww.MarlarHouse.com/mobile STORY CREDITS AND/OR SOURCES…“Is Mothman a Shapeshifter?” by Nick Redfern: http://mysteriousuniverse.org/2018/05/mothman-a-shapeshifter/ “Al Capone and the Ghost of Jimmy Clark” by Troy Taylor: https://www.facebook.com/authortt/posts/1704627159634263“Those Strange Fingertips” by Kristine J., submitted at WeirdDarkness.com“The Ireland Vanishings”: https://the-line-up.com/irelands-vanishing-triangle “From Work to Home” by Thor220: http://www.yourghoststories.com/real-ghost-story.php?story=25469“Taking a Look at the Yeti Phenomenon” by Nick Redfern: http://mysteriousuniverse.org/2018/05/taking-a-look-at-the-yeti-phenomenon/WEIRD DARKNESS MUSIC PROVIDED BY Midnight Syndicate http://amzn.to/2BYCoXZ and Shadow’s Symphony http://www.facebook.com/shadowssymphony/ - all music used with permission. All rights reserved. BECOME A PATRON at http://www.patreon.com/marlarhouse
https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=I+John+1%3A8-2%3A2&version=NRSVACE (I John 1:8 – 2:2) I have a confession to make. I am a screwup. It pains me to admit this to myself and to you, but it happens to be true. Let me explain. I try to live the Christian life – to obey, to be faithful, to have the mind of Christ, to love as Christ has loved me, to walk in the light and goodness as God is in the light. But, I have a lousy batting average. I strike out a lot. I tend to miss the mark. I do the things I don't want to do, and I don't do things I want to do. For instance, I want to be more gracious in life, but I find myself falling prey to being more judgmental of others, being harder on them than I might be on myself. I want to be more humble as God would have me be, but ego and pride rear their ugly heads way too often as I play comparison games. I can get so careless with my words, they will wound instead of heal. When it comes to loving, I'm so inactive at truly loving someone as Christ has loved me. I find I avoid difficult people sometimes. It's hard to love people you don't like. And when I get home (this is the worst place), I'm inattentive to my wife, and I don't listen very well. I'm downright rebellious when it comes right down to it. I rebel against God's commands. I know I shouldn't watch this or read that, or say that or do that. I know it's wrong, but I'm enjoying it! There is an iniquity within me that Scripture talks about. I'm twisted up inside, contorted. I just can't get things right! Like a piece of warped lumber. “All of us have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God,” Scripture tells us. We're wired that way. We tend to be selfish and turned inward wanting to be our own gods with our world revolving around us. We're all in that place, Scripture says. A few years ago, John Ortburg wrote a book called, “The Life You've Always Wanted.” In it he tells a story illustrating this. Some years ago, we traded in my old Volkswagen Super Beetle for our first piece of new furniture: a mauve sofa. The man at the furniture store warned us not to get it when he found out we had small children. “You don't want a mauve sofa” he advised. “Get something the color of dirt.” But with the naive optimism of young parenthood we said, “We know how to handle our children. Give us the mauve sofa.” From that moment on everyone knew the number one rule in the house. DON'T SIT ON THE MAUVE SOFA. DON'T TOUCH THE MAUVE SOFA. DON'T PLAY AROUND THE MAUVE SOFA. DON'T EAT ON, BREATHE ON, LOOK AT, OR THINK ABOUT THE MAUVE SOFA. It was like the forbidden tree in the Garden of Eden. “On every other chair in the house you may freely sit, but upon this sofa, the mauve sofa, you may not sit, for in the day you sit thereupon, you shall surely die.” Then came the Fall. One day there appeared on the mauve sofa a stain. A red stain. A red jelly stain. So my wife, who had chosen the mauve sofa and adored it, lined up our three children in front of it: Laura, age four, Mallory, two and a half, and Johnny, six months. “Do you see that, children?” she asked. “That's a stain. A red stain. A red jelly stain. The man at the sofa store says it is not coming out. Not forever. Do you know how long forever is, children? That's how long we're going to stand here until one of you tells me who put the stain on the mauve sofa.” Mallory was the first to break. With trembling lips and tear-filled eyes she said “Laura did it.” Laura passionately denied it. Then there was silence, for the longest time. No one said a word. I knew the children wouldn't, for they had never seen mom so upset. I knew they wouldn't because they knew that if they did, they would spend eternity in the timeout chair. I knew they wouldn't because I was the one who put the red jelly stain on the sofa, and I wasn't saying anything! The truth is, of course, we have all stained the sofa. I am a screwup, a sinner. I have a feeling you are too. Over the years, I've...
Addie and Mo are back for the return of Canada’s longest running weekly wrestling podcast… Sort of. The guys take a look back at the year that was within the WWE and elsewhere while trying to put a positive spin on things, which isn’t always easy. But if you want all the thoughts the guys […] The post We Talk Wrestling December 18, 2017: A Look At 2017 appeared first on We Talk Wrestling.
We all have a host of COGNITIVE CHOICES that really determine how we feel. Our choices include: How we LOOK AT what happens What MEANING we attach to what happens What we FOCUS on about what happens What we COMPARE things to What we EXPECT of ourselves, others and lives What we REMEMBER about the past What we IMAGINE will happen next How much IMPORTANCE we attach to what happens What we spend our time THINKING about So much that goes wrong in the lives of individuals, families, schools and society is caused by people generating more emotion than is necessary or helpful in response to their life events, and what they do because of it, or to deal with it. That is why emotional management is the most important life skill. It Simply Means 1) There is always more than one way to look at anything 2) Whatever way we pick will be understandable given our unique life experiences 3) But some will make us feel better, others will make us feel worst 4) Some will make it easier to deal with things, others will make it harder 5) And we always have a choice as to how we want to look at things. "Life is MIND made" The way we choose often tends to be automatic. It's often the way we've made that choice many times before. That's why we tend to be relatively unaware that we've made a choice. However, the way we make these choices is not "cast in stone". We can learn to make them differently and better. With practice and rehearsal, making them in different ways can become as automatic as the old ways were for how to change what you think, feel, say and do) Ray Mathis is an Education Consultant, Speaker, Educator, Author, Advocate for Mental and Emotional Tool Kit, Tool Time group leader and Author of several books including: It's Just an Event-It's Your Choice How You Want to Feel: The ABC System of Cognitive, Emotional and Behavioral Self-Management and Self-Improvement. For Further Insight: GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/list/672 917.Ray_Mathis The Mental and Emotional Tool Kit for Life. A FREE resource for teachers, students, parents and professionals of all kinds from the Chicago Institute for Rational Emotive Behavioral Education. http://www.itsjustanevent.com/index.html Book: A Guide to Rational Living / Edition 3 https://www.barnesandnoble.com/p/a-guide-to-rational-living-albert-ellis/1122982034/2676972092893?st=PLA&sid=BNB_DRS_New+Marketplace+Shopping+Textbooks_00000000&2sid=Google_&sourceId=PLGoP164997&gclid=CjwKCAiA6qPRBRAkEiwAGw4Sdr9ZxIduBxZvwbr9iEBA9otOKm_Sbw9pp-V-nsrbTB45tMSxdKJSHBoC2q4QAvD_BwE
Don’t Look At the Eclipse! by KGMI News/Talk 790
Tonight's Special Guests: Jim Rense & Professor James Fetzer. Looks Like They Are Going With A Body Double! Where Is Hillary? Questions! Did She Die On 9/11 After They Dragged Her Limp Body Into The Van? If True, The Brazen Arrogance Of The Controllers Is Astounding 'Hillary' On Her Jet With The Press Today, Thursday, 9-15-16â?¦Just Four Days After Her Total, Complete Collapse. Now, look At The BOTTOM Of The Nose, The Septum, Where It Joins The Upper Lip. The End Of The Nose Irrefutably Extends DOWNWARD...Farther Than Hillary's Does. Furthermore, The Nostrils Are Also MARKEDLY Differently Shaped. Look At the END OF THE NOSE. The Tip Of The Airplane Hillary's Nose Today Is MUCH LARGER. It Overhangs, Is Clearly Larger, Droops Down And Actually Ends BELOW The Nostrils. This Is NOT Hillary's Nose. This Does NOT Look Like THE SAME Person. This Double Is About 30 lbs Lighter, Younger, Thinner Overall And FULL Of Energy. Hillary Has A Mole - A Body Double Won't (Unless They Put One On) - Click Here Hillary Dying Of Sepsis Encephalopathy In Secret Med Facility - Report - Click Here Have 'They' Been Using A Double At Times During The Campaign To Get People Used To The Differences In Appearance? ANYTHING Is Possible. The Technology Of Today Is Far Beyond What Most Could Imagine...
Brad Post: Welcome back to this edition of Create the Movement podcast. Josh Rich joins us. Josh Rich: Hello everyone. BP: How are you? JR: Doing good Brad. How are you? BP: Good. Josh is our Online Marketing Specialist, and has been on several podcasts with us. JR: Talking about when to trust Google, and when to not trust Google. It’s a pretty interesting topic in the SEO-world, whenever Google puts out a public statement – what to with that? BP: Got it JR: These public statements come in lots of different forms. Sometimes it will be like a ‘Help’ document. They put one out a couple of weeks ago to just clarify on like what a bounce rate is. Or, what an impression is. Or, just different things like that. And so, obviously it’s very handy to have this official definition according to Google, so that way, you know what you’re doing. But other times, it’ll come, you know, like in some sort of like an interview, or like an SEO-roundtable discussion with other people. And it will, just kind of like, not necessarily be this planned thing, but something where they’re like, I don’t want to say it slips out by accident. But they’ll just kind of, like allude to something and everyone freaks out, “Oh, my gosh! They finally said this, or that!” Obliviously, other times, it’ll be like in that vein. When it’s like this really big long process, and they like, know what they’re doing. And it’s very organized, sometimes it is at least. So, but either way, whatever form it comes in there’s always a lot of discussion whether it’s valid or not. For example, something that recently happened is that they basically said, and I forget who said it or how they said it, but someone from Google said that whatever kind of 3.0-blank re-direct you do, whether it’s 3.01, 3.02, 3.07 or whatever, it all passes page rank. So, we were like, “Oh, that’s kind of cool.” But the funny thing is, anytime Google says something like that, people immediately start doing experiments. And so people start testing that. And they basically found that 3.01s pass page rank way, way better than anything else. So, it’s kind of this little bit of confusion. Like, when you say it passes page rank, do you mean it passes page rank equally, or is there some sort of scale of how well it passes it? Or, are there other ranking factors we don’t know about? So, there’s always this kind of weird confusion in a lot of the discussion that spawns after Google puts out these statements. So, what we do, is we have 4-step system here whenever something like that happens to kind of check them and see if they’re really telling the truth. Or, if they’re lying, or if they don’t know what they’re talking about, or what happened. Look At the Data It’s like I said, anytime that Google puts out a public statement, that is half-way controversial or revolutionary, someone, somewhere will do an experiment to test to see if it’s true. And so, BP: Usually multiple places. JR: Multiple places. Yeah. People like MOZ does a lot. SEMrush. And then like everyone, all the big boys will do something, typically, to test how well that’s working. Like I said, in the case of 3.01 redirect, that was proven false. That’s happened multiple times. So, like I said, the first step: look at the data, look around, see if someone does an experiment, and then base your plan of action off that data. Remember Google Is A Massive Company With A Massive Algorithm. Second thing to remember is that Google is a massive company with a massive algorithm. And so, a lot of times, especially if it is someone that’s just doing an interview, or like a podcast, or like a roundtable discussion, they might get asked a question that they’re not necessarily qualified to answer. And so, they’ll just kind of say something, “Oh yeah, this is what it is.” It might be someone in like search quality department is answering a question about AdWords, or something like that. So, they don’t really know what they’re talking about, but they jus...
Babel Radio为国内电子厂牌Babel Records旗下电台 每周会推出国内优秀电子音乐人的作品 Babel Radio，Babel your boring life Tracklist： 1.CHILLAX—陈佳楠2.LOOK AT Ü (feat. Lynas.Jung)—VISUDY3.I Wonder—白天不亮Feat.ChaCha4.MERCURIC MOON!!! -- ǝıןıʇnɔ bunʎ5.May—Jeanie6.Seafood Girl（L'été Dernier lowmix）—lows0n7.Lost ma $hit -- 阿克江LilAkin;Joy ginger8.Moonshine—Jeffery9.Ice Mint—Joy ginger10.Empty Street—LinFeng11.Stranger—Chace12.Somewhere—ZHI16;大包子DaBozz13.蛙（Conehead Remix）—LUPA14.The First Day Of Spring—LinFeng15.LSD—赵大力
This video goes through some of the new enhancements in lighting in the Action 3D compositor. We cover Selective Lighting, light targeting, Parametric softening, Look At linking and Gmasks for selective light distribution.
Australian psych-rock band Pond blow the doors off the KEXP studio in this heavy performance on The Midday Show. Pond sound simultaneously out-of-control and perfectly tight in this performance including a debut song from their forthcoming 2015 release “Man, It Feels Like Space Again.” Recorded 10/28/2014 - 3 songs: Elvis' Flaming Star, Don't Look At the Sun or You'll Go Blind, Midnight Mass.Support the show: https://www.kexp.org/donateSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
That's a Wrap! Film, Media and Culture. Academic yet accessible.
Episode #18 Erik, Nick and Chris discuss their very favorite films to “look at.” We each take turns presenting our TOP 5 best-loved films that we admire simply for their visual beauty. A tough task to be sure, but we did our best and include a brief short-list of honorable mentions at the end. … Continue reading Episode #18 – Top 5 Favorite Films to “Look At” & House of Cards S02 →
This worship song is a prayer set to music. It is kind of modern folk/bluegrass style, Neo-Folk.Guitars, Mandolin, Dobro, Banjo, Bass, and Drums.Here I AmStanding in the Need of PrayerHere I Am Lord, Praying Just the Best That I CanLooking unto JesusHe's the Savior of My SoulAnd Only He Can Make Me WholeOh How I Need Your Presence Lord!Only You Can SatisfyIn Your Presence LordIs the Fullness of JoyAnd It's Flowing out of My Soul!Here I AmWaiting with My Empty HandsHere I AmOn Your Word I StandI'm Looking to the SaviorFor I Know He Will Meet My NeedsHe Said to Look At the Birds He FeedsHere I AmStanding in the Need of GraceHere I AmStanding in the Mercy PlaceI'm Looking Unto JesusAnd the Cross on Which He DiedAnd the Grace and Mercy He Supplied© 2014 Shiloh Worship Music COPY FREELY;This Music is copyrighted to prevent misuse, however,permission is granted for non-commercial copying-Radio play permitted www.shilohworshipmusic.com
In which the crew just can't seem to get enough of a certain word, as the triumvirative efforts of the Southerner, the Sombrero, and the Sloth reach a new low in attempt to reign in the show and talk about the week's books. Listen to the three stumble through a variety of topics, ranging from their confusion over Marvel's bizarre obsession with points, just what the heck really happened in a few DC favorites, the mindset of Whedon's Post-"Avengers" plans, and how one character seems to be routinely screwed over in alternate media. Surprisingly enough, it's not Aquaman!Download Here!Links Of The Week:CW's "Arrow" TrailerA Closer Look At "Arrow""Chronicle" Director Working On Reboot Of Fantastic Four
HotHardware - Technology, Computer and Gadget Reviews and Industry News
http://hothardware.com - In this latest episode of HotHardware's Two and Half Geeks, Dave, Marco and I*** discuss Samsung's Galaxy Tab 7.0 Plus, HotHardware's Holiday Gift Guide for PC Components, Dell's XPS 14z Notebook, Tablet Gaming Today and a Look At the Future, as well as our MSI/NVIDIA Gear-Up and Tablets of the Season Sweepstakes Winners and ongoing giveaways! By HotHardware Tags : 14z, 7, Components, Dell, Galaxy, Gaming, Geeks, Gift, Guide, Half, Holiday, MSI, NVIDIA, PC, Plus, Samsung, Tab, Tablet, Tablets, Two, XPS, a, and, podcast, webcast
Big Band Serenade presents Bix Beiderbecke was one of the great jazz musicians of the 1920's. Music in todays program listed in order of play. 1)"In The Mist"-1927, 2)"In The Dark Flases",3)"Davenport Blues"-1925 w/Bix Beiderbecke and his Rhythm Jugglers,4)"Lazy Daddy"-1924 w/The Wolverine Orchestra,5)"Way Donw Younder In New Orleans"-1927 w/Frankie Trumbauer and his Orchestra,6)"Look At the World And Smile"-1927 w/Jean Goldkette and his Orchestra,7)"There Ain't No Land LikeDixieland To Me"-1927 w/The Broadway Bellhops,8)"My Heart Stood Still"-1928 w/Paul Whiteman and his Orchestra,9)"Ol' Man River"-1928 w/Paul Whiteman and his Orchestra,10)"Loney Melody"-1928 w/Paul Whiteman and his Orchestra,11)"Lovable"-1928 w/Paul Whiteman and his Orchestra,12)"Forget Me Not"-1928 w/Paul Whiteman and his Orchestra
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