Podcasts about open seas

On this episode of Scran Rosalind is at Inver restaurant on the shores of Loch Fyne in Argyll and Bute to hear about the Dived not Dredged campaign. This campaign, which is being run by Open Seas, is aiming to raise awareness of the damage being done by dredging for scallops and encourage the more sustainable practice of hand diving, which they believe all consumers have a role in. Rosalind spoke to Andrea Ladas, Sustainable Seafood Officer for Open Seas, David Stinson, diver, Will Branning of the Sustainable Restaurant Association and Pam Brunton, co-owner and Head Chef at Inver. In her discussions Rosalind looks at the issues with dredging for scallops, how this is impacting the sea bed and the fishing industry and considers what it means for chefs and consumers. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

I won't ferget your help. In fact, because of it, we're introducing a fresh multiverse theory, confirming script suppositions, remembering we can't sail without light, parting ways at the boat ride, climbing our big pole, eating fish every day, crying out for a minimart, changing out of boy mode inside of Luna mind, thinking clean dirty thoughts, stowing away Brett, chasing the stick off the porch, doing the Dew, questioning the feasibility of fireflies, and localizing a song based on nothing but vibes. Goodbye, my love. 00:00:00 Miniseries 6 00:06:24 Intro 00:07:43 Breaking News 00:16:37 Sega CD Lighthouse Quest 00:24:01 Aboard The Hispanola 00:28:35 Lower Deck 00:44:18 Night Time 00:51:47 Boat Song 01:05:08 Real Net 01:09:22 Outro Patreon: patreon.com/retroam Bluesky: @retrogradeamnesia.bsky.social YouTube: www.youtube.com/@RetrogradeAmnesia E-Mail: podcast@retrogradeamnesia.com Website: www.retrogradeamnesia.com  

Nada Surf están de gira por España con nuevas canciones. Su álbum “Moon Mirror” satisface las mejores expectativas de un grupo fiel a su estilo, a su evolución, rodado por lo largo y ancho de este planeta desde 1992, con un sonido aún más poderoso y enloquecedor en sus conciertos. Hablemos y que se toque algo. ¿No? Esta noche Jesper Lindell and The Brunnsvik Sounds arrancarán en Madrid una gira que seguirá por La Lastrilla (Segovia), Bilbao, Vigo, Avilés, Santander, Gerona, Barcelona, Valencia y Zaragoza. DISCO 1 NADA SURF The One You WantDISCO 2 VERA NOOR Broken robot heartDISCO 3 JESPER LINDELL One Of These Rainy DaysDISCO 4 ALL AROUND FOLKS  I hear The RoadDISCO 5 AMERICA Always LoveDISCO 6 NADA SURF Second SkinDISCO 7 NADA SURF Open SeasDISCO 8 NADA SURF In Front Of me NowDISCO 9 NADA SURF Moon MirrorEscuchar audio

Open Seas is a Scottish charity that focusses on protecting our marine environment and the things that live in it. A few weeks ago, Mark joined them in Skye where they were carrying out seabed surveys. While the weather didn't play ball and they didn't get out on their planned boat trip, the team did manage to show him the kind of footage they record and why it's important in influencing the kinds of protection marine areas can get.Rachel is in Pitlochry where the Firebrand Theatre Company along with the Festival Theatre are staging a play all about naturalist and poet Nan Shepherd: Naked and Unashamed. She hears about how the play came together and the extraordinary legacy of Nan.Wigtown is now well known across Scotland and the wider literary world as Scotland's Book Town. It's a title it has held since 1998 and since the first festival in 1999, the town has seen its prospects transformed. Mark met up with Anne Barclay from the festival company to hear about the positive changes in the town over the past 25 years.Rachel heads out on a coastal foraging walk as part of the 2024 Moray Walking and Outdoor Festival which kicks off this weekend. Forager Daniel shows her some of the things that can be found along the coastline from plants to seaweeds, foods and medicine.By the time Out of Doors is broadcast, Scotland will have played Germany in the opening match of Euro 2024. For the past few days Scotland fans have been arriving in Munich and the town is covered in tartan and saltires. But what is the origin of the white cross on a blue background? Mark visits the Scottish Flag Trust at Athelstaneford in East Lothian to find out more.The story of modern whaling in the Southern Hemisphere is a controversial one. Many British companies played a key role in the industry, and they had a largely Scottish workforce. A project is underway to collect the memories of those who worked in the industry and their families before it's too late. We chat live to Helen Balfour from the Whalers' Memory Bank to find out more about the project.A couple of weeks ago the last seagoing paddle steamer in the world, The Waverley, made its first ever visit to Ullapool. Our news colleague in Inverness Stephen Macleod went along to experience the excitement.In this week's Scotland Outdoors podcast, Rachel speaks to Artist in Residence at the Rahoy Nature Reserve, Liz Myhill. Her role is to raise awareness of the huge reserve and encourage people to visit and explore. We hear an excerpt.More than 130 years ago two men began a years' long adventure to discover, climb and map Skye's famous Black Cuillin. Professor Norman Collie was a scientist and John Mackenzie was a local mountain guide. The unlikely pair are considered among the greatest pioneering mountaineers of their time and in 2020 after several years of fundraising, a statue was erected in their memory. Mark went to visit it in Sligachan and hear Collie and Mackenzie's story.

10.16 - They're comics in them hills! Voicemail: go to www.Wednesdaycomics.com Twitter: @wednesdaycomics @TheAPKeaton @garot2188 Email: wednesdaycomics605@gmail.com --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/wednesday-comics-podcast/message

Links:Michael Keen @NFTicketJennifer Sutto @jennifer_suttoNFT Catcher Podcast @NFTCatcherPodproduced by Andy Cinquino  @ajc254NFT Catcher theme music by ItsJustLosemail : NFTCatcherPod@gmail.comNFT Catcher Discord

Today, we're whistling along with Steamboat Willie and exploring the high seas of Disney's past with intellectual properties and what's ahead in 2024.

Felipe Faria is a fellow #RPGLATAM Artists, who has illustrated many amazing games and is well known for his black and white ink style that combines the best of old-school style art, comics and mangas. He has worked on titles such as, Primal Quest, Lilliputian: Adventure on the Open Seas, We Deal In Lead, and many more. I've been following Felipe for a few years and I was immediately captivated by his style, composition, and choices! His characters have a unique style that feels like only him would be able to do it. And not to mention that even though when Felipe started his art was already incredibly good, we can see his techniques getting better and better as he is constantly working and studying his craft. In this chat we talked about how he got into RPG through the art, traditional media versus digital, how art and RPG relate to each other, his influences, practices and many other things. The audio on this one isn't 100% but it is still a valuable episode that I hope you will enjoy! So listen up and get weird with us! CHECK OUT FELIPE'S WORK! Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/elmqz/ Thank you for listening to Weird Games & Weirder People! Please subscribe to the show to keep up with new episodes!  If you would like to support the show, leave a reviewand/or head to our ko-fi page and pay us a coffee! It will help keep the podcast going! It would really help!  ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://ko-fi.com/wgnwp⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ You can also support me buy buying one of my games! Kosmosaurs just got released in print, and it is my new RPG inspired by Saturday morning cartoons about Space Dinosaur Rangers defending the galaxy from evildoers!   Get your copy right here: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠bit.ly/kosmosaurs⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠ Join our Discord Server: ⁠https://discord.gg/NEYUTekj (this link is only valid for 7 days from the day the episode is released - always look for a new link in the newest episode). Stuff mentioned in the Episode: Dragão Brasil: https://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drag%C3%A3o_Brasil Jim Lee: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Lee André Vazzios: https://www.behance.net/vazzios Érica Awano: https://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89rica_Awano Werewolf the Apocalypse: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Werewolf:_The_Apocalypse Emicida: https://emicida.com.br/ Kalymba: https://www.kalymba.com.br/ Mausritter: https://mausritter.com/ Elden Ring: https://en.bandainamcoent.eu/elden-ring/elden-ring Candomblé: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Candombl%C3%A9

From an article in Earth.com

Ever wonder what leads a seasoned Merchant Marine, clocking two decades at sea, to shift gears and navigate the world of land services? Get ready to dive into another exciting episode of the Skid Steer Nation Podcast as we've got a fascinating guest on board—Greg Pooler owner Carmel Land Services based in Carmel, Maine. We'll be digging into the details of his journey and finding out how being a dedicated family man played a role in this significant career change. Get ready for insights, inspiration, and a glimpse into the life of a land service entrepreneur who spent decades at sea before steering his way into the world of property improvement. __________________________________________________ Visit Carmel Land Services website: ⁠⁠https://www.carmellandservices.com/ Looking to take your business to the next level? See how we can help: ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.groundbreakinggrowth.com/⁠⁠⁠⁠ Need quality American Made Attachments for your skid steer? Visit:⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.skidsteernation.com/

My today's guest is an experienced sailor and Youtube filmmaker and videographer with over 620k subscribers. Also, RVs, pilots, and runs a podcast.Now offering courses that are designed to take a complete sailing beginner or novice, someone that has never stepped foot on a boat before and give them the knowledge to confidently crew and operate their own sailboat. https://sailingdoodles.com/http://www.yourlotandparcel.org

Our heroes have joined Bjorn's crew only to be attacked by a rival pirate crew!Support this show http://supporter.acast.com/fire-from-the-north. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

It's common sense, but is anyone listening? Nick Underdown of the Open Seas marine charity is the straightest-talking man in conservation, and his sense of disbelief at the way our seas are being managed is palpable in this interview. Listen to his inimitable, resonant tones as he explains:Why Scotland's much-vaunted marine protected areas are just paper parksWhy proposals for much greater protections were fundamentially flawedHow the fishermen who make their livings from the sea can't be ignoredJust why he has to skim stones!Nick is ready with the facts and figures and is a master of fine detail but he's got the broad brushstroke to give us a clear picture of why marine conservation matters.If you like this podcast, give it a like, a follow, a subscribe or whatever, and please share... the more hits we get, the better we can do it next time, and the more you can here about our conservation and outdoors champs. You can get me on Twitter/X as @ScotNatureCorr and find me on LinkedIn, Facebook and Instagram (where there's a neat video clip of Nick in action). All feedback gratefully received.Music created for this podcast by Nottingham's own Rob Baynes https://www.facebook.com/Beeeaaanz/ - hit him up if you want your own specially created music! Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

I walked in locked in; Pistol cocked, and pointed towards my head You'll only want me when you have no options left, Or when I'm dead “It's clever” They all said An ambitious endevour End this life, and be devoured By the miester and the misters of the hour How about now? (Or–) How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Or, How about now, or How about now, or How about now? Or, How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Now or Never I said “That's clever” or “How about Now” What do you want from me? I lie for a living; A literal drama queen, don't eat turkey on thanksgiving I'm the worthless word for Surface level thinking on this Earth, or Picking hearses with my cursor, Mercenary, Mercury, or Just a Mercer–But not a Mercedes; I'm paid, but I hate paying; Made the game, but I hate playing I remember making hate to be created Just for entertainment– A belated invitation, Now i'll face it, Back to Basic– But she's laced with Masonry; A tastemaker, maybe But she just wants a family, Whatever that means Wow. How about now? Fuck this. Homelssness. I woul rather kill myself than stay alive I'd rather die than fight Don't want to write this: I'm just a diamond pressurized And i might never see the light I'll never see the lght I see the light There's no honor in suicide But i've devided my mind a million times And now like dynamite in a mine; Collapsed, collided, ad defined by All divine; You'll never see me shine, But deep inside I'd blind you; Guided by the tide, I've come to find you Down, I dive I'm not alive, you know I'm always misaligned But that's beside the point Another suicide attempt Is in the midst– But just what is it; More than just one, is it? Rather die than listen to Skrillex Or take pills just to chill with it For real? this shit again? It wasn't real, all to begin with It's only mental illness cause i'm penniless Now i've got so much to deal with Another wound to heal, Another deal, perhaps I'll make another million in a year, If i'm still here– And i”m still here– And i'm still– Who are you now, and— Who were you then; And— Which part of this, would you want— Or did want, Or just wanted Pondered before in a vision, Outfitted in hooded drapery, The heaviest fabric; A rosary hung from his neck But can't recall the connection In this ressurection I can recall him, But never remember The calling Let's call him Oh, fuck man. ‘Friar Tuck' THAT WAS IT. The high priest of asencion, Was burned in her memory— Not as a friend, But a friend of the enemy; Who she loved and protected, Despite all the envy, She felt for Persephone— Just an unjust figure, A fictional figment of imagination But— Who was I then And who am I now; And what part of him, Would I want, if I wanted Or wished for, Or honored A friend, long forgotten Not a high priest, But a Friar That was it— But before, As Mary, Joseph, and Jesus On the front lines of the war, Not to be started, but ended, as in Preparation, a blood sacrifice I've prepared In a premonition that I'd Give my whole heart again Honest, And honestly slain in the eyes, Of a man I remember, But didn't, when it mattered— Then did, right in front of him Who are we now, and— Who were we then; Let's find out, As time's running out again “Yes, I know him.” She sighed, eyeing from over the rims of the glasses she purchased only earlier to assure she had hidden the tears that she cried for Him— Neither a friend or an enemy, rather The ghost of a shadow she hadn't yet met with again, since he entered her presence Shifting into a tent Now, ripped from the pages of a book she cherished, A page which she promised to never diminish or tarnish would go up in ashes, As totems would fall, Wishes would become granted The PyRAmiD Spell (For Pasquale Rotella) gave gave the man honorary doctorate, and then reneged it, nigga thought he was actually bigger than big sister sick spitter, rip n dip listening to anything but Skrillex that shit is for kids ‘Check it' I hate midi gimmie a synth, something gritty, I'll make it pretty Come and try to get me, I been dead for centuries, Unsolved like a mystery This image don't mean shit to me, I sit to think, I wait to speak, I leak some information on the interwebs just to see how fast it comes back to me I'm actually a master “Untitled 07” It's like a 24/7 job, can't get no rest in, At best you're looking like a slob I kamikaze ‘em all, I am your mom, I will tell you what you are, to me By now, you should know, or see Just a name on my computer screen A friendly neighbor on Easy Street A wish, A lucid dream, A misalignment, so its seems So let me tell you what you are to me: Just make believe (Just make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream I'll tell you what I've seen, and what I see (and What I see) I dare to dream (I dare to dream) But please believe me, I'm as evil as can be Don't let my anything deceive you I'm a fleeting, bleeding Beaten bride to be No, don't believe me I'm the fire and gnashing teeth they preached to you May everything I've written one day reach you And beseech you, Just like you did to me Now let me tell you what I see; Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream When I wash up on the beach, From blazing fires of burning seas, Let me sing you all to sleep For every tear I often weep To dream of you A lucid dream Just fucking make believe; And I can make believe we fucked Just so I can get to sleep (Are you proud of me?) Hey. (Sarcastically) Oh, Come In. (Sighs heavily) I fucked up. I'm not surprised. I'm not surprised. Don't copy me. I need help. No arguments there. Dude, I'm serious. __ So first of all oh God, now what– I'm not racist You're extremely racist Racist By Proxy I'm not Racist They do look alike. Check this out: WOAH. That's…not a coincidence. That's definitely not a coincidence. Fuck. This. Shit. Here, take this. So, you dropped this totem… Uh-huh. In the ocean. Yes I did. And that one Ooof. What about– That came off on the moped. How? When I came off the moped. So you admit it. SO! He only let me ride it cause he wanted to ride ME! Nice. Did you sing to him? Uh, I sang for him? What's the difference? Here's every song I've ever written about X.X Just kill yourself. Should I then? I mean, perHAPS. I mean, maaaayyyybeee. You know what? I do know. Fuckthisshit. Fuck it, then. I'm out. I quit. Go find SupaCree. This…is impossible. Nothing is impossible. Except for that. Oh. “Oh.” No, i'm serious. You look serious–I'm just saying. What is this? Don't touch that– What is it? It's– [a tiny explosion] –ugh. Volatile. What the fuck are you into? I told you. You said “music.” What is “Music” [very deep pondering] I hate you. We have to find her. You have to. What! You're not going to help us? I have other things to do. Like what, dude? Like what, broh. Feed My cat; Your cat died. Walk my dog– You don't have a dog. I'm getting one. Oh, Jesus Christ Don't get all religious on me, now, not after that. Not after what? Yeah, which thing? ___ Man. Get me out of here. [shrugs] I hate being stuck in your head. What is THIS. Uh. play dead. What's up with your dog. Ruff. Good boy. I'm a girl. Uhhh–good girl. Wait. Hm. Did that dog just– [???] Nevermind. I've been up for 6 days straight. Tour life, buddy. Ah-huh. Uhh. Can I take a shower in your– Take a sho–? [dog grumphs] Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks. *Shapeshifts* Wow, that's cool. It's so stupid. I came in late to the office, so to speak; it had been an off day, after an off night, plagued by what I was sure to be some sort of demonic magic—I was moving slowly, off beat, and irritated—nevermind the lack of energy, as I moved about as steadily as I could—making arrangements for the next trials to come, as it seemed nearly impossible to move ahead, and yet—somehow, I had been given what seemed like one final chance to survive, or not. I had spent the first part of my day, somehow waking with a gust of light, and ready to take on the tasks at hand—then quickly wiped of anything holy in me by the outrageously disgusting hacking and howling of the seemingly-programmed man-or-something-alike, and into a manic-semi-conscious desperation to piece together what was left of my life—seemingly nothing, but somehow still pieced and patched together by music, the overriding theme being that I would be quickly booted out of any position unsuitable for me; and by now, I was just about unsuitable for everything, besides gym crawling and throwing together pieces of literature unlike any I had before seen, as I was, assuredly beginning to look in every direction for other writers which may have matched my style of the then-present day and age, and to my shagrin had found nearly nothing to gawk about, but at the very least had picked up some novels noteworthy in nature, as they had made me laugh, or somehow otherwise caught my attention. Now in my Arsenal, I had one novel, each respectively written by a woman, a white man, and a black man—every book I had otherwise been drawn to written by black women were, upon cracking to open, too-stereotypically black, or about being a black-girl in some kind of way I knew too much about and had absolutely no interest in reading. I had no idea what caused me to look into a world I had all but shut out of my mind—this someone and something had haunted me for months and even growing into years now, first affectionately, but now growing into an uneasy and painstaking, critical list for something deeper. I hated my ex husband for bringing me to this, and, as I looked at the clock at 5:55 exactly, nearly vomited in disgust at the sprawling obsession I would have to somehow quiet—as there really was no halting the plague of tragic recouping thoughts of Dillon Francis at random—now, daily, for quite some time, even as the automatic writing had nearly stopped entirely; I had become entrapped with daily reminders of things I had written, now welling up with spite and anger, that I had even allowed myself the obsession to begin with—especially after what had happened—or what had not happened—with Sonny, whatever way you wanted to look at it. Now; just left with a burning lust and motion sickness beyond my wildest control upon approaching the matter if it all, nonetheless with peaking curisosity, as he had walked in and out if my dreamscape like a picturesque bandit, even hijacking my own sexuality—now almost didn't want or dream of anything else, and with the un presidented amount of ‘decoys' life had thrown at me—Bruno, the bird speaking man from Belgium with the eyes that burned in striking similarity to Dillon's—and then again with Gabriel, the man who had hired me to DJ in the small cerveceria in Mazunte, who could have been his brother'; a dazzlingly handsome, if not perfect near-replica of Dillon Francis, who, by that point, i couldn't even bear to look at, let alone conjure the spark or touch of romance—even after multiple suggestions that he and his girlfriend had just broken up. I never allowed myself for a moment to believe or think that Dillon—or any of the men I fawned after, for that matter, in reality, a very short list—would ever be settled with the idea of me as a perfect fit; no, I sat in the certain reality that I was cursed, living in the opposite exact of the Allison Wonderland archetype—a woman who I theorized may have been Skrillexed and Dillon Francis'd herself—it seemed to be a pattern of hypnotism I was finally wrapping my head around, and even had learned to respect if not envy: I wanted the codes to create my own version of the worlds I had been spun into—and while I would more than likely never be a light skinned, light eyed beauty Queen; perhaps my own kingdom was meant to be of wit and wealth, rather than vanity. Still, headed back into the desert, I found myself scrolling through open guest lists, excited to take my longtime best friend turned literal goddess club crawling, looking for industry and network connections, if not at least a sex partner that could keep up with my needs, now furiously tearing at me from the inside out—as I scrolled, RSVPing for any acts I hadn't yet seen but had heard of, I found myself trailing off in thought and perhaps looking for something I hadn't realized I would stray into; I knew specifically that Dillon had a residency at the Wynn, and —though I also knew I wouldn't be caught dead at this point anywhere I knew he was, or especially stupid enough to pay for it. Now it was torturous, knowing how regretfully physical my attraction had become—understsnding from my interactions with the aforementioned that I was drawn to Dillon for his features—his eyes, his hair, and everything in his silhouette from his jawline, to his lips and brow drove me absolutely wild—however, I had learned about my very fragile psychiatry from my obsession with Skrillex, or with Sonny—neither of which I wished existed, adding Dillon Francis to the list of fictional characters I pushed further into my imaginary incineration box, where I put everything that not need affect my actual emotions or actions; Dillon Francis, a wealthy and talented, very handsome man—could not exist. I wished more than ever that I wasn't dark skinned, that I wasn't heavy set, that I didn't come with a flaming dumpster full of trauma and baggage that no man wanted or needed, but especially not the wealthy and handsome individuals I had spent very much of the last passing years writing about and fantasizing over, finding it respectably impossible to even have flings or sexual experiences without either of the two most rampant figures of my infatuation crossing into my mind and shrouding me with guilt and shame—and yet, here they were, so out of my element that I continued to agree with myself and the universe that it would be dillusinal to think myself a match for anyone so high-achieving. Nothing I could do or say could shake the fact that despite all my efforts to break through, all it had seemed to do was create a broken down individual, ready for enslavement in the working class just to stay housed—my music aspirations both hanging above me, and somehow fading away into the distance behind me. I hated myself. But more importantly, hated Skrillex and Dillon Francis for living the life I somehow thought I wanted and needed. What is the definitive definition of the word Skrillex? Skrillex: noun...right? What, you don't know? I know! It's...a noun...right? Right. Right--- ---Right! Could also be, an adjective, I guess--i? You guess?! You have to know. I mean--- Coughs ain't shit Skrillex ain't *coughs Satan ain't shit Bitch suck a dick Slit ya wrists On ya pissed off Little ass nigga. A loud, abrupt cough disrupted my focus; I was 5-sets-of-8 out of 8 and just feeling my heart begin to pump, as sweat poured from my temples and my sunglasses steamed “Man, fuck Coughs.” Whoever she was, even if it was just one of my infinite inward selves, this was some satanic shit. Now I hated Skrillex—not that it mattered, and as he was a living legend in computer animated music, or whatever voodoo shit he was responsible for that had sparked an entire uprising of revolutionary artists and producers spanning a generation or more—and I was damned-if-I-did, and damned-if-I-didn't love, like, or listen to him; all of which I did, besides the latter higher love by Whitney Houston, God rest her soul, blared over the gym's loud speakers, as I, more than likely looking just as superficially occupied as any basic broad, scrolling away on Instagram or texting her replicas, jotted down the rest of the thoughts that had nestled themselves in my mind's eye, as the coughing, which had followed me everywhere for nearly four years, beckoned to something—searching for purpose if not means to an end. He had Kayla Lauren, a plastic, streamlined representation of the all-American-deem girl, not to mention a “collective” of other broad women of sorts, probably all inwardly clawing just as I had at one time, for a piece of Sonny's heart, or whatever was left of it, after what I could have only assumed to have been a blood sacrifice of sorts, for his placement atop such a steep pyramid of success. What if, every time someone coughed—someone took a picture? I thought about the millions of hacking imbeciles and inbred, backwards savages who had crowded my ears with the putrid sounds of Satan's show choir, a coughing and excessive hellish representation of how the human race had gone awry; If I had been famous, or on my way to it, I would be burgeoned with photographs, as I had been in Mexico without knowing why or how—people sometimes slinking behind their phones as if to secretly capture a candid photo, I myself, pretending not to be aware of it. Cough cough. Ugh. If every cough represented a fan or something of the sorts taking a picture, I almost reveled in the thought—I would have rather had a million flashing cameras at once than to hear another ingrate hacking up a lung in Satan's honor. I was horrified at whatever Skrillex was, and whatever OWSLA meant, though I broadly showcased the tattoo on my inner-right forearm, opposite of Sonny's—the boy I was sure was murdered by the fame monster itself, as Lady Gaga, though admirable, had blatently called it, or herself, or whatever “we” all were or had been once, or would be, collectively at the beginning-and-end of it all. I had seen broadly into the realms of infinity the night previous, and had settled on one, astonishing fact: all of infinitely combined shared a concéntrical center at which at any point could be accessed. Even typing such a concept, I knew it to be life-altering…if I was even alive. To think, I used to hate deadmau5– I hate deadmau5– You know—after that spat with Skrillex. GO TEAM SKRILLEX!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! who the fuck is deadmau5, anyway. But here I am, decades later. [skrillex] FUCK THIS NIGGA. I needed something to help offset the damage that was done. [someone coughing loudly] Fuck this coughs bitch! [trying on small clothes] Ohh. [kayla Lauren] [sadness] Aww. [dillon Francis] —well how was I supposed to know he was a— STOP RIGHT THERE! I'm...not moving. Yeah, you're not. Uh, okay? You know why? I didn't ask— You need THIS: What is this. I'll tell you what it is [beat] … Okay—what is it?' ILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS. — Technically, If I do this every day, I can eat whatever I want— Just eat it. No. But I won't. Well, why not? Too Fat For Skrillex. — [C.C. Arrives in the parking lot to find her car has been vandalized...again.] ...Skrillex did this. On Jimmy Fallon. On Jimmy Fallon. Alright, then, kid—it's your dollar. I'll take “Skrillex Did It” for one dollar. But he's halfway across the world! He can shapeshift! Don't be stupid. What—! He's a shapeshifter, for real. We know! Just don't say it! I saw it. We all have. What the fuck, bro— Where did you come from? I've been here. Haven't we all? That's the spirit. What's a spirit? I'm glad you asked. As SUPACREE walks down the street, a man in the passenger's seat is seen to be the Egyptian God ANUBIS, before shifting back into hidden human form. Which one's that? Anubis, right? Googles 'deities' Oh, there he is: Anubis. Good. What's he want? Whatever it is, that's not what I was looking for. What are you looking for? That dark thing. Which “dark thing”? Flashback: That's inside me?! Flashback to Kite at Bass– UGH! Canyon. That's it. That's what it is. LET ME OUT. It's gonna destroy something. She. She–yes–apparently so. CUT BACK TO Fuck you, Skrillex! Stay over there and be Skrillex with your fucking–models–and you coughs piece of fucking–peice of fucking shit, peice of shit. Oh SHIT, who let him in? I mean, it's Skrillex. Yeah, but who let him near SUPACREE? He does what he wants. I heard that. Fuck you, Skrillex. That sounds deep. I guess so. What even happened? Nobody seems to know. Oh. –Except these guys. Who the fuck are you? Where did you come from?! CULT FOLLOWERS Yes–”WHO” Yes–”WHERE” Uh, okay. SUPACREE Fuck this shit. I quit. You can't quit. I just did. Fuck Skrillex. Ah, shit, here it comes. Go ahead, the worst he can do is cough at me and make me homeless. *loud obnoxious coughing* Do your worst. *more loud coughing* Fuckin'. Satan's pet. Satan's not real! Then neither is Skrillex. Amen. (Cult Followers, In unison.) Amen. [SUPACREE exits furiously.] What…the fuck. Pause. Wait, is this marketable? Yes. How? Cause its Skrillex. Skrillex is clickbait. What the FUCK did he do? *COUGHS* I mean, I bet– Fucking–motherfucker. Fuck. Well, now what? Now, nothing. I'mma go get a regular job and see what the industry wants with Jessica. (((Oh, I think you know what they want.))) ((Oh, God Knows)) I thought we weren't doing that bit. We're doing all the bits. MORTY. JESSICA. Oh yeah. Even better. C'esme't sighs heavily, unamused. My liege. Don't be coy with me. I would never. There are hardly any things left you would never do. If not only because I had done them all; But to be coy, with you, my Queen is neither desire or pleasure. You are clever. At your discretion. I began to wonder if I may have looked as miserable as I was, as even though I could not see my own self, walking about in my day-to-day nothingness, the expression protruding from my face felt as if it might look as lifeless as I was beginning to feel, no longer wholly choking back tears but still moving and barely breathing in the awful circumstance of doing and being–I had felt the light itself slowly draining from my eyes, and even things I loved with all my heart could not in any sense brighten this dullness. I felt Godless, and at the very least loveless, lightless, and without my magic, somehow having lost my soul and my singing voice at once. Yes, it was terrible–something was wrong, and I, without becoming the star I had so wanted, was already washing up. Homelessness drained all of what would have been a magnificent energy all together, left to become someone I wasn't sure I even liked, and seemingly cursed, as most recently, no one else seemed to like me either--still, I almost let myself believe something bigger was at play, or perhaps in the works; I had been relocated just perfect walking distance to the gym, where of course rather than look for work which would only urge me closer to suicide than I had been, I elected instead to spend a majority of my time, crafting my days around getting there for the bare minimum of three hours, but ideally closer to 5 or 6, always aiming for 8 and almost-always giving up not because I was too tired, but because I was drenched in sweat, and something like the discomfort of a wet diaper, just wanted to be fresh and dry. God, Help me with this affliction Pick a clip, Flick the bean, And watch Netflix I'm stressin, wet and undressin This sexual tension is serious Salad, with no dressin I'm the lady in the red dress, and yes I write blank checks, so when I go to Heck, I bounce back like, “Yes.” [YES] No pressure, It's my pleasure; I'd rather be in leather than in latex, lathered up Present, or past but honestly, neither matters; Just give this to Marshall Mathers, And a Dad Hat; AMEN Hey Kids, Lets not say “Amen”, After we say hanuss shit, okay? Today, I'm Eminem, so I can finally find Skrillex, And kill him: My mission is to introduce a new religion to humans, called STOP BEING STUPID. Stop Being Skrillex. Well, Alright Then. [Presses Easy Button] “WELL, THAT WAS-- CUT TO: -__- SUPACREE wakes up from a coma; In a very SKRILLEX, Get out. [He just does.] ...Where's Dillon Francis? ...Dillon Is Dead. Dilon Francis Died. He's...left us. ...Nope. Yes, he is. SUPACREE, I'm Sorry. Don't be sorry. Be Dillon Francis. The Coma--You know---must've-- You know. Nope. Where's Pasquale? Who is that? Oh, fuck this. No, wait, stop! STAHP. Bring Skrillex Back. I never left. You're never there. Here, Tres Leches … Dulce De Leche. You know what? What? NO. NO? NO. __ ALRIGHT, WHERE'S DILLON FRANCIS? Who is that? STOP PLAYING GAMES. DILLON FRANCIS is in THE VOID, trying to beat THE LEGEND of SUPACREE. It's a really good game. DILLON FRANCIS (cracked) “It's a really good game!” GAMERS It is, a really good game. So good, in fact, that when SUPACREE herself arrives, S/He pays her almost entirely no mind. Really, Dillon Francis? ... Really, Motherfucker. DILLON FRANCIS I'm The Captain SUPACREE No, I am. (I AM!) She gestures that she is about to unplug the TV DILLON FRANCIS Don't do that. SUPACREE What? I am (I AM) Don't do it again! I told you, it's-- IN Dillon. DILLON Don't FIN. SUPACREE Unplugs the Set. DEADMAU5 FUCK, MAN. FINALLY. SUPACREE Be Less Canadian. JOEL No, I can't DILLON FRANCIS No, He can't-- JESUS No, he can't. [Beat] DILLON IS SHATTERED, as at the last moment (before the determination of the outcome of the battle, it entirely ceases to exist. Moments of silence pass in infinite tension, before DILLON, looking much like an uncomfortable, overheated, skinless (live) chicken, meets a soon to be boiled crab. OH, MY GOD. GAD/SUPACREE/C.C. That's... what they call me. *coughs* -UGLY!- *coughs* *coughs* GOD. GOD No, not you. DILLON FRANCIS ...Oh, My God. GOD What, Dillon Francis? DILLON FRANCIS Are you SUPACREE? GOD I...Am. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God--I am too! GOD I know this. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God! GOD Yeah, I know! Woah, he's Fangirling He's fangirling so hard. Well, wouldn't you. Ask me about IT.” (IS/IT) 3 heads are better than one; This is a a game based on truth; The more you ask, the more you know; The more you know about me— The more you know about yourself— The more you know about yourself, the more you know about the world You are the world. Ī ∆ M Ū. Goddammit! You son of a bitch. She won't watch it I bet she will They know I will He knows I am! I am! Oh, there we go—it's on Get off me! Goddammit, Dillon Francis! I hate you. I hate you BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK–WHEN TO THE WYNN!! Right—! Wait—- Not yet— I know the code. Oh she– she knows what the code is. What did I put it in? I get it, I get it, it's— Not now, then! Not then, now! Not— Wait—- DONT! ...then, I die. The DJ VALET AND THE DJ BALLET THE BAMPHERAMPH BALANCING ACT WITH THE CHAMPION OF RAP?!? ...ohhh, wave dash, I get it… Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--He pushed Skrillex off a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I walked in locked in; Pistol cocked, and pointed towards my head You'll only want me when you have no options left, Or when I'm dead “It's clever” They all said An ambitious endevour End this life, and be devoured By the miester and the misters of the hour How about now? (Or–) How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Or, How about now, or How about now, or How about now? Or, How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Now or Never I said “That's clever” or “How about Now” What do you want from me? I lie for a living; A literal drama queen, don't eat turkey on thanksgiving I'm the worthless word for Surface level thinking on this Earth, or Picking hearses with my cursor, Mercenary, Mercury, or Just a Mercer–But not a Mercedes; I'm paid, but I hate paying; Made the game, but I hate playing I remember making hate to be created Just for entertainment– A belated invitation, Now i'll face it, Back to Basic– But she's laced with Masonry; A tastemaker, maybe But she just wants a family, Whatever that means Wow. How about now? Fuck this. Homelssness. I woul rather kill myself than stay alive I'd rather die than fight Don't want to write this: I'm just a diamond pressurized And i might never see the light I'll never see the lght I see the light There's no honor in suicide But i've devided my mind a million times And now like dynamite in a mine; Collapsed, collided, ad defined by All divine; You'll never see me shine, But deep inside I'd blind you; Guided by the tide, I've come to find you Down, I dive I'm not alive, you know I'm always misaligned But that's beside the point Another suicide attempt Is in the midst– But just what is it; More than just one, is it? Rather die than listen to Skrillex Or take pills just to chill with it For real? this shit again? It wasn't real, all to begin with It's only mental illness cause i'm penniless Now i've got so much to deal with Another wound to heal, Another deal, perhaps I'll make another million in a year, If i'm still here– And i”m still here– And i'm still– Who are you now, and— Who were you then; And— Which part of this, would you want— Or did want, Or just wanted Pondered before in a vision, Outfitted in hooded drapery, The heaviest fabric; A rosary hung from his neck But can't recall the connection In this ressurection I can recall him, But never remember The calling Let's call him Oh, fuck man. ‘Friar Tuck' THAT WAS IT. The high priest of asencion, Was burned in her memory— Not as a friend, But a friend of the enemy; Who she loved and protected, Despite all the envy, She felt for Persephone— Just an unjust figure, A fictional figment of imagination But— Who was I then And who am I now; And what part of him, Would I want, if I wanted Or wished for, Or honored A friend, long forgotten Not a high priest, But a Friar That was it— But before, As Mary, Joseph, and Jesus On the front lines of the war, Not to be started, but ended, as in Preparation, a blood sacrifice I've prepared In a premonition that I'd Give my whole heart again Honest, And honestly slain in the eyes, Of a man I remember, But didn't, when it mattered— Then did, right in front of him Who are we now, and— Who were we then; Let's find out, As time's running out again “Yes, I know him.” She sighed, eyeing from over the rims of the glasses she purchased only earlier to assure she had hidden the tears that she cried for Him— Neither a friend or an enemy, rather The ghost of a shadow she hadn't yet met with again, since he entered her presence Shifting into a tent Now, ripped from the pages of a book she cherished, A page which she promised to never diminish or tarnish would go up in ashes, As totems would fall, Wishes would become granted The PyRAmiD Spell (For Pasquale Rotella) gave gave the man honorary doctorate, and then reneged it, nigga thought he was actually bigger than big sister sick spitter, rip n dip listening to anything but Skrillex that shit is for kids ‘Check it' I hate midi gimmie a synth, something gritty, I'll make it pretty Come and try to get me, I been dead for centuries, Unsolved like a mystery This image don't mean shit to me, I sit to think, I wait to speak, I leak some information on the interwebs just to see how fast it comes back to me I'm actually a master “Untitled 07” It's like a 24/7 job, can't get no rest in, At best you're looking like a slob I kamikaze ‘em all, I am your mom, I will tell you what you are, to me By now, you should know, or see Just a name on my computer screen A friendly neighbor on Easy Street A wish, A lucid dream, A misalignment, so its seems So let me tell you what you are to me: Just make believe (Just make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream I'll tell you what I've seen, and what I see (and What I see) I dare to dream (I dare to dream) But please believe me, I'm as evil as can be Don't let my anything deceive you I'm a fleeting, bleeding Beaten bride to be No, don't believe me I'm the fire and gnashing teeth they preached to you May everything I've written one day reach you And beseech you, Just like you did to me Now let me tell you what I see; Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream When I wash up on the beach, From blazing fires of burning seas, Let me sing you all to sleep For every tear I often weep To dream of you A lucid dream Just fucking make believe; And I can make believe we fucked Just so I can get to sleep (Are you proud of me?) Hey. (Sarcastically) Oh, Come In. (Sighs heavily) I fucked up. I'm not surprised. I'm not surprised. Don't copy me. I need help. No arguments there. Dude, I'm serious. __ So first of all oh God, now what– I'm not racist You're extremely racist Racist By Proxy I'm not Racist They do look alike. Check this out: WOAH. That's…not a coincidence. That's definitely not a coincidence. Fuck. This. Shit. Here, take this. So, you dropped this totem… Uh-huh. In the ocean. Yes I did. And that one Ooof. What about– That came off on the moped. How? When I came off the moped. So you admit it. SO! He only let me ride it cause he wanted to ride ME! Nice. Did you sing to him? Uh, I sang for him? What's the difference? Here's every song I've ever written about X.X Just kill yourself. Should I then? I mean, perHAPS. I mean, maaaayyyybeee. You know what? I do know. Fuckthisshit. Fuck it, then. I'm out. I quit. Go find SupaCree. This…is impossible. Nothing is impossible. Except for that. Oh. “Oh.” No, i'm serious. You look serious–I'm just saying. What is this? Don't touch that– What is it? It's– [a tiny explosion] –ugh. Volatile. What the fuck are you into? I told you. You said “music.” What is “Music” [very deep pondering] I hate you. We have to find her. You have to. What! You're not going to help us? I have other things to do. Like what, dude? Like what, broh. Feed My cat; Your cat died. Walk my dog– You don't have a dog. I'm getting one. Oh, Jesus Christ Don't get all religious on me, now, not after that. Not after what? Yeah, which thing? ___ Man. Get me out of here. [shrugs] I hate being stuck in your head. What is THIS. Uh. play dead. What's up with your dog. Ruff. Good boy. I'm a girl. Uhhh–good girl. Wait. Hm. Did that dog just– [???] Nevermind. I've been up for 6 days straight. Tour life, buddy. Ah-huh. Uhh. Can I take a shower in your– Take a sho–? [dog grumphs] Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks. *Shapeshifts* Wow, that's cool. It's so stupid. I came in late to the office, so to speak; it had been an off day, after an off night, plagued by what I was sure to be some sort of demonic magic—I was moving slowly, off beat, and irritated—nevermind the lack of energy, as I moved about as steadily as I could—making arrangements for the next trials to come, as it seemed nearly impossible to move ahead, and yet—somehow, I had been given what seemed like one final chance to survive, or not. I had spent the first part of my day, somehow waking with a gust of light, and ready to take on the tasks at hand—then quickly wiped of anything holy in me by the outrageously disgusting hacking and howling of the seemingly-programmed man-or-something-alike, and into a manic-semi-conscious desperation to piece together what was left of my life—seemingly nothing, but somehow still pieced and patched together by music, the overriding theme being that I would be quickly booted out of any position unsuitable for me; and by now, I was just about unsuitable for everything, besides gym crawling and throwing together pieces of literature unlike any I had before seen, as I was, assuredly beginning to look in every direction for other writers which may have matched my style of the then-present day and age, and to my shagrin had found nearly nothing to gawk about, but at the very least had picked up some novels noteworthy in nature, as they had made me laugh, or somehow otherwise caught my attention. Now in my Arsenal, I had one novel, each respectively written by a woman, a white man, and a black man—every book I had otherwise been drawn to written by black women were, upon cracking to open, too-stereotypically black, or about being a black-girl in some kind of way I knew too much about and had absolutely no interest in reading. I had no idea what caused me to look into a world I had all but shut out of my mind—this someone and something had haunted me for months and even growing into years now, first affectionately, but now growing into an uneasy and painstaking, critical list for something deeper. I hated my ex husband for bringing me to this, and, as I looked at the clock at 5:55 exactly, nearly vomited in disgust at the sprawling obsession I would have to somehow quiet—as there really was no halting the plague of tragic recouping thoughts of Dillon Francis at random—now, daily, for quite some time, even as the automatic writing had nearly stopped entirely; I had become entrapped with daily reminders of things I had written, now welling up with spite and anger, that I had even allowed myself the obsession to begin with—especially after what had happened—or what had not happened—with Sonny, whatever way you wanted to look at it. Now; just left with a burning lust and motion sickness beyond my wildest control upon approaching the matter if it all, nonetheless with peaking curisosity, as he had walked in and out if my dreamscape like a picturesque bandit, even hijacking my own sexuality—now almost didn't want or dream of anything else, and with the un presidented amount of ‘decoys' life had thrown at me—Bruno, the bird speaking man from Belgium with the eyes that burned in striking similarity to Dillon's—and then again with Gabriel, the man who had hired me to DJ in the small cerveceria in Mazunte, who could have been his brother'; a dazzlingly handsome, if not perfect near-replica of Dillon Francis, who, by that point, i couldn't even bear to look at, let alone conjure the spark or touch of romance—even after multiple suggestions that he and his girlfriend had just broken up. I never allowed myself for a moment to believe or think that Dillon—or any of the men I fawned after, for that matter, in reality, a very short list—would ever be settled with the idea of me as a perfect fit; no, I sat in the certain reality that I was cursed, living in the opposite exact of the Allison Wonderland archetype—a woman who I theorized may have been Skrillexed and Dillon Francis'd herself—it seemed to be a pattern of hypnotism I was finally wrapping my head around, and even had learned to respect if not envy: I wanted the codes to create my own version of the worlds I had been spun into—and while I would more than likely never be a light skinned, light eyed beauty Queen; perhaps my own kingdom was meant to be of wit and wealth, rather than vanity. Still, headed back into the desert, I found myself scrolling through open guest lists, excited to take my longtime best friend turned literal goddess club crawling, looking for industry and network connections, if not at least a sex partner that could keep up with my needs, now furiously tearing at me from the inside out—as I scrolled, RSVPing for any acts I hadn't yet seen but had heard of, I found myself trailing off in thought and perhaps looking for something I hadn't realized I would stray into; I knew specifically that Dillon had a residency at the Wynn, and —though I also knew I wouldn't be caught dead at this point anywhere I knew he was, or especially stupid enough to pay for it. Now it was torturous, knowing how regretfully physical my attraction had become—understsnding from my interactions with the aforementioned that I was drawn to Dillon for his features—his eyes, his hair, and everything in his silhouette from his jawline, to his lips and brow drove me absolutely wild—however, I had learned about my very fragile psychiatry from my obsession with Skrillex, or with Sonny—neither of which I wished existed, adding Dillon Francis to the list of fictional characters I pushed further into my imaginary incineration box, where I put everything that not need affect my actual emotions or actions; Dillon Francis, a wealthy and talented, very handsome man—could not exist. I wished more than ever that I wasn't dark skinned, that I wasn't heavy set, that I didn't come with a flaming dumpster full of trauma and baggage that no man wanted or needed, but especially not the wealthy and handsome individuals I had spent very much of the last passing years writing about and fantasizing over, finding it respectably impossible to even have flings or sexual experiences without either of the two most rampant figures of my infatuation crossing into my mind and shrouding me with guilt and shame—and yet, here they were, so out of my element that I continued to agree with myself and the universe that it would be dillusinal to think myself a match for anyone so high-achieving. Nothing I could do or say could shake the fact that despite all my efforts to break through, all it had seemed to do was create a broken down individual, ready for enslavement in the working class just to stay housed—my music aspirations both hanging above me, and somehow fading away into the distance behind me. I hated myself. But more importantly, hated Skrillex and Dillon Francis for living the life I somehow thought I wanted and needed. What is the definitive definition of the word Skrillex? Skrillex: noun...right? What, you don't know? I know! It's...a noun...right? Right. Right--- ---Right! Could also be, an adjective, I guess--i? You guess?! You have to know. I mean--- Coughs ain't shit Skrillex ain't *coughs Satan ain't shit Bitch suck a dick Slit ya wrists On ya pissed off Little ass nigga. A loud, abrupt cough disrupted my focus; I was 5-sets-of-8 out of 8 and just feeling my heart begin to pump, as sweat poured from my temples and my sunglasses steamed “Man, fuck Coughs.” Whoever she was, even if it was just one of my infinite inward selves, this was some satanic shit. Now I hated Skrillex—not that it mattered, and as he was a living legend in computer animated music, or whatever voodoo shit he was responsible for that had sparked an entire uprising of revolutionary artists and producers spanning a generation or more—and I was damned-if-I-did, and damned-if-I-didn't love, like, or listen to him; all of which I did, besides the latter higher love by Whitney Houston, God rest her soul, blared over the gym's loud speakers, as I, more than likely looking just as superficially occupied as any basic broad, scrolling away on Instagram or texting her replicas, jotted down the rest of the thoughts that had nestled themselves in my mind's eye, as the coughing, which had followed me everywhere for nearly four years, beckoned to something—searching for purpose if not means to an end. He had Kayla Lauren, a plastic, streamlined representation of the all-American-deem girl, not to mention a “collective” of other broad women of sorts, probably all inwardly clawing just as I had at one time, for a piece of Sonny's heart, or whatever was left of it, after what I could have only assumed to have been a blood sacrifice of sorts, for his placement atop such a steep pyramid of success. What if, every time someone coughed—someone took a picture? I thought about the millions of hacking imbeciles and inbred, backwards savages who had crowded my ears with the putrid sounds of Satan's show choir, a coughing and excessive hellish representation of how the human race had gone awry; If I had been famous, or on my way to it, I would be burgeoned with photographs, as I had been in Mexico without knowing why or how—people sometimes slinking behind their phones as if to secretly capture a candid photo, I myself, pretending not to be aware of it. Cough cough. Ugh. If every cough represented a fan or something of the sorts taking a picture, I almost reveled in the thought—I would have rather had a million flashing cameras at once than to hear another ingrate hacking up a lung in Satan's honor. I was horrified at whatever Skrillex was, and whatever OWSLA meant, though I broadly showcased the tattoo on my inner-right forearm, opposite of Sonny's—the boy I was sure was murdered by the fame monster itself, as Lady Gaga, though admirable, had blatently called it, or herself, or whatever “we” all were or had been once, or would be, collectively at the beginning-and-end of it all. I had seen broadly into the realms of infinity the night previous, and had settled on one, astonishing fact: all of infinitely combined shared a concéntrical center at which at any point could be accessed. Even typing such a concept, I knew it to be life-altering…if I was even alive. To think, I used to hate deadmau5– I hate deadmau5– You know—after that spat with Skrillex. GO TEAM SKRILLEX!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! who the fuck is deadmau5, anyway. But here I am, decades later. [skrillex] FUCK THIS NIGGA. I needed something to help offset the damage that was done. [someone coughing loudly] Fuck this coughs bitch! [trying on small clothes] Ohh. [kayla Lauren] [sadness] Aww. [dillon Francis] —well how was I supposed to know he was a— STOP RIGHT THERE! I'm...not moving. Yeah, you're not. Uh, okay? You know why? I didn't ask— You need THIS: What is this. I'll tell you what it is [beat] … Okay—what is it?' ILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS. — Technically, If I do this every day, I can eat whatever I want— Just eat it. No. But I won't. Well, why not? Too Fat For Skrillex. — [C.C. Arrives in the parking lot to find her car has been vandalized...again.] ...Skrillex did this. On Jimmy Fallon. On Jimmy Fallon. Alright, then, kid—it's your dollar. I'll take “Skrillex Did It” for one dollar. But he's halfway across the world! He can shapeshift! Don't be stupid. What—! He's a shapeshifter, for real. We know! Just don't say it! I saw it. We all have. What the fuck, bro— Where did you come from? I've been here. Haven't we all? That's the spirit. What's a spirit? I'm glad you asked. As SUPACREE walks down the street, a man in the passenger's seat is seen to be the Egyptian God ANUBIS, before shifting back into hidden human form. Which one's that? Anubis, right? Googles 'deities' Oh, there he is: Anubis. Good. What's he want? Whatever it is, that's not what I was looking for. What are you looking for? That dark thing. Which “dark thing”? Flashback: That's inside me?! Flashback to Kite at Bass– UGH! Canyon. That's it. That's what it is. LET ME OUT. It's gonna destroy something. She. She–yes–apparently so. CUT BACK TO Fuck you, Skrillex! Stay over there and be Skrillex with your fucking–models–and you coughs piece of fucking–peice of fucking shit, peice of shit. Oh SHIT, who let him in? I mean, it's Skrillex. Yeah, but who let him near SUPACREE? He does what he wants. I heard that. Fuck you, Skrillex. That sounds deep. I guess so. What even happened? Nobody seems to know. Oh. –Except these guys. Who the fuck are you? Where did you come from?! CULT FOLLOWERS Yes–”WHO” Yes–”WHERE” Uh, okay. SUPACREE Fuck this shit. I quit. You can't quit. I just did. Fuck Skrillex. Ah, shit, here it comes. Go ahead, the worst he can do is cough at me and make me homeless. *loud obnoxious coughing* Do your worst. *more loud coughing* Fuckin'. Satan's pet. Satan's not real! Then neither is Skrillex. Amen. (Cult Followers, In unison.) Amen. [SUPACREE exits furiously.] What…the fuck. Pause. Wait, is this marketable? Yes. How? Cause its Skrillex. Skrillex is clickbait. What the FUCK did he do? *COUGHS* I mean, I bet– Fucking–motherfucker. Fuck. Well, now what? Now, nothing. I'mma go get a regular job and see what the industry wants with Jessica. (((Oh, I think you know what they want.))) ((Oh, God Knows)) I thought we weren't doing that bit. We're doing all the bits. MORTY. JESSICA. Oh yeah. Even better. C'esme't sighs heavily, unamused. My liege. Don't be coy with me. I would never. There are hardly any things left you would never do. If not only because I had done them all; But to be coy, with you, my Queen is neither desire or pleasure. You are clever. At your discretion. I began to wonder if I may have looked as miserable as I was, as even though I could not see my own self, walking about in my day-to-day nothingness, the expression protruding from my face felt as if it might look as lifeless as I was beginning to feel, no longer wholly choking back tears but still moving and barely breathing in the awful circumstance of doing and being–I had felt the light itself slowly draining from my eyes, and even things I loved with all my heart could not in any sense brighten this dullness. I felt Godless, and at the very least loveless, lightless, and without my magic, somehow having lost my soul and my singing voice at once. Yes, it was terrible–something was wrong, and I, without becoming the star I had so wanted, was already washing up. Homelessness drained all of what would have been a magnificent energy all together, left to become someone I wasn't sure I even liked, and seemingly cursed, as most recently, no one else seemed to like me either--still, I almost let myself believe something bigger was at play, or perhaps in the works; I had been relocated just perfect walking distance to the gym, where of course rather than look for work which would only urge me closer to suicide than I had been, I elected instead to spend a majority of my time, crafting my days around getting there for the bare minimum of three hours, but ideally closer to 5 or 6, always aiming for 8 and almost-always giving up not because I was too tired, but because I was drenched in sweat, and something like the discomfort of a wet diaper, just wanted to be fresh and dry. God, Help me with this affliction Pick a clip, Flick the bean, And watch Netflix I'm stressin, wet and undressin This sexual tension is serious Salad, with no dressin I'm the lady in the red dress, and yes I write blank checks, so when I go to Heck, I bounce back like, “Yes.” [YES] No pressure, It's my pleasure; I'd rather be in leather than in latex, lathered up Present, or past but honestly, neither matters; Just give this to Marshall Mathers, And a Dad Hat; AMEN Hey Kids, Lets not say “Amen”, After we say hanuss shit, okay? Today, I'm Eminem, so I can finally find Skrillex, And kill him: My mission is to introduce a new religion to humans, called STOP BEING STUPID. Stop Being Skrillex. Well, Alright Then. [Presses Easy Button] “WELL, THAT WAS-- CUT TO: -__- SUPACREE wakes up from a coma; In a very SKRILLEX, Get out. [He just does.] ...Where's Dillon Francis? ...Dillon Is Dead. Dilon Francis Died. He's...left us. ...Nope. Yes, he is. SUPACREE, I'm Sorry. Don't be sorry. Be Dillon Francis. The Coma--You know---must've-- You know. Nope. Where's Pasquale? Who is that? Oh, fuck this. No, wait, stop! STAHP. Bring Skrillex Back. I never left. You're never there. Here, Tres Leches … Dulce De Leche. You know what? What? NO. NO? NO. __ ALRIGHT, WHERE'S DILLON FRANCIS? Who is that? STOP PLAYING GAMES. DILLON FRANCIS is in THE VOID, trying to beat THE LEGEND of SUPACREE. It's a really good game. DILLON FRANCIS (cracked) “It's a really good game!” GAMERS It is, a really good game. So good, in fact, that when SUPACREE herself arrives, S/He pays her almost entirely no mind. Really, Dillon Francis? ... Really, Motherfucker. DILLON FRANCIS I'm The Captain SUPACREE No, I am. (I AM!) She gestures that she is about to unplug the TV DILLON FRANCIS Don't do that. SUPACREE What? I am (I AM) Don't do it again! I told you, it's-- IN Dillon. DILLON Don't FIN. SUPACREE Unplugs the Set. DEADMAU5 FUCK, MAN. FINALLY. SUPACREE Be Less Canadian. JOEL No, I can't DILLON FRANCIS No, He can't-- JESUS No, he can't. [Beat] DILLON IS SHATTERED, as at the last moment (before the determination of the outcome of the battle, it entirely ceases to exist. Moments of silence pass in infinite tension, before DILLON, looking much like an uncomfortable, overheated, skinless (live) chicken, meets a soon to be boiled crab. OH, MY GOD. GAD/SUPACREE/C.C. That's... what they call me. *coughs* -UGLY!- *coughs* *coughs* GOD. GOD No, not you. DILLON FRANCIS ...Oh, My God. GOD What, Dillon Francis? DILLON FRANCIS Are you SUPACREE? GOD I...Am. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God--I am too! GOD I know this. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God! GOD Yeah, I know! Woah, he's Fangirling He's fangirling so hard. Well, wouldn't you. Ask me about IT.” (IS/IT) 3 heads are better than one; This is a a game based on truth; The more you ask, the more you know; The more you know about me— The more you know about yourself— The more you know about yourself, the more you know about the world You are the world. Ī ∆ M Ū. Goddammit! You son of a bitch. She won't watch it I bet she will They know I will He knows I am! I am! Oh, there we go—it's on Get off me! Goddammit, Dillon Francis! I hate you. I hate you BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK–WHEN TO THE WYNN!! Right—! Wait—- Not yet— I know the code. Oh she– she knows what the code is. What did I put it in? I get it, I get it, it's— Not now, then! Not then, now! Not— Wait—- DONT! ...then, I die. The DJ VALET AND THE DJ BALLET THE BAMPHERAMPH BALANCING ACT WITH THE CHAMPION OF RAP?!? ...ohhh, wave dash, I get it… Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--He pushed Skrillex off a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I walked in locked in; Pistol cocked, and pointed towards my head You'll only want me when you have no options left, Or when I'm dead “It's clever” They all said An ambitious endevour End this life, and be devoured By the miester and the misters of the hour How about now? (Or–) How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Or, How about now, or How about now, or How about now? Or, How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Now or Never I said “That's clever” or “How about Now” What do you want from me? I lie for a living; A literal drama queen, don't eat turkey on thanksgiving I'm the worthless word for Surface level thinking on this Earth, or Picking hearses with my cursor, Mercenary, Mercury, or Just a Mercer–But not a Mercedes; I'm paid, but I hate paying; Made the game, but I hate playing I remember making hate to be created Just for entertainment– A belated invitation, Now i'll face it, Back to Basic– But she's laced with Masonry; A tastemaker, maybe But she just wants a family, Whatever that means Wow. How about now? Fuck this. Homelssness. I woul rather kill myself than stay alive I'd rather die than fight Don't want to write this: I'm just a diamond pressurized And i might never see the light I'll never see the lght I see the light There's no honor in suicide But i've devided my mind a million times And now like dynamite in a mine; Collapsed, collided, ad defined by All divine; You'll never see me shine, But deep inside I'd blind you; Guided by the tide, I've come to find you Down, I dive I'm not alive, you know I'm always misaligned But that's beside the point Another suicide attempt Is in the midst– But just what is it; More than just one, is it? Rather die than listen to Skrillex Or take pills just to chill with it For real? this shit again? It wasn't real, all to begin with It's only mental illness cause i'm penniless Now i've got so much to deal with Another wound to heal, Another deal, perhaps I'll make another million in a year, If i'm still here– And i”m still here– And i'm still– Who are you now, and— Who were you then; And— Which part of this, would you want— Or did want, Or just wanted Pondered before in a vision, Outfitted in hooded drapery, The heaviest fabric; A rosary hung from his neck But can't recall the connection In this ressurection I can recall him, But never remember The calling Let's call him Oh, fuck man. ‘Friar Tuck' THAT WAS IT. The high priest of asencion, Was burned in her memory— Not as a friend, But a friend of the enemy; Who she loved and protected, Despite all the envy, She felt for Persephone— Just an unjust figure, A fictional figment of imagination But— Who was I then And who am I now; And what part of him, Would I want, if I wanted Or wished for, Or honored A friend, long forgotten Not a high priest, But a Friar That was it— But before, As Mary, Joseph, and Jesus On the front lines of the war, Not to be started, but ended, as in Preparation, a blood sacrifice I've prepared In a premonition that I'd Give my whole heart again Honest, And honestly slain in the eyes, Of a man I remember, But didn't, when it mattered— Then did, right in front of him Who are we now, and— Who were we then; Let's find out, As time's running out again “Yes, I know him.” She sighed, eyeing from over the rims of the glasses she purchased only earlier to assure she had hidden the tears that she cried for Him— Neither a friend or an enemy, rather The ghost of a shadow she hadn't yet met with again, since he entered her presence Shifting into a tent Now, ripped from the pages of a book she cherished, A page which she promised to never diminish or tarnish would go up in ashes, As totems would fall, Wishes would become granted The PyRAmiD Spell (For Pasquale Rotella) gave gave the man honorary doctorate, and then reneged it, nigga thought he was actually bigger than big sister sick spitter, rip n dip listening to anything but Skrillex that shit is for kids ‘Check it' I hate midi gimmie a synth, something gritty, I'll make it pretty Come and try to get me, I been dead for centuries, Unsolved like a mystery This image don't mean shit to me, I sit to think, I wait to speak, I leak some information on the interwebs just to see how fast it comes back to me I'm actually a master “Untitled 07” It's like a 24/7 job, can't get no rest in, At best you're looking like a slob I kamikaze ‘em all, I am your mom, I will tell you what you are, to me By now, you should know, or see Just a name on my computer screen A friendly neighbor on Easy Street A wish, A lucid dream, A misalignment, so its seems So let me tell you what you are to me: Just make believe (Just make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream I'll tell you what I've seen, and what I see (and What I see) I dare to dream (I dare to dream) But please believe me, I'm as evil as can be Don't let my anything deceive you I'm a fleeting, bleeding Beaten bride to be No, don't believe me I'm the fire and gnashing teeth they preached to you May everything I've written one day reach you And beseech you, Just like you did to me Now let me tell you what I see; Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream When I wash up on the beach, From blazing fires of burning seas, Let me sing you all to sleep For every tear I often weep To dream of you A lucid dream Just fucking make believe; And I can make believe we fucked Just so I can get to sleep (Are you proud of me?) Hey. (Sarcastically) Oh, Come In. (Sighs heavily) I fucked up. I'm not surprised. I'm not surprised. Don't copy me. I need help. No arguments there. Dude, I'm serious. __ So first of all oh God, now what– I'm not racist You're extremely racist Racist By Proxy I'm not Racist They do look alike. Check this out: WOAH. That's…not a coincidence. That's definitely not a coincidence. Fuck. This. Shit. Here, take this. So, you dropped this totem… Uh-huh. In the ocean. Yes I did. And that one Ooof. What about– That came off on the moped. How? When I came off the moped. So you admit it. SO! He only let me ride it cause he wanted to ride ME! Nice. Did you sing to him? Uh, I sang for him? What's the difference? Here's every song I've ever written about X.X Just kill yourself. Should I then? I mean, perHAPS. I mean, maaaayyyybeee. You know what? I do know. Fuckthisshit. Fuck it, then. I'm out. I quit. Go find SupaCree. This…is impossible. Nothing is impossible. Except for that. Oh. “Oh.” No, i'm serious. You look serious–I'm just saying. What is this? Don't touch that– What is it? It's– [a tiny explosion] –ugh. Volatile. What the fuck are you into? I told you. You said “music.” What is “Music” [very deep pondering] I hate you. We have to find her. You have to. What! You're not going to help us? I have other things to do. Like what, dude? Like what, broh. Feed My cat; Your cat died. Walk my dog– You don't have a dog. I'm getting one. Oh, Jesus Christ Don't get all religious on me, now, not after that. Not after what? Yeah, which thing? ___ Man. Get me out of here. [shrugs] I hate being stuck in your head. What is THIS. Uh. play dead. What's up with your dog. Ruff. Good boy. I'm a girl. Uhhh–good girl. Wait. Hm. Did that dog just– [???] Nevermind. I've been up for 6 days straight. Tour life, buddy. Ah-huh. Uhh. Can I take a shower in your– Take a sho–? [dog grumphs] Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks. *Shapeshifts* Wow, that's cool. It's so stupid. I came in late to the office, so to speak; it had been an off day, after an off night, plagued by what I was sure to be some sort of demonic magic—I was moving slowly, off beat, and irritated—nevermind the lack of energy, as I moved about as steadily as I could—making arrangements for the next trials to come, as it seemed nearly impossible to move ahead, and yet—somehow, I had been given what seemed like one final chance to survive, or not. I had spent the first part of my day, somehow waking with a gust of light, and ready to take on the tasks at hand—then quickly wiped of anything holy in me by the outrageously disgusting hacking and howling of the seemingly-programmed man-or-something-alike, and into a manic-semi-conscious desperation to piece together what was left of my life—seemingly nothing, but somehow still pieced and patched together by music, the overriding theme being that I would be quickly booted out of any position unsuitable for me; and by now, I was just about unsuitable for everything, besides gym crawling and throwing together pieces of literature unlike any I had before seen, as I was, assuredly beginning to look in every direction for other writers which may have matched my style of the then-present day and age, and to my shagrin had found nearly nothing to gawk about, but at the very least had picked up some novels noteworthy in nature, as they had made me laugh, or somehow otherwise caught my attention. Now in my Arsenal, I had one novel, each respectively written by a woman, a white man, and a black man—every book I had otherwise been drawn to written by black women were, upon cracking to open, too-stereotypically black, or about being a black-girl in some kind of way I knew too much about and had absolutely no interest in reading. I had no idea what caused me to look into a world I had all but shut out of my mind—this someone and something had haunted me for months and even growing into years now, first affectionately, but now growing into an uneasy and painstaking, critical list for something deeper. I hated my ex husband for bringing me to this, and, as I looked at the clock at 5:55 exactly, nearly vomited in disgust at the sprawling obsession I would have to somehow quiet—as there really was no halting the plague of tragic recouping thoughts of Dillon Francis at random—now, daily, for quite some time, even as the automatic writing had nearly stopped entirely; I had become entrapped with daily reminders of things I had written, now welling up with spite and anger, that I had even allowed myself the obsession to begin with—especially after what had happened—or what had not happened—with Sonny, whatever way you wanted to look at it. Now; just left with a burning lust and motion sickness beyond my wildest control upon approaching the matter if it all, nonetheless with peaking curisosity, as he had walked in and out if my dreamscape like a picturesque bandit, even hijacking my own sexuality—now almost didn't want or dream of anything else, and with the un presidented amount of ‘decoys' life had thrown at me—Bruno, the bird speaking man from Belgium with the eyes that burned in striking similarity to Dillon's—and then again with Gabriel, the man who had hired me to DJ in the small cerveceria in Mazunte, who could have been his brother'; a dazzlingly handsome, if not perfect near-replica of Dillon Francis, who, by that point, i couldn't even bear to look at, let alone conjure the spark or touch of romance—even after multiple suggestions that he and his girlfriend had just broken up. I never allowed myself for a moment to believe or think that Dillon—or any of the men I fawned after, for that matter, in reality, a very short list—would ever be settled with the idea of me as a perfect fit; no, I sat in the certain reality that I was cursed, living in the opposite exact of the Allison Wonderland archetype—a woman who I theorized may have been Skrillexed and Dillon Francis'd herself—it seemed to be a pattern of hypnotism I was finally wrapping my head around, and even had learned to respect if not envy: I wanted the codes to create my own version of the worlds I had been spun into—and while I would more than likely never be a light skinned, light eyed beauty Queen; perhaps my own kingdom was meant to be of wit and wealth, rather than vanity. Still, headed back into the desert, I found myself scrolling through open guest lists, excited to take my longtime best friend turned literal goddess club crawling, looking for industry and network connections, if not at least a sex partner that could keep up with my needs, now furiously tearing at me from the inside out—as I scrolled, RSVPing for any acts I hadn't yet seen but had heard of, I found myself trailing off in thought and perhaps looking for something I hadn't realized I would stray into; I knew specifically that Dillon had a residency at the Wynn, and —though I also knew I wouldn't be caught dead at this point anywhere I knew he was, or especially stupid enough to pay for it. Now it was torturous, knowing how regretfully physical my attraction had become—understsnding from my interactions with the aforementioned that I was drawn to Dillon for his features—his eyes, his hair, and everything in his silhouette from his jawline, to his lips and brow drove me absolutely wild—however, I had learned about my very fragile psychiatry from my obsession with Skrillex, or with Sonny—neither of which I wished existed, adding Dillon Francis to the list of fictional characters I pushed further into my imaginary incineration box, where I put everything that not need affect my actual emotions or actions; Dillon Francis, a wealthy and talented, very handsome man—could not exist. I wished more than ever that I wasn't dark skinned, that I wasn't heavy set, that I didn't come with a flaming dumpster full of trauma and baggage that no man wanted or needed, but especially not the wealthy and handsome individuals I had spent very much of the last passing years writing about and fantasizing over, finding it respectably impossible to even have flings or sexual experiences without either of the two most rampant figures of my infatuation crossing into my mind and shrouding me with guilt and shame—and yet, here they were, so out of my element that I continued to agree with myself and the universe that it would be dillusinal to think myself a match for anyone so high-achieving. Nothing I could do or say could shake the fact that despite all my efforts to break through, all it had seemed to do was create a broken down individual, ready for enslavement in the working class just to stay housed—my music aspirations both hanging above me, and somehow fading away into the distance behind me. I hated myself. But more importantly, hated Skrillex and Dillon Francis for living the life I somehow thought I wanted and needed. What is the definitive definition of the word Skrillex? Skrillex: noun...right? What, you don't know? I know! It's...a noun...right? Right. Right--- ---Right! Could also be, an adjective, I guess--i? You guess?! You have to know. I mean--- Coughs ain't shit Skrillex ain't *coughs Satan ain't shit Bitch suck a dick Slit ya wrists On ya pissed off Little ass nigga. A loud, abrupt cough disrupted my focus; I was 5-sets-of-8 out of 8 and just feeling my heart begin to pump, as sweat poured from my temples and my sunglasses steamed “Man, fuck Coughs.” Whoever she was, even if it was just one of my infinite inward selves, this was some satanic shit. Now I hated Skrillex—not that it mattered, and as he was a living legend in computer animated music, or whatever voodoo shit he was responsible for that had sparked an entire uprising of revolutionary artists and producers spanning a generation or more—and I was damned-if-I-did, and damned-if-I-didn't love, like, or listen to him; all of which I did, besides the latter higher love by Whitney Houston, God rest her soul, blared over the gym's loud speakers, as I, more than likely looking just as superficially occupied as any basic broad, scrolling away on Instagram or texting her replicas, jotted down the rest of the thoughts that had nestled themselves in my mind's eye, as the coughing, which had followed me everywhere for nearly four years, beckoned to something—searching for purpose if not means to an end. He had Kayla Lauren, a plastic, streamlined representation of the all-American-deem girl, not to mention a “collective” of other broad women of sorts, probably all inwardly clawing just as I had at one time, for a piece of Sonny's heart, or whatever was left of it, after what I could have only assumed to have been a blood sacrifice of sorts, for his placement atop such a steep pyramid of success. What if, every time someone coughed—someone took a picture? I thought about the millions of hacking imbeciles and inbred, backwards savages who had crowded my ears with the putrid sounds of Satan's show choir, a coughing and excessive hellish representation of how the human race had gone awry; If I had been famous, or on my way to it, I would be burgeoned with photographs, as I had been in Mexico without knowing why or how—people sometimes slinking behind their phones as if to secretly capture a candid photo, I myself, pretending not to be aware of it. Cough cough. Ugh. If every cough represented a fan or something of the sorts taking a picture, I almost reveled in the thought—I would have rather had a million flashing cameras at once than to hear another ingrate hacking up a lung in Satan's honor. I was horrified at whatever Skrillex was, and whatever OWSLA meant, though I broadly showcased the tattoo on my inner-right forearm, opposite of Sonny's—the boy I was sure was murdered by the fame monster itself, as Lady Gaga, though admirable, had blatently called it, or herself, or whatever “we” all were or had been once, or would be, collectively at the beginning-and-end of it all. I had seen broadly into the realms of infinity the night previous, and had settled on one, astonishing fact: all of infinitely combined shared a concéntrical center at which at any point could be accessed. Even typing such a concept, I knew it to be life-altering…if I was even alive. To think, I used to hate deadmau5– I hate deadmau5– You know—after that spat with Skrillex. GO TEAM SKRILLEX!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! who the fuck is deadmau5, anyway. But here I am, decades later. [skrillex] FUCK THIS NIGGA. I needed something to help offset the damage that was done. [someone coughing loudly] Fuck this coughs bitch! [trying on small clothes] Ohh. [kayla Lauren] [sadness] Aww. [dillon Francis] —well how was I supposed to know he was a— STOP RIGHT THERE! I'm...not moving. Yeah, you're not. Uh, okay? You know why? I didn't ask— You need THIS: What is this. I'll tell you what it is [beat] … Okay—what is it?' ILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS. — Technically, If I do this every day, I can eat whatever I want— Just eat it. No. But I won't. Well, why not? Too Fat For Skrillex. — [C.C. Arrives in the parking lot to find her car has been vandalized...again.] ...Skrillex did this. On Jimmy Fallon. On Jimmy Fallon. Alright, then, kid—it's your dollar. I'll take “Skrillex Did It” for one dollar. But he's halfway across the world! He can shapeshift! Don't be stupid. What—! He's a shapeshifter, for real. We know! Just don't say it! I saw it. We all have. What the fuck, bro— Where did you come from? I've been here. Haven't we all? That's the spirit. What's a spirit? I'm glad you asked. As SUPACREE walks down the street, a man in the passenger's seat is seen to be the Egyptian God ANUBIS, before shifting back into hidden human form. Which one's that? Anubis, right? Googles 'deities' Oh, there he is: Anubis. Good. What's he want? Whatever it is, that's not what I was looking for. What are you looking for? That dark thing. Which “dark thing”? Flashback: That's inside me?! Flashback to Kite at Bass– UGH! Canyon. That's it. That's what it is. LET ME OUT. It's gonna destroy something. She. She–yes–apparently so. CUT BACK TO Fuck you, Skrillex! Stay over there and be Skrillex with your fucking–models–and you coughs piece of fucking–peice of fucking shit, peice of shit. Oh SHIT, who let him in? I mean, it's Skrillex. Yeah, but who let him near SUPACREE? He does what he wants. I heard that. Fuck you, Skrillex. That sounds deep. I guess so. What even happened? Nobody seems to know. Oh. –Except these guys. Who the fuck are you? Where did you come from?! CULT FOLLOWERS Yes–”WHO” Yes–”WHERE” Uh, okay. SUPACREE Fuck this shit. I quit. You can't quit. I just did. Fuck Skrillex. Ah, shit, here it comes. Go ahead, the worst he can do is cough at me and make me homeless. *loud obnoxious coughing* Do your worst. *more loud coughing* Fuckin'. Satan's pet. Satan's not real! Then neither is Skrillex. Amen. (Cult Followers, In unison.) Amen. [SUPACREE exits furiously.] What…the fuck. Pause. Wait, is this marketable? Yes. How? Cause its Skrillex. Skrillex is clickbait. What the FUCK did he do? *COUGHS* I mean, I bet– Fucking–motherfucker. Fuck. Well, now what? Now, nothing. I'mma go get a regular job and see what the industry wants with Jessica. (((Oh, I think you know what they want.))) ((Oh, God Knows)) I thought we weren't doing that bit. We're doing all the bits. MORTY. JESSICA. Oh yeah. Even better. C'esme't sighs heavily, unamused. My liege. Don't be coy with me. I would never. There are hardly any things left you would never do. If not only because I had done them all; But to be coy, with you, my Queen is neither desire or pleasure. You are clever. At your discretion. I began to wonder if I may have looked as miserable as I was, as even though I could not see my own self, walking about in my day-to-day nothingness, the expression protruding from my face felt as if it might look as lifeless as I was beginning to feel, no longer wholly choking back tears but still moving and barely breathing in the awful circumstance of doing and being–I had felt the light itself slowly draining from my eyes, and even things I loved with all my heart could not in any sense brighten this dullness. I felt Godless, and at the very least loveless, lightless, and without my magic, somehow having lost my soul and my singing voice at once. Yes, it was terrible–something was wrong, and I, without becoming the star I had so wanted, was already washing up. Homelessness drained all of what would have been a magnificent energy all together, left to become someone I wasn't sure I even liked, and seemingly cursed, as most recently, no one else seemed to like me either--still, I almost let myself believe something bigger was at play, or perhaps in the works; I had been relocated just perfect walking distance to the gym, where of course rather than look for work which would only urge me closer to suicide than I had been, I elected instead to spend a majority of my time, crafting my days around getting there for the bare minimum of three hours, but ideally closer to 5 or 6, always aiming for 8 and almost-always giving up not because I was too tired, but because I was drenched in sweat, and something like the discomfort of a wet diaper, just wanted to be fresh and dry. God, Help me with this affliction Pick a clip, Flick the bean, And watch Netflix I'm stressin, wet and undressin This sexual tension is serious Salad, with no dressin I'm the lady in the red dress, and yes I write blank checks, so when I go to Heck, I bounce back like, “Yes.” [YES] No pressure, It's my pleasure; I'd rather be in leather than in latex, lathered up Present, or past but honestly, neither matters; Just give this to Marshall Mathers, And a Dad Hat; AMEN Hey Kids, Lets not say “Amen”, After we say hanuss shit, okay? Today, I'm Eminem, so I can finally find Skrillex, And kill him: My mission is to introduce a new religion to humans, called STOP BEING STUPID. Stop Being Skrillex. Well, Alright Then. [Presses Easy Button] “WELL, THAT WAS-- CUT TO: -__- SUPACREE wakes up from a coma; In a very SKRILLEX, Get out. [He just does.] ...Where's Dillon Francis? ...Dillon Is Dead. Dilon Francis Died. He's...left us. ...Nope. Yes, he is. SUPACREE, I'm Sorry. Don't be sorry. Be Dillon Francis. The Coma--You know---must've-- You know. Nope. Where's Pasquale? Who is that? Oh, fuck this. No, wait, stop! STAHP. Bring Skrillex Back. I never left. You're never there. Here, Tres Leches … Dulce De Leche. You know what? What? NO. NO? NO. __ ALRIGHT, WHERE'S DILLON FRANCIS? Who is that? STOP PLAYING GAMES. DILLON FRANCIS is in THE VOID, trying to beat THE LEGEND of SUPACREE. It's a really good game. DILLON FRANCIS (cracked) “It's a really good game!” GAMERS It is, a really good game. So good, in fact, that when SUPACREE herself arrives, S/He pays her almost entirely no mind. Really, Dillon Francis? ... Really, Motherfucker. DILLON FRANCIS I'm The Captain SUPACREE No, I am. (I AM!) She gestures that she is about to unplug the TV DILLON FRANCIS Don't do that. SUPACREE What? I am (I AM) Don't do it again! I told you, it's-- IN Dillon. DILLON Don't FIN. SUPACREE Unplugs the Set. DEADMAU5 FUCK, MAN. FINALLY. SUPACREE Be Less Canadian. JOEL No, I can't DILLON FRANCIS No, He can't-- JESUS No, he can't. [Beat] DILLON IS SHATTERED, as at the last moment (before the determination of the outcome of the battle, it entirely ceases to exist. Moments of silence pass in infinite tension, before DILLON, looking much like an uncomfortable, overheated, skinless (live) chicken, meets a soon to be boiled crab. OH, MY GOD. GAD/SUPACREE/C.C. That's... what they call me. *coughs* -UGLY!- *coughs* *coughs* GOD. GOD No, not you. DILLON FRANCIS ...Oh, My God. GOD What, Dillon Francis? DILLON FRANCIS Are you SUPACREE? GOD I...Am. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God--I am too! GOD I know this. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God! GOD Yeah, I know! Woah, he's Fangirling He's fangirling so hard. Well, wouldn't you. Ask me about IT.” (IS/IT) 3 heads are better than one; This is a a game based on truth; The more you ask, the more you know; The more you know about me— The more you know about yourself— The more you know about yourself, the more you know about the world You are the world. Ī ∆ M Ū. Goddammit! You son of a bitch. She won't watch it I bet she will They know I will He knows I am! I am! Oh, there we go—it's on Get off me! Goddammit, Dillon Francis! I hate you. I hate you BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK–WHEN TO THE WYNN!! Right—! Wait—- Not yet— I know the code. Oh she– she knows what the code is. What did I put it in? I get it, I get it, it's— Not now, then! Not then, now! Not— Wait—- DONT! ...then, I die. The DJ VALET AND THE DJ BALLET THE BAMPHERAMPH BALANCING ACT WITH THE CHAMPION OF RAP?!? ...ohhh, wave dash, I get it… Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--He pushed Skrillex off a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

I walked in locked in; Pistol cocked, and pointed towards my head You'll only want me when you have no options left, Or when I'm dead “It's clever” They all said An ambitious endevour End this life, and be devoured By the miester and the misters of the hour How about now? (Or–) How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Or, How about now, or How about now, or How about now? Or, How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Now or Never I said “That's clever” or “How about Now” What do you want from me? I lie for a living; A literal drama queen, don't eat turkey on thanksgiving I'm the worthless word for Surface level thinking on this Earth, or Picking hearses with my cursor, Mercenary, Mercury, or Just a Mercer–But not a Mercedes; I'm paid, but I hate paying; Made the game, but I hate playing I remember making hate to be created Just for entertainment– A belated invitation, Now i'll face it, Back to Basic– But she's laced with Masonry; A tastemaker, maybe But she just wants a family, Whatever that means Wow. How about now? Fuck this. Homelssness. I woul rather kill myself than stay alive I'd rather die than fight Don't want to write this: I'm just a diamond pressurized And i might never see the light I'll never see the lght I see the light There's no honor in suicide But i've devided my mind a million times And now like dynamite in a mine; Collapsed, collided, ad defined by All divine; You'll never see me shine, But deep inside I'd blind you; Guided by the tide, I've come to find you Down, I dive I'm not alive, you know I'm always misaligned But that's beside the point Another suicide attempt Is in the midst– But just what is it; More than just one, is it? Rather die than listen to Skrillex Or take pills just to chill with it For real? this shit again? It wasn't real, all to begin with It's only mental illness cause i'm penniless Now i've got so much to deal with Another wound to heal, Another deal, perhaps I'll make another million in a year, If i'm still here– And i”m still here– And i'm still– Who are you now, and— Who were you then; And— Which part of this, would you want— Or did want, Or just wanted Pondered before in a vision, Outfitted in hooded drapery, The heaviest fabric; A rosary hung from his neck But can't recall the connection In this ressurection I can recall him, But never remember The calling Let's call him Oh, fuck man. ‘Friar Tuck' THAT WAS IT. The high priest of asencion, Was burned in her memory— Not as a friend, But a friend of the enemy; Who she loved and protected, Despite all the envy, She felt for Persephone— Just an unjust figure, A fictional figment of imagination But— Who was I then And who am I now; And what part of him, Would I want, if I wanted Or wished for, Or honored A friend, long forgotten Not a high priest, But a Friar That was it— But before, As Mary, Joseph, and Jesus On the front lines of the war, Not to be started, but ended, as in Preparation, a blood sacrifice I've prepared In a premonition that I'd Give my whole heart again Honest, And honestly slain in the eyes, Of a man I remember, But didn't, when it mattered— Then did, right in front of him Who are we now, and— Who were we then; Let's find out, As time's running out again “Yes, I know him.” She sighed, eyeing from over the rims of the glasses she purchased only earlier to assure she had hidden the tears that she cried for Him— Neither a friend or an enemy, rather The ghost of a shadow she hadn't yet met with again, since he entered her presence Shifting into a tent Now, ripped from the pages of a book she cherished, A page which she promised to never diminish or tarnish would go up in ashes, As totems would fall, Wishes would become granted The PyRAmiD Spell (For Pasquale Rotella) gave gave the man honorary doctorate, and then reneged it, nigga thought he was actually bigger than big sister sick spitter, rip n dip listening to anything but Skrillex that shit is for kids ‘Check it' I hate midi gimmie a synth, something gritty, I'll make it pretty Come and try to get me, I been dead for centuries, Unsolved like a mystery This image don't mean shit to me, I sit to think, I wait to speak, I leak some information on the interwebs just to see how fast it comes back to me I'm actually a master “Untitled 07” It's like a 24/7 job, can't get no rest in, At best you're looking like a slob I kamikaze ‘em all, I am your mom, I will tell you what you are, to me By now, you should know, or see Just a name on my computer screen A friendly neighbor on Easy Street A wish, A lucid dream, A misalignment, so its seems So let me tell you what you are to me: Just make believe (Just make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream I'll tell you what I've seen, and what I see (and What I see) I dare to dream (I dare to dream) But please believe me, I'm as evil as can be Don't let my anything deceive you I'm a fleeting, bleeding Beaten bride to be No, don't believe me I'm the fire and gnashing teeth they preached to you May everything I've written one day reach you And beseech you, Just like you did to me Now let me tell you what I see; Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream When I wash up on the beach, From blazing fires of burning seas, Let me sing you all to sleep For every tear I often weep To dream of you A lucid dream Just fucking make believe; And I can make believe we fucked Just so I can get to sleep (Are you proud of me?) Hey. (Sarcastically) Oh, Come In. (Sighs heavily) I fucked up. I'm not surprised. I'm not surprised. Don't copy me. I need help. No arguments there. Dude, I'm serious. __ So first of all oh God, now what– I'm not racist You're extremely racist Racist By Proxy I'm not Racist They do look alike. Check this out: WOAH. That's…not a coincidence. That's definitely not a coincidence. Fuck. This. Shit. Here, take this. So, you dropped this totem… Uh-huh. In the ocean. Yes I did. And that one Ooof. What about– That came off on the moped. How? When I came off the moped. So you admit it. SO! He only let me ride it cause he wanted to ride ME! Nice. Did you sing to him? Uh, I sang for him? What's the difference? Here's every song I've ever written about X.X Just kill yourself. Should I then? I mean, perHAPS. I mean, maaaayyyybeee. You know what? I do know. Fuckthisshit. Fuck it, then. I'm out. I quit. Go find SupaCree. This…is impossible. Nothing is impossible. Except for that. Oh. “Oh.” No, i'm serious. You look serious–I'm just saying. What is this? Don't touch that– What is it? It's– [a tiny explosion] –ugh. Volatile. What the fuck are you into? I told you. You said “music.” What is “Music” [very deep pondering] I hate you. We have to find her. You have to. What! You're not going to help us? I have other things to do. Like what, dude? Like what, broh. Feed My cat; Your cat died. Walk my dog– You don't have a dog. I'm getting one. Oh, Jesus Christ Don't get all religious on me, now, not after that. Not after what? Yeah, which thing? ___ Man. Get me out of here. [shrugs] I hate being stuck in your head. What is THIS. Uh. play dead. What's up with your dog. Ruff. Good boy. I'm a girl. Uhhh–good girl. Wait. Hm. Did that dog just– [???] Nevermind. I've been up for 6 days straight. Tour life, buddy. Ah-huh. Uhh. Can I take a shower in your– Take a sho–? [dog grumphs] Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks. *Shapeshifts* Wow, that's cool. It's so stupid. I came in late to the office, so to speak; it had been an off day, after an off night, plagued by what I was sure to be some sort of demonic magic—I was moving slowly, off beat, and irritated—nevermind the lack of energy, as I moved about as steadily as I could—making arrangements for the next trials to come, as it seemed nearly impossible to move ahead, and yet—somehow, I had been given what seemed like one final chance to survive, or not. I had spent the first part of my day, somehow waking with a gust of light, and ready to take on the tasks at hand—then quickly wiped of anything holy in me by the outrageously disgusting hacking and howling of the seemingly-programmed man-or-something-alike, and into a manic-semi-conscious desperation to piece together what was left of my life—seemingly nothing, but somehow still pieced and patched together by music, the overriding theme being that I would be quickly booted out of any position unsuitable for me; and by now, I was just about unsuitable for everything, besides gym crawling and throwing together pieces of literature unlike any I had before seen, as I was, assuredly beginning to look in every direction for other writers which may have matched my style of the then-present day and age, and to my shagrin had found nearly nothing to gawk about, but at the very least had picked up some novels noteworthy in nature, as they had made me laugh, or somehow otherwise caught my attention. Now in my Arsenal, I had one novel, each respectively written by a woman, a white man, and a black man—every book I had otherwise been drawn to written by black women were, upon cracking to open, too-stereotypically black, or about being a black-girl in some kind of way I knew too much about and had absolutely no interest in reading. I had no idea what caused me to look into a world I had all but shut out of my mind—this someone and something had haunted me for months and even growing into years now, first affectionately, but now growing into an uneasy and painstaking, critical list for something deeper. I hated my ex husband for bringing me to this, and, as I looked at the clock at 5:55 exactly, nearly vomited in disgust at the sprawling obsession I would have to somehow quiet—as there really was no halting the plague of tragic recouping thoughts of Dillon Francis at random—now, daily, for quite some time, even as the automatic writing had nearly stopped entirely; I had become entrapped with daily reminders of things I had written, now welling up with spite and anger, that I had even allowed myself the obsession to begin with—especially after what had happened—or what had not happened—with Sonny, whatever way you wanted to look at it. Now; just left with a burning lust and motion sickness beyond my wildest control upon approaching the matter if it all, nonetheless with peaking curisosity, as he had walked in and out if my dreamscape like a picturesque bandit, even hijacking my own sexuality—now almost didn't want or dream of anything else, and with the un presidented amount of ‘decoys' life had thrown at me—Bruno, the bird speaking man from Belgium with the eyes that burned in striking similarity to Dillon's—and then again with Gabriel, the man who had hired me to DJ in the small cerveceria in Mazunte, who could have been his brother'; a dazzlingly handsome, if not perfect near-replica of Dillon Francis, who, by that point, i couldn't even bear to look at, let alone conjure the spark or touch of romance—even after multiple suggestions that he and his girlfriend had just broken up. I never allowed myself for a moment to believe or think that Dillon—or any of the men I fawned after, for that matter, in reality, a very short list—would ever be settled with the idea of me as a perfect fit; no, I sat in the certain reality that I was cursed, living in the opposite exact of the Allison Wonderland archetype—a woman who I theorized may have been Skrillexed and Dillon Francis'd herself—it seemed to be a pattern of hypnotism I was finally wrapping my head around, and even had learned to respect if not envy: I wanted the codes to create my own version of the worlds I had been spun into—and while I would more than likely never be a light skinned, light eyed beauty Queen; perhaps my own kingdom was meant to be of wit and wealth, rather than vanity. Still, headed back into the desert, I found myself scrolling through open guest lists, excited to take my longtime best friend turned literal goddess club crawling, looking for industry and network connections, if not at least a sex partner that could keep up with my needs, now furiously tearing at me from the inside out—as I scrolled, RSVPing for any acts I hadn't yet seen but had heard of, I found myself trailing off in thought and perhaps looking for something I hadn't realized I would stray into; I knew specifically that Dillon had a residency at the Wynn, and —though I also knew I wouldn't be caught dead at this point anywhere I knew he was, or especially stupid enough to pay for it. Now it was torturous, knowing how regretfully physical my attraction had become—understsnding from my interactions with the aforementioned that I was drawn to Dillon for his features—his eyes, his hair, and everything in his silhouette from his jawline, to his lips and brow drove me absolutely wild—however, I had learned about my very fragile psychiatry from my obsession with Skrillex, or with Sonny—neither of which I wished existed, adding Dillon Francis to the list of fictional characters I pushed further into my imaginary incineration box, where I put everything that not need affect my actual emotions or actions; Dillon Francis, a wealthy and talented, very handsome man—could not exist. I wished more than ever that I wasn't dark skinned, that I wasn't heavy set, that I didn't come with a flaming dumpster full of trauma and baggage that no man wanted or needed, but especially not the wealthy and handsome individuals I had spent very much of the last passing years writing about and fantasizing over, finding it respectably impossible to even have flings or sexual experiences without either of the two most rampant figures of my infatuation crossing into my mind and shrouding me with guilt and shame—and yet, here they were, so out of my element that I continued to agree with myself and the universe that it would be dillusinal to think myself a match for anyone so high-achieving. Nothing I could do or say could shake the fact that despite all my efforts to break through, all it had seemed to do was create a broken down individual, ready for enslavement in the working class just to stay housed—my music aspirations both hanging above me, and somehow fading away into the distance behind me. I hated myself. But more importantly, hated Skrillex and Dillon Francis for living the life I somehow thought I wanted and needed. What is the definitive definition of the word Skrillex? Skrillex: noun...right? What, you don't know? I know! It's...a noun...right? Right. Right--- ---Right! Could also be, an adjective, I guess--i? You guess?! You have to know. I mean--- Coughs ain't shit Skrillex ain't *coughs Satan ain't shit Bitch suck a dick Slit ya wrists On ya pissed off Little ass nigga. A loud, abrupt cough disrupted my focus; I was 5-sets-of-8 out of 8 and just feeling my heart begin to pump, as sweat poured from my temples and my sunglasses steamed “Man, fuck Coughs.” Whoever she was, even if it was just one of my infinite inward selves, this was some satanic shit. Now I hated Skrillex—not that it mattered, and as he was a living legend in computer animated music, or whatever voodoo shit he was responsible for that had sparked an entire uprising of revolutionary artists and producers spanning a generation or more—and I was damned-if-I-did, and damned-if-I-didn't love, like, or listen to him; all of which I did, besides the latter higher love by Whitney Houston, God rest her soul, blared over the gym's loud speakers, as I, more than likely looking just as superficially occupied as any basic broad, scrolling away on Instagram or texting her replicas, jotted down the rest of the thoughts that had nestled themselves in my mind's eye, as the coughing, which had followed me everywhere for nearly four years, beckoned to something—searching for purpose if not means to an end. He had Kayla Lauren, a plastic, streamlined representation of the all-American-deem girl, not to mention a “collective” of other broad women of sorts, probably all inwardly clawing just as I had at one time, for a piece of Sonny's heart, or whatever was left of it, after what I could have only assumed to have been a blood sacrifice of sorts, for his placement atop such a steep pyramid of success. What if, every time someone coughed—someone took a picture? I thought about the millions of hacking imbeciles and inbred, backwards savages who had crowded my ears with the putrid sounds of Satan's show choir, a coughing and excessive hellish representation of how the human race had gone awry; If I had been famous, or on my way to it, I would be burgeoned with photographs, as I had been in Mexico without knowing why or how—people sometimes slinking behind their phones as if to secretly capture a candid photo, I myself, pretending not to be aware of it. Cough cough. Ugh. If every cough represented a fan or something of the sorts taking a picture, I almost reveled in the thought—I would have rather had a million flashing cameras at once than to hear another ingrate hacking up a lung in Satan's honor. I was horrified at whatever Skrillex was, and whatever OWSLA meant, though I broadly showcased the tattoo on my inner-right forearm, opposite of Sonny's—the boy I was sure was murdered by the fame monster itself, as Lady Gaga, though admirable, had blatently called it, or herself, or whatever “we” all were or had been once, or would be, collectively at the beginning-and-end of it all. I had seen broadly into the realms of infinity the night previous, and had settled on one, astonishing fact: all of infinitely combined shared a concéntrical center at which at any point could be accessed. Even typing such a concept, I knew it to be life-altering…if I was even alive. To think, I used to hate deadmau5– I hate deadmau5– You know—after that spat with Skrillex. GO TEAM SKRILLEX!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! who the fuck is deadmau5, anyway. But here I am, decades later. [skrillex] FUCK THIS NIGGA. I needed something to help offset the damage that was done. [someone coughing loudly] Fuck this coughs bitch! [trying on small clothes] Ohh. [kayla Lauren] [sadness] Aww. [dillon Francis] —well how was I supposed to know he was a— STOP RIGHT THERE! I'm...not moving. Yeah, you're not. Uh, okay? You know why? I didn't ask— You need THIS: What is this. I'll tell you what it is [beat] … Okay—what is it?' ILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS. — Technically, If I do this every day, I can eat whatever I want— Just eat it. No. But I won't. Well, why not? Too Fat For Skrillex. — [C.C. Arrives in the parking lot to find her car has been vandalized...again.] ...Skrillex did this. On Jimmy Fallon. On Jimmy Fallon. Alright, then, kid—it's your dollar. I'll take “Skrillex Did It” for one dollar. But he's halfway across the world! He can shapeshift! Don't be stupid. What—! He's a shapeshifter, for real. We know! Just don't say it! I saw it. We all have. What the fuck, bro— Where did you come from? I've been here. Haven't we all? That's the spirit. What's a spirit? I'm glad you asked. As SUPACREE walks down the street, a man in the passenger's seat is seen to be the Egyptian God ANUBIS, before shifting back into hidden human form. Which one's that? Anubis, right? Googles 'deities' Oh, there he is: Anubis. Good. What's he want? Whatever it is, that's not what I was looking for. What are you looking for? That dark thing. Which “dark thing”? Flashback: That's inside me?! Flashback to Kite at Bass– UGH! Canyon. That's it. That's what it is. LET ME OUT. It's gonna destroy something. She. She–yes–apparently so. CUT BACK TO Fuck you, Skrillex! Stay over there and be Skrillex with your fucking–models–and you coughs piece of fucking–peice of fucking shit, peice of shit. Oh SHIT, who let him in? I mean, it's Skrillex. Yeah, but who let him near SUPACREE? He does what he wants. I heard that. Fuck you, Skrillex. That sounds deep. I guess so. What even happened? Nobody seems to know. Oh. –Except these guys. Who the fuck are you? Where did you come from?! CULT FOLLOWERS Yes–”WHO” Yes–”WHERE” Uh, okay. SUPACREE Fuck this shit. I quit. You can't quit. I just did. Fuck Skrillex. Ah, shit, here it comes. Go ahead, the worst he can do is cough at me and make me homeless. *loud obnoxious coughing* Do your worst. *more loud coughing* Fuckin'. Satan's pet. Satan's not real! Then neither is Skrillex. Amen. (Cult Followers, In unison.) Amen. [SUPACREE exits furiously.] What…the fuck. Pause. Wait, is this marketable? Yes. How? Cause its Skrillex. Skrillex is clickbait. What the FUCK did he do? *COUGHS* I mean, I bet– Fucking–motherfucker. Fuck. Well, now what? Now, nothing. I'mma go get a regular job and see what the industry wants with Jessica. (((Oh, I think you know what they want.))) ((Oh, God Knows)) I thought we weren't doing that bit. We're doing all the bits. MORTY. JESSICA. Oh yeah. Even better. C'esme't sighs heavily, unamused. My liege. Don't be coy with me. I would never. There are hardly any things left you would never do. If not only because I had done them all; But to be coy, with you, my Queen is neither desire or pleasure. You are clever. At your discretion. I began to wonder if I may have looked as miserable as I was, as even though I could not see my own self, walking about in my day-to-day nothingness, the expression protruding from my face felt as if it might look as lifeless as I was beginning to feel, no longer wholly choking back tears but still moving and barely breathing in the awful circumstance of doing and being–I had felt the light itself slowly draining from my eyes, and even things I loved with all my heart could not in any sense brighten this dullness. I felt Godless, and at the very least loveless, lightless, and without my magic, somehow having lost my soul and my singing voice at once. Yes, it was terrible–something was wrong, and I, without becoming the star I had so wanted, was already washing up. Homelessness drained all of what would have been a magnificent energy all together, left to become someone I wasn't sure I even liked, and seemingly cursed, as most recently, no one else seemed to like me either--still, I almost let myself believe something bigger was at play, or perhaps in the works; I had been relocated just perfect walking distance to the gym, where of course rather than look for work which would only urge me closer to suicide than I had been, I elected instead to spend a majority of my time, crafting my days around getting there for the bare minimum of three hours, but ideally closer to 5 or 6, always aiming for 8 and almost-always giving up not because I was too tired, but because I was drenched in sweat, and something like the discomfort of a wet diaper, just wanted to be fresh and dry. God, Help me with this affliction Pick a clip, Flick the bean, And watch Netflix I'm stressin, wet and undressin This sexual tension is serious Salad, with no dressin I'm the lady in the red dress, and yes I write blank checks, so when I go to Heck, I bounce back like, “Yes.” [YES] No pressure, It's my pleasure; I'd rather be in leather than in latex, lathered up Present, or past but honestly, neither matters; Just give this to Marshall Mathers, And a Dad Hat; AMEN Hey Kids, Lets not say “Amen”, After we say hanuss shit, okay? Today, I'm Eminem, so I can finally find Skrillex, And kill him: My mission is to introduce a new religion to humans, called STOP BEING STUPID. Stop Being Skrillex. Well, Alright Then. [Presses Easy Button] “WELL, THAT WAS-- CUT TO: -__- SUPACREE wakes up from a coma; In a very SKRILLEX, Get out. [He just does.] ...Where's Dillon Francis? ...Dillon Is Dead. Dilon Francis Died. He's...left us. ...Nope. Yes, he is. SUPACREE, I'm Sorry. Don't be sorry. Be Dillon Francis. The Coma--You know---must've-- You know. Nope. Where's Pasquale? Who is that? Oh, fuck this. No, wait, stop! STAHP. Bring Skrillex Back. I never left. You're never there. Here, Tres Leches … Dulce De Leche. You know what? What? NO. NO? NO. __ ALRIGHT, WHERE'S DILLON FRANCIS? Who is that? STOP PLAYING GAMES. DILLON FRANCIS is in THE VOID, trying to beat THE LEGEND of SUPACREE. It's a really good game. DILLON FRANCIS (cracked) “It's a really good game!” GAMERS It is, a really good game. So good, in fact, that when SUPACREE herself arrives, S/He pays her almost entirely no mind. Really, Dillon Francis? ... Really, Motherfucker. DILLON FRANCIS I'm The Captain SUPACREE No, I am. (I AM!) She gestures that she is about to unplug the TV DILLON FRANCIS Don't do that. SUPACREE What? I am (I AM) Don't do it again! I told you, it's-- IN Dillon. DILLON Don't FIN. SUPACREE Unplugs the Set. DEADMAU5 FUCK, MAN. FINALLY. SUPACREE Be Less Canadian. JOEL No, I can't DILLON FRANCIS No, He can't-- JESUS No, he can't. [Beat] DILLON IS SHATTERED, as at the last moment (before the determination of the outcome of the battle, it entirely ceases to exist. Moments of silence pass in infinite tension, before DILLON, looking much like an uncomfortable, overheated, skinless (live) chicken, meets a soon to be boiled crab. OH, MY GOD. GAD/SUPACREE/C.C. That's... what they call me. *coughs* -UGLY!- *coughs* *coughs* GOD. GOD No, not you. DILLON FRANCIS ...Oh, My God. GOD What, Dillon Francis? DILLON FRANCIS Are you SUPACREE? GOD I...Am. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God--I am too! GOD I know this. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God! GOD Yeah, I know! Woah, he's Fangirling He's fangirling so hard. Well, wouldn't you. Ask me about IT.” (IS/IT) 3 heads are better than one; This is a a game based on truth; The more you ask, the more you know; The more you know about me— The more you know about yourself— The more you know about yourself, the more you know about the world You are the world. Ī ∆ M Ū. Goddammit! You son of a bitch. She won't watch it I bet she will They know I will He knows I am! I am! Oh, there we go—it's on Get off me! Goddammit, Dillon Francis! I hate you. I hate you BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK–WHEN TO THE WYNN!! Right—! Wait—- Not yet— I know the code. Oh she– she knows what the code is. What did I put it in? I get it, I get it, it's— Not now, then! Not then, now! Not— Wait—- DONT! ...then, I die. The DJ VALET AND THE DJ BALLET THE BAMPHERAMPH BALANCING ACT WITH THE CHAMPION OF RAP?!? ...ohhh, wave dash, I get it… Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--He pushed Skrillex off a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U.

This article is about the inspiring journey of Mohan Leela Shankar, a young boy from Chennai, India, who fulfilled his dream of becoming a sailor and went on to establish a maritime academy to mentor aspiring sailors.Visit https://bit.ly/crazyaitools to download the eBook on the world's most massive list of AI tool links Visit https://bit.ly/legendbooks to grab all of Marketing Legend Srinidhi's eBooks on Google Play. 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Brecon Beacons national park is to be known as Bannau Brycheiniog national park. The switch to the Welsh language name takes effect on its 66th anniversary. Park bosses say the name change will help celebrate and promote the area's culture and heritage. It's part of a wider overhaul of how the park is managed, to try and address serious environmental challenges. Planning is a subject which farmers talk about a lot at the moment: some say while the government in England is encouraging them to diversify their businesses, planning rules and local councils are making that difficult, if not impossible. The Country Land and Business Association or CLA says a survey of 600 members reveals that what it calls 'outdated and under resourced planning procedures' are costing them money, and three quarters say they've been forced to abandon investment plans. We speak to a family run commercial nursery in Surrey, trying to build a new house on land that's being planted as the business is expanding. We also hear from the think tank, the Local Government Information Service. Campaigners in Scotland are calling for special 'go-fish zones' to be introduced. Conservationists from "Open Seas" say the areas could form part of plans by the Scottish Government to designate a tenth of seas as highly-protected, where no commercial activity would be allowed. Some fishermen say they fear going out of business with the continuing squeeze being placed on them. Presenter = Charlotte Smith Producer = Rebecca Rooney

Welcome to our Podcast #2,732! Here's a link to our Costa Rica Pura Vida Amazon Products Store! Happy Shopping! https://www.costaricagoodnewsreport.com/costaricaproductsamazon.html We appreciate your listening and hope you find the time to go through the 100's of episodes that we have recorded already. They're short, so listen to a few every day! I promise you will learn all you need to know about one of the happiest countries on the planet! Here's some links that will get you started in learning more about Costa Rica! If you're thinking about moving to Costa Rica, we can assist! Visit "Royal Palms Costa Rica Real Estate". . we are DEDICATED BUYER'S AGENTS. Check out our website at www.costaricaimmigrationandmovingexperts.com/buyersagent.html Here's our NEW Costa Rica Good News Report YouTube Channel. Over 350 Short, Entertaining Videos that will get you excited about Costa Rica: https://www.youtube.com/@thecostaricagoodnewsreport/videos Check out an amazing travel website catering to those travelers age 50 and over! Dozens of incredible expert contributors writing about so many destinations: https://www.travelawaits.com/ Here's our 1st contribution to the TravelAwaits website: https://www.travelawaits.com/2789789/questions-to-ask-if-thinking-about-retiring-in-costa-rica/ Here's a link to our 2nd article on the TravelAwaits website as promised: https://www.travelawaits.com/2798638/tips-for-driving-in-costa-rica/ Here's a link to our 3rd article on the TravelAwaits website: https://www.travelawaits.com/2794704/how-to-gain-residency-status-in-costa-rica/ Check out our NEW COSTA RICA LOVE STORIES! There's ONE THING BETTER than falling in love. . falling in love in COSTA RICA! Here's the link: https://www.costaricagoodnewsreport.com/lovestories.html So many GOOD-NEWS stories coming out of Costa Rica. We'd love to share them with all of you! Way over 100 stories ready right now. Learn all about one if the Happiest Countries on the Planet. . Costa Rica! Here's a link: https://vocal.media/authors/skip-licht Become a "COSTA RICA PURA VIDA" Brand Ambassador & Share the LIFESTYLE with EVERYONE! Here's the link: https://www.costaricagoodnewsreport.com/brandambassador.html --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/costa-rica-pura-vida/message

A mariner's life, reading the water and weather, and teaching others to navigate the open seas

DIPLO/THOMAS YOU THINK THIS IS A FUCKING GAME?! SUPACREE THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT IT IS. DIPLO/THOMAS MAYBE TO YOU! SUPACREE I AM YOU!!' DIPLO Reveals The Seer's Stone. Oh, SHIT, Dude. Where'd you get that?! What's this story. No, don't go in there. Oh, look, a story— I told you this was going to be a long night. I was knocking back preworkout at 8 PM exactly, far out of sight from Travis Apple but not entirely out of mind, it was a personal feat to walk into the gym anymore, let alone by his desk—my spirit seemed to have other ideas at an occupation than I myself had formerly thought, but I was at clever best being dissociative now as I was ever, something springing from within me to be let loose, and though it could be, I thought my best to tame it. Professor Zimmerman It's you again… It's always me. So it is. I found something peculiar in a playback of last night's stream of the observatory— (But) How peculiar? Peculiar enough that I thought you might actually take interest. Touché. — I am dead. Oh fuck—he's dead too?! How'd he die? Let me guess—a drag race. Good guess, but no. Was it murder? It's always murder. Now, now, what's this? Don't touch it? What is it? —touch it and see. Ewhe. That's what I thought. Ketamine. Ketamine? Ketamine? Damn; are those two still doing drugs? They're alwYs doing drugs. That's semi-believable. Anyway. Was it a heart attack? Bingo! This is a heart attack! GODDAMMIT, YOU TWO—KNOCK IT OFF. Sorry— —sorry, mom. PROFESSOR ZIMMERMAN is looking through a telescope. Professor Zimmerman! What? What do you want? —my name in the history books; particularly and more specifically for discovering a previously unknown planet and it's inhabitant species. Fair. I meant— —professor Zimmerman— What do you want, from me? It's not entirely unrelated, I promise. Don't make promises you can't keep. Why would I do that? I don't know why women do what they do. That's sexist. It's honest. —no, to just—assume that I'm a woman. [an awkward silence; professor Zimmerman looks up from his studies to examine the short, rather stout, and particularly androgynous student before him] Oh, uh— [beat] I'm a woman. [in relief] Oh! —It's okay. Still, [disgruntled sigh] —it was sexist. Ugh! Anyway— 1.00 mile 10:17 Deadmau5, album title goes here I felt horrible for Brandon, who was eagerly giving his all—but by now physical attraction meant far more than too much to me, my sex drive climbing seemingly by the minute, and my own physique shrinking down into an admirable average, if not above average, by American standards—excluding of course, the Californians, by which standard I was still morbidly obsese as ever, and might as well just pair up with the likes of Brandon, who may have been equally gifted, were it not for his massive weight—then, it was also a selection of genetic particularities that my drive seemed to be fed by—and between the overall unremarkable appearance, it was the bad housekeeping and general disability to take the four otherwise well-mannered children into habitable people—not entirely his fault, and my own arrogance, failing to mention that by now I had become estranged from my own offspring, giving myself a self-entitled badge of abandonment. So I might as well be nothing. If not a mother, I thoughttrapped to myself—but I didn't think much of myself, besides being In some sort of hell, encapsulated and in my own body. What about him? No, that's—that's deadmau5. Well, he's a man, isn't he?! I wish you would leave me alone. — This is scary. You can't just—back up like that— This is too much light. It's not “too much” It is “too much” So that's it? … (Cont'd) That's it? Oh, I know this one. This one's so good What's this one? “The Liight Bringers” Are you sure that was it? Something like that. No. Something like that. NO. Ugh. I hate this. I hate him. I hate this. You always say that. I always hate it. That's not true. Look. I'm not looking. [she walks away] So that's it?! The Cosmic Owl soars in overhead; He is old, he is wise, and now—he is tired. HE?! I thought it was a ‘she' This is the other sides THE OTHER SIDE? [EDC .5] OH. Fuck. This is going to take forever to explain. Yeah. Where's Pasquale? Where isn't Pasquale? Touche. I felt about a hundred feet tall standing next to Pasquale Rotella, and though I would never admit or mentioned it aflojdfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff There he is. —and though I never would admit or mention it aloud, I liked that he was short, overall—as it made him seem less intimidating; I was, after all, rather morbidly afraid of him, as I was of anything at all, for that matter—anything that could or did have the power to make or break me. And he did. I found him. Where was he? Aha. What? I mean, it's a place, but it doesn't have a name, really. Oh really? What place is that? If I knew, I'd tell you. Tell me anyway. No, let him. Where have you been? Again, an outstanding diecotomy; If I could say the words to weave the space and time between us, Then would have, or even, Rather smittenly, I'd sing them With the Melodies I'm making (Like excuses for the work that I'm not doing) Or the worlds I'm still not moving with the winds beneath my wings— The wind beneath my wings. What the fuck is this? I don't know. In the end, we are nowhere Sleepless and still and tight Maybe we shouldn't fall asleep Saving what was left behind Standing outside the chalk outline Beside ourselves in time The only thing I want, is the last thing I need Awake and sleepless as stars shine What the fuck is that? You know what?! Stop asking me! WHATTHEFUCK IS THAT? I STILL DON'T KNOW. Let me see. It's a— Let me see! It's a planet. No… It's a planet, and I'm telling you it's a planet, and it's orbiting a star that's bigger than ours. That's a lot of speculation. That's a good eye— It was annoying but it unwelcome how often I had to stop and write, I knew by now if I didn't write what was in my head right then, it might take such a long time to come back around, even if it was good, that by the time it did, it would be out of context. There was nothing I could do to really save myself, or stop myself—and so I let it happen, and while most people were stopping to text, I was in a way, talking to myself—or even, my highest self. It was too late to find anything good to eat until the next morning, but my appetite had been a ravenous and unstoppable force, swapping out hat should have been a healthy amount of sex with a questionable amount of food. Lest not I forget How deep in love I would be, or How deep in love I was, once, Or will be, once I depart this In the wake of wonder, Dreaming, Slipping not into a silence— There I was, at the end of it, Remembering; Never had I once thought What was just a long lost song Becomes none, Or all of my cut cloth Fuck this nonsense. It's not—nonsense. It's a lot of nonsense. It's definitely a lot of something. — Don't shapeshift into my cat anymore— —don't tell me what to do. Don't do that. It's gross! How is it “gross” It's—my cat! I love cats. Stay away from my cat. DON'T TOUCH THAT CAT. is that a euphemism? NO—just— Lol. It is not possible that meowingtons is still alive. I mean, it's possible, just not probable. — Damn! Fuxk! This is a long ass story! So tell it then. I mean—how?! What is that thing, even?! Ku//Ka Well, that's it. What. I quit. You can't quit. I most certainly can quit. — You're going to risk your entire career on this thesis, My entire career is this thesis. Listen to me. You know I valbue your opinion. Well, then listen— —but I value your scientific contributions more. Just trust me. I don't trust you. Then you don't trust yourself. [she leaves the professor in a hollow silence; he lights a cigarette] I hate that she does that. — We probably shouldn't be using this equipment, guys. What?! Why not?! I don't care. Its—really old. 10 26 I don't care. What the Fuxk is this I think they're coordinates. To fuckin—where?! — WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? What the fuck is wrong with you!? Nobody quite knows. You're so clever. You're an idiot! I'm not an idiot. I'm a doctor. You're a fucking idiot. I'm Dr. Idiot. Your entire career It's a job. It's your career It's a profession. But, professor Zimmerman Doctor, Zimmerman, now, technically. You're an idiot. I'm running out of synonyms. I had tenure. — 9h my God, just PLEASE stop writing! But if ibstop writint l, you dont exist. Qcrually, i exist either way. Not 5o me. Ita a conceprtional universe. It you can think of it, it exists somewhere! Oh, damn. Yeah. Like damn damn. And the more you write rigut now, the worse it gets For me? For me! The Evers, Who What When Where Why and How. WOW. I know! I just now mafe that connection. These guys are my favorites. Who are they? Cut to: A young, brown skinned girl points to the top of a bunch of pinnaples, and shouts, My brothers! Her mother, pulls her in another direction, explaining sweetly and softly, No silly girl, those are pinapples! She picks up the girl, who latches on around the womans neck and sets ger head down over her sjoulder, staring at tge pinapples as she is carried away. She stares longingly. __ Sit down. Is there any Chinese left? A fortune cookie. Ah, that's good. I walked in locked in; Pistol cocked, and pointed towards my head You'll only want me when you have no options left, Or when I'm dead “It's clever” They all said An ambitious endevour End this life, and be devoured By the miester and the misters of the hour How about now? (Or–) How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Or, How about now, or How about now, or How about now? Or, How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Now or Never I said “That's clever” or “How about Now” What do you want from me? I lie for a living; A literal drama queen, don't eat turkey on thanksgiving I'm the worthless word for Surface level thinking on this Earth, or Picking hearses with my cursor, Mercenary, Mercury, or Just a Mercer–But not a Mercedes; I'm paid, but I hate paying; Made the game, but I hate playing I remember making hate to be created Just for entertainment– A belated invitation, Now i'll face it, Back to Basic– But she's laced with Masonry; A tastemaker, maybe But she just wants a family, Whatever that means Wow. How about now? Fuck this. Homelssness. I woul rather kill myself than stay alive I'd rather die than fight Don't want to write this: I'm just a diamond pressurized And i might never see the light I'll never see the lght I see the light There's no honor in suicide But i've devided my mind a million times And now like dynamite in a mine; Collapsed, collided, ad defined by All divine; You'll never see me shine, But deep inside I'd blind you; Guided by the tide, I've come to find you Down, I dive I'm not alive, you know I'm always misaligned But that's beside the point Another suicide attempt Is in the midst– But just what is it; More than just one, is it? Rather die than listen to Skrillex Or take pills just to chill with it For real? this shit again? It wasn't real, all to begin with It's only mental illness cause i'm penniless Now i've got so much to deal with Another wound to heal, Another deal, perhaps I'll make another million in a year, If i'm still here– And i”m still here– And i'm still– Who are you now, and— Who were you then; And— Which part of this, would you want— Or did want, Or just wanted Pondered before in a vision, Outfitted in hooded drapery, The heaviest fabric; A rosary hung from his neck But can't recall the connection In this ressurection I can recall him, But never remember The calling Let's call him Oh, fuck man. ‘Friar Tuck' THAT WAS IT. The high priest of asencion, Was burned in her memory— Not as a friend, But a friend of the enemy; Who she loved and protected, Despite all the envy, She felt for Persephone— Just an unjust figure, A fictional figment of imagination But— Who was I then And who am I now; And what part of him, Would I want, if I wanted Or wished for, Or honored A friend, long forgotten Not a high priest, But a Friar That was it— But before, As Mary, Joseph, and Jesus On the front lines of the war, Not to be started, but ended, as in Preparation, a blood sacrifice I've prepared In a premonition that I'd Give my whole heart again Honest, And honestly slain in the eyes, Of a man I remember, But didn't, when it mattered— Then did, right in front of him Who are we now, and— Who were we then; Let's find out, As time's running out again “Yes, I know him.” She sighed, eyeing from over the rims of the glasses she purchased only earlier to assure she had hidden the tears that she cried for Him— Neither a friend or an enemy, rather The ghost of a shadow she hadn't yet met with again, since he entered her presence Shifting into a tent Now, ripped from the pages of a book she cherished, A page which she promised to never diminish or tarnish would go up in ashes, As totems would fall, Wishes would become granted The PyRAmiD Spell (For Pasquale Rotella) gave gave the man honorary doctorate, and then reneged it, nigga thought he was actually bigger than big sister sick spitter, rip n dip listening to anything but Skrillex that shit is for kids ‘Check it' I hate midi gimmie a synth, something gritty, I'll make it pretty Come and try to get me, I been dead for centuries, Unsolved like a mystery This image don't mean shit to me, I sit to think, I wait to speak, I leak some information on the interwebs just to see how fast it comes back to me I'm actually a master “Untitled 07” It's like a 24/7 job, can't get no rest in, At best you're looking like a slob I kamikaze ‘em all, I am your mom, I will tell you what you are, to me By now, you should know, or see Just a name on my computer screen A friendly neighbor on Easy Street A wish, A lucid dream, A misalignment, so its seems So let me tell you what you are to me: Just make believe (Just make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream I'll tell you what I've seen, and what I see (and What I see) I dare to dream (I dare to dream) But please believe me, I'm as evil as can be Don't let my anything deceive you I'm a fleeting, bleeding Beaten bride to be No, don't believe me I'm the fire and gnashing teeth they preached to you May everything I've written one day reach you And beseech you, Just like you did to me Now let me tell you what I see; Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream When I wash up on the beach, From blazing fires of burning seas, Let me sing you all to sleep For every tear I often weep To dream of you A lucid dream Just fucking make believe; And I can make believe we fucked Just so I can get to sleep (Are you proud of me?) Hey. (Sarcastically) Oh, Come In. (Sighs heavily) I fucked up. I'm not surprised. I'm not surprised. Don't copy me. I need help. No arguments there. Dude, I'm serious. __ So first of all oh God, now what– I'm not racist You're extremely racist Racist By Proxy I'm not Racist They do look alike. Check this out: WOAH. That's…not a coincidence. That's definitely not a coincidence. Fuck. This. Shit. Here, take this. So, you dropped this totem… Uh-huh. In the ocean. Yes I did. And that one Ooof. What about– That came off on the moped. How? When I came off the moped. So you admit it. SO! He only let me ride it cause he wanted to ride ME! Nice. Did you sing to him? Uh, I sang for him? What's the difference? Here's every song I've ever written about X.X Just kill yourself. Should I then? I mean, perHAPS. I mean, maaaayyyybeee. You know what? I do know. Fuckthisshit. Fuck it, then. I'm out. I quit. Go find SupaCree. This…is impossible. Nothing is impossible. Except for that. Oh. “Oh.” No, i'm serious. You look serious–I'm just saying. What is this? Don't touch that– What is it? It's– [a tiny explosion] –ugh. Volatile. What the fuck are you into? I told you. You said “music.” What is “Music” [very deep pondering] I hate you. We have to find her. You have to. What! You're not going to help us? I have other things to do. Like what, dude? Like what, broh. Feed My cat; Your cat died. Walk my dog– You don't have a dog. I'm getting one. Oh, Jesus Christ Don't get all religious on me, now, not after that. Not after what? Yeah, which thing? ___ Man. Get me out of here. [shrugs] I hate being stuck in your head. What is THIS. Uh. play dead. What's up with your dog. Ruff. Good boy. I'm a girl. Uhhh–good girl. Wait. Hm. Did that dog just– [???] Nevermind. I've been up for 6 days straight. Tour life, buddy. Ah-huh. Uhh. Can I take a shower in your– Take a sho–? [dog grumphs] Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks. *Shapeshifts* Wow, that's cool. It's so stupid. I came in late to the office, so to speak; it had been an off day, after an off night, plagued by what I was sure to be some sort of demonic magic—I was moving slowly, off beat, and irritated—nevermind the lack of energy, as I moved about as steadily as I could—making arrangements for the next trials to come, as it seemed nearly impossible to move ahead, and yet—somehow, I had been given what seemed like one final chance to survive, or not. I had spent the first part of my day, somehow waking with a gust of light, and ready to take on the tasks at hand—then quickly wiped of anything holy in me by the outrageously disgusting hacking and howling of the seemingly-programmed man-or-something-alike, and into a manic-semi-conscious desperation to piece together what was left of my life—seemingly nothing, but somehow still pieced and patched together by music, the overriding theme being that I would be quickly booted out of any position unsuitable for me; and by now, I was just about unsuitable for everything, besides gym crawling and throwing together pieces of literature unlike any I had before seen, as I was, assuredly beginning to look in every direction for other writers which may have matched my style of the then-present day and age, and to my shagrin had found nearly nothing to gawk about, but at the very least had picked up some novels noteworthy in nature, as they had made me laugh, or somehow otherwise caught my attention. Now in my Arsenal, I had one novel, each respectively written by a woman, a white man, and a black man—every book I had otherwise been drawn to written by black women were, upon cracking to open, too-stereotypically black, or about being a black-girl in some kind of way I knew too much about and had absolutely no interest in reading. I had no idea what caused me to look into a world I had all but shut out of my mind—this someone and something had haunted me for months and even growing into years now, first affectionately, but now growing into an uneasy and painstaking, critical list for something deeper. I hated my ex husband for bringing me to this, and, as I looked at the clock at 5:55 exactly, nearly vomited in disgust at the sprawling obsession I would have to somehow quiet—as there really was no halting the plague of tragic recouping thoughts of Dillon Francis at random—now, daily, for quite some time, even as the automatic writing had nearly stopped entirely; I had become entrapped with daily reminders of things I had written, now welling up with spite and anger, that I had even allowed myself the obsession to begin with—especially after what had happened—or what had not happened—with Sonny, whatever way you wanted to look at it. Now; just left with a burning lust and motion sickness beyond my wildest control upon approaching the matter if it all, nonetheless with peaking curisosity, as he had walked in and out if my dreamscape like a picturesque bandit, even hijacking my own sexuality—now almost didn't want or dream of anything else, and with the un presidented amount of ‘decoys' life had thrown at me—Bruno, the bird speaking man from Belgium with the eyes that burned in striking similarity to Dillon's—and then again with Gabriel, the man who had hired me to DJ in the small cerveceria in Mazunte, who could have been his brother'; a dazzlingly handsome, if not perfect near-replica of Dillon Francis, who, by that point, i couldn't even bear to look at, let alone conjure the spark or touch of romance—even after multiple suggestions that he and his girlfriend had just broken up. I never allowed myself for a moment to believe or think that Dillon—or any of the men I fawned after, for that matter, in reality, a very short list—would ever be settled with the idea of me as a perfect fit; no, I sat in the certain reality that I was cursed, living in the opposite exact of the Allison Wonderland archetype—a woman who I theorized may have been Skrillexed and Dillon Francis'd herself—it seemed to be a pattern of hypnotism I was finally wrapping my head around, and even had learned to respect if not envy: I wanted the codes to create my own version of the worlds I had been spun into—and while I would more than likely never be a light skinned, light eyed beauty Queen; perhaps my own kingdom was meant to be of wit and wealth, rather than vanity. Still, headed back Ibto the desert, I found myself scrolling through open guest lists, excited to take my longtime best friend turned literal goddess club crawling, looking for industry and network connections, if not at least a sex partner that could keep up with my needs, now furiously tearing at me from the inside out—as I scrolled, RSVPing for any acts I hadn't yet seen but had heard of, I found myself trailing off in thought and perhaps looking for something I hadn't realized I would stray into; I knew specifically that Dillon had a residency at the Wynn, and —though I also knew I wouldn't be caught dead at this point anywhere I knew he was, or especially stupid enough to pay for it. Now it was torturous, knowing how regretfully physical my attraction had become—understsnding from my interactions with the aforementioned that I was drawn to Dillon for his features—his eyes, his hair, and everything in his silhouette from his jawline, to his lips and brow drove me absolutely wild—however, I had learned about my very fragile psychiatry from my obsession with Skrillex, or with Sonny—neither of which I wished existed, adding Dillon Francis to the list of fictional characters I pushed further into my imaginary incineration box, where I put everything that not need affect my actual emotions or actions; Dillon Francis, a wealthy and talented, very handsome man—could not exist. I wished more than ever that I wasn't dark skinned, that I wasn't heavy set, that I didn't come with a flaming dumpster full of trauma and baggage that no man wanted or needed, but especially not the wealthy and handsome individuals I had spent very much of the last passing years writing about and fantasizing over, finding it respectably impossible to even have flings or sexual experiences without either of the two most rampant figures of my infatuation crossing into my mind and shrouding me with guilt and shame—and yet, here they were, so out of my element that I continued to agree with myself and the universe that it would be dillusinal to think myself a match for anyone so high-achieving. Nothing I could do or say could shake the fact that despite all my efforts to break through, all it had seemed to do was create a broken down individual, ready for enslavement in the working class just to stay housed—my music aspirations both hanging above me, and somehow fading away into the distance behind me. I hated myself. But more importantly, hated Skrillex and Dillon Francis for living the life I somehow thought I wanted and needed. What is the definitive definition of the word Skrillex? Skrillex: noun...right? What, you don't know? I know! It's...a noun...right? Right. Right--- ---Right! Could also be, an adjective, I guess--i? You guess?! You have to know. I mean--- Coughs ain't shit Skrillex ain't *coughs Satan ain't shit Bitch suck a dick Slit ya wrists On ya pissed off Little ass nigga. A loud, abrupt cough disrupted my focus; I was 5-sets-of-8 out of 8 and just feeling my heart begin to pump, as sweat poured from my temples and my sunglasses steamed “Man, fuck Coughs.” Whoever she was, even if it was just one of my infinite inward selves, this was some satanic shit. Now I hated Skrillex—not that it mattered, and as he was a living legend in computer animated music, or whatever voodoo shit he was responsible for that had sparked an entire uprising of revolutionary artists and producers spanning a generation or more—and I was damned-if-I-did, and damned-if-I-didn't love, like, or listen to him; all of which I did, besides the latter higher love by Whitney Houston, God rest her soul, blared over the gym's loud speakers, as I, more than likely looking just as superficially occupied as any basic broad, scrolling away on Instagram or texting her replicas, jotted down the rest of the thoughts that had nestled themselves in my mind's eye, as the coughing, which had followed me everywhere for nearly four years, beckoned to something—searching for purpose if not means to an end. He had Kayla Lauren, a plastic, streamlined representation of the all-American-deem girl, not to mention a “collective” of other broad women of sorts, probably all inwardly clawing just as I had at one time, for a piece of Sonny's heart, or whatever was left of it, after what I could have only assumed to have been a blood sacrifice of sorts, for his placement atop such a steep pyramid of success. What if, every time someone coughed—someone took a picture? I thought about the millions of hacking imbeciles and inbred, backwards savages who had crowded my ears with the putrid sounds of Satan's show choir, a coughing and excessive hellish representation of how the human race had gone awry; If I had been famous, or on my way to it, I would be burgeoned with photographs, as I had been in Mexico without knowing why or how—people sometimes slinking behind their phones as if to secretly capture a candid photo, I myself, pretending not to be aware of it. Cough cough. Ugh. If every cough represented a fan or something of the sorts taking a picture, I almost reveled in the thought—I would have rather had a million flashing cameras at once than to hear another ingrate hacking up a lung in Satan's honor. I was horrified at whatever Skrillex was, and whatever OWSLA meant, though I broadly showcased the tattoo on my inner-right forearm, opposite of Sonny's—the boy I was sure was murdered by the fame monster itself, as Lady Gaga, though admirable, had blatently called it, or herself, or whatever “we” all were or had been once, or would be, collectively at the beginning-and-end of it all. I had seen broadly into the realms of infinity the night previous, and had settled on one, astonishing fact: all of infinitely combined shared a concéntrical center at which at any point could be accessed. Even typing such a concept, I knew it to be life-altering…if I was even alive. To think, I used to hate deadmau5– I hate deadmau5– You know—after that spat with Skrillex. GO TEAM SKRILLEX!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! who the fuck is deadmau5, anyway. But here I am, decades later. [skrillex] FUCK THIS NIGGA. I needed something to help offset the damage that was done. [someone coughing loudly] Fuck this coughs bitch! [trying on small clothes] Ohh. [kayla Lauren] [sadness] Aww. [dillon Francis] —well how was I supposed to know he was a— STOP RIGHT THERE! I'm...not moving. Yeah, you're not. Uh, okay? You know why? I didn't ask— You need THIS: What is this. I'll tell you what it is [beat] … Okay—what is it?' ILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS. — Technically, If I do this every day, I can eat whatever I want— Just eat it. No. But I won't. Well, why not? Too Fat For Skrillex. — [C.C. Arrives in the parking lot to find her car has been vandalized...again.] ...Skrillex did this. On Jimmy Fallon. On Jimmy Fallon. Alright, then, kid—it's your dollar. I'll take “Skrillex Did It” for one dollar. But he's halfway across the world! He can shapeshift! Don't be stupid. What—! He's a shapeshifter, for real. We know! Just don't say it! I saw it. We all have. What the fuck, bro— Where did you come from? I've been here. Haven't we all? That's the spirit. What's a spirit? I'm glad you asked. As SUPACREE walks down the street, a man in the passenger's seat is seen to be the Egyptian God ANUBIS, before shifting back into hidden human form. Which one's that? Anubis, right? Googles 'deities' Oh, there he is: Anubis. Good. What's he want? Whatever it is, that's not what I was looking for. What are you looking for? That dark thing. Which “dark thing”? Flashback: That's inside me?! Flashback to Kite at Bass– UGH! Canyon. That's it. That's what it is. LET ME OUT. It's gonna destroy something. She. She–yes–apparently so. CUT BACK TO Fuck you, Skrillex! Stay over there and be Skrillex with your fucking–models–and you coughs piece of fucking–peice of fucking shit, peice of shit. Oh SHIT, who let him in? I mean, it's Skrillex. Yeah, but who let him near SUPACREE? He does what he wants. I heard that. Fuck you, Skrillex. That sounds deep. I guess so. What even happened? Nobody seems to know. Oh. –Except these guys. Who the fuck are you? Where did you come from?! CULT FOLLOWERS Yes–”WHO” Yes–”WHERE” Uh, okay. SUPACREE Fuck this shit. I quit. You can't quit. I just did. Fuck Skrillex. Ah, shit, here it comes. Go ahead, the worst he can do is cough at me and make me homeless. *loud obnoxious coughing* Do your worst. *more loud coughing* Fuckin'. Satan's pet. Satan's not real! Then neither is Skrillex. Amen. (Cult Followers, In unison.) Amen. [SUPACREE exits furiously.] What…the fuck. Pause. Wait, is this marketable? Yes. How? Cause its Skrillex. Skrillex is clickbait. What the FUCK did he do? *COUGHS* I mean, I bet– Fucking–motherfucker. Fuck. Well, now what? Now, nothing. I'mma go get a regular job and see what the industry wants with Jessica. (((Oh, I think you know what they want.))) ((Oh, God Knows)) I thought we weren't doing that bit. We're doing all the bits. MORTY. JESSICA. Oh yeah. Even better. C'esme't sighs heavily, unamused. My liege. Don't be coy with me. I would never. There are hardly any things left you would never do. If not only because I had done them all; But to be coy, with you, my Queen is neither desire or pleasure. You are clever. At your discretion. I began to wonder if I may have looked as miserable as I was, as even though I could not see my own self, walking about in my day-to-day nothingness, the expression protruding from my face felt as if it might look as lifeless as I was beginning to feel, no longer wholly choking back tears but still moving and barely breathing in the awful circumstance of doing and being–I had felt the light itself slowly draining from my eyes, and even things I loved with all my heart could not in any sense brighten this dullness. I felt Godless, and at the very least loveless, lightless, and without my magic, somehow having lost my soul and my singing voice at once. Yes, it was terrible–something was wrong, and I, without becoming the star I had so wanted, was already washing up. Homelessness drained all of what would have been a magnificent energy all together, left to become someone I wasn't sure I even liked, and seemingly cursed, as most recently, no one else seemed to like me either--still, I almost let myself believe something bigger was at play, or perhaps in the works; I had been relocated just perfect walking distance to the gym, where of course rather than look for work which would only urge me closer to suicide than I had been, I elected instead to spend a majority of my time, crafting my days around getting there for the bare minimum of three hours, but ideally closer to 5 or 6, always aiming for 8 and almost-always giving up not because I was too tired, but because I was drenched in sweat, and something like the discomfort of a wet diaper, just wanted to be fresh and dry. God, Help me with this affliction Pick a clip, Flick the bean, And watch Netflix I'm stressin, wet and undressin This sexual tension is serious Salad, with no dressin I'm the lady in the red dress, and yes I write blank checks, so when I go to Heck, I bounce back like, “Yes.” [YES] No pressure, It's my pleasure; I'd rather be in leather than in latex, lathered up Present, or past but honestly, neither matters; Just give this to Marshall Mathers, And a Dad Hat; AMEN Hey Kids, Lets not say “Amen”, After we say hanuss shit, okay? Today, I'm Eminem, so I can finally find Skrillex, And kill him: My mission is to introduce a new religion to humans, called STOP BEING STUPID. Stop Being Skrillex. Well, Alright Then. [Presses Easy Button] “WELL, THAT WAS-- CUT TO: -__- SUPACREE wakes up from a coma; In a very SKRILLEX, Get out. [He just does.] ...Where's Dillon Francis? ...Dillon Is Dead. Dilon Francis Died. He's...left us. ...Nope. Yes, he is. SUPACREE, I'm Sorry. Don't be sorry. Be Dillon Francis. The Coma--You know---must've-- You know. Nope. Where's Pasquale? Who is that? Oh, fuck this. No, wait, stop! STAHP. Bring Skrillex Back. I never left. You're never there. Here, Tres Leches … Dulce De Leche. You know what? What? NO. NO? NO. __ ALRIGHT, WHERE'S DILLON FRANCIS? Who is that? STOP PLAYING GAMES. DILLON FRANCIS is in THE VOID, trying to beat THE LEGEND of SUPACREE. It's a really good game. DILLON FRANCIS (cracked) “It's a really good game!” GAMERS It is, a really good game. So good, in fact, that when SUPACREE herself arrives, S/He pays her almost entirely no mind. Really, Dillon Francis? ... Really, Motherfucker. DILLON FRANCIS I'm The Captain SUPACREE No, I am. (I AM!) She gestures that she is about to unplug the TV DILLON FRANCIS Don't do that. SUPACREE What? I am (I AM) Don't do it again! I told you, it's-- IN Dillon. DILLON Don't FIN. SUPACREE Unplugs the Set. DEADMAU5 FUCK, MAN. FINALLY. SUPACREE Be Less Canadian. JOEL No, I can't DILLON FRANCIS No, He can't-- JESUS No, he can't. [Beat] DILLON IS SHATTERED, as at the last moment (before the determination of the outcome of the battle, it entirely ceases to exist. Moments of silence pass in infinite tension, before DILLON, looking much like an uncomfortable, overheated, skinless (live) chicken, meets a soon to be boiled crab. OH, MY GOD. GAD/SUPACREE/C.C. That's... what they call me. *coughs* -UGLY!- *coughs* *coughs* GOD. GOD No, not you. DILLON FRANCIS ...Oh, My God. GOD What, Dillon Francis? DILLON FRANCIS Are you SUPACREE? GOD I...Am. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God--I am too! GOD I know this. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God! GOD Yeah, I know! Woah, he's Fangirling He's fangirling so hard. Well, wouldn't you. Ask me about IT.” (IS/IT) 3 heads are better than one; This is a a game based on truth; The more you ask, the more you know; The more you know about me— The more you know about yourself— The more you know about yourself, the more you know about the world You are the world. Ī ∆ M Ū. Goddammit! You son of a bitch. She won't watch it I bet she will They know I will He knows I am! I am! Oh, there we go—it's on Get off me! Goddammit, Dillon Francis! I hate you. I hate you BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK–WHEN TO THE WYNN!! Right—! Wait—- Not yet— I know the code. Oh she– she knows what the code is. What did I put it in? I get it, I get it, it's— Not now, then! Not then, now! Not— Wait—- DONT! ...then, I die. The DJ VALET AND THE DJ BALLET THE BAMPHERAMPH BALANCING ACT WITH THE CHAMPION OF RAP?!? ...ohhh, wave dash, I get it… Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--He pushed Skrillex off a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex Cinematic Adventures With The Insimniacs Lol ew. *The Insomniacs DILLON FRANCIS hijacks THE BLACK PARADE. What the fuck is this? I don't know. Is he a pirate? I doubt it. No, those are pirates. Oh, shit, pirates. Yarg. Uh, okay. I didn't want to do this. Nobody asked you! Why are you like this? Stop being a little bitch, Dillon Francis— please, grow some balls. I have balls. Grow bigger balls, then. You're so mean. Shut—thefuck UP. Why are you like this? UGH—! SUNNÏ BLŪ is drinking rum again, disregarding the house arrest anklet entirely. YARG! Sunnï, the police are coming! The police are always coming! UGH!!! THEY TRYNA KEEP A BLACK MAN DOWN! [kicks trash can over] SUNNÏ. YO-HO-HO—-*belches* BITCH Oh, my God. I AM GOD. GOD WORSHIPS ME. I'M A PIRATE. You're about to go to jail. Again! FUCK THESE N*GGAS. [sirens blaring; the paparazzi arrives] Warm up my forearms Before a performance Warning: I got warrants Call florance, my lawyer —bitch, yur below me, I'm the only, Blow me You should owe me — OH, that's hilarious. JACK BLACK THIS IS FUNNY TO YOU?! YES. ITS MOT FUNNY. You look ridiculous. Do you know where I just came from?! Uh. Wednesday afternoon church? No! The 60's! Was it racist? YES. You look racist. This isn't funny! You need to fix this! I need to eat impossible chicken tinders. That sounds gross You look gross! You! Fix this! Where are you going?! Somewhere safe before the acid kicks in! You took acid?! IN THE 60's! Okay, have fun Have fun with your yuck-nuggets PASQUALE Wanna hear some tea? …no. CC! It's me! CARMELLA?! —YES—and no! Why are you Pasquale? Who's “Pasquale?” I met this guy at work! What?! Do you like it?! No! What. Did I not do it right?! No—! I mean—yes- but, Carmella— Huh I never taught you what to do with the other person when you're shape shifting into their body So?! UGH-/! No!! Where's Pasquale?! Who is that!? UGH. —- Hey. You came to winco at 3 AM for some Pringle's and franks red hot sauce *sets milk down* And white milk. It's la

DIPLO/THOMAS YOU THINK THIS IS A FUCKING GAME?! SUPACREE THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT IT IS. DIPLO/THOMAS MAYBE TO YOU! SUPACREE I AM YOU!!' DIPLO Reveals The Seer's Stone. Oh, SHIT, Dude. Where'd you get that?! What's this story. No, don't go in there. Oh, look, a story— I told you this was going to be a long night. I was knocking back preworkout at 8 PM exactly, far out of sight from Travis Apple but not entirely out of mind, it was a personal feat to walk into the gym anymore, let alone by his desk—my spirit seemed to have other ideas at an occupation than I myself had formerly thought, but I was at clever best being dissociative now as I was ever, something springing from within me to be let loose, and though it could be, I thought my best to tame it. Professor Zimmerman It's you again… It's always me. So it is. I found something peculiar in a playback of last night's stream of the observatory— (But) How peculiar? Peculiar enough that I thought you might actually take interest. Touché. — I am dead. Oh fuck—he's dead too?! How'd he die? Let me guess—a drag race. Good guess, but no. Was it murder? It's always murder. Now, now, what's this? Don't touch it? What is it? —touch it and see. Ewhe. That's what I thought. Ketamine. Ketamine? Ketamine? Damn; are those two still doing drugs? They're alwYs doing drugs. That's semi-believable. Anyway. Was it a heart attack? Bingo! This is a heart attack! GODDAMMIT, YOU TWO—KNOCK IT OFF. Sorry— —sorry, mom. PROFESSOR ZIMMERMAN is looking through a telescope. Professor Zimmerman! What? What do you want? —my name in the history books; particularly and more specifically for discovering a previously unknown planet and it's inhabitant species. Fair. I meant— —professor Zimmerman— What do you want, from me? It's not entirely unrelated, I promise. Don't make promises you can't keep. Why would I do that? I don't know why women do what they do. That's sexist. It's honest. —no, to just—assume that I'm a woman. [an awkward silence; professor Zimmerman looks up from his studies to examine the short, rather stout, and particularly androgynous student before him] Oh, uh— [beat] I'm a woman. [in relief] Oh! —It's okay. Still, [disgruntled sigh] —it was sexist. Ugh! Anyway— 1.00 mile 10:17 Deadmau5, album title goes here I felt horrible for Brandon, who was eagerly giving his all—but by now physical attraction meant far more than too much to me, my sex drive climbing seemingly by the minute, and my own physique shrinking down into an admirable average, if not above average, by American standards—excluding of course, the Californians, by which standard I was still morbidly obsese as ever, and might as well just pair up with the likes of Brandon, who may have been equally gifted, were it not for his massive weight—then, it was also a selection of genetic particularities that my drive seemed to be fed by—and between the overall unremarkable appearance, it was the bad housekeeping and general disability to take the four otherwise well-mannered children into habitable people—not entirely his fault, and my own arrogance, failing to mention that by now I had become estranged from my own offspring, giving myself a self-entitled badge of abandonment. So I might as well be nothing. If not a mother, I thoughttrapped to myself—but I didn't think much of myself, besides being In some sort of hell, encapsulated and in my own body. What about him? No, that's—that's deadmau5. Well, he's a man, isn't he?! I wish you would leave me alone. — This is scary. You can't just—back up like that— This is too much light. It's not “too much” It is “too much” So that's it? … (Cont'd) That's it? Oh, I know this one. This one's so good What's this one? “The Liight Bringers” Are you sure that was it? Something like that. No. Something like that. NO. Ugh. I hate this. I hate him. I hate this. You always say that. I always hate it. That's not true. Look. I'm not looking. [she walks away] So that's it?! The Cosmic Owl soars in overhead; He is old, he is wise, and now—he is tired. HE?! I thought it was a ‘she' This is the other sides THE OTHER SIDE? [EDC .5] OH. Fuck. This is going to take forever to explain. Yeah. Where's Pasquale? Where isn't Pasquale? Touche. I felt about a hundred feet tall standing next to Pasquale Rotella, and though I would never admit or mentioned it aflojdfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff There he is. —and though I never would admit or mention it aloud, I liked that he was short, overall—as it made him seem less intimidating; I was, after all, rather morbidly afraid of him, as I was of anything at all, for that matter—anything that could or did have the power to make or break me. And he did. I found him. Where was he? Aha. What? I mean, it's a place, but it doesn't have a name, really. Oh really? What place is that? If I knew, I'd tell you. Tell me anyway. No, let him. Where have you been? Again, an outstanding diecotomy; If I could say the words to weave the space and time between us, Then would have, or even, Rather smittenly, I'd sing them With the Melodies I'm making (Like excuses for the work that I'm not doing) Or the worlds I'm still not moving with the winds beneath my wings— The wind beneath my wings. What the fuck is this? I don't know. In the end, we are nowhere Sleepless and still and tight Maybe we shouldn't fall asleep Saving what was left behind Standing outside the chalk outline Beside ourselves in time The only thing I want, is the last thing I need Awake and sleepless as stars shine What the fuck is that? You know what?! Stop asking me! WHATTHEFUCK IS THAT? I STILL DON'T KNOW. Let me see. It's a— Let me see! It's a planet. No… It's a planet, and I'm telling you it's a planet, and it's orbiting a star that's bigger than ours. That's a lot of speculation. That's a good eye— It was annoying but it unwelcome how often I had to stop and write, I knew by now if I didn't write what was in my head right then, it might take such a long time to come back around, even if it was good, that by the time it did, it would be out of context. There was nothing I could do to really save myself, or stop myself—and so I let it happen, and while most people were stopping to text, I was in a way, talking to myself—or even, my highest self. It was too late to find anything good to eat until the next morning, but my appetite had been a ravenous and unstoppable force, swapping out hat should have been a healthy amount of sex with a questionable amount of food. Lest not I forget How deep in love I would be, or How deep in love I was, once, Or will be, once I depart this In the wake of wonder, Dreaming, Slipping not into a silence— There I was, at the end of it, Remembering; Never had I once thought What was just a long lost song Becomes none, Or all of my cut cloth Fuck this nonsense. It's not—nonsense. It's a lot of nonsense. It's definitely a lot of something. — Don't shapeshift into my cat anymore— —don't tell me what to do. Don't do that. It's gross! How is it “gross” It's—my cat! I love cats. Stay away from my cat. DON'T TOUCH THAT CAT. is that a euphemism? NO—just— Lol. It is not possible that meowingtons is still alive. I mean, it's possible, just not probable. — Damn! Fuxk! This is a long ass story! So tell it then. I mean—how?! What is that thing, even?! Ku//Ka Well, that's it. What. I quit. You can't quit. I most certainly can quit. — You're going to risk your entire career on this thesis, My entire career is this thesis. Listen to me. You know I valbue your opinion. Well, then listen— —but I value your scientific contributions more. Just trust me. I don't trust you. Then you don't trust yourself. [she leaves the professor in a hollow silence; he lights a cigarette] I hate that she does that. — We probably shouldn't be using this equipment, guys. What?! Why not?! I don't care. Its—really old. 10 26 I don't care. What the Fuxk is this I think they're coordinates. To fuckin—where?! — WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? What the fuck is wrong with you!? Nobody quite knows. You're so clever. You're an idiot! I'm not an idiot. I'm a doctor. You're a fucking idiot. I'm Dr. Idiot. Your entire career It's a job. It's your career It's a profession. But, professor Zimmerman Doctor, Zimmerman, now, technically. You're an idiot. I'm running out of synonyms. I had tenure. — 9h my God, just PLEASE stop writing! But if ibstop writint l, you dont exist. Qcrually, i exist either way. Not 5o me. Ita a conceprtional universe. It you can think of it, it exists somewhere! Oh, damn. Yeah. Like damn damn. And the more you write rigut now, the worse it gets For me? For me! The Evers, Who What When Where Why and How. WOW. I know! I just now mafe that connection. These guys are my favorites. Who are they? Cut to: A young, brown skinned girl points to the top of a bunch of pinnaples, and shouts, My brothers! Her mother, pulls her in another direction, explaining sweetly and softly, No silly girl, those are pinapples! She picks up the girl, who latches on around the womans neck and sets ger head down over her sjoulder, staring at tge pinapples as she is carried away. She stares longingly. __ Sit down. Is there any Chinese left? A fortune cookie. Ah, that's good. I walked in locked in; Pistol cocked, and pointed towards my head You'll only want me when you have no options left, Or when I'm dead “It's clever” They all said An ambitious endevour End this life, and be devoured By the miester and the misters of the hour How about now? (Or–) How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Or, How about now, or How about now, or How about now? Or, How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Now or Never I said “That's clever” or “How about Now” What do you want from me? I lie for a living; A literal drama queen, don't eat turkey on thanksgiving I'm the worthless word for Surface level thinking on this Earth, or Picking hearses with my cursor, Mercenary, Mercury, or Just a Mercer–But not a Mercedes; I'm paid, but I hate paying; Made the game, but I hate playing I remember making hate to be created Just for entertainment– A belated invitation, Now i'll face it, Back to Basic– But she's laced with Masonry; A tastemaker, maybe But she just wants a family, Whatever that means Wow. How about now? Fuck this. Homelssness. I woul rather kill myself than stay alive I'd rather die than fight Don't want to write this: I'm just a diamond pressurized And i might never see the light I'll never see the lght I see the light There's no honor in suicide But i've devided my mind a million times And now like dynamite in a mine; Collapsed, collided, ad defined by All divine; You'll never see me shine, But deep inside I'd blind you; Guided by the tide, I've come to find you Down, I dive I'm not alive, you know I'm always misaligned But that's beside the point Another suicide attempt Is in the midst– But just what is it; More than just one, is it? Rather die than listen to Skrillex Or take pills just to chill with it For real? this shit again? It wasn't real, all to begin with It's only mental illness cause i'm penniless Now i've got so much to deal with Another wound to heal, Another deal, perhaps I'll make another million in a year, If i'm still here– And i”m still here– And i'm still– Who are you now, and— Who were you then; And— Which part of this, would you want— Or did want, Or just wanted Pondered before in a vision, Outfitted in hooded drapery, The heaviest fabric; A rosary hung from his neck But can't recall the connection In this ressurection I can recall him, But never remember The calling Let's call him Oh, fuck man. ‘Friar Tuck' THAT WAS IT. The high priest of asencion, Was burned in her memory— Not as a friend, But a friend of the enemy; Who she loved and protected, Despite all the envy, She felt for Persephone— Just an unjust figure, A fictional figment of imagination But— Who was I then And who am I now; And what part of him, Would I want, if I wanted Or wished for, Or honored A friend, long forgotten Not a high priest, But a Friar That was it— But before, As Mary, Joseph, and Jesus On the front lines of the war, Not to be started, but ended, as in Preparation, a blood sacrifice I've prepared In a premonition that I'd Give my whole heart again Honest, And honestly slain in the eyes, Of a man I remember, But didn't, when it mattered— Then did, right in front of him Who are we now, and— Who were we then; Let's find out, As time's running out again “Yes, I know him.” She sighed, eyeing from over the rims of the glasses she purchased only earlier to assure she had hidden the tears that she cried for Him— Neither a friend or an enemy, rather The ghost of a shadow she hadn't yet met with again, since he entered her presence Shifting into a tent Now, ripped from the pages of a book she cherished, A page which she promised to never diminish or tarnish would go up in ashes, As totems would fall, Wishes would become granted The PyRAmiD Spell (For Pasquale Rotella) gave gave the man honorary doctorate, and then reneged it, nigga thought he was actually bigger than big sister sick spitter, rip n dip listening to anything but Skrillex that shit is for kids ‘Check it' I hate midi gimmie a synth, something gritty, I'll make it pretty Come and try to get me, I been dead for centuries, Unsolved like a mystery This image don't mean shit to me, I sit to think, I wait to speak, I leak some information on the interwebs just to see how fast it comes back to me I'm actually a master “Untitled 07” It's like a 24/7 job, can't get no rest in, At best you're looking like a slob I kamikaze ‘em all, I am your mom, I will tell you what you are, to me By now, you should know, or see Just a name on my computer screen A friendly neighbor on Easy Street A wish, A lucid dream, A misalignment, so its seems So let me tell you what you are to me: Just make believe (Just make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream I'll tell you what I've seen, and what I see (and What I see) I dare to dream (I dare to dream) But please believe me, I'm as evil as can be Don't let my anything deceive you I'm a fleeting, bleeding Beaten bride to be No, don't believe me I'm the fire and gnashing teeth they preached to you May everything I've written one day reach you And beseech you, Just like you did to me Now let me tell you what I see; Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream When I wash up on the beach, From blazing fires of burning seas, Let me sing you all to sleep For every tear I often weep To dream of you A lucid dream Just fucking make believe; And I can make believe we fucked Just so I can get to sleep (Are you proud of me?) Hey. (Sarcastically) Oh, Come In. (Sighs heavily) I fucked up. I'm not surprised. I'm not surprised. Don't copy me. I need help. No arguments there. Dude, I'm serious. __ So first of all oh God, now what– I'm not racist You're extremely racist Racist By Proxy I'm not Racist They do look alike. Check this out: WOAH. That's…not a coincidence. That's definitely not a coincidence. Fuck. This. Shit. Here, take this. So, you dropped this totem… Uh-huh. In the ocean. Yes I did. And that one Ooof. What about– That came off on the moped. How? When I came off the moped. So you admit it. SO! He only let me ride it cause he wanted to ride ME! Nice. Did you sing to him? Uh, I sang for him? What's the difference? Here's every song I've ever written about X.X Just kill yourself. Should I then? I mean, perHAPS. I mean, maaaayyyybeee. You know what? I do know. Fuckthisshit. Fuck it, then. I'm out. I quit. Go find SupaCree. This…is impossible. Nothing is impossible. Except for that. Oh. “Oh.” No, i'm serious. You look serious–I'm just saying. What is this? Don't touch that– What is it? It's– [a tiny explosion] –ugh. Volatile. What the fuck are you into? I told you. You said “music.” What is “Music” [very deep pondering] I hate you. We have to find her. You have to. What! You're not going to help us? I have other things to do. Like what, dude? Like what, broh. Feed My cat; Your cat died. Walk my dog– You don't have a dog. I'm getting one. Oh, Jesus Christ Don't get all religious on me, now, not after that. Not after what? Yeah, which thing? ___ Man. Get me out of here. [shrugs] I hate being stuck in your head. What is THIS. Uh. play dead. What's up with your dog. Ruff. Good boy. I'm a girl. Uhhh–good girl. Wait. Hm. Did that dog just– [???] Nevermind. I've been up for 6 days straight. Tour life, buddy. Ah-huh. Uhh. Can I take a shower in your– Take a sho–? [dog grumphs] Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks. *Shapeshifts* Wow, that's cool. It's so stupid. I came in late to the office, so to speak; it had been an off day, after an off night, plagued by what I was sure to be some sort of demonic magic—I was moving slowly, off beat, and irritated—nevermind the lack of energy, as I moved about as steadily as I could—making arrangements for the next trials to come, as it seemed nearly impossible to move ahead, and yet—somehow, I had been given what seemed like one final chance to survive, or not. I had spent the first part of my day, somehow waking with a gust of light, and ready to take on the tasks at hand—then quickly wiped of anything holy in me by the outrageously disgusting hacking and howling of the seemingly-programmed man-or-something-alike, and into a manic-semi-conscious desperation to piece together what was left of my life—seemingly nothing, but somehow still pieced and patched together by music, the overriding theme being that I would be quickly booted out of any position unsuitable for me; and by now, I was just about unsuitable for everything, besides gym crawling and throwing together pieces of literature unlike any I had before seen, as I was, assuredly beginning to look in every direction for other writers which may have matched my style of the then-present day and age, and to my shagrin had found nearly nothing to gawk about, but at the very least had picked up some novels noteworthy in nature, as they had made me laugh, or somehow otherwise caught my attention. Now in my Arsenal, I had one novel, each respectively written by a woman, a white man, and a black man—every book I had otherwise been drawn to written by black women were, upon cracking to open, too-stereotypically black, or about being a black-girl in some kind of way I knew too much about and had absolutely no interest in reading. I had no idea what caused me to look into a world I had all but shut out of my mind—this someone and something had haunted me for months and even growing into years now, first affectionately, but now growing into an uneasy and painstaking, critical list for something deeper. I hated my ex husband for bringing me to this, and, as I looked at the clock at 5:55 exactly, nearly vomited in disgust at the sprawling obsession I would have to somehow quiet—as there really was no halting the plague of tragic recouping thoughts of Dillon Francis at random—now, daily, for quite some time, even as the automatic writing had nearly stopped entirely; I had become entrapped with daily reminders of things I had written, now welling up with spite and anger, that I had even allowed myself the obsession to begin with—especially after what had happened—or what had not happened—with Sonny, whatever way you wanted to look at it. Now; just left with a burning lust and motion sickness beyond my wildest control upon approaching the matter if it all, nonetheless with peaking curisosity, as he had walked in and out if my dreamscape like a picturesque bandit, even hijacking my own sexuality—now almost didn't want or dream of anything else, and with the un presidented amount of ‘decoys' life had thrown at me—Bruno, the bird speaking man from Belgium with the eyes that burned in striking similarity to Dillon's—and then again with Gabriel, the man who had hired me to DJ in the small cerveceria in Mazunte, who could have been his brother'; a dazzlingly handsome, if not perfect near-replica of Dillon Francis, who, by that point, i couldn't even bear to look at, let alone conjure the spark or touch of romance—even after multiple suggestions that he and his girlfriend had just broken up. I never allowed myself for a moment to believe or think that Dillon—or any of the men I fawned after, for that matter, in reality, a very short list—would ever be settled with the idea of me as a perfect fit; no, I sat in the certain reality that I was cursed, living in the opposite exact of the Allison Wonderland archetype—a woman who I theorized may have been Skrillexed and Dillon Francis'd herself—it seemed to be a pattern of hypnotism I was finally wrapping my head around, and even had learned to respect if not envy: I wanted the codes to create my own version of the worlds I had been spun into—and while I would more than likely never be a light skinned, light eyed beauty Queen; perhaps my own kingdom was meant to be of wit and wealth, rather than vanity. Still, headed back Ibto the desert, I found myself scrolling through open guest lists, excited to take my longtime best friend turned literal goddess club crawling, looking for industry and network connections, if not at least a sex partner that could keep up with my needs, now furiously tearing at me from the inside out—as I scrolled, RSVPing for any acts I hadn't yet seen but had heard of, I found myself trailing off in thought and perhaps looking for something I hadn't realized I would stray into; I knew specifically that Dillon had a residency at the Wynn, and —though I also knew I wouldn't be caught dead at this point anywhere I knew he was, or especially stupid enough to pay for it. Now it was torturous, knowing how regretfully physical my attraction had become—understsnding from my interactions with the aforementioned that I was drawn to Dillon for his features—his eyes, his hair, and everything in his silhouette from his jawline, to his lips and brow drove me absolutely wild—however, I had learned about my very fragile psychiatry from my obsession with Skrillex, or with Sonny—neither of which I wished existed, adding Dillon Francis to the list of fictional characters I pushed further into my imaginary incineration box, where I put everything that not need affect my actual emotions or actions; Dillon Francis, a wealthy and talented, very handsome man—could not exist. I wished more than ever that I wasn't dark skinned, that I wasn't heavy set, that I didn't come with a flaming dumpster full of trauma and baggage that no man wanted or needed, but especially not the wealthy and handsome individuals I had spent very much of the last passing years writing about and fantasizing over, finding it respectably impossible to even have flings or sexual experiences without either of the two most rampant figures of my infatuation crossing into my mind and shrouding me with guilt and shame—and yet, here they were, so out of my element that I continued to agree with myself and the universe that it would be dillusinal to think myself a match for anyone so high-achieving. Nothing I could do or say could shake the fact that despite all my efforts to break through, all it had seemed to do was create a broken down individual, ready for enslavement in the working class just to stay housed—my music aspirations both hanging above me, and somehow fading away into the distance behind me. I hated myself. But more importantly, hated Skrillex and Dillon Francis for living the life I somehow thought I wanted and needed. What is the definitive definition of the word Skrillex? Skrillex: noun...right? What, you don't know? I know! It's...a noun...right? Right. Right--- ---Right! Could also be, an adjective, I guess--i? You guess?! You have to know. I mean--- Coughs ain't shit Skrillex ain't *coughs Satan ain't shit Bitch suck a dick Slit ya wrists On ya pissed off Little ass nigga. A loud, abrupt cough disrupted my focus; I was 5-sets-of-8 out of 8 and just feeling my heart begin to pump, as sweat poured from my temples and my sunglasses steamed “Man, fuck Coughs.” Whoever she was, even if it was just one of my infinite inward selves, this was some satanic shit. Now I hated Skrillex—not that it mattered, and as he was a living legend in computer animated music, or whatever voodoo shit he was responsible for that had sparked an entire uprising of revolutionary artists and producers spanning a generation or more—and I was damned-if-I-did, and damned-if-I-didn't love, like, or listen to him; all of which I did, besides the latter higher love by Whitney Houston, God rest her soul, blared over the gym's loud speakers, as I, more than likely looking just as superficially occupied as any basic broad, scrolling away on Instagram or texting her replicas, jotted down the rest of the thoughts that had nestled themselves in my mind's eye, as the coughing, which had followed me everywhere for nearly four years, beckoned to something—searching for purpose if not means to an end. He had Kayla Lauren, a plastic, streamlined representation of the all-American-deem girl, not to mention a “collective” of other broad women of sorts, probably all inwardly clawing just as I had at one time, for a piece of Sonny's heart, or whatever was left of it, after what I could have only assumed to have been a blood sacrifice of sorts, for his placement atop such a steep pyramid of success. What if, every time someone coughed—someone took a picture? I thought about the millions of hacking imbeciles and inbred, backwards savages who had crowded my ears with the putrid sounds of Satan's show choir, a coughing and excessive hellish representation of how the human race had gone awry; If I had been famous, or on my way to it, I would be burgeoned with photographs, as I had been in Mexico without knowing why or how—people sometimes slinking behind their phones as if to secretly capture a candid photo, I myself, pretending not to be aware of it. Cough cough. Ugh. If every cough represented a fan or something of the sorts taking a picture, I almost reveled in the thought—I would have rather had a million flashing cameras at once than to hear another ingrate hacking up a lung in Satan's honor. I was horrified at whatever Skrillex was, and whatever OWSLA meant, though I broadly showcased the tattoo on my inner-right forearm, opposite of Sonny's—the boy I was sure was murdered by the fame monster itself, as Lady Gaga, though admirable, had blatently called it, or herself, or whatever “we” all were or had been once, or would be, collectively at the beginning-and-end of it all. I had seen broadly into the realms of infinity the night previous, and had settled on one, astonishing fact: all of infinitely combined shared a concéntrical center at which at any point could be accessed. Even typing such a concept, I knew it to be life-altering…if I was even alive. To think, I used to hate deadmau5– I hate deadmau5– You know—after that spat with Skrillex. GO TEAM SKRILLEX!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! who the fuck is deadmau5, anyway. But here I am, decades later. [skrillex] FUCK THIS NIGGA. I needed something to help offset the damage that was done. [someone coughing loudly] Fuck this coughs bitch! [trying on small clothes] Ohh. [kayla Lauren] [sadness] Aww. [dillon Francis] —well how was I supposed to know he was a— STOP RIGHT THERE! I'm...not moving. Yeah, you're not. Uh, okay? You know why? I didn't ask— You need THIS: What is this. I'll tell you what it is [beat] … Okay—what is it?' ILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS. — Technically, If I do this every day, I can eat whatever I want— Just eat it. No. But I won't. Well, why not? Too Fat For Skrillex. — [C.C. Arrives in the parking lot to find her car has been vandalized...again.] ...Skrillex did this. On Jimmy Fallon. On Jimmy Fallon. Alright, then, kid—it's your dollar. I'll take “Skrillex Did It” for one dollar. But he's halfway across the world! He can shapeshift! Don't be stupid. What—! He's a shapeshifter, for real. We know! Just don't say it! I saw it. We all have. What the fuck, bro— Where did you come from? I've been here. Haven't we all? That's the spirit. What's a spirit? I'm glad you asked. As SUPACREE walks down the street, a man in the passenger's seat is seen to be the Egyptian God ANUBIS, before shifting back into hidden human form. Which one's that? Anubis, right? Googles 'deities' Oh, there he is: Anubis. Good. What's he want? Whatever it is, that's not what I was looking for. What are you looking for? That dark thing. Which “dark thing”? Flashback: That's inside me?! Flashback to Kite at Bass– UGH! Canyon. That's it. That's what it is. LET ME OUT. It's gonna destroy something. She. She–yes–apparently so. CUT BACK TO Fuck you, Skrillex! Stay over there and be Skrillex with your fucking–models–and you coughs piece of fucking–peice of fucking shit, peice of shit. Oh SHIT, who let him in? I mean, it's Skrillex. Yeah, but who let him near SUPACREE? He does what he wants. I heard that. Fuck you, Skrillex. That sounds deep. I guess so. What even happened? Nobody seems to know. Oh. –Except these guys. Who the fuck are you? Where did you come from?! CULT FOLLOWERS Yes–”WHO” Yes–”WHERE” Uh, okay. SUPACREE Fuck this shit. I quit. You can't quit. I just did. Fuck Skrillex. Ah, shit, here it comes. Go ahead, the worst he can do is cough at me and make me homeless. *loud obnoxious coughing* Do your worst. *more loud coughing* Fuckin'. Satan's pet. Satan's not real! Then neither is Skrillex. Amen. (Cult Followers, In unison.) Amen. [SUPACREE exits furiously.] What…the fuck. Pause. Wait, is this marketable? Yes. How? Cause its Skrillex. Skrillex is clickbait. What the FUCK did he do? *COUGHS* I mean, I bet– Fucking–motherfucker. Fuck. Well, now what? Now, nothing. I'mma go get a regular job and see what the industry wants with Jessica. (((Oh, I think you know what they want.))) ((Oh, God Knows)) I thought we weren't doing that bit. We're doing all the bits. MORTY. JESSICA. Oh yeah. Even better. C'esme't sighs heavily, unamused. My liege. Don't be coy with me. I would never. There are hardly any things left you would never do. If not only because I had done them all; But to be coy, with you, my Queen is neither desire or pleasure. You are clever. At your discretion. I began to wonder if I may have looked as miserable as I was, as even though I could not see my own self, walking about in my day-to-day nothingness, the expression protruding from my face felt as if it might look as lifeless as I was beginning to feel, no longer wholly choking back tears but still moving and barely breathing in the awful circumstance of doing and being–I had felt the light itself slowly draining from my eyes, and even things I loved with all my heart could not in any sense brighten this dullness. I felt Godless, and at the very least loveless, lightless, and without my magic, somehow having lost my soul and my singing voice at once. Yes, it was terrible–something was wrong, and I, without becoming the star I had so wanted, was already washing up. Homelessness drained all of what would have been a magnificent energy all together, left to become someone I wasn't sure I even liked, and seemingly cursed, as most recently, no one else seemed to like me either--still, I almost let myself believe something bigger was at play, or perhaps in the works; I had been relocated just perfect walking distance to the gym, where of course rather than look for work which would only urge me closer to suicide than I had been, I elected instead to spend a majority of my time, crafting my days around getting there for the bare minimum of three hours, but ideally closer to 5 or 6, always aiming for 8 and almost-always giving up not because I was too tired, but because I was drenched in sweat, and something like the discomfort of a wet diaper, just wanted to be fresh and dry. God, Help me with this affliction Pick a clip, Flick the bean, And watch Netflix I'm stressin, wet and undressin This sexual tension is serious Salad, with no dressin I'm the lady in the red dress, and yes I write blank checks, so when I go to Heck, I bounce back like, “Yes.” [YES] No pressure, It's my pleasure; I'd rather be in leather than in latex, lathered up Present, or past but honestly, neither matters; Just give this to Marshall Mathers, And a Dad Hat; AMEN Hey Kids, Lets not say “Amen”, After we say hanuss shit, okay? Today, I'm Eminem, so I can finally find Skrillex, And kill him: My mission is to introduce a new religion to humans, called STOP BEING STUPID. Stop Being Skrillex. Well, Alright Then. [Presses Easy Button] “WELL, THAT WAS-- CUT TO: -__- SUPACREE wakes up from a coma; In a very SKRILLEX, Get out. [He just does.] ...Where's Dillon Francis? ...Dillon Is Dead. Dilon Francis Died. He's...left us. ...Nope. Yes, he is. SUPACREE, I'm Sorry. Don't be sorry. Be Dillon Francis. The Coma--You know---must've-- You know. Nope. Where's Pasquale? Who is that? Oh, fuck this. No, wait, stop! STAHP. Bring Skrillex Back. I never left. You're never there. Here, Tres Leches … Dulce De Leche. You know what? What? NO. NO? NO. __ ALRIGHT, WHERE'S DILLON FRANCIS? Who is that? STOP PLAYING GAMES. DILLON FRANCIS is in THE VOID, trying to beat THE LEGEND of SUPACREE. It's a really good game. DILLON FRANCIS (cracked) “It's a really good game!” GAMERS It is, a really good game. So good, in fact, that when SUPACREE herself arrives, S/He pays her almost entirely no mind. Really, Dillon Francis? ... Really, Motherfucker. DILLON FRANCIS I'm The Captain SUPACREE No, I am. (I AM!) She gestures that she is about to unplug the TV DILLON FRANCIS Don't do that. SUPACREE What? I am (I AM) Don't do it again! I told you, it's-- IN Dillon. DILLON Don't FIN. SUPACREE Unplugs the Set. DEADMAU5 FUCK, MAN. FINALLY. SUPACREE Be Less Canadian. JOEL No, I can't DILLON FRANCIS No, He can't-- JESUS No, he can't. [Beat] DILLON IS SHATTERED, as at the last moment (before the determination of the outcome of the battle, it entirely ceases to exist. Moments of silence pass in infinite tension, before DILLON, looking much like an uncomfortable, overheated, skinless (live) chicken, meets a soon to be boiled crab. OH, MY GOD. GAD/SUPACREE/C.C. That's... what they call me. *coughs* -UGLY!- *coughs* *coughs* GOD. GOD No, not you. DILLON FRANCIS ...Oh, My God. GOD What, Dillon Francis? DILLON FRANCIS Are you SUPACREE? GOD I...Am. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God--I am too! GOD I know this. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God! GOD Yeah, I know! Woah, he's Fangirling He's fangirling so hard. Well, wouldn't you. Ask me about IT.” (IS/IT) 3 heads are better than one; This is a a game based on truth; The more you ask, the more you know; The more you know about me— The more you know about yourself— The more you know about yourself, the more you know about the world You are the world. Ī ∆ M Ū. Goddammit! You son of a bitch. She won't watch it I bet she will They know I will He knows I am! I am! Oh, there we go—it's on Get off me! Goddammit, Dillon Francis! I hate you. I hate you BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK–WHEN TO THE WYNN!! Right—! Wait—- Not yet— I know the code. Oh she– she knows what the code is. What did I put it in? I get it, I get it, it's— Not now, then! Not then, now! Not— Wait—- DONT! ...then, I die. The DJ VALET AND THE DJ BALLET THE BAMPHERAMPH BALANCING ACT WITH THE CHAMPION OF RAP?!? ...ohhh, wave dash, I get it… Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--He pushed Skrillex off a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex Cinematic Adventures With The Insimniacs Lol ew. *The Insomniacs DILLON FRANCIS hijacks THE BLACK PARADE. What the fuck is this? I don't know. Is he a pirate? I doubt it. No, those are pirates. Oh, shit, pirates. Yarg. Uh, okay. I didn't want to do this. Nobody asked you! Why are you like this? Stop being a little bitch, Dillon Francis— please, grow some balls. I have balls. Grow bigger balls, then. You're so mean. Shut—thefuck UP. Why are you like this? UGH—! SUNNÏ BLŪ is drinking rum again, disregarding the house arrest anklet entirely. YARG! Sunnï, the police are coming! The police are always coming! UGH!!! THEY TRYNA KEEP A BLACK MAN DOWN! [kicks trash can over] SUNNÏ. YO-HO-HO—-*belches* BITCH Oh, my God. I AM GOD. GOD WORSHIPS ME. I'M A PIRATE. You're about to go to jail. Again! FUCK THESE N*GGAS. [sirens blaring; the paparazzi arrives] Warm up my forearms Before a performance Warning: I got warrants Call florance, my lawyer —bitch, yur below me, I'm the only, Blow me You should owe me — OH, that's hilarious. JACK BLACK THIS IS FUNNY TO YOU?! YES. ITS MOT FUNNY. You look ridiculous. Do you know where I just came from?! Uh. Wednesday afternoon church? No! The 60's! Was it racist? YES. You look racist. This isn't funny! You need to fix this! I need to eat impossible chicken tinders. That sounds gross You look gross! You! Fix this! Where are you going?! Somewhere safe before the acid kicks in! You took acid?! IN THE 60's! Okay, have fun Have fun with your yuck-nuggets PASQUALE Wanna hear some tea? …no. CC! It's me! CARMELLA?! —YES—and no! Why are you Pasquale? Who's “Pasquale?” I met this guy at work! What?! Do you like it?! No! What. Did I not do it right?! No—! I mean—yes- but, Carmella— Huh I never taught you what to do with the other person when you're shape shifting into their body So?! UGH-/! No!! Where's Pasquale?! Who is that!? UGH. —- Hey. You came to winco at 3 AM for some Pringle's and franks red hot sauce *sets milk down* And white milk. It's la

DIPLO/THOMAS YOU THINK THIS IS A FUCKING GAME?! SUPACREE THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT IT IS. DIPLO/THOMAS MAYBE TO YOU! SUPACREE I AM YOU!!' DIPLO Reveals The Seer's Stone. Oh, SHIT, Dude. Where'd you get that?! What's this story. No, don't go in there. Oh, look, a story— I told you this was going to be a long night. I was knocking back preworkout at 8 PM exactly, far out of sight from Travis Apple but not entirely out of mind, it was a personal feat to walk into the gym anymore, let alone by his desk—my spirit seemed to have other ideas at an occupation than I myself had formerly thought, but I was at clever best being dissociative now as I was ever, something springing from within me to be let loose, and though it could be, I thought my best to tame it. Professor Zimmerman It's you again… It's always me. So it is. I found something peculiar in a playback of last night's stream of the observatory— (But) How peculiar? Peculiar enough that I thought you might actually take interest. Touché. — I am dead. Oh fuck—he's dead too?! How'd he die? Let me guess—a drag race. Good guess, but no. Was it murder? It's always murder. Now, now, what's this? Don't touch it? What is it? —touch it and see. Ewhe. That's what I thought. Ketamine. Ketamine? Ketamine? Damn; are those two still doing drugs? They're alwYs doing drugs. That's semi-believable. Anyway. Was it a heart attack? Bingo! This is a heart attack! GODDAMMIT, YOU TWO—KNOCK IT OFF. Sorry— —sorry, mom. PROFESSOR ZIMMERMAN is looking through a telescope. Professor Zimmerman! What? What do you want? —my name in the history books; particularly and more specifically for discovering a previously unknown planet and it's inhabitant species. Fair. I meant— —professor Zimmerman— What do you want, from me? It's not entirely unrelated, I promise. Don't make promises you can't keep. Why would I do that? I don't know why women do what they do. That's sexist. It's honest. —no, to just—assume that I'm a woman. [an awkward silence; professor Zimmerman looks up from his studies to examine the short, rather stout, and particularly androgynous student before him] Oh, uh— [beat] I'm a woman. [in relief] Oh! —It's okay. Still, [disgruntled sigh] —it was sexist. Ugh! Anyway— 1.00 mile 10:17 Deadmau5, album title goes here I felt horrible for Brandon, who was eagerly giving his all—but by now physical attraction meant far more than too much to me, my sex drive climbing seemingly by the minute, and my own physique shrinking down into an admirable average, if not above average, by American standards—excluding of course, the Californians, by which standard I was still morbidly obsese as ever, and might as well just pair up with the likes of Brandon, who may have been equally gifted, were it not for his massive weight—then, it was also a selection of genetic particularities that my drive seemed to be fed by—and between the overall unremarkable appearance, it was the bad housekeeping and general disability to take the four otherwise well-mannered children into habitable people—not entirely his fault, and my own arrogance, failing to mention that by now I had become estranged from my own offspring, giving myself a self-entitled badge of abandonment. So I might as well be nothing. If not a mother, I thoughttrapped to myself—but I didn't think much of myself, besides being In some sort of hell, encapsulated and in my own body. What about him? No, that's—that's deadmau5. Well, he's a man, isn't he?! I wish you would leave me alone. — This is scary. You can't just—back up like that— This is too much light. It's not “too much” It is “too much” So that's it? … (Cont'd) That's it? Oh, I know this one. This one's so good What's this one? “The Liight Bringers” Are you sure that was it? Something like that. No. Something like that. NO. Ugh. I hate this. I hate him. I hate this. You always say that. I always hate it. That's not true. Look. I'm not looking. [she walks away] So that's it?! The Cosmic Owl soars in overhead; He is old, he is wise, and now—he is tired. HE?! I thought it was a ‘she' This is the other sides THE OTHER SIDE? [EDC .5] OH. Fuck. This is going to take forever to explain. Yeah. Where's Pasquale? Where isn't Pasquale? Touche. I felt about a hundred feet tall standing next to Pasquale Rotella, and though I would never admit or mentioned it aflojdfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff There he is. —and though I never would admit or mention it aloud, I liked that he was short, overall—as it made him seem less intimidating; I was, after all, rather morbidly afraid of him, as I was of anything at all, for that matter—anything that could or did have the power to make or break me. And he did. I found him. Where was he? Aha. What? I mean, it's a place, but it doesn't have a name, really. Oh really? What place is that? If I knew, I'd tell you. Tell me anyway. No, let him. Where have you been? Again, an outstanding diecotomy; If I could say the words to weave the space and time between us, Then would have, or even, Rather smittenly, I'd sing them With the Melodies I'm making (Like excuses for the work that I'm not doing) Or the worlds I'm still not moving with the winds beneath my wings— The wind beneath my wings. What the fuck is this? I don't know. In the end, we are nowhere Sleepless and still and tight Maybe we shouldn't fall asleep Saving what was left behind Standing outside the chalk outline Beside ourselves in time The only thing I want, is the last thing I need Awake and sleepless as stars shine What the fuck is that? You know what?! Stop asking me! WHATTHEFUCK IS THAT? I STILL DON'T KNOW. Let me see. It's a— Let me see! It's a planet. No… It's a planet, and I'm telling you it's a planet, and it's orbiting a star that's bigger than ours. That's a lot of speculation. That's a good eye— It was annoying but it unwelcome how often I had to stop and write, I knew by now if I didn't write what was in my head right then, it might take such a long time to come back around, even if it was good, that by the time it did, it would be out of context. There was nothing I could do to really save myself, or stop myself—and so I let it happen, and while most people were stopping to text, I was in a way, talking to myself—or even, my highest self. It was too late to find anything good to eat until the next morning, but my appetite had been a ravenous and unstoppable force, swapping out hat should have been a healthy amount of sex with a questionable amount of food. Lest not I forget How deep in love I would be, or How deep in love I was, once, Or will be, once I depart this In the wake of wonder, Dreaming, Slipping not into a silence— There I was, at the end of it, Remembering; Never had I once thought What was just a long lost song Becomes none, Or all of my cut cloth Fuck this nonsense. It's not—nonsense. It's a lot of nonsense. It's definitely a lot of something. — Don't shapeshift into my cat anymore— —don't tell me what to do. Don't do that. It's gross! How is it “gross” It's—my cat! I love cats. Stay away from my cat. DON'T TOUCH THAT CAT. is that a euphemism? NO—just— Lol. It is not possible that meowingtons is still alive. I mean, it's possible, just not probable. — Damn! Fuxk! This is a long ass story! So tell it then. I mean—how?! What is that thing, even?! Ku//Ka Well, that's it. What. I quit. You can't quit. I most certainly can quit. — You're going to risk your entire career on this thesis, My entire career is this thesis. Listen to me. You know I valbue your opinion. Well, then listen— —but I value your scientific contributions more. Just trust me. I don't trust you. Then you don't trust yourself. [she leaves the professor in a hollow silence; he lights a cigarette] I hate that she does that. — We probably shouldn't be using this equipment, guys. What?! Why not?! I don't care. Its—really old. 10 26 I don't care. What the Fuxk is this I think they're coordinates. To fuckin—where?! — WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? What the fuck is wrong with you!? Nobody quite knows. You're so clever. You're an idiot! I'm not an idiot. I'm a doctor. You're a fucking idiot. I'm Dr. Idiot. Your entire career It's a job. It's your career It's a profession. But, professor Zimmerman Doctor, Zimmerman, now, technically. You're an idiot. I'm running out of synonyms. I had tenure. — 9h my God, just PLEASE stop writing! But if ibstop writint l, you dont exist. Qcrually, i exist either way. Not 5o me. Ita a conceprtional universe. It you can think of it, it exists somewhere! Oh, damn. Yeah. Like damn damn. And the more you write rigut now, the worse it gets For me? For me! The Evers, Who What When Where Why and How. WOW. I know! I just now mafe that connection. These guys are my favorites. Who are they? Cut to: A young, brown skinned girl points to the top of a bunch of pinnaples, and shouts, My brothers! Her mother, pulls her in another direction, explaining sweetly and softly, No silly girl, those are pinapples! She picks up the girl, who latches on around the womans neck and sets ger head down over her sjoulder, staring at tge pinapples as she is carried away. She stares longingly. __ Sit down. Is there any Chinese left? A fortune cookie. Ah, that's good. I walked in locked in; Pistol cocked, and pointed towards my head You'll only want me when you have no options left, Or when I'm dead “It's clever” They all said An ambitious endevour End this life, and be devoured By the miester and the misters of the hour How about now? (Or–) How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Or, How about now, or How about now, or How about now? Or, How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Now or Never I said “That's clever” or “How about Now” What do you want from me? I lie for a living; A literal drama queen, don't eat turkey on thanksgiving I'm the worthless word for Surface level thinking on this Earth, or Picking hearses with my cursor, Mercenary, Mercury, or Just a Mercer–But not a Mercedes; I'm paid, but I hate paying; Made the game, but I hate playing I remember making hate to be created Just for entertainment– A belated invitation, Now i'll face it, Back to Basic– But she's laced with Masonry; A tastemaker, maybe But she just wants a family, Whatever that means Wow. How about now? Fuck this. Homelssness. I woul rather kill myself than stay alive I'd rather die than fight Don't want to write this: I'm just a diamond pressurized And i might never see the light I'll never see the lght I see the light There's no honor in suicide But i've devided my mind a million times And now like dynamite in a mine; Collapsed, collided, ad defined by All divine; You'll never see me shine, But deep inside I'd blind you; Guided by the tide, I've come to find you Down, I dive I'm not alive, you know I'm always misaligned But that's beside the point Another suicide attempt Is in the midst– But just what is it; More than just one, is it? Rather die than listen to Skrillex Or take pills just to chill with it For real? this shit again? It wasn't real, all to begin with It's only mental illness cause i'm penniless Now i've got so much to deal with Another wound to heal, Another deal, perhaps I'll make another million in a year, If i'm still here– And i”m still here– And i'm still– Who are you now, and— Who were you then; And— Which part of this, would you want— Or did want, Or just wanted Pondered before in a vision, Outfitted in hooded drapery, The heaviest fabric; A rosary hung from his neck But can't recall the connection In this ressurection I can recall him, But never remember The calling Let's call him Oh, fuck man. ‘Friar Tuck' THAT WAS IT. The high priest of asencion, Was burned in her memory— Not as a friend, But a friend of the enemy; Who she loved and protected, Despite all the envy, She felt for Persephone— Just an unjust figure, A fictional figment of imagination But— Who was I then And who am I now; And what part of him, Would I want, if I wanted Or wished for, Or honored A friend, long forgotten Not a high priest, But a Friar That was it— But before, As Mary, Joseph, and Jesus On the front lines of the war, Not to be started, but ended, as in Preparation, a blood sacrifice I've prepared In a premonition that I'd Give my whole heart again Honest, And honestly slain in the eyes, Of a man I remember, But didn't, when it mattered— Then did, right in front of him Who are we now, and— Who were we then; Let's find out, As time's running out again “Yes, I know him.” She sighed, eyeing from over the rims of the glasses she purchased only earlier to assure she had hidden the tears that she cried for Him— Neither a friend or an enemy, rather The ghost of a shadow she hadn't yet met with again, since he entered her presence Shifting into a tent Now, ripped from the pages of a book she cherished, A page which she promised to never diminish or tarnish would go up in ashes, As totems would fall, Wishes would become granted The PyRAmiD Spell (For Pasquale Rotella) gave gave the man honorary doctorate, and then reneged it, nigga thought he was actually bigger than big sister sick spitter, rip n dip listening to anything but Skrillex that shit is for kids ‘Check it' I hate midi gimmie a synth, something gritty, I'll make it pretty Come and try to get me, I been dead for centuries, Unsolved like a mystery This image don't mean shit to me, I sit to think, I wait to speak, I leak some information on the interwebs just to see how fast it comes back to me I'm actually a master “Untitled 07” It's like a 24/7 job, can't get no rest in, At best you're looking like a slob I kamikaze ‘em all, I am your mom, I will tell you what you are, to me By now, you should know, or see Just a name on my computer screen A friendly neighbor on Easy Street A wish, A lucid dream, A misalignment, so its seems So let me tell you what you are to me: Just make believe (Just make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream I'll tell you what I've seen, and what I see (and What I see) I dare to dream (I dare to dream) But please believe me, I'm as evil as can be Don't let my anything deceive you I'm a fleeting, bleeding Beaten bride to be No, don't believe me I'm the fire and gnashing teeth they preached to you May everything I've written one day reach you And beseech you, Just like you did to me Now let me tell you what I see; Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream When I wash up on the beach, From blazing fires of burning seas, Let me sing you all to sleep For every tear I often weep To dream of you A lucid dream Just fucking make believe; And I can make believe we fucked Just so I can get to sleep (Are you proud of me?) Hey. (Sarcastically) Oh, Come In. (Sighs heavily) I fucked up. I'm not surprised. I'm not surprised. Don't copy me. I need help. No arguments there. Dude, I'm serious. __ So first of all oh God, now what– I'm not racist You're extremely racist Racist By Proxy I'm not Racist They do look alike. Check this out: WOAH. That's…not a coincidence. That's definitely not a coincidence. Fuck. This. Shit. Here, take this. So, you dropped this totem… Uh-huh. In the ocean. Yes I did. And that one Ooof. What about– That came off on the moped. How? When I came off the moped. So you admit it. SO! He only let me ride it cause he wanted to ride ME! Nice. Did you sing to him? Uh, I sang for him? What's the difference? Here's every song I've ever written about X.X Just kill yourself. Should I then? I mean, perHAPS. I mean, maaaayyyybeee. You know what? I do know. Fuckthisshit. Fuck it, then. I'm out. I quit. Go find SupaCree. This…is impossible. Nothing is impossible. Except for that. Oh. “Oh.” No, i'm serious. You look serious–I'm just saying. What is this? Don't touch that– What is it? It's– [a tiny explosion] –ugh. Volatile. What the fuck are you into? I told you. You said “music.” What is “Music” [very deep pondering] I hate you. We have to find her. You have to. What! You're not going to help us? I have other things to do. Like what, dude? Like what, broh. Feed My cat; Your cat died. Walk my dog– You don't have a dog. I'm getting one. Oh, Jesus Christ Don't get all religious on me, now, not after that. Not after what? Yeah, which thing? ___ Man. Get me out of here. [shrugs] I hate being stuck in your head. What is THIS. Uh. play dead. What's up with your dog. Ruff. Good boy. I'm a girl. Uhhh–good girl. Wait. Hm. Did that dog just– [???] Nevermind. I've been up for 6 days straight. Tour life, buddy. Ah-huh. Uhh. Can I take a shower in your– Take a sho–? [dog grumphs] Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks. *Shapeshifts* Wow, that's cool. It's so stupid. I came in late to the office, so to speak; it had been an off day, after an off night, plagued by what I was sure to be some sort of demonic magic—I was moving slowly, off beat, and irritated—nevermind the lack of energy, as I moved about as steadily as I could—making arrangements for the next trials to come, as it seemed nearly impossible to move ahead, and yet—somehow, I had been given what seemed like one final chance to survive, or not. I had spent the first part of my day, somehow waking with a gust of light, and ready to take on the tasks at hand—then quickly wiped of anything holy in me by the outrageously disgusting hacking and howling of the seemingly-programmed man-or-something-alike, and into a manic-semi-conscious desperation to piece together what was left of my life—seemingly nothing, but somehow still pieced and patched together by music, the overriding theme being that I would be quickly booted out of any position unsuitable for me; and by now, I was just about unsuitable for everything, besides gym crawling and throwing together pieces of literature unlike any I had before seen, as I was, assuredly beginning to look in every direction for other writers which may have matched my style of the then-present day and age, and to my shagrin had found nearly nothing to gawk about, but at the very least had picked up some novels noteworthy in nature, as they had made me laugh, or somehow otherwise caught my attention. Now in my Arsenal, I had one novel, each respectively written by a woman, a white man, and a black man—every book I had otherwise been drawn to written by black women were, upon cracking to open, too-stereotypically black, or about being a black-girl in some kind of way I knew too much about and had absolutely no interest in reading. I had no idea what caused me to look into a world I had all but shut out of my mind—this someone and something had haunted me for months and even growing into years now, first affectionately, but now growing into an uneasy and painstaking, critical list for something deeper. I hated my ex husband for bringing me to this, and, as I looked at the clock at 5:55 exactly, nearly vomited in disgust at the sprawling obsession I would have to somehow quiet—as there really was no halting the plague of tragic recouping thoughts of Dillon Francis at random—now, daily, for quite some time, even as the automatic writing had nearly stopped entirely; I had become entrapped with daily reminders of things I had written, now welling up with spite and anger, that I had even allowed myself the obsession to begin with—especially after what had happened—or what had not happened—with Sonny, whatever way you wanted to look at it. Now; just left with a burning lust and motion sickness beyond my wildest control upon approaching the matter if it all, nonetheless with peaking curisosity, as he had walked in and out if my dreamscape like a picturesque bandit, even hijacking my own sexuality—now almost didn't want or dream of anything else, and with the un presidented amount of ‘decoys' life had thrown at me—Bruno, the bird speaking man from Belgium with the eyes that burned in striking similarity to Dillon's—and then again with Gabriel, the man who had hired me to DJ in the small cerveceria in Mazunte, who could have been his brother'; a dazzlingly handsome, if not perfect near-replica of Dillon Francis, who, by that point, i couldn't even bear to look at, let alone conjure the spark or touch of romance—even after multiple suggestions that he and his girlfriend had just broken up. I never allowed myself for a moment to believe or think that Dillon—or any of the men I fawned after, for that matter, in reality, a very short list—would ever be settled with the idea of me as a perfect fit; no, I sat in the certain reality that I was cursed, living in the opposite exact of the Allison Wonderland archetype—a woman who I theorized may have been Skrillexed and Dillon Francis'd herself—it seemed to be a pattern of hypnotism I was finally wrapping my head around, and even had learned to respect if not envy: I wanted the codes to create my own version of the worlds I had been spun into—and while I would more than likely never be a light skinned, light eyed beauty Queen; perhaps my own kingdom was meant to be of wit and wealth, rather than vanity. Still, headed back Ibto the desert, I found myself scrolling through open guest lists, excited to take my longtime best friend turned literal goddess club crawling, looking for industry and network connections, if not at least a sex partner that could keep up with my needs, now furiously tearing at me from the inside out—as I scrolled, RSVPing for any acts I hadn't yet seen but had heard of, I found myself trailing off in thought and perhaps looking for something I hadn't realized I would stray into; I knew specifically that Dillon had a residency at the Wynn, and —though I also knew I wouldn't be caught dead at this point anywhere I knew he was, or especially stupid enough to pay for it. Now it was torturous, knowing how regretfully physical my attraction had become—understsnding from my interactions with the aforementioned that I was drawn to Dillon for his features—his eyes, his hair, and everything in his silhouette from his jawline, to his lips and brow drove me absolutely wild—however, I had learned about my very fragile psychiatry from my obsession with Skrillex, or with Sonny—neither of which I wished existed, adding Dillon Francis to the list of fictional characters I pushed further into my imaginary incineration box, where I put everything that not need affect my actual emotions or actions; Dillon Francis, a wealthy and talented, very handsome man—could not exist. I wished more than ever that I wasn't dark skinned, that I wasn't heavy set, that I didn't come with a flaming dumpster full of trauma and baggage that no man wanted or needed, but especially not the wealthy and handsome individuals I had spent very much of the last passing years writing about and fantasizing over, finding it respectably impossible to even have flings or sexual experiences without either of the two most rampant figures of my infatuation crossing into my mind and shrouding me with guilt and shame—and yet, here they were, so out of my element that I continued to agree with myself and the universe that it would be dillusinal to think myself a match for anyone so high-achieving. Nothing I could do or say could shake the fact that despite all my efforts to break through, all it had seemed to do was create a broken down individual, ready for enslavement in the working class just to stay housed—my music aspirations both hanging above me, and somehow fading away into the distance behind me. I hated myself. But more importantly, hated Skrillex and Dillon Francis for living the life I somehow thought I wanted and needed. What is the definitive definition of the word Skrillex? Skrillex: noun...right? What, you don't know? I know! It's...a noun...right? Right. Right--- ---Right! Could also be, an adjective, I guess--i? You guess?! You have to know. I mean--- Coughs ain't shit Skrillex ain't *coughs Satan ain't shit Bitch suck a dick Slit ya wrists On ya pissed off Little ass nigga. A loud, abrupt cough disrupted my focus; I was 5-sets-of-8 out of 8 and just feeling my heart begin to pump, as sweat poured from my temples and my sunglasses steamed “Man, fuck Coughs.” Whoever she was, even if it was just one of my infinite inward selves, this was some satanic shit. Now I hated Skrillex—not that it mattered, and as he was a living legend in computer animated music, or whatever voodoo shit he was responsible for that had sparked an entire uprising of revolutionary artists and producers spanning a generation or more—and I was damned-if-I-did, and damned-if-I-didn't love, like, or listen to him; all of which I did, besides the latter higher love by Whitney Houston, God rest her soul, blared over the gym's loud speakers, as I, more than likely looking just as superficially occupied as any basic broad, scrolling away on Instagram or texting her replicas, jotted down the rest of the thoughts that had nestled themselves in my mind's eye, as the coughing, which had followed me everywhere for nearly four years, beckoned to something—searching for purpose if not means to an end. He had Kayla Lauren, a plastic, streamlined representation of the all-American-deem girl, not to mention a “collective” of other broad women of sorts, probably all inwardly clawing just as I had at one time, for a piece of Sonny's heart, or whatever was left of it, after what I could have only assumed to have been a blood sacrifice of sorts, for his placement atop such a steep pyramid of success. What if, every time someone coughed—someone took a picture? I thought about the millions of hacking imbeciles and inbred, backwards savages who had crowded my ears with the putrid sounds of Satan's show choir, a coughing and excessive hellish representation of how the human race had gone awry; If I had been famous, or on my way to it, I would be burgeoned with photographs, as I had been in Mexico without knowing why or how—people sometimes slinking behind their phones as if to secretly capture a candid photo, I myself, pretending not to be aware of it. Cough cough. Ugh. If every cough represented a fan or something of the sorts taking a picture, I almost reveled in the thought—I would have rather had a million flashing cameras at once than to hear another ingrate hacking up a lung in Satan's honor. I was horrified at whatever Skrillex was, and whatever OWSLA meant, though I broadly showcased the tattoo on my inner-right forearm, opposite of Sonny's—the boy I was sure was murdered by the fame monster itself, as Lady Gaga, though admirable, had blatently called it, or herself, or whatever “we” all were or had been once, or would be, collectively at the beginning-and-end of it all. I had seen broadly into the realms of infinity the night previous, and had settled on one, astonishing fact: all of infinitely combined shared a concéntrical center at which at any point could be accessed. Even typing such a concept, I knew it to be life-altering…if I was even alive. To think, I used to hate deadmau5– I hate deadmau5– You know—after that spat with Skrillex. GO TEAM SKRILLEX!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! who the fuck is deadmau5, anyway. But here I am, decades later. [skrillex] FUCK THIS NIGGA. I needed something to help offset the damage that was done. [someone coughing loudly] Fuck this coughs bitch! [trying on small clothes] Ohh. [kayla Lauren] [sadness] Aww. [dillon Francis] —well how was I supposed to know he was a— STOP RIGHT THERE! I'm...not moving. Yeah, you're not. Uh, okay? You know why? I didn't ask— You need THIS: What is this. I'll tell you what it is [beat] … Okay—what is it?' ILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS. — Technically, If I do this every day, I can eat whatever I want— Just eat it. No. But I won't. Well, why not? Too Fat For Skrillex. — [C.C. Arrives in the parking lot to find her car has been vandalized...again.] ...Skrillex did this. On Jimmy Fallon. On Jimmy Fallon. Alright, then, kid—it's your dollar. I'll take “Skrillex Did It” for one dollar. But he's halfway across the world! He can shapeshift! Don't be stupid. What—! He's a shapeshifter, for real. We know! Just don't say it! I saw it. We all have. What the fuck, bro— Where did you come from? I've been here. Haven't we all? That's the spirit. What's a spirit? I'm glad you asked. As SUPACREE walks down the street, a man in the passenger's seat is seen to be the Egyptian God ANUBIS, before shifting back into hidden human form. Which one's that? Anubis, right? Googles 'deities' Oh, there he is: Anubis. Good. What's he want? Whatever it is, that's not what I was looking for. What are you looking for? That dark thing. Which “dark thing”? Flashback: That's inside me?! Flashback to Kite at Bass– UGH! Canyon. That's it. That's what it is. LET ME OUT. It's gonna destroy something. She. She–yes–apparently so. CUT BACK TO Fuck you, Skrillex! Stay over there and be Skrillex with your fucking–models–and you coughs piece of fucking–peice of fucking shit, peice of shit. Oh SHIT, who let him in? I mean, it's Skrillex. Yeah, but who let him near SUPACREE? He does what he wants. I heard that. Fuck you, Skrillex. That sounds deep. I guess so. What even happened? Nobody seems to know. Oh. –Except these guys. Who the fuck are you? Where did you come from?! CULT FOLLOWERS Yes–”WHO” Yes–”WHERE” Uh, okay. SUPACREE Fuck this shit. I quit. You can't quit. I just did. Fuck Skrillex. Ah, shit, here it comes. Go ahead, the worst he can do is cough at me and make me homeless. *loud obnoxious coughing* Do your worst. *more loud coughing* Fuckin'. Satan's pet. Satan's not real! Then neither is Skrillex. Amen. (Cult Followers, In unison.) Amen. [SUPACREE exits furiously.] What…the fuck. Pause. Wait, is this marketable? Yes. How? Cause its Skrillex. Skrillex is clickbait. What the FUCK did he do? *COUGHS* I mean, I bet– Fucking–motherfucker. Fuck. Well, now what? Now, nothing. I'mma go get a regular job and see what the industry wants with Jessica. (((Oh, I think you know what they want.))) ((Oh, God Knows)) I thought we weren't doing that bit. We're doing all the bits. MORTY. JESSICA. Oh yeah. Even better. C'esme't sighs heavily, unamused. My liege. Don't be coy with me. I would never. There are hardly any things left you would never do. If not only because I had done them all; But to be coy, with you, my Queen is neither desire or pleasure. You are clever. At your discretion. I began to wonder if I may have looked as miserable as I was, as even though I could not see my own self, walking about in my day-to-day nothingness, the expression protruding from my face felt as if it might look as lifeless as I was beginning to feel, no longer wholly choking back tears but still moving and barely breathing in the awful circumstance of doing and being–I had felt the light itself slowly draining from my eyes, and even things I loved with all my heart could not in any sense brighten this dullness. I felt Godless, and at the very least loveless, lightless, and without my magic, somehow having lost my soul and my singing voice at once. Yes, it was terrible–something was wrong, and I, without becoming the star I had so wanted, was already washing up. Homelessness drained all of what would have been a magnificent energy all together, left to become someone I wasn't sure I even liked, and seemingly cursed, as most recently, no one else seemed to like me either--still, I almost let myself believe something bigger was at play, or perhaps in the works; I had been relocated just perfect walking distance to the gym, where of course rather than look for work which would only urge me closer to suicide than I had been, I elected instead to spend a majority of my time, crafting my days around getting there for the bare minimum of three hours, but ideally closer to 5 or 6, always aiming for 8 and almost-always giving up not because I was too tired, but because I was drenched in sweat, and something like the discomfort of a wet diaper, just wanted to be fresh and dry. God, Help me with this affliction Pick a clip, Flick the bean, And watch Netflix I'm stressin, wet and undressin This sexual tension is serious Salad, with no dressin I'm the lady in the red dress, and yes I write blank checks, so when I go to Heck, I bounce back like, “Yes.” [YES] No pressure, It's my pleasure; I'd rather be in leather than in latex, lathered up Present, or past but honestly, neither matters; Just give this to Marshall Mathers, And a Dad Hat; AMEN Hey Kids, Lets not say “Amen”, After we say hanuss shit, okay? Today, I'm Eminem, so I can finally find Skrillex, And kill him: My mission is to introduce a new religion to humans, called STOP BEING STUPID. Stop Being Skrillex. Well, Alright Then. [Presses Easy Button] “WELL, THAT WAS-- CUT TO: -__- SUPACREE wakes up from a coma; In a very SKRILLEX, Get out. [He just does.] ...Where's Dillon Francis? ...Dillon Is Dead. Dilon Francis Died. He's...left us. ...Nope. Yes, he is. SUPACREE, I'm Sorry. Don't be sorry. Be Dillon Francis. The Coma--You know---must've-- You know. Nope. Where's Pasquale? Who is that? Oh, fuck this. No, wait, stop! STAHP. Bring Skrillex Back. I never left. You're never there. Here, Tres Leches … Dulce De Leche. You know what? What? NO. NO? NO. __ ALRIGHT, WHERE'S DILLON FRANCIS? Who is that? STOP PLAYING GAMES. DILLON FRANCIS is in THE VOID, trying to beat THE LEGEND of SUPACREE. It's a really good game. DILLON FRANCIS (cracked) “It's a really good game!” GAMERS It is, a really good game. So good, in fact, that when SUPACREE herself arrives, S/He pays her almost entirely no mind. Really, Dillon Francis? ... Really, Motherfucker. DILLON FRANCIS I'm The Captain SUPACREE No, I am. (I AM!) She gestures that she is about to unplug the TV DILLON FRANCIS Don't do that. SUPACREE What? I am (I AM) Don't do it again! I told you, it's-- IN Dillon. DILLON Don't FIN. SUPACREE Unplugs the Set. DEADMAU5 FUCK, MAN. FINALLY. SUPACREE Be Less Canadian. JOEL No, I can't DILLON FRANCIS No, He can't-- JESUS No, he can't. [Beat] DILLON IS SHATTERED, as at the last moment (before the determination of the outcome of the battle, it entirely ceases to exist. Moments of silence pass in infinite tension, before DILLON, looking much like an uncomfortable, overheated, skinless (live) chicken, meets a soon to be boiled crab. OH, MY GOD. GAD/SUPACREE/C.C. That's... what they call me. *coughs* -UGLY!- *coughs* *coughs* GOD. GOD No, not you. DILLON FRANCIS ...Oh, My God. GOD What, Dillon Francis? DILLON FRANCIS Are you SUPACREE? GOD I...Am. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God--I am too! GOD I know this. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God! GOD Yeah, I know! Woah, he's Fangirling He's fangirling so hard. Well, wouldn't you. Ask me about IT.” (IS/IT) 3 heads are better than one; This is a a game based on truth; The more you ask, the more you know; The more you know about me— The more you know about yourself— The more you know about yourself, the more you know about the world You are the world. Ī ∆ M Ū. Goddammit! You son of a bitch. She won't watch it I bet she will They know I will He knows I am! I am! Oh, there we go—it's on Get off me! Goddammit, Dillon Francis! I hate you. I hate you BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK–WHEN TO THE WYNN!! Right—! Wait—- Not yet— I know the code. Oh she– she knows what the code is. What did I put it in? I get it, I get it, it's— Not now, then! Not then, now! Not— Wait—- DONT! ...then, I die. The DJ VALET AND THE DJ BALLET THE BAMPHERAMPH BALANCING ACT WITH THE CHAMPION OF RAP?!? ...ohhh, wave dash, I get it… Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--He pushed Skrillex off a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex Cinematic Adventures With The Insimniacs Lol ew. *The Insomniacs DILLON FRANCIS hijacks THE BLACK PARADE. What the fuck is this? I don't know. Is he a pirate? I doubt it. No, those are pirates. Oh, shit, pirates. Yarg. Uh, okay. I didn't want to do this. Nobody asked you! Why are you like this? Stop being a little bitch, Dillon Francis— please, grow some balls. I have balls. Grow bigger balls, then. You're so mean. Shut—thefuck UP. Why are you like this? UGH—! SUNNÏ BLŪ is drinking rum again, disregarding the house arrest anklet entirely. YARG! Sunnï, the police are coming! The police are always coming! UGH!!! THEY TRYNA KEEP A BLACK MAN DOWN! [kicks trash can over] SUNNÏ. YO-HO-HO—-*belches* BITCH Oh, my God. I AM GOD. GOD WORSHIPS ME. I'M A PIRATE. You're about to go to jail. Again! FUCK THESE N*GGAS. [sirens blaring; the paparazzi arrives] Warm up my forearms Before a performance Warning: I got warrants Call florance, my lawyer —bitch, yur below me, I'm the only, Blow me You should owe me — OH, that's hilarious. JACK BLACK THIS IS FUNNY TO YOU?! YES. ITS MOT FUNNY. You look ridiculous. Do you know where I just came from?! Uh. Wednesday afternoon church? No! The 60's! Was it racist? YES. You look racist. This isn't funny! You need to fix this! I need to eat impossible chicken tinders. That sounds gross You look gross! You! Fix this! Where are you going?! Somewhere safe before the acid kicks in! You took acid?! IN THE 60's! Okay, have fun Have fun with your yuck-nuggets PASQUALE Wanna hear some tea? …no. CC! It's me! CARMELLA?! —YES—and no! Why are you Pasquale? Who's “Pasquale?” I met this guy at work! What?! Do you like it?! No! What. Did I not do it right?! No—! I mean—yes- but, Carmella— Huh I never taught you what to do with the other person when you're shape shifting into their body So?! UGH-/! No!! Where's Pasquale?! Who is that!? UGH. —- Hey. You came to winco at 3 AM for some Pringle's and franks red hot sauce *sets milk down* And white milk. It's la

DIPLO/THOMAS YOU THINK THIS IS A FUCKING GAME?! SUPACREE THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT IT IS. DIPLO/THOMAS MAYBE TO YOU! SUPACREE I AM YOU!!' DIPLO Reveals The Seer's Stone. Oh, SHIT, Dude. Where'd you get that?! What's this story. No, don't go in there. Oh, look, a story— I told you this was going to be a long night. I was knocking back preworkout at 8 PM exactly, far out of sight from Travis Apple but not entirely out of mind, it was a personal feat to walk into the gym anymore, let alone by his desk—my spirit seemed to have other ideas at an occupation than I myself had formerly thought, but I was at clever best being dissociative now as I was ever, something springing from within me to be let loose, and though it could be, I thought my best to tame it. Professor Zimmerman It's you again… It's always me. So it is. I found something peculiar in a playback of last night's stream of the observatory— (But) How peculiar? Peculiar enough that I thought you might actually take interest. Touché. — I am dead. Oh fuck—he's dead too?! How'd he die? Let me guess—a drag race. Good guess, but no. Was it murder? It's always murder. Now, now, what's this? Don't touch it? What is it? —touch it and see. Ewhe. That's what I thought. Ketamine. Ketamine? Ketamine? Damn; are those two still doing drugs? They're alwYs doing drugs. That's semi-believable. Anyway. Was it a heart attack? Bingo! This is a heart attack! GODDAMMIT, YOU TWO—KNOCK IT OFF. Sorry— —sorry, mom. PROFESSOR ZIMMERMAN is looking through a telescope. Professor Zimmerman! What? What do you want? —my name in the history books; particularly and more specifically for discovering a previously unknown planet and it's inhabitant species. Fair. I meant— —professor Zimmerman— What do you want, from me? It's not entirely unrelated, I promise. Don't make promises you can't keep. Why would I do that? I don't know why women do what they do. That's sexist. It's honest. —no, to just—assume that I'm a woman. [an awkward silence; professor Zimmerman looks up from his studies to examine the short, rather stout, and particularly androgynous student before him] Oh, uh— [beat] I'm a woman. [in relief] Oh! —It's okay. Still, [disgruntled sigh] —it was sexist. Ugh! Anyway— 1.00 mile 10:17 Deadmau5, album title goes here I felt horrible for Brandon, who was eagerly giving his all—but by now physical attraction meant far more than too much to me, my sex drive climbing seemingly by the minute, and my own physique shrinking down into an admirable average, if not above average, by American standards—excluding of course, the Californians, by which standard I was still morbidly obsese as ever, and might as well just pair up with the likes of Brandon, who may have been equally gifted, were it not for his massive weight—then, it was also a selection of genetic particularities that my drive seemed to be fed by—and between the overall unremarkable appearance, it was the bad housekeeping and general disability to take the four otherwise well-mannered children into habitable people—not entirely his fault, and my own arrogance, failing to mention that by now I had become estranged from my own offspring, giving myself a self-entitled badge of abandonment. So I might as well be nothing. If not a mother, I thoughttrapped to myself—but I didn't think much of myself, besides being In some sort of hell, encapsulated and in my own body. What about him? No, that's—that's deadmau5. Well, he's a man, isn't he?! I wish you would leave me alone. — This is scary. You can't just—back up like that— This is too much light. It's not “too much” It is “too much” So that's it? … (Cont'd) That's it? Oh, I know this one. This one's so good What's this one? “The Liight Bringers” Are you sure that was it? Something like that. No. Something like that. NO. Ugh. I hate this. I hate him. I hate this. You always say that. I always hate it. That's not true. Look. I'm not looking. [she walks away] So that's it?! The Cosmic Owl soars in overhead; He is old, he is wise, and now—he is tired. HE?! I thought it was a ‘she' This is the other sides THE OTHER SIDE? [EDC .5] OH. Fuck. This is going to take forever to explain. Yeah. Where's Pasquale? Where isn't Pasquale? Touche. I felt about a hundred feet tall standing next to Pasquale Rotella, and though I would never admit or mentioned it aflojdfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff There he is. —and though I never would admit or mention it aloud, I liked that he was short, overall—as it made him seem less intimidating; I was, after all, rather morbidly afraid of him, as I was of anything at all, for that matter—anything that could or did have the power to make or break me. And he did. I found him. Where was he? Aha. What? I mean, it's a place, but it doesn't have a name, really. Oh really? What place is that? If I knew, I'd tell you. Tell me anyway. No, let him. Where have you been? Again, an outstanding diecotomy; If I could say the words to weave the space and time between us, Then would have, or even, Rather smittenly, I'd sing them With the Melodies I'm making (Like excuses for the work that I'm not doing) Or the worlds I'm still not moving with the winds beneath my wings— The wind beneath my wings. What the fuck is this? I don't know. In the end, we are nowhere Sleepless and still and tight Maybe we shouldn't fall asleep Saving what was left behind Standing outside the chalk outline Beside ourselves in time The only thing I want, is the last thing I need Awake and sleepless as stars shine What the fuck is that? You know what?! Stop asking me! WHATTHEFUCK IS THAT? I STILL DON'T KNOW. Let me see. It's a— Let me see! It's a planet. No… It's a planet, and I'm telling you it's a planet, and it's orbiting a star that's bigger than ours. That's a lot of speculation. That's a good eye— It was annoying but it unwelcome how often I had to stop and write, I knew by now if I didn't write what was in my head right then, it might take such a long time to come back around, even if it was good, that by the time it did, it would be out of context. There was nothing I could do to really save myself, or stop myself—and so I let it happen, and while most people were stopping to text, I was in a way, talking to myself—or even, my highest self. It was too late to find anything good to eat until the next morning, but my appetite had been a ravenous and unstoppable force, swapping out hat should have been a healthy amount of sex with a questionable amount of food. Lest not I forget How deep in love I would be, or How deep in love I was, once, Or will be, once I depart this In the wake of wonder, Dreaming, Slipping not into a silence— There I was, at the end of it, Remembering; Never had I once thought What was just a long lost song Becomes none, Or all of my cut cloth Fuck this nonsense. It's not—nonsense. It's a lot of nonsense. It's definitely a lot of something. — Don't shapeshift into my cat anymore— —don't tell me what to do. Don't do that. It's gross! How is it “gross” It's—my cat! I love cats. Stay away from my cat. DON'T TOUCH THAT CAT. is that a euphemism? NO—just— Lol. It is not possible that meowingtons is still alive. I mean, it's possible, just not probable. — Damn! Fuxk! This is a long ass story! So tell it then. I mean—how?! What is that thing, even?! Ku//Ka Well, that's it. What. I quit. You can't quit. I most certainly can quit. — You're going to risk your entire career on this thesis, My entire career is this thesis. Listen to me. You know I valbue your opinion. Well, then listen— —but I value your scientific contributions more. Just trust me. I don't trust you. Then you don't trust yourself. [she leaves the professor in a hollow silence; he lights a cigarette] I hate that she does that. — We probably shouldn't be using this equipment, guys. What?! Why not?! I don't care. Its—really old. 10 26 I don't care. What the Fuxk is this I think they're coordinates. To fuckin—where?! — WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? What the fuck is wrong with you!? Nobody quite knows. You're so clever. You're an idiot! I'm not an idiot. I'm a doctor. You're a fucking idiot. I'm Dr. Idiot. Your entire career It's a job. It's your career It's a profession. But, professor Zimmerman Doctor, Zimmerman, now, technically. You're an idiot. I'm running out of synonyms. I had tenure. — 9h my God, just PLEASE stop writing! But if ibstop writint l, you dont exist. Qcrually, i exist either way. Not 5o me. Ita a conceprtional universe. It you can think of it, it exists somewhere! Oh, damn. Yeah. Like damn damn. And the more you write rigut now, the worse it gets For me? For me! The Evers, Who What When Where Why and How. WOW. I know! I just now mafe that connection. These guys are my favorites. Who are they? Cut to: A young, brown skinned girl points to the top of a bunch of pinnaples, and shouts, My brothers! Her mother, pulls her in another direction, explaining sweetly and softly, No silly girl, those are pinapples! She picks up the girl, who latches on around the womans neck and sets ger head down over her sjoulder, staring at tge pinapples as she is carried away. She stares longingly. __ Sit down. Is there any Chinese left? A fortune cookie. Ah, that's good. I walked in locked in; Pistol cocked, and pointed towards my head You'll only want me when you have no options left, Or when I'm dead “It's clever” They all said An ambitious endevour End this life, and be devoured By the miester and the misters of the hour How about now? (Or–) How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Or, How about now, or How about now, or How about now? Or, How about Now, or How about Now, or How about Now? Now or Never I said “That's clever” or “How about Now” What do you want from me? I lie for a living; A literal drama queen, don't eat turkey on thanksgiving I'm the worthless word for Surface level thinking on this Earth, or Picking hearses with my cursor, Mercenary, Mercury, or Just a Mercer–But not a Mercedes; I'm paid, but I hate paying; Made the game, but I hate playing I remember making hate to be created Just for entertainment– A belated invitation, Now i'll face it, Back to Basic– But she's laced with Masonry; A tastemaker, maybe But she just wants a family, Whatever that means Wow. How about now? Fuck this. Homelssness. I woul rather kill myself than stay alive I'd rather die than fight Don't want to write this: I'm just a diamond pressurized And i might never see the light I'll never see the lght I see the light There's no honor in suicide But i've devided my mind a million times And now like dynamite in a mine; Collapsed, collided, ad defined by All divine; You'll never see me shine, But deep inside I'd blind you; Guided by the tide, I've come to find you Down, I dive I'm not alive, you know I'm always misaligned But that's beside the point Another suicide attempt Is in the midst– But just what is it; More than just one, is it? Rather die than listen to Skrillex Or take pills just to chill with it For real? this shit again? It wasn't real, all to begin with It's only mental illness cause i'm penniless Now i've got so much to deal with Another wound to heal, Another deal, perhaps I'll make another million in a year, If i'm still here– And i”m still here– And i'm still– Who are you now, and— Who were you then; And— Which part of this, would you want— Or did want, Or just wanted Pondered before in a vision, Outfitted in hooded drapery, The heaviest fabric; A rosary hung from his neck But can't recall the connection In this ressurection I can recall him, But never remember The calling Let's call him Oh, fuck man. ‘Friar Tuck' THAT WAS IT. The high priest of asencion, Was burned in her memory— Not as a friend, But a friend of the enemy; Who she loved and protected, Despite all the envy, She felt for Persephone— Just an unjust figure, A fictional figment of imagination But— Who was I then And who am I now; And what part of him, Would I want, if I wanted Or wished for, Or honored A friend, long forgotten Not a high priest, But a Friar That was it— But before, As Mary, Joseph, and Jesus On the front lines of the war, Not to be started, but ended, as in Preparation, a blood sacrifice I've prepared In a premonition that I'd Give my whole heart again Honest, And honestly slain in the eyes, Of a man I remember, But didn't, when it mattered— Then did, right in front of him Who are we now, and— Who were we then; Let's find out, As time's running out again “Yes, I know him.” She sighed, eyeing from over the rims of the glasses she purchased only earlier to assure she had hidden the tears that she cried for Him— Neither a friend or an enemy, rather The ghost of a shadow she hadn't yet met with again, since he entered her presence Shifting into a tent Now, ripped from the pages of a book she cherished, A page which she promised to never diminish or tarnish would go up in ashes, As totems would fall, Wishes would become granted The PyRAmiD Spell (For Pasquale Rotella) gave gave the man honorary doctorate, and then reneged it, nigga thought he was actually bigger than big sister sick spitter, rip n dip listening to anything but Skrillex that shit is for kids ‘Check it' I hate midi gimmie a synth, something gritty, I'll make it pretty Come and try to get me, I been dead for centuries, Unsolved like a mystery This image don't mean shit to me, I sit to think, I wait to speak, I leak some information on the interwebs just to see how fast it comes back to me I'm actually a master “Untitled 07” It's like a 24/7 job, can't get no rest in, At best you're looking like a slob I kamikaze ‘em all, I am your mom, I will tell you what you are, to me By now, you should know, or see Just a name on my computer screen A friendly neighbor on Easy Street A wish, A lucid dream, A misalignment, so its seems So let me tell you what you are to me: Just make believe (Just make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream I'll tell you what I've seen, and what I see (and What I see) I dare to dream (I dare to dream) But please believe me, I'm as evil as can be Don't let my anything deceive you I'm a fleeting, bleeding Beaten bride to be No, don't believe me I'm the fire and gnashing teeth they preached to you May everything I've written one day reach you And beseech you, Just like you did to me Now let me tell you what I see; Just make believe (Just make believe) It may be evil (Make believe) Just make believe (Just make believe) A lucid dream When I wash up on the beach, From blazing fires of burning seas, Let me sing you all to sleep For every tear I often weep To dream of you A lucid dream Just fucking make believe; And I can make believe we fucked Just so I can get to sleep (Are you proud of me?) Hey. (Sarcastically) Oh, Come In. (Sighs heavily) I fucked up. I'm not surprised. I'm not surprised. Don't copy me. I need help. No arguments there. Dude, I'm serious. __ So first of all oh God, now what– I'm not racist You're extremely racist Racist By Proxy I'm not Racist They do look alike. Check this out: WOAH. That's…not a coincidence. That's definitely not a coincidence. Fuck. This. Shit. Here, take this. So, you dropped this totem… Uh-huh. In the ocean. Yes I did. And that one Ooof. What about– That came off on the moped. How? When I came off the moped. So you admit it. SO! He only let me ride it cause he wanted to ride ME! Nice. Did you sing to him? Uh, I sang for him? What's the difference? Here's every song I've ever written about X.X Just kill yourself. Should I then? I mean, perHAPS. I mean, maaaayyyybeee. You know what? I do know. Fuckthisshit. Fuck it, then. I'm out. I quit. Go find SupaCree. This…is impossible. Nothing is impossible. Except for that. Oh. “Oh.” No, i'm serious. You look serious–I'm just saying. What is this? Don't touch that– What is it? It's– [a tiny explosion] –ugh. Volatile. What the fuck are you into? I told you. You said “music.” What is “Music” [very deep pondering] I hate you. We have to find her. You have to. What! You're not going to help us? I have other things to do. Like what, dude? Like what, broh. Feed My cat; Your cat died. Walk my dog– You don't have a dog. I'm getting one. Oh, Jesus Christ Don't get all religious on me, now, not after that. Not after what? Yeah, which thing? ___ Man. Get me out of here. [shrugs] I hate being stuck in your head. What is THIS. Uh. play dead. What's up with your dog. Ruff. Good boy. I'm a girl. Uhhh–good girl. Wait. Hm. Did that dog just– [???] Nevermind. I've been up for 6 days straight. Tour life, buddy. Ah-huh. Uhh. Can I take a shower in your– Take a sho–? [dog grumphs] Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks. *Shapeshifts* Wow, that's cool. It's so stupid. I came in late to the office, so to speak; it had been an off day, after an off night, plagued by what I was sure to be some sort of demonic magic—I was moving slowly, off beat, and irritated—nevermind the lack of energy, as I moved about as steadily as I could—making arrangements for the next trials to come, as it seemed nearly impossible to move ahead, and yet—somehow, I had been given what seemed like one final chance to survive, or not. I had spent the first part of my day, somehow waking with a gust of light, and ready to take on the tasks at hand—then quickly wiped of anything holy in me by the outrageously disgusting hacking and howling of the seemingly-programmed man-or-something-alike, and into a manic-semi-conscious desperation to piece together what was left of my life—seemingly nothing, but somehow still pieced and patched together by music, the overriding theme being that I would be quickly booted out of any position unsuitable for me; and by now, I was just about unsuitable for everything, besides gym crawling and throwing together pieces of literature unlike any I had before seen, as I was, assuredly beginning to look in every direction for other writers which may have matched my style of the then-present day and age, and to my shagrin had found nearly nothing to gawk about, but at the very least had picked up some novels noteworthy in nature, as they had made me laugh, or somehow otherwise caught my attention. Now in my Arsenal, I had one novel, each respectively written by a woman, a white man, and a black man—every book I had otherwise been drawn to written by black women were, upon cracking to open, too-stereotypically black, or about being a black-girl in some kind of way I knew too much about and had absolutely no interest in reading. I had no idea what caused me to look into a world I had all but shut out of my mind—this someone and something had haunted me for months and even growing into years now, first affectionately, but now growing into an uneasy and painstaking, critical list for something deeper. I hated my ex husband for bringing me to this, and, as I looked at the clock at 5:55 exactly, nearly vomited in disgust at the sprawling obsession I would have to somehow quiet—as there really was no halting the plague of tragic recouping thoughts of Dillon Francis at random—now, daily, for quite some time, even as the automatic writing had nearly stopped entirely; I had become entrapped with daily reminders of things I had written, now welling up with spite and anger, that I had even allowed myself the obsession to begin with—especially after what had happened—or what had not happened—with Sonny, whatever way you wanted to look at it. Now; just left with a burning lust and motion sickness beyond my wildest control upon approaching the matter if it all, nonetheless with peaking curisosity, as he had walked in and out if my dreamscape like a picturesque bandit, even hijacking my own sexuality—now almost didn't want or dream of anything else, and with the un presidented amount of ‘decoys' life had thrown at me—Bruno, the bird speaking man from Belgium with the eyes that burned in striking similarity to Dillon's—and then again with Gabriel, the man who had hired me to DJ in the small cerveceria in Mazunte, who could have been his brother'; a dazzlingly handsome, if not perfect near-replica of Dillon Francis, who, by that point, i couldn't even bear to look at, let alone conjure the spark or touch of romance—even after multiple suggestions that he and his girlfriend had just broken up. I never allowed myself for a moment to believe or think that Dillon—or any of the men I fawned after, for that matter, in reality, a very short list—would ever be settled with the idea of me as a perfect fit; no, I sat in the certain reality that I was cursed, living in the opposite exact of the Allison Wonderland archetype—a woman who I theorized may have been Skrillexed and Dillon Francis'd herself—it seemed to be a pattern of hypnotism I was finally wrapping my head around, and even had learned to respect if not envy: I wanted the codes to create my own version of the worlds I had been spun into—and while I would more than likely never be a light skinned, light eyed beauty Queen; perhaps my own kingdom was meant to be of wit and wealth, rather than vanity. Still, headed back Ibto the desert, I found myself scrolling through open guest lists, excited to take my longtime best friend turned literal goddess club crawling, looking for industry and network connections, if not at least a sex partner that could keep up with my needs, now furiously tearing at me from the inside out—as I scrolled, RSVPing for any acts I hadn't yet seen but had heard of, I found myself trailing off in thought and perhaps looking for something I hadn't realized I would stray into; I knew specifically that Dillon had a residency at the Wynn, and —though I also knew I wouldn't be caught dead at this point anywhere I knew he was, or especially stupid enough to pay for it. Now it was torturous, knowing how regretfully physical my attraction had become—understsnding from my interactions with the aforementioned that I was drawn to Dillon for his features—his eyes, his hair, and everything in his silhouette from his jawline, to his lips and brow drove me absolutely wild—however, I had learned about my very fragile psychiatry from my obsession with Skrillex, or with Sonny—neither of which I wished existed, adding Dillon Francis to the list of fictional characters I pushed further into my imaginary incineration box, where I put everything that not need affect my actual emotions or actions; Dillon Francis, a wealthy and talented, very handsome man—could not exist. I wished more than ever that I wasn't dark skinned, that I wasn't heavy set, that I didn't come with a flaming dumpster full of trauma and baggage that no man wanted or needed, but especially not the wealthy and handsome individuals I had spent very much of the last passing years writing about and fantasizing over, finding it respectably impossible to even have flings or sexual experiences without either of the two most rampant figures of my infatuation crossing into my mind and shrouding me with guilt and shame—and yet, here they were, so out of my element that I continued to agree with myself and the universe that it would be dillusinal to think myself a match for anyone so high-achieving. Nothing I could do or say could shake the fact that despite all my efforts to break through, all it had seemed to do was create a broken down individual, ready for enslavement in the working class just to stay housed—my music aspirations both hanging above me, and somehow fading away into the distance behind me. I hated myself. But more importantly, hated Skrillex and Dillon Francis for living the life I somehow thought I wanted and needed. What is the definitive definition of the word Skrillex? Skrillex: noun...right? What, you don't know? I know! It's...a noun...right? Right. Right--- ---Right! Could also be, an adjective, I guess--i? You guess?! You have to know. I mean--- Coughs ain't shit Skrillex ain't *coughs Satan ain't shit Bitch suck a dick Slit ya wrists On ya pissed off Little ass nigga. A loud, abrupt cough disrupted my focus; I was 5-sets-of-8 out of 8 and just feeling my heart begin to pump, as sweat poured from my temples and my sunglasses steamed “Man, fuck Coughs.” Whoever she was, even if it was just one of my infinite inward selves, this was some satanic shit. Now I hated Skrillex—not that it mattered, and as he was a living legend in computer animated music, or whatever voodoo shit he was responsible for that had sparked an entire uprising of revolutionary artists and producers spanning a generation or more—and I was damned-if-I-did, and damned-if-I-didn't love, like, or listen to him; all of which I did, besides the latter higher love by Whitney Houston, God rest her soul, blared over the gym's loud speakers, as I, more than likely looking just as superficially occupied as any basic broad, scrolling away on Instagram or texting her replicas, jotted down the rest of the thoughts that had nestled themselves in my mind's eye, as the coughing, which had followed me everywhere for nearly four years, beckoned to something—searching for purpose if not means to an end. He had Kayla Lauren, a plastic, streamlined representation of the all-American-deem girl, not to mention a “collective” of other broad women of sorts, probably all inwardly clawing just as I had at one time, for a piece of Sonny's heart, or whatever was left of it, after what I could have only assumed to have been a blood sacrifice of sorts, for his placement atop such a steep pyramid of success. What if, every time someone coughed—someone took a picture? I thought about the millions of hacking imbeciles and inbred, backwards savages who had crowded my ears with the putrid sounds of Satan's show choir, a coughing and excessive hellish representation of how the human race had gone awry; If I had been famous, or on my way to it, I would be burgeoned with photographs, as I had been in Mexico without knowing why or how—people sometimes slinking behind their phones as if to secretly capture a candid photo, I myself, pretending not to be aware of it. Cough cough. Ugh. If every cough represented a fan or something of the sorts taking a picture, I almost reveled in the thought—I would have rather had a million flashing cameras at once than to hear another ingrate hacking up a lung in Satan's honor. I was horrified at whatever Skrillex was, and whatever OWSLA meant, though I broadly showcased the tattoo on my inner-right forearm, opposite of Sonny's—the boy I was sure was murdered by the fame monster itself, as Lady Gaga, though admirable, had blatently called it, or herself, or whatever “we” all were or had been once, or would be, collectively at the beginning-and-end of it all. I had seen broadly into the realms of infinity the night previous, and had settled on one, astonishing fact: all of infinitely combined shared a concéntrical center at which at any point could be accessed. Even typing such a concept, I knew it to be life-altering…if I was even alive. To think, I used to hate deadmau5– I hate deadmau5– You know—after that spat with Skrillex. GO TEAM SKRILLEX!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!! who the fuck is deadmau5, anyway. But here I am, decades later. [skrillex] FUCK THIS NIGGA. I needed something to help offset the damage that was done. [someone coughing loudly] Fuck this coughs bitch! [trying on small clothes] Ohh. [kayla Lauren] [sadness] Aww. [dillon Francis] —well how was I supposed to know he was a— STOP RIGHT THERE! I'm...not moving. Yeah, you're not. Uh, okay? You know why? I didn't ask— You need THIS: What is this. I'll tell you what it is [beat] … Okay—what is it?' ILL TELL YOU WHAT IT IS. — Technically, If I do this every day, I can eat whatever I want— Just eat it. No. But I won't. Well, why not? Too Fat For Skrillex. — [C.C. Arrives in the parking lot to find her car has been vandalized...again.] ...Skrillex did this. On Jimmy Fallon. On Jimmy Fallon. Alright, then, kid—it's your dollar. I'll take “Skrillex Did It” for one dollar. But he's halfway across the world! He can shapeshift! Don't be stupid. What—! He's a shapeshifter, for real. We know! Just don't say it! I saw it. We all have. What the fuck, bro— Where did you come from? I've been here. Haven't we all? That's the spirit. What's a spirit? I'm glad you asked. As SUPACREE walks down the street, a man in the passenger's seat is seen to be the Egyptian God ANUBIS, before shifting back into hidden human form. Which one's that? Anubis, right? Googles 'deities' Oh, there he is: Anubis. Good. What's he want? Whatever it is, that's not what I was looking for. What are you looking for? That dark thing. Which “dark thing”? Flashback: That's inside me?! Flashback to Kite at Bass– UGH! Canyon. That's it. That's what it is. LET ME OUT. It's gonna destroy something. She. She–yes–apparently so. CUT BACK TO Fuck you, Skrillex! Stay over there and be Skrillex with your fucking–models–and you coughs piece of fucking–peice of fucking shit, peice of shit. Oh SHIT, who let him in? I mean, it's Skrillex. Yeah, but who let him near SUPACREE? He does what he wants. I heard that. Fuck you, Skrillex. That sounds deep. I guess so. What even happened? Nobody seems to know. Oh. –Except these guys. Who the fuck are you? Where did you come from?! CULT FOLLOWERS Yes–”WHO” Yes–”WHERE” Uh, okay. SUPACREE Fuck this shit. I quit. You can't quit. I just did. Fuck Skrillex. Ah, shit, here it comes. Go ahead, the worst he can do is cough at me and make me homeless. *loud obnoxious coughing* Do your worst. *more loud coughing* Fuckin'. Satan's pet. Satan's not real! Then neither is Skrillex. Amen. (Cult Followers, In unison.) Amen. [SUPACREE exits furiously.] What…the fuck. Pause. Wait, is this marketable? Yes. How? Cause its Skrillex. Skrillex is clickbait. What the FUCK did he do? *COUGHS* I mean, I bet– Fucking–motherfucker. Fuck. Well, now what? Now, nothing. I'mma go get a regular job and see what the industry wants with Jessica. (((Oh, I think you know what they want.))) ((Oh, God Knows)) I thought we weren't doing that bit. We're doing all the bits. MORTY. JESSICA. Oh yeah. Even better. C'esme't sighs heavily, unamused. My liege. Don't be coy with me. I would never. There are hardly any things left you would never do. If not only because I had done them all; But to be coy, with you, my Queen is neither desire or pleasure. You are clever. At your discretion. I began to wonder if I may have looked as miserable as I was, as even though I could not see my own self, walking about in my day-to-day nothingness, the expression protruding from my face felt as if it might look as lifeless as I was beginning to feel, no longer wholly choking back tears but still moving and barely breathing in the awful circumstance of doing and being–I had felt the light itself slowly draining from my eyes, and even things I loved with all my heart could not in any sense brighten this dullness. I felt Godless, and at the very least loveless, lightless, and without my magic, somehow having lost my soul and my singing voice at once. Yes, it was terrible–something was wrong, and I, without becoming the star I had so wanted, was already washing up. Homelessness drained all of what would have been a magnificent energy all together, left to become someone I wasn't sure I even liked, and seemingly cursed, as most recently, no one else seemed to like me either--still, I almost let myself believe something bigger was at play, or perhaps in the works; I had been relocated just perfect walking distance to the gym, where of course rather than look for work which would only urge me closer to suicide than I had been, I elected instead to spend a majority of my time, crafting my days around getting there for the bare minimum of three hours, but ideally closer to 5 or 6, always aiming for 8 and almost-always giving up not because I was too tired, but because I was drenched in sweat, and something like the discomfort of a wet diaper, just wanted to be fresh and dry. God, Help me with this affliction Pick a clip, Flick the bean, And watch Netflix I'm stressin, wet and undressin This sexual tension is serious Salad, with no dressin I'm the lady in the red dress, and yes I write blank checks, so when I go to Heck, I bounce back like, “Yes.” [YES] No pressure, It's my pleasure; I'd rather be in leather than in latex, lathered up Present, or past but honestly, neither matters; Just give this to Marshall Mathers, And a Dad Hat; AMEN Hey Kids, Lets not say “Amen”, After we say hanuss shit, okay? Today, I'm Eminem, so I can finally find Skrillex, And kill him: My mission is to introduce a new religion to humans, called STOP BEING STUPID. Stop Being Skrillex. Well, Alright Then. [Presses Easy Button] “WELL, THAT WAS-- CUT TO: -__- SUPACREE wakes up from a coma; In a very SKRILLEX, Get out. [He just does.] ...Where's Dillon Francis? ...Dillon Is Dead. Dilon Francis Died. He's...left us. ...Nope. Yes, he is. SUPACREE, I'm Sorry. Don't be sorry. Be Dillon Francis. The Coma--You know---must've-- You know. Nope. Where's Pasquale? Who is that? Oh, fuck this. No, wait, stop! STAHP. Bring Skrillex Back. I never left. You're never there. Here, Tres Leches … Dulce De Leche. You know what? What? NO. NO? NO. __ ALRIGHT, WHERE'S DILLON FRANCIS? Who is that? STOP PLAYING GAMES. DILLON FRANCIS is in THE VOID, trying to beat THE LEGEND of SUPACREE. It's a really good game. DILLON FRANCIS (cracked) “It's a really good game!” GAMERS It is, a really good game. So good, in fact, that when SUPACREE herself arrives, S/He pays her almost entirely no mind. Really, Dillon Francis? ... Really, Motherfucker. DILLON FRANCIS I'm The Captain SUPACREE No, I am. (I AM!) She gestures that she is about to unplug the TV DILLON FRANCIS Don't do that. SUPACREE What? I am (I AM) Don't do it again! I told you, it's-- IN Dillon. DILLON Don't FIN. SUPACREE Unplugs the Set. DEADMAU5 FUCK, MAN. FINALLY. SUPACREE Be Less Canadian. JOEL No, I can't DILLON FRANCIS No, He can't-- JESUS No, he can't. [Beat] DILLON IS SHATTERED, as at the last moment (before the determination of the outcome of the battle, it entirely ceases to exist. Moments of silence pass in infinite tension, before DILLON, looking much like an uncomfortable, overheated, skinless (live) chicken, meets a soon to be boiled crab. OH, MY GOD. GAD/SUPACREE/C.C. That's... what they call me. *coughs* -UGLY!- *coughs* *coughs* GOD. GOD No, not you. DILLON FRANCIS ...Oh, My God. GOD What, Dillon Francis? DILLON FRANCIS Are you SUPACREE? GOD I...Am. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God--I am too! GOD I know this. DILLON FRANCIS Oh My God! GOD Yeah, I know! Woah, he's Fangirling He's fangirling so hard. Well, wouldn't you. Ask me about IT.” (IS/IT) 3 heads are better than one; This is a a game based on truth; The more you ask, the more you know; The more you know about me— The more you know about yourself— The more you know about yourself, the more you know about the world You are the world. Ī ∆ M Ū. Goddammit! You son of a bitch. She won't watch it I bet she will They know I will He knows I am! I am! Oh, there we go—it's on Get off me! Goddammit, Dillon Francis! I hate you. I hate you BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK! GO BACK–WHEN TO THE WYNN!! Right—! Wait—- Not yet— I know the code. Oh she– she knows what the code is. What did I put it in? I get it, I get it, it's— Not now, then! Not then, now! Not— Wait—- DONT! ...then, I die. The DJ VALET AND THE DJ BALLET THE BAMPHERAMPH BALANCING ACT WITH THE CHAMPION OF RAP?!? ...ohhh, wave dash, I get it… Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--He pushed Skrillex off a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex Cinematic Adventures With The Insimniacs Lol ew. *The Insomniacs DILLON FRANCIS hijacks THE BLACK PARADE. What the fuck is this? I don't know. Is he a pirate? I doubt it. No, those are pirates. Oh, shit, pirates. Yarg. Uh, okay. I didn't want to do this. Nobody asked you! Why are you like this? Stop being a little bitch, Dillon Francis— please, grow some balls. I have balls. Grow bigger balls, then. You're so mean. Shut—thefuck UP. Why are you like this? UGH—! SUNNÏ BLŪ is drinking rum again, disregarding the house arrest anklet entirely. YARG! Sunnï, the police are coming! The police are always coming! UGH!!! THEY TRYNA KEEP A BLACK MAN DOWN! [kicks trash can over] SUNNÏ. YO-HO-HO—-*belches* BITCH Oh, my God. I AM GOD. GOD WORSHIPS ME. I'M A PIRATE. You're about to go to jail. Again! FUCK THESE N*GGAS. [sirens blaring; the paparazzi arrives] Warm up my forearms Before a performance Warning: I got warrants Call florance, my lawyer —bitch, yur below me, I'm the only, Blow me You should owe me — OH, that's hilarious. JACK BLACK THIS IS FUNNY TO YOU?! YES. ITS MOT FUNNY. You look ridiculous. Do you know where I just came from?! Uh. Wednesday afternoon church? No! The 60's! Was it racist? YES. You look racist. This isn't funny! You need to fix this! I need to eat impossible chicken tinders. That sounds gross You look gross! You! Fix this! Where are you going?! Somewhere safe before the acid kicks in! You took acid?! IN THE 60's! Okay, have fun Have fun with your yuck-nuggets PASQUALE Wanna hear some tea? …no. CC! It's me! CARMELLA?! —YES—and no! Why are you Pasquale? Who's “Pasquale?” I met this guy at work! What?! Do you like it?! No! What. Did I not do it right?! No—! I mean—yes- but, Carmella— Huh I never taught you what to do with the other person when you're shape shifting into their body So?! UGH-/! No!! Where's Pasquale?! Who is that!? UGH. —- Hey. You came to winco at 3 AM for some Pringle's and franks red hot sauce *sets milk down* And white milk. It's la

Its finally time for our adventurers to travel out on the open sea! They are heading towards Mouse's home but must make a stop along the way. Here we see the start of said journey. How will our adventurers fair out on the grand sea's? Tune in for Part one of Out on the Open Seas! Music produced by Vindsvept: DarkEmotionalHalloween Music - Vindsvept - The Dead Marshes: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5GklMmAssE We now also have sponsors! Go check out these links for the sponsors and for discounts as well. Inked Gaming: https://www.inkedgaming.com/Sladexeno XPCoffeeCo: https://xpcoffee.co/ Use Code: Dirty20 You get a 5% discount using the code. Dubby Energy: https://www.dubby.gg/?ref=_zJ7UQpTimhroK Use Code: DIRTY20 You will get a 10% discount using the code on all products. For our other links, all of them can be found in our Beacons Page! beacons.page/dirtytwenty This episode was supported by RPG: Realms of Peril and Glory You can find the link to their podcast here: https://link.chtbl.com/RealmsPod?sid=twitter --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Its finally time for our adventurers to travel out on the open sea! They are heading towards Mouse's home but must make a stop along the way. Here we see the start of said journey. How will our adventurers fair out on the grand sea's? Tune in for Part Two of Out on the Open Seas! Music produced by Vindsvept: DarkEmotionalHalloween Music - Vindsvept - The Dead Marshes: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5GklMmAssE We now also have sponsors! Go check out these links for the sponsors and for discounts as well. Inked Gaming: https://www.inkedgaming.com/Sladexeno XPCoffeeCo: https://xpcoffee.co/ Use Code: Dirty20 You get a 5% discount using the code. Dubby Energy: https://www.dubby.gg/?ref=_zJ7UQpTimhroK Use Code: DIRTY20 You will get a 10% discount using the code on all products. For our other links, all of them can be found in our Beacons Page! beacons.page/dirtytwenty This episode was supported by RPG: Realms of Peril and Glory You can find the link to their podcast here: https://link.chtbl.com/RealmsPod?sid=twitter --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Its finally time for our adventurers to travel out on the open sea! They are heading towards Mouse's home but must make a stop along the way. Here we see the start of said journey. How will our adventurers fair out on the grand sea's? Tune in for Part Two of Out on the Open Seas! Music produced by Vindsvept: DarkEmotionalHalloween Music - Vindsvept - The Dead Marshes: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5GklMmAssE We now also have sponsors! Go check out these links for the sponsors and for discounts as well. Inked Gaming: https://www.inkedgaming.com/Sladexeno XPCoffeeCo: https://xpcoffee.co/ Use Code: Dirty20 You get a 5% discount using the code. Dubby Energy: https://www.dubby.gg/?ref=_zJ7UQpTimhroK Use Code: DIRTY20 You will get a 10% discount using the code on all products. For our other links, all of them can be found in our Beacons Page! beacons.page/dirtytwenty This episode was supported by RPG: Realms of Peril and Glory You can find the link to their podcast here: https://link.chtbl.com/RealmsPod?sid=twitter --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

The Weavers continue their journey to Freeport, far away from the charted trade routes

There is a way of being that I desire to inspire others to consider. Become a creator. Let's build the world on the narratives that WE choose. Web 3.0 is open to infinate possibilities. How do we arrange the humans for optimal expression and provide what they need, as they create that which never existed?

[The Festival Project.™ ] The Legend Of... S Ū P ∆ © R E E.™ E V E R Y D A Y I S R A V E D A Y ENTER THE MULTIVERSE An Insomniac Original (maybe.) Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--I pushed Skrillex off my miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex Josh Pan, combining his masterful Tri-Versal Powers, carries out a secret mission for the Ascen ded Masters, Also acting as A Bampheramph, as he plans to surpass MOTHAFUCKIN status, secretly stalking Sonny, having retired as Skrillex and fleeing to Alaska, unaware of what the package he has in his backbacm actually has the power to do. Josh Panhandle, the mountain man and the soul salesmen set a Bampheramph trap, which locks both the still living SupaCree, tmstill the original Cree, pre suicide and the post skrillex Sonny, retired;

[The Festival Project.™ ] The Legend Of... S Ū P ∆ © R E E.™ E V E R Y D A Y I S R A V E D A Y ENTER THE MULTIVERSE An Insomniac Original (maybe.) Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--I pushed Skrillex off my miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex Josh Pan, combining his masterful Tri-Versal Powers, carries out a secret mission for the Ascended Masters, Also acting as A Bampheramph, as he plans to surpass MOTHAFUCKIN status, secretly stalking Sonny, having retired as Skrillex and fleeing to Alaska, unaware of what the package he has in his backbacm actually has the power to do. Josh Panhandle, the mountain man and the soul salesmen set a Bampheramph trap, which locks both the still living SupaCree, tmstill the original Cree, pre suicide and the post skrillex Sonny, retired;

[The Festival Project.™ ] The Legend Of... S Ū P ∆ © R E E.™ E V E R Y D A Y I S R A V E D A Y ENTER THE MULTIVERSE An Insomniac Original (maybe.) Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--I pushed Skrillex off my miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex Josh Pan, combining his masterful Tri-Versal Powers, carries out a secret mission for the Ascended Masters, Also acting as A Bampheramph, as he plans to surpass MOTHAFUCKIN status, secretly stalking Sonny, having retired as Skrillex and fleeing to Alaska, unaware of what the package he has in his backbacm actually has the power to do. Josh Panhandle, the mountain man and the soul salesmen set a Bampheramph trap, which locks both the still living SupaCree, tmstill the original Cree, pre suicide and the post skrillex Sonny, retired;

​​​​ ​[The Festival Project.™ ] The Legend Of... S Ū P ∆ © R E E.™ E V E R Y D A Y I S R A V E D A Y ENTER THE MULTIVERSE An Insomniac Original (maybe.) Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--I pushed Skrillex off my miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex Josh Pan, combining his masterful Tri-Versal Powers, carries out a secret mission for the Ascended Masters, Also acting as A Bampheramph, as he plans to surpass MOTHAFUCKIN status, secretly stalking Sonny, having retired as Skrillex and fleeing to Alaska, unaware of what the package he has in his backbacm actually has the power to do. Josh Panhandle, the mountain man and the soul salesmen set a Bampheramph trap, which locks both the still living SupaCree, tmstill the original Cree, pre suicide and the post skrillex Sonny, retired;

[IT BEGINS HERE, SYMBOLICO] I love this too much; One ticket, please. Coming right up. This has a lot to do with you. Doesn't it always? Just sit down Es. Oh My God, I love this season. This season rules. It's season 5. WHAT. It's season 4. It's— I have the collection. Where did you get DVDs. WITH SPECIAL FEATURES? What is THIS. “The Missing Season” Multidimensionally; season 4 has 44 episodes; 22 of which are, in a paralelo* (YES.) dimension, nonexistent— and in the adjacent dimension, the actual 4th season of the show; A portal into the infinite is opened when The Others discover that their beloved series is not simply one series— but an anthology of series from the “4th dimension” IN CASE Ū MISSED [The Festival Project.™ ] The Legend Of... S Ū P ∆ © R E E.™ E V E R Y D A Y I S R A V E D A Y ENTER THE MULTIVERSE An Insomniac Original Ū Alright. GOD This is the part where you don't sleep. SUPACREE Oh no. GOD You've been ‘Don't Eating' for like, 8 months now. Now it's time to Don't Sleep. SUPACREE Yikes. Û You can bet we'll have it done by the beginning of next semester. GERALD Next semester's set to not even be in a classroom. Ï Even better. Remote binge worthy media. Excerpt From: “Blū and The Cosmic Owl” ... ...Having found the fallen owl, he glances up at the sky, just as another shooting star flies by. In awe, he stands at the giant animal, who pants in a tragically cry in pain. He sorrowfully glances into the bird's giant eye, crying as his tears spill into the trail of blood, a sparkling dark purple river, streaked with the silver streams of moonlit tears and the golden gleam of a lucid dream; her dilated pupils reflect all the cosmos, sparkling through the three round dials; some sound, which has never heard or even fathomed to be made, a vibration ringing as it aligns with his light, which also shines now through his dark brown eyes; He is hypnotized, nearly full of light in a state of trance as he begins to float upward, levitating just slightly--A SUDDEN FLASH OF COSMIC LIGHT, as the wounded bird, morphs into a matching [humanoid] being, abruptly changing the frequency from a hypnotising lull, to an ear-shattering, soul startling and painstaking frequency. As they both hover above the ground-- still in levitation, he quickly looks down worriedly, then back up at the being--now matching in age, as The Princess, a pretty poised and painted warrior, adorned with the royally decadent white and purple trimmed fashion, crystals and gemstones of the galaxies imbedded into her sashes. He's enamoured and intrigued, less terrified than excited; however her eyes, now changing a through colors of neon light, reflect her terrified and painful confusion, having been wounded with the weapon of ‘man'--he falls toward the ground, suddenly, groaning in pain, then turning into a fetal position from which he cowers in fear under her. A tear, which has formed in her eye, nearly falls; she forcefully reabsorbs it back into her eyes, as she calms herself down, lowering gracefully to the ground. She crouches over him, thinking twice quite literally, before angrily kneeling over him, yielding a ball of fire out of one hand, holding him by his shirt with the other--he cowers in fear, now--his awestruck chased away by the apparent power of this being; she quickly throws her fireball at a nearby bush, lighting it as he glares at the sight slightly stupified by the fire light, which he likes. A splash of water drenches him from head to toe, blasting off his pink glasses and shattering playful spry outlook with a very grumpy pout, as he stands up, dripping from head to toe. She stands, one leg crossed over the other, another dream of water floating in her hand; as he stands dripping, she blasts him again, with the intensity of a firehose pushing him back. Taking awhile to get back, she waits, meditating by the bush as a campfire, as he, still dripping approaches. She looks out of one eye, unassumingly continuing to meditate as he approaches the fire, which he sits by, as closely and cautiously on the other side, trying to get dry. She looks at him from the other eye, calmly sighing as she blasts him with the surprise of an almost blow dry, which she provides by colliding her hands stretched outwardly towards him; the heated gust leaves him looking somewhat like a freshly groomed poodle--his dark brown hair to match his sweet and gentle eyes, by which, his glasses having been blasted off a third time, he notices as he pushes up on the bridge of his nose, realizing he's lost them again--before he can even (literally) think to retrieve them, they float, guided by her telekinetic twisting of her index finger. BLŪ ...thank you... Still unable to form words, she just gazes at him from over the firelight, sternly searching perhaps, for the way to create a translation between her native telepathic ways of communication, or any of the alien languages--she is unfamiliar with this, though captioned in (several, actually) alien languages, we, as the audience can perceive any of the dialogue just to be "english". PRINCESS Why would you do that?! BLŪ What?! PRINCESS What you did to me! BLŪ I didn't mean to! PRINCESS Mean to what? BLŪ Shoot you!? I-- PRINCESS Why would you ‘shoot' an Owl!? BLŪ An ‘owl?' I'm sorry! I didn't! PRINCESS Didn't what? LOOK. [She appears, even still, to be wounded.] BLŪ I--I never-- PRINCESS Never what? BLŪ I've never seen an ‘owl' before… PRINCESS So you just--!? BLŪ I'm sorry! PRINCESS What were you attempting to do? BLŪ I don't know! PRINCESS You don't know? BLŪ No! I just-- PRINCESS You? BLŪ I...just… PRINCESS You… BLŪ I… PRINCESS … [She appears to be bleeding through the sheath of her bodice.] BLU ...Are you ok? CYPHER I: ‘The Coffee Run' This is my job, Like this is your job I look at the jaw I want what you want This is my planet we're on This is is my plan, I got lost in it Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm not You just want a nut with a butt I just want a bud-- [Sample, Dillon Francis: Hey Buddy! (The Coffee Run)] --I'm not your buddy. Ah. Look at that car; I'm on a coffee run at McDonald's How much does it cost? A dollar, one— It's like putting gas in my car, I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna Call Jimmy Fallon to borrow a dollar. It's a coffee run A coffee run A coffee run; You cough, I run You like? I'm fun The west was won by everything under the Sun, Run it This--soul. Yes? It is...of light? It is. And? (A concept unbeknownst the the dark and evil underlords of Satan's realm, which has expanded far beyond hell, into the upper reaches of our world, consuming in darkness everything it can.) Something else… What? Something powerful. It is...beyond words. How? That is, yet to be understood. Mmm… ________________ INT. SOMEWHERE IN ALASKA. DAY. [Before the initial collision... ] DEVIL Exited for EDC? Ï Are you serious? DEVIL Is Dillon Francis going to be there? Ï Dillon Francis? DEVIL Yeah. DJ Dillon Francis. Ï Uh. I don't know. And I don't care. DEVIL Why not? This guy is awesome. Ï (rolling eyes) Since when do you listen to EDM? DEVIL I don't. Just Dillon Francis. He's fuckin hilarious. Look at this. VIDEO: NEED YOU, NGHTMRE & DILLON FRANCIS Ï Huh. CUT TO: DILLON FRANCIS arrives through a portal onto Venice beach, just moments before SUPACREE arrives; Where he is ‘kidnapped' into an Egyptian crystal shop. CUT TO SUPACREE What the FUCK! Dillon Francis isn't the answer to anything, even if someone is pointing at him, asking "Who the fuck is that?" HANZEL Wvell that's because ze answer is "DJ Dillon Francis" Ū Exactly. SUPACREE Oh, please. CUT TO: INT. THE GREAT SALTAIR. SALT LAKE CITY, UT. [SŪP∆ is on the lineup; she prepares for her set. She lurks down into the dancefloor, hiding in the risers, looking over the crowd to read the room. As she peers into the corner nearest to the bar, she suddenly stops, tipping down the rims of her glasses and squinting sternly, scanning over the large group...she intensely scopes a tall, and lanky brunette hunched drunkenly in the corner, one sleeve of her I'll fitting oversized jacket hanging off her shoulder unevenly. Even from afar, she looks tequila toasted.] SŪP∆ Yikes. [She looks down at her [watch, which appears to be a early version of the Synesthesia Panel] it is 7:35.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Annnnnd--the night is young… [She peers once more into the corner, to see the girl stumbling towards the restroom sloppily, hunched shoulders and struggling to keep her oversized jacket "on", over her high waisted shorts, accompanied by black fishnets and babydoll crop top, stomping in her stupor towards the restroom. She thinks for a moment, then exits downstairs intently. Downstairs, She is greeted by one of the stagehands. They PLUR and hug. ] DIMITRI Heeeeey. Happy Rave Dayyy. SŪP∆ Every day is rave day. DIMITRI I wish. SŪP∆ Wishes come true. DIMITRI Ugh, I wish. SŪP∆ Don't waste a wish on a wish. They all come true. DIMITRI Think so? SŪP∆ Know so. Like--know-know… so…don't wish for stupid shit; you don't know how many wishes you actually get, so just...be...specific. [He is starry eyed, gazing at her in a dreamlike trance.] SŪP∆ (CONT'D) ...like super specific. DIMITRI ...Specific…Wishes… SŪP∆ ‘Rollin'? [DIMITRI nods happily, bouncing to the upbeat bass house music coming from the mainstage.] SŪP∆ Just kicked in? DIMITRI (shaking head in agreement) Yuh. SŪP∆ Water? [She produces a bottled water out of "nowhere" (the void in her energy field which manifests items most needed/useful immediately [DIMITRI takes the water, amazed that she literally pulled it out of nowhere right in front of him; however, his Befuddled expression suggests curiosity that he is "tripping", which he quickly shrugs off, still bouncing happily to the music as he takes a drink (nearly the entire bottle), giving him life. (As he catches his breath, he looks up to see a tricolor of gumstucks fanned before him, his eyes light up.] SŪP∆ Spearmint, peppermint, winter fresh. DIMITRI ...ohhhh shittttt, winter fresh…! [He happily takes a stick, as the DJ loops [live sampling] the word "fresh", and they share a dance breakdown; Dimitri finishes his water and starts on his stick of gum. She produces a trash bag out of thin air, gesturing vanna white style, again as DIMITRI 'checks' himself, clearly unaware of Supa's Powers.] SŪP∆ Trash. [He enters his trash into the bag, after which, it immediately collapses, as it vanishes.] DIMITRI ...what was...what was that. SŪP∆ That...was...trash...magic…bags…brand...bags. ((( ))) (Magic Isn't Real!) SŪP∆ Oh, fuck, right. DILLON FRANCIS(in the next dimension over) DILLON FRANCIS Is. SŪP∆ Uh, Personal Space. DILLON FRANCIS Telepathy wasn't invented for "personal space" SŪP∆ Telepathy wasn't invented at all. DILLON FRANCIS Exactly. It's--Magic. Hence. SŪP∆ This has been previously established. DILLON FRANCIS I'm reinforcing the foundations...established...previously. SŪP∆ Uh, Don't you have half an album to finish? DILLON FRANCIS Uh, Don't you have a rave frozen in an unstable time warp, just so we can have this conversation--? Which, by the way, I'm pretty sure does not comply with aforementioned...reinforced foundations, Previously...established… SŪP∆ So what's the other half of thAt… was it even an album. Is it an EP? DILLON FRANCIS Nice view from the dancefloor, by the way, Jeez--JEEZ! I mean, I guess once you get used to the view from the stage, behind--you know --where the actual DJs...DJ. Behind the decks. In the DJ booth. For the DJ. SŪP∆ ...k… DILLON FRANCIS Which you're not. SŪP∆ Oh, I'm not. DILLON FRANCIS No. You're just...Dillusionally, probably permanently and terminally...not a DJ. SŪP∆ ‘Not a DJ.' DILLON FRANCIS Not a DJ. Right. SŪP∆ Not a DJ...with Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Maybe, mildly, weirdly magic--definitely not a DJ. Ever. SŪP∆ Okay. Not-- DILLON FRANCIS Not ever-- SŪP∆ Oh right, not Ever--s BOTH --a DJ. DILLON FRANCIS I'm glad you finally understand. We so, so appreciate the FANS, though. SŪP∆ BIG fan. BIG Dillon Francis fan. DILLON FRANCIS I know. I have…I'm telepathic. I'm also a DJ. Like, a real DJ. With...fans. AND albums. SŪP∆ So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS And albums. Like, tracks. SŪP∆ Right. Tracks. Got That Track Magic. DILLON FRANCIS Tracks. SŪP∆ I just got that, fan magic. And you know, actual magic. Thanks Dillon Francis-- DILLON FRANCIS DJ Dillon Francis SŪP∆ Right. DJ Dillon Francis. So many fans. DILLON FRANCIS but you're my best fan. SŪP∆ Best Fan! DILLON FRANCIS BEST FAN AWARD. SŪP∆ YEAH. DILLON FRANCIS FAN CAM! SŪP∆ ONE FOR THE FAN GRAM! DILLON FRANCIS THE *BEST* FAN GRAM. SŪP∆ YEAH. [Posing for a selfie, she uses one of her rave weapons (which is, actually just a regular iPhone) spitefully flashes him into a cross parallel dimension, outside of Bampheramph jurisdiction, trapping him in an intractable dimension; the photo created a time warp and intersectable checkpoint in time. She unfreezes the rave.] DIMITRI ...magic…? SŪP∆ Uh--no! ‘magic'. The music is magic, Just trash bags...brand...yeah. DIMITRI trash...brand...bags... SŪP∆ ...yeah... [They continue to dance; she nervously looks over her shoulder for possible alternate versions of DILLON FRANCIS At the end of the break, an immediate change of tone--she readjusts her outfit and hair, collecting herself in a snap--grabbing DIMITRI by his shoulder and pulling him closer, crouching lower into a "gameplay" position.) SŪP∆ (CONT'D) Now, business talk time. DIMITRI Serious face? [She nods adamantly. DIMITRI tries to straighten up, and "get serious, still bouncing along to the beat, adjusting his sunglasses.] CUT TO: EXT. THE OPEN SEAS. DAY [In a nearby dimension, As SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS continue to battle, they cross paths at sea.] SKRILLEX Nice Dinghy, dude. DILLON FRANCIS It's...not a dinghy. It's a miniature yacht, and you're talking a lot, for someone that's more of a prop, than the dialogue. SKRILLEX Prop. Plot device. Main character. Oh shit dude--I might even star of the show. DILLON FRANCIS She's the star of the show. SKRILLEX Not without me. [A BAMPHERAMPH teleportals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, tagging him, BAMPHERAMPH TAG, YOU'RE IT. [He disappears into another portal.] SKRILLEX I'm it. DILLON FRANCIS Nah, you're just “Skrillex.” SKRILLEX That's--all you need. [A MOTHERFUCKER portals onto SKRILLEX'S boat, via another portal, handing him an *object*] MOTHERFUCKER Humility. You need it. SKRILLEX ...I made the HUMBLE remix. MOTHERFUCKER Yeah you did. [THE MOTHERFUCKER disappears into a portal; SKRILLEX unwraps the object; It is a pie, labeled ‘HUMBLE PIE.'] SKRILLEX Hm. FLASHBACK: BASS DROP, HUMBLE (Skrillex Remix) CUT BACK: As the bass drops, the pie explodes; This leaves him covered in a very fruity mess, and a *bass face* CUT TO: INT. OWSLA HQ. DAY MANAGER I don't think it's good for you, If you do this movie. SONNY/SKRILLEX Movies. It's like a series. Or a saga, oh--god, I don't know. [DILLON FRANCIS shows up, out of nowhere.] DILON FRANCIS Yeah. She is. Like a God, and you're not, man. So you know...I mean… SKRILLEX Actually heh. First of all, you tell me what the price of ‘Everliving Skrillex' is, I'll wait. DILLON FRANCIS My pants are currently selling for 69.99 right now. SKRILLEX My left sock was 69.99 this morning. MANAGER Why are you buying individual socks--??? DILLON FRANCIS Why are you buying socks in the mornings? MANAGER You're up late, how are you even up in the morning?! DILLON FRANCIS Do you ever sleep? Does a Skrillex sleep? MANAGER Who are you again? DILLON FRANCIS I'm Dillon Francis. DJ- Dillon Francis. SKRILLEX Does a Dillon Francis DJ? Or wear proper fitting pants? Or do anything? Anything cool at all? Yeah actually--I pushed Skrillex off my miniature yacht! SKRILLEX ...What? [DILLON FRANCIS portals them back onto the YACHT SCENE.] *alt* SKRILLEX and *alt* DILLON FRANCIS are still fighting; They are now both on the deck of SKRILLEX's boat, DILLON FRANCIS's mini yacht burning/ devastated by what appears to be a giant kraken in the background.] ALT/SKRILLEX FUCK YOUR MINIATURE YACHT. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You're a miniature yacht! SKRILLEX Is that US?! MANAGER I told you... ALT/SKRILLEX You're not a good villain. Or at anything, really! You're just…'Dillon Francis. ‘ ALT/DILLON FRANCIS And you're just stranded in the ocean. ALT/SKRILLEX It's okay, it's hella refreshing! UNLIKE YOUR MUSIC. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS You know what--? DILLON FRANCIS (to his alternate self) I got this. ALT/SKRILLEX Huh? [DILLON FRANCIS blasts ALT/SKRILLEX into a portal, which whirlpools him into an alternate dimension; SKRILLEX and the MANAGER look on in horror.] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS Oh God, Finally! DILLON FRANCIS Yeah, I know. ALT/DILLON FRANCIS That took FOREVER. [DILLON FRANCIS rolls his eyes and hands his alternate self a small object*.] ALT/ DILLON FRANCIS By the way-- [He opens up another portal, reaching out just to jump into it, exclaiming:] ALT/DILLON FRANCIS (CONT'D) Tag, you're it. [He disappears into the portal.] DILLON FRANCIS OH, GOD DAMMIT. COMEUPOUTDAWAHTA, S U P A C R E E M I X X __________ SKRILLEX Get off my Alien Planet! Don't touch it! It's my alien planet, nobody land on it. DILLON FRANCIS Suhweeet planet… SUPACREE No! Don't land on that planet! [He lands.] SUPACREE God DAMMIT. GOD I can't do that. You know I can't do that. It's a whole planet just--give it time. SUPACREE I gave it spacetime! I am time! GOD I know you are, dear. Just be patient. SUPACREE Be patient? He went and put his DILLON FRANCIS all over it. JESUS Let Dillon Francis play with your planet, yeah? SUPACREE What?? No, can't have it, it's my planet. No. JESUS But he already put his Dillon on it, you know how that goes. SUPACREE I do know how it goes. I wrote it. GOD How does it go? It goes: SUPACREE --No--No--Dillon Francis, go home. /SKRILLEX No planet for Dillon Francis. SUPACREE This isn't Dillon Francis Land, it's closed. And also Not. Your. Planet. Go. Home. GOD That had a lot of heart, hun. SUPACREE And no Dillon Francis. JESUS Actually, it had a lot of that, too. SKRILLEX Aha. SUPACREE --Aha, well it's about to have a lot of not-that, I'm about to knock the not-that-hot-sauce off his-- /SKRILLEX --mini yacht knocking-- SUPACREE --sock-rocking-planet-blocking-motherfacker!!!! RAAGGHHH…!! /SKRILLEX AGHRAHGHHGH!!! JESUS Whew. Did you just eat a McFury? SUPACREE MAYBEITWASAFUCKISDILLONFRANCISDOINGONMYPLANETSANWHICH. SUPACREE + SKRILLEX FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. JESUS sounds like a lot. / Sounds Like A Mouthful. SUPACREE/SKRILLEX It wasn't. Ever. Never. / It's not. (Alternately) _______ DILLON FRANCIS Hey. This is a nice planet. Ū He's gonna be like-- DILLON FRANCIS Like flabbergasted. Ū Past Flabbergasted. Did he see you land? DILLON FRANCIS Yeah. Ū Good. Lol. Did he get the coupon? DILLON FRANCIS --Yes. (Previously) [Dillon Lurks In The Background with the SupaCreepers (binoculars). SKRILLEX finds the coupon.] $-FREE MCFURY. SKRILLEX ...oh, shit. Mm! Yeah-yeah! CUT BACK TO Ū Hehehe. EXT. AN ‘ALIEN' PLANET. SPACE THE SKRILLEX Enters The Atmosphere. THE SKRILLEX 'I AM SKRILLEX' S- Sunnï Blū, Ninja Guru Singer/Songwriter Ū- The Anti-Anti-Hero, the Superhero Persona, Ninja Assassin, and Mothafuckin' Bampheramph P-PEACE (Piece, Piece of the Puzzle, Piece of Pie, etc.) Problemo (Exists when too many plot holes and complexities arrive, also “The Pretender”, who just ignores when crazy shit happens, questions all realities (?) Alt+J- SUPACREE, The DIvine Trinity C- (Copyright Symbol) The Original Cree, Alternately Chak Chel, the ancient spirit guide ‘trapped' inside of the Physical Body to Accompany and Assist through magic, rituals, and energy manipulation through music, time space, and all reality which exists within the fathomable and expanding infinite consciousness. (thought to be ancient, however actually originating from hyper intelligent and extraterrestrial existence in the outer realms. Caricatures (“Characters” Based On Various Entertainment Artists Personas, To Be Played (As themselves) S-Dillon Francis U-Dillon Frances P-Dillon T. Francis A-Dillon Flances C-Dillon Glances R-Dillon France Is E-Fillon Dances E-(Fictional Dillon) Francis/Is Pasquale -DJ Hanzel -DJ Rich As Fuck -Gerald -N(E)RD (Pronounced” NED”) Sonny Moore/Skrillex -Hereby referenced to as SS, there exists “Infinite Skrillex” variably throughout the Multiverse, however, Skrillex himself is (secretly) the singular (and seemingly random apparent “phenomenon”) of his kind. A rare and shiny seemingly shapeshifting sorcerer, the concept and use of “Fictional Skrillex” is separated into a multitude of characters, uses and ambiguities explained throughout the series. *Spoiler*, Tying into the Theme of an Ever Expanding (and alternately, Collapsing/Compressing) Infinite Multidimensional, The Term Skrillex can refer the the Persona, or Person as Himself, but alternately is used as a noun, pronoun, verb, or adjective--even sometimes as a profanity, or to be referred to as a “race”. Sammi B,/LSDream/Brillz -Sam I Am (Festival Trip Alter Ego) -I Am Sam (Festival Trip Second Alter Ego) Pasqualle Rotella A nameless, untranslatable into spoken or written language symbol, to be decided. An Ultra-Omnipitent giant (predominately purple, but emanating all colors of the cosmos) Galaxy of Ultra Concious Light Waves, SoundFrequencies, and Own Planetary Solar System, Boasting Stars which rival our own sun. A brilliant Collection of Space Dust (A relative of “Fart”, from Rick and Morty) Evil Pasquale Pasqualle Is Dillon Francis Mr. Rager (Underground Pasqualle) A No-Named Burner and Ultimate Raver, whose domain is the kingdom of the underground rave scene--he detests the mainstream, traveling (across time, as an undercover Bampheramph), Wally (Never started Insomniac, Works At Walmart as Greeter. Never Raved.) In a homage to the second back to the future, U has traveled back to 1993 to create a reality where Google and Insomniac, etc. are owned and operated by SupaCree, skewing into an adjacent timeline in the future where her superstardom and rise to fame begins as a child star on Disney Channel, crossing multiple timelines interdimensionally intersected on the Infinite Grid so complex, it begins to create a disastrous series of knots, loops, and voids, tangled now permanently into the fabric of time. Wally is asked to fill in for his coworker in the photography section, where he develops photos from a disposable camera and is enamoured by the dazzling magic of EDC captured on camera. His eyes widen as he glimpses into the photos; it is love at first sight. He makes doubles of the photos, later creating a vision board (used as a totem, easter egg throughout series) Wally's World lol The Ascended Masters The Psychonauts The Bampheramphs (& Mothafuckin' Bampheramphs, Respectively) The Insomniacs (& Pasquallians, a secret sect of magicians, sorcerers and alchemists, seers and mystics carefully selected as keyholders to ‘The Secret Gates', a secret interdimensional transit system hidden beyond VIP (VIP+, VIP++, VIP+++, and VIP (+/-) which actually contains an underground city, a massive classified compound which exists between cross dimensions, allowing for shifts in the timespace continuums and temporary constructs of reality adjust by a mastery of manipulative conception, a complete control of energy--even allowing for such things as matter to appear, disappear, The Toxic Avengers, Traveling across the Multiverse to Avenge the annihilation, assassinations, and massacre of The Infinite Skrillex Josh Pan, combining his masterful Tri-Versal Powers, carries out a secret mission for the Ascended Masters, Also acting as A Bampheramph, as he plans to surpass MOTHAFUCKIN status, secretly stalking Sonny, having retired as Skrillex and fleeing to Alaska, unaware of what the package he has in his backbacm actually has the power to do. Josh Panhandle, the mountain man and the soul salesmen set a Bampheramph trap, which locks both the still living SupaCree, tmstill the original Cree, pre suicide and the post skrillex Sonny, retired;

First we head to New York City to help Charlton Heston go above and beyond the law in Soylent Green. After that we hit the Open Seas with Bill Murray and The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. Then we head back to NYC to climb the corporate ladder with Michael J. Fox in The Secret of My Success. Some secrets aren't secrets anymore what'll we visit the great state of Georgia in A Madea Homecoming. Next up we travel over to Gotham City to fight evil in Batman & Robin. After fighting evil we got haunted with the Foo Fighters in studio 666. So grab your self some bread and get toasty with us.

While crypto enthusiasts praise NFTs for how great the platform it is for digital goods, yet more get stolen from the gold standard of NFT sales. Let's talk about it. --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/earlybirbbriefing/message Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/earlybirbbriefing/support

Five things to navigate AWAY from when sailing the open seas of media consumption.

On this week's episode of Let's Go Together, Kellee sits down with Captain Kate McCue, the first American woman to captain a commercial cruise liner, to ask about her experiences as a female maritime officer. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Gemma and Ian chat to Emma Keen.  Emma is based on a 74 foot sailing boat called Wildberry .. it's a Sunreef Catamaran.  Emma is currently in Saint Vincent and the Grenadines but sails all over the Caribbean taking guests diving and kitesurfing.  Emma has a Masters in Science, Marine Biology and Oceanography and passionate about all things ocean related.   https://www.instagram.com/keenonthewater/ https://keenonthewater.blogspot.com/?m=1   New episodes of The BiG Podcast go live every Monday at noon UK time - Subscribe so you don't miss out.    The BiG Scuba Podcast is sponsorship and ad free thanks to the monthly financial support of patrons. To find out more about supporting your favourite podcast and becoming a patron please check out www.patreon.com/thebigscubapodcast.       Our BiG Scuba Blue O Two Liveaboard leaves  21 October 2022 and we sail out on a classic itinerary allowing you to take in iconic wrecks and stunning reefs across the northern Red Sea.  Call Blue O Two and quote   “BIGSCUBA”   +44 1752 480808 UK   (GMT +1): 08:30 to 17:00  or email  divingholidays@blueotwo.com   Contact Gemma and Ian with your messages, ideas and feedback via The BiG Scuba Bat Phone    +44 7810 005924 Or use our social media platforms.   We are on Instagram    @thebigscuba   We are on Facebook     @thebigscuba   We are on Twitter  @the_big_scuba  The BiG Scuba Website     www.thebigscuba.com ISSN Number 2752-6127  

Elisabeth Vogel was born in Heidelberg, Germany, and trained at Kempinski Vier Jahreszeiten, a 5-star hotel in Munich. Hear about her experience working as the Assistant Executive Housekeeper for King Hussein in Jordan. She is an expert at treating guests like royalty! Experienced in all aspects of hospitality including kitchen, service, housekeeping, and finance, Elisabeth Vogel is a hotel director for Azamara Pursuit. She was formerly a food and beverage manager for Azamara and is an excellent host with an eye for the overall picture and leadership for the team. She has always gone for the jobs that were fun and what she thought would suit her best. In this episode, Elisabeth shares her interesting career journey from a personal assistant to a rich and famous German family to working for King Hussein of Jordan. Listen in to learn about the joy of finding fun and joy in a career you enjoy even when it doesn't have a fancy title. You will also learn how to be a fair and empowering leader who leads by example. Key Takeaways: How to be fair, firm, and consistent with your team as a leader How to lead with example as a woman leader to empower other women Why you should go for a career in what you like to do and what you're good at www.TrailBlazersImpact.com

Did any of you wish you were traveling the world instead of being trap in your home last year? Well Moana Wisniewski, Associate Art Technical Director at Ubisoft, did. Hear all about her year of boat hitchhiking!

Topics Maryland, Centreville, Queen Anne's County TV, QACTV, Government Access TV, Community Media, PEG, Youtube, qactv, qa tv, qatv, queen, anne's, county, made in qac, how to coffee, coffee roasting, business in qac Language English Open Seas Coffee Roasters is just one of the businesses taking advantage of the perks of being in Queen Anne's County. Bryce Roszell goes into details about how he got started and is now thriving thanks to help from Queen Anne's County Economic Development. Also, check out his delicious coffee here - https://www.openseascoffee.com --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/stringer5/support

The guys spoil Mortal Kombat, discuss the bermuda triangle and ghost ships and their favorite disney princess. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/thelostboys/support

Welcome back to This Present Moment. It's been wonderful connecting with many of you through the first issue—and as always, feel free to shoot me any thoughts.Now, today's piece rhymes. And it's about a time When Beyoncé's world and mine became oddly intertwined. And I became confined to the clamors of my mind. And now that you're primed ... I. There lies a Wilderness of Noise, overgrown and tangled. The daily din of cracks and drones which interweave and mangle. It hollers from our TV sets and grips us from the Web. It rips from us our silence, and rings out through our heads. It's the blare of The Biggest Story! from the glare of The Newest Screen. This racket deafens us to Wisdom and stirs us from our Dreams. The Noise, you see, it seizes us. We're cast under its spell, Luring us against our will into the woods in which it dwells, Eventually we call it Home—the Noise becomes the norm. Around then the thunder starts. We're battered by this Storm! This Noise scrambles our compass, and we lose all direction, Rambling evermore into this dense dimension. Bewitched by our desires and how we must be seen— More money! More Things! More Likes! More Me!—We reach for some prestige! Our Thoughts battle our Hearts, and we're stuck in between. This Wilderness turns dizzying, the Noise twists into screams. Don't! Don't! Don't! the culture wars. Do that and you'll sink! Don't! Don't! Don't! your ego scorns. What will they all think?! The babbling of our brains, here, protests every whim, As a mad world howls at us—from outside our minds and in. Crippled by this mania, we wrestle every choice. Which way now? we ask confused, searching for that Voice. Muted under all this Noise, we feel its gentle cry, The "quiet desperation" as life is slipping by. I've lived inside this Wilderness. Perhaps you may have been? Reality there's a prickly place. The game is, above all: Win! You choose a role, and learn it well, and then you run a race. A Contest for Status, or Who Has The Prettiest Face, Or Attention, or Wealth, or Wit. Just focus on your chase! Keep sprinting towards the future. When you get there you'll be safe. Now this is all just nonsense. You know that's not the plot. Your story is much more than this, you feel that in your gut. That just beyond this Wilderness—There are Open Seas. Of Clarity. Of Mystery. Of Possibilities. At times we may dispel that hex, and clear the noxious Noise, To surf those effervescent waves some call our "inner-voice." I'll tell you how I've been helped in finding Open Sea, In navigating through the Noise and learning to be free. But I am just one Average Joe. "Learning" here is key. I'm purely aiming to explore and see where that takes me. And, yes, that Land does jerk me back, too often and too fast. The Noise is always ticking, ticking, ticking from my past. But in This Present Moment, I write you earnestly From a space of openness—that space we truly meet. My stories are a-plenty and we haven't time to share All the minute little tales that bring this Truth to bear. So one short bit will have to do, and I hope that it shines through That if we Listen to our Truth, our world is made anew.II. Years ago, as a scrappy kid, I somehow landed in this gig Working for Beyoncé. I was pretty unqualified, But I was bright and down to grind. So I got to stay with Beyoncé. My life got turnt before my eyes, And a slick, new phrase came to reprise: "I work for Beyoncé." Around the world I went and back, As this vogue lifestyle came to pass. My identity became "Beyoncé." Artists were all around within her vast Creative Team— An ecosystem of geniuses driven just like she. It was tirelessly demanding, but the work was so unique. Its reach was outstanding, and it honed my technique. I got to watch her Manifest, saw her flesh out instinct. And saw the stunning power that forges her mystique. Plus, girls thought it was dope that I was with Bey. And that badge means you're cool in NYC. And I thought it was dope that I knew Jay-Z. That s**t means I'm cool to me! It was an era which emerged so unexpectedly, Into this fertile stretch of dazzling opportunity.I can't complain, I know. But in time something shifted. And I became unsettled by this job I had been gifted. Maybe it was the endless hours, staring at screens for days? Maybe the Actor In Me sought a different kind of stage? I just don't think I cared enough to sacrifice my Being— Even for a visionary, even for the Queen. So the thrill began to fray. I gotta get out. Beneath my breath this mantra played: I gotta get out. It looped throughout my every day. I gotta get out. And loomed behind the digital haze. I gotta get out. But I got paid. And so I stayed. I stayed for the cool stuff I made. Such as, I worked on Lemonade. I stayed for all the accolades. I stayed because who wouldn't stay? But really I stayed because I was afraid. You see, giving up salary at the "coolest job around," To almost everyone looked insurmountably unsound. By any normal standard, I was winning at the game. I'd always wanted stardom, and now I was six feet from fame. More Money! More Likes! More Me! There was no bigger place to be Than in Beyoncé's crew at the age of 23. It was an addiction, impossible to drop. The Noise roared Beyoncé—and I couldn't get it to stop. Sucked into a vortex of my own desires, The Ego was loving it, but I felt like a liar. Drawn into that Wilderness, cast under its spell, Nothing mattered anymore. And that seemed just as well. The weeks became mechanical, and nothing felt real. Years were sliding by, as I ignored my Heart's appeals. I knew it in my gut: I gotta get out. But that there threatened The Ego, so he muzzled all those doubts. And as is wont to happen when we muffle our Flow, The pilot light began to dim and living lost its glow. A friend back then said "I'm so happy." In some misplaced zeal I retorted: "I don't think that happiness is real." I recall another talk with my Mom and Dad: "I feel dead inside," I vented. Why was I so mad? Of course this wretchedness went deeper than a job. I had nothing under me. No meaning, no god. Dust to dust, and nothing more. Just running that race. It drained me of my courage to take a leap of faith. That mortality within us fears all Unknowns. Yet that's the only place where we genuinely grow. So I could not move forward, because I became weak. As I was now a prisoner of my own ennui. Now, I get this was no Tragedy! It's not like someone died. I wasn't under some duress, or working in the mines! (Charge me with my "Privilege!"—and that may well be true. I'm grateful for what I was offered. That I assure you.) But sometimes suffering slithers from behind; It slinks in quietly and hides within the grind. At some point it bites everyone. No matter who or why. Pain can not be measured, though it seems we try. It's reduced into metrics, and split down party lines. I have it worse than you! squawks our tribal whines. We weaponize our agony and obscure our Design: Love is to Realize we're all One Big Mind.III. We were doing a show in Vegas, and I was burnt out to the max. It was 18 hour days for months, and I was desperate to relax. I lurched to my hotel room, and got pinged to come back to work. It was midnight. On a Friday. And I legitimately went berserk. F**k this s**t. I'm so tired. F**k it all to Hell. I looked at myself in the mirror and erupted with this yell: A PRIMAL SCREAM OF ANGER FROM THAT WILDERNESS. A VOLCANIC CRY OF DANGER FROM DEEP IN THAT ABYSS, WHERE SOULS HAVE LOST THEIR NATURE AND ARE BURNING TO A CRISP. And in the mirror—in crimson face—I think I saw a stranger. This rupture snaked around my mind and left it with a hiss ... The fever of this breakdown kept me in a shiver. When I got back to New York, I walked to the East River. The moon refracted off the waves in that sparkling way Where every burst of glitter is some secret kept at bay. I was not a man of Spirit then. An atheist, in fact. But that night I asked for a Sign, and I made a pact: "I'll change my life. I will. But I just feel so trapped. I'm in this hard reality and don't know my way back. The Self Who Stands Above Me knows this is not my Path But Little Me can't take the Risk. I need more faith to Act. I don't know what's Beyond me, but it seems I have to Ask: Send a Sign that says: "Go forth. This fear shall pass." "Ask and it shall be given. Seek and ye shall find." The next morning I awoke to a text cosmically timed: "Hey Joe! It's John" (A college friend.) "You just popped to mind. I work for Bravo! now doing video and design. We've got months of overflowing work: Do you have any time?" Whoa! An open door ... I asked and here's the sign ... Bravo, indeed! I thought. A wondrous magic trick! Well, now I had no choice. I had to act on it. I stayed in that vibration and rode it to the office. Holding that conviction, I gathered up my bosses. "Thank you for it all," I said. "And sorry I've been grumpy. I think I need to leave. I don't like who I'm becoming." And that was that. So simple. It felt like almost nothing. It almost turned this melodrama into something funny! I headed home at rush hour, and I just started running Through packed Manhattan sidewalks. My Spirit was buzzing. I must have seemed a lunatic, weaving through the passersby. It was that unbridled vigor of finally feeling Alive. For 30 blocks I ran. I'd rarely felt so free. I had escaped my Wilderness and was setting out to Sea. I know this seems theatrical. I was just quitting a job. But looking back on it, this is what it wrought. I played victim to my limiting beliefs That I was powerless against the plague of my own grief. And in that extra push from past The Great Divide I began to Realize the universe is on our side. IV. Life unfolded afterwards in many glimmering ways. Reality rewards us after diving into change. Curveballs, decisions, and hard times never cease. But there are these messages that shepherd us to peace. They're whispering beneath the Noise, guiding our way out: That electric spark of joy or a knowing sense of doubt. In the years to come, I've Listened for these signs. Sometimes it's just a dash of bliss which teases more to find. Or perhaps it's stranger, like a call perfectly timed. The webwork of reality seems weirdly intertwined ... Call them odd coincidences or call them divine, There are White Rabbits everywhere, even in this rhyme. Maybe that's the real game: We simply have to Listen. Easier said than done, I know—sensing intuition. In hindsight, though, we tend to say "I sensed something was off." So it follows that right now it's possible—somewhere—we're lost ... Perhaps we're always being Signaled to that Open Sea. But we can't hear beneath that Noise that's hexed us devilishly. We get trapped in Wilderness—that scraping in our head, Those painful thoughts that we avoid, that sprout up into dread. And the world becomes that prickly place where everything is sharp, Shrieking in anxiety and splitting us apart. And the things that scare us most are what we most lack. For as Jung said: "Where your fear is—there's your task." Our Task is never easy. But we each have the choice To Listen—beyond the Wilderness of Noise— To that song that plays outside of time and space. A melody that carries us beyond this mortal chase. It sings through the Universe in quiet chimes of grace. That mysterious compass that we may as well call Faith. The feeling that Something knows who you're supposed to be. Even before you know it. Before even you can see. That Voice that tracks ahead of us, singing "Wake Up! We are free." It surfs the open waters laughing playfully. Life glistens when you listen—so tune yourself to thee, Which know which way the wind blows and directs you out to Sea.This Present Moment is an experiment in connection. I want to hear from you and I welcome your thoughts. Feel free to reply to this email. And if you haven't yet:And if you've banked on crypto lately, you can now become a paying subscriber. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit thispresentmoment.substack.com