Podcast appearances and mentions of Steve Erwin

American comics artist

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Best podcasts about Steve Erwin

Latest podcast episodes about Steve Erwin

The_Whiskey Shaman
101: Larrikin Bourbon Co. With Greg Keeley

The_Whiskey Shaman

Play Episode Listen Later Jan 4, 2025 81:01


Happy New Year, and welcome back. Today we have Greg with Larrikin. This was such a great episode and a great chat, conversation flowed well and was very interesting. Hope you enjoy it, but first a word from our sponsors. Hinterhausdistilling.com Badmotivatorbarrels.com/shop/?aff=3 https://www.instagram.com/zsmithwhiskeyandmixology?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet&igsh=ZDNlZDc0MzIxNw== Patreon.com/the_whiskeyshaman Live the larrikin Way. Larrikin (n.) Australian slang. A person who disregards convention; a maverick. Larrikinism was a reaction to rules imposed by British officials on the young country of Australia. Our whiskey reflects this bold spirit of good-natured irreverence, and relies on character, not ceremony. You may not know Larrikin the word- but you do know these Larrikins;Annie Oakley, Crocodile Dundee, Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton, Pete Mitchell and Steve Erwin. We're greg & katie. From Lawrenceburg to Larrikin—our name might've evolved, but our mission's still as solid as a rock. Larrikin Bourbon Co. is the true-blue embodiment of the American Dream: a craft distillery built from scratch with a fair dinkum, no-nonsense approach to making bloody good bourbon. Our founder, LCDR Greg Keeley, USN (ret), has had a wild ride. Greg's journey kicked off in a vineyard Down Under, to national security professional, and eventually landed in the extraordinary world of distilling. As a Service-Disabled Navy Combat Veteran, Greg has the unique honor of commissioned service in both the United States Navy and the Royal Australian Navy, with combat roles in Iraq, Afghanistan, and the Pacific. Raised in Oz, he also served with the Australian Federal Police. At Larrikin, we don't muck around. We're not here to spin yarns about bourbon dating back to the Pilgrims. Our focus is dead simple: what kind of bourbon do we want in our glass? That's what gets us out of bed. Our goal? To craft extraordinary, novel whiskies that we're stoked to pour and even prouder to share. We bring a bit of Aussie cheek to American whiskey, blending tradition with a whole lot of passion. So here's to great bourbon, good mates, and chasing something truly special. Cheers, cobber! We are LARRIKIN. BLOODY GOOD BOURBON…and the experts agree. Private Barrel Program Our Private Barrel Program is the bee's knees. Handpicked casks that are as rare as hen's teeth. Each barrel is a one-of-a-kind gem—unrepeatable and extraordinary. Simply put, some barrels are just outstanding—first among equals. Choose your barrel in person at the distillery, or remotely, with a curated experience from the comfort of your home, office, or club. Thanks to the new-fangled inter-web, you can taste, evaluate, and select your cask with real-time guidance from our distiller - and find your perfect single barrel select. Let's clear the air: we don't blend our Private Cask selections. We bottle bourbon or rye straight from one single barrel - that you choose. No mucking about. Once it's bottled, there is no more. Your hand-picked bourbon is one-of-a-kind and impossible to replicate. Your Larrikin Bourbon Select bottles feature the barrel's special details like your logo or message along with age, proof, and mash bill. Whether you're a retailer, distributor, bourbon club, individual with a great taste in bourbon or charity group, your bottles are uniquely yours. Depending on the cask's age, you'll get between 140 and 240, 750ml bottles. Rule of thumb, the older the cask, the fewer bottles. No wait, no drama, just bloody good bourbon.  

Mother, May I Sleep With Podcast?
REWIND - To Be Fat Like Me (Featuring Ronnie Karam)

Mother, May I Sleep With Podcast?

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 25, 2024 194:47


"Kaley Cuoco gets the job done." Molls brings back our fave, Ronnie Karam, to discuss what Ronnie claims is a classic Lifetime movie - To Be Fat Like Me. Molls reads Ronnie some IMDB trivia/facts about America-Famous Kaley, they chat about the Steve Erwin-esque wardrobe choices, and they enjoy several LOLs together over this "classic" film.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Geek Ultimate Alliance
Batman Returns: The Official Comic Adaptation - World's Finest True Believers 96

Geek Ultimate Alliance

Play Episode Listen Later May 26, 2024 85:44


In this episode, Chris welcomes back Ray from the “The FliteCast” podcast to look at one of his favorite comic book movie adaptations, “Batman Returns”.  Legendary 1riter Denny O'Neil is joined by with penciler Steve Erwin, inker José Luis García-López, and colorist Tom McCraw to bring the blockbuster sequel to Batman '89 to the format that made the Dark Knight a legend.  Oswald Cobblepot was abandoned by his parents as a baby. Thirty three years later, bent on revenge, he returns to Gotham City as the Penguin. He joins up with wicked shock-headed businessman Max Shreck to topple the Batman once and for all. But when Shreck's timid assistant, Selina Kyle, finds out, and Shreck tries to kill her, she is transformed into the Catwoman. She teams up with the Penguin and Shreck to destroy Batman, but sparks fly unexpectedly when she confronts the Caped Crusader.Ray on Threads: @TheFliteCastThe Flitecast: http://www.theflitecast.comChris on Twitter: @ChrisBalgaWFTB on Twitter: @FinestBelieversWFTB Email: worldsfinesttruebelievers@gmail.comGeek Ultimate Alliance on Twitter: @GUAPodNetworkSupport The Alliance On Patreon & Get Ad-Free, Exclusive, Early Episodeshttps://www.patreon.com/guanetworkGeek Ultimate Alliance Network Is Produced By GeekVerse Podcast www.geekverse.caScheduleMonday: Rangers Alliance (Bi-Weekly) Tuesday: A Walk Through the MultiverseWednesday: The Animation NationThursday: Star Wars AllianceFriday: Marvel AllianceSaturday: DC AllianceSunday: World's Finest True Believers (Monthly)Follow the respective shows on Twitter so when they record live on GeekVerse Podcast Network you can join the chat and add to the conversation!

Up Yours...With More! The UP, UP & AWAY Comic Shop Podcast
Ep. 78 - Rogues Galleries, Pt. 2: Marvel!

Up Yours...With More! The UP, UP & AWAY Comic Shop Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 31, 2023 141:24


Hello there, boils and ghouls! Welcome to episode 78 of Up Yours with More!  The Monster-mashing BC is joined again by the man who just wants to know what happened to the Transylvania twist... MODOK! They're back again with their legendary and iconic commentary on the latest comic book and pop culture news, the top 10 books from last week, the books you should be hyped for this week, and part two of their discussion and debate about the greatest rogues galleries in comics: the Marvel edition! So, come along from your humble abodes and get a jolt from their electrodes! News Matthew Perry Dead: 'Friends' Star Dies at 54 Richard Moll, Night Court Star and Batman TAS Voice Actor, Dies at 80  Steve Erwin, Deathstroke the Terminator Artist and Checkmate Co-Creator, Passes Away at 63 DC Comics head Pam Lifford departs Warner Bros. Discovery  Blue Beetle Director Discusses Sequel Ideas  Jonathan Majors Gets New Trial Date for Assault Case as Details of London Police Incident Emerge  Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson Are the Ultimate Couple in 'Ultimate Spider-Man' #1 Top London Creators Ram V & Dan Watters Launch Two New Series—The One Hand And The Six Fingers—For February 2024 Slow Burn #1 Sells Out & Returns With Second Printing IDW's Cozy Horror Hit Series BENEATH THE TREES WHERE NOBODY SEES Gets a Bloody Second Printing Find Us Online at the Following Outlets  Website :: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠upupandawaycomics.com⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠  YouTube :: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠youtube.com/@upupawaycomics⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Facebook ::  ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠facebook.com/upupawa⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠y and ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠facebook.com/uuablueash⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠  Instagram :: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠instagram.com/upupawaycomics⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠  Twitter :: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠twitter.com/upupawaycomics⁠

Fysti's 45 Podcast
Ep.61 Undercutters Pizza (Naikawn)

Fysti's 45 Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Sep 22, 2023 31:37


FYSTIS 45 PODCAST!! WELCOME TO SEASON 3! Listener discretion advised.Intended for mature audiences only. Welcome to this week's episode! Ep.61 Undercutters Pizza (Naikawn) (((This week we talk about))) New Tik Tok account follow us https://www.tiktok.com/@fystis45podcast WELCOME TO SEASON 3 This week we sit down with our dear friend and brother Ian and record a podcast in the middle of a thunderstorm. much more to come.under-cutters pizza, fist full of fifties, answers all my questions, old lady cakes, HALLOWEEN IS COMING , ghost hunters , haunted houses , Jesus the original ghost, pump up the volume,  the original podcast, lady boners , TRIFECTA AEN shout out to mizz Ade, he was a supermodel,  watch this one,  Steve Erwin the fall, squirt time, just a hint of urine , a blend of things, 11 herbs and spices, it's a mix, shout out to ASPHATE worst things first podcast, it was a death trap, THE TOM GREEN SHOW, under cutters pizza, ep it's not good man , Ian stories, dj booth nightmares, charmingly frustrating, would you like a dry sandwich , old people in the club,  the thunder gods, social media graveyard, welcome to season 3! (((What the hell is this crazy podcast about?))) Welcome everyone to Fystis 45 Podcast!  hosted by  - Me, the one and only Dj Fysti! ! Whether you're in your thirties,  forties, fifties, or just a curious youth, you've come to the right place to hear from someone with a unique spin on life. Tune in every week with our hilarious co host "Michelle" and the Fytsti 45 crew  for an uncompromising dialogue on sexuality, relationships , Get ready to laugh and be informed as we tackle adulthood, taboo topics and everything in between. phone call interviews , special guests to have your boundaries pushed and your perspectives questioned, as we seek to uproot and restore the topics of life. who knows what else? More than likely we will ignore all of that and flip it on its head! Fy diggy style! Come join Fysti and friends and see just what types of shenanigans they come up with!  the all new Fysti's 45 podcast.   Subscribe and become a supporter TO HELP US KEEP MAKING GREAT CONTENT!    Thank you for the support!  FOLLOW AND LISTEN ON! Spotify ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://open.spotify.com/show/3Lr5ZlSZbZLN2BjASbCoRH⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ *********Apple Music ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/fystis-45-podcast/id1593764940⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ **********Google Podcasts ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy83MTczMDIyOC9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ **********Amazon Music Podcasts ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/2c4b927d-6c9b-430f-9a04-1ceac364150d/fystis-45-podcas⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠t⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠********* I HEART RADIO ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.iheart.com/podcast/269-fystis-45-podcast-111451079/⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ This week's background music production provided by Big Vern Sonic Militia Fysti's 45 Podcast Executively and Creatively Produced By Episodiac Selections West Des Moines Iowa All music and samples used on the podcast are for promotional use only! this material is not for sale (Promo Only) (Disclaimer) Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes Such as Criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching,scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright Statue that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/episodiac-selections5/message Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/episodiac-selections5/support

The Infinite Skrillifiles: OWSLA Confidential
Aftermath. (Unreleased) Sunnï Blū, -the kidd. {THE TIME CAPSULE}

The Infinite Skrillifiles: OWSLA Confidential

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 15, 2023 4:55


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

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

[ENTER THE MULTIVERSE]

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 15, 2023 4:55


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

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

Gerald’s World.

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 15, 2023 4:55


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

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The Legend of S Ū P ∆ C Я E E ™
Aftermath. (Unreleased) Sunnï Blū, -the kidd. {THE TIME CAPSULE}

The Legend of S Ū P ∆ C Я E E ™

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 15, 2023 4:55


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

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Hear Me Out!
Yer a Snizzard, Harry!

Hear Me Out!

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 1, 2023 59:48


Full Barn! -------- Steven gives his thoughts the last episode, Jared and Cameron go in on Steve Erwin again. The guys ponder why donkey's are still a thing. -------- Sports! Football fans (Bills fans in general) take offense over what Eli Apple had to say after the Divisional round so Cameron rages against said fans. UK basketball seems to be back on track. Baseball(!) is briefly talked about with Scott Rolen getting inducted into the Baseball HOF. Charles Barkley says the NBA has a load management problem. -------- Steven is loaded with topics including: the world's oldest dog, the new Power Rangers short, and the first two billion dollar actress. This show is dumb, thanks for being here! Go to the website and leave us a voicemail! New episodes (almost) every Wednesday! Find the show socials here: https://twitter.com/HearMePodcast https://www.facebook.com/HearMePodcast https://www.instagram.com/hearmepodcast/ https://linktr.ee/HearMeOutPod Hosted by Scott Osborne, Steven Auchter, Jared Steele, and Cameron Auchter Produced by Scott Osborne

The Mark Bishop Show
TMBS E267: Khaliah Ali - Health Care Advocate, Activist, Designer, Author and daughter of former professional boxer Muhammad Ali

The Mark Bishop Show

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 13, 2022 10:25


Mark talks with Health Care Advocate, activist, designer author and daughter of former professional Boxer Muhammad Ali, Khaliah Ali.Fighting obesity among Black Women, she shares with Mark her new PSA Campaign, "Fight To Flourish."BIO ~ Khaliah Ali Khaliah Ali has been at the forefront of affordable clothing for women of all sizes, and a former Ford Plus Size model. She has been all sizes ranging from size 8 to size 24, as is discussed in her book, “Fighting Weight,” now in its third printing, and published in hardback by Harper Collins. She has appeared on several television networks, including the Today Show and Good Morning America and has published editorials in numerous outlets, including the New York Times and Oprah Magazine. She serves on the board of the World Food Program, Project Sunshine, We Are Family, and Help USA. She is the American ambassador for Steve Erwin's “Wildlife Warriors.” Khaliah resides with her husband Spencer Wertheimer and their son, Jacob.  For more information please visit: www.ethicon.com

The Mark Bishop Show
TMBS E267: Khaliah Ali - Health Care Advocate, Activist, Designer, Author and daughter of former professional boxer Muhammad Ali

The Mark Bishop Show

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 13, 2022 10:25


Mark talks with Health Care Advocate, activist, designer author and daughter of former professional Boxer Muhammad Ali, Khaliah Ali.Fighting obesity among Black Women, she shares with Mark her new PSA Campaign, "Fight To Flourish."BIO ~ Khaliah Ali Khaliah Ali has been at the forefront of affordable clothing for women of all sizes, and a former Ford Plus Size model. She has been all sizes ranging from size 8 to size 24, as is discussed in her book, “Fighting Weight,” now in its third printing, and published in hardback by Harper Collins. She has appeared on several television networks, including the Today Show and Good Morning America and has published editorials in numerous outlets, including the New York Times and Oprah Magazine. She serves on the board of the World Food Program, Project Sunshine, We Are Family, and Help USA. She is the American ambassador for Steve Erwin's “Wildlife Warriors.” Khaliah resides with her husband Spencer Wertheimer and their son, Jacob.  For more information please visit: www.ethicon.com

A Kynd Life
Cleaning up until there is No Trace Left - Taylor Macgregor

A Kynd Life

Play Episode Listen Later Sep 19, 2022 46:35


Taylor embraces a minimal waste lifestyle and created his own clean up campaign called No Trace Left.  Taylor has always loved the outdoors, having grown up spending half the year camping in Byron Bay. He attended agricultural boarding school where learnt about industry practices. Eventually Taylor recognised what was happening to animals was not right and decided to go vegan.  Around the same time as going vegan, Taylor made friends with a Sea Shepherd volunteer and went to the Ocean Defence Tour. Taylor signed up as a volunteer and has helped at many festivals, ship tours and beach clean ups, even living on the Steve Erwin for four months while it was docked in Docklands.  Being a Sea Shepherd volunteer led Taylor on many adventures and helped form many friendships. Having grown up near the beach, Taylor started picking up rubbish when he was young. Sea Shepherd helped Taylor understand why cleaning up debris was important and as a result, he started his own campaign called No Trace Left. The campaign encourages people to clean up any place you are at, whether it be beach, bush or your own backyard. Taylor enjoys snorkelling, is learning to free dive and uses his time underwater as an opportunity to collect rubbish.  Taylor is passionate about living a minimal waste lifestyle as he understands how detrimental single use items are to the environment. He enjoys growing his own food, utilising a suburban backyard to create his own food. In 2020, Taylor quit his job and moved to Eden, New South Wales, where he set up a canvas wall tent next to the river and lived off grid. In this episode, Taylor shares tips on living a minimal waste lifestyle, interesting things he has found during clean ups as well as meeting his partner Amber on Vegan Singles of Melbourne. https://www.instagram.com/no_traceleft/     https://www.instagram.com/tylrdphotography/ https://www.instagram.com/that4wdphotoguy/                                                                                       

TrustedSec Security Podcast
5.9 - Pre-Shared (Private) Keys

TrustedSec Security Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 29, 2022 23:41


SHOW NOTES Welcome to the Trusted Security Podcast – a podcast dedicated to bringing the latest news on information security and the industry. This episode features the following members: Geoff Walton, Steve Erwin, Alex Hamerstone, and Melvin Langvik.   Stories   Title: PayPal Phishing Scam Uses Invoices Sent Via Paypal URL: https://krebsonsecurity.com/2022/08/paypal-phishing-scam-uses-invoices-sent-via-paypal/ Author: Brian Krebs   Title: Hyundai Uses Example Keys for Encryption System URL: https://www.theregister.com/2022/08/17/software_developer_cracks_hyundai_encryption/ Author: Thomas Claburn   The Interview Melvin Langvik talks TeamFiltration URL: https://github.com/Flangvik/TeamFiltration  

TrustedSec Security Podcast
5.8 - Who is Reading Your Gmail?

TrustedSec Security Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Aug 5, 2022 27:49


Welcome to the Trusted Security Podcast – a podcast dedicated to bringing the latest news on information security and the industry. This episode features the following members: Geoff Walton, Steve Erwin, Justin Bollinger, and Skyler Tuter.   Stories Title: New Gmail Attack Bypasses Passwords And 2FA To Read All Email URL: https://www.forbes.com/sites/daveywinder/2022/08/02/gmail-warning-as-new-attack-bypasses-passwords--2fa-to-read-all-email/?sh=711642763a12 Author: Davey Winder   Title: Post-quantum encryption contender is taken out by single-core PC and 1 hour URL: https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2022/08/sike-once-a-post-quantum-encryption-contender-is-koed-in-nist-smackdown/ Author: Dan Goodin   The Interview A talk with Steve Marchewitz on his visit to the Gartner Conference.

reading pc gmail steve erwin
Pandering Hour
Steve Erwin Spots a Wild Brenda

Pandering Hour

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 20, 2021 64:48


In this episode Anthony becomes an absolute sick c0nt talking about Brenda's and Erwins. Links down below! www.instagram.com/theanthonymartin www.twitter.com/watameye www.tictok.com/anthonywithcheese www.apple.com/panderinghour www.spotify.com/panderinghour www.anchor.fm.com/panderinghour Thanks for making my dreams come true! --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

wild spots erwins steve erwin
The Multiverse Report
Wheel of Time Instant Reaction

The Multiverse Report

Play Episode Listen Later Nov 21, 2021 47:11


Welcome to the Multiverse Report, a weekly recap of your news across all the fandoms with Mike Gibson and Steve Haller.   Steve is joined by special guest Steve Erwin to talk on the Robert Jordan epic Wheel of Time, adapted into a show by Amazon.   Subscribe: Apple Podcasts, Spotify or search The Multiverse Report on your podcast app of choice!   ### #TMR, #MCU, #DCEU, #StarWars, #Fandom, #WheelOfTime, #WoT

Zero To 5000
Find The Silver Lining - Dr. Andrew Moffat, VetnCare

Zero To 5000

Play Episode Listen Later Sep 9, 2021 55:17


Another inspiring conversation on the Zero to 5000 Podcast today.   We were joined by Dr. Andrew Moffatt, the Founder of VetnCare.   We discussed: - Steve Erwin's influence. - Business model about expansion. - Silver lining for personal growth.   Thanks for Listening. Be sure to join our monthly email. One life-changing email to help you with your mindset, your methods, and your mission each month.

founders business silver silver lining steve erwin andrew moffat
TheDeepFriedPodcast
042-STEVE ERWIN WAS KILLED BY A CONSERVATIVE STING RAY!!!

TheDeepFriedPodcast

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 11, 2021 86:30


This week its Squashes turn to surprise Blaiq with the topic!!! tune in the find out what!!! --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/tdfpodcast/support

The Midnight Narwhal Podcast

G'day! This week James and Andy head down under to bless your ears with a supersized episode about the one and only Steve Erwin! 

crikey steve erwin
RAD Radio
04.02.21 RAD 04 Listener Mail-The Last Queenie Cast, Members Site Content & Steve Erwin Is Dead

RAD Radio

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 2, 2021 12:43


Listener Mail-The Last Queenie Cast, Members Site Content & Steve Erwin Is Dead

302 Lifestyle Beach Podcast
It's a jungle out there Delaware!!!!

302 Lifestyle Beach Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Feb 11, 2021 31:29


Wish 302 Beach had its own wildlife to see & help???? Now we DO! Meet Josh & how he has impacted the community, schools & Local spots like Salted VinesThey host businesses, events, parties, paint nights & schools! Eagle Scout, a graduate from Louisiana State University, raised over 30k for the Australian wildlife last January and helped care for animals for a month during the bushfires!!!! Josh started working with Barn Hill Preserve while in college down in Louisiana, studying wildlife ecology, and enjoyed his experience a lot. Then he partnered up with Barn Hill Preserve to bring it back home since he felt like the Delaware community needed something like this too. "Working with animals is a fantastic experience and being able to share it with the community is even better", he says! He hopes to inspire others to support the protection of wildlife and their habitats. OHHH & of course Josh’s fav book is by Steve Erwin. Perhaps, a survival guide?! Not to mention, Josh has spent time with his family, been on Jimmy Fallon four TIMES!!! Yeah, we are impressed! Who has ever been to Barn Hill Preserve? Here’s your opportunity for 10% OFF for Mentioning “302 Lifestyle Beach Podcast!!!

Misty and Ike Ruin the Internet
THE LAND DOWN UNDER! • Episode 132 • Misty and Ike (it's a podcast)

Misty and Ike Ruin the Internet

Play Episode Listen Later Jan 26, 2021 16:48


The Land Down Under! Australia! Who doesn't love Australia!?! Steve Erwin, Crocodile Dundee, Shrimp on the barbi and Tim Tam's!But there's so much more to Australia than that.First of all, Nick doesn't think they have ketchup I n Australia.Spoiler alert- they do.Come find out all about kangeroos, koalas and Hugh Jackman!

Wasted Takes
Episode 043

Wasted Takes

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 23, 2020 56:25


Episode Troy Polamalu. The boys are back with a post Week 6 escapade. Fitzpatrick has his heart tore from within his warm and loving chest, the Steelers are back as if the US Army needs to make 100 war ships, and the Rays are eyeing a World Series win like that one sting ray looked at Steve Erwin. Get ready for some sweat, blood, and beers. Let's Get Wasted!

TigerBelly
Ep 251: Papa's Pet Roach

TigerBelly

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 24, 2020 75:38


Bobo wants to be Year of the Boar. Rudy comes from Wonderwomanland. Mama Kuhn corroborates the breakfast mouse story. Khaly is today's Steve Erwin. We talk Mayan stairs, dwarf poo, and snake neck time.    Vlogs and more content at: www.patreon.com/tigerbelly  

Devorando Comics
Devorando Cómics - Podcast, Capítulo 98: ¿Que estamos leyendo? Abril 2020

Devorando Comics

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 6, 2020 129:42


En época de cuarentena, es posible encontrar tiempo para leer, por este motivo esperamos que les guste y se útil el capítulo de esta semana Los cómics comentados en este capítulo son: - Shinzen: "MPH", Guión de Mark Millar, Dibujo de Duncan Fegredo y Color Peter Doherty. Editorial Panini Comics (Originalmente Dark Horse) "Batman/Tarzan" Guión de Ron Marz, Dibulo de Igor Kordey. Editorial DEUX (Originalmente Dark Horse) - Vicente: "The New Teen Titans" Guión de Marv Wolfman, dibujo de George Perez. Editados por DC Comic (En español hay ediciones Norma y Coleecionable Salvat que cubren la época) -Rodrigo: "Batman Contra Dadstroke". Guión de Christopher Priest, Marv Wolfman. Dibujo de Carlo Pagulayan, Ed Benes, Larry Hama, Roberto Viacava y Steve Erwin. Editado por ECC Ediciones Apóyanos en Patreon https://www.patreon.com/devorandocomics Recuerda que también pueden escuchar nuestro #Podcast de #DevorandoComics en: -Ivoox: https://cl.ivoox.com/es/podcast-devorando-comics_sq_f1586450_1.html -spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/6dYRuOsPRRM5QM3hjbvuSx?si=psrhTDwLRj-HZ7lwcxP8UQ No olviden visitar #DevorandoComics en: -Web oficial: www.devorandocomics.cl -Twitter: https://twitter.com/dibujosshinzen -Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/devorandocomics.cl/ -Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Devorandocomicscl-734381686931505/ -twitch: https://www.twitch.tv/devorandocomics/videos

People Enjoying Terrible Accidents
Episode 10 – Steve Erwin w/ Derrick Stroup and Matt Cobos

People Enjoying Terrible Accidents

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 19, 2019 65:16


Your Guest:  Derrick Stroup                        FB:  https://www.facebook.com/derrick.stroup                        Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/stroupid_derrick/                        Twitter:  https://twitter.com/actinstroupid33                        YouTube:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCgfUZ-bVIbrUuCMeudHZjNg Your Host: Andie … Continue reading Episode 10 – Steve Erwin w/ Derrick Stroup and Matt Cobos →

cobos steve erwin derrick stroup
SuperFeast Podcast
#49 Wild Food with Daniel Vitalis - Forager

SuperFeast Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Dec 11, 2019 63:59


We welcome Daniel Vitalis onto the pod today and might I just say stoke level is pretty high! Daniel is a forager, registered Maine Guide, writer, public speaker, interviewer, and lifestyle pioneer who is deeply passionate about helping others reconnect with wildness, both inside and outside of themselves. After learning to hunt, fish, and forage as an adult, Daniel created WildFed; a show, podcast, and lifestyle brand that integrates hunting, fishing, foraging, and ecology with nutrition, cooking, community, and outdoor adventure.    "WildFed on its face is about food, but beneath the surface of that, it's about a lot more. It's about how we are in relationship with wild species and wild places." -  Daniel Vitalis   Daniel and Mason discuss: Daniel's WildFed food philosophy. The importance of becoming enmeshed into your ecosystem and utilising your local food shed. The hunting, gathering, collecting and foraging of wild foods. Staying grounded and undogmatic in your approach to living consciously, sustainably and in harmony with the earth. Applying traditional hunter gather philosophy and practice to modern day life. The significance of developing a relationship to the earth and to the species that inhabit it, especially in our modern era of artificial intelligence and disconnect.   Who is Daniel Vitalis? Daniel Vitalis is the host of WildFed. WildFed is a show, podcast, and lifestyle brand that integrates hunting, fishing, foraging, and ecology with nutrition, cooking, community, and outdoor adventure. For ten years Daniel lectured around North America and abroad, offering workshops that helped others lead healthier, more nature-integrated lives. A successful entrepreneur, Daniel founded the nutrition company SurThrival.com in 2008. Most recently, Daniel has hosted the popular podcast ReWild Yourself.  Daniel is a Registered Maine Guide, writer, public speaker, interviewer, and lifestyle pioneer who’s especially interested in helping people reconnect with wildness, both inside and outside of themselves.  After learning to hunt, fish, and forage as an adult, Daniel created WildFed to inspire others to start a wild-food journey of their own. Headquartered in the Lakes Region of Maine, he lives with his beautiful wife Avani and their Plott Hound Ellie.   Resources: Daniel Vitalis Instagram Daniel Vitalis Facebook WildFed Website WildFed Podcast WildFed Interactive Program WildFed on Facebook   Q: How Can I Support The SuperFeast Podcast?   A: Tell all your friends and family and share online! We’d also love it if you could subscribe and review this podcast on iTunes. Or  check us out on Stitcher :)! Plus  we're on Spotify!   Check Out The Transcript Here:   Mason: (00:00) Daniel, thanks so much for coming on the pod, man.   Daniel: (00:04) Yeah, man, I'm really happy to be here. Thanks for sharing my voice with your platform here.   Mason: (00:09) I know that there's going to be a bunch of SuperFeasters that are like super stoked to see... Already I've hinted that you are coming on and they're all just like, "Yes." Then I'm really excited about like a bunch of people who maybe... A little bit early on their onset into the health scene. I'm really excited about introducing them to your work, and then this new project. Are you at home in Maine at the moment?   Daniel: (00:35) Yeah, I am. Yep right at my house. I don't get out too much anymore. I travel a little bit, but as I get older it's like I really want to be based out of my home. I spend a lot of the time, a lot of the last 10 years on the road, but now I've got so much, I'm so integrated into this place with what I'm doing now that it's like, you got to really talk me out.   Mason: (01:00) WildFed, which we'll jump right into. That seems to be like this pinnacle declaration for your public work as well. That that's what you're doing. You're throwing your roots down, and then through that I've realised that on the stealth you've become a guide to me anyway. You've become like a guide in Maine. That's an interesting mindset already that I think is entwined into what's now culminating in WildFed from being someone who's traveling all over the world, all over America, doing the LA conferences. All that stuff to now being, really living and breathing… That was a long-term like little deviation. What was in that process psychologically and emotionally to really throw down your roots?   Daniel:  (01:46) Yeah, well, I mean you look back on 10 years and it makes sense. The journey makes sense. But if I tell you about point A and then point B, they don't seem to almost like line up. But my journey has been that I started off speaking in those conferences. I have all these raw food vegan folks because I came out of that scene. They would let me speak at their conferences. I was not a vegan and I was not a raw foodist. I had been in the past, but I wasn't by the time I started my public journey. Those are early days of YouTube before podcasting. That was before social media man, it's so strange to think about that. Because it's so recently really. Now we're really talking like 12 years ago probably. I'd get up on these stages and my message would just be like starting to contradict the whole purpose of the event.   Daniel: (02:36) It'd be this thing to push veganism, to push raw foodism. I would have stuff that touched in with that, but I was into this idea of, well, what are like natural humans? What do they do on the landscape? What do they do without superfoods? What do they do without the health food stores and internet suppliers and stuff? What's natural for people? I always wanted to talk about that and explore that idea. I would get up and I'd give my talk. Because I was popular with audiences, I kept being invited back. My message grew further and further away from that idea. I started there, but I kept on the journey following the path. Even though a lot of people are like, "I don't like this direction, Daniel, you're starting to get away from our ideals."   Mason: (03:21) Well, what was interesting, and I really I'm aware. We don't want to go too far into this thing to the history. We're here to talk about WildFed. That's what I want to talk to you about. I was someone in that audience, really loving the fact that you were up there talking about like booze. There was this subconscious awareness in one pocket that we appreciate that we're going through a change, and we liked originally what the health scene was about. We were opposing what was deteriorating us. Then there was that split of people falling in love with that push back against society into whatever.   Mason: (04:00) It happens with anything. It happens with diet. You more than anyone have led the charge in terms of making that distinction around veganism. But of course it happens with the carnivore diet and TCM diets and everything. Everyone's just a fanatic. But I really liked that anarchist energy, and I think everyone secretly did as well. That's why you kept on getting invited back and it was such a-   Daniel: (04:25) I was amazed they would have me back year after year, but eventually obviously, we parted ways and I started my podcast ReWild Yourself, which I ran for three years as a fluke. I was really writing an online magazine and I wanted multimedia. I started doing interviews and pretty quick those interviews were just so much more… People liked my writing, a small group like 6,000, 7,000 people reading what I'm writing. 100,000 people are listening to the podcast and it's like, "Okay, this is really what people want. Less of me just writing these long articles. More of me interviewing." Before I knew it, there was this podcast. It was early days of podcasts, I hadn't set out to start one. That podcast ReWild Yourself was exploring like what's natural for human beings if they step outside of our industrial system?   Daniel: (05:11) What would we be like if we lived on the landscape, and what do we know about the health outcomes of people who live that naturally? Hunter-gatherer peoples. I just got fascinated by it. I was talking to so many different characters, psychologists and doctors and nutritionists and death experts and birth experts. Just it kept coming clear and clearer to me that being divorced from nature was the root cause of our problem. That led me deeper into foraging, eventually led me to hunting and fishing and this idea of like, how do I apply this stuff? Because I didn't want to end up like the Biohackers, walking around with big orange sunglasses on and a bunch of electrodes tuned to me, and breathing some weird modulated air. Just gets so outrageous that you're like this is the opposite of what I want.   Mason: (05:56) I remember you actually because I followed along what was really interesting is you shared your inner journey in terms of your away from a superfood packet towards maybe more of a subsistence on nature. That's what I've always read in everyone's comments for you. Because people come across your work and they're like, "Oh, cool. He's hunting and gathering. He's from Maine. That's what he does. He's a hunter." In WildFed you say, "I didn't grow up this way. I've had to learn this shit." That's what has been… The people along the way. I read your comments and everyone goes, "I appreciate so much you sharing this inner journey with everyone." I remember a pivotal episode when I think you had like a sleep expert, but like a Biohacking sleep expert on the podcast.   Mason: (06:41) In reflection after that podcast, I could hear you going, “You know what, I don't want to be taping up my curtain. I don't want to be putting tape all over little electrical things all over my house.” You want to leave the window open. That was a pivotal one for me as well because there's all these crossroads as we go along in this journey. It's something I've learned from you, is how to be aware of the upcoming crossroads. That last night when we were watching WildFed, Tahnee, my fiancé, she was saying, and she's been following you before we got together as well at, a long time. She's like, "I really love that, once again you're not presenting yourself as an expert. You're very confident in what you know, you're just very adamant about your ongoing journey once again."   Daniel: (07:32) Go ahead.   Mason: (07:33) I was just going to say that allows you to be aware of crossroads coming. Then you get to go deeper rather than getting over identified with a stage persona.   Daniel: (07:43) That's a huge danger, a pitfall. I talk about it a lot that I see happen where people get so pigeonholed into something they had been into in the past, and then they feel like they can't break free. The longer you go doing that, the harder it is once you… I remember just like I cut my hair at one point. I don't know if you remember back in the day I had long hair. It's just like even that was like, people have you so, they want you to be this one character. I feel bad for like when an actor has an iconic role, it's like you're Jason Bourne in a movie, and then you want to do something radically different. People are like, "No, you're Jason Bourne." It's like, "Oh, come on." We're dynamic people. Another thing though I'll say is that I've had many opportunities along the way to root in and become the expert on the thing that I've been spending time on. I always like to push forward.   Daniel: (08:36) The challenge with that is that I'm always the beginner in a scene. I'm always the new guy everywhere I go, because I'm constantly trying to learn new stuff. It can be you have to get comfortable with that, like the discomfort of that. You have to be able to relax into the discomfort of being the new guy everywhere if you're going to constantly learn new stuff, and you surround yourself [inaudible 00:08:59]. Back to it my podcasts led me to realizing that I would be a prisoner to all of these life hacks, and all of these diet hacks and eventually the encumbrance of it. When I started off, I remember before I started speaking, I was like 19 years old, walking around in Hawaii in nothing but a pair of shorts, barefoot on the beach. That's where I felt the most real and alive. Then before you know it, you're encumbered with just all of these things to be healthy.   Daniel: (09:27) You're like, wait a second, this is the opposite of where… I noticed that anything taken too far becomes the opposite of what it starts off as. That's usually what ends up happening. You can see this in a lot of people's career trajectory, which is why I don't want to get too stuck in any one thing. What happened with ReWild Yourself is I kept learning more about wild food and I kept resonating to that. Because food was really my first passion. I realised like of all this stuff that I've learned about, the one thing that I really I'm most drawn to doing, where I want to take it next is into the wild food arena. Rather than making the mistake I made in the past, which is like, "Can I be 100% this or can I do this all the way?" That's like that vegan thing or that carnivore thing where it's like, "Well no, I'm going to make a commitment for life to only do this one thing."   Daniel: (10:12) It was just like, "Man, can I keep pursuing this idea of wild food in a more moderate..." what I think of as moderate, most people think of as still pretty extreme. Can I hunt fish and forage for calories and can I make it a real thing? Can I bring it into my house? Just to tie it back to your show theme too, that started for me with medicinal herbs. That's how I got first excited about, it was foraging chaga, foraging, reishi. Because as somebody who was into superfoods, the cost of those things is high, and the connection to the thing is less than when you go get it yourself, and that was more exciting.   Daniel: (10:45) That was my first inroad, and then eventually it was like, "Wait, can I do this to fill my refrigerator and my freezer with food?" That led me to where I'm at today, which is making this show WildFed and doing the podcast WildFed and just exploring what a modern hunter-gatherer looks like, who lives in a super developed industrial society.   Mason: (11:06) I really appreciate you saying like someone looking in, they're going to be like, "This is full on man. He's foraging for like everything." But I know you can take it way further. The fact that you're taking your ingredients to a gastropub, and allowing him to have his little injection of his other ingredients. Some of it's like a sustainable agricultural crop or even him using his own chicken stock or something.   Daniel: (11:31) I'm sure it's like mayonnaise and mustard and ketchup. I don't care anymore. My thing of like food exclusivity, because once you start to get the very best food in the world, it starts to, for me, it started to make me relax about other foods a little bit more. You know what I'm saying? It's like when you have venison to eat, if somebody wants to put it on a piece toast, you're like, okay cool man. Because I know I got this thing so I don't care as much as I used to when I was like always fretting about what I had for food.   Daniel: (12:03) So it's created a relaxation in me, which has been really healing. The relaxation comes from several different components of the hunter-gatherer lifestyle that I've been promoting. But yeah, you got to see the show man. I'm curious how it landed for you and what you thought about it. Because here's the thing, I've been incubating this project for two years and I've gotten very little feedback because I've been really secretive about it.   Mason: (12:24) We know you're [inaudible 00:12:25]   Daniel: (12:25) You're one of like 20 people that's seen in it, man.   Mason: (12:28) I feel so special. I do.   Daniel: (12:30) Seriously, you're one of like 20 people that's seen it. I'm really curious how you felt about it.   Mason: (12:36) We loved it. I think especially coming from like Tahnee and myself watching it. This is off the bat. Watching the first episode. Okay, two things off the bat. I love that there's like three or four people involved in the production, and the quality is very high. I noticed that straight away because that's something that again, that is in alignment with the simplicity of this whole lifestyle. I appreciated that, and appreciated the fact that the production was really high as well because let's face it, it matters. Second of all, straight off the bat, I liked that I know you and I know that watching one episode is gonna be very good, and it was put together very well in one episode. It had a story in the beginning and middle and end. It almost has its own catalyst in there for like the emotional ride.   Mason: (13:27) However, I know that there is a plan over the entire series to take you on a journey, and you didn't shy away from that. That's what I would definitely, anyone listening, I would recommend staying in that little journey, in that path. Because off the bat, the first episode is the slowness. That was like where you got to you're like it's something about the how slow, the speed of food. There's something slow about this lifestyle. That was after you were going after, I think it was the fiddleheads and it was just like, "Fuck, we're too early. Fuck, we're too late." Then the turkey hunting. It wasn't just this, "We're going to give them a little insight into how frustrating it can be. We'll quickly go, missed it, the turkey's going away." We were there and you took us on the journey. That was something I think you were maybe consciously doing.   Mason: (14:24) It was like I want to make sure that I don't glorify this lifestyle, or just show peak experiences. I really want everyone to be involved, and then see the underlying principle, which what came out in that first episode anyway was, there's just something about the speed of food. The speedier it is, the more it tastes bland and I think you said like cardboard. That straight away there's principles. You don't deliver rules. That's what I've got out of the three episodes I've seen, there's principles that you keep slippery and non-dogmatic so that it can be integrated into wherever someone is at. That's genuinely where they're at because that's something that doesn't happen. It's like, "Wherever you're at, it's okay, you do this," but, wink, wink, you really do need to get to my point in order to like [crosstalk 00:15:15].   Mason: (15:16) There was a real, it is that softness, and that first principle anyway got me really thinking about how that pace of food even going to farmers markets, I don't feel anything is bad or wrong. It's just made me really think about the fact that it's like a king tide when you're out in the surf. The more and more you get that quick speedy food, the more you get sucked out really quick. It's hard to get back into really feeling the essence in that romance, in the slowness of food and really earning it in one sense. Then just obviously showing the respect in the currency of time that you're giving. That was my initial takeaway, man.   Daniel: (15:57) The pace of food thing is really important to me, because I like that there's tension sometimes. Even with plants as you saw, it's not just like, "Oh, they can't run away, so I'll just walk out and get them." You've got this very, as you saw with the fiddleheads, it's very delicate time window, where loading up the canoe and you and your partner going out and paddling out to the spot, it's not something you're going to do every single day. You've got to like, "Okay, when do I think they're going to be ready?" Then you paddle out and you're like, "Oh, no, we're too early, so now I've got to go back." Then you go back and it's like, "Oh man, are we too late?" Because even they can slip away from you because they got this little window where they're edible. Then as you see with hunting, I think hunting has one of the biggest PR problems.   Daniel: (16:41) People have such a mistaken idea about it because of what they see. You see people who've hunted their whole life, they got 40 years of experience. In hunter-gatherer societies, it's pretty understood that as a hunter you reach peak efficiency in your 40s. Because you've got all of those decades of experience that have built up. When you start and you're 40, I was 35 or so when I started, it's like maybe a little older than that. You don't know anything. It's like trying to get going. You make mistakes. I want to put all that in there. I mean everybody makes mistakes. I want to put that in there so people could see the pitfalls and the challenges. Another thing that happens is people will think, "Well yeah, it's real easy to hunt when you have a gun, oh it's cheating." Actually it's not really that simple. It's pretty complex.   Daniel: (17:31) You got to really understand animals, and in order to understand those animals, you've got to understand those animals' foods. You got to understand their natural life histories, and before you know it, you're becoming so enmeshed into your ecosystem, that this idea of you're an alien on earth who is like can't touch anything because humans just destroy everything they come in contact with. Instead of that you start to like reorient yourself to like, "Oh, I'm part of this ecosystem." It's not just ecological literacy, which a lot of people are lacking, but it's like integration into your landscape. You become this animal on your landscape. Sometimes predatory, sometimes herbivorous. That's one of the things that's neat about being a human is we're like a bear or a pig in that we eat both plants and animals.   Daniel: (18:14) Sometimes I'm out there foraging and I'm clearly not a predator on the landscape. Other times I'm out there as a predatory animal. We have these two different, and I want to, if you've noticed the way the show is put together I like to leapfrog scenes back and forth, where sometimes I'm a predator and sometimes I'm the forager. Sometimes I'm a squirrel and sometimes I'm a hawk. Both are legitimate ways we interact with our landscape. But what I really hope that show does, because obviously, where you live, you're seeing a different suite of plants and animals that are familiar to you. But I'm hoping that what it does is inspires people wherever they are to get involved in their food shed. Because wherever you live there's lots to hunt, gather, collect, forage, whatever it is.   Daniel: (18:58) I want people to go, "I might not have fiddleheads, but what do I have in the spring?" Then lastly, I just want to say to your point about a seasonal arc. One of the things I've noticed from this lifestyle that really excites me is, the very first thing I'm doing in the beginning of the year, a couple months from now, is I'm tapping my maple trees and I'm making maple syrup so I get all my sugar for the year. Then it goes into the, what you saw, the fiddleheads, leaks and turkeys. Then over the course of the season, I have these activities that I'm doing every year, and every year I get a little better and I learn a little bit more and it begins in the snow and then it ends in the snow. In the middle is that summer, like that beautiful peak summer growth that happens here in the temperate regions of the United States.   Daniel: (19:41) I wanted people to see a seasonal arc, because this world we're living in now is becoming so homogenous, especially with the way our tech climate control is, and the way our built environment is. Even though the weather is one way outside, inside's just always the same flat line thing. I wanted people to see these beautiful seasons. Each episode has a show arc to it and its own tensions and wins and losses and all of that. But then there's this arc of the season, and that's one of the most powerful things about this lifestyle for me is that every part of the year, I have something I'm excited about, like really excited about. It's snow on the ground right now. I can't get at the acorns, the hunting is all winding down, but I know ice fishing is coming. I'm so excited about that. When that ends, it's maple syrup time, it's just goes, goes and goes forever.   Mason: (20:34) That's the simplicity you were talking about like a calming effect on your body I think, of anything that's made in the West, it's that calming effect so that we can explore the nuances of our parasympathetic nervous system. Whenever I've had those longer periods in nature, there's a foraging friend that I haven't been out with him for a while. He's just North of Sydney though. He was always telling me he'd go out for weeks at a time, and he just watched his senses coming back online. He'd watch his hearing become acute, and he'd watch his eyes... I didn't even realise my eyesight was getting a little blurry at particular distances when he was out. It always reminded me that consistency of time in nature, that's going to be my ultimate health practice, no matter what.   Mason: (21:20) Then what you're talking about, just being on the terrain. Barefoot at times if appropriate. But even just watching the seasonality outside of a Gregorian calendar, that's something I've always really watched and considered. It's interesting because I had such a mental need, a high pace of learning the expertise of this healthy lifestyle. When you get into what you're talking about, that needs to be a slow journey. Understanding our own seasonal arc. Here, there's a beautiful Instagram here in Byron Bay in this region, koori country. It's a local mob sharing. All right. Now the winds of change, now we're getting the westerlies, now we're in this season. Right now you'll start seeing the pippies. You've got pippies over there, the little mollusc on the beach. You dig your feet in and you can go and like harvest your... It's beautiful. It's one of the easy accesses.   Daniel: (22:16) Collecting.   Mason: (22:18) Collecting, which brings me to my next point. The slowness I feel you'd probably coming from knowing the lifestyle that I come from having that raw food like 'raji baji'. For me there was a little bit of like the rules don't apply. I'm always ahead of the curve. Even if I enter into like this foraging landscape, it takes me a while sometimes to really slow down and up and think, "I will listen to this person who has that 30 years experience." Even though they don't share that baseline spring water, not bringing preservatives into their life. That's something I think I learned from you heavily as well.   Mason: (23:04) That ability to actually slow down and then what I think is important into your message you are actually willing to not just become a guide, but really understand this new terrain of foraging in terms of what are the regulations in order they are. We're new to this world. Remember these regulations are in there for a reason. There are quotas on what you can be harvesting. See for me, that would seem limiting coming from where I was coming from in the beginning.   Daniel: (23:38) Infinite consciousness, man.   Mason: (23:40) Infinite consciousness, yeah. I'm like the goose man. I can just cross borders. I don't need.. Yeah That kind of [inaudible 00:23:47]. That is something that was really like, it's really helping me go like, "Right this is community." It's already in existence and we can be bridges between those communities to an extent. This is the term that I hear in opposition to the foraging lifestyle. I just wanted that to be the context. Well, not everyone can do this. It's not sustainable. That's an interesting comment and it's like a cliché kind of thing and you go and then the cliché answer is like, "Well everyone doesn't have to do it. I'm doing it." But I feel like we can have more interesting conversations and I feel like you're important to that.   Daniel: (24:28) I'd like to explore that a little bit because it comes up so much.   Mason: (24:32) I'd love to hand it over to you, yeah please.   Daniel: (24:33) Well I just think that one's really interesting because it's like not everyone on the planet can play golf. That's not sustainable. But nobody's yelling that at people playing golf. Not everybody can do anything. There's like almost nothing that everyone can do sustainably. Why is it that I must defend against that? Also, why is the burden of planetary sustainability on my shoulders all of a sudden? I have to only do the things that everyone can do. Why? There are people more intelligent than me, and I'm not banging on their door like, "Why are you doing math problems I can't do? Not everyone can do that, so stop it." That doesn't make any sense. There's all this talk these days about privilege. It's like, I don't know, this is just what I'm doing. I'm not trying to exert a privilege. I'm not trying to say that everybody on the planet needs to do this.   Daniel: (25:23) Now I will say this, everybody on the planet used to do this. Everybody on the planet used to do this. You're only here, if you're on earth today, is because of the hunters and foragers of the past whose genetic lineage you are the current incarnation of. You do come from foragers. Now, I think of it like this, and this is an important aspect of why I created WildFed, because WildFed, I hope is a brand that goes on past me. I'm currently like a focal point in it, but that's not the long-term goal for me. I want to create a project that carries the torch of, I'll say foraging in a general sense. Because anthropologists will refer to foraging peoples as a shorthand for hunter-gatherers. I don't just mean plants here. I mean plants, animals, fungi, algae, everything. Some people need to carry the torch in this generation, especially in this generation more now than ever.   Daniel: (26:20) Although every generation for it to last, there needs to be people who carry it forward. We live in the era where the last hunting and gathering peoples are blinking out into extinction, extra patient or being assimilated into the modern lifestyle. They are probably not going to be able to carry that torch, the way that some of us are going to be able to. Secondary to that, is that they live in very remote pockets of the planet like Indonesia and parts of Africa and places in South America. But what about where we all live in the, you were saying the West earlier, in the developed parts of the world, and the industrialized parts of the world. Somebody needs to maintain that relationship. Here in the United States we have, like you there where you are, museums that are there, where there are people whose lives are dedicated to keeping aspects of the past alive.   Daniel: (27:11) Why is there nobody keeping our hunting and gathering tradition alive? Is that not more important to keep alive than memories of past wars or who invented light bulbs, or all of these things that we're keeping all that alive in museums. Or there's like museum martial arts, let's say. There's people who are practicing obscure martial arts from the past that have very little relevance to today, but they keep them alive as a museum art. You know what I'm talking about? So many things like that that we do, yet this fundamental thing that binds all humans together, which is how we got to be here, our fundamental relationship to the natural world, we need people keeping that alive, I think more fundamentally than anything. Partially what I'm doing with WildFed is just trying to pick up that torch and carry it forward. I'm most certainly not the only one.   Daniel: (28:02) I share this responsibility with a lot of my colleagues who are doing the same thing. Many of which are going to be featured in the video show, and many of which are featured on my podcast. People that I meet who are either doing it in a general, I'm doing it in a very generalist sense. Then there's people who are doing it in a much more specialized sense. My thing is a generalized hunting and gathering approach. But I really get excited when I meet somebody who's really specific on one thing, like they hunt bear, or they hunt only mushrooms or whatever it is because I throw a very wide but shallow net as a generalist. I get excited when somebody throws a very narrow but deep net, because I can learn so much from them. I'm trying to also create a platform that brings those people together.   Daniel: (28:47) Because you'll notice, I'm sure you've noticed this in the tonic herbalism thing, you'll get people who are all about foraging medicinal mushrooms. Tonic herbal mushrooms, but they don't hunt. Then the person who hunts would never even think about foraging those mushrooms. Then the person who is a dedicated plant forager might never hunt or fish. Or the fishermen might never... I'm trying to create a platform that will start to be a hub for all of those different people and those voices and those lifestyles to say, “Hey look, we're all sharing this one commonality here, which is wild foods.” It's so much more than nutrition. It's relationship to species. Because every plant, every mushroom, every animal, every algae is a living entity. It's about how we relate to that entity.   Daniel: (29:35) To me, there's a really deep thing going on here. Then how we relate to all of those identities together, those entities together is like how we relate to the ecosystem, and how we find relationship to it. It's just sad that we're at this point where we have to forge relationships with ecosystems as if we are from another planet. That really has bothered me over the years, this sense of alienness that we have to our own earth. Now where if you read headlines, you will see a lot more about people going to Mars than you will see about people making relationships with nature. You'll see stories about the Amazon burning, you'll see stories about the pollution of rivers and the extinction of species. Then you'll see stories about going to Mars. It's like, really, we're not going to stop first and fix this, we're just going to leave?   Daniel: (30:24) Isn't that like somebody in a relationship who has a bad relationship and so they split, and they get in another relationship, and the same thing happens, and they split. They never stop and face it, and face themselves and learn how to have a good relationship. It's like you just run away, run away, run away. Aren't we doing that right now? We trashed the planet and then we run to Mars and then what? Like trash Mars? Do we have a plan for Mars? What are we going to do with the garbage there? We're going to put in the ground like we did here. Where are we going with this? WildFed on its face is about food, but beneath the surface of that, it's about a lot more. It's about how we are in relationship with wild species and wild places.   Mason: (31:06) Yes, mike drop. I want to say that I definitely have got that sense over the years of creating that web weaving between all these specialised fields, and the sharing of knowledge, someone who's foraging for [inaudible 00:31:21] culinary mushrooms starting to open up into say like that medicinal mushroom world and vice versa. Creating this somewhat like beautiful fascial tensegrity between all these beautiful elements of the subsistence, on which I want to talk to you about. You were just talking about that seems like a very classic pattern of you get into a relationship, you screw it up, you bounce it, you get over to the next relationship and that's a pattern. Possibly developed genetically, who knows where it came from, maybe from parents patterns.   Daniel: (31:53) All kinds of things.   Mason: (31:57) Now what I see as you were talking about martial arts say Kendo in a dojo, what's the relevance of that? I see the relevance is that you get to do it in a very contained system that even though it's got this very certain element of making you mentally hone yourself. It's a very contained system where you can get into uncomfortable states in order to refine yourself. It's not this open ended, for lack of a better word, getting uncomfortable. Which is what I see is the difference between like a museum art and actually getting into the wild and foraging, and as you said, becoming a new beginner.   Mason: (32:35) That's uncomfortable in a beautiful, beautiful way. Now getting uncomfortable for me it seems like it's going to be the only access for us to, you know, getting out of our comfort zone to an extent, in order to deal with these patterns that we have as a species that is destroying where we came from. Can you talk about that connection through foraging, through the fishing, through the hunting? How does that actually help us in our inner world basically evolve and deal with this shit that's making us run away from the most important relationships of our lives?   Daniel: (33:14) There's a lot there, so lets unpack it. First I'll say you brought up Kendo like with full respect to practitioners of Kendo, you would be mistaken to think that that was a contemporary art that you were going to step into the octagon and fight an MMA specialist. You'd just get your ass handed to you right away. You'd be beat down. We know it because we created a forum to test people, and everybody brought their arts and pretty quick, everything went away except ground game grappling and standup game basically boxing type stuff. That survived and everything else was obliterated very quickly. Stylistic elements remain, but we see that those things are good. Kendo is good against Kendo in a controlled setting, but it doesn't work in the real world. I want to say that partially, with WildFed, one of the things I'm trying to do is show people real meals of food.   Daniel: (34:09) This isn't, "Oh, did you know dandelion is edible?" It's like, that's just some mental masturbation. Let's see you make a meal out of this stuff. Because that's where what's the saying? Like the rubber meets the road. It's like I wanted to show people the real thing because we're actually, this isn't just trail nibbling stuff where we're showing real meals coming out of these wild foods. That was important to me. Now to the meat of what you were asking about. I think that if you had lived your whole life in a small town and you knew everybody, everybody knew everybody. Maybe it's a little uncomfortable sometimes because everybody knows all your dirt, but also they all know who you are, and you have these interconnections and familial connections. You grew up with people. Everywhere you go you're just waving hi to everybody because everybody knows everybody.   Daniel: (34:59) Then I transplant you to a new place, big city let's say, and you don't know anybody. You would have a low level anxiety taking place because you would be alien to that place, and all of your connections that gave you stability and strength, they're gone. You're now in this fragile position because of the vulnerability of that. Now extrapolate that metaphor out and it's like here you are on planet earth, but you only know other humans. You don't know plants, you don't know fungi, you don't know animals. You don't know how to survive in your environment. You don't know how to source your own food, and you're totally reliant on these systems that provide you with your sustenance. Then you keep learning about, wow, not only are these systems really delicate and prone to failure and wow, that's kinda weird.   Daniel: (35:47) But also like, wait, they're also super toxic in the sense that we're poisoning this food and we're poisoning the landscape in which the food comes from and we're poisoning the watersheds. Wait a second, like this wheat was genetically modified with gamma radiation. Wait, what? This isn't just like healthy natural food? You start realizing, "Wow, I'm dependent on systems that are really fragile, super destructive to the earth and on top of it, are not good for me, and I don't even know how to solve that except through tons of money spent on really expensive products that start to encumber me." It starts to get a little bit, I think what happens is we have this low level anxiety. I think you see that anxiety projected out into the world in the form of apocalypse media, which is like a whole genre of media that most of us are kinda drawn a little bit to.   Daniel: (36:36) Whether it's Mad Max or it's The Walking Dead or it's like prepper stuff or it's whatever it is, or survival stuff. Shows about people living on the frontier of Alaska. Why are there so many dramatic reality shows where people are sent into nature naked and afraid, or they're sent into nature to survive on an island with each other and then they dramatically compete to see who's the survivor? We have so much of this media being pumped out because it speaks to the part of us that feels vulnerable on our own planet, because we don't actually know. It's not really about, "Can Joe survive the next episode?" It's not really about that. It's about can I survive and we're using him as a surrogate. We know that we can't survive and that freaks us out a little bit. The answer is not a whole bunch of cool Bear Grills survival skills where you have like some big bowie knife and you can pee in a snakeskin instead of a canteen.   Daniel: (37:32) It's not about those things. It's about for me, how many species am I familiar with that I know that are food for me? So that when I walk down my street or I drive down the road, I look out the window and go food, food, food, food, food. The difference for me of a maple tree to somebody who doesn't produce maple syrup, it's just night and day. When I look at a maple tree, I know that I can pull a gallon of sugar out of that tree next year. It's like one little step less afraid that I am internally and then it's like, the Oak trees. Like I can pull acorns off of those. That's food for me. Okay it's a little bit more confidence. Squirrels, that's food for me and I love that animal and that animal and I have a relationship. Then you start adding in all this stuff. I know where the clams are, I know where the Periwinkles are. Okay, I know how to catch fish out of that river.   Daniel: (38:26) Before you know it, you start having all these interconnections. It's like being back in that small town where you knew everybody. Earth starts to be this safe place for you because you're anti-fragile. You have this network that makes you robust. You're like, "You know what? It wouldn't matter to me if it did go Mad Max. I know where everything is. I don't care if there's a problem in the banking system. I don't care if there's a problem with the computer systems. I don't care if there's a three week shutdown because of a tsunami that takes out the grid." All those things that people talk about, it's like I'd just be good. I don't mean there'd be no hardship, but I'm saying like all those fears start to like go away and you have this sense of relaxation into your home, which is the earth.   Daniel: (39:12) I think people lack that so much and they fear that nature is so hostile. It's interesting with Australia to me because it's like this place from which all these shows come that we see here in the West about how dangerous the land, the 10 deadliest snakes. We got this whole croc hunter image of Australia of like this dangerous place. But then I'm sure people over there see shows about us about Alaska and it's like, "Oh my God, Grizzly Bears and Polar Bears," and all this stuff. It's like we just have this obsession with how dangerous nature is. It's like, man, it is, if you don't know how to coexist with it, but we know.   Mason: (39:48) That's interesting. Even just here in Byron, it's like even city slickers, I grew up in the city, always coming to the beach. Most times I'd be coming and visit here, which is now in my home. You're going to see a brown snake go across the path on your way to the beach in one way or another. You're going to find these red back spiders, and you're going to have huntsmen in your house. People go, "Holy shit, that's a huntsman" and even a city slicker, you're like, "Yeah, that's fine. They're okay as long as they're on the wall, his name's Pete, he's a friend." That's something I do appreciate about Australia. There's certain pockets through Maine and Connecticut that you can see especially seeing New Zealand, there's this ensconced connection to the natural world. As we know if you leave even the tiniest gap, nature's going to start creeping in, and then it's going to be easy to repopulate your in a world with those connections. That low level anxiety is insane.   Mason: (40:51) I mean just here, the amount of like distinction we need to make around people going like, "Right, I read that reishi is really good for anxiety, so I take reishi." It's like, well, let's take a couple of steps back. We're completely stepping out of this, "I've got a problem give me a pill," mentality, and we need to create this fabric of a personal culture and a family culture. That can, as you said, it's like, it might be this seemingly like rough, wild world, but when you do step into it, it's this inner cushioning, and this inner easing that you have because you've gained a genuine connection.   Mason: (41:30) When you were just talking about like, I assume is survivor just then, and having our experience of being able to survive through Bear Grills or through Tom surviving the next day. That's virtual reality. We're talking about the goggles coming on and us tapping out. It's on. It's a pivotal point not to get sensationalist about it, but most of us as we will be in most times of our lives, life is on and then we're at pivotal points most of the time. We do have really big choices and opportunities to take with our personal culture right now.   Daniel: (42:03) Bigger and bigger choices coming very soon. I'd like to talk about that a second. I want to add one more piece, which is in the raw food culture, which I think a lot of people don't understand how interwoven the raw food culture kinda got what psychedelic drugs too. Because those two things became very interwoven.   Mason: (42:22) Massively.   Daniel: (42:23) Massively. That culture started to get a little... those medicines are so powerful. Abused you can get pretty far out on a limb with them in your thinking. Things will feel extremely real to you that have basis and truth, but maybe aren't actually functional out in the world always. Pieces of truth. Sometimes things are true implicitly but not explicitly. It's true that we're all one internally, implicitly. Explicitly there are people who will kick your door down and hold you at gunpoint, and kill your family sometimes. Hate to say it, but that happens it's happening right now somewhere. Yet we're also all one.   Daniel: (43:08) What's happening in the explicit world and what's happening in the implicit world, they're not always the same. It's like that with the medicines you can get far out in your thinking like that the implicit reality you're experiencing that those medicines open you to is the explicit world, so you can get a little bit confused. I was thinking of just now as we were talking about a book series that some of the friends of mine in that culture were reading. I just know the name of the first book was Anastasia. Do you know these books?   Mason: (43:37) Absolutely. There's Anastasia and the other channeling texts.   Daniel: (43:44) These books people who aren't aware it's like they come out of Russia I believe, or at least they claim to and their stories about this culture in Russia where maybe in Siberia or something, where these people are living in like pure harmony with animals and with nature. All these really interesting stories. Well people I knew were taking those as anthropological reports. They were believing that those were true stories, and that this was anthropology. I would try to stop and say, “Hey listen, there are actual people scientists called anthropologists who study indigenous peoples on their landscape and this stuff is bullshit that you're reading. It's fairy tales. It's not real.” That's not real. People would be aggressively angry with me. They wanted that to be real. They wanted to know that squirrels were bringing Anastasia her nuts.   Daniel: (44:32) They wanted that stuff to be real. On one end, you have people who think nature is this ultra-dangerous place where around every corner something's about to gobble you up and you need to hide in your home. On the other side you have people who are like... I've been studying bear attacks lately because I'm around a lot of bears and I'm just curious like, what happens? Why does it happen? It's interesting that you sometimes have people who are so on the other end that they'll actually provoke an animal attack on themselves because they believe like, "No, me and this bear are friends." It's like, man you can get confused on that side too. It's like the brown snake is not your enemy, but he's also not necessarily your friend. You coexist on the planet. You have different agendas and you try not to meet in a negative way, but you also don't try to unnecessarily hug him either.   Daniel: (45:24) Now, some people get away with it, right for a while. Like who is your homeboy out of Australia, Steve Erwin. Got away with it for a while and then he gets a sting ray stinger through his heart. It's like you also learn a respect for nature too when you're part of the food chain. Because you start to understand every time you kill an animal, you take an animal's life and you open that animal up and you see its insides you are met face to face with mortality. You're met very quickly face to face with what your organs look like, and how you're a made of meat too. That there are things that'll be just as happy to consume you whether they're microbiotic or macrobiotic. You're like, both things are true. Nature is a lot safer than a lot of people think, and nature can be also a lot colder than a lot of people think. There's some Buddhist thing going on here. It's like some middle path   Mason: (46:22) Even like with TCM and that's what we talk a lot about these theories, these Taoists theories and it seems very poetic and romantic and clinical as well. It's a Yin transforms Yang. Yin Yang Wuxing, Yin Yang and the five phases of energy, it doesn't go beyond this that we're fucking talking about right now. It's very basic. We can get out of our head with it and experience it, but how far do we go down that rabbit hole of the magical thinking when it comes to far out.   Mason: (46:58) That definitely was a bit of a... I could have kept on going down that world and stayed functional in my personal egoic inner knowing. That I know the reality of what's going on in this world and despite the fact that I know that it's not appropriate for me to talk about it, these people just are not tapped in. One day they'll wake up and realise what I know internally. You can go really far with it. I didn't go so far down with the psychedelics. I definitely had a few dieter's, and will continue to when I can find I can have some grounding in terms of the appropriateness of-   Daniel: (47:28) Has its place like any medicine has its place.   Mason: (47:31) Absolutely, and the calling. I feel like we all, some of us dive into it and then step back and mature in our approach and appropriateness.   Daniel: (47:42) Or accept the healing of the medicine and don't just go to the medicine all the time. Because sometimes you just hit it and hit it, and it's like, "Hey man, how about you take 20 years and integrate some of that?"   Mason: (47:53) I love that you went two decades with that as well. That's it. Because that's an appropriate amount of time to integrate it. Well and what's giving you the medicine? Is it your chop wood, carry water, meek, mundane, day to day. That's what Buddhism is anyway. You can keep chopping wood, keep carrying water, get a little pop, get enlightened for a second. Let it go. Keep fucking going.   Daniel: (48:14) We have this happening on an experiential level too. I want to tie that in there. You were talking before like about how far out you can get with something. Sometimes we need a litmus test, like a reality test to check. Have I gotten too far out? For me what that became was like, well can I actually feed myself? Let me try to explain. I was at Burning Man, the big party right in Nevada. It's pretty far out. This is over a decade ago, maybe about a decade ago. I'm there and everybody's vibe is like, "Oh, this is the new model of humanity. This is how we can live in harmony together." I'm looking around like, "No, you're on a lunar plateau right now. There's no food here." Like you're going to live this way you brought all your food. Here's a test, are we really a tribe? Okay, let's feed ourselves, can you?   Daniel: (49:14) Or are you super reliant on these external systems that you say you're destroying, but you're actually still completely like nursing off of it? I find like this is really fake. The same thing happens in the medicine circles to a degree too. "No we can just live like this forever." It's like, "Yeah, you're going to get up tomorrow and you're going to go to the supermarket." You say you're stepping away from the system with this stuff, but you're only doing it up here. But who's chopping the wood and who's carrying the water? That's what it's really about. Your enlightenment, if you're not chopping wood and carrying water, your enlightenment isn't integrated. That I think is what I love about hunting and gathering. It's my chopping wood, carrying water. It's how I make sure that it keeps my feet on the ground.   Daniel: (50:00) Because I have one of those brains that wants to take me up into the clouds all the time. That real airy sense of exploring ideas is what I get most excited about. It's that earthy groundedness of, "Okay, I'm going to go out today and get food, and it's going to be challenging, and it's going to take time, and I'm going to have to utilise. I'm going to get into that discomfort you were talking about. I'm going to come face to face with what I don't know." Sometimes it's hard because I don't know what somebody who's done this their whole life would know. I am forced back to the ground.   Daniel: (50:33) That is I think really important for some people because it's like they've cut loose all the ballasts and they've rocketed up to 70,000 feet, and from up there, they're not really contributing very much. They think they are by just being, man like, "I'm contributing my vibe." It's like, "Yeah why don't you come down here and carry some of this wood with us?"   Mason: (50:54) My absolute favorite conversation. For people that don't know what we're talking about, I've been there going like reading the Pleiadian channeling texts getting to this. It gets confusing when you go and hang out with some of the local mob, the indigenous mob, and they will point to the Pleiades and say, where do you come from? That's where we're from. We're from the Pleiades. Then you get these modern interpretations of some of the rock art and you see the Biami, creator Biami standing on what is possibly a rocket ship until you go fuck.   Mason: (51:30) There's some like hieroglyphs here and you go, "Right, these hieroglyphs show DNA, did the Pleiadians come down and seed our DNA here?" Then there's like a little depiction and a modern interpretation of a spaceship coming down and falling into those waters between like Gosford and Sydney. This exists, and you start going into this inner world and going, "This storytelling's got something to it. I'm going to make that my exact reality on the outside world, and that completely skyrockets you."   Daniel: (52:03) The people who are telling you that will also chase like a giant porcupine down and pull it out of the ground and butcher it and share it in the tribe. It's like they will chop wood and carry water. I'm way more open to hearing that stuff from somebody who can demonstrate that they have integrated it. That's one of the things about indigenous peoples around the world, is that they have creation stories, creation myths, or sometimes what they say are their histories too, that are pretty far out to us, but they can demonstrate the viability of their worldview through their ability to live sustainably on the earth.   Daniel: (52:37) But when people who are trying to demonstrate the validity of their worldview but can't do that, it's like, "Well, I'm pretty suspect. Go back, integrate so that you can actually live here in some sustainable way, then I'm more open to your ideas." What like an Aboriginal person from Australia has to say has a lot more merit to me because they've got 60, 70,000 years of proving it. They've proved it probably longer than just about anybody who left Africa. I'm all ears. Show us how. But when somebody comes from Burning Man like that and they're telling me that stuff. I'm like, "Man, you don't even know how to like do your own laundry, your mom's still doing it."   Mason: (53:18) I think we're talking about the difference between someone that's just like, it's that same escapism. I'm going to get these beliefs and I feel superior and I'm going to become a missionary to these-   Daniel: (53:31) That's super dangerous man. That's super dangerous when you start thinking like… That was one of the things that I had to face when I started to hunt and fish. Foraging a little less so that world's a little different. But learning to hunt and fish man, I had to go speak to men who had fathers a lot of the times. Because I grew up without a father so I'm part of that culture, which is so common now in the developed world, especially as we see the breakdown of the family structure. Now, with such an emphasis on personal freedom, we'll see more and more of that probably, unfortunately, right. A lot of hunting and fishing least here in North America is passed on patrilineally. You learn it from your dad or your uncles or something. If you have a break in that like I did, you don't learn it at all. That's not to say that women don't hunt and fish, but they tend to not be the ones who pass that knowledge on at least in the past.   Daniel: (54:29) I would have to go in front of men who I did not understand and they didn't understand me. It's like I'm showing up with my man bun and my five toed shoes, and I want to do everything alternative to how they do it, because I know my ways are better. They're like, "Yeah, well, we actually get this done." Again, it's that same thing I was talking about before. They would have these political ideas, they would have religious ideas, they would have social ideas that were like, I thought I was superior to. And over time, I realised, that's like a really interesting type of armor that I was wearing. I was using health practices and ideas of consciousness as a shield, so as not to have to interface with some of the pricklier parts of reality that I didn't like. The parts of me that wanted the Anastasia reality. These guys were like, "Well get the fuck out of here acting like that."   Daniel: (55:18) Slowly, I had to learn how to humble myself to people I had thought I was superior to. Then realise like, these are the people who can teach me. This has really, really turned me around in a big way. I needed this bad. I was pretty far out there, because getting on stages and talking to thousands of people and having a podcast and all that stuff where you get this little bit of internet celebrity and you think you're sort of a big deal. Then you realise like, well in your small town nobody knows what a podcast is, and they don't care. If you want to hunt with them, this is the conditions and this is the way they're going to let it happen. You're like, have to be meek and humble.   Daniel: (55:55) I mean that was hard, and it was so good. My bullshit meter has I don't know has moved several steps back towards center because it was way out there. My bullshit meter was more like, "Well if you don't know about like green juice and you don't know about coffee enemas, and you don't know about six day meditation retreats in silence, then you don't know anything." It's like, dude, here I was way off the mark.   Mason: (56:23) You're not paranoid about parasites all the time.   Daniel: (56:25) You're not worried about what they're doing [inaudible 00:56:27]. Now it's cool though, as I feel it's that third eye idea. It's like I've got a left eye and a right eye, and they are connected to different hemispheres and those brain hemisphere see the world in kind of opposite ways. One sees the world pretty analytically, and one sees the world pretty artistically. There's a merging in the center where you take those two worldviews and you bring them together. Well, I was spending all my time with just those right-brained people, and I was avoiding all those left brain people like they were wrong. Now I got a lot of those people in my life and they've brought balance to the other side, so that I feel now like I can walk a middle path. If you lose that, you might think you're on a middle path not realising you're all the way to one side or the other because you've lost the contrast.   Daniel: (57:17) Now I've got these people who are some of my very best and closest allies and friends, who are not people I would have necessarily connected with before, but they have opened my world up to things that I didn't know what I was missing in my life. I haven't jettisoned all the other stuff I've just for every far out idea you need some earthy idea to balance it and counter oppose it. That's really important. What we're seeing right now, it's probably a very different political landscape in Australia than it is here in the States right now. But I'm sure from the outside you can see what's happening here, which is like this soft civil war, this cold civil war that's happening here with these oppositional ideas. I get frustrated because we call one left wing and call one right wing. I'm always like, "Man, every plane I see has like both wings."   Daniel: (58:02) That's how it flies. You cut one off, like, "No, we're just going to be the left wing plane." It's like we'll crash and vice versa we're just the right wing. It's like you need both. They're supposed to keep each other in balance. What's happening now is they're saying, no, only this or only this. So similarly, this is a holistic, and what's cool about that is just every mystery teaching ever is always this. Whatever place you look where there's a mystery teaching, it talks about these two oppositional forces that bring each other into, and finding that balance point in the center. I think when you have this hunting gathering component, it gives a platform for exploring consciousness in a way that you never get too far off balance.   Mason: (58:47) Dude, and that's why I love your work so much. I mean, when someone would go like, "Hey, so what does Vitalis do?" It's like, "Well, I'm going to tell you all the things." It's at some point it's experiential. What you're talking about is holding that consistent ground of integration and sharing, for lack of a better word, principles in and around these hardcore ideas that can be applied actually to your life. But that's why, if you are going to the supermarket, if you're going to farmer's markets, if you're doing a little bit of foraging, it doesn't really matter if you listen to the podcast. The WildFed podcast I've dug into a little bit, I'm really enjoying it so far. But the show's relevant wherever you're at, and you'll really get that. It's like, yes, it is absolutely about the hunting and foraging and the fishing.   Mason: (59:34) But no matter where you're at, it's not just this bullshit idea of like, "Yeah but it can work for anybody. "It is because underlying are principles that you can… Everything you've just talked about nailed it. For someone like myself that is fanatical and does shoot off into the heavens quite often as well, that's been a nice stable ground. It helps, kind of, me feel comfortable in the direction that I'm at. I always have people coming towards me who have cracked out in one particular identity and they're trying to integrate. It's interesting trying to explain what that is. I really, really appreciate that. I'm sure it gets sung a lot, but being there and sharing authentically to help us continue to integrate and not go into the excesses that can cause pathology when we are having these beautiful intention to become healthy, that's really appreciated.   Daniel: (01:00:31) We are in that time where people, like, pathology around every corner right now. We have to be really careful. There's never been a more confusing time in history. I feel like the fundamental thing that's going to be, I mentioned it earlier, I feel like big choices are coming. Because pretty soon the distinction between reality and augmented reality and virtual reality are going to get so gray, it's going to be so difficult to sort out, not for us, man, we grew up in reality. But the next generation of kids are going to grow up in augmented reality and the next generation of kids are going to grow up in a virtual world.   Daniel: (01:01:08

The Kickstart with Matt and Matt

This week Matt and Matt are joined by their old pal John. Together they discuss Crocodile Chris, Multi-dimensional Steve Erwin, The climate control of the podcast studio, and the announcement of the Kickstart Patreon. Weird News stories including Asian Cobras, Chocolate Floods, and another set of disappointing World Records. Join us friends, climb the tallest mountains, dive the deepest depths of you standards. If you're happy and you know it, change the station. 

Master Mind, Body and Spirit
The Art of Vedic Palmistry & Astrology Plus the 5 States of the Human Heart

Master Mind, Body and Spirit

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 21, 2019 69:17


Guylaine Vallée is a master of the ancient science of Vedic palmistry. She decided to become a palmist after meeting Ghan-sham Singh Birla in 1985. She was so impressed with the power of Vedic palmistry to identify behavioral patterns, problems and potential in herself -- and so inspired by Ghan-sham’s deep commitment to help others--that she dedicated herself to Vedic studies. Since joining the Birla Center, she has helped thousands of people through her consultations, counselling and teaching. She has touched the lives of thousands of others through her many appearances on television, radio, magazines and newspapers, and in her popular lectures and workshops. She authored her autobiography, The Happy Palmist: My Joyful Adventure in Vedic Palmistry with Steve Erwin. Most recently, she teamed up with Ghansham to create an online self-help series—the 90-Day Challenge programs that draw on Vedic wisdom, Eastern philosophy, yogic exercises and the science of astro-palmistry. Astrology and Palmistry are connected The story of Ghaynsham The Birla centre The environment is stronger than our willpower The origins of Palmistry and Astrology The connection to the Vedas The Heartline The Headline The Lifeline Why it’s not prediction it’s realizing your potential Why gratitude is a powerful exercise Why it’s important to give yourself a goal to motivate the body Understanding if you want a quick fix or something deeper? What is the lesson I am learning? Why life brings The unbelievable story of Imaculee The power of forgiveness THE FIVE STATES OF THE HUMAN HEART: LETTING OUR LOVE EVOLVE Paramahansa Yogananda Website: http://www.mattbelair.com/ sign up for the email list and most importantly do 1 act of kindness today!

Journeys With Jennifer Griego
JOURNEY 11: Anecdotes and Antidotes with Greg Krogh

Journeys With Jennifer Griego

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 1, 2019 91:21


Jennifer Griego talks Greg Krogh a little bit about about hunting in Arizona and Mexico. Greg is a great hunter, guide and outfitter for Mogollon Rim Outfitters, and he is very entertaining. Also, her dad and Greg tell stories about their hunting experiences together and individually, and they talk about other interesting “Krogh stories”. Topics Discussed: Mexican hospitals, pinworms, judging deer size, hypochondriasis, horse related injuries, dirty diapers in trailer, mountain lions stories, hygiene, new parents with new borns and old granola bars. Movies referenced: What About Bob, Woody Allen, The Switch, Meet the Parents, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Dumb and Dumber, Forrest Gump, Stripes and Steve Erwin. More Info on Guests Instragram: https://www.instagram.com/greg_krogh/ Website: http://www.mogollonrimoutfitters.com More Info on Host Jennifer Griego Jennifer Griego is 17 years old and goes to high school in Scottsdale Arizona. Her Parents are Carole Griego M.D. and Bob  Griego M.D. She has two brothers, David and Timmy Griego, and loves to spend time with her family. She has a cystic fibrosis - a lung disease - and still lives life to the fullest as a big game hunter and high school tennis player. Journeys with Jen Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/journeys_with_jennifer_griego/ Personal Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jen_griego/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jennifer.griego.1806

Listen, You Beautiful Bitch
Panic Squirt: Butt Stuff

Listen, You Beautiful Bitch

Play Episode Listen Later May 21, 2019 40:58


Welcome back! Please excuse our editing for this one, we PROMISE it won't happen again! This episode we regret our weekend decisions, talk about why we love Steve Erwin shorts, drink Kombucha and discuss Anal Sex(obviously). Get ready for some raunchy ASS discussions. 

Hunt 4 Greatness
Episode #63 SOLO podcast with surprise guest !

Hunt 4 Greatness

Play Episode Listen Later Apr 30, 2019 83:23


On this episode of the podcast I talk about Steve Erwin, encouraging others, my son rubbing his penis on intimate objects, & lifting weights. I had planned to do it solo but was eventually joined by my significant other, Kimberly Lawrence, and we talked about relationships, the ups and downs, & how we’ve maintained a healthy relationship for over 3 years.

The Drunken Odyssey with John King: A Podcast About the Writing Life
360: Poetry Jazz BBQ at jack Kerouac's Place!

The Drunken Odyssey with John King: A Podcast About the Writing Life

Play Episode Listen Later Mar 30, 2019 45:32


In this week's episode, Karen Price, Erik Deckers, Terry Ann Thaxton and I read Jack kerouac's poetry to the accompaniment of Ben Deckers's walking bass. Breaking down the show. Photo by Steve Erwin.[/caption] TEXTS DISCUSSED Episode 360 of The Drunken Odyssey, your favorite podcast about creative writing and literature is available on iTunes, or right click here to download.

The Drunken Odyssey with John King: A Podcast About the Writing Life

In this week's episode, I talk to fiction writer Jane Ridgeway about our stories and characters choosing us instead of the other way around, the delicious problem of historical fiction, and what teenagers today like to read, among other topics. [caption id="attachment_23534" align="alignnone" width="2048"]Jane Ridgeway by Steve Erwin.

ridgeway steve erwin
Laugh Factory Stand Up Clips
Dave Attell - Steve Erwin

Laugh Factory Stand Up Clips

Play Episode Listen Later Jul 19, 2018 1:25


Dave Attell believes Steve Erwin was murdered at The Laugh Factory in Hollywood, CA.

The Drunken Odyssey with John King: A Podcast About the Writing Life

On this week's program, The Drunken Odyssey enjoys perhaps its final Bloomsday live show, and its perhaps final visit to The Gallery at Avalon Island. Jeremy DaCruz by Steve Erwin.Matthew Davis, Alisha Erao, and Sarah Morrison by Steve Erwin.Octavia Finch by Steve Erwin.Elise McKenna by Steve Erwin.Erik Branch by Steve Erwin.John King by Steve Erwin.Emmi Green by Steve Erwin.Patrick Greene and Jeremy DaCruz by Steve Erwin.

The WarriorU Podcast
Episode 6 - Rhys Dowden - Commando Operator

The WarriorU Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Jun 21, 2018 50:07


In this episode of WarriorU Bram Connolly talks with Rhys Dowden, a former Australian Soldier, Private Security Contractor for Steve Erwin and an Australian Commando. He is now the owner of Operator Edge, which focuses on Rigorous Mental Training for the Military. Bram and Rhys re-hash some of Rhys' experiences in Iraq, discusses Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu training, Mcgregor vs. Mayweather, and hand-to-hand combat's application to mindset in life.At WarriorU we believe in helping people be the best version of themselves, through tailored physical training programs, self development lessons and critical analysis of who we are and where we are at. Mentorship is the key to success, someone somewhere has been in in your position before. www.warrioru.com.au See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

The Narrators
165: Jordan Grasso, “I am Steve Erwin”

The Narrators

Play Episode Listen Later May 26, 2018 18:03


Jordan Grasso is an adjunct professor of sociology at Palomar College in North County San Diego but she's on her way to Florida to pursue a Phd! We wish her luck and thank her for telling this story about her many encounters with alligators, told at our “Rocking the Boat” show at Tiger! Tiger! Tavern on 8 May 2018. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The DTALKS Podcast - Detoxing from Life
Episode 49 - Steve Erwin at Dallas Fan Expo 2018

The DTALKS Podcast - Detoxing from Life

Play Episode Listen Later May 7, 2018 47:29


In this episode of the DTALKS Podcast, the dads talk to the great Steve Erwin, known for the character of Deathstroke that you might have seen as the primary antagonist in the Teen Titans cartoon, during the end-credits scene of Justice League, on Arrow, or in the comics. He shares his experiences of being a dad, working in the industry, and we can't thank him enough for his time The DTALKS Podcast contains content you'd find in an PG-13 movie. That language may not be safe for most work environments, for your kids, and listener discretion is advised. #ErwinWithAnE #RappinGalan #BeABetterDad Go check out Steve's page on the DC Comics page Please consider visiting the DTALKS Podcast Patreon and signing up to support the podcast!  

The After Lodge Podcast
Episode 184: The Land of Oz

The After Lodge Podcast

Play Episode Listen Later Jan 11, 2018 105:24


Opening: Down Under (Men at Work) We're back after losing (yet another) beloved Brother Nick popped in before the show . . . from Austrailia Harlan goes to the Education Association to harass Scotty from the Block Prince Hall installations and Black & White dress code John stirs the pot with some internet racists (with dues cards) Tony pops in . . . Without costume this time Amazon's Alexa goes all the way? We do it all for the sunshade, and we'd do it again Chili cook-off time is coming and the plotting has already begun Tony picks up a new sponsor for us Nick re-joins us from the Merry Old Land of Oz . , , and shares how awesome Australian Masonry is Crocodile Dundee and Steve Erwin are NOT the same. At all. Why doesn't Australia have Amazon yet?! Blowing out Jesus' 8 birthday candles Bruce is out-gaveled by a Warden Hello to our Australian Brethren! Closing: Black or White (Michael Jackson) Email us at afterlodge@gmail.com Hang out with us on /r/AfterLodge Find us on Facebook Follow us on Twitter @AfterLodge Join us on IRC: irc.snoonet.org #freemasonry

Plz Advise
MMISWP - To Be Fat Like Me (Featuring Ronnie Karam)

Plz Advise

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 18, 2017 187:05


Surprise! We’re serving up a little different side of Molls today! We’re sharing the finale of “Mother, May I Sleep With Podcast?” In this episode, Molls brings back our fave, Ronnie Karam, to discuss what Ronnie claims is a classic Lifetime movie - “To Be Fat Like Me.” Molls reads Ronnie some IMDB trivia/facts about America-Famous Kaley, they chat about the Steve Erwin-esque wardrobe choices, and they enjoy several LOLs together over this "classic" film. See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

Mother, May I Sleep With Podcast?
S2E15 - To Be Fat Like Me (Featuring Ronnie Karam)

Mother, May I Sleep With Podcast?

Play Episode Listen Later Oct 15, 2017 0:30


"Kaley Cuoco gets the job done." This is it, babes - the finale of Season 2! Molls brings back our fave, Ronnie Karam, to discuss what Ronnie claims is a classic Lifetime movie - To Be Fat Like Me. Molls reads Ronnie some IMDB trivia/facts about America-Famous Kaley, they chat about the Steve Erwin-esque wardrobe choices, and they enjoy several LOLs together over this "classic" film. Subscribe now & if you're digging us, leave a 5-star rating and review on Apple Podcasts so we can keep sharing the Lifetime movie love! You can also follow us on Twitter & Instagram (@MMISWP) and Facebook (facebook.com/MMISWP). Until next week... See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

The Comics Alternative
Episode 38.1 - At the Dallas Comic Con

The Comics Alternative

Play Episode Listen Later May 23, 2013 63:13


This past Saturday, Derek attended the Dallas Comic Con, which was held at the Irving Convention Center, and ran from May 17-19. There, he spoke with a variety of creators and publishers, asking them about their comics and encouraging them to share with The Comics Alternative listeners their various projects, both recent and future. This was a heavily celebrity-ladened con — William Shatner and Brent Spiner were there, Nathan Fillion was supposed to be there (but didn't make it), and Derek's daughter, Zoe, was completely mesmerized by Adam Baldwin, who actually signed her homemade Jayne hat — and that part was fun. But Derek focused mostly on getting to the comics folk themselves. In his peregrinations around the convention floor, he was able to speak with Robert Wilson IV (artist of Knuckleheads), Jackie Cannon and Erik Reeves (writer and artist of Hoodratz in Space), creator Terry Moore (of Strangers in Paradise and Rachel Rising fame), Hunter S. Zombie (writer of Stillborn), Scott Chitwood (publisher of Red 5 Comics), Danny Allain and Paul Soileau (creator and publisher of Dead Reckoning), Dave Johnson (illustrator and cover artist for 100 Bullets), Amanda Conner (covers for My Little Pony and artist and co-writer of Before Watchmen: Silk Spectre), Kerry Gammill (publisher and editor-in-chief of Monsterverse Entertainment), and Steve Erwin (illustrator of the upcoming graphic novel version of Robert A. Heinlein's Citizen of the Galaxy). It was a lot of fun all around — the artists, the celebrities, the cosplay, the weirdness — and in this Point One episode, Derek shares with you his talk with several fascinating individuals. Listen and enjoy, won't you?