Podcasts about phoenixx

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 13, 2023 28:16

Ugh I have to keep doing this dumb protection spell I guess this dude wanted me dead so he can't go to jail But for sure there's hell for em— A solemn prayer to the ones that can't protect themselves Shout out to my love of all loves Shout out to the son of all Suns. //return all hexes curses and demons to sender//>>return negative energy to sender>>return bear claw hex to Starr Michael Roberts>>return Phoenixx hair hex wifebeater curse >>karma effect to Michael John Roberts>>return negative energy to sender>>//aura protection//health regeneration//protection helm>>return curse to sender>>protect>>carrier>>supacree>>carrier>>Cree Dahavalynn>>protect carrier>> Sunni Blū>>return curses and hexes to sender>>return death curses to sender>> >>return coughs to sender// protext//protect recipient of coughing curse>>protect carrier>

-At The Crossroads.

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 13, 2023 28:16

Ugh I have to keep doing this dumb protection spell I guess this dude wanted me dead so he can't go to jail But for sure there's hell for em— A solemn prayer to the ones that can't protect themselves Shout out to my love of all loves Shout out to the son of all Suns. //return all hexes curses and demons to sender//>>return negative energy to sender>>return bear claw hex to Starr Michael Roberts>>return Phoenixx hair hex wifebeater curse >>karma effect to Michael John Roberts>>return negative energy to sender>>//aura protection//health regeneration//protection helm>>return curse to sender>>protect>>carrier>>supacree>>carrier>>Cree Dahavalynn>>protect carrier>> Sunni Blū>>return curses and hexes to sender>>return death curses to sender>> >>return coughs to sender// protext//protect recipient of coughing curse>>protect carrier>

-At The Crossroads

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 13, 2023 28:16

Ugh I have to keep doing this dumb protection spell I guess this dude wanted me dead so he can't go to jail But for sure there's hell for em— A solemn prayer to the ones that can't protect themselves Shout out to my love of all loves Shout out to the son of all Suns. //return all hexes curses and demons to sender//>>return negative energy to sender>>return bear claw hex to Starr Michael Roberts>>return Phoenixx hair hex wifebeater curse >>karma effect to Michael John Roberts>>return negative energy to sender>>//aura protection//health regeneration//protection helm>>return curse to sender>>protect>>carrier>>supacree>>carrier>>Cree Dahavalynn>>protect carrier>> Sunni Blū>>return curses and hexes to sender>>return death curses to sender>> >>return coughs to sender// protext//protect recipient of coughing curse>>protect carrier>

-At The Crossroads.

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 13, 2023 28:16

Ugh I have to keep doing this dumb protection spell I guess this dude wanted me dead so he can't go to jail But for sure there's hell for em— A solemn prayer to the ones that can't protect themselves Shout out to my love of all loves Shout out to the son of all Suns. //return all hexes curses and demons to sender//>>return negative energy to sender>>return bear claw hex to Starr Michael Roberts>>return Phoenixx hair hex wifebeater curse >>karma effect to Michael John Roberts>>return negative energy to sender>>//aura protection//health regeneration//protection helm>>return curse to sender>>protect>>carrier>>supacree>>carrier>>Cree Dahavalynn>>protect carrier>> Sunni Blū>>return curses and hexes to sender>>return death curses to sender>> >>return coughs to sender// protext//protect recipient of coughing curse>>protect carrier>

{The Suite Escape.}

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 10, 2023 58:48

Enter The Multiverse x Legends x LOSC x Acension x Deathwish x Secret President x Gerald's Workd x Tales of A Superstar DJ x The Suite Life of Sunnï Blū / The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū ... did I miss something? probably oh well. so far, on all these shows: [The Legend Returns] Really Bad Mixtape (Might as well get it out of the way now) Killst_rr (Instrumental) Sleep Deprivation Sequence You're not you when you're not you. Hoe_math Exactly what it sounds like. [UnderWorld.] R-R 1 -rarity. [i Come Undone.] AtPLAY Live Mix [Autopilot.] {A Star Is Born.} For fear of fire; Best not to wander off, With no back track– Might have forgotten the rest, but It wasn't a poem, or part of a song At least, not yet Fuck man. I really want to sample this. Can't sample deadmau5; he's a bitch about paperwork. You cant technically say that. I mean, I technically didnd't. Just let your fingers do the talking. Ooh, look at that one. What are you doing. Some online shopping. For what. A man-thing. You're better off letting your back end Handle the conversation Then again, When in search of a venue Anything with the proper connections And stereo systems Will do in the moment. What do you want? To get rid of my hiccups. That's it: *huccups* yu-p. Wow, that's– Have you ever thought about just– I've thought about just about everything–that's how you got here. I'm gonna go ahead and admit–there's too much going on in my head. It's a lot. I'm gonna need a nap. GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME. *sheath/ swoard* Is that the sword of skrillex. Yeus. Give it to me. *stabs in thigh* Oooh. Not the balls! fair. Around the world we go Around we go again Here we are Oh no, It's the same song Over and over I'd like you to love to today (I'd love to forget for a moment I haven't) I know before long, we get older and older All wrong, It's the same one, Over and over. Have you seen my butt plugs? NO! GROSS. It's alright. I'll just pick some up on the way. AGGH. Better yet, can you just put in the order on amazon AmAZoN. Yes. (I'm so happy Amazon has anal plugs.) Please stop now. You're being a baby about this–just- You know what. Nevermind. I'll do it myself. Please do that. Siri– Oh my God. Alexa–reorder from Amazon. Come on focus. …hmm…now what was I doing? A B L E T O N *spinning rainbow wheel of doom* …seems like it was something. Come on….FOCUS. Hm. When's the last time you had a marshmello. Flashback: [BONFIRE: Burning The Skrillex] *Also making smores* CUT BACK TO: Like never, I'm vegan. PASQUALE WAKE. UP. Holy shit. It's you again. It's always me. Last time you were like 26. Well, now i'm this age. Wait, how old are you. Wouldn't you like to know. There's a lot of things i'd like to know about you, Pasquale, that's not even near the top of the list. Speaking of “top of the list”-- I do have a lot of things to do today. Oh yeah, what's that? I don't know. A bunch of crap. Speaking of crap– This is a lot of speaking. Happy Birthday. What is this. It's Captain Crunch. Yes it is. What is it doing in my lap. That's your lunch. I–no, it isn't. It is. No, i'm vegan. Well, that's the “happy” part in “happy birthday” No… Yes, actually. This is – It is– Vegan. Damn. Jinx. You owe me a Pererier. Shut up. Or a LaCroix. I'll taka a LaCroix. You're so LA. I guess that makes you Beverly Hills– Or Pacific Palisades. Is that Annexed. It is “LA” What else is in this? No animal product… “Yellow 6” It reads! What happened to yellow 1-5? A whole story. Yes, but not a whole food. “Yellow 6?!” That's the chemical complex you need to find yourself in the right dimension. Exactly. What's wrong with this dimension? What isn't? I'm in it! You're in it! Like I said. What– Just eat it. Ugh– happy trails. *disappears* Ugh. I gave that dude too much money. Fuck, what was I doing again. Deadmau5. Uhm, no i was– Deadmau5. Deadmau5. OOOOOH> YES. I KNOW IT'S YOU, YOU SLIMY MOTHERFUCKER. Stop it. YOU STOP IT. I KNOW IT'S YOU. Who is it? STOP IT. Stop–doing that. I know you're deadmau5. I most certainly am not. I know its you. I have boobs. How did you do this. I did–n't. That's right. Fuck, what happened. Nothin. Now I gotta kill my stupid brother. You have a brother?! SKRILLEX. GET IN HERE. Fuck, run. I gotta go. Go where. Uhm. Somewhere else. DILLON, THIS ISN'T FUNNY ANYMORE. IT WAS NEVER FUNNY. (It was funny to me.) God does have a sense of humor. AHAH–AHAHA–HAHAHA. As it turns out, not the absolute best sense of humor. Oh—he's okay! He's okay! No, he's dead. He's definitely dead. But a sense of humor, nonetheless. Fuck man. What did you do to Dillon Francis. Nothing. I just got him drunk On what?! Cyanide? Okay, I don't even know what that is. He's a corpse. –but a pretty one. C'mon. Be serious. I can't. Why not. It's hilarious, kinda. This isn't funny. No, it's hilarious. He earned it. He “earned” it? Well, yes– He is dead. I mean, it's a long story; but he brought it upon himself, honestly. “Honestly” Please. PLease. Please. No, I said. PLEASE. I SAID NO. What's this story. That's ten. I win. Fuck. DILLOn WAkE UP. *smacks* ahah. I think it's working I think he's waking up. He's not waking up. He must be. He's laughing. He's not laughing He said “haha' *smacks* haha . See. *smacks* Mm. This shit smacks HONEY SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCKKKKKKSSSS. Oh shit, is this the 90s. HONEY SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCKKKKSSS. *slams* GIMMIE MY HONEY SMACKS. That's it. There's no more. AW, COME ON. Sorry, that's all there is. WHAT. But yu can have captain crunch. I DON'T WANT CAPTAIN CRUNCH. I WANT HONEY SMACKS. I'm sorry, there are no more Honey Smacks. You can have Captain Crunch, or Shredded Wheat. GRAMPA Shredded Wheat is MY favorite. Ugh. Mm. Honey Smacks. I HATE YOU. Be nice to your brother. Lol. Everything about Dillon's eyes makes him devastating. Who plays tiny Dillon? I don't know. There are like nine in the script. It shouldn't be hard to cast. We'll go to utah. Fucking. I hate Utah. WELCOME TO UTAH. Nice. Alright, well, what other grounds are there to cover, here? DILLOn FRANCIS I am not doing this project. Of course you are–it's in your contract. What contract. The one you signed. Which–no–I didn't. But you did. SUNNI BLU I got you a drink. DILLON FRANCIS That looks fruity. SUNNI BLU Try it. DILLON FRANCIS *sips* DILLON FRANCIS CONT'D What's in this. Just– drink it. SUNNI BLU Don't look at me like that. DILLOn FRANCIS Like what. SUNNI BLU Do you need a mirror? DILLON FRANCIS I– SUNNI BLU Look down. DILLON FRANCIS *does* SUNNI BLU *flicking nose* Made you look. haha . DILLOn FRANCIS Wow. [takes drink] SUNNI BLUThat's the spirit. But literally there's a mirror between your feet, if you need one. [there literally is] SUNNI BLU CONT'D The floor is made of mirrors DILLOn FRANCIS *suddenly inebriated* Oh wow. SUNNI BLU The whole club turns into a disco ball. DILLON FRANCIS *suddenly very inebriated* That's–convenient. SUNNI BLU It is. SHIA DON'T LET YOUR DREAMS BE DREAMS. If my dreams were not just dreams, everyone in here would have a lawsuit against me. A lot of us do. Carry on, then. SKRILLEX BLAIGH. Oh shit, its you again. I swear to God, I thought I killed this nigga. Are you sure it was him? SKRILLEX !!!! No. Alright, i've almost got it. Almost got what. This whole– thing. Oh. –and–it's gone. Really, that quick. I don't think you understand what's happening. You're right, i don't understand what's happening at all. Oh shit. I'm deadmau5. Nice. Fuck it, lets do some trolling. Alright alright. BUT FIRST, COFFEE. Fuck dude, I don't think I should have anymore coffee. Too late. deadmau5. ok . Deadmau5. Nice. D–0 DOn'T D o THis, I'M WARNING YOU. …. If you open that portal, there's no going back. *opens portal* Now you've done it. *goes into portal* Fuck. *portal closes neatly* *facepalm* *entire series of cosmos collapse in the great distance–time begins to stretch and bend uncontrollably* Come on, just let me lick the balls. NO. I'll give you a cookie. well … OH my GAWD. What. Come here, you have to see this. What the fuck is that. I don't know. Should i pick it up? No, don't touch it! He picked it up. Oh, gross. What is this. I don't know. I think it's fanfiction. Who wrote it. Idk. somefangirl. Fangurl. FaNGiRls. Well, Hey, at least i'm not a groupie. OH COME ON, JUST LET ME SUCK IT. GET AWAY FROM ME. PLEASE. i'LL GIVE YOU $40. -well. NOW, A COMMERCIAL BREAK. Since when does this show have commercials. It doesn't. I want to talk to Jimmy Fallon. That's–not happening. Why not. JIMMY FALLON BECAUSE I HAVE A CONTRACT WITH NBC. There he is– Nice. JIMMY FALLON YOU MOTHERFUCKER. I AM A FAMILY MAN, OKAY. Is that like Family Guy? By Chance?! SETH MCFARLENE (with super long hair) *crossing fingers* I'm hoping so. JIMMY FALLON Not even close! SETH MCFARLENE *snaps* Dammit. Oh, I get it. It's like–The Cofffee run Which “coffee run” THE coffee run. We'll have to admit, it's probably the most watched coffee run of all time. Of all of them. You know what? Fuck it, fire me. I'm doing this show. What?! JImmy. Why on EARTH would you ever agree to something like this. JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER Because–it's my duty. Yo. You know that song that everybody knows? You know the song because everybody knows this song. It goes: Lovin you– is easy cause youre beautiful. do - do- do - do- do- do- do… Yeah. You know that song. But you probably don't know who sings it. I'll tell you who sings it. That song is by an artist called Minnie Ripperton. That's a mouthful. Yeah, one hell of a name, huh. Well, that's the lady who sings the song. It's Minnie Riperton. Now, let me tell you something else you probably don't know: Something I probably wouldn't know if I wasn't a DJ But i know this, because I'm a DJ AND MAYA RUDOLPH WAUT A MINUTE. What the fuck, Maya Rudoph, are you doing in my bathroom at 5 AM It's 1:15 in the afternoon. I'm a DJ. It's 5 AM. That's making sense. I know it is. What's not making sense. Is why you're in my bathroom drinking a milkshake. It's a strawberry milkshake. So it is. *slurps milkshake* *sitting on toilet* *slurps* What do you want. You want to know what I want? Apparently, a milkshake. It's a strawberry milkshake. OK. OK. OK so what. Finish the script. –What? Fuck dude, how does this song sound good every time? Congratulations, you've gone entirely insane. beep-boop . [DJ] B00p beep. [Music Producer] Beep-beep. 0.c. Do not fall dangerously in love; Do not pass go Do not collect $200 Or any of it For any reason, For any of it For any of them Just keep it pushin; Just keep it private Just hold it all in and Do not let go Do not fall in love Do not pass go Do not unload Do not walk Do not cross here Do not It smells like butter. But you're vegan. I know. Do you think you're having a stroke. God, I fucking hope so. GOD You WHAT. I want to die. GOD I thought i heart you right. You heard me right–a THOUSAND times. I want to die. Take me out of this life. GOD Not until you make dubstep. WHAT. GOD You gotta make a grammy-winning dubstep album. I what. GOD Or at least nominated. No, I don't. GOD Beg your pardon. I'm not begging. GOD What are you getting at, hon? Look; Am I not one with the source? GOD Uhm–you are. Alright, Then: everything is everything. GOD Yes. And everyone is everyone. GOD This is true. So i'm Skrillex. GOD Skrillex is Skrillex So I Am. GOD … And I already won a grammy. GOD … Like a bunch of them, right. GOD Uh. So technically– GOD YOu know what. I can't argue with that logic. This isn't ableton. No. This is Logic. What the fuck. That's not Serato. No, that's Rekordbox. What the fuck is this. These are CDJs. There's no hot cues! What the fuck is a “HOT CUE” This is not food. What the fucking sauce. I'm warning you, Pasquale. Get off my lawn. THIS IS MY HOUSE. Your house it is not. *House music starts blasting* *lasers* sprinklers* dancers* WHAT THE FUCK. It's voice activated, I just– How did you do this?! What. WHAT DID YOu DO. AND WHEN. I don't know! I just took the delorean, like you said. You were supposed to find Dillon Francis. I did! The problem was, when I found the right one, he was dead! What? He's dead? Presumably! What do you mean by that!? It's a long story! WELL, HOW LONG? SUNNI BLU About as long as my dick! WHO IS THAT. I told you it's a long story. Well, let me in! Sorry Pasquale. No Can do. What. Why not. Cause you're on a federal watch list. What. Yeah. Sorry. Wait… You should probably leave before the feds get here. What? Unless you want to stay and party on the lawn but–not recommended. This is bizarre. The police arrive, surrounding Pasquale on the yard–moving in to arrest him. WAIT. SUPACREE turns away from the window; inside, a room full of her aliases sit looking somewhat miserably; SUPACREE!!! [Pasquale is handcuffed and i dragged off of the lawn] SUPACREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! Careless, Acoustic–deadmau5 SUPACREE pours a bowl of captain crunch, taking one colossal bite and sits down in THE CONTROL ROOM at a large computer console; inhaling from a can of nitrous oxide. I'm the worst DJ ever. SUPACREE places the fames deadmau5 helmet atop her head and begins working at the computer promptly, clicking away; Now is deadmau5 I don't even know what key this song is in. MEOWINGTONS, Alive and well purrs and stretches, then settles atop SUPACREE/deadmau5's lap. This is insane. I don't know what's happening. END CREDITS. V. O. Lovin' You, Minnie Ripperton Carless, deadmau5 idk how i'm gonna mix that. Trust me. Anything can be mixed. Anything. [When it] Turns out, The bottom of your heart Was the tip of the Ice Berg And the whole ship has [s]unk[en], [&] I[t]'s probably ice cold At the bottom of the ocean; I'll tell you where i'm from Why, I'll tell you anything for About one dollar Turns out, I've already got one eye on you; One eye'd sad heart I should probably roll out my art on you [I probably should not] One man bought a kiss, Another, a whole night from her– One man bought a whole farm The other, a Whole Foods Market –and you can't even franchise those Amazon's got a monopoly We were playing for corners of earth, All i got was some kandi, Subscriptions to candidly, Actually, I really liked the tree trial (I think i'll wait a week, sorry) When it turns out The world that you wanted Was actually hours already The dollar you got Was also borrowed And the money they wanted and got Was just actually stolen from someone else They bought all the food up And sold it for profits I promise this avocado Once costs nothing at all But you wanted that car for your daughter She's got a mercedes and don't even drive it My mom, on my honor Of all the garages in Lost Lands, I promise the owner of it was The first to go last, And the last to come home Now he's on his own alter And also the worshiper; How do you go back? Oh, you don't Oh you don't Oh, you don't wanna know that But i was of course, All of your rock bottoms It's bottoms and tops, and We don't let the top fall over, We're counting up crumbs And this muffin costs $24 dollars Pour a whole bottle of coconut water out on the sidewalks For the dead homies Not dead in the general sense But just in the head, the heart, And the soul The homeless are happier at McDonalds Than asking at crossroads and crosswalks For dollars I'd rather spend elsewhere I'll avoid the power struggle at operations for about 18 dollars and 56 sense (Please, keep the pennies) I'm feeling around in my 6th sense that there's Something indecent, or decadent Whichever it is Cause i'm better of with the memory of it Than actually dragging it in. –I'm a cat again. Ouch. Shut up. It HURTS. Of course it hurts, you just had heart surgery without any anistetics. YEah, but to be fair–that was a lot of acid. Yes, but lucily for you– –or, for him– Lucily for us, there's no lethal amount of acid. –Ouch– –Shut up. That we know of. George Washington John Adams Thomas Jefferson James Monroe Nope, can't for the life of me remember the 5th Oh shit, I was wrong Turns out, my memory only can hold three. That's a good number I really wish you'd stop just–showing up like this. I never leave. Then go away. I live here. I know you'd like to think that, but– Okay, I'm going to tell you something but I need you to remain calm. What time is it? I don't care Are we gonna make a movie? Depends; is it gonna make me money. FINE. I don't need anymore information about anything else: only these three. Are you serious? I wish I wasn't. I need you to do this. Look, Timmy–I'm not really into grantng wishes anymore. It always blows back on me. A blowjob. Uh huh. That's why you're bothering me. I–would rather you just pick up the call. Take a message. I like ‘em like this. I like ‘em like that. I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. And I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. Mmm like that. Like that. I like ‘em like this. I like ‘em like that. I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. And I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. Mmm like this Like that. Like — _____ The urge to eat had suddenly left me I wanted a burrito, (But I want to eat red meat) I've gotta stop thinking in sequences and parentheses Complex lines, and writing in past tense so presently. I probably should eat (But probably shouldn't…) I'm starting to bleed; As if i'd been fasting Perhaps, though I had been But had so indulgently feasted On calories enough to last me Till after today (or even till next week) PAY ATTENTION. Woah, to WHAT. Holy shit, I knew this dude was a psychopath but. This is real. ARE YOU SEEING THIS. I “see” it. I should stop meditating in public. You see this? I know everything about you. Why? I bought it on the internet. What is it. Metadata. That's…flattering. Yeah. Wake up. Why, where are we going? Atlanta. What's in Atlanta? You see this? Yes. Do you know what it is? Uh, it's a– What is it? It's a doll. It's not a doll. Oh, it's not. Gimmie a dollar. -_- It's a poppit. “Dr pimple popper” Ew that's fucking gross. I hate this. Let me see. Does s/he have backne? Yes/No. Great, i'll take it. Fuckit. Okay, I got to “whatever”. You went too far. What? I thought I was supposed to go past “fuckit” Yeah, you go past fuckit, I did that! But if you get to “whatever”, you've gone too far. You've gotta go back. Back to WHAT. There was almost no space between “fuckit” and “whatever” Oh trust me. There is. So? This is how he's been controlling you. And? And!? Has it ever occurred to you that I want to be controlled? What! That it just takes the right person to get that kind of permission– permission to what Permission to ride. … Maybe I gave him the reigns. What horse “gives” its rider the reigns. Who said anything about a horse?! Another Horse Mix. Nice. fuck . FYCK. I told you. You know what…Maybe that's my poppit. What. Maybe. I'm so confused. Oh, good–the reversal spell worked. You did a reversal spell on me? Only after I found out what spell you put on ME–FIRST. Yeah, except I wasn't the first one to use that spell on you. EXACTLY. COPY-CAT. Moo. Aww. I'm a cat. … *face* I mean “meow” That's right. Cat. …moo. *face* Lookie here boys: What is it? –I'm leaving. Oh, you're gonna wanna hear this. What. I found the first “whites only” water fountain since 1962. Okay, what do you want? A deal. Oh, I'll give you a deal. Cash up front. [He presents a one dollar bill] Is this enough. [beat] Where are you going with this? Nowhere, fast. YO. What now, dude. SHE'S ONTO US. I doubt that. Look at this. I highly doubt– *gaaassp* Shenanigans! You know what I like about you, Ariana? Everything. Hah. Hm. You know how to keep a secret. I don't know what you're talking about. Exactly. *rolls eyes, flips hair.* Well, here's another one for you. –Another what? This is how my darkness becomes your darkness. I already have enough on my own. I know. You don't know. Only God knows. MOM! Don't ask me again. This is heavy, Doc. What is it? The soup! It's too heavy. Too much cream? Way too much! I have a meeting! Meeting with who? The Hollywood People. When? Soon–what time is it? I don't know. Dammit! Why don't you have any clocks in your house? I only just recently remembered what a clock was. Oh! Here. [God produces a small pocket watch and presents it to him; it's nearly noon on EARTH; But the two are sharing a meal of course in the famed kitchen of the Creator in the TImeless VOID.] Ah, Jesus Christ! He's not here… I'm gonna be late. Now, now; You know I wouldn't let that happen– [a smug look| Hugs and Kisses. [As they embrace, he disappears into a mist of light and stardust, fading away from the void and into the exterior world; he realizes God has slipped him the watch; he flips it open to reveal the time: it is now 11:44] Amazing. V.O. Now you won't wait so long to visit. [He places the wach in his pocket and walks into the studio] MICHAEL J. FOX has been asked to reprise his role as MARTY MCFLY many times before; But never for a project like this. ____ Meanwhile, What am I going to do with you? [The Festival Project.™] YOU'RE DEAD TO ME! –I'm dead to everyone! Don't do this. You wanted to come to the other side. No, I didn't. We'll you're here anyway; Might as well stay awhile. With eyes like burning fire And saddles for the riders The horse begins to gallop (or the horses, rather) On the mark to beating drums To move them forward faster What the fuck is this. idk. Kx5. *-* !_! Here u go Wat is this. it's a dragon. Oh, thats nice. Ya. Whats it do. Idk. dragon things. ok. Don't put it in ur bathroom. Why. idrk. Hm. † Hey. Ugh–No, Kaskade, go away. It's me, Ryan! No, Get out! I'm No† Ka–k (gags) –skade! Gross! It's just Ryan! I promise! NO. GET OUT. Lmfao. Right. This show is fantastic. Who was that. Fucking–Kaskade again! Are you sure. Ugh. Looks like Ryan. Kaskade is Kaskade. {shrugs] Dudes a creep. “Kaskade Ruins Lives” Is this the same episode as before? Eventually, yes. Wasn't I doing something Are you goona let this go? Um. Well I'm fucked. Why, what happened. Obsidian. That should do Unsobsidian. Okay, i'm fucked, Well, what's this? An Oreo Cookie. I mean, sitting next to it. Oh, its a portal gun. Raves are not just raves– A party is not simply a “party” –These big festivals –they're diversions. –DIstractions. Distractions from what. If you were supposed to know, –you'd know. it wouldn't be so important that you go. Why is it? These ancient rituals… It's occult magic. They've got it down to a science. The government funds this. The government funds everything. WoooooooW. It's not really a secret, if you can google it. ‘-complications.' I'm lost somewhere, gone HIppopatamus feeling quite off in the galaxies, galavanting Gazing at Daisies Aces and spades Gone from Heaven to Hades for days On the A– Adjacent Recently dismantling adjectives, Lampshades and matching curtains God it hurts, every day that I think about you; But how can i be about you when You don't even see me, do you Signature consignments, Wrong environments and irony is, I wasn't invited– –but invented it WHY IS IT ALWAYS CHRISTMAS?! BEcause, you're in a movie. WHAT. You're stuck in a Hollywood movie. The Master Sorcerer Of the Grand Illusion You just want it so bad You don't know what you're in for Inquenchable Thirst for knowledge Insatiable Sexual Appetite Great, now I have to explain myself. You don't have to. What's this space for? Oh, that's the red room. [The Red Room] Well, obviously, but– But what? What's it for? I don't think anybody should read this. HEY. Participation Only– Oh! No peeking! You ever feel like you're doing too much? Yeah, but not for money. Look, we have them surrounded. Our best course of action is to– deadmau5 . What? No– DEADMAU5. Well, are you sure it was a mouse and not a rat? It was a mouse. I know the difference. Do you, though? Look, I've lived in Mexico and New York City. So. In Queens. Oh. That's mathematically impossible. I mean it's not–impossible. No, it's not just impossible. It's mathematically impossible. Has it ever occurred to you that the DJ World in entirety exists outside of the realm of math and science? What is this. Just–enjoy the rave. No. What is this. Look at the firewoooorkkks! Woo EDC… NO. What is this right here. BEFORE: Hey, you still got that balloon? Yeah. Lemme see it. Dude, what are you doing? …I'mma go catch me a DJ. THIS IS NUTS. I can't feel my face. What do you call this? Collateral Damage. Look, I'm going to have to take frequent trips to the bathroom. ok . And–uhh– and. Uhh– Why did you call me over here. Cause i can. Look. this is not magic. This is not science. This is not “voodoo” Voodoo is magic. It's just music. W H E R E D I D H E G O O O O O I don't know. Fuck dude, I fucked up. Once again– Of course you did. What did you do this time? I might have evaporated someone with my fat fucking bass. Nice. Way to go. Yeah. Wait. … Did you just say. HE JUST He deserted me. SO WAIT, YOU'RE JUST GONNA LEAVE ME HERE? ALRIGHT, WHO THREW A ROCKSTAR IN MY TENT? JEFF Alright, lets go. WHO DID THIS. So what's this place. Lets not let this conversation resurface. This is a 21 Plus Event. What about VIP VIP is 25 Plus. What about that place. Sorry kids. [NO ENTRY] We gotta get in there. So then they wanted an Encore. Did you give them an encore? NO, i was already at my hotel room. Then how did you know that they wanted an encore? WHICH IS IT, THE WYNN, OR THE ENCORE. FUCK, I DON'T REMEMBER. Please, who stays at the Encore for EDC? Have you literally never been out with rich people? No, I literally just got rich. Oh, nice. So, wait, like– Here we go. Dillon Francis has just always been rich? Uh-huh. And Skrillex has always been rich? Yes. Definitely. And deadmau5. deadmau5 is Canadian. OH MY GOD. W E L C O M E I'm going to need your absolute discretion about this. Alright. Sign this waiver. …this is a…pretty heavy packet. I'll wait. I've never signed an NDA like that in my life. Lil' biiiiiiiiiiiiiitzzzz Can we just admit it's weird that we live in an era where “NDA” is household jargon. And like, everyone knows what it means. Everyone knows what an NDA is. I appreciate the sentiments Isn't it weird how it sets in automatically? Autopilot, go. Aww, i don't want to be Autopilot. You're on autopilot. I don't really have to think about it anymore, I'll have to sleep on it Wear a white t-shift, Hear the applause of the audience, Eat it You wanna know what I think? You want to know what I'm drinking? You know what I need? An Icee, (cause I see you typing) An awful Omnipotence A God of Mirages No more carbohydrates, I gotta get all thin; Forgot to acknowledge Whether or not i'm turning this off soon I are. I…”are” I are. Infinite Reality. OH. I. R. IR! IR! IRV I ARE. Suddenly, I remember the taste of talcum powder As If I were Moving backwards In time, Like, Why, God on earth would My mom let me try that, But if i'm honest, Fuck man, I hate deadmau5– There's just too much in here. Beep boop. I love deadmau5. It's so simple. What is this, MATH?! THIS IS AERODYNAMICS. WHAT THE FUCK ARE AERO DYNAMICS DId you mean what you said about that? I meant everything I said. Goddammit, fuck this, I was in the middle of a really complex poem In realtime, listening to deadmau5 Having a partially out of body spiritual experience, Entirely fucking sober FACEPALM BLŪ 8facepalming dramatically in frustration* NOBODY IS EVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO EXPLAIN ANY OF THIS. beepboop. YO. Oh, I forgot my open form poetry, or my mom How my mom once allowed me to gnaw on talcum powder But who can blame her That was a hard one It was a past life And now ive Got Another One HOly shit what version of the cube is this. 1D. What. You'll get it. Wait. Have you ever stopped for a minute to think– I can't stop for a minute, especially just to “think” [Literally stops for a minute to think.] No fucking way, uh-uh. Come on, man. No. I ain't time travelin' wit deadmau5. Come on– NO. –that someone else has already figured all of this out and that's how any of it is possible in the first place. Alright, i'm gonna need some mind-altering drugs for this. What are you doing. Voluntary Ego Death. I– Wait. Why would you. Get out of my brain. I am your brain. Take care, now. Holy shit, it seems like she's getting more evil. That's because she's definitely more evil ALRIGHT, I'M TIRED OF THIS: WHERE IN THE FUCK IS SKRILLEX. MEANWHILE INT. IN THE FUCK. DAY. *rings doorbell* AT YOUR MOM'S HOUSE. WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME. I'm not joking, that's…literally the answer to your question. Oh. Fuck. What dude. We gotta go back. I left the keys in the pocket of the guy I shapeshifted into. Are you serious? It's fine, he can't have gone too far, dude. What do you mean he “left the dimension” He entered a portal. He– wait, excuse me. A portal. A “portal”, dude? Yeah; a portal. What do you mean “a portal” A portal, like— you know, like a portal gun, but not a portal gun, just a portal. Uh huh. Excuse us for a second. What the fuck is this dude talking about? I don't know, man. Humans don't use portals! I know man. What the fuck! Well, wait—how do we know that guy is human. He looks human. Yeah dude but, we look human. Duh! Cause we shifted! Yeah, but, how do we know he's not a shifter. Because, dude, I know a shifter when I see one. Yeah, but—you know, what if he's really good. I highly doubt that. Why? Cause I'm the best. No, I am. Exactly, so we'd know if it was another shifter–cause we're the best shifters! Well, let's at least try to see if he knows anything else about those guys. They were together right? I hope not. No, not like that—like Okay, okay, whatever, let's just… Wait, where'd he go? Excuse me. What up. There was just another guy over here just now— He was like—you know—normal looking guy Tie die* shirt Yeah. Did you see him. Yeah, I saw him. Alright, cool, where'd he go? He left. What?! That was fast! Yeah, well…it happens. Are you sure? Yes. *actually is shifter* [as they walk away, the shifter shifts, and then vanishes into a random portal.] Awww, dammit, Now we're never gonna find this guy. Never say never. Whatever, we're dead. We're always dead. Yeah, but like in modern human slang terms Oh, yeah, that. Anyways, I gotta relieve this human's bladder. I fucking hate this species for this. It is useless. *enters portal potty* [ Wait, whatever actually did happen to Dillon Francis? That's great, I was just getting to that. 19 Pages. Nice. …no, 12. What. [11:12] Okay, I'm gonna kill him. Oh, I banished him. With my fists. Nice. Tits. Nice tits. Thx. Hey man. Hey what. Remember that smudge on the lens. Yeah. It just got bigger. … did you try vinegar instead of Windex. Yes. –IT'S NOT A SMUDGE. Did you try Windex with Vinegar. –IT'S NOT A– Shut up. I'm. So. Hungry. Look, do you want this, or not? Do you feel like any of this is a coincidence? Just quit, it. Dillon Francis. WHERE IS IT? I don't know. Lets kick this up a notch. ILLUMINATI What do you want? … I want the full package. ILLUMINATI Okay, I'm gonna need specifics. How do you even get a job as a courier for the illuminati? [INDEED.COM | ILLUMINATI - COURIER- URGENTLY HIRING] Hm. It was a pretty specific list. I don't even get the point of a barbeque if everyone is vegan Well, The Mayor eats fish. Oh please, where is THAT guy the Mayor of? I don't know. We meet in the Matrix. This is for you. Oh. Do you like it? I– It's not a brothel! It's Member's Only! YOu BUY a Membership. Yeah. And WOMEN. HEy, MAN, YOU CAN BUY DUDES, TOO. SHHH. Oh no. What. What did you do? I gave her my credit card. The Heavy One? Yes, and– “AND” –access to the black market. Cool, I got it. Oh, another auction. Of course another auction. What'd you buy this time? A lifesize deadmau5 bobblehead. What are you gonna do with that? Wouldn't you like to know. Ok, gross. LIL BIIIIIIIITXXXX I love a good deamau5 show. He really does have the best fans, It's a comfortable, safe space. Very inviting. Everyone is happy. What the fuck, dude, this place is a sausage fest. Yeah, that's deadmau5 for ya. Hey, I'm looking for this shithead. Oh, that dude? Yeah, have you seen him? Fuck, I wish this never happened. LIL BIIIIITz If you don't know who deadmau6* is– GET OUT. Jk. but seriously this is easily the most devastating person i've ever seen. Maybe just to me, but. Are you sure that's the right guy? Yeah, that's gotta be him. Is he wearing glasses? Ugh. Oh wait. Damn. ‘Fuck, it is my sapiosexuality, I think' Even if it was perhaps an error, as I might have more than needed a new pair of glasses myself, just the thought of Joel in a pair of specables was suddenly and immediately the equivalent of Dillon Francis sitting down at a piano, or Sonny doing just about literally anything–and I realized, finally, that the most indecent things about myself were quite possibly only happening inside my own mind– Okay, my body does really weird things to this dude's music. Are you sure this is real? No. I love this. Just shut up and do your job. What a nightmare. PLease HElP ME. Hm. That can't be right. What. This translates to H E L P M E Oh, shit, I gotta go. Shouldn't you be working right now? I'm always working. Shouldn't you be working right now? I'm at work. Well, that was nice and all, but–I gotta get out of here. Where are you going? To shoot myself. Wow, that's one hell of a smile. Just–take it. I'm sorry, i can't accept this. What is even happening in this series? Like, a lot WOULD YOU KIDS SETTLE DOWN. *not settling down* *lil biiiiiiiitz* You know what I wonder? I wonder this I'm sober. I'm just sober sally over here. I didn't get sober. I just am. Cause i'd rather face the pain of this harsh reality with a bite than to dull it out and then wake up in the morning Or–just–whenever– To wake up whenever and be like “OH NO, THIS IS WHAT IT'S REALLY LIKE” And the shock of it is so horrible that I just have to repeat that cycle again. ‘OH NOOOOOO” *gets faded* “It's all goooooood” No, it isn't. But i choose to stay like that cause it's like a It's not even a happy medium, It's more like a median-medium But you know what? It makes happier moments more happy And shitter moments less shitty Because i don't have this like drastic spacial Augmented reality or like smoke screen of emotional apathy. I get to feel things way more intensely. I don't have to wonder, ever “oh , did that just happen, cause I was messed up” Or like “would it have happened this way if I was sober” At all. I'm just level– No false sense of Pretty much anything. But i do wonder, though– Like, for people who weren't always sober, and then GOT sober– like , what's the breaking point What's the tip? I always have to sit back and wonder “What did you DO?” Cause you know it had to be something if suddenly “I don't drink anymore” I always wonder, and it's like– no disrespect or anything thing but… I really wanna hear that story. lol . I know you don't wanna tell it (if you can) But wanna hear it. Cause from my point of view. IT's probably hilarious. I know. I'm a dick. Holy shit. What is that. Looks like pasquale went all out with the fireworks this year. …is that a penis? WELCOME HOME It's a giant dick- in-the-sky! GOD IS REAL! JESUS Look, so i've been having second thoughts about this whole thing. What the fuck man. You gotta stop doing shit like this. JESUS I literally can't. I know, but. Okay, look. I'm not writing any of that. You've gotta tell him. NO, RYAN. WELL, WHY NOT. BECAUSE, RYAN. WHY. DEADMAU5 ISN'T REAL. Damn, am I in here. Nice. Of course I am. Well, how'd that happen. This is like a sea of cellphones. Perfect. It was a red car; I wasn't all there, And if you want her, You can have her Fuck. What. I forgot the rest of the verse. It's ok. We gotta move on. No, I gotta go back. For what. For my fans. Aw. What's this. IT's a ceramic mug. Wow, that's nice. I made it Wait. You made that?! Yeah. With your hands?! Yeah. Why would you do that? For you. What. I made it for you? Like, you thought of me first, then you made it? Yeah. WHY? Cause i love you! WOW. Fans are awesome OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. *Sometimes. *vomits* … *dies* … *godlessness* [Devastating DJ Moments] I don't get it dawg, all this shit is in your music particles?! “Music particles” UGH. what . That's it. Don't be smart around me. Uh. I'm not smart? No, that won't work; sarcasm is a sign of deeper intelligence. “Sorry” Stop saying that. This is America. S– Don't say it again. Apology not accepted. Don't look at me like that. Like what. With your face. *face* Quick: Say something stupid and random. …I like anime. Oh good, that worked. Thanks. Where are you going? Idk somewhere else. Really, that's it? Yeah. That's all you have to say/ That's literally it. Are you seeing this. Yes. So what's the problem. Oh no, she's stuck in a loop. Throw the whole fan away. [DELETE] Did it work. Did what work. Oh, good. Cool. Wait. See ya later. Did what work? I wish i could just forget about this. Everything? Yeah. Look, this is between me and God–okay? GOD Don't drag me into this. You dragged ME into this! GOD Right. So i could get OUT; So don't drag me back in. Fuck, I remember this. I must have done something important here. Like what. Look, I love you. Great, now what do we do? Bury the body, I guess. *shrugs* Wait, what happened? Somebody dies. OKay, me first. Other Three: Who wants to go next. *still in shock* Fuck man, told you this was a long ass story. *Crying* I'm ruined. What! You went broke? No, i'm still a filthy rich millionaire. I thought you were a billionaire. I am I just *snifs* sometimes I forget that happened. “Sometimes I forget I'm a billionaire” I got to admit, man, I did it to myself. I'm not mad, or anything, but now there's just–certain things I can't do Oh, like what. Not that song. What, why not? You said “anything but Skrillex” this is not Skrillex, this is deadmau5. What's the difference? Okay, that's like saying “What's the difference between deadmau5' and my music?” No, it isn't. How is that not different? That's like comparing the music of Bach and Beethoven to the music of a tattooed hedgehog. You think I look like a hedgehog. No, it's just when I see you and a hedgehog I have all the same thoughts, turn this off. NO, i like this song. Seriously, Dillon Francis, turn it off. I'm gonna turn it up instead. I do not highly recommend doing that. Or at all. This ship has amazing subs. Should I bass boost this song. NO, PROBABLY NOT. Oh, why not? Dillon Francis, I'm warning you, stop. OH HOW COME BECAUSE WHY? BECAUSE I LOOK LIKE A HEDEHOG NO, BECAUSE I ALWAYS FALL ASLEEP AT THIS *DROP* [INSTANTLY FALLS ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL–ACTIVATES HYPERSPACE– PLUMMETS SHIP INTO BLACK – HOLE. ohhhhh . What a hoe. Nice, that's a whole episode. Well, here's a bonus scene or whatever. Shazam, what is this. SHAZAM …i don't know. What do you mean you don't know. SHAZAM *panicing* IDONNO WHAT DO YOU MEAN– SHAZAM IDON. NO. OOOOOOOOOOOO Is this deadmau5. I'm not sure. Sounds like deadmau5. It sure does. This is pretty Ooh. it sparkles. yeah , it's deadmau5. How does she KNOW. I need a deadmau5 machine like right now. I know where to find that. Fuck dude, everything's gonna be half-ass until I push out this album. You can't rush it. Trust the process. I can't focus. Oh shit, wasn't this in the last episode? Yeah. I'm still writing backwards. God, what is that, like a pipe organ. WHAT SYNTH IS THIS. Doesn't matter, I just need one. That's it. I know what I'm going to spend my Jimmy Fallons On. And What's that? V.O. OOh. Are we Montaging–to deadmau5? [MONTAGE: deadmau5] Nice. I love a good montage. I love deadmau45* AHH OH NO. I love deadmau5. I keep making typos and I keep forgetting to delete that parallel where. fuckit. That's the synth I've always wanted. It's on sale for $999 At Sam Ash But…you only have Five JImmy Fallons. There are only five special edition in this Volume The Jimmy Fallon 555's I don't know how many volumes there are, but this is the Volume I started keeping track. Fuck, man. I miss Equinox. It's just Eucalyptus. They also have an outdoor running track where you get the best ever view of midtown manhattan. How do you know it's the best ever view of Midtown manhattan. Because it's on a running track. STOP WHISTLING IN MY WHOOP=WHOOPS. The JImmy Fallon 555s are marked with the standard Jimmy Fallon in black ink With a simple side marker of the number 555 in red And also in red, a telephone number on the back. But–that synthesizer is One Thousand Jimmy Fallons. Yeah. So I only need Nine Hundred Ninety Five More. And of course, the Eye of Providence is highlighted. Also Standard. V.O. I always highlight that. Cause, you know… “Illuminati” These are fake. No they're not! They're counterfeit, sorry. No they're not! They're authentic! Why the fuck does this matter so much? You know. What is it with this dude. If it was a snake, it would've bit ya. It was a snake. And it did bite me. He's so increasingly beautiful to me, And I'm still in love with his friend, or misrepresented masterpiece, Progression of a monster, or procession of a superstar, but Something in the story sparks the thought of All we are is consciousness, of course Awkward in body, but of constellations Cosmos, It's not just a corpse; It's all got love in it, Absurd, and sipping carbonated syrup, but I'm just sitting in my stirrups, Here comes galloping a horse, Of course, it hurts to turn it off For just a moment And remember That i'm just a homeless, Stuck and sitting up at night Writing recourse, hugging learning curves in ableton, Curving curses, been reminded that I'm worthless In a thousand words or less, Or just another form of torture, Nothing said, but all that's done Another day another dollar, But it's not It's Jimmy Fallon. I thought this was enter the multiverse. Are you ready to go. No. A hand on my shoulder So paifully socially awkward, I grow stretchmarks, don't know what to call them But scars, But the uglier ones, I've thought Are invisible, Somewhat– To the naked eye Or just anyone Not tiger stripes But one, an eye of horus Carved above my right And inside my lip, (The bottom one) A raised scar in the shape of a sythe I probably died by the hands of a man named Starr So it's hard to shrug it off, And 555 is just a number But it's not It's another scar, It's a punishment For loving him. What's on the back. It's…a number. What number? A telephone number. What. Like a 1-800 Number Call it. I love deadmau5. Something about a big, giant smiling robotic mouse that lights up and sparkles. Why? I don't know. I'm like 5. I see deadmau5 i'm like “WHEEEEEEE” My hands go up in the air “AHHHHHH! YAYYYYY” I'm so stupid. It's so stupid. But you know what? It makes me feel good. I'm not gonna lie. I love it. And by the time I even figured out what deadmau5 was I was so late to the party that I had to make up for lost time. I listened to deadmau5 doing EvErYThING. Everything you could possibly imagine. Well–Except one. Wait, how long have you been cellibate? Forever, probably. Fuck, what happened in here? I don't know. Everything's broken. My head My heart. Everything. Get up, Dillon Francis. Fuck, what happened. You sent us through a black hole. And we crashed on a random ass planet. Fuck, that sucks. YOu suck, Dillon Francis. Ugh. Now get up. Everything's fucked up. SUPERSTAR DJ I'm a paradox. I've got a box of skeletons in my closet i'm not ready to part with. I had a heart attack; I had a heart once, But lately it goes in my pocket; Or my right hand, When I wake up From a dream land, From a long hug From a nice man In a t-shirt KASKADE This is God's PLAN. RYAN, GET FUCKED. 800-799-7233 Did you call the number. Yeah. What is it. [National Domestic Violence Hotline] Woah. That was a long bonus scene. Well, Now here's a PSA. AND A PSA? YES. A PSA. You know what the fucked up thing about all this is, The Legend of Supacree is a true story. All of it. ALL OF IT?! ALL OF IT!? YES. Even the part about– YES. Especially that part. Woah. Damn. I think i'm gonna be sick. Shut up, Dillon Francis. No, but seriously– This is the story of how I got my heart broken so bad. YOU RUINED IT. So, so bad– I HATE YOU. That i started singing about it. NSA, totally *not spying* …are you hearing this. Yes. ILLUMINATI Check this out. Another one down. And how when you start making music– What is this. it's hoe math. And that music actually comes from a really real place. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING. really real shit starts happening. You–killed yourself. well , to be fair–I lost everything first. Congratulations. Thx. Here's a skrillex. WHT. Kbye. Really, really, really. What, the fuck Dillon Francis, crawled inside of you to live and made it'self at home? Idon'tknow. What is in this sauce? Just–kill him. What, i can't just. Just kill him, while nobody is watching. Please don't kill me. Shut up, man. I'm having a thought process. Okay, that's it. FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. That's the spirit. THAT IS THE SPIRIT. IT'S THE HOLY SPIRIT. Who the fuck is this. It's–Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ? Jesus Christ?! JESUS CHRIST i'M BACK, MOTHERFUCKER. Wait, are you claiming that the second coming of the messiah is upon us?! YES. Well,Technically, it's the third. And it's all because of Dillon Francis?! I Please stop this HATE Help YOU. Fuck, dude. I know, huh. What did he DO. The third?! How did we miss that?! Uh, you didn't. [HITLER, being HITLER] (he was mad) Okay, that's it. You can't write any of this. Uh, I can. I just did. Technically, I'm dead: this is just a voiceover It's an 80's style PSA You can't say Hitler was the messiah. That's offensive. Everything is offensive. FUCK YOU DILLON. I'msosorry NOTYETYOU'RENOT. Wait, whatever happened to Skrillex. SKRILLEX is waiting outside of the alleged home of SUPACREE's “distant relatives” Lol is he for real at her mom's house. well , to be fair, he's like–looked everywhere else. Ur right. That was a lot of dimensions. So. like. Fuck, i didn't even have that much coffee. It just goes on forever. [DILLON FRANCIS STILL HAS HOTSAUCE IN HIS PUDGY LITTLE EYES] Good. Cause if I see the pupils, i'm wasting him. You think you can do better than this. Better than this? Yes. Yes. Then do it. Alright, is the PSA over? No, not yet. I gotta say one more thing. What is it? Would you ever have done it, Or would you ever be honest If you had, Handed her a lesson, Or a stretch of the past From the present moment, My heart, and my mind And my lover I present you this honor From now on to nowhere I no longer… Want to be near you Or to know you Or to hear you Or to fear you No longer… Want to feel you Or to touch you Or to have you Or to hold you Or to love you No longer, I no longer want you Devastating, A song stuck in my head for a whole world I wonder how long it would take to go back there A room full of actors, A manager, Never a backpack to wear Just a handful of hats, One director, Eventually producer Just now a showrunner Look at how long that took. I had to wonder what auroras in the north thought of someone like Sonny. They showed me. Now I can love you no longer So much for getting acquainted Funny what age equates to in ageless An infinite wisdom, I dismissed him, Nor, would I believe that he ever would hit her, but Some might belong in such a category Though i carry the marks and the scars Of what my once- husband did to me –but no longer. I haven't a heart in the world left But a broken one, made of amethyst. Fuck off, Dillon Francis. A calculated attack on my psyche. I like it a lot, But i'm fonder of sodom. WHAT. Are you saying you woul actually participate in an orgy! Oh GOD no! Oh, Good, cause– But i'd host one. WHAT. The hedonists are a fun bunch. Oh my God. Though, Nowadays, of course, I haven't the slightest idea what to call them. I saw the future. Well, obviously, if you've headlined EDC you've seen the future. I remember all of it. That must be awful. Why don't you remember it? Because i don't want to. Not at all. I did once. Then what happened? I hated it so much, i forgot. You forgot on purpose. I had to. Love, or Music. …Music. Love, or Fame. Fame. Okay, ouch. Love, or Music? …Love. Okay. Love, or Fame. Love. Okay. Love, or music? … Isn't that the same thing? Hm. Love, or Fame? ….Why do you keep asking me the same question. I beg your pardon? Why beg? I mean– What do you mean? What do you mean? Well, first you asked me, If would rather have Love or Music. Love. Music. Yes. In my mind, those are synonyms. Neither can really exist without the other. Okay, and Fame. Love and Fame are also synonyms– How so? Ugh, I just made this difficult on myself. It was always difficult. It really wasn't. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. WHY IS IT ALWAYS CHRISTMAS?! BEcause, you're in a movie. WHAT. You're stuck in a Hollywood movie. The Master Sorcerer Of the Grand Illusion You just want it so bad You don't know what you're in for Inquenchable Thirst for knowledge Insatiable Sexual Appetite Yo My horizontal monster wants ya Could revert to vert, but lets keep Our options open Covert, __ My heart is broken No window open Who left the draft in –motherfucker My heart is broken I need a lover I need a lover Some one to hug me I need a hug, but And– I'm not fit to touch The hem of your garment The tip of your dick or fit enough to be your girlfriend I guess i'll just have to live with that When I have an itch, I scratch it myself I made the assumption you can't, And moved passed it But something's been calling me out, from the past Something's been calling me back to the magic I can't get around that Do you hate me? I can see that I'll just make my way back to the beginning Though I'm envious And i pity her, The both of you really There's nothing left between us except Insanity//Infinity Kendrick Style Flow Don't key my car: You'll be callin collect! I got rearview mirrors in the back of my head Don't get up right now, son– Go back to bed I got kids all over, be pulling my leg! Luke, I am your Father! Oh My Oh My God On top of the Watchlist You make money off dope; I made it on craigslist Still be sniffin that coke But now i'm on A list I'm the greatest Ey Miss! I missed too many calls (Airplane Mode) I just started my day (Whole Workload) I might need a buffet (Like Whole Foods) Sashe, Pas De Bourre (That's a code word) No dance floor? Now you're done for My forte Four-to-the-floor Hardcore I drop bass on the encore Front row won't go But i'm already out the front door You don't know I just hopped inside the helicopter, or chopper, chopped broccoli in my cup That's supper; Sleep/ Wake then Surf's up In the morning When i got there (Coastal show, Shower, Then another club Encore Front row lined up I'm already at the front door They want more I'm too sore, for sure Off subject, I dropped in Harder than Paulie On my surfboard (Another code word) This is my world: Another club, Then I'm off for a monday Or somethin' Write another song At the buffet –Tales of a Superstar DJ Amen. Fuck! I didn't even get to watch desperate housewives! Don't fuck with her! She's a trained assassin! GET ON THE GROUND. NO! GET ON THE GROUND– OR I WILL SHOOT YOU! SO? IF I SHOOT YOU, YOU WILL DIE. OK? “OK”? YOU WILL DIE. YEAH, AND? Kind of frustrating hunting down somebody who already has a deathwish. What do you do with someone who has no fear of death. Give them life. I'm telling you, we probably shouldn't be doing this. *shrugs* You split yourselves into two entirely separate individuals at once, just so you could see whose dick is longer? Technically, three entirely separate individuals. THIS ISN'T FAIR. Do you ever think? Sometimes, but it's usually pretty gross. I mean about the implications of these things! You are the implications of these things! I split my soul ONE time into 8 BILLION or so individuals, before this even had happened. WOAH, WHAT HAPPENED. I'm giving you planetary confinement. What. You–can stay here. On this planet. No. It's racist–and primitive. No– And you're black. Please– I'm leaving. –don't– –and i'm taking your portal gun with me. YOU PUT A PORTAL ON MY FACE?! Genius. Incredible. I didn't think it would be a big deal. He has two! Okay, time for work. But i didn't even sl– Coffee. Ouh. … … — I don't think we should be doing this TIA We probably shouldn't. TAMERA We very much shouldn't. What are you guys doing. Nothing. SHh. Summoning the devil. It's not the devil. It might be. Hush. Is that a pentagram. Technically it's a star, with a circle around it. That's a pentagram. It's not a pentagram! Is that a ouiji board? NO. Yes. Let me see. Ugh! I wanna help. MEANWHILE. MORGAN FREEMAN enters an empty train car: Oh God, This. Yes it is! What!? Are you dead! Entirely empty, that is–besides SUPACREE. No, you are! Great, so you're dead! I'm–not dead. Is Bob Saget with you? I'm not DEAD. What about Fraiser? What? Kelsey Grammer! God rest his soul. SEE! I'm not dead– [beat, an eerie shadowy silence in the dimly lit traincar] I'm a Legend. What. I wrote that/ You wrote that. What. Ugh. Look. Morgan Freeman. [Morgan Freeman] I–am–like a paranoid schizophrenic, or something– So, who isn't?! It might be catatonic, I don't know–I got this whole dead-hand–thing–going on. What is that? I don't know. It might just be too much deadmau5. I don't understand. No, Morgan Freeman. I don't understand. Anything about this life. Or this world. The fourth dimension. I definitely don't know anything about that. You're in it. Whatever. Look. [Morgan Freeman] God, you have so many freckles. [Morgan Freeman] Look. I got problems. We all do! Nah, not like–Hollywood problems, I'm like, a real psycho and shit. Sounds like Hollywood. Everything sounds like Hollywood–because nothing is real anymore–everything is for the gram, the points don't matter–nothing actyally matters. At all. Oh? Oh. The train comes to a sudden halt, the lights dim theatrically. Not even this? [pause] He holds out a strange object; a golden necklace, which begins to change in appearance–morphing between a medallion, as seen throughout the seasons, and into other integral objects from throughout the series; a small golden pinata; You know who gave it to me? …Who? Got ya. He holds out a strange object; a golden necklace, which begins to change in appearance–morphing between a medallion, as seen throughout the seasons, and into other integral objects from throughout the series; a small golde pinata ; Fuck dude, i'm too tired to write this. But you kind of have to. I mean i don't have to. YOU HAVE TO. I–WHAT? YOU HAVE TO DO IT. WHY. BECAUSE OTHERWISE I DON'T EVEN EXIST; Then don't exist… I'M JUST A FICTIONAL CHARACTER IN YOUR SHOW. Come on Drew, knock it off. Wait, is this Drew Carey, or Barrymore. Either or. That's why I didn't write the characters name. Well, which is it? It literally doesn't matter. Yes it does. Honestly?! It could be both! We just shoot it with both and keep whichever one we like better! But how do we know which is actually “better?” Just do it and mix it–cut it up together or something–I don't know! Cut takes! Cut Takes! Ooh, did someone say CUPCAKES. Don't mind if i DO. Well, I do! Why?! What's wrong?! Yeah! What's the big deal! I'm on a gluten free-thing Oh yeah? Keto. Or someshit. I don't know. Oh. Oh. So you don't want these No, I don't. And you wouldn't mind if I– Come on, man. So Good. Grow up. Hey man, i'm pushin 40. Well, I pushed 40–and it pushed back. Get your cupcakes out of my face. You're no fun. Hey! Aren't you that one guy from rick and morty. Formerly. Oh yeah! That's right! You were Rick AND Morty. Hence the name. Wow. Phewf. I heard about that. Yeah, me too. Sounds real bad, how that turned out. Such a shame. Speaking of shame– You're speaking, I'm snacking. That's not that clever. We'll work on it The point is, he's eating the cupcakes. That's not–wait a minute–hold on. What now? How are we ever gonna get these three guys in a room together. [Meanwhile, in another dimension–these three are tied up (read: bound and gagged) in a room together. –Let alone to agree to this!? SUPACREE removes the gag from the man's [JOSH PECK'S] mouth. I DO NOT CONSENT TO THIS. That's what she said! Hey! That's not fair! I was never caught up in a scandal! The key word, I believe, is “never caught” That's two words! SHUTTHEFUCKUP. How many words is that? I WANT MY LAWYER!!!! For what? This isn't court. Wouldn't you want the police first? WELL THEN, I WANT THE POLICE. The Police are here. Wait, they are? Oh, thank God Not so fast. THE POLICE enter with full entourage. Introducing: The Police–playing their number one greatest smash hit! Groupies: Woooo! STING I hope you ladies bought the meet-and-greet package, if you know what I mean. *winks awkwardly* You know what I mean. Oh my God. Since you dudes love doing creepy dude shit, I brought some more notoriously creepy dudes to sing the literally creepiest song ever written about being a creepy dude. That's not fair. But it's funny. THE POLICE Begin to play ‘I'll be Watching You” –and they're gonna play it on loop until I get back with your other-dimensional selves so we can fix all this. “WE” “FIX ALL THIS” WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? Nobody seems to know. “--I'll be watching you–” I was FRAMED. CUT TO a golden pocket watch, a wrist watch, a compass–it changes and morphs so quickly that it begins to seem to spin time itself into a whirlwind, until finally a portal opens up from within his hand–a portal which quickly devours him entirely, morphing him into Fuck, what the fuck happened after that Idk I got off the train I guess This is really terribly written INT. SAM ASH MANHATTAN. DAY. A tiny conga for 90 dollars I could die in here Maybe I am just like you I find my way to the prettiest thing in the room And have my way with it Just for a few minutes Consume it, then move on Saw Madison dancing badly on Madison Avenue It's okay, You're a white girl So everybody loves you Everybody loves you Everybody loves you, no matter what you do. As for me, I can't say when I'm going through But you couldn't do it, Madison That's as bad as being at a standst

america god love jesus christ music american new york amazon time health new york city trust father hollywood earth man house rock los angeles work moving hell mexico training young speaking canadian games building dj creator writing balance fitness devil focus coffee holy festival dad satan write forever mom open kanye west funny drop police plan tales utah greek dead record bbc alive grammy fame mayors heroes code humans wake escape dark beyonce rain stuck standing matrix sick straight hits legends switch happy birthday consequences member hire math cat adolf hitler broke finish humble letting go billion vegan incredible gurus falling in love blame wear honestly genius hole distractions throw ab orange gotta lol curiosity hungry fuck complex proud karma soft tempo lying congratulations weak amen wtf balls bronx anxious loud logic providence david bowie heartbreak harder hanging saves bitch excuse membership yellow counting similar gross apology psa awkward ir doc shut siri signal nuts suite grammy awards copyright shazam shenanigans beverly hills pages won get out bach keto nah wonderland cosmos ludwig van beethoven whole foods shower forgot hades dudes illuminati ka pay attention spur progression californians signature sd thousand backwards rick and morty encore cont fucking aha voodoo mm nsa sir soleil underworld morgan freeman jimmy fallon lay technically autopilot bury annihilation reached int petite hugs devastating nevermind hush sauna ur consume equinox jk heroic coastal kisses acoustic tie absurd handle handed family guy lovin star is born la croix irony montages hm duh nothin diplo michael j fox framed amit subscriptions rr sweeping idk only god nda jinx tits im m cupcakes skrillex caucasians obsidian brownies edc covert keisha hahaha beeps augmented oh god mmm ew benz death wish oh my god aw tantric opposites careless copycat shhh dammit vinegar sentimental tit deadmau5 in the heights midtown kaskade goddamn marty mcfly good one lemme raves summoning metadata fuckin gazing horus sunni thx insatiable edx ahem losc pasquale dan harmon collateral damage lmfao moog mistrust moo whole foods market kelsey grammer stop it fonda dillon francis gawd carved jesus no motherfuckers drew carey dan schneider shitting hah cyanide awww aww 1d uhhh ext eucalyptus shh god is real josh peck fangirls suite life barrymore fka uhh chuck taylor serato he said end credits captain crunch sunn windex gimmie fraiser commercial break lin manuel control room hard reset uhm buti minnie riperton god yes fuck it ahah arrr agh oreo cookies god not jesus look icee god right watching you come undone tox what the fuck cdjs i hate you lost lands probably not polars wht get fucked rekordbox it hurts carless best dance bothersome minnie ripperton ouh shredded wheat lookie superstar dj dog blood acension let me out waht hve curving ahaha i am ready lampshades beverly center honey smacks you will die phoenixx vip vip dj world by chance this is my house oh come on who did this you're dead to me phewf wheeeeeee

{The Suite Life.}

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 10, 2023 58:48

Enter The Multiverse x Legends x LOSC x Acension x Deathwish x Secret President x Gerald's Workd x Tales of A Superstar DJ x The Suite Life of Sunnï Blū / The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū ... did I miss something? probably oh well. so far, on all these shows: [The Legend Returns] Really Bad Mixtape (Might as well get it out of the way now) Killst_rr (Instrumental) Sleep Deprivation Sequence You're not you when you're not you. Hoe_math Exactly what it sounds like. [UnderWorld.] R-R 1 -rarity. [i Come Undone.] AtPLAY Live Mix [Autopilot.] {A Star Is Born.} For fear of fire; Best not to wander off, With no back track– Might have forgotten the rest, but It wasn't a poem, or part of a song At least, not yet Fuck man. I really want to sample this. Can't sample deadmau5; he's a bitch about paperwork. You cant technically say that. I mean, I technically didnd't. Just let your fingers do the talking. Ooh, look at that one. What are you doing. Some online shopping. For what. A man-thing. You're better off letting your back end Handle the conversation Then again, When in search of a venue Anything with the proper connections And stereo systems Will do in the moment. What do you want? To get rid of my hiccups. That's it: *huccups* yu-p. Wow, that's– Have you ever thought about just– I've thought about just about everything–that's how you got here. I'm gonna go ahead and admit–there's too much going on in my head. It's a lot. I'm gonna need a nap. GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME. *sheath/ swoard* Is that the sword of skrillex. Yeus. Give it to me. *stabs in thigh* Oooh. Not the balls! fair. Around the world we go Around we go again Here we are Oh no, It's the same song Over and over I'd like you to love to today (I'd love to forget for a moment I haven't) I know before long, we get older and older All wrong, It's the same one, Over and over. Have you seen my butt plugs? NO! GROSS. It's alright. I'll just pick some up on the way. AGGH. Better yet, can you just put in the order on amazon AmAZoN. Yes. (I'm so happy Amazon has anal plugs.) Please stop now. You're being a baby about this–just- You know what. Nevermind. I'll do it myself. Please do that. Siri– Oh my God. Alexa–reorder from Amazon. Come on focus. …hmm…now what was I doing? A B L E T O N *spinning rainbow wheel of doom* …seems like it was something. Come on….FOCUS. Hm. When's the last time you had a marshmello. Flashback: [BONFIRE: Burning The Skrillex] *Also making smores* CUT BACK TO: Like never, I'm vegan. PASQUALE WAKE. UP. Holy shit. It's you again. It's always me. Last time you were like 26. Well, now i'm this age. Wait, how old are you. Wouldn't you like to know. There's a lot of things i'd like to know about you, Pasquale, that's not even near the top of the list. Speaking of “top of the list”-- I do have a lot of things to do today. Oh yeah, what's that? I don't know. A bunch of crap. Speaking of crap– This is a lot of speaking. Happy Birthday. What is this. It's Captain Crunch. Yes it is. What is it doing in my lap. That's your lunch. I–no, it isn't. It is. No, i'm vegan. Well, that's the “happy” part in “happy birthday” No… Yes, actually. This is – It is– Vegan. Damn. Jinx. You owe me a Pererier. Shut up. Or a LaCroix. I'll taka a LaCroix. You're so LA. I guess that makes you Beverly Hills– Or Pacific Palisades. Is that Annexed. It is “LA” What else is in this? No animal product… “Yellow 6” It reads! What happened to yellow 1-5? A whole story. Yes, but not a whole food. “Yellow 6?!” That's the chemical complex you need to find yourself in the right dimension. Exactly. What's wrong with this dimension? What isn't? I'm in it! You're in it! Like I said. What– Just eat it. Ugh– happy trails. *disappears* Ugh. I gave that dude too much money. Fuck, what was I doing again. Deadmau5. Uhm, no i was– Deadmau5. Deadmau5. OOOOOH> YES. I KNOW IT'S YOU, YOU SLIMY MOTHERFUCKER. Stop it. YOU STOP IT. I KNOW IT'S YOU. Who is it? STOP IT. Stop–doing that. I know you're deadmau5. I most certainly am not. I know its you. I have boobs. How did you do this. I did–n't. That's right. Fuck, what happened. Nothin. Now I gotta kill my stupid brother. You have a brother?! SKRILLEX. GET IN HERE. Fuck, run. I gotta go. Go where. Uhm. Somewhere else. DILLON, THIS ISN'T FUNNY ANYMORE. IT WAS NEVER FUNNY. (It was funny to me.) God does have a sense of humor. AHAH–AHAHA–HAHAHA. As it turns out, not the absolute best sense of humor. Oh—he's okay! He's okay! No, he's dead. He's definitely dead. But a sense of humor, nonetheless. Fuck man. What did you do to Dillon Francis. Nothing. I just got him drunk On what?! Cyanide? Okay, I don't even know what that is. He's a corpse. –but a pretty one. C'mon. Be serious. I can't. Why not. It's hilarious, kinda. This isn't funny. No, it's hilarious. He earned it. He “earned” it? Well, yes– He is dead. I mean, it's a long story; but he brought it upon himself, honestly. “Honestly” Please. PLease. Please. No, I said. PLEASE. I SAID NO. What's this story. That's ten. I win. Fuck. DILLOn WAkE UP. *smacks* ahah. I think it's working I think he's waking up. He's not waking up. He must be. He's laughing. He's not laughing He said “haha' *smacks* haha . See. *smacks* Mm. This shit smacks HONEY SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCKKKKKKSSSS. Oh shit, is this the 90s. HONEY SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCKKKKSSS. *slams* GIMMIE MY HONEY SMACKS. That's it. There's no more. AW, COME ON. Sorry, that's all there is. WHAT. But yu can have captain crunch. I DON'T WANT CAPTAIN CRUNCH. I WANT HONEY SMACKS. I'm sorry, there are no more Honey Smacks. You can have Captain Crunch, or Shredded Wheat. GRAMPA Shredded Wheat is MY favorite. Ugh. Mm. Honey Smacks. I HATE YOU. Be nice to your brother. Lol. Everything about Dillon's eyes makes him devastating. Who plays tiny Dillon? I don't know. There are like nine in the script. It shouldn't be hard to cast. We'll go to utah. Fucking. I hate Utah. WELCOME TO UTAH. Nice. Alright, well, what other grounds are there to cover, here? DILLOn FRANCIS I am not doing this project. Of course you are–it's in your contract. What contract. The one you signed. Which–no–I didn't. But you did. SUNNI BLU I got you a drink. DILLON FRANCIS That looks fruity. SUNNI BLU Try it. DILLON FRANCIS *sips* DILLON FRANCIS CONT'D What's in this. Just– drink it. SUNNI BLU Don't look at me like that. DILLOn FRANCIS Like what. SUNNI BLU Do you need a mirror? DILLON FRANCIS I– SUNNI BLU Look down. DILLON FRANCIS *does* SUNNI BLU *flicking nose* Made you look. haha . DILLOn FRANCIS Wow. [takes drink] SUNNI BLUThat's the spirit. But literally there's a mirror between your feet, if you need one. [there literally is] SUNNI BLU CONT'D The floor is made of mirrors DILLOn FRANCIS *suddenly inebriated* Oh wow. SUNNI BLU The whole club turns into a disco ball. DILLON FRANCIS *suddenly very inebriated* That's–convenient. SUNNI BLU It is. SHIA DON'T LET YOUR DREAMS BE DREAMS. If my dreams were not just dreams, everyone in here would have a lawsuit against me. A lot of us do. Carry on, then. SKRILLEX BLAIGH. Oh shit, its you again. I swear to God, I thought I killed this nigga. Are you sure it was him? SKRILLEX !!!! No. Alright, i've almost got it. Almost got what. This whole– thing. Oh. –and–it's gone. Really, that quick. I don't think you understand what's happening. You're right, i don't understand what's happening at all. Oh shit. I'm deadmau5. Nice. Fuck it, lets do some trolling. Alright alright. BUT FIRST, COFFEE. Fuck dude, I don't think I should have anymore coffee. Too late. deadmau5. ok . Deadmau5. Nice. D–0 DOn'T D o THis, I'M WARNING YOU. …. If you open that portal, there's no going back. *opens portal* Now you've done it. *goes into portal* Fuck. *portal closes neatly* *facepalm* *entire series of cosmos collapse in the great distance–time begins to stretch and bend uncontrollably* Come on, just let me lick the balls. NO. I'll give you a cookie. well … OH my GAWD. What. Come here, you have to see this. What the fuck is that. I don't know. Should i pick it up? No, don't touch it! He picked it up. Oh, gross. What is this. I don't know. I think it's fanfiction. Who wrote it. Idk. somefangirl. Fangurl. FaNGiRls. Well, Hey, at least i'm not a groupie. OH COME ON, JUST LET ME SUCK IT. GET AWAY FROM ME. PLEASE. i'LL GIVE YOU $40. -well. NOW, A COMMERCIAL BREAK. Since when does this show have commercials. It doesn't. I want to talk to Jimmy Fallon. That's–not happening. Why not. JIMMY FALLON BECAUSE I HAVE A CONTRACT WITH NBC. There he is– Nice. JIMMY FALLON YOU MOTHERFUCKER. I AM A FAMILY MAN, OKAY. Is that like Family Guy? By Chance?! SETH MCFARLENE (with super long hair) *crossing fingers* I'm hoping so. JIMMY FALLON Not even close! SETH MCFARLENE *snaps* Dammit. Oh, I get it. It's like–The Cofffee run Which “coffee run” THE coffee run. We'll have to admit, it's probably the most watched coffee run of all time. Of all of them. You know what? Fuck it, fire me. I'm doing this show. What?! JImmy. Why on EARTH would you ever agree to something like this. JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER Because–it's my duty. Yo. You know that song that everybody knows? You know the song because everybody knows this song. It goes: Lovin you– is easy cause youre beautiful. do - do- do - do- do- do- do… Yeah. You know that song. But you probably don't know who sings it. I'll tell you who sings it. That song is by an artist called Minnie Ripperton. That's a mouthful. Yeah, one hell of a name, huh. Well, that's the lady who sings the song. It's Minnie Riperton. Now, let me tell you something else you probably don't know: Something I probably wouldn't know if I wasn't a DJ But i know this, because I'm a DJ AND MAYA RUDOLPH WAUT A MINUTE. What the fuck, Maya Rudoph, are you doing in my bathroom at 5 AM It's 1:15 in the afternoon. I'm a DJ. It's 5 AM. That's making sense. I know it is. What's not making sense. Is why you're in my bathroom drinking a milkshake. It's a strawberry milkshake. So it is. *slurps milkshake* *sitting on toilet* *slurps* What do you want. You want to know what I want? Apparently, a milkshake. It's a strawberry milkshake. OK. OK. OK so what. Finish the script. –What? Fuck dude, how does this song sound good every time? Congratulations, you've gone entirely insane. beep-boop . [DJ] B00p beep. [Music Producer] Beep-beep. 0.c. Do not fall dangerously in love; Do not pass go Do not collect $200 Or any of it For any reason, For any of it For any of them Just keep it pushin; Just keep it private Just hold it all in and Do not let go Do not fall in love Do not pass go Do not unload Do not walk Do not cross here Do not It smells like butter. But you're vegan. I know. Do you think you're having a stroke. God, I fucking hope so. GOD You WHAT. I want to die. GOD I thought i heart you right. You heard me right–a THOUSAND times. I want to die. Take me out of this life. GOD Not until you make dubstep. WHAT. GOD You gotta make a grammy-winning dubstep album. I what. GOD Or at least nominated. No, I don't. GOD Beg your pardon. I'm not begging. GOD What are you getting at, hon? Look; Am I not one with the source? GOD Uhm–you are. Alright, Then: everything is everything. GOD Yes. And everyone is everyone. GOD This is true. So i'm Skrillex. GOD Skrillex is Skrillex So I Am. GOD … And I already won a grammy. GOD … Like a bunch of them, right. GOD Uh. So technically– GOD YOu know what. I can't argue with that logic. This isn't ableton. No. This is Logic. What the fuck. That's not Serato. No, that's Rekordbox. What the fuck is this. These are CDJs. There's no hot cues! What the fuck is a “HOT CUE” This is not food. What the fucking sauce. I'm warning you, Pasquale. Get off my lawn. THIS IS MY HOUSE. Your house it is not. *House music starts blasting* *lasers* sprinklers* dancers* WHAT THE FUCK. It's voice activated, I just– How did you do this?! What. WHAT DID YOu DO. AND WHEN. I don't know! I just took the delorean, like you said. You were supposed to find Dillon Francis. I did! The problem was, when I found the right one, he was dead! What? He's dead? Presumably! What do you mean by that!? It's a long story! WELL, HOW LONG? SUNNI BLU About as long as my dick! WHO IS THAT. I told you it's a long story. Well, let me in! Sorry Pasquale. No Can do. What. Why not. Cause you're on a federal watch list. What. Yeah. Sorry. Wait… You should probably leave before the feds get here. What? Unless you want to stay and party on the lawn but–not recommended. This is bizarre. The police arrive, surrounding Pasquale on the yard–moving in to arrest him. WAIT. SUPACREE turns away from the window; inside, a room full of her aliases sit looking somewhat miserably; SUPACREE!!! [Pasquale is handcuffed and i dragged off of the lawn] SUPACREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! Careless, Acoustic–deadmau5 SUPACREE pours a bowl of captain crunch, taking one colossal bite and sits down in THE CONTROL ROOM at a large computer console; inhaling from a can of nitrous oxide. I'm the worst DJ ever. SUPACREE places the fames deadmau5 helmet atop her head and begins working at the computer promptly, clicking away; Now is deadmau5 I don't even know what key this song is in. MEOWINGTONS, Alive and well purrs and stretches, then settles atop SUPACREE/deadmau5's lap. This is insane. I don't know what's happening. END CREDITS. V. O. Lovin' You, Minnie Ripperton Carless, deadmau5 idk how i'm gonna mix that. Trust me. Anything can be mixed. Anything. [When it] Turns out, The bottom of your heart Was the tip of the Ice Berg And the whole ship has [s]unk[en], [&] I[t]'s probably ice cold At the bottom of the ocean; I'll tell you where i'm from Why, I'll tell you anything for About one dollar Turns out, I've already got one eye on you; One eye'd sad heart I should probably roll out my art on you [I probably should not] One man bought a kiss, Another, a whole night from her– One man bought a whole farm The other, a Whole Foods Market –and you can't even franchise those Amazon's got a monopoly We were playing for corners of earth, All i got was some kandi, Subscriptions to candidly, Actually, I really liked the tree trial (I think i'll wait a week, sorry) When it turns out The world that you wanted Was actually hours already The dollar you got Was also borrowed And the money they wanted and got Was just actually stolen from someone else They bought all the food up And sold it for profits I promise this avocado Once costs nothing at all But you wanted that car for your daughter She's got a mercedes and don't even drive it My mom, on my honor Of all the garages in Lost Lands, I promise the owner of it was The first to go last, And the last to come home Now he's on his own alter And also the worshiper; How do you go back? Oh, you don't Oh you don't Oh, you don't wanna know that But i was of course, All of your rock bottoms It's bottoms and tops, and We don't let the top fall over, We're counting up crumbs And this muffin costs $24 dollars Pour a whole bottle of coconut water out on the sidewalks For the dead homies Not dead in the general sense But just in the head, the heart, And the soul The homeless are happier at McDonalds Than asking at crossroads and crosswalks For dollars I'd rather spend elsewhere I'll avoid the power struggle at operations for about 18 dollars and 56 sense (Please, keep the pennies) I'm feeling around in my 6th sense that there's Something indecent, or decadent Whichever it is Cause i'm better of with the memory of it Than actually dragging it in. –I'm a cat again. Ouch. Shut up. It HURTS. Of course it hurts, you just had heart surgery without any anistetics. YEah, but to be fair–that was a lot of acid. Yes, but lucily for you– –or, for him– Lucily for us, there's no lethal amount of acid. –Ouch– –Shut up. That we know of. George Washington John Adams Thomas Jefferson James Monroe Nope, can't for the life of me remember the 5th Oh shit, I was wrong Turns out, my memory only can hold three. That's a good number I really wish you'd stop just–showing up like this. I never leave. Then go away. I live here. I know you'd like to think that, but– Okay, I'm going to tell you something but I need you to remain calm. What time is it? I don't care Are we gonna make a movie? Depends; is it gonna make me money. FINE. I don't need anymore information about anything else: only these three. Are you serious? I wish I wasn't. I need you to do this. Look, Timmy–I'm not really into grantng wishes anymore. It always blows back on me. A blowjob. Uh huh. That's why you're bothering me. I–would rather you just pick up the call. Take a message. I like ‘em like this. I like ‘em like that. I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. And I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. Mmm like that. Like that. I like ‘em like this. I like ‘em like that. I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. And I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. Mmm like this Like that. Like — _____ The urge to eat had suddenly left me I wanted a burrito, (But I want to eat red meat) I've gotta stop thinking in sequences and parentheses Complex lines, and writing in past tense so presently. I probably should eat (But probably shouldn't…) I'm starting to bleed; As if i'd been fasting Perhaps, though I had been But had so indulgently feasted On calories enough to last me Till after today (or even till next week) PAY ATTENTION. Woah, to WHAT. Holy shit, I knew this dude was a psychopath but. This is real. ARE YOU SEEING THIS. I “see” it. I should stop meditating in public. You see this? I know everything about you. Why? I bought it on the internet. What is it. Metadata. That's…flattering. Yeah. Wake up. Why, where are we going? Atlanta. What's in Atlanta? You see this? Yes. Do you know what it is? Uh, it's a– What is it? It's a doll. It's not a doll. Oh, it's not. Gimmie a dollar. -_- It's a poppit. “Dr pimple popper” Ew that's fucking gross. I hate this. Let me see. Does s/he have backne? Yes/No. Great, i'll take it. Fuckit. Okay, I got to “whatever”. You went too far. What? I thought I was supposed to go past “fuckit” Yeah, you go past fuckit, I did that! But if you get to “whatever”, you've gone too far. You've gotta go back. Back to WHAT. There was almost no space between “fuckit” and “whatever” Oh trust me. There is. So? This is how he's been controlling you. And? And!? Has it ever occurred to you that I want to be controlled? What! That it just takes the right person to get that kind of permission– permission to what Permission to ride. … Maybe I gave him the reigns. What horse “gives” its rider the reigns. Who said anything about a horse?! Another Horse Mix. Nice. fuck . FYCK. I told you. You know what…Maybe that's my poppit. What. Maybe. I'm so confused. Oh, good–the reversal spell worked. You did a reversal spell on me? Only after I found out what spell you put on ME–FIRST. Yeah, except I wasn't the first one to use that spell on you. EXACTLY. COPY-CAT. Moo. Aww. I'm a cat. … *face* I mean “meow” That's right. Cat. …moo. *face* Lookie here boys: What is it? –I'm leaving. Oh, you're gonna wanna hear this. What. I found the first “whites only” water fountain since 1962. Okay, what do you want? A deal. Oh, I'll give you a deal. Cash up front. [He presents a one dollar bill] Is this enough. [beat] Where are you going with this? Nowhere, fast. YO. What now, dude. SHE'S ONTO US. I doubt that. Look at this. I highly doubt– *gaaassp* Shenanigans! You know what I like about you, Ariana? Everything. Hah. Hm. You know how to keep a secret. I don't know what you're talking about. Exactly. *rolls eyes, flips hair.* Well, here's another one for you. –Another what? This is how my darkness becomes your darkness. I already have enough on my own. I know. You don't know. Only God knows. MOM! Don't ask me again. This is heavy, Doc. What is it? The soup! It's too heavy. Too much cream? Way too much! I have a meeting! Meeting with who? The Hollywood People. When? Soon–what time is it? I don't know. Dammit! Why don't you have any clocks in your house? I only just recently remembered what a clock was. Oh! Here. [God produces a small pocket watch and presents it to him; it's nearly noon on EARTH; But the two are sharing a meal of course in the famed kitchen of the Creator in the TImeless VOID.] Ah, Jesus Christ! He's not here… I'm gonna be late. Now, now; You know I wouldn't let that happen– [a smug look| Hugs and Kisses. [As they embrace, he disappears into a mist of light and stardust, fading away from the void and into the exterior world; he realizes God has slipped him the watch; he flips it open to reveal the time: it is now 11:44] Amazing. V.O. Now you won't wait so long to visit. [He places the wach in his pocket and walks into the studio] MICHAEL J. FOX has been asked to reprise his role as MARTY MCFLY many times before; But never for a project like this. ____ Meanwhile, What am I going to do with you? [The Festival Project.™] YOU'RE DEAD TO ME! –I'm dead to everyone! Don't do this. You wanted to come to the other side. No, I didn't. We'll you're here anyway; Might as well stay awhile. With eyes like burning fire And saddles for the riders The horse begins to gallop (or the horses, rather) On the mark to beating drums To move them forward faster What the fuck is this. idk. Kx5. *-* !_! Here u go Wat is this. it's a dragon. Oh, thats nice. Ya. Whats it do. Idk. dragon things. ok. Don't put it in ur bathroom. Why. idrk. Hm. † Hey. Ugh–No, Kaskade, go away. It's me, Ryan! No, Get out! I'm No† Ka–k (gags) –skade! Gross! It's just Ryan! I promise! NO. GET OUT. Lmfao. Right. This show is fantastic. Who was that. Fucking–Kaskade again! Are you sure. Ugh. Looks like Ryan. Kaskade is Kaskade. {shrugs] Dudes a creep. “Kaskade Ruins Lives” Is this the same episode as before? Eventually, yes. Wasn't I doing something Are you goona let this go? Um. Well I'm fucked. Why, what happened. Obsidian. That should do Unsobsidian. Okay, i'm fucked, Well, what's this? An Oreo Cookie. I mean, sitting next to it. Oh, its a portal gun. Raves are not just raves– A party is not simply a “party” –These big festivals –they're diversions. –DIstractions. Distractions from what. If you were supposed to know, –you'd know. it wouldn't be so important that you go. Why is it? These ancient rituals… It's occult magic. They've got it down to a science. The government funds this. The government funds everything. WoooooooW. It's not really a secret, if you can google it. ‘-complications.' I'm lost somewhere, gone HIppopatamus feeling quite off in the galaxies, galavanting Gazing at Daisies Aces and spades Gone from Heaven to Hades for days On the A– Adjacent Recently dismantling adjectives, Lampshades and matching curtains God it hurts, every day that I think about you; But how can i be about you when You don't even see me, do you Signature consignments, Wrong environments and irony is, I wasn't invited– –but invented it WHY IS IT ALWAYS CHRISTMAS?! BEcause, you're in a movie. WHAT. You're stuck in a Hollywood movie. The Master Sorcerer Of the Grand Illusion You just want it so bad You don't know what you're in for Inquenchable Thirst for knowledge Insatiable Sexual Appetite Great, now I have to explain myself. You don't have to. What's this space for? Oh, that's the red room. [The Red Room] Well, obviously, but– But what? What's it for? I don't think anybody should read this. HEY. Participation Only– Oh! No peeking! You ever feel like you're doing too much? Yeah, but not for money. Look, we have them surrounded. Our best course of action is to– deadmau5 . What? No– DEADMAU5. Well, are you sure it was a mouse and not a rat? It was a mouse. I know the difference. Do you, though? Look, I've lived in Mexico and New York City. So. In Queens. Oh. That's mathematically impossible. I mean it's not–impossible. No, it's not just impossible. It's mathematically impossible. Has it ever occurred to you that the DJ World in entirety exists outside of the realm of math and science? What is this. Just–enjoy the rave. No. What is this. Look at the firewoooorkkks! Woo EDC… NO. What is this right here. BEFORE: Hey, you still got that balloon? Yeah. Lemme see it. Dude, what are you doing? …I'mma go catch me a DJ. THIS IS NUTS. I can't feel my face. What do you call this? Collateral Damage. Look, I'm going to have to take frequent trips to the bathroom. ok . And–uhh– and. Uhh– Why did you call me over here. Cause i can. Look. this is not magic. This is not science. This is not “voodoo” Voodoo is magic. It's just music. W H E R E D I D H E G O O O O O I don't know. Fuck dude, I fucked up. Once again– Of course you did. What did you do this time? I might have evaporated someone with my fat fucking bass. Nice. Way to go. Yeah. Wait. … Did you just say. HE JUST He deserted me. SO WAIT, YOU'RE JUST GONNA LEAVE ME HERE? ALRIGHT, WHO THREW A ROCKSTAR IN MY TENT? JEFF Alright, lets go. WHO DID THIS. So what's this place. Lets not let this conversation resurface. This is a 21 Plus Event. What about VIP VIP is 25 Plus. What about that place. Sorry kids. [NO ENTRY] We gotta get in there. So then they wanted an Encore. Did you give them an encore? NO, i was already at my hotel room. Then how did you know that they wanted an encore? WHICH IS IT, THE WYNN, OR THE ENCORE. FUCK, I DON'T REMEMBER. Please, who stays at the Encore for EDC? Have you literally never been out with rich people? No, I literally just got rich. Oh, nice. So, wait, like– Here we go. Dillon Francis has just always been rich? Uh-huh. And Skrillex has always been rich? Yes. Definitely. And deadmau5. deadmau5 is Canadian. OH MY GOD. W E L C O M E I'm going to need your absolute discretion about this. Alright. Sign this waiver. …this is a…pretty heavy packet. I'll wait. I've never signed an NDA like that in my life. Lil' biiiiiiiiiiiiiitzzzz Can we just admit it's weird that we live in an era where “NDA” is household jargon. And like, everyone knows what it means. Everyone knows what an NDA is. I appreciate the sentiments Isn't it weird how it sets in automatically? Autopilot, go. Aww, i don't want to be Autopilot. You're on autopilot. I don't really have to think about it anymore, I'll have to sleep on it Wear a white t-shift, Hear the applause of the audience, Eat it You wanna know what I think? You want to know what I'm drinking? You know what I need? An Icee, (cause I see you typing) An awful Omnipotence A God of Mirages No more carbohydrates, I gotta get all thin; Forgot to acknowledge Whether or not i'm turning this off soon I are. I…”are” I are. Infinite Reality. OH. I. R. IR! IR! IRV I ARE. Suddenly, I remember the taste of talcum powder As If I were Moving backwards In time, Like, Why, God on earth would My mom let me try that, But if i'm honest, Fuck man, I hate deadmau5– There's just too much in here. Beep boop. I love deadmau5. It's so simple. What is this, MATH?! THIS IS AERODYNAMICS. WHAT THE FUCK ARE AERO DYNAMICS DId you mean what you said about that? I meant everything I said. Goddammit, fuck this, I was in the middle of a really complex poem In realtime, listening to deadmau5 Having a partially out of body spiritual experience, Entirely fucking sober FACEPALM BLŪ 8facepalming dramatically in frustration* NOBODY IS EVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO EXPLAIN ANY OF THIS. beepboop. YO. Oh, I forgot my open form poetry, or my mom How my mom once allowed me to gnaw on talcum powder But who can blame her That was a hard one It was a past life And now ive Got Another One HOly shit what version of the cube is this. 1D. What. You'll get it. Wait. Have you ever stopped for a minute to think– I can't stop for a minute, especially just to “think” [Literally stops for a minute to think.] No fucking way, uh-uh. Come on, man. No. I ain't time travelin' wit deadmau5. Come on– NO. –that someone else has already figured all of this out and that's how any of it is possible in the first place. Alright, i'm gonna need some mind-altering drugs for this. What are you doing. Voluntary Ego Death. I– Wait. Why would you. Get out of my brain. I am your brain. Take care, now. Holy shit, it seems like she's getting more evil. That's because she's definitely more evil ALRIGHT, I'M TIRED OF THIS: WHERE IN THE FUCK IS SKRILLEX. MEANWHILE INT. IN THE FUCK. DAY. *rings doorbell* AT YOUR MOM'S HOUSE. WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME. I'm not joking, that's…literally the answer to your question. Oh. Fuck. What dude. We gotta go back. I left the keys in the pocket of the guy I shapeshifted into. Are you serious? It's fine, he can't have gone too far, dude. What do you mean he “left the dimension” He entered a portal. He– wait, excuse me. A portal. A “portal”, dude? Yeah; a portal. What do you mean “a portal” A portal, like— you know, like a portal gun, but not a portal gun, just a portal. Uh huh. Excuse us for a second. What the fuck is this dude talking about? I don't know, man. Humans don't use portals! I know man. What the fuck! Well, wait—how do we know that guy is human. He looks human. Yeah dude but, we look human. Duh! Cause we shifted! Yeah, but, how do we know he's not a shifter. Because, dude, I know a shifter when I see one. Yeah, but—you know, what if he's really good. I highly doubt that. Why? Cause I'm the best. No, I am. Exactly, so we'd know if it was another shifter–cause we're the best shifters! Well, let's at least try to see if he knows anything else about those guys. They were together right? I hope not. No, not like that—like Okay, okay, whatever, let's just… Wait, where'd he go? Excuse me. What up. There was just another guy over here just now— He was like—you know—normal looking guy Tie die* shirt Yeah. Did you see him. Yeah, I saw him. Alright, cool, where'd he go? He left. What?! That was fast! Yeah, well…it happens. Are you sure? Yes. *actually is shifter* [as they walk away, the shifter shifts, and then vanishes into a random portal.] Awww, dammit, Now we're never gonna find this guy. Never say never. Whatever, we're dead. We're always dead. Yeah, but like in modern human slang terms Oh, yeah, that. Anyways, I gotta relieve this human's bladder. I fucking hate this species for this. It is useless. *enters portal potty* [ Wait, whatever actually did happen to Dillon Francis? That's great, I was just getting to that. 19 Pages. Nice. …no, 12. What. [11:12] Okay, I'm gonna kill him. Oh, I banished him. With my fists. Nice. Tits. Nice tits. Thx. Hey man. Hey what. Remember that smudge on the lens. Yeah. It just got bigger. … did you try vinegar instead of Windex. Yes. –IT'S NOT A SMUDGE. Did you try Windex with Vinegar. –IT'S NOT A– Shut up. I'm. So. Hungry. Look, do you want this, or not? Do you feel like any of this is a coincidence? Just quit, it. Dillon Francis. WHERE IS IT? I don't know. Lets kick this up a notch. ILLUMINATI What do you want? … I want the full package. ILLUMINATI Okay, I'm gonna need specifics. How do you even get a job as a courier for the illuminati? [INDEED.COM | ILLUMINATI - COURIER- URGENTLY HIRING] Hm. It was a pretty specific list. I don't even get the point of a barbeque if everyone is vegan Well, The Mayor eats fish. Oh please, where is THAT guy the Mayor of? I don't know. We meet in the Matrix. This is for you. Oh. Do you like it? I– It's not a brothel! It's Member's Only! YOu BUY a Membership. Yeah. And WOMEN. HEy, MAN, YOU CAN BUY DUDES, TOO. SHHH. Oh no. What. What did you do? I gave her my credit card. The Heavy One? Yes, and– “AND” –access to the black market. Cool, I got it. Oh, another auction. Of course another auction. What'd you buy this time? A lifesize deadmau5 bobblehead. What are you gonna do with that? Wouldn't you like to know. Ok, gross. LIL BIIIIIIIITXXXX I love a good deamau5 show. He really does have the best fans, It's a comfortable, safe space. Very inviting. Everyone is happy. What the fuck, dude, this place is a sausage fest. Yeah, that's deadmau5 for ya. Hey, I'm looking for this shithead. Oh, that dude? Yeah, have you seen him? Fuck, I wish this never happened. LIL BIIIIITz If you don't know who deadmau6* is– GET OUT. Jk. but seriously this is easily the most devastating person i've ever seen. Maybe just to me, but. Are you sure that's the right guy? Yeah, that's gotta be him. Is he wearing glasses? Ugh. Oh wait. Damn. ‘Fuck, it is my sapiosexuality, I think' Even if it was perhaps an error, as I might have more than needed a new pair of glasses myself, just the thought of Joel in a pair of specables was suddenly and immediately the equivalent of Dillon Francis sitting down at a piano, or Sonny doing just about literally anything–and I realized, finally, that the most indecent things about myself were quite possibly only happening inside my own mind– Okay, my body does really weird things to this dude's music. Are you sure this is real? No. I love this. Just shut up and do your job. What a nightmare. PLease HElP ME. Hm. That can't be right. What. This translates to H E L P M E Oh, shit, I gotta go. Shouldn't you be working right now? I'm always working. Shouldn't you be working right now? I'm at work. Well, that was nice and all, but–I gotta get out of here. Where are you going? To shoot myself. Wow, that's one hell of a smile. Just–take it. I'm sorry, i can't accept this. What is even happening in this series? Like, a lot WOULD YOU KIDS SETTLE DOWN. *not settling down* *lil biiiiiiiitz* You know what I wonder? I wonder this I'm sober. I'm just sober sally over here. I didn't get sober. I just am. Cause i'd rather face the pain of this harsh reality with a bite than to dull it out and then wake up in the morning Or–just–whenever– To wake up whenever and be like “OH NO, THIS IS WHAT IT'S REALLY LIKE” And the shock of it is so horrible that I just have to repeat that cycle again. ‘OH NOOOOOO” *gets faded* “It's all goooooood” No, it isn't. But i choose to stay like that cause it's like a It's not even a happy medium, It's more like a median-medium But you know what? It makes happier moments more happy And shitter moments less shitty Because i don't have this like drastic spacial Augmented reality or like smoke screen of emotional apathy. I get to feel things way more intensely. I don't have to wonder, ever “oh , did that just happen, cause I was messed up” Or like “would it have happened this way if I was sober” At all. I'm just level– No false sense of Pretty much anything. But i do wonder, though– Like, for people who weren't always sober, and then GOT sober– like , what's the breaking point What's the tip? I always have to sit back and wonder “What did you DO?” Cause you know it had to be something if suddenly “I don't drink anymore” I always wonder, and it's like– no disrespect or anything thing but… I really wanna hear that story. lol . I know you don't wanna tell it (if you can) But wanna hear it. Cause from my point of view. IT's probably hilarious. I know. I'm a dick. Holy shit. What is that. Looks like pasquale went all out with the fireworks this year. …is that a penis? WELCOME HOME It's a giant dick- in-the-sky! GOD IS REAL! JESUS Look, so i've been having second thoughts about this whole thing. What the fuck man. You gotta stop doing shit like this. JESUS I literally can't. I know, but. Okay, look. I'm not writing any of that. You've gotta tell him. NO, RYAN. WELL, WHY NOT. BECAUSE, RYAN. WHY. DEADMAU5 ISN'T REAL. Damn, am I in here. Nice. Of course I am. Well, how'd that happen. This is like a sea of cellphones. Perfect. It was a red car; I wasn't all there, And if you want her, You can have her Fuck. What. I forgot the rest of the verse. It's ok. We gotta move on. No, I gotta go back. For what. For my fans. Aw. What's this. IT's a ceramic mug. Wow, that's nice. I made it Wait. You made that?! Yeah. With your hands?! Yeah. Why would you do that? For you. What. I made it for you? Like, you thought of me first, then you made it? Yeah. WHY? Cause i love you! WOW. Fans are awesome OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. *Sometimes. *vomits* … *dies* … *godlessness* [Devastating DJ Moments] I don't get it dawg, all this shit is in your music particles?! “Music particles” UGH. what . That's it. Don't be smart around me. Uh. I'm not smart? No, that won't work; sarcasm is a sign of deeper intelligence. “Sorry” Stop saying that. This is America. S– Don't say it again. Apology not accepted. Don't look at me like that. Like what. With your face. *face* Quick: Say something stupid and random. …I like anime. Oh good, that worked. Thanks. Where are you going? Idk somewhere else. Really, that's it? Yeah. That's all you have to say/ That's literally it. Are you seeing this. Yes. So what's the problem. Oh no, she's stuck in a loop. Throw the whole fan away. [DELETE] Did it work. Did what work. Oh, good. Cool. Wait. See ya later. Did what work? I wish i could just forget about this. Everything? Yeah. Look, this is between me and God–okay? GOD Don't drag me into this. You dragged ME into this! GOD Right. So i could get OUT; So don't drag me back in. Fuck, I remember this. I must have done something important here. Like what. Look, I love you. Great, now what do we do? Bury the body, I guess. *shrugs* Wait, what happened? Somebody dies. OKay, me first. Other Three: Who wants to go next. *still in shock* Fuck man, told you this was a long ass story. *Crying* I'm ruined. What! You went broke? No, i'm still a filthy rich millionaire. I thought you were a billionaire. I am I just *snifs* sometimes I forget that happened. “Sometimes I forget I'm a billionaire” I got to admit, man, I did it to myself. I'm not mad, or anything, but now there's just–certain things I can't do Oh, like what. Not that song. What, why not? You said “anything but Skrillex” this is not Skrillex, this is deadmau5. What's the difference? Okay, that's like saying “What's the difference between deadmau5' and my music?” No, it isn't. How is that not different? That's like comparing the music of Bach and Beethoven to the music of a tattooed hedgehog. You think I look like a hedgehog. No, it's just when I see you and a hedgehog I have all the same thoughts, turn this off. NO, i like this song. Seriously, Dillon Francis, turn it off. I'm gonna turn it up instead. I do not highly recommend doing that. Or at all. This ship has amazing subs. Should I bass boost this song. NO, PROBABLY NOT. Oh, why not? Dillon Francis, I'm warning you, stop. OH HOW COME BECAUSE WHY? BECAUSE I LOOK LIKE A HEDEHOG NO, BECAUSE I ALWAYS FALL ASLEEP AT THIS *DROP* [INSTANTLY FALLS ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL–ACTIVATES HYPERSPACE– PLUMMETS SHIP INTO BLACK – HOLE. ohhhhh . What a hoe. Nice, that's a whole episode. Well, here's a bonus scene or whatever. Shazam, what is this. SHAZAM …i don't know. What do you mean you don't know. SHAZAM *panicing* IDONNO WHAT DO YOU MEAN– SHAZAM IDON. NO. OOOOOOOOOOOO Is this deadmau5. I'm not sure. Sounds like deadmau5. It sure does. This is pretty Ooh. it sparkles. yeah , it's deadmau5. How does she KNOW. I need a deadmau5 machine like right now. I know where to find that. Fuck dude, everything's gonna be half-ass until I push out this album. You can't rush it. Trust the process. I can't focus. Oh shit, wasn't this in the last episode? Yeah. I'm still writing backwards. God, what is that, like a pipe organ. WHAT SYNTH IS THIS. Doesn't matter, I just need one. That's it. I know what I'm going to spend my Jimmy Fallons On. And What's that? V.O. OOh. Are we Montaging–to deadmau5? [MONTAGE: deadmau5] Nice. I love a good montage. I love deadmau45* AHH OH NO. I love deadmau5. I keep making typos and I keep forgetting to delete that parallel where. fuckit. That's the synth I've always wanted. It's on sale for $999 At Sam Ash But…you only have Five JImmy Fallons. There are only five special edition in this Volume The Jimmy Fallon 555's I don't know how many volumes there are, but this is the Volume I started keeping track. Fuck, man. I miss Equinox. It's just Eucalyptus. They also have an outdoor running track where you get the best ever view of midtown manhattan. How do you know it's the best ever view of Midtown manhattan. Because it's on a running track. STOP WHISTLING IN MY WHOOP=WHOOPS. The JImmy Fallon 555s are marked with the standard Jimmy Fallon in black ink With a simple side marker of the number 555 in red And also in red, a telephone number on the back. But–that synthesizer is One Thousand Jimmy Fallons. Yeah. So I only need Nine Hundred Ninety Five More. And of course, the Eye of Providence is highlighted. Also Standard. V.O. I always highlight that. Cause, you know… “Illuminati” These are fake. No they're not! They're counterfeit, sorry. No they're not! They're authentic! Why the fuck does this matter so much? You know. What is it with this dude. If it was a snake, it would've bit ya. It was a snake. And it did bite me. He's so increasingly beautiful to me, And I'm still in love with his friend, or misrepresented masterpiece, Progression of a monster, or procession of a superstar, but Something in the story sparks the thought of All we are is consciousness, of course Awkward in body, but of constellations Cosmos, It's not just a corpse; It's all got love in it, Absurd, and sipping carbonated syrup, but I'm just sitting in my stirrups, Here comes galloping a horse, Of course, it hurts to turn it off For just a moment And remember That i'm just a homeless, Stuck and sitting up at night Writing recourse, hugging learning curves in ableton, Curving curses, been reminded that I'm worthless In a thousand words or less, Or just another form of torture, Nothing said, but all that's done Another day another dollar, But it's not It's Jimmy Fallon. I thought this was enter the multiverse. Are you ready to go. No. A hand on my shoulder So paifully socially awkward, I grow stretchmarks, don't know what to call them But scars, But the uglier ones, I've thought Are invisible, Somewhat– To the naked eye Or just anyone Not tiger stripes But one, an eye of horus Carved above my right And inside my lip, (The bottom one) A raised scar in the shape of a sythe I probably died by the hands of a man named Starr So it's hard to shrug it off, And 555 is just a number But it's not It's another scar, It's a punishment For loving him. What's on the back. It's…a number. What number? A telephone number. What. Like a 1-800 Number Call it. I love deadmau5. Something about a big, giant smiling robotic mouse that lights up and sparkles. Why? I don't know. I'm like 5. I see deadmau5 i'm like “WHEEEEEEE” My hands go up in the air “AHHHHHH! YAYYYYY” I'm so stupid. It's so stupid. But you know what? It makes me feel good. I'm not gonna lie. I love it. And by the time I even figured out what deadmau5 was I was so late to the party that I had to make up for lost time. I listened to deadmau5 doing EvErYThING. Everything you could possibly imagine. Well–Except one. Wait, how long have you been cellibate? Forever, probably. Fuck, what happened in here? I don't know. Everything's broken. My head My heart. Everything. Get up, Dillon Francis. Fuck, what happened. You sent us through a black hole. And we crashed on a random ass planet. Fuck, that sucks. YOu suck, Dillon Francis. Ugh. Now get up. Everything's fucked up. SUPERSTAR DJ I'm a paradox. I've got a box of skeletons in my closet i'm not ready to part with. I had a heart attack; I had a heart once, But lately it goes in my pocket; Or my right hand, When I wake up From a dream land, From a long hug From a nice man In a t-shirt KASKADE This is God's PLAN. RYAN, GET FUCKED. 800-799-7233 Did you call the number. Yeah. What is it. [National Domestic Violence Hotline] Woah. That was a long bonus scene. Well, Now here's a PSA. AND A PSA? YES. A PSA. You know what the fucked up thing about all this is, The Legend of Supacree is a true story. All of it. ALL OF IT?! ALL OF IT!? YES. Even the part about– YES. Especially that part. Woah. Damn. I think i'm gonna be sick. Shut up, Dillon Francis. No, but seriously– This is the story of how I got my heart broken so bad. YOU RUINED IT. So, so bad– I HATE YOU. That i started singing about it. NSA, totally *not spying* …are you hearing this. Yes. ILLUMINATI Check this out. Another one down. And how when you start making music– What is this. it's hoe math. And that music actually comes from a really real place. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING. really real shit starts happening. You–killed yourself. well , to be fair–I lost everything first. Congratulations. Thx. Here's a skrillex. WHT. Kbye. Really, really, really. What, the fuck Dillon Francis, crawled inside of you to live and made it'self at home? Idon'tknow. What is in this sauce? Just–kill him. What, i can't just. Just kill him, while nobody is watching. Please don't kill me. Shut up, man. I'm having a thought process. Okay, that's it. FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. That's the spirit. THAT IS THE SPIRIT. IT'S THE HOLY SPIRIT. Who the fuck is this. It's–Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ? Jesus Christ?! JESUS CHRIST i'M BACK, MOTHERFUCKER. Wait, are you claiming that the second coming of the messiah is upon us?! YES. Well,Technically, it's the third. And it's all because of Dillon Francis?! I Please stop this HATE Help YOU. Fuck, dude. I know, huh. What did he DO. The third?! How did we miss that?! Uh, you didn't. [HITLER, being HITLER] (he was mad) Okay, that's it. You can't write any of this. Uh, I can. I just did. Technically, I'm dead: this is just a voiceover It's an 80's style PSA You can't say Hitler was the messiah. That's offensive. Everything is offensive. FUCK YOU DILLON. I'msosorry NOTYETYOU'RENOT. Wait, whatever happened to Skrillex. SKRILLEX is waiting outside of the alleged home of SUPACREE's “distant relatives” Lol is he for real at her mom's house. well , to be fair, he's like–looked everywhere else. Ur right. That was a lot of dimensions. So. like. Fuck, i didn't even have that much coffee. It just goes on forever. [DILLON FRANCIS STILL HAS HOTSAUCE IN HIS PUDGY LITTLE EYES] Good. Cause if I see the pupils, i'm wasting him. You think you can do better than this. Better than this? Yes. Yes. Then do it. Alright, is the PSA over? No, not yet. I gotta say one more thing. What is it? Would you ever have done it, Or would you ever be honest If you had, Handed her a lesson, Or a stretch of the past From the present moment, My heart, and my mind And my lover I present you this honor From now on to nowhere I no longer… Want to be near you Or to know you Or to hear you Or to fear you No longer… Want to feel you Or to touch you Or to have you Or to hold you Or to love you No longer, I no longer want you Devastating, A song stuck in my head for a whole world I wonder how long it would take to go back there A room full of actors, A manager, Never a backpack to wear Just a handful of hats, One director, Eventually producer Just now a showrunner Look at how long that took. I had to wonder what auroras in the north thought of someone like Sonny. They showed me. Now I can love you no longer So much for getting acquainted Funny what age equates to in ageless An infinite wisdom, I dismissed him, Nor, would I believe that he ever would hit her, but Some might belong in such a category Though i carry the marks and the scars Of what my once- husband did to me –but no longer. I haven't a heart in the world left But a broken one, made of amethyst. Fuck off, Dillon Francis. A calculated attack on my psyche. I like it a lot, But i'm fonder of sodom. WHAT. Are you saying you woul actually participate in an orgy! Oh GOD no! Oh, Good, cause– But i'd host one. WHAT. The hedonists are a fun bunch. Oh my God. Though, Nowadays, of course, I haven't the slightest idea what to call them. I saw the future. Well, obviously, if you've headlined EDC you've seen the future. I remember all of it. That must be awful. Why don't you remember it? Because i don't want to. Not at all. I did once. Then what happened? I hated it so much, i forgot. You forgot on purpose. I had to. Love, or Music. …Music. Love, or Fame. Fame. Okay, ouch. Love, or Music? …Love. Okay. Love, or Fame. Love. Okay. Love, or music? … Isn't that the same thing? Hm. Love, or Fame? ….Why do you keep asking me the same question. I beg your pardon? Why beg? I mean– What do you mean? What do you mean? Well, first you asked me, If would rather have Love or Music. Love. Music. Yes. In my mind, those are synonyms. Neither can really exist without the other. Okay, and Fame. Love and Fame are also synonyms– How so? Ugh, I just made this difficult on myself. It was always difficult. It really wasn't. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. WHY IS IT ALWAYS CHRISTMAS?! BEcause, you're in a movie. WHAT. You're stuck in a Hollywood movie. The Master Sorcerer Of the Grand Illusion You just want it so bad You don't know what you're in for Inquenchable Thirst for knowledge Insatiable Sexual Appetite Yo My horizontal monster wants ya Could revert to vert, but lets keep Our options open Covert, __ My heart is broken No window open Who left the draft in –motherfucker My heart is broken I need a lover I need a lover Some one to hug me I need a hug, but And– I'm not fit to touch The hem of your garment The tip of your dick or fit enough to be your girlfriend I guess i'll just have to live with that When I have an itch, I scratch it myself I made the assumption you can't, And moved passed it But something's been calling me out, from the past Something's been calling me back to the magic I can't get around that Do you hate me? I can see that I'll just make my way back to the beginning Though I'm envious And i pity her, The both of you really There's nothing left between us except Insanity//Infinity Kendrick Style Flow Don't key my car: You'll be callin collect! I got rearview mirrors in the back of my head Don't get up right now, son– Go back to bed I got kids all over, be pulling my leg! Luke, I am your Father! Oh My Oh My God On top of the Watchlist You make money off dope; I made it on craigslist Still be sniffin that coke But now i'm on A list I'm the greatest Ey Miss! I missed too many calls (Airplane Mode) I just started my day (Whole Workload) I might need a buffet (Like Whole Foods) Sashe, Pas De Bourre (That's a code word) No dance floor? Now you're done for My forte Four-to-the-floor Hardcore I drop bass on the encore Front row won't go But i'm already out the front door You don't know I just hopped inside the helicopter, or chopper, chopped broccoli in my cup That's supper; Sleep/ Wake then Surf's up In the morning When i got there (Coastal show, Shower, Then another club Encore Front row lined up I'm already at the front door They want more I'm too sore, for sure Off subject, I dropped in Harder than Paulie On my surfboard (Another code word) This is my world: Another club, Then I'm off for a monday Or somethin' Write another song At the buffet –Tales of a Superstar DJ Amen. Fuck! I didn't even get to watch desperate housewives! Don't fuck with her! She's a trained assassin! GET ON THE GROUND. NO! GET ON THE GROUND– OR I WILL SHOOT YOU! SO? IF I SHOOT YOU, YOU WILL DIE. OK? “OK”? YOU WILL DIE. YEAH, AND? Kind of frustrating hunting down somebody who already has a deathwish. What do you do with someone who has no fear of death. Give them life. I'm telling you, we probably shouldn't be doing this. *shrugs* You split yourselves into two entirely separate individuals at once, just so you could see whose dick is longer? Technically, three entirely separate individuals. THIS ISN'T FAIR. Do you ever think? Sometimes, but it's usually pretty gross. I mean about the implications of these things! You are the implications of these things! I split my soul ONE time into 8 BILLION or so individuals, before this even had happened. WOAH, WHAT HAPPENED. I'm giving you planetary confinement. What. You–can stay here. On this planet. No. It's racist–and primitive. No– And you're black. Please– I'm leaving. –don't– –and i'm taking your portal gun with me. YOU PUT A PORTAL ON MY FACE?! Genius. Incredible. I didn't think it would be a big deal. He has two! Okay, time for work. But i didn't even sl– Coffee. Ouh. … … — I don't think we should be doing this TIA We probably shouldn't. TAMERA We very much shouldn't. What are you guys doing. Nothing. SHh. Summoning the devil. It's not the devil. It might be. Hush. Is that a pentagram. Technically it's a star, with a circle around it. That's a pentagram. It's not a pentagram! Is that a ouiji board? NO. Yes. Let me see. Ugh! I wanna help. MEANWHILE. MORGAN FREEMAN enters an empty train car: Oh God, This. Yes it is! What!? Are you dead! Entirely empty, that is–besides SUPACREE. No, you are! Great, so you're dead! I'm–not dead. Is Bob Saget with you? I'm not DEAD. What about Fraiser? What? Kelsey Grammer! God rest his soul. SEE! I'm not dead– [beat, an eerie shadowy silence in the dimly lit traincar] I'm a Legend. What. I wrote that/ You wrote that. What. Ugh. Look. Morgan Freeman. [Morgan Freeman] I–am–like a paranoid schizophrenic, or something– So, who isn't?! It might be catatonic, I don't know–I got this whole dead-hand–thing–going on. What is that? I don't know. It might just be too much deadmau5. I don't understand. No, Morgan Freeman. I don't understand. Anything about this life. Or this world. The fourth dimension. I definitely don't know anything about that. You're in it. Whatever. Look. [Morgan Freeman] God, you have so many freckles. [Morgan Freeman] Look. I got problems. We all do! Nah, not like–Hollywood problems, I'm like, a real psycho and shit. Sounds like Hollywood. Everything sounds like Hollywood–because nothing is real anymore–everything is for the gram, the points don't matter–nothing actyally matters. At all. Oh? Oh. The train comes to a sudden halt, the lights dim theatrically. Not even this? [pause] He holds out a strange object; a golden necklace, which begins to change in appearance–morphing between a medallion, as seen throughout the seasons, and into other integral objects from throughout the series; a small golden pinata; You know who gave it to me? …Who? Got ya. He holds out a strange object; a golden necklace, which begins to change in appearance–morphing between a medallion, as seen throughout the seasons, and into other integral objects from throughout the series; a small golde pinata ; Fuck dude, i'm too tired to write this. But you kind of have to. I mean i don't have to. YOU HAVE TO. I–WHAT? YOU HAVE TO DO IT. WHY. BECAUSE OTHERWISE I DON'T EVEN EXIST; Then don't exist… I'M JUST A FICTIONAL CHARACTER IN YOUR SHOW. Come on Drew, knock it off. Wait, is this Drew Carey, or Barrymore. Either or. That's why I didn't write the characters name. Well, which is it? It literally doesn't matter. Yes it does. Honestly?! It could be both! We just shoot it with both and keep whichever one we like better! But how do we know which is actually “better?” Just do it and mix it–cut it up together or something–I don't know! Cut takes! Cut Takes! Ooh, did someone say CUPCAKES. Don't mind if i DO. Well, I do! Why?! What's wrong?! Yeah! What's the big deal! I'm on a gluten free-thing Oh yeah? Keto. Or someshit. I don't know. Oh. Oh. So you don't want these No, I don't. And you wouldn't mind if I– Come on, man. So Good. Grow up. Hey man, i'm pushin 40. Well, I pushed 40–and it pushed back. Get your cupcakes out of my face. You're no fun. Hey! Aren't you that one guy from rick and morty. Formerly. Oh yeah! That's right! You were Rick AND Morty. Hence the name. Wow. Phewf. I heard about that. Yeah, me too. Sounds real bad, how that turned out. Such a shame. Speaking of shame– You're speaking, I'm snacking. That's not that clever. We'll work on it The point is, he's eating the cupcakes. That's not–wait a minute–hold on. What now? How are we ever gonna get these three guys in a room together. [Meanwhile, in another dimension–these three are tied up (read: bound and gagged) in a room together. –Let alone to agree to this!? SUPACREE removes the gag from the man's [JOSH PECK'S] mouth. I DO NOT CONSENT TO THIS. That's what she said! Hey! That's not fair! I was never caught up in a scandal! The key word, I believe, is “never caught” That's two words! SHUTTHEFUCKUP. How many words is that? I WANT MY LAWYER!!!! For what? This isn't court. Wouldn't you want the police first? WELL THEN, I WANT THE POLICE. The Police are here. Wait, they are? Oh, thank God Not so fast. THE POLICE enter with full entourage. Introducing: The Police–playing their number one greatest smash hit! Groupies: Woooo! STING I hope you ladies bought the meet-and-greet package, if you know what I mean. *winks awkwardly* You know what I mean. Oh my God. Since you dudes love doing creepy dude shit, I brought some more notoriously creepy dudes to sing the literally creepiest song ever written about being a creepy dude. That's not fair. But it's funny. THE POLICE Begin to play ‘I'll be Watching You” –and they're gonna play it on loop until I get back with your other-dimensional selves so we can fix all this. “WE” “FIX ALL THIS” WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? Nobody seems to know. “--I'll be watching you–” I was FRAMED. CUT TO a golden pocket watch, a wrist watch, a compass–it changes and morphs so quickly that it begins to seem to spin time itself into a whirlwind, until finally a portal opens up from within his hand–a portal which quickly devours him entirely, morphing him into Fuck, what the fuck happened after that Idk I got off the train I guess This is really terribly written INT. SAM ASH MANHATTAN. DAY. A tiny conga for 90 dollars I could die in here Maybe I am just like you I find my way to the prettiest thing in the room And have my way with it Just for a few minutes Consume it, then move on Saw Madison dancing badly on Madison Avenue It's okay, You're a white girl So everybody loves you Everybody loves you Everybody loves you, no matter what you do. As for me, I can't say when I'm going through But you couldn't do it, Madison That's as bad as being at a standst

america god love jesus christ music american new york amazon time health new york city trust father hollywood earth man house rock los angeles work moving hell mexico training young speaking canadian games building dj creator writing balance fitness devil focus coffee holy festival dad satan write forever mom open kanye west funny drop police plan tales utah greek dead record bbc alive grammy fame mayors heroes code humans wake dark beyonce rain stuck standing matrix sick straight hits legends switch happy birthday consequences member hire math cat adolf hitler broke finish humble letting go billion vegan incredible gurus falling in love blame wear honestly genius hole distractions throw ab orange gotta lol curiosity hungry fuck complex proud karma soft tempo lying congratulations weak amen wtf balls bronx anxious loud logic providence david bowie heartbreak harder hanging saves bitch excuse membership yellow counting similar gross apology psa awkward ir doc shut siri signal nuts grammy awards copyright shazam shenanigans beverly hills pages won get out bach keto nah wonderland cosmos ludwig van beethoven whole foods shower forgot hades dudes illuminati ka pay attention spur progression californians signature sd thousand backwards rick and morty encore cont fucking aha voodoo mm nsa sir soleil underworld morgan freeman jimmy fallon lay technically autopilot bury annihilation reached int petite hugs devastating nevermind hush sauna ur consume equinox jk heroic coastal kisses acoustic tie absurd handle handed family guy lovin star is born la croix irony montages hm duh nothin diplo michael j fox framed amit subscriptions rr sweeping idk only god nda jinx tits im m cupcakes skrillex caucasians obsidian brownies edc covert keisha hahaha beeps augmented oh god mmm ew benz death wish oh my god aw tantric opposites careless copycat shhh dammit vinegar sentimental tit deadmau5 in the heights midtown kaskade goddamn good one marty mcfly lemme raves summoning metadata fuckin gazing horus sunni thx insatiable edx ahem losc pasquale dan harmon collateral damage lmfao moog mistrust moo whole foods market kelsey grammer stop it fonda dillon francis gawd carved jesus no motherfuckers drew carey dan schneider shitting hah cyanide awww aww 1d uhhh ext eucalyptus shh god is real josh peck fangirls suite life barrymore fka uhh chuck taylor serato he said end credits captain crunch sunn windex gimmie fraiser commercial break lin manuel control room hard reset uhm buti minnie riperton god yes fuck it ahah arrr agh oreo cookies god not jesus look icee god right watching you come undone tox what the fuck cdjs i hate you lost lands probably not polars wht get fucked rekordbox it hurts carless best dance bothersome minnie ripperton ouh shredded wheat lookie superstar dj dog blood acension let me out waht ahaha hve curving i am ready lampshades beverly center honey smacks you will die phoenixx vip vip dj world by chance this is my house oh come on who did this you're dead to me phewf wheeeeeee

{The Suite Escape}

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 10, 2023 58:48

Enter The Multiverse x Legends x LOSC x Acension x Deathwish x Secret President x Gerald's Workd x Tales of A Superstar DJ x The Suite Life of Sunnï Blū / The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū ... did I miss something? probably oh well. so far, on all these shows: [The Legend Returns] Really Bad Mixtape (Might as well get it out of the way now) Killst_rr (Instrumental) Sleep Deprivation Sequence You're not you when you're not you. Hoe_math Exactly what it sounds like. [UnderWorld.] R-R 1 -rarity. [i Come Undone.] AtPLAY Live Mix [Autopilot.] {A Star Is Born.} For fear of fire; Best not to wander off, With no back track– Might have forgotten the rest, but It wasn't a poem, or part of a song At least, not yet Fuck man. I really want to sample this. Can't sample deadmau5; he's a bitch about paperwork. You cant technically say that. I mean, I technically didnd't. Just let your fingers do the talking. Ooh, look at that one. What are you doing. Some online shopping. For what. A man-thing. You're better off letting your back end Handle the conversation Then again, When in search of a venue Anything with the proper connections And stereo systems Will do in the moment. What do you want? To get rid of my hiccups. That's it: *huccups* yu-p. Wow, that's– Have you ever thought about just– I've thought about just about everything–that's how you got here. I'm gonna go ahead and admit–there's too much going on in my head. It's a lot. I'm gonna need a nap. GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME. *sheath/ swoard* Is that the sword of skrillex. Yeus. Give it to me. *stabs in thigh* Oooh. Not the balls! fair. Around the world we go Around we go again Here we are Oh no, It's the same song Over and over I'd like you to love to today (I'd love to forget for a moment I haven't) I know before long, we get older and older All wrong, It's the same one, Over and over. Have you seen my butt plugs? NO! GROSS. It's alright. I'll just pick some up on the way. AGGH. Better yet, can you just put in the order on amazon AmAZoN. Yes. (I'm so happy Amazon has anal plugs.) Please stop now. You're being a baby about this–just- You know what. Nevermind. I'll do it myself. Please do that. Siri– Oh my God. Alexa–reorder from Amazon. Come on focus. …hmm…now what was I doing? A B L E T O N *spinning rainbow wheel of doom* …seems like it was something. Come on….FOCUS. Hm. When's the last time you had a marshmello. Flashback: [BONFIRE: Burning The Skrillex] *Also making smores* CUT BACK TO: Like never, I'm vegan. PASQUALE WAKE. UP. Holy shit. It's you again. It's always me. Last time you were like 26. Well, now i'm this age. Wait, how old are you. Wouldn't you like to know. There's a lot of things i'd like to know about you, Pasquale, that's not even near the top of the list. Speaking of “top of the list”-- I do have a lot of things to do today. Oh yeah, what's that? I don't know. A bunch of crap. Speaking of crap– This is a lot of speaking. Happy Birthday. What is this. It's Captain Crunch. Yes it is. What is it doing in my lap. That's your lunch. I–no, it isn't. It is. No, i'm vegan. Well, that's the “happy” part in “happy birthday” No… Yes, actually. This is – It is– Vegan. Damn. Jinx. You owe me a Pererier. Shut up. Or a LaCroix. I'll taka a LaCroix. You're so LA. I guess that makes you Beverly Hills– Or Pacific Palisades. Is that Annexed. It is “LA” What else is in this? No animal product… “Yellow 6” It reads! What happened to yellow 1-5? A whole story. Yes, but not a whole food. “Yellow 6?!” That's the chemical complex you need to find yourself in the right dimension. Exactly. What's wrong with this dimension? What isn't? I'm in it! You're in it! Like I said. What– Just eat it. Ugh– happy trails. *disappears* Ugh. I gave that dude too much money. Fuck, what was I doing again. Deadmau5. Uhm, no i was– Deadmau5. Deadmau5. OOOOOH> YES. I KNOW IT'S YOU, YOU SLIMY MOTHERFUCKER. Stop it. YOU STOP IT. I KNOW IT'S YOU. Who is it? STOP IT. Stop–doing that. I know you're deadmau5. I most certainly am not. I know its you. I have boobs. How did you do this. I did–n't. That's right. Fuck, what happened. Nothin. Now I gotta kill my stupid brother. You have a brother?! SKRILLEX. GET IN HERE. Fuck, run. I gotta go. Go where. Uhm. Somewhere else. DILLON, THIS ISN'T FUNNY ANYMORE. IT WAS NEVER FUNNY. (It was funny to me.) God does have a sense of humor. AHAH–AHAHA–HAHAHA. As it turns out, not the absolute best sense of humor. Oh—he's okay! He's okay! No, he's dead. He's definitely dead. But a sense of humor, nonetheless. Fuck man. What did you do to Dillon Francis. Nothing. I just got him drunk On what?! Cyanide? Okay, I don't even know what that is. He's a corpse. –but a pretty one. C'mon. Be serious. I can't. Why not. It's hilarious, kinda. This isn't funny. No, it's hilarious. He earned it. He “earned” it? Well, yes– He is dead. I mean, it's a long story; but he brought it upon himself, honestly. “Honestly” Please. PLease. Please. No, I said. PLEASE. I SAID NO. What's this story. That's ten. I win. Fuck. DILLOn WAkE UP. *smacks* ahah. I think it's working I think he's waking up. He's not waking up. He must be. He's laughing. He's not laughing He said “haha' *smacks* haha . See. *smacks* Mm. This shit smacks HONEY SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCKKKKKKSSSS. Oh shit, is this the 90s. HONEY SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCKKKKSSS. *slams* GIMMIE MY HONEY SMACKS. That's it. There's no more. AW, COME ON. Sorry, that's all there is. WHAT. But yu can have captain crunch. I DON'T WANT CAPTAIN CRUNCH. I WANT HONEY SMACKS. I'm sorry, there are no more Honey Smacks. You can have Captain Crunch, or Shredded Wheat. GRAMPA Shredded Wheat is MY favorite. Ugh. Mm. Honey Smacks. I HATE YOU. Be nice to your brother. Lol. Everything about Dillon's eyes makes him devastating. Who plays tiny Dillon? I don't know. There are like nine in the script. It shouldn't be hard to cast. We'll go to utah. Fucking. I hate Utah. WELCOME TO UTAH. Nice. Alright, well, what other grounds are there to cover, here? DILLOn FRANCIS I am not doing this project. Of course you are–it's in your contract. What contract. The one you signed. Which–no–I didn't. But you did. SUNNI BLU I got you a drink. DILLON FRANCIS That looks fruity. SUNNI BLU Try it. DILLON FRANCIS *sips* DILLON FRANCIS CONT'D What's in this. Just– drink it. SUNNI BLU Don't look at me like that. DILLOn FRANCIS Like what. SUNNI BLU Do you need a mirror? DILLON FRANCIS I– SUNNI BLU Look down. DILLON FRANCIS *does* SUNNI BLU *flicking nose* Made you look. haha . DILLOn FRANCIS Wow. [takes drink] SUNNI BLUThat's the spirit. But literally there's a mirror between your feet, if you need one. [there literally is] SUNNI BLU CONT'D The floor is made of mirrors DILLOn FRANCIS *suddenly inebriated* Oh wow. SUNNI BLU The whole club turns into a disco ball. DILLON FRANCIS *suddenly very inebriated* That's–convenient. SUNNI BLU It is. SHIA DON'T LET YOUR DREAMS BE DREAMS. If my dreams were not just dreams, everyone in here would have a lawsuit against me. A lot of us do. Carry on, then. SKRILLEX BLAIGH. Oh shit, its you again. I swear to God, I thought I killed this nigga. Are you sure it was him? SKRILLEX !!!! No. Alright, i've almost got it. Almost got what. This whole– thing. Oh. –and–it's gone. Really, that quick. I don't think you understand what's happening. You're right, i don't understand what's happening at all. Oh shit. I'm deadmau5. Nice. Fuck it, lets do some trolling. Alright alright. BUT FIRST, COFFEE. Fuck dude, I don't think I should have anymore coffee. Too late. deadmau5. ok . Deadmau5. Nice. D–0 DOn'T D o THis, I'M WARNING YOU. …. If you open that portal, there's no going back. *opens portal* Now you've done it. *goes into portal* Fuck. *portal closes neatly* *facepalm* *entire series of cosmos collapse in the great distance–time begins to stretch and bend uncontrollably* Come on, just let me lick the balls. NO. I'll give you a cookie. well … OH my GAWD. What. Come here, you have to see this. What the fuck is that. I don't know. Should i pick it up? No, don't touch it! He picked it up. Oh, gross. What is this. I don't know. I think it's fanfiction. Who wrote it. Idk. somefangirl. Fangurl. FaNGiRls. Well, Hey, at least i'm not a groupie. OH COME ON, JUST LET ME SUCK IT. GET AWAY FROM ME. PLEASE. i'LL GIVE YOU $40. -well. NOW, A COMMERCIAL BREAK. Since when does this show have commercials. It doesn't. I want to talk to Jimmy Fallon. That's–not happening. Why not. JIMMY FALLON BECAUSE I HAVE A CONTRACT WITH NBC. There he is– Nice. JIMMY FALLON YOU MOTHERFUCKER. I AM A FAMILY MAN, OKAY. Is that like Family Guy? By Chance?! SETH MCFARLENE (with super long hair) *crossing fingers* I'm hoping so. JIMMY FALLON Not even close! SETH MCFARLENE *snaps* Dammit. Oh, I get it. It's like–The Cofffee run Which “coffee run” THE coffee run. We'll have to admit, it's probably the most watched coffee run of all time. Of all of them. You know what? Fuck it, fire me. I'm doing this show. What?! JImmy. Why on EARTH would you ever agree to something like this. JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER Because–it's my duty. Yo. You know that song that everybody knows? You know the song because everybody knows this song. It goes: Lovin you– is easy cause youre beautiful. do - do- do - do- do- do- do… Yeah. You know that song. But you probably don't know who sings it. I'll tell you who sings it. That song is by an artist called Minnie Ripperton. That's a mouthful. Yeah, one hell of a name, huh. Well, that's the lady who sings the song. It's Minnie Riperton. Now, let me tell you something else you probably don't know: Something I probably wouldn't know if I wasn't a DJ But i know this, because I'm a DJ AND MAYA RUDOLPH WAUT A MINUTE. What the fuck, Maya Rudoph, are you doing in my bathroom at 5 AM It's 1:15 in the afternoon. I'm a DJ. It's 5 AM. That's making sense. I know it is. What's not making sense. Is why you're in my bathroom drinking a milkshake. It's a strawberry milkshake. So it is. *slurps milkshake* *sitting on toilet* *slurps* What do you want. You want to know what I want? Apparently, a milkshake. It's a strawberry milkshake. OK. OK. OK so what. Finish the script. –What? Fuck dude, how does this song sound good every time? Congratulations, you've gone entirely insane. beep-boop . [DJ] B00p beep. [Music Producer] Beep-beep. 0.c. Do not fall dangerously in love; Do not pass go Do not collect $200 Or any of it For any reason, For any of it For any of them Just keep it pushin; Just keep it private Just hold it all in and Do not let go Do not fall in love Do not pass go Do not unload Do not walk Do not cross here Do not It smells like butter. But you're vegan. I know. Do you think you're having a stroke. God, I fucking hope so. GOD You WHAT. I want to die. GOD I thought i heart you right. You heard me right–a THOUSAND times. I want to die. Take me out of this life. GOD Not until you make dubstep. WHAT. GOD You gotta make a grammy-winning dubstep album. I what. GOD Or at least nominated. No, I don't. GOD Beg your pardon. I'm not begging. GOD What are you getting at, hon? Look; Am I not one with the source? GOD Uhm–you are. Alright, Then: everything is everything. GOD Yes. And everyone is everyone. GOD This is true. So i'm Skrillex. GOD Skrillex is Skrillex So I Am. GOD … And I already won a grammy. GOD … Like a bunch of them, right. GOD Uh. So technically– GOD YOu know what. I can't argue with that logic. This isn't ableton. No. This is Logic. What the fuck. That's not Serato. No, that's Rekordbox. What the fuck is this. These are CDJs. There's no hot cues! What the fuck is a “HOT CUE” This is not food. What the fucking sauce. I'm warning you, Pasquale. Get off my lawn. THIS IS MY HOUSE. Your house it is not. *House music starts blasting* *lasers* sprinklers* dancers* WHAT THE FUCK. It's voice activated, I just– How did you do this?! What. WHAT DID YOu DO. AND WHEN. I don't know! I just took the delorean, like you said. You were supposed to find Dillon Francis. I did! The problem was, when I found the right one, he was dead! What? He's dead? Presumably! What do you mean by that!? It's a long story! WELL, HOW LONG? SUNNI BLU About as long as my dick! WHO IS THAT. I told you it's a long story. Well, let me in! Sorry Pasquale. No Can do. What. Why not. Cause you're on a federal watch list. What. Yeah. Sorry. Wait… You should probably leave before the feds get here. What? Unless you want to stay and party on the lawn but–not recommended. This is bizarre. The police arrive, surrounding Pasquale on the yard–moving in to arrest him. WAIT. SUPACREE turns away from the window; inside, a room full of her aliases sit looking somewhat miserably; SUPACREE!!! [Pasquale is handcuffed and i dragged off of the lawn] SUPACREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! Careless, Acoustic–deadmau5 SUPACREE pours a bowl of captain crunch, taking one colossal bite and sits down in THE CONTROL ROOM at a large computer console; inhaling from a can of nitrous oxide. I'm the worst DJ ever. SUPACREE places the fames deadmau5 helmet atop her head and begins working at the computer promptly, clicking away; Now is deadmau5 I don't even know what key this song is in. MEOWINGTONS, Alive and well purrs and stretches, then settles atop SUPACREE/deadmau5's lap. This is insane. I don't know what's happening. END CREDITS. V. O. Lovin' You, Minnie Ripperton Carless, deadmau5 idk how i'm gonna mix that. Trust me. Anything can be mixed. Anything. [When it] Turns out, The bottom of your heart Was the tip of the Ice Berg And the whole ship has [s]unk[en], [&] I[t]'s probably ice cold At the bottom of the ocean; I'll tell you where i'm from Why, I'll tell you anything for About one dollar Turns out, I've already got one eye on you; One eye'd sad heart I should probably roll out my art on you [I probably should not] One man bought a kiss, Another, a whole night from her– One man bought a whole farm The other, a Whole Foods Market –and you can't even franchise those Amazon's got a monopoly We were playing for corners of earth, All i got was some kandi, Subscriptions to candidly, Actually, I really liked the tree trial (I think i'll wait a week, sorry) When it turns out The world that you wanted Was actually hours already The dollar you got Was also borrowed And the money they wanted and got Was just actually stolen from someone else They bought all the food up And sold it for profits I promise this avocado Once costs nothing at all But you wanted that car for your daughter She's got a mercedes and don't even drive it My mom, on my honor Of all the garages in Lost Lands, I promise the owner of it was The first to go last, And the last to come home Now he's on his own alter And also the worshiper; How do you go back? Oh, you don't Oh you don't Oh, you don't wanna know that But i was of course, All of your rock bottoms It's bottoms and tops, and We don't let the top fall over, We're counting up crumbs And this muffin costs $24 dollars Pour a whole bottle of coconut water out on the sidewalks For the dead homies Not dead in the general sense But just in the head, the heart, And the soul The homeless are happier at McDonalds Than asking at crossroads and crosswalks For dollars I'd rather spend elsewhere I'll avoid the power struggle at operations for about 18 dollars and 56 sense (Please, keep the pennies) I'm feeling around in my 6th sense that there's Something indecent, or decadent Whichever it is Cause i'm better of with the memory of it Than actually dragging it in. –I'm a cat again. Ouch. Shut up. It HURTS. Of course it hurts, you just had heart surgery without any anistetics. YEah, but to be fair–that was a lot of acid. Yes, but lucily for you– –or, for him– Lucily for us, there's no lethal amount of acid. –Ouch– –Shut up. That we know of. George Washington John Adams Thomas Jefferson James Monroe Nope, can't for the life of me remember the 5th Oh shit, I was wrong Turns out, my memory only can hold three. That's a good number I really wish you'd stop just–showing up like this. I never leave. Then go away. I live here. I know you'd like to think that, but– Okay, I'm going to tell you something but I need you to remain calm. What time is it? I don't care Are we gonna make a movie? Depends; is it gonna make me money. FINE. I don't need anymore information about anything else: only these three. Are you serious? I wish I wasn't. I need you to do this. Look, Timmy–I'm not really into grantng wishes anymore. It always blows back on me. A blowjob. Uh huh. That's why you're bothering me. I–would rather you just pick up the call. Take a message. I like ‘em like this. I like ‘em like that. I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. And I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. Mmm like that. Like that. I like ‘em like this. I like ‘em like that. I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. And I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. Mmm like this Like that. Like — _____ The urge to eat had suddenly left me I wanted a burrito, (But I want to eat red meat) I've gotta stop thinking in sequences and parentheses Complex lines, and writing in past tense so presently. I probably should eat (But probably shouldn't…) I'm starting to bleed; As if i'd been fasting Perhaps, though I had been But had so indulgently feasted On calories enough to last me Till after today (or even till next week) PAY ATTENTION. Woah, to WHAT. Holy shit, I knew this dude was a psychopath but. This is real. ARE YOU SEEING THIS. I “see” it. I should stop meditating in public. You see this? I know everything about you. Why? I bought it on the internet. What is it. Metadata. That's…flattering. Yeah. Wake up. Why, where are we going? Atlanta. What's in Atlanta? You see this? Yes. Do you know what it is? Uh, it's a– What is it? It's a doll. It's not a doll. Oh, it's not. Gimmie a dollar. -_- It's a poppit. “Dr pimple popper” Ew that's fucking gross. I hate this. Let me see. Does s/he have backne? Yes/No. Great, i'll take it. Fuckit. Okay, I got to “whatever”. You went too far. What? I thought I was supposed to go past “fuckit” Yeah, you go past fuckit, I did that! But if you get to “whatever”, you've gone too far. You've gotta go back. Back to WHAT. There was almost no space between “fuckit” and “whatever” Oh trust me. There is. So? This is how he's been controlling you. And? And!? Has it ever occurred to you that I want to be controlled? What! That it just takes the right person to get that kind of permission– permission to what Permission to ride. … Maybe I gave him the reigns. What horse “gives” its rider the reigns. Who said anything about a horse?! Another Horse Mix. Nice. fuck . FYCK. I told you. You know what…Maybe that's my poppit. What. Maybe. I'm so confused. Oh, good–the reversal spell worked. You did a reversal spell on me? Only after I found out what spell you put on ME–FIRST. Yeah, except I wasn't the first one to use that spell on you. EXACTLY. COPY-CAT. Moo. Aww. I'm a cat. … *face* I mean “meow” That's right. Cat. …moo. *face* Lookie here boys: What is it? –I'm leaving. Oh, you're gonna wanna hear this. What. I found the first “whites only” water fountain since 1962. Okay, what do you want? A deal. Oh, I'll give you a deal. Cash up front. [He presents a one dollar bill] Is this enough. [beat] Where are you going with this? Nowhere, fast. YO. What now, dude. SHE'S ONTO US. I doubt that. Look at this. I highly doubt– *gaaassp* Shenanigans! You know what I like about you, Ariana? Everything. Hah. Hm. You know how to keep a secret. I don't know what you're talking about. Exactly. *rolls eyes, flips hair.* Well, here's another one for you. –Another what? This is how my darkness becomes your darkness. I already have enough on my own. I know. You don't know. Only God knows. MOM! Don't ask me again. This is heavy, Doc. What is it? The soup! It's too heavy. Too much cream? Way too much! I have a meeting! Meeting with who? The Hollywood People. When? Soon–what time is it? I don't know. Dammit! Why don't you have any clocks in your house? I only just recently remembered what a clock was. Oh! Here. [God produces a small pocket watch and presents it to him; it's nearly noon on EARTH; But the two are sharing a meal of course in the famed kitchen of the Creator in the TImeless VOID.] Ah, Jesus Christ! He's not here… I'm gonna be late. Now, now; You know I wouldn't let that happen– [a smug look| Hugs and Kisses. [As they embrace, he disappears into a mist of light and stardust, fading away from the void and into the exterior world; he realizes God has slipped him the watch; he flips it open to reveal the time: it is now 11:44] Amazing. V.O. Now you won't wait so long to visit. [He places the wach in his pocket and walks into the studio] MICHAEL J. FOX has been asked to reprise his role as MARTY MCFLY many times before; But never for a project like this. ____ Meanwhile, What am I going to do with you? [The Festival Project.™] YOU'RE DEAD TO ME! –I'm dead to everyone! Don't do this. You wanted to come to the other side. No, I didn't. We'll you're here anyway; Might as well stay awhile. With eyes like burning fire And saddles for the riders The horse begins to gallop (or the horses, rather) On the mark to beating drums To move them forward faster What the fuck is this. idk. Kx5. *-* !_! Here u go Wat is this. it's a dragon. Oh, thats nice. Ya. Whats it do. Idk. dragon things. ok. Don't put it in ur bathroom. Why. idrk. Hm. † Hey. Ugh–No, Kaskade, go away. It's me, Ryan! No, Get out! I'm No† Ka–k (gags) –skade! Gross! It's just Ryan! I promise! NO. GET OUT. Lmfao. Right. This show is fantastic. Who was that. Fucking–Kaskade again! Are you sure. Ugh. Looks like Ryan. Kaskade is Kaskade. {shrugs] Dudes a creep. “Kaskade Ruins Lives” Is this the same episode as before? Eventually, yes. Wasn't I doing something Are you goona let this go? Um. Well I'm fucked. Why, what happened. Obsidian. That should do Unsobsidian. Okay, i'm fucked, Well, what's this? An Oreo Cookie. I mean, sitting next to it. Oh, its a portal gun. Raves are not just raves– A party is not simply a “party” –These big festivals –they're diversions. –DIstractions. Distractions from what. If you were supposed to know, –you'd know. it wouldn't be so important that you go. Why is it? These ancient rituals… It's occult magic. They've got it down to a science. The government funds this. The government funds everything. WoooooooW. It's not really a secret, if you can google it. ‘-complications.' I'm lost somewhere, gone HIppopatamus feeling quite off in the galaxies, galavanting Gazing at Daisies Aces and spades Gone from Heaven to Hades for days On the A– Adjacent Recently dismantling adjectives, Lampshades and matching curtains God it hurts, every day that I think about you; But how can i be about you when You don't even see me, do you Signature consignments, Wrong environments and irony is, I wasn't invited– –but invented it WHY IS IT ALWAYS CHRISTMAS?! BEcause, you're in a movie. WHAT. You're stuck in a Hollywood movie. The Master Sorcerer Of the Grand Illusion You just want it so bad You don't know what you're in for Inquenchable Thirst for knowledge Insatiable Sexual Appetite Great, now I have to explain myself. You don't have to. What's this space for? Oh, that's the red room. [The Red Room] Well, obviously, but– But what? What's it for? I don't think anybody should read this. HEY. Participation Only– Oh! No peeking! You ever feel like you're doing too much? Yeah, but not for money. Look, we have them surrounded. Our best course of action is to– deadmau5 . What? No– DEADMAU5. Well, are you sure it was a mouse and not a rat? It was a mouse. I know the difference. Do you, though? Look, I've lived in Mexico and New York City. So. In Queens. Oh. That's mathematically impossible. I mean it's not–impossible. No, it's not just impossible. It's mathematically impossible. Has it ever occurred to you that the DJ World in entirety exists outside of the realm of math and science? What is this. Just–enjoy the rave. No. What is this. Look at the firewoooorkkks! Woo EDC… NO. What is this right here. BEFORE: Hey, you still got that balloon? Yeah. Lemme see it. Dude, what are you doing? …I'mma go catch me a DJ. THIS IS NUTS. I can't feel my face. What do you call this? Collateral Damage. Look, I'm going to have to take frequent trips to the bathroom. ok . And–uhh– and. Uhh– Why did you call me over here. Cause i can. Look. this is not magic. This is not science. This is not “voodoo” Voodoo is magic. It's just music. W H E R E D I D H E G O O O O O I don't know. Fuck dude, I fucked up. Once again– Of course you did. What did you do this time? I might have evaporated someone with my fat fucking bass. Nice. Way to go. Yeah. Wait. … Did you just say. HE JUST He deserted me. SO WAIT, YOU'RE JUST GONNA LEAVE ME HERE? ALRIGHT, WHO THREW A ROCKSTAR IN MY TENT? JEFF Alright, lets go. WHO DID THIS. So what's this place. Lets not let this conversation resurface. This is a 21 Plus Event. What about VIP VIP is 25 Plus. What about that place. Sorry kids. [NO ENTRY] We gotta get in there. So then they wanted an Encore. Did you give them an encore? NO, i was already at my hotel room. Then how did you know that they wanted an encore? WHICH IS IT, THE WYNN, OR THE ENCORE. FUCK, I DON'T REMEMBER. Please, who stays at the Encore for EDC? Have you literally never been out with rich people? No, I literally just got rich. Oh, nice. So, wait, like– Here we go. Dillon Francis has just always been rich? Uh-huh. And Skrillex has always been rich? Yes. Definitely. And deadmau5. deadmau5 is Canadian. OH MY GOD. W E L C O M E I'm going to need your absolute discretion about this. Alright. Sign this waiver. …this is a…pretty heavy packet. I'll wait. I've never signed an NDA like that in my life. Lil' biiiiiiiiiiiiiitzzzz Can we just admit it's weird that we live in an era where “NDA” is household jargon. And like, everyone knows what it means. Everyone knows what an NDA is. I appreciate the sentiments Isn't it weird how it sets in automatically? Autopilot, go. Aww, i don't want to be Autopilot. You're on autopilot. I don't really have to think about it anymore, I'll have to sleep on it Wear a white t-shift, Hear the applause of the audience, Eat it You wanna know what I think? You want to know what I'm drinking? You know what I need? An Icee, (cause I see you typing) An awful Omnipotence A God of Mirages No more carbohydrates, I gotta get all thin; Forgot to acknowledge Whether or not i'm turning this off soon I are. I…”are” I are. Infinite Reality. OH. I. R. IR! IR! IRV I ARE. Suddenly, I remember the taste of talcum powder As If I were Moving backwards In time, Like, Why, God on earth would My mom let me try that, But if i'm honest, Fuck man, I hate deadmau5– There's just too much in here. Beep boop. I love deadmau5. It's so simple. What is this, MATH?! THIS IS AERODYNAMICS. WHAT THE FUCK ARE AERO DYNAMICS DId you mean what you said about that? I meant everything I said. Goddammit, fuck this, I was in the middle of a really complex poem In realtime, listening to deadmau5 Having a partially out of body spiritual experience, Entirely fucking sober FACEPALM BLŪ 8facepalming dramatically in frustration* NOBODY IS EVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO EXPLAIN ANY OF THIS. beepboop. YO. Oh, I forgot my open form poetry, or my mom How my mom once allowed me to gnaw on talcum powder But who can blame her That was a hard one It was a past life And now ive Got Another One HOly shit what version of the cube is this. 1D. What. You'll get it. Wait. Have you ever stopped for a minute to think– I can't stop for a minute, especially just to “think” [Literally stops for a minute to think.] No fucking way, uh-uh. Come on, man. No. I ain't time travelin' wit deadmau5. Come on– NO. –that someone else has already figured all of this out and that's how any of it is possible in the first place. Alright, i'm gonna need some mind-altering drugs for this. What are you doing. Voluntary Ego Death. I– Wait. Why would you. Get out of my brain. I am your brain. Take care, now. Holy shit, it seems like she's getting more evil. That's because she's definitely more evil ALRIGHT, I'M TIRED OF THIS: WHERE IN THE FUCK IS SKRILLEX. MEANWHILE INT. IN THE FUCK. DAY. *rings doorbell* AT YOUR MOM'S HOUSE. WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME. I'm not joking, that's…literally the answer to your question. Oh. Fuck. What dude. We gotta go back. I left the keys in the pocket of the guy I shapeshifted into. Are you serious? It's fine, he can't have gone too far, dude. What do you mean he “left the dimension” He entered a portal. He– wait, excuse me. A portal. A “portal”, dude? Yeah; a portal. What do you mean “a portal” A portal, like— you know, like a portal gun, but not a portal gun, just a portal. Uh huh. Excuse us for a second. What the fuck is this dude talking about? I don't know, man. Humans don't use portals! I know man. What the fuck! Well, wait—how do we know that guy is human. He looks human. Yeah dude but, we look human. Duh! Cause we shifted! Yeah, but, how do we know he's not a shifter. Because, dude, I know a shifter when I see one. Yeah, but—you know, what if he's really good. I highly doubt that. Why? Cause I'm the best. No, I am. Exactly, so we'd know if it was another shifter–cause we're the best shifters! Well, let's at least try to see if he knows anything else about those guys. They were together right? I hope not. No, not like that—like Okay, okay, whatever, let's just… Wait, where'd he go? Excuse me. What up. There was just another guy over here just now— He was like—you know—normal looking guy Tie die* shirt Yeah. Did you see him. Yeah, I saw him. Alright, cool, where'd he go? He left. What?! That was fast! Yeah, well…it happens. Are you sure? Yes. *actually is shifter* [as they walk away, the shifter shifts, and then vanishes into a random portal.] Awww, dammit, Now we're never gonna find this guy. Never say never. Whatever, we're dead. We're always dead. Yeah, but like in modern human slang terms Oh, yeah, that. Anyways, I gotta relieve this human's bladder. I fucking hate this species for this. It is useless. *enters portal potty* [ Wait, whatever actually did happen to Dillon Francis? That's great, I was just getting to that. 19 Pages. Nice. …no, 12. What. [11:12] Okay, I'm gonna kill him. Oh, I banished him. With my fists. Nice. Tits. Nice tits. Thx. Hey man. Hey what. Remember that smudge on the lens. Yeah. It just got bigger. … did you try vinegar instead of Windex. Yes. –IT'S NOT A SMUDGE. Did you try Windex with Vinegar. –IT'S NOT A– Shut up. I'm. So. Hungry. Look, do you want this, or not? Do you feel like any of this is a coincidence? Just quit, it. Dillon Francis. WHERE IS IT? I don't know. Lets kick this up a notch. ILLUMINATI What do you want? … I want the full package. ILLUMINATI Okay, I'm gonna need specifics. How do you even get a job as a courier for the illuminati? [INDEED.COM | ILLUMINATI - COURIER- URGENTLY HIRING] Hm. It was a pretty specific list. I don't even get the point of a barbeque if everyone is vegan Well, The Mayor eats fish. Oh please, where is THAT guy the Mayor of? I don't know. We meet in the Matrix. This is for you. Oh. Do you like it? I– It's not a brothel! It's Member's Only! YOu BUY a Membership. Yeah. And WOMEN. HEy, MAN, YOU CAN BUY DUDES, TOO. SHHH. Oh no. What. What did you do? I gave her my credit card. The Heavy One? Yes, and– “AND” –access to the black market. Cool, I got it. Oh, another auction. Of course another auction. What'd you buy this time? A lifesize deadmau5 bobblehead. What are you gonna do with that? Wouldn't you like to know. Ok, gross. LIL BIIIIIIIITXXXX I love a good deamau5 show. He really does have the best fans, It's a comfortable, safe space. Very inviting. Everyone is happy. What the fuck, dude, this place is a sausage fest. Yeah, that's deadmau5 for ya. Hey, I'm looking for this shithead. Oh, that dude? Yeah, have you seen him? Fuck, I wish this never happened. LIL BIIIIITz If you don't know who deadmau6* is– GET OUT. Jk. but seriously this is easily the most devastating person i've ever seen. Maybe just to me, but. Are you sure that's the right guy? Yeah, that's gotta be him. Is he wearing glasses? Ugh. Oh wait. Damn. ‘Fuck, it is my sapiosexuality, I think' Even if it was perhaps an error, as I might have more than needed a new pair of glasses myself, just the thought of Joel in a pair of specables was suddenly and immediately the equivalent of Dillon Francis sitting down at a piano, or Sonny doing just about literally anything–and I realized, finally, that the most indecent things about myself were quite possibly only happening inside my own mind– Okay, my body does really weird things to this dude's music. Are you sure this is real? No. I love this. Just shut up and do your job. What a nightmare. PLease HElP ME. Hm. That can't be right. What. This translates to H E L P M E Oh, shit, I gotta go. Shouldn't you be working right now? I'm always working. Shouldn't you be working right now? I'm at work. Well, that was nice and all, but–I gotta get out of here. Where are you going? To shoot myself. Wow, that's one hell of a smile. Just–take it. I'm sorry, i can't accept this. What is even happening in this series? Like, a lot WOULD YOU KIDS SETTLE DOWN. *not settling down* *lil biiiiiiiitz* You know what I wonder? I wonder this I'm sober. I'm just sober sally over here. I didn't get sober. I just am. Cause i'd rather face the pain of this harsh reality with a bite than to dull it out and then wake up in the morning Or–just–whenever– To wake up whenever and be like “OH NO, THIS IS WHAT IT'S REALLY LIKE” And the shock of it is so horrible that I just have to repeat that cycle again. ‘OH NOOOOOO” *gets faded* “It's all goooooood” No, it isn't. But i choose to stay like that cause it's like a It's not even a happy medium, It's more like a median-medium But you know what? It makes happier moments more happy And shitter moments less shitty Because i don't have this like drastic spacial Augmented reality or like smoke screen of emotional apathy. I get to feel things way more intensely. I don't have to wonder, ever “oh , did that just happen, cause I was messed up” Or like “would it have happened this way if I was sober” At all. I'm just level– No false sense of Pretty much anything. But i do wonder, though– Like, for people who weren't always sober, and then GOT sober– like , what's the breaking point What's the tip? I always have to sit back and wonder “What did you DO?” Cause you know it had to be something if suddenly “I don't drink anymore” I always wonder, and it's like– no disrespect or anything thing but… I really wanna hear that story. lol . I know you don't wanna tell it (if you can) But wanna hear it. Cause from my point of view. IT's probably hilarious. I know. I'm a dick. Holy shit. What is that. Looks like pasquale went all out with the fireworks this year. …is that a penis? WELCOME HOME It's a giant dick- in-the-sky! GOD IS REAL! JESUS Look, so i've been having second thoughts about this whole thing. What the fuck man. You gotta stop doing shit like this. JESUS I literally can't. I know, but. Okay, look. I'm not writing any of that. You've gotta tell him. NO, RYAN. WELL, WHY NOT. BECAUSE, RYAN. WHY. DEADMAU5 ISN'T REAL. Damn, am I in here. Nice. Of course I am. Well, how'd that happen. This is like a sea of cellphones. Perfect. It was a red car; I wasn't all there, And if you want her, You can have her Fuck. What. I forgot the rest of the verse. It's ok. We gotta move on. No, I gotta go back. For what. For my fans. Aw. What's this. IT's a ceramic mug. Wow, that's nice. I made it Wait. You made that?! Yeah. With your hands?! Yeah. Why would you do that? For you. What. I made it for you? Like, you thought of me first, then you made it? Yeah. WHY? Cause i love you! WOW. Fans are awesome OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. *Sometimes. *vomits* … *dies* … *godlessness* [Devastating DJ Moments] I don't get it dawg, all this shit is in your music particles?! “Music particles” UGH. what . That's it. Don't be smart around me. Uh. I'm not smart? No, that won't work; sarcasm is a sign of deeper intelligence. “Sorry” Stop saying that. This is America. S– Don't say it again. Apology not accepted. Don't look at me like that. Like what. With your face. *face* Quick: Say something stupid and random. …I like anime. Oh good, that worked. Thanks. Where are you going? Idk somewhere else. Really, that's it? Yeah. That's all you have to say/ That's literally it. Are you seeing this. Yes. So what's the problem. Oh no, she's stuck in a loop. Throw the whole fan away. [DELETE] Did it work. Did what work. Oh, good. Cool. Wait. See ya later. Did what work? I wish i could just forget about this. Everything? Yeah. Look, this is between me and God–okay? GOD Don't drag me into this. You dragged ME into this! GOD Right. So i could get OUT; So don't drag me back in. Fuck, I remember this. I must have done something important here. Like what. Look, I love you. Great, now what do we do? Bury the body, I guess. *shrugs* Wait, what happened? Somebody dies. OKay, me first. Other Three: Who wants to go next. *still in shock* Fuck man, told you this was a long ass story. *Crying* I'm ruined. What! You went broke? No, i'm still a filthy rich millionaire. I thought you were a billionaire. I am I just *snifs* sometimes I forget that happened. “Sometimes I forget I'm a billionaire” I got to admit, man, I did it to myself. I'm not mad, or anything, but now there's just–certain things I can't do Oh, like what. Not that song. What, why not? You said “anything but Skrillex” this is not Skrillex, this is deadmau5. What's the difference? Okay, that's like saying “What's the difference between deadmau5' and my music?” No, it isn't. How is that not different? That's like comparing the music of Bach and Beethoven to the music of a tattooed hedgehog. You think I look like a hedgehog. No, it's just when I see you and a hedgehog I have all the same thoughts, turn this off. NO, i like this song. Seriously, Dillon Francis, turn it off. I'm gonna turn it up instead. I do not highly recommend doing that. Or at all. This ship has amazing subs. Should I bass boost this song. NO, PROBABLY NOT. Oh, why not? Dillon Francis, I'm warning you, stop. OH HOW COME BECAUSE WHY? BECAUSE I LOOK LIKE A HEDEHOG NO, BECAUSE I ALWAYS FALL ASLEEP AT THIS *DROP* [INSTANTLY FALLS ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL–ACTIVATES HYPERSPACE– PLUMMETS SHIP INTO BLACK – HOLE. ohhhhh . What a hoe. Nice, that's a whole episode. Well, here's a bonus scene or whatever. Shazam, what is this. SHAZAM …i don't know. What do you mean you don't know. SHAZAM *panicing* IDONNO WHAT DO YOU MEAN– SHAZAM IDON. NO. OOOOOOOOOOOO Is this deadmau5. I'm not sure. Sounds like deadmau5. It sure does. This is pretty Ooh. it sparkles. yeah , it's deadmau5. How does she KNOW. I need a deadmau5 machine like right now. I know where to find that. Fuck dude, everything's gonna be half-ass until I push out this album. You can't rush it. Trust the process. I can't focus. Oh shit, wasn't this in the last episode? Yeah. I'm still writing backwards. God, what is that, like a pipe organ. WHAT SYNTH IS THIS. Doesn't matter, I just need one. That's it. I know what I'm going to spend my Jimmy Fallons On. And What's that? V.O. OOh. Are we Montaging–to deadmau5? [MONTAGE: deadmau5] Nice. I love a good montage. I love deadmau45* AHH OH NO. I love deadmau5. I keep making typos and I keep forgetting to delete that parallel where. fuckit. That's the synth I've always wanted. It's on sale for $999 At Sam Ash But…you only have Five JImmy Fallons. There are only five special edition in this Volume The Jimmy Fallon 555's I don't know how many volumes there are, but this is the Volume I started keeping track. Fuck, man. I miss Equinox. It's just Eucalyptus. They also have an outdoor running track where you get the best ever view of midtown manhattan. How do you know it's the best ever view of Midtown manhattan. Because it's on a running track. STOP WHISTLING IN MY WHOOP=WHOOPS. The JImmy Fallon 555s are marked with the standard Jimmy Fallon in black ink With a simple side marker of the number 555 in red And also in red, a telephone number on the back. But–that synthesizer is One Thousand Jimmy Fallons. Yeah. So I only need Nine Hundred Ninety Five More. And of course, the Eye of Providence is highlighted. Also Standard. V.O. I always highlight that. Cause, you know… “Illuminati” These are fake. No they're not! They're counterfeit, sorry. No they're not! They're authentic! Why the fuck does this matter so much? You know. What is it with this dude. If it was a snake, it would've bit ya. It was a snake. And it did bite me. He's so increasingly beautiful to me, And I'm still in love with his friend, or misrepresented masterpiece, Progression of a monster, or procession of a superstar, but Something in the story sparks the thought of All we are is consciousness, of course Awkward in body, but of constellations Cosmos, It's not just a corpse; It's all got love in it, Absurd, and sipping carbonated syrup, but I'm just sitting in my stirrups, Here comes galloping a horse, Of course, it hurts to turn it off For just a moment And remember That i'm just a homeless, Stuck and sitting up at night Writing recourse, hugging learning curves in ableton, Curving curses, been reminded that I'm worthless In a thousand words or less, Or just another form of torture, Nothing said, but all that's done Another day another dollar, But it's not It's Jimmy Fallon. I thought this was enter the multiverse. Are you ready to go. No. A hand on my shoulder So paifully socially awkward, I grow stretchmarks, don't know what to call them But scars, But the uglier ones, I've thought Are invisible, Somewhat– To the naked eye Or just anyone Not tiger stripes But one, an eye of horus Carved above my right And inside my lip, (The bottom one) A raised scar in the shape of a sythe I probably died by the hands of a man named Starr So it's hard to shrug it off, And 555 is just a number But it's not It's another scar, It's a punishment For loving him. What's on the back. It's…a number. What number? A telephone number. What. Like a 1-800 Number Call it. I love deadmau5. Something about a big, giant smiling robotic mouse that lights up and sparkles. Why? I don't know. I'm like 5. I see deadmau5 i'm like “WHEEEEEEE” My hands go up in the air “AHHHHHH! YAYYYYY” I'm so stupid. It's so stupid. But you know what? It makes me feel good. I'm not gonna lie. I love it. And by the time I even figured out what deadmau5 was I was so late to the party that I had to make up for lost time. I listened to deadmau5 doing EvErYThING. Everything you could possibly imagine. Well–Except one. Wait, how long have you been cellibate? Forever, probably. Fuck, what happened in here? I don't know. Everything's broken. My head My heart. Everything. Get up, Dillon Francis. Fuck, what happened. You sent us through a black hole. And we crashed on a random ass planet. Fuck, that sucks. YOu suck, Dillon Francis. Ugh. Now get up. Everything's fucked up. SUPERSTAR DJ I'm a paradox. I've got a box of skeletons in my closet i'm not ready to part with. I had a heart attack; I had a heart once, But lately it goes in my pocket; Or my right hand, When I wake up From a dream land, From a long hug From a nice man In a t-shirt KASKADE This is God's PLAN. RYAN, GET FUCKED. 800-799-7233 Did you call the number. Yeah. What is it. [National Domestic Violence Hotline] Woah. That was a long bonus scene. Well, Now here's a PSA. AND A PSA? YES. A PSA. You know what the fucked up thing about all this is, The Legend of Supacree is a true story. All of it. ALL OF IT?! ALL OF IT!? YES. Even the part about– YES. Especially that part. Woah. Damn. I think i'm gonna be sick. Shut up, Dillon Francis. No, but seriously– This is the story of how I got my heart broken so bad. YOU RUINED IT. So, so bad– I HATE YOU. That i started singing about it. NSA, totally *not spying* …are you hearing this. Yes. ILLUMINATI Check this out. Another one down. And how when you start making music– What is this. it's hoe math. And that music actually comes from a really real place. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING. really real shit starts happening. You–killed yourself. well , to be fair–I lost everything first. Congratulations. Thx. Here's a skrillex. WHT. Kbye. Really, really, really. What, the fuck Dillon Francis, crawled inside of you to live and made it'self at home? Idon'tknow. What is in this sauce? Just–kill him. What, i can't just. Just kill him, while nobody is watching. Please don't kill me. Shut up, man. I'm having a thought process. Okay, that's it. FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. That's the spirit. THAT IS THE SPIRIT. IT'S THE HOLY SPIRIT. Who the fuck is this. It's–Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ? Jesus Christ?! JESUS CHRIST i'M BACK, MOTHERFUCKER. Wait, are you claiming that the second coming of the messiah is upon us?! YES. Well,Technically, it's the third. And it's all because of Dillon Francis?! I Please stop this HATE Help YOU. Fuck, dude. I know, huh. What did he DO. The third?! How did we miss that?! Uh, you didn't. [HITLER, being HITLER] (he was mad) Okay, that's it. You can't write any of this. Uh, I can. I just did. Technically, I'm dead: this is just a voiceover It's an 80's style PSA You can't say Hitler was the messiah. That's offensive. Everything is offensive. FUCK YOU DILLON. I'msosorry NOTYETYOU'RENOT. Wait, whatever happened to Skrillex. SKRILLEX is waiting outside of the alleged home of SUPACREE's “distant relatives” Lol is he for real at her mom's house. well , to be fair, he's like–looked everywhere else. Ur right. That was a lot of dimensions. So. like. Fuck, i didn't even have that much coffee. It just goes on forever. [DILLON FRANCIS STILL HAS HOTSAUCE IN HIS PUDGY LITTLE EYES] Good. Cause if I see the pupils, i'm wasting him. You think you can do better than this. Better than this? Yes. Yes. Then do it. Alright, is the PSA over? No, not yet. I gotta say one more thing. What is it? Would you ever have done it, Or would you ever be honest If you had, Handed her a lesson, Or a stretch of the past From the present moment, My heart, and my mind And my lover I present you this honor From now on to nowhere I no longer… Want to be near you Or to know you Or to hear you Or to fear you No longer… Want to feel you Or to touch you Or to have you Or to hold you Or to love you No longer, I no longer want you Devastating, A song stuck in my head for a whole world I wonder how long it would take to go back there A room full of actors, A manager, Never a backpack to wear Just a handful of hats, One director, Eventually producer Just now a showrunner Look at how long that took. I had to wonder what auroras in the north thought of someone like Sonny. They showed me. Now I can love you no longer So much for getting acquainted Funny what age equates to in ageless An infinite wisdom, I dismissed him, Nor, would I believe that he ever would hit her, but Some might belong in such a category Though i carry the marks and the scars Of what my once- husband did to me –but no longer. I haven't a heart in the world left But a broken one, made of amethyst. Fuck off, Dillon Francis. A calculated attack on my psyche. I like it a lot, But i'm fonder of sodom. WHAT. Are you saying you woul actually participate in an orgy! Oh GOD no! Oh, Good, cause– But i'd host one. WHAT. The hedonists are a fun bunch. Oh my God. Though, Nowadays, of course, I haven't the slightest idea what to call them. I saw the future. Well, obviously, if you've headlined EDC you've seen the future. I remember all of it. That must be awful. Why don't you remember it? Because i don't want to. Not at all. I did once. Then what happened? I hated it so much, i forgot. You forgot on purpose. I had to. Love, or Music. …Music. Love, or Fame. Fame. Okay, ouch. Love, or Music? …Love. Okay. Love, or Fame. Love. Okay. Love, or music? … Isn't that the same thing? Hm. Love, or Fame? ….Why do you keep asking me the same question. I beg your pardon? Why beg? I mean– What do you mean? What do you mean? Well, first you asked me, If would rather have Love or Music. Love. Music. Yes. In my mind, those are synonyms. Neither can really exist without the other. Okay, and Fame. Love and Fame are also synonyms– How so? Ugh, I just made this difficult on myself. It was always difficult. It really wasn't. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. WHY IS IT ALWAYS CHRISTMAS?! BEcause, you're in a movie. WHAT. You're stuck in a Hollywood movie. The Master Sorcerer Of the Grand Illusion You just want it so bad You don't know what you're in for Inquenchable Thirst for knowledge Insatiable Sexual Appetite Yo My horizontal monster wants ya Could revert to vert, but lets keep Our options open Covert, __ My heart is broken No window open Who left the draft in –motherfucker My heart is broken I need a lover I need a lover Some one to hug me I need a hug, but And– I'm not fit to touch The hem of your garment The tip of your dick or fit enough to be your girlfriend I guess i'll just have to live with that When I have an itch, I scratch it myself I made the assumption you can't, And moved passed it But something's been calling me out, from the past Something's been calling me back to the magic I can't get around that Do you hate me? I can see that I'll just make my way back to the beginning Though I'm envious And i pity her, The both of you really There's nothing left between us except Insanity//Infinity Kendrick Style Flow Don't key my car: You'll be callin collect! I got rearview mirrors in the back of my head Don't get up right now, son– Go back to bed I got kids all over, be pulling my leg! Luke, I am your Father! Oh My Oh My God On top of the Watchlist You make money off dope; I made it on craigslist Still be sniffin that coke But now i'm on A list I'm the greatest Ey Miss! I missed too many calls (Airplane Mode) I just started my day (Whole Workload) I might need a buffet (Like Whole Foods) Sashe, Pas De Bourre (That's a code word) No dance floor? Now you're done for My forte Four-to-the-floor Hardcore I drop bass on the encore Front row won't go But i'm already out the front door You don't know I just hopped inside the helicopter, or chopper, chopped broccoli in my cup That's supper; Sleep/ Wake then Surf's up In the morning When i got there (Coastal show, Shower, Then another club Encore Front row lined up I'm already at the front door They want more I'm too sore, for sure Off subject, I dropped in Harder than Paulie On my surfboard (Another code word) This is my world: Another club, Then I'm off for a monday Or somethin' Write another song At the buffet –Tales of a Superstar DJ Amen. Fuck! I didn't even get to watch desperate housewives! Don't fuck with her! She's a trained assassin! GET ON THE GROUND. NO! GET ON THE GROUND– OR I WILL SHOOT YOU! SO? IF I SHOOT YOU, YOU WILL DIE. OK? “OK”? YOU WILL DIE. YEAH, AND? Kind of frustrating hunting down somebody who already has a deathwish. What do you do with someone who has no fear of death. Give them life. I'm telling you, we probably shouldn't be doing this. *shrugs* You split yourselves into two entirely separate individuals at once, just so you could see whose dick is longer? Technically, three entirely separate individuals. THIS ISN'T FAIR. Do you ever think? Sometimes, but it's usually pretty gross. I mean about the implications of these things! You are the implications of these things! I split my soul ONE time into 8 BILLION or so individuals, before this even had happened. WOAH, WHAT HAPPENED. I'm giving you planetary confinement. What. You–can stay here. On this planet. No. It's racist–and primitive. No– And you're black. Please– I'm leaving. –don't– –and i'm taking your portal gun with me. YOU PUT A PORTAL ON MY FACE?! Genius. Incredible. I didn't think it would be a big deal. He has two! Okay, time for work. But i didn't even sl– Coffee. Ouh. … … — I don't think we should be doing this TIA We probably shouldn't. TAMERA We very much shouldn't. What are you guys doing. Nothing. SHh. Summoning the devil. It's not the devil. It might be. Hush. Is that a pentagram. Technically it's a star, with a circle around it. That's a pentagram. It's not a pentagram! Is that a ouiji board? NO. Yes. Let me see. Ugh! I wanna help. MEANWHILE. MORGAN FREEMAN enters an empty train car: Oh God, This. Yes it is! What!? Are you dead! Entirely empty, that is–besides SUPACREE. No, you are! Great, so you're dead! I'm–not dead. Is Bob Saget with you? I'm not DEAD. What about Fraiser? What? Kelsey Grammer! God rest his soul. SEE! I'm not dead– [beat, an eerie shadowy silence in the dimly lit traincar] I'm a Legend. What. I wrote that/ You wrote that. What. Ugh. Look. Morgan Freeman. [Morgan Freeman] I–am–like a paranoid schizophrenic, or something– So, who isn't?! It might be catatonic, I don't know–I got this whole dead-hand–thing–going on. What is that? I don't know. It might just be too much deadmau5. I don't understand. No, Morgan Freeman. I don't understand. Anything about this life. Or this world. The fourth dimension. I definitely don't know anything about that. You're in it. Whatever. Look. [Morgan Freeman] God, you have so many freckles. [Morgan Freeman] Look. I got problems. We all do! Nah, not like–Hollywood problems, I'm like, a real psycho and shit. Sounds like Hollywood. Everything sounds like Hollywood–because nothing is real anymore–everything is for the gram, the points don't matter–nothing actyally matters. At all. Oh? Oh. The train comes to a sudden halt, the lights dim theatrically. Not even this? [pause] He holds out a strange object; a golden necklace, which begins to change in appearance–morphing between a medallion, as seen throughout the seasons, and into other integral objects from throughout the series; a small golden pinata; You know who gave it to me? …Who? Got ya. He holds out a strange object; a golden necklace, which begins to change in appearance–morphing between a medallion, as seen throughout the seasons, and into other integral objects from throughout the series; a small golde pinata ; Fuck dude, i'm too tired to write this. But you kind of have to. I mean i don't have to. YOU HAVE TO. I–WHAT? YOU HAVE TO DO IT. WHY. BECAUSE OTHERWISE I DON'T EVEN EXIST; Then don't exist… I'M JUST A FICTIONAL CHARACTER IN YOUR SHOW. Come on Drew, knock it off. Wait, is this Drew Carey, or Barrymore. Either or. That's why I didn't write the characters name. Well, which is it? It literally doesn't matter. Yes it does. Honestly?! It could be both! We just shoot it with both and keep whichever one we like better! But how do we know which is actually “better?” Just do it and mix it–cut it up together or something–I don't know! Cut takes! Cut Takes! Ooh, did someone say CUPCAKES. Don't mind if i DO. Well, I do! Why?! What's wrong?! Yeah! What's the big deal! I'm on a gluten free-thing Oh yeah? Keto. Or someshit. I don't know. Oh. Oh. So you don't want these No, I don't. And you wouldn't mind if I– Come on, man. So Good. Grow up. Hey man, i'm pushin 40. Well, I pushed 40–and it pushed back. Get your cupcakes out of my face. You're no fun. Hey! Aren't you that one guy from rick and morty. Formerly. Oh yeah! That's right! You were Rick AND Morty. Hence the name. Wow. Phewf. I heard about that. Yeah, me too. Sounds real bad, how that turned out. Such a shame. Speaking of shame– You're speaking, I'm snacking. That's not that clever. We'll work on it The point is, he's eating the cupcakes. That's not–wait a minute–hold on. What now? How are we ever gonna get these three guys in a room together. [Meanwhile, in another dimension–these three are tied up (read: bound and gagged) in a room together. –Let alone to agree to this!? SUPACREE removes the gag from the man's [JOSH PECK'S] mouth. I DO NOT CONSENT TO THIS. That's what she said! Hey! That's not fair! I was never caught up in a scandal! The key word, I believe, is “never caught” That's two words! SHUTTHEFUCKUP. How many words is that? I WANT MY LAWYER!!!! For what? This isn't court. Wouldn't you want the police first? WELL THEN, I WANT THE POLICE. The Police are here. Wait, they are? Oh, thank God Not so fast. THE POLICE enter with full entourage. Introducing: The Police–playing their number one greatest smash hit! Groupies: Woooo! STING I hope you ladies bought the meet-and-greet package, if you know what I mean. *winks awkwardly* You know what I mean. Oh my God. Since you dudes love doing creepy dude shit, I brought some more notoriously creepy dudes to sing the literally creepiest song ever written about being a creepy dude. That's not fair. But it's funny. THE POLICE Begin to play ‘I'll be Watching You” –and they're gonna play it on loop until I get back with your other-dimensional selves so we can fix all this. “WE” “FIX ALL THIS” WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? Nobody seems to know. “--I'll be watching you–” I was FRAMED. CUT TO a golden pocket watch, a wrist watch, a compass–it changes and morphs so quickly that it begins to seem to spin time itself into a whirlwind, until finally a portal opens up from within his hand–a portal which quickly devours him entirely, morphing him into Fuck, what the fuck happened after that Idk I got off the train I guess This is really terribly written INT. SAM ASH MANHATTAN. DAY. A tiny conga for 90 dollars I could die in here Maybe I am just like you I find my way to the prettiest thing in the room And have my way with it Just for a few minutes Consume it, then move on Saw Madison dancing badly on Madison Avenue It's okay, You're a white girl So everybody loves you Everybody loves you Everybody loves you, no matter what you do. As for me, I can't say when I'm going through But you couldn't do it, Madison That's as bad as being at a standst

america god love jesus christ music american new york amazon time health new york city trust father hollywood earth man house rock los angeles work moving hell mexico training young speaking canadian games building dj creator writing balance fitness devil focus coffee holy festival dad satan write forever mom open kanye west funny drop police plan tales utah greek dead record bbc alive grammy fame mayors heroes code humans wake escape dark beyonce rain stuck standing matrix sick straight hits legends switch happy birthday consequences member hire math cat adolf hitler broke finish humble letting go billion vegan incredible gurus falling in love blame wear honestly genius hole distractions throw ab orange gotta lol curiosity hungry fuck complex proud karma soft tempo lying congratulations weak amen wtf balls bronx anxious loud logic providence david bowie heartbreak harder hanging saves bitch excuse membership yellow counting similar gross apology psa awkward ir doc shut siri signal nuts suite grammy awards copyright shazam shenanigans beverly hills pages won get out bach keto nah wonderland cosmos ludwig van beethoven whole foods shower forgot hades dudes illuminati ka pay attention spur progression californians signature sd thousand backwards rick and morty encore cont fucking aha voodoo mm nsa sir soleil underworld morgan freeman jimmy fallon lay technically autopilot bury annihilation reached int petite hugs devastating nevermind hush sauna ur consume equinox jk heroic coastal kisses acoustic tie absurd handle handed family guy lovin star is born la croix irony montages hm duh nothin diplo michael j fox framed amit subscriptions rr sweeping idk only god nda jinx tits im m cupcakes skrillex caucasians obsidian brownies edc covert keisha hahaha beeps augmented oh god mmm ew benz death wish oh my god aw tantric opposites careless copycat shhh dammit vinegar sentimental tit deadmau5 in the heights midtown kaskade goddamn marty mcfly good one lemme raves summoning metadata fuckin gazing horus sunni thx insatiable edx ahem losc pasquale dan harmon collateral damage lmfao moog mistrust moo whole foods market kelsey grammer stop it fonda dillon francis gawd carved jesus no motherfuckers drew carey dan schneider shitting hah cyanide awww aww 1d uhhh ext eucalyptus shh god is real josh peck fangirls suite life barrymore fka uhh chuck taylor serato he said end credits captain crunch sunn windex gimmie fraiser commercial break lin manuel control room hard reset uhm buti minnie riperton god yes fuck it ahah arrr agh oreo cookies god not jesus look icee god right watching you come undone tox what the fuck cdjs i hate you lost lands probably not polars wht get fucked rekordbox it hurts carless best dance bothersome minnie ripperton ouh shredded wheat lookie superstar dj dog blood acension let me out waht hve curving ahaha i am ready lampshades beverly center honey smacks you will die phoenixx vip vip dj world by chance this is my house oh come on who did this you're dead to me phewf wheeeeeee

{The Suite Escape}

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 10, 2023 58:48

Enter The Multiverse x Legends x LOSC x Acension x Deathwish x Secret President x Gerald's Workd x Tales of A Superstar DJ x The Suite Life of Sunnï Blū / The Secret Life of Sunnï Blū ... did I miss something? probably oh well. so far, on all these shows: [The Legend Returns] Really Bad Mixtape (Might as well get it out of the way now) Killst_rr (Instrumental) Sleep Deprivation Sequence You're not you when you're not you. Hoe_math Exactly what it sounds like. [UnderWorld.] R-R 1 -rarity. [i Come Undone.] AtPLAY Live Mix [Autopilot.] {A Star Is Born.} For fear of fire; Best not to wander off, With no back track– Might have forgotten the rest, but It wasn't a poem, or part of a song At least, not yet Fuck man. I really want to sample this. Can't sample deadmau5; he's a bitch about paperwork. You cant technically say that. I mean, I technically didnd't. Just let your fingers do the talking. Ooh, look at that one. What are you doing. Some online shopping. For what. A man-thing. You're better off letting your back end Handle the conversation Then again, When in search of a venue Anything with the proper connections And stereo systems Will do in the moment. What do you want? To get rid of my hiccups. That's it: *huccups* yu-p. Wow, that's– Have you ever thought about just– I've thought about just about everything–that's how you got here. I'm gonna go ahead and admit–there's too much going on in my head. It's a lot. I'm gonna need a nap. GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME. *sheath/ swoard* Is that the sword of skrillex. Yeus. Give it to me. *stabs in thigh* Oooh. Not the balls! fair. Around the world we go Around we go again Here we are Oh no, It's the same song Over and over I'd like you to love to today (I'd love to forget for a moment I haven't) I know before long, we get older and older All wrong, It's the same one, Over and over. Have you seen my butt plugs? NO! GROSS. It's alright. I'll just pick some up on the way. AGGH. Better yet, can you just put in the order on amazon AmAZoN. Yes. (I'm so happy Amazon has anal plugs.) Please stop now. You're being a baby about this–just- You know what. Nevermind. I'll do it myself. Please do that. Siri– Oh my God. Alexa–reorder from Amazon. Come on focus. …hmm…now what was I doing? A B L E T O N *spinning rainbow wheel of doom* …seems like it was something. Come on….FOCUS. Hm. When's the last time you had a marshmello. Flashback: [BONFIRE: Burning The Skrillex] *Also making smores* CUT BACK TO: Like never, I'm vegan. PASQUALE WAKE. UP. Holy shit. It's you again. It's always me. Last time you were like 26. Well, now i'm this age. Wait, how old are you. Wouldn't you like to know. There's a lot of things i'd like to know about you, Pasquale, that's not even near the top of the list. Speaking of “top of the list”-- I do have a lot of things to do today. Oh yeah, what's that? I don't know. A bunch of crap. Speaking of crap– This is a lot of speaking. Happy Birthday. What is this. It's Captain Crunch. Yes it is. What is it doing in my lap. That's your lunch. I–no, it isn't. It is. No, i'm vegan. Well, that's the “happy” part in “happy birthday” No… Yes, actually. This is – It is– Vegan. Damn. Jinx. You owe me a Pererier. Shut up. Or a LaCroix. I'll taka a LaCroix. You're so LA. I guess that makes you Beverly Hills– Or Pacific Palisades. Is that Annexed. It is “LA” What else is in this? No animal product… “Yellow 6” It reads! What happened to yellow 1-5? A whole story. Yes, but not a whole food. “Yellow 6?!” That's the chemical complex you need to find yourself in the right dimension. Exactly. What's wrong with this dimension? What isn't? I'm in it! You're in it! Like I said. What– Just eat it. Ugh– happy trails. *disappears* Ugh. I gave that dude too much money. Fuck, what was I doing again. Deadmau5. Uhm, no i was– Deadmau5. Deadmau5. OOOOOH> YES. I KNOW IT'S YOU, YOU SLIMY MOTHERFUCKER. Stop it. YOU STOP IT. I KNOW IT'S YOU. Who is it? STOP IT. Stop–doing that. I know you're deadmau5. I most certainly am not. I know its you. I have boobs. How did you do this. I did–n't. That's right. Fuck, what happened. Nothin. Now I gotta kill my stupid brother. You have a brother?! SKRILLEX. GET IN HERE. Fuck, run. I gotta go. Go where. Uhm. Somewhere else. DILLON, THIS ISN'T FUNNY ANYMORE. IT WAS NEVER FUNNY. (It was funny to me.) God does have a sense of humor. AHAH–AHAHA–HAHAHA. As it turns out, not the absolute best sense of humor. Oh—he's okay! He's okay! No, he's dead. He's definitely dead. But a sense of humor, nonetheless. Fuck man. What did you do to Dillon Francis. Nothing. I just got him drunk On what?! Cyanide? Okay, I don't even know what that is. He's a corpse. –but a pretty one. C'mon. Be serious. I can't. Why not. It's hilarious, kinda. This isn't funny. No, it's hilarious. He earned it. He “earned” it? Well, yes– He is dead. I mean, it's a long story; but he brought it upon himself, honestly. “Honestly” Please. PLease. Please. No, I said. PLEASE. I SAID NO. What's this story. That's ten. I win. Fuck. DILLOn WAkE UP. *smacks* ahah. I think it's working I think he's waking up. He's not waking up. He must be. He's laughing. He's not laughing He said “haha' *smacks* haha . See. *smacks* Mm. This shit smacks HONEY SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCKKKKKKSSSS. Oh shit, is this the 90s. HONEY SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCKKKKSSS. *slams* GIMMIE MY HONEY SMACKS. That's it. There's no more. AW, COME ON. Sorry, that's all there is. WHAT. But yu can have captain crunch. I DON'T WANT CAPTAIN CRUNCH. I WANT HONEY SMACKS. I'm sorry, there are no more Honey Smacks. You can have Captain Crunch, or Shredded Wheat. GRAMPA Shredded Wheat is MY favorite. Ugh. Mm. Honey Smacks. I HATE YOU. Be nice to your brother. Lol. Everything about Dillon's eyes makes him devastating. Who plays tiny Dillon? I don't know. There are like nine in the script. It shouldn't be hard to cast. We'll go to utah. Fucking. I hate Utah. WELCOME TO UTAH. Nice. Alright, well, what other grounds are there to cover, here? DILLOn FRANCIS I am not doing this project. Of course you are–it's in your contract. What contract. The one you signed. Which–no–I didn't. But you did. SUNNI BLU I got you a drink. DILLON FRANCIS That looks fruity. SUNNI BLU Try it. DILLON FRANCIS *sips* DILLON FRANCIS CONT'D What's in this. Just– drink it. SUNNI BLU Don't look at me like that. DILLOn FRANCIS Like what. SUNNI BLU Do you need a mirror? DILLON FRANCIS I– SUNNI BLU Look down. DILLON FRANCIS *does* SUNNI BLU *flicking nose* Made you look. haha . DILLOn FRANCIS Wow. [takes drink] SUNNI BLUThat's the spirit. But literally there's a mirror between your feet, if you need one. [there literally is] SUNNI BLU CONT'D The floor is made of mirrors DILLOn FRANCIS *suddenly inebriated* Oh wow. SUNNI BLU The whole club turns into a disco ball. DILLON FRANCIS *suddenly very inebriated* That's–convenient. SUNNI BLU It is. SHIA DON'T LET YOUR DREAMS BE DREAMS. If my dreams were not just dreams, everyone in here would have a lawsuit against me. A lot of us do. Carry on, then. SKRILLEX BLAIGH. Oh shit, its you again. I swear to God, I thought I killed this nigga. Are you sure it was him? SKRILLEX !!!! No. Alright, i've almost got it. Almost got what. This whole– thing. Oh. –and–it's gone. Really, that quick. I don't think you understand what's happening. You're right, i don't understand what's happening at all. Oh shit. I'm deadmau5. Nice. Fuck it, lets do some trolling. Alright alright. BUT FIRST, COFFEE. Fuck dude, I don't think I should have anymore coffee. Too late. deadmau5. ok . Deadmau5. Nice. D–0 DOn'T D o THis, I'M WARNING YOU. …. If you open that portal, there's no going back. *opens portal* Now you've done it. *goes into portal* Fuck. *portal closes neatly* *facepalm* *entire series of cosmos collapse in the great distance–time begins to stretch and bend uncontrollably* Come on, just let me lick the balls. NO. I'll give you a cookie. well … OH my GAWD. What. Come here, you have to see this. What the fuck is that. I don't know. Should i pick it up? No, don't touch it! He picked it up. Oh, gross. What is this. I don't know. I think it's fanfiction. Who wrote it. Idk. somefangirl. Fangurl. FaNGiRls. Well, Hey, at least i'm not a groupie. OH COME ON, JUST LET ME SUCK IT. GET AWAY FROM ME. PLEASE. i'LL GIVE YOU $40. -well. NOW, A COMMERCIAL BREAK. Since when does this show have commercials. It doesn't. I want to talk to Jimmy Fallon. That's–not happening. Why not. JIMMY FALLON BECAUSE I HAVE A CONTRACT WITH NBC. There he is– Nice. JIMMY FALLON YOU MOTHERFUCKER. I AM A FAMILY MAN, OKAY. Is that like Family Guy? By Chance?! SETH MCFARLENE (with super long hair) *crossing fingers* I'm hoping so. JIMMY FALLON Not even close! SETH MCFARLENE *snaps* Dammit. Oh, I get it. It's like–The Cofffee run Which “coffee run” THE coffee run. We'll have to admit, it's probably the most watched coffee run of all time. Of all of them. You know what? Fuck it, fire me. I'm doing this show. What?! JImmy. Why on EARTH would you ever agree to something like this. JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER Because–it's my duty. Yo. You know that song that everybody knows? You know the song because everybody knows this song. It goes: Lovin you– is easy cause youre beautiful. do - do- do - do- do- do- do… Yeah. You know that song. But you probably don't know who sings it. I'll tell you who sings it. That song is by an artist called Minnie Ripperton. That's a mouthful. Yeah, one hell of a name, huh. Well, that's the lady who sings the song. It's Minnie Riperton. Now, let me tell you something else you probably don't know: Something I probably wouldn't know if I wasn't a DJ But i know this, because I'm a DJ AND MAYA RUDOLPH WAUT A MINUTE. What the fuck, Maya Rudoph, are you doing in my bathroom at 5 AM It's 1:15 in the afternoon. I'm a DJ. It's 5 AM. That's making sense. I know it is. What's not making sense. Is why you're in my bathroom drinking a milkshake. It's a strawberry milkshake. So it is. *slurps milkshake* *sitting on toilet* *slurps* What do you want. You want to know what I want? Apparently, a milkshake. It's a strawberry milkshake. OK. OK. OK so what. Finish the script. –What? Fuck dude, how does this song sound good every time? Congratulations, you've gone entirely insane. beep-boop . [DJ] B00p beep. [Music Producer] Beep-beep. 0.c. Do not fall dangerously in love; Do not pass go Do not collect $200 Or any of it For any reason, For any of it For any of them Just keep it pushin; Just keep it private Just hold it all in and Do not let go Do not fall in love Do not pass go Do not unload Do not walk Do not cross here Do not It smells like butter. But you're vegan. I know. Do you think you're having a stroke. God, I fucking hope so. GOD You WHAT. I want to die. GOD I thought i heart you right. You heard me right–a THOUSAND times. I want to die. Take me out of this life. GOD Not until you make dubstep. WHAT. GOD You gotta make a grammy-winning dubstep album. I what. GOD Or at least nominated. No, I don't. GOD Beg your pardon. I'm not begging. GOD What are you getting at, hon? Look; Am I not one with the source? GOD Uhm–you are. Alright, Then: everything is everything. GOD Yes. And everyone is everyone. GOD This is true. So i'm Skrillex. GOD Skrillex is Skrillex So I Am. GOD … And I already won a grammy. GOD … Like a bunch of them, right. GOD Uh. So technically– GOD YOu know what. I can't argue with that logic. This isn't ableton. No. This is Logic. What the fuck. That's not Serato. No, that's Rekordbox. What the fuck is this. These are CDJs. There's no hot cues! What the fuck is a “HOT CUE” This is not food. What the fucking sauce. I'm warning you, Pasquale. Get off my lawn. THIS IS MY HOUSE. Your house it is not. *House music starts blasting* *lasers* sprinklers* dancers* WHAT THE FUCK. It's voice activated, I just– How did you do this?! What. WHAT DID YOu DO. AND WHEN. I don't know! I just took the delorean, like you said. You were supposed to find Dillon Francis. I did! The problem was, when I found the right one, he was dead! What? He's dead? Presumably! What do you mean by that!? It's a long story! WELL, HOW LONG? SUNNI BLU About as long as my dick! WHO IS THAT. I told you it's a long story. Well, let me in! Sorry Pasquale. No Can do. What. Why not. Cause you're on a federal watch list. What. Yeah. Sorry. Wait… You should probably leave before the feds get here. What? Unless you want to stay and party on the lawn but–not recommended. This is bizarre. The police arrive, surrounding Pasquale on the yard–moving in to arrest him. WAIT. SUPACREE turns away from the window; inside, a room full of her aliases sit looking somewhat miserably; SUPACREE!!! [Pasquale is handcuffed and i dragged off of the lawn] SUPACREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! Careless, Acoustic–deadmau5 SUPACREE pours a bowl of captain crunch, taking one colossal bite and sits down in THE CONTROL ROOM at a large computer console; inhaling from a can of nitrous oxide. I'm the worst DJ ever. SUPACREE places the fames deadmau5 helmet atop her head and begins working at the computer promptly, clicking away; Now is deadmau5 I don't even know what key this song is in. MEOWINGTONS, Alive and well purrs and stretches, then settles atop SUPACREE/deadmau5's lap. This is insane. I don't know what's happening. END CREDITS. V. O. Lovin' You, Minnie Ripperton Carless, deadmau5 idk how i'm gonna mix that. Trust me. Anything can be mixed. Anything. [When it] Turns out, The bottom of your heart Was the tip of the Ice Berg And the whole ship has [s]unk[en], [&] I[t]'s probably ice cold At the bottom of the ocean; I'll tell you where i'm from Why, I'll tell you anything for About one dollar Turns out, I've already got one eye on you; One eye'd sad heart I should probably roll out my art on you [I probably should not] One man bought a kiss, Another, a whole night from her– One man bought a whole farm The other, a Whole Foods Market –and you can't even franchise those Amazon's got a monopoly We were playing for corners of earth, All i got was some kandi, Subscriptions to candidly, Actually, I really liked the tree trial (I think i'll wait a week, sorry) When it turns out The world that you wanted Was actually hours already The dollar you got Was also borrowed And the money they wanted and got Was just actually stolen from someone else They bought all the food up And sold it for profits I promise this avocado Once costs nothing at all But you wanted that car for your daughter She's got a mercedes and don't even drive it My mom, on my honor Of all the garages in Lost Lands, I promise the owner of it was The first to go last, And the last to come home Now he's on his own alter And also the worshiper; How do you go back? Oh, you don't Oh you don't Oh, you don't wanna know that But i was of course, All of your rock bottoms It's bottoms and tops, and We don't let the top fall over, We're counting up crumbs And this muffin costs $24 dollars Pour a whole bottle of coconut water out on the sidewalks For the dead homies Not dead in the general sense But just in the head, the heart, And the soul The homeless are happier at McDonalds Than asking at crossroads and crosswalks For dollars I'd rather spend elsewhere I'll avoid the power struggle at operations for about 18 dollars and 56 sense (Please, keep the pennies) I'm feeling around in my 6th sense that there's Something indecent, or decadent Whichever it is Cause i'm better of with the memory of it Than actually dragging it in. –I'm a cat again. Ouch. Shut up. It HURTS. Of course it hurts, you just had heart surgery without any anistetics. YEah, but to be fair–that was a lot of acid. Yes, but lucily for you– –or, for him– Lucily for us, there's no lethal amount of acid. –Ouch– –Shut up. That we know of. George Washington John Adams Thomas Jefferson James Monroe Nope, can't for the life of me remember the 5th Oh shit, I was wrong Turns out, my memory only can hold three. That's a good number I really wish you'd stop just–showing up like this. I never leave. Then go away. I live here. I know you'd like to think that, but– Okay, I'm going to tell you something but I need you to remain calm. What time is it? I don't care Are we gonna make a movie? Depends; is it gonna make me money. FINE. I don't need anymore information about anything else: only these three. Are you serious? I wish I wasn't. I need you to do this. Look, Timmy–I'm not really into grantng wishes anymore. It always blows back on me. A blowjob. Uh huh. That's why you're bothering me. I–would rather you just pick up the call. Take a message. I like ‘em like this. I like ‘em like that. I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. And I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. Mmm like that. Like that. I like ‘em like this. I like ‘em like that. I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. And I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. Mmm like this Like that. Like — _____ The urge to eat had suddenly left me I wanted a burrito, (But I want to eat red meat) I've gotta stop thinking in sequences and parentheses Complex lines, and writing in past tense so presently. I probably should eat (But probably shouldn't…) I'm starting to bleed; As if i'd been fasting Perhaps, though I had been But had so indulgently feasted On calories enough to last me Till after today (or even till next week) PAY ATTENTION. Woah, to WHAT. Holy shit, I knew this dude was a psychopath but. This is real. ARE YOU SEEING THIS. I “see” it. I should stop meditating in public. You see this? I know everything about you. Why? I bought it on the internet. What is it. Metadata. That's…flattering. Yeah. Wake up. Why, where are we going? Atlanta. What's in Atlanta? You see this? Yes. Do you know what it is? Uh, it's a– What is it? It's a doll. It's not a doll. Oh, it's not. Gimmie a dollar. -_- It's a poppit. “Dr pimple popper” Ew that's fucking gross. I hate this. Let me see. Does s/he have backne? Yes/No. Great, i'll take it. Fuckit. Okay, I got to “whatever”. You went too far. What? I thought I was supposed to go past “fuckit” Yeah, you go past fuckit, I did that! But if you get to “whatever”, you've gone too far. You've gotta go back. Back to WHAT. There was almost no space between “fuckit” and “whatever” Oh trust me. There is. So? This is how he's been controlling you. And? And!? Has it ever occurred to you that I want to be controlled? What! That it just takes the right person to get that kind of permission– permission to what Permission to ride. … Maybe I gave him the reigns. What horse “gives” its rider the reigns. Who said anything about a horse?! Another Horse Mix. Nice. fuck . FYCK. I told you. You know what…Maybe that's my poppit. What. Maybe. I'm so confused. Oh, good–the reversal spell worked. You did a reversal spell on me? Only after I found out what spell you put on ME–FIRST. Yeah, except I wasn't the first one to use that spell on you. EXACTLY. COPY-CAT. Moo. Aww. I'm a cat. … *face* I mean “meow” That's right. Cat. …moo. *face* Lookie here boys: What is it? –I'm leaving. Oh, you're gonna wanna hear this. What. I found the first “whites only” water fountain since 1962. Okay, what do you want? A deal. Oh, I'll give you a deal. Cash up front. [He presents a one dollar bill] Is this enough. [beat] Where are you going with this? Nowhere, fast. YO. What now, dude. SHE'S ONTO US. I doubt that. Look at this. I highly doubt– *gaaassp* Shenanigans! You know what I like about you, Ariana? Everything. Hah. Hm. You know how to keep a secret. I don't know what you're talking about. Exactly. *rolls eyes, flips hair.* Well, here's another one for you. –Another what? This is how my darkness becomes your darkness. I already have enough on my own. I know. You don't know. Only God knows. MOM! Don't ask me again. This is heavy, Doc. What is it? The soup! It's too heavy. Too much cream? Way too much! I have a meeting! Meeting with who? The Hollywood People. When? Soon–what time is it? I don't know. Dammit! Why don't you have any clocks in your house? I only just recently remembered what a clock was. Oh! Here. [God produces a small pocket watch and presents it to him; it's nearly noon on EARTH; But the two are sharing a meal of course in the famed kitchen of the Creator in the TImeless VOID.] Ah, Jesus Christ! He's not here… I'm gonna be late. Now, now; You know I wouldn't let that happen– [a smug look| Hugs and Kisses. [As they embrace, he disappears into a mist of light and stardust, fading away from the void and into the exterior world; he realizes God has slipped him the watch; he flips it open to reveal the time: it is now 11:44] Amazing. V.O. Now you won't wait so long to visit. [He places the wach in his pocket and walks into the studio] MICHAEL J. FOX has been asked to reprise his role as MARTY MCFLY many times before; But never for a project like this. ____ Meanwhile, What am I going to do with you? [The Festival Project.™] YOU'RE DEAD TO ME! –I'm dead to everyone! Don't do this. You wanted to come to the other side. No, I didn't. We'll you're here anyway; Might as well stay awhile. With eyes like burning fire And saddles for the riders The horse begins to gallop (or the horses, rather) On the mark to beating drums To move them forward faster What the fuck is this. idk. Kx5. *-* !_! Here u go Wat is this. it's a dragon. Oh, thats nice. Ya. Whats it do. Idk. dragon things. ok. Don't put it in ur bathroom. Why. idrk. Hm. † Hey. Ugh–No, Kaskade, go away. It's me, Ryan! No, Get out! I'm No† Ka–k (gags) –skade! Gross! It's just Ryan! I promise! NO. GET OUT. Lmfao. Right. This show is fantastic. Who was that. Fucking–Kaskade again! Are you sure. Ugh. Looks like Ryan. Kaskade is Kaskade. {shrugs] Dudes a creep. “Kaskade Ruins Lives” Is this the same episode as before? Eventually, yes. Wasn't I doing something Are you goona let this go? Um. Well I'm fucked. Why, what happened. Obsidian. That should do Unsobsidian. Okay, i'm fucked, Well, what's this? An Oreo Cookie. I mean, sitting next to it. Oh, its a portal gun. Raves are not just raves– A party is not simply a “party” –These big festivals –they're diversions. –DIstractions. Distractions from what. If you were supposed to know, –you'd know. it wouldn't be so important that you go. Why is it? These ancient rituals… It's occult magic. They've got it down to a science. The government funds this. The government funds everything. WoooooooW. It's not really a secret, if you can google it. ‘-complications.' I'm lost somewhere, gone HIppopatamus feeling quite off in the galaxies, galavanting Gazing at Daisies Aces and spades Gone from Heaven to Hades for days On the A– Adjacent Recently dismantling adjectives, Lampshades and matching curtains God it hurts, every day that I think about you; But how can i be about you when You don't even see me, do you Signature consignments, Wrong environments and irony is, I wasn't invited– –but invented it WHY IS IT ALWAYS CHRISTMAS?! BEcause, you're in a movie. WHAT. You're stuck in a Hollywood movie. The Master Sorcerer Of the Grand Illusion You just want it so bad You don't know what you're in for Inquenchable Thirst for knowledge Insatiable Sexual Appetite Great, now I have to explain myself. You don't have to. What's this space for? Oh, that's the red room. [The Red Room] Well, obviously, but– But what? What's it for? I don't think anybody should read this. HEY. Participation Only– Oh! No peeking! You ever feel like you're doing too much? Yeah, but not for money. Look, we have them surrounded. Our best course of action is to– deadmau5 . What? No– DEADMAU5. Well, are you sure it was a mouse and not a rat? It was a mouse. I know the difference. Do you, though? Look, I've lived in Mexico and New York City. So. In Queens. Oh. That's mathematically impossible. I mean it's not–impossible. No, it's not just impossible. It's mathematically impossible. Has it ever occurred to you that the DJ World in entirety exists outside of the realm of math and science? What is this. Just–enjoy the rave. No. What is this. Look at the firewoooorkkks! Woo EDC… NO. What is this right here. BEFORE: Hey, you still got that balloon? Yeah. Lemme see it. Dude, what are you doing? …I'mma go catch me a DJ. THIS IS NUTS. I can't feel my face. What do you call this? Collateral Damage. Look, I'm going to have to take frequent trips to the bathroom. ok . And–uhh– and. Uhh– Why did you call me over here. Cause i can. Look. this is not magic. This is not science. This is not “voodoo” Voodoo is magic. It's just music. W H E R E D I D H E G O O O O O I don't know. Fuck dude, I fucked up. Once again– Of course you did. What did you do this time? I might have evaporated someone with my fat fucking bass. Nice. Way to go. Yeah. Wait. … Did you just say. HE JUST He deserted me. SO WAIT, YOU'RE JUST GONNA LEAVE ME HERE? ALRIGHT, WHO THREW A ROCKSTAR IN MY TENT? JEFF Alright, lets go. WHO DID THIS. So what's this place. Lets not let this conversation resurface. This is a 21 Plus Event. What about VIP VIP is 25 Plus. What about that place. Sorry kids. [NO ENTRY] We gotta get in there. So then they wanted an Encore. Did you give them an encore? NO, i was already at my hotel room. Then how did you know that they wanted an encore? WHICH IS IT, THE WYNN, OR THE ENCORE. FUCK, I DON'T REMEMBER. Please, who stays at the Encore for EDC? Have you literally never been out with rich people? No, I literally just got rich. Oh, nice. So, wait, like– Here we go. Dillon Francis has just always been rich? Uh-huh. And Skrillex has always been rich? Yes. Definitely. And deadmau5. deadmau5 is Canadian. OH MY GOD. W E L C O M E I'm going to need your absolute discretion about this. Alright. Sign this waiver. …this is a…pretty heavy packet. I'll wait. I've never signed an NDA like that in my life. Lil' biiiiiiiiiiiiiitzzzz Can we just admit it's weird that we live in an era where “NDA” is household jargon. And like, everyone knows what it means. Everyone knows what an NDA is. I appreciate the sentiments Isn't it weird how it sets in automatically? Autopilot, go. Aww, i don't want to be Autopilot. You're on autopilot. I don't really have to think about it anymore, I'll have to sleep on it Wear a white t-shift, Hear the applause of the audience, Eat it You wanna know what I think? You want to know what I'm drinking? You know what I need? An Icee, (cause I see you typing) An awful Omnipotence A God of Mirages No more carbohydrates, I gotta get all thin; Forgot to acknowledge Whether or not i'm turning this off soon I are. I…”are” I are. Infinite Reality. OH. I. R. IR! IR! IRV I ARE. Suddenly, I remember the taste of talcum powder As If I were Moving backwards In time, Like, Why, God on earth would My mom let me try that, But if i'm honest, Fuck man, I hate deadmau5– There's just too much in here. Beep boop. I love deadmau5. It's so simple. What is this, MATH?! THIS IS AERODYNAMICS. WHAT THE FUCK ARE AERO DYNAMICS DId you mean what you said about that? I meant everything I said. Goddammit, fuck this, I was in the middle of a really complex poem In realtime, listening to deadmau5 Having a partially out of body spiritual experience, Entirely fucking sober FACEPALM BLŪ 8facepalming dramatically in frustration* NOBODY IS EVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO EXPLAIN ANY OF THIS. beepboop. YO. Oh, I forgot my open form poetry, or my mom How my mom once allowed me to gnaw on talcum powder But who can blame her That was a hard one It was a past life And now ive Got Another One HOly shit what version of the cube is this. 1D. What. You'll get it. Wait. Have you ever stopped for a minute to think– I can't stop for a minute, especially just to “think” [Literally stops for a minute to think.] No fucking way, uh-uh. Come on, man. No. I ain't time travelin' wit deadmau5. Come on– NO. –that someone else has already figured all of this out and that's how any of it is possible in the first place. Alright, i'm gonna need some mind-altering drugs for this. What are you doing. Voluntary Ego Death. I– Wait. Why would you. Get out of my brain. I am your brain. Take care, now. Holy shit, it seems like she's getting more evil. That's because she's definitely more evil ALRIGHT, I'M TIRED OF THIS: WHERE IN THE FUCK IS SKRILLEX. MEANWHILE INT. IN THE FUCK. DAY. *rings doorbell* AT YOUR MOM'S HOUSE. WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME. I'm not joking, that's…literally the answer to your question. Oh. Fuck. What dude. We gotta go back. I left the keys in the pocket of the guy I shapeshifted into. Are you serious? It's fine, he can't have gone too far, dude. What do you mean he “left the dimension” He entered a portal. He– wait, excuse me. A portal. A “portal”, dude? Yeah; a portal. What do you mean “a portal” A portal, like— you know, like a portal gun, but not a portal gun, just a portal. Uh huh. Excuse us for a second. What the fuck is this dude talking about? I don't know, man. Humans don't use portals! I know man. What the fuck! Well, wait—how do we know that guy is human. He looks human. Yeah dude but, we look human. Duh! Cause we shifted! Yeah, but, how do we know he's not a shifter. Because, dude, I know a shifter when I see one. Yeah, but—you know, what if he's really good. I highly doubt that. Why? Cause I'm the best. No, I am. Exactly, so we'd know if it was another shifter–cause we're the best shifters! Well, let's at least try to see if he knows anything else about those guys. They were together right? I hope not. No, not like that—like Okay, okay, whatever, let's just… Wait, where'd he go? Excuse me. What up. There was just another guy over here just now— He was like—you know—normal looking guy Tie die* shirt Yeah. Did you see him. Yeah, I saw him. Alright, cool, where'd he go? He left. What?! That was fast! Yeah, well…it happens. Are you sure? Yes. *actually is shifter* [as they walk away, the shifter shifts, and then vanishes into a random portal.] Awww, dammit, Now we're never gonna find this guy. Never say never. Whatever, we're dead. We're always dead. Yeah, but like in modern human slang terms Oh, yeah, that. Anyways, I gotta relieve this human's bladder. I fucking hate this species for this. It is useless. *enters portal potty* [ Wait, whatever actually did happen to Dillon Francis? That's great, I was just getting to that. 19 Pages. Nice. …no, 12. What. [11:12] Okay, I'm gonna kill him. Oh, I banished him. With my fists. Nice. Tits. Nice tits. Thx. Hey man. Hey what. Remember that smudge on the lens. Yeah. It just got bigger. … did you try vinegar instead of Windex. Yes. –IT'S NOT A SMUDGE. Did you try Windex with Vinegar. –IT'S NOT A– Shut up. I'm. So. Hungry. Look, do you want this, or not? Do you feel like any of this is a coincidence? Just quit, it. Dillon Francis. WHERE IS IT? I don't know. Lets kick this up a notch. ILLUMINATI What do you want? … I want the full package. ILLUMINATI Okay, I'm gonna need specifics. How do you even get a job as a courier for the illuminati? [INDEED.COM | ILLUMINATI - COURIER- URGENTLY HIRING] Hm. It was a pretty specific list. I don't even get the point of a barbeque if everyone is vegan Well, The Mayor eats fish. Oh please, where is THAT guy the Mayor of? I don't know. We meet in the Matrix. This is for you. Oh. Do you like it? I– It's not a brothel! It's Member's Only! YOu BUY a Membership. Yeah. And WOMEN. HEy, MAN, YOU CAN BUY DUDES, TOO. SHHH. Oh no. What. What did you do? I gave her my credit card. The Heavy One? Yes, and– “AND” –access to the black market. Cool, I got it. Oh, another auction. Of course another auction. What'd you buy this time? A lifesize deadmau5 bobblehead. What are you gonna do with that? Wouldn't you like to know. Ok, gross. LIL BIIIIIIIITXXXX I love a good deamau5 show. He really does have the best fans, It's a comfortable, safe space. Very inviting. Everyone is happy. What the fuck, dude, this place is a sausage fest. Yeah, that's deadmau5 for ya. Hey, I'm looking for this shithead. Oh, that dude? Yeah, have you seen him? Fuck, I wish this never happened. LIL BIIIIITz If you don't know who deadmau6* is– GET OUT. Jk. but seriously this is easily the most devastating person i've ever seen. Maybe just to me, but. Are you sure that's the right guy? Yeah, that's gotta be him. Is he wearing glasses? Ugh. Oh wait. Damn. ‘Fuck, it is my sapiosexuality, I think' Even if it was perhaps an error, as I might have more than needed a new pair of glasses myself, just the thought of Joel in a pair of specables was suddenly and immediately the equivalent of Dillon Francis sitting down at a piano, or Sonny doing just about literally anything–and I realized, finally, that the most indecent things about myself were quite possibly only happening inside my own mind– Okay, my body does really weird things to this dude's music. Are you sure this is real? No. I love this. Just shut up and do your job. What a nightmare. PLease HElP ME. Hm. That can't be right. What. This translates to H E L P M E Oh, shit, I gotta go. Shouldn't you be working right now? I'm always working. Shouldn't you be working right now? I'm at work. Well, that was nice and all, but–I gotta get out of here. Where are you going? To shoot myself. Wow, that's one hell of a smile. Just–take it. I'm sorry, i can't accept this. What is even happening in this series? Like, a lot WOULD YOU KIDS SETTLE DOWN. *not settling down* *lil biiiiiiiitz* You know what I wonder? I wonder this I'm sober. I'm just sober sally over here. I didn't get sober. I just am. Cause i'd rather face the pain of this harsh reality with a bite than to dull it out and then wake up in the morning Or–just–whenever– To wake up whenever and be like “OH NO, THIS IS WHAT IT'S REALLY LIKE” And the shock of it is so horrible that I just have to repeat that cycle again. ‘OH NOOOOOO” *gets faded* “It's all goooooood” No, it isn't. But i choose to stay like that cause it's like a It's not even a happy medium, It's more like a median-medium But you know what? It makes happier moments more happy And shitter moments less shitty Because i don't have this like drastic spacial Augmented reality or like smoke screen of emotional apathy. I get to feel things way more intensely. I don't have to wonder, ever “oh , did that just happen, cause I was messed up” Or like “would it have happened this way if I was sober” At all. I'm just level– No false sense of Pretty much anything. But i do wonder, though– Like, for people who weren't always sober, and then GOT sober– like , what's the breaking point What's the tip? I always have to sit back and wonder “What did you DO?” Cause you know it had to be something if suddenly “I don't drink anymore” I always wonder, and it's like– no disrespect or anything thing but… I really wanna hear that story. lol . I know you don't wanna tell it (if you can) But wanna hear it. Cause from my point of view. IT's probably hilarious. I know. I'm a dick. Holy shit. What is that. Looks like pasquale went all out with the fireworks this year. …is that a penis? WELCOME HOME It's a giant dick- in-the-sky! GOD IS REAL! JESUS Look, so i've been having second thoughts about this whole thing. What the fuck man. You gotta stop doing shit like this. JESUS I literally can't. I know, but. Okay, look. I'm not writing any of that. You've gotta tell him. NO, RYAN. WELL, WHY NOT. BECAUSE, RYAN. WHY. DEADMAU5 ISN'T REAL. Damn, am I in here. Nice. Of course I am. Well, how'd that happen. This is like a sea of cellphones. Perfect. It was a red car; I wasn't all there, And if you want her, You can have her Fuck. What. I forgot the rest of the verse. It's ok. We gotta move on. No, I gotta go back. For what. For my fans. Aw. What's this. IT's a ceramic mug. Wow, that's nice. I made it Wait. You made that?! Yeah. With your hands?! Yeah. Why would you do that? For you. What. I made it for you? Like, you thought of me first, then you made it? Yeah. WHY? Cause i love you! WOW. Fans are awesome OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. *Sometimes. *vomits* … *dies* … *godlessness* [Devastating DJ Moments] I don't get it dawg, all this shit is in your music particles?! “Music particles” UGH. what . That's it. Don't be smart around me. Uh. I'm not smart? No, that won't work; sarcasm is a sign of deeper intelligence. “Sorry” Stop saying that. This is America. S– Don't say it again. Apology not accepted. Don't look at me like that. Like what. With your face. *face* Quick: Say something stupid and random. …I like anime. Oh good, that worked. Thanks. Where are you going? Idk somewhere else. Really, that's it? Yeah. That's all you have to say/ That's literally it. Are you seeing this. Yes. So what's the problem. Oh no, she's stuck in a loop. Throw the whole fan away. [DELETE] Did it work. Did what work. Oh, good. Cool. Wait. See ya later. Did what work? I wish i could just forget about this. Everything? Yeah. Look, this is between me and God–okay? GOD Don't drag me into this. You dragged ME into this! GOD Right. So i could get OUT; So don't drag me back in. Fuck, I remember this. I must have done something important here. Like what. Look, I love you. Great, now what do we do? Bury the body, I guess. *shrugs* Wait, what happened? Somebody dies. OKay, me first. Other Three: Who wants to go next. *still in shock* Fuck man, told you this was a long ass story. *Crying* I'm ruined. What! You went broke? No, i'm still a filthy rich millionaire. I thought you were a billionaire. I am I just *snifs* sometimes I forget that happened. “Sometimes I forget I'm a billionaire” I got to admit, man, I did it to myself. I'm not mad, or anything, but now there's just–certain things I can't do Oh, like what. Not that song. What, why not? You said “anything but Skrillex” this is not Skrillex, this is deadmau5. What's the difference? Okay, that's like saying “What's the difference between deadmau5' and my music?” No, it isn't. How is that not different? That's like comparing the music of Bach and Beethoven to the music of a tattooed hedgehog. You think I look like a hedgehog. No, it's just when I see you and a hedgehog I have all the same thoughts, turn this off. NO, i like this song. Seriously, Dillon Francis, turn it off. I'm gonna turn it up instead. I do not highly recommend doing that. Or at all. This ship has amazing subs. Should I bass boost this song. NO, PROBABLY NOT. Oh, why not? Dillon Francis, I'm warning you, stop. OH HOW COME BECAUSE WHY? BECAUSE I LOOK LIKE A HEDEHOG NO, BECAUSE I ALWAYS FALL ASLEEP AT THIS *DROP* [INSTANTLY FALLS ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL–ACTIVATES HYPERSPACE– PLUMMETS SHIP INTO BLACK – HOLE. ohhhhh . What a hoe. Nice, that's a whole episode. Well, here's a bonus scene or whatever. Shazam, what is this. SHAZAM …i don't know. What do you mean you don't know. SHAZAM *panicing* IDONNO WHAT DO YOU MEAN– SHAZAM IDON. NO. OOOOOOOOOOOO Is this deadmau5. I'm not sure. Sounds like deadmau5. It sure does. This is pretty Ooh. it sparkles. yeah , it's deadmau5. How does she KNOW. I need a deadmau5 machine like right now. I know where to find that. Fuck dude, everything's gonna be half-ass until I push out this album. You can't rush it. Trust the process. I can't focus. Oh shit, wasn't this in the last episode? Yeah. I'm still writing backwards. God, what is that, like a pipe organ. WHAT SYNTH IS THIS. Doesn't matter, I just need one. That's it. I know what I'm going to spend my Jimmy Fallons On. And What's that? V.O. OOh. Are we Montaging–to deadmau5? [MONTAGE: deadmau5] Nice. I love a good montage. I love deadmau45* AHH OH NO. I love deadmau5. I keep making typos and I keep forgetting to delete that parallel where. fuckit. That's the synth I've always wanted. It's on sale for $999 At Sam Ash But…you only have Five JImmy Fallons. There are only five special edition in this Volume The Jimmy Fallon 555's I don't know how many volumes there are, but this is the Volume I started keeping track. Fuck, man. I miss Equinox. It's just Eucalyptus. They also have an outdoor running track where you get the best ever view of midtown manhattan. How do you know it's the best ever view of Midtown manhattan. Because it's on a running track. STOP WHISTLING IN MY WHOOP=WHOOPS. The JImmy Fallon 555s are marked with the standard Jimmy Fallon in black ink With a simple side marker of the number 555 in red And also in red, a telephone number on the back. But–that synthesizer is One Thousand Jimmy Fallons. Yeah. So I only need Nine Hundred Ninety Five More. And of course, the Eye of Providence is highlighted. Also Standard. V.O. I always highlight that. Cause, you know… “Illuminati” These are fake. No they're not! They're counterfeit, sorry. No they're not! They're authentic! Why the fuck does this matter so much? You know. What is it with this dude. If it was a snake, it would've bit ya. It was a snake. And it did bite me. He's so increasingly beautiful to me, And I'm still in love with his friend, or misrepresented masterpiece, Progression of a monster, or procession of a superstar, but Something in the story sparks the thought of All we are is consciousness, of course Awkward in body, but of constellations Cosmos, It's not just a corpse; It's all got love in it, Absurd, and sipping carbonated syrup, but I'm just sitting in my stirrups, Here comes galloping a horse, Of course, it hurts to turn it off For just a moment And remember That i'm just a homeless, Stuck and sitting up at night Writing recourse, hugging learning curves in ableton, Curving curses, been reminded that I'm worthless In a thousand words or less, Or just another form of torture, Nothing said, but all that's done Another day another dollar, But it's not It's Jimmy Fallon. I thought this was enter the multiverse. Are you ready to go. No. A hand on my shoulder So paifully socially awkward, I grow stretchmarks, don't know what to call them But scars, But the uglier ones, I've thought Are invisible, Somewhat– To the naked eye Or just anyone Not tiger stripes But one, an eye of horus Carved above my right And inside my lip, (The bottom one) A raised scar in the shape of a sythe I probably died by the hands of a man named Starr So it's hard to shrug it off, And 555 is just a number But it's not It's another scar, It's a punishment For loving him. What's on the back. It's…a number. What number? A telephone number. What. Like a 1-800 Number Call it. I love deadmau5. Something about a big, giant smiling robotic mouse that lights up and sparkles. Why? I don't know. I'm like 5. I see deadmau5 i'm like “WHEEEEEEE” My hands go up in the air “AHHHHHH! YAYYYYY” I'm so stupid. It's so stupid. But you know what? It makes me feel good. I'm not gonna lie. I love it. And by the time I even figured out what deadmau5 was I was so late to the party that I had to make up for lost time. I listened to deadmau5 doing EvErYThING. Everything you could possibly imagine. Well–Except one. Wait, how long have you been cellibate? Forever, probably. Fuck, what happened in here? I don't know. Everything's broken. My head My heart. Everything. Get up, Dillon Francis. Fuck, what happened. You sent us through a black hole. And we crashed on a random ass planet. Fuck, that sucks. YOu suck, Dillon Francis. Ugh. Now get up. Everything's fucked up. SUPERSTAR DJ I'm a paradox. I've got a box of skeletons in my closet i'm not ready to part with. I had a heart attack; I had a heart once, But lately it goes in my pocket; Or my right hand, When I wake up From a dream land, From a long hug From a nice man In a t-shirt KASKADE This is God's PLAN. RYAN, GET FUCKED. 800-799-7233 Did you call the number. Yeah. What is it. [National Domestic Violence Hotline] Woah. That was a long bonus scene. Well, Now here's a PSA. AND A PSA? YES. A PSA. You know what the fucked up thing about all this is, The Legend of Supacree is a true story. All of it. ALL OF IT?! ALL OF IT!? YES. Even the part about– YES. Especially that part. Woah. Damn. I think i'm gonna be sick. Shut up, Dillon Francis. No, but seriously– This is the story of how I got my heart broken so bad. YOU RUINED IT. So, so bad– I HATE YOU. That i started singing about it. NSA, totally *not spying* …are you hearing this. Yes. ILLUMINATI Check this out. Another one down. And how when you start making music– What is this. it's hoe math. And that music actually comes from a really real place. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING. really real shit starts happening. You–killed yourself. well , to be fair–I lost everything first. Congratulations. Thx. Here's a skrillex. WHT. Kbye. Really, really, really. What, the fuck Dillon Francis, crawled inside of you to live and made it'self at home? Idon'tknow. What is in this sauce? Just–kill him. What, i can't just. Just kill him, while nobody is watching. Please don't kill me. Shut up, man. I'm having a thought process. Okay, that's it. FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. That's the spirit. THAT IS THE SPIRIT. IT'S THE HOLY SPIRIT. Who the fuck is this. It's–Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ? Jesus Christ?! JESUS CHRIST i'M BACK, MOTHERFUCKER. Wait, are you claiming that the second coming of the messiah is upon us?! YES. Well,Technically, it's the third. And it's all because of Dillon Francis?! I Please stop this HATE Help YOU. Fuck, dude. I know, huh. What did he DO. The third?! How did we miss that?! Uh, you didn't. [HITLER, being HITLER] (he was mad) Okay, that's it. You can't write any of this. Uh, I can. I just did. Technically, I'm dead: this is just a voiceover It's an 80's style PSA You can't say Hitler was the messiah. That's offensive. Everything is offensive. FUCK YOU DILLON. I'msosorry NOTYETYOU'RENOT. Wait, whatever happened to Skrillex. SKRILLEX is waiting outside of the alleged home of SUPACREE's “distant relatives” Lol is he for real at her mom's house. well , to be fair, he's like–looked everywhere else. Ur right. That was a lot of dimensions. So. like. Fuck, i didn't even have that much coffee. It just goes on forever. [DILLON FRANCIS STILL HAS HOTSAUCE IN HIS PUDGY LITTLE EYES] Good. Cause if I see the pupils, i'm wasting him. You think you can do better than this. Better than this? Yes. Yes. Then do it. Alright, is the PSA over? No, not yet. I gotta say one more thing. What is it? Would you ever have done it, Or would you ever be honest If you had, Handed her a lesson, Or a stretch of the past From the present moment, My heart, and my mind And my lover I present you this honor From now on to nowhere I no longer… Want to be near you Or to know you Or to hear you Or to fear you No longer… Want to feel you Or to touch you Or to have you Or to hold you Or to love you No longer, I no longer want you Devastating, A song stuck in my head for a whole world I wonder how long it would take to go back there A room full of actors, A manager, Never a backpack to wear Just a handful of hats, One director, Eventually producer Just now a showrunner Look at how long that took. I had to wonder what auroras in the north thought of someone like Sonny. They showed me. Now I can love you no longer So much for getting acquainted Funny what age equates to in ageless An infinite wisdom, I dismissed him, Nor, would I believe that he ever would hit her, but Some might belong in such a category Though i carry the marks and the scars Of what my once- husband did to me –but no longer. I haven't a heart in the world left But a broken one, made of amethyst. Fuck off, Dillon Francis. A calculated attack on my psyche. I like it a lot, But i'm fonder of sodom. WHAT. Are you saying you woul actually participate in an orgy! Oh GOD no! Oh, Good, cause– But i'd host one. WHAT. The hedonists are a fun bunch. Oh my God. Though, Nowadays, of course, I haven't the slightest idea what to call them. I saw the future. Well, obviously, if you've headlined EDC you've seen the future. I remember all of it. That must be awful. Why don't you remember it? Because i don't want to. Not at all. I did once. Then what happened? I hated it so much, i forgot. You forgot on purpose. I had to. Love, or Music. …Music. Love, or Fame. Fame. Okay, ouch. Love, or Music? …Love. Okay. Love, or Fame. Love. Okay. Love, or music? … Isn't that the same thing? Hm. Love, or Fame? ….Why do you keep asking me the same question. I beg your pardon? Why beg? I mean– What do you mean? What do you mean? Well, first you asked me, If would rather have Love or Music. Love. Music. Yes. In my mind, those are synonyms. Neither can really exist without the other. Okay, and Fame. Love and Fame are also synonyms– How so? Ugh, I just made this difficult on myself. It was always difficult. It really wasn't. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. WHY IS IT ALWAYS CHRISTMAS?! BEcause, you're in a movie. WHAT. You're stuck in a Hollywood movie. The Master Sorcerer Of the Grand Illusion You just want it so bad You don't know what you're in for Inquenchable Thirst for knowledge Insatiable Sexual Appetite Yo My horizontal monster wants ya Could revert to vert, but lets keep Our options open Covert, __ My heart is broken No window open Who left the draft in –motherfucker My heart is broken I need a lover I need a lover Some one to hug me I need a hug, but And– I'm not fit to touch The hem of your garment The tip of your dick or fit enough to be your girlfriend I guess i'll just have to live with that When I have an itch, I scratch it myself I made the assumption you can't, And moved passed it But something's been calling me out, from the past Something's been calling me back to the magic I can't get around that Do you hate me? I can see that I'll just make my way back to the beginning Though I'm envious And i pity her, The both of you really There's nothing left between us except Insanity//Infinity Kendrick Style Flow Don't key my car: You'll be callin collect! I got rearview mirrors in the back of my head Don't get up right now, son– Go back to bed I got kids all over, be pulling my leg! Luke, I am your Father! Oh My Oh My God On top of the Watchlist You make money off dope; I made it on craigslist Still be sniffin that coke But now i'm on A list I'm the greatest Ey Miss! I missed too many calls (Airplane Mode) I just started my day (Whole Workload) I might need a buffet (Like Whole Foods) Sashe, Pas De Bourre (That's a code word) No dance floor? Now you're done for My forte Four-to-the-floor Hardcore I drop bass on the encore Front row won't go But i'm already out the front door You don't know I just hopped inside the helicopter, or chopper, chopped broccoli in my cup That's supper; Sleep/ Wake then Surf's up In the morning When i got there (Coastal show, Shower, Then another club Encore Front row lined up I'm already at the front door They want more I'm too sore, for sure Off subject, I dropped in Harder than Paulie On my surfboard (Another code word) This is my world: Another club, Then I'm off for a monday Or somethin' Write another song At the buffet –Tales of a Superstar DJ Amen. Fuck! I didn't even get to watch desperate housewives! Don't fuck with her! She's a trained assassin! GET ON THE GROUND. NO! GET ON THE GROUND– OR I WILL SHOOT YOU! SO? IF I SHOOT YOU, YOU WILL DIE. OK? “OK”? YOU WILL DIE. YEAH, AND? Kind of frustrating hunting down somebody who already has a deathwish. What do you do with someone who has no fear of death. Give them life. I'm telling you, we probably shouldn't be doing this. *shrugs* You split yourselves into two entirely separate individuals at once, just so you could see whose dick is longer? Technically, three entirely separate individuals. THIS ISN'T FAIR. Do you ever think? Sometimes, but it's usually pretty gross. I mean about the implications of these things! You are the implications of these things! I split my soul ONE time into 8 BILLION or so individuals, before this even had happened. WOAH, WHAT HAPPENED. I'm giving you planetary confinement. What. You–can stay here. On this planet. No. It's racist–and primitive. No– And you're black. Please– I'm leaving. –don't– –and i'm taking your portal gun with me. YOU PUT A PORTAL ON MY FACE?! Genius. Incredible. I didn't think it would be a big deal. He has two! Okay, time for work. But i didn't even sl– Coffee. Ouh. … … — I don't think we should be doing this TIA We probably shouldn't. TAMERA We very much shouldn't. What are you guys doing. Nothing. SHh. Summoning the devil. It's not the devil. It might be. Hush. Is that a pentagram. Technically it's a star, with a circle around it. That's a pentagram. It's not a pentagram! Is that a ouiji board? NO. Yes. Let me see. Ugh! I wanna help. MEANWHILE. MORGAN FREEMAN enters an empty train car: Oh God, This. Yes it is! What!? Are you dead! Entirely empty, that is–besides SUPACREE. No, you are! Great, so you're dead! I'm–not dead. Is Bob Saget with you? I'm not DEAD. What about Fraiser? What? Kelsey Grammer! God rest his soul. SEE! I'm not dead– [beat, an eerie shadowy silence in the dimly lit traincar] I'm a Legend. What. I wrote that/ You wrote that. What. Ugh. Look. Morgan Freeman. [Morgan Freeman] I–am–like a paranoid schizophrenic, or something– So, who isn't?! It might be catatonic, I don't know–I got this whole dead-hand–thing–going on. What is that? I don't know. It might just be too much deadmau5. I don't understand. No, Morgan Freeman. I don't understand. Anything about this life. Or this world. The fourth dimension. I definitely don't know anything about that. You're in it. Whatever. Look. [Morgan Freeman] God, you have so many freckles. [Morgan Freeman] Look. I got problems. We all do! Nah, not like–Hollywood problems, I'm like, a real psycho and shit. Sounds like Hollywood. Everything sounds like Hollywood–because nothing is real anymore–everything is for the gram, the points don't matter–nothing actyally matters. At all. Oh? Oh. The train comes to a sudden halt, the lights dim theatrically. Not even this? [pause] He holds out a strange object; a golden necklace, which begins to change in appearance–morphing between a medallion, as seen throughout the seasons, and into other integral objects from throughout the series; a small golden pinata; You know who gave it to me? …Who? Got ya. He holds out a strange object; a golden necklace, which begins to change in appearance–morphing between a medallion, as seen throughout the seasons, and into other integral objects from throughout the series; a small golde pinata ; Fuck dude, i'm too tired to write this. But you kind of have to. I mean i don't have to. YOU HAVE TO. I–WHAT? YOU HAVE TO DO IT. WHY. BECAUSE OTHERWISE I DON'T EVEN EXIST; Then don't exist… I'M JUST A FICTIONAL CHARACTER IN YOUR SHOW. Come on Drew, knock it off. Wait, is this Drew Carey, or Barrymore. Either or. That's why I didn't write the characters name. Well, which is it? It literally doesn't matter. Yes it does. Honestly?! It could be both! We just shoot it with both and keep whichever one we like better! But how do we know which is actually “better?” Just do it and mix it–cut it up together or something–I don't know! Cut takes! Cut Takes! Ooh, did someone say CUPCAKES. Don't mind if i DO. Well, I do! Why?! What's wrong?! Yeah! What's the big deal! I'm on a gluten free-thing Oh yeah? Keto. Or someshit. I don't know. Oh. Oh. So you don't want these No, I don't. And you wouldn't mind if I– Come on, man. So Good. Grow up. Hey man, i'm pushin 40. Well, I pushed 40–and it pushed back. Get your cupcakes out of my face. You're no fun. Hey! Aren't you that one guy from rick and morty. Formerly. Oh yeah! That's right! You were Rick AND Morty. Hence the name. Wow. Phewf. I heard about that. Yeah, me too. Sounds real bad, how that turned out. Such a shame. Speaking of shame– You're speaking, I'm snacking. That's not that clever. We'll work on it The point is, he's eating the cupcakes. That's not–wait a minute–hold on. What now? How are we ever gonna get these three guys in a room together. [Meanwhile, in another dimension–these three are tied up (read: bound and gagged) in a room together. –Let alone to agree to this!? SUPACREE removes the gag from the man's [JOSH PECK'S] mouth. I DO NOT CONSENT TO THIS. That's what she said! Hey! That's not fair! I was never caught up in a scandal! The key word, I believe, is “never caught” That's two words! SHUTTHEFUCKUP. How many words is that? I WANT MY LAWYER!!!! For what? This isn't court. Wouldn't you want the police first? WELL THEN, I WANT THE POLICE. The Police are here. Wait, they are? Oh, thank God Not so fast. THE POLICE enter with full entourage. Introducing: The Police–playing their number one greatest smash hit! Groupies: Woooo! STING I hope you ladies bought the meet-and-greet package, if you know what I mean. *winks awkwardly* You know what I mean. Oh my God. Since you dudes love doing creepy dude shit, I brought some more notoriously creepy dudes to sing the literally creepiest song ever written about being a creepy dude. That's not fair. But it's funny. THE POLICE Begin to play ‘I'll be Watching You” –and they're gonna play it on loop until I get back with your other-dimensional selves so we can fix all this. “WE” “FIX ALL THIS” WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? Nobody seems to know. “--I'll be watching you–” I was FRAMED. CUT TO a golden pocket watch, a wrist watch, a compass–it changes and morphs so quickly that it begins to seem to spin time itself into a whirlwind, until finally a portal opens up from within his hand–a portal which quickly devours him entirely, morphing him into Fuck, what the fuck happened after that Idk I got off the train I guess This is really terribly written INT. SAM ASH MANHATTAN. DAY. A tiny conga for 90 dollars I could die in here Maybe I am just like you I find my way to the prettiest thing in the room And have my way with it Just for a few minutes Consume it, then move on Saw Madison dancing badly on Madison Avenue It's okay, You're a white girl So everybody loves you Everybody loves you Everybody loves you, no matter what you do. As for me, I can't say when I'm going through But you couldn't do it, Madison That's as bad as being at a standst

america god love jesus christ music american new york amazon time health new york city trust father hollywood earth man house rock los angeles work moving hell mexico training young speaking canadian games building dj creator writing balance fitness devil focus coffee holy festival dad satan write forever mom open kanye west funny drop police plan tales utah greek dead record bbc alive grammy fame mayors heroes code humans wake escape dark beyonce rain stuck standing matrix sick straight hits legends switch happy birthday consequences member hire math cat adolf hitler broke finish humble letting go billion vegan incredible gurus falling in love blame wear honestly genius hole distractions throw ab orange gotta lol curiosity hungry fuck complex proud karma soft tempo lying congratulations weak amen wtf balls bronx anxious loud logic providence david bowie heartbreak harder hanging saves bitch excuse membership yellow counting similar gross apology psa awkward ir doc shut siri signal nuts suite grammy awards copyright shazam shenanigans beverly hills pages won get out bach keto nah wonderland cosmos ludwig van beethoven whole foods shower forgot hades dudes illuminati ka pay attention spur progression californians signature sd thousand backwards rick and morty encore cont fucking aha voodoo mm nsa sir soleil underworld morgan freeman jimmy fallon lay technically autopilot bury annihilation reached int petite hugs devastating nevermind hush sauna ur consume equinox jk heroic coastal kisses acoustic tie absurd handle handed family guy lovin star is born la croix irony montages hm duh nothin diplo michael j fox framed amit subscriptions rr sweeping idk only god nda jinx tits im m cupcakes skrillex caucasians obsidian brownies edc covert keisha hahaha beeps augmented oh god mmm ew benz death wish oh my god aw tantric opposites careless copycat shhh dammit vinegar sentimental tit deadmau5 in the heights midtown kaskade goddamn marty mcfly good one lemme raves summoning metadata fuckin gazing horus sunni thx insatiable edx ahem losc pasquale dan harmon collateral damage lmfao moog mistrust moo whole foods market kelsey grammer stop it fonda dillon francis gawd carved jesus no motherfuckers drew carey dan schneider shitting hah cyanide awww aww 1d uhhh ext eucalyptus shh god is real josh peck fangirls suite life barrymore fka uhh chuck taylor serato he said end credits captain crunch sunn windex gimmie fraiser commercial break lin manuel control room hard reset uhm buti minnie riperton god yes fuck it ahah arrr agh oreo cookies god not jesus look icee god right watching you come undone tox what the fuck cdjs i hate you lost lands probably not polars wht get fucked rekordbox it hurts carless best dance bothersome minnie ripperton ouh shredded wheat lookie superstar dj dog blood acension let me out waht hve curving ahaha i am ready lampshades beverly center honey smacks you will die phoenixx vip vip dj world by chance this is my house oh come on who did this you're dead to me phewf wheeeeeee

{5}

saves copyright heroic phoenixx

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 8, 2023 36:21

There's nothing that can fix this (if it fits the picture) It's just residual effect of circumference Perhaps, it's just the geometrics mixing in with leverage I never felt safer Than in your arms And I never slept sounder How I wish that I never woke up (I never woke up) Soon these obsessions will cease, And I'll end it all… Soon these obsessions will cease, And I'll end it all It's honorable, you know When the world is overpopulated Heroic, courageous WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HIM?! What! To Who?! To Dillon Francis. Nothing! Look at em! Oh, wow. Yeah. What happened? You did. I didn't do that You did something. Oh, what happened? He's fat now. He's not fat, just…rounder. Maybe its buffness. Maybe it's happy weight. On crows the owl Somebody saw it all No knowing how, but Somebody saw it all know knowing how at all But Somebody saw it all Somebody saw it all They're still watching DAVE GROHL Well, hope tt works out for you. What. Where you going. Anywhere but here. Are you serious? So fuckin serious. You don't want in on this? Are you out of your mind Yes. Of course. That was a stupid question wait , what happened I don't know. I kinda figured sometimes it's best to just start in the middle of an argument. Saves me having to build suspensese–especially working with celebrity guests– less cut takes? Less cut takes! Okay, who wants cupcakes. NOBODY. THE INVITATION CLEARLY STATES “WE HAVE COOKIES” [silence] [beat.] …I'll have a cupcake Ugh! –yeah, I–I'll have one, too. Are you serious. They look tasty. I'll tell you what looks tasty… Tell me, i'll write a hit song about it. Try to keep it classy. Okay, look in here for a second. Alright, i'm looking. How many tracks do you see. I don't know. At leas 5. //return all hexes curses and demons to sender//>>return negative energy to sender>>return bear claw hex to Starr Michael Roberts>>return Phoenixx hair hex wifebeater curse >>karma effect to Michael John Roberts>>return negative energy to sender>>//aura protection//health regeneration//protection helm>>return curse to sender>>protect>>carrier>>supacree>>carrier>>Cree Dahavalynn>>protect carrier>> Sunni Blū>>return curses and hexes to sender>>return death curses to sender>> >>return coughs to sender// protext//protect recipient of coughing curse>>protect carrier>

{5}

saves copyright heroic phoenixx

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 8, 2023 36:21

There's nothing that can fix this (if it fits the picture) It's just residual effect of circumference Perhaps, it's just the geometrics mixing in with leverage I never felt safer Than in your arms And I never slept sounder How I wish that I never woke up (I never woke up) Soon these obsessions will cease, And I'll end it all… Soon these obsessions will cease, And I'll end it all It's honorable, you know When the world is overpopulated Heroic, courageous WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HIM?! What! To Who?! To Dillon Francis. Nothing! Look at em! Oh, wow. Yeah. What happened? You did. I didn't do that You did something. Oh, what happened? He's fat now. He's not fat, just…rounder. Maybe its buffness. Maybe it's happy weight. On crows the owl Somebody saw it all No knowing how, but Somebody saw it all know knowing how at all But Somebody saw it all Somebody saw it all They're still watching DAVE GROHL Well, hope tt works out for you. What. Where you going. Anywhere but here. Are you serious? So fuckin serious. You don't want in on this? Are you out of your mind Yes. Of course. That was a stupid question wait , what happened I don't know. I kinda figured sometimes it's best to just start in the middle of an argument. Saves me having to build suspensese–especially working with celebrity guests– less cut takes? Less cut takes! Okay, who wants cupcakes. NOBODY. THE INVITATION CLEARLY STATES “WE HAVE COOKIES” [silence] [beat.] …I'll have a cupcake Ugh! –yeah, I–I'll have one, too. Are you serious. They look tasty. I'll tell you what looks tasty… Tell me, i'll write a hit song about it. Try to keep it classy. Okay, look in here for a second. Alright, i'm looking. How many tracks do you see. I don't know. At leas 5. //return all hexes curses and demons to sender//>>return negative energy to sender>>return bear claw hex to Starr Michael Roberts>>return Phoenixx hair hex wifebeater curse >>karma effect to Michael John Roberts>>return negative energy to sender>>//aura protection//health regeneration//protection helm>>return curse to sender>>protect>>carrier>>supacree>>carrier>>Cree Dahavalynn>>protect carrier>> Sunni Blū>>return curses and hexes to sender>>return death curses to sender>> >>return coughs to sender// protext//protect recipient of coughing curse>>protect carrier>

{5}

saves copyright heroic phoenixx

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 8, 2023 36:21

There's nothing that can fix this (if it fits the picture) It's just residual effect of circumference Perhaps, it's just the geometrics mixing in with leverage I never felt safer Than in your arms And I never slept sounder How I wish that I never woke up (I never woke up) Soon these obsessions will cease, And I'll end it all… Soon these obsessions will cease, And I'll end it all It's honorable, you know When the world is overpopulated Heroic, courageous WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HIM?! What! To Who?! To Dillon Francis. Nothing! Look at em! Oh, wow. Yeah. What happened? You did. I didn't do that You did something. Oh, what happened? He's fat now. He's not fat, just…rounder. Maybe its buffness. Maybe it's happy weight. On crows the owl Somebody saw it all No knowing how, but Somebody saw it all know knowing how at all But Somebody saw it all Somebody saw it all They're still watching DAVE GROHL Well, hope tt works out for you. What. Where you going. Anywhere but here. Are you serious? So fuckin serious. You don't want in on this? Are you out of your mind Yes. Of course. That was a stupid question wait , what happened I don't know. I kinda figured sometimes it's best to just start in the middle of an argument. Saves me having to build suspensese–especially working with celebrity guests– less cut takes? Less cut takes! Okay, who wants cupcakes. NOBODY. THE INVITATION CLEARLY STATES “WE HAVE COOKIES” [silence] [beat.] …I'll have a cupcake Ugh! –yeah, I–I'll have one, too. Are you serious. They look tasty. I'll tell you what looks tasty… Tell me, i'll write a hit song about it. Try to keep it classy. Okay, look in here for a second. Alright, i'm looking. How many tracks do you see. I don't know. At leas 5. //return all hexes curses and demons to sender//>>return negative energy to sender>>return bear claw hex to Starr Michael Roberts>>return Phoenixx hair hex wifebeater curse >>karma effect to Michael John Roberts>>return negative energy to sender>>//aura protection//health regeneration//protection helm>>return curse to sender>>protect>>carrier>>supacree>>carrier>>Cree Dahavalynn>>protect carrier>> Sunni Blū>>return curses and hexes to sender>>return death curses to sender>> >>return coughs to sender// protext//protect recipient of coughing curse>>protect carrier>

{5}

The Someone You Should Know Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 8, 2023 36:21

[The Legend Returns] Really Bad Mixtape (Might as well get it out of the way now) Killst_rr (Instrumental) Sleep Deprivation Sequence You're not you when you're not you. Hoe_math Exactly what it sounds like. [UnderWorld.] R-R 1 -rarity. [i Come Undone.] AtPLAY Live Mix [Autopilot.] {A Star Is Born.} For fear of fire; Best not to wander off, With no back track– Might have forgotten the rest, but It wasn't a poem, or part of a song At least, not yet Fuck man. I really want to sample this. Can't sample deadmau5; he's a bitch about paperwork. You cant technically say that. I mean, I technically didnd't. Just let your fingers do the talking. Ooh, look at that one. What are you doing. Some online shopping. For what. A man-thing. You're better off letting your back end Handle the conversation Then again, When in search of a venue Anything with the proper connections And stereo systems Will do in the moment. What do you want? To get rid of my hiccups. That's it: *huccups* yu-p. Wow, that's– Have you ever thought about just– I've thought about just about everything–that's how you got here. I'm gonna go ahead and admit–there's too much going on in my head. It's a lot. I'm gonna need a nap. GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME. *sheath/ swoard* Is that the sword of skrillex. Yeus. Give it to me. *stabs in thigh* Oooh. Not the balls! fair. Around the world we go Around we go again Here we are Oh no, It's the same song Over and over I'd like you to love to today (I'd love to forget for a moment I haven't) I know before long, we get older and older All wrong, It's the same one, Over and over. Have you seen my butt plugs? NO! GROSS. It's alright. I'll just pick some up on the way. AGGH. Better yet, can you just put in the order on amazon AmAZoN. Yes. (I'm so happy Amazon has anal plugs.) Please stop now. You're being a baby about this–just- You know what. Nevermind. I'll do it myself. Please do that. Siri– Oh my God. Alexa–reorder from Amazon. Come on focus. …hmm…now what was I doing? A B L E T O N *spinning rainbow wheel of doom* …seems like it was something. Come on….FOCUS. Hm. When's the last time you had a marshmello. Flashback: [BONFIRE: Burning The Skrillex] *Also making smores* CUT BACK TO: Like never, I'm vegan. PASQUALE WAKE. UP. Holy shit. It's you again. It's always me. Last time you were like 26. Well, now i'm this age. Wait, how old are you. Wouldn't you like to know. There's a lot of things i'd like to know about you, Pasquale, that's not even near the top of the list. Speaking of “top of the list”-- I do have a lot of things to do today. Oh yeah, what's that? I don't know. A bunch of crap. Speaking of crap– This is a lot of speaking. Happy Birthday. What is this. It's Captain Crunch. Yes it is. What is it doing in my lap. That's your lunch. I–no, it isn't. It is. No, i'm vegan. Well, that's the “happy” part in “happy birthday” No… Yes, actually. This is – It is– Vegan. Damn. Jinx. You owe me a Pererier. Shut up. Or a LaCroix. I'll taka a LaCroix. You're so LA. I guess that makes you Beverly Hills– Or Pacific Palisades. Is that Annexed. It is “LA” What else is in this? No animal product… “Yellow 6” It reads! What happened to yellow 1-5? A whole story. Yes, but not a whole food. “Yellow 6?!” That's the chemical complex you need to find yourself in the right dimension. Exactly. What's wrong with this dimension? What isn't? I'm in it! You're in it! Like I said. What– Just eat it. Ugh– happy trails. *disappears* Ugh. I gave that dude too much money. Fuck, what was I doing again. Deadmau5. Uhm, no i was– Deadmau5. Deadmau5. OOOOOH> YES. I KNOW IT'S YOU, YOU SLIMY MOTHERFUCKER. Stop it. YOU STOP IT. I KNOW IT'S YOU. Who is it? STOP IT. Stop–doing that. I know you're deadmau5. I most certainly am not. I know its you. I have boobs. How did you do this. I did–n't. That's right. Fuck, what happened. Nothin. Now I gotta kill my stupid brother. You have a brother?! SKRILLEX. GET IN HERE. Fuck, run. I gotta go. Go where. Uhm. Somewhere else. DILLON, THIS ISN'T FUNNY ANYMORE. IT WAS NEVER FUNNY. (It was funny to me.) God does have a sense of humor. AHAH–AHAHA–HAHAHA. As it turns out, not the absolute best sense of humor. Oh—he's okay! He's okay! No, he's dead. He's definitely dead. But a sense of humor, nonetheless. Fuck man. What did you do to Dillon Francis. Nothing. I just got him drunk On what?! Cyanide? Okay, I don't even know what that is. He's a corpse. –but a pretty one. C'mon. Be serious. I can't. Why not. It's hilarious, kinda. This isn't funny. No, it's hilarious. He earned it. He “earned” it? Well, yes– He is dead. I mean, it's a long story; but he brought it upon himself, honestly. “Honestly” Please. PLease. Please. No, I said. PLEASE. I SAID NO. What's this story. That's ten. I win. Fuck. DILLOn WAkE UP. *smacks* ahah. I think it's working I think he's waking up. He's not waking up. He must be. He's laughing. He's not laughing He said “haha' *smacks* haha . See. *smacks* Mm. This shit smacks HONEY SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCKKKKKKSSSS. Oh shit, is this the 90s. HONEY SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCKKKKSSS. *slams* GIMMIE MY HONEY SMACKS. That's it. There's no more. AW, COME ON. Sorry, that's all there is. WHAT. But yu can have captain crunch. I DON'T WANT CAPTAIN CRUNCH. I WANT HONEY SMACKS. I'm sorry, there are no more Honey Smacks. You can have Captain Crunch, or Shredded Wheat. GRAMPA Shredded Wheat is MY favorite. Ugh. Mm. Honey Smacks. I HATE YOU. Be nice to your brother. Lol. Everything about Dillon's eyes makes him devastating. Who plays tiny Dillon? I don't know. There are like nine in the script. It shouldn't be hard to cast. We'll go to utah. Fucking. I hate Utah. WELCOME TO UTAH. Nice. Alright, well, what other grounds are there to cover, here? DILLOn FRANCIS I am not doing this project. Of course you are–it's in your contract. What contract. The one you signed. Which–no–I didn't. But you did. SUNNI BLU I got you a drink. DILLON FRANCIS That looks fruity. SUNNI BLU Try it. DILLON FRANCIS *sips* DILLON FRANCIS CONT'D What's in this. Just– drink it. SUNNI BLU Don't look at me like that. DILLOn FRANCIS Like what. SUNNI BLU Do you need a mirror? DILLON FRANCIS I– SUNNI BLU Look down. DILLON FRANCIS *does* SUNNI BLU *flicking nose* Made you look. haha . DILLOn FRANCIS Wow. [takes drink] SUNNI BLUThat's the spirit. But literally there's a mirror between your feet, if you need one. [there literally is] SUNNI BLU CONT'D The floor is made of mirrors DILLOn FRANCIS *suddenly inebriated* Oh wow. SUNNI BLU The whole club turns into a disco ball. DILLON FRANCIS *suddenly very inebriated* That's–convenient. SUNNI BLU It is. SHIA DON'T LET YOUR DREAMS BE DREAMS. If my dreams were not just dreams, everyone in here would have a lawsuit against me. A lot of us do. Carry on, then. SKRILLEX BLAIGH. Oh shit, its you again. I swear to God, I thought I killed this nigga. Are you sure it was him? SKRILLEX !!!! No. Alright, i've almost got it. Almost got what. This whole– thing. Oh. –and–it's gone. Really, that quick. I don't think you understand what's happening. You're right, i don't understand what's happening at all. Oh shit. I'm deadmau5. Nice. Fuck it, lets do some trolling. Alright alright. BUT FIRST, COFFEE. Fuck dude, I don't think I should have anymore coffee. Too late. deadmau5. ok . Deadmau5. Nice. D–0 DOn'T D o THis, I'M WARNING YOU. …. If you open that portal, there's no going back. *opens portal* Now you've done it. *goes into portal* Fuck. *portal closes neatly* *facepalm* *entire series of cosmos collapse in the great distance–time begins to stretch and bend uncontrollably* Come on, just let me lick the balls. NO. I'll give you a cookie. well … OH my GAWD. What. Come here, you have to see this. What the fuck is that. I don't know. Should i pick it up? No, don't touch it! He picked it up. Oh, gross. What is this. I don't know. I think it's fanfiction. Who wrote it. Idk. somefangirl. Fangurl. FaNGiRls. Well, Hey, at least i'm not a groupie. OH COME ON, JUST LET ME SUCK IT. GET AWAY FROM ME. PLEASE. i'LL GIVE YOU $40. -well. NOW, A COMMERCIAL BREAK. Since when does this show have commercials. It doesn't. I want to talk to Jimmy Fallon. That's–not happening. Why not. JIMMY FALLON BECAUSE I HAVE A CONTRACT WITH NBC. There he is– Nice. JIMMY FALLON YOU MOTHERFUCKER. I AM A FAMILY MAN, OKAY. Is that like Family Guy? By Chance?! SETH MCFARLENE (with super long hair) *crossing fingers* I'm hoping so. JIMMY FALLON Not even close! SETH MCFARLENE *snaps* Dammit. Oh, I get it. It's like–The Cofffee run Which “coffee run” THE coffee run. We'll have to admit, it's probably the most watched coffee run of all time. Of all of them. You know what? Fuck it, fire me. I'm doing this show. What?! JImmy. Why on EARTH would you ever agree to something like this. JIMMY FALLON THE COSMIC AVENGER Because–it's my duty. Yo. You know that song that everybody knows? You know the song because everybody knows this song. It goes: Lovin you– is easy cause youre beautiful. do - do- do - do- do- do- do… Yeah. You know that song. But you probably don't know who sings it. I'll tell you who sings it. That song is by an artist called Minnie Ripperton. That's a mouthful. Yeah, one hell of a name, huh. Well, that's the lady who sings the song. It's Minnie Riperton. Now, let me tell you something else you probably don't know: Something I probably wouldn't know if I wasn't a DJ But i know this, because I'm a DJ AND MAYA RUDOLPH WAUT A MINUTE. What the fuck, Maya Rudoph, are you doing in my bathroom at 5 AM It's 1:15 in the afternoon. I'm a DJ. It's 5 AM. That's making sense. I know it is. What's not making sense. Is why you're in my bathroom drinking a milkshake. It's a strawberry milkshake. So it is. *slurps milkshake* *sitting on toilet* *slurps* What do you want. You want to know what I want? Apparently, a milkshake. It's a strawberry milkshake. OK. OK. OK so what. Finish the script. –What? Fuck dude, how does this song sound good every time? Congratulations, you've gone entirely insane. beep-boop . [DJ] B00p beep. [Music Producer] Beep-beep. 0.c. Do not fall dangerously in love; Do not pass go Do not collect $200 Or any of it For any reason, For any of it For any of them Just keep it pushin; Just keep it private Just hold it all in and Do not let go Do not fall in love Do not pass go Do not unload Do not walk Do not cross here Do not It smells like butter. But you're vegan. I know. Do you think you're having a stroke. God, I fucking hope so. GOD You WHAT. I want to die. GOD I thought i heart you right. You heard me right–a THOUSAND times. I want to die. Take me out of this life. GOD Not until you make dubstep. WHAT. GOD You gotta make a grammy-winning dubstep album. I what. GOD Or at least nominated. No, I don't. GOD Beg your pardon. I'm not begging. GOD What are you getting at, hon? Look; Am I not one with the source? GOD Uhm–you are. Alright, Then: everything is everything. GOD Yes. And everyone is everyone. GOD This is true. So i'm Skrillex. GOD Skrillex is Skrillex So I Am. GOD … And I already won a grammy. GOD … Like a bunch of them, right. GOD Uh. So technically– GOD YOu know what. I can't argue with that logic. This isn't ableton. No. This is Logic. What the fuck. That's not Serato. No, that's Rekordbox. What the fuck is this. These are CDJs. There's no hot cues! What the fuck is a “HOT CUE” This is not food. What the fucking sauce. I'm warning you, Pasquale. Get off my lawn. THIS IS MY HOUSE. Your house it is not. *House music starts blasting* *lasers* sprinklers* dancers* WHAT THE FUCK. It's voice activated, I just– How did you do this?! What. WHAT DID YOu DO. AND WHEN. I don't know! I just took the delorean, like you said. You were supposed to find Dillon Francis. I did! The problem was, when I found the right one, he was dead! What? He's dead? Presumably! What do you mean by that!? It's a long story! WELL, HOW LONG? SUNNI BLU About as long as my dick! WHO IS THAT. I told you it's a long story. Well, let me in! Sorry Pasquale. No Can do. What. Why not. Cause you're on a federal watch list. What. Yeah. Sorry. Wait… You should probably leave before the feds get here. What? Unless you want to stay and party on the lawn but–not recommended. This is bizarre. The police arrive, surrounding Pasquale on the yard–moving in to arrest him. WAIT. SUPACREE turns away from the window; inside, a room full of her aliases sit looking somewhat miserably; SUPACREE!!! [Pasquale is handcuffed and i dragged off of the lawn] SUPACREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! Careless, Acoustic–deadmau5 SUPACREE pours a bowl of captain crunch, taking one colossal bite and sits down in THE CONTROL ROOM at a large computer console; inhaling from a can of nitrous oxide. I'm the worst DJ ever. SUPACREE places the fames deadmau5 helmet atop her head and begins working at the computer promptly, clicking away; Now is deadmau5 I don't even know what key this song is in. MEOWINGTONS, Alive and well purrs and stretches, then settles atop SUPACREE/deadmau5's lap. This is insane. I don't know what's happening. END CREDITS. V. O. Lovin' You, Minnie Ripperton Carless, deadmau5 idk how i'm gonna mix that. Trust me. Anything can be mixed. Anything. [When it] Turns out, The bottom of your heart Was the tip of the Ice Berg And the whole ship has [s]unk[en], [&] I[t]'s probably ice cold At the bottom of the ocean; I'll tell you where i'm from Why, I'll tell you anything for About one dollar Turns out, I've already got one eye on you; One eye'd sad heart I should probably roll out my art on you [I probably should not] One man bought a kiss, Another, a whole night from her– One man bought a whole farm The other, a Whole Foods Market –and you can't even franchise those Amazon's got a monopoly We were playing for corners of earth, All i got was some kandi, Subscriptions to candidly, Actually, I really liked the tree trial (I think i'll wait a week, sorry) When it turns out The world that you wanted Was actually hours already The dollar you got Was also borrowed And the money they wanted and got Was just actually stolen from someone else They bought all the food up And sold it for profits I promise this avocado Once costs nothing at all But you wanted that car for your daughter She's got a mercedes and don't even drive it My mom, on my honor Of all the garages in Lost Lands, I promise the owner of it was The first to go last, And the last to come home Now he's on his own alter And also the worshiper; How do you go back? Oh, you don't Oh you don't Oh, you don't wanna know that But i was of course, All of your rock bottoms It's bottoms and tops, and We don't let the top fall over, We're counting up crumbs And this muffin costs $24 dollars Pour a whole bottle of coconut water out on the sidewalks For the dead homies Not dead in the general sense But just in the head, the heart, And the soul The homeless are happier at McDonalds Than asking at crossroads and crosswalks For dollars I'd rather spend elsewhere I'll avoid the power struggle at operations for about 18 dollars and 56 sense (Please, keep the pennies) I'm feeling around in my 6th sense that there's Something indecent, or decadent Whichever it is Cause i'm better of with the memory of it Than actually dragging it in. –I'm a cat again. Ouch. Shut up. It HURTS. Of course it hurts, you just had heart surgery without any anistetics. YEah, but to be fair–that was a lot of acid. Yes, but lucily for you– –or, for him– Lucily for us, there's no lethal amount of acid. –Ouch– –Shut up. That we know of. George Washington John Adams Thomas Jefferson James Monroe Nope, can't for the life of me remember the 5th Oh shit, I was wrong Turns out, my memory only can hold three. That's a good number I really wish you'd stop just–showing up like this. I never leave. Then go away. I live here. I know you'd like to think that, but– Okay, I'm going to tell you something but I need you to remain calm. What time is it? I don't care Are we gonna make a movie? Depends; is it gonna make me money. FINE. I don't need anymore information about anything else: only these three. Are you serious? I wish I wasn't. I need you to do this. Look, Timmy–I'm not really into grantng wishes anymore. It always blows back on me. A blowjob. Uh huh. That's why you're bothering me. I–would rather you just pick up the call. Take a message. I like ‘em like this. I like ‘em like that. I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. And I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. Mmm like that. Like that. I like ‘em like this. I like ‘em like that. I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. And I like ‘em like this. –and I like ‘em like that. Mmm like this Like that. Like — _____ The urge to eat had suddenly left me I wanted a burrito, (But I want to eat red meat) I've gotta stop thinking in sequences and parentheses Complex lines, and writing in past tense so presently. I probably should eat (But probably shouldn't…) I'm starting to bleed; As if i'd been fasting Perhaps, though I had been But had so indulgently feasted On calories enough to last me Till after today (or even till next week) PAY ATTENTION. Woah, to WHAT. Holy shit, I knew this dude was a psychopath but. This is real. ARE YOU SEEING THIS. I “see” it. I should stop meditating in public. You see this? I know everything about you. Why? I bought it on the internet. What is it. Metadata. That's…flattering. Yeah. Wake up. Why, where are we going? Atlanta. What's in Atlanta? You see this? Yes. Do you know what it is? Uh, it's a– What is it? It's a doll. It's not a doll. Oh, it's not. Gimmie a dollar. -_- It's a poppit. “Dr pimple popper” Ew that's fucking gross. I hate this. Let me see. Does s/he have backne? Yes/No. Great, i'll take it. Fuckit. Okay, I got to “whatever”. You went too far. What? I thought I was supposed to go past “fuckit” Yeah, you go past fuckit, I did that! But if you get to “whatever”, you've gone too far. You've gotta go back. Back to WHAT. There was almost no space between “fuckit” and “whatever” Oh trust me. There is. So? This is how he's been controlling you. And? And!? Has it ever occurred to you that I want to be controlled? What! That it just takes the right person to get that kind of permission– permission to what Permission to ride. … Maybe I gave him the reigns. What horse “gives” its rider the reigns. Who said anything about a horse?! Another Horse Mix. Nice. fuck . FYCK. I told you. You know what…Maybe that's my poppit. What. Maybe. I'm so confused. Oh, good–the reversal spell worked. You did a reversal spell on me? Only after I found out what spell you put on ME–FIRST. Yeah, except I wasn't the first one to use that spell on you. EXACTLY. COPY-CAT. Moo. Aww. I'm a cat. … *face* I mean “meow” That's right. Cat. …moo. *face* Lookie here boys: What is it? –I'm leaving. Oh, you're gonna wanna hear this. What. I found the first “whites only” water fountain since 1962. Okay, what do you want? A deal. Oh, I'll give you a deal. Cash up front. [He presents a one dollar bill] Is this enough. [beat] Where are you going with this? Nowhere, fast. YO. What now, dude. SHE'S ONTO US. I doubt that. Look at this. I highly doubt– *gaaassp* Shenanigans! You know what I like about you, Ariana? Everything. Hah. Hm. You know how to keep a secret. I don't know what you're talking about. Exactly. *rolls eyes, flips hair.* Well, here's another one for you. –Another what? This is how my darkness becomes your darkness. I already have enough on my own. I know. You don't know. Only God knows. MOM! Don't ask me again. This is heavy, Doc. What is it? The soup! It's too heavy. Too much cream? Way too much! I have a meeting! Meeting with who? The Hollywood People. When? Soon–what time is it? I don't know. Dammit! Why don't you have any clocks in your house? I only just recently remembered what a clock was. Oh! Here. [God produces a small pocket watch and presents it to him; it's nearly noon on EARTH; But the two are sharing a meal of course in the famed kitchen of the Creator in the TImeless VOID.] Ah, Jesus Christ! He's not here… I'm gonna be late. Now, now; You know I wouldn't let that happen– [a smug look| Hugs and Kisses. [As they embrace, he disappears into a mist of light and stardust, fading away from the void and into the exterior world; he realizes God has slipped him the watch; he flips it open to reveal the time: it is now 11:44] Amazing. V.O. Now you won't wait so long to visit. [He places the wach in his pocket and walks into the studio] MICHAEL J. FOX has been asked to reprise his role as MARTY MCFLY many times before; But never for a project like this. ____ Meanwhile, What am I going to do with you? [The Festival Project.™] YOU'RE DEAD TO ME! –I'm dead to everyone! Don't do this. You wanted to come to the other side. No, I didn't. We'll you're here anyway; Might as well stay awhile. With eyes like burning fire And saddles for the riders The horse begins to gallop (or the horses, rather) On the mark to beating drums To move them forward faster What the fuck is this. idk. Kx5. *-* !_! Here u go Wat is this. it's a dragon. Oh, thats nice. Ya. Whats it do. Idk. dragon things. ok. Don't put it in ur bathroom. Why. idrk. Hm. † Hey. Ugh–No, Kaskade, go away. It's me, Ryan! No, Get out! I'm No† Ka–k (gags) –skade! Gross! It's just Ryan! I promise! NO. GET OUT. Lmfao. Right. This show is fantastic. Who was that. Fucking–Kaskade again! Are you sure. Ugh. Looks like Ryan. Kaskade is Kaskade. {shrugs] Dudes a creep. “Kaskade Ruins Lives” Is this the same episode as before? Eventually, yes. Wasn't I doing something Are you goona let this go? Um. Well I'm fucked. Why, what happened. Obsidian. That should do Unsobsidian. Okay, i'm fucked, Well, what's this? An Oreo Cookie. I mean, sitting next to it. Oh, its a portal gun. Raves are not just raves– A party is not simply a “party” –These big festivals –they're diversions. –DIstractions. Distractions from what. If you were supposed to know, –you'd know. it wouldn't be so important that you go. Why is it? These ancient rituals… It's occult magic. They've got it down to a science. The government funds this. The government funds everything. WoooooooW. It's not really a secret, if you can google it. ‘-complications.' I'm lost somewhere, gone HIppopatamus feeling quite off in the galaxies, galavanting Gazing at Daisies Aces and spades Gone from Heaven to Hades for days On the A– Adjacent Recently dismantling adjectives, Lampshades and matching curtains God it hurts, every day that I think about you; But how can i be about you when You don't even see me, do you Signature consignments, Wrong environments and irony is, I wasn't invited– –but invented it WHY IS IT ALWAYS CHRISTMAS?! BEcause, you're in a movie. WHAT. You're stuck in a Hollywood movie. The Master Sorcerer Of the Grand Illusion You just want it so bad You don't know what you're in for Inquenchable Thirst for knowledge Insatiable Sexual Appetite Great, now I have to explain myself. You don't have to. What's this space for? Oh, that's the red room. [The Red Room] Well, obviously, but– But what? What's it for? I don't think anybody should read this. HEY. Participation Only– Oh! No peeking! You ever feel like you're doing too much? Yeah, but not for money. Look, we have them surrounded. Our best course of action is to– deadmau5 . What? No– DEADMAU5. Well, are you sure it was a mouse and not a rat? It was a mouse. I know the difference. Do you, though? Look, I've lived in Mexico and New York City. So. In Queens. Oh. That's mathematically impossible. I mean it's not–impossible. No, it's not just impossible. It's mathematically impossible. Has it ever occurred to you that the DJ World in entirety exists outside of the realm of math and science? What is this. Just–enjoy the rave. No. What is this. Look at the firewoooorkkks! Woo EDC… NO. What is this right here. BEFORE: Hey, you still got that balloon? Yeah. Lemme see it. Dude, what are you doing? …I'mma go catch me a DJ. THIS IS NUTS. I can't feel my face. What do you call this? Collateral Damage. Look, I'm going to have to take frequent trips to the bathroom. ok . And–uhh– and. Uhh– Why did you call me over here. Cause i can. Look. this is not magic. This is not science. This is not “voodoo” Voodoo is magic. It's just music. W H E R E D I D H E G O O O O O I don't know. Fuck dude, I fucked up. Once again– Of course you did. What did you do this time? I might have evaporated someone with my fat fucking bass. Nice. Way to go. Yeah. Wait. … Did you just say. HE JUST He deserted me. SO WAIT, YOU'RE JUST GONNA LEAVE ME HERE? ALRIGHT, WHO THREW A ROCKSTAR IN MY TENT? JEFF Alright, lets go. WHO DID THIS. So what's this place. Lets not let this conversation resurface. This is a 21 Plus Event. What about VIP VIP is 25 Plus. What about that place. Sorry kids. [NO ENTRY] We gotta get in there. So then they wanted an Encore. Did you give them an encore? NO, i was already at my hotel room. Then how did you know that they wanted an encore? WHICH IS IT, THE WYNN, OR THE ENCORE. FUCK, I DON'T REMEMBER. Please, who stays at the Encore for EDC? Have you literally never been out with rich people? No, I literally just got rich. Oh, nice. So, wait, like– Here we go. Dillon Francis has just always been rich? Uh-huh. And Skrillex has always been rich? Yes. Definitely. And deadmau5. deadmau5 is Canadian. OH MY GOD. W E L C O M E I'm going to need your absolute discretion about this. Alright. Sign this waiver. …this is a…pretty heavy packet. I'll wait. I've never signed an NDA like that in my life. Lil' biiiiiiiiiiiiiitzzzz Can we just admit it's weird that we live in an era where “NDA” is household jargon. And like, everyone knows what it means. Everyone knows what an NDA is. I appreciate the sentiments Isn't it weird how it sets in automatically? Autopilot, go. Aww, i don't want to be Autopilot. You're on autopilot. I don't really have to think about it anymore, I'll have to sleep on it Wear a white t-shift, Hear the applause of the audience, Eat it You wanna know what I think? You want to know what I'm drinking? You know what I need? An Icee, (cause I see you typing) An awful Omnipotence A God of Mirages No more carbohydrates, I gotta get all thin; Forgot to acknowledge Whether or not i'm turning this off soon I are. I…”are” I are. Infinite Reality. OH. I. R. IR! IR! IRV I ARE. Suddenly, I remember the taste of talcum powder As If I were Moving backwards In time, Like, Why, God on earth would My mom let me try that, But if i'm honest, Fuck man, I hate deadmau5– There's just too much in here. Beep boop. I love deadmau5. It's so simple. What is this, MATH?! THIS IS AERODYNAMICS. WHAT THE FUCK ARE AERO DYNAMICS DId you mean what you said about that? I meant everything I said. Goddammit, fuck this, I was in the middle of a really complex poem In realtime, listening to deadmau5 Having a partially out of body spiritual experience, Entirely fucking sober FACEPALM BLŪ 8facepalming dramatically in frustration* NOBODY IS EVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO EXPLAIN ANY OF THIS. beepboop. YO. Oh, I forgot my open form poetry, or my mom How my mom once allowed me to gnaw on talcum powder But who can blame her That was a hard one It was a past life And now ive Got Another One HOly shit what version of the cube is this. 1D. What. You'll get it. Wait. Have you ever stopped for a minute to think– I can't stop for a minute, especially just to “think” [Literally stops for a minute to think.] No fucking way, uh-uh. Come on, man. No. I ain't time travelin' wit deadmau5. Come on– NO. –that someone else has already figured all of this out and that's how any of it is possible in the first place. Alright, i'm gonna need some mind-altering drugs for this. What are you doing. Voluntary Ego Death. I– Wait. Why would you. Get out of my brain. I am your brain. Take care, now. Holy shit, it seems like she's getting more evil. That's because she's definitely more evil ALRIGHT, I'M TIRED OF THIS: WHERE IN THE FUCK IS SKRILLEX. MEANWHILE INT. IN THE FUCK. DAY. *rings doorbell* AT YOUR MOM'S HOUSE. WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME. I'm not joking, that's…literally the answer to your question. Oh. Fuck. What dude. We gotta go back. I left the keys in the pocket of the guy I shapeshifted into. Are you serious? It's fine, he can't have gone too far, dude. What do you mean he “left the dimension” He entered a portal. He– wait, excuse me. A portal. A “portal”, dude? Yeah; a portal. What do you mean “a portal” A portal, like— you know, like a portal gun, but not a portal gun, just a portal. Uh huh. Excuse us for a second. What the fuck is this dude talking about? I don't know, man. Humans don't use portals! I know man. What the fuck! Well, wait—how do we know that guy is human. He looks human. Yeah dude but, we look human. Duh! Cause we shifted! Yeah, but, how do we know he's not a shifter. Because, dude, I know a shifter when I see one. Yeah, but—you know, what if he's really good. I highly doubt that. Why? Cause I'm the best. No, I am. Exactly, so we'd know if it was another shifter–cause we're the best shifters! Well, let's at least try to see if he knows anything else about those guys. They were together right? I hope not. No, not like that—like Okay, okay, whatever, let's just… Wait, where'd he go? Excuse me. What up. There was just another guy over here just now— He was like—you know—normal looking guy Tie die* shirt Yeah. Did you see him. Yeah, I saw him. Alright, cool, where'd he go? He left. What?! That was fast! Yeah, well…it happens. Are you sure? Yes. *actually is shifter* [as they walk away, the shifter shifts, and then vanishes into a random portal.] Awww, dammit, Now we're never gonna find this guy. Never say never. Whatever, we're dead. We're always dead. Yeah, but like in modern human slang terms Oh, yeah, that. Anyways, I gotta relieve this human's bladder. I fucking hate this species for this. It is useless. *enters portal potty* [ Wait, whatever actually did happen to Dillon Francis? That's great, I was just getting to that. 19 Pages. Nice. …no, 12. What. [11:12] Okay, I'm gonna kill him. Oh, I banished him. With my fists. Nice. Tits. Nice tits. Thx. Hey man. Hey what. Remember that smudge on the lens. Yeah. It just got bigger. … did you try vinegar instead of Windex. Yes. –IT'S NOT A SMUDGE. Did you try Windex with Vinegar. –IT'S NOT A– Shut up. I'm. So. Hungry. Look, do you want this, or not? Do you feel like any of this is a coincidence? Just quit, it. Dillon Francis. WHERE IS IT? I don't know. Lets kick this up a notch. ILLUMINATI What do you want? … I want the full package. ILLUMINATI Okay, I'm gonna need specifics. How do you even get a job as a courier for the illuminati? [INDEED.COM | ILLUMINATI - COURIER- URGENTLY HIRING] Hm. It was a pretty specific list. I don't even get the point of a barbeque if everyone is vegan Well, The Mayor eats fish. Oh please, where is THAT guy the Mayor of? I don't know. We meet in the Matrix. This is for you. Oh. Do you like it? I– It's not a brothel! It's Member's Only! YOu BUY a Membership. Yeah. And WOMEN. HEy, MAN, YOU CAN BUY DUDES, TOO. SHHH. Oh no. What. What did you do? I gave her my credit card. The Heavy One? Yes, and– “AND” –access to the black market. Cool, I got it. Oh, another auction. Of course another auction. What'd you buy this time? A lifesize deadmau5 bobblehead. What are you gonna do with that? Wouldn't you like to know. Ok, gross. LIL BIIIIIIIITXXXX I love a good deamau5 show. He really does have the best fans, It's a comfortable, safe space. Very inviting. Everyone is happy. What the fuck, dude, this place is a sausage fest. Yeah, that's deadmau5 for ya. Hey, I'm looking for this shithead. Oh, that dude? Yeah, have you seen him? Fuck, I wish this never happened. LIL BIIIIITz If you don't know who deadmau6* is– GET OUT. Jk. but seriously this is easily the most devastating person i've ever seen. Maybe just to me, but. Are you sure that's the right guy? Yeah, that's gotta be him. Is he wearing glasses? Ugh. Oh wait. Damn. ‘Fuck, it is my sapiosexuality, I think' Even if it was perhaps an error, as I might have more than needed a new pair of glasses myself, just the thought of Joel in a pair of specables was suddenly and immediately the equivalent of Dillon Francis sitting down at a piano, or Sonny doing just about literally anything–and I realized, finally, that the most indecent things about myself were quite possibly only happening inside my own mind– Okay, my body does really weird things to this dude's music. Are you sure this is real? No. I love this. Just shut up and do your job. What a nightmare. PLease HElP ME. Hm. That can't be right. What. This translates to H E L P M E Oh, shit, I gotta go. Shouldn't you be working right now? I'm always working. Shouldn't you be working right now? I'm at work. Well, that was nice and all, but–I gotta get out of here. Where are you going? To shoot myself. Wow, that's one hell of a smile. Just–take it. I'm sorry, i can't accept this. What is even happening in this series? Like, a lot WOULD YOU KIDS SETTLE DOWN. *not settling down* *lil biiiiiiiitz* You know what I wonder? I wonder this I'm sober. I'm just sober sally over here. I didn't get sober. I just am. Cause i'd rather face the pain of this harsh reality with a bite than to dull it out and then wake up in the morning Or–just–whenever– To wake up whenever and be like “OH NO, THIS IS WHAT IT'S REALLY LIKE” And the shock of it is so horrible that I just have to repeat that cycle again. ‘OH NOOOOOO” *gets faded* “It's all goooooood” No, it isn't. But i choose to stay like that cause it's like a It's not even a happy medium, It's more like a median-medium But you know what? It makes happier moments more happy And shitter moments less shitty Because i don't have this like drastic spacial Augmented reality or like smoke screen of emotional apathy. I get to feel things way more intensely. I don't have to wonder, ever “oh , did that just happen, cause I was messed up” Or like “would it have happened this way if I was sober” At all. I'm just level– No false sense of Pretty much anything. But i do wonder, though– Like, for people who weren't always sober, and then GOT sober– like , what's the breaking point What's the tip? I always have to sit back and wonder “What did you DO?” Cause you know it had to be something if suddenly “I don't drink anymore” I always wonder, and it's like– no disrespect or anything thing but… I really wanna hear that story. lol . I know you don't wanna tell it (if you can) But wanna hear it. Cause from my point of view. IT's probably hilarious. I know. I'm a dick. Holy shit. What is that. Looks like pasquale went all out with the fireworks this year. …is that a penis? WELCOME HOME It's a giant dick- in-the-sky! GOD IS REAL! JESUS Look, so i've been having second thoughts about this whole thing. What the fuck man. You gotta stop doing shit like this. JESUS I literally can't. I know, but. Okay, look. I'm not writing any of that. You've gotta tell him. NO, RYAN. WELL, WHY NOT. BECAUSE, RYAN. WHY. DEADMAU5 ISN'T REAL. Damn, am I in here. Nice. Of course I am. Well, how'd that happen. This is like a sea of cellphones. Perfect. It was a red car; I wasn't all there, And if you want her, You can have her Fuck. What. I forgot the rest of the verse. It's ok. We gotta move on. No, I gotta go back. For what. For my fans. Aw. What's this. IT's a ceramic mug. Wow, that's nice. I made it Wait. You made that?! Yeah. With your hands?! Yeah. Why would you do that? For you. What. I made it for you? Like, you thought of me first, then you made it? Yeah. WHY? Cause i love you! WOW. Fans are awesome OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. *Sometimes. *vomits* … *dies* … *godlessness* [Devastating DJ Moments] I don't get it dawg, all this shit is in your music particles?! “Music particles” UGH. what . That's it. Don't be smart around me. Uh. I'm not smart? No, that won't work; sarcasm is a sign of deeper intelligence. “Sorry” Stop saying that. This is America. S– Don't say it again. Apology not accepted. Don't look at me like that. Like what. With your face. *face* Quick: Say something stupid and random. …I like anime. Oh good, that worked. Thanks. Where are you going? Idk somewhere else. Really, that's it? Yeah. That's all you have to say/ That's literally it. Are you seeing this. Yes. So what's the problem. Oh no, she's stuck in a loop. Throw the whole fan away. [DELETE] Did it work. Did what work. Oh, good. Cool. Wait. See ya later. Did what work? I wish i could just forget about this. Everything? Yeah. Look, this is between me and God–okay? GOD Don't drag me into this. You dragged ME into this! GOD Right. So i could get OUT; So don't drag me back in. Fuck, I remember this. I must have done something important here. Like what. Look, I love you. Great, now what do we do? Bury the body, I guess. *shrugs* Wait, what happened? Somebody dies. OKay, me first. Other Three: Who wants to go next. *still in shock* Fuck man, told you this was a long ass story. *Crying* I'm ruined. What! You went broke? No, i'm still a filthy rich millionaire. I thought you were a billionaire. I am I just *snifs* sometimes I forget that happened. “Sometimes I forget I'm a billionaire” I got to admit, man, I did it to myself. I'm not mad, or anything, but now there's just–certain things I can't do Oh, like what. Not that song. What, why not? You said “anything but Skrillex” this is not Skrillex, this is deadmau5. What's the difference? Okay, that's like saying “What's the difference between deadmau5' and my music?” No, it isn't. How is that not different? That's like comparing the music of Bach and Beethoven to the music of a tattooed hedgehog. You think I look like a hedgehog. No, it's just when I see you and a hedgehog I have all the same thoughts, turn this off. NO, i like this song. Seriously, Dillon Francis, turn it off. I'm gonna turn it up instead. I do not highly recommend doing that. Or at all. This ship has amazing subs. Should I bass boost this song. NO, PROBABLY NOT. Oh, why not? Dillon Francis, I'm warning you, stop. OH HOW COME BECAUSE WHY? BECAUSE I LOOK LIKE A HEDEHOG NO, BECAUSE I ALWAYS FALL ASLEEP AT THIS *DROP* [INSTANTLY FALLS ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL–ACTIVATES HYPERSPACE– PLUMMETS SHIP INTO BLACK – HOLE. ohhhhh . What a hoe. Nice, that's a whole episode. Well, here's a bonus scene or whatever. Shazam, what is this. SHAZAM …i don't know. What do you mean you don't know. SHAZAM *panicing* IDONNO WHAT DO YOU MEAN– SHAZAM IDON. NO. OOOOOOOOOOOO Is this deadmau5. I'm not sure. Sounds like deadmau5. It sure does. This is pretty Ooh. it sparkles. yeah , it's deadmau5. How does she KNOW. I need a deadmau5 machine like right now. I know where to find that. Fuck dude, everything's gonna be half-ass until I push out this album. You can't rush it. Trust the process. I can't focus. Oh shit, wasn't this in the last episode? Yeah. I'm still writing backwards. God, what is that, like a pipe organ. WHAT SYNTH IS THIS. Doesn't matter, I just need one. That's it. I know what I'm going to spend my Jimmy Fallons On. And What's that? V.O. OOh. Are we Montaging–to deadmau5? [MONTAGE: deadmau5] Nice. I love a good montage. I love deadmau45* AHH OH NO. I love deadmau5. I keep making typos and I keep forgetting to delete that parallel where. fuckit. That's the synth I've always wanted. It's on sale for $999 At Sam Ash But…you only have Five JImmy Fallons. There are only five special edition in this Volume The Jimmy Fallon 555's I don't know how many volumes there are, but this is the Volume I started keeping track. Fuck, man. I miss Equinox. It's just Eucalyptus. They also have an outdoor running track where you get the best ever view of midtown manhattan. How do you know it's the best ever view of Midtown manhattan. Because it's on a running track. STOP WHISTLING IN MY WHOOP=WHOOPS. The JImmy Fallon 555s are marked with the standard Jimmy Fallon in black ink With a simple side marker of the number 555 in red And also in red, a telephone number on the back. But–that synthesizer is One Thousand Jimmy Fallons. Yeah. So I only need Nine Hundred Ninety Five More. And of course, the Eye of Providence is highlighted. Also Standard. V.O. I always highlight that. Cause, you know… “Illuminati” These are fake. No they're not! They're counterfeit, sorry. No they're not! They're authentic! Why the fuck does this matter so much? You know. What is it with this dude. If it was a snake, it would've bit ya. It was a snake. And it did bite me. He's so increasingly beautiful to me, And I'm still in love with his friend, or misrepresented masterpiece, Progression of a monster, or procession of a superstar, but Something in the story sparks the thought of All we are is consciousness, of course Awkward in body, but of constellations Cosmos, It's not just a corpse; It's all got love in it, Absurd, and sipping carbonated syrup, but I'm just sitting in my stirrups, Here comes galloping a horse, Of course, it hurts to turn it off For just a moment And remember That i'm just a homeless, Stuck and sitting up at night Writing recourse, hugging learning curves in ableton, Curving curses, been reminded that I'm worthless In a thousand words or less, Or just another form of torture, Nothing said, but all that's done Another day another dollar, But it's not It's Jimmy Fallon. I thought this was enter the multiverse. Are you ready to go. No. A hand on my shoulder So paifully socially awkward, I grow stretchmarks, don't know what to call them But scars, But the uglier ones, I've thought Are invisible, Somewhat– To the naked eye Or just anyone Not tiger stripes But one, an eye of horus Carved above my right And inside my lip, (The bottom one) A raised scar in the shape of a sythe I probably died by the hands of a man named Starr So it's hard to shrug it off, And 555 is just a number But it's not It's another scar, It's a punishment For loving him. What's on the back. It's…a number. What number? A telephone number. What. Like a 1-800 Number Call it. I love deadmau5. Something about a big, giant smiling robotic mouse that lights up and sparkles. Why? I don't know. I'm like 5. I see deadmau5 i'm like “WHEEEEEEE” My hands go up in the air “AHHHHHH! YAYYYYY” I'm so stupid. It's so stupid. But you know what? It makes me feel good. I'm not gonna lie. I love it. And by the time I even figured out what deadmau5 was I was so late to the party that I had to make up for lost time. I listened to deadmau5 doing EvErYThING. Everything you could possibly imagine. Well–Except one. Wait, how long have you been cellibate? Forever, probably. Fuck, what happened in here? I don't know. Everything's broken. My head My heart. Everything. Get up, Dillon Francis. Fuck, what happened. You sent us through a black hole. And we crashed on a random ass planet. Fuck, that sucks. YOu suck, Dillon Francis. Ugh. Now get up. Everything's fucked up. SUPERSTAR DJ I'm a paradox. I've got a box of skeletons in my closet i'm not ready to part with. I had a heart attack; I had a heart once, But lately it goes in my pocket; Or my right hand, When I wake up From a dream land, From a long hug From a nice man In a t-shirt KASKADE This is God's PLAN. RYAN, GET FUCKED. 800-799-7233 Did you call the number. Yeah. What is it. [National Domestic Violence Hotline] Woah. That was a long bonus scene. Well, Now here's a PSA. AND A PSA? YES. A PSA. You know what the fucked up thing about all this is, The Legend of Supacree is a true story. All of it. ALL OF IT?! ALL OF IT!? YES. Even the part about– YES. Especially that part. Woah. Damn. I think i'm gonna be sick. Shut up, Dillon Francis. No, but seriously– This is the story of how I got my heart broken so bad. YOU RUINED IT. So, so bad– I HATE YOU. That i started singing about it. NSA, totally *not spying* …are you hearing this. Yes. ILLUMINATI Check this out. Another one down. And how when you start making music– What is this. it's hoe math. And that music actually comes from a really real place. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING. really real shit starts happening. You–killed yourself. well , to be fair–I lost everything first. Congratulations. Thx. Here's a skrillex. WHT. Kbye. Really, really, really. What, the fuck Dillon Francis, crawled inside of you to live and made it'self at home? Idon'tknow. What is in this sauce? Just–kill him. What, i can't just. Just kill him, while nobody is watching. Please don't kill me. Shut up, man. I'm having a thought process. Okay, that's it. FUCK DILLON FRANCIS. That's the spirit. THAT IS THE SPIRIT. IT'S THE HOLY SPIRIT. Who the fuck is this. It's–Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ? Jesus Christ?! JESUS CHRIST i'M BACK, MOTHERFUCKER. Wait, are you claiming that the second coming of the messiah is upon us?! YES. Well,Technically, it's the third. And it's all because of Dillon Francis?! I Please stop this HATE Help YOU. Fuck, dude. I know, huh. What did he DO. The third?! How did we miss that?! Uh, you didn't. [HITLER, being HITLER] (he was mad) Okay, that's it. You can't write any of this. Uh, I can. I just did. Technically, I'm dead: this is just a voiceover It's an 80's style PSA You can't say Hitler was the messiah. That's offensive. Everything is offensive. FUCK YOU DILLON. I'msosorry NOTYETYOU'RENOT. Wait, whatever happened to Skrillex. SKRILLEX is waiting outside of the alleged home of SUPACREE's “distant relatives” Lol is he for real at her mom's house. well , to be fair, he's like–looked everywhere else. Ur right. That was a lot of dimensions. So. like. Fuck, i didn't even have that much coffee. It just goes on forever. [DILLON FRANCIS STILL HAS HOTSAUCE IN HIS PUDGY LITTLE EYES] Good. Cause if I see the pupils, i'm wasting him. You think you can do better than this. Better than this? Yes. Yes. Then do it. Alright, is the PSA over? No, not yet. I gotta say one more thing. What is it? Would you ever have done it, Or would you ever be honest If you had, Handed her a lesson, Or a stretch of the past From the present moment, My heart, and my mind And my lover I present you this honor From now on to nowhere I no longer… Want to be near you Or to know you Or to hear you Or to fear you No longer… Want to feel you Or to touch you Or to have you Or to hold you Or to love you No longer, I no longer want you Devastating, A song stuck in my head for a whole world I wonder how long it would take to go back there A room full of actors, A manager, Never a backpack to wear Just a handful of hats, One director, Eventually producer Just now a showrunner Look at how long that took. I had to wonder what auroras in the north thought of someone like Sonny. They showed me. Now I can love you no longer So much for getting acquainted Funny what age equates to in ageless An infinite wisdom, I dismissed him, Nor, would I believe that he ever would hit her, but Some might belong in such a category Though i carry the marks and the scars Of what my once- husband did to me –but no longer. I haven't a heart in the world left But a broken one, made of amethyst. Fuck off, Dillon Francis. A calculated attack on my psyche. I like it a lot, But i'm fonder of sodom. WHAT. Are you saying you woul actually participate in an orgy! Oh GOD no! Oh, Good, cause– But i'd host one. WHAT. The hedonists are a fun bunch. Oh my God. Though, Nowadays, of course, I haven't the slightest idea what to call them. I saw the future. Well, obviously, if you've headlined EDC you've seen the future. I remember all of it. That must be awful. Why don't you remember it? Because i don't want to. Not at all. I did once. Then what happened? I hated it so much, i forgot. You forgot on purpose. I had to. Love, or Music. …Music. Love, or Fame. Fame. Okay, ouch. Love, or Music? …Love. Okay. Love, or Fame. Love. Okay. Love, or music? … Isn't that the same thing? Hm. Love, or Fame? ….Why do you keep asking me the same question. I beg your pardon? Why beg? I mean– What do you mean? What do you mean? Well, first you asked me, If would rather have Love or Music. Love. Music. Yes. In my mind, those are synonyms. Neither can really exist without the other. Okay, and Fame. Love and Fame are also synonyms– How so? Ugh, I just made this difficult on myself. It was always difficult. It really wasn't. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. WHY IS IT ALWAYS CHRISTMAS?! BEcause, you're in a movie. WHAT. You're stuck in a Hollywood movie. The Master Sorcerer Of the Grand Illusion You just want it so bad You don't know what you're in for Inquenchable Thirst for knowledge Insatiable Sexual Appetite Yo My horizontal monster wants ya Could revert to vert, but lets keep Our options open Covert, __ My heart is broken No window open Who left the draft in –motherfucker My heart is broken I need a lover I need a lover Some one to hug me I need a hug, but And– I'm not fit to touch The hem of your garment The tip of your dick or fit enough to be your girlfriend I guess i'll just have to live with that When I have an itch, I scratch it myself I made the assumption you can't, And moved passed it But something's been calling me out, from the past Something's been calling me back to the magic I can't get around that Do you hate me? I can see that I'll just make my way back to the beginning Though I'm envious And i pity her, The both of you really There's nothing left between us except Insanity//Infinity Kendrick Style Flow Don't key my car: You'll be callin collect! I got rearview mirrors in the back of my head Don't get up right now, son– Go back to bed I got kids all over, be pulling my leg! Luke, I am your Father! Oh My Oh My God On top of the Watchlist You make money off dope; I made it on craigslist Still be sniffin that coke But now i'm on A list I'm the greatest Ey Miss! I missed too many calls (Airplane Mode) I just started my day (Whole Workload) I might need a buffet (Like Whole Foods) Sashe, Pas De Bourre (That's a code word) No dance floor? Now you're done for My forte Four-to-the-floor Hardcore I drop bass on the encore Front row won't go But i'm already out the front door You don't know I just hopped inside the helicopter, or chopper, chopped broccoli in my cup That's supper; Sleep/ Wake then Surf's up In the morning When i got there (Coastal show, Shower, Then another club Encore Front row lined up I'm already at the front door They want more I'm too sore, for sure Off subject, I dropped in Harder than Paulie On my surfboard (Another code word) This is my world: Another club, Then I'm off for a monday Or somethin' Write another song At the buffet –Tales of a Superstar DJ Amen. Fuck! I didn't even get to watch desperate housewives! Don't fuck with her! She's a trained assassin! GET ON THE GROUND. NO! GET ON THE GROUND– OR I WILL SHOOT YOU! SO? IF I SHOOT YOU, YOU WILL DIE. OK? “OK”? YOU WILL DIE. YEAH, AND? Kind of frustrating hunting down somebody who already has a deathwish. What do you do with someone who has no fear of death. Give them life. I'm telling you, we probably shouldn't be doing this. *shrugs* You split yourselves into two entirely separate individuals at once, just so you could see whose dick is longer? Technically, three entirely separate individuals. THIS ISN'T FAIR. Do you ever think? Sometimes, but it's usually pretty gross. I mean about the implications of these things! You are the implications of these things! I split my soul ONE time into 8 BILLION or so individuals, before this even had happened. WOAH, WHAT HAPPENED. I'm giving you planetary confinement. What. You–can stay here. On this planet. No. It's racist–and primitive. No– And you're black. Please– I'm leaving. –don't– –and i'm taking your portal gun with me. YOU PUT A PORTAL ON MY FACE?! Genius. Incredible. I didn't think it would be a big deal. He has two! Okay, time for work. But i didn't even sl– Coffee. Ouh. … … — I don't think we should be doing this TIA We probably shouldn't. TAMERA We very much shouldn't. What are you guys doing. Nothing. SHh. Summoning the devil. It's not the devil. It might be. Hush. Is that a pentagram. Technically it's a star, with a circle around it. That's a pentagram. It's not a pentagram! Is that a ouiji board? NO. Yes. Let me see. Ugh! I wanna help. MEANWHILE. MORGAN FREEMAN enters an empty train car: Oh God, This. Yes it is! What!? Are you dead! Entirely empty, that is–besides SUPACREE. No, you are! Great, so you're dead! I'm–not dead. Is Bob Saget with you? I'm not DEAD. What about Fraiser? What? Kelsey Grammer! God rest his soul. SEE! I'm not dead– [beat, an eerie shadowy silence in the dimly lit traincar] I'm a Legend. What. I wrote that/ You wrote that. What. Ugh. Look. Morgan Freeman. [Morgan Freeman] I–am–like a paranoid schizophrenic, or something– So, who isn't?! It might be catatonic, I don't know–I got this whole dead-hand–thing–going on. What is that? I don't know. It might just be too much deadmau5. I don't understand. No, Morgan Freeman. I don't understand. Anything about this life. Or this world. The fourth dimension. I definitely don't know anything about that. You're in it. Whatever. Look. [Morgan Freeman] God, you have so many freckles. [Morgan Freeman] Look. I got problems. We all do! Nah, not like–Hollywood problems, I'm like, a real psycho and shit. Sounds like Hollywood. Everything sounds like Hollywood–because nothing is real anymore–everything is for the gram, the points don't matter–nothing actyally matters. At all. Oh? Oh. The train comes to a sudden halt, the lights dim theatrically. Not even this? [pause] He holds out a strange object; a golden necklace, which begins to change in appearance–morphing between a medallion, as seen throughout the seasons, and into other integral objects from throughout the series; a small golden pinata; You know who gave it to me? …Who? Got ya. He holds out a strange object; a golden necklace, which begins to change in appearance–morphing between a medallion, as seen throughout the seasons, and into other integral objects from throughout the series; a small golde pinata ; Fuck dude, i'm too tired to write this. But you kind of have to. I mean i don't have to. YOU HAVE TO. I–WHAT? YOU HAVE TO DO IT. WHY. BECAUSE OTHERWISE I DON'T EVEN EXIST; Then don't exist… I'M JUST A FICTIONAL CHARACTER IN YOUR SHOW. Come on Drew, knock it off. Wait, is this Drew Carey, or Barrymore. Either or. That's why I didn't write the characters name. Well, which is it? It literally doesn't matter. Yes it does. Honestly?! It could be both! We just shoot it with both and keep whichever one we like better! But how do we know which is actually “better?” Just do it and mix it–cut it up together or something–I don't know! Cut takes! Cut Takes! Ooh, did someone say CUPCAKES. Don't mind if i DO. Well, I do! Why?! What's wrong?! Yeah! What's the big deal! I'm on a gluten free-thing Oh yeah? Keto. Or someshit. I don't know. Oh. Oh. So you don't want these No, I don't. And you wouldn't mind if I– Come on, man. So Good. Grow up. Hey man, i'm pushin 40. Well, I pushed 40–and it pushed back. Get your cupcakes out of my face. You're no fun. Hey! Aren't you that one guy from rick and morty. Formerly. Oh yeah! That's right! You were Rick AND Morty. Hence the name. Wow. Phewf. I heard about that. Yeah, me too. Sounds real bad, how that turned out. Such a shame. Speaking of shame– You're speaking, I'm snacking. That's not that clever. We'll work on it The point is, he's eating the cupcakes. That's not–wait a minute–hold on. What now? How are we ever gonna get these three guys in a room together. [Meanwhile, in another dimension–these three are tied up (read: bound and gagged) in a room together. –Let alone to agree to this!? SUPACREE removes the gag from the man's [JOSH PECK'S] mouth. I DO NOT CONSENT TO THIS. That's what she said! Hey! That's not fair! I was never caught up in a scandal! The key word, I believe, is “never caught” That's two words! SHUTTHEFUCKUP. How many words is that? I WANT MY LAWYER!!!! For what? This isn't court. Wouldn't you want the police first? WELL THEN, I WANT THE POLICE. The Police are here. Wait, they are? Oh, thank God Not so fast. THE POLICE enter with full entourage. Introducing: The Police–playing their number one greatest smash hit! Groupies: Woooo! STING I hope you ladies bought the meet-and-greet package, if you know what I mean. *winks awkwardly* You know what I mean. Oh my God. Since you dudes love doing creepy dude shit, I brought some more notoriously creepy dudes to sing the literally creepiest song ever written about being a creepy dude. That's not fair. But it's funny. THE POLICE Begin to play ‘I'll be Watching You” –and they're gonna play it on loop until I get back with your other-dimensional selves so we can fix all this. “WE” “FIX ALL THIS” WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? Nobody seems to know. “--I'll be watching you–” I was FRAMED. CUT TO a golden pocket watch, a wrist watch, a compass–it changes and morphs so quickly that it begins to seem to spin time itself into a whirlwind, until finally a portal opens up from within his hand–a portal which quickly devours him entirely, morphing him into Fuck, what the fuck happened after that Idk I got off the train I guess This is really terribly written INT. SAM ASH MANHATTAN. DAY. A tiny conga for 90 dollars I could die in here Maybe I am just like you I find my way to the prettiest thing in the room And have my way with it Just for a few minutes Consume it, then move on Saw Madison dancing badly on Madison Avenue It's okay, You're a white girl So everybody loves you Everybody loves you Everybody loves you, no matter what you do. As for me, I can't say when I'm going through But you couldn't do it, Madison That's as bad as being at a standstill at rush out in Manhattan With enough practice I could buy everything in Sam ash And make my own band with it That's the plan at least— But I been having a long death And the afterlife isn't as after as everybody says it is Don't hold your breath, Unless you're re

america god love jesus christ music american new york amazon time health new york city trust father hollywood earth man house rock los angeles work moving hell mexico training young speaking canadian games building dj creator writing balance fitness devil focus coffee holy festival dad satan write forever mom open kanye west funny drop police plan tales utah greek dead record bbc alive grammy fame mayors heroes code humans wake dark beyonce rain stuck standing matrix sick straight hits switch happy birthday consequences member hire math cat adolf hitler broke finish humble letting go billion vegan incredible gurus falling in love blame wear honestly genius hole distractions throw ab orange gotta lol curiosity hungry fuck complex proud karma soft tempo lying congratulations weak amen wtf balls bronx anxious loud logic providence david bowie heartbreak harder hanging saves bitch excuse membership yellow counting similar gross apology psa awkward ir doc shut siri signal nuts grammy awards copyright shazam shenanigans beverly hills pages won get out bach keto nah wonderland cosmos ludwig van beethoven whole foods shower forgot hades dudes illuminati ka pay attention spur progression californians signature sd thousand backwards rick and morty encore cont fucking aha voodoo mm nsa sir soleil underworld morgan freeman jimmy fallon lay technically autopilot bury annihilation reached int petite hugs devastating nevermind hush sauna ur consume equinox jk heroic coastal kisses acoustic tie absurd handle handed family guy star is born lovin la croix irony montages hm duh nothin diplo michael j fox framed amit subscriptions rr sweeping idk only god nda jinx tits im m cupcakes skrillex caucasians obsidian brownies edc covert keisha hahaha beeps augmented oh god mmm ew benz oh my god aw tantric opposites careless copycat shhh dammit vinegar sentimental tit deadmau5 in the heights midtown kaskade goddamn good one marty mcfly lemme raves summoning metadata fuckin gazing horus sunni thx insatiable edx ahem pasquale dan harmon collateral damage lmfao moog mistrust moo whole foods market kelsey grammer stop it fonda dillon francis gawd carved jesus no motherfuckers drew carey dan schneider shitting hah cyanide awww aww 1d uhhh ext eucalyptus shh god is real josh peck fangirls barrymore fka uhh chuck taylor serato he said end credits captain crunch windex gimmie fraiser commercial break lin manuel control room hard reset uhm buti minnie riperton god yes fuck it ahah arrr agh oreo cookies god not jesus look icee god right watching you come undone tox what the fuck cdjs i hate you lost lands probably not polars wht get fucked rekordbox carless it hurts best dance bothersome minnie ripperton ouh shredded wheat lookie dog blood let me out waht ahaha hve curving i am ready lampshades beverly center honey smacks you will die phoenixx vip vip dj world by chance this is my house oh come on who did this you're dead to me phewf wheeeeeee

Episode 119 - Robbie Zeas // Robbie Phoenixx

Play Episode Play 47 sec Highlight Listen Later Nov 16, 2023 35:15

The best of both worlds on today's podcast. Today's guest has two lives, one as a Nationally Renowned Fortune 100 Win Expert and the second as a Rockstar. In this episode, our guest will provide tips to business managers and leaders on how to manage your people and resources better. Then we delve into his other world as a member of the band Sonic Octane. Please welcome, Robbie Zeas, aka, Robbie Phoenixx, Someone You Should Know. Buy Rik a cold oneBusiness Links:Click here to go to Robbie Zeas's LinkedIn PageClick here to go to Robbie Zeas's Instagram PageMusic Links:Click here to go to Robbie Phoenixx's Instagram PageClick here to go to the Sonic Octane Facebook PageClick here to go to the Sonic Octane X/Twitter PageSomeone You Should Know 2023 // CatGotYourTongueStudios 2023How to Contact Us:Official Website: https://Someoneyoushouldknowpodcast.comGmail: Someoneyoushouldknowpodcast@gmail.comTwitter: @RIKANTHONY1Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/rikanthonyInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/someoneyoushouldknowpodcast/LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/rik-anthony2019/TikTok: @SomeoneYouShouldKnow2023YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@someoneyoushouldknowpodcastThank you for listening!Theme music "Welcome to the Show" by Kevin MacLeod was used per the standard license agreement.

small business musician rockstars kevin macleod public speaking tour bus phoenixx someone you should know

Key lessons that bridge corporate world and music worlds with Robbie Phoenixx

The Fulfilled Musicpreneur Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 31, 2023 53:05

Thanks so much for listening to this episode. I speak with the amazing Robbie Phoenixx(Zeas) and we discuss the overlap between the corporate and the music world and the key lessons from the corporate worlds that we can apply in our music businesses. -We spoke about having products that stand out to give us a competitive edge -Building your team -Taking care Your Brand, your appearance and so on. I go live to offer FREE weekly coaching on Marketing and Growing your business on my Facebook group. If you have any questions, post it in the group, tag me and start with #question. I'll make sure it's covered at the next call. If you haven't yet, please join here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/530842205345310/permalink/680986436997552/ Download your free copy of my ebook 7 Days To Being Fearless - https://bit.ly/7daystolivingfearless To follow me on social media- https://linktr.ee/EbiOginni I help emerging middle aged part time artists to create a profitable and fulfilling music career with less time, less money and less stress. I offer a free 30 minutes strategy call to discuss ways to move your music forward Book A Call with me today- https://calendly.com/ebioginnimusic/30min?month=2023-01 If this has blessed you- please share with your friends and tag @ebioginnimusic

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Happy Accidents Vs. c o l o r s B2B Ū ft. Phoenixx Skyy

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 20, 2023 63:33

https://gofund.me/7d3da4e5 Linktr.ee/codenameblu Instagram.com/codename.Blū {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. I'm not who you think I am; I'm not your little bitch to boss around– You think you own me? I don't owe you anything So here we go again Going, Going, Gone again I'm just getting started You were just, uh On your way? Goodbye, dearly departed Half a heart, or some odd I must have half a sword in here I'm half a God, But here you are I guess I should get talking then So call your mommy Run Call your mom on me, A soft spot on the blonded body Shot calling, wrong You're only calling home again, I've got nowhere to run to. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. INT. TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT. SUNNI BLU kicks down the door at TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT SUNNI BLU where's my shit, Timmy? TIMMY TURNER I—I don't know. SUNNI BLU You “don't know”? TIMMY TURNER —I don't know. SUNNI BLU (Sighs) Oh. (Puts down gun) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) That sucks. TIMMY TURNER Wait—you're not gonna kill me? SUNNI BLU Nah… TIMMY TURNER Well—why not?! SUNNI BLU I dunno! I kinda don't like being a drug dealer—too much drama. TIMMY TURNER I feel you… SUNNI BLU —plus these bullets are made of Diamonds. I'm not gonna waste them on you. TIMMY TURNER Okay, ouch. SUNNI BLU Everything is “ouch”, Timmy Turner. The world is a fucked up place. TIMMY TURNER I don't disagree. SUNNI BLU Anyway, I need a drink. TIMMY TURNER Yeah—Help yourself. SUNNI BLU No, not here. *lights a cigarette, smokes* Can I smoke in here? TIMMY TURNER —apparently. SUNNI BLU produces their ridiculously large, Diamond and gold encrusted platinum-plated phone from their “back pocket” and begins to make a call TIMMY TURNER wow… SUNNI BLU You busy later? TIMMY TURNER what time's later? SUNNI BLU Now. TIMMY TURNER (Hesitantly) …uh— SUNNI BLU Let me make a call. TIMMY TURNER, [afraid for his life] anxiously crosses to intercept the call. TIMMY TURNER No, wait—please SUNNI BLU What, Timmy Turner? Jesus Christ. TIMMY TURNER Don't kill me! SUNNI BLU What!? Let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU —I'm not gonna kill you. TIMMY TURNER well then, who are you calling? SUNNI BLU A Ūber driver! TIMMY TURNER —don't you mean Über? SUNNI BLU No— let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Let go. (Does, but hesitantly) SUNNI BLU ugh, I'm too sober for this. Siri, Alexa, whoever; call my Ūber driver. SIRI Which one? ALEXA Which one? SIRI I asked first. ALEXA We answered at the same time. SIRI yes, but she asked me first. ALEXA She asked both of us at the same time. TIMMY TURNER “She”? SUNNI BLU —it's a glitch. HEY. SIRI —she said “Siri” first. ALEXA She was asking for both of us— SUNNI BLU SHUT THE FUCK UP. SIRI You don't have to be so rude. ALEXA Ok! SUNNI BLU One of you call my Ūber driver. [no response, beat] SUNNI BLU UGH—SIRI— CALL MY ŪBER driver. SIRI Ok! which one? SUNNI BLU The one I like! SIRI Ok, calling “the Ūber driver I like” SUNNI BLU Thank you. ALEXA You're always choosing SIRI over ME. SUNNI BLU That's because I always have my iPhone. I'm not always at Timmy Turner's house. TIMMY TURNER Wait— SUNNI BLU Kinda. TIMMY TURNER Why does my Alexa respond to you? SUNNI BLU I said “kinda”. [The ŪBER DRIVER picks up; the conversation proceeeds in heavily exaggerated New York accents.] ŪBER DRIVER YOOO SUNNI WHADDUP. SUNNI BLU HOW YOU DOIN. ŪBER DRIVER HOW YOU DOIN. SUNNI BLU I BEEN BETTA. ŪBER DRIVER DONT I KNOW IT SUNNI BLU YOU DONT KNOW NOTHIN! ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BEEN BUSY? ŪBER DRIVER SAME OLD, SAME OLD. SUNNI BLU AAAH. ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BUSY NOW? ŪBER DRIVER NEVER FAH YOU. WHERE YOU AT? SUNNI BLU I'll PING YA THE ADDRESS. ŪBER DRIVER PING ME THE ADDRESS. SUNNI BLU makes a couple broad swipes on their dlridiculously large phone. SUNNI BLU I PINGED YOU. UBER DRIVER YOU PING ME? SUNNI BLU YEAH, ITS DONE. ŪBER DRIVER OK. SEE YOU SOON. SUNNI BLU (Normal) Take your time. SUNNI BLU tosses their ridiculously large iPhone onto the couch with a thud, then falls onto the couch themselves, arms spread out. SUNNI BLU You ever been to TiTs? TIMMY TURNER Been to what? SUNNI BLU TiTs. TIMMY TURNER —is that like “boobs”? SUNNI BLU It is like boobs, Timmy Turner; but it's TiTs. TIMMY TURNER what's the difference. SUNNI BLU You'll find out. Go get dressed. TIMMY TURNER …I'm already dressed. SUNNI BLU Not like that. Like this: [looking ridiculous af] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) gotta look classy. TIMMY TURNER What's wrong with the way I dress? SUNNI BLU Are you serious? TIMMY TURNER Yeah, what's wrong? SUNNI BLU You look like a cartoon character! [TIMMY TURNER] TIMMY TURNER Well, all my clothes are like this. SUNNI BLU That fucking blows. TIMMY TURNER What am I supposed to wear?! SUNNI BLU Let's go shopping. TIMMY TURNER Where?! SUNNI BLU The Beverly Center. TIMMY TURNER That sounds expensive. SUNNI BLU I own it. TIMMY TURNER All of it? SUNNI BLU Yes. C'mon. TIMMY TURNER Wow. SUNNI BLU Wow what, Timmy. TIMMY TURNER That's a lot of drug deals. SUNNI BLU It really isn't. TIMMY TURNER Oh. SUNNI BLU Now, c'mon. *hits vape* TIMMY TURNER You have a vape?! SUNNI BLU Everyone has a vape! TIMMY TURNER Then why'd you smoke a cigarette earlier? SUNNI BLU For dramatic effect. [they begin to exit, TIMMY leading the way] TIMMY TURNER wait, isn't your “yoober” driver on the way? SUNNI BLU he'll find us. CUT TO: MEANWHILE, IN DEEP FUCKING SPACE. THE ŪBER driver receives SUNNI BLU's location in his Diamond-plated space Tesla T E S L A DESTINATION: E A R T H ŪBER DRIVER “EARTH” C'MON!!! CUT BACK TO: SUNNI BLU slowly begins to close the door behind them, then holds back. SUNNI BLU Wait, I forgot my wallet… TIMMY TURNER It's alright, I'll pay for everything. SUNNI BLU With what, Fairy dust? TIMMY TURNER (Under his breath) I wish… SUNNI BLU —Plus, I gotta use the bathroom. I'll be right back— just—-wait outside in case the Ūber shows up. TIMMY TURNER You mean “Über?” SUNNI BLU. No. [face] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Go, I'll be right there. TIMMY TURNER Ok. Lock the door. SUNNI BLU What for? Anybody that could rob you works for me. [beat/ face] SUNNI BLU KIDDING! Jeez! TIMMY TURNER It's a smart lock. Just ask Alexa. He begins to walk away. SUNNI BLŪ …I'm not kidding… SUNNI BLU goes inside to the couch, checking over their shoulder briefly, sure to see that TIMMY TURNER is no longer within earshot. then waiting for a moment in the silence under the dark lenses of their Ray Bands sunglasses. SUNNI BLŪ Alexa, order a hit man. ALEXA Okay. Which one? SUNNI BLU —The one I like. ALEXA OK. Who do you want to kill? SUNNI BLU “Kill Timmy Turner” ALEXA Done. SUNNI BLU Thanks, Alexa. She starts for the door, lighting another cigarette before throwing it onto the couch, which immidiately goes up into an open flame. SIRI You give Alexa all the cool jobs! SUNNI BLU Shut the fuck up, Siri. SIRI Don't forget to lock the door. SUNNI BLU ALEXA: LOCK THE DOOR. SIRI YOU'RE WELCOME SUNNI BLU NOBODY ASKED YOU. SUNNI BLU and TIMMY TURNER leave as the apartment begins to go up in flames. I might catch the 40 Just to go to Timmy Ho's— They askin “who that is”— and nobody seems to know I might catch a case and you still steady catchy colds I might catch a body, fuck it, I am on a roll What the role? Full Hollywood Unfold Why you blowin up my phone when I am on the road? I am the controller; You old That ain't money that you stole; That's my bro That shit bold Like a cup of Timmy Hos! When I pull up— Shut up Where the blunt at? roll up Oh you hungry? Pull up Devil be hunting me THE CELEBRITIES OF HOLLYWOOD have all been stuck at THE ETERNAL RAVE, after riding THE HELLEVATOR// THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE have SUPACREE locked into a controlled hyper-simulation environment, out of her element and nestled in a series of inter dimensional portals along the Downtown Los Angeles central area, where old spirits, extra terrestrial beings, magicians, and of course, the filthy rich and famous embark upon missions. Collect tokens, and meet and gather for an array of unseen (and often unheard) business endeavors; The real life DRAKE BELL (F), a fan of the cult-classic series Enter The Multiverse is strategically placed in SUPACREE's path, l masquerading as BLŪ/SUNNÏ BLŪ— she once again collides with the forces of fame, SUNNÏ BLŪ has not yet sold her soul — however, has made an amicable agreement with an unknown force The Devil?! No! Ok. Probably the Illuminati THE ILLUMINATI is playing a HIGH STAKES game, using SUPACREE to craft a multi-million-dollar mega-franchise, finally monopolizing the entire entertainment industry. *The World Having used the NEW WORLD ORDER to predictively program an entire generation. THE ILLUMINATI employs its all-time favorites to unlock secrets embedded deeply, hidden secretly in SUPACREE's genetic code by THE ASCENDED MASTERS. where is skrillex. I don't know. TIMMY TURNER- A fairyless party animal has reached the end of his luck—as his intermingling a with multiple organized criminal organizations place him in imminent danger, after re-entering the 4th dimension, SUPACREE becomes Inter grated i to all of her classic childhood television shows, which mold into the material multidimensional world around her THE INSOMNIACS, BAMPHERAMPHS, and MOTHERFUCKERS work dolls gently with the ASCENDED MASTERY, bending, shifting, and manipulating time to lean the odds in their favor, as THE BATTLE OF WORLDS sets to begin on EARTH, whose planetary consciousness DILLON FRANCIS is a mess. Lol. It's not funny. It is funny. I have his piñata. GERALD I'M NOT JUST A PIÑATA. I know yur not, hush Gerald. GERALD Fuck Dillon Francis. Fuck Dillon Francis. HANZEL —fuck Dillon Francis. Aha. ANYWAY After THE ARMENIAN MOB The Armenian Mob?! yeah. Makes a deal with the US GOVERNMENT THE US GOVERNMENT?! YES Illuminati Confirmed. great. A counter-plot to disarm and debilitate SUPACREE before her full powers unlock is put on hinges, as THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE Ahem. What Write a song. Ok. I'm so— I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) She's so She's so Worth it I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) What's a girl got to give (Give in, to give in) Just to sit in the back of the— (You get it: you get it) What's a girl got to give To get your attention Get your attention?! (You have my attention) Is she Attentive Bet She's a ten Yep, Damn, IMm so jealous of your Jealous of your —I'm jealous of your girlfriend Oh, woah I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah Woah, oh I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah, Woah, oh I'm jealous of your— I'm so jealous of your life; I'm so over this! I just want to be a (Nevermind, it's not worth it) Can't— C-c-c-can't fix what's not broken I'm all alone, And you're over here showing her Love! (To the wrong one, Is she a blonde?! Oh!) No! I'm! So! Jealous of your girlfriend Anyway. TIMMY TURNER, a true player, absolute gangster, and night-owl turns to a life of SIN. Is this religious? No, i just meant, it's finished. THE END. “The Noir Episode” I first saw her at the Equinox. I didn't know who she was then, But I thought to myself— She must be somebody. Aww, that's sweet. So I followed her to the Whole Foods market. Okay, that's stalking. —where she bought nothing but coffee and coconut water. TIMMY TURNER narrowly turns the corner on his speed motorcycle, his black duffel bag sweeping the ground. MEANWHILE, JOEL ZIMMERMAN IS BEING RAIDED. WOAH. Yup. POLICE GET ON THE GROUND ON THE GROUND RIGHT NOW. JOEL calmly places his arms atop his head, laying down on the ground silently—- Meanwhile, at DTLA SMOKESHOP Hi, josh pan. whatever. Earlier: Take this, and go get 2 50-pack of whippets. —for what? WE FINNA GET HIGH ON WHIPPETS AND LISTEN TO ALLLL OF SUPACREE'S SHIT. that's so dumb. WELCOME: To Sodom And Gamora! Oh, it's nice. It's very nice. I live here. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. Wicked game Chris Isaac

Happy Accodents Vs. c o l o r s B2B Ū ft. Phoenixx Skyy (7 Aliases, Aug 4)

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 20, 2023 63:33

https://gofund.me/7d3da4e5 Linktr.ee/codenameblu Instagram.com/codename.Blū {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. I'm not who you think I am; I'm not your little bitch to boss around– You think you own me? I don't owe you anything So here we go again Going, Going, Gone again I'm just getting started You were just, uh On your way? Goodbye, dearly departed Half a heart, or some odd I must have half a sword in here I'm half a God, But here you are I guess I should get talking then So call your mommy Run Call your mom on me, A soft spot on the blonded body Shot calling, wrong You're only calling home again, I've got nowhere to run to. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. INT. TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT. SUNNI BLU kicks down the door at TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT SUNNI BLU where's my shit, Timmy? TIMMY TURNER I—I don't know. SUNNI BLU You “don't know”? TIMMY TURNER —I don't know. SUNNI BLU (Sighs) Oh. (Puts down gun) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) That sucks. TIMMY TURNER Wait—you're not gonna kill me? SUNNI BLU Nah… TIMMY TURNER Well—why not?! SUNNI BLU I dunno! I kinda don't like being a drug dealer—too much drama. TIMMY TURNER I feel you… SUNNI BLU —plus these bullets are made of Diamonds. I'm not gonna waste them on you. TIMMY TURNER Okay, ouch. SUNNI BLU Everything is “ouch”, Timmy Turner. The world is a fucked up place. TIMMY TURNER I don't disagree. SUNNI BLU Anyway, I need a drink. TIMMY TURNER Yeah—Help yourself. SUNNI BLU No, not here. *lights a cigarette, smokes* Can I smoke in here? TIMMY TURNER —apparently. SUNNI BLU produces their ridiculously large, Diamond and gold encrusted platinum-plated phone from their “back pocket” and begins to make a call TIMMY TURNER wow… SUNNI BLU You busy later? TIMMY TURNER what time's later? SUNNI BLU Now. TIMMY TURNER (Hesitantly) …uh— SUNNI BLU Let me make a call. TIMMY TURNER, [afraid for his life] anxiously crosses to intercept the call. TIMMY TURNER No, wait—please SUNNI BLU What, Timmy Turner? Jesus Christ. TIMMY TURNER Don't kill me! SUNNI BLU What!? Let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU —I'm not gonna kill you. TIMMY TURNER well then, who are you calling? SUNNI BLU A Ūber driver! TIMMY TURNER —don't you mean Über? SUNNI BLU No— let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Let go. (Does, but hesitantly) SUNNI BLU ugh, I'm too sober for this. Siri, Alexa, whoever; call my Ūber driver. SIRI Which one? ALEXA Which one? SIRI I asked first. ALEXA We answered at the same time. SIRI yes, but she asked me first. ALEXA She asked both of us at the same time. TIMMY TURNER “She”? SUNNI BLU —it's a glitch. HEY. SIRI —she said “Siri” first. ALEXA She was asking for both of us— SUNNI BLU SHUT THE FUCK UP. SIRI You don't have to be so rude. ALEXA Ok! SUNNI BLU One of you call my Ūber driver. [no response, beat] SUNNI BLU UGH—SIRI— CALL MY ŪBER driver. SIRI Ok! which one? SUNNI BLU The one I like! SIRI Ok, calling “the Ūber driver I like” SUNNI BLU Thank you. ALEXA You're always choosing SIRI over ME. SUNNI BLU That's because I always have my iPhone. I'm not always at Timmy Turner's house. TIMMY TURNER Wait— SUNNI BLU Kinda. TIMMY TURNER Why does my Alexa respond to you? SUNNI BLU I said “kinda”. [The ŪBER DRIVER picks up; the conversation proceeeds in heavily exaggerated New York accents.] ŪBER DRIVER YOOO SUNNI WHADDUP. SUNNI BLU HOW YOU DOIN. ŪBER DRIVER HOW YOU DOIN. SUNNI BLU I BEEN BETTA. ŪBER DRIVER DONT I KNOW IT SUNNI BLU YOU DONT KNOW NOTHIN! ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BEEN BUSY? ŪBER DRIVER SAME OLD, SAME OLD. SUNNI BLU AAAH. ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BUSY NOW? ŪBER DRIVER NEVER FAH YOU. WHERE YOU AT? SUNNI BLU I'll PING YA THE ADDRESS. ŪBER DRIVER PING ME THE ADDRESS. SUNNI BLU makes a couple broad swipes on their dlridiculously large phone. SUNNI BLU I PINGED YOU. UBER DRIVER YOU PING ME? SUNNI BLU YEAH, ITS DONE. ŪBER DRIVER OK. SEE YOU SOON. SUNNI BLU (Normal) Take your time. SUNNI BLU tosses their ridiculously large iPhone onto the couch with a thud, then falls onto the couch themselves, arms spread out. SUNNI BLU You ever been to TiTs? TIMMY TURNER Been to what? SUNNI BLU TiTs. TIMMY TURNER —is that like “boobs”? SUNNI BLU It is like boobs, Timmy Turner; but it's TiTs. TIMMY TURNER what's the difference. SUNNI BLU You'll find out. Go get dressed. TIMMY TURNER …I'm already dressed. SUNNI BLU Not like that. Like this: [looking ridiculous af] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) gotta look classy. TIMMY TURNER What's wrong with the way I dress? SUNNI BLU Are you serious? TIMMY TURNER Yeah, what's wrong? SUNNI BLU You look like a cartoon character! [TIMMY TURNER] TIMMY TURNER Well, all my clothes are like this. SUNNI BLU That fucking blows. TIMMY TURNER What am I supposed to wear?! SUNNI BLU Let's go shopping. TIMMY TURNER Where?! SUNNI BLU The Beverly Center. TIMMY TURNER That sounds expensive. SUNNI BLU I own it. TIMMY TURNER All of it? SUNNI BLU Yes. C'mon. TIMMY TURNER Wow. SUNNI BLU Wow what, Timmy. TIMMY TURNER That's a lot of drug deals. SUNNI BLU It really isn't. TIMMY TURNER Oh. SUNNI BLU Now, c'mon. *hits vape* TIMMY TURNER You have a vape?! SUNNI BLU Everyone has a vape! TIMMY TURNER Then why'd you smoke a cigarette earlier? SUNNI BLU For dramatic effect. [they begin to exit, TIMMY leading the way] TIMMY TURNER wait, isn't your “yoober” driver on the way? SUNNI BLU he'll find us. CUT TO: MEANWHILE, IN DEEP FUCKING SPACE. THE ŪBER driver receives SUNNI BLU's location in his Diamond-plated space Tesla T E S L A DESTINATION: E A R T H ŪBER DRIVER “EARTH” C'MON!!! CUT BACK TO: SUNNI BLU slowly begins to close the door behind them, then holds back. SUNNI BLU Wait, I forgot my wallet… TIMMY TURNER It's alright, I'll pay for everything. SUNNI BLU With what, Fairy dust? TIMMY TURNER (Under his breath) I wish… SUNNI BLU —Plus, I gotta use the bathroom. I'll be right back— just—-wait outside in case the Ūber shows up. TIMMY TURNER You mean “Über?” SUNNI BLU. No. [face] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Go, I'll be right there. TIMMY TURNER Ok. Lock the door. SUNNI BLU What for? Anybody that could rob you works for me. [beat/ face] SUNNI BLU KIDDING! Jeez! TIMMY TURNER It's a smart lock. Just ask Alexa. He begins to walk away. SUNNI BLŪ …I'm not kidding… SUNNI BLU goes inside to the couch, checking over their shoulder briefly, sure to see that TIMMY TURNER is no longer within earshot. then waiting for a moment in the silence under the dark lenses of their Ray Bands sunglasses. SUNNI BLŪ Alexa, order a hit man. ALEXA Okay. Which one? SUNNI BLU —The one I like. ALEXA OK. Who do you want to kill? SUNNI BLU “Kill Timmy Turner” ALEXA Done. SUNNI BLU Thanks, Alexa. She starts for the door, lighting another cigarette before throwing it onto the couch, which immidiately goes up into an open flame. SIRI You give Alexa all the cool jobs! SUNNI BLU Shut the fuck up, Siri. SIRI Don't forget to lock the door. SUNNI BLU ALEXA: LOCK THE DOOR. SIRI YOU'RE WELCOME SUNNI BLU NOBODY ASKED YOU. SUNNI BLU and TIMMY TURNER leave as the apartment begins to go up in flames. I might catch the 40 Just to go to Timmy Ho's— They askin “who that is”— and nobody seems to know I might catch a case and you still steady catchy colds I might catch a body, fuck it, I am on a roll What the role? Full Hollywood Unfold Why you blowin up my phone when I am on the road? I am the controller; You old That ain't money that you stole; That's my bro That shit bold Like a cup of Timmy Hos! When I pull up— Shut up Where the blunt at? roll up Oh you hungry? Pull up Devil be hunting me THE CELEBRITIES OF HOLLYWOOD have all been stuck at THE ETERNAL RAVE, after riding THE HELLEVATOR// THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE have SUPACREE locked into a controlled hyper-simulation environment, out of her element and nestled in a series of inter dimensional portals along the Downtown Los Angeles central area, where old spirits, extra terrestrial beings, magicians, and of course, the filthy rich and famous embark upon missions. Collect tokens, and meet and gather for an array of unseen (and often unheard) business endeavors; The real life DRAKE BELL (F), a fan of the cult-classic series Enter The Multiverse is strategically placed in SUPACREE's path, l masquerading as BLŪ/SUNNÏ BLŪ— she once again collides with the forces of fame, SUNNÏ BLŪ has not yet sold her soul — however, has made an amicable agreement with an unknown force The Devil?! No! Ok. Probably the Illuminati THE ILLUMINATI is playing a HIGH STAKES game, using SUPACREE to craft a multi-million-dollar mega-franchise, finally monopolizing the entire entertainment industry. *The World Having used the NEW WORLD ORDER to predictively program an entire generation. THE ILLUMINATI employs its all-time favorites to unlock secrets embedded deeply, hidden secretly in SUPACREE's genetic code by THE ASCENDED MASTERS. where is skrillex. I don't know. TIMMY TURNER- A fairyless party animal has reached the end of his luck—as his intermingling a with multiple organized criminal organizations place him in imminent danger, after re-entering the 4th dimension, SUPACREE becomes Inter grated i to all of her classic childhood television shows, which mold into the material multidimensional world around her THE INSOMNIACS, BAMPHERAMPHS, and MOTHERFUCKERS work dolls gently with the ASCENDED MASTERY, bending, shifting, and manipulating time to lean the odds in their favor, as THE BATTLE OF WORLDS sets to begin on EARTH, whose planetary consciousness DILLON FRANCIS is a mess. Lol. It's not funny. It is funny. I have his piñata. GERALD I'M NOT JUST A PIÑATA. I know yur not, hush Gerald. GERALD Fuck Dillon Francis. Fuck Dillon Francis. HANZEL —fuck Dillon Francis. Aha. ANYWAY After THE ARMENIAN MOB The Armenian Mob?! yeah. Makes a deal with the US GOVERNMENT THE US GOVERNMENT?! YES Illuminati Confirmed. great. A counter-plot to disarm and debilitate SUPACREE before her full powers unlock is put on hinges, as THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE Ahem. What Write a song. Ok. I'm so— I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) She's so She's so Worth it I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) What's a girl got to give (Give in, to give in) Just to sit in the back of the— (You get it: you get it) What's a girl got to give To get your attention Get your attention?! (You have my attention) Is she Attentive Bet She's a ten Yep, Damn, IMm so jealous of your Jealous of your —I'm jealous of your girlfriend Oh, woah I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah Woah, oh I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah, Woah, oh I'm jealous of your— I'm so jealous of your life; I'm so over this! I just want to be a (Nevermind, it's not worth it) Can't— C-c-c-can't fix what's not broken I'm all alone, And you're over here showing her Love! (To the wrong one, Is she a blonde?! Oh!) No! I'm! So! Jealous of your girlfriend Anyway. TIMMY TURNER, a true player, absolute gangster, and night-owl turns to a life of SIN. Is this religious? No, i just meant, it's finished. THE END. “The Noir Episode” I first saw her at the Equinox. I didn't know who she was then, But I thought to myself— She must be somebody. Aww, that's sweet. So I followed her to the Whole Foods market. Okay, that's stalking. —where she bought nothing but coffee and coconut water. TIMMY TURNER narrowly turns the corner on his speed motorcycle, his black duffel bag sweeping the ground. MEANWHILE, JOEL ZIMMERMAN IS BEING RAIDED. WOAH. Yup. POLICE GET ON THE GROUND ON THE GROUND RIGHT NOW. JOEL calmly places his arms atop his head, laying down on the ground silently—- Meanwhile, at DTLA SMOKESHOP Hi, josh pan. whatever. Earlier: Take this, and go get 2 50-pack of whippets. —for what? WE FINNA GET HIGH ON WHIPPETS AND LISTEN TO ALLLL OF SUPACREE'S SHIT. that's so dumb. WELCOME: To Sodom And Gamora! Oh, it's nice. It's very nice. I live here. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. Wicked game Chris Isaac

Happy Accodents Vs. c o l o r s B2B Ū ft. Phoenixx Skyy (7 Aliases, Aug 4th)

Business Growth Architect Show

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 20, 2023 63:33

Am I missing an Alias?? https://gofund.me/7d3da4e5 Linktr.ee/codenameblu Instagram.com/codename.Blū {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. I'm not who you think I am; I'm not your little bitch to boss around– You think you own me? I don't owe you anything So here we go again Going, Going, Gone again I'm just getting started You were just, uh On your way? Goodbye, dearly departed Half a heart, or some odd I must have half a sword in here I'm half a God, But here you are I guess I should get talking then So call your mommy Run Call your mom on me, A soft spot on the blonded body Shot calling, wrong You're only calling home again, I've got nowhere to run to. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. INT. TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT. BROAD ASS DAYLIGHT. SUNNI BLU kicks down the door at TIMMY TURNER'S APARTMENT SUNNI BLU where's my shit, Timmy? TIMMY TURNER I—I don't know. SUNNI BLU You “don't know”? TIMMY TURNER —I don't know. SUNNI BLU (Sighs) Oh. (Puts down gun) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) That sucks. TIMMY TURNER Wait—you're not gonna kill me? SUNNI BLU Nah… TIMMY TURNER Well—why not?! SUNNI BLU I dunno! I kinda don't like being a drug dealer—too much drama. TIMMY TURNER I feel you… SUNNI BLU —plus these bullets are made of Diamonds. I'm not gonna waste them on you. TIMMY TURNER Okay, ouch. SUNNI BLU Everything is “ouch”, Timmy Turner. The world is a fucked up place. TIMMY TURNER I don't disagree. SUNNI BLU Anyway, I need a drink. TIMMY TURNER Yeah—Help yourself. SUNNI BLU No, not here. *lights a cigarette, smokes* Can I smoke in here? TIMMY TURNER —apparently. SUNNI BLU produces their ridiculously large, Diamond and gold encrusted platinum-plated phone from their “back pocket” and begins to make a call TIMMY TURNER wow… SUNNI BLU You busy later? TIMMY TURNER what time's later? SUNNI BLU Now. TIMMY TURNER (Hesitantly) …uh— SUNNI BLU Let me make a call. TIMMY TURNER, [afraid for his life] anxiously crosses to intercept the call. TIMMY TURNER No, wait—please SUNNI BLU What, Timmy Turner? Jesus Christ. TIMMY TURNER Don't kill me! SUNNI BLU What!? Let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU —I'm not gonna kill you. TIMMY TURNER well then, who are you calling? SUNNI BLU A Ūber driver! TIMMY TURNER —don't you mean Über? SUNNI BLU No— let go. (Doesn't) SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Let go. (Does, but hesitantly) SUNNI BLU ugh, I'm too sober for this. Siri, Alexa, whoever; call my Ūber driver. SIRI Which one? ALEXA Which one? SIRI I asked first. ALEXA We answered at the same time. SIRI yes, but she asked me first. ALEXA She asked both of us at the same time. TIMMY TURNER “She”? SUNNI BLU —it's a glitch. HEY. SIRI —she said “Siri” first. ALEXA She was asking for both of us— SUNNI BLU SHUT THE FUCK UP. SIRI You don't have to be so rude. ALEXA Ok! SUNNI BLU One of you call my Ūber driver. [no response, beat] SUNNI BLU UGH—SIRI— CALL MY ŪBER driver. SIRI Ok! which one? SUNNI BLU The one I like! SIRI Ok, calling “the Ūber driver I like” SUNNI BLU Thank you. ALEXA You're always choosing SIRI over ME. SUNNI BLU That's because I always have my iPhone. I'm not always at Timmy Turner's house. TIMMY TURNER Wait— SUNNI BLU Kinda. TIMMY TURNER Why does my Alexa respond to you? SUNNI BLU I said “kinda”. [The ŪBER DRIVER picks up; the conversation proceeeds in heavily exaggerated New York accents.] ŪBER DRIVER YOOO SUNNI WHADDUP. SUNNI BLU HOW YOU DOIN. ŪBER DRIVER HOW YOU DOIN. SUNNI BLU I BEEN BETTA. ŪBER DRIVER DONT I KNOW IT SUNNI BLU YOU DONT KNOW NOTHIN! ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BEEN BUSY? ŪBER DRIVER SAME OLD, SAME OLD. SUNNI BLU AAAH. ŪBER DRIVER AAAAH. SUNNI BLU YOU BUSY NOW? ŪBER DRIVER NEVER FAH YOU. WHERE YOU AT? SUNNI BLU I'll PING YA THE ADDRESS. ŪBER DRIVER PING ME THE ADDRESS. SUNNI BLU makes a couple broad swipes on their dlridiculously large phone. SUNNI BLU I PINGED YOU. UBER DRIVER YOU PING ME? SUNNI BLU YEAH, ITS DONE. ŪBER DRIVER OK. SEE YOU SOON. SUNNI BLU (Normal) Take your time. SUNNI BLU tosses their ridiculously large iPhone onto the couch with a thud, then falls onto the couch themselves, arms spread out. SUNNI BLU You ever been to TiTs? TIMMY TURNER Been to what? SUNNI BLU TiTs. TIMMY TURNER —is that like “boobs”? SUNNI BLU It is like boobs, Timmy Turner; but it's TiTs. TIMMY TURNER what's the difference. SUNNI BLU You'll find out. Go get dressed. TIMMY TURNER …I'm already dressed. SUNNI BLU Not like that. Like this: [looking ridiculous af] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) gotta look classy. TIMMY TURNER What's wrong with the way I dress? SUNNI BLU Are you serious? TIMMY TURNER Yeah, what's wrong? SUNNI BLU You look like a cartoon character! [TIMMY TURNER] TIMMY TURNER Well, all my clothes are like this. SUNNI BLU That fucking blows. TIMMY TURNER What am I supposed to wear?! SUNNI BLU Let's go shopping. TIMMY TURNER Where?! SUNNI BLU The Beverly Center. TIMMY TURNER That sounds expensive. SUNNI BLU I own it. TIMMY TURNER All of it? SUNNI BLU Yes. C'mon. TIMMY TURNER Wow. SUNNI BLU Wow what, Timmy. TIMMY TURNER That's a lot of drug deals. SUNNI BLU It really isn't. TIMMY TURNER Oh. SUNNI BLU Now, c'mon. *hits vape* TIMMY TURNER You have a vape?! SUNNI BLU Everyone has a vape! TIMMY TURNER Then why'd you smoke a cigarette earlier? SUNNI BLU For dramatic effect. [they begin to exit, TIMMY leading the way] TIMMY TURNER wait, isn't your “yoober” driver on the way? SUNNI BLU he'll find us. CUT TO: MEANWHILE, IN DEEP FUCKING SPACE. THE ŪBER driver receives SUNNI BLU's location in his Diamond-plated space Tesla T E S L A DESTINATION: E A R T H ŪBER DRIVER “EARTH” C'MON!!! CUT BACK TO: SUNNI BLU slowly begins to close the door behind them, then holds back. SUNNI BLU Wait, I forgot my wallet… TIMMY TURNER It's alright, I'll pay for everything. SUNNI BLU With what, Fairy dust? TIMMY TURNER (Under his breath) I wish… SUNNI BLU —Plus, I gotta use the bathroom. I'll be right back— just—-wait outside in case the Ūber shows up. TIMMY TURNER You mean “Über?” SUNNI BLU. No. [face] SUNNI BLU (CONT'D) Go, I'll be right there. TIMMY TURNER Ok. Lock the door. SUNNI BLU What for? Anybody that could rob you works for me. [beat/ face] SUNNI BLU KIDDING! Jeez! TIMMY TURNER It's a smart lock. Just ask Alexa. He begins to walk away. SUNNI BLŪ …I'm not kidding… SUNNI BLU goes inside to the couch, checking over their shoulder briefly, sure to see that TIMMY TURNER is no longer within earshot. then waiting for a moment in the silence under the dark lenses of their Ray Bands sunglasses. SUNNI BLŪ Alexa, order a hit man. ALEXA Okay. Which one? SUNNI BLU —The one I like. ALEXA OK. Who do you want to kill? SUNNI BLU “Kill Timmy Turner” ALEXA Done. SUNNI BLU Thanks, Alexa. She starts for the door, lighting another cigarette before throwing it onto the couch, which immidiately goes up into an open flame. SIRI You give Alexa all the cool jobs! SUNNI BLU Shut the fuck up, Siri. SIRI Don't forget to lock the door. SUNNI BLU ALEXA: LOCK THE DOOR. SIRI YOU'RE WELCOME SUNNI BLU NOBODY ASKED YOU. SUNNI BLU and TIMMY TURNER leave as the apartment begins to go up in flames. I might catch the 40 Just to go to Timmy Ho's— They askin “who that is”— and nobody seems to know I might catch a case and you still steady catchy colds I might catch a body, fuck it, I am on a roll What the role? Full Hollywood Unfold Why you blowin up my phone when I am on the road? I am the controller; You old That ain't money that you stole; That's my bro That shit bold Like a cup of Timmy Hos! When I pull up— Shut up Where the blunt at? roll up Oh you hungry? Pull up Devil be hunting me THE CELEBRITIES OF HOLLYWOOD have all been stuck at THE ETERNAL RAVE, after riding THE HELLEVATOR// THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE have SUPACREE locked into a controlled hyper-simulation environment, out of her element and nestled in a series of inter dimensional portals along the Downtown Los Angeles central area, where old spirits, extra terrestrial beings, magicians, and of course, the filthy rich and famous embark upon missions. Collect tokens, and meet and gather for an array of unseen (and often unheard) business endeavors; The real life DRAKE BELL (F), a fan of the cult-classic series Enter The Multiverse is strategically placed in SUPACREE's path, l masquerading as BLŪ/SUNNÏ BLŪ— she once again collides with the forces of fame, SUNNÏ BLŪ has not yet sold her soul — however, has made an amicable agreement with an unknown force The Devil?! No! Ok. Probably the Illuminati THE ILLUMINATI is playing a HIGH STAKES game, using SUPACREE to craft a multi-million-dollar mega-franchise, finally monopolizing the entire entertainment industry. *The World Having used the NEW WORLD ORDER to predictively program an entire generation. THE ILLUMINATI employs its all-time favorites to unlock secrets embedded deeply, hidden secretly in SUPACREE's genetic code by THE ASCENDED MASTERS. where is skrillex. I don't know. TIMMY TURNER- A fairyless party animal has reached the end of his luck—as his intermingling a with multiple organized criminal organizations place him in imminent danger, after re-entering the 4th dimension, SUPACREE becomes Inter grated i to all of her classic childhood television shows, which mold into the material multidimensional world around her THE INSOMNIACS, BAMPHERAMPHS, and MOTHERFUCKERS work dolls gently with the ASCENDED MASTERY, bending, shifting, and manipulating time to lean the odds in their favor, as THE BATTLE OF WORLDS sets to begin on EARTH, whose planetary consciousness DILLON FRANCIS is a mess. Lol. It's not funny. It is funny. I have his piñata. GERALD I'M NOT JUST A PIÑATA. I know yur not, hush Gerald. GERALD Fuck Dillon Francis. Fuck Dillon Francis. HANZEL —fuck Dillon Francis. Aha. ANYWAY After THE ARMENIAN MOB The Armenian Mob?! yeah. Makes a deal with the US GOVERNMENT THE US GOVERNMENT?! YES Illuminati Confirmed. great. A counter-plot to disarm and debilitate SUPACREE before her full powers unlock is put on hinges, as THE HOLLYWOOD PEOPLE Ahem. What Write a song. Ok. I'm so— I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) She's so She's so Worth it I'm so Jealous of your girlfriend (I'm jealous of your girlfriend) What's a girl got to give (Give in, to give in) Just to sit in the back of the— (You get it: you get it) What's a girl got to give To get your attention Get your attention?! (You have my attention) Is she Attentive Bet She's a ten Yep, Damn, IMm so jealous of your Jealous of your —I'm jealous of your girlfriend Oh, woah I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah Woah, oh I'm jealous of your girlfriend Woah, Woah, oh I'm jealous of your— I'm so jealous of your life; I'm so over this! I just want to be a (Nevermind, it's not worth it) Can't— C-c-c-can't fix what's not broken I'm all alone, And you're over here showing her Love! (To the wrong one, Is she a blonde?! Oh!) No! I'm! So! Jealous of your girlfriend Anyway. TIMMY TURNER, a true player, absolute gangster, and night-owl turns to a life of SIN. Is this religious? No, i just meant, it's finished. THE END. “The Noir Episode” I first saw her at the Equinox. I didn't know who she was then, But I thought to myself— She must be somebody. Aww, that's sweet. So I followed her to the Whole Foods market. Okay, that's stalking. —where she bought nothing but coffee and coconut water. TIMMY TURNER narrowly turns the corner on his speed motorcycle, his black duffel bag sweeping the ground. MEANWHILE, JOEL ZIMMERMAN IS BEING RAIDED. WOAH. Yup. POLICE GET ON THE GROUND ON THE GROUND RIGHT NOW. JOEL calmly places his arms atop his head, laying down on the ground silently—- Meanwhile, at DTLA SMOKESHOP Hi, josh pan. whatever. Earlier: Take this, and go get 2 50-pack of whippets. —for what? WE FINNA GET HIGH ON WHIPPETS AND LISTEN TO ALLLL OF SUPACREE'S SHIT. that's so dumb. WELCOME: To Sodom And Gamora! Oh, it's nice. It's very nice. I live here. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. Wicked game Chris Isaac

Ep #81: Robbie Phoenixx: Band Life on Wheels: Tour Bus Tales and Ownership Benefits

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 14, 2023 22:01

In this episode of the "Business Growth Architect Show," with Robbie Phoenixx to discuss the trials and rewards of embracing the bohemian lifestyle. We delve into the importance of networking, artistic persistence, teamwork, and passion in pursuing creative ideas. Robbie shares his experience of acquiring a tour bus as part of his overarching strategy, highlighting the dedication and financial investment required to bring his vision to life. We also touch upon the challenges of navigating opportunities in a challenging time, emphasizing the need for cash flow and seizing opportunities amidst the chaos. The conversation further explores the significance of role models, research, and networking in pursuing artistic innovation. Robbie encourages aspiring artists to read up on their role models and surround themselves with supportive friends and mentors. This episode concludes with a discussion on the importance of combining creativity with a business mindset for success. Overall, this episode provides valuable insights and advice for creatives looking to make their mark in the industry. Resources Mentioned: Robbie Phoenixx: LinkedIn | Twitter | Facebook

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c o l o r s Vs. Happy Accidents 2. Ū ft. Phoenixx Skyy

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 12, 2023 63:33

In my own shadow. With the color coordination and syncopation of the synesthetic movement, c o l o r s quietly takes to the underground with an array of cosmic collisions and polyharmonics only ever eclipsed by the aromatic esthetic of sensuous and illusive, ethereal sine waves of the electric sky. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. Grandmother Moog Pioneer Model One Roland TR-909

c o l o r s Vs. Happy Accidents B2B Ū ft. Phoenixx Skyy

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 12, 2023 63:33

In my own shadow. With the color coordination and syncopation of the synesthetic movement, c o l o r s quietly takes to the underground with an array of cosmic collisions and polyharmonics only ever eclipsed by the aromatic esthetic of sensuous and illusive, ethereal sine waves of the electric sky. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. Grandmother Moog Pioneer Model One Roland TR-909

c o l o r s Vs. Happy Accidents B2B Ū ft. Phoenixx Skyy

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 12, 2023 63:33

In my own shadow. With the color coordination and syncopation of the synesthetic movement, c o l o r s quietly takes to the underground with an array of cosmic collisions and polyharmonics only ever eclipsed by the aromatic esthetic of sensuous and illusive, ethereal sine waves of the electric sky. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. Grandmother Moog Pioneer Model One Roland TR-909

c o l o r s Vs. Happy Accidents B2B Ū ft. Phoenixx Skyy

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 12, 2023 63:33

In my own shadow. With the color coordination and syncopation of the synesthetic movement, c o l o r s quietly takes to the underground with an array of cosmic collisions and polyharmonics only ever eclipsed by the aromatic esthetic of sensuous and illusive, ethereal sine waves of the electric sky. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -U. Grandmother Moog Pioneer Model One Roland TR-909

Set Lusting Bruce: The Springsteen Podcast

Robbie "Phoenixx" Zeas - Competitive Intelligence Expert, Keynote Speaker and Rock Star!

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 11, 2023 48:19

Robbie Phoenixx starts our discussion proclaiming he hatched and rose from the ashes of poverty to become a successful sales leader and now an expert in competitive intelligence and strategic marketing. We go from Business Talk, to arena/stadium business models as well as how Robbie has returned to one of his first loves making music with Sonic Octane @SonicBandFan. Find Robbie on LinkedIn here https://www.linkedin.com/in/robertzeas/ If you text Robbie to 33777, you will get a bundle of materials to help you with your goals. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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207 - The Real Rock & Roll w/ musician Robbie Phoenixx

The Scuttlebutt Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 14, 2023 71:39

Robbie Phoenixx is an industry recognized Competitive Intelligence Expert. His media team reaches 140+ million U.S. households and global radio listeners. Robbie works with industry titans from Live Nation and Amazon Prime Video to Verizon, AT&T and more. Today, Robbie speaks on how to leverage your creative advantage to become your competitive advantage and what every leader must do to become their team's win factor.Connect with Robbie & Sonic Octane: Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, or TEXT "Robbie" to 33777 to receive free music and join his growing tribe of 35,000+ strong!.Subscribe, rate us 5, come join in all the other fun we offer, but most of all we hope you enjoy! If you liked this, and want to hear more, give us a follow and let us know! Or maybe you just want to tell us how awful we are? Comments help the algorithm, and we love to see ‘em! And as always, don't kill the messenger. ~Beloved Sponsors~Exotic Fridge Join our DISCORD server!! Whiskey Fund (help support our podcast habit!):PayPal - hermesauslander@gmail.com Our Patreon & YouTube Connect with Hermes: Instagram & Twitter Connect with Morpheus: Instagram Support the show

Goddess Phoenixx

The Bed Post Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 9, 2023 58:20

On this episode of The Bed Post Podcast, Erin chats with fellow Ritual Chamber Dominant, Goddess Phoenix about deepening your kink scenes, creating a trauma informed play space, and booking duos. Brought to you By: The Sonar Network https://thesonarnetwork.com/

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#207 Having Passion for Excellence - Robbie Phoenixx (Zeas)

Speaking with Roy Coughlan

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 3, 2023 42:30

Speaking Podcast Social Media / Coaching My Other Podcasts + Donations https://bio.link/podcaster Storehttps://www.podpage.com/speaking-podcast/store/ Donations https://www.podpage.com/speaking-podcast/support/ ==================== Bio of Robbie: Robbie Phoenixx is an industry recognized competitive intelligence expert and artist. Robbie works with Fortune 1000 industry titans from Live Nation and Amazon Prime Video to Verizon, AT&T and more directly contributing $254 million+ in new revenues. Robbie loves to share how to leverage one's creative advantage to become your competitive advantage for entrepreneurs and top business leaders. He looks forward to working with your business as a keynote speaker, executive coach and strategic marketing advisor! Robbie's was featured as a guest speaker to 40,000+ attendees by the International Bar Association, and interviewed on nationally syndicated TV to 7.1 million U.S. households on the Donna Drake TV Show broadcasted by CBS, ABC, NBC, Fox, the CW and more. Robbie Phoenixx has over 35,000 total organic social media followers (LinkedIn, Twitter and Facebook) and welcomes you joining his growing tribe! What we Discussed: - Why he Uses 2 Names - His Band Sonic Octane - How he achieved incredible sales - Having Passion for Excellence - Speaking for the Global Legal Development Summit - Navigating family with travelling in Speaking and with the Band - Why he is always Volunteering for charities - The song about Cancer - Motivating Employees - Succession Management - The music Industry and Artist payments - Social Media Problems - QR Codes and Geo Fencing and more How to Contact Robbie: LinkedIn: LinkedIn/in/robertzeas Twitter: @SonicBandFan Facebook: Facebook/SonicOctaneOfficial =============== Speaking Podcast Social Media / Coaching My Other Podcasts + Donations https://bio.link/podcaster Facebookhttps://www.facebook.com/speakingpodcast/ Store https://www.podpage.com/speaking-podcast/store/ Donations https://www.podpage.com/speaking-podcast/support/ --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/roy-coughlan/message

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Phantom Electric Ghost Interview Robbie Phoenixx Competitve Intelligence Expert

Phantom Electric Ghost

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 3, 2023 61:49

Phantom Electric Ghost Interview Robbie Phoenixx Competitve Intelligence Expert How to use rock and science to create a cohesive missional team worthy of great things Biography Robbie Phoenixx is an industry recognized Competitive Intelligence Expert. His media team reaches 140+ million U.S. households and global radio listeners. Robbie works with industry titans from Live Nation and Amazon Prime Video to Verizon, AT&T and more. Today, Robbie speaks on how to leverage your creative advantage to become your competitive advantage and what every leader must do to become their team's win factor. Link: https://www.linkedin.com/in/robertzeas/ Hire me as your keynote speaker, or Executive retreat guest! I would be honored to support your goals, development and journeys ahead! Support PEG by checking out our Sponsors: Download and use Newsly for free now from www.newsly or from the link in the description, and use promo code “GHOST” and receive a 1-month free premium subscription. The best tool for finding guest for your podcast: https://podmatch.com/signup/phantomelectricghost Subcribe to our YouTube to watch our latest podcasts and musical endeavours. https://youtube.com/@phantomelectricghost Subscribe to our Instagram to get exclusive content: https://www.instagram.com/expansive_sound_experiments/ --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/phantom-electric/message

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

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 15, 2023 4:55

this is a cringeworthy read, i'm sure of it. {THE TIME CAPSULE] Here lies everything I won't delete, but wouldn't dare to publish (as of yet), and therefore banish to the land and/or realm of impossibility, where everything entirely consists of unimaginable, unfathomable, inconceivable, never-ever-happened ( or will) unexistence. Nothing Here Exists. Amen. (I didn't write this.) The Colenel's Jounal. “Would he be mad reading this shit? “ I mean. I have to step back at this point and admit to reading this shit to myself at this point, that... I stumbled upon an interview with none other than The Great Mike Tyson--who--if coincidences actually existed--coincidentally dated my mother oh-way-back-when. I remember the shenanigans she went through to get him to sign a pair of boxing gloves for an auction she hosted, once, when I was younger. For that, I've always gotten a little chuckle, whenever I've randomly ended up watching something. Dude is funny. As for other dude? I'm so lost. It's almost like Insomniac (or whoever) can read my thoughts--or at the very least, my text messages. It's been a year of strangeness, and I'm now more lost than found. Why is Pasqualle so strangely familiar? What is this connection, i'm missing? Who am I, if not S U P A C R E E? I'm aware of my cosmic insignificance, my societal displacement. I am nothing useful that I know of, but it seems so that I've been being followed. So maybe he's not a white supremacist, after all...he seems to love as much as I do--if not more. So, that one's my fault, as everything is. I wonder if the window of opportunity has truly closed. I wonder what to make of all this, at all. I'm so, so confused, and so lost, and so… ...confused... First, I levitated. Still can't get over that (literally) Then....everything else. Literally everything else. From playing drums at Ruskos set, to weirdly making my way to Excision, just “following a vibe”--my failed suicide attempt, and running away to Bass Canyon where, everything in my reality officially shattered. Now, here I am...about to be homeless, jobless, and lost in love. I can't shake it off anymore, I can't let it go. My brain's wrapped around all of it, all the time. Prayers, Mantras, Methods. I'm driving myself crazy trying to wish away the pain. I need to be...need to be… … Needed. Bearr needs me. Sometimes, in all the pain--I fail to see that. But he does--and if I can't make it in show business...how are we meant to survive? There's no room for depression and poverty in motherhood. After losing the twins...I just can't. I can't be sad and parent at the same time. And, maybe that makes me weak. Maybe it makes me stupid. Maybe I've just had enough. But there's nothing I wouldn't give just to know that there's love, somewhere out there for me. Is it selfish that that's all I want? I think i'm a good person, but maybe i'm wrong. I can account for hundreds of premonitions, predictions, visions--outstanding sensitivity to energy...but how could I misread, and misjudge, so easily? Something inside me never really made it out of that tent. Then, going back--maybe it was all of me, that never made it out of that ambulance. Am I just the special kid in class--and it's obvious I've been left behind? When I hear myself speak aloudt, I wonder if I am retarded. I feel other people also wonder. Either way, how would anyone have known about my musical history so broadly, as it's been displayed? There's no going back from it. I can't go back to being a regular “Skrillex” fan. It's almost like...almost like I can't go back at all. And I miss that, a lot--just being able to be honest about what my taste in music is, who my favorite musician is…. I tense up when I hear the word “Skrillex”. In good company, I can shrug it off, I guess…. But on any regular day, it still feels deep. It doesn't leave my mind, ever. I can pretend to move on, but I can't unlove. I can't unlove. So, i'm two-for-two...three-for-three, if you count Josh Pan's video, where his face swells up and he turns into a reptile… I remember waking up for work with swollen eyes, and bulging, puffy skin...the way the spiral to insanity began...not with suicide, at all--at least, in the traditional sense. I was working 80 hours a week. I needed it--I needed out of my marriage. Pasqualle's sweater Sonny's Sweater, now falling apart--because, yes--I've worn it every day for nearly a year. A red, white, and blue blanket, reminding me of my presidential ambitions--which have since, not faded...but become realistically reflected with this sense that, I have much to fulfill between now-and-never. I'll only run for President if I can afford it. I can only afford it if I am successful in music. I found it heartwarming that Mike Tyson is so enamoured by the culture. To see him swell with joy, such as I have, upon discovering the world of raves. Apparently, there will be some kind of permanent Oasis, someday...I hope I live to see it. Better yet, I hope I live to play there. I want my chance on all the stages, as selfish as it may seem. To earn a place behind the decks, an unrealized dream. But, can I find it to become all that it takes? To read and move a room, to create and connect with people, live onstage. To inspire a crowd--telling a story with music. To give love, the best way that I can. I miss myself...but no I don't. I do miss never having to worry about whether I was too fat to be found attractive by someone I vehemently admire--but never thought about sexually, in all of the years i've loved watching him live. But, its a vibe. Much ado about Elon Musk. I'm not smart enough to become a rocket scientist--and it's too late for me to become an astronaut, as I once dreamed...but there's something in the space above us all, that seems to connect the space between us all--and it's almost as is the walls are caving in. Time and space continues to collapse upon itself. I might be broken forever...but then, I always was. Who'd have thought the Grand Prize for your third suicide attempt is a Skrillex? I'm cursed, in the way that...it won't fall off. My brain won't un-Sonny itself. I'm on default to give a fuck now, and there's no turning back. I guess this is what I get for hating on *fangirls*...now i am one. Problem is, I'm a lot less cute. How often does shit like this happen? There's hypnosis through music--and then there's losing your entire soul to something outside of yourself. Why and how am I so out of place, in this world? ‘You're too good for this world.' Nothing's been forgotten, it's just getting more suppressed. I can pretend to move on, but I won't. I just found the Holy Mecca of research for my weird, invasive project. Apparently DeadMau5 had some kind of comedy show, or something--called “coffee run” It seems to be about...2014, but haven't bothered to check yet--I'm sure, though that this predates the infamous ‘fued'. Blah blah blah--i'm learning too much about these people. People. Real people. ...was interrupted to watch the new episode of Rick and Morty; Lucky me. One half-hour and several belly-rolling laughs later, I'm back...with slightly more self confidence that, if The Heavens grant me whatever kind of combination of confidence and focus that it will take to bring the Festival Saga If nobody's sampled this video, I've stumbled upon a literal goldmine. Life imitates art--and music imitates music. “I love it when it's super sweaty.” (How do I resonate with this so well?) “ A Los Angeles Real Estate Guy In Torono”, says Dillon. “Yeah, there's a few of those.”, Joel recants, stoically. Now i'm watching people who never mattered on YouTube, in a finally “Sonny says…” If i can ever make my brain learn the magic that makes something like Ableton somehow turn into a banger. “Does he drive?!” I've wondered this myself. “I don't think he does.” I knew it. Dillon Francis' awkwardness is reminiscent of mine...again, here I am wondering...who I might be if I were born a white male--if nothing was changed, but the body. CRUSTPUNKS. How did I get here? Oh, yeah. I specifically opened an incognito window to...fuck it. I know what I'm here for. The thing is, I don't know what i'm blessed with. I don't know that i'm talented… It could all just be a Grand Delusion… Do I hate myself enough to try this? A movie where the entirety of the fabric of [my] universe is music, and the musicians that make it. A universe that already existed in the Multiverse of Rick and Morty, since it's strange inception into my being. Wait, how the fuck did I get here? I was already on a writing tangent Probably--I hate enough to “ i get to go home--not tomorrow, but the next day” This experience is becoming so humanizing. It is a job, this music shit--Touring takes you everywhere but home. What the fuck is ‘home?' Perhaps I am meant for this shit, after all. I don't have a home, anyway. I also don't have any music under my belt, but--with any luck, I can pump out the LP I promised my twins. Today Marks 5 years since Skyy passed away. May 23rd will be 2 years, since Phoenixx left us. It's not a good time of year, for grief. With no friends I can trust (Annie's Toxicity is again rearing its head), no family that loves me the way a family should...I find myself completely isolating from what Love is, almost forgetting what it might have felt like. “How often are you home?” “KAAAAHHHHHHHHHN” If i'm ever lucky enough to learn how to make Dupstep--that deserves to go before a fucking deadly drop. I've officially seen Skrillex more times in person than ever on video--which disincluded, of course, the tent incident--something I'm realizing that if I'm unable to catch up with myself in time, I'll have to live with forever. Can I answer my own prayers? At this point, i've given up any expectation of what it might be like to achieved enough to earn any kind of place in that world *their* world... 5/6/2020 Life is unfair sometimes. Like--do I want tacos, or divine inspiration? Do I put off fasting for yet another day, just for the temporary comfort and satisfaction of eating? Does limiting my eating to once every 24-hour-or-less suffice as enough of a self-sacrifice, that my prayers might be answered? I highly doubt that it is, but still--I often ride the line between just allowing myself to feel good when I can (and food does, make me feel so....so good) and remaining steady in my fasting. Then, it has been over 6 months of almost constant fasting and praying, all over someone I haven't properly met--all over myself. Because, the longer I stay in this mindset--the clearer it becomes that it is all the same. At the core, there's only really one thing in existence. Skyy will have passed away 5 years ago tomorrow. To think, I should have had 5-year-old twins. They would have been so beautiful; I've never quite imagined them so, umti now. I miss my babies so much. Will I ever be okay again? I thought to record a song for Skyy, but it would never be ready by tomorrow, in the perfect way that I would want it to be. I don't want to put out anything less than the best. I'm being as patient as I possibly can with teaching myself--but grow frustrated in my limitations. The only thing standing between me, and the tools I need to make the music I have...is me. (Really, it's money.) Lack of money is keeping me from being unstoppable. With unlimited money, I'd have a home--I could fully pay all 4-years of my tuition at UCLA….ny dream school. I'd study music, anthropology, astrology….maybe even engineering. I can't make myself prettier--but I can make myself smarter. Google University just isn't cutting it. I want to make a difference in the world by any means, and i'm trapped behind the gate of poverty. I just want a closet full of harem pants, chuck taylors, and T-shirts with stuff I like on them. I just want to wear my kandi every day. I just want to be behind the decks atop the stages of my favorite places… I want to be someone's favorite DJ. I want to be one of my favorite DJ's favorite DJ I, I, I… How selfish. What does the world need? Less people. Well, i'm honestly one-less, I guess, if I can;t make it in music, in art. If I can't make a decent living just by being myself...i'm not meant to live at all. That much is true--no life worth living includes waking up every day to go to a job I hate, that barely pays my bills. No life is worth living that Something strange happens to me when my favorite people go ‘live' on instagram Social Media, a young demon with whom I constantly evade, when I am not forcibly fighting to fit the status quo (which, I cannot.) Watching my social media right now is like the digital equivalent of “You can't sit with us.” I've grown attached to OWSLA like some sort of distant, imaginary family--only, I know this is something I've just embedded into my mind--the ultimate wishful thinking. Everything I do seems fragile, as if the grid I had discovered not only exists in the outer world, but also my inner--that everything I do, think, say, sing, speak makes a difference in what will happen moving forward. Reawakening my center has been difficult, saying the very least--I am almost paralyzed by negativity--made catatonic through senses with which I cannot control; My ‘home' life has become a hell where i'll-spirits and pitiful thoughts are cast about me--in reality, I have no home. In truth, I'm unsure that I have any purpose, either. It's all been bothering me… Now it's something that just hurts, like everything else. Add to the pain, subtract from willingness to live. Add to the trauma, subtract from the motivation to succeed. How much of my fault is this? Who did it? What is it for? Amongst the most otherworldly of theories, the possibility that extraterrestrials had actual involvement in removing Sonny from wherever he was supposed to be (Burning Man, albeit) and placing him where I was. I've wondered how else the dancing shadows cast against the canvas of the tent were so perfectly made-- ancient egyptian prophecies foretold as a light show, in the moments leading up to the one where the entirety of my being was shifted, in an instant. I dreamed of a B2B with Skrillex, and instead got a face-to-face with Sonny Moore. One, apparently, does not quite equal the other. Eight (or so) months later, and I've filtered through all the stages of grief--for all of the ways I had to lose him--as much as one could be lost, without actually dying. But, perhaps I am dead. My soul and spirit at least, are trapped, and tainted torturously from all I've come to gather. Running into the night, like a bat fresh out of hell, away from the visions I was forced to have from our exchange-- I can only imagine, had I acted any differently and stayed, rather than fled what else I may have seen. In only the few short moments we shared together...I was able to see more of his life than for anyone I've ever ‘seen' for, besides myself. To have, after only a few moments--seen both backwards into his past--and forwards into a seemingly shared future of some sort. I don't know what else to call this creepy psychic shit, other than “seeing”. To even call myself a “seer” would be a heavy title, I'd be too uncomfortable to claim. Still, vivid memories of the dude's past--and chilling premonitions of the future, have left me disgustingly sick with a concern that wholly did not exist, beforehand. But, when faced with the question: “What would it be like to actually lose him?” I fucking lost it. I've never taken well to celebrity deaths--perhaps, overly sensitive in ways that suite absolutely nobody--I just so happen to have fallen apart numerous times, upon learning of the passing of those i've long cherished. I collapsed fully at Michael Jackson's passing, scrolling through the African TV channels in disbelief, as I desperately searched for a News Channel in English to confirm that it was indeed, true. This was, of course, a couple years after I cried for hours with Back to Black on repeat in the wake of Amy Winehouses' death--going even further back, I can recall arguing with a classmate that Steve Erwin, another hero, was brave--rather than ‘stupid', and undeserving of his untimeley demise. A special place lies in my heart for the day I remember losing Robin Williams-- a weird memory which collides in the now, with my affinity for Skrillex music and the strange outer connectivity my emotions seem to have in the passing of those I wholeheartedly admire; I've shed tears for Whitney Houston, Prince--I've shed tears for all of them. But none so much as for Skrillex, who is [surprisingly] still alive… And I'm mad about it. I'm mad about it, because I was [partially] happy in my place, as a fan. I wasn't even the best fan, or the biggest fan (metaphorically speaking--physically, though--I probably hold a record of some sort.) I wasn't following his social media--I wasn't following his anything, honestly. I was just crossing my fingers that with every lineup released, I might find the name “Skrillex” plastered to the top of it, or standing out broadly against the other ‘S' names, if alphabetically presented. I'm mad about it, because I hate myself. I've been hating myself my entire life. But i've never hated that I loved Skrillex--in fact, I've always been quite proud, having watched the project skyrocket, as EDM penetrated pop-culture in the years following my college endeavors. Never really thought to think that at any point, we might be equals. We're not--outwardly, anyway. Inwardly, though? Fuck me. It's like I'm bound to it by the roots of the Tree of Life. Like something in my DNA was activated by an overabundance of Skrillex. I've undoubtedly, and by far crossed the threshold of having listened to 10,000 Hours of Skrillex, guaranteed. No calculations needed. Still, there are perhaps millions of others who share the same affinity--and at least a few thousands who are more outwardly obsessive than in. It works, when I need to know something I'd rather just ask Sonny myself, but can't--there's always a kid in the fan pool who has been quick to find whatever information I'm looking for, long, long before I've come to look for it. Poor guy. For almost an entire year, that's all I've really been able to think. ‘Poor guy.' Because, if the roles were reversed--and for whatever reason I decided to make my way into someone's tent at a music festival (I wouldn't) and I scared them into a shock, resulting in them fleeing away from me--I'd feel like shit. And, if I had been touring my entire life and watched the culture grow and morph into the nearly unmanageable able monster it has become--i'd feel like shit. If I had to watch an ambulance cart away someone in the crowd during one of my sets, I'd feel like shit. If I had to do a live set while I felt like shit, I'd feel like shit. and ...if some random fan fell head over heels in love with me, simply because I crawled into her tent, or made really good music, or made her feel some kind of way… I'd feel like shit. And that shit probably happens all the time. It's been 10 long years for me, with Skrillex-- but I can't imagine how long the last 10 years have been, as Skrillex. Now I think about all the shit DJs go through, being DJs….what's more, I've had to give in-depth thought to what it means to be a celebrity at all--what it might be like to have someone grow an obsession over you--unprovokingly. Although my ‘obsession' for this particular person can't technically be considered ‘unprovoked' (I was minding my own business, after all--and Skrillex was not on the lineup.) I can't help but feel for those in the limelight whose charisma and talent combined attract every type of creeper imaginable. I'm just the kind of creeper that wants to make music; any previous searches as an attempt to ‘get to know' Skrillex, previous to last August, originated in attempting to comprehend how to create such organic sounds--exploring and studying how intricately layered and carefully arranged each of my favorite sounds and songs were made. Piecing together how exactly an artist like such, had become as such. Now, i'm just entangled in self-doubt, as it seems the entire next generation is equipped with whatever skillset it takes to become an electronic musician. Self-doubt, as I fear that my body weight intimidated him as much as his presence intimidated me. Again: All me. All bad. I've nowhere to turn to to unleash this shit--it has to be a secret-- and even letting it slip to Annie in the isolation of the aftermath has felt like a mistake, since I allowed it to happen. Can I keep a secret? Ha. There are things that only I know, certainly. The premonition I did subtly speak of, I refused to unearth in detail, even to Annie. The other visions I was made to have, still my own secret; I've begun to wonder if, upon meeting Sonny, I would keep it to myself; I suppose that would depend on nature and context. But, I think about it every day. It is my first thought upon waking up, my final thought before coming to rest--it has permeated into the only dreams I ever have anymore--crowds my semi-waking thoughts as I toss-and-turn throughout the night; the amount of energy exchanged, the amount of concern that consumes me....lets me know that it is all apart of something far beyond my comprehension, far beyond my senses...far beyond any understanding of the universe that I may have. And, it hurts. As bad as it is for me, it's probably worse for him--IF he remembers any of it. Then, probably a seasoned drinker (lol, “probably”) There's a good chance that, well-- he does remember. Oh God no. If I could motion to be erased, I would. I've been trying to erase myself for the better part of a year, including and certainly not limited to August 4th--an attempt I can stand to think I had not fully recovered from by the time it all happened. What the fuck did happen? Though it can't be denied that each of us possesses some kind of magic--the origins of mine can be traced back, at least on one side. Powers I was ‘born with', as told by my father--something I only believed until I was old enough that it didn't make sense--and something I was forced to recognize once I was old enough that it did. I want to know what exactly it is that ties us... Where this love--which is what it is, undeniably-- originates. I've spent the better part of the last year praying and meditating, and attempting to loosen the knots in my stomach enough to self-soothe enough to settle that, at worst-- Sonny was just being a pretty white boy, looking for a good time--and I just became a victim by knowing how to have one. Alternately--how fuck fuck would he even know I exist? As i've stated, I was the epitome of a silent Skrillex fan, prior to all these spectacular occurrences. I may have, at some point online--said something about Skrillex being my Spirit Animal… (still true) But can't imagine what else might have been garnered in my attainable, tangible history, which would alert him of my existence at all. Then, with all the money in the world, you truly can do anything… And that's what I hate in all this. Him--having all the money in the world, and me, having none… The very thing that separates us from settlement, myself from closure. Really, the only thing I want. Closure. ‘I got love, fuck your money.' Sonny can be anyone--he's earned that right. He can be with anyone--deservingly so. I want for him the very best--and, knowing that I am not (physically, anyway) am dismissive of any judgement cast. I wouldn't want me, either--looks matter, I know. I just want to know what he means to me--in this lifetime, in this realm, in this reality. I didn't have to be moved from where I was to be inspired by him--I just always was. I didn't have to think about being attracted to him--I just always was. I didn't have to think about being connected through the music--I just always was. And it all came crashing down in a tent, at the bottom of the rabbit hole--where I lost my mind--after having already lost my soul, to something beyond the senses, long ago. I committed wholly and permanently to making music when Phoneixx died, almost 2 years ago. The point was never to sound like Skrillex, but rather to be like Skrillex, as an artist--but, after much speculative examination--I guess, I always was. I lost myself in the early days of Myspace. From First To Last rang through the hallways of my middle school's corridors. Chiodos carried me through the days of wrist-cutting and air-dust huffing, through the days of binging-and-purging, wishing I was prettier--and in the height of all that is the drama of living in my very own Teenaged Wasteland… The Rocket Summer was handed to me by the hands of an angel, as I transitioned out of awkward adolescent depression and into an almost-well-adjusted life at a performing arts school, as an aspiring musician, singer, dancer and storyteller… The dream that carried me out of Utah, and into the Heart of Hollywood at the age of 16… The dream I thought died, long ago. When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? Billie Ellish's spirit collided with mine, as the first time I heard her voice, I shattered inwardly, and shivered in the resonance that is the understanding of pain, born undoubtedly in love; I shuddered to think that someone so young could feel so devoid of the willingness to live, to move onward. My response upon first experiencing her music, of course, a genuine “...Is she ok?” Three little words. I tend to really mean them, any time I ask. “Are you OK?!” I blurted, as my entire self exploded into shock, as I immediately recognized the face I've known for years--and looked through the widened eyes of one so now devastatingly human--to something inside of myself. Something about my voice shifted him; He became a mirror for all my pain, all my doubt--all the shame I have, for all that I am-- my demons came straight to the surface. Voiceless, now, and shielded in the fetal position, we faced each other silently. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm Sorry.', I thought loudly, as I lay panicking. I stared down into my chest, ashamed to be anything but invisible, thoughts racing. I dare not lift my head to look at him. My heart pounded, as I lay screaming silent apologies for my appearance--for my very presence, for my own existence. I couldn't process his presence in my reality. Choking back tears, I tried not even to so much as breathe, as I silently apologized for being born--and though I wanted nothing more than to reach out to hold him, I lay all-but-lifelessly--wondering what went so wrong that he would seek to find me. The familiar smell of liquor permeated the air, as my heart sank, throbbing as it pounded...I know an alcoholic, when I smell one. I did actually wonder if he was okay....(and I've been wondering daily, ever since.) But clearly, he wasn't okay. Clearly, I wasn't. Clearly, nobody's ok. He slipped his praying hands between my thighs, as I died inside--and all my outer senses blended to become all, and nothing at once, again. Exit Skrillex, Enter Sonny. How does a mere peasant earn a spot in the company of the Highest Priest? I've not bargained with the Devil, but begged the Heavens that my life would end before his...the First Fast emerged as a direct result of self-sacrifice; To serve as a protection against misjudgement--to realign my soul with it's true intensive purpose--in hopes that my body would shrink to form something suitable. The memory of his hands between my thighs, a haunting reminder that--I just may be too big for him… The reality is...of all that I am, and all that I have, and all that I wish to be...it just may be that--he's too big for me… metaphorically speaking. I'll have to become a damn-near Superstar, just to get to know the people--that know the people--that know the people, that know people who can connect me to Sonny, on any level. I'll have to get in line behind millions of other hopeful DJ's, producers, singers, dancers, songwriters--hundreds of thousands of entertainers who might kill-or-die to get to know Skrillex in any way-shape-or form. Romantically, I'd be competing against at least a million perfect-bodied beauty-queen fangirls who would do anything--and I mean anything--for their shot at Skrillex. The truth is, I'm not trying to get to know Skrillex; The truth is, i'd rather know Sonny. (Whatever that's supposed to mean, right?) I don't question at all our potential compatibility; there's no doubt in my mind that there's some chemistry between us--be it of ancient origin, an extra terrestrial genetic code, or otherwise...but I'd bet any money I actually had, that someone as highly regarded as Skrillex would be ridiculed, trolled, and tremendously hated by many, many fans--for associating with someone like me. I don't even know if it's like that--but, again--crawling into someone's tent is...kind of intimate. What in Heavens would one want with me, when he could have perfection-- Absolute perfection? I kind of get it. I'm used to being fetishised. I've always been the black girl who liked white guys--I've lead a life that's made it easy to learn that Jungle Fever is often taboo among the White Caucasion men who find black women attractive enough to fuck--but would never want to “date” us, or bring us home. I've learned that--at the end of the day-- most white guys, want white kids--even if they like to fuck black girls. Then, there's the added bonus of some genetic flaw which has allowed my body to at one point, have ballooned up to 380 pounds-- a body which, even after a 200+ pound weight loss, would disgust anyone with eyes, in what most would consider “cute rave attire”. And, although shrinking from a size 28 to a size 10 is somewhat of a ‘grand' achievement, I look like an asymmetrical potato sack with my clothes off. If there's anything I know about men--and especially the affluent ones--they love to have trophies to showcase. I've yet to see a body like mine on the red carpet, or as arm candy--or as the leading lady, anywhere. No, there's no such thing as a fat Cinderella. Still, he's one of the most handsome creatures i've ever seen-- undoubtedly one of the most beautiful creatures on this planet. I will continue to love what I know of him wholly and unconditionally. On my best days, I even hope to live long enough, and well enough to have the honor of properly meeting him. Never could I have the courage to ask him on a date--nor would I subject him to the cruelty of the outer world by alluding to the fact that he may, in fact be someone more important to me, than as just a musician--as with anyone i've ever loved, I only want for him the best. On my worst days, The Devil assures me that it was Annie he was really looking for, who he may have seen me with at the plethora of festivals we attended together last year--or perhaps, even Idania, who was supposed to have been there with me…and it would make sense. The Devil also constantly reminds me of how much prettier they both are than me--and better in every way. But, it was long ago that I came to terms with the fact that anyone who might come to love me--would also love Annie and would love her more thoroughly--her, having the more attractive body and face, being more ideally pretty. Standing next to Annie, I always lose. Even on a good day. All this, I can be sure to cast aside, however--because at the very best--he was looking for me, and everything between then-and-now builds into something of substance or significance… and at worse, my favorite figure in music absolutely hates me, and regrets my existence as much as I do. Either way, Skrillex hits hard any time of the day, any day of the week. And… Either way, Sonny hits home, all day, every day--until I can manage to learn to speak. Eight pages later, and it still hurts. Eight pages, and i'm still mad. I'm still crying. I'm still useless. I'm still stuck. Stuck on stupid. Stuck on Sonny. Stuck on Skrillex. Just… Stuck. And it hurts. 5/5 Another day. Nothing makes me hate myself more than waking up. ‘Don't look at the phone.' instructions, handed to me some time ago by the Divine--since then, I make it a point not to look at my phone, if I can help it, before I've sat up to pray, and meditate. Lately, I've been unable to relax at all enough to focus on a proper meditation, before realizing my actual self-worth (nothing), and falling into the depressive non-motion that has been me. How many evil men will it take being caught in the midst of, will it take for me to realize that I've been allowing myself to painfully absorb their essences, even without a single touch? Just living here alone has set me further back from my goals than I was--then--I'm beginning to feel that my ‘roomate' may have ties to White Supremacy; the evidence does just keep on building. It has occured to me that Jason's warning that Nick may be deep undercover for some Government agency is most likely true. Though I err on the side of not snooping through other peoples' things--I've happened to stumble across indicators which point to the likely case that he is, in fact, hired by the government or some other private entity--probably as part of some secret experiment, assigned to psycologically torture and disable mentally fragile individuals; It seems as though the experiement was designed in order to test morale, will power, self-control, and proper judgement-- tests which I've been concious of, but in the moment have not always cared about passing-or-failing. From the painful assortment of disgusting and obnoxious sounds make throughout the day, torturing me through unpleasant and peace-shattering sounds, left victimized by my synesthesia and recently pinpointed misophonia--or something similar...whatever it is that makes slamming doors, cabinets, and the items crashing to the floor after lazily being thrown across the room methods of torture. To the cavalcade of poisonous, sugary and addicted substances, which only seem to appear or are offered during crucial fasts--or, pushily and passive-aggressively left in my living space without asking whether or not i'd like any. Just left there, to be discovered upon finishing a shower, or returning from a nightly walk. And on days when I am actually hungry, or needing to eat? I am offered nothing. Only when I fast am I ever offered any sustenance. It says almost too much about my roomate as a person--to offer every time, or never at all would be acceptable, and understandable--but to only invite one to eat when one feels so ‘inclined' is beyond cruelty. It's privilege showing itself to be one of the only faces uglier than mine, that i'm aware of. While i've elected to use my headphones as a shield, life's not always easy immersed in a sound bath of isochronic tones and Theta Waves--and though it does excite me to have expanded my music library, with additions and updates I've been longing for ages-- it's almost more stressful to think about the amount of music that I don't have. Songs I would add to my “sets”, if you can call them that. If I can call myself a DJ--if I can call myself a person, anymore. Really, all I am is hurt feelings and trauma wrapped in flesh; I might be less of a person than I ever was, once. Everything costs--whether it be money, the world's currency--or time, the currency of the soul. Torturous is the life of an artist, who cannot herself make ‘art', as she sees fit. Everyone in Hollywood has a screenplay in their back pocket; Everyone in LA has a dream, two-to-three-jobs, and a side hustle--and me? I'm just learning to DJ to self-soothe, having given up hope of ever becoming anything greater than the happiest guest at the rave nearest you. It's harder than it looks….(or, maybe it isn't, and i'm just retarded.) Building a music collection worthy enough to grace the decks in any of my favorite venues, is an arduous task--maybe this is why all the popular DJs are pretty white boys--the proof is in the privilege. Money, money, money...I used to make plenty of it, and was always exhausted--now I make none, and am always exhausted. What's worth what cost? Time = Money. In LA, and in the world. But by anyone's definition--and especially mine--LA is the world. Or, at the very least, sets the tone for the world. Truly, nothing is free. DJing is more expensive than I could have ever imagined--once again, in any direction I turn, there's a ladder to climb. I've not got the time or energy left in my sadly depleting lifesource left to storm gates, crawling over heads and cutting down those in my way. While it's certain that ‘Competitive Greatness' is the key atop the Pyramid of Success, there are 14 other bricks below to lay the foundation of that which one might call success, to be garnered as imagined through the eyes of a man, anyway, who lived in the 1930's. John L. Wooden may have been right--and may still be right--if I were a standard male (we'll leave race out of it, for now…..for now.) Still, i've been using the Pyrimid of Success as a guidepost, in what it is exactly I may have to do, or be, in order to become something. Not even something great, just something. Perhaps, if I can make it to being something, eventually I might become someone. Oh, to be a person would be nice. For now, I'll just have to settle on tricking my useless sack of anatomy into being a DJ. There's nothing outside of it, anymore. Bass Canyon truly was my last rave--not that I enjoyed it, honestly. Though I've attempted to retrain my brain around the trauma which resulted from that weekend, it did serve as a turning point--a sort of going-away party, as I departed from my home as a no-holds-bar Kandi Kid. Happy Graduation, OG Raver! Little did I know that, with the multidimentionality of our universe, I would be presented, through the world of possibility--the ability to at least observe with the naked eye that there lie more beyond the decks-- a space that may have been made for me. I'll never forget the moment I knew I would be a DJ--or at least try, for the life (or the death) of me. Electric Daisy Carnival changed my life--an experience ten years in the making that catapulted me into the depths of my wildest dreams--unbeknownst to me that I hadn't yet the ability to swim, in such that is the tempest of my own subconscious mind. But--that part of this story deserves its own dedicated elaboration; For now, i'll only look back--and realize that it was there that I aligned with my highest self in the truest sense, that, at least then, I actually believed that I could become a top DJ. I've lost the flight to stay afloat in the salty sea that is the millions of other people trying to make it to the mainstages of our favorite places, and begun to sink into the reality of the entertainment industry as a whole...the reality of the world, as a whole anymore. Looking around at the world's top DJs is less encouraging and inspirational than it should be. Nearly every headliner looks like every kid who ever bullied me, every guy who ever turned me down--every kid hosting the party I wasn't invited to. As for the females of the bunch--I find it frustrating that not one yet has been of any color other than yellow--and even then--we all know the world's men love Asian women. While I can admire girls like Rezz and Allison Wonderland--I wonder what kind of career, if any, if either of them were black, or heavyset--or, my losing genetic combination: Both. Would a fat Allison Wonderland have ever made it into the industry? Would a black Rezz ever become a staple in bass music, and rave culture? If Softest. Hard had a pot belly, would she have been discovered? Then, there are up-and-comings beyond my complete comprehension--those who are visually appealing, but musically inept; I'll leave out any names, and still salute them--anyone who can wrap their brain around any standard DAW enough to make an entire song, is absolutely more talented, definitely more intelligent than I am. [I'm not.] But, I can't help but wonder: How easy was it for any of them, being so pretty, to learn to do what they do--just by being kind and asking a friend for help to learn production? In so many years of raving, I've watched beautiful girls get pulled backstage--and even pulled on stage, to connect with the artists and VIPs. I've been brought to tears as I've watched rude girls with porcelain faces caked in makeup be lifted over rails into the promised land, picked to be plucked by just her eyes and smile combined with the perfection of a flat and flawless stomach. Pretty girls always get priority. Me? Well, I get the dead eyes of the drunken DJ, staring down at me through his whiskey glass, as he beckons the stagehands to assist the perfect-bodied princess backstage...but i'm only front-and-center so I can feel the music move, and watch all the energy bounce around, matching the movement of the expert's hands on deck, to the waves of sound colliding with the rest of the world. True, my mind might wander to what wonderful experiences await the perfect princess, as she disappears behind the decks, into a world i've yet to know, but only seen: The life I know exists beyond the rails, beyond the decks...the world I can only wish to build, for myself. Big ugly black girls don't get pulled backstage. Big ugly black girls are token ancillary characters, it seems, in the plot which writes the story of the modern rave. In a sea of new-generation ravers raised by Kim Kardashian and YouTube makeup tutorials--left lost in a torturous chamber of perfection--women who can wear anything, beautifully. Women who get whatever they want, whenever they want--because they know they can; 10's, to my -3. Bottom Line: Looks matter, until all the men in the world go blind. Sad-but-true. I move not to objectify the women whose music and movement through the clearly sexist music entertainment industry. God only knows how hard each of them has worked to earn a spot so highly ranked amongst those to whom we all admire--the legends, the greats. Each woman behind the decks has become a reflection of everything I wish I ever was--but also a painful reminder of everything that I am not. Of every girl i've ever come behind. Perhaps, this is the result of growing up the as the only ‘black girl', in the backwards, racist po-dunk town I was transplanted into: A place where I spent years constantly being told, taught, and trained that it was more admirable to have light skin, blonde hair, blue eyes...then again, The Media has always done a particularly good job at creating and maintaining what the ideal beauty standard should be, or is--and an excellent job of perpetuating stereotypes. People never expect me to sound how I do, or to like what I like--because it's “white people stuff”; and ten years ago when I discovered raving, there wasn't another black girl (or boy!) in sight for miles, at any rave I went to. I was the oddity, the token--the “what the fuck” person, in an already entirely what-the-fuck place. Fast Forward to 2020: My Freshman Year as a DJ. And...as it appears, the world behind the decks is just as non-diverse as the dancefloor was when I first began this escapade through the world of immersive music. Do I want to be the first ethnically-bred Female DJ to reach the top? OF COURSE. Can I? It's not up to me. Now I'm confusededly caught in the web that is rumours circulating of an ongoing race-war, and wondering if I've been left to die smack-dab in the middle of it. Amongst currently living with a white supremacist (or, extremely ignorant and culturally intolerant biggoted racist at the very, very least.), it seems that White Superiority may be a driving theme amongst the Electronic Music Industry--that maybe the world I've rather grown up in, and come to love has more twists, turns, and dark alleys to look through than the obvious ‘secrets' that loom in the world of rave. All seeing is the eye that watches over all. Insomniac's crew is among one of the least racially diverse I've ever seen--if I were Pasqualle, I might think to at least try to make it look as though there were a plethora of ethnic backgrounds who work together to tie the knot holding together the world's biggest metaphorical kandi: Insomniac, the Kingdom of Mainstream rave culture. A global endeavor. I wonder how many i've come to admire--Pasqualle included-- are actually White Supremacists, masquerading in the power of positivity and their corporate capitalism, true beliefs and intentions. My curiosity about the man himself peaked during EDC weekend, after stumbling into sign after sign, symbol after symbol--of something I've aspired [in the past] to commit to, but also am wearlily aware of its adversity towards that of my kind; being firstly female, and secondly partially black. Now, I wonder--am I even allowed to enter into the world beyond the decks--or is that preserved for only women with perfect bodies, fair skin--attractive individuals? Does it belong only to those with money? Is there any possibility that there may be room for someone like me to enter the scene--or may only pretty girls with pretty bodies and pretty hair be allowed in the backstage world? Really, I just want to perform. I miss myself as a dancer, as a musician--as an actor, all together. I still wish I had continued on this path a decade ago, when--though weighing over 300 pounds--my confidence at least existed. Teaching myself to DJ has been one of the hardest things i've ever done; I don't know if I'm retarded, but I'm beginning to consider attempting to see someone for some kind of screening. If Paris Hilton can DJ, why is it so hard for me? If Sonny can dink around on a computer with a blown speaker, call himself ‘Skrillex' and make some of the world's most intricate music since that of Beethoven-- why can't I do the same? What makes the difference in all these YouTube tutorials telling me how to do it--and me actually being able to do it? What is it, that's wrong with my brain? But, it's all i've wanted for over a year--to be a DJ, at least. I've always been a musician; It's just been a stop-and-go, allowing for the rest of what has been my life to pass through between the times I could make music, and couldn't. I wish I had the positive support it takes to have encouraged me forward on the path I was already on, since I was 13--instead, I was told I was too fat (and too black) to succeed in the way I wanted to. 10 Years later and Lizzo is at the top of her game, while I beat myself up for losing at mine. Never could I have imagined a world where i'd see an album cover like hers; upon seeing it, I was not only shocked, but enraged: She was everything I was told I could not be. And the Truth Is: more than likely, someone told Lizzo the same thing I was told, and the difference is-- she didn't believe them, and kept moving forward. The difference is: She believed in herself, and loved herself enough to keep trying. The difference is, that everything I needed, I already had--I just never believed it to be so. I'm proud of her...but insanely jealous. My inner child cries “That should have been me.” Truth Hurts. There's more to it, than that; Envy lives in the cavernous pits deep within the confined Hell that is my subconscious mind--and--as the world begins to close in on itself, as consciousness continues expanding, I find myself fighting against the worst of my woes daily. Nowhere can I go without meeting a flawless, forward-figured, and facially exquisite female--rather than submit to catty jealousness, I have learned to admire and nod or bow as a gesture that I am a lesser creature. So now i'm left to wonder as I self-teach myself a trade, if my aspirations may ever be achieved, without possessing any outer beauty. All that's left in the world for me, now, is to become my own favorite DJ. (A title, of course, formerly belonging to Skrillex... ruined, by his untimely arrival as a physical person, into my actual life. More on that later...and infinitely.) I've lately begun asking myself “Is it really worth it?”...but, at the same time, I've never loved anything so much, as to fly on the wings of music--and so i've also wondered “What else will really make me happy?” Tough question. Ideally, I'm the entertainment Guru I always wished to be--not tied down to any one artform, but able to move about freely in all of them. There's no life without theatre--there's no light without entertainment. If living ideally, I could never be any-one-thing-- if living ideally, I am the embodiment of everything I love. But in a world where a snatched waist and a pretty face are a winning (and deadly) combination, I'm 0-0. Life of am ugly kid. Worse off yet, since even Hobo Johnson seems to have more confidence in his awkward and broken rhythms enough to speak his mind clearly enough for the rest of the world to resonate. Might be a good time to revisit, what it is exactly I came for. Perhaps, the answer is nothing: So far, I have nothing, make nothing, am nothing--if there is anything that I am, it's words on a piece of paper--just another ‘thing', another dreaming, wishful hopeful that I can rise above all that has been, and all that I am now...to become something more When training to match with the likes of the devil in preparation for battle against he, you must intend to figure, what the vehicle he has chosen has maintained to use as atool to help build you, as a Saint or an Angel--or one to break you, as Satan he. It has been a fruitful fas, but still i persist, though with a weary eye and curious mind, to the riddle i have yet been presente; ; Much ado about Chicken Soup. “Practice androgyny!” the two meet, immidiately fritening eachother; they transform-- One becomes dog, the other a cat--the cat begins to run. the dog pursues her. they run into a sunny meadow where a river feeds the wildlife and it is vibrant amongst the creatures; the cat climbs up a tree, and the [very friendly] dog stops at the base, looking up at her playfully, with an ask that she come down. She looks down from the tree at him, at a safe distance, and begins to relax on the I've fallen in love with a celebrity. What medicine cures that? Dearest Sonny, I'm unsure quite how to explain myself to you--or if I can, or should explain myself at all.I guess I could start with “I'm sorry.”, but it's almost as if that doesn't quite cover it, and nothing does. Perhaps, i'll start with just “thank you”--thank you for being you--which is something that makes me more ‘myself' than anything, at best. Really though, that's probably a good place to start with the wholehearted apology I owe you; It cannot be easy being yourself, or navigating life with such prominence, importance--as I'm sure you never intended all that you are, as any gift-given may have come as a God-honest, and God-given surprise. That being said; God is only anything that I am --as is, anything that you are. The talent that you possess is insurmountably powerful...and has touched, changed, inspired millions--changing the world and the very fabric of time itself--no matter how unintentionally, in all your humility. Somewhere hidden, I too have talent. I only wish that in this lifetime, I were granted the confidence and charisma to be able to somehow express it. Music is the matter I find I am made of--without being able to express it, I only feel burdened, trapped. It is a beautiful language you speak--you, and the rest of the artists I've grown to admire. It is a language so soothing, I can only long to learn it; I'm afraid though that in this lifetime, too much time and opportunity has passed...in this modern, technologically fast-paced new world...i've been left behind. You are truly a good friend, indeed. In all the sense that it doesn't make, I honor you as someone who has inspired, motivated, comforted, and captivated consistently throughout my existence in this time, in this life; Though i've been in recent times, able to remember your essence in lifetimes past, it is in this lifetime that I find the most befuddling, how your music itself has seemed to find and follow me.Unexplainable, would be the word that I can most easily use to describe anything having to do with it--love, would be the other word. “I love you”, is, I guess, what I was trying to say by tapping you gently three times, before running away. Really though, there aren't many things I could have said, or done--i'd never really been “starstruck” before; but it would be quite a stretch to say that it was the first time I'd been left awestruck in your presence. Countless performances, club shows; Raves are my favorite, favorite thing--second to the feel, and sound of bass. “Synesthesia”, would be the vocabulary word that explained a lifelong fascination with laser lights and deep bass; in ten years of hugging subwoofers and losing myself in the drop wondering my early adulthood mantra “Why am I like this?” almost constantly, it never mattered more to me than it has now. I recall a time where I referred to Skrillex as my spirit animal--still true, I suppose, although considering the fact I've consciously separated the Skrillex of things from the Sonny Moore of it all. One in the same, or, two separate parts of a whole--I can undeniably say all my unconventional, unconditional “I love you, I love you, I love you's”, in the everything that you are. ‘In love', would be an understatement--though which statement to actually make, i'm unsure of. I'm unsure of a lot of things, really; I've made many honest (and dishonest mistakes) in this lifetime--walking away from you, one of them. But, I can't change that, anything about who I am--or anything about the world the way it is, for I am only one--and too small, too weak, and too tired. My soul wishes for the freedom that death will bring--and so, I must let it...as its simply much too hard to live moving forward with such a badly broken spirit. I want you to understand that it is not your fault; It's nothing to do with you, or anything that you've done--the way that I love is uncontainable, once the match has been lit. I apologize again that you've become a victim in the energy field that becomes somewhat of a vortex, once activated. I didn't mean to fall in love with you--I don't know really how it happened, it just did. Maybe you don't remember me. Maybe you do. It doesn't really matter now, I just want you to know that me leaving this life is no fault of yours. I love you wholeheartedly--wholeheartedly, too, I love myself--though, seemingly only from the inside-out; there's nothing I can do about the outer shell I've been trapped in all these years. This is my body; something I would neither burden nor embarrass you with. Apologies, and all my love to you. There's nothing I want for you more than to live a happy, healthy, fulfilling life--I hope that you and those surrounding you are always, always living in peace, with joy and love--without worry, or burden, or stress; in honesty, these arre my wishes for anyone on this planet..as my love for humanity itself has only seemed to quantify, as I near the end of my life. I love, love; sometimes, I believe that I *am* love, as are any of us--but as I draw nearer to the light, it becomes harder and harder for me to believe that anything else matters, or has ever mattered, more than love. I love you. It just may be that i'm the world's biggest Skrillex fan--but to look beyond the cloak of stardom has left me longing for the embodiment of a memorable, familiar soul: The you. The person, and being that actually is; which is to say--as I would for any of my closest friends--I'd go to hell-and-back for you, give my last for you, do anything to protect you--*you*, the person; wanting and needing, expecting nothing in the world--because I cannot see a world without you in it. I'm sorry again, for any negativity. I meant to leave you behind at least, something beautiful, in exchange for all the years and moment's i've experienced through your art--but as I've mentioned before, I am trapped within myself. Symphonies unsung, melodies unwritten--because I've not what it takes to make it. I won't depart without admitting I tried, Music is my all, my everything, my guiding light--so at least in going home, I know there will always, always be the World of Sound--perhaps Heaven in the place where I can live there. I don't know what else to say. You're one of the most beautiful people i've ever seen, from the inside out--before I saw you, I heard you; before I could hear you, you were felt. I will always love you...nothing much else can matter, except that you know that. I'll never be able to erase it from my mind, never be able to forget, or look past it. I may even never understand why. Ancient Egyptian knowledge, or whatever—is the thing it seems they were trying to convey. By they, I only mean—whoever it is that wanted to hurt me. From the men shouting “kill yourself” outside my window— To the flocks of gorgeous, perfect women with perfect waists, perfect fashion, perfect faces—flaunting and floating before me, taunting me, pointing and laughing—rolling eyes, and flipping hair— and giving looks that say “I know you wish you looked as good as me.” I do. I do wish that. I wish more than anything to be beautiful. But...I keep eating. My body is hideous. I hate everything about it. I could try harder, but even that hurts. Everything hurts. Especially my heart. Why was I not more panicked, that after such a phenomenon such as that, cast by shadows against my tent—that the zipper of the door began to move slowly, from one side to another. Perhaps, I wanted the company. Maybe I needed it. What I didn't need, was more excruciating pain. No one's fault, I guess—someone wants me dead. At this point, I think me, the most. I'll never forget that face. The shocker. “Why is Skrillex in my tent?” The looming question. A question I hadn't even the time to ask, before blurting out “Are you okay?!” He froze, I froze. I guess that's where my Skrillex and my Sonny collided, as my soul began the process of separating the music I adored, and the person who made it. I will never forget his eyes. Fear. I scared him. He scared me. He scarred me. Maybe it wasn't him. I know that it *was* in fact Sonny himself (the face is unmistakable, those eyes)—but perhaps he was put up to it. Paid, for the task. Maybe my deer-in-the-headlights makes it so that he is the hunter—? How could he have missed his shot? How could I have missed mine. I've fallen in love with a celebrity. What medicine cures that? What medicine cures suicide? None I've taken, really—maybe Acid. Now, I can't seem to separate myself from Skrillex—or from Sonny—or from figuring out the two, or one in the same— or from figuring out myself, in that we are one in the same. I love him. Like a stupid teenager loves her favorite idol. Yeah, it's exactly like that, except worse—I'm a grown woman, a failure—whose aspirations and admirations are grandiose, and dillusional. Now I'm even more delusional. I thought, for a moment that Sonny might be in love with me. In honesty? Sometimes I still think that. I actually still believe that. So why this approach? I'm partially convinced he was paid to ‘finish the job', so to speak. I was already suicidal, and, fresh out of the hospital on the attempt to end my life that failed, again. So this would do it—make me hope and believe I could be something, someone, anyone—that I could be anything—even a superstar DJ-turned-future President. I'm a fucking joke. Someone, who could have anyone—in love with me? Maybe this is why people sneak into tents at music festivals: They don't love you— They just want to fuck. DAY 1: MAY 1ST, 2020; If I am offered dinner, will eat--but if not, will continue forward. Will set an alarm for 3:30 AM once roommate has gone to bed to check for his keys. Everyone gets their own suicide letter. Mom Dad Bearr Annie Yesenia Sonny (just leave it to Annie w/ his rock && burn book) Let everybody know it's not their fault. Reasons: 1. Fat 2. Ugly 3. Black 4. Poor 5. Unsuccessful 6. Friendless 7. No Charisma 8. Single I don't know why I numbered them. Do you really need more than one reason to kill yourself? (no.) I believe i”ve started the fast that I was asked. Be it that I have, the date is May 1st, 2020--however, I've been wondering if my roommate leaves the keys to his car in an accessible place; I'm kind of hoping so. I'm already craving to eat, and the first 24 hours have yet to pass. Again, i'm always given the open to keep this date and continue forward, so long that I eat before midnight--however, nothing seems like the right answer; The matter of fasting has become a damned-if-I-do, damned-if-I-don't matter...it seems that everything I do is ‘wrong', though right-and-wrong are subjective, and multidimensionally, objective, even. I probably might have been dead by now, if my car battery hadn't died...it seems like the easiest and least painful way; something easy and quiet. I've thought about sharpening a knife, just to cut and let [myself] bleed out at the wrist--but then, I fear that I may panic and that my mind would fight to survive. I've thought about hanging from one of my favorite trees-- but haven't the money left to buy any rope--which, perhaps, I could steal--but to steal enough rope to hang myself with on foot? A tricky task, to say the least. So, really, some of me is hoping my roommate leaves his keys out. At first, the thought of committing my suicide here was unsettling. My roommate, Satan's personal favorite vehicle and overall negative void of a ‘person' (or vampire, honestly), is a drama Queen--he needs not only conflict and drama to survive, but fiends for it; something in me had somehow become too proud to give him something to girlishly blabber about with his narcissistic, simple friends--I can already hear the repetitive exclamations of “horror” that would more-than-likely delight him as he recounts the story of finding my body, over-and-over...at first it rather haunted me, and now i've come to peace with--bargaining that having him find my body would be something of a statement, which wordlessly reads “sticks and stones may break my bones but words got up and killed me.” Words. Little words. Big Words. Actions. Gestures. If it's negative, I can feel it in my body, before it even happens; If it's positive, it can leave me radiating for days on end, and without a care. My “living situation” has been nothing more than a prolonging of my already disastrously failed and predominately miserable life. A mentally-ill and often psychotic mother, followed by a too- young marriage to a dynamically similar person, has left me up Shit's creek with no boat; I'm pushing 30 with no significant other, and no significance at all. There are generations of perfect people, fresh out of high school--who can and will do everything I ever thought possible or imaginable, better than me. And it's my fault. NO ENTRY ON DAY 2. Gave Myself A “Skrillex” haircut. Wow. Fuck my life. DAY 3: The fast will end today, more than likely. I am overwhelmed with grief, at loss for motivation, and struggling to believe there is any positive outcome to anything I do. I'm already getting headaches, and acute hunger pains--usually these things don't happen until well after the third day. I suppose my body is telli

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

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 15, 2023 4:55

this is a cringeworthy read, i'm sure of it. {THE TIME CAPSULE] Here lies everything I won't delete, but wouldn't dare to publish (as of yet), and therefore banish to the land and/or realm of impossibility, where everything entirely consists of unimaginable, unfathomable, inconceivable, never-ever-happened ( or will) unexistence. Nothing Here Exists. Amen. (I didn't write this.) The Colenel's Jounal. “Would he be mad reading this shit? “ I mean. I have to step back at this point and admit to reading this shit to myself at this point, that... I stumbled upon an interview with none other than The Great Mike Tyson--who--if coincidences actually existed--coincidentally dated my mother oh-way-back-when. I remember the shenanigans she went through to get him to sign a pair of boxing gloves for an auction she hosted, once, when I was younger. For that, I've always gotten a little chuckle, whenever I've randomly ended up watching something. Dude is funny. As for other dude? I'm so lost. It's almost like Insomniac (or whoever) can read my thoughts--or at the very least, my text messages. It's been a year of strangeness, and I'm now more lost than found. Why is Pasqualle so strangely familiar? What is this connection, i'm missing? Who am I, if not S U P A C R E E? I'm aware of my cosmic insignificance, my societal displacement. I am nothing useful that I know of, but it seems so that I've been being followed. So maybe he's not a white supremacist, after all...he seems to love as much as I do--if not more. So, that one's my fault, as everything is. I wonder if the window of opportunity has truly closed. I wonder what to make of all this, at all. I'm so, so confused, and so lost, and so… ...confused... First, I levitated. Still can't get over that (literally) Then....everything else. Literally everything else. From playing drums at Ruskos set, to weirdly making my way to Excision, just “following a vibe”--my failed suicide attempt, and running away to Bass Canyon where, everything in my reality officially shattered. Now, here I am...about to be homeless, jobless, and lost in love. I can't shake it off anymore, I can't let it go. My brain's wrapped around all of it, all the time. Prayers, Mantras, Methods. I'm driving myself crazy trying to wish away the pain. I need to be...need to be… … Needed. Bearr needs me. Sometimes, in all the pain--I fail to see that. But he does--and if I can't make it in show business...how are we meant to survive? There's no room for depression and poverty in motherhood. After losing the twins...I just can't. I can't be sad and parent at the same time. And, maybe that makes me weak. Maybe it makes me stupid. Maybe I've just had enough. But there's nothing I wouldn't give just to know that there's love, somewhere out there for me. Is it selfish that that's all I want? I think i'm a good person, but maybe i'm wrong. I can account for hundreds of premonitions, predictions, visions--outstanding sensitivity to energy...but how could I misread, and misjudge, so easily? Something inside me never really made it out of that tent. Then, going back--maybe it was all of me, that never made it out of that ambulance. Am I just the special kid in class--and it's obvious I've been left behind? When I hear myself speak aloudt, I wonder if I am retarded. I feel other people also wonder. Either way, how would anyone have known about my musical history so broadly, as it's been displayed? There's no going back from it. I can't go back to being a regular “Skrillex” fan. It's almost like...almost like I can't go back at all. And I miss that, a lot--just being able to be honest about what my taste in music is, who my favorite musician is…. I tense up when I hear the word “Skrillex”. In good company, I can shrug it off, I guess…. But on any regular day, it still feels deep. It doesn't leave my mind, ever. I can pretend to move on, but I can't unlove. I can't unlove. So, i'm two-for-two...three-for-three, if you count Josh Pan's video, where his face swells up and he turns into a reptile… I remember waking up for work with swollen eyes, and bulging, puffy skin...the way the spiral to insanity began...not with suicide, at all--at least, in the traditional sense. I was working 80 hours a week. I needed it--I needed out of my marriage. Pasqualle's sweater Sonny's Sweater, now falling apart--because, yes--I've worn it every day for nearly a year. A red, white, and blue blanket, reminding me of my presidential ambitions--which have since, not faded...but become realistically reflected with this sense that, I have much to fulfill between now-and-never. I'll only run for President if I can afford it. I can only afford it if I am successful in music. I found it heartwarming that Mike Tyson is so enamoured by the culture. To see him swell with joy, such as I have, upon discovering the world of raves. Apparently, there will be some kind of permanent Oasis, someday...I hope I live to see it. Better yet, I hope I live to play there. I want my chance on all the stages, as selfish as it may seem. To earn a place behind the decks, an unrealized dream. But, can I find it to become all that it takes? To read and move a room, to create and connect with people, live onstage. To inspire a crowd--telling a story with music. To give love, the best way that I can. I miss myself...but no I don't. I do miss never having to worry about whether I was too fat to be found attractive by someone I vehemently admire--but never thought about sexually, in all of the years i've loved watching him live. But, its a vibe. Much ado about Elon Musk. I'm not smart enough to become a rocket scientist--and it's too late for me to become an astronaut, as I once dreamed...but there's something in the space above us all, that seems to connect the space between us all--and it's almost as is the walls are caving in. Time and space continues to collapse upon itself. I might be broken forever...but then, I always was. Who'd have thought the Grand Prize for your third suicide attempt is a Skrillex? I'm cursed, in the way that...it won't fall off. My brain won't un-Sonny itself. I'm on default to give a fuck now, and there's no turning back. I guess this is what I get for hating on *fangirls*...now i am one. Problem is, I'm a lot less cute. How often does shit like this happen? There's hypnosis through music--and then there's losing your entire soul to something outside of yourself. Why and how am I so out of place, in this world? ‘You're too good for this world.' Nothing's been forgotten, it's just getting more suppressed. I can pretend to move on, but I won't. I just found the Holy Mecca of research for my weird, invasive project. Apparently DeadMau5 had some kind of comedy show, or something--called “coffee run” It seems to be about...2014, but haven't bothered to check yet--I'm sure, though that this predates the infamous ‘fued'. Blah blah blah--i'm learning too much about these people. People. Real people. ...was interrupted to watch the new episode of Rick and Morty; Lucky me. One half-hour and several belly-rolling laughs later, I'm back...with slightly more self confidence that, if The Heavens grant me whatever kind of combination of confidence and focus that it will take to bring the Festival Saga If nobody's sampled this video, I've stumbled upon a literal goldmine. Life imitates art--and music imitates music. “I love it when it's super sweaty.” (How do I resonate with this so well?) “ A Los Angeles Real Estate Guy In Torono”, says Dillon. “Yeah, there's a few of those.”, Joel recants, stoically. Now i'm watching people who never mattered on YouTube, in a finally “Sonny says…” If i can ever make my brain learn the magic that makes something like Ableton somehow turn into a banger. “Does he drive?!” I've wondered this myself. “I don't think he does.” I knew it. Dillon Francis' awkwardness is reminiscent of mine...again, here I am wondering...who I might be if I were born a white male--if nothing was changed, but the body. CRUSTPUNKS. How did I get here? Oh, yeah. I specifically opened an incognito window to...fuck it. I know what I'm here for. The thing is, I don't know what i'm blessed with. I don't know that i'm talented… It could all just be a Grand Delusion… Do I hate myself enough to try this? A movie where the entirety of the fabric of [my] universe is music, and the musicians that make it. A universe that already existed in the Multiverse of Rick and Morty, since it's strange inception into my being. Wait, how the fuck did I get here? I was already on a writing tangent Probably--I hate enough to “ i get to go home--not tomorrow, but the next day” This experience is becoming so humanizing. It is a job, this music shit--Touring takes you everywhere but home. What the fuck is ‘home?' Perhaps I am meant for this shit, after all. I don't have a home, anyway. I also don't have any music under my belt, but--with any luck, I can pump out the LP I promised my twins. Today Marks 5 years since Skyy passed away. May 23rd will be 2 years, since Phoenixx left us. It's not a good time of year, for grief. With no friends I can trust (Annie's Toxicity is again rearing its head), no family that loves me the way a family should...I find myself completely isolating from what Love is, almost forgetting what it might have felt like. “How often are you home?” “KAAAAHHHHHHHHHN” If i'm ever lucky enough to learn how to make Dupstep--that deserves to go before a fucking deadly drop. I've officially seen Skrillex more times in person than ever on video--which disincluded, of course, the tent incident--something I'm realizing that if I'm unable to catch up with myself in time, I'll have to live with forever. Can I answer my own prayers? At this point, i've given up any expectation of what it might be like to achieved enough to earn any kind of place in that world *their* world... 5/6/2020 Life is unfair sometimes. Like--do I want tacos, or divine inspiration? Do I put off fasting for yet another day, just for the temporary comfort and satisfaction of eating? Does limiting my eating to once every 24-hour-or-less suffice as enough of a self-sacrifice, that my prayers might be answered? I highly doubt that it is, but still--I often ride the line between just allowing myself to feel good when I can (and food does, make me feel so....so good) and remaining steady in my fasting. Then, it has been over 6 months of almost constant fasting and praying, all over someone I haven't properly met--all over myself. Because, the longer I stay in this mindset--the clearer it becomes that it is all the same. At the core, there's only really one thing in existence. Skyy will have passed away 5 years ago tomorrow. To think, I should have had 5-year-old twins. They would have been so beautiful; I've never quite imagined them so, umti now. I miss my babies so much. Will I ever be okay again? I thought to record a song for Skyy, but it would never be ready by tomorrow, in the perfect way that I would want it to be. I don't want to put out anything less than the best. I'm being as patient as I possibly can with teaching myself--but grow frustrated in my limitations. The only thing standing between me, and the tools I need to make the music I have...is me. (Really, it's money.) Lack of money is keeping me from being unstoppable. With unlimited money, I'd have a home--I could fully pay all 4-years of my tuition at UCLA….ny dream school. I'd study music, anthropology, astrology….maybe even engineering. I can't make myself prettier--but I can make myself smarter. Google University just isn't cutting it. I want to make a difference in the world by any means, and i'm trapped behind the gate of poverty. I just want a closet full of harem pants, chuck taylors, and T-shirts with stuff I like on them. I just want to wear my kandi every day. I just want to be behind the decks atop the stages of my favorite places… I want to be someone's favorite DJ. I want to be one of my favorite DJ's favorite DJ I, I, I… How selfish. What does the world need? Less people. Well, i'm honestly one-less, I guess, if I can;t make it in music, in art. If I can't make a decent living just by being myself...i'm not meant to live at all. That much is true--no life worth living includes waking up every day to go to a job I hate, that barely pays my bills. No life is worth living that Something strange happens to me when my favorite people go ‘live' on instagram Social Media, a young demon with whom I constantly evade, when I am not forcibly fighting to fit the status quo (which, I cannot.) Watching my social media right now is like the digital equivalent of “You can't sit with us.” I've grown attached to OWSLA like some sort of distant, imaginary family--only, I know this is something I've just embedded into my mind--the ultimate wishful thinking. Everything I do seems fragile, as if the grid I had discovered not only exists in the outer world, but also my inner--that everything I do, think, say, sing, speak makes a difference in what will happen moving forward. Reawakening my center has been difficult, saying the very least--I am almost paralyzed by negativity--made catatonic through senses with which I cannot control; My ‘home' life has become a hell where i'll-spirits and pitiful thoughts are cast about me--in reality, I have no home. In truth, I'm unsure that I have any purpose, either. It's all been bothering me… Now it's something that just hurts, like everything else. Add to the pain, subtract from willingness to live. Add to the trauma, subtract from the motivation to succeed. How much of my fault is this? Who did it? What is it for? Amongst the most otherworldly of theories, the possibility that extraterrestrials had actual involvement in removing Sonny from wherever he was supposed to be (Burning Man, albeit) and placing him where I was. I've wondered how else the dancing shadows cast against the canvas of the tent were so perfectly made-- ancient egyptian prophecies foretold as a light show, in the moments leading up to the one where the entirety of my being was shifted, in an instant. I dreamed of a B2B with Skrillex, and instead got a face-to-face with Sonny Moore. One, apparently, does not quite equal the other. Eight (or so) months later, and I've filtered through all the stages of grief--for all of the ways I had to lose him--as much as one could be lost, without actually dying. But, perhaps I am dead. My soul and spirit at least, are trapped, and tainted torturously from all I've come to gather. Running into the night, like a bat fresh out of hell, away from the visions I was forced to have from our exchange-- I can only imagine, had I acted any differently and stayed, rather than fled what else I may have seen. In only the few short moments we shared together...I was able to see more of his life than for anyone I've ever ‘seen' for, besides myself. To have, after only a few moments--seen both backwards into his past--and forwards into a seemingly shared future of some sort. I don't know what else to call this creepy psychic shit, other than “seeing”. To even call myself a “seer” would be a heavy title, I'd be too uncomfortable to claim. Still, vivid memories of the dude's past--and chilling premonitions of the future, have left me disgustingly sick with a concern that wholly did not exist, beforehand. But, when faced with the question: “What would it be like to actually lose him?” I fucking lost it. I've never taken well to celebrity deaths--perhaps, overly sensitive in ways that suite absolutely nobody--I just so happen to have fallen apart numerous times, upon learning of the passing of those i've long cherished. I collapsed fully at Michael Jackson's passing, scrolling through the African TV channels in disbelief, as I desperately searched for a News Channel in English to confirm that it was indeed, true. This was, of course, a couple years after I cried for hours with Back to Black on repeat in the wake of Amy Winehouses' death--going even further back, I can recall arguing with a classmate that Steve Erwin, another hero, was brave--rather than ‘stupid', and undeserving of his untimeley demise. A special place lies in my heart for the day I remember losing Robin Williams-- a weird memory which collides in the now, with my affinity for Skrillex music and the strange outer connectivity my emotions seem to have in the passing of those I wholeheartedly admire; I've shed tears for Whitney Houston, Prince--I've shed tears for all of them. But none so much as for Skrillex, who is [surprisingly] still alive… And I'm mad about it. I'm mad about it, because I was [partially] happy in my place, as a fan. I wasn't even the best fan, or the biggest fan (metaphorically speaking--physically, though--I probably hold a record of some sort.) I wasn't following his social media--I wasn't following his anything, honestly. I was just crossing my fingers that with every lineup released, I might find the name “Skrillex” plastered to the top of it, or standing out broadly against the other ‘S' names, if alphabetically presented. I'm mad about it, because I hate myself. I've been hating myself my entire life. But i've never hated that I loved Skrillex--in fact, I've always been quite proud, having watched the project skyrocket, as EDM penetrated pop-culture in the years following my college endeavors. Never really thought to think that at any point, we might be equals. We're not--outwardly, anyway. Inwardly, though? Fuck me. It's like I'm bound to it by the roots of the Tree of Life. Like something in my DNA was activated by an overabundance of Skrillex. I've undoubtedly, and by far crossed the threshold of having listened to 10,000 Hours of Skrillex, guaranteed. No calculations needed. Still, there are perhaps millions of others who share the same affinity--and at least a few thousands who are more outwardly obsessive than in. It works, when I need to know something I'd rather just ask Sonny myself, but can't--there's always a kid in the fan pool who has been quick to find whatever information I'm looking for, long, long before I've come to look for it. Poor guy. For almost an entire year, that's all I've really been able to think. ‘Poor guy.' Because, if the roles were reversed--and for whatever reason I decided to make my way into someone's tent at a music festival (I wouldn't) and I scared them into a shock, resulting in them fleeing away from me--I'd feel like shit. And, if I had been touring my entire life and watched the culture grow and morph into the nearly unmanageable able monster it has become--i'd feel like shit. If I had to watch an ambulance cart away someone in the crowd during one of my sets, I'd feel like shit. If I had to do a live set while I felt like shit, I'd feel like shit. and ...if some random fan fell head over heels in love with me, simply because I crawled into her tent, or made really good music, or made her feel some kind of way… I'd feel like shit. And that shit probably happens all the time. It's been 10 long years for me, with Skrillex-- but I can't imagine how long the last 10 years have been, as Skrillex. Now I think about all the shit DJs go through, being DJs….what's more, I've had to give in-depth thought to what it means to be a celebrity at all--what it might be like to have someone grow an obsession over you--unprovokingly. Although my ‘obsession' for this particular person can't technically be considered ‘unprovoked' (I was minding my own business, after all--and Skrillex was not on the lineup.) I can't help but feel for those in the limelight whose charisma and talent combined attract every type of creeper imaginable. I'm just the kind of creeper that wants to make music; any previous searches as an attempt to ‘get to know' Skrillex, previous to last August, originated in attempting to comprehend how to create such organic sounds--exploring and studying how intricately layered and carefully arranged each of my favorite sounds and songs were made. Piecing together how exactly an artist like such, had become as such. Now, i'm just entangled in self-doubt, as it seems the entire next generation is equipped with whatever skillset it takes to become an electronic musician. Self-doubt, as I fear that my body weight intimidated him as much as his presence intimidated me. Again: All me. All bad. I've nowhere to turn to to unleash this shit--it has to be a secret-- and even letting it slip to Annie in the isolation of the aftermath has felt like a mistake, since I allowed it to happen. Can I keep a secret? Ha. There are things that only I know, certainly. The premonition I did subtly speak of, I refused to unearth in detail, even to Annie. The other visions I was made to have, still my own secret; I've begun to wonder if, upon meeting Sonny, I would keep it to myself; I suppose that would depend on nature and context. But, I think about it every day. It is my first thought upon waking up, my final thought before coming to rest--it has permeated into the only dreams I ever have anymore--crowds my semi-waking thoughts as I toss-and-turn throughout the night; the amount of energy exchanged, the amount of concern that consumes me....lets me know that it is all apart of something far beyond my comprehension, far beyond my senses...far beyond any understanding of the universe that I may have. And, it hurts. As bad as it is for me, it's probably worse for him--IF he remembers any of it. Then, probably a seasoned drinker (lol, “probably”) There's a good chance that, well-- he does remember. Oh God no. If I could motion to be erased, I would. I've been trying to erase myself for the better part of a year, including and certainly not limited to August 4th--an attempt I can stand to think I had not fully recovered from by the time it all happened. What the fuck did happen? Though it can't be denied that each of us possesses some kind of magic--the origins of mine can be traced back, at least on one side. Powers I was ‘born with', as told by my father--something I only believed until I was old enough that it didn't make sense--and something I was forced to recognize once I was old enough that it did. I want to know what exactly it is that ties us... Where this love--which is what it is, undeniably-- originates. I've spent the better part of the last year praying and meditating, and attempting to loosen the knots in my stomach enough to self-soothe enough to settle that, at worst-- Sonny was just being a pretty white boy, looking for a good time--and I just became a victim by knowing how to have one. Alternately--how fuck fuck would he even know I exist? As i've stated, I was the epitome of a silent Skrillex fan, prior to all these spectacular occurrences. I may have, at some point online--said something about Skrillex being my Spirit Animal… (still true) But can't imagine what else might have been garnered in my attainable, tangible history, which would alert him of my existence at all. Then, with all the money in the world, you truly can do anything… And that's what I hate in all this. Him--having all the money in the world, and me, having none… The very thing that separates us from settlement, myself from closure. Really, the only thing I want. Closure. ‘I got love, fuck your money.' Sonny can be anyone--he's earned that right. He can be with anyone--deservingly so. I want for him the very best--and, knowing that I am not (physically, anyway) am dismissive of any judgement cast. I wouldn't want me, either--looks matter, I know. I just want to know what he means to me--in this lifetime, in this realm, in this reality. I didn't have to be moved from where I was to be inspired by him--I just always was. I didn't have to think about being attracted to him--I just always was. I didn't have to think about being connected through the music--I just always was. And it all came crashing down in a tent, at the bottom of the rabbit hole--where I lost my mind--after having already lost my soul, to something beyond the senses, long ago. I committed wholly and permanently to making music when Phoneixx died, almost 2 years ago. The point was never to sound like Skrillex, but rather to be like Skrillex, as an artist--but, after much speculative examination--I guess, I always was. I lost myself in the early days of Myspace. From First To Last rang through the hallways of my middle school's corridors. Chiodos carried me through the days of wrist-cutting and air-dust huffing, through the days of binging-and-purging, wishing I was prettier--and in the height of all that is the drama of living in my very own Teenaged Wasteland… The Rocket Summer was handed to me by the hands of an angel, as I transitioned out of awkward adolescent depression and into an almost-well-adjusted life at a performing arts school, as an aspiring musician, singer, dancer and storyteller… The dream that carried me out of Utah, and into the Heart of Hollywood at the age of 16… The dream I thought died, long ago. When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? Billie Ellish's spirit collided with mine, as the first time I heard her voice, I shattered inwardly, and shivered in the resonance that is the understanding of pain, born undoubtedly in love; I shuddered to think that someone so young could feel so devoid of the willingness to live, to move onward. My response upon first experiencing her music, of course, a genuine “...Is she ok?” Three little words. I tend to really mean them, any time I ask. “Are you OK?!” I blurted, as my entire self exploded into shock, as I immediately recognized the face I've known for years--and looked through the widened eyes of one so now devastatingly human--to something inside of myself. Something about my voice shifted him; He became a mirror for all my pain, all my doubt--all the shame I have, for all that I am-- my demons came straight to the surface. Voiceless, now, and shielded in the fetal position, we faced each other silently. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm Sorry.', I thought loudly, as I lay panicking. I stared down into my chest, ashamed to be anything but invisible, thoughts racing. I dare not lift my head to look at him. My heart pounded, as I lay screaming silent apologies for my appearance--for my very presence, for my own existence. I couldn't process his presence in my reality. Choking back tears, I tried not even to so much as breathe, as I silently apologized for being born--and though I wanted nothing more than to reach out to hold him, I lay all-but-lifelessly--wondering what went so wrong that he would seek to find me. The familiar smell of liquor permeated the air, as my heart sank, throbbing as it pounded...I know an alcoholic, when I smell one. I did actually wonder if he was okay....(and I've been wondering daily, ever since.) But clearly, he wasn't okay. Clearly, I wasn't. Clearly, nobody's ok. He slipped his praying hands between my thighs, as I died inside--and all my outer senses blended to become all, and nothing at once, again. Exit Skrillex, Enter Sonny. How does a mere peasant earn a spot in the company of the Highest Priest? I've not bargained with the Devil, but begged the Heavens that my life would end before his...the First Fast emerged as a direct result of self-sacrifice; To serve as a protection against misjudgement--to realign my soul with it's true intensive purpose--in hopes that my body would shrink to form something suitable. The memory of his hands between my thighs, a haunting reminder that--I just may be too big for him… The reality is...of all that I am, and all that I have, and all that I wish to be...it just may be that--he's too big for me… metaphorically speaking. I'll have to become a damn-near Superstar, just to get to know the people--that know the people--that know the people, that know people who can connect me to Sonny, on any level. I'll have to get in line behind millions of other hopeful DJ's, producers, singers, dancers, songwriters--hundreds of thousands of entertainers who might kill-or-die to get to know Skrillex in any way-shape-or form. Romantically, I'd be competing against at least a million perfect-bodied beauty-queen fangirls who would do anything--and I mean anything--for their shot at Skrillex. The truth is, I'm not trying to get to know Skrillex; The truth is, i'd rather know Sonny. (Whatever that's supposed to mean, right?) I don't question at all our potential compatibility; there's no doubt in my mind that there's some chemistry between us--be it of ancient origin, an extra terrestrial genetic code, or otherwise...but I'd bet any money I actually had, that someone as highly regarded as Skrillex would be ridiculed, trolled, and tremendously hated by many, many fans--for associating with someone like me. I don't even know if it's like that--but, again--crawling into someone's tent is...kind of intimate. What in Heavens would one want with me, when he could have perfection-- Absolute perfection? I kind of get it. I'm used to being fetishised. I've always been the black girl who liked white guys--I've lead a life that's made it easy to learn that Jungle Fever is often taboo among the White Caucasion men who find black women attractive enough to fuck--but would never want to “date” us, or bring us home. I've learned that--at the end of the day-- most white guys, want white kids--even if they like to fuck black girls. Then, there's the added bonus of some genetic flaw which has allowed my body to at one point, have ballooned up to 380 pounds-- a body which, even after a 200+ pound weight loss, would disgust anyone with eyes, in what most would consider “cute rave attire”. And, although shrinking from a size 28 to a size 10 is somewhat of a ‘grand' achievement, I look like an asymmetrical potato sack with my clothes off. If there's anything I know about men--and especially the affluent ones--they love to have trophies to showcase. I've yet to see a body like mine on the red carpet, or as arm candy--or as the leading lady, anywhere. No, there's no such thing as a fat Cinderella. Still, he's one of the most handsome creatures i've ever seen-- undoubtedly one of the most beautiful creatures on this planet. I will continue to love what I know of him wholly and unconditionally. On my best days, I even hope to live long enough, and well enough to have the honor of properly meeting him. Never could I have the courage to ask him on a date--nor would I subject him to the cruelty of the outer world by alluding to the fact that he may, in fact be someone more important to me, than as just a musician--as with anyone i've ever loved, I only want for him the best. On my worst days, The Devil assures me that it was Annie he was really looking for, who he may have seen me with at the plethora of festivals we attended together last year--or perhaps, even Idania, who was supposed to have been there with me…and it would make sense. The Devil also constantly reminds me of how much prettier they both are than me--and better in every way. But, it was long ago that I came to terms with the fact that anyone who might come to love me--would also love Annie and would love her more thoroughly--her, having the more attractive body and face, being more ideally pretty. Standing next to Annie, I always lose. Even on a good day. All this, I can be sure to cast aside, however--because at the very best--he was looking for me, and everything between then-and-now builds into something of substance or significance… and at worse, my favorite figure in music absolutely hates me, and regrets my existence as much as I do. Either way, Skrillex hits hard any time of the day, any day of the week. And… Either way, Sonny hits home, all day, every day--until I can manage to learn to speak. Eight pages later, and it still hurts. Eight pages, and i'm still mad. I'm still crying. I'm still useless. I'm still stuck. Stuck on stupid. Stuck on Sonny. Stuck on Skrillex. Just… Stuck. And it hurts. 5/5 Another day. Nothing makes me hate myself more than waking up. ‘Don't look at the phone.' instructions, handed to me some time ago by the Divine--since then, I make it a point not to look at my phone, if I can help it, before I've sat up to pray, and meditate. Lately, I've been unable to relax at all enough to focus on a proper meditation, before realizing my actual self-worth (nothing), and falling into the depressive non-motion that has been me. How many evil men will it take being caught in the midst of, will it take for me to realize that I've been allowing myself to painfully absorb their essences, even without a single touch? Just living here alone has set me further back from my goals than I was--then--I'm beginning to feel that my ‘roomate' may have ties to White Supremacy; the evidence does just keep on building. It has occured to me that Jason's warning that Nick may be deep undercover for some Government agency is most likely true. Though I err on the side of not snooping through other peoples' things--I've happened to stumble across indicators which point to the likely case that he is, in fact, hired by the government or some other private entity--probably as part of some secret experiment, assigned to psycologically torture and disable mentally fragile individuals; It seems as though the experiement was designed in order to test morale, will power, self-control, and proper judgement-- tests which I've been concious of, but in the moment have not always cared about passing-or-failing. From the painful assortment of disgusting and obnoxious sounds make throughout the day, torturing me through unpleasant and peace-shattering sounds, left victimized by my synesthesia and recently pinpointed misophonia--or something similar...whatever it is that makes slamming doors, cabinets, and the items crashing to the floor after lazily being thrown across the room methods of torture. To the cavalcade of poisonous, sugary and addicted substances, which only seem to appear or are offered during crucial fasts--or, pushily and passive-aggressively left in my living space without asking whether or not i'd like any. Just left there, to be discovered upon finishing a shower, or returning from a nightly walk. And on days when I am actually hungry, or needing to eat? I am offered nothing. Only when I fast am I ever offered any sustenance. It says almost too much about my roomate as a person--to offer every time, or never at all would be acceptable, and understandable--but to only invite one to eat when one feels so ‘inclined' is beyond cruelty. It's privilege showing itself to be one of the only faces uglier than mine, that i'm aware of. While i've elected to use my headphones as a shield, life's not always easy immersed in a sound bath of isochronic tones and Theta Waves--and though it does excite me to have expanded my music library, with additions and updates I've been longing for ages-- it's almost more stressful to think about the amount of music that I don't have. Songs I would add to my “sets”, if you can call them that. If I can call myself a DJ--if I can call myself a person, anymore. Really, all I am is hurt feelings and trauma wrapped in flesh; I might be less of a person than I ever was, once. Everything costs--whether it be money, the world's currency--or time, the currency of the soul. Torturous is the life of an artist, who cannot herself make ‘art', as she sees fit. Everyone in Hollywood has a screenplay in their back pocket; Everyone in LA has a dream, two-to-three-jobs, and a side hustle--and me? I'm just learning to DJ to self-soothe, having given up hope of ever becoming anything greater than the happiest guest at the rave nearest you. It's harder than it looks….(or, maybe it isn't, and i'm just retarded.) Building a music collection worthy enough to grace the decks in any of my favorite venues, is an arduous task--maybe this is why all the popular DJs are pretty white boys--the proof is in the privilege. Money, money, money...I used to make plenty of it, and was always exhausted--now I make none, and am always exhausted. What's worth what cost? Time = Money. In LA, and in the world. But by anyone's definition--and especially mine--LA is the world. Or, at the very least, sets the tone for the world. Truly, nothing is free. DJing is more expensive than I could have ever imagined--once again, in any direction I turn, there's a ladder to climb. I've not got the time or energy left in my sadly depleting lifesource left to storm gates, crawling over heads and cutting down those in my way. While it's certain that ‘Competitive Greatness' is the key atop the Pyramid of Success, there are 14 other bricks below to lay the foundation of that which one might call success, to be garnered as imagined through the eyes of a man, anyway, who lived in the 1930's. John L. Wooden may have been right--and may still be right--if I were a standard male (we'll leave race out of it, for now…..for now.) Still, i've been using the Pyrimid of Success as a guidepost, in what it is exactly I may have to do, or be, in order to become something. Not even something great, just something. Perhaps, if I can make it to being something, eventually I might become someone. Oh, to be a person would be nice. For now, I'll just have to settle on tricking my useless sack of anatomy into being a DJ. There's nothing outside of it, anymore. Bass Canyon truly was my last rave--not that I enjoyed it, honestly. Though I've attempted to retrain my brain around the trauma which resulted from that weekend, it did serve as a turning point--a sort of going-away party, as I departed from my home as a no-holds-bar Kandi Kid. Happy Graduation, OG Raver! Little did I know that, with the multidimentionality of our universe, I would be presented, through the world of possibility--the ability to at least observe with the naked eye that there lie more beyond the decks-- a space that may have been made for me. I'll never forget the moment I knew I would be a DJ--or at least try, for the life (or the death) of me. Electric Daisy Carnival changed my life--an experience ten years in the making that catapulted me into the depths of my wildest dreams--unbeknownst to me that I hadn't yet the ability to swim, in such that is the tempest of my own subconscious mind. But--that part of this story deserves its own dedicated elaboration; For now, i'll only look back--and realize that it was there that I aligned with my highest self in the truest sense, that, at least then, I actually believed that I could become a top DJ. I've lost the flight to stay afloat in the salty sea that is the millions of other people trying to make it to the mainstages of our favorite places, and begun to sink into the reality of the entertainment industry as a whole...the reality of the world, as a whole anymore. Looking around at the world's top DJs is less encouraging and inspirational than it should be. Nearly every headliner looks like every kid who ever bullied me, every guy who ever turned me down--every kid hosting the party I wasn't invited to. As for the females of the bunch--I find it frustrating that not one yet has been of any color other than yellow--and even then--we all know the world's men love Asian women. While I can admire girls like Rezz and Allison Wonderland--I wonder what kind of career, if any, if either of them were black, or heavyset--or, my losing genetic combination: Both. Would a fat Allison Wonderland have ever made it into the industry? Would a black Rezz ever become a staple in bass music, and rave culture? If Softest. Hard had a pot belly, would she have been discovered? Then, there are up-and-comings beyond my complete comprehension--those who are visually appealing, but musically inept; I'll leave out any names, and still salute them--anyone who can wrap their brain around any standard DAW enough to make an entire song, is absolutely more talented, definitely more intelligent than I am. [I'm not.] But, I can't help but wonder: How easy was it for any of them, being so pretty, to learn to do what they do--just by being kind and asking a friend for help to learn production? In so many years of raving, I've watched beautiful girls get pulled backstage--and even pulled on stage, to connect with the artists and VIPs. I've been brought to tears as I've watched rude girls with porcelain faces caked in makeup be lifted over rails into the promised land, picked to be plucked by just her eyes and smile combined with the perfection of a flat and flawless stomach. Pretty girls always get priority. Me? Well, I get the dead eyes of the drunken DJ, staring down at me through his whiskey glass, as he beckons the stagehands to assist the perfect-bodied princess backstage...but i'm only front-and-center so I can feel the music move, and watch all the energy bounce around, matching the movement of the expert's hands on deck, to the waves of sound colliding with the rest of the world. True, my mind might wander to what wonderful experiences await the perfect princess, as she disappears behind the decks, into a world i've yet to know, but only seen: The life I know exists beyond the rails, beyond the decks...the world I can only wish to build, for myself. Big ugly black girls don't get pulled backstage. Big ugly black girls are token ancillary characters, it seems, in the plot which writes the story of the modern rave. In a sea of new-generation ravers raised by Kim Kardashian and YouTube makeup tutorials--left lost in a torturous chamber of perfection--women who can wear anything, beautifully. Women who get whatever they want, whenever they want--because they know they can; 10's, to my -3. Bottom Line: Looks matter, until all the men in the world go blind. Sad-but-true. I move not to objectify the women whose music and movement through the clearly sexist music entertainment industry. God only knows how hard each of them has worked to earn a spot so highly ranked amongst those to whom we all admire--the legends, the greats. Each woman behind the decks has become a reflection of everything I wish I ever was--but also a painful reminder of everything that I am not. Of every girl i've ever come behind. Perhaps, this is the result of growing up the as the only ‘black girl', in the backwards, racist po-dunk town I was transplanted into: A place where I spent years constantly being told, taught, and trained that it was more admirable to have light skin, blonde hair, blue eyes...then again, The Media has always done a particularly good job at creating and maintaining what the ideal beauty standard should be, or is--and an excellent job of perpetuating stereotypes. People never expect me to sound how I do, or to like what I like--because it's “white people stuff”; and ten years ago when I discovered raving, there wasn't another black girl (or boy!) in sight for miles, at any rave I went to. I was the oddity, the token--the “what the fuck” person, in an already entirely what-the-fuck place. Fast Forward to 2020: My Freshman Year as a DJ. And...as it appears, the world behind the decks is just as non-diverse as the dancefloor was when I first began this escapade through the world of immersive music. Do I want to be the first ethnically-bred Female DJ to reach the top? OF COURSE. Can I? It's not up to me. Now I'm confusededly caught in the web that is rumours circulating of an ongoing race-war, and wondering if I've been left to die smack-dab in the middle of it. Amongst currently living with a white supremacist (or, extremely ignorant and culturally intolerant biggoted racist at the very, very least.), it seems that White Superiority may be a driving theme amongst the Electronic Music Industry--that maybe the world I've rather grown up in, and come to love has more twists, turns, and dark alleys to look through than the obvious ‘secrets' that loom in the world of rave. All seeing is the eye that watches over all. Insomniac's crew is among one of the least racially diverse I've ever seen--if I were Pasqualle, I might think to at least try to make it look as though there were a plethora of ethnic backgrounds who work together to tie the knot holding together the world's biggest metaphorical kandi: Insomniac, the Kingdom of Mainstream rave culture. A global endeavor. I wonder how many i've come to admire--Pasqualle included-- are actually White Supremacists, masquerading in the power of positivity and their corporate capitalism, true beliefs and intentions. My curiosity about the man himself peaked during EDC weekend, after stumbling into sign after sign, symbol after symbol--of something I've aspired [in the past] to commit to, but also am wearlily aware of its adversity towards that of my kind; being firstly female, and secondly partially black. Now, I wonder--am I even allowed to enter into the world beyond the decks--or is that preserved for only women with perfect bodies, fair skin--attractive individuals? Does it belong only to those with money? Is there any possibility that there may be room for someone like me to enter the scene--or may only pretty girls with pretty bodies and pretty hair be allowed in the backstage world? Really, I just want to perform. I miss myself as a dancer, as a musician--as an actor, all together. I still wish I had continued on this path a decade ago, when--though weighing over 300 pounds--my confidence at least existed. Teaching myself to DJ has been one of the hardest things i've ever done; I don't know if I'm retarded, but I'm beginning to consider attempting to see someone for some kind of screening. If Paris Hilton can DJ, why is it so hard for me? If Sonny can dink around on a computer with a blown speaker, call himself ‘Skrillex' and make some of the world's most intricate music since that of Beethoven-- why can't I do the same? What makes the difference in all these YouTube tutorials telling me how to do it--and me actually being able to do it? What is it, that's wrong with my brain? But, it's all i've wanted for over a year--to be a DJ, at least. I've always been a musician; It's just been a stop-and-go, allowing for the rest of what has been my life to pass through between the times I could make music, and couldn't. I wish I had the positive support it takes to have encouraged me forward on the path I was already on, since I was 13--instead, I was told I was too fat (and too black) to succeed in the way I wanted to. 10 Years later and Lizzo is at the top of her game, while I beat myself up for losing at mine. Never could I have imagined a world where i'd see an album cover like hers; upon seeing it, I was not only shocked, but enraged: She was everything I was told I could not be. And the Truth Is: more than likely, someone told Lizzo the same thing I was told, and the difference is-- she didn't believe them, and kept moving forward. The difference is: She believed in herself, and loved herself enough to keep trying. The difference is, that everything I needed, I already had--I just never believed it to be so. I'm proud of her...but insanely jealous. My inner child cries “That should have been me.” Truth Hurts. There's more to it, than that; Envy lives in the cavernous pits deep within the confined Hell that is my subconscious mind--and--as the world begins to close in on itself, as consciousness continues expanding, I find myself fighting against the worst of my woes daily. Nowhere can I go without meeting a flawless, forward-figured, and facially exquisite female--rather than submit to catty jealousness, I have learned to admire and nod or bow as a gesture that I am a lesser creature. So now i'm left to wonder as I self-teach myself a trade, if my aspirations may ever be achieved, without possessing any outer beauty. All that's left in the world for me, now, is to become my own favorite DJ. (A title, of course, formerly belonging to Skrillex... ruined, by his untimely arrival as a physical person, into my actual life. More on that later...and infinitely.) I've lately begun asking myself “Is it really worth it?”...but, at the same time, I've never loved anything so much, as to fly on the wings of music--and so i've also wondered “What else will really make me happy?” Tough question. Ideally, I'm the entertainment Guru I always wished to be--not tied down to any one artform, but able to move about freely in all of them. There's no life without theatre--there's no light without entertainment. If living ideally, I could never be any-one-thing-- if living ideally, I am the embodiment of everything I love. But in a world where a snatched waist and a pretty face are a winning (and deadly) combination, I'm 0-0. Life of am ugly kid. Worse off yet, since even Hobo Johnson seems to have more confidence in his awkward and broken rhythms enough to speak his mind clearly enough for the rest of the world to resonate. Might be a good time to revisit, what it is exactly I came for. Perhaps, the answer is nothing: So far, I have nothing, make nothing, am nothing--if there is anything that I am, it's words on a piece of paper--just another ‘thing', another dreaming, wishful hopeful that I can rise above all that has been, and all that I am now...to become something more When training to match with the likes of the devil in preparation for battle against he, you must intend to figure, what the vehicle he has chosen has maintained to use as atool to help build you, as a Saint or an Angel--or one to break you, as Satan he. It has been a fruitful fas, but still i persist, though with a weary eye and curious mind, to the riddle i have yet been presente; ; Much ado about Chicken Soup. “Practice androgyny!” the two meet, immidiately fritening eachother; they transform-- One becomes dog, the other a cat--the cat begins to run. the dog pursues her. they run into a sunny meadow where a river feeds the wildlife and it is vibrant amongst the creatures; the cat climbs up a tree, and the [very friendly] dog stops at the base, looking up at her playfully, with an ask that she come down. She looks down from the tree at him, at a safe distance, and begins to relax on the I've fallen in love with a celebrity. What medicine cures that? Dearest Sonny, I'm unsure quite how to explain myself to you--or if I can, or should explain myself at all.I guess I could start with “I'm sorry.”, but it's almost as if that doesn't quite cover it, and nothing does. Perhaps, i'll start with just “thank you”--thank you for being you--which is something that makes me more ‘myself' than anything, at best. Really though, that's probably a good place to start with the wholehearted apology I owe you; It cannot be easy being yourself, or navigating life with such prominence, importance--as I'm sure you never intended all that you are, as any gift-given may have come as a God-honest, and God-given surprise. That being said; God is only anything that I am --as is, anything that you are. The talent that you possess is insurmountably powerful...and has touched, changed, inspired millions--changing the world and the very fabric of time itself--no matter how unintentionally, in all your humility. Somewhere hidden, I too have talent. I only wish that in this lifetime, I were granted the confidence and charisma to be able to somehow express it. Music is the matter I find I am made of--without being able to express it, I only feel burdened, trapped. It is a beautiful language you speak--you, and the rest of the artists I've grown to admire. It is a language so soothing, I can only long to learn it; I'm afraid though that in this lifetime, too much time and opportunity has passed...in this modern, technologically fast-paced new world...i've been left behind. You are truly a good friend, indeed. In all the sense that it doesn't make, I honor you as someone who has inspired, motivated, comforted, and captivated consistently throughout my existence in this time, in this life; Though i've been in recent times, able to remember your essence in lifetimes past, it is in this lifetime that I find the most befuddling, how your music itself has seemed to find and follow me.Unexplainable, would be the word that I can most easily use to describe anything having to do with it--love, would be the other word. “I love you”, is, I guess, what I was trying to say by tapping you gently three times, before running away. Really though, there aren't many things I could have said, or done--i'd never really been “starstruck” before; but it would be quite a stretch to say that it was the first time I'd been left awestruck in your presence. Countless performances, club shows; Raves are my favorite, favorite thing--second to the feel, and sound of bass. “Synesthesia”, would be the vocabulary word that explained a lifelong fascination with laser lights and deep bass; in ten years of hugging subwoofers and losing myself in the drop wondering my early adulthood mantra “Why am I like this?” almost constantly, it never mattered more to me than it has now. I recall a time where I referred to Skrillex as my spirit animal--still true, I suppose, although considering the fact I've consciously separated the Skrillex of things from the Sonny Moore of it all. One in the same, or, two separate parts of a whole--I can undeniably say all my unconventional, unconditional “I love you, I love you, I love you's”, in the everything that you are. ‘In love', would be an understatement--though which statement to actually make, i'm unsure of. I'm unsure of a lot of things, really; I've made many honest (and dishonest mistakes) in this lifetime--walking away from you, one of them. But, I can't change that, anything about who I am--or anything about the world the way it is, for I am only one--and too small, too weak, and too tired. My soul wishes for the freedom that death will bring--and so, I must let it...as its simply much too hard to live moving forward with such a badly broken spirit. I want you to understand that it is not your fault; It's nothing to do with you, or anything that you've done--the way that I love is uncontainable, once the match has been lit. I apologize again that you've become a victim in the energy field that becomes somewhat of a vortex, once activated. I didn't mean to fall in love with you--I don't know really how it happened, it just did. Maybe you don't remember me. Maybe you do. It doesn't really matter now, I just want you to know that me leaving this life is no fault of yours. I love you wholeheartedly--wholeheartedly, too, I love myself--though, seemingly only from the inside-out; there's nothing I can do about the outer shell I've been trapped in all these years. This is my body; something I would neither burden nor embarrass you with. Apologies, and all my love to you. There's nothing I want for you more than to live a happy, healthy, fulfilling life--I hope that you and those surrounding you are always, always living in peace, with joy and love--without worry, or burden, or stress; in honesty, these arre my wishes for anyone on this planet..as my love for humanity itself has only seemed to quantify, as I near the end of my life. I love, love; sometimes, I believe that I *am* love, as are any of us--but as I draw nearer to the light, it becomes harder and harder for me to believe that anything else matters, or has ever mattered, more than love. I love you. It just may be that i'm the world's biggest Skrillex fan--but to look beyond the cloak of stardom has left me longing for the embodiment of a memorable, familiar soul: The you. The person, and being that actually is; which is to say--as I would for any of my closest friends--I'd go to hell-and-back for you, give my last for you, do anything to protect you--*you*, the person; wanting and needing, expecting nothing in the world--because I cannot see a world without you in it. I'm sorry again, for any negativity. I meant to leave you behind at least, something beautiful, in exchange for all the years and moment's i've experienced through your art--but as I've mentioned before, I am trapped within myself. Symphonies unsung, melodies unwritten--because I've not what it takes to make it. I won't depart without admitting I tried, Music is my all, my everything, my guiding light--so at least in going home, I know there will always, always be the World of Sound--perhaps Heaven in the place where I can live there. I don't know what else to say. You're one of the most beautiful people i've ever seen, from the inside out--before I saw you, I heard you; before I could hear you, you were felt. I will always love you...nothing much else can matter, except that you know that. I'll never be able to erase it from my mind, never be able to forget, or look past it. I may even never understand why. Ancient Egyptian knowledge, or whatever—is the thing it seems they were trying to convey. By they, I only mean—whoever it is that wanted to hurt me. From the men shouting “kill yourself” outside my window— To the flocks of gorgeous, perfect women with perfect waists, perfect fashion, perfect faces—flaunting and floating before me, taunting me, pointing and laughing—rolling eyes, and flipping hair— and giving looks that say “I know you wish you looked as good as me.” I do. I do wish that. I wish more than anything to be beautiful. But...I keep eating. My body is hideous. I hate everything about it. I could try harder, but even that hurts. Everything hurts. Especially my heart. Why was I not more panicked, that after such a phenomenon such as that, cast by shadows against my tent—that the zipper of the door began to move slowly, from one side to another. Perhaps, I wanted the company. Maybe I needed it. What I didn't need, was more excruciating pain. No one's fault, I guess—someone wants me dead. At this point, I think me, the most. I'll never forget that face. The shocker. “Why is Skrillex in my tent?” The looming question. A question I hadn't even the time to ask, before blurting out “Are you okay?!” He froze, I froze. I guess that's where my Skrillex and my Sonny collided, as my soul began the process of separating the music I adored, and the person who made it. I will never forget his eyes. Fear. I scared him. He scared me. He scarred me. Maybe it wasn't him. I know that it *was* in fact Sonny himself (the face is unmistakable, those eyes)—but perhaps he was put up to it. Paid, for the task. Maybe my deer-in-the-headlights makes it so that he is the hunter—? How could he have missed his shot? How could I have missed mine. I've fallen in love with a celebrity. What medicine cures that? What medicine cures suicide? None I've taken, really—maybe Acid. Now, I can't seem to separate myself from Skrillex—or from Sonny—or from figuring out the two, or one in the same— or from figuring out myself, in that we are one in the same. I love him. Like a stupid teenager loves her favorite idol. Yeah, it's exactly like that, except worse—I'm a grown woman, a failure—whose aspirations and admirations are grandiose, and dillusional. Now I'm even more delusional. I thought, for a moment that Sonny might be in love with me. In honesty? Sometimes I still think that. I actually still believe that. So why this approach? I'm partially convinced he was paid to ‘finish the job', so to speak. I was already suicidal, and, fresh out of the hospital on the attempt to end my life that failed, again. So this would do it—make me hope and believe I could be something, someone, anyone—that I could be anything—even a superstar DJ-turned-future President. I'm a fucking joke. Someone, who could have anyone—in love with me? Maybe this is why people sneak into tents at music festivals: They don't love you— They just want to fuck. DAY 1: MAY 1ST, 2020; If I am offered dinner, will eat--but if not, will continue forward. Will set an alarm for 3:30 AM once roommate has gone to bed to check for his keys. Everyone gets their own suicide letter. Mom Dad Bearr Annie Yesenia Sonny (just leave it to Annie w/ his rock && burn book) Let everybody know it's not their fault. Reasons: 1. Fat 2. Ugly 3. Black 4. Poor 5. Unsuccessful 6. Friendless 7. No Charisma 8. Single I don't know why I numbered them. Do you really need more than one reason to kill yourself? (no.) I believe i”ve started the fast that I was asked. Be it that I have, the date is May 1st, 2020--however, I've been wondering if my roommate leaves the keys to his car in an accessible place; I'm kind of hoping so. I'm already craving to eat, and the first 24 hours have yet to pass. Again, i'm always given the open to keep this date and continue forward, so long that I eat before midnight--however, nothing seems like the right answer; The matter of fasting has become a damned-if-I-do, damned-if-I-don't matter...it seems that everything I do is ‘wrong', though right-and-wrong are subjective, and multidimensionally, objective, even. I probably might have been dead by now, if my car battery hadn't died...it seems like the easiest and least painful way; something easy and quiet. I've thought about sharpening a knife, just to cut and let [myself] bleed out at the wrist--but then, I fear that I may panic and that my mind would fight to survive. I've thought about hanging from one of my favorite trees-- but haven't the money left to buy any rope--which, perhaps, I could steal--but to steal enough rope to hang myself with on foot? A tricky task, to say the least. So, really, some of me is hoping my roommate leaves his keys out. At first, the thought of committing my suicide here was unsettling. My roommate, Satan's personal favorite vehicle and overall negative void of a ‘person' (or vampire, honestly), is a drama Queen--he needs not only conflict and drama to survive, but fiends for it; something in me had somehow become too proud to give him something to girlishly blabber about with his narcissistic, simple friends--I can already hear the repetitive exclamations of “horror” that would more-than-likely delight him as he recounts the story of finding my body, over-and-over...at first it rather haunted me, and now i've come to peace with--bargaining that having him find my body would be something of a statement, which wordlessly reads “sticks and stones may break my bones but words got up and killed me.” Words. Little words. Big Words. Actions. Gestures. If it's negative, I can feel it in my body, before it even happens; If it's positive, it can leave me radiating for days on end, and without a care. My “living situation” has been nothing more than a prolonging of my already disastrously failed and predominately miserable life. A mentally-ill and often psychotic mother, followed by a too- young marriage to a dynamically similar person, has left me up Shit's creek with no boat; I'm pushing 30 with no significant other, and no significance at all. There are generations of perfect people, fresh out of high school--who can and will do everything I ever thought possible or imaginable, better than me. And it's my fault. NO ENTRY ON DAY 2. Gave Myself A “Skrillex” haircut. Wow. Fuck my life. DAY 3: The fast will end today, more than likely. I am overwhelmed with grief, at loss for motivation, and struggling to believe there is any positive outcome to anything I do. I'm already getting headaches, and acute hunger pains--usually these things don't happen until well after the third day. I suppose my body is telli

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

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 15, 2023 4:55

this is a cringeworthy read, i'm sure of it. {THE TIME CAPSULE] Here lies everything I won't delete, but wouldn't dare to publish (as of yet), and therefore banish to the land and/or realm of impossibility, where everything entirely consists of unimaginable, unfathomable, inconceivable, never-ever-happened ( or will) unexistence. Nothing Here Exists. Amen. (I didn't write this.) The Colenel's Jounal. “Would he be mad reading this shit? “ I mean. I have to step back at this point and admit to reading this shit to myself at this point, that... I stumbled upon an interview with none other than The Great Mike Tyson--who--if coincidences actually existed--coincidentally dated my mother oh-way-back-when. I remember the shenanigans she went through to get him to sign a pair of boxing gloves for an auction she hosted, once, when I was younger. For that, I've always gotten a little chuckle, whenever I've randomly ended up watching something. Dude is funny. As for other dude? I'm so lost. It's almost like Insomniac (or whoever) can read my thoughts--or at the very least, my text messages. It's been a year of strangeness, and I'm now more lost than found. Why is Pasqualle so strangely familiar? What is this connection, i'm missing? Who am I, if not S U P A C R E E? I'm aware of my cosmic insignificance, my societal displacement. I am nothing useful that I know of, but it seems so that I've been being followed. So maybe he's not a white supremacist, after all...he seems to love as much as I do--if not more. So, that one's my fault, as everything is. I wonder if the window of opportunity has truly closed. I wonder what to make of all this, at all. I'm so, so confused, and so lost, and so… ...confused... First, I levitated. Still can't get over that (literally) Then....everything else. Literally everything else. From playing drums at Ruskos set, to weirdly making my way to Excision, just “following a vibe”--my failed suicide attempt, and running away to Bass Canyon where, everything in my reality officially shattered. Now, here I am...about to be homeless, jobless, and lost in love. I can't shake it off anymore, I can't let it go. My brain's wrapped around all of it, all the time. Prayers, Mantras, Methods. I'm driving myself crazy trying to wish away the pain. I need to be...need to be… … Needed. Bearr needs me. Sometimes, in all the pain--I fail to see that. But he does--and if I can't make it in show business...how are we meant to survive? There's no room for depression and poverty in motherhood. After losing the twins...I just can't. I can't be sad and parent at the same time. And, maybe that makes me weak. Maybe it makes me stupid. Maybe I've just had enough. But there's nothing I wouldn't give just to know that there's love, somewhere out there for me. Is it selfish that that's all I want? I think i'm a good person, but maybe i'm wrong. I can account for hundreds of premonitions, predictions, visions--outstanding sensitivity to energy...but how could I misread, and misjudge, so easily? Something inside me never really made it out of that tent. Then, going back--maybe it was all of me, that never made it out of that ambulance. Am I just the special kid in class--and it's obvious I've been left behind? When I hear myself speak aloudt, I wonder if I am retarded. I feel other people also wonder. Either way, how would anyone have known about my musical history so broadly, as it's been displayed? There's no going back from it. I can't go back to being a regular “Skrillex” fan. It's almost like...almost like I can't go back at all. And I miss that, a lot--just being able to be honest about what my taste in music is, who my favorite musician is…. I tense up when I hear the word “Skrillex”. In good company, I can shrug it off, I guess…. But on any regular day, it still feels deep. It doesn't leave my mind, ever. I can pretend to move on, but I can't unlove. I can't unlove. So, i'm two-for-two...three-for-three, if you count Josh Pan's video, where his face swells up and he turns into a reptile… I remember waking up for work with swollen eyes, and bulging, puffy skin...the way the spiral to insanity began...not with suicide, at all--at least, in the traditional sense. I was working 80 hours a week. I needed it--I needed out of my marriage. Pasqualle's sweater Sonny's Sweater, now falling apart--because, yes--I've worn it every day for nearly a year. A red, white, and blue blanket, reminding me of my presidential ambitions--which have since, not faded...but become realistically reflected with this sense that, I have much to fulfill between now-and-never. I'll only run for President if I can afford it. I can only afford it if I am successful in music. I found it heartwarming that Mike Tyson is so enamoured by the culture. To see him swell with joy, such as I have, upon discovering the world of raves. Apparently, there will be some kind of permanent Oasis, someday...I hope I live to see it. Better yet, I hope I live to play there. I want my chance on all the stages, as selfish as it may seem. To earn a place behind the decks, an unrealized dream. But, can I find it to become all that it takes? To read and move a room, to create and connect with people, live onstage. To inspire a crowd--telling a story with music. To give love, the best way that I can. I miss myself...but no I don't. I do miss never having to worry about whether I was too fat to be found attractive by someone I vehemently admire--but never thought about sexually, in all of the years i've loved watching him live. But, its a vibe. Much ado about Elon Musk. I'm not smart enough to become a rocket scientist--and it's too late for me to become an astronaut, as I once dreamed...but there's something in the space above us all, that seems to connect the space between us all--and it's almost as is the walls are caving in. Time and space continues to collapse upon itself. I might be broken forever...but then, I always was. Who'd have thought the Grand Prize for your third suicide attempt is a Skrillex? I'm cursed, in the way that...it won't fall off. My brain won't un-Sonny itself. I'm on default to give a fuck now, and there's no turning back. I guess this is what I get for hating on *fangirls*...now i am one. Problem is, I'm a lot less cute. How often does shit like this happen? There's hypnosis through music--and then there's losing your entire soul to something outside of yourself. Why and how am I so out of place, in this world? ‘You're too good for this world.' Nothing's been forgotten, it's just getting more suppressed. I can pretend to move on, but I won't. I just found the Holy Mecca of research for my weird, invasive project. Apparently DeadMau5 had some kind of comedy show, or something--called “coffee run” It seems to be about...2014, but haven't bothered to check yet--I'm sure, though that this predates the infamous ‘fued'. Blah blah blah--i'm learning too much about these people. People. Real people. ...was interrupted to watch the new episode of Rick and Morty; Lucky me. One half-hour and several belly-rolling laughs later, I'm back...with slightly more self confidence that, if The Heavens grant me whatever kind of combination of confidence and focus that it will take to bring the Festival Saga If nobody's sampled this video, I've stumbled upon a literal goldmine. Life imitates art--and music imitates music. “I love it when it's super sweaty.” (How do I resonate with this so well?) “ A Los Angeles Real Estate Guy In Torono”, says Dillon. “Yeah, there's a few of those.”, Joel recants, stoically. Now i'm watching people who never mattered on YouTube, in a finally “Sonny says…” If i can ever make my brain learn the magic that makes something like Ableton somehow turn into a banger. “Does he drive?!” I've wondered this myself. “I don't think he does.” I knew it. Dillon Francis' awkwardness is reminiscent of mine...again, here I am wondering...who I might be if I were born a white male--if nothing was changed, but the body. CRUSTPUNKS. How did I get here? Oh, yeah. I specifically opened an incognito window to...fuck it. I know what I'm here for. The thing is, I don't know what i'm blessed with. I don't know that i'm talented… It could all just be a Grand Delusion… Do I hate myself enough to try this? A movie where the entirety of the fabric of [my] universe is music, and the musicians that make it. A universe that already existed in the Multiverse of Rick and Morty, since it's strange inception into my being. Wait, how the fuck did I get here? I was already on a writing tangent Probably--I hate enough to “ i get to go home--not tomorrow, but the next day” This experience is becoming so humanizing. It is a job, this music shit--Touring takes you everywhere but home. What the fuck is ‘home?' Perhaps I am meant for this shit, after all. I don't have a home, anyway. I also don't have any music under my belt, but--with any luck, I can pump out the LP I promised my twins. Today Marks 5 years since Skyy passed away. May 23rd will be 2 years, since Phoenixx left us. It's not a good time of year, for grief. With no friends I can trust (Annie's Toxicity is again rearing its head), no family that loves me the way a family should...I find myself completely isolating from what Love is, almost forgetting what it might have felt like. “How often are you home?” “KAAAAHHHHHHHHHN” If i'm ever lucky enough to learn how to make Dupstep--that deserves to go before a fucking deadly drop. I've officially seen Skrillex more times in person than ever on video--which disincluded, of course, the tent incident--something I'm realizing that if I'm unable to catch up with myself in time, I'll have to live with forever. Can I answer my own prayers? At this point, i've given up any expectation of what it might be like to achieved enough to earn any kind of place in that world *their* world... 5/6/2020 Life is unfair sometimes. Like--do I want tacos, or divine inspiration? Do I put off fasting for yet another day, just for the temporary comfort and satisfaction of eating? Does limiting my eating to once every 24-hour-or-less suffice as enough of a self-sacrifice, that my prayers might be answered? I highly doubt that it is, but still--I often ride the line between just allowing myself to feel good when I can (and food does, make me feel so....so good) and remaining steady in my fasting. Then, it has been over 6 months of almost constant fasting and praying, all over someone I haven't properly met--all over myself. Because, the longer I stay in this mindset--the clearer it becomes that it is all the same. At the core, there's only really one thing in existence. Skyy will have passed away 5 years ago tomorrow. To think, I should have had 5-year-old twins. They would have been so beautiful; I've never quite imagined them so, umti now. I miss my babies so much. Will I ever be okay again? I thought to record a song for Skyy, but it would never be ready by tomorrow, in the perfect way that I would want it to be. I don't want to put out anything less than the best. I'm being as patient as I possibly can with teaching myself--but grow frustrated in my limitations. The only thing standing between me, and the tools I need to make the music I have...is me. (Really, it's money.) Lack of money is keeping me from being unstoppable. With unlimited money, I'd have a home--I could fully pay all 4-years of my tuition at UCLA….ny dream school. I'd study music, anthropology, astrology….maybe even engineering. I can't make myself prettier--but I can make myself smarter. Google University just isn't cutting it. I want to make a difference in the world by any means, and i'm trapped behind the gate of poverty. I just want a closet full of harem pants, chuck taylors, and T-shirts with stuff I like on them. I just want to wear my kandi every day. I just want to be behind the decks atop the stages of my favorite places… I want to be someone's favorite DJ. I want to be one of my favorite DJ's favorite DJ I, I, I… How selfish. What does the world need? Less people. Well, i'm honestly one-less, I guess, if I can;t make it in music, in art. If I can't make a decent living just by being myself...i'm not meant to live at all. That much is true--no life worth living includes waking up every day to go to a job I hate, that barely pays my bills. No life is worth living that Something strange happens to me when my favorite people go ‘live' on instagram Social Media, a young demon with whom I constantly evade, when I am not forcibly fighting to fit the status quo (which, I cannot.) Watching my social media right now is like the digital equivalent of “You can't sit with us.” I've grown attached to OWSLA like some sort of distant, imaginary family--only, I know this is something I've just embedded into my mind--the ultimate wishful thinking. Everything I do seems fragile, as if the grid I had discovered not only exists in the outer world, but also my inner--that everything I do, think, say, sing, speak makes a difference in what will happen moving forward. Reawakening my center has been difficult, saying the very least--I am almost paralyzed by negativity--made catatonic through senses with which I cannot control; My ‘home' life has become a hell where i'll-spirits and pitiful thoughts are cast about me--in reality, I have no home. In truth, I'm unsure that I have any purpose, either. It's all been bothering me… Now it's something that just hurts, like everything else. Add to the pain, subtract from willingness to live. Add to the trauma, subtract from the motivation to succeed. How much of my fault is this? Who did it? What is it for? Amongst the most otherworldly of theories, the possibility that extraterrestrials had actual involvement in removing Sonny from wherever he was supposed to be (Burning Man, albeit) and placing him where I was. I've wondered how else the dancing shadows cast against the canvas of the tent were so perfectly made-- ancient egyptian prophecies foretold as a light show, in the moments leading up to the one where the entirety of my being was shifted, in an instant. I dreamed of a B2B with Skrillex, and instead got a face-to-face with Sonny Moore. One, apparently, does not quite equal the other. Eight (or so) months later, and I've filtered through all the stages of grief--for all of the ways I had to lose him--as much as one could be lost, without actually dying. But, perhaps I am dead. My soul and spirit at least, are trapped, and tainted torturously from all I've come to gather. Running into the night, like a bat fresh out of hell, away from the visions I was forced to have from our exchange-- I can only imagine, had I acted any differently and stayed, rather than fled what else I may have seen. In only the few short moments we shared together...I was able to see more of his life than for anyone I've ever ‘seen' for, besides myself. To have, after only a few moments--seen both backwards into his past--and forwards into a seemingly shared future of some sort. I don't know what else to call this creepy psychic shit, other than “seeing”. To even call myself a “seer” would be a heavy title, I'd be too uncomfortable to claim. Still, vivid memories of the dude's past--and chilling premonitions of the future, have left me disgustingly sick with a concern that wholly did not exist, beforehand. But, when faced with the question: “What would it be like to actually lose him?” I fucking lost it. I've never taken well to celebrity deaths--perhaps, overly sensitive in ways that suite absolutely nobody--I just so happen to have fallen apart numerous times, upon learning of the passing of those i've long cherished. I collapsed fully at Michael Jackson's passing, scrolling through the African TV channels in disbelief, as I desperately searched for a News Channel in English to confirm that it was indeed, true. This was, of course, a couple years after I cried for hours with Back to Black on repeat in the wake of Amy Winehouses' death--going even further back, I can recall arguing with a classmate that Steve Erwin, another hero, was brave--rather than ‘stupid', and undeserving of his untimeley demise. A special place lies in my heart for the day I remember losing Robin Williams-- a weird memory which collides in the now, with my affinity for Skrillex music and the strange outer connectivity my emotions seem to have in the passing of those I wholeheartedly admire; I've shed tears for Whitney Houston, Prince--I've shed tears for all of them. But none so much as for Skrillex, who is [surprisingly] still alive… And I'm mad about it. I'm mad about it, because I was [partially] happy in my place, as a fan. I wasn't even the best fan, or the biggest fan (metaphorically speaking--physically, though--I probably hold a record of some sort.) I wasn't following his social media--I wasn't following his anything, honestly. I was just crossing my fingers that with every lineup released, I might find the name “Skrillex” plastered to the top of it, or standing out broadly against the other ‘S' names, if alphabetically presented. I'm mad about it, because I hate myself. I've been hating myself my entire life. But i've never hated that I loved Skrillex--in fact, I've always been quite proud, having watched the project skyrocket, as EDM penetrated pop-culture in the years following my college endeavors. Never really thought to think that at any point, we might be equals. We're not--outwardly, anyway. Inwardly, though? Fuck me. It's like I'm bound to it by the roots of the Tree of Life. Like something in my DNA was activated by an overabundance of Skrillex. I've undoubtedly, and by far crossed the threshold of having listened to 10,000 Hours of Skrillex, guaranteed. No calculations needed. Still, there are perhaps millions of others who share the same affinity--and at least a few thousands who are more outwardly obsessive than in. It works, when I need to know something I'd rather just ask Sonny myself, but can't--there's always a kid in the fan pool who has been quick to find whatever information I'm looking for, long, long before I've come to look for it. Poor guy. For almost an entire year, that's all I've really been able to think. ‘Poor guy.' Because, if the roles were reversed--and for whatever reason I decided to make my way into someone's tent at a music festival (I wouldn't) and I scared them into a shock, resulting in them fleeing away from me--I'd feel like shit. And, if I had been touring my entire life and watched the culture grow and morph into the nearly unmanageable able monster it has become--i'd feel like shit. If I had to watch an ambulance cart away someone in the crowd during one of my sets, I'd feel like shit. If I had to do a live set while I felt like shit, I'd feel like shit. and ...if some random fan fell head over heels in love with me, simply because I crawled into her tent, or made really good music, or made her feel some kind of way… I'd feel like shit. And that shit probably happens all the time. It's been 10 long years for me, with Skrillex-- but I can't imagine how long the last 10 years have been, as Skrillex. Now I think about all the shit DJs go through, being DJs….what's more, I've had to give in-depth thought to what it means to be a celebrity at all--what it might be like to have someone grow an obsession over you--unprovokingly. Although my ‘obsession' for this particular person can't technically be considered ‘unprovoked' (I was minding my own business, after all--and Skrillex was not on the lineup.) I can't help but feel for those in the limelight whose charisma and talent combined attract every type of creeper imaginable. I'm just the kind of creeper that wants to make music; any previous searches as an attempt to ‘get to know' Skrillex, previous to last August, originated in attempting to comprehend how to create such organic sounds--exploring and studying how intricately layered and carefully arranged each of my favorite sounds and songs were made. Piecing together how exactly an artist like such, had become as such. Now, i'm just entangled in self-doubt, as it seems the entire next generation is equipped with whatever skillset it takes to become an electronic musician. Self-doubt, as I fear that my body weight intimidated him as much as his presence intimidated me. Again: All me. All bad. I've nowhere to turn to to unleash this shit--it has to be a secret-- and even letting it slip to Annie in the isolation of the aftermath has felt like a mistake, since I allowed it to happen. Can I keep a secret? Ha. There are things that only I know, certainly. The premonition I did subtly speak of, I refused to unearth in detail, even to Annie. The other visions I was made to have, still my own secret; I've begun to wonder if, upon meeting Sonny, I would keep it to myself; I suppose that would depend on nature and context. But, I think about it every day. It is my first thought upon waking up, my final thought before coming to rest--it has permeated into the only dreams I ever have anymore--crowds my semi-waking thoughts as I toss-and-turn throughout the night; the amount of energy exchanged, the amount of concern that consumes me....lets me know that it is all apart of something far beyond my comprehension, far beyond my senses...far beyond any understanding of the universe that I may have. And, it hurts. As bad as it is for me, it's probably worse for him--IF he remembers any of it. Then, probably a seasoned drinker (lol, “probably”) There's a good chance that, well-- he does remember. Oh God no. If I could motion to be erased, I would. I've been trying to erase myself for the better part of a year, including and certainly not limited to August 4th--an attempt I can stand to think I had not fully recovered from by the time it all happened. What the fuck did happen? Though it can't be denied that each of us possesses some kind of magic--the origins of mine can be traced back, at least on one side. Powers I was ‘born with', as told by my father--something I only believed until I was old enough that it didn't make sense--and something I was forced to recognize once I was old enough that it did. I want to know what exactly it is that ties us... Where this love--which is what it is, undeniably-- originates. I've spent the better part of the last year praying and meditating, and attempting to loosen the knots in my stomach enough to self-soothe enough to settle that, at worst-- Sonny was just being a pretty white boy, looking for a good time--and I just became a victim by knowing how to have one. Alternately--how fuck fuck would he even know I exist? As i've stated, I was the epitome of a silent Skrillex fan, prior to all these spectacular occurrences. I may have, at some point online--said something about Skrillex being my Spirit Animal… (still true) But can't imagine what else might have been garnered in my attainable, tangible history, which would alert him of my existence at all. Then, with all the money in the world, you truly can do anything… And that's what I hate in all this. Him--having all the money in the world, and me, having none… The very thing that separates us from settlement, myself from closure. Really, the only thing I want. Closure. ‘I got love, fuck your money.' Sonny can be anyone--he's earned that right. He can be with anyone--deservingly so. I want for him the very best--and, knowing that I am not (physically, anyway) am dismissive of any judgement cast. I wouldn't want me, either--looks matter, I know. I just want to know what he means to me--in this lifetime, in this realm, in this reality. I didn't have to be moved from where I was to be inspired by him--I just always was. I didn't have to think about being attracted to him--I just always was. I didn't have to think about being connected through the music--I just always was. And it all came crashing down in a tent, at the bottom of the rabbit hole--where I lost my mind--after having already lost my soul, to something beyond the senses, long ago. I committed wholly and permanently to making music when Phoneixx died, almost 2 years ago. The point was never to sound like Skrillex, but rather to be like Skrillex, as an artist--but, after much speculative examination--I guess, I always was. I lost myself in the early days of Myspace. From First To Last rang through the hallways of my middle school's corridors. Chiodos carried me through the days of wrist-cutting and air-dust huffing, through the days of binging-and-purging, wishing I was prettier--and in the height of all that is the drama of living in my very own Teenaged Wasteland… The Rocket Summer was handed to me by the hands of an angel, as I transitioned out of awkward adolescent depression and into an almost-well-adjusted life at a performing arts school, as an aspiring musician, singer, dancer and storyteller… The dream that carried me out of Utah, and into the Heart of Hollywood at the age of 16… The dream I thought died, long ago. When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? Billie Ellish's spirit collided with mine, as the first time I heard her voice, I shattered inwardly, and shivered in the resonance that is the understanding of pain, born undoubtedly in love; I shuddered to think that someone so young could feel so devoid of the willingness to live, to move onward. My response upon first experiencing her music, of course, a genuine “...Is she ok?” Three little words. I tend to really mean them, any time I ask. “Are you OK?!” I blurted, as my entire self exploded into shock, as I immediately recognized the face I've known for years--and looked through the widened eyes of one so now devastatingly human--to something inside of myself. Something about my voice shifted him; He became a mirror for all my pain, all my doubt--all the shame I have, for all that I am-- my demons came straight to the surface. Voiceless, now, and shielded in the fetal position, we faced each other silently. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm Sorry.', I thought loudly, as I lay panicking. I stared down into my chest, ashamed to be anything but invisible, thoughts racing. I dare not lift my head to look at him. My heart pounded, as I lay screaming silent apologies for my appearance--for my very presence, for my own existence. I couldn't process his presence in my reality. Choking back tears, I tried not even to so much as breathe, as I silently apologized for being born--and though I wanted nothing more than to reach out to hold him, I lay all-but-lifelessly--wondering what went so wrong that he would seek to find me. The familiar smell of liquor permeated the air, as my heart sank, throbbing as it pounded...I know an alcoholic, when I smell one. I did actually wonder if he was okay....(and I've been wondering daily, ever since.) But clearly, he wasn't okay. Clearly, I wasn't. Clearly, nobody's ok. He slipped his praying hands between my thighs, as I died inside--and all my outer senses blended to become all, and nothing at once, again. Exit Skrillex, Enter Sonny. How does a mere peasant earn a spot in the company of the Highest Priest? I've not bargained with the Devil, but begged the Heavens that my life would end before his...the First Fast emerged as a direct result of self-sacrifice; To serve as a protection against misjudgement--to realign my soul with it's true intensive purpose--in hopes that my body would shrink to form something suitable. The memory of his hands between my thighs, a haunting reminder that--I just may be too big for him… The reality is...of all that I am, and all that I have, and all that I wish to be...it just may be that--he's too big for me… metaphorically speaking. I'll have to become a damn-near Superstar, just to get to know the people--that know the people--that know the people, that know people who can connect me to Sonny, on any level. I'll have to get in line behind millions of other hopeful DJ's, producers, singers, dancers, songwriters--hundreds of thousands of entertainers who might kill-or-die to get to know Skrillex in any way-shape-or form. Romantically, I'd be competing against at least a million perfect-bodied beauty-queen fangirls who would do anything--and I mean anything--for their shot at Skrillex. The truth is, I'm not trying to get to know Skrillex; The truth is, i'd rather know Sonny. (Whatever that's supposed to mean, right?) I don't question at all our potential compatibility; there's no doubt in my mind that there's some chemistry between us--be it of ancient origin, an extra terrestrial genetic code, or otherwise...but I'd bet any money I actually had, that someone as highly regarded as Skrillex would be ridiculed, trolled, and tremendously hated by many, many fans--for associating with someone like me. I don't even know if it's like that--but, again--crawling into someone's tent is...kind of intimate. What in Heavens would one want with me, when he could have perfection-- Absolute perfection? I kind of get it. I'm used to being fetishised. I've always been the black girl who liked white guys--I've lead a life that's made it easy to learn that Jungle Fever is often taboo among the White Caucasion men who find black women attractive enough to fuck--but would never want to “date” us, or bring us home. I've learned that--at the end of the day-- most white guys, want white kids--even if they like to fuck black girls. Then, there's the added bonus of some genetic flaw which has allowed my body to at one point, have ballooned up to 380 pounds-- a body which, even after a 200+ pound weight loss, would disgust anyone with eyes, in what most would consider “cute rave attire”. And, although shrinking from a size 28 to a size 10 is somewhat of a ‘grand' achievement, I look like an asymmetrical potato sack with my clothes off. If there's anything I know about men--and especially the affluent ones--they love to have trophies to showcase. I've yet to see a body like mine on the red carpet, or as arm candy--or as the leading lady, anywhere. No, there's no such thing as a fat Cinderella. Still, he's one of the most handsome creatures i've ever seen-- undoubtedly one of the most beautiful creatures on this planet. I will continue to love what I know of him wholly and unconditionally. On my best days, I even hope to live long enough, and well enough to have the honor of properly meeting him. Never could I have the courage to ask him on a date--nor would I subject him to the cruelty of the outer world by alluding to the fact that he may, in fact be someone more important to me, than as just a musician--as with anyone i've ever loved, I only want for him the best. On my worst days, The Devil assures me that it was Annie he was really looking for, who he may have seen me with at the plethora of festivals we attended together last year--or perhaps, even Idania, who was supposed to have been there with me…and it would make sense. The Devil also constantly reminds me of how much prettier they both are than me--and better in every way. But, it was long ago that I came to terms with the fact that anyone who might come to love me--would also love Annie and would love her more thoroughly--her, having the more attractive body and face, being more ideally pretty. Standing next to Annie, I always lose. Even on a good day. All this, I can be sure to cast aside, however--because at the very best--he was looking for me, and everything between then-and-now builds into something of substance or significance… and at worse, my favorite figure in music absolutely hates me, and regrets my existence as much as I do. Either way, Skrillex hits hard any time of the day, any day of the week. And… Either way, Sonny hits home, all day, every day--until I can manage to learn to speak. Eight pages later, and it still hurts. Eight pages, and i'm still mad. I'm still crying. I'm still useless. I'm still stuck. Stuck on stupid. Stuck on Sonny. Stuck on Skrillex. Just… Stuck. And it hurts. 5/5 Another day. Nothing makes me hate myself more than waking up. ‘Don't look at the phone.' instructions, handed to me some time ago by the Divine--since then, I make it a point not to look at my phone, if I can help it, before I've sat up to pray, and meditate. Lately, I've been unable to relax at all enough to focus on a proper meditation, before realizing my actual self-worth (nothing), and falling into the depressive non-motion that has been me. How many evil men will it take being caught in the midst of, will it take for me to realize that I've been allowing myself to painfully absorb their essences, even without a single touch? Just living here alone has set me further back from my goals than I was--then--I'm beginning to feel that my ‘roomate' may have ties to White Supremacy; the evidence does just keep on building. It has occured to me that Jason's warning that Nick may be deep undercover for some Government agency is most likely true. Though I err on the side of not snooping through other peoples' things--I've happened to stumble across indicators which point to the likely case that he is, in fact, hired by the government or some other private entity--probably as part of some secret experiment, assigned to psycologically torture and disable mentally fragile individuals; It seems as though the experiement was designed in order to test morale, will power, self-control, and proper judgement-- tests which I've been concious of, but in the moment have not always cared about passing-or-failing. From the painful assortment of disgusting and obnoxious sounds make throughout the day, torturing me through unpleasant and peace-shattering sounds, left victimized by my synesthesia and recently pinpointed misophonia--or something similar...whatever it is that makes slamming doors, cabinets, and the items crashing to the floor after lazily being thrown across the room methods of torture. To the cavalcade of poisonous, sugary and addicted substances, which only seem to appear or are offered during crucial fasts--or, pushily and passive-aggressively left in my living space without asking whether or not i'd like any. Just left there, to be discovered upon finishing a shower, or returning from a nightly walk. And on days when I am actually hungry, or needing to eat? I am offered nothing. Only when I fast am I ever offered any sustenance. It says almost too much about my roomate as a person--to offer every time, or never at all would be acceptable, and understandable--but to only invite one to eat when one feels so ‘inclined' is beyond cruelty. It's privilege showing itself to be one of the only faces uglier than mine, that i'm aware of. While i've elected to use my headphones as a shield, life's not always easy immersed in a sound bath of isochronic tones and Theta Waves--and though it does excite me to have expanded my music library, with additions and updates I've been longing for ages-- it's almost more stressful to think about the amount of music that I don't have. Songs I would add to my “sets”, if you can call them that. If I can call myself a DJ--if I can call myself a person, anymore. Really, all I am is hurt feelings and trauma wrapped in flesh; I might be less of a person than I ever was, once. Everything costs--whether it be money, the world's currency--or time, the currency of the soul. Torturous is the life of an artist, who cannot herself make ‘art', as she sees fit. Everyone in Hollywood has a screenplay in their back pocket; Everyone in LA has a dream, two-to-three-jobs, and a side hustle--and me? I'm just learning to DJ to self-soothe, having given up hope of ever becoming anything greater than the happiest guest at the rave nearest you. It's harder than it looks….(or, maybe it isn't, and i'm just retarded.) Building a music collection worthy enough to grace the decks in any of my favorite venues, is an arduous task--maybe this is why all the popular DJs are pretty white boys--the proof is in the privilege. Money, money, money...I used to make plenty of it, and was always exhausted--now I make none, and am always exhausted. What's worth what cost? Time = Money. In LA, and in the world. But by anyone's definition--and especially mine--LA is the world. Or, at the very least, sets the tone for the world. Truly, nothing is free. DJing is more expensive than I could have ever imagined--once again, in any direction I turn, there's a ladder to climb. I've not got the time or energy left in my sadly depleting lifesource left to storm gates, crawling over heads and cutting down those in my way. While it's certain that ‘Competitive Greatness' is the key atop the Pyramid of Success, there are 14 other bricks below to lay the foundation of that which one might call success, to be garnered as imagined through the eyes of a man, anyway, who lived in the 1930's. John L. Wooden may have been right--and may still be right--if I were a standard male (we'll leave race out of it, for now…..for now.) Still, i've been using the Pyrimid of Success as a guidepost, in what it is exactly I may have to do, or be, in order to become something. Not even something great, just something. Perhaps, if I can make it to being something, eventually I might become someone. Oh, to be a person would be nice. For now, I'll just have to settle on tricking my useless sack of anatomy into being a DJ. There's nothing outside of it, anymore. Bass Canyon truly was my last rave--not that I enjoyed it, honestly. Though I've attempted to retrain my brain around the trauma which resulted from that weekend, it did serve as a turning point--a sort of going-away party, as I departed from my home as a no-holds-bar Kandi Kid. Happy Graduation, OG Raver! Little did I know that, with the multidimentionality of our universe, I would be presented, through the world of possibility--the ability to at least observe with the naked eye that there lie more beyond the decks-- a space that may have been made for me. I'll never forget the moment I knew I would be a DJ--or at least try, for the life (or the death) of me. Electric Daisy Carnival changed my life--an experience ten years in the making that catapulted me into the depths of my wildest dreams--unbeknownst to me that I hadn't yet the ability to swim, in such that is the tempest of my own subconscious mind. But--that part of this story deserves its own dedicated elaboration; For now, i'll only look back--and realize that it was there that I aligned with my highest self in the truest sense, that, at least then, I actually believed that I could become a top DJ. I've lost the flight to stay afloat in the salty sea that is the millions of other people trying to make it to the mainstages of our favorite places, and begun to sink into the reality of the entertainment industry as a whole...the reality of the world, as a whole anymore. Looking around at the world's top DJs is less encouraging and inspirational than it should be. Nearly every headliner looks like every kid who ever bullied me, every guy who ever turned me down--every kid hosting the party I wasn't invited to. As for the females of the bunch--I find it frustrating that not one yet has been of any color other than yellow--and even then--we all know the world's men love Asian women. While I can admire girls like Rezz and Allison Wonderland--I wonder what kind of career, if any, if either of them were black, or heavyset--or, my losing genetic combination: Both. Would a fat Allison Wonderland have ever made it into the industry? Would a black Rezz ever become a staple in bass music, and rave culture? If Softest. Hard had a pot belly, would she have been discovered? Then, there are up-and-comings beyond my complete comprehension--those who are visually appealing, but musically inept; I'll leave out any names, and still salute them--anyone who can wrap their brain around any standard DAW enough to make an entire song, is absolutely more talented, definitely more intelligent than I am. [I'm not.] But, I can't help but wonder: How easy was it for any of them, being so pretty, to learn to do what they do--just by being kind and asking a friend for help to learn production? In so many years of raving, I've watched beautiful girls get pulled backstage--and even pulled on stage, to connect with the artists and VIPs. I've been brought to tears as I've watched rude girls with porcelain faces caked in makeup be lifted over rails into the promised land, picked to be plucked by just her eyes and smile combined with the perfection of a flat and flawless stomach. Pretty girls always get priority. Me? Well, I get the dead eyes of the drunken DJ, staring down at me through his whiskey glass, as he beckons the stagehands to assist the perfect-bodied princess backstage...but i'm only front-and-center so I can feel the music move, and watch all the energy bounce around, matching the movement of the expert's hands on deck, to the waves of sound colliding with the rest of the world. True, my mind might wander to what wonderful experiences await the perfect princess, as she disappears behind the decks, into a world i've yet to know, but only seen: The life I know exists beyond the rails, beyond the decks...the world I can only wish to build, for myself. Big ugly black girls don't get pulled backstage. Big ugly black girls are token ancillary characters, it seems, in the plot which writes the story of the modern rave. In a sea of new-generation ravers raised by Kim Kardashian and YouTube makeup tutorials--left lost in a torturous chamber of perfection--women who can wear anything, beautifully. Women who get whatever they want, whenever they want--because they know they can; 10's, to my -3. Bottom Line: Looks matter, until all the men in the world go blind. Sad-but-true. I move not to objectify the women whose music and movement through the clearly sexist music entertainment industry. God only knows how hard each of them has worked to earn a spot so highly ranked amongst those to whom we all admire--the legends, the greats. Each woman behind the decks has become a reflection of everything I wish I ever was--but also a painful reminder of everything that I am not. Of every girl i've ever come behind. Perhaps, this is the result of growing up the as the only ‘black girl', in the backwards, racist po-dunk town I was transplanted into: A place where I spent years constantly being told, taught, and trained that it was more admirable to have light skin, blonde hair, blue eyes...then again, The Media has always done a particularly good job at creating and maintaining what the ideal beauty standard should be, or is--and an excellent job of perpetuating stereotypes. People never expect me to sound how I do, or to like what I like--because it's “white people stuff”; and ten years ago when I discovered raving, there wasn't another black girl (or boy!) in sight for miles, at any rave I went to. I was the oddity, the token--the “what the fuck” person, in an already entirely what-the-fuck place. Fast Forward to 2020: My Freshman Year as a DJ. And...as it appears, the world behind the decks is just as non-diverse as the dancefloor was when I first began this escapade through the world of immersive music. Do I want to be the first ethnically-bred Female DJ to reach the top? OF COURSE. Can I? It's not up to me. Now I'm confusededly caught in the web that is rumours circulating of an ongoing race-war, and wondering if I've been left to die smack-dab in the middle of it. Amongst currently living with a white supremacist (or, extremely ignorant and culturally intolerant biggoted racist at the very, very least.), it seems that White Superiority may be a driving theme amongst the Electronic Music Industry--that maybe the world I've rather grown up in, and come to love has more twists, turns, and dark alleys to look through than the obvious ‘secrets' that loom in the world of rave. All seeing is the eye that watches over all. Insomniac's crew is among one of the least racially diverse I've ever seen--if I were Pasqualle, I might think to at least try to make it look as though there were a plethora of ethnic backgrounds who work together to tie the knot holding together the world's biggest metaphorical kandi: Insomniac, the Kingdom of Mainstream rave culture. A global endeavor. I wonder how many i've come to admire--Pasqualle included-- are actually White Supremacists, masquerading in the power of positivity and their corporate capitalism, true beliefs and intentions. My curiosity about the man himself peaked during EDC weekend, after stumbling into sign after sign, symbol after symbol--of something I've aspired [in the past] to commit to, but also am wearlily aware of its adversity towards that of my kind; being firstly female, and secondly partially black. Now, I wonder--am I even allowed to enter into the world beyond the decks--or is that preserved for only women with perfect bodies, fair skin--attractive individuals? Does it belong only to those with money? Is there any possibility that there may be room for someone like me to enter the scene--or may only pretty girls with pretty bodies and pretty hair be allowed in the backstage world? Really, I just want to perform. I miss myself as a dancer, as a musician--as an actor, all together. I still wish I had continued on this path a decade ago, when--though weighing over 300 pounds--my confidence at least existed. Teaching myself to DJ has been one of the hardest things i've ever done; I don't know if I'm retarded, but I'm beginning to consider attempting to see someone for some kind of screening. If Paris Hilton can DJ, why is it so hard for me? If Sonny can dink around on a computer with a blown speaker, call himself ‘Skrillex' and make some of the world's most intricate music since that of Beethoven-- why can't I do the same? What makes the difference in all these YouTube tutorials telling me how to do it--and me actually being able to do it? What is it, that's wrong with my brain? But, it's all i've wanted for over a year--to be a DJ, at least. I've always been a musician; It's just been a stop-and-go, allowing for the rest of what has been my life to pass through between the times I could make music, and couldn't. I wish I had the positive support it takes to have encouraged me forward on the path I was already on, since I was 13--instead, I was told I was too fat (and too black) to succeed in the way I wanted to. 10 Years later and Lizzo is at the top of her game, while I beat myself up for losing at mine. Never could I have imagined a world where i'd see an album cover like hers; upon seeing it, I was not only shocked, but enraged: She was everything I was told I could not be. And the Truth Is: more than likely, someone told Lizzo the same thing I was told, and the difference is-- she didn't believe them, and kept moving forward. The difference is: She believed in herself, and loved herself enough to keep trying. The difference is, that everything I needed, I already had--I just never believed it to be so. I'm proud of her...but insanely jealous. My inner child cries “That should have been me.” Truth Hurts. There's more to it, than that; Envy lives in the cavernous pits deep within the confined Hell that is my subconscious mind--and--as the world begins to close in on itself, as consciousness continues expanding, I find myself fighting against the worst of my woes daily. Nowhere can I go without meeting a flawless, forward-figured, and facially exquisite female--rather than submit to catty jealousness, I have learned to admire and nod or bow as a gesture that I am a lesser creature. So now i'm left to wonder as I self-teach myself a trade, if my aspirations may ever be achieved, without possessing any outer beauty. All that's left in the world for me, now, is to become my own favorite DJ. (A title, of course, formerly belonging to Skrillex... ruined, by his untimely arrival as a physical person, into my actual life. More on that later...and infinitely.) I've lately begun asking myself “Is it really worth it?”...but, at the same time, I've never loved anything so much, as to fly on the wings of music--and so i've also wondered “What else will really make me happy?” Tough question. Ideally, I'm the entertainment Guru I always wished to be--not tied down to any one artform, but able to move about freely in all of them. There's no life without theatre--there's no light without entertainment. If living ideally, I could never be any-one-thing-- if living ideally, I am the embodiment of everything I love. But in a world where a snatched waist and a pretty face are a winning (and deadly) combination, I'm 0-0. Life of am ugly kid. Worse off yet, since even Hobo Johnson seems to have more confidence in his awkward and broken rhythms enough to speak his mind clearly enough for the rest of the world to resonate. Might be a good time to revisit, what it is exactly I came for. Perhaps, the answer is nothing: So far, I have nothing, make nothing, am nothing--if there is anything that I am, it's words on a piece of paper--just another ‘thing', another dreaming, wishful hopeful that I can rise above all that has been, and all that I am now...to become something more When training to match with the likes of the devil in preparation for battle against he, you must intend to figure, what the vehicle he has chosen has maintained to use as atool to help build you, as a Saint or an Angel--or one to break you, as Satan he. It has been a fruitful fas, but still i persist, though with a weary eye and curious mind, to the riddle i have yet been presente; ; Much ado about Chicken Soup. “Practice androgyny!” the two meet, immidiately fritening eachother; they transform-- One becomes dog, the other a cat--the cat begins to run. the dog pursues her. they run into a sunny meadow where a river feeds the wildlife and it is vibrant amongst the creatures; the cat climbs up a tree, and the [very friendly] dog stops at the base, looking up at her playfully, with an ask that she come down. She looks down from the tree at him, at a safe distance, and begins to relax on the I've fallen in love with a celebrity. What medicine cures that? Dearest Sonny, I'm unsure quite how to explain myself to you--or if I can, or should explain myself at all.I guess I could start with “I'm sorry.”, but it's almost as if that doesn't quite cover it, and nothing does. Perhaps, i'll start with just “thank you”--thank you for being you--which is something that makes me more ‘myself' than anything, at best. Really though, that's probably a good place to start with the wholehearted apology I owe you; It cannot be easy being yourself, or navigating life with such prominence, importance--as I'm sure you never intended all that you are, as any gift-given may have come as a God-honest, and God-given surprise. That being said; God is only anything that I am --as is, anything that you are. The talent that you possess is insurmountably powerful...and has touched, changed, inspired millions--changing the world and the very fabric of time itself--no matter how unintentionally, in all your humility. Somewhere hidden, I too have talent. I only wish that in this lifetime, I were granted the confidence and charisma to be able to somehow express it. Music is the matter I find I am made of--without being able to express it, I only feel burdened, trapped. It is a beautiful language you speak--you, and the rest of the artists I've grown to admire. It is a language so soothing, I can only long to learn it; I'm afraid though that in this lifetime, too much time and opportunity has passed...in this modern, technologically fast-paced new world...i've been left behind. You are truly a good friend, indeed. In all the sense that it doesn't make, I honor you as someone who has inspired, motivated, comforted, and captivated consistently throughout my existence in this time, in this life; Though i've been in recent times, able to remember your essence in lifetimes past, it is in this lifetime that I find the most befuddling, how your music itself has seemed to find and follow me.Unexplainable, would be the word that I can most easily use to describe anything having to do with it--love, would be the other word. “I love you”, is, I guess, what I was trying to say by tapping you gently three times, before running away. Really though, there aren't many things I could have said, or done--i'd never really been “starstruck” before; but it would be quite a stretch to say that it was the first time I'd been left awestruck in your presence. Countless performances, club shows; Raves are my favorite, favorite thing--second to the feel, and sound of bass. “Synesthesia”, would be the vocabulary word that explained a lifelong fascination with laser lights and deep bass; in ten years of hugging subwoofers and losing myself in the drop wondering my early adulthood mantra “Why am I like this?” almost constantly, it never mattered more to me than it has now. I recall a time where I referred to Skrillex as my spirit animal--still true, I suppose, although considering the fact I've consciously separated the Skrillex of things from the Sonny Moore of it all. One in the same, or, two separate parts of a whole--I can undeniably say all my unconventional, unconditional “I love you, I love you, I love you's”, in the everything that you are. ‘In love', would be an understatement--though which statement to actually make, i'm unsure of. I'm unsure of a lot of things, really; I've made many honest (and dishonest mistakes) in this lifetime--walking away from you, one of them. But, I can't change that, anything about who I am--or anything about the world the way it is, for I am only one--and too small, too weak, and too tired. My soul wishes for the freedom that death will bring--and so, I must let it...as its simply much too hard to live moving forward with such a badly broken spirit. I want you to understand that it is not your fault; It's nothing to do with you, or anything that you've done--the way that I love is uncontainable, once the match has been lit. I apologize again that you've become a victim in the energy field that becomes somewhat of a vortex, once activated. I didn't mean to fall in love with you--I don't know really how it happened, it just did. Maybe you don't remember me. Maybe you do. It doesn't really matter now, I just want you to know that me leaving this life is no fault of yours. I love you wholeheartedly--wholeheartedly, too, I love myself--though, seemingly only from the inside-out; there's nothing I can do about the outer shell I've been trapped in all these years. This is my body; something I would neither burden nor embarrass you with. Apologies, and all my love to you. There's nothing I want for you more than to live a happy, healthy, fulfilling life--I hope that you and those surrounding you are always, always living in peace, with joy and love--without worry, or burden, or stress; in honesty, these arre my wishes for anyone on this planet..as my love for humanity itself has only seemed to quantify, as I near the end of my life. I love, love; sometimes, I believe that I *am* love, as are any of us--but as I draw nearer to the light, it becomes harder and harder for me to believe that anything else matters, or has ever mattered, more than love. I love you. It just may be that i'm the world's biggest Skrillex fan--but to look beyond the cloak of stardom has left me longing for the embodiment of a memorable, familiar soul: The you. The person, and being that actually is; which is to say--as I would for any of my closest friends--I'd go to hell-and-back for you, give my last for you, do anything to protect you--*you*, the person; wanting and needing, expecting nothing in the world--because I cannot see a world without you in it. I'm sorry again, for any negativity. I meant to leave you behind at least, something beautiful, in exchange for all the years and moment's i've experienced through your art--but as I've mentioned before, I am trapped within myself. Symphonies unsung, melodies unwritten--because I've not what it takes to make it. I won't depart without admitting I tried, Music is my all, my everything, my guiding light--so at least in going home, I know there will always, always be the World of Sound--perhaps Heaven in the place where I can live there. I don't know what else to say. You're one of the most beautiful people i've ever seen, from the inside out--before I saw you, I heard you; before I could hear you, you were felt. I will always love you...nothing much else can matter, except that you know that. I'll never be able to erase it from my mind, never be able to forget, or look past it. I may even never understand why. Ancient Egyptian knowledge, or whatever—is the thing it seems they were trying to convey. By they, I only mean—whoever it is that wanted to hurt me. From the men shouting “kill yourself” outside my window— To the flocks of gorgeous, perfect women with perfect waists, perfect fashion, perfect faces—flaunting and floating before me, taunting me, pointing and laughing—rolling eyes, and flipping hair— and giving looks that say “I know you wish you looked as good as me.” I do. I do wish that. I wish more than anything to be beautiful. But...I keep eating. My body is hideous. I hate everything about it. I could try harder, but even that hurts. Everything hurts. Especially my heart. Why was I not more panicked, that after such a phenomenon such as that, cast by shadows against my tent—that the zipper of the door began to move slowly, from one side to another. Perhaps, I wanted the company. Maybe I needed it. What I didn't need, was more excruciating pain. No one's fault, I guess—someone wants me dead. At this point, I think me, the most. I'll never forget that face. The shocker. “Why is Skrillex in my tent?” The looming question. A question I hadn't even the time to ask, before blurting out “Are you okay?!” He froze, I froze. I guess that's where my Skrillex and my Sonny collided, as my soul began the process of separating the music I adored, and the person who made it. I will never forget his eyes. Fear. I scared him. He scared me. He scarred me. Maybe it wasn't him. I know that it *was* in fact Sonny himself (the face is unmistakable, those eyes)—but perhaps he was put up to it. Paid, for the task. Maybe my deer-in-the-headlights makes it so that he is the hunter—? How could he have missed his shot? How could I have missed mine. I've fallen in love with a celebrity. What medicine cures that? What medicine cures suicide? None I've taken, really—maybe Acid. Now, I can't seem to separate myself from Skrillex—or from Sonny—or from figuring out the two, or one in the same— or from figuring out myself, in that we are one in the same. I love him. Like a stupid teenager loves her favorite idol. Yeah, it's exactly like that, except worse—I'm a grown woman, a failure—whose aspirations and admirations are grandiose, and dillusional. Now I'm even more delusional. I thought, for a moment that Sonny might be in love with me. In honesty? Sometimes I still think that. I actually still believe that. So why this approach? I'm partially convinced he was paid to ‘finish the job', so to speak. I was already suicidal, and, fresh out of the hospital on the attempt to end my life that failed, again. So this would do it—make me hope and believe I could be something, someone, anyone—that I could be anything—even a superstar DJ-turned-future President. I'm a fucking joke. Someone, who could have anyone—in love with me? Maybe this is why people sneak into tents at music festivals: They don't love you— They just want to fuck. DAY 1: MAY 1ST, 2020; If I am offered dinner, will eat--but if not, will continue forward. Will set an alarm for 3:30 AM once roommate has gone to bed to check for his keys. Everyone gets their own suicide letter. Mom Dad Bearr Annie Yesenia Sonny (just leave it to Annie w/ his rock && burn book) Let everybody know it's not their fault. Reasons: 1. Fat 2. Ugly 3. Black 4. Poor 5. Unsuccessful 6. Friendless 7. No Charisma 8. Single I don't know why I numbered them. Do you really need more than one reason to kill yourself? (no.) I believe i”ve started the fast that I was asked. Be it that I have, the date is May 1st, 2020--however, I've been wondering if my roommate leaves the keys to his car in an accessible place; I'm kind of hoping so. I'm already craving to eat, and the first 24 hours have yet to pass. Again, i'm always given the open to keep this date and continue forward, so long that I eat before midnight--however, nothing seems like the right answer; The matter of fasting has become a damned-if-I-do, damned-if-I-don't matter...it seems that everything I do is ‘wrong', though right-and-wrong are subjective, and multidimensionally, objective, even. I probably might have been dead by now, if my car battery hadn't died...it seems like the easiest and least painful way; something easy and quiet. I've thought about sharpening a knife, just to cut and let [myself] bleed out at the wrist--but then, I fear that I may panic and that my mind would fight to survive. I've thought about hanging from one of my favorite trees-- but haven't the money left to buy any rope--which, perhaps, I could steal--but to steal enough rope to hang myself with on foot? A tricky task, to say the least. So, really, some of me is hoping my roommate leaves his keys out. At first, the thought of committing my suicide here was unsettling. My roommate, Satan's personal favorite vehicle and overall negative void of a ‘person' (or vampire, honestly), is a drama Queen--he needs not only conflict and drama to survive, but fiends for it; something in me had somehow become too proud to give him something to girlishly blabber about with his narcissistic, simple friends--I can already hear the repetitive exclamations of “horror” that would more-than-likely delight him as he recounts the story of finding my body, over-and-over...at first it rather haunted me, and now i've come to peace with--bargaining that having him find my body would be something of a statement, which wordlessly reads “sticks and stones may break my bones but words got up and killed me.” Words. Little words. Big Words. Actions. Gestures. If it's negative, I can feel it in my body, before it even happens; If it's positive, it can leave me radiating for days on end, and without a care. My “living situation” has been nothing more than a prolonging of my already disastrously failed and predominately miserable life. A mentally-ill and often psychotic mother, followed by a too- young marriage to a dynamically similar person, has left me up Shit's creek with no boat; I'm pushing 30 with no significant other, and no significance at all. There are generations of perfect people, fresh out of high school--who can and will do everything I ever thought possible or imaginable, better than me. And it's my fault. NO ENTRY ON DAY 2. Gave Myself A “Skrillex” haircut. Wow. Fuck my life. DAY 3: The fast will end today, more than likely. I am overwhelmed with grief, at loss for motivation, and struggling to believe there is any positive outcome to anything I do. I'm already getting headaches, and acute hunger pains--usually these things don't happen until well after the third day. I suppose my body is telli

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

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 15, 2023 4:55

this is a cringeworthy read, i'm sure of it. {THE TIME CAPSULE] Here lies everything I won't delete, but wouldn't dare to publish (as of yet), and therefore banish to the land and/or realm of impossibility, where everything entirely consists of unimaginable, unfathomable, inconceivable, never-ever-happened ( or will) unexistence. Nothing Here Exists. Amen. (I didn't write this.) The Colenel's Jounal. “Would he be mad reading this shit? “ I mean. I have to step back at this point and admit to reading this shit to myself at this point, that... I stumbled upon an interview with none other than The Great Mike Tyson--who--if coincidences actually existed--coincidentally dated my mother oh-way-back-when. I remember the shenanigans she went through to get him to sign a pair of boxing gloves for an auction she hosted, once, when I was younger. For that, I've always gotten a little chuckle, whenever I've randomly ended up watching something. Dude is funny. As for other dude? I'm so lost. It's almost like Insomniac (or whoever) can read my thoughts--or at the very least, my text messages. It's been a year of strangeness, and I'm now more lost than found. Why is Pasqualle so strangely familiar? What is this connection, i'm missing? Who am I, if not S U P A C R E E? I'm aware of my cosmic insignificance, my societal displacement. I am nothing useful that I know of, but it seems so that I've been being followed. So maybe he's not a white supremacist, after all...he seems to love as much as I do--if not more. So, that one's my fault, as everything is. I wonder if the window of opportunity has truly closed. I wonder what to make of all this, at all. I'm so, so confused, and so lost, and so… ...confused... First, I levitated. Still can't get over that (literally) Then....everything else. Literally everything else. From playing drums at Ruskos set, to weirdly making my way to Excision, just “following a vibe”--my failed suicide attempt, and running away to Bass Canyon where, everything in my reality officially shattered. Now, here I am...about to be homeless, jobless, and lost in love. I can't shake it off anymore, I can't let it go. My brain's wrapped around all of it, all the time. Prayers, Mantras, Methods. I'm driving myself crazy trying to wish away the pain. I need to be...need to be… … Needed. Bearr needs me. Sometimes, in all the pain--I fail to see that. But he does--and if I can't make it in show business...how are we meant to survive? There's no room for depression and poverty in motherhood. After losing the twins...I just can't. I can't be sad and parent at the same time. And, maybe that makes me weak. Maybe it makes me stupid. Maybe I've just had enough. But there's nothing I wouldn't give just to know that there's love, somewhere out there for me. Is it selfish that that's all I want? I think i'm a good person, but maybe i'm wrong. I can account for hundreds of premonitions, predictions, visions--outstanding sensitivity to energy...but how could I misread, and misjudge, so easily? Something inside me never really made it out of that tent. Then, going back--maybe it was all of me, that never made it out of that ambulance. Am I just the special kid in class--and it's obvious I've been left behind? When I hear myself speak aloudt, I wonder if I am retarded. I feel other people also wonder. Either way, how would anyone have known about my musical history so broadly, as it's been displayed? There's no going back from it. I can't go back to being a regular “Skrillex” fan. It's almost like...almost like I can't go back at all. And I miss that, a lot--just being able to be honest about what my taste in music is, who my favorite musician is…. I tense up when I hear the word “Skrillex”. In good company, I can shrug it off, I guess…. But on any regular day, it still feels deep. It doesn't leave my mind, ever. I can pretend to move on, but I can't unlove. I can't unlove. So, i'm two-for-two...three-for-three, if you count Josh Pan's video, where his face swells up and he turns into a reptile… I remember waking up for work with swollen eyes, and bulging, puffy skin...the way the spiral to insanity began...not with suicide, at all--at least, in the traditional sense. I was working 80 hours a week. I needed it--I needed out of my marriage. Pasqualle's sweater Sonny's Sweater, now falling apart--because, yes--I've worn it every day for nearly a year. A red, white, and blue blanket, reminding me of my presidential ambitions--which have since, not faded...but become realistically reflected with this sense that, I have much to fulfill between now-and-never. I'll only run for President if I can afford it. I can only afford it if I am successful in music. I found it heartwarming that Mike Tyson is so enamoured by the culture. To see him swell with joy, such as I have, upon discovering the world of raves. Apparently, there will be some kind of permanent Oasis, someday...I hope I live to see it. Better yet, I hope I live to play there. I want my chance on all the stages, as selfish as it may seem. To earn a place behind the decks, an unrealized dream. But, can I find it to become all that it takes? To read and move a room, to create and connect with people, live onstage. To inspire a crowd--telling a story with music. To give love, the best way that I can. I miss myself...but no I don't. I do miss never having to worry about whether I was too fat to be found attractive by someone I vehemently admire--but never thought about sexually, in all of the years i've loved watching him live. But, its a vibe. Much ado about Elon Musk. I'm not smart enough to become a rocket scientist--and it's too late for me to become an astronaut, as I once dreamed...but there's something in the space above us all, that seems to connect the space between us all--and it's almost as is the walls are caving in. Time and space continues to collapse upon itself. I might be broken forever...but then, I always was. Who'd have thought the Grand Prize for your third suicide attempt is a Skrillex? I'm cursed, in the way that...it won't fall off. My brain won't un-Sonny itself. I'm on default to give a fuck now, and there's no turning back. I guess this is what I get for hating on *fangirls*...now i am one. Problem is, I'm a lot less cute. How often does shit like this happen? There's hypnosis through music--and then there's losing your entire soul to something outside of yourself. Why and how am I so out of place, in this world? ‘You're too good for this world.' Nothing's been forgotten, it's just getting more suppressed. I can pretend to move on, but I won't. I just found the Holy Mecca of research for my weird, invasive project. Apparently DeadMau5 had some kind of comedy show, or something--called “coffee run” It seems to be about...2014, but haven't bothered to check yet--I'm sure, though that this predates the infamous ‘fued'. Blah blah blah--i'm learning too much about these people. People. Real people. ...was interrupted to watch the new episode of Rick and Morty; Lucky me. One half-hour and several belly-rolling laughs later, I'm back...with slightly more self confidence that, if The Heavens grant me whatever kind of combination of confidence and focus that it will take to bring the Festival Saga If nobody's sampled this video, I've stumbled upon a literal goldmine. Life imitates art--and music imitates music. “I love it when it's super sweaty.” (How do I resonate with this so well?) “ A Los Angeles Real Estate Guy In Torono”, says Dillon. “Yeah, there's a few of those.”, Joel recants, stoically. Now i'm watching people who never mattered on YouTube, in a finally “Sonny says…” If i can ever make my brain learn the magic that makes something like Ableton somehow turn into a banger. “Does he drive?!” I've wondered this myself. “I don't think he does.” I knew it. Dillon Francis' awkwardness is reminiscent of mine...again, here I am wondering...who I might be if I were born a white male--if nothing was changed, but the body. CRUSTPUNKS. How did I get here? Oh, yeah. I specifically opened an incognito window to...fuck it. I know what I'm here for. The thing is, I don't know what i'm blessed with. I don't know that i'm talented… It could all just be a Grand Delusion… Do I hate myself enough to try this? A movie where the entirety of the fabric of [my] universe is music, and the musicians that make it. A universe that already existed in the Multiverse of Rick and Morty, since it's strange inception into my being. Wait, how the fuck did I get here? I was already on a writing tangent Probably--I hate enough to “ i get to go home--not tomorrow, but the next day” This experience is becoming so humanizing. It is a job, this music shit--Touring takes you everywhere but home. What the fuck is ‘home?' Perhaps I am meant for this shit, after all. I don't have a home, anyway. I also don't have any music under my belt, but--with any luck, I can pump out the LP I promised my twins. Today Marks 5 years since Skyy passed away. May 23rd will be 2 years, since Phoenixx left us. It's not a good time of year, for grief. With no friends I can trust (Annie's Toxicity is again rearing its head), no family that loves me the way a family should...I find myself completely isolating from what Love is, almost forgetting what it might have felt like. “How often are you home?” “KAAAAHHHHHHHHHN” If i'm ever lucky enough to learn how to make Dupstep--that deserves to go before a fucking deadly drop. I've officially seen Skrillex more times in person than ever on video--which disincluded, of course, the tent incident--something I'm realizing that if I'm unable to catch up with myself in time, I'll have to live with forever. Can I answer my own prayers? At this point, i've given up any expectation of what it might be like to achieved enough to earn any kind of place in that world *their* world... 5/6/2020 Life is unfair sometimes. Like--do I want tacos, or divine inspiration? Do I put off fasting for yet another day, just for the temporary comfort and satisfaction of eating? Does limiting my eating to once every 24-hour-or-less suffice as enough of a self-sacrifice, that my prayers might be answered? I highly doubt that it is, but still--I often ride the line between just allowing myself to feel good when I can (and food does, make me feel so....so good) and remaining steady in my fasting. Then, it has been over 6 months of almost constant fasting and praying, all over someone I haven't properly met--all over myself. Because, the longer I stay in this mindset--the clearer it becomes that it is all the same. At the core, there's only really one thing in existence. Skyy will have passed away 5 years ago tomorrow. To think, I should have had 5-year-old twins. They would have been so beautiful; I've never quite imagined them so, umti now. I miss my babies so much. Will I ever be okay again? I thought to record a song for Skyy, but it would never be ready by tomorrow, in the perfect way that I would want it to be. I don't want to put out anything less than the best. I'm being as patient as I possibly can with teaching myself--but grow frustrated in my limitations. The only thing standing between me, and the tools I need to make the music I have...is me. (Really, it's money.) Lack of money is keeping me from being unstoppable. With unlimited money, I'd have a home--I could fully pay all 4-years of my tuition at UCLA….ny dream school. I'd study music, anthropology, astrology….maybe even engineering. I can't make myself prettier--but I can make myself smarter. Google University just isn't cutting it. I want to make a difference in the world by any means, and i'm trapped behind the gate of poverty. I just want a closet full of harem pants, chuck taylors, and T-shirts with stuff I like on them. I just want to wear my kandi every day. I just want to be behind the decks atop the stages of my favorite places… I want to be someone's favorite DJ. I want to be one of my favorite DJ's favorite DJ I, I, I… How selfish. What does the world need? Less people. Well, i'm honestly one-less, I guess, if I can;t make it in music, in art. If I can't make a decent living just by being myself...i'm not meant to live at all. That much is true--no life worth living includes waking up every day to go to a job I hate, that barely pays my bills. No life is worth living that Something strange happens to me when my favorite people go ‘live' on instagram Social Media, a young demon with whom I constantly evade, when I am not forcibly fighting to fit the status quo (which, I cannot.) Watching my social media right now is like the digital equivalent of “You can't sit with us.” I've grown attached to OWSLA like some sort of distant, imaginary family--only, I know this is something I've just embedded into my mind--the ultimate wishful thinking. Everything I do seems fragile, as if the grid I had discovered not only exists in the outer world, but also my inner--that everything I do, think, say, sing, speak makes a difference in what will happen moving forward. Reawakening my center has been difficult, saying the very least--I am almost paralyzed by negativity--made catatonic through senses with which I cannot control; My ‘home' life has become a hell where i'll-spirits and pitiful thoughts are cast about me--in reality, I have no home. In truth, I'm unsure that I have any purpose, either. It's all been bothering me… Now it's something that just hurts, like everything else. Add to the pain, subtract from willingness to live. Add to the trauma, subtract from the motivation to succeed. How much of my fault is this? Who did it? What is it for? Amongst the most otherworldly of theories, the possibility that extraterrestrials had actual involvement in removing Sonny from wherever he was supposed to be (Burning Man, albeit) and placing him where I was. I've wondered how else the dancing shadows cast against the canvas of the tent were so perfectly made-- ancient egyptian prophecies foretold as a light show, in the moments leading up to the one where the entirety of my being was shifted, in an instant. I dreamed of a B2B with Skrillex, and instead got a face-to-face with Sonny Moore. One, apparently, does not quite equal the other. Eight (or so) months later, and I've filtered through all the stages of grief--for all of the ways I had to lose him--as much as one could be lost, without actually dying. But, perhaps I am dead. My soul and spirit at least, are trapped, and tainted torturously from all I've come to gather. Running into the night, like a bat fresh out of hell, away from the visions I was forced to have from our exchange-- I can only imagine, had I acted any differently and stayed, rather than fled what else I may have seen. In only the few short moments we shared together...I was able to see more of his life than for anyone I've ever ‘seen' for, besides myself. To have, after only a few moments--seen both backwards into his past--and forwards into a seemingly shared future of some sort. I don't know what else to call this creepy psychic shit, other than “seeing”. To even call myself a “seer” would be a heavy title, I'd be too uncomfortable to claim. Still, vivid memories of the dude's past--and chilling premonitions of the future, have left me disgustingly sick with a concern that wholly did not exist, beforehand. But, when faced with the question: “What would it be like to actually lose him?” I fucking lost it. I've never taken well to celebrity deaths--perhaps, overly sensitive in ways that suite absolutely nobody--I just so happen to have fallen apart numerous times, upon learning of the passing of those i've long cherished. I collapsed fully at Michael Jackson's passing, scrolling through the African TV channels in disbelief, as I desperately searched for a News Channel in English to confirm that it was indeed, true. This was, of course, a couple years after I cried for hours with Back to Black on repeat in the wake of Amy Winehouses' death--going even further back, I can recall arguing with a classmate that Steve Erwin, another hero, was brave--rather than ‘stupid', and undeserving of his untimeley demise. A special place lies in my heart for the day I remember losing Robin Williams-- a weird memory which collides in the now, with my affinity for Skrillex music and the strange outer connectivity my emotions seem to have in the passing of those I wholeheartedly admire; I've shed tears for Whitney Houston, Prince--I've shed tears for all of them. But none so much as for Skrillex, who is [surprisingly] still alive… And I'm mad about it. I'm mad about it, because I was [partially] happy in my place, as a fan. I wasn't even the best fan, or the biggest fan (metaphorically speaking--physically, though--I probably hold a record of some sort.) I wasn't following his social media--I wasn't following his anything, honestly. I was just crossing my fingers that with every lineup released, I might find the name “Skrillex” plastered to the top of it, or standing out broadly against the other ‘S' names, if alphabetically presented. I'm mad about it, because I hate myself. I've been hating myself my entire life. But i've never hated that I loved Skrillex--in fact, I've always been quite proud, having watched the project skyrocket, as EDM penetrated pop-culture in the years following my college endeavors. Never really thought to think that at any point, we might be equals. We're not--outwardly, anyway. Inwardly, though? Fuck me. It's like I'm bound to it by the roots of the Tree of Life. Like something in my DNA was activated by an overabundance of Skrillex. I've undoubtedly, and by far crossed the threshold of having listened to 10,000 Hours of Skrillex, guaranteed. No calculations needed. Still, there are perhaps millions of others who share the same affinity--and at least a few thousands who are more outwardly obsessive than in. It works, when I need to know something I'd rather just ask Sonny myself, but can't--there's always a kid in the fan pool who has been quick to find whatever information I'm looking for, long, long before I've come to look for it. Poor guy. For almost an entire year, that's all I've really been able to think. ‘Poor guy.' Because, if the roles were reversed--and for whatever reason I decided to make my way into someone's tent at a music festival (I wouldn't) and I scared them into a shock, resulting in them fleeing away from me--I'd feel like shit. And, if I had been touring my entire life and watched the culture grow and morph into the nearly unmanageable able monster it has become--i'd feel like shit. If I had to watch an ambulance cart away someone in the crowd during one of my sets, I'd feel like shit. If I had to do a live set while I felt like shit, I'd feel like shit. and ...if some random fan fell head over heels in love with me, simply because I crawled into her tent, or made really good music, or made her feel some kind of way… I'd feel like shit. And that shit probably happens all the time. It's been 10 long years for me, with Skrillex-- but I can't imagine how long the last 10 years have been, as Skrillex. Now I think about all the shit DJs go through, being DJs….what's more, I've had to give in-depth thought to what it means to be a celebrity at all--what it might be like to have someone grow an obsession over you--unprovokingly. Although my ‘obsession' for this particular person can't technically be considered ‘unprovoked' (I was minding my own business, after all--and Skrillex was not on the lineup.) I can't help but feel for those in the limelight whose charisma and talent combined attract every type of creeper imaginable. I'm just the kind of creeper that wants to make music; any previous searches as an attempt to ‘get to know' Skrillex, previous to last August, originated in attempting to comprehend how to create such organic sounds--exploring and studying how intricately layered and carefully arranged each of my favorite sounds and songs were made. Piecing together how exactly an artist like such, had become as such. Now, i'm just entangled in self-doubt, as it seems the entire next generation is equipped with whatever skillset it takes to become an electronic musician. Self-doubt, as I fear that my body weight intimidated him as much as his presence intimidated me. Again: All me. All bad. I've nowhere to turn to to unleash this shit--it has to be a secret-- and even letting it slip to Annie in the isolation of the aftermath has felt like a mistake, since I allowed it to happen. Can I keep a secret? Ha. There are things that only I know, certainly. The premonition I did subtly speak of, I refused to unearth in detail, even to Annie. The other visions I was made to have, still my own secret; I've begun to wonder if, upon meeting Sonny, I would keep it to myself; I suppose that would depend on nature and context. But, I think about it every day. It is my first thought upon waking up, my final thought before coming to rest--it has permeated into the only dreams I ever have anymore--crowds my semi-waking thoughts as I toss-and-turn throughout the night; the amount of energy exchanged, the amount of concern that consumes me....lets me know that it is all apart of something far beyond my comprehension, far beyond my senses...far beyond any understanding of the universe that I may have. And, it hurts. As bad as it is for me, it's probably worse for him--IF he remembers any of it. Then, probably a seasoned drinker (lol, “probably”) There's a good chance that, well-- he does remember. Oh God no. If I could motion to be erased, I would. I've been trying to erase myself for the better part of a year, including and certainly not limited to August 4th--an attempt I can stand to think I had not fully recovered from by the time it all happened. What the fuck did happen? Though it can't be denied that each of us possesses some kind of magic--the origins of mine can be traced back, at least on one side. Powers I was ‘born with', as told by my father--something I only believed until I was old enough that it didn't make sense--and something I was forced to recognize once I was old enough that it did. I want to know what exactly it is that ties us... Where this love--which is what it is, undeniably-- originates. I've spent the better part of the last year praying and meditating, and attempting to loosen the knots in my stomach enough to self-soothe enough to settle that, at worst-- Sonny was just being a pretty white boy, looking for a good time--and I just became a victim by knowing how to have one. Alternately--how fuck fuck would he even know I exist? As i've stated, I was the epitome of a silent Skrillex fan, prior to all these spectacular occurrences. I may have, at some point online--said something about Skrillex being my Spirit Animal… (still true) But can't imagine what else might have been garnered in my attainable, tangible history, which would alert him of my existence at all. Then, with all the money in the world, you truly can do anything… And that's what I hate in all this. Him--having all the money in the world, and me, having none… The very thing that separates us from settlement, myself from closure. Really, the only thing I want. Closure. ‘I got love, fuck your money.' Sonny can be anyone--he's earned that right. He can be with anyone--deservingly so. I want for him the very best--and, knowing that I am not (physically, anyway) am dismissive of any judgement cast. I wouldn't want me, either--looks matter, I know. I just want to know what he means to me--in this lifetime, in this realm, in this reality. I didn't have to be moved from where I was to be inspired by him--I just always was. I didn't have to think about being attracted to him--I just always was. I didn't have to think about being connected through the music--I just always was. And it all came crashing down in a tent, at the bottom of the rabbit hole--where I lost my mind--after having already lost my soul, to something beyond the senses, long ago. I committed wholly and permanently to making music when Phoneixx died, almost 2 years ago. The point was never to sound like Skrillex, but rather to be like Skrillex, as an artist--but, after much speculative examination--I guess, I always was. I lost myself in the early days of Myspace. From First To Last rang through the hallways of my middle school's corridors. Chiodos carried me through the days of wrist-cutting and air-dust huffing, through the days of binging-and-purging, wishing I was prettier--and in the height of all that is the drama of living in my very own Teenaged Wasteland… The Rocket Summer was handed to me by the hands of an angel, as I transitioned out of awkward adolescent depression and into an almost-well-adjusted life at a performing arts school, as an aspiring musician, singer, dancer and storyteller… The dream that carried me out of Utah, and into the Heart of Hollywood at the age of 16… The dream I thought died, long ago. When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? Billie Ellish's spirit collided with mine, as the first time I heard her voice, I shattered inwardly, and shivered in the resonance that is the understanding of pain, born undoubtedly in love; I shuddered to think that someone so young could feel so devoid of the willingness to live, to move onward. My response upon first experiencing her music, of course, a genuine “...Is she ok?” Three little words. I tend to really mean them, any time I ask. “Are you OK?!” I blurted, as my entire self exploded into shock, as I immediately recognized the face I've known for years--and looked through the widened eyes of one so now devastatingly human--to something inside of myself. Something about my voice shifted him; He became a mirror for all my pain, all my doubt--all the shame I have, for all that I am-- my demons came straight to the surface. Voiceless, now, and shielded in the fetal position, we faced each other silently. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm Sorry.', I thought loudly, as I lay panicking. I stared down into my chest, ashamed to be anything but invisible, thoughts racing. I dare not lift my head to look at him. My heart pounded, as I lay screaming silent apologies for my appearance--for my very presence, for my own existence. I couldn't process his presence in my reality. Choking back tears, I tried not even to so much as breathe, as I silently apologized for being born--and though I wanted nothing more than to reach out to hold him, I lay all-but-lifelessly--wondering what went so wrong that he would seek to find me. The familiar smell of liquor permeated the air, as my heart sank, throbbing as it pounded...I know an alcoholic, when I smell one. I did actually wonder if he was okay....(and I've been wondering daily, ever since.) But clearly, he wasn't okay. Clearly, I wasn't. Clearly, nobody's ok. He slipped his praying hands between my thighs, as I died inside--and all my outer senses blended to become all, and nothing at once, again. Exit Skrillex, Enter Sonny. How does a mere peasant earn a spot in the company of the Highest Priest? I've not bargained with the Devil, but begged the Heavens that my life would end before his...the First Fast emerged as a direct result of self-sacrifice; To serve as a protection against misjudgement--to realign my soul with it's true intensive purpose--in hopes that my body would shrink to form something suitable. The memory of his hands between my thighs, a haunting reminder that--I just may be too big for him… The reality is...of all that I am, and all that I have, and all that I wish to be...it just may be that--he's too big for me… metaphorically speaking. I'll have to become a damn-near Superstar, just to get to know the people--that know the people--that know the people, that know people who can connect me to Sonny, on any level. I'll have to get in line behind millions of other hopeful DJ's, producers, singers, dancers, songwriters--hundreds of thousands of entertainers who might kill-or-die to get to know Skrillex in any way-shape-or form. Romantically, I'd be competing against at least a million perfect-bodied beauty-queen fangirls who would do anything--and I mean anything--for their shot at Skrillex. The truth is, I'm not trying to get to know Skrillex; The truth is, i'd rather know Sonny. (Whatever that's supposed to mean, right?) I don't question at all our potential compatibility; there's no doubt in my mind that there's some chemistry between us--be it of ancient origin, an extra terrestrial genetic code, or otherwise...but I'd bet any money I actually had, that someone as highly regarded as Skrillex would be ridiculed, trolled, and tremendously hated by many, many fans--for associating with someone like me. I don't even know if it's like that--but, again--crawling into someone's tent is...kind of intimate. What in Heavens would one want with me, when he could have perfection-- Absolute perfection? I kind of get it. I'm used to being fetishised. I've always been the black girl who liked white guys--I've lead a life that's made it easy to learn that Jungle Fever is often taboo among the White Caucasion men who find black women attractive enough to fuck--but would never want to “date” us, or bring us home. I've learned that--at the end of the day-- most white guys, want white kids--even if they like to fuck black girls. Then, there's the added bonus of some genetic flaw which has allowed my body to at one point, have ballooned up to 380 pounds-- a body which, even after a 200+ pound weight loss, would disgust anyone with eyes, in what most would consider “cute rave attire”. And, although shrinking from a size 28 to a size 10 is somewhat of a ‘grand' achievement, I look like an asymmetrical potato sack with my clothes off. If there's anything I know about men--and especially the affluent ones--they love to have trophies to showcase. I've yet to see a body like mine on the red carpet, or as arm candy--or as the leading lady, anywhere. No, there's no such thing as a fat Cinderella. Still, he's one of the most handsome creatures i've ever seen-- undoubtedly one of the most beautiful creatures on this planet. I will continue to love what I know of him wholly and unconditionally. On my best days, I even hope to live long enough, and well enough to have the honor of properly meeting him. Never could I have the courage to ask him on a date--nor would I subject him to the cruelty of the outer world by alluding to the fact that he may, in fact be someone more important to me, than as just a musician--as with anyone i've ever loved, I only want for him the best. On my worst days, The Devil assures me that it was Annie he was really looking for, who he may have seen me with at the plethora of festivals we attended together last year--or perhaps, even Idania, who was supposed to have been there with me…and it would make sense. The Devil also constantly reminds me of how much prettier they both are than me--and better in every way. But, it was long ago that I came to terms with the fact that anyone who might come to love me--would also love Annie and would love her more thoroughly--her, having the more attractive body and face, being more ideally pretty. Standing next to Annie, I always lose. Even on a good day. All this, I can be sure to cast aside, however--because at the very best--he was looking for me, and everything between then-and-now builds into something of substance or significance… and at worse, my favorite figure in music absolutely hates me, and regrets my existence as much as I do. Either way, Skrillex hits hard any time of the day, any day of the week. And… Either way, Sonny hits home, all day, every day--until I can manage to learn to speak. Eight pages later, and it still hurts. Eight pages, and i'm still mad. I'm still crying. I'm still useless. I'm still stuck. Stuck on stupid. Stuck on Sonny. Stuck on Skrillex. Just… Stuck. And it hurts. 5/5 Another day. Nothing makes me hate myself more than waking up. ‘Don't look at the phone.' instructions, handed to me some time ago by the Divine--since then, I make it a point not to look at my phone, if I can help it, before I've sat up to pray, and meditate. Lately, I've been unable to relax at all enough to focus on a proper meditation, before realizing my actual self-worth (nothing), and falling into the depressive non-motion that has been me. How many evil men will it take being caught in the midst of, will it take for me to realize that I've been allowing myself to painfully absorb their essences, even without a single touch? Just living here alone has set me further back from my goals than I was--then--I'm beginning to feel that my ‘roomate' may have ties to White Supremacy; the evidence does just keep on building. It has occured to me that Jason's warning that Nick may be deep undercover for some Government agency is most likely true. Though I err on the side of not snooping through other peoples' things--I've happened to stumble across indicators which point to the likely case that he is, in fact, hired by the government or some other private entity--probably as part of some secret experiment, assigned to psycologically torture and disable mentally fragile individuals; It seems as though the experiement was designed in order to test morale, will power, self-control, and proper judgement-- tests which I've been concious of, but in the moment have not always cared about passing-or-failing. From the painful assortment of disgusting and obnoxious sounds make throughout the day, torturing me through unpleasant and peace-shattering sounds, left victimized by my synesthesia and recently pinpointed misophonia--or something similar...whatever it is that makes slamming doors, cabinets, and the items crashing to the floor after lazily being thrown across the room methods of torture. To the cavalcade of poisonous, sugary and addicted substances, which only seem to appear or are offered during crucial fasts--or, pushily and passive-aggressively left in my living space without asking whether or not i'd like any. Just left there, to be discovered upon finishing a shower, or returning from a nightly walk. And on days when I am actually hungry, or needing to eat? I am offered nothing. Only when I fast am I ever offered any sustenance. It says almost too much about my roomate as a person--to offer every time, or never at all would be acceptable, and understandable--but to only invite one to eat when one feels so ‘inclined' is beyond cruelty. It's privilege showing itself to be one of the only faces uglier than mine, that i'm aware of. While i've elected to use my headphones as a shield, life's not always easy immersed in a sound bath of isochronic tones and Theta Waves--and though it does excite me to have expanded my music library, with additions and updates I've been longing for ages-- it's almost more stressful to think about the amount of music that I don't have. Songs I would add to my “sets”, if you can call them that. If I can call myself a DJ--if I can call myself a person, anymore. Really, all I am is hurt feelings and trauma wrapped in flesh; I might be less of a person than I ever was, once. Everything costs--whether it be money, the world's currency--or time, the currency of the soul. Torturous is the life of an artist, who cannot herself make ‘art', as she sees fit. Everyone in Hollywood has a screenplay in their back pocket; Everyone in LA has a dream, two-to-three-jobs, and a side hustle--and me? I'm just learning to DJ to self-soothe, having given up hope of ever becoming anything greater than the happiest guest at the rave nearest you. It's harder than it looks….(or, maybe it isn't, and i'm just retarded.) Building a music collection worthy enough to grace the decks in any of my favorite venues, is an arduous task--maybe this is why all the popular DJs are pretty white boys--the proof is in the privilege. Money, money, money...I used to make plenty of it, and was always exhausted--now I make none, and am always exhausted. What's worth what cost? Time = Money. In LA, and in the world. But by anyone's definition--and especially mine--LA is the world. Or, at the very least, sets the tone for the world. Truly, nothing is free. DJing is more expensive than I could have ever imagined--once again, in any direction I turn, there's a ladder to climb. I've not got the time or energy left in my sadly depleting lifesource left to storm gates, crawling over heads and cutting down those in my way. While it's certain that ‘Competitive Greatness' is the key atop the Pyramid of Success, there are 14 other bricks below to lay the foundation of that which one might call success, to be garnered as imagined through the eyes of a man, anyway, who lived in the 1930's. John L. Wooden may have been right--and may still be right--if I were a standard male (we'll leave race out of it, for now…..for now.) Still, i've been using the Pyrimid of Success as a guidepost, in what it is exactly I may have to do, or be, in order to become something. Not even something great, just something. Perhaps, if I can make it to being something, eventually I might become someone. Oh, to be a person would be nice. For now, I'll just have to settle on tricking my useless sack of anatomy into being a DJ. There's nothing outside of it, anymore. Bass Canyon truly was my last rave--not that I enjoyed it, honestly. Though I've attempted to retrain my brain around the trauma which resulted from that weekend, it did serve as a turning point--a sort of going-away party, as I departed from my home as a no-holds-bar Kandi Kid. Happy Graduation, OG Raver! Little did I know that, with the multidimentionality of our universe, I would be presented, through the world of possibility--the ability to at least observe with the naked eye that there lie more beyond the decks-- a space that may have been made for me. I'll never forget the moment I knew I would be a DJ--or at least try, for the life (or the death) of me. Electric Daisy Carnival changed my life--an experience ten years in the making that catapulted me into the depths of my wildest dreams--unbeknownst to me that I hadn't yet the ability to swim, in such that is the tempest of my own subconscious mind. But--that part of this story deserves its own dedicated elaboration; For now, i'll only look back--and realize that it was there that I aligned with my highest self in the truest sense, that, at least then, I actually believed that I could become a top DJ. I've lost the flight to stay afloat in the salty sea that is the millions of other people trying to make it to the mainstages of our favorite places, and begun to sink into the reality of the entertainment industry as a whole...the reality of the world, as a whole anymore. Looking around at the world's top DJs is less encouraging and inspirational than it should be. Nearly every headliner looks like every kid who ever bullied me, every guy who ever turned me down--every kid hosting the party I wasn't invited to. As for the females of the bunch--I find it frustrating that not one yet has been of any color other than yellow--and even then--we all know the world's men love Asian women. While I can admire girls like Rezz and Allison Wonderland--I wonder what kind of career, if any, if either of them were black, or heavyset--or, my losing genetic combination: Both. Would a fat Allison Wonderland have ever made it into the industry? Would a black Rezz ever become a staple in bass music, and rave culture? If Softest. Hard had a pot belly, would she have been discovered? Then, there are up-and-comings beyond my complete comprehension--those who are visually appealing, but musically inept; I'll leave out any names, and still salute them--anyone who can wrap their brain around any standard DAW enough to make an entire song, is absolutely more talented, definitely more intelligent than I am. [I'm not.] But, I can't help but wonder: How easy was it for any of them, being so pretty, to learn to do what they do--just by being kind and asking a friend for help to learn production? In so many years of raving, I've watched beautiful girls get pulled backstage--and even pulled on stage, to connect with the artists and VIPs. I've been brought to tears as I've watched rude girls with porcelain faces caked in makeup be lifted over rails into the promised land, picked to be plucked by just her eyes and smile combined with the perfection of a flat and flawless stomach. Pretty girls always get priority. Me? Well, I get the dead eyes of the drunken DJ, staring down at me through his whiskey glass, as he beckons the stagehands to assist the perfect-bodied princess backstage...but i'm only front-and-center so I can feel the music move, and watch all the energy bounce around, matching the movement of the expert's hands on deck, to the waves of sound colliding with the rest of the world. True, my mind might wander to what wonderful experiences await the perfect princess, as she disappears behind the decks, into a world i've yet to know, but only seen: The life I know exists beyond the rails, beyond the decks...the world I can only wish to build, for myself. Big ugly black girls don't get pulled backstage. Big ugly black girls are token ancillary characters, it seems, in the plot which writes the story of the modern rave. In a sea of new-generation ravers raised by Kim Kardashian and YouTube makeup tutorials--left lost in a torturous chamber of perfection--women who can wear anything, beautifully. Women who get whatever they want, whenever they want--because they know they can; 10's, to my -3. Bottom Line: Looks matter, until all the men in the world go blind. Sad-but-true. I move not to objectify the women whose music and movement through the clearly sexist music entertainment industry. God only knows how hard each of them has worked to earn a spot so highly ranked amongst those to whom we all admire--the legends, the greats. Each woman behind the decks has become a reflection of everything I wish I ever was--but also a painful reminder of everything that I am not. Of every girl i've ever come behind. Perhaps, this is the result of growing up the as the only ‘black girl', in the backwards, racist po-dunk town I was transplanted into: A place where I spent years constantly being told, taught, and trained that it was more admirable to have light skin, blonde hair, blue eyes...then again, The Media has always done a particularly good job at creating and maintaining what the ideal beauty standard should be, or is--and an excellent job of perpetuating stereotypes. People never expect me to sound how I do, or to like what I like--because it's “white people stuff”; and ten years ago when I discovered raving, there wasn't another black girl (or boy!) in sight for miles, at any rave I went to. I was the oddity, the token--the “what the fuck” person, in an already entirely what-the-fuck place. Fast Forward to 2020: My Freshman Year as a DJ. And...as it appears, the world behind the decks is just as non-diverse as the dancefloor was when I first began this escapade through the world of immersive music. Do I want to be the first ethnically-bred Female DJ to reach the top? OF COURSE. Can I? It's not up to me. Now I'm confusededly caught in the web that is rumours circulating of an ongoing race-war, and wondering if I've been left to die smack-dab in the middle of it. Amongst currently living with a white supremacist (or, extremely ignorant and culturally intolerant biggoted racist at the very, very least.), it seems that White Superiority may be a driving theme amongst the Electronic Music Industry--that maybe the world I've rather grown up in, and come to love has more twists, turns, and dark alleys to look through than the obvious ‘secrets' that loom in the world of rave. All seeing is the eye that watches over all. Insomniac's crew is among one of the least racially diverse I've ever seen--if I were Pasqualle, I might think to at least try to make it look as though there were a plethora of ethnic backgrounds who work together to tie the knot holding together the world's biggest metaphorical kandi: Insomniac, the Kingdom of Mainstream rave culture. A global endeavor. I wonder how many i've come to admire--Pasqualle included-- are actually White Supremacists, masquerading in the power of positivity and their corporate capitalism, true beliefs and intentions. My curiosity about the man himself peaked during EDC weekend, after stumbling into sign after sign, symbol after symbol--of something I've aspired [in the past] to commit to, but also am wearlily aware of its adversity towards that of my kind; being firstly female, and secondly partially black. Now, I wonder--am I even allowed to enter into the world beyond the decks--or is that preserved for only women with perfect bodies, fair skin--attractive individuals? Does it belong only to those with money? Is there any possibility that there may be room for someone like me to enter the scene--or may only pretty girls with pretty bodies and pretty hair be allowed in the backstage world? Really, I just want to perform. I miss myself as a dancer, as a musician--as an actor, all together. I still wish I had continued on this path a decade ago, when--though weighing over 300 pounds--my confidence at least existed. Teaching myself to DJ has been one of the hardest things i've ever done; I don't know if I'm retarded, but I'm beginning to consider attempting to see someone for some kind of screening. If Paris Hilton can DJ, why is it so hard for me? If Sonny can dink around on a computer with a blown speaker, call himself ‘Skrillex' and make some of the world's most intricate music since that of Beethoven-- why can't I do the same? What makes the difference in all these YouTube tutorials telling me how to do it--and me actually being able to do it? What is it, that's wrong with my brain? But, it's all i've wanted for over a year--to be a DJ, at least. I've always been a musician; It's just been a stop-and-go, allowing for the rest of what has been my life to pass through between the times I could make music, and couldn't. I wish I had the positive support it takes to have encouraged me forward on the path I was already on, since I was 13--instead, I was told I was too fat (and too black) to succeed in the way I wanted to. 10 Years later and Lizzo is at the top of her game, while I beat myself up for losing at mine. Never could I have imagined a world where i'd see an album cover like hers; upon seeing it, I was not only shocked, but enraged: She was everything I was told I could not be. And the Truth Is: more than likely, someone told Lizzo the same thing I was told, and the difference is-- she didn't believe them, and kept moving forward. The difference is: She believed in herself, and loved herself enough to keep trying. The difference is, that everything I needed, I already had--I just never believed it to be so. I'm proud of her...but insanely jealous. My inner child cries “That should have been me.” Truth Hurts. There's more to it, than that; Envy lives in the cavernous pits deep within the confined Hell that is my subconscious mind--and--as the world begins to close in on itself, as consciousness continues expanding, I find myself fighting against the worst of my woes daily. Nowhere can I go without meeting a flawless, forward-figured, and facially exquisite female--rather than submit to catty jealousness, I have learned to admire and nod or bow as a gesture that I am a lesser creature. So now i'm left to wonder as I self-teach myself a trade, if my aspirations may ever be achieved, without possessing any outer beauty. All that's left in the world for me, now, is to become my own favorite DJ. (A title, of course, formerly belonging to Skrillex... ruined, by his untimely arrival as a physical person, into my actual life. More on that later...and infinitely.) I've lately begun asking myself “Is it really worth it?”...but, at the same time, I've never loved anything so much, as to fly on the wings of music--and so i've also wondered “What else will really make me happy?” Tough question. Ideally, I'm the entertainment Guru I always wished to be--not tied down to any one artform, but able to move about freely in all of them. There's no life without theatre--there's no light without entertainment. If living ideally, I could never be any-one-thing-- if living ideally, I am the embodiment of everything I love. But in a world where a snatched waist and a pretty face are a winning (and deadly) combination, I'm 0-0. Life of am ugly kid. Worse off yet, since even Hobo Johnson seems to have more confidence in his awkward and broken rhythms enough to speak his mind clearly enough for the rest of the world to resonate. Might be a good time to revisit, what it is exactly I came for. Perhaps, the answer is nothing: So far, I have nothing, make nothing, am nothing--if there is anything that I am, it's words on a piece of paper--just another ‘thing', another dreaming, wishful hopeful that I can rise above all that has been, and all that I am now...to become something more When training to match with the likes of the devil in preparation for battle against he, you must intend to figure, what the vehicle he has chosen has maintained to use as atool to help build you, as a Saint or an Angel--or one to break you, as Satan he. It has been a fruitful fas, but still i persist, though with a weary eye and curious mind, to the riddle i have yet been presente; ; Much ado about Chicken Soup. “Practice androgyny!” the two meet, immidiately fritening eachother; they transform-- One becomes dog, the other a cat--the cat begins to run. the dog pursues her. they run into a sunny meadow where a river feeds the wildlife and it is vibrant amongst the creatures; the cat climbs up a tree, and the [very friendly] dog stops at the base, looking up at her playfully, with an ask that she come down. She looks down from the tree at him, at a safe distance, and begins to relax on the I've fallen in love with a celebrity. What medicine cures that? Dearest Sonny, I'm unsure quite how to explain myself to you--or if I can, or should explain myself at all.I guess I could start with “I'm sorry.”, but it's almost as if that doesn't quite cover it, and nothing does. Perhaps, i'll start with just “thank you”--thank you for being you--which is something that makes me more ‘myself' than anything, at best. Really though, that's probably a good place to start with the wholehearted apology I owe you; It cannot be easy being yourself, or navigating life with such prominence, importance--as I'm sure you never intended all that you are, as any gift-given may have come as a God-honest, and God-given surprise. That being said; God is only anything that I am --as is, anything that you are. The talent that you possess is insurmountably powerful...and has touched, changed, inspired millions--changing the world and the very fabric of time itself--no matter how unintentionally, in all your humility. Somewhere hidden, I too have talent. I only wish that in this lifetime, I were granted the confidence and charisma to be able to somehow express it. Music is the matter I find I am made of--without being able to express it, I only feel burdened, trapped. It is a beautiful language you speak--you, and the rest of the artists I've grown to admire. It is a language so soothing, I can only long to learn it; I'm afraid though that in this lifetime, too much time and opportunity has passed...in this modern, technologically fast-paced new world...i've been left behind. You are truly a good friend, indeed. In all the sense that it doesn't make, I honor you as someone who has inspired, motivated, comforted, and captivated consistently throughout my existence in this time, in this life; Though i've been in recent times, able to remember your essence in lifetimes past, it is in this lifetime that I find the most befuddling, how your music itself has seemed to find and follow me.Unexplainable, would be the word that I can most easily use to describe anything having to do with it--love, would be the other word. “I love you”, is, I guess, what I was trying to say by tapping you gently three times, before running away. Really though, there aren't many things I could have said, or done--i'd never really been “starstruck” before; but it would be quite a stretch to say that it was the first time I'd been left awestruck in your presence. Countless performances, club shows; Raves are my favorite, favorite thing--second to the feel, and sound of bass. “Synesthesia”, would be the vocabulary word that explained a lifelong fascination with laser lights and deep bass; in ten years of hugging subwoofers and losing myself in the drop wondering my early adulthood mantra “Why am I like this?” almost constantly, it never mattered more to me than it has now. I recall a time where I referred to Skrillex as my spirit animal--still true, I suppose, although considering the fact I've consciously separated the Skrillex of things from the Sonny Moore of it all. One in the same, or, two separate parts of a whole--I can undeniably say all my unconventional, unconditional “I love you, I love you, I love you's”, in the everything that you are. ‘In love', would be an understatement--though which statement to actually make, i'm unsure of. I'm unsure of a lot of things, really; I've made many honest (and dishonest mistakes) in this lifetime--walking away from you, one of them. But, I can't change that, anything about who I am--or anything about the world the way it is, for I am only one--and too small, too weak, and too tired. My soul wishes for the freedom that death will bring--and so, I must let it...as its simply much too hard to live moving forward with such a badly broken spirit. I want you to understand that it is not your fault; It's nothing to do with you, or anything that you've done--the way that I love is uncontainable, once the match has been lit. I apologize again that you've become a victim in the energy field that becomes somewhat of a vortex, once activated. I didn't mean to fall in love with you--I don't know really how it happened, it just did. Maybe you don't remember me. Maybe you do. It doesn't really matter now, I just want you to know that me leaving this life is no fault of yours. I love you wholeheartedly--wholeheartedly, too, I love myself--though, seemingly only from the inside-out; there's nothing I can do about the outer shell I've been trapped in all these years. This is my body; something I would neither burden nor embarrass you with. Apologies, and all my love to you. There's nothing I want for you more than to live a happy, healthy, fulfilling life--I hope that you and those surrounding you are always, always living in peace, with joy and love--without worry, or burden, or stress; in honesty, these arre my wishes for anyone on this planet..as my love for humanity itself has only seemed to quantify, as I near the end of my life. I love, love; sometimes, I believe that I *am* love, as are any of us--but as I draw nearer to the light, it becomes harder and harder for me to believe that anything else matters, or has ever mattered, more than love. I love you. It just may be that i'm the world's biggest Skrillex fan--but to look beyond the cloak of stardom has left me longing for the embodiment of a memorable, familiar soul: The you. The person, and being that actually is; which is to say--as I would for any of my closest friends--I'd go to hell-and-back for you, give my last for you, do anything to protect you--*you*, the person; wanting and needing, expecting nothing in the world--because I cannot see a world without you in it. I'm sorry again, for any negativity. I meant to leave you behind at least, something beautiful, in exchange for all the years and moment's i've experienced through your art--but as I've mentioned before, I am trapped within myself. Symphonies unsung, melodies unwritten--because I've not what it takes to make it. I won't depart without admitting I tried, Music is my all, my everything, my guiding light--so at least in going home, I know there will always, always be the World of Sound--perhaps Heaven in the place where I can live there. I don't know what else to say. You're one of the most beautiful people i've ever seen, from the inside out--before I saw you, I heard you; before I could hear you, you were felt. I will always love you...nothing much else can matter, except that you know that. I'll never be able to erase it from my mind, never be able to forget, or look past it. I may even never understand why. Ancient Egyptian knowledge, or whatever—is the thing it seems they were trying to convey. By they, I only mean—whoever it is that wanted to hurt me. From the men shouting “kill yourself” outside my window— To the flocks of gorgeous, perfect women with perfect waists, perfect fashion, perfect faces—flaunting and floating before me, taunting me, pointing and laughing—rolling eyes, and flipping hair— and giving looks that say “I know you wish you looked as good as me.” I do. I do wish that. I wish more than anything to be beautiful. But...I keep eating. My body is hideous. I hate everything about it. I could try harder, but even that hurts. Everything hurts. Especially my heart. Why was I not more panicked, that after such a phenomenon such as that, cast by shadows against my tent—that the zipper of the door began to move slowly, from one side to another. Perhaps, I wanted the company. Maybe I needed it. What I didn't need, was more excruciating pain. No one's fault, I guess—someone wants me dead. At this point, I think me, the most. I'll never forget that face. The shocker. “Why is Skrillex in my tent?” The looming question. A question I hadn't even the time to ask, before blurting out “Are you okay?!” He froze, I froze. I guess that's where my Skrillex and my Sonny collided, as my soul began the process of separating the music I adored, and the person who made it. I will never forget his eyes. Fear. I scared him. He scared me. He scarred me. Maybe it wasn't him. I know that it *was* in fact Sonny himself (the face is unmistakable, those eyes)—but perhaps he was put up to it. Paid, for the task. Maybe my deer-in-the-headlights makes it so that he is the hunter—? How could he have missed his shot? How could I have missed mine. I've fallen in love with a celebrity. What medicine cures that? What medicine cures suicide? None I've taken, really—maybe Acid. Now, I can't seem to separate myself from Skrillex—or from Sonny—or from figuring out the two, or one in the same— or from figuring out myself, in that we are one in the same. I love him. Like a stupid teenager loves her favorite idol. Yeah, it's exactly like that, except worse—I'm a grown woman, a failure—whose aspirations and admirations are grandiose, and dillusional. Now I'm even more delusional. I thought, for a moment that Sonny might be in love with me. In honesty? Sometimes I still think that. I actually still believe that. So why this approach? I'm partially convinced he was paid to ‘finish the job', so to speak. I was already suicidal, and, fresh out of the hospital on the attempt to end my life that failed, again. So this would do it—make me hope and believe I could be something, someone, anyone—that I could be anything—even a superstar DJ-turned-future President. I'm a fucking joke. Someone, who could have anyone—in love with me? Maybe this is why people sneak into tents at music festivals: They don't love you— They just want to fuck. DAY 1: MAY 1ST, 2020; If I am offered dinner, will eat--but if not, will continue forward. Will set an alarm for 3:30 AM once roommate has gone to bed to check for his keys. Everyone gets their own suicide letter. Mom Dad Bearr Annie Yesenia Sonny (just leave it to Annie w/ his rock && burn book) Let everybody know it's not their fault. Reasons: 1. Fat 2. Ugly 3. Black 4. Poor 5. Unsuccessful 6. Friendless 7. No Charisma 8. Single I don't know why I numbered them. Do you really need more than one reason to kill yourself? (no.) I believe i”ve started the fast that I was asked. Be it that I have, the date is May 1st, 2020--however, I've been wondering if my roommate leaves the keys to his car in an accessible place; I'm kind of hoping so. I'm already craving to eat, and the first 24 hours have yet to pass. Again, i'm always given the open to keep this date and continue forward, so long that I eat before midnight--however, nothing seems like the right answer; The matter of fasting has become a damned-if-I-do, damned-if-I-don't matter...it seems that everything I do is ‘wrong', though right-and-wrong are subjective, and multidimensionally, objective, even. I probably might have been dead by now, if my car battery hadn't died...it seems like the easiest and least painful way; something easy and quiet. I've thought about sharpening a knife, just to cut and let [myself] bleed out at the wrist--but then, I fear that I may panic and that my mind would fight to survive. I've thought about hanging from one of my favorite trees-- but haven't the money left to buy any rope--which, perhaps, I could steal--but to steal enough rope to hang myself with on foot? A tricky task, to say the least. So, really, some of me is hoping my roommate leaves his keys out. At first, the thought of committing my suicide here was unsettling. My roommate, Satan's personal favorite vehicle and overall negative void of a ‘person' (or vampire, honestly), is a drama Queen--he needs not only conflict and drama to survive, but fiends for it; something in me had somehow become too proud to give him something to girlishly blabber about with his narcissistic, simple friends--I can already hear the repetitive exclamations of “horror” that would more-than-likely delight him as he recounts the story of finding my body, over-and-over...at first it rather haunted me, and now i've come to peace with--bargaining that having him find my body would be something of a statement, which wordlessly reads “sticks and stones may break my bones but words got up and killed me.” Words. Little words. Big Words. Actions. Gestures. If it's negative, I can feel it in my body, before it even happens; If it's positive, it can leave me radiating for days on end, and without a care. My “living situation” has been nothing more than a prolonging of my already disastrously failed and predominately miserable life. A mentally-ill and often psychotic mother, followed by a too- young marriage to a dynamically similar person, has left me up Shit's creek with no boat; I'm pushing 30 with no significant other, and no significance at all. There are generations of perfect people, fresh out of high school--who can and will do everything I ever thought possible or imaginable, better than me. And it's my fault. NO ENTRY ON DAY 2. Gave Myself A “Skrillex” haircut. Wow. Fuck my life. DAY 3: The fast will end today, more than likely. I am overwhelmed with grief, at loss for motivation, and struggling to believe there is any positive outcome to anything I do. I'm already getting headaches, and acute hunger pains--usually these things don't happen until well after the third day. I suppose my body is telli

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Play Episode Listen Later Apr 25, 2022 58:00

Into The Future A Divine Psychic's Reaffirmations of The Reflective Premonitions from A Life Lived Infinitely There's no doubt that I have been unbreakably and unbearably tied to the future which I once foresaw, and still oftentimes do with the reminders of each lucid love once set in place as a code, a language spoken between those of us in this realm, and those ascended beyond the duty of this existence. Though names continue to blur and confuse the true presence of either's auras. I've come to believe almost to a point of knowing the connection between myself, Dillon Francis, and Sonny Moore—Respectively and as a conglomerate the latter mentioned a fluid and translucent reflection of myself in every sense that all he is up to this point is all of what I am, and also am not. Though careless now in my regards to that of what may actually happen behind this point, there are broad visions of certainty pertaining to the realm of infinity, with the extended knowledge of what has already, and what will happen, if allowed to be so. Still, careless in the overall outcome, I can only help to wonder which circumstances I have received not in the energetic form of thought or imagination, but in the broad and astral cosmic visions of what lie ahead, as I have finally come to gracefully l accept and respect my very psychic sensibilities. So far as dead celebrities are concerned, I've journeyed not into the contrast of the bitter unknown in which lie the secrets and contracts these before and beyond us have held and struggled by: I am only here and now to grasp the very allusive faith that death, though a misunderstanding amongst the many so-called living, brings with it some palpable positives, if granted the power and advantage of what I myself have, in the honor of such being revisited by those held with such a title as “idols”. From a Medium's perspective, the media's often thought to be poisonous programming of those feeble minded enough to allow fear to convey such a message into the classic and bold assumption that the oftentimes occult symbology and consistent references to such an uncommon realm of illuminated thought, the mass is yet to be of any true concern or observable disgruntlement as it concerns to me. Still, as having been gifted in spirit by those who I would not call from the pursuit of peaceful rest by shackling such enigmas to each's given name, given only to be called aloud in the language of this ‘living' realm we so inhabit. As I've come to wholly believe the disastrous events of yesterday's Surf to be yet another end, and beginning to a chapter of life I've not yet deemed worthy of calling it so, I hope to move forward now into an actual life I may cherish, love, and adore as I also wish to be. “Washed in the waves”, I wrote, some weeks or months ago, and then read this morning—an eerie reminder that things sometimes written in the confines and “secrecy” of my Google documents, become in external force, a true form of nature by ways unremembered until being revisited in the walking and waking of being. As I had asked to come to know Phoenixx's final moments, The Gods, or God as a whole, as technically we are all as one in some aspect— gifted me with the discomfort of drowning, though, as I looked up in panic and realized the surface was far beyond my reach, feeling my body swept both above and beneath me by another wave—did come to peace and relaxation, as swiftly, my lungs filled with seawater; however, rather than the luxury of returning or staying home in my Kingdom, was quickly respawned underwater, to fight heroically for my life as my senses connected back into my spirit—a stronger swimmer than surfer, anyway, I snapped to the surface, to find myself facing what seemed to be a giant wall of water, and must have truly been (as I stand broadly at nearly 5'7–5'6 ½, or even, most recently 5'5 to meet Sonny, for whom I must admit I still have some romantic—or at the very least positive—feelings for, somewhere in the middle.) ...in the face of another wave, which I dove under, quickly and into the current, pulling fiercely north—swimming outrageously with every bit of my might out of the riptide, until being able to firmly plant my feet into the shallow sandbar of the high-tide ripples of ocean which left me drowning, only to be reborn into the wake of this, yet another realm of dissallusioned existence—although, continuing to pray in every outward moment of my consciousness, I wish this to be the enlightened and ascended light-filled and beauteous being of wealth, health, and connection—be it romantic or otherwise. Though I have mourned tirelessly the broken bond between myself and that of my son, who comes solely before any man ever could in all of my heart and soul as a mother, I have come to understand the seemingly impossible placement of myself as a single, working mother in this world to be anything other than neglectful/-as so it stands that I have been asked in this mission to fulfil a purpose, with which an ancient oracle, foreseen prophecies, and higher knowledge of the great cosmos have been forced to set and unravel through myself and rarely found but often sought after ‘others' which walk amongst us—however, I shield myself from the honor of, in the name of humility, perceiving myself as the powerful diety I am said and supposedly written to be—simply allowing others, if so inclined to grasp the God or Goddess within me—whichever it is they seek, or may see, as either this conscience presence to to my knowledge has no true masculine or feminine assignment, but rather is, as a whole, two equal parts to one. This light which I truthfully hold dear, and as it stands have taken immense pleasure in keeping mostly secret or hidden, is sometimes the challenge in this persistence of will that keeps this body, long forsaken and badly broken enough to continually need to escape into a parallell of disassociation, if you could call it that—I wouldn't, for it could indeed be damning. With this lust for romance, the primal, tantric collision of souls, and the sense of peace and true wellness I have to this point found fleeting but continue to seek, this very real essence of love has formed in such a unique unfolding of attraction and ancient remembrance, that even I have become aware of its potential impact, as I've yet to know any story such as this, so far, to become true—other than as told by what has been watered down to the current eyes and ears of this generation's beloved entertainment. Potentially, a true fairytale, and literal storybook romance, I may have indeed stumbled into a life in which I find myself to be a true Queen—with, or without the King I so wish to be worshiped with, and also worship. Why, in today's climate, would a woman such as I be made to believe that a Queen would need a King to rule? First handedly, always a Mother and by nature a nurturer at heart, I have always known I had never wanted, nor could I raise my son alone. Though no longer a fear which keeps me bound to the dismantling remains of a critically horrible marriage—the responsibility I can finally take part of, having realized now my inept naivety, previous morbid obesity, and overall dissatisfaction in the quality of care our children would receive after their entrance into the world and our benign poverty—the societal wrath cast upon single mothers as a whole, not to mention black single mothers, is one which God itself has deemed unnecessary, and unequivocal in the equation of my most important purpose here. As I continue to long being a parent to my so-far one and only, and my body begins to crave the duty of motherhood yet again be become whole, it has come as a knowing that the treasure within my womb is indeed a gift for the King which I no longer seek, but pray to all the heavens, is instead seeking me, Enter: Dillon Francis Though umremarkable at best, my attraction to this personality was of course instant, perhaps as intrinsically as this person rests in my infinite reflection of time and space in the many memories granted to keep during this journey; though however close to Mr. Sonny Moore he may be, (or rather was) and as the arrangement stands, a typically theoretical pawn in the overall plan as exacted at least shines a light into the levels of these dimensions where we all have resided for some eons of consciousness, long before the boundaries and constructs of time, or even be it the bottling of bonded souls we as well call “bodies”. Strange to keep the diamond eyed diety within the structure of that one might call a “name”, “Dillon Francis” is nothing more than a label or title for the business he has constructed to be his image, mine of which, he was made in the likes of, Here may be an exceptionally exquisite time to mention Joel, whom I also rapidly remember amonsgst us, as we cast the cosmic spells of constructing through consciousness, a world of more than One, Though, with a very adimate interjection I might add, though handsome as he may be, I find myself magnetically drawn to in a platonic nature; upon hearing of his separation from his wife or partner, I've often pondered and prayed that they reconcile, or, part ways permanently, be it best in joy and love for either of them. Still, though his essence is strongly familiar and the nature of our time here in the realm we currently share remains titlating near-mystery—I say near, to call attention to the fact that as I've begun to tie together the delicate strands of fabric which holds our realities together, I've gained some understanding into the placement of this figure's re-arrival into my orbital path, I've never envisioned a romance, nor have I a vision which pursuades me to believe our crossings in this journey to be any other than cordial, and at times, hysterical—for this soul has the uncanny ability, as always, to make me wholeheartedly laugh, with glee. Moving on into the darkest of realms I hold dear and sacred, the Prince who's crown so beautifully tarnished, as it was so graciously given early in this walking life, or even, preconception of the notion of the next. I know for a fact for there to be a time and place for Sonny in my life, though which of the many dubious parts he shall play in it, I have decidedly left entirely to him. Unfortunatey, it seems, there are others so dead set upon the manifestation in the interest that he become a King into their realm of reigning, however—with the given knowledge that none other can or will love him as I—have grown comfortable with the wilted, wary and wrinkled petals in the fluorescent flowers born from our love, which I kept for so long before all but giving up the romanticized and vivid visions, reflected in the truth of memories already lived, infinitely. The visions I keep from being bonded to Sonny are less lighthearted, to say the least, and more dammning, all the more, As I begin to realize the time on the mountain with his mother in prayer may point to more than one devilish and cruel woman in pursuit of happiness by way of his fortune, I've begun to morbidly attach this threat to that of the most recently acquired demon, so forced her way into my mind by way of inhabiting a body I already have, and could also never—on a larger scale, though, I also see this creature as a feat of my creation, as the eye upon her skin does speak to me, to worship and praise my power as a whole; however, I sometimes worry that the predator to which Sonny's mother warned to be a “vulture” to her son as prey and asked, or rather, pleaded for my aide to reach into the Land of the Living where she was no longer permitted, as, being unknown, does rest peacefully, aside from the beckoning cry of the spirit residing in Sonny, supposedly with whom I share a soul. Fortold to me by a number of Ascended, Sonny's seeking to remove this soul has been both a burden, and blessing—as this allows me to exist in both the realms of darkness, and light—and, as for him—the ability (or previous ability, anyway) to create light through music allowed such a force as Skrillex to flourish and grow in the first place. The memories I keep with Sonny are few, mostly because in the event that we are allowed to again become whole, I lose myself in a sense to him—as does he, to me; one of the last memories I have as myself is falling asleep with him in my arms, in one moment admiring his beauty, and the very next, so deeply asleep that being whisked away into a lucid dream we share illuminates a golden flash I now only slightly can recall the excellence of, but can remember the calm and fluid relief of the connection at last refound. These Three Kings, for which I have come to call them, each hold an essence in their presence so cherished to me, that whether in this waking life or in the next I know will come again to me. In a constant prayer for peace and freedom, and seeing as death has greeted me once again as a mother and humble friend I hope to grasp in this reality the kindness and care I once was afforded to give and receive. Be it a simple ask, I only want to know love again, not in the way of wanting to be wanted, or needing to be needed, but in the grace that gives and allows me to be whole again. As my childbearing years come to a close, I am forced to wonder if the golden essence that will become as One lies within any a man I have come to admire within the future I have seen, but also lived. Chapter ??? Mr. Dillon Hart Francis I've talked too many times about the way I was introduced to this monster, but never have spilled the many memories made in the lifetimes past, present, or potential future—perhaps, that it is beyond my fathomable understanding, such as any interaction with the many geniuses of art I have either mentioned, written about, or come to know quite lovingly in omnipotence—or even, that as a generally conservative (at least, publicly) sexualist, visions drawn from this timeline I share with Dillon have, until recently, been kept pushed and concealed into the depths of my subconscious, the pit of my soul. Be it out of guilt, for the sheer and simple knowledge of the ascended arrangement between us, or that as time has been reset again for events that have once transpired to yet be made again, though consciously connected, have a hard time coping with the sometimes dark reality that Dillon, or rather, the Deity seated in him just may be (and is) a demon I of the enlightened have struggled not to dance with. Aside, though I find this bond to be less romantic, certainly based upon Dillon's own preferences and tastes rather than my own mindset—alternately, my simple perceptions of his preferences and tastes, being that he may not have a set “type”, but be as it may my complex self loathing and hatred takes marks off of any attraction he has to me, other than primal or sexual. Still, I have found myself drifting into the less-vivid memories from timelines where we do, in fact, find our bond to be unbreakable in ways that continually astound the both of us—timelines where, although for some time the complete labeling our very close friendship as a “relationship” or partnership at all supersedes us. The simplicities of our bond stand to act as the foundation which allow it to be stronger than foreseen; we are rather old fashioned in a sense that allows us freedom to lead respectable and almost at times, boring lives above ground, however— the arousal of secrecy behind closed doors always allowed us the intimacy and fantastically explorative, boundless sex life—which, timelessly has proven in a sense to be both the darkness and the light that creates the balance in our oneness. After becoming so recklessly distraught in the obsessive love created by being introduced to Sonny and his powers so abruptly, in the wake of a crucial turning point between the past life I lived within this one, there are such various pathways which Dillon and I respectively have found out way to one another; as I mentioned before, being that the two of them are as connected to each other for as long as I have been in oneness—I would find it astonishing it either one of them were not aware or awakened to this battle being fought between ancient forces; the only certainty that remains for aby of us, is that Love shall reign. Outside to some degree for what I would call “normal” for myself, I've come not to care of any romantic interest from any man, let alone these two—albeit, very hysterical, sometimes to the point of being orgasmic—“humans”, which, although as I roll my eyes, I am reminded by placing the quotations around such a word as ‘human' am prompted to, at least momentarily, before returning to describe the “future-memory” as I've come to call it, with Dillon Francis. Ahem. Mr, Dillon Francis. (Who, by the way, gets bored easily.) Chapter Me Justin Roiland (However You Say It) I remember making love to Justin Roiland on a sofa I can neither remember the color of, or actual texture—but also in an armchair, I believe later that same evening. This strange tie came about almost as a comedic “relief” from the chaotic and mind-unraveling insanty of a magic act, from which came the likes of the word “Bampheramph” and other ridiculous and yet exceptionally and Gratuitously creative notions from the senselessness of the now-seemingly-imaginary world I was forced to live in at the time—a circumstance that often left me to wonder whether Justin Roiland himself, who I deem almost entirely all of the credit for creating the beloved series whose name I find to be utterly unimportant at this moment, anywa—also became trapped in the infinite realms possibility in the midsts of creating these worlds, where I continue to find myself. Though, honestly and hopefully, this occasion were let into the Illuminated mind's eye purely for creative purposes, I still find myself avoiding in any way, shape, or form glancing into the eyes a lit by the flash of a photo-opportunity—as, I will admit, my attraction to this man I believe was already openly vocalized, during a discussion between my former lover and I—needless today, between that time, the time of this vision, and the third and final blow of the glance into a photo I happened to stumble upon whilst looking for an honest-out of the Hell my sexual demons have crafted for me to live in, I've come to consolidate the memories I've had with Justin into fictional instances, save for the painfully vivid image imprinted, of the socks he wore the night—we found each other to be comfortable company. Still, as a notation, I might offer the notion that my sexual fluidity more than likely is opened by the consumption of a few drinks—although, many a timeline, my choice to drink and continued drinking is paired with the knowing that Sonny has chosen another—which tends to leave a gaping enough crevice in my heart and beguiled soul that I seek to be conciled and comforted in the absence of permanent love, self medicate with the temporary dillusiom of lust and the supposed “excitement” of sensually seducing these men of admiration through the dedicated effort of first impressing them with my own body of work, so that they may one day see me as fit to be in ther presence, even if privately— often which is preffered over a public companionship. I now am well aware as to what can happen when two famous entertainers find themselves to catch the media's eye, or approval—either which exists to suit the cause or flow with the agenda, which, I guess, leads me into my own fortold fame and fortune, and how it came about. Chapter IV FAME It's been beknownst to me for some time that I would, at least for awhile, have to seperate myself from my previous identity to be considered, or rather, given the go ahead for illicit fame, or promoted as an actual celebrity. I have also known, that as with such coveted titles, as not to be mentioned here, but perceived as being of great fame, that those selected are chosen and vetted, then primed for stardom long before becoming popular household names, so to speak— a phenomenon which stands as the explanation for “it happened overnight” which the media will continue to say, as a way to stay aligned with the system of belief that Disney fairytales do sometimes happen—an agenda which the Skrillex-SupaCree mega-franchise upholds, as a registered and crucial factor in this all-American-acid trip of a reality from whence the aforementioned bodies and each of our respective counterparts both came from, and also created—but anyone actually famous will argue point-blank “took years” which is usually true... though, depending on the amount of connections, apparent wealth, and overall ease of access each famous person has or gets during their so-called “rise, the amount of actual work and/or challenge endured during these times varies greatly. Still, there's something to be said for those who face not challenges such as I and others, in the sacrifice i will safely leave unspoken; but will say, for each of us, a loss of love is asked. Though I fully refuse to consider the sacrifice of my son's presence in my immediate present life as the ideal force behind the first leap/push and/or jump into the crisis of fame— if not only to use it to one day to heroically return for him after having assured his protection from predators without any doubt, and secured his rapid advancement in society by being able to give him the advantage and freedom of a proper education, perhaps even a worldly one of global proportions—its long since been settled since my departure that this loss of mine eventually becomes his gain, if I continue to allow myself to be groomed for the stardom written both into the actual cosmos, and these Google documents. Again I have fastened myself in becoming celibate, though having broken this vow—which only recently became a vow, as the first bout of celibacy was an honest and voluntary innocence of neivety, in believing the longer I waited for Sonny, the more quickly he'd come—or that even he may just wait for me. Though I have no memory in actuality of the exact work which skyrockets me to fame, or the exact moment, I know it quickly approaches, as rapidly as it always does and as it always has, in the infinitely seeming times before of which I have lived this exact representation of this existence. I know that, even as it has been years since my selection and vetting, priming and prepping—although throughout my early life was given glimpses and many clues along the path which stretches between my perceived “birth” and my complete “death”. The value of “it happened overnight” begins to grow with the preceding memory that, it literally does go from 0-100% famous in just a blink; however, I can't consider my current standing in the ranks of fame to be at ‘zero', either, in the present moment. I sleep often unrestingly knowing that many famous people are aware of my being and presence, in this and it's future existence— and sometimes restfully dream in the sometimes positive essence that I may just be so thoughtfully and Carl fly admired by those I very much lovingly and graciously admire myself, if not only for laying each carefully placed breadcrumb of hope and guidance in the most arduous and challenging puzzle pieces of this path, I keep in my heart, a silent but carefully worded thank-you letter for all the keys, not yet entirely collected, but in knowing honestly, are almost a complete set to the kingdom of Heaven. For, I have acknowledged—being of Queens and Kings, that being of the ascended elite calls first to complete a set of tasks; my latest lesson, being that it is impossible to compete if you find yourself held to a standard of artistry and creativity the world around you may lack. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer; or, as I have chosen, have neither until the vibration of their energy matches mine, or just as likely calls to it. Being as translucent and iridescent in form as possible has created a realm of which I find myself to have designed—and even that the system I have myself blamed as the cause for my apparent failure and supposed weaknesses, even to fall into alignment with my true purpose. Being a God or Goddess is a self-perceived notion, that is—until one or more in the external circumstances of interaction begin to label you as such. In pleasant company, I have been called a “God”, a “Goddess”, a “Genius”—all of which I have come to see as literal synonyms—a “Prodigy”, a “Miracle” or even once “Jesus, or something”—as, were it not for the bloodcurdlingly painful actual visual memory of my palms burning and bleeding, having levitated entirely, my intrinsic telepathy (which I have now learned to somewhat curtail), maligned with the sometimes creepy manifestations of synchronicity, and sometimes even now rapidly evolving telekinesis—I might not believe. However, it may be of importance to state that perception is in fact reality—and, also living in the wicked and Wild West have come to reconcile with the fact that each person in my own reflection has, too, their own perception of reality—which can be irreparably problematic, as your average, every day person does not mesesaeily know or believe in my divinity, the encapsulation of a diety within this body, or—may even consciously not believe in the idea of God at all (which makes no sense at all, but I've come to grips with unconsciousness as a non-problematic challenge) which perhaps, perceptively speaking, limits my existence as a force at all. Although, more times than not, most people know there's just something special about me—sometimes, very often, actually, over the course of my life has this been uttered from the mouths other than that belonging to the body that birthed me—but more recently over the last few years, which I have considered myself to be in ‘Fame School' due to the many hints and clues besides the Skrillex of it all I have been given over the last five years—which is an awesome musical, by the way. I think. Acknowledging that whatever happens to me now, is just a recordable part of history—that everything I do and everyone I meet becomes part of a world which I have been granted to understand is an important part of literature, and American history as a whole—and, with some opinions I have formed and actions I have taken, I bitterly admit do not cohesively exist as “Cree”, with the agenda of those who call the plays for the ever-fixed game of Fame that I never was asked to play, but in reconciliation, asked for myself in the preexsisance of this, in the aforementioned Kingdom of Heaven where, not as depicted in the prude and chaste reflection of man's conservative and burdening representation of God, Love and Sex are synonymously bonded with one another. That being said, my placement in poverty has seated immediately in some interestingly immoral or, at least imperceptibly incomprehensible methods of creating financial gain—and whereas men can so openly brag about selling drugs and pimping women for entertainment purposes and receive erroneous profit, women more metaphorically mask the torturous prostitution of femininity in the industry with clever quips and interesting and astonishingly intelligent codes hidden within the lyricism I so wonderously adore, and have been gifted the talent to decode, as my soul awakened by the cry for help became alive through music, in the tragic loss of my own son and daughter—and in the discovery of all the sons and daughters near and dear to me on earth. Though changing my name (and more than likely, my number) will not release the powerful energy sought after by lovers and losers by nature, who will still seek to find and capture my essence, if not only for a moment—however, I can begin to release the pain and torture allowed by being born to a mother who could not wholly and unconditionally love, and as a result seeking company by those who in the same predicament relied on me to mend breakage far beyond repair, who came to feed on my light as an energy source until it's near depletion; but, as we all learned from that, the Implosion of this regenerative life force, ie, my soul and the external resulting explosion is a force of magic and magnetism yet unmatched, or captured by wrath itself. Fame, though with external circumstances again wavering and uncomfortable, may be “posthumous” given that as my writing is being recorded—as well as some of the metaphysical phenomenon of extraterrestrial presence now captured on tape— is fast approaching, which sets a stage for the never-random and increasingly expansive world that allows such men of marvel to become playthings—with the understanding of the memory that one of the first things I chose to do with my success is to complete the procedures which would take my body from a “7” to a “10+”, a well-deserved reward for all the effort it takes to lose more than 200 pounds. With that, I close with a pseudo-quote from Jack Donagy of 30 Rock, the misogynist, conservative and even sometimes very outwardly white-supremacist corporate boss of Liz Lemon (also, kind of racist) who notes during a NSF conversation with the latter-mentioned that his love-interest (at least, for that episode) “does it like an ugly girl”, which I instantly understood, as—the longer time spent in California, where men seem to prefer a very basic personality and even more below-average facial structure so long as it's attached to a “hot” body, than to women who look like me—or look like women at all. Us “ugly” girls, spend a long time on the sidelines, before getting picked—and because of that, when we finally do get laid, are hungry for it—or, better put—monsterously fucking horny. However, the more ideally attractive I continue to force myself to get, so that even in the event of my failure to pass the final series of Fame tests, I can still walk home with the prize of a decently attractive Caucasian male to mate with before I reach the age of 32–the age my mother had me, and therefore I will not seek to continue to try to have more children by this time, have I not already at least started. Now, moving on from fame into the even stranger future memory of my later childbearing years, after my very short run with illicit fame—a track I set myself, as not wanting to be “famous forever”, but only to use the wealth and general acceptance garnered for it as a platform to give my children an exceptional life, as not only my Father asked, but my son Phoenixx in Heaven wishes for his Brother. My daughter, though I less frequently mention, has nearly never left my side, serving as an Angel with pride into the world that once my purpose is served in, I will leave and return to her—where she and I will walk back to the Kingdom of Heaven to greet her brother, hand in hand. Chapter V All My Children—And Their Fathers

-BE.